Chapter Text
The abandoned factory loomed ahead like a corpse of industry—its smokestacks bent and crumbling, rust streaking down the sides like dried blood. The Merge hadn’t touched this place much. Maybe it had been too far gone already. Perfect for Burntrap’s kind of work.
William squinted up at it, his coat collar pulled tight against the cold wind. “Well. Smells like home.”
Jeremy gagged softly. “Yeah, if your home is a landfill crossed with a slaughterhouse.”
Sonic zipped up to the factory doors, sniffed dramatically, and zipped back, grimacing. “You’re both wrong. It smells like chili dogs left in the sun. For a week. And that’s saying something.”
Clockwell stood a little apart from the group, his eyes scanning the structure, his hand brushing instinctively against the pocket where he kept his phone. He had the look of someone both desperate and terrified to find what was inside.
“Sinclair’s here,” he muttered. “I can feel it.”
William gave him a look. “You ‘feel’ a mad scientist? What are you, psychic now?”
“No.” Clockwell’s jaw tightened. “I just know his kind of stench.”
Kurt, trying to shift the mood, leaned against a broken railing near Blaine. “You know, you don’t have to cross your arms like that all the time. You’ll give yourself back problems before you’re thirty.”
Blaine didn’t look at him. “Better posture than pity conversations.”
Kurt rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t pitying you. I was trying to—oh, never mind.”
Jeremy smirked, whispering to Charlie, “God, they’re so married.”
“Shut up,” Kurt hissed, but Blaine didn’t even deny it—he just gave a faint, mocking grin that didn’t reach his eyes.
It was Clockwell who broke the tension, his brow furrowed as he glanced between Kurt and Blaine. “Wait—so you two… were, like… boyfriends?”
Kurt’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes. We were.”
Blaine gave a low chuckle, bitter around the edges. “Were being the important word there.”
Kurt turned on him, furious. “You don’t even remember me properly, and yet you never miss a chance to jab.”
“Maybe that’s all I’ve got left,” Blaine said coolly.
The air was sharp with unspoken hurt. Even Clockwell looked uncomfortable, tugging at his jacket collar. After a pause, he cleared his throat. “I mean, uh… I haven’t really met many gay people before. Not like this. Just… Rick.” His voice cracked slightly. Then, awkwardly: “So, do you guys, uh… listen to Lady Yaya?”
Everyone stared at him.
“…Lady who?” Sonic asked.
“Yaya,” Clockwell repeated. “She’s, like, huge where I’m from. Pop star. Outfits that look like alien tech. That one song about paws up.”
Kurt blinked, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “You mean Lady Gaga. Not Yaya. Gaga.”
Clockwell frowned. “No, pretty sure it’s Yaya.”
Jeremy snorted. “Multiverse shenanigans. Guess in his world Gaga didn’t exist, so the gays invented a knockoff or something.”
“She’s not a knockoff,” Clockwell said defensively. “She’s… important. Rick loved her music and so do I. He said she made him feel less alone.”
That silenced the group for a beat. Even Blaine’s smirk faltered, his gaze flicking briefly to Kurt before he looked away.
William exhaled sharply through his nose, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “Touching as this little pop culture seminar is, we’re standing in front of a death factory. Focus.”
They ducked into the shadows near a side entrance, careful to avoid the roving lights of crude robotic sentries clanking across the lot. William crouched down and started sketching lines in the dirt with a piece of rusted pipe.
“Here’s the plan,” he muttered. “Clockwell and I sneak inside first—we know what kind of toys Sinclair likes to play with. Kurt, you and Blaine try to keep from clawing each other’s eyes out and stay on watch. Sonic, Jeremy, Bubblegum—you circle the back and look for alternate exits. If it all goes sideways, we need a way out.”
Kurt crossed his arms, still stung, but nodded. Blaine just gave a low grunt of acknowledgment.
Clockwell crouched beside William, his expression hard. “If Sinclair’s in there… I want to see him. Face to face.”
William arched an eyebrow. “Looking for closure?”
“Looking for answers,” Clockwell replied. His voice dropped low. “And maybe a little payback.”
William’s grin was razor-thin. “Good. You might just fit in after all.”