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Published:
2022-07-21
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2022-07-22
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2/2
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(Baby We Built This) House of Memories

Summary:

(Formally known as "Nothing will ever be the same again (is that a good thing?")

Basically, Sasha enjoys some jail time and regrets her life choices.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Chapter 1: Promise Me A Place

Notes:

MAJOR EDIT: So, while I was reviewing this chapter yesterday, I came across a couple of things that I wanted to rewrite, or add, or rephrase. The story's obviously still the same, just with a few new bits (and a new name, :)). Preferably, I would just save this in my drafts until I was able to fully edit the second chapter, but ao3 apparently doesn't allow you to do that once you've published the story 🙃 I'm, like, probably not going to be able to update chapter two until the weekend swings around again (holiday's over, boo hoo😭), but I'll update when I update. You'll know that I edited it when you see the "MAJOR EDIT" in my opening notes!

Chapter Text

Black.

 

It's all Sasha can see – the smothering darkness of the burlap sack he pulled over her head, interwoven so tightly that not even the tiniest trickles of light can seep through – as two pairs of robotic arms grab each of her limbs and toss her into the dark cell that was soon to become her new home.

 

The pain is searing; metal fingers dig into her skin, cold seeps into nerves so numb they can barely register the agony, just flickers of white hot torture that threaten to slice her consciousness clean in two. The pressure applied is just enough to leave marks – infuriated purple-and-blue bruises that circle down her body and make her feel impossibly faint, like a twig about to snap at any given moment. 

 

It makes her feel weak, for it's not the kind of pain that comes from sweating it out with Grime or slaying giant insects or even putting bullies in their place from when she was little. It's the sort of pain that comes from defeat. 

 

Sasha is many things, but losing is not a condition that she's familiar with. 

 

And yet she's had so many losses, these past few hours. 

 

Crack.

 

Sasha guesses those are some of her bones giving out under the force. She can sense bulges where there aren't supposed to be.

 

For some reason, that leaves her strangely blissful. 

 

At least, pain is an old friend. Even if it makes Sasha feel like she's about to collapse into a million pieces, it means that she doesn't have the mental energy to think. To regret.

   

Screech. 

 

Sasha can't see it, but from the sound of metal on metal that the blonde has become all too acquainted with, she can tell that it's a door opening. A door that hadn't been opened in a long time, considering the amount of resistance it's giving.

 

For a moment, the arms let go of her, and she feels weightless, even as she's standing on her own two feet. She knows that should be worrying, that Marcy would probably say her mind was withdrawing from the rest of her body and blocking out vital signals, but she doesn't care. She can't bring herself to care, to think.

 

Then suddenly the burlap sack is ripped violently off of Sasha's head. She has a two-second window to register the white lighting before she's thrust into the choking humidity of a damp, enclosed space – the familiar musk of decay and hopelessness (did that even have a smell?) bombards her nostrils – and then there's another screech, indicating the closing of the door. She doesn't feel the impact of her face hitting a loosely tiled floor. 

 

As the reverberating footsteps of metal feet grow more and more distant, Sasha can't even gather the energy to pull herself into a sitting position against the mossy walls. Somehow, her vision gets even blurrier. Her consciousness retreating into the innermost depths of her mind, she takes what she believes to be her final breath. She closes her eyes – not that they'd been much help in the first place – and patiently waits for death to take her into his bony arms. 

 

Maybe she can finally rest, friendless and hopeless.

 

 

It couldn't be possible. It shouldn't be possible. 

 

 "They're just slimy little frogs, Anne!" 

 

The words tumble past her lips as they always had, unstoppable even if she tried to will it into silence. You'd think that, because it is her dream, Sasha would be in control. But she isn't, not even her own mind. In fact, it is the very opposite. 

 

She really is pitiful. And oh so very weak. 

 

 "They don't matter!" 

 

She couldn't bring herself to be strong in the ways that mattered.

 

 Her words sting, she can tell. A glimpse of hurt dwells in Anne's eyes, before it's quickly overtaken by anger and disgust. And is that... blue?

 

She wasn't enough, in the end.

 

Anne lunges. It's all a blur, but soon Sasha can identify that she's on the floor, sword out of her grip, and Anne's pointing directly at her face. Something warm is oozing its way down one of her cheeks. She touches it, and has to resist the urge to puke when her hand comes back red.

 

"It's over, Sash," Anne declares, managing to squeeze the words in between increasing huffs of breath. "You don't get to push me around anymore."

 

Sasha can see her reflection in her ex-friend's sword: nothing more than a terrified blonde girl with a cut on her face that's trying to play dress up in a frog world. She hadn't shifted in the slightest. If anything, the military environment was the perfect place to hone her skills and worm her way into power. But Anne? She'd improved. She'd managed to break out of the controlled shell Sasha had spent years cocooning her in, and the Waybright can tell that it's all thanks to the frog family that was fighting alongside her.

 

She wishes she had gotten that kind of help. Or maybe she was already so messed up that not even travelling to another dimension could've fixed her.

 

Now, she'll never know.

 

Sasha is so engulfed in her own mind that she forgets all about the explosion (and even if she had, she wouldn't have been able to do anything about it, like always).Toad Tower begins to tremble violently. The ground disappears beneath her feet, and suddenly she's falling through open air–

 

Anne catches her, and holds unto her with every fibre of her being. Sasha has to resist the urge to sob. Gone was all the wrath that had once resided in the young Boonchuy's eyes – replaced by pure fear that is insistent on twisting her guts. She's looked into those eyes one too many times, and yet the feeling of imminent danger never quite went away. At this point, she'd learned to tune out everything else that was happening around them. She ignores the ground beginning to give way under Anne, she ignores the frog family – the Plantars – gripping her legs so that their friend would not slip and fall to her possible death, she ignores the noise of crashing rocks, she ignores the commotion of panicking toad soldiers and crazed frog villagers. They're in this little void bubble, and it's just her and Anne. Despite herself, a tear finds its way down her cheek, mixing with the wound and creating an awful stinging sensation. 

 

Sasha doesn't even know how one can feel pain in a dream, but the next words she utters are completely sincere: "Maybe you're... better off without me." 

 

Maybe you were always better off without me.

 

Anne's eyes quiver. Sasha slides her hand out of hers, resigned. As she falls to her doom, a bittersweet smile on her lips, a piercing light washes over the dream.

 

It's revealing in a way that makes her squirm, lays her bare in ways that the darkness never did.

 

 Sasha jolts awake, a name on tongue. 

 

For a second, she manages to delude herself into thinking that she's at some hideout Grime had chosen. Yeah... the old toad is simply waking her up at six for her daily training, and when she tries to get up she won't feel an unbearable pain in her joints, and she'll still be able to open a door and breathe in the fresh air of a new day.

 

The past few weeks are all just a horrible dream... and then the truth shatters her with the force of a sledgehammer.

 

She remembers the leather grip of Barrel's warhammer in her hands... the feeling of guitar strings under her fingers from the Battle of the Bands... the gleaming houses and statues of Newtopia... the frigid anger in Anne's voice as she cuts off their friendship... King Andrias' beady eyes as he reveals his flaming sword... and sticks it inside Marcy, cutting past bone and veins and skin–

 

Besides, all things considered, the room Sasha is in is too filthy, even for Grime's taste. Mold manages to grow on places she didn't even know it could. Water drips from the ceiling – and from the way it drips, heavy and grainy to the touch, she's pretty sure it's water that isn't fit for consumption (human or otherwise). There are no windows; the air is smothering, and Sasha's honestly surprised that she hasn't used up her air supply after a point. 

 

Is it worrying, that she now refers to this so casually? That the idea of her impending death doesn't strike fear into her?

 

And, standing in front of the doorway before her, the reason for her awakening is backlit by the white light that spills in from the hallway – a robot. Or a frobot, really, from the way its metal body is modelled. It doesn't radiate any of the warmth or the friendliness that the Plantars' "Frobo" had, though. Its eyes gleam a menacing red: one of Andrias' goons. 

 

At its feet, there's a brown mixture in a doggy bowl (and how demeaning is that, really, that they feed her from the same plate that they would a dog – or whatever the hell Amphibia's equivalent for that is?) The frobot kicks it towards her – and with a disgusted face, Sasha realises that it's supposed to be her food, even though there are flies swarming the gunk and even wriggling through the contents. She wouldn't have been surprised if it were supposed to be part of the meal, though.

 

Sasha spits at the mechanical body, like she'd seen happen before in so many shows that Anne liked to watch. It lands on its breastplate, but the creature takes no notice. The frobot slowly turns and marches out of the room, and while Sasha knows that this is her chance, that she should probably get up and run after it, she can't. Her body's just too tired. She needs more rest.

 

The door opens and closes.

 

And her escape slips through her fingers like sand.

     

Chapter 2: In Your House of Memories

Summary:

Sasha is not well, and her pastimes aren't helping.

Notes:

Can I get a WHOO-WHOOP!!! 😄😄😄😄 I've finally, FINALLY finished this chapter. Sorry it took so long, but it was a combination of writer's block and laziness that kept me at bay for a while. Also, for the dream scene, I hadn't known what to put at first until THE idea finally came to me. However, the clip I wanted to use was hard for me to find and when I finally DID find the one, it disappeared off the face of Google the next day! Oddly convenient, I know:( I was able to get in a few lines from the clip but not all of it, so I hope I appease you with the fight scene that comes afterwards!
In later news, I'd originally wanted to write an extra segment for the chapter, but ultimately decided I wouldn't. Who knows? Maybe I'll even write a sequel, but it might not come out any time soon...
In the meantime, enjoy the chapter! Thank you to all of those who waited for the chapter to be completed (I'm looking at you Klui, I hope I don't disappoint!) and for those that didn't, here's the finishing touches! I'm really grateful that my story was well received and it's why I even wrote this chap to begin with! To Fremde, if you're still reading: the muse has returneth! <3
Hmmm... I also thought the story would be longer...
MAJOR EDIT :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

She sees Marcy, sometimes. 

 

She's always standing in the left corner, rambling about one useless fact about Earth to the next. That's usually the first Marcy – unblemished and yet to step foot on Amphibian soil, webs of manipulation wrapping so tight around her neck that she doesn't even realise it's there.

 

While Anne always possessed a courageous heart that came to heads with her spider of a personality, Marcy never pretended to be that morally righteous. She was always willing to do anything for them, so long as they agreed to stay friends with her. Sasha doesn't know how to feel anymore, having taken advantage of her insecurities like that.

 

She wears the bland school uniform and grey hoodie more often than not (because those were the last truly Earth clothing Marcy had been wearing before she was zapped into Amphibia and she was killed by the newt that should have cared for her, betrayed by the friend that should have had her back–), notebook clutched tightly to her chest, and is the only version willing to sit down next to her and twist her hair into braids (?)

 

The other Marcys are neither as kind nor as forgiving.

 

Amphibia's Marcy stays in the right corner, her clothes an amalgamation of what remained of her uniform and the materials she'd gathered from Newtopia. She speaks a lot, too, but the words that burst from her lips are scathing and dredge up old memories and accusations Sasha would rather keep buried. Her eyes are sharpsharpsharp to the point of wounding, but not nearly as cutting as the stare the last gives her.

 

Unlike the other two, the third Marcy doesn't make her heart convulse with the knowledge that she'll never get the good times back or cause her to wallow in shame and regret for the rest of the day. She doesn't go on and on about Nintendo switches or all the ways Sasha has failed her in life. No, the unnerving thing about her comes in the silence, in the weight of her judgemental gaze and sealed lips (like not talking to her was some sort of punishment). Or maybe the worst part about her is the fact that she still has that cursed flaming sword piercing clean through her chest, crimson soaking her clothes and dripping unto the uneven brick floor below, breaths loud and laboured from the blade that punctured her lungs–

 

Sasha's body reels from the imaginary weight clogging up her airways. Or maybe it is real and some leftover gunk from her meal (breakfast? Lunch? Dinner?) earlier has returned with a vengeance, but it's getting harder and harder for her to distinguish between the confines of reality and the suffering her brain is conjuring up for her. All the same, she hacks and coughs until the sludge in her chest has lessened some, until blood is splattering the ground in front of her, until she feels like there's no more air left to breathe. She carefully avoids looking behind her all the while, because she knows the third Marcy is already levelling her with a bruising glare at the back of the room.

Other times, she dreams of Anne. 

 

On days when she's lucky (which she hardly ever is anymore), Sasha is well received – she'll get to hear Anne's angelic laugh or remember how it's like to see her smile. That in itself is its own kind of torture, because she may very well never get to experience those things again. On days when she's not, which are unfortunately more frequent, she's rewarded with some of the worst moments of her life. 

 

"Sorry things got a little crazy back there. You guys good?" 

 

Even though she's gone through the memory a dozen times at this point, and had been unfortunate enough to experience the real thing, it always, always hits her somewhere deep inside when dream Anne (dream Anne, she has to remind herself this is all just a dream, but it all feels so real, she can feel the warmth of human bodies and the cool air blowing through the balcony and–) inevitably pulls away from the arm thrown over her shoulder. At the time, they hadn't realised it would be the last time they would get to hold each other before... before everything completely went down the drain (before Marcy's death before Anne left before she was caught and she's so alone she's so tired and–), but Sasha knows now, she knows and somehow that tiny detail is enough to bring her down to her mental knees. 

 

(She's so pathetic and weak and she wants Anne and Marcy and home.)

 

"Good?" Anne seethes, disgust rolling off her tongue and body posture and Sasha's heart aches for what she knows she's already lost, "Are you serious?"

 

"Sheesh, don't be a sore loser," she says, waving off Anne's clear anger and abrasion towards the takeover. Looking back at it now, it's obvious that it was only going to be a matter of time before the Thai-American girl finally had enough of the trash she'd been spouting and snapped – but as Sasha has long since learned, there's nothing she can do about the words that rise up like nasty bile in her throat (she wishes she could do something, anything, to stop the impending train wreck that's been unfolding before her eyes, but just like the many times it has done before, the wheels have already been set into motion on a doomed track). Her dream body swiftly carries her over to the fallen Newtopian king's throne – a massive behemoth of coloured coral, crafted and woven for a being much larger than herself – and as she settles into the plush fabric, it never fails to escape her notice that it feels just as lonely as she remembered. 

 

(The collision is impossible to navigate around – all Sasha can do at this point is to brace herself for impact.)

 "Anne, there's something seriously wrong with this Andrias guy. We should–" 

 

"You expect me to believe you?" Anne asks, like that is truly a ridiculous thing of Sasha to consider. Her eyes are scrunched up in anger and her body is as guarded as her tone, unsheathed sword raised to point in the blonde's direction, poised to attack at a moment's notice. Not even the sharpest blade would have been able to cut through the brick wall tension that has risen between them – amplified by the freshness of the events, stress and the time crunch they were now on. "After all the lying and manipulating you've done? Sorry Sasha, but you're out of chances." 

 

She sheaths her sword, dismissing her, and turns back to her efforts at closing the gate and cutting off the toads' chances of winning. 

 

They both stand at the top of a tower once more. Grey clouds drift across a hazy, dull horizon above. Thick smoke must be rising from somewhere behind her, because she can taste it on her tongue, can practically inhale the heady scent of a fire even though she's not actually there. It's nothing like the events of Toad Tower – this tower is hardly as grimy (hah) or rundown, Sprig and Grime occupy themselves below them, the rest of the frog family are who-knows-where, the toad army march towards said gate that Anne wants to close, and they don't have to fight "the toad-fashioned way" over the life of an old orange frog. Still, the fact that it's just the two of them scares Sasha more than she wants to admit. It's different from last time... and yet all too similar.

 

(The train chugs along at top speed, the conductor highly aware of the disaster that lies ahead of the tracks.) 

 

"Anne, I can't let you close that gate." Sasha can feel her heart crawling into her throat as she draws her twin swords and slips into a familiar fighting stance.

 

(She pulls the train along anyway, watching it hurtle towards both of their demises.)

 

"Oh yeah?" her ex-friend – and wow, doesn't that hurt to think about – stills. "Just try to stop me!" 

 

Anne pounces, a whirlwind of blade and sheer rage. It's nothing like their last fight – aside from the fact that the Boonchuy is much, much angrier, she also seems intent on driving her sword right through Sasha. She moves with a superhuman speed and agility the blonde has never seen from her before, almost flying as she leaps to meet her opponent's sword. It might've been beautiful to watch, if all of that ferocity hadn't been aimed at her and her alone.

 

Sasha manages to catch Anne in a maneuver Grime had taught her long ago, slipping her arm in between the Boonchuy's to restrict her sword movement. 

 

"Anne, please–" she begs, searching in Anne's eyes for something, anything to show that the girl still cares for her: a spark of compassion, a trickle of worry or care. She finds nothing but scorching anger and blue blue blue. 

 

Her words fall on deaf ears, like always.

 

"Too late, Sasha!" Anne growls, feral, as she wrestles out of her hold and kicks her right in the stomach. The action feels just as painful as it does every other time.

 

Sasha, however, manages to recover quickly enough to defend herself against Anne's next attacks. It occurs to her, suddenly, that Anne might've actually killed her if she'd been any less of a good sword fighter. It's not a pleasant thought for her to process. 

 

It's not the idea of death that scares her, but the idea of Anne being the one to kill her – the idea of dying by her blade, seeing nothing but angerangeranger in the girl's eyes.

 

Finally, she backs her former friend into a corner and kicks the Boonchuy's sword out of her hands. Anne is still furious, though, and in an impressive display of speed and quick thinking she's able to slide behind Sasha, wrap her cloak over her head, and punches her right in the face.

 

It hurts: her nose, her mouth, her eyes, and it doesn't matter that this is all just a dream because her body remembers how it's like to be in pain and it hurts. 

 

When the darkness falls away, Anne is standing over her with her sword. They're not in Newtopia anymore, and it's nighttime in a still-standing Toad Tower. 

 

"It's over, Sash," Anne states, breathless. "You don't get to push me around anymore." 

 

The ground shakes underneath them, crumbling away and breaking off until suddenly she's falling through open air– 

 

Anne catches her. Anne catches her and holds on tight with teary eyes, and Sasha lets go. She plummets down to her death, wind whistling through her ears, and wakes up with a sputter and a gasp on a cold, damp floor stained with her own tears.

 

(The train and the conductor both never stood a chance.)

 

During the few times she doesn't happen to be getting haunted by Marcy hallucinations or memory-dreams, Sasha thinks.

 

It's not much to hold on to. In the present, she's stuck in a cruddy prison cell somewhere deep within the dungeon she didn't even know the castle had until now. Her body grows weaker and more sluggish each time she drags herself from dregs of sleep, and at this point she can't even so much as lift her arms because they've been broken by the frobots' rough handling and are quickly catching infections. She can't even count the days like those guys in prison movies – there is no window, so she doesn't know when it's day or night and her only indicator that time is even passing is that her dirty blonde hair (she remembers a time when it was clean and several shades lighter) has grown by a couple inches. It has to have been at least a month since she was thrown in here.

 

Sasha feels like crying most times, so she does. It's not like anyone is around to see her weakness, anyway, and the people she'd tried so hard to be in control of are either dead or gone (she's alone she's alone she's alone–). 

 

The isolation, combined with the crushing guilt and helplessness and pain, is enough to drive someone crazy. Maybe she already is, on some fundamental level – it would explain the hallucinations – or maybe she's just really sick. Either way, it's not like Sasha can flee this hellscape on her own. She needs help, and she needs it fast. 

 

One thing's for sure: the prison at Newtopia is much, much worse than the one at Toad Tower. It makes her want to cry, the fact that she's already been in a jail cell two times, and she's not even eighteen years old yet.

 

Crying only succeeds in making her feel more vulnerable, but it's an outlet for her grief and she'll take what she can get.

 

She just feels so weak.

 

Almost more than the guilt, almost more than the pain, Sasha finds herself wishing that she'd just taken that leap of faith with Grime.

 

Notes:

Some background information:
Remember that scene where Sasha is hesitant to jump out the window but Grime drags her out anyway? Well, in my AU, Grime doesn't, and so she ends up getting left behind and thrown into jail while the toad rides Joe Sparrow to Wartwood. That's what she means about the leap of faith ^^
The fact that Sasha isn't leading the resistance here could change some things...
(SERIOUSLY, can someone tell me what the glitch here is? My first chapter end note is here instead of... well, the first chapter!)

Notes:

Me: Here's a present from me to you.
You: *opens it up*
You: ...
You: This is just sadness.
Me: Exactly :)

So, as the tags said, this is my first post on ao3. I've wanted to log into this site for a while, but due to some complications I wasn't able to until yesterday. This story has been sitting in my Quotev drafts for a some time now too, so I'm glad I could finally share it! I hope you enjoyed!