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Pac tunes out his other teammates as he idly kicks at a rock on the barren ground. He’s supposed to be killing mobs for a quest, but he doesn’t care. He can’t care when this fucking team is the reason his boyf-roommate died, and it’s all he could not to break down in front of everyone.
He knows Bad thought he was weak, but how is he supposed to compare to an immortal being who has been in more wars than years Pac has been alive? Pac would accuse Bad of being heartless, but he knows he’s sweet on Forever even if he won’t admit it. The difference between Pac and Bad is that Bad would kill anyone – even the man he loves – to get a competitive edge.
Pac promised. He fucking promised. Yet, as he looks down at the body sprawled below him, he realizes he broke that promise. He sinks to the dirt, ignoring the glances from Tubbo and Bad.
He hadn’t even realized there were apologies spilling from his mouth as he scoops Fit into his arms. He thinks he might be crying. He thinks he would rather be dead than have to experience this again. It doesn’t matter that Fit can come back. It doesn’t matter that they had to kill him for a mission. Pac doesn’t give a fuck about any of that – how can he when all he can see is the light dimming in Fit’s eyes when he realizes Pac is with the hunting party?
The atmosphere feels thick with betrayal, and Pac can’t breathe. He takes quick, short breaths that just have his head spinning more, and Tubbo looks at him with concern. Bad hasn’t been paying attention – already bored with the fact they haven’t moved on.
“Leave me alone,” Pac manages to say as Tubbo walks closer to him, and Bad shrugs. He twirls a knife in his hands, and claps Tubbo on the back.
“You heard him; let’s go,” Bad turns on his heel, and Tubbo takes one more long look at Pac before he follows.
Now that it’s just the two of them – or well one of them, Pac thinks bitterly – Pac lets his tears fall. They land uselessly on Fit’s skin as Pac rubs away the grime from Fit’s cheeks.
He knows it doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of things. Fit will come back for his body. Pac will rejoin his team. Their worlds will keep spinning as they always have.
Except Pac thinks his world stopped spinning as soon as Bad killed Fit. It’s not that this is Fit’s first death or even the last. It’s that he was there to see it. He was involved even if he never touched Fit. That sort of memory sears into the brain, respawn after respawn.
Pac knows deep down that even if they reunite, even if Pac apologizes, it won’t be the same. Fit will never forget the time Pac broke the one promise he swore he’d be able to keep.
With Fit’s eyes closed and body pulled onto Pac’s lap, it almost seems more like he’s sleeping. Pac knows he’s going through a trauma response and attempting to compartmentalize his memories, again. The therapist Mike dragged him to after Alcatraz made sure he knew about his less-than-stellar coping mechanisms.
If Pac can paint over this memory with the broad strokes of ‘just getting to spend time with Fit’, he won’t crumble. Fit has told him time and time again that he’s strong, but he doesn’t feel that way. He’s just really good at faking it.
“Eu não te protegi. Esse sempre foi o seu trabalho, certo? Não sou forte, Fit. Eu não posso ser,” Pac whispers as he leans down to brush a kiss against Fit’s forehead. It’s more than they’ve ever done.
It feels right all the same.