Archive of Our Own ^beta

The current snowstorm is nearly overpowering the surrounding landscape. Destroyed, and decayed mountains are painted in white, covering the wounds of past explosions. Leaves are long gone from trees, being replaced with heavy snow resting on their branches. The wind that blows through the trees is frigid, and should signal to every living thing, “it’s too cold to be outside”. Most of them will go into their little burrows, their caves, and humans will go to their man made homes. If they are alone, they will go into the littlest corner, using the heat of their own body to stay warm. If with their family, they will warm up with them, huddled up together.

Fit doesn’t want to cower and warm up right now.

Winter during 2b2t is thankfully a lull in destruction. Since it’s around the holidays, there’s always a slight moment of peace between most residents of the wasteland. It’s a moment to take some time to be friendly, make allies, and give gifts. Even after the holidays are over, it’s still a lot quieter than most days. It’s a time where almost everyone is relaxed.

But not for Fit. He cannot afford to relax anymore. He’s got places to go.

Fit is walking down a small path through the forest, being constantly bombarded by the snow and wind. The snow already on the ground crunches every time he steps with his big, heavy boots. He has to hold on to the scarf covering his head and ears with his hand to make sure it doesn’t fly away. Snow already cakes over all of his clothing, eyes constantly blinking from the snowflakes rushing at him. He is slowly making it to his next destination, and he doesn’t plan to stop until he reaches it.

Ever since he landed right back in 2b2t, the American has been busy as hell. Too many people were asking him where he’s gone, bothering him left and right. The world of 2b2t has changed drastically since he disappeared, and he’s got a lot of catching up to do. He’s gotta give everybody excuses as to why he had a year's disappearance, and he reluctantly does so to everyone who asks.

But, in reality, he doesn’t have to be doing this. He can definitely tell everybody to fuck off, and rest up in a hidden bunker of his, slowly learning the new things that appeared in the wasteland while he was gone. The man just wants to distract himself as much as possible from his thoughts and memories. Throwing himself into work is the best way to do that.

And so, that’s what he’s doing right now. Distracting himself by running straight through a snowstorm, trying to fight against it.

A week or two ago, it was January 9th, an important date where Fit couldn’t afford to have his mind off somewhere else. It was an important day for him and the person he left behind on Quesadilla Island. He couldn’t believe that it’s been a year since one of the most important days of his life.

So on that day, he took a trip to spawn, flying up to the little floating memorial using the elytra he had hidden in his secret storage. Every time he visited the piece of floating rock, he noticed the exponential growth of the rose bushes he placed there in honor and memory of Pac. So it didn't surprise him when he saw the beautiful flowers nearly covering the tiny piece of land. He had to be careful when he landed to not touch the thorny vines on the ground, stepping over them cautiously. It surprised him that the island was still there after months and not destroyed by griefers since it was so close to spawn.

He stayed there the entire day, chatting to the roses softly swaying in the wind. He talked about his first year back in 2b2t, how he’s done so much work, yet he still has way more to do. How he reunited with allies he hasn’t spoken to in forever. Although annoying as hell and a bother, it was nice to speak to them again.

How he misses Pac and Ramon so, so dearly.

He told the rose bush how much he missed Pac, like he was missing a part of his heart.

He told the bush that he missed Ramon like he was missing a necessity to living.

He knows that he will never get them back, so he keeps going, keeps surviving. He won’t die, Ramon told him not to, so he won’t. That doesn’t mean he has to take a break, though.

Right now, Fit is on his way to an important meeting between leaders of 2b2t. As an important figure himself, he has to attend to catch up with everything that's happened. The wasteland is a big place. Even after a few months of being here, he still has things to learn and figure out.

It’s actually been a long while since he’s talked to anyone in person. A couple of months, he guesses. Fit has been busy finding more historical structures, only running into people who are enemies and don’t wanna talk. The only time these days when he speaks is when a person messages him first or calls him for some important fofoca.

But there are some instances where he sees other things, things that seem real at first glance, only turning out not to be. Fit has these hallucinations of a person following him around, shadowing his footsteps. He can even hear echoes of his laughter and voice.

This isn’t just any person, though…

As if it were on queue, something makes a noise behind him. Fit stops instantly, spinning around to gaze at where the noise came from. The sound of footsteps crunching on the snow can be heard behind trees, even through the loud gusts of wind, and it makes the historian’s head spin. He holds the handle of his sword, ready to unsheathe it to attack whoever is coming at him.

He sees a figure come around from behind the trees, and he has to squint through the flurry of snow to tell if they’re about to lunge at him. From what he can see, the figure is strolling towards him non-threateningly, with his hands behind his back, hood down, showing his undisturbed black hair. His wide black eyes dramatically show through the white-out.

When Fit realizes who the person is, he relaxes instantly. Now knowing he’s not in any danger, he puffs out a breath of air, turns around, and keeps walking. He can hear the person skipping behind him.

Thank god, it’s not an enemy. It’s only Pac, Fit thought.

He’s casually walking in his usual attire, not even phased by the surrounding weather. When Pac takes his rightful place by Fit’s side, he is staring at him with stars in his eyes. Pac gleefully smiles at him, and Fit only stares back at him despondently.

He knows the man next to him isn’t real. He knows that he’s looking at versions of Pac that will never come to fruition again. And it always leaves Fit fuming.

The historian has a feeling the fake presence of his boyfriend will haunt him until he himself ends up dying.

Before he knows it, the hallucination fades away from Fit’s eyes, disappearing and becoming the white flurries of snow. Fit shakes away the feeling of dread and anger, and once again pays attention to the task at hand. They will never stay forever, but they will come in waves. That is the fact that annoys him the most, but he cannot keep contemplating it. It’ll make him crazy, never being able to keep Pac with him forever, even if he wasn’t real.

Fit has been having these hallucinations of Pac recently. It first showed up from a quick visit to the rose memorial a couple of months after he got sent back from 2b2t. Fit wanted to see the flowers again before he went on a long trip. It appeared from behind the rosebush, smiling to him warmly, and he swore he thought the gesture of making the memorial brought Pac back to life. It took him a couple of seconds to realize he wasn’t real. Pac was just staring at him like there was nobody else in the world that could make him happier. But there was.

Richarlyson, Mike, and Ramon are all people that made Pac just as happy, maybe even happier than how Fit made Pac. He knew how wrong it was for the Brazilian to look at him like that.

If it were the real Pac, his eyes would be hollow. He saw him when he lost Richarlyson and Mike. There’s no doubt he would be the same.

Fit is glad that Pac can at least finally rest in peace.

Fit will keep living, and they will live through him. He has already decided this is his fate.

The grieving historian spots another illusion of Pac appearing, this time further away. He waves to him like it’s just another day on Quesadilla Island, and runs off into a nearby cave. Fit gets the message, and he thinks for once he’ll listen to it. He heads towards and into the cave, following fake Pac’s guidance to rest and gain back strength.

Going through a partially destroyed forest, Fit is sweating from the heat of the sun and the humidity. While some trees are fine with fully grown leaves for shade, someone thought it was a funny joke to leave one tree every twenty blocks. The three second shade is barely doing anything to cover the blistering sunlight from Fit’s bald head. It’s funny, he needed his long green scarf to cover his head in the winter, now he needs to cover his head again in the summer. So he wraps his scarf over his head, trying to protect himself from getting sunburnt. He is sweating in his protective gear, not being able to take it off since he started his journey again.

It’s another day of traveling for the American, having to get to another location in a limited amount of time. Although he knows almost everything that’s happened over the year he was gone, nobody knows what Fit was up to over the year he disappeared. So people around the wasteland have been beckoning him into meetings after meetings, where Fit spews out bullshit about what happened to him.

In reality, he doesn’t think the waste-landers need to know about the Federation, about the other residents, about Madagio, and the fact he gained a son and a boyfriend along the way.

They definitely don’t deserve to know that part. At least, not right now. It’s too soon to even mention their precious existence.

Fit can take his time with opening up about little things, like his life on the island. It could take years to decades. Baby steps, like he learned. He knows he will try to survive as long as possible in the wasteland to do so, to share his stories. He’s done it before.

While thinking to himself, the historian stumbles upon a small river. The water is surprisingly not contaminated and seems very drinkable. He looks into it, and he can see the reflection of the husk now replacing his face. His eyes give the impression of not being rested in days, his beard is messy and untrimmed, and his face bears the marks of grime and filth. Fit reels back from the vileness of himself, and his eye catches on a body a short distance on the other side of the river.

The figure is wearing a sleeveless blue hoodie, and black cargo shorts that expose his prosthetic leg shining in the sun. His black hair is tied up in a small ponytail, showing the buzzed underside of his hair. He’s casually sitting, eyes studying the water flow with a smile on his face.

Fit completely freezes, not wanting the hallucination to notice him just yet. He’s never seen Pac in this outfit before, and he’s absolutely lost in awe looking at everything this new vision offers.

Pac’s biceps flex as he brings his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them. His hair is utterly perfect, the loose strands swaying gently in the wind framing his side view. And oh, his face. Pac is absorbed in watching the clean and pretty water flow through the river, catching on the rocks below, and Fit can stare at his focused expression all day if the world allows him to.

Pac moves again, this time tucking his legs under him so he can lean further at the edge of the river. And with that movement, Fit can look at his face even more now, and he cannot help but indulge and stare at his pretty features.

His mouth is slightly agape, like he’s thirsty, about to take a drink from the river. His eyebrows are raised, expressing pure joy and contentment. Pac’s tan skin is glowing from the sun, and it almost looks like it’s sparkling. And his eyes are glistening, the pitch black circles that are his irises reflect every single shine of the water, making them look like bottomless pools Fit wants to jump into.

The sun is displaying all of Pac’s lovely features, making him look utterly heavenly. While Fit, is the exact opposite, with the sun making him feel like he’s burning him alive.

But even with that, he wouldn’t mind if he dies right now just to look at Pac even more. Fit would happily pass like this.

Unfortunately for Fit, Pac suddenly spins his head, facing directly at him. Fit hates (and guiltily loves) seeing the hallucination of Pac’s eyes light up every time he sees the man. The Brazilian jumps up from his spot enthusiastically and hops across the small river to get to Fit’s side. He trots towards him, only stopping when he’s right in front of the American.

Pac suddenly changes his face, showing an expression of worry.

“Fit,” his voice echoes as if they were in a spacious cave, and it feels like it’s bouncing back and forth in Fit’s brain. “What happened? You look horrible.”

Fit cannot help but huff in laughter at fake Pac’s pure bluntness, but can’t get himself to reply to him at all, his mouth being closed shut.

Pac’s face softens affectionately, and it’s leaving Fit longing for more.

“How about I get you cleaned up, Fitche?” Pac suggests, “Sit with me.”

The illusion lightly grabs Fit’s hands, leading him down to sit close to the river. The sudden touch makes him jolt, but still tries not to tear away from Pac’s grasp as he sits down with him.

… Why?

Why can he feel it? Why can he feel Pac? He’s holding his hands similar to porcelain glass, and it’s making Fit lose his mind. He can feel Pac’s warmth as if he’s alive, as if he’s right in front of him. As if he’s real.

Fit is barely holding it in. He can feel tears well up in his eyes. This isn’t real, he knows this isn’t real, but feeling his touch is actively crushing him. The sensation is too much to bear.

Pac doesn’t react to the wet eyes Fit has, but he lets go of his hands, leans to the side and dips his hands into the river, soaking them in the water.

“I’m sorry Fit,” Pac giggles, holding up his now wet hands, “I don’t have a, what’s it called? A cloth? Haha, so I’m using my hands.”

Fit holds himself back hard from flinching away when Pac leans forward, placing his hands on either side of Fit’s face, cupping them. He can feel his hands work, wiping the dirt off of his face, and he cannot hold it anymore. The touch, the affectionate gesture, is making Fit feel so touch-starved, and now he’s grieving over Pac more than he ever has. His tears flow down his cheeks, and when Pac looks back to him after dipping his hands in the water again, he lovingly wipes them away with both of his thumbs. Pac’s eyes are shining happily at Fit again, and while it makes him feel so cherished and warm, he feels just as desolate and cold inside as well.

This isn’t Pac. No illusion will ever convince him of that.

He, however, still listens to fake Pac as he talks. He still watches him move around the environment of the wasteland without a care. He still can’t help but indulge in the utterly fake, yet such convincing facades that are these hallucinations.

“I think I am done!” Pac cheers, interrupting Fit’s thoughts, “You know, I’m not a professional like Mikey, but I’d say I did a pretty good job, don’t you think Fit! Look- look in the river!”

Fit goes along with what fake Pac requests, and peeks over at the reflection of the river. When he lays his eyes upon his face once more, the dead-looking husk that Fit saw before is still there, staring back at him.

Nothing has changed. His face isn’t clean. It’s like the face is mocking him, the old Fit cackling at him over how soft he has become. He feels so foolish for succumbing to the illusion, even if it was just a moment of happiness and bliss. Fantasizing his boyfriend’s touch and presence, when in reality, he is dead and 6 feet under.

Fit leans back, and to his surprise again, Pac, who cleaned his face with tons of care, is now completely gone.

The vision vanished, like it always did. They never stick around.

Fit puts his hands up to his face, and he feels wetness on his cheeks. His breath hitches, thinking for just a second maybe what he just hallucinated was real.

But then he remembers it was simply the tears that he shed beforehand.

These hallucinations are becoming worse and worse. He thought Pac looked so realistic, and thought that he felt the touch of him. He almost wishes he was naïve enough for him to believe they’re real, but he can’t. Fit knows Pac is gone, and he will never see him again. So, what’s wrong with indulging a little?

The more they show up, the more Fit feels like he cannot live without another. No matter how harrowing it will be afterwards, he wants to keep seeing Pac.

The grieving historian moves so that he is in front of the river again, cups his hands in the water, and splashes it on his face, trying to clean himself up. He follows Pac’s guidance once again to better himself and to feel more presentable.

The skeleton horse Fit rides on is fast as it zooms right through the sand-storm. It’s a good thing it can get him out of here quick enough to not be in trouble, but he still has to deal with the battle of making sure sand doesn’t get into his eyes and prosthetic arm. He once again has his green cloak to help him cover the majority of his face and some of his arm. He’ll have to make some sacrifices of discomfort, but he has to get to this meeting quickly, and he’s too close to turn around now.

The American is pretty close to spawn, he estimates ten thousand blocks away from it. Since he’s so close, the surrounding environment is completely flat, reduced to dirt and sand from the constant explosions and destruction. It’s a total man-made desert, but that doesn’t make Mother Nature any less cruel. There are wind and sand storms constantly around these destroyed areas, making it hard to survive if you get out of spawn naturally. The new spawns either starve to death trying to wait it out in a cave, or they suffocate in the sand trying to get through the brutal storm. It reminds Fit that escaping through the nether is the only way, although that’s become so much harder through the changes 2b2t has gone through while he was absent.

Fit has only visited the nether once. He’s been avoiding it since he doesn’t want to lose his sanity watching illusions of Pac in the dangerous environment. Thankfully, during his stay in the hellish space, there weren’t any hallucinations at all. He could explore the new ecosystems in the dimension that were created from what seemed to be overnight, and document the new things he saw without breaking a sweat.

Even with the recent changes to the world, 2b2t is still 2b2t. Some things became easier to do while others more difficult, but the people certainly will stay the same. Ruthless, jarring, and manipulative anarchists will always roam this cursed land.

Fit, however, has changed. He wants to believe he is still the toughened historian he’s always been, but he really isn’t. He cried over a mere touch that wasn’t even corporeal, he misses his son so much he finds himself creating memorials for him everywhere he goes, and he abundantly craves the affectionate touch of his lost boyfriend.

Gaining a family and suddenly losing them will leave a man starving, and the American found this out the hard way. No matter how much he indulges in memories, memorials, and the hallucinations, he’s always left craving for more.

When the skeleton horse pushes through another wall of wind and sand, they are met with the surrounding flat environment once more, finally making it out of the treacherous sandstorm. Fit doesn’t let the horse slow down, however, because the storm can sneak up from behind them quickly. Fit looks at his surroundings while the steed is galloping fast, trying to find his destination. His eyes catch on a structure, a far distance away. It looks like a pop-up base, hastily made only for quick meetings between important figures of 2b2t. There’s a thick wooden gate, with wooden poles and walls all around it, enclosing and shielding the people in the small space. Fit can see two guards on either side of the gate. He is guessing they work for the meeting host and are highly skilled in combat. They make sure the people invited get in, and the people not invited get smitten as fast as possible.

Fit is approaching closer and closer to the pop-up base. He lowers the hood of his green cloak, making sure he’s presentable and noticeable for the guards. He is sure that with one glance from them, they’ll open the gate instantly. There’s only one infamous man in 2b2t who is a bald human, has an iconic brown shirt, and a metal arm... Besides the FitMC imposters that want nothing but to troll and have a death wish.

As he arrives at the gate of the pop-up base, the two guards do exactly as Fit predicted. They take one good look, nod, and signal to the people to open the gate, letting Fit stroll in. He hops off his horse, grabs his lead, and brings it to the fence posts where the other horses are tied to. He ties the horse to the fence, and turns around to gather his surroundings. Quite a lot of recognizable faces are here, and to be frank, Fit doesn’t want to interact with any of them. He just wants to regain his energy before the meeting-

“Fiiit! Fit emm see!!!” An irritating voice calls his name, and Fit looks up to see the person skipping to him while waving her arm. The girl has a purple armor trim, her wild curly hair is up in a big bun, and she’s wielding her huge netherite axe. Compared to Fit, she’s pretty small, but he’s seen her fight, and she’s no joke.

She is one of the newer rising griefers of 2b2t, which contradicts her purple glittery look. She’s quite maniacally evil, and people wouldn’t know from first glance. Fit has seen her go from a friendly face, to a twisted trickster the moment the other person drops their guard or turns their back on her. She is easy to switch sides, becoming passive one moment, to destructive the next, like a true 2b2t resident.

Fit had the pleasure of meeting her earlier, before disappearing to Quesadilla Island. They met during a peaceful meeting like this one, when she and her group were non-violent. He watched as he saw her become a notorious griefer in just the blink of an eye, her group following shortly after. And Fit is not safe from her antics.

Fit’s train of thought gets interrupted as she skips closer, raises her axe, and swings swiftly towards the historian. He is definitely a few years out of his prime days, but he barely dodges it, jumping a few feet away from her while pulling out his shield.

“Where are your hidden bases, Fit?” She asks while gritting her teeth. She rushes forward to strike at Fit again, and Fit prepares himself with the shield until somebody interrupts the one-sided attack. A flash of gray and brown appear in front of them, breaking the fight up. It must be a guard, because he’s decked out in heavy silver armor. He’s a hybrid wolf, and he towers over both Fit and the girl.

“Fucking fight here again, and I’ll kick both of you out,” The guard harshly states. “This might be a meeting full of old and new griefers, but get your goddamn act together.” The wolf scoffs and he saunters off, going back to his post.

Fit doesn’t even give the girl a second look as he tries to step out of the altercation, wanting to be alone for a few more moments, but to his luck, she notices and grabs his wrist tightly. Fit responds with a snarl and yanks his hand away from her.

“The hell do you want, Crystal?” Fit questions. “We’re at a meeting, and I don’t wanna deal with this shit right now.”

Crystal only laughs wickedly. “Oh come on, you geezer, it was worth a shot! Maybe you would’ve finally told your secrets.”

Fit doesn’t respond to that, only pinches his finger and thumb in between the crease of his eyebrows, already getting a headache from these crazy ass kids he has to have a professional talk with.

“But for real Fit, I do want you to meet some people that are a part of my group.” She suddenly speaks with importance. "They have some questions about the life of old spawns, and we usually get our information from Xcc, buuuuut,” She suddenly giggles awkwardly, “He didn’t really appreciate us becoming griefers."

“That’s your fucking baggage. Why the hell should I help your group?”

“Becaauuuse, we have info on something very interesting. Somebody is trying to track and find you.”

“People are trying to kill me all the time. Why is this ‘somebody’ different?”

Unfortunately, even though Fit was gone for a year, it still didn’t stop his stalkers and bounty hunters from trying to kill him every single day. With his radio broadcasts being the voice of 2b2t, he’s been struggling with trying to find truthful allies. He could always rely on the Veterans, but they either die or hide away eventually, never seeing them again.

He misses Sato. Having a friend that he could rely on heavily was nice. He told Fit one day he was done with the world, and he doesn’t know if that meant traveling a far distance to get away from everything, or taking his own life.

Fit wonders if he would’ve been able to tell Sato everything that happened on Quesadilla Island.

“Well,” Crystal sighs, “I won’t tell you unless you help me and my group out! You understand, right?”

“Can you at least tell me his name?”

“Hmmm…” She responds sarcastically, “Fine. We don’t know his actual name, but people have nicknamed him ‘Stray’.”

“Why?”

“Because he looks like a stray!” She replies cheerfully, “You know, like the skeletons you see from the snowy mountains-”

Fit grumbles. “Alright, alright, I’ll help your group out.” He knows he’s not gonna get any more information than that. And he certainly doesn’t want to hear any more time-wasting yapping.

“Yay!” Crystal jumps up and down, clapping her hands together in excitement. She then leads Fit to the middle of the pop-up base, bringing him to a circle of younger looking residents. While most of these people spawned in 2b2t recently, they have made quite a name for themselves already. Fit can’t help but be curious about the bunch, and whatever this “Stray” guy is.

As Fit enters the circle of people, all of their eyes land on him, absolutely star-struck. They become eerily quiet, like they’re too scared to speak over the iconic FitMC. It’s funny to see people so utterly inspired by him, and although Fit lost his pride in this world long ago, he still feels a little confident from the silent praise.

Crystal introduces him dramatically and Fit starts answering all of their curiosity filled questions. While there are some idiotic ones, only meaning to get under Fit’s skin, there are people genuinely asking for advice, and he can tell that they will someday be pillars in the new change of 2b2t. Asking about hacks, about griefing, about old groups like the Veterans, and about very popular residents that disappeared without a trace. He even mentions the reign of “Pyrobyte”, a name that got everyone’s ears perking with recognition.

They all seemed relatively young, some even looking like they just got into their teenage years. He recalls the ages of the kids back on Quesadilla Island, and he puts together that this group is a few ages older than them.

He wonders if the eggs, and his baby boy, would get along well with the group.

“Alright, I’m done with questions.” Fit declared. It’s been a few minutes since he and the group’s conversation started. Now it’s his turn for the favor he gets. He wants information on “Stray”.

Crystal, who’s next to Fit, looks up at him with a nod. She turns her head back to her group.

“So, my buddy here, Fit, wanted to ask you guys a question.” The name ‘buddy,’ makes Fit’s eyes roll. “What do all of you know about the strange new guy named Stray?”

“Well,” A voice spoke up, deepening their voice to sound intimidating, “I heard from a group of traveling bounty hunters that they stumbled upon him.” The person was talking about it like it was some sort of scary story, gesturing with their hands to get the group to lean in as they lower their voice further. “He was huddled up over a fire, almost looking too still to be alive. The group took one step, and BAM!” Some members of the circle flinch back as the storyteller makes gun gestures using their fingers. “He whips out his bow and shoots all of them perfectly in the head.”

“He looks eerily creepy.” A lighter voice chimes in. “I heard he actually appears like the skeleton monster from the snowy cliffs. He looks threatening from a distance, with his flowing, ripped gray cape and cloak. A big, gray hood covers his face, so we know little of what he actually looks like. Not even his limbs signify that he’s actually living and breathing. They are completely covered in gray wraps.” She motions to her arms, showing where the wraps would be.

While the kids enthusiastically talk about this new-spawn like he is the newest cryptid in 2b2t, Fit catches his eye on a too-familiar shade of blue in the distance. He lifts his head to keep an eye on it, and he sees that the color is mingling with others, talking like they actually acknowledge the person who is supposed to be dead.

“I heard that his voice is hard to miss.” Another voice breaks Fit’s concentration for a second, but he still keeps his eyes on the man wearing blue. “It’s either as sharp as broken glass, cutting through the entire 2b2t atmosphere,” The black head of hair pops up from the distant crowd, and spots his target, Fit, “Or it’s as quiet as a stream, his voice being mistaken for the wind at one point.” He watches as the illusion slinks over to Fit’s direction slowly, still a distance away from him, but getting closer. “He only uses his voice for one thing, though. With every person he sees, passes by, or attacks, he always desperately asks…” By the time the person pauses their talking, Pac has arrived, smiling and waving gleefully.

“Oiii, Fit, I finally found you!” He speaks warmly and full of affection. Fit’s eyes widen, dumbfounded as everyone in the group, including Crystal, turn their heads to see the man who’s calling his name so fondly.

God, Fit is really going fucking insane, isn’t he?

“Fit,” Crystal looks back at him with an irksome smile on her face. “Who is this?”

Fit doesn’t dare speak. He knows this entire moment is a facade, and he knows that all the illusions fade away eventually. He just has to hold it out, stay silent, so he doesn’t look crazy in front of everyone. Keep his eyes on them, not the illusion.

Pac thankfully speaks for him.

“Oh, don’t bother him. I’ll introduce myself!” He said, walking over to Crystal, squeezing into the circle between her and Fit, “My name is Pac, I’m Fit’s basemate!”

Fit really wishes with all of his leftover heart for that to be true.

Crystal gives a good look at Pac, then turns back to Fit, face even more smug than before.

“Oh, Fit, I didn’t know you had a basemate.”

He’s none of your business, Fit scowls in his mind.

“Oh, forget about me!” Pac waves his hands in dismissal. “What were you guys talking about earlier?”

“Well,” The same person with the deep voice speaks again, and Pac turns his attention to them, “We were discussing this person nicknamed ‘Stray’. He’s apparently trying to track down Fit.”

Pac suddenly has an annoyed pout on his face.

“Fit, you didn’t tell me about this! Do I have to go hang more people?”

You aren’t real.

“Stray actually doesn’t seem like he means any harm to Fit.” Someone in the group throws out. “While I’ve heard that he ruthlessly kills anyone who gets in his way, I’ve also heard he is merely innocent. Only attacking when cornered.”

“Well, it seems to happen a lot then,” an annoyed scoff interrupts the person speaking, “Do you know Stray’s kill count? It’s shocking for a new guy around here.”

“It’s 2b2t. No one’s ever made a fuss because somebody killed too much!” Someone else argues, “I’d just let him try to find Fit. It’s kinda endearing if you ask me!”

“They’re both men, you know.”

“But Fit being gay would be cool!”

“Wait actually, you’re right, that would be pretty cool.”

“Guys, pay attention!”

The argument between the teens is starting to escalate as more voices intrude into the conversation. It doesn’t take long for it to change into yelling and talking over each other, now sounding incomprehensible altogether. Fit sighs, closing his eyes, until he feels someone poking his right arm.

His eyes shoot open once more and look to his right to see the illusion smirking up at him. God, he will never get over that he can feel Pac sometimes, even if the feeling is a little numb.

“Seems like they forgot about us, huh?” Pac says rhetorically. It almost sounds like his voice is coated with affection for the kids. He even sometimes glances to see them arguing with each other, eyes filled with warmth.

He misses Pac so much.

“You know…” Pac’s voice suddenly changes, now sounding bittersweet. He turns to Fit with a sad smile, while the historian still looks forward, seeing the Brazilian in the corner of his eye.

“Stray, doesn’t seem like a bad guy, Fit. Maybe… You should let him find you.”

Fit inhales sharply and his eyes open wide. Pausing his breath, not only because he doesn’t want to respond, but he really wants to know what Pac will say next.

“I mean, it’s kinda silly, because I know you can handle yourself, you know! But… Maybe you need a new roommate, if you get what I’m saying.”

And no, Fit doesn’t get what the fuck this apparition is saying to him. He is in awe that not only Pac is suggesting this, but Fit is the one thinking this as well. These thoughts might be undesired, but it still means it’s on his mind.

And while he has thought about the question, he immediately knows the answer.

Never.

He doesn’t think anyone can replace Pac, especially in 2b2t. There were special circumstances with him, and barriers broken by Ramon beforehand. Those barriers might still be damaged, but he will never let any other person even realize that they are in the first place.

So Fit sucks in even more air, and wills himself to walk away from the hallucination. His destination is the farthest corner away from everyone, and away from Pac. He doesn’t care about the group anymore, doesn’t care about looking like a lunatic. He genuinely cannot listen to any more of Pac’s increasingly heartbreaking speech.

But of course, it isn’t going to be as easy as walking away to get rid of him. Pac follows behind, adamant about speaking to Fit and adamant about wanting him to hear every word.

“He seems really strong, like, apparently he has a very big kill count?” Pac gasps dramatically, “Fit, he seems way more stronger than me, you know. I’ve always been such an inconvenience.”

No matter how much he tries, covering his ears, shutting his eyes, listening to the sound of his footsteps on the ground, he cannot get rid of the echoing voice that is Pac dismantling his self-worth in front of him.

“I mean come on, Fit. Do you really think you would be better off if I were here?” Pac laughs warmly in contrast to the very, very cold words. “I would piss so many people off saying the wrong thing, you know? I would trip everywhere, making so much noise. There’s a lot of cannibalism, Fit. Do you really think I would last long in a place like this? Haha, I’d want death immediately!”

The more Pac speaks, the more edge his tone of voice gets. It’s like he’s prodding Fit purposefully, telling him all the problems his boyfriend had that Fit regretfully neglected.

He didn’t try hard enough before he left. Maybe that was why Pac decided to leave the world of the living. Maybe it was all his fault.

Fit has hit the corner physically and mentally, nearly slamming his head on the rough wooden wall, concentrating on feeling the splinters going through his skin instead of Pac’s disturbing monologue. No matter what he distracts himself with, everything feels so numb. Everything but Pac’s sweet voice and sharp words.

“You can’t hide from me, Fitche,” Pac’s voice lowers, almost threateningly, “I’m just telling you the truth here. You should just let me go already. Of all people, you should know that all I do is drag you down, make you weak. Maybe Stray will fix all of the problems I caused you back then.”

It’s funny how Fit is imagining this without Pac stumbling over his words at all. It's like this was festering in the illusion’s mind for months, waiting for the perfect moment to take Fit by surprise and insert the venom into his ears.

He wonders if Pac really felt this way about Fit. That he felt like he was a ball and chain, an annoying nag, and it breaks his heart.

All he knows is that fake Pac is wrong. Fit will never replace him with anyone, and even Pac himself cannot convince him to stop thinking about him ever.

However, hearing Pac speak like this about himself is hurting Fit, and he is reaching his tolerance for pain quickly. He’s biting his lip so hard he feels it bleed. He’s shutting his eyes so tightly it's starting to hurt. He’s covering his ears with his hands, pressing them hard against his head. And yet, everything feels so numb. And yet, he still hears Pac.

The one time he doesn’t want to listen to his boyfriend, fake or not, his twisted voice is piercing through his skull.

Fit suddenly feels Pac’s arm slinking across his back. He then pulls his shoulder, forcing Fit to face him. The historian’s eyes still stare at the ground, not mentally strong enough to look at Pac.

“Stray even seems cooler than I would ever be!” He can tell that Pac is smiling cheerfully, but it almost seems like it’s forced. “I’m sure he wouldn’t have a breakdown every time his friends and family left him alone. He wouldn’t suck at fighting, needing help all the time. And he certainly wouldn’t be trying to kill himself and sacrificing himself over the smallest of things. Meu deus, that must’ve been so annoying to deal with.”

Before Fit can even catch a break, Pac grabs Fit’s chin and lifts it up forcefully to make him see his face. If the American isn’t horrified enough, he is now from the sight he is unwillingly seeing.

Pac’s clothes have changed into an eye-piercing white hoodie and pants, in contrast to the beautiful blue, which is now gone. And his expression is exactly the same as it was when he was under the influence of the happy pills. A wide, fake smile stretches across his face, revealing all of his teeth, while tears are streaming from his eyes.

“Stop.” Fit cannot help but mutter pleas out of his mouth, the agony becoming too much to bear.

“Face it, Fit. I was nothing but a nuisance to you. You should forget about me.” Pac sounds pained while his face moves closer to Fit’s with every word.

“No. You aren’t.”

“You should be glad.”

“Stop.” Fit shuts his eyes.

“Glad that I finally ended my miserable life.”

“STOP!”

“FIT!”

When he snaps open his eyes again, he finds himself back in the group circle. Every single one of the teens, including Crystal, who yelled his name, are staring at him like he’s lost it.

That’s why everything else felt so numb. It was because he was hallucinating the entire thing.

And now the illusion is finally gone, leaving Fit to clean up the mess.

Fuck this.

Fit doesn’t say anything as he turns his back on the group, listening to their shocked reactions and retorts in the background for the historian to come back.

Fit swiftly reaches for his skeleton horse, unraveling the lead as fast as he can, letting the horse free as he brings it to the entrance. He tells the guards that he has an emergency and needs to leave immediately, and thankfully, they comply with him.

But of course, when he’s about to jump up on his horse, wait for the gate to open and get the hell out of here, Crystal stops him from doing so by pulling on his cloak.

He whips his head around, facing her with complete anger and wrath.

“The fuck do you want now?” Fit asks hostilely.

“Woah, big guy. Relax, will you?” Crystal backs away a bit with her hands up. “I was just gonna tell you where we last saw Stray.”

“Not interested.” Fit replied immediately, about to jump on his horse again until Crystal interrupts one last time.

“Wait Fit! How about I tell you so you can stay away from him?”

Fit pauses for a moment, turning back to Crystal. While he is in no mood to talk to her, let alone anyone, this can be good information so he can avoid conflict with Stray. So he groans in annoyance and complies.

“Fuck it. Tell me.”

She clears her throat. “We last saw him in both negative X and Z coordinates. I believe it was X -5000 Z -30000, and while that is a far distance from here, people travel fast. So I guess it is good that you leave now.”

Fit stays silent for a second, regrettably, because Crystal claims this as a moment to keep talking.

“Listen dude, you were like, screaming ‘stop’. What was that about?”

Fit’s face hardens. “None of your fuckin’ business.”

“Sorry, Fit, sorry.” Crystal raises her hands again, pausing. Her face suddenly becomes full of pity.

“You know Fit, you are not as lonely as you think. I mean, hey, you got me! So listen, if you ever need help with something, dm me in the comms.”

Fit turns his head away and sighs deeply. “... I’ll keep that in mind.”

She responds to that with a toothy grin, and reaches her arm under Fit’s cloak to pat him hard on the back. He scowls at her, and Crystal knows that is when she has reached her limit with him, backing away slowly. As she says her goodbyes, Fit hops on his horse and leaves the moment the gates are open enough to do so.

He immediately looks at his comm, checking the coordinates to make sure he is heading towards both X and Z positive. He’s going straight towards the storm he had just gotten out of, and he only sighs in slight annoyance.

Fit tries not to think about the things the hallucination said to him. He tries not to think about if it was accurate or not. If Pac were still alive with him, would he hate it so much he would constantly seek death? Would the grief be too much to bear for him? Did the Brazilian really feel like he was dragging him down the entire time they were together?

It’s making him feel crazy, because he has a feeling the words that were spat from the illusion were not a complete lie.

But Fit is not completely helpless. He knows one thing he will do, and that is to finally not listen to the facade. Not listen to his guidance. He is moving as far away as he can from Stray, and he will never let him find him.

The leaves from the trees have already changed color and dropped to the ground, the forest floor being covered in them. Every step Fit makes, there’s always the sound of crunching below him. The foliage, while getting to be completely barren, still has leaves on the branches, which should be enough to go through to lose a mob or a person. The thick fog surrounding the forest helps too, but Fit cannot see through it well, making him be on edge slightly. It’s the brink of winter, not being cold enough to wear extra layers, but the wind is very chilling, and sends a shiver through Fit’s spine every time it blows.

He discarded his horse long ago. It got dismantled by some zombies and Fit had to abandon it. It was a nuisance constantly being on his feet, but it was necessary for his safety.

Fit’s been traveling for what he believes to be two months now, barely stopping to rest except for cooking food and sleeping. He hasn’t even taken a peek at his comm either, silencing it the moment he started this trip. The American should be more than far away from Stray by now, being at what he estimates over one-hundred thousand blocks away, but there is something in his gut that doesn’t trust that distance will do anything. He needs to keep going until he believes he’s actually safe.

The constant illusions of the Brazilian are not helping with that.

Ever since that hallucination episode at the meeting spot, every Pac illusion since then has been constant and ruthless threats and self-deprecation towards himself. It wasn’t the same, nice presence of Pac for a slight moment anymore. It was hostile, toxic, and Fit was losing sanity with each and every one. The more he says, the more he’s almost starting to believe the wretched words.

It’s happening more frequently as well. There is one hallucination almost every single day. Fit is starting to become more paranoid, and gets startled by the noises he himself is making.

He starts to wonder if he’s trying to run away from Stray, or trying to run away from this dark, twisted Pac. But no matter what he does, he cannot seem to escape it.

Fit, unfortunately, is starting to reach his physical limit as well. After constantly walking for two months even he starts to show signs of weakness. His legs have been feeling like jelly for a few days now, his body feels disgusting, having no time to bathe, and his stump aches terribly. He hasn’t taken it off much since he started this long, arduous journey.

He’s on the brink of passing out on the ground right there and then. Thankfully, Fit’s aimless walking leads to a cave entrance, and he decides that maybe it’s time for a half-day break. He lights a torch up and heads into the cave.

It’s a pretty big tunnel, it takes him a few minutes to find the end of the cave, and thankfully, a deep pool of water is waiting for him. It’s pretty shallow, but he will be able to float and soak himself in it. Maybe this is a good sign. He can take off his prosthetic and let his stump breathe, take off his dirty clothes for a second, and hopefully his limbs will feel good in the water now that gravity isn’t constantly pressuring them. Fit puts his backpack down to the side, then methodically takes off every article of clothing except for his boxers. From the boots, to his green cloak, to the pouch strap on his chest, to his shirt, and to his belt and pants. He then reaches to unbuckle the strap that’s holding his prosthetic arm, and cringes as he feels the skin of his stump peel as he finally pulls off the prosthetic from his flesh limb. The American almost regrets not putting the prosthetic strap over his shirt, because he felt the skin peel off his chest from the strap as well. He stares at his stump, frowning while inspecting the bright pink and ripped skin.

Before he hops in, he leans down to dig into his pouch to see if he has any more regenerative potion left, and luckily, he still has quite a lot in the bottle. He takes the bottle out and pours the slightest bit into the pool of water. Fit then stirs it around using his arm, and when he thinks it’s all mixed in, he dips his legs in, sighing contently as he lowers himself into the water. It’s pretty cold, but he needs that for his burning limbs. He can feel the potion work as it heals the scrapes and scratches Fit left unhealed along his travels. Fit leans to the side to dip his shortened limb into the water, and he sighs again as the pleasant feeling is now on his aching stump.

He briefly considers his communicator, which has been sitting in his backpack unused for months. He hasn’t contacted anyone in a long time, and he wonders, just a little, if anyone has noticed that he disappeared from the world, even if it’s only been two months. Fit cannot help but feel alone, and while he has been alone his entire life, this is different. Ever since he got sent back to 2b2t, he’s been missing his friends back on the island. He’s formed so many connections with the people there, and even though there are opportunities to meet nice people in the wasteland, he doesn’t think he will ever grow connections as fond as the people he met there. Especially from the certain Brazilian that had, and still has, captured his heart.

It’s really hard for him not to shut his eyes and take a long nap right now, but the dreadful feeling of a hallucination showing up is still on his mind. He wishes he can relax, but he guesses almost two years without his family will do something like that to him.

He cannot think about that right now, so he focuses on the water, letting himself float for a bit and lose track of time. He’s been doing nothing but trying to keep track of time these days.

He doesn’t know how long he’s floating for. He cannot see the sunlight due to him being so far deep into the cave, so when he feels that his body is clean and his limbs are rested, he regretfully climbs out of the chilly water.

Fit dries off as best as he can without a towel by shaking his limbs like a dog, trying to get rid of all the stray water drops. He reaches for his belt and pants and puts them on. He has a little battle in his head to either put his shirt on first or his prosthetic strap, and he decides on the prosthetic again, since he didn’t fully regret doing it the last time. Fit puts on his prosthetic with a groan, already missing the feeling of his stump being free, and then buckles the strap. He leans down again to reach for the shirt, and as he picks it up, he freezes. He spots something stuck onto the back of it, a little square decorated in purple, and Fit quickly realizes what it is.

It’s a tracker.

Fit flashbacks to when he and Crystal saw each other last, and he remembers her patting him on the back before he left. She must’ve stuck this on his shirt.

And Fit has been focusing so much on traveling with no breaks that he didn’t even notice for the past two months.

God, he feels so fucking stupid.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been down here for, he’s guessing a few hours, but he knows for sure that Crystal and the group are using this opportunity to surround him by utilizing the cave. They’re probably camping it, waiting patiently for the historian to come out.

Fit pulls the tracker chip off of his shirt and throws it in the water, watching it electrocute and die. He puts on his shirt and his backpack, then wraps his cloak around himself. He pulls out his sword from the sheathe on his belt, then marches forward towards the entrance of the cave. He hasn’t gone into a brawl like this in quite a while, and it makes him feel ready to fight. Fit feels confident that he will beat whoever they throw at him.

It’s just a bunch of kids. What the hell are they going to do to stop FitMC?

Fit slows down as he starts to see the light of the sun bounce off the cave walls, and tightens the grip on his sword. He steps slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible as the cave floor turns upwards. It’s hard to plant his shoes firmly on the damp cave ground, but he does his best to try to not slip.

After a minute of silent struggle, he finally sees the entrance of the cave, and he readies himself by stretching his arm and legs. As he’s about to rush outside, ready to attack whoever comes at him, he feels a hand grab his shoulder harshly.

Fit reacts immediately by turning and swinging fast with his sword, in which the person dodges and jumps back to avoid any more swings, now being deeper in the cave. Someone else tries to grab Fit's hand holding the communicator, and he turns again to swing at them, actually hitting the person this time between their neck and their shoulder. Blood sprays from the giant gash as they scream from the pain, and Fit yanks his sword out and moves swiftly to the enemy’s side, kicking them hard, making them stumble deeper into the cave.

Without anything holding him back, Fit runs out of the cave, not wanting to be in the closed space anymore. He turns around to close up the cave, quickly grabbing his pickaxe to mine the top, causing an avalanche of rubble and giant pieces of rock to fall down, completely covering the cave entrance.

The moment he’s done with that, he starts to gather his surroundings. He immediately hears the sound of scuffling all around him, but most of the noise is strangely above his head. He looks up, and what meets him is unexpectedly not the teens from Crystal’s group, but people from many different groups. She must’ve pawned off his location for a lot of money, and Fit at that moment, quite honestly, cannot blame her for that. They’re perched on hills and trees, ready to pounce right on top of him. From a quick glance, he can count ten to fifteen of them, and all of them are geared to the teeth.

Fit… Is a little worried. There are many faces he can recognize are bounty hunters who might kick his ass, and it will surely be a hard fight. There’s so many of them, and they have been following him for so long. They have got to be extremely blood-thirsty right now, and Fit is hopefully betting they will start to fight each other for his head.

Like it was a queue to go, he watches most of them yell out a war cry as they all jump down from their perches.

Fit sprints and jumps into a roll to get out of the impact of twelve people falling, feeling the ground shake as he does so. The rest who stayed in their spots in the trees jump off now, hoping that it’s going to catch Fit off guard as he gets out of his jump roll. The historian knows better though, and jumps back again from the three that came down with their swords swinging.

Fit decides it’s best to run into the forest behind him before anyone can stop him from doing so. So he dives into the foliage, trying his best to lose some of the hunters on him, so he can pick them off one by one. Thankfully, the leftover foliage in the bushes and the thick fog assists helpfully with running away, so he should be able to lose a few people.

After a few strides, he looks behind him and still sees a couple of people, so he quickly dashes to the right and runs a bit more, hoping to finally lose them and if need be, confront much fewer. Thankfully, his plan works, and there’s only one person that is able to catch up to him.

Unfortunately, this person in particular is a well-known bounty hunter, and Fit knows the man has definitely waited for this for years. The historian can defeat this person, but it is definitely going to take a while. He wishes it was someone else who caught up to him.

Fit puts his hand on the other sword, two-handing it. The man comes at him head on with his blade raised, and Fit is ready for him. He blocks it with his weapon, seeing sparks fly as both of their swords clash together, and pushes him away harshly. He sees the enemy stumble a little and uses this as an opportunity to move forward and stab at him, but the other swiftly maneuvers their blade to block the hit. Fit’s sword vibrates from the impact and bounces off the other’s weapon, nearly knocking him off balance.

And suddenly, another person comes out of shrubbery and fog, sword swinging at Fit. He jumps out of the way, and thankfully the person becomes an interference to the bounty hunter, running into him. Fit uses this as a chance to take two birds with one stone, and dashes sideways to face their backs. He then raises his sword as they are arguing with each other, and swings it hard across both of their backs, ripping through both of their clothes and skin like butter as he slashes them. They both stumble from the shock, and Fit jumps on the bounty hunter and holds him down using his weight. He raises his sword and stabs right through his throat, hearing the awful noise of bone cracking as he does so. Thank god for that other person distracting the bounty hunter, or else he would’ve been in trouble if anyone else found him.

Fit stands up and turns to take care of the other guy, just to find out he’s gone, probably ran away because of the deep slash. That isn’t his worry right now though, as he can hear multiple footsteps heading his way. He goes back to running away again, but he’s definitely starting to feel the consequences of hastily moving his limbs after months of walking. His stump is also burning like hell, and he can see himself not being able to function if he fights any longer. He really has to make this quick.

Fit suddenly runs into a couple of hunters who are not expecting it, standing around while caught off guard, and he tries his best to take this opportunity to take them both out in a couple of moves. He ducks down from a slash of one of their swords and swings his leg to knock them both off their feet, hearing them fall on their backs with sharp exhales. Fit immediately climbs on top of one of them, slashing their throat. Unfortunately, as he’s trying to get on top of the other, he feels a long sharp slash on his back from someone behind him, and grunts while gritting his teeth, feeling the blood flow from the new wound. Fit quickly maneuvers his sword to his left hand, holds it backwards, and thrusts, feeling the blade go smoothly through the person behind him. The power of his prosthetic arm really helps with strange stabs like that. He yanks it out, hearing the person fall to the ground and then focuses on the enemy in front of him, stabbing her heart with both hands on the grip of his sword.

When he knows all three hunters are dead, he stands up, getting ready to run again, but instantly gets the air pushed out of his lungs by a colliding body from behind him, purposefully trying to knock him into the ground. Fit stumbles quite a bit, but thankfully doesn’t fall over, and recovers his breath quickly while turning to face the person. They try to run away, seeing that their plan failed, but Fit swiftly grabs their wrist with his metal hand, tightening his grip so hard he could feel bones break, hearing the enemy scream in horror and pain. Fit quickly ends their misery by stabbing his sword through their throat, and pulls out, watching the body fall to the ground with a thump.

Alright, four are down. Eleven more should be easy.

Fit has to admit, this is quite therapeutic for him. While unable to do anything with the hallucinations that haunt him almost every day, he can do something with these pests who think it’s a good idea to challenge him. He likes feeling them squirm underneath his grasp. He likes being in control of the people around him. He likes pushing his emotions to the back of his head and doing his duty with no interruptions.

Fit can feel the vibration of footsteps and the unsheathing of blades, so he turns to the direction of the noise and prepares himself, holding his bloodied sword in front of him. From what he can hear, he’s suspecting around three or four people, which might be a hard fight depending on who it is. Even with the large slash on his back that irritably stings every time he moves slightly, Fit is confident he will take care of all of them.

After a few moments of holding his breath, Fit sees the first one arrive, lunging with his sword pointed at him. When the guy is close enough, he jumps, swinging his weapon down, which Fit raises his arms and blocks with his prosthetic. Sparks fly like crazy, catching the other off guard from the impact of metal on metal. As the other’s balance is flung back, Fit then swiftly changes his arm positions, preparing his stance while the enemy is still in the air, and lunges his sword forward with two hands on the grip, stabbing right through the person’s stomach with ease. Fit watches the person land his feet on the ground, and looks him right in the eyes as they start to fade. He then raises his leg to kick him off his sword, and the now almost lifeless body falls to the floor, not without hearing a splat from the accompanying blood.

Fit leans down, getting ready to slice his throat to make his death quick and painless, but his ears pick up the sound of two more pairs of rushing footsteps. They’re arriving rapidly, not giving enough time for Fit to prepare himself, let alone stand up. Before he fully realizes they’re approaching, it’s too late as he feels two short blades stab into both of the sides of his back near his shoulder blades. Fit yells loudly from the sudden pain, then forcefully grits his teeth together. He doesn’t want to make too much noise, but he’s still growling heavily from the sting and the feeling of blood flowing from him. Unexpected weight takes over him, and he cannot help but lower to his knees with his hands to the ground, trying his best to not completely fall flat.

From what he suspects, the two enemies are small, since they only use daggers as weapons. And he can feel that they’re still hanging on, deepening the stab wound while also trying to hold Fit down. He has to act fast before they do any more damage to his back, and before more of their reinforcements show up.

Fit reaches behind him with his right arm, feeling the blade wretchedly twist in his body as he does so. As he grabs hold of an ankle, he screams from agony, using all of his strength to yank the person off him. He successfully knocks them to the ground, pulling them to where he can see them. Fit then quickly crawls over them, pressing his arm against their body so they don’t move, and reaches up, attempting to pull out the knife on his right. His back hurts terribly as he finally grabs onto the handle, and as he pulls, he screams again, pulling it out and immediately feeling the blood flowing from the now open wound. Fit then brings his hand with the knife down, stabbing the person being held down straight in the chest, watching as they struggle and die from the impact almost instantly.

Fit then focuses on the other person still latched onto him, but he’s fading more quickly than he likes. His head is spinning, his stomach is churning, his eyes are lidded, and his limbs are starting to feel the pure exhaustion now. But, like what Fit does, like how he’s been living his whole life, he has to keep fighting until he cannot anymore. And that meant getting this fucking parasite off his back.

He takes a few moments before he now reaches with his left arm. Even though his shoulder guard and prosthetic strap are covering most of his upper left back, the person managed to stab through the tough leather deep enough for it to be a problem. He doesn’t know if he’s gonna be able to get the person off with the knife being so deep into his skin.

Fit tries anyway to grab at their ankle, and the enemy responds by kicking at his prosthetic, making sure it doesn’t reach anywhere near them. Fit hisses in frustration and quickly comes up with another way. He attempts to stand up, achingly bringing his knees up to plant his feet on the ground. Every move he makes, the more the person retaliates with a deeper stab, a twist, or tries to weigh their entire body on top of Fit. The moment he tries to stand up, he can hear the person yell and stab even deeper than before, and Fit responds with a shout of his own as he feels it digging into his flesh. Even through each reaction from the enemy, Fit is slowly able to stand himself up all the way, and since there’s leather surrounding the stab wound, the person cannot pull the knife to do more damage. So with a grunt, Fit feels them yank out the knife viciously, and that gives him the chance for an opening. He turns around quickly to face the person, and as they thrust the knife forward at Fit, he ducks under it, crouches, and lunges forward to tackle the person to the ground. With him quickly recovering from the impact while the enemy is still dazed, he grabs their arm holding the knife, pries the knife out of their hands, and swiftly stabs them in the chest like he did to the last person.

Fit breathes in and out heavily, watching them struggle until the life in them ebbs away from the fatal stab wound. He crawls off the body, feeling the excruciating pain in his back and bones as he does so, reaches for his sword, and grabs it. He uses it as a cane and digs the blade to the ground as he slowly, agonizingly, stands up.

If he was reaching his limit a few minutes ago, he definitely is over it now. He can barely move from the two fresh wounds in his back, draining the blood slowly from his body. He can start to feel the blood from the previous slash wound start to cool, making the environment feel ten times more freezing than it actually is.

Thankfully, Fit has a bit of regeneration potion left in the small satchel wrapped around his chest. If he can just grab it and drink, he will be able to recover a bit and keep fighting for his life. As he reaches for the zipper, he feels the sharp end of a sword on his back, threatening to stab right through him.

“Don’t move.”

And it’s not the weapon threatening to kill him that scares him, it’s the voice.

It’s the same voice that has been tormenting him every single day.

Fuck, he was hoping it wouldn’t happen. He was hoping his sanity would hold out until the end of the battle, where he either dies or lives. Because if it happens while he’s fighting…

He will completely lose all will for violence, all will to be aggressive, if Pac, whether he’s fake or not, hostile or not, becomes his opponent.

Fit knows this isn’t real. He’s probably so far gone he’s imagining somebody else as Pac, but he doesn’t care. He will never attack the Brazilian, even if the entire world screamed at him to.

“Drop your weapon, Fitch.” Pac’s voice is very stern, but Fit cannot help but feel his heart warm at the accent of his name.

He obliges almost immediately, dropping his sword to the ground, and even going the extra mile by putting his hands up.

“Turn around.”

And he does. He turns and sees Pac’s aggressive expression and the sword pointed right at Fit’s face. Thankfully, it’s the version in his blue hoodie, not the terrifying happy pills version, but it also makes it all the more heartbreaking. If Fit looks close enough, he can see his eyes rapidly changing emotions, from showing maliciousness, to showing fear, to showing sadness. He doesn’t know how his brain does it, but he can believe the real Pac doing this. He can see Pac being hesitant to kill him.

Even if he isn’t hesitant, Fit will still do whatever he says.

“Move.” Pac orders while walking forward. If Pac didn’t warn him before he started to move, Fit would’ve let the sword pointed at him stab his eye. Fit grants his request by walking backwards until he is not able to, as he feels his cut-up back hit the bark of a tree. He hisses in pain, but still keeps his eyes on Pac, awaiting every order from him.

“On the ground, Fit.”

Fit slides to the ground, relieving the ache in his legs and feet, still having his arms raised. Pac stands over him, looking down threateningly.

“Why did you leave me behind, Fit?” Pac asks unexpectedly, voice wobbly with emotion.

Fit’s heart lunges at hearing those words from Pac. It isn’t the first time the illusion has said this, but it hurts every time. Fit regrets going back to the abandoned radio station, he even regrets back to when he agreed to Madagio’s mission. If he wasn’t selfish back then, if he wasn’t only thinking about himself, he wouldn’t have gotten Pac into that mess in the first place. He knew Pac had been through so much shit, but Fit feels like he was a burden to him, dragging him down further into hell with his greedy selfish ways. Attaching to him when he knew fully well he wasn’t supposed to. It’s his fault, it’s all his fault.

He sees Pac drop his weapon, and watches as he raises his arm, hand turning into a fist. Fit doesn’t move when he sees the fist charging right at his face, and takes the punch to the cheek. It wasn’t hesitant, and it hurt, feeling the sudden impact and the way it sends Fit’s head to the side. His ears ring, and his brain feels like it's bouncing around his head. He needs a few seconds to recover, but the moment he tries to look up at Pac again, he gets another punch to the face. He can't tell, but he believes the punch was targeted at his nose, inhaling the smell of metal and feeling the liquid as it spills from his nose and over his lip.

“I trusted you, Fit.” Pac spits out. Fit doesn’t have to go through the pain of looking up to see if he was crying, because the American can tell. “I trusted that you would never leave me, not like all the others. Not like Richarlyson, not like Mike, not like everyone else in my life!”

Fit looks up to see Pac’s leg being raised, ready to kick, and Fit simply lets it happen. The foot’s aimed at his chest, and when he kicks and stomps ruthlessly at it, the air in his lungs gets knocked out of him. Fit is left gasping for air, trying to breathe, only to be kicked in the chest again, and again, and again.

His vision is getting blurry, he cannot hear anything, every part of his body hurts, and he can do nothing but endure. This is what he’s been waiting for, a moment like this to have Pac letting out his anger and his frustration on him, and it doesn’t matter if it’s not really him. Fit feels like he deserves this, especially from Pac himself. He’s done him so much wrong, the only way he thinks he can make it up to him is to be punished by his own illusion.

Fit hasn’t been keeping the promise he made the moment he got sent back to 2b2t. He hasn’t been living for Ramon, he hasn’t been living for Pac, he’s only been selfishly living for himself. Reveling in the hallucinations of the Brazilian has been breaking that promise. Fit finally realizes it as he’s getting beaten up by the illusion itself. He internally laughs at the irony. He really had to get the realization smacked out of him.

If Fit had the incompetence to imagine his dead boyfriend, he should’ve listened to all of his guidance. He listened when he took shelter in the winter, he listened when he cooled himself off in the summer, and look where he is now that he didn’t follow Pac’s words. Cornered, probably about to die. He should’ve listened to his advice to look for Stray. See what the hell the guy wanted with him. Maybe he would’ve been right. After all, the real Pac was always right.

By the time the illusion is done, his chest feels like it’s been bruised badly. Fit can’t even tell if the regeneration potion he has left will heal it all the way. Not that it matters. He thinks he’s going to die tonight.

Pac finally stops, giving Fit the time to recover, and he tries to look up again. What he sees isn’t any different, but he swears in his blurry vision, he can see others in the far background, making their way towards Fit and the Pac imitation. Ah, so, they’re in a group. The American thinks they’ll definitely capture him.

It’s okay. To Fit, he believes he deserves everything that’s coming to him.

Fit’s still ringing ears hear the whizzing sound of a fast object, and sees what looks like an arrow hit one of the people that was heading his way. It strikes them right on the head, and Fit watches as they fall over. Another arrow is shot, hitting another person in the same spot as the last, killing them and dropping to the ground. The group reacts quickly, and runs to where the arrows are being shot from, trying to stop the enemy that’s picking them off effortlessly. They move out of Fit’s radius, and he loses sight of them.

Fit looks back up at Pac, and… It’s not Pac anymore. His face is now replaced with a random guy, who, Fit guesses, decided to have a little fun with the defenseless historian. He knew it was never actually Pac, but the whiplash of him suddenly disappearing still hit Fit hard.

The man is looking behind him, distracted by the commotion of the arrows being fired. Fit decides that since somebody is generously giving Fit the chance to live, even if it’s for a little bit, he should have his revenge. One more, for Pac. After this, he will try his damnedest to live for his lost family from now on. It’s what they would’ve wanted for Fit. They wouldn’t have wanted Fit to be grieving forever.

It takes a few seconds for the American to prepare himself, with all the bruises and bleeding hindering his body, but once he’s in the position, he does his last leg sweep at the last enemy for the night. The other falls to the ground, stunned that the man he mercilessly beat can still even move. As Fit crawls on top of him, he searches his body for a weapon, earning him some more punches in the face and even his scarred eye, and although they hurt badly, Fit keeps going, pinning him down to the ground while doing so. His hand goes down to the enemy’s belt and feels a sheath for a knife on the side. He quickly unbuckles it, takes the shiny knife from the sheath, and starts stabbing the man in the chest who had masqueraded as Pac mere moments ago. He doesn’t know where the remaining energy is coming from, but Fit is aggressive as he stabs him multiple times, making sure he doesn’t get up ever again.

By the time Fit is done, his body is begging to be healed, to be released from pain. So rolls off the now dead man, laying on his back as he unzips his pouch for his potions. He grabs the magenta colored bottle and downs it, already feeling the magical reaction from the potion close up the stab wounds on his back, and slightly heal the bruises on his face and chest. He feels way better than he did a couple of seconds ago, but his body still aches from overuse, and is weak due to the blood loss.

Fit can still hear the commotion of panic, so he sits up and wills himself to stand. He’s not surprised he still has energy to walk, since the fofoca in the distance is fueling him. He can’t help but wonder who his mysterious savior is and makes his way to the noise. Fit tries to censor each crunch of the leaves on the ground, the sound of brushing through nearly dead bushes, and his breathing, making it slow and quiet.

He walks for a solid minute through the mist and shrubbery, and the noise leads him to the edge of the forest, where there are grasslands overhead, dry and brown because of the bitter cold that took over the environment. The American notices that the fog clears away in this area, and he’s able to see everything. The forest completely surrounds the flatlands, making the sunset barely visible unless it pokes through the trees, yet he still sees the beautiful colors from it in the sky. He spots the remaining four left, back to back with each other, looking and glancing in every direction with an expression of fear on their faces. Whatever happened when Fit wasn’t looking, it certainly wasn’t good for them. They’re a distance away, but still close enough for them to be able to see Fit, so he stays hidden. If he looks closer, he can see stab wounds and scratches on most of them, not lethal enough to kill, but it does exhaust and stagger them quite a lot. This person who attacked them is either clumsy, or is purposefully playing with their game.

Fit blinks, and he completely misses the person emerging from the far right from the surrounding forest, as they are already on their way to attack the group of four. Fit has to shake his head because he doesn’t think he’s seeing it clearly, but the moment he looks closer to the person, he realizes who he is.

The man, his savior, matches the complete description of Stray, the mysterious individual who is supposedly after Fit. He is wearing that large gray cloak, covering most of his body unless he moves erratically, and that doesn’t even help Fit tell if he’s a human or a different species. His arms are covered in gray wraps, not showing a sign of skin except for his fingers. From what he can see, Fit guesses that he has olive colored skin. The hood is completely covering his face, and Fit wonders how Stray is even able to fight in that state.

Something Fit isn’t expecting, however, is that Stray is wielding a pair of daggers, suspecting one of the four people unfortunately broke his bow in the altercation. That is the American’s theory, until he sees that it's hooked around the other’s back, perfectly fine to use. He wonders why the cloaked man isn’t being safe and shooting them from a distance, and instead running at the enemy like it’s a death wish, but he can’t really blame him. He seems to be doing just fine with the daggers, using them like they are an extension of his body.

Fit watches Stray fight, and it’s so mesmerizing, watching him somehow dodge every single attack, knocking their weapon out of their hands right after. He darts unexpectedly, making his enemies second-guess his movements, and effortlessly tricks them to do exactly what he wants. Stray may attack sporadically, but when he’s going in for the kill, it’s clear that distractions will not stop him, using his weapons fast but precisely as he makes the final blow. Stray has the smoothest kills Fit has ever seen in his life, and he’s dealt with many talented manslayers and bounty hunters in his time.

Fit watches with wonder as Stray dismantles the emotional reserve and the organization of the team as he easily 1v4’s them. He has already killed two, and the last couple are frantically trying to pin him down.

And meanwhile, Fit… Tries not to acknowledge the fact he has tan colored skin, many times remembering seeing that same shade sparkling in the sunlight. He tries not to acknowledge he recognizes the way he fights, remembering many times he admires how that man moved. He tries not to acknowledge the metal shine his right leg makes whenever his cloak reveals his body, remembering many times checking out that very special man’s prosthetic, and if it was working properly.

These very little mannerisms, the little things that Stray does. How the fuck does someone so similar to the man he lost almost two years ago exist?

Fit loses all of his thoughts when he notices Stray becoming more aggressive. He can barely hear him as he spoke in a hissed tone to his enemies, and he notes down the confused looks on their faces, registering that they don’t understand what he’s saying. Stray knocks one to the ground using his shiny right leg, pockets one of his knives so quickly Fit could’ve blinked and missed it, and pins down the other using his hand. He speaks again, asking a hostile question with his voice more distinct and clear, and the historian freezes. He’s speaking a different language, and Fit might not understand the words, but he’s all too familiar with the speech, the accent, and the mannerisms.

He’s speaking Portuguese.

If Fit becomes delusional enough, he swears through the coat of pure anger, he can hear a familiar, comforting voice coming from Stray.

The historian secretly knew to himself when he was hallucinating. He secretly knew when something wasn’t actually real, and indulged until his brain couldn’t handle it anymore.

But this familiarity is happening unwillingly. Fit is either so far gone he is seeing the traits of his boyfriend in other people, or…

Even through the dull, aggressive facade, he can see that shade of blue that means the entire world to him.

The sound of the man being pinned down yelling interrupts Fit’s thoughts, and he sees that Stray has his dagger up to his throat.

"Cadê ele?" Stray snarls, holding the man down with what appears to be all of his strength.

“I-I don’t,” the other chokes out, “I don’t know what you mean-”

“Where is he?” Fit can hear the sound of his tongue clicking in annoyance.

“I don’t know, h-he should be in the forest, one of our guys had him corner-”

The other screams out before Stray lifts up the knife, and starts stabbing him in the chest in a fit of rage. He can hear the grunts coming from him as he tries to make each stab deeper, harsher, more painful. Even when the other loses the light in his eyes, Stray keeps stabbing, coloring the dullness of his clothes into the blood of his enemy.

A color that, while Fit doesn’t mind seeing, is not blue.

Fit thinks that Stray completely forgot about the other person he kicked down earlier, as he was still focused on the dead corpse as she gets up, readying herself to tackle him down while he’s distracted. Even though Fit doesn’t know this mysterious man, even though he’s not sure if Stray wants to kill him or not, all the overused muscles in his body tense up when he sees the other enemy get ready to take him down.

Every bone in Fit’s body wants to run forward and help him. Are the coincidences really making him go crazy? Does he really want to help a man who, coincidentally, has a right prosthetic leg, a voice too hauntingly familiar, and speaks the language of his late lover?

It’s too late, however, as the girl pounces on Stray, knocking him off of the corpse and to the ground. She punches him in the hollow blackness that is his face behind the hood, and Fit hisses through his teeth. He is seconds away from jumping in to intervene with his injuries and all when he sees the enemy try to choke the other. Fit is about to come out of the bush when he takes notice that Stray doesn’t seem to need any help, as he punches the girl’s face and gets out of her chokehold. He stands up and steps back a little away from her, dazed from the lack of air and the punches to his head. He tries to recover quickly, but is not fast enough. The girl stands up, and lunges forward with what looks like Stray’s knife that was stuck in the corpse’s body, and successfully is able to nick him. Thankfully, he dodged fast enough so it wouldn’t impale, but there is a nasty cut on the side of his stomach, and Stray instinctively holds it with his hand. He pulls out his other dagger with the free hand, and blocks a thrust from the other, aiming at the stomach again. Fit can see him slowly losing his anger, and starting to focus on the way he moves, effortlessly dodging all the attempts to hurt him once more, and once again being able to kick the knife out of the woman’s hand.

The moment she became defenseless, Stray tackled her to the ground, holding his knife up to her throat. He let go of his wound, and Fit sees it bleed profusely through his cloak.

“Where is Fit?” He asks her, voice more out of breath than usual, but the American can hear his anger coming back to him.

She laughs as a response and turns her head to spit on the ground.

“Hopefully dead by now. One of our guys was kicking him to the ground, and I hope that he finished the job now that you’re here.”

Even though Fit can’t see his face, he can tell that he’s becoming viscerally more mad. But he still strangely lets her keep talking.

“Fucker deserves it, for all I know. From what I’ve heard, the man after disappearing for a year came back as a gaunt, and I couldn’t be happier to hear the news.”

She pauses for a second, waiting for a response from Stray, but he stays quiet, and she takes that as permission to speak even more.

“Like, god, he looks like an old dog whose owners abandoned him. I wish I could thank my friend of mine for beating his ass like one-”

She gets cut off by her own screams, as the dagger being held by Stray gets stabbed into her arm, trapping it between the blade and the ground. He then twists the knife, hearing the flesh rip apart as she cries in pain and horror.

“Ok, please-” She switches attitudes real quick, now resorting to begging through tears, “Please stop. Please! I’ll do anything! I’ll even lead you to him-”

“Eu não acredito em você!!” Stray screams back, and before Fit knows it, it’s over.

Stray pulls the dagger out of the woman’s arm, hearing her shout one last time, then violently slits her throat. Blood sprays all over his hood and cloak. He stands up and watches as she struggles on the floor, choking on her own blood until life finally drains out of her. Hopefully the last life for the night.

There is a long, long pause. Stray barely moves, only slightly moving his head, Fit guesses to see if anybody else is alive or still going to attack him. But the historian doesn’t come out of hiding, keen and satisfied with watching what Stray will do next. Will he call for him? Will he look for him? Or will he believe the lady and leave the area, unsuccessful with his mission? Whatever he will do, he doesn’t seem adamant on moving at all, just standing and staring at the body he just murdered.

Before Fit can think of anything else, something very small, yet bright, coming from Stray’s face catches his eyes. They fall from him, catching the light of the setting sun’s rays before they hit the ground.

And then he can hear the soft sobbing bubbling up from the other’s throat.

The mysterious man nicknamed as Stray, heard to be dangerous, cunning and murderous, is crying.

Is he crying because he believes his mission has failed? Is he crying from the shock of multiple people attacking him? Is he really that sad that he didn’t get the chance to kill Fit himself?

Or is he crying over Fit, not being able to find him, or from hearing the news that he might be dead?

Why would Fit be so special to him?

He sees Stray fall to his knees, and hears a gut-wrenching howl come out of the man. Somebody who seemed to be so talented, fearless and violent before, now out of danger, is now left alone to show that he is really a tragic and scared human being.

The yells and sobs breaking from Stray tug on Fit’s heartstrings, and he doesn’t know why. There are words babbling out of the man’s mouth, some of which seem so familiar to his ear, yet it’s been many, many months since he’s heard them last.

Fit cannot take it anymore, and he stands up, pushing his way through the dry, dead bushes and into the opening. He doesn’t think Stray will attack, and even though he doesn’t know the man, he wants to stop his crying, and put him at ease. He’s going to help him complete his mission, he will find Fit.

The moment he steps his foot out of the shrubbery and steps onto the grass, he is immediately met with an arrow whizzing past him, scraping his left cheek on one of the sharp sides, and hitting something soft behind him, making a squelching sound, and shortly after, a thud on the ground. Fit instinctively looks back to where the arrow landed, and to his surprise, the enemy who ran away with their back cut up is there. Well, they’re dead now, shot nearly through the head by Stray’s arrow. Fit spots the weapon in the dead man’s hand, and realizes that the cloaked man has saved his life twice now. He then lifts a finger up to his cheek, feeling the bleeding scratch he has now thanks to the point of the arrow. And finally, he turns back to Stray, and he sees that he’s frozen in place.

Stray finally found his target.

But to Fit’s surprise, the cloaked man doesn’t start attacking him, like he assumed he was here for. Instead, he completely drops his bow in a way which seems to be in shock. His hands go up to his face, muffling the Portuguese words spilling from his mouth, and Fit cannot get over how simple yet so familiar the behavior is.

Fit doesn’t know whether Stray is terrified, excited, shocked or all three, but the way he is starting to move around anxiously and in disbelief screams Pac so much it hurts.

After a few moments of the cloaked man freaking out, Fit decides to step forward just a little more, while opening his mouth to talk. He’s sure this time he won’t attack the American, but he cannot help but wrap his hand over the sheath of his sword.

“Hey!” Fit calls out, and Stray freezes for the second time, refusing to look at Fit in the face. “I know you’ve been looking for me, and you succeeded. Now, can you tell me who the hell you are?”

The other is fiddling with his hands, still not facing the man that is steadily getting closer and closer to him. The more distance Fit breaks between them, the clearer he can hear what he’s saying. He might not understand it, but he can hear it.

“Aquele é o Fitche?” He says, voice wobbly from disbelief and previous tears. “Não acredito, eu não acredito…”

He says his name with that familiar, warming accent, and it sends shivers down his spine. It sounds exactly like HIM, and it’s making Fit lose his mind. The voice, now coated with no anger at all, brings him back to Quesadilla Island, where he heard Pac’s voice last.

He sounds just as scared, just as sad as Pac did when Fit left him to complete his mission. Fit bites his lip hard to stop himself from thinking about it more.

Pa- Stray finally moves, taking very small steps towards the other. He is looking straight towards Fit this time, almost like he’s in a trance. He still can’t see his face from the large hood, but he swears he can see the shine of dark hair tucked behind his neck.

Everything Stray does, it reminds Fit of Pac. Even through the dreadful bloodstained cloak he wears, and the wraps around his arms, even through his appearance of someone that is definitely not Pac’s style, Fit still cannot help but see the resemblance. From his mannerisms of anxiousness, to the way he moves, and then he thinks about the way he held his bow, and the way he fought those other 2b2t members. To Fit, it screams his lost boyfriend.

But the worry of this just being another illusion, another trick playing at Fit’s mind is eating him up inside. Even when he swore off doing it, he didn’t know if his mind was going to 100% agree. He’s still worried to have hope, and he tries to bury it, remembering once again the grave he saw, and the name that was scratched down.

Pac… Pac is dead. This isn’t Pac. He’s probably just a big fan of Fit and just nervous. He has to remind himself again and again that he saw the gravestone. He saw the name on the grave. ‘Pac Tazer’. There’s no way he’s alive, and even if he is, why would he be here? Why would the Brazilian even bother to look for him, someone who had left him behind?

The historian watches silently as Stray moves forward, and Fit grips onto the handle of his sword tighter the closer he gets. He doesn’t look like he’s going to attack, so he tries to keep his cool, even if he gets pretty close. He finally stops walking when he’s about a couple of feet away from Fit, which is good, because any closer and he would’ve gotten uncomfortable, and he notes how strange that the other seemingly knows that information.

Stray’s hands move upwards, and Fit tenses, thinking that he was going to pull a weapon, but instead, he grabs onto the edges of his hood, meaning he is going to take it off his head. Meaning, Fit is going to be the first person to see his identity. See the face that was killing multiple people for Fit, traveling unbelievable distances for Fit, and going through trial and error for what seems to be many months for Fit.

With shaky hands and little mumbles spilling from his mouth, Stray slowly pulls the hood back to reveal his face, and Fit instantly releases his hand from the handle of his sword. Fit immediately loses all thought in his brain in what feels like two years.

The man that has taken over his mind and captured his heart, the man he thought was dead, ripped away from him too early, too quickly, is now right in front of him.

Fit cannot think, cannot move, cannot speak. He is in utter shock. His brain is on fire, trying to figure out whether this is reality or his mind is playing games with him again. Fit stares, eyes wide at the man before him, dumbfounded and in awe, while the other starts losing control over his emotions, murmuring Fit’s name over and over. He needs comfort, and since Fit is as still as a rock, he helps himself out by running into his body and wrapping his arms around his shoulders and neck.

Fit still doesn’t move, but he can feel the presence of the man he misses so dearly curled around him. He can smell the scent of his boyfriend even through the stench of living in 2b2t. He can hear the sound of his broken voice in his ear, crying pleas of sorrows and desperateness, like the man himself is praying that the other doesn’t disappear either.

And with all of that, Fit finally gets his brain back online, and embraces his long-lost lover by wrapping his arms around his waist and back.

Pac feels… So real. The cloth and warm body he has his arms wrapped around feels as if it’s actually there, and not the aggravating feeling of numbness that is replaced with it. He moves his hands little by little, feeling all the details of the cloak and the clothes underneath.

He’s still not fully convinced. His brain has been tormenting him with the soul of the Brazilian for too long to be healthy, but he prays to any god out there not to take the man away from his grasp ever again.

Fit finds his way to the top of Pac’s head, feeling the messy, yet softness of his hair as he buries his face into it. He does this instinctively, because the man before him has been exactly what he’s needed when he has to think, and he can finally wrap his thoughts around with a clear mind.

Pac’s head has moved to nuzzle his face into Fit’s neck, and he’s reveling in the feeling of his breath being blown against it. He’s still crying and sniffling, getting Fit’s neck wet with tears, but he doesn’t mind. Any proof of Pac really being in his presence is absolutely wondrous.

They stay like that, wrapped around each other for who knows how long. Fit is aware of the sun setting, the natural light slipping from their fingers every second. Fit is aware there can be even more people showing up at their location, but right now, his focus is on Pac, who, like he thought he would, hasn’t disappeared yet. So now, Fit tries to use every ounce of his brain power that he has left to conjure up a sentence, before he thinks he’s gonna be gone from him once again.

God, he’s so terrified to talk. It’s more nerve-wracking than the fifteen people he had to fight. And plus, he doesn’t know what Pac will say back. Is it even the time to ask such questions? Do they just need to be in each other’s presence for the rest of the night and talk later? Catch up tomorrow?

Will Pac still be with him tomorrow? Will he disappear like the rest?

Still, Fit gathers courage to attempt to speak.

“How-” Fit starts, and Pac jumps awake from the sudden noise. He didn’t realize the other was dozing off from his embrace, and while Fit finds it very endearing at first, he’s also concerned about how much sleep the Brazilian even got while he’s been alone in the wasteland.

Fuck, Fit realizes that Pac has been trying to find him for months. Then he realizes he’s been trying to find him in 2b2t for months.

He feels like such a fucking idiot. God, his brain is so slow.

“H-how are you here?” Fit asks, grasping onto Pac tightly, “How are you alive?”

Pac is strangely quiet for a minute. He stops crying, and his breathing slows down. He leaves the safe place that is Fit’s neck, but still holds onto his shoulders like his life depends on it. Fit rubs his hand on his back to encourage him, but, to his misfortune, it seems to have made it worse.

“I…” Is all Pac can let out before he starts weeping again, going back into Fit’s neck to cry his broken heart out.

“Hey,” Fit tries to speak in the softest voice he can, “Sh shh, hey, Pac. It’s okay.” One of his hands goes up and into Pac’s long, messy hair, and he scratches gently at his scalp.

Oh god, the American is going to cry. He can’t imagine the grief the other has been going through right now. Trying to find Fit in a place like this? And he’s been alone the entire time. Fit tries to imagine it for himself, and while he knows Pac is strong and can take a lot, 2b2t can get through to everyone.

Fit feels the tears welling up in his eyes and shutters an exhale as he brings Pac impossibly closer, lowering his head a bit to hook his chin on Pac’s shoulder. Fit’s hand is still in his hair, very carefully tugging and undoing tangled knots as he brings his lips to the other’s neck. He doesn’t want to over-do it, so he presses a very light kiss to his skin, and he can feel Pac lean into it, lifting his head to reveal more of his neck, so he presses a few more, as gently as he possibly can. Feeling Pac’s skin on his lips feels more real than anything else, and he can’t help himself but crave for more.

To stop himself from doing too much, he straightens back up, and perches his chin on top of his head again while he figures out something else to say. Something a little more light-hearted.

“I’m a little silly, Pac. Forgive me.” Fit lets out a breathy laugh. “I should’ve known that Stray was you the entire time. I mean, come on, the way you fought was spectacular.”

Fit can feel Pac’s face warm up to that, and it takes him a moment to respond. “Fitche, you thought I was g-gone. I get it, I get why you wouldn’t think that it’s me.”

“But you aren’t gone, Pac. You’re here. You’re here, and you’re going to stay with me, right? Am I right, Pac?”

At this point, Fit is just trying to convince himself that this Pac is here, and not like the illusions that followed him every single day. That agonized him every single day, until they disappeared into nothing, never ending up staying.

This Pac is real, right? He will stay with him?

Pac grabs Fit’s shirt tightly. “I will never leave you, now that I finally found you Fit. Will you leave me?” Pac inhales a shaky breath. “I don’t think I can deal with it again.”

Again.

“No, Pac.” Fuck, Fit’s voice is shaky. “I will never leave you again. They will have to pry me out of your hands for them to take me.”

Pac lets out a small, airy laugh, and Fit wants to keep the sound playing in his brain forever and ever. “Good, because I don’t ever want to let go of you again.”

They stay like that for a little longer. Fit focuses on everything, from Pac’s slight movements, to his breathing, to his scent, to looking in the corner of his eye and seeing his body embraced against his. He has to, if he doesn’t, he’ll think this is another hallucination, readying itself to disappear right under his nose. Fuck, is it an illusion? Fit is losing his mind bit by bit.

“Can I see you, Pac?” Fit asks almost awkwardly. “Before the sun goes down.”

After a few moments, Pac nods, and Fit regretfully pulls away from him, his arms still wrapped around his waist, while Pac’s are still on Fit’s shoulders.

He takes a good look, and his eyes are met with the most beautiful, yet heartbreaking sight he has ever seen in his life.

Pac’s hair, which is long and unkempt, falls past his shoulders, and most of his face is covered with blood from the people he had just killed. He has scars that are unfamiliar to Fit, and the more he studies every single one, the angrier he feels. He can see the bruises from the punches the girl made forming already, and Fit really wishes he kept some of that regeneration potion. Tears, old and new, show on his cheeks, washing off the blood and leaving streaks, revealing his lovely skin. Fit finally lands on his eyes, and the eyes that were filled with joy every single day are now replaced with the hollowness he had when Richarlyson and Mike were gone. They might be sparkling, because Pac finally found the American, but Fit can see the sadness behind it, his eyes still watery and desolate from the amount of constant trauma and loss he’s been through.

Fit, achingly so, takes his hands off of Pac’s waist and up to his face, cupping his hands to hold him, trying his hardest to make his digits seem grounding for the other. And Pac, like the anxious ball of nerves he is, jumps from the sudden touch. He gazes at Fit, eyes wide open, and Fit can feel him trembling from the scare. So, he tries his best to soften his hold, caressing his cheek with his thumb while moving his other hand up to Pac’s hair. When Fit starts to massage his head, and runs his hands through his hair, he can feel Pac absolutely melt to the touch. He leans into the hand holding his cheek, and while he is still teary eyed, his expression is easing into a content state. Pac’s eyes become lidded, almost like he would be able to sleep from Fit’s touch alone. He doesn't doubt this is probably his first time in eons that Pac has been able to relax properly, and it makes him all the more emotional, as he feels the tears threatening to fall in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Fit’s wobbly voice asks softly, while his wrecked fingers attempt to clean the blood splattered on Pac’s face, only for it to smear more into his skin. The other’s eyes flutter from the touch, and doesn’t even hide the fact that the other is so severely touch starved. Pac’s trait of wearing his heart on a sleeve is one of the good reasons why Fit is so crazy for him.

He watches as Pac opens his mouth, attempting to speak, but his eyes start to defog, now staring back at Fit’s face. He doesn’t flinch as his hands go up to the American’s face as well, rubbing his thumb under the eye that is starting to bruise, and hovering his hand over the broken and bloody nose. He suddenly sees Pac’s expression change into something sour, as his sharp eyes inspect Fit’s beaten form more closely.

“Forget about me,” The Brazilian muttered unnervingly, voice coated with a shaking anger like it was when he was masked, “Who did this to you?”

The switch-up with Pac’s emotions going from zero to one-hundred wasn’t new, yet Fit’s never seen him this plainly angry before. It was almost like the feeling of whiplash to see his boyfriend’s mood change this quickly.

Before he can even think any further about it, Pac brings his hands to his belt, grabbing the handles of his daggers and attempting to pull them out of the sheath, looking to be seconds away from going back into the forest to plot his revenge for Fit.

“Woah, woah!” Fit lightly holds the other’s shoulders to stop his movement, almost laughing from the sudden, violent change, “Woah, big boy. Don’t worry, I took care of him already, Pac.”

Pac isn’t looking at Fit anymore, but is gazing at the forest behind them, staring intently to see if anything abnormal brushes through the fog and foliage. Fit can feel Pac’s muscles still tensed up even through the cloak and clothes he wears, even after his words. Fit’s mind is blank, he doesn’t know what to do to calm down Pac. He’s never seen him like this, and while he secretly loves it, he’s worried about where the change of this emotion came from. Pac has always had an anger and jealous attitude, but never this wrathful.

Fit takes a deep breath, in and out, takes his metal hand off his shoulder, and reaches up to cup the far side of Pac’s cheek, softly moving his head to have him look at Fit. The other doesn’t resist when Fit does this, simply giving in to the touch of his boyfriend.

“Listen, Pac. He’s already gone. All of them are gone.” Pac finally brings his eyes back to Fit, trying to listen intently without letting the emotions get to him. “I counted, and there were fifteen of them. You took care of seven, and I took care of eight. We got them all.” Fit smirks at Pac, seeing the anger ebb away from his face as he accepts the words. The American caresses his thumb over his cheek again. “If we ever run into the fucker that did this to me,” Fit pointed with his free hand at his black eye, “I will let you know. Okay?”

Fit’s mind quickly goes into what he said. ‘If we ever run into…’, he’s talking like Pac will still be here, like he won’t disappear the moment he lays eyes off him. He doesn’t ever want to look away from the man in front of him if there is a chance of that happening.

Pac copies Fit’s deep breath, and lets go of the handles to his daggers. He doesn’t seem aggravated anymore, but he still takes a moment to contemplate the deal. He then reaches for both of Fit’s hands, grabbing them and holding them out gently, intertwining both of their fingers together.

“If I see anyone being mean to you, flirting with you, hurting you, trying to kill you,” Pac states as he gives Fit a determined look, “I will kill them. Plain and simple. No one is being mean to my Fitche, and no one is taking you either.”

Fit cannot help but blush at the declaration, and decides in his head that he absolutely adores this side of Pac, and wants people to do those four things to him just to see it appear again and again.

“A-ah, well, thank you Pac, thank you.” Fit stutters, becoming embarrassed as he feels the heat on his face. “I will do the exact same for you.” He wants to look away from the sheer awkwardness that he is, but he’s determined to have his eyes always on Pac, no matter what.

And finally, after what feels like centuries, the historian finally hears the pleasant notes of his boyfriend’s giggling laughter, and it sounds so, so beautiful. If he could, he would try to catch that sound of a lifetime in a jar, just so he can listen to it over and over. Or, now that the man himself that owns the ethereal sound is by his side, he will try to make him play it, no matter the circumstance, no matter the place, no matter the time.

The facades couldn’t even compare to the real thing. Maybe… It really is him.

Fit looks at him with all the love in the world, as he gently lets go of Pac’s hands and brings them back to cupping his face. He can’t help it, no matter what Pac looks like, no matter the scars, no matter the change of attitude, he’s still the most handsome man he’s ever met, and wants to hold him until the end of his time. Pac’s hands reach up to go over Fit’s shortly after, trying to intertwine their fingers together once again.

“I missed you,” The words come out of Fit’s mouth without warning, and he finally feels those tears that were blurring Fit’s vision before falling down his cheeks. “I missed you so much, Pac.”

The sight of Fit crying must’ve hit Pac’s heart, because his laughter fades, and his red eyes begin to wet again.

“I’m so glad I finally found you.” Pac speaks with his shaky voice full of emotion. His tears fall down his face once again. “I don’t know how longer I was going to go without you with me.”

“I’m here now, Pac. I won’t ever leave you. Will you be with me until we can figure out how to get out of this place?”

The question freezes Pac for a moment, until he nods enthusiastically, signifying his answer.

“Ok.” Fit takes a stand of hair that’s in Pac’s face, and hooks it behind his hair.

He realizes quickly how dark it has gotten, threatening the appearance of monsters. He wants to talk about anything and everything that happened with Pac, and he wants to know all of the details of how he got here in the first place. But with his and his boyfriend’s state, and the dangers they can come across, they really have to hunker down somewhere to rest for a while.

“It’s night, we should find a cave to sleep in.” Fit states, letting go of Pac’s face, and holding Pac’s hands instead. “Can you walk for a little?”

Pac scoffs at that, “I think I can, but look at you! You’re all beaten up! Do you need a shoulder to lean on, Fitche?” He asks him, teasingly.

Fit doesn’t hesitate as he brings his arm around Pac’s shoulders, but he also grabs Pac’s arm, and has him wrap his arm around his shoulders too. Now, they’re leaning on each other.

“How about this?” Fit asks.

Pac giggles again, and it sends Fit’s brain into a moment of pure peace, in a world where he should feel anything but peace. His boyfriend just has that effect on him. His boyfriend, who’s actually here, who’s alive, who, while seeming to have gone to hell and back, looks at Fit with that glimmer still in his eye. He doesn’t know if he deserves that admiring look from him, as he was the person who left his side when everything was going so well.

“This works, Fit. Let’s lean on each other.” Pac gives a warm smile to Fit. “We need it more than anything.”

Fit lets out a sigh, “You can say that again.” And they both start walking. They’re both hurt pretty badly, even after Fit took that regeneration potion, but with each other, they know they will be safe in each other’s grasp.

Still, Fit keeps an eye on Pac as they find a cave. He keeps an eye on Pac, quickly lighting a torch as they go into that cave. He tells Pac that he doesn’t need any sleep, and insists that his boyfriend rests while he keeps watch, which is a concern in 2b2t, but in reality, Fit is fighting the exhaustion in his bones.

He stares at Pac closely, listening to him snore softly, his head on his lap so it’s not on the hard cave ground. He’s curled to the side and Fit can’t see his face, so he cards his fingers through his hair, gently scratching the scalp, and he hears the Brazilian sigh with content. Fit smiles down at him warmly, the first smile he’s probably had in almost two years. He really doesn’t know how he survived this long without him.

Fit is so scared of losing Pac. During the night, whenever he is so tired his eyes start to close, slipping into sleep, he tries not to jump in alarm when he realizes he is about to take his eyes away from his boyfriend. And with every little slip up, Fit is always relieved that Pac is still there.

While the thought of Pac being a hallucination is still on his mind, it doesn’t even scare him anymore, because he is fully convinced that the man sleeping on his lap is real.

Now that they’re both in the wasteland, a dangerous place where he wouldn’t wish anyone to be in, Fit’s mind is consumed with many scenarios that can separate him from Pac.

The American knows this is a little pathetic, but he cannot take that risk of Pac slipping through his fingers ever again. That might mean no sleep, no resting, hell, maybe even no blinking, but it is the price he will pay to keep Pac forever in his life.

However, he does have to remember that the man he’s with right now has survived the wasteland for longer than most. The rumors surrounding the persona called ‘Stray’ were notorious, rumored to have killed hundreds of people on his journey to finding Fit. The American has full confidence in Pac's ability to take care of himself, even if they do become separated for a while.

So why is he so worried?

He really shouldn’t be, but in 2b2t, anything can happen, and he cannot be bothered to be thinking of all the possibilities that things can go wrong. Pac being here with Fit is one giant positive out of everything that has happened these past two years, so Fit busies himself by wondering what the hell is next in store for them.

He has to let Pac tell him how he got in 2b2t first, and what happened with everyone else on the island. Fit has a feeling he should try to let the Brazilian take his time with opening up about that. He seems really shaken up, and he’s been surviving here for too long. While he does have confidence Pac will thrive in some aspects, Fit really hopes the other can endure an entire lifestyle in this wasteland.

For himself, he’s still got so much to say to Pac. From his still unresolved feelings, not being able to say the words “I love you” before he left, to how much he feels so guilty for taking the deal with Madagio in the first place. If he never did, he wouldn’t have put Pac in so much anguish. He wouldn’t have put his family in so much anguish. He believes it would’ve been better if he never took the mission in the first place.

As to where they go? Fit has no idea right now. But no matter what happens, Fit hopes that Pac will be willing to stay by his side, agreeing to explore and trying to be happy and content in this terrible, terrible wasteland together. It can’t be so bad, if Fit has his Brazilian boyfriend by his side.