Chapter Text
The chill of the air leaked through the windows, making Skeppy shiver, even with all his blankets on. The cold seasons sucked, and Skeppy couldn’t take it any longer. He was just thankful that the rain wasn’t getting in as well. He got up and pulled his hoodie over his head. It was so quiet in the house, so unnaturally quiet. Despite how long Skeppy suffered with the silence, he was still so uncomfortable with it. He found his communicator device, laying on the table. It taunted him, but he needed to check it. He turned it on and looked. It wasn’t a surprise there was none; there never was.
He opened the chain of messages, labeled “BBH”. He started typing out a message, taking his time as he thought of the words he wanted to say. “Hey, Bad, it’s been like...221 days now, but who’s counting?” He paused, looking at the blinking line as he thought about the next words. “I mean, I know you can take care of yourself, and you won’t die or whatever, but please, just message me back saying that you are okay, or that you hate me and never want to see me ever again or whatever. I’ll give you back your core if that’s what you want, but I just need to see you to do that. Please, Bad, I miss you.”
Countless messages preceded the most recent. Skeppy could track his mental state in reverse. Day by day, he could see the fluctuations; how some days he was begging Bad to just respond, some days he told him he didn’t even want him anymore, some days he didn’t have the energy to say anything more than how many days it had been. No matter what, he still sent a message.
A shiver went down his spine. He set down his communicator and took his flint and steel to light the fire. It would take a while to warm up the house, but it was a start. The kettle would be heated more quickly, and while he waited, he ate some bread. As he watched the fire crackle, his mind returned to the messages. He remembered that the first few days he was livid; after all, Bad had left so suddenly--in the middle of the night without a single word to Skeppy.
They had been fighting--about what, Skeppy couldn’t remember. Something stupid, he was sure. Then Bad left for a night, and Skeppy wasn’t sure where he had gone. He couldn’t sleep that night.
When Bad had tried to sneak back into the house the next morning, Skeppy was waiting for him, gripping a hot cup of coffee by the fire. “Bad! Oh, I was so worried about you, I was so worried that they would have seen you,” Skeppy said, going to hug Bad.
Bad pushed him away, and he hid his face from Skeppy. “I can handle myself, you know,” Bad said. Skeppy could hear that while his voice was lower than usual. He was still frustrated with Skeppy on top of that.
“What, so I can’t be worried about you anymore?” Skeppy slammed his cup down on the table, making some of it spill out.
“Oh my goodness, that’s not what I meant,” Bad said as he took off his cloak and hung it up.
Skeppy scoffed as he hung his own hoodie up by the fire. “Whatever dude, you wanna be like that, then fine.” Skeppy started to head off into his room, but Bad grabbed onto his arm before he could get far. Skeppy tried to pull away, but Bad wouldn’t let him.
“Skeppy,” Bad said. “I’m able to take care of myself. No one saw me. I’ve been around long enough to know how to hide.” Finally, Skeppy was able to pull away and step into his room.
“I said whatever. I get it. You don’t need to explain it to me,” Skeppy said more sternly. He shut the door in Bad’s face. He heard Bad sigh from the other side of the door and walk away. Skeppy was almost upset at the fact that Bad let it go. Bad rarely just let Skeppy walk away so angry. He was expecting Bad to yell apologies through the door until Skeppy either forgave him, or got annoyed with the apologies and was forced to accept it. He let it go. He was tired that night, and the sun would be up in a few hours. He just wanted to sleep.
Skeppy now realized that was the beginning of the end for them. The bickering worsened after that. They fought more, and they spoke less. It must have been about two months later that Bad disappeared in the middle of the night.
That first week, Skeppy resented Bad. The first day he messaged Bad several times, telling him that he was being stupid and selfish. If Bad was just going to leave like that, then Skeppy didn't even want to be his friend. The following days were similar, but when Bad hadn't even reacted to Skeppy's swears, he knew something was wrong.
Then he became worried. He questioned if Bad had died, but Skeppy reminded himself that it was impossible for Bad to die as long as Skeppy hosted his core. Then he began to worry that Bad was imprisoned somewhere, or lost, or injured. There were so many possibilities, and with Bad not responding, Skeppy couldn't tell.
Then it felt fake to Skeppy, like he was in a nightmare, or a long fever dream. He thought maybe he had gotten sick and he was just sleeping in a long, very real dream. That would have been preferable to his reality.
However, Skeppy was logical enough to eventually realize that it was true, and he would likely never get an answer now. All he could feel was abandoned and used. He was stuck with Bad's core. At least he knew Bad was alive, wherever he was.
He did his best to keep the house clean. Though, more often than not, he simply had found that it had been too much effort since no one else would be seeing the house anyway. The most he did was wash his dishes and get enough wood to keep the fire going. He threw his last log into the fire. He’d have to get more, as well as getting more food. He’d have to go to town.
So, he had to pick himself up and look at himself in the mirror. “Wow, I look like shit,” Skeppy said. He had to laugh at himself. His hair was getting long, and it was messy. Despite his skin being completely crystal, he could see that he was not looking great, something was missing, and his luster had lessened. He brushed his hair with a comb, tearing through the snarls and trying to make himself look presentable, not that it mattered much to him anyway.
First would be the wood, anyway, now that the rain had stopped. He took the horse, fitting the bridle into his mouth, then fit the breastcollar across his chest, which was attached to the sled he would use to transport the wood he would be collecting. The diamond axe rested on his shoulder while he led the horse to the edge of the woods, where he sized up the trees until he picked one that would be sufficient size.
This was his least favorite chore, yet the most necessary. It regularly took dozens of swings just to get the tree to fall, and he had to make sure the tree would fall in such a way that it wouldn't crush him or the horse, or get caught up in the other trees. It was a pain. The job wasn't even done by the time the tree was on the ground. Next, he had to chop it up into smaller sections that he could drag onto the sled. Then he needed to cut down one more tree so he could avoid coming back out here for a little while longer.
He lazily piled the logs next to the house before switching the sled for a saddle. He It wouldn’t take long at all to follow the path into town when he was on a horse, though he found it was already getting dark. He held the reins in his hand as he slouched forward, digging his heels into the animal’s side to get it to gallop. He tucked himself into his hoodie as much as possible. The wind was getting to him. He was so cold as it chilled his crystalline skin. If Bad was there, he would be able to keep him warm, but he had to ignore that.
The town had come into view. It was small enough for someone like Skeppy to feel safe, yet big enough to get everything he needed. He tied the horse against a tree and pat his head before strolling into the town. Skeppy dragged himself into the streets. It was just a few things he needed, he likely wouldn’t be here long at all, at least he hoped not, because goodness he was cold.
He got moving, and he wished he had made a list before he left the house. Now he would have to figure out what he wanted to eat for the week without even knowing what was left in the house. Skeppy pulled his hood down as he stepped into the general store. The little bell above the door rang to alert the attendant.
“Hey, it’s Skeppy,” he said. Announcing his presence saved people from freaking out when they saw him. He yawned as he waited for the attendant to come to the front. He was a portly, old man with graying hair and glasses resting on the tip of his nose. The man refused to make eye contact with Skeppy, and Skeppy just wanted to place his order and get out.
The man obliged, getting the meats, grain, eggs, milk, and sugar along with a few other assorted goods that Skeppy needed and packed it all in a sack for him. He paid, and he left. It would be dark soon, and he would have to deal with the mobs. He was too tired for that.
The stares from the townspeople used to make him upset. He knew he was different, he didn’t want to be reminded of that. When he met Bad, he welcomed the stares, as when Bad was seen, people wanted to drive him out of town or kill him. They learned that the hard way. The eyes still didn’t bother him, though now it was a lot more unnecessary that his appearance drew attention.
The rain was beginning again. With a sigh, Skeppy took off his hoodie and wrapped up his bag of food with it. He would just have to be cold and wet on the way home. He wasn’t about to let his food get ruined by the rain and have to repurchase all of it. Again, his heels dug into the horse’s side to get him to gallop back to the house.
Skeppy hurried to get the bridle and saddle off of the horse. He closed the horse in the little shelter and tucked his supplies under his arm, dreaming of what he was going to make for dinner. He pulled the key from his pocket and went to unlock the door. As he tried to shove the key into the lock, it slipped from his hand and fell into the mud.
Grumbling, he bent down to pick it up. As he wiped the mud away, he could hear something soft and distant, like whoever was making the noise was trying to hide it. It was a soft whimpering, or sniffling, it was hard to tell.
Either way, Skeppy put his bag of food next to the horse, under the shelter again. He took hold of his axe, if there was someone around, then he would dispatch them before it became a problem. He moved slowly, listening carefully. He could still hear the quiet sniffling. Was someone crying?
He shook his head, it was a ridiculous notion. However, he was surprised to see that there was a fire that was dying out in the rain behind his house. Someone was here. He was about to start looking around further when he felt someone wrap their arms around them, and tucked their nose into his neck.
Skeppy pulled away as quick as he could and spun around, getting a look at who had invaded his property. His eyes narrowed, and the grip on the axe tightened as he readied to attack. Instead, he dropped it.
"Bad?" Skeppy's voice nearly broke. He could see his face, and he had been crying for who knows how long, and his clothes were filthy. "Bad! What the hell?" Skeppy pulled Bad into a hug.
"Oh my goodness, Skeppy, I'm so sorry," Bad said. His voice was weak, and his arms were tight around Skeppy.
Skeppy pulled back again, though still holding onto Bad's arm. "Bad, where in the world have you been?"
"I'm sorry, Skeppy, I'm so, so sorry. I can't begin to say how sorry I am." Bad spoke quickly.
"Why didn't you message me back?"
"My communicator," Bad said. He tilted his head down. "I kinda lost it."
"Bad, how do you lose it?"
"I...It was an accident!"
"And you couldn't replace it?"
"Skeppy, no, I'm sorry, it was a complicated situation, and I am so unbelievably sorry. I made a mistake and I had to deal with it."
A mistake? Skeppy almost laughed. Bad hadn't just made a mistake. "Bad, are you serious?" Skeppy said. He tried to pull back his anger, in fear of making Bad even more upset. He just had gotten Bad back, he didn't want to lose him already. "Bad I have so many questions."
"And I'll try to answer them."
Skeppy racked through his brain. He thought about this moment so many times, and he had so many ways he thought it could go. All the possibilities of yelling at Bad were gone, he had long since abandoned those thoughts. He was left with countless questions, any one of them being a good first step, yet he was paralyzed with choices.
Before he could even get a word in, he heard a shrill, squeaky cry. At first, he thought it was Bad, but Bad wasn't crying, he was turning around, whispering at the crying. Skeppy felt a whole new layer of confusion wash over him. Was that an infant?
"Bad," he said as he watched Bad reach down into the shadows. He picked up a wicker basket, putting his hand into the opening, where Skeppy's question was confirmed. "Okay, Bad, what the fuck is going on?"
"Skeppy, language!" Bad snapped, though he was keeping his voice low. "I don't want him to hear those awful words." Bad said. Skeppy could see more clearly, now. The child was tiny, there was no way he was more than a week old. "Okay, so this is my son," Bad said. "His name is Pandas."
Skeppy stared at the kid, so many of his questions being answered just by his existence. "Pandas?" Skeppy asked, looking back to Bad. He nodded happily.
"Yes. Pandas."
Skeppy covered his mouth as he snickered. "Wow Bad, that's an--" he stopped himself. He took a second to compose himself. "That's an interesting name."