Chapter Text
Bacon has been here far too many times to count; each time he dies, a new wound opens inside his chest, a new ache deep in his diaphragm. Yet as hard as he tries to differentiate them, every pain feels the same; their only calling card a scar that fades with time. An axe through his back rules a faint line of scar tissue when he respawns, and a sword pressed to his throat draws a small red incision across his neck. A pitfall, and the sudden darkness that comes with it, leaves bruises and sprains on his ankles.
It's like each time he dies, some part of him dies as well, and these memories become ghosts, shrapnel in a wound once raw. And they come back, time and time again, just to prick at his skin - an unyielding reminder of the emptiness in his chest, a hole that just keeps on growing.
This death hurts just a little more.
Bacon doesn't notice Planet until it's just about too late. He's on his communicator, messaging Mapicc about the disgusting state of spawn, when there's the sound of glass breaking, and then the dull thud of footsteps in sand. Bacon only registers what's happening when Planet appears in front of him, his sword drawn and gripped so tightly in his hand that he thinks it might cave under the pressure.
When he looks up, there's something new in Planet's expression. Remorse, maybe, or something else, Bacon can't really tell. It isn't like Bacon's focusing on Planet's face when he's literally trying to kill him.
And Planet moves fast, faster and more gracefully than the last time Bacon fought him. He barely has time to react, throwing some hastily made potions under his feet, and then Planet is upon him, with his sword and his stars and his blindingly white hair. Bacon breathes out a swear, and braces for impact, either that of the ground or of a sword on his skull. But it does not come.
Planet is frozen. There's something going on inside his head, behind those starry eyes that seem to hold the entire universe inside of them. His expression flickers, and for a moment, Bacon thinks he's looking at a friend.
What...?
Bacon doesn't want to - he won't - fall for Planet's tricks anymore. Even though his sword feels flimsy and brittle in his hands, he wields it with a faux sense of bravery anyway, pushing Planet away from him. And then the sparkles in Planet's eyes are gone, and he's back, fighting back, stab for a parry and a swing for a block. It's a dangerous dance, a complicated one, and Bacon knows for certain that this is a fight he can't win. Yet when he tries to run, Planet is always two steps behind him, dodging Bacon's cobwebs and keeping his pace like there's something keeping him tied to Bacon, and as hard as he tries, Bacon just can't cut it.
So when Planet fully catches up to him again, Bacon doesn't blink. The sword pointed at his heart sends a million emotions rushing through his head, but he doesn't move to fight, nor to flee. He stays put, eyes locked on Planet's, challenging him to do it, kill him, take another heart, conquer another battle for historians to note down. But really, that's about it. What the fuck else does he gain from killing Bacon?
Bacon's train of thought is clipped short by the sound of a sword slicing through the air, and then red, red, red. He's dead, and the pain is burning and vehement and red.
Parrot says death is white, a blinding white like Planet's hair, staring at the sun, and long expanses of forever. But forever is only a blink in time, so Mapicc argues that death is black, like that of Planet's eyes, a light-polluted night sky, and claustrophobic small spaces.
But for Bacon, all he's ever known is red.
✦ ✦ ✦
When Bacon respawns in his bed, it feels like a decade has passed, but the position of the sun in the sky tells him otherwise. When he lifts his shirt, there's a tender gash, in the later stages of healing, stretched across his chest. There are strings of hateful words on the tip of his tongue, a little emotionally charged and a little unstable. He isn't sure what hurts more; his head or his body, one slightly bruised and both shaken up. The emotions that were running through Bacon's head before have stayed even after death, a potent mix of anger, confusion, and, under that, a slight stab of pain.
Bacon shakes his head. Do first; think later. He has a wound to clean and gear to collect. He takes some health potions from the brewing stands and moves to sit, dabbing some of the fuchsia liquid around the injured area, hissing slightly. His mind starts to wander as he lets the potion do its thing, but he keeps coming back to one thing: Planet.
Yeah, so it turns out that treating a wound gives you a lot of time to think.
Planet, with his stupid smirk, his stupid hoodie, his stupid galaxy-print headband. He doesn't know why he dwells on this death so much more than the others, but he's still stuck on Planet.
There was something in his expression, and Bacon racks his mind for the right words to describe it. It was frantic, almost, pained even though Bacon had managed to land maybe one scrape on the other's arm. There was this sense of animalistic desperation, to hunt and to kill, something so unlike Planet that it unnerved him. Although it gives Bacon a small sense of retribution to see him hurting, that break in his demeanour - something on his face akin to remorse - made Bacon just want to plaster a weak smile on his face and tell Planet that it'll be alright, even if it isn't. It won't.
And it's weird, because it isn't the pity that gets to him.
It's weird, because Bacon knows that even if Planet nocks an arrow at his head, his breath will draw short, but he will not scream.
It's weird, because as much as Bacon hates Planet for what he's done, he can't stand Planet seeing him suffer.
There was something intense in Planet's eyes, in the way he held his weapon, in the milliseconds of hesitation before he swung his sword down, down, the blade cutting through Bacon's armour with the ease of someone who has done this thousands of times before.
Bacon secures a bandage around his torso, ties a knot to keep it in place. He can't describe the emotion written all over Planet's face, and he doesn't want to. Not when just thinking about Planet sends an ache deep into his chest, something like nostalgia and grievance and melancholy, yet so much more intense.
So he tightens the fabric around the gash until the skin around it pales, until he feels like he's drowning. It's like there's cold water up to his eyes, and when he looks underneath the surface, there's an infinite expanse of colour, so paralysingly red that it's obvious he's choking in a pool of his own blood. That's how it feels to look at Planet, painful and glorious yet so far gone he's mad.
But Bacon isn't suffocating; he's sitting on the edge of his bed, fingers clinging to the edge of the mattress the same way Planet held onto his sword, like it was his lifeline. He is alive, he's breathing, he's slipping his shirt over his head and he's marching to the nether portal, a frail sense of purpose lifting his feet up and placing them ahead of him.
And on his face, there's nothing again, just a skin-deep smile and lazy eyes, nearly perfected. It's a sad excuse for a smile, but without it, Bacon would be a mess. Without it, he'd be tempted to sew the corners of his lips upwards and his tearducts closed, just so Planet doesn't have to see him down. He would carve out a cave with his fingernails until they're bloody and chipped, until he can shout his voice gone just so he doesn't have to scream when he is half a heart from death. He would rip his own heart out of his chest, through the flesh and the sinew and the visceral red, and present it to Planet with bloody hands, just so Planet wouldn't have to kill him for it.
But Planet did kill him for it, so Bacon puts on this facade of stone and blinks away any emotion in his eyes. He breathes deeply and steps into the spawn portal, and when Planet is still on the other side, he has to actually stop and focus and tell his feet not to run. There's blood, still wet, on Planet's hands, curled into fists, and he's staring unwaveringly at Bacon's fading corpse on the ground.
Bacon bites his lip so hard that the metallic flavour of blood seeps into his mouth, and he wills himself to ignore the lost expression on Planet's face. He has just about sorted through all of his gear when the other finally speaks, his voice cracking from unuse and uncertainty.
"Hi Bacon!"
Bacon stares at him, his heart beating out of his chest, and something on Planet's face makes Bacon cave inside.
"Sorry," he continues, swallowing. "I-"
Bacon runs, and his walls come crumbling down.