Chapter Text
It was dark when he opened his eyes. The bedroom was still and quiet, as always. And yet, for some reason, Boxman was awake. A glance at the bedside clock confirmed it: it was the middle of the night, well before Boxman’s admittedly early morning routine began. The sheets rustled against each other as he blearily ran his hands over the bed next to him, still half-asleep and not entirely conscious of what he was doing.
Something was missing.
...Oh.
The absence of PV's expected gentle weight beside him was a once-familiar feeling he had hoped to forget.
PV had always liked to stay up later than Boxman. He could still be a bit of a restless sleeper, even now, but the long disappearances that were so common when they lived together at Boxmore had died with Shadowy Figure. If Venomous was wandering at night he could be found at home, where he could be coaxed back to bed, rather than slithering around the plaza and chortling mischievously to himself.
It made him feel a little pathetic, but Boxman had to go looking. Being alone and not knowing where to find PV felt like a blade dangling over his head. The unease had not left him, even all these years later, and he wasn't sure it ever would. He just needed to know for sure everything was alright. Just in case.
He was grateful that PV always seemed to understand.
He pulled himself upright and slid his legs off the side of the bed, cursing under his breath as he stepped clumsily into his slippers. He wasn’t happy to leave the warmth of the sheets, but there wasn’t any other option.
The lights were not on in the kitchen. They weren’t on in PV’s office, or in the bathroom. The halls were dark, too – Boxman had opted for using his phone flashlight to see, rather than lighting up the whole house in the middle of the night, and he could only assume PV had done the same.
There were only so many places he could be. All the evidence suggested he was probably downstairs in the lab. Boxman pressed his lips together in a thin, grim line, and tried not to be annoyed. It takes a special kind of stubbornness to be a workaholic even after you’ve supposedly retired.
He stumbled for a moment over the rumpled corner of a rug in the hall and made a surprised noise. Jeez, maybe he should keep the light pointed at his feet. Why did they even keep a rug here? Talk about a disaster waiting to happen. He should move it in the morning. And come to think of it, didn’t they usually leave a lamp on near the stairs at night? Had the bulb burned out?
A soft shuffling from behind interrupted Boxman’s housekeeping plans. All he had really wanted was to drag PV back to bed, so they could hopefully both get a full night's sleep. If PV was already heading back on his own, it would save Boxman a trip. He smiled fondly, already feeling a little better, and prepared to launch into playful teasing.
A piercing green light cut through the darkness as Boxman turned, brighter than his flashlight, and he reflexively covered his eyes. When he squinted, he could make out that the source was a cylinder filled with some kind of luminescent liquid. The object was held aloft by the distinct black silhouette of a hand, and something else he couldn’t quite see was shifting in the dark. There was a pop like a pen being uncapped, followed by the dangerous gleam of a needle.
Oh, no. Absolutely not.
His assailant moved with confidence, but they were slow, and Boxman sidestepped the jab. They seemed to anticipate his counter, but it didn't help them. Boxman grabbed the figure's wrist on the side holding the needle and twisted, sweeping their feet out from under them at the same time.
The uninvited guest yelped as the syringe dropped to the floor with a clatter. They hung there, just barely upright, from where Boxman held their arm suspended.
They didn't seem to be doing much. Boxman had honestly expected more resistance than this. The intruder had moved like someone who knew how to fight, but their actual effort had been limp and unimpressive.
His heart was pounding in his ears. Was this a trap? He didn't sense anyone else in the room. If his captive was trying to break his grip, they weren't doing a very good job of it. Maybe they had been counting on him not seeing their attack.
Should he be insulted that this person thought they could take him?
It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t waste the opportunity.
He lowered the figure down to the floor and moved to pin them in place, making sure the syringe was well out of their reach were they to get free.
It soon became clear that he hadn’t needed to worry about it. This person could probably be kept where they were by his body weight alone. Okay. Fantastic. Boxman felt the adrenaline rush start to recede, and he turned his attention now to actually examining his stabby new friend. It was much easier to get a good look, now that they were restrained and his eyes had adjusted to the sickly green light.
Fully clothed in dark fabric, definitely taller than Boxman, thin, not especially muscular – uh.
This was Professor Venomous. It was plain to see, even with a hood over his head. He might as well have been carrying a neon sign announcing it – Boxman knew what PV looked and felt like better than anyone.
He ignored the immediate twinge of panic in his chest and released his grip on one of Venomous’ arms. The hand shot up and feebly attempted to hold Boxman’s arm in place, but he ignored it. He grasped the fabric of the hood and pulled.
Shadowy Figure.
He had guessed, obviously. He had just been hoping it wasn’t true. He wasn't even sure how it was possible.
“You,” he said dully. “Why are you in my house.”
Shadowy laughed. “I live here.”
“No, you don’t,” Boxman growled. “PV lives here. I was under the impression that you were dead.”
“So, what, so you jumped to conclusions and somehow it’s my fault?”
Somehow, the condescending tone was even worse than Boxman remembered.
“I mean,” Shadowy continued, “I guess I could go live somewhere else. But then you’d just be mad that Venomous isn’t around.” He made an extravagant show of looking troubled, pursing his lips. “You’re really making everything more difficult for everybody.”
“I will wring your little neck, you goon,” Boxman hissed.
“Uh huh. Sure you will.” The smug little smile on Shadowy’s face was not a compelling counterargument. If anything, it was encouragement. He pushed himself forward, as if he expected Boxman to move and let him up.
“I’m serious,” Boxman said flatly, slamming a palm in the centre of Shadowy’s chest and forcing him back down. “Why are you here? What does the injection do?”
He was doing that blasted laugh again.
Boxman hadn’t really expected an answer, let alone an honest one. He was thinking aloud. Shadowy being here was bad, to put it lightly, and it was making him nervous. He was dangerous, and Boxman was all by himself.
The more he thought about it, Boxman couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t adding up. He looked Shadowy up and down distrustfully. “Why are you just sitting there instead of trying again?”
“I don’t know,” Shadowy replied, as amused and infuriatingly opaque as ever. “Why do you think?”
Boxman didn’t have an answer. He hated these games, and he hated how easy it was to get him worked up. He crushed the mounting anxiety back down. ‘You know what,’ he thought, just a little bit crazed. ‘I’m just going to sit here and do absolutely nothing until he has to make a move.’
Shadowy tapped a little rhythm on the floor with his fingers. “You don’t have to think about it that hard, Boxman,” he purred. “If you can’t come up with an answer, why don’t you ask for a hint?”
Nope. Sorry, Boxman wasn’t doing this today. He was a brick wall, and this wall didn’t have ears.
“...Sorry,” Shadowy said, sounding perplexed. “What are you doing?” He tried to push himself up, like he had before. “You having some kind of problem? Need some kind of medical attention?” He collapsed back down when his ineffectual wriggling didn’t cause Boxman to budge.
Huh.
Shadowy couldn’t move him? Why couldn’t he move him? He should have been able to move him. He would have been able to move him before.
Oh, man. He couldn’t move him, though.
Boxman steeled himself and fixed Shadowy Figure with his most piercing stare. He leaned in closer, and hoped the grin he could feel growing on his face was appropriately menacing. “You can’t move me,” he said triumphantly. “Because you don’t have powers anymore.”
Shadowy looked like he’d been hit in the face with a water balloon.
Boxman changed his mind. This was a good day, actually. This was the new highlight of his week. This was a sharp green uptick in his mood tracker chart. He let go of Shadowy’s arms so he could rest his chin on his hands. He wasn’t going to pretend not to be pleased with himself. “Bullseye, huh?”
He watched with no little satisfaction as Shadowy's horror shifted to disappointment, then abruptly disappeared into the mask of indifference. The unhappy downturned mouth had only been there for an instant before he had regained his composure, but it was too late. Boxman was going to win this conversation.
"What does the injection do, Shadowy?" Boxman asked sweetly. He cupped a hand to the side of his head and leaned in close again. "Don't be shy! I'm all ears."
Shadowy's face was difficult to interpret, but he did seem to be thinking about something. Boxman reached out and pinched his cheek. "I'm not moving until I get an answer, mister."
Shadowy bit him.
It didn’t get him off the floor, but he seemed more than satisfied with Boxman’s undignified yelp. “I want you to know that I showed great restraint in waiting that long to do that,” he said.
He let Boxman yell at him for a few moments before finally raising a hand in an appeasing gesture. “Listen. It's a protein I harvested from modified avian specimens that were raised on a special glorb derivative.” He waited, making sure Boxman was actually paying attention. “You wouldn't understand the biochemistry involved in the mechanism of action. It's not your field.”
That sounded a lot more like PV talking than expected. Boxman hadn't ever heard Shadowy actually talk about science until now. He had always seemed more interested in destroying things, or setting them on fire.
It wasn’t much of a comfort. He could still feel the tension in his shoulders. When did Shadowy have time to develop this? How long had he been running around performing experiments without anyone noticing?
If Shadowy noticed his reaction, he didn't comment on it before he continued: "It’s to make you stronger."
Boxman stared at him blankly. “...Why?”
"Seriously? Did you even pay attention to my character arc at all?"
“No, you doofus,” Boxman huffed. “Why me?”
Shadowy tilted his head curiously. “Who else?”
“Yourself?”
“Oh.” Shadowy rolled his eyes. “Why didn’t Venomous use the collar he made for Fink on himself? It didn’t work, obviously.”
“Right, sure, but – what were you hoping would happen?” Boxman raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Do you actually think I want anything at all to do with you? You want to end up fighting me after I’ve been strengthened by your special power ooze, when you can’t even beat me now?”
He leaned back and scratched his chin. “It’s just thoughtless. It would make more sense –”
His eyes glazed over as he ran through a mental list of all the plans he could come up with that would be better than this one. There were a lot of them.
Maybe it was better not to give him any more ideas.
He shifted his attention back to Shadowy. He looked… afraid, almost. Definitely uncomfortable. Embarrassed? Was he that invested in this specific plan? Had Boxman hurt his feelings?
...There was no way.
“Shadowy Figure,” he began carefully. “Did you miss me?”
Shadowy’s mouth twitched. “No,” he replied tersely. He suddenly became very interested in the ceiling.
No way.
Boxman let out a shocked bark of laughter.
“You did! You little punk!”
Shadowy schooled his expression back to one of bored neutrality, again. He still wouldn’t look Boxman in the eye.
“A stupid idea,” he said stiffly. “We barely even spoke.”
“You missed me. You did!” Boxman cackled and put his hands on either side of his head in disbelief. Somehow, everything about this situation kept getting funnier. He was starting to feel delirious. ‘Maybe I’m dreaming.’
He brought a hand back down so he could wave a finger in Shadowy’s face. “You can’t lie to me, you loser,” he jeered. “I saw that look. You missed me!”
A blotchy purple-grey flush of frustration was creeping up Shadowy’s neck and face. He was clearly trying to get up again, but the weight of Boxman’s body was still keeping him pinned. He exhaled forcefully through his nose.
Boxman poked Shadowy’s cheek tauntingly, not even stopping to consider that he’d already had his hand bitten just a few minutes ago. “Admit it you coward!”
“Fine,” Shadowy choked out through gritted teeth. “Stop.”
His face was twitching again. He twisted his head away like he wanted to sink into the floor and disappear.
“I’m in your husband’s body,” Shadowy said bitterly. “I’m not sure why you’d expect otherwise.”
Boxman was, in fact, aware of this. It had been, one might say, extremely inconvenient. It had also been true for the entirety of their mutual acquaintance, and yet this was the first time Boxman was hearing about this particular detail. Shadowy had not seemed particularly emotionally attached to Boxman during the months of sneaking around behind his back, nor during the gruelling weeks when he had been – replaced – his partner.
“Do you want an itemized list?” Boxman deadpanned.
Shadowy clenched his fists and pressed them hard against the floor. The leather of his gloves creaked. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” He closed his eyes and breathed heavily. “I wanted to be myself all the time. I thought I’d done it. I didn’t notice at first.”
Boxman watched him carefully. Shadowy kept his eyes screwed shut and grimaced. “It was all wrong,” he growled, raising a fist and slamming it back down again. “He clung to me like a sticky residue that wouldn’t come off.”
Boxman wrinkled his nose. “What? Ew.”
Shadowy ignored him. “I had his memories, for the first time. Had them, instead of knowing them. Like they were mine.” His voice wavered.
Boxman mulled that over. “You’re saying... becoming Shadowy Venomous affected you psychologically.”
“Yes.”
“Huh,” Boxman said insightfully.
They sat there in silence. Boxman found himself very aware of the ticking of the clock from the other room. He wasn’t sure what to think. He didn’t know if he should take that admission seriously – or how many mountains of salt to take with it.
Shadowy hummed quietly. “So,” he said, looking back up at Boxman from the corner of his eye. “How about it? You wanna give it a whirl?”
“Whuh– huh?! Are you out of your mind?!”
"I could use it on myself, if you want.” Shadowy spread his hands magnanimously as he spoke. “It won't do anything, but you’ll see it's not poison or anything. I can make more, no problem."
Boxman recoiled so he was sitting fully upright again. "Absolutely not. I trust you about as far as I can throw you."
"You're pretty strong, Boxy,” Shadowy’s mouth curved deviously. "You could probably throw me a lot farther than you think."
Boxman scowled. "Don't you 'Boxy' me, slimeball."
Shadowy tilted his head bashfully and pouted. It was deeply unsettling. "Why not? You make me admit I missed you, but you get mad when I act like it?"
“I don’t pretend to understand how your horrible little gremlin emotions work, but I do know how you behave,” Boxman muttered.
"C'mon, Boxy. I'm real sorry about that whole thing back at Boxmore.” Shadowy reached up to rest his hands on Boxman’s sides, but he swatted them away. Undeterred, Shadowy continued. “It was a mistake, I know that now. I was putting all my eggs in the wrong basket. We can be together this time!"
All Boxman gave him in response was stony silence.
"I don't even have my powers anymore. What threat am I to you, like this? Look how easily you took me out. You said it yourself, if I'd actually jabbed you, it would have been even easier." Shadowy was still feigning demure embarrassment, but his eyes glinted dangerously. He flashed Boxman a sly grin. "You'll be so strong. It'll be easy to keep me in line.” He was twirling his hair around his finger now. “Teach me a lesson."
“Okay!” Boxman leaned away, appalled. “Stop that.” He was mortified. He couldn’t stop his voice from progressively rising in pitch as he went on. “Are you trying to ‘I’ve been a very bad boy’ your way out of almost destroying the universe?”
Shadowy frowned.
“…I’m not sure I understand the question.”
The audacity of this man.
“You’re serious,” Boxman sputtered. “You genuinely thought this would go well for you.” He laughed again, loud, incredulous, and mean. “You made me think you let your son murder one of our children! ”
Shadowy’s frown deepened. The confusion on his face was evident. “You forgave me.”
“I forgave PV. You were not part of the equation.” Boxman dragged a hand down his face. “And a large part of what I had to forgive him for was making a deal with you!”
“We’re the same person.” It was a statement, but it hung like a question.
“Oh, sure,” Boxman drawled, not bothering to conceal his disdain. “I’m still not convinced you believe that at all. But fine.” He stood up carefully. After a moment of cold consideration, he offered Shadowy Figure a hand.
“You want to be PV? Then you’re PV.” Shadowy accepted the extended hand suspiciously, and Boxman pulled him to his feet. “I love you, you’ve been forgiven, and you’re back in my life. Congratulations,” he said. Shadowy opened his mouth to speak, but Boxman cut him off. “But right now? You’re doing exactly the thing you had to apologize for in the first place all over again.”
He shook Shadowy’s hand loose.
“So leave me alone, until you’ve calmed down enough to treat me like a partner who you respect again.”
Boxman quickly bent down and grabbed the abandoned syringe from earlier, pocketing it. He retrieved his phone and made to leave, then abruptly snapped back around, pointing a threatening finger in Shadowy’s direction.
“And stop trying to inject me with weird things you made!” he bellowed, looming with as much hostility as he could muster. He did a furious little jig for good measure.
Shadowy made a noise like he’d been punched in the gut.
It wasn’t really the response Boxman had expected. This entire confrontation had been strange from start to finish. He was genuinely taken aback.
The dark flush from earlier was back, and by this point it had overtaken most of Shadowy’s face. He looked furious. He took a step back from Boxman, pulling his hood back up over his head, and Boxman could see that his hands were shaking a little. Shadowy let out a loud sniff and wiped his nose on the back of his glove.
Boxman had legitimately never seen Shadowy Figure like this – ever. Unhappy, sure. Angry, definitely – but not once had he ever seemed vulnerable. Right now, he looked like he might cry.
Had his confidence really hinged entirely on having powers? Is that why he took so long to show up again?
The last time Boxman had seen him, Shadowy Venomous had been vicious and frightening. The sniveling person in front of him now was just pathetic.
He’d earned a lot worse than a bruised ego, but seeing it didn’t make Boxman feel good. The stuff earlier had been funny. This just felt… bad.
It was still Venomous’ face, in the end.
Shadowy sniffed again. All at once, with no warning, he folded in on himself. His black cloak stripped away in ribbons, flowing up his back and over his head to reveal the clothes PV had worn to bed underneath.
Boxman leapt forward to catch Venomous as he crumpled to the ground. He was asleep. Well, good. That had been what Boxman wanted before this whole fiasco, wasn’t it? He would rather do literally anything else than have a conversation about this. He hated knowing it would have to happen eventually.
He reached up and wiped a tear off PV’s cheek with his thumb.
For now, they were going to bed.