Chapter 27, everybody! Now to see what various characters are up to….Fun bit of trivia knowledge: Grump's section was written first. Kind of a backwards-written chapter there. ^^

Also, Baymax's line about healthy sleep times? This isn't the first time he's said that in one of my fics, and invariably it comes up when I'm writing late at night. It's like he's trying to speak to me (and scold my sleeping habits). :O Nox's section was also written late at night when I was trying to fall asleep too, so I had a good frame of reference for him, oddly enough.

So disclaimer time: about ninety percent of the next several chapters was written before I had even seen "Countdown to Catastrophe," let alone Season Two. Most of it was extrapolated from the teaser on "Obake Yashiki" and what I pieced together from Tumblr. Saying that…"Countdown to Catastrophe" broke my heart and I miss Obake, okay!?*sob*

"I have to do something even if it's wrong" is something my parents say, so I'm guessing it's an older saying. And I'm not entirely sure what the Fredrickson's patio is made of, but I'm going with wood here. As for Grump's leg…I've had chickens get tangled up in wire or thread and if you don't catch it and remove it immediately their leg does indeed swell up around it, which makes removing it worse. And in retrospect, probably shouldn't have named Nox "Nox" when there's the identical-sounding Professor Knox but…oh well that was his name I can't fight it Nox wanted it and Tadashi did too so I'm not arguing.

Angelwings2002, thanks for the review! Fill out a form, we're making a mob to go after those dudes. Eeeee thank you! :D Baymax is Baemax and we can't argue with that—I don't know either maybe when I get a few of the other fics I'm working on done we'll bump up posting but until then—*flails with you*

Hexyah, thanks for the review! I feel like Baymax would bring up circadian rhythms at this point….Yes, Nox, don't worry, you're with the good guys and if Fred has anything to do with it you're going to be minimum honorary team member. Ah, thank you, I'm glad you liked it! *blushes*

Big Hero 6 © 2014 Disney

Ducktales © 2017 Disney

Fred had suggested they regroup at his place, said he'd call ahead for pizza rolls.

Hiro was just trying to figure out how to explain this mess.

Okay, major thing: the bird-kid could not come to the Lucky Cat Café even if it did speak English or not there was just too big a chance Aunt Cass would run into it and he'd rather not take that chance because he had absolutely no idea how to explain this to her.

Hence why he was explaining to the others, after they had reported what they had seen and done, that he and Baymax were bringing something and that they'd explain more when they got there.

"Ooh—is it some super-special secret awesome doohickey?" Fred asked.

Special was probably an adjective that worked. "Well…we'll explain when we get there."

That satisfied everyone, they agreed to break down the evening further when they got to Fred's, and Hiro was left trying to figure out how he was going to explain some bird-kid to the rest of Big Hero Six.

"Ugh," he sighed, sagging when an answer wasn't forthcoming. "How am I supposed to explain this?"

"Prioritize the: healthcare aspect," Baymax suggested. "It will take: four to six weeks, for a broken bone to heal. The patient will need to be cared for during that time."

The patient that had tried to bite and claw him, Hiro reflected, looking at the scratches gouged into the paint on his armor—it hadn't looked this roughed up since that last fight with Callaghan—

Murderer—the man who killed his brother, the man he thought would be the man he hated most before that other awful excuse for a human being came along and dragged Tadashi's memory through the mud, until there was nothing left but a terror-soaked evening and a city that had nearly been destroyed because of his own idiocy—

He shook his head, jostling himself out of those thoughts—he couldn't think like that, couldn't afford to dwell on those memories when they had a city that needed their protection, even if the new chief of police didn't think so.

(It wasn't like the police force had been doing so hot against the supervillains anyway, and Big Hero Six had had friendly relations with the police before—like that time Fred and Wasabi had ended up taking selfies with the police squad after stopping that one guy who had gotten a laser cannon somehow. Hiro wondered how the new chief of police handled that on his beat's phones).

Hiro shook his head again—he was getting distracted, he couldn't afford to get distracted, he had to focus and ignore the little fact that he was drifting and starting to sag—jerk himself awake—adrenaline was wearing off—come on, focus—

"Hiro," Baymax declared. "You are tired. Shall we head home for the night?"

"What? No," Hiro said, shaking himself awake again. "Fred's first, remember?" Lean a bit, trying to see. "How's the little guy doing?"

"The: little guy, is asleep," Baymax reported. "This is good, as sleep speeds the healing process."

"Good."

"You too should get some sleep."

"In a bit, Baymax, okay? Fred's first."

"I will set a reminder," Baymax said, arcing around before coming in for a gentle landing on Fred's patio. Hiro slipped off, came around to peer at the bird-kid. Asleep, as Baymax had said, head and tail limp but arms and legs curled up against its body. Carefully move some of the hair out of the way, trying to see the feathers growing out of the head where the ears should be…something about the face was familiar.

Maddeningly familiar.

Any attempt to pick his brain as to why was put on hold when the rest of Big Hero Six rolled in—Fred was already flipping his mask back, grinning madly and dancing in place.

"Bird-people, Hiro!" Fred exclaimed. "At least two, I nearly jumped smack into one and Wasabi and Honey Lemon can tell you about the other—"

"I don't want to," Wasabi said, gingerly running his fingers over his shoulder pads—where long scratch marks were evident. "I just had an experience I do NOT want to relive, okay?"

"The blue one grabbed Wasabi," Honey Lemon explained, wincing as she tugged some blue goo off Wasabi's back. "It's okay, though, I caught him."

"It is NOT okay I was WAY TOO HIGH off the ground DO YOU PEOPLE SEE MY PROBLEM WITH THIS!?"

"A little too busy with the gold one to notice," Gogo said.

"So I'm saying it was a tag-team affair," Fred said, pointing his claws at them, still too keyed-up to climb out of his costume. "Ooh—I bet you they call themselves Birds of a Feather."

"Fred, we talked about the lame names."

"And yet Globby is universally accepted and Obakase is the official ship name on the fanfiction boards."

"FRED."

"Ahem," Hiro noised, redirecting their attention. "So…it was more like three bird-people."

Fred gasped with glee and Wasabi looked like he was going to find an underground bunker to retreat to until this all blew over.

"I didn't see a third one, did you?" Gogo asked Honey Lemon; when the other girl shook her head, Gogo looked at Hiro. "This was after you chased after the gold one."

"Yes," Hiro said, backing up to Baymax and waving for them to follow. "And—okay, so the gold one got away—"

"The blue one did too," Honey Lemon said.

"Look," Wasabi said, hands up. "I'm just telling you all, I have my limits—"

"Anyway," Hiro said, stepping to the side and indicating Baymax. "Baymax?"

Baymax obliged, lowered his arms enough for them to see—

Everyone had to take a moment—a few took sharp intakes of breath, Fred and Honey Lemon with hands to their mouths—well, Honey Lemon had her fingers to her mouth. Fred had claw tips, since he still hadn't crawled out of his costume yet.

Fred reacted first, pointing a claw. "Bird-kid."

"Uh, yes," Hiro said.

Fred was dancing in place. "So it was TOTALLY a supervillain family because the gold guy was DEFINITELY older—"

"The blue one was too," Honey Lemon said, coming closer to look. "Is he okay?"

"Is he contagious?" Wasabi asked, gingerly tugging Honey Lemon back.

Baymax blinked, looked at them. "The: bird-kid, has a broken bone in his: wing. I have detected: zero communicable diseases on his person. Despite showing signs of living outdoors, the: bird-kid, has no virulent tendencies."

The faces everyone sans Fred was making said that they noticed that Baymax hadn't mentioned behavior. And then their attention slid to Hiro, whose arm and chest armor—and possibly his helmet—was covered in scratch marks.

"Okay," Hiro said, hands up before tugging his helmet off—yup, covered in scratch marks, and the one ear looked like it had been chewed on. "So, no guarantees on his behavior, but…come on, we couldn't just leave him there."

"Of course not! This could be the start of a beautiful villain-to-hero story," Fred mused.

Gogo held up a hand, like she could stave off a threatening migraine that way. "Fred, not now. Hiro—"

"So my next question is, is the bird-kid safe to be around?" Wasabi asked, finger up. "Because I'm not going for another flight again, okay? I'm just not."

"I…uh…Baymax?" Hiro noised. "Little help here?"

Baymax had waddled over to a couch to deposit the bird-kid, straightened up and turned to them. "I cannot accurately assess behavior while the patient is asleep."

"He could be nice," Honey Lemon tried.

"He could be, the big birds couldn't," Gogo countered, arms crossed. "Parent birds will divebomb threats to their nest—the bigger ones have taken people's eyes out doing that. I don't want to find out what two human-sized ones can do."

"Hey, human-bird hybrids, maybe we can talk to them," Fred suggested. "Tell them the power of the light side—they might be willing to help out once they see how we helped the little dude."

"I don't like what that expression implied," Wasabi said to Hiro, alerting him to the fact that he hadn't hidden it fast enough.

Hiro coughed, tried to explain. "Well, see, broken bone and everything, he uh…wasn't exactly…."

"Completely feral?" Gogo guessed.

"I wouldn't say completely feral…."

"Like Professor Knox?" Honey Lemon asked.

Everyone had to take a moment at those implications—Professor Orso Knox had been a regular human turned into a monster. If this kid was the same way…best-case scenario…he didn't know. Best-case scenario had the other two bird-people be his parents, in which case Gogo was right, they were in trouble.

Worst-case scenario had the bird-kid's parents worried out of their minds for a child whose ultimate fate they didn't know.

Hiro shook his head, waving that concern off for now. "Listen—one crisis at a time. I…really can't take him home with me because Aunt Cass would wig out and I'm not ready to have that conversation—"

"Hard no," Wasabi said. "I just want to get that out there right now."

"I don't know," Honey Lemon said, looking at Gogo—who looked at Fred.

Fred was tapping his face, pensive. "I don't know—I think we might have an emergency contingency for like…people targeted by supervillains…and like technically he'd be targeted by a supervillain…I don't know, let me check with Heathcliff real quick."

"So let me get this straight," Gogo said, as Fred dashed into the house. "The plan is to keep the bird-kid here until…what, exactly? What's the plan?"

Hiro scrubbed at his face—he didn't really have a plan right now, he just didn't…the idea of leaving the bird-kid behind after it had been shrieking and crying and had a broken wing was just…it was an awful thought. Bringing it here had been a knee-jerk reaction, and he didn't really have a plan beyond that.

"Hiro," Baymax said. "It is late and you are in need of sleep."

"I know, Baymax," Hiro groused, waving a hand irritably. "We'll see what Fred says for tonight and then we'll figure things out in the morning."

That seemed to satisfy everyone—Gogo and Honey Lemon sank into nearby chairs; Wasabi stood nearby with hands tucked under his arms, constantly glancing at the bird-kid but mostly scanning the skies in case of another divebomb (which had sounded scary even before factoring in Wasabi's fear of heights). Baymax stood nearby, and Hiro….

Hiro really couldn't keep from constantly glancing at the bird-kid, laying on the nearby couch and looking like it was out cold. He couldn't see the face from this angle, couldn't exactly look now but….

Something about him was familiar.

He sighed, sat down crosslegged—he was tired, that was it, he'd go home, get some sleep, approach this problem fresh. He'd figure something out tomorrow, he was sure.

"Okay, good news my dudes!" Fred announced, coming back out with hands up—er, paws, he was still in costume. "Turns out we do have an emergency contingency for dudes targeted by supervillains, Heathcliff's getting the room set up so we'll be able to get the little dude in there—"

Everyone blinked at the way he stopped dead then, realized that he was looking beyond them—Hiro followed his line of sight—

The bird-kid had woken up, was staring at all of them, frozen, back arched, hands and feet digging into the couch, eyes wide-open in fear.

"Uh," Hiro started—

The bird-kid bolted, shrieking, into the dark backyard.

"Okay," Hiro decided. "That was…I don't know."

"He can't get out of here, can he?" Honey Lemon asked, looking at Fred.

"He shouldn't be able to," Fred said, thinking. "I mean, we've got some pretty big walls and doors so…."

"The: bird-kid, is still in the backyard," Baymax said, before pointing. "Over there."

"Thanks, Baymax," Hiro said, peering into the darkness. He didn't think the bird-kid could fly away with a broken wing, but…."Think you'd be okay sticking around and keeping an eye on him?"

"The patient will need constant care," Baymax said. "I will stay and monitor him."

"Great, thanks." Oh wait Baymax was his ride—

"Great!" Fred cheered. "We'll get everything set up and give you guys a lift home—and then tomorrow we start the epic journey from villainous bird-person to epic heroic sidekick slash team mascot!"

"Okay, just a heads-up, I'm knocking Fred out," Gogo said. "And if anyone wants a reason I'm citing exhaustion."

"Dude."

Nox sped through the blackness keening no no no where was 'Dashi he needed 'Dashi 'Dashi—

I'll find you, okay? I'LL FIND YOU!

Where was he the last he remembered he was in a cave and the red thing was carrying him away what was this was this nest but it had others in it all no-feathers and he didn't know what to do 'Dashi had always been leery of no-feathers was afraid so that meant Nox needed to be afraid—

She was a no-feather.

Wilf down to nothing, skidding under a bush and flattening himself against the ground, chest heaving, sharp tight breaths slipping in and out—he wanted 'Dashi, but 'Dashi wasn't here he was only that meant she could get him—

Everyone was afraid of her, but he had the most reason—she'd poke and prod and do horrible things to him that made him scream in pain, kept trying to get him to do things that he didn't comprehend, would feign disappointment when he couldn't—something that made him want to do better because she had been first had been first-impression should have been mother—

Hiss—she was not, mother was what Beth and Sue were, doting and hovering and authority and wanting them to be safe-safe-safe…he wanted to be back with them. They would know what to do.

He wanted 'Dashi. 'Dashi was best, 'Dashi was good and safe and older-brother and safe, had been the one to grab him and haul him out of the bad-place when the doors opened, when Nox had no more energy for whatever new horrible trick she was readying…if 'Dashi hadn't grabbed him, he would have died, given up like so many others he had heard ages and ages and ages ago in the bad-place.

No—no no no stop thinking about there that was only a place from nightmares now there was no need to remember the bad-place think of 'Dashi 'Dashi was coming to find you—

"And I say 'run,' you go where?"

"Run. Hiir."

He was supposed to be at that little island at the mouth of the river, if he wasn't there then 'Dashi would come find him…but he was so sluggish and tired, sadness and aching slogging through him like it was what pumped through instead of the red that welled out when the play-fight got too rough and claws scratched…bleeding, 'Dashi called it.

He wanted 'Dashi.

Struggle upright, brace himself—find north. North was once again where he could find it. Strain hearing…no one seemed to be after him. That was good. Pad off, tell himself he could rest when he was back with 'Dashi when he was safe-safe-safe….

Ran into a cliff after a while.

Blink blearily, hiss weakly…turn away from cliffs and follow until….

Another cliff.

No. No, this wasn't right…look up, sight still fuzzy and bleary…no stars, no stars like when they were near the glowing-lights and 'Dashi got leery because peoples—

It looked like cliffs every which way.

Hiss…did he fall into a hole like Della had…it wasn't that long ago, beach was nicer than this he missed it missed them—

Glowing-lights, not too far from him, close enough for him to see their square shapes.

He shifted on his paws, hesitant—the last time he had strayed too close to a nest with glowing-lights there had been fear and no-feather and BANG! and he wasn't sure if going near that one was a good idea…shuffle, looking around, trying to find a good place to curl up and sleep where he was hidden and good….

Ears pricked when he heard something.

"Little dude! Hey, little dude! Baymax, he still here?"

"The: bird-kid, is still here."

"Great—so, little dude, if you're listening, I've got some blankets and food right here—I mean it's nicer inside, but if that's like, too much too fast…well this stuff is here. Knock on the door if you want a bedtime story, okay? Okay—good chat little dude!"

Nox blinked slowly, trying to will his sluggish brain to process that…what was little dude? Bedtime story was good, Brittany told good ones….

Food.

Food yes he was hungry-hungry-hungry and he wanted 'Dashi he wanted the others but food might make him feel better…shake his head, unable to dislodge the fuzzy feelings…start sneaking towards where the glowing-lights were, where the voices had come from.

Stop when his claws tapped rock—look down, look back and forth—it looked like rocks in a trail, leading away—

A trail of rock that had monsters roaring and screeching, nearly eating 'Dashi and Louie—

Nox darted across, tail curled up tight against his haunches.

The glowing-lights were close—gingerly peek around a bush—

The big red thing was right there, looking down at him.

"Hello," it greeted, waving a paw in a circle and ignoring his flinch back. "There is: food, right there." Point. Nox hesitated, gingerly made his way forward, circling around wide, pausing to tap claws curiously on what looked like smelled like sounded like wood like log but was not was too flat—drag himself up, flat but tense, ready to flee again from this big red thing….

He was back where he had woken up, the rest of the strange flock strange flight of no-feathers gone—maybe him bolting and screaming had scared them off, or maybe they were looking for him…glance up, trying to be even smaller, trembling—

"There, there," the big red thing said. "It is all right."

Hiss weakly at the big red thing he wanted 'Dashi where was 'Dashi where was—

Food.

Glance at the big red thing again, which was just—just standing there, not looking relaxed or looking angry or ready to pounce just there—dig his claws into the thought that he had to be alert, try to drag himself there even when his body was wanting to slip away again…stay, focus…food….

Food won out, food was important and disappeared rapidly in his mouth, tearing into soft crispy outside into good-smelling-but-different inside, making him bolt it down faster…lick at where food had been when he was done, lick at paws and mouth…there was something like water but weirdly shaped…paw at it, claws tapping against solid…tug it close, sniff…water. Lick, slurp, try to stay awake….

Glance back at the big red thing, that hadn't moved except to keep watching him…not aggressive not threatening just there. Glance back at the glowing-light-square, might have seen movement flicker within…but tired, still too tired….

There was blanket that looked soft and comforting—test with paw, pad at it…get onto soft-blanket-bed, tread around a little….

The last of his energy failed him—flop down, eyes closed…tried to hang on, at least for a little longer….

He was slipping away, couldn't even react when he heard a strange noise, when he heard soft paw treads, small clinks…blanket draped over him…more paw treads, noise…soft voice saying "first contact is a success."

He wanted to stay focused, stay here—he had to find 'Dashi, he…but tired, so tired…no—no he was only if he fell asleep here she would get him…try to struggle back awake….

His claws finally lost traction and he fell backwards into the deep oblivion of sleep.

Talons hit the sand first, the rest of Grump collapsing moments later.

Lay there for the longest time, taking deep breaths, in, out, in, out…ragged both ways, wings flopped to the side, one hand still curled around the box that Tadashi had shoved at him.

The box of gene cleansers.

Deep shuddering breath—let it out.

It was very tempting, really, even knowing that it would do him no good—he knew, the moment he saw the first familiar face go by—the one his memories said was his face, that he had been fool enough to think was buried somewhere under the feathers—the Momakase clone had been fool enough to hang onto that hope, wouldn't listen to him—but he had been there as well, had been certain that he was the true original article.

Even knowing better, it didn't make anything easier.

What an utter fool that woman had been, thinking to implant memories into a body that would not benefit from it—what good was working knowledge of every database on the western seaboard when he had no way to access it? What good were talons at typing? He was trapped in a body that did nothing for him, feeling huge and lumbering compared to what his memories said he knew—

And then coming back here.

Huff, not opening his eyes, the smell of the bay all too painfully familiar and making one set of memories blindingly brilliant—

The water flooding in, him trying to escape, his life's work wasted, the only consolation being the boy free of this place before it went down—

We would have been brilliant together.

Huff again, blink blearily once or twice before letting his lids weigh closed again.

Those memories were overwhelming too, of the boy that had dominated his original's attention—the face of a kid he had never met. Not really.

And now him, with the misfortune of having to travel with the brother.

The dead brother.

That was pretty front and center in his fake recollections—his original had distracted and tried to turn the boy with the image of his dead brother—Tadashi Hamada, dead in the fire at SFIT.

He wasn't supposed to be in some lab somewhere.

A clone as well, was the immediate response, the reasoning Occam would prefer. But another facet adjusted itself, reasoned that if the other man who was supposed to have died in that fire, Callaghan, had survived, it stood to reason…no. Callaghan had survived because he had staged it. Tadashi Hamada, from what his original could gather, had been fool enough to run into a burning building to save someone who hadn't needed saving.

This poor fool calling himself Tadashi Hamada was in for a rude awakening.

His muscles were aching, pain radiating out from his back leg…he wanted to sleep, he wanted to be done…he didn't want to be smelling the bay and the sand, remembering the last clear memory that wasn't his, before his own memories kicked in—the last thoughts of a dying man, he was sure.

Struggling through the sand, disbelieving…collapsing…dying out here wouldn't be so bad, after the fates he had just evaded—

And then huge clawed hands seizing his arms, hauling him upright—

He jerked his head, blinked rapidly, eyes flicking everywhere—he was almost certain he had felt the claws just then—no….No it was just a bad memory.

Jaw sunk into the sand, eyes closing…they were all bad memories.

They should never have come here—he should never have come here—he should have cut and run the first chance he got—why was he even here? Why had he bothered with these people for so long, especially when doing so did nothing for him?

'Kase's comment suddenly came front and center.

I'd catch myself wondering what I was doing, knowing I'd never do something like this—but that wasn't true. My original would never do something like this, wouldn't be caught dead doing this—this here, this is me; this is something I'd do.

Not as the clone of someone else, but as a separate functioning living thing.

The reason why full cloning never worked, he mused, feeling the corners of his mouth twitch—there was simply one thing no amount of science could ever reproduce, the one thing that made a person an individual—physical appearance might be rendered down to the smallest mote, and memories could shape action, but the soul was what made the man. That singular part that came from no earthly source—that was what truly shaped a person.

But he would admit to one thing he shared with his original: a pure driving unwillingness to just lay down and die.

I can't stay here, he thought, eyelids twitching. I have to do something, even if it's wrong. I have to get up….

Muscles and limbs trembled as he loosened his fingers, put paws to the sand, shoved his front half up, shaking his head a little before forcing his eyes open again. He was tired, so tired….

You have memories of always being tired and in pain—suck it up. Grit your teeth until you can get some coffee and Excedrin. It didn't matter that the memories weren't truly his—they served as a reminder that there was someone else who had gone through worse pain and still behaved in a functioning manner; if his original, sickly and torn up as he was, could run a whole city, then he could get himself together long enough to fly back to the camp.

And then what? 'Kase was the only one who could translate for him, and she was still lost in the city. Hand the box to someone and hope they had enough sense to read the directions?

No. Don't worry about it, don't think that far ahead—just get up. Get up—

Collapse to the sand again, muscles feeling like jelly—no, stop, think—there was something he was missing—maybe a tranq dart had scored a hit, was taking effect…he had to look, had to….

Pain was still radiating from his leg, not the powerful sharp break like Della had projected, but definitely there, definitely persistent—he forced himself up, glaring at the offending limb.

It looked like a cord, a bola maybe, wrapped around his leg, cutting into the thick bird-scale, blood oozing from the slices—bring his beak close, could feel electricity buzzing lightly, could scent a slow-acting drug that his mind translated as poison on it. Try to lift his leg, heavy weights pulled it back down.

Huff at it, thinking—too deep for him to worry out himself—he'd need help. But too heavy to fly with, and the poisonous drug on it wouldn't do him any good if he got it in his mouth…think. Think—

Ah.

Gingerly move around, until he could reach the balls weighing his leg down—brace himself mentally, bite down hard, worry his beak back and forth, sawing and gnawing, pausing frequently to spit out the bitter taste that had his mind screaming POISON-BAD-NO—kept working, long after he felt the edges of his beak on that side wearing down, until finally—

Fling the first ball away, drag himself to the water to bury his beak in, rinse out his mouth several times in the nasty salt water (forcing himself to ignore the fake memories they brought to the fore)—return to the second ball, working to free himself from its weight.

The eastern sky was beginning to lighten by the time he flung the second ball away.

Rinse his mouth out thoroughly, bracing himself for the next bit—his leg felt much lighter, so that was a plus—gingerly move around, grit his teeth—shove his leg into the water.

As he expected, the electricity arced and bit into him worse, salt water stinging his wounds—keep his leg there, waiting for the wire to short out—wince as he scanned the far shore, watching San Fransokyo as the early morning shift came to life.

Early morning…the others should have been here by now.

Why do you care? he thought to himself bitterly, pulling his leg out of the water to examine it—cool water would reduce the swelling starting to seal around the wire. You don't want these people around you—they're just a reminder—a bitter reminder—you don't need them.

And they were bitter reminders, all three of them—'Kase, the feathery clone of Momakase, sushi chef by day and cunning thief by night. Tadashi, who thought himself the real Tadashi Hamada, dead brother to Hiro Hamada, whom his original had obsessed over terribly.

And then Nox.

Nox, the aggravating little clone that had the good fortune to actually somewhat look like the person he was a clone of, despite being so far down the clone chain that he barely had any residual memories belonging to the man. Nox, who had maybe some of the brains—he had shown that clearly when he worked the laptop Tadashi had stolen—but none of the person it belonged to. He was so—he was just so taken with Tadashi, like he had done something so special, and was so sickeningly friendly—

Grump dearly regretted knowing what the kids said at any given time—the kids, who had no concept of anything beyond their little group, who constantly referred to them as their flock their flight—which was honestly the closest concept they had of family. Teasing and mocking him but at the same time insisting on sitting on him and grooming him, reinforcing in their mentality his belonging—Nox hissing and spitting whenever he tried to see just how much of his original was in there—

And then his reaction to the bay.

The bay—the location of his original's biggest failure, when he had nearly destroyed the city—

Idle curiosity bloomed into a burning need as he angled that way—he needed to see it, needed to be sure—

He really did wonder what he expected to find, especially after all this time.

But he had barely gotten three wingstrokes in when Nox dove in front of him, wings and arms spread, screeching NO!

Out of my way, he snarled, glaring at the little reminder, the little louse of a clone, ignoring Tadashi's squawks—

Tadashi didn't understand the kids' vocalizations. Tadashi hadn't heard the fear and dread and terror with which Nox viewed the bay. And in that moment, Grump knew—whatever slim memories had trickled down to Nox, the events leading up to the death of their original was still there.

Because he had to be dead—Grump had a hard time believing that she would risk keeping him alive.

But now there was the question—what did he do now?

Pull his leg out of the water, considering…it was very tempting to use a gene cleanser, to at least try and see if it would work. It was also very tempting to fly away and never look back—forget this town, forget those memories, forget these people. That was easy enough to do.

So why was he looking back to the city, scanning the skies, hoping to see familiar shapes winging his way?

He huffed, growling deep in his throat—he knew why. He had made the same mistake his original had, with the Hamada boy: he had gone and gotten attached.

That had happened a while ago, he figured—keeping them safe from the larger predators, helping out here and there…he didn't want to, he knew better, getting attached to people who would leave or possibly die was not a smart thing.

And now here he was, like some idiot dog, disappointed because its master hadn't come home.

No…he was disappointed because people he cared about were most likely in danger, and he was doing nothing.

I am not my original, he reminded himself sternly, eyes narrowed. I do not care. I do not get attached. I will not make his fatal mistake.

…Except I already have.

Shake his head—no. Play this smart—you have that in common, at least. Think—going back in there was suicide, he was weak, he needed rest. And besides, the others would be hiding now, with the sun up and them at risk of being seen.

And he had to do the smart thing: that is, protect the thing they came for.

He glanced at the box of gene cleansers, still sitting in the sand where he had left it. Such a long trip for such a tiny box—hard to believe the potential for normalcy was sitting in there.

He allowed himself the briefest of daydreams—turning down Tadashi's offer to come and meet his family, having to tell him that it simply wouldn't end well, slinking off to find a new life to live. There were options, other places to go—he could survive. He could live.

But first….

Lift his leg experimentally—still in pain, but manageable pain. Gimp over to the box, scoop it up carefully…glance at the city once more, check to see if anyone was looking, if anyone was coming….

And then take to the air, circling once before angling upstream, gritting his teeth against the loss of his bearings once again.

He might have to rest once or twice, but he'd get there—he'd reach the others.

He hadn't come this far to die now.