After walking Jonathan to the gates of her estate, Caitlyn turned and gave a small wave.
"I don't actually think you're a dog," she said, hoping he understood.
Jonathan tilted his head. "I know th—"
"I was joking," she blurted, cutting him off. "You're my friend, not a dog. It was rude of me to say that. I don't usually joke like that with people."
Jonathan opened his mouth, about to speak.
"And just because of my status," she continued quickly, "doesn't mean I think people from the Under-city are pets who need to be trained."
She took a deep breath, clearly flustered.
Jonathan waited a moment, unsure if she was finished.
"It's not that serious," he said at last. "I know you don't see me as a pet. We're friends. Friends make jokes all the time."
Caitlyn pointed at him. "When you make jokes, I get that it's meant to be funny." She pointed to herself. "But when I make them, I never know if I've gone too far."
Jonathan shrugged. "Friends tell mean jokes to each other all the time. It's how you measure how good of friends you are."
Caitlyn looked at him, her expression still uncertain.
Jonathan sighed and cleared his throat. "Okay. Let me give you an example."
He straightened up, voice mockingly judgmental.
"I can't believe you laughed at the councilor. Shame on you."
Caitlyn gave him a mildly annoyed look. "I don't get it."
"Yeah, I don't think you get a lot of things. What's new?" Jonathan replied, deadpan.
Caitlyn let out a short chuckle despite herself.
Jonathan snapped his fingers. "See? That's it. Now imagine if some random person said you don't know a lot of things."
Caitlyn paused, then nodded slowly. "Yeah… I get it now."
"Like when you called me a dog that could be trained," Jonathan added.
Caitlyn nodded. "It was mean and definitely incorrect calling you my dog. But… since we're friends, it was kind of funny."
"Now you're getting it," Jonathan said, grinning. "It was funny."
"And mean," Caitlyn shot back.
"And also incorrect," she added with emphasis.
Jonathan tilted his head. "Who knows—maybe there's a little merit to it."
Caitlyn blinked, caught off guard. "Wh—huh?"
But Jonathan was already walking away, backward, with a mischievous glint in his eye.
"I have to go!" he called, picking up speed.
Caitlyn stepped forward, flustered. "No, wait—what did you mean by that?!"
———————————
Jonathan walked back into the undercity, running his hands through his hair and messing it up.
"Can't look too good now," he said to himself.
He stepped into a quiet alley, took off his shirt, and reached into his stomach to pull out his old clothes.
After changing, he stuffed the nicer ones back inside his body.
The alley was dark, and his eyes hadn't adjusted yet after being in the sunlight.
He hit his head once, then again a few steps later.
As he walked, he stopped paying attention to how he moved. His posture slouched, his steps became lazy and uneven, dragging across the ground.
He tuned everything out.
When does canon even start? he wondered. How far away from it am I?
He remembered something Silco said to Singed. "Six months—that's the deadline." About shimmer.
Crane narrowed his eyes.
Something's off.
Does the story start in six months? He frowned. I feel like I'm missing something.
He tapped his head.
"Remember," he muttered. "Try to remember."
Crane stepped out of the alley.
The dream is a gateway into the mind, and the mind holds memories.
Could I enter my own dream? Look at my old memories?
He snapped his fingers. "That's it."
A loud screech broke his train of thought—metal grinding against the ground.
He looked left.
Ekko was hunched over, catching his breath inside that spherical device of his.
It had stopped just inches from Crane's face.
"Oh hey, Ekko," Crane said casually, like greeting an old friend. Even though they'd only met once, it somehow felt familiar.
Ekko was panting, the adrenaline draining from him. He looked up with wide eyes.
"It's you again," he said.
Crane held out both arms. "In the flesh."
"It's like you have a death w—"
Crane cut him off. "Although, if I wasn't in the flesh, how could we have met? If I wasn't in my flesh… what would I say?" He tapped his chin. "I suppose I'd say I'm present."
Ekko blinked.
"I heard you fought V—"
Crane cut him off again, this time looking down.
"But the word present shouldn't exist," he mused. "Because the moment I say it, it's no longer the present."
Then he looked at Ekko.
"Would you rather forget your past or forget today?"
Ekko didn't hesitate. "Forget today. But I have a qu—"
"Yes. Past tense means more than present tense," Crane interrupted again.
"After all, the present tense is always one day.
"The future is always one day away—but never today.
"And the past?" He smiled faintly.
"The past is many days.
"It's more than one.
"And more than never.
"The past lives on forever."
.
.
.
.
"So, about your question?" Crane said, glancing at Ekko.
Ekko opened his mouth to speak, then paused, lips pressed together like he was thinking twice.
.
.
.
"What're you waiting for? Talk," Crane said, a little impatient.
"Did you fight Vi?!" Ekko blurted out, eyes wide with curiosity.
Crane gave a thumbs up. "Sure did. What about it?"
Ekko grinned. "Powder was telling me the story, said it was intense—but she never told me how it ended."
"I need to know what happened for her to leave out the ending," Ekko added, eyes narrowing in thought. "Did Vi lose and it's too embarrassing for Powder to say? I mean—I doubt Vi would lose, but… what could it be?"
"Oh, you wanna know how it ended?" Crane said, feigning surprise.
Ekko nodded quickly. "That's what I said."
Crane tapped his chin thoughtfully, then looked him in the eye. "Vi lostthe fight."
Ekko's jaw dropped. "Whoa."
Crane nodded. "Whoa, indeed. You saw how I healed after our last encounter. Shouldn't be too surprising."
Ekko shifted awkwardly. "Yeah… I'm sorry about that."
Crane waved his hand dismissively. "It's in the past. We're in the present now."
.
.
.
He eyed Ekko's strange spherical vehicle, tilting his head. "Where were you going anyway?"
"Benzo's shop," Ekko said, already fiddling with the controls. "I'm working on something new."
Crane nodded thoughtfully. "I remember that mechanical butterfly you made. How'd you get so smart, anyway?"
Ekko opened his mouth to answer.
Crane held up a hand. "Different answer from last time."
Ekko blinked. "I—uh… I dunno. Repression just breeds innovation, I guess. I just learned it."
Crane folded his hands behind his back, fingers clenching slightly. "Ah. Yes. Of course. Repression."
He nodded slowly. "I totally get that."
He absolutely did not get that.
Ekko started powering up the sphere again. "Alright—bye. Thanks for telling me how Vi lost. I'll make sure Powder knows I know now."
Crane watched him go, then muttered under his breath, "Damn kids with their long explanations…"
——————
As Crane made his way toward the lab, a strange feeling twisted in his chest—irritation? No, more than that. Confusion. Frustration. Maybe even… anger?
"'Repression just breeds innovation,'" he repeated under his breath, scowling. "As if being repressed suddenly means you learn to make flying butterflies."
He kicked a loose rock into a nearby alley. It clattered against the wall and disappeared into the dark.
"No school. No structure. No real education!" he snapped to no one, gesturing sharply at the air. "And yet he builds things like that?"
Crane gritted his teeth, then sighed, the sound low and tired.
"I'm the idiot," he muttered. "Idiotic for being mad about it."
His steps grew quicker, sharper, as if trying to outrun the thoughts piling up behind his eyes.
——————————-
Arriving at the lab, Crane opened the door with a familiar creak and stepped inside.
The dim, sterile glow of equipment bathed the space in cold light.
There, seated on a workbench, Singed was hunched over his work, carefully adjusting vials of shimmer—focused, deliberate, silent.
Crane lifted a hand and waved, even though Singed's back was to him. "I'm back," he said casually.
No response. No glance. Just the quiet tink of glass and metal.
No acknowledgement? Crane thought, his fingers twitching slightly at his side.
He turned and made his way down the hallway toward his room, pushing the door open.
"Good night!" he called out, tone light but clearly waiting for a reply.
Silence.
He lingered in the doorway for a beat longer, staring into the room. Then, with a small sigh, he stepped in and began to close the door behind him—
"Good night," came the voice. Soft. Faint. Delayed.
Crane paused mid-close. The door stopped just short of the frame, and for a moment, he simply stood there.
Then he smiled—just barely—and let the door shut with a quiet click.
"He said good night," Crane muttered to himself, voice quiet in the stillness of his room.
A pause.
"…He's being nicer?"
Another pause.
"I mean… he was never mean."
He paced a little, then dropped onto the floor with a thud, laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling as if it held answers.
"He said good night… and he makes a killer tea."
He let out a breath, something soft and amused.
"I'm happier today than I ever was with Vi and Caitlyn…"
.
.
.
"Though I was more happy with Vi than Caitlyn. I think I like interacting with mature people."
He blinked up at the ceiling, eyes half-lidded, the corners of his mouth twitching in a faint smirk that didn't quite commit.
"…The more you know, I guess."
He closed his eyes, letting the darkness ease in as his thoughts quieted.
"Operation: Rewatch Arcane through my memories—commence."
———————
I think I should start canon soon
I was going to have Crane interact with more characters before cannon starts.
But, he doesn't need to know everybody so soon.