Archive of Our Own ^beta

Loss

Skeppy turns red.

Bad gets sick.

It looks like completely independent events, and even Bad thinks that they are. He is worried sick for his best friend, of course, he is, but he’s never been so anxious that it would make him physically feverish.

Puffy says it’s possible, that stress and anxiety can have a negative effect on one’s body. ‘You’ve heard of psychosomatic depressions?’ she asks Bad, and Bad hasn’t but that cannot be it.

Because truly, they don’t have the time to worry about him. Not when Skeppy is so… strange.

Of course, the most obvious part is the way the diamonds that are usually littered on his skin, almost like other people would have birthmarks or freckles, have turned blood red.

That’s obvious.

But what’s even more obvious to Bad is the way his best friend speaks with a monotone voice, the way he demands to be left alone, the way he runs away from Bad, the way he decides to live away, on his own.

Puffy doesn’t have the words to comfort him, and Bad doesn’t think that anyone could.

Shock and Denial

Two days after Skeppy turned red, Ant comes back from a visit to his boyfriend, out of town, and Bad calls the both of them onto a Badlands meeting. Sam complains about his busy schedule but when Bad pleads, he manages to free some time to join them.

They meet right next to the construction site and, when Sam joins them, he is still wearing his helmet and goggles.

“Skeppy’s… weird,” Bad tells them when he finds the strength to speak about his best friend.

“Still?” Ant asks, eyebrows furrowed into a frown.

Bad nods. He feels feverish. “The diamonds on his skin are still red, and he’s-” He chokes up a sob and he sees, from the corner of his vision, the way Ant reaches out to him.

“Is he still acting strangely?”

Nodding again, Bad tries to keep himself calm enough to be able to explain: “He’s… It’s nothing like when we-… Like how we were controlled.”

Sam grunts behind his mask. “I told you this thing was bad juju…”

“I’m sorry!” Bad pleads. “I know I should- I should have listened to you but-”

“You couldn’t have,” Ant says firmly, and it’s more directed at Sam than it is at him. “We were controlled by that thing.”

Sam sighs and his tone gets gentler. “Have you tried purifying him with Prime water?”

Bad laughs bitterly. “Of course I have! We- Puffy and I- We tried everything…”

“Maybe with memories?” Ant proposes “You almost broke out of it when Skeppy asked you to choose between you and him, right?”

Bad shakes his head. “I’ve tried that too. I’ve tried it all. I don’t-” He chokes up another sob. “I’m scared.”

“Bad…” He feels arms around him, and he crumbles in Ant’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs. “I’m sorry! I never- I never wanted this to happen to him- I didn’t-”

“We know,” Sam says gently, and Bad feels a warm hand on his back.

“I don’t know- I don’t know how to bring him back. I don’t- I’m so scared… What if he- What if we doomed him, what if he never-…?”

“It’s going to be okay,” Ant murmurs. “He is still here… He’s still here with you, right?”

Bad goes to nod but a cough strangles him. His lungs burn as he coughs and coughs and coughs. He feels like he is choking, he is gasping for breath, Sam has pushed Ant out of the way and is rubbing his back as comfortingly as he can.

“Bad? Bad? Bad, slowly, just breathe with us.”

Bad coughs and coughs and there’s something stuck in his throat, and he coughs and heaves. He’s folded himself to the floor, coughing desperately. It’s sobs and coughs at the same time and he can’t breathe for a moment longer.

When he finally starts being able to control his breathing again, he looks up to Sam’s worried eyes. “Are you-?”

Bad wipes at his eyes, and he doesn’t want to know whether he teared up because of his coughing or because he was crying. “I’m fine,” he says. He roughly wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Thank you.”

“Shit, Bad, of course,” Ant says. “Is it making you so sick?”

Bad shrugs weakly. “Puffy says it’s the stress,” he murmurs. His voice feels hoarse. “I think- It’s also cold outside, so I’m…”

“You need to take care of yourself,” Sam says. He sounds kind. Worried.

“I am! I am- I’m just… It’s a bit hard to sleep, but I’m-”

“Take care of yourself,” Ant begs. “For us.”

“I’ll come by and drop some pumpkin pies,” Sam declares, and it’s a fact, not an offer. “And maybe Ponk can prepare some herbal concoctions.”

Bad scrunches his nose. “I’m fine,” he protests. “It’s just a cold.”

“Better treat a cold before it becomes worse.”

Sam nods in agreement to Ant’s words and Bad sighs, knowing he won’t convince them otherwise.

Ant looks a bit hesitant before he continues. “Are you… Have you been staying with him?” he asks, his voice low. “In that hut he made?”

Bad feels his chest burn but he tries to focus on the conversation. “I don’t- He doesn’t want me there.” The admittance is painful. “I bring him food and I try to check on him, but he doesn’t-” He clamps his mouth shut before he can start crying.

“Bad…” Ant murmurs. It sounds so full of pity, and Bad almost wants to snarl as much as he wants to cry. He doesn’t want them to pity him like this. Pitying him means that the situation is truly irremediable. “Bad, you shouldn’t be staying on your own like this. Maybe you should come to stay with me for a-”

Bad shakes his head, cutting his friend short. “Skeppy might come back to the mansion.”

He tries not to see Ant’s grimace, and he ignores the way Ant and Sam look at each other with worry and pity.

“He might!” he insists. “And what if- What if he does and I’m not home? What if he needs me and-”

“Okay, okay,” Ant sighs. “Okay. As long as you promise you’ll look after yourself.”

Bad sighs and he rubs his eyes tiredly. He wants to protest, to tell them that Skeppy is the one who needs to be looked after. He wants to tell them that he’ll feel better when Skeppy is back in his arms. He knows they won’t hear that argument.

“I’m fine,” he tells them, and when he sees that Sam is about to protest, he is quick to continue. “I’ll take care of myself. I’ll- I’ll take whatever Ponk prepares if it makes you feel better.”

“It will,” Sam confirms instantly. “Thank you.”

Ant still looks uncertain, his eyes glinting with concern, and Bad grabs his hands, squeezing gently. “I’m fine,” he repeats. “Ant, I promise it’s just a bad cold.”

“I’ll come to check on you,” Ant says (and, just like Sam had, he is announcing it, not suggesting it). “Maybe Velvet and I can come, I’ll- We’ll get you some soup or something.”

Bad smiles weakly. “That sounds good,” he responds, because he knows he can’t argue with his friend. “I’ll- Maybe Skeppy will want some.”

(Or maybe Skeppy will scoff and demand to go back to the Egg, even though Bad barricaded the entrance. Maybe Skeppy will tell Bad that he hates him for preventing him from going back to the room, where the Egg is, where the red tentacles have spread everywhere).

Bad’s lungs seem to burn yet again, and he is suddenly taken by the need to cough again, bending a little on himself. There’s something in his throat, almost like some kind of coarse sandpaper, and it pains him to breathe, and he needs to cough it out. He coughs violently, closing his eyes, and something which must be bile escapes him.

He stands back up, grimacing, and Ant comes forward a little, one foot resting right where Bad had been coughing.

“Are you okay?” Sam asks, and he sounds so concerned. “Maybe Ponk should take a look at you, Bad. You’re-”

“Sam.” Ant’s voice is still kind, but it’s gained a firmness that it didn’t have a few minutes ago. Bad freezes a little and looks back to his friend who has knelt to the floor and who now looks to them with a deeply conflicted look. His fist is clenched around something.

Sam frowns, both at the interruption and at Ant’s expression. “Yes?”

“Is there something you want to tell us, Bad?”

Bad blinks in confusion. He looks back at Ant who is staring at him, something deeply troubled in his eyes. “I don’t… think so. What are you-…?”

Ant swallows thickly and shakes his head. “Never mind. I think I’m going to go home.” A pause. “Bad, how about I walk you back to the mansion?”

Bad shakes his head. “I wanted to go check on Skeppy,” he declares. Ant grimaces but does not argue.

“I’ll see you soon, then,” he says. He reaches in and clasps Bad’s shoulder. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

Bad nods. “Thanks.”

Ant nods in Sam’s direction and disappears quickly. They watch him leave in silence. Sam eventually clears his throat. “Well,” he starts. “I’m probably going to get back to it.”

“Be safe,” Bad tells him.

Sam chuckles, and his voice is warm and kind and Bad loves his friend. “I’m only carrying a bunch of wooden beams and some heavy brick pallets.”

“Be safe, you muffinhead!” Bad repeats, and Sam laughs.

Bad laughs long enough for the cough to come back and he stops instantly, the laugh getting strangled in his throat. He watches Sam go back up on the construction hoist elevator and he stays there until his friend is completely out of sight.

Rubbing his chest to alleviate some of the pain, Bad leaves.

* * *

“I don’t care.”

“Skeppy, please…”

“No, I feel good here.” Skeppy is sitting in a corner of his hut, arms crossed. He would look like some kind of toddler throwing a tantrum if there was any kind of emotion in his eyes. “I don’t want to leave.”

“Just a short walk,” Bad begs. “So you can get some sunlight-” ‘So I can see you ’

“I don’t need it. I feel good.”

Bad wants to sob. “Please,” he tries again. “For me.”

Skeppy scoffs, and that’s the only answer Bad gets. His chest tingles painfully and Bad presses a hand against his mouth to keep a cough contained.

“Will you at least eat a little?” he pleads.

Skeppy frowns down at the food that Bad brought with him, all carefully arranged in small boxes. Bad made sure to select some of Skeppy’s favourite meals, along with some muffins he baked for him.

It almost looks like Skeppy considers it for a second. His emotionless eyes remain fixated on the boxes for a while. And then, he looks back up at Bad. “I want to go back to the room,” he says.

Bad wants to cry. “You can’t,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry, Skeppy, it’s for your own good, you can’t-”

“Then I won’t eat.”

Bad swallows thickly and it seems as if the words were enough to burn through his chest. He feels his mouth tremble and he doesn’t trust himself to speak. He nods weakly.

“Bring me back to the room,” Skeppy demands.

Bad shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. “Skeppy, I can't, I’m-”

Skeppy stares at him and he looks… He looks mean. Bad never saw that kind of look on his best friend’s face. Skeppy always looks kind, always cheerful, always mischievous.

He hates that look. His lungs are burning.

“Then I don’t care,” Skeppy says, and Bad cannot refrain the sob that finds its way through his lips.

He turns around and his entire body is shaking. “I’m leaving the food with you,” he tells Skeppy. “I’ll- I’ll be back for dinner.”

“I don’t care!” Skeppy repeats, and it is with something that could almost be anger now. Bad flees.

* * *

When he comes home, he retches into the toilet bowl, coughing until his lungs are begging for mercy. He wishes Skeppy was there to hold his hair, to run a hand through his back, to whisper comforting words.

No one is in the mansion and Bad dry heaves, coughs, and sobs.

He misses his best friend so much that he feels the pain in his heart as if it were physical.

He wants Skeppy back.

He coughs violently at that thought, and something finds its way through his throat and into the toilet.

Through a vision blurred by tears, Bad watches the single blue petal that floats in the water bowl.

It floats. It barely moves. It looks like a leaf during autumn, a leaf that the wind would have dislodged from a tree, and which would have floated all the way to a peaceful lake.

It’s almost relaxing, to watch that single petal float on water. It’s hypnotizing.

It’s…

He can’t stay here forever.

Bad wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist and he stands back up. He flushes the toilet, not looking back at the petal as it is swallowed and whisked away.

He moves back to the main bathroom and splashes water over his face. He avoids looking at himself. He knows he looks sickly.

He takes a few pills; cough-suppressant and pain-relievers. He swallows them and doesn’t think about the small petal that had appeared in his cough.

It might have just been something in his tea. (Although it’s been a few days since he had tea with Puffy). It was not significant.

It’s gone anyway.

He is going to be okay.

Anger

It’s been a few days.

(It’s been a few days and Bad has not drunk any tea, and he has coughed a few more petals, and he is refusing to acknowledge any of them).

He is coming back from a visit to Skeppy (a vain visit, during which Skeppy refused to talk to him, refused to let him into his bedroom, and refused to even look at him). He collected a few empty boxes and dirty plates, his only proof that Skeppy is feeding himself and staying healthy. So, he is carrying a large bag and feeling like the weight of the world is on his shoulders.

He is so tired.

He is so tired that he barely notices Ant until he almost walks straight into him.

“Hey, hey, careful there,” Ant calls, a mix between amused and concerned. “Not looking where you were going?”

Bad rubs his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “Thinking of Skeppy. Just- It’s fine.”

There’s deep worry that appears in Ant’s eyes and the man gives a nod. “Still acting strange?”

Something irrational boils through Bad’s body. Neither Ant nor Sam has tried to approach Skeppy ever since he turned red. Ant’s concern is genuine but it feels unwelcome, because Bad should not be the one they worry for! Not when Skeppy might be dying!

No, no.

Skeppy’s not dying.

Skeppy is different, but he is not dying.

Skeppy hates Bad, but-

He feels something rough in his upper chest and he brings his hand to stabilize himself against the wall before coughing a few times.

Vaguely, he thinks that Ant might be concerned about the petals, so he lets go of his bag and brings his hand to his mouth, coughing roughly until something that feels like a shredded piece of paper lands onto his palm.

He closes his fingers around it, grimacing a little at the wetness in his hand, and he buries his hand into his cloak.

Ant is looking at him. He hasn’t moved, which is very uncharacteristic of him. Usually, Ant would be by his side, rubbing his back, trying to help however he can.

Ant is staring.

“Are you okay?” Bad asks, panting a little after the sudden attack. It feels weird to be asking that, when he was the one who just acting like his lungs were on fire. It feels even weirder to be standing under Ant’s gaze.

Ant looks sad. Sad and angry. “Productive cough?” he asks.

Bad frowns. “Pretty dry,” he responds. He hasn’t had any other symptoms of a sickness besides the cough and the general weakness and out-of-breathiness. His nose hasn’t been running at all. He hasn’t been sneezing either.

A small huffing sound answers him and Bad chooses not to look too much into it. He moves past Ant to unlock the door.

“How is Velvet?” he asks, trying to bring some kind of smile to his friend’s face.

“Good,” Ant replies, but even that answer is a bit short. “I think we’re going to be able to have him move in and join the Badlands.”

“That’s good,” Bad says mindlessly, and he steps into the mansion, heading to the kitchen to drop the empty containers and dirty plates. “Are you-”

“Bad.”

Ant’s voice is firm. Concerned. Impatient.

Bad turns around, leaving the bag on the counter.

His friend looks serious. He looks… afraid. There’s something that seems to scare him, to haunt him, and Bad hasn’t seen this level of sadness in Ant’s eyes ever since they had found out that Velvet would not be able to join them immediately – that he and his boyfriend would have to live apart for a while.

He looks-

“Bad, is there nothing you want to tell me?”

Bad frowns. “No?” He isn’t sure what Ant is talking about. Is there something Bad forgot? Is there something he was meant to share with them?

Ant looks annoyed. “The coughs, Bad. Your coughing. It hasn’t been getting better, has it?”

It hasn’t. In fact, it has been getting worse. It is more frequent and more painful, and almost each of his coughs comes with a weird blue petal.

“Yeah, well, Skeppy hasn’t been getting better either,” Bad says, crossing his arms. It might sound more aggressive than he had meant it to be. Ant flinches.

He isn’t wrong, though, and he knows it. Ant is acting worried for him but he doesn’t speak about Skeppy. And it’s unfair, because Bad is doing nothing more than coughing, when Skeppy had his entire personality ripped away from him, when Skeppy barely ever leaves his hut, when Skeppy refuses to speak about anything but the Egg, and when it takes begging for Skeppy to eat something.

It’s not fair to worry about Bad rather than Skeppy.

“Bad, for fuck’s sake-”

“Language.” He is exhausted. He doesn’t want to deal with this. He turns to the bag and starts emptying it of its content.

“Bad!”

It’s a snap. It’s violent and impatient. Bad jumps at the tone and looks back at his friend. Ant looks frustrated. Ant looks angry. Ant is holding out his open hand, palm up.

Bad’s eyes flicker to the hand. And his gaze stops on a blue shape at the center of Ant’s palm.

A petal.

A blue petal, withered and faded, but a blue petal all the same.

Bad recognizes it, and he knows that Ant was looking for that recognition in his eyes because his hand closes back around it.

“Where… did you find it?” Bad asks. He feels shameful. He feels upset that Ant hasn’t respected his privacy on this.

“Were you going to tell us?”

“Where did you find it?”

Ant sighs. “When you called a Badlands meeting by Sam’s work,” he says. “It fell when you coughed.”

Bad stares, quietly. Ant does too, as if he were waiting for Bad to say something, to admit to a fault that Bad doesn’t believe is his. Bad doesn’t speak. He has nothing to add.

Ant sighs and he rubs the back of his head. “Shit, Bad, do you know what this is?”

“Language.”

“Bad.” Ant’s blue eyes are flashing with a warning glint. “Do you?”

Bad bites his tongue and he shakes his head. He doesn’t. He really doesn’t. He has tried to find excuses – some tea he consumed, some pollen in the air, some weird prank from Skeppy that only hit now. None of them hold for a very long time.

“Oh fuck…” Ant sounds tired. He comes closer and grabs Bad’s arm. He pulls a bit. “Come,” he says. “It’s better if we sit.”

“I was…” Bad tries to protest, more for the sake of it than because he had much to do. “I was going to bake some muffins for Skeppy.”

“Bad.” Ant’s tone is insistent and Bad doesn’t like how his name sounds in his voice anymore. It sounds reproachful and worried at the same time.

It sounds like this is his fault.

Still, though, he doesn’t want to argue with his friend (not when he’s already argued with his best friend several times today) and so he lets Ant walk him to the couch. They both take a seat.

Bad sits heavily and Ant seems to hesitate before he sits next to him, their thighs touching. “Bad, you know you’re one of my closest friends, right?” Bad hums in confirmation. “You know I’ll support you no matter what?”

Bad swallows thickly and nods. “The same goes for you,” he says, and Ant laughs bitterly.

“I’m not the one who needs support right now, Bad,” he says. “What is- Have you been coughing a lot more of those petals?”

Bad hesitates. He thinks of lying for a moment before he decides against it- Ant is bound to find out, eventually. “Any time I cough,” he says. “Sometimes it’s several petals at once.”

“Fuck…” Ant mutters, and Bad frowns but he doesn’t interrupt to scold him. “Bad, those are-” He presses his lips together. “They’re essentially- They’re- Fuck, they’re growing in your lungs.”

Bad widens his eyes. His heart drops. “What?”

“It’s a… It’s a form of curse…? A disease? They call it the lover's illness” Ant looks straight at him, but he pauses to search for his words. “It develops over unrequited love.”

Bad frowns deeply. “But I’m-” He laughs weekly. “That sounds wrong, Ant. That’s… That’s probably some prank Skeppy played on me before he-”

His lungs burn and he bends over, coughing. This time, Ant reacts quickly, pressing his hand to his back and rubbing comfortingly.

“Shhh…” he murmurs. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Let it- Let it out, okay?”

Bad coughs and chokes and he feels the now familiar feeling of something stuck in his throat and he coughs a bit stronger, heaving until the petals have been expelled. They fall to the ground and Bad stares.

They’re blue, large, and a bit bloodied. He pants, staring at them, eyes wet with the exhaustion that the cough brought. He feels… scared.

He has been scared for days, ever since Skeppy chose to save them by locking himself inside the Egg.

It’s the first time in days that he is scared for himself.

“Are you-… It can’t be,” he tells Ant.

“I’m sorry,” Ant murmurs, and when Bad turns back to look at him, he meets a gaze that’s loving, worried, and pitying.

“How did you- I never heard of it…” he whispers.

Ant makes something that could be a smile, if smiles were meant to be sad and heart-wrenched. “Velvet,” he says, and it should suffice as an explanation, but Ant continues. “I met him before I-” He shrugs. “I hadn’t even admitted my sexuality to myself. So I didn’t- couldn’t-”

“Ant?”

Ant’s gaze is far, far away. “Once, we were hanging out, and he started coughing, and I saw those flowers, and he- He confessed, that absolute fucking idiot, and I couldn’t-…” He wipes his eyes. “He is fine. It didn’t grow that much, it didn’t last that long, and it wasn’t- He thought it was unrequited. Fuck, I thought it was unrequited, but it wasn’t.” He sniffles and smiles wetly. "Velvet calls it his gay pollen allergies."

“I’m sorry,” Bad murmurs. “I had no idea…”

Ant shakes his head. “I never told anyone. You couldn’t have known.” There’s a moment of silence before Ant focuses his eyes on him again. “How long has it been, Bad?”

Bad shakes his head. It’s both in a lack of knowledge and in a refusal that this is happening.

Ant sucks in a breath. “Bad, am I right in assuming that it’s…?”

He doesn’t finish, as if he wanted Bad to tell him the truth himself, and it hurts, and it’s upsetting. Bad shakes his head again. “It can’t be.”

“Bad,” Ant murmurs, encouraging and disappointed at the same time.

“It can’t,” Bad insists. “It can’t. I’ve loved him for years. It would have happened far earlier if this was it. It’s not- You’re wrong.” It’s a bit of a hiss, and Ant straightens at the accusation.

“I know it’s upsetting,” he says, as if he wanted his tone to stay calming and measured, and it’s unfair, because he is not allowed to tell Bad how he feels. Not when he is not the one with flowers growing- It can’t be right. “Bad, he’s changed. Skeppy’s not himself anymore.”

“But you said he’s still here!” Bad argues. “It’s still-”

“He is not himself anymore,” Ant repeats, merciless. “He only cares for that thing. It’s- Whatever he felt for you before, it’s gone.”

And maybe Ant means well in saying so, but it hurts, it hurts so much, it hurts emotionally, and it hurts in Bad’s chest, almost as if something was preventing him from breathing and he growls. “You have no right to judge him!”

“He is not himself!”

“You don’t know a thing about that!” Bad shouts. “You don’t know anything about him, because you and Sam have refused to even look at him! He’s saved our lives, and neither of you has ever bothered to-”

He coughs violently and Ant reaches to rub his back, but Bad jerks away.

“Don’t!” he shouts. “Don’t!” Ant removes his arm as if he had been burned and Bad is left to cough alone, to pant and heave on his own, until petals have fallen from his mouth. He sees Ant’s aborted motion to come closer and he brings his hands to the petals, not bothering with the way it taints his hands with blood. He keeps them out of Ant’s view.

“Bad,” Ant murmurs.

“You don’t care about him,” Bad hisses, and it’s more tired, he doesn’t have the strength to scream anymore, but he still feels angry, because Ant should not be allowed to pretend to care when he doesn’t care about Skeppy. “It’s your- I’m not going to pretend that I wasn’t a part of it, but it was our fault. We’re the reason he locked himself with that thing. It happened to him because of all of us.”

“You can’t let him- You can’t let whatever shell is left of him kill you.” It’s less a protest from Ant than it is a plea.

“You two left him to die in that Obsidian prison,” Bad growls. “I don’t care what you think.”

It’s a lie. Ant is a close friend, a Badlands member, a brother. Bad cares about him, and he values his opinion highly.

But Bad is angry and hurting and so he lashes out.

“Bad,” Ant whispers, supplicating. “Let me help you.”

“Get out.” It’s murmured, but it’s firm and final.

Ant looks at him for a very long time. He looks conflicted. He looks… sad?

Bad holds his gaze, refusing to relent.

His friend eventually sighs deeply. Even that sounds sad. “Please call me when you can,” Ant ends up saying. “I want- I’ll be here for you, Bad. No matter what.”

“Get out.”

Ant doesn’t make him repeat himself again. He leaves.

Bad stays alone, and he coughs.

The flowers are blue and tainted by blood, and they are Skeppy’s.

Dialogue and Bargaining

It takes Bad several days to calm himself.

During those days, he refuses to see anyone. Not Ant, not Sam, not Puffy. He doesn’t want to have to explain how he feels to Puffy, he doesn’t want to apologise to Ant, and he knows that Sam was probably made aware of Bad’s condition and he refuses to see pity in his eyes too. He doesn’t want to see anyone.

Besides, he feels like both Ant and Sam betrayed him the moment they chose not to try to help Skeppy, and he is unwilling to have to deal with Puffy’s worry that feels too pitying, too overwhelming, too much. He doesn’t think he’d be able to take it if she tries to joke with her impression of Skeppy. (He knows she wouldn’t do it because she is kind and she’s been nothing but supportive, but he is angry).

He stays in the mansion, on his own, and he feels angry at the world for what it did to him, and he feels angry at Skeppy for being self-sacrificial, and he feels angry at his friends for not supporting them correctly, and he feels angry at himself for having these feelings for his best friends.

He spends several days at the mansion, and he coughs down petals that are bigger and bigger, more and more numerous, and each cough is more painful. It strains his lungs to breathe normally.

He is afraid, but he can’t admit it to himself.

He wakes up one day, sweating, panting, and he coughs until his pillow is littered with petals. It seems like it has enough petals to form a full flower. He feels afraid when he sees it.

He didn’t know it would develop this quickly.

But again, he didn’t know anything about it a few days ago.

Velvet and Ant might know, but Bad cannot bear the thought of asking them.

So instead of doing that, he wraps himself in a dark cloak, still wearing his sleeping clothes, and he heads to Skeppy’s hideout.

It is high morning, and no one is awake yet, no one comes to bother him. It’s quiet. He listens to the sound of the wind in the trees on his way to the hut.

When he gets to the small house where Skeppy has been hiding, he doesn’t bother with knocking. He opens the door and steps inside.

“What do you want again ?” Skeppy’s voice is cold, and Bad flinches at the meanness in his tone.

“How are you?” Bad asks instead of answering. “I haven’t come by in a few days.”

“You should have kept not coming,” Skeppy says, and Bad knows that it’s meant to be biting and hurtful but that doesn’t stop him from feeling like air is no longer getting to his lungs.

“Do you have to be this mean?”

Skeppy scoffs. “I don’t,” he admits. “I wouldn’t if you let me back in the room.”

Bad sighs deeply. “I can’t. It’s for your own protection.”

He sees his best friend roll his eyes and cross his arms. He hesitates before moving to look at the boxes of dishes he left for him.

“Have you been eating well?” he asks.

“What do you want ?” Skeppy demands.

Bad swallows thickly. “I have something to show you,” he says.

Skeppy looks up, almost as if he were interested. Bad stares at the red diamonds on his skin and he wishes he could shatter them. He wants his best friend back. Not this.

He burrows his hands in his pocket and comes back with handfuls of blue petals. He spreads them on the wooden table. Skeppy’s gaze is piercing.

“What is this?”

“They’re yours,” Bad says, and it’s a confession, it’s a prayer, it’s an accusation. Skeppy tilts his head and comes closer, selecting one of the petals less tainted by blood. He holds it between his thumb and his index finger and raises it to eye level. He doesn’t comment. Bad feels like he needs to keep trying. “They’re here because I miss you. The you from before.”

Skeppy looks at the petal for a while longer before eventually letting it go, watching it float back to the table. He huffs. “Sad for you,” he says. “I feel good as I am now.”

Bad wants to sob. He wants to scream. “Why are you like this?” he protests. “You are my best friend! You were- You are everything to me!”

Skeppy sniffles disdainfully and looks away from him.

“You should have never gone to that Egg!” Bad continues, because he needs to get it off his chest. “You shouldn’t have ever- You should have known I loved you, you didn’t need to make it an ultimatum. You didn’t-” A sob. “You shouldn’t have acted alone. We could have found a solution together. We would have thought about it- We could have- You should have known how reckless it was. You shouldn’t have sacrificed yourself!”

Skeppy doesn’t respond. If anything, he sighs, as if Bad’s frantic words were boring him. Bad’s chest is hurting so much. He feels like he is going to stop breathing.  

“You’re killing me!” Bad yells. His throat feels hoarse and wounded from all of the coughing. His lungs are burning him again. “Don’t you care? Isn’t there anything left that cares?”

“No,” Skeppy replies simply, and Bad lets himself fall. His knees hit the floor and he cries out, and he coughs. He coughs violently, his whole body shuddering, and he whines in pain, and Skeppy doesn’t move.

He coughs until an object that is far too big finds his way through his throat, threatening to choke him. He coughs again, gasping desperately around the thing that’s blocking his airway. Skeppy doesn’t move. Bad feels tears roll down his cheeks as he forces himself to vomit.

He feels lightheaded when he finally manages to dislodge the flower from his throat.

Because it’s a flower. Not a petal.

It’s a full bud. It’s not yet bloomed but it is big enough to have caused him so much difficulty breathing. He stares at the blue bud mixed with blood and bile. He wants to cry.

It’s moving so fast. Skeppy’s hatred is growing inside of Bad’s chest, taking the shape of blue, delicate flowers, and Bad wants to sob.

And Skeppy doesn’t care.

He picks himself off the floor and, despite him knowing better, his eyes flicker to Skeppy. His best friend hasn’t moved. He looks bored. He doesn’t care.

Bad wants to reach for him, wants to hold him, wants to beg for his best friend to be back.

He knows it’s worthless.

So he stands back up, fixes his cloak, and he leaves.

* * *

He hesitates when he finds himself in front of the entrance to the underground room he’s dug himself. The entrance is blocked – of course it is. Bad had no other choices to keep Skeppy out and to keep the Egg’s influence in.

It’s roughly blocked though, just some obsidian between him and the entity that took his best friend. It would take some time for Skeppy to get through – especially aloof as he is – but it is not enough to truly stop anyone.

Bad doubts that the entity will give him his friend back. It seems too willing to control to want to give up on something like Skeppy.

But maybe Bad can convince it- maybe he can negotiate with it.

He wants-

Bad is afraid of dying.

Bad is afraid of Skeppy - his Skeppy - waking up one day to find Bad gone.

Bad is afraid of never finding his Skeppy again.

Bad is afraid of the flowers in his lungs growing and blooming and choking him.

He knows the Egg can help him. It offered to grant his wishes before.

It offered to give him whatever he wants, whatever he dreams of. It offered him the world.

Bad hadn’t wanted for anything. He had his friends, and the Badlands, and his family, and his… and Skeppy.

He had everything.

He’s lost Skeppy, and he is going to die.

The Egg can save him.

He doesn’t know what to hope for. For Skeppy to be returned to him? For his feelings toward Skeppy to disappear so he doesn’t suffer anymore?

He just wants to be with Skeppy.

He doesn’t want to die.

He wants Skeppy to be brought back and he wants to be okay.

He brings his claws to the obsidian and pushes. It’s going to take him very long, he knows, but he is desperate.

He doesn’t want to die.

He doesn’t want to die without seeing his Skeppy again.

He scratches at the stones and he knows that it would go much faster if he had brought his tools but he didn’t think he would end up in this room and he doesn’t dare to go back to his mansion. He knows his claws will get through the wall eventually.

Even if they end up bleeding and hurting. They won’t hurt as much as his chest already does.

He coughs as he works. He doesn’t know how long he spends there. Maybe hours. The entire place is silent save for his violent coughs and the scratch of his claws against the stones.

He just wants Skeppy back. He just wants to survive. He is ready to do anything for it.

He keeps going, and he can almost hear the entity through the thinner part of the wall. He hears the voices that demand blood and sacrifices and more souls to control. He keeps going.

“Bad.”

He jumps at the voice that interrupted him. He turns.

Sam looks upset. He looks more concerned than he does angry and so Bad lowers the fists he had raised on instinct.

He doesn’t answer, and the silence must prompt Sam to continue: “Ant told me you might try something reckless.”

Bad chuckles bitterly.

“Are you okay?”

It’s hard to swallow but, this time, the thing in his throat is not a bud or a petal but just a metaphorical lump. “I think I’m dying.”

Sam’s eyes flash with alarm. “Is it getting bad?”

It feels as though his eyes are wet again but Bad doesn’t want to cry. “How much has Ant told you?”

“Enough,” Sam responds vaguely. “Is it hurting?”

“Always.” He feels scared by the hollowness of his own voice. “I want it to stop, Sam.”

He wants- For a moment, he wants to be a child and to be allowed to hide his face, to be small enough to grab at Sam’s leg and hold tightly. He wants for others to heal him and to take this burden for him.

“Is that why you were trying to go to it?” There’s disdain in Sam’s voice but it’s not toward him. It’s toward the Egg – the entity.

Bad wipes his eyes. “It’s powerful,” he mumbles, and he feels stupid about it. “I want it- I wanted to ask it to help me.”

“No.”

“But-”

“Bad, there’s nothing good that would come out of it. So what? You ask for Skeppy to be given back to you, do you think it’s going to do it? The best it will do is get you two under its control and make you so emotionless that you won’t remember loving him.”

A pause. There’s something left unsaid and Bad doesn’t want Sam to say it. But if Ant sometimes knows how to hide painful truths and keep them quiet, Sam believes in righteousness above all. Sam believes that friends owe each other the full truth, always, and so he tells him:

“You’d forget about loving Skeppy the exact way he forgot about loving you.”

Bad chokes out a sob. “Don’t say that.”

Sam grimaces, and if his mask hides the bottom of his face, Bad still sees his unease and pain in his eyes. He pulls out a small envelope from his pocket and opens it, letting its content slide into his gloved hand. Bad watches as red petals fall into his friend’s hand.

“No,” he murmurs.

“I was looking for you,” Sam says. “I tried searching the manor. They were in his bedroom.”

He holds his hand out, cruelly, and forces Bad to take a look at them. They’re large, red petals. They look… They almost look like petals from flowers made of crepe paper. Carnations, Bad thinks vaguely.

The red is mocking him. The wilted petals are bringing pain through his chest, almost as if his flowers were reacting to their siblings’ presence.

“No,” Bad whispers again.

“I’m sorry,” Sam tells him, and he sounds genuine. “I think they’re from when you were under this thing’s control.”

Bad wants to cry. He wants to go back to the hut and beg Skeppy for forgiveness. He knows it won’t result in anything good, because Skeppy is gone.

“I never stopped loving him,” he says in an empty voice. “That’s the only thing it can be. If he- If it’s me it was about.”

Sam looks at him. Through him. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t mock him. His tone is sad. “Who else?”

Bad wants to crumble into his friend’s arms and cry. He can’t.

“They’re just petals,” Sam says, as if it could be a comfort. “I couldn’t find any fully formed flowers. No buds, no blooms. I think he got you back before it could develop into something bad.”

And then Bad lost Skeppy. He looks away from the red flowers and he feels as if he’ll see them in his nightmares. “Please- I can’t see them.”

He hears shuffles near him and Sam eventually speaks. “I’ve put them away,” he says. “Sorry. I just thought you deserved to know.”

Bad thinks it would have been better for him not to know. Less painful.

If he is going to die soon, at least Sam could have let him think that he hadn’t irremediably hurt his best friend and the man he loves.

Sam just had to keep it hidden a bit longer.

He shakes his head. “It’s okay.” His chest hurts and he brings a palm there, as if the touch would soothe his lungs. “I want to go home.”

Sam shifts on his feet. “Actually-”

Bad is tired. “What?”

“I want you to come home with me. To my house. We’ll be safe there.”

“But Skeppy-”

“I’ll check up on him,” Sam replies before Bad can finish his protest. “I’ll make sure he is okay. I want- Let me sure you are okay too. Please.”

Bad is too tired to argue. The coughing is keeping him awake every night. He is exhausted. He is in pain. He nods weakly.

Sam places a gloved hand on his back and gently leads him away from the wall. He sighs a little and, when Bad looks up at him, shakes his head. “Don’t worry,” he tells him. “I’ll just- Once I’ve dropped you at my base I’ll come and fix the wall.” A pause. “Maybe reinforce it.”

Bad nods slowly. He lets Sam guide him away.

Depression and Detachment

If Bad had assumed that Sam would simply take him to his house near the construction site, he finds how wrong he has been. They walk for a long time. They walk long enough for Bad’s legs to tremble with effort, for his breathing to get shallower, and Sam only stops when it gets bad enough that Bad starts hacking, gasping for breath.

He coughs petals and tiny buds and pretends not to notice when Sam collects them and places them safely in an envelope.

They walk until they’ve reached a cliff and Sam moves to a stone and presses his finger to a rock three times in a practiced rhythm. A door reveals itself.

Bad frowns. His forehead is drenched with sweat from the effort of the walk but the sudden appearance of a door on the cliff is strange enough for Bad to take a second to check with his friend.

“It’s my safe house,” Sam says. “No one knows about it besides George and Sapnap. And no one lives there except for Fran and-”

“Sammy! You’re back!”

Sam’s shoulders drop and if Bad didn’t know him so well he would think that it might be distaste or utter exhaustion at the screamed greeting. He knows his friend, though, and so he knows that Sam is relaxing in Ponk’s presence.

Ponk does appear, rushing down a set of stairs, arms open wide to welcome Sam. He pauses before engulfing him into a hug, though, because he notices Bad.

“Oh, heya,” Ponk greets, relaxing and leaning against a wall. “Welcome to Hotel Sammy Wammy 123. How are you?”

His tone is playful but there’s something inquisitive in his eyes and Bad looks back to Sam who fidgets uncomfortably.

“I didn’t tell him what it is,” Sam starts. “But I did tell him that you’re sick and that you might spend a few days here.”

‘Spend a few days.’ Bad is terrified at the thought that he might spend his last days here.

“It’s fine,” he sighs. “I trust Ponk.”

Ponk had been one of the closest people to the Badlands, after all, kept out of it only because his constant jokes about hurting cats had upset Ant at the time of the Badlands’ founding. And Ponk-

Ponk’s mischievousness has always made Bad think of Skeppy’s.

That thought seems to send fire straight into his lungs. He cries out in pain and grasps helplessly at his chest, bending over to cough. His throat feels so raw as he heaves violently.

There’s a hand on his back and then a slap. “Don’t hit his back unless he is unable to breathe!” Ponk scolds Sam. “Can’t believe I have to teach all of you these things.”

Bad coughs, eyes on the clean stone floor, and a small petal comes out of his mouth and floats to the ground, but it’s not the object disturbing his breathing and so he keeps coughing, desperately trying to dislodge the flower in his throat.

“Keep going,” Ponk encourages from behind. “Go on, just- You need to get it out.”

Bad coughs until the object moves up into his throat and finally reaches his mouth. He feels the flower against his tongue for a moment before it falls to the ground.

Sam is on it in a second, grabbing it. Bad meets his eyes as he wipes his mouth, standing back up.

“Gee,” Ponk comments. “Did you swallow something wrong? Sounds like you were hacking a lung out there.” A pause. “Is it some kind of weird pneumonia you got?”

Sam’s eyes are questioning. Bad sighs and nods. He closes his eyes, both to rest and so he won’t see the pity on his friend’s face.

“Ponky, Bad has… a condition.”

“Well, duh,” Ponk replies. “It’s good I’m here, then. I can figure out what’s wrong and all that.”

“We know what’s wrong with him.”

“Huh.” Bad hears Ponk step around. “Then how about you tell me, doctor Sammy?”

There’s a moment of silence. Bad tenses. Eventually, Sam lets out a long sigh. “Bad has- Ant says it’s called the lover’s illness. It’s a disease that causes flowers to grow in his lungs. They’re going to develop until he-…” It seems that Sam can’t bring himself to finish.

Bad feels grateful. He doesn’t know if he could accept it.

“That sounds…” Ponk’s tone is hesitant, as if he were trying to understand why Sam sounds so serious despite telling him what he thinks is a joke. “That sounds crazy, Sam. Maybe leave the medicine to people like m- oh fuck.”

Bad opens his eyes to look at Ponk peering inside Sam’s hand, where a bloodied blue bulb lays. Bad looks away instantly.

He doesn’t like looking at them. He’s been coughing them, and he has gone past the stage of ignoring them completely. He still doesn’t like seeing them. He doesn’t like what they imply.

That Skeppy hates him and that Bad is wasting away because of it.

Ponk is quiet for a moment, turning the bulb between his fingers before looking at the other specimens Sam has brought out of his envelope. “Well, shit,” he eventually declares. His eyes turn to Bad. “These things have been getting stuck in your throat?”

Bad nods. He feels tired. Ponk’s eyes are weirdly analytical, far from his usual mischievousness, and Bad misses the familiar playfulness that resembles Skeppy’s.

“It’s been growing in his lungs,” Sam adds. “That’s the most worrisome part.”

Ponk nods. “Fucking bet.” Bad doesn’t have the strength to scold him for the curse. “How long has it been?”

Sam’s eyes flicker to Bad again before he replies. “Ever since Skeppy turned red.”

“That’s a weird date system,” Ponk muses. A pause, and he frowns up at Sam. “It’s weird, right?”

“It’s linked,” Sam tells him. It seems like he doesn’t want to say too much but doesn’t know how to quench Ponk’s curiosity. “Bad’s dy- he is growing these flowers because Skeppy is red.”

“Weird flex,” Ponk comments. His eyes fix on Bad again. “Could I… look?”

It suddenly comes to Bad that Ponk is not only knowledgeable about health, but he had been a doctor (their only doctor) during every conflict. He had been their surgeon, their pharmacist, and essentially responsible for all of their health care.

He had healed wounds; he had operated them when nothing else would work.

He-

“You need to remove them,” Bad says – stutters.

“What?”

“The flowers,” Bad says. “In my chest. You need- You can do surgeries. I need you to take them and-”

“Bad.” Sam’s voice is kind. Pitying. But it is disapproving.

“I have no other choices,” Bad continues desperately. “They’re growing so fast, they’re going to-” (He can’t say it). “You have to help me, Ponk.”

Ponk’s eyes are wide and Bad knows that if he weren’t hiding the lower part of his face behind his mask, he would show a full shocked expression.

“Bad, this is not-”

“Please,” Bad says – begs. He begs. He is the leader of the Badlands, he used to be able to negotiate with the most important men of the lands, and he is just begging Ponk. He lets himself fall to his knees. “Please help me.”

A hand clasps his shoulder. “Bad,” Sam whispers. “I looked into it. Ant and I did. We didn’t want- Neither of us wanted to say anything in case it-” He stops. “It wouldn’t work.”

“Why not? They’re growing there! It’s some kind of foreign body in my chest! He has to be able-”

“They’re in your lungs!” Sam snaps, and Bad flinches at the firmness of his tone. “You can’t- Bad, I promise you we looked into it. We’ve tried so hard to think of something that would work. You can’t- Ponk cannot just get your entire chest open and slice flowers out of your lungs. It’s not- It would tear your lungs apart.” He pants, and Bad doesn’t know anymore if Sam sounds angry or sad. “You’d die during the surgery.”

“But-”

“Bad. No. We’re not doing this.”

Bad looks to Ponk, eyes supplicating. In front of them, Ponk looks deeply conflicted, almost afraid. When he meets Bad’s gaze, though, he looks pitying. “He is right, dude,” he breathes. “I’m sorry.”

Bad looks down. He curls on himself, his face on his knees, and he cries.

* * *

Sam’s house is quiet and comfortable.

Maybe out of some strange kind of compassion, Sam has chosen to let Bad take Sapnap’s old bedroom. The walls are painted to the man’s tastes, the colours matching well with the bedroom Sapnap had back when he lived with Bad.

It has photos, too. Photos of the three of them – Dream, George, and Sapnap. Some, where Sam and Bad have joined them. Some with other friends. A picture of Sapnap and his fiancés.

Bad misses his son.

Bad misses Sapnap’s wide smile, and Sapnap’s adventurous nature, and Sapnap’s excited screaming, and Sapnap’s calmer nature when he sometimes came to cuddle against Bad. When they had shared affection not through words but through shared silence.

Bad wonders if he will die without seeing his son again. He wonders what would be worse: for Sapnap to know and worry, or for Sapnap never to find out what has happened. He doesn’t know.

Bad is afraid of death.

He is afraid of never seeing his son again, of not being there for his wedding, of not being the one to walk him to the altar, of not sitting in the front row, crying tears of joy during the ceremony.

He is afraid of not being there for Sapnap ever again. He is afraid of Sapnap getting cold in the winter and not having anyone to cook him the soup he likes so much. He is afraid of Sapnap having a nightmare, even as an adult, and not being able to call him to talk about it, knowing that Bad would never judge him nor tell anyone about it.

He is terrified of dying.

Bad is terrified of never seeing Skeppy again.

He asks Sam about him every time Sam visits him. About how he is doing, what he last ate, what he was wearing, whether he had said anything, whether Sam had convinced him to walk out in the sun a little bit. He asks all of these questions and soaks in the responses and tries to imagine Skeppy.

He tries to make the most of Sam’s visits to make sure that his best friend is okay.

Visits.

Because he has to receive visitors now.

A few days into his stay at Sam’s, he had fallen suddenly, coughing violently as his knees hit the ground. He’d felt dizzy and lightheaded and had desperately tried to breathe through the object in his throat. He had tried to get rid of it until it lodged itself a bit more deeply into his throat, choking him. He’d let out a silent scream, air no longer entering or leaving his lungs at all. He’d brought his hands to his throat, desperate to move it, to breathe, to save himself.

Ponk had sworn and rushed for him, pressing himself to his back and pushing his hands to his stomach, pulling in and up so hard that Bad had felt like his lower ribs had been broken at once.

The flower had fallen out of his mouth and Bad had let himself fall forward with it, panting.

Ponk had demanded that he be made to lay down and for Sam to bring him some water. And, through sips of cold water, under Ponk’s worried eyes, Bad had discovered a fully bloomed flower.

It’s blue. It’s blue like the diamonds on Skeppy’s skin used to be. It’s a tiny, delicate flower. It’s made of five little petals and a purple core, and it looks like a gust of wind a bit too strong would tear it apart.

It’s a tiny flower, one that would look beautiful in a wildflower bouquet.

It’s killing Bad.

Bad has been spitting full flowers much more often. They’re catching in his throat, threatening to choke him, and they come out bloodied and fragile and lethal.

Bad leaves them on his bedside table. He doesn’t know what else to do.

Ponk recommended that Bad stay in bed. Anything makes him breathless, now. Speaking makes him pant. ‘Your lungs can’t get the air through your body fast enough,’ Ponk tells him, and Bad wants to cry.

He isn’t sure if he wants to cry for himself, though. He mostly-

He mostly wants to cry because Skeppy is still red. Because he’ll probably die here, in his son’s bedroom, without having seen his best friend again.

He wonders if Skeppy will heal, one day. He wonders if the red diamonds will become blue once again. He wonders if-

He knows Skeppy – his Skeppy, the Skeppy with whom he fell in love – will mourn him. He can imagine Skeppy by his tombstone and he hates the thought of it. He hates thinking about Skeppy wearing black and crying at his grave. He hates the very idea of Skeppy being sad.

He doesn't want Skeppy to mourn him, he doesn’t want Skeppy to suffer for something that was never his fault.

And yet, that thought is still more comforting than the future in which Skeppy remains red forever. In which Bad has lost his Skeppy. In which even in death, Bad will never see him again.

Bad can’t bear any of it.

He lays on his son’s bed and he thinks about Skeppy and he cries.

Acceptance

Ant visits him, accompanied by Velvet.

His expression when they see each other immediately tells Bad how terrible he must look. Ant’s polite, forced smile drops instantly. His face pales, and he looks like he has seen a ghost.

Bad looks up at him and smiles weakly.

Velvet is the one who breaks the silence. “Here,” he says. “Let’s get you up a little.” He reaches under Bad’s head and props his pillow to the frame of the bed before helping Bad sit. “Ponk lets you sit down at least, right? You’re not that much of a prisoner?”

Ant is still watching him, grief in his eyes, and Bad doesn’t answer, so Velvet takes it upon himself to keep chattering:

“Does he let you do other things…? If you know what I mean, right? A man has needs, and-”

“Velvet.” This is apparently what makes Ant react. Bad watches as they exchange a look and Velvet smiles apologetically.

“Don’t treat him like he’s dead, though,” Velvet reproaches. “Man still looks very spry! He might win a marathon against my grandma!”

Bad can’t help but roll his eyes with a chuckle at that, and that seems to relax Ant enough for him to sit down on the chair where Sam normally sits. Velvet pauses, looking around the room, and he visibly decides to snob the stool in favor of sitting on the arm of the chair, leaning against Ant.

“How are you?” Ant asks.

Bad grimaces and opens his mouth.

“Wrong question,” Velvet says before Bad can speak. “Pick another one.”

Ant looks wet around the eyes. “Have you… Has anyone else visited you?”

Bad shrugs. “Sam,” he rasps. “Ponk.”

“Sapnap?” Ant asks gently.

Bad shakes his head. “I don’t want him to see me like this.”

“Bad, he is your s-”

“Bad’s lucid enough to make his own decision,” Velvet interrupts, and Bad feels so much gratefulness toward the man for preventing his fiancé to question him further. “Let him make his choices.”

“He’s dy-...” Ant cuts himself short in his promise, unable to speak the word.

“I’m dying,” Bad finishes. “You can say it.”

“Bad…” Ant sounds strangled. “Have you seen him?”

Bad reaches a hand to wipe at his eyes. He knows exactly who Ant is talking about, without anyone needing to pronounce Skeppy’s name. “He doesn’t want to come,” he says. He wheezes a little. “Sam asked him. He said he doesn’t care.”

He coughs at that, loud and painful, and Ant reaches in instantly. He doesn’t rub his back, probably having been told not to do it by Ponk, but he presses a hand to Bad’s knee, squeezing in support. Bad coughs until a flower finds its way to his mouth. He grabs it from where it lays on his tongue, and he puts it on the bedside table, with the others.

Velvet grimaces. Ant is still staring at him. “Bad,” he whispers. “I’ll make him come visit you. I will. You just have to say the word.”

Bad shakes his head and he uses a tissue to wipe the blood from his fingers and his lips. “I don’t want anyone to force him,” he murmurs. “He’d just hate me more.”

The thought is like thousands of small daggers in his chest. His hand clenches at the top of his shirt as if it could help. He whines a little and Ant lets go of his knee.

“Do you need- should I go get Ponk, or-?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t,” he manages to rasp. “It’s okay.”

“This is far from okay!” Ant protests. “Bad, you’re-”

“I’m dying,” Bad says once more. “We’ve said it already. It’s too… There’s no changing it, Ant.” He grabs his friend’s hand. Ant’s hand is shaking. “I just… Will you- Will you and Sam…” He hesitates and his eyes flicker to Ant’s companion. “And Velvet… Will you all take care of him?”

“He’s killing you!” Ant spits, and there’s resentment in his voice. It’s hatred born out of despair and sadness.

Bad clenches Ant’s fingers. “It’s not his fault,” he murmurs. “I need- Please. Let me go knowing-” He coughs a few times and looks down, but not before he has the chance to see Ant’s expression shift into one of pure pain. He coughs up a flower and meticulously places it to the side before looking back up at Ant. “Please at least give me that. So I can die without… Without worrying about him.”

Ant stands up as if he had been slapped. It’s a jerky movement that almost makes Velvet fall forward into the chair. “Hey!” the man protests.

“I can’t-” Ant looks at Bad again and his face is nothing but pure suffering. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” He rushes out of the room and slams the door.

Velvet stands up slowly, his eyes searching Bad. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he does sound sorry. Worried. Bad isn’t certain if Velvet is worried for him or for his fiancé. “I’ll talk to him. I’m sorry.”

Bad closes his eyes. “Thanks,” he murmurs.

There’s a gentle squeeze at his shoulder and then Velvet is gone too.

* * *

“Ah!”

Ponk exclamation has Bad flinch lightly; Sam jumps in surprise before he scolds at him. “Ponk, don’t-”

“I didn’t even scare Bad, you’re just on edge, Sammy!” Ponk responds. He waves his book around, making the pages flutter. “I found it!”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Go on, then…”

“Lungwort!” Ponk exclaims. “Let me see…” He reopens his book and reads sagely: “ Pulmonaria Officinalis. It looks exactly the same, look!” He holds out the book to Sam and only takes it back once he has received a nod from him. “Let’s see, let’s see… Mostly used as ornamental and groundcover… Blablabla… Oh, the etymology comes from pulmonary and stuff, because they kinda look like lungs!”

He lets go of the book and walks all the way to the bedside table, grabbing one of Bad’s flowers. He brings it to his eyes and stares.

“Hm, guess I can see it…” He turns the flower around between his fingers and Sam frowns.

“Ponk, you’re being insensitive, just-”

“It’s fine,” Bad says. He feels tired. “Can I see it?”

Ponk nods quickly and brings the book to him, placing it on his lap. Bad looks down, looking at the black and white illustration of the flowers that have been killing him. They look pretty and unassuming there, sketched on the thin paper of the flower encyclopedia Ponk borrowed from Karl’s library.

Bad’s eyes fall on the meaning.

He always thought that the “science of flower meaning” was ridiculous.

Lungwort: You are my life.

He wants to cry.

Bad is dying and the flowers killing him are sending one last message to Skeppy. His flowers are reminding him that he lived for Skeppy. Skeppy is gone, and so Bad is dying.

It’s logical.

It’s dramatic.

Bad closes the book. “Never…” he rasps. “Please never let Skeppy see it.”

Sam frowns. It’s his pitying frown, the one Bad became so used to. “Bad,” he whispers. “Skeppy is not-”

“Please.”

Sam looks close to tears. It’s weird, when Sam is usually able to keep his calm under any situation. “Bad,” he says again, and it’s a supplication. (For Bad to admit to himself that Skeppy will never come back).

“I’m going to die,” Bad tells him. “Please… Just promise me that.”

“I’ll burn the book,” Ponk says, and his voice is serious. “Never mind Karl, I’ll just have Sammy protect me if he’s angry.”

Bad huffs out a hint at a laugh. “Thanks,” he whispers.

He goes to give the book back before a dangerous curiosity takes him. He opens it back and looks at the letter ‘C’. He flips a few pages before stopping on the entry he wanted to see.

Carnation: red – my heart breaks.

He slams the book closed and coughs violently. He feels Sam take the book, making sure that it doesn’t get tainted by the blood that might come along with the flowers.

He keeps coughing over the blankets, bending himself forward to help with the expulsion. He coughs and coughs and coughs as the flower comes up in his throat. He makes himself heave, and forces himself to vomit. His breath blocks at some point and he chokes silently until Ponk reaches in, firmly slapping him between the shoulder blades, palm straight. He hits thrice before Bad manages to breathe. He gasps for air and coughs, letting the flower fall out.

In the corner of his vision, he sees Sam reach for the flower. His friend gasps.

Panting, Bad looks up. Sam looks shaken. He stares at the cluster of flowers he holds. They share a stem but there are several of them, just like lungworts would grow in nature.

It’s big. The flowers, by themselves, are still small enough. The cluster is far too big.

Bad idly wonders if he is going to die when the flowers have fully corrupted his lungs, or if it will happen sooner. If one of these clusters will choke him to death in the night. If he’ll find himself unable to breathe and unable to call for Ponk’s help.

He doesn’t know which one he would prefer.

Maybe a death in his sleep would be kinder.

He looks back to Sam’s expression. Sam is shaking. He looks stricken.

“Sam?”

Sam’s lips tremble at the call of his name. Bad weakly reaches for him, raising a hand. He doesn’t have to ask for Sam to take it.

“You’ll be okay,” Bad murmurs. “Sam. It will be okay.” Sam trembles. “Come closer.”

Bad places his hands on Sam’s cheeks, cupping his face. He holds him there, and it’s only by watching the fear in Sam’s eyes that he remembers that his friend is younger. Less experimented. Less… More…

Bad loves him.

“You’ll be okay,” he whispers again. “I’ll watch over you.”

Sam clenches his eyes and Bad knows that he is trying to keep his tears at bay.

“Sam, you’ll be okay,” Bad says again. “Ponk and Ant and Puffy, and-… They’ll be there with you, okay?”

Sam sniffles and pulls away. Bad sends a grateful look to Ponk when the man immediately reaches forward to support Sam.

“I’ll save you,” Sam promises. “Bad, I’ll find something. I’m not- I’m not letting you die.”

There’s no chance and Bad knows it.

He sighs. “All right,” he breathes.

He can’t break his friend’s heart.

* * *

“Puffy?”

Puffy looks up to him immediately. She stops pretending to be reading some magazine Velvet left there the last time he and Ant visited.

Judging by the cover, Bad guesses that he should probably be upset at Velvet for leaving it. He doesn’t have the energy to be mad. Not when he knows he will probably pass away soon.

Puffy’s eyes find him. They’re compassionate and gentle.

She’s always been a kind friend. Bad hopes that the Badlands will support her when he is gone. He isn’t sure if he should write a will and include it.

But if he writes a will, Skeppy might find it and-

Bad cannot bear the thought of hurting Skeppy, even in death.

“Puffy, I don’t want flowers.”

She frowns at him, confused. “What are you talking about, you muffinhead?” she asks. Her voice is so sweet. So kind. She pretends to tease him, as if things were normal. “Have you drunk a bit too much cough syrup?”

“No flowers,” Bad insists. “At my- At the funerals.”

Puffy’s strained smile falls. She nods. “All right,” she says quietly.

“No flowers on my grave either. Please.”

Puffy reaches and touches his cheek tenderly. He knows his face is emaciated now. He knows the bags under his eyes are worrisome. He knows he looks like he is on death bed. (He is).

“No flower, Bad,” she repeats. “I promise.”

“Unless…” He coughs a little and her eyes fill with alarm and fear and worry. He waves her hand away, coughing into his hand until he has expelled a bloodied blue lungwort. He lets it fall on the mattress near him, no longer caring if it stains the sheets.

Puffy is looking at him, worried, gentle, maternal, and Bad wants to ask her to hold him tight and not to let go until he feels at peace (until he is at peace).

He needs to continue though. For Skeppy. “Unless if Skeppy… If he comes back.” Puffy looks heartbroken but she doesn’t interrupt him, not the way Ant and Sam do. “If he comes back, let him-… Whatever flowers he wants. Okay?”

Puffy smiles but her body flinches a bit, as if she were repressing sobs. “Okay, Bad,” she murmurs. “Anything you want.”

Bad smiles at her. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “You’ve always been a good friend.”

Puffy looks like she is going to cry. Bad looks away to give her the privacy of her emotions.

He lets them all accept his death however they need. He tries to support them while he still can.

Catharsis

Bad has accepted his upcoming death. He knows it’s coming, and he knows it will hurt, and he knows that there is nothing he can do to stop it.

Skeppy is not coming back. Ant and Sam went to talk to him, from what they tell him. They explained, and pleaded, and threatened, and nothing worked. Bad told them not to use violence and so they didn’t.

It helps, to know that they respect his wishes.

He hopes they’ll respect his dying wishes too. That they will continue to watch over Skeppy, no matter what. Even if he never comes back to himself, Bad wants to know that his best friend (the man with whom he fell in love, and the man whose lack of love is killing him) will be safe.

He trusts Ant and Sam to grant him that, to let him go peacefully by promising that Skeppy will be okay – even if he will never be Bad’s Skeppy.

He trusts them.

So it comes as a betrayal when Sam announces their plan. He and Ant are standing very straight in his bedroom (Sapnap’s bedroom), their armor still on.

Sam tells Bad that he, Ant, and Puffy came up with a way to save his life.  It’s so simple that it’s terrifying.

Skeppy is controlled by the Egg. They have to destroy the Egg.

The dread that Bad feels at the proposal is so strong that he isn’t sure if this is him being worried about Skeppy or if this is some kind of residue of the Egg control.

Still, he uses his hands to prop himself up, and he protests:

“You can’t do it! We don’t know what-… what kind of consequences it will have! What if it hurt him? What if-…. What if it kills him?” Saying that, he coughs violently, and a fully bloomed lungwort cluster lands on the mattress. He pants for a few heartbeats before looking back at his friends.

Ant is glaring at the flower rather than at Bad. “If we don’t do it, it will kill you.”

Bad feels afraid. His chest burns and he knows that only part of it is due to the flowers. The rest is pure dread. “What about his- Skeppy’s safety? You promised!”

“I also promised to find something to save you,” Sam says, implacable. “Let us try, Bad.”

“No! You can’t!”

“We will.”

Bad wants to hate Sam, but how can he hate him when Sam is just desperately trying to save his life? He folds over he cries into his hands.

A hand touches him and Bad jerks it away, catching a glimpse of Ant’s pained wince. “You can’t,” he repeats. “Please, Ant… Just let me go… Please- Don’t-” He can’t bear the thought of hurting Skeppy.

“We can’t lose you,” Ant murmurs, and he sounds apologetic, but he also sounds determined. Like nothing will change his mind. “Bad, we need you.”

Bad shakes his head. “You don’t! I need-” He coughs, violently, and he cries out at the pain in his throat. The flowers seem to be getting bigger. Mostly, though, they come so much more often. Bad coughs so much. His throat is raw, his chest is constantly in pain. He feels like he is going to die. He knows he is going to die. He supports his head with his hands, and he coughs into his lap until the lungwort cluster has fallen out. It’s bloodied and in full bloom. Bas shudders at the sight.

Given the silence in the room, Sam and Ant are shocked by it too.

Bad tries to take the opportunity to plead his case. Skeppy’s case. “It’s not his- It’s never been his fault,” he rasps. “He’s- He’s a good man.” He looks into Ant’s accusatory eyes. “I’m not dying because of him… It’s not- It’s not his fault.”

“It’s not yours either,” Ant replies firmly, and Bad whimpers. “You shouldn’t have to die, Bad.”

“I’d give my life for him.” Lungwort: You are my life.

Ant comes closer, gentle and compassionate, and he very gently wipes the sweat off Bad’s forehead. “We know you would. And we’re not letting you make that sacrifice.”

Bad feels desperate. The very idea of Skeppy dying makes his chest clench and burn even more – it’s searing pain, the only thing he can think about. He has to grit his teeth to speak. “If he dies-… If he dies, and I live- I’ll never forgive you.”

He doesn’t know how his illness would evolve is the source of it were to die. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want to live in a world where Skeppy is dead.

Ant flinches but Sam grasps his shoulder encouragingly. “We know,” he says. “We’re ready for it.”

“You can’t- ”

Ant looks pleading too. “We are your brothers, Bad.” Not his blood brothers; Bad doesn’t have those. Sam and Ant are his sword brothers, his country brothers, the two men for whom he’d go to war. He’d go to war for Skeppy, too. They know it.

“He is my soulmate !”

Ant falters a little. “Bad-”

“We’re doing this,” Sam says. “We knew you wouldn’t agree. We are doing it anyway. We want you to live. We just thought you deserved the warning.”

Bad cries and, for the first time in weeks, it is not sad tears but angry tears. He feels furious. He feels helpless. “Please, don’t !”

His pleas fall on deaf ears. Sam looks at his communicator. “It’s time,” he tells Ant. “Puffy is probably about to open the room. We need to join her.”

Ant nods. He seems to hesitate, his eyes flickering to Bad, and Bad meets him with a fierce glare. He looks conflicted. Heartbroken.

And yet, it’s not enough. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs to Bad. “I love you.”

They leave.

* * *

It takes Bad a moment to calm himself.

It takes even longer for him to get his coughs under control. The very idea of Skeppy dying seems to trigger the worst of his flowers. He coughs and he thinks that maybe this is it, that maybe he will choke to death in his bed, and that Sam and Ant will come back and never know if their idea had worked.

He coughs so loudly and so violently that he is surprised Ponk doesn’t come running into the room until he realizes that Sam probably brought him with them.

That makes him cough more.

When he manages to control his breathing though, when he has placed the lungworts to the side, determined to ignore them, he reaches for his communicator, and he contacts the one person he had sworn to leave out of this.

His son.

He didn’t want Sapnap to see him like this. He didn’t want Sapnap to worry; he didn’t want Sapnap to mourn even before Bad had breathed his last breath.

He doesn’t think he has another option. He writes: ‘ I need you.’

The response is almost instantaneous. ‘ Bad?? Are you okay?? We haven’t spoken in weeks’

Bad knows the way he texted probably contributed to Sapnap’s panic. He is not one for punctuation, nor has he ever sent a message to Sapnap without greeting him with a silly nickname and adding a few faces to his text.

He trembles a little. ‘ I need your help. Sam and Ponk are going to hurt Skeppy. I need to stop them. ’

A second passes. ‘ Fuck, where are they?? I’m getting George and we’ll be on the way, we’ll come in support.’

‘I need you to come get me,’ Bad types. ‘I can’t get there myself.’

‘What??? Are you okay??’

There’s a pause and Bad starts to painstakingly write a message explaining that he is incapacitated but that Sapnap doesn’t need to worry about him – not when Skeppy may die.

Another message comes through before he finishes his draft. ‘ Where are you? I’m coming.’

Bad lets out a sigh of relief. He deletes his explanations. ‘ Sam’s secret base. Your old bedroom. ’ He hesitates and sends another text: ‘ Bring a horse’

He is expecting Sapnap to frantically message him, demanding how he got so hurt that he would need a horse to travel around.

The questioning doesn’t come. Just a simple  ‘ On my way’. And then, silence.

Bad forces himself to breathe.

* * *

Bad hears, more than he sees, Sapnap arrive. He hears the slam of the entrance door, the rapid footstep, and Sapnap screaming for him. His door opens suddenly and Sapnap comes inside. His eyes are wide with concern.

The sight of the blue flowers tainted with blood does not make his panic any better. “Bad?” he exclaims. “What are those?”

He sounds afraid, almost like he did when he was much younger and was first confronted with monsters.

Bad shakes his head. He knows his voice is weak by the way Sapnap tenses as he answers: “No time for that. I’ll-… I’ll explain.” He pushes on his arms to sit up. “Did you bring the horse?”

Sapnap is pale. He nods, his eyes not leaving Bad. “Outside the door.”

Bad pushes a little on his arms before faltering. He looks back to his son. His worried, confused son. “I’ll need help to stand,” he rasps. “And to walk to the horse.”

That does nothing to alleviate Sapnap’s worry. He looks like questions are burning his lips, but he shows some uncharacteristic self-restraint and moves to help Bad stand.

The moment his feet hit the floor, Bad wobbles a little and he knows that he was right to tell Sapnap to help him. He feels so lightheaded he doesn’t know if he’d be able to stand for himself.

Sapnap holds him, though, tight and secure, and Bad lets himself lean on his son.

“Where are they?” Sapnap asks as they walk to exit Sam’s base. “Did they do this to you?”

“The Egg room,” Bad pants, and Sapnap’s head snaps to him, looking alarmed.

“Are they-?”

“They’re going to hurt Skeppy,” It’s a plea as much as it is a fact.

Sapnap sucks in a breath. “Bad, does it have something to do with that thing?”

Bad remembers how Sapnap had tried to destroy the Egg, how his heart had broken when Sapnap had announced that he wanted the entity gone.

“Bad?”

He shakes his head. “Please.”

Sapnap looks unhappy but he helps Bad get on the horse and sits in front of him. This is how they’ve always done it when they shared a horse. Bad wraps his hands around his son’s waist.

Before Sapnap can make the horse start moving, Bad starts coughing again. He lets go of Sapnap’s waist and presses his hands to his mouth, trying, desperately, to keep the heaving quiet. It quickly turns far too loud, though, far too violent, and Bad removes his hands from his face and he leans to the side, making himself retch on the ground. Flowers and blood fall onto the dirt. It’s enough blood and bile for the flowers to be almost hidden. It’s terrifying.

Sapnap stares. Bad cannot see his face but he can see the tension in his son’s shoulders. Sapnap looks at the blood-stained ground for a moment before turning his head lightly, just so he can see Bad out of the corner of his eye. “Did Sam and Ant do this to you?”

Bad clenches his eyes shut and shakes his head.

“Did that thing – did the Egg do this to you?”

Bad whimpers.

Did it?

It stole Skeppy from him. It is the reason Skeppy is gone. It is the reason Bad is dying.

This is why Sam and And want to destroy it.

“Please,” he begs.

Sapnap looks conflicted. “Okay,” he ends up muttering. “You owe me an explanation, though.”

Bad nods. “I promise.”

Sapnap presses his heels to the horse’s flank. It starts, and Sapnap keeps pressing until it is galloping.

They don’t speak much after that. Sapnap focuses on controlling the horse and Bad lets his head rest on his son’s shoulders, desperately trying to keep breathing slowly despite the way the movement leaves him breathless.

He can’t afford to lose control and start coughing.

He can’t.

They ride, far more rapidly than Bad ever had – much faster than Sapnap ever has, as far as Bad knows.

They ride and it seems like an eternity passes and it seems like a second passes, and then they reach their destination, and Bad sees-

Bad sees Skeppy.

Bad sees Skeppy, beautiful and breathtaking the way he always has been. Bad sees Skeppy, sees the red diamonds on his skin, and sees the way Skeppy is desperately trying to push past Puffy to get into the room.

Most likely to protect the Egg.

Bad’s chest is burning, and he cries out in pain. Sapnap must hear it because he screams too. For Skeppy.

“Skeppy!” he yells. “Bad is coming!”

Skeppy doesn’t even turn to look at them. “You can’t destroy it!” he roars to Puffy – maybe to Sam and Ant, inside the room. “You’ll need to kill me first! It’s my reason to live!”

Lungwort: You are my life.

The sound of Skeppy’s voice, the words he pronounces-

They’re too much.

It feels like Bad’s chest is on fire. It feels like hundreds of daggers are stabbing through his chest. It feels like he can’t breathe anymore. He heaves, gasping for air, and he feels like he can’t, like his lungs are finally being overtaken. He gasps and contorts himself like a drowning man desperately trying to breathe again, and he can’t, and he is lightheaded, and-

“Bad!” Sapnap sounds panicked, maybe because, in his struggle for air, Bad has let go of his waist to hold his chest and his throat.

“Bad!” Puffy’s staring at him now, looking terrified out of her mind.

Bad meets Skeppy’s eyes when his best friend (his soulmate) turns to see the cause of the commotion. His face, like always, is emotionless. Careless.

That indifference is the last thing he sees before he falls.

He loses consciousness.

The Road Forward

“Bad?”

Bad opens his eyes and…

Skeppy is looking at him. His Skeppy, with the gorgeous blue diamonds that litter his skin like freckles, is looking at him.

He is looking at him with worry and affection and-

“Did I die?” Bad rasps.

Is this why Skeppy – his Skeppy – is back?

Skeppy looks incredibly confused. He opens his mouth to respond before a laugh steals the opportunity from him.

“Hey, I love treating people with concussions, they are so fun, this is going to be great!”

“Ponky, please…”

Sam sounds exhausted and Ponk ecstatic. Ant is there too, coming closer, a mix of concern and relief painting his face.

“Are you okay?” he asks, the first one of them to speak directly to Bad.

Bad’s eyes flick to him for a moment, but then he looks at Skeppy again. At his Skeppy. His Skeppy. His Skeppy with his blue diamonds and his brown eyes full of mischief and affection.

There’s little mischief in his gaze right now, though. If anything, it looks like he is devouring Bad with his eyes only. Like he can’t stop looking at him.

Bad groans a little as he reaches a hand forward. He wants to touch Skeppy. None of his friends have acknowledged his presence and maybe Bad is so far gone that he is hallucinating. Maybe he isn’t-

He tries to reach but lets his hand drop when coughing overtakes him again. He turns a bit to be on his side and he coughs, curling a bit on himself so his knees are angled toward his chest. He coughs loudly around the flower in his throat, retching as he feels the petals in his trachea.

“Don’t,” someone says. “He’s still breathing.”

“But-” Skeppy’s voice.

It’s Skeppy who spoke, and who falls quiet as Bad continues to cough. He eventually dislodges the flower and whines a bit, reaching one hand to his mouth and pulling the lungwort cluster out.

“Fuck. Oh fuck. ” Skeppy’s voice again. Panicked. Cursing.

“We told you,” Ant says gently.

“I didn’t imagine- Bad, look at me? Please?”

Bad feels dizzy. He gasps a little for air and turns to his back again, looking up to Skeppy. Skeppy, whose eyes seem full of tears, whose mouth is opened into a shocked expression, whose face is speaking nothing but pure horror.

He is so beautiful, Bad thinks. Even with this horrified expression. He coughs weakly, his body shuddering with the effort.

“Bad…” Skeppy murmurs. It seems like he is trying to reach for him before faltering, hand hovering near Bad’s chest.

In the corner of his vision, Bad can see the flowers. They’re bloodied and probably horrifying. He lets his eyes meet Skeppy’s again. “They’re yours,” he rasps. “I love you.”

“Bad-”

“I missed you,” Bad continues, his voice hoarse. There’s a dull continued pain in his chest and he thinks that maybe he is dying. He never wanted to force Skeppy to see this. “I’m sorry.”

“Bad, fuck, I’m sorry! ”

Bad frowns. Not because of the curse but because he is confused. He looks at his best friend. His soulmate. “This isn’t your fault.” He needs Skeppy to know this. He needs everyone here to know this too.

He can’t bear the thought that his friends would blame Skeppy for his death. He is hurt by the very idea that Skeppy could blame himself. He coughs weakly.

“I love you,” he repeats because, if Skeppy is here, he needs to know it.

“No, Bad!” Skeppy protests, it’s almost a roar. He is on his knees now, so he can be close to Bad. So he can look at him, and he looks furious and scared and determined, and so, so affectionate. “Don’t you dare- I love you!”

Bad blinks.

Once. Twice.

He breathes.

It comes lightly, the air flowing smoothly through his lungs. He gasps in shock, and he sees the fear on his best friend – his soulmate –’s face. He shakes his head quickly to reassure him.

“I’m breathing,” he murmurs.

Skeppy’s face does a strange shift. It goes from grief, to confusion, to realization, and to relief.

He stares. “Bad,” he repeats. “I love you.”

Bad nods weakly. He still feels exhausted, but the air is coming through his lungs easily, and he cherishes the feeling.

“Is he-?” This is Puffy’s voice.

“Gay?” Velvet completes. “Yes, I would say so.”

They might say something else but Bad cannot focus on anything but the smile that stretches Skeppy’s lips and the laugh that comes out of his mouth. He reaches again, holds his hand up and out, until Skeppy gets the hint and takes it.

Skeppy’s hand is warm and comforting and familiar, and holding it feels like coming home.

“I love you,” Skeppy says again.

Bad exhales. It’s relief and it’s joy. The air comes out of his lungs easily, with no hindrance.

“I love you,” he tells Skeppy. And then, because no other words come through his mind: “You are my life.”

Skeppy – his Skeppy, mischievous and affectionate – might laugh and make fun of the sappiness of his words. This Skeppy, though, is still too overwhelmed by coming so close to losing him. All he does is smile wider.

* * *

Everything does not get instantly resolved, of course.

There are still flowers in his chest, though they all wilted and detached from his lungs the moment his love became requited once more. Velvet looks at him for a moment and tells him that he might still cough a little for a few more days – nothing violent, but enough to get rid of some of the flowers while the rest decompose naturally.

There is a crater where the Egg used to stand and very confused people come to look at it, trying to understand what happened. Others visit to make sure that they can no longer hear the whispering voices. Bad decides to give up on his project to build the statue room.

There are Ant and Sam, unashamed of their action, of their betrayal of Bad’s wishes, and there is Puffy who apologizes profusely and almost cries as she wraps her arms around Bad. The three of them are so beyond relieved and Bad cannot make himself be mad at any of them. He loves them above any form of anger and resentment, and he now knows that they love him above the fear of his hatred.

There are three friends who almost lost him, either by betraying him or by seeing him die, and who cannot express their relief with words.

There is Sapnap, confused and angry and worried. Sapnap who feels conflicted because he figured out that Bad wanted him to stop the Egg from being destroyed, but he also understands that he contributed to saving his father’s life. There is Sapnap who needs explanations, who doesn’t know what the flowers mean, or why Skeppy and Bad cannot let go of each other’s hands.

There is Sapnap, who has heard his father gasping for breath and believed that he was about to become an orphan.

There is Skeppy, precious Skeppy, Bad’s Skeppy, who doesn’t remember much of what happened while he was under the Egg’s control. ‘It was like being in some weird dream,’ he tells Bad. ‘A nightmare.’ There is Skeppy who is unashamed of his decision to sacrifice himself so that everyone else would be safe from the Egg’s influence but who apologizes to Bad every time he so much as falters in his step.

There is Skeppy who knows that he almost caused Bad’s death and who burns with guilt about it.

Finally, there is Bad who knows about the red carnations but doesn’t know how to bring them up. There is Bad who feels fragilized, who’s still weak, and who still sometimes panics when he feels a cough coming.

There is Bad who remembers knowing that he was going to die and who knows what it feels like to accept his own death.

They’re all shaken by it – maybe even a bit broken. Bad knows that there is a lungwort-shaped scar in his soul, and he knows that Skeppy bears its twin.

They’re shaken and traumatized, but they’re all alive. They’re healing. They’re healing together- not just Bad and Skeppy, but with the others too.

After everything, they choose to all stay in the mansion. It’s big enough to accommodate them all anyway. Sam and Ponk choose to share a room and ignore Velvet’s innuendos. And well, they all decide to also ignore Velvet’s innuendos about his own couple when he and Ant retreat to their bedroom on the first night. Puffy takes the room closest to Bad and Skeppy, her smile still looking a bit shaky as she wishes them goodnight. Sapnap holds onto Bad for a very long time before letting go and heading to the bedroom Bad and Skeppy always kept for him.

It feels weird, at first, to be under so many gazes, to know that each shaking breath is monitored by all of his friends.

At first, it feels weird; and then, it feels comfortable.

They all sprawl on the couch together to watch a movie and Skeppy throws popcorn at Ant and Velvet before turning to kiss Bad on the cheek and it feels like a family.

Bad bakes muffins and finds himself held tightly against Skeppy’s chest, arms encircling his waist, and he leans into it, and they ignore Ponk’s screams about PDA and Sam’s frantic apologies.

Bad finds Skeppy in a deep conversation with Puffy and he listens to his best friend – his soulmate, his lover, his life – describe the nightmares that shake him awake, and he comes closer and wraps his arms around Skeppy and holds him tight.

Sapnap stops him in a hallway one day and tells him that he always considered Skeppy his second father, no matter what they were to each other before, no matter whether they had put a word on their relationship, and Bad cries a little.

Skeppy grabs his hand and tugs him all the way to the roof and kisses him breathless. Bad lets himself lean into the kiss and doesn’t feel fear when he pants a bit as they separate.

They heal, together, and they get to be happy again.

And sometimes, even with the house so full, Bad finds himself alone.

He finds himself contemplating nature outside of the window or watching the stars from the roof or daydreaming as he flips through the pages of a book.

And every time he does, he takes a moment to cherish the lack of pain in his chest and the knowledge that he is loved.

And he breathes.