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Purpled used a rope and a bag to kidnap Slime from his home in Las Nevadas, leaving Quackity to deal with the space that he’d left behind. Unceremoniously, the alien had dropped him into a cell and left him to recover. A tool, he called it, the one weakness Quackity has.
Slime awoke in the quiet of the cell every morning, and mimicked the lessons Purpled would teach him. Quackity was a cruel man who had to die, and Slime had to do anything to kill Quackity. The lessons never quite clicked in his brain, and past the sluggish thought he would question which lessons are true, and fabricate rules of his own to fill every gap the both of them left. Three days before the day he would teach Quackity his own lessons, the ones he created, he had put together that the both of them were spitting lies.
Quackity used Slime as a crutch, someone to recover from horrible things and later discard. A perfect clay sculpture that he perfected.
Purpled used Slime as a sword, a vessel for revenge, and tried to get Slime to take a hammer to himself.
He’s pressed up against the wall, eyes half closed while Punz briefs him on the plan for the tenth time that day, something he has no intentions on listening to after so much repetition. His hands fiddle together and his gaze drags down to them, green slime pulling and stretching. Once it had even looked like skin, a mockery of the people he idolised. Behind dripping long hair, it’s almost hard to see him lose interest completely, until fingers snapping in front of his face snaps him out of his half-trance. Fatigue is a weight on his mind.
“Oi, eyes up here.” Punz always spoke to him like a dog from his glass house, which felt fitting. “Are you listening?”
Taking a moment to pause his thoughts, Punz laughs and looks back at Purpled, who’s running one hand across the back of a fluffy dog Slime has come to know as Dogchamp.
“We’ve told this thing our plan a hundred times and it's never shown us any sign of being able to comprehend it.” Throwing his hands up, Punz storms away from the bars of the cell. Purpled shakes his head, speaks in a voice low and accented by something otherworldly.
“It’s smarter than it looks. You saw it in basic combat, it's like a sponge for knowledge. I’m sure he knows the plan by now.” Purpled stands up straight, tosses a dog treat to the side and watches the unfittingly fluffy dog prance off. “You’re underestimating it.”
“Clearly I’m not. How can I be sure it wasn’t just copying me?” He rubs the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb, breathes in and out heavily. “Look, if it's not ready by the time we get there, you know what Dream’s going to do. This project of yours’ better work.”
Just like that, he storms out of the hideout, leaving Purpled and Slime to their own devices. Dogchamp struts up to the cell confidently, sticks a wet nose through the bars.
“Dogchamp, hey, don’t get so-” Purpled reaches a hand out, but… stops. Dogchamp was his only remaining friend, the only thing in his life that was constant and kind. Yet, Slime has reached out impartially and planted one half-formed appendage on the dog's head. At first, a myriad of horrible images appear in his head. (Dogchamp gets consumed by slime, swallowed in a sea of green and turned into another horrible monster like the one he’s keeping.)
Drawing his bow, he aims it at the monster touching his dog. Readies his aim, and then he sees it. Dogchamp’s tail is wagging, the appendage forms into a hand, and starts gently running through fur with immeasurable care. It leaves no trail behind, solid as ever, two teal eyes staring down at the dog. They flick up to the arrow pointed directly at him, before it lodges right between them. An awful squelch fills the room, and Dogchamp comes trotting right back, happy as a horse. Slime is, of course, fine. He’s just found himself knocked over with a strange thing sticking out of his head. Being made entirely of amorphous goo had some benefits, it seems.
Slime tosses the arrow right back, as he always has, and opens his mouth to speak.
“Dogchamp is a very lovely canis familiaris.” It’s cracked like his skin, like the hardened shell Purpled has yet to pry off. All the alien does is sneer and look away, turning his gaze to where Dogchamp is running circles around his legs.
If he had looked back, Slime had a sly smile on his face.
(Purpled had hesitated.)
–
The attack went off without a hitch, at least for Slime. Two deaths at his own hand, though he’d never planned for that part. Driving a sword into Purpled’s chest and shoving, tossing Quackity off the edge by the collar of his shirt. He’d completed his task, tied up one loose end, and now awaited him another. He stands in front of the waterfall covering the hideout, uses his shield to block the water and let him inside.
Purpled is in his bed, Dogchamp curled up in his lap. Between the heaving breaths and the panting, he almost doesn’t notice Slime walk in. Though, it seems like he couldn’t do anything either way, sitting like a deer in the headlights when they make eye contact. There’s so many things that could happen, so much threat, Purpled could just lose another life here and now.
But then Slime keeps walking, drops his armour on the ground with heavy clanks and discards the netherite sword. Worth was often hard to find, to accommodate, and while he'd learned a lot being human this wasn't one of them. The sound makes Purpled jolt back and scramble for items that weren't there. The panic is something he tries to hide, muttering incoherently before making a mad dash for the dropped weaponry. By the time he's put it on and brandished it, Slime is sitting quietly in his cell.
"What- what the- what do you want?! Did you come back here just to taunt me?" Purpled storms up to the bars, slams the blade up against them and creates an awful sound of metal against metal. Sparks fly out from where it slashes. Before he can speak up again though, Dogchamp lets out a bark. Purpled looks behind him, to his best friend, who's now standing and looking awfully nervous.
There's a brief moment of silence that Slime breaks.
" Canis Familiaris. That is a sign of anxiety. Tail wagging, leaning back, panting." A pause, as if in thought. "I think you should quiet down when you accuse me." Purpled bares his teeth, white knuckling one of the cell bars and leaning in close.
"Are you telling me to shut up? You're- you can't be fucking joking. You? Telling me ?!" He spits out a laugh, and points his sword through the bars. "You certainly have some fucking audacity-!"
Dogchamp barks again, and again. Purpled looks back to find his precious dog a few inches back. The fact that Slime was right leaves an awful, bitter taste on his tongue. Purpled doesn’t lower his sword, but he does quiet his tone to a hiss. Slime only looks up inquisitively, presses a finger to the edge of the blade.
“Why are you even here?” Purpled spits, ignoring how even with Slime’s lack of expertise, he could very easily overpower him. Considering the fact that he’d pushed him off of a building just a few hours prior, he was surprised the guy hadn’t just up and ran the opposite direction of everything. Why was he back?
“I killed Quackity.” He replies, voice as blunt and emotionless as ever. “I can’t go back to Las Nevadas.”
“Then why did you come here of all places?”
Slime purses his lips into a thin line, shrugs and looks to the ground.
“I felt that you would not have much after that. Quackity will find friends.”
No. There was no way this guy cared about Purpled at all. He’d killed him, for Christ's sake. Purpled had locked him up to create a weapon, and Slime had slaughtered him for it. He realises how much his back really does hurt, but the pain wasn’t a priority.
“You don’t have to worry. I cannot get out. I do not want to get out. This is where I belong.” Slime sinks further back into the cell, lowers his head. Were it not for the renewed life in his eyes, or his more solid appearance, Purpled could mistake him for being dormant. “This is a place fit for someone like me. I have ruined many things in my pursuit of humanity, myself included. I do not want to be anywhere else.”
It’s something Purpled could empathise with, that desire to mimic humans and to fit in. Though, fitting in never got you anywhere in battle. Blood flashes through his mind, back pressed up against the wall as he sits in a room that can only be described as a cell without bars. At least it wasn’t actively killing him.
At the moment, though, that doesn’t come out of his mouth. There’s no sympathy, no empathy, nothing except a cold, hard stare. Purpled lowers the sword, and limps back to bed. It’s a feeling of futility, and were he not in such a raw, vulnerable state, he would have thrown that sword through Slime’s chest. A shock of pain shoots up his spine, and he hesitantly crawls back into bed. Dogchamp retakes his place next to the alien, tail steadily thumping against the mattress. Slime shuts his eyes and tucks himself into a corner, arms crossed over his chest as silence settles over the duo.
–
It’s been about a week of awkward silence.
Purpled has been relearning to walk, in a sense, finding a way to move that didn’t have agony shooting up his back and shoulders. For now, his head is buried in Dogchamps fur.
Slime has been… tampering with something. At some point - in a moment of what Purpled can only call weakness - he had thrown armour at Slime, begging him to do anything other than sit there quietly. He was met with that same glazed over look he got when they were training him. Since then, he’s found his eyes wandering to him.
“What are you doing?” He finally asks, sitting on his bed across the room. Slime reacts to this, looking up and blinking once, twice.
“I am making you a brace.” Slime shows off the netherite contraption; an altered chestplate with bent pieces inside. Purpled wouldn’t be caught fucking dead in that thing. While the concept of a brace is alluring, he’s so much smarter than that. It could be a trap designed to hurt him or kill him, something that could bend in and suffocate him, stab him, or make him easier to kill by hand.
“Don’t waste your time.” Is all he says, letting his eyes fall shut and his head fall back onto his companion.
“You can make it yourself if you are sceptical. I can tell you how.”
Purpled only grunts in response, dozing off to the sound of scratching and struggling.
–
The brace sits right outside the cell, and Purpled is still practically bedbound. He’s been getting better at the whole moving around thing, but it’s not easy either way.
It takes one more week for him to cave, forging his own chestplate based off of Slime’s when he was sure he wasn’t looking. He fits it on, and it’s like a miracle. Supporting his spine and shoulders, setting it into place, he finds that he can finally move. The pain never leaves, but only when he pushes himself too far. For the most part, it’s easy.
“I am happy I could help,” Slime speaks up, and it makes Purpled whip around and wrinkle his nose.
“You didn’t help, it was all me. I made this.” It’s a snide retort and a blatant lie, but Purpled wasn’t about to admit defeat like that. Slime’s expression doesn’t change regardless.
“Okay.”
It makes him even angrier, but he cools down quickly and starts towards the door. His feet carry him right to the very edge, standing in front of the waterfall. Purpled stares out beyond the water, at the distorted image of the SMP. Why isn’t he going forwards?
“Are you leaving?”
Is he leaving?
“You can leave.”
Purpled turns on his heels, balls his hand up into a fist.
“I don’t need to ask you permission to leave, you know.” Purpled looks back out into the SMP.
“I suppose I am offering reassurance. I can watch Dogchamp.” Slime pauses, and decides his angle. Empathy often made Purpled mad. “Are you worried about something, Purpled?”
Purpled was never worried about anything. He never had anything to be worried about. There was no time for worrying when someone had a sword pressed to your throat or when you were bridging across an infinite void. Worry got you killed. Yet, here he was despite it all, worrying about what lies beyond the curtain of water.
He doesn’t move for a long moment, before turning away and walking up to the cell. Grabbing the bars with a heavy fist, he rattles them a few times. Slime, as per usual, is unphased. Instead, he mimics Purpled and grabs the bar closest to him, gently rattling it in response.
“You do not have to worry. I do not care what you are feeling.”
To most, the phrase came across as unfeeling, like Slime was admitting something cruel. If Quackity stood in place of Purpled, his massive heart would snap on the spot. And yet, despite all the eggshells he’s standing on, it’s exactly what he needed to say.
Because for Purpled, that was infinitely more comforting than anything else. To have someone who truly didn’t care about what he was feeling, or cared about his actions, or anything in that regard was a breath of fresh air. Even Dream worried about his mental state, ignoring the fact that the underlying reason was because of his performance in battle. The fact that people cared too much often got under his skin.
But instead of communicating any of this in any meaningful or reasonable way, all he does is turn tail and storm out of the base.
–
It’s been three months, and conversation has become more amicable.
By amicable, Purpled means non hostile. He no longer fought with Slime, poked and prodded at him to explain things. It was quieter, and better on his mind. He rarely left the base for non-necessities, unwilling to let people see him in such a weak state. As well as the fact that even with the braces’ help, movement still sucked. It made fighting a task that took too much energy for it to be worth it. It was hard to glean a meaning out of his actions, a goal, a purpose, when the only goal he’d ever known was battle nowadays.
He knows about some of the happenings around the server, how Wilbur had gone completely missing and how things were rapidly changing. The prison was a disaster he’d visited once, a place where Punz and Dream had pigeonholed themselves into. It wasn’t entirely pleasant to know that the man he considered a brother had fallen victim to Dream’s antics, but it wasn’t something he really enjoyed pondering or thinking about. Slime wasn’t helpful, either, often just sitting there twiddling his thumbs or mumbling about some random event in history.
Sometimes, Purpled would listen. Very rarely, but more often recently, he would sit in front of the bars and talk with him. It was like having a second Dogchamp, except this one could talk. Something in his chest stirred at the idea of calling Slime a dog, but to his conscious mind this thing was nothing more than an object.
Even his twisted conscience can agree that he makes the isolation a bit more tolerable. In any case, he would be alone, so being alone with someone else was better than no one at all. Weakness was something he often had to hide, but there was no weakness in a good story.
Slime rarely moves from where he sits, and when he does it’s only by a few inches. Right now, he’s sitting right in front of the bars and looking strangely alert.
“Purpled,” he says, “I must ask you something.”
It’s odd to see him with this much life and energy, considering the fact that he’s normally a puddle. Purpled listens, even if he doesn’t quite show it.
“Should something horrible happen, would you leave me behind?”
“Yes.” The response is almost immediate, and for some reason he feels… bad.
“Good. It is better for resources.” It’s a response trained into Slime from multiple selfish men with selfish mouths, a rhetoric that echoes into Purpled’s own.
Purpled furrows his eyebrows at the phrase, and his response is blatantly and utterly hypocritical.
“That’s not true. You don’t take up any at all.” Why is he defending Slime in any regard? There’s no point, yet he continues. “All this time and the only thing you’ve ever used was a bucket of water on a hot day that you gave to Dogchamp.”
Slime is the one falling silent this time, hiding the way that Purpled’s logical response affected him. It made sense, he was right, and yet it made him feel something stir deep in his chest. Something he hadn’t felt since Quackity. Was he caring again? Probably. He always has.
“Oh.” Is all Slime says, and it feels as if his lessons have come crashing down around him. Purpled looks over to where Slime is sitting, and he’s snuggled back up against the wall.
–
The first thing they hear is an alarm. It wakes the two of them up, the sound of a blaring siren that sounds nothing like the prison alarm. No, this one was urgent. Purpled springs to his feet and gears up immediately, grabbing Dogchamp and urging him into a small bunker built inside the bunker they were already in. The door is sealed and Slime just stares quietly forward. No panic, no nervousness, just a soft understanding that whatever is happening is out of his control.
“What’s- what’s going on?” Purpled demands out of no one in particular, backing further into the base and away from the waterfall. They both hear the rushing of air, a whistle, and everything goes silent.
The air turns white, blazing hot, and wind rushes through the door. Water splashes all over the floor, and it’s quiet again.
“He did it,” Slime whispers incredulously. “He did it.”
“What? What did he do? Who’s he? Did you plan this?!” Purpled grips his sword tighter, prepares to fight an enemy he doesn’t even know.
“Tubbo. His bombs. I had no involvement, but I watched. Their power could end a world, Purpled.”
Slack jawed, (End a world?) Purpled finds himself stepping back, never lowering his guard.
“Tubbo built-?”
It’s like a shotgun going off. The air cracks like a whip and the sound blasts through the small space, nearly deafening the two of them. Purpled’s ears ring, and Slime has his hands pressed against his ears. They’re both stunned, unable to process what the hell just happened. The air is hot, there’s streaks of char and death outside. The chat fills with death messages, one after the other.
No sword can defeat this, no weapon can take down a finality. The end of everything he’d begun to love, the end of the heart that may have begun growing in his chest.
Slime can feel the radiation permeate past his layers, slime curling and writhing at the feeling. It wouldn’t damage either of them, not permanently, and with enough regeneration Dogchamp would be just fine. The world rings, and Purpled collapses.
He wakes up to more heat and no sound at all, and it takes a lot to get up to his feet. Everything is heavy, and he hasn’t been outside yet.
“If you are leaving,” Slime says, like he can read minds, “I would suggest not straying too far.”
Purpled doesn’t stray far at all. He pushes past the waterfall, which has become more of an ashfall, and looks out onto the wasteland. He steps through what used to be water, and is now dark and murky, and climbs up the hill. It looked like a switch was flicked, where everything now lies in ruin. The landscape was colourful, dotted with plantlife and buildings that he could only call charming.
It looks like someone smeared everything together and painted it black and grey. Ash dances in the sky, swirls around him as more of that scalding hot wind runs through his hair. There’s a crater that is thousands of times bigger than L’Manburg’s was, it makes that one look like a hole dug by a child. This one stretches even over Purpled’s hideout, having leveled the hill it was hidden under and exposing some of the stone. He would be worried in some capacity about the visibility, but there were more pressing matters.
Who would do such a thing? Who would destroy everything, and for what?
The name Slime had told him rings through his mind.
Storming back inside of his hideout, he glares down at the thing that had trapped itself into his home. Fury burns through his chest, threatens to rise out in heaving shouts and sobs. His knuckles turn white from how tight he grips his sword.
“Tubbo did this, right?” He tries to confirm, to rationalise his anger. “He did this?”
Frankly, he was tired of things being blown up. Even the remains of his ship were completely and utterly gone at this point. Everything was gone. Everyone was dead. Tubbo would regret this.
Slime doesn’t respond, only gazing up at Purpled sadly.
“Tubbo did this. He did this. Where is it?! Where’s the bomb? Where did he launch it from?!”
“Purpled, this is not what you want.” The sentence strikes a chord deep inside of him.
“I’m tired of people telling me what I want and what I don’t want. I know what I want! I know what I want and it’s Tubbo’s head on the ground! I know what I want better than a thing like you ever could!”
He isn’t even sure why he seeks out vengeance. Maybe it could bring the world back, he’s not sure.
“It won’t fix anything, Purpled.”
“I’m still going to try!”
It happens in a flash, almost as fast as the bomb landed. Slime pushes through the bars as if they weren’t there in the first place, landing on top of Purpled and pushing him to the ground. He crumples easily under the weight, thrashing and waving his sword frantically. He’s reminded of his own futility.
“It won’t do anything, Purpled!” For the first time since they’ve met, Slime speaks above a mutter. It cracks at the edges, and staring up at Slime’s impression past the green he can see fear in his eyes.
“GET OFF OF ME!”
“It’s all dust! That’s all it is! There is nothing anymore, just dead people and dead plants! There is nothing to fight for! There is no revenge!” Slime presses his palms against Purpled’s shoulders, pinning him down further. “There is NOTHING ANYMORE! IT IS ALL DEAD! IT IS ALL GONE!”
“Why? Why are you stopping me, then?! What’s it matter if I die?!” Purpled retorts, continuing to struggle. It’s futile, he hadn’t been eating well enough and Slime overpowers him in mass and strength. This was it, this was where he died.
“BECAUSE!” Slime shouts, voice pitching up before he lets it drop down to something a bit kinder. “Because-... Because I do not want to be alone again.”
“Sorry?” Purpled asks, like Slime just said something completely incomprehensible.
“I do not want to be alone. I spent billions of years on my own, and then I spent a year being human. I must live with the knowledge on how to be human, that I am part human now. You will turn to dust no matter what, but I do not wish to be alone before you do.” He sighs, shakes his head. “Plus, I do not know how to care for Dogchamp.”
Revenge was something that had driven Purpled for so long, it was something that spearheaded all of his actions. Revenge against Quackity’s indiscretions had led him all to this moment, capturing his very best asset and brainwashing it against that stupid duck. But now, sitting here, he finds some deep part of him glad that in the face of the wasteland, he wouldn’t be left completely isolated.
“Get off me.” Purpled demands, and after some hesitance, the weight slowly leaves. He scrambles to the other side of the hideout.
“Before you leave, please promise you will visit.” Slime hangs his head, and accepts the fate before him. One where he will wait here eternally, even if Purpled never returns. But instead of turning tail and running, instead of answering his request, the alien only crosses his legs and looks down at the floor too.
They sit like that for what feels like days, simply existing. Purpled falls asleep at one point, curling up on the hard stone and waking up with drool pooling below his face. He decides to be the one to break the silence, looking up to where Slime is.
“Have… have you been able to get through the bars this whole time?” The question makes Slime look up, eyes clear and visible for once. Behind him, Purpled notes the strands of slime still dripping from the bars.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“You are nice company. You are honest. Both with yourself and with me.”
“That can’t be the only reason.” He remarks, scepticism still present no matter what.
“You are not human. It reminds me of what I am supposed to be. I feel that Quackity wanted me to be human and like a friend to him, but I have discovered that I am not very good at either of those things.”
Purpled has nothing to lose but his dignity, and there’s no announcers or judging eyes to take that away from him right now.
“I don’t think you’re that bad.” He speaks like he’s stating a fact of life. “I’ve seen worse friends, honestly. Ones who cross boundaries without thinking.”
For the first time since the cell was constructed, and since they started speaking face to face, Slime laughs. Purpled can feel a smile quirk at his lips, and there’s a sense that the cell stopped being a cell long ago. That Slime stopped being a prisoner at some point along this unlikely friendship, one suspended on a tether that felt it could snap at any moment.
Neither of them feel human as the world rots outside, neither of them are human in any sense of the word. It’s impossible to describe them as such, but that didn’t quite matter. So long as they remained, they could be abnormal together. Maybe they weren’t so different after all.
Maybe, without all these expectations and desires of humans, they could just be .
So, they were.