Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Garmadon wasn't sure what he hated more, himself or whatever cruel twist of destiny that even allowed him to be conscious enough to realize such a thing. He'd started getting parts of himself back over a year ago when his son Lloyd had desperately shoved a picture frame into his hands in hopes of triggering his memories. At the time he didn't even recognize it was himself in the picture, but it was in realizing how badly Lloyd wanted him to be that man that started making the cogs in his brain begin to turn. He was only pushed further after a certain conversation with one Vinny Folson (of NGTV News), which made him realize how warped his mentality must have become. 

Then Lloyd died, or at least Garmadon thought he did, for the first time in months, he felt a jolt of horror more intense than anything he had any recollection of. He didn't speak or move, he couldn't. He was so paralyzed by the idea of Lloyd being dead that not a single feeling other than guttural fear would reach his brain. Then Lloyd twitched, he moved and he was alright. The fear dissipated, but the memories of the fear didn't. Throughout his entire conversation with Wu, he could still feel the fear bubbling at the back of his mind only being outweighed by the anger his brother caused via launching his helm off the side of the mountain. 

Then he left. He wasn’t exactly experienced in leaving things behind not knowing if or when he’d go back to it, at least not that he could remember. In the first few months his memory is hazy, he knows he is Lord Garmadon, Son of the First Spinjitzu Master, but aside from that he struggles to dredge up memories predating his resurrection. It is only when that thing begins to visit him in his nightmares that he began to stitch somewhat of his mind back together. 

The thing , or Shadow as he had named it, was something that greeted him every slumbering hour. It was tall, even taller than him, it bore his helm and all of his Oni features but cranked up to the highest degree. Its fangs jutted from its mouth like broken glass, its eyes glowed so bright it nearly burnt his eyes if he weren't asleep, its horns curled upwards and were so thick they'd almost tilt the helm and its hands were huge with sharp claws like thick ugly razors. When it first appeared it taunted him, laughed in his face, and proclaimed his failure, wounding his pride more than anything. Then it appeared over and over and over until…

Garmadon was going to die like a mortal. The great Lord Garmadon, Master of Chaos, was going to die in a crater pathetic and alone . Before he lost consciousness he thought he saw Lloyd, desperately he reached out to his son one last time, feeling like a failure who was gripping onto the one good thing he may have left. But Lloyd wasn't actually there, it was nothing, he was alone. Then he was greeted by The Shadow in his dying dreams. 

He tried once more to battle it, to banish it from his mind before it forced him down a path he would not have expected. It showed him a memory, one he remembered even through all the haze and fog of his brain, the afternoon he got bit by the Great Devourer. It was such a beautiful pleasant afternoon, sunny and warm and everything anyone could ask for. He watched as that little boy, so childish and unassuming, jumped over the wall and he couldn't stop himself from screaming at the boy to stop just as the snake sunk its teeth into the boy's hand… His hand. 

Soon the Shadow wasn't an awful amalgamation of an Oni, but a little dark-haired boy who had to crane his neck to look at him. That's when he was offered another path, one where he is in control, not the Great Devourer or the Overlord or anyone else but him . He extended his hand, and Garmadon took it. The boy smiled and Garmadon, for the first time in what felt like a very long time felt as if he wasn't doomed. 

Then he saved a village and he unlocked something some new swell of power he's never felt. Then once again he moved on, he left his helm at the village and he continued on his journey. He helped a few other rural villages on the way through Ninjago, some more menial for him than others, but he was helping apparently. He didn't quite understand it at first, the work was often tiring or boring or both, and he didn't understand the point of it. He didn't make a profit off of any of it, not as if that sort of thing meant much to him anyway and it certainly wasn't testing his power or prowess. 

Then he saved another village. It wasn't a big deal to him once again, a local band of thieves had been causing a ruckus and Garmadon supposed the town had just been accidentally missed by the Ninja's radar, so he helped. It was also nice to take out some pent-up emotions on people who deserved it. He wound up dumping every single last one of the thieves at the small sheriff's office that hadn't been able to catch more than one. The town was so joyous and many of the residents came out to give thanks, against his instance it wasn't necessary since he still wasn't particularly keen on human interaction. Nonetheless, they greeted and thanked him seemingly unfazed by his appearance as some other towns had been. 

The town insisted upon a reward, he didn't have much use for gold traveling as much as he was, often just in the uninhibited land, so instead they sent him with some of their local fruits and a few candies. It was as he was leaving when a little boy came up and hugged him. He was so shocked that he wasn't exactly sure what to do, thankfully his father came over and pulled the boy away quickly and reprimanded him, but the motion had sparked a memory . One with his own son. 

He mulled over the memory for days. It was when Lloyd was still a small boy probably only ten or so, thin and short even for his age and his hair cut in that awful way Wu and Garmadon had also been subjected to. He was all loud talk to hide the fear built up inside. In the memory, Kai had returned Lloyd to Garmadon and he remembers clutching his son, fear and adrenaline fueling his senses as Lloyd squeezed him tightly. Another time Lloyd had nearly died and Garmadon had been able to do nothing . Kai had saved him, without that red ninja his son would have died. 

 Was that why ‘heroes’ did what they did? To make sure that others don't have to suffer. He still didn’t quite understand why people continuously put themselves in the line of fire, he did it because that’s what the few memories he has tell him he’s done. Everything he’s been feeling is strange, the emotions felt foreign and didn't quite fit, like shoes that are a size too large.

Still, he helped the towns he came across doing odd jobs in return for whatever odd thing he needed at the time. Learning how to deal with people again wasn't an experience he wished on anyone, there were far more rules and emotions than he wanted nor understood how to handle. 

Finally after who knows how long he's found himself back in Ninjago City. He can only assume it's been a decent amount of time judging from its reconstructed and relatively calm state. When he enters the city he hides his second set of arms, a power that has unfortunately become rather uncomfortable and sometimes even difficult as of late, tips his hat down to shadow his face, and does his best to lay low. Still, he sees more than one person gasp and dash off, clutching their purse or even their children closer, what would he do with either of those things? 

He doesn't have anywhere to stay and he's not sure if he's still legally considered dead or not. If he is considered alive and not just a walking corpse he might also be considered an escaped convict, which is something he hadn't thought of before entering the city. Still, he's stuck navigating the absolute labyrinth of a city alone and confused since it definitely had changed the landscape once again and he was lost within seemingly only minutes. The place seems even busier than he remembers, which while good for laying low in, was atrocious for changing direction or turning around. He has no one to call, and nowhere to go but away at this point.

Initially, his plan was to draw enough coin for a train ticket out to the next nowhere town so he could continue his journey of trying to improve and not settling longer than necessary, but after the bank worker threatened to call the cops on him if he didn't leave when he tried to make a withdrawal he wound up right back where he started. He managed to scrounge up enough money off the bottom of his backpack for a cheap meal at a fast food diner he would have rather not have been at, but nothing close enough for even a short train trip. So he was stuck in Ninjago City which would take a decent amount to travel on foot, and that's without getting lost or having a run-in with the law. He wasn't liking his options, nor did he like the rapidly setting sun. 

He was ready to throw in the towel and admit defeat for the night and just figure out something else for money or travel later when a sort of solution walked right into the diner. The man to the unknowing eye was almost painfully average. Average height, build, and even the way he spoke almost seemed mundane, but his bright blue cap that read NGTV proved otherwise, at least to Garmadon. He waited for the man to finish at the counter before attempting to get the man's attention. 

“Vinny Folson?” He prompted the man to stop clutching his bag of food glancing around before zeroing in on Garmadon. 

“Me?” He asks, gesturing to himself. 

“Yes, you,” Garmadon tips his hat back a bit and Vinny's eyes widen in shock. He's still bad at starting average conversations, he liked the simple work in rural areas because the conversation was often just instructions or other people doing the talking while he listened, however prompting people that still felt like a mystery. 

“First Master, you scared me for a minute!” He laughs putting his free hand to his chest. 

“I tend to have that effect on people,” He doesn't mean it as a joke but Vinny Folson seems to take it as one laughing lightly. “So… What has been happening?” He hates how unsure he sounds about such a simple question, it makes him look like a fool.

“Oh uh been busy with all the big news stuff going on, you know how it is,” He shrugs as Garmadon furrows his brow. 

“Have there been new developments as of late?” Garmadon asks as Vinny gives him a confused look. “I have not been in the city for quite some time,” 

“Oh yup, that would do it! Man, a lot has happened these past couple months, it's a long story,” He explains rubbing the back of his neck. 

“You can sit if you'd like, I would not mind hearing this long story,” He gestures at the empty booth across from him. 

“Yeah sure, uh where do I even start?” Vinny slides into the booth across from him. 

Despite the time that has passed, and the brevity of their last meeting Vinny Folson seems to have changed very little. He is relaxed even as he talks of how Ninjago was attacked with flaming snakes by Ashpheera of all people, a woman he swore he never thought he’d hear named ever again. He doesn't seem to have any hangups over Garmadon’s rather impolite attitude during their last meeting either, which Garmadon doesn't know how to process. He wasn't used to people forgiving him, at least not people he'd met before, the thought didn't bode well for him and he couldn't quite put a finger on why. 

Hatred was an emotion he was very in tune with, whether it be others' hatred or his own, it was familiar. Since he was a child looked at in fear by his own father, he understood the roots of hatred did not always lay in misunderstanding someone but instead in knowing them so intrinsically that it's terrifying. People understood that there was something to fear when he was near, and he understands this, he has for quite some time. He's not sure if people will ever truly lose that fear no matter how hard he may try for redemption, and he will not blame them he can’t they are afraid… rightfully so.

“So you mean to tell me the city was bombarded by hoards of gigantic flaming snakes and digital games that became conscious and attempted to harness the energy of all those in the city all in the span of only a small couple of months?” Vinny nods and Garmadon pinches his nose. “I truly don't understand how people sleep in this city,” 

“Ha! You're tellin’ me!” He crumples up the tinfoil from his burger tossing it back into the bag. “I actually had to get a new apartment again since I can't seem to catch a break and my apartment complex always seems to be one of the ones that gets destroyed,” He rolls his eyes. 

“That must be extremely frustrating. Does that not make you angry?” Garmadon asks, confused by the other man's ability to stay seemingly unfazed. 

“Well I mean I guess? I'm not a huge decorator so the only stuff I was mad about was like some of my video equipment, thankfully NGTV will cover that stuff so,” He finishes his sentence with a shrug and Garmadon could almost laugh at the absurdity. 

“You are a strange man, Vinny Folson,” He states blandly. 

“Yeah, you're not the first to say that,” He chuckles as he rolls up and flattens the bag that once held his food but now was home to trash. “So you staying in the city right now?” 

“I wasn't intending to, unfortunate circumstances have left me stuck for the time being however,” He was trying to stay neutral on the situation he found himself in however as the night grew dark and it became more apparent that he'd likely have to stave off sleep. 

He didn't think money would ever be a problem for him, he was there for the creation of it after all and he'd honestly assumed it was going to be a fad, but he was gravely mistaken and not even twenty years later he and Wu were attempting to standardize physical currency before all realms broke loose amongst the people. Now he was regretting not accepting the last town's offer of money for travel, he thought he'd be fine and now he was trying to figure out somewhere to go. He didn't particularly want to revert back to villainy for something as blasé as petty theft, come on he was far above that. And quite frankly he was afraid of sliding back into villainy, even if he wouldn't admit it.

“Yeesh dude right now is not the best time for staying in Ninjago on a whim,” Vinny sucks air through his teeth as Garmadon tries not to let his growing irritation show. “Dragon Day is in two days so the city is packed. I've been walking or taking the train 'cause the roads are so bad,” Ah, so that's why many stores had lights and lanterns adorning their windows and doors. 

Dragon Day, it used to be called Day of the Dragon’s Magic (a bit on the nose if you ask him), but at some point, it was filtered down to Dragon Day. The original intent was to celebrate the magic in the land of Ninjago and the magical roots of some of the people of old Ninjago since quite a few came from other realms with more potent magic. As the years went by though magic was less and less common being something solely harnessed by Elemental Masters, and many people have forgotten any magical roots they may have. Though he is aware there are some people outside of his family with rather recent Oni heritage, Ultra Violet, Killow, and another man Garmadon can picture but no longer put a name to. He wasn't sure if they were aware, maybe yes, maybe no, he wasn't keen on finding out as of now. 

Either way, Dragon Day had been shifted in recent memory to be a celebration of creation magic and Dragons. Parades and festivities are all of the things people like to partake in when celebrating something. He thinks he may have used to like parties, but now the idea of the noise and people makes his head pound. 

“Lovely,” Garmadon grits his teeth, he'll figure something out, he always does. 

“Uh if you need somewhere to crash for a few nights my couch is a futon and I don't really care,” Vinny offers, leaving Garmadon stunned by the sheer absurdity of his statement. 

“Do you know who I am?” People don't invite him into their homes willingly or at least without reason. He was an ex-warlord who was brought back to life with nothing but evil in his soul after all, those sorts of titles don't just stop existing after helping a few towns, he knew that now. 

“Someone who needs somewhere to stay?” Vinny chuckles, glancing at his watch. “Look I just thought I'd offer, I know I've been in your position a couple times so you know “ be the person you needed ” and all that,” He explains making Garmadon wonder what exactly he meant, though he's not one to pry, that led to too many emotions he wasn’t keen nor able to handle. 

On one hand, Garmadon would rather not sleep in what's practically a stranger's apartment, on the other hand, he had no other viable options that he could think of at the time seeing he’s penniless. “Hm..,” He narrows his eyes at Vinny who was checking something on his mobile phone. Garmadon had only recently remembered what they were though he still doesn't understand them. “I suppose I will accept your offer for the time being,” 

“Huh? Oh okay, just a warning I am in the middle of a project so just mind the kitchen island,” He explains rising from his seat. 

“I don't plan on being a disturbance if I can help it,” Garmadon mutters in response, following Vinny to the trash can. He would prefer it if he could get in and out and pretend as if he’d never been there in the first place. Better not to involve someone like Vinny Folson in his life, better not to involve anyone quite frankly. 

“Alright, can't be more of a disturbance than my neighbors,” Vinny chuckles but it's empty and he seems somewhat irritated which surprised Garmadon. “The walls are thin so uh just try to ignore them.”

The two walked to the apartment since apparently, it was close. Garmadon was less than pleased by the crowds that grew come sundown but Vinny seemed mostly unaffected. It would be so easy to shout or use some sort of vague threat to get people to move, but for the millionth time, he grits his teeth and says nothing at all. 

He’s learned that is the easiest thing to do, say nothing, that is. Often he finds himself with the urge to say something others would deem rude and hurtful, whether because it would end a conversation quicker or it was his honest opinion, sometimes he doesn’t even understand what he’s saying wrong but asking for clarification usually makes people assume he’s insulting them. That’s how he wound up in a fight with a farmer over a fence, the farmer asked what he thought and he said the farmer's side looked crooked, the Farmer got mad and Garmadon asked why, and soon he was insulting his mother though Garmadon didn’t have one so that was rather redundant. Nonetheless, after trial and error, he learned to keep his mouth shut, though sometimes it didn’t work and he wound up saying something anyways to varying results. 

Being nice was much more difficult than he ever thought it would be, or perhaps he was just particularly bad at it. It’s what made him more envious yet also more admiring of people like his brother and son. In the very few memories he had of his brother, that didn’t involve war, it was usually of him standing off to the side with a weapon while his brother easily conversed with the people they either needed something from or were trading with. How it came easy to anyone was beyond him, there were so many social niceties and silent taboos only some of which he could ever remember. 

After a rather short walk, they arrive at the building. It’s a new-looking structure with all of the steps being on the inside yet no elevator. Many of the doors and fire escape decks were decorated with lights or Dragon memorabilia. The blue lights in particular made his eyes hurt, of course, because even if the Great Devourer was gone he still had the physical ramifications of the venom. He hikes up the steps behind Vinny who was on the phone with someone in rapid-fire non-standardized Ninjargon, he thinks it might be the Western dialect but he can’t be certain anymore. 

“Okay, see you then,” He smiles before hanging up, putting the phone in his pocket while fishing for his keys. “Sorry again for the mess on the counter oh and also the coffee table,” 

He pushes the door open leading Garmadon inside. The apartment is rather unnoteworthy, looking as Garmadon imagines many other apartments look. A white futon couch sits with one end pressed to a wall covered in pictures and a small clock, the coffee table in front of it is covered in papers and a stack of books is sitting on top of something. Right next to the door is the kitchen with a sink full of mugs and a plate or two and the island is even more covered in papers and what look to be photos than the coffee table. A bookshelf is stuffed with books and stacks of comics sits in the corner by the hallway and it doesn’t seem neglected with some books laid on their side and stuffed with tabs. 

“I’ll get the coffee table moved so you can fold out the couch. The bathroom is the door on the left,” He explains gesturing as he goes. 

“Noted,” He states plainly, glancing at the hall and back at the table that Vinny drags away from the couch making a few things fall from it. 

“Oh thanks,” Vinny notes as Garmadon puts the photos back on the moved table. 

“What is that?” Garmadon gestures at the papers tied together with strings. 

“It’s a birthday gift for my father since he's turning sixty-five,” Vinny explains with a smile gesturing at a piece of cardboard with buttons glued to it. “I'm not good at this stuff,” he chuckles adjusting the papers and glue bottle with many small paper clippings stuck to it. 

Garmadon wonders if he ever did something like this for his father. A part of him hopes he did while another part hopes he didn't. His only current memories of his father are… Poor to say the least, but he knows there are many he's missing. Perhaps his father wasn't as bad as he remembers, but he can’t be sure. 

After Garmadon figures out how to pull out the couch, Vinny asks him to close the curtains and bids him goodnight. He sits in the living room, not tired enough to sleep yet not awake enough to do much more than sit and think, which wasn't something he enjoyed doing. Despite his distaste for it, he's been doing a lot of thinking as of recently, about his past, his present, and especially his family. 

He hasn't spoken to anybody from his past in over what he now realized was nearly a year, even Vinny Folson was only a happenstance. He thinks it's better this way, after all the Garmadon they knew the one they wanted was gone. He is better than he was but he's not the person they want to see when they look at him, so in his mind, he's better off not seeing them at all. Why would they want to see him after he disgraced the positive legacy the old him had left behind, quite literally sacrificing himself to do so? 

He lays on the couch listening to the drone of late-night traffic and Vinny's next-door neighbors who were as loud as the man had said they'd be. He's tired, he'd been walking for nearly two full days without much break and his last sleep in an actual bed at an inn was almost a week and a half ago, yet he couldn't sleep. He stares at the wall of photographs decorating the walls, most of them had two or more people crowding into them. Vinny is in almost all of them ranging in age, but no matter how old he always was grinning or laughing. He wonders if all of it was genuine, Vinny Folson was friendly enough and seemed unbothered by most things, but certainly no one can be so at all times. He wonders if he'll ever recall his happy memories, he's sure they exist due to Lloyd's instance when he tried to jog Garmadon’s memory, but he doesn't currently have any from before his resurrection. 

He's trying to make positive memories currently but he finds it rather difficult. He still struggles with things as simple as listening to his own voice when he speaks. There’s a part of him that screams that it’s not his voice, that it’s the Great Devourer, that it’s the venom that corroded his voice, his muscles, his magic, and maybe even his soul. He knows that the Great Devourer doesn’t consume him anymore, but still, all he remembers is the time in which it did. Times when he was between life and death when he was at the worst possible point and his only thoughts were survival, it left him feeling like resting easily was a death sentence. 

He knows in his mind that nothing could hurt him in his current state, he's one of if not the strongest person in the city, but his heart can't seem to catch up to this assessment. He has this sense of dread that hangs over him no matter where he is, one that says no matter where he is someone could try to kill him at any second. It never goes away for very long, sometimes it becomes a bit more subdued when he's distracted but it always comes back. Part of him believes that dread is wedged deep into his heart, just like the Great Devourer had been, but perhaps if he were lucky it too would one day be banished.

Chapter Text

The dream came to him the night before Dragon Day. His dreams were frequent, however, most were simply memories, not new ones, but ones he cared to forget. However some nights he found himself in different places, places he remembered. Rooms, homes, and fields where he knows he's been yet has no context for. And eventually, he'd find the person waiting for him. 

He wakes in his childhood home, in a place which reeks of acid and burnt herbs. The basement below the family home is damp and the walls are all cold stone, contrasting the warm wood and reed roof that made up the main home of the compound. The ground is dirt, dusty yet still frigid under his feet that are in nothing but rather worn-out sandals that look as if they've been through the Underworld. He creeps along the hall, it has empty cells, some structured like a typical prison holding while the ones further down look more akin to rooms. His stomach knotted as a sense of familiarity bubbled beneath his skin. 

He comes upon a small room at the end of the hall, inside is a boy. He is not particularly small nor tall, he has dark hair and sits crisscross on one of the beds staring mindlessly at the wall. He seems neither bored nor entertained, simply existing physically while his mind drifts elsewhere. He doesn't even turn when Garmadon opens the door. The door shouldn't have opened for him, it wouldn't have without a key if this were real. That's how he knows that what he sees is not his current reality. 

“You're here later than I expected,” The little boy looks at him, eyes shining a bright crimson. “I thought you'd remember earlier,”

“Remember what?” He glances around the room and the little boy shrugs. 

“Since we're here technically you know, I'm you after all,” The boy, who is simultaneously him, teases looking back at the wall. 

“Dragon Day, this is about that?” His head pounds as he tries to dredge up the strings that connect the two scenarios, he knows they're linked, and the how is what's leaving him staring blankly as the boy had been. 

“You used to like it a lot,” The little boy says. 

“Of course I did,” He responds, waiting for the little boy to explain further as he had the other time they'd found themselves face to face. 

“Not since this time, not when they locked you up,” the boy looks at him again, eyes now a dark violet and filled with tears despite his slackened expression. 

His brain buzzes with the feeling of memory, like a radio recovering from static. He had been down here on Dragon Day, centuries ago, five mortal years after he was bit by the Great Devourer. He was put here, screaming and shouting and frightening his family. 

“I was dangerous,” Garmadon points out, recalling the way his claws had dug into the flesh of his own palms and legs as he gripped his knees close to his chest. 

“You were a child,” The boy holds up his hands showing the deep wounds, and flesh gouged out of his bloodied palms, all done in a state of lessened consciousness. 

“I could have hurt someone.”

“You did hurt someone.” 

He stares at the gashes in his own skin, it looks as if he'd been tortured. His mind flashed with the memory of the man who had his hands caned after stealing from a jeweler, they looked eerily similar, he couldn't tell if they truly did look that way or if the memories were muddling together. Blood drips onto the boy's white clothes, gold and purple swirling together and splaying out on the cuffs and pants like a morbid painting, his Oni and Dragon blood fighting for a sort of dominance. 

He takes one of the hands the boy holds out, he doesn't flinch or react at all, suddenly the wounds on the one hand heal, he takes the other and the same thing occurs. He stares at his own hands, there are no scars, no proof of the violence and pain he'd accidentally inflicted upon himself as a child. The younger version of him gripped his hands lightly, how had he been able to do that sort of damage?

He feels so disconnected from the boy in front of him, he hasn't leveled cities, watched a man bleed out while he held a bloodied blade and he hasn't done anything yet to deserve this. He's a child, one who missed when his little brother wasn't afraid of him, or when his father thought of him as more than a doomed tale. How could he have been this person? Was he still this person? That felt impossible, he was a murderer, an ex-overlord, a monster . 

He's jolted awake by the sound of a door opening. He reaches for one of his katanas before remembering not only had he moved them after nearly beheading Vinny Folson the first morning. He's also reminded that a door opening wasn't a cause for alarm, still, his heart raced as if it were the sound of a sword being unsheathed. He pinches his nose irritated with himself, he was never a heavy sleeper but it seems worse than it was before he died. 

He rises from his spot folding his blanket and placing it back in his bag before shoving the couch into its usual shape. He's careful not to disturb anything on the counter as he fills his canteen with water from the sink. Vinny insists that the water from the refrigerator is better and colder, but the idea of water from a fridge is peculiar. He also still preferred hot water just like when he was younger. The only reason he remembers that is because there's a rather horrifying memory of when the Great Devourer struck while he was holding boiling and wound up spilling it on himself and winding up with burns all down his legs and at the end of the memory he was on the kitchen floor clutching his head in severe pain. 

Moments like those were the mild memories, still negative, but not so downright terrible he wanted to crawl out of his skin. He'd only started getting the more mild memories back after helping the Two Moon village, but it was better than the other things he recalls. He tries not to reminisce on his memories for too long at a time because it rarely results in more than him wanting to go back to his mindless state where his only thoughts were of conquering, now he's forced to be somewhere between having morals and being “nice” and knowing what the worst aspects of the world looked like and knowing full well he's included in those aspects. 

Lloyd had told him life was more than survival and Vinny had explained why that was the case, but how could he believe such a sentiment when survival was all that he remembered? All the things that should be nostalgic or pleasant are coated in a layer of contempt or visceral terror. Over the past months, he's begun to understand through watching other people, those with sick family members, adventurous young adults, and starry-eyed children. Life was about finding a meaning for yourself and “living” as many people put it. 

He still doesn't fully understand how he is supposed to do such a thing. He doesn't have a clean slate, he never will. He doesn't have the ability to run away to a new place and take on a new identity, everywhere he goes no matter how far he is Garmadon, son of the First Spinjitzu Master, Elemental Master of Destruction. Would it even be moral for him to start from a clean slate? It would likely just be easier if he-

“You doing okay there?” Garmadon stares at the canteen now overflowing and suddenly realizes the sting in his hand was caused by the hot water.

He feels stupid, he hates that he's capable of feeling such a thing. He hates how often he feels negative emotions angled inwards instead of outwards, it feels unfair, but claiming that was unfair just made those thoughts worse. Nothing ever seemed to make them go away, sometimes they'd slow when he was distracted but they never fully left. 

He doesn't respond to Vinny Folson's question, he doesn't have a suitable answer and unfortunately lying would be idiotic seeing he'd just be making more of a fool of himself. Instead, he takes a short sip and dries the outside with the edges of his traveling cloak, walking past Vinny and out of the kitchen as the other man just shrugs. 

The man has done the same routine for two days in a row and he's begun it for the third time. He turns on the coffee pot, pulls something from the freezer, which was somehow different from a fridge, in the toaster, and then stands and works on his project until both items finish cooking. He watches as Vinny runs his fingers through his dark hair before grabbing glue and focusing on his project as if it were a marble statue rather than gluing down paper. Garmadon can't understand the point of such a project, but then again his only memories of his father are… it didn't matter because Vinny seemed much closer to his. 

“That color combination looks awful,” Garmadon points out as he stares down at the photo against a piece of colorful patterned paper. 

“Yeah I know I think it looks off, I just can't pinpoint what's wrong,” Vinny grumbles, taking the photo off the page. “It's weird looking…” The glare he shoots at the paper has to be the most negative look he's seen from the man so far. 

“It's too bright, it's an eyesore,” it was odd, Vinny didn't seem taken aback by the comment he just hummed in agreement. 

“I needed to grab another one for the buy one get one free deal, I should have just gotten more of that plain blue,” He sighs as Garmadon glances at the table and picks up an abandoned piece of what looks to be a dark green he has trouble distinguishing between particularly light or dark colors, just another cursed part of his eyesight. 

“It matches the trees,” He gestures at the picture and Vinny nods. 

“It doesn't match too much?” Garmadon doesn't say anything, he'd proposed the color because it matched so what was there to add. “It's better than the other one and I'm running low on time so this'll have to do,” He picks up the glue and begins his work just as the toaster pops. 

Garmadon returns to his spot on the couch pulling out the book gifted to him in one of the villages he'd visited alongside a dictionary he'd got in return for catching a group of petty vandals who kept breaking a bookstore owner's window. The characters felt unfamiliar and he had trouble deciphering some of the more complex ones, but with help from his dictionary his literacy was at least somewhat passable. Months ago he could barely read signage, now he could read full sentences and he'd even begun writing practice. 

He hated how he had to relearn the things he had been there to watch develop. He knows he was there when writing became standard practice and reading became widespread across Ninjago, yet there he was able to say the words yet unable to conjure what they may look like on a page. It was like the muscle memory had atrophied and now he was forced to grow back centuries worth of knowledge. Even worse he hated how pathetic he felt when his hands would shake as he wrote, ever since his resurrection whenever he wasn't high on adrenaline his hands would often have tremors and it affected his writing capabilities at times. It all felt like he was a mockery of his true self. 

He sits and works on chapter thirteen while Vinny works on his project at the kitchen island. He knows small talk is expected, so many things are expected and he can't find the energy nor care to execute some of the actions to meet said expectations. Idle conversation is nothing more than meaningless prattle that so easily makes him grow frustrated especially when people expect him to participate even when he hasn't said anything beforehand.

“Hey just letting you know I'm gonna be gone pretty much all day, my father is in town for the holidays so I'll be out, then I'm filming the parade and the fair with Gale this evening before heading off to spend some time with friends,” Vinny explains wringing his hands and cracking his knuckles. 

“Okay, you informing me was appreciated,” He had no plans of doing much aside from possibly scaring some sense into teenagers setting off fireworks in dumb places like he'd done the night before when some of them nearly hit a set of power lines.  

“You gonna go out and watch anything?” Vinny asks before taking a sip of his coffee. 

“No, it is unlikely,” He responds, he’d like to refrain from even exiting the building if he’s able. 

“Really? I would have thought you’d be one for tradition cause you’re… you know?” He gestures up and down at Garmadon. 

“I promise you, neither my familial relations nor my age urges me towards abiding by tradition,” At least not anymore , he thinks to himself. 

“Oh, alright, well then I apologize in advance for all the noise. People love to throw their parties on this street, even when they don’t live around here,” It’s likely because it’s a far point from the Ninjago police station and is a rather unremarkable part of the city. 

“This is unsurprising, quite frankly I just don’t wish to spend time chasing away hooligans,” Garmadon grumbles as Vinny chuckles a little bit. 

“You won’t have to, Hank who works at the corner store chases people off on Dragon Day so no need,” He explains just as his phone dings causing him to shove the rest of his breakfast in his mouth. “I gotta bounce before I’m late! Anyways honoris causa and all that jazz!” Vinny quickly slings his satchel over his shoulder before bolting out the door. 

For the sake of honor , how stupid. It used to be propter domum or for the sake of home . It was a phrase meant to celebrate familial roots and pride in one's history, now it is about honor. Honor something nearly impossible to gain after it has been lost and can be taken for something as simple as inescapable fate. He hates honor, it was a gift he had stripped the day a serpent sunk its fangs into his soft flesh. The bitterness chews holes in his stomach like some burning acid trying to pour out of him. 

Nausea builds in his stomach and his mind smoldering with visions and memories of days long past. In these memories, he’s hunched over buckets or bushes emptying his stomach until there's nothing left, the venom and bile scratching his throat and leaving him weak and raspy. He’d lie down withering as his system attempted to physically reject the venom, his stomach tearing itself apart until his body finally realized it was no use and he was able to move again. Even still sometimes he waits, waits for his body to reject itself and leave him deteriorating, but then it doesn’t come. His eyes still burn sometimes, his head pounds, joints don’t always seem to sit properly in their sockets, and his chest almost nearly always aches, but he isn’t left bed bound anymore, dependent on people with faces he doesn’t remember anymore. 

The day is blurry, it isn’t an unfamiliar occurrence, it has happened a small portion of times. Something will happen and his world will grow… distant. He’s conscious, he knows he is alive and in control of his body but it’s as if the world around him is dulled in comparison to his mind. The days like it are sickening, memories replay like terrible films in his head till he feels himself unable to separate himself from his blade without the paranoid idea that something was going to kill him worms into his mind. He feels like an animal, caged and hunted like a thing of prey.

He lays on the couch listening to fireworks reminding himself that they’re just that, nothing more nothing less. His eyes are heavy but his mind races, where had the day gone? Had he done anything? Had he spoken to Vinny when he stopped by or had he imagined doing so? He couldn’t tell, he wasn’t sure if it mattered. He just wanted the day to be over. The holiday felt like bad luck, like a fight, like a threat. 

He wasn’t sure when he drifted off to sleep, the only reason he knew it was sleep was because his chest no longer felt weight down or pierced.

He felt ill, feverish, and rather nauseated. He was in a field and his skin itched like nothing else. Bugs crawled down his arms, tiny little spiders, ticks and worms sliding into the holes in his hand. He picks and itches desperate to get the gross creatures away from him but the wound begins to grow wider and wider as the skin from his entire hand seems to scar and violate itself as the bugs are suddenly consumed by searing flesh. He desperately nurses the hand but he can’t stop scratching . 

He wants to crawl out of his skin as the feeling worms up his arms and across his skin. His veins worm and squelch beneath his skin, seeming to shift and slither like snakes attempting to escape captivity. Still, he clawed and peeled and mutilated the skin until the bones beneath shredded skin and flesh began to show. They poke out a blinding white in the midst of all the viscera and meat that almost looks as if it’s beginning to decay. 

He’s about to begin to claw his skin again when a hand catches him in the act. He looks up to find the piercing pale eyes of his father. The eyes strike a level of fear that makes his vision swim as the man speaks words that don’t reach his ears as he tries to find ways to pull away. Tears build and he wants to yell but his voice doesn’t work, nothing will his body won’t comply or do anything he wants it to. 

When suddenly the burning stops, a cool gel is applied to his hand that looks nothing like the eviscerated decayed flesh he’d been staring at only moments ago, it was an infection yes, a disturbing one at that, but not decay. Suddenly he notices he is not in a field either, he is in a room, his father's study, sitting on a desk. His father produces strips of bandages that he brings to wrap around Garmadon’s hand as he mutters angrily under his breath. 

“I really can’t believe this Garmadon!” His father hisses, gripping his hand as the skin attempts to itch even beneath the ointment and bandages.

“I’m sorry Father I just-it hurts and it won’t go away!” He explains as his father held a damp cloth to the split skin of his forearm Garmadon had clawed at in his panic. 

“The infection was bad enough you clawing at it will make it worse,” His father's voice was so steady yet it made him feel so cold. “Is it impossible for you to listen? You’re going to kill yourself if you do things like this, thank the Matriarch that I caught you!”

“Father I just…”

“Don’t… I wish that snake had-”

Before his father can finish speaking he shoots awake. He feels cold and flinches when he feels a sharp pain in his hand. He looks down to find his right hand bleeding profusely, a dark inky goop dripping into his lap. His head spins as he holds his cape up in an attempt to stop the bleeding but it seems to be of no use. He clenches his jaw, the room is completely dark and Vinny’s shoes are lazily thrown by the door, not the mans usually organized behavior. It was late and he had no desire to wake the man. Quietly he walks to the bathroom in an attempt to not only rinse the blood from the still leaking wound but find something to wrap it with outside of his daily attire. 

The bathroom has a tiny light in it and Garmaodn has no desire to blind himself with the usual light instead tearing open the cabinet in search of bandages. His eye twitches and his good hand clenched into a fist as he continues to find nothing of what he’s looking for. He runs his hand under the water rubbing his eyes with his good hand as his eyes ache. He wants to go back to sleep, and hopes the problem fixes itself by morning but judging by the fact the water in the sink doesn’t seem to be turning as clear as he would have hoped by now he’s afraid he may need to give it more attention than he’d like. 

He curses when he can’t find the bandages, Vinny Folson couldn’t possibly be so idiotic as to not have basic medical supplies in his home, especially not residing in a place such as Ninjago. The water still wasn’t getting much more clear and when Garmadon draws it away from the water it just seems to begin spilling blood as quickly as it had when he’d first gotten up. The blood was thick and some of it despite his best efforts had dried up around what he assumed to be the wound, yet he was unable to determine the cause of the injury yet. It didn’t quite look like claw marks, more like someone or something had taken a bite out of his hand. 

“What's going on?” Garmadon turns to find Vinny yawning in the doorway of his bedroom right across from the bathroom. He seems to be dressed half in pajamas and half in what he’d left in the morning before sporting pants with an odd green trash goblin and a button-up shirt. “What is- oh shit is that blood!” He is quickly snapped out of his groggy stupor as he stares at the wound Garmadon forces under the flowing water once again. 

“Something of the sort, yes,” He notes as Vinny rubs his eyes inching closer. “Where might I locate the bandages?” 

“Sorry I uh keep them in the medicine cabinet in the kitchen,” He explains before yawning once again. “Let me grab you a towel for that,” 

He slowly turns off the sink as Vinny produces a black towel for Garmadon to hold to the wound. He presses it to the wound suppressing a wince as a sharp pain shoots all the way up his arm. He walks after Vinny who flicks on the small kitchen lamp rather than the blinding kitchen lights which Garmadon appreciates. He watches Vinny pull open the cabinet he usually only opens in the evening after eating, Garmadon hadn't realized it housed pill bottles and other medical supplies. He kicks himself for not being observant, Vinny wouldn’t have had to know if he'd just paid attention. His father had always said he needed to focus more. 

He looks over to Vinny who had been struggling with a box for however long he’d been standing there. Finally, bandages are clutched in the man's hands which he quickly holds out. Garmadon takes them, discarding the towel on the counter before beginning to unravel them as to wrap them around his hand. He huffs as the wraps continuously attempt to slip, wrapping one-handed was far more irritating than he thought, and of course, it had to be the upper right so it's more difficult to steady with his lower hands since they can barely stop shaking long enough for him to start wrapping. Realms damn his useless body and its million flaws. 

“Do you want some help?” Vinny asks, rubbing his eyes. 

“I require no assistance on a task as mundane as this,” He’d wrapped wounds a million times after all. He had trudged through icy hellscapes with a chunk of his thigh missing after fighting off a cursed mountain lion! He had fought armies half blind because a Serpentine general had tried to take his eye as a war prize! He had to cut off multiple of his own fingers to escape torture and imprisonment and cauterize the wounds while he waited for them to grow back! He had… dropped the bandages. 

“Here,” Vinny picks up the bandages from the ground, cutting off the bit already coated in blood. “I promise I don’t bite,” He laughs but the word bite makes Garmadon cringe. 

“Are you qualified to do this?” He asks as the smaller man takes a damp towel and dabs the wound. 

“Oh yeah, I’ve had to patch people up a million times. With Gayle constantly in the line of danger me and the other guys have gotten pretty banged up,” He explains as he pulls the bandages over the skin. “You should see the scar on my thigh from when a stone warrior gashed my leg open, that one was bad , I needed stitches and everything,”

“Your job holds much danger… why do you stay?” Garmadon knew what it was like living in the line of fire, in fact, it was practically all he recalls, but he had no choice. He was the son of the First Spinjitzu Master; he didn't get a say in being a warrior. It was what he was made for. But mortals, they have a choice. They can choose not to fight, to cower or barricade themselves while Elemental Masters do the work, yet some fight anyway. Why? Why would one force that upon themselves?

“Because I love it,” Vinny smiles softly, almost fondly. “People should know what's happening in their world, and sure it's terrifying and I’ve bled, cried and probably thrown up at least once, but on more than one occasion our crew has helped people! You know we’ve been the reason the city evacuated in time, saving First Master knows how many people. I do it because I wanna help even if I can’t fight like the ninja and other people can,” 

His words worm their way into Garmadon’s head and begin to burrow as he stares at the man who finishes up the bandages setting it with medical tape. It’s a good job, far better than he had been managing, better than he had expected. He didn’t have to help, he could have left Garmadon to struggle and do it himself, but he didn’t. 

“You do it… because you care,” He mutters quietly. Vinny didn’t do it for himself or his survival, but because of others, to help others. 

“Of course. You know, my father always said compassion is a tool anyone and everyone can use. It’s kinda corny but honestly, I kinda like it, I wish more people listened to it if I’m being honest.” His father seemed to have gotten the message across well seeing Vinny addhears to it every time they’ve spoken. 

“I would like to do that… care,” He isn’t sure if that’s something he can do, theres a vague sense that he wants to care, that he’d like to know for certain he’d do anything and everything for someone other than himself, but he’s not so sure. He has blurry memories of being stabbed or hit and of fighting for something, some outside force, but what those things are he’s left unknowing. “I’m… I am not sure what it entails when not pertaining to my own safety. Would you teach me, Vinny Folson?”

“Oh! Um… sure? I’d be willing to help, though maybe not at four in the morning if that’s okay?” He chuckles and Garmadon nods as he looks down at his bandaged hand. 

“Of course, you require sleep,” Garmadon notes, moving to the side as Vinny places the remaining bandages in the cabinet. 

“Before I go, do you need any painkillers? Wait… do those work for you?” He asks, pulling out a small bottle with a bright blue label. 

“I haven’t a clue,” He mutters as Vinny pops open the bottle pouring three out into his hand. 

“Well might as well try, I can’t imagine that feels very good,” He yawns, depositing the small clear pills into his hand. “Those aren’t chewables by the way, my friend Riyah made that mistake once,”

“Noted,” He pops them in his mouth, swallowing quickly, making Vinny cringe. 

“No water?” Vinny asks.

“Unneeded,” Garmadon responds.

“Alright, well try to get some sleep, and if it doesn’t get better you might need to see a doctor,” The idea of seeing a stranger regarding a wound made his stomach turn and his hair stand on end, but he wasn’t going to vocalize that. “See you in the waking hours,”

Vinny begins to walk from the room when Garmadon feels himself needing to say something further, words he’d heard people throw around like it’s nothing, words that feel like a defeat to say because it means that he was too weak to handle something on his own. His jaw clenches and his muscles strain as he urges himself to speak. “Thank you for your help.” 

Vinny turns around, already looking half asleep. “No big deal, happy to.”

No big deal… no big deal.

Chapter Text

Unsurprisingly he was unable to go back to sleep, instead laying down and watching the sun slowly begin to pour through the window. His hand was thumping with a dull pain, one far more subdued than the one the night before, he’d probably have to change the bandages already, but that was a concern for later when he wasn’t as groggy. He shifted up, opening the curtains slightly, bright morning light spilling into the room, the soft colors of the sunrise spilling across the sky. 

Outside the window is the small fire escape which someone had decorated with a string of lights that had turned off already. Without much thought, he pops open the window retracting his second set of arms as to more easily slipping onto the small platform and letting them back out as soon as he sits down. The metal slits of the platform dig into his legs as he sits, but he finds it difficult to care as he stares upwards at the sky. 

The sky is a pale shade of blue, hues of orange piercing through the sky as pale puffy pink clouds float through the sky, their dusty purple undersides accentuating the color further. The air is still tinged with the cold air of the night, crisp and clear. The wind blows making the upstairs neighbors' oversized wind chimes clink together in an oddly nostalgic sound that reminds him of a young boy, one not yet riddled with the anger and bitterness Wu had unintentionally instilled in him. He doesn’t know the boy's name, not even who he was quite frankly,  only that his funeral was one with an empty casket.

He leans into the wind slightly closing his eyes as for a moment, just a single moment, his thoughts steady and the pressure in his chest seems to ease. He isn’t a morning person, not once has he ever been, but the morning is so beautiful it’s almost worth all the trouble. The only images of mornings he has are violent or somber, funerals, battles, and illness, but something tells him that there is more than that. Hidden memories are locked in a corner of his mind he has no access to. It makes his skin feel cold, knowing that there's a reason that the morning eases his mind for a few moments or a reason that the wind is a comfort rather than a concern. All reasons that made him a person . All the things that remind Garmadon that, at one point, he was someone who cared enough to make memories so good that they had to be erased in order to turn him into the monster the ritual wanted him to be, the monster ritual made him. 

It’s rare he finds comfort in things, anger and frustration are two things he’s far more familiar with, yet he can’t deny comfort feels so much better than he gives it credit for. He listens as people begin to file out of buildings, climbing into cars, getting on bikes, or beginning treks to their next location. He listens as people take out their trash, bid loved ones a good day and complain about work or school or the holiday traffic. There’s an ache in his chest, one he can’t quite identify or put his finger on, it’s one he’s felt a few times since being brought back to life, and part of him would prefer to keep it that way. 

Soon the sky is fully absorbed by blue and the clouds settle on a soft shade of white. The air warms slightly, though not enough to stop the chill lingering in the air. He prepares himself to head back inside when he hears the sound of the curtains sliding open. 

“Oh hey, I was wondering why the window was open,” Garmadon glances back to see Vinny leaning an arm on the window frame. 

“I wanted to get outside,” He explains as Vinny shrugs. 

“That’s fine, just close the window next time I don't wanna drive up electricity too much,” Garmadon can’t recall what electricity has to do with the wind being open, probably one of the new technologies he can’t remember. “By the way do you want something to eat?”

“I am fine, I have nothing to compensate you with at the moment,” He didn’t need food, he never has, immortality does that to a person. However, he was fond of it and was still able to get hungry, since arriving in the city and having few funds he’d just staved off on food. 

“Dude it’s no big deal, it's just eggs,” Vinny insists. 

“Do they not cost money?” He rather doubts that Vinny has a chicken stowed away somewhere. 

“Actually, it's funny my friend Hikari has chickens and gives me a thing of eggs almost every week in exchange for bread when I make it,” Garmadon wasn't aware that people still barter rather than paying in physical coins. “You know I didn't realize how weird that sounds in the modern era,”

“You have interesting friends,” Garmadon notes, making Vinny laugh with a nod. 

“Yep, I also know a beekeeper and an organist, let me tell ya work takes me to interesting places,” Garmadon wasn’t sure if he was referring to life or death situations or ones that made him friends, either seemed likely. “So how do you like your eggs?”

The question takes so much thought, so much energy just to summon a response rather than shrugging the man off like he’d rather do. “Cooked till brown, I don’t care about anything else.”

“Alright.”

Vinny ducks back into the apartment, shutting the window, leaving Garmadon outside to stare at the busy street and think. Has he ever had a favorite food? He knows the people in the villages he visited often did, they talked about dinner while working whether that be complaining or praising the person cooking for them. He wasn't especially fond of anything in particular, though he mostly ate things he could take on the road, fruit, dried meat, and things of that sort, and he had no memories of eating anything outside of that, in fact, he had more memories of not eating. He holds plenty of memories of hunger clawing his insides to shreds at barren outposts or dry summers followed by frigid winters where food was scarce at best. 

After a few minutes, Vinny knocks on the window and it takes a moment for Garmadon to realize it was an indication to come inside. He slips in awkwardly, thankful Vinny Folson was turned away, sitting at the kitchen island. He walks up looking down at the plate with two fried eggs placed on a bright purple plastic plate. He takes the fork and places it next to the dish, turning it over in his fingers for a moment before he begins to eat. He admits the warm meal is probably the best he’s had in months, though the bar was low so how much credit he could give was unclear. Nonetheless, he enjoyed it far more than dried fruits. 

After he finishes he knows there's something more he’s meant to do, to say. He knows that a thank you is likely due yet it feels so grand, saying thank you wasn’t just a chore but a physical exertion. The words are heavy, like a sort of admittance of failure. Thanking meant he couldn’t do something on his own, even if it wasn’t true and he certainly believed himself capable, it felt like a pathetic utterance.

“You finished?” Vinny asks as he sets his dish in the sink. 

“Yes,” He answers, staring at the now empty plate. “It was… appreciated,” He adds, holding out the plate to Vinny who takes it.    

“I’m glad, I know it’s nothing fancy,” Far better than anything Garmadon had in a while.

Garmadon stares at the other man, words, and queries building in his mind, unsure whether to vocalize it. “Vinny Folson I have a question,”

“Hm? Oh okay go ahead,” He implores seemingly only half paying attention as he begins scrubbing the plates. 

“Why do you say thank you?” The question gives the other man some pause.

“Well uh… how do I put this?” He mutters, seemingly to himself. “I say thank you to let people know I appreciate the things they’ve done for me, small or not it’s good to let others know you appreciate what they do,” He hadn’t thought about it that way. 

“Does it not make you feel…”

He trails off, the rest of the sentence feeling too honest, to open for another person to hear. They were words for him and his mind, not someone else who could react to that information, remember it, use it. The thought alone made his muscles tense, he didn’t need a repeat of… more than one of his fights. Clouse, Lord Mogora, even his own brother and son, all fights where the other party knew him, knew him more than even he knew himself. He’s not sure if he wants people to know him anymore, that usually just opened the doors for pain for more people than just him. 

“Does it what?” Vinny asks, shutting off the sink. 

“I don’t remember,” He lies, it comes so easy, much easier than anything he’s said that entire morning. 

“If you remember feel free to ask, I’m off today so I’ve got time,” He doesn’t give any indication that he’s distrusting of Garmadon’s answer, but something still doesn’t sit quite right. 

After breakfast, he decides to work on his reading practice. He was nearing the end of his book, he’d like a new one but isn’t entirely sure how to acquire one. Ninjago City surely has a bookstore or library like the smaller towns, though with no money his ability to attain one will likely be limited. He rather doubts he’ll be able to get work in the city easily, not that he would particularly want to work there anyway it’s far too stuffy and most people seemed afraid of him. 

He didn’t want to stay in the city the whole place felt like a punishment. It’s loud and stuffed with crowds of ever-changing faces, but in between all the noise is the sounds and sights people go about lives with experiences completely different from one another yet interconnected as well. There’s a level of detachment that comes with the city that he can’t stand, it’s uncomfortable and tense, people’s eyes being drawn no matter which way he turns. 

Eyes trail after him, accusatory as if waiting for him to do something, anything that may tell them that he’s exactly what they think. To an extent they are right, there's a fire burning in his chest and words that he doesn’t vocalize. He was a monster perhaps he still is, he’s killed who knows how many people, conscious or not the blood stained his hands. He was the vessel used to commit those awful acts, his hands were still clawed, his teeth still formed into fangs, and he was something to fear so long as he was alive and moving. He wouldn’t trust himself either… he doesn't trust himself.

He spent most of the morning finishing his book, the ending was captivating, and by the time he was finished deciphering and reading the text it was midday. Vinny was sitting at the counter with some coverings on his ears Garmadon has seen many people in the city wear while using the scraps of leftover paper from his project to make some sort of collage. He seems at peace, more so than Garmadon thinks is possible for him. He wonders if he had that once, peace, he assumes so seeing he had a wife and child. Now he can’t even imagine such a thing for himself, no moment ever goes completely peacefully for long, and the morning was the closest that he got to such. 

In an attempt to clear his head he finally decides to figure out the bath in the tiny apartment, however was quickly met by the fact that it wasn’t a bath but one of those weird box “showers”. As he throws his pack on the bathroom floor he shakes his head, he truly doesn’t understand why baths went out of style, but then again humans tended to go for convenience over comfort. He wouldn’t do that if he could have his own home, but that was a level of wistful thinking that he knew not to indulge in. 

The shower did little to ease his mind he’d bargain to say it made him think even more. He covers himself quickly, not wanting to look at the thin layer of skin that has finally grown over the gaping hole in his chest. The flesh that had peeled from his body which left ribs, bones, and muscle revealed had finally grown back allowing him to feel at least slightly less like a living corpse. Still, his skin is ashen, his heart does not beat and the patches of newly grown skin don’t always have sensation in them, still leaving him only half alive.

He wants to look at himself and not feel as if his resurrection was a curse upon the world, but that feels like an impossibility. He wasn't meant to be in this world, his time had come and a version of him that had been loved  had been laid to rest, then he was brought back. The world had moved on and he'd fallen behind, he wasn't meant to be there and everyone knew it. 

He sighs as he buckles the side straps of his mended chest plate. It was the first thing he fixed once he got the opportunity, the blacksmith he went to did a beautiful job with all the imperfections and breaks being fixed, but something about it felt off. The armor doesn’t give off the same aura of protection anymore, it’s heavy as if weighing him down, but he doesn’t feel as if he can abandon it either. He hates all the contradictions that come with being fully conscious again. 

As he exits the bathroom he's surprised to hear shouting coming from the living room. His mind immediately goes into overdrive and the crackle of magic burns at his fingertips as he inches down the hall, before realizing it was just Vinny Folson. However it was strange, he’d never heard the man talk above a regular speaking level, yet he was standing in the sitting room shouting. 

“You can’t say that to me okay! I don’t care, quite frankly, I really don’t! You never did anything to deserve that from me!” His voice is strained and Garmadon is confused at what he’s talking to until realizing it’s the cell phone.  “You didn’t contact me and I’ve told you unless you reach out I have no desire to talk to you!” 

Finally, Vinny turns and his face shifts very quickly to a look of faux calm as he pinches his nose. “Mhm, okay, we can talk about this some other time I’ve got company right now,” Garmadon has never seen Vinny angry; he wasn't even aware it was an emotion the other man had. “That doesn't matter and isn’t your business! Uh-huh I know, see this is exactly why I wasn’t going to let him give you my number! Yup, goodbye.” Vinny sighs sitting back on his couch putting his head in his hands. 

Garmadon walks into the room, he doesn’t say anything, he isn't entirely sure how. Vinny asked questions when Garmadon got angry or upset at something, should he do the same thing? Would he get it wrong? He probably would, he wasn’t good at this sort of thing, or any conversation he had to initiate really. 

“You are angry,” He notes, catching Vinny’s attention. “Why?” Vinny had usually added something to the end, but the words ‘Are you okay’ felt unnatural in his mouth and were redundant since he clearly wasn’t. 

“Oh it’s nothing, just Luciana, she’s mad I didn’t see her while she was in the city for Dragon Day,” He rolls his eyes sitting back with his arms folded over his chest. 

“Is she an enemy?” Vinny laughs lightly at this, Garmadon meant to use another word but he couldn’t remember what it was so he used the only thing similar, he missed his wider vocabulary or at least one he could easily articulate. 

“Kind of, she’s my biological mother,” Garmadon glances at the wall of photos, the only pictures with Vinny and any women are ones who he seems similar in age to or a woman who was much too old to be his mother, not to mention not once had he mentioned a mother at least not how he referenced his father. 

“She is not on your wall,” Garmadon points out gesturing at the wall. 

“Well, she didn’t raise me so yeah no…” Garmadon never heard Vinny talking in such a sour manner about anyone, not him, or the disasters that hit Ninjago, yet this woman seemed to bring anger out of an otherwise positive man. 

“You do not care for her then?” He asks as Vinny lowers his head.

“I mean that’s a bit of a loaded question,” He sighs rubbing his eyes. “I don’t… I don't really have a good answer for you, sorry...”

Garmadon doesn’t say anything. He should, he knows he should, that’s what good people do, but there are no words he can summon that seems fitting. He’s reminded of when he confronted Misako, the look in her eyes as he told her the man she’d loved was gone. At the time he’d told her flatly, walked off as if it were nothing, now there's a level of regret that settles in his chest. He knows there are things good people say, comforting words, yet trying to find those words is impossible. His instinct is to tell people it's not so bad, he'd seen the worst the world had to offer and he didn't complain, but that's not what he's supposed to do at least according to those he'd already made the mistake with.

•●•

He'd left the Two Moon Village and he was wrestling with emotions and feelings he had no room in his head to regulate. The second he’d left the village and his helm behind he wanted it back, he wanted to pretend like nothing had happened and to bear his teeth and growl at anyone who tried to come near him, but he couldn’t. His eyes were open and he wanted to gouge them out. 

He passed a few villages, neglecting any possibility for interaction and brushing off travelers who attempted to butt into his sulking. However, while he would have preferred to wander forever it began growing cold and he needed somewhere to stay. The cold didn’t suit him in the slightest, while he wouldn’t die like a mortal, it was a miserable experience. He knows vaguely that it had to do with his Dragon-Oni origin; they came from a warm realm that never saw frost, unlike Ninjago which was frozen over for a quarter of a year if not longer. It left his limbs sluggish and his muscles aching for some sort of respite, which neither his travel clothes nor armor provided. 

The chill sank deeply into his skin as he walked endlessly through snow-piled forests to find somewhere to stay that he thought for a moment he’d been transported to the realm of madness forced to walk a callous icy wasteland till he lost the little sense of self which he had. The night he slept in patches free of snow huddling under the cover of trees was akin to mental torture. The physical toll of the icy cold was nothing in comparison to the prison his mind was determined to trap him in. While walking through white-out blizzards he swore he saw someone waving to him, a little blonde boy or an older dark-haired man or sometimes even a woman dressed far too cool for winter.  

He was reminded of brittle outposts during war times, sitting curled in on himself waiting for a rescue that wouldn't come for weeks due to avalanches and inescapable ice storms. He remembers the weeks of watching warm faceless bodies grow cold, not even rotting due to the snow and frost. It started with one person going due to hypothermia, they were small and thin so no one was surprised. He doesn't remember the times in between the deaths, all he knows is that day after day he wound up stacking bodies to be carried off once help arrived. But it arrived too late, by the time a cart arrived he'd grown unable to move, surrounded by corpses, frostbitten, and a sick bluish gray. He knows the cart arrived, and that someone had to dig him out of the snow, but he doesn't know after how long nor who did it, though he does know he had to regrow three fingers and multiple toes after the whole ordeal and he wound up bed bound and vomiting blood for weeks following. 

He would not easily get to that point again, though, with the fragility of his new body, the concern for his health still weaved itself on his chest. Fortunately for him he finally came across a farm, it was wide and largely covered in snow save for the pathways which seemed to have been littered with some sort of melting salt. He followed the trail up until a large farmhouse came into focus amidst the falling snow.

Despite the dark Garmadon could see the warm pink of the home's sides with roofs and turrets entirely covered in powdery white snow. Windows glossed with frost shone from the inside with a warm light that had felt eerily familiar. He planned to walk the salted path to find a town or civilization to bunk in, but as he stared at the home he had the sense he’d been there before, standing in front of the house, on the porch with a person. The person who was there was dark when he tried to imagine it, with no figure, no face, and no voice.   

He was meant to walk past the house, but suddenly he was standing at the end of a long path up to the home. Snowflakes melted on his boots as he looked from the trails up to the house. His mind told him to turn away, he had no business trotting across some random stranger's land. Who knows how they’d react? He wasn't the most well-liked individual after all, they could try to harm him for all he knew. Yet his feet clung to the ground, and before he could move the door swung open. 

An elderly woman appeared from beyond the door holding out a light of some kind. She flashed it at him, making him hiss and turn away from the sudden blinding light. His eyes adjusted, however slowly, as the woman approached. She lifts her long skirt with one hand shining the light with the other. Her eyes are narrowed as she nears and once she seems to process who he is she freezes. 

“What are you doin’ all the way out here at this time of night?” She asks, standing at still a rather large distance. “Are you alright?”

“I’m simply passing through, I am heading for town,” He explained, not wanting to cause the woman to assume he was a threat, he’d been far too cold and tired for any of that.

“Well that’s still at least half a day's walk away, why don’t you come in,” She gestured to the home, at the door that was open just a crack. “You don’t want to be left out here, we got ourselves some pretty vicious snow crawlers,” Snow crawlers, a type of animal native to the area nearly twice as large and five times the bite force of an average wolf. 

He didn’t say anything as he trotted closer, he was testing the waters, waiting for her to react more excessively to his appearance. However, she did nothing of the sort, simply standing, jaw shaking slightly in the cold. As he approached closer she turned back towards the house, not awaiting a response yet pausing at the door as she pushed it open, waiting to see if he'd enter. He inched forward until the toe of his boots hit the porch step, she said something but he didn't hear it. His instincts told him it was a trap, but the ache in his muscles and the numbness in his fingers and feet didn't care. 

He followed her into a homey foyer boots and shoes piled onto a little shelf next to a coat rack hung with jackets and cloaks. The woman slides off a pair of sandals and places her coat on a hanger, revealing her to be dressed in long-sleeved night clothes. He was hesitant to remove his travel cloak or boots as he stood at the entrance, the door already closed behind him. He glanced at his feet where snow had begun melting slowly on the dark wooden floors. 

“Here, lay your boots on the towel to dry, and I can take that cloak and put it in the dryer if you'd like,” Her smile was warm and accentuated the wrinkles deeply set in her face, yet Garmadon felt completely ill at ease. 

“I am fine,” He stated flatly before removing his boots and placing them on the towel she’d laid out. 

“Well then come in at least, I can’t imagine it’s good for anyone to be out in that cold for so long,” She clicked her tongue as she floated off into the next room, to which Garmadon followed. “What could have driven you to be out in that dreadful weather?”

“Traveling,” He answered flatly as he followed her down the hall into a well-decorated living room, which held three other individuals. 

An elderly man similar in age to the woman sits on the couch pouring over some sort of text as two middle age looking women sit on the floor by the fireplace engaging in some sort of card game. They peer at him, the redheaded woman's brows shot up immediately as the woman opposite to her promptly swatted her arm muttering something Garmadon had by that point realized was the northern dialect. 

“Mam who’s this?” The dark-haired woman asked as she set her cards on the table. 

“Garmadon,” He answered quickly before the woman gave them an answer he didn’t want her to give. 

“Oh goodness I apologize I never properly introduced myself, I am Henrietta this is my husband Nioh and there are our lovely farm hands Ninako and Luna,” Each person gave a small wave or gesture alongside their introduction, none of which he responded to. 

“Why the realms 's he all the way out here?” The red-headed woman noted as being Luna questioned blandly. 

“Travels,” He was also looking for work, somewhere to stay for the winter since he’d had no desire to be caught in the gross weather for any longer than absolutely necessary.  “And work,”

“We got plenty of that,” The older woman chuckled, trotting over to take a seat by her husband. 

“It is winter,” He stated as a slight chuckle erupted for all those in the room which made his stomach turn. 

“You must not have spent much time up north have ya?” The woman Ninako jested a chuckle still in her voice. 

“Come on Koko cut the guy some slack, it that middle of the night and I’m sure he’s tired,” The redhead interjected with a smile. “We grow special teas and root vegetables,” 

“I see,” He muttered an odd almost irritated feeling bubbling up at the mention of tea, there was yet another memory just out of reach that could have told him the source of those feelings, yet dodged him instead. 

“These are all morning thoughts, Luna why don't you take him to the hand house and let him get situated there,” Henrietta cuts in gesturing at the woman on the floor. 

“The key at the back?” 

“Same as always.”

Luna gestured for Garmadon to follow as she exited the room. The wooden floors of the home creak with age and the smell of dust permeating the air. The woman told him to grab his boots for the short trek before waltzing off down the hall towards the open room at the end that looked like a kitchen. Once affixed with his boots and cloak he entered the kitchen where she stood twirling a pair of keys on her finger. 

“Come on, help cottage ain’t a long walk,” She explained as she held the door open for him. “Usually it’s taken up by Teddy and Miyla but they ain’t coming out to help this year cause they got a baby now so you’ll have the place to yourself,” 

He admitted that was certainly a positive for him, he hated boarding with other people. Sleeping often wound up difficult, all of his senses went on high alert and he could barely convince his eyes to close. It was relatively easy when he’d met the people before and had a judge of character, however, strangers were a completely different beast, one he had no desire to wrangle. 

“You do not stay outside the home?” He asked, rather confused by their arrangements. 

“Nah, I been knowin’ Hetty and Nioh for some time, practically family,” She explained as the two came upon a small cottage among snow-covered fields, each with lines worth of dots poked through the snow. “Alrighty, here ya are! Towels and blankets are in the linen closet next to the sink, breakfast is seven in the mornin’ you’re welcome to join, and if you’re lookin’ for work Henrietta will be happy to talk to ya about it then.”

“Noted.” He nodded as she set the key in his hand. 

“If you need anythin’ house key ’s also on there.” She explained with a wide smile. “Have a good night mister.”

He watched as she walked back down the path into the back door of the home before turning to the small hut. The door was shorter than him, clearly made for the average human leaving him to quite literally have to duck inside. It was a simple place, a kitchenette with a fireplace and a small couch. A door was attached to the far wall and was ever so slightly ajar. 

A small heater sat in the corner, dim and dusty seemingly from lack of use. He fiddled with the buttons for a moment before he felt the metal begin to warm, finally allowing his painfully frozen hands to begin to thaw properly. He removed his soaking wet boots, lying them on the floor by the heater as he finally removed his cloak. The cold had settled deeply into his bones and his skin was dry to the point of cracking, yet being in the cottage felt uncomfortable. Something about the area had felt threatening, perhaps it was the family’s overly welcoming demeanor, or perhaps it was his run-in with Lord Mogra that still left him shaken, he was unsure. 

He took some of the sheets from the linen closet before he entered the bedroom which was a bit smaller than the main room with a set of bunk beds on either wall. He settled on one of the bottom bunks, not even having bothered with a sheet just throwing a blanket over himself. His body ached for sleep, yet his mind raced as always. The fear lingered in his chest feeling as if it may erupt into chaos, but nothing happened. He drifted off to no dreams, no visions, no random attacks, and woke up the next morning equally safe. The sun rose softly over the snow-lined hills. And a foggy mist hung in the air. 

Once he saw the time he decided to join the farmers up at the main home for breakfast, he was hungry and he was inclined to ask Henrietta about the job. He needed a place to stay for the winter months, or at least until he wasn’t so tired and achy all the time, and there had seemed like a fitting place. He trotted up to the home and with a single knock the back door leading into the kitchen was thrown open by the dark-haired woman, Ninako if he remembered properly. She wore jeans and a long-sleeved thermal shirt clutching a cup as if her life depended on it. She didn’t say a word, she simply gestured him inside where the other members of the house sat around a table eating. 

They offered him a seat and some food, both of which he took. He sat and listened to them speak of the daily work that had to be done. He gathered that they had no animals at the time though they’d get chickens come spring. No one addressed him, though sometimes eyes would shift to him as he ate some sort of toasted sandwich with a handful of berries Henrietta had placed on the plate before handing it to him. Slowly each person abandoned their spot at the table, first Nioh, then Luna, and finally Ninako, giving Garmaodn the freedom to speak with Henrietta. 

The second he posed the question of work she jumped. “Oh yes we desperately need a new set of hands, Teddy and Miyla are gone and we ain’t got no one to fill in,”

“I have the capability to complete at least the labor of one,” He responded, as she took the empty plate from in front of him. 

“That’s fine, I’m just glad it’s more than just Luna and Koko, they’re damn hard workers but they’re only to people,” She chuckled, shaking her head. “If you’d care to start early Luna’ll be out shoveling snow off the cellar doors, tell her I sent ya to show you the ropes,”

“I will go see her then.”

He wasn’t particularly keen on starting work the second he’d arrived, however, he wanted something to get him away from idle conversation and he had hoped work would be the answer. It was unfortunately not. Luna was willing to show him the workings of the farm however she talked a lot . Every second of the world day she would be speaking or humming or making some kind of noise. He asked her for quiet but she either forgot or purposefully and kept rambling on about a story or note she had about each given task. Come evening he was glad to retreat to the cabin and keep to himself till the next morning. 

He quickly fell into a routine, in the morning he'd join those inside for breakfast before he began the daily tasks. Often Luna would work alongside him while the other woman Ninako would keep a firm distance. Luna would talk aside from the days she’d go off with Nioh to town for the market, which wasn't frequent. Those days were silent, and his favorite. 

Unlike Luna, Ninako never made any attempt to speak with him outside of the occasional acknowledgment of reports on the field from time to time. That was how he preferred it. He wasn't particularly keen on Ninako, not that he'd been keen on anyone but he found she was just particularly uncomfortable to be around. He wasn't entirely as to why she elicited such a strong response, she wasn't particularly rude mostly just silent, yet some odd sense told him to steer clear. So he avoided working right alongside her and only spoke to her when required. 

Henrietta and Nioh were mostly fine individuals but fell into the same chatty camp as Luna, quite frankly he could have mistaken them for her parents. Nioh worked in one of the fields while Henrietta managed the business ventures of the farm, what those were Garmadon hadn't had a single clue, but he had no desire to spark a conversation that took longer than a few minutes. Every once in a while Henrietta would check on the cabin and the snow crawlers wards, but otherwise the two only interacted at breakfast or when he was sent to fetch the cellar key. Even then he didn't always take breakfast, the oats similar to a sort of porridge were some odd northern varieties that cut up the flesh of his mouth which was irritatingly sensitive.

He stayed disconnected, as far as possible, from them. There was something about the group that made him angry, the way they spoke and laughed made something in his mind tick. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it and quite frankly he didn’t care to. He would be gone come spring and likely wouldn’t see them again. That’s what he told himself, yet the thoughts refused to leave his mind as he worked the earth and watched as Ninako and Luna laughed together many fields over.

Nonetheless, he kept working, collected his coins every other week, and tucked them away. The incident was a little over a month and a half weeks after his arrival. The snow crawler traps needed mending and Ninako had been helping Henrietta all day with some sort of baking that required eyes at all times, so that left Garmadon and Nioh, however, the old man claimed his eyes weren’t fit for setting traps so Garmadon was sent to the edge of the property with Luna who was whistling the whole way. 

They were halfway through the traps, Garmaodn mostly stood the whole time cutting strings and wrapping them around blocks, when Henrietta came trotting down the trail. The smile that seemed sewn into the woman’s face had left and she was shockingly grim despite the bright-colored dress she adorned. She came to a stop in front of them and while Luna had stopped Garmadon continued with his given task. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt but I just wanted to say I’m gonna have to cut y'all time short,” The woman’s eyes were puffy and glossed over with her eyelashes stuck together in the way they do after crying. 

“Is everythin’ alright?” Luna asked as she leaned on her shovel while Garmadon kept at his work. 

“Me and Nioh are gonna be goin’ out of town for an indeterminate amount of time,” She explained as she rubbed her hands together frantically.

“Did… did something’ happen?” Luna’s words had grown quiet as she stared at Henrietta. 

“Well, my best friend fell sick again and well… we’re not sure what’s gonna happen so I’m headin’ out to see her,” She explains her voice growing strained. “I’ll still pay yall but I just can’t dally around too long, I’m real worried you know,” She sniffled Garmadon and tilted his head up from his spot. 

“Oh, Hetty…” Luna had trailed reaching out to the old woman. 

“Isn’t that one of the things all you mortals do? Get sick and either live or die?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “It’s really rather pathetic,”

“I beg your pardon?” She turned with her eyebrows furrowed in anger. 

He rose from his spot and simply shrugged, the comment had held no weight to him at the time, and he couldn’t have cared any less. “It is true, I feel as if this is a well-known fact by now, you all get sick and die at some point best to be prepared for such a thing as to not fuss about it so much. Really you should all not-” As he spoke he hadn’t even noticed how red her face had grown in anger and within the span of less than a second she had raised her hand and slapped him. His cheek stung and he was absolutely stunned by the motion. No human person had dared to lift a finger against him in all of his time resurrected so the act left him completely silenced by a mix of shock and rage. 

“You bastard ! How dare you, that is my best friend and you must have half a mind to think I’d let that pass me easily!” As she shrieked her eyes burned with a fire that not even the tears in her eyes were able to put out. “I will give you till sundown to gather your things and get off of my property, permanently! If I ever see you here again I will feed you to the snow crawlers!”She shouted, voice high and shrill yet so violently assured. 

The comment was enough to bring him to his senses enough to step away from the woman. He wasn’t afraid of the mortal, but there was something about her demeanor that made him hesitate with a response. She reminded him a bit of Saeko when her eyes filled with fury and he’d felt that same sensation. He wasn’t used to it quite yet, though he would have the misfortune of becoming familiar with it afterward.  

So he moved away and trotted off quietly without a single retort. He felt eyes burn into the back of his skull as he made his way to the small cabin at the center property. An unfamiliar emotion stirred in his chest, one that left him feeling as if he wanted no one on the property to see his face again. He didn’t want the feeling, he wanted to discard it and go back to how he had been before. 

His fingers were stiff and his blood felt as if it were freezing as he packed his things away. He was meant to get out as quickly as possible, but he wasn’t sure how much time had passed. However long it had been it was long enough for the door to the cabin to creak open. He came to and a level of panic set in when he thought it was Henrietta, but it wasn’t… it was Ninako. 

She doesn’t say anything, simply pulling a small bag from her coat pocket and tossing it at his feet. He crouches to pick it up, eyes still plastered to the woman who stood face completely unchanging. There was a sort of familiarity that had flashed through his mind, but it was gone too quickly for him to have assessed. He opened the bag to find a mass of coins inside. 

“What is this?” He asked as he gazed over at the woman in the doorframe. 

“Your payment, Hetty was too pissed to give it to you but I knew she’d beat herself up later if you didn’t get it,” She explained with a short shrug. “What you said was still shitty though,” She mused as she picked at her nails. 

“What I said was true, do mortals not understand death or something?” His words came out sharp but the question was laced with some level of sincerity. Somehow the woman, with a roll of her eyes and a glare, seemed to have detected that. 

“Of course we do, but that don’t mean it doesn't hurt,” Her voice was strained but her face had remained steady. “Losin’ someone you love hurts like a bitch, even if you know it’s going to happen one day that don’t make it easier when does. I mean come on even if you know you could get stabbed that don’t mean it won’t make ya hurt,”

“That is true…”  Suddenly the emotion had a name, shame. He was ashamed. 

“I get that you don't seem to understand this stuff so I’ll give you some grace, but listen good when I tell you it is from a very generous part of my heart that I pull this-,” She paused stepping forward and folding her arms “-everyone can get better but that is on them and if you don’t learn how to treat people with the grace they deserve  someone far more cruel than me is gonna teach ya,”

She stepped back watching him, awaiting a response he didn’t give for a long while. “I will keep that in mind.”

“Good,” She smiled, turning on her heel and marching to the door. “Now best get off the farm if ya know what's good for you and here’s one last tip-”

“Quit bein’ such an ass.”

•●•

Like most things he wasn’t certain how to approach the topic, Vinny seemed more conserved than he’d been and Garmadon couldn’t tell if it was a result of the call with Luciana or Garmadon’s questionings. He should ask which one was bothering him, that was something good to do, but he had also thought his earlier comment wasn’t so bad, so he wasn’t sure. Instead, he chose not to say anything, biting his tongue that couldn't spit out the words any good person should be able to summon at will. 

Perhaps there was a level of fear in that. Fear that he was bad as people said. Fear that Lord Mogra was right, that he was a snake in the garden ready to bite. Fear that he was still as much of a monster as he had been when first resurrected. He didn’t want that, but even that desire felt somewhat selfish. Did he truly want to be good or simply not hated anymore? 

He forced himself to push the thoughts down in an attempt to approach the topic. He wasn’t sure if he was meant to ease into the conversation or just get it over with, he would prefer the latter. He had no desire to drag out the conversation with useless niceties that would take away from what he truly wanted to say. So later that day as Vinny was sitting at the island doing something or other on his computer Garmadon approached him. 

“Vinny Folson I would like to speak to you about something,” He was straight and to the point, he would say it now otherwise perhaps he wouldn't at all. 

“Hm? What's up?” Vinny asked, pushing the screen of his computer down to nearly close.

“I believe my words earlier may have brought you a level of distress,” He explains. “I would like to rectify this,” 

A multitude of emotions flash across the other man's face before he seems to come to a conclusion. “Oh yeah no, how I'm feeling isn't really your fault it's just Luciana. Talking to her is always a mess and I just… yeah it's just draining,”  Vinny folds his arms with a sigh. “Your question threw me off sure, but you didn't upset me or anything,” 

“I see…” He mutters, rather irritated for having wasted so much thought on the matter. “Then I have a question that is somewhat related,”

“I might have an answer,” Vinny chuckles though Garmadon isn’t sure at what. 

“If I do cause unease, what should I do to remedy such a thing?” He had thought the question would come with more effort, yet as he spoke he felt more at ease than he anticipated. 

He was almost expecting Vinny to say he had no suitable answer but instead, the man just nods quickly. “You talk to who you upset and apologize, usually there's other stuff that goes with it but that differs from situation to situation. You gotta listen and talk to the other person,”

“Is that a good enough answer?” Vinny asks, drawing Garmadon’s attention before he can get lost in his own thoughts. 

“Quite, your input was appreciated and I am sorry for your earlier distress,” The word sorry comes out quickly but feels unnatural the second he thinks about it, what was he apologizing for it wasn’t his fault. But as he sees the small smile on Vinny’s face he can’t help but think perhaps he said the right thing. 

“Thanks, honestly I just want to get my mind off of it,” He explains with a sigh, rubbing his eyes. “You ever watched a movie?”

“No, I have not,” He’d seen Vinny watching things on the television but had not engaged with it. 

“Do you want to?”

“If it is entertaining, then yes.”

Vinny was plenty eager to put on some old space movie that Garmadon quite frankly didn’t understand half of. He can’t say the movie was exactly good but it was at the very least entertaining, even if half of the fights were so unrealistic he wanted to rip his hair out. Apparently, there were multiple, which meant he may wind up sitting through however many, though he had none of the energy nor mind to complain.

However, once the movie was over and all was said and done Garmadon was left to consider the conversation. Vinny had told him to listen and talk. Garmadon wasn’t exactly sure what that would be like exactly, but he had no desire to ask further. He had an answer, one he could work with. He could figure out how to do that, surely. He knew how to listen, he’d had to do an unfortunate amount after all. The only problem was learning how to interpret what he heard. He knows there are emotions and experiences he doesn’t understand, but there's a part of him that wants to. The part of him that knows there’s more to him than he remembers, a kinder version of him, a version of him people aren’t afraid of.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t a surprise to him when restlessness began to grow in his chest. He felt it when he wasn’t working, when his mind wasn’t occupied with a new task and he was left with too much time. It eventually became almost physically painful, as if his joints were growing stiff with lack of use. 

It wasn’t that his living situation was unpleasant, in fact, he’d bargain to say he enjoyed it the most out of any of the places he’s stayed. It was rather ironic, he hated the city, he found it loud and busy and annoying, but he enjoyed staying anyway. He usually found people who talked too much to be frustrating, but he didn’t mind Vinny Folson, though perhaps that had something to do with him actively engaging Garmadon in the conversation rather than talking at him, which was a welcomed change. Perhaps in another world, he could stay idle longer and would fall into a new life easier and better than the one he’d been living beforehand. 

It was that idea that left him hesitant to depart. He was somewhat comfortable, but something inside him told him to leave. He wasn’t meant to be comfortable, at least that’s what the voice at the back of his mind told him. It didn’t matter what he wanted, he wasn’t meant to settle, not yet and perhaps not ever.  He should have known his time of peace was too good to be true, he wasn't meant to feel good, to be happy. It's what he wanted but the thought was selfish because he's not a good person. He was a monster a walking corpse brought back as a punishment for thinking he ever could have had a life full of anything but misery. 

The days before he left the city were bleak, at least through his eyes, though he refused to openly express such feelings. He went about the tasks he'd stupidly accepted as his normal, though he did it without a single word. Vinny Folson seemed to notice the change and would ask him innocent questions to urge him into talking, he'd give as blunt a response as possible to shove the man as mentally far away as utterly possible, yet he still tried to be kind and hold out a hand. That's when he knew he needed to leave. 

He packed in a quick almost messy rush. He washed his clothes, sharpened his katanas before strapping them to his back, stuffed his pack with things for the road, pulled on his hat, and… left. His walk through the city was loud and he was certain his path only cleared due to the bitter look he didn't have the energy to wipe from his face. He heard the whispers and the urge to bear his teeth and scare off the perpetrators was painfully strong, which is exactly why he didn't do it. 

The day faded into night and he continued to walk as the crowd went from busy business folk mulling about to loud raving young adults ravaging the streets. He didn't pay it much mind, just continued to walk until he found himself in the desert land outside the city bounds. He walked along the edge of the train tracks outside the town staring up at the sky that's bursting with stars in the clear night sky. He has trouble seeing them sometimes, staring up only for his eyes to refuse to adjust to see their shining light.  

The air of undisturbed land was clear and sharp with a snip of cold. It brought back memories, ones of huddling inside wrapped in blankets by a fire. He was happy in the memory and he remembers laughing alongside someone he realizes was his brother. He didn't know what they were laughing about but it didn't matter. When was the last time he'd remembered something so pleasant? Has he yet? It felt taunting to think about such a sweet memory, as if it were fruit hanging just out of reach showing him snippets of a life he'd once had. 

He didn't deserve that life anymore. He wasn't an innocent child he was a full-grown monster, all claws, horns and fangs all made to show who he truly was. His hands were slick with blood and he could practically feel the souls weeping in his ears. He wanted to scream, to break off his horns till they couldn’t be seen, pull out his fangs, and hope maybe they'd grow back dull and tear off his claws till they mimicked humanity. He wanted to peel off his skin till he could be somebody else somebody new. 

Even the memory of laughing by a fire was tinged with suffering and toil. His father leered at the back ready to reprimand him for forgetting his lessons again. He remembers his father's face when he told him he forgot again, the flare of anger before the frown of disappointment. He sent him off to finish his work while he took Wu to town. He begged to go and to do his work later but his father dismissed him insisting he shouldn't have forgotten. Wu gave him that pathetic look he always did when they left Garmadon behind, he hated it then and he hates it now. 

He knew his father didn't hate him, he loved him and that's what made his cruelty hurt all the more. The times he'd look away from Garmadon in public when someone would say he looked just like his father. The way he scoffed at Garmadons frustration when he couldn't do something as easily as Wu who did everything with never-ending ease. The way he never listened to Garmadon till there was no other option. He was an embarrassment, a living memento of the life his father had tried to leave behind. 

He remembers being young and begging the universe to fix him, to wake up and find out his rough purple scales for shimmering pearlescent ones, to replace the thick dark horns with gold antlers, and for his teeth to shrink down to the smaller thin teeth of a dragon. He wanted his father to look at him with pride instead of the barely hidden regret he held. Sometimes when he knew he couldn't have that he'd wish he just hadn't been made at all. How much better would the world have been had he not been created? The Great Devourer wouldn't have had a host, his brother wouldn't have had to deal with him and all his problems, and Lloyd wouldn't have had to grow up under the looming shadow of a deadly prophecy. He'd been a blunder on the world since he'd been bit or perhaps since he'd been brought into it.

Even as he laid to rest he couldn't purge his mind of the ponderings. There wasn't a point, he'd already done everything, and he'd already become the villain many times over. What would his father think? Would he give that sympathetic smile that Garmadon was graced with only a  few times, or would he turn his back on him just like he'd always feared?

He wakes in a place he's awoken many times. A bedroom. Not like the one at the monastery all warm wood and quaint decoration. No, this was different. A beautiful sprawling bed with silken sheets and a fireplace built into the room, thick curtains blocking out the sun, porcelain vases. All of it was sheer mortal luxury. It was their winter home, a palace built by the mortals as a gift to their family. It was a stunning labyrinth, a testament to not only their skill but their devotion. In the current day, the palace is long gone, there was a new one built, but it is only a mockery of the old one. 

After Wu got really sick one winter and his father realized just how unsuited all of them were for the weather he decided a winter home somewhere warmer was a good idea. They lived in the palace a little over three months out of the year and somehow it was more lonesome than the monastery. He remembers days of standing for hours to get his portrait done, of sitting alone in his room as the Great Devourer hissed in his ear so loudly he wanted to put an ice pick in his ear. The one thing the palace was good for was hiding which he'd learned to do when the Devourer got too loud. He wouldn't scare his brother or disappoint his father that way. 

That's why when he stood he immediately knew to walk over to the large carved wooden closet and pull the door open. The boy inside turned, glowing red eyes peering up and burning into Garmadon’s soul. He reached out a hand and the boy took it sliding out of the closet almost hitting his head on the door. 

“What are you doing in there?” He asks as the little boy shrugs. 

“I don't remember, do you?” The boy asks, red eyes shiny as he stares up at Garmadon. 

“No…” He doesn't remember what prompted him to hide, he just knew who he hid from. “Your eyes are red, why-,” He almost finishes the sentence there before being reminded of one of his conversations with Vinny “-is something wrong?”

The little boy shrugs walking away from Garmadon to plop down on the bed. “I dunno, I'm upset but that just means you're upset,” He's rather taken aback, but he's not sure if he should be surprised that this version of him was as blunt as himself. “You were happy… why did you leave?” The boy asks curling up into a ball in the sheets. 

He has a million reasons all having to do with him. All of them boiled down to one answer: he didn't deserve to be happy. He'd caused so much irreversible pain so why should he get to start over in any way whatsoever? 

“I don't…” He stares at the boy, his shiny red eyes staring at him watery and tired. How was he meant to tell him one day he'd be undeserving of so much? But by that age wasn't that what he thought already? Even as a boy after he was bit he'd known there was something wrong with him. Most children were afraid of what lurked in the dark but he feared becoming that entity, so how was he supposed to tell the boy that was what happened? 

“We don't what?” We , what a horrible word. That boy didn't want to be him, no one wanted this. 

For the first time, he has no answer. He can't force the words out, tell the boy that his worst fears come true. He has walked the path of darkness through and through and though he treads a new one nothing will ever truly wipe away the damage he did. He'd torn down trees and foliage and now he stood on a path staring at the carnage. 

“What do-”

He sits up eyes burning furiously. He presses the heel of his hands firmly into his eye's sockets till they ache. Colors and shapes spiral behind his eyelids as he tries to stop his labored breathing. The gulps of air aren't enough and it's as though a rope had been tied around his neck and pulled tight. Any attempt to steady himself only seems to send the world more off-kilter. The second he peels his hands from his eyes the world spins and he's assaulted by the silence of the open land. 

His stomach turns and muscle memory has him lean over sure to not vomit onto his clothing, but nothing happens. His stomach settles, yet all he can do is try and stop from shaking as he props himself up. He wasn't used to this, so much of his remembered life was full of illness, bent over in agony, his body ripping itself apart like some kind of divine punishment. It was as if the universe personally spat on him laughing at the notion of his very existence, asking how he could possibly believe he ever could have deserved the right to live a pain-free life. He deserves it now, he should bear the weight that others did because of him, but why did he before? Why did a child deserve that wrath? Was his path always predetermined, was he made to suffer because the universe knew at its core what he would become…

~•~

The first village he came upon was all but inviting. He kept his head low as per usual, perusing the town center for possible jobs. Glares traced his every move, scoffs followed him through the streets and he didn't even bother to try and speak to anyone seeing if he so much as indicated he might attempt to speak to anyone they quickly turned away or pulled scarves up over their faces. He assumed it was him. Perhaps the town had been put into the crossfire during his attempt at a takeover, or perhaps they were just disillusioned by whatever stories had reached them. They were close to the city so surely they'd been affected at least somewhat. 

Shame burned a hole in his chest once again as he walked through until he started to recognize a pattern. No one in the town spoke to each other, it's why the place hung with such an air of discomfort. Anytime they so much as passed one another on the street they'd stop to turn and glance the other up and down before quickly scurrying onwards. As if everyone wasn't acting strongly enough not a single farmer, artisan nor traveling merchant was on the street. 

The town spanned only a short distance so taking the path through the center led to the highway through the woods. However, once he happened upon it there wasn't a soul on the path but the windows of homes were open with people standing very clearly in them. He craned his neck to look at the people who almost appeared as if standing guard… as he watched their eyes dark from him to the path he thought perhaps they were. 

“You!” He shouts up to one of the windows. “What is it that you are waiting for?” He demands, his voice echoing down the empty streets and making the man he pointed at flinch away a bit. 

The man appears fully in the window again but remains silent, glancing away from Garmadon back to the woods. Frustration flares in his mind not for the first time that day, was everyone keen on keeping him as in the dark as possible. “What of you? Tell me what is happening!” He shouts to the woman in the window on the other side of the street, she doesn't flinch like the man does, simply crunching her nose making his eye twitch in irritation.

“They won't tell you,” A gravelly voice notes from behind him, he turns to see an elderly woman holding a large basket of greens. 

“And why is that?” He folds his arms doing his best to somewhat mask his growing anger and irritation with the town. 

“Oh they're paranoid, think everyone new in town is going to jump on them or set them on fire,” She shakes her head as he rolls his eyes. “Are you trying to head out?” 

“Yes,” He answers quickly and more sharply than intended. 

“Do you have money?” She asks immediately, which makes him wrinkle his nose in irritation. 

“No,” He gritted his teeth as she laughed in response. 

“Well, then I best hope you're not taking the main road because there's a band of ruffians that have been charging a fine for every soul that walks through. Unless someone manages to escape that is,” She explains with a smile looking him up and down. 

“I can hold my own perfectly fine,” He straightens up tilting his head up as she scoffs. 

“I wouldn't be so cocky, they've gotten the best of a lot of people. No one goes alone anymore,” She shoots him a short glare and he suddenly feels as if he's missed an important message. 

“Well I am very capable, I assure you I don't believe I have any cause for concern,” He reiterates, he hates being doubted more than almost anything, he knows his capabilities well and to have them be assumed as lesser is an insult of great proportion. 

“Fine go off, I won't stop you, it's your problem, not mine,” She snips as she begins to turn away, making him clench his teeth harder than before. “If I hear about you in a week I won't be surprised!” She snaps rather loudly. 

“Oh, I assure you that if you hear about me anytime soon it will be praise and of my own volition!” He snaps back as the woman walks off in a huff. 

His chest hammers with anger, he wasn't used to the feeling settling in so easily now, he'd gotten so used to peace that it was almost as if he'd forgotten how easy anger was. Biting his tongue, speaking peacefully even when people said things that left a bad taste in his mouth, all of it took energy and a level of knowledge that it felt as if he didn't possess. Anger burned easily, a match he could strike but didn't know how to put out. Yelling and defending his honor was easy, it's what his mind always ordered him to do, protect himself . 

The anger came so easily, it was a cannon to fire at any attack that came his way. Before he understood what drove people it was easy to respond with the rage that never seemed to leave, it protected him and kept what he viewed as threats of any kind away from him, but it's not easy anymore. He's supposed to be getting better, whatever that truly means in the first place. He was meant to hold a level of respect for people to dignify them with a collected response rather than an outburst. He hates that the anger that had driven him for so long now felt like a pest, one he could ignore but the second he feeds it wants to consume him whole. 

He hates feeling guilty. He desires nothing more than to be able to unleash his rage at everything that happens to vex him, but he can't anymore. He is aware of the people around him, unbridled rage isn't just an instinct anymore it's a choice, one he struggles to make. He could so easily become a monster again, bite and scratch, hiss and kick like his instinct tells him to, but then there's that voice in his mind asking why. Why does he want to fight? Why is he scared ? 

Partway through his journey he gets an odd gut feeling. All of a sudden he had the unmistakable sense that something was wrong, very wrong. There was a foreboding air hanging over his journey as if a warning sign happened to be just out of sight. He eventually took on his smaller two-armed form as a defensive maneuver, wanting to be sure he had a leg up if something were to happen. 

Despite the strange gut feeling the trip stayed mostly uneventful, he didn't encounter a single soul. It was also during the trip when he checked his pack that he realized he’d forgotten his book and journal at Vinny Folson’s apartment, which did nothing to ease his worsening mood. The dread seemed to grow even more incessant from not encountering anyone because even still he couldn't evade the sensation of being watched . It grew especially worse as the signage in the woods indicated he was getting closer to the town of Ashkandi. He kept one hand on his katana as he trotted down the well-worn path. He kept the same stance and as the sign indicated only about five and a half miles remaining. He thought this would ease the feeling however it in fact did nothing for his growing restlessness. 

The late evening faded to night and the shadows gave an odd level of comfort. Garmadon had never been afraid of the dark like many children apparently were. He didn't fear the things lurking in the night because he knew evil could just as easily strike in the light. It had been beautiful out the day he was bitten after all. The sun shone, the grass sparkled a bright green and the air was crisp with summer warmth, yet he was bit anyway. How was he meant to trust the dark any less than the light when it had not protected him any more than the dark would have? 

As he walked the path his ears twitched at any sound, so the second a voice spoke, faint but noticeable, he snapped around quickly in response as if attracted to it like a magnet. It came from the left, off the clear path but down one smaller, perhaps leading to a camp sight clearing or mountain path. Nonetheless he shuffled through the trees just to the side of the smaller path, keeping a level of stealth. He wasn't naturally good at stealth like Wu. He was bad at watching the ground he was walking on, forgot to pick up his feet, and not let them fall loudly like usual. He also certainly wasn't the shortest individual either. 

None of that mattered as he listened to the voices growing louder as he suddenly came upon a small clearing where a group of people stood around a wagon shaking in their boots as a band of ruffians surrounded them. 

“Well, ma'am either one of yalls gotta stay here or you give up some of this cargo!” A man booms as he touches the cheek of the woman at the head of the group. 

“I will do no such thing! These are healing herbs and First Master knows I will not deprive anyone of treatment!” The woman's voice is sharp and her face is practically set in a snarl. 

“Then it looks like you've made your choice,” The man's chuckle is low as he glances at the others in the group. “Hmm, you've got some lovely picks here lady, the one in purple is rather lovely now isn't she?” 

Garmadon tightens his hand around his katana as the man walks up to the young woman in purple, but before he can do anything the woman spits directly in the man's face causing the group to erupt in laughter while the band of ruffians tries to muffle their own. The man's hand connects with the woman's cheek only seconds after solidifying Garmadon’s choice to step forward, unfortunately stepping right onto a stick which immediately draws the attention of everyone in the group.

“Who goes there?” The man demands as Garmadon inches forward, not emerging fully from the tree's shadow causing the man's hand to jump to the knife sheathed at his belt.  

“Someone who doesn't take kindly to your intentions here,” He grumbles, feeling a level of anger bubbling beneath his skin that he isn't quite sure how to handle. Nothing had been done to him, yet there was this rage that was telling him to fight. 

“Show yourself!” One of the other men demands brandishing a knife of his own. 

Garmadon emerges from the wood glaring at the group of ruffians dressed in similar orange and black attire. The people from the cart all let out light gasps while the man who seemed to be the leader smiled in a way that made Garmadon wrinkle his nose. “Well if it isn't the emperor of Ninjago himself! I thought I recognized that voice! Good to see you up and out again!” 

“The feeling is not mutual,” The man doesn't seem particularly fazed by his words. 

“Well that's alright, you know what? How about I give you a nice deal to get rid of that bad blood?” The man grins glancing at his group. “You get moving along to wherever you were off to, forget what you saw and we don't charge you and we let you go!” 

“And what of these people?” He asks hands tightening on the soft leather of his katanas' hilt. 

“Well that ain't your problem now is it?” The man chuckles, glancing back at the group who quivers packing closer together. 

“I think it is.” 

He unsheathes his weapons silently telling the group that the deal had not been agreed upon so easily. He tightens his grip as two of the men on the outskirts of the group surge forward one with a sword and the other with a knife. He parried easily kicking one man in the head and disarming the other in one swift go. He wagered that it was too easy and as more of the people surged forward he felt an overwhelming feeling akin to anger burn through him. 

He wanted to win, needed to win. He believes it's to prove himself. Prove to that rude woman he could uphold his claims of strength, prove to these idiotic ruffians that they had no place here, and prove to himself that… he wasn't sure. As he kicked and slashed and eventually brought out his second set of arms to throw off or knock out other opponents he tried to grasp what exactly he wanted to prove to himself. Not that he was strong, he knew that. No, it was something else, something that itched at the back of his mind that he couldn't quite put a finger on. 

Small cuts and slashes made their way to his arms and cheek but he was fairing far better than the group attacking. For those that weren't lying unconscious, they were stumbling attempting to rise successfully being kept down by the wagon people who scurried around doing their best to tie up those disarmed and awake. Garmadon hadn't even told them to do so, but it was as if there was a silent message that they all got to do something. 

“You really just couldn't take an easy deal!” The leader snaps as he jumps at Garmadon, knife out and attempting to stab him. 

“I don't do easy,” He chuckles slightly as he and the man are caught in a dance of slashes and stabs. 

“What happened to you? You used to be a big bad, the emperor of Ninjago and now you're what? Some pathetic highwayman?” Garmadon feels a bitter taste in his mouth as he rams his foot into the man's knees sending him stumbling to stay standing. 

“What I am is irrelevant to someone of your stature,” He hisses, not bothering to hide his distaste anymore. 

It's true, he was an emperor, but that's not who he is anymore. As much as his instincts tell him to get angry, to destroy and consume all that is good he doesn't . He isn't good, he never will be, but he is not what this man wants him to be either. The thought of being like this man, with his greedy hands and brutal words made him ill. 

“You're a husk! A pathetic husk ! Just because you aren't leveling cities anymore doesn't change who you are at your core, you're just like us!” The man grins gesturing at his comrades battered and unconscious. 

The man takes his moment's hesitation to jab his knife directly into Garmadon’s side in which his chest plate doesn’t cover, making his body shudder with pain before immediately making his veins pump with even more adrenaline. Garmadon doesn't dignify him with a response, simply slicing into the man's side before knocking him to the ground with the hilt of his sword, planting a foot directly on his chest making the man wheeze.  “Perhaps, but at least I know how to win.” 

Before Garmadon can get another word in, one of the people from the wagon comes over with rope and what looks to be a sort of mallet. “Get up,” The woman orders. 

“Make me!” He spits as the woman promptly glances at Garmadon who yanks him up by the collar, using his other hands to grab the man's hands. The woman takes the man's hands, pulling them behind his back and securing them with rope. 

“Thank you for your help sir,” The woman bows after finishing tying the man's hands and legs. 

“Your assistance in tying up the others was also required,” He acknowledges as he glances at the group who was securing the remaining bandits tied in groups. 

“Yes but we certainly couldn't have ended them off ourselves, your efforts are highly appreciated,” She smiles as Garmadon hoists the leader over his shoulder as the man squirms and demands to be let go. 

“Sir, are you alright? You seem to be bleeding,” A man interjects quickly as Garmadon looks down to his side, which is steeped in blood.

Garmadon looks at the wagon people, most of them seemed unscathed aside from one young man who looked to have done something to his foot, one who hit his head and was holding a cloth to it, and another whose arm was cut open but was bandaged up. “I am fine, let us get to town and deal with more pressing matters first.”

He can’t bleed out, he knows that much, he can bleed and bleed without the slightest bit of lightheadedness or any other sort of discomfort that would often come with major blood loss. Just more proof he's not truly alive, simply a reanimated corpse playing at being a person again. He could hurt and ache and heal, though not as well as he used to, but it never meant anything. His heart didn't beat more than a few times a day and his body didn't send many of the signals a living person's does, he eats after large feats of strength and power leaving him feeling drained or when someone prompts, he doesn't exactly need to breathe and it's only when he remembers that's a thing most people do that he takes a breath. 

He carries the leader of the group and drags one of the other unconscious groups that don't fit in the wagon into town where enforcements, who were placed close to the path similar to the last town, take charge. They took the bandits into custody before having medics guide Garmadon and the other injured folks to the town medical center. They offered him a ride but he refused, he could walk just fine, even if his side stung and burned, and he had no desire to ask some random humans for help. He knew the dangers of a fight, the pain was a result one he was ready for and deserving of for freezing. He'd been stupid and slow and this was the consequence. 

He was hesitant to even go to the medical center, though he admitted he didn’t want to waste his own medical supplies if he didn't have to. However, once he arrived to the medical center he was ushered away to a room where he was asked what had happened as someone else examined the wound. Eventually, he was made to change into a medical garb despite his initial protests.  Everyone who came into his room seemed terrified of him and it was beginning to get on his nerves he just wanted to get this done and over with and he couldn’t even have that with everyone scrambling and gawking at him like a group of frightened chickens.

Finally after what felt like ages a person in blue garb as well as a woman in a white coat emerged from the hallway. The man in blue who Garmadon believes is a nurse begins hooking him up to some odd machines. 

“Good evening Mr. Zhang-”

“That is not my name,” He interjects to which he promptly nods. 

“I’m aware sir we were never given a surname for you so we are using a filler,” She explains, to which he sighs, he and Wu really should have selected a name all those years ago it would have saved them the trouble. “So we have some good news, the knife was inserted at an odd angle so thankfully it hit no vital organs and all the damage is surface level. We are going to give you a blood transfusion since you did suffer significant blood loss and then we’re gonna get you stitched up and from there we’ll keep you for a few days to be sure everything’s settling smoothly and then you’ll be free to go,”

“And what does this exactly entail?” He knows that at some points people are put to sleep for different procedures, but he held no such trust for the people treating him. 

“Well Vinh here is going to give you an anesthetic to numb the pain and I’ll administer the stitches,” The woman promises as the nurse behind her prepares a set of medical devices including a needle. “You won’t even have to be put under,” 

The stitches were shockingly painless, when he had heard that he’d be numbed he assumed it would only dull the pain not eliminate it entirely. He has plenty of memories of being stitched up, biting down on a cloth or rag as he or someone else did their best to make sure he didn't have to keep walking around with a gaping wound. This wasn't anything like that and once it was done the patch the doctor put on it wasn't nearly as large or clunky as anything he would have had to do. 

After they're done he's wheeled to another, much brighter room where he's told he can relax, which is rather difficult in the blinding lights and with the needle sticking into his arm. He was offered a remote but it looked nothing like the one Vonny Folson possessed and he had barely figured out that one, he pressed a button that looked similar and just wound up making the screen go all fuzzy, so he just as quickly gave up. He sat mostly trying to make sense of the screens in the room that seemed to have something to do with him. 

As he sits he suddenly feels his skin grow warm, as if someone had struck a fire in his veins. He was inclined to press a forearm to his head, but he wasn't sure he even could run a fever anymore. That's when it dawns on him that he hasn't been warm since the summer, his body didn't produce any heat as far as he's aware with cold running right through him, but now his skin prickles. His fingers jump to his neck and to his surprise he finds a pulse, it doesn't beat consistently and he's almost certain it's supposed to be much faster, but it's there. His heart was beating. 

He was prepared to jump out of his bed and demand to see someone, but as he does a nurse trots in. She's not the one from before and she looks far more exhausted, but she was carrying another one of those bags, though this one is full of some sort of clear liquid. 

“What is that?” He asks as she looks over to acknowledge him seemingly taking a moment to process that he'd spoken. 

“Uh this is to keep you hydrated and get you some vitamins, you're very deficient in… well everything,” She explains as she begins to affix the bag. 

“I am perfectly fine, the stitches have been done what else need be done?” He grumbles as the nurse stares at him bleakly. 

“Have you experienced any lightheadedness, chest pain, or headaches?” She asks as he furrows his brow at the implications. 

“Perhaps,” He replies noncommittally. 

“You're probably still not at normal blood levels but technically we can't tell if you're stable since technically you're on the brink of death by normal standards,” She explains gesturing to the screen he still doesn't quite understand. “If you can seeing a cardiologist could be good for you, to see if maybe they could come up with a plan for you,” She seemed genuine in her explanation, but Garmadon couldn't help his lingering trepidation of doctors, this was an emergency and he still wasn't jumping for joy over being here. 

He didn't want people touching him more than necessary and these medical examinations so far have come with poking and prodding he would have liked to avoid. He also despised the idea of complete strangers knowing personal information, especially physical weaknesses that could be found out or exploited. No one needed that information, and quite frankly he was getting on just fine without someone prodding at him. 

After the nurse was done she asked if he needed anything, he simply requested some tea and she nodded. He was left to mull in silence once more, body suddenly aching for sleep as he leans backward. He was exhausted, he'd been walking for hours before the fight fearing sleep after his last dream. He feels as if he should be more angry, angry at the man for what he said about him, angry at himself for believing it to an extent. 

He was pathetic, he wasn't even close to what he once was, but was that a bad thing? He can't act like he doesn't enjoy feeling powerful, it's one of the most refreshing sensations, knowing full well that he is in control of a fight. It was almost comforting. He knew what it was like to be weak, to be at the mercy of another with little hope of escape, it's nauseating to even think about.

He thinks of the times he's been brought to his knees, on the brink of death, blood soaking the ground and his world growing dark. He remembers being unsure if he would wake, clutching at the last breaths of consciousness and hoping that something or someone would save him. He doesn't know how many of those times someone came to his aid, but his memory of what happened when nobody did burned clear. Being powerless was a fate worse than death. But maybe, just maybe, that didn't mean he still had to be who he used to be. He had experiences outside life and death situations, he wasn't going to be slaughtered the second he let himself breathe. 

He thinks of his book and journal, likely sitting on the shelf in Vinny Folson’s apartment, if the man hadn’t disposed of them that is. He wants them back. Worse than that he wants to go back to the city, to go back to the small apartment where 

He's abruptly pulled from his train of thought by a light knock on the door. The doctor steps in, with a tall woman hovering just behind her. 

“Sir the town sheriff is here to speak to you,” She says gesturing to the woman who gives a short wave at her introduction. 

“Sheriff Rhods,” She introduces.

“Garmadon,” He notes shortly

 “I won't keep you long, they already got your statement for me, thank you, Donna,” She smiles as the doctor nods. 

“Happy to help,” The doctor seems to smile extra wide as she stares at the sheriff who steps forward. 

“We're awfully grateful for the help,” Sheriff Rohds glances at the doctor who walks over whispering something in her ear that Garmadon wasn’t quick enough to pick up. 

“Visiting hours end in thirty,” The doctor states, causing Garmadon to roll his eyes knowing full well that it didn't warrant whispering. 

“That'll be plenty of time, hon,” She winks as the doctor chuckles exiting quickly. “I wanted to stop by to give you my thanks for what you did personally,” 

“No need,” He huffs as she raises her eyebrows. 

“I wouldn't say that, those robbers have been messing up travelers for weeks, and they got you good too,” she gestures at the side he was stabbed. It didn't matter he couldn't bleed out as far as he was aware, it was all superficial damage. 

“I was angry, they were there and attacked,” He hated that there was a lack of anger burning inside of him, how after the moment was over the only thing he felt was tired . 

“Well either way you helped us and I want to show thanks,” She passed him a slip of paper which he took. “That's your payment, we'll give it to you in coins but you gotta come to the station to pick it up. After that do with it what you will,” 

“And if I don't?” He asks, staring at the paper. 

“Well dunno, never had anyone turn it down before,” She chuckles, he does not. 

“This is an absurd amount, leave it for the town or something or other. I don't care. I'll take a quarter of it,” He needs some money, but not nearly what they're offering. It's ridiculous. 

“Well, aren't you a hero?” She smiles, her eyes crinkling with the motion. 

“No… far from it,” Shame, it creeps into his chest again making itself comfortable like a beast coming to rest. 

“Hate to tell you but bad people don't do stuff like this very often,” She raises an eyebrow, and he shrugs. 

“Bad people do good things sometimes,” He spits out in an attempt to avoid further comment. 

“You're pretty damn set on calling yourself a piece of shit aren't you?” She smirks as he snaps his neck to stare at her. “Here's some advice: if you always believe you're a bad person you'll never give yourself the chance to be anything else,” 

Something inside him flickers at the sound of those words and he doesn't want it to. He knows he's a bad person so why does he want so badly not to be? Why does a part of him know he fought those highwaymen not to take out all the pent-up rage but to defend people? Why does he want people not to flinch when they see him, perhaps even a select few would smile and enjoy his presence instead of recoil in horror and disgust. Why doesn't he want to shout or lash out anymore but just… stop? 

“What's with everyone in this damned realm and their outlooks on life?” He grumbles in response, one that took little thought but wasn't the brutal honesty he feared he may share if not guarded enough. 

“It's a brutal weird world, makes you think about what's important,” She explains with another laugh, it's gotten to the point where he realizes it may be a nervous habit.

“I suppose…” Ironic that the land his father had wanted to be perfect held so much chaos. 

“I'm gonna get headed out, but don't forget to swing by the station when you're let off,” She seems to contemplate something before turning around. “Have a good night, feel better soon.” He watches as she leaves, flipping the visitor sign before trotting off down the hall, the heavy thud of her boots growing softer. 

As he leans back and his mind begins to grow hazy he lets himself breathe. Maybe he would go back to the city. Maybe he would go back to get his book and journal. Maybe he would stay to talk to Vinny Folson. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad.

The next three days in the hospital were dull at best. Many of the nurses seemed afraid of him aside from two night shift nurses who couldn't care less. He was finally released once they assessed he was almost entirely healed, and despite their confusion, they discharged him with a recommendation he seeks medical attention if anything started feeling abnormal. Quite frankly he was feeling more strange leaving if he was honest. He wasn't used to the beating in his chest. Sure it wasn't as frequent as they insisted it should be, but he was used to it thumping only every once in a while as if reminding him he was somewhat alive. 

It took a while to find the sheriff's office, and it was painfully slow to claim his reward since the man at the front desk didn't believe him when he stated he'd been the one to help capture the thieves. In the end, he wound up taking a little extra, Vinny Folson would appreciate it most likely. He still doesn’t understand why humans insisted on giving things a monetary value, he vaguely remembers him and his brother trying to discourage that idea centuries ago, however, humans claimed it would bring stability… they might not always be the brightest but at least it was somewhat entertaining. 

After collecting his reward he wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted to do quite yet. On one hand, he wanted a few more days to himself, to sit and consider his choices, on the other hand, he had questions building up that he couldn’t ask just any random person. It didn’t feel like a decision so much as a conflict, as if there was something else to his decision that he couldn’t dredge up. He wanted to go back to the city, but something kept telling him he shouldn't go, that he didn’t deserve to return. 

For once he hadn’t done anything wrong, so why did he still feel bad? Why did it feel as if he’d done something worth punishment? Was it him this whole time? Was he telling himself that he wasn’t worthy? But why would he do such a thing? He was one of the most powerful people in all of Ninjago. Why in the world would he think such things? It didn’t make any sense, he knows what he’s done, he’s acutely aware of all of his actions and if he wasn’t there were plenty of people willing to make him aware. 

He knew most of himself, and while of course there were more than a few parts he wished he could remove, that was simply how most people felt about the inadequate parts of themselves. He’d known about those inadequacies for a long time, in fact, he couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t know about them. He always assumed other people could see them too, all of the things wrong with his person that seemed to rot him from the inside out. All of the words and thoughts that he watched build up before they tore him to shreds. Everyone knew these things were true. It was apparent, wasn’t it?

Isn’t it?

Chapter Text

Reentering the city was so simple, he'd taken the long way back, taking time to convince himself it wasn't a crime to return. He slipped through the night crowds, who were far too busy rushing to their location to pay him much mind. He shuffled through the streets attempting to find a map or something that would somewhat give him his bearings. 

That came in the form of an old mural. He'd passed it upon his walk through the city, the first time around and he's not entirely certain how he came upon it this time. It's from years ago, if he tried hard enough he may be able to grasp the number, but he was tired enough as is. It's of his son, vaguely, it's abstract with colors and patterns making up half of his face. He's sure there was some sort of meaning behind it, art always seemed to have some double meaning, but he would rather be gagged than asked to interpret it. He wonders if he was ever good at it, he wonders if maybe he might get better at it. It was rather stupid, but the goal still felt out of reach. 

It was late by the time he arrived at the apartment, he would be concerned about waking the man up if he wasn't already aware of his quite frankly atrocious sleep schedule. With each step up and past each level, there was a pressure that built. His gut told him to leave, to march back down the stairs, and to go about living on his own till… till something . He wasn't even sure what he was meant to be doing, he wanted redemption but what did that entail? Apologizing to all of Ninjago? To the the ninja? To his family? To his son? The idea of speaking with anyone who'd known the true him was a nauseating thought. They didn't want to see this version of himself, and perhaps he didn't want them to either. 

His knock isn't particularly quiet and quickly from behind the door, he hears the sound of something coming to a pause. The doorknob clicks as the lock is undone and the door swings open. Vinny Folson stands quickly craning his neck to look at Garmadon who feels as if his skin may crawl off. He knows there were words he planned to say and use them to explain themselves, but they escaped his grasp.

“Hey,” Vinny greets him with a nervous-sounding chuckle. “Didn't know if you'd show up again,” 

“I hadn't planned to,” He stated honestly. “But I suppose I… changed my mind, ” His throat felt as if it were full of razor blades as he swallowed. 

Before Vinny can open his mouth to say anything Garmadon holds out the bag of coins he'd separated for the man. “This is yours,” He states flatly as Vinny slowly reaches out to take the bag. 

“What… what is this?” He asks as he fumbles to open the pouch. 

“Money,” Garmadon thinks that was rather apparent. 

“Why?” Vinny asks, looking at Garmadon with an odd expression. 

“You have provided me with a place to stay, I also nearly sliced off your head. Consider it compensation for such.”

He'd done more than just give Garmadon a place to stay, he shifted Garmadons view on the world forcing his eyes open to see more than just himself, to see the things around him as more than just threats and most of all shown him life was more than simply surviving. It was almost frustrating how much one person was able to change his view with seemingly so little effort. His ability to be calm when he spoke of ideas that left Garmadon contemplating and questioning his views. It also wasn't not lost on him that Vinny is one of the few people who never seemed to fear him, even months ago, Garmadon was newly freed from the high-security ward and actively dismissive of human life and Vinny responded in a far more tame manner than most mortals with a will to live would.  

“Are you sure?” Vinny asks Garmadon can't imagine why he would have dragged a lie out this long, but nonetheless, he nods. 

“I am quite certain, now I have concerns pertaining to my book and notebook,” Vinny pauses for a moment, blinking before realizing what he's referring to. 

“Oh yeah, I was wondering what was up with that, come in I've got it on the bookshelf,” Vinny leaves the door ajar as he turns back inside. 

He slides inside, shutting the door behind him. The apartment hadn't changed in the slightest since he left, except the sink had fewer dishes in it. Vinny pulls the two items from the bookshelf quickly. 

“That's an old book, by the way, I think we had to read that for language arts in high school,” Vinny smiles as he hands the books over. 

“It is not that old,” He shrugs flipping open the cover to check the date. 

“It's over two hundred years old,” Vinny points out as he flops backward onto the couch. 

“Oh, I believe my sense of time may be a bit warped,” Two hundred years, it really wasn't much of anything to him at least not anymore, mortals however had no such luxury. 

“How long have you been alive?” Vinny asks absentmindedly as he picks up his mug from the side table. 

“Consecutively or in total?” He asks tucking his books back into his satchel. 

“Uh total I guess,” Garmadon taps his chin wracking his brain for the number that he knows is in there somewhere. “Do you want tea?” Vinny asks as he sets down his mug. 

“I would,” He responds as he tries to put a finger on the last digits. “As for your question, I believe five thousand two hundred and… I don’t know the rest,” Garmadon finds it somewhat amusing the way Vinny quite literally snaps around eyes wide. 

“Damn! I thought you were like five hundred not thousand , you've seen like… Everything, haven't you?” He asks as Garmadon simply shrugs, planting himself in the spot on the couch opposite where Vinny had been. 

“Not everything however I admit I was around for quite a bit of history,” Vinny stares at him as if trying to assess him as he speaks. “I don't remember much so I do not encourage you to be overly curious,” He's not sure if the last bit was for Vinny’s benefit or his own. 

He goes quiet for a moment, running a hand through his hair before pouring water into a bright yellow cup. Despite his warning, Vinny still presses the cup into his hands and asks anyway. “What do you remember?” 

“Nothing pleasant,” Garmadon notes, blowing on the only slightly too warm beverage. “I doubt you’d want to hear any of it,”

“You know it's cool if you just don't wanna talk about it, right?” Vinny notes offhandedly as he pats around the couch in search of something. 

“That’s not…” He bites his tongue before he can finish. 

It wasn’t that he wasn’t able to talk about it, no it was his memories, his life, his experiences. He can handle it but he doubts that other people can. Why would anyone want to hear about torture, war, starvation, death? It’s not like they have happy ends, or if they did he couldn’t remember them. Who would want to hear about his life, there was no glory in it, perhaps there once was but now they’re just burnt-out memories that he can’t help but almost resent. 

Part of him wishes he didn’t remember anything, that he'd been brought back and regained nothing. Instead, those memories clawed at the walls of his mind, begging for attention. He wanted all or nothing, he wanted to be himself or not be himself, not be some patchwork amalgamation of a man. He hated the way some of those memories he does have made his hands shake and his breath catch in his throat. He wasn't afraid… at least he didn't want to be. 

“What do you care to know?” He asks glancing over at Vinny who pauses the TV. 

“Hm, well my go-to is to ask people if they’re from the city, but that's not really applicable here,” Vinny chuckles, tapping his chin. “How about… What's your favorite food?”

“Really? That is what you care to know?” He'd expected something else, people rarely cared to know such simple things, at least not in his memory. 

“Yeah, it's a good icebreaker,” He shrugs as Garmadon wracks his brain. 

“I don't know, I… enjoy fruit?” He hasn't had a solid meal in quite some time, if he had a favorite before it was long forgotten. 

“Do you not have a favorite?” Vinny asks, not necessarily a look of concern more confused than anything. 

“No, I do not remember any meals,” The feeling of the words strike an odd feeling, he vaguely remembers saying that before, or something similar.

“Well maybe we can change that, I'm not really much of a cook since I don't usually have the time but I know how to make stuff that does good as a leftover,” Once again his sincerity it almost disturbing. Garmadon can hardly believe that a person is capable of such unabashed kindness yet Vinny didn't fail to keep attempting to shatter that expectation.

“Perhaps,” He hates the fact that he can't give a longer answer, give Vinny the response he deserves, but what happens if he does? What happens if he lets that glimmer of hope he may return to normalcy show and end up dooming himself and Vinny along with him? He had done it with many people, his son had fallen victim to it by merely being born. 

“Alright cool, maybe this weekend since we don't have anything booked after tomorrow and we're in the post-holiday slog right now,” Garmadon wasn't entirely sure what the last bit of his sentence meant but he gathered it was another work-related issue he wasn't acutely aware of.  

The conversation ended there and Garmadon leaned back as Vinny continued his, quite frankly, bizarre film. Who would want to watch something about vehicles turning into giant robots, or perhaps it was the other way around? He had no clue. He kept asking for clarification on the bizarre plot points and Vinny clarified and added even more explanations from future installments since one of these movies apparently didn't suffice. 

After Vinny stands to begin to retire for the night he makes up his spot once. Vinny pulls some small case from the cabinet biding Garmadon good night after swallowing the contents. It was odd to return to a place rather than finding one new place like he'd been doing for months, to be familiar with the other person inhibiting the place. Not that he would have exactly wanted to sleep in the same location too many times, but still it was a feeling he hadn't experienced in quite some time. He found himself rather relaxed while gazing at a familiar ceiling, the sensation wasn't completely alien and he was aware at some point it was common practice for him, that he had a home once. He wonder if it is because of that finds himself falling asleep quickly. 

The vision in front of him is one of disorder, wind rips lamposts from the ground and rain falls from the sky like a barrage of bullets. People dash into buildings as the water begins to pool at his ankles, the level getting higher and higher as lightning screams across the sky. People climb fire escapes to evade the water shivering and crying nad screaming inaudibly. He tries to move but it’s as if his feet were cement and instead, he stands there as slowly the water rises above his waist, then to his chest, to his neck and eventually over his head. Though even as he’s fully submerged he doesn’t find his chest constricting. Suddenly there's a loud boom of thunder that he can hear even below the sea. He looks behind him and all he sees is a bright flash of blue light.

He blinked awake, only a dim light streaming through the cracks in the curtains, it wasn’t quite dawn yet. His head pounds as he sits up, rubbing his eyes and stretching his arms. That was one of the strangest dreams he’s had as of late, and that was saying something. They weren’t similar to his typical nightmares and dreams, the boy was nowhere to be found and the location was only vaguely familiar. As far as he’s aware he’s never been drowned, at least not in the way that was shown in the dream. 

He sighs, picking up his journal, and flips to the back, taking his pen and scribbling the details onto the paper. Even as he notes everything down and gazes over the list time and time again he isn’t able to summon any memory or idea of what it could have possibly meant. He is practically certain that it wasn’t an event that had occurred in his life because typically that would entail him being vaguely aware that it had occurred and just not being able to connect the puzzle pieces, this was a whole separate problem. He slams the book shut with a huff, irritated with the situation. 

It’s still rather early so he takes the opportunity to take a shower and then prepare some money to deposit in the bank. He did not want to keep his earnings, especially it being so much, at the apartment. It seemed unwise and likely to cause unnecessary problems that he had no inclination to tempt forth. He counts out some coins to keep for himself and he sets the rest back in the bag to deposit the remainder. By the time he’d finished Vinny was awake, shuffling into the kitchen likely to start making coffee. 

He seems especially exhausted, attempting to put something in the toaster which was not plugged into the wall, nearly putting juice into his coffee and accidentally grabbing a spoon for his waffles instead of a fork. Garmadon admits it was a bit funny, though he kept his thoughts to himself, best not to irritate the man giving him shelter. 

“You look sleep-deprived,” Garmadon points out as Vinny sinks into one of the seats at the counter. 

“Huh?” Vinny blinks before seemingly realizing Garmadon had spoken. “Oh yeah had a hard time sleeping,” 

“Is there something ailing you?” Garmadon asks rising from his spot. 

“Uh something like that,” Vinny mutters while taking a bite of waffles. “You want something to eat?”

“Yes,” He answers, glancing around the kitchen. 

“If you want waffles they’re in the top part of the fridge, then just put it in the toaster and push the little thingy down, and then ‘yay’ waffles,” Vinny explains rubbing his eyes harshly.  

Garmadon pulls the small door open staring at the interesting display. There are two odd plastic packages full of some kind of blue substance that’s hard when Garmadon taps one, a single bag of mixed vegetables sits at the back of the compartment, and of course a bright red box with waffles. He pulls out two walking over to the device. 

“Is there a bank located somewhere near here?” He asks, pushing down the odd little button. 

“Mhm, there’s the huge city bank and then a small one down in the historical district it’s like never busy so I’d go there,” Vinny advises, taking a sip of his coffee before wrinkling his nose. “Ugh I forgot to put chocolate in it, can you get out the bottle of chocolate syrup in the fridge?” 

Garmadon wasn’t entirely sure what chocolate syrup is, he assumed it was one of those things that got invented that he’d just happened to have forgotten about.  He opens the bottom half of the fridge and attempts to take a guess at the bottles on the shelf. The words dance awkwardly across the labels and most of the words are to tiny for him to read properly. He grabs a dark brown bottle shielding his eyes from the light in an attempt to read the letters. It seemed to be correct so he slides it over to Vinny who doesn't hesitate to pull the cap off. 

Garmadon pulls his breakfast from the toaster taking a bite of one of the waffles as Vinny stares at him. “You're not gonna put like butter or syrup on that?” 

“No. Since when was syrup easily accessible in this region?” He doesn’t remember when he first tried syrup but he knows he liked it far better than molasses. 

“Uh I’m not sure, a while I think,” Vinny shrugs as Garmadon elects to continue eating his waffle. 

“Anyhow, after breakfast, I will be going to the bank,” He explains, wiping his hands on one of the kitchen towels. 

“Sounds good, I’m heading out in a few to film for the mayoral festival thing, mostly just the craft fair part though,” He yawns, stretching his arms. 

“I wasn’t aware craft markets still persisted,” Garmadon notes as he walks over to his bag. 

“Oh yeah, there's this farmers and craft market in Iceton just a short drive from here on Saturdays,” He wouldn’t mind attending one of those at some point, it sounds pleasant, and like something that may assist in jogging his memory. 

“I will be heading out now, have a pleasant day,” He says as he ties the pouch to his belt. 

“You too, don't get in trouble or into any of that uh mystic magic shit,” Vinny chuckles into his cup as Garmadon rolls his eyes. 

“I am going to the bank, not a high-security prison. I assure you no such thing will happen.” 

“Alright, then I'll see you later.” 

~•~

Garmadon might wind up in a high-security prison, but for once it wasn't his fault. He'd entered the bank, stood in the line that had shrunk unusually quickly when he entered, and went to deposit the coins to the teller who promptly shouted at him and called security. He was more irritated than angry, he wanted to deposit some coins. Was that such a large ask? Apparently, it was seeing that soon he was being told to keep his hands in sight while a young officer called for a backup team. 

For a moment he considered walking off, one scrawny cop wasn’t enough to stop him from trotting right out the door, but he took pause. Leaving would just wind up causing more problems in the long run, they’d probably consider him “on the run” or something of that idiotic nature. Despite his claws pressing into his palms as his hair stands on end he allows the man to tie his wrists with zip ties after the handcuffs hadn’t fit. Bankgoers flinched as Garmadon was tugged past by the cop only making him roll his eyes, he wasn't going to bite them people have germs and such. 

He stands across from the young man who had put him under arrest gazing at the bland walls of the bank, counting tiles and noting cracks in the columns. He studies the police officer who continues to stare at him with wide eyes. He looked relatively young, as if he was fresh out of the academy which judging by his rather frantic attitude while arresting him and darting eyes he may in fact be. The zip ties rub uncomfortably against his wrists as he looks around for some sort of distraction to get his mind off the rather irritating situation. He could easily break out of the flimsy plastic, but he didn’t want to be charged with ‘resisting arrest’ for doing so,  seeing that it would only complicate things. 

“So um, what were you doing here?” The cop suddenly asks, snapping Garmadon to reality. 

“Attempting to deposit a sum of money though that clearly is not what happened,” He sighs as the young man laces his fingers. 

“Did you… steal it?” He asks, staring at his shoes. 

“No, I acquired it via turning in a band of ruffians in the Ashkandi village,” He explains, glancing at the sack of coins on the ground. “Quite frankly crime in Ninjago has been higher than average,”

“You’re tellin’ me, it’s a bad time for the Ninja to have decided to go on a vacation,” The officer shakes his head. “They really need to be coming back soon. It’s been… bad.”

Garmadon is well aware of the fact that crime in Ninjago is a problem that the city has struggled with for some time, he would know better than anyone having been a perpetrator multiple times in the past, but as of recently, it seems worse. Vinny gets the morning paper and every time Gamradon has attempted to read it there’s news of some sort of wrongdoing. He never looked too deeply into it, after all, what was another crime, but if even officers were noticing something perhaps there was more to it. He had no plans to jump to conclusions, that would lead him down a less-than-favorable path, however, he was interested in taking a look at some of the city news reports. 

That was all of course if he didn’t wind up back in Kryptarium, a thought that makes his blood freeze in his veins. He hated Kryptarium, and he’s certain that was the intent. The glass cell he was held in was a torture in and of its own right, the silence only broken by a faint ringing, the long stretches of boredom where he was left to stew in thought anger brewing more and more with each isolating moment and of course there was the cold . The cell was frigid, so much so his skin would grow dry and rough, his knuckles would crack and bleed with too much movement and stung like nothing else. Some days he swore he could see his breath. He couldn’t go back to that place, by any means. 

Even as the officers who came to shove him in the back of a police van all he could think about was them bringing him back to that wretched prison. He can practically feel the chill washing over him as they drive, the cops muttering things to each other and into their little devices. However, to his surprise, they come to a stop relatively quickly, and when he is forced out they aren’t at Kryptarium but a rather small police station. 

“Where are you taking me?” He asks as the one cop scoffs. 

“To a cell and probably Southside jailhouse,” The officer responds. “Unless you got someone to call!”

The two officers break out into laughter at the notion, making Garmadon wrinkle his nose in irritation. Was it that hard to imagine he may have positive relationships with other people? Well, he did suppose his last interaction with his son was right before a battle, and his conversation with Misako was grim at best, and he supposes it was only as of recently he didn’t care about conquering all of Ninjago. Perhaps he did have a bit of a bad reputation when it came to other people. 

“Alright put the second set of arms away,” One of the officers demands after patting him down twice . 

“I beg your pardon?” He questions as another man pokes his head inside holding up a dark black cufflet with glowing orange veins weaving throughout it. “This is ridiculous,” He grumbles curling his fists and letting go before shifting away his arms right before the second officer places the cuff on his wrist.

He immediately feels the drain of power the second the vengestone comes in contact with his flesh. His breaths seem more strenuous, his body feels hollow as if all the life force had been drained out, ironic for a walking corpse. They watch him carefully as he stares at the cuff, he could probably get it off, vengestone can get rid of elemental powers, but it wouldn’t make him any less Oni. The temptation is strong, the empty feeling in the air around him is unsettling, not to mention being down two arms makes him too small for his liking despite still being nearly a foot taller than the officers who seem to be satisfied with his reaction.  

They lock him in, leaving him to sit in the cell. The day started with no one else there but slowly as the day dragged into the evening people were pushed into the other cells around him. Leaving him listening to the young adults in the cell next door bicker about who had caused the bar fight that had apparently landed them there. They were the only source of entertainment he had and while listening to the four quite literally hold a debate on who should take the fall while also deciding who would have to break the news to one of their girlfriends was very entertaining, he still had no desire to be in jail overnight. He’d been to jail and prison, done time in and broken out of both. There was only one hyper-specific time he enjoyed being in prison and it involved a very attractive guard who helped him and Wu get out after a decent amount of flirting on his part. The fact that being in a cell at the local police department brought back a memory that was actually relatively positive left him questioning the stability of his psyche. 

It was after the woman in another cell demanded a phone book that Garmadon figured out how he could contact someone. However, he wasn’t entirely sure it was fair to contact Vinny. He’d already stirred up plenty of trouble in the man's life, but on the other hand, going back to prison sounded like a nightmare and a surefire way to find more trouble. He was trying to be better, so what would going back to that place do for him? 

All he can think of is the news finding out, the camera’s benign shoved in his face, and being broadcast across television screens. He can imagine the look of disappointment on his son’s face, though perhaps not disappointment exactly more like one of predictability as if he was proving the fact he was just as bad as everyone thought. He can’t be what people think he is, he doesn’t need that, he doesn’t want that.

So he asks for a phone book.

.oOo.

The news may never sleep but Vinny Folson surely does, and he was tired. Gayle had them up before daylight at an event that lasted way later into the night than it was supposed to, like seriously how is it legal to run three hours over time? An event where not only were there multiple interviews to be done but also so much damn b-roll to film. The whole thing was a nightmare, Gayle disappeared for random chunks of time seemingly only reappearing when Vinny finally thought he could go home. The only part he actually found himself enjoying was getting to talk to some of the people who were getting filmed, but other than that it was awful. It was crowded, hot as shit because they were in one of those random mid-autumn heatwaves, and the street had very few places to sit to make room for the vendors. 

By the end, his knees felt like they had rods stabbing through the side of them while a crowbar was trying to pry his kneecaps off. He’d already gone through two of his canteens full of water as well as downed his second dose of meds to keep from passing out. It was a quarter to nine when he was finally able to start packing up the news van with the sound guy, Teng, who was even more frustrated than Vinny since he’d just been standing around for a good chunk of their time there. Not to mention the guy was older than Vinny and not a people person. Gayle was once again nowhere to be found, probably off talking or maybe already on her way back to the office. 

“Finley's crew was here, yeah?” Teng asks, leaning back against the van. 

“He was,” Vinny nods, slamming the door shut. “But he was interviewing the mayoral candidates,” He remembers the argument Gayle and Fred had over it, he seriously doesn't understand how they can say some of those things with other people around to witness. 

“Ugh, I can't fucking stand either of ‘em!” He grunts. “Trustable is a rich idiot and a sleaze, but Knox is just an ass,” He grumbles as he pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. 

“Mhm, it feels more like a comedy sketch than an election,” Vinny wouldn't consider himself all that political, but he likes staying informed, and to say the least it was… irritating. 

“Damn straight. Want one?” Teng holds out the pack and Vinny shakes his head. “Really though, you right. Honestly at this point just throw one of them ninja up there,” 

“Ah yes throw the early twenty-somethings in office,” 

Vinny had met all of the ninja on different occasions and while they may present a friendly and put-together mask for the public, when they're off-screen they're the same as any other gaggle of young adults. It was seven years ago that he'd filmed the group of brightly colored heroes after the defeat of the Great Devourer. He remembers being shocked when he realized they were all a bunch of teenagers. 

He also found it extremely funny how Gayle reacted when she realized not only were they teenagers, but easily distracted ones at that. The Blue Ninja and the, at the time, pilot of the Samurai-X mech had taken a great interest in the camera equipment, the Black Ninja was busy messing with the Red Ninja who was trying to fix his hair, and the Green Ninja was too busy reuniting with his father to give them the light of day, which Vinny didn’t blame him for in the slightest. The only ninja whose interview got done in a timely manner was the White Ninja who then requested their segment not be used because they weren't fond of being on camera alone. 

“So what are you up to tonight?” Teng asks, putting out his cigarette on the ashtray trash can top by the van. 

“Going home and relaxing, my knees are killing me,” He sighs, pinching his nose as his vision grows dark for a moment after swinging into the van too fast. 

“Me and Betty were supposed to be going out for her younger sister's birthday, now I’m already a half hour late, we were goin’ to some burger place,” That sounded fantastic, he wonders if Burger 25 would still be open by the time he gets home and takes a shower. 

“That's sweet, tell her happy birthday for me,” Vinny had met Daisy a few times since they were both part of the Ninjago Photography Club at the community center. She's a nice lady if a bit socially anxious. 

“You know she's only a year younger than you, she's single, I could give her your number,” He offers, but Vinny quickly shakes his head. 

“Thanks for the offer man but I'm okay,” Vinny does his absolute damndest to keep his private life as private as physically possible, especially since Gayle lives up to her last name and she loves nothing more than to stick her nose into other people's business. 

“You ain't one of them people who don't believe in divorce are you?” Vinny wasn't even aware she'd been divorced, they'd never talked all that much. 

“No, not at all! No, she's just not uh… My type,” That was one way to put it, it was vague enough but also not so vague that it wasn't an answer. 

“You're gettin’ too old to have a type,” Teng chuckles light heartedly. 

“Heh, I guess,” He just shrugs, Teng wasn't entirely wrong, not like there were that many single guys his age who were interested. 

“Don't forget we gotta swing by that place to drop off the-” Teng is promptly cut off by the extremely loud blaring of Vinny’s ringtone. 

“Shit uh, can you accept the call on that?” Vinny asks, patting around for his earpiece, finding it shoved in the cupholder. “Hello?” 

“Vinny Folson,  it is Garmadon I need a favor,” Vinny is surprised to hear the man's voice, furrowing his brow. 

“What's up?” He asks as he's cut off by some moron in front of him. 

“I am in the Southside police station jail currently and if you would not mind I would like to be picked up,” He says it so matter-of-factly that it takes Vinny a minute to process the absurdity of the sentence. 

“I'm sorry you're where ?” Vinny asks trying to stay relatively calm. 

“Specifically the jail at the police station,” He states once more. “They say my options as of right now are to either be put in-” his voice suddenly becomes muffled as he seems to ask a question “- put in the southside jail or be put on house arrest, I would prefer not to be put in jail again it is not pleasant,” 

“I… Okay, do you need to pay bail or anything?” He asks as Teng promptly turns to him with raised eyebrows. 

“That was an option but it seems rather unnecessary and also rather expensive seeing I am ‘high risk’ as they put it,” That tracked, to be fair. 

“Alright, I'll be there soon.” He sighs as he turns into the NGTV parking lot. 

“Okay.” And with that, the call ended. 

“You good?” Teng asks as he unbuckles his seat belt. 

“I've gotta go pick up my roommate,” He laments, before realizing he probably shouldn't have shared that information, Teng wasn't known for being particularly tight-lipped. 

“Dam,n who are you associating with?” 

“Interesting people.”

The two of them lug in the equipment pretty quickly, thankfully with Teng not pestering him too much about the call. The two-part ways at the parking lot where Vinny clambers into his car. It’s a small vehicle and one he doesn’t use unless it’s particularly hot or cold, the city is easily walkable and the trains travel everywhere in the city. He’s had the thing for years since back when he was doing freelance work as his main source of income and had to be to super specific locations, in fact, there was still a stain on one of the back seats from some particularly potent fake blood. 

Vinny had been to the police station one other time to pick someone up, it was decades ago at this point. He’d picked up one of his friends after they’d gotten arrested alongside a whole gaggle of other people who were drinking at a house party. There’s an odd sense of deja vu as he turns the corner and comes onto the familiar street.  Aside from the police station there really isn’t much on it, ordinary office buildings and a butcher shop across the road. There's a huge pothole that’s been filled at least ten times and not once has it ever remained that way. He’s been down here a few times to talk to the police commissioner or a witness for an emergency news segment but most times it’s in the middle of the day and not to pick anyone up. 

Honestly, he wasn’t sure how this could have even happened. It’s not like Garmadon seemed particularly keen on committing crimes when he’d left that morning, his katanas were leaning against the TV stand and all his belongings outside his money pouch were by the couch. Sure he had magical powers, however, those worked, but it seemed odd that he would randomly become a menace to society. Or maybe Vinny was growing a bias, both were possible. 

The inside of the police station is cool and welcome relief from the lingering humidity from the day. People sit in chairs scribbling away on clipboards some furious and rushed others slower and almost hesitant looking. A few people glance at him as he adjusts his hat ruffling his hair before pulling the hat back down to shadow his face. The hair on the back of his neck stands on end as he trots to the desk where a very grouchy-looking man sits. 

“Um I'm here to pick someone up,” He mutters as the guy glances up from his computer. 

“Through the left door, walk down to the office at the end of the hall,” He points a thumb at the door with a frosted glass window. 

“Thank you,” Vinny tips his hat as he shuffles over to the door trying to make as little noise as he can. 

The hall isn't all too long and there are only two cells, one that has no one in it and the other that has what looks to be a couple who are arguing about something. Vinny knocks on the door before entering into a room that leads into another hall of cells. If this place wasn't a maze he didn't know what was. One man leans against the wall seemingly half asleep while another sits at the desk flipping through a folder of some kind. 

“Hello?” He asks as the man at the desk glances up. “I'm here to pick someone up,” 

“And are you bailing someone out or picking them up for house arrest?” The man at the desk huffs setting aside his prior work. 

“Picking them up for house arrest,” He replies, as the man sighs beginning to rummage through the doors. 

“Fill this out,” He slides the paper to Vinny who takes one of the pens from the cup. 

His hands shake a bit as he begins to fill out the form. The last time he'd signed anything was when he signed the contract for his apartment. He always found it a bit funny he lived in a world with ninjas who could control the elements, snake people, and a myriad of other fantastic beings that he was usually filming when things went haywire, yet outside of end-of-the-world scenarios his life had always been pretty laid back. 

He grew up super far southwest, his town wasn't particularly big or small it was just a seaside suburbia. His father raised him best he could, and while money was tight there wasn't a single second he doubted his father cared about him. His family supported him when he left home to study in Ninjago even when his dreams of being a producer fizzled out after one too many bad classes and shitty people instead forming into a new passion for capturing other people's vision to eventually being a news cameraman. He's had his highs and lows and his super lows, but he's always just been him. He didn't have magic or anything particularly interesting about him unless you included his medical history, yet he was sitting in a police station signing papers to help Garmadon . 

He can't pretend like the whole situation doesn't scare him a little bit, but he's pretty sure that's the natural reaction one has to suddenly acquiring an immortal being of chaos as a roommate. He also thinks it's a bit funny too, because quite frankly what are the odds that this happened? Certainly not high he'd wager. Honestly, he thought it would be more difficult, not that having Garmadon as a roommate was easy, the man would ask questions seemingly at random, go silent for long periods of time, stare unblinking at Vinny until he prompted the immortal to speak. He wasn't scary as much as he was slightly unsettling, even then it wasn't really so bad seeing the guy seemed to be too in his own head to actually do anything worse than make a few unfiltered comments or jabs. 

This brought him back to the topic of how in the realm he ended up in jail. 

“So what exactly happened?” Vinny asks as he slides the first paper to the man. 

“He was trying to deposit stolen goods at the bank,” The man huffed, leaning back in his chair. “Not to mention I think he might be considered an escaped convict, but I don't know that's the court business,”

“He didn't steal that stuff though,” Vinny notes absentmindedly as he burns through this page which is car simpler than the first. 

“He's Lord Garmadon, I kinda doubt people are giving him any handouts,” The man chuckles as Vinny bites his lip so as to not quip back instead choosing to quickly finish the paper and push it towards the man. “Alright, looks fine,” 

The man sets the two papers aside pulling out a set of keys “Suyo! Wake up and do your job!” 

“Huh, what?” The man against the wall seems to gain his senses just in time to catch the keys. 

“Go get Garmadon, this guy is signing him out,” The desk man says as the younger cop tilts his head. 

“Wait we're just letting him go?” The cop, Suyo, asks fumbling with the keys. 

“He's doing house arrest, he wasn't arrested for a violent crime therefore it's not our problem if someone comes to get him,” The man rolls his eyes at the younger cop who sighs walking into a small closet from which he brings out two weird looking black devices. 

He gestures for Vinny to follow, or at least Vinny assumes that's what he means by tilting his head. He treads carefully behind the cop who leads them down a hallway, in one cell is a group of guys in various stages of regret, in another is a woman in a floor-length evening gown who glances up at Vinny giving a bored wave as he passes to which he returns. At the end of the hall is a door rather than the simple bars of the other cells. 

“Stay away from the door,” Suyo shouts as he shoves his key into the lock. 

“Oh please if I so desired to escape from here I would have done so by now,” Vinny can't help but laugh a bit, even after being arrested he managed to keep his attitude.

“Cut the attitude or I'll leave you in here,” Suyo snaps, stepping into the cell and allowing Vinny to peek inside. 

“Hello, Vinny,” Garmadon greets with a nod as he puts out two hands, and only two hands. 

“Hey man,” He waves glancing Garmadon up and down as the officer clips an odd cuff to his wrist while taking something else off, Vinny had questions but he would save them for the van. 

“Alright there,” The officer huffs as he stands from putting the ankle monitor on. “Our guys are gonna be at the location you put on the paper soon to set up the alarm system,” 

“Do I have time to stop for dinner first?” Vinny asks as the cop stares at him for a moment before shrugging. 

“As long as neither of you ends up back in here I don't care-,” He pauses flashing a smile at Vinny “-but you seem too friendly for that, hm?” 

“Yeah, no crime for me, I'm tired,” Vinny shrugs as the guy laughs. 

“I feel that,” He shakes his head as he guides him and Garmadon back down the hall. “Hey, you feel free to stop wherever you want, I'll give our guys a call in fifteen so you've got plenty'a time,” He winks. 

“Oh thank you, I appreciate it!” 

“Don't mention it.” 

After Garmadon signs off on the papers the two finally walk out to the car where they both slump down with varying levels of grace. Vinny lays his head on the steering wheel as he tries to collect himself. He's tired, he wants to go home and pass out but with his luck something is going to require his attention, whether it be the people installing the ankle monitor thing, or something else he's probably not gonna get to go to sleep for a while. 

“Should you be driving in your condition?” Garmadon asks, taking on no particular tone. 

“I'm fine, just tired,” He explains as he lifts his head off the wheel, gazing out the window to the mostly empty street. “Do you want something to eat?” Vinny asks, glancing at Garmadon who doesn't look at him. 

“Yes,” He responds, still not looking away from the window. 

“What do-” 

“Pick what you would like, I am impartial to what I eat,” 

Vinny couldn't place the tone of the man's voice, he doesn't seem angry or irritated, it was something else. He seemed upset about something, in fact he'd seemed that way since he'd returned and maybe even before he left. He wasn't exactly how to approach the topic, Garmadon didn't seem to have a very easy time identifying his emotions and right now he wasn't sure he had the energy to dissect anything. 

The drive is quiet, he slides in a CD listening to one of his albums that a young intern had called “Dad Rock” which Vinny wasn't sure how to interpret. Garmadon goes from staring at the radio to out the window staying utterly silent. It wasn't entirely unusual when the man didn't want to speak he just wouldn't even with some prodding. Vinny had learned that before the man had left, no matter what he said, did, or asked the other man would simply give some blunt answer before returning to his silence. If that's what he needed to recuperate his thoughts Vinny wasn't going to stop him. 

“Are you angry?” Garmadon asks suddenly as Vinny pulls into the frustratingly busy drive-through of one of the few open restaurants in the area. 

“No, why?” The only person Vinny felt somewhat angry at today was Gayle, and he was more frustrated than anything. 

“You seem… different,” He explains, tapping his fingers against the dashboard. 

“I'm just tired and in pain, today was rough,” He explains with a short sigh. 

“I see,” Garmadon nods as he laces his fingers. “What is ailing you?” He asks looking at Vinny who shrugs. 

“My knees mostly,” 

Vinny hates talking about his medical problems, it's one of those things that he tries not to mention in conversation too seriously. Passing comment every once in a while sure, it was hard not to at least vaguely mention it feels like each step he takes is a special divine punishment crafted to make him suffer. It's not like it's something new, as a kid he had “growing pains” and by his teen years he'd had two reconstructive surgeries, so he was perfectly familiar with the feeling. It wasn't worth complaining anymore, it didn't change anything aside from oftentimes making people pity or baby him which was possibly worse than the actual pain. 

“You should eat ginger,” Garmadon responds shortly. 

“Um, why?” The man tended to say things with little explanation, unless of course, Vinny prodded. 

“Good for inflamed joints, it is what I took for centuries,” He replies with a short sigh. 

“Oh yeah I guess you guys didn't have paid killers did you?” Quite frankly he'd rather die than live in a world where he had to live life without anything to ease the pain and help his blood pressure. 

“Well for a while we had opium but that didn't work out,” Vinny can't help but laugh and at the sight of the man's ever so slightly smile he realizes that might be on purpose. 

“Was that a joke?” He asks and Garmadon shrugs. 

“To be fair it is true, I smoked it for some time, and Wu took it for headaches. As you can imagine quitting was quite the fun time in our household,” He shudders slightly turning his head further towards the street a dim red glow reflecting in the window. 

“Why did you take it?” Vinny implores, not entirely sure if he'll get an answer or silence. 

For a minute there's no noise the car in front of them honking at someone, until finally, Garmadon sighs heavily. “Pain. The Great Devourer's bite affects more than one's mind. It floods all aspects of the body and so the body tries to reject it in all ways possible… But it can't, so it results in quite a bit of pain,” 

Vinny doesn't want to even imagine what a body would do in an attempt to reject an ancient evil poison, but certainly nothing pleasant. “Did it ever go away?” 

“Not while I was infected,” He answers, a bitter edge to his voice. 

“How long was that?” 

“Almost the entirety of my life.” 

Thousands of years, thousands of years he lived in a body rejecting a venom it couldn't rid itself of. He can't imagine living with that for so long and doing all that he had. Sure Vinny knew pain all too well, but he hadn't fought in wars or traveled Ninjago by foot, or done anything in the many stories he'd heard about the man. 

The line finally moves and soon enough he and Garmadon sit in the car in a desolate parking lot. The other man doesn't say much as Vinny hands him a burger and some fries. Garmadon finally turns to face forward, he still doesn't look at him but Vinny can see the crystal red of his eyes. He’s familiar with them, they're the eyes he'd been met with when they were face to face for the first time, but they don't scare him. He wonders if it's meant to, if so it wasn't a very successful attempt. 

“Vinny Folson,” Garmadon begins turning slightly to look at Vinny who nods affirming his attention. “When we do something that we believe- we know has negatively impacted someone, you are meant to apologize correct?” 

“Yeah I mean usually, it's a good thing to do as long as you mean it,” Vinny sometimes wished he could know what was going on in the other man's brain. 

He furrows his brow his fingers scratching at his forearm. “If I were… If I were to give you an apology how would you like me to do so?” 

“Just be straight up with me, say what you wanna say and we'll take it from there,” He hated dodging around problems, the fact lost him some friends but also let him keep the good ones. 

“Well then-”

“Wait you mean right now?” He asks turning and raising his eyebrows in confusion. 

“Yes, I wanted to… Let you know I do not mean to cause you such trouble,” He explains, pausing between almost every word as if he wasn't sure what he was saying. “Today I had not intended to do more than simply deposit money and now I have gotten you involved in things that should not concern you,”

“That's not really your fault, and I don't mind. I mean if I did I probably would have left you there,” He explains with an attempt at a light tone, though the other man just nods. 

“And you did not, why?” He asks, gazing down at his hands.

“Well, I mean… you needed help, and I didn't mind,” He isn't entirely sure what's driving him to do what he does either he just sort of does what he thinks is right. “I think it's admirable that you're trying to be better, I don't think rotting in a jail cell will do that,” 

“I don't understand how you do these things so easily,” Garmadon wrinkles his nose. “That apology was awful, I hated it. I can't imagine doing the things you do quite frankly, perhaps one day, but certainly not now,” His voice is sharp and the red of his eyes seems to grow brighter. 

“For now that's okay, things like this will take time, and that's the one thing we have right?” Vinny smiles as Garmadon finally looks at him, eyes softening slightly. 

“You have too much faith,” He scoffs, the red seemingly starting to dim slightly. 

“Not a bad thing to have,” He shrugs, giving a short smile. 

“You're peculiar, Vinny Folson.” 

“Aren't we all?” 

“I suppose we are.” 

~•~

They arrived back at the apartment late to find the installment team already there. He sighs as he unlocks the door, greeting the men as he passes. Garmadon gives them a short look but doesn’t say a word. 

“Uh, do you all need anything from me?” Vinny asks, leaning against the doorframe. 

“We’ll need to set up a small alarm at the window, and we need a signature for confirmation of responsibility,” The man explains as Vinny nods with a sigh. 

“Alright, thank you,” He tries not to let the exhaustion show as he slinks back in. 

Garmadon sits on the island writing in his book. The notebook had been left behind when he went on his few week-long trip. Vinny wasn’t sure what to make of it at the time, until he realized, his book and dictionary had been left behind. He wasn’t sure if it was the man's odd form of payment, or if he left it on accident and he didn’t have a single clue if it meant he was coming back or not. Nonetheless,s he kept it on the shelf just in case. He’d planned on just leaving it there, but he got a little curious and found himself glancing at the first couple of pages. Come to find out it was a direct copy of the words from the book he’d left. Vinny had no clue what it was supposed to be, but he wasn’t inclined to ask seeing he knew he probably shouldn’t have been snooping in the first place. 

He slumps down at the kitchen island pulling up some of his messages. He was supposed to be going out to take pictures to promote his friend Zeph’s latest album. He's been her photographer from before she even had her stage name and he shot and directed a good chunk of her early music videos back before she made the big bucks. Now he only really helps with photos and artistic direction here and there. He loves it, and part of him wishes he could just do it full time, but the second that freelance became his sole source of income he hated it because he had to take every job including the ones that were practically killing him. 

He texts her back before shooting a quick text to his dad who was busy back home helping his cousin with her new baby. He was the eldest of his cousins so when the youngest Jamie told him she and her husband were having their first baby he felt like he was going to pass out. It felt so weird, he felt like just yesterday she was a tiny baby, and now all of a sudden she’s got her Ph.D and having a baby. 

“Hey guy, make sure not to mess with the sensor 'cause that’ll set it off,” One of the men working on the alarm at the window shouts over his shoulder. 

“Noted,” He does his best to keep his voice as polite as possible, he just wants to go take a shower and go to bed. 

Vinny puts his head in his hands as he hears the three men begin to speak in muffled tones. At this point he couldn't care less if they were finished, he just wanted to sign off and leave. 

After five minutes of the three just standing around talking Vinny begins to debate just sleep at the counter, especially as his head begins to pound. “Oh would you three stop dallying and finish your job, don’t think I can’t hear you all wasting time over there!” Garmadon snaps suddenly as the three shoot up, glaring at him. 

“We’re finishing, First Master chill out.” One of them huffs returning to his job at the window as the other two return to the door. 

He sighs, laying his head on his arm. “Thank you.” He mutters almost silently to which Garmadon nods. 

“It's quite literally the least I can do,” Vinny swears he sees the hint of a smile on the other man's lips, but if there was it was gone in the blink of an eye.

The three thankfully are finished far quicker than their initial pace had him anticipating. He signed off on the paper and promptly shut the door and trotted off down the hall. He felt like he might pass out in the shower and by the time he's in his room in his pajamas he's practically a dead man walking. It was of course at that moment his brain decided to remind him he'd forgotten to take his night meds. 

Just as he's about to heave himself out of bed the door clicks open and Garmadon walks in. Without a single word, he sets a cup and his meds on the table before retreating without a word. Vinny doesn't even have time to thank him before the door is shut. He scoops up the pills, downing them and shaking his head. 

If life ain't full of surprises.

Chapter Text

He was to be put on trial, that’s what was ordered by the Ninjago City judicial branch. He was being tried in the high court due to the severity of his crimes. This wasn’t surprising news, however, it also was far from good news. Figuring out where to begin was one of the most difficult parts. 

He needed a lawyer since they’re common practice at this point. The last time he recalls being in court was centuries ago for some kind of destruction of property, and that was back when you were required to represent yourself. Now it’s expected to hire someone else to do it, and as he was he knew little of the current legal system so a lawyer would have to do. Vinny was helpful in his attempt to navigate, but that was all for naught since a majority of the firms they contacted refused to represent Garmadon in court. That left them to turn to public defense. 

It took four days for them to get back and they were informed a defense attorney would be sent to speak with Garmadon about his case. He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about everything. He would likely have to tell them things he’s yet to speak of with anyone. Talk of coming to in the glass box, talk of the Two Moon Village, talk of all the situations that made him aware of his own inhumanity. The thought made him sick, he wanted to keep everything silent, make sure that no one knew anything about him, but that is impossible now. 

Vinny tells him that he shouldn’t worry too much, that if Garmadon was honest it would work itself out. The problem is he doesn't know what honesty looks like anymore. He knows that he often says what he thinks, taking others into little regard when he does so, but was that all honesty? If someone were to ask him about himself he wasn’t sure how he would answer. He doesn’t know if he knows anything about himself. Was it honest if he said nothing at all? Or would it be better to pretend like he did know?

He’s aware he isn't human, isn’t a person anymore, and that he hasn’t been in quite some time. He’s not sure if true humanity is even possible for him anymore, sure he may learn to mimic it, learn what he’s meant to do, but will it ever feel as if he’s not performing pleasantries? He doesn’t want to be this thing , whatever it is that he is anymore, he’s not fully Oni but he’s not human either, between two worlds neither of which does he fit comfortably into. How was he meant to be helped? How was anyone supposed to understand what it’s like to be gouged from the world and then stuffed haphazardly back into it?

He didn’t dare bring this up to Vinny,  it’s a sentiment he chooses to keep to himself. It was better off that way, he didn’t need to know that Garmadon might not be as good as he believed. He didn’t want the man to think he’s hopeless, not many people have ever believed he could do better, and the few that did are either gone or want nothing to do with him anymore. At least he doubts they want anything to do with him, they don’t want to see an abomination, a mockery of the man he once was. Then of course, if he is to be put back in jail it is better that he doesn’t taunt anyone with a possible hope for him to be something better. 

It was mid-afternoon when the attorney was set to come. The vengestone weighed heavily on his body, his limbs were like sandbags and his eyes burned in the light only making the pounding in his head more severe. Vinny had dutifully been keeping the lights low, though he did say when the person representing him got there that they'd have to turn them back on.

At three o'clock exactly there was a knock at the door. Vinny was out with a friend for a late lunch, leaving Garmadon to answer. He opened the door to find a young woman with a polite smile stitched onto her lips. Dark hair is tied back into a tight ponytail that matches the maroon clean-pressed suit she adorns. 

“Are you the attorney?” He asks as confirmation to which she nods.

“Indeed. I'm Althea Andryev and I'll be representing you,” She puts her hand out to shake and he takes it. 

“Lord Garmadon son of the First Spinjitzu Master,” It wasn't until that moment that he realized just how long it had been since he'd used his full title, months at least, though perhaps it had been years since he wasn't entirely sure how long he'd been dead. 

“It’s a pleasure,” He was certain it wasn’t a pleasure but he somewhat appreciated the attempt.

“Likewise,” He isn't certain if that is what he is meant to say, but she seemed pleased. 

He guides her inside and she gazes around, as if studying the place… as if looking for something. Perhaps she desired some indication of guilt, of violence of his moral failings. He wasn't sure if she found any such thing as she sat on the chair they'd put at the coffee table across from the couch. 

“So before we talk about your case I actually have a few questions for you if you wouldn’t mind,” She gestures for him to sit, which he does. 

“Proceed,” He urges as she nods, flipping open a manilla folder with a jumble of photos and papers which she sets delicately on the table. 

“So I was looking for past case records to attempt to reference your original trial however I wasn’t able to find any records of any trials aside from one on and I quote ‘illegal street racing on an unregistered motorbike’,” She passes him a paper detailing him and a man he easily assumes was Clouse racing a half dozen or so other people on their bikes, which did seem like something he would have done. “Do you have any idea as to why?”

“I had no trial,” He answers flatly as her thin eyes widen slightly. 

“You what?” She asks, leaning forward in her chair a tad. 

“I was considered an ‘unconscious being’ so I was not given a trial. I wasn’t even aware until months after my detainment,” He remembers what it was like, coming to surrounded by a dark void encased in glass like some sort of animal. To be fair in a way he had been, but there was still something terrifyingly dehumanizing about being isolated from everything outside of the small box where he was kept. 

“And did you regain consciousness while in prison?” She asks as he nods which she jots down. “And you were never given a trial of any kind?”

“No,” No one even interacted with him outside of dropping off his food and later newspapers and such once he convinced a guard to stay long enough to speak to them. 

“Wonderful, well not wonderful for you but for our case. This is a clear infringement of rights on so many levels, the amount of oversight is quite frankly laughable and at this point, I could probably make this a lawsuit if I tried but that’s something for another time,” The woman smiled as she jotted down rigorously in her notebook. “How was your time imprisoned, how were you treated?”

“Fine, I suppose, I was in the maximum security ward and I’m not certain of what is to be expected of that,” It was cold, he remembers it was absolutely frigid in there through every hour he was awake. 

“How often were you given food?” She asks looking up from her notepad. 

“Originally every… three days I believe? Eventually, it was once a day,” He thinks it was three days judging by the slight sound of an alarm ringing that once he got a clock he realized run at the same time every morning. 

“Every three days?” Her voice had gone up slightly but her face remained the same. 

“Yes, eventually once a day, and I got newspapers and a clock,” They were his only source of entertainment and they got boring quickly. 

“Well that’s yet another infringement, all prisoners are to get at least two meals a day unless stated otherwise by their ‘inhuman inmate certificate’ which you couldn’t have gotten without a trial,” She nods to herself scribbling out something before looking back up at him. “One last question for you,”

“Go on,” He affirms, hoping it won’t be too lengthy. 

“Have you committed any crimes since you escaped? I need an honest answer because if you've done anything I want to go in knowing so I am aware of how to handle your case,” Her lips are pulled tight and her fingers curl tightly around her notebook as she stares at him awaiting an answer. 

“No.” Sure he’d gotten into some fights, but he could easily argue they were self-defense, at least to him they were. 

“Nothing from felonies to minor tickets nothing ?” She asks, twirling her pen between her fingers. 

“No, aside from a fight with a bear all fights were initiated by another party,” He wasn’t entirely sure if he was meant to add that he’d repaired relations with the same bear, but she didn’t ask further so he left it as is. 

After she finished scribbling down notes she looks up at him with a firm look. “Well, Garmadon I’d bargain to say the cards are stacking up to be in our favor, in fact, due to the reformation program we could likely get you off on community service,”

“Community service?” The last time he’d heard of community service being used was to build a giant temple in honor of the local king and he wasn’t sure if Ninjago even had those anymore. 

“Yes, plenty of options of course but we can discuss in detail once we even know if you’ll be doing community service or if you’ll go through a prison sentence,” Her words are simple, facts and possible realities, yet it left a bitter taste in his mouth at the thought of being trapped in that glass box again. 

“Do you think I will be put in prison?” He asks flatly, attempting not to draw attention to the disgust in the idea that burrows under his skin. 

“It depends on the judge, frankly,” She answers, leaning back in her chair. “I'm pretty confident in saying you'll get community service but we can't be certain,” 

“I see,” He bites back the urge to demand she make sure that isn't the case, this woman was the thing standing between him and having to represent himself. 

“Now have you been in any fights?” She asks, he nods and she clicks her pen twice. 

“I have.” 

“Talk to me.” 

She's there for quite some time as she asks him to explain everything he can about the fights, how they were instigated when he chose to fight back, and all things of that manner. She swore to him that it looked good from her perspective as long as he was telling the truth about his lack of awareness at the time. He would be pleading not guilty on the basis of unconsciousness and the trial would go from there. She explains the dispute could take up to months depending on how organized the opposition is, and seeing that they had all of his crimes listed already due to his time in prison they were likely quite put together. 

As their meeting grew to a close and she was packing up her things she informed him of one last key detail. “I'll also let you know ahead of time you'll likely have a questionnaire trial. Essentially, you'll take a truth serum and they'll ask you pretty much every question imaginable, just so you know,” 

“What will they do?” 

“It depends on your answers.” 

With that, she bid him a good evening and to get some rest before the start of his trial and trotted out of the apartment. 

~•~

The days before the trial were nauseating. It had, unsurprisingly, begun to stir up discourse and certainly not in his favor. People on the news demanded his imprisonment, saying he was dangerous and violent. He tends to keep it off when Vinny is around, he's certain the man knows at least somewhat of the public outcry, but he doesn't need it screamed in his face. That doesn't stop Garmadon from reaching for the remote in the dim hours of the night, turning the TV on almost silent watching as clips of his reign play over and over while assaulted with all the words he believes true about himself.

He couldn’t eat the morning before the police came to transport him to court. Vinny wished him luck, promising he’d be there if he could. Garmadon is almost glad he wouldn’t be attending, he knows some of the charges and he has no desire to imagine what the man may think when he does as well. 

The three officers come to the door to take him out to the car. His arms are placed in vengestone cuffs only to accentuate the pounding in his head further. His vision almost seems blurred as he's stuffed in the back, his head nearly hitting the door. Immediately he feels cramped and as if he might throw up, he hates these death traps, cars have to be by far one of the worst inventions mortals ever created. Having to get inside a vehicle that has no set path, is moronic at best. Trains, he was fond of. They had one direction and would not easily crash, motorbikes were easy to abandon in an emergency and the thrill of riding one far outweighed the cons but cars are an abomination of the worst aspects of both and they always seem to be too warm. 

They arrive at the back of the courthouse where he is apparently to be taken in. Why they couldn't use the front was unclear to him. The inside of the courthouse smells of old wood and cleaning products. The halls are painfully liminal, with plain red carpet with a repeating square pattern, bland cream walls, and paintings that have so little soul Garmadon would almost pity them if they weren't so ugly. The courtroom itself was much of the same, the carpet simply happened to be navy instead. 

Already the room is filled with people on the benches, many glares and begin to whisper when he walks through the door. His ears twitch as he catches his name floating through the room. Questions and comments to those next to him, all of their faces pulled in varying levels of contempt. 

‘ Can the jury be unbiased? ’

‘ Where is he even being kept? ’

‘ Thank the First Master the Ninja aren't here for this bull. ’

‘ He'll be back behind glass in days Teto, it's fine. ’ 

He is taken to a seat behind a table where Ms. Andreyev already stands in a sharp powder grey suit with her head held high. She flashes a polite smile and he gives a short nod in response. He’s un shackled and he flexes his fingers as the sickening effects of the vengestone somewhat subside. Still, he has the other cuff so the effects refuse to completely drain away. 

“Today should be shorter since it’ll just be the charges,” She explains, sinking into the second chair. 

“And next time?” He asks, glancing over as she purses her lips. 

“Longer, much longer.”

“I see.”

The courtroom is heavy with chatter by the time the judge arrives. He's a tall, almost gray looking man of no older than forty. He demands silence and orders everyone to sit. Despite his call for quiet murmurs erupt from the crowd here and there. His face is expressionless as he sorts the papers in front of him and clears his throat. 

“Good morning, I am Judge Himal Karmin of the Ninjago City High Council and I will be presiding over the case today,” He states as he gazes back up at the room. “Thank you to all those on our jury for pausing your lives to assist this case. Before we begin I will remind all to please turn off all cell phones, tablets, or any other unauthorized devices. These proceedings will be recorded in full by an appointed person,” 

Garmadon listens as there's rustling behind him, the clicking of laptops shutting, and people grumbling about the lack of technology. “You all have been summoned for the case of The People of Ninjago vs Lord Garmadon , may the persecution please stand,” He watches as a man stands on the other side of the courtroom with his nose wrinkled. 

“Ninjago City will be represented by me, Mr. Buchanan, and I am accompanied by my colleagues Mr. Dilsąd, Ms. Maider, and Mrs. Shirishi.” The man smiles curtly before seating himself. 

“Defense please stand,” Garmadon watches as Ms. Andreyev, on her own, rises from her seat. 

“I, Ms. Andreyev, will be representing the defendant, Lord Garmadon.” Her voice is a bit lower than it had been but she somehow seemed more steady. 

With that silence finally adorns the courtroom. “Lord Garmadon please rise and stand before the court,” He obeys, standing and making the jury off to the side and shifting backward a bit. “Do you Lord Garmadon swear to speak the truth and nothing but the truth alone?”

“I Lord Garmadon swear to speak the truth and nothing but the truth, in the name of my father,” He hears a few gasps escape the crowd and he can’t quite determine why, still it manages to make his skin feel tight over his bones. 

“You stand before the court accused of a multitude of crimes against Ninjago and its people,” The words ring far too loudly, and suddenly it’s as if he’s been doused in a bucket of ice-cold water. “I will begin to read your charges, please remain silent.”

He swears his feet are like lead as they dig into the ground, forcing him to stand there as the judge begins the long-winded list. Murder, attempted murder, verbal assault, torture, attempted mass genocide, destruction of property, mass property destruction, instigating violence, creating an organized criminal circle, attempt to establish a dictatorship, theft and so many smaller yet still significant charges each of which makes the nausea worse. His chest feels hollow as everyone gazes at him with that same expectant look. They knew this was coming, and they were glad . He'd hurt them in ways only a being such as himself could accomplish, conscious or not it was his body and his powers that hurt hundreds if not thousands of people. 

The list comes to an end with another minor charge and silence casts over the room like a shadow. People shift in their seats, the jury glances back and forth at each other as Garmadon continues to stand and stare ahead at the banner behind the judge. In common court usually, there's a banner for that specific court house, he's not sure where he learned that but it didn't matter anymore, here though was a starch white banner emblazoned with his father's crest. A large S in the old script inside of the head of a beast akin to a dragon but not quite right. The eyes burn into him he can practically hear his father's voice in his ear ‘ And you wonder why I had no faith. ’. 

“So, Lord Garmadon, to the charges brought upon you today, how do you plead?” The judge is emotionless, the crowd is silent but the malice and anger burn through the room like a growing fire. 

His mouth is dry and he can barely open it to speak. “To all crimes, I plead not guilty on the basis of unconsciousness.” The angered shouts explode from the crowd not even seconds after the words leave his lips. 

“Order!” The judge demands as the crowd grumpily falls back to silence. “Can the defense confirm the defendant understands what he is saying?” 

“Yes sir, he does,” Ms. Andreyev confirms. 

“Then the trial of The People vs Lord Garmadon will be continued at a later date,” The judge ruffles through something on his desk. “The matters of this case take great precedence, the fastest available date will be a week from today on the twenty-fourth of this month, is that possible for the defense?” 

“Yes sir.” 

“And for the prosecution?” 

“Yes sir.” 

“Then it is confirmed, we will recommence on Tuesday the twenty-fourth, is there anything else you would like to say to the court?” The judge's gavel sits firmly in his hand. 

“No.” 

“No.” 

“Thank you. We are adjourned.” 

Immediately chatter explodes and feet drum against the floor as people exit in droves. Two officers stomp over to him quickly placing him in shackles once more. He glances back at Ms. Andreyev whose confident look doesn't falter as the prosecution lawyers walk past muttering to each other. He only catches a few words they say ‘ Contact a historian ’ and ‘ Not Montgomery ’. 

“We'll meet soon, I have plans.” She affirms with an odd sort of glint in her eye. 

With that, he's taken out to the back where he watches as one police car is already departing. He's shoved into the back where once again he's made to attempt not to throw up, however,r this time he's finding it more difficult. The charges all swirl around in his mind and that thick sense of guilt hangs heavy in the air around him. His skin feels grimy as if there's some kind of dirt that had begun to cling to him during the trial that he wasn’t sure how to scrub away. 

Listening to the officers in the front seat didn’t help, they chatted in the eastern dialect as if that would stop him from understanding. The word monster is thrown around haphazardly and without regard, he can’t find it in himself to say anything for once. He knows this isn’t the first time he’s listened as people have talked about him in front of his face as if he weren’t there, people get far too comfortable far too quick when they think the person they’re chatting about can not understand. 

The cops drag  him back to the apartment where they leave the second he crosses the threshold. Vinny wasn’t there so he was left in the quiet apartment not quite ready to do anything of substance yet. Ms. Andreyev had told him the next trial would be longer, that there would be evidence against him presented, what that was yet he wasn’t quite sure, and he wasn’t eager to find out. The ideas of what it could possibly be was enough to bring him to the tippingpoint. 

He burns with embarrassment as he finds himself on the bathroom floor.  His mouth tasted metallic and acidic, he wasn’t even aware that his body could even do such a thing anymore. It wasn’t the first time he’d even found himself throwing up in a random bathroom, though the reasons he did so varied from the effects of the venom to having too much to drink. There was an old shame that was buried so deep he wasn't entirely sure where the roots even began. 

He wanted to lay there and fall asleep, hopefully not waking up unless it were to tell him that everything had been a particularly cruel nightmare concocted by his stress-ridden brain. His son would still be a teenager and not a young adult, he would be a person, he wouldn’t have turned into the exact thing so many had told him he would be, he would be alive and normal and happy. Instead he just continues to stare at the bathroom ceiling as he has the unfortunate experience of listening to the neighbors being ridiculously loud once again. Honestly never in his revival has he wanted two people to get a divorce more than those two.

He’s not sure how long passes when he decides he should try to scrub the possibly nonexistent grime from his skin. His hands shake as he clutches at the sink to attempt to heave himself upwards his knees nearly buckling as he does so. His stomach turns and for a moment he’s afraid he’s going to throw up again however to his relief he settles and is able to carry on with his night with only his pride (and his knee that he banged on the floor) bruised.

Vinny gets home late, as to why the man seems far too tired to explain, simply saying his coworkers were being nosey before asking Garmadon how his trial had gone. He kept his explanations short, not all too eager to grace the man with the list of charges he’d be going back to court for in a matter of days. He knows it's a matter of time till he has to confront the other man, a matter of time till all the metaphorical cards are laid on the table and a decision will be made. Until then he would stay quiet. 

“When's the next day of the trial?” Vinny asks, taking a sip of the water he was holding. 

“Next week, Tuesday,” He answers, fiddling with the sleeve of his shirt. “Ms. Andreyev will be coming to meet with me soon. She has a plan of some kind.” 

“Any idea of what it might be?” Garmadon shakes his head in response. 

“She looked confident, hopefully, she can make good on her promise,” He closes his eyes, attempting not to imagine life in that dark glass case again. 

“I'm sure it'll go fine if she says she has a plan that's got to mean something good right?” He remarks with a shrug. 

Garmadon scoffs at the comment but can't find it in himself to spit out the remark he'd thought up, something about it made him feel wrong . The feeling was unsettling, he rarely chose not to vocalize responses and often it was simply to not get himself in trouble, this time though… he wasn't sure. “Either way I still have the unfortunate honor of having to remain in that dusty courtroom for hours, not to mention riding in those death boxes!” He's pretty sure he prefers the courtroom to the vehicle he arrives in. 

“You don't like cars?” Vinny asks, tilting his head.

“They're awful, especially when the drivers are a pair of morons who think I can't understand a dialect I was there for the creation of!” He throws his hands in the air before firmly folding his arms. 

“The officers are talking about you?” All these questions were starting to give him a head ache. 

“Obviously, everyone talks about me as if I can't hear,” He rolls his eyes. “I hear everything quite well, I've had fantastic hearing as long as I can remember,” Which was the exact reason he'd heard many things he certainly was not meant to. 

“I didn't know that,” Vinny says as he sets his cup on the counter before rounding the corner. 

“Oni have impeccable hearing, I believe it's meant to make up for the light sensitivity,” It's not that his eyesight is atrocious, his father's was honestly worse despite the man's refusal to admit it, however, he far preferred the lamp in the corner to the apartments built in lights. 

“Oh, is that why you always keep the lights off?” Garmadon wrinkles his nose, he hates how observant Vinny is, couldn't the man use this prowess for other means aside from continuously noticing things about him he had no desire for other people to know. 

“It doesn't matter,” He grunts leaning over to the lamp that he dims further. “You should go to sleep.”  

“Yeah, I probably should,” Vinny sighs, stretching his arms and wincing when there's a clear pop. 

“Do not forget your medication, I do not want to get up again.” 

“I won't. See you tomorrow.” 

He had a sliver of hope left that perhaps he wouls be lucky and sleep would be a respite, however it seems ever that was to much to ask. 

He's on a street, though not any he was familiar with. The place looks old, ancient even, and not a single soul is anywhere in sight. Dust kicks up under his feet as his boots dig into the hard ground, his throat grows scratchy as he gazes into shop windows thinking perhaps he might catch a glimpse of something or someone he may recognize, instead he's left with not even a fleck of an idea. The town seems impossibly long, no turns or changes in direction, just a path of shops and houses shoved in crevices. 

He debates on simply sitting on the cracked wooden porches of one of the many shops, waiting as time passes and the dream world inside his mind melts into the waking nightmare he finds himself in when he rises. He knows hes not meant to, usually there's something more to find, some memory or past experience he's meant to find and care about, however he finds it exceedingly difficult when he can barely muster the energy to care about this dream in the first place. So, despite himself, he sits. He doesn't walk on and push through, persevere like he's sure he's meant to, instead he rubs his eyes that seem to ache even as he sleeps.

He wonders if he dreamed like this before, before he died. He's certain he had nightmares, the Great Devourer loved them after all. They were just another source of juicy misery the beast liked to squeeze out of him. He doesn't remember them, he just remembers never feeling rested, Wu  and his father pestering him constantly for always sleeping in late, because on top of everything his family had been early risers as well. Just another detail, tiny and some would say insignificant, but to him it was another failure. Sometimes it was hard to imagine he'd ever had redeeming qualities, something that gave people a sliver of hope he wasn't a lost cause, a fruitless endeavor, though to be fair not many people held that hope anyways. 

It wasn't until he heard the tapping of feet that his eyes were pulled up from the splintering wood beneath him. A surprisingly nice pair of wooden sandals appear in front of him, and the little boy wearing them frowns as he gazes at Garmadon, eyes expressionless and yet unwavering in their stare. 

“You didn't look for me,” He states blandly as Garmadon nods his head. “Why?” 

“I'm tired, I couldn't keep walking,” He explains, another wave of exhaustion sweeping over him as he speaks. 

“Oh… I have that sometimes,” The boy frowns before shuffling forward. “Do you still have days where everything hurts?” He asks carefully as he plops onto the floorboard next to Garmadon. 

“Yes, not the same as yours,” He remembers when the pain began, the ugly tears that poured down his face as he pleaded with his father for answers to what was happening to him. 

“I hate throwing up,” He mumbles quietly, which is when Garmadon notices the black smudged stains on one of the boy's sleeves. 

“Me too,” 

That was the worst part, worse than the joint pain, worse than the headaches that left his vision blurry and dark, worse than the fatigue leaving him bed bound. It was the worst because of the sheer embarrassment. The shame of having to excuse himself so he didn't wind up kneeling over in front of other people, or worse the shame of doing just that. Cough and spluttering as people watched with horror in their eyes as he threw up inky black venom alongside whatever he'd managed to keep down before that point.

 The venom left his mouth aching and the acidity often caused sores that made eating more of a nightmare. He was often made to drink lemon juice in the morning for the nausea and stomach pains, only to be gargling salt water at night to stave off the sores. He wonders if his teeth would have corroded had he not had a healing factor. 

“I miss spicy food, can you eat that?” Garmadon had forgotten about that, his father eventually figured out a diet that helped during his early flare ups. Eventually, those stopped working too, because of course they did. 

“Yes, though I haven't had anything in quite some time,” he can't remember any of his old home-cooked meals, the look, the taste, the smell, nothing. 

“You should make japchae, I want that so bad but Wu doesn't like it and Father said no red meat,” The boy pouts as Garmadon furrows his brow trying to recall the meal. “If I remember so do you, and I really want it so maybe you do too,” 

“I'm not sure-” 

“I wanted kimchi too you should make that… wait how long does that take?” 

“Father let it sit for a day or two,” He feels cold at the sudden realization of how quickly the answer was summoned. 

“See! I knew it! You should make it!” The boy grips his arm making him flinch slightly but the boy doesn't notice, of course he didn’t, he didn't mind such a thing at his age. 

“I have caused enough problems for Vinny as is,” He sighs slowly, peeling the boy's fingers off. 

“Then give him something, everyone likes food,” The boy rolls his eyes and Garmadon bites the inside of his cheek. 

He wonders if he remembers more than he thinks or if certain things triggered his ability to regain memories. He hated all of this memory loss nonsense, it was a thorn in his side at best. “Did you know I'd know that?” He asks in a low voice as the boy shrugs. 

“Sort of? I don't know it's weird sometimes I know what you know and sometimes it's like there's this big black hole where information should be,” He glances at Garmadon, his eyes ebb red as his voice quivers. “Why can't I remember Papa's face?” 

His chest aches at the question. He can recall his fathers face, after all it's the one similarity the Great Devourer couldn't strip from them. He might not be able to recall a smile, or a laugh or any pleasant expression on the man's face, but he knew the eyes, the nose and jaw so maybe just maybe if he wanted to if he tried hard enough he could imagine what something of the sort may have looked like. Of course he had no desire for such a thing, at least he doesn't think so. What did he care if he can't remember his fathers smile, it's not like he would have seen it often anyways. 

Still he looks at the little boy, the one that while a part of him he still held affections and care for people. He looks at those red strained eyes that seem to almost constantly be holding back some kind of emotion he can't quite understand, and he feels a level of pity he doesn't care to admit if he can help it. Instead of saying a word he simply puts a hand on the boys shoulder and pulls him to his side. 

Quickly the boy curls up, all the energy he had dispersing in seconds. Garmadon felt exhausted, he had no clue what would be coming in the next days of the trial and quite frankly he wasn't sure if was prepared for it all. Guilt gnaws at him, it wasn't him that these things hurt so how could he dread the consequences. Sure he didn't remember much of what he did, and sure his head aches at the idea of what the next days of the trial is to bring, but he felt as if somehow he'd yet to earn the right to be exhausted or afraid.

He isn't sure if it was possible to earn that right, but a part of him hopes so. 

The morning is fortunately uneventful, Vinny was leaving when he woke and informed him that Ms. Andreyev would be stopping by to discuss things with him before heading out. Vinny seems to be more busy than usual, Garmadon assumes it has something to do with New Years being only two weeks away. Either way most of his day is spent writing and reading, since he'd finished his books he'd taken to reading some out of Vinny’s selection, though none were quite what he was looking for. 

Ms. Andreyev arrives at midday once again, greeting him, and taking her seat before immediately diving into her questioning. 

“You said you've helped some villages, yes?” She asked while still rooting around her bag for a pen or pencil. 

“I suppose,” To be fair he did make the problem in the Two Moon village worse before the situation improved. 

“And the money, what village gave it to you again?” She asks, finally producing a pen, which lacked a cap, from her bag.

“Ashkandi,” He answers, narrowing his eyes. “Why must you know?” 

“I'm trying to make a case for your self-betterment after you regained consciousness, I plan on reaching out to the villages,” She explains as she scribbles away in her note book. “What about the man you live with?” 

“What about him?” Garmadon huffs not quite being as informed as he'd prefer to be. 

“Would he vouch for you?” She asks, tapping her pen loudly against the table. 

“I do not want to involve him,” Vinny Folson had plenty to do as is, and quite frankly Garmadon would rather die than have the public possibly find where he is taking up residence. 

“That's one less defense,” She informs. 

“I don't care,” He responds. “I certainly hope the entirety of my defense does not hinge on one person,” He rolls his eyes and Ms. Andreyev shoots him a disapproving look. 

“It doesn’t, but we can't be too careful,” She notes pointedly. “Now on the positive end of things, I’m currently in contact with a historian who specializes in ancient rituals trying to figure out details of the on that brought you back,” 

He can't help but cringe at the mention of the ritual. Talking about the ritual that reanimated him felt like some sort of intrusion. It was personal, raw , like a gaping wound exposed for others to see, so when people touched upon the subject it was as if someone was trying to dig their dirty fingers into him. Sometimes he imagines the sensation of resurrection, the meat stitching itself back onto bones but not quite finishing the job, leaving chunks of skin and flesh missing from where they were meant to be. He thinks about his heart, the piece that had been missing and he wonders if it's reformed by now. 

“I doubt it's been performed before now,” Gathering all the Oni masks without one or more driving someone mad verged on impossible, especially for mere mortals, quite frankly the only reason the Sons of Garmadon gathered them was because a few of the members were of Oni heritage. 

“We'll see, for now all I want you to focus on is not coming off as cruel to the jury, they very much could help turn the tides of this case,” She explains as she flips to a different page in her note book. “I'm not sure how soon they'll put you under truth serum but you need to get your thoughts sorted because you will have to answer them,” 

“I will be fine,” He assures despite his instinct to recoil at the idea of truth serum. 

“Good. Means one less thing we have to worry about then.” 

“Yes… Good.” 

~•~

The next day of court is far more tense than the first, the prosecution is presenting evidence of his guilt of the first and he feel as if he's coming apart at the seams. He sat at the same table as last time, Ms. Andreyev sitting with her stack of papers and an untelling look upon her face. She gives him a short assuring smile as the judge walks in and begins the session. Her prompts the persecution with one of the members standing, a woman in a dark violet suit standing up and calling him to the stand. 

He can hear people suck in air as he rises from his seat, as if someone had suddenly placed their finger on the trigger of a gun or wrapped their hands around the hilt of a sword. His fingers twitch threatening to ball into fists if he allows himself even a second of his mind slipping. His boots slam against the wood of the stand, the sound ringing like a town bell in the silent courtroom all of whom stare at him. He no longer had the mercy of the faces being to his back, now he could feel dozens of eyes attempting to draw his gaze. 

“Do you swear in the name of the First Spinjitzu Master that you will speak the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?” Eyes are on him as his ears ring with the sound of emptiness. 

“Yes, I swear.” He answers even bowing his head slightly. 

“Be seated,” He takes his seat folding his hands in his lap. 

He watches as the woman in the violet suit steps up after muttering something to her coworkers, she doesn't smile yet there's an odd glint in her eyes. “Mr. Garmadon can you please confirm your claim that you were ‘unconscious’ or otherwise lacked control during the period in which you committed the crimes brought forward?” 

He swallows as he watches her dark eyes look him over, searching, waiting . “I have almost no memory of my actions before waking up in the Kryptarium Prison,” 

“Almost?” She raises her eyebrows as a few gasps pop up from the audience. 

“Yes I… I recall a few sensations, pain mostly,” He explains his jaw tightening at the thought of how tight his skin felt yet how heavy his limbs felt in those moments. 

“And you remember nothing else?” She asks once more making him sigh. 

“I already said I do not recall anything more,” He does his best not to sound irritated but he imagines it may just sound strained. 

He sees a flash of disgust in the narrowing of her eyes as she turns her back to him. “Alright now that you clarified, Mr. Garmadon I'm going to get straight into some of the most pressing matters the first of which being the attempted murder of your son, Lloyd Montgomery Garmadon,” 

His heart stops. “What?” The only thing he can manage to spit out as his nails begin to form into claws and dig into his skin. 

“We've prepared the footage of the event in question, if my associate would please present it to the court?” 

His ears ring as a device is pulled out as well as a dusty screen. They take a moment to set it up but the second they're finished a video is projected onto the sheet. He can't see it perfectly from where he was sitting, but what he could see was far to much. 

There was Lloyd, his son, the one good thing he had to offer to this world, battling him. He shouted and begged begged him to stop, to see reason. His claws dig further and further into his skin as he hears the sounds of his sons wincing and dragging himself up over and over and over. He can feel claws gouging into his chest and tearing out his heart at the sound of science ringing through the room. 

He watched as the monster on screen stands over his son, red eyes burning like vats of venom. A hand closes around his sons neck he claws at the thing attempting to kill him, his own small claws digging into the half decayed flesh ripping and tearing at it in desperation, in hopes that perhaps it will save him. Instead he begins to slow. 

‘ You won't hurt me, I'm your son. ’ He gasps, as if he had all the time in the world, all the air in his lungs, all the safety the universe could offer. 

‘ I have no son. ’ His hands burn with pain as his claws drag backwards as he watches that beast slam his son into the earth. 

He chokes as he watches the figure smile, smile , as he walks off leaving the boy slumped in a crater. The boy in the crater suddenly isn't the young man he knew his son to be but the little boy he'd known all those years ago, the one he couldn't save, the one who had to give up his life to defeat Garmadon. He tries to inch forward, hands scorched and face bloodied. He opens his mouth as if prepared to give some sort of final speech, instead his head lulls forward and the only sound he manages in the smallest of words. 

‘ Father… ’ With it he collapses and Garmadon can hear sniffles around the room. His chest has been torn open and he wants nothing more than to sew it up and forget the horror that hangs heavy over his head. The image of his son laying there in that ditch covered in blood and dirt, hia last waking words begging for a man who was long gone, it was enough to make his eyes burn and his vision blur. 

He can't see the people who stare at him but it's easy to imagine the disgust. How else could anyone feel, he had brought his son to the brink of death and had the audacity to smile . That wasn't justified, it wasn't a victory, it wasn't anything outside of cruel. 

“Mr. Garmadon?” He glanced around the room, unsure of who called him. “Mr. Garmadon can you confirm that the burst of energy received in this recording was you achieving your true potential?” 

“Objection, relevance?” Ms. Andreyev questions standing up from her seat. 

“I have a point if you'd give me a moment,” The woman responds. 

“Overruled, go on,” The judge orders as the woman nods. 

“True potential is earned when they've overcome some kind of mental obstacles, and if the defendant wasn't at least somewhat conscious how would there be any sort of mental obstacle to overcome?” Garmadon takes a moment to process what she says before furrowing his brow. 

“That was not my true potential,” He mutters. 

“Could you repeat that Mr. Garmadon?” The judge prompts as Garmadon looks over at the woman. 

“That was not my true potential, any elemental masters worth their salt knows that is not what it looks like,” He spits out as his vision finally clears. “Ask any Elemental Master, they'll tell you the same thing,” 

“Thank you Mr. Garmadon, we will take note of this,” The judge nods but Garmadon finds no comfort in his promise. “Mrs. Shirishi, do you have any further questions for the defendant?” 

“Yes, judge I have one more question,” She steps closer to the bench eyes boring in Garmadon like a knife. “Despite claiming unconsciousness you often spoke to those you were fighting with familiarity, with both the green ninja as well as in the footage where you were seen battling and killing a woman by the name of Mystaké Hironaka, can you explain this?” 

Mystaké… he knew that name. His headaches as he feels the flash of remembrance, a shrill voice with no face, no words just a feeling. “Mystaké…” 

“You recognize the name?” The woman asks firmly. 

“I don't know,” He responds most likely far too quietly.

The woman's eyes narrow further as she inches toward the bench. “Do you or do you not? You can not-” 

“Objection! Speculation and assuming facts not in evidence,” Ms. Andreyev's eyes burn as the woman turns towards her. 

“Sustained, your line of questioning has gone off-topic and presumptive,” Garmadon wishes he could feel some sort of relief at the decision, instead he simply feels empty. “The defendant may leave the bench,” 

His body feels uncomfortably light as he treads back towards his seat by Ms. Andreyev. He sits and she stands with a harsh look on her face, as if there's something in front of her had lit a fire of anger. “Judge I'm afraid the witnesses for the defense have not yet arrived in Ninjago City,” She leads with. “I will unfortunately require more time,”

“Okay, well then once again the trial will be suspended,” Garmadon hears a few groans and huffs from the jury. “Due to the holiday in the coming weeks court activity will be suspended for three days, the next available date will be the 6th of the new year. Is the persecution available?” 

“Yes sir.” 

“The defense?” 

“Yes, judge.” 

“If there are no further questions-,” the judge pauses gazing at them before raising the gavel “-we are adjourned.” 

This time the audience is quieter, there are still mutters and mumbles, but not the loud protests of last time. 

“Take care of yourself.” Ms. Andreyev orders as the cops stomp over to them. 

He doesn't respond, simply following the cops who come to collect him. He doesn't remember the ride home, or arriving to the apartment, he just remembers laying on the couch staring at the ceiling with the scene playing in his head. He thinks one of the officers may have lingered, the door seemed to have stayed open for far to long, but he had no energy nor care enough to check. 

The only thing in his mind is the abysmal scene that had been displayed in the courtroom. How could anyone stomach his presence after he’d nearly killed his son? He'd done so little for this world, he’d destroyed the city driven the world into chaos multiple times over. He was a blight, a virus, and an infection that this world couldn’t truly be cleansed of. No matter how many times he’s died, been banished, trapped it was all for naught, he was made to bring forth chaos and misery.

Yet somehow, despite all of that, he’d managed to do one thing right . His son. His son was better than good, he was the destined green ninja, the golden master and the savior of the realm Garmadon had been made to doom. Despite everything, despite the fact Lloyd never got the childhood he deserved, somehow he managed to be good, managed to care about others and their safety before his own, Garmadon certainly couldn’t say the same of himself. After all of the things he’d done, Garmadon almost killed him. Somehow in that monstrous state he’d nearly done the unforgivable. 

 Then there was the woman he’d murdered. Mystaké, the name rings a bell of familiarity in his head. He knew her, she was somebody to him he knew that for certain. There’s no face attached to the blurry memories, he knows he was a child when he saw her, Wu was there too, they were… happy. When he tires to picture the scene it’s mostly just light, there's laughter and a garbled voice. The language they speak is ancient, older than Ninjago itself, it’s stiff but the words sound so natural. He closes his eyes and he can see a cup, with dark hands holding it out to him, Oni hands, hands that are cold yet somehow so warm. They push a cup into his shaking hands. 

The voice is high and shrill and ever so familiar. ‘ You’re fine my boy, Wu, us Oni can handle much worse ,” The figures back is to him, refusing to turn to him. ‘ Now you my child are far too much like your father, when he was a young I’d be made to watch him and you know what he’d do? He’d run off and get hurt and claim he didn’t just like you rascals! ’ Her laugh rings clear in his mind, and suddenly her face appears with stinging clarity. 

Mischievous eyes that always seemed to crinkle with the smirk that seemed to be permanently stitched on her face. Her clawed hands that she’d used to muss up he and his brother's hair, the same hands she used to brew tea and guided Garmadon through the process. She wasn’t soft, her edges were sharp and her sense of humor verged on cruel, she wasn’t nice in most senses of the word but she was kind and she was his family. When his father was preoccupied, when he had to journey far and he didn’t trust Wu and Garmadon on their own he would pawn them off on her, the only connection his father had left to his homeworld… and after so many centuries Garmadon had killed her. 

Tears flooded his eyes and all he wanted was for them to go away. He didn’t want these emotions, these vile curses that wrapped him in turmoil, he wanted them gone. How was he meant to live after it all? He’d killed a woman who had known him since the beginning of his life, he’d nearly killed his son, what was redemption worth if the people who truly mattered could never forgive him.

 “Hey sorry I’m late again it was… a long one at the office,” A light voice pulls him for the recesses of his mind, forcing him to once again stare at the ceiling that had been his sight for many nights now. “You awake?”

“I am,” He manages, his throat scratchy as he clumsily sits up. 

“Oh okay,” Vinny seems so at ease, as if a murderer wasn’t sitting in his living room. “How are you doing?” The question makes his stomach curl and once again his claws jump to his hands digging into the already clawed flesh. 

“I don’t know. The court case was…” He trails off, unable to draw any more words from his mind. 

“How did it go?” Vinny asks quietly as Garmadon feels his claws dig deeper into his palms. 

“As bad as you think,” He tries to keep his voice steady as the image of his son on the ground replays in his mind over and over again. “Did you know?” 

“Know… what?” The other man only stands staring for a moment awaiting his response.

He'd know there'd been fights, knew he'd committed atrocious acts that disgusted him but the extent he wasn't aware. “That I cursed my family, that I killed my own aunt, that I brought my son to the brink of death!” He catches the way Vinny steps backward as he raises his voice. He knew what Garmadon had done, did he think he knew? How could he look at him? How could he see Garmadon and see anyone worth redeeming after everything? “ What have I done ?” 

He doesn't even realize he said the words out loud until Vinny responds “Was it really you who did it?” The question feels like a joke, he knows it isn't, but it still manages to be laughably frustrating. 

“Does it matter?” His voice strains in his throat that grows tight. “What if I had killed him?” 

“You didn't-” 

“But what if I had? It wouldn't have mattered whether or not it had been me! His blood would have been on my hands! My son, my child could have died by my hand!” He hates the burning in his chest, in his eyes, the way the world seems to grow dark around the edges and he almost wishes it would consume him. “I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I'd killed him! No punishment would have been enough had I slaughtered the one good thing I did for this world! I shouldn’t be here!” 

The silence in the air feels like a threat, as if the universe were whispering to him telling him ‘ look now you've finally done it ’. The expression on Vinny’s face is unreadable to him, he looks disturbed, but at what part he doesn't know. Has he finally come to realize the creature he harbors in his home? Has Vinny finally determined that redemption is not possible for someone like Garmadon? Has he finally realized that he's better off having-

“You think that?” Vinny asks, his eyes darting up and down as if Garmadon were going to disappear right in front of him. 

“You do not! My son has more good in his finger than most people will ever even be able to fathom in their lifetime, and I nearly killed him,” He can imagine it, the body lying there, not moving as it slowly begins to grow cold. 

“You didn't kill him,” 

“What if I had ?”

“But did you?” 

“Well-”

“Did you kill him yes or no?” 

“No.”

The world feels wrong, naked. He didn't kill him, but it didn't matter because he could have. “How could anyone ever forgive something like that?” 

“They probably can't,” Vinny replies with a short sigh, leaning back against the kitchen island. “But that doesn't mean giving up trying to improve. You've done things that hurt people a lot . That's a fact, we know that, but it doesn't mean that you have to keep doing those things or that you can't apologize for your actions,” 

“No one will accept an apology,” He would rather wring his neck than even try to choke out whatever pathetic excuse for an apology he'd muster up. 

“They don't have to, that's not the point of an apology. It's you telling someone you regret what happened and that you're going to do better ,” Vinny explains, folding his arms. “I'm not letting you back peddle, not now, not after I've seen who you can be given time and effort,” 

He stares meaninglessly at the ground the thought churning effortlessly in his mind to the point it's practically screaming at him.“But what if… what if this is as good as I get? What if at some point down the line I simply hit a blockade I can’t get over?” 

“Well then we'll find a ladder I guess,” Vinny responds jokingly, and despite himself, despite the bitterness and the misery bubbling under his skin Garmadon finds himself chuckling slightly. “But really, you might hit a blockade, you might even feel like you can’t forgive yourself , but that doesn’t mean you stop trying,”

Vinny steps towards him glancing at his hands, gesturing to see them to which obliges. The other man takes them, turning them over to assess the damage. Begrudgingly he heads to the sink where he runs them under water. Vinny pulls out the same bandages he’d used weeks ago when they were in a similar yet so cataclysmically different scenario. Vinny winds the bandage around his fingers, over the sensitive skin as Garmadon searches for some sort of way to speak once more. His throat is tight, the air in the room feels suffocating and he wants to recoil. His skin is cold as his hands finally fall to his side, burning and aching.

 “What if… what if I am afraid?”

“Then do it scared.”

Chapter Text

Vinny didn't hate many things, however, he did have a short list and one of the things at the top was The Holiday Rush . Every holiday in Ninjago City was a living nightmare of devastating proportions. The trains were packed to the brim with people who had never taken one before, buses were more expensive, the streets were stuffed with street vendors mooching off tourists and visitors, and worst of all there was so much work . Almost every hour of every day there was a festival or fair or event that needed coverage or B-roll for the stupid news year broadcast. 

He was beyond exhausted and his schedule had quickly morphed into, wake up, eat something, go to work, come back at some awful hour, maybe eat something if he remembers, pass out, and repeat. He knew Garmadon was doing something during the day and Ms. Andreyev went by the apartment at least once to discuss the case, he hadn't even had the chance to ask since the other man was usually asleep by the time he got home. 

On top of the stress he also had his usual holiday slump. He'd been living away from home for years, but it was only the past couple of years he didn't get to go home for New Year. Gayle let people take off or work remotely but at least one camera and sound person had to stick around. Vinny just couldn't bring himself to take off knowing full well his coworkers would have to stay in his stead. Hikari always goes back home and he's been begging Vinny to join him for the past four years, but every year the time to call off comes around, and when Vinny looks around at the room of people all scribbling down their days off he scraps his sheet in favor of telling Gayle he'd stick it out another year. 

This year was no different, however, this year when he told Gayle she had this odd look on her face that's nothing like her usual irritated demeanor. It's rare that his employer has any sort of empathetic look on her face off-camera, yet as he approached her she had this glint in her eye that was almost akin to regret. She seemed as if she were going to make a comment, and tell him something meaningful, instead she just sighed and told him to be punctual. So every morning before dawn he starts a waffle in the toaster, makes himself an egg ,and ducks out of his apartment into the dreary winter air. 

This morning is no different. His body aches, his knees popping the second he rises from his bed nearly sending him stumbling onto his face and he barely manages to catch himself on his dresser. He groans knowing full well with the way he caught himself that his hip was going to pop the second he tried to move.  He wants to just give in, let the flood take him and hopefully pass out when he lands. 

Instead, he slowly rises with his hip greeting him with a prompt crack that makes him curse a bit louder than intended. He does a small shuffle to his closet waiting for the pain to ease up. He dresses and tries to steady his breath as he leaves his room. His chest hurts and as he trots into the kitchen he checks his heart rate which is high because of course it is, because fuck him in the ass as bright and early as possible. 

Much to his surprise, he finds Garmadon sitting up in the living room. The man is hunched over that notebook of his, not glancing up as Vinny starts on his breakfast. He rubs his eyes listening to the other man write incessantly. 

“You're up early,” Vinny yawns as he starts up the coffee pot. 

“Yes, I have a request for you,” He explains as he tears a paper from the notebooks. 

“Um okay, shoot,” Vinny mumbles as he pulls one of the syrup packets from the cabinet. 

“Can you have these things picked up for me?” Garmadon shoves a piece of paper into his hands as he walks towards the cabinets. 

“Huh?” Vinny glances at the paper that seems to be some kind of list that he has no energy to read. 

“Not all of my money was confiscated, you may take it,” Garmadon explains as he pulls a bandage out of the cabinet. 

“Oh um okay, I'll have my friend Menodora pick it up and drop it off today,” She's been the one graciously picking groceries up for him for the past week or so, it's a sort of thank you for watching her kids when she and her partner Kita have date nights. 

 “That's fine, I'm assuming that's who dropped off the bag of items a few nights ago?” Garmadon asks as Vinny takes his waffle out of the toaster. 

“Mhm, thanks for putting it away by the way I appreciate it,” The other man only nods exiting the kitchen. 

“It would have melted otherwise, you get home very late,” The man notes absentmindedly. 

“Yeah, work's been busy,” He sighs, getting a hum in response. “How have you been?” 

“Alive.” He responds curtly. 

“Me too.” 

He leaves only minutes later, fixing his coffee and rushing out the door at the sight of the time. He shoves himself into his tiny car with it being his main mode of transportation so as to not drive himself completely insane on the train or bus. 

He flicks on the radio which has its usual buzz of holiday songs. The sun barely peaks out over the horizon and Vinny can't help the overwhelming sense of melancholy that squeezes at his chest. He remembers being a kid, he and his father getting up at the crack of dawn in the winter to watch the first sunrise of the new year. It was a little tradition in their hometown and his father would lift him high on his shoulders for the best look until he got too old for it. Even then every year up until he couldn’t make it for New Year, they would go out to their same little spot on the docks. 

He pulls into his usual parking spot just as a new song turns on. It’s an old one, it came out before he was even born, and he recognizes it immediately. He lays his head on the steering wheel squeezing his eyes shut as he listens to the melodious drone of the song he heard a thousand times in his house as a kid. He tries not to think of his dad, who he only got to see for one night almost three months ago now, he tries not to think about how much he misses home this year and how this is going to be the fifth time he's been on the phone while his family is gathered for the New Years celebration back home. 

He hates how much he just wishes he'd signed that stupid paper, been selfish for once in fucking years, and gotten to go home. He wants to wake up in one of the bedrooms probably next door to one of his aunties or cousins and cook breakfast with his dad again like when he was a kid. He wants to spoil his cousin's kids like his aunties and uncles did for him. Worst of all he just wants a hug from his dad, one simple gesture that was still somehow too much to ask. 

He's fifteen minutes late by the time he gets into the office, he swings by Kita's desk to hand them the list to give to Menodora when they see her on their lunch break. Gayle is apparently already kicking up some kind of fuss according to Himeko, which once again is just his luck. 

Vinny would consider himself a calm person, he hated yelling and raising his voice, defusing situations was his specialty, he approached most situations from an almost scientific standpoint, and when people were stressed or pissed he was often the man they turned to. He was a mundane peacekeeper, he helped the people he cared about and did what he could to ensure people don't get hurt. 

Working with Gayle Gossip however, was what kept these instincts sharper than her cat eyeglasses. To say Gayle was a woman of concerning morality would be a bit of an understatement. The woman was on top of every story at breakneck pace with assertions of varying quality. She was harsh and often did little to account for the feelings of the people working for her when it came to pretty much anything. She replaces assistants more often than pens and her favorite hobby seemed to be snapping at people. 

Vinny however had learned to balance the reporter’s volatile moods. She still wasn't pleasant and if Vinny’s pay wasn't substantial enough to let him breathe outside of work he probably would skip off somewhere else, however, he knew how to get her to cool her jets. Casually telling her important reports rather than approaching with fear and immediate apologies would have her less likely to get all huffy or yell, yelling her about good news in a similar manner would allow her to feel pride and not snap for feeling as if she was being talked down to. He had interactions with her pretty much down to a T. 

Then, every once in a while, they’ll butt heads. She'll write a headline or have a comment that makes him uncomfortable. Most of the crew didn't want to say it, they didn't want to get yelled at or stir up trouble, so Vinny did it instead. He'd bicker back and forth with the woman even if it meant she'd try to bite his head off every once in a while. She knew nothing about his personal life and seeing very few camera people were even willing to put up with Gayle when he was off she certainly couldn't fire him. 

New Year's is the busy season, Gayle has about a million stories to run since there are always warnings about fireworks and other hazards that need to be put out, festivals to film and of course interviews, so many interviews. Usually, they're able to run a steady ship, and the hours are longer, but Gayle gives them a bonus as long as they don't complain (or at least don't do it in front of her or management). However, this year was more shaky, one of their editors wound up out for an emergency kidney remove, and another quit super suddenly to move back down south. This left a hole that, reluctantly, Vinny filled. 

He knew the programs and Gayle promised him the largest bonus he's ever seen that certainly would be nice to have in savings as well to send some cash to his family for New Year's since he can't be there. His cousin Serena had two little girls he practically considered his nieces, so he wanted to be sure to send them enough to get themselves something special. The rest of his cousin's kids were either too young to be able to know what money is or literal babies. He'd send money to all of his younger cousins too, however being the oldest had its very prominent downsides in that category, especially with fourteen cousins. 

Last year his family actually sent up an adorable set of pictures of him with all his cousins as babies, going from a grinning seven years old happy to finally having someone younger than him all the way up to him at twenty-three sleep-deprived and quite literally older than his father when he'd been born. He was the oldest cousin by a decent amount, seven years to be exact. His father was the eldest child and Vinny was born when the man was only twenty years old. To this day Vinny has no clue how his father balanced electrical engineer training and caring for a newborn, but he'd done it. Vinny can't imagine doing that at his age much less at twenty. 

However, wrangling interns at work sometimes felt just the same. Most of them are gone for the holidays however a select few stuck back but of course, it was only the ones that always seemed to need the most instructions. Teng was no longer allowed to explain things because he had a fuse the size of a peanut, Himako is too much of a pushover, Hikari was always willing but he was out, and everyone else sort of just expected Vinny to pick up the slack inherently. It was frustrating especially since he'd explained the program to the intern twice and recommended videos, but no, because First Master forbid anything be easy this time of year. 

He spent most of the morning editing, they were filming something this afternoon, but he didn't have to worry about that till someone came to get him. He burned through his large thermos of coffee and the shitty breakroom tea he drinks as a probably less-than-good supplement for lunch. He knows he should eat, and he does, it's just in the morning he's too tired and at night he's too tired, there aren't that many food joints close the NGTV building and half the time he's so exhausted or focused food sounds nauseating. He thinks its also because it tends to not be part of his schedule, if something isn’t ingrained in his routine trying to shove it in was like trying to drive on the road in a boat, not happening with any amount of ease or likelihood. 

He wasn't quite sure what time it was when one of the assistant crew managers, Watson, trotted up to his requesting his presence. He was groggy and his knees cracked loud enough to make the other man wince before trying to save it by cracking a joke about not being young anymore. As they're on their way to the newsroom Gayle’s secretary who is much more of an assistant than anything hands him the headline so he can get work on the newspaper page set up once he's done filming. 

At first, he nearly pockets it, planning to look at it after they film as per usual, but something stops him. The picture connected to the page with a paper clip is one of Garmadon's. He nudges the photo to the side to glance over the title. ‘ Garmadon v. Ninjago, a Monster Cries When Faced Repercussions. ’ 

“Himako, what in the realms is this title?” Vinny asks, suppressing the irritation bubbling in his veins. 

“I don’t know! I told her it was intense, but she didn’t listen,” Himako sighs heavily, shaking her head, her brown curls bouncing as she does so. 

“I can’t believe she’s even doing the story,” Watson grunts, pulling gum out of his pocket. 

“I know, actually-” Himako pauses gesturing the two men closer, “-Finley wouldn’t touch the story. I’m not sure why or what’s going on with it but my friend on his management team was telling me he flat-out refused to touch it.”

“That’s weird ,” Watson murmurs, scratching his head. “It’s a huge case!”

“I know! That’s why it makes no sense,” Himako sighs, pinching her nose. “Him not taking it just means more problems for us!”

“Well I’m gonna talk to Gayle, this is ridiculous!” Vinny hisses in a whisper before they all pop back up out of their small circle. 

“Just be careful, you know how she gets.”

The three of them shuffle into the newsroom where Gayle sits at the table staring into a tiny compact. She’s completely at ease, not a hint of hesitation at the story she was about to put out. His jaw tightens as she offhandedly tells Sirenna to make sure they had the right b-roll. She treats almost every case the same, unless it was a world-ending emergency she always treated it like just another story to tell.

“Gayle, what in the realm would possess you  to say this?” Everyone goes silent as they all look over at Vinny, Himako stands next to him her eyes shooting wide open. “This title is awful!”

“Oh Vinny quit the dramatics, we all know it's true,” She waves him off as she re-applies her lipstick. 

“No, no we don't. This trial practically just started!” He can practically feel the blood rushing in his ears as Gayle shrugs 

“He took over the city, leveled most of it and that's not even mentioning the cult that happens to still be floating around. He's a monster , that's all there is to it,” The word strikes the wrong cord, the one that reminds him of that look on Garmadon’s face when he spoke of himself, one that told Vinny that if he saw this he’d believe every word. 

“Gayle, he pled unconsciousness! What happens if you're wrong, what happens if when in a few weeks they put him under truth serum he's not lying?” He asks, trying to keep from raising his voice as Gayle finally shuts her mirror with a loud snap .

“You seem awfully sure Vincent , where's the confidence coming from?” She asks, rising from her seat, making a majority of the crew shift backward. 

“I'm not sure about the case, but I am sure we're jumping to conclusions too quickly,” He explains as her narrowed green eyes meet his. “If you're wrong now, think about what people will say.” 

Her inhale is small, but he hears it. Her demeanor shifts only slightly as she rolls her shoulders and adjusts her cat-eye glasses. Her face is still set in a harsh glare, her jaw clenched as she turns to the side. “Himako, cancel the run, we'll rewrite and shoot tomorrow.” 

Vinny can't help the small sigh he lets out as Gayle trots off heels slamming against the ground as the crew immediately begins to pack up and power down. People shuffle about flipping off switches and fiddling with the cameras. As he’s checking one of the lens caps that's chipped for some reason, he feels as if all the energy drains from his body in a single second. 

“Damn Folson, where'd that come from?” Sirenna asks as he pinches his nose. 

“I don't know,” he mutters, rubbing his temples. “I'm just irritated is all,” 

“Clearly,” Teng chuckles as Vinny powers down the monitor. “Honestly I'm glad you called her bullshit, like don't get me wrong I hate that freak as much as the next guy, but the dude seemed pretty stressed out on the recording,” 

“Yeah, I never thought I'd see something like that. I mean he… he cried” Suha adds, biting her lip. “Vinny you should have seen the courtroom they were so confused,” 

“I'm sure Gayle won't be bringing me after that stunt,” He sighs as they all begin to shuffle out of the room. 

“Nah I think that's why she keeps you around, I'm pretty sure she likes arguing,” Vinny wouldn't call what they do arguing, more like Vinny pointing out the lack of morality in certain actions Gayle tends to take.

“Someone needs to keep her in check,” Himako mutters as she passes by, already scribbling on a clipboard. 

“I should thank her for keeping my blood pressure up,” He grumbles rubbing his eyes. 

“Said no person ever,” Sirenna laughs as she uncaps her pen and scribbles something on a note she sticks to one of the producer’s chairs. 

“Hey, Vinny could you check this paragraph for me?” Himako asks neck craned down at her clipboard. 

“Maybe in a bit I’ve got to finish up on a video and put together the newspaper for tomorrow because First Master knows where Kino is right now,” The young man had the tendency to no-call no-show and if they weren’t short on workers right now he’s certain he would have been fired by now. 

“Damn man, how long you workin’?” Teng asks as they begin to file out of the room. 

“Uh, I don’t even know.” He yawns.

“Take care of yourself, don’t ruin your holiday!”

The rest of the day falls away in a blur, he looked over paragraphs, watched news segments for mistakes, and finished editing a set of photos that had some pretty jacked-up lighting. By the time he was headed home, he just wanted to collapse. He’s hungry and his fingers have an uncomfortable weak sensation in them. He should wear those support rings his dad got him, he knows they’re helpful he just forgets. 

It’s past ten when he gets out of his car in the apartment parking lot. No one is outside aside from one of his neighbors who jogs in the middle of the night for some otherworldly reason. As he walks towards the stairs he scrolls through his messages, one from his cousin with a picture of her and her son, one from Hikari talking about going to board the plane back home, and one from his dad with a picture of the house with New Year decorations. His shoulders sag a tad as he opens up he and his dad’s chat logs, he debates on typing up some half-baked response that won’t make his dad feel too bad about him not coming home for the holidays, instead, he takes a breath and taps the call button. 

The dial tone rings a few times before he’s quickly greeted with a familiar voice, words spoken in a thick southern dialect. “ Vincent! Good to hear from you ,” He smiles at the sound of his father's almost constantly chipper voice.

“ Hi Dad, sorry, works just been a lot, ” He sighs, slipping into the apartment where Garmadon is nowhere to be found, he’s probably in the shower. 

“ I know, I know. Just tell me you're taking care of yourself? ” He looks at his empty thermos that once held probably too much coffee. 

“ Yeah of course,” He lies, almost cringing a little bit at the idea he’s eating well.   “ Saw my orthopedist a few days ago, and she says my hips and shoulders are looking okay ,” He doesn't always feel like they're okay, but hey as long as they're usable and in the place they should be he's okay.

“ And what about your knees? ” He sighs internally, he always hopes his dad doesn't press further, but every time he does. 

“ Cartilage is still in worse condition and uh… well I could be needing knee replacement surgery in a few years, ” He hates breaking the news to his dad the most, it just reminds him of the first time the doctors told him Vinny would need surgery. His eyes got all watery and when the doctors left he'd wrapped Vinny in a hug trying to tell him it would be okay in a shaky voice that still managed to make him feel less like the world was ending. His health never really improved, however his ability to deal did, but part of him knows that sometimes it never really stops hurting. He knows sometimes his dad blames himself, his condition was genetic and for some reason, his dad was inclined to believe it was his fault. 

“ First Master, you're kidding? ” His dad's voice is strained. 

“ Yeah if I have another dislocation like last year they say ligament replacement probably won't cut it anymore, especially with the arthritis, ” He tries not to think about that, he'd have to be off it for at least a week, but because of his other conditions, he tends to take more than the usual allotted time to heal cause fuck him he supposes. 

“ If you gotta have knee replacement before your old man I think I'm gonna have to have a personal talk with the First Master, you hear me? ” Vinny can't help but laugh imagining his dad lecturing some glowing figure, the best part was that he didn't doubt his dad's willingness to do so. 

“ I do Dad. So, anyways , how are things back home? ” He always likes hearing updates on his aunts, uncles, cousins, and their kids all of them that he didn't get to see often since most of them stayed close to home. 

“ Good, very good actually Florián and Hisanha are expecting! ” He can't help but gasp, his cousin and his wife had been wanting a baby for over a year now. “ Milla and her partner are engaged but I believe she told you correct? ” 

“ Mhm, I promise the world would have to end to keep me from going to the wedding next fall, ” He chuckles as his father clicks his tongue. 

“ Don't say that, I know how that city of yours is, ” His father laughs but Vinny knows there's a hint of truth. “ I saw on the news the other day that the man Garmadon was on trial, never thought I'd see someone like him cry on TV, ” He can't help but cringe at his father's words. He knows it's harmless, most people view Garmadon as a distant less than human figure, he understood he's pretty sure very few people had met the man in his current state. 

“ Yeah, he seemed so surprised it was… sad, ” He'd tried to reach out to the other man as best he could, but Garmadon seemed pretty set on pushing him away. 

“ I mean, you know I say all people have the potential to change, just never expected it to be him, ” Vinny eases at his father's words, every time he's reminded of his father's refusal to fall into cynicism it gives him that little push to keep his head held high. 

“ Good for him, ” Vinny has to stop himself from chuckling knowing full well the man in question was currently in his shower. “ But tell me, Dad, how have you been doing?” 

“ Ay, you know how it is, same old same old gots lots of people looking to get their heaters fixed, speaking of which… ” 

Talking to his dad had almost always come easy to him, he'd always urged honesty above all else and made sure he knew it was safe to talk to him. As a kid when someone was mean his dad would know, and when he accomplished something his dad would know, whether it be an acceptance into a gifted kid summer program or getting his clip all the way up to pink. When he first started getting severe joint pain his dad was determined to get to the bottom of it. Even into his teen years, he found himself lucky to not despise his father at every turn like most of his peers did. 

They certainly butt heads more than once especially once Vinny figured himself out and feared that after all those years of closeness, it would be ruined by the sole fact he didn't like girls. He distanced himself and tried to act like it wasn't eating him alive, unfortunately when someone's raised you their whole life things like that don't slip idly by. He could snap and hide as much as he wanted, but his dad never stopped being there and when it all came to a head with Vinny sobbing his eyes out on the couch after a scene in a movie with two men dancing together, his dad pulled him into a hug like he always did telling him that he didn't care one bit. 

“ You’re cousin Serena is already here, do you want to say hi ?” He asks before promptly shouting for his cousin before he answers. “ She’s on her way downstairs with the girls ,”

“ Vinny? ” A high scratchy voice floats through the phone. “ Maria! Be careful with Pop-Pop’s phone!

“ Uncle Vinny! Mama said you’re not coming for New Year again is that true ?” Maria’s squeaky voice asks miserably. 

“ Unfortunately, I’m sorry Maria I have work and it’s not easy to come out ,” He explains as he gets a barrage of disappointed comments from his nieces. 

“ But you promised last year that you’d come! ” Her sister Amara whines sounding a bit teary. 

“ I know, and I’m sorry I really wanted to come ,” He can hear Serena in the background trying to say something to them. “ I’ll be coming to the wedding though, you’ll see me then! ” 

“ Uncle Vinny, do you actually promise this time? ” Amara asks. 

“ I swear it, I pinky promise ,” He says holding up his hand despite her inability to see the gesture. 

“ Okay… ” She mumbles before the phone is rattled once again. 

“ Alright well we’re gonna let you go, we’re heading to the Funentes’s for brunch ,” His father explains as Maria shouts something unintelligible in the background. 

“ Okay, have a good time! ” He can’t believe they still live so close by, he guesses they never went through with the promise to move away. 

“ We will, you get some rest I know it’s late over there ,” He can hear the concern creep into his father's voice. 

“ I will love you Dad. ”

“ Love you too. ”

He sighs sitting back and rubbing his eyes as he listens to the distant sound of fireworks, because people have no courtesy and set them off any time they like. He could fall asleep right then and there on the couch, he would if doing so wouldn’t completely fuck up his back. Slowly he eases out of his seat deciding to just go to bed.

The next three days pass in a blur it’s a frenzy of people leaving early eventually whittling the crew down to bare-bones members. Ms. Andryev came over at one point to drop off something and speak to Garmadon, though Vinny wasn’t there for it; he'd just been the messenger pigeon relaying information on the meeting to the other man. He vaguely recalls a conversation he had with Garmadon at one point concerning something about the fridge but by the time he woke up, he didn’t have a single idea what it had been about. He also swears that the kitchen looks different but he had no clue what was different since his brain was beyond fried. It took him multiple glances at the coffee table to realize the difference was the mass of papers of an unknown origin and use that had accumulated on top of it.

By the time New Year's Eve came he was beyond burnt out, getting up and out the door was a matter of force rather than choice, he could feel the impending crash coming his way the second it was all over. He's already been told twice at the office that he looks like death and judging from his less than admirable appearance he was probably gonna wind up hearing it again. 

In the kitchen he's surprised to find Garmadon awake again, he's rummaging through the freezer and he's already using the toaster. 

“Your food is in there, the thermos is yours, don't touch anything else I am busy.” He explains shortly as he continues his poking around the freezer. 

“Uh, since when do you know how to use the coffee pot?” He asks as the waffles pop up. 

“It is not coffee it is tea,” He explains waving the comment off. “It is ginger, cinnamon and I don't remember the other thing but it's sweet,” 

“Oh uh… okay? Thank you,” Vinny mutters before bitting into the waffle which he's unfortunately gotten used to eating plain. 

“Ginger and cinnamon are good for joints.” The other man notes as Vinny nods glancing at his watch.

“I gotta go, have a good day not sure when I'm gonna be back,” He sighs, rubbing his eye with his free hand. 

“Attempt to inform me when you'll be back,” Garmadon says as he finally shuts the freezer. 

“Will do. It'll probably be late though.” He warns. 

“That's fine.” 

With that Vinny takes his leave slipping into the car. His drive to work is irritating at best, he swears the second the holidays roll around everyone forgets how to drive. There's an accident a block from the NGTV building, nothing bad thankfully, but enough to create an inconvenient blockade of nosey onlookers. By the time he gets to work, he's ten minutes later than usual though you wouldn't be able to tell by the looks of the office. 

Over half the staff is nowhere to be found and Gayle is talking on the phone loudly . He doesn't even bother intercepting today, they're going to a parade in less than an hour and he's trying to figure out how he's gonna stay standing and awake the whole time. He busies himself with making sure the camera is packed and trying to figure out where Teng is since he’s supposed to be here for the parade before going home. 

“Vincent!” He shoots up from his spot to see Gayle fuming. “Go downstairs to Finley’s department and snag one of his sound people, Teng isn’t coming!” Thus Vinny was sent down a few floors to hunt down a sound person, why someone else couldn’t he didn’t bother to ask. 

The floor that Finley and his crew take over is roughly the same layout as Gayle’s. However where their floor was mostly bare outside of personal cubicles and desks aside from a few potted plants and movie posters Gayle hung up, the Finley floor was covered in a myriad of posters, sticky notes, photos, and old newspapers. It wasn’t messy so much as it was confusing, he wasn’t sure if it was Fred who’d done it or a collection of staff members, either way, Vinny wasn’t certain of the theme. 

Though as he passed one of the movie posters he recognized it as the one Gayle had plastered in her office. It’s a movie poster from the late 80s, one for some racing film, but the main reason Gayle had it in her office was because it was one of the only hit films she ever starred in. She’s plastered right in the middle sitting on the roof of the car in between two guys leaning on the vehicle. She’s proud of the movie, he knows that much, and she’s mentioned loving being an actress, but as to why she stopped only ten years into her career no one knows. Vinny had tried to ask before, pried a little in attempts to figure out anything, but her answer was a simple “ None of you or anyone else's business. ” and that was that. His having the poster was odd, but when had Gayle and Fred ever been normal people? 

Speak of the man, Fred Finley appeared from his office clutching a newspaper and shouting something Vinny couldn’t make out. 

“Uh excuse me,” Vinny interrupts, promptly halting the man's shouting. 

“Can I help you?” He grunts as a short woman comes rushing over and grabs the newspaper before dashing off again. 

“Yes, I’m just here to snag one of your audio people if that’s alright?” He asks as Fred is already typing away on his phone. 

“Huh? Oh sure whatever you can take Delilah,” He waves Vinny off as he glances up from his phone. “DELILAH COME OVER HERE AND GO WITH WHAT’S HIS NAME.” The man shouts making Vinny wince slightly. 

“Yes sir!” A woman responds, popping up seemingly out of nowhere. 

Vinny and the woman, Delilah, make their way upstairs where Gayle immediately raiders them right back down and out of the office. The Van was shockingly quiet on the ride, usually, Gayle is a chatterbox turned up to eleven, but today she’s… quiet. She scrolls through her phone and checks her makeup once or twice, all wordlessly leaving a hole that Vinny wasn’t quite used to. Even as they set up for the festival she only mutters to herself here and there before the recording. 

The energy at the parade is palpable. Kids sit on parents' shoulders as floats and dancers go by, people mingle with friends, officers direct the large group of people to ensure no one is trampled and vendors stand around selling trinkets and food. He snags himself a funnel cake that he takes one bite of before having to put it down to find where Delilah had wandered off to. He came back to his spot only to find it was gone, so much for that. 

His teeth chatter as he stands in the cold filming Gayle who meets with the host of the New Year's event as well as even getting a short bit with a masked Samurai-X who assured the camera that the Ninja were well and good at the current. 

Shortly before they started packing up to leave snow delicately began to fall, much too many people's joy. He watches as a group of teenagers squishes together to take a picture in the snow meanwhile some people have already begun to file out of the cold. Even as the skin of his hands cracks as he places the equipment back in the van gently, despite the cold and the way his joints seem to stiffen, he can't bring himself to despise the festival and its many activities. Even when he realizes he lost sight of Gayle again he takes his time wading through the crowd to glance over vendors selling crafts and trinkets. 

He finds Gayle at the very end of the line huddled in her bright pink coat and he earmuffs now that filming is done. She stands inside a booth hunched over a table with a bright red cloth draped over it. He trots over to her, sneakers making prints in the quickly gathering snow coating the ground. She acknowledges his presence with a small glance only shifting to the side slightly allowing him to look at what she stares at. 

It's a small watercolor painting of a city. It clearly wasn’t Ninjago City, surrounded by mountains and with no bay anywhere in sight. Pale buildings glint in an evening sun that barely peeks out over the rocky mountains. The colors are all pale, almost bluish, including the sun, he's never seen anything quite like it. 

“How much are these?” Gayle asks, digging in her pocket. 

“The medium ones are thirty-five,” The elderly man sitting behind a rack of paintings notes with a thick northern drawl before turning his head back to his sketchbook. 

“This is Vorska City, a beautiful place back in the 80s,” She mentions as she flips open her sparkly silver wallet. 

“Yes it was, I lived there around then,” The man behind the booth smiles as she hands him cash. 

“Me too, grew up in the Ryksen district,” She mentions curtly handing the man the painting which he slips into a plastic sleeve. 

“Oh very nice, beautiful view of the mountains,” Gayle hums in response as the man hands her back the picture which she slides into a plastic bag he hadn't realized she was holding. 

“Thank you.” She bows her head shortly and the man does the same before she promptly turns out of the booth. 

“Do you have any of San Morella?” Vinny asks, glancing over the small portraits. 

“Should be one in small, only beach though,” That was enough to have Vinny ruffling through each of the smalls to no avail. “Oh wait, San Morella? That is south, yes?”  

“Mhm, southwest coast,” Vinny answers as the man shakes his head. 

“Someone already buy earlier,” Vinny can't help but sigh, just his luck. 

Despite the note the painting was gone, Vinny took another quick once over, however, something caught his attention this time. It's a watercolor painting of a mountain practically stretching into the clouds and atop it sits a monastery shimmering in red, white, and gold. It was not the new monastery, the one that had been rebuilt after many tragedies that seemed to strike it constantly, it was older, simpler. 

“Ah that one is old, people don't buy for some reason,” The man mentions as Vinny flips it over to read the date, ‘02. 

“How much are the small ones?” 

“Seventeen.” 

Vinny walks away from the booth the small painting in a small plastic bag the man had given him. After the fact Vinny couldn't help but poke around the market a bit more, finding a few objects to put away as gifts for birthdays. Supporting local artisans was always something he aimed to do, and by the time he was almost back to the van some of the vendors began packing up, likely either moving downtown to the evening market starting in a couple of hours or going home to spend the rest of the day with family. Right before he's ready to head to the van, something catches his eye. 

On display at a booth was a set of golden earrings with dark purple jewels. As he got closer he realized the gold surrounding the jewels was in the shape of delicate little butterflies with the butterflies getting smaller and smaller at each of the levels. The gems are almost unrealistically bright, but they're nonetheless captivating. Immediately the jewels remind him of a pair of violet eyes.

“You might not want those,” Vinny’s head jolts up to look at the woman packing up a rack of jewelry. “People have been telling me they might be unlucky,”

“Why?” He asks taking the small card down anyway thinking of the piercings his roommate has that probably hasn't held earrings in quite some time. 

“Something about the ‘butterfly effect’, I don't know I'm not from the city so I don't worry about that superstition stuff,” She turns around rolling her eyes dramatically. “I'll give them to you a fourth the price, end of the day and I'm sick of looking at 'em,”

“Oh uh, are you sure?” He asks glancing from the jewelry to the woman. 

“I'm not a butterfly gal, those were a special order but the person who wanted them never came to pick them up after paying,” She shrugs, folding her arms. 

“Damn that's weird, they're really cool,” He says, patting his pockets for his wallet. 

“Thank you,” She smiles as he hands over the money. “Who you gettin’ them for?” 

“A friend,” He replies, not keen on disclosing too much information. 

“Oh very nice very nice, we'll have a happy New Year sir, bonam fortunam !” She grins as he drops the earrings into the bag. 

“You too!”

Finally, he finds his way back to the van where Delilah stands scrolling on her phone, with Gayle appearing only moments later. They all pile back into the van, with a ride back as quiet as the ride to the function. The second they arrive back to the building Delilah jumps out hurrying back to the building quickly. He's about to jump out of the van and start bringing the stuff inside when Gayle stops him, grabbing his shoulder before promptly letting go. 

“This is for you,” From out of her bag she produces a small painting, one of a snowy beach with a bright sunset on the horizon. 

“Is this…” It was San Morella Beach, the one he stood on as he and his father watched the clouds burst with colors during sunrise. 

“That is where you're from, right?” She asks, her voice unwavering. 

“Yeah, my whole family is from there,” He’s not technically sure if Luciana is from San Morella but she's from the general southwest, not like she was much of a family anyways. “This is very sweet, Gayle,”  

“You work holidays, most people don't, so thank you,” She sighs, not even bothering to look at him. 

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” He smiles but she just crinkles her brow. 

“Don't mention it.” She hops out of the van without uttering a single other word. 

Back inside the building, their floor is barren. Three people were supposed to be there, not a single one had shown up. He wonders if there was a meeting, or a message not to come in that everyone had gotten but him, it wouldn’t be too out of the realm of possibility. Nonetheless, he takes a seat at one of the few free squished desks to finish up the details on a video someone had asked him to polish. He pulls his headphones over his ears, turning on his music and trying to tune out the world around him. 

Despite the warmth of the office, his skin feels cold as he watches the video over and over to check the cuts are fluid and well done. It all feels so grey and dull like a blunt object hitting him over and over again. All the joy he’d felt walking around the market had seemingly drained from his body like blood from a wound. He watches the video, two, three, four times and each time he intakes none of the information.  

He liked his job, liked the freedom it granted, and how often during emergencies they were a line of information for citizens of the city or their families outside of the city. It made him feel like he was making some semblance of a difference like he had at least a little control in a world where it felt like the impossible happens every few months.

 Nothing was permanent in the city, his last two apartments were demolished, one by the Great Devourer and the other by flaming snakes. His first apartment was the biggest loss, it had multiple pictures, a few trinkets and gifts from home, and worst of all his grandfather's old military coat that was either eaten or lost in the rubble, he never did find out which one.  The second wasn't nearly as bad, he'd given up on a lot of not keeping his most sentimental objects on his person, like a key to his family home or the charms of his grandparents' yin-yang necklace, which was his right as the eldest grandchild, both objects sitting firmly on his neon yellow carabiner that goes everywhere he does. Still, he can't help but wish he wasn't so paranoid, he wants to decorate and give his place a bit of personality, but that unshakeable fear that it would all be turned to rubble lingered. 

The afternoon creeps into the evening and as the sun sets the fireworks begin to go off almost immediately. His mind drifts to his family, probably just now waking up to begin breakfast and start their day. He wonders what Garmadon is doing, wonders how different New Year's is now in comparison to hundreds of years ago. It's an odd thought, to think of people centuries before him doing exactly what people do now, eating with family and setting off fireworks. He wonders if even back then there were working people who missed their homes, people traveling far from home who wanted to see their family more than anything. It's a weirdly bittersweet thought, knowing that he's not the only person in the history of the world who feels the same. 

He rubs his eyes as Gayle appears outside the cubicle just standing there for a moment before speaking. “Go home Vinny,” He lifts his head and glances at Gayle who stares off into the distance, the butt of a pen between her teeth. 

“I don't-”

“Oh Vincent don't play dumb with me, your head is somewhere else anyways, you might as well just actually be there,” Gayle sighs, leaning back and adjusting her glasses. “You've got places to be, people to be with, so go. And take a week while you’re at it, I’d rather not have my cameraman drop dead, finding a replacement would be annoying.” 

“Alright… uh thanks Gayle,” He mutters powering down the laptop as she hums. “Why are you… doing this?” 

“Dunno,” She mumbles her eyes only glancing at him for the briefest of moments with this look to him he's not sure he's ever seen stitched onto the woman's features. 

He gathers up his things from the desk glancing back every once in a while to look at Gayle who continues to chew on a pen. “Have a happy New Year, bonam fortunam .” He gives a small smile as he exits the cubicle, one she doesn't return. 

“Uh huh, you too, take care.” There was something melancholy about the way she stares blank-faced out through the office window, none of its usual bland composure and overcorrected corporate gaze. 

On his way out he gives Garmadon a call to let him know he's on his way back, it's short and the other man hangs up quickly, which makes him laugh a bit. Out in the parking lot, the snow was coming down quicker and quicker, a thick layer covering the unsalted sidewalks. His sneakers quickly grow damp as he trudges to his car with the windows already being covered by the white powder. He does his best to dust off the windows enough to see, climbing into the car grateful to be heading home early for once. 

The drive is less annoying since not as many people are on the road, but there are quite a few people walking and crossing the street and most of them are not quick. The second Vinny parked his car in the apartment parking lot it felt like the past couple weeks came crashing down hard . His chest aches and his muscles all seem to turn to jelly. He groans as he rests his forehead on the steering wheel shoving his knuckles into his eyes the pressure easing the ache pressing at the back of his head. He thinks he might force Garmadon off the couch, he has no desire to sit at the island tonight, and the other man might have to suffer for a little while. 

He's not sure how long it takes to drag himself out of the car, probably too long, but he doesn't care the worst it could do is freak out the neighbors though most of them aren't very nosey.  He makes his way upstairs, choosing to take the elevator for once in a red moon. The buttons are worn and sort of hard to press, the building wasn’t necessarily old but it certainly wasn’t one of the shiny new uptown buildings. 

He fiddles with the keys as he approaches the door, right next door his neighbors walk out, both dressed in their New Year's best, gold black, and red traditional robes. They give him a wave before heading over to the stairs. For two people who made as much noise as they do constantly, they’ve barely said more than a few words to him despite living next to each other for months now. 

He pushes the door open, surprised when he’s greeted by warm fragrant air that smells of garlic and spices. When he steps in it take a moment to process the sight in front of his face. On the counter were dishes, his dishes from his cabinets full of food, food he didn't order or make. Hung across the island window is a cute garland of paper stars and lanterns. He blinks, had he fallen asleep in the car? No, he would have woken up by now, he always wakes up during the goods parts. 

Then he glances over to see none other than Garmadon, he's pulling something out of the fridge and when he sees Vinny he just stares. “You seem surprised,” 

“I- well I mean how can I not be?” He asks, breathlessly as he rubs his head. “Did you do all of this?” 

“I did,” He answers shortly setting the bowl on the counter.

“Why? I mean this is amazing but… why?” Despite his shock, he was certainly keen on trying pretty much everything on the table. 

“I find it custom to begin New Year's positively, the first day is meant to influence the rest of the year therefore I made this,” Garmadon explains, Vinny's old teapot on the island. “You are very unobservant might I add, did you jot even care to glance at the list I gave you?” 

“Honestly I've been on autopilot, I forgot about that list,” He chuckles as he slips his shoes off before hanging his hat and jacket on the coat rack. 

“You must have been,” Garmadon shakes his head, pulling bowls and plates from the cabinet as well as two cups. “I watched you put your coffee in the fridge and nearly walk out with a chocolate bottle,” Vinny didn't even remember that, though he's not sure if he remembers what he did that morning the only thing he remembers clearly was after he got to work. 

“Wait, that reminds me!” Vinny plops his bag down on the free counter space. “I have something for you?” 

“How could that possibly remind you of-” Garmadon pauses turning to Vinny who pushes aside the items he got for family to where the painting sat at the bottom of the bag, “-what is that?” 

“This is for you,” Vinny places the painting in the other man's hands with a smile. “I saw it and I thought you might like it,” 

The other man is silent for a moment as Vinny continues searching for the earrings he probably should have wrapped up or something. “Oh, here they are! I saw you have your ears pierced and these reminded me of you!” He holds up the card with the butterfly earrings and the other man stares eyes wide as he reaches out for them. 

“This is… unnecessary,” For a moment Vinny’s confidence wanes, had he misjudged or was it, not a good gift? “You have already done things for me, far more than needed, why do this too?” 

“Because I wanted to!” He explains, but the look on the other man's face quickly tells him that wasn't a satisfying answer. “Look if you need a reason to accept this dinner is certainly a good trade,” 

Garmadon furrows his brow seeming to consider it for a moment. “I still do not believe it fair, but I am not in the mood to argue and you are irritatingly stubborn in most cases I have seen,” Vinny can't help but smile at the moment to which the taller man rolls his eyes. 

“Come on we can talk about this later, right now there's food!” 

“I'm well aware I made it.” 

Soon Vinny is contentedly eating what was arguably some of the best food he's had in months if not longer. He wasn't sure what half of it was but he couldn't care less, honestly the stuff could have all been poison and he'd probably still eat it. He has to admit he was particularly fond of the kimchi which he ate a probably concerning amount of all on its own. 

“Where did you learn to cook like this?” He asks before biting into a cube of meat. 

“I don't know, I remember how to cook writing things down helped, but as to who taught me and when I am uncertain the,” He explains as he pours himself a second cup of tea. “Aside from the kimchi, my father taught me,” 

“Well, it's really good,” It’s hard to imagine the First Spinjitzu Master doing something that mundane, but he guesses that is a little idiotic seeing he was just a man once too. “Thanks again, this is great!”

“It was just as much for myself as for you,” Garmadon replies, barely glancing up. 

“Yeah yeah, whatever lets you take the compliment,” Vinny waves off the comment to which he receives an audible scoff from Garmadon who returns to ignoring him. 

The two sit in a comfortable silence for the next few minutes, Vinny finishing the last of his food and sipping on a second cup of tea. It’s funny to think that when his day was over his family was still in the middle of theirs, going about festivals and activities back in San Morella. The thought of his family makes him wonder how Garmadon feels about his family.

He knows the other man cares for his son, whether or not he realizes Vinny is unsure. He remembers his words after the events of his trial, the way he seemed to barely hang on to his sanity at the realization of what had happened at the prison. Vinny had seen that broadcast as it was happening, he’d seen parents cover their children's eyes, people turn away when the fight got too bad and of course, there was the quiet shock of the aftermath. He had assumed Garmadon at the very least remembered, finding out he hadn’t was… surprising to say the least. He assumed Garmadon wanted to right his wrongs because of what he had done because he knew what he had done. 

Hearing the other man’s self-hatred pour out so openly, practically wishing death upon himself, was jarring. Watching him tear himself apart was like watching an animal attempt to chew its own leg off, it was terrifying and miserable to watch. Vinny wasn’t even sure how to deal with the situation, he just opened his mouth and just crossed his fingers hoping to say the right thing, and somehow he did. Afterward, he dabbed rubbing alcohol and wrapped up the gouges Garmadon had left in his hands. Garmadon hadn’t said anything on the night since, which was fair seeing Vinny wasn’t exactly present.

“Why did you not go down to see your family?” Garmadon asks suddenly snapping Vinny out of his thoughts and forcing him to realize that he’d drained his cup again. 

“What?” 

“I heard you on the phone,”

“Oh,” Vinny runs his fingers through his hair trying to organize his thoughts. “Work mostly I’m… well I’m kinda the only one willing to work, this year was especially bad, so you know,” He shrugs but Garmadon just furrows his brow. 

“I assure you I do not,” He says, narrowing his eyes. “I heard you on the phone, why choose work over that?” Ah, that’s where this spurred from. 

“Well for one the bonus and um cause… well other people would have to stay if I don’t,” Five years ago he went home for New Year, and the second he got back someone was complaining about working New Year. It had immediately sent a twist of guilt into his mind, one he's yet to shake every year. 

“You need to learn to be selfish,” Garmadon responds, making Vinny shift his gaze. “While your selflessness is… admirable the extent you take it to seems unfair,” 

“Unfair?” Vinny asks, trying to digest the other man's comment. 

“To yourself,” He says matter-of-factly.

Garmadon pauses for a moment drawing his lips tight for a moment before sighing. “I find it easy to do as I want, I have to put thought into not doing so, you do not have this problem,” Vinny shifts, running a hand through his hair again. “You should learn to be more selfish.” 

“You think so?” At his core he knows it's true, he knows he doesn't want to be in the city, that he shouldn’t be in the city this year much less the last five. 

“It is not my decision.” Garmadon shrugs before rising from the table and gathering the plates. 

“I can do the dishes if you want,” He offers as Garmadon shrugs. 

“Eh, I cleaned everything else,” He notes offhandedly, making Vinny pause. 

“Wait what?” He glances around the apartment, which only at a close look is he able to realize looks much more tidy. 

“Your bookshelf looked like it had been through a tornado, they're in alphabetical order,” He says as he dumps his dishes into the sink. “And before you ask it's based on author, the DVDs and CDs got organized too,” 

“Thank you, why did you do that? Vinny asks, throwing a glance at the bookshelf which looks straighter and more organized than it's ever been. 

“New Year, cleaning is meant to clean out all the bad luck,” Garmadon takes the remaining food on plates and begins wrapping it in plastic which Vinny knows he didn't keep in the apartment before. 

“Well I appreciate it, it was very nice of you.” He puts a hand on Garmadon’s shoulder squeezing it lightly before turning to begin washing dishes. 

Shortly after washing dishes, Vinny gets a call from his cousin Mariana who's also away from the family though that's because she's with her husband's family this year. Once she hangs up Vinny joins Garmadon on the couch where he sits scribbling in his notebook as perusal. He puts on the movie he's watched for New Year every single year since it came out, it's a stereotypical rom-com, with all the stupid mediocre plot beats except it's in space with aliens. He's pretty sure it's got like a 1.5 star rating but he couldn’t care less he loves it. 

At first, Garmadon seems to intentionally try to ignore it but by the thirty-minute mark he's glancing up every few minutes, and by the forty-five-minute mark his notebook is on his lap and he leans back watching the movie and adding his commentary. Vinny can't help but laugh as Garmadon points out the absurdity and slowly grows more and more annoyed at the flimsy plot. By the time the movie reaches the end Garmadon is confused, Vinny is elated as he always is at the end, and the two debate on what they should put on as they greet the new year. It winds up being a fifteen-minute debate on fantasy or drama a debate Garmadon wins, pulling the cleaning and cooked dinner card, so they end up watching a movie about a girl cursed to obey what other people tell her to do. 

Part way through Vinny’s alarm goes off signaling the new year was only ten minutes away. He flips to a broadcast channel where a heavily glammed-up pop artist stands with an equally sparkles mic giving a speech about the incoming year. Garmadon walks off for a moment returning with two cups handing one to Vinny and keeping one for himself. 

“It's orange juice, it's good luck for the new year,” He explains as Vinny stares into the cup. “Drink it when the clock strikes.”

“I've never heard of that, I was always told you have to eat four pumpkin seeds,” He laughs when Garmadon throws him what has to be the most confused look he's ever seen on the other's face. 

“Why in the world would that be the case?” He asks leaning back. 

“I don't know it's just what my dad taught me,” Vinny chuckles as Garmadon rolls his eyes. 

“Well unfortunately there are no pumpkin seeds, you'll have to do that next year,” Garmadon shakes his head as the two of them look back at the screen where it cits to a ginormous crowd in the city square. 

“I'm so glad we're not there,” Vinny gestures to the crowd to which Garmadon nods. 

“A form of torture, I'd say,” He says as Vinny nods along. 

“You're telling me!” 

The two watch as the clock ticks down. Vinny pulls on his headphones and offers Garmadon a pair of earplugs as the new year inches close. The clock ticks, ticks, and ticks, before finally reaching twelve o'clock. 

“Happy New Year!” Vinny grins holding up his cup. 

“Happy New Year.” he two clink cups before taking a sip of the orange juice.  

The two sit as fireworks burst and boom in the distance, drinking the good luck orange juice and reading the subtitles of the movie. It wasn't his usual New Year, he'd typically stay up shoot his friends in the same timezone a text, and then go to bed till his family woke him up to say Happy New years a few hours later in their time zone, instead, he sits on the couch with Garmadon who points out the movie's confusing magic system as fireworks clap in the background. 

He knows this year will be different, he just hopes that means it can also be better.

Chapter Text

Garmadon hadn’t expected New Years to go so well; to be fair, his only points of reference are far less than favorable. It was a New Year where Ninjago was in the midst of a harsh famine; he, Wu, and their father didn't need to eat to live, so despite being relatively young rather than celebrate with the little they had, they worked to feed the village that day instead. However, the evening ended with him vomiting up venom in front of a group of children he'd been caring for during the dinner. The way they stared at him, eyes glistening as they stared at the disgusting display of him trying not to retch in front of them once more. Villagers ushered them away while Wu and their father took Garmadon back to the monastery where he stayed the rest of the night, drinking water only to heave it up alongside the vile liquid that left his throat burning and sores in his mouth. 

It was one of the memories that reminded him, above all else his father saw him as an embarrassment. He dumped him back at the monastery by himself on New Year's to curl up in pain alone in his bedroom. He knows something happened after that, though. Wu was there, but he couldn't dredge up exactly what happened. He thinks perhaps it was something positive, a nice moment with his brother, that the spell had to remove to distance him from his humanity as much as possible. 

This New Year was so different from the ones he is able to recall. The idea came mostly out of a place of selfishness, having a clean home and a New Year's dinner was good luck. You clean out the bad luck, and a good supper is a sign of a plentiful year. He needs all the luck he can get, with both the court case as well as his own personal turmoils making life difficult as is. So he got to work, he located Vinny’s cleaning supplies, quickly realized they were subpar, and began his list of things he needed. 

The list would grow as he began writing out the names of dishes he remembered. His notebook had grown full of dishes, half-finished recipes, and random ingredients he knew he needed for something . After a few days of mostly using deductive reasoning and brute forcing his way through his own mind he organized a list which he gave to Vinny who pawned it off on someone who knocked and began fiddling with the door handle giving Garmadon just enough time to disappear into the bathroom where he waited until he heard the door open and shut again. 

He spent the next few days cleaning the apartment top to bottom, alongside working his way through a list of dishes, some of which he liked more than others. He found an odd sense of peace listening to the thrum of the TV as he reorganized the positively unruly bookshelf, as well as the DVDs and CDs. He listened to a program about moths while dusting, a different program about beetles while scrubbing the kitchen, and finally a program about horses while sweeping and mopping the floors. He washed his clothes in the tub as had become custom for him and hung them to dry, having them put away by the time Vinny would return to the apartment. 

He was proud of his work. When he looked over the practically sparkling apartment, he felt as if he'd accomplished something. Despite what he told himself, that he’d cooked and cleaned all for himself, the look on Vinny’s face when he walked through the door was more than welcome. When the man placed the earrings and painting in his hands, though he felt angry, he wasn’t sure why, and he made sure not to let the other man see. Why had he done this for him? He didn’t know about the dinner. Garmadon had been nothing but trouble for him, and still, he went and got him gifts out of nothing but the kindness of his own heart. 

He didn’t want to accept, he wanted to shove it back in the other man’s hands and tell him he didn’t want the useless gifts that did absolutely nothing for him and that he shouldn’t bother with such frivolous things, he wanted to give Vinny a reason to refrain from giving him anything in the future. But he didn’t, for some reason; instead when the man smiled and told him that the earrings reminded him of Garmadon and that he thought he might like the painting, it burned the anger away in one swift blow. How something as delicate and beautiful at the golden butterflies reminds Vinny of Garmadon was beyond him, but he appreciated the gesture just as much as he loathed it. He hated the kindness Vinny extended to him every time he was left to think on it for too long, but then, in the moment when it’s happening, he devours it like some kind of starving man. 

He stares at the picture, it’s old, the monastery looks different than it had when he’d last seen it. The design was simpler, the walls a little too low, low enough for a young boy to easily climb over. It’s beautiful, a perfect replica of the place where he grew up, and it makes his hands tremble. All he can see when he looks at it is the place where he learned he was something to be ashamed of. His father’s gaze as he told Garmadon the prophecy, speaking of how someone was destined to rise above and defeat Ninjago’s greatest evil… how he believed that would be Garmadon. He doesn't think it was an attempt on his father’s part to be cruel, but nothing could numb the pain of his father telling him he was going to be the greatest evil the realm would ever face. 

He doesn’t recall falling asleep. One moment he was holding the painting in his hands, sitting on the couch of Vinny Folsosn’s apartment, the next he still clutched the picture, but he stood in a bedroom, his bedroom, the one at the monastery. Drawings varying in quality hang on the wall, signed by a myriad of people, none of whose names meant anything to him. In the center, though, instead of a drawing picture hangs with a bright red thumbtack he most definitely would not have had back when he called this place home. A photo, the one his son had shown him. Suddenly, the painting in his hand became the picture while the photo became the painting. 

He looks at the man, the deep-set eyes, short grey hair, and a soft smile as he puts an arm around his son. Lloyd looks so young, far younger than the person he’d nearly killed. His smile was so wide and so genuine, he reminded Garmadon of his brother, sickeningly sweet and kind. His boy, the son he couldn’t protect, couldn’t save, who’d kill himself if it meant saving the world.

He moves out of the room and down the empty halls, a light flickers just outside his room, lamps never stayed lit, and bulbs always burnt out so quickly in this portion of the monastery. The picture feels as if it’s attempting to burn a hole in his hand, growing warmer and warmer until ash slowly begins to spill against the floor. He hears some kind of laughter coming from the sitting room, and when he emerges, he finds Wu and his father. They sit next to the fire, a teapot hanging over the flame, casting a dark shadow. His brother is drawing while his father sits with a scroll, showcasing it to him every once in a while. He turns around to see a young dark-haired boy, tears staining his cheeks as his eyes flickered red. He rubbed them raw as he turned back down the hall, vanishing into the air. He watches as Wu and their father fade away as well, smiling and laughing.

He walks through the lightless sitting room, the fireplace barren, and everything dark and coated in a layer of dust. In another life, perhaps he really is in this room, his son sleeps free of any burdens of grandeur, Ninjago is safe and unharmed, his brother is happy and at peace, perhaps Garmadon is too. But that life isn’t real, not for him at the very least; it’s a wishful idea of a perfect world where he’s not this thing he is now. Wouldn’t that be a life?

Suddenly, something swats at his leg, and he jumps, expecting to see the dark-haired young boy who often shows his face in Garmadon's dreams; instead a tiny blonde child looking to be only a few months old clings to his pant leg. For a moment, he hesitates, wondering whose child this was and why it was here? That was until they tilted their head up, bright purple eyes cutting through the darkness of the room. Little hands reach upwards, grabbing at air, waiting for Garmadon to move to do something. 

He reaches down, picking up the child, his hands suddenly vital and the furthest from lifeless one can get. The room lights up the fireplace roaring, and Wu sits on a couch oddly similar to Vinny’s that Garmadon knows for certain wasn’t there before. Wu works on some sort of needlepoint project, sipping tea while the young child in Garmadon’s arms yawns and blinks their bright violet eyes. An arm wraps around his waist, and a head rests on his shoulder. 

“Looks just like you,” murmurs a voice, quiet but not quite soft. “Has your eyes,” he turns to see Misako, who smiles before kissing his cheek. 

He stares at the baby, who giggles, reaching out, grabbing his finger the second he offered it. The child has these tiny hands with the smallest claws Garmadon has ever seen that dig lightly into his finger. His chest constricts as the child yawns, curling up and shutting their eyes. He holds them close as he listens to a tiny little heartbeat. This was so familiar, he’d been here before, he’d done this before. But not like this, he wasn’t at the monastery, and Wu wasn’t there, and Lloyd wasn’t…

Suddenly, he was alone, and the walls certainly were not those of the monastery. The wallpaper is green with a wooden trim, and the furniture is far too new. He looks down at the child in his arms, jade eyes staring up at him this time. Clawed hands wrap around his finger again, but this time, when he looks over to find Misako, she’s not there. She sits on the couch, her head hung as she clutches her glasses, pinching her nose. 

“Garmadon, I know you’ve been saying you need patience, but I just can’t keep doing this!” Her voice is strained and low as she throws a glance at him. “You wake up shouting, and you’ve had those episodes, you’re scaring me! I mean, what am I supposed to do when you’re in a corner and won’t let me help or get near you!”

Garmadon watches as he’s abruptly forced out of his perspective, watching… himself, or at least what was him at one point. He’s far younger, dark hair, horns delicately filed, claws retracted, but still a mostly human appearance. He could see the shake in his hands as he held the sleeping baby to his shoulder. He waits for himself to respond, waits for some sort of anger or hurt instead he just bows his head. 

“Misako I… It’s been getting louder and… I don’t know what to do,” Garmadon is almost taken aback by the sound of his voice, scratchy and tired, judging by the paleness in his face he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d just been sick. 

“It’s been getting louder ?” Misako’s eyes stare directly at the younger him who clenches his eyes shut. 

“I don’t know what's going on, I’ve been feeling worse for wear recently, but I didn’t think it was anything to be worried about, but… now I’m not so sure,” He watches as he holds the baby closer. “Ever since the Serpentine War, it’s been more hateful .”

“Do you think…”

“I don’t know.”

He watches as Misako walks over to him, taking their baby before embracing him as best she could. He watched himself bury his face in her shoulder, shaking as she rubbed his back. He glances down to see a familiar dark-haired boy standing there, eyes staring directly at the scene in front of them, until slowly the small family fizzles away. The boy leans against Garmadon, who puts a hand on his head instinctively. 

“Who was that?” He asks, not looking up at Garmadon, who clenches his jaw, teeth grinding together. 

“Us,” He mutters, the image of that time long past bringing in his mind. 

“Why was there a baby?” The boy asks, wrinkling his nose a little. 

“That Lloyd, my son, back when he was first born.” 

Those tiny hands and jade eyes that glowed so bright that Garmadon for so long couldn’t understand how the child could have possibly gotten them from him… Now he knows. They weren’t just a dormant genetic trait waiting to be awoken, no, they were a symbol of the pain waiting to be inflicted upon him. A sign of a destiny he never asked for. A burden he was forced to carry for the sake of the world at the expense of his life. And it was Garmadon and his mistake that led to that. 

“Wu said I’d make a terrible dad, but he’d be way worse. He's so boring and strict just like father,” The boy sticks his tongue out, and Gamradon feels himself resist the urge to chuckle a bit. “How old is the baby now?”

That was a good question, Garmadon wasn’t sure. Lloyd had been forcibly aged by the Tomorrow’s Tea, and Garmdon’s memory was spotty on a good day; all he really knows for certain is that he’s not a kid anymore… now he’s a young man who deserved far better than he got. 

“Do you miss him?” The boy asks quietly. 

“How could I not?” 

He missed the life that he could have lived, peace and quiet with Ninjago intact and flourishing. But he ruined that world, that life, he climbed that wall, he didn't act fast enough, he didn't fight hard enough. Or perhaps his very existence was an unchangeable factor, the sign of a doomed world. 

His eyes shot open to light streaming into the living room. His ears twitch at the sound of the coffee pot and shuffling, he peels his eyes open to find Vinny half awake, standing in the kitchen, shaking pills out into his hands. His hair is askew, and he doesn't seem to realize the cup he's holding is empty for a moment. 

Garmadon had gotten used to waking up to the apartment quiet and empty. Not that it bothered him, he certainly did not miss the other man's company one bit . He sits up, rubbing his eyes as the dull ache at the back of his head grows in severity. This much exposure to vengestone wasn't doing many favors for him. He stretches, shoulders popping, but he still feels stiff; having to be in this smaller form for this long is more than frustrating. 

“Morning,” Vinny calls from the kitchen.  “Or afternoon, I guess, it's twelve,” Vinny yawns, waving at him before promptly clutching the counter in an attempt to stop from falling. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks curiously, noting Vinny’s slight wince as he turns towards the coffee pot.

“Well…” Vinny hums as if trying to come up with something on the spot. 

“Can't be good after how much you've pushed yourself.” The words come out in a harsher manner than he intended, but then again, rarely did his tone come across in a way he wanted. 

“Okay, yeah, it's bad… really bad,” Vinny grumbles, head slumping to his chest before he pours himself a cup of coffee. “But I've got a week off, so fingers crossed, hopefully I won't feel like death,” 

“Well, don't do anything all too strenuous, it’ll do you no good,” He mutters, rubbing his eyes, blinking out the bright spots in his vision. 

“I won’t, I'm actually gonna go sit in bed for a bit longer,” Vinny chuckles into his cup as he takes a sip of coffee. “Ms. Andreyev is stopping by tomorrow, has something to tell you and give you, apparently, same time as always.”

There hasn’t been much news when it came to the case, mostly just that witnesses from the Two Moon village were arriving as well as a few other folks that Ms. Andreyev came in contact with after the start of the trial. Garmadon isn't entirely sure of who exactly will be at the trial, part of him wishes he didn't have to be there when they were, unfortunately, as the defendant he's ‘required for all procedures'. Though it was his only time to stretch his legs now, if it weren't for what occurred the last time he entered the building, perhaps it would be a welcome reprieve. 

He's yet to escape visions of what was presented; sometimes it would dull, fall to the wayside, but the guilt still hung heavy. He isn't certain of what exactly to do . He can't apologize, he won't, something like a mere apology will do no true good for him and certainly not for his son. He doesn't like to think too hard about Lloyd, or at least doesn’t like to think of meeting him. He doesn’t want his son to see this half-alive version of him, this version of him that had nearly murdered him.

He opens up his book, jotting down the dream in an attempt to ground himself slightly. It only half works. He can’t avoid the gnashing guilt, but it allows for the tremors in his hands to subside slightly. He manages to eat something akin to breakfast before taking up the new book he'd fished out of the recesses of Vinny’s shelf. 

He was interrupted by the man halfway through the chapter, and his subsequent notes. 

“You wanna do something fun?” He asks, immediately making Garmadon furrow his brow in confusion.

“I'll remind you before you get ahead of yourself, I am unable to leave the apartment,” He mentions quickly as he continues to scribble notes about the repeated use of colors to convey moral character. 

“I know, that's why I thought I might teach you something new, some games,” Garmadon glances up at the man with a sigh. 

“If I dislike it, I will cease the indulgence immediately.” 

He assumed games would entail something such as checkers or chess or something on a board, instead Vinny hooks some odd box up to the TV and shoves an utterly bizarre device into Garmadon’s hands. After an unfortunate amount of time and more shouting than either of the two cared to admit, he somewhat understood the mechanics. One was some sort of farming simulator, and the other was a game based on a set of sci-fi movies Vinny enjoys, however, it was in the style of toys for some reason. Vinny claimed it was old and a bit glitchy, Garmadon certainly couldn't tell what was or wasn't, so he could care less. 

Most of their time was spent on the second game, particularly the level that required them to win a race from the movie, or so he was told. By the end, he was convinced the level was created to mentally torture all those who happened upon it. He thought Vinny was going to rip out his hair, and he wanted to personally hunt down the creator of the game and demand to know why they would possibly create something so irritating. By the time they completed it, Vinny had moved from the couch to the floor, and Garmadon found it impossible to sit, choosing to pace around instead. 

“Finally! Son of the First Master, finally!” Vinny pumps his fist in the air before tossing the “controller” onto the couch. 

“Yes, thank goodness, this was awful,” He grumbles, tossing his device next to Vinny’s. 

“I'd say it wasn't that bad but I think it was, no wonder this was so deep in the closet,” He chuckles as he leans back against the couch. “It was fun in a weird kind of way though.”

“Only if you have a masochistic love of torture,” Garmadon sighs as he settles back onto the couch. “Though I suppose it was something to do,”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask, do you want me to pick up anything for you to do while you're here?” Vinny asks, staring up at him from the floor. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Like, do you have any hobbies or something you like to do in your free time?”

As of recently, he’s spent the majority of his time writing and cooking; there wasn’t exactly much to do in the small apartment, and quite frankly, he wasn’t even sure what he liked doing. He knows he used to do things, had hobbies and activities he enjoyed, but he doesn’t recall what those things were anymore. “Not really,” not anymore .

“Do you want something? I mean it has to get boring, right?” Garmadon shifts in his seat, not really wanting to think about his days confined to the apartment. “And I mean I feel bad you’re alone here for hours, and I don’t know, I was just worried about you.” Vinny doesn’t look at him, and Garmadon couldn’t be more thankful. 

“I don’t require anything.” He wanted the conversation to end there, for the other man not to push it further, but of course, he couldn’t be so lucky. 

“Are you sure? I just want to be sure you’re comfortable,” Garmadon twitches with the urge to tell him off, to snap, to yell at him to make him drop the conversation and leave him be, but he can’t . 

“It is fine,” He grits out, teeth clenched, unsure of where the man's sudden worry came from. 

“It's just I don't want you to feel lonely,” Vinny’s tone carries something in it, something more than concern, something he can't pinpoint and certainly doesn't know how to understand.

Garmadon breathes, doing his best to steady his tone as frustration bites at his brain. “I am used to being alone, I assure you, this isn't anything new!” He was more used to being alone than the feeling of being around people, it had always been that way. 

“It isn't?” Vinny says it as if he's surprised, how could he possibly be surprised that Garmadon of all people was all too familiar with being by himself. 

“You're not an moron Vinny, surely it isn't too far-fetched an idea for you to grasp? Unless you truly are some soft idiot who is truly so oblivious and stupid.” Garmadon scoffs with only a roll of his eyes. 

For the first time, he sees the man's gaze become upset, his eyebrows pinch together, and he frowns as he stares at Garmadon, whose mouth goes dry. This wasn't a misunderstanding, him asking an out-of-place or slightly too uncomfortable question, or making an off-handed comment meant as some form of joke, he'd said what he said on purpose, and it did its job. He didn't mean what he said, not really, he just wanted to shut down the topic by any means, and… he did just that. 

Vinny rises from his spot without a word. Garmadon wanted him to get angry, to say something bad, to use any of the million reasons he had given the other man to snap back at him and finally take them. It's what worked with his father, it had worked with his brother, and the dozens of other faceless people he pushed away when they got too close to the truth. Instead, he went to the kitchen without a word, grabbing something out of the fridge and walking off down the hall. No yelling, no glaring, not even a look, nothing . 

He'd bitten. He knows it wasn't the first time, he recalls how he did it to practically everyone who's ever bothered to know him. He and his brother had traded some nasty insults, some of which he still couldn't determine if they were true or not. He'd had quarrels with past friends and lovers when he knew they were too good for someone like him, some took the bait, others didn't. 

The worst was his father. His father wasn't a violent man, as some parents apparently were, but he all but made up for it with the sharpness of his tongue. While he presented himself as a peaceful, goodly man who was beyond things like anger, Garmadon knew it wasn't true. Every fight was like a lightning storm, the two both striking as hard as they could,d sometimes just because they were both angry. It happened mostly during flare-ups; he’d be in pain and irritated, and he’d snap. Sometimes it started with his father chastising him or Wu, sometimes it didn’t, every time it ended in the two of them not speaking until either they decided to tolerate each other again or they had something that needed to be done. 

He isn’t sure when it started exactly, but it’s been far too long. He didn’t want to push Vinny away, he just… he was afraid? He didn’t want Vinny to leave or even to stop talking, he just wanted him to stop prying, stop getting so personal, stop getting so close . Vinny doesn’t need to know; Garmadon doesn’t want him to. But he also didn’t want him to think he meant what he’d said. He truly didn’t, he didn’t think Vinny was soft or idiotic, or at least he didn’t think the man's soft nature was something to be looked down on; he found it admirable to the point he was almost envious. 

He picks at the scabs on his palms as he debates what to do. Vinny was trying to be kind, as he always is, and Garmadon had snapped at him because he didn’t know what to do when things got too personal, other than shove him away. But he didn’t actually want him gone, so he should… apologize. He’d done something wrong that he regrets, so he should apologize . 

He swears sometimes he can still hear the Great Devourer, its voice slithering through his head. ‘ You don’t deserve forgiveness, ’ it would say, ‘ You might even wind up saying something worse. ’ It adds, ‘ You’ve ruined it, you ruin everything eventually. ’ He knows it isn’t the Great Devourer, it’s gone, but he still hears those thoughts that tell him everything that hurts, but he knows deep down is probably true. The Great Devourer didn’t control him anymore, yet his mind seemingly couldn’t grasp that properly. 

A sudden pinch of pain drags him forcibly back to reality, the scab he'd been picking at had cracked and been scratched off, leaving the wound exposed and bleeding again.  He kept doing that, a nervous habit that he swears he hadn’t had before. His fingers twitch to scratch at the scabs again before quickly drawing his hand away in an attempt to stop. 

He needs to apologize, that’s what he needs to do, focus on that, not what his mind is saying, not the scratching. He takes up his notebook and scribbles out sentences, trying to figure out something that didn’t just sound like pathetic slop. 

I didn’t mean to upset you but you were

                                    I don’t need your pity, that’s why I didn’t want     

                                                                                                    I know you mean well but

I don’t want you to                                                     You’re too close to                     

                       I didn’t know how to talk about

                                                                                                                   I didn’t mean what I said

The sentences wouldn’t come when he wrote them down, when he tossed them through his head and they boiled in his brain, but when written, they seemed pathetic… he seemed pathetic. Does apologizing make him pathetic? Vinny never seemed to think so, and he was the one Garmadon was apologizing to after all. Perhaps writing it out wasn’t the solution, perhaps he just needed to spit it out, he didn’t want that sentence to linger or muddle the air longer than it has to, so-

Vinny emerges from the hallways with what looks to be the core of a pear. He doesn’t say anything, he walks to the trash can, disposing of the core before turning to the large canteen he uses to keep coffee warm. Garmadon watches for a moment as the man pulls out a spoon to stir chocolate syrup and cream into his coffee. he doesn't seem to be avoiding Garmadon’s gaze intentionally; he just seems to be doing what he always does. Garmadon tries to open his mouth, make some kind of noise, but nothing happens. 

He stands, and finally, Vinny looks up at him from the kitchen. His expression is completely unreadable; he’s not smiling, but he doesn't quite seem to be frowning either. His first sign of acknowledgement is a slight raising of his eyebrow as Garmadon tries to gather the strength to get out even a simple string of words. 

“I’m sorry.” It’s the only thing he can blurt out, no explanation, and said with about just as much eloquence as a fallen tree, still Vinny stands there and something in him seems to ease. 

“You are?” The question isn’t asked in curiosity, more so in an encouraging manner as if he intrinsically knew Garmadon had more to say simply by looking at him, it was times like these he doubts the man is fully human. 

Garmadon swallows, tossing out his carefully constructed lists; he needs to apologize, he needs to be honest . “I am… I apologize for saying that to you. I fully admit I did it on purpose, I wanted to say something hurtful because…,” he pauses, he was saying too much, his instinct tells him he shouldn't say anything else, though it feels as if his instincts aren't helpful as of late. “I was… I was afraid, I didn't know what to do or say because I didn't want to tell you the truth, so I said the first thing that would get us off the topic… even if that meant saying something I don't truly believe.”

He watches the other man as he takes a deep breath, rubbing his eyes and leaning his elbows on the counter before facing Garmadon. “It's… well, I won't say okay , but I guess I understand what you mean.” Vinny shakes his head, gazing down at the counter. “I did that when I was younger, angrier, believe it or not,” He grimaces. 

After a beat of silence, Garmadon finds it in himself to speak. “I didn't mean what I said, I truly did not,” 

“Yeah?” Vinny glances at Garmadon, who battles the urge to pick at his hand again. 

“I don't think you are an idiot, and while I do think you're soft, I believe it a respectable trait.” The look on Vinny’s face seems hesitant, making Garmadon's stomach churn with an unfamiliar yet well-known feeling. “You care, probably too much for your own good, you are forgiving, understanding, somehow, and you are kind in ways I don't even think your fellow man is. I would be a liar if I told you if I told you you weren't an admirable man.” 

The truth spilled out and it seemed to refuse to stop. Once he'd finished, his tongue felt like lead as he awaited a laugh or even a scoff, an accusation Garmadon was just trying to get himself out of trouble. The truth usually came out slowly and painstakingly, yet here it had come easily, and currently the only thing he feared was a response. 

“I don't know what to say,” Vinny admits, exasperated. “You seriously think that?” 

“I do, that is why I told you,” He answers quickly. 

“Okay, um… well, thank you, I uh… try, I guess? Seriously, though, I wasn't exactly expecting an apology,” Vinny admits, making Garmadon furrow his brow. 

“I said something hurtful, thusly I should apologize, is that not correct?” He asks genuinely. 

“Well, yeah, but I don't know, I wasn't expecting that, I guess,” He explains, scratching the back of his neck. 

“What is ‘that’?” 

“Something so genuine, I guess?” 

“Perhaps you are an idiot.”

“Hey!”

Garmadon was thankful for his decision to apologize; he much preferred eating leftovers for dinner in company rather than alone, because while he was all too familiar with the sensation, that didn't exactly mean he enjoyed it. He told Vinny he would explain more about their earlier conversation at some point, but he didn't mention the fact that he didn't quite feel he could do so yet, perhaps one day. Wasn't that a fantastical thought? 

.oOo.

The next day, Vinny leaves shortly before his meeting with Ms. Andreyev, and Garmadon realizes that he might be leaving so as to give him privacy, which is an almost comical thought. It wasn't as if their conversation was a secret; every detail they discussed would be broadcast across all of Ninjago in a matter of days. 

He'd bore witness to the programs about him. Vinny had seen him watching Ms. Gossip's recount of the trial and cringed visibly, ironic seeing hers was one of the less harsh reports, he’d even go as far as to say that it was practically neutral. Most called him a monster; the word had become synonymous with the news channels' blindingly bright colors and the footage of his fight with his son. He’s been the so-called “talk of the town” and it’s been frustrating at best, and brain-crushingly miserable at worst. Every da,y it’s an echochamber of the worst actions he's ever taken. He supposes it's good for him, though; it forces him to remember what he had done, to recognize the price of his revival.

Ms. Andreyev arrives at the same time as she always does, 12 pm on the dot. Today she's a tad different, she looks tired as he opens the door to greet her. Her attire is a bit more relaxed: a dress shirt and pants instead of a full suit, her dark hair in a ponytail rather than the tight bun it is typically pulled back in. She clutches a metal cup and a small folder rather than her briefcase. 

“Afternoon Lord Garmadon,” She greets as he steps aside for her to come inside. 

“Ms. Andreyev,” He acknowledges as she takes a sip from her cup. 

“How was your New Year?” She asks as she sets down the folder on the kitchen island. 

“It was… different,” He manages, any other words describing it feeling too… something . “Yourself?”

“Quite nice, got to see some friends and family,” She smiles lightly. “Now I have nothing ‘official’ for you, simply something to uh boost morale I suppose,” She opens up the folder, staring at the contents of which he isn't able to see at his angle on the other side of the table. 

“I assume you know of a woman named Saeko?” She asks, more as a general wave of acknowledgement rather than an actual question. 

“I do,” He responds anyway. 

“Well, she would like to speak to you.” His brow crinkles as the words leave the woman's lips. 

“Alright…” He mutters as Ms. Andreyev nods, glancing back into the folder. 

“You won't be permitted to speak to Saeko until after her testimony, but she has told me herself she'd like to, at some point. However, I can give you this,” She slides a bright green envelope across the table that Garmadon turns over in his hands. “She says it's from her daughter, Min.” 

Carefully he takes one of his claws, dragging it across the top of the envelope. Inside is a small slip of paper folded into a heart. His instinct is to roll his eyes at the gesture, but a secondary emotion rears it's head, one he can't quite pinpoint. He unfolds the paper to find a short note scrawled out. 

Dear Garmadon

I wanted to tell you good luck. Mama says you shouldn't 

need it, and maybe you don't, but I just wanted to, just in case. 

I also wanted to tell you that the village has been doing well 

and your helmet is still in good hands!

-Min :)

P.S. Thanks again for helping the village I missed when Mama and everyone were so happy

Stuck to the bottom of the card is a slightly blurred photograph of the young girl holding the familiar dark helm with a wide grin. He shuts the card with a deep breath, teeth clenched tightly. The sight of the head covering was enough to make his chest feel tight and his breathing unsteady. It was a peculiar reaction, one he himself had trouble understanding, though when did he not? 

“You're very lucky, you know,” Ms. Andreyev’s voice draws him away from the photo. “They've spoken well of you already. I'm impressed.” 

“I saved their village and nearly died, I would hope I got some sort of recognition,” it wouldn't be the first time that happened, history has a funny way of erasing people who aren't pristine, unsullied heroes. 

“Still, it was more than I expected.” The wording strikes him in a strange way, though he doubts it is the fault of Ms. Andreyev. “Now I'm afraid I can't stay long, I have some historians I'm meeting with today,”

“Well, the delivery is… appreciated,” He manages to grit out despite how uncomfortable the words feel. 

“I'll be sure to let them know.” 

With a short smile and the collecting of her cup, she swings out the door, the only indication she'd been there at all being the folder and letter from Min. 

.oOo.

The next day of the trial began much the same as the others before it, his hands were cuffed and he was left with his mind clouded and his limbs lethargic with the sheer potency of the vengestone. He swears the cuffs they put him in are worse, somehow. They make his skin itch to the near point of burning, and he feels as if he may pass out just from the walk from the police car into the courthouse.  

The chatter seems louder when he enters the familiar mothball-scented room. He squints at the crowd, lights seeming more similar to staring directly at the sun, it's already giving him a headache. Ms. Andreyev is already at the usual spot, shuffling through papers and muttering to herself. Her hands are quick but steady as he sits down next to her, her jaw is tight as a deadbolt, and her eyes burning as she glances from the door to the witness seating off to the side, which has yet to be filled. 

“They’re on their way.” She answers as if someone had asked her about the absence of witnesses. 

It was only five minutes before the beginning of the trial that all of the witnesses arrived in a small group. Four people take the seats on the small bench, Saeko trails at the back of the group, looking Garmadon directly in the eye as she passes to sit on the witness bench. There’s this glint in her eye, one he swears he’s never seen her wear before, it was one that sent an uncomfortable twinge of unease through his body. 

The trial began in the same manner as the last two times, the only addition being the witnesses, each of whom sit staring directly at the judge, not even glancing their way. He flexes his fingers, he wants to pick at the barely healed scabs, but he resists when a thought bubbles up, ‘ It could get infected. Remember the last time something got infected? ’ The air seems to grow cold at the resurgence of the memory; the images of icy flesh blistering and practically rotting flash through his mind. He nearly gags at the thought. 

As the trial begins, his ear suddenly felt as if they're clogged with water, and he can't seem to hear a thing. He shakes his head, trying to focus on the words the judge is speaking as Saeko takes the stand. She does so effortlessly and still with that odd look upon her face. He watches her as she puts her hand up to swear in, when she suddenly turns to face him. 

“Your honor, I am having second thoughts,” She says calmly as she puts down her hand. 

“Why would that be, ma'am?” The judge asks shortly as she turns entirely to face Garmadon. 

“Well, I wouldn't want to defend a murderer, now would I?” His blood runs cold at the sound of her words. “You didn't tell us what you'd done, Garmadon, you lied to us. Our good faith is based on our lack of knowledge of the truth.” 

Garmadon turns to Ms. Andreyev, who sat staring blankly ahead, as if she didn't hear a single thing Saeko was saying. Suddenly, the woman jumps from the stand, her arms contorting into elongated appendages, her face straining and melting as if being pulled from every angle. He barely has time to stumble out of his seat when hands clench his face, talons digging into his flesh as if it were clay rather than skin and blood. 

“You lie to everyone, you fool them into believing that you’re tolerable, and then you ruin them. Like everything else you touch.” It was no longer Saeko's voice, it was an odd chorus of voices he could only vaguely make out. They were each fighting for dominance, begging to be the loudest, the one to torment him. “You're polluted, always have been, and all you can do is hope people don't notice!” 

He pries the talons from his face, shoving the thing away, turning and unceremoniously running as fast as physically possible. His lungs burn and his legs scream as he rushes down unfamiliar street after unfamiliar street. Was this even Ninjago City? Where was he? Where was everyone? All questions take a back seat as he knows the creature right behind him, the only wall barring the thing from getting its hands on him being the distance he’s attempted to put between them. It’s waiting for a moment of hesitation so its maw may open and its talons may grip his flesh. 

The moment comes in the form of an old face flashing in the window ahead of him. He pauses for just a moment whipping around in hopes of spotting someone he hadn’t seen in he wasn't sure how long anymore quite some time. A face that always twisted into a snarl as fast as it could into a smile. The face of someone whom he’d abandoned. The face of…

What happened between you?

                                                    He did something to you.   

                                                                                                     Why can’t you remember?

  What did he do? What did he do? What did he do? What did he do? What did he do? What did he do? What did he do? What did he do? What did he do? What did he do? What did he do? What did he do?

It wasn't him…

The thing pushes him down, and his back hits the grass. The thing above him takes an all too familiar face, but the features are all wrong. The eyes are too large and are a shade of brown rather than hazel, hair two shades too light, lips too pale, and the nose too short. A hand squeezes around his neck, and when he reaches up to try and pry the man's grip off his neck, he realizes these aren't his hands, not anymore. The claws are clipped down to the nail bed, edges filed to perfection, smooth and utterly useless. His throat burns with a trapped scream as an appendage manages to restrain one of his thrashing hands. He claws with his remaining hand, tearing at the face despite his short nails. A chunk of the face detaches from the rest like watered-down clay that proceeds to fall from his hand and land on his stomach as all of the energy drains from his body. 

He lies there limp as his vision blurs and his body loses all sensation. Hands are around his neck, but they barely exist; he doesn't even realize when they're not there anymore. He doesn't move until the sky above him morphs into a ceiling. He takes a long gulp of air that pour into his desperate lungs. He glances to the side of him where Wu sits on a chair, lacing his fingers. They were in the monastery again.  

The amorphous figure looming over him, face stretching out into an imitation of a face he's seen too many times. Pale gold eyes like his brother and dark hair like him, one wing is ravaged as if it had been clawed to shreds, with the other looking as if it's melting. Talons threaten to stab into his brother’s fragile flesh at any moment, though Wu doesn't acknowledge the creature. 

“-I'm worried about you, is all,” Wu doesn't look at him, instead staring into his cup. 

“I'm fine.” He responds instinctively. 

“Are you? It seems like I see you less and less, it's making me nervous!” The talons inch closer to his brother, making him nearly jump out of his seat. 

“I've just been busy with studies, that's all, nothing more,” He shrugs casually, trying not to breathe a sigh of relief as the talons inch away. 

“It's just… I don't think your um… partner is a good guy. I don't want to intrude, brother, truly I don't, but you can't expect me not to be the least bit concerned when you keep showing up like this !” Garmadon looks at himself, his hand is bandaged, but as far as the eye could tell, he seemed physically fine… still an unease unfurled in his gut, and suddenly he felt as if he might vomit. 

“You really want to tell your brother what happened? What you allowed? He doesn't need your problems, for you to pollute him like you have yourself.” The creature sets its sorry excuse for hands on Wu's shoulders, his brother doesn't react. “Would you want that?”

“It's nothing, Wu, just training. Dark magic is like this sometimes,” He leans back, not wincing even when the couch dug into a bruise on his back, and his brother sighs. “Look if you're really so worried, I can uh… come and check in more?” 

“Please do, it feels like I rarely see you any more and-,” He pauses sucking in a breath “-I'm just worried, you know?” 

“Yeah, I know. Honestly, you're one missed call away from worrying yourself sick,” He chuckles as Wu rolls his eyes. 

“It's just you were never so beat up when we would duel as children,” Wu grumbles off-handedly, Garmadon still needed to drive it home that everything was fine . 

“Wu, trust me, it's no big deal. Maybe if you didn't pull punches when we were younger-”

“I did not pull punches!” 

“ Sure you didn't!”

His brother laughs as the creature pulls away from him. Garmadon breathes a sigh of relief as the figure stands staring at the two as Wu starts talking about something that slowly fades out, as Garmadon is left in an empty room with the figure. 

“You're dirty.” It whispers as he rises from his seat, his feet landing in some kind of puddle. 

“You are a disgusting abomination.” He looks down to see a red puddle pooling around his feet. 

“You killed him.”  

He glances to the side in an attempt to find the source of the blood. Blonde hair plastered to the sticky blood-soaked dust, red mixing with gold in a large puddle. His knees buckle and he falls beside the body, a lifeless set of green eyes staring up at him as he pushes blood stained hair from his son's face. 

“You know you don't deserve redemption. How long until everyone else does too?”

He cradles his son's body, hoping and begging for it to spring back to life, instead, the only sound is that of the creature's breath and the blinking of its sticky eyes. He glances up at the face of the man who created him, of the man who regretted him for so long, Garmadon wasn't sure why he was even alive sometimes, and the man just stares. The only person who seemed to despise him so thoroughly, even his love and care felt like a farce, even when it wasn't. 

His heart feels like a blade in his chest, he needs it gone, he needs it out . His fingers meld into his flesh, soft, like clay, like the figure. His hand closes around something solid, something warm and beating. He looks down to see a swollen, bloodied mess sitting in his hand. Blood trickles out of it slowly, gold and purple dripping to the floor, mixing and muddling with red. 

 “I'm sorry.” He croaks.

Tendrils inch towards him, but he can’t find the energy to care as they snake up and around his neck. 

“You should be.” He murmurs. 

He practically jumps out of his skin at the feeling of hands on his shoulders as his eyes fly open. His heart races and his blood runs colder than ice. He shoves the figure over him away with a hefty push. He tries to breathe, but doing so seems impossible. He looks around, but his vision is dark at the edges, and everything seems miles away. His hands shoot up to his neck, but nothing is there. 

He realizes suddenly that there’s a voice, a voice he recognizes, a calm voice. He focuses on its eyes, finally settling and showcasing the room in front of him. He’s in Vinny Folson’s apartment, and the man himself is only a few steps away in his night clothes, looking perplexed and concerned. It dawned on him that the hands on him when he came to were Vinny’s, that the man had likely been just trying to rouse him from that dream . Guilt seeps into him as he tries to gather the strength to speak. 

“Garmadon?” Vinny asks, seemingly trying to gauge if he could hear him. 

He nods as he rubs his eyes, pulling his hands away only to see his fingers are coated in a layer of blood and chunks of skin hidden under his claws. The smell of blood hits him like a swift hit, and it’s all he can do to stop from gagging. He looks down to see his sleeves torn, gashes open, and bleeding among the torn fabric. What had happened? He looks to Vinny, who recognized that Garmadon was fully aware. 

“Alright, before we do anything, you need to get rinsed off because there’s a lot of blood.” His voice is steady as his eyes scan Garmadon. “It doesn’t look too deep, but we’ll see, worst case scenario we call emergency services,”

Garmadon would rather bleed out than have to go to a hospital again, so instead he complies heading to the bathroom. He shucks off the remains of his shirt, he dares not look in the mirror as he steps into the cold stream of water. His head spins at the sight of all the grubby flakes of partially dried blood washes from his hands and arms and chest. His chest tightens at every touch of his torso. He felt disgusting, like not even the water could wash away what he’d seen, what had happened, what he had done . 

He steps out his skin stinging as he pulls on his, thankfully, undamaged pants. The air outside the bathroom almost seems suffocating, he can only look ahead through the dimly lit hallway towards the kitchen where Vinny stands with the small basket of medical supplies. His face is pale as the light pouring through the windows, lips drawn tight as his hands curl against the counter. He glances up at Garmadon, who feels so painstakingly bare which in a sense he supposed he was. 

“Okay it doesn't look as bad as I thought it would be, but I still want to patch you up… just in case,” Vinny gestures for Garmadon to sit, to which he complies. 

Garmadon does his best not to flinch when Vinny touches his skin to observe the damage. Every brush of his fingers felt like claws digging into him again and every gaze was a judgement. He doesn't speak as Vinny puts gauze over the marks on his arm, he does as asked when he winds bandages over the claw marks on his bicep. He was doing well, he could tolerate the contact without feeling as if he was going to be sick. Then Vinny went to touch the side of his neck, and all of that fell to pieces. 

He slapped his hand away fast and hard , his ears ringing at the sound of Vinny’s slight wince. His vision blurs and all he can see is Misako, she was younger and her eyes were full of worry when he pushed her away in fear of hurting her. She tried to help him, but he didn't want it, help meant she'd know. By the Balance,  no one could know, no one needed to know anything about him. 

Eyes. All he could feel were eyes . Someone was looking at him. He had no armor, no weapon, for goodness' sake he had nothing and there were eyes on him. He can't breathe again, air wouldn't fill his lungs. Choking, someone must be choking him again. His hands dart to his neck only to find it bare and…

“-Just take a deep breath and try to focus on something,” His ears twitch at the sound of a voice.

He reaches out to grasp something solid and soon he finds it. Vinny’s hand is cold, his fingertips are soft, and if Garmadon adjusted his fingers ever so slightly he could feel the pulse in the other man's palm. He can barely breathe as he tries to focus on what was occurring around him. 

He was in the kitchen. 

He could breathe. 

Vinny was standing next to him. 

Vinny was muttering something he couldn't hear. 

He wasn't in… danger. 

“I'm sorry about your hand.” He mutters, turning it over to inspect the damage, or lack thereof.

“It's okay, I didn't mean to scare you,” Vinny’s voice is hushed and has an odd intonation to it that makes Garmadon feel steadier in his seat. 

“It's not you it's…” He isn't sure. The dream? His own head? Him ? 

“I know. It's alright, I promise . Right now I just want to worry about getting you patched up, okay?” His voice so calm, so steady, Garmadon could only imagine it as an oasis in a desert of muddled sensations. 

“Alright, just give me a moment before you-,” He can't get the word out, it feels grimy. 

“Do you want to try and do it?” Vinny asks, painstakingly, he manages to shake his head. “Alright, well I'm gonna tell you before I touch you. Sound good?” 

“That's fine.” 

His muscles still tense tight as ropes when Vinny dabbed at the wound before beginning to seal a patch to the right side of his neck where the worst of the wound was situated. His fingers are quick and don't linger for longer than needed, pressing the medical adhesive down and quickly retracting. It eased his mind, the way his fingers were careful, yet the contact was only what was necessary. Much to his relief only one of the wounds on his chest was more than a slight flesh wound. Vinny is just as quick with it. 

It was odd, the contact made him squirm while his brain spasms and gnawed at the walls of his head, yet at the same time he craved the sensation clutching the other's hand had brought. He didn't know what he wanted; he didn't want anything to touch his body more than necessary, but in the same instant he wanted the slight weight of another hand in his. 

When all is said and done he quickly pulls a shirt back on thankful for the protective layer the thin cotton seemed to give him. Vinny doesn't say anything as he puts the medical supplies away, Garmadon is equal parts thankful yet resentful of the silence. He wants a sound to break it, for Vinny to speak as if nothing had happened, but at the same time he knew a joke or anything of the sort would only sour his mood. Instead he manages to slump onto the couch where he can't bring himself to lay back down. 

Vinny closes the cabinet, and for a moment, he prepares for the man to leave, to allow the silence to hang heavier and for those hands around his neck to squeeze him tight again during any attempt at sleep. Instead, the other man pulls out a glass and the carton of milk from the fridge, soon other man joins him on the couch with his cup. He doesn't say anything he just takes a seat folding one leg underneath him while the other hangs over the edge. He finds it in himself to let out a breath as he leans back, he wants to allow his eyes to drift close, but the idea of such a sensation seems appalling. Vinny sits sipping silently as Garmadon tries to summon an explanation, anything to distract him from the grips of sleep. 

“You know I'm not gonna lie, I think this is the first time you've ever actually scared me before,” Vinny’s voice takes on a slight rasp to it as he goes on. “I mean I thought you were dying or something.” 

It felt like dying. Those hands. That moment he still couldn't quite recall the entirety of.

“Are you- what happened ?” His voice isn't steady like it had been, as if everything had taken its toll all at once. 

What is he meant to say? He's haunted every waking and slumbering moment by the past. The past that makes him claw at his own throat, however free it may now be. The past that he can't remember anymore. The past that he can't even see in his own reflection anymore, because all he is now is a creature unbefitting of this world. 

But, as Vinny stares ahead, not expecting one answer over another, he sighs. “I don't know , not really… sometimes in my dreams I see things-,” He pauses, mouth dry as the words linger in his mouth waiting to be spoken, “I don't remember things, even some unpleasant things seem impossible to grasp and so I suppose my mind runs on what it can and I see… things.” Things that hurt, real things that happened to me that I can’t remember .  

“Is there anything I can do?” Vinny asks, his eyes are open and as inviting as ever, was it really so impossible for him to just be… he doesn't know what. 

“I can not be certain, I have not-” He pauses glancing at Vinny who's expression hasn't changed in the slightest, “I have not experienced one so vivid and… cruel in quite some time now.” 

A weight feels as if it's lifted of his shoulders as Vinny rests a hand on his arm. it's a small gesture and he makes sure Garmadon knows what he's doing before taking action. “Well I'm here to help, if you need it.”

“I will consider it,” He manages after a moment. “Thank you.” 

He isn't sure when exactly he fell asleep, but for the first time in far to long for his liking, it was a dreamless slumber. 

.oOo.

The true first day of the trial was similar enough to the one in his dream, however, and much to his surprise, Saeko and the others from the Two Moon Village who were meant to attend were nowhere to be seen. Instead, one lone man sits on the bench. The man looks exactly like what Garmadon imagines a mouse would look like if it were suddenly turned into a human, skinny with wide eyes and a small thin mouth, his suit is brown and slightly too wrinkled, as if he hadn’t known he was meant to be there before this morning. He sits tapping his hands against the bench as the courtroom begins to settle. 

The air is as tense as the last time, people mutter to each other about the case, complain about the benches and so forth. It's odd to imagine for others this is simply a glorified performance to them, rather than the decision on whether he'll rot in cold isolation once more.  

“Who is that man?” He mutters quietly to Ms. Andryev, whose eyes drift only for a moment to look at the man in question. 

“A historian specializing in rituals and occult practices, he’s here to help, and trust me, he will be quite helpful,” She explains, the slightest of smiles playing on her lips as the judge enters the court. 

The entire beginning of trial has Garmadon gripping the edges of the table to ground himself. He's awake. Nothing is going to hurt him in the real world. You're powerless here. That small voice whispers. His skin shifts tightly over his hands as he stretches them. 

         In and out. 

                     In and out. 

                                  In and out. 

“Your honor, if I may?” Ms. Andreyev rises from her seat, taking her paper in her hands and glancing over at the mousey man sitting off to the side. “As you know my client Garmadon had pleaded unconsciousness for his crimes,” 

This statement is met by a significant amount of booing on behalf of the crowd. Garmadon can't help but notice the way the judge takes a moment before picking up the gavel and demanding order, forcing everyone to calm themselves. He hears low grumbles, soft voices, but statements that cut like hot knives. They had a right to be angry, to resent what he had done. 

“Your honor, if you will permit it, I have brought one Mr. Shuò Brookshire, who has provided evidence for my client's lack of conscience at the time of his crimes.” The judge glances over at the man who rises from his spot, rocking back and forth on his feet. 

“It is permitted, please take the stand Mr. Brookshire.” The man quickly pads over to the stand, clutching his satchel tightly. “Mr. Brookshire, simply for the act of clarity would you state your qualifications?” 

“I um, I am a professor at the University of Ninjago City, I work as a specialist at the Ninjago Historical Institute and have multiple years of archeological experience,” The man seems to brighten at his statement, confidence in words he’s likely proudly displayed multiple times before, it reminds Garmadon a bit of Misako. 

“May my associate begin his presentation?” Ms. Andreyev asks as the man pulls sheets over paper as well as a tiny device Garmadon can’t quite make out from his bag. 

“He may.”

The man mutters something to one of the men sitting below the judge to which he turns to the woman next to him and she calls something via a radio. Garmadon watches as the dusty screen from the last time is rolled out. His gut churns as the images of Mystaké and Lloyd still seem to play over the blank surface. He grips the table harder, avoiding the temptation to pick at the barely healed scabs on his hands. They’re on his side , he reasons to himself as the man hands the small device to someone as the hand hi back something that looks somewhat similar to Vinny’s TV remote, but smaller in size. 

Soon an image of the three Oni flashed on screen, making more than one audience member gasp or yelp. The reaction is somewhat warranted, they’re odd and somewhat terrifying if you’re not used to seeing Oni. Their smiles are uncharacteristically wide, teeth piercing from the mouth like jagged rocks and their are no holes for the eyes, once the mask is put on the wearer’s eyes are of little use, they simply are a vessel for the artifacts power and rage. 

The small man straightens his suit, standing up taller as he begins. “The ritual which brought back Lord Garmadon is an ancient Oni ritual made to bring the Summoned back from the dead, we're not sure of the origin but it was likely for long battles or-” 

“Objection! Relevance?” Mr. Buchanan stands abruptly, promptly turning heads. 

“This is all relevant historical context for clarity of the purpose of the ritual and its effect on my client,” Ms. Andreyev clarifies as Mr. Buchanan sighs. 

“Overruled, Mr. Brookshire, please continue,” The judge states shortly as the man nods. 

“As I was saying it was a ritual likely used for war by the Oni. This has led me and my fellow historians to conclude the obvious: that it was made only for Oni. I'd like to put a pin in that it will be important later for now I'd like to move on to our only account of the ritual being performed,” He clicks to the next slide which Garmadon recognizes as pages of a book filled with an older form of Ninjago’s language, not entirely ancient but not quite modern either. 

“These are the notes of a past Elemental Master of Smoke, Cinder Baskara, set roughly around the Tea Road era possibly the early urban period though it's unlikely. He took extremely detailed and thorough notes with us having found fifteen out of twenty-seven novels, the one we're interested in I'd the eighth in chronological order. It details the before and after of he and a few other Elemental Masters bringing back the Master of Shadows, Ciaran Shrinivas, and the impending results,” 

“Question for Mr. Brookshire,” Mrs. Shirishi interjects, drawing the attention of the man. “As we're all aware, Lord Garmadon is not exactly human , so how do we know the ritual would work in the same manner?” 

“Oh, well, that’s easy, it wouldn’t work on someone who is fully human, or at least we don’t think so,” Garmadon glances over at Ms. Andreyev who seems nothing but confidence. “However, the Masters of Shadow famously have Oni heritage, with Ciaran Shrinivas being the grandchild of a human and an Oni.”

The crowd once begins their muttering and musing much to both Mr. Brookshire and the judge's dismay. “Order in the court! Please refrain from speaking during the proceedings otherwise I may be forced to close this case from the public!” All noises from the crowd promptly halts, like a child ceasing a tantrum after being told off, it was almost comical. “Mr. Brookshire please resume.” 

“The ritual was performed a little short of a year after Shrinivas’ death and only five days after this resurrection, he was killed by Baskara and the Master of Speed Marcella Turner. Baskara explains that over the five day period Shrinivas was acting erratic, angry and with ‘no moral obligations’, overall he is acting completely unlike his former self,” The next slide seems to zoom in on the image though Garmadon still finds the image to be barely legible from this distance. “He attacked his former friends, villagers and didn't even seem to recognize his own family. It was after nearly fatally wounding Marcella Turner that they conceded and killed him once more.” 

“How do we know it was the ritual that changed his psyche?” Mr. Dilsąd asks, glancing at the pad of paper on the table below him. 

“Well, technically, we can't for certain but from my standpoint, the results are quite similar Lord Garmadon. In fact Ciaran Shrinivas also seemed to have his Oni features accentuated after his resurrection similar to the return of Lord Garmadon's more Oni appearance,” Garmadon shifts at the mention, painfully reminded of how stiff his limbs and joints feel with his second set of arms constantly being shifted away. 

“Are all of these journals your referencing verified documents?” Mr. Dilsąd asks, tapping his pen against the desk. 

“Yes sir, every journal has been analyzed and verified by at least five other historians sometimes more, this one has been verified approximately a dozen times by historians and other found sources,” He responds, causing the other man to purse his lips ever so slightly. 

“And is there any possible way to verify the validity of the theories on this ritual?”Ms. Andreyev's fingers tap at the table, her eyes are emotionless but her jaw seems to tighten as she stares ahead awaiting the historian's answer. 

The question gives Mr. Brookshire pause, he taps his head and almost cartoonishly seems to ponder the question. “I'm not sure, I'm no scientist but to have things as similar as possible to the ritual that brought back Lord Garmadon and Shrinivas would be nearly impossible unless we could find another person with an Oni grandparent,” 

“Do you think it would be-?”

“Objection, lack of personal knowledge and relevance!” Ms. Andreyev bolts up. “The witness is a historian, not a scientist, nor dealing in anything having to do with the census of Ninjago,” 

“Sustained, Mr. Brookshire does not have the arsenal to answer the question in complete certainty,” Garmadon would appreciate the satiation of his curiosity, though preferably not in a public setting where he could practically hear people itching to burst with comments and whispers. 

“Are there any other questions for Mr. Brookshire?” The judge gazes to both sides, both of whom make no comment. “Mr. Brookshire do you have anything to add?” 

“No, your honor.”

“You may exit the bench.” 

Mr. Brookshire quickly gathers himself, rushing right back to the spot he had occupied, looking as if he'd never left the second he sits down. The beat of silence in the courtroom seems to stretch on for ages, coughs and hiccups echo through as Ms. Andreyev sorts through her papers and while Garmadon can't quite get a good look at them the opposing side seems at odds with each other on something. 

“Your honor, may we request a five minute recess for a short discussion?”  Mrs. Shirishi asks through a strained voice, as if she were seconds away from coughing or yelling, he couldn't quite make out which. 

“Yes, five minute recess is granted.” Ms. Andreyev let's out a small sigh of relief as a few members of the audience rise shuffling out of the room. He watches as Mr. Brookshire is escorted out alongside two officers whose ears he's talking off, one of which appears far more enthralled than the other.  

“I'm letting you know they're likely going to request a truth serum session sometime soon, they will be permitted to ask nearly any questions and you will have to answer,” She sighs adjusting her bun slightly as she looks from him to her notes. “Do you think you're ready for that?” 

“No.” He answers honestly. “I don't have anything legally to hide, though I would rather my innermost thoughts not be broadcast across Ninjago.”

“I understand that, however, remember the jury are people and if you show them that you are a person and the guilt you've expressed, I believe it may help them understand a new perspective.” Her voice is firm, and her eyes are steady. 

He doesn't respond, he doesn't have anything to say. Honesty never got him anything other than hurt. Honesty got him a dagger in his side, staring into shiney eyes that held no remorse. Honesty left him lifeless and numb when it all came back to devour him whole. Honesty earned him his fathers avoidant gaze and his brother's fearful glances. He knows logically honesty isn't a feat worthy of punishment and typically he prefers to be blunt, but the idea of possibly not being able to hold certain thoughts to himself filled him with enough dread to make him consider how horrible it would be to live as far from civilization as possible until everyone who remembered him died or he did. 

That thought is quickly squashed at the idea of never even bringing himself to at least try and apologize to Lloyd. He couldn't do it now, if his son showed up today he likely wouldn't be able to stomach it, but the idea of never at least attempting to make amends is somehow worse. So he sighs and allows himself to be condemned to this fate. One day fate would have quite the archive of things to answer for, but for now he would grit his teeth and put up with its nonsense. 

Once the recess comes to a close Mrs. Shirishi invites a new woman into the courtroom, yet another witness. The woman is especially pale, skin barely a shade beyond milk and hair lighter than blonde hanging into her face, as if attempting to shield her from something. For a moment a hint of recognition flashes in his mind, but it is quickly stamped out when he gets a glimpse of her face. Who did she remind him of?  

“Can you please state your name?”

“Loralie Atters.”

“Loralie Atters, do you swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth?”

“I do.”

Her voice is like glass as she gazes at the crowd. 

“Ms. Atters, where were you during Lord Garmadon’s reign over Ninjago?” Mrs. Shirishi asks, as the woman takes a breath. 

“I was here in Ninjago the entire time, I wasn’t able to catch any of the evacuation shuttles or anything so I was stuck in one of the camps that people set up,” She explains tugging on strands of her hair. 

His mouth feels dry as the young woman avoids glancing anywhere near his side of the courtroom. “And what was that like?” 

“Terrible. I came to the city for university, and one day I was going about my studies and the next suddenly I’m scared for my life hiding in some warehouse while a giant stone mech storms around outside and some weird bicker-cult is running around robbing and hurting normal people.” Her voice grows the slightest bit louder as she goes before dropping towards the end, her face still set in a glare. 

“And was your life impacted after his reign concluded?”

“Well I mean yeah the apartment complex I was staying in had gotten destroyed, which I also got caught in and since I wasn’t a citizen of the city I didn’t qualify for the temporary housing initiative and the price of apartments was super high so I wound up having to drop out of uni for over a year to get back on my feet all while dealing with nerve damage in my leg from a chunk of a building that practically crushed it.”

‘ You ruined that poor girl’s life. How many more did you ruin?’

He looks to Ms. Andreyev, whose face is twisted into this expression that tells him she is attempting to conceal something but couldn’t quite manage it as the girl continued to give a short explanation about watching one of her friends completely break down after his attack. After her were two more people: A man who’d lost his family store as well as his daughter in a building collapse, and a woman who’d been completely paralyzed from the waist down.

He had caused this. He’d driven people to the breaking point, left people without homes, without friends or family. It didn’t matter if he remembered it, it didn’t matter if the guilt was sure to consume him; no amount of his feelings or emotions would bring back what people lost. He knew the hole loss left, the way nothing could make one feel the slightest bit better because the only thing you want is what isn’t there. It wasn’t violent, it was quiet, which always managed to be worse. Quiet in the way that the world was incomplete, without an essential part. 

He was a thief, a murderer, a monster. 

He doesn’t even recall the end of the trial, the ending statements were fragments of Ms. Andreyev doing the best damage control she could. He doubts it’ll do anything. No one wants to see a murderer run free, people want justice. It didn’t matter if justice wouldn’t make things right in the world; it was a catharsis. Knowledge that a deplorable person would get some sort of comeuppance, but it didn’t do a thing. 

He was rising from his seat when a hand caught his shoulder. He freezes at the touch, gut coiling immediately at the action, jaw clenching, and his muscles refusing to abide by his commands as the hand loosens it’s grip but doesn't move. Ms. Andreyev stands next to him, the skin around her eyes tinged ever so slightly red, as if tears had desperately tried to escape her eyes, but failed to do so. 

“Please don’t be discouraged by what happened today, because if you give up, then we’ve already lost. I have heard too much about the good things you’ve done to give up now.” Her eyes search his face as the hand slips off his shoulder. 

“I don’t…”

“Please, just try , wait three days to hear what they have to say, and I promise you’ll understand.”

He isn’t certain that anything could change his view. He was nothing if not stubborn and he certainly was not inclined to view himself in high regards in an sense, but for the sake of all the people of Two Moon Village who came all this way, for Vinny whose credence was painfully unwavering and for Ms. Andreyev who had been fighting against the tides as is, he allows his conviction to waver for just a moment and have faith.