Hi! Idk if you know me or not but essentially I'm Satan incarnate and I'm currently on a posting high, so this one's going out.

If there are any Ash Song readers here, y'all are used to me and my bullshit. Or you would be if that fic was a regular part of your lives and I actually updated every once in a while lmao. Anyway. The new fic.

So, this is a Black Mirror AU. Specifically, the season 3 episode San Junipero. If you're planning on watching the show and don't want it spoilt, I'd highly recommend you look away now (although the summary will have already ruined the premise of the episode. Get a load of that. I can ruin shit without you even needing to read my stories now. I've reached a whole new level of being a dick).

Anyway, if you've never seen the show, you don't necessarily need to. I'm borrowing the premise of San Junipero and, well... the name San Junipero. Other than that, it's not a crossover. Just a really cool universe I wanted to explore.

I'll explore Alfred's faith in relation to San Junipero more in later chapters, and hopefully do it in a respectful way. I'll also include any necessary warnings at the start of each chapter.

Allons-y!

One

The Ghost Town

The first thing he senses is the sound of waves in the distance, followed by the smell of salty air and something a lot sweeter drifting through the light breeze.

The ground is hard and uneven beneath him, and Alfred can feel something digging rather uncomfortably into his back. He opens his eyes to see a deep navy sky up above, stars spread around in familiar patterns. He used to have a night light when he was about seven; it cast swirling constellations on his ceiling that he could look up at when he was falling asleep.

As he sits up, he catches sight of the sea. It's directly in front of him, a couple of hundred yards further down the beach. He can barely make it out in the dark, but the moonlight is just about strong enough.

It looks, sounds and smells real enough. Alfred isn't expecting that, and it throws him off a little.

He glances down at the ground, shuffling slightly. The ground itself isn't the cause of the discomfort; it's the backpack strapped around his shoulders, that he must have been lying on. He's grateful it's here, however, because the alternative would have been more painful still.

The beach is pebbly, which is a shame; he always preferred the ones with just the sand, on summer days in the boiling heat when Nana would drive them down to the sea at the weekend. Sometimes the sand would get so hot it would burn and he and Mattie would race down the beach to cool off and splash about in the shallows. Their parents never let them do that when they were little. Their mother said they could get dragged out to sea, even if they were only in the shallows, and their father always grumbled about how much sand they'd get in the car afterwards. But Nana never cared. She'd probably let him run off now, despite him no longer being a little kid, the pebbles instead of sand, and the night instead of day.

But Nana never came here. She wouldn't have wanted to.

It's just some fake sea anyway. Like in a video game, but with a far superior budget.

Alfred gets to his feet and turns around.

Dotted out in thousands of lights is a town, layered out on a slope at the foot of what he knows are mountains, having seen all the posters, but can't make out at all against the sky. He tunes in the noise at once, as if it was all waiting to load before he looked this way- or perhaps he could hear it all along, and the sounds of cars and people chattering were so ordinary that he didn't even acknowledge it. The sea, on the other hand, is a different matter. He lives nowhere near it, after all.

There are other people on the beach besides him, all further up, and he tenses when he spots them. He's not supposed be here, really, and people are going to ask questions if they have spotted him showing up on the beach instead of the mandated apartments residents and ordinary visitors alike are given to start off with. People don't just pop up in random places. That's not how it works here, not unless you're working off the system.

The sight of people sends chills through his skin.

It's ridiculous, he knows straight away, but San Junipero gets nicknamed the Ghost Town for a reason. These people could be visitors for all he knows, but they could also be residents. And the thought of that is too unnerving to comprehend.

It's awful. It's like living in limbo. These people have nowhere else to go. They're probably old too, and as cool as it would be to become eternally youthful, there's something really creepy about the secrets each one of them gets to hide. Everyone here is in disguise, like some freakish masked ball for the dead.

The whole concept would amuse him if it were in a film or a comic, or even some damn play to perform in this year for drama club, but this is too much.

It's all too real.

He wonders if Mattie felt this scared when he arrived. Or maybe he just accepted it straight away, and perhaps found comfort in how normal it all felt. Mattie was always the calmer of the two of them.

He still is. Because he's out there somewhere, in this hyped-up ghost town. And something must have convinced him to stay, because there's no way he would have wanted to do so in the beginning.

Their mother always used to say this town was for the lost. For the broken and desolate who lacked the courage to find true peace. Their father was kinder. When Nana died, he told the boys that Nana was brave. That they needn't be scared for her, not when she would find her way. That most people just needed a little guidance, and that they'd always find end up where they belonged eventually.

It seemed fanciful at the time. Like the idea of being the guidance, like a guardian angel leading souls to heaven, was a heroic and noble quest. The boys had soon turned it into a game; they spent hours in their garden, running around and pretending to be angels. They fashioned wings out of cardboard and splashed white and gold paint on them, then climbed the small birch tree to pretend they could fly. They would lead Nana's soul to heaven, even though they both knew she was brave enough to make it there herself.

He snaps out of his thoughts as a couple pass nearby, their footsteps crunching over the rocks. It's young man and woman, both giggling and whispering excitedly. Their hushed tones become audible as they draw closer.

'Come on, Hal. It'll be like in Miami. '92, was it?'

'1994, hon. And we were stoned. We coulda drowned, ya know. No one coulda seen us in the dark.'

'Nah. We didn't go in past our necks, and you got it all wrong,' the woman chuffs, clutching the man's arm and lurching forwards slightly for another string of chuckles. 'No drowning here. Gotta worry about the sharks getting us, though!'

'Like they'd put sharks here. Honestly,' the man laughs.

'Would be kinda sweet, though, right. Pretty cool stuff. They wouldn't bother us.'

'The birds bother us plenty. Singin' away when I'm trying to sleep. Hey, that really ain't too comfy down there, man.'

The couple are mere feet from him now, staring down at him in puzzlement. He stiffens, his fingers curling around the pebbles at his side and squeezing them shakily. It's only to relieve stress, but a wild, intrusive thought occurs; what if they can tell? That he's not a resident, and not a legal visitor? What if they know? Will he have to protect himself?

He shakes the thought away immediately. It's a dumb, horrible thing to think. They're just people. Misguided visitors, his mother would say, or lost souls who are yet to find peace, as his father would put it. People who are so, so much older than him, if those years they mentioned were anything to go by- although they don't look much more than ten years older than him at most now.

'Really, you're gonna do your ass in,' the man continues, smiling sympathetically. 'You wanna try a different beach for sittin' down. And we really wanna pick a different time for a swim.'

'I told you,' the woman laughs, 'it's more fun at night.' She leans in and plucks a kiss on the man's cheek, to which he leans in and grins.

The couple leave him there, staring in confusion as they race off down the beach towards the sea. No matter how far away they get, he can still hear them hooting and cheering.

There's nothing troubled about them, from what he can see. They don't look lost or misguided. And most of all, they really do look happy. As if they truly have found peace here.

San Junipero isn't for everyone, but it certainly is for many. Just not for him.

People are saying Mattie was young, that he still is in shock from his untimely death, that he doesn't really know what he wants. That he must be afraid, and understandably so. So maybe all he needs is a little guidance. Some help. A guardian angel, or whatever's good enough to match that.

And so, Alfred chose to come.

The email came two weeks after the accident, when the trial period had ended. As both next of kin and legal guardians, Mom and Dad were informed when the decision was made, and exactly what the decision was. He heard Mom's choked sobs in the kitchen, and Dad trying to calm her down, insisting that Mattie must have been scared, and that there was no shame in that.

'He can still leave, Amanda. They don't hold people hostage there. You can leave whenever you like if you really want to. It's the law.'

'But he didn't leave. He chose to stay. What if he wants to keep it that way? You know what they teach at schools, and those people they let in to talk about it like it's just the same as lectures about how to cross the road safely or how to perform CPR! They treat it like it's compulsory to join San Junipero, just because of the entrance law.' Alfred's mom had taken a deep breath after her outburst, and when she spoke again, her voice was much lower. 'You know, Derek… sometimes I wish they hadn't passed it. That it had been voted down.'

'You don't mean that.'

Alfred had heard a long sigh. 'I wish I didn't. I hate myself for even thinking it. I know so many people benefit from it. I know it wouldn't be fair on them. But this… this just makes it hard. You know it does.'

There had been a lot of snuffling and eventually the unmistakable sound of moaning after that, which could only mean his parents were kissing and crying at the same time, which was a level of gross Alfred was not prepared to listen to. But it was fine, because he had already heard what he needed to. He would have gone up to his room there and then, but he was fixed to the spot, his stomach twisting a little and his head strangely light, like he'd gotten a head rush from standing up too quickly. After the first few moments, he began to try and rationalise. He must have misheard whatever they were talking about. Maybe it was the latest twist in one of Dad's radio shows. Maybe one of the characters had died and chosen gone to San Junipero. Dad always talked about his favourite show as passionately as Alfred would about all his TV series, so maybe that was all it was.

But it couldn't be, because Dad always listened to it on his drive back from work each evening on the weekdays when it played, and it was Saturday morning. Besides, Mom didn't care about it at all. She didn't even like it, in fact. If Dad was ever home early or he had a day off, he'd listen to the radio in the kitchen, and Mom hated it. She always said the voices were too shrilly and overacted. So it couldn't be that.

But Alfred already knew it couldn't be that. He just wasn't sure how to even properly think about what it really was.

They didn't have San Junipero when his parents were kids. They never grew up in a world were it was not only around, but completely ordinary. The bill to allow entry to all, money be damned, was passed in the US when Alfred was five. Before that, only the rich or those over the age of seventy-three got in, and before that, only the rich. Most were and still are elderly. Even today, not everyone can just waltz in; the upload has to happen before and during the actual dying part, so unless you die in a hospital or a clinic with the equipment, you won't get in.

Mom always accused the process of actually killing people. 'It's the upload that does it,' she had told the boys once. 'The doctors decide when to do it- to cut their lives short, but choosing when to upload their souls. It's not right. They shouldn't have the right to decide when it's time for these people to go.'

Alfred, who was twelve at the time, said, 'But they do that with people in comas? Don't the families say when it happens? And pets too. People say when pets get put down.'

Alfred has always been the one who could put up a good argument, who challenged anyone and everyone as a small child. He was the one who had apparently been a nightmare toddler, who got put on the naughty step at least three times a week, who skipped learning to talk and went straight onto learning to shout, and who could never sit still at the dinner table or in church.

Mattie was never like that. He was the quiet one, the calmer one. More obedient, less challenging, more of a listener than a talker or a shouter. He used to follow Alfred around and sit and occupy himself for far longer than Alfred ever could with crayons and paints. They'd both been asked to light the candles in church one year when they were nine, but in the end, only Matthew had been allowed to. Alfred had gotten too excitable and almost dropped the match he'd been given, and after that, no one really wanted to trust him with fire. He'd thrown a massive tantrum and Dad had to carry him out of the church so he wouldn't interrupt the service anymore, and he'd been grounded for a week for misbehaving. He never got to see Mattie light the candles, but his brother must have managed it without a fuss because there were no tantrums from him that day.

Alfred was never really a bad kid, but by comparison, Mattie was always the good one. No one ever disputed that. Mattie was never disobedient. Mattie never deviated from their family's norms or ever even disputed them. No one would ever have suspected this.

No one can really expect anything completely, Alfred realises now. He clearly can't even expect things from himself.

The air seems to grow warmer the closer he gets to the city. He trudges along the beach in a kind of daze. Already he can hear the music, muffled thumping and drumming and echoed voices ringing across the nearest street. His heart hammers against his chest along with it, and the rising heat in his skin makes him stop for a moment and take several deep breaths. Once there, he'll need to get a bearing off the place- the hacker he'd gone to gave him a rough outline of a couple of the more popular eras, but it was hard enough to follow, just listening to someone else explain it.

The 80s tend to get the highest numbers, PATCO had informed him, right from the get-go. Their offers were far from the cheapest around, but they seemed to offer the best selection of packages within a fifty mile radius and the discretion worked for Alfred just fine. But that's mostly for the older folks. Newer residents, especially the younger ones, tend to stick to more familiar territory. The last couple of decades are probably your safest bet, but you should know your brother better than me.

Alfred could almost laugh at that. Yeah, he really should know Mattie better than anyone. Or even at all.

But for all the good living in the same house, the same fucking room for sixteen years did him. He'd often idly thought about how much like strangers he and his brother were, but only now does it truly hit him with any kind of severity.

Not only does he not know which era Mattie might keep to in San Junipero, but he couldn't even anticipate Mattie coming here at all. Alfred's been called inattentive before, but this is something else entirely.

The next big kick was finding out just how damn much it cost to get a Variant Chip- the standard issue for the elderly, the dying, for anyone with enough money to pay for being able to move between the different eras of San Junipero. No matter where he looked online, Alfred simply could not find a good, affordable deal that would allow him the same features and freedom as residents and legal visitors. So he'd eventually opted for an Indeterminate Chip, the cheapest and arguably most useless of all of them. He's got a good deal out of it, however; it's available for an upgrade within two years, so long as he's got enough cash by the end of that period. It's not ideal, but it's good enough. It has to be.

There's nothing quite like his failures constantly being on his mind now for him to feel like the worst brother imaginable- but at least coming here dulls the shame a little. This is the right move, he keeps telling himself. This is a good one.

Mattie's out here somewhere. He just needs to find him.

Turning out of a short alley leading from the beach and onto the first street is very much like stepping out into one of those classic movies Nana used to watch in the care home. She was obsessed with the decades long past, the strange fashions and music of the mid to late 20th century, the cultural revolutions as she liked to call it. Alfred had always thought he'd understood it, to an extent. She'd owned the lounge area when he and Mattie had come to visit, other residents be damned. They never seemed to mind much, anyway. Everyone else seemed quite lifeless compared to Nana, the way they lay sunken in their chairs, asleep or rambling on about nothing in particular to each other. Nana was the life and soul of that home, and the boys' visits had always been filled with tales of the past, booming ABBA and Pink Floyd, and loud, raucous laughter.

Nana would like this, Alfred thinks in a kind of daze, smiling hesitantly as he takes in the sight of bars, restaurants and nightclubs all lined up on the brightly lit street. There are dozens of shops too, their windows lit up with displays despite the late hour. Alfred wonders if they even close at normal times, like they would in the real world. There are decorations up above, too, hanging from roof to roof; they look light massive fairy lights, and they look spectacular. The nightclubs- at least Alfred assumes they're nightclubs, even though he's never actually been to or even seen a proper city one in real life- don't even have queues. He went with some of his friends at school on a short summer trip to Lake Michigan, and a couple of them had snuck out of their motel one night with fake IDs and a whole wad of cash. And after the grounding and vomiting, pretty much all they had to say was the queue was too damn long. Worse than the one at the Comic Con back in April, which Alfred found very hard to believe. Here, though, it's as if the concept altogether simply doesn't exist. People walk in and out as freely as they would do any shop. There are no bouncers at the doors, no ID checks. He could probably get in in his sneakers if he wanted to.

It's neat. Really neat. Nana would like this too. She used to go out in her youth, before Dad was born and she moved to the US. She once proudly regaled Alfred and Mattie with tales of band tours and clubs, before Mom put a stop to it. She'd be delighted to see this street in all its vibrance.

Alfred catches himself quickly. Nana wouldn't like this. Of course she wouldn't. She would hate this place. The lights, the music, the life- it's tempting, Mom would say. It looks pretty, it looks perfect. It's supposed to, to lure people in. But San Junipero is all wrong. It always has been.

Get it together, he thinks. No daydreaming in the Ghost Town.

But it's hard not to think of Nana, especially when he looks at the people. Without a Variant Chip, Alfred has no idea which era he's arrived in. His best bet is observing the fashion all around him, and comparing it with what he knows already. Nana's picture albums, history classes at school, some of his favourite older movies- they should all be a help to him in that moment, but Alfred is suddenly drawing a blank. He spots a young women in a leather jacket, with heels so tall it's a wonder her toes aren't in serious pain. Maybe she knows ballet, Alfred decides weakly, his mind spinning for answers. Her hair… her hair… it's pulled up into one frizzy mop at the top, and suddenly he's thinking, 80s? Maybe? They said the 80s were the most popular.

But the more popular something is, the more people gravitate to it. And in this sea of faces, colours, jackets, dresses, smiles and laughter, how is he even meant to begin his search? He can't afford any of PATCO's additional features, like access to the basic database or even somewhere here he can rent as his own home during his online hours. And suddenly, everything seems so monstrously unfair and hopeless. How the fuck can he find Mattie in a multidimensional afterlife filled with millions?

'I don't even have a fucking map,' he mutters aloud, a lump forming in his throat.

The woman he spotted earlier is now chatting with another girl, but she looks entirely different- a tank top with what Alfred can only assume is designed with some kind of animal fur pattern, only it's difficult to tell from this distance and with the flashing lights and shadows moving around constantly. She's in tight jeans and boots too, and Alfred knows in that moment that there's absolutely no way she's dressed for the 80s.

Shit. He takes a deep breath. Shit.

Everywhere he looks, every time he guesses an era, someone else will emerge with something completely contradictory- pants with wide, billowing ends here, oddly shaved hairstyles there. He even spots glowsticks at one point, curling around peoples' necks and wrists like jewellery, besides simply being waved around. The music is no help. From several buildings it pumps out faintly and incomprehensibly, simply a jumbled mash of melodic sound. Alfred can't recognise any of the songs, let alone decide when they're from.

Panic swirls in his stomach, and he backs away quickly, suddenly desperate for the quiet and darkness of the alleyway he came out of. The beach doesn't seem too daunting now, not compared to the thriving mass of people- of dead people- in the street. And the sheer numbers are one thing, but the mystery of all of it…

Alfred has absolutely no idea which era he's landed in. The seller from PATCO never mentioned anything about eras merging. Is that even allowed? Is that what's actually going on here, or is Alfred just misinterpreting everything?

Maybe he should have paid more attention in history class, or to Nana's stories and pictures, or to the costumes in those classic movies he likes.

'Fuck,' he whispers, bending over for a moment, his shaking hands reaching down to grasp his knees and lean on them. This is a recent development for him, these dreadful moments of panic that come. Before a few months ago, the worst he'd ever felt was mild stage fright in school productions, or the last minute realisation that he had homework. He'd never had to worry about these attacks, or the way the world could suddenly swirl out of focus in a dizzying blur, or how it could somehow feel as if he'd been winded and had completely left his own body at the same time.

Not until he'd come back from the lake trip. Not until he'd arrived back home, to his mother, silent with grief, and his father, who had hoarsely told him there had been an accident.

He breathes in and out, slowly and deeply, closing his eyes. One, two, three, four… one, two, three, four…

He lost Mattie the first time this happened. But this time… this time he's finding him. He has to.

Alfred opens his eyes, ignoring the fear curling inside him. With one last deep breath, he straightens up and steps out onto the street again, watching the crowd of people cautiously. He tries to think of what his dad, ever the voice of jokes and optimism, would say. At least no one looks hostile? At least there's no mugging in San Junipero- probably? Come to think of it, aside from illegal visitors such as himself, is there any illegal activity here? Is there any need for it?

He's certain he's learnt all about it at school, but he doesn't have much longer to dwell on it. From somewhere down the street, beyond the main bulk of the crowd, comes a bright, blaring light, and a hush falls over the people on the street. Alfred has a small moment of quiet to try and recognise any of the dim music from inside the bars closest to him, before a booming voice accompanies the light.

'Vortex Flash Hour!' the voice calls, and a cheer goes up from the crowd. They all turn to the light at the end of the street and begin shuffling along, abandoning all interest in any of the other buildings along the street. Automatically, like so many instances of falling into place among students heading for assembly, Alfred follows closely, momentarily more concerned about standing alone and out of place than about being so close to the citizens and visitors of San Junipero. He has no idea what's going on, but he's too anxious to stray from the group, to stand out in any way. At least with them, he might fit in. No matter how weirdly dressed he was told he'd be for the likes of the party town, it's not as if there's a fashion norm among these people. Everyone is dressed so differently, so bizarrely in comparison to each other, that he feels oddly safe to be in their midst.

The Vortex, as it turns out, is a small, purple nightclub at the end of the street, right on the corner. It dwarves next to many other buildings opposite it and down neighbouring streets, yet it shines brightest of all, and its music is the most coherent of all- perhaps because the electronic beat, however subdued on the outside, is familiar. Alfred's eyes widen as he draws closer. He bites his lip nervously, hoping that this club is like the others on the street, and will permit anyone to enter. Sure enough, people are just striding through, and there are so many of them too; more are coming from other streets, all dressed in a whole variety of attire. The Vortex is far from the biggest or fanciest of the clubs, but there's no denying the way it attracts everyone in the vicinity. People head towards it almost hypnotically, but their faces are all fully conscious and filled with life. They chatter and laugh and sing along, and Alfred begins feeling a strange tug to join in too when he finally does recognise the song. He can't remember the name, but it was one of Nana's many favourites from the 70s, and a frequent at the care home.

Alfred doesn't really know what to do in this strange, ethereal moment, but his feet are less indecisive. Five seconds later, he is passing over the threshold of the Vortex's front entrance, and is immediately hit with beams of colours raining down from the ceiling. The light is bright but not blinding, and Alfred stops in his tracks for a moment to simply acknowledge the strange spectacle before him.

Along a short corridor and down a few steps lies the main dancing floor, roughly the size of the playground at his old elementary school- enough to fit a couple of hundred comfortably, and a lot more if they didn't mind the squeeze. And people clearly don't, because they are absolutely everywhere, splashed in blues, greens, yellows, reds, pinks, purples- all within the colourful spotlights, all dancing and singing and moving about with drinks. Skirted around the sides are booths of tables and velvet seats, occupied by groups and loners alike, who are drinking, chatting and watching. Further along the wall is a bar, and after that is a set of steps leading up to the elevated stage, where the speakers are blasting the song.

'Oooooohhhh… I feel love, I feel love, I feel love, I feel love, I feel looooove…'

Alfred feels frozen in the moment, trapped between memories of Nana and her grandsons singing it so loudly that one of the carers had to turn off the music and tell them to stop, and this moment right here, lost in a world he barely understands yet is somehow more calming now than anything else has been since he got here. He glances over at the booths again, and decides to head over and sit down for a bit. There are plenty of others sitting by themselves, and no one's staring at them. It may be loud in here, but everyone seems entirely entranced in dancing, drinking and singing, too distracted to even notice him. He likes that immediately. Perhaps just stopping here for a bit will give him a chance to clear his head and plan his next move.

He heads on down the steps, deciding against simply skirting around the walls to get to the booths when the quickest route is simply passing through the dancing crowd in the middle. No one will care what he's doing in the lights and the dim, he tells himself. It's fine. As long as he doesn't bump into anyone or fall over or anything, this will be easy.

'I feel loooooove… I feel love…'

He almost grins. Mattie loved singing it along with him and Nana. Maybe he'd want to come to somewhere like this. Maybe this is a good place to start. Maybe things aren't quite as hopeless as he feared. There has to be ways of finding people here, without the use of accessing the system database, surely. It has to be at least a little like the real world. He could ask around. Tell people Mattie's blocked him, when they ask why he doesn't just search for him via the database. Say it's an emergency. Beg. Plead. Do anything.

His being here is doing anything, after all. This is what true desperation must look like.

In the multicoloured, moving lights, with their shadowy features indistinguishable and their bodies moving to the rhythm, they look and feel more like regular people than ever, Alfred muses as he passes through them. He was right- no one cares what he's doing, or what he looks like. No one looks unhappy in the slightest either, from what he can make out. Alfred never considered himself overly brainwashed by his mother's rants about the supposed desolation of the Ghost Town, but he had still envisioned it as something… less than this.

The singing has stopped, but the electronic beat continues on into an instrumental section, and Alfred squeezes his way past a trio of dancers, being bathed in a beam of green light from above. He grins and steps to the side, dodging the trio and allowing a pink light to drench him. He should get out more, in the real world; not for the first time, he finds himself wishing he had snuck out with his classmates on that trip to go to that nightclub. Sure, he would have gotten into trouble like they did, but as the weeks have passed by since then, he has begun thinking more and more about how he should have enjoyed the trip more, and not spent the whole time playing on his phone.

Or better still, a part of his mind whispers mutinously, maybe you shouldn't have gone at all.

'Oooooohhhh… fall and free, fall and free, fall and free, fall and free, fall and freeeee…'

Alfred sobers up quickly, his daze coming to an end. He hops to the side to avoid crashing into a guy carrying drinks in both hands, and finally finds himself standing over the booths, on the outskirts of the dance floor. He breathes a sigh of relief and examines each seat, looking for a nice empty section to have a moment to himself. To his dismay, he notices quickly that most of the seats are already taken, and those that aren't are far from private; in fact, the only available spaces he can make out seem to be at the edges of booths, squeezed up against groups of people sitting round tables together.

'Shit,' he mutters. What now?

Directly in front of him is one such booth, occupied by what appears to be a group of friends at first glance, but who seem far less familiar with each other the longer Alfred watches them. None of them are actually talking to one another- not even the odd little bit of chatter here and there. Two are simply sipping their drinks in silence, undeterred by those around them. One man at the edge is leaning on the back of the seat with his elbow, perched on his knees and his neck craned to peer at the dance floor, a wide, drunken smile on his face. He waves at one point with his free hand, and Alfred turns his head and spots a woman nearby waving back, before she dives into the crowd and is lost in the rhythm. One big, beefy man with a Mohawk and tattoos up and down his bare arms has started to sing along now the instrumental part is over, forcing his voice to go ridiculously high-pitched. A few others around the table giggle, and Alfred finds himself joining in before he can stop himself.

They must all be a bunch of strangers who are comfortable sharing a table with one another, which is probably the best solution to Alfred's dilemma. There's room in their booth, and he's sure they won't mind another person joining them. If he just squeezes past the guy watching his companion dancing and sits next to a blonde guy in a black hoodie, who is leaning back against his seat with his head resting in his hand and fingers threading through tousled hair, watching the man with the Mohawk singing with a smirk...

Alfred stops dead in his tracks. His stomach lurches violently in complete shock, and his whole body stiffens. For a few, startling seconds, he can't even think. His mind becomes a blank pit, before descending into a jumbled mess of questions, exclamations, meaningless rambles- and then finally he manages to break one word apart from the rest, and it somehow finds its way to his lips.

'Arthur?'

The blonde guy, now distinguishable as visibly younger than the rest- in fact, no more than a teen, no more than Alfred's age, the latter knows with absolute certainty- glances away from the Mohawk man to look back at Alfred. The boy's eyes widen, round and astonished, and whatever small amount of doubt Alfred may have been harbouring at the back of his head dissipates in an instant.

'Arthur,' he says again. 'Arthur, oh my gosh-'

Quick as a flash, the other boy shoots up from his seat and practically leaps over the man next to him, landing with a surprising amount of grace on the floor. Alfred takes a step back, bewildered and still thoroughly stunned, before the boy straightens up, grabs Alfred's arm and pulls him roughly back onto the dance floor. The boy leads him across the room in march-like fashion, weaving in and out through the crowd. Alfred tries to protest, but his voice catches in his throat. The boy- Arthur- is smaller than him and thinner, yet he is definitely stronger than he looks. So much for the kid Alfred knows, who actively avoids gym class at every opportunity and outright steers clear of any recreational activities after school.

They're heading up the steps now, making their way into the corridor beyond the main room. Alfred looks around nervously, worried that they might be drawing attention. But the corridor is deserted and no one has followed them out. Just where is Arthur taking him? And why on earth is he here?

'Arthur-' he gasps, his mind spinning. San Junipero is home to millions, spread over multiple eras and all within an enclosed, multidimensional region. Alfred knew how difficult it would be to find Mattie, knew how small the odds were that he would be successful in his endeavours- and yet somehow, accidentally, he's found someone he knows in real life. Not very well, sure, but… how? How is this happening?

He'd call it a miracle, if he weren't starting to panic once again. Really, really badly.

Arthur Kirkland, the British kid who transferred to their school about a third of the way through freshman year, isn't exactly a teacher's pet. But he's that kid in the class. The one who stays behind at recess to help the teacher tidy up, the one who spends lunchtimes in the library, who gets asked to mentor other kids on occasion. When he first arrived, Alfred was the one who got stuck mentoring him, because he'd just done especially well on his last chemistry test and the school assumed Arthur would need help adjusting to an American school, four months in. They were incredibly wrong on that front, as it turned out, and the mentoring had ended after less than two weeks. They had had pretty much nothing to do with each other after that. It was Mattie that Arthur ended up getting to know. They weren't overly close friends from what Alfred had known (or cared about), but they got along well and sometimes studied together.

Is… is Arthur here for Mattie too? Alfred sucks in a deep breath, trying not to trip as Arthur pulls him out the front door to the Vortex and onto the street. No, surely not? Arthur doesn't seem to be the overly caring type; he never hangs around with anyone at school. He must have liked Matthew, sure, but they didn't know each other well enough for Arthur to bankrupt himself getting an officially licensed chip.

Unless he didn't. Alfred opens his mouth, ready to begin releasing a whole tirade of questions, but Arthur drags him across the road and pushes him into a thin, heavily graffitied alleyway between two buildings, opposite the Vortex. Alfred presses himself up against the wall, slightly winded from the sudden escape from the nightclub. Less than three feet in front of him, Arthur stands there, glaring at him. Aside from the hoodie, decorated with little spikes on the shoulders and rolled halfway up his arm, he has what Alfred can just about make out in the overhead lights as a red scarf and a scrunched-up wristband, with torn jeans and black boots. He looks- what would Nana call it? He looks punk rock. No more bizarre than anyone else in the Vortex, but incredibly weird when Alfred connects it with the face of his reclusive and generally less flashy classmate. When he is just about recovered from running and the shock still coursing through him, Arthur speaks.

'What the fuck?' he says.

'Nice to see you too,' Alfred retorts, his heart pounding. Nerves, adrenaline, the exercise, all three- he's not sure which one is the reason he can hear the blood roaring in his ears.

Arthur's face is contorted in the biggest frown Alfred has seen him wear yet, which is really saying something. His eyes are still wide as saucers too. He looks thoroughly mortified.

'How did you find me?' he demands.

Alfred manages a laugh, which quickly turns into a cough. 'I didn't even mean to. I just walked in there and… there you were.'

Arthur stares at him folding his arms. 'No. No fucking way.'

Alfred raises his hands, smiling nervously. 'I shit you not, man. I had no idea you were here. I mean- this is… this is crazy. What are you doing here?'

Arthur actually looks offended now, he's so outraged. 'What am I doing here? What are you doing here?'

He doesn't say it, but Alfred knows he's thinking it. This is the last place you'd come to. This place goes against your core beliefs, for fuck's sake.

Everyone at school knows about it, ever since his mom began demanding the board of governors take the San Junipero talks off the list of compulsory events for students to attend. He and Mattie had quickly been hailed as the religious nuts of the school, as if either of them were even half as passionate as their mom about it.

'Shit,' Arthur says suddenly, now staring off into space. 'I- shit.'

'What?' Alfred says, wondering if it's possible to burst a vein in San Junipero- because it sure looks as if Arthur might.

Arthur looks back at him, startled. 'Matthew's here?'

Alfred jumps slightly, his skin going cold. His steadily slowing heartbeat is suddenly beating against his chest again. 'You've seen him?' he gasps, failing to recognise Arthur's words as a question.

Arthur's anger is all but gone. His frown is more troubled than anything now. 'No, I… I didn't know he was here. Not until now. He must be. Why else would you have come here?'

'... Oh.' Alfred looks down, disappointment washing over him. There's an uncomfortable churning in his stomach now, and the sudden energy he felt moments before feels like some kind of fever dream. 'Then… why are you here?' he asks again.

Arthur looks lost in thought, and when he speaks, he ignores the question. 'I never thought to look for him,' he mutters. 'I just assumed… you know…'

'That he'd bail the minute he had the chance?' Alfred offers. 'Yeah. We all thought that. Then we got the email, after the trial period. Said he'd chosen to stay.'

Arthur nods, looking thoroughly uncomfortable. Now that all that panicked aggression has left him, he seems downright awkward. 'Wow. That must have been months ago, though. I haven't heard anyone mentioning it.'

Alfred laughs, properly this time, full of bitterness. 'Yeah, 'cause it's always gone down so well when the subject of my family and San Junipero come up at school. Mom won't talk about it in public, and I'm pretty sure she doesn't want me to either. She'd have a heart attack if she knew I was here, and then she'd be the one coming here for the trial period and freaking out about being in this place.'

He realises after saying it that he's messed up. The look Arthur gives him clearly suggests that the other boy has put two and two together. 'She doesn't know you're here,' he observes, his voice strangely soft. 'Does anyone?'

'Yeah, obviously,' Alfred lies. 'I'm too young to get a license on my own.'

'Which means you're not here alone,' Arthur says simply. 'Did your dad come with you?'

'I- what? No.' Alfred blinks in confusion. He really doesn't like the intent look Arthur's giving him, like he's some maths equation on a whiteboard at school. Arthur gets very fixated on things in the classroom; some of the other kids joke about it on occasion, but most are just in awe. Arthur's too smart for his own good, Alfred realises. He's seeing through the lies. He's figuring it out.

Arthur is silent for a few more seconds, then he says, very seriously, 'If you're under eighteen, a parent or guardian must register you for a visitor's license.'

'I know that,' Alfred says uneasily, desperately running through sufficient explanations he gave give in his head. 'My- my dad-'

'And if a minor is permitted to enter,' Arthur continues, as if he's reciting it all directly from some San Junipero visiting rulebook, 'they must be accompanied by an adult. Generally one responsible for them, sometimes someone else given express permission by their family. So you can't be here on your own. Legally, anyway.'

Alfred stares at him, his jaws hanging open. '... So it's not enough that you've gotta be a know-it-all at school, but you have to go and become the San Junipero expert too? And how do you know I'm not here with someone else-?'

'Because you're a fucking terrible liar,' Arthur says, exasperated. 'And because you'd be with Matthew already if you had proper access to the database. Seriously, you're going to have to get better than this. No offence, but no one is going to believe that your parents let you come here.'

'No one's gonna find out about this,' Alfred growls, hoping Arthur can't see how nervous he is. He's truly busted now, and there's no way of getting out of this.

'Then you need to be more careful,' Arthur says, wholly unimpressed. 'For starters, actually memorise the visitor agreement so you can pretend you've ticked all the boxes and actually consented to it. And maybe take some extra drama classes.'

He's being so smug about it now, no matter how badly he tries to hide it, and Alfred has had enough of having been backed into the corner like this. Only when he properly processes Arthur's words and moves on from being completely insulted does an idea occur to him. 'What, like you did?' he shoots back.

Arthur flinches ever so slightly, and now he's the one who looks like a deer in the headlights. It lasts for only the briefest of moments before he regains his composure, but it's enough.

'Oh yeah,' Alfred says, grinning now. 'You're on your own too, huh? Planned it all pretty well, memorised the rules so no one can catch you out? How did that work for you?'

'What the hell is it to you?' Arthur spits, not even bothering to deny it. Alfred at least appreciates that Arthur isn't attempting to insult his intelligence anymore.

'So,' he says, pressing his hands together, a strange burst of confidence taking hold of him. Now that all cards are on the table and he knows his classmate is in a similar predicament to him. 'Neither of us are here with a license, right?'

Arthur turns his head, eyes on the end of the alleyway where the lights from the Vortex just about reach. He looks the other way them, his eyes narrowed and scanning around cautiously for anyone nearby. He takes a deep breath and bites his lip. 'You really need to watch what you say here. I've already said too much.'

Alfred scoffs. 'Are you kidding me? This place is way more chill than I thought it would be. There weren't any bouncers at the doors or anything-'

'Just because you can't see the staff doesn't mean they aren't around,' Arthur says carefully. 'This isn't like the real world, okay? We're inside their system. Which they obviously monitor. With so many people here, all making their own noise and whatnot, it's pretty difficult for them to pick out individual voices and locate any, uh… invasions, as they'd probably call them. But you still have to watch yourself. Don't draw unnecessary attention. Or any attention at all, for that matter.'

'Hey man, you were the one giving me third-degree,' Alfred says. 'Don't you think asking all those questions is gonna perk up their ears?'

'I'm just trying to give you some friendly advice,' Arthur says stiffly. 'Whoever sold you your chip clearly didn't do a good enough job. You stand out in more ways than one. Look at your outfit.'

Alfred suddenly feels very self-conscious. 'What's wrong with it?'

Arthur rolls his eyes. 'Nothing in that respect. But no one dresses like that here. Your whole look screams high school kid.'

'No one in that weird ass nightclub was wearing normal clothes,' Alfred protests. 'What's up with that place, anyway? What era are we even in? Everyone in there's dressed like it's some crazy mashup.'

Arthur's palm is already pressed to his forehead. He sighs. 'You've got an Indeterminate Chip, haven't you? You can't control what era you land in?'

'No,' Alfred mumbles, feeling his cheeks beginning to grow hot.

Arthur grimaces. 'We're in the 70s. 1975 to be exact. But it doesn't matter which year you've picked in the Vortex. The club is multidimensional, they have it in every plane. The whole point of it is to facilitate people who want to experience multiple eras of music at once. They'll play anything in there, and you get people dressing up from all over time. Each hour they'll do a different year. They even do Roaring 20s Night each month for the jazz fans. And they do Flash Hour every evening, where they just scramble a bunch of songs together from whenever. People go wild for Flash Hour. You never know what to expect.'

'... Right.' Alfred's head is spinning. Arthur's explanation has at least helped clear up several things, but it doesn't change how wild everything still feels. 'Well, I couldn't get a Variant. They cost way too much, and believe me, I looked for good deals everywhere. Plus, it's hard finding legit sources, especially ones where you know you can't be traced. You must know that.'

'I've heard,' Arthur says, but he doesn't agree with him. 'Where did you get your Indeterminate from?'

'PATCO,' Alfred says quietly, momentarily paranoid that the San Junipero staff might somehow be able to hear him talking about the illegal company.

Arthur gives a small, cynical smile. 'Yeah, that makes sense. Scammers, the lot of them. I bet they gave you one hell of a rip off.'

Alfred frowns at him. 'Aren't they, like, the best one around? I mean they're actually trying to get chips legalised and free for everyone.' He may not be the expert at the San Junipero rulebook, but he really did his research with PATCO, reading up on them a great deal. The anonymous online company proved to be his most reliable source, in the end.

'Yet they're still pretty happy bankrupting their customers in the meantime,' Arthur replies.

'Where did you get yours from, then?'

'PATCO, same as you,' Arthur says, and he certainly doesn't look happy about it. 'I got lucky. Someone I know works for them. He got me a Variant for free.'

'What? Seriously?' Alfred is overwhelmed with sudden jealousy, and he finds himself getting irritated too. Why is Arthur complaining so much about PATCO when he didn't have to pay a single dime to these supposed scammers?

Then he shakes his head slightly, and tries to clear his head of all these confused, troubled thoughts. None of this matters. None of it.

'Why are you here, Arthur?' he asks, one more time. 'You're pretty familiar with this place. Not just the rules, but like… the actual experience. You know San Junipero. How long have you been coming here?'

Arthur peers at him suspiciously. 'I fail to see how that's any of your business,' he says shortly.

Alfred groans. 'Come on, dude. So what if I know? We both know other got in here illegally. I won't tell if you don't.'

Arthur shakes his head. 'Just take my advice, alright. Change the clothes and come up with an alibi. Say your dad's with you, but he let you go off on your own while you're here. Actually read the rules, top to bottom. Act like you belong, and you will. You'd be surprised how quickly you can fit in.'

Arthur has said a lot of things that have annoyed Alfred over the last few minutes, but this is the first thing that truly bothers him. 'I don't want to,' he says. 'I don't belong here, and I never will.'

'This place isn't for everyone,' Arthur says unexpectedly, in such a matter of fact tone that Alfred simply gawks at him. People- and by people, he means his classmates, and even his friends- usually either scoff and make fun of him, his family, his beliefs- as if they understand the first thing about growing up in his body, in his house, with his family and his faith- or they will nod and say they understand, and expect gratitude for being so aware, so considerate, so accepting. People are always so condescending, even without meaning to be.

But the way Arthur says it, like the whole idea is so little of a deal that there's no part of it that seems scandalous or admirable or anything- it's new. He actually sounds like he does understand it, completely, and he's making no attempt whatsoever to show that he does, or that he even knows it. In the real world, people don't say it like that. Going to San Junipero is as expected as owning a TV or liking the Beatles. People are either mortified at the idea of not going, or they say it's commendable and brave for him to follow his beliefs so faithfully.

This is surprisingly refreshing, and Alfred starts to wonder if he misjudged Arthur. Sure, the guy was a bit patronising earlier, but he has been incredibly helpful overall, come to think of all. He didn't have to bring me out here and help me out. Sure, Alfred's not delusional. He knows the main reason Arthur dragged him out here was so people wouldn't start getting suspicious about some random school kid identifying him just like that, but still. He and Arthur may be practically strangers, but Mattie got along with him. Maybe now he knows Mattie's here, he'll want to see him too.

'Look, just stay out of trouble, alright? Don't get caught,' Arthur says, and Alfred can tell the other boy is ready to leave. 'Remember what I said. The Indeterminate is shit, but it should give you some basic resources. Pick and new outfit and look like you're having fun. No one will give you a second glance. And I'm good with what you said. I won't tell if you don't.'

'Wait,' Alfred says. 'Hold on a sec. Can't we- can't we stick together?'

Arthur doesn't seem like the best company ever, but the truth is, Alfred really doesn't know what kind of company Arthur might be.

Arthur looks uncomfortable now. 'I prefer doing things solo,' he says. 'Just stick to places like the Vortex, and you'll be alright.'

Alfred desperately tries to think. 'But- but- I don't know what to do!' he blurts out.

Arthur beings twisting his fingers, fiddling with a black ring on his right middle one. He takes a few steps back, heading in the direction of the Vortex, slowly turning. 'Look, I don't mean to be rude. But it's almost midnight, and they cut you off then. There's not much else either of us can do tonight. And I just… I just really prefer doing things by myself.'

As if Alfred doesn't already know that. If there are two things that haven't changed about Arthur here, it's his personality and his desire to be alone. With so many other loners at school, they tend to be that way because they struggle to make friends. With Arthur, it's as if he actively tries to avoid people at all costs. When he first transferred, everyone welcomed him with opened arms. He was that small, smart kid with the fancy accent that people were practically drooling over. But he had steered clear of just about everyone.

Except…

'I don't know how to find Mattie,' Alfred says hoarsely, and Arthur pauses. His back is already to Alfred and he's made it several paces towards the end of the alley. But he doesn't take another step, and for a couple of seconds, he remains where he is, silent.

'The chip- the features are so limited. I can't access the database or anything. It's like you said. I only have the bare essentials. I can't search for anyone. I can't even set the pain sliders to zero.' He's rambling and he hates it, but he must be doing something right, because Arthur doesn't move an inch.

'There are so many people here, Arthur,' he continues. 'And they're dead. It freaks me out so badly, and I know that's dumb, but it does. Everything I know about this place. Everything I believe. It… being here, it just… it feels so wrong, and I feel wrong for coming here. There are literally people I know who would tell me I'm doing something so, so bad for coming here. Fuck, I'm half-believing it. The only reason I'm even remotely tolerating my being here is 'cause I have to find my brother, and tell him so many important things, and then I need to say goodbye. He's… he's my brother, and I miss him. I need to make things right. I need this.'

The words become harder and harder to say as his throat becomes more constricted. By the end, he can feel himself shaking. His vision begins to blur and he knows why, and he hates himself more than ever in this moment but he simply can't stop, and… and…

'Hey. Are you going to be okay?'

Alfred blinks away the tears and then reluctantly lifts his hand to wipe them away. When his vision clears, Arthur is a few steps closer and facing him. His thick eyebrows are knitted together in concern- actual concern, not some cynical pity- and Alfred feels more than just embarrassment in that moment. There's hope- small and faint, and maybe a little relief too, because Arthur's listening and shit, Alfred was so afraid he was going to end up alone; and there's still fear, so much fear, gnawing away at the inside- fear that he won't be forgiven, that he won't belong in heaven with Nana and the rest of his family, fear that his parents might walk into his room right now in the real world and find him doing this, even though he knows they're both out late tonight at a dinner party, fear that he'll search through San Junipero for eternity and never find Mattie, and worse, Mattie will spend his time here thinking that he'll never see his family again.

A few drops of rain begin to land on his face. Alfred's at least partly grateful; it'll help wash away the tears, and it's cold and wet and feels so real. He can't even remember whether that reassures or disturbs him anymore.

Are you going to be okay? It's a weird way of putting it. Arthur's not asking if he's currently alright- well, Alfred supposes, Arthur probably thinks a question like that to be stupid and redundant, given the circumstances. Am I going to be okay? He doesn't know. He really doesn't. He supposes that all depends on how this go. On what San Junipero can do for him, what he can do for Mattie, if anything at all.

He might not be able to answer it, at least not yet, but it's the right question. Alfred likes that Arthur says the right things when he really needs it. It's refreshing. It's… it's right.

'I don't know,' he says finally. 'I hope so.'

Arthur nods. The light drizzle is already helping to flatten his spiky hair and plaster his fringe to his forehead. 'The… the database is hard to crack. PATCO are really working on it. You probably know that already. They've already extracted so many features already, and it's good. But stuff to do with other people- the residents… that's private information. There's confidentiality. We all have to, you know, respect that. Finding people is hard, even for actual residents. Even harder for us, because we have nothing to search up. But like I said. They're working on it. Who knows? Maybe they'll have it figured out soon. We… we just have to hope.'

Alfred blinks. 'Aren't you like… the most pessimistic guy ever, usually?'

Arthur's eyes drill into him. 'Sure, that's what you can take away from it,' he says dryly. 'Or you can listen. I've given you a lot of advice this evening. Please tell me it's not all in vain.'

Alfred laughs quietly. 'Sure, man. I was listening, and I really appreciate it. I swear.'

And then Arthur smiles. A proper, wide smile- not just some small, polite tug of the mouth, which is the most Arthur's ever given him in the past, during those pointless tutoring sessions.

'Thanks, Arthur. I really mean it.' Deep down, Alfred thinks about Arthur's words another way, just for a second. He wonders what they mean to Arthur, whether someone told him them or he thought of them right here and now. Whether he ever needed them for himself.

Somewhere close by, a clock bell rings, announcing the arrival of midnight. Alfred gasps. He knows it had been drawing close to midnight, but now he truly is out of time. He should have come earlier. He shouldn't have waited so long after his parents left, just to make sure they weren't spontaneously coming back. He should have taken all the time he could get.

Arthur looks disappointed too, and he glances back at the Vortex wistfully. Alfred feels a little bad for depriving Arthur of a little extra time enjoying the evening, because he sure did look like he was in there. But he'll be coming back, right? Just as Alfred intends to, no matter how difficult it is to accept what he's doing. He'll come back as many times as a he can, and spend as long as it takes. He'll find Mattie eventually.

The clock is on the seventh chime when Arthur says, 'I'll help you find Matthew.'

Alfred gapes. 'What?'

'Matthew. I'll help you find him.' Arthur folds his arms again. 'You're going to need all the help you can get.'

The eight chime rings. 'You're serious?' Alfred says, hardly daring to breathe.

Arthur looks at his feet, the way he does at school when anyone tries talking to him- his classic, socially inept loner stance. 'Yeah. Sure. You're just going to mess up without me. I mean honestly. Tonight could have been a complete disaster.'

The ninth chime comes. Alfred tries not to take offence. This is just what Arthur does, he's sure. He doesn't do feelings, or anything chummy. If he wants to keep that sort of thing at an arm's length, that's fine. Who is Alfred to complain in this moment? Arthur's going to help him.

'But you need to listen to me. Do what I say when the situation calls. Do you understand?' Arthur asks, and Alfred nods.

'You can be in charge, man. You obviously know this place better than I do.'

'And another more thing,' Arthur says. 'You never come to me. I'll find you.'

Alfred opens his mouth but his question are drowned out by the tenth chime. 'Why?' he repeats, once the noise is gone.

Arthur shakes his head. 'Just go with it. Please. That applies everywhere.'

Alfred wants to ask more, but Arthur looks determined about not discussing it anymore. 'Okay,' he agrees. 'But how are you gonna find me? I won't even know what eras I'll be arriving in?'

Arthur's eyes flicker over to the Vortex once more as the eleventh chime arrives. 'It's pretty much its own dimension, connected to every plane. I told you, the Vortex is in every era.' He looks back at Alfred again and hesitates, mouth hanging open slightly, like he isn't sure whether he should speak or not. Finally, he makes his mind up.

'Last thing,' he murmurs. 'Please don't make me regret this.'

The clock chimes twelve before Alfred can reply, and he is lurched into darkness.

My personal blog, through which to yell at me: rezeren . tumblr . com

My Hetalia blog: infinitalia . tumblr . com

The song featured in the story is I Feel Love by Donna Summer. I needed some classic 70s or 80s electronic disco song and this one is absolutely perfect. Nothing else could fit the exact vibe I was trying to go for with Alfred entering the Vortex for the first time.

Now that I'm actually typing this out, I'm feeling pretty nervous about posting it. I was bursting with confidence while writing it, and finally updating Ash Song got me really pumped. I was gonna post it like directly after I updated Ash Song, but I'd pulled an all-nighter and was absolutely exhausted, and it seemed like a pretty dumb time to post it, so I've delayed it by a few hours, like a responsible person lmao. Plus, you know, new fic nerves. It has been a very long time since I posted a new Hetalia fic.

Anyway, I hope you guys liked it. I've drawn fanart for it already, months and months ago (I've been planning this for a while) which you can find under the san juniero au tag. Or the an echo of eternity tag, though that one's way more recent. It took me aeons to finally think of a name for this story.

So uh... tell me if you liked it? Please?

Thanks for reading, and remember to review!