AN: So sorry for the delay! Thanksgiving and the resulting family gatherings and tirps has totally hijacked my life. Also, this chapter did NOT want to write itself. But without further ado, here are Tron's first waking moments. :p

"I fight for the Users!"

Fire. Agony. An explosion so loud that it rocked him to his core.

[WARNING. Significant Damage Sustained.]

He was falling, aimless and alone.

Wait, not alone.

There, a flash of gold and black above him.

Clu.

The battle wasn't over yet.

With considerable effort, he twisted until he managed to right himself in midair. His hand reached for his spare light jet baton just in time for Clu to descend upon him, raining blows that caused explosions of glaring red errors to flash across his vision.

[WARNING. Critical Damage Sustained.]

His battle instincts clawed to the forefront of his scrambled mind and he lashed out instinctively, fighting with what little strength he had left. They fell, tumbling head over heels through the howling wind, pushing and shoving each other with desperation.

The baton was wrenched from his fingers.

No! He grabbed at thin air but was rewarded with a powerful kick to his head.

His vision filled with static, flickered once, then went blank.

[Shutdown Sequence Commenced.]

He fell into nothingness.

The Sea embraced him, smothering him from all directions with its virus-tainted code.

He was drowning.

With a heaving gasp, Tron lashed out with his hands. Clu. Falling. DANGER.

"Whoa!" someone called, far too close to his head for comfort, "H-hey, calm down. I'm not going to- Wait, don't do that!"

He automatically tried to roll away from the intruder, but he fell a short distance instead. The sensation of his knees and hands slamming into cold ground was like a jolt of white-hot electricity shooting through his body.

Pain. He was alive.

Tron kicked into overdrive. He scrambled backwards, disoriented and overwhelmed by the rapid input of sound, color and touch. Everything was too bright, too loud, too much. His back hit a solid wall and he pressed himself flat against it, feeling its cold, unfamiliar code slide against his armor and his skin. It yielded nothing but blank information.

New. Everything was new.

He didn't know this place.

The Program looked around frantically, squinting against the bright white of the room. No sea. No Clu. No sky. Worst of all, he didn't immediately find an exit.

"Hey, it's alright. It's going to be okay." That voice again, soft and gentle as if talking to a child. "Take it easy, I'm not going to hurt you."

Tron snapped his head toward the source of it.

A tall figure in a sleek black robe swam into view, its hands raised and opened in the universal sign of appeasement. Tron instinctively raced through his memory files –the face staring back at him matched none of the millions stored in his mind, but it was familiar nonetheless. Hauntingly familiar, in fact, like looking into a faulty mirror.

Tron froze.

Every line of code within him felt magnetically drawn to the stranger. It was a distinct and bizarre sensation, but a part of him knew that he had felt it before. It was the same sensation that used to call him to the I/O towers all those cycles ago.

I know you.

He wanted to say so, but instead of words, a weak, electronic growl escaped his throat. It startled both of them.

"Sorry about that," the stranger said, cringing, "I thought I fixed that issue. Here, let me-" He took a step forward with outstretched hands.

Tron recoiled and growled again, this time sharper and louder.

The hands shot up again, and an apologetic grin –crooked, just like his own- flashed across the other's aged face. "Sorry. I'll just… stay over here then. Is that okay?"

Tron struggled to work around the strange purr in his throat. "Identify," he rasped out. His original voice was intact, but barely so. It had been severely neglected in the last thousand cycles.

"Alan Bradley," the stranger answered, with the ease of someone who had nothing to hide.

Tron's internal processes grinded to a halt. He knew that name, even though he had never once met this being in his life. "Alan One?" he whispered.

Those blue eyes wrinkled with pleasure. "Yes."

Tron's knees buckled.

"What-Oh no, no groveling." Alan One's hands reached out again to steady him, and this time, Tron didn't fight them off.

His User's grip on his arms was solid and warm, but most notably, it was gentle.

With a start, Tron realized that he hadn't felt a gentle touch in over a thousand cycles. He had spent that entire time lost in the heat of battle, touched by nothing but the blows of desperate Programs trying to escape deresolution at his hands. Aside from Clu, who sometimes patted him on the shoulder for a job well done or tweaked his code to make him more obedient, more perfect, no one else had dared to touch him.

Now he wasn't even sure how to react to a touch that wasn't meant to hurt him.

His alarm and confusion must've shown on his face because Alan One loosened his hold until he was barely holding Tron up by the elbows. "It's alright," the User repeated quietly, with great care and patience, "It's just me, Tron. I'm here. I'm not going to hurt you."

Alan One is here. It was all Tron ever wanted, but after so long –so much-he hadn't dared to dream that his wish would ever come true.

Hands trembling, the Program reached out and gripped Alan One's forearms like his life depended on it. He felt the sudden, overwhelming urge to cry. There was so much he wanted to say, so much that he had always planned on saying, but memories and emotions jumbled together in his mind and he found himself at a complete loss of words. I lost. I failed you. I needed you. Where were you?

"I'm… so sorry," he choked out, unsure where to even begin.

Alan One's eyes softened. "I know you are."

Tron shook his head, rejecting the forgiveness in those words. He didn't deserve forgiveness, not now, not ever. "F-Flynn?" he whispered. The last thing he remembered was slamming into Clu's jet and fighting with the Administrator in mid-air. Maybe his distraction had been enough, maybe Flynn had made it to the Portal and-

Alan One's eyes shifted away. "Sam made it," he answered quietly.

The implication that Kevin didn't was clear.

Tron went down like a brick. No. No no no.

The pain of his knees hitting the ground barely registered, but he was suddenly aware that Alan One was crouched over him like a protective parent. The User hesitated for the briefest of moments before he was everywhere -around Tron, over him, holding him with tenderness that the Program hadn't felt in a thousand cycles.

Tron didn't even realize he was crying until he heard a sob mixed in with his own distinct growl. He clung to Alan's robes until he was sure he was ripping the coding apart with his bare hands. "I tried… I couldn't- Clu, he took… We fought…"

Alan One's voice, deeper and gruffer than his own, poured over him like a soothing balm. "I know," he murmured, "I know everything, Tron."

Everything.

Everything he had done, not done, and should have done.

The shame was overwhelming.

Tron was suddenly painfully aware of all that he had not able to access while under Clu's control –his earliest memories with Yori and Ram, the identities of every ISO and Basic he had befriended and once protected, stories of a strange and unfamiliar world that Kevin Flynn had gleefully shared. Those older, happier memories were quick followed by newer ones he had created as Rinzler –memories of the same faces of those he once knew contorted in fear and pain as he descended upon them, obeying and hearing nothing but Clu's commands in his ears.

One face stood out from the rest -the look of horror and dawning realization on Kevin Flynn's face as the User peered up at him through the cockpit window of a light plane. There had been fear and anguish in those aged eyes.

"Tron, what have you become?"

"P-Please," Tron whispered through gritted teeth, shutting his eyes tightly. Grief flooded him from within, so sharp and painful that it felt like he was being physically stabbed. Even his User's calming presence could not keep it at bay.

"Please what?" Alan One's gentle voice asked.

Make it stop. Make it all stop."Please, derezz me."

Alan One's entire body stiffened.

Tron lowered his face, not wanting to see the User's expression. He didn't deserve the other's pity, nor his kindness. After everything he had done, he deserved nothing more than to be derezzed by the hands that created him. It would be a fitting end for the monster he had become.

There was a gentle hand on his chin, forcing him to look up. He did so reluctantly, if only because he could deny Alan One nothing.

There was, surprisingly, no shame or anger on the User's face. Instead, the man looked puzzled and a bit hurt at the request. "Tron, why would you ask that of me?"

The answer came swiftly from Tron's lips and sounded cold even to his own ears. "I betrayed the Users. I betrayed Flynn, the ISOs, my own friends." He swallowed. "I have not stayed true to your programming."

Alan One's brow furrowed. "No."

The answer was so firm and resolute that it made Tron cringe. He released Alan One's robes and curled his hands in his lap guiltily. "…Reprogramming then?" To him, that was a fate worse than deresolution, but he deserved nothing better. It would be easy for Alan One to rewrite him, wipe his memories clean, and start anew. It was the coward's way out, but surely it was the only option left.

"No, you misunderstood me." Alan One settled a hand on Tron's head, as if to stop the Program from overthinking too much. "I won't be reprogramming you or derezzing you or doing anything of the sort."

Tron looked up, startled. This was his punishment then? To live with this feeling of guilt and overwhelming grief forever? "I am corrupted," he stated slowly, "I cannot fulfill my purpose."

"Can't, or won't?" Alan One asked.

Tron was silent.

His User eyed him critically. "I programmed you to fight for the Users, Tron. You've done that and so much more, and at great personal risk. In my world, a sacrifice like that is considered admirable." He set a hand on Tron's shoulder and squeezed it warmly. "I didn't program you win every battle, so if you think that you've let me down, you couldn't be further from the truth."

Tron clenched his fists. "But Flynn…" he choked out.

"You bought him enough time to get Sam to the Portal," Alan One answered gently, "A parent can ask for nothing more than the safety of their child. I'm sure he was grateful."

Tron swallowed against the tightness in his throat. "Did he… Did he die alone?" he whispered fearfully. Kevin had been there for Ram's deresolution. The least Tron could do was return the favor, but it seemed like he was too late. He was ALWAYS too late.

Alan One hesitated. "I suppose that depends on your definition of alone," he said quietly.

Tron suddenly knew. "Clu," he spat, unable to keep the venom from his voice. His electronic growl spiked with the name, and his User visibly flinched from the sound. "Clu killed Flynn, didn't he?"

To Tron's surprise, Alan One shook his head. "Actually, Kevin took Clu down with him." The User gave a dry smile. "I believe that's something he learned from you."

Tron froze. After serving and living under Clu's regime for so long, this news was… unthinkable.

"He's gone, Tron," Alan One repeated, emphasizing each word with care, "He can't hurt you or anyone else anymore. I promise."

Tron slumped bonelessly against the wall. He felt weak with relief, but to his surprise, he also felt a sudden sense of loss. Clu may have tortured, reprogrammed and derezzed countless of Programs (Tron included), but in the early days of the Grid, he had also been a close friend. Even during his involuntary stint as Rinzler, Clu had been his constant (and only) companion. For better or for worse, they had been partners through the best and worst of times.

Now Clu was gone. Kevin was gone. Ram and thousands of innocent ISOs and Basics were gone.

Tron dropped his face into his shaking hands. He had never felt so alone, so broken, until now. Why did he survive when so many others perished? "What... What should I do now?" he whispered, voice small and broken.

A warm, strong hand settled on his head and stayed there, offering much-needed comfort. "Live, Tron," Alan One answered simply. "It's that simple."

"Command complete," Tron sighed bitterly, "I survived."

"Living is not the same as surviving," Alan One answered, not unkindly. "Living takes purpose, and you Programs have an advantage over Users in that department."

Tron's eyes lifted, tentative and unsure. "Users do not have a purpose," he stated.

"True," Alan One agreed. "We aren't born with instruction manuals or a troubleshooting guide. Sometimes, we spend our whole lives looking for something worthwhile to make of our existence. But for us, that search is enough. For you, I suppose fulfilling that purpose is what drives you. It's an admirable trait, and one you shouldn't lose."

Tron remained miserably quiet as he mulled this over. "Did you find it?" he croaked after a long moment of silence.

"Find what?"

"Your purpose?"

The edges of Alan One's eyes crinkled with a pleased grin, as if he was expecting that question. "I found plenty of them." He reached up and unhinged his disc from his back, then pressed a button along the inner rim and passed it to Tron.

Confused, Tron took it reverently and watched as a brilliant hologram, blurred and muffled as only a User's memory could be, flickered to life above it. He could make a tired-looking blond female laying against what looked like a soft, white surface. Her face surprised him. Yori? No, she looked a bit older than Yori, and rounder as well. She had her arms curled around a tiny creature laying on her chest, laughing and cooing at it despite her evident exhaustion.

"That's Jet, my son, and Lora, my wife," Alan One explained quietly, watching the memory with fond, misted-over eyes, "This is the day Jet was born."

Tron was speechless. He had never seen a User's intimate memory before. Kevin never offered to show any and Tron never thought to ask. For Alan One to willingly share such a precious moment of his personal life made the Program feel privileged and honored.

Lora (or rather, Lora Prime as Tron's memories reminded him) looked up as a new figure joined her on the side of bed. This one was distinctly male with a large black jacket and a mop of brown hair. He held another small - but not as small as Jet- creature in his arms, one who was visibly squirming in excitement.

"Look, Sam," the male laughed, "Look at the little tyke. You were that small once, you know? Man, this brings back memories."

Kevin. Tron's throat tightened. He hadn't seen Kevin so young and happy in a long time. It was painful.

"But Dad, he's wrinkly!" Sam complained, which brought a wave of laughter from the other Users in the room.

"Yeah, well, once he's a bit older, he'll stop looking like a raisin."

"Lovely," Alan One's voice –younger and nearly indistinguishable from Tron's- chimed in from deep within the disc itself, "You just called my son a raisin. I'm contemplating taking away your godfather rights right now."

"Dear," Lora Prime laughed, trying to sound stern but failing, "As if you'd trust anyone else with Jet."

"I don't know. Considering how many time he's almost dropped Sam, I think my worries are well-founded."

"Hey!" Kevin protested, "That time with the motorbike was an accident! Sam just wanted to sit on my old Harley, that's all."

"The seat was bigger than he was, Kevin," Alan One's younger voice shot back, "You should have know better."

"It didn't hurt... much," Sam chimed in meekly.

"See?" Kevin snorted and turned toward Lora Prime and her tiny son. "Don't worry, Jet. Your dad's a boring sourpuss, but Uncle Kevin's got you covered. I'll teach you the ropes on how to be really cool."

"Kevin..." Alan One growled, but there was no malice in his tone.

Tron found himself smiling despite the burning tears in his eyes. That was definitely the Kevin he remembered. Even on the Grid, the excitable User wasn't the most… graceful of individuals, but that was part of his charm. If it wasn't for Clu's watchful eyes or Tron's fast reflexes, he probably would've fallen off a solar sailer trying to wave at someone down below a long time ago.

Lost in thought, the Program almost didn't notice when Alan One's memory faded away, leaving him staring into the empty space over the other's white disc. He lifted his gaze and found the man watching him intently from the other side of the disc.

"They're my purpose, Tron," the User said slowly, "All of them. Lora, Jet, Sam, Kevin. Even Encom, to a degree. And now, you."

Tron felt a strange fluttering in his gut, like a confusing mixture of embarrassment and something he hadn't felt in a long time –joy. He was wanted.

The warmth in Alan One's eyes was contagious. "Chin up, kid. There will always be things worth living for. You just have to find them."

TBC

AN: I debated whether or not to make Tron cry, but I settled on doing it. When Kevin apologized to Clu at the end of Tron: Legacy (one of my FAVORITE scenes ever, by the way), Clu reacted with anger and stubbornness, rather like a child. For Tron to react with grief and shame when his own User has a heart-to-heart with him emphasizes how different he is from Clu.

OH. And Jet Bradley. Er, well, I know he only exists in Tron 2.0 and he's supposedly a year older than Sam, BUT since Tron 2.0 is a parallel universe to the canon Tronverse (and therefore inaccurate and rather strange), I'm changing some facts around. :D Roll with it?

And as always, thank you all SO MUCH for the support! Thanks for liking the story so far!