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Language:
English
Series:
Part 2 of 3Rs verse
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Published:
2017-12-26
Updated:
2018-01-09
Words:
5,478
Chapters:
3/?
Comments:
6
Kudos:
32
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1
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533

Recovery

Summary:

Alan has won the battle and gotten his son back . . . but how do they win the war?

Notes:

1. Yes, the first several paragraphs are a partial retread from Rescue so everyone can get back into the swing of things. It's a very intentional deja vu, but that doesn't mean you can/should just skip it. ;-)

2. Recovery has proven even more difficult to write than I'd anticipated, while Sam's story (now titled Renegade) is developing a Lord of the Rings level of epilogues and/or a fourth sequel. Which has gotten me thinking: if I post what I have of Recovery (the Prologue and first two chapters), then leave it open as a question/prompt fill and jump into Renegade, will people follow along and provide said questions/prompts? Or would it just confuse everyone too much?

I don't want to back out of my promise to post, but I also don't wanna leave y'all hanging, either.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Prologue

Chapter Text

Prologue

            “What’s troubling you?” Alan’s voice murmured into the silence.

            “You didn’t cleanse him,” Tron finally said, shifting uneasily against his wall. “Why? I could see the corruption in his code –”

            “Do to him what he did to you?” Alan asked. Tron’s jaw clenched, and he bowed his head. “Couple reasons. One, because he doesn’t want it right now. Forcing him to change when he’s unable to choose will only create resentment and havoc on down the line, good intent be damned.” He took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. “Two . . . is a little more complicated.”

            Tron nodded.

            Alan tried to think it through, then sighed and just started talking. “I don’t know what Clu’s original programming was – what he was meant to be – and he was born with the virus already enmeshed in his systems. Even if I could destroy the virus without destroying him along with it, he probably wouldn’t be viable without massive rewrites –”

            “And you’re still pissed with Flynn.”

            “Yeah,” Alan nodded. “Nevermind the hypocrisy. It’s all way too close to me right now. I’d probably inflict my anger with the father onto the son without realizing it. And the first person who’d normally notice and say anything against it wouldn’t bother – you’d just see it as justice.”

Tron thought about it, then nodded and leaned his head back, mirroring Alan. “So the fight continues.”

            Alan snorted. “You think it ever stopped?”

            “Do Programs dream of electric sheep?” Tron countered.

            “Do Programs dream?”

            Tron shrugged. “Eh, sorta. If shut-down is equivalent to sleep . . . I might actually dream of sheep, now,” he mused, his eyes drifting closed.

            “’Cause you know what they are?”

            “A sheep that’s also Clu, chasing me through a city-jungle on Mars –”

            “Wow, bedtime’s really calling you,” Alan said, slipping his glasses back on and shuffling up onto his feet.

             “– You in a cheerleader outfit –”

            “That’s enough of that. C’mon.” He offered Tron a hand up. Struggling to open his eyes again, Tron accepted the offer, only to slump against Alan’s shoulder.

            “He knew me,” he muttered. “At the Portal. Rinzler couldn’t understand why a child would want to come to him, but Sam was fighting so hard . . .” He pressed his forehead against Alan’s neck. “Would he still like me now . . . that ‘m not a hero –”

            “Yes,” Alan declared. “He’s your biggest fan, after me.”

            Tron snickered, but didn’t argue. Alan wrapped his arm around his son’s waist in a half-hug, and they took a moment to just lean on each other –

            Energy zinged through the circuits lining the walls, and Alan opened eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed. “What’s that?”

            “Th’ Encom System would do that a lot,” Tron explained. “Doesn’t really happen on the Grid unless Flynn –”

            The entire building shuddered, cracks appearing and randomly fanning out of the walls and floor out of nowhere as a deep, threatening thrum resonated throughout the Grid. Alan choked on air and collapsed with a strangled sound, circuits sputtering as bits of . . . something flaked off him.

            Baffled and frightened, Tron knelt and pulled his father close. Then a scream ripped out of Alan’s throat that almost sent Tron straight into nightmare.

            He knew that sound far too intimately.

            Pieces of the hallway started to crumble, even as their circuits burned brighter. Connections flew through Tron’s mind, and his grip tightened as Alan’s whole body flickered, like how Programs would derezz on the Encom System. A rage like he’d never experienced before – not even when he faced down Clu just a few hours ago – rose in Tron, and he bellowed,

   “FLYNN, STOP!

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

            They were about halfway down the stairs when a surprised yelp and crash yanked them all the way down and into the office.

            Quorra was scrambling back up onto her feet over by the bookshelves, staring at Daddy with wide eyes –

            Daddy, who wasn’t slumped over the desk anymore. Daddy, who was getting up from his toppled chair and rubbing at his hands as he glared at the computer. And cursed a blue streak.

            “Sonuva-fucking-bitch –”

            “Flynn?”

            “Hey, Ra- Roy,” Daddy said, distracted, “I’m kinda in the middle of something –”

            “What did you do?” Sam accused, then turned to Quorra. “I thought you were watching him!”

            “I was!”

            “Have you been here this whole time? Where’s Ala- –?”

            Sparks flew as Daddy tried to do something on the computer. “God-damnit! Lemme back in, you bastard –”

            “STOP HURTING HIM!” Sam screamed, and shoved Daddy away from the desk, making him topple onto the couch. “You’re as bad as Clu! Uncle Alan saved us! He’s gonna save Tron an’ clean up your mess, and you’re tryin’ to kill him, you MONSTER! I HATE YOU!” With that, Sam tore away, racing upstairs and back to the bathroom in the loft, where he threw up between wracking sobs of grief and terror and exhaustion.

 

            He had no idea of the devastated silence he left behind.

            “What the hell is going on, Flynn?”