Nostos 41
Title: Nóstos 41
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
Critic faced his sister with tears wiping the blood from his cheeks, and his eyes were lost. They were the eyes of a man who had woken to a nightmare, and how often had Spoony met those same eyes in the mirror, the juices of a stranger coating his lips?
"Easy, Critic," he spoke softly, in deference both to the man's shattered nerves and his own pounding head. Rose slowly, fighting trembling legs that didn't want to take his weight. "Easy. Chick didn't do anything."
Critic shook his head, a wild motion that looked like it hurt. "No, no she did...something. I'd do anything for her, I always would. But now I'd do the wrong things for her."
"Brother..."
"Shut up! Don't fucking talk to me. Don't touch me."
Spoony took another slow step forward, and now he stood between the twins. "Okay," he said, as if anything Critic claimed made sense, "We're going to figure this out. Give me the gun, and we'll talk."
Critic let him reach up and pry his fingers loose. Spoony passed the pistol off, not even looking round to see who had taken it from his hand, and was ready when Critic fell into his open arms.
But even expecting it the weight was too much, his own balance too shaky. They tumbled backward to the tiles, Critic scrambling for a grip on Spoony's shoulders and whispering a frantic plea in his ear.
"Don't let her touch me. That's how...don't let her..."
Spoony could have dismissed his ramblings as the paranoia of a broken mind. Would have, if Chick hadn't reached for her twin then. Not to comfort but to lay claim, ignoring his fear and the way he tried to crawl clear.
He let Lantern catch her by the wrist. Squeezed, just hard enough to make his point. "No. Back up and give the man some space."
"You can't seriously buy into any of this," Chick said, but in that sweet, little girl tone she hadn't used since Critic locked himself away from her. "He's my..."
Twin. Brother. Lover.
Mine.
Spoony squeezed a little tighter, until Chick cut herself off with a squeak. Looked down at the man curled against him, shivering, sobbing, smearing his blood across Spoony's chest. The same man who moments ago had aimed a gun at his head, and now looked to him for protection.
"He's crazy," Chick said, and Spoony nodded.
"Maybe. Probably. That doesn't mean he isn't right."
It was a little like a trial.
Chick at one end of the long table, Critic at the other, both wearing jury-rigged cuffs. One sitting tall, the other slumped forward, shoulders heaving with the helpless tears of an exhausted child.
But only a little like a trial, for there was no judge, no jury, no one impartial and unaffected.
"You're saying she what, mind rapes you?" Phelous asked.
"Yes. No. I don't know. She infects me."
But there was anguish on Critic's face when he looked at his twin, as if he would rather know himself mad than accept she could hurt him with a smile.
"It's a nervous breakdown," Chick said, "I don't need to be a doctor to know that. He needs rest, not a fucking interrogation."
They'd done their best to clean Critic up, to bandage his wounds and wipe the blood from his face. The smears that remained made him look grotesque when his face twisted into a wolf's snarl. Tom was there to push him down when he tried to stand, not gently, drawing a grunt from Critic at the pressure on his shoulders.
"Stop it." Critic hissed the words, but there was a plea buried beneath the anger. "Stop pretending."
"Calm down," Larios said, and Critic barked out a laugh.
"How can I, when she won't let me?"
Midway between the pair, Linkara sat with Spoony at his side.
Shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, and he meant never to let go. Found himself looking over again and again, constantly in awe that Spoony was there, with him. Safe and whole, if not undamaged, the lines of his brow furrowed deep with pain.
"You know what's funny?" Critic was saying, "I thought I was different. That you only twisted me up because I wanted you to. Did you ever care, even a little?"
Now Chick was the one fighting to stand, jerking against Joe's hold. "Fuck you, brother. I love you, you ungrateful little bitch. Yeah, I hurt you, but you liked it."
While Linkara looked to him, Spoony was looking between Critic and Chick. When plastic goggles tried to form he shook his head like a dog troubled by a whistle, squinting through the vapors that spiraled up and away.
"What are you thinking?" Linkara whispered, but Spoony only shrugged. His hand was clammy in Linkara's own, making him squeeze tighter in hopes of driving off shock with shared warmth.
"Look. You're all just going along with this bullshit because you want to believe Critic's okay," Chick said to them all, "But he's not okay. He hasn't been okay for a long time. Isn't that why we sent Insano in to get the remote?"
The remote that now sat in the middle of the table, that would be locked away again no matter what came of the night.
"And it's your fault," Chick went on, and this time when she tried to stand Joe let her. "You pushed and pushed, and he gave and gave. You used him, until there wasn't anything left. I love my brother, and I hate what you've done to him."
And she did hate them, a hate that made her tremble and spit. It was too fierce a thing to have woken in that moment. Hate that strong had history, had weight, but she'd hidden it well, had greeted them in the morning with a smile and eaten at their table.
What else had she been hiding?
"No," Critic said, "You're the one who used me. That's who you are. And I let you, because that's who I am."
His tears were drying now, leaving him looking wrung out and defeated. "Tell them. If you ever loved them, tell them."
But Chick threw up her hands, or tried to, hampered by the binding at her wrists. "Why? Why would I fuck with your head? What's the point?"
"I didn't do what you wanted," Critic said, "You wanted to bring strangers here, but we wouldn't let you. So you had me get rid of Snob and anyone else who spoke against you...I could feel it, when I forced him out. You were happy. I wasn't...that feeling, it wasn't me."
"Where's your evidence?" Chick was mocking him now, teasing him with a smirk, as a sister does a brother. "You can't prove any of it."
"I can't," Critic agreed, "Which is why we both have to leave."
Chick went silent at that. There was truth in it, for if Critic was right, Chick had spent the better part of a year picking away at her brother's soul. If he was wrong, it meant Critic himself was so broken he saw even his sister as the enemy.
How could they ever trust the pair again, when they couldn't be sure in which twin the sickness had its source?
"No," Chick said after a frozen moment, voice tight with fear. Fear of the desert, of her coyotes and sweeping winds. "You can't...he's fucked in the head. You can't listen to this, you know it's not...if I could do something like that, why haven't I messed with anyone else?"
"Reverse empathy."
Spoony spoke softly, but he didn't need to shout to get their attention. They waited for more, for an explanation, but Spoony seemed unaware he had spoken, still studying the twins with his head tilted to one side.
"What the fuck does that mean?" Lord Kat asked, and only then did Spoony take notice of their scrutiny.
He jolted a little, his hair growing thick and clumping with mud and grime, but he settled easily when Linkara pulled him closer.
"Forget them," Linkara said, "Tell me, just me."
"We know there are powers based on emotional influence. What if Chick can make him feel what she does, or just whatever she thinks he should feel? We always thought she never went through the Change, but maybe she did. And maybe her power only works on Critic, or only on people she's related to."
"She's always pawing at him," Film Brain offered, and Critic sighed, low and lonely.
"It gets worse when she touches me or she's close," he confirmed, but there was no relief in his voice at this tentative support, "When I was alone, in the systems room...it was like I started to wake up. And just now...I was going to drop the gun, but when she touched me...I wanted Spoony dead. I wanted to be the one to kill him."
"Oh, for..." Chick's glare was sullen, her pout twisting into something ugly. "Again, where's the fucking proof."
"Wait," Spoony said.
He was listening, head canted further to the side to better hear the voice within.
And then he was up and moving, the lab coat materializing to swirl around his legs when he bolted from the room.
"I've got it," Linkara told the others, and did what he did best when it came to Spoony.
He followed.
It didn't take Spoony long at all to confirm his suspicions, and he was already lifting his fingers from the keyboard when Linkara barreled into the room.
"Spoony?"
The name was a question, and Spoony answered it by pulling the other man close and kissing him sloppy and deep.
"Just me," he said, "Only me."
They were still there, Insano and the rest, still close. Still whispering, but Spoony could choose to listen or not, could take what he needed and leave the rest.
Linkara was shuddering now, clutching at him with greedy hands, and stealing two kisses for every one of Spoony's own. "I was so scared," he whispered, "But it's you. You're here."
Spoony laughed, because scared? He'd been fucking terrified. It hadn't been his past that flashed before his eyes when Critic leveled the gun at his head but his future. Role playing games and lazy nights, and Linkara. Always Linkara.
"I'm still fucking shaking," Spoony said, and he could lay claim to it now, his fear. "And I'm still so angry. And you...I want you. I want to bend you over this chair and fucking take you until you can't walk."
Linkara groaned. Savaged him with lips and tongue and teeth, and it was perfect, it was life.
"I want," Spoony said again, "I want, and I'm angry and scared and it's all me, Linkara, just me."
He growled in protest when Linkara drew back, but the other man looked at him with such pride, such love. "You're beautiful," he said, and for once Spoony did not argue.
One last kiss, and then Linkara was moving further away, motioning toward the computer with a dip of his head. Spoony took the hint, knowing this time he didn't need to be greedy.
Linkara wasn't going anywhere.
"Maybe I can't prove if Chick has power," Spoony said as he reached for the mouse, though he actually thought there might be way to try, "But I think I can prove who she is."
He clicked through the folders until he found the date he needed. Let Insano deal with the password, sharing a laugh at how easy it was to bypass.
The video feed was crisp and clear. Linkara sucked in a breath when he recognized the day on display.
"Can you patch that through to the mess?" was all he said when it was over.
Spoony nodded. Insano smiled.
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
Critic faced his sister with tears wiping the blood from his cheeks, and his eyes were lost. They were the eyes of a man who had woken to a nightmare, and how often had Spoony met those same eyes in the mirror, the juices of a stranger coating his lips?
"Easy, Critic," he spoke softly, in deference both to the man's shattered nerves and his own pounding head. Rose slowly, fighting trembling legs that didn't want to take his weight. "Easy. Chick didn't do anything."
Critic shook his head, a wild motion that looked like it hurt. "No, no she did...something. I'd do anything for her, I always would. But now I'd do the wrong things for her."
"Brother..."
"Shut up! Don't fucking talk to me. Don't touch me."
Spoony took another slow step forward, and now he stood between the twins. "Okay," he said, as if anything Critic claimed made sense, "We're going to figure this out. Give me the gun, and we'll talk."
Critic let him reach up and pry his fingers loose. Spoony passed the pistol off, not even looking round to see who had taken it from his hand, and was ready when Critic fell into his open arms.
But even expecting it the weight was too much, his own balance too shaky. They tumbled backward to the tiles, Critic scrambling for a grip on Spoony's shoulders and whispering a frantic plea in his ear.
"Don't let her touch me. That's how...don't let her..."
Spoony could have dismissed his ramblings as the paranoia of a broken mind. Would have, if Chick hadn't reached for her twin then. Not to comfort but to lay claim, ignoring his fear and the way he tried to crawl clear.
He let Lantern catch her by the wrist. Squeezed, just hard enough to make his point. "No. Back up and give the man some space."
"You can't seriously buy into any of this," Chick said, but in that sweet, little girl tone she hadn't used since Critic locked himself away from her. "He's my..."
Twin. Brother. Lover.
Mine.
Spoony squeezed a little tighter, until Chick cut herself off with a squeak. Looked down at the man curled against him, shivering, sobbing, smearing his blood across Spoony's chest. The same man who moments ago had aimed a gun at his head, and now looked to him for protection.
"He's crazy," Chick said, and Spoony nodded.
"Maybe. Probably. That doesn't mean he isn't right."
It was a little like a trial.
Chick at one end of the long table, Critic at the other, both wearing jury-rigged cuffs. One sitting tall, the other slumped forward, shoulders heaving with the helpless tears of an exhausted child.
But only a little like a trial, for there was no judge, no jury, no one impartial and unaffected.
"You're saying she what, mind rapes you?" Phelous asked.
"Yes. No. I don't know. She infects me."
But there was anguish on Critic's face when he looked at his twin, as if he would rather know himself mad than accept she could hurt him with a smile.
"It's a nervous breakdown," Chick said, "I don't need to be a doctor to know that. He needs rest, not a fucking interrogation."
They'd done their best to clean Critic up, to bandage his wounds and wipe the blood from his face. The smears that remained made him look grotesque when his face twisted into a wolf's snarl. Tom was there to push him down when he tried to stand, not gently, drawing a grunt from Critic at the pressure on his shoulders.
"Stop it." Critic hissed the words, but there was a plea buried beneath the anger. "Stop pretending."
"Calm down," Larios said, and Critic barked out a laugh.
"How can I, when she won't let me?"
Midway between the pair, Linkara sat with Spoony at his side.
Shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, and he meant never to let go. Found himself looking over again and again, constantly in awe that Spoony was there, with him. Safe and whole, if not undamaged, the lines of his brow furrowed deep with pain.
"You know what's funny?" Critic was saying, "I thought I was different. That you only twisted me up because I wanted you to. Did you ever care, even a little?"
Now Chick was the one fighting to stand, jerking against Joe's hold. "Fuck you, brother. I love you, you ungrateful little bitch. Yeah, I hurt you, but you liked it."
While Linkara looked to him, Spoony was looking between Critic and Chick. When plastic goggles tried to form he shook his head like a dog troubled by a whistle, squinting through the vapors that spiraled up and away.
"What are you thinking?" Linkara whispered, but Spoony only shrugged. His hand was clammy in Linkara's own, making him squeeze tighter in hopes of driving off shock with shared warmth.
"Look. You're all just going along with this bullshit because you want to believe Critic's okay," Chick said to them all, "But he's not okay. He hasn't been okay for a long time. Isn't that why we sent Insano in to get the remote?"
The remote that now sat in the middle of the table, that would be locked away again no matter what came of the night.
"And it's your fault," Chick went on, and this time when she tried to stand Joe let her. "You pushed and pushed, and he gave and gave. You used him, until there wasn't anything left. I love my brother, and I hate what you've done to him."
And she did hate them, a hate that made her tremble and spit. It was too fierce a thing to have woken in that moment. Hate that strong had history, had weight, but she'd hidden it well, had greeted them in the morning with a smile and eaten at their table.
What else had she been hiding?
"No," Critic said, "You're the one who used me. That's who you are. And I let you, because that's who I am."
His tears were drying now, leaving him looking wrung out and defeated. "Tell them. If you ever loved them, tell them."
But Chick threw up her hands, or tried to, hampered by the binding at her wrists. "Why? Why would I fuck with your head? What's the point?"
"I didn't do what you wanted," Critic said, "You wanted to bring strangers here, but we wouldn't let you. So you had me get rid of Snob and anyone else who spoke against you...I could feel it, when I forced him out. You were happy. I wasn't...that feeling, it wasn't me."
"Where's your evidence?" Chick was mocking him now, teasing him with a smirk, as a sister does a brother. "You can't prove any of it."
"I can't," Critic agreed, "Which is why we both have to leave."
Chick went silent at that. There was truth in it, for if Critic was right, Chick had spent the better part of a year picking away at her brother's soul. If he was wrong, it meant Critic himself was so broken he saw even his sister as the enemy.
How could they ever trust the pair again, when they couldn't be sure in which twin the sickness had its source?
"No," Chick said after a frozen moment, voice tight with fear. Fear of the desert, of her coyotes and sweeping winds. "You can't...he's fucked in the head. You can't listen to this, you know it's not...if I could do something like that, why haven't I messed with anyone else?"
"Reverse empathy."
Spoony spoke softly, but he didn't need to shout to get their attention. They waited for more, for an explanation, but Spoony seemed unaware he had spoken, still studying the twins with his head tilted to one side.
"What the fuck does that mean?" Lord Kat asked, and only then did Spoony take notice of their scrutiny.
He jolted a little, his hair growing thick and clumping with mud and grime, but he settled easily when Linkara pulled him closer.
"Forget them," Linkara said, "Tell me, just me."
"We know there are powers based on emotional influence. What if Chick can make him feel what she does, or just whatever she thinks he should feel? We always thought she never went through the Change, but maybe she did. And maybe her power only works on Critic, or only on people she's related to."
"She's always pawing at him," Film Brain offered, and Critic sighed, low and lonely.
"It gets worse when she touches me or she's close," he confirmed, but there was no relief in his voice at this tentative support, "When I was alone, in the systems room...it was like I started to wake up. And just now...I was going to drop the gun, but when she touched me...I wanted Spoony dead. I wanted to be the one to kill him."
"Oh, for..." Chick's glare was sullen, her pout twisting into something ugly. "Again, where's the fucking proof."
"Wait," Spoony said.
He was listening, head canted further to the side to better hear the voice within.
And then he was up and moving, the lab coat materializing to swirl around his legs when he bolted from the room.
"I've got it," Linkara told the others, and did what he did best when it came to Spoony.
He followed.
It didn't take Spoony long at all to confirm his suspicions, and he was already lifting his fingers from the keyboard when Linkara barreled into the room.
"Spoony?"
The name was a question, and Spoony answered it by pulling the other man close and kissing him sloppy and deep.
"Just me," he said, "Only me."
They were still there, Insano and the rest, still close. Still whispering, but Spoony could choose to listen or not, could take what he needed and leave the rest.
Linkara was shuddering now, clutching at him with greedy hands, and stealing two kisses for every one of Spoony's own. "I was so scared," he whispered, "But it's you. You're here."
Spoony laughed, because scared? He'd been fucking terrified. It hadn't been his past that flashed before his eyes when Critic leveled the gun at his head but his future. Role playing games and lazy nights, and Linkara. Always Linkara.
"I'm still fucking shaking," Spoony said, and he could lay claim to it now, his fear. "And I'm still so angry. And you...I want you. I want to bend you over this chair and fucking take you until you can't walk."
Linkara groaned. Savaged him with lips and tongue and teeth, and it was perfect, it was life.
"I want," Spoony said again, "I want, and I'm angry and scared and it's all me, Linkara, just me."
He growled in protest when Linkara drew back, but the other man looked at him with such pride, such love. "You're beautiful," he said, and for once Spoony did not argue.
One last kiss, and then Linkara was moving further away, motioning toward the computer with a dip of his head. Spoony took the hint, knowing this time he didn't need to be greedy.
Linkara wasn't going anywhere.
"Maybe I can't prove if Chick has power," Spoony said as he reached for the mouse, though he actually thought there might be way to try, "But I think I can prove who she is."
He clicked through the folders until he found the date he needed. Let Insano deal with the password, sharing a laugh at how easy it was to bypass.
The video feed was crisp and clear. Linkara sucked in a breath when he recognized the day on display.
"Can you patch that through to the mess?" was all he said when it was over.
Spoony nodded. Insano smiled.
next