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the universe was made just to be seen by my eyes

This isn’t real. They know that this is not real, they know that the passage of time is not this cruel — this isn’t real, they did not escape this easily. Men like Eric Morden are not defeated with ease. In many cases, they are never defeated, only dealt with —

yet The Spirit watches Larry’s happiness and growth in the year of hallucination, and this is not a narrative that they exist in, this is not a narrative that has been crafted to fit their energy nor their love. This narrative that Mr. Nobody has created — this year of false prophecies and progression of yearning — is not one that they are allowed to experience.

Larry is nicer to them here.

They were making progress, even before, but Larry is kind to them here. This universe pocketed away from reality houses a Larry Trainor that understands them — this is the most painful aspect, this is the cause of every wound inside of The Spirit’s soul.

Larry will not remember most of this year when Mr. Nobody is done playing with him. The Spirit, however, will. The Spirit remembers everything — everything that has ever shadowed Larry, and everything that has fallen into the shadows of Larry’s past or mind or body.

They defeat Mr. Nobody. They go back to the manor. They form a real, proper superhero team.

And Larry is kind to them. He says:

“I want you to help me,” he says, or maybe it’s:

“I want your help, we can be so helpful, ” he (does not) says (say this, doesn’t say this, could never say this—), or maybe it’s:

“I want to make the world a better place,” he says, or maybe it’s:

“I want to make the world pay for what happened to me, and I’m going to start with the Bureau,” he says — this is all in the fantasies of The Spirit, or maybe it’s:

“I need you,” he says, but doesn’t. “I care about you,” he says, but doesn’t. All of this is true in this fantasy — all of this is true in this unmoving year, and reality cannot catch up.

They know what Mr. Nobody is doing. They just aren’t allowed to stop it; that goes against the story.

Out loud it’s more like this:

“Niles wants us to be real superheroes now,” Larry says. He’s in his bedroom, his back pressed against his bed, open position to the world as opposed to being curled up and hidden away fetal. He places a hand over his chest; The Spirit does not glow, this is merely out of instinct, this is merely an act of desperation. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

The Spirit, now, allows their energy to manifest in his chest. Open, again. An act of love on their part. Yes. Yes, you can.

“You believe in me too much,” Larry says — it’s almost laughter, almost admiration but not quite, never reaching. “I don’t know. Do you want to be a superhero? You’d be better at it than me, probably. I can’t do much besides release you.”

And isn’t that enough? To know that I will always be here to protect you? The knowledge that I am good, and that you are my sole motivation towards virtue?

“I know,” he says, and underneath his bandages The Spirit feels his lips curl up into a grin — oh it weakens them. “I shouldn’t put myself down. I’m sure there’s something I’m good at besides fucking up everything I love, I just haven’t found it yet.”

In this dream, in the caked-on falseness of this, The Spirit wants to save him. In reality, The Spirit wants to save him. Reality is different. It might be easier here.

It is within him. For now, this is his purpose.

“What the hell,” he says. “Let’s be a team.”

The Spirit wishes — yearns, craves, desires it all — that he meant the two of them. He does not mean the two of them; he means his friends, he means Niles Caulder, he means everything that is not The Spirit.

But The Spirit can pretend.

—

Niles acts as if he is the leader, and makes Vic search for crimes in the area. Their first mission finds them investigating an armed robbery of the Cloverton bank. You have to start small, Niles says, through a mouthful of chocolate chip pancakes and coffee. You can do this. I believe in all of you.

One glance at The Spirit sends the robbers running, screaming, terrified into the street, where they’re slammed into by a police car. This is good — they’ve done good. Maybe now Larry will—-

“Good job, buddy,” he says when they return to their rightful, true home: his body. “Looks like this was a success.”

The Spirit soars.

—-

Rita sews uniforms for all of them, over the course of a few months. She finishes Larry’s first; white and red, underneath his jacket, and when he tries it on he is beautiful, knows that he is beautiful, almost. Looks at himself in the mirror in several different angles. It’s been so long since he’s worn anything new. If only this was—

“I… actually don’t look ridiculous,” he says. “It’s not half bad.”

You are all that there is, The Spirit thinks. You would look good in anything.

—

After all of the uniforms are finished, there is a signal, and they’re off. Giant robot in a park? This is new, but it’s nothing they can’t handle. He opens his mouth, the words Negative Spirit release ready to froth out—

and then it crushes him—-

oh—

his entire body breaking under this metal, crushing, it is instant and painless—

Larry—-

Larry is gone—-

everything in the universe has faded—-

Larry—

Larry.

“Larry?”

Before The Spirit gets a chance to mourn, Larry reanimates himself. He — they’re on the bus now, pulling up to reveal the monster. The bus pulls to a stop. What? What is this? This is a trick —

“Negative Spirit—”

and then Larry is engulfed in flames but this time he is incinerated by them, entire body burning and ripping away layer by layer skin muscle bone, he is gone he is gone he is gone he is gone The Spirit can’t

The Spirit CAN’T SURVIVE WITHOUT—

The Spirit needs him—

He can’t be—

The Spirit—

Love—

Larry steps off the bus. The Spirit tries to climb out of his body — to save him, it’s always him, they would do anything for him, they—

The Spirit is frozen. They can’t leave him; it is not part of this narrative. He dies, bones crunching and shattering underneath steel. The Spirit cannot save him, has never been able to save him, it was always going to end like this—-

Larry opens his eyes and The Spirit opens their eyes and he’s burning again, The Spirit drowning in the waters of love and eviscerating in the absence of a subject to direct their love towards. Larry as ashes and the rest of the team as ashes and everything inside of The Spirit burns along with him, their electricity now fire, their entire mind aflame as the man that they—-

Larry—

Larry dies over and over and over again and The Spirit watches his death on repeat like scratches. The Spirit witnesses every death, feels every death, feels Larry’s consciousness fade out, feels Larry’s light extinguish and ignite.

The Spirit cannot break free. With each death they pull harder on the gates guarding realities, with each death they push into the separating glass and oh— oh—-it’s never enough, they will never able to save him, they never could before but now—

now—

Now their love has been suffocated.

37 deaths. It’s torturous. When Niles gives in, they’re sent back to the white space — in the truth of reality — in the claws of truth — and Larry is alive, and Larry is alive, and Larry is alive.

Larry is so alive in everything he does; this too is torturous. For now he breathes safety. The Spirit has not failed yet.

There is a realization, deep within their mind. It’s something like—-