Chapter Text
The first thing Draven Kondraki does on the morning after his father’s death is go to the store. A night spent scourging through Clef’s kitchen for something resembling food reminded him of how barren his own cabinets are. He paces through linoleum aisles, oblivious to the stain on his shirt from Clef’s vomit, glancing between the shelves and the hasty list on his phone.
He usually buys a box of cereal, but if he buys the store brand bags he could get more cereal for less money. But is he going to eat that much before it gets stale? He’ll go with his usual stuff, he’s not hurting for cash much anyway. His father shot himself in the head, right in front of Site-19’s director. They wouldn’t let Draven see the body, leaving him to his own horrid imagination.
They always run out of milk too quickly. Said with all the affection in his heart, James loves to leave the empty jug in the fridge. He picks out a gallon, thinking about how he’s going to have to plan a funeral soon. Is the Foundation going to bury him or burn him? Does Draven even get a say in the matter? Would they let him keep his father’s ashes?
The frozen section has been rearranged, it takes him a second to find his usual stuff. A bag of pierogi, caramel ice cream for James, some frozen pizzas, various microwavables. Clef would be disappointed in him if he let himself get out of shape at a time like this. Draven thinks about teaching himself to cook at fourteen, feeding himself while his father was too drunk to move. He thinks about the time his father threw a sizzling pan across the room during one of his worse episodes. He grabs a box of pizza bagels.
James is always telling him to broaden his food pallet, and there’s always something he’s never seen before in the pasta aisle. He lived off of pasta during his bootcamp years, learned a hundred Ways to make it good, and a thousand Ways to make it god awful. Clef taught him a lot about food preparation. His father always looked so happy when he was in the kitchen with Clef. It was comforting, having someone else keep an eye on him when Draven was busy.
Crash!
… A jar of pasta sauce slips out of Draven’s fingers, cracking against the floor. Draven was ten years old when he found his father passed out in the kitchen. He’d tripped and smacked his head against the counter on his Way down, spraying blood everywhere. He was unresponsive, and Draven didn’t know how to check for a pulse. He screamed his little lungs out until all he could manage was a squeak. Blood spreading across the kitchen tiles, broken shards of glass from the whiskey bottle. Alone, waiting for someone to find him.
“Are you okay?” A clerk puts her hand on Drvaen’s shoulder, making him flinch. How long has he been standing here? He tries to check his phone only to find his vision blurry. Why is he shaking, this isn’t fair!
“I’m fine,” he says, strained. “I’m fine,” he says, harder, forcing himself to believe it, forcing it to be true. “Sorry about the mess.” He pushes his cart out of the aisle, forgetting to grab another jar.
I wish he had died sooner, Draven thinks, picking out a packet of gum from the self checkout. There had to be a better Way for this to end.
…
The house is quiet as Draven steps in, arms straining under the grocery bags. The buzzing in his head drowns out his heavy footsteps, and the lighter footsteps creeping up behind him.
“Guh!” He screams, dropping the bags and James hugs him from behind. He rests a hand over his aching heart and lets out a sigh, sinking into James’s arms. “Fucking- don’t-”
James chuckles warmly, cheek pressed against the back of Draven’s neck. “Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you.” They attempt to step back, but Draven grabs their arms and pulls them in closer. “I was worried about you last night. You didn’t answer my calls.”
“Sorry hon… I had to make sure Alto was okay. He was there when it happened… couldn’t have been easy.” Draven swallows a dry lump in his throat, unwittingly putting more of his weight on James.
James grabs his cheek, turning his head so they’re eye to eye. “What about you? Are you okay?”
A long silence. Draven’s eye twitches. “Of c-course I’m okay,” voice crack, “it’s not like I… didn’t see this coming.”
All at once, Draven loses strength in his legs. James is quick to hold him up, gently sitting him on the floor.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Draven says, trying to squirm to get himself back upright. James squeezes him tighter, hooking their legs around Draven’s torso, using their weight to anchor him to the ground.
“Shhh, shhh.” James coos into his ear. “Breathe with me, okay? Deep breaths. Deep breaths.” They rock back and forth, stroking Draven’s frizzy hair.
“J-james.” He tries to breathe, tries to focus on the rhythm, on his heartbeat and it’s not enough he can’t quite fill his lungs and he’s sucking in sharp wheezing breaths and it’s just not enough and it hurts his throat and he feels lightheaded and snot is running down his nose and it makes him feel gross like he’s suffocating and it’s not enough it’s not enough he can’t breathe he can’t breathe he can’t breathe James, James I can’t-!
“Sunny!” James squeezes his chest. “Dravy, listen to me. Listen to my voice. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“I c-can’t- I wa- I couldn’t- I need to-” Draven wheezes between gasps. His mouth tastes of salt and copper. “I couldn’t- he- I couldn’t-” I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t fix him. I couldn't do anything.
“Shhh. Just let it out. Let it all out. Breathe.” James scoots over and takes Draven’s hand, placing it over their heart. “Do you feel my heartbeat? Can you focus on that for me?”
Draven’s eyes twitch between James’s face and his chest. “I need to- I have to- I should- I-i-” he makes a vague hand gesture towards the groceries. James interlocks their fingers with Draven’s.
“You don’t have to do anything but breathe right now. It wasn’t your fault.”
Like a card tower under a brisk wind, Draven crumbles in on himself. He wails, curling in, head pressed into James’s chest. James rubs his back in slow circles.
“I couldn’t-” Draven sucks in a sob, “I couldn’t save him.”
“Oh, sunny. It never should have been your responsibility to save him.”
…
Draven and James sit in the car right in front of the building where they’re holding Kondraki’s funeral. It’s not where Draven wanted to bury him, but he was honestly relieved when the Foundation agreed to take this in their hands.
“We should get going, they’re going to start soon.” James lays a firm hand on Draven’s shoulder.
“Yeah…”
They sit in silence for another minute.
Draven sighs and puts his head in his hands. “You don’t have to come with me.”
“Oh, sunny, of course I want to be there for you.”
“No I-” he bites his tongue. “Can you please stay here?”
“O-oh?”
“I mean unless you really want to come. I know you knew him too and I don’t want to bar you-”
“No, no I understand. I’ll wait here for you.” James gives him a warm smile. Draven tries to return it.
There’s a lot of people Draven doesn’t recognize here, and a lot of people he does. He tries to catch Clef’s eye but he’s not looking in his direction. Instead, he takes a seat in the back.
He thought it would hurt more to be here. Instead it just feels like someone pressing their thumb into a bruise and he just has to sit there and deal with that. He stares into the middle distance, hushed voices and music blur into white noise. People are looking at him, he’s not looking at anyone.
Clef stands at the front of the procession, he’s wearing Kondraki’s ratty old jacket. “What’s there to say about Dr. Kondraki that hasn’t been said…” He begins and quickly trails off. He clutches the podium, face twisted into a grimace. “Actually fuck this. I’m not doing this.” He steps off the podium and returns to his seat.
Soon everyone steps outside to lower him into the ground. Draven doesn’t even get to see his face before he’s-
“Fuck this! Fuck this shit!” The crowd screams and parts, most people dropping to the ground and covering their heads as Clef charges forwards with a shotgun. There’s a hateful fire in his eyes that Draven’s only seen a few times in his life.
Half the crowd runs off as the first round of gunshots go off. Someone shrieks. Draven hops over chairs and people to chase after him. Very few of the bullets manage to pierce the coffin, most barely denting or bouncing off. It’s a miracle Drven doesn’t get shot himself.
“Alto! Stop this!” He tears the gun out of Clef’s hands far too easily. Clef’s face is red and streaming with tears. In lieu of his gun, Clef starts kicking the coffin, knocking it off kilter. Draven wraps his around with Clef’s neck, getting him in a rear chokehold, and uses that to leverage him away. The growls Clef lets out are partially animalistic.
The doors to the church slam shut behind him. Clef wriggles out of Draven’s grasp and storms off. Muffled, they can hear the funeral finishing up outside.
“What the hell was that!?”
“I just wanted to make sure the fucking rat bastard stayed dead!” Clef won’t look at him. Draven can hear the strain in his voice. “Why the fuck are we in a Christian church?”
“That’s just where the Foundation picked, I didn’t have any say in that.”
“Whatever…” Clef slumps down in one of the pews. Slowly, Draven sits next to him.
Clef sighs and pulls out two bottles of beer from the inner pocket of Kondraki’s jacket. “Want one?” Clef holds out one to Draven.
“I shouldn’t,” Draven says, taking it anyway. “Did you just have these?”
“I snatched them from the snack bar when we went outside.” He pops off the cap with a pocket knife and hands the knife over.
“Seems fucked up to have alcohol at the funeral.” Draven pops open his bottle and they clink them together. “This whole thing is fucked up.” He wipes his nose on his sleeve.
Clef says nothing.
“I mean he would’ve fucking hated this,” Draven says, with a giggle.
“Probably hates that he’s not here to see it.” Clef nudges him in the ribs playfully. “Once joked that the only Way he’d get the truth out of me about anything is me admitting it to his grave.”
“Well…” Draven takes a long swig of the beer. It tastes like shit. “Anything to confess?”
“What’re you, a priest?”
A beat passes.
“... I wish I’d never met him.”
“I’m glad you met him. I mean I’m glad I met you.” Draven leans on him, knocking Clef’s hat askew.
“Hehehe.” Clef purses his lips and Draven can tell that he wants to say it back but he won’t. “Fuck ass didn’t even put me in his will. Speaking of which.” He pulls out a worn old green baseball cap and shoves it into Draven’s hands.
“For me?”
“Not my style.”
This hat very well may be older than him with how much Draven remembers his father wearing it. He puts it on, it fits snuggly over his curls.
“How do I look?”
Clef winces, which tells Draven everything he needs to know. “Looks alright.”
The doors to the church creak open. They both reel their heads around to look at who just entered. Draven squints, sure that he’s seen this person before, but he can’t quite put a name to a face. Clef frowns, brows furrowed.
“I gotta go, kid. Don’t do anything stupid.” Clef stands up and shuffles past Draven to get out.
“No promises!”
…
“Draaaaaven! Dravyyy!” James says through giggles. “Cut it out!”
The two of them are in the car, Draven is driving donuts around the mostly empty airport parking lot. The windows are rolled down and the wind roars past them. In the backseat is James’s suitcase and a crushed bouquet. In Draven’s coat pocket is a little box with a ring.
A few months after his father’s funeral, Draven was transferred out of Site-19. And as if the two of them couldn’t catch a break, barely a year and a half passes and James is being transferred to Site-118.
Draven’s hat flies out the window. James cackles until their lungs hurt and tears poke at the corners of their eyes. Pink in the cheeks, Draven brings the car to a stop and gets out to run after it.
By the time he’s retrieved it, James has already gotten their suitcase out.
“I should get going. I promise I’ll request a transfer back as soon as I can.” They hand Draven the bouquet and kisses him on the cheek.
“I’ll miss you.” Draven wipes the corner of his eyes. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you.”
“I hope you’ll remember to eat while I’m away. Something that isn’t cafeteria food.” James pecks him on the cheek again and starts walking away.
“W-wait!” James stops. Draven’s hand twitches towards his pocket, his mind runs through everything he planned to say, his heart twists into a knot. No, he tells himself, the moment isn’t right.
He kisses James on the lips. James reciprocates. This moment could last forever, or at least until James pulls the rim of Draven’s hat down and shoves it into his face. They break apart, giggling.
“Goodbye, sunny. Don’t linger, alright?”
“Alright…”
James disappears into the airport and Draven returns to his car. He pulls out his phone to inform Clef that he’s safe, not expecting a response at this hour. Far away, a man who Draven knows but will never remember approaches Clef in a bar, but that’s a different story.
…
It’s 5:32 in the morning. Draven stands in the kitchen, illuminated only by the pale early sunlight streaming through the curtained window. He grips the edge of the sink, his knuckles white, world spinning around him. The last five minutes repeat in his head.
A phone call woke him up. No one calls him unless it’s important. He sat up to pick up his phone, prepared for a drill or a late night assignment.
“Hello? Is this Draven Kondraki?”
He doesn’t recognize her voice, that’s the first thing that makes him nervous.
“Yes?”
“My name is Dr. Yamada, Site-118. I’m so very sorry.”
Draven slams his fists against the counter. His head hurts so much it feels like he could collapse at any second. He can’t breathe and this time there’s no one to hold his hand to speak with him softly to catch him when his legs give out to bring him water to help him God won’t somebody fucking help him!
He drops to his knees and then lays down on the cold ground. It helps, if only, with the dizziness. He pulls out his phone and calls Clef.
“... hello…?”
“Alto!” Draven rasps. “James is missing! And I don’t know where he is or what’s going on or- or what to do and I need you. Fuck, fuck I need you right now!”
Everything is silent, he can barely hear Clef’s labored breathing over his own heartbeat.
“... missing…?”
“He’s missing, Alto! And they don’t know how or where and they haven't found a body and I-” his voice cuts off with a squeak. He can’t breathe and it hurts so goddamn much.
“... ’m sorry I don’t know… dunno…”
“Are you fucking drunk right now!?” He doesn’t mean for it to come off so angry but everything is unraveling and he can’t keep anything in.
“... I think I was… I was drinking…”
“Alto please!” He’s crying so hard he can’t see. “I need you to say something to me! Please!”
“... kid… I don’t… sorry…”
Clef hangs up on him. Clef fucking hangs up on him. Draven hands are shaking and fuck it feels like he’s drowning he’s fucking drowning and its so slow and fucking painful like he’s always felt like his death should be because that’s all a rotten piece of shit like him ever fucking deserves God fucking damn it!
He sends his phone through the kitchen window.
…
“Kondraki!”
Draven jolts awake. He’s in the back of a helicopter, which is now on a landing pad behind Site-19. He slips his worn old hat on, gathers up his bag and helmet, and steps off, thanking the pilot as he leaves.
It’s nice to be back, despite everything that’s happened. This will always be his home in some Way or another. He makes his Way through familiar halls, trying not to think about three years ago, when he walked down these halls only to find his father’s corpse on the Site Director’s floor.
Making a detour, he turns towards Safe containment. He taps his ID on the scanner, and the doors to 408’s containment hiss open. He’s not technically supposed to have access to them, but no one would deny him this.
To an untrained eye, it would seem like it was just a normal, if small, butterfly garden. 408 hasn’t been active since Kondraki’s death. There used to be thousands, now there’s barely a couple hundred.
“Hi guys,” Draven says. The butterflies perk up, crawling towards him, albeit slowly. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much. I would have come and visited more if I could.” He holds his hand out, letting a lone bug crawl onto his hand.
“It’s been tough.” He takes off his hat to run his fingers through his hair. “For both of us, I imagine.” More butterflies cling to his arm until he’s covered. “Haha! Okay that’s enough.” He shakes his arm and they disband.
“I promise to come back. I just wanted to say hello.” He waves goodbye. The butterflies bunch up, forming an image of a hand waving back at him. Brings a smile to his lips.
His old dorm smells of dust and rot. He pops open a window to let in some fresh air and checks the cabinets. They’re all empty save for bland cereal and a few spices. He sets his stuff on the old cot and pulls out his phone.
Still no response from Clef. Makes sense, it’s late, and this time of year has never been easy for him. Draven misses being there for him, having someone to focus on that isn’t himself.
Laying back on the stiff cot, on the dusty sheets, staring up at the ceiling… This feels like home.
And then there’s the house.
He can’t quite get his feet on the ground correctly, like the very foundations don’t want him here. There’s a woman at the bottom of the stairs laying in a puddle of blood. It pains him deeply, but she’s not who he’s here for.
He runs up the stairs and then he keeps running up the stairs and they keep going and he knows something is wrong because the format of his world is changing around him and his thoughts keep going on and on without pause spilling out of him like the disjointed ramblings of an amateur writer and he keeps running because if he stops then Clef stays in danger and if Draven was just a little faster he could’ve saved his father could’ve saved James and he’s going to save Clef because if he doesn’t then he’ll have nothing that’s all he has left and what is he supposed to do when he doesn’t have someone else to take care of and then he reaches the top of the stairs
And James is waiting for him.
This gives him pause. James, no, no, the thing pretending to be James tilts its head at him. It looks wrong, a thin mangled corpse twisted around the bent wires and metal of several reality anchors. A picture snatched straight out of one of Draven’s many, many nightmares.
“Draven,” it says, three voices layered on top of each other. “It isn’t safe here. Let’s go home. I’ve missed you.”
Draven takes a step back, his heart hammering so hard it hurts. There’s nothing but void around him and ten measly steps between the two of them. His body wants to run, but his mind needs to do something, anything.
“Breathe, sunny. Just focus on my voice.” Like a glitchy prerecorded record. James takes a step towards him.
His phone buzzes in his pocket. Through blurry eyes he makes out that somehow Clef is calling him. He answers.
“Listen here kid, I’m going to need you to pull your sorry ass together!” Clef barks into his ear. Hearing his voice again, even if every part of him knows something is wrong, it’s enough to bring a tear to his eye.
“A-alto-”
“When we’re working, that's commander to you. I know I trained you better than this.”
“Sor-”
“Hey! None of that!”
“Yes, commander.”
“Now, put that brain you yours to work, kiddo. What’s the first rule I taught you?”
Shoot first.
“Aren’t you tired? You should sit down for a bit. Have you eaten today?”
Draven draws his service pistol and fires. Like a spell, the bullet hits and the vision of James disappears. Three broken reality anchors hit the ground.
“Attaboy!” The call ends.
He bursts through the door, using more force than he needs to. The thick, copper stench of blood clogs up his nose. Clef is alone, completely alone, and utterly soaked in blood, antlers sticking out of his head. Draven should’ve prevented this, should’ve come in sooner, should’ve tried a little harder before he went a blew his fucking brains out-
“Clef! Alto, it’s me!” Draven wraps his arms around Clef’s prone form. Clef lets out a horrible guttural groan.
“No, no, no don’t touch me!” Clef whines, trying and failing to curl in on himself.
“Hey, hey, breathe for me, I’m here.” He squeezes Clef to his chest. “I’m sorry I failed you. I’m sorry I let it get this bad. I don’t know where I went wrong.”
…
The first thing Draven does upon being released from work is go to the grocery store. While the food the Foundation cafeteria provides is fine, it’s not what he wants to eat. There’s a certain something about walking through the familiar yet rearranged aisles of an empty grocery store, pointedly ignoring the itch in his arm where he knows he’s been given amnestics.
He doesn’t need much, just enough to get him through the next couple of days until he’s shipped back to Site-17. Some milk, dry pasta, some frozen foods. It’s not like he has it in him to really cook.
He kicks open the door to his dorm and drops his groceries on the ground. He’s about to open the cabinets to start putting stuff away when something catches his attention. There, splayed out across his counter, so bewilderingly casual, is Clef’s cat.
“How did you get in here?” Cats are infamous for sneaking into places they shouldn’t be, but Clef’s L.S. has never been particularly sneaky, or particularly anything for that matter. He approaches the counter, nearly jumping out of his skin as a woman appears before his very eyes.
“Hi,” she says, waving at him with a hat in hand. “You’re out of milk.” She gestures with her other hand, which holds a dry bowl of cereal. She’s sitting on his counter, practically looming over him.
“AH!” He jumps to a defensive position. “How the hell did you get in here?!”
“I dunno,” she says, eating a bite of cereal, “followed him.” She points at L.S. with the spoon. “That cat’s shady as hell.” She glances over his shoulder. “Oh there we go.” She hops off the counter and walks past him, pulling out the freshly bought gallon of milk.
“Who are you?” His eyes dart around the room, tactical training kicking in. Should he call security or wait to assess the situation? She doesn’t look dangerous, but looks can be deceiving.
“You don’t remember?” She stirs her cereal around, speaking with a mouth full. “You wouldn’t. Doesn’t matter.” She waves a dismissive hand at him.
“Why are you here?”
“Alright so, that’s the thing.” She hops back onto the counter and runs her fingers across L.S.’s exposed side. L.S. meows, paws batting at the air. “I’m having what you would call a crisis of character, or perhaps just a regular crisis. Like, you spend your entire life doing one thing and then you totally fuck it up and it’s like- well that’s it. You’re done. No retries, don't pass go, end of the line.” She takes another bite. “My name’s Alison by the Way.”
“Okay, Alison, I’m s-”
“Shut up. So anyway, I don’t know how I’m supposed to go back and look my sisters in the eyes after this. It’s not like any of my experiences are ever unique, but I swear to God there’s nothing more nauseating than an I told you so from someone who really told you so. So basically, my life’s over and my options are to kill myself.”
A beat passes. “...or?”
“Nah that’s it.” She slurps up the milk. “Do you wanna come with me?”
“To… kill yourself? Is this a cry for help?”
“To the library,” she says. “My whole everything is ppppshhhh-” she makes a swirling movement with her hand. “And you also seem like a pretty sad sack of shit-”
“Excuse m-”
“Shut up. So you definitely don’t have anything great going on here, and I don’t have anything great going on anywhere, so let's go. A one of a kind trip before I find some ether to drift off into.” She stands up, L.S. scooped under her arm.
Draven blinks, head spinning with information. “Are you inviting me… to the Wanderer’s Library?”
“Yep.”
“Why? Why me?”
She shrugs. “You just happened to be at the wrong place at the right time.” She sticks her bowl in the sink and makes her Way towards the door. “I won’t force you to come with me,” she says, sparing Draven one long look, “I’m just saying you’ll learn a lot more at a library than you ever will here.”
If there’s one thing they don’t train you in, it’s this. The Wanderer’s Library is not welcome to those in the Foundation, so there’s very limited information about it. Even a glimpse is more than most will ever know, which leaves him wondering…
“What’s the catch?”
Alison rolls her eyes. “No catch. Just one quick walk around the Library, maybe long enough to read a book or two, and then you get kicked out and probably end up on a wanted list somewhere.”
Even with years of Foundation doctrine screaming in his ears, it’s a hard offer to refuse.
…
“So are you actually going to kill yourself after this?” They’re standing in the middle of the woods, pitch black except for Alison’s flashlight. Hindsight tells him that he should’ve brought more stuff with him and foresight tells him that he’s already going to be unwelcome where he’s going, might as well not push it by bringing a knife to a library.
“Probably not, but it’s on the table.” She pulls out her Library card and a Way opens. “Alright, get in.”
“That’s it? There’s no ritual or whatever.” The swirling hole of color seems to both pull him in and push him away. He pats down his pockets, taking stock of what he does have on him and oh- shit, the ring box. How long has it just been in this coat’s pocket?
“Not when I have this.” She waves the card and tucks it away. She nudges L.S. in with her foot. “After you.”
He shoves the ring box to the corner of his brain and takes a step forward. Something brushes against his cheek. He jumps and Alison swings her flashlight around. From the darkness, a swarm of green butterflies appears.
“What are you doing here?!” Draven yelps.
The mass of bugs shift to form the word Follow.
“Why are you following me?”
Love you. Promised to see.
Draven bites his lip. “I’m sorry. Some stuff came up, I think. I promise to come back after I’m done with this. You need to go back.”
No. We come.
Draven looks to Alison. “I have to make sure they get back into containment.”
“I’m not coming back for you, man.”
“Fuck.” He stares at 408. “Okay, you can come. But you have to do exactly what I say, and you’re going back into containment the second we get home, okay?”
408 forms the shape of a thumbs up and proceeds to swarm him, as they did to his father.
Passing through the Way feels like how Draven imagines being swallowed whole. The walls squeeze him, compressing him and pushing him through. His foot reaches solid ground, and he finds himself on a carpeted wooden floor. The air feels different here, not unpleasant but different.
“Alright, come on you little shit.” Draven glances over his shoulder to watch Alison struggle to haul L.S. off the ground and place it into her satchel. She swings the satchel strap over her shoulder. “So, I guess feel free to look around.”
“Is there anything in particular you want to show me?”
“It’s a library, man. Pick a book, find a corner, maybe get some coffee. You look like you could use a coffee.” She starts walking. At a loss for what else to do, Draven follows.
It’s impossible to underestimate the sheer size of the Library. Draven looks up, expecting to see some sort of ceiling, only to see the shelves ascend higher and higher. Above the shelves there are canopies and bridges leading to more shelves and rooms. Like an infinitely tall forest.
“Don’t get freaked out,” Alison commands. “A lot of people get freaked out the first time, so don’t. It’ll never make more sense than this.”
“Okay…” Draven says, breathless, almost afraid to tear his eyes off of anything. It doesn’t help when he comes across a balcony and sees how the Library spirals infinitely downward. A butterfly crawls across his nose, enough to distract him from his own internal spiral.
“Café over here. You can order anything.” Alison approaches the counter and another Alison greets. “Matcha latte.”
“Not even a hello first?” The second Alison says, oozing a cheerful demeanor. “Coming up. And oh my-” she leans over to look at Draven. “Is this one of our brothers! Oh it’s so nice to meet you!” She holds her hand out. “Alison Chao! What can I get you?”
“Um, I’ll take what she’s having.” He regards her hand with a glance and does not take it. “Brothers?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Alison prime says to him. “He’s new, and he’s not sticking around long.”
“That’s a shame. It’s nice to meet you!” She steps back and starts brewing their coffee. Draven and Alison find a seat.
“What did she mean by calling me your brother?”
“Don’t worry about it, she was just confused.”
Draven looks around. “So there’s a whole… everything here.”
“Yep.”
“I didn’t expect that.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“And there are more of… you here.”
“Yes. We’re the Black Queens.”
“And are there more of me here?”
“Statistically, yes. Though you probably won’t see any around here.”
“Okay, alright, interesting.” It’s almost sickening how far out of his element he is. “How does something like this happen? In the infinite universe how do you find yourself?”
She gestures back towards where they came in, where there are Ways upon Ways lined up and labeled. “Similar universes tend to bunch up. A universe where one Alison finds her Way into the Library will be next to several other universes where other Alisons do the same.”
Draven stands up. “Those portals, they lead to other universes?”
“They’re called Ways, and yeah.”
“Can I check them out? Anywhere in the universe?”
“No anywhere, just what's close.” She shrugs and gets to her feet. “If you want to stick your head in one, be my guest.” As his guide, Alison walks him to the Ways. “You might want this.”
She holds out her hat, which Draven slips on. His body disappears around him.
“Woah!”
“In case you walk into somewhere you don’t want to be seen.”
Draven takes it off and puts it back on repeatedly, reappearing and disappearing. Oh man, if the Foundation agents had something like this…
A bell rings. “Oh that’s our coffee. Don’t fuck around too long.” Alison leaves him.
“Are you coming too?” He asks 408. They remain stuck to him, giving him his answer. He nods and promptly steps into a portal labeled Timeline A-9910.
…
Timeline A-9910
Draven and Clef sit in the pews of an empty church, Draven’s head on Clef’s shoulder. On an easel is a framed photograph of James, back when his hair was short, his smile showing off the gap in his teeth. It’s been half an hour since they buried him, and Draven hasn’t been able to move since.
“I don’t know what to do.” Draven puts his head in his hands. “He was always the one taking care of me. Doing all the shit I couldn’t.” He sniffles and trembles, eyes dry of tears.
Clef pats his back. “I’m sorry, kiddo. I know me and your boy had our differences, but I never wanted to see this happen to you. To either of you.”
“It’s not fair… It’s not…”
“It’s never gonna be.”
…
Draven steps out of the church, leaving this universe’s him to his tender moment. He thought of standing there for longer than he already has makes him want to choke on his own vomit. He steps back through the Way where Alison is waiting for him, holding two coffee cups. He pulls off the hat, unable to keep the forlorn look off his face.
“Have fun in there?”
“No…”
“You were gone for twenty minutes. I was almost worried you’d gotten lost.”
Draven blinks. “For me it was only two minutes.”
“Oh,” she bites the inside of her cheek, “must be the time distortion. Your coffee’s room temperature.” She hands a cup off to him. He stares at his reflection on the rippling surface. A few butterflies gather around, claiming his drink before he can get a sip in.
“Can we go into another- another one?” He points towards the Ways.
“We?”
“Yeah, I mean you know your Way around here. And you said yourself that you don’t know what you’re going to do with your life. I want to see more.”
Alison considers this, nodding slowly. “You really want to get messed up in the multiverse?”
“Just for a bit. I just want to figure something out, and then I want to go home.”
“You’re going to see some stuff you don’t like.”
“I’m okay with that.”
“What're you looking for?”
Draven could answer that a million Ways, he settles on the simplest answer.
“I’m looking for where I went wrong.”