Nostos 39
Title: Nóstos 39
Summary: This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang, not with a whimper, but with Change. After the bombs fall, Critic must lead his people on an epic journey in search of a place to call home.
Characters/Pairings: Linkara/Spoony, Linkara/Marzgurl, Critic/Chick, Tom/Mickey
Rating: R- descriptions of death, violence, sexual abuse, and angst.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. This work is based on characters played by the great guys at Channel Awesome.
Author's Note: This is a full blown post apocalyptic rewrite of Kickassia (with added superpowers!). Somewhere between an homage and a parody of post-apocalyptic movies, it makes deliberate use of tropes common to the genre. For those interested, a list of tropes and references will be provided at the end.
Warning and Triggers: For a homage/parody, this is a serious fic. It includes references to mental illness, child abuse, sexual abuse, incest, sexual assault, rape, torture, dub-con situations, good people doing bad things, bad people doing worse things, and issues dealing with gray morality. Please do not read if any of this may trigger you. Warnings include character death, violence, descriptions of gore, and some surprisingly mild sexual content.
Personal Disclaimer: The thoughts and actions of the characters do not reflect the personal feelings or opinions of the author
The door to the bedroom was child's play for Insano to open.
Linkara couldn't hide his unease when the lock slid back. The alter accomplished it so easily it didn't even rate a laugh, and how many times had Linkara woken shaking from nightmares of just this very thing?
Set loose in the inventory room, Insano clapped his hands in glee. Soon he sat cross-legged, surrounded by the innards of a half-dozen radios, a screwdriver clenched between his teeth.
It was all play to him, even this. The construction of a device meant to disable Critic if possible, but with the potential to kill him if necessary.
Device?
No, though it would have been nice to pretend. For all his genius, Insano built only to destroy. Heat-rays, micro-explosives, his signature laser guns.
Weapons.
The weapons that would have freed Spoony when he was a child, if only he'd chosen to use them. If only he hadn't loved his mother enough to stay.
Spoony endured, but when Insano played it was to win.
Critic had warned Linkara of Insano when he first joined Channel Awesome. He'd been vague on the details, but the message had been clear.
'Don't approach. Don't talk to him. Don't fucking look at him. Call me and let me deal with it.'
But Linkara hadn't understood, had thought his new boss was being his usual melodramatic self.
Until he stumbled across the alter taking potshots at the pigeons on the roof of their office building.
He wasn't being cruel. Didn't understand cruelty, because he didn't understand consequences. Insano had been the first of them, the first splintering, and would always see the world through a child's eyes.
That was what Linkara knew of Insano. Laughter, and the frantic rush of wings.
"If Critic comes at you, don't hesitate," he told the alter now, "But if you can...just try not to hurt him."
Insano wasn't listening. Too busy with his straps and wires, making himself a spiderweb gauntlet that wound around his wrist and fingers. He pulled the last buckle tight and admired his own handiwork with a hum of satisfaction.
"What does it do?" Linkara asked.
"Science!"
Insano's grin was wide, bordering on grotesque, but there was no true madness in it. He was simply happy, joyous in this moment of creation
And why? Why couldn't this pride belong to Spoony? Everyone feared powerful emotions to some extent, but Spoony had gone further. Crushing down his intellect, remaking himself as someone lesser.
And Linkara had been party to it, had helped convince Spoony his own mind was something to fear.
"Let's see it," he suggested, because how often did Insano get to show off?
The scientist raised his hand, and Linkara had just enough time to marvel at his own stupidity.
Flat on his back, ears ringing, he could only shake his head. Or try, a struggle with his muscles still twitching from the aftershocks.
Insano bent over him, upside down from Linkara's new perspective. "Well?"
"Uh...ow?"
The alter frowned. "You shouldn't still be talking," he grumbled, and set to fussing with the tiny bands circling his knuckles.
Linkara had to use the shelves to drag himself upright. "Some kind of taser?" he guessed once his vision cleared, "No! No more demonstrations. Use your words."
Insano pouted, but only briefly. He launched into a lecture on neuromuscular incapacitation, but Linkara was too enraptured by the pink flush at the alter's cheeks to pay much heed to his words.
"You're amazing."
He spoke softly, but it shut Insano up. He eyed Linkara warily, waiting for the punch line.
"You are. Hasn't anyone ever told you that?"
The alter ducked his head, his grin sliding into something more vulnerable. He was showing his youth with this shy pleasure at being acknowledged, and of course Linkara kissed him then. Just gently, on the high forehead, the spiral lenses of the goggles.
"If he comes at you, do not hesitate." Because he couldn't lose him again, this man who was Spoony and so much more. Beautiful and brilliant and broken, and Linkara's very own. "You come back, you hear me?"
"No one defeats me!" Insano said, but there was no confidence there, not while Linkara still stood so close. He tilted his head, so tentative, shaking himself to pieces when Linkara pressed their lips together.
It wasn't at all like kissing Spoony. There was no ease to Insano, just a clumsy clash of teeth that left Linkara bruised.
"Can I?" Insano whined against his lips.
'Can I? I want them to know, Lewis, want them to see…'
The alter was a biter, but that suited Linkara just fine. If the worst should happen, he would have this, the bloody wound and the scar that would come of it.
He took his time when it was his turn, sucking slow and gentle. Branding Insano (Spoony) with his sign, a mark of what they were to each other.
"Go," Linkara told him when he was satisfied, "Kick his ass with science."
Reversing the camera feed took Insano less than a minute.
They sighed when they saw Critic. Curled up in his chair like a mantis, all long limbs and sharp angles.
Sleeping, and peacefully by the look of it, his brow smooth, his face untroubled. They took it as an insult, that he should slumber on while they paced and waited for Insano to win the day.
But sleeping was good. It meant there would be no need for battle and bloodshed. It meant a swift end to a terrible game.
Of would have, if only Insano had played by the rules.
The door opened with a soft click and a swish, and still Critic slept.
They looked down at him together. Just a man, stinking of sweat and with drool on his cheek.
But this man had taken a chance on Spoony. Had been the first to show him friendship, back when the world had been an unfamiliar and threatening place. Had pushed him to make something more of himself than a headline horror story.
And this man had shut Insano out, helped to stifle his mind and his talents. Had stolen his toys, had ripped them from his hands and hidden them away, a villain more cruel than the mother who haunted him still, with her soft hands and hard heart.
Not this time.
Not when the computer was so close. Calling to him, whispering of turrets and doors and power.
And only this man (friend) in his (their) way.
Insano raised his hand.
Critic woke to laughter.
To laughter, but also to screaming. A riot of hideous sound, and all from one man.
Or not. The lab coat was a ghost, fading in and out in a strobing flicker. The outstretched hand in its wire cage shook, fingers curling in as Insano and Spoony fought for control over the limb.
That Critic still drew breath was Spoony's doing. He understood that at a glance, knew this war was being fought on his behalf. Insano had meant to kill him while he slept, and Critic supposed he should have been grateful for the reprieve.
And maybe he would be later, when he was through being pissed right the fuck off.
He had waited so very long. Daydreaming of this moment, the forms treachery might take, the press of a gun muzzle at his temple. Gentle fantasies of shocking pain and sudden darkness, and instead they'd given him this.
Critic kicked off from his chair and floated up. Pulled his gun free with one hand and took hold of the remote with the other.
"You fail," he said, and that should have been it.
It should have been over.
But he hesitated as Insano settled into his skin and straightened. It would have been fitting, for it to be the scientist who let him rest, because Critic alone understood just what the man was capable of.
Too often in his life Spoony had woken to a stranger in his bed. Most of his guests were happy enough to flee when they saw his panic, and it had been something of a blessing that he could not remember the things SWS did to leave him sticky and sore.
But there had been one man who refused to leave. Who heard 'no', and took it for 'more'.
When Critic had answered the call he'd taken it for a prank at first. The garbled sounds in his ears had been barely comprehensible as speech, reminding him more of the dog he'd owned briefly in his youth and the sounds it made when the car wheels rolled over it. Low, thick.
Wet.
Ten seconds of confusion, and he'd known it was Spoony, though he couldn't have said how. Chick hadn't been happy when Critic bolted from their bed to make the long drive across town to the other man's apartment.
He didn't bother with knocking, just threw the unlocked door wide. The confusion then had been so much worse. Everywhere red, and the smell of warm pennies heavy in the air.
And in the middle of it Spoony.
Critic had cleaned his friend up first. Then cleaned up in general, trying hard not to think about what the bits and pieces had once been.
"Do you remember that bastard you turned into chunky soup?" Critic asked now, "I admired you for that one."
Insano shrugged, hand still raised, waiting for an opening. "He had it coming."
Critic nodded in easy agreement, but he wondered if it would have changed things. Would they have trusted Insano with this, if Critic had shared the story of that night and the blood he'd washed from Spoony's hair?
"You took it away. You took them all," Insano grumbled.
A silver cylinder pried from Spoony's slick fingers. No bigger than a pencil, and it had been hard to believe something so small could cause such devastation.
How many similar weapons had Critic confiscated over the years? Enough to fill two safes, and he'd been working on a third when the bombs fell.
"I'm sorry," Critic said, "You know I can't let you win."
Because the greatest weapon of all was within Insano's reach. A military computer, and who knew what secrets it held? It wouldn't be just Critic's own people at risk but the world, what little there was left of it.
And again he should have pressed the button, even traced its edges with his thumbs. But again he hesitated, because he wanted to lose, had been preparing so long for defeat that victory was unthinkable.
"I can't let you win," he told Insano, "But Spoony, if you can hear me...prove to me you're still in there.
"You want the remote? Come and get it."
Next
Summary: This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang, not with a whimper, but with Change. After the bombs fall, Critic must lead his people on an epic journey in search of a place to call home.
Characters/Pairings: Linkara/Spoony, Linkara/Marzgurl, Critic/Chick, Tom/Mickey
Rating: R- descriptions of death, violence, sexual abuse, and angst.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. This work is based on characters played by the great guys at Channel Awesome.
Author's Note: This is a full blown post apocalyptic rewrite of Kickassia (with added superpowers!). Somewhere between an homage and a parody of post-apocalyptic movies, it makes deliberate use of tropes common to the genre. For those interested, a list of tropes and references will be provided at the end.
Warning and Triggers: For a homage/parody, this is a serious fic. It includes references to mental illness, child abuse, sexual abuse, incest, sexual assault, rape, torture, dub-con situations, good people doing bad things, bad people doing worse things, and issues dealing with gray morality. Please do not read if any of this may trigger you. Warnings include character death, violence, descriptions of gore, and some surprisingly mild sexual content.
Personal Disclaimer: The thoughts and actions of the characters do not reflect the personal feelings or opinions of the author
The door to the bedroom was child's play for Insano to open.
Linkara couldn't hide his unease when the lock slid back. The alter accomplished it so easily it didn't even rate a laugh, and how many times had Linkara woken shaking from nightmares of just this very thing?
Set loose in the inventory room, Insano clapped his hands in glee. Soon he sat cross-legged, surrounded by the innards of a half-dozen radios, a screwdriver clenched between his teeth.
It was all play to him, even this. The construction of a device meant to disable Critic if possible, but with the potential to kill him if necessary.
Device?
No, though it would have been nice to pretend. For all his genius, Insano built only to destroy. Heat-rays, micro-explosives, his signature laser guns.
Weapons.
The weapons that would have freed Spoony when he was a child, if only he'd chosen to use them. If only he hadn't loved his mother enough to stay.
Spoony endured, but when Insano played it was to win.
Critic had warned Linkara of Insano when he first joined Channel Awesome. He'd been vague on the details, but the message had been clear.
'Don't approach. Don't talk to him. Don't fucking look at him. Call me and let me deal with it.'
But Linkara hadn't understood, had thought his new boss was being his usual melodramatic self.
Until he stumbled across the alter taking potshots at the pigeons on the roof of their office building.
He wasn't being cruel. Didn't understand cruelty, because he didn't understand consequences. Insano had been the first of them, the first splintering, and would always see the world through a child's eyes.
That was what Linkara knew of Insano. Laughter, and the frantic rush of wings.
"If Critic comes at you, don't hesitate," he told the alter now, "But if you can...just try not to hurt him."
Insano wasn't listening. Too busy with his straps and wires, making himself a spiderweb gauntlet that wound around his wrist and fingers. He pulled the last buckle tight and admired his own handiwork with a hum of satisfaction.
"What does it do?" Linkara asked.
"Science!"
Insano's grin was wide, bordering on grotesque, but there was no true madness in it. He was simply happy, joyous in this moment of creation
And why? Why couldn't this pride belong to Spoony? Everyone feared powerful emotions to some extent, but Spoony had gone further. Crushing down his intellect, remaking himself as someone lesser.
And Linkara had been party to it, had helped convince Spoony his own mind was something to fear.
"Let's see it," he suggested, because how often did Insano get to show off?
The scientist raised his hand, and Linkara had just enough time to marvel at his own stupidity.
Flat on his back, ears ringing, he could only shake his head. Or try, a struggle with his muscles still twitching from the aftershocks.
Insano bent over him, upside down from Linkara's new perspective. "Well?"
"Uh...ow?"
The alter frowned. "You shouldn't still be talking," he grumbled, and set to fussing with the tiny bands circling his knuckles.
Linkara had to use the shelves to drag himself upright. "Some kind of taser?" he guessed once his vision cleared, "No! No more demonstrations. Use your words."
Insano pouted, but only briefly. He launched into a lecture on neuromuscular incapacitation, but Linkara was too enraptured by the pink flush at the alter's cheeks to pay much heed to his words.
"You're amazing."
He spoke softly, but it shut Insano up. He eyed Linkara warily, waiting for the punch line.
"You are. Hasn't anyone ever told you that?"
The alter ducked his head, his grin sliding into something more vulnerable. He was showing his youth with this shy pleasure at being acknowledged, and of course Linkara kissed him then. Just gently, on the high forehead, the spiral lenses of the goggles.
"If he comes at you, do not hesitate." Because he couldn't lose him again, this man who was Spoony and so much more. Beautiful and brilliant and broken, and Linkara's very own. "You come back, you hear me?"
"No one defeats me!" Insano said, but there was no confidence there, not while Linkara still stood so close. He tilted his head, so tentative, shaking himself to pieces when Linkara pressed their lips together.
It wasn't at all like kissing Spoony. There was no ease to Insano, just a clumsy clash of teeth that left Linkara bruised.
"Can I?" Insano whined against his lips.
'Can I? I want them to know, Lewis, want them to see…'
The alter was a biter, but that suited Linkara just fine. If the worst should happen, he would have this, the bloody wound and the scar that would come of it.
He took his time when it was his turn, sucking slow and gentle. Branding Insano (Spoony) with his sign, a mark of what they were to each other.
"Go," Linkara told him when he was satisfied, "Kick his ass with science."
Reversing the camera feed took Insano less than a minute.
They sighed when they saw Critic. Curled up in his chair like a mantis, all long limbs and sharp angles.
Sleeping, and peacefully by the look of it, his brow smooth, his face untroubled. They took it as an insult, that he should slumber on while they paced and waited for Insano to win the day.
But sleeping was good. It meant there would be no need for battle and bloodshed. It meant a swift end to a terrible game.
Of would have, if only Insano had played by the rules.
The door opened with a soft click and a swish, and still Critic slept.
They looked down at him together. Just a man, stinking of sweat and with drool on his cheek.
But this man had taken a chance on Spoony. Had been the first to show him friendship, back when the world had been an unfamiliar and threatening place. Had pushed him to make something more of himself than a headline horror story.
And this man had shut Insano out, helped to stifle his mind and his talents. Had stolen his toys, had ripped them from his hands and hidden them away, a villain more cruel than the mother who haunted him still, with her soft hands and hard heart.
Not this time.
Not when the computer was so close. Calling to him, whispering of turrets and doors and power.
And only this man (friend) in his (their) way.
Insano raised his hand.
Critic woke to laughter.
To laughter, but also to screaming. A riot of hideous sound, and all from one man.
Or not. The lab coat was a ghost, fading in and out in a strobing flicker. The outstretched hand in its wire cage shook, fingers curling in as Insano and Spoony fought for control over the limb.
That Critic still drew breath was Spoony's doing. He understood that at a glance, knew this war was being fought on his behalf. Insano had meant to kill him while he slept, and Critic supposed he should have been grateful for the reprieve.
And maybe he would be later, when he was through being pissed right the fuck off.
He had waited so very long. Daydreaming of this moment, the forms treachery might take, the press of a gun muzzle at his temple. Gentle fantasies of shocking pain and sudden darkness, and instead they'd given him this.
Critic kicked off from his chair and floated up. Pulled his gun free with one hand and took hold of the remote with the other.
"You fail," he said, and that should have been it.
It should have been over.
But he hesitated as Insano settled into his skin and straightened. It would have been fitting, for it to be the scientist who let him rest, because Critic alone understood just what the man was capable of.
Too often in his life Spoony had woken to a stranger in his bed. Most of his guests were happy enough to flee when they saw his panic, and it had been something of a blessing that he could not remember the things SWS did to leave him sticky and sore.
But there had been one man who refused to leave. Who heard 'no', and took it for 'more'.
When Critic had answered the call he'd taken it for a prank at first. The garbled sounds in his ears had been barely comprehensible as speech, reminding him more of the dog he'd owned briefly in his youth and the sounds it made when the car wheels rolled over it. Low, thick.
Wet.
Ten seconds of confusion, and he'd known it was Spoony, though he couldn't have said how. Chick hadn't been happy when Critic bolted from their bed to make the long drive across town to the other man's apartment.
He didn't bother with knocking, just threw the unlocked door wide. The confusion then had been so much worse. Everywhere red, and the smell of warm pennies heavy in the air.
And in the middle of it Spoony.
Critic had cleaned his friend up first. Then cleaned up in general, trying hard not to think about what the bits and pieces had once been.
"Do you remember that bastard you turned into chunky soup?" Critic asked now, "I admired you for that one."
Insano shrugged, hand still raised, waiting for an opening. "He had it coming."
Critic nodded in easy agreement, but he wondered if it would have changed things. Would they have trusted Insano with this, if Critic had shared the story of that night and the blood he'd washed from Spoony's hair?
"You took it away. You took them all," Insano grumbled.
A silver cylinder pried from Spoony's slick fingers. No bigger than a pencil, and it had been hard to believe something so small could cause such devastation.
How many similar weapons had Critic confiscated over the years? Enough to fill two safes, and he'd been working on a third when the bombs fell.
"I'm sorry," Critic said, "You know I can't let you win."
Because the greatest weapon of all was within Insano's reach. A military computer, and who knew what secrets it held? It wouldn't be just Critic's own people at risk but the world, what little there was left of it.
And again he should have pressed the button, even traced its edges with his thumbs. But again he hesitated, because he wanted to lose, had been preparing so long for defeat that victory was unthinkable.
"I can't let you win," he told Insano, "But Spoony, if you can hear me...prove to me you're still in there.
"You want the remote? Come and get it."
Next