Love And Fear, Both Chapters

[hat_writes_stuff]

Title: Love And Fear
Author: Almighty Hat
Fandom: Transformers Mystic Tales AU
Characters: Shockwave, Blurr, Shockwave, Blurr
Word Count: 10,331
Rating: G
Pairing(s): Shockwave/Blurr
Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, deliberately confusing naming

Author's Notes: ANYway. Based on Keferon's fantastic Spellbound AU, will not make much sense without having read that and Unfashioned Creature. Spellbound is based around themes of suicide but this AU comes in... either after that or in a lull in the right-to-death theming, we shall see.

The yet-nameless half-a-demon who has the first section doesn't actually appear in canon, he's my own baby, but he technically appears here in a dream sequence. Which is, I believe, Blurr's last appearance for a while, because the next update introduces us to the double. The first part of this was written after a rather alarming revelation, because he wouldn't stop growling. Not at me. At the comic. The intensity with which I kept getting "Show. Me. My. Enemy," cannot be understated.

Now we know where Blurr is, if not why, quite yet. This will probably get a second, extremely violent chapter, where a certain nonliving baby demon will try to shove canon right off the rails, if we ever get to see how Blurr was taken.

Because I'm still getting growling, guys.

Keferon, I fucked up with the 'haha, what if I let Blurr have TWO Shockwave variants?' idea because now there are two of them.

Summary: He is only half a demon, with little experiential memory of his own, but he's tied to his summoner and a mech he doesn't know, yet, was once held in his own core. But they're suddenly not together, and he can only choose one mech to check on.

Or, in which the giant demon baby I came up with saw a recent Spellbound update and wouldn't stop growling.

---

When he moved, it was slow and silent.

Cautious.

He had to be sure nothing watched him, because he did not know what eyes saw for the knight with the lying smile, what mouths would whisper to him.

There were two ways he could protect the people he was connected to, the knight who had summoned him and the damaged mech who didn't fit in his frame anymore; the first way was deception. He could feel the bonds, the tether of his summoner, the solidity of the damaged mech, and so to pick a direction away from theirs, to let himself be seen as a fearsome demon asking random mechs Have you seen my summoner? He is small and blue and beautiful, and may be traveling with a very injured mech. He had to leave me behind to confuse an enemy and so lead the lying knight and anyone who might be helping him far, far from the pair would be simple enough, and he could do as he pleased, explore whatever interested him, while he laid false trails all over the map.

But it wasn't what he wanted.

His connections pulled at him, gently, feeling not like chains towing him, but like guide-lines, attached to anchors that promised purpose and companionship.

He wanted them closer.

His head knew the feeling of small hands grooming him, petting him; he wanted to lay his head in his summoner's lap and experience it, jaws closed over a trusting optic.

His dreams knew the sight of damaged wings, stretching tattered and bent; he wanted to reach out and preen them, straighten those nesting plates and feathers with strong, careful claws.

He wanted to be with them, his summoner and his damaged mech, to be in reach of their hands and wings and voices, to protect them with his presence instead of his absence, however cleverly he thought he could use that absence.

They were together, he was sure; what he could feel of how to follow, how to find them, pulled in the same direction, with the same tension. The two of them were together, and he wanted for the three of them to be together. If he had a name of his own, he would want to hear it first from one of them, he thought.

So to satisfy that aching want, he crept slowly and cautiously, silently, as little like anything worth watching as he could manage, along the line of his ties, his tethers. Together, together, together, and soon he would be together, too. Soon he could ask and trust the answers, soon he could reach and trust the touch.

And then suddenly, very suddenly, they weren't together.

His bond to his summoner whipped away, as though pulled by an impossible hand, far and far and far, faster than he could fathom, far faster than he could follow.

But he tried.

The damaged mech-- he stayed where he was.

There was a risk the damaged mech had weakened, and the knight had gone for help; if that was true, it might be best to go to the mech, and not the knight. But if he stopped, if he relaxed enough to sleep, he dreamed the damaged mech's dreams-- he could find out if the damaged mech was in any trouble, probably. For his summoner? He would have to go and look. And it was hard to catch up, and his summoner was nearly, nearly back where he should be, close to the damaged mech again--

Before his summoner veered away.

But this time, at a much less dizzying speed.

A much more achievable speed.

He guessed, wildly, at what that meant, let his guesses occupy his time, because where his summoner went, he was going. If there were mechs helping him, good. If there were mechs harming him...

... There wouldn't be. Not for long, anyway.

---

He'll know. He'll notice. I've changed since Mirage last knew me. A fake won't fool him for long. It might take him a few days to realize, Mirage is good, his illusions are good, but Shockwave will know it's not me.

Mirage would get something wrong, Blurr was sure. Blurr was sure. Some turn of phrase, some expression, something Shockwave would notice, would realize wasn't like Blurr. Shockwave-- Shockwave knew Blurr better than anyone, now-- now, and possibly better than anyone ever had. They'd been together almost constantly for almost two years, and Blurr... Blurr maybe hadn't told Shockwave a lot of things, but he hadn't hidden much from him, either.

Not who he was.

Not how he acted.

Not what he was like.

Shockwave might not know Blurr's history (which wouldn't matter, really, Mirage's puppets knew what Blurr knew), but he knew Blurr.

And Blurr had changed, he'd changed since he'd last... encoutered Mirage, especially since the last time they'd been anything other than adversaries. With Shockwave, Blurr had actually been more himself, a better self, than he'd ever been. He wanted, but he'd been in control of those wants. He'd had to be.

He was still an idiot, though.

Not about leaving, about setting up that appointment with Coilspring-- Shockwave needed that, and if Mirage's stupid little puppet skipped out on the appointment? Coilspring would go looking. She wasn't the type of doctor to hear that there was a patient who needed her badly, someone who'd been kept in conditions where the inner workings of his wings were bent and cramped against him, who'd lost fingers and an optic to poor care and dark magic, then not try to find that patient if he didn't turn up on time.

Even if Blurr had paid her in advance.

She'd go looking, so either that would get the puppet caught, or Shockwave would get the medical care he needed.

And the puppet was faking sick, so maybe Shockwave would insist "Blurr" get looked over, too, while Coilspring was there. That could catch him. Coilspring had been a good idea.

But if Blurr had been smart enough to summon another demon before heading off--

-- He would have felt terrible about it, all things considered. He was the one who'd come up with a way to free demons, to give them their lives, their mortality, back (even if he didn't know what to do about regular demons' memories), so what right did he have to summon one for protection anymore?

But the thing about demons was, Mirage couldn't fool them. Not with copies of Blurr.

That's why he'd turned to demons-- bound by the summoner's spellwork, tied to the summoner's spark, a demon had to obey their summoner's direct orders, no matter what they were. If a fake Blurr tried to give Blurr's demon an order, the whole game would be up-- and so many things counted as orders. Even if Blurr immediately rescinded an order, or walked it back, they still felt it.

(And could choose whether or not to follow some rescinded orders. "Do a mustache" hadn't been his first slip-- the first had been, "Walk this way." Jetstorm had answered, "I don't have your skinny hips, boss, but I'll try," and Blurr had about fallen over laughing.)

If Mirage replaced Blurr with a fake, a demon would know-- and not just at the first accidental order, but at the first question. Demons couldn't lie to their summoners, and couldn't just decide to not-answer a question, either, and Mirage had never worked out how to be as careful with questions, how to make his puppets be as careful, as Blurr himself had learned to be.

... It wasn't wrong.

It wasn't.

It wasn't wrong or selfish or cowardly, summoning demons to keep himself safe, to stay free.

It wasn't wrong to want someone who'd know, immediately, that he wasn't him, someone who'd come looking for him. ... It was maybe a little incredibly guilt-inducing that Blurr only suspected now that the demons he'd summoned came looking for him because he wasn't a complete and utter crankshaft to them. He'd never really explained the situation, hadn't given standing orders about Mirage or his doubles, but whenever Blurr had found himself taken, whenever he was Mirage's captive while he put on his little puppet shows, without fail whatever demon Blurr had summoned at the time came for him. Shackled and terrified, cracked and scuffed, broken and leaking, whatever condition he was in, Blurr's demons came and got him back.

It had been so long since he'd actually-- since there had been a problem. If he had a demon with him, it wasn't worth the trouble of trying to collect... Blurr. Or anything he might or might not owe. With a demon at his side, it simply wasn't a problem.

And Shockwave wasn't a demon anymore.

He was alive and free and hopeful, now, mortal, and not bound to Blurr's will at all.

Shockwave wouldn't just know there was anything wrong at the first, "Could you hand me that, please?" or "Be serious," or whatever innocuous question or incidental command came out of Mirage's puppet. Shockwave might not even notice if the puppet asked more questions than Blurr tended to, because Blurr had been asking more questions since freeing Shockwave.

But he'd notice.

He'd know.

It might take some time, but Shockwave would realize that Mirage's duplicate wasn't really Blurr.

Blurr just-- Blurr just had to hold out until he did.

No matter what Mirage did to him, or said to him, or when he took his puppet off autopilot to put words in its mouth, saying them aloud so Blurr would know what lies Mirage was spinning for Shockwave. And nothing really final would happen to Blurr before Mirage was sure nobody would come looking for him. Not until Blurr was-- not forgotten, but written off. Not until Shockwave wouldn't worry about when the next time he saw Blurr might be.

He'd know.

And once he knew, he'd come for Blurr.

Blurr might not have a demon to guard him, anymore, but he had Shockwave, and Shockwave knew Blurr.

He'd figure it out.

It might take him a little longer than it would have, if he were still a demon, but he would figure it out.

And then he'd come for Blurr.

---

"It is freezing outside," Blurr announced, nearly vibrating with-- so it seemed to Shockwave-- disgust at the uncooperative weather.

"Weird," unseasonable, at least. "It shouldn't be. Not in this region, at least." But then, Shockwave had been tucked away safe in Blurr's friend's home since... since they'd first staggered in, and this was the first he'd heard of Blurr heading out on his own. A sudden cold snap wasn't impossible, and racers were supposed to be sensitive to sudden temperature changes. Maybe it was just a rough transition. "Would you like something hot to drink?"

"Mm," Blurr agreed, muzzily.

"I can pour you a cup of--" Blurr flopped next to Shockwave, cutting him off, and curling up against his thigh in a way that was charming, but entirely unlikely to warm him up. "Ah," he said.

It would be another few days, another few clues, another few moments of that's odd before Shockwave worked out who had-- or rather hadn't-- curled up in his lap. Before he, with all he'd been through, recently, with all the plans he was making, the things he'd learned, encountered one major flaw (Blurr was physically sensitve, ticklish) and started looking for answers, and then looking for Blurr.

Before Shockwave started looking.

---

There were odd, vaguely mech-shaped patches of spindly little mushrooms scattered across the forest floor.

He ignored them, except to note that they popped up with decreasing frequency along the path he was taking to follow his summoner. If they were important, he'd find out later. ... He did make the mental note of mushroom patches being strange, though. Mushrooms were, he was fairly certain, some of the stranger things one could find in the woods, but growing in the shapes of fallen mechs was stranger than growing up around rotting trees.

"Hold him!" someone shouted, ahead, and he dropped to the most silent way he had to creep along the forest floor.

"You don't have to yell!" someone who sounded very similar shouted back. He picked his way towards the sound, careful not to disturb so much as a fallen leaf.

"Grab his legs!" another someone, or maybe the first someone, said. "If he's got his legs, he's gone!"

"We know!" chorused two, maybe three of those voices.

Close enough, close enough to see, so he stood up just enough to do so, and--

Huh.

There was his summoner-- only there were eight of his summoner, one gagged and swinging a chain from his bound wrists like a flail, six darting in and out to grab at him and fight him, and another who had been extremely kicked in the chest, that was collapsing into those odd mushrooms even as he watched.

Visually, they were identical in every respect-- except that the gag and chain made it fairly obvious which one didn't want to be going where they were going, and that one was his summoner.

If he'd wanted them to run away, he would have growled or snarled. Frightened them first.

Instead, he simply launched himself from his hiding place, claws first, and landed with all his weight onto one of the not-his-summoners.

The not-his-summoner hit the ground with a very brief cry and an oddly juicy crunch, and then stopped; the rest stared at him for a very brief moment before they started gabbling things.

"He's not supposed to--"

"I thought it was dead--"

"Those filthy creatures!"

So he rammed his claws through the chest of the one holding his summoner's chain, and his summoner whipped the chain around another's neck and throttled him, which took longer, but there were only three, now, for him to deal with.

One drew a sword and ran him through. It felt very strange, and he didn't like it, so he leaned down to bite that one's head-- he meant to tear it off by stretching his neck up, but the not-summoner was so small that he just came up off his feet, screaming-- so he shook his head until the screaming stopped, and tossed the body away as it started to taste of mushrooms.

The sword, too, was sprouting mushrooms, so he let it fall instead of trying to walk around with it stuck through his middle.

His summoner finished his opponent down to mushrooms, but the last duplicate summoner had pulled a sword-- and aimed it at the summoner. "If he dies, you're gone," he threatened, as his summoner tried to work his gag loose.

He tipped his head, thoughtfully-- and then let himself fall, as though he were sleeping, or lurking through uncertain territory. The leaf litter and undergrowth hid the dust of him completely, and he took care not to settle on top of anything particularly visible.

His summoner made a muffled cry that stabbed through every part of him, and the last false summoner swore vociferously-- "Where did it go?"

... There was no better moment than that.

He snapped back upright, around the false summoner, crushing him within himself and muffling the screams with his own mass.

"That," he told his summoner, "feels disgusting. Excuse me."

And he let the last false summoner fall to the ground.

He squished.

"Let me help you?" he asked, stretching out his claws-- clean, at least, nothing clung to him when he let go of his shape that he'd ever noticed; he wouldn't print energon or mushroom juice all over his summoner.

Shaking a little, his summoner held out his shackled wrists.

The chain was easy to snap, though to get the shackles off properly, he had to delicately pick out the hinge pins. Once both hands were free, his summoner scrabbled to remove his own gag.

"Shockwave," his summoner said, choked, and-- and reached for his face, smooth perfect hands on the underside of his jaw, and he closed his mouth to let his summoner stroke down along his teeth, petting him, and oh, oh, it was nicer than he'd hoped it would be! "What happened? How-- who-- you're a demon again?"

What happened begged for an answer, rang something deep in the core of his being, but he didn't really have an answer. "I don't know," he said, sure he sounded uselessly dreamy about it. Answering the question satisfied the need to answer-- he knew he'd have to answer truly, but it was nice to know that truth of ignorance counted. "Shockwave. Is that my name?"

Soft and sharp, like he'd thought it must be. Sh and v and ck.

"You don't-- your memory," his summoner said, slipping arms around his neck and sounding like he was dying of grief. "You forgot..."

---

Shockwave folded those long, powerful, familiar arms around Blurr, and even did the thing he liked so much, tucking his head over Blurr's shoulder, holding onto him with that thick serpentine neck, as well. It was amazing and felt wonderful and it was wrong wrong wrong and Blurr choked back a sob, badly. "Will you tell me your name, summoner?" Shockwave asked, the usual gravel in his voice somehow rumbling into something like a purr.

He didn't remember Blurr's name. He didn't remember Blurr. ... But he-- he still felt something for Blurr, that was no small thing, and Blurr would be grateful for it. And he sounded so pleased. "Blurr," he tried not to sob. "I'm Blurr. Oh, Shockwave, I'm so sorry."

"Blurr." It was vented, softly, like Blurr had given him something priceless. Blurr tried not to shiver. "Why are you so sorry, Blurr?"

"You're a demon again," he hated how small he sounded, how helpless, but-- he'd fixed this! He had! "You were free, you were yourself again, you wanted to live-- we weren't safe but it-- it was better you were doing so much better and I-- I left you alone I'm so sorry--"

"It's all right," Shockwave soothed, but Blurr's spark was a heavy stone.

"If I hadn't run off to get you a medic--"

"Is that where you went?" Shockwave asked. "I thought perhaps the damaged mech needed something."

... What?

"What-- what damaged mech?"

"The one with the red crystal on his helm-- he's lost all his paint, and his right optic, and a lot of his fingers," Shockwave said, as though he weren't describing... well, Shockwave. "I didn't know about him at first, but if I sleep while he sleeps, I dream his dreams."

What?

"You... dream his dreams," Blurr started. "Like, you dream that you are him, or...?"

"He dreams," Shockwave clarified, sort of, "and I'm there. In the first dream, he needed me there to help him see he didn't quite fit in his old frame anymore, even with its new scars. I think he'll fix that-- he only seemed a little sad, and had me come down so he could pet my head. He wasn't angry. I expected he might be. His hands were like yours-- gentle."

"... But-- that's Shockwave. Or that's Shockwave too? That's you too?" It didn't make any sense-- but it was a dream, right, dreams sometimes didn't make any sense, maybe that was all it was...

"I can feel him like I can feel you, but we're not the same person," Shockwave said. "Maybe my name isn't Shockwave. That's too bad, it's a nice name."

"You can feel him. ... You can feel me?"

"You're my summoner."

"But that doesn't make any sense," Blurr protested, considering pulling away to look up at Shockwave and... no. No, held tight was still-- that was still better. "If they turned you back, if Sentinel's people found you--"

"Sentinel?" Shockwave echoed, and Blurr wished he could just dismiss that threat.

"He-- he's an enemy. A knight, but an enemy knight Blue and gold armor, wings--"

"Oh! Is that the lying knight' name?" Shockwave asked, brightly. "Sentinel?"

... Well. "That. Is also a pretty good description of him. I'm surprised he spoke to you." At least, if he was trying to pass it off as a normal demonization, Sentinel wouldn't be a part of that... Probably. Right? (Primus, Primus and all thirteen Primes, but it was easier to think about Shockwave's problems than Blurr's own.)

"He woke me, and tried to tell me I was his. I'm not-- not while you live, not unless you dismiss me. You are my summoner, not him."

"He woke you. So, you were asleep?" Blurr asked. Something strange was going on here.

"I was... at rest," maybe-not-Shockwave allowed. "It was more than sleep. The lying knight-- Sentinel-- said I was dead, but I am not a living thing. I can't die."

"Do-- do you remember-- will you tell me what being at rest was like? Or what you know before you were at rest?"

"I will," he purred, and held Blurr tighter for just a moment, which was... weird. Like he was happy to be asked...

... to be asked a direct question. By his summoner. That he was compelled to answer. The little requests for clarification, statements of confusion that sounded like questions, didn't carry quite the same weight, Blurr knew-- not when they could be answered reasonably with 'uh-huh' or 'that's right.'

"But first--" possibly-Shockwave said, "Are you safe here? Will more of those not-you things come for you?" He pulled Blurr far enough away, freed one hand, to brush gentle claws over a nasty scrape to his helmet.

"Not when I have a demon with me," and Blurr... hated that he didn't hate that. So much was ruined-- or didn't make sense-- but with a demon, Blurr was safe again. And Mirage knew it.

Blurr had someone who couldn't be fooled by a double, who would look for him relentlessly.

"I will keep you safe," he promised. And stood up, Blurr in his arms at a familiar height, and started walking back the way they'd come. Blurr, Mirage's doubles, potentially-Shockwave-- all of them from the same direction, from where Blurr had been taken on his way back to the den. "The first thing I remember is heat," the demon said. "It's everywhere, and should be searing, like the sound that comes with it should be deafening, painful. They don't feel good, in what I remember, but they are not torture. There is a smell of flowers, too, all around, and it-- pulls me away from something. Something alive, something living. Maybe someone living. The flower-smell is delicate, very precise, like working claw tips betwen two tiles or stones pressed together, but it's the heat and the noise that push me hard away from the living thing. Something-- something is destroyed, in the memory, and I fall. I am at rest, and know nothing else, until the lying knight-- Sentinel-- comes to wake me and lie to me about who I belong to."

Heat, sound, flowers.

Predaking's flames, Damus's voice, Blurr's touch-me-nots.

Oh, Primus.

"Did-- did the lying knight-- now you've got me doing it," Blurr sighed, resting his forehead against Shockwave's shoulder for a long moment. "Did Sentinel say how he woke you?"

"Not in any detail," he said, again, with that contentment, that satisfaction. "He told me I'd been dead, and that he fixed me, and brought me back. But he also tried to tell me my name is Longarm, which felt like even more of a lie."

"What do you think happened?" Blurr asked, and Shockwave-- or not-Shockwave-- purred and nuzzled at him.

"I think you had to leave me behind," he said, "to confuse Sentinel. So you could help the damaged mech-- the Shockwave you thought had been turned into me. I hope-- I hope coming to find you was right," he added, sounding more uncertain. "I know coming to save you was, but I was coming to you and the damaged mech anyway. I had no orders, no instructions, that I could remember."

"... I've summoned a lot of demons," Blurr said, carefully. "Most of them aren't too fond of being given orders, or asked direct questions."

But this demon-- he seemed weirdly pleased at being asked questions.

The demon shook his head. "I didn't know what to do. I didn't know where you'd gone-- that you'd gone, yes, where you were, but not where that was, if you were there willingly or not. I knew that you and the damaged mech were together, once I could feel him, too. But I didn't know if I should lead Sentinel further away from you, or just kill him, or come to you quickly, or if it was more important to be unseen than to be quick.

"I know so little, for certain," he said-- sadly. "I want you to be happy with me. I belong at your side."

"I-- I think I know where you came from," Blurr told him. "But I want to ask Shockwave what he thinks." It would be easier if Mirage hadn't gotten to him with one of his awful little puppets yet, but Blurr had been on the march with his own awful little puppet show for at least a day now.

"Shockwave is the damaged mech? You're sure?" probably-not-Shockwave asked, and Blurr-- Blurr was going to have to think of something else to call the demon. But he also nodded. "Good. We're going to him."

"Um," Blurr said.

Because-- because. Because this not-quite-Shockwave, this half-a-Shockwave demon, hadn't put Blurr down since he'd reached to touch him.

"What are you. Um. Do you know what you're going to want? From me?"

Shock-- the demon canted his head optic narrowed thoughtfully as he strode along. "I know what I want," he said, "but I think what you said is backwards? You get what you want from me."

"Am I going to have to choose between you and Shockwave?" Blurr asked, not liking how he sounded.

But he'd just gotten Shockwave, with Shockwave free and able to tell him no. They had barely started, moments of careful flirting amid the usual cuddling that Blurr didn't want to pursue too hard until after Coilspring had seen to Shockwave-- Primus he hoped Coilspring had seen to Shockwave-- Blurr had hopes and wants and-- and maybe just a little more freedom, now, but if this demon were... possessive, jealous, of his summoner, what could Blurr do?

Dismiss him and let Sentinel have him?

Blurr wouldn't hand Mirage over to Sentinel.

... Now Blurr thought of it, he wouldn't hand Sentinel over to Mirage, either. Stabbing was not too good for Blurr's enemies.

But the demon interrupted that train of thought with, a very concerned, "I don't know. Do you think he won't want me?"

And Blurr was reminded of just how long ago he'd brewed that potion for Shockwave-- not long at all. This demon was effectively a newspark-- just a demonic newspark. A purely demonic newspark, with no mortal spark or processor to even guess with.

"... I think," Blurr said, carefully, "that he's going to freak out a little when he sees you-- if I talk to him first, explain what-- what I think I've figured out, it might be a good freakout. I don't know how he'll feel about being around you..."

"In his dreams, he's kind to me," the demon said.

"I hope he's kind to you when he's awake, too." If he wasn't, Blurr would-- would at least point out the demon's age, and that Sentinel had already tried to claim him. "But since I also hope you won't have to rescue him from Mirage's puppet show like you did for me, we might have to give him some time to get there."

They talked, all the way back to the den, Blurr growing more and more certain that this demon wasn't Shockwave, but had been Shockwave-- or rather, Shockwave had worn him for ages. His best guess, though he still wanted Shockwave's opinion, was that somehow the demonic magic that had kept Shockwave alive hadn't been destroyed by the death-bringer magic-- just whatever spells bound the demonic magic to Shockwave. Blurr and Shockwave had been too drained to realize the magic was still there, and Sentinel hadn't realized what they'd actually done. Sentinel also hadn't realized what he'd done.

Blurr would die before dismissing this demon. Nothing, nothing, would put this newspark-- if that was the right word for someone without a spark-- into Sentinel's hands while Blurr himself lived.

"I don't know if you're going to be able to get in," Blurr had to allow, at the den's door. "It's a tight squeeze, and--"

And the demon collapsed into a heap of dust, and Blurr cried out-- before remembering he'd seen that in the fight with Mirage's puppets, and just... assumed he wasn't seeing it right. That his optics had played tricks on him in the fight.

"... do. Do I. Uh. I can get a dustpan?" Blurr offered, and stepped through the door.

Dust, purplish gray, trailed after him like he was running through a desert

"That's clever," he said. "Kind of terrifying if you're not expecting it, but clever."

Dust tumbled down the stairs at Blurr's heels, only taking shape, in a process that looked alarmingly like a summoning, when there was enough room for a-- for what looked to be a slightly shorter-than-usual demon. "Did you shrink?"

"I have empty space, at the size that feel most... right," he said, shrugging. Blurr had a guess as to how big that empty space was. "I don't want to hit my antlers, so I... tightened up, and don't have so much that's hollow, now."

"Huh. That's-- also very clever. Shockwave's gonna find you fascinating."

The demon fidgeted, nervously. "Where is he?"

"If what I think is happening is happening, he's at the doctor. I found him one who can hopefully fix his wings."

"But you were gone," the demon said, with a confused headtilt.

"I was. I still would be, if not for you." Blurr reached out to cup the demon's shoulder-- and remind himself that one thing he needed to do was get some clothes on the poor thing. The 'aging armor' look Shockwave had worn hadn't followed the young demon up off the floor. He looked bare.

"How would he know to go, if you didn't come back to tell him where to go to find this doctor?"

"There... may be one of those puppets with him," Blurr said, looking away. "They're good. It's usually hard for regular mechs to tell the difference."

"How would the puppet know to take him to the doctor?"

... Okay, that was a fair question. "They know what I know," Blurr said. "It'd be worse if they'd gotten me where-- where they were taking me. But they know what I know and-- the puppeteer won't want anyone looking for me. The doctor I found wouldn't leave a patient, so it's safer for them to go to that appointment, and..." Ruin Blurr's life. "... Make trouble later."

"Shockwave will believe this mushroom puppet is you," the demon said. Blurr had to nod-- and he couldn't blame Shockwave for it. It looked like him, it sounded like him, it knew what he knew. "How will we convince him you are you?"

"... I'm not sure yet," Blurr said. "I'd like to get cleaned up, though. Do you--" Wait. Wait. If he was made of the ash that was left behind after Predaking's fire... Blurr changed course and restarted the whole sentence. "Do you know what happens when you get wet?"

"I get wet," the demon said, shrugging. "I didn't think dirt that wasn't me sticks after I let go of my shape-- do I look dirty?"

"No," Blurr had to admit. He was the same dull purple Shockwave had been, with that weird flattish-lumpy finish common to demons who didn't have a glossy-oily carapace, but his finish looked new and clean, not dusty and ignored. "But sometimes it's nice to scrub the memory of somebody's touch away. That guy you bit can't have tasted good."

"I dropped him when he started to taste like mushrooms," the demon admitted, easily, and Blurr-- Blurr had to laugh a little.

---

Shockwave returned to their safehouse, to Blurr's absent friend's hollow tree with its snug home underneath, with his arms full of books and his wings full of a gently-napping Blurr... and his mind full of so many, many things.

Blurr's ritual needed work. It was brilliant, genius, particularly so once Blurr had admitted adding the touch-me-not was impulsive, a decision fueled by the fact that the enchanted flowers had been there, and reminded Blurr of a... notable conversation they'd shared. But being impulsive, the ritual half Blurr had used to contain the demonic magic had been... improvised, if elegantly so. Add to that the fact that they were prepared to simply kill Shockwave along with destroying the demon he had been...

Well.

He was alive, free, and sane, and so was Blurr, but maybe the next demon they freed could get his life and all his fingers back.

Shockwave wanted to be sure the ritual was refined and deliberate, without losing the clarity of purpose Blurr had given it. If he couldn't manage that, then he wanted to research various types of death-bringer magic; despite the plain and simple fact that both Predaking and Damus would likely be willing to repeat their contributions, there might be gentler methods of destruction available somewhere. If that turned out not to be the case, or if it were simply too difficult to find other death-bringers willing to help, well.

The next demon to go through the process would simply have to be fed healing potions by the barrel, and nutritious ordinary fuel besides, to rebuild as much of their mortal frame as possible before pulling it out of the demonic shell.

As well, he had what he could remember of Amalgamus Prime's lessons to work on, at least transcribing them, for now-- and he hadn't been able to give Coilspring any good answers about where to pull donor wiring, unable to figure out over the course of one single (long) visit what was most necessary, and what he was willing to sacrifice.

He kept shying away from the obvious answer-- he hadn't flown since before his trial, and had rarely flown for much of his life, as his wingspan was just too wide for grounder cities, like Iacon, where he'd worked, and Rodion, where he'd lived. His wingspan was also too wide for most wilderness, the Flying Islands, and the average flyer city. His wings were massive; if he gave them up entirely, Coilspring could rewire Shockwave's entire frame. If they were selective, it was just possible he could have two eyes and a full complement of fingers and still have about as much flight capability as he'd ever used-- the odd dramatic entrance, or soaring shortcut to a commute. He'd always needed either an alarming leap from a great height or a really good running start to get into the air; even if he had to learn to glide instead of truly fly, he wouldn't be losing much, and would regain something that had been lost forever.

But if he could replicate the techniques of Amalgamus Prime... would it matter? If he could learn to change his shape as easily as changing his expression, couldn't he simply will his hands whole, his patch into a new optic?

And, well. In terms of gains and losses...

He had one functional optic, three fingers on each hand, and his wings back. The hands were merely better-tended than Blurr could manage, and securely bandaged to prevent infection, while his right optic was neatly patched. His wings were fully repaired, for all they needed strengthening before Shockwave dared to try flying, on pain of Coilspring scolding him and the much more immediate threat of 'falling from the sky.' Shockwave was used to life with one optic, to functioning with three fingers, as much as he was used to being grounded-- but he missed being able to fly if he wanted to.

His more immediate plans, over the coming days, were to test himself and make notes on how he functioned, what impeded his function, what spells settled in his hands properly and which needed him whole-- if any.

If any.

He had already mostly decided that he could live with the patch over his optic, now that the structure of his face was repaired and painted. It looked rakish, even a little dangerous, and it would never have done to keep it as a politician... but every time he'd caught a glimpse of his reflection in town, after leaving Coilspring, he'd found himself liking what he'd seen. It wasn't pretty, no, but it looked good, and really, Blurr was easily pretty enough for two.

Shockwave needed to thoroughly test his hands, with handling books, with writing, with spellwork, and as soon as Blurr was up to it, with sparring. If he could live, could function, with three fingers on each hand? So be it! It would doubtless be easier for Coilspring to rebuild his hands with what was there, instead of desperately sourcing donor wiring and replacing lost and mangled struts.

There was some time before their next appointment, at least, for him to test his frame, learn his new limits. Coilspring would be back in a lunar cycle, because Blurr was throwing money at things again, and Shockwave expected to be able to make more educated decisions by that time.

Hopefully, by that point, Blurr's own health would improve.

Shockwave was concerned; Coilspring had confirmed there were no unusual sicknesses in the towns she and her team had passed through, but as Blurr had run the distance and she'd flown, he could have gotten into anything. His symptoms were concerning-- constant cold, notable lethargy by his standards, and to Shockwave he seemed prone to low moods-- but they weren't definitive of anything. And he had just done rather a massive working of dark magic.

With luck, all Blurr needed was time and rest, and coming "home" to his voice was--

Wait.

Coming home to Blurr's voice was wrong, actually. Blurr was tucked up close in Shockwave's own wings, dozing over a ream of loose-leaf.

Blurr's voice shouldn't be drifting up the stairs from their safehouse's living area.

Faceplate gone cold with dread, Shockwave carefully crouched to set down his packages, and somehow finagled Blurr from his wings to his arms while hissing for silence. With wide optics at hearing first his own voice and then-- then the rumble of a voice that sounded familiar but that Shockwave couldn't quite place-- Blurr set the ream of paper down, tossed his cloak back, and made ready to draw his sword.

Shockwave filled his palms with magic, creeping to the doorway as quietly as he could, with Blurr just behind. The lamps were lit, and Blurr's voice drifted out-- laughing. "So you just sat there? What, until he got bored and went home?"

Blurr, or someone who looked and sounded just like him, was perched on the long worktable where Shockwave planned to spread out his research, legs swinging, armor dented and paint scuffed as he sipped a healing potion like a glass of expensive engex and looked down to his companion--

Shockwave.

Or someone who looked and sounded just like the Shockwave of two weeks ago.

A demon, a demon, but with no knight's armor to mark him as an unusual demon, sat cross-legged and comfortable on the safehouse floor, looking up at whoever it was who looked so much like a Blurr who had been in a fight, and said, "Well, I had nothing better to do with the day than study the floor tiles. He didn't seem like he'd find that particularly interesting."

His Blurr-shaped companion laughed again, bright and beautiful and exactly right, and Shockwave and Blurr gave their presence away in the same moment, in the same way.

"That's not me!" they chorused, and Shockwave would never be entirely sure which Blurr he was addressing.

The Blurr on the table hopped down, and the demon stood up, and seemed to just keep standing up, as though he were somehow larger, on his feet, stepping protectively between Blurr and the door.

His Blurr and the door.

Shockwave was doing something very similar, but his own Blurr wasn't trying to sidle past him, as the demon's Blurr was.

"Shockwave won't hurt me," that Blurr said, and the demon growled.

Growled. Had Shockwave ever growled, as a demon?

"He won't hurt whoever he believes is Blurr," the demon said. "Look." And one too-long arm stretched out to point at the Blurr who was staying mostly safely tucked behind Shockwave.

"Who are you," Shockwave asked, "How did you find this place, and what trouble are you leading back here?"

"My friend doesn't have a name yet," the other Blurr said, laying a hand on his demon's bare shoulder (exactly as Blurr had always done, all easy confidence, no disgust or hesitation, and an impossible fondness), "He's a long story. But I'm Blurr and I lived here for a while, Shockwave, I told you that when we first came here. This place belongs to my friend--"

"Who I've only ever called 'Ears' where Shockwave could hear," the Blurr beside Shockwave put in, "even though that's not his real name. I could tell you my friend's name," he went on, looking up at Shockwave, "and where I saw him last, what he does for a living-- anything, Shockwave, I can tell you anything--"

"And all that proves," the other Blurr said, "is that what one of us knows, the other knows. There-- are ways to do that with magic. Right?" His gaze flicked from the Blurr at Shockwave's side to Shockwave himself.

"Very rare ways," he allowed. "None of that explains the demon."

"You don't know me," the demon said, a trace of hurt in his voice.

"I know what you look like," Shockwave said. "You look like an impossibility."

"You look well," the demon said, and took a step toward Shockwave-- then checked, to be sure he was still covering Blurr. "When I dreamed with you, your face was torn, and your wings... were very rough. But you look well."

"... When you with dreamed me..."

He had dreamed of confronting his past frame-- or of that frame confronting him, but-- but Shockwave hadn't found it in himself to hate what he'd been--

"You let me touch you," the demon said, and, "it was your dream, I know-- I don't think I would have known what to say, without it being your dream. 'You've come so far. You've changed. So much. Grew to have so many scars.' But-- now you are repaired. You have color. You look well."

"Who-- and what-- are you?" Shockwave asked, but-- more gently than he truly meant to.

In the dream, he'd reached out for his past self, stroked his head in ways only Blurr had ever dared to do for Shockwave.

"I'm what held you," the demon said, inching forward. (Behind Shockwave, Blurr inched back.) "Wasn't I?" The demon looked to his Blurr, and back to Shockwave-- and back to his Blurr. "You wanted to talk with him to be sure, but that's what I am, isn't it?"

"I think so," the other Blurr said. "He says his first memory is of heat, and noise, and the smell of flowers, of being pulled away from something living, and then... then of being 'at rest' for a while."

"But that's-- the demonic magic would have dissipated," Shockwave said, "if not been utterly destroyed by the death-bringer magic. And he, with no spark, no processor..."

"But how long did he spend next to your spark?" the demon's Blurr countered. "Maybe what the death-bringer magic did was destroy the bond between what was alive and what wasn't alive."

"What do you want?" the Blurr behind Shockwave asked.

The demon considered him, head tilted, for a moment. "I want Blurr," he said, "and Shockwave. I want to stay with them, to protect them. ... And I'd like a name, I think, but I don't mind waiting. Sentinel tried to name me Longarm, but--"

"Sentinel?" Shockwave asked, because that-- that was important.

"He did not follow me here. I traveled very carefully," the demon promised. "But he woke me up. I think he thought I was you-- he certainly thought waking me from that rest counted as summoning me. It does not. He tried to get me to lead him to Blurr. I would not."

"He sat on the floor of that shrine and counted floor tiles until Sentinel got bored and left," the demon's Blurr said, delighted and proud.

The Blurr behind Shockwave admitted, "... okay, that is pretty good. If that's what actually happened."

"I studied the floor tiles," the demon said, almost affronted. "What they were made of, how they were spaced, whether I could fit my claw tips between them. How they fit together. Counting them would have been obvious."

"And Sentinel really just went away?" the Blurr behind Shockwave asked.

"I made it plain that I intended to wait right there for my summoner, like a well-behaved demon," the demon said. "Sentinel had other obligations, and chose not to wait with me."

"Shockwave," the demon's Blurr said, suddenly. "How was Coilspring?"

"You know about that?" How had he-- he hadn't been here. Exactly how connected, how complete, was this involuntary knowledge-sharing?

"I made the appointment, Shockwave--"

"We both remember making the appointment," the Blurr behind Shockwave said. "Only the real Blurr could have run far enough, fast enough, to find Coilspring, convince her her to come here, and get back before you actually started to worry."

"That's true," the demon's Blurr allowed, "so it's no help proving who's who. What did she say? You do look good-- I like the teal accents-- but she didn't repair your optic or your fingers, even though she knew to expect that."

"She could have," Shockwave said, "but not without donor wiring. Mine-- mine has all been steeped in dark magic too long to replace with anything new. I need to make some decisions about functionality."

The demon reached out, brushing just the tip of one claw over Shockwave's right cheek-- as he'd done in the dream, Shockwave thought, though in the waking world, he had an optic in his mouth, and he wasn't... inky, dripping. "It can't be fixed because of me?" the demon asked, and there was guilt there, but--

-- but oh, he sounded so young.

Shockwave reached up to cup the face that should have been a nightmare, that should have haunted him, that should have pained him to look at. Instead, he still saw a reflection of himself there, and an echo of Amalgamus Prime, and the newest, youngest students he'd ever had, the ones he had the opportunity to take in before they learned quite how cruel the world could be. "No. We can use wiring from other places in my frame, I just... have to decide what I'm willing to live with. And without."

"I'm sorry," the demon said, and wrapped around him, and-- and if it hadn't felt like he needed the comfort more than Shockwave did (because Shockwave had his list of options), he would have understood what Blurr saw in demonic embraces. It was very secure, and a long neck wrapped over Shockwave's shoulders. "I crushed you."

"It's the optic and the hands that are the trouble, nothing you did," he murmured, wrapping his arms around the demon's neck. "If you crushed anything, it was my wings, and they're-- stiff and under-used now, but with a little reconditioning they'll be fine. I think I must have ruined my hands fighting my shackles-- I don't know what happened to the optic. You didn't do this. This was done to both of us."

"I exist because of your pain." Anyone from outside the room would have heard the wrong thing in that rough voice, but it had been Shockwave's voice for so long, and he had begged for forgiveness in that tone too many times.

"You exist," Shockwave told him, "because a brave, brilliant spark was willing to end my pain. It's all right. You didn't cause my pain. If they hadn't bound me up in you, they would have exiled me, or executed me. I'm alive, free to work out how to fight them, because you held onto me for so long."

The demon made a distressed, needful sound, holding Shockwave closer and pulling him further into the room.

Through closed jaws, he whispered, "My summoner came with me, not you. Watch the other Blurr," against Shockwave's helm, and Shockwave had time to school his expression, to cover how his wings had flared in surprise by wrapping them around the demon. "I wish I could help," he said, aloud, still mournful. "The dark magic stems from me. You steeped in me."

"And if nothing else," Shockwave told him, willing his tone even, "I'm used to life with one optic and six fingers. I have to give things some thought, but I'm fine, and no one in this room is responsible for my damages."

Watch the other Blurr. His summoner. A demon would certainly know who his summoner was-- who held his leash, whose commands had to be obeyed-- but Shockwave didn't want to think he'd been fooled. Not after so much time with Blurr, not after he'd come to care, not after Blurr fought so hard to free him. Not knowing someone caring, choosing to care, choosing to help, was pretty damned close to the entire point of life. He smoothed a hand down the demon's neck, distracted, and was rewarded with a sound Shockwave was sure he'd never made in that shape-- something like a purr crossed with a coo, given the depth of his register.

"There's nothing to forgive you for," Shockwave promised, trying not to sound distracted.

---

He was Blurr.

He knew everything Blurr had ever done, seen, heard, felt, tasted, smelled, said, read, written, experienced. He looked like Blurr, he sounded like Blurr, he acted like Blurr. And he'd been doing fine! He only needed a light touch now and then, not significant guidance from his creator, where he was as much or more Mirage-being-Blurr as just Blurr. He wasn't getting anything wrong, not wrong enough to be caught, and that was all that needed to be done.

Just be Blurr, well enough not to get caught as anything other than perfectly, completely Blurr by the mech who'd spent the last two years barely leaving Blurr's side, while developing a few reasons to pull the couple apart.

And he was doing fine!

If there was a hurry, his 'cold and lethargic' condition could precipitously worsen. If there was time, he was laying groundwork for 'unsupportive of Shockwave's scholarly passions' and 'no longer attracted after major physical change.' His creator kept idly nudging for 'too clingy,' but that wouldn't work while Blurr was sick. It was entirely reasonable to be clingy when displaying Blurr's symptoms, and Shockwave was the one who'd offered to carry Blurr around town in his wings. Blurr didn't think 'too clingy' by his creator's standards would put Shockwave off at all.

Honestly, being Blurr for Shockwave was pretty nice. He wouldn't mind drawing it out, making it last.

And then the light touch got a lot heavier, without additional instruction.

Something was happening, and his creator needed to know about it.

And then there they were, Blurr and Shockwave-- but not him and this mortal, healing Shockwave he was supposed to take care of, to not harm, but the Shockwave of Blurr's memories. The great big demon.

Blurr's great big demon.

He knew what happened when Blurr had a demon, it featured very prominently in a lot of Blurr's experiential memories. People died, puppets were spotted immediately and destroyed, and Blurr got away from his creator, again. He could keep being Blurr for a mortal Shockwave, but not for a demon. Not when Blurr was the summoner.

He resigned himself to being caught and violently disposed of, but the demon hadn't said anything, letting all the challenging come from Blurr.

That was a lot more grace than Blurr or his creator thought he'd get.

His objectives were changed, including watch Blurr and sow distrust. If he could get the demon dismissed-- if he could get Shockwave to insist the demon be dismissed--

It wouldn't work, but it was still pressed. Shockwave didn't hate the demon that had once been him/his prison/part of him, which was kind of fragging beautiful, actually, and the demon (who could end Blurr in a single motion, who could strip his purpose and existence away with a word or two) was a dizzying combination of utterly terrifying and sweet as a newspark.

"I'm so sorry about the wiring," Blurr offered, reaching to touch Shockwave's shoulder, and to show he wasn't afraid of the demon, was just as brazen with demons as Blurr ought to be. "You didn't say."

"I would have, once I'd decided what to do," Shockwave said, and pulled his wings back to a neutral position as he offered Blurr an understandably-wan smile. Blurr returned a soft one.

The Blurr his creator wanted turned away.

Then he tilted his head and turned back.

"How long does it take," he said, altogether too thoughtfully, "for something to count as 'steeped in' dark magic? Like how long before-- how long before standard wiring would be too changed to splice in regular wiring?"

"What are you talking about?" Blurr asked. Because that-- that sounded smart, like the start of something smart. And Blurr wasn't stupid, exactly, but he struggled with anything academic unless someone bent rules for him or drip-fed him the relevant information, and he was impulsive, and didn't like to sit and read, or think things through. Even the potion he'd worked such a miracle with was probably based on a moment's inspiration and a pile of sympathetic magic-- and how much more magic than the average mechanism Blurr could bring to bear.

So why was Blurr sounding clever?

Shockwave, on the other hand, stroked the demon's thick neck and answered, "I couldn't estimate any precise amount of time without knowing the size of the object and the strength of the magic source-- exposing anything to enough magic of any particular kind will fundamentally change it eventually, making it less and less compatible with magic of any other kind."

"And Coilspring didn't make any noises about needing special wiring for you other than that she can't use regular stuff?" Blurr asked.

"No-- I don't think the standards have changed that much since... I was last in a condition to see a medic," Shockwave said, and Blurr beamed at him, and Blurr could understand why Mirage wanted Blurr, and Blurr darted off.

"Blurr?" Shockwave asked, and the demon uncoiled his neck.

... The neck really was something, Blurr would give the memories of hugging it, leaning on it, sleeping on it that much. But then Shockwave looked to him and Blurr could only shrug. "I don't know what he's doing."

But Blurr reappeared, tippets trailing behind him (his looked so dark. Was he dressed wrong? When had that changed?) and grinning wolfishly. "Standard replacement wire, right?" he said, reaching out to hand Shockwave a coil of wire-- yards and yards of it, by the look of it.

"This... is that, yes. Blurr, it isn't a matter of getting the wire--"

"But of steeping it in dark magic," Blurr agreed. "There's time before your next appointment, right? If Coilspring let you go with bandaged hands, she's not done with you, so you have another appointment?"

"She insisted, yes," Shockwave said, and then looked from Blurr to the coil of wire and back again. "All right, now, how do you propose to 'steep' this in dark magic? You shouldn't be doing dark magic, not until you're fully recovered from..."

Shockwave stopped, and turned to look at the demon who was trying to make himself fit easily under Shockwave's arm, like a gridwolf trying to be a lap-turbofox. "... I don't know," the demon said.

"Even if I didn't think I was fine to do more magic if I needed to," Blurr said, "I don't need to. Not for this. Not when we actually have the source of the dark magic that altered you right here." He turned that brilliant smile on the demon. "You'd imbue spare parts with dark magic to help Shockwave, wouldn't you? Considering probably all you have to do is keep them on you?"

The demon gaped up at Blurr. "I can help?" he asked, painfully hopeful.

"I think so," Blurr said, still smiling, and letting out a startled, "Oof!" as the demon pulled him into a hug.

Was Blurr supposed to be that smart?

His creator didn't think so, and was dismissive about it, about putting two and two together, that Shockwave couldn't be that clever if he didn't realize it. But Blurr hadn't worked it out, either, and he had the same knowledge of the den's medical supplies as Blurr did.

His creator thought he should use it.

Sow distrust.

It was his new objective.

"You figured that out so fast," Blurr said, a little wonderingly, a little enviously.

"I do everything fast," Blurr said. "You should know it."

"When you do something," Blurr agreed, "you do it fast."

Shockwave put a hand on his shoulder. "It should work. I'll want to check a few things-- notably that the magic is still compatible, after our separation-- but it should work."

Blurr liked Shockwave. Blurr was supposed to have Shockwave for the rest of his existence. "I'm not saying he's wrong," he said, and leaned into Shockwave's touch. "I'm saying I'm not that clever."

"I am not stupid," Blurr ground out, pulling away from his demon to glare at Blurr.

"Whoever told you that you were?" Shockwave asked, turning his tender concern the wrong way. Blurr wanted that.

"He knows," Blurr said, gesturing at him.

Well, all right, arguing with one's own history it was, then. That would make both of them look a little unhinged, but that was fine. "If enough people agree on it, it's probably right," but he carefully didn't get sharp with it. Scores of people had firmly believed Blurr to be an idiot, and that was just where he'd seen, heard, or read about it. He wasn't supposed to be smart. Blurr should be unhappy about that, sad, not angrily defying it.

Shockwave was looking at him again, which was good, but Blurr wasn't sure he was comfortable with that much intense scrutiny. "I wasn't teaching at the time," Shockwave said, "but you attended my Academy, correct? How did you fare, there?"

"I-- I paid attention to subjects that interested me," Blurr said, and Blurr had to scowl and keep his mouth shut, because that was true. "If not for some of the teachers bending over backwards for me--"

"Oh come on! Professor Skids just-- just needed to learn how I learned!" Blurr protested, throwing his hands up. "Once he knew that, teaching me wasn't any harder than teaching anyone else!"

"He shouldn't have had to invent a whole new teaching style just to get through to me!" Blurr countered.

"Whyever not?" Shockwave asked, and both of them turned to stare at him. "A teacher's job is to educate students. Not to perform the same lessons and lectures unchanged, like a golem delivering a disclaimer, or to only succeed to teach the students they find easy to teach. I changed my own teaching method dozens of times to reach different students, Skids included, because my Academy was founded on the idea that everyone deserves an education, that anyone can benefit from an education. I'd be very disappointed if that mission statement had changed while I was..." He glanced at the demon, breaking the hold his gaze had on Blurr. "Indisposed."

Shockwave thought Blurr was smart.

"I--"

Blurr might actually be smart, if all that about people needing to be taught differently was true. And Shockwave had started a school, so maybe it was? Maybe it actually was?

Maybe his creator was wrong.

"Blurr?" Shockwave asked, hands on his shoulders.

But if so, he was an inadequate Blurr, because he was meant to be smarter than Blurr and able to play dumb, for as long as necessary to-- to--

For longer than that! He could do it for longer than that! He could be a good Blurr!

"Blurr, can you hear me?" Shockwave asked.

He was good at being Blurr, only the demon could catch him, and only if he asked the demon a direct question or gave him an order.

"I--"

He could do it!

"I smell mushrooms," the demon said, quietly.

He was Blurr--

"What's happening to him?" Shockwave asked. "You said he was-- a false Blurr, but--"

He wouldn't get caught for ages!

"I think he just outlived his usefulness," Blurr said, and Blurr sounded sad, Blurr wasn't supposed to sound sad about Blurr, Blurr was supposed to be angry and unstable about being replaced so Blurr could be frightened of the crazy mech!

He was Blurr, he was a good Blurr, he was good at being Blurr--

He was so cold.

---

Elsewhere, Mirage swore softly as he waved away broken strings. Puppets crafted for emotional manipulation did run the risk of getting a little too emotional themselves, and he knew it. Really, he'd known this round was over the moment a demon re-entered play. He should have disposed of his puppet then, rather than try to get it to do anything useful, or watch the whole display through its eyes.

... An emotionally-volatile demon and a crippled scholar, though.

Mirage did despair of Blurr's taste in mechs.

---

End Notes: Is that a terrible way to end this? What are they going to do with this new baby? How will they all relate to each other beyond 'extremely huggy'? Is Blurr's situation Tam Lin (mortal who belongs to the fae) or Owen Burnett (fae who does not want to go home when called)?

I have absolutely no goddam idea, I just know that's where this one ends. Subscribe to the From Ash And Dust series to be updated if and/or when yon baby half-a-demon sees something in a Spellbound update and makes further demands of me!

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