A/N: I do apologize for the lame title. Decent titles do not come well to me. Le sigh.

Disclaimer: Are you kidding me? I don't own the Tron franchise, and I'm not making any money at all off of this. Poor college student is so poor she can't even buy herself a Tron DVD.

Identity Confusion

Chapter One

A silent man laid on the ground, arms and legs splayed out and his head tilted to the side. His eyes were closed. He slept.

In his dreams he saw a child on the beach, standing at the edge of the water. It was a boy. He knew him. He could only see the back of the child, but he knew him. He loved him.

The man tried to call out to the boy, but his voice stuck in his throat and there was only silence when he opened his mouth. He tried again, and again he was silent, devoid of sound, of voice. The boy kept his back turned to the man, and he noticed that all he could see of the boy was a blur. He couldn't make out his hair or what kind of shirt he wore, or even the colors that must have decorated his shorts. Still, he was certain he knew him.

I know you, he wanted to say. I know you. Sam. Sam Flynn. My son.

He tried to call out again, but the only sound was within his own mind, desperate and useless.

Sam! I'm here, Sam! Look at me, please! I'm alive! For God's sake, Sam, look at me!

The boy shifted. He turned. A light blur was where his face should be, and the man couldn't make out any facial features, but he knew what the boy's face looked like.

I'm here, Sam! Can you see me? I'm here and alive! I survived! Can you believe it? I'm-

"-alive!"

The sound of his voice, loud and clear and thick, tore him from his dream and dropped him in reality. He was awake, but he didn't open his eyes. He didn't want to. He could almost still see the boy in his mind. Maybe, if he fell back to sleep, he would see the boy's face. It had been so long since he'd seen that young, happy face. His son's face. Maybe, if he closed his eyes hard enough. . . .

A chill touched upon his cheek. It rose to the corner of his eye and receded. It came again, this time swelling up and up, covering half of his face before falling away. Something of it was left in cold points on his skin, slowly trickling down his cheek arches before the chill returned in full force.

When the chill left again, he opened his eyes.

A wave of water greeted him. It pulled away, gliding down a dark shore and into calm waters. Foam bubbled in its wake. The man blinked, raised his head to avoid another wave, and sat up.

There was a body of water ahead of him, massive and dark, reflecting the light of lightning that burst from the roiling clouds above. Sand shifted beneath his hands and boots as he pushed himself up onto his feet, and he wondered why Sam hadn't woken him up. The kid knew they had to leave before night fell. Alan, Lora and Jet were going to meet them for dinner, and it was a long drive back home and-

Lightning struck a little too close for comfort. The world lit up around him, and his stomach dropped.

The Sea of Simulation stretched out before him, quiet and dark, a significant contrast to the turmoil it had been in when he first created it. The sand beneath his boots wasn't sand at all. It was thousands of gritty pixels, broken data that had once been glowing palm trees, structures that had refused to stay whole and derezzed at the mere touch of a finger. Nothing stayed whole at the edge of the Sea. He could never understand why.

So he wasn't in Cali. He wasn't young and his son wasn't there with him, digging for hermit crabs somewhere along the shore. Sam was a man now, and he had reunited with him for a few meager hours. Sam was gone again.

He was alone.

He supposed he was ok with that. He'd been alone for so long that it didn't bother him as much as it should have. At least they had won. Clu hadn't taken his disk, hadn't entered the real world. And Sam was safe. That was all that mattered.

Footsteps sounded behind him. His heart jumped.

Clu.

That had to be him. The reintegration must have failed. Backfired. Had it worked, he wouldn't be alive. Clu still lived as a separate entity from himself. And if he had made it back to shore, then so had Clu.

Ah, hell.

He took a deep breath and readied himself.

Here we go again.

He turned.

A program, short and agile, walked towards him. A dark helmet covered his face. His circuits blazed a striking blue, and the blinking squares on his chest formed a bold T. He strode with purpose, confidence and elegant ease.

"Tron," the man breathed. The program came up to him and he grinned. "My God, Tron-"

Pain exploded in the middle of his face. He fell back, landed hard on the ground with a grunt and gaped at the program before him. The bewildered man automatically raised a hand to his tender nose, expecting to feel blood-

There was none.

Above him, Tron flexed his hand. The program had a punch like a battering ram.

"Tron," the man said, dry nose throbbing. "What the- what the hell, man?"

Tron's helmet receded into his suit. His face was just as the man remembered it: handsome, ever young, reminiscent of a thirty-something Alan Bradley. But he had never seen it scowling at him with such heat, such anger.

"You," the program rasped. His voice was mangled, and that odd rumbling noise he emitted hitched. "You traitor."

"Traitor?" The man said. "Me? Tron, it's me! It's Kevin! I survived the reintegration! Can you believe it?"

Tron's eyes flashed. He curled an arm behind him and unlatched his disk, pulled it to his side and gripped it in a trembling hand.

"How dare you," he growled. "How dare you. After all this, after all you've done, you continue to mock me-"

"Mock you? What are you talking about? I'm not trying to- look, just put your disk away-"

The program raised his disk high, his face scrunched into a scowl. Tears glistened in his eyes. "It's done. You're done." He paused, pressed his lips into a thin line. "Goodbye, Clu."

"C-Clu?" The man stammered. He shook his head. No, no, this is wrong, Tron, I'm Kevin- "Tron, it's me, it's Kevin! Don't-"

Tron swung the disk down.

"No!" Kevin threw his hands in front of him and tried to roll out of the way. A hand gripped his shoulder and pulled him back. He heard the whir of an activated light disk right near his face, and he thought, This is it. Fuck. After everything, this is how I go, at the hands of my best friend. My God, this is it-

But the strike never came.

The hand still held his shoulder, and the lightdisk still whirred by his face. But it never touched him, never cut into his flesh. He could hear Tron rumbling above him, hidden by his arms that were crisscrossed in front of his face.

"Tron," a voice said. Kevin's heart skipped a beat. He knew that voice. "Let him go. He doesn't deserve that."

"If you knew what he's done to me," Tron said. His voice trembled. "If you knew, you wouldn't- if you knew what he's made me do-"

"I know," the voice said. "Trust me. I know." A pause. "C'mon, man. Let him go."

The hand on Kevin's shoulder gave a painful squeeze and left. Gasping, Kevin lowered his arms. He stared.

A man stood behind Tron. His face was drawn with age and his hair was white. Kevin knew the man.

The man was him.

"No," he breathed. He shook his head. It couldn't be! "No!"

"That's right, Clu." His bearded doppelganger smiled. "I survived."

"No!" Kevin cried. He scooted back, gaping, baffled and lost and terrified. "No, you're not- you can't be- I'm Kevin Flynn! I'm not- I'm not-"

"Clu," the man said. He gave him a kind, sad smile. "Come on, man. Stop. You've lost."

"This isn't possible! The reintegration-"

"Didn't work. We're still separate. And we're alive."

"I know it didn't work," Kevin said. This was impossible. How could this have happened? Clu looked just like him, not like the younger version of himself that he had always been. He had his beard, his wrinkles, his clothes. It was impossible. "If it worked, you wouldn't be here. You'd be a part of me again. And you wouldn't look like me!"

"Yes. We'd be whole. But, Clu," Clu shook his head and gave Kevin that same smile. It was getting on his nerves. "I haven't looked like you for a thousand cycles."

"Are you kidding me? Look at you! You've got my beard and everything!" Kevin raised a hand to scratch at his own beard, frowning. "Something went wrong, man, and I don't know wh-"

Instead of touching the rough white hair of his beard, his fingers slid against smooth skin. Kevin's voice died away. He rubbed his chin, searched for the beard that had been there for years, and found nothing. Not even stubble.

What the hell. . . ?

He ran his hands over his face, his hair, his neck. Not a single wrinkle marred his skin, and his hair was slicked back neatly. He knew, suddenly, that if he looked into a mirror, a thirty year old face would look back at him.

"Impossible," he said. He looked down at his clothes. Orange circuits ran through his suit, his boots, his gloves. "This- this is impossible!"

Clu said something to Tron; Kevin didn't hear. He traced a pulsing circuit with one trembling finger and shook his head, mouthing silent protests. It was impossible. He was Kevin Flynn. Him. Son to Sean and Gloria Flynn. Father to Sam Flynn. Creator of the Grid. Greatest programmer Encom had ever seen. Impossible, impossible-

Hands grabbed him from behind. He was lifted onto his feet. Someone unlatched his disk -No, no, Sam has my disk, Sam and Quorra escaped with my disk, this is impossible, impossible!- and then arms wrapped around him and pinned his arms to his side as he struggled and yelled.

Impossible. This isn't happening!

"It's alright, Clu," said his voice that wasn't really his. "Everything's going to be alright."

His own smiling face reappeared in his vision. He saw himself submerge a hand into orange codes that hovered above his lightdisk. The arms around him tightened, and then he -the other him- reached behind him and clipped his disk back on.

Suddenly, he felt more exhausted then he'd been before.

"Don't worry," his doppelganger said. A hand stroked his cheek. The world began to fade around him. "I'm going to fix everything, Clu."

He couldn't keep his eyes open. His head lolled and dropped to his chest. He felt the arms relax around him, and heard a gentle voice saying, I promise, Clu. I'm going to fix everything.

He slept.

A/N: Before you move on, dear reader, may I make one request? A simple review, whether it be with compliments and/or constructive criticism, would be greatly appreciated. And I've got these nifty Grid cookies to hand out, too, so. . . any takers? =D