Chapter Text
"Does it really matter that we kill Jeb with cursed energy?" Jethro asked, licking the inside of a finished cup of caffè macchiato in a fancy ice cream shop. Seated in front of him, Jehosaphat clucked his tongue yet kept quiet, focusing on taking a scoop from his sorbet.
"I'm sure we got a shitton of tools in the nearest Schlatt Cache that could make his technique useless," Jethro explained. "I could do it all by myself."
"I told you," Hosie stressed, wagging his spoon at his brother's face after licking it up. "We're doing this to keep those Institute cocksuckers in line. And yes, it does matter."
Jethro blew a raspberry and slumped into the table, looking very disappointed.
"You know how that bozo is," Hosie continued. "With all the things he's done to himself and others—and there's Naomi gone, to boot—he's practically drowning in negative emotion. And he's the only sorcerer in the current line of heirs."
Hosie stabbed the spoon deep into the mound of ice cream, clinking the bowl. He then looked out of the window pensively.
"The moment his heart stops beating, all that concentrated cursed energy will leak out of his body and produce an entire curse bent on vengeance. I figured we had enough of him as a human being already. So we need him to be truly, utterly dead. I'm sure he's had enough regrets at his age to suffer a true sorcerer's end."
March 31, 2020
6:15 PM
Southern Stretch of the Badlands
How could I fuck up this bad?
How?
I'm going fucking insane.
I'm so sorry, Toby.
"Which one of you shot him?! Which one of you fuckheads did it?! I'll kill you!!"
Even with the reassuring weight of their guns in their hands, the thugs quailed at this one raving man in a shirt and pants made bulletproof by the same kind of witchcraft their bosses dabbled in.
They should not feel so shaken. They had been told they were going after a good-for-nothing that just happened to be really fast and strong. But they did not count on finding a cornered animal on two legs instead, vomiting one taunt after another in heart-rending shouts, with flaming red eyes blazing out of a bone-white face streaked with tears.
Jeb stood at the foot of the shallow incline of rubble. But they could already feel his hot breath on their faces as he bore down over them, ripping arms and breaking bones and pounding skulls into pulp on the floor.
"What, swallowed your own balls?" Jeb screeched, his vision dark with grief. "Tell me who did it, or you're all dea—"
A bullet knocked him to the side, cutting his words short. The thugs looked in surprise at the wall far away to their right.
Jeb drew himself up with many a grunt, itching to charge in the direction of the shooter. But more bullets came, kicking up bright, orange sparks against the Armor, pinning Jeb to the ground.
For seconds that felt like forever, the only sound that could be heard was the shooting and the ringing, drowning out Jeb's angry yet helpless cries.
20 rounds were fired. Then, a magazine clattered to the ground, empty. Jeb struggled to his feet, sore and dizzy from the impact and the noise.
But the gun clicked again with the sound of reloading. A gruff, irritated voice spoke aloud, one Jeb knew too well.
"Me."
The answer struck him like a lightning bolt. He turned to look at his brother, watching the lines and creases of his face glow golden from a cigarette being lit.
"Almost forgot how annoying your hysterics were," Hosie drawled, smoke trailing from his mouth.
"Y-You shot him."
Hosie took a drag and shrugged, sliding his Beretta into a holster in his belt. "Your sappy pep-talk put us a little behind schedule."
He then hung his head back and yelled, "All of you report back to Bo. Leave two behind. I'll need extra eyes and guns for what happens next."
"But, Boss! We were supposed to catch him."
"And you did!" Hosie snipped. "Now, scram! This is family business. And don't take that van!"
The thugs eyed each other in confusion before walking away, two of them striding to Hosie's side as commanded. Meanwhile, he pulled a long handkerchief out of one of his pockets, the color inscrutable in the starless night.
Jeb stomped toward him, his insides thrumming with cold fire.
"You killed him, you piece of shit."
"I tried to. It looks like he's getting back up. Bawling over nothing as usual."
Jeb sputtered to a halt, the words reverberating in his ear in growing volume. The world seemed to upend itself as his breath hitched, and his body fought between the urge to call Hosie a liar and the desperate desire to turn around.
Behind him, Tubbo ( Toby! ) picked himself up, his legs unsteady and his chest still aching like it had a large chunk of it blasted out of his side. His brain felt loose and heavy after fighting wave after crashing wave of unconsciousness from shock.
Ten seconds: a mercilessly small window of hope made possible by a curse that haunted him and his mother. Then he had slumped motionless for a while, the chill of the concrete floor seeping his shirt. Now, he could—
"Holy fucking shit."
Tubbo almost got knocked over again by a weight crashing into him, wrapping and picking him up and rocking him slowly. Jeb's voice rained on him from above, gurgling and bawling like a schoolyard bully getting his comeuppance, a watery laugh occasionally rumbling in his chest. His big, clumsy hand kept rubbing at the spot where the gunshot was, now bloodless and holeless, like he knew it was too good to be true.
"God, I forgot you were fucking cracked in the head," he heard him say. "You clutched out of literally dying. I'm a dumbass, and you're fucking amazing, Toby!"
Then his voice dropped to something more tender. "I thought I lost you."
Tubbo felt goosebumps run through his entire body, and the thought of wriggling himself out of this clammy embrace faded away. He let himself melt into Jeb's shuddering chest, closing his eyes and drinking in the musk on the fibers of his blue shirt, his ear-grating yet welcome bleating, and his tears pricking his scalp.
Here, among armed thugs and family feuds and monsters lurking the corners and crannies of a desolate place, he felt safe.
A part of his brain railed against him for this.
"Don't... call me that," he rasped.
Jeb chuckled, jostling the boy upward so he could burrow his nose into his neck. "You little asshole," he whispered with a smile.
They were rudely ripped out of their reverie by the sound of Hosie's slow-clapping.
"Sweet," he said derisively, smoke puffing from his mouth. "Mind telling me who he is? One of your broken condoms, maybe?"
Jeb let Tubbo slip gently back to the ground. He looked at the boy's hand and saw that he still had the phone and cap in his grip. Their eyes met, and he nodded, watching Tubbo's face looking confused and then nodding in turn.
He pushed the boy softly away, pointing with a nod to the other wall behind him. Before Tubbo ran, he watched Jeb mouth at him to wait just a little longer.
He understood that navigating the Badlands at this time guaranteed a grisly death from cursed spirits. Plus, he was not confident in using his reverse cursed technique to fend them off. Furthermore, the other thugs could still be out there.
He would have to wait and hope that Jeb knew what he was doing—a stretch, but a safe one.
The "rational" part of his brain tore at itself over this again.
Meanwhile, Jeb cracked his knuckles and went back to marching towards Hosie.
"That's Naomi's kid," he spoke, his voice icy. "And you almost killed him, you sick fuck."
The two men beside Hosie balked. But his eyes flashed, not so much at Jeb's actions but at what he said. His teeth ground into the cigarette in his mouth.
Of fucking course. So this boy got his mother's technique, and that's what saved him from the gunshot. How much longer do we have to deal with bastard's luck?
He slapped the side of his holster, which glinted from the beam of one of the flashlights. "Really?" he said jeeringly. "Mind if I empty an entire magazine into his gut? Just to see how good he is with the Restoration Technique."
"Go to hell. How about that?" Jeb spat back.
"No can do," Hosie retorted, giving the handkerchief in his left hand a thwack to straighten it out. "Dad's dead, and all those sweet assets are going stale under your bum ass. You gotta make big decisions if you wanna stay in business in this world, ya know?"
Jeb's march turned into a sprint. The Armor flared back to life, and the hooves sounded like the dropping of hammers against stone.
"And here's your return of investment!” he roared.
That's what he's for .
Tubbo watched with bated breath, his fingernails digging into his palms while the cap and the phone laid by his feet, waiting for the fateful moment of impact. But then, something stirred by Hosie’s side. A man-shaped figure squirmed underneath the large handkerchief he waved in his hand.
Hosie smirked and pulled it up. The first thing that suddenly appeared out of thin air was a black Furbie droning in a loud, diabolical babble. The second was a suitcase spilling out several reams of paper. The last was the man.
Tubbo barely made out what he looked like in the distance until one of the flashlights shone on him like a halo. He had fashionably dyed hair, a swathe of bright silver like Niki’s turning brown by the sides. His sharp-looking clothes showed no signs of scuffling, nor did his arms and face. But his expression looked harrowed, and he steadied himself with his hands on the floor, breathing hard.
Jeb ignored him and the other things Hosie conjured. His vision tunneled to his brother, a sharp taste rising in his mouth. His right fist tightened, ready to bore into Hosie's ribcage in his next bounding leap.
But a wall of tightly bound paper slammed into him, sending him skidding against the concrete as it drove him further and further away. He yowled from the heat of the friction. It finally let up after he ground to a halt a few yards away from where he started.
All this paper. It's — !
"You said incapacitate him, right?" Felix Kjellberg groaned, straightening himself with a lot of effort.
"Cut his limbs, beat him to an inch of his life, run him through, yadda yadda. Just get on with it," Hosie answered. He turned to the side and spat out his now spent cigarette.
"Fine," Felix snarled. "Just don't touch her!"
"That depends on how this ends, asshat. And don't even think of something stupid like taking yourself out with me. You're fast, but a stray bullet will still send you to the fishes."
Jeb heaved himself back onto his feet, rolling his shoulders gingerly to get rid of the soreness. He spat and shouted, "How much did he pay you?"
Felix shook his head furiously. "I'm sorry. They had me swear a Binding Vow. They were going to chase down my wife!"
"Fuck," Jeb hissed, eyeing the amused smirk on Hosie's face with heat surging in his gut. He turned his thoughts to Tubbo, still shaken and afraid many ways behind him, and steeled himself.
He charged back in. Felix watched him plow forward like a steam train and gritted his teeth.
I’m really sorry, man. I’d like to turn around and stick this guy for all he's worth, too. But help's on the way. I don’t know what’s holding him up so long, but Eret should be aware that something’s going down here.
The other Schlatts don’t seem to know that. So, I’ll just do everything I can…
To stall for time!
Wind clipped his face as Jeb passed him by. Without missing a beat, Felix flicked his hand into a V-sign.
Origami Exhibition: Arashiyama Bamboo Grove!
The pieces of paper gathered together in a whirling cloud before bursting apart. They formed a vast net of tough, crisscrossing poles that dug inches into the ground. Jeb found his arms and legs pinned at odd angles in a bunch of them.
Felix then leaped forward, deftly dancing around the tight spaces. Knowing how hard the Armor of the Iron Ram could be, he threw a straight into Jeb’s face with a reinforced fist. As expected, it clanged upon impact.
But he did not count on Jeb eating the hit with ease, straining his left arm until it broke free and swung into Felix’s face.
“Out of my way,” he heard him snarl.
The poles disintegrated as Felix reeled from the punch. Jeb quickly sprinted away from him to charge at Hosie again.
Meiji Jingu Lanterns!
The papers changed shape again. This time, they formed a large, long row of giant lanterns that blocked Jeb’s path, closing him away from reaching his brother. Panicking, the lackeys swung their flashlights around. The beams flitted through the spaces of the lanterns, casting the two sorcerers in an eerie light.
“I’m warning you!” Jeb growled. In answer, Felix swiped at a fluttering cloud of paper and formed a sword.
Grass Cutter!
He swung. Jeb lifted a forearm to block it. The blade rang against the Armor, failing to slice through.
Still, it managed to cut a few centimeters shy of his skin. Not that it bothered him. Jeb yanked it out, rolled off a flurry of slashes, and got up to Felix’s midsection. With a well-placed headbutt, he had the expert sorcerer curling into his stomach for breath, letting go of his sword.
Before it could touch the ground, Jeb grabbed and threw and swung and kicked, and Felix remained on the backfoot.
He was supposed to be a veteran in combat. He had both the physical traits and the eye for matching power with precision, speed, and strength. The Grass Cutter was the ultimate demonstration of that fact: a singular line of paper strengthened and sharpened only by cursed energy. The thinner the construct, the sharper it got. And with it, he cut down the toughest of enemies.
By all means, he should be overpowering a young, inexperienced boor like Jeb. But he was tired in mind and body after the Schlatts’ torment, and he did not know that something shifted in Jeb's spirit.
The washed-up youth before him moved like a juggernaut. He made big, clumsy swings that would have crushed a regular person's bones into powder. His gray, sweaty face looked hauntingly fierce in the shifting half-light. And his lips were always peeled back, sometimes grimacing, sometimes laughing savagely. And all the while, he snarled and grunted with the surety of red-hot young blood pounding through his veins.
No amount of practiced swordplay made him slow down or step back. He even nearly forgot the fact that he had a whole slew of problems waiting for him after this fight.
All he thought about was keeping Tubbo safe.
Felix's heart sank. Even the most experienced hunter could do nothing against a wild, cornered beast.
This dawned on Hosie, who cursed to himself. Clearly, they had done too much to the sorcerer for him to fight effectively, and the hag gladly obliged.
Good thing we still have that.
He picked up the Furbie from the ground and flicked its switch. With an uncanny yelp and a quieting whir, it ceased its babbling, closed its eyes, and muttered some last demented threat in its gibbering language.
Then, he took out his phone and dialed his brother back at the Prime Path.
“So it’s come to that,” a dreary voice drawled to him.
“Yup,” Hosie replied, his tone strangely somber. “Let’s give him a proper send-off.”
Niki blinked in surprise as the bars suddenly filled back up on the signal indicator. But she pushed the wondering aside and pressed Tommy’s number at once.
Something might have gone wrong. We need Phil and Techno!
Jeb had Felix by his collar as the man crumpled backward, unable to resist his onslaught.
He reeled his fist back and paused. There was a sudden change in the air like the temperature dropped lower than a spring night usually did.
He had a sudden notion to get to Hosie and deal with him now.
“Get rid of this fucking thing!” he roared into Felix’s bruised face, pointing at the giant lanterns. But the sorcerer shook his head, still fixed on his goal.
He grunted in pain as Jeb threw him down.
Seized by an escalating sense of urgency, he cantered back a few yards. Then he dropped to the ground in a sprinting stance, his breath sharp and hot as he focused on a small gap among the gigantic paper structures. He could see Hosie pulling something else out of his pocket, this time a small, red, glistening card.
He exhaled deeply through his teeth, letting his whole body go loose with the release of his breath.
From where he stood, Tubbo could feel the air throb and crackle with a sudden surge of power. He watched closely, his body going tense with anticipation.
The Armor shone brightly. The ground beneath burst in chunks. And Jeb launched himself forward, a blue comet streaking across the darkness, roaring in the night.
But before he could reach the wall, Hosie slid the edge of the card across his palm, drawing blood.
Jeb burst the wall of lanterns apart, scattering them in an explosion of white and blue. Without missing a beat, he swung his foot down to keep shooting straight for Hosie.
But suddenly, pain cleaved into his skull.
"Come, Warden. We have prisoners for you."