Archive of Our Own ^beta

Zero never asked to be born.

But if he had to be brought into existence, why did he have to inherit a lifetime of someone else’s memories and baggage and insecurities and pain before he’d made a single choice of his own?

All he knew was that Chase’s past made his current existence miserable.

He hated his job. His boss. Half the other Archreapers… all because of these memories he’d never lived. And because it was pointless to hate an all-powerful Satan, he turned that hatred inwards instead, in the hopes of one day breaking free. It came unnervingly easy to him.

The other person he’d tried to hate was Scarlet. The very reason he was created and given all of Chase’s issues to begin with. Her list of sins were long, monumental in their gravity.

Logically, she’d be even easier to hate.

But he couldn’t; he missed her.

And he hated that he missed her, when they’d never even met.

He hated…That they never would meet?

Did he…want to meet her?

This was the constant tug of war in his mind, one where it was unclear where his thoughts began, and Chase’s ended. But that was fine. He had eternity to untangle them and fix it.

So, when he went to the ruins of the waking world and dug up Scarlet’s bracelet, he told himself it was purely a pragmatic investigation. A last-ditch effort to see if any of his memories were, in fact, real. After all, he certainly didn’t put it past Satan to fabricate a whole set of memories purely designed to clash against his designated purpose. As one of the latest in an endless line of scrapped experiments, he suspected the only reason he’d been allowed to last this long was the fact that his existence was suffering. Satan was… easy to read in that regard.

But if there was no bracelet, no hard evidence, the probability of his memories being fabricated would greatly increase.

In fact, he could only hope that was the case. If he knew they were fabricated, the hold they had on him would diminish. He could work with that.

But if there was…

He could have given up. Should have given up, after the first hour of scrambling around blindly in the wreckage, and left with his answer.

But he kept looking.

And looking.

And looking.

Until hour five, where a dull gleam finally caught his eye, followed by that unmistakable hint of blue…

It was his first and only possession. His clothes and collar and powers and memories didn’t count; they were all chosen for him.

Even this… wasn’t even technically his to take. But it wasn’t like anyone else was coming back to claim it. And the thought of letting something so precious get lost forever made his chest seize, so he clipped it around his wrists, hid it beneath his glove, and told himself that this was not in any way an indulgence.

It was simply a physical reminder. Not to be like him, he’d rationalized. Not to share his attachments.

Bullshit.

Even in the moment, it didn’t feel remotely convincing.

Another time, he found himself walking a familiar path for the first time. Pulled by the siren call of a place he had never been called Home.

In the rubble of their old apartment, he’d sat on the un-demolished half of their couch, remembering, remembering, remembering. Zero was an Archreaper. He knew what happened to souls after they died better than anybody. And yet… it was hard not to believe in ghosts when he saw them everywhere around him in this place.

He saw his mom, when she came over for the first time and talked about hiring a decorator even though he could tell she was proud of him for getting his own place.

Scarlet with her hood pulled down, sitting in his chair playing Fatecraft, aggressively keyboard smashing and shouting profanities at the screen when she got killed for the millionth time.

Trying new recipes he thought she’d like, and the warmth he felt when she lit up after tasting them.

Brooke, pink ears flopped casually to one side, updating his blog in the corner with the hint of a smirk on his face.

Lightie, coughing up a fake furball in the living room from licking one of her many sweaters, purring contentedly on the couch, or in his lap.

Brooke, hanging out on the ceiling fan for some bizarre reason.

Him and Scarlet playing Jenga on the living room table.

Falling asleep at his chair, slumped over a mess of un-prosecuted persons of interest files, only to wake up with a blanket draped over his shoulders.

Chase’s past was hardly a happy one either, riddled with angst and self-loathing and a burning, self-righteousness indigence that made it all go down a little easier. But there were so many sparks of light throughout, if one knew where to look. Especially those last few months, despite everything, all that chaos and death and world-shattering revelations… And he hated it.

Because Zero wasn’t allowed happiness of his own; he was only allowed its memory.

Ah.

How… Interesting. How did he let this happen? When had it even happened? When had all his resentment shifted to…envy?

All those ghosts, Mom, Lightie, Brooke, Scarlet…if he saw them in person again, would he even feel the same way? Or would seeing them in the present feel different than seeing them through the lens of another’s memories? 

He’d heard about the Ship of Theseus paradox as Chase, but hadn’t given it much thought at the time. Like the trolly problem, he figured the answer was obvious until Scarlet came into his life.

Scarlet, burdened with the consequences of a past she lived but couldn’t remember; Zero, burdened with the implications of a past he remembered but never lived.

Ante and Chase. Opposite situations that presented the same question. If only it were so simple to cleave those selves cleanly across the dividing line of Before and After. But their echoes still reached them on the other side of that great chasm, for better or for worse.

So, where did that leave them?

Even if these questions had no immediate answers, the one thing Zero had was time. But then, he saw her for the first time at the edge of purgatory and what was left of the waking world, and none of it mattered anymore.

He was screwed either way.

Zero always thought his domain was strange, when he didn’t particularly care for anything or anyone. But when he looked at her, it all made sense.

That overwhelming instinct to protect…

Maybe there was a version of reality where existence was neutral. He’d do the tasks assigned to him with no moral qualms and get along with his coworkers without any past grudges, for the rest of a long and listless eternity. But now he knew that no such universe could ever exist for him.

Because he wanted her to be safe more than he’d ever wanted to be free.

So, he attacked.

“You know me?” She’d asked him, when he muttered to himself that he thought she’d be stronger. The first words he’d heard her speak in this lifetime.

If only she knew…

He knew that her favorite food to date was the cotton candy they’d tried at the amusement park.

He knew she liked rollercoasters and sunflowers and Fatecraft and pho and countless more things she hadn’t yet discovered for herself in her second un-life.

He knew the way her tail wagged when she was happy.

He knew just how radiant she was when she smiled.

He knew all of these things and treasured them, and looking at her now, he also knew that it didn’t matter who he was; God help him, those feelings were here to stay.