Work Text:
CW: Implied Arby's Death
Tavros didn't know what to think as he stared at the abandoned Arby's, trying to ignore the demolition notice that the city's 'Deadly mold inspector' pasted so intrusively on its front door a month ago. This wasn't the first time he'd seen that notice, but if the city was true to the date and time written on its hastily printed flyer, it would be the last.
He did know one thing. It wasn't right. Tavros was only on his second year of troll high school, meaning that he'd just come to appreciate the true joy of pre troll marching band second lunch. While all the popular kids wasted money at Trollpotlé and (eugh) brought snacks from home, Tavros knew that the glare of that gigantic red cowboy hat was his personal beacon, leading him from the stormy sea of his life (literally, it was pouring rain outside) towards the home he'd never known. A lump grew in his throat as he placed a hand on the shining frosty glass, ignoring the telltale creak of severely weakened building structure as he began to reminisce.
Oh, how the musky odor of broiled deli meat always ensconced in his waiting nostrils every time he entered his checkerboard haven. How, when his eyes set on the delicate folds of gyro meat lying uneaten by a trashcan, Tavros forgot the person he was, and remembered the hero he could be. Arbys (Arby's?? fuck.) was more than the place where Tavros spent two marvelously cold weeks hiding from Vriska after the owners went on vacation and the employees apparently abandoned the shop, and it was more than the actually incredible ketchup anime art art posted on its twitter. Arby's was Tavros's heart (transplant) when it started beating again after a twelve hour surgery following a dare to consume 30 mustard soaked roast beef cheddars; Arby's was his heat in an unforgiving snowpocalpse when his 'friends' ran out of space in the car so he had to wheel back to his house. It wasn't just a place to eat. This was Arby's. This was his home.
Tavros pressed his lips to the cold, aspestos ridden Arby's glass door window as tears began to run down his face. Then, he pressed his lips to it again, and ran his sweat and rain-dew soaked hands over the door. After a beat of unchecked tension, Tavros began PG uwuing and PG-13 On Hon Hon~ing his Arby's with the passion and love of an otaku during a one night theater showing of an anime film. The moment of unrestrained TV-Y7 panky tank wink wonk only served to deepen Tavros's adoration for the Arby's. Arbys was his, gorgeheck it! Why did this cruel world have to take it away?
Tavros wanted to stay. He could do that, right? Camp out by the desolate building in the middle of the parking lot all night, use his timid, Bronco Berry sauce drenched vocal chords to scream his head off at the workers who arrived in the morning. If they demolished Arby's, they demolished him! Not that it would actually stop anyone, he hadn't been a stranger to giant wrecking balls shattering his weakened bones since Vriska got into Miley Cyrus. But maybe an excruciating, bone crushing demise with Arby's was better than life without it. After all, what did he have, if he didn't have this building?
Like a cut take from the deepest pits of children's cartoon casting, a voice called out to him. Though he was barely able, Tavros felt like he'd summoned the strength of a thousand Arby's box cutout Vegetas (Seriously LOOK AT their twitter!) when he paused his weep-kissing to listen.
Something like a serial killer laugh echoed out of the completely abandoned building, and for the first time in a while, Tavros looked, really looked at Arby's. It wasn't just his restaurant, no, his lover anymore, but something more that even Tavros couldn't describe. He and Arbys would always have something, even if its physical form was gone.
"Tavros," Arby's said, voice comforting like nails on a thousand chalkboards, "We have the meats."
Tavros sniffled as he heard it, a smile breaking at his frown despite the tears that continued their flow down onto his- oh whoops, glass-shard-shredded cheeks, and hand too. He hadn't noticed, but the frosted door glass was cracked beyond repair, and had been that whole time. Probably the work of one of Arby's weekly burglars getting one last score, but even after that realization Tavros didn't feel stolen from. He laughed as he began to understand. Even if Arby's was blown off the face of this planet for being a child injuring, health code violating, eye strain inducing death trap, a part of it would always be with him- the three pieces of smokehouse brisket lodged perfectly in his clavicle. The meat.
With one last, loving look, Tavros shook the glass out of his hands and placed them firmly on his wheelchair, rolling out of the abandoned parking lot. He angled his wheels toward the infinite horizon with a smile full of sadness but also certainty, and a heart full of longing, but also pickle brine. As he set off on that stormy Tuesday into the unknown, Tavros didn't look back once.
He had the meats.