Chapter Text
Hail hammered down in a sudden onslaught, ricocheting off the pavement, bouncing off dumpsters and cars, striking the brick with a relentless metallic rattle. Each impact rang out metallic and raw, the air filling with the chaos of ice and shrapnel. The stones hit hard enough to leave dents, swelling from dime-sized to nearly the size of quarters in seconds.
Kyle instinctively shielded his head with his arm, stumbling against the sudden onslaught. Each strike reverberated through his bones, sharp pain biting into his forearm where the ice made contact.
His heart lodged in his throat, his breaths coming shallow and panicked. This wasn’t just bad luck or bad weather—this was too sudden. Too violent.
He threw his arm outward, fingers splayed, and a rush of wind spiraled around them. It curved overhead, bending itself into an invisible umbrella that split the torrent.
Hailstones pinged and bounced off the barrier, skittering down its edges before shattering harmlessly on the pavement. The noise dulled, muted, though each new impact sent faint shivers through the shield.
He gritted his teeth and forced the current higher, pushing it wider so it arched over Craig and Tweek too. The pressure tugged at his chest, a constant drain to maintain, but the thought of them getting hit made his arms lock tighter in place.
Tweek froze a few yards away, eyes wide. His face turned ghostly pale under the glow of the streetlights as he stared at Kyle. “Wh-what the fuck are you?”
He staggered a step back, sneakers slipping on the ice-slick sidewalk. His arms flailed as he caught himself, breath shuddering in short bursts. His gaze darted between Kyle’s outstretched hand and the halo of air that deflected the storm, horror flickering across his face.
“Tweek, wait!” Kyle stretched his arms farther, trying to keep the shield of air arched over Tweek as he reeled back.
But Tweek was already running, disappearing into the chaos, his backpack left abandoned on the ground.
“Tweek!” Kyle’s shield faltered as his focus slipped. Hail instantly began to sneak through the edges, pelting against his arms, before he gritted his teeth and forced it stable again.
He spun toward Craig, still crouched against the brick wall. “You need to get out of here. Now!”
Craig’s jaw flexed like he wanted to argue, but he kept his mouth shut. He hesitated only a second longer, glancing up at the hailstones rolling off the shield, before he nodded. He ducked his head against the ice and hurried down the alley, disappearing into the curtain of white.
Kyle took a deep breath. The burglary, the stolen tech, the questions—they’d have to wait. With Tweek’s powers spiraling out in real time, the entire town was at risk. If they didn’t stop him soon, the hail wasn’t going to stop with a few dents and broken glass.
Kyle grabbed Stan by the sleeve. “Come on!”
They broke into a sprint, shoes skidding on the icy slick of the street. Their breaths came fast, turning white in the air as the cold pierced deeper with every step. The storm seemed to chase them, pummeling the asphalt and rooftops, rattling against lampposts so hard they shook.
Kyle’s eyes swept frantically over the blur of street and shadow. Tweek couldn’t have gotten far.
Stan’s arm shot out, pointing at the block ahead. “Dude, look!”
Kyle squinted. Beyond the icy haze, a fenced construction site loomed—half a block of skeletal beams and scaffolding stabbing up into the sky. And above it, the storm looked different. Denser. The clouds coiled tighter, blacker, casting a disproportionately dark shadow over the site. Hailstones thudded against the exposed steel skeleton of the half finished building, ringing out like alarm bells.
Kyle’s gut clenched.
They veered toward the site. Stan reached the chain link fence first, gripping it tight enough that the metal squeaked under his fingers. He dug his sneakers into the mesh and started climbing, his movements steady and practiced. His breath came sharp through clenched teeth as he leveraged each foothold, hauling himself up step by step until he vaulted cleanly over the top.
He landed with a thud, then turned back toward Kyle with a crooked grin. “I go climbing a lot.”
Kyle pressed a tentative palm to the fence. One stinging touch of the frozen metal told him everything he needed to know. He winced, pulling his hand back. No way he was climbing up like Stan, not when half the fence was coated in frost and he only had one hand free, the shield still flaring against stray hail.
He stepped back, squaring his shoulders. Energy prickled along his arm, rushing up from his chest to his fingertips. With a sharp flick, he hurled a gust of air at the ground. The wind exploded upward, lifting him in a controlled burst. Kyle cleared the fence in one clean arc, flipped his palm down midair, and softened his landing with another cushion of air that dispersed the impact in a shuddering rush of cold.
He blinked, pleased with himself. Clearly the training was paying off.
Stan stared for a second before he shook his head with a snort. “Show off.”
Kyle straightened, brushing ice off his sleeve. “Says you, climbing gym.”
Inside, the storm raged even harder, funneling through the empty framework of the lot. Every gust turned the hanging tarps into snapping sails. Loose rebar rattled in its mounts, groaning and clanging with each shudder.
The mud was worse than it looked. It sucked at their shoes like quicksand, each step heavier than the last. Kyle nearly faceplanted twice, his sneaker sliding on a submerged plank before Stan caught his arm and yanked him upright. Stacks of bricks loomed like barricades on either side, their corners sharp and slick with ice, while heaps of gravel shifted beneath their feet, sending small avalanches of stone skittering downhill.
The deeper they pressed, the more the site resembled a labyrinth of unfinished walls, scaffolding, and half-assembled structures breaking up the sight lines, forcing them to weave through narrow gaps.
A floodlight buzzed overhead, its beam warped into a trembling halo by sheets of rain. Another flickered, then stuttered out with a pop, plunging half the site into shadow. Water streamed down steel gutters and spattered onto the concrete, pooling into the patchwork of dirty puddles. Kyle’s chest burned with the cold air, his lungs working overtime just to keep him moving forward.
And then they saw him.
Tweek was stumbling between a towering crane and the dark bulk of an excavator, his shoulders heaving, his eyes darting in every direction. The storm seemed to mirror his erratic breathing—wind veering in sudden, chaotic blasts that made the crane’s long arm sway dangerously overhead. The metal groaned on its hinges, every shift promising collapse.
His gaze snapped to them as they rounded the corner. His back pressed against the crane’s thick wheel, nowhere left to retreat. The whites of his eyes glowed unnaturally bright in the flicker of lightning.
“Tweek,” Kyle started, voice steady but loud enough to cut through the storm.
Tweek’s head jerked toward them. His breath came ragged, fogging white in the cold.
His expression twisted. “Just—just leave me alone!”
Kyle took a cautious step forward, mud squelching beneath his shoe. He lifted his hands slowly, palms open. “Tweek, please. Just come with us. I promise we can explain everything.”
“Go away!” His voice cracked against the storm, brittle and sharp.
“Tweek–”
“I said, go away!” he yelled.
There was an earsplitting crackle as the world around them exploded into light.
For a fraction of a heartbeat, everything was illuminated with blinding clarity. The storm froze—hail suspended mid-air, tarps whipped taut like flags in a hurricane, every rivet and bolt of the crane gleaming white hot against the sky. The bolt of lightning slammed down so close Kyle felt the shockwave in his bones. The ground convulsed, mud quivering like water in a glass, and the deafening boom followed an instant later, echoing through his bones.
Something hit him hard in the chest. He didn’t even register the shove until he was already sprawling backward. His palms tore open against gravel and broken ice, sharp hailstones embedding into his skin. The world went black for a moment, a smear of soundless pressure crushing him into the ground.
When shapes swam back into focus, the first thing he saw was Stan.
Fluorescent veins of energy branched under his skin, jagged and glowing like a living circuit board. The lines raced from his fingertips up his arms, splitting across his chest and neck in frantic pulses. Stan was still on his feet—barely—every muscle straining with the effort of holding it all in.
With a hard lurch, Stan wrenched himself toward the crane. His hands slammed against the cold steel base, palms pressed flat so hard Kyle swore he heard metal groan beneath them. The discharge leapt from him in an instant, a flood of wild current pouring into the machine. Energy snapped and danced around his arms, bright tendrils crawling like snakes before burying themselves into the crane’s frame.
The crane shrieked to life. Its arm jerked violently, gears whining, cables snapping taut as it swung around in a wide, uncontrolled arc. Sparks burst from its joints, lighting the rain like fireworks.
Stan tore his hands free with a heave, stumbling backward. His knees buckled and he went down hard, mud splattering up his sleeve. His chest heaved, but the glow in his veins flickered weakly, dimming.
Without his control, the crane groaned again—then its massive hook and cable suddenly released, gravity yanking it downward in a dizzying freefall.
Kyle didn’t think. He didn’t have time. His arms shot up, and he pushed. The air bent, compressed, buckling under invisible weight as he shoved against it with everything he had. His arms shuddered with the force.
The hook slowed—but not enough. It still plummeted toward Stan, the steel chain rattling viciously.
Kyle grit his teeth, forcing the wind harder, his heels sinking deeper into the mud from the pressure.
At the last second, he twisted his wrists, veering the crane’s descent just off course. The hook slammed into the ground with a shuddering thud, missing Stan’s leg by inches.
He barely had a moment to catch his breath before his legs were carrying him forward, slipping through mud and ice until he dropped hard to his knees beside Stan.
He was still conscious, barely, his chest rising in shallow, ragged pulls. Kyle looked down. His jacket sleeve was torn at the shoulder, the gash revealing grotesque fractal patterns seared into his skin. The branching scars still glowed faintly, residual energy in his veins snaking outward like a lightning strike etched into flesh.
“Stan,” Kyle coughed out, reaching to shake him.
Static electricity pricked his palm, and he jerked his hand back involuntarily. The air itself still hummed with leftover current, the taste of ozone thick in his throat.
Stan’s eyes shot open. He coughed violently, whole body jolting with each spasm. His hand flailed blindly across the ground until his fingers closed around a length of rusted pipe lying in the dirt.
He clutched it like a lifeline, and the last of the charge leapt out of him in a visible arc. The metal hissed, glowing faintly at the edges where it touched his skin, before the charge finally died away. Stan bent forward, panting, his forehead pressed to his arm.
Kyle hovered, torn between reaching for him and being too cautious of the shock that might still linger under his skin.
A sound behind him snapped his attention around.
Tweek stood a few feet away, his blonde hair plastered wet against his forehead. His eyes were wide, horror carved across his face as he watched the scene unfold. His lips trembled, forming words that came out small, broken. “I didn’t mean to–”
He reached out a hand toward them, like he wanted to help, but his arm faltered in mid air.
“I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, taking a step back. And then, with a panicked glance over his shoulder, he turned and bolted, disappearing deeper into the skeletal construction site.
“Tweek!” Kyle started to rise. His knees almost gave out, but he forced himself upright, ready to chase.
A tug stopped him.
Stan’s hand clamped weakly but firmly around his wrist.
Kyle looked down in disbelief. “You’re—are you okay?”
“...yeah.” Stan sat up unsteadily, swaying, but his grip didn’t loosen. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” Kyle dropped into a crouch beside him again. “You need to rest, find cover somewhere. I’ll go get Tweek.”
But Stan was already shaking his head. “I’m coming with you.”
Kyle stared at him. “You just got hit by lightning. You’re not coming.”
“Better me than you.” Stan replied. “At least my body was made for handling high voltage.” The words might have sounded convincing if they weren’t punctuated with a cough.
Kyle sighed. He wanted to argue back, but Tweek’s presence still lingered in his mind. He stood back up, and gripped Stan’s forearm. “Seriously, don’t do that again. You could’ve died.”
“Is that how you thank someone who just saved your life?”
“Fuck you,” Kyle said, pulling him to his feet. “Do that again and I’ll end you myself.”
They walked deeper into the construction site, the skeletal framework creaking faintly in the wind. Piles of debris loomed like shadowed walls on either side, but Tweek was nowhere in sight.
As they walked past a row of construction dumpsters, Kyle felt the first tug of weariness. His movements felt sluggish, as though his joints were weighted. His strides dragged against his will, every step dragging through an invisible quicksand.
He shook his head. Probably just an adrenaline crash after the crane and the lightning. Not to mention the constant maintenance of an umbrella of air over their heads. His body was bound to give out eventually.
Stan was the one he was worried about. His breathing, though steady, had that labored edge to it—the kind that came from forcing himself upright when his muscles begged him to stop. The faint glow of the lightning scars on his arm had dimmed, but the burns still peeked raw through his torn sleeve.
Kyle opened his mouth to say something, but Stan beat him to it. “Hey,” he commented, glancing up at the sky. “I think the storm’s getting better.”
Kyle looked up.
Sure enough, the constant pelting of icy shards had thinned. Only the occasional stone skidded off the curve of his air shield now. In its place, a pale fog rolled in, curling low over the ground.
After everything they had just been through, it felt like a blessing. Softer, cooler, gentler than the storm that had battered them. The rain thinned to a drizzle that pattered above them, and the air carried a strange stillness.
Kyle exhaled, his arms aching as he finally let the shield drop. “At least the hail stopped.”
“I’ll take the fog over the hail any day.” Stan replied, brushing water from his hair.
Kyle squinted into the shifting gray. The mist clung oddly thick around their ankles, swirling like it had a will of its own. “Maybe Tweek’s calming down.”
Stan straightened. “Then we should split up, cover more ground. Find him faster.”
Kyle shot him a look. “You can barely walk on your own.”
Stan’s eyes flicked toward him sharply, his pride stiffening his spine. “I’m fine, seriously.” He rolled his shoulder once, and Kyle caught the faint twitch in his jaw before he smoothed it over. “If a lightning strike didn’t kill me, a little fog definitely won’t.”
Kyle didn’t answer. The mist was thickening by the second.
“One lap,” Stan pressed, his tone hoarse but determined. “We circle and meet back here.”
“Fine.” Kyle pointed at the scaffolding entrance ahead. “One quick lap. We meet back here. No detours.”
Stan nodded and started off, his figure moving steadily but stiffly. Within seconds his silhouette faded—engulfed by the gray.
The silence pressed in.
Kyle doubled back toward the dumpsters. They were massive, hulking enough to hide a whole group of people. Tweek could have easily squeezed himself behind one and gone unnoticed, especially now, with the fog filling every crack of space.
He checked behind the first dumpster. Nothing.
By the second, his foot caught on something solid. He pitched forward, catching himself on the wet rim of the bin. Looking down, he saw a bright red brick jutting out of the mud. He glanced up at the overflowing dumpster. It must have spilled out.
He frowned. But how had he missed that? It was impossible not to notice, practically glowing in contrast to the dull earth.
His chest tightened as he looked around. Somewhere along the line, the fog had thickened so much he couldn’t even see the ground under his feet anymore. His sneakers vanished into the whiteness when he looked down, as though his legs were dissolving into vapor.
Raising his hands, he summoned a gust of wind to clear some of the mist. The pressure bloomed in his palms, but when the air burst out, nothing happened. The fog swallowed it whole, barely stirring.
He dropped his arms. They felt heavy, sluggish, slow to respond. Even blinking felt slow, his eyelids dragging open and shut in syrupy intervals.
Panic was beginning to set in.
This wasn’t normal fog. Something about it dulled everything—his body, his senses, even his thoughts. The more he breathed, the less he could remember why he was panicking in the first place.
By the time he realized what it was doing to him, it was too late.
He knew he needed to turn back. Find Stan and get out.
He repeated it like a mantra. But the words kept slipping away, no matter how tightly he tried to hold onto them.
“Stan!” His voice rasped through the fog.
There was no response. Not even an echo.
His breath caught sharp in his throat. He yanked his jacket up to cover his nose and mouth, but the air already clung thick in his lungs, heavy and cloying. He turned in a circle, trying to retrace his steps, but every shape looked the same—blurry white layered over blurry gray.
He stretched a hand out, searching for the hard edge of a dumpster, the scaffolding, anything. His fingers closed on nothing but wet air.
A spike of lightheadedness cut through his skull.
He blinked hard, trying to anchor himself. What was he even doing here?
Stan. He was supposed to be with Stan.
Or—no, he was supposed to be… looking for… Stan?
No, they were both here… looking for… someone?
The thoughts unraveled, dissolving into smoke before he could grab hold.
He swayed, one arm held out as he blindly groped around. Then he took a slow, unsteady step in a random direction, then another. If he just kept walking in a straight line, he’d find something solid. He had to.
The fog curled higher, swallowing him whole.