Chapter Text
The rain casts a hazy mist over the bright lights of Freedom City. The glow of neon advertisements paints the city in vibrant fog as helicars fly overhead. As he walks, Vyncent rubs circles into the compass in his pocket, letting the warmth of the wisp trapped inside seep into his palm. He ducks away from the cold chill of the rain, and flicks up the hood of his coat. He breathes in, letting the familiar, burnt smell of smog clog his lungs. It would be a lot easier to get back, he thinks, if the Winnebago wasn’t currently invisible. He sighs in annoyance. Damn.
He walks through narrow alleyways, trapped by towering black buildings that reach towards the moon. Finally, he arrives at an abandoned parking lot, and begins searching for the Winnebago. It’s a pointless effort, and he gets so annoyed that he pulls out his phone and starts tapping random buttons, hoping to call Dakota. Gods, he wishes that Prime had sending spells instead of this junk. Eventually, he must hit the right button because Dakota’s name pops up on the screen, and the phone starts ringing.
"Hi Vynce!" Dakota’s enthusiastic voice chirps out, "What’d you need?"
"Dakota, please turn on the Winnebago," Vyncent pleads.
"Shit," Dakota replies with a laugh, "Yeah, one second."
The phone makes a sad sort of beep. Almost instantly, a large blue and gold RV appears, proudly advertising "Prime Defenders Landscaping (and Heroism)". It bathes the dark parking lot in warm light, and Vyncent can see the glow of their fairy lights through the tinted windows. Dakota is keeping watch from the front. He spots him and gives a little wave. Suddenly, the door swings open.
"Hey! How’d it go?" Dakota says, waiting for Vyncent to jog through the rain.
"Fine," He says briskly, stepping through the narrow doorway and into the warm glow. He shakes off his jacket with a look of dismay— he won’t be able to wear it tomorrow, that’s for sure. "Lightspeed’s hideout thingy at the library is still open. Also found a decent place to get some groceries."
By the time he glances back at Dakota, he’s already sat at the old desk, covered in loose paper with sprawling ancient scripts. His smile is worn, though still bright.
Vyncent looks at the mess blankly, "Uh. Any luck?"
Dakota huffs. "Well I tried to read ‘em and they made me blind for like a full minute so I decided fuck that. Since then I’ve been trying to piece together the compass stuff, but—"
Vyncent pulls out the compass, the bright wisp flitting around inside, and Dakota takes it with a frown. He gestures to a map, covered in dots and arrows and dark scratchy handwriting. "I’m lost."
Vyncent hums. "Are we sure that ‘Mal’ guy isn’t just trying to throw us off?"
Dakota scowls at the wall. "I don’t trust him," He glances at the blue flame inside the compass and sobers up, "But… I don’t know what else to do."
"Me neither," Vyncent admits dully.
Vyncent throws himself onto the raggedy old couch— which doubles as his bed— and stares up into the fairy lights until they burn spots into his eyes. The silence passes between the two, interrupted only by Dakota’s groan of annoyance as the old page once again blinds him.
Dakota whines, "How the fuck did Ashe read these things?"
Vyncent gives a useless shrug, which Dakota doesn’t see. Maybe that’s a good thing. He doesn’t want to think about Ashe right now.
Vyncent grabs one of the chains attached to his belt and dangles it over his head absentmindedly. "We really need a better system," He complains.
"Huh?" Dakota replies, blinking rapidly.
"For the Winnebago," Vyncent adds, and Dakota giggles tiredly at their stupidity.
"The whole invisibility thing is kinda— way less cool than we thought," Dakota admits with a laugh.
"I mean, seriously, man," Vyncent laments, gesturing at the ceiling. "No matter who’s going out, l still have to use my phone to reply!"
"I literally put my contact on your home screen," Dakota huffs, "It can’t be that hard."
"Yeah? Try casting a sending spell and get back to me," Vyncent retorts, and Dakota rolls his eyes.
After a second, Dakota reaches out his hand, and Vyncent stares at it in mild confusion. "Give it here, dumbass. Your phone. Lemme see if I can make it even easier for you."
Vyncent obliges, watching as Dakota fluidly navigates the glowing interface. After a second, his eyes widen and Vyncent hears a sharp intake of breath.
"Why didn’t you tell me Cantrip texted you?" Dakota asks, a note of panic in his voice.
Vyncent sits up, searching Dakota’s face. Dread settles in his chest. "Wait what? She did?"
Dakota hands him his phone. There’s a blue text bubble in the screen. Sent a full day ago. The text simply reads, "Help".
He looks up, and sees Dakota mirroring his panic. "Fuck."
Dakota clicks on the location pin underneath the message, and thrusts the phone back to Vyncent.
A rush of air sends pages of notes flying off the desk. Vyncent shoves his phone into a pillow, and grabs a knife from his belt. A sharp crack sounds as it plunges into a nearby dart board. His fists clench as he stares.
"I’ll tell Master Cole we’re going," Dakota yells, already at the door. "Just wait a sec!"
"Okay," Vyncent mutters to empty air, still glaring at the wall. Tonight is going to be a long night.
Dakota rushes back, and starts the Winnebago without another word.
The drive to the hideout is a quiet affair, interrupted only by Dakota’s occasional cussing from behind the wheel. Vyncent watches out the window, scanning for threats. As they arrive at the destroyed street, Vyncent sees the single dim light amongst the sea of abandoned apartments. It’s so much more eerie in the darkened rain than ever before.
Dakota goes to run out ahead. Vyncent catches him by the sleeve at the doorway, rain whipping at his face. "We have literally no idea what’s in there. We go together."
Dakota gives a tense nod. The two scale the barely lit building through the rain, flying between the glinting fire exits and pipes with ease. At one point, the night lights up as thunder cracks through the quiet air. Vyncent’s boot slips on a slick pipe. He feels his stomach lurch, before Dakota catches him easily. He hoists him back to his feet and gives him a once over. Then he jumps on ahead.
Finally, they reach the single lit apartment. Vyncent creeps around a corner and nearly cuts his finger on broken glass. He peeks through the broken window, holding Dakota back.
The walls are littered with neon notes, posters, and stringboards. The furniture is old, vibrant, and slightly torn up, and the only thing saving potential visitors from the broken glass littered across the floor is an old maroon rug thrown overtop. In the middle, hunched over the black mass of a sleeping Alan, is Xavier.
Vyncent shifts slightly, and Xavier’s eyes snap to him. He looks angry, and cornered. Like a wild animal.
"Hey, X," He says tiredly, stepping in through the window. Xavier’s shoulder slump, though his eyes remain sharp.
"What took you so long?" Xavier snaps, voice rusty.
Dakota jumps in with a thud, "Is everything okay?! We saw your text— I’m sorry we’re late, it’s just— Vyncent sucks with phones even though I keep teaching him and, and—"
He pauses, walking over to Alan and placing a hesitant hand on the black rocks of his shoulder. Alan doesn’t even stir, remaining eerily still. "Hey— Alan, buddy. Wake up!"
Xavier watches Dakota’s hand intensely, moving himself as if to protect Alan.
Vyncent feels his blood turn to ice as he looks between the two of them. "Where’s Cantrip?"
Xavier freezes.
"We’re too late," Vyncent says, and it isn’t a question.
A harsh, bitter laugh fills the room. "Well, you couldn’t have been early."
Dakota plops down ungracefully onto the old rug. "Tell us what happened," He demands, placing a hand on Xavier’s shoulder.
Vyncent sits, tense and curled up with one leg out in front of him. He runs a light finger over the tip of a knife, and listens.
"I don’t know," Xavier sighs. "We were planning something."
Dakota squints at the mess littering the wall. "Planning what?"
Xavier looks up for a second, fiddling with his now-ripped red headband, and exhales, frustratedly. "God, I don’t remember. Doesn’t really matter, anyway. We decided to stay the night here," He gestures to the ripped up beanbag chairs throughout the room. "Cantrip didn’t want to go home. Don’t know why."
Xavier grabs an old pillow, and adds it to the stack propping up Alan’s head. His voice begins to hitch, and Vyncent realizes abruptly why he turned his face away. "We went to sleep on the 16th. Then I woke up, and it was the 18th."
"What happened, then?" Dakota asks, brows drawn together.
"I told you," Xavier snaps, annoyed "I don’t know. I just woke up, and a day had passed, and Cantrip was gone, and my phone was gone, and I was covered in gashes, and Alan—"
He chokes up, then, waving Dakota and Vyncent over. He points to Alan’s chest, punctuated by a raised line of raw looking blue tinted dark rock, and under the dim light Vyncent can almost make out—
Oh. Dead silence fills the room as the three of them stare. No one breathes.
"Are those stitches?!" Dakota finally whispers, horror flooding his voice. Vyncent feels vaguely sick.
It’s horrible to look at— rocks sewn together like skin. Like someone grabbed both sides of his chest, and tore. Vyncent’s hands tremble. The knife glides through his fingertip, and he hisses.
"Only him?" He asks, sucking away the sharp sting of blood. Xavier nods.
"Only some long cuts," Xavier confirms, pointing to what Vyncent’s experience instantly identifies as a sword wound. "Nothing like that… But,"
Xavier holds out his wrists, looking away. They are wrapped in thick bruises, like long reddish bracelets. Along the edges are deep scratches. Dakota traces just around the marks with shaking hands, and carefully contained rage.
He gives another humorless laugh. "Not exactly painting a pretty picture, is it?"
Vyncent takes a deep breath. "Do you have any idea who did this?"
"It was dark," Xavier recalls, slowly. "But as I woke up, I caught a glimpse of a truck."
Xavier locks eyes with Vyncent, and the answer hits him. He exhales sharply, and waits for the damning words to cut through the silent air. "I think it said Bell-Tech."