Chapter Eighteen: Black Waters

There were so many hallways in this Vault; so many places that had yet to be explored, or that would never be explored, simply because they lacked the time. Much of the infrastructure had been sealed off by the same type of metal barriers as the one which originally sealed off the hallway where their apartment was, likely to keep people from getting lost. Whatever supplies used to be down there had probably already been plundered in the process of making the Vault livable again.

That was what brought Remus to the 'Recreation Center', as the sign in the hall so loudly proclaimed in ugly neon letters. It was a small room, split in two by a metal and glass divider. On one side, the Firestarters had amassed a collection of mannequins with numerous wounds to their chests and faces. Their clothes were burnt in some places and missing in others, but they smiled at him as he walked by despite all their hardships. Stored along the walls beside them were various weapons ranging from bows to guns, and some which Remus could barely recognize as something to be held in the hand. He remembered Wash's face as she talked about losing members, and Remus wondered who these tools used to belong to. He kept walking.

Passing several sets of weights and a treadmill, Remus headed through the doorway of the dividing wall to the other side of the room. Here, a selection of shelves had been stuffed with books collected from the apartments. There was a mint green title shining in the iridescent overhead light as Remus passed by that read, "You're S.P.E.C.I.A.L.!" And still another that detailed a barbarian saving a cliche blonde from a tentacled monster. Some others had illustrations on their spines, and one was stained brown with long dead blood. But Remus gave them no mind. He strode purposefully under the automatic lights to the far corner where sat a desk and a large personal computer.

Remus sighed. He turned his head, checking to make sure he was alone. And then, he sat down.

"Now, how do you…"

He tilted his head, examining the monitor. He looked back over his shoulder again before giving it a quick tap with his hands. He hoped the sudden movement might wake it up. But nothing happened.

"I hate these things," he muttered, staring at his frowning reflection on the still-black screen. At least no one could see him failing so miserably.

"Uh, hey..!"

Remus flinched. "Hello, Dipper," he said. Were his ears actually burning?

Dipper had poked his head through the doorway, and now he stepped completely inside. One hand held the brim of his blue and white baseball cap as though he weren't sure if he should take it off. And under the other arm, a small, blue journal was clutched firmly to his side. He visibly swallowed.

"What is it, Dipper?" Remus asked. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, o'course," Dipper replied, but he held his book a bit closer. "I was just wondering if I could… um, I mean I was hoping to-to ask you something, Mr. Lupin."

Remus turned himself in the wheeling chair to face Dipper. "Remus is fine," he said.

"Oh, okay, yeah. Remus." Dipper cleared his throat. "I was just-wait, we're you trying to use the computer?"

Damn it . "Er, ...yes. They're rather new, you see. Back home."

"It isn't even on," Dipper said, pointing.

Remus looked down at the computer with difficulty. He didn't even think he could see a switch. "Oh," he said, hoping he didn't also sound like a fool. He stood up, inviting Dipper to continue.

Dipper took the seat and reached to the side of the monitor. Remus heard a little click and the black screen began to hum and warm with bright green letters. A blinking cursor hovered over several options listed in an orderly fashion down the left side of the screen.

"This computer is weird," said Dipper. "I mean it looks ancient, but it's obvious the technology is advanced. It just doesn't seem right for the time. You've never used one before?"

"I have," Remus replied, crossing his arms and thinking back. "Once, or twice. A few times. They, er, had a BBC Micro at the library…"

Dipper paused, his brow dropping sharply. "A what ? No, nevermind, just-what were you looking for?"

"Information, mostly," Remus said as he bent down to look at the screen. "The Lieutenant said that this terminal had the logs of the other Firestarters who lived with them in the beginning. They might provide something useful to us; information about what sort of things we're going to have to face once we move on from the mansion."

"Like what?"

Remus tilted his head as he thought. "Other settlements, perhaps. Medicinal plants. I'm hoping to find information on the creatures, personally," he said. "After all the trouble the biorapters have caused us, and the balverines… Though, plants can be just as deadly. Venomous tentacula, Devil's Snare… And those are from my homeworld-Merlin knows what else these woods could hold. Click there, would you?"

Dipper did so, and for a moment there was a pause as they scrolled through a wall of words that meant nothing to the younger of them. He switched seats with Remus, jotting something down in his notebook.

"You think there's anything on other Oases in there? Or towns?"

"It's very possible. The forest here regrows so quickly I'm almost surprised a town was here at all. But I don't believe we few are the only people to have become trapped in this realm. There are certainly more settlements out there."

"Somewhere," Dipper added, and Remus nodded.

"You know what I find kinda weird?"

Remus finished reading his next paragraph before responding. "What's that?"

"That this Vault isn't haunted or something. No, really-everything else I've seen in this place has been creepy, or tried to kill me, or was just really unpleasant. But the Vault is borderline nice. It's just empty, and I kind of expected there to be something off here, too."

But instead of responding, Remus paused. Dipper felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "What?"

"Ghosts?" Remus asked, turning away from the screen. "You can see spirits?"

Dipper looked up quizzically. "Well, yeah. Why? Is that bad, or something?"

"No," Remus replied, shaking his head, but not looking away. "No, it's more-surprising. Mabel has mentioned before that neither of you have any magical ability."

"Anyone can read an incantation," Dipper replied with a shrug. And then, he saw Remus' expression. "Can't they?"

"And have the spell work ?"

"Yeah?" Dipper's voice cracked slightly, scrunching his frame to appear smaller. "I mean, Great Uncle Ford didn't really label some of them, so it's a gamble, but so far everything I've tried has worked. Summoning entities both malicious and benign; wards; banishing the dead… I mean, this one time I accidentally raised a horde of zombies and then had to save the whole town. It was kind of a disaster. Had to utilize certain sound frequencies that can 'disable' the undead."

"Dipper," Remus started with some hesitation, "where did you learn how to handle the undead?"

"Oh, uh..." Dipper shyly scratched the side of his neck, averting his eyes for just a moment. "I guess you could say that it runs in the family?" His voice cracked upwards, and he attempted to find the best way to explain it. "Uncle Ford is an expert on things like that. I've been studying his work for a while now."

"Have you, now?" Remus was impressed. He sat back in the chair that squeaked against his weight. "It was my father that inspired me to study those sorts of things. Is that what you're doing with your book?"

Dipper stood straight again, pulling the pen out of the book and sliding a finger between the pages instead. "Yeah, I thought that-well maybe it'd be useful to have some kind of documentation while we're here, y'know? I have a page on the bioraptors, the balverines… Naoya's got a page in here, too."

"He does?"

"Well, I mean, he's not a human, and Uncle Ford didn't get much documentation of mutants." Dipper let out a small, shaky laugh. "At least not willing ones." He shook his head, trying to forget about a certain incident with an angry Shapeshifter.

"Oh," Remus said. He considered Dipper for a moment. "Hm. If you like, I could waterproof the pages. You never know what might happen."

Dipper's shoulders eased, and he looked almost relieved. "Yeah, that'd be great, actually, I would never have thought of that. You study this stuff, you said?"

Remus nodded, taking the book and reaching for his wand. "Not actively, not like I used to. I'm certainly not an expert in the field, but I know enough to keep myself safe. I know enough not to go wandering into the mists towards any lights," he added with something of a grin.

"Why not?"

"Hinkypunks," Remus said, and Dipper snorted at the ridiculous name. But when Remus returned his journal and Dipper caught sight of Remus' expression, it became obvious that he had been quite serious. Dipper composed himself.

"...Right," he said, coughing as he slid the book open to the first empty page. He jotted down something that he thought looked vaguely correct. "...'mist lights'. There. ...So, uh, anyway, this brings me back to my original question."

"Of course."

But Dipper tensed again, and clutched his book a bit tighter. "I wanted to ask if… well I mean, Mabel and I heard things. We don't exactly get told everything, and we have to fill in some gaps on our own."

"Yes," Remus said quietly, smiling almost knowingly. "Wash was more than a bit surprised."

"But I noticed you and Naoya were gone a couple nights ago. And-well, it… it was a full moon, wasn't it? And I didn't think so, but then you came back and you had scratches and you just look so tired and I was wondering if… maybe, you were a…?"

Dipper's head sank into his shoulders and he wore a small, apologetic smile.

Remus sighed, resting his chin on his knuckles. Suddenly, he was so tired. Existentially tired. He brought his head back up to look at Dipper, sighing again. "Yes," he said, his voice slightly strained.

Dipper's eyes widened. "Really? That's so cool! I thought my friend Wendy's dad was a werewolf once, but I think maybe he's part sasquatch or something now. I mean if you saw the guy, you'd understand," he added with a chuckle of embarrassment. But he stopped, seeing Remus look at him. "What?"

"Nothing," Remus said quickly, shaking his head. "Nothing. I suppose I continue to be surprised. Thank you for your help with the computer, Dipper."

"Oh, pfft, no problem." Dipper waved it off. "But hey, before I go… is it cool if I talk to you some more? About the creatures I'm cataloging, I mean. Later? You said you knew a bunch."

Remus blinked. "Of course. Any time. And I'd like to look at what you have so far. You're probably the closest thing to an expert on the native creatures here we have yet."

Remus watched his words take effect on Dipper immediately. He stood a bit taller, and he held his head slightly higher. The hand holding his journal relaxed and Dipper smiled. "I mean I'm not really an expert-expert , but… thanks."

"These are the last of our reserves," Sokka asked, dropping the last of the boxes at his feet with a winded huff.

Renkotsu's head turned as he examined the boxes. "Be careful with those," he said first, "or else it won't simply be the earth that suffers the explosion."

Sokka crossed his arms, muttering a small apology before raising an expectant brow at Ren. "This place was lucky it made it to Astri-whatever in one piece, so it's probably not going to take all of this." He paused, looking over his shoulder at Ren. "Right?"

"It never hurts to be certain," Ren replied. "Especially when dealing with something you aren't certain can be killed."

"You really think Reaver's actually immortal?" Sokka asked.

"If he were truly unable to die he would not fear death," Ren mumbled a bitter reply, moving on to a new strap.

Several questions all ran through Sokka's mind at once, colliding in his thoughts in a way that gave him the impression that some things were probably left unasked for the time being. "Think maybe you could teach me how to do that?" was the least-mangled question he had. "I know how to a do a little, but not… good."

Renkotsu quietly glanced at him, seeing the teenager motion to the fuses. He sighed. "Perhaps another time." When Sokka's eyes began to light up, Ren quickly added: "But at that time you are to sit still ." Taking a strip of adhesive and biting the end with his teeth, Renkotsu finished his latest bomb by working the ends of the fuses firmly into one. "For now, please leave this to me."

Sokka sighed. That was abrupt. But not unlike Ren at all, so he simply saved his groan until he was far enough down the hall that the monk would not see. Ren didn't want help with the bombs right now? Fine. Sokka had stuff to pack, anyways. Important stuff... and essential things, too!

Not everything in his collection was appropriate to pack. There was only so much room, even in the weirdly bigger-on-the-inside leather satchel that Remus had "charmed", and as much as Sokka wanted to hold onto some of his loot, the logical parts of his brain reminded him to pack what he knew was essential.

Clothes were essential, right? He had a small stockpile he had discerningly picked out based on how useful the garment was or how good he looked in it, or both. Two extra bags that matched a few shirts; he liked his clothes to match - and he tried not to get tripped up on the thought of storing bags in another bag. Essentials also included only three quarters of the books and scrolls scattered around his half of the room, especially the small navy-colored book he kept next to his bed - which he would pack last.

The gear he wore out hunting would go in the bag, too. He had made the decision that the blue armor neatly displayed on top of his dresser would be what he wore for this risky business. The white-fur trimmed, painted with the symbol of the moon and waves, navy blue armor was all that he had left to remind him of home; it was what he fell into this stupid, dumb world wearing, and it was only fit that he was going to wear it when he left.

Some extra whetstones, screwdriver, a few different-sized wrenches, a cool glowy cube-thing he'd found, leather pliers… he'd have to wait until later to clear out some of his stash in the locker room, for sure-

And that was when his stomach growled, and he wasn't able to focus on anything else but the aching pit in his stomach. He surveyed his half of the room, and satisfied with what he'd done so far, reasoned that it was time for a well-deserved snack break.

But as he approached the cafeteria, the hairs prickled on the back of his neck - he had the strangest feeling that he'd find Naoya there.

Which was completely unfounded, who just had a feeling that someone else would be in a certain place? It didn't matter that he did, in fact, find Naoya in the mess hall, sitting sideways in a booth, next to a small stack of empty plates, and sipping coffee - from a soup bowl , Sokka had to do a double take. It was probably just a coincidence that the other teenager was there.

Naoya looked over his bowl. He seemed content in his now-clean baggy sweatshirt - (it had taken a while to get all the oil out, even using "magic") - with his drink in his hands. His eyes narrowed in the slightest way and he cracked a faint smile.

"The magic people used all the cups to make tea," Naoya explained, fully aware of the unasked question and how his answer sounded, and Sokka snortled. He set his bowl down, chin tilting up in a curious manner. "You're not packing yet?"

"Almost done, right now I'm hungry." Sokka hesitantly sat across the table in the same booth.

Naoya quietly watched Sokka dramatically slump forward, face-first, against the table top. "Oh!" the EGO softly gasped. "Is this the part where you want me to make you food?"

Sokka didn't pick his head up. "Yes."

"Too bad," Naoya snubbed, picking up his coffee again. "I ate it all."

Sokka rolled his head so that he rested on his cheek, giving him the perfect angle to childishly glower up at Naoya. " I trusted you. " His tone was accusatory and hurt, and Sokka was sure if he kept it up he would win. "And now I'll starve!"

But all Naoya did was place his elbow on the table and rest his chin in his hand, nonplussed.

Oh, he was good.

Maybe if Sokka threw in a few fake sniffles- which turned into a sneeze, courtesy of an odd, burning scent catching his attention. "Hey, does something smell… I don't know, kinda smoky?"

Naoya's spine went rigid and he spluttered into his bowl-cup. "N-nope!" He quickly set his drink down again and scooted to the end of the booth bench, standing up and putting his hands on his hips. "Jeez," he huffed, heading for the kitchen, "You're lucky you're kinda cute or else you'd just end up starving."

Sokka's head snapped up. "What-?" But Naoya kept going to the kitchen. Sokka was hungry… maybe he had imagined it?

Yeah.

That had to have been it.

It took maybe twelve hours - no, maybe twenty minutes? Sokka looked at the nearest clock. Twenty-four minutes - before Naoya came back with the food. It wasn't anything super special, a cooked canned steak and some rice, but at least he didn't have to cook it himself.

Naoya went back for another bowl of coffee, and when he returned he did three things: he sat, and then he took his fork, and he swiped a piece of meat off of Sokka's plate .

" Hey! " Sokka warned through a mouthful, his brows drew low.

Naoya skillfully stole another piece and ate that one, too, all in one quick, smooth motion. "Service fee," he stated. He then stole a fork's worth of rice. "Naoya Itsuki-services are expensive today. You can't just dine-n-dash, Sokky." And then Sokka glared as Naoya put that fork of rice in his mouth.

In order to properly defend his food from the inhuman threat facing him, Sokka hunkered over his plate and fended off any attempts to get near his meal. He wasn't even convinced by the sad, hurt look Naoya tried to give him. Nope. Not convinced at all. His victory was assured when Naoya gave up and seemed more focused on staring at his own reflection in his coffee.

"You know," Sokka started, his food finally finished, "I've been thinking."

"Oh no, he's been fed and now he's thinking ," Naoya joked, smirking lightly into his drink.

Sokka leaned his elbows onto the table, eyes widening. "We might get to go home soon."

Naoya paused, then swallowed a quick sip. "Still have one last thing to do before that, though."

Sokka thought that, unlike everybody else, Naoya always seemed much less concerned with going back to wherever it was that he came from. Naoya barely talked about his home - he was terrible at math and had no respect for school or books, worked a lot, and something about a twin that Sokka doubted existed. (One Naoya was enough, thank you .) But that was as much as Sokka or anyone else knew.

Sokka eyed him. "Don't you want to go home?"

"I have to go home, like everybody else," Naoya too-sharply affirmed, and for a moment Sokka thought he might have been glaring - but the facial expression was too brief to tell for certain. "The way it is now, we have this one big fight we have to worry about before any of us can really think about that. And..."

"And?"

Naoya fiercely pouted, shaking his head as if he were dismissing what he was about to say. "Nothing," he sighed, resigned. He stared down into his empty bowl-cup. "Think we'll end up right back where we came from?"

"There's been a war going on for a hundred years now. I'd just be getting dropped back onto a big battlefield."

"So... from one fight to the next?"

"More like from one fight to this one, then back to the original one, yes," Sokka primly said. He looked down at his empty plate. "I haven't had to think about it in so long, because I've been here. It's going to be weird going back now that all this time has gone by..."

"You kinda feel like, in the larger picture, everything is kinda pointless?" Naoya practically finished his thought. "That the war's been going on for longer than you, or your parents, or even your grandparents, have been alive - what effect could you possibly have on something of that scale? What is peace even like, and does the world even want it after fighting for so long?"

"Yeah," Sokka breathed, frowning. He then looked right across at Naoya. "Also, you reading my thoughts like that is getting really creepy."

"I can't read your thoughts, just emotions," Naoya corrected, shaking his head. "Those are my thoughts. On my world." A soft, knowing, almost apologetic frown came to grace his sleek features. "You're not the only one from a world long at war."

"Well, home might be full of fighting, but you know what I hate the most about this place?" the tone of Sokka's voice evened out, not hiding any of his disdain.

"Outside of the large hungry predators and immortal hosts?"

"Outside of the monsters and Reaver, yes," Sokka rolled his eyes. With one hand, he motioned to the ceiling in a vague gesture. "It's knowing that back home, people are looking for me. And I'm... stuck here. Unable to do anything about it."

Naoya's form laxed, then stiffened. Under the table, his sneakers pressed together. "You're really sure about that, huh."

"I know them. It's been a little over eight months now, but I know them. They wouldn't have stopped looking if there was no evidence saying I was - y'know, gone . Especially Katara."

"Travelling the world, worried sibling; sounds like you've got quite the life to get back to," Naoya dryly chuckled.

"And you don't?" his tone was somewhat incredulous.

Naoya frowned and shook his head. "People disappear all the time in my world. And thanks to the war, chances are that you won't find them - at least not alive. I've seen plenty of that outcome," the psychic let out a flat sigh, his chest falling. "My friends and family probably searched a few days, maybe a week or so, but nothing more than that. Not if they were smart. I'd… want them to be smart."

Sokka leaned on his elbows, staring at the smaller teenager as several pieces finally came together in his thoughts. "That's... really grim and messed up," he said.

"Yeah, your story was better," Naoya agreed. Letting out a half-laugh, he smiled; though he seemed more weary than anything else. "Had a happy ending."

Sokka paused. "What kind of parents let their kid work on the streets until four in the morning in an active war zone?"

"Similar to the kind who lets their kid travel around the warring world, unsupervised, with a high-priority target," Naoya replied, and Sokka shrug-nodded as he conceded to the point.

" Parent ," Sokka sighed. He settled back down into booth bench and rested his hands behind his head. "Singular."

"Same here."

"Dad, my sister, and my gran-gran. You?"

"Just Mom and my sister, Haruna," Naoya said. "Gran-gran is 'grandmother', right?" When Sokka nodded, Naoya went on with listing his family: "My grandmother died last year, never knew her, but I have two aunts and two cousins still around. Though, we try to stay away from the rest of the family."

"Crazy?"

Naoya shook his head, his expression hardening - and for only a second he seemed far older than seventeen. Sokka couldn't tell if Naoya looked frightened or annoyed. "Might as well be."

"What about your dad?" Sokka asked.

"Never knew him. Only that he's from another country. But it's not too bad," he shrugged, "There aren't a lot of my kind who have a 'dad' in their lives." Naoya's head tilted to the side. "Your mom...?"

"Mom's... gone," Sokka admitted, glancing away for a moment. "She died when I was nine." He was trying to sound unperturbed, but Naoya calmly looked at him, understandingly - like he already knew that something about the death had been violent.

"The war took her?" Naoya gingerly asked.

Sokka was quiet for a minute. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It... happened a long time ago."

"Y-"

Both heads looked up abruptly. Anders hesitated in the doorway to the greater mess hall. "Sorry," he said. "Would you like me to come back later?"

Sokka and Naoya looked back to each other, the table suddenly seeming wider than it had before.

"U-uh, no, it's fine, Andy," Naoya moved to get up, sliding the dishes to the edge of the table. "We were just finishing up."

"Yeah," Sokka tried to agree. "Gotta… get back to packing."

Anders watched in silence as they put away their things, neither making eye contact with the other. Sokka mumbled a quiet, "Excuse me," as he left, and Anders stepped aside for him. The mage felt his eyes instinctively track Naoya's steps across the room, to where the dishwasher lay open and waiting for the used dishes. He waited one more moment before allowing himself to pass completely inside.

"That's odd," Anders said quietly, watching Naoya out of the side of his gaze. "Usually when someone's cooking is bad they run off without staying for the entire meal."

Naoya rolled his eyes. "Usually when someone's not clever they shut up."

But Anders was already elbow deep into the refrigerator. He pushed aside a tray of odd-looking fruit, frowned, and then closed the door. "Typical. This miraculous machine will keep food cold, but there's nothing good inside. Anyway, Naoya, did you say something?"

"You're not actually hungry." Naoya loaded the last dish in the washer as if it were the most laborious thing he had ever done.

"No, I came to sift through the supplies for my own amusement." Anders' hand hesitated over one of the cabinets. "Where do we keep those-whatevers, with the M&Ms?" He caught sight of Naoya's face and sighed. "It was worth a try. What is the saying, that the best way to a man's heart is through his stomach?"

Naoya suddenly found his fingernails to be of extreme importance. "Now, Andy, whatever could you mean…?"

"Nothing," Anders said through a crooked grin on the side opposite Naoya. "Nothing. Just a man looking for his lunch."

Another moment passed where Anders ruffled through the cabinets.

"So you and Sokka, hm?" he said suddenly, not turning towards Naoya or showing any sign of hostility. He found a box labeled "Dandy Boy Apples" in the cabinet and made a face. "So much sugar…"

"What are you getting at, Andy?" His mouth tucked into a tight pout, Naoya folded his arms loosely across his chest, shifting his body as he leaned weight more on one foot.

"Oh, I think you know," Anders replied, unable to contain his grin. "But I don't think Sokka does. He's a nice boy."

Naoya's eyes widened for just a split-second before his face was overtaken by a soft reddish hue. "Sh-shut up," Naoya muttered. "Are you saying that Naoya Itsuki is not a nice boy?"

"Nice must have a different meaning where you're from," Anders smiled. He wasn't condemning, nor was he poking fun. Naoya was almost certain he was being serious. "You'll have to show him, then. All you have to do is just not be yourself. Easy, right?"

Now Anders did smirk, but it was not unkind. He finished scrounging a small assortment of food together onto a plate, and bade Naoya a small "goodbye" as he left the psychic alone with his thoughts.

Down in the infirmary, Anders had plenty of his own work to do. It was easy enough for the rest of them to pack what they needed: clothes, personal effects, perhaps useful tools, some food… But Anders pushed aside the swinging doors and entered the ward with a sigh. There was so much that still made no sense to him.

It didn't help that he had no experience with most of the equipment in this room. There was a tall, white tube with a pair of lenses like those on binoculars. A microscope, it was called; for looking at things smaller than the eye could see. Anders had played with it, sliding one of his hairs across the tray as Wash had instructed when asked, and then a sample of blood. It left him speechless with awe.

Digital clocks were in a category on their own. Time is an inexact science in Thedas. Most people know what day it is, especially when any sort of major holiday is involved. But to meet someone at any particular hour is a challenge, considering only the dwarves had any clocks and even they were on the rarer side. For some reason, it was important to keep track of time when you lived underground where it's dark all the time. Surface-side, they were a novelty; something fancy Orlesian nobles used as a bragging right during one of their hundreds of flaunting, unnecessary parties. Either way, Anders wasn't sure whether he liked knowing what time he really went to sleep nowadays. He studied the red numbers displaying the exact time on the desk clock, and he wondered vaguely how long he could hold his breath.

Worse still were the things that Anders almost felt like he should know about just by rights. He was a doctor, for the Maker's sake. But so much of the medical equipment here went over his head. He had gone over the infirmary more than a few times just before lunch, scouring up and down for useful supplies to take with them when they abandoned ship-if ships could be subterranean superstructures from other worlds. He had collected all the bandages, all the ointments whose labels he could read (and it helped that Wash stopped by again and confirmed the most useful products, because it turns out that Mentats and Jet sound like good medicines in theory, but in practice were more… recreational), and had taken to piling a ridiculous product called RadAway on the bed in the corner because there was just so much of it. Honestly, why someone would use a product whose side effects included hair loss, stomach pains, and a constant need to pee… There were better ways to get an ass kicking, no medicine required.

Still, Anders picked up the most curious item yet: a syringe, full of a thick, red fluid on top of which was a round pressure gauge. A stimpak, it was called. Or so it said on the body of the syringe in bright, white letters. And it appeared to be fairly simple in design: push down on the head of the gauge and dispense the mysterious drug straight into very important vital organs. It was the simplicity that made Anders suspicious. Either this was a terrible product, or the best one of the bunch. But without a manual, Anders had no idea what exactly it did. And while it was easier to test it and find out, as a doctor he had certain oaths to obey. So he threw himself into the wheeling desk chair (another item he greatly enjoyed) and scooted forward, sliding open the drawers of the desk and hoping for some sort of miracle.

That was how he knew it was 1:34 when the first of his appointments wandered in.

"Hullo, Mabel, Dipper," Anders said over the clock as he watched them come in. "Take a seat."

And so it was that one job was put on hold for another, but such is life. Now was the time to ensure everyone was in good health, while they had the chance. The twins were fine, as they could be. Dipper had a bump on his head and kept jotting things down in a notebook whenever he asked Anders about his magic. Mabel looked tired. He offered her time time under his teachings while he checked the others, but she said she and Dipper were busy elsewhere.

After them Renkotsu came down, and together he and Anders agreed to do nothing and say that they had. Anders wasn't sure if he could accurately assess a dead man anyway.

Wash came and went in a hurry. She looked stressed, her mouth stuck in a thin line as she answered his questions. Like both Remus and Naoya, she too bore cursed scars: a triple set of score marks ran down her left shoulder where she'd been grazed on an excursion to the village and been ambushed by balverines. And there were wounds from her time in a place called Somalia, gunshot wounds and stabbings that told less of a story than she did with her silence; a couple rugged shoulder scars from her more recent post in Terra Nova completed her collection.

Both Sokka and Naoya came down, but not together. Sokka was thin, but toned, a young lifetime of training and war and many months here, far away from home. Naoya was thin, too, but not in the same way. Underweight was more like it, and that had been the story since the beginning. Anders remembered how thin he was even at the mansion; that kind of thin came from long bouts of not having enough food to eat.

"You know can eat more here," he told Naoya as he left, but the teen turned away as if he had already heard it. Anders just sighed.

Then came Nadine, who Alastor insisted was in perfect health. Not that Anders could tell otherwise, so he was grateful for the fact. As for Alastor himself, he had been healing slowly but over the last few days he had felt better, stronger. Although weak and sore, he complained much less when asked to move and twist his torso. Progress was good, especially when it seemed like nothing good ever happened in this world.

Remus was the last one to make his way to the infirmary. Anders' limbs stiffened as he gazed over the top of the digital clock, watching him enter. They hadn't spoken since Alastor's return. Well, they had-but not really . Anders was struck suddenly with the realization that he had no idea what to do with himself: whether he should remain silent and look brooding, or whether he should just crack some sort of joke that served as an icebreaker to some sort of larger conversation that he wasn't sure he even wanted to have. After a few moments' contemplation, he decided he would simply act normally.

"Hullo," he said, and his brows knit together as some inner voice debated on whether that was at all appropriate.

"Hullo," Remus replied quietly. He still looked bruised and exhausted, though he had a healthier complexion after getting what Anders guessed was at least 14 hours-worth of sleep the night before. And a solid meal never hurt, either.

"I see you've been busy," Remus said idly. He turned his head, taking in the entirety of Anders' mess. He saw the pile of IV bags full of RadAway on the far bed and his brow gave the smallest quiver.

"Yes, well," Anders replied with a shrug. "Packing supplies. In between the appointments."

Remus nodded slowly, and Anders wasn't sure if it was to him or to himself. "What is that?"

"It's a stimpak," Anders replied matter-of-factly, glancing down to his forgotten quest laying on the desk. "So, I have no idea."

Remus smiled, and Anders felt something shift in his stomach. Relief?

"If I didn't know better I'd say it looks like a potion," Remus said, coming over to the desk and taking up the stimpak. He held it up to the light. "It doesn't look like any Muggle medicine I'm familiar with. But I don't think I want to volunteer to find out what it does."

"Maybe try it on one of the balverines that Reaver will bring."

"And if it's medicine?"

Anders chuckled softly through his nose. "Well, then, we'll have one healthy, incredibly dangerous balverine and one solved riddle."

"Or those books could help," Remus offered lightly, pointing down at the open drawers.

"I hadn't thought of that," Anders replied sarcastically, bending back down and resuming his search through the drawer. There were two books on anatomy, one file with the names of people Anders assumed would have been assigned here at some point, and an inch ruler. But nothing helpful about stimpaks.

"I'll have to ask Wash," he resolved, straightening with a sigh. "I found it in a drawer that was half full of them. The other half must have gone somewhere."

Remus nodded, and Anders noticed he seemed to hold himself stiffly.

"I'm not going to make you strip," Anders said, hoping his tone was light enough to alleviate some tension. But Remus just made a noise in response.

"Let's just get on with it," he said.

"We don't have to, you know."

Remus sighed, shaking his head. "No, but it is-maybe it's better this way, to do it while we can. We don't know when we're going to have this chance again."

Anders hesitated. "Alright. Stand up straight, would you?"

Several moments flowed by like molasses in which Anders asked questions and had Remus touch his toes, then tested his reflexes followed by his eyes and ears.

"You need to be so thorough?" Remus asked. "I promise you, when I'm dying you'll know."

"Well, if I have to be honest," Anders said slowly, "yours is the one whose health I worry about the most. Certain, ah, pre-existing conditions."

"My allergies?"

"Maker, Lupin! You're going to be the death of me, and then where will everyone be?"

"I'm sorry," Remus grinned. But he sighed again, falling back into his stress. "Anders, I-There is something else, something on my mind. I… I've been meaning to talk to you. I suppose I wanted to apologize. For before."

Anders frowned, shaking his head immediately. "You have nothing to apologize for, Remus. You were under duress. You had every right to turn me away. I was wrong to act as I did."

"But that does not excuse me," Remus replied quietly. "I should not have been so hard on you. Your intentions were-and remain-benign. I didn't mean to insinuate that you had some other motive, and I apologize. It was a mistake brought on in the stress of the moment," he finished.

Anders blinked, looking away briefly and nodding. "I suppose I could see that. I was coming on a bit strong. I shouldn't have pushed."

An awkward silence filled with avoidant stares. They could hear one another breathing.

Remus frowned. "You remind me so much of them."

"Your friends," Anders said without needing to guess.

"Yes. They, ah" -Remus cleared his throat- "They helped. After they figured it out, I mean. They were the first and only ones, outside of my parents. After what happened to them," he said, his face going neutral and his jaw stiffening, "I realized that I had made-a very costly mistake. Part of me wants your help, Anders, I do. I don't enjoy this, as you probably expect. But we plan to go home again, someday. I don't want to grow… accustomed, to that aid. I don't want to relearn how to survive again, how to survive without people. I can't."

Anders swallowed, taking a slow breath. Again, he nodded. "I understand."

"...Thank you. I do appreciate it, though. I want you to know."

Anders grunted, arms crossed. "I understand, but I don't agree."

"Anders."

"Remus, I understand that you don't want my help. I understand why. But you're not really so oblivious as to think you're on your own, are you? We have been relying on each other as a group-all of us-since we arrived in Astriferous. Whether you like it or not we depend on one another now to get through this. See reason: what good are you to us if you're deathly ill, or mangled by some injury your pride won't let me heal? I'm a doctor, Remus, privacy is my business. I couldn't eat if I spilled the secrets of every noble who came to me for a salve to stave questions from the missus. And who is to say that this will end badly for you? We would devise something, somehow, to make sure that you had what you needed to go home. I'm not just going to abandon a man under my care, and certainly not a friend.

"Now," Anders breathed a heavy sigh, "that being said, I owe you an apology as well. Justice has been so dutiful in reminding me of how wrong I was for how I behaved. I let my past, let my fear get the better of me. I was wrong, too. And, I'm sorry."

At this last, he lifted the gaze he hadn't realized he'd lowered. Remus did not look angry, which Anders had expected. But he did not appear pleased, either. Rather, he was standing very still as though he'd been stunned by a spell. He didn't speak for a moment, focused on the floor. But he glanced up after a minute, observing Anders briefly. Then, he extended a hand. "I am, too. And… perhaps you're right. I just… need time. To think about it."

"I know you're reluctant. And I want you to take the lead with this. Besides, we have a whole month before we have to worry" Anders replied, taking the hand, and Remus nodded.

"Just under," he murmured in reply.

The infirmary doors slammed open as Wash burst in, her face hard and her words breathless: "He's here," she said. "Reaver's here."

By the time Remus, Anders, and Wash reached the Vault door, a crowd had formed. Had they been the last ones to be informed?

"What's going on?" Remus asked urgently, rounding the group to stare at the door as though he could see Reaver on the other side.

"He's here," Naoya said, and it became clear then that it was Naoya who was the center of their circle.

"You sense him," Remus stated, and the teen only nodded.

"I was heading up this way and I felt it," he said. "He's angry."

"Surprising," Anders muttered.

Sokka glanced to Naoya with narrowed eyes. "What were you doing up here? You smell like smoke, and you don't weld."

"I was keeping watch," Naoya replied quickly.

"Naoya," Wash interjected, "how many are there? Can you tell?"

Naoya's mouth pulled to the side as he tried to concentrate. "It's kind of hard to tell, exactly. He's right there. He's like there's a huge, very annoyed light flashing in front of my face. But if I had to guess, more than twenty but less than fifty."

"That is a terrible estimate," Renkotsu and Sokka both said at the same time, though both in entirely different tones.

"But still much less than it should be," Alastor broke through. He appeared genuinely concerned. Beside him, Nadine's ears gave an unhappy twitch as they locked eyes.

Sokka scoffed. "Who cares how many there are? He still has a huge pack with him!"

"As we knew he would," Alastor snapped, his eyes hard and his gaze fixed savagely on the hallway leading to the door. Fangs pressed on the corners of the inside of his lips. Nadine's ears lay flat now, and she growled.

"Now hold on," Wash said quickly. "We open that door before we're ready and we get our assess handed to us. Ren, are you almost done rigging?"

"Nearly," he replied, "but I will still need time."

"Sokka, you go and help him."

Sokka nodded, disappearing with Ren back down the corridor to the workshop.

The air hung heavy and still between the remaining group, no one person wanting to admit to holding their breath in anticipation of what would happen next - what this unexpected but still anticipated visit would mean from then on out.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

It was faint, but the sound rung crisp through the air. The sound of something hard striking metal. Coming from outside the Vault.

All eyes went from the door to Naoya, as if expecting a detailed translation of the sound, but he only sighed. "He's knocking on the door." Naoya paused. "With a rock, if I had to guess. I think he wants to talk to someone in here..."

"Does he think we're daft enough to answer the door?" Anders scowled at the door. "'Hello? Who is it? Oh, it's death!' Bastard."

"We need to keep him stalled until we have those charges set." Wash frowned. "I need to go find Mabel and Dipper and make sure they're ready. You ." She pointed a commanding finger at Naoya. "Can you do anything to him from this side?" When Naoya nodded, she headed for the hall. "I'm going to overlook what's in your pocket if you stall that immortal pile of shit as long as possible."

Naoya paled, swallowing a sudden lump in his throat as Wash's ponytail disappeared through the doorway.

"Naoya, how exactly do you plan to stall him?"

"I could try to knock him around a little," Naoya bit his bottom lip. "Normally I'd have trouble with something I can't see, but he's worked up enough that I can't miss him."

"That would only serve to anger him further. He would jump straight to the more drastic measures, you would never get the chance to stall him." Alastor sighed, exhaling a frosty-looking breath.

Naoya nodded. "He's angry. Frustrated. But there's something else, too. I don't know what it is. It's like… pulling? Urgent. It's important. He wants something in here."

"Of course he does," Anders spat. "Three escaped prisoners, the people who keep trying to burn down his house, and two balverines; we're all on his list."

"Naoya," Remus started, "What do you feel this pulling feeling is aimed at?"

The teenager shifted uncomfortably, his mouth drawing into an undefinable but miserable shape. "He feels it's a means to an end. If he doesn't get his means, he's prepared to make someone else end."

"Naoya, that doesn't answer the question-"

A low, barely audible growling rumbled from Alastor's chest. "It's you ," he said coldly, realization coming over him and yellow eyes glaring. "He's looking for you ."