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She's surrounded by all the people she's ever met in Amphibia, formed connections to, and yet it's still too quiet.
It's eerie, in a way. The way the air is devoid of that carefree laughter, the way she lacks that skip in her step brought on by her bright smile. It all feels too calm, not sad enough but not happy enough, you know?
There's a draught where her cloak would usually sway about, silence that her laugh would usually fill, and sometimes it's too much to handle.
Sasha can feel it too. She's felt it ever since she escaped from that castle, tossed from the window as she fought back and reached out to touch Marcy, grasping hold of what she could before Grime dragged her away screaming and crying, clawing at the marbled ground. Bloodied fingernails weren't even thought about afterwards, just Marcy, all alone in that castle.
Is someone holding your hand while you're in pain, Marcy? Are they telling you it's gonna be okay? That's Sasha's job, to pick her up off the dusty playground dirt and brush off her knees, to slap the bandaid on and rip it off two weeks later. That's Sasha's job, to protect Marcy - and yet she'd failed.
And now all she has is the cloak. Marcy's cloak.
Are you alive, Marcy? She'd think, Is this the last part of you I'll ever get to hold? Despite the bloodstains and the singed hole, she holds it dearly, a lifeline, never without it.
She keeps it on her person at all times, even if it isn't visible. Folded and draped below her fur coat, wrapped tightly around her shoulders as she buries her nose into it to sleep, reminding herself of what it was like to laugh until her lungs ached at Marcy's nerdy jokes at sleepovers, burying her face into her gaming shirts to stop herself from laughing so loud. To have that again, she'd give anything.
But she has nothing to give. Nothing but the cloak, a ghostly gap inhabiting it. The silence it brings and the tears it's absorbed, the sobs it's muffled and the blood it's been drenched in.
It never leaves her side, because after Marcy's home, she's never leaving her side again.
She'll wrap the cloak around her, and she'll say I kept it for you. I waited for you, and I'm glad you're okay.
It stings to know she might never come home. Did they make it to that tank in time? She'd wonder, her thoughts spiralling as the nights go on, sleepless and dazed and wrapped up in the cloak until the tension felt like it would crack her ribs.
When Marcy comes back, she swears she'll never let her go again.
So when Anne turns up, and her face softens at the word alive, Sasha feels a pang inside her heart. Oh, she didn't know. She didn't see. She's been on Earth this whole time, with no information to go off of? Completely out of the loop.
And every time Sasha tries to bring her up or ease Marcy into the conversation, Anne dances around it. Let's get on with this mission, she'll say, can't be getting distracted.
Marcy's worth getting distracted over. She's worth so much more than these missions. She's alone in that castle and probably in pain, and they can't even have a straight conversation about it. What would Marcy think, seeing them so torn like this?
So one night, Sasha stops by Anne's room.
Peering around the door, she watches as she rummages through her pink backpack, tugging out all sorts of junk, followed by-
The polaroid.
She knows where this is going, the way all of them would gaze at that polaroid long before they had all reunited, longing for each other to appear right then and there or to blink and have this all be a dream, to still be back on earth and holding each others hands on the swings.
So she walks in.
Anne looks up sharply, clutching the Polaroid under her thumbs. There's tears in her eyes and she's trying so desperately to hide them, Sasha can see that, albeit it's not as if either of them could subtly hide their worry for Marcy.
"Hey, uh," Sasha starts slow, "I know that, uhm, I've been trying to bring up- Marcy, a lot, and-" There's a lump in her throat that she tries to swallow, but it won't go away no matter how many times she tries. "...I miss her. And I know you miss her. We both miss her and I just- I just, shit, I just wish we'd talk about her more."
The polaroid is stuffed back into the backpack, and soon Anne is standing to level Sasha; they're both avoiding eye contact, so afraid to approach the subject. Marcy could be dead for all they know, why give each other false hope now?
"I'm afraid." Anne starts, "I'm afraid of false hope, I suppose."
"We've gotta believe she's alive, Anne.." Now, Sasha's looking her in the eyes while she looks away, and starts approaching her, arms hovering, ready to hold on. "You know our Marcy, the one that could tumble down all the school's staircases and still be at her class on time. She wouldn't just die that easily."
She winces at the word die, "Don't-" Anne slaps away Sasha's hands, but looks like she immediately regrets it, "Don't say that."
"If you don't want me to say that she's dead, then believe that she isn't. Believe in Marcy - believe that she wouldn't go down without a fight." Sasha lunges forward, holding Anne's arms - but she doesn't hold back. Not yet. But now, the tears are welling, overflowing, pouring from her eyes too fast to stop them.
"I'm scared. I was scared. Imagine how she felt, Sash." Untucking her shirt from her skirt, she grasps it in her palm and rubs her runny nose against it, "The last thing she did was apologise to us. How awful must we have made her feel.."
"No, no. We're not thinking like that, Boonchuy." With her thumb, Sasha rubbed away some stray tears. "Marcy apologised cause she wanted to, okay? We can work all that out later, once she's home, and safe."
There's desperation in Anne's voice when she counters with: "Will she be okay, though?"
"She has to be." Sasha reaches into her fur coat, fiddling with something. "She's our Marcy. We'll bring her home."
"And while I'm on that," Sasha starts anew, "I wanted to bring all of her home, from the castle. When it happened I- I tried to run and grab her, but… Andrias was still there. Grime pulled me away, but- I…"
From beneath her coat, Sasha pulls out a cloak; blue, dark blue, with fluffy white fur surrounding the hood.
"I brought a part of her home." Her voice wobbles, "I brought a part of her back home for us."
Anne lets some sobs escape at the sight, the sight of that gaping, singed hole, blooded and torn. It appeared that a shoddy attempt to sew it shut had been made, but the threads hung loosely from it.
With two hands, Sasha slings the cape around Anne's shoulders, and kisses her forehead.
"I've been sleeping with it." She mumbles, out, admittedly, for once not afraid to let her softer side show, "It's nice to imagine she's here. And, well- you need it more than I do right now."
Anne's brows furrow, and Sasha feels something heavy being slung over her shoulders, and then the warmth of Anne's arms around her.
Marcy's cloak wrapped tightly around the two of them, her girls hugging again.
"Stay here tonight." Anne mumbles into Sasha's shoulder, a sob escaping right after.
Sasha nods, tears now welling in her own eyes too, escaping, her voice too wobbly to mask. "Of course."
They stay there for a while, embraced, relaxing into the feeling of the cloak around them, that phantom feeling of Marcy hugging them again. The smell of her wafted around the room, comforting them, like they were right back in Marcy's room on earth for a Vagabondia sleepover, or a study session inevitably doomed to go wrong.
All they needed was each other right now. All Marcy needed was them.
We're not fighting anymore, Marcy. We're okay. And you will be too. We'll save you.