Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Tord blinked at the white ceiling tiles, vaguely aware of the chatting kids in the hallway. He glanced down at his arm, his arm, flexing fleshy fingers, feeling neurons fire off as skin touched skin. Porcelain smooth and too soft with a couple of nicks here and there. Alive.

It had been around a week since he came back, yet his brain still had trouble catching up. Instead, it remained stuck in a dreamlike haze as reality struggled to dawn on him. 

Spotty sunlight beams illuminated the warm, yellowish classroom walls as they filtered through tree leaves. The sound of kids shrieking and playing outside, paired with the chipper songs of birds, could be heard out the open window. It only magnified the nostalgic, unsettling feeling that this was all a perfectly constructed dream. 

However, his heart still beat strong and alive between his ribcage, pumping hot blood through his veins. The sun felt warm, and it hurt when he pinched his skin. Tord once again reminded himself that this was blissfully, agonizingly real, and the future depended on his next step. He couldn't aimlessly wander like a ghost through old photos, acting out dear memories down to a hitch in hopes of regaining peace in forgetting. The same one he had as a child, before seeing the grotesqueness of war, before seeing what a man can do for revenge, for survival. Tord needed to get out of his slump - he needed a plan, needed to take action, he needed to–

"Whatcha thinking?" Cut in a voice behind him. High-pitched and childish, yet Tord knew too well who it belonged to.

He turned around in his chair, coming face to face with his old friend Tom. Should he still call him that in this timeline? He opened his mouth, a witty comeback ready and loaded on instinct as it is every time, ready to follow his usual script down to the line, to the exact expression, to the–

"What happened to your eye?" Tord blurred out in surprise, frowning as he took a better look at the teen slouched on crossed arms, doing very little to hide the reddening cheek, roughened-up clothes, and hair. The skin around his left eye was swollen, the beginning of a black eye. 

"Oh, okay, so you're just gonna ignore my question then." Tom glared over the fabric of his sweater. "Yeah, no, that's cool, no problem. Are you thinking of something that fucked up you can't share with the class, or am I just not worth your precious time to answer a simple question?"

Tord's frown deepened. Even as he decided to brush off Tom's fiery defiance as teenage hormones, irritation rose in its place at having to deal with kids. Immature, stubborn kids.

"Tom, stop being difficult. What the hell happened?"

Tom rolled his eyes, opting for usual sarcasm. "Geez, be careful the teacher doesn't hear you talking like that. He already made me eat soap once." He then turned his head to the window, avoiding eye contact. "But yeah, it's nothing serious. I don't know, the usual stuff - a popular guy had a bad day and let it out on some loser."

"Who was it?"

"A nobody. Some random student."

"I know it was a damn student, Tom. I mean names." He tapped his fingers impatiently, slightly caught off guard at hearing the soft tap of flesh, surprised why he hadn't let this go by now, as his old self would.

Tom turned his head towards Tord as he fully sat up, tense as a bowstring. 

"Why?" he asked, skeptisizm and helpnessness lacing his tone. "It's not like you can do anything about it, even if you knew. Unless you plan to go up against him, which is ridiculous, by the way. The guy is strong as hell, he'll crush you like a bug. Just leave it be."

Tord pressed his lips tightly. "Dully noted."

"Tord."

"Yes, Tom? I said I'll keep it in mind." 

Exasperated, Tom opened and closed his mouth, but eventually settled on staring at the other defiantly, jaw flexing as he clenched his teeth. 

The harsh beginning of a bruise on the kid's face stood out like a sore thumb. Tord forced down the begging of a cold, avenging anger. Not because he cared about Tom. Not especially, not in this pathetic version at least. Maybe angry with the knowledge of who Tom will be. Someone great, powerful, dangerous, and Tord's equal. However, some absolute nobody, who will be lying in a ditch dead somewhere in a couple of years, laid a finger on him.

As the silence stretched a second too long to be awkward, Tord decided to let. Aware of when to push and when to pull, when to play by Tom's rules. He leaned back, relaxing his body language.

"Fine, I won't go after him, don't worry. Just what to avoid, you know?"

"You're such a bad liar, you know that?" Tom deadpanned, before letting out a resigned sigh. "Whatever. It was the guy in our PE class. Y'know, the muscular one, always wears a neon green jacket. Dickson, I think." Tom ruffled his hair, dark strands falling into their typical messy state. "But again, seriously, don't go messing with him. He's the PE teacher's kid, so it doesn't even matter who's in the wrong. All that will happen is you'll get beaten up and then suspended. Not worth it."

Dickson. Yes, he knew the guy. He also knew he had brains the size of a tennis ball, so this shouldn't even be hard. Even with the guy's large frame and muscle mass, Tord had years of experience under his belt and functioning brains.

"Yes, yes, I know. Don't worry, just leave it to me." Tord leaned back in his chair, balancing on the two back legs. "You should go to the nurse to ice that eye, so it won't bruise as badly. Unless you want to wear it as some weird fashion statement, I guess. I'm not stopping you."

Tom grimaced but seemed more at ease now that Tord dropped the topic.

"No way, I hate that lady. I'm pretty sure she hates me, too. If I go there, she'll be all like," Tom pitched up his voice in a mocking imitation. "'Oh, what did you do again this time! Teenagers these days, I swear, bla bla bla'. I'm serious, last time I went there, she went on for the whole of my free period about how much trouble I am and what a saint she was as a young lady. I'd rather go with the fashion statement than sit through another lecture."

Tord's lips twitched up at Tom's passionate complaining. A nasty memory of future Thomas's dull stare and cold indifference poking its ugly head. "It's your decision," he shrugged. "We could also go to a vending machine, get you a cold cola instead of an icepack."

"That's..." Tom seemed to consider it for a moment. "...also a good idea, actually. Fine, want to go together? You can also get something. I know you skipped lunch."

Tord blinked. Did he skip lunch? Lately, time seemed to be moving unpredictably, flying by fast through a sickening fog. He glanced at his stick thin arms, already missing his old body, even without the limb.

"Sure," he agreed, getting up.

The soda clanged as it made its way down the metal machine. A callused hand reached for it through the gap.

"Is that why you invited me along? To pay for your drink?"

"Medicine, actually," Tom smugly replied, pressing the cold metal to his aching eye.

Tord rolled his eyes, despite not minding paying. Well aware that it was his...dearest mother's money he was using, while Tom didn't have the same luxury.

He examined the contents of the vending machine, searching for anything appealing. Now that he didn't have easy access to his daily dose of nicotine, he found himself constantly itching for something. 

However, non of the the brightly colored packages of chips caught his eye, and excessively sweet candy bars, the type that unpleasantly sticks to your teeth, made his stomach turn.

He despised admitting he missed Pat's cooking. The man seemed to have spoiled him.

"Found anything you like?"

"Not really, all of this is junk. Let's just head back now that we got what you need," Tord waved his hand dismissively, turning to leave.

Tom didn't move an inch, staring at him with his one healthy eye as if searching for something.

"You've been skipping lunch a lot lately, you don't usually do that." he frowned in confusion, tilting his head. "Is it because Matt and Edd are sick? I didn't think you'd be that worried, but I'm sure they'll be fine. We can visit them later today if you want, though. I'm sure they won't mind."

That was... unexpectedly sweet of Tom. But no, Tord wasn't worried about his old friends, nor was he planning to go out of his way to check up on them and get sick himself. He knew them well enough to know that a simple fever isn't what will put them down he will.

Tord wasn't the type of person to have a problem with eating, especially now with the lack of cigarettes. In the last – or future –whenever he got lost is his work and studies for long periods of time, Paul or Patrick would always give him an ear full and a warm meal.

Now the constant presence by his sides he's grown used to felt cold.

The perfect memory he's been living so far got interrupted when he spared another look at prepackaged chips. Candies, frozen dinners with a weird aftertaste that coated his throat, his mother's cooking leftovers—it all was a vile reminder of lonely nights when a cold, harsh silence filled the house. It all made him nauseous now, the years that he was reliving right now, making everything so much more real, worse, and sickening. Tord remembered why he despised this place.

But Tom didn't need to know that. Not like he could explain it anyway. Tord was dealing with it.

Instead, he stuffed his hand in his pocket to his hide the fiddling fingers, "You call this food? Beside, I had a big breakfast, been learning how to cook. No need to worry yourself, Tom. And I'm sure Edd and Matt will be just fine without us, better to leave them be to rest. Shall we go now?"

The teen didn't seem to believe him, but decided to give it up for now "If you say so."

There was something wrong with Tord. The way he spoke, how he dressed, and held himself. His jokes, how much more often he seemed to get lost in thought, or how sometimes he looked at Tom or his other friends like you would at a sad memory. Heck, even his English seemed to get on a whole other level overnight. It was still Tord, but it also felt like a stranger.

It all greatly unsettled Tom. Unease and concern for the other morphed into a determination to find out what went wrong, despite the possibility of trouble.

The perfect opportunity presented itself that afternoon. School had ended, and both teens were at the park, resting under the trees, taking shelter from the scorching sun in a more secluded area, away from the playgrounds and ice cream shops. Tom leaned against the rough tree trunk with a few school books scattered around his legs, while Tord laid in the soft grass with eyes closed, seemingly taking a nap.

It would have been a peaceful afternoon, if not for the heavy questions weighing on his mind. His eyes refused to focus on the homework, rereading the same sentence over and over again until it completely lost its meaning. Giving up, he spared a glance at Tord. He looked relaxed, for once not an ounce of tension in his body, arms crossed under his head. A few specks of light escaped between the leaves, dancing on his face to the rhythm of the wind and trees swaying.

"You're asleep?" Tom asked quietly, knowing full well the latter was awake.

Tord opened his eyes, proving him right as silver eyes met his.

"No, do you need any help with your homework?" he asked, matching the quiet tone, either mocking him or not wanting to break the peaceful atmosphere. His efforts going in vain as that's exactly what Tom was about to do.

"Nah, just can't focus. I've been thinking about some stuff.'' He hesitated, ''I need to ask you something."

"Sure, go ahead''

It wasn't too late to stop, to turn around and instead ask something insignificant, to keep the peaceful memory untainted by some possibly heavy stuff Tom was about to bring up.

"You've been acting weird lately," Tom pushed through, searching the other's face for any reaction or cue to stop. "I know it's probably a topic you don't want to talk about, but it's like... one day you woke up and you're a completely different person. Something happened, right? I'm not making this up. It's been going on for days now. I just want to know what changed. Is it something I did? Did something happen at school? Is it the upcoming holidays? Are you stressed about that?"

Tord stared at him with a carefully blank, unchanging expression, listening. Whether it was the lack of reaction or the however short, but unbearable silence, it pushed Tom to continue.

"I mean, you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, you know. Especially if it's something personal or family business. It just never seemed to be a problem before. I told you a lot of my family drama, and you told yours, so I'm not sure what changed, but... well, I guess I just want to make sure everything is cool. And if not, at least talk to someone, man. It doesn't even have to be me, but I'll listen. Sorry if this is weird. It's just starting to freak me out a bit how... different you act now. So yeah." Tom finished lamely, hoping to convey his support and willingness to help as much as he could.

His friend remained silent, his eyes ever so slightly wide as he took in the words. Finally, he sat up, eye level with Tom.

Tord looked at him with a confused half-smile.

"What are you talking about, Tom? I'm sorry, I think you're seeing things'' he gave half a shrug, resting his elbows on his knees. ''Nothing notable happened in the past few days or even weeks that I can remember. Well, apart from Edd and Matt getting sick, but it's not serious. So I don't see what could be the problem". Then he let out an almost disappointed sigh, "Seriously, Tom, if it's just you trying to pick a fight-"

"No no stop, just stop. Look man, I know something's up. Don't try to pretend that it isn't or that it's just me being crazy." Tom said, closing the textbook. "You don't gotta explain anything if you don't want to, that's cool. Just... noticed something was off and, uh, well, just wanted to let you know I'm here for you, I guess. And so are Edd and Matt. So stop lying, it's so frustrating." Tom met Tord's eyes meaningfully, trying his best to portray the genuine emotion. After a tense second, he gave a teasing smile, "Especially since you're so bad at it, it's making me cringe."

Tord's blank expression stayed frozen for half a second before he broke out in a surprised but genuine laughter, the atmosphere turning light and comfortable again. Tom realized with a start that it was a rare sound to hear.

"I'll tell you if anything is amiss, Tom," he lay down again. Then added much more quietly, "No need to ruin a good afternoon."

The sky bled dark, hot orange as the sun just beraly peaked above the horizon, painting everything in a warm yellow hue, reflecting off of the red liquid seeping in between the tiles. It trickled from an unconscious body of an older teen wearing a neon green jacket. 

A kid with spiky, dirty blond hair stood over him, rubbing his now also bloody knuckles. Tord felt a bit bad for beating the guy up since he was a lot younger than him. Well, technically. Maybe that's what pushed Tord to do it. He seriously doubted he would have beaten a kid unconscious in the past timeline, but this felt different. Despite the mental age difference, the guy lying on the pavement was a buff 16-year-old, meanwhile, his body was that of an underfed 14-year-old. Tom never stood a chance, and the asshole knew it. In return, Tord gave him a broken nose and possibly a rib, which should scare him off.

He picked up his backpack off the grainy asphalt, leaving the scene behind in a relaxed pace. Dickson seemed at least smart enough to be too embarrassed to tell anyone he lost a fight to a kid, to move on and pretend like nothing happened. Tord was betting on it since he didn't want his old friends to find out what happened, it would raise too many questions. This fights results were thanks to the years of training and experience under his belt, analyzing his opponents, and fighting at a disadvantage. Meanwhile, the other teen relied on brute force alone, too used to ending a fight with the first punch and being done with. This was a completely different field.

But from an outside perspective, the whole thing seemed sketchy. Tord didn't need the world to get out, especially as anxiety began to build up the more he felt himself going off scrip from the past timeline, diverging from the well known safe route. It felt a lot like swimming in the ocean without starts to lead the way. 

He looked over his shaky hands, knuckles bloody and scraped. His arms and legs shook slightly from the force behind every punch, every kick, just to make up for the lack of muscles and smaller build. Though it was gruesome to think of using it on a kid, no matter how much of a shitty one, his metal arm really would've come in handy just now.

He swallowed down the twinge of hurt and bitterness at the joke.

He abandoned that train of thought as he passed by the town's shop. The uncomfortable pulsating from his torn skin pushed Tord to head inside too look for antiseptic and extra bandages. If he learned something over the years, it's that it never hurts to be prepared.

The automatic doors slid open as he stepped inside, grabbing a carrying cart, as his stomach rolled over the thought of eating another damn frozen pizza.

He made quick work of throwing in grains, source of protein and medical supplies, soon leaning on the checkout as the post-adrenaline crash slowly seeped out his energy like a phantom leach.

He tapped his fingers to the rhythmic beeping of the clerk scanning items, itching to hurry home as the day was heading towards the end. The variance of a routine and being forced out of his comfort zone popped the bubble of a synthetically perfect dream, flashing by like a film on roll as Tord sat by like an audience. Despite his body sagging with exhaustion, sparks of determination to act, to build and change came alive.

The worker scanned the last of Tord purchases as the pause in the long string of high-pitched beeps reminded Tord to pull out his wallet.  Before he could pull out a single paper bill, he made eye contact with the clerk. The deep brown eyes staring back were startlingly familiar, even with the lack of scars on the softer and younger face. The lanky teenager with ridiculous bangs wore a name tag saying-

"Patrick?"

An elderly man poked his head from the back door.

"Come over here when you're done. I need your help with these boxes," he gestured behind him before disappearing.

"Be there in a second," Pat called after, before turning toward Tord again, smiling, "That will be $19.58, please, card or cash?"

Caught off guard, it took a fraction of a second too long for Tord's liking to register the question, but eventually he replied "Cash,"  pulling out a $20 bill with stiff hands and handing it over.

The latter reached to take it but stopped, his eyes landing on the bloody hands. Tord put the cash down on the glass plate, only then did Pat hurriedly grabbed it, putting it into the cash register with a new, much more strained smile on his face.

"Alright, your change will be $0.42. Thank you for shopping at BestFoods, have a nice day!"

This was wrong. This whole interaction was so wrong. The complete lack of recognition in Pat's eyes was unraveling, and the way he left to help his coworker without sparing a glance back, moving on and forgetting him like any other stranger, made his skin crawl. 

He collected his items, beelining out of the door.

It's not like this was even a surprise. Well aware that he was in the past, that no one remembered what he did, aware that to Pat, this was their first time meeting. He knew all of that. He did.

Yet the interaction left him gripping his bag tightly, anger, and something akin to betrayal festering in his chest, hot and painful.

The skin on his knuckles stretched before breaking around the flimsly formed scabs. The pain helped to ease some of the emotion, but wasn't able to snuff out the frustration completely.

Unless he can figure out how to go back, this was his reality. The gravity of the situation hit him in that moment like a truck, after experiencing his most trusted person treating him like a stranger, like any other crazed person with bloodied hands to keep wary of.  Everything that happened, every accomplishment, all the people he could trust with his life - gone. Even if he replicated everything he did to the letter like he put so much effort into, even if he could make it all better, clean all his mistakes away, and have a better future for himself and the world. It would never be the same. No matter what he did, he could never replicate his already-lived life. Could never replicate the meaningful memories. Could never have the same relationships with people as he did. The conversations he had won't mean anything anymore, concerts he went to with his old friends, inside jokes they had, experiences he held close to his heart. It was all gone, slipped from his grasp so easily, like it all meant nothing. He's the only one who remembered them, and nobody would ever know him as he knew them. And now he had to relive it all again, yet it would not be the same. He was alone in this, alone with these memories, alone with these experiences.

All the anger drained away from his body, leaving him numb and hollow. He never thought he would feel so alone in a singular experience, would ever feel like he lost such a huge, precious thing he could never get back. 

The setting sun hit his back, casting long, dark shadows. And here, in the silent town with cheap grocery bags in his aching hands and dried blood on his knuckles, for the first time in a very, very long time, Tord felt like giving up.

It felt horrifying. 

He quickened his pace. He forced himself to move despite the protesting muscles and the blocks of cement in his limbs, despite his hollow body crumbling down beneath him. He clenched his teeth and pushed the feeling down, buried and burned it in the hot anger, yet again setting aflame in his chest.

Because Tord never gave up. No matter what happened, no matter how much life beat him down and stomped on him to make sure he stayed down, Tord never fucking gave up. And this won't be it. This won't be what makes him submit. He won't let Patrick make him feel lonely. He won't let Tom make him feel broken. He won't let Matt, Edd, or Paul make him feel sorry.

He didn't need people dragging him down. He didn't need people. He's done this alone before, and he can do it again. He didn't. Need. Anyone.