I'm still holding Impmon when his eyes snap open.
For a second, he just stares at the ceiling. Then he sits up fast — too fast — and winces, one hand going to his ribs.
"Ugh. Feels like I got hit by a truck. A big, stupid truck driven by a big, stupid—"
"Easy," I say, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Cutemon healed you, but you need to rest."
"Rest?" He scoffs, shaking me off. "I don't need rest. I need a shower and maybe a stiff drink. Do they make drinks for imps? They should. I'll invent one. The Impmon Special. Tastes like sulfur and regret."
He swings his legs off the couch and stands, wobbling slightly. Gatomon steadies him with a paw on his arm. He jerks away.
"I'm fine! Totally fine. Never been better. That whole thing with Shaujinmon? Minor inconvenience. Barely worth mentioning."
BlackGatomon snorts from the armrest. "You were unconscious ten minutes ago."
"Strategic napping," Impmon says without missing a beat. "It's a tactical thing. You wouldn't understand."
I watch him pace the length of the couch, his tail lashing behind him. He's talking too fast. Moving too much. Every gesture is a little too sharp, a little too loud.
He's scared.
I can see it now that I know what to look for. The way his eyes keep darting to the door. The way his claws flex and retract against his palms. He's not performing for us. He's running from something, and he's using noise to do it.
"Impmon," I say. My voice is quiet. Not loud enough to startle him, but firm enough to cut through the chatter.
He doesn't stop pacing. "What?"
"Sit down."
"I don't want to sit down. Sitting down is for people who are tired, and I'm not tired, I'm—"
"Impmon." I say it again, and this time he stops. His back is to me, his shoulders hunched. "Sit. Please."
He turns his head just enough to look at me over his shoulder. His green eyes are wary. Then he drops onto the couch cushion beside me with a huff.
"Fine. But only because my ribs hurt and not because you told me to."
I let that pass. "Shaujinmon. Tell me about him."
"What's to tell? He's a creep with a fancy staff and a bad attitude. I already said—"
"You said he threatened you. You said he made you help him." I lean forward, elbows on my knees. "But you didn't say why you went with him in the first place. You could have run. You could have fought. You're fast, Impmon. You're clever. So why didn't you?"
His jaw tightens. He looks away.
"Impmon."
"It's none of your business."
"It is, actually. You're part of this now. Whatever this is." I gesture vaguely at the lab, at the Digimon, at all of us. "So tell me. What does Shaujinmon have on you?"
The silence stretches. Gatomon and BlackGatomon have gone still. Even Cutemon has stopped fidgeting on my lap.
Impmon's claws dig into the couch cushion. "You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
He laughs, but it's not his usual laugh. It's bitter. Hollow. "You want the story? Fine. You want to know why I went with that pompous, staff-wielding, bead-necklace-wearing jerk?"
He stands again, but this time it's not performative. It's restless. Agitated.
"I used to be part of their army. The Demon Lords' army. Did Ethan tell you about them? Seven big, scary Digimon who want to turn the Digital World into their personal playground? Yeah. I was one of the little guys. A foot soldier. A nobody."
He starts pacing again, and this time I let him.
"I was the lowest of the low. And in that army, if you're not strong, you're nothing. You're a tool. A thing to be used and thrown away." His voice is getting tighter. "Shaujinmon ran recruitment for the Evil Faction. He'd find Digimon like me — the ones who were angry, or scared, or just desperate enough to say yes to anything that sounded like power. He'd promise us strength. Recognition. A place to belong."
He stops pacing and stares at the floor.
"What he actually gave us was orders. Cruel ones. And if you disobeyed, he'd make sure you regretted it. Not by fighting you himself — he was too important for that. He'd just make your life hell until you broke."
I feel something cold settle in my chest. "You were running from him."
"I was running from all of it. The Demon Lords, the army, the whole rotten system. I found a way out — slipped through a crack in the barrier between worlds and ended up here." He finally looks at me. "And for a while, it was good. I could do whatever I wanted. Prank people. Cause chaos. Be free. And then Shaujinmon showed up and dragged me right back into the same garbage I spent my whole life trying to escape."
His voice cracks on the last word. He catches it, forces it back under control.
"So yeah. I helped him. Because he said he'd burn you alive if I didn't. And I—" He stops. Swallows. "I couldn't let that happen. Even if it meant going back to being the thing I hate most."
The lab is quiet. The servers hum. Somewhere in the building, a machine beeps softly.
I look at Ethan. He's watching Impmon with an expression I can't quite read. Something between understanding and sadness.
"Impmon," Ethan says gently. "You're not that thing anymore."
"You don't know that." Impmon's voice is small. Smaller than I've ever heard it. "You don't know what I did back there. What I was before. Maybe that's just what I am. Maybe I can't change."
I think about the bank. About my hands shoving a police officer. About the way my body moved without my permission, doing things I'd never choose to do. About waking up and not recognizing myself.
I reach into the bag of supplies Tony left on the counter and pull out a protein bar. I tear it in half and hold one piece out to Impmon.
He stares at it. "What's that?"
"Protein bar. Tony keeps them around. They taste like cardboard and peanut butter, but they've got like twenty grams of protein."
"I know what a protein bar is. Why are you giving me one?"
"Because you're hungry. And because I want you to have it."
He doesn't take it. "That's it? That's your big response? A protein bar?"
I hold it out steadily. "When I was in the hospital, after the accident, I couldn't eat for days. Everything tasted like nothing. Like I was going through the motions of being alive without actually being alive." I shift Cutemon gently to the side and move closer to him. "Olivia brought me food. I didn't want it. But she kept bringing it anyway. And eventually, I ate. Not because I was hungry. Because someone cared enough to keep offering."
I press the protein bar into his hand.
"You're not what you were, Impmon. You're what you choose to be now. And right now, you chose to protect me. That counts for something."
He looks down at the protein bar. His claws curl around it carefully, like it might break.
"This is stupid," he mutters.
"Yeah," I say. "It kind of is."
He takes a bite. Chews. Makes a face. "Tastes like cardboard and peanut butter."
"I warned you."
He takes another bite anyway.
Ethan is watching us with that look again. The one that says he's seeing something he didn't expect. I think he's realizing what I already know — that this thing we've built, this messy, chaotic, impossible thing, is bigger than any of us thought. It's not just Ethan and his Digimon anymore. It's not just me and my powers. It's all of us, carrying each other's weight.
Impmon finishes the protein bar and licks his claws. "Don't think this means I'm going soft or anything. I'm still a menace. A terror. A—"
"A friend," I say.
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Looks away.
"…Yeah. Fine. Whatever. Don't make it weird."
The lab doors slide open with a hydraulic hiss.
Tony Stark walks in carrying a stack of takeout containers that's physically impossible to balance. Happy Hogan follows behind him with three more bags, looking like he's questioning every life choice that led him to this moment.
Tony takes one step inside and stops.
His eyes move from me to Impmon to the half-eaten protein bar to the Digimon arranged around us like a small, concerned support group to Ethan, who's sitting there with the expression of a man who just watched something profound happen and isn't sure what to do about it.
Tony blinks. Slowly.
He looks at the scene again. Then back at the half-eaten spring roll in his hand.
"Did I miss something?" He gestures vaguely at all of us with the spring roll, nearly dropping a container of lo mein. "Was there a group hug without me? Because I feel like there was definitely a group hug without me, and I'm not going to lie, I'm a little hurt."
The tension breaks.
Impmon snorts. Gatomon's tail wags. Even BlackGatomon cracks a smile.
Tony looks at Happy. "Did you know about this? Was there a group hug scheduled? Because I feel like I should have been informed."
"Mr. Stark," Happy says with the patience of a man who has heard everything, "you were gone for twelve minutes."
"Twelve minutes is plenty of time for a group hug, Happy. Plenty of time."
He sets the food down on the counter and starts pulling out containers, still shaking his head. "Next time, wait for me. I want in on whatever this is." He gestures at Impmon. "Is the little guy okay? He looks like he's been through it."
"I'm right here," Impmon says. "And I'm not little. I'm compact. There's a difference."
"Sure there is, kid." Tony tosses a container of dumplings in his direction. Impmon catches it, looks at it suspiciously, then opens it and starts eating.
I lean back against the couch and let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
Ethan catches my eye and gives me a small nod.
I nod back.
Whatever this is — this family, this mess, this impossible life — we're in it together.
And for the first time since I woke up in that hospital room, that feels like enough.
***
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