Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The ceiling had cracks.

Thin lines spidered across the surface, branching and splitting like lightning frozen mid-strike, carving the plaster like a fractured mosaic. Some stretched long and jagged; others short and sharp, intersecting at odd angles, forming shapes that almost meant something if you stared at them long enough.

Multi has been staring long enough.

Nothing surprising, really. The North was more chaotic than even the Hussars. That said a lot, considering only one side had Ewroon.

"I'm sure you understand our stance," Juan says, his voice cutting through the static in Multi's thoughts. "We want to trust you, and we really value our relationship with Polish Cave, but we can't just ignore this."

"We don't understand what you mean, Juan. What exactly is the issue?" Graf asks, calm and composed as ever.

Multi doesn't look at them. His gaze stays fixed on the ceiling.

He shouldn't be here.

They all sit across Juan's desk on scrappy wooden chairs that look ready to collapse at any moment. All except Graf, of course. Graf got the only decent one.

Naturally, he sits directly opposite Juan as their representative. He’s the only sane member, as people like to think. Multi doesn't bother with correcting them. Unlike the rest, he knows what Graf and Ewroon did to the courthouse and the regime's building.

To his left, Ewroon can't stay still, shifting every few seconds, the legs of his chair scraping and squeaking against the floor. To his right, Nexe fidgets with his fingers, a nervous habit that betrays everything he doesn't say.

And next to Nexe sits Multi.

The Hussars don't trust him to speak for them, even though he's the leader. Not when the relationship with the biggest fraction of the island was at stake.

Which, in his defense, is hardly fair.

It's not his fault that telling Juan he'd like to see his intestines wrapped around his hand isn't widely considered a compliment.

He can act sane. It's just too much effort lately.

"Graf, the North really likes you," Juan continues, and Multi can feel his eyes on him, saying what's obvious, but what he won't say out loud. "But you have to know I'll do anything to protect my family. I'm sure you know what that feels like."

Multi finally drags his eyes from the cracks to look at his supposed family.

Graf, so intelligent yet so incredibly naive. Blinded by the North's propaganda, forcing Multi's hand. He'd had no choice but to fix him. He didn't want to, but for his friend's good, he had to. Now, thanks to the chip, Graf was back where he belonged. Behaving as he should.

Multi isn't angry. Of course not.

A good shepherd doesn't get angry at his sheep when they stray. It's an animal. It doesn't know any better.

A sheep can stand in the middle of a green pasture and still wander off, chasing the illusion of freedom. So the shepherd guides it back. Corrects it.

Multi did the same.

Nexe, his loyal dog. Not particularly bright, bless his sweet innocence, but dependable. Predictable and never interesting. Never questioning his orders. Even when flashes of awareness break through, Multi gives him a simple explanation, a half-decent lie, and Nexe nods along, satisfied he's figured it out. Multi could kick him, and all it would take is a scrap of ham with a false promise of change for Nexe to come running, tail waggling like a dumb dog he is.

Multi likes Nexe.

Everyone loves a dog that can do tricks.

And then there's Ewroon.

Loud, obnoxious, and teetering somewhere between idiot and something far more dangerous.

Listening to him is enough to make Multi's stomach turn, to grind at his sanity, but he can't get rid of him. Not yet.

Ewroon doesn't fit. He's stupid, but he's Ash's strongest ally, capable of slipping out of any situation. He's clever, yet didn’t notice that the coffin had been in its place the whole time, stirring chaos across the entire island for nothing.

His constant mood swings are fucking exhausting.

One day, he's spilling everything to Ash, desperately begging for his approval and the next he's covering Multi's tracks, clearing him of working with Federation allegations or volunteering to wear the uranium armor like it's nothing.

He's an enigma, and Multi hates things he doesn't understand.

But at the same time, Ewroon's constant noise keeps Multi's mind from turning inward and digging into whatever is wrong inside from all that radiation.

Ewroon might be pathetic, and one day, maybe, he'll take him apart piece by piece just to see what makes him tick.

Even though you never know what he'll decide to do next, Ewroon still has his uses, so for now, Multi keeps him close.

The grave he dug for him will have to wait. A shame, really. He picked a nice spot with a great view. He thinks Ewroon would like being buried there.

A spy, a dog, and a rodent. What a beautiful family they make.

"Get to the point," Multi spits, not bothering to hide the venom in his tone. Juan doesn't like him anyway. "Some of us actually have work to do."

Juan shoots him a sidelong glance, the conflict written plainly across his face. For a moment, it looks like he might snap, fingers digging into the edge of his desk hard enough to whiten his knuckles.

Multi holds his gaze, daring him to say something.

But Juan only exhales through his nose and lets it go, biting his tongue despite the anger simmering underneath.

Disappointing.

"I want to offer an alliance to bring our families together," Juan says, trying to keep calm, like he's weighting each word before letting it leave his mouth.

"What kind?" Nexe cuts in, his interest piqued.

Multi resists the urge to roll his eyes.

Dogs and their damned curiosity.

"It's simple," Juan answers, something in his expression softening. Huh. Maybe he has a soft spot for Nexe. Multi keeps that in mind for later. "One of us marries one of you. That way, our families grow closer together, and we can start rebuilding trust."

Multi lets out a short, humourless snort as he pushes himself to his feet.

"Yeah. Good luck with that. I'm out."

He turns towards the door, hands buried deep in the pockets of his lab coat. He can almost feel the pull of his work waiting for him. Behind him, chairs scrape loudly against the floor as the other scramble to follow.

"Can we think this through?" Ewroon asks, stopping just short of the exit, throwing Multi a questioning look.

Multi raises a brow but says nothing.

Why he's looking at him, and not at Juan, Multi has no idea.

"Yes," Juan answers behind them. "But bear in mind that I’m only offering this because we don’t have any solid evidence. And I have no interest in a war between us."

Multi's brow furrows as Juan's gaze settles directly on him.

Sometimes, Juan is just creepy.

"Out of respect for my time, but also for yours, give me your answer by tomorrow morning."

"I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you," Multi shoots back and walks out without a second glance.

When they return, the cave greets them with silence, broken only by the steady rush of the river outside and the restless sounds of the menagerie Graf insisted on bringing.

They linger by the entrance, exchanging glances, no one quite willing to speak first. The air feels heavier here, despite the open entrance, pressing in as they stand there in awkward, stretched-in silence.

The truth is, Polish Cave is hanging by a very thin thread. As Ewroon once said, everyone else chose to get together. They didn't. They're only here because they happen to speak the same language.

None of them trust each other.

Graf would trade anything, including his own passport, for an Argentinian one without a second thought. Ewroon could switch sides on a whim and call it a strategy. And Nexe has been wandering off more and more lately, probably already looking for somewhere else to run.

They are a 'family' of convenience.

Even the word family feels like a joke.

"So," Ewroon says at last, breaking the silence, his voice as always too light for the room as he swings an arm around Multi's shoulders. "Who's volunteering as a tribute for the marriage? I'm nominating the emo here. He desperately needs to get laid after all those hours playing the mad scientist."

Maybe Multi should put him down already.

For everyone's sake.

Ewroon lets out a laugh, but it falls flat when no one joins in.

But the question remains.

What are they going to do?

Chapter Text

"I think we should accept the offer," Graf says, drawing everyone's attention.

Multi sighs, pressing his fingers to his aching temples. His head is pounding from too many sleepless nights, and a conflict with the North wasn't in his schedule. He still has things to do today. Work is waiting for him.

Just kill them all. I know you want to.

The rest start arguing immediately, their voices overlapping into white noise for Multi. He doesn't hear them.

His gaze drifts to the corner of the cave.

Something stands there.

His faithful companion in this endless mortal torment, always watching, smiling with that awful expression.

Even though it doesn't have a mouth.

Not today, he thinks.

A soft, soundless chuckle rings in his head. The thing inclines its head, its eyes never leaving him, before stepping back and dissolving into the shadows.

Maybe next time, buddy.

He might hate Juan's idea, but having good relations with them will bring him closer to his ultimate goal. Mere suspicions can't ruin everything he took so long to build, especially since he's so close.

Still, he doesn't like that it reminds him of that. He can think for himself, thank you very much.

"Graf's right," Multi cuts in, finally pulling away from Ewroon's loose grip. "We can't afford to lose one of our biggest allies."

"So," Nexe starts, looking between them, "which one of us is getting married to the North's princess?"

"Nexe, you are so old-fashioned," Ewroon sighs, shaking his head like he's disappointed. Someone save Multi from this man. "It doesn't have to be a princess! For all we know, it could be a prince."

"So," Nexe repeats, a twitch in his eyebrow betraying how fed up he is. Multi can relate. "Which one of us is getting married to someone from the North, regardless of their gender, pronouns, or—"

"We get it," Multi interrupts. His gaze moves from one to another, but no one meets his eye. "Does anyone volunteer?"

"I can't, I'm sorry!" Ewroon blurts out, way too fucking loud. "I'm still waiting for my boyfriend to notice we're actually dating!"

Multi considers getting him a shock collar.

Just one press of a button and Ewroon's body would seize in convulsions, cutting off any bullshit about to leave his mouth.

Ewroon's agonizing screams are the only ones Multi likes to hear.

"No one even considered you."

"Great! Because I'm-"

"Taken. Yes, we know. Hard to not notice when you can't shut up about it for even five fucking minutes," Multi hisses, his irritation slipping through with the throb in his head.

Which one of his many boyfriends he was referencing, no one really knew.

"Just saying…" Ewroon mutters under his breath, his head dipping lower.

Multi takes a slow breath.

He can't allow the pain to make decisions for him. It's a human weakness, and he's not like the rest of those barbaric animals. He's better than that. Still, if even Ewroon is backing down, then he's already pushed too far.

Being aware of those meaningless facts was beneath him, but for now, he has to play along.

Besides, if the boyfriend he keeps talking about is Ash, that could be useful later down the road.

He'll be merciful today.

Ewroon's place in his cerebral cortex dissection experiment can be filled by a villager, anyway.

"For now," he voices, more measured. "Ewroon is out. And we're not sending Graf, obviously. They'll think we're trying to push our spy deeper into their ranks."

Multi can't lose Graf as a spy in the North. His work is finally starting to pay off, and Multi intends to make the most of it.

"Which leaves only Nexe and me."

Sending Nexe to the North is risky. It could give him somewhere to run and a place to stay. Multi can't have his dog getting used to strangers. At the same time, Juan seems to have a fondness for Multi's mongrel, which could be easily exploited.

But how many spies in the North does he really need?

And if Nexe leaves, who will fetch things for him? Training another one would take time he doesn't want to spare.

"Gentlemen, let's settle this like men," Graf offers. "Rock, paper, scissors. One round. The loser gets married, the winner stays happily single."

Multi frowns.

He doesn't like it.

Not the game, that part is irrelevant. What bothers him is that Graf is thinking for himself again.

Poor Graf, his bliss must be getting interrupted by thoughts again. Multi will have to fix that.

What wouldn’t a shepherd do for his favourite lost sheep?

Nexe glances at him, uncertainly, as if asking for permission without daring to utter a word. He can never hold Multi's gaze for long, and even now his eyes flick away, settling anywhere but on him, his fists tightening at his sides.

A stray dog.

Forever a stray dog, flinching at the slightest shift, caught between the instinct to run away and the fear that keeps him rooted in place.

Multi almost pities him.

Almost.

He gives a short nod and pulls his hand from his pocket. Nexe mirrors the movement, stepping closer. They stand facing each other; Multi looks at Nexe, utterly bored with his behavior, but the dog doesn’t dare to look up from his shoes, bracing himself for whatever comes next.

Graf steps between them and slices the air with his hand, as if cutting an invisible ribbon.

One,

two,

three…

Multi lowers his gaze to his hand—scissors. Then to Nexe's—rock.

"I lost."

His words leave him flat, empty of any semblance of emotion, as he slips his hand back into his pocket. The scalpel he keeps there nicks the tip of his finger, a sharp sting blooming into warmth as blood seeps into the lining of his lab coat.

So it's real.

Nexe looks up at last, relief breaking through before he can hide it. For a moment, it softens his entire face.

Maybe it's for the better.

Dogs are meant to stay where they're chained.

"Congratulations on your marriage, bro!" Ewroon chirps, far too excited for a wedding that isn't even his. "I always thought Graf would be the first to leave the bachelor island, but don't worry, I'll throw you the best 'goodbye being single' party ever!"

"Please don't." Multi sags, shoulders dipping slightly. Marrying a useless snob is bad enough, but Ewroon's parties might actually be worse.

"Too late!"

Ewroon bolts out of the cave, probably already plotting Multi's demise and life-long embarrassment, yelling something about guest lists and balloon animals.

Multi shoots Nexe a sharp look, and that's more than enough. Nexe nods instantly and hurries after that screaming idiot.

Someone has to keep an eye on him.

Multi can't have Ewroon ruining himself before he has the chance to take him apart.

"Graf," Multi says, resting his hand on his shoulder. "Come with me for a second, okay?"

Something flickers across his face, barely noticeable fear shines in his eyes for half a second before chip's programming effectively suppresses the feeling.

"Of course."

Multi smiles.

It doesn't reach his eyes.

He can feel the faint tremor under his fingers, but Graf stays silent, compliant as ever.

"Good, follow me."

Multi guides him deeper underground, toward the white room.

At least, it's soundproof.

So when the others come back, they won't hear anything.

Graf's treatment belongs within those four walls.

Why should he suffer from memories he isn't even allowed to keep?

Multi feels unusually merciful today, so he'll even increase his morphine dosage.

He's truly too good for them.

"Foolish, I need you to die," Multi says, his voice distorted, wrong to even his own ears. But they're too far in to stop now. He knows he wouldn't back down even if he were promised that there would be no consequences.

Where's the fun in that?

"Don't you understand?"

Any protests or pleas are silenced by the lava pouring over Foolish's head, the faint hiss of burning skin cutting through the sterile air.

The truth is, Multi can't actually kill him.

Foolish's too powerful for that, and even if he tried, he'd most likely fail with what knowledge he currently possesses.

It needed to be done under pressure, under stress. He needs to see if that changes the results.

A shame, really, getting him here was almost too easy.

Foolish hadn't resisted. He followed them to the lab without complaint, didn't even try to break the glass of the tube. Just threw the occasional joke, playing along with whatever Multi and Nexe were doing.

It's clear he hadn't taken them seriously.

The look on his face when he realised it was too late to get out was priceless.

Multi can still hear Nexe's laughter as he pulls the lever, setting the machine into motion.

There's this thing about Nexe.

He loves it when he's not the weakest one in the room. Sometimes he gets high on that feeling—on power—and Multi can't help but feel a flicker of pride for his dog.

The machine hums to life, its whirring sound building as it resonates off the walls of the laboratory before it finally fades, dying away against the stone walls.

"Nexe, I think it worked."

Multi opens the compartment connected to the tube with careful precision, his hands staying still even though one wrong move could ruin everything. Months of work, of shutting himself away from the world, of being locked in his underground lab where his research became his whole existence, broken only by brief visits from the Hussars, Cucurucho—

and it.

Now or never. He takes out the vial, examining it closely.

"We have DNA!" Multi screams, something dangerously close to joy surfacing in his voice for the first time since the accident. "You don't know what this means!"

"Holy shit," Nexe breaths, staring at the vial in Multi's hands.

"We did it, Nexe!"

"You really were right!"

Multi can't see his face, but he can almost picture the excitement in his eyes. For once, Nexe has proven himself capable of something beyond mindless errands.

"Now we can do beautiful things, Nexe," Multi muses, quiet triumph curling at the edge of his words. "And you get to be the witness of it all. Good job."

Multi notices that Nexe has gone quiet. It was the first time he’s been included like this. Properly included. Until now, all he's done is gather materials, catalogue his reports, everything to keep him useful but at a safe distance.

A little praise, a taste of control, and Nexe will do anything for the feeling of being that high.

A power junkie, but Multi supposes he got that from his owner.

"Now, we have to clean all of this." Multi gestures toward Foolish's unconscious body, his blood staining the glass like a grotesque abstract painting. "Get him back to his house. I'll handle the rest."

"Yes, boss." Nexe doesn't hesitate. He presses the release, hauls Foolish out of the tube, and slings him over his shoulder before heading toward one of the hidden exits.

Multi watches him go.

Then turns back to the tube—smudged with blood and solidified lava.

He kneels right into the mess, body fluids mixing with the strong scent of sterilising agents. He pulls off his glove and drags his finger along the side of the tube, gathering a thin smear of blood on his finger. He studies it for a moment, rubbing it between two fingers to determine its texture before licking it.

It tastes metallic and thick, sticking to his tongue and taking over his taste buds. But there's something else there.

He doesn't know what it is yet, but he'll find out.

He takes a proper sample and then starts to clean the tube from top to bottom, leaving not a single dirty spot or smudge. Wiping until his arms burn and there is not a single trace left. When he's done, the glass is spotless, gleaming under harsh artificial light. The air burns with the smell of alcohol, but his eyes stay dry. Perks of being used to it.

Everything looks spotless. Clean. Sterile.

Like nothing ever happened.

He didn’t even notice when the night turned into morning.

Only when he puts his cleaning kit aside and heads upstairs to find others gathered around their only table, talking over each other as they eat.

Graf slides a plate toward him without a word, and Multi sits down beside him and picks at his food in silence.

It's too early for him to have an appetite.

"Your eye bags look fucking huge," Ewroon remarks, leaning back in his chair with a crooked grin.

Multi kicks his chair's leg, and Ewroon almost topples over, grabbing hold of the table at the last moment.

Serves him right.

"Rough night?" Graf adds, with no intention to actually get the answer.

Nexe doesn't look up from his plate, stuffing his mouth until his cheeks puff out like a squirrel's.

Good.

It's not the time for others to find out.

"It was fine," Multi answers automatically, barely paying attention as he rearranges the food on his plate, spattering it in all directions…

into the shape of a face he doesn't want to see.

He stops. Then drags the fork through it, breaking the pattern apart.

He needs to get some sleep today.

"You need to change. We should be leaving soon to meet Juan." Graf's voice is flat, almost mechanical.

Multi looks at his wrinkled lab coat, a dirty shirt under it, and shoes covered in sand and mud. Honestly, it's not the worst he's looked.

"How will you get there?" Nexe asks.

Yesterday, they agreed that only Multi and Graf should go to minimise the potential damage. Besides, someone has to stay behind, just in case this whole thing was just the North's plan to distract them and turn their cave into rubble the moment they leave.

Which wouldn't really make much difference.

Multi is already opening his mouth to answer when—

"Maybe fly there," Ewroon jokes, nudging him in the wings with his finger.

Multi goes still.

His grip around the scalpel tightens until his hand starts to tremble. The blade sinks into his palm, slicing through his skin like it's nothing, but he can barely feel it.

He wants to drive it straight into Ewroon's neck.

Watch him bleed out as life escapes his terrified eyes.

Something must've shown on his face, slipping through the cracks because Ewroon falters mid-motion, straightening up in his seat while nervously explaining that wasn't what he meant, that was just a joke, and he would never—but the words blur together.

The static in Multi's head surges, louder and louder, swallowing everything around.

He's drowning again.

Multi doesn't respond. He just stands up and walks away, leaving his food barely touched. His steps echo in the dead quiet cave, the only sound left in the heavy silence, as he heads for his room.

He’ll need gloves for the meeting.

If there's anything Multi might envy about the North, it's their mansion.

Big, spacious, clean, set high on a hill with enough room for everyone to have their own space. A dining table long enough to fit them all and still have room for things like a library or rooftop garden.

The biggest advantage is that it isn't a cave.

The biggest downside is there are too many fucking people in that house.

As Multi and Graf make their way through corridors toward Juan's office, the mansion comes alive. Doors open, and everyone suddenly has places to be. People are standing in doorways, striking up conversations or pretending to read in the library, even though the book is upside down. All just to watch them pass.

Eyes follow them everywhere.

Whispers trail behind.

At one point, Multi saw the girl almost drown a plant, too busy staring to notice the water spilling over the edge of the pot.

Multi doesn't recognise her. He probably never will.

Are they staring because of the deal or because of him? Multi glances down at his fresh, ironed black shirt. He did put some effort into that look.

Minimal, but still.

Graf knocks on the wooden door. Once, twice, and once again.

A voice from inside tells them to come in.

Multi frowns a little at the odd rhythm, but lets it go for now. He'll ask Graf later.

They enter the room, and the first thing Multi notices is that this time there are three chairs across Juan's desk. All of them are better than the ones they had last time.

And one is already occupied.

The man sits with his back to them, not bothering to turn when they walk in. His attention stays fixed on Juan, unmoving even when Graf offers his polite greetings.

So it's a prince after all.

Multi shoots Graf a questioning look, but Graf only shrugs and walks further into the room, taking the chair on the far left.

Which leaves Multi the one in the middle.

Juan gestures for him to sit, so he reluctantly does and steals a glance out of the corner of his eye at the man beside him.

Unhappy doesn't even begin to cover it.

He looks almost betrayed, staring at Juan with murderous intent.

"Thank you for coming," Juan begins, clearing his throat. "I trust you've made your decision."

"We have," Graf answers evenly.

Multi shifts his attention back to the man next to him, quietly impressed by just how much hostility one person can radiate without saying a word.

"We decided to accept," Graf continues. "For the sake of maintaining good relationships between us."

"Excellent." Juan brightens immediately, pulling a stack of paper from his desk drawer. "Then we can move on to the details."

"I have a question."

Multi turns in his chair, facing the man beside him. For the first time, the man looks away from Juan.

His gaze lands on Multi, confusion mixed with traces of anger dancing in his big black eyes.

Up close, he looks…interesting.

Multi decides to leave that thought for later.

"Do you actually want this?"

"What?"

"Don't get me wrong," Multi clarifies, his fingers tapping once against Quackity's armrest. "This isn't about me. I just want to be sure you're here by choice and not because someone forced you into it."

"I can assure you Quackity is—"

"I wasn't talking to you," Multi cuts in, not even looking at Juan. His eyes stay fixed on Quackity. "So? If you don't want this, say so. I don't give a shit which one of you I end up marrying."

Quackity tilts his head slightly, a spark that wasn't there before shining with something Multi couldn't quite understand.

"For all I care, I could marry that chair and still build a more stable relationship than anything Juan's ever had."

"Hey!" Juan protests, only to falter under Multi's icy glare. "That wasn't very nice…"

"Forcing someone into marriage also isn't very nice," Multi retorts. "So?"

Multi expects hesitation, a long stretched silence, maybe an outburst that includes shouting and throwing a stapler in Juan’s face.

What he doesn't expect is an answer.

"Yes!" Quackity replies without missing a beat. "I'll marry you."

There aren't many things left that could surprise Multi. The world became dull, predictable place where every day is exactly the same, never changing no matter what he did.

He stopped expecting anything new.

Well.

He didn't expect this.

"Okay," Juan starts carefully, recovering faster than any of them. "If Quackity is on board, then we can go back to planning the engagement party. As I was about to say, I was thinking about going more elegant for the decorations—"

Multi doesn't hear the rest.

He barely registers the fact that they're planning to throw another party.

All he sees is Quackity.

And that bright smile of his that almost leaves him blind.

Multi thinks that maybe things will finally get interesting.

Chapter Text

"What colour?" Juan asks, pulling Multi back into the conversation.

"What?" Multi blinks, finally breaking eye contact with Quackity. He still feels his gaze lingering on his face.

Does he have breakfast crumbs on his cheek? Maybe that's why Quackity is staring there so much.

But that doesn't make sense. Graf would've told him.

It's hard to focus when those eyes keep trying to pull him back in. Multi has to force himself to keep looking forward.

"Why are you staring?" Multi asks without turning.

"I'm not."

"You literally are."

"Shut up, I'm not," Quackity mutters, looking away a second too late to make it look convincing, his fingers drumming lightly against his armrest.

From where he's sitting, Multi catches a faint blush creeping up his ears.

Did he actually manage to make him angry?

Maybe he's been a bit too blunt. Then again, he's used to the Hussars being completely desensitized to it.

"I asked what colour you'd like ribbons to be," Juan repeats calmly, tapping a finger against his desk. Multi knows him well enough to recognise the irritation simmering underneath.

Multi barely spares him a glance.

He and Quackity fall right back into it, too caught up in each other's orbit while the rest of the room fades into the background and Graf is…a little off, sitting unnaturally still, barely even blinking.

Impressive, considering the amount of medication in his system.

"Black." Multi straightens in his chair, only now realising how close they were sitting.

"Buuuuu," Quackity groans, leaning back in exaggerated disapproval. "That's like, the least romantic colour of all time. It's our wedding, not a funeral."

"Exactly, it's our wedding." Multi turns his head just enough to look at him again. "Shouldn't it reflect both of us?"

"It should, but black?" Quackity scoffs, throwing his hands up. "You're killing the mood! It's supposed to be spectacular and breath-taking, but not in that kind of way."

"I'm sorry, little miss," Multi counters without bothering to hide sarcasm in his voice. "Would you like neon pink, yes? With tiaras, braided hair, and little ponies?"

"I'd take neon pink over your depressed emo vision," Quackity huffs, crossing his arms. "What kind of groom wants his wedding to be all black?"

"Me," Multi answers evenly, watching him closely. "If I'm really doing this, I want at least something my way."

"Yes, yes, let's all just be dark and gloomy." Quackity rolls his eyes, then turns slightly. "Hey, Juan, for the after party, I want a clown with sad makeup and a small violin, playing the most miserable music imaginable."

"And for the dressed code," Multi adds, accepting the challenge, "all black. Every colour beside it is banned, so every guest will have to dye their hair dark just to attend."

Multi looks Quackity straight in the eye as he continues. "Otherwise, they get kicked out."

Quackity exhales sharply through his nose. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Try me, princess," Multi shoots back, a wolfish grin spreading on his face.

"That's it, I can't take it anymore. I want a divorce!"

Multi raises a brow. "We don't even have a wedding date yet."

"Fine, if you don't care, then I'm taking the kids, and I'm moving back home," Quackity snaps, gesturing dramatically. Why did no one tell Multi that his fiancée is such a drama queen? "Juan, get my room read, my ex-husband kicked me out."

"Quackity, you never left…" Juan pinches a bridge of his nose.

"Juan, tell him I want my half of the money back from the envelopes."

"Why are you bringing me into this…" Juan groans, dragging a hand over his face.

"In your dreams!" Quackity exclaims. "What would people think? That money was for our future."

"I don't care what people think. It's our wedding. They can think we invested in selling ice to Eskimos for all I care."

Quackity stills, surprise flashing across his face as he opens his mouth just to close it again without uttering a word.

Multi frowns, not understanding what he said wrong.

The thing is, Multi has no idea what the standards are for marrying a prince. Everyone he’d ever been with was just like him – goal-oriented, obsessive, driven by the need to achieve something extraordinary.

Well, at least in the beginning.

They never cared about him, only about his mind, so he never felt the need to treat them any differently.

He’s never dated anyone outside that pattern, which leaves him completely unprepared for this. If he approached Quackity the same way, he's fairly certain the man would run away screaming the first chance he got.

So he's improvising, adjusting as he goes while saying whatever comes to his mind.

He thinks he's not doing that badly.

Besides, even without extensive dating experience, in a 'normal' relationship, you're supposed to put your partner before everyone else, right?

At least, that’s what the only person he knows in a relationship keeps insisting. Multi still can’t believe he’s being forced to rely on Ewroon's advice.

Fucking cockroach.

His watch vibrates and lights up. He glances down at the notification and raises a brow.

Well, that's annoying.

He hadn’t expected to deal with pest control today.

"I need to go."

"Graf," Multi turns to him. "You know what to do until I come back."

Graf nods but doesn't say a word. He got clear instructions on the way. Thorough ones.

Multi made sure of that.

Multi pushes his chair back and rises to his feet, only to feel a hand close around his arm. He looks down to see Quackity looking at him, confusion written plainly across his face.

"Where are you going?" Quackity asks, his grip tightening just slightly, almost pulling him back down.

Where does he get that kind of strength from?

"Something came up," Multi answers, not quite sure whether to pull away or endure the awkward half-hunched position. "I'll be back once I've dealt with it."

"Juan, when can we reschedule the rest? Graf can take care of the legal details with you."

"Um," Juan hesitates, his eyes flicking to the hand still gripping Multi's arm. Multi wants to say he's equally confused, but ultimately decides against it. "Most likely in the evening, once we’ve sorted out the formalities. If that works for you, Graf."

"Great," Multi says, not expecting Graf to answer. "I'll come back later, and we'll finish this."

"Okay…" Quackity mumbles, letting go of his arm.

Multi leaves Juan’s office in a hurry, the door slamming shut behind him a little too hard. His hurried footsteps echo through the mansion, drawing curious glances from every direction as he moves through the corridors.

He needs to get back.

Ewroon and Nexe aren't the smartest, but they are capable. They should be able to handle the situation, which leaves two possibilities.

Either they got caught off-guard and somehow overwhelmed despite the advantage in numbers, or there is a second possibility. Multi refuses to think about it, or he'll do something he'll regret later.

They'll be better at least half-dead when he gets there.

He picks up the pace, his body quickly reminding him exactly in what shape it is as breathing becomes harder with each step.

If only the dead weight on his back wasn't such a useless piece of meat.

Haiper got into the reactor.

Multi doesn't know how he managed that, but that's not the part that matters.

What matters is that he did.

Haiper must've thought he was moving unseen, slipping through blind spots that didn't exist. Multi has more than enough cameras and sensors to track every movement inside the facility. He always knew exactly where Haiper was.

The problem was timing.

Before Multi could catch him, Haiper broke into the village.

He didn't stay long. Haiper probably didn't understand what he was looking at, didn't grasp its purpose, but he saw enough.

Too much.

Multi has to admit that Haiper turned out to be smarter than he initially assumed. He forced him into a chase through half the reactor, doubling back through corridors and slipping into maintenance tunnels, always just outside of reach.

All the while, Multi kept a syringe in one hand, sedative ready, and a camera in the other, documenting the intrusion.

But he never got close enough.

Haiper escaped through the underground passages, disappearing into the darkness.

He didn't pass through decontamination even once.

He's infected.

Multi swears under his breath, looking at his gloves. They got ripped when he tried to grab Haiper in a tunnel.

He throws them away and closes the laboratory door behind him.

By the time Multi makes it back to the surface, Ewroon and Nexe are just stepping into the cave. Ewroon's voice carries ahead of him, loud as ever, while Nexe tries to quiet him down in a low murmur. The moment they notice Multi, both fall silent.

"Let me get this straight," Multi begins slowly, holding himself together by the sheer force of will. "You failed one fucking job I gave you. One. Fucking. Job."

He tries to catch their eyes, but Nexe’s eyes stay glued to the ground, while Ewroon suddenly seems fascinated with the hem of his cloak.

"How did that happen?"

"We—" Nexe starts, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm not talking to you, Nexe," Multi cuts in, the restraint in his voice stretched thin. His gaze shifts. "Ewroon. Why did you leave the cave?"

Ewroon fidgets with his sleeve, still not looking up. "I got a message from Ash…he said he needed to meet urgently, so—"

"So you just left," Multi interrupts, venom slipping into his tone. That motherfucker. "Without thinking about anything or anyone but yourself."

"I—"

"Shut up."

Ewroon falters, his fists clenched at his sides, but he doesn't dare push further.

"Do you realise that your selfishness has led to this situation? Because of you and your stupidity, we might now be in serious trouble."

"It wasn't selfishness! Ash needed me-"

"We needed you, Ewroon! Here!" Multi snaps, wanting to bash Ewroon's head against the nearest wall until it finally starts working. "Protecting our home, not leaving it empty and vulnerable for someone to break in."

"How was I supposed to know?"

"You didn't have to know shit," Multi replies coldly.

Ewroon flinches, and only then does Multi realise that he's stepped closer.

He takes a step back, as if repulsed by the proximity.

"But that's how it is always with you, isn't it?" Multi continues. "You just run off, without a care in the world, and then we have to suffer because of you."

"I didn't think—"

"That's the problem. You never think. In fact, I'm starting to wonder if your brain is only good for screaming and gambling."

Ewroon goes quiet again, and Multi lets the silence stretch, hoping it'll suffocate him.

"Fine, I'll clean up your mess." Multi's lips curve slightly, not quite into a smile. Nexe stiffens next to him, but Multi doesn't pay him any mind. "Like I always do."

He steps forward again, deliberately this time. Ewroon wants to retreat, but Multi doesn't let him, grabbing him by his throat.

Apparently, he needs a reminder of his place.

"But I want you to understand something very clearly," Multi leans in, stopping just short of Ewroon's ear. "It's your fault that Haiper has to die."

The colour drains from Ewroon's face. "What? No! No, no, there has to be another way."

"There isn't."

The flatness in his tone seems to terrify Ewroon more than the shouting did.

Multi keeps his eyes fixated on his aorta, pulsing faster and faster with each passing second.

"Multi, please," Ewroon pleads, his voice cracking. “It's not his fault. He couldn't have known."

Multi ponders whether, if he looked up, he would see tears in those blue eyes.

He despises blue.

"No, he couldn't." Multi drags his finger slowly along Ewroon's throat. Not quite a direct threat, more a reminder. "But you could have. And you chose not to. Look where that got us."

"Multi, I'm begging you." Ewroon grabs his arm, only for Multi to immediately shake him off, his expression shifting with disgust. "Please don't hurt him. He's just a kid."

"So?"

Ewroon's face falls, like he finally realises something he refused to acknowledge.

"That's the problem, Ewroon," Multi sighs, already losing patience. "You always make me do this."

"I'm sorry!" Ewroon blurts out. "I'm really sorry, but Multi—"

"You know what's funny?" Multi cuts him off, his gaze sharpening as he presses his thumb into his neck. "I've never seen you grovel like that for any of us. But that's good, actually. It tells me exactly where your loyalties lie."

"They're here, with you!" Ewroon lets out, starting to sound breathless. "I would never choose anyone over you, you know that!"

"No?" Multi raises a brow. "Then why did you leave the cave, your home, just because the Supreme Leader called you?"

A quiet laugh escapes his lips, making Ewroon shiver.

"It's almost like I have two dogs now."

Ewroon drops to his knees, his palms hitting the uneven ground as his whole body starts to tremble.

Multi crouches down beside him, cupping his face in both hands.

"Ewroon, Ewroon," he murmurs, almost gently, his fingernails tracing slow circles across his cheeks. In one spot, he presses hard enough to break skin, leaving behind a thin crescent of red. "You see what you're making me do, hmm? Why do you always have to bring me so much trouble?"

Tears stream down Ewroon's face, droplets running over Multi's hands and soaking into his sleeves. "Please…"

Pathetic.

"Shhh," Multi hushes him, tightening his grip on his jaw. "It's okay. I'll take care of it."

Ewroon looks at him, a fragile flicker of hope sparking in his eye. "But I want you to remember one thing."

A pause.

Multi lets go and straightens, wiping his hands against his trousers before looking down at him again.

"His blood is on your hands."

"And Nexe," Multi adds, turning to him.

Nexe immediately straightens, ears perking up, his tail flicking nervously as he waits, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"I'm very disappointed."

Nexe looks like he's just been punched in the gut.

Multi barely spares him a second glance. Truth be told, he's more disappointed in himself for ever believing he could hand them the simplest task and trust they wouldn't find a way to fuck it up.

He needs to stop assuming anyone on this island has even a fraction of a functioning brain. He's been too lenient lately.

That ends now.

Fucking sheep.

Being the only one with a mind that actually works is exhausting. Half-formed thoughts that pass through his head carry more complexity than anything Ewroon could ever come up with.

He should stop accepting even the bare minimum of critical thinking from them.

Stupid animals.

What sins did he commit in a past life to deserve this? What mistakes did he do in this one to be surrounded by them?

All he does, day and night, is work to improve their lives, just to get rewarded with incompetence again and again.

He suddenly misses the old Graf. He was the only one with the potential to actually understand.

Now that potential lies dead in a ditch.

It doesn't matter.

He has bigger problems now.

Your dog made a mess, so you have to clean it. Simple as that.

Maybe he doesn't need to kill Haiper.

Initially, he thought he could use Ash to put a leash on Ewroon, but with how things are unfolding, additional help might actually be useful.

Because he can't trust Ewroon even with observation duty, there is no telling how badly he'd manage to ruin things,

Multi needs to talk to Haiper.

Then he'll decide what to do with him.

But first—

he has somewhere else to be.

Multi stands before an unfamiliar door, his hand hovering over the wood, unsure what to do. Should he knock? Back in the cave, the door is more of a suggestion than an actual concept, so he's stuck in a strange limbo, caught between acting and doing nothing at all.

He must look ridiculous standing there like this, but he pushes the thought aside. It's not like he has any dignity left to lose after his failed attempt at running this morning—most of the North saw that.

In the end, he doesn’t have to decide because the door swings open on its own, revealing the shorter man. He looks like he's annoyed, even if he's clearly trying (and failing) to hide it.

"Look who's there," Quackity says, squinting at him as he leans against the doorframe. "Did you finish your super urgent stuff that was so much more important than planning our wedding?"

"No need to be salty about it," Multi answers under his breath, slipping his hands into his pockets. Fuck, he misses his lab coat.

"No need?" Quackity repeats, his voice rising. "You left in the middle of the arrangements."

Multi grimaces faintly, the dull ache in his head flaring up at the increased volume. Lack of sleep and exhaustion are already doing their job; he doesn't need help making it any worse.

"I had to take care of something."

"Yeah?" Quackity tilts his head, the mockery clear in his expression. "And how did that go?"

"Awful," Multi sighs, his tone flattening. "Turns out my pets aren't as well-trained as I thought."

The moment the words leave his mouth, he knows it was the wrong thing to say. The irritation on Quackity's face sharpens into something close to anger, his posture straightening like he can't believe what he's hearing.

"You left the meeting to play with your pets? Seriously?"

"No, it was something else," Multi starts, already feeling the conversation slipping out of his control.

"Oh, really? Because it sounds like you decided you'd rather play with your pets than participate in peace talks."

"Those talks are important," Multi concedes, more tense now. "But something big came up, and I couldn't just ignore it."

Quackity crosses his arms over his chest. "So what was it?"

Multi wants to groan.

"Why do you care?"

Quackity lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, pushing himself off the doorframe just enough to face him properly. "Oh, excuse me for being upset, my fiancée just walked out and now refuses to tell me why."

Multi owes him nothing. He could lie, deflect, or stay silent and simply walk away. He's already forming an excuse when he meets his eyes – those black eyes burning with a fire hidden behind a veil of smoke, the flames visible only if you look long enough – and the thought of lying suddenly feels… wrong.

There's something in that gaze that makes the words stuck in his throat.

Before he can stop himself, the truth leaves his mouth.

"Someone broke into my home."

Quackity's expression shifts immediately, anger dropping away as surprise takes its place. His eyes widen, and for a second, they just stand there, both processing different things.

Under any other circumstances, Multi would enjoy that reaction.

For some reason, not this time.

"Shit, is everyone alright?" Quackity asks, the edge in his voice replaced with worry.

"It's fine, I scared off the intruder, and nothing important was taken or damaged," Multi explains, a little more quietly now, even though the whole mansion has definitely heard them. "That's why it took me so long. I had to make sure the cave was secure again."

Quackity exhales, some of the tension leaving his shoulders, but not all of it.

"Listen, I'm-"

He should be nice. At least at the beginning, so the North doesn't cancel the agreement. After that, they can go back to being strangers.

It's probably for the best for both of them.

"Don't," Multi cuts in with a small shake of his head. "You have nothing to apologise for. You didn't know, and I should've been clearer about what was going on."

Quackity hesitates, then looks away, his jaw tightening. "It's just…I’m always the last one to find out about anything around here."

He should keep his prince happy. At least, for a little while.

Before he finds out what people really think about Multi.

Multi studies him for a second, then answers more deliberately. "Next time something happens, I'll tell you."

"Fine," Quackity replies, though he points a finger at him anyway, like he needs to keep at least some of his indignation. "But I'm still mad at you for ditching like that. Just…a little less now."

Multi reaches out before he can think about it twice, taking that hand and lifting it slightly, his lips brushing over Quackity's knuckles without breaking eye contact.

"Forgive me, my prince, for my reckless behaviour," he murmurs, the words curling at the tip of his tongue. "It won't happen again."

A gesture worth a prince.

Quackity freezes, the blush rising almost instantly. Multi watched it with far more satisfaction than he should, as Quackity stumbles slightly over his words.

"Did Juan tell you to come here and apologise?" he asks, clearly trying to recover but not meeting Multi's eyes.

"No? I haven’t seen him since I left his office this morning," Multi replies, still holding his hand a second too long before eventually letting go. "I thought I'd come to you first, then look for him."

Quackity frowns. "Why?"

Multi cocks his head, like the answer should be obvious. "Because I'm not marrying him. I'm marrying you. He can wait for his turn."

Quackity stares at him, baffled, before shaking his head under his breath.

"You're weird."

Before Multi can come up with anything resembling a defense, a voice cuts through the corridor from somewhere behind them.

"Multi!"

The girl who nearly drowned her plant beams at them, waving enthusiastically as he approaches. "Glad you finally decided to join us!"

"It took me longer than expected," he admits, not entirely sure what exactly he's joining.

"No worries, we still have time to go over the decorations," she chirps, already turning and gesturing for them to follow. "Come on, let's see if he really prepared those fabric samples."

Multi glances at Quackity, one eyebrow lifting in a silent question, but Quackity only shrugs as it is completely normal, and follows her deeper into the mansion without hesitation.

For a brief, very tempting moment, Multi considers turning around and walking the fuck out of there.

Instead, he exhales slowly and comes after them.

The next four hours disappear in an endless cycle of choosing fabric samples, colour pallets, and debates over napkins and tablecloth. Not even for the wedding itself, but for the engagement party.

Someone just kill him already and end his suffering.

In the dead of the night, with the moon hidden behind heavy clouds, Multi's shadow flickers in the uneven glow of scattered candles.

Husaria might have a nuclear reactor buried deep underground, but everything above it was constantly under construction.

No walls. No doors. No privacy.

It makes things slightly more inconvenient.

But not difficult.

The wedges on his platform shoes clatter as he walks, but that’s not a problem.

Even if Graf were to wake up, Multi would just tell him to forget it and go back to sleep, and Graf would obey. He always does.

Nexe isn't even here. Whenever Multi is displeased with him, he disappears into the night, wandering all over the island until exhaustion finally drags him back at dawn.

On the other hand, even an explosion wouldn't wake Ewroon.

Which is why Multi isn't worried.

That's also why he's standing above Ewroon's bed, considering his options.

Wondering whether it wouldn’t be easier to simply strangle him in his sleep or to inject him with a lethal dose of his newest discovery.

He doesn't choose either.

Multi needs Ash in very specific places to do the dirty work for him, and for that, Ewroon needs to stay exactly where he is.

Disappointing, because Ewroon's neck would look beautiful snapped.

A shift in the corner of his vision.

Graf is sitting up in his bed, his eyes blank and unfocused as he stares right at him.

Then his gaze drifts toward the armour.

Multi lifts his hand, and Graf understands the message. He lies back down without a word, turning away. A moment later, Multi hears his breathing even out again.

Compliant as ever.

Only then does Multi turn back to Ewroon's sleeping figure.

Multi places his hand on his throat, his grip tightening just slightly as he imagines what would happen if he pressed harder. Beneath his thumb, he feels the steady pulse, a constant rhythm of blood flowing through the artery, keeping that rodent alive. His fingers curl almost subconsciously, just enough to feel it beating beneath his thumb.

At first, Ewroon wouldn’t even realise what was happening. Just a shortness of breath disturbing his sleep. Only after a moment, his eyes would snap open to land on a dark figure standing over him, hand tightening around his throat.

What kind of fear would shine in his eyes?

Would he try to fight back, push him away, and run?

Or would he waste that little air he had left, choking on it as he tried to scream for help that would never come?

Multi wonders.

He won't find out. That's not his style. That's not how he wants Ewroon to meet his end.

That kind of ending doesn't suit him. Multi has a plan for him, a well-thought-out plan crafted over the years.

You were so close. So close.

He exhales slowly, forcing the voice away before the thought can take root. He won't let it dictate his actions.

He doesn't need to get his hands dirty.

There's always some fool who'll gladly do it for him.

Multi knows this armour inside out; after all, he built it himself. It only takes minutes to replace the uranium core with a near-perfect counterfeit. Identical in weight. Identical in feel.

Ewroon won’t notice straight away, but the substitute will never be a true replacement for the original.

At first, nothing will change.

Only later will the side effects come.

They always do. And the counterfeit will only make them worse.

His mistake has given him a new test subject, but he cannot allow Ewroon to escape the consequences of his actions.

He needs Ewroon to realise what happens when his loyalties lie somewhere they don't belong. If his naivety won't kill him—

Multi will.

He has no use for a liability.

For the first time in a long time, Multi thinks he might finally sleep through the night.

Chapter Text

Life doesn't suck when sunlight stops burning your eyes out after days of feeling like a vampire.

After walking around like a living corpse for what felt like forever, Multi had slept. Sure, it wasn't a full night, not even close to eight hours, but that hardly mattered.

For the first time in days, his limbs no longer felt weighed down by lead, his head wasn't constantly dragging him toward the ground, and his brain stopped functioning solely on an alarming amount of caffeine.

Even it had stopped whispering about absolute annihilation, retreating to the very back of his mind.

Who would've thought a few hours of sleep could do wonders?

Multi hums quietly under his breath, as he sits at their tilted table, a cup of coffee Graf made for him warming his hand.

Even the view seems different today, not nearly as ugly as it usually is.

Polish Cave might be a terrible place to live, but it has its charms.

Graf has finally come down from his medications. He's still a little groggy, slower around the edges, but far more present than he was yesterday.

It's not like Multi hates Graf being sociable and outgoing.

What he hates is when Graf starts having dangerous ideas that force Multi to step in and help him again. Sometimes, despite his rather impressive mind, Graf's naivety becomes exhausting because it inevitably leaves Multi cleaning up the mess inside his head afterward.

But that's okay.

Multi is here for him.

Always.

The dazed state was only temporary. Now that the medication is wearing off, Graf can return to being his best self again.

What wouldn't Multi do for his friend?

He watches as Graf settles down beside him with a newspaper tucked under one arm, calmly sipping his tea while scanning the newest issue.

Multi hides a smile behind his mug.

The treatment is working.

Graf even managed to form a complete sentence earlier, without being outright told to do so, when Multi found him in the kitchen, asking whether he wanted to join him for breakfast.

Multi rarely has much of an appetite before noon, but he admitted he wouldn't say no to a cup of coffee.

A thin ray of sunlight slips past the cave wall, forcing him to squint slightly.

Sure, he's still not particularly fond of the sun, but every once in a while, in small doses, the warmth feels…nice. Multi closes his eyes for a moment and lets it settle across his face.

There's no point in being angry.

Nothing has changed.

He simply needs to do his job.

Besides, life would be boring without a few obstacles, and Multi can handle obstacles just fine.

Across the table, Ewroon looks like shit.

He seems as though he hasn't slept at all, despite waking up much later than Multi did. His complexion is paler than usual, but other than that, he just looks tired.

He keeps rubbing at his eyes and yawning into his hand, and Multi has to look away before anyone notices how pleased he is by the sight.

For Ewroon, this must be the first time in years he's had a bad night's sleep.

Ewroon is usually an unbearable level of energetic, so seeing him half-asleep and staring blankly at the table makes the morning significantly better.

Finally.

Some peace and quiet.

On the other side of the table, Nexe sits in complete silence without even touching his cup.

Multi slept through his return, so he doesn't even know what time he came back.

He pointedly ignores every glance his dogs keep throwing his way.

Nexe lost the privilege of his attention after yesterday, and he knows it.

That still doesn't stop him from practically whimpering for it, desperate for Multi to look at him even once.

Multi doesn't.

Ewroon is too exhausted to notice anything, barely conscious as he props his cheek against his hand and stares absently somewhere past them.

Graf is focused entirely on the newspaper spread open in front of him, rereading the same paragraph over and over whenever his thoughts drift too far away from the page.

Multi knows this is the worst punishment he could've given Nexe.

Ignorance.

The ignorance of the people who are supposed to be his family.

Maybe that will teach him something.

In the Polish Cave, love isn't unconditional, and it certainly isn't free.

You earn it.

And after their little stunt, both Nexe and Ewroon have fallen all the way back to the bottom.

They won't return to the top until he lets them.

Multi looks through the massive hole in the wall that functions as their front entrance and lets himself enjoy the quiet for once.

Maybe he has things to deal with today, problems waiting for him outside the cave, but they can wait a while longer.

He can’t let the coffee that Graf so generously made for him go cold.

So they stay like that for a while, sitting around their crooked table in silence, each trapped in their own little world while pretending there's still something holding them together.

Multi doesn't visit the Regime very often.

Actually, he avoids it whenever possible.

Ash isn't exactly his biggest fan. He has an irritating habit of sticking his nose (if he even has one) into Multi's business before Multi can redirect his attention somewhere else.

Multi suspects Ash hates him most because he believes Multi is hurting Ewroon, which is ridiculous.

Ewroon is perfectly capable of ruining his own life without anyone's help. Most of the time, Multi barely has to lift a finger.

Needless to say, out of everyone on the island, Ash trusts him the least. He always seems convinced that Multi is behind every disaster, every problem, every suspicious incident that happens around them.

Unfortunately, he's right often enough to be annoying about it.

Still, Multi has no intention of admitting it out loud.

That's why they developed a sort of unspoken agreement. They stay out of each other's way and avoid interacting unless absolutely necessary.

Whenever the cave needs technical support from the Regime, Multi always sends Graf. Unsurprisingly, he gets along very well with Tubbo, which saves Multi the trouble of ever having to come here himself.

Well, that was before a little fox broke into his reactor.

Multi highly doubts Haiper did it on Ash's orders, especially since he's been pretty busy lately with whatever it is he and Ewroon are constantly running around doing.

Multi isn't particularly worried about it.

If necessary, he can always pull the truth out of Ewroon later. After yesterday, he'll be more obedient than ever.

As he walks deeper into the Regime, he glances around at the buildings surrounding him, but most of them seem strangely empty. The only things accompanying him are the low hum of machinery and the echo of his own footsteps as he passes through one abounded room after another.

Honestly, Multi begins to understand why Ewroon fits in here so well.

None of these people seems capable of staying in one place longer than five minutes.

Out of sheer boredom, he starts inspecting the machines scattered around the facility, dragging his gloved fingers over vibrating metal surfaces as engines pulse and tremble beneath his touch, tirelessly keeping the regime alive.

He’d rather avoid Ash if possible.

There's no need to make a big deal about it.

Haiper is infected. That's all.

At this point, it's only a matter of time before his body starts shutting down, leaving him in excruciating pain.

This is precisely why Multi came here.

It's in both of their best interests for Haiper to hear it from him before Ash storms into the cave, accusing Multi of poisoning children and threatening to blow their home to pieces.

Completely unjustified this time.

"Multi, hi," a voice calls from behind him. "It's a rare sight to see you here."

He stops in his tracks and turns just enough to see a figure approaching at a brisk pace.

There he is.

The only person in the Regime Multi doesn't mind seeing.

He knows his presence makes Tubbo uncomfortable, despite the other's best efforts to hide it, but, honestly, Multi finds it strangely entertaining. Unlike some people on the island, Tubbo isn't frightened of him, nor does he look at him with poorly concealed distrust before quickly trying to escape the conversation.

If anything, Tubbo tends to do the opposite.

Their first interaction was painfully awkward. Tubbo clearly hadn't known what to say, while Multi hadn't cared enough to fill the silence for him. Looking back on it now, maybe ignoring Tubbo's nervous rambling wasn't the best decision on his part.

At the time, his first impression of Tubbo was that he was just another youngster joining the Regime, convinced that the power of friendship was enough to change the world.

Over time, though, Multi's opinion changed.

Tubbo turned out to be intelligent.

And intelligence is one of the very few qualities Multi values.

After that, Tubbo never stopped trying to talk to him, even if it was obvious—at least, to Multi—that every conversation still made him somewhat nervous.

Not that it stopped him from trying.

They don't interact often, but Multi has a deep appreciation for brilliant minds, and Tubbo undeniably has one of them.

Multi always had a distinct feeling there was far more hiding under that cheerful smile and harmless demeanor than Tubbo allowed people to see.

Very few people possess minds capable of rising above the painfully mediocre average surrounding them.

Tubbo is one of those few.

Which is why Multi tolerates his awkwardness without complaint.

Every prodigy comes with a few defects attached.

Multi wants to dig his fingers behind Tubbo's eyes, push deeper and deeper until he reaches the brain itself, then split it open and examine his every thought one by one until he fully understands exactly how someone like him works.

Maybe one day he could help Tubbo realise just how much someone with a mind like his could truly achieve.

But that's not a thought for now.

"Hi, Tubbo." Multi offers him a faint smile. "Long time no see."

He squints lightly at his expression, thrown off a bit, and Multi can't blame him.

He doesn't think Tubbo had ever seen him smile before.

"Welcome to the Regime. Haven't seen you in a while. How you've been?" Tubbo asks, returning his smile, though it still looks only half natural.

That's already an improvement.

"I'm good," Multi replies, just as the conversation seems to move on, he adds: "Actually I got engaged."

People mention things like that during small talk, right?

Tubbo blinks.

"Oh. Wow," he says after a second. "Congratulations."

"My, thank you."

Tubbo snorts softly at that, shaking his head.

"I somehow doubt you came all the way here just to hand me a wedding invitation," he chuckles, and Multi can't help but notice Tubbo's getting better at reading him. "What brings you here on this beautiful day?"

When Multi gets his hands on the guest list, he's definitely adding Tubbo to it.

"Beautiful indeed," Multi agrees, glancing briefly toward the bright landscape before his attention settles back to him. "I'm looking for Haiper."

Tubbo's expression shifts immediately into a small frown. "Haiper?"

Even if half of the Regime members are glorified dead weight, Multi knows they are fiercely protective of one another.

That's a concept he'll never fully understand.

"I just need to have a quick word with him," Multi explains, keeping his tone deliberately light.

"Um," Tubbo hesitates for a moment, clearly trying to decide whether he should be worried, but after failing to hear any obvious malice in Multi's tone, he relaxes slightly. Only slightly. "Last time I checked, he was heading into the pantheon."

Multi is here to talk. That's all.

Any consequences of this conversation will come later.

"Thanks, Tubbo."

Multi gives him a small nod, mildly pleased that this interaction felt far less forced than their usual exchanges.

Maybe they're finally making progress.

"Is it serious?" Tubbo asks before Multi can walk away completely.

"We'll see," Multi replies calmly before adding, "but you have nothing to worry about."

And he means it.

Tubbo doesn't need to worry about himself.

At least not yet.

Up close, the Pantheon is even larger than he expected.

He's never actually been inside before. No one had ever given him a proper tour, which makes stepping through the entrance strangely fascinating. His eyes drift across marble walls covered in silly pictures and absurdly bright furniture scattered through the sea of white, and he finds himself wondering what kind of thought process led to decorating a building like this.

Honestly, he's rather surprised Tubbo didn't object to him wandering in here alone.

Either Tubbo has more faith in him than Multi initially assumed, or the entire pantheon is drowning in hidden cameras and listening devices designed to make sure he is never unsupervised.

Multi's genuinely curious to find out which it is.

Maybe letting Tubbo see a little more wouldn't be such a terrible idea.

Even if it turns out to be, Multi doesn't particularly mind.

He already has a perfect place prepared for him.

Not like for Ewroon, that would be a complete waste.

Graf's favourite room.

Multi doubts Graf would oppose.

He always liked sharing.

Sometimes a bit too much.

"Hi, Haiper,"

Haiper whips his head toward him so fast it's almost comical, automatically pushing himself up from his chair.

He thinks he knows why Multi is here.

Multi can't wait to prove him wrong.

Haiper's eyes widen slightly with panic, and Multi has to bite back a smile at the sight.

"Are you suicidal?" Multi asks casually, strolling around the room as he studies the paintings hanging on the walls.

He can feel Haiper staring at him, but he doesn't bother turning around.

"…What?"

"Maybe I should rephrase that." Multi drops into Ash's chair, crossing one leg over the other before propping his feet up on the table. Petty, perhaps, but Ewroon wasn't the only one allowed to enjoy being annoying. "Would you like to discuss your rather inevitable and painfully soon death?"

Judging by Haiper's confused eyes, he'd expected trouble for breaking in.

Not a death sentence.

Colour drains from his face when the words hit him.

He just stands there, frozen in place, unsure what to do, before Multi gestures lazily toward the chair across him.

"Sit."

Haiper obeys.

Good.

If he really tries, Multi can see some potential.

Let's see if Haiper can convince him he's more useful alive than buried six feet under.

Multi can't wait to witness how far Haiper is willing to go to save his own life.

Right now, he looks terrified.

This is going to be fun.

Somehow, Multi's day just keeps getting better.

Multi hears footsteps before he sees who they belong to.

He's in the stockroom, rummaging through their stocks for more tranquilizers after one villager decided to stop cooperating.

After hours of research, Multi had gotten closer to turning it into something greater, and instead of appreciating the honour, the creature threw a tantrum.

Really surprising considering their usual stoic demeanor. They never minded what Multi did to them.

It's almost like this time, it sensed what was coming, and got scared for no reason.

Not that villagers could ever comprehend the scale of what he was trying to achieve.

Still, the resistance was uncalled for.

The change will be something good.

And Multi needed a guinea pig.

That villager's results aligned perfectly with the experiment.

So he'd emerged from the underground lab after running low on supplies, searching through their storage just in time to hear Nexe call out for him.

"Multi, your fiancée is here."

Oh, shit.

No, no, no, no, no—

"My what?" Multi blurts out, nearly slamming the storage door open.

Two people stand outside. One is a ball of anxious energy, and the other looks like he wants to kick his ass.

"Wow, rude," Quackity huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

Fuck.

He wasn't supposed to be here.

Definitely not while there's a half-open villager strapped to an operating table directly under them, its organs still spread across the metal surface.

After talking to Haiper, Multi had become completely absorbed in his work and, unfortunately, had to admit he’d somewhat forgotten that, as a future groom, he now had responsibilities.

Which, as it turns out, meant he couldn't just disappear off the face of the earth for two days straight anymore, because eventually his fiancée would come looking for him.

Multi isn't used to that.

"Why didn't you come yesterday?"

Multi frowns, caught off guard by the question.

Before he can think about it, he glances toward Nexe as if he'd somehow know what Quackity is talking about, only to realise it's the first time he'd properly looked at him in days.

Nexe stiffens.

His eyes brighten with something painfully hopeful.

And pleading.

Right.

He really wasn't planning on dealing with that today.

"Why would I?" he asks instead, looking back at his very annoyed future husband. "I'm pretty sure the next meeting about the wedding is tomorrow. Did I miss something?"

There's this thing now.

He has a calendar.

A very detailed one.

Juan had shoved it into Graf's hands along with a message saying that if Multi missed even one scheduled event, he’d personally experience the torments of purgatory.

Whatever the fuck that meant.

Or worse—they’d send someone to drag him up to the North while talking the entire way there.

Multi already said it, and he'll say it again: Juan is creepy.

Maybe it is partially his fault that he never took Quackity's contact information and therefore couldn't tell him that he was busy.

In his defense, he was new to all this 'engaged' stuff.

"No," Quackity says flatly, visibly not pleased with his answer.

Multi has absolutely no idea what he's supposed to say.

Or do.

This has to be at least the third time he's somehow upset his prince without even realising he was doing something wrong.

Which means there's a horrible possibility looming over him:

He might have to learn how to communicate properly.

Fuuuuuuck.

He'll take double lobotomy every day over that.

"Hey, Quackity," Nexe pipes up, breaking the silence. "It's your first time here, right? I can show you around."

Both of them turn to his dog, and somehow Quackity looks even more startled than Multi feels.

Like he genuinely forgot there was another person standing there.

"I don't know, we really should—"

"Yes, that's a great idea," Multi cuts in right away.

Nexe blinks at the sudden enthusiasm.

"You should get familiar with the cave," Multi continues, already backing toward the storage door, "and I need to finish something quickly."

Very quickly.

Preferably before the villager downstairs bleeds to death.

Quackity narrows his eyes.

"Are you trying to get rid of me?"

Yes.

No.

Maybe a little?

"No," Multi answers without hesitation. Technically, he only needs Quackity distracted long enough to wrap up what he started.

And maybe change out of the lab coat stained with every imaginable bodily fluid.

"He's not," Nexe jumps in before Multi can accidentally make things worse. "I just thought it'd be a good chance for us to, y'know, get to know each other."

Multi freezes.

Yeah.

That.

Somehow, until this exact moment, it hadn't fully sunk in that this marriage would affect his day-to-day life.

That his fiancé might interact with his 'family.'

That they'd exist in the same space.

At the same time.

And interact.

Granted, Quackity had already met Graf, but Graf was so far out of it at the time that it barely counted as a proper introduction.

"We're going to be family soon," Nexe says with an awkward shrug. "And we've never talked before."

Multi is suddenly reminded why he keeps Nexe around.

His dog is full of surprises.

"Nexe's right. You'll soon be a full-fledged member of the Polish Cave. You should at least get to know its inhabitants. Don't worry about Ewroon—you'll meet him sooner rather than later, and there's nothing I can do to stop it."

Quackity's gaze flickers between Nexe's eager eyes and Multi's face.

Whatever he finds there seems to satisfy him.

For now.

"Fine," he sighs at last, planting his hands on his hips with an air of an exhausted spouse already regretting his life choices.

Multi finds it incredibly funny, especially since they still don't have the wedding date.

"But after we're done, you're coming with me. You can't keep running away from your responsibilities, mister."

Before he can think, Multi gives him a lazy two-finger salute.

Weird.

He's not usually the type to indulge in childish gestures like that.

Maybe too much sleep really does have side effects.

Nexe slings an arm around Quackity's shoulders and starts dragging toward the animal enclosure, already rambling about something about Żabka's high prices and annoying red pandas.

Before disappearing around the corner, he glances back and gives Multi a small nod.

A peace offering.

He knows Nexe will want to talk about this later.

His dog may be a lot of things, but he's not a crowd.

Multi supposes he's lucky he's in such a good mood today.

Mostly because Ewroon's condition keeps deteriorating.

Over the past few days, he's noticeably weakened. He barely eats anymore, and his fur has lost its shine—though that hasn't stopped him from shedding all over the cave.

Multi keeps finding strands of red hair on his clothes.

At least once a day, he seriously considers tying Ewroon to a chair and shaving him bald until he resembles one of those Sphynx cats.

Every day, he grows quieter.

His mouth, which never seemed capable of shutting, stays closed for more than five seconds.

Multi is living his best life.

He has no idea why he didn't think of this sooner.

Actually, he does, but it would've saved him so many headaches first thing in the morning.

Now all that's left is to wait for Ash's painfully predictable reaction, which, if possible, Multi would like to skip entirely.

Besides, he thinks it is completely unwarranted.

Ewroon is currently the best version of himself—practically mute and almost docile enough to qualify as domesticated.

Multi likes this version better than the original.

He pictures Ash's face when he eventually finds out—furious and desperate—and can't stop humming softly to himself as he sits on a swivel stool, tapping an absent rhythm against the floor while stitching the villager back together without bothering to put him under.

He'd run out of anesthesia.

A terrible coincidence.

Nothing to be done about it.

Before Nexe could finish introducing every single animal in the cave and explain their life stories in excruciating detail, Multi had already shoved the villager back into the village, changed clothes, and sent the cleaning robots downstairs to deal with the mess left behind by the experiment.

When he finds them again, Quackity is standing by one of their stripped donkeys.

Or zebras.

Knowing Graf's tendency to adopt everything that moves, Multi isn't entirely sure.

Quackity is absentmindedly petting its neck while the animal melts into the touch.

Which is deeply unfair.

For some reason, most of the animals in the cave dislike him.

Only a few exceptions ever tolerated him.

One of those exceptions is currently buried outside and serves as the group's unofficial meeting point.

"You never told me you have so many pets," Quackity says, scratching behind the animal's ears.

Multi frowns slightly at the sight.

Quackity seems almost irresponsibly generous with his affection.

Multi looks away with a shrug. "It never occurred to me to brag about living with an entire circus."

"This one definitely likes me!" Quackity laughs, grinning when the donkey-zebra nudges against his shoulder.

"He has good taste," Multi replies as if it isn't an objective fact.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Nexe staring at him in open shock.

Whatever.

His dog can process everything later, after Multi gets dragged off to deal with whatever wedding-related duty awaits him this time.

If they lecture him one more time about the color of the fucking napkins, he might genuinely bomb the place.

"Okay, that's enough," Multi cuts in, pushing the stripped bastard's head away when it tries to lick Quackity's face. "Weren't we supposedly in a hurry to leave?"

"Yeah, right." Quackity straightens up reluctantly. "The suit's measurements aren't going to take themselves."

Multi raises a brow.

"Fittings?" he echoes. "Weren't those supposed to be next week?"

"No?" Quackity replies, though he doesn't sound particularly convinced himself.

Instantly suspicious, Multi pulls the calendar from his pocket and starts flipping through the pages. "I'm pretty sure I have them scheduled for next Tuesday."

They lock eyes for a moment before Quackity is the first to cave.

"Okay, fine!" Quackity throws his hands in the air. "Maybe I changed the date just to have an excuse to come here. So what?"

A laugh slips out of Multi before he can stop himself.

Quackity points an accusing finger at him, his cheeks dusted with a light shade of pink. "Stop laughing at me!"

"You don't need excuses to come here," Multi tells him, still visibly amused. "We were just surprised."

His gaze flickers towards the storage room.

"Next time, warn us in advance so we have time to clean up the mess."

"And how exactly am I supposed to do that?" he huffs, glaring at him despite the pink still lingering on his face.

"Yeah, yeah," Multi concedes, rubbing the back of his neck. "That part might be slightly my fault."

Quackity raises a brow.

"Might?"

"Is."

Whatever to keep him happy, I guess.

"That's what I thought."

With that, Quackity grabbed him by the arm and started dragging him toward the cave entrance, barely giving him time to leave Nexe with clear instructions to watch over the cave.

Properly this time.

Multi tried pulling away a few times along the way purely out of curiosity.

To his genuine surprise, he couldn't.

Huh.

Where the hell was Quackity hiding all those muscles?

Multi narrowed his eyes at the back of his fiancée's head before attempting once more, this time with actual effort.

Quackity didn't even slow down.

Instead, he shot him a sharp look over his shoulder—one that somehow managed to feel both annoyed and vaguely threatening.

Multi decided not to test his luck for the rest of the trip.

The moment they arrive at the mansion, he barely gets the chance to glare at all the people staring before Juan swoops in and starts scolding them for being late.

Then, he practically shoves them into one of the side rooms.

Multi immediately regrets entering it.

Clothes hang on every available surface. Tables overflow with fabric samples and measuring tapes, while a raised platform surrounded by tall mirrors dominates the centre of the room. In front of it sits a white sofa covered with decorative pillows that look like it was pulled straight out of an expensive interior design magazine.

His eyes briefly dart toward the door.

Running away is starting to look like a perfectly valid option.

As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, Quackity tightens his grip around Multi's arm before he can even consider bolting.

He suspects that even if he managed to escape, Quackity would catch him in no time.

"You go first," Multi mutters.

"Nuh-uh. I already had my measurements done because I knew you'd try to pull this."

"That's not fair."

Quackity grins, completely unbothered.

"Don't look so disappointed," he teases. Did Multi have hallucinations, or did Quackity just wink at him? "You'll still get the chance to check me out in a suit later. Now get up there."

Before Multi can argue further, one of the seamstresses gestures for him to take off layers so they can measure him properly.

Wonderful.

He steps on the platform stiffly, trying not to visibly recoil every time someone touches him.

At least the seamstress is wearing gloves.

Otherwise, Multi isn't sure how he'd react.

Meanwhile, Quackity takes his role as a fashion critic disturbingly seriously.

"The vest doesn't fit right."

"The sleeves are too long."

"Those buttons are ugly."

"The pants look cheap."

"The tie is crooked."

"No, wait, now it's too short."

"Why is the jacket so wide?"

Multi stands there without a word, still like a sculpture, while people circle around him, pinning fabric and adjusting layers for what feels like hours.

He feels like one of those dolls people dress up for entertainment.

A very expensive, deeply irritated Ken doll.

Multi spends the next hour glaring holes into Quackity's skull.

His traitorous fiancée only smiles sweeter every time he catches his gaze, and even has the audacity to tell him to turn around so he can inspect how the fabric looks from the back, too.

Multi briefly considers committing a crime.

After an eternity of being poked, measured, adjusted, and treated like a decorative mannequin, he's shoved toward the fitting room with the finished set draped over his arm.

He contemplates walking back out naked out of pure spite.

With a long-suffering sigh, he changes into the outfit instead.

The faster he gets this over with, the faster everyone leaves him alone.

When he steps out of the fitting room, fully prepared for another round of snarky comments and criticism, he's instead met with complete silence.

And staring.

…Weird staring.

Does he really look that bad?

Sure, the North is paying for the wedding (Polish Cave is extremely broke), which means he approximately has zero say in what he wears, but it can't possibly be that terrible.

At least they kept everything black.

The suits fit him almost unnervingly well—sharp black fabric tailored close to his frame, the vest accentuating his waist while silver details glimmer subtly under the warm lighting. The dark dress shirt underneath makes his pale skin stand out even more, and the fitted coat sits neatly over his shoulders instead of swallowing him whole like most formal clothes usually do.

It's elegant.

More expensive than anything he's ever worn.

"Now I understand why you never wear anything besides that lab coat," Quackity murmurs at last, still staring. "That would be too much power for one man."

Multi frowns slightly as he hops off the platform and walks over to the couch, leaning over the back of it.

Quackity has to tilt his head up to look at him.

His pupils seem unusually blown wide.

"Are you having a stroke?" Multi asks flatly.

Quackity's eyes trail off downward for a split second, lingering somewhere around his chest before slowly climbing back to his face.

"I think I might…" he admits weakly.

Before Multi can start listing possible symptoms, Quackity suddenly jumps to his feet, muttering something about a missing piece.

He returns moments later with a black tie dangling from his fingers.

Multi instinctively reaches out to take it, but Quackity ignores the gesture entirely.

Instead, he steps closer and slips the tie around Multi's neck himself.

Oh.

Multi goes strangely still as Quackity's fingers brush against his collar, deftly working the fabric into place.

Has it always been this warm here?

The room suddenly feels weirdly small.

Quackity's brows furrow slightly in concentration while he fixes the knot, close enough that Multi can feel his breathing every time he talks under it.

When he finishes, the neat Windsor rests perfectly against Multi's throat.

Just when Multi was about to step back, Quackity curls his fingers around the end of the tie and tugs, tightening it on the edge of chocking him.

The movement pulls Multi forward just enough to leave barely any space between them.

Their faces end up dangerously close.

So close.

"You can't fool me, mister," Quackity murmurs, looking directly into his eyes. "I know what you're doing, and I'm not falling for it that easily."

Multi has no idea what he's talking about.

At this point, he's becoming increasingly convinced Quackity might be experiencing some sort of medical episode.

Or he's the one about to have one.

Hard to tell.

Still.

He can indulge him a little.

"I didn't expect anything else," Multi replies smoothly, a sharp grin spreading across his face.

Someone nearby clears their throat loudly, and both of them jerk apart as if they've just been burned.

Right.

Other people are still in the room.

Multi had forgotten that minor detail.

"Anyway," Multi mutters, pointedly avoiding the seamstress glaring at them over a pincushion. "My part's done. Your turn."

Quackity groans dramatically as Multi disappears behind the fitting room curtain, already fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.

He had planned to talk to Juan while he was here.

But that can wait a while longer.

Now he gets to sit back and enjoy watching Quackity go through the exact same torture he just endured.

Chapter Text

Wrong.

Wrong.

Wrong.

Wrong.

Wrong.

Wrong.

Everything is wrong.

Why can't he get it right?

He's doing everything exactly the way should be done.

Perfectly.

Without a single mistake.

So why isn't it working?

Wrong.

Wrong.

Fucking wrong.

The computer screen glows faintly in the darkness of the laboratory, bathing the room in cold light. Multi stares at the test results displayed in angry red letters, rereading them over and over as if they might suddenly change.

They don't.

The villager died.

No matter what he did, it still died.

No matter how much time and effort he poured into keeping that thing alive, it still had the audacity to fucking die on him.

As if it did it out of spite.

Nothing worked.

None of the prototypes were effective.

He spent days keeping it on life support, foolishly hoping the results he wanted just needed time.

That eventually, something would change.

It didn't change shit.

Even after death, Multi couldn't bring himself to discard his experiment like that. It still had value.

A source of knowledge and experience.

Or so he thought.

Multi took it apart.

Piece by piece.

And extracted everything he could from inside.

He strapped the corpse back onto the same metal table and sliced it open, cracking its ribs apart and tearing through flesh with more force than necessary, but this was so deeply unfair.

Why did it die?

Wrong.

"I know!" Multi shouts into the room, but there's no one there to hear him.

No one real, anyway.

It just stands in the corner, watching and repeating the same distorted word over and over again in that awful voice:

Wrong.

Multi shouldn't have answered. He knows better.

Slowly, he lowers his eyes back to the body.

Still dead.

Why did the villager hate so much what he'd done?

It was almost beautiful.

It could've been so beautiful.

"Why did you leave?" Multi whispers as his scalpel digs deeper into the flesh. "You were supposed to be the best out of them…"

The corpse doesn't answer.

Multi cuts further in, slicing through dry veins and ruined tissue until he reaches the organs beneath.

He didn't care about it when it was alive.

It had only been another test subject.

With the best potential for what he wanted to achieve.

But how dare it do this to him?

They went through so much together.

A kidney lands in a metal bowl with a wet slap.

How dare it get in his way?

The lung lobe lands in another bowl; the incisions on it are rough and uneven.

It took so much from him.

So he'll take everything back to compensate his losses.

Every fucking thing until he is satisfied.

Wrong.

Multi cuts higher, his scalpel sliding past the broken sternum and unmoving heart, aiming for the throat.

He presses harder this time, grabbing a retractor from the tray and forcing the incision wider.

He wants to see the cords.

Everything.

Wrong.

He wants everything.

Maybe it had been able to speak the entire time, but chose not to.

Not to his face.

Maybe it mocked him behind his back together with the others whenever he wasn't watching.

Laughed at every attempt to create something greater, and sabotaged him on purpose.

It has to be their fault.

It should've worked.

Why didn't it?

Wrong.

The vocal cords are deformed.

Wanting a closer look, Multi cuts them out. He watches them closely as that wet piece of tissue lies on his plastic gloves.

"Let's see what you have to say now."

Judging by their shape and texture, they were never fully functional. Not enough to form coherent sentence.

It doesn't mean it hadn't found other ways to humiliate him in front of the rest of the villagers.

It died just to prove Multi wasn't who he thought he was.

He'll prove it wrong.

He is superior being to those filthy, lowly creatures.

He'll prove all of them wrong.

Wrong.

Multi flips it off.

It merely tilts its head.

An awful sound bubbles from somewhere deep into its throat as its unnaturally long limbs hang limply from its distorted body. Multi watches it fold itself into the corner of the room, bones bending at impossible angles before it suddenly climbs upward and clings to the ceiling.

Its eyes never leave him.

Looks like he won’t get a moment of privacy today.

He hates when it does that.

Wrong.

Multi refuses to listen.

Even if those eyes will follow him for the rest of the day.

He'll examine the brain later.

Glancing at his watch, Multi grimaces. He's covered in drying blood and substances he'd rather not identify too closely, and if he doesn't hurry, he'll end up late again.

Lately, he always seems to be late.

Turning back to the table, he begins collecting the organs from the metal bowls, sealing them into labeled containers and portable freezer before snapping it shut.

He’ll come back for the spine later.

It could make an excellent decoration for the village.

Before leaving, he injects the corpse with one of his experimental compounds to slow decomposition.

Then he leaves it there, spread open on the operation table.

Rotting more slowly than it deserves.

He needs his hands unharmed, and what happens to this villager no longer matters.

Not anymore.

In a strange way, it's almost artistic.

If he had to name a piece before him—the exposed organs, the hollowed-up shell of something that once lived and could've become something extraordinary—he'd call it "Wasted Potential."

At the least he managed to gain something from this…attempt.

A new toy to vent his frustrations on.

He leaves a scalpel buried in its heart purely out of convenience.

That way he won't misplace it.

Multi switches off the lights and leaves the mutilated corpse alone in complete darkness, swallowed by silence.

Back in the office, he places the container down and gazes through the glass wall overlooking the village bellow.

The villagers wander aimlessly as if nothing has changed. Slow, empty-eyes and completely mindless.

Everything has changed.

Now Multi knows they betrayed him.

All of them.

After everything he gave them, they still betrayed him.

Unfortunately for them, he expected this.

It always ends like this.

He's prepared.

He looks for the last time at the bunch of traitors, then turns his back to them and sits down at the computer. He types in a command and promptly ignores a pop-up window asking if he is sure about his decision.

He is sure.

He'll have to send Nexe to get him some more test subjects.

His dog was eager to prove himself useful anyway, so Multi will finally give him a chance to do so.

He leaves his laboratory as the procedure begins, as he sees out of the corner of his eyes that it is following him, its neck turned 180 degrees so as never to lose sight of him while it crawls on the walls.

A toxic compound is released into the air of the village, falling on them from above like divine punishment.

It wasn't the virus; it was still in the testing phase, but this replacement will do just fine.

The morgue will be getting a few new additions today.

The door shuts behind him, leaving nothing alive inside the reactor.

Cucurucho is not the most pleasant person to be around.

Multi follows them through the facility, passing countless empty corridors where every footstep echoes against sterile white walls. Behind thick glass panels, experiments sit in different stages of testing, some twitching weakly, others pacing like caged animals driven mad by confinement.

Cucurucho stops by one of them, as always, because they refuses to let him into their office.

Multi wonders what the end goal is.

He knows his own.

He doesn't know theirs.

They work together because they benefit each other.

That's it.

Multi stays because, for now, he still needs them.

And they need him.

But neither of them is irreplaceable.

Cucurucho loves reminding him of that.

Multi pauses in front of another glass wall across Cucurucho, watching one of the Federation's newer experiments trash violently against the room. It claws at the walls hard enough to tear its own skin open, desperate to escape.

Even if it hurts itself.

Even if it kills itself.

Sometimes they look at him with those pleading eyes, screaming and begging for mercy as though he might suddenly decide to save them.

He never does.

The screams just give him a headache.

Besides, straining his already unstable partnership with the Federation simply isn't worth it.

Cruel as it might sound, it's the truth.

Multi is never entirely sure where the boundaries lie with them. So he doesn't push it too far.

Still, something about the scene leaves a strange feeling of déjà vu but if feels too out of his reach.

From the corner of his eye, Multi glances at the Federation worker who escorts him through the facility.

Well.

Not only him.

It is here too.

Hanging from the ceiling above them, swinging from side to side, like some grotesque insect, silently observing him, the way someone might watch a laboratory rat.

In contrast, the worker beside him stands perfectly still, posture unnaturally straight.

Just another nameless lackey stripped of any right to individuality.

Without eyes, Multi can't tell whether they're watching him or the scene behind the glass.

The only difference between the Federation employees and the experiments trapped in those rooms is that one group is allowed outside.

The other isn't.

Multi understands why Cucurucho never gave them faces.

That doesn't make them any less uncanny to look at.

Creations are supposed to look beautiful.

These aren't.

Cucurucho is still talking.

Something about Multi belonging to the Federation, about loyalty, how betrayal will not be tolerated, and demands about control chips for experiments.

Yada yada yada.

Multi answers with occasional grunt, barely listening as experiment number whatever slams its head against the wall over and over again, bloody smears staining the pristine white surface.

In a way, Multi can relate.

He taps his finger against the glass, hoping to get its attention but it's too busy with trying to kill itself.

"That's all?" he asks flatly, not caring if he interrupts them.

Right now, he doesn't care about much.

It slides down from the ceiling behind Cucurucho, unfolding into its full height as it stares at him with silent disappointment.

Multi pointedly ignores it.

He's dirty.

They dragged him here before he had the chance to shower or even change out of his bloodstained clothes just to listen to a lecture he's heard a hundred times already.

Multi already knows what they want from him. The chips are already being made. The entire trip was unnecessary, but he lacks the energy to spell it out for them.

It’s too much effort.

His skin prickles.

Every inch of him itches.

His nails dig beneath the dried blood stuck under them. He needs it gone.

Gone.

Blood is everywhere.

He scratches at one spot on the back of his hand until the skin splits open and fresh blood spills over the old.

Several drops hit the spotless floor, and Cucurucho grimaces in disgust. Or at least as close to a grimace as their frozen expression allows.

The sight of that smile permanently carved into their face, burn scars pulling the corners of their lips into something eternally cheerful, makes Multi's head ache.

Nothing about it has ever looked human.

Their mouth keeps moving.

Multi doesn't hear a word over the white noise ringing in his ears.

They made him do something today.

Something he didn't want to do.

But he still needs them.

So he did it.

Thank fuck the creature no longer had a mouth.

Multi didn't have to hear it scream.

He only watched the terror drain away from its eyes as it died.

You failed.

He's dirty.

None of the federation's experiments is anything close to what he wants to create, but his opinion hardly matters here.

At least now it's his turn to make a demand.

He'll need to think about it once he's clean again.

The burn simmering under his skin is becoming unbearable.

His nails return to the same spot on the back of his hand.

Scratch.

Scratch.

Scratch.

It's still not enough.

"Stop that," Cucurucho says, voice warping through the static distortion. "It's disgusting."

Multi doesn't have the energy to answer.

Sweat slides down his neck, damp hair sticking to his forehead. His mouth feels stuffed with cotton and he knows that even if he forced it open now, nothing would come out.

So he stays silent.

"You know what you have to do."

Does he?

"We will contact you shortly."

Do you have to?

"Until then, we trust you will deliver the results."

Trust?

"I hope you enjoy the island."

He won't.

He blinks, and Cucurucho is gone, the space they occupied empty only a second later.

Not empty.

Never empty.

Multi refuses to look at it.

When he doesn't move, the Federation worker steps forward in wordless encouragement. Or a warning.

Multi glances back toward the experiment sprawled motionless across the floor, blood pooling beneath its body.

Two other workers lift the creature onto a stretcher while another begins scrubbing the room clean.

They already have five more ready to replace it.

Multi lets himself be guided out, his mind both deafeningly loud and completely hollow at the same time.

They don't try to touch him.

If they did, he thinks he might crawl out of his own skin.

He barely registers arriving back at the Polish Cave.

Right now, the mere thought of facing anyone makes something inside him twist unpleasantly.

But stronger than that is the desperate need to scrub himself raw, to peel back skin and untangle muscle fibers until everything beneath is arranged the way it should be.

Just for a moment.

Multi walks inside and ignores Nexe calling after him that they need to talk because it's important. Slips past Graf, insisting he has something urgent to tell him. Walks straight by Ewroon, trying to stop him because he feels wrong, while the whispers curl around his ear in amusement.

Multi already knows none of them will let him rest for even a moment.

After that shower, he heads straight for the exit without looking at any of them.

He doesn't know where he's supposed to go.

So he walks.

Anything but standing still.

He almost snorts. How painfully human of him.

He hopes he's alone, but doesn't turn to check.

Multi lets his feet carry him whenever they want.

He just needs the hurricane of voices to stop.

Too much.

Multi doesn't know how long he has wandered the island. Something between a couple of seconds and a few hours.

At some point, he starts regretting leaving his scalpel behind, but it was too late now.

He needs his hands unharmed. He needs his hands unharmed.

He needs his hands unharmed.

Do you?

Yes.

        Sooner or later, they'll come for him.               He needs to be ready.                     He cannot afford mistakes.

                                                  Can't afford delays.

                                                                                                                                                                                          They're going to kill you.

          No.                                            Multi can get rid of them.

                                                                                                                                                           All of them.

               You're weak.

                                          He's not.                                                                                                                 He's the leader of the Cave. He has everyone under his feet.

                                                                                     They will betray you.

                 NO.

                                                                                                                                     No.

                                 They wouldn't dare.

                                                                                    They wouldn't.

                                                                                                                                                                            They will.

                                                                                                                          They always leave.

                           no no no no

                                                                                                                                                           They always leave you.

                                                         nononononononononono

                                                                                                                                                                                                                      nononononononono

                                                                                                                nononononono

Just arrived at the Polish Cave. Where are you?

Multi stares at the message, thoughts screeching to a halt so abruptly it almost hurts.

For a second, he doesn't understand what he's looking at.

…

Quackity.

His fiancé.

Staged fiancé Multi reminds himself.

Still.

His.

Multi hesitates before answering, rereading the message again and again. He doesn't think Quackity should see him like this.

But he doesn't want to ignore him either.

The problem is, he has no idea where he is. The surroundings doesn't help much either.

I don't know.

The reply comes almost immediately.

What do you see?

Multi frowns at the message. Why would he ask that? Surely Quackity doesn't actually want to come find him…right?

Why does it matter?

So I can pick you up, duh.

Multi looks down at his grass-stained lab coat and trembling hands. He hadn't even noticed when he dropped to his knees.

He looks pathetic.

No need.

Shut up and tell me where you are already.

Multi blinks, then bites the inside of his cheek to stop a smile from slipping through.

Someone's getting bolder.

Since when you are so bossy?

Since my stupid fiancé is stubborn like a donkey.

Now that's insulting. Good thing Quackity is lucky enough Multi doesn't take it personally.

If it were anyone else, though…

I'm not stupid, you know. And I'm definitely not some dumb animal.

I can literally picture that pout on your face rn.

I'm not pouting!

Whatever you say, you emo. Stop dogging the question and tell me where you are.

Multi debates refusing on principle alone, but he doesn't want Quackity getting upset with him afterward. They've actually been making progress lately, and he has no interest in ruining that now.

So he gives in and describes his surroundings the best he can.

Quackity responds with several highly unnecessary comments about him looking like a wandering stray, and Multi's eyebrow twitches harder with every message.

Just shut up and come here, princess.

On my way to pick your ass up :P

Multi rolls his eyes despite himself.

Standing up is quite a challenge, but he can't allow himself to be like this.

He's better than that.

He's about to shrug off his coat and toss it to the nearby river when he hears something.

A quiet, barely audible whimper drifting up from somewhere below.

Multi steps closer to the edge and looks down.

A dog is stranded on a rocky ledge, trembling violently as soft cries leave its throat. It looks weak and exhausted, but not seriously injured at first glance.

When it notices him, it doesn’t bark louder or start trashing around in panic. It simply stares up at him with tired eyes, as if waiting for judgment.

Multi pauses.

It's just a dog.

There’s nothing special about it.

Or maybe there is.

Unlike the animals back in the Cave, it doesn't try to run from him.

Maybe only because it can’t.

Still, when Multi looks into its eyes, he could swear he sees a will to live there.

Or maybe he’s hallucinating again.

Leave it, it whispers.

Fuck you.

Multi leans over the edge and grabs the dog by the scruff, using practically all his strength to haul it back up.

He seriously needs to start working out.

Or invent artificial muscles.

Once the dog is on solid ground, Multi crouches to inspect it. No visible wounds or broken bones. When he steps back, the dog simply follows after him without limping.

It's just painfully skinny, ribs visible under dull black fur, exhaustion clinging to every sluggish movement.

With a sigh, Multi spreads his filthy lab coat over the grass and sits down to examine it properly, pulling a pair of gloves first.

He doesn't think the dog is strong enough to survive the experiments, but he needs to make sure.

The dog takes it as an invitation.

Before Multi can react, it climbs straight into his lap and curls into a tight, not-so-little ball.

He goes rigid.

Seriously?

Carefully, he pokes the dog, trying to signal that it should get down.

It doesn't move.

He pushes a little harder.

Still nothing.

Unfortunately for him, lifting the thing earlier already murdered his arms, and the dog isn't exactly small either. Judging by the amount of black fur already sticking to his pants, it might actually shed more than Ewroon.

Multi wants to groan into his hands, but his throat refuses to cooperate.

Fine.

He'll wait for Quackity like this.

A prince in shining armour coming to his rescue or whatever.

Multi has been sitting with the beast on his lap for who knows how long before the distant flap of wings cuts through the silence.

A moment later, feet hit the ground.

Quackity lands nearby, folding his wings neatly behind his back.

His dark hair is a mess from the flight, cheeks flushed pink by the wind. He smiles at Multi like he's genuinely happy to see him.

Multi has to tear his eyes away.

He’s spent far too long successfully not thinking about that.

He has no intention of starting now.

"Multi!" Quackity calls, already heading his way. There's a bounce to his step that makes him look almost absurdly cheerful. "So this is where you’ve been hiding."

Multi opens his mouth.

Nothing.

Kurwa.

He settles for a nod instead, hoping Quackity won't take it for dismissal.

He tries.

Really tries.

But every attempt feels like forcing words through a wall.

And he's tired.

Quackity furrows his brows, his smile fades so slightly as his eyes linger on Multi's face.

Multi can only hope that his own eyes express everything he can't say.

Something shifts in Quackity's expression.

Understanding.

Without question, he flops onto the coat beside him, stretching his legs out in front of him and flashing Multi a smile.

"Not in the mood to talk today?"

Multi shakes his head.

The relief that flashes through him is embarrassing.

"Fine by me." Quackity leans back on his hands before his attention lands on the furry weight occupying Multi's lap. "And who's this cutie?"

Multi gestures to the dog, pushing it with his hands as the dog stays exactly where it is.

Quackity stares as Multi repeatedly pokes the dog without it even batting an eye.

Then, he burst out laughing.

The bastard.

"Don't tell me it trapped you."

Multi fixes him with a murderous glare, but Quackity laughs even harder.

At some point, he laughs so hard he has to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes.

"You've got to be kidding me," he wheezes between giggles, nearly choking on the words.

It isn't funny. He's being actively crushed here.

"How weak are you?"

Multi punches him in the arm.

Quackity recoils dramatically, clutching the spot like he's been mortally wounded, almost toppling over to Multi's side.

"Ouch! Ouch!" he complains.

Instead of moving away, he shamelessly presses himself against the arm Multi uses to keep himself upright. A second later, his head drops onto Multi's shoulder.

He tilts it back just enough to keep looking up at him.

"I think you broke my arm."

Multi raises his fist again.

Quackity immediately catches his wrist before the second attack can land.

"Violence?" he gasps. "Against your beloved fiancé?"

Multi doesn't even blink.

The dog shifts in his lap, making escape even less possible.

Quackity takes one look at his expression and starts laughing all over again.

Someone save Multi from both of them.

Multi glares down at the dog. This is entirely its fault.

The traitor doesn't even have the decency to acknowledge him.

"Just leave it be," Quackity chuckles, still recovering from his laughing fit. "Poor thing is exhausted."

Multi raises a brow.

Between the weight crushing his lap and the weight leaning against his arm, he decides he doesn't have the patience to deal with either of them.

Might as well make this as painless as possible.

Taking a slow breath, he forces himself to relax.

His eyes drift shut.

For a few seconds, he focuses solely on not losing his mind.

Then, something warm brushes against his hand.

Multi's eyes snap open.

Quackity has taken his hand.

At some point, he'd shifted even closer, his side pressed firmly against Multi's, his head resting fully on his shoulder.

"Do you mind if we stay here?" Quackity asks quietly. "Just for a moment?"

Multi looks down at their intertwined fingers.

Quackity gives his hand a small squeeze while waiting for an answer.

Multi shakes his head.

It's not like he'd be able to leave without help anyway.

"Great!" Quackity brightens right away. "You need to hear what happened at the mansion today, because it was insane, and for some reason, nobody wants to listen to me. Can you believe that?"

And so Multi sits there, listening to gossip about people he's never met and disasters he has absolutely no context for.

Apparently, someone nearly blew up part of the mansion.

This wasn't even the stupidest thing that happened today.

"Sorry," Quackity interrupts himself at one point. "Am I talking too much?"

No, you're not.

Multi squeezes his hand.

Keep going.

Quackity's eyes light up.

For the first time in a long time, Multi has no reason for his actions.

And that terrifies him.

But he'll think about it later.

Right now, he's busy learning about random person no. 3's catastrophically poor love life choices.

Somewhere above them, a pair of soulless eyes watches the entire exchange.

Multi has completely forgotten they're not alone.

They made their way back to the cave together, and for some reason, Quackity insisted on bringing the dog with them.

Multi understands where this was coming from. The cave was already overflowing with animals, so one more wouldn't make much of a difference. Besides, Quackity couldn't keep a dog in the mansion.

So Quackity wrapped the Mutt into Multi's lab coat and carried it the entire way back.

What Multi doesn't understand is why the beast keeps whining every time he moves more than a few steps away.

It was almost like the thing glued itself to him.

He already lost count of how many times he had to hear Quackity giggles because Multi ended up shuffling back closer just to make it stop.

The second he finds Graf, he'll dump the problem on him.

He's exhausted.

When he's…like this, communicating gets difficult.

So vague gestures would have to do.

He points at Quackity, then at himself, silently asking why he'd been looking for him in the first place.

Multi had been planning to visit him after talking to Juan.

He just didn't get the chance to, before everything else happened.

And he'd actually been a decent fiancé lately. He even started sending messages when work kept him busy.

So it's not the same reason as the last time.

Most people need a few attempts before they understand what he's trying to communicate.

Quackity gets it the first time.

"You said I can visit, so I did." Quackity shrugs. "What's so wrong with that?"

Multi just stares.

He doesn't doubt that Quackity came because he could.

He highly doubts that's the only reason.

"Can we not talk about it?" he asks, his eyes drifting away,

Multi fixes him with a look and raises a brow.

It's not like he was planning to complain.

Quackity groans into the dog's fur, hiding his face.

Multi fights the urge to smirk.

"Not that—You know what I mean," Quackity mumbles, his voice muffled by the dog's fur as his ears turn faintly pink.

Multi nods. He knows.

He spots Graf near one of the buildings, already waving him over when a flash of red crosses his vision.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Ewroon.

Why is that idiot even here?

Shouldn't he be stitched to Ash's side somewhere far away, where Multi doesn't have to look at him?

Well, he can't.

He's too weak for it now.

And today is absolutely not the day for those two to meet.

Multi jerks his chin toward Graf before glancing at the dog still bundled up in Quackity's arms.

Graf understands and steps forward, carefully taking the dog, despite the animal's obvious displeasure in the arrangement.

Good.

One problem solved.

Now he needs to deal with the bigger one.

Multi gestures about going downstairs, and Graf doesn't need any further explanation.

Quackity, unfortunately, is a different story.

"Where are you going?"

Right.

How exactly is he supposed to answer that?

Graf is easy to explain.

He was a little down since he was sick, so the personality change wouldn't raise too many questions.

Ewroon is an entirely different story.

Multi can't keep him in this state forever.

Sooner or later, he'll die.

At some point, Multi will be forced to restore him to his normal.

He just hasn't had time to think about it.

With Ewroon, the change in behavior would be too obvious, too drastic.

Too difficult to easily explain.

And Multi doesn't want to deal with it at the moment.

So for now, he needs to get rid of him.

There is no gesture to explain what he wants to say. He settles for an expectant look instead, hoping Quackity will get the point.

"Fine," Quackity relents, giving him a stern look in return. "But if you're not back in fifteen minutes, I'm going downstairs myself and dragging you out by the collar."

Multi raises both hands in surrender.

He points Quackity toward one of the tenements and gives Graf a pointed look, its meaning clear: Keep him busy.

Graf gets the message.

His friend knows him all too well.

He politely offers Quackity a cup of tea, taking the dog inside as the door closes behind them.

A second later, the sound of paws scratching against the wood erupts from the inside.

Multi keeps walking.

He finds Ewroon in the kitchen.

He's leaning against the counter, absentmindedly stirring something in a cup that went cold hours ago.

The moment he notices Multi, some awareness returns to his eyes.

Before he can say anything, Multi motions him to follow and doesn't bother waiting.

Ewroon obliges.

They descend into the lower levels of the cave.

Multi takes him to his laboratory.

It'll be the easiest to do there.

Multi lets him through the door first, stepping closer to one of the medical trolleys as Ewroon looks at the choice of place in confusion.

Multi never lets him in here.

Before he can turn around, Multi drives a syringe into his neck.

Ewroon barely has time to react.

The substance spreads through his bloodstream almost instantly, tearing consciousness away from him.

His legs give out under him.

Ewroon falls forward, but Multi simply steps aside.

One of the maintenance robots catches him before he hits the floor and shoves him into a reinforced cage prepared specifically for this occasion.

Ewroon hits the cage floor with a thump, and Multi hopes he didn't break his nose.

He isn't in the mood for more blood.

Ewroon always makes such a mess of himself.

Disgusting.

At least now, Multi will always know where Ewroon is.

That should be easy enough to explain.

Ewroon has a habit of staying awake at night and then sleeping through the entire day.

If he goes into cardiac arrest, Multi will deal with it later.

At the moment, he's breathing.

That's enough for him.

Satisfied with the arrangement, he heads back upstairs.

The moment he steps through the building door, a meteor slams straight into his chest, nearly knocking him off balance.

The dog doesn't seem to get the idea of personal space.

"I think she likes you," Graf remarks, motioning toward the empty chair.

During the few minutes Multi was gone, they managed to organise a tea party.

Multi stares at the table in mild confusion, as the tablecloth is far too clean for their cave. In all the time they’ve lived in this ruin, he’s never seen so much food gathered in one place.

Since when do they have biscuits?

Quackity glances at him over the rim of his cup, visibly amused as Multi attempts to reach his chair without tripping over the dog wrapped around his legs.

The little bastard settles down beside him the second he sits.

"She has good taste," Quackity replies, giving Multi a smug smile.

Multi pointedly doesn't comment.

He wraps both hands around his cup and sips his tea while listening to Quackity and Graf get to know each other better.

Multi has a feeling Graf just gained another ally in the North.

It starts innocently enough.

Then Graf offers Quackity to teach him some Polish.

Multi knows exactly where this is going.

He considers throwing himself into the river when Quackity asks how to say every embarrassing pet name under the sun.

Graf, traitor that he is, answers everything without hesitation.

He doesn't back down even when Multi kicks him under the table.

The conversation continues, and Multi wonders whether shoving Graf into the river instead might solve his every problem.

He wouldn't actually do it.

Probably.

But it's a nice thought.

Multi strokes his head, tracing circles with his thumb through his sweat-dampened hair.

He hums softly, matching the rhythm of the machines working in the background as to reassure he's by his side.

Without looking away, he increases the flow rate through the narrow tube, keeping one hand on his shoulder the entire time.

Strapped to a metal table, Nexe keeps screaming.

Chapter Text

The lab is quiet.

No screams echo through the village.

No footsteps disturb the silence.

If someone listened closely enough, they might hear the distant hum of the reactor working somewhere beyond the walls.

The air is so sterile it stings the nose and makes the eyes water.

Harsh fluorescent lights buzz overhead, illuminating the white-tilled room. Every now and then, they flicker, causing the shadows to twirl and twist across the walls. It almost looks like the bloodstains on it are their dance partners.

Only three shadows remain still.

Multi adjusts the flow of Nexe's IV when movement inside the cage catches his attention.

Ewroon groans.

One hand twitches slightly before finding one of the metal bars. Slowly, clumsily, he drags himself upright.

Ewroon squints at his surroundings, and Multi's curious what exactly he sees through the haze of half-consciousness.

Probably not much.

Multi sits comfortably on a swivel stool, with his ankle resting on his opposing knee. His elbow props up his head while he observes Ewroon's inner battle to stay awake.

He removes his gas mask and places it on a nearby table.

"Someone is finally awake."

Ewroon blinks.

His gaze drifts across the room.

Multi watches in fascination as the realisation finally hits him, immediately followed by panic.

He lunges for the door and rattles the bars hard enough to make the metal groan.

When it doesn't budge, he whirls around.

Multi delights in the fury igniting in his eyes.

"Rise and shine."

"What the fuck, Multi?" Ewroon rasps, voice rough and hoarse. "Let me out!"

"Just woke up and already so loud."

Multi sighs dramatically before pushing himself from the stool.

He crouches beside the cage, just outside the reach of those claws.

"Let me out!" Ewroon snarls, slamming both hands against the metal bars.

"Wasn't it you who came asking for my help because you weren't feeling well?"

Multi tilts his head, eating up every emotion on Ewroon's face.

The anger.

The betrayal.

The fear.

Every expression is more delicious than the last.

"I fixed you."

"You didn't fix shit!" Ewroon snaps. "I know you were the one who did this to me in the first place!"

"So what?"

Multi shrugs.

He doesn't mention that Ewroon agreed to it first.

"You did this to yourself, Ewroon. If you hadn't forced me, none of this would've happened."

For the first time in a long while, the smug smirk on Ewroon's face is nowhere to be found.

Instead, all he can see is pure, animal rage.

Multi savors the fact that he's the reason for it.

"What did you do to me?"

"Just a taste of the consequences of your own actions."

Ewroon lets out a low growl, and Multi reaches out through the bars and hooks two fingers under his chin, forcing his head up.

Ewroon takes the opportunity.

In one fast movement, his claws sink into Multi's forearm.

Deep.

Deep enough to tear skin and scrape against the bone.

Multi doesn’t even flinch.

"Still," he murmurs thoughtfully, staring straight into those wild eyes. "I have to admit I've missed that fire of yours."

The claws dig deeper, almost as if Ewroon wanted to leave his mark on Multi's bones.

Blood trickles down his arm.

His head feels a little clearer now.

Ewroon slaps his hand away and retreats as far as the cage allows.

Harsh red lines remain carved into Multi's skin.

"How territorial of you."

Predictable reaction.

But exactly what Multi wanted.

He thought he preferred the quiet, docile version.

He changed his mind.

He much prefers the wild beast glaring at him with murder in its eyes.

A part of him itches to tame it.

To break it down.

Then rebuild it, and form it into a dagger pointed toward his enemies' necks.

Unfortunately, Ewroon doesn't seem to share the sentiment.

"Get the hell away from me, you psycho." His lips curl in disgust. "After everything we've been through together, this is how you treat us? Like some fucking lab rats?"

"Such harsh words," Multi replies, watching drops of his blood fall onto the floor. "When all I've done was help you understand your mistakes."

"Did you seriously drag me to the brink of death just to teach me a lesson?" Ewroon laughs bitterly. "You sick fuck."

"Honesty, I'm disappointed."

Multi shakes his head.

Time for the more interesting part.

"At least one of you appreciated my help."

Ewroon frowns.

"What are you talking about?"

The corners of his mouth curl up involuntarily.

"See for yourself."

Multi steps aside.

The moment Ewroon notices the occupied table, all the anger vanishes from his face.

Nexe lies motionless under the lights.

His chest rises and falls slowly as his eyes remain closed. If not for the obvious discomfort etched into his face and the leather restraints securing him in place, he would look asleep.

"What did you do to him?"

The question comes out almost as a whisper.

Then panic catches up.

"What the hell did you do to him?!"

"Nothing he didn't want himself."

"What?"

"You see, when I brought a new dog home, Nexe felt…threatened."

Multi absentmindedly traces a finger on Nexe's arm.

"His only job was to fetch me things and be a guard dog. That was his only purpose."

His fingers go lower, brushing against the restraints.

"I suppose he thought he was being replaced."

Ewroon's expression twists into something Multi's never seen before.

"So he came to me himself."

Multi smiles, patting Nexe's head.

What a good dog.

"Frankly, I was quite surprised, but he insisted he wanted to help."

The smile widens.

"So how could I refuse him?"

Multi lightly taps his IV line.

Fiddles a little with the tube.

Nothing changes.

But Ewroon doesn't know that.

"Stop!" The bars rattle as he throws himself against them. "Multi, stop! You're going to kill him!"

"Why would I do that?" Multi asks mildly. "I need his DNA. And for the extraction, he has to stay alive."

"Then what do you want?" Ewroon yells.

Multi hums, picking up bandages for his arm.

"I had this experiment recently. A villager died, and I couldn't figure out why."

He sits down on the stool again, looking through the drawers for some disinfectant.

Ewroon observes his every move.

"But now I know."

He rips open the bandage package with his teeth.

"And it's all thanks to our Nexe."

Ewroon stares at him in silence, his eyes following Multi's hands wrapping the wound.

"Is this the part when I indulge you and ask what you discovered?" Ewroon asks, rolling his eyes.

"It might as well be."

Multi picks up one of the scalpels and turns it between his fingers.

"I realised that I'd overestimated the capabilities of a living organism. No matter what modifications I make to the villager’s internal systems, it'll always be weaker than a more advanced lifeform."

He gestures vaguely toward Nexe.

"Until I figure out how to get around this limitation, I need better test subjects. What you’re currently witnessing is the process of strengthening Nexe’s body so that he can survive the extraction."

"I suppose I have no choice except to listen to your villain monologue."

Multi almost laughs.

He can tell why Ewroon suddenly sounds so much braver.

Now he knows Nexe is necessary.

He thinks Multi has limits.

How adorable.

"I'm not a villain, Ewroon."

Multi folds his arms, not covering the now bandaged arm.

"I'm trying to save you. All of you. But every time I make progress, you find a new way to sabotage it."

Ewroon snorts.

"Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be this merciful?"

"Yeah, excuse us, lowly creatures, for failing to understand your great plan," Ewroon snarks, looking at him with a scowl.

A chuckle escapes him.

"It's been a while since I heard your sarcasm," Multi muses, smiling so widely it almost hurts. "I'm almost getting nostalgic."

"It's been a while because you tried to kill me, you motherfucker."

"I didn't, though?" Multi waves a dismissing hand. "If I'd actually wanted that, you'd be dead already."

Something ugly flashes across Ewroon's face.

Hatred.

"You are the worst family I’ve ever had," Ewroon spats, but his voice is shaking. "I regret the day I met you. I should've slit your throat when I had a chance."

Multi's expression doesn't change.

"We were never family, Ewroon."

Silence falls over the laboratory once again.

After a long moment, Ewroon breaks eye contact first.

"What do you need his DNA for?" Ewroon asks weakly.

"You'll find out soon enough, but I'll give you a hint. I need a very specific trait from his DNA. A very characteristic trait."

His hands tighten around the bars.

"You won't get away from this. I will stop you."

The cage shakes violently.

"I will kill you."

A laugh slips past Multi's lips.

"Ewroon, Ewroon," he murmurs, tilting his head in amusement. "Did you really think I'd allow you to keep these memories?"

For the first time since waking up, Ewroon hesitates.

"Then why?"

"Because I wanted to see the look on your face when you realise there's nothing you can do."

Ewroon won't remember, and Multi can pay back even a little bit to that traitor.

Multi watches rage come back to his eyes, double the force as Ewroon reaches his hand through the bars and swings his claws in every direction, trying to catch him.

"You fucking—"

"Well." Multi claps his hands together and straightens. "I think that's all the time I have for you today."

Robotic arms spring to life and slide inside the cage, grabbing him by the limbs to hold him down.

Ewroon jerks back, but it's too late.

He trashes violently, frightening with everything he has left, but the sedative is still in his system. His movements lack their usual strength.

A needle descends from above.

"Multi, don't you fucking dare—"

The injector plunges into his neck.

The robotic arms lower him onto the cage floor as his consciousness slips away once more.

"Nighty night."

Multi doesn't turn back to look at him again and heads toward the exit.

Behind him, the robots immediately resume their work, tools unfolding from hidden compartments as they begin dismantling sections of Ewroon's armor.

The laboratory door slides shut with a quiet hiss.

His gaze drifts toward the corridor ahead.

"Let's see how Ash reacts."

A familiar patter of paws echoes through the hallway.

Seconds later, Yoko appears at his side.

Graf is in the North doing what he's supposed to be doing, and the rest of the Hussars are… occupied. He needs an assistant.

At least now she serves some purpose.

The dog carries a small plastic container by its handle.

Multi already knows what's inside.

But that can wait.

He scratches behind Yoko's ear before continuing down the corridor.

"I have a certain fox to visit."

"Who made ten trays of sernik?"

"I thought this would be a good time to introduce guests to a bit of Polish culture."

"Nexe, I swear, if I find a single raisin in any of those…"

His dog instantly looks guilty.

Multi resists the urge to put a leash around his neck and tie him to a tree for the duration of the party.

A very strong urge.

For a while. Multi had been convinced he still had plenty of time to prepare for the engagement party. Lately, no one burdened him with any major organisational tasks, which he foolishly interpreted as a good sign.

It turned out that the North simply hadn’t felt the need to ask for his opinion on most of the details.

They chose the time, the place, the theme, and even arranged the catering themselves.

The only contribution Husaria was allowed to make was the cake.

Multi received the guest list practically at the last possible moment and managed to make a few changes before anyone could stop him.

In hindsight, he probably should've expected that the side with actual money would get the final say in everything.

What he hadn't expected was for the party to take place in an enormous tent erected on the North's property.

Sunlight filtered through the transparent ceiling, spilling across cream-coloured drapes hanging from the support beams in soft waves. Strings of warm lights were woven between them, while clusters of greenery and white flowers hung overhead like floating gardens.

Round tables stretched across the wooden panels, dressed in white linen and decorated with polished silver, candles, and enough flowers to make Multi wonder how many had been sacrificed for the occasion.

Here and there, black accents broke up the sea of ivory and gold-dark table runners, black ribbons woven into some of the arrangements, a few touches so subtle they were almost swallowed by the rest.

It was elegant.

Excessively elegant.

Figures, royalty.

Guests begins to gradually fill the tent, bringing with them the scent of perfume and clothes that probably cost more than the entire Polish Cave (which wasn't difficult to achieve). Multi sees many faces for the first time, but recognises a few among the crowd. Most of them looks about as pleased to see him as he is to see them.

With one exception.

Tubbo waves at him from across the room, standing next to a tense Haiper who won’t even look in his direction.

Maybe it was a good idea to invite them.

At least he'll have some entertainment.

Conversations drift between the tables while servers move through the aisles carrying silver trays. There's lively chatter coming from all sides, people hugging each other in greeting as the sound of heels on the floor is muffled by the white carpets spread out everywhere.

In the middle of it all sit one particular table reserved for Multi, the Hussars, his fiancé, and some guy named Roier.

Needless to say, everyone avoided that table like the plague.

Bunch of useless snobs.

Leaning back in his chair, Multi watches Graf talking to Juan a few tables away. He is alone for the moment; Nexe had stepped outside to get some fresh air, still feeling weak after everything that had happened.

Ewroon, on the other hand, looks as if he had never felt better in his life. He moves from group to group with relentless enthusiasm, somehow remaining loud enough that Multi could hear him no matter where he went.

Quackity is nowhere in sight.

That's fine.

Multi's plan had been simple from the beginning: eat as much as possible at the North's expense and leave as soon as socially acceptable.

But his painfully human body was far from satisfied. Turns out, living on nothing but coffee and an occasional slice of toast isn't enough.

He heads toward the buffet with the intention of sneaking a few pastries before anyone can lecture him for eating before the party officially starts.

Halfway there, he notices someone else attempting the exact same mission.

A tall woman in a pink suit is quietly lifting cupcakes from a tray, though her idea of "quietly" involves glancing around every three seconds like a criminal in a children's cartoon.

Multi could ignore her and pretend not to notice.

Instead, he pauses.

The situation is just too funny.

Besides, he had technically been ordered to make an effort to socialize tonight. If he says a few words now, and she tells him to get lost, that should count as his entire quota for the evening.

"You know," Multi remarks, eyeing the cupcake in her hand. "Someone might think it's rude to eat before the party officially starts."

The woman snorts, turning to him but without stopping what she's doing.

"So what? Not my fault that everyone here is so stuck up."

"Wow." Multi folds his arms, almost impressed. "You're shameless."

"And you’re a jerk." She shrugs before taking another bite. "If I have to sit here all night with a fake smile pretending I’m having a good time, I deserve some kind of reward. Do you have a problem with that?"

"Not at all." Multi steps closer and reaches for the mini tart. "Scoot over. If we stand next to each other, it won’t be so obvious we’re stealing."

A grin spreads across her face.

"Aren't you one of the hosts? How exactly could you steal from your own party?"

"This party is about as much mine as those cupcakes are yours."

Multi takes a bite and edges a little closer, letting her block him from view.

"Damn, dude," she mumbles around a mouthful of cake, wincing theatrically. "That's sad. Maybe I’d feel sorry for you, but my blood sugar’s too low for all that empathy stuff."

Multi chuckles at that, genuinely surprised he doesn't hate this conversation.

It's been a while since he met a bearable human.

Well. Maybe not that long.

"Fair. Now give me the one with sprinkles before someone notices those icing stains on your sleeve."

She lifts her head from the tray abruptly, traces of blue icing still smeared on her lips, and Multi has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

"You're kidding."

"I'm not."

"Oh, fuck," she scowls, inspecting her sleeve. "Do you have any idea how long it took me to iron this? Looking this good takes effort."

"I can imagine." Multi nods gravely, trying his best not to snicker. "Now it's completely ruined. Tragic, really."

She sends him a death glare when Multi gives her a tissue. She snatches it, somehow managing to make the situation even worse.

"You're the worst host ever."

"Thank you, I'm actually flattered—"

The rest of the sentence dies in his throat when he suddenly feels a hand close around his wrist.

The star of the party has finally arrived.

"Multi!" Quackity beams at him. "I've been looking for you."

"It's not like I was hiding," Multi replies, raising an eyebrow. "I was just talking with—"

"Katie," she supplies, rescuing him from an uncomfortable pause.

Multi is almost relieved. Social interactions are painful enough without awkward silences.

He doesn't notice at first that her gaze flicks between them.

Then she gives them a look that Multi doesn't understand at all.

He feels Quackity release his wrist only to take his hand instead.

Multi glances down at their joined hands, confused, but he doesn't pull away.

"Katie, right."

Katie only looks more amused.

"Yep. I think your fiancé and I just became partners in crime."

Quackity narrows his eyes at her, and Multi has no idea where his usually over-friendly fiancé suddenly went.

Is he missing something?

"Isn't it great?" she adds innocently.

"Yeah. Great," Quackity repeats, but his smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Unfortunately, I'm stealing him. There's someone I need him to meet."

"Right now?" Multi asks.

He had barely found one tolerable person among all those polished circus monkeys.

"Now," Quackity says, his tone leaving no room for discussion.

"Go on, I'll survive."

She shoots him a wink, and without meaning to, Multi smiles back.

A second later, Quackity is steering him away from the buffet before he has a chance to respond.

"Why such a rush?" Multi asks, allowing himself to be dragged along. "You have all night long to torture me with social interactions."

Quackity doesn't stop, though his pace slows as he glances back over his shoulder.

"No reason." A smile tugs on his lips before he almost purrs: "You look good."

Multi could practically feel his gaze roaming over every detail of his black suit.

So, are they playing this game again?

Fine.

This time, however, Multi refuses to be the only one on the receiving end.

"Not as good as you, big star." He tilts his head slightly, letting his eyes linger on the other's suit. "It's very hard to keep my eyes off you."

Jackpot.

Quackity immediately turns bright red and ducks his head.

Somewhere along the way, they'd developed a habit of competing over who could come up with the most cheesy pickup line. Most of the time, he couldn't hope to win against his prince.

Today is finally an exception.

Multi savors his victory, but it's too early to back down.

He hooks two fingers beneath Quackity's chin, forcing him to look up. "If you're going to stare, at least let me enjoy the view too, księżniczko."

"You two get a room."

A man in a black suit, white shirt, and red tie looks at them with a smirk on his face.

Multi pulls his hand back reluctantly, scowling.

Apparently, he's not allowed to have nice things.

"That's the person I wanted you to meet," Quackity explains, the faint blush still lingering on his face. "Roier."

Roier offers him a hand, smiling friendly.

Multi isn't a fan of physical contact with strangers, but first impressions matter. He gets the distinct feeling that Roier is important to Quackity.

He's not sure what to think about any of this, but he'll unpack it later when his brain isn't running on full capacity just to not get overstimulated.

So he reaches out—

Only to realise halfway through that Quackity is still holding his right hand.

Now, isn't that embarrassing?

Roier lets out a snort.

Multi can't even blame him.

They look ridiculous.

When Multi subtly spreads his fingers in what he hopes is a hint to let go, Quackity pretends not to notice.

"No mames, you two are impossible," Roier laughs, shaking his head. "Relax, bro. Nobody's trying to steal him."

Despite himself, Multi chuckles and turns his head away when Quackity besides him shoots him a deeply offended look.

"What?" Roier asks innocently. "You look at him like he's going to vanish if you stop touching him for more than thirty seconds."

"I do not."

"You absolutely do."

"I don't."

"You followed him across half the party because he talked to another person for five minutes."

Multi loses the fight against his composure and bursts out laughing.

Were people always this funny?

Maybe not going out of his lab really makes him miss out.

Nah.

Roier lights up, clearly pleased with himself.

Quackity, meanwhile, looks personally betrayed.

He launches into an animated argument with him in Spanish, gesturing with his one free hand.

Roier replies without missing a beat, but judging by their expressions, at least half of them are sarcastic and another half are curses.

They're talking really fast, and Multi wonders if this is what Nexe and Ewron's arguments look like from the outside perspective.

He wouldn't wish this on most people—aside from Ash.

Multi doesn't understand a word, but fortunately, they are not the only ones at the party who speak two languages.

"Wow," he mutters. "Rozmowa chuja z butem."

They both look at him.

Roier seems amused, but Quackity looks at him strangely.

"You and I need to get to know each other later," Roier decides, patting him on the shoulder. "I need to meet the person who somehow convinced this guy to stop flirting with everything that moves."

Before Multi can ask what exactly that means, Juan's voice suddenly echoes through the tent speakers.

"Welcome, everyone. Please take your seats. We'll be starting shortly."

"There goes my chance to expose him," Roier sighs dramatically.

"C'mon." Quackity nudges Multi's shoulder. "We need to sit down."

Multi follows without protest.

By the time they reach their table, almost everyone is already there.

Graf waves at them, saying something to Roier in Spanish, while Nexe stares blankly at his empty plate.

Everyone except one person.

Oh, no.

Absolutely not.

Don't tell him—

"Hey, guys. How are you doing?" Ewroon's voice booms through the microphone. "I'm Ewroon from Poland, and I'll be responsible for making this party absolutely lit!"

Multi buries his face in his hands.

Who let him speak?

"First, round of applause for our beautiful couple!" Ewroon announces, causing everyone to stare at them. Fucking great. "To be completely honest, I didn't believe this would work out, considering our scientist's rather gloomy-I-don't-need-anyone-go-away personality. The odds weren't exactly in favour. No offense, Multi. You know how much I love you, brother."

You don't.

You just don't remember.

"Multi and I have known each other for a long time. We literally live together in a cave, so I'd say we're pretty close."

Multi already dislikes where this is going.

"And I have to admit, ever since he got engaged, I've noticed a change in him."

A collective murmur passes through the crowd.

Multi wants to kill him.

"We'll find out after the wedding whether that's a change for the better or for the worse."

Laughter erupts across the tent.

Multi briefly wonders whether setting the stage on fire would still be considered socially unacceptable.

Probably.

"And Quackity," Ewroon says, something in his voice changing as he smiles slightly. "Take care of him for us, okay?"

Co ty pierdolisz, człowieku.

If this is what Ewroon came up with for the engagement party, he doesn't even want to imagine what kind of speech he's planning for the wedding.

Multi steals a glance at Quackity.

His gaze never leaves the stage.

Multi can't quite describe the expression on his face. His eyebrows are mildly raised, as if he's still trying to process what he just heard. The lights strung across the tent reflect in his slightly widened eyes, scattering tiny flecks of gold across his irises.

"With that being said," Ewroon continues cheerfully, completely oblivious to the damage he's causing, "I need a partner for the Spanish parts of 'Libre'. I'm keeping 'Kapitan' for the actual wedding."

Who even invited him?

"Any volunteers?"

Why does Multi see Roier raising his hand?

Before Ewroon can open his infuriating mouth again, Juan strides across the stage and practically rips the microphone out of his hands.

The crowd laughs, and Multi utters a quiet curse under his breath.

"What is Kapitan?" Quackity asks immediately.

A fucking humiliation ritual.

"You don't want to know," Multi answers without hesitation.

Quackity leans forward, meeting his eyes.

"What if I do?"

"What?"

"I know we speak different languages, but I've never actually heard you speak Polish. I'm just curious. Graf taught me maybe five words, and three of them were swear words."

Multi has no idea where that came from.

He raises an eyebrow.

"It's not like you speak Spanish around me."

"That's because you don't speak yours, so I don't speak mine." Quackity shrugs. "We can change that, though."

If Multi really thinks about it, he can't remember ever speaking Polish around Quackity.

Graf speaks Spanish fluently, so he uses that instead. Nexe does his best with broken English. Out of all of them, only Ewroon enjoys speaking Polish to people who don't understand a single word of it.

And Quackity hasn't met him yet, aside from that ridiculous 'speech'.

"Jeśli chcesz, to czemu nie? Nie mam nic przeciwko."

"Así que sabes hablar polaco," Quackity chuckles.

"Szczerze mówiąc, nigdy nie sądziłem, że to cię zainteresuje, więc nawet nie próbowałem. Ale jeśli chcesz, mogę nauczyć cię kilku słów."

For a moment, Quackity just stares at him, but a smile never leaves his face.

"What now?"

"Nothing." His gaze softens, and Multi suddenly feels very strange. "You just sound more comfortable."

"I always sound the same."

"No, you don't."

Multi honestly doesn't feel any difference, but he's not going to argue about it.

Whatever his prince says.

"I think that's bound to happen when you speak your native language."Multi leans in closer so he can hear him over the noise of the party. "And if you want to learn some words, don't worry. Soon enough, Graf will start making rounds with cytrynówka and Soplica. I guarantee you'll hear more Polish than you'll ever need."

Quackity giggles, and Multi has to fight to keep his poker face on.

"It sounds like a threat."

"It is," he states seriously, though judging by Quackity's amused eyes, he's not doing the best job. "The first mistake was letting Ewroon anywhere near the microphone. Any minute now, he'll start singing his piosenka o chlebie. If they play Myslovitz, even Graf will join in."

"I have no idea what any of that means."

"That's what makes it interesting, isn't it?" He nods toward the other side of their table. "If you get lost, just ask. Either Graf or I can explain anything you want."

"Hm." Quackity taps a finger against his glass. "Fine. But in exchange, you have to let me teach you some Spanish."

Figures.

"I can't have my fiancé walking around knowing zero Spanish." Quackity places a hand over his chest in mock horror. "What a scandal."

"No mames," Multi mutters solemnly. "I'm being offered such a generous deal."

Quackity turns to him so fast he nearly spills his drink.

"So you do know something."

"Nah. I just repeated what Roier said earlier. Other than that, he talks way too fast for me to catch a single word."

"You'll learn."

"I think you have too much faith in me."

"Nothing about faith," Quackity shoots back, leaning forward across the table. His eyes gleam with challenge. "I'm going to shove that language down your throat so hard you'll end up thinking in Spanish."

A laugh rumbles in Multi's chest.

"So now we're just threatening each other," he muses, unable to hide amusement in his tone. "Cute."

"Isn't it why we're so compatible?"

Multi won't let him have it that easily.

"I wasn't aware we were."

"No te metas conmigo," Quackity teases, not-so-lightly punching him in the arm.

Multi doesn't even try to defend himself.

"Ouch, ouch," he grunts, rubbing his innocent arm. "Violence against your beloved fiancé?"

"Oi, cabrón," Quackity says in warning, although the smile threatening to break through completely ruins the effect. "Don't you dare."

Multi lifts both hands in surrender.

"Cofam wszystko."

Quackity narrows his eyes suspiciously.

"You don't."

"I don't."

Multi doesn't even try to pretend otherwise.

His gaze flickers over Quackity's face for a moment before a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"Maybe I wasn't convinced at first, but I'm starting to think you might actually be right."

He isn't given a chance to enjoy the moment.

A voice he really doesn't want to hear slithers through his thoughts.

Pretty little thing.

Multi's smile vanishes.

Hands. Off. Motherfucker.

"Multi?" Quackity asks, frowning slightly.

He's completely unaware of a long, skeletal finger tracing the line of his cheekbone.

It is looking at Multi the entire time.

Multi has no idea what expression is currently on his face.

Whatever it is, Quackity notices.

He wants to wrap both hands around that unnaturally long neck and squeeze until something snaps.

It just giggles, delighted to finally get attention as it sways from side to side.

It peers at Multi upside down over Quackity's shoulder, its neck twisted far beyond what should be possible.

Fucking monster.

Not today.

You got what you wanted.

Back. The. Fuck. Off.

Multi blinks and once again, the space behind Quackity is empty.

"Are you okay?"

Right.

People.

Party.

Were they sitting that close to each other the entire time?

If Multi could focus, he would be able to count his eyelashes from that distance.

"Sorry." He rubs a hand across his face. "Got distracted. What were you saying?"

"Multi!" Ewroon cuts in, throwing an arm around his shoulders before Multi can escape. "You have to drink with us! Graf already poured me three shots, and I'm not blacking out alone tonight."

Multi fixes him with a flat look.

The idiot knows perfectly well what a lightweight he is.

Before he can tell Ewroon exactly where he can shove those shots, his watch vibrates against his wrist.

The screen lights up.

Now isn't that inconvenient?

He glances down at the notification, then back at the group.

"Ask Quackity first." Multi slips out from under Ewroon's arm. "You two meeting is  long overdue anyway."

Before either of them can stop him, he melts into the crowd.

Laughter, music, and the clatter of dishes blur together as he threads his way between guests drifting from table to table. Waiters weave through the tent carrying silver trays piled high with food, forcing him to sidestep more than once before he finally slips outside.

The evening sun is beginning to sink behind the trees, staining the forest edge gold and black. Multi expects to have to look for them.

He doesn't.

Cucurucho stands in plain sight between the trunks, pale against the shadows.

Waiting.

Anyone passing by could've noticed them.

That alone is enough to put Multi on edge.

"Why are you here?"

"Did you do what we asked for?"

Cucurucho stands hidden in the shade of the trees, towering over him like a marble statue so captivating you almost miss all of its cracks. They look down at him, and Multi has to hide just how much he dislikes it.

The setting sun twists the shadows of the branches across their figure, giving them an illusion of wings. Not the wings of an animal, but of something fallen―tattered and broken, never meant for mortal eyes to witness.

"Yes," Multi replies, trying not to look them in the hollow eyes. "The list is almost ready."

The Federation already delivered what he'd asked for in return for the last time.

Now it was his turn again.

An endless cycle of quid pro quo.

But this time, something's wrong.

"Why now?"

Cucurucho knows better than this.

They know he's far more useful when people don't know about his connection to them.

So why come here?

At the party this large, someone could stumble across them at any moment.

The risk was unnecessary.

They could've sent him one of their usual 'invitations' later. Or even a simple message.

There was no reason for the federation's poster child to appear in person.

Why the sudden change?

Out of nowhere, Cucurucho places a white chest on the ground between them. Before Multi can ask, all he hears is "I hope you enjoy the island," before Cucurucho disappears as fast and soundlessly as always.

In the blink of an eye, they're gone.

Multi stares at the chest.

None of this makes sense.

Why meet him now?

Why leave physical evidence behind?

What are they planning?

Whatever it is, it can't be good for him.

They always followed a pattern. A very disruptive, annoying but clear pattern of behaviour—always out of sight, even excessively careful.

Multi knew what to expect from them thanks to it.

For some reason, Cucurucho just broke it.

Too much.

Just too much.

Someone is here.

What?

Multi turns sharply the moment the camera flash explodes in his vision.

For a moment, all he sees are white spots dancing across his eyes.

Then comes the sound of hurried footsteps as if someone is running away like their life depends on it.

Not fast enough.

Not before Multi catches a glimpse of who it is.

Ishan.

Shit.

Ishan has a photo of him standing over an open Federation chest with Cucurucho's unmistakable smile clearly visible from the angle.

Ishan, the owner of the island's largest (and only) newspaper.

That's bad.

That's really bad.

But Multi barely has the time to think about that before another thought forces its way to the front of his mind.

How did it know?

Multi didn't notice Ishan approaching.

The man had gotten close enough to take a photo without Multi realising he was there.

He wouldn't know at all if not for the shutter.

So it couldn’t have been his subconscious warning him.

Slowly, Multi shifts his gaze from the forest where Ishan disappeared back to the creature still standing right beside him, watching him closely.

Multi tilts his head back until he's looking directly in those impossibly large void eyes.

The first time he's done so in a long while.

He still can't tell what colour they are.

"Were you trying to warn me?"

It bends down, lowering itself until its face is almost level with his own. Multi can see the outline of something moving beneath the skin.

A spine.

Or something that resembles one.

The bones jut outward unnaturally, pressing against flesh stretched too tightly over them, as though they were trying to tear their way free.

That's not possible.

Unless…

Unless it isn't a―

"There you are!"

Quackity's voice cuts through his thoughts like a knife.

Multi startles.

He marches toward him with enough determination that Multi instinctively straightens.

What's worse, he looks pissed.

Fuck, why now?

"Shouldn't you be inside?" Multi asks, shifting slightly to block the spot where the chest had been just moments ago.

It's not there anymore.

Quackity doesn't even glance in that direction.

"We need to talk."

"Now?"

"Now."

Something in Multi's head screams that he should leave now, because there will be no turning back after this moment, but his feet remain rooted to the ground.

"Okay?"

"No, not okay. In fact, very far from okay."

There are so many things he could be referring to right now. Multi swears that if Ewroon told him anything—

"I've had fucking enough."

For a moment, he runs a hand through his hair, visibly trying to collect himself.

Multi doesn't know what to say.

Or do.

"I tried," he continues, his voice rising despite himself. "I tried to be patient. I tried to be understanding. But you're making it impossible."

Of all the things he could have expected, Multi didn't expect that.

"You always do this. You disappear. You don't tell me shit. Every time I try to get close to you, you hide behind someone else."

He starts counting on his fingers.

"First Nexe. Then Graf. Now Ewroon."

Multi just stares, unable to do anything, as his mind is trying to comprehend what is happening.

"Do you really think I didn't notice?"

Multi opens his mouth.

Closes it again.

"And even when we are together, you still don't tell me anything."

Multi doesn't understand.

"You act all sweet and caring, but then you don't even ask how my day was."

Sweet? Caring?

Him?

Multi is literally the worst person Quackity could be engaged to.

"I kept telling myself that maybe you just need time. So I gave you time," Quackity laughs bitterly as he starts to pace back and forth.

Multi's eyes never leave him.

Just why?

"So I went out of my way to spend time with you. I put in effort. And after all this time, I still don't know anything about you."

Multi must look ridiculous standing there with his eyes wide open, but he can't do anything else while his brain keeps repeating in a loop: Why would you want to know anything about me?

Quackity should hate him.

It's not hard.

Everyone else already does.

"And you don't know anything about me either. Because you never planned on actually getting to know me, didn't you?"

Multi thought he was doing him a favour.

Keeping him at a distance so he doesn't have to witness… everything.

But he didn't want that.

He didn't want Quackity to look at him as if his actions genuinely hurt him.

"I practically have to hunt you down just to see you because you never come looking for me," Quackity almost whispers, looking away.

Is that why he kept showing up at the cave? Or sending messages asking where he was?

Multi isn't used to people wanting to see him of their own free will.

"And there's your lab."

Multi freezes.

"When you left me with Nexe, I asked if I could see it. He got all tense and told me you never let people in there," Quackity snarks, hurt turning into anger once again. "But Ewroon told me he was there."

Fucking panda and his loose tongue.

Multi should've ripped it out a long time ago.

"And now this? You disappearing from our engagement party?"

The word our makes something twist unpleasantly in Multi's chest.

"How are you any better than them?"

Them?

"I'm done. I'm done being patient. I have questions. You're going to answer. And don't even think about selling me this green energy bullshit because I know it's not true."

So he knows.

Quackity knows his reputation.

And he still stayed.

Right now, Multi faces a decision that probably would determine the course of their relationship.

He could lie.

But he could also tell the truth.

The consequences could be disastrous, but isn't that what he wanted to begin with?

Understanding?

"You're right," Multi confirms. No more hiding. "I never expected us to stay in contact after the wedding."

"Why?"

"I assumed you'd want nothing to do with me after you learned what people say about me. I was wrong about you."

When was the last time he said that to someone?

"You want answers? I'll give them to you."

Quackity's face lights up with something almost like hope, and Multi can't help but smile.

"Does it mean?"

"Yes. I'll take you to the reactor." Multi nods and reaches to grab his hand. He gives it a gentle squeeze and feels Quackity squeeze back. "But promise me one thing."

"Okay?"

Multi takes a deep breath.

No turning back now.

"If you don't like what I do, you won't tell anyone."

Quackity furrows his brow.

"I'm offended you'd even think that I'd do that."

"Quackity, I'm serious," Multi says quietly, tightening his grip on his hand before he can stop himself. "This is very important, and I'm trusting you. I have no guarantee that you won’t tell anyone, apart from your word."

"I won't," Quackity mutters. The irritation drains from his face, replaced by something softer. Something earnest. "I promise."

Multi forces himself to relax.

He trusts him.

Or at least he wants to.

"Just a warning," he adds after a moment. "But this is not something most people can take easily."

"I'm not that weak," Quackity scoffs, rolling his eyes.

"I know."

There are so many things Multi wants to tell him.

But not with half of the island only a few dozen meters away.

Unfortunately, someone else seems to have a plan to bother him this evening.

A familiar figure emerges from the shadows, heading straight toward them.

Multi suppresses a sight.

Of course.

He really can't catch a break tonight.

"We have to talk."

Ash doesn't bother with a greeting.

Or an apology for interrupting.

Always with the worst timing possible.

Multi has a feeling he isn't here to congratulate them.

"No, you don't," Quackity cuts in before Multi can even open his mouth. "Can't you see we're busy?"

Ash already looks irritated.

Possibly.

It's always hard to tell with him.

"It won't take long."

"Then it can wait."

Ash doesn't look like he'll back down, and Multi knows he won't be able to get rid of him today.

He'd rather not do this here, but apparently, he has no choice.

"It's okay," Multi says, looking back at his fiancé. "I'll handle it."

Quackity doesn't look remotely pleased by that answer.

"Aren't you the one who just told me you were going to show me something?" he asks, as if Ash isn't standing right there.

"I did."

"And now you're ditching me."

It isn't really a question.

Multi almost smiles.

"I promise I'll tell you everything later."

For a moment, Quackity studies him carefully, as if trying to determine whether this is another excuse.

Multi doesn't look away.

Eventually, Quackity sighs heavily.

"Fine."

Quackity glares one last time at Ash, and if looks could kill, Ash would be long dead.

Multi feels something warm settle beneath his ribs.

"I'll be right over there," Quackity adds, fixing Multi with a stern look. "Don't do anything stupid."

After one final squeeze of his hand, he reluctantly lets go and walks away.

Multi doesn't look at Ash until he speaks again.

"What did you do to Ewroon?"

Straight to it, huh?

"I don't understand what you mean," Multi feigns ignorance, though they both know Ash doesn't believe him in the slightest. "I didn't do anything."

"Don't bullshit me, Multi," Ash almost growls, but if that was supposed to be a warning, it fails miserably. "I know you did something."

Ash takes a step forward, but Multi keeps his gaze fixed somewhere over Ash's shoulder.

"Ash, what are you even doing here? As far as I remember, I invited Tubbo and Haiper. Not you."

"I came because I know you've been avoiding me," Ash snorts humorlessly. "And I'm not leaving until I get the whole truth out of you."

So maybe their silent agreement to stay out of each other's way had only existed in Multi's head.

"Can you at least not make a scene at my engagement party?"

"One last time." Ash takes another step forward, jaw clenched so tightly it looks painful. "What did you do to Ewroon?"

This is getting exhausting.

Like arguing with a broken record that only knows one sentence.

"Could you be more specific?"

"Ewroon was acting strange." Ash's voice sharpens, barely concealing the obvious worry on his face. "He could barely stay on his feet. He told me something was wrong with the armour, that he was showing symptoms of radiation exposure. You're the only person who could've tampered with it."

Fucking cockroach.

Multi always knew Ewroon and Ash were far too close for his liking. That was the second reason he'd made those adjustments in the first place.

He wanted to know exactly how much Ewroon was telling people about things he should've kept to himself.

Apparently, quite a lot.

Once a traitor, always a traitor.

"And then suddenly he's fine?" Ash continues, throwing his hands up. "Completely fine. Doesn't remember any of it. Doesn't remember telling me anything. It's like he turned into a different person overnight."

"Wow, Ash." Multi finally looks at him. Watching his tantrum bores him to death. "Things aren't going your way, and somehow it's my fault again. Why do you think I'm to blame for everything bad that happens to you?"

"Because I know it was you."

"Do you?"

"Yes," Ash answers without missing a beat.

It's not Multi's fault, though.

It's Ewroon's.

But he doubts Ash would understand it.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm the bad guy in your story," Multi drawls. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"Stop treating me like I'm stupid," Ash grits out through clenched teeth.

"Whatever, man, but it's getting weird, you know?" Multi counters, tilting his head. "This obsession you have with me, I mean."

Ash stares at him as though he'd just grown a second head.

"Me? Obsessed with you? Are you hearing yourself?"

"How else would you describe it?" Multi asks lightly. "You show up at my engagement party, and somehow we end up talking about me. Again. Everything is about me. Everything is my fault. All you ever talk about is what a huge part of your life I am."

He lets out a short laugh.

"I barely even know you."

The sentence leaves a strange taste in his mouth.

Wrong somehow.

But he doesn't know Ash.

Apart from a few interactions where they mutually agreed they hated each other, Multi barely spoke to him.

So why—

Before he can catch the feeling, it's already gone.

Ash looks furious.

"Because it's true," he snaps. "I know you're hiding something. And I'm going to stop you. I'll expose you to everyone, and nobody's going to believe that eco-friendly bullshit ever again."

You'll have to get in line.

Multi pinches the bridge of his nose.

"You done?"

Multi's completely fed up with this conversation.

This is what happens when he leaves the lab.

Fucking humans.

He needs a break from all these people who are driving him crazy.

"I'm not." Ash grabs his shoulder as he turns to leave. "Don't you fucking dare walk away."

Multi glances at the hand in disgust before looking back at him.

"Watch me."

He pulls free, but pauses instead of leaving.

Isn't this actually a good opportunity?

"Although, if we're assigning blame..." His mouth curls into something almost resembling a smile. "Isn't this technically your fault?"

Ash blinks.

"What?"

"I'm not responsible for your relationship with Ewroon." Multi shrugs. "If he's avoiding you, doesn't want to talk to you, keeps things from you..." He trails off. "Maybe you messed something up."

Multi sees Ash clenching his fists so tightly they're shaking, but he has no intention of stopping now.

"Just say what you're trying to say," Ash presses, taking another step forward.

Someone here clearly hasn't heard of personal space.

"Don't you think he finally realised what a pathetic failure of a leader you are?" Multi sneers, thoroughly enjoying the look of shock on Ash's face. "Honestly, now I almost regret not being involved, but turns out I didn't have to. You did all the work yourself."

One thing teenage life has taught him was that id didn't matter who started the fight.

What mattered was who finish it.

And who can play the victim better.

Unfortunately, Multi underestimated the power of Ash’s punches.

The first blow crashes into his nose and sends his head snapping back. His balance disappears instantly. One second he's standing, he's stumbling backwards and hitting the ground hard enough to knock the air from his lungs.

Ash is on him immediately.

Another punch.

And another.

Furiously screaming words Multi can't understand.

Multi throws his arms up to shield his face, but his head is spinning too badly. Ash's figure blurs in and out of focus above him, smeared around the edges like wet paint.

Something warm trickles behind his ear.

Kurwa.

A rock.

His skull must have struck a rock when he fell.

After that, time stops making sense.

Pain from one hit bleeds into the next until he can no longer tell them apart. He tries to fight back, tries to shove Ash off, but Ash is stronger than him on a good day.

And now Multi can barely see him.

After what felt like both an eternity and only a second, the weight is finally lifted from his chest.

Someone yanks Ash away.

Hands grab Multi under the arms and help him sit upright, but the world won't stop tilting long enough for him to see who it is.

Sound comes back in incoherent fragments.

A handkerchief pressed against his nose.

A hand on the back of his neck, forcing his head down.

Quackity screaming.

Out of the corner of his eye, Multi catches a glimpse of his fiancé gripping Ash by the lapels of his suit, fury blazing in his eyes.

Something crashes in the distance.

Someone bumps into a waiter, sending trays full of glasses crashing to the floor.

Shards scatter across the dance floor, glittering under the now turned on lights like a shattered stain glass.

Somewhere in the chaos, someone shouts that the curtains have caught fire.

Smoke begins rolling under the tent ceiling, and panic ripples through the crowd almost instantly.

A person carrying a fire extinguisher rushes past them, trying to force their way through the sea of guests, while others push toward the exits in a desperate attempt to get outside.

In their haste, people start tripping over chairs.

Over each other.

Over the tent's supports and tangled decorations.

The entire structure shudders under the strain, swaying dangerously as screams rise around it.

Once.

Twice.

Until with a deafening groan the tent finally gives way and collapses in on itself.

The engagement party ends before the appetizers are even served.