A Lone Star just isn't Possible - ThatRingBoy - 崩坏：星穹铁道 (2024)

Chapter 1: Adrift

Chapter Text

Now, Boothill wasn’t the most informed man in the galaxies about the inner-workings of the Astral Express, as experienced as he was with mechanics, but — he was pretty certain that the guest cabins weren’t supposed to be this cold.

The guest cabins were humble and comfortable, much more homey than the VIP rooms back in The Reverie, and that Welt Yang had set Boothill up with a nice charging port made out of spare parts they had found around The Reverie and the beat-up old junker ship that Boothill had crashed into Penacony during his hunt for… whoever he was hunting for last week. He had been so comfortable when he finally set himself into sleep mode that he didn’t wake up until he found himself forcibly ejected from the crappy-scrappy port and kissing the carpet.

This wasn’t usually how his nights went on the Express. The train had been slowly chugging away from Penacony for a few days, getting enough distance and speed for a warp jump out of Asdana without worrying about colliding with the numerous ships constantly pulling in and out of the luxurious hotel. On the first day they pulled away, Boothill could still see the small hole his own ship had made, and the little Family workers scuttling around to fix it.

During the days, the Express crew were busy with tasks around the train. Stelle and March cleaned, Dan Heng updated the archives on their latest adventures, Himeko did more research on Edo Star, their next stop, and Welt searched through IPC logs to figure out what the disaster waiting for them there would be. In the meantime, that left Boothill and the Memokeeper a lot of free time to kill. Even then, Black Swan made herself useful and helped Dan Heng in the archives, filling in blanks in the plot that the boy wouldn’t have first hand knowledge about. Which ultimately left Boothill to his own devices.

At first, he liked this. He spent his time on the computer in his room looking up basic information on his next target. That flashy Stoneheart hadn’t given Boothill much to go off of besides being warned not to pursue his target if Boothill had any sense of self-preservation, but if it was the IPC calling the Express to Edo Star, then Boothill could also try to wring information out of the person in charge there. He briefly considered asking Welt and Dan Heng for help with research on Oswaldo Schneider, but where was the fun in that? The man was high-ranking enough to have his own inter-astral web page, which was helpful at least. He also got a minute to chat with Himeko and swap war stories with her, he even got to try her coffee. It really wasn’t that bad, but the shocked reaction that Stelle had at him casually sipping a cup was priceless.

After a while, however, he found himself with increasing free time and increasing boredom. The traffic in Asdana was increasing due to the factions leaving Penacony over the canceled Charmony Festival and more regular guests pouring in now that rooms were available, meaning that the Express had to drift further away from the former prison to attempt to warp jump. Boothill had his baseline information on Oswaldo Schneider, his makeshift charging port, endless views of the cosmos, and nothing but comfort to let himself fall deep asleep in without worrying of waking up in a creepy clock-themed amusem*nt park. So, he tried to sate his boredom in other ways. He tried unsuccessfully to talk to the masked Memokeeper’s hologram stationed in the corner next to a broken mirror, he listened to almost every song in the Express’ phonograph - and it was a stupidly large selection that they carried - and he read every page in the Express’ guest log book. Boothill was pleasantly surprised to see the names of other intergalactic criminals like himself, but was just as unpleasantly surprised to see so many IPC big shirts appearing in the log, too. Still, the Express being close with IPC management could help him in the future if he remained friendly to them. Even if Dan Heng wouldn’t give him private, unrestricted access to the Express’ archives, there could definitely still be ways for Boothill to speed-up the vengeance process in these velvet walls.

So one can imagine his shock when he was forcibly awakened just seven days after the train’s departure. Boothill sputtered out what he guessed was rabbit fur - still deliberating on that one - that was in the carpet and stood, looking at the port and out the portcullis window that protected him from the harshness of space. As he tried to figure out why he was suddenly thrown off his charge, he heard someone running down the hall outside his cabin and the frantic voice of the Trailblazer shouting to see if everyone was okay.

Boothill grabbed his hat and gun, and slid his door open, finding Stelle going to each door and looking inside.

“Hey, Stellaron Girl, what the flip happened?” His auto-censorship kicking in as soon as he tried to speak.

She shut the door in front of her. “I don’t know, there was a loud bang and everything shook! I think the Express might have hit something?”

“Is that even possible?” Boothill stepped into the hallway and his internal computers instantly recognized that the temperature had dropped by four degrees in the time between him opening his door and now. Was there something wrong with the Express?

“It’s not the weirdest reason we’ve stopped before.” Stelle shuddered. Boothill couldn’t tell if it was from the temperature or some unpleasant memory.

Boothill tucked his pistol into its holster and started walking towards the parlor car. “Let’s just ask your glorious conductor what in the Sweet Helen is going on.”

Stelle nodded, and started after him. Boothill approached the door separating the guest car from the car containing the crew’s personal cabins and everything went sideways and then black.

Boothill woke up to the blackness of space staring back at him. He swore as best as he could, and jerked backwards, finding that he was laying on one of the Express’ large windows.

Wait, laying?

Yes, Boothill looked down the dark car to see that it was, in fact, sideways. As in, the artificial gravity in the train was pulling him to the car’s wall. He gingerly moved to be on his stomach, shifting his shirt so that the longer fabric of the back was under his metal torso and careful of his weight on the glass. He was treating it like he was on a fragile frozen lake, and started sliding towards the end of the car where the window stopped. He was sure that the window would hold him just fine since it survived regular warp jumps through space, but seeing only the universe below his boots was just too unsettling.

Boothill rolled off the window and stood, looking around for Stelle. Where had she gone? Was she hurt? His answer was one of the doors above him sliding open and a gray shoe dangling down, trying to touch the windowed “floor.”

“Woah there, Stellaron.” Boothill pressed himself against the velvet flooring that was now the wall to his left and hopped up on top of the cabinet nestled against it. The wood groaned under him, but held as he reached up and touched Stelle’s ankle. “Easy, easy, I’ve got you.”

“How far down am I?”

Boothill looked down at the window. “Too far to just take a fall by yourself. Here, I’ll catch ya. Just drop.”

It took her a second to work up the courage, but she did, and Boothill caught her by the waist, pulling her onto the cabinet and then down with him onto the small space between the window and car floor before the cabinet drawer decided to break.

“I’ll pay for that.” The Galaxy Ranger apologized and started towards the door to the crew’s car. “Come on, let’s see if there’s any injured.”

“Black Swan wasn’t in her room, do you think she was in the Parlor?”

With how big that parlor car was, Boothill wondered just how banged up someone would be if they were suddenly thrown sideways.

He pushed the door up and held it open for Stelle to crawl through, being blasted by a cold wind and finding that the lights were off in this car, too. Boothill’s computer told him that the car was ten degrees colder than the one they just came from, and the temperature was continuing to drop. A small puff of visible vapor escaped Stelle’s mouth, so Boothill took his tiny shirt and scarf off and handed it to her. It wasn’t much, but she layered the shirt under her jacket and zipped that up to try to cover her legs more. He had his own internal heater that could keep him warm for weeks and even though Stelle had a Stellaron inside her, she still seemed entirely human on the outside. Boothill only hoped that there wasn’t a hull leak somewhere ahead of them causing the Express’ problems and all of this was just a weird power outage.

Speaking of power outages, Boothill also noticed that his battery was only about halfway charged, and his heater ate into that more than he liked. He pulled his hat down more on his head to force his hair around his neck to keep his remaining skin warm. Starting a fire for warmth was completely off the table if the power didn’t come back on soon, the flames would eat up all their remaining oxygen faster than they could freeze to death.

They tip-toed along the wooden paneling of the windowed wall-floor, looking up at the closed cabin doors and calling out to the crew members, getting no responses. Boothill hoisted Stelle up to the doors to slide them open to check inside, finding Welt and Himeko’s rooms to be locked, and Dan Heng and March 7th’s rooms to be empty. The quietness of the Express was getting to be a lot at this point. Stelle lowered herself down from the archive’s door and put her hands on her hips to think.

“Maybe they all ended up in the Parlor.” Her voice had a stutter and her lip trembled. It was only getting colder, what were they going to do?

“Maybe.” Boothill’s jaw was stiff.

He held the door to the parlor car open and the two carefully slid down the wall to the one now on the floor. The car was also empty, if not a disaster. Anything that wasn’t bolted down was thrown around, a table that used to hold a strange looking board game was broken and its legs were missing. Potted plants were spilt all over the gigantic windows that made Boothill dizzy just thinking about walking across, so he started assessing how well he could jump onto the couches and counters from where he was. That is, until he heard something shift towards the front of the car.

His hand went to his gun and the other shot out in front of Stelle as if blocking her from some unseen projectile. She in turn summoned the hat of the Watchmaker and looked around for the source of the movement.

“Who’s there?” Boothill called to the silence.

“Is that the Galaxy Ranger?” A woman’s faint voice responded. Boothill recognized it as belonging to Black Swan the Memokeeper.

Stelle did, too. “Miss Black Swan? Where are you?”

A gloved hand stuck itself up from behind a couch on the opposite end of the car. “I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a predicament, if you would be kind enough to offer a hand.” Her voice cracked slightly as if she was biting back pain. “I’ve taken a rather unfortunate fall.”

Boothill jumped onto the back of the couch closest to him. “Hold on, Miss. We’re comin’.”

Slowly, very slowly, the two of them tip-toed along the metal divide between the giant windows until they managed to cross all the way to Black Swan’s extended hand. Unfortunately, what they found wasn’t just an unfortunate fall.

“Oh, sweet n’ sour.” Boothill cursed.

“Good evening to you, too.”

Black Swan was tucked behind the side of the couch with the missing legs of the table at the other end of the car laying around and in her. As in, she had fallen on a splintered edge and was impaled by a rod of wood in her abdomen.

Stelle gasped and ripped Boothill’s scarf off of her neck to try to stop the blood slowly trickling from Black Swan’s wound, but both she and the Galaxy Ranger stopped her.

“Don't move her too much.” Boothill knelt down next to her and examined the wood. “Looks like she’s taken care of it herself.”

It was true, Black Swan had done what she could by tying the belts on her veil around herself and bunching the fabric underneath her to catch the blood falling out of her back. The rapidly falling temperature wasn’t helping at all, Boothill could see both her and Stelle’s lips starting to turn blue as the tiny thermometer in him slunk closer to Zero.

“Stellaron,” he turned to Stelle. “Where’s the conductor’s room at?” They didn’t have time to focus on the missing crew members, they needed to save themselves first.

Stelle shivered and pointed to the sideways staircase leading to a door that was too high up for them to reach on their own. Boothill stared at it for a second before he asked Stelle to take the half-cape attached to his shirt off and hand it to him. She did and Boothill tied it loosely around his waist.

“Memokeeper,” he turned his attention back to Black Swan.

She visibly winced as she forced herself to sit up. “I understand.”

The two helped her to her feet and had her sit on the back of the couch, slipping her legs into the sling that Boothill now had on his back. He hiked the fabric up to be where his diaphragm would have been if he had lungs so that Black Swan could sit in a way that didn’t push the wood in her abdomen one way or another. She wrapped her arms around his neck for support and Stelle grabbed a table that hadn’t been broken to place next to the wall. Boothill carefully climbed onto the table and tried to push the door open while standing on his toes, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Is this fudging thing locked?!” Boothill banged his fist against the wooden paneling of the door before looking down at Stelle.

The Trailblazer took a deep breath and exhaled just as deeply, a cloud of vapor swirling around her face as she did. “M-Maybe it only opens for Pom-Pom or Himeko.” Her lip trembled from the cold.

“Well, I don’t see either of them, so does anyone have any other ideas?”

Black Swan sniffled a little and shivered with a sharp intake of air. “There’s a lot of radio parts in Mister Dan Heng’s room, perhaps this is the part where we call for help?”

Stelle and Boothill looked at each other incredulously like that thought should have occurred to them earlier, and the three trekked back across the parlor car to the door leading to the cabins. Stelle stood on the counter now on the floor and boosted Boothill up so he could push the door up and crawl on his stomach under it while Black Swan continued to push it up. Stelle jumped up after him and Black Swan got to watch them recreate their method of checking the rooms over their heads for Stelle’s friends.

This time, Boothill pushed Stelle all the way up into the Archives and she helped pull him up with a lot of difficulty. By himself, Boothill wasn’t the lightest guy in the galaxy, but Black Swan’s limp weight on his back wasn’t helping. Wait… limp?

Boothill scrambled on his stomach for a bit to get his legs inside the room and became aware that Black Swan had fallen unconscious on his back, her arms hanging loosely from his shoulders.

“Shirt, shirt, shirt shirt, fork me sideways and through a door.” He remained on his stomach as he untied the sash around his chest and had Stelle carefully slide Black Swan off of him.

Stelle cradled Black Swan in her lap with an alarmed look. “What should I do?”

“Give her to me and get started on the radio.” Boothill rolled onto his back and motioned for the unconscious woman. “We should be close enough to the other ships goin’ in and out of Penacony that a shortwave radio should work. You do know how to get one working, right?”

“I can figure it out?”

“Then get figuring.”

Stelle gently moved Black Swan so that her back was across Boothill’s chest and did as she was told, piecing together machine parts and trying to remember what Dan Heng had taught her about radios. Boothill watched closely and turned his internal heater up more before pinching Black Swan’s nose shut to get her to wake up.

She did and jerked slightly, causing the wood in her side to shift and make her wince.

“Morning to you, too.” Boothill locked his arms around her so she didn’t fall off of him. “Gonna need you to stay awake for a little longer.”

Black Swan relaxed as Stelle presented a make-shift metal box to the two of them and pressed a button on the side, a small light on the box turning on and an antennae poking out of the top.

Stelle brought the box to her face, sneezed, and started to speak. “Mayday, mayday, this is the Astral Express! We’ve lost power and are drifting! The crew’s missing, and we have injured on board!”

The radio buzzed quietly in response. Boothill pulled his hat off and laid it over Black Swan’s legs. “Try again.”

Stelle did, her voice shakier than before. Her lips were fully blue and she shivered uncontrollably. Some of the computers along the walls of the room had tiny bits of frost dripping out of them. Boothill’s battery wasn’t faring too well, either, but he could deal with losing power for a few days before his brain fully shut down in the best scenarios. The others, the squishier humans, couldn’t afford that much time.

But Stelle kept trying the radio. She dragged it over to Boothill’s side and curled up next to him to try to siphon some warmth from his heater as the air became thicker from a lack of recycled oxygen. “Mayday, mayday,” she kept calling despite how her teeth chattered horribly, “the Astral Express has lost power and we have injured on board!”

But each time came with no response. Just static. Long, unbreaking static that swallowed them and sent them drifting deeper into the abyss.

Chapter 2: A Veritas by Any Other Name

Chapter Text

What most inorganic life forms don’t like to tell their fleshy counterparts is how jarring running out of battery feels while one is still conscious. The coldness creeps in, and senses shut down, but they shut down way too slowly. The first thing to go is motor controls, then the voice box, then touch, so you’re just laying there without feeling anything at all. Completely numb. Unable to cry for help. Next to go is sight, but even that takes forever to go down, so Boothill couldn’t even move as he watched the radio slip from Stelle’s hands and her body go limp next to him. Black Swan whispered a shaky apology as sleep finally took her, too. At least, Boothill hoped it was just sleep. He wouldn’t be able to tell the difference if not.

The sideways Archives started to blur as frost formed on his eyes from the smallest moisture. Breathing wasn’t too possible, his internal fans were freezing and had stopped the majority of their intake. But Boothill could still hear everything; the radio’s static, the creaking sounds of the Express drifting along, his internal mechanisms failing one by one. It wasn’t the first time this had happened to him, but that didn’t make it any less horrifying. He supposed this was why Nihilism manifested itself into a black hole - what was a more certain expanse of death than space itself?

Boothill was blind now. While he wouldn’t die outright if all his systems shut down, he would basically be a brain dead husk until he started charging again. If he remained conscious for much longer, he might even be able to hear his backup battery kick to life. It wouldn’t be strong enough to get him moving again, it was only enough to keep his human organs from dying. But for now, all he could do was sit there and hear. And for a second, he thought he heard the Express rumble like it had scraped alongside something, but the noise went in and out as the lack of oxygen got to his brain. Then, just for another second, he could faintly hear the sound of a guitar… somewhere in the distance…

Boothill’s eyes opened to harsh fluorescent lights and harsh maroon eyes stabbing him through from overhead.

“Good, you survived.”

The maroon eyes framed by blue hair pulled away and Boothill did an internal diagnostics check on himself. Senses were restored, battery was almost entirely charged, internal motors were functional. He was alive, he was alright.

Bootill sat himself up and rubbed his face, just to feel the cold metal of his hand against his skin. “Where-”

“You were lucky that anyone heard those infinitesimal signals being broadcasted by that amateur radio.” Dr. Veritas Ratio of the Intelligentsia Guild took a step away from the workbench Boothill was sitting on and crossed his toned arms. “Honestly, I would have expected more from a Galaxy Ranger with such a substantial bounty on his head.”

Boothill shot him a murderous glare. “Yeah, well, I was a little busy keepin’ others alive, muddle-fudger.”

“No need to be so cross with your savior. And for the record, your companions are resting in my sick bay. I expect them to wake soon, if they haven’t already.”

“Good, good…” Boothill looked around the room he was in. They were clearly on a ship meant for only a small crew, did Ratio fly alone? That would make sense. From what he could tell, a lot of the tools along the wall were expensive, but well used. Honestly, Boothill had the smallest idea to try to take some of the tools for himself.

“Don’t even think about it.” Dr. Ratio followed Boothill’s sweeping gaze with his own glare.

“What? I wasn’t thinking shirt.”

Ratio rolled his eyes and started towards the room’s door. “Your systems should all be back online. Follow me.”

Boothill did as he was told, making a mental map of the ship that he was realizing was slightly too small for him to stand up straight comfortably in. They went up a ladder and into a room that was significantly warmer than the rest of the ship, finding Black Swan laying on a medical bed with small mechanical arms suspended from panels on the ceiling wirring around and taking her vitals. Next to her on a chair sat Stelle with two space heaters on the floor next to her and a thick blanket around her shoulders.

“Boothill!” She stood and promptly sneezed violently. Boothill didn’t know it was possible for a Stellaron to get sick.

“That’s my name.” The Galaxy Ranger nodded at her before turning to Ratio. “So where’s the rest of the Nameless?”

Dr. Ratio moved around him and to Black Swan’s side to check the stitching on her side. “That is what I would like to know as well. When I docked with the Express, I detected no other lifeforms aboard. Sure enough, I found no trace of the Nameless when I performed my rescue search, outside of the Trailblazer and you two passengers. I’m currently towing the Astral Express back to Penacony for repairs, I’ll foot my fuel bill to The Family when we arrive. No need to thank me.”

“Wasn’t gonna.” Boothill remembered how closely the doctor stood next to several IPC hotshots when the Express crew were saying their goodbyes to the planet of festivities. Hopefully the aforementioned hotshots would have cleared out of Penacony by the time they got back, otherwise Boothill might not have the best excuse for several bullet-sized holes appearing in people’s foreheads.

Stelle sat back down in her chair and stifled another sneeze. “D-Don’t worry, Dr. Ratio won’t turn you in to the IPC, he hates them as much as we do.”

Could everyone read Boothill’s mind right now? Or maybe the shock of everything that’d been happening had worn away at his facial control too much. He needed to get it together. He pointed at Black Swan.

“And what about her?”

Dr. Ratio pressed a button on the side of the medical bed and the mechanical arms flittering around retracted back into the ceiling. “The Memokeeper will be fine. The Asdana system is filled with Memoria and as a memetic entity, she will heal much faster than a regular mortal like myself. In fact, she’s healed significantly faster than the Trailblazer would have if inflicted with the same wound.”

Stelle’s mouth opened and shut like a fish. “And how do you know that?”

“Pure conjecture and an educated guess. Purge any malicious thoughts from your mind while you are a guest aboard my vessel.”

Boothill snorted before refocusing on the issue at hand. “So, Mister Doctor, are you able to make a, what did you call it, a ‘pure conjectured guess’ as to why the Nameless are missing?”

“Pure conjecture and an educated guess,” Ratio corrected with no hidden hissing. “And isn’t that the task of the hour? There is no damage on the outer hull of the Astral Express that my sensors could pick up.”

“There isn’t?” Boothill’s eyes widened. “But I could’ve sworn we hit somethin’.”

Stelle made a noise of agreement. Dr. Ratio looked back at Black Swan and shrugged. “Perhaps she will have answers for us when she wakes. In the meantime, we have four days before we will be back in Penacony’s airspace. Make yourself useful and I’ll add your utility costs to The Family’s bill instead of charging the Express separately.”

“What a fudging fountain of goodwill you are.”

Black Swan woke up later that evening, and got to share their dinner of freeze-dried steak and potatoes. Boothill had spied an omni-synthesizer tucked into the corner of Dr. Ratio’s personal cabin while walking past it, so he knew the doctor could create actual food if he so desired. Did Ratio actually enjoy the taste of freeze-dried pellets?

While they ate, and Boothill was ever so graciously given a small can of oil to sip from while everyone else shared a communal pitcher of water, Black Swan was able to gather her thoughts about what had happened to all of them.

“I do believe the Astral Express did crash into something that had drifted onto the star rails.” She politely wiped her mouth with a napkin despite a lack of crumbs anywhere near them. “I will need to conduct a larger investigation on the Express, which I will be able to do during our transit back to Penacony. Miss Stelle, would you be able to unlock the conductor’s quarters so we can get a greater understanding of the situation there? I believe our generous savior has been struggling on that end.”

Dr. Ratio loudly popped open a bag of freeze-dried cranberries with an annoyed look. “And he would be appreciative if one did not use her memoria powers to discern such information.”

Boothill sipped his oil slowly. “So, uh, do ya need any help with that search? Little Miss Stellaron won't do so well in a powerless Express, but my battery’s charged and ready to go. Just need some sort of air tank.”

“Why thank you, Mr. Boothill. Your aid will be much appreciated.”

Ratio stood and started towards his quarters. “Good, you two can get on that in the morning while the Trailblazer works with me on making repairs to my own ship.”

“What happened to your ship?” Stelle asked him.

“Some neanderthal crashed their ship into the dock next to mine at Penacony, causing significant cosmetic damage to my hull and knocking several of my computers loose. Think of it as working for your keep.”

Boothill coughed before chugging the rest of his oil. The look that Black Swan gave him was pure amusem*nt. He shot back with his own glare, a silent threat that he would have acted on right then and there if they weren’t confined to such a small space. For now, he elected to play nice with the grinning woman. He did just agree to basically do a spacewalk with her. Actually, while he was thinking about it, how much did Stelle know about spaceship repairs?

He looked over at her examining their freeze-dry bags curiously and the sudden thought of her only ever traveling on the Astral Express made him shudder. It was a total miracle that Ratio had even picked up their radio’s signals, there was such a large gap between fixing a Dreamscape ticker puzzle and hard-wiring a radio out of spare parts. Now, she didn’t need to fully become the new Watchmaker, but maybe she could pick up some good technical skills while they returned to Penacony. Yeah, that’d be good for her.

Chapter 3: Sideways, Upside Down, & Around the Corner

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Boothill was happy to learn that Black Swan intended to perform all of her inspections of the Astral Express while inside the train, saving him the trouble of having to find a way to pin his hair into a space helmet. Instead, he wore an air tank on his back with an oxygen mask on his face and his heater keeping his internal gears functioning normally. If he got low on air or power, he could just hop back over to Dr. Ratio’s ship to refuel. On the other hand, Black Swan simply used all of the Memoria floating around to keep herself alive without the need for heat or air. She only gave Boothill a brief explanation as to why; that she could send her physical form into the Memoria and do something with it - he wasn’t paying that close attention to the Remembrance magic-science behind it.

The first task they tackled was the gravity issue in the Express. The reason the Express had gone sideways and was creaking so much before they were found was that the Express had somehow jumped off of the star rails when it hit whatever it had hit - he was still waiting for Black Swan to confirm what that was - and had started to spin violently along its very long horizontal axis. Ratio, bless his tiny ship, had been able to maneuver around the flailing train cars and provide enough counter-thrust to slow the Express’ spin down to a speed that would allow him to board, retrieve those on board, and start towing the Express back. Unfortunately, now there was absolutely zero gravity inside the Express while the power was out, meaning that Boothill was having a field day jumping around and dodging floating debris while Black Swan told him which panels in the parlor car and archives to open and solder on.

“Hey, Mr. Doctor,” Boothill called back on a small, hand-held radio he had been given once he got the Express’ internal fans working again, “mind helping out a bit with the gravity situation here? Over.”

“And what do you think I should be doing? Over.” A crackly voice responded.

“I don’t know, maybe speedin’ up so the debris stops free-floating or pull us into a spin so we can actually stand on the floor? Over.”

There was a loud, long sigh on the other end before Ratio responded. “Let me explain to you as to why neither idea will work. For the first one, do you think it wise to accelerate continuously while hurtling towards a traffic-heavy planet just to clear out debris? Not to mention, where would you procure the necessary fuel for a hard burn or the extra chairs in my co*ckpit to sustain you and your friends during the acceleration? You wouldn’t even be able to stay on the Express during that time.”

Boothill rolled his eyes and swatted away hair that floated around his eyes. “Okay, jeez, I get the fudging message-”

“Do not interrupt me, Galaxy Ranger.” Ratio snapped. “And as for your second idea, while better than the former, it only is by a margin. Which way do you propose I spin? How do you propose I stop the spin once I’ve started? Why don’t you, instead of wasting our time, focus on restoring the Express’ power so that gravity will restore itself, hmm? Over and out.”

Boothill swore under his breath, fixed the oxygen mask back onto his face from where it had been resting on his chin, and tucked the radio back onto his belt. Black Swan appeared in front of him with another one of her iconic amused expressions.

“Playing nice over here?”

“Have you found a way to open the door to the fudgin’ conductor’s room?” Boothill almost snarled through his face-mask.

“Easy, Ranger, I have good news on that front. The door cannot be opened.”

“And how is that good news? Do you also have a faulty synesthesia beacon?”

Black Swan chuckled and shook her head. “I assure you, I do not. I’ve simply realized that neither you nor I have the proper methods to open the door.”

“Again, waitin’ for good news.” Boothill crossed his arms.

The Memokeeper gestured to the empty parlor car they floated in. “The memories of the Express Crew are all in here, being pulled along with us. I have discerned how to restore gravity to the Express without needing to go through Pom-Pom’s personal belongings.”

“And going through their memories is, what, better? More ethical?”

“Indeed.” Black Swan vanished and reappeared over by the wall separating the parlor from the cabin car. “Over here, there’s a backup mechanism we can activate to restore auxiliary power while we figure out where our missing Nameless have gone.”

“And you need me to fix it instead of you ripping your gloves?”

“Would you be a dear?”

Boothill rolled his eyes again and, with a tiny tap on the spout of the air tank on his back, propelled himself over to her.

With the Express back on its rails and gravity restored, Dr. Ratio was able to slow his burn and let the momentum they had gathered carry them back to Penacony. For a couple of days, Boothill got to relax. And by relaxing, he meant watching Stelle work on Ratio’s banged-up computers. And by watching, he meant sitting next to her and helping her with rewiring the computers that had been knocked completely from the wall.

“So the difference between regular computers and computers in a ship like this one is gonna be the placement of the internal hardware.” Boothill explained to her. “A regular computer you’ll find on a planet will have everything evenly - or close to evenly - spaced out inside of it. A computer on a ship is gonna be built to be more compact so the lining of the computer can be more resistant to radiation.”

Stelle closed a panel on the wall next to them. “But aren’t ships supposed to be radiation proof?”

“Yeah, they are, but computers are too important not to reinforce. Hand me them pliers, will you? Thank you. If something happens to the ship and the internal computers go down, you’re fudged. It’s not like navigating with the stars in the sky out here, your Miss Himeko has one of the hardest jobs in the universe.”

Upon mentioning the missing navigator, Stelle’s face fell. She solemnly nodded and silently got back to work. Boothill sighed and looked around the co*ckpit for a bit, waiting for Dr. Ratio to return and yell at them over something. Luckily, Black Swan was good at keeping him occupied with the puzzle of the Astral Express’ main power. She definitely knew more about their situation than she was letting on, but Boothill didn’t have any proof other than her infuriating smirks.

“Hey, they’re, uh, gonna be okay.” Boothill reached over and patted Stelle on the head. “Wherever they are, you Nameless are tougher than you look. I reckon they’re doin’ just fine.”

She nodded again and the two sat in silence for another beat before she took a steadying breath.

“I had a dream last night that Pom-Pom was trying to make contact with me, but they were stuck in the train.”

Boothill perked up at that. “What? Really?”

“Mhm.” Stelle fidgeted with her gloves. “It was like I could hear them banging on the Express’ windows, begging to be let out? I… didn’t get much sleep after that.”

“I bet, sounds pretty horrifying.”

Around this time, the others returned and Black Swan sat herself down in the pilot’s chair in the co*ckpit. “Oh? Was Miss Stelle visited by night terrors?”

Stelle shook her head. “It was just a dream.”

“Yes, but we are currently floating through pure Memoria, meaning there is a chance that dreams aren’t just dreams.” Black Swan smiled.

Boothill studied her face for a bit. “You… you know what happened to the Nameless, don’t you?”

All eyes were on the Memokeeper as she nodded. “That is correct. I always have.”

Stelle was on her feet with a shout, Boothill jumping to his feet behind her. “And you kept this from us?!”

Ratio put an arm out to separate them. “I will not be tolerating any altercations aboard my vessel!”

Boothill reached around Stelle and swatted his hand away. “Fork your tolerance, this shirtbag’s been keepin’ important shirt from us!”

Black Swan watched them before summoning her swirling ball of tarot cards and sorting through them. She plucked out five cards and they floated in the air in front of Stelle for a second before turning around to show the faces of Pom-Pom, Himeko, Dan Heng, March 7th, and Welt Yang. Stelle stared at them before glaring at Black Swan again.

“What is this?”

Black Swan called the cards back and they vanished. “There’s no learning if you don’t come to a conclusion on your own. I’ll give you a hint: our return to Penacony is the best possible course of action.”

Boothill fished in his mind for what she meant. When he came up short, he pulled his gun and aimed it at Black Swan’s forehead, pulling Stelle by the arm to be behind him. “I don’t like all your fudgin’ mind games, Memokeeper. Didn’t like ‘em in Penacony, don’t like ‘em now. Start talking or my finger might just slip.”

Dr. Ratio stepped in front of the pistol and pushed the barrel away from his nose. “Calm yourself, or I have no qualms with throwing you out of a hatch. What the Memokepper means is that the Nameless are inside of a Dreamscape, and by using The Reverie’s facilities, you would be able to retrieve them without causing any additional damage to the Astral Express.”

Boothill kept his glare up even as he holstered his gun. “And why not volunteer that information in the first place?”

Black Swan’s smile never wavered. “And rid you the fun of discovery?”

Stelle put a hand on Boothill’s arm to calm him and stepped back around him. “I don’t appreciate the secrets, but I’m glad my friends are alright.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Boothill stepped to the side so they all formed a weird square. “Back to Penacony, search the Dreamscapes for the Nameless?”

Stelle gave him a smile with a newfound brightness in her eyes. “What’s one more Penacony adventure?”

Dr. Ratio turned to leave. “Do whatever you want, just stop threatening each other before we enter Penacony’s orbit or I’ll start withholding food.”

Boothill laughed at him. “Oh no, how awful! Two days without freeze-dried green beans!”

That night, Dr. Ratio went out of his way to synthesize a full dinner including pasta, fresh juice, and ice cream for dessert to share between himself and the women, and left Boothill with just a can of motor oil he needed to use his teeth to pry open. Truely, a fudgin’ fountain of goodwill.

A young Bloodhound barged her way into the lobby of Dewlight Pavilion with wide eyes.

“Mr. McCoy! Has anyone seen Mr. McCoy?!”

The executor of the Oak Family was luckily nearby and the young woman didn’t need to go screaming around the fortress for him. He pushed up his glasses and closed the folder he had in his hands, turning from who he was talking to and eyeing the Bloodhound with faintly veiled annoyance.

“Yes? What do you need?”

“Miss Coty sent me here to find you, she says that we need to prepare rooms in the VIP floor immediately!”

Mr. McCoy blinked twice before responding. “And… what authority does Miss Coty have to demand such a thing from the Family Head? Wouldn’t this matter be solved by Dennis?”

“Well, yeah-I mean yes sir, but she said that it’s way too important for anyone else.” The Bloodhound rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s the Astral Express, it needs immediate repairs, like, now.”

The person McCoy was talking to before being interrupted stepped out from behind him. “Something happened to the Express?” Robin asked with wide eyes.

“Yes ma’am, they’ll be docking with a member of the Intelligentsia Guild in a few hours!”

Robin put a hand on Mr. McCoy’s arm. “Please let me handle this. Put them in the rooms usually reserved for my makeup team, my people have already checked out.”

McCoy nodded and waved the Bloodhound away. He turned to open his folder back up again to keep talking with Robin, but she slipped away and followed after the Bloodhound.

“Let’s take a raincheck, McCoy,” she giggled as she ran off. “Thank you for all your help!”

“But we haven’t-” He called after her, but she was already gone, having returned to Reality before he could finish his thought. “-even started… our talk.”

Chapter 4: Mr. Pom-Pom

Chapter Text

The air was heavy with the smell of fresh fertilizer. They had spread it around just yesterday, it had taken them from sunrise to lunch to finish. Lunchtime was easily the best part of the day, because then they could take a break from their work and start talking about dinner, and after dinner was bedtime, and then it was up at sunrise again, just in time for one more lunch.

When they finally docked in Penacony, Boothill was the first one off Dr. Ratio’s ship and he never looked back. As soon as Stelle and Black Swan also disembarked, Stelle mentioned that she had seen Ratio disinfecting his workshop bench, the one that Boothill had been using as a bed for the week.

“Well maybe I should be the one disinfecting myself for his nerd germs or somethin’!” Boothill shot back indignantly, only leading Stelle to giggle at his outburst and punch him in the arm for good sport.

They were greeted in the lobby of The Reverie by a familiar face framed by blue hair. “Miss Stelle!”

“Robin!” Stelle ran ahead and embraced the singer in a tight hug. When Robin pulled away, she politely smiled to the others and bowed her head respectfully.

“Greetings, dear friends. I would have never expected to see you all back so soon.” Robin pulled her head up and looked around. “The Family should be finished docking the Express now, I hear you need repairs? Did something happen when you disembarked? Where are the other Trailblazers?”

“Stuck in some Memoria, we need to use the hotel to get ‘em out.” Boothill crossed his arms over his chest.

Robin blinked, a bit dumbfounded. “Pardon me?”

Stelle started to explain what had happened to them, and their plan to enter the Dreamscapes to rescue the crew of the Astral Express. As she did, Boothill’s eyes swept the lobby. The last time he was here, he was too busy dodging the IPC to really take in the just massive scale of the building. I mean, it took up the whole planet, who wouldn’t be stunned by the endless rows and rows of rooms and guests all paying obscene prices just to lucid dream themselves into debt? Perhaps Boothill was being overly cynical, but recent experiences with The Family hadn’t exactly left a good taste in his mouth. For starters, there was the whole Reviving The Order fiasco that he risked his life for.

At some point, Stelle finished talking and Robin had started to lead them towards the familiar massive desk at the other end of the lobby. The man wearing glasses behind the counter smiled at them and pulled a set of keys from somewhere out of sight.

“Miss Stelle, Miss Black Swan, Mr. Pom-Pom, welcome back!” Dennis cheerfully greeted them.

Black Swan covered a laugh with her hand as Stelle and Robin gave Boothill sideways looks.

“Mr. Pom-Pom?” Robin asked, a smile twitching at the edge of her lips.

Boothill pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyes. “I just… borrowed their name to help with the check-in process last time.”

Robin stifled a giggle and turned back to Dennis. “Miss Coty and Mr. McCoy have been informed of their situation. The rooms I usually have reserved should be open for them, and the Nightingale Family should be sending people out to help in a few hours.”

Dennis handed her the keycards with a bow of his head. “Very good, ma’am.”

Robin took the keycards and handed one each to Boothill, Stelle, and Black Swan, keeping the rest in her hand as she started towards the elevator. “The quicker we can help the Nameless, the better. Of course, The Family is indebted to the Express; all of the facilities in The Reverie should be available for your usage.”

Stelle jogged to keep up with her. “Actually, I was wondering if you have any books in the hotel about, uh… Black Swan, what did you call it?”

Black Swan fell in stride with Boothill behind them. “Miasma Sickness. I’m afraid I’m not the most informed Memokeeper on the subject, but I do believe Dewlight Pavilion should have some readings on it. It is my understanding that sometimes Dreamweavers experience it?”

Robin hummed in thought as they waited for an elevator. “I believe my brother’s study should have something on that. The executor of the Oak Family, Mr. McCoy, also has some experience with Miasma Sickness, I believe.”

“Oh yeah,” Stelle said. “I remember, he’s edited the Dreamscape before, his siblings ended up with Miasma Sickness I think? Is that what it was?”

Black Swan nodded. “A form of it, yes. A better demonstration would be those living in Dreamflux Reef or how I as a memetic entity can become one with Memoria. Those who make physical contact with Memoria have a chance to become absorbed by the Miasma and enter a Dreamscape. The pools here on Penacony function this way, but out in space, the reaction is much quicker, and much more… one would say visceral.”

Boothill’s brain was spinning a little with all the talk of memories and dreams. In all honesty, he wasn’t really sure what he could do to help the others, but he wouldn’t turn down another chance to raid the hotel’s bar, especially since the drink choices on the Express were a bit lacking.

They stepped into the elevator and rode it up to the VIP floor. When they stepped off the elevator and started towards the VIP lounge, Robin turned around to walk backwards.

“All of your rooms should be in the right wing of the lounge. Rooms 3-C through 7-C to be exact. Your room number will be on your keys, and the rooms will be exactly the same as the ones you used in the past. Meet me in Dewlight Pavilion and we can start our search for information!”

Boothill found himself staring at the Asdanian scribbles he assumed were a number and letter on his keycard for an uncomfortable amount of time while the bartender - sorry, drinksmith - wowed a group of Pepeshi tourists by balancing a glass on the lip of another glass without spilling any of the wine inside. The others had gone on ahead and should have already been inside the Dreamscape, scrounging around Family Head Sunday’s things to find the secrets of the universe. Really, Boothill could’ve just started going down every door in the hallway the women had vanished down and seen which one yielded to his key, but why rush?

The drinksmith moved over to him and leaned against the bar. “Anything for you, sir? Miss Robin tells me you drink on the house, so what’ll it be?”

Boothill thought for a moment as he tucked his keycard into a pocket. “Do ya remember what you made me last time?”

“I think I do, just give me one moment and I’ll have it ready for you!”

“You’re the most valuable member of The Family I’ve ever met.” Boothill took his hat off and set it on the counter next to him. “Make it two drinks, I’ll take one to-go.”

The drinksmith nodded and stepped away. He soon returned with two glasses and watched with an impressed expression as Boothill knocked back the first one and let out a hoot of happiness.

“Thanks, boss, that’s some fudgin’ good rocket fuel!”

“Rocket fuel?” Someone said behind Boothill.

Boothill jumped and snapped his head around. “What the fork? Oh, it’s just you. You scared the shirt outa me.”

“I’m sorry!” Robin quickly apologized. “I was heading back to my room to meet everyone in the Dreamscape and I realized you never made it to your room. You aren’t joining the others?”

Boothill shook his head and turned fully on his stool to face her. “Nah, I don’t wanna get in the way. I ain’t a Nameless and I ain’t a Memokeeper, better to leave the reading to the others actually involved in this mess.”

Robin nodded and gestured to the stool next to him. “Mind if I take a seat?”

Boothill grabbed his hat and slid it so that it wouldn’t be next to her. “Help yourself.”

She did and slid onto the stool before extending a hand to him. “I know we met briefly during the Charmony fiasco, but I never got to properly introduce myself. I’m Robin.”

He took her hand and shook it. “The name’s Boothill.”

“Not Mr. Pom-Pom?” Robin snorted.

“Hey now, that was a little below the belt, Princess.” Boothill frowned and reached for his second drink. “And shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, meetin’ the others in the dream?”

Robin shrugged and waved at the drinksmith, who nodded knowingly and started making a drink for her. The Pepeshi tourists across the bar gaped at her before the drinksmith slapped a bar towel down in front of them and they scattered with their puffballs and wine glasses. “They’ll be meeting the temporary head of the Oak Family, he knows the ins and outs of my brother’s study better than I do. That, and, I really have no idea what they’re looking for.”

“Shirt, me too.” Boothill laughed and sipped his drink, taking the time to savor this one compared to how he tossed back the first one.

Robin stared at him for a moment before speaking. “You have an… interesting way of speaking, Mister Boothill.”

“Just Boothill, please, the Mister sounds too weird.” He said with a shake of his head. “And what do ya mean? My swearin’?”

She nodded as the drinksmith set down a rather large glass stein filled with amber liquid in front of her. Boothill stared at the drink before shaking his head again, this time to focus himself.

“I’ve got a faulty synesthesia beacon, makes me swear all fudgin’ funny like that. Makes it hard to do my job well when targets are laughing at my way of talkin’.”

“Targets?”

Boothill smiled at her not unlike a shark, teeth bared and all. “You know what I do for a living, right Princess? I’m a Galaxy Ranger, and a darned good one at that.”

Robin picked up the stein in front of her and sipped from it. “So I’ve heard. I have to say, talking to you is not at all what I expected when I first learned of your bounty.”

“You’ve done homework on me?”

“After the Astral Express left Penacony, several poor IPC Employees were lamenting in these very same seats about a cowboy who had ambushed them and threatened one of the Ten Stonehearts while brandishing a gun. I figured they were talking about you, so I wanted to see who exactly had just saved my home with me. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Strangely, I don’t.” Boothill finished his drink and set down the empty glass. “You’re, uh, famous, right?”

“According to some, yes.” Robin also set down her drink. “Why, thinking of doing your own homework?”

Boothill laughed. “Why not? Might as well get the insider’s scoop while I’m here. Anythin’ about you I should be wary of while I’m staying here, Princess?”

“Well, for starters,” Robin slipped off her stool, quickly took another sip out of her stein, and started to walk away with another polite smile. “I’m no princess.”

“Sure ya are,” Boothill called after her, “you’ve got a whole crown an’ everything!”

“Just my halo, Mister Boothill!”

“I said to drop the Mister!”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Pom-Pom!” She slipped out of the VIP Lounge without another word.

Boothill leaned an elbow on the bar and stared at where she had been before pointing to her left-behind drink. “Hey, boss, what’d she have in that? She likes SoulGlad that much?”

“Oh, no sir,” the drinksmith shook his head. “Miss Robin only rarely orders SoulGlad. Her usual order is Scanovian Lager.”

“Scanovian?” Boothill leaned over and smelled her drink, feeling a small punch hit his nostrils. “Oh wow, that’s a drink. You just have stuff like this laying around?”

“Right next to the Asdana White Oak. We keep it in stock just for her.”

Boothill slipped off his stool, grabbed his hat, and pulled his keycard out of his pocket, finding he suddenly had the motivation to go sniff out his room. “She must really be popular, that lady.”

Chapter 5: Sleep With No Bed

Chapter Text

It was awful how often dust just accumulated everywhere. Left a room for too long, dust. Kept the door open to let some fresh air in, more dust. They never had to worry about the giant dust storms some of their penpals on the other side of the world dealt with, so they supposed they were lucky in that sense. Still, one could only sweep up a pile of dust so many times before any thoughts of gratitude get swept up along with it.

Eventually, Boothill found his room and was able to let himself in. The room was identical to the one he had commandeered last time he stayed at the hotel, but nevertheless he took his time looking around the room.

What struck him as weird the first time he was in a room like this was the lack of bed. He reasoned that the dreampool was supposed to be the room’s bed, but then where did someone actually sleep sleep? “Oh, but Boothill, why would you want to just sleep when you can dream?” Because regular sleep is nice and awesome, next question. The couches along the sides of the room were comfortable enough, he reckoned, but they were curved in a way that his tall body wouldn’t be able to lay down properly without needing to recalibrate a knee joint in the morning.

That raised another question, how was he supposed to charge in a room like this? He didn’t exactly see any wall outlets anywhere, did he just try to wait for the Express’ power to come back on so he could go back to the banged-up port in the guest cabin? His battery could last him a few days if he rationed it and didn’t move too much, but what Boothill really needed was just a whole new battery module. Preferably with a retractable cord inside of him, so finding a whole port wouldn’t be necessary.

His phone buzzed in his back pocket and he pulled it out, seeing that he was getting a call from a gray-haired Trailblazer. He swiped the phone’s screen across his nose to take the call and put the device to his ear.

“Howdy, Stellaron, miss me already?”

“Boothill, why aren’t you in the Dreamscape? We’re all waiting for you.” Stelle said.

“Oh, really? Y'all don’t really need my help that badly, do ya?”

“Leave the drinksmith alone and come help us.” She ordered and hung up. Boothill stared at his phone for a bit before his eyes drifted to the dreampool in front of him. The glowing bubbles floating out of it made his nonexistent stomach churn.

He shoved his phone back into his pocket with a grumble and stomped over to the pool, plunging one foot in and then another, but the heel of his boot got caught in his pant leg - the little bastard - which in turn got caught on the ornate decor of the pool, and he went tumbling face-first into the miasma water. It tasted like sweat, dirt, sand, and a little bit of spit? Either way, it was gross and he jerked his head back out of it with a censored swear. Still, he watched the dreampool’s “water” slink off his arms and bangs like slime, or ketchup; it clumped together and didn’t linger on him like regular water. Yet, when he shook his head back and forth, his hair floated freely through it like any other liquid. Weird.

Whatever, he secured his hat to his head and laid himself down on his back, feeling the bubbling Memoria creep up his ears and neck. It was cold and clammy and seeping through his scarf. He didn’t remember dreaming being this unpleasant last time, but then again, he was a little busier last time. A small intercom somewhere told him to close his eyes and relax, to let the dream do all the work for him, and part of him wanted to tell the pre-recorded voice that he couldn’t feel the dreampool anywhere on his body except for his head, but he realized that the voice was, well, pre-recorded and practiced some self-control.

Soon, his eyelids felt heavy and when he opened them again, he was standing in a blue space with a staircase in front of him.

Instinctively, his hand went to his gun before he recognized the Dreamscapes around him, the floating clocks and general haze that the late Watchmaker was so fond of. Up the staircase in front of him was a floating painting depicting hands pulling at a glowing hole in the middle of the canvas. Creepy, but obviously where he’s supposed to be going. He marched up the stairs and poked the painting with his finger, watching the painted hands pull the glowing hole open and revealing a swirling portal for him to slip through. He did, but now he was in a dark hallway with a blue door in front of him. He was in the dream version of the hotel.

“Oh for the love of-” Boothill yanked his phone back out and with a tap of his nose against the screen since he didn’t have the necessary skin on his fingers to operate the darn thing, called Stelle back. “Stellaron, I got lost.”

“What? How?” Stelle’s voice was crackly and fading.

“I don’t fudging know, I went into the fudging pool an’ then up a staircase an’ then into a painting and now I’m somewhere in the dream Reverie!” Boothill yelled back. He turned around and the painting he had come through was gone. “Fork me, weird dream stuff is happening.”

“Hold on, I’m on my way. Don’t move.”

“I won’t, I won’t,” Boothill started to say, but the door in front of him swung open and the sound of a guitar could be heard somewhere down the dark hallway he now stared down. “Alright, I’m moving.”

“Boothill, I swear to The Trailblaze, don’t start wandering around!” Stelle snapped at him through the phone.

“Nah, I gotta go see this.” Boothill was already through the door’s threshold, following the guitar. “I hear music?”

There was some rustling on the phone before a different voice started speaking. It was Black Swan. “Mister Boothill, I highly recommend not straying too deeply into the hotel. At least be wary of the danger you are putting yourself in.”

“Yeah, yeah, loud an’ clear.” Boothill hung up by clicking the power button on the side of his phone and continued to walk down the hallway. He heard the sound of metallic clanging somewhere in the distance, but the further he ventured down this monotonous hallway, the louder the sound of someone plucking on guitar strings got.

The tune was nonsensical and random, Boothill couldn’t hear any patterns or rhythms in the noise, but the plucking wasn’t totally unpleasant. It sounded a little familiar, even. Like the sound of someone tuning before beginning a lesson. Eventually, another blue door appeared in front of him, but as he raised his hand to push it open, a sudden voice in the back of his head seized him and refused to let go.

“ Don’t leave me! ” It screamed next to his ear. Boothill snapped around and drew his gun, firing a shot down the hallway behind him as the noises all suddenly fell completely silent.

He stared down the hallway for a minute. Then two. Then a few more with his gun raised and ready to fire again. He backed up to the door and his other hand pushed it open behind him. Maybe wandering around was a bad idea. No, he was fine. Just spooky dream nonsense trying to rattle him. He shut the door and turned to look around the room he was in now. Of course, his mind only spun more.

Staircases and walls jutted out and around randomly, making a maze on the walls, ceiling, and floor. Some yellow fountains with floating globs of what Boothill assumed was SoulGlad were positioned around the room and robotic members of the Dreamjolt Troupe rumbled around in various spots.

“Well…” Boothill holstered his gun and took a deep breath as he looked around for another door. “This sure is somethin’.”

Black Swan handed Stelle her phone back with a shrug. “Well, I’ve done all I can.”

Stelle gaped at her before shaking her head and rubbing her eyes. “Thank you. Your help is much appreciated.”

“Why thank you!”

Robin materialized next to them with a smile that quickly faded as she looked around. “Is everything alright?”

Stelle pocketed her phone with a sigh. “One of our friends got lost on his way here, he’s somewhere in the dream hotel.”

Robin gasped. “Oh no! Let me call the Bloodhounds, we’ll start the search immediately. The Dreamscape has gotten much more dangerous since you were last here, we need to move quickly!”

Stelle shook her head. “Don’t, he’ll see it as a challenge.”

“Are you perhaps talking about your cowboy friend?”

“Yeah, actually. I’ll go find him, he’s probably close to the VIP Lounge.” Stelle started towards Dewlight Pavilion’s door.

Robin stepped in front of her. “Please, let me. Siobhan has eyes all over the dream hotel for when this happens. And I can call Gallagh-“ she paused before seeming to remember the Historical Fictionologist didn’t exist anymore and shook her head. “Nevermind, I’ll have Siobhan keep an eye out for him and I’ll head over to go find him. Keeping Dreamchasers safe is the responsibility of the Family, not guests.”

Stelle opened her mouth to protest, but Robin gave her a hard stare behind her polite smile.

“Please, allow me to assist in this way.”

Stelle gulped and nodded. As soon as she did, Robin was on her phone and marching away. Stelle watched her go before Black Swan put a hand on her shoulder and started leading her deeper into Dewlight Pavilion.

“Come now, Mister Sunday’s study awaits.”

Robin stepped through a Dreamscape painting and found herself standing in the corner of Dreamjolt Holstery. The Halovian drinksmith noticed her and waver her over.

“Hey there, Miss Robin.” Siobhan gave her a big smile. “Tired of Anderson already? What brings you down here?”

Robin looked around. “You got my message, right?”

“Yeah, my friends are looking for your cowboy. While we wait, want a drink? You look tense.”

Robin considered the offer for a moment. “Sure, why not? Nothing too strong, please.”

“Coming right up.” Siobhan motioned for Robin to take a seat, and she did. While the drinksmith worked, she stole a glance at Robin’s darting eyes and gave her a sympathetic smile. “Hey, you’re not at fault for a guest going missing. It happens, especially nowadays.”

Robin grabbed a co*cktail napkin and twisted it in her fingers. “Yes, but he’s with the Astral Express. I’m in their debt, it’s my responsibility to make sure they’re okay while we repair the train.”

Siobhan set down a little purple drink in front of her. “Oh, you mean I’m looking for Boothill? Well, sh*t, he better not shoot my friends. And listen, Robin, I can’t tell you to just stop stressing, but I don’t think the Nameless are going to hold some arbitrary debt over your head.”

Robin sipped her drink. “So… I shouldn’t care so much about finding this Boothill?”

“Oh no, please go find him yourself. Before he shoots my friends.”

“Yes ma’am!” She downed the rest of her drink and slipped off her stool, darting towards the bar’s doors and venturing deeper into the Dreamscape.

Chapter 6: Walls and Walls and Walls and Walls and

Chapter Text

The hayloft was always too stuffy during the summer, but if the door was propped open, they could sit on the loft edge and dangle their legs over the side of the barn to try to find shapes in the clouds while they went to town on some sandwiches. The wind smelled both sweet and earthy, grainy and grassy but not unpleasant. They could sit there for hours and never grow bored.

Boothill wasn’t too sure how he ended up standing on the wall. He admittedly had messed with the glowing SoulGlad fountains scattered around the room and now he was here, staring at a tv with legs telling him it wanted to take his metal plates out for a drink.

“I-I’m sorry, could you repeat that? Uh, ma’am? I think you’re a ma’am?” He gave the machine an awkward smile.

The Dreamjolt Troupe thing giggled with a metal hand in front of its smiling screen, flapping its other up and down like it was fanning itself. “Oh, you charmer! You should know that a woman like me is already spoken for, so don’t get any ideas!”

“I have no idea what’s happening and I feel like I’d only have more questions if I did know. Look, since you ain’t attacking me, I’m gonna assume you’re a friendly. Do you know how in the heck I can get out of here?”

“Of course I do!” Lady spun around and waved a pointed finger around. “We just need to… uhm… go one of these ways?”

Boothill facepalmed behind her. He heard more mechanical wiring coming towards them from behind himself, and turned to see what it could be, finding a few more walking tv’s with angry faces sauntering towards them.

“Is there any chance those guys are your friends, ma’am?”

Lady spun back around and shrieked. “We need to run! Those are monsters!”

“Aren’t you also a- you know what? Nevermind, book it!”

Boothill fired a shot at one of the enemy machines with his finger gun and dashed forward, grabbing Lady’s hand and sprinting towards one of the SoulGlad ramps. She squealed as she was dragged along. “Don’t get any ideas, mister! I’m only holding your hand to keep myself safe!”

Boothill ran them onto the ceiling and slapped his finger gun into another fountain, destroying the ramp behind them and giving him some floating charges to bring them back onto another wall and to the floor. Other Dreamjolt Troupe members in the room heard the commotion and a mechanical dog with a bottle of SoulGlad in its mouth leaped into their path. Boothill let go of Lady and drew his actual pistol.

“Is this a friendly?!”

“No!” Lady hid behind him. “Get it!”

Boothill put a bullet between the dog’s eyes and the two kept running. They went up a staircase and from around a corner of a horizontal wall, two walking alarm clocks jumped at them. Boothill shot one, but the other was closing in. Until it was knocked out of the air by a blast of something purple.

“Mister Boothill! Lady!” A melodic voice called to them from the other side of the staircase. “This way! Hurry!”

Boothill grabbed Lady’s hand again and sprinted down the stairs. Robin held the neck of her microphone in one hand and flicked around magic purple birds at other Dreamjolt Troupe members chasing them. As Boothill passed her, he grabbed her arm with his free hand and dragged her through the blue door she had appeared from. Lady started to push the door shut behind them, but Boothill’s hat fell off. At the last second, he grabbed the hat right as another soda-chewing dog snapped at him, only for it to smash into the door.

Boothill leaned his back against the door and slid down to the floor with a breathless laugh. Lady spun around with a laugh of her own and gave Robin a big hug.

“You saved me! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Robin awkwardly patted the machine’s arm with a polite smile. “Oh, I didn’t do much, really. Mister Boothill, are you alright?”

Boothill put his hat back on and pushed up its brim with the barrel of his gun. “I told you not to call me that, Princess.”

“And I remember telling you not to call me ‘Princess’,” Robin replied, “how did you even get over here?”

Boothill pointed his thumb at the door behind him. “Just walked through a door?”

Robin nodded before turning to Lady. “Thank you for helping us find him. Siobhan should have a free drink on the house waiting for you back at the Holstery.”

Lady hugged Robin again with endless gratitude and then walked off down the hallway they were in now, vanishing through yet another blue door. Boothill was getting tired of those doors. Robin sighed and turned back to Boothill, offering a hand to him.

He took it and stood, holstering his gun and tipping his hat to her. “Much appreciated.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” She frowned at him.

“No injuries to report, ma’am.” Boothill gave her his own spin with his arms up to prove his claim. Robin’s eyes widened.

“Oh wow, the metal really just keeps going all the way down.” Her eyes drifted down to the cutouts in Boothill’s pants.

He gave her a toothy grin and started walking in the direction Lady had left in. “From neck to toes, and everythin’ in between.”

Robin trailed behind him, watching how the metal joints and plates that replaced muscles moved and contracted against each other with every step the cowboy took. “A bold choice for sure, what made you want the modifications?”

Boothill stopped so suddenly that Robin ran into him, looking at her over his shoulder with the crosshairs in his eyes. “You think I picked this?”

Robin felt her ears burn from embarrassment as her gloved hands covered her mouth. “I am so sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed anything!”

“Apology accepted.” He said and kept walking.

Eventually, the endless hallways gave way to the dark lobby of the hotel. Boothill looked around the empty space with a frown.

“Just as creepy as I remember.”

Robin walked past him with her phone in hand, typing away in a group chat with Stelle and Black Swan. “The others said that they’ve gotten what they needed from my brother’s study and they will meet us here in a few minutes.” She looked back at Boothill and smiled. “Do you have a phone? We should add you to the chat.”

Boothill rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not really the readin’ type,” he said. “Can’t really type much, either. You know, on account of not having skin?”

Robin’s eyes widened again. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“Stop, stop, stop, stop.” Boothill put a hand up in front of her. “Quit apologizin’ already! You didn’t do anythin’ besides a little social faux pas, you’re fine. What’s got you all stressed out?”

Robin started walking deeper into the lobby. “Thank you, and really nothing. It’s just been a long few weeks, I’ll be alright with a little bit of sleep.”

Boothill followed. “And how are ya gonna do that with no beds in this darn hotel?”

Robin snorted. “It’s been a while since anyone has complained about The Reverie’s accommodations.”

“Yeah, well, here I am. How is anyone supposed to sleep, like actually sleep, with no fudgin’ beds?!” Boothill waved his hands around to emphasize his point. “People should complain more, stand up for their rights! The people demand a mattress!”

“I really don’t think our guests come here for actual sleep,” Robin tried to stifle a snicker.

“Well, fork those idiots! I’m sleepy! If I’m gonna get pushed into some swanky VIP room, I wanna be able to shove a charger up my ads and take a snoozer for at least eight hours!”

Robin was fully laughing now. As in, hugging her sides and almost doubling over in a fit of breathless giggles. Boothill stopped waving his hands around indignantly and glared at her.

“I’m being fudging serious!” He stamped his foot, the action only making Robin laugh harder. “I’ll go sleep in the cold train! I’ll do it!”

She took a minute to regain the ability to speak, little tears in the corners of her eyes. “I… you don’t need to do that, I promise! Just give the front desk a list of what you need, they’ll help you!”

“So Dennis is gonna find me a queen sized bed?! Forkin’ Dennis?! The forkin’ shirtbag puking his guts all over the forkin’ Pepeshi in the Golden Hour?! He’s gonna pull a mattress out of his ads?!”

Robin was basically shrieking with laughter, her knees giving out and her falling onto the floor. “I can’t! I just can’t! Your swearing, it’s- I can’t!”

Boothill let out an indignant shout and swung a kick at the dream version of the front desk, making a crack in the wood that was loud enough to get him to cool his jets. He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. Behind him, Robin took some deep breaths of her own and got back to her feet, albeit with a bit of a wobble.

“My apologies,” she wiped the tears from her eyes, “Oh wow, I haven’t laughed that hard in years.”

“Yeah, well,” Boothill turned back to him and crossed his arms. “I’m glad you found my genuine complaints so funny.”

She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing again, her sides burning as she held them again. Boothill noticed and found himself wanting to laugh at his own absurdity too. A smile crept onto his face and he shook his head.

“Don’t you dare.” He said more to himself than Robin. “It’s. Not funny. I’m serious.”

She shook her head back. “So serious. The most serious.”

Their eyes locked again and both were reduced to more laughs. They continued to laugh even as two people approached them with smiles of their own.

“Oh good, you get along.” Stelle folded her arms over her chest proudly.

Boothill sucked in a breath and pulled his hat down over his eyes. “When did you get here?”

“Just now.” Black Swan looked over at Robin, who was actively fixing her hair as she tried to keep from laughing a third time. “I take it the two of you have had quite the adventure.

Robin shook her head. “Oh no, Mister Boothill was just letting me know how The Reverie should improve its services to accommodate all of our guests.”

Stelle’s eyes flicked between them. “Uh-huh. Welp, anyways, we think we’ve figured out how to find my friends. I’ve got good news and bad news.”

Boothill took another deep breath and focused. “What’s the good news?”

Stelle turned to look towards the pinballs that brought guests into the hotel in reality. “Good news is that they’re all physically unharmed and still aboard the Express.”

Robin put a hand over her chest with a frown. “And the bad?”

Stelle sighed with sagging shoulders. “The bad news is… each of them is trapped in their own Dreamscape crafted out of the unrefined Memoria floating around Penacony. Think their worst nightmares and experiences, but now it's sort-of reality. Since the Memoria is unrefined, Black Swan would need a lot of time to sort through the dreams. To speed up the process, I’ll be going with her inside the Dreamscapes to pull my friends out.”

Boothill glanced at Black Swan. “And what’ll I be doin’ during all this?”

Black Swan gave him a smile he couldn’t read. “Memoria is what powers The Reverie’s Dreamscapes. By bringing the unrefined miasma into the hotel to sort through, we will undoubtedly attract all sorts of memetic entities and monsters to our location. It just so happens that we have one of the most skilled Galaxy Rangers in the cosmos here with us who would be able to protect the Trailblazer and I while we work.”

Boothill stared at her incredulously. “You need me to be a bodyguard? That’s it?”

“Unless you think you’re unfit for the task.”

“Like heck I am!”

Robin stepped forward. “Is there any way I can help? I’ve been blessed by The Harmony and have lived on Penacony for most of my life, maybe there’s some insight I could give you?”

Stelle turned back to the group and shook her head. “Unless you can find something in Sunday’s study that we or Mr. McCoy couldn’t find, probably not. I really appreciate all your help, though. You’re the best, Robin!”

Robin looked dejected for a second before she returned Stelle’s smile. Boothill shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind the company if you know the hotel that well. You know I’d get lost instantly, wouldn’t mind having a guide.”

Robin’s eyes lit back up instantly. “Really? You mean it?”

All Boothill could think was just how bright her smile was. “Y-Yeah, sure. Why not.”

Stelle cheered. “Great! It’s all settled! Let’s meet back here tomorrow to get started! Go team!”

“Go Team!” Robin cheered back.

Boothill gave a small pump of his own fist as the women all disconnected from the dream, their figures vanishing from sight and leaving him alone. He waited to see if he would also wake up, but remained exactly where he was.

“How in the heck do I wake up?”

Robin reappeared in front of him with one more laugh. “I knew you’d get stuck. Just imagine pulling yourself out of a pool of water and you’ll be back in your hotel room.”

Boothill did as she said, closing his eyes and trying to imagine the slimy dreampool “water” sliding off his skin, feeling gravity shift around him as he sat up in his room. He clambered out of the pool and sat himself down on the curved couch to his left, staring with no hidden hatred at the dreampool before reaching for the room’s phone to give the front desk a call about finding him a generator and a pillow.

Chapter 7: Food for Thought

Chapter Text

The main house had burned down once, in the beginning. Whether it was foul play or an accident, they stood outside in the rain as the wooden beams went up in smoke. The closest neighbors were an hour away, so they found the camping gear in the shed and pitched their tents inside the barn. They sang songs to the Aeons for protecting them; to Qlipoth for not letting the fire spread, to Nanook and HooH for giving them a fresh start, to Xipe for not separating their family - not that they really believed in the stories of planet-owning aliens, but more as comfort for the tears and a reason to look forward to building the house one more time.

Boothill finished tightening the bolt in his left knee, retracted the screwdriver back into his finger, and pulled his pants up. Sleeping on the curved couch in his room had messed with his joints just as he predicted, but Dennis at the front desk had told him that they’d be able to get a proper cot for his room that night.

He checked his phone, saw a message from Stelle telling him to meet the others in the dream lobby, and let out a long sigh as he stared at the dreampool. He sent her back an audio message telling her that he was gonna get a snack first, and wandered down to the lounge.

Sitting at the bar chatting with Anderson the drinksmith was one Dr. Ratio, muscular arms perched on the counter and looking more relaxed than Boothill had ever seen him before. Boothill could fix that.

“Howdy, bro!” Boothill slung an arm around Ratio’s shoulders and gave Anderson a whistle. “My usual, boss!”

Ratio flinched and ducked under Boothill’s arm, pushing the Cowboy away with an evil glare. “Were you raised in a barn?!”

“Would you believe me if I said no?”

“Unbelievable.” Ratio rolled his eyes and rubbed his face. “The Trailblazer told me you should be in the Dreamscape by now.”

“Yeah, well, I’m thirsty.” Boothill sat down next to him with an evil grin. “You wouldn’t mind the company, would you doc?”

“Yes. Yes I would mind. I do actively mind. Go sit somewhere else.” Ratio’s phone lit up on the counter next to his elbow and he checked it with a groan. “It seems this was a fated meeting, we have both been asked to head to the hotel’s docks to inspect the Express.”

Boothill gave him a frown. “Why me?”

Ratio showed Boothill his screen, but pulled it away before Boothill could read who had messaged him. “Do you think I would be so distressed if I knew the answer? Look, let’s just go and see what this is about quickly so I can return to my break.”

Ratio slid off the bar stool and started to march away. Boothill grabbed his new drink, gave Anderson a couple credits for his troubles, chugged the drink, and followed after him curiously.

The elevator down to the lobby was silent, and so was the walk over to the pinballs that would take them to the Express. Neither actually said anything until they got to the train and Boothill’s jaw fell open when he saw the engine.

“Holy Wubbaboo.”

He’d never actually seen the massive engine before, he’d always been around the Express’ cars, but he was pretty sure the engine wasn’t supposed to be covered in shimmering slime. A man in a red and black tuxedo greeted them with a firm handshake and a tip of his stylish fedora.

“Greetings, gentlemen, I am Sir Whittaker, current head of the Nightingale Family and overseer of the repair of the Astral Express!” He stepped back to bow. “Please direct any and all questions you have about the repairs to me.”

“Yeah, I got one.” Boothill pointed at the Express. “What’s that?”

Whittaker followed his finger and made an acknowledging noise. “That, my good sir, would be pure Memoria. Hard to capture in the physical world, and the substance used to run the Dreamscape.”

Boothill kept pointing at it. “That slime derailed the fudgin’ Astral Express ?”

Ratio reached over and pushed Boothill’s arm down. “It is of my understanding that Memoria is extremely dangerous to handle, how do you plan to safely remove and store it?”

Sir Whittaker gave him a smile and whistled loudly. On cue, several people in thick hazmat suits stepped around the side of the engine and waved cheerfully before disappearing again. Boothill blinked at where they had been.

“Do you ever feel like your life is a different genre than everyone else’s?”

“Constantly.” Dr. Ratio answered. “Sir Whittaker, may we have a moment?”

“But of course!” And the stylish man walked away. Ratio took Boothill by the arm and spun him around so the two were huddled together.

“You do see the problem in front of us, right?”

Boothill glanced back over at the train and nodded. “Not really, nope.”

“Why did I assume otherwise?”

“Well if you quit yappin’ and give me a second, maybe I’d find something.” Boothill turned fully to face the train and squinted. He saw a hazmat suit-wearing Family worker holding a sort of vacuum to clean the miasma off of the engine. “Well, okay. We’ve already been here for more than a day and they’re only just now starting to clean.”

“Good observation.” Ratio said. “Anything else?”

“I feel like I’m back in school. Uh, hold on, let me think.” Boothill itched his nose. “I think… Hey, does the slime freeze in space? Was it always so liquid-y? I could’ve sworn the Express hit somethin’ solid out there.”

“Precisely. I admit as I said before, I don’t know as much about Memoria as I should, but you were accurate in your analysis of the situation before we arrived on Penacony and you are accurate now. For now, I would not trust anyone from the Garden of Recollection or The Family until you have retrieved the conductor of the Express.”

Boothill’s hand went to his gun as he watched the Nightingale workers vacuuming slime off the engine. “Already didn’t. Who was it that told us to come out here again?”

Ratio checked his phone again. “The Memokeeper did. I believe she wanted us to see the inaccuracies in the timeline leading up to how we got here.”

“Well, that’s assumin’ that miasma doesn’t freeze in space. There’s a chance that it does and it thawed last night.”

“True, you are appealing yourself to me more by the minute.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Boothill grinned, but didn’t take his eyes off the train. “But the question is, who profits from draggin’ the Express track to Penacony? And was the disappearin’ act of the Nameless intentional as part of the plan?”

Dr. Ratio checked his phone again. “The Trailblazer is asking for you in the Dreamscape. I don’t know how much we will be able to learn from the Memokeeper or Oak Family girl, but keep your eyes on them. I’ll remain here until the Express is repaired as a favor to the Astral Express’ crew.”

Boothill gave him a light punch on the shoulder and started back towards the VIP lounge. “Much appreciated, brother. See ya when I see ya.”

Boothill sank back into the sweet dream and found himself back in the dream lobby. Nobody else was there, which gave him time to think about what Ratio had said.

Boothill didn’t think Robin was the malicious or scheming type, despite her family’s history, after all she had been crucial in the whole her-brother-is-resurrecting-a-dead-god-using-the-souls-of-hotel-employees-so-let’s-throw-a-train-at-him situation, especially during the let’s-throw-a-train-at-him part, but she was Sunday’s sister and Sunday had been the ringleader in the resurrecting-a-dead-god plan. Who knew how many layers deep any plan of The Family’s could go? No, Boothill was a good judge of character. Robin was fine. Probably. But Black Swan? There was definitely more to the story with her. But Stelle seemed to trust her, did Stelle know something he didn’t? Now he was regretting not meeting them yesterday to look through Sunday’s stuff. Even if his reading skills were lackluster, he still would have been able to hear what they had learned in real time instead of whatever they decided to tell him afterwards.

But even if Black Swan somehow willingly got herself impaled on a table leg just to bring the Nameless back to Penacony, why? The Nameless were a helpful bunch and the star rails made it super easy to go back to a previous location. Derailing the Express, getting it towed back, what were the chances of Ratio finding them? It seemed like a lot of effort for Black Swan to put towards some ulterior motive. That brought his thoughts back to The Family. Who all did he remember from the hotel staff to be suspicious? Dennis was just Dennis, the Bloodhounds were fudgeheads, that Whittaker guy probably wasn’t any mastermind of his own, the Iris and Alfalfa Families probably kept to themselves, who was in charge of the Oak Family while Sunday was MIA? McCoy? Was that his name? Stelle said he knew about this “miasma sickness”, what did that mean? Okay, McCoy was suspect number one. Where could Boothill find him? Would he have to wait for the others? Would that tip Black Swan off that he didn’t trust her? Didn’t she already know that he didn’t trust her? Was this entire thing her intention?

“Mister Boothill?”

“I WASN’T DOIN’ NOTHIN’!” Boothill jumped.

Robin stared at him with wide eyes. “Oh wow, you didn’t feel a thing.”

“What?”

She poked his elbow. “Do you feel that?”

“I don’t-“ Boothill gaped at her. “Huh?”

“I guess since you don’t have skin, you wouldn’t feel anything, is it like when someone touches your hair?”

“What are you yappin’ about?”

“What is your level of sensation?” Robin was staring hard at his arm.

Boothill pulled his arm back and took a few steps back. “You, uh, you’re really quiet. When you move. How long have you been here?”

“A minute or two, you looked deep in thought.” Robin circled around him. “And I was thinking more about your robotic parts since Stelle told me you travel alone. Do you do your own maintenance?”

Boothill looked around to try to find the others. They were not there. “You’re askin’ a lot of questions.”

Robin’s eyes widened in realization and her wings puffed up slightly. “I’m so sorry! I’ve never met a cyborg before, only Intellitrons, I shouldn’t have been so forward!”

Boothill rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s fine, just freaked me out a little. Where is everyone?”

“They’ve already gone in ahead of us, now we wait for them to return.” She looked around the empty lobby. “Miss Black Swan said that you would arrive later and that monsters would start to arrive not too long after that.”

“She’s got a whole schedule for this shirt? Dang.” Boothill said. “So… what do we do now?”

Robin wandered over to the front desk and hoisted herself up to sit on it, coincidentally right above the hole Boothill had kicked in it the previous day. “What would you like to do?”

“Well, for starters I’d love to wake back up and enjoy the accommodations of your establishment, Princess-”

“-Hey, I said I’m not-”

“And I’m still starin’ at your crown.” Boothill grinned with his teeth bared, again not unlike a shark, Robin noted. He flicked up the tip of his hat and slightly brushed his bangs to the side. “But seriously, I’m treatin’ this like a job - and since I usually work alone, I tend to be pretty quiet until bullets start flyin’.”

Robin blinked at him. “You have a right eye?”

Boothill blinked back. “Pardon me?”

She pointed at his face in pure astonishment. “You actually have a right eye, Miss Stelle wasn’t sure you had one. Something about a disturbing audio message you sent her once.”

He shook his head with a breathless laugh. “Why does everyone assume I don’t have a fudgin’ right peeper?”

Robin giggled. “Well, your hair appears very thick, you can’t really see through it.”

Boothill took his hat off and shook his head, running the fingers of his free hand through his bangs in an attempt to brush them. “Does it?”

“How often do you wash it?”

Boothill buffered as he tried to remember. “Uh… sometimes?”

“And what is sometimes, Mister Boothill?”

“You’re askin’ a lot of questions, Princess.” He put his hat back on. “Synthetic hair doesn’t need to be washed like regular hair, my scalp doesn’t make the same, what do you call ‘em… oils? Yeah, oils. I don’t have the same skin oils as you squishy people.”

Robin raised an eyebrow at him. “ You squishy people ? That sounded a little charged.”

“Was that a robot joke?”

“And if it was?” The grin she gave him was eerily similar to the one he’d given her earlier.

“I think…” Boothill snorted. “Fudgin’ nice. How many have you been cookin’ up since we met?”

Robin kicked her legs back and forth as she leaned her head back to not look him in the eyes anymore. “Oh… just a few.”

“Just a few? You expect me to believe that?”

“Well, some are under server maintenance, and need a few more calibrations before they’re ready to start their Alpha testing. For now, I’m trying my early access content and seeing the feedback I need to send back to the development team.”

Boothill failed to cover the snort that was involuntarily punched out of him. “Those… those are fudgin’ awful .”

Her head snapped forward like a hawk that spotted its prey. “But you still laughed.”

“I didn’t laugh!” He scoffed. “I just breathed! Sharply! As one does! And those weren’t even robot jokes!”

“But you still laughed! I win!”

“What contest is this?! What are the rules?!”

Robin dissolved into a fit of giggles at his expressions that were cycling between confused and alarmed. He just stared at her, trying to figure out how to respond, until he heard one of the elevators ding open. He drew his pistol and aimed it at the elevator, causing Robin to fall silent.

“Boothill?”

“You said some monsters were gonna be showin’ up at some point, right?” Boothill’s voice dropped low, and his aim did not waver as he stared into the dark of the empty lobby.

She nodded in his peripheral and slid off the desk, a silver microphone materializing in her hand as she moved to stand behind Boothill.

“Well, prepare for some company, Princess. Just stay calm and I’ll keep ya safe.”

Heavy metallic thuds sounded slowly towards them. As soon as the beaming headlights that were the eyes of the giant soda-tossing monkey appeared, Boothill squeezed the trigger once, twice, three four then five times. He had to give it to Robin, he didn’t hear her flinch or gasp behind him. The giant monkey still lumbered towards them, albeit missing an eye, so Boothill figured his sixth and last shot before emptying his pistol and turning to grab Robin by the arm.

“Get movin’!” He heard the monkey grab a SoulGlad bottle from the box around its neck and watched as it sailed through the air over their heads, shattering against the hotel’s carpet and spraying them with sharp soda and glass shards.

Robin took off with Boothill holding onto her, the two diving behind a couch as Boothill reloaded and more soda bottle bombs were hurled at them. Robin checked over the couch and quickly ducked as another soda bottle exploded against their cover.

“That was close, what do we--you’re hurt!” She gasped at Boothill.

He shook his head and snapped the chamber of his pistol back into place with new bullets ready to find their next kill. “It’s probably nothin’.”

“You’re bleeding!”

“What? No,” he started to scoff, but still put a hand to his cheek. He stared at the tiny droplets of blood that his metal fingers retrieved. “Huh. Would you look at that.”

Robin felt around her dress for something to patch him up with. “Hurry and take care of the monsters so I can heal you!”

Boothill tipped his hat at her and prepared to leap out from behind the couch to draw the enemy fire away from her. “Ma’am, yes ma’am.”

Chapter 8: Don't Make Me Bleed My Own Blood, Dammit!

Chapter Text

The horses were a pain whenever the wind blew too strong. They were loyal through every other kind of weather, never bucked or flinched during thunder, but wind? If the wind howled too loudly or threatened to blow the gate of the barn open, those darn animals would have hooves in the air and would whine loud enough to wake up the whole valley. It was just their nature to be scared of the unknown and invisible, everyone recognized eventually. The only other noise that spooked the horses so much was the constant thumping from overhead that happened daily now. Maybe the horses were the smart ones in the end.

Boothill dove and tucked into a roll, narrowly avoiding another exploding SoulGlad bottle and fired twice once he planted both feet on the ground; once with his pistol and once with the gun he stored in his left arm. The head of the Dreamjolt Troupe monkey exploded and the body followed suit, leaving behind a mist of SoulGlad and broken parts. Behind it, stepping out of the elevator were a couple of walking tvs with unhappy faces and flying masks. Boothill also glanced back and noticed that the elevator door on the other end of the lobby was spewing out monsters of its own.

He put a bullet in one of the walking tv screens and glanced back at Robin. He needed to get her somewhere safer and hole up until the Trailblazer got back and could toss around the Watchmaker’s hat to boost his strength. He wasn’t really sure how that worked, but dream magic was dream magic. He refocused on the monsters creeping towards him from both sides. He’d been in worse situations, but Boothill didn’t do well with partners for a reason. It was a heck of a lot easier to keep himself safe when he had thick metal sheets covering his organs and a distinct lack of self preservation skills once the adrenaline-equivalent in his system started pumping.

But Robin was a civilian, what all could she do? Pathstriders were sturdier than regular people by default, Boothill had made sure his body was designed to capitalize on the strength The Hunt gave him, but Robin followed The Harmony, what type of offensive skills would that give her? Forking hell, this was confusing and way too complicated.

His questions were answered by Robin darting out from behind the couch and with a wave of her hand, several purple projectiles sprung from her palm and attacked the closest monster.

“Oh right, you can do that.”

Robin went back-to-back with him. “I admit, my skills are nothing compared to pure firepower, but don’t count me out just yet!”

“Alrighty then, Princess, where do we go from here? Where do we meet up with the others?” He glanced back over his shoulder at her, keeping his guns raised and ready to fire if any of their attackers got too close.

“They said they would reappear here once they found the Express’ conductor, we just need to keep the lobby clear until they return.”

“Yeah, well, I’m seein’ a fork ton of enemies and not a lot of backup.”

Robin threw out more purple birds. “Give me some time and I can call the Bloodhounds?”

“No Bloodhounds, or any Family people. I don’t trust ‘em, no offense.”

“None taken.” She sighed and gripped her microphone tighter. “Okay, I’ve got it! Make me a path over to the pinballs!”

Boothill looked across the lobby as more monsters surrounded them. He’d need to mow down a considerable amount of enemies to get her all the way to the edge of the lobby.

“Are you sure? In those heels?” He frowned.

“They’re just as tall as yours! And yes! Trust me!” She glared back at him.

Boothill examined the determined look on her face before sighing and pushing her back. He leaped forward, guns blasting at anything that moved. He landed on top of a walking alarm clock, kicked a mask out of the air, and fired from his arm gun as he reloaded his pistol once more. He was a flurry of black, white, and red, jumping over one robot dog and grabbing the ear of another to throw it over the edge of the lobby.

Robin ran through the path he was weaving. “Nice job! Thank you!”

He tipped his hat at her briefly and went back to shredding metal, literally. Robin stopped next to one of the pinballs and dropped down onto her knees, crawling underneath the lip of the step people in the waking world would use to travel from the docks to The Reverie, and turning onto her back. She could hear the sounds of Boothill fighting around her, so she focused on the task ahead of her.

Even in a dream, the technology used for the pinballs should have been the same, if not easier to navigate than its reality counterpart. She pried a panel off of the underside of the pinball dock and examined the various wires she found. Robin tugged her gloves off with her teeth and reached for the wires, tracing them with her fingers to see what connected to what. As she did, her finger snagged against a metal switch and she flipped it, but the unrefined edge of the crude switch cut her finger and she yanked it back to suck on it. When she looked at her finger to see how big or small the cut was, a tiny droplet of blood decorated her fingertip.

Then she thought back to the cut on Boothill’s face from the glass shards, and her stomach did a terrible flip. Blood? In the Dreamscape? Their bodies should be made out of Memoria, why would they be bleeding? Robin crawled out from under the pinball and pressed a button on the side of it, turning it on and waiting for the neon green and yellow lights to start flickering. Towards the center of the lobby, Boothill was standing on top a pile of defeated foes and shouting for the others to “come at me ya muddle-fudging ads-voles!”

“Boothill! Move!” Robin slammed her fist into the side of the pinball machine and it launched up and out.

Boothill looked back and yelped as he threw himself out of the trajectory of the flying pinball, covering his head as it crashed down into the lobby and bowled through the rest of the monsters, eventually ramming into the front desk and reducing the wood to splinters as it came to a halt. Boothill stood and gaped at the flattened monsters as Robin ran over to him and threw her arms around his neck in a hug.

“We did it!” She cheered.

He shook his thoughts out of his head and wrapped an arm around her waist to spin her in a little victory dance. When he stopped, he met her smile with one of his own, and she quickly squeaked and let go of him.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said as she smoothed out her dress, “you fought well, Mister Boothill.”

“You weren’t too bad yourself, Princess.” He winked at her and retrieved his hat from where it had fallen off in the chaos. “Lose your gloves?”

“Oh, they’ll be fine. Come here, let me see your face.” She moved over to one of the lobby couches that hadn’t been flattened or filled with holes.

“I promise you, it’s fine.” Boothill rolled his eyes.

“I won’t take no for an answer.” She grabbed him by the scarf and dragged him to the couch, ignoring his choked gasps of protest and pushing him onto the cushions.

He thankfully sat still as she sat down next to him and grabbed his chin, moving his face around so she could get a look at his cut.

“Since this is a dream, I don’t think there’s a chance of it getting infected, but don’t stay here when the others get back. Go wake up immediately and see if you find any side effects.”

“But if we’re in a dream, how would I have a real life injury?” He asked her.

“If we’re in a dream, how are you bleeding?” Robin asked back. “The Dreamscape’s collapse has been accelerating ever since my broth-... ever since the Charmony Festival. I don’t know much about dreamweaving myself, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the Memoria that used to be controlled by the Stellaron was destabilizing and leaking into reality, and vice versa.”

“You’re saying a lot of words that I’m sure mean something important, but I don’t know what.”

Robin sat back and pulled her legs up under her so she was sitting on her knees. She put a hand to her chin to think and the tiny droplet of blood from before reappeared on her fingertip. Boothill followed her gaze and squinted at her finger.

“What do you think?”

“I think…” But what was Robin thinking? She hadn’t even started to make sense of her feelings of what happened two weeks ago, what was she to do with this new information? Pass it onto the proper authorities? But what could McCoy or Whittaker do? Neither had the experience or authority the Dreammaster had, nor the creativity of the Watchmaker. Was that why the Nameless were back? She needed to look more into all of this. “I think there’s a lot more going on than we realize. Only truly powerful memetic entities and master dreamweavers, those who edit the Dreamscape professionally, can alter the line between reality and dream.”

Boothill shifted from looking at her finger to studying her clouded expression. “You’re lookin’ into this too?”

Robin continued to stare at her finger. “I understand why you would be slow to trust the Family, who else would have the power to nearly destroy the Astral Express?”

“Now, hold on a minute, I haven’t said anythin’ about suspects yet-”

She shook her head and lowered her hand. “Despite following The Harmony, the Family has always had ulterior motives, even with our humanitarian work. All is done for the growth of the Family, to build our strength and influence, so that Xipe can one day be the strongest Aeon and the one to protect us from The Destruction or The Voracity or anything else that goes bump in the night. I won’t be naive to this any longer.”

“Cool speech, but now it sounds like you’re just accussin’ all of Penacony-”

“Part of me wants to believe that this is related to my brother, but I need to be more pragmatic. More aware of my current surroundings and what those around me are motivated by. Who truly wants to benefit Penacony? Who wants to profit?”

“And now we’re monologuing, cool. Hey, Princess, when was the last time you actually talked about your feelings with someone licensed?”

“There’s so many pieces moving right now,” Robin continued saying, “and without anyone I can truly trust, even my childhood home feels foreign to me. But I want to get to the bottom of this. I have to. I owe it to the Nameless. To Stelle.”

Boothill itched his nose and blinked at her. “Sounds like you need an ally. Hey, funny idea, crazy even, since I’m also trying to figure out why I’m back here, how about we team up? I can interrogate people, you can throw giant pinballs at them, it’s a win-win!”

Robin snorted and covered her mouth. “I really had no idea that would work.”

“There ain’t no such thing as coincidences in this universe.” He gave her a toothy smile. “So what do ya say? Wanna help a brother out?”

Robin looked over at him, looked him up and down, and extended a hand to him. “Why not?”

He shook her hand back gently and she began marveling at his arm.

“So you really don’t feel any sensation?” She pulled his hand closer to get a better look at it.

He propped himself up against the couch with his other hand. “I mean, no skin makes it a little hard to feel anythin’. Is it really that interesting?”

“Forget interesting, this is fascinating .”

Boothil resigned himself to his fate of being prodded like a science project and looked around the lobby again, ears straining to hear if the elevator was gonna throw any more nasties at them.

As he sat there and Robin stared at the joints of his fingers, there was a sudden gust of wind in their direction and a swirling cloud of mist formed in front of them. Boothill yanked his hand free and shot to his feet, drawing his gun and pushing his other arm out to make sure Robin was behind him.

The mist cloud grew to the size of a door and an actual door formed out of it, the handle twisting down and Stelle bursting out of it with Pom-Pom on her back and Black Swan close behind to slam the door shut behind them.

Robin moved around Boothill and helped the Trailblazer to her feet. “Miss Stelle! Conductor Pom-Pom! You’re here!”

“Well I’ll be darned, you found them.” Boothill kept an eye on Black Swan, who looked uncharacteristically frazzled from the Dreamscape.

The Memokeeper fixed her veil as the mist door vanished. “The search should be much shorter tomorrow, Pom-Pom had a surprising amount of memories to sort through.”

Stelle looked off into the distance solemnly. “So many Nameless…”

Pom-Pom groaned and the conductor slowly got up off the floor. “Where… where am I?”

Robin crouched down to be eye-level with them. “Welcome back to Penacony, we hope your stay is comfortable and relaxing!”

Chapter 9: Up A Creek

Chapter Text

A good spot to escape everything used to be the roof. They would scramble up there and pull the ladder up after them to take a good nap, reappearing at dinner time with sun-cooked cheeks and droopy eyes. Now, the spot to be was the creek a half-hour ride south. They could throw stones in the water and complain to each other about anything. What happened at the creek stayed at the creek.

Boothill did as Robin ordered and woke himself up once Pom-Pom was fully conscious and the women were able to explain to them what was going on. He sat up in his dreampool and pulled himself out, finding his phone and looking at his reflection.

There was a scab on the side of his face, slightly blue since that was the color his blood was supposed to be now despite the red blood he had bled in the dream. Robin was right, the sweet dream was leaking into reality, or vice versa. Probably both. But they had Pom-Pom now, the conductor could get the Astral Express running again. How many Nameless were still missing? His bro Dan Heng, Dan Heng’s pink friend, Himeko, and Welt Yang. Were there any others on board? No, that was it. The younger Express crewmates should be easy for Stelle to find, they shouldn’t have that many memories to sort through.

Boothill rubbed his face, but paused when his fingers got tangled in his bangs. Maybe he did need to wash his hair eventually. Did his room have a bathroom? Upon further inspection, he found that it did not. Huh. Then how did- you know what? Nevermind. He could go dunk himself in the hotel’s fountain.

He left his room and started towards the lounge. It was nearly noon, so the hotel was as busy and lively as ever. Not that time really ever meant anything on Penacony. Anderson wasn’t on duty at the bar anymore, someone else had taken his place. Still, Boothill sat himself down and asked for a napkin and something to write with. The new drinksmith brought him what he asked for and he unfolded the napkin, popping the cap off of his new pen with his thumb, and dividing the napkin into four squares.

He labeled the four squares: What We Know, Who We Can Trust, Suspects, and What To Do. Under Who We Can Trust he scribbled down his own name, Dr. Ratio, Robin, and Stelle. Even if Stelle was somehow under Black Swan’s thumb, he couldn’t imagine her bearing any responsibility for this mess. She had been right next to him when the Express derailed, he doubted she could have orchestrated that. He also felt comfortable with trusting Ratio. The doctor was a shirtbag and a massive dork, but since all his IPC buddies had cleared out of Penacony, he had no real reason to stay behind unless it was just out of the goodness of his heart, or the promise of compensation. Ratio also seemed like the type of guy not to really like lying a lot, even at the expense of holding an advantage over his prey. Robin also was trustworthy, especially after earlier. He noted under What We Know that Robin was close with a lot of Oak Family members and actively started suspecting them first. Bold move, but he couldn’t blame her after the Charmony Festival.

Under Suspects, he almost started writing the Oak Family as a whole, but stopped himself. Robin pointed out that those with the power to truly alter the Dreamscape would only be the ones really in charge, and he had already ruled out the other Families. He jotted down McCoy’s name and added a question mark next to it. Then, he wrote down The Dreammaster’s title, not that he knew if the old man was still around or not. The Watchmaker had family still living on Penacony, right? He could try his luck over in Dreamflux Reef to see what they all knew about dream editing, or whatever Robin called it. Dreamweaving? Yeah that sounded right. He also put Black Swan in the Suspects box with her own question mark.

All that was left was the What To Do box. As he filled in some shorthand for what he and Ratio found out earlier in the What We Know box, he started thinking about his next move. Did he go to Dreamflux Reef alone? Would the locals even talk to him since he wasn’t a friendly? How could he ask Stelle to go with him without tipping off Black Swan? Again, how much did she even fudgin’ know about all this?

Someone in a white dress slid onto the stool next to him and he slid the napkin over to them. “Apologies for the shirty handwriting.”

Robin picked up the napkin and read it over. “This is really impressive!”

“I’m a Galaxy Ranger, it’s my job to be good at huntin’.” Boothill looked over at her. “How’d you get over here so fast?”

“Oh, I didn’t linger for too long. Miss Black Swan was able to transport Pom-Pom back to reality, they should be at the Express right now. Miss Stelle should be waking up soon, too. I can imagine that she’s exhausted from her work earlier.” She folded up the napkin and slid it back to him. “How does your face feel?”

He turned himself even more to show her his scab. “It doesn’t hurt, but it’s weird that I have the cut, right?”

Robin gasped and reached out to touch the scab. As soon as her glove touched Boothill’s skin, he instinctively jerked his head back and his hand went to his side. Robin’s eyes widened in horror and recoiled her hand back.

“I’m so sorry!”

Boothill tried to laugh off the sudden spike in his adrenaline. “Quit apologizin’ already! I’m sorry for bein’ jumpy, not too used to touching people.”

Robin cleared her throat and looked down at the napkin. “So, uhm, who do we talk to first?”

Boothill tucked the napkin into a pocket on his shirt. “First, we need to figure out the facts, the motives. You said it yourself earlier, who benefits from picking a fight with the Nameless? I wanna meet the people who knew the Watchmaker, they’d know a bit about who would want to take a potshot at the Astral Express, right?”

She nodded and slid off her stool. “Meet you back in the dream?”

“Yes ma’am.” He slid off his stool, too.

He materialized back in the trashed dream lobby and waited for a minute before Robin appeared in front of him. She greeted him with a smile and started towards one of the other pinballs she hadn’t launched at the front desk.

“We can take this to Clock Studios Theme Park and use another portal to get to Dreamflux Reef.”

The side of the pinball slid open and Boothill stared at it. “Do I even fit in one of those?”

Robin hoisted herself up and curled up inside. “It’s dream tech, you’ll be fine. If you get scared, would you like to hold my hand?”

Boothill glared at her as he marched over. “I ain’t scared of a ball!” He proudly announced as he ducked inside the pinball and the door slid shut. “So how does this thing wo-!”

The pinball was launched and everything turned into light. When Boothill came to, he was standing on shaky legs and the world was spinning. Robin stood next to him and shook out her hair before starting to walk away.

“Keep up, Mister Pom-Pom!” She called over her shoulder.

“That’s not my-” Boothill put his hands on his knees to steady himself. “Ya know what? Keep goin’, I’ll catch up in a minute.”

Robin nodded and started to walk deeper inside the park. Boothill waited for his vision to correct itself before following after her slowly. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so dizzy, why was all this happening to him while he was inside the dream? They needed to get to the bottom of this “dream editing” sooner rather than later, he needed his senses in peak form if he had to fend off more monsters the next time Stelle went after her friends.

He found Robin not too far up ahead speaking with two men, one an older human with glasses and carrying a sort of folder, and the other a tiny Pepeshi with a mustache.

“Miss Robin, please reconsider!” The Pepeshi pleaded with her.

Robin shook her head. It took Boothill a few more steps before he could hear what she was saying. “I don’t want to have this discussion again, out of respect for your time.”

“But Mister Sunday’s accounts would be used to their best potential if they were distributed sooner rather than later! We wouldn’t want their worth to continue to diminish the longer we stall! Show her, McCoy!” The Pepeshi looked at the older man behind him.

The older man pushed up his glasses and opened the folder in his hands. Boothill looked him up and down from a short distance away. This was McCoy? He didn’t have nearly the same authoritative energy that other Oak Family workers carried themselves with. This was the executor of the Oak Family?

Robin didn’t even acknowledge him. “Mister Keenan, I know what the numbers are. Mr. McCoy’s role is clear that he has the final say in matters concerning the Oak Family, but I shouldn’t have to remind you who has the final say in both Sunday’s and Gopher Wood’s personal accounts. I qualify as next of kin for both my brother and my father, and my decision is to hold off touching either account until we have definitive proof of death. Am I understood?”

Keenan looked like a blood vessel was about to pop in his forehead. McCoy behind him looked proud of Robin. Boothill noted that to himself. Keenan took a deep breath to calm his nerves.

“Young lady, you’ve been away from home for quite some time. I know things have been difficult for you recently, but we need to face the facts.”

Boothill saw Robin’s hands clench at her sides. He took a tentative step towards the group, but paused when Robin raised her chin and gave the Pepeshi named Keenan a cold stare. Keenan shrank a little, which Boothill thought was funny considering the Pepeshi’s already tiny statue, but thought for a moment before he smiled knowingly.

“A bold demonstration of the Oak Family’s abilities, Miss Robin, it seems the previous Family Heads were wrong about you. I see the game you’re playing, hoarding both the late Mister Sunday and Mister Gopher Wood’s inheritances for yourself.”

Robin took a step back with a shake of her head. “No, that’s wrong! I wouldn’t--I’m not--they’re not…”

Boothill decided it was a good time to step over. He marched up behind Robin and gave the sneering pepeshi a sinister smile. “Uh, ‘scuse me? You’re interruptin’ my tour! Do you know who I am?”

Keenan looked Boothill up and down. “I’m sorry, sir, but this is official Family business.”

“Yeah, I know,” Boothill itched his nose. “I’m Pom-Pom, conductor of the Astral Express and the literal I in VIP. My ship got wrecked while in your family’s airspace, so don’t be interruptin’ the Oak Family’s apology tour, or do we need remindin’ who just saved the whole fudgin’ Dreamscape?”

Keenan turned white and started to shuffle away. “I-I’m so sorry, sir. We can continue this talk later, Miss Robin! Good day!” And he was gone.

McCoy gave Robin an apologetic smile before going after Keenan. Robin let out a deep sigh and looked up to give Boothill a smile of her own.

“Thank you, I wasn’t sure for how much longer I could have avoided that.”

Boothill gave her arm a touch before starting to walk in the direction she had been heading earlier. “I didn’t do much, you had that all covered.”

Robin snorted and followed after him. “Not really, handling Family matters has always been Sunday’s forte.”

He turned around to walk backwards with his hands behind his head. “Yeah, but you said it yourself: you’re Sunday’s sister. What was all that about anyways?”

Robin’s face fell. “It’s complicated, and rather boring.”

Boothill nearly tripped over his spurs, so he spun back around and slowed to walk in step with her. “I’ve got time, unless it’s a super long story.”

Robin giggled softly. “It’s not long, it’s just that while my brother and the Dreamaster are missing, I’ve assumed responsibility over their personal financial accounts. The Alfalfa Family has been wanting their hands on Gopher Wood’s wealth forever, and I really want to give them access to it, but…” her eyes went down to the ground as they walked and her voice became quiet. “Not Sunday’s. I don’t want them to have that yet. Sunday didn’t- doesn’t have a lot of personal belongings, so it’s my job as his family to keep what actually does belong to him safe.”

“Not really something I can relate to a whole lot,” Boothill said, “but I bet he appreciates it.”

Robin nodded and rubbed her face. The two turned a corner and with a wave of her hand, a familiar looking painting of hands appeared in front of Robin.

“Here we are!” She gave Boothill a smile he saw tiny cracks in and put a foot through the painting’s portal.

Boothill paused and cringed at the painting. “Last time I messed with one of those, I got ambushed.”

Robin held out a hand to him. “Don’t worry, I’ll be here to keep the great conductor of the Astral Express safe!”

He looked between her and her hand before taking it. She yanked him forward and with a yelp, Boothill fell through the portal and onto a tile floor.

Boothill stood and looked around the hotel hallway he landed in, finding that both Robin and the portal he came through were gone. How familiar.

“Shirt, fork, muddle-fudgin’, goshdarn-” Boothill swore as he found his phone and sent Stelle an audio message to send him Robin’s number as fast as she could.

Stelle replied with Robin’s number and Boothill didn’t hesitate to smash his nose into his screen. Robin answered after a few rings.

“Hey, Princess, uh… it happened again.”

“I’ve noticed.” Robin responded on the other end. “Hold on, I can still sense you within the Dreamscape, you’re a lot closer than you think. Keep walking forward, the portal will spit you out eventually.”

“Very reassuring, thank you.” He replied dryly.

“Will it make you feel better if I stayed on the other line?” He could basically hear her smile through the screen.

Boothill rolled his eyes even though he knew she couldn’t see. “Do whatever you want.”

He started walking with his phone still at his ear, pushing open the blue door in front of him and continuing down the hall towards the next blue door.

When he pushed open the next door, he paused and stared at what he saw. A little boy with dull eyes standing in the middle of the hallway, just staring at Boothill.

“Uh, Princess? There’s a kid.”

“What? What do you mean?” Robin asked quickly.

“I mean there’s a kid. Just standin’ there. Menacingly.”

“That shouldn’t be possible, do they look like a guest? There’s a chance that its just an illusion.”

Boothill lowered his phone and pointed his chin at the little boy. “Hey, you, you a real person?”

The kid just kept staring silently. Boothill put his phone back up to his ear.

“Yeah, he’s just starin’.”

There was a rustling sound on the other line. “Probably just a sort of illusion, go around him.”

“Yes ma’am.” He did as he was told, stepping around the kid and moving to the door behind the boy.

Only to find the same kid standing in the same spot in the next hallway. Creepy. Boothill moved around him again, and again, and again. Boothill counted that he had run into this kid seven times at this point and it was ticking him off.

He walked up to the kid and looked down at him, staring right back with a frown. “Hey, kid, how do I get out of here? I’m gettin’ hungry.”

Instead of the little boy saying anything, the boy’s arm shot out grabbed Boothill’s jacket, and with one arm yanked Boothill down so that he was face-to-face with the boy. Boothill tried to jerk his head back, but the boy had some sort of superhuman strength and didn’t let him budge.

“Hey! What gives, fudgehead?!” Boothill dropped his phone to grab for his gun. Robin’s voice crackled from the discarded device, but the noise was distorted and wrong.

The little boy’s other hand went to Boothill’s cheek, the one with the scab, and his thumb pressed hard into it. Hard enough that Boothill’s internal sensors all started going off at once and he felt a horrible burning shooting through him.

Boothill screamed and finally drew his gun, putting the barrel to the kid’s head and squeezing the trigger as he finally ripped, ripped, his face away from the demon child. He landed on his backside and scrambled backwards, holding his face and continuing to fire at the little boy until his pistol started clicking with its empty chamber. The bullets left holes in the boy, but if he felt anything, he made no visual acknowledgement. Instead, the boy’s mouth curled into a small smile.

“What’s the matter? I thought you wanted to find the way out, Boothill?”

Boothill blinked and the kid was gone. He opened his gun to reload and found that all of his rounds were still inside the revolving chamber, as if he had never fired it in the first place. But his face still stung like he’d fallen on barbed wire. He stumbled to his feet with the wall as his help and retrieved his phone.

“Boothill? Boothill, are you okay?” Robin sounded frantic.

“I, uh…” Boothill stared at the spot where the boy had been. “I am not entirely sure.”

He moved to the door in front of him and stepped through, finding that there was a bit of a step down and the hallway gave way to a dark street corner. No, not a street corner, a train station.

Robin sat on a rusted bench with her phone in her hand, but jumped to her feet once she saw Boothill.

“Oh my-- what happened?!” She ran over to him, arms out as he found his sense of balance failing him.

“Again, not entirely sure.” The world spun a few times before his eyes focused.

“Your face!”

“What happened to it now?”

Robin produced a small compact mirror and handed it to Boothill. He flicked it open and saw that his cheek looked like someone let him use a weed wacker as a pillow. It was cut up and ugly, but instead of blood trickling out, little blue bubbles floated from the wound.

“Huh, would you look at that.”

Robin took the mirror back with a frightened expression. “Are you in any pain?”

Boothill shook his head. “Not really, just shooken up more than anything. Is this Dreamflux Reef?”

Robin nodded and looked around the train station. “Let’s get inside, we need to report this to Micah, now.”

Boothill nodded, not really knowing who Micah was, and followed her out of the train station, down the dark alleys, and deeper into the true dream.

Chapter 10: A Collapsing Dream

Chapter Text

All of their piercings were done by each other, just as a little tradition. Everyone mostly had some sort of ear piercing, but the sharp one wanted something unique, something matching in name. It was a long and bloody day as they figured out how to get the piercing just right, and boy did they get into serious trouble afterwards, but what was cooler than two little studs right under your eye that seemed to glow in the sunlight when you smiled?

Boothill could have done without the giant creepy Clockie statue watching over the rooftops, but other than that Dreamflux Reef was really fudgin’ cool.

Robin was walking very quickly through the various shelters and rooftops, and only offered polite waves to the people who recognized her. Boothill’s face was just itchy now, no stinging or general sense of dread. Because he was trying to keep up with her, Boothill opted to try to catch glimpses of all the hidden nooks and crannies as they walked and figured he could explore more thoroughly on the way out.

Robin led him to a little hole-in-the-wall bar where a large blonde man sat chatting to the woman behind the counter.

“Mister Micah!” Robin rushed over to him.

The man turned around on his bar stool and gave Robin a familiar smile. “Miss Robin, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Well, we originally came here to ask you questions about your father, but something terrible happened: my companion was attacked in the Dreamscape!” She pulled Boothill over and showed Micah his face.

Boothill tugged his hat off so Micah could get a better look at him. “It really doesn’t hurt much, I got more freaked out than anythin’. You know a lot about the Watchmaker?”

Micah examined Boothill before nodding. “I called him father, like many here in Dreamflux Reef. Did a Dreamjolt Troupe member get you?”

Boothill shook his head. “A little kid. About yei-high, creepy little fudger.”

“Do you remember what they looked like?”

Robin looked even more upset. “You don’t think it was him, right?”

Micah shrugged. “I don’t think so, but I’ve never heard of any other strange child appearing in the Dreamscape randomly.”

Boothill didn’t know who they were talking about, so he focused on trying to remember the kid. Surprisingly, he couldn’t think of any defining features. He remembered being face-to-face with the boy, but now he couldn’t remember anything about the boy’s face.

Boothill cleared his throat. “I’m not really recallin’ anything. I was more concerned with not losin’ any more skin than I already have.”

Micah nodded. “I’ll have my people keep an eye out for any further anomalies, but I’m afraid with how rapidly the Dreamscape is deteriorating, this is just one incident out of many.”

Robin nodded with him solemnly. Boothill stood there, very uncomfortable with the melancholic energy, and waited a beat before speaking.

“So about those ‘incidents’ you just mentioned, know anyone who would be powerful enough to cause ‘em?” He asked.

Micah blinked before huffing and hemming in thought. “Just one person? That doesn’t seem possible. The Dream is powered by the collective consciousness of all Dreamweavers, Dreamchasers, memetic entities, and anything else that gets thrown into the mix. This would be a question better suited for someone who left Dreamflux Reef more often, I’m afraid I don’t know many outside of my home. It’s a shame Gallagher is no longer with us, this is right up his alley.”

“May he rest in peace.” Robin put a hand to her chest. “Or whatever else happens to Historical Fictionologists when they aren’t needed.”

“Cheers to that.” Micah snorted. “I’m sorry for not being much help to you two. If you really think all these incidents are the fault of just one person, I’d be more than happy to try to contact my siblings within the Family and see if there’s been any tips.”

“Thank you, Mister Micah,” Robin said, “but if the Family is involved, then I doubt many within the Family would know anything’s amiss. That, and, management within the Oak Family is in disarray. We’ll keep looking for answers.”

Micah nodded again and Robin started to walk away. Boothill watched her go before following.

“Uh, Princess? We’re just givin’ up?” He asked her when he caught up.

Robin carefully navigated her way over a metal grate in her heels. “No, but my suspicions have only deepened.”

“What suspicions?”

She gave a polite wave to a little girl. “That just one person couldn’t be responsible for attacking the Astral Express. You were all the way near the edge of the Asdana System when you crashed, and while Miss Stelle has told me that she doesn’t believe that there has been any foul play, these two attacks on you cannot be a coincidence. The Family cannot get away with this, not again.”

Boothill moved to stand in front of her, blocking her way. “Now hold on, Princess, you’re jumpin’ to a lot of conclusions. I agree that this is all too weird to be an accident, but we have to think bigger than just blaming The Family. We need to be smarter, and maybe cut back on some of the projection? You’re angry at The Family right now, I get it, shirt sucks, but we gotta face this more objectively. This ain’t about Sunday.”

“Mister Boothill, how dare you?” Robin glared at him. When she tried to step around him, he just got back in her way. “It was only a few hours ago that we fought together and decided to join forces, that does not give you the right to assume that my motivations are so self-centered!”

Boothill met her with his own glare. “Oh yeah? Then tell me, Princess, who else is a suspect on your list? Random Oak Family member number four? The next Iris Family performer we see on the street? How about that Keenan fudger from earlier?”

“So what do you propose we do? Hm? Just sit and wait for some sort of news or clues to magically fall into our laps?”

He took a deep breath to calm down. Boothill looked up and stared at the upside-down Golden Hour hanging above their heads in the distance before something caught his eye. He followed the black swirl swallowing the Golden Hour’s light and now found himself staring at a swirling black hole on the horizon of the dream. Robin turned to look at it, too, taking slow breaths to calm herself down.

“It’s gotten bigger since last time I was here.” She noted softly. “The dream is on the brink of collapse.”

Boothill looked in the opposite direction at the upside-down Penacony Grand Theatre hanging in the air.

Robin didn’t take her eyes off of the black hole. “I’m sorry, Mister Boothill, I think I need to rest for a while.” Her voice was small and sad. “Talk to Micah about getting back to the hotel.” And she vanished, awakening from the dream.

Boothill continued to stare at the Grand Theatre for a bit longer. A tiny Memoria bubble floated past his eye, probably from the cuts on his face. He wondered if he’d wake up with a scar. When he’d gotten his eyeful of the Grand Theatre, he put his hat back on and wandered around Dreamflux Reef for a little while, taking in the sights and relaxing his brain a little.

He eventually found Micah again and was shown a pinball that brought him directly back to the hotel’s wrecked lobby. As he started to wake himself up, he swore he heard a faint voice humming an unfamiliar tune. It was gone as soon as he sat up in his dreampool, and he quickly forgot about it as he found his phone and checked that both the scab and cuts had vanished from his face. He let out a sigh of relief at that.

A cot was successfully supplied to his room a few hours later and Boothill had a wonderful night’s sleep; completely dreamless and relaxing.

He awoke fully charged, thanks to the generator he had been given, and found a text from Stelle saying that she was ready to go find the next missing Nameless that afternoon. She said she wanted to help Pom-Pom turn the Astral Express’ main power back on in the morning, and that she and Dr. Ratio would be occupied doing that. Boothill slipped his phone into his pocket, unsuccessfully detangled his hair from the zipper of his jacket, and made his way to the VIP Lounge to try to find some breakfast.

He took his time eating and updating his notes on his napkin, crossing McCoy off the Suspects list and adding the note of the unlikeliness of a single person having the power to alter the dream and manipulate Memoria on such a large scale. On the back of the napkin, he jotted down the fact that the Watchmaker’s son thought that it was impossible, and that Robin was gung-ho on blaming the entire Family. He should have reworded what he said to her earlier, Boothill wasn’t the best with words and often put his foot in his mouth when he was confused.

He made a mental note to apologize to Robin, she was clearly stressed out by everything that’d been happening around her, and him letting a snotty kid get the jump on him clearly didn’t help. They needed to work together if they wanted to present a culprit or five to Stelle once the crew of the Astral Express was rescued. If there even was a culprit or five to find. But if this entire mess was just an accident, then why would Black Swan push him and Ratio towards the Express’ delayed repairs?

Boothill thought about just asking the Memokeeper outright, but he had a faint memory of her betraying him before, even if he couldn’t quite remember what it was about. Wait, had she altered his memory? That son of a nice lady, that made him mad. He turned the napkin back over and circled Black Swan’s name. He’d find a way to talk to Stelle before she entered the Express’ Dreamscape again, but Black Swan couldn’t be there, he couldn’t rule out an ulterior motive on her part. But what would that even be? General Garden of Recollection chaos? Maybe this was some sort of payback for when he messed with them a few Trailblaze years ago? No, there had to be some sort of statute of limitations on that… right? Okay so if it wasn’t about him, and he really didn’t think it was, then why would Black Swan wait for the Express to be so far away from Penacony to crash them? Would she willingly threaten her physical body just to drag everyone back to Penacony?

Boothill sipped more water, careful to not let the condensation dribble onto his note napkin. He felt like he was staring right at his answer, yet also like he had no idea what he was doing. What type of Pathstrider of The Hunt was he if he couldn’t find out who was hunting him back? A text from Stelle asking to meet him in the dream lobby was what pulled him out of his thoughts.

He materialized in the dream and found that the lobby was still completely destroyed, the pinball Robin had thrown still sitting in the ruins of the front desk.

Stelle stood near the pinball, staring at it and seemingly trying to piece together how it ended up all the way over there. Boothill checked that the area was clear of monsters before whistling for Stelle’s attention.

“Mornin’ Stellaron. Find anything on the train? Oh, we need to tell Pom-Pom that I’ve been usin’ their name around here. Might make ‘em a little uncomfortable to know that I threatened some Alfalfa creep.” He walked over with a hand in his pocket leisurely.

Stelle met him halfway with an unreadable expression. “I heard you got into a fight.”

“The kid started it, that’s all I’m sayin’ about it.” Boothill put his hands up with a small smile.

“Black Swan wants to look for March 7th next, she thinks that since March has the least amount of memories, she would be the easiest to find.”

“Smart, I can stand watch again if you need me. Speakin’ of Black Swan, can we talk about her for a bit?”

“Sure,” Stelle frowned, “if we can also talk about why Robin suddenly told me that she can’t help out anymore?”

Boothill’s face fell. “Oh. She said that?”

“Boothill, what did you do?”

“Who says I did anythin’?!” Boothill jabbed a finger off towards the edge of the lobby. “Maybe she was the one crying over her megalomaniac brother an’ was losin’ sight of our goal!”

“And what goal is that?” Stelle’s expression never changed.

“Something fishy’s goin’ on here, I just know it. Black Swan knows something and she ain’t spilling, so I got that Intelligentsia Guild dorkwad and little miss Oak Princess to help me figure it out, but someone’s too busy being angry at the world.” Boothill huffed indignantly. “Not my fault she couldn’t keep up.”

Stelle shook her head. “You don’t mean that for a second.”

“What do you mean?” A twang of something cold rested deep in Boothill’s metal chest. He didn’t quite recognize the feeling.

“Do you do that a lot? Say a lot of mean things to make you look like the bad guy in a situation?”

Boothill scoffed and crossed his arms. “That’s stupid.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Says the guy wearing spurs with long pants.”

“Hey now, you can judge my fashion when you change that ratty shirt.” He flicked his eyes up and down at her clothes.

Stelle snorted and punched his shoulder. “You’re all talk, big guy. Black Swan will be here soon, I’ll keep an eye on her on my end, if it helps you sleep better. And be nicer to Robin, this isn’t the first time she’s lost family.”

The Trailblazer walked away right as Black Swan materialized within the dream, the two entering the misty portal when it appeared and leaving Boothill alone in the dark lobby. Whatever. He jumped up onto the pinball in the desk and sat on it, idly twisting his gun in his hand and waiting for the inevitable monster to appear. The lobby was quiet.

Chapter 11: A Basket of Fries

Chapter Text

Being the shortest had its advantages. One could fit into tiny crawl spaces unseen, could navigate through a crowd by ducking between legs, and could easily blame their siblings when they got into trouble by giving authority figured baby-doll eyes. It didn’t always work, but when it did, it was effective.

Boothill had time to fully clean his pistol as he waited for the monsters, and only realized when he finished that his gun wouldn’t be clean in the real world.

After an hour, he started getting concerned at the lack of monsters, and also with how long Stelle was taking to find her friend. Not that he had a way to find her. He checked his phone and saw that he had no notifications. Boothill huffed, put his phone away, and leaned back to lay down on the pinball, utterly bored.

He heard a pinball at the other end of the lobby clack into place and sat up, watching Robin materialize out of it and look around.

“Princess, over here!” He waved her over and slid off his pinball, meeting her halfway.

“Mister Boothill, I owe you--”

“Hey, Princess, I just gotta say that--” They said at the same time.

Robin’s eyes widened and her hand flapped out in front of her. “You first!”

Boothill itched his nose and looked away. “I just gotta say that I’m sorry. For yesterday. I ain’t the best with my words, I put my foot in my mouth a lot.”

Robin covered her mouth with her hand. “Did Stelle tell you what I said?”

“Yeah…”

Her eyes somehow widened more. “I owe you another apology! I shouldn’t have snapped at you, especially since you were right- I was letting my emotions cloud my judgment. There was definitely more we could have learned from Dreamflux Reef yesterday.”

“No, no, well actually yeah, but don’t beat yourself up. It was a long day.” Boothill offered her a smile. “You do that a lot; beat yourself up. Don’t sweat it, you’re doin’ just fine.”

She lowered her hand and smiled back. “Thank you. You’re very easy to talk to.”

“Eh, I try my best.” Boothill laughed. “I don’t like all those social rules and etiquette, it all seems too stuffy and I ain’t tryna impress anyone.”

Robin giggled. “Maybe I should learn to be more like you, more carefree.”

Boothill put his hands behind his head. “You can be whatever you want, Princess, but I will warn ya that I really ain’t anyone you wanna emulate too closely. I do bite when provoked.” He grinned with his teeth, but then thought for a moment and lowered his arms. “Well, I guess you do that, too. Definitely bit my head off yesterday, that’s for sure.”

The feathers in Robin’s wings puffed up as she raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never seen you use your teeth in a fight before, I’m not sure if I believe you.”

Boothill didn’t really notice this as he pulled out his pistol, pointing the barrel at the ground, but turning it so Robin could properly appreciate the make. “Don’t need ‘em, all I need is my trusty 9 millimeter and a bullet with my prey’s name on it.”

Robin’s eyes now widened in fascination as she examined the weapon. “Oh wow! I hope this isn’t too forward, but could I try it?”

Boothill pulled the gun back and held it up, out of her reach if she were to try to grab for it. “Now hold on, Princess, this may be a dream but this here is one of the most dangerous weapons in the universe if used incorrectly.”

Robin grinned at him. “Then I guess I need a master marksman to teach me how to use it correctly.”

Boothill laughed lightly. “Well if you’re gonna twist my arm about it. Here,” he moved to stand behind her and put his hands on her shoulders to turn her to face a couch. Then, while still behind her, took his gun and placed it into her hands, guiding her hands to properly support the weapon and hold it up in front of her. “Some quick rules of firearms: First, never aim at anythin’ you don’t want going bang. Second, never put your finger on a trigger unless you want something going bang. Third, treat every gun like it’s loaded and it’ll go bang at any moment. Understand?”

Robin nodded and closed one eye, tilting her head to the side to peer down the barrel and aiming at the couch in front of her. Boothill leaned over her and with a hand under her arm, guided her aim up a little more.

“There ya go, Princess,” he whispered in her ear, “just squeeze the trigger whenever you’re ready.”

Behind them, the lobby’s elevator door dinged open. Robin spun around, shoved Boothill to the side, and - with one arm behind her back and both eyes opened and focused - put three definitive bullets square in the center of the three flying masks that were swarming towards them, one bullet for each. Boothill’s jaw hung slack as Robin expertly spun the pistol on her gloved finger before handing it back to him, holding it by the facing-down barrel with the handle pointed at Boothill.

Boothill stared at her for another moment before taking the gun. “You… What the fork was that?! I thought you were with The Harmony!”

Robin blushed and giggled. “While humanitarian work focuses mainly on spreading The Harmony’s blessing, not every planet we go to is as receptive of The Harmony’s teachings as others.”

“Huh.”

He didn’t have time to really pull his jaw off the floor before the other elevator started spewing monsters and the two were back at it, going back to back and mowing down Dreamjolt Troupe nasties as they appeared. There weren’t nearly as many as the day before, so they didn’t need to resort to throwing giant pinballs at anything, but there was still a considerable pile of destroyed mechanisms by the time the waves paused long enough for them to catch a break.

“So…” Boothill looked over at Robin as she fanned her face, exhausted. “Why’d you ask me to teach you to shoot?”

Robin shrugged and twirled a lock of blue hair around her finger. “You just looked so excited to talk about your weapon.”

He stared at her again, incredulously. He couldn’t figure her out, nor could he ever guess what she was gonna say next. Luckily, he was saved by a familiar swirling door of mist appearing behind Robin and a familiar Memokeeper stumbled out, hair a mess and eyes wide.

“You good, Memokeeper?” Boothill frowned at her.

She nodded, but her face turned green and she moved over to lean her arm against a couch. Behind her, Stelle stepped through the portal with a half-conscious Himeko leaning against her.

“Hey, you two made up.” Stelle smiled tiredly as the portal vanished behind them. At her side, Himeko smiled lazily.

“Miss Stelle,” she slurred, “I wasn’t done dreaming yet, could I go back for a few more minutes?”

Stelle’s eyes widened. “No. No! You need to wake up, for real. Black Swan, some help?”

Black Swan nodded slowly and pushed herself off the couch. Boothill and Robin watched silently as she slunk back over to the Trailblazer and put a hand to Himeko’s forehead. In a flash, Himeko turned into a cloud of bubbles and was gone from the dream. Stelle let out a sigh of relief once the weight was off her shoulders.

“Thank you. Are you alright?”

Black Swan nodded again. “I… I will need some time to recover. I will see you tomorrow.” And she too woke up from the dream.

Stelle sighed again and turned to the others. “So… we didn’t find March.”

Boothill blinked. “I see that.”

“And we found Himeko instead.”

“I see that, too.”

“And we found out that to bring someone out of a Dreamscape, Black Swan needs to merge with the Dreamscape. So Black Swan ended up absorbing a huge amount of Himeko’s coffee and a bunch of other drinks. Pom-Pom’s was a lot easier, they were eager to leave when we eventually found them. Himeko was the opposite, she didn’t want to leave the past, even if it was really unpleasant. I don’t think I’ll be able to smell coffee for a while without wanting to throw up.”

“Huh.”

Stelle snorted at the absurdity of what she just said. “Anyhoo, I’m exhausted. Happy to see you two, I’ve got nothing to report on Black Swan, and I’ll see you when I see you.”

She waved and like the other women, vanished back to reality. Boothill and Robin stared at where she had been before Robin broke the silence.

“Well, that happened. Hungry?”

Boothill had to admit, the food in the Golden Hour tasted just as good real food. He and Robin sat at a counter near Aideen Park and picked at a basket of surprisingly well-seasoned fries as they watched Dreamchasers spend all their credits on slot machines.

“I have a theory,” Robin said as she popped a fry into her mouth.

“Shoot.” Boothill reached for another fry, signaling to the Family worker behind the counter to bring them another basket.

“The Stellaron powering the Dreamscape has been sealed and removed by the Astral Express, right?” She paused to chew and swallow before continuing. “But the Stellaron had been in Penacony for several Amber Eras, and its influence still exists all around us. If it didn’t, the sweet dream would have collapsed the moment Mr. Yang sealed it.”

“Sounds about right.”

“So what if the remnants of the Stellaron was what attacked the Express? Maybe in an attempt to bring itself back together?”

Boothill frowned at her as he shoveled a fistful of fries into his mouth. “‘hat’s ah hlot ohf shpeculashun, Prinhess.”

“I know, I know,” Robin sighed, “but I’m still thinking about what Micah said; that no one person could have the power to use the dream to alter reality. But, since the dream is made out of Memoria, how crazy would it be for the Memoria to just, move on its own?”

Boothill chewed and swallowed. “Like gainin’ sentience or somethin’?”

“Is it sentience when a sunflower turns to face the sun throughout the day?”

“Not a bad idea, Ratio would get a kick out of it.” Boothill smiled. “But then why only absorb the older members of the crew? Why not the Trailblazer, me, an’ Black Swan, too while it was at it?”

“Stelle told me that she has a Stellaron inside of her, maybe that made her immune to the Memoria? And you and Black Swan are not Nameless, the Stellaron probably has no quarrel with the two of you.”

“And yet I keep gettin’ jumped.”

“Maybe the Stellaron knows you’re fighting against it?” Robin ate another fry.

“The Stellaron is a little baby-faced coward.” Boothill grumbled and spun on his stool to lean his back against the counter, resting his arms on the counter and watching the passersbys. “Hey, Princess,” he leaned his head towards her, “what’re the chances that the Dreammaster is still kickin’?”

Robin visibly stiffened and pushed away the food at the mention of the Dreammaster. Boothill clocked this and sat up, spinning again on his stool to face her properly.

“Princess?”

“I’m sorry,” she shook her head like she was shaking out thoughts, “that’s a bit of a loaded topic, I’m afraid.”

“No, no, I’m sorry.” He backpedaled with a nervous smile. “He’s gone. I’m sure of it. Gone and not around to mess with ya anymore.”

Robin shook her head again and slid the fries closer to Boothill, like suddenly the sight of them disgusted her. “It’s more complicated than that, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Then break it down for me, I’ve got time and like you said, I’m pretty easy to talk to.” He took off his hat and propped his face up with a fist.

She looked at him in her peripheral vision and snorted at his face being squished by the metal of his knuckles. “Thank you, Mister Boothill.”

“Just drop the Mister.”

“Thank you, Boothill.” She turned to fully face him and rested her hands in her lap. She instantly looked so much calmer, her face relaxed and smile soft. It was a good look on her, Boothill noted to himself, he could see why she was popular. She took a deep breath and brushed her hair out of her face before returning her hands to her lap. “As you already know, the Dreammaster is-was my father.”

Boothill’s eyebrows shot up as his eyes widened. “Wait, what?”

Her eyes widened, too. “You didn’t know?”

He sat up properly. “No?”

“Oh.” She blinked twice. “My apologies. The Dreammaster was my adoptive father. Now you know.”

“Now I know.”

“He was the one who brought my brother and I to Penacony.” She then gave him a summarized retelling of her and Sunday’s story, how a Stellaron ate their planet and made them wards of The Harmony, how she and Sunday grew apart as The Harmony favored Robin but the man called Gopher Wood favored Sunday. Boothill listened intently, offering little “darn”’s and “holy cow”’s when necessary. By the time Robin had recounted up to the Charmony Festival, Boothill had gone back to resting his face on his fist.

“So… that’s why I have such complicated feelings towards the Dreammaster and what he’s done.” She took a deep, steadying breath and gave Boothill another smile. “Any questions?”

“Yeah, does that make your last name Wood? Like Robin Wood?”

Robin stared at him before bursting into a fit of giggles. “That’s what you took away from that?”

He shrugged. “Eh, mostly.”

“You never cease to amaze, Galaxy Ranger.” She took a minute to catch her breath. “And no, Sunday and I never took Gopher Wood’s name, he never asked us to. Any other relevant questions?”

“Not really, no.” He sat up and stretched, despite how redundant it seemed since he didn’t have muscles. “It’s gettin’ pretty late, should we head back?”

Robin nodded and the two quickly scarfed down the rest of the fries before starting towards the dream hotel. They were silent the entire walk back, but it wasn’t an unpleasant silence. By the time they got back to the even-more destroyed lobby, Boothill was craving the cot waiting for him in his room.

“Well, I’ll see ya tomorrow?” He smiled at Robin.

She nodded back, paused for a second, and then reached up to kiss his cheek. Boothill froze, hand twitching by his gun as every sensor in him started going off all at once. Vision tunneled, ears ringing, chest throbbing, skin blazing like he had been lit on fire - and he knew firsthand what that felt like - he was dying. Definitely.

Robin stepped back with a sweet smile. “Goodnight, Boothill.” And she vanished, awakening from the dream.

Boothill forced himself awake and bolted up from the dreampool, gasping for air as he used his bare metal hands to scrape the miasma off his skin, desperate to be free of the feeling of anything touching him.

Even as his sensors relaxed, his skin still felt like it was burning. It was horrible, overwhelming, suffocating, he wanted to claw it all off, he wanted to rip his hair out, but he settled on throwing his hat as hard as he could across the room and pacing in a circle until his adrenaline spike wore itself out. That took hours, he was sure it was hours.

Once his body had convinced itself that it was, in fact, not dying, he collapsed onto one of the curved couches and dropped his head into the cold metal of his hands, taking long, deep breaths to try to lower his body temperature. He had half a thought of ejecting himself out of The Reverie’s port, to let the vacuum of space freeze his internal mechanisms like it did when the Express first crashed. No, that was stupid. This was stupid. He needed a nap. No, sleep. He needed sleep. Yeah. He slumped down onto his cot, plugged himself in despite still having a nearly full battery, and pressed his face into his pillow.

And he let out a nice, long, muffled scream.

Chapter 12: Listen to Your Own Music

Chapter Text

It was bittersweet watching the older ones move out. They were starting their own lives, their own posses, but they were also leaving behind their old lives, their old posse. They would ride off into the sunset with their new beloveds riding at their side, only to return in the event of a tragedy. The smallest of them watched them all go, and most never returned. The smallest of them never got the chance to leave, to be independent, but maybe that was for the best. The family unit was all they all needed, just some outgrew it a little.

Boothill sought out Dr. Ratio first thing in the morning, finding him aboard his personal ship looking over some papers.

“Doc-” He let himself inside the ship, tripping over a step and nearly face-planting onto the metal flooring. “Something’s wrong. Super wrong. Stupid wrong.”

Dr. Ratio pulled his face out of his papers first with an expression of rage, but it soon morphed into concern at Boothill’s lack of coordination and the desperation in his eyes.

“What the hell happened to you?” Ratio moved to Boothill and pulled him to his feet, leading the cyborg to the ladder that would take them to his workshop.

“I don’t-” Boothill was stammering too much to get any real words out. Ratio helped him down the ladder and into the workshop, letting him lay down on the metal bench in the middle of the room and helping him out of his clothes so that he could run a diagnostics check.

“You don’t what? Spit it out.”

Boothill’s eyes darted around in his skull and his breathing was sporadic. “I don’t fudgin’ know! I woke up feeling weird and now I’m panickin’ ‘cause I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”

“Calm down!” Ratio took Boothill’s hat and swatted him with it. “Take your time, my machine needs a minute to warm up.”

“Well Robin an’ I have been fightin’ monsters in the dream to keep the Trailblazer safe when she rescues the Nameless, and we’ve been lookin’ into why the Nameless disappeared, and we had a fight over it, but we’re fine now, but after things calmed down she told me some personal stuff about her and then she kissed me an’ suddenly my systems were tellin’ me that I was dyin’ so I woke up and tried to take off my skin and then went to sleep but I woke up feeling even weirder so I must have a virus or somethin’. Right?”

Ratio, who had been going through the process of finding wires to plug into Boothill’s ports to run a diagnostics check on him, paused and dropped the wires.

“You cannot be serious.”

Boothill sat up, clearly freaking out. “What? What is it?”

Ratio pinched the bridge of his nose and his nostrils flared. “You- how old are you?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Older than twenty, I would assume?”

“Yeah?”

“You…” Ratio swore under his breath and fully rubbed his face. “Aeons preserve me, have you never taken a lover before?”

“WHAT?!”

“I will take that as a no.” Ratio snapped his fingers by his own ear to test his hearing. “This is not my area of expertise whatsoever, there is nothing I can do to help you.”

Boothill rolled off the workbench and onto the floor. “No-no! You gotta help me, doc! Am I dyin?!”

“No, you’re not dying, Galaxy Ranger, in fact what you are experiencing is very human. Too human for my tastes, even. What you feel will either pass naturally or will lessen in intensity over time. Be gone now, I wish to have breakfast in silence.”

Boothill redressed himself and retreated back to his hotel room, chewing on a bullet the entire walk back. As he started down the hallway leading to his room, his paths crossed with a very sleepy looking Himeko.

“Good morning, Mister Boothill.” She greeted him with a yawn.

“Mornin’.” He mumbled back as he tried to slip into his room.

“Is something the matter?” Himeko stopped and turned to follow him.

“Nothin’ that the good doctor could find.” Boothill couldn’t hide the frustration in his voice.

“Dr. Ratio? What happened?”

He stopped opening his door, and turned to her, quickly listing his symptoms and the events that lead up to them. Himeko nodded in understanding with crossed arms. When Boothill finished, she smiled knowingly.

“Mister Boothill, how old are you?”

“Why the fork does everyone wanna know that?”

“Humor me? Have you ever had a romantic partner before?”

Boothill groaned. “Again, why does everyone wanna know that?”

Himeko’s eyes widened. “Oh you poor thing.”

“Hey, yesterday we found you slurring over coffee, I wouldn’t be so patronizin’.” He glared at her.

“My apologies, I can see that you are very upset.”

“No shirt.”

She sighed with a softer smile. “Well, I can confidently tell you that this is not a negative thing that is happening to you.”

Boothill made a pained expression. “Then why do I ache all over?”

“Growing pains, maybe? Past experiences trying to hold you back? Human emotions are strange things, Mister Boothill. Let yourself experience them. Take your time thinking them over, you’ll discover more about yourself if you give yourself the time to just feel things.” Himeko started back down the hallway towards the Lounge.

Boothill stared at her as she walked away, both even more confused but also understanding what she said. Nah, who was he kidding, he was more lost than before! Why wouldn’t two of the smartest people the in the galaxies just give him straight answers?

He entered his room and sat down on a couch again, face back in his hands. This couldn’t be happening to him, he needed to fix what was wrong with him before Stelle went back into the Dreamscape, before he and Robin needed to clear out the lobby again. Together. He itched his face and threw his hat again. The feeling of it pressing into his head was too much. He needed to focus. Who wanted the Nameless dead? Robin brought up that it was probably Stellaron bullshirt. But that still didn’t feel right. Pom-Pom must have gotten the Express powered back up by now, he should check in on them to see if they remembered anything from the crash. He also could have talked to Himeko instead of dumping his mess on her. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

His phone rang. He pulled it out, but then launched it across the room - thankfully onto the other couch - when he saw Robin’s name appear on the Caller ID. Now why the fudge did he do that?! The phone continued to ring, so much like a small child or even a cat, he slunk over to the other couch, accepted the call, put it on speaker, and left the phone on the couch cushion while he stayed on the floor, staring at the device like it would blow up.

“Goodmorning, Mister Boothill!” Robin cheerfully answered.

“Mornin’.” He mumbled towards the receiver.

“Are you feeling alright? Your voice sounds hoarse, I’ll send some honey tea to your room!”

“No! No- I don’t need that crud, I promise!” Boothill shot up his feet and scooped up his phone in his hands. “I’m just-uh… hey what time does the Trailblazer wanna meet up in the dream?”

“After lunch again, why? Boothill, what’s wrong? You can talk to me.”

He wanted to, it would be so easy to just let her know everything he already told Ratio and Himeko, but his skin flared up and his hands shook from the urge to smash his phone.

“I’ll meet ya there.” He instead smashed his phone against his nose to hang up the call and dropped the device onto the cot on the ground. What the fork was happening to him?! Robin called him back, but he let it ring. She called him back again, he let it ring again.

He paced around his room, running a dozen diagnostic tests and thinking over every possible scenario that would have led to him getting some sort of virus. The generator in the room couldn’t be responsible, was it dream magic again? He anxiously gnawed on another bullet and jumped nearly out of his boots when someone knocked on his door.

“Door’s unlocked!” He straightened up a bit and retrieved his hat.

The door opened and Robin let herself in. “I admit I have knocked on a few doors already before finding yours. This room is still registered under Pom-Pom’s name, we really need to change that.”

Boothill cleared his throat and kept a distance from her, for some reason. “It’s probably fine, it keeps room service away. It probably doesn’t help that I freaked out that Keenan fudger. That was funny.”

Robin snorted and shut the door behind her. “It was. Are you alright? You look unwell.”

“Just, uh…” Boothill scrambled for an explanation. “Cyborg. Stuff?”

“Cyborg stuff?”

“Yep. Cyborg stuff. Side effects of freezing in space. Not fun. Nope.”

“Okay…” She itched the side of her face. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No clue, Princess.” He tried a smile that he knew absolutely wasn’t hiding anything. “Wanna just meet up later for kicking ads?”

She nodded like she absolutely didn’t believe him and opened the door to leave. “I will see you later?”

“Yeah sure, thanks.”

She hesitated, but her phone rang, so she excused herself and shut the door behind her. Boothill let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and groaned into his hands. He needed to get off this planet, it was really out to get him.

He and Robin didn’t have time to talk when they met up in the Dreamscape because monsters were already upon them.

They took a strategic position on top of the displaced pinball and took potshots at mechanical monsters that got too close for comfort. Eventually, the silence became a little too loud, and Boothill looked over at Robin, finding that she was also staring at him. His skin burned. He didn’t want to bother Robin with it, so he pressed on a random original train of thought that suddenly occurred to him.

“So you’re famous, right-?”

“Have I done anything to upset you-?” They said at the same time.

They both snorted and Robin flapped her hand in front of her, signaling Boothill to speak first.

“So you’re famous, right?” He asked again. “Like, singing and shirt like that?”

Robin nodded slowly. “Yes, I do sing. I mentioned that yesterday.”

“Got any music out?” Boothill faced her fully.

She blinked at him before her face turned into some sort of mix between confusion and amusem*nt - eyebrows furrowed but a smile tugging at her lips. “A few songs.”

“Can I listen to ‘em? The silence is killin’ me here, Princess.” He stretched out his arms and flopped down on his ass, legs out and over the side of the pinball. He also shot a metal dog that got too close. He was calmer now. He was okay.

Robin shook her head and sat down next to him, but got her phone out. “No way, that’s embarrassing!”

“What? No, you know what? If you’re so famous, then I’ll find ‘em myself!” He also tugged out his phone and opened it, holding the end of it close to his mouth. “Play music by Robin Wood.”

“That’s not my name!” She swatted his shoulder as the phone gave an automated response and started to play the opening notes to Sway to My Beat in Cosmos.

Robin lunged for the phone, but Boothill was faster, cackling as he slid off the pinball with the phone held over his head.

“Boothill, please, listening to my own music is so selfish of me, can we listen to anything else?!” She slid off after him, shot down a flying mask, and chased him.

He laughed and said: “Nope! Why can’t you be a little self-centered sometimes, Princess? You’ve got the voice for it, be a little petty!”

Her face resembled a tomato a little. Boothill laughed at her again and stepped onto a couch, shooting another flying mask and keeping an eye on a walking alarm clock lumbering towards them. She jumped up onto the couch with him, wobbly on her heels, and swiped for the phone.

“Mister Boothill, this isn’t funny!” She glared evilly with her giant green eyes.

“Then why are ya smiling, Princess?” Boothill hummed off-key to the song.

“You drive me insane, do you know that? You really drive me insane!”

“Then show me insane!”

“Fine!” She launched a purple bird at the aforementioned walking clock with enough force to topple it over and lunged this time for Boothill’s waist. He let out a yelp as he was thrown off the couch and his back collided with the floor of the lobby, Robin managing to press his arms above his head and snagged the phone from his metal fingers. By this time, the song had changed to Hope is the Thing With Feathers and Boothill had to admit that the song was catchy. Where had he heard it before?

Boothill stared up at Robin as she turned the music off and tossed his phone behind them, back onto the couch.

“Enough of that. Please.” She took a steadying breath and brushed her hair out of her face. “Just because I enjoy making music does not mean I particularly enjoy listening to it.”

“Uh huh.” Not unlike when the Astral Express was floating dead in space, Boothill found himself struggling to suck air into his metal lungs. Robin’s wings flapped rapidly against her face, making her have to push her hair back again. His skin prickled and burned again, part of him screamed to move, to run, to escape, but this was Robin.

“Are you alright down there?” She got off him and extended a hand to help him up.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he retrieved his hat and started to stand, reaching for her hand.

She swatted it away with a grin. “Then we’ve learned something, haven’t we?”

Oh.

Boothill got to his feet, his tongue felt strangely heavy in his mouth. “Not sure, remind me?”

She reached up and flicked his hat off, making him scramble for it again. “Not intentionally embarrassing me with my own music. Make your own if you want to listen to something so badly!”

Oh.

Across the lobby, the familiar swirling mist door appeared. Robin noticed first and moved over to it, Boothill taking a second to shake his head and gather his senses. What the fork was wrong with him today?

He joined Robin by the portal as Stelle threw it open and sprinted out, completely soaked in water and looking scared out of her mind.

“Move, move move!” She turned back to the portal as Black Swan ran through, also soaked, but also with a jade spear in her gut. She didn’t seem to notice it. Lastly, Dan Heng - at least Boothill thought it was Dan Heng - with glowing horns sprouting from his forehead slid through the portal and slammed the door shut behind him.

The three caught their breaths and with a wave of Black Swan’s hand, the spear impaling her vanished, leaving behind a small bubble on her stomach.

“You… Mister Dan Heng… have very interesting memories.” The Memokeeper noted.

Dan Heng closed his eyes and his form reverted back to what Boothill was used to in a flash of yellow light. “Those weren’t even my memories.”

Stelle shucked off her drenched jacket and threw it on the ground. “Who knew reincarnation would affect a Dreamscape like that?”

Boothill threw an arm around Dan Heng’s shoulders. “My bro! Good to see ya!”

Dan Heng flinched, but didn’t try to twist away. “Likewise, Boothill. Stelle told me all you have done for her, the Astral Express owe you a great debt once again.”

“Nah, it’s fine. As long as you don’t go pullin’ out that Jade Abacus at the smallest inconvenience again, we’ll be alright.”

Black Swan bid them a good evening, gave Dan Heng instructions on how to bring his physical body back to reality, and vanished from the dream. Robin giggled and picked Stelle’s jacket up. “I believe the only Nameless missing are Mr. Yang and Miss March?”

Dan Heng slipped out from under Boothill’s arm. “You haven’t found March yet?”

Stelle shrugged. “She isn’t appearing anywhere. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

“How can I be of assistance?”

“I know!” Robin interjected. “These past few days, Mister Boothill and I have been taking care of the monsters in the hotel. If you were to take our place, he and I could continue our investigation into why you were trapped in the dream in the first place.”

Stelle looked between Robin and Boothill, who suddenly felt her gaze to weigh a thousand pounds. Dan Heng considered the offer before nodding. “I accept. Where will the two of you go tomorrow?”

Robin glanced over at Boothill. Her eyes also burned. “I was hoping to stop by the Grand Theatre if that’s alright, since that’s where the Stellaron was stored.”

Stelle raised an eyebrow. “A new theory?”

Boothill snapped back to reality. “All her idea, I just go where she tells me to.”

Stelle nodded. “Then it’s settled. Dan Heng, we will be back here after lunch tomorrow. I’ll meet you back in reality to get you settled in.” And she woke herself up.

Dan Heng looked over at the pinball squishing the front desk. “And… that?”

Boothill pointed a thumb at Robin, whose face had turned red again. “And that’s why I go where she tells me to.”

“Impressive. I will see you two soon.” And he, too, vanished.

Robin let out a breath and stepped away from Boothill, giving him a smile.

“I’ll take this afternoon as my proof.”

“Proof? Proof of what?” Boothill found he was speaking too quickly.

“My earlier question, when I asked if I had done anything to upset you. You looked like you were very upset this morning, as if you were in pain. I had hoped that I had not done anything to cause such a state, but I wasn’t sure.”

Boothill waved her off. “You’re speakin’ too fancy. And you’re fine, it wasn’t you.” But it probably was if he was being honest with himself. Not that he was gonna start being honest with himself anytime soon. “I told you before, I get jumpy when people touch me without warnin’. Old habits die hard, I guess. I’ll see ya in the mornin’?”

She nodded with an unreadable look in her eyes.

“Thank you, Boothill, for this week.”

“Pardon me?”

“You’ve been very kind to me this week, even when I acted as though I deserved otherwise.” She put a hand on her chest and bowed her head. “So thank you, for being my friend.”

Boothill turned so she couldn’t see how his face felt like it was on fire again. He really needed to control that.

“Yeah. Anytime, Princess.”

Chapter 13: Bad Singing

Chapter Text

They were taught young that the world wasn’t a safe place for them. They were taught to always treat a weapon like it could go off at any moment, taught to be wary of any strangers offering something too good to be true, taught that only those who lived on the farm had their best interests in mind. The family unit was constantly changing in size, but it was solid and secure. It was safe. Safe enough to be weak. Safe enough to sleep soundly. There was no stronger shield than the one of the fathers laying a blanket over their children.

Oh, Boothill was so fudged.

He didn’t feel like tearing his skin off anymore, but when he rolled out of the dreampool and onto the floor of his hotel room, he certainly felt like dying. He was so gonna kick Ratio’s butt later. Not Himeko’s, though, he still needed to catch a ride to Edo Star. Oh wow, he’d almost completely forgotten about Edo Star during this mess. How much longer would that IPC distress signal keep sounding? He really needed to focus. Whatever the fork just happened with Robin couldn’t be happening. He was on a Hunt. No more relaxing, no more messing around, no more- well, he still needed to help the Nameless.

And besides, Robin was a singer who probably traveled around a lot. She had her own life separate from the bloodshed that followed Boothill everywhere he went. Still, she didn’t seem to be unfamiliar with violence. Maybe there was a-No, NO! He needed to leave Penacony as soon as he was able to, put distance between him and her. This could not - he repeated - could not be anything. He needed a drink. Yeah.

He pulled himself to his feet and made his way to Anderson the drinksmith, slipping onto a stool and downing a drink as soon as one was placed in front of him.

“Slow down, cowboy.” Stelle slid onto the stool next to him.

“What’d’ya want, Stellaron? Don’t ya gotta be restin’ for tomorrow?”

She shrugged and thanked Anderson for the water he put in front of her. “Dan Heng’s situated, Himeko and Pom-Pom are finishing up with the Express, and I’ve got time to kill. So what happened this morning?”

“How is it that you always seem to know my business?” Boothill side-eyed her.

The Trailblazer shrugged. “Psychic abilities. Oh, and Ratio texted me saying you had a meltdown on his ship this morning.”

Boothill scoffed. “It was not a meltdown.”

“He said you were begging for help, insisting that you were dying and tripping all over the place.”

“I’ll kill him.”

“Himeko said something similar.”

“I’ll throw out all her coffee, too.” He grumbled and signaled for another drink.

Stelle snorted and sipped her water. “So, wanna tell me what happened, big guy?”

“Just a system malfunction. It’s all fixed now.”

“Didn’t know kissing Robin was another term for a system malfunction.”

Boothill choked on his drink, slammed the glass down, and snapped his head around to stare at her with wide eyes. “What?!”

At his reaction, Stelle also widened her eyes. “Are you okay?”

“We didn’t do that! Nothin’ like that! It ain’t like that!”

“So… Robin didn’t kiss you yesterday?”

“That’s not-” Boothill groaned and ran a hand through his hair, comforted by the tug of his fingers against his knots. “It was just on the cheek. Nothin’ serious or meaningful. Get yer head outa the gutter, raccoon face.”

“Haven’t heard that one before.” She raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m serious. It’s nothin’.” He hissed.

“Awfully quick to deny something I haven’t even mentioned.”

Boothill jabbed a finger at her. “I’m warnin’ ya. I’m here to complete my job. My favor to you Nameless. I need to get out of Penacony and back on my Hunt as soon as possible. You’re the one takin’ forever to find your friends.”

Stelle pushed his finger away. “I’m working with what I have. Have you found out who did this to us yet?”

“No.” He grabbed his drink again and swirled it around, happy for the change in topic. “But I’ve got a naggin’ feelin’ that it’s just under my nose somewhere. When we hit the Grand Theatre tomorrow, we’ll see the merit in Robin’s it’s-the-Stellaron’s-fault theory. I still feel like there’s someone responsible, but nobody in The Family could be strong enough to hit us all the way out in space. No one alive, that is.”

“The Dreammaster?”

“Bingo.” Boothill sipped his drink. “But even then, if he was somehow still alive, how the heck would he have the power to reach the edge of the solar system?”

“Partially merging with an Aeon probably helped a little.” Stelle said.

“A dead Aeon.”

“An Aeon, still. If I recall, the Dreammaster has been merged with the Dreamscape for years, this wouldn’t be out of character for him to try to get some last-minute revenge for his plan failing. I have a feeling that when I find the rest of my friends, we will come face-to-face with the one responsible for all of this.”

Boothill nodded. “Anyone else merged with the Dreamscape we can think of?”

Stelle hummed for a moment. “Maybe Sunday?”

“Robin thinks he’s alive.” He recalled their heart-to-heart from the night before.

“I do, too.” Stelle finished her water. “I don’t have any proof, it’s more of a personal feeling.”

“Maybe you’ll find him in the Dreamscape?”

“At this rate, I’ll find him before I find March.” She groaned. “She has, like, less than a year of memories, how is it so hard to find her?”

Boothill shrugged. “Maybe it’s past experiences holding her back? That’s what your Navigator told me earlier. Different context, but maybe.”

“Maybe. I hope she’s alright.”

“Hey, don’t sweat it.” He smiled and nudged her shoulder with his fist. “She seemed pretty tough from what I can remember. She’s probably mowing down dozens of monsters easily, right now.”

Stelle leaned over to lean against him. “Thanks. You’re surprisingly easy to talk to.”

“So I keep hearin’.”

“So when are you going to tell Robin?”

“What?” Boothill blinked at her.

“About your system malfunction?” She grinned.

He abruptly got up from his stool, uncaring of how she nearly fell over. “And that’s a good night to you, too.”

“You need to talk to her!” Stelle called after him.

“I am literally gonna spend the whole day with her!” He called back over his shoulder.

“No, like actually talk to her! Don’t be a coward!”

He started up the stairs to his room. “I ain’t a coward! Nobody calls Boothill a coward!”

“Then talk to her!”

“Fork off!” He slammed his door shut, unbothered by the alarmed faces of the other hotel patrons. If they wanted to complain to security, all security was gonna know that the room belonged to Pom-Pom of the Astral Express. Good luck tryna evict a magic rabbit.

Boothill materialized out of the pinball looking as green as Robin’s eyes.

“I really hate those fugin’ things.” He gagged as he waited for his vision to stop spinning.

Robin giggled and started up the path towards the giant doors of the Penacony Grand Theatre. “Try to keep up, Mister Boothill!”

He did try, he really did. He stumbled a bit as he dragged himself after her, and only really regained his balance when Robin had already started up the stairs of the dark theatre.

And, really, the building lived up to its title.

He gaped at the giant red curtains everywhere, the posters of grand shows put on in Amber Eras of the past, statues of dolls contorted into various poses representing elegance and grace.

“The stage is just up ahead.” Robin continued to walk deeper. Boothill scuttled after her, dragging his eyes away from everything and falling in step with her.

“Oh fork me-”

If the lobby was big, then the actual stage was massive. The giant platforms, the endless rows of box seats, not even mentioning the larger than life organ pipes framing the sides of the stage.

Robin let out a sigh and took a step down the staircase leading to the stage. “Let’s get this over with.”

Boothill followed with a frown. “Everythin’ alright, Princess?”

“I don’t feel overly comfortable in this place.” She said as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “It holds a lot of unpleasant memories.”

“Then we’ll be quick.” He offered her a smile and a light tap on the elbow. The smile she gave him back made him feel fuzzy inside. The fact that it didn’t scare him should have been more startling. This was bad. No, this was Robin. And there was nothing bad about Robin. Boothill was the one who needed to get it together.

They were silent the rest of the walk. Boothill was a bit uneasy walking on the long, floating carpets that connected the stage to the rest of the building, and let out a sigh of relief when his feet touched the solid stage.

“Now, what’re we lookin’ for?”

Robin moved to the center of the stage and looked around. “I… am not entirely sure. I’ve searched this entire building several times in the past week, but the only evidence of any change I’ve ever found was when Stelle came here with me before the Express departed.”

“What’d’ya find that time?”

Robin’s voice got small as she set her eyes on the gigantic curtains backdropping the stage. “Sunday’s journal. Covered in blood.”

“Oh.” Darn it, Boothill. “That was after the Charmony bullshirt?”

She nodded slowly. Boothill felt like burying himself alive.

Robin took a steadying breath and turned back to Boothill with a smile he was sure she’d practiced a dozen times before. “I’m okay, I promise.”

“Are you?”

She nodded, but it was weak. “This was where my brother attempted to resurrect The Order. A festival that was supposed to be dedicated to harmony and family suddenly became a battlefield fighting for the human spirit.”

Boothill knew this. Darn it, he had been a part of the battle! But the way Robin spoke about it made it sound like Gopher Wood had actually succeeded in sacrificing a hundred thousand lives.

“Well, if it’s worth anythin’, it was a heck of a concert.” He offered.

Her eyes went to the endless rows of box seats behind him. “I hated every second of it.”

“Even if it was to save everyone?”

“Especially that.” Her fists clenched at her side. “I’m angry, Mister Boothill. I’m angry that I was involved in any of it. I’m angry that my connection to The Harmony was exploited in such a way. I’m angry that Sunday took my place in Gopher Wood’s plan without talking to me first.” Her eyes squeezed shut like she was fighting tears. “I’m angry that my last performance in this place was to hurt my brother. I’m angry that the family that took me in was so ready to throw me away! I’m angry that the only person who seemed to f*cking notice was a total stranger!”

Boothill whistled. “Language.”

“Don’t-!” She glared daggers into him before her face relaxed. “I’m sorry, that was unprofessional of me.”

“Eh, fork bein’ professional. You just don’t wanna say somethin’ bad about someone you might never see again. It’ll eat ya up inside.”

“You know from experience?”

Boothill shrugged and spun around to look around the stage. “Sort of. It’s mostly me accidentally killing someone before they tell me what I need.”

“I see.” She looked down at her shoes. If Boothill squinted, he could almost see tears forming in the corners of her eyes. They couldn’t have that, but what was he supposed to do?

He watched her for a minute before an idea hit him.

“Hey, Princess, why not have one more concert here?”

She sniffed and stared at him. “What?”

He smiled widely. “One more performance! One night only: Boothill and Robin! What’d’ya say?”

Robin wiped her eyes before any tear could escape. “I won’t be singing here anymore.”

“Then don’t worry about it, I can handle it!”

“What?”

Boothill spun on his heel to face where their audience would be sitting and clapped his hands together. Did Boothill know how to sing? No. Did he really know the words to Robin’s songs? Also no. Fork it, seeing her so upset made him feel physically ill, and he needed to fix that.

How did that song from yesterday go again? “Match your pace, sway to the beat? Hands up, embrace who ya wanna be!”

A laugh punched itself out of Robin from behind him. “Please don’t-“

“-Too late, already started. Yer reachin’ heights unseen like woah! Woa-oh-oh-oh!”

“Boothill I am begging you-“

He spun around and grabbed her hands, spinning her around with him. “La-lala don’t know the words, but leave it all behind! Get ready now-w-w-!”

Robin shrieked as she was tugged off balance, and was quickly dissolving into giggles. This only encouraged Boothill to launch himself into a wonderful robotic rendition of the chorus. He threw his head back and put his whole chest into belting what he remembered of the words. It wasn’t good, it could probably shatter glass, but it was making Robin smile, and in that moment, that was all that Boothill needed to do.

That is, until his pant leg caught on his spur and suddenly he was tumbling backwards.

“OH SHIRT-!” Was the only warning Robin got before she was yanked to the ground.

Boothill landed on his rear with a groan.

“Oh, shirt, Princess, I’m sorry-”

Robin was still laughing. She sat up with her hands on Boothill’s chest for leverage and let herself laugh for a few more seconds before wiping her eyes. “Are you okay?”

Boothill sat up on his elbows with a small laugh of his own. “Yeah, you?”

She nodded and smiled at him. But the smile was fading. Boothill watched the simple distraction melt away and reality settle in for Robin, of where she was and what had happened. And her lip trembled. And her breathing shook. Boothill pushed himself up more and wrapped his arms around her, slightly turning up his internal heater to warm the metal plates across his body. Her arms coiled around his neck, but his hair kept her skin from touching his, so the stinging sensation was bearable for now. It had to be bearable.

And Robin cried. She sobbed. She wailed like a little girl who had lost her family’s hands in a crowd, alone and overwhelmed by her surroundings. Maybe that’s all she ever was.

“I hate this place.” She choked out into his shoulder. “I hate this dream, I hate this planet, I hate this family. I hate saying: ‘I want to go home’ and this is what home means.”

“Ya know, it doesn’t have’ta be.” Boothill said.

She pulled back slightly to blink at him. “What?”

“It doesn’t have to be. Your home. Universe is a big place, you can make it wherever you want.” He shrugged. “Your family can be whatever you want, too. Whoever. Nobody is ‘owed’ Robin-time, you decide that shirt yourself. Stay close with people who care. It’s all your choice, Princess.”

“My choice?” Robin whispered.

Boothill smiled. “Yeah! Your choice! Ever had one of those before? You don’t gotta do anythin’ you don’t wanna! Do whatever you want!”

“Whatever I want?”

“Yeah! The world’s your clam, or whatever the dumb sayin’ is-”

And suddenly Robin is kissing him. And the world rains explosives around him.

Chapter 14: To Disarm A Threat

Chapter Text

Boothill had no idea what to do. And to make matters even worse for his snapping psyche, Robin was taking his lack of resistance as encouragement to keep going.

One hand went to Boothill’s hair, knocking off his hat and threading itself into the knots. The other remained around Boothill’s neck, pulling him in closer as she tilted her head slightly to deepen the kiss. His hand flew to her hip to instinctively shove her off, but a moment of clarity hit him and told him that hurting her was not an option.

When she pulled back for air, he managed out a cracked: “Princess-”

And she’s kissing him again, a bit softer this time, and Boothill does admit that his mouth curves a little to kiss back, but he’s fighting the urge to claw off the skin of his face and he can’t even enjoy the moment. He’s ecstatic, he’s humiliated, he’s over the fudgin’ moon, he wants everything to stop.

He squeezes her hip slightly, trying his hardest to let her know that he was dying inside, but this has the opposite effect and she tugs on his hair and oh-. That made the burning stop, for a moment. In fact, it made his vision go blurry for a second and he heard his internal fans whirring in overtime. Time is speeding up, slowing down, time is paused and time doesn’t exist. All that exists is Robin, Robin, Robin.

When Robin pulled back this time, he said: “Robin, wait-”

“Boothill, Boothill-” She breathes out his name like it’s the most beautiful sound in the world and Boothill’s brain goes fuzzy again.

Their mouths connect for a third time, Boothill’s meeting her’s halfway this time, and Boothill’s finding that the sizzling of his skin isn’t unpleasant anymore. He’s enjoying this. He pulls her closer and his eyes flutter shut. He’s burning, burning for Robin, burning for her touch, her voice. He’s burning in the middle of the stage where her brother was last seen alive. Oh no, wait, that last thought snaps him out of it and his other hand goes to Robin’s shoulder, slightly nudging her back.

They part, a tiny strand of saliva connecting them that makes Boothill’s fans whir even faster, and Robin’s eyes are half-shut. But the longer it takes for Boothill to keep kissing her, the faster the haze around her head fizzles out and her eyes start to widen in realization. And horror. Deep, unsettling horror.

Her hands fly from Boothill’s head and to her mouth as the color drains from her face. She looks ready to cry again.

What was it that Stelle said about him? That he had a habit of saying horrible things so that he ended up being the worse person in a situation? He was remembering that moment. Of all the times to recall it.

He moves the hand on her hip to wrap around her waist, moves the hand on her shoulder to the back of her head, and in one fluid motion, rolls so that her back’s on the ground, cushioned by the placement of his hands, and he’s between her knees. She doesn’t even have time to register the change in positions because Boothill’s kissing her again, roughly. He’s looming over her and basically mashing their faces together and he nips at her lip with his augmented teeth and only when she shifts to wrap her legs around him, he pulls back, grabs his hat, stands, and starts marching for the exit.

Robin lays there, staring at the ceiling for a moment before she snaps back to reality. “Boothill?”

He’s already to the stairs out of the theatre when she sits up.

“Boothill?!”

And he’s already reaching for the pinball when she gets on her feet and starts after him.

“Boothill!”

Dan Heng pulled his spear out of the last of the monsters laying around him right as a pinball clicked into place at the edge of the lobby.

A downright trembling Boothill popped out and started stumbling towards him.

“Boothill, what happened?” Dan Heng moved to meet him halfway. “Are you hurt? Where’s Robin?”

There’s a faraway look in Boothill’s eye, one that Dan Heng recognized from his time in the Shackling Prison.

“I ain’t hurt.” Boothill managed to whisper. “But I gotta get outa here before she-”

Another pinball clicked into place behind them and a very pissed off Robin materialized out of it.

“Boothill!” She nearly screamed.

Boothill grabbed at Dan Heng’s coat. “Bro, don’t leave me here, please-”

“Mister Dan Heng, could you give us a moment?”

Dan Heng pried Boothill’s fingers off of him and stepped back. “I’m going to… I’m going to go check for monsters on the other floors.”

A strangled noise escaped Boothill’s throat as Dan Heng booked it for an elevator and vanished.

“Traitor…”

“Boothill.”

His body froze.

“Boothill, we need to talk.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Boothill.”

He slowly turned around and winced at her expression. She looked furious, hurt, and confused. But this is what he needed; her to throw him away so she didn’t get hurt. Even if she got hurt. It made sense in the moment, he promised.

“Can we talk about this?” She asked.

“Nothin’ to talk about.” He put his hands in his pocket and looked away. “We’re both adults.”

“Yes, and it’s because we’re adults that we need to talk about what just happened.” The longer she looked at him, the softer her expression got. It was almost as if she was seeing through him, and that was frightening.

“Like what?”

“Like that I have feelings for you.” Robin said absolutely. “And if you really do not feel the same way back, then you need to tell me. Now.”

“Princess, this really ain’t the time or the place-”

“Boothill, I swear to Xipe if you keep avoiding talking about your feelings-”

“There’s nothin’ to talk about!” He snapped his head back to face her. “This? This right here? Isn’t happening. It can’t.”

Robin crossed her arms. “And why not?”

“Did you forget the part where I kill people for a livin’?” He twitched his lip in a way that showed his teeth, not quite a snarl but close enough. “That I’ve got a bounty bigger than the Golden Hour’s treasury on my head?”

“And? So what?”

“So what?!” He took a loud step towards her. “I’m a loaded gun, Princess, ready to go BANG at a moment’s notice. There’s a reason Galaxy Ranger’s aren’t really heard of anymore, because we keep dyin’.” Another step. What was he even saying anymore? “That’s why I designed my body this way. To hunt. To kill. And my Hunt won’t stop until every head on my list is rolling on the ground. Until I’ve squeezed the life out of every last one of those sorry clock-stuckers.” Another step. He needed to stop talking. “And I can’t have no Harmony Princess holding me back.”

For her credit, she did not move or flinch a bit, even when he loomed over her and the crosshairs in his eyes focused intently on her’s. She took a deep breath.

“I’m not scared of dying, Boothill, or of getting hurt. In my humani-”

“Fork your humanitarian work!” He snapped at her. “You ever been burned alive? You ever felt your skin get peeled off and your scalp shaved because you didn’t follow the rules?!” Shut up. “You’ve lived your whole life in a fudgin’ castle and when the tower shakes a little, you start crying about home bein’ a little ‘unpleasant’ to go back to!” Shut up. “Try not havin’ a home to go back to! Try hearin’ on the news that your people are gettin’ moved onto an even smaller reserve because there’s new fancy rocks found under the older one!” Shut up. “I mean, really, what’s the worst fudgin’ injury you’ve even had, Princess?”

Robin stared at him, blankly, and a hand reached up between them. Boothill physically flinched away from it, and then mentally kicked himself when the hand simply went to the clasp of Robin’s neck piece.

With a click!, the neck ornament fell to the ground between them, and Boothill saw the two tiny blemishes on the sides of her neck. No, not blemishes. An entry and exit point. Right where the voice box was. He felt his face go slack. Robin raised her heel and crushed the neck piece underfoot. Her eyes burned into his.

“You’re a coward.” Robin finally said.

Boothill’s mouth opened and shut. She shook her head.

“I get it. I really do. There are some people who are just meant to be alone. I just thought-” She sighed. “I just thought that maybe we could have been alone, together. You listened to me, you understood me, you made me feel safe, you challenged me. And all this week, I’ve been so selfish that I never bothered to give you the same effort back. I was too scared of pushing a boundary, or breaking a rule that I let myself be broken down to my most vulnerable moment and even then, you were still there. I don’t believe you when you say that I would hold you back. In fact, I thought this week was a good indicator of us being a good team.” She smiled softly, as if recalling all their pleasant moments. “I really like you, Boothill. Not just like that, but I haven’t had a friend in a long time. A true friend.” She looked up at him with a renewed stubbornness in her eyes. “Which is why I reject your rejection! And now you need to be honest with yourself!”

He gaped at her, slowly processing Robin’s words until his mind actually focused. “Oh.”

“What, did you think I was going to throw a fit? Tell you that I hate you and never wanted to see you again? Tell all my friends that I got my heart broken by a Galaxy Ranger? No way am I letting you add that to your list of accolades!” She snickered. Boothill continued to gape. “So tell me: how right am I?”

“What?”

“How right am I!” She repeated. “About you being a scaredy-cat!”

Boothill glared at her. “I am not a— that’s stupid!”

“Says the guy who thought kissing me like I was the only woman in the universe would somehow turn me off to the idea of doing it again.”

“You-!” Boothill rubbed his face with a groan. “Can’t you see that I’m tryna save your feelin’s?”

“Yeah, well, it’s a stupid way to do it.” Robin stuck her tongue out at him.

“Aren’t we havin’ an adult conversation?”

“This is an adult conversation. And I’m being an adult when I do this.” She stuck out her tongue again.

“Knock it off!”

“No!” She grinned. “Not until you tell me how you actually feel!”

“If you already know, why do ya need to ask?!” He wasn’t sure why he was raising his voice.

“Because! You’re an idiot!” Robin was also raising her voice for some reason.

“No I’m not!”

“Then tell me you like me!”

“Alright you don’t have’ta shout at me!” Boothill stomped his foot on the ground. “Robin! You wanna know what I really feel?”

She nodded eagerly.

“You’re a catch! You’re a star! You’re bigger than life and easy to yap with! I am intimidated by how you make me feel because nobody’s ever made me feel like this ever before in my life!”

Robin paused, her smile vanishing. “Wait what?”

Boothill didn’t really notice. “And because of that, I feel the need to pull away and protect myself!”

“Wait, hold on, back up-“

“And yer very pretty! And very smart! And very stubborn!”

“Boothill, was I-“

“And if I didn’t freak out everytime I touched someone, I’d kiss you again!”

“BOOTHILL WAS I YOUR FIRST KISS?!” Robin shrieked with wide eyes.

Boothill paused and blinked at her. “Well, yeah? I’m pretty busy most of the time, huntin’ an’ shirt like that.”

Robin’s hands flew to her mouth and Boothill could see her flush underneath them. The wings on the side of her head were flapping rapidly.

“Don’t do it, Princess-“

“I’m so sorry!”

He lightly bonked her on the head with a fist. “Stop apologizin’! Jeez!”

As if on cue, the familiar mist portal door thing appeared next to them and swung open. An exhausted Welt Yang stepped out and leaned heavily against his cane.

“Oh good, you two. The others will need more time to join us. Is Dan Heng around?”

Robin cleared her throat and turned to face him. “Where are the others?”

Welt gestured to the portal. “It is of my understanding that they caught the, err, ‘signal’ of another person trapped in the Dreamscape, separate from March 7th’s signal.”

Robin’s eyes widened as she looked back at Boothill. Welt continued.

“They don’t know who it is, and the dream is very unstable right now. We need to wait for them to-“

Robin did not, in fact, wait, and instead ran straight through the portal as Boothill and Welt yelled in protest.

Welt stared at the portal incredulously before looking back at Boothill.

“Why did she do that?!”

Boothill shrugged. “Eh, women.” And he ran through the portal after her.

The first time he brought a girl home was the last time, too. He was undeniably, irreversibly, and totally in love with her. He was always around her, showing her around the farm and finding ways to sneak her on rides down to the creek in the south. He listened to her guitar playing, her shrieks of delight when trying foods he made from the family cookbook, her soft snores in the dead of night when sleep wouldn’t take him with her, her off-key singing around the family campfire, her preening at the compliments the rest of his family would smother her with, and couldn’t stop himself from imagining creating a whole life with her.

After all, was there anything more undoing than a father’s love?

Chapter 15: A Lone Star just isn't Possible

Chapter Text

When Boothill’s foot touched down, the first thing he noticed was the smell of dirt. The second thing he noticed was that he itched all over. The third thing he noticed was that he was in a hallway lighted by sunlight drifting lazily through a window. He saw pictures in frames hanging along the hallway, and his stomach lurched into his throat.

And the itching. Oh, Aeons, the fudgin’ itching. Boothill pulled his hand to his neck and scratched with his nails. Nails? He looked down at his hands and eyes widened in horror to see skin on his palms.

He jerked backwards and became acutely aware of all of the clothes touching him, squeezing him, and oh gods- his mouth and eyes burned. His teeth pressed against each other inside his mouth and he had to bite down on the insides of his lips and cheeks to keep them from touching and causing shooting pain across his jaws. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a few steps back, but when his back hit the wall behind him, he jerked forward and the feeling of his socks against his bare feet was way too much. He couldn’t breathe. He was being crushed from all sides, he fell to his knees and ripped at his hair and chewed on the inside of his cheeks to alleviate the pressure in his head.

Someone with heavy footsteps appeared at the end of the hallway and called out a name in a language that twisted and swirled in Boothill’s mind.

“Are you okay?” The voice asked.

He cracked an eye open and took in the work boots towering over him.

“No?” His voice didn’t sound like his own. It was totally alien. What the hell was his name again?

“Boy, get up. What’s the matter with ya?” The work boots’ voice was gruff, but refined. If that made sense. “Are ya hurt? Where’s the wound?”

Giant hands hauled him to his feet and helped him into a bathroom, setting him down on the edge of a bathtub and holding him upright as the water started running.

“Say somethin’, boy, yer scarin’ me. Did a sky person get ya? A horse?”

To his horror, the face belonging to the work boots was blurry, nonexistent. But he wasn’t horrified by the lack of face. Rather, that he couldn’t recognize the face. It made him want to vomit.

“It hurts. It hurts, Pops-” He leaned against the faceless voice. The giant hands wrapped around him in an attempt to comfort, but it felt all the more suffocating. “Why does it hurt?”

“I don’t know,--” And the voice says the name again. “But I’m here. I’m here for ya. Always.”

But that was a lie. He knew it. But he didn’t know how he knew it. A damp rag is pressed against his forehead and it helps a little, so he leans more into the touch. The rest of him was still on fire, though, and part of him considered letting himself fall backwards into the tub. He was safe here, sort of. He could be safe if he kept his eyes closed. The pain would fade, he was being taken care of. Why was he even hurting in the first place?

There was the sound of footsteps padding towards them. He looked out the bathroom door and saw a little boy standing in the hallway with a smile.

“Who…” He pointed at the little boy. “Who is that?”

“There’s nobody there,--” The name was said again. “Did you hit yer head?”

He kept staring at the little boy, and the little boy stared back until that smile grew into a rather sinister grin.

“Run, little cowboy,” the little boy taunted, “the monster’s are coming~!”

Boothill shot to his feet, itched his forearm, and rubbed his eyes. “Holy forkeroni!”

The little boy laughed and vanished from sight. Boothill threw himself into the hallway, furious that he didn’t have his gun on him to shoot the little shirtbag between his eyebrows.

The voice belonging to the work boots called out with a name Boothill hadn’t answered to in years. He glanced back with a soft smile, one that hurt more than the pressure in his teeth.

“Sorry, Pops, I gotta take care of some stuff real quick.”

“Are you feelin’ better, son?”

“No.” Boothill shrugged. “But I will be soon.”

“Just be back in time for dinner.” The voice said.

“I will, old man.” Boothill lied. And he took off down the hallway.

So he was in a Dreamscape. His own, he presumed, but he hadn’t a clue as to which memory he had found himself inside. So he needed to figure out where the fudgin’ exit was and fast. Wow his teeth hurt. He considered finding a belt to gnaw on to keep the pressure on his gums at a bearable level, but that would take too long. He opted to just keep chewing on his inner cheeks.

Was the portal that could get him back to The Reverie inside the farm house? He looked in every room, apologizing quickly to brothers and sisters who yelled at his invasion of their privacy, trying not to focus on the fact that he couldn’t make out their faces, either. It was all a blur. Maybe that was the true nightmare, on top of feeling trapped in this skin.

The last room he needed to check was one on the first floor, just off of the main dining room. His hand went to the handle, but the feeling of his stomach lurching into his throat again told him not to open the door. That if he did, he would never leave the Dream, just like how if he had let himself sink into the bathtub. He pressed his ear to the door and could faintly hear soft snoring through the thin wood. Boothill felt like vomiting again. He tore himself away from the door and ran out to the yard. The portal had to be out here instead, right?

He checked the barn, he checked the pastures, he ran through the fields near the house, and he ran all the way back. Nothing. No swirling doors of mist, no creepy paintings of hands, no way out. What else happened in this memory? Was this one of his more repressed ones? Forkin’ hell, this was a really bad time to be drawin’ a blank!

Boothill heard laughter behind him and snapped his head around, seeing the little boy from before standing on the main house’s porch.

“What’s wrong, cowboy? A little lost?”

Boothill jabbed a finger at the gremlin. “You. It’s been your forkin’ ads this entire time, hasn’t it?”

The little boy giggled again and the sound reminded Boothill of nails on a chalkboard. “You’re in over your head, cowboy. This is a recurring theme of yours, isn’t it? Being so close to getting everything you want, making everyone happy, but then it all just slips! Right through your fingers!” The boy gasped mockingly. “I’m reminded of so many tales of other great heroes, all those fallen legends, washed up by the tides of time-- hey where are you going?”

Boothill was a considerable distance up the dirt road and kept walking, waving back to the little boy over his shoulder.

“Sorry, loser! I can’t focus on monologues that use too many words! Get’s borin’ real fast!”

“Come back here! The Dream isn’t over!”

Boothill cackled to himself and just kept moving. “Oh, buddy, the Dream’s been over for a minute now.”

The world shifted around him as his memories became more clear. Now he was standing in a black uniform that barely fit, freshly stolen, before an imposing ship.

“But don’t worry, I’ll wake up soon. I’ve got people waitin’ on me.”

He climbed inside the ship and searched it top to bottom, alternating between looking through one eye or the other because of how much his vision was stinging, but couldn’t find anything resembling a portal. He was getting frustrated, and was feeling like bashing in the skulls of the faceless IPC goons wandering around him. But if the portal wasn’t on the ship…

He found a porthole and looked out towards where the farm would be. In a room close by, he heard a crackling voice say: “We are running out of time. You are permitted to use military force and bring civilization to this world."

Oh right, this was that memory. Fork.

Boothill exited the ship as it started to take off and started back towards the farm. First, he was just walking, but then the ship vanished into the clouds above him, and he broke into a run. He could feel the bones of his joints contracting and his muscles spasming under taught skin, and it was honestly pretty gross. And hearing blood pounding in his ears? Every thump of his heartbeat sounding? Boothill could not wait to peel off his skin and dunk himself in a vat of bleach as soon as this was over.

The farm came into view. Boothill really hoped that the portal out was in the one room he didn’t check, even if the idea of stepping into that room made the air squeeze itself out of his already failing, fleshy lungs. He was barely two-hundred yards from the porch when he was suddenly in the air, and slamming back down into the dirt. And then the world went black.

Boothill pried his eyes open, acutely aware of the smell of burning hair and the sounds of burning screams all around him.

The farm house was a pile of cinders and ash. The forest and pastures burned beyond it. The sky was blood red with flames, and in the distance he could hear more explosions. More “unknown disasters”. Boothill himself was probably on fire. But still, as the house he grew up in collapsed into even more rubble in front of his eyes, he dug his elbows into the ground and started to drag himself towards it.

It was a long, painful process, but eventually Boothill’s fingers scraped the splinters that were the front porch and his hands were able to finally push him to his aching feet. He was right, his clothing was actively on fire and scorching his skin. That wasn’t important, though. He was in a dream, his real body was back in The Reverie, he was okay.

A single door remained standing, a door Boothill had pressed his ear to earlier. Like an ugly miracle, the room and house around it were gone, but the door remained still. He took a step towards it, crushing wood and bone indiscriminately underfoot, and another step. And another. And another. And his hand touched the handle and he heard a baby’s cry pierce the sounds of death.

And Boothill’s knees gave out. His energy was spent.

He looked back over his shoulder to see that little fudgin’ boy holding a bundle in a blanket, smug smile on his face as he cradled the blanket.

“Looking for something, Papa?” The boy sneered.

Boothill stared at the boy and the blanket that writhed on its own, twisted the knob of the door in front of him, and let himself fall through the doorway into a cold darkness, proud that the last thing he saw was the boy’s eyes widen in shock at how easy it was for Boothill to escape him.

Well, for the kid’s credit, he hadn’t counted on Boothill having already ended his own life in the past. Kinda hard to fall for a dream when the reality the dream was based on is already so distant and alien, but that’s a tale for another day. Right now, Boothill landed on his feet in the Penacony Grand Theatre, still on fire but whatever, and stared at the new scene in front of him.

In the center of the stage, connected to the building by rippling carpets, was a swirling sphere of blue and purple mist. Standing in front of the sphere was Stelle with the Watchmaker’s hat spinning furiously in front of her outstretched hand like she was trying to make it cut into the mist. Next to Stelle was March 7th, her arm also outstretched towards the sphere and palm glowing with some sort of pink light. Next to March was Black Swan, with a hand on March’s back and her own hand reaching towards the mist.

Okay, nothing weird here.

But where was Robin? Boothill dragged himself across the wobbly floating carpets and onto the stage proper. He was still actively on fire, but that wasn’t his priority at the moment. As he got closer, he could see through the mist that two people were huddled together inside the sphere: Robin and a little blue haired boy. Instantly, Boothill panicked, but this boy was different from the one that had been tormenting him. Was that Sunday?

A mist cloud appeared next to Stelle. She didn’t notice. Slowly, the cloud formed the outline of a man. A man with glasses and a punchable face. Black Swan glanced over and shouted at Stelle.

“Do not lose focus for a second! No matter what the Dream shows you!”

The man laughed, it was the same mocking sound the little boy from Boothill’s Dreamscape made. “So we meet again, Trailblazer. Tell me, how is it possible for you to keep ruining everything I’ve spent so long putting together?”

Stelle didn’t answer, which only pissed him off. Boothill started hobbling towards the guy.

“You are an imbecile! A child! I alone have the power to control the Dream! To give the people what they want, what they need!” The man shrieked. “If my children do not have the strength, then I will take it for myself! I will become a god, an Aeon!” He raised his fists like he was going to bash Stelle’s brains in. “I WILL HAVE OR-!”

He was interrupted by a flaming Boothill body slamming him over the side of the Penacony Grand Theatre. A fist connected with Boothill’s jaw, a knee tried to kick him away, but they were falling together, towards the edge of the Dream.

“Why?!” Gopher Wood screamed above the roaring wind ripping around them. “Why do you insist on ruining everything I’ve built?! Useless savage, stupid machine! I had created a new god! I had the perfect vessels!”

“You’re a dork and a bad dad!” Boothill screamed back, pulling at hair and watching the fire on his clothes spread to Gopher Wood’s. The swirling black hole at the edge of the abyss was getting closer now. Oh well.

Gopher Wood tried to shove Boothill, but the cowboy held firm.

“You wanna know why you weren’t ever gonna succeed?” He laughed.

The Dreammaster snarled at him. Boothill took that as his response.

“It’s because you were tryna create a lone star!” Boothill recalled what Stelle had told him about Sunday and Robin’s relationship, what Robin had told him of her own life, especially how Robin broke down crying earlier that day. More of his skin burned and flaked away, revealing shimmering metal hidden underneath. Every punch Gopher Wood landed on his face knocked out more teeth he had already ripped out himself. “There ain’t no such thing as a lone star! You may have had your boy Sunday convinced they were real, but they ain’t possible! Even if lights drown ‘em out, there’s always millions more behind ‘em! Nobody’s ever alone, shirtbag, except for you!”

Boothill shoved Gopher Wood away and watched as the screaming Dreammaster faded from view, his image getting strung out and sucked into the black hole. Now it was just Boothill, watching the Penacony Grand Theatre become nothing more than a speck in the distance. He was his own shooting star across the Dreamscape, a ball of flames hurtling towards the ground. Except for that other speck getting closer.

“What the-“

A giant hand made out of either black ice or glass - Boothill couldn’t tell the difference - grabbed him and started to pull him back up towards the theatre.

“There you go,” Black Swan smiled as Boothill was dropped back onto the stage in a heap of smoldering fabric, bones, and skin. “All in one piece, too.”

“Screw Wubbaboo.” Boothill coughed out. “Everythin’ hurts.”

He vaguely registered Stelle kneeling by his side.

“What happened to you?” She asked.

Boothill breathed out a few other censored profanities as his response. When he finally did open his eyes, he saw that the mist sphere had vanished and March was kneeling next to Robin and who he assumed was a kid version of her brother Sunday.

“You good, Robbie?” He coughed.

She looked over at him and he had to guess that she was ugly crying. He couldn’t really tell at this point, his head throbbed and his vision was spinning again.

An “Oh sh*t-“ from Black Swan was the last thing he heard before the world went black. Again.

Chapter 16: Don't Say Goodbye

Chapter Text

He was okay, Boothill woke up in his hotel room in his regular artificial body with a dozen text messages from a half dozen different people, all asking him if he was okay.

He’d barely pulled himself out of his dreampool when his door was thrown open and Stelle barged in.

“Holy sh*t you’re alive.” She froze and looked him up and down.

“Yeah?” Boothill’s robotic voice was back. He’d missed it. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Probably because it’s been twelve hours?”

“Huh. Guess I was tired.”

Stelle gave him a smile and started to leave. “Pack your things, Pom-Pom wants to leave as soon as possible.”

So he did. Not that he had anything to pack, but he did consider trying to take the cot Dennis at the front desk had given him. Unfortunately, he had no idea how he was gonna be able to sneak it into the Express, so he parted ways with it and made his way to the lobby.

The lobby was buzzing with business as usual, so Boothill had to weave through a small crowd to find the Nameless, all looking like the perfect little family when he found them. Stelle and March had their arms around each other, Dan Heng and Himeko were whispering to each other, and Welt Yang looked like he was ready to drop himself into another week-long nap. Black Swan was standing not too far away, looking equally as exhausted.

March waved Boothill over and hugged him as soon as he was within range. “You made it!”

“Yeah? What’d I miss?”

Dan Heng reached over to pry March off of him. “Dr. Ratio left early this morning, something about a summons to Pier Point for a trial. Sunday’s physical body was restored, but I heard he cleared out of Penacony this morning too. Nobody knows where he’s gone.”

“Darn, would’ve liked to talk to him.” Boothill groaned. “And Robin?”

“Ask her yourself.”

“What?” Boothill turned around to see that Robin was standing directly behind him. He yelped and nearly jumped out of his boots. “Quit doin’ that!”

She nodded to the Nameless and they shuffled away towards a pinball that would take them to the docks. Once the two were as alone as they could be in the lobby, Robin also hugged Boothill. He hugged her back.

“Thank you, Boothill.” She whispered into his chest plate. “For everything.”

“I didn’t do much, Princess.” He said into her hair.

“But you did.” She hugged him tighter. “You set my family free.”

“Again, I really didn’t do much-“

“Boothill I swear to Xipe let me have this.” She tugged on his hair.

“Yes ma’am-”

She peeled off of him with a smile and tears in her eyes. “So… leaving with the Nameless?”

He nodded. “Yeah, gotta keep up my Hunt. More heads need to roll before I’m done.”

“And what happens when the Hunt is over?”

Boothill paused, and then shrugged. “No clue, I’ll probably die at some point.”

Her face fell. “Well, don’t do that.”

“It ain’t up to me, Princess.” He put his hands up. “My life’s a dangerous one.”

She jabbed a finger at him. “Boothill if you die, you become a heartbreaker, and I can’t allow that.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah? Says who?”

Robin spun on her heels, twirling her dress as she did. “Says the new ex-head of the Oak Family!”

Boothill whistled. “Look at you go, Miss No Responsibilities.”

“Well, I still have responsibilities.” She stopped spinning and sighed. “I go back on tour in two days, my manager is not happy with me.”

He laughed. “Oh no, managers!”

She punched him in the chest, and then shook out her hand. “Jerk. Here I thought you would have cared more to see me in distress.”

“If I recall correctly, you’re the one who kissed me first.” Boothill grinned.

“And if I recall correctly,” Robin grinned back, “you’re the one who nearly let your consciousness get destroyed by the Edge of the Dream for a girl you met two weeks ago.”

“Touché, Princess.” He bowed his hat at her, but then paused. “Wait, what could’ve happened to me?”

Robin giggled. “You’re something else, Galaxy Ranger. I’m glad I got to go on this adventure with you.”

“Hold on now, that sounds like a goodbye.” Boothill frowned.

“Isn’t it? What are the chances of us meeting again in this vast cosmos?” There was a twinkle in her eye that made Boothill’s brain a little fuzzy.

“Not sure, Princess, but a woman like you would be a heck of a catch. Heck, I might be one of the luckiest guys in the galaxies just to have ya look my way.”

She giggled again. “You might be, but not because I like you.”

They stood there in silence for a beat, Boothill having absolutely no idea what to say but not wanting to leave just yet.

“Robin…” he took a deep breath. “I—“

“—Don’t say goodbye.” Robin frowned. “Even if we die before we meet again, don’t say goodbye. That’s too final.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She took a deep breath and reached her hands up between them, bringing them around her neck and unclasping her neck ornament. Boothill’s eyes widened and he looked around to see if anyone was watching. A few people whispered to themselves, but it mostly seemed to be in awe of standing so close to a superstar.

Robin held the neck piece in one hand and took Boothill’s hand in her other, pressing the jewelry into his palm and wrapping his metal fingers around it tenderly.

Boothill stared at it. “I can’t take this. What about your-”

“What about it?” Robin smiled. “You can just give that back to me when we see each other next. I have a feeling the universe has more in store for Boothill and Robin.”

Boothill held the ornament to his chest and sniffled. “Yeah. Boothill and Robin. I like the sound of that.”

Robin took his other hand and kissed his metal knuckles. Boothill felt the skin of his face erupt into flames for the umptheenth time this week and it took all of his willpower to not jerk his hand away. But this wasn’t a bad feeling? It actually felt nice? He couldn’t feel the kiss, of course, but more it was the gesture?

Robin gave him his hand back. “You said yesterday that you freak out when you get touched, and I still feel bad about what happened when we kissed.”

“Robbie, Princess, you don’t gotta apologize for that. Bigger things have gone down since then, we’re all past it.” He smiled, fully aware that it was lopsided and goofy. “You need to be nicer to yourself, jeez.”

“‘Robbie’?” She asked.

Boothill rubbed the back of his neck. “You kept complainin’ about not being a ‘Princess’, and don’t Robbie feel more natural since we’ve already swapped so much spit?”

Her feathers puffed up and flapped rapidly. Robin snapped her hands over them with pink cheeks. Boothill laughed and tipped his hat at her, stepping back to give her some space.

“So where’s this tour of yours goin’? Maybe I’ll try to crash the party if I get the time!”

Robin coughed to clear her throat and rummaged around her person until summoning a slip of pink paper from whenever she also summoned her makeup and microphone from. She handed the paper to Boothill, who did not bother to try to read the Asdanian script on it.

“What’s this?”

“An exclusive VIP pass to any of my shows.” Robin was beaming, brightly. Very brightly. “For when you need something to lift your spirits, or a place to go if the universe is out to get you more than usual. My door will always be open to you, no matter of any feelings.”

Boothill sniffled again. Robin cooed at him.

“Oh please don’t cry, Boothill! It’s the least I can do!”

He shook his head and tipped his hat down to try to hide his face. “‘m not crying. Cryin’s for babies. I ain’t a baby.”

“Poor Boothill, poor little baby Boothill~”

“And that’s enough of that!” He tucked the paper and jewelry into his shirt pocket - next to the napkin he had been writing on all week, and scooped Robin up into a big hug, spinning her around as she squealed and kicked her legs back and forth.

“Boothill! Put me down!” She shrieked.

He did, and the two shared a laugh and one more hug before Boothill peeled away and started back towards the Nameless. Together, the group made their way to the Astral Express, clean of all space goop and awaiting for her crew to start their actual next voyage.

One by one, they boarded and made their way to their stations. Himeko joined Pom-Pom at the helm, Welt and Dan Heng immediately went back to update the Archives (Boothill already anticipated the angry text from Dan Heng demanding to know why his room was such a mess), March and Stelle powered up the omni-synthesizer to get snacks, and Black Swan laid herself down on a couch like she owned the place to nap. Not unlike a cat.

Boothill slid the car door shut behind him and the train rumbled underfoot. Out of the giant windows, the docks drifted away as Family ships guided the Express out of Penacony’s airspace. It was surreal, his head still buzzed as he tried to sort through everything that had happened in the last two or so weeks. Nothing like killing an already dead Aeon alongside an Emanator, surviving in the depths of space with a guy whose ego matched his IQ level, and somehow starring in his own romantic drama along the way. But the Hunt must go on. He needed to lock in and focus. Blood still needed to be spilled. Bullets had names that needed to be answered for.

He found himself a seat on a couch near the back of the car and pulled out the things in his pockets: his phone that probably would have dreampool “water” stuck in it permanently, his note napkin, Robin’s neck ornament, and Robin’s show pass. He folded up the pass and napkin, and slid them into his phone case. He perked up his head when March and Stelle walked past him and hid Robin’s jewelry in his palms.

“Whatcha got there, cowboy?” Stelle asked him.

“Nothin’!” Boothill said too quickly, too loudly. Stelle rolled her eyes and nudged March, the two walking away while chatting about one topic or another.

Boothill carefully opened his palms back up and stared down at the purple and silver neck piece in his hands. He didn’t have a heart, no all he had was a silicone cylinder in his chest cavity pumping blue blood to his joints and wires, but his face still burned delightfully and his lips twisted into a smile against his will.

He stood and moved to the music box at the end of the car, sorting through the records the Nameless kept on hand until he found the one he was looking for. He carefully popped his chosen record into place, lowered the needle, and listened to the opening beats to Sway to My Beat in Cosmos crackle out of the machine.

“Oh, so that’s what the words are.” Boothill said to himself. “Made a darn fool of myself.”

He sat himself back down on the couch, sprawled out so his legs were elevated, pulled his hat down over his eyes, and started to let himself drift off to sleep. The Express probably had another day or so to go before it could make a Warp Jump to Edo Star, Boothill might as well just get a head start on some much needed nap time.

Chapter 17: Epilogue

Chapter Text

One year later…

Robin stretched in her chair and waved away her makeup crew. They all silently started packing up their things as Robin’s manager’s eyes widened.

“You still have a meet and greet tonight, what are you doing?”

Robin yawned and rubbed her eyes, uncaring of how her sweat made her foundation stain her glove. “I just did two encores while running on nothing more than a protein bar I managed to snag before going on. I am tired and I am sleepy and there is a difference between the two and I am both at once. Let’s schedule a meet and greet breakfast in the morning instead. No, a brunch. Meet and greet brunch.”

Her manager stared at her before shaking their head. “Yes ma’am.”

“Thank you. That will be all for tonight.”

Her manager nodded and left, shutting the door to Robin’s trailer tightly behind them. As soon as she heard the door latch into place, Robin sighed and sank down into her chair, finding solace in the shapes of her ceiling.

Her phone buzzed on her vanity with what she could only assume was yet another message demanding her to clean up some mess or another in another galaxy. Humanitarian work here, diplomatic visits there, breaking news your brother is a wanted criminal in yet another system, wake up early it’s time to learn more choreography, it never stopped.

It had been a risk in the beginning, when she refused to buy another neck piece to hide her scars. Her manager had bitten their nails all the way down in stress the night Robin performed without it, and the PR team had a field day trying to find a way to word a statement about the scars that didn’t damage the Family’s image. Luckily, Sunday had started his new career around the same time, so the media coverage turned into painting Robin as a helpless victim in a cycle of abuse passed down from insane father to insane brother.

Well, luckily for the PR team. Robin was two seconds from eating the next sympathetic bouquet she got in the mail and the card with it.

She reached over to silence her phone without checking the message. She caught a glimpse of a news headline in it, and that only reaffirmed her decision to ignore the outside world for a few hours.

“No, sir, the greet is canceled! Someone call Security!” She heard her manager’s voice bark through her door. Robin was on her feet in a second and yanked her door open to see several large men employed by the venue’s security team circle around a person in dark clothes.

“What’s going on out here?” She asked the group.

“I’ve got a ticket with her name on it right here!” Said the person Security was trying to detain. Their voice was robotic, an Intellitron perhaps? But Intellitrons usually abided by rules very strictly. Robin pulled her trailer door open the rest of the way and repeated her question.

The Security muscles moved out of the way and revealed a man with peculiar eyes. Well, everything about him was peculiar. The skin of his face was sun-kissed and freckles, his chin sported a small patch of fuzz, his black-and-white hair that covered his right eye was barely shoulder length and tied back in a low ponytail with a red ribbon decorated with a silver chain sporting a pearl attached to its links, he wore a black coat over his body, but Robin could make out something shimmering underneath, and when he smiled, Robin saw that he had rows of jagged, shark-like teeth. Hanging from his ear was an earring made of a piece of purple fabric and a golden star. The earring and the chain on his hair ribbon looked familiar.

“Let him go.” Robin commanded. Her manager protested, but she gave them a harsh glare and they scurried away. “He’s family.”

The Security team took their time clearing out, but eventually all that remained by Robin’s trailer was Robin herself and the intruder, who looked up at her in her doorway with such a soft expression that Robin nearly didn’t recognize him.

“Boothill, is that you?”

“Yes ma’am, it is.” He bowed his head respectfully.

“Where’s your hat?”

Boothill itched the side of his face. “I, uh… lost it.”

“Oh you poor thing.” Robin stepped back into her trailer. “Come in, please!”

He hesitated, but took heavy steps up into her trailer and quietly shut the door behind him. Robin found a stool for him to sit on and stood awkwardly by her makeup chair.

“So, uh… how have you been?” She asked.

He stared at the stool before sitting down. His coat fanned out around his legs and Robin saw the pistol strapped to his hip. He clasped his hands together on his lap and kept his eyes on the ground. He looked tired, exhausted even. Robin once again found that she didn’t recognize him.

“Boothill?”

“I’m okay, I’m okay.” He smiled softly, eyes flicking up to her face for a second before flicking back down to the floor. “It’s just been a while.”

“It has been.” She pulled her makeup chair out and sat down, leaning forward and tilting her head to the side to try to look him in the eyes again. “Is there anything I can get you? Some water? Food?”

He shook his head and retrieved a phone with a cracked screen out of his pocket, silently popping the case off, and pulling out a faded piece of pink paper and a ripped bar napkin. He handed the two papers over to her.

“I hate to disappoint, but I really don’t have a way to give ya back that neck thing you gave me.” He gestured to his earring. “Sort of broke it a little.”

Robin stared at his earring for a second and memories of the last time she went home to Penacony bubbled to the surface of her mind. She shook her head, but her cheeks still burned a little.

“No worries! It looks good on you, better even!”

“Thanks, Princess.” He laughed softly. Everything about him was too soft, where were his jagged edges? His crazed eyes? He slouched over like gravity weighed down his metal plates, like he didn’t have the strength to even pull himself up.

Robin stared at him for another minute before her eyes widened. “You’re not a Pathstrider anymore.”

Boothill’s laugh was a little stronger now. Robin’s eyes widened even more.

“You did it? You actually did it?”

Boothill spread his hands out to the side and bowed his head. “Guilty as charged, Princess.”

Robin stood, tucking the papers onto her chair, and moved closer to Boothill. “They’re all dead? Everyone on your list?”

He looked up at her with the crosshair in his visible eye, grinning fully now just as she remembered.

“Every. Single. One.”

“Heads rolled?”

“All over the ground.

“Blood was spilled?”

“Splashed all over the walls.” His augmented teeth glowed in the lights of Robin’s trailer.

Robin smiled proudly and reached down to take Boothill’s hand. The metal was cold under her touch. “So what happens now? You didn’t die like you said you would.”

“Well, I couldn’t disappoint the ex-head of the Oak Family, now could I? And I distinctly remember receiving a personal invitation to come see a show when I needed my spirits lifted. You did great tonight, can’t believe I waited so long to take you up on your offer.” He smiled warmly at her before the smile faded and he shrank away into himself a little. “If you don’t mind me sayin’. Sorry.”

“Sorry? Whatever for?”

He pulled his hand away and itched his cheek, looking away from her and at her wall. “I don’t know. Been sayin’ that a lot.”

“Well, if you’re not receiving blessings from The Hunt anymore, it would make sense that your confidence would need to be built up again. How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?”

“What? No, nothin’ like that.” He shook his head. “But my body was built to be a Pathstrider, it’s just been a little harder to move around without the proper Aeon-juice, if that makes sense.”

“It does.” She stepped back out of his space and sat back down. “So what’s the plan now?”

He wrung his hands together. “No clue. I traveled a bit as a Nameless for a while, but the Path of Trailblaze wasn’t too appealin’. I’ve just been kinda driftin’ around since partin’ ways with our dear friends, not really sure what to do. That’s when I caught wind of your concert one system over from the hole I was digging myself, remembered an old invitation I’d been given, and hopped on over.”

“That’s very sweet of you to remember. It seems a lot has changed for you.”

“And you look the same as I remember.” Boothill snorted without any malice behind it. “No offense.”

“None taken.” Robin giggled. “I wasn’t the one who traveled the universe, taking my vengeance on those who scorned me. You look good. The beard’s new.”

Boothill touched his chin. “Ya like that? I accidentally set myself on fire while we were in Lushaka of all places and when they pieced me back together, my dear bro Dan Heng got some of the locals to donate some skin grafts or somethin’ like that to replace my synthetic hair and other parts that I lost. Even managed to make it out without lookin’ like a patchwork. I wouldn’t call it a beard, but it’s close to what I had before my little metallic upgrades way back when.”

She giggled again, suddenly curious if pictures of pre-cyborg Boothill existed. “You have some good friends looking out for you. You look really good, and I mean really good.”

His cheeks changed color slightly - did he blush blue? - and he reached a hand up like he was going to tug down the brim of his hat, but stopped when he realized it wasn’t there.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Robin stretched her arms above her head and yawned slightly. “So what’s the plan now, cowboy? Do you have anywhere to stay?”

He blinked at her before shaking his head. “I, uh… haven’t thought that far ahead…”

Robin felt her feathers start to puff up. She smoothed out her wings and cleared her throat. “Well, you could always stay here for the night.”

Boothill looked up at her, eyes wide in disbelief. “Really? You mean it? I won’t stay the full night, I’ll be gone by mornin’, I promise.”

“Boothill,” Robin breathed out a small laugh, “I meant it when I said that you would always have a place to lay your head. I don’t need to be the voice of The Harmony to offer you a bed.”

He shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t feel right just takin’ a night’s sleep for free. I can work for my keep, you need a bodyguard? I can be a bodyguard. Need someone to sell tickets at the door? I can do that, too. I’m a heck of a salesman, I think. Heck, I could even just be the guy who washes your laundry or somethin’.”

“Boothill-” Robin covered her mouth to keep from laughing. “You don’t need to work for your bed.”

He shifted forward on his stool. “But I gotta, I wanna. I ain’t no freeloader. Just give me an’ order and I’ll do it. For you.”

“And I am telling you,” she stood again and stepped back into his space, making him have to crane his neck to look up at her since she was still in her heels and he was hunched over. She held herself back from cupping his face in her palms. Were his eyes always so deep looking? Wait no, single eye. She couldn’t see the other through his thick hair. “That I am simply satisfied with just having you here. You don’t know how overjoyed I am that you are here with me, really. If it would please you, I would be honored to have you on my staff as a bodyguard, but know that it is not a requirement of you to be on my payroll simply to stay here by my side.”

Boothill stood and hugged her, whispering a dozen ‘thank you’s into her hair. She hugged him back, wondering just what the actual f*ck had happened to him in the past year. But, if he was here to stay, she would have all the time in the cosmos to learn. It occurred to her that she really didn’t know anything about the man who squeezed her tight other than he was kind, but for now that was good enough.

He pulled away and cleared his throat. “So should I pitch a tent outside?”

Robin laughed and shook her head. “No, you can stay here in my bed.”

“In… your bed?” His mouth twisted into an unreadable shape.

“I could also get you a separate cot if it would make you more comfortable.”

“In your bed?” He asked again.

“Yes, that was my suggestion, my dear.”

“Dear?!”

Robin snorted and stepped back, putting her makeup chair back to where it belonged and moving to her bed, sitting herself down and starting to undo the buckles of her heels. “Is there something else you would like to be called?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you still felt the same way- I mean, I wasn’t expectin’ anythin’- I mean, that’s cool. That’s fine.” He rubbed his nose and put his hand in his pocket, very cooly.

“Boothill,” Robin took a deep breath, “would you like to try being a team? Boothill and Robin, just like old times?”

Boothill’s face flushed an even deeper shade of purple/blue and his eye widened comically. “You mean like…”

“It doesn’t have to be like that!” Robin backpedaled. “We’ve only just found each other again, we can take our time. I admit that I got a little too eager when I saw you, I can make the call to get a cot for you now if you would like?’

“That would be nice of ya, thank you.” He mumbled.

“Then let’s take this one day at a time?” She offered him a soft smile. “In the morning we can figure out what all this means for us.” She looked down to focus on getting her other heel off, but the buckle was being stubborn. “Goddamnit, hold on.”

Boothill was across the room and kneeling down in front of her, silently threading the shoe’s strap through the damned buckle with precise movements from his fingers and sliding the shoe off, setting it on the floor next to the other and looking up at her with a bashful expression.

“I like the idea of Boothill and Robin.” He whispered, eyes initially darting around but focusing on hers after a second. “If you’d have me, that is.”

Robin leaned forward and brushed their lips together, tensing when Boothill initially flinched away, but let her eyes flutter shut and her wings flutter around when he pressed back into the kiss. His lips were chapped and dry, and she fought to keep herself from reaching out and touching him. But she held herself back, she needed to take this slow. She wanted him to stay, to drown out the outside world when it got too loud, to tell her when she was being unreasonable and to hold her when she felt like collapsing, and she didn’t even realize how badly she needed this - needed him - until he stumbled back into her life just as haphazardly as last time.

Boothill put his hands on either side of her legs, holding onto the bed and slowly rising to his feet, never once breaking the kiss. Robin grabbed onto his shoulders to keep from falling backwards, and in doing so helped shuck off his coat. Once he was fully standing, he fumbled with his belt - the noise of the leather dragging across the metal of his waist making Robin’s brain go fuzzy - and let it fall to the floor so that his gun wasn’t so dangerously close to them.

Robin made a happy noise when Boothill’s knees hit the bed and she shifted backwards to give him space to crawl over her, wrapping her arms around his shoulders even more and pulling him down, tilting her head to the side to deepen the kiss even more and drowning everything that was Boothill.

He pulled away first, propping himself up on hands on either side of Robin’s head and breathing a little heavily. His eye was half-lidded and he was flushed purple/blue all over where he had skin.

“So much for takin’ things one day at a time.” He coughed out.

Robin rolled her eyes and admired the view looming over her. “I don’t hear any complaining, do I?”

Boothill let himself drop onto the bed next to her, an arm sprawled over her torso to hold her close. “No ma’am, you do not.”