None Of Them Are - Tumblr Posts

I constantly have it in my mind that Gillion is three years older than Chip. Gillion, yes, Gillion mother fucking Tidestrider, is the oldest of the albatrio.

It's funny on a base level, Gillion is oldest yet the others need to babysit him. Gillion is the oldest but he knows the least. Haha.

It's less funny if you think about Chip being 8 years old, happy with the black rose pirates and then Gillion. Gillion who is eleven and training to be a weapon for others.

It's less funny if you think about Jay, 12 and spending time with her mom and sister. Gillion, 13, who can't remember his mom and almost expects his sister's hugs to hurt because the only contact he gets is hit over the head for failing again.

Chip, 14, Jay, 16, able to act out and cause trouble, because they're teenagers, why not goof around? And then Gillion, who's 17 and told to be an adult and act like it. But he can't change how he acts, because being mature has always been the standard expectation, he doesn't know how to be an adult when that's already what he's been his whole life.

Chip, 18 and he is scared to kill someone because killing is bad. Jay, 20 and her sister is dead and she is heartbroken. Gill, 21 and he is already used to killing, and he never sees his sister anyways, and he ruins his life. He ruins his life doing wha he thought was right, doing what they taught him to do.

Gillion is three years older than Chip, a year older than Jay. And it seems insignificant until you think about those years being stolen from him. It took Gillion 22 years to be free. Chip was free off and on, he had a childhood, Jay was never held back, she had a childhood.

Gillion didn't.

Dying? Puh-lease. It’s never gonna happen. Probably.

TW: Slight gore, mentions and implied dissociation

Dripping water echoes around the bathroom he crammed himself in.

The lights were off, darkness all around as he let out cough after cough before wiping the trail of something in his mouth. Blood or drool, he doesn’t know. He’s guessing it’s the latter.

With the ache in his stomach probably had something to do with it.

Bryan chuckled and it reverberated around the empty walls, bloody ones if he wasn’t so careful. He can’t say the same about the floor though. He’ll need some hydrogen peroxide to completely clean it up.

Speaking of a clean up…

He tentatively placed his palm over the wound, warm sticky liquid began to coat it, and Bryan felt like he could puke.

He does not. Swallowed the burning vile right back and going back to survey the damage.

Bryan knew that his death left marks. Several marks. Too many marks.

One was Steve, his suit still reeked with his corpse, being inside it for more than a year.

The other was his body, littered with scars from head to toe. At times, pain ran through his body like pricks of needles even when he was just standing. Painful needles. He’s guessing it’s from getting chunks of his body chopped off to be replaced by metal.

Maybe that’s why his skin looked like it was frankensteined together every time he looked into a mirror.

The most remarkable scar was on his stomach. No kidding. It did take most of the blow than the rest of his body. And the thing that needed to be cut up the most to get rid of the mush organs. It was closed that time around though, evidence of it being pierced with a knife revealed in dark patches and lines running across it.

Now, it was not. Now…well…

“Stay away from him!”

There was a gun pointed at him. At him. At his kid. At his son while he was on the ground with scratched knees and tears in his scared oh so scared brown eyes.

And there was a grin on the bunny’s face.

Oh that bastard.

His teeth grit.

And Bryan ran. Like he never had before. With more force and speed he never knew his legs could carry him at. He struck like a lightning bolt, jumping in front of the boy’s body—

“Dad!”

He choked, spit and blood spluttering over his mouth before he was thrown back, hard.

Wheezes and coughs escape him as he rolls and rolls until he stops with his side on the ground. He moved with a choked scream, trembling to pick himself up. He breathed heaving breathes, eyes flitting around trying to find a blue cladded boy.

Small hands circle around his neck and tears fall on his face.

“Dad I…I…oh my god I’m so—“ Smaller breaths hitched as whimpers and stutters escape him, young eyes blown wide and terrified and haunted at the sight in front of him. Bryan lifted a bloody hand to point their faces right each other, away from the blood, away from the fucking hole in his stomach, and he bit a sound of pain as he maneuvers himself to face the kid.

He smiled, shakily, he could barely keep it in place. “I’m okay. I-I’ll be ok-okay.”

Fat dough tears roll down his son’s face. “You’re lying.” He cracked. “You’re-you’re ly-ing.”

He hushed him, pulling him close and letting the teary face bury itself in his chest. “Shhh…we’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

He looked up at the enemies in front of them, eyes narrowed, exhausted, but determined, as his free hand opened.

“Close your eyes for me, hm?”

A purple glow surrounds them and he hears screams of alarm. He does not care. “Just close your eyes, Greg.”

And they fall.

He curled himself around his trembling son, feeling a familiar yet unwelcomed surge of energy rippling through his body as time and space opened for them.

They fall and Bryan used the momentum to switch their positions with him on the bottom and his son cushioned on top.

Something follows them down, a security bot, and Bryan thought.

Colorful tables and lights. Large stages. Red curtains. Checkered tables. Starry floors.

Home. Bring them home.

And something trailed down his cheek.

He forced the universe to open up again and—

“What the—“

—his palms close with a crack and the portal above them snapped shut. A severed head fell on the ground with them.

“Holy shit!”

He’s brought back to reality when a creak hit his throbbing ears.

“Don’t.” He said to the darkness, knowing a hand was on the switch. “You don’t wanna see this.”

“Do I?”

His head shook, an unamused smile on his face. “No. You really don’t.”

Dylan closed the door behind him, the crack of light now gone. “Are you talking about me or you?”

Bryan shrugged, aware that the other wouldn’t see.

“Trust me. It’s bad.”

A hum. “Then why did you go last?”

Silence.

It rang and it echoed. He didn’t answer. He’s not sure he could.

“Don’t know?”

Bryan gave a hum of confirmation.

Sounds of shuffling got closer and Dylan’s knees hit his back. “Does it…” Cold fingers touch his back. More specifically the hole piercing through his back. “hurt?”

It throbbed but it’s bearable. It’s not as bad as it was before. “No.” Maybe that was a bad thing.

“Really?” An unconvinced voice echo behind him.

Bryan smiled, before touching his stomach again. He squeezed it. There’s no pain anymore. Shock maybe?

His hand travelled from his stomach to his chest, feeling his ribs. His heart beats slow. And as seconds pass, it gets slower.

He sighed and slumped, fingers keeping his head from falling. He had a feeling this would happen.

At that point, he can’t feel his heart beating anymore.

And in tandem, Dylan asked, “why aren’t you…dude.” He shoved him lightly. “Breathe.”

At the request, Bryan took a breathe. The oxygen entering his lungs felt odd. Colder. Foreign. And mid breath, Bryan snorted.

He stopped taking a breath and laughed quietly, his voice hoarse. “I’m not even surprised anymore.”

“Surprised with what?”

He smiled, reddish teeth bared.

“Hear my chest, Dylan?”

Silence. Then he moved closer, this time planting an ear on his chest.

A breath hitched. It’s not his.

Guess it wasn’t just him dissociating.

He felt eyes staring up at him. “You’re…”

“A corpse? Yup.”

He snickered at the irony. A man brought back from the dead was now a living corpse, still alive and kicking but medically dead as fuck.

He died. Again. Just a few seconds ago. And yet he’s still wide awake and not in that eternal rest everyone kept yapping about.

He felt his grip tighten. “Why are you so calm about this?”

“It’s not really new at this point.” Again, he shrugged. This time, Dylan felt it.

Then again, it wasn’t like his first death was restful.

Maybe that’s why he’s not surprised anymore.

“But you’re…human. You’re not even in the suit anymore.”

“And here I am using my corpse. What’s the difference?”

Another round of silence.

“So…you’re a zombie now?”

Bryan let out a laugh. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

“…geez this family is weird.” He felt Dylan get up and cupboards opening caught his attention.

That makes Bryan smile genuinely. “Tell me about it.” He gazed at the source of the sound. “What’re you doing?”

“Getting a first aid kit.”

Bryan shook his head. “Leave it. It’s not like it’s gonna help anyway.”

Dylan got it out anyway, laying it and opening it on the floor behind him. “Do you want people to see you a bloody mess?”

Bryan paused. Before nodding. “Fair point.”

With a cap opening, Dylan hummed. “So…you have any plans on hiding…whatever this is?”

Bryan thought. “Maybe. Keep breathing or something?”

Dylan snorted before wrapping his back and stomach with bandages after cleaning the wound. “And the heartbeat?”

Eyes glance at the red jacket hanging on the door knob. “Several ideas.”

And another round of silence.

“Hey Dylan?”

“Yeah?”

“If I start biting people, tie me up and burn my body.”

Bryan gagged when the bandages pulled a little tighter.