Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Gee Brain, what’re we gonna do tonight?”

“The same thing we do every night, Pinky. Try to take over the world!”

In front of a pair of genetically mutated lab mice laid sheets of blueprints and maps and cartography of the plumbing system in Burbank.

“If I can successfully blah blah this pipe and get the flow here, I can big word big word big word blah blah blah...” While Brain explained his plan, Pinky had begun to zone out. Out of where? Where was he again? He squinted at a sign on the wall. “Property of ACME Labs.” A lab? Like a Labrador Retriever? Oh, how he loved dogs! He wondered if there were any in the building. What would it be called?

“Pinky,” Brain demanded, snapping him out of his thoughts, “are you pondering what I’m pondering?” Pinky put a thinking finger to his chin. “Well, I think so, Brain, but wouldn’t they want to call it The Lab Lab?” Brain rubbed an exasperated hand down his face. “No, Pinky. If we unplug this section of the city’s dihydrogen monoxide, we’ll be reigned as heroes! Then, we can use our status to move up in the invisible hierarchy of American society.” “Dye Kylie Jenner what now?” Brain bopped Pinky on the head.

The pair of mice made their way through the underground tunnels of the city, Brain holding a map, acting as navigator. Pinky, on the other hand, was practically bouncing with every step and pointed out all the “funny, silly-willy thingies” in the drainage system to their right. “Pinky, that’s literal garbage. Litter,” Brain admonished. Pinky pouted but otherwise said nothing, following Brain obediently.

“These sewers smell absolutely rancid,” Brain whined, holding his nose while glancing at the wall. “I’m not sure what being rapid has to do with the smell of the sewer, but it sure does smell bad down here,” Pinky agreed. Pinky heard Brain sigh. The smell was making his nose all tingly, but not in a fun way. It made his tummy feel like a rollie pollie, all scrunched up in a ball. But not the good kind of scrunched-up, like when Brain patted him on the head. This scrunched-up made Pinky want to pull his nose out through his tail!

“My tummy’s all scrunchy, Brain,” Pinky moaned. “I’m sure it’s just nausea. This smell is admittedly disorienting.” Brain confirmed, scratching his nose with a paw. “Okay, Pinky. We’re looking for a label that says ‘PABR-7.1.29.’ Be on the lookout,” the large-headed mouse instructed. “Yes, Brain,” Pinky happily agreed, doing a mock salute.

A few minutes later, Brain happily gasped and pointed to black, faded letters on the sloped wall. “Look! We’re at the right pipe! Now, all we need to do is unblock the tunnel. However, there are very exact places we need to be lest the water be behind the blockage and sweep us away.”

The blockage in question was a pile of garbage and litter, not allowing the water to get through. However, there was a soup can in the middle that was the essential structural support for the pile. If the two removed it, Brain calculated, the water would come gushing through.

As the mice got into position, Pinky couldn’t help but let his mind wander. If this was the icky, stinky water that made his tummy all scrunchy, why would he and Brain unblock it? The stinky smelly water would get everywhere! Pinky frowned. His task was to run down, remove the can, and hop back up on Brain’s signal.

Pinky glanced at Brain, who brought two fingers to his head and pointed them at ninety degrees from his head, signaling Pinky’s leave. What Brain had failed to calculate, however, was that the water breaking through the wall and Pinky’s tendency to get distracted would not go hand-in-hand.

However, it was not until Pinky had completed his task that Brain found this to be a certainty.

As Pinky popped the can out of its place, he only heard Brain shout, “Pinky, move!” and the half-second of funny rumbly tumbly sounds started before he was given a big push! He started moving super sonic fast!

“Pinky!” Brain panicked as he watched his friend colleague get swept away, helpless to the strength of the current. He rushed along the pipes he stood on, looking for a break in the tunneling where he could safely and securely find and retrieve Pinky.

Pinky giggled at the intensity of the push, but quickly realized this ride wasn’t as fun as it seemed as he inhaled water when he opened his mouth. He helplessly flailed his arms, trying to break the surface, but was only shoved under by debris or heavy waves. He wanted to cry, or scream out, but water just kept overtaking him. He began to panic and try to swim upwards, but was thrown under by a wave of litter. His limbs betrayed him and wilded without Pinky’s internal consent. The panic began to set in heavier.

Brain continued to run, faster and faster. His side was cramped, and his vision was blurry. He threw all ideas about taking over the world aside as he dismissed his dignity and began to run on all fours along the pipes on the wall.

Pinky groaned as the water continued to give him a big, crushing hug. Inside and out. His chest felt like it was on fire. That was funny, Pinky absentmindedly thought. How could it be on fire if it was underwater? Terror and raw panic gripped him like a large, crushing weight, thrust upon his chest, ready to break him at any moment. He flailed, trying to swim again, but his limbs were sore and tired. He tried to push himself upwards, only to get shoved under further.

Brain blinked his eyes dry and pushed onward, frantically scanning for his friend. He didn’t know how long Pinky’s lung capacity would last him.

Pinky felt like he was being squished under a giant boot or foot or something. His head felt heavy and his chest felt tingly. He felt extremely tired for no reason, and recognized he was involuntarily letting out a breath. His eyelids felt like anvils (and oh, wouldn’t that hurt? He supposed it hurt now anyway), slowly falling, falling... falling...

Chapter Text

After running and running and running, Brain gave a nervous laugh of relief as he found a platform by the water that stood above the rushing water. He made a beeline for the solid ground, standing on the very edge and watching for Pinky. “Come on, come on...” he grumbled, exasperated and panicked. “Pinky!”

Pinky let his eyes slowly close as he listened to someone shouting something that vaguely sounded like his name. Brain, he thought. He wanted to see Brain, but he couldn’t. He felt like he was going to fall asleep before he could. Goodnighty night-night, Brain, he thought, mind drifting away.

“Pinky! Pinky, where are you?” Brain shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. Brain anxiously looked around, desperate to find his lanky companion. He had been underwater for about 30 seconds. Any longer and Pinky would... He shook his head.

Brain snagged a metal pole out of the water, hoping to use it to catch his friend. He poked and prodded obscure items in the water, lifting them, hoping, begging, praying they were Pinky.

When there was no sign of him, Brain heaved an anxious breath. “Come on, come on!” Brain wailed. Suddenly, he saw a vague white mass of color in the water and slid the pole in front of it, stopping it and sliding it under to pull it out.

Brain’s breath caught in his throat as he brought the mass out of the water. He almost dropped it when he saw it was, in fact, his friend. He quickly pulled the pole back and heaved his arms under the armpits of his friend, catching him in the crooks of his elbows. Pinky’s head lolled back onto Brain’s chest, causing Brain to flush slightly. Dragging Pinky considerably far enough away from the water (at least, in Brain’s opinion) he gently lowered his friend to the ground.

Brain tentatively reached out a paw to feel his friend’s stagnant chest. “Pinky...?” he whimpered in a small voice. He shook his friend lightly but to no avail. He could almost hear the water sloshing about in his tiny lungs. “Please don’t do this to me, Pinky,” Brain demanded, his voice growing shaky. He nervously lifted up the limp paw closest to him. Pressing his thumb to the wrist, he felt for a heartbeat. He sat there anxiously for a moment, feeling like he was choking. The world as he knew it felt like it was coming to an end. Suddenly, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when the smallest of thumps kissed his thumb.

Hesitantly, he laid his head to the side to press his ear to the drenched chest fur of his friend. There was still a heartbeat, though dangerously slow. Brain put his hands one over the other on Pinky’s chest and did compressions, hoping to force the water out. Pinky’s blue lips had yet to move. Brain did chest compressions for what felt like lifetimes (but what was probably, more realistically, minutes).

Brain frowned, his eyesight blurry. “P-Pinky, if you... if you die, I-I’ll resuscitate you... and kill you again...” Brain scolded softly, voice trembling. Brain furrowed his brow, the lack of inane rambling becoming louder than Pinky ever was. Brain did chest compressions again, but was startled when Pinky’s chest began to move up and down erratically. He’s choking! Brain realized. He rolled his friend over onto his stomach and lifted his face and chest off the ground. As soon as he did that, the chest heaving looked more like coughing as his friend’s body forced the water out of his lungs. He pat Pinky’s back gently, hoping to help force some of the water out.

Brain looked at his friend anxiously. Pinky, who was still unconscious, looked like he was choking still. Brain wrapped his arms around Pinky’s waist and shoved them upwards forcefully, hoping the Heimlich Maneuver would get the rest of the water out. Thankfully, it did.

Pinky laid limp in Brain’s arms, wheezing as his body breathed air once more. He gasped for air in his sleep, savoring the taste of the oxygen in his mouth rather than water. He was trembling, exhausted and cold and empty-feeling. Brain checked his pulse again, relieved when it was closer to the average speed than before. Brain looked around, eyes locking on the ladder to the manhole cover.

After forcing the lid open, Brain climbed back down, panting, and carried Pinky on his back. After getting out of the manhole, Brain, not bothering to push the lid back, made a beeline for the lab.

Chapter Text

Pinky squealed in delight as he bobbed around on the horse he was riding. Oh, how fun! It felt like he really was bouncing up and down! Pinky laughed an held onto the neck of the horse. However, his joy faded when his ears were filled with the sound of rushing water. It was going to take him away again, it-

Brain turned off the sink, using the filled thimble to rinse Pinky’s fur, which had been dirtied by sewer water. Pinky had been laid out on a hand towel, so as to keep the counter dry. Brain cringed as his friend groaned in his sleep, feeling the water. Ironically, while Pinky was the larger of the two, to Brain, he seemed so small in that moment. He refilled the thimble, and gently poured it over his friend again, massaging and working his paws through his fur to remove dirt or debris. When he decided he’d done a good enough job, Brain took a separate hand towel and wrapped it around Pinky, scrubbing him until he was almost dry.

Brain, had the situation been different, would have smiled. Pinky with his fur sticking out in all different directions as he sleepily allowed Brain to take care of him was adorab- Brain scowled. That was not the word he was looking for. Pathetic, Brain thought. Yes, that was the word. It was pathetic. But it was very Pinky. The stout mouse took the softest cloth he could find in the lab (it was fluffy too, he noted) and wrapped it around his friend after he removed the towel. Brain looked at his friend adoringly. He looked so sweet and- no! He needed to focus.

He lifted Pinky bridal style and brought him into the cage, laying him down flat on the sponge bed. He made sure the blanket was still rolled around him before laying their regular blanket over him. Brain sat at Pinky’s side, running his eyes over him many a time. Hesitantly, he reached out a paw and gently stroked Pinky’s head. He felt himself growing warm with infatuation and embarrassment. Well, specifically, his hand was warm. The hand he had on Pinky’s head, that was.

Brain paused. That wasn’t right. He felt Pinky’s forehead with the back of his hand. Warmth spread once again. It was only warm when it touched Pinky’s head and then the realization set in. His friend had a high fever. Brain frowned. Pinky had very likely gotten pneumonia from inhaling nasty, cold sewer water. Brain sighed, getting up to make a cold press for Pinky. He turned on the tap to cool water, tearing a square of paper towel and folding it into a small rectangle. Returning to the cage, he laid the cool pad of paper atop his friend’s forehead. He frowned at his state. Only hours ago had the two been acting normal, doing their nightly taking-over-the-world shenanigans. Now, his friend could have a fatal illness and there was hardly anything he could do.

However, Brain flushed as a realization halted his pondering. He had subconsciously been stroking his friend’s head the whole time. He bit back a small smile and felt his own face heat up. Looking at Pinky’s current state, haggard but innocent and peaceful, he vowed himself to stay by his side until he was completely well again.

Well, not literally. He needed a drink, and he knew Pinky did too. He sat up to fill up a thimble.

Pinky’s sight blurred into his consciousness as he felt a metal brim on his lip and water pouring gently into his mouth, a soft pressure holding his head up. His eyes went wide, panicking. If he drank any more water, he’d surely drown! He bolted upright and away from the item he recognized as a thimble, disillusioned and terrified. His heart pounded in his ears, a thankful reminder that he was still alive but a bitter reminder yet of his panic. He heard a fuzzy voice call for him. He breathed in and out quickly, trying to shove the reminder out of his head when suddenly he was lightheaded. Then, he felt a weight on his shoulder gently push him back onto the bed. A weight settled onto the sponge next to him.

“Pinky?” Brain asked tentatively, keeping a reassuring paw on Pinky’s shoulder. “Pinky, please calm down,” he stated sternly, watching Pinky’s rapid breaths come to slow. Pinky looked at him tiredly, and his condition made Brain’s heart shatter. Pinky turned his head to Brain, ready to speak, before he was plagued with a coughing fit. It sounded painful and heavy. Pinky felt like there was water in his lungs... oh. His coughing fit lasted about five more seconds, concerning Brain further.

“Pinky...?” Brain asked more gently than he ever had. “Are you alright? What hurts?” his large-headed friend asked again, feeling Pinky’s damp forehead. “Brain...” Pinky heaved. His voice sounded raspy and tired and the vibrating in his chest felt funny. And not the good funny. “Mh... my chest... feels funny,” he wheezed, panting at the small exertion of effort. “How so, Pinky?” Brain inquired kindly, overjoyed to hear Pinky’s voice again, in any capacity, but disheartened by the circumstances. “It... it feels like... the litt-the little tingles... in the ground when you have... extra loud mh... music on.” Brain gave him a confused look for a minute before becoming worrisome at the small gasps for air Pinky had made for. What did he mean, “tingles from loud music?” Brain held a paw to his chin before it hit him. Vibrations. Pinky was talking about vibrations.

“Okay, okay. That’s all I need to know. Thank you, Pinky.” Brain assured, patting Pinky’s shoulder. “But Brain...” Pinky coughed. Brain frowned. “I don’t want you to talk any more than you need to,” Brain stated firmly. Pinky nodded, giving a small grunt in affirmation.

After throwing away the now-room-temperature cold compress, Brain hurriedly looked up methods for curing pneumonia. He scanned the medicines with his eyes, looking for a common one that might’ve been in the lab.

“Doxycycline, cefpodoxime, azithromycin...” Brain murmured, reading through the names. “Yes! Amoxicillin!” He headed towards the drawers of the lab counters, scrounging for the orange bottle.  After two minutes of searching, he procured it and made way to the cage, where Pinky was nearly asleep. Brain broke the chalky fifty milligram tablet in half, filling the thimble.

“Pinky, I have something for you.” At this, Pinky lifted his head off the pillow a little bit, completely drained of energy. “Here,” Brain said simply, offering the half-pill and thimble. “What’s this?” Pinky’s hoarse and quiet voice asked. “It’s medication to make you feel better. You put the pill in your mouth, then you take a drink of water and swallow them both,” Brain explained patiently.

He was taken by surprise as Pinky made a physical effort to sit up and scoot away. “W-water?” the lanky asked in a painstakingly small voice. “I... I don’t want— wh-what if it... what if... I-I...” Pinky heaved, holding either side of his head and rocking back and forth. Brain rushed to comfort him. “Pinky, it’s alright. You’re okay.” Brain carefully set his items down to gently grab Pinky’s hands away from his face and replace them with his own. He felt his face heat up at the proximity, but focused on the circumstances. “You are very sick and you need antbiotics. I know the thought of water is scary right now, but I promise you’ll be alright.”

Pinky trembled, but nodded nonetheless. He took the pill and the water, shaking. “Luckily, you don’t seem to have brain hypoxia, injury, or trauma. Seeing as we don’t have the equipment to test that at the moment, we will have to wait and see.” Brain plopped down on the bed next to Pinky. “Brain... who’s... who’s Hypoxia... and... and why are they named a-after you?” Pinky inquired, genuinely curious. Brain hid a chuckle by clearing his throat, relieved and somewhat amused that Pinky’s habitual line of thinking and tendency to take things literally stuck. “N-no, Pinky. Brain hypoxia is not a person. It’s a condition where there’s not enough oxygen getting to the brain. The brain in your head that is, not myself.”

Brain felt the skin around his nose and eyes warm as Pinky nodded blankly, likely not understanding a word he said but giving him a small, kind smile anyways. Hesitant but feeling brave, Brain reached out a paw and ran it through the tuft of fur on Pinky’s head. His face warmed (and it felt like the sunshine on his face through the slit of a curtain on a hot day) as Pinky closed his half-lidded eyes and leaned into the touch gently. Brain brushed the messy fur out of Pinky’s eyes before pulling their shared blanket over both of them. Brain tucked Pinky into the fluffy blanket as well, hoping to help his body temperature regulate. He had scooted closer to his friend while doing this, and Pinky had unconsciously nuzzled into his face into Brain’s chest.

Brain sighed. Had these been normal circumstances, Brain would’ve rolled Pinky right out of bed. However, out of sympathy (and the very much still-needed reminder that his cagemate was alive and breathing), Brain laid an arm over Pinky’s neck, feeling his taller friend curve so as to fit the shape. It’s like a puzzle, trying to sleep in the same bed as this one, Brain thought amusedly. He felt a small wave of confidence in that moment, heart pounding. He gently planted a kiss atop Pinky’s forehead, leaning to whisper to him. “Goodnight, Pinky.”

“G’m-night, Brain...” came the sleepy and spaced response. The mouse in question blushed but didn’t continue further, falling asleep to the soft tickle of Pinky’s breath on his chest.

Chapter Text

Brain sat up with a start. He didn’t know how, but he could subconsciously tell Pinky was missing. His bed seemed smaller than normal. The eerie abstract art pieces hung around the lab were not giving him any sense of relief. “Pinky?” Brain hesitantly looked around, eyes landing on Billie, who was in her cage next to him. “Billie!” Brain shouted, rushing over and gripping the bars of the cage. “Billie, have you seen Pinky?” he huffed. “Sorry, Brain. I haven’t. Last I heard, they were taking one of us to The Pool.” Brain frowned. “Where’s The Pool?” he asked desperately. “If I had an idea, I’d tell you,” Billie shrugged. “Did you see who it was?” Brain questioned. “I told you, I don’t know. Go find your friend if that’ll make you happy.”

Brain looked around exasperatedly, a muffled sound of water flowing coming from behind the door to the lab. It felt like it was echoing around the whole room. Where’s that damned door? Brain worried. Finally, his eyes set on a door. He left the cage, looking back only to see that Billie and her cage had both vacated. He frowned and hopped off the counter.

He ran to the door and opened it, expecting to be drenched. Instead, he was completely fine. He walked into the small, dimly lit room and looked around, seeing a pool of water in front of him. In the water was Pinky, desperately gripping the side of the pool like he was being sucked in. Pinky grunted as he tried to hold on. “Pinky!” Brain yelped, shooting over to him. As soon as Brain had Pinky’s hand in his reach, Pinky was sucked away, his scream echoing in the room. “Pinky?” Brain called. “Pinky?!”

He felt like his heart would break out of his chest. He was right in his grasp... he had been right there.

The megalomaniac ran around the room, searching under every random nook and cranny for Pinky. Brain felt like he had been looking for lifetimes. He found himself at the edge of the pool again, which was now empty. At the bottom, Pinky stood straight and completely healthy. “Pinky!” Brain rushed down to greet him, opening his arms for an embrace. He was disappointed when he slipped through Pinky. He turned around to see Pinky staring down at his eyes almost glowing.

“What did I do wrong, Brain? Why’d you let me go?” Pinky asked in a small voice that ironically felt like it was shaking the entire room. “I-I... I didn’t! I would never!” Brain shook. “Why did you let me go?” The sound echoed throughout the room, pounding in the shorter mouse’s ears. Brain opened his mouth to answer before his vision went black.

Brain jerked awake, trembling. He sat up and looked around. He was still in his own bed in his own cage. He frantically swiveled his head, searching for Pinky. He sighed in relief when he saw that the aforementioned mouse was still curled up next to him. Though not looking entirely healthy (well, looking quite the mess actually, what with the messy fur and kicked-off blankets), his friend certainly did look more content and not eerily disturbing. His mouth was open a bit, a small pool of drool on his pillow, and a small whistling sound came from his nose. He smiled, recalling the time Pinky had accused him of doing the same.

Brain gently stroked the messy tuft of fur on the top of Pinky’s head. He was as feverish as before and definitely still sick. Brain sighed, producing the second half of the pill Pinky had taken the night previous and filled a thimble with water. Glancing at the clock, he realized it was about five in the morning, much too early for scientists to come in. Brain brought the supplements over to the bed, placing them at the “foot.” Pinky sat up slowly, eyes following Brain.

“What are you doin’, Brain?” he asked in that hoarse voice. Brain winced when he heard it. “Just, ah, getting your medicine.” He watched Pinky slowly blink at him. A moment of silence passed before Pinky hummed in agreement. “Sorry, Brain. My brain doesn’t feel as fast as it used to be,” Pinky explained. Brain rolled his eyes. “Yes, because your brain was faster than the speed of light before now,” he retorted sarcastically. Brain turned to speak again before Pinky started having a coughing fit. It sounded blocked, like something was in his throat. Brain grabbed a tissue and handed it to the other mouse, who seemed to be coughing his lungs out.

When he was finished, and the larger coughs had seceded, Pinky wearily looked up at Brain, folding the tissue as he did. “Brain, a bunch of,” he coughed sharply again, “weird light-yellowy stuff came,” another cough, “out.” Brain frowned, but realized Pinky had most likely just coughed up phlegm or mucus. As disgusting as it was, it was better than blood, Brain supposed. He gave Pinky the half-pill and the water, both of which he took. Brain did note, however, that Pinky was hesitant around the water, even after Brain had reassured him.

Sighing, the large-headed mouse sat on the bed next to his friend, cautiously reaching up a hand to rub comforting and reassuring circles into said friend’s back. Pinky leaned on him, exhausted from even the smallest of effort exerted. When Brain looked at Pinky from here, he realized just how truly sick Pinky was. The bags under his eyes and the paleness of his skin under his fur, the constant chills he would get even under two blankets, the sweating, everything. He sighed again, leaning further into his friend’s side. However, he was only disappointed further because when he leaned against Pinky like this, he could hear the pneumatic rattling in Pinky’s lungs, a bitter reminder of the events of the night previous.

Pinky felt so warm inside. Of course, he had felt extra warm for some reason since he had been out of the stinky scrunchy water, but this was a different kind of warm. Brain voluntarily sat by him, rubbed his back, and pulled him closer. And he was never prompted or poked! Pinky smiled into the top of Brain’s head, thinking about how loud the inside must be for a smarty-smartpants like Brain. Pinky snuggled closer to Brain, feeling his eyes close by themselves.

Brain subconsciously kept rubbing Pinky’s back, considering all of the new world domination plans he could work on while Pinky was... decommissioned. Suddenly, the sound of bumbling idiots’ footsteps filled his ears. Brain glanced at the clock. 6:30 a.m. He had been sitting there for almost two hours?! He laid Pinky down on the bed and shot up, alert. He ran to the bars of the cage to listen to the scientists. They were mumbling something about a ditzy coworker. Brain rolled his eyes. I know the feeling, he thought lightheartedly. He glanced at Pinky, who was sleeping soundly, and sauntered back towards the bed, preparing to lay back down.

Chapter Text

Pinky awoke to a pounding on his head. Ears ringing, he looked around. His vision was a bit blurry, but as he woke more he realized that no one was bopping him; he simply had a migraine. He buried his face into the bed, trying to muffle the scientists. He felt Brain shuffle next to him in the bed, trying to get comfortable.

Brain typically had much less energy than Pinky, sleeping longer and hardly using the wheel. Pinky, on the other hand, had so much energy that he didn’t know what to do with it, hardly sleeping during the day because he simply didn’t need to. However, right now, it felt as though every missed hour of sleep had come back and doggypiled on top of him, bopping his head but not in the fun way like Brain but a really bad and mean way.

He pulled the blanket over his ears, chills and light coughs wracking his tired, illness-plagued body. “Mmnngh...” he moaned into the pillow, feeling like his brain was trying to demolish its way out of his head. “Pinky?” He heard Brain whisper his name. “Mmh?” “The scientists aren’t doing any experiments today. They’re leaving soon.” At that, Pinky let out a long, relieved exhale into his pillow, making a peephole to look at Brain.

When he did, he made eye contact, which made his face feel all warm again like when you smush your face into newly dried laundry.

Mmm... warm laundry... that sounded so comfortable right about now. Wait, what was I thinking about...? Oh! Oh yeah! Brain!

Brain was staring right into him with an emotion he had never seen before. He let his half-lidded eyes close with contentment as Brain gently mussed the tuft of fur on his head. He gave one last grateful look at Brain before closing his eyes to doze off.

Brain felt like his heart was full as Pinky nodded off, a small, sincere smile on his face. The scientists continued to ditz about, though quieter than before. The scientists poured food pellets in the food bowl and refilled their water bottle. Brain watched them with a suspicious eye, suspense laying low in his gut. When the scientists left and turned the lights off, Brain finally stood and looked outside of the cage. It seemed to have been abandoned for the day. Files that had been strewn about were layered neatly in a holder, every animal had their food and water refilled, and notes were shoved in a drawer.

Brain cautiously peered out the bars, looking once more for any sign of the scientists. When it came to be conducive that they would not return, Brain turned to his sardine tin, pulling out the previous night’s blueprints and marking large Xs on them with his pencil. “‘Loss of risk... much too high...’” he mumbled as he scribbled vigorously on the blueprints.

Brain sat there, uncomfortably rereading and rereading the blueprints, looking for where he went wrong. If his internal sense of time was correct, he’d been doing this for approximately fifteen to twenty or thirty minutes. He turned at the faint sound of footsteps behind him.

“Pinky, go back to bed,” Brain admonished, trying to keep a level tone. Pinky’s ears flopped down as he nervously poked his fingers together.

“Erm... I feel like I can’t... it’s like, uh...” he paused, thinking of an analogy, “Oh! It’s like when you drink caffeine. Well, I don’t quite feel that awake, but I do feel less sleepy. Poit.” he finished.

Brain looked at the unusually soft-spoken mouse. “It’s just one of your random bursts of energy, I’m sure it will pass,” Brain said, flicking a dismissive hand. “Oh. Zort,” Pinky said again, voice hoarse.

He coughed for a second before nervously glancing around the cage. He knew he couldn’t run, but he had more energy than he had had since... the last time he had energy. He nervously wrung his tail between his paws out of habit, rocking anxiously from one foot to another. “Pinky, please! At least just... sit down,” Brain pleaded, and it almost sounded like a question.

Pinky went to answer before entering another coughing fit. Brain glanced at him in concern, but he waved him off. “I... I’m alright, Brain,” he coughed, “just...” He paused. What was he thinking about? “I, er, forgot what I was gonna say.”

Pinky watched Brain roll his eyes. However, the small twitch at the end of his crooked tail insisted he was otherwise concerned.

He sighed, anxiously glancing around. He paced around nervously, not wanting to disturb Brain, but not knowing what to do with this newfound energy. His heart felt like it was running a marathon and he hadn’t even done anything. He paced further, stopping when he felt a weird feeling in his chest.

Brain turned his head to the sound of wheezing behind him. “Pinky?” he cautioned himself. “Brain... it’s okay, really!” Pinky assured. However, Brain saw the telltale signs of severe illness when his companion was suddenly panting, fur damp with sweat.

“Gee, it sure is... cold in here...” he heaved, seemingly out of breath.

“Pinky, you need to sit down. You’re going to get even more sick,” Brain instructed kindly. He put a gentle paw on Pinky’s back, almost reeling when the slight touch saw to Pinky’s knees and made them tremble, the gangly mouse on the collapse. Brain caught his friend before he could fully fall.

“Brain... it... it’s okay... I-I’m just... really tired,” Pinky wheezed. Brain frowned, laying Pinky down onto the sponge bed gently. “Mmh... my head feels... like... like a heartbeat...” Pinky murmured into Brain’s chest, leaning into him.

Brain felt his face heat up, but cleared his throat. “Wh... yes, I’m sure.” Pinky frowned, squeezing his eyes closed. “It’s’a thump-thump-thumpin’... in my ears...” Pinky drawled. Brain shifted to sit more comfortably, Pinky following in his footsteps.

Brain blushed as he felt his companion worm into a comfortable position (which so happened to leave Pinky’s head in his lap, his body coiled tight). His friend shivered in his sleep (which had, surprisingly, befallen Pinky rather quickly), so Brain tugged the corner of one of the blankets over Pinky.

It was long enough to cover his midsection; he was not too exposed to the cold but not so covered his fever would make him overheat. At the thought of the fever, Brain pressed his palm to Pinky’s forehead. It was warmer than it had been previously.

The large-cranium-adorning mouse slumped over in exasperation, pondering a solution to his friend’s extremity. Absentmindedly, his hand reached downward in a scratching motion, subconscious overpowering his motor functions, heading for a spot behind Pinky’s ear.

Brain started, almost jumping out of his skin, when he felt a movement jerk the blanket and the corner of the bed. He sighed fondly when he saw it was Pinky’s leg, kicking as it did when he got scratched in just the right spot. Brain resumed the scratching, and the leg thumped again, twitching habitually. Brain chuckled at his friend’s subconscious behavior. Things will be better soon, Brain reminded himself, feeling through the damp fur on Pinky’s head with his fingers. Pinky smiled in his sleep. Brain blushed; maybe he could allow this small display of affection.

Maybe.

Chapter Text

Days passed as Pinky slept them away. Under normal circumstances, the silence would have been pleasant, and possibly even welcome.

Keyword: normal.

Brain sighed. His current happenings were the adverse to the word; that is, to say, they were anything but normal.

The fever seemed almost stagnant, but as Brain had recorded them over the eight days Pinky had been submitted to this illness, it had exponentially grown higher.

Dangerously higher. The cranially-sound mouse’s lips pulled down in a tight frown, face drooping like the jowls on either side of the aforementioned oral orifice. He had given Pinky half an amoxicillin everyday and had even gotten him to eat at least a bite of a food pellet everyday.

It’s not that Pinky wasn’t hungry, because he was, and Brain could tell: it was that his throat was so sore and his larynx had definitely experienced extreme swelling from the chafing coughs traveling through it everyday. Paired with extreme exhaustion, a desire to ingest nutrition wasn’t exactly the first thing on Pinky’s mind.

Such is the case with pneumatic chest-plaguing.

Brain was shaken out of his thoughts when, once again, the grating and almost seal-like wheezing erupted again. Even while Pinky was sleeping, ever plague him the coughs did. The megalomaniac tended to the concoction of new world domination plans in the meantime between doting to monitoring Pinky.

The poor gangly mouse had been so upset when he learned he wouldn’t be able to take over the world.

“Not in this state,” Brain had admonished.

The large-headed mouse in question felt better, however, when appeared upon the sunny mouse’s face the smile in knowing his intellectual friend wouldn’t conquer the world sans himself.

Brain had decidedly obfuscated some rather nice ones in terms of plans, and had discharged some others. While Pinky, ever the halfwitted ignoramus, dozed away, Brain couldn’t help but feel a creative block. Of course, that was not to say he wasn’t intellectual—he was, indubitably—it was just that some of Pinky’s inane, moronic ramblings and nonsense sentences made by stringing random words together had given insight and inspiration to some of Brain’s better plans.

There was a sort of bounteous, generous sense of isolation in that no nonsensical comments or unrelated responses sang in the air. The almost musical weight about the fanatical Cockney accent spewing silly nonwords was almost painful.

Days continued to pass, plans continued to be written, pills continued to be given, sleep continued to be slept.

Louder than Pinky ever could be was the silence draping the cage, swelling it like a tangible, ghastly mist. Brain decided it was time to put his plans away for today.

Chapter Text

It had been twelve days since the illness that had plagued Pinky had emerged. The scientists, of course, had taken notice of the lack of vivacity in the hyperactive mouse, taking him away to do minor blood tests and such. Brain didn’t mind; perhaps it could do him some good.

He heard the scientists discussing a cure or treatment for this seemingly “atypical phenomena,” making Brain feel evermore guilty. Pinky had at once reassured him, verbatim, that it, “wasn’t his fault. You’re not a tectonic plate anyways, Brain.”

Perhaps Pinky had some neurons in there somewhere. Too bad often they were misplaced.

These days, after the scientists had begun taking the lanky mouse in and out of the cage for reasons various, the mouse in question had become more and more awake.

With awakeness came company and with awakeness came delirium. With awakeness came normality.

Brain appreciated that. The effervescence of Pinky’s delirious rambles gave him a sense of sanity. It was oxymoronic, in a way, that Pinky’s lunacy brought about the phrenic nerves’ ability in Brain’s head to work to their full capacity. Pinky’s wild behavior (though here, of course, it was dampened) brought about Brain’s sense of serenity. Pinky was a walking juxtaposition to Brain’s own mind.

Delirium plagued Pinky, infecting every conversation. Brain had to shake himself when he found himself wishing for silence once more. He appreciated Pinky’s idiocy. In small doses. However, Pinky tended to distort even the simplest of conversations or thoughts in his head.

One of them went as follows.

~~

“Brain?” Pinky called from the bed, having retired to it early.

“Hm?” Brain looked over his shoulder.

“How does one... wish on a paw?” the tall mouse inquired.

“What?” Brain asked, confused.

“If you’re given a monkey paw, why would you wish on it?” Pinky questioned.

Brain, even more confused, demanded, “Pinky, what in the sweet name and study of Sir Isaac Newton are you talking about?”

“‘The Monkey’s Paw,’ Brain,” Pinky responded, tone astonished as if it were obvious what he was talking about.

“What monkey?” Brain asked, irritation festering.

“No, not a monkey, Brain. Just the paw. ‘The Monkey’s Paw,’” Pinky giggled.

The back-and-forth continued until Brain realized that Pinky was not talking about a primate’s motor appendage, but rather a narrative of the same name.

~~

Brain sighed, reminiscence cut short when he heard his cagemate speak.

“Brain... could you read me a story?” his pathetic friend asked hoarsely. Today was one of those days where the illness was particularly heavy on his throat, it seemed (there were days where his throat didn’t hurt so bad, and there were days where it was especially worse), and Brain felt such guilt that forced him to comply.

He swallowed deeply. “Yes, Pinky. I’ll read you a story.” He heard Pinky hum in contentment, not much inclined to do else.

Brain unlocked the cage with his tail, fetching a book of short stories. “Alright, Pinky, I’ve found one we haven’t read,” he called, thumbing through the pages as he reentered the cage.

He sat down by the bed not unlike a parent or guardian with a child and held the book in front of him, clearing his throat.

“‘In the living room the voice-clock sang, Tick-tock, seven o'clock, time to get up, time to get up, seven o 'clock! as if it were afraid that nobody would.

The morning house lay empty. The clock ticked on, repeating and repeating its sounds into the emptiness.

Seven-nine, breakfast time, seven-nine! ’ ”

...

As Pinky shifted in the bed, almost asleep, Brain snapped the book closed. Pinky nearly jumped out of his own skin. “And that, Pinky, was ‘There Will Come Soft Rains’ by Ray Bradbury.” How can rain be soft? Pinky thought. Brain patted his cheek with a soft paw, rising to his feet to return the book to its rightful spot.

When Brain came back, Pinky turned to see him better. “Brain,” he started, his throat sore. The mouse in question looked at him expectantly, allowing for him to continue. “Thank you, Brain. I, er... um...” Pinky paused, forgetting the word he was going to use, “... I... Oh! Yes! I appreciate the time you’ve taken out of your days to take care of me even though I’m a snoozy woozy Suzy. Poit.” He poked his pointer fingers together timidly, light coughs pelting his fragile breaths.

He couldn’t exactly place Brain’s expression. His eyebrows were jousted upwards sharply, akin to how they would act if he were surprised, but his mouth wasn’t a frown. Well, neither was it a smile, but Pinky supposed a set neutral line was better than a frown. Under his fur, Pinky could see the skin around Brain’s eyes and cheeks turning pinker than normal.

“Egad, are you sick too, Brain?” Pinky asked in a hoarse voice, quickly rising from bed to feel for a fever with the back of his palm. Brain gently grasped his wrist and lowered it. “N-no, Pinky. I’m fine. It- I...” Brain struggled for words. “Never mind. You need more rest.” He waved a dismissive hand and walked Pinky to the bed, who, in his exhaustion, had grown loopy.

As Brain tucked the blanket around Pinky, he heard his lanky friend mumble something. “Zort... love you, Brain... g’night...” he voiced sleepily, mind in Sleepworld already, thoughts en route to Dreamland.

Pinky’s kind face and messy hair, though turned away from him as he shifted in his sleep, complemented in the gauntish mouse everything Brain had come to tolerate.

Brain blushed at this, fervently embarrassed and at a loss for words. “Good-... goodnight to you, too... Pinky...” he mumbled dreamily, as if in a trancelike state.

It wasn’t nighttime.

Brain laid down, staring at the ceiling. Come to him a realization had.

He was wholly, truly in love with Pinky.

Chapter Text

“Good morning, Pinky.” Pinky awoke to Brain’s voice. “Hi, Brain!” he replied, clearing his throat. “Wow... I feel much betta’! My head still feels hurty though.”

Brain gave him a small but sincere smile, which made his tummy scrunchy again. Not the scrunchy that the stinky water gave him, or the scrunchy he got before losing his lunch, but a good one. He felt like there were little butterflies poking around inside his tummy.

“I... appreciate your return to a more normal state of wellbeing,” Brain remarked, jarring Pinky from his thoughts. Haha. Jarring. Jar. Jars. Oooh... jars. Maybe he could play in one later, they were big enough for him to play in.

Pinky giggled, thinking about playing in a jar. The shorter, more stout mouse was giving him a raised eyebrow in response.

“What are you giggling about?” Brain demanded. Pinky shook his head in a silly way. “Ah, just thinkin’ ‘bout jars! You know me,” Pinky giggled. “The fact that you can consciously think both astounds and terrifies me,” Brain responded.

Pinky gave a light cough, but found himself relieved of the wiggly worms in his chest when he did. He took the thimble Brain offered, taking a gratuitous gulp.

Wiping his lips with the back of an arm, he looked back at Brain. “Thank you, Brain!” Pinky smiled. He was surprised by the lack of extreme coarseness of his voice. There was a rasp, but he overall sounded normal. He cleared his throat, watching the back of Brain’s head as the shorter mouse sauntered around.

The smaller mouse blushed, hiding his face in a small cough, turned away. “Yes, well... you are welcome,” Brain scrambled awkwardly for words.

Pinky smiled at his fumbling friend, appreciating his friendly vulnerability when they were the only minds with conscious thought in room.

“Perhaps tonight, we can reconcile the time we—the time you spent burning the illness off by...” Brain sighed, cringing, “... watching one of those silly shows you like.” Though tone despondent, Pinky still perked up and rushed to get out of bed.

“Careful-!” Brain warned as his compatriot wobbled and planted his face into the floor. Helping him up, Brain let out a heavy exhale. “Perhaps you should... abstain from physical exertion,” he murmured, patting Pinky’s chest with his free paw as he slung his right arm around his shoulders.

Pinky pressed his weight into Brain’s side, causing Brain to stumble. He huffed under his breath, but concluded that this was not the time to yell, considering Pinky still had a fever visceral enough he could still feel it (and possibly a lingering headache, he added).

The pair reached the television, pulling the remote closer. Brain turned on the television, feeling a pang of sympathy when Pinky flinched at the sudden bright light. Turning the brightness down with the remote, Brain began to flip through the channels.

“Wait, stop!” Pinky shouted, pointing at the screen. “What?” Brain asked, concerned. “Comedy Central is playing that office show!” Pinky smiled. Brain rolled his eyes, clicking the show anyways.

“Ooooh, Brain, this is so suspenseful!” Pinky murmured, clutching Brain’s arm when the shorter mouse came to sit by him.

On screen, a man was in an interview. He was getting asked all sorts of fancy questions about his work and sales and other smartypants stuff. “Quarterly numbers?” What in the world did that mean? Pinky was pretty sure he could count his quarters on his fingers.

Brain heard Pinky let out a small gasp when the interviewee found a note and a shiny blue yogurt lid on a string of paperclips. As the man drove back home from the interview, a woman’s voice filled the air.

Pinky leaned against Brain, holding his arm tighter. “This is my favorite part,” he whispered. The large-headed mouse glanced at his friend’s face. He felt his face heat at the contentment gracing the blue-eyed mouse’s face as he watched the television. Turning his attention back to the screen, the woman speaking was in a conference room looking rather distressed.

“‘... I bet Jim got the job. I mean, why wouldn’t he? He’s totally qualified, and smart, everyone loves him… and, if he never comes back again… that’s OK. We’re friends. And I’m sure we’ll stay friends.’”

Brain frowned, feeling a bitter sense of... empathy. Surprisingly, he thought. The understanding of the woman’s situation hit him like a truck. He shook himself from his reverie, tuning back into the show.

“‘...you know? I shot him down, and then he did the same to me, and… But you know what? It’s OK. I’m totally fine. Everything is gonna be totally—‘“ At this, the previous interviewee—Jim, she had called him—leaned into the room. He addressed the woman, then camera panned to him as he apologized for interrupting. He turned to the woman again.

“‘Um, are you free for dinner tonight?’”

Brain felt Pinky give him a soft squeeze. “Oh, they’re finally...!” Brain smiled at Pinky’s apparent speechlessness as the tearful woman on screen smiled and agreed.

“‘Alright, then... it’s a date.’” On screen, Jim smiled.

Brain leaned lightly into Pinky’s touch, mind simultaneously blank and running a hundred miles per hour.

Chapter Text

Pinky set down the telephone just as Brain walked in, all clad in his almost-white light-pink button up and black pants and tie. Pinky brushed invisible dust off his own outfit, a pale blue blouse with a deep indigo cardigan, and stood.

Brain sat down at his desk opposite the rotund one at which Pinky resided. Brain picked up his ringing phone.

“Moniker’s Brain, pondering’s my game, how may I help you?” he questioned cheerfully into the receiver.

Pinky giggled at Brain’s behavior, soaking in every word he said.

He turned to the manager’s office door, which flung open to reveal Yakko Warner, who was dressed in a dark grey suit and patterned tie. “Mornin’, everybody! Another day, another nickel!” he greeted, laughing. Everyone groaned collectively.

Slappy, Ralph, and Scratchansniff from Accounting were unamused as Yakko went on one of his infamous tangents about obscure trivia. Rita, who was in Supplier Relations, and Runt, who was in Quality Assurance, both shared disgusted looks at their boss’s terrible jokes. Pinky walked up to Yakko, who was a tad shorter than him, and shook his hand, greeting him.

He felt Brain’s eyes on him as he passed him, Pesto, Squit, and Bobby from Sales.

Pinky sauntered through the office, drinking in the lovely sight of everyone intermingling peacefully.

He had made it to the water jug when the renowned troublemaking Customer Relations managers, Mindy and Buttons, dashed out the door. Pinky turned to look at them, only to find that they were already gone. As he glanced around once more, he heard Wakko and Dot from the warehouse chatting with Yakko in his office.

Pinky couldn’t make out the conversation, but it sounded fun. He scratched his head, slightly confused as to why the conversation sounded muffled when the office door was wide open. He pressed the small rubber button on the water dispenser, preparing to fill up his little paper cup, when suddenly, water burst from the spout.

The whole room was swallowed by water, all of the lights going out and his coworkers swimming out.

Pinky panicked, unable to breathe. His lungs felt like they were on fire, and he could strangely feel sweat beading on his forehead.

He heaved, feeling trapped. He opened his mouth to try screaming, but was stopped when an invisible hand covered his vocal cavity. Shadowy, amorphous extremities latched onto his arms, legs, and torso, pulling him down into a black, lifeless void that had appeared and replaced the carpeted flooring.

In a last desperate attempt to free himself, Pinky swatted the area with his arm, trying to grab Brain’s tail. He felt like his heart shattered into a million pieces when Brain looked at him, made eye contact and glared, swimming away.

The mysterious limbs squeezed him tighter, pulling harder, dragging him further, deeper.

~~~

Brain pushed himself up off the bed a bit, wiping his eyes clear of the “morning’s pixie dust,” (as Pinky had so profoundly dubbed it), groaning. He had awoken early to whimpers and shuffling around. Glancing at the clock. Two o’clock in the godforsaken morning. Damn those scientists and their artificial daytimes and nighttimes.

I just want another hour of sleep. Is that too much to ask, universe?

Brain glanced at his cagemate; immediately, the irritation dissipated.

Pinky looked absolutely distraught. He was sweating and shivering, eyebrows twitching and mouth jerking, mouthing fervently words that didn’t exist. He whimpered, clutching at the blanket desperately before rolling over.

In his sleep, Pinky felt Brain’s solid mass. His panicked mind and body, terrified and reacting instinctually, clung to Brain’s own, almost squeezing the life out of the smaller mouse. Brain’s distressed cagemate shivered as he continued to cling to Brain like a lifeline, arms wrung tight around his midsection.

Brain pushed Pinky off of him, allowing his own lungs air. The large-headed mouse bit back a scathing comment when he took in his friend’s current state.

The other mouse shivered—no, trembled—in his sleep. Beads of sweat lined his anxiously upturned brow while he furiously clung to the nearest solid object once again, this one being his pillow. His limbs and ears twitched as small tears slipped through his clenched eyelids.

His whimpers shot ice down Brain’s spine.

How could such an idiot, merely by making pathetic noises, tear at his heart this way?

Brain decided not to dwell on the answer as he laid his hand on Pinky’s head and placed the other on Pinky’s upper arm. Relieved that there was no fever, he decided that waking his friend was his next best option. Stroking gently the fur upon Pinky’s forehead, Brain softly rocked Pinky with his other arm, attempting to awaken him kindly in his moment of distress.

Brain frowned when Pinky would not awaken. He took both arms and gently shook Pinky now, more noticeably than before.

Pinky shot up, gasping for breath. The mouse clutched his chest, fiery panic still ablaze as his breathing was painful and restricted. He felt lightheaded. There was water everywhere all around him in his mouth in his lungs—

Brain felt a strong stab of sympathy as a frantic Pinky latched onto his arm, burying his head in his chest, right below his chin. Pinky was a regular crier—and this was typical—but the soft whimpers and the suppression of such made Brain’s heart sink. His friend wasn’t actively dramatically sobbing or weeping or bawling; rather, the kindhearted mouse simply let the tears flow, desperate for a small source of comfort in his moment of personal grievance.

“Pinky?”

Brain’s voice filled his ears. It still sounded like he was underwater.

“Pinky...?”

Pinky pulled his head off the mound of fur gently. He was no longer underwater. Glancing nervously around, the lanky, discombobulated mouse soaked in the familiar green bars and other defining features of the cage.

He looked up and realized he had leeched onto Brain like some sort of... leech. Brain hated physical attention. “B-Brain?” he asked cautiously, before registering the sight before him.

“Poit! Sorry, Brain. I suppose I don’t know what got into me!” Pinky chuckled nervously. Brain looked unconvinced.

The taller mouse almost felt embarrassed now. Brain had had to wake him, get him back into reality, and be clung to like some kind of lost puppy (at least, I think that’s how the simile goes, Pinky thought). He felt the skin under his fur heat as he timidly twiddled his fingers.

Perhaps Brain would find it silly, or downright ridiculous or entertaining, that he was... afraid of water. He knew he needed water, but the idea of it getting in him and going down his throat and getting in his nose and filling his tummy and lungs and swallowing him whole and making him sleepy and putting anvils on his eyes and

“Pinky? Are you... alright?” Brain asked awkwardly, not well-versed in comfort or consolation. Pinky didn’t answer, nervously looking at his feet half an inch in front of him, trembling.

This—the offering of assistance in times of difficulty—was always Pinky’s job. The taller mouse had always been much more empathetic than Brain, juxtaposed to the latter’s own largely apathetic tendencies and behaviors.

The taller mouse was clearly distraught. Upon further evaluation, Brain found that Pinky also looked... flustered. It was an odd look for the mouse, considering once in a blue moon was it that Pinky was flustered or bashful. The fool had no self-consciousness; his mind simply had no capacity for selfawareness.

Perhaps ignorance really is bliss, Brain thought amusedly to himself, before shaking his head clear of distracting thoughts.

Brain placed his paws on Pinky’s, gently separating them from the anxious fidgeting they were doing.

The black pupils of his friend’s eyes were darting nervously, unfocused.

“Pinky!” Brain exclaimed gently, hoping to move his companion from his panic attack. Still unmoved, Pinky shook further.

In a move Brain would normally consider imprudent and hasty, he scooted closer, gently putting his arms on Pinky’s back and tenderly pulling him closer, letting the buck-toothed mouse rest his head on his shoulder. He reddened when Pinky returned the gesture.

Brain stroked Pinky’s back soothingly, holding him close. He sighed deeply, breathing in the fur on Pinky’s shoulder, the soft strawberry cheesecake smell (which somehow always lingered on the lanky mouse) blessing his nostrils.

Brain pulled apart a bit, holding Pinky’s shoulders firmly. “What’s wrong, old friend?”

Pinky finally made eye contact...

... and broke down.

“The water! It was the water it’s everywhere always chasing me always smarter always faster always stronger I can’t escape it it wants to fill my tummy and squish my lungs and make me sleepy and there’s so much of it and I thought it sounded silly to be scared of water so I didn’t want to tell you and—“

Pinky supposed he hadn’t registered when Brain had gently cupped his face with both paws, pressing his own nose to Pinky’s.

Pinky turned the color of his namesake.

“Urhm... poit. I... forgot what I was gonna say,” Pinky squeaked, bashful chuckles sprinkling his speech.

“It... seems that... I, too, have, er... forgotten what to say,” Brain mumbled.

“... So... you don’t think it’s silly that I’m afraid of the water or that it gave me nightmares or that—“

Pinky’s anxiously-coiled tail popped out straight, ears pointed straight up. Brain’s own tail had mostly straightened out as his, and, simultaneously, Pinky’s, bodies had registered a pair of lips on their own.

Pinky hadn’t realized his paw had come to rest on one of the ones Brain was using to cup his face until he felt his body relax and his eyes close at the feeling of Brain’s paw under his.

After about five seconds more, the two pulled away, both appalled and embarrassed.

“...”

“...”

After ten seconds of awkward silence, Brain cleared his throat.

“Ahem, well... I... that is, um...” He made eye contact with Pinky again, who was still so stunned he couldn’t form words. Brain put the palms of his hands together nervously. “...so, I- that is... to say that... I... don’t think that’s... silly...” he finally blurted, his brain scrambling for the words.

“Narf.” That was all Pinky could get himself to say.

“Well, I... I apologize for that... immodest form of... showing affection, but it-it had to be done,” Brain declared, feigning confidence. “I... care very deeply... about you, and, er... I’d prefer you to... sustain aquaphobia and nightmares as opposed to have you be... asphyxiated. By the water, that is. T-that’s not to say I wish you nightmares! I assure you, I do not enjoy that for you. But...”

Brain looked at Pinky, who seemed to have finally half-registered the outside world. His intrigued look further egged Brain to finish his statement. The intellectual mouse cleared his throat again.

“... I... If I had... if you... hypothetically, hadn’t... recovered—or... resurfaced at all—I fear that I cannot in any good faith state that... that I would continue to attempt to take over the world. I... it... the world would have no meaning should you... not exist upon its earthly plane.”

Pinky’s confused stare made Brain even more embarrassed. “That is, to say...” he began again, gently grasping Pinky’s paws and holding them, “the world would not matter... without you in it...” Brain trailed off, face as red as his own nose.

He heard Pinky softly exhale. There was a soft smile on his face to match.

“What comes next, Brain?” Pinky asked, eyes half-lidded.

“Well, we’ll have to examine your underlying issues, assess your apparent trauma—which may be difficult, seeing as they don’t exactly hire professional psychoanalyzing psychiatrists for lab mice, but the case still stands. We’ll also have to rid you of those plaguing nightmares that you have.”

Pinky smiled more, staring adoringly at Brain. “I didn’t understand any of that.” Pinky stated.

“I know.”

The two mice gazed at each other lovingly before Pinky cupped Brain’s face and allowed their lips to meet once more.

After a moment, the two pulled away, disheveled in a good way.

Pinky gave Brain a kind smile.

”I love you too, Brain.”