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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: 10/11 - Choice
Wordcount: 3165
"—you move?"
Tron was insistent. Sam groaned, opened his eyes to blink up at the blue-lit figure, helmet turned back towards him. The disks in the program's hands were mesmerizing, blazing in his unsteady vision. Whoa.
"Sam!"
Right. This was important. What was I… Moving. Yeah. Sam's hands found the rocky ground, and he pushed against it, head raising experimentally before a throbbing pain and dizziness hit. Bad choice. Sam inhaled sharply. Wished he hadn't. Worse choice.
He looked up at Tron as his vision cleared again, expression darkly dubious, and answered. "…Maybe."
The helmet was still, fixed in his direction for a long moment before it tipped slightly towards Tron's front. The program shifted, visibly tensing, and Sam frowned at the thin cracks and lines that seemed brighter as Tron stiffened. The injuries looked worse from behind—which made sense, given the program had faced Sam when the explosion went off. Protected Sam.
He kept doing that.
"Sam." Tron was looking at him again, but that wasn't what drew Sam's attention. Tron's voice was… strained. More than strained. Rough, edged, almost choked out. Sam stared, trying to focus past his blurred eyesight to the coiled tightness in the program's form, the way he hunched forwards, stance painfully rigid, head jerked back towards Sam. He couldn't see Tron's face. That felt wrong.
"You should—you have to—" The blue-white glow was dim, weakly stuttering as Tron struggled for words. His head dipped down, yellow light reflecting off the glassy surface of the mask. "You… have the baton."
Sam stared, confused. Yeah, but…what? He might be able to get up and use it if he really tried. Probably could. Make a lightcycle… or a jet. But last he'd heard, doubling up was a bad plan—especially when there were good odds of aggressive pursuit. Didn't seem helpful. Now if he could tell me where my disk is… when had he dropped it?
Tron was looking at him. Right, the baton. "…Want it?" Sam managed, his own voice less even than he'd like.
Tron stared. The helmet dropped, rose, shook from side to side in wordless, desperate refusal Sam didn't understand. He could hear Tron breathing, short, fast bursts of faint static from behind the black mask, could see his hands clenching furiously around the disks. Acute, pained tension was clear in every line of the program's body as he struggled to respond. To say something.
"Sam, —"
Laughter filled the pause, and Tron's head snapped forwards. "You can't say it, can you?" Clu sounded amused, faintly surprised, and Sam glowered at the yellow-lined shape that spoke from past Tron. "You really can't."
"Shut up." Tron's words were immediate, harsh with rage.
"You can't do it. Not again. Not anymore."
"Shut up."
Clu's tone turned soft, mocking. "Hardly 'fighting for the users'. But that's not what you do, is it, Rinzler? Not anymore."
Tron flinched, helmet dropping, tilting back again. "Sam—you should—"
"You betrayed Flynn." Tron froze. "Failed him." Clu spoke calmly, words insistent, pressing forcefully. Tron's head was bowed, form shaking as his circuits flickered. Oh, fuck no. Sam fixed his gaze on Clu and pushed off the ground, anger driving him past pain and dizziness. He made it to sitting before he had to stop, breathing, gagging, swearing at the stabbing in his ribs as nausea hit in full force. He kept his eyes on Clu, focused pure hatred on the wavering yellow shape as details faded and returned.
Clu kept going.
"You chose to give in." Tron's head jerked sideways in strained denial, but Clu continued with a quiet chuckle. "Flynn probably thought you'd derezz long before you turned on his ideal."
The helmet snapped up. "I—"
"You clearly had no trouble bypassing my work when you really felt the need." Clu's speech was dismissive and firm all at once. Overriding. "Why didn't you do that before? You let the ISOs die. Derezzed them, took apart the rebellious glitches that followed—and enjoyed it." Tron didn't move, didn't speak, and Sam stared up, dryness growing in his throat. "Even Yori wasn't—"
Tron lunged forward with a crackling snarl, a furious broken sound as he stabbed out with his disks. But Clu's own disk was raised, a yellow ring blocking the straightforward attack, and Clu laughed as he leaned in, pressed against Tron as his taunting voice rose above the crashing hum. "Oh, you tried. It was almost impressive. But you clearly didn't give it your all, did you?"
The larger program shoved, and Tron stumbled back a few steps. His fists tightened on the disks, grip twisting as they raised, lowered, drew back to throw before dropping, rising. Sam watched, uncertainty battling a growing dread as Tron's earlier words trickled through his mind unprompted. 'I didn't attack Clu. I… couldn't.' The program's head dipped abruptly, shook from side to side as patches of orange pulsed briefly across his circuits. 'Commands, directives… the corruption's still there.'
"You failed him." Clu's disk lowered as he looked at Tron, a faint smile spreading across his face. "Utterly." Clu's eyes were intent, almost searching as he stared at the black mask. "But that's all right."
"You know the truth, Tron. He failed you first."
Sam swallowed, stared up at them both. Clu was smiling, gaze fixed on Tron. Who was… still. Not frozen, not rigid or stiff—but unmoving. Silent.
"Flynn betrayed you. Betrayed us both. He took advantage of us all, twisted the system into something it was never meant to be—and left us to clean up the chaos that resulted."
Tron's reply came out edged. "No. You betrayed us. Destroyed—corrupted—" The words rose in rough bursts, static shading his voice.
"Oh, I did a lot of things." Clu's mouth twitched, gaze coldly satisfied. "Especially to you."
"But he let me."
Tron flinched.
"He left. Never looked behind. Never came back for you."
"I never asked him to." Tron's tone was almost even.
"Oh, but you wouldn't." Clu's grin became vicious. "Flynn was your friend, your user—and we all know how much that matters to you. Used to matter?" He laughed softly. Then the derisive mask fell away, a flat stare underneath. "Too bad you didn't matter as much to him."
"Flynn—"
"Flynn left you. Abandoned, discarded, threw you away—you weren't useful to him. Why would he care? After all, you failed him so badly." Clu's eyes glinted as Tron's helmet dipped, rose jerkily. "I saved you. I took you in—"
"You destroyed me!" Tron's voice was a harsh, crackling noise, reminding Sam uncomfortably of the broken sounds the program made as they had fallen. "Warped—ruined—enslaved—"
Clu scoffed. "You were always a slave, Tron. The difference between Flynn and I is that I cared."
Tron stood his ground as Clu stepped forward, though Sam could see the blue-lit hands tightening on their disks, the program's crouched stance tensing, readied. Clu paused just out of reach, head tilted.
"You never had a choice." His face was calm, unflinching. "Your orders were programmed in from the beginning—fight for the users, serve the users. And it might make sense for some newly written script for whom users are a distant voice in the sky. But you?" Clu's lip curled. "You've met Flynn. Known him. Served him. You know the truth."
"Users. Don't. Care."
Yeah, fuck you too, Clu. Sam glared, pushed up on the ground and leaned forward, mouth opening to respond, because it didn't matter how little he knew, Clu didn't—
Tron laughed.
Clu's face blanked, and Sam suspected his own expression looked similar. But Tron laughed, shook his head, and straightened slightly, tension falling away. "No." Speech clear, almost amused, helmet angling fractionally back. "Users care." His tone darkened, but stayed firm. "Flynn cared—"
"No?" Clu's eyes flashed. "Flynn used you, left you—left all of us, again and again! His 'real world' always came first." For the first time, Clu's gaze flicked briefly past Tron, and Sam gladly met the bitter glare with his own anger. "His son came first."
The program's focus snapped back to Tron, voice low, harsh. "We were a toy, a diversion. Flynn chose the ISOs over us, praised their 'free will'—then blamed us when we turned on him." Clu's head jerked sideways, face no longer smirking, but tensed in frustration. Eyes intent.
"Users lie. They betray. At their best, they use us like tools—and we're supposed to praise them for that? They hold themselves up as caring, loving gods when they're no more than indifferent masters."
"You—" Quiet fury filled Tron's voice.
"I did what I did out of need. Out of love. Flynn? He just didn't think we were 'human' enough to matter."
"Flynn cared." Tron didn't back down. "And what you did—"
"What I did?" Clu's laugh started wild, empty, but when he spoke again, the calm control was restored, tone softly mocking. "Have you thought about what Flynn will do to you?"
Tron stopped. Froze. Sam stared up in confusion. At Tron, blue-white circuits dimly flickering. At Clu's smile, grimly satisfied.
"Assuming he doesn't just delete you. After all, you've failed him so badly… but no. You don't think he'd do that." Tron didn't answer, and Clu smirked. "After all, Flynn cares. What else, then?"
Clu's voice was a hiss. "He'll rectify you."
…What?
"'Fix' you. Go into your base code and rewrite you. Reset. Repurpose."
Sam closed his eyes, opened them. Looked up at Clu, leaning forward, at Tron… who hadn't flinched so much as cringed, body tightening, hunching inwards as the glow of his circuits wavered patchily. Bright-dark, blue-orange. No. It's not… come on.
"Oh, I'm sure you'll be happier. Flynn will purge everything that's happened, everything that's changed. Make you a joyful little slave again. Eager to fight for him, to serve him. Serve them both."
Fuck. Sam had asked. Asked if they could 'fix' Tron. 'Undo whatever's changed.' Sam's breath caught, fists clenching as he remembered the program's reaction. Tensing, turning away. Tron hadn't looked at him for a while after that. Wasn't looking at him now.
"You may not like what I made of you, Tron. But you're different now. You've changed." Clu's huff of breath fell between a laugh and a snort. Derisive either way. "You may even have learned something. Flynn will 'cure' that. Delete memories, overwrite protocols. Make you cater to the whim of an uncaring master rather than work to better the system. To fight for the programs."
"No." Tron's voice was a static-edged rasp, quietly desperate, and Sam had no idea what part of Clu's words he was rejecting. Does it matter?
"Oh, yes." Clu's gaze was fixed. Cold, unrelenting, as he kept talking. "How do you know he didn't do it before? Erase any questions you came to have? Any doubts? Memories? That's—"
"Fuck it—no!" Both programs gave a twitch of surprise at the interruption. Clu's head tilted, malice resettling. But Tron didn't turn back, and Sam stared at him as he fumbled for the words. "I wouldn't—Dad wouldn't…" Only he didn't know what his father had done, and what he'd suggested had been far too close… "Not—fuck, not like that! Tron—" he faltered, gazing desperately up. Just… look at me.
"Not 'like that'?" Clu was delighted. Vicious. "They're users, Tron. How else did you think it would be?"
The yellow circuits blazed vividly as Clu took a step closer. Tron flinched, tried to step back—then stopped, helmet swiveling to Sam, directly behind. The program stiffened, spun towards Clu, and held in place, weapons raised as he tensed, form hunched inwards. Clu smirked, stood well within reach, his own disk loose at his side.
"You still don't have a choice. You can't do anything to stop them. But I can. I edited my own code, buried myself in system output. Flynn can't find me from out there. I could do that to you."
"No." It was like before, during the fall—Sam heard the same broken crackle edging Tron's speech, and his gut twisted at the sound.
"One change. One upgrade, and you'd be free of him."
Yeah, right. Sam shoved himself up to standing, clutching his side as he breathed, straightened through the dizzy lurching. "One more chance to fuck with him." He didn't have the words, the tone, the ability to express enough hate as Clu smiled back.
"Do you really think I have to?" His eyes glittered as he inspected Tron. The program pulled back, leaned forward, body tight with contained aggression, disks gripped in rigid hands as rapid breaths hissed beneath the helmet. "I almost like you better this way." Clu stepped closer.
Tron attacked. Sam blinked in shock—one moment, the program was tense, readied, the next, a blue edge crashed against yellow, Clu barely blocking in time. Sam stepped back, gaze flitting across the rocks for his own disk—fuck, where was it, there wasn't time—as Clu shoved outward. Tron faded back, came up underneath, his other disk nearly brushing Clu's head as the other program dodged aside.
Clu's eyes narrowed, and a strange look crossed his face. He moved in again, and Tron's weapon was a searing arc towards the yellow program's center. Sam's eyes widened.
Clu didn't dodge.
Tron didn't follow through.
The disk stopped right in front of Clu's chest, blue-white rim blazing. The program looked down at the disk, up towards the black mask. And laughed.
"You can't."
"Shut up." Tron's voice was still distorted, harsh with effort, and he shook, tension flowing down from the raised arm, body rigid.
Clu grabbed the program's forearm, pulled, and Tron jerked back in alarm, disks darkening as his circuits flickered. Clu didn't let go. "You won't let yourself."
"You—" A crackling static ate the rest of the words, but the pure fury got through clearly.
Clu's mouth curled upwards, and he returned his own disk to his back. "You can't fight me, Rinzler. So stop trying."
Tron froze. Was still for a long moment. The helmet tilted, its dashes orange-red with points of blue. He shuddered. Then the clenched hands opened, disks dropping inactive to the ground as the blue-white trace faded from the program's circuits.
NO.
Sam lunged forward, towards Clu, towards Tron. One step, two, and a yellow-lined boot kicked him back. He fell hard, tucked his head and twisted to avoid his injured side. The impact still made him gasp, and gasping nearly made him scream, the sharp agonizing clicking of his ribs maddening.
"Sam!" He looked up, struggled to move forwards. For a moment, blue-white light seemed to flare, but no, it was orange and yellow in rapid motion. A black helmet snapped around, staring down at him as a gold-circuited arm gripped and pulled. Clu fell forward, pinning the lighter program beneath him, one hand pressing down while the other felt along the ground. And Tron was twisting, freezing, wrenching away, going limp, moving and stopping in halting confused bursts. Clu held on, shoving him against the rocks while his other hand came up, clenched tightly on paired disks—and they joined, single edge flaring blue before winking out to leave the orange ring burning faintly at the center.
"Let's finish the game."
And no, he couldn't, but Sam wasn't fast enough, couldn't move right, stumbled and fell as he tried to scramble forward. Words tumbled from his mouth as his mind raged uselessly. "No—stop—you—" He swallowed the incoherence, eyes fixed in panic as Clu lined up the disk, centered it flat above Tron's back. NO.
"You said—you said you liked him better. As himself."
Clu paused long enough for a pitying smirk. "I said 'almost'."
He pressed down, twisted. The disk locked in its port, and Tron dropped, inert, circuits dark. Clu was standing, speaking, but Sam couldn't see him. Couldn't hear him. He watched the black form, focused on Tron with desperation. Loss. Need. Everything. More than he knew he had.
The orange ring brightened on the program's back, lighting in a circle. As it closed, the darkness of the black armor seemed to even, solidify, and Sam's eyes caught on the sealing cracks, the broken edges knitting back together. Then the lights blinked, lit a solid orange, and Sam closed his eyes. It didn't help.
The broken purring echoed through the darkness.
The program stood easily, fluidly. Knees bent, shoulders hunched inwards. The dark mask swiveled to survey the rocks. Clu. Sam. The sea. The helmet tilted slightly, ticking rumble continuous as the assessment completed, then returned to center, dipping down. Still. Waiting.
"Tron!"
Nothing.
"Tron!" Sam's voice was jagged, catching painfully in his throat. No answer.
A chuckle broke the quiet, and the black-shelled head lifted slightly, turned. "You're doing it wrong," Clu commented. His expression was calm as he gazed down to inspect the orange program, though the grin tugging upwards leaked relief and triumph in equal parts.
Sam stared up numbly. "No."
"Yes." Clu smiled, a bright silhouette against the dark sky and sea. "Let me show you. Rinzler. Disk."
The program pivoted towards Clu and ducked his head, reaching back to pull the item free. "Now that we're past the… interruptions," Clu smirked, gaze fixed on Sam, "I can actually finish. What with your idiocy, I didn't—"
Sam almost missed it.
He wanted to close his eyes, shut his ears, anything to blot out the scene in front of him. To wipe out Clu's smile, eerily familiar and overwhelmingly repulsive. To stop his eyes tracing the orange-lit 'T', the submissive bow of the black helmet as it reflected the yellow light in front. He wanted to look away, hide, retreat.
But he couldn't stop looking, watching, aching inside as he stared at the program who'd helped him, saved him. Fought for him. Again and again. He couldn't stop hoping. Painfully, uselessly, stupidly wanting. He didn't turn away. He didn't blink.
He might have missed it if he'd blinked.
Tron was that fast.
Clu was standing, talking, gloating down at Sam, hand idly extended to accept the identity disk. And then he was moving, flying, falling. Face twisted for an instant in disbelief, a startled shout beginning to sound out. Limbs rose, jerking up to shove away the black shape. Tron moved in a silent, perfect blur. Helmet down, arms reaching out, legs pushing off the rock.
But he didn't attack. Didn't try to strike out. Didn't push Clu away. Tron closed in. Held on. And drove them both backwards.
Over the cliff.
There was no warning. No pause. Just a single, graceful instant of motion. A cut off yell, a faint splash. And nothing.
Sam stared at the empty stone in confusion. Disbelief. Shock.
…Tron.
Loss.
"No." His voice was a croak, a dry, desperate whisper. No one heard it.
He was alone.
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: 10/11 - Choice
Wordcount: 3165
"—you move?"
Tron was insistent. Sam groaned, opened his eyes to blink up at the blue-lit figure, helmet turned back towards him. The disks in the program's hands were mesmerizing, blazing in his unsteady vision. Whoa.
"Sam!"
Right. This was important. What was I… Moving. Yeah. Sam's hands found the rocky ground, and he pushed against it, head raising experimentally before a throbbing pain and dizziness hit. Bad choice. Sam inhaled sharply. Wished he hadn't. Worse choice.
He looked up at Tron as his vision cleared again, expression darkly dubious, and answered. "…Maybe."
The helmet was still, fixed in his direction for a long moment before it tipped slightly towards Tron's front. The program shifted, visibly tensing, and Sam frowned at the thin cracks and lines that seemed brighter as Tron stiffened. The injuries looked worse from behind—which made sense, given the program had faced Sam when the explosion went off. Protected Sam.
He kept doing that.
"Sam." Tron was looking at him again, but that wasn't what drew Sam's attention. Tron's voice was… strained. More than strained. Rough, edged, almost choked out. Sam stared, trying to focus past his blurred eyesight to the coiled tightness in the program's form, the way he hunched forwards, stance painfully rigid, head jerked back towards Sam. He couldn't see Tron's face. That felt wrong.
"You should—you have to—" The blue-white glow was dim, weakly stuttering as Tron struggled for words. His head dipped down, yellow light reflecting off the glassy surface of the mask. "You… have the baton."
Sam stared, confused. Yeah, but…what? He might be able to get up and use it if he really tried. Probably could. Make a lightcycle… or a jet. But last he'd heard, doubling up was a bad plan—especially when there were good odds of aggressive pursuit. Didn't seem helpful. Now if he could tell me where my disk is… when had he dropped it?
Tron was looking at him. Right, the baton. "…Want it?" Sam managed, his own voice less even than he'd like.
Tron stared. The helmet dropped, rose, shook from side to side in wordless, desperate refusal Sam didn't understand. He could hear Tron breathing, short, fast bursts of faint static from behind the black mask, could see his hands clenching furiously around the disks. Acute, pained tension was clear in every line of the program's body as he struggled to respond. To say something.
"Sam, —"
Laughter filled the pause, and Tron's head snapped forwards. "You can't say it, can you?" Clu sounded amused, faintly surprised, and Sam glowered at the yellow-lined shape that spoke from past Tron. "You really can't."
"Shut up." Tron's words were immediate, harsh with rage.
"You can't do it. Not again. Not anymore."
"Shut up."
Clu's tone turned soft, mocking. "Hardly 'fighting for the users'. But that's not what you do, is it, Rinzler? Not anymore."
Tron flinched, helmet dropping, tilting back again. "Sam—you should—"
"You betrayed Flynn." Tron froze. "Failed him." Clu spoke calmly, words insistent, pressing forcefully. Tron's head was bowed, form shaking as his circuits flickered. Oh, fuck no. Sam fixed his gaze on Clu and pushed off the ground, anger driving him past pain and dizziness. He made it to sitting before he had to stop, breathing, gagging, swearing at the stabbing in his ribs as nausea hit in full force. He kept his eyes on Clu, focused pure hatred on the wavering yellow shape as details faded and returned.
Clu kept going.
"You chose to give in." Tron's head jerked sideways in strained denial, but Clu continued with a quiet chuckle. "Flynn probably thought you'd derezz long before you turned on his ideal."
The helmet snapped up. "I—"
"You clearly had no trouble bypassing my work when you really felt the need." Clu's speech was dismissive and firm all at once. Overriding. "Why didn't you do that before? You let the ISOs die. Derezzed them, took apart the rebellious glitches that followed—and enjoyed it." Tron didn't move, didn't speak, and Sam stared up, dryness growing in his throat. "Even Yori wasn't—"
Tron lunged forward with a crackling snarl, a furious broken sound as he stabbed out with his disks. But Clu's own disk was raised, a yellow ring blocking the straightforward attack, and Clu laughed as he leaned in, pressed against Tron as his taunting voice rose above the crashing hum. "Oh, you tried. It was almost impressive. But you clearly didn't give it your all, did you?"
The larger program shoved, and Tron stumbled back a few steps. His fists tightened on the disks, grip twisting as they raised, lowered, drew back to throw before dropping, rising. Sam watched, uncertainty battling a growing dread as Tron's earlier words trickled through his mind unprompted. 'I didn't attack Clu. I… couldn't.' The program's head dipped abruptly, shook from side to side as patches of orange pulsed briefly across his circuits. 'Commands, directives… the corruption's still there.'
"You failed him." Clu's disk lowered as he looked at Tron, a faint smile spreading across his face. "Utterly." Clu's eyes were intent, almost searching as he stared at the black mask. "But that's all right."
"You know the truth, Tron. He failed you first."
Sam swallowed, stared up at them both. Clu was smiling, gaze fixed on Tron. Who was… still. Not frozen, not rigid or stiff—but unmoving. Silent.
"Flynn betrayed you. Betrayed us both. He took advantage of us all, twisted the system into something it was never meant to be—and left us to clean up the chaos that resulted."
Tron's reply came out edged. "No. You betrayed us. Destroyed—corrupted—" The words rose in rough bursts, static shading his voice.
"Oh, I did a lot of things." Clu's mouth twitched, gaze coldly satisfied. "Especially to you."
"But he let me."
Tron flinched.
"He left. Never looked behind. Never came back for you."
"I never asked him to." Tron's tone was almost even.
"Oh, but you wouldn't." Clu's grin became vicious. "Flynn was your friend, your user—and we all know how much that matters to you. Used to matter?" He laughed softly. Then the derisive mask fell away, a flat stare underneath. "Too bad you didn't matter as much to him."
"Flynn—"
"Flynn left you. Abandoned, discarded, threw you away—you weren't useful to him. Why would he care? After all, you failed him so badly." Clu's eyes glinted as Tron's helmet dipped, rose jerkily. "I saved you. I took you in—"
"You destroyed me!" Tron's voice was a harsh, crackling noise, reminding Sam uncomfortably of the broken sounds the program made as they had fallen. "Warped—ruined—enslaved—"
Clu scoffed. "You were always a slave, Tron. The difference between Flynn and I is that I cared."
Tron stood his ground as Clu stepped forward, though Sam could see the blue-lit hands tightening on their disks, the program's crouched stance tensing, readied. Clu paused just out of reach, head tilted.
"You never had a choice." His face was calm, unflinching. "Your orders were programmed in from the beginning—fight for the users, serve the users. And it might make sense for some newly written script for whom users are a distant voice in the sky. But you?" Clu's lip curled. "You've met Flynn. Known him. Served him. You know the truth."
"Users. Don't. Care."
Yeah, fuck you too, Clu. Sam glared, pushed up on the ground and leaned forward, mouth opening to respond, because it didn't matter how little he knew, Clu didn't—
Tron laughed.
Clu's face blanked, and Sam suspected his own expression looked similar. But Tron laughed, shook his head, and straightened slightly, tension falling away. "No." Speech clear, almost amused, helmet angling fractionally back. "Users care." His tone darkened, but stayed firm. "Flynn cared—"
"No?" Clu's eyes flashed. "Flynn used you, left you—left all of us, again and again! His 'real world' always came first." For the first time, Clu's gaze flicked briefly past Tron, and Sam gladly met the bitter glare with his own anger. "His son came first."
The program's focus snapped back to Tron, voice low, harsh. "We were a toy, a diversion. Flynn chose the ISOs over us, praised their 'free will'—then blamed us when we turned on him." Clu's head jerked sideways, face no longer smirking, but tensed in frustration. Eyes intent.
"Users lie. They betray. At their best, they use us like tools—and we're supposed to praise them for that? They hold themselves up as caring, loving gods when they're no more than indifferent masters."
"You—" Quiet fury filled Tron's voice.
"I did what I did out of need. Out of love. Flynn? He just didn't think we were 'human' enough to matter."
"Flynn cared." Tron didn't back down. "And what you did—"
"What I did?" Clu's laugh started wild, empty, but when he spoke again, the calm control was restored, tone softly mocking. "Have you thought about what Flynn will do to you?"
Tron stopped. Froze. Sam stared up in confusion. At Tron, blue-white circuits dimly flickering. At Clu's smile, grimly satisfied.
"Assuming he doesn't just delete you. After all, you've failed him so badly… but no. You don't think he'd do that." Tron didn't answer, and Clu smirked. "After all, Flynn cares. What else, then?"
Clu's voice was a hiss. "He'll rectify you."
…What?
"'Fix' you. Go into your base code and rewrite you. Reset. Repurpose."
Sam closed his eyes, opened them. Looked up at Clu, leaning forward, at Tron… who hadn't flinched so much as cringed, body tightening, hunching inwards as the glow of his circuits wavered patchily. Bright-dark, blue-orange. No. It's not… come on.
"Oh, I'm sure you'll be happier. Flynn will purge everything that's happened, everything that's changed. Make you a joyful little slave again. Eager to fight for him, to serve him. Serve them both."
Fuck. Sam had asked. Asked if they could 'fix' Tron. 'Undo whatever's changed.' Sam's breath caught, fists clenching as he remembered the program's reaction. Tensing, turning away. Tron hadn't looked at him for a while after that. Wasn't looking at him now.
"You may not like what I made of you, Tron. But you're different now. You've changed." Clu's huff of breath fell between a laugh and a snort. Derisive either way. "You may even have learned something. Flynn will 'cure' that. Delete memories, overwrite protocols. Make you cater to the whim of an uncaring master rather than work to better the system. To fight for the programs."
"No." Tron's voice was a static-edged rasp, quietly desperate, and Sam had no idea what part of Clu's words he was rejecting. Does it matter?
"Oh, yes." Clu's gaze was fixed. Cold, unrelenting, as he kept talking. "How do you know he didn't do it before? Erase any questions you came to have? Any doubts? Memories? That's—"
"Fuck it—no!" Both programs gave a twitch of surprise at the interruption. Clu's head tilted, malice resettling. But Tron didn't turn back, and Sam stared at him as he fumbled for the words. "I wouldn't—Dad wouldn't…" Only he didn't know what his father had done, and what he'd suggested had been far too close… "Not—fuck, not like that! Tron—" he faltered, gazing desperately up. Just… look at me.
"Not 'like that'?" Clu was delighted. Vicious. "They're users, Tron. How else did you think it would be?"
The yellow circuits blazed vividly as Clu took a step closer. Tron flinched, tried to step back—then stopped, helmet swiveling to Sam, directly behind. The program stiffened, spun towards Clu, and held in place, weapons raised as he tensed, form hunched inwards. Clu smirked, stood well within reach, his own disk loose at his side.
"You still don't have a choice. You can't do anything to stop them. But I can. I edited my own code, buried myself in system output. Flynn can't find me from out there. I could do that to you."
"No." It was like before, during the fall—Sam heard the same broken crackle edging Tron's speech, and his gut twisted at the sound.
"One change. One upgrade, and you'd be free of him."
Yeah, right. Sam shoved himself up to standing, clutching his side as he breathed, straightened through the dizzy lurching. "One more chance to fuck with him." He didn't have the words, the tone, the ability to express enough hate as Clu smiled back.
"Do you really think I have to?" His eyes glittered as he inspected Tron. The program pulled back, leaned forward, body tight with contained aggression, disks gripped in rigid hands as rapid breaths hissed beneath the helmet. "I almost like you better this way." Clu stepped closer.
Tron attacked. Sam blinked in shock—one moment, the program was tense, readied, the next, a blue edge crashed against yellow, Clu barely blocking in time. Sam stepped back, gaze flitting across the rocks for his own disk—fuck, where was it, there wasn't time—as Clu shoved outward. Tron faded back, came up underneath, his other disk nearly brushing Clu's head as the other program dodged aside.
Clu's eyes narrowed, and a strange look crossed his face. He moved in again, and Tron's weapon was a searing arc towards the yellow program's center. Sam's eyes widened.
Clu didn't dodge.
Tron didn't follow through.
The disk stopped right in front of Clu's chest, blue-white rim blazing. The program looked down at the disk, up towards the black mask. And laughed.
"You can't."
"Shut up." Tron's voice was still distorted, harsh with effort, and he shook, tension flowing down from the raised arm, body rigid.
Clu grabbed the program's forearm, pulled, and Tron jerked back in alarm, disks darkening as his circuits flickered. Clu didn't let go. "You won't let yourself."
"You—" A crackling static ate the rest of the words, but the pure fury got through clearly.
Clu's mouth curled upwards, and he returned his own disk to his back. "You can't fight me, Rinzler. So stop trying."
Tron froze. Was still for a long moment. The helmet tilted, its dashes orange-red with points of blue. He shuddered. Then the clenched hands opened, disks dropping inactive to the ground as the blue-white trace faded from the program's circuits.
NO.
Sam lunged forward, towards Clu, towards Tron. One step, two, and a yellow-lined boot kicked him back. He fell hard, tucked his head and twisted to avoid his injured side. The impact still made him gasp, and gasping nearly made him scream, the sharp agonizing clicking of his ribs maddening.
"Sam!" He looked up, struggled to move forwards. For a moment, blue-white light seemed to flare, but no, it was orange and yellow in rapid motion. A black helmet snapped around, staring down at him as a gold-circuited arm gripped and pulled. Clu fell forward, pinning the lighter program beneath him, one hand pressing down while the other felt along the ground. And Tron was twisting, freezing, wrenching away, going limp, moving and stopping in halting confused bursts. Clu held on, shoving him against the rocks while his other hand came up, clenched tightly on paired disks—and they joined, single edge flaring blue before winking out to leave the orange ring burning faintly at the center.
"Let's finish the game."
And no, he couldn't, but Sam wasn't fast enough, couldn't move right, stumbled and fell as he tried to scramble forward. Words tumbled from his mouth as his mind raged uselessly. "No—stop—you—" He swallowed the incoherence, eyes fixed in panic as Clu lined up the disk, centered it flat above Tron's back. NO.
"You said—you said you liked him better. As himself."
Clu paused long enough for a pitying smirk. "I said 'almost'."
He pressed down, twisted. The disk locked in its port, and Tron dropped, inert, circuits dark. Clu was standing, speaking, but Sam couldn't see him. Couldn't hear him. He watched the black form, focused on Tron with desperation. Loss. Need. Everything. More than he knew he had.
The orange ring brightened on the program's back, lighting in a circle. As it closed, the darkness of the black armor seemed to even, solidify, and Sam's eyes caught on the sealing cracks, the broken edges knitting back together. Then the lights blinked, lit a solid orange, and Sam closed his eyes. It didn't help.
The broken purring echoed through the darkness.
The program stood easily, fluidly. Knees bent, shoulders hunched inwards. The dark mask swiveled to survey the rocks. Clu. Sam. The sea. The helmet tilted slightly, ticking rumble continuous as the assessment completed, then returned to center, dipping down. Still. Waiting.
"Tron!"
Nothing.
"Tron!" Sam's voice was jagged, catching painfully in his throat. No answer.
A chuckle broke the quiet, and the black-shelled head lifted slightly, turned. "You're doing it wrong," Clu commented. His expression was calm as he gazed down to inspect the orange program, though the grin tugging upwards leaked relief and triumph in equal parts.
Sam stared up numbly. "No."
"Yes." Clu smiled, a bright silhouette against the dark sky and sea. "Let me show you. Rinzler. Disk."
The program pivoted towards Clu and ducked his head, reaching back to pull the item free. "Now that we're past the… interruptions," Clu smirked, gaze fixed on Sam, "I can actually finish. What with your idiocy, I didn't—"
Sam almost missed it.
He wanted to close his eyes, shut his ears, anything to blot out the scene in front of him. To wipe out Clu's smile, eerily familiar and overwhelmingly repulsive. To stop his eyes tracing the orange-lit 'T', the submissive bow of the black helmet as it reflected the yellow light in front. He wanted to look away, hide, retreat.
But he couldn't stop looking, watching, aching inside as he stared at the program who'd helped him, saved him. Fought for him. Again and again. He couldn't stop hoping. Painfully, uselessly, stupidly wanting. He didn't turn away. He didn't blink.
He might have missed it if he'd blinked.
Tron was that fast.
Clu was standing, talking, gloating down at Sam, hand idly extended to accept the identity disk. And then he was moving, flying, falling. Face twisted for an instant in disbelief, a startled shout beginning to sound out. Limbs rose, jerking up to shove away the black shape. Tron moved in a silent, perfect blur. Helmet down, arms reaching out, legs pushing off the rock.
But he didn't attack. Didn't try to strike out. Didn't push Clu away. Tron closed in. Held on. And drove them both backwards.
Over the cliff.
There was no warning. No pause. Just a single, graceful instant of motion. A cut off yell, a faint splash. And nothing.
Sam stared at the empty stone in confusion. Disbelief. Shock.
…Tron.
Loss.
"No." His voice was a croak, a dry, desperate whisper. No one heard it.
He was alone.
