Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

XX

It was always easier to learn patterns over actual lessons.

Listen: Gumball was twelve and somehow so lazy that he put the pro in the word procrastinator. And while the world wanted to convince him otherwise, he never saw anything overly wrong with those traits. Sure, it could be inconvenient to other people, but he never figured out what was exactly wrong with it. Anyway, because Gumball didn’t like to use the part of his brain designated for critical thinking (because he tended to deem it unnecessary), he never put in nearly enough of the mental manpower needed into taking those patterns and deriving a lesson from that.

And, again, he didn’t see the problem with that. He was twelve. He was lazy. It was just who he was. He could watch and listen, when he wanted to. And when that happened he memorized the consequences and the events leading up to said consequence over the lesson he ought to learn to prevent it from happening again.

He memorized.

But he didn’t learn.

And perhaps it explained his approach to Miss Simian’s pop quizzes, and his penchant for “omitting” truths (as Anais would put it), and his need to ignore the call to do whatever he was supposed to do, despite there being something within him telling him that something’s about to go terribly wrong, and he’s one of the few who’s at least suspecting anything.

Perhaps it ought to move him into action, to do something. Perhaps this ought to be something that defined him as someone special. That Gumball Watterson, someone known for being an underachiever, can do and be something far from that.

But being a hero wasn’t what he wanted. He never wanted the Void to talk through to him, and he didn’t understand why it kept trying. Maybe if he ignored it enough, then it’d go away (probably won’t happen, but it’s so much easier to pretend like it would). Maybe if he messed with Rob enough, then he’d take the steering wheel on things and inevitably shove him to the side. Maybe if he went back and forth with Darwin enough, then the argument would fizzle out and they’d be back to their regular selves in no time.

Gumball would keep stuffing the Void down his throat until it had no choice but to move onto another person.

And that was something he refused to be ashamed about.

If the Void wanted to be abrupt and mysterious, then he could be petty and spiteful right back.

XXI

But wait, so then begged the question:

Just how did Gumball learn of his atypical involvement with the Void?

XXII

Dad was shouting loud enough to rattle the windows.

“Make. It. Stop!” With every word, Gumball stomped on the carpet. Next to him, Darwin had a tongue stuck from his mouth, adjusting the antenna on the television every which way to no avail.

“I don’t understand,” Darwin said, “It was working just fine an hour ago.”

“And it’s been an hour since my ears started crying. Lean in and listen! They’re begging for mercy!”

Darwin leaned in and heard a quiet, “Save us,” before leaning back out and facing the TV.

Gumball screwed his eyes shut and flattened his ears on his head. Today, for whatever reason, had been particularly strange for him, and not in a normal, patented Watterson sort of strange, nor the sort of strange that had him cocking his head to the side and humming with appreciation for the anarchy. No, this breed of strange had him screwing his eyes and ears shut because something was humming under his skin that seemed intent on repelling every known action, thing, and person in the general vicinity. 

He didn’t plan on getting away from it all—he just wanted to stew in his bad mood until it somehow went away before going on with his day (it was a Saturday, so there wasn’t any excuse to be in a bad mood for a while)—it was the best day of the week, after all. He assumed that it was a it’ll pass by soon sort of thing, so the only thing to do would be to sulk or ignore it until it changed like the weather. 

But neither the television nor Dad’s screaming were helping things. 

“Hmm,” Darwin hummed, “It may take a while.”

Gumball muttered something about televisions and their incapability to understand the concept of convenience. “Let’s just turn it off then!”

“No!” The windows rattled again as Dad’s shout shook every atom of his being. Never doubt the power of his father and his bias towards laziness. 

“It’s just static, dude.” Darwin shrugged as if his world wasn’t being flipped upside down and turning inside out just inside his skull. “If anything, I kind of like the noise when you ignore Mr. Dad’s screaming.”

Well, I don’t, Gumball thought while his father screamed his disagreement. It wasn’t like it was anything new, either. He never liked the sound of static—with white noise being a bigger annoyance than he’d like to admit—and it annoyed him to no end to even think about it too hard. He’d like to think it was one of his personality quirks, except it didn’t yield anything fun or exciting, just annoying. Quite annoying, actually.

“Oh yeah,” Dad interjected, and when did he stop screaming? “You don’t like the sound of the TV.”

“What?” Darwin frowned, curious. 

Gumball rolled his eyes. “Static is so annoying I’d rather be stuck in Miss Simian’s class in the middle of a pop quiz. Miss Simian’s class.”

His brother winced. “Ouch.”

“I remember bringing home a white noise machine when you were a baby.” Dad raised a single finger, eyes closed as he reminisced. “It was on sale. And it looked like a lemon drop. And I thought ‘hey, kids love candy’ and even though you had no teeth because the tooth gardener didn’t water your gums for them to grow yet—”

Darwin opened his mouth to ask a question. Gumball covered it with a hand before it could be spoken into existence.

“—you can suck on the lemon drop to get the good happy stuff out—”

Gumball kept his hand over Darwin’s mouth.

“—and you wouldn’t be crying as much. And it was a big lemon drop, so it would last a while. So I got three, one for you and two for me. As your father, I wanted to be the primary source of encouragement so you can feel safe sucking on the candy.”

“How did it taste?” Darwin asked, after removing his brother’s hand. Gumball winced as a particularly agitating pop and crackle tore through the air.

“Strange. It didn’t have a lemon taste, and according to your mother it wasn’t lemon-flavored. But that can’t be true. It’s yellow, so it has to taste like lemon. Otherwise it’d be false advertising, and I would give them a horrible review.”

“What did the advertising say?”

A disappointed pout. “My stomach wanted it to be a giant lemon drop, so it was a giant lemon drop.” Dad wilted. “It was false advertising.”

“Oh, so you didn’t feed it to Gumball, right?”

Gumball didn’t know why Darwin was entertaining this line of conversation when something much more important (the static, duh) clearly took priority, but he wasn’t going to be the one to point that out for what had to be the third time in a row. Also, baby stories were always interesting.

“I wanted to, but your mother was insistent on not letting him eat the lemon drop and messing with the machine. So instead she plugged it into the wall . . . ”

Gumball migrated to the kitchen. His fur was standing on end, and he lost focus of the story two sentences after deeming it interesting because his eyes kept darting back to the television and he didn’t want to keep listening to Dad’s wailing if he turned it off out of sheer instinct. 

He simply didn’t understand how anyone could stand the sound. Darwin said it was kind of soothing, but he didn’t even want to entertain that idea. Dad only seemed to hate it right now because it was preventing him from indulging in his favorite hobby, and pretty much everyone else was indifferent to it. It didn’t help right now that his mood wasn’t amazing even before this, and now he wanted to lay in bed until it miraculously mended itself. 

He slipped into the kitchen and nearly sighed.

Great, now his head was starting to feel all weird and static-y.

XXIII

So then begged the question:

Did all of this symbolize a pattern, or a lesson?

XXIV

For a moment, aside from the falling glass, everything froze.

Not literally, but figuratively. Metaphorically. Glass glittered and Mom’s voice fizzled out while visible confusion quickly replaced it. Gumball stopped really listening to Darwin, but even he could tell the abrupt stop to the stares, if only for a moment.

(The Void didn’t stop. It never did. It was never one to obey such things. It continued to writhe and wriggle in his head, moving around as if trapped by the confines of his mental capabilities (it was not, or else they both would be in trouble), shackled by his lack of compliance.

He was not a hero. He did not want to be a hero. He did not want to strip himself bare in front of Darwin because that meant looking back at his mistakes and realizing that something just wasn’t normal. 

And he did not know what he would do if that was true, regardless of how much both Rob and the Void seemed to indicate otherwise.)

“Daisy!” Anais cried, and with that, the world started up again.

“Anais!” Mom shouted in turn, arm out to keep her from reaching her doll. “Get away from the table!”

There’s tiny little specks of glass in blue fur, small and innocent in nature, almost reminding Gumball of sand. After the initial shock, the world decided to slam itself back into him. He didn’t get a chance to respond to the entire thing other than a strangled, half-baked exclamation of alarm, moving back out of instinct, heedless to the little specks of glass raining to the carpet from his arms, chair starting to tilt back from the movement. He’s off-balanced—had been since the Void decided to invade his mind again—but now he was even more so with his center of gravity so thrown off course. There was a low swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach, and he was only saved from literally caving the back of his skull in by a hand on the back of his chair, the weight supported by a large pink arm. Gumball looked at Dad’s face, but he wasn’t looking at him, but instead at their compromised dinner. He rolled his eyes and slid from the chair without a word.

Mom had taken to scooping Anais up, for she lost all common sense and every scrap of her above average intelligence the moment Daisy was involved. The table was still being showered with glass, but at a much slower rate. It sounded similar to wind chimes, from the glinting to the sound of shards on the table.

And it was unnatural: the silence that accompanied things. The busted light, flickers of white-yellow before sputtering out completely. The desaturated walls and furniture, and it took a moment for Gumball to realize that the power for the entire house was out, suddenly going haywire at either a really convenient or inconvenient time. 

But his head felt . . . lighter, in a way. Like something had been bothering him all day—or days, really—and now that itch was abruptly scratched. And that happened sometimes, things catching him off guard suddenly unscrewing the bolts trapping a certain kind of pressure in his head, leaving him reeling, but focused on the other things that bothered him. Such as: the Void that still lingered in his head, but at least his mind felt clearer, clearer than it had been in days. 

But even so—

“What the what?!” His reaction was delayed, but he found it to be warranted. Shock still crawled its way up his spine like a lizard. Or perhaps that was his hair standing on end. Either one worked for the situation at hand.

“You can’t have Daisy!” Mom was screaming, keeping Anais away from the table with the strength of an olympic god and grace granted to her from housing three children and a husband. “Not now! She’s covered in glass!”

“The storm’s coming!” Dad wailed. Oh. He was going on about a storm this morning, Gumball could recall. “We need to hit every Joyful Burger in Elmore to stock up!” He looked at Mom. “You get the kids in the car! I’ll get the rubber gloves—”

“Richard,” Mom growled. Her ear twitched. The entire house silenced itself in half a heartbeat. “There’s no storm on its way. A fuse just blew. It’s a cloudy day. That’s it.”

“We shouldn’t trust—”

“The weather report? Probably, given the way the sky’s darkening, but there’s no storm coming. There’s nothing to be afraid of. You are going to go to the closet in our room, and you are going to get every candle you see, and when you come back you’re going to hold Anais while I get a broom to sweep all the glass up. And you’re going to forget about this storm for the sake of your sanity.”

“What are you talking about? I have plenty of sanitation!”

“Sanity, Richard, sanity. And at least do it for my sanity.”

“But—”

She gave him a very specific Look.

“I’m going to get the candles your mother didn’t just suggest I do!” he suddenly said with far too much enthusiasm. Then there was an abrupt change in his attitude. He squinted and continued, “And I will also bring you, Gumball, with me to get the candles so your mother can ask Darwin to get the broom. Don’t repeat the last two sentences I just said!”

Dad said that with a shocking amount of clarity and observation. His ears were lowered, and he looked at if he still really wanted that Joyful Burger, but he also looked like a man on a mission. Like that time he had a pizza delivery job (and nearly destroyed the fabric of the universe in the meantime). Uncharacteristically grounded and serious in a way he’s usually only able to hold onto for a few minutes at most. 

Ever lazy, Gumball wanted to convince Dad that he had glass in his fur, and that he couldn’t help him or else he’d get impaled or something worse. He’d believe it. The situation wasn’t optimal, sure, but it wasn’t bad enough for him to have to do something he didn’t feel the absolute, dying need to. And besides, Dad annoyed Mom, he wasn’t going anywhere near—

He looked to gauge the situation. Darwin didn’t look ready to explode on him anymore, but he didn’t look happy either. If anything, just concerned. Leave it to Darwin to feel empathy over most else, even if his annoyance at Gumball seemed mysterious and unnecessary.

Anais, having calmed down, lay in Mom’s arms, grumpy. She was always attached to her doll, to the point in which it was one of the few things that was completely normal for her age. Did Gumball make fun of her for it? Of course he did—he was still her older brother, after all. She was smarter than him, but he was taller and three times her age.

Mom . . . still looked confused. Or, well, her version of confusion. Her eyebrows were knitted together and her mouth in a frown so intense it’s bordering on a scowl. Her arms were locked tight around Anais, even if her movements were finally starting to slow down. She wasn’t looking at him, wasn’t focused on him, but it was only a matter of time before the previous topic of conversation picked up again.

It was only a matter of them until all three of them turned back to Gumball and he would start fighting to convince them that no, he didn’t do anything.

Hmm, stay and defend himself, or go and work against his lazy nature?

The answer was easier to arrive to than he anticipated. At the end of the day, he can and will avoid a confrontation he feels is both unnecessary and pretty high up on the ‘dumb’ scale. Unit of measurement: Gumball’s.

So in the end, Gumball shrugged, and he followed Dad to get the candles.

XXV

The feeling of strangeness didn’t recede.

XXVI

The Void first entered his mind in the middle of grocery shopping.

Gumball stood on Darwin’s shoulders, who also stood on Anais’ shoulders. He was trying to reach a chocolate bar filled with marshmallows, dried cereal, caramel, and a surprise bomb of powdered sugar in the middle. It was being advertised, and was the first thing they saw on the TV (when it was finally fixed, much to Gumball’s relief), and so inevitably came the yearning. Dad really wanted it more than the three of them did, but Mom caught wind of it the moment she announced her intention of grocery shopping for the week and had him being dragged by the ear with her to help pick out the best broccoli heads. 

But that didn’t stop them.

See, the candy also had a mysterious wrapper in each bar, and only one had this mysterious wrapper with a chance to get free chocolate bars for life from the very same brand. So, in complete and utter understanding, the three of them put aside their differences for the sake of free candy for life. Once shared with Mom, it’d be a complete win! She wouldn’t need to buy candy for them anymore, because they can get all the free candy they want! And she was all about saving money and cutting out coupons to save a couple of cents on cans of probably-expired spam, so it was a win for everyone, really. And all they needed to do to make that case is . . .

Gumball grunted, working through the sudden pressure in his head. “Anais! Do you want the free candy or not? Move forward.”

“Why do you need me for this?! I can just make the case to Mom and you can stand on Darwin!”

“Um, because I need the extra height to reach the top shelf. And as short as you are, it’s the bare minimum we need!”

“We can all come down and rearrange ourselves,” Darwin piped up, ever the pacifist. “Anais can stand on my shoulders and I’ll carry the two of you.”

Gumball wanted to think about it, but his temples squeezed, and suddenly he had no brain power to entertain the thought. “No, I almost got it. Just a little more . . . ”

A huff from Anais. “Hurry up, we have to get it before Mom starts looking for us.”

Darwin groaned. “Someone should’ve been acting as the lookout—maybe we should’ve asked Mr. Dad to signal when Mrs. Mom started getting closer.”

The chocolate bar is wrapped in purple and green, the wrapping as shiny as treasure. It may be, with the way Gumball’s reaching for it. He’s so close to getting it, so close that he can already taste that chocolatey goodness (and subsequent wrapper) already. 

Another squeeze at his temples, and it was as if his head was cosplaying a tube of toothpaste, but the rest of him didn’t understand that, so his head just kept squeezing itself again and again. Was his face matching the sentiment? He felt as if his head was trying to take the shape of, like, one of those timers made of glass and sand. The ones they use in movies for dramatics before the protagonist ventures off to win some harrowing game? Yeah—one of those. 

But dang it—Gumball was a stubborn cat. He wasn’t going to give up the possibility of there being free chocolate bars for life just because of a little discomfort. If anything, it could be because the air up here is thin. Like climbing a mountain. Anais would have more information about that, if only he cared enough to ask. 

“Come on . . . just a little bit more . . . ”

Anais grunted in what must be annoyance, but otherwise didn’t complain as Gumball reached closer and closer until—ah ha! His hand just closed around the chocolate bar. 

“This is mission control to Darwin. We have the chocolate bar. I repeat: we have the chocolate bar. Over.”

“I understood you loud and clear, Gumball. Over.” Darwin angled his head downwards. “This is Darwin to Anais. We were just told that Gumball has retrieved the chocolate bar. I repeat: we were just told that Gumball has retrieved the chocolate bar. Let’s begin heading back to the ground, over.”

“This is Anais from mission control to the two idiots using my shoulders as a stepping stool. This mission will become a failure quickly if you don’t get off of me right now.”

She was met with stifling silence.

“What now?!”

“You forgot to say ‘Over,’” Darwin interjected.

“Over. Why the sudden change in tone anyway? Get off!”

Gumball opened his mouth to comment on her volume, or at least say something about how it’s how Darwin and I display the interconnectedness of our relationship, Anais, not like you’ll get it, but then—

But then—

His head—it just squeezed. Tight. It was almost painful. It felt like static and the dregs of a headache and the strange swirls of television static branded underneath his eyelids. It was pins and needles except the pins and needles were coated in something spicy, like some sort of irritant. Or acid. Or the impending doom from the wind whooshing past his ears and through his fur because whoa, it looked like they were falling now—

The three of them landed in a clatter of limbs on the floor of the supermarket. Literally. Like building blocks. It was pretty impressive how loud everything tended to sound whenever they were trying to make an effort to stay discreet and quiet.

Not as if they were exactly trying to stay quiet. The plan was to get the chocolate bar before somehow convincing Mom to put it in the cart so they can test their luck. Or something like that.

Yeah . . . something like that.

“What happened?!” Gumball shouted, cradling the chocolate bar above his head. He landed on Darwin anyway in all the calamity, so he was mostly okay. He still felt a little bit . . . off. He turned towards his little sister. “Anais!”

There was a scoff. “Don’t look at me!” She was tangled between Darwin’s legs, somehow less harmed than even Gumball. “You’re the one who refused to get down in time!”

“Nu-uh!” That was probably the case, but he wasn’t going to admit that so easily. Not like that was true from his point of view, anyway. “We were just standing up like two seconds ago! Tops! All you had to do was stand long enough to let us get down, and you would’ve been done!”

“Easy for you to say.” Anais went from yelling to taking an oddly calm tone that indicated she knew something he didn’t. Which tended to happen a lot. He never liked it. “If you weren’t so busy daydreaming whatever future you envisioned for yourself with the chocolate bar in your hand, then we wouldn’t be on the floor in the first place!”

Another scoff. This time, it came from him. “Daydreaming? Well my dear, naive little sister—”

“Naive? I don’t think you’re using that word correctly—”

Underneath both of them, Darwin groaned. “Are we dead?”

“You may as well be.”

Anais and Gumball immediately stopped arguing. He was still cradling the chocolate bar in his hands. He considered it to be an honor just a little bit ago, but now, under Mom’s stare, it felt as if he was holding up a giant ‘Ground me!’ sign. 

Mom stood over them, hands on her hips. The cart was neatly parked at the side of the aisle with Dad standing uncharacteristically serenely behind it. Perhaps even he can sense the inevitable doom that will befall them all if they try to resist. The fact that they always do and find themselves in these kinds of situations—and oftentimes much, much worse—didn’t seem to even be a factor in what’s going on right now. In fact, the preexisting pattern of them as a family getting into these kinds of situations—and again, oftentimes much, much worse—only made these things not only repetitive, but worse than they should be. Or, at least in Gumball’s very humble opinion. He’d be halfway dead before he said that, especially in front of Mom. 

Gumball grinned. He just knew it wasn’t very convincing. Oh well. “Oh, hey Mom. Didn’t see you there.”

Mom blinked two times. He knew because he was paying very close attention. Now, were those I’m going to ground you blinks or I’m very disappointed in you but resigned this one instance blinks? 

“Are you guys okay?” she asked. She bent down and was trying to pick the cans off of Darwin’s body. Somehow, despite being in the middle of the tower, he happened to have taken the most damage in their fall. Instead of waiting for an answer from any of them, however, she brushed off the cans and scanned all three of them. She seemed to have liked what she saw, because she then picked Darwin up. “Darwin, you should at least sit on the floor, I don’t think these tiles have been cleaned since I was born.”

Everyone was quick to stand up at that.

“Now that it’s clear that none of you are injured . . . ” Mom’s tempered concern turned into a simmering fire. Her pupils shrunk until they looked like heated, shaking dots in the middle of her eyes. His and Anais’ ears flattened. Darwin looked ready to meet the ground again. Dad, from his place by the cart, whimpered. “Mind telling me just what were you guys thinking?”

The three of them exploded into explanations simultaneously. The sound bounced off Gumball’s head like a rubber ball. It didn’t hurt, per se, but it was . . . somewhat noticeable. Like someone gently tapping against his skin until he turned around and looked. 

It was weird, even if he tried his hardest to ignore it, because it was as if his head was still twisting and turning and funneling all of its hard-earned time and energy into something he didn’t quite understand or approve of. (Which, yes, was somewhat offensive because Gumball puts the majority of his hard-earned time and energy into things he did understand, like video games and how many “Just five more minutes” he could do in a row before he risked the entirety of his academic career.) It was like some disconnect from him and the rest of the situation—a wall being put up between him and everything set in front of him.

Something akin to muttering started up in the recesses of his mind. But that could also just as easily be the little folds in his brain trying to come together to form a coherent thought that will save this situation and lead them to a scenario in which Mom both let them put the chocolate bar in the shopping cart and have her refrain from grounding them for the foreseeable future. Or that could also be the rational part of his brain begging him to stop considering eating a chocolate bar with so much sugar that he was literally eating his life away. 

Either way, he wasn’t really listening.

Mom, ever accustomed to their messy attempts at explanations, understood the situation mere seconds after their voices overlapped. “Oh so I see, you guys wanted candy even after I specifically told you guys in the car that we’re on a tight budget.”

“But,” Gumball interjected, “it was never a no.”

Darwin and Dad gave him horrified looks. Anais sent him a pair of abort mission! eyes. That . . . did not come out how he wanted it to. And he made the situation worse. (Even though Mom technically didn’t say no. He was perfectly valid in what he said! It wasn’t a no. It was an implied request to be mindful. And really, he had been mindful. They only picked up one and decided to work together and not collect one per person and fought over which chocolate bar could be the winning one and may have caused an even bigger scene.)

He retracted. It was the best thing to do right now—especially with said chocolate bar in his hands right now. “I-I mean! Think of the benefits!” He presented the chocolate bar with a flourish and much more confidence than he currently possessed. “This chocolate bar isn’t a normal chocolate bar. It’s an investment! If correct, then it will be more than a piece of candy, but revolutionary.”

There was some sort of crescendo building up in his mind. The wall thickens and his attention starts to fray. His world narrowed down to a few key points but also only worked to sharpen his goal to succeed in his abrupt act of persuasion.

Mom sighed. “Gumball—”

“But wait! There’s more.” There wasn’t really more—unless elaboration on what he just said counted as more—but he wasn’t going to back down now. He had to sell the point somehow. “Just one lucky chocolate bar has the potential to be the winning chocolate bar!”

“Gumball—”

The crescendo picked up into a flurry. It felt almost alive in there, something was buzzing against parts of his skull, the very words being fed to his mouth turning to slurries and aluminum and other overly elaborate metaphors he wasn’t going to come up with right this instant. 

“But really—”

“Gumball—”

“—all it takes in a ticket for free chocolate bars for life—”

“Gumball!” Mom’s eyes turned into lasers. Literally. They were not hot (so she wasn’t entirely angry), but they were bright and intense because she was upset. See, it was far from the worst case scenario.

Besides, he already forgot how he was going to finish that sentence anyway.

Mom did that thing where she clearly wanted to be much, much angrier than she presented herself as. This was one of those instances where Gumball wasn’t necessarily scared of the reaction and more of what possible grounding may be dished. Or a disappointed groan. (He really wanted the disappointed groaning, because it meant that she was going to cave soon, and that meant all this talking meant something. It also meant that he didn’t have to come up with some other argument (read: repeat his previous ones) in a final vain attempt to convince her because he probably wouldn’t be able to repeat them as well as he presented them in the first place.)

It also meant that all that whispering in his head that was unintelligible at best and the festering symptoms of insanity at worst could finally calm down, receding back to the furthest corners of his mind where he shall never think about the incident again.

So to cement the fact Gumball smiled, but it was much too wide and contained far too many teeth for it to be normal. Eh—whatever. He was his mom’s son. Regardless: the show must go on. “So, with just one easy payment of—” Oh geez, what did that price tag say again? “—ninety-nine cents—” Probably not true, especially with inflation, but whatever. “—you get a chance, a fair shot, at winning free chocolate for life, which when you think about it, is a great deal.”

Anais gave him a critical look when he stated the price. Darwin looked ready to plan a funeral or three. Details, details.

Like the restlessness under his fur was merely a detail. And the fact that the lights just felt a little bit too bright at this moment. And the fact that it felt as if his mind wanted to peel itself back layer by layer like an onion. 

The weirder part was that this completely drowned out Mom’s yelling. It just. Forced his attention away from her. And Anais and Darwin were definitely more nervous than he was supposed to be. And Dad is passively standing in a way in which he’ll intervene and try to calm everyone down if need be. And Mom’s just. Trying to calm down because (technically Gumball’s right. She just said they were on a tight budget. She never said they couldn’t get anything.) he was dancing on her last nerve. And he should be concerned about that. He should. He should let Anais do damage control and come up with even more convincing arguments because she’s better at that than he would ever be. He should. Gumball should. 

However.

However.

Mom didn’t explode. She didn’t scream or shout at their disrespect for what had to be the most sacred thing to a mother: the delicate grocery budget. Instead she stared down at them with so much heat that it threatened to sear into their skin. 

“Get in the car,” she gritted, “all of you are grounded.”

And it was at that moment that the insistent, buzzing energy within Gumball’s skull surged.

XXVII

It would be ideal, for everyone, to identify a lesson to be learned in order for it to be learned.

So, there was an invitation for someone to uncover a lesson for Gumball to learn. But, if not Darwin or Anias or even Rob, then who would put in that work?

XXVIII

None of the candles were scented. Not a single atom of Gumball found that surprising.

What he did find surprising, however, was Dad’s uncharacteristic willingness to get the unscented candles and not making a single comment about sausage-scented candles, the weather, or stocking up on Joyful Burger before the dreaded “storm” arrived. 

Now, Gumball won’t admit that unnerved him, but that’s mainly because he wasn’t really one for more than the minimal amount of introspection necessary to make a decision. He was sort of an impulsive person that way. So when something in his stomach hardened, and it didn’t have anything to do with dinner, he didn’t deem it important enough to dwell on it. Never mind whether or not it was actually important enough to dwell on it. Never mind everything that was happening right now, and how it either was or wasn’t his fault. Never mind the fact that it was quickly becoming obvious that something was going on, and someone (or something, and the scariest part was the fact that was a better option than the someone) was trying to push him in a certain direction. Never mind the fact that Gumball didn’t want to be pushed in that direction.

Forget the Void. Forget what should and shouldn’t happen. Forget the fact that Darwin was mad at him and everyone else seemed to think that he was doing something wrong. Forget the fact that he may actually (which—very likely given his track record) be doing something wrong! Gumball didn’t want to do anything about it, so he wouldn’t.

End of story.

End of discussion.

“Hey, son?”

Oh no. Dad only really did that when he felt the need to impart some “fatherly wisdom” onto his children. And while Gumball would usually raptly listen to any advice important enough for Dad to not only remember it, but (somewhat) accurately apply it to the situation, now wasn’t the time. It was very likely that it’ll be something pertaining to apologizing, and honestly, Gumball didn’t feel like apologizing.

He didn’t even know just where his abrupt annoyance was coming from, but he didn’t feel like trying to chase it away, either. 

So, Gumball, in a completely grown-up fashion, crossed his arm and flattened his ears. “Hmph.”

“Is that a ‘Yes Dad?’ hmph, or a ‘Not right now.’ hmph?”

“Hmph.”

“Oh okay.” There was a brief pause. “Are you mad?”

“Hmph.”

Another pause. “Are you mad at me?”

He looked at Dad. He was trying to stand on the wardrobe, arms shoved in one of the shelves in an attempt to retrieve a candle. Gumball didn’t smell anything, which basically confirmed that they weren’t scented and automatically meant that it’ll take at least a few minutes to retrieve them. It was at that point that he thought about the alternative, which was stepping out to Mom, Anias, and Darwin, and having to try to explain himself while also having to defend himself because no, he didn’t do anything wrong this time—

He relaxed his posture and shook his head. It was the truth, anyway. “I’m not mad at you. Just Darwin.”

“Oh.” For a second, Dad looked relieved. He tried to smile, but then the second sentence must sink in, and his smile was immediately replaced with panic. “What?!”

“Hmph.”

“I think something just broke in the world. The sky is falling. The storm really is coming. It’s even worse than what I thought it would be. Gah!” Dad tried to move his arms, but they were effectively stuck in the shelves of the wardrobe, so he couldn’t really move them in the way he likely wanted to, so what happened instead was a long, ominous groan from the wardrobe, but somehow, miraculously, it didn’t fall. 

“Oh, don’t worry. Anyone would be mad if the person who should be their best friend didn’t trust them when they say that they’re fine.”

Dad stuck his tongue out. “Now, if I were to guess, I would say that this person—” There was shifting from the wardrobe. “—is actually Darwin.”

He looked at Dad’s arms. Was he really stuck in there? “Yeah . . . ”

“The person who you said is your best friend.”

Oh geez—did he have to get Mom? “ . . . yeah.”

“Ah ha!” More groaning from the wardrobe. It sounded more like a cry for mercy. “So you’re not mad! You’re lying! Darwin is still your best friend!”

There was a short pause. “And I know once the storm does come—”

“I don’t think there’s a storm, Dad—”

“—and we get all of my—I mean, our—Joyful Burger spoils . . . ” He started drooling, here. “ . . . you and Darwin will make up because you’re brothers. Best friends. Both at the same time!”

Gumball couldn’t help it—some of the tension trickled like melting ice from his bones. Literally. His jaw was clenching so hard it creaked like the wardrobe, and his fingers stopped digging into his arms. He uncrossed his arms and turned away, because he’s still twelve and somewhat petulant. “Well, it certainly doesn’t feel like that right now.”

Something about what he just said must have encouraged Dad. “Son, let me tell you about something between your mother and I.” He tried to lean back to look at him, but his arm being stuck in the wardrobe prevented him. Dad didn’t seem all that bothered by it, so Gumball only spared it a glance before looking at Dad’s face. He was too lazy to help him anyway. “Your mother and I fell in love because we’re so different. While she was thinking about grades and all of her extraordinary activities—”

“You mean extracurricular?”

Dad hummed in contemplation. “I don’t know. At the time I certainly thought she was extraordinary. And so, in extension, all of her hobbies were extraordinary. Even though she didn’t really like them. But that’s why I love her! Because everything she does is extraordinary! Even when she’s yelling at me because I was telling the truth!”

Gumball tilted his head to the side. “Telling the truth about what?”

“The storm!” It was then Dad’s ears perked up. He had a determined glint in his eyes—one not even quelled by the fact that he could barely move his arms at the moment. “It’s going to come! I know I’m right. It’s going to come and—and—” It’s then that his ears flattened against his head. He hummed in thought again. “I don’t know what it’ll do, just know that it’s going to do something.”

Despite a voice (thankfully not the Void) nagging at him that this storm may have something do with (here he would gesture as if to say all of this if he was talking with someone, but no one really knew the Void, nor was aware of the fact that something like this existed, but just know he would do that if he could) everything, but he didn’t deem the thought worth thinking about (even though to get to that thought, you had to think about it). 

So instead, Gumball did what he did best—be an absolute jerk. “Well, the sky does look weird today.” Certainly not worth thinking about. Nope. It was decidedly not.

Dad, as usual, didn’t catch onto his tone. “It even feels weird. I knew we needed those rubber gloves, but your mother said no, and I couldn’t say no to her. I don’t want to disappoint her.”

Gumball moved to sit on his parents’ bed. It looked like getting the candles—as expected—would be taking at least an additional few minutes. Not that he minded—just as long as he didn’t get to face Darwin right now. 

It was quiet for a few minutes. It made his skin crawl. Gumball almost said something, but he always stopped himself. What would he say? There wasn’t a joke he can crack that would distract him. Darwin’s usually receptive to his jokes, but he wasn’t here, and he was close enough to mad to deem him as such. And despite Dad’s best efforts, a talk about whatever goes on between him and Mom wasn’t really similar to anything between Gumball and Darwin. 

After a few failed attempts at conversation, he heard something being dragged behind him. Gumball turned around to see Dad dragging the wardrobe to the bed with his arms still stuck in them.

“What the—!”

“We’ll have to eat out. Broken glass got all into dinner, and I’m still hungry. So, I’ll stock up on Joyful Burger then,” Dad said, triumph. And then he sobered up. “But until then, and until your mother asks where the candles are, can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Hmph.”

“I promise not to get mad.”

Another hmph. “You’re never mad at us. It’s everyone else who’s mad at me.” He turned back around. 

Conversation only lapsed for a second. “Are you mad at them?”

“No.” It shocked Gumball that it was the truth. He wanted to add more, but found that it was much harder to put those feelings into words. He thought about Mr. Small and sighed.

Just great, he thought, I’m getting not one, but two heart-to-hearts in a single day.

Dad hummed again. “Why do you think everyone is mad at you? I don’t think they’re mad at you.”

“Because,” Gumball started, and then faltered. Then he pushed forward. “They think I lied to them. Which I didn’t.”

“You are pretty bad at lying.”

“Hey!”

“But it’s a good thing! I’m bad at lying too!”

“Well what do you do when someone accuses you of lying and there’s no way proving that you didn’t lie?”

Dad shrugged. Or tried to. “I don’t know. Your mother usually figures it out all on her own.”

Gumball slumped in the bed. That wasn’t helpful at all. Or about as helpful as that time when he didn’t have any clothes for school and was given Mom’s wedding dress—it’s only a solution when no one thinks about the technicalities. An impossibility, especially when considered that the technicalities are the things that move the issue into either being solved or snowballing into an even bigger issue in the first place.

Guess she’ll figure out that I did something wrong—even though I didn’t.

“I don’t know why you’re upset.” Dad tried to move, but something shattered in the wardrobe instead. “No one’s mad, and even if they were, then they wouldn’t be mad enough to blame you without a proper reason. It’s like a tasty sandwich. It’s good on its own, so I wouldn’t get sad at a sandwich unless it did something to make me sad—maybe if it dropped to the floor, or if I couldn’t find a plate to put it on.”

A smothered laugh. “Would not having a plate even stop you?”

“Oh no, son. See, it’s a lesson in giving up—which is, to only do it when if you kept going it was going to hurt someone. And if I kept trying to find a plate, then my heart would hurt. I would be searching for a plate instead of eating it like my heart wanted to. But you can also do something without knowing you did something, like making a sandwich in your sleep and shattering every plate in the house trying to get one and then waking up and not knowing you shattered every plate, but having to explain to your mother why all the plates are broken. Technically, I didn’t break the plates. However, to her I did. She was mad, but not at me.”

See, it wasn’t as if Gumball didn’t have faith in anyone. It was just that when it came to specific situations, he tended to trust himself over others. And, at times, it happened to be that those specific situations tend to mainly consist of misunderstandings.

And, okay, listen, it wasn’t something to make a big deal out of, okay? It wasn’t as if he woke up in the morning thinking about it. The reality was Gumball got blamed for things all the time, and for the most part, yeah, he did it. So it tended to be justified that the small percentage that something happened and he happened to have not done anything, it was still logical that other parties immediately turn to him. So, yeah, it was a pain in the butt, but it also came with his general awesome Gumball-ness. 

However.

However.

It was just . . . today.

To. Day.

It had been a weird day (or two, when he really thinks about it) of being pushed and pulled this way or that, of going to and from, and of being called one thing or another. And sure, it was justified when given the situations he’d been in, but it was also not justified because of the situations he’d been in.

But—nothing.

Yeah.

But nothing. It didn’t mean anything. It was just . . . another day as Gumball. He’ll just ignore and groan and get himself in tricky situations to avoid the things he didn’t want to think or do because he’s Gumball and he didn’t do things if he can help it. And he was okay with his flaws and messiness and the intricate, selfish, lazy, delicate balance of things that made him him. And Gumball was okay with being caught up in things, but it also seemed as if something he wasn’t okay with being the way he was because he was this way because of some greater scheme (read: the Void), and not because of who he was.

But it was also a pretty dumb thing to think about—Gumball’s Gumball, and there wasn’t a soul that could dictate him as otherwise. No one! He liked his video games and snacks and going on the best dates ever with Penny and procrastinating. He disliked doing chores and taking out the trash and Miss Simian’s quizzes and going to school in general (and ugh, don’t even get him started on homework). 

But there was also the small, tiny, almost insignificant part of him that whispered about weird things like whether or not that was enough. And about what would happen if he did something different. And about what the world outside of Elmore could offer. And about what would happen if he simply didn’t want to get caught up in one thing or another for once. And about what could happen if Gumball chose to—to—do something!

He didn’t know why that was. He didn’t know why those thoughts were so incomplete, much less what to complete them with. He didn’t know why he kept questioning something as weird as what was enough. He has a home! Two loving parents! Siblings! The best friend (and brother) one can ask for! Heck, he even has a girlfriend, and she’s the most beautiful, intelligent, loving girlfriend in the world! He’s happy! They’re happy! Everyone’s happy! 

Even when Gumball does mess up (and don’t tell anyone this, but he messes up all the time) then everything and everyone came together at the end of the day to at least mitigate it. So really, he could be worse and things will be fine. He could be even more lazy and even more of a procrastinator and even more stubborn and even more selfish and things would just click back together because that was what they usually do. He should be grateful about that. Ecstatic, even.

It’s just . . . sometimes, when things like this happened so many times, where he was shoved into a box of those traits all of the time, when it became so, so apparent that he was so different from Darwin, and that his brother had every trait he lacked, and vice versa, when the complete and utter too-much-i-ness of everything encompassed him, but there were no words to describe it, no feelings to pin it down, no person who can understand what was happening . . .

 . . . and once again, he was getting nowhere. There was nothing to think about because there was nothing worth thinking about. He’s just . . . making a big deal out of nothing.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Huh?” He stopped trying to free himself from the wardrobe. “I-I mean, of course! But just so we’re both clear, what is it you’re thanking me for again?”

Gumball slid off the bed. “You’re right. No one’s mad at me. And even if they are, it’s not like they’ll be mad at me forever. I mean, come on, I’m their brother. Son. Family. I have nothing to worry about.”

When he didn’t receive a response, he turned around. Dad was just . . . staring at him. It was as if his face decided to freeze. He was looking down at him, arms still stuck in the top shelves of the wardrobe, ears pressed flat against the top of his head. His face was uncharacteristically flat. Paired with the gray, cloudy background of the sky through the window behind him, it made Gumball nervous.

Nevertheless, he’s never been one to admit that. “Hel-lo?”

It’s as if Dad snapped back to reality. His face moved, ears perked up again, and he shifted just enough to block the window. “No problem! It doesn’t matter what happens, because we love each other and as long as we come back wearing our hearts on our sleeves and truths in our mouths, then we’ll be fine!”

O . . . kay . . . ? 

And then Dad drooled. “Besides, the faster you make up with Darwin, the faster we can order something to eat.”

Gumball looked at Dad’s arms. “Don’t worry, I’ll get someone to help you get out.” He turned around and left.

Dad was always hungry.

Mom was always stressed.

Anais was always the smartest.

Darwin was always the kindest.

Gumball was always the most selfish.

That was the way things should be.

And yet, he disliked the Void so much for drawing Gumball’s attention to those facts.

XXIX

And now, let Gumball interject: what was asked was a trick question.

The answer was this and only this: there were never any lessons to learn. 

XXX

There was a noticeable pop within Gumball’s mind. It felt as if he actually popped his knuckles, or something like super hot grease in a pan. (Which only Mom can touch. That has to be the reason why her showers can literally melt a hole in the Earth’s crust, right? Some secret Mom training or something.) 

Something shifted, then flipped, then folded in on itself. He blinked, then blinked again, then blinked a third time. It was as if he could technically see and hear and feel his surroundings, but his mind was now so far removed from everything that he couldn’t find the words to understand anything.

He blinked again. The world around him frazzled—

—then stuttered— 

—and then froze.

Color melted. The world turned weird, then dimmed, then completely desaturated. 

He felt as if

everything compressed

and folded again

and again

and again

there was buzzing and

burning and 

and dimming and

swimming and

no he does not mean to exaggerate anything

or make it look as if it was 

something it wasn’t

or be dramatic in

any convoluted way or method

because he was dramatic all on his

own.

(There was a voice.

What was that voice?

It was screaming and yelling and all kinds of shouting. Gumball knew that it should’ve sounded familiar. But usually Gumball didn’t care for the little intricate details such as that, and this time was no different.)

The voice melted, then tampered out, and it was then that he noticed that he was no longer in the supermarket. He wanted to shout out of shock, but he found that the shock simply wouldn’t come to him.

No, instead this happened in sequence: he stumbled, then tumbled, then tripped over his two feet as a giant wave of something washed over him. He should freak out because he clearly wasn’t at the supermarket anymore. He clearly wasn’t with his family at the moment. He most certainly wasn’t anywhere familiar at all, that was for sure.

The world turned to static. Words rose in his head, shuffled around, then tried to rearrange themselves. The weirdest part? He clearly wasn’t talking at all, nor was he trying to, so it made no sense why—

Thewordsresemblingagreetingaremostinappropiatehere—

A shift. A pause. 

The rambling started up again.

—toexploretheveryparametersofwhatisknownandunknownandthentakeastepforwardintothe—

—evercarefultowatchfor—

—findandmaintainhasteforthetimeforactionisnowbutimmediateactionwillbesoon—

And then Gumball peeled his eyes open to remember a van named Janice, aluminum foil pointed hats, the girl named Molly, and the world where mistakes are sucked into and supposedly kept.

What? he wondered, as the memories clicked into place like puzzle pieces.

How did he forget that?

A few seconds passed. The world retained definition once more. The lights still shone much too bright. That wall between him and anyone else loomed over him like a skyscraper. Color was beginning to return.

Or perhaps the better question was: how did he remember that?

Color fully returned. The static in his mind was beginning to recede.

The world unfroze and continues on, heedless to Gumball’s confusion.

XXXI

A pattern was what was to be obeyed here.

A pattern was what Gumball would obey here.

XXXII

And, no matter how much Gumball liked to pretend otherwise, the world continued on.

And on and on and on.

“Gumball.”

He groaned, arms stretching above his head to reach a rectangle box perched on a shelf in the kitchen. It wasn’t too low, or else something would inevitably happen to it in a true Watterson fashion. The aluminum foil wasn’t on the top shelf either, just because it wasn’t food and on principle it was leagues safer than anything that could be considered edible.

It was certainly safer than how he felt right now, regardless of the fact that it was just a conversation, and not his beheading. Although, with the sound of his heart literally raging against his ribs, one would assume otherwise.

He turned around. Donned a smile. “Hey Mom, do you come around here often?”

It was the kitchen. They were literally in the kitchen.

Because Mom was fond of a thing called time and place, she didn’t deem his question with a response. Instead, she asked one of her own. “Care to explain why your father has his arms stuck in the wardrobe?”

“Technically?” He shrugged off the nerves and waved his hands in a vague gesture. “Well, you know. He just. Uhh. Reached in there and got stuck. I wasn’t tall enough to reach the candles, so only he could do it.”

She was wearing an unreadable look. He had no idea what to make of it. “Why didn’t you tell him to reach in with one hand?”

Because he was distracted by thinking about the previous argument? “Because it was dark?”

Her face didn’t change. “And?”

Oh no, she was looking for something. “ . . . um.”

A few minutes ago, Gumball left his parents’ room and told Mom that Dad needed her help. She muttered something about old furniture and left in a hurry. At that time, all the glass seemed to have been swept up, and Darwin and Anais seemed to be turned away from each other. If they noticed Gumball hurrying to the kitchen to grab the foil, then they didn’t say anything. He supposed that one of the silver linings was the fact that everyone felt bad to at least some degree. 

And usually, he would go up to them and try to make things better one way or another. It was less of a kindness thing and more of a discomfort thing. Leaving his siblings distraught in such a way made his fur itch in a way he didn’t like. That and they were usually just there for each other in times like this.

However . . .

He didn’t even know. Nor did he understand. It was difficult to put into words how the mere thought of approaching anyone made him want to shrivel up and bury his body in the backyard. He didn’t do dread, just as how he didn’t do guilt. And, somehow, he was left with the dregs of both. Not a great combination.

Meanwhile, Mom didn’t say anything. She stepped around him to the aluminum foil and grabbed the box off the shelf.

He reached out his hands. “Thank you!”

She lifted the box up higher at the last second. “Not until you and I have a talk.”

His heart was going to crawl out of his mouth at this rate. Sweat beaded at his temple. 

“You’re not in trouble.”

Gumball squinted. “How sure are you about that?”

“As sure as I am that neither Darwin, Anais, nor your father are in trouble.” She set the box down and bended down until she was at Gumball’s eye level. “I’m just . . . worried. You and Darwin usually never fight, and never for this long. You’ve been attached at each other’s hip for so long I forgot what it was like when you guys weren’t. I never thought I’d say this, but it’s more concerning than how much time you two spend together.”

Mom was hesitant to admit that she’s worried. She’s almost never like that—doubtful about anything at all. She’s always steady and heavy-handed, ready to deliver either physically or verbally. He supposed it was that that got him to quiet the quips on his tongue for a moment. He also supposed it was that that got him to understand that it was likely she ushered Anais and Darwin to another room before having this conversation. It seemed like it was too heavy to be within earshot. 

“Honey?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re sweating a river.”

He was, in fact, sweating enough to create a new river. “Oh that? Just Elmore Lake making its debut.” He winced immediately after saying that—right after he just told himself to cool it with the quips. 

“Well, then at least let the river make its appearance outside.”

They moved outside.

By the time Gumball and Mom closed the door to the backyard, the lake was threatening to turn into an ocean. 

Mom didn’t even put on boots; she just sighed and kept the door open just long enough for all the sweat to drain out. “Well that’s one way to get any remaining glass out.” Then she turned towards him. “Mind telling your side of the story?”

What? 

“What?”

“Do you mind telling me your side of the story? Or am I supposed to believe that you hurt Darwin on purpose?”

“No!” he shouted, defensive. “Not on purpose. Not even by accident. He’s just overreacting!”

“Gumball, as much as I would like for this to be another dramatic argument that began from a misunderstanding, a misunderstanding between the two of you wouldn’t have lasted this long, much less have warranted intervention.” She gestured to the sea of sweat. “And you’re obviously worried about something.”

Yeah, I’m worried that no matter what I say or do, I’ll always have to be the one who apologizes in the end for something I don’t even think is necessary. “I just think—” Now, how to word this without sounding like a jerk? Trick question! He always sounded like a massive one. “I just think this whole thing is a waste of time. And energy. I’m fine. I had a headache, and then it went away, but Darwin doesn’t think it went away, so now he’s mad at me because he thinks something that’s obviously not true.”

“Well I do have to agree with you there.”

“Thank you!”

“You would’ve gone home as soon as the headache set in.”

He nodded. “Exactly! I have no reason to keep anything from him.”

Mom hummed. “When I asked him, he said you were keeping something from him. I think you somehow indirectly hurt his feelings and should just talk to him about it.”

“It’s hard to do that when he doesn’t even want to talk to me.”

“It’s even harder to do that when you don’t want to talk to him.”

“He stopped talking to me first! Why do I have to reach out when he was the one who made something out of nothing?!”

“Gumball, I don’t think you really mean that.”

The sweating had stopped. It was replaced by the urge to spit his heart into the grass. He swallowed it instead and felt the beating slowly crawl back down as it lodged back to its rightful place in his chest. “So, what now? Am I in the wrong?”

“Of course not—”

“Well, I don’t care if I am, I’m not going to apologize just because he’s mad. He’ll just have to approach me first.”

“Gumball—”

He threw his arms up. He wasn’t mad when talking to Dad, but now—but now— “I know, I have to do it because it’s still something I started, even indirectly, right? I’m just—”

“Gumball!”

There was a slam. He shut his mouth and snapped his head up.

Mom wasn’t standing—having sat down next to him on the porch—but her foot slammed into the grass, making a small, smoking crater in the ground. Dirt flew and landed in his lap, but he didn’t move to brush it off yet. There was dirt on Mom’s work clothes, and he knew she was going to make a fuss about it by the end of the evening. She’d always been a little bit particular about the state of her work clothes; she’d always been a bit of a perfectionist. 

Gumball didn’t say anything. As the silence lapsed, Mom didn’t move her head to face him, but she started with, “Your father said you think we’re mad at you.” 

His mouth moved before his mind can catch up. “No, I don’t.”

“Don’t try to pull the denial card, Gumball. Not here, not now.”

He closed his mouth.

She slowly took her foot out of the crater. “There’s no punishment for simply being yourself.”

“Yeah, I know—”

“No, I don’t need you to agree with me because it’s the right thing to do. I need you to listen to me and agree if and only if you understand what I’m saying.”

Mom faced him. Her face was unreadable. “You’re not expected to be anything. I only expect you to use your head and do the things that make the most sense. And even when you don’t do that, I only ground you because you’re supposed to know better, and never anything more. I won’t patronize you for things you aren’t, nor will I get angry at you for it. Ever. Right now, I’m angry, but not at you. Never at you.

“Never at you or your father or Darwin or Anais. I’m never angry at anyone in this family. You can’t solve things while angry and that’s something I want you to understand, no matter how that anger looks. Maybe you don’t get angry the way I get angry, but just because you feel other things doesn’t mean you don’t feel angry at all, and just because your anger is mixed in with other things doesn’t mean it’s not there. 

“Maybe I haven’t done as good of a job as I should have been at showing this, so instead I’m going to tell it to you. I’m not angry at you. I’m never angry at you. I’ll never be angry at you. You do things that make me angry, but it’s more at the situation, and never at you. I never want you to be something you’re not just to appease me, just as I never want you to do something just because you think it’s right for the situation.”

It was now that Mom frowned. “And I guarantee it that neither of your siblings are mad at you either. Are you mad at them?”

Close enough, is what he almost said. However, even he understood how important honesty was at this time. “I’m annoyed at them.”

“That’s what I figured. I won’t tell you how to proceed, but I know your father told you how he thinks you should proceed, and I think you should attempt that.” She turned around and grabbed the box of aluminum foil she must’ve had taken outside with her at one point or another. She looked at him for a second before rubbing his head. “You’re twelve, and you’re my kid, so I never expect you to be perfect. I expect you to have sense, but it’s a process and not a product, so I want you to trust your judgement, attempt what your father suggested, and make things right before we head out to eat.”

XXXIII

(Deep deep down, every now and then, Gumball unearthed a lesson.

And more times than not, he asked himself if it was worth the process of learning it in the first place.)

XXXIV

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Never better, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you’ve been staring out of the window for ten minutes.”

Totally unrelated to the previous statement, Gumball tore his eyes away from the window. He looked back at Darwin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Anais raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, and neither did you back there.”

“Hey!” he shouted. Darwin busted out in giggles. “At least I was trying.”

“Well, I don’t think Mrs. Mom wanted us to try,” Darwin said when his giggles died down. “I think the best course of action was to stop.”

Gumball scoffed. “Then we never would have gotten the chocolate bar.”

Anais looked up from Daisy. “The mission to get the chocolate bar was compromised the moment Mom found us. At that point, we needed to mitigate possible damage.”

“What’s the point of having a plan of action if we need to get defensive the moment something goes wrong?”

“What’s the point of having a plan if we can’t adapt to the circumstances? The moment Mom said she was on a ‘tight budget,’ we had to assume that getting caught was going to completely take away any argument to get the chocolate bar. We needed to focus on disaster prevention.”

“You and your smart sounding words,” he mocked. “Who gives up when the fight gets tough? Not me! We keep going until we’re physically incapable of continuing!”

“You gave up throwing away the trash last week because it was too far.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well duh, of course I did. Mom announced that she was almost done with the cookies, and if she was even a second late, then I wouldn’t get any. I was being practical!”

“Right,” Anais drew out, disbelieving. 

Darwin sighed. “Well it doesn’t matter now. We’re grounded for a week. No video games—”

“—or the computer—” Gumball tacked on.

“—or calling Carrie—”

“—or calling Penny—”

“—or watching TV—”

“And thank goodness for that, it’s been going so crazy lately that it’s been giving me a headache.”

“Yeah, I know,” Darwin shot back. “You haven’t stopped complaining about it.”

A scoff. “Oh please, I wasn’t that bad.”

Both Darwin and Anais gave him looks. Gumballs averted his gaze. “I mean, to be fair, the TV sounded worse.”

“I didn’t think so,” Darwin said, “but it doesn’t matter. It’s gone now.”

“Yeah, gone to the point in which I can’t even see the newest episode of Daisy the Donkey,” Anais grumbled. “I was so excited for it! Why did we think getting that chocolate bar was a good idea anyway?”

“Uh, because I said so.” Gumball crossed his arms. “And I always have good ideas.”

“You don’t,” Darwin chirped happily, steamrolling right through Gumball’s indignant noise, “but the outcome is usually much better than this.”

He was going to ask what exactly that meant, but Anais nodded and said, “Yeah, you’re right.”

“So do you think we should try something else?”

“No way. Once you break something trying to use it again won’t make it magically unbroken. I think it’s best if, for once, we don’t make Mom any more angry. Right, Gumball?”

“But the chocolate bar . . . ” He melted into the car seat. “We were so close before we failed.”

“And I wonder who led to our failure.”

“The same person who led us to being close to being successful in the first place,” Gumball retorted, before the previous statement sank in. “Wait, what?”

“Uhhh,” Darwin squeaked. “I was meaning to ask about that.”

He narrowed his eyes. Darwin squirmed. Gumball’s skin was beginning to crawl. Something was trying to unhinge itself in the recesses of his mind, not unlike trying to remember a good dream after waking up. “About what?”

“You just . . . froze up. I mean that’s what it looked like.” Darwin frowned. Gumball didn’t blink. His brother gave him an honestly confused look. “Did you see Mrs. Mom up there? Or was it something else?”

I did? His mind jolted, memories cleanly going from grabbing the chocolate bar to hitting the floor. But also—something curled and furled, shuttering before unfurling and swimming like a mirage. Gumball tried to get a chocolate bar. They fell to the ground. Mom and Dad approached. Gumball tried to save the situation. Mom grounded them. They were sent to the car. Gumball was looking out the window, thinking about—

No, that wasn’t right. Gumball tried to get a chocolate bar. They fell to the ground. Mom and Dad approached. Gumball tried to save the situation. Mom grounded them. They were sent—

No, that also wasn’t right. Gumball tried to get a chocolate bar. They fell to the ground—

No.

Why wasn’t that right?

His skin crawled. 

He was staring out of the window in the car because—

—he was thinking about where they went wrong—

—relief because the TV was playing a lot of static lately and—

—something akin to a headache whenever—

—but wouldn’t make any sense because that always happened when—

—got distracted but he wouldn’t admit to that because—

—messed up and didn’t care about a lot of things, but he made that plan for getting that chocolate bar—

—why he kept at it despite knowing deep down that it was—

—not useless, he was just lying to himself—

—staring out as if—

—gray and bleak and wrong—

(Iwillnotletyouforget, it said.

Youwillnotbeallowedtoforgetme, it said.

Iwilluseyourwordssoyoucanusemine, it said.

Iamthevoidtheeverlastingnothingnessandthethingthatwillletyouliveanddie, it said.)

The car door opened.

“—ink I’ll give you anything that’ll visibly shorten your lifespan. Just one look at the calories of that thing made me gain weight. I don’t want you, much less the kids, touching that thing. They’ll want to eat it, and I don’t want to deal with that many cavities if I can help it.”

Dad sighed and all but collapsed into his seat. “But, Nicole, did you see how many fillings it had?”

“Yeah, and I wish I hadn’t.” Mom slammed the car trunk closed and, ignoring the sound of shifting groceries, climbed into the car. “Even if you were to win those chocolate bars free for life, they’re too unhealthy to eat all the time.” It was then that her eyes went to the mirror. “Right, guys?”

(He recalled gray and fuzziness and static and noise and words appearing in his head that weren’t his and—

—and it wasn’t just that, but also a van named Janice and tin foil hats and a girl named Molly and flying through the place called void—

—no no, that wasn’t right—

The Void. Capital V.

It somehow seemed right in his mind.)

“Right,” the three of them replied simultaneously.

And despite everything that basically screamed that he do something right at that instant . . . Gumball did nothing. He shoved the thoughts down down down, further and further down until it was but a memory, and nothing more.

It’s nothing, he thought, already plotting how he was going to get out of this grounding early, nothing at all.

XXXV

To be honest, Gumball was pretty bad at lying. Horribly, really.

Something always tried to bleed its way through the fissures in his face, bubbling to the surface, always telling the truth in ways his words didn’t want to in that instant. It’s inconvenient, but he learned to live with it.

He learned how to live around it.

XXXVI

Mrs. Mom told him to trust his gut, but to also understand that Gumball is trusting his.

And, yes, while Darwin’s gut said that Gumball was lying, it was also possible that Gumball could not see it as lying. It could all be one big, giant misunderstanding! Something they’ll laugh about in, hmm, say an hour from now. 

But it also wasn’t as if he felt something and immediately freaked out about it. That also . . . was not what he really did. Darwin understood that freaking out about something made it harder than it should be. But he also understood that he had a penchant for freaking out about things that seemed almost insignificant to other people. It wasn’t something he was necessarily ashamed of, it just was. Carrie said that was what made him charming, and Gumball never seemed to mind too much. His habits were far from the weirdest in his family, regardless.

He was just afraid he let his emotions get ahead of him this time around. In a way that actually damaged something.

“What makes you say that, sweetie?” Mrs. Mom asked. Gumball just left with Mr. Dad, and it took that long for the stone to sink to his gut and threaten to make him sink through the floor to the earth. He suddenly felt so bad. 

“It’s just,” he started, then paused, then thought about what he was going to say, then thought about how he was going to say it, then continued, “I think I spoke before I thought.”

“I don’t know much about psychology,” Anais piped up, “but I know more about you two than I would like to admit. You guys don’t just fight over nothing. Notice how I mean the words fight and nothing very specifically to the situation. I don’t mean a fight, but a fight.”

“What your sister means to say,” Mom said, “is that you two usually know how to work through your issues. And whether that working out breaks something or not doesn’t matter as much as it’s what it takes to fix something. Do you think that maybe Gumball wants to keep whatever this is a secret?”

Darwin gave her a look so devastated Mrs. Mom held her hands up. “Okay, so that’s a no.”

“Why would he keep it a secret?” he asked. “I’m just concerned.”

Mom frowned. “I don’t think the situation is your fault.”

“So he really was keeping something from me?”

“ . . . I don’t think you understand what I’m saying. Someone can intend the action of something without intending the consequences. When that happens, it can get hard to assign blame because then you have to blame someone who intended the consequences, and it’s hard to draw the line there.” Mrs. Mom petted the top of his head. “And when that does happen, it’s important to strike fear into the other party’s heart through brute strength and raw fear. And then, and only then, you can make it clear that any repeat of the situation would invoke your—”

“Mom,” Anais whined.

“Too much?”

Afterwards, they helped clean the glass in the dining room and talked a little bit more about the situation. It was then that Darwin realized he didn’t have much to offer about it other than what Gumball didn’t do and his own intuition. A part of him expected to be scolded over that, even though he’d never gotten in genuine trouble for overreacting before. Mrs. Mom could get stressed and ground them over one thing or another, but never because of that, just as to how she never grew really mad at Gumball, or Anais, or Mr. Dad.

It took a while to understand, and he was ashamed to really admit it. Not due to a lack of trust in Mrs. Mom, but because he knew how he can be. Once he felt something he had to say it, had to put his whole heart into it. He had to write it or show it or tell it. Had to do something to at least make it known. And he’d been like that for as long as he can remember, and couldn’t imagine himself without that particular trait. And it wasn’t as if he thought about this a lot, nor was it something he was ashamed of. He liked the fact that he could freely admit his emotions. He found that it somehow made him get along with Gumball pretty well, even though they were neither very similar nor were opposites of one another. Despite it, Darwin didn’t think of himself as anyone’s plus one, or an extra, or even a sidekick. He’d never felt insecure because he was adopted. He never felt insecure because he was literally orange with fins instead of blue with fur or pink with bunny ears. That wasn’t what this was about.

However, this was about the fact that sometimes he says things before he thought them, and suddenly he felt so, so dumb. And so, so lost. He felt as if he just did something unforgivable, even though he logically knew that it’s so very forgivable. Shouldn’t he just trust Gumball? Was he overreacting? What if he was doing the wrong thing?

When Darwin finally mustered enough courage to replay the conversation he had with Mr. Small (thankfully without the skipping-school-by-lying confession), Mrs. Mom paid attention through keen ears and even keener eyes. Even with the darkness, and the rapidly dwindling light from the sunset with the lack of candles making the shadows stretch even longer, he found that he liked the impending darkness in this case. The less he looked in anyone’s eyes, the better. 

“Just talk to him,” was all Mrs. Mom said.

“ . . . what?”

“Striking fear into your enemies’ hearts won’t help anything, so the next best thing would be to come to an understanding,” she repeated, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. She seemed to understand just how confusing what she said was, because she then bent down and hugged both him and his sister. “I’m so happy that everything you did you did out of genuine concern, but sometimes even with the best of intentions, things go wrong. It doesn’t mean anything about one person or the other, just that you need to still have the best of intentions when fixing things. I’m sure the next time you talk with him, things will go better. I’m actually more than sure things will go better the next time you talk with him, because I’ll speak with him beforehand and tell him to talk to you again.”

I just hope he doesn’t think I’m mad at him, Darwin thought, facing the door leading to the backyard. Sure, he was annoyed with the situation, and he definitely felt some sort of way about everything even now, but even if he was even a flicker of mad, he no longer felt that way now. And, sure, he knew Gumball. He also knew that even if everyone in the house was somehow mad at him, he wouldn’t care about that. That was just who he was. Things came together at the end of the day and Gumball moved on and the curtains close. 

It was just . . . the way things always went.

So why did this feel almost different? So why did the anger-but-not-really-anger (he should use the word annoyance, but that wasn’t what he was worried about right now, okay?) feel heavier? It was almost as if a tangible weight tethering his legs to the ground (which says a lot, given how his height is about seventy-five percent leg). 

But he was also caught up about the entire situation because—

Darwin forced himself to open the door before he thought better. Literally. His fins trembled and shook, it being so bad his head was more cotton than actual brain (which also said a lot, given how the last twenty-five percent of his height came from his head). 

For a moment, he selfishly stared at the sky. It was just as cloudy and gray as it had been this morning. Just this morning. It felt as if this day had lasted months. Years, even. It felt so long. Between arguing with Gumball and talking with Mr. Small and trying his best to ignore Gumball to induce guilt (and . . . that sounded pretty bad now that he was putting it out there, didn’t it?), everything felt both too much and not enough.

He still wanted to get Gumball to admit that something’s wrong. And maybe he was doing far too much, and maybe he was overeating, and maybe he was seeing something that actually was not there, and maybe he was reading too much into things, but something about all of this insistently nagged at him.

Something about all of this insistently nagged at him.

Even now.

Especially now.

But what could it be? Does Darwin have to go full-on detective on Gumball? Did Gumball even know? Was he even aware? That something may be going on but wasn’t seen as a big deal? Maybe it wasn’t actually a big deal, and—

No no. He shook his head. Remember what Mrs. Mom told me. That Gumball may be doing what he felt was right, just as I am. I have to be understanding. I have to extend that olive branch. If there is no one else up to it, then I have to do it. All relationships are all about give and take, including familial ones.

He tore his eyes from the sky and sat down next to Gumball with an audible sigh. It was enough to get things going.

His brother jerked in surprise. Darwin almost felt bad. Almost. “H-hey! I was just . . . thinking. Yeah, thinking! About important things. Very important things.”

Despite the situation, that alone was enough to get some of the tension to bleed out of Darwin. (He thought he sees something gray and blue leak from his gills.) His mouth twitched, but he ended up crossing his fins and turning away. If he had hair, he would flip it dramatically. “Well, since you’re thinking about something so important, then I guess I’ll come see you again later.”

“Important dude, not life-altering.” Gumball sighed. “I’m pretty sure I couldn’t push this off if I tried.”

“Do you want to?” He shrugged. “We can call a temporary truce.”

“Would that work?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think Mom would ground us both, if she hadn’t already done that.”

“Hmm, I don’t think so. She seems more mad at Mr. Dad for getting his arms stuck in the wardrobe. How did that happen, anyway?”

Gumball rolled his eyes. “What do you think? He must’ve gotten distracted and shoved both arms in at the same time without really thinking.”

That . . . sounded pretty on brand. Darwin laughed. “And you didn’t help him.”

“Eh, what could I do? Hop up and pull? Grab a crowbar and try to pry him out? If I break something then I’ll be in trouble.”

It was only so long they can avoid the (thankfully) metaphorical elephant in the room, but from the sounds of pulling and grunting from inside, they had at least a few minutes before they had to go out to eat. “So . . . what about this power outage?”

Darwin went for casual, but his voice squeaked. And to add onto that, Gumball didn’t seem to find the topic entertaining. Instead, he did this thing where he huffed and looked away in something between annoyance and regret. Well, not really between those two. More like annoyance with a hint of regret. A smidge. An essence of it. The fact that it was there was what mattered. Well, at least to Darwin the fact that it was there was what mattered.

“Sorry,” he apologized, fin going to the back of his head. He slouched. It was now or never. Come on, Darwin. Remember what Daisy the Donkey taught you! “About that and . . . all of this.”

“What?”

“I mean this whole argument, dude. It got out of hand and dragged everyone in and I’m sorry for that.”

Gumball made a complicated face. “Apology accepted.” It was quiet for a few long, agonizing seconds. “I’m also sorry.”

Darwin sat ramrod straight. “So, you are keeping something from me?!”

“What—I mean—” It was quiet for a few more seconds. Darwin leaned in. “I would never do it to hurt you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And I’m horrible at lying. And keeping secrets.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So can you stop asking me that?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Because I’m not sick?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I’m not.”

Without thinking, he pulled out his trump card. “Would you tell the truth if Penny was here?”

He stuttered, offended. “I am telling the truth!”

“Liar.”

“I’m horrible at lying! I just said that!”

“Liar.”

“Hmph. Then I don’t know what to tell you.”

It was tempting to lean into the impending argument. It was certainly loud enough in the house for them to keep going, but he thought better of it. No. He was better than feeding into another impending argument for the second time in a row. He let out the worst of the anger that was churning in his chest already, so now he had to figure out ways to use this emotional state in a more positive, productive conversation. Being mad wouldn’t solve things, and giving him the silent treatment wasn’t going to solve things either (evidently).

So now, perhaps it was time to consider how to channel his own frustrations into looking at a remedy. And in that case, there was a simple solution for that.

“Fine,” he said, willing the tension in his voice to go away. “I believe that situations arise when people are unhappy and show it in different ways. So while I still think you’re unhappy about something, I think you’re following your heart to the best of your ability, and so—”

“Dude. I’m twelve, not five. If I was unhappy about something then I would tell you. Or someone.”

“I know that. You aren’t very subtle about these things.”

“Well, you aren’t very subtle about not wanting to get to the point.”

“Hey! I’m trying to lead up to the point, there’s a difference! A giant one!” He shifted and turned to look at the sky. It was as ominous as it had been this morning. Hopefully the weather would look a hundred times better tomorrow. “Just . . . you would tell me if something’s going on, right?”

How childish. Darwin shouldn’t need this—he shouldn’t need this reassurance, especially after pretty much verbally confirming that Gumball was a pretty bad liar and always, always obvious about anything that was on his mind. They just apologized and here he was, digging up the old stuff all over again. He must be frustrated. No wonder why they argued at the dinner table.

But Gumball didn’t seem to mind it when he answered with, “Duh, of course. There’s just nothing going on, and I was acting weird because everything feels weird.”

That . . . made sense. Darwin didn’t try to analyze his brother’s expression, because he trusted him enough for that to be the truth. That and because they already apologized to each other, the fact that Gumball did without much protest automatically means that he understood the seriousness of the moment. (That, and don’t tell him Darwin said this, but his brother tended to be a bit prideful. Just a bit egotistic. Just a bit. So admitting mistakes? Pretty hard for him to do. Not that Darwin was any better, but those times are very few and far in-between. Gumball’s ego was easily the default state.)

He groans. “Don’t I know it. Mr. Dad keeps talking about an impending storm, and the sky looks so weird, and Mr. Small tried to talk to me about the situation today and it wasn’t very helpful, and today was just so weird. I missed complaining about almost everything to you.”

Abruptly, Gumball hugged him, and in turn Darwin hugged him right back. “Oh, thank goodness, I missed talking to you too! I got so bored I almost wished I had Rob to talk to—Rob!”

Darwin laughed, but nearly choked on the sound when the words sank in. What . . . ? “Who?”

“What?”

“You mentioned someone. You mean Bobert? I’m surprised anyone’s been talking to him with the way he’s been malfunctioning lately.”

Gumball gave him a quizzical look. “No, not Bobert—Rob. You know, my sworn enemy? The one we didn’t remember his name for who knows how long?” There was a pause. “ . . . the guy you kicked down an open manhole?”

“I think I would remember someone I kicked down a manhole.”

“Well, then you’re right! I was mistaken!” He did this laugh and wave that meant he actually didn’t believe that he was mistaken. “It was actually Bobert! I think I confused you kicking someone down a manhole for someone else kicking a random person down a manhole. Yeah! That sounds about right. I was thinking about that time we tried to give Bobert an update?”

He squinted. “Oh really?”

“Yes.” It was silent for an agonizing moment. “Anyway!” Gumball pulled out an aluminum hat. Where did he get that from? How had Darwin not notice the box of foil on the steps until now? He didn’t know. “Wear this.”

What?

“What?”

“Go on! Wear it!”

“I know I don’t have as pride as you do, but this is insulting.”

“If you wear it no questions asked I will agree with wherever you suggest we eat tonight.”

“Did I say insulting? I mean enlightening.” He put on the hat.

Nothing happened. Darwin expected as much.

Gumball, however, looked at him for a few seconds. It was one of those stares that reminded him that Gumball really was Mrs. Mom’s biological son. It was almost unnerving. Almost.

(Yeah—it was unnerving.)

“Uhh . . . ” he trailed off. What does he say in a situation like this? Does he go with it? Question it? Ask what Mr. Small told him earlier in the day for him to try something like this? (Regardless, he kind of wanted to know. Was it a conspiracy theory? Come on, he wanted to be included too . . . )

Gumball took the hat off with a swipe so fast he almost missed it. “Never mind.”

“Never mind what?”

His mouth opened, but it was interrupted by the door behind them opening. They turned around to see Anais standing in the doorway, hands on her hips and a noticeable lack of Daisy in her hands. She was probably still annoyed about the whole glass-shattering-on-her-favorite-doll thing.

“Mom’s trying to free Dad, and I still can’t play with Daisy until all of the glass is cleaned up.” She looked over at the pair. “Did you guys make up already?”

Darwin shared a look with Gumball, because there was a flicker of uncertainty within him. There was something that should be talked about, but they danced around the topic so much now it didn’t seem likely that it wouldn’t happen at all, but—

Gumball scoffed. “Of course we did.” He slinged an arm over Darwin. “Right?”

—it was about what Mrs. Mom said. It was just as likely that Gumball was trusting his instincts on this as much as Darwin was, and because he wasn’t relying on his instincts completely (or else he would still be mad—something just felt a bit off) then Darwin had to respond in turn. All relationships and healthy communication were about compromise.

“Right,” he repeated, then faced his sister. “Don’t worry, I’m sure the power will come back on soon and all the glass will be cleaned up in no time!”

Gumball tilted his head to the side. “I thought the glass was already cleaned up?”

“Nah. Mostly, but we still need to be careful.”

“It also means we have to throw the food away, because no one should be eating glass.” Anais piped up, thoughtful. “But I still don’t understand—is there a storm coming after all? I don’t know what happened for the power to just go out like that.”

Gumball shrugged. “It could be a powerline.”

“That’s what I thought too, but when I looked outside, I didn’t see anyone working. And the Robinsons’ house looked like their power was working just fine. I mean, it could be a blown fuse on our end, but I don’t know what could have blown the fuse.”

“Don’t think about it, it could be anything.” Gumball laid down on the ground. “Once Dad remembers we can’t eat the food on the table then we’ll have bigger problems.”

“Yes, and I worry that the mentioned bigger problem is him figuring out he can’t turn on the TV right now,” she grumbled. Her eyes swept over the foil and the fallen hat. Darwin half expected her to ask something—because her curiosity is something she’d never stifled—but instead she looked at the two of them in front of her and huffed.

Darwin was going to ask about that, because something about that confused him, almost as if she had caught something he didn’t, but in that moment, there was an audible pop from inside and a cheer from Mr. Dad.

“Well this has been fun, but I’m afraid I had enough heart-to-hearts today to last me until college.” Gumball stood up and dusted the dirt from his sweater. “Think we can sneak something for an early dessert while Mom isn’t looking?”

“Why, I think we can.” He looked at Anais. “Wanna join?”

She sighed, but there was a hint of a smile. “Well, for the right portion, someone has to keep lookout.”

“Oh yeah.” He rubbed his fins together. “This will so go better than the time we tried to get that chocolate bar.”

Gumball slipped back inside. “Less talking, more action. I want something sweet and am not waiting for Dad to come sniffing around.”

Anais was quick to follow, but Darwin took one last look at the sky, then at the lack of light in the house, and tentatively smiled.

“Everything will blow over soon,” he whispered, then hurried inside before the other two could start arguing over who got what share of whatever spoils they get.