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Title: Hold On
Fandom: Tron (Legacy)
Rating: T - violence, mindfuckery, mild sexings. Oh, language too.
Disclaimer: I own my laptop and a sleep deficit. It's like owning the Tron franchise, except there's nothing in common.
Summary: There's a crash, a fall, and it's over. Only sometimes not. A different take on the lightjet scene: what if Sam ended up falling, too? AU end of Legacy.
Chapter: 2/11 - Children
Wordcount: 2455
Sam.
Flynn closed his eyes, despair and urgency shattering his attempts at control. A thousand cycles of meditation, and he still couldn’t stop seeing his son’s face, falling through the sky in a rain of destruction. Falling away from him.
Flynn had cried out, half thrown himself through of the back of the lurching vessel, heedless of Quorra’s alarmed shouts. But it was too late. Sam was lost to the wind and the sea, devoured by the emptiest parts of Flynn’s world.
Quorra saved them. She took the wrecked, broken craft and forced life into it, drew power from shattered engines and pressed the jet until it nudged upwards, rose, began to lift. Flynn hadn’t cared.
But she had saved him, too, called back until he numbly sat down, told him again and again that it wasn’t over. That there was still hope. Told him until he believed it.
If he could reach the portal. If he could dredge the Grid from the outside, find Sam, save him or fix him or… he didn’t know. But out there, he could control the system. Could pull back the sea, could find his son and protect him. Hell, he could put a pillow-covered trampoline under the kid. Not that it would help…
He staggered under the unchangeable knowledge. Sam would have hit by the time they reached the portal. Hopelessness threatened again, and he pushed it back. Sam would be alive. Flynn would make it out, would save him. He had to.
So he had leapt from the wreck before Quorra could even touch down, run up the stairs, raced towards the portal. And now he opened his eyes, dispelled the despair, and stared down the narrow bridge at the program who stood in the way.
Clu had been speaking, a taunt of some sort. Flynn hadn’t paid attention. He looked at Clu’s face, his face, twisted into a grin that traced out triumph and bitterness, joy and anger. There had been so much he had wanted to say to Clu. To reach out to him, to make him understand. To apologize.
He couldn’t bring himself to care anymore.
Sam.
Flynn walked forward, moving towards Clu, towards the portal, stepping out on the bridge. Clu’s eyes narrowed, smile fading away.
“I did everything. Everything you ever asked.” Flat, accusatory.
Flynn nodded. “I know you did.” He could feel the waves of energy rushing off the portal, a faint blue mist spreading as rings of power rose and fell. So close. And impossibly far away. Clu was stronger than him. Younger. While he had waited and disciplined his mind, Clu had trained and ruled and readied for war. Flynn hadn’t regretted the difference. Until Sam fell. And Clu blocked the path to save him.
His voice was angry, defiant. “I executed the plan!” The plan didn’t matter, had never mattered. Flynn had been too blind, too stupid to see that. He had left behind his friends, his wife, his son, to come and play god. To toy with perfection instead of living with it. Clu was his fault, his ignorance, his responsibility. And in any other situation, he would have accepted the burden.
“Clu, just stop.” They were nearly within reach, both passing halfway across the bridge as Clu mirrored Flynn’s approach.
“Please.” He could hear the tremor in his own voice. Maybe, just maybe… Clu was him, after all. He had to understand. “I need to go through. Sam’s hurt, falling, I have to—”
“Him?” The tension in Clu’s face flared into a snarl of anger, and he closed the distance between them. His eyes flicked behind Flynn, and he realized with a sinking heart that Clu hadn’t even noticed Sam’s absence. Hadn’t cared. Why would he? Flynn never had, not then. Not enough.
“You promised me that we would change the world together.” The voice was hoarse. Jealous… but more than that. “You broke your promise.”
Kevin Flynn stared into his own eyes, looked away, looked back, and said the only thing he could. “I’m sorry, Clu.”
“He’s my son.”
His likeness twisted with rage and furious hurt, lashing out at him. Flynn gasped as the kick connected with his gut, knocked him back and down. Clu strode towards him, but Flynn struggled up, driven by panicked urgency, and tried to run past Clu to the portal. Sam.
The program grabbed him, threw him down, and Flynn’s head hit with a crack as he skidded on the smooth platform. He looked dazedly up and for a moment, hope rekindled—he was closest to the portal, nothing obstructing the path. Then Clu filled his vision, and Flynn fell back as a gloved fist connected, another grabbing, holding him down. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by hopelessness, the bitter irony crushing as his mistake stopped him from doing things right. Water hit his cheek.
Water.
Flynn opened his eyes and saw Clu. The program loomed over him, body tense, furious, fist clenched in his maker’s robe as he shoved Flynn into the ground. His face was a mask of rage, mouth partly open as if searching for words. His eyes glared down, accusing. Wet.
Clu was crying.
Flynn stared, lost for words. Clu stared back. And then the program’s gaze snapped sideways and he pulled back with a snarl, a blazing streak of blue missing his head by inches.
Lifting his head, Flynn followed the disk’s path as it shot back to its owner. Quorra crouched at the start of the bridge, one hand low, the other reaching up to catch her weapon. Her face was tense but even, the slight flicker of her eyes to Flynn the only sign of worry beneath the calm.
Clu stood straight, staring at the new arrival with a smirk that showed no trace of distress. If his eyes glittered, it was only with malice, and a corner of his mouth rose in a disturbing parody of friendship as he spoke. “The virus. Of course.” He took a step forward, hand going back to his own disk. “This does seem the time to tie up loose ends.”
Fear gripped Flynn and he pushed himself up halfway. Not Quorra, not her too—the last of his miracles, the hope he’d kept secret for so long. “Clu, no! Don’t—”
The yellow program turned back, calm shattered by a flash of hate, a stab of pain as he cut Flynn off. “What? Is she important to you? Not just another of your worshipful toys, so convinced of your godhood as to try to die for you even when abandoned?” His eyes narrowed. “Or is she special? After all, she’s not a basic, not a tool. Was that a comfort during your years alone—no little boy, but a girl, a ‘miracle.’ Do you think of her as yours?” Clu looked down at Flynn’s stricken face, and his features turned savage. He jerked his disk free.
His voice was a hiss as he strode towards Quorra. “I’m going to enjoy this.”
Flynn sat there, frozen in shock and fear and something that hovered on the edge of comprehension before he shook himself free, fumbling with trembling hands to push himself up, draw his legs under him and stand. He regarded Clu as he advanced, Quorra as she waited, braced. And then he slowly turned the other way.
The portal was clear.
Flynn’s hands tightened into fists as he took a step closer. Sam. Flynn had done so much wrong, had failed his son in every way. And now, he might be dying. Might be dead, but no, no… Flynn couldn’t think that. He could help Sam, he had to help Sam.
But Clu hadn’t been wrong.
He turned, gazed across the bridge to Quorra, who raised her disk to block Clu’s downward blow. Clu was brutal in his force, but she angled her response, sliding and parrying the strike. The yellow program lashed out with a foot; she faded back.
Her head lifted fractionally as she glanced past Clu, and Flynn could see her eyes widen in surprise. “Go,” she called, her voice insistent. Flynn blinked in shock, realization dawning. She planned this? She drew the fight there? He stepped hesitantly towards the portal, looking uncertainly behind.
Clu’s head snapped around, and he moved, battering Quorra back before turning and sprinting after his creator. Flynn backed up in a half-run, tried to turn, and slipped, falling prone. Clu was closing, and Flynn scrambled desperately for purchase, tried to push up, crawl back, get away, get to Sam. Too slow.
A glowing figure dropped from above, and Quorra was there, disk raised with her left hand, light cable retracting towards her right even as the beam katana extended from the other side of the rod. She raised the blade, blocking Clu’s advance, gaze fixed on her enemy even as her voice pitched towards Flynn.
“Get up, Flynn. Sam needs you. Go.”
Her words pierced the veil of panicked confusion that had pressed at him as he stared up at the pair. Clu had halted, disk in hand, teeth bared as he stared with pure hatred at Quorra, eyes flickering to Flynn with something desperate. Quorra was a blaze of white tinged blue, her circuits seeming to glow with defiant strength as she stood above, guarding him, protecting him. She was magnificent. But she was right, Sam needed him, and he had to go, had to move now. He struggled to his feet, turning, stepping towards the portal, now only a few paces away. And then he turned, disbelieving, at her whispered addition.
“This is mine.”
Her voice was quiet and overflowing with unmistakable intent. Words not meant for Flynn, a softly spoken promise of cold anger as she faced her enemy, weapons out. Faced Clu, faced his misguided creation who grinned with spite and vicious acknowledgment as he returned the look, meeting her icy calm and discipline with his own burning fury. Burning resentment, burning pain that the yellow figure didn’t even try to mask.
Flynn closed his eyes, shaken and torn and broken by the scene before him. He had known, of course. A thousand cycles of hiding, of waiting and studying and games while he spoke to her of calm, of quiet readiness. She had been ready, always ready, always tense and eager and pained by the stillness. Quorra was a warrior, an aggressive, impatient student of peace who took joy in life and motion, in action. And she was an ISO, the last ISO, a survivor of Clu’s purge, a living memory of the thousands he’d killed, of the injustice and oppression he’d forced on the system.
Tears welled up and he blinked them back, gazing at the contrast with helpless, empty loss. Was this how it had always ended? ISO and basic, his miracle and his system, opposing forces destined to tear each other apart. They stared each other down, blue and gold tension and anger and loss, both passionately straining towards the other’s death.
Quorra broke through his grieving reflection, her voice commanding and easy, free in a way that made him ache. “Flynn! It’s time.”
He shook his head even as he stepped back, desperate words, useless promises tumbling from his mouth as he moved towards the light, towards Sam, towards the son who needed him. “I’m not leaving you!”
“Flynn.” Even from here, he could see the curving, calm smile as her head lifted, tilted partway towards him. “This is what I want.”
He knew it was, and that hurt above all else. Past her, Clu let out a small sound and edged forward, halted by Quorra’s blade. But he wasn’t looking at her; he was fixed on Flynn, desperation and hunger in his face, raw anguish bleeding through as his creator met his gaze.
Flynn closed his eyes, shame and need and guilt tearing him apart.
Sam.
“Goodbye, Quorra.”
As he crossed into the portal, he heard his voice rising behind him in a scream of furious betrayal as the clash of weapons broke through the hum of power around him. He pulled off his disk, thrust it up before he could reconsider, and it rose on the streaming waves of light, a rush of power pulsing up into the sky. The Portal surged and he felt the charge build as the blinding glow trailed around him.
He looked back.
Clu was savage, striking out at Quorra with half-crazed blows, more speed and force in his attacks than Flynn had ever been capable of. She slashed back, ducking and dodging, parrying with her disk as her blade spun and swung in from the side, the top—then pulled back to defend. Her movements seemed constrained, and Flynn realized with a surge of fear that she was limiting herself—refusing to move back. She was fighting a defensive battle, forced to use all her skill and speed to avoid the devastating attacks of her larger opponent. But she fought not just to win, but to hold Clu there.
To protect me.
Clu kicked out and she leapt above it, refusing to give ground. But Clu had seen that, had realized the intent of her awkward sideways twists, and as she landed off balance, he beat down on her brutally. Disk and sword crossed as she caught the attack, staggering as Clu’s disk grated against hers, shoving down with force she couldn’t match.
Clu’s gaze teemed with emotion as he looked down at the ISO, up past her, to Flynn. His mouth opened, tracing words Flynn couldn’t hear, but his eyes were clear enough. Frustration, hunger, need called out brokenly, an agonizing reminder of what should have been. Flynn wanted to turn away, to close his eyes, break contact, but found himself stepping forward, towards the edge of the portal as it hummed around him, driven by the sudden, overwhelming desperation to make things right. To save Quorra, to help Clu, to hold his student, his creation, and never let them go. But he had to leave, had to go. Sam.
…They were his children too.
And I abandoned them.
“Flynn, go!” Quorra’s voice shattered the moment as she half-turned, eyes wide, staring. And he froze, familiar terror stealing his breath as the symmetry hit him like a physical blow. Move, run, do something this time, but the echo gripped him, and his legs were leaden, never fast enough. The nightmare had come to life, and he was fading, dissolving, held in place as the light sang upwards. Clu’s Rectifier rose over the horizon, casting the scene in orange, and the last thing Flynn saw was the furious pain on Clu’s face as he struck down at Flynn’s protector.
Fandom: Tron (Legacy)
Rating: T - violence, mindfuckery, mild sexings. Oh, language too.
Disclaimer: I own my laptop and a sleep deficit. It's like owning the Tron franchise, except there's nothing in common.
Summary: There's a crash, a fall, and it's over. Only sometimes not. A different take on the lightjet scene: what if Sam ended up falling, too? AU end of Legacy.
Chapter: 2/11 - Children
Wordcount: 2455
Sam.
Flynn closed his eyes, despair and urgency shattering his attempts at control. A thousand cycles of meditation, and he still couldn’t stop seeing his son’s face, falling through the sky in a rain of destruction. Falling away from him.
Flynn had cried out, half thrown himself through of the back of the lurching vessel, heedless of Quorra’s alarmed shouts. But it was too late. Sam was lost to the wind and the sea, devoured by the emptiest parts of Flynn’s world.
Quorra saved them. She took the wrecked, broken craft and forced life into it, drew power from shattered engines and pressed the jet until it nudged upwards, rose, began to lift. Flynn hadn’t cared.
But she had saved him, too, called back until he numbly sat down, told him again and again that it wasn’t over. That there was still hope. Told him until he believed it.
If he could reach the portal. If he could dredge the Grid from the outside, find Sam, save him or fix him or… he didn’t know. But out there, he could control the system. Could pull back the sea, could find his son and protect him. Hell, he could put a pillow-covered trampoline under the kid. Not that it would help…
He staggered under the unchangeable knowledge. Sam would have hit by the time they reached the portal. Hopelessness threatened again, and he pushed it back. Sam would be alive. Flynn would make it out, would save him. He had to.
So he had leapt from the wreck before Quorra could even touch down, run up the stairs, raced towards the portal. And now he opened his eyes, dispelled the despair, and stared down the narrow bridge at the program who stood in the way.
Clu had been speaking, a taunt of some sort. Flynn hadn’t paid attention. He looked at Clu’s face, his face, twisted into a grin that traced out triumph and bitterness, joy and anger. There had been so much he had wanted to say to Clu. To reach out to him, to make him understand. To apologize.
He couldn’t bring himself to care anymore.
Sam.
Flynn walked forward, moving towards Clu, towards the portal, stepping out on the bridge. Clu’s eyes narrowed, smile fading away.
“I did everything. Everything you ever asked.” Flat, accusatory.
Flynn nodded. “I know you did.” He could feel the waves of energy rushing off the portal, a faint blue mist spreading as rings of power rose and fell. So close. And impossibly far away. Clu was stronger than him. Younger. While he had waited and disciplined his mind, Clu had trained and ruled and readied for war. Flynn hadn’t regretted the difference. Until Sam fell. And Clu blocked the path to save him.
His voice was angry, defiant. “I executed the plan!” The plan didn’t matter, had never mattered. Flynn had been too blind, too stupid to see that. He had left behind his friends, his wife, his son, to come and play god. To toy with perfection instead of living with it. Clu was his fault, his ignorance, his responsibility. And in any other situation, he would have accepted the burden.
“Clu, just stop.” They were nearly within reach, both passing halfway across the bridge as Clu mirrored Flynn’s approach.
“Please.” He could hear the tremor in his own voice. Maybe, just maybe… Clu was him, after all. He had to understand. “I need to go through. Sam’s hurt, falling, I have to—”
“Him?” The tension in Clu’s face flared into a snarl of anger, and he closed the distance between them. His eyes flicked behind Flynn, and he realized with a sinking heart that Clu hadn’t even noticed Sam’s absence. Hadn’t cared. Why would he? Flynn never had, not then. Not enough.
“You promised me that we would change the world together.” The voice was hoarse. Jealous… but more than that. “You broke your promise.”
Kevin Flynn stared into his own eyes, looked away, looked back, and said the only thing he could. “I’m sorry, Clu.”
“He’s my son.”
His likeness twisted with rage and furious hurt, lashing out at him. Flynn gasped as the kick connected with his gut, knocked him back and down. Clu strode towards him, but Flynn struggled up, driven by panicked urgency, and tried to run past Clu to the portal. Sam.
The program grabbed him, threw him down, and Flynn’s head hit with a crack as he skidded on the smooth platform. He looked dazedly up and for a moment, hope rekindled—he was closest to the portal, nothing obstructing the path. Then Clu filled his vision, and Flynn fell back as a gloved fist connected, another grabbing, holding him down. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by hopelessness, the bitter irony crushing as his mistake stopped him from doing things right. Water hit his cheek.
Water.
Flynn opened his eyes and saw Clu. The program loomed over him, body tense, furious, fist clenched in his maker’s robe as he shoved Flynn into the ground. His face was a mask of rage, mouth partly open as if searching for words. His eyes glared down, accusing. Wet.
Clu was crying.
Flynn stared, lost for words. Clu stared back. And then the program’s gaze snapped sideways and he pulled back with a snarl, a blazing streak of blue missing his head by inches.
Lifting his head, Flynn followed the disk’s path as it shot back to its owner. Quorra crouched at the start of the bridge, one hand low, the other reaching up to catch her weapon. Her face was tense but even, the slight flicker of her eyes to Flynn the only sign of worry beneath the calm.
Clu stood straight, staring at the new arrival with a smirk that showed no trace of distress. If his eyes glittered, it was only with malice, and a corner of his mouth rose in a disturbing parody of friendship as he spoke. “The virus. Of course.” He took a step forward, hand going back to his own disk. “This does seem the time to tie up loose ends.”
Fear gripped Flynn and he pushed himself up halfway. Not Quorra, not her too—the last of his miracles, the hope he’d kept secret for so long. “Clu, no! Don’t—”
The yellow program turned back, calm shattered by a flash of hate, a stab of pain as he cut Flynn off. “What? Is she important to you? Not just another of your worshipful toys, so convinced of your godhood as to try to die for you even when abandoned?” His eyes narrowed. “Or is she special? After all, she’s not a basic, not a tool. Was that a comfort during your years alone—no little boy, but a girl, a ‘miracle.’ Do you think of her as yours?” Clu looked down at Flynn’s stricken face, and his features turned savage. He jerked his disk free.
His voice was a hiss as he strode towards Quorra. “I’m going to enjoy this.”
Flynn sat there, frozen in shock and fear and something that hovered on the edge of comprehension before he shook himself free, fumbling with trembling hands to push himself up, draw his legs under him and stand. He regarded Clu as he advanced, Quorra as she waited, braced. And then he slowly turned the other way.
The portal was clear.
Flynn’s hands tightened into fists as he took a step closer. Sam. Flynn had done so much wrong, had failed his son in every way. And now, he might be dying. Might be dead, but no, no… Flynn couldn’t think that. He could help Sam, he had to help Sam.
But Clu hadn’t been wrong.
He turned, gazed across the bridge to Quorra, who raised her disk to block Clu’s downward blow. Clu was brutal in his force, but she angled her response, sliding and parrying the strike. The yellow program lashed out with a foot; she faded back.
Her head lifted fractionally as she glanced past Clu, and Flynn could see her eyes widen in surprise. “Go,” she called, her voice insistent. Flynn blinked in shock, realization dawning. She planned this? She drew the fight there? He stepped hesitantly towards the portal, looking uncertainly behind.
Clu’s head snapped around, and he moved, battering Quorra back before turning and sprinting after his creator. Flynn backed up in a half-run, tried to turn, and slipped, falling prone. Clu was closing, and Flynn scrambled desperately for purchase, tried to push up, crawl back, get away, get to Sam. Too slow.
A glowing figure dropped from above, and Quorra was there, disk raised with her left hand, light cable retracting towards her right even as the beam katana extended from the other side of the rod. She raised the blade, blocking Clu’s advance, gaze fixed on her enemy even as her voice pitched towards Flynn.
“Get up, Flynn. Sam needs you. Go.”
Her words pierced the veil of panicked confusion that had pressed at him as he stared up at the pair. Clu had halted, disk in hand, teeth bared as he stared with pure hatred at Quorra, eyes flickering to Flynn with something desperate. Quorra was a blaze of white tinged blue, her circuits seeming to glow with defiant strength as she stood above, guarding him, protecting him. She was magnificent. But she was right, Sam needed him, and he had to go, had to move now. He struggled to his feet, turning, stepping towards the portal, now only a few paces away. And then he turned, disbelieving, at her whispered addition.
“This is mine.”
Her voice was quiet and overflowing with unmistakable intent. Words not meant for Flynn, a softly spoken promise of cold anger as she faced her enemy, weapons out. Faced Clu, faced his misguided creation who grinned with spite and vicious acknowledgment as he returned the look, meeting her icy calm and discipline with his own burning fury. Burning resentment, burning pain that the yellow figure didn’t even try to mask.
Flynn closed his eyes, shaken and torn and broken by the scene before him. He had known, of course. A thousand cycles of hiding, of waiting and studying and games while he spoke to her of calm, of quiet readiness. She had been ready, always ready, always tense and eager and pained by the stillness. Quorra was a warrior, an aggressive, impatient student of peace who took joy in life and motion, in action. And she was an ISO, the last ISO, a survivor of Clu’s purge, a living memory of the thousands he’d killed, of the injustice and oppression he’d forced on the system.
Tears welled up and he blinked them back, gazing at the contrast with helpless, empty loss. Was this how it had always ended? ISO and basic, his miracle and his system, opposing forces destined to tear each other apart. They stared each other down, blue and gold tension and anger and loss, both passionately straining towards the other’s death.
Quorra broke through his grieving reflection, her voice commanding and easy, free in a way that made him ache. “Flynn! It’s time.”
He shook his head even as he stepped back, desperate words, useless promises tumbling from his mouth as he moved towards the light, towards Sam, towards the son who needed him. “I’m not leaving you!”
“Flynn.” Even from here, he could see the curving, calm smile as her head lifted, tilted partway towards him. “This is what I want.”
He knew it was, and that hurt above all else. Past her, Clu let out a small sound and edged forward, halted by Quorra’s blade. But he wasn’t looking at her; he was fixed on Flynn, desperation and hunger in his face, raw anguish bleeding through as his creator met his gaze.
Flynn closed his eyes, shame and need and guilt tearing him apart.
Sam.
“Goodbye, Quorra.”
As he crossed into the portal, he heard his voice rising behind him in a scream of furious betrayal as the clash of weapons broke through the hum of power around him. He pulled off his disk, thrust it up before he could reconsider, and it rose on the streaming waves of light, a rush of power pulsing up into the sky. The Portal surged and he felt the charge build as the blinding glow trailed around him.
He looked back.
Clu was savage, striking out at Quorra with half-crazed blows, more speed and force in his attacks than Flynn had ever been capable of. She slashed back, ducking and dodging, parrying with her disk as her blade spun and swung in from the side, the top—then pulled back to defend. Her movements seemed constrained, and Flynn realized with a surge of fear that she was limiting herself—refusing to move back. She was fighting a defensive battle, forced to use all her skill and speed to avoid the devastating attacks of her larger opponent. But she fought not just to win, but to hold Clu there.
To protect me.
Clu kicked out and she leapt above it, refusing to give ground. But Clu had seen that, had realized the intent of her awkward sideways twists, and as she landed off balance, he beat down on her brutally. Disk and sword crossed as she caught the attack, staggering as Clu’s disk grated against hers, shoving down with force she couldn’t match.
Clu’s gaze teemed with emotion as he looked down at the ISO, up past her, to Flynn. His mouth opened, tracing words Flynn couldn’t hear, but his eyes were clear enough. Frustration, hunger, need called out brokenly, an agonizing reminder of what should have been. Flynn wanted to turn away, to close his eyes, break contact, but found himself stepping forward, towards the edge of the portal as it hummed around him, driven by the sudden, overwhelming desperation to make things right. To save Quorra, to help Clu, to hold his student, his creation, and never let them go. But he had to leave, had to go. Sam.
…They were his children too.
And I abandoned them.
“Flynn, go!” Quorra’s voice shattered the moment as she half-turned, eyes wide, staring. And he froze, familiar terror stealing his breath as the symmetry hit him like a physical blow. Move, run, do something this time, but the echo gripped him, and his legs were leaden, never fast enough. The nightmare had come to life, and he was fading, dissolving, held in place as the light sang upwards. Clu’s Rectifier rose over the horizon, casting the scene in orange, and the last thing Flynn saw was the furious pain on Clu’s face as he struck down at Flynn’s protector.
