Rue - Intervention

Life, Identity

Now they've done it. In burning the candle at both ends to try and rescue Harmony from the clutches of Discord, Rue has finally gone too far, and now their mind itself is pushing back against them. Will Rue learn from this, or fall back on old patterns?

The lights are off when Rue makes their way back to Rachel's apartment, apparently tonight is league night at the bowling alley and Kelly needed her secret weapon, leaving the place oddly quiet. Even the eternal presence of the ghosts that surround Rue seems distant as they stumble into the flat, their feet dragging with the exhaustion of almost two weeks without a good night's sleep, and it didn't seem like that streak would be broken tonight.   They'd finally gotten the chance to read Michelle's article on the events  at Blackmoore on the way home. It was exactly what they'd been expecting. Harsh, but fair. Pointing out where things needed improvement, but making no attempt to embellish the facts or sensationalise, and keeping mentions of Allyson and themselves mercifully scant. Rue wondered if it was out of courtesy to them, or respect to the still-missing member of the team. Perhaps it was pity? It doesn't matter.   All that matters at that moment to Rue is that they've minimised the damage that can be inflicted on Doctor Upton or the good work she's doing up at Blackmoore, and painted yet another target on their back. They begin to wonder grimly which spectre from their past will be waiting in their dreams tonight to torment them, or will they do them the favour of waiting until the morning to target them under the harsh light of the sun.   They slip their shoes off and languidly plod over to the couch, not bothering to change from their street clothes as they often did. Electing in stead to simply collapse bodily onto the soft cushions of the couch without a care as to their position or any pre-bed hygiene ritual.   They're almost drifting off, in that confusing state between wakefulness and the blissful void of unconsciousness when they hear it. A voice. Familiar, but altogether unsettling and far too close for comfort, "Another day saved, eh Rue?"   Jumping up from the sofa with a gasp, Rue frantically looks around the room. The palms of their hands heat up, little sparks flying from them as they search for the source of the voice.   The room is empty. Not that it appears empty, but with Rue's enhanced senses they can say it for a fact. The room is empty. They are alone, the ambient hum of the central heating and distant commotion of cars a few floors down being the only sound they can hear over the sound of their own heart racing. But if that's the case, where did the voice come from?   Despite their certainty in their solitude, Rue takes a look around, peering into Rachel's bedroom, the kitchen and the bathroom just to be sure, "Bet you're feeling pretty happy with yourself."   Their face snaps back to the front, seeing the source of the voice sat opposite them on Rachel's coffee table. Shrouded in darkness and looking at them through eyes filled with malevolence was them, the Spider  . The version of themself that they'd seen in the other universe. Wearing the eyes of the Gorgon and a couple dozen skin grafts, they grinned violently at them and continued speaking, "But I shouldn't be surprised now, should I?"   “How did you get here?” Rue snarls dangerously, the hair on the back of their neck standing upright. Their heart is racing in their chest, muscles tense as they ready themself for any movement from their opponent.   "Doesn't really make sense, does it?" Their other self says, leaning forward slightly and looking around the room conspiratorially before winking at them, "But I'm sure you can work it out on your own. You've never needed anyone else's help before, right?"   Rue frowns at them. Something feels… off, but they couldn’t quite put their finger on it, “What the hell do you want?” They ask coldly, “You don’t exactly need my skin for your little collection there.”   "No, that's true..." they say, tilting their head slightly as they lean closer, their eyes mere inches apart, "So, if that's not it... Then why am I here?"   It feels like they’re rooted to the spot, their whole body wired with tension. For a moment, Rue wonders if it’s the Gorgon’s eyes at work, or perhaps even that they had missed the faintest touch between them and their counterpart, the Spider's venom paralyzing them gradually… but there is still something not quite right, “There’s no smell...” They utter softly, uncertainly, “Am I… Is this a dream?”   "Maybe give yourself a little pinch," the other Rue says, grinning as they nod towards their arm, "Cross it off the list?"   “How about I give you a little pinch instead?” Rue growls before attempting to telekinetically push their other self away from them. Still, at the same time, they find themself biting the inside of their cheek, their heart sinking in their chest as they feel the slight sting from doing so.   "So..." Their other self continues, "That didn't work, so what else could it be?" they make a sarcastic show of rubbing their chin thoughtfully, "Let's see... Haven't taken any fun drugs recently, have you?"   The beginnings of a headache add pressure behind their eyes, and Rue lets out a mirthless laugh as they wearily rub their temples, “Either you’re here really here and I’m no fucking match to you…” They start, a level of despair making their voice crack, “Or I’m worse off than I thought… I’m actually losing it, aren’t I?”   "Could be..." they say, sitting back and grinning in a way that unsettlingly reminds Rue of their own world's Spider, "Could be the sleep deprivation... But what if it's not? Maybe Brainiac crossed the wrong wires in your brain, or perhaps with all that stress... Maybe you've just snapped?" They blink across the room, looking over the various amenities of Rachel's living room, "Or, what about your mother?"   The pit in their stomach grows, threatening to swallow them whole. Their breathing is shallow, a relentless wave of panic crashing into them as Rue stares at their other self helplessly, “You’re not real…” They croak out as they close their eyes. “Just go away. Go away, go away, go away!”   "She was different near the end, wasn't she?" the voice of their other self whispers into their ear, sending a cold chill down their spine, "Distant, distracted, detached... Like she was there, but also not... We always thought it was just the long-term effects of the drugs, didn't we? Now, I'm-- we're no doctor, but we've seen crazy... Don't you think it also looked a little like the early symptoms of schizophrenia?"   “I said go away!” Their powers responding to their emotions, the coffee table that the Spider was still perched on goes flying across the room, clattering hard against the wall. Fire starts to crackle in their palms, silver eyes meeting green-purple ones as they grind out “I am not letting my own fucking hallucination bully me. I might be a shitshow of a person and a crappy hero, but I am not like her - I just need some goddamn sleep, so fuck off!”   "Heeeey," comes a decidedly sweeter voice from behind them, "Do you mean that?"   Rue looks away from their other self reluctantly, wanting to keep their eyes on this haunting manifestation of their own paranoia, but unable to stop themself. They turn their head to the right, looking towards the far arm of the couch to see a young child, their eyes covered in bandages and their familiar black curls cascading wildly in all directions. The child turns their head blindly to listen to Rue, asking another question, "Is that really all you are?"   ''Oh, come on!'' Rue groans, pressing the palms of their hands against their eyes. They take in a shaky breath, their hands sliding up to rake through their own messy curls. Desperate to get away from the situation, Rue storms into the bathroom, slamming the door shut and locking it behind them. They move over to the sink, turning on the tap and splashing the water into their face.   Under the cold white lighting of the small apartment bathroom, Rue finds a moment of calm. Shutting out the parts of themselves that they'd rather not face and staring hard into their reflection in the mirror. Their eyes are bloodshot and dilated, with a distinct twitch of the lid that refuses to settle, their hair is messy and their clothes dishevelled. Every day that goes by leaves Rue wondering more and more how this desperate creature staring back at them could even be them, and tonight is no different. Their hand moves up to their face, feeling the damp and clammy skin, certain that any minute now they'd wake up from this just like all the other nightmares. But they don't, and as their mind wanders, their eyes are drawn over to the bathtub, and a sickening, blood-covered hand reaching up from the basin.   The shower curtain keeps the vision in the bathtub obscured for several precious seconds, but the creature inside inevitably raises a hand and begins pulling the sheet aside. The version of themself languidly pulling itself free of a bathtub full of blood and viscera is every bit as horrifying as any movie monster Rue had ever seen. Every stitch across the creature's body stretches over flesh that isn't quite substantial enough to cover the musculature beneath and continues to drip dark blood onto the bathroom floor. Its arms are wrapped in hospital bed straps and various syringes and medical tools jutt from its body like a grotesque porcupine. Its eyes are held open by a metal apparatus, forcing it to stare into Rue's eyes. Finally, as it drags the rest of its torso free of the bath, Rue could see the hollow opening where their internal organs should be. Carved open, anything of value stolen away, and left with a space that could never again feel whole.   Rue's blood runs cold as they watch the horrifying version of themself climbing out of the bath, bile rising in their throat as they stare back at the hollowed out creature. ''No...'' They breathe out, ''It's not real... You're not...''   Their knees buckle and they crash hard against the tiled floor. Although part of them knows it is useless, they can't help it as they lift up their hand, a blast of fire aimed at their monstrous self. They watch as it does nothing, ash on the tiles the only remnants of the flames.   ''You're not real...'' They repeat softly, closing their eyes. Their lip starts to quiver as they curl up into a ball, whimpering as they mutter, ''Jazz...''   The world around them is closing in, and Rue can do little more than whimper as their mind feels like it's going to collapse in on itself. The very idea of getting through this feels alien to them, until they feel a gentle pressure on their shoulder. A hand, but far from sending them into a panic attack, this hand felt safe, like a friend.   "Hey," says a gentle voice, as they begin to look up. The monstrosity menacing them from the bathtub is gone, replaced by another version entirely. Smiling down at them, with purple hair that lacks their natural curls, a few piercings, and a jacket in an instantly-recognisable fuchsia shade. They even had a distinct scent of daisies that had become so permanently associated with their old friend, "Wanna talk?"   A meek chuckle escapes their lips at the sight, a laugh so devoid of any genuine joy it almost hurts, “Yeah, fuck it, let’s talk…” They say, leaning their head back against the wall. “Though I don’t think people mean this when they say they’re just talking to themselves.”   They glance beyond the hallucination at the scorch mark on the tiles, wincing at the prospect of trying to clean it, “How do I make it stop?”   The purple-haired version of themself sits beside Rue on the bathroom floor and smiles at them, "Make what stop?" They point towards the bathroom door, through which they can see the three other versions of themselves along with several more they hadn't even encountered yet, "Those guys out there?"   “And you,” They nod, smiling sheepishly as they add “No offense. You’re not so bad, but I’d really appreciate it if I could stop losing my mind…”   "Yeah, that would be nice, wouldn't it?" They say, chuckling to themself, "Just shut out the parts of ourself we don't care for, the paranoia, the self-loathing, the trauma... How well has that gone for you so far?"   “Judging by the posse out there, absolutely stellar.” Rue sighs, “but what do you suggest I do right now? Cause I doubt letting it all out to you would help - you being… me, that is.” Closing their eyes again, their shoulders slump with a sense of defeat, “I just want to go to sleep, have this all go away…”   "Yeah... I know..." the other Rue says in that gentle-but-knowing way that Jasmine does, "So, if yelling about the problem doesn't work, and avoiding it doesn't work, I guess you've only got one option left..." They trail off meaningfully, allowing Rue the chance to get to their answer on their own.   “Can’t fight it or avoid it, huh?” They repeat wearily, a bittersweet smile on their face. “So how the hell do I go about accepting it? Should I make hot chocolates for the hallucinations out there? I’m not sure if I have enough mugs.”   "There are twelve mugs in the cupboard over the microwave," the other Rue says, smiling at their incredulous raised brow, "Pancakes are an option too. Don't think I've ever met a Rue that doesn't love pancakes... And you're certainly not lonely tonight."   “Great,” Rue laughs, a little lighter than before, “And I’m sure Rach will be fine with me having twelve mugs of hot chocolate when she walks through the door later, she won’t think twice about it.” Slowly, they pick themself up from the bathroom floor, leaning against the tub when their legs still prove a little wobbly, “All jokes aside, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to do this…”   "I would assume she's seen weirder," the Jazz version of themself chuckles, not following them off the floor but looking up at them with a fond smile on their lips, "They're parts of you, Rue. They may not be nice to look at, but by fighting against them, you only hurt yourself. Don't look away, and don't hide from them. You can do it. I believe in you, and you know what that means, don't you?"   They give this version of themself a knowing look.   “Yeah, I guess I do…” Taking a deep breath, Rue braces themself, slowly reaching for the lock and twisting it. Their heart is in their throat as they open the door, the hinges creaking softly.   The door slowly eases open and Rue is immediately aware of the monstrous figure with no mouth, leering a good foot above them and staring down at them from just outside the door frame. They can just about see the rest of the collective sat around the room and there's a definite sense of anticipation as they wait for Rue's next move.   Their breathing quickens as they face the creature, their instincts telling them to simply run out the door, as far away from the nightmarish image before them. Rue digs their nails into the palm of their hand, reminding themself to stand their ground as they carefully glance at the other versions of themself.   “Hot chocolate, anyone?” They try hesitantly, walking past the monstrosity to pick up the coffee table that had gone flying only a few minutes ago.   The table moves back into position as the other Rues watch (or listen in the case of their younger self with the bandaged eyes), wary of what they might do next. The manifestation of their paranoia, in the form of their evil counterpart from the alternate universe, makes eye contact with them as they wander past towards the kitchen, but Rue remains steadfast.   "Hmm," it mutters thoughtfully before returning to its previous, mocking tone, "Looks like someone finally decided to stop hiding."   It's strangely therapeutic to go through the motions as they fill the kettle with water and switch it on. Rue takes one of the mugs from the cupboard above the microwave, then moves onto the cupboard next to it and retrieves a jar of chocolate powder. They put a couple of scoops into the mug, noticing the hallucinations observing them as they open the fridge to retrieve the milk.   ''Are you going to continue being snarky or shall I make another mug?'' They ask, quirking a brow as they mirror this version's mocking tone, ''Not that you can drink it, of course, but it'd be rude not to offer.''   "Well, isn't the pot calling the kettle black," comes the familiar, softer tone of JazzRue as they slowly guide their monstrous counterpart into the kitchen like an elderly relative and sitting them down at the table, the horrifying creature seeming quite content to watch the others, "If there's one thing I know about us, Rue, it's that snark is basically built into our DNA."   "Huh," their evil counterpart mutters, sitting opposite the monster, "And I thought we were just an asshole."   "Noooo," the child version says, nudging the other as they sit down next to them, "We're funny... I think."   ''I think we're a little bit of both,'' Rue shrugs, pouring the milk into an electric frother and switching it on. ''Though it might depend on who you ask.''   Pouring a little bit of the boiled water into the mug, they start to stir the powder into a paste, eventually adding the frothed and heated up milk. They lean against the counter, taking a small sip from their hot chocolate as they watch the interactions between the versions of themself.   ''So aside from being a paranoid snarky asshole with a peculiar sense of humour, what else should I accept?''   A sort of uncomfortable hush falls over the group as they all turn in the direction of the elephant in the room. The hulking mute at the end of the table looks up at Rue and they notice that the creature's face is not malice, but sadness.   "It may look scary, Rue," their Jazz version says, voice wavering somewhat as they look between the many versions of themself, "But it can't hurt you. Not anymore at least. It may take some time to fully get over, Hell, it may never happen, but being able to look your trauma in the face without fear is an important step. One you've been avoiding for far too long."   Rue purses their lips as they look away from the creature again, hugging the warm mug in their hands.   ''How do you get rid of fear?'' They ask softly. ''The things he did - I could barely talk to Brainiac about it, I had to distance myself from it like it wasn't me that I was talking about. And then today with Marcus-''   They take a moment to collect themself, leaning heavily against the counter when their legs get wobbly once more.   ''Seeing his scars... If it wasn't for the fact that the team was there, I- I don't think I could've pulled myself out of it.''   "Well, short of having Brainiac perform some sort of psychic lobotomy, I don't think you can, Rue," the JazzRue continues, "But that's just it. The team was there for us, weren't they?" They stand up from their seat, and Rue notices as their form seems to begin shifting, taking on aspects of their friends. Jasmine's jacket turns into Mercy's, their hair takes on the red colour of Emma, and they even start speaking in something of an Irish accent, "I've read all the books you have, Rue. And I think we both know that when fear paralyses the hero, it's not about getting rid of it, but finding the tools to go on regardless."   "Those guys are a bunch of tools," the evil duplicate interjects, chuckling to themself as the child version elbows them in the ribs.   With a withering look, the amalgamated version of themself looks at Rue, placing a comforting hand on their shoulder, "You're not alone, Rue. In here," They nod back to the gathered collective, "or out there. Let your paranoia give way to wisdom, let your self-image push you to be better, let your friends be your strength, and your trauma..." they falter a little as they look back at their monstrous self, "Let it motivate you to never let anyone suffer the way we did, ever again."   ''Damn... Have I always been this soppy?'' Rue snorts, shrugging when their younger self turns their head to no doubt glare at them from beneath the bandages, ''Sorry, it's a little weird to take my own advice... from a hallucination, as well.''   "Firstly, yes you have always been this soppy," the amalgam responds, "I know how you still think about those evenings reading with Mum, but..." they trail off, smiling and cracking their knuckles as their form changes again, their jacket becoming shorter and black, and their hair turning a deep red, "If you'd prefer more of a tough love approach, I can oblige."   “No, no, getting shouted at once a week is more than enough, thank you.” Rue says, holding their free hand up in mock surrender.   Taking a breath, they turn to look at the hollowed out patchwork creature. They can feel the panic rising within, but rather than forcefully pushing it down until it overwhelms them or running away from it, they try sitting with the feeling for a moment. When they do, they’re surprised to see not only sadness, but their own fear reflected back at them.   “So I suppose I should make use of those tools, huh?” They mutter with a sigh. “Maybe actually get some help, to stop looking away.”   The creature tilts its head slightly as the pair make eye-contact, with the rest of the room having gone silent. A moment passes between the two as a quiet understanding forms, the creature eventually reaching a mangled talon out in some malformed gesture of solidarity.   Rue instinctively flinches when their deformed self moves, a shiver running down their spine. Their own hand is visibly shaking as they slowly, hesitantly move it up to meet the creature’s talon.   Their fingers touch, and Rue has just enough time to glance at their other selves one more time before the whole scene fades out around them. Their eyes open some time later and they find themselves back on Rachel's couch, finding an almost-unfamiliar sense of comfort in the warmth of the flat and the threadbare blanket over them. They sit up, rubbing their bleary eyes as they come back to reality and realise that, for the first time in what feels like forever, they actually feel decently rested. Not perfect, but definitely better.   They wonder at first whether the whole thing had been some sort of peculiar dream, but looking into the kitchen, they can definitely see the now-cold mug of hot chocolate that they'd made earlier. It seems that whatever happened to them was real enough, and they can't help but smile a little at the melodrama of their little collection of selves, their eyes wandering over the rest of the flat as they consider what they'd seen. Their eyes are drawn however to the front door, where a conspicuous brown parcel seems placed on the ground, despite the door not having any sort of letterbox.   Getting up from the sofa, Rue cautiously approaches the mystery parcel. ''Is it still paranoia if someone broke in to leave this here?'' They mutter to themself, their senses honing in on the foreign object in the apartment, trying to establish if it could cause them any harm.   Relieved to receive no reply to their question, they sniff the air and detect the faint smell of ozone masking the all-too-familiar scent of bleach and gunpowder that they know can only mean one thing, Combat has been here. Their eyes focus on the parcel and see no signs of traps or hazards, and looking through the package reveals a tattered old journal and a note inside.   Pushing past the slightly disturbed feeling at the notion that Combat managed to sneak in and out of the apartment without them noticing, Rue picks up the parcel. They walk back to the sofa, perching on one of the arm rests and taking their time to open the package in case they missed any hidden traps, relieved when they don't find any. Taking the note from the box, they fold it open to read the message within.   "With thanks," the note says, with a simple sign-off at the bottom, "C."   They wonder to themselves what they might have been expecting before tossing the card aside and looking over the small, leather-bound book from within the package. Looking at it, Rue realises that the journal isn't really old at all, just well used, with pages upon pages of hand-written notes about demons, and Zaebos specifically. Rue feels pretty lucky as they begin to read that Combat's handwriting is surprisingly neat and legible.   Clearly the supervillain threw himself into his research into the Archdemon with as much zeal as he had for Rue and their fellow heroes, compiling all sorts of notes about their strengths, weaknesses, organisation and strategies. It wasn't clear where he got his information, but if even half of it was accurate, Combat had likely outfitted himself with nearly as much demon-hunting knowledge as the Huntress herself.   Previous qualms rapidly forgotten, Rue smirks, genuinely grateful for the notebook, and moves towards the kitchen with it still in hand. They pick up the empty mug from before, discarding it in the sink before they flick on the kettle. With one eye still on the page they’re reading, Rue makes themself a cup of tea, sitting down at the dining table to continue reading. After a moment, they briefly glance up to telekinetically grab their own notebook from where they left it next to the sofa, placing it next to Combat’s and scribbling down any thoughts or ideas that come to mind whilst absorbing as much information as possible.   Rue spends much of the early morning working their way through the book at the kitchen table, becoming increasingly hopeful that they might actually be able to fight Zaebos on her terms. The sense of optimism that washes over them growing with their devious smile as the plan begins to come together in their head. That is, until they hear a familiar, irate voice from the bathroom, "RUE! Did you set my shower curtain on fire!?"   Head shooting up, eyes wide, they feel a new sort of panic rise within them - panic for the wrath of MumRach.   “Oh fuck.”