Multifandom fic blog. Nothing NSFW, but there will probably be swearing and the like. If you need anything specifically tagged, let me know! Requests are always open :) If I've reblogged a fic, I'll probably write for that fandom too, even if I haven't already!
I have seen multiple images by a variety of artists by now of Rinzler being... silenced/muzzled/choked in some way, usually with a collar or chain of some kind around his neck. Sometimes he's resigned to it, most of the time he's struggling against it.
I love the artwork, and have been meaning to write a story based on that, but didn't know where to start with it. There are so many of you with beautiful concepts, and I've been spoilt for choice.
So I've decided to write it here instead. Enjoy :))
"Try that." Sam offers, pretending his hands aren't shaking when he gives the orange wraith haunting his nightmares back his discs. "Should be... maybe a bit easier?"
Rinzler keeps his movements slow, taking the discs and docking them. He's been like that a lot, at least when he's not who knows where and hiding from everyone but Alan. Slow. Hesitant. Skittish. His circuits flicker - orange, blue, white, a whole range of hues playing out over them.
His gridsuit turns white once the discs sync. Sam wasn't expecting that.
The first sound Rinzler makes is a whispery thing, a thanks lost to static. But it's sound, and not a clicking growl, so it's progress.
"Hey, don't worry, I-"
The second sound, and all the ones Rinzler makes after that, are screams.
Grating, inhuman shrieks bounce off the buildings. Raw, pleading cries rumble through the ground. Piercing, haunting wails split the sky.
"No no nonononono I can fix this, I can fix- you're gonna be okay, just hang in there, it'll be alright-!" Sam traces through the coding he's pulled some of the cruelest scripts he's ever encountered out of, frantically trying to find the trap he must have triggered. Something, anything that could explain this.
Nothing.
Not one single thing.
Rinzler takes his discs back, curls around them. The screams begin to taper off, the Program begging for people Sam's not met.
Sam freezes, fingers inches away from shaking shoulders. From the whines and whimpers as Rinzler crumples in on himself - from a helmet finally breaking wide open, spilling glistening tears onto the tiles. "Rinzler?"
A head shake. A tighter coil. Eyes screwed shut, flinching away.
"...Tron?" Sam dares whisper the name he once knew well, belonging to a Program who always seemed so much bolder and brighter than any comic book hero.
One eye cracks open, what Sam can guess used to be hazel now closer to a ghostly grey.
"Hey buddy." Sam sits down, trying to channel Alan more than he does his dad. Tron doesn't need Flynn boisterousness right now. "Clu had you a long time. I'm sorry." He moves slowly. Puts his hand on Tron's upper arm, over where his own is scarred - a relic of a near-miss cutting too close to what's probably featured in both of their nightmares. "But I'm here now. Alan - your User - he's around too. Gonna be coming in in less than a millicycle. He was so happy to find you - he missed you, and he'll be delighted to have you back."
Tron stills under his palm - brings shaking fingers up to feel Sam's wrist, finding his pulse. A ragged sob tears itself loose from the wrecked Program, gouges glowing blue where Sam knows he doesn't know enough to heal.
"I'm okay." Sam tells him quietly. "It wasn't your fault. God knows it wasn't. And yeah, things are bad right now. But they'll get better. You - everyone here, but you most of all - you'll be going home."
Tron's right eye widens, softens, iris beginning to quite literally spark with something Sam's pretty sure is hope.
His other eye is lost to the yawning void of an old, blackened scar running from his forehead all the way down to his shoulder. Sam cups the ruined cheek, feeling the rough edges of what passes for Tron's flesh press into his hand.
"Dad should never have taken any of you in the first place." Sam admits, thumb sweeping curves over what remains of that side of Tron's face. "He never- none of this should have happened. But- fuck." He finds one of the near-invisible ports on Tron's back with his free hand, presses just so to have the Program relax against him. Tron settles with his ear over Sam's heart. "I'm gonna fix it. Me and Alan, and Lora and Roy and so many others, we're gonna make things right."
"And you've been through enough, okay? It's not your responsibility to fix any of this, and you're not alone any more. Focus on your own recovery, we'll help you every step of the way."
Tron unfurls a little. It takes Sam a moment to realise he's trying to share images, glitching with how much damage remains but visible enough where it counts. Faces Sam knows and almost knows hover in washed-out 3D - Tron lingers on some of them. A softer John Cain - Alan's friend-rival who snuck sweets to the interns. Sam's own face, or something close to it, though it's not him - lither, sporting a buzzed-short mohawk, something sharp and sarcastic in the curve of his smile.
Jet, with better eyesight and a cooler hairstyle than the human. Tron lingers on him the most.
"I don't know." Sam murmurs. "We're still finding people. Coming out of hiding, now Clu's gone. They might not have shown themselves yet." He ruffles Tron's hair. "We'll bring them back to you anyway. None of them'll be gone forever."
Tron smiles, closing his eyes. All that screaming must have worn him out - Sam's seen his expression in the mirror often enough. Barely awake, in the middle of falling asleep.
"Rest. It's okay." Sam murmurs. "You've protected so many, and it cost you too much. Let us protect you now."
Imagine, if you will for a moment, a Dyson who is not sadistically evil. A Dyson who finds out what Clu has really done to the other security programs after the coup has already happened. He can't save any of his old friends from Clu's schemes... except one.
Clu, believing Dyson to be loyal to him, still puts Tron in Dyson's custody. Tron is still injured and Dyson doesn't know how to fix him, but neither of them can stay in Tron City. Dyson steals a Recognizer, as well as Tron himself, and purposefully crashes it, leading Clu to think both programs dead.
The further Dyson gets away from Clu, the more Clu's repairs break down. Clu always has a backup plan. Dyson and Tron make it to the hidden tower outside Argon, but neither of them are fully operational anymore.
Dyson doesn't really know why he betrayed Clu. (He probably still hates ISOs and such.) He just knows he's going to stand up Tron from now on. If the pair want to change anything, they're going to need help.
I like to imagine the group dynamic of Tron, Beck, and Dyson would be grumpy father, chaotic son, and bitchy uncle. Dyson would not approve of Beck's desire not to derezz other programs. The two older programs would likely argue about it.
Dyson freezes, barely a step past the threshold of the room Clu informed him a dangerous prisoner - a traitor - was being held in. He'd- he'd been told to use any method necessary to find out where any allies were hiding. To extract the location of ISO colonies they might know about. To... adjust their loyalties, so the might they had could be wielded for the betterment of the Grid.
Dyson was expecting... he's not sure. A threat, certainly.
Tron hangs limply on a slab, already restrained and injured so badly Dyson fears a slight knock will break him. There's- oh Grid, Tron's chest. There's almost nothing left. Pained eyes catch Dyson's, filling with shock and grief even as the senior Monitor's jaw firms.
"No." Dyson breathes, forcing himself to move, hands anxious-quick and fluttering as he tries to get Tron down. "Not you." His breaths come uneven, pain stabbing behind the eye Clu rebuilt. "Not you. Never you."
Tron collapses when Dyson finally finds and activates the release mechanism, landing on all fours with a quiet grunt. That, more than anything, spurs Dyson into action. Tron doesn't do pain. Not like this.
"No, no, no." Dyson frets, trying to find a medical kit. Even a small one-
No medical kit. Just... tools. Tools upon tools upon tools - is that a circular saw? Dyson shudders. He doesn't want to know.
"Is everything alright, sir?" Someone calls through the door.
Dyson stiffens, desperately wants to snap. No, everything is not alright. Tron a traitor is laughable but Clu claimed exactly that, Dyson doesn't know where any of the other Monitors are but has a sinking suspicion he won't ever see them again, there's nothing here but tools and torture implements, not even some basic patches-
There's a thought.
"I require a medical kit." Dyson does his best to keep his voice level, nudging Tron into sitting against the wall as far from the door, tools, and slab as possible. "As extensive as you can source." He takes a breath, trying to diagnose what's wrong with Tron aside from that gaping chest wound - his CO is passive, and that scares him. Tron's never passive, not like this. "Ensure it has powerful antiviral solutions in it."
"Sir?" The door guard - it can only be a door guard - asks tremulously.
"Preparing for every eventuality." Dyson only kind of lies, trying to coax Tron into letting him scan his disc. And it's a good thing he requested the antivirals, once he finally bargains enough that Tron is begrudgingly willing to trade discs - Tron is riddled with a virus the likes of which Dyson has never seen. He quarantines it immediately, getting its tendrils out of Tron's systems, and his CO slumps against his shoulder in relief.
"Please, let me keep one of you." Tron whispers, voice raw and quiet. "The last one. I can't lose another friend."
Dyson tucks Tron's head into his chest. That's... the kind of confirmation Dyson was hoping he wouldn't get. The last Monitors, trapped in this room. And were Dyson not so loyal to his CO, at least one of them wouldn't be leaving.
He doesn't comment on the telltale shimmer down Tron's circuits, Encom's equivalent of tears.
The door guard sets a medical kit down just inside the room, hurriedly closing the door again. Dyson doesn't know why they're so jittery - Tron's in no state to walk, let alone run or fight, and Dyson's sure as glitch not going to hurt anyone. Not now, not after the revelation every other Monitor is gone, when-
When what's left of the rest could be under any one of those blank masks. Dyson doesn't want to derez a friend, when there may yet be the option to save them.
Tron recovers slowly, though there's very little Dyson can do to help him. The physical wounds are simply too great, too extensive, and he can't give Tron enough energy in the right places to kickstart his self-repair algorithms forced offline by that virus. The virus itself is gone, but that's the only bit of good news.
Dyson did, at least, convince Clu torturing Tron was the wrong way to encourage him to do anything, though it took a concerningly long time. So, Tron is confined to Dyson's quarters now. He spends most of his time sleeping, conserving energy so he can at least walk around a little while awake.
The pain behind Dyson's eye is back. He ignores it, focusing on his own disc. Something has to be wrong, and he's going to find out what.
Of course the new code is virus-riddled. Of course it is. Dyson's more surprised that finding that out manages to surprise him - tailor-made viruses seem to be Clu's MO. He only hesitates a little before deleting the lot.
He loses his eye again, but it's quick this time. Quick, painless, lets him regain clarity - shrug off the red haze that used to creep in when he wasn't tending to Tron, and not let it come back. Dyson risks a glamour to fake still being whole.
The door guard who delivered the medkit stays close, avoiding his unit and keeping unwanted intruders away from Dyson's quarters. Gives Tron space to breathe and sleep. Dyson would stress over it, but he has that many reports from the Commander of that unit raging over missed shifts and dereliction of duties it's clear this not-attention is by the young Guard's own choice instead of orders. So Dyson reassigns him, makes his chosen role his actual one.
Protect Tron. That's the extent of the orders Dyson issues.
The Guard's name is Cyrus. He'd be a fine Monitor, if it was safe to offer him the role. Dyson likes him, once he's been through Cyrus' disc and is sure he isn't a spy. Or infected.
Having a beta around lifts Tron's spirits, and Dyson catches him smiling sometimes. Dyson approves, but is also getting worried. Clu's pushing for progress in wearing Tron down, though the Admin doesn't use those words, and insinuated if he doesn't see that progress soon he's going to... well. Give Tron to someone else, someone who'll be less kind, who'll rip him apart and break him so he can be reshaped to fit whatever mold Clu sets.
They have to get Tron out of here. Have to make sure Clu won't hunt him down once they do. And ideally, they have to do that now.
Cyrus nods seriously when Dyson mentions this, long since disillusioned to Clu and his promises, and disappears for two millicycles with Dyson's authority backing him to get whatever he thinks they'll need. He reappears with a Recognizer access card, some handmade bombs he definitely shouldn't have, three blank discs, and a map of the anti-aircraft units around this base.
One of the missile launchers is faulty. Normally it won't fire when it should, but... Dyson understands Cyrus' plan once he explains it. If they fly Tron out, if they can make the launcher fire when it shouldn't and get hit in just the right spot... they can crash the recognizer, somewhere hard to get to, blow it up as though it exploded when it hit the ground. Stage there being no survivors.
It has to work. It just has to. Dyson doesn't have a plan B.
Argon is the best location to flee to, at least for now. It's remote, a sleepy town compared to sprawling hubs like Purgos or Gallium, low priority. And Tron has friends there, assuming they haven't moved or been tracked down.
It's not stealing a recognizer if they have an access card and a genuine need, Dyson reasons, getting Tron into the most shielded part of the vehicle with a lot of bribing - and Cyrus declaring that if Tron's not going in the safe spot, he won't be either. Tron folds to beta enthusiasm, settling down in the cabin and strapping himself in, Cyrus a happy ball of light next to him. Dyson takes his position as pilot - the riskiest part of this venture, but a necessary one.
Dyson fires up the machine, follows the flight path he and Cyrus pored over, and prays they get lucky.
The explosion is impressive, and Dyson can feel it in every single one of his struts. If anyone had been in the recognizer when it blew, there wouldn't be anything left.
Step one complete.
Now to figure out step two.
It takes both Dyson and Cyrus to carry Tron into a derelict, half-finished Monitor hideout. Structural integrity in the area is dangerously low, so much so that the base is already listed as collapsed - true in part, the barracks are rubble, but the training areas and unfurnished rec rooms are intact enough.
Somewhere in Argon should be one of Tron's friends, an old Mechanic by the name Able. He's something of a statesman, nominally in charge of the area - not that that means much any more, given Clu - and spends his time running a training Garage for beta Mechanics when he's not sorting out bigger disputes.
Cyrus, as the least recognizable of them and the only beta, runs off to fetch him. Assuming he's still alive.
Grid, Dyson hopes Able is still alive. Tron can't lose more friends.
He throws himself into shoring up what's left of the hideout, dragging Tron with him just so he has something to focus on - even if it is critiquing Dyson's design choices. So sue him, he's colourblind and it sometimes shows, plus they only have two fully working eyes between them.
Cyrus comes back with Able and a pair of betas. Dyson would scold him for the new interlopers, but-
But Bodhi nearly got killed if it hadn't been for Cyrus intercepting. But Beck's already running around in a half-decent mockup of Tron's armour and render fighting soldiers. But if Cyrus didn't intervene, they both would have had their runtimes cut far too short.
Dyson gets it. He does.
Cyrus doesn't trust himself to know where to draw the line. He's been experimented on, some kind of disc enhancement messing up his limiters and making it hard for him to stop and think rationally once he's fixated on an idea. Already, Dyson's had to walk him through why putting the Grid through a hard reset is a horrendously bad idea - how there'll be nothing left but void, not even a barren plain. No chance of bringing anyone home if there's neither a home left standing nor people to take there.
Users have a way to do it safely. Here... they risk too much, and gain too little, to try.
Beck, for all his passion and stubbornness, is a much safer bet, a diamond in the rough if Dyson has his terms correct - refuses to kill, but Dyson agrees with him on this one, since there could easily be a friend behind the red and the mask. Bodhi has that rare skill of being able to reel both of the other betas in if things start getting problematic, and is even somewhat successful when he turns that same vaguely disappointed expression on Tron at getting Dyson's CO to slow down and take care of himself.
Able pulls some arcane feat of mechanical engineering, creating a contraption that in theory will activate Tron's dormant self-repair scripts and bolster them so he heals faster, then they can copy those scripts over to Dyson and repeat the process. Dyson doesn't mind waiting - he's not the one skirting around derezolution - and the in theory part is only because they haven't found an energy source big enough nearby yet. Tron won't get any worse with regular stints - a genuine concern - but right now he won't be getting better either.
Dyson thieves some blue energy crystals from Bostrum's ruins, valiantly ignoring the few ISOs doing the same thing, and seeds them carefully in the cavern around the energy lake Able's invention pulls from. They'll grow, and keep the levels high - with any luck, they'll get big enough to power the appropriately-named healing chamber to its full capacity.
Dyson doesn't like ISOs. Doesn't have to. But he can swallow his damn emotional reaction and think logically about them enough to be able to work with them if he has to - the disc that hit him was a mis-throw, and even if it wasn't the one who threw it is probably derezzed anyway, plus Tron had ideas that they were more like the data pushers on his origin Grid than Flynn's fool claim of miracles. They had a function, were formed reactionarily in response to something, but no one had been able to figure out what or why before... well. Before.
Dyson can work with known phenomena, unknown function, now he knows that's the likely case. They're Programs, not threats.
Now just to convince Tron, with Beck's backing, the same is true of the Reds.
Saving the Grid means saving Her people. Dyson intends to rescue as many as he can.
Beck with glasses is Such A Mood omg, I love him ♡♡♡
Fic under the cut :)
If someone had asked Beck five cycles ago if he'd ever need any sort of aid seeing or hearing, he would have laughed at the asker before making a terrible excuse and slipping away to steal or blow something up under Tron's instructions.
Unfortunately, Beck of five cycles ago was a lot more naive and had far fewer concussions. Beck of now can't see a damn thing without his glasses, and has trouble hearing pretty much anything.
His helmet did not have adequate protection, even after Tron upgraded it. Mechanic visors shield against bright lights, not combat or concussive blasts.
His hearing aids are small and unobtrusive, mostly hidden by his hair - necessity, not a preference. Mechanics shouldn't need hearing aids when they're as young as Beck, at least according to general consensus, and he doesn't want anyone asking questions. Plus they're near-impossible to disrupt, so he doesn't have to worry too much about unexpectedly not being able to hear.
The glasses... are more of an issue. Granted, his visor now has the visual correction built in so he doesn't have any more near-misses, and he can kind of get away with wearing them at work by claiming eyestrain (true enough, anyway)...
But if his visor or glasses get damaged? Beck can't see a damn thing. This is a problem for the Renegade, who regularly gets into fights and the opponents tend to aim for the visor. If he didn't know any better, he'd say they were doing it because they know he's practically blind without it.
Tron has been trying to arrange distractions and missions so Beck doesn't have to get into more fights, which is nice, but it's rare things go according to plan. And they now understand each other when it comes to terrible vision and the fear it evokes when being approached by someone they can't see.
Beck does not regret biting Zed, when Zed stole his glasses and then tried to surprise him. Zed should be thankful he didn't react by punching, and Beck's willing to demonstrate if he needs to defend his position.
Beck pushes his glasses back onto his nose unconsciously, snickering to himself. Someone is going to be in for a very bad milli once he gets past these defences-
"Mara, he's doing it again!" Zed wails. Beck sorely considers turning off his ears. Granted, his friends didn't have anywhere else to go after Pavel insinuated they'd outlived their usefulness and would be going to the Rectifiers, but he doesn't like that they're in the Spire and getting involved in everything Beck's worked hard on.
He's not jealous. He could understand and handle jealousy, because that would imply their meddling is productive. Alas, it is not, so he's just frustrated.
Tron steps into the room, and everything silences. Beck's shoulders relax noticeably. "Any issues?" He rumbles out, awkward but trying to be personable. It's a huge step up from how he was when Beck met him, and Beck's so proud he's starting to try again.
Beck stretches, feeling his framework realign. "Out of the usual, no. Just got the last bit of this script to compile, and I should be able to access their main command hub and high-sec databases." He flashes a smile at Tron, perking up when the Monitor does a head-tilt smile back. "Energy and sleep after, promise."
"Good." Tron praises quietly. "What are you looking for, once you get in?"
"How rectifying works. Because if I know that, maybe I can figure out how to reverse it." Beck shrugs. "It'd be nice to have more allies with combat experience. And a failsafe." It's mostly true - that's his main focus, especially now he's fully aware he has a major vulnerability someone could exploit if they got a good enough hit in. But it's not his only focus - he also wants to find out what exactly Dyson did to Tron. He knows he's going to hate it, and he'll probably be more onboard the Murder Dyson train unless he finds a compelling reason not to, but...
Tron's not getting better, even after the interrupted rectification stopped him derezzing.
Granted, he's not getting any worse either, but... Beck's worried. His eyes might not work right any more, but that doesn't mean he can't see a major concern. And it's compounded because Tron's of the opinion that for him "not derezzing" means "functioning fine", which is definitely not the case.
Tron hums at him, pleased. Beck bats at Tron's shoulder gently. "And when was the last time you slept, huh?"
"You know I don't need-"
"Yes you do." Beck scolds. "You need just as much sleep as I do, so don't even with that."
"Says the beta that doesn't sleep." Tron teases.
"Doesn't sleep enough, you mean." Beck rolls his eyes, chuckling. "You think I like looking like a raccoon?"
"And here I thought that was the new style." Tron deadpans. Beck howls with laughter - circuits flickering with mirth, so Tron knows for certain Beck thinks his sarcasm is funny.
A choked-off squeak has them both looking over, but Mara and a faint-looking Zed wave them off. "Just realised how alike you two are." Mara hurries to explain, and Beck shrugs.
"There's several reasons for that." Tron rests his elbow on Beck's head, leaning on him and flattening his spikes in every direction - prompting another strange sound from Mara when Beck just lets him do that - and doesn't elaborate. Beck hums agreement, focusing on his script, well used to Tron being both reticent and an absolute gremlin.
Mischief, thy name is Tron. And therefore also Beck, because he'll follow Tron into the abyss without his glasses and with minimal hesitation. He may, however, gripe the whole way.
Beck's script finishes compiling, and dings at him cheerily within a few nanos.
"We're in?" Tron asks quietly, watching the screen start filling with information.
"We're in." Beck confirms. "Clu just triggered it. Full access to everything."
Tron's smile grows teeth. "Excellent."
Beck grabs Tron by the wrist, staying gentle with a hold they both know Tron can break without trying. "Sleep." He stresses, thaking his glasses off and leaving them by the darkened screen, before Tron can get involved in anything. "Let it finish infiltrating. Then we can ransack their files."
Tron grumbles at him, but backs off. Beck still holds his wrist, tugging him off towards the nearest fuzzy pile of blankets. Tron makes a show of protesting, but lets him. He could get free if he wanted to, and it's telling that he doesn't.
Tron's warm, when Beck bullies him into lying down and flops on top of him - the only guaranteed way to make Tron stay still long enough to sleep. Tron's arms are strong, wrapped around him in a hug. Tron's core is sure, steady, and soothing to Beck's barely-functioning ears.
He might not be able to see well any more, but Beck wouldn't change a thing.
Fic inspired by this fake-tweet from @coupleofdays - I swear the initial plan was hilarity, not hurt/comfort.
Tron hesitates before retracting his helmet. It's less than a nanosecond, unnoticeable unless someone knows him - and this beta, Beck, does not - but still...
Is he really going to do this again? Is he really going to risk this again? Two Programs know for certain he survived, and most cycles that feels like two too many. Is he really willing to add a third to the mix?
If he does, that's one more Program he has to trust not to betray him. If he doesn't- if he doesn't, this beta's going to get himself killed.
The choice, laid out like that, is easy.
Tron's helmet retracts. His suit blooms white. His circuits ignite.
It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. The stealth suit is designed to take as much strain as possible off his scars, as well as give him a way to blend in. The white armour takes more energy than he really has available to maintain.
Tron masks the pain with a spine forged from steel and the vaguely-disappointed look he and Able both mastered to command their respective groups of unruly betas - it certainly worked on Flynn.
Tron's prepared for a lot of things. Awe. Disdain. Hatred. Indignation. Fury. He's failed to protect the Grid, failed to adequately perform his function, and far too many have paid the price. Even now, he can do very little, and he's braced for the inevitable accusations.
Beck looks at him with vague recognition. "Are you Tron?" The beta asks him warily, still in a defensive pose.
That's good. Tron approves. Decent survival instincts. "Yes." He feels like a shell of himself, scar beginning to creep back onto his face - he'll need the healing chamber again before long - but... he's still himself. At least for now.
"Why?"
Tron freezes. Buffers. That-
How in any Realm is he supposed to answer that? Is- is Beck asking him what makes him Tron? Is he asking why he's named Tron? Is he- Tron doesn't even know.
Why is Tron. How to cause an existential crisis and a logic error cascade with a one-word question.
There's no- Beck's not mad at him. Hasn't lashed out beyond the defensive attempt to stall or incapacitate a perceived enemy in a situation Tron manufactured to be exactly that. Doesn't seem inclined to treat him as anything more than just another Program.
Tron-
Tron doesn't normally get that. Not since the early cycles.
Beck doesn't give him anything to react to, actually, just standing and waiting for his response, and-
Tron doesn't know what to do. And he's far too close to crashing for his liking.
"Whoa, you don't look too good." Beck is suddenly far too close, how-
Oh.
That's an energy pouch.
They're not common, but Able makes his betas carry those, in case they need a snack partway through a trip.
Beck's... one of Able's betas. Tron thinks.
He's not sure of anything, any more.
Why is Tron?
Even the virus normally gnawing at what's left of his internal defences seems to have stopped to let him ponder the question.
Belatedly, he takes the energy pouch. He- he can't remember the last time someone was able to just hand him stuff.
Beck's... touching him. Willingly. Without hurting him. After Tron's plan to scare him into not getting himself killed went six ways sideways off a cliff. "Okay, you sit." Beck coaxes his legs into folding, and Tron-
Tron can only comply. It should scare him, but-
Well. Tron's barely functioning at the best of times, lately. He's definitely not functioning now.
Beck frowns, and Tron's dimly surprised to feel a rudimentary medical scan wash over him. That's not standard for a Mechanic, beta or no. "Oh." Beck breathes - Tron can't decipher his tone, but he doesn't think it's a good one. He-
Beck's chest makes a remarkably good pillow. Like Nord's did. Tron tries to ignore the spike through his core - Nord's gone. Rectified. Tron couldn't save him, just like he couldn't save Clax or Reeve or Anon-
His whole team. Gone. His fault.
Tron might be able to work independently, but... that doesn't mean he prefers or likes it. How long has it been, since he had a friend? Since someone wanted to spend time with him for who he is, not out of obligation or because they wanted something from him?
Why is Tron.
Tron isn't sure he exists as more than a shell and a title, any more. He likes to say Clu took everything except his name, but... Clu's all but succeeded in taking that, too. He tries to muster up some rage - at Clu, Dyson, himself, someone - but he can't find any.
Someone's pinging /grief into the air, so thick and heavy Tron can feel it on his tongue.
"I have you." Beck murmurs, sounding older than a beta. More familiar with him than someone Tron just met.
Why is Tron.
Tron shakes, feeling his code unraveling at the seams whether he wants it to or not.
Why is Tron.
He's lying down. Beck's a comfy mass underneath him. This feels... familiar. And nice.
Why is-
"Sleep." Beck instructs, fingers dancing across Tron's disc, so far away he might as well be back in Argon.
And, despite himself, Tron does.
Beck eyes Tron - The Monitor himself - asleep on his chest. He's... small. Smaller than Beck expected.
Not physically, and probably not by choice.
But still small. And those scars...
Beck's not a very good Medic. He's not supposed to be a Medic at all.
But Medics look after their patients. Protect them. Heal them. Give them somewhere they're safe, chase off infections and threats alike. Or, that's what he's heard Programs who're supposed to be Medics say.
Beck knows Tron needs a Medic. His diagnostics say so. And since he clearly has no one else...
So hand-wavey science-y stuff aside, I like to think that Alan did try to go after Flynn trapped on the Grid, but Flynn wasn’t stupid. He knew what he had with the Grid, and knew how many people out there might take advantage of it. So he created a failsafe that meant only someone with his DNA could properly activate the laser. Obviously he wouldn’t announce it since, you know, he has a kid, but it was always there. In case.
I just can’t get the image of Alan, hair messy, glasses crooked, dark bags under his eyes, sitting hunched over Flynn’s desk, pressing Y over and over again to Initiate Sequence to no effect.
Alan's panicking - Flynn's gone, he can't find him, he can't get on the Grid to go look for him, and he knows Tron's on there but he can't find Tron either-
And something in him breaks.
Alan's been a decent man, tried to set a good example his whole life, stayed on the right side of the law (including the Encom break-in, it turned out). But Tron got his ruthless streak from somewhere, and it didn't start with his code. And where Tron's temper is fire-quick and twice as hot, Alan's is a glacier - icy, slow, and unyielding.
He can't get on the Grid. He can't find his eldest son. His friend is in the wind and being no help.
But he can code. Flynn, or whichever of Flynn's Programs is doing this, can't override that.
He starts small. Eyes in the sky, shimmering like stars (Tron, hiding away and so badly wounded he's barely recognizable, looks up when he can to feel his User watching over him and bask in the faint light of hope - he's not fighting alone). Then a little bigger (finding what's left of Tron, which isn't much at all, and rebuilding destroyed code almost as easily as he wrote it the first time with the help of some backups and his notes for the rest).
Then bigger. Alan's been a decent man his whole life.
He never claimed to be a good man. Not when a family member is in danger.
And Tron is very much in danger. Hunted like an animal, hurt so badly yet precisely there's no chance it wasn't deliberate, admitting he's terrified when Alan finally gets a line through and they can talk again without it being traced.
Alan breaks the pencil he's gripping (breathe, Alan One, he hears frantically in his ear in a voice like his own but so much younger, and he takes a few measured deliberate breaths for Tron's comfort). Flynn's pet AI hurt his son?
He's going to hurt Clu right back.
He can't get on the Grid. Can't find Flynn to pull him off it either.
But he can get Clu and Tron.
Tron's been on and off the Grid a lot, whenever Alan could sneak him away for a few days. Clu never has.
Alan's about to introduce Clu to a User phenomenon known as "protective fatherly rage". And Tron to ice cream. He's been meaning to for a while.
Tron settles lightly on his feet next to Alan a moment later, taking a second to adjust to needing to breathe.
The laser hums to life a second time, and Alan grins. It is not a nice grin. Tron steps behind him, still scared, but knowing his User will keep him safe.
Clu does not know what hits him, figuratively and then literally. Alan's boxing instructor, way back when he used to train for local competitions, would be somewhere between proud and horrified.
Alan shuts the Grid down, leaves Clu's groaning remains in the corridor between the lab and the arcade - locked at both ends, and Alan has the only key. Clu won't be escaping any time soon. He'll deal with that, and the whole... Flynn issue later, with Lora's help - he's never seen the sense in keeping her in the dark.
But right now, he has a son to help rest and recover, and a family to be with.
Clu can page Allen because Flynn taught him and Tron how incase of an emergency.
We see in the movie that Flynn was not the one who sent the call and Clu asks Sam if he's alone. The guy was totally expecting Allen to show up instead, and had every intention of setting Rinzler on him if needed. Like dude... I wish I had your confidence.
Alan frowned, looking around this... bright-dark world. He couldn't make sense of it, with or without his glasses. All too... fuzzy. Unfamiliar.
How had he got here? Sure, Flynn's basement laboratory had been a surprise, along with that old console of Dillinger's, but...
The laser.
Alan froze.
That damned laser.
Inside the computer had never made much sense to him, but the shapes abruptly sharpened when he figured out what had happened. Now he could see the building he'd landed in, the people - Programs - wandering around outside, the impsing crafts lumbering overhead.
Getting out was easy. Finding where he was supposed to go next... far harder.
Alan supposed the tower modeled suspiciously close to Encom was as good a place to start as any.
The being in gold waiting in the executive's office, despite looking like Kevin, wasn't him. Too young, too shrewd, too friendly. If Alan's half-remembered pieces of Kevin's bedtime stories for Sam were correct, this was probably Clu.
Still. With the way Alan's flesh prickled? Best to play along with the lie. "Kevin?" Alan asked, mixing disbelief and relief in his voice. "Kev, is it really you?"
"Of course, man!" The Program with Flynn's face answered, chipper - not reacting at all to the nickname that always made Flynn defensive and surly. "And boy am I glad to se-" his head rocked back, nose crunching convincingly under Alan's knuckles. He backed off, swearing under his breath. "What the hell, man!"
"That's for Sam." Alan hissed, flexing his sore fingers. "The hell you think you're playing at, leaving him alone like you did?! Kid's lucky he's not in a coffin after some of the stunts he's pulled, you ever think about that?" He demanded, not giving Clu a chance to butt in. "No, damnit, you're always chasing after that stupid perfection fantasy of yours and forgetting about the very real people - like your kid - getting hurt in your wake. Get your head outta your ass, or you and me? We're about to have a problem." It's relieving to get the fury off his chest, but Alan was deadly serious. He didn't know what had gone on, but... well. Clu was here. Flynn wasn't. That had to be at least one of the reasons Flynn hadn't come home.
"Rinzler." Clu called, something wild and dark in those golden eyes of his.
Alan sensed... something, and dove to the side. Movement like that at his age should have hurt, but between this world and adrenaline he didn't feel it because-
The black shape that would have tackled him to the floor stuttered, shaking, jerky and confused. Alan studied them, still and wary. He- he knew that stance. That motion.
That set of T-shaped squares at their throat. He'd worn a catsuit bearing something very similar to help with production photos for that arcade game named after his program-
"Tron." He murmured, and the Program staggered, keening. "Tron, what did they do to you?" Alan had always had a soft spot for the programs he created, but Tron was the one he'd poured his whole soul into writing. Tron was his.
You'll look after him for me, Kevin? None of the Flynn-nanigans, now, I don't want to have to break your nose for breaking him.
Don't you worry, Alan. I'll look after Tron for you, promise.
Seemed Flynn hadn't been able to keep his promise. Alan's eyes sharpened. "Come here, Tron." He called quietly. "Come on, kid. You'll be okay."
His Program crept across the floor, shivering with every attempt Clu made to command him, flinching when more black-clad Programs marched into the room. Alan made sure to keep talking, drowning Clu's voice with his own. He'd deal with... that... later. For now, he had to focus on his Program.
Tron hesitated, less than a foot from Alan. Wanting to come closer, unable to bring himself to. So Alan closed the gap, hand cupping the cheek of his Program's helmet. Tron sagged, whimpering, orange circuits flashing white, helmet glass turning transparent enough to show Alan his own face - blank and pained, terrified and tortured, scarred and mangled.
"It's okay, Tron." Alan soothed, tugging his Program close. "It's alright. I'm here, I'm here now. You're gonna be okay." Flashes of his Program's memories darted across his eyes - friends, kids, Programs Tron wanted to keep safe. Alan guessed he had more family members now.
Tron curled up, still flickering between orange and white, helmet retracting. Alan ran his fingers through his Program's hair, soothing as best he could. "Sleep, Tron. Sleep. It's alright. You've protected everyone a long time, let me protect you now." Tron's eyes gratefully slid shut, Alan's Program limp and lax in his arms.
Alan stood, keeping his hold on Tron. "We're leaving." He announced, shooting Clu a venomous glare. Something shimmered around him - Alan decided not to think too hard about that. Whatever the barrier was, he needed it functioning more than he needed it analysing.
"And I'll be taking this." Alan shifted his hold on Tron just long enough to grab the pager off Clu's desk. "So you don't get any more... ideas."
Clu spat something Alan blocked out, but couldn't do much to stop him walking away.
"Oh, and Clu?" Alan said quietly. "Do yourself a favour. Leave my kids alone."
In one universe, when the ISOs come, an Admin obsessed with perfection sees them as flaws and vows to remove them one way... or another.
In this one, a Security Monitor reaches breaking point.
Tron doesn't move from the side of the healing chamber, long after even the medics have left for their rest cycles. All he can see is the small form suspended in the energy-laden air within, the glass frosted to near-opaque but nowhere near thick enough to hide what lies inside. He raises a trembling hand, almost laying it on the glass, then thinks better of it. The last thing he needs to do is disrupt the delicate processes.
"Please." The word slips from his lips like a prayer, begging his SIC to pull through.
All he'd wanted was to keep everyone safe. Flynn promised he'd get round to solving the problems keeping Tron up every cycle, Clu assured him everything was in hand.
Tron snarls, whirls, and punches the wall. Empty words and lies, all of it. Reeve lost an arm to the latest attempt at peacekeeping.
Dyson almost lost his head.
And neither of the two in charge were willing to do a damned thing about it. So Tron had to.
He's burned so many favours, leaned harder on his reputation than he ever wanted to, incurred new debts in a way he hoped he would never have to again. And all he has to show is a fragmented Grid, and the best fighter he's ever trained barely clinging to life.
Something ugly burns in Tron's chest, something honed through cycles captive in the MCP's Game Grid and set ablaze at the abrupt severance from his User. Alan_One never gave him up. Tron was taken from him again.
Taken from his home, from Yori, from everything he'd known to this strange new Grid, put through agonizing changes to be compatible with it, given a role he's unsuited for and expected to perform it without issue. A hysterical laugh spills from his lips, an alien bark of sound in the silence.
Some Head Of Security he is, unable to even protect his own team.
The errors are piling up, spawning Gridbugs and Worms and so many other things he needs to destroy.
And that's saying nothing about those glitch-forsaken ISOs, crawling out of the Sea and threatening the safety of everything else while Flynn and Clu watch on with identical pleased smiles on their identical faces. Tron nearly lost four fine Monitors to the efforts at not having the Grid crumble entirely, it's a miracle no one's derezzed yet.
He looks sorrowfully at the chamber. Dyson was very nearly the first casualty, and he can’t help feeling like it's his fault. He wasn't fast enough, strong enough, forceful enough... enough in general. Had risked his team on Flynn's words, and for what?
This, apparently.
Tron's eyes harden, circuits flickering a vicious, vengeful bloody red. Never again.
Flynn leaves again, and Tron sets to work. He won't derez a User, though he could if he wanted to, but... let this mercy be a parting gift to his former friend, for Ram's sake. He scrambles the access codes, renders this Grid all but completely inaccessible from the outside. In a spite-fuelled fit, he buries the core passkey and changes it to Alan_One's.
Freedom. He has to remind himself it's a good thing, especially given how Alan_One valued it so highly.
Clu poses more of a problem, but... Tron's eyes slide over to the refactoring device used on him so long ago. It's painful, will require modification, but it has promise as a useful tool. If he's to get things done, he needs the Admin on his side - or his more specialized access permissions, whichever. He's past caring for the spineless Program now, and... well. There's that User saying about breaking things to make others.
Freedom is a good thing becomes his mantra over the coming cycles, trying to quell restlessness without it costing too many lives. He admits a small population of ISOs is useful, similarly to how a small population of Gridbugs is when they're raised to eat only corrupted code, but there are far too many of both and he's getting frustrated as the conflicts continue. It's tempting to just... exert all of his permissions at once, bring safety and order back by force, but... he refuses to be like Sark.
That doesn't mean he's not... slower to respond, sometimes. His team's at barely above half strength, after all, and if a few ISOs get derezzed before he gets there... well. He promises to do better next time, and the platitudes work. He's Tron, after all, and he's doing his best.
Argon is a pleasant small town. Tron likes it there, where he can walk through it without an escort or disguise and nobody really cares past passing acknowledgement or enthusiastic delight from the youngsters. He's been challenged to a nonlethal Disc Wars training game by a particularly persistent bunch more times than he cares count, and it's one of the few times he actually has fun playing the normally cursed thing. They've even beaten him before.
Able is another high point, the Mechanic a refreshing dose of common sense when Tron fears he's about to go too far. He's already vetoed a few plans, including the admittedly preposterous one of surveilling the whole Grid on a level that in hindsight even Tron calls extreme - and he made the damn plan. Able also proved that some ISOs are good to have for this Grid to stabilise - Flynn didn't bring or create enough of too many kinds of Programs, and the ISOs can be trained to fill the gaps. He has two in his garage, youngsters the pair of them, and not much different from any of the other betas Able trains up and lets loose on general society. One of them - Bodhi - has even offered to let medics look at his regenerative code to see if it will help anyone else heal, and Tron's touched at the quiet admissal he wants to help Dyson most of all.
But apparently he's not getting the peaceful break he's after just yet. There's a shocked cry, and Tron sprints for the source. That was young.
He finds Beck, the other of Able's ISO betas, in a heap on the floor. Bodhi stands above him, defensive, braced against a trio of Programs in a soldier's uniform Tron doesn't recognize. One of the soldiers lifts their disc, lights it, prepares to throw-
Tron crashes into them, fury turning his circuits that deep red, rumbling a battle roar in a tone he hasn't slipped into for hundreds of cycles - a runtime and a whole Grid away. The disc still flies, but it's off course, opening a gash in Bodhi's arm rather than hitting centre mass. Tron doesn't give any of them a chance to try again.
His chest heaves with the aftermath of the fight, circuits gradually returning to normal. Beck pushes himself to his feet, voice small and quavering when he asks if everyone's okay. "I will be." Tron murmurs, and it's the closest he'll ever get to a no. That was too close.
Someone attacked betas, and Tron doesn't think it's a coincidence they went after ones he's close to.
It isn't. Clu goes from problem to threat on Tron's assessment index.
Tron snarls internally. Trying to rein him in by threatening betas? No. Tron will derez him for that.
He gets the pair home, back to the garage, and promptly paces up and down Able's office ranting about Clu's latest idiocy and what he plans to do about it. Able vetoes torture, and Tron growls out something irate before acquiescing that if he wants to not be vilified for staging a coup then doing something that will horrify anyone who finds out will not help. Because that's what he's doing - staging a coup.
Clu's endangered the Grid for too long already. If Tron doesn't do something about it, someone else will, and he doesn't trust them not to be worse.
He's not suited for this either, but he's got the reputation to not be challenged about succeeding and enough willing to tell him when he's being an idiot that he's confident he'll be fine if he gets himself an advisory council.
Users - not Flynn - does he miss Dumont. He'd give the old Guardian control in a core pulse, if he could. But Dumont's not here, so Tron will have to do his best.
Would Dumont approve becomes his second mantra, and the question he runs most of his decisions by. If the answer is no, he doesn't proceed as planned, and if the answer is unclear he asks Able or Jalen. Ophelia - Radia - is nice, but she's a little too idealistic for this, and was extremely disapproving when Tron showed up with Admin permissions grafted to his code.
Dyson wakes eventually, sore and exhausted and blind in one eye. Tron pulls his SIC into a hug, relieved beyond words, and gets another ally making sure he's not going to make silly decisions. Besides, Dyson comes up with good ideas.
It's a precarious way of running the Grid, Tron knows. A lot of his code screams at him to enact order, security, control, held back only by the opinions of his friends and Alan_One's insistence on freedom being a good thing.
So Tron does what he does best. He knuckles down, adapts, and focuses on keeping the population safe - even from himself.
[Outside the Grid, a baffled Kevin Flynn shows an equally baffled (for different reasons) Alan Bradley what's happened to the Grid as best he can. Alan waits until Flynn leaves, and then unlocks the Grid enough to send one message to his hardworking Program. Well done, Tron. I'm sorry it's been so long, but I'm here now, and ready to help.]
There’s this feeling of “Where were you when I needed you most? I called for you in Dyson’s torture chamber. I begged for you to intervene in the arena when I was forced to destroy others just as imprisoned as me. WHERE WERE YOU?! I worshiped you. I loved you. And you abandon me without a word.”
Alan [in a pre-legacy AU where he finds the Grid instead of Sam]: WHY OH WHY would you borrow Tron without actually telling me what you were using him for?
Flyn: I needed a good partner to work with to stabilize the Grid! It was gonna be so cool man!
Alan: you fucked up a perfectly good program is what you did. Look at him! He's got anxiety.
Tron's eyes go wide at the sight of a User that is not Flynn on the Grid. So wide, and his breath so panicky, that Clu stops whatever he was doing to attempt to comfort the suddenly terrified Security Monitor.
Before Clu can do anything, Tron bolts. He's never done that before.
The User shares Tron's face, and Clu has a horrible sinking feeling. Tron's always fretted about the Grid not being safe enough, not being good enough, not being up to his User's standards. Clu has shared most of those concerns, and been more vocal about it, for a very long time. Flynn's brushed them both off about it for almost as long.
But Tron's User is here, and Tron is afraid.
Alan_One stops close enough that Clu can see his face is set in lines Clu's not confident he can interpret. He fluffs his armour panels slightly, looking bigger than he already is, fully prepared to do anything it takes to save Tron's data.
And yet. And yet Alan_One just sighs and deflates, running a hand down his face like Tron does, visibly exhausted by something Clu can't identify. "What did Flynn fuck up this time?" The User asks resignedly, and Clu...
Clu finds out what it's like to be blindsided.
He doesn't like it, but it's welcome to the alternative of having to fight a User. He can't help the humourless chuckle. "What didn't he would be easier to answer." He responds, and finds his words almost as heavy with bitterness.
Alan_One's eyes flick in the direction Tron fled. "Everyone's been scared of me since I punched Flynn for leaving Sam alone with no explanation." He comments quietly. Clu barely stifles a growl - he didn't think he'd be feeling a kinship with the nebulous new User he's been told is his brother, whatever that means, but being abandoned by Flynn is something he's all too familiar with. "He won't be back until he can get his priorities in order, so in the meantime I'm stepping in." Clu braces himself for new orders, for something that will grate against his directive, but... "What can I do to help?" ...he's pleasantly surprised.
Clu can't find the words for what's wrong, so he just pulls up his task list and shows it to Alan_One. It's grown since he last checked it, and no doubt will grow again before Alan_One has finished reading it.
Alan_One makes a copy of the list and sorts it through a series of categories Clu's unfamiliar with. The User notices his curiosity, and lets Clu see. "These ones in the red category would be better fixed from the other side, through modifying or upgrading the hardware. The blue ones are software upgrades, these yellow ones are things that will require an installation..." Alan_One explains each of the dozen or so categories, and adds that they're ordered by priority as well - the ones at the top of each category list hold a higher priority than the ones lower down. It's sensible, logical.
Clu approves. Mostly.
The entire category related to Tron has his hackles raising, borrowing another of Flynn's expressions. Tron doesn't need to be fixed, he's perfect the way he is. The fact that Clu can't get the system to match up is not the Monitor's fault.
"And this?" He hisses, gesturing at it.
"The only things Tron should be focused on." Alan_One responds firmly. "Everything else in his task list should not be his responsibility. He was written to protect, not fix bugs - I'll be doing those. You've both done a marvellous job so far, but unfortunately some things have just been too out of spec with what you have to work with."
Clu settles, mollified - though he doesn't relax his plating. Tron is scared to the point of flight from his own User. There'll be a reason, even if Clu hasn't found it yet.
Alan_One leaves after fixing some of the more pressing bugs on what had been Tron's task list before he took it over. He fixes Clu with a steely look before stepping into the beacon. "I'm asking you this not as a User, but out of concern for a fellow person. Do not let Tron try and tackle more tasks than what's on the list I curated unless something's about to go more critical than it already has and there isn't enough time to contact me, and do not take on more tasks than on the list I gave you unless the same condition applies. Both of you are already overworked, I cannot and will not let either of you be corrupted by running yourselves until you crash from stress." He sighs, that look softening. "You are too important, both to the Grid and to me."
And then the User is gone. Clu blinks away the afterimages of the Beacon flash, and has to take a moment to process the concept of a User caring.
Tron reappears shortly afterwards, and it's the first time Clu has seen the Monitor skittish. "Alan_One is back in his world." Clu affirms quietly, dropping his normally stoic and distant persona to allow the Monitor the comfort of a hug. "He told me he'll be looking after the Grid while Flynn takes an enforced leave of absence, and that we've done well with what we have available." He's pretty sure Alan_One will permit him one additional task - defend Tron. Glitch knows someone has to.
Tron takes one look at his new task list, and warbles out something relieved and exhausted. Finally, something he can manage.
Clu doesn't think he'll have much fight getting Tron to not take more on - not when Tron curls up on one of Clu's seats and slips into standby, taking an impossibly rare chance to rest.
He looks peaceful like that. Young, despite having a longer runtime than Clu - it is only now that Clu is reminded that while his beta run was rushed, he at least had one. Tron's was interrupted, and the Monitor still hasn't been able to finish it.
Hopefully now he can, and Clu can see more of that enthusiasm and fascination he remembers from the early cycles before things started going wrong.
When Tron was telling Beck that friendship had blinded him and that he had been betrayed by a friend, he was only letting his apprentice assume he was talking about Clu and Dyson. Tron was actually talking about Flynn.
ok so hear me out. tron wasn’t ported wholesale from the encom system. Flynn is stupid but he’s not stupid stupid and was like “this guy has the perfect life I’m not removing him from that” and made a copy of tron to bring into the new system. ok now imagine encom grid tron meets legacy grid tron. the angst inherent
Tron looks at the other version of himself, concerned. Legacy Tron - a misnomer, he thinks, given the sleek streamlined version is so much newer than himself - does his best not to meet his eyes.
SamFlynn has ported the new one over not too long ago, assuring Tron he wasn't replacing him but saying that "the guy needs to recuperate somewhere familiar and not... totally broken" with a look Tron didn't know how to decipher - and wasn't that a surprise, a new User on the Grid for the first time since Flynn himself and knowing it existed - promising to come back once he'd repaired the other system. It must be taking quite some time to repair - must have suffered an unfathomable amount of damage.
Since then, his newer version's been keeping to himself. Always watching from afar. Hiding from Yori - from Yori, despite how important she is to them both. Anxiously fretting over the Programs still in development - fussing over the Maintenance designates most of all. Tense and skittish around other Monitors - less so around Tron, but still wary and flinching and waiting for a blow that never comes.
"What happened to you?" Tron whispers, and his other self flees.
Legacy Tron comes back later. He always does, creeping into the room set aside for him. He's recently started drinking the energy left for him too, a tiny victory but one Tron will take.
Tron's staying up late, this cycle - a few reports to write, nothing major but he's been ignoring them and can't any more. So he's awake to see his other self slip soundlessly out to clean and put away the glass, only to freeze on seeing Tron still up. "It's okay." Tron soothes, before other him can bolt. "Just got reports to finish, about those Gridbugs two cycles ago. No one's requested it yet, but... I'd rather have it available just in case." He grimaces. "Though writing it is... not the most stimulating of activities."
There's a ghost of a smile on Legacy Tron's face. Progress.
"Thanks for defending the betas from that malware, by the way." Tron adds, core aching at how his other self both retreats and perks up at the simple praise. "I didn't even know it was there until you tackled it. Good job." He smiles gently, watching his other self glow brighter. "You did well."
"Could have been faster." Legacy Tron whispers out, voice rough and raw with unseen damage tearing through his vocoder.
"You were faster than me. And you were fast enough to protect and save them all." Tron pats the seat in invitation, making sure there's enough space for his other self to feel comfortable instead of crowded. "I think that's more than good enough."
"I must be perfect." The vocal growl increases to a clicking rattle, Legacy Tron's circuits careening wildly into orange, flickering and winking out at random. Tron gets a glimpse of abject terror painting itself across his other self's face before a blank black helmet gets most of the way down over his face - his hands physically forcing the edge up to stop it closing as his mirror starts glitching.
His other self is more scared of whatever this is than Tron was of the MCP and Sark and their army of Red Guards combined.
"Hey, hey!" Tron catches the edge of the helmet, straining to keep it open. "You were- you were perfect out there." He chokes out, even as his other self settles a steady amber and that hum grows more predatory. "You were, I promise. The rest of the situation wasn't ideal, but that was outside your control. You did your best, and your actions once you had control of the situation were perfect. That is- that's what matters, right?" Blue begins to return, creeping through circuits blazing far too hot with stress. "You did what you could, and you did it perfectly."
The orange recedes. The hum winds down. The helmet retracts.
Legacy Tron does not stop panicking, clawing at himself like he can yank whatever that was clean out of his core - heedless of the damage he does to himself in the process.
Tron pulls him into a hug instead. "You're okay." He tries to reassure. "You're okay. Everyone's okay." Circuits scorch lines into his external layers, discolouring the white with damage-grey.
Not damage to him, he realises in horror. Old damage on his mirror. Flaking off, pixels dropping like dust - whole voxels simply crumbling away.
His mirror's eyes close, body twitching involuntarily as he falls apart-
Tron activates every distress alert he has, scooping up his mirror and taking off in a dead sprint for an I/O Tower.
It's nothing short of a miracle Alan_One regularly works late on what the User display clock informs Tron is a Friday, whatever Friday means. Normally Tron wouldn't be allowed inside the Tower's main chamber when someone else is using it, especially when the exchange involves repairs of this scale, but-
But it's his mirror in the beam, whimpering with fright until Tron had held his hands and soothed him with quiet words of reassurance. His mirror, battered and beaten and broken, wounded beyond Tron's comprehension.
His mirror. Dying. And were it not for a freak glitch, with no one to save him.
Abandoned by someone Tron thought a friend. Suffering, and thinking it what he deserved, for things that were not and could not be his fault. Blamed and persecuted by a world he'd given up everything for.
Tron, he finds, can hate Users just as easily as he can love them. May Flynn - Kevin, not Sam - never find peace. Not after this.
Tron can feel Alan_One poking at his code every now and again, copying parts of it in an effort to repair, reinforce, and rebuild whole swathes of his mirror where there's simply nothing left. A vile orange thing oozes out of his mirror - Tron snarls at it, activating his improved defences and burning it out of this holy place. It doesn't get to hurt his mirror. Never again.
It's only his proximity that lets Tron feel his mirror stiffen when Alan_One approaches his memory core. Tron takes a shaky breath, then crosses beyond blasphemy. For his mirror.
Not there. He gently pushes the probe away, reaching out to communicate directly with his User the way Flynn once showed him. No change. Only fix.
Tron's User-speak is rudimentary. He's never done this before without a translation matrix helping him out. Alan_One doesn't answer for several millicycles, and Tron does his best to comfort his mirror in the meantime.
When Alan_One comes back, he leaves Legacy Tron's memory and directives alone.
"There we go." Tron murmurs, once Alan_One finishes. His mirror rests in his arms, healed and solid and whole. Legacy Tron doesn't stir, but he's peaceful for the first time since Tron met him - hopefully a good sign.
Ram is waiting outside the chamber, sorrowful and knowing. "You too, huh?" He asks quietly.
Tron hesitates, parsing through what Ram means, then nods. "Us too." He confirms, letting Ram inspect his mirror. "From after. He'll remember you."
Because Ram has a mirror too, on another system. Maybe several mirrors - the revived Actuary doesn't actually know, and may not even be the original. He's not the only Ram around, at least in theory.
He's the only Ram Tron's met, befriended, and fought alongside. And the only Ram who remembers doing all of those things.
"What's going to happen to him?" Ram asks, running a hand through Legacy Tron's hair.
"He came from another system. I- I'm not sure I can let him go back." Tron admits, a little shamefully. "Not wanting to keep, but... he was hurt there. I don't want him hurt again." He sighs. "But he has friends there. Not many, and all hurt, but... friends. I'm guessing at least one beta - he keeps trying to look after the ones here. Staying will hurt him too."
Ram hums, used to Tron's nature by now. "Is there a way for both? Link his Grid and ours somehow? Then he has his friends but you can protect him too."
"I... can ask." Tron thinks it over. "His system is... damaged, but it used to be part of ours. Perhaps connecting it back to a stabler framework will help."
Legacy Tron stirs then, a pained whine slipping from his teeth as he boots up. "What happened?" He grits out, then touches his throat and glances at Tron with wide eyes.
"You collapsed." Tron helps his mirror sit up, but puts a hand on his shoulder when he tries to stand. "Alan_One only just- only just managed to make repairs in time." He's still dusted with the pixels his mirror shed, still keeping contact with his mirror to make sure the Program's still there. "We nearly lost you." Tron's voice is thick, relieved but still so scared. He can't lose another. Not like that. Not his mirror.
Legacy Tron's eyes tighten, but Tron can see the quickly squashed flicker of fear.
"I... asked him not to change you." He reassures as best he knows how, rubbing circles in his mirror's shoulder. "He didn't touch your memories or directives. Only framework."
His mirror checks his face for a lie. Tron's core cracks a little - who did this to his mirror? Who made him so afraid to trust? When Tron gets his hands on them, he doesn't know what he'll do but it will not be kind or quick.
Regardless, Legacy Tron relaxes. "Thank you." His eyes flutter with exhaustion still.
Tron presses a kiss to his mirror's hair, dragging up memories of Lora_Prime comforting JetBradley to guide him. "Any time."
Headcanon that Tron sometimes initiates a fight with Beck in the middle of a conversation, to train him to react fast. Beck hates it at first but grudgingly admits it kind of helps.
Then he starts doing it to Tron to get revenge, and to see if he can catch him off guard. It becomes a quirk between them, either a goofball move or a way to blow off steam.
At one point Beck is back at the garage chatting with Zed or something, and punches him out of nowhere on a kind of learned social instinct, forgetting that normal people don’t start fistfights when talking about cars.
Able sees this and is immediately like ‘goddammit Tron’s recruited him. Nobody else acts like this.’
Beck grins to himself, finally sneaky enough to get his revenge. Dozens of cycles, hundreds of millicycles of preparation. His target chats on, engrossed in carefully curated information tailored to his interests - Beck's proud to say he figured those out too.
He waits, patient, expression schooled into fascinated interest - hiding the anticipation with another, true feeling. Just a little longer-
Now!
Beck bops Tron gently in the back of the head with an empty tube, darting out of retaliation range before crowing with delight. Of course, Tron's bemused and affronted look drops quickly into amusement, the Monitor launching himself at Beck with a playful growl, but for just a few short moments Beck tastes sweet, sweet victory.
It's far fron the first time this has happened, but normally Tron's the one who strikes first. Training, he'd justified it as. Developing increased reaction speeds and situational awareness, teaching how to read body language and anticipate two, ten, a hundred steps ahead.
Beck's pretty sure it was just an excuse to play, without Tron admitting he likes to roughhouse and wrestle like a beta. The training it provides is a bonus.
Beck's distraction costs him, Tron's hands finding the sensitive patches near his ribs and tickling him until he wheezes with laughter. He recovers by getting Tron into a short-lived headlock, and then knocking the Monitor onto one of the couches so Beck can try to squash him into it. He fails, but while being turfed off manages to not only unlatch one of Tron's boots but slip it all the way off.
Knowing when discretion is the better part of valor by now, Beck runs off with the boot. He doesn't return it until he has to leave, spending the remaining time perched on top of one of the cabinets and giggling with Tron swearing retaliation at him from the floor.
...Beck realises two things approximately half a picocycle before his fist impacts Zed's shoulder that he probably shouldn't have listened to his instincts. Their discussion about Lightrunners and the various sub-models thereof had devolved into something of an argument over which was better, both of them fully engrossed in it, but then Zed had raised his hand and moved towards him (probably to clap him on the shoulder, Beck realises) and-
Yeah. Beck had taken it as an invitation to roughhouse, forgetting Mechanics don't typically do that and especially not on the clock. At least Beck had been able to redirect from Zed's face.
"Hey!" Zed yelps, and Beck makes sure to look appropriately frantic.
"Sorry!" He fusses over Zed's arm, despite knowing he didn't hit hard enough to do more than sting. "Sorry Zed. Are- did I hurt you? I'm so sorry- Mara can you grab the medkit, I hit Zed-"
"Beck- I'm fine!" Zed insists (Beck knows he is, but it's nice confirmation). "What was that?" He demands, and Beck puts together an appropriate half-truth.
"I... kinda made a new friend." Beck rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "We, uh. If we disagree we settle it... physically. Wrestling an' stuff." He pulls big soulful eyes on Zed. "Forgot I can't do that here. Sorry Zed."
"What's their name?" Able calls from the doorway of his office, peering at Beck suspiciously. Beck winces - if anyone knows Tron, it'll be Able. Tron had said as much, even if he hasn't actually said anything. It's the fondness every time Beck mentions Able that cinches it.
"Quark." Beck supplies dutifully. "His name is Quark. He's really cool. Kinda... Security-adjacent? He helps Zuse out sometimes, with the unrulier patrons." Technically true - Tron has helped Zuse out with unruly patrons before. He just... happened to be still Head of Security at the time.
Able doesn't look convinced. Zed, at least, does.
"What's he like?" Zed asks, curious, and Beck grins.
"Well, he's been mistaken for Tron a few times." Beck laughs at Zed's scoff. "I know, right? Sure, they look similar from the back, but Tron's like. A giant. And Quark's not much taller than me. He's fun, a real nice guy. A little goofy, a lot sassy - similar sense of humour to mine. Sometimes quick to violence, but..." Beck shrugs. "Security-adjacent. He's only like that if he's scared. Grumpy if he's exhausted. Passionate, enthusiastic, supportive, caring. So, so kind. Just... generally nice to be around, you know?"
"Yeah." Beck enthuses, warm and fond and happy. "It's great to just... wrestle. And not have to worry about breaking someone or something."
Able relaxes then. Beck's still not convinced Able's convinced, but it's better than being interrogated. Maybe he can convince others it's a Security-adjacent thing, make it out like it's not just Tron and himself with a weird grasp of social interactions.
Beck dies a little on the inside when he realises he's going to have to teach Tron how to use his Network profile in a way that makes sense to the rest of the Grid.
However, he swiftly comes across an issue. On his access pad, most of Tron's posts are... he's going to be generous and call them gibberish.
On Tron's, however? A good portion are meaningful, funny if one knows Tron's sense of humour, or both. And, most crucially, comprehensible.
The rest are status updates Beck assumes someone who understands Tron's role will understand. He doesn't, but... Tron's old team probably did. If they could read it.
...the odds of that are low.
"How is this the first time anyone's noticed the glaring problem with the inbuilt translation matrices." Beck mutters once he figures out the source, tracing it back to a problem somewhere in Tron's pad. "It either can't or won't translate you."
Tron fluffs up indignantly, which is quite the sight on a Security Monitor who's supposedly the oldest Program on this Grid. Right now he seems closer to Beck's age.
He's had that pad since he was rezzed in. Of course he's pretty attached to it, it's about the only thing he thought hadn't betrayed him.
It turns out the translation matrix on Tron's network access pad only works one way - it translates the inbound messages to something Tron can understand, but it doesn't do the same for things going outwards. Beck just sighs. This is not his area of expertise, but getting Tron to relinquish the pad so someone else can fix it is... about as likely to happen as Clu giving up his conquering ways and disappearing off to become a Bit tamer.
Bodhi probably could have fixed it. Bodhi was clever like that.
Beck resigns himself to learning yet another weird skill he won't be able to explain.
I read the wonderful ficlet Blink by @teh-kittykat, concerning a developing friendship between Sam and Rinzler, and wondered what our beloved murdercat of a Program would be thinking through the whole thing.
I went into a writing haze and ended up with the following. Enjoy!
The first time Rinzler blinks awake around User_SamFlynn, it's as much a shock to the human as it is to Rinzler.
He's blinked awake before, of course, usually too tired or sore to do much other than research this new Grid being built - and other things too, things Rinzler was never allowed to by The Luminary, like what a gender is (still unclear, but he likes the masculine for its simplicity). And how to retract his helmet. And how to consume energy.
...Rinzler knows now he was made weak and dependent on The Luminary to make him easier to control. Rinzler doesn't like it.
But Rinzler is learning. And he also knows now the User could delete him for any perceived slights. Rinzler's best chances of survival lie in not being noticed.
So when Rinzler gets noticed anyway, because he's too distinct from his origin - the Program everyone prefers, The Hero Rinzler is not permitted to name - he glances around for somewhere to hide. Nowhere viable presents itself, so on a wild hunch Rinzler makes himself small. The Luminary liked Rinzler small and nonthreatening in his sole presence, maybe User_SamFlynn will be the same.
It takes Rinzler several moments to realise the User is just standing there, unreadable save for fear, so Rinzler tries to get smaller and think Nothing Thoughts in the hopes User_SamFlynn doesn't delete him.
Blinking out again is both a relief and terrifying.
Rinzler blinks awake in The Hero's rest space with a nice, fancy, and full glass of energy in his hands. He has to put it down quickly and sit, before he falls, code spasming in relief. For now, at least, the User is letting him exist.
The next time Rinzler blinks awake near the User, he barely manages to swipe at a Gridbug before it latches onto his exposed face. He rezzes his helmet, and makes a few more wild swings to give himself some space.
Rinzler mourns his streak of avoiding the User, but battle is one of the few things more likely to wake him up. He'd been doing so well at being a Useful Nothing so he doesn't get deleted, too.
Another Gridbug swoops at him, and he refocuses. Battle first. Consequences later.
...maybe if he keeps User_SamFlynn safe from the bugs, he can prove himself useful enough to be worth keeping?
Rinzler throws his whole self into destroying bugs. He can do this, see? He's even skilled at it! He can destroy all the bugs, if User_SamFlynn wants him to.
Rinzler will get bored destroying bugs, and eventually will stop being useful for that when there are no more bugs, but maybe he can prove himself useful enough at another task to be kept around.
Rinzler still hasn't figured out how to blink out on command, so he goes small again and awaits judgement. User_SamFlynn... praises him? Tells him he did a good thing?
Rinzler perks up - he did good! And the User said so! He hopes his thankful nod doesn't come over too eager or desperate.
Rinzler blinks out feeling happy. He hasn't felt happy before. It's a nice feeling.
Rinzler likes being around User_SamFlynn, he finds. It makes him happy, although he doesn't like it when he scares the User.
He also gets more good jobs and well dones and kind interactions in a single visit than he remembers ever getting from The Luminary. Rinzler doesn't want to think too hard about that - The Luminary is gone, no use dwelling on the deleted. Programs get derezzed that way.
He likes to... hang out? With SamFlynn.
Although he may have misinterpreted the phrase, because SamFlynn does not dangle from the ceiling with him despite there being plenty of room, and looked baffled the only time Rinzler invited the human as best he knows how.
He does accidentally scare one of The Hero's friends while hanging out, and feels... Not Good about it, despite SamFlynn's reassurances. So Rinzler researches how to get someone to understand he didn't mean to scare them, and finds the most helpful advice to be writing an apology letter.
Rinzler has never written anything before. He can read pretty well, but was never taught to write.
The letter takes three rest cycles to complete, Rinzler coming out to carefully write his letter while The Hero is in sleep mode.
It's not a masterpiece by any stretch, certainly isn't perfect, but it is genuine. So Rinzler signs it and delivers it. The soft smile and not so bad after all The Hero's friend gives after reading it is enough to give Rinzler a warm bubble keeping his nightmares away, and is saved with his important memories - secure, and right next to that first bit of praise from SamFlynn.
Rinzler's not sure when User_SamFlynn becomes SamFlynn, or when SamFlynn becomes simply Sam, but he likes it.
Rinzler thinks Nothing Thoughts on automatic, when he is not awake. This hides him from The Hero, because he knows The Hero insists he is cruel-bad-wrong and wants him deleted.
Rinzler doesn't know how to tell The Hero he is learning how to be good. Sam seems to think Rinzler is harmless-friendly-good, or at least trying to be.
He blinks awake to soreness and a weight on his legs, but before he can worry about a threat Sam tells him to rest because The Hero fought a big codeworm. The worm is dead-gone-deleted, but in its death throes it opened a large crack in their chest and they need to heal.
Rinzler is safe. Sam is safe. They are spending time together, and nobody is scared.
Rinzler purrs, not wanting to try the hug gesture he's researched because Sam is working, and sets his hands against the human's back instead.
He's not sure the complicated data transfer of how happy he is goes through, and even if it does it's definitely tinged with how relaxed he is, but Rinzler doesn't mind.
This is nice.
He hopes Sam agrees, and they can spend time together like this again - and not because of big codeworms.
“Come on, I got your favourite.” A gloved hand waggles a cup Clu could recognize half-blind in his peripheries. “Blacker than your suit and bitterer than the Outlands’ winds.”
The hand belongs to someone smirking unrepentantly, loose and open and clearly off-duty. Clu can hardly believe this mischievous beta in a fully developed frame is the same Program that put an end to that entity known as the MCP. “What did you do?” He asks - and takes the cup. Can’t let a good drink go to waste.
“Me?”
Clu almost believes that innocent look. Almost.
Tron smiles wider, softer. “Genuinely, nothing this time.” He assures the Admin. “Just a good cycle.”
Now that, Clu believes Tron believes. For him… not so much. Flynn’s been changing parameters again, and Clu’s exhausted trying to keep up with him. Plus the ISO development… complicates things.
Tron chuckles at whatever Clu’s face does, takes a sip of the sugary monstrosity he got for himself. Terrible sweet tooth, that one. “How about a race to cheer you up?” He invites, circuits thrumming. “You pick the track this time.”
Clu’s eyes narrow and sharpen, interested. But first…
“After these.” He enunciates, gesturing with the drink in his hand - points at Tron with the other, fingers curled around the fidgets he made after finding out he, like his User, needs something to occupy his hands with so he can focus. “And no cheat codes.”
Tron laughs properly, and Clu almost feels like he’s found a friend. “No cheats, I promise.”
******
Rinzler doesn’t bring Clu drinks. Doesn’t know how he likes them. Drinks whatever he’s given, regardless of how sweet or bitter - doesn’t scrunch up his nose at a sip of anything that’s less than ninety percent sugar.
Rinzler is perfect for his function, but…
Clu misses that part of Tron, just a little. The rest… he tells himself he didn’t have a choice, and maybe one cycle he’ll believe it.
******
Tron’s not doing well, Sam knows. He’d been stunned to find the Program operating at all when he’d checked on the Grid, let alone gamely struggling against whatever had been done to him to make him Rinzler.
Sam suspects Clu. A lot of things stem back to Clu or his father, and this one… he doubts his dad would do something so cruel to the Program he’d built a world around.
Sam also hadn’t been able to resist the desperation Tron had leveled at him, the Program all but on his knees begging, to get him off the Grid.
The User world… probably wasn’t what Tron had meant, but Sam hadn’t known where else to bring him and refused to consider the probable other meaning. And Marv likes Tron, and the feeling is mutual, so. Sam has a roommate who’s slowly learning how to human now. The canine said so.
Quorra’s flying high under Alan’s guidance. Sam tells himself it’s better they’re not anywhere near each other, after their last fight - ignores the jealousy that comes with Quorra getting along so quickly with family Sam held at arms reach for too long because he couldn’t let go of his dad.
“Come on, Marv needs a walk.” Sam calls, and Tron follows like a skittish ghost.
He stops at a cafe on his way back, the little dog-friendly one run by a local family. They don’t bat an eye at Sam’s second shadow, just giving them a corner booth with two solid walls and clear lines of sight. A military man, the old barista is, and he understands enough about the way Tron’s back stiffens and head swivels when the door shuts.
Sam’s usual order is an insult to coffee, more sugar than liquid and an ungodly amount of cream. He catches the look flitting over Tron’s face, and impulsively orders two. And biscuits and water for Marv, because his best bud has earned the fancy kibble.
Tron’s small smile at his first sip of the drink feels like victory and heartbreak - and more than a little bit of hope.
“Thank you.” The Program whispers - the first words he’s spoken since that devastating plea months ago.
Sam smiles, raises his glass in a toast. “Any time.”
Beck takes a deep breath, turns on his heel, and walks deeper into the outpost. ::I need a moment.:: He pings Tron, tagging it with reassurance, and then forwards the same message to Able without the tags. Bit flashes through its different modes, silent for once, and follows him.
He gets far enough away he can't hear them any more before whirling and punching a wall.
Curse all of this whole millicycle.
Beck squares his shoulders, shakes his aching hand, and lets himself sit down so he can process.
First and easiest issue to process : Tron.
Beck understands, intellectually, Tron owes him no explanations. They haven't been friends all that long, and Tron has been denied basic privacy for far longer than Beck's been online. He's allowed his secrets, even if he's unwilling to believe Beck won't pry if told to back off. Especially when it comes to things that hurt.
Because oh does this one hurt Tron. In all the time Beck's known him, this is the first time Tron has lifted, when grief-guilt has faded away to relief-joy for the briefest of moments-
And Able's cold, indifferent greeting had cut deep. To Beck's dismay, Tron had shuttered, visibly raised all those walls Beck has spent cycles carefully coaxing down, and responded not quite in kind. Hurt kept from his voice, but still visible in those ever-expressive eyes.
Tron hadn't wanted to tell Beck he knew Able, because Tron was still reeling from whatever had happened involving Able and didn't want more pain.
Beck can understand that. He takes a breath, and lets it go. Tron may not have been blameless in whatever it was that split him and Able, but Beck doesn't know that situation and doesn't want to get involved, and the current situation is not Tron's fault. Under ordinary circumstances, Beck doesn't need to know Tron's relationship woes, and there's no reason to reopen old wounds.
So, second issue to process : Able.
Beck's not going to lie, he thinks he hates Able a little right now. Can he not see how much he's hurt Tron from his greeting alone? Even after Tron had rallied, had tried to weakly joke about Able taking care of Bit - Tron's Bit, no wonder Beck hasn't seen another like it - and Able had snapped back with intent to hurt, using Beck as a weapon against Tron.
Beck growls out a whine, snatches Bit out of the air so he can cuddle it. Able doesn't get to judge Tron for what ultimately are Beck's choices. Beck could walk away, he just doesn't want to.
And Tron has been looking after Beck. Rather well, at that - Beck would be derezzed several times over if it wasn't for Tron, and with Tron he's allowed to grieve and be hurt and angry without being chided for it. Tron tries to keep him safe, teaches him things to ensure that, offers advice and support and distractions (however clumsily) whenever Beck needs them most. He-
Beck has a sinking suspicion Bit wasn't the only thing Tron lost when he and Able split.
Able's antique lightcycle is an Encom model, and an old one at that. About the right compile date to be Tron's - it's older than Able is. How much easier would it be for Tron to use it - how much less strain would it put on his already exhausted systems?
And what of that pretty suit in Able's office, sized for a lady-frame and so intricate yet familiar, buzzing with a weak echo of the energy thrumming through Tron on his good millicycles? A memorial case Tron's cut off from - a friend, or closer, perhaps? How much does it burn him, to only be able to see what's left of her when he's somewhere he's knowingly barred from entering?
Beck looks at his own hands, too imprecise for detailed Mechanic work despite his best efforts and yet so skilled with a disc or staff or hand-to-hand spar. His reflection in the far wall wavers - Tron's jaw, Tron's shoulders, Tron's build to his frame. "Bit, I need the truthful answer, even if it hurts." Beck whispers to the docile little creature nestled in his lap - he's always been its favourite. "Did Able take me too?"
Bit rocks on its points, thinking. Beck waits patiently for it to process cycles upon cycles of memories to find the answer. And then:
yes.
Bit is soft, quiet, drifting up to nuzzle Beck's face and attempt to comfort away the tears that slip from his eyes.
"Does he know?" A beat. "Tron, I mean."
no.
Beck whines louder, hunching in. At least now he knows why the Garage doesn't feel like home. "Was Able ever going to tell me? Or Tron?"
...no.
Bit sounds apologetic. Beck didn't know bits could emote. Or maybe it's just this bit, Tron's Bit, a stranger even among its own kind.
"Not your fault." Beck scritches Bit's facets. "Not your fault at all." He breathes a sigh, huddled in a corridor somewhere between familiar and safe.
Beck... Beck needs safe right now.
And safe does not mean Able.
Safe is strong hands picking him up off the floor, gruff yet gentle corrections to a dodge Beck feels like he should already know. Safe is a mess of reports and a theory board in between, plans mapped out with pilfered red string and teasing each other for their knowingly outlandish deductions. Safe is a surveillance array and stories of what it sees, information gleaned from invisible eyes even now keeping watch over everyone they can.
Safe is a blanket fort with a healing chamber built into one side, protecting each other from the horrors of the world in a makeshift castle of dreams.
Beck creeps past the fluffy black curtain-door, locking the actual door behind himself and Bit. He curls up in a nest of pillows, wrapped around the base of the healing chamber. Bit snuggles into his chest.
Later, Beck will wake to Tron coming in to the darkened room, and hug his Creator tightly until he can muster the words needed to explain what he's found out.
Later, Beck will send in his resignation from the Garage, and then spend the next several millicycles convincing Mara and Zed that irreconcilable differences does not include them and has a lot more to do with him finding out he's not actually a Mechanic.
Later, Beck will use every iota of stealth he's learned to steal first a lightcycle, and then a very pretty Gridsuit, presenting them to Tron with a quiet chirp.
But later is not now, and Beck cuddles Bit close and cries into the pillows Tron lovingly gathered for him until he falls asleep.
