MPC 50B - Without You

"Isaac! Again? Seriously?"

It was rare to see Elliot angry, but when he was it he wasn't the type to hold back. Elliot's face was red from a mix of fury and embarrassment, and the way his eyes were scrunched up Isaac wasn't sure if he was glaring at him or just trying not to cry. Thankfully, the two had made it back to the house before this little spat began, but it was honestly a close call.

"Bro, she was clearly just looking for answers to your homework," Isaac protested, his amber eyes calm and unblinking. "I mean, didn't you see the way she was looking at you? There's no way she planned on taking you seriously."

"So? I like helping people," Elliot said. "And maybe she would've taken you seriously if you didn't just drag me home like that. I mean, a curfew? Was that really your excuse? She's gonna think I'm just . . ." He trailed off, trying to find the right words as Isaac pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Just some kid!"

"You are just some kid," Isaac said, stressing his words for emphasis. "She had to have been at least three years older than you. Come on, would girl like that just come to you and-"

"Maia."

Isaac huffed, his hair seeming to puff out slightly as well. "Maia's different," he snapped, voice cold. "Look, I don't know why you're getting like this. I'm just trying to look out for you."

"Oh yeah? Well, why don't you ever think about what I want when you're looking out for me?" Elliot asked, voice starting to quiver a little. "I liked her, Isaac. I really, really did. So why couldn't you just be happy for me?"

"Because there's a new girl you're head-over-heels for every week, and each time it's a worse idea than the last!" Isaac shouted back, voice starting to raise. "Don't you think I want to see you nice and happy and on a cute little date? I do! But I'm not gonna have you keep jumping into pits just because of all these stupid crushes!"

"Well maybe I want to fall into a pit without being pulled out!" Elliot shouted back, making his way up the stairs. "Maybe I don't want you to help me ever again." He lingered at the top, calling over his shoulder as if trying to gauge Isaac's reaction.

Isaac didn't even give Elliot the dignity of seeing one. Instead he looked down, bangs covering his eyes. "Then maybe you'd be happier if the Reaper kept me," he said, voice dangerous. "Because I sure as heck didn't come all the way back here to deal with this."

Elliot sniffled a little, tears mustering up in the corner of his eyes, but he refused to show weakness. "Maybe I would be," he said, promptly turning and running into his room. He knew the first one to cry lost, and he was tired of always losing these. "Or if you weren't my brother at all."

Isaac simply sighed, laying on the couch and turning to bury his head in its cushions. It was bad enough going through puberty. Being on the receiving end sucked even worse. He pushed the pillows a little closer into his face as he tried to drift off to sleep, knowing everything would be fixed in the morning.

---

Elliot's eyes snapped open right on cue, the boy leaning over with enough speed to turn off his alarm before it even started. On Fridays he was usually guilty of sleeping in a little so it could blare John Cena's theme for him, but how could he sleep in when it was such a huge day? It wasn't every day his team made it to the Oakland soccer finals! He practically leaped out of bed, landing firmly on both feet as he ran to make sure his parents were awake.

Oh, but he never needed to do that! Dad was always so punctual, after all. He laughed warmly as Elliot came running into the kitchen, stopping the boy so he could ruffle his hair. "There's my boy!" he cheered. "Look at you, getting so tall. You're gonna be towering over your old man soon. Mom's got breakfast on the table. Don't worry, I told her to start early. Knew you weren't gonna be able to sleep, so I figured we might as well help you start the day right, eh?"

Immediately, Elliot turned on his heel to run back to his room. "Oh! Then I'd better get dressed," he called over his shoulder. "Don't eat all the pancakes without me!"

"Only if you're bringing home the gold tonight!" The two laughed good-naturedly as they parted ways, Elliot knowing damn well his dad was only kidding around. His dad'd never do anything to hurt him, or anyone really.

He quickly slid on his soccer uniform, then sat at the edge of his bed to start lacing up his cleats. As he did so, he took a moment to admire the wall on the other side of his room. There were quite a few trophies from past soccer tournaments, although they were all bronzes and silvers for the most part. Today would have to be his chance to finally change that. Much more definitive were the honor roll certificates hung up next to them on the wall. Each year he worked his little heart out for that achievement, and each year he was rewarded for being one of Oakland's top students. High school acceptance letters would be coming out soon, and he couldn't wait to see where he was going.

He couldn't wait to see where he was going in the present, either. The poor boy nearly stumbled as he tore back into the living room, almost tumbling over the chair. His mother turned over her shoulder, laughing warmly as he made his landing. "Jeez, calm down there," she said, flipping one last pancake and catching it on her pan without even turning back to look at it. "Don't want to end up busting your leg before the game, eh?"

Through a mouth full of pancake, Elliot mumbled out something that vaguely sounded like "No way!" Then he swallowed down his food and sighed, flashing an eager smile his mom's way. "This is gonna be, like, my last game ever with the team. I gotta do good. I gotta!" he added. "And then we're all gonna get pizza, except this time we'll be getting it as champions. It's gonna be great!"

It was hard not to smile at Elliot's energy. "If he's this fired up already, what's he even gonna be like after the game?" Elliot's mom asked, turning to his father and smiling knowingly.

"No way any of us are getting a bit of sleep tonight, Cass," he said, returning her smile. "Gonna be one heck of a challenge sneaking the-" He stopped talking, mouthing the letters G-I-F-T at his wife, before resuming. "-into his room."

"Don't tell me you got him a Warcraft account too, Terrence," Cassandra replied, rolling her eyes fondly.

"What? No," Terrence said, lucky that Elliot was too busy longingly gazing at his pancakes to overhear. "You think I've got that much money to juggle? 'Sides, this is gonna knock the socks off of that old game. Promise."

"You know, this surprise is supposed to be for your son, not for your wife," Cassandra said, walking up to her husband and nudging him fondly. "You sure you can't let me in on it?"

"No fun in that!" Terrence said, beaming proudly. "But the real fun's gonna come when El starts tearing up the pitch."

"Shouldn't you be warming up the car instead of bragging?" Cassandra asked, Terrence quickly scampering off to grab the keys. "God, you just know the second he's done eating, Elliot's gonna be waiting outside that car like a lost puppy. Wish I had half the energy that kid had."

"Oh, don't worry. I'll leave you feeling like we're young again in no time," Terrence said, scooping his wife up for a quick hug and kiss before running away to start the car up.

Elliot couldn't help but smile as he overheard it all play out. Sure, he made a show of sticking out his tongue and saying "yuck!", but he loved his parents more than anyone else in the world. The fact that they were still so happy together after all this time was a miracle, really, especially when so much could happen in a relationship to make it go wrong.

He couldn't sit here daydreaming forever, though! It was almost time for the big game. That meant tons of friends, tons of excitement, and a trophy that basically had his name on it. He hopped out of his chair, scooping up a small backpack before tearing right out of the door. There, the rest of his life would be waiting.

---

"O, happy dagger!" Isaac said, voice rising to rapturous levels as he clutched the small rubber weapon in his hand. "This . . . is thy sheath!" He threw his head back as he thrust it right into the space between his chest and armpit, several strategically placed packets of ketchup splattering from the force of the impact. He took a few stumbles back, then fell to the ground, his breaths going shallow as he stared up at the stage lights. "There . . . rest, and let me . . . " He let the rest of the line go unsaid, head lolling to the side as he let the dagger clatter to the "floor."

It wasn't exactly comfortable lying on the wooden floor of the stage as he watched the rest of the actors close out the show, but the standing ovation that followed made up for it in dividends. Finally joining his high school's drama club was a challenge Isaac had long tried to work up the guts to do so, but hearing the claps and cheers of his fellow students was a sign that he had made the right call after all. When he stood up for the curtain call at the end, the otherwise shy boy was beaming from ear to ear.

Most people couldn't wait to immediately glom onto their friends and start chatting the day away, whether fellow members of the production or friends watching in the audience. Isaac was never too concerned with being the most popular guy in the room, after all, and there was something he was quite looking forward to at home. He drifted through the crowd with ease, striking up some small talk with friends along the way but soon making his way back over to his parents.

There was challenge #1: dad. Isaac and his father had never shared in the best relationship, for reasons Isaac had never quite understood. However, if anything, that just served as motivation for him. Each grade he pulled past the C level in school, each gag that he had come up with in his school's improv club, and now each line that he wrung the emotion and drama out of on stage was fuel for him. If he wasn't getting notice for them at home, he knew they'd at least be something he could notice about himself. He didn't need to cling to his parents for that when he was able to appreciate his own hard work, right?

Maybe that was why he was surprised when he felt a large, rough hand clamp down on his shoulder. "You did good out there," Terrence said, somewhat awkwardly. "But, did you have to be the girl?"

In that moment, Isaac had no idea to expect how widely he smiled. The approval that he had convinced himself he didn't need for all of these years had just arrived, and it felt better than he ever expected.

"Ah, don't listen to him, kiddo," Cassandra interjected. "I thought swapping all the leads' genders was a good call. Made it all avant garde and stuff. 'Sides, at least he didn't have to wear a bra."

"We totally had to wear bras," Isaac said, snickering. "Half the guys kept using them as slingshots, though. So they got confiscated. Should've heard them. 'No! Not my bosoms! Anything but my bosoms!' "

Cassandra couldn't resist busting into laughter at that one, Terrence rolling his eyes at her losing it. "Yeah. Yeah, that sounds like guys alright," she finally coughed out. "God, if you knew how much of a clown T- your father could be half of the time . . ."

"Mom," Isaac groaned, hiding his face as he tried his hardest not to think about that. "Come on, you're gonna embarrass me."

"Sheesh, that's what I get for trying to be the fun parent," Cassandra joked, rolling her eyes. "Tough crowd today, huh?"

"Nah," Isaac said, smirking. "I just knocked 'em off their feet too much. Sorry for not leaving you any."

Terrence raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Looks like someone's talking big today," he commented, surprised by how much more vocal his son was being. "Ah, hell. Think all three of us know you earned the right to gloat a bit. C'mon, why don't we get some ice cream on the way home?"

"Di""bs!" both Isaac and his mother called, running for the car as quick as can be. Surprisingly enough, rather than pile into the front seat before his mother could Isaac was sliding right into the back. "Hey, no fair. It's no fun when you let me win," Cassandra teased, but Isaac was already deeply engrossed in something else.

Namely, he had finally worked up the courage to take a rather special letter out of his backpack. He gingerly removed it from the purple envelope it was in and set the envelope aside, then let the world block out behind him as he started reading. It was a rather standard message from his pen-pal in Japan. Some of it talked about her day, and the rest talked about her dog. Or her little brother. She interchanged between the two a bunch, to the point where Isaac was starting to wonder if she was just really mean with her nicknames.

At the bottom of the letter was one of her usual doodles; this one looked like a ferret with a fox's face, and it seemed almost like her go-to signature from how often she drew it. Somehow, it always left Isaac smiling.

Taking out a piece of paper of his own from his backpack, Isaac put up his knees and braced a book between them. It wasn't a great foundation, but it was enough for him to lay the paper on top and form a crude writing desk. He tapped a pencil against his chin as he thought on what to write, then smiled as inspiration finally hit him.

Hey! You'll never guess how today's show went. And I didn't even have to wear a bra for it . . .

---

Isaac was the first to snap his eyes open, taking a deep breath as if coming out of water for oxygen for the first time in ages. Immediately he looked around, trying to figure out where he was. One minute he was in the car with mom and dad, the next he was in a giant hand. What? Sure enough, as Isaac looked up, he noticed he was currently being carried delicately by a very giant woman. She stared impassively, not at him but through him, as she balanced him carefully upon her palm. Silver hair spilled down her shoulders, highlighting her dark skin and golden outfit, and spheres orbited her like moons orbiting a planet. Right. That was a Shakamon, wasn't it? One of the holiest beings in the Digital World.

Someone was standing in her other hand, a tall and slender boy with a walking stick. He looked equally dazed and confused, clutching his head as if trying to avoid looking into the radiant glow of the giant woman's halo. Isaac blinked, and then recognition started to set over him. This was Elliot. His brother. And yet, if he had a brother, what was all of-

"And so now you see." A voice, perfectly tranquil and serene, echoed from around the brothers. It could only belong to the giant woman, but she didn't seem to be saying it. In fact, it was more as if she was willing the universe to proclaim it for you. "This is how your lives may have been without the other holding you back. You, Elliot, may have mended your leg. You, Isaac, may have mended your heart.

Do you not see the weaknesses your earthly ties bring? How they take so much, and give so much strain in return? Even now, your bickering and feuding weakens your resolve and clouds your minds. I had made merely one omission, and you are both far happier for it.

Why must you endure such resentment, such sacrifice, such strife? Renounce these last earthly ties, and then you shall be fit to serve as generals of the heavens."

Isaac blinked. Then he turned to Elliot, fists balling and hatred burning in his eyes. It didn't take much more for him to lunge.

There he snatched Elliot tightly, almost protectively, into a hug. Then he turned the malice in his glare towards the one who deserved it, the Digimon who had captured them. "If you think you'll ever, ever turn me against my brother, you've got another thing coming," he snarled. "And if you think I'll trade it so some asshole will put up with me and I can be some passive little marshmallow, you must really be kidding.

Elliot was shocked at first, but it didn't take long for him to hold his brother tight. "I . . . my leg . . ." he said, almost in a daze, but soon resolve began tightening up in his eyes. "That's just one part of me, you know? And yeah, it really sucks having a bad one. But what's the point of even getting it fixed if I don't have a big bro to share it with?"

"Even now, your bonds hold you back," the Shakamon said, a touch of sadness to her voice. "Your potential is great. Yet your thinking is so regrettably mortal. I merely ask that you clear your minds, so that the bigger picture may reveal itself to you."

"You can take that big picture and-"

"I'm sorry. But we're not accepting," Elliot interjected, finishing Isaac's sentence for him. "I want to be more confident. And I want to be stronger. But I want to do all that as me. Not as some other world fake me, or some untouchable angel. And I know Isaac would say the same."

The Shakamon's brow wrinkled some, but she set the brothers down nonetheless. "A pity," she mused, slowly cupping her hands together. The misty shadows of countless malevolent Digimon started to form between them. Chaosdramon. Apocalymon. BoltBoutamon. MaloMyotismon. Armageddemon. "The tides of chaos are as relentless as they are bloodthirsty. I fear your bonds will offer little more than comfort if you try to stand against them."

Isaac simply smirked at Shakamon. "Oh, you really want to make that bet again?" Isaac asked. "Elliot . . . it's about time we do things your way."

"You mean-?" Elliot asked, eyes sparking with enthusiasm.

"That's right. We're doing the dance," he said, widening his stance and sticking his arms out to the side. Elliot very quickly obliged, all too eager to re-enact one of his favorite Dragon Ball moments. Was it hopelessly nerdy? Sure, but he needed all the comfort he could get to stand against this illusionary tide.

"Fu-!"

"-sion-"

"Ha!"

A bright light enveloped the brothers, and where Shakamon once felt two presences now she could only see one. What looked like the fusion of a Veemon and an Impmon now however over the ground, adjusting the straps of his gloves as he looked at the phantasms that Shakamon held before them.

"You think our bond's all talk? Well, get a load of this!" VictoryImpmon called. A proud smirk on his face, he touched down to the ground before leaping furiously into the nightmarish batch of Digimon before him.