Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's some time past midnight, and you can't sleep.

Truth be told, this isn't something particularly out of the ordinary for you. Insomnia is something you've struggled with for years, ever since you exiled yourself to the woods after the embarrassing display you made of yourself in the season 1 finale. It was infuriating, being unable to sleep when you desperately wanted to, and many of your nights were spent cursing your brain for not allowing you a proper night's rest.

…Usually.

Tonight, though? You didn't have a care in the world. Even if you weren't an insomniac, you probably wouldn't want to sleep anyway. Your mind is still active, racing with thoughts you'd really like to push aside, and the energy to Get Stuff Done as a result. Some may call this avoidance. You call this optimization. You don't need to be focusing on your stupid feelings when you have infinitely more important things to worry about, such as helping everyone get their lives back together!!!

It's been about 2 weeks since the dramatic finale of season 2. Everyone's still settling down from the chaos, so your emotions are all out of whack. Lots of fighting, crying, nightmares… honestly, it's enough to drive you insane, but nobody's letting you go back into the woods to get away from all this mess. Something about community? Whatever. You think it's stupid. As if you'd ever be accepted into whatever community they're all trying to build, anyway.

…So. You're clearly not getting any sleep tonight, and you don't want to sit around all night doing nothing. You need something to occupy your mind until the morning. So, you've decided the best course of action would be to go do some foraging. You were supposed to do this with Suitcase and whoever else decided to tag along tomorrow, but who can blame you for wanting a head start? It's not like you're going to be able to get everything in a single trip into the woods. You'll still have plenty to gather with everyone in the morning.

Quietly, you bring yourself to your feet and make your way into the forest you've found yourself oh-so familiar with over the years, dodging and weaving through the countless sleeping bodies of other contestants. One quick look around to make sure you didn't wake anyone up, and you were off, the quiet crunching of grass and leaves being the only indication of your departure.

…Ah, now that you're alone…

You dig around in your shell, pulling out a small black bow tie and putting it on. The same one you stole from Test Tube, all that time ago. You found it while looking around the area MephoneX, Cobs, Toilet, and… Bow? Apple? would have landed when Melife was unplugged. Turns out Test Tube's creations aren't tied to it, so they all came out of the mass deletion perfectly unharmed! You snatched it up and stuffed it into your shell before the others could find it like they did the obvious pile of stashed goods you had in your shell prior to being deleted. You happen to like this thing. It's… comforting, in a sense, to have it on.

Unfortunately, you can't really wear it around anyone, if anyone saw you with it you'd be getting another verbal beating from a very angry vial. You're glad you can have it on now, at least, where nobody can catch you. You'll definitely have to take it off again once you're done here, but for now, you're grateful to have it at all.

it's one of the few things you have left

After a few minutes of searching, you stumble across what looks to be a blackberry bush. Further inspection proves your initial guess right, and while berries aren't the most filling fruit in the world, any food is better than nothing. You begin taking all the berries from the surface of the bush, placing them gently into your shell.

Blackberry bushes are covered in thorns, from the inside out. Any sane person would stop here, or at least put on some protective gear before digging any deeper to avoid being scratched up. But you're alone, it's late, you're tired, and you have no reasonable way to obtain a pair of gloves.

You like to think you have a pretty high pain tolerance. Theoretically, if you were to dig deeper, you think you'd be fine. All theoretical, of course. You have no plans of actually doing it. You… think the last time an injury truly got to you was that crack you got from that stupid accident in the cave. It was usually a dull, throbbing pain that you could ignore, but near the end of its lifespan it had begun ramping up, feeling as if your head was splitting. You still don't know why you ever thought that stunt would be safe.

("Maybe you really are— ")

Before you can even think about it, you shove your arms deep into the blackberry bush, facial expression tightening from the pain of thorns embedding into and dragging across your skin. It's fine. It's fine. It's fine. You're already here. Just get the job done. No longer paying attention to the thorns dragging across you, you take whatever berries you can get a hold of, pulling them out of the bush and into your shell. You do this a couple more times, the stinging pain of the scratches becoming mere background noise through the several trips.

…There's something oddly cathartic about this. It's pain you can control.

Eventually, though, you decide you've gathered enough. As you pick the thorns out from your skin, you take the time to inspect the damage done to your arms. Blood bubbles to the surface, forming beads across your wounds until surface tension breaks, and begins trailing down like small, glistening rivers. Try as you may to wipe the evidence of the damage away, it always returns a mere few seconds later.

Well. That's annoying. It's fine, though. By the time you're done here, the bleeding should have stopped, and you'll be able to wash it off before you return to the group in the morning. You'll just have to deal with the uncomfortable wet sensation for a while. Back to it!

Doing your best to ignore the bleeding, you continue your search for other forageables in the area. Your eyes focus on what looks to be a cluster of puffball mushrooms, an easy source of protein. But you don't have a blade, so you have no way of cutting them open to see if they're edible, or even puffballs at all. They could be immature amanitas, for all you know! You don't feel like being accused of intentionally poisoning the group, nor do you feel like tripping to your early grave, so you leave them be.

…You DO spot some easily recognizable button mushrooms and chantrelles though, which you gladly take. You all need something to substitute for meat, after all.

After spending some time looking at the ground, you notice an all-too familiar yellow fruit in the corner of your vision. A lemon! Certainly much more filling than berries, and quite easy to obtain in bulk without running the risk of shredding your arms, or any other part of your body. You quickly stuff the lemon into your shell, and look up to the tree it fell from. Ideally, you would have a partner to carry the fruit while you pick it… but alas, you came here alone.

Scanning the tree for the easiest way up, you begin climbing. It always makes you feel… odd, harvesting from lemon trees. It's something you've been doing for years, and yet you can never seem to push away the memories that come with the activity. You tend to get literally anyone else to do it during foraging trips for this exact reason.

No avoiding it this time. You reach the branches, and begin picking.

Pickle… has been acting like you don't exist, ever since you defeated Cobs. You can't say you blame him, in his position, you would probably do the same. Still, though, you can't help but feel a pang in your chest whenever he walks past you without even looking, or addresses everyone in the area except you. Sometimes, you catch him glancing at you, and despite the hatred in his eyes, it makes you a little happy, knowing that you're at least alive to him.

You've heard how he talks about you when he thinks you aren't around, or even when he knows you are. He truly, 100% despises you. There is not a single part of him that misses you, and if there was, it's long gone. You… are no longer anything, in his mind. He does not care, and he does not want things back to the way they were. He's moved on from you, made new friends, and you wish you could say you were happy for him…

…But you can't. You don't like his friends. Not even a little bit. Mic is his friend, and that's fine, of course they'd be friends when you ruined both of them, but Cheesy? Bomb? Knife??? They all get on your nerves. Cheesy is annoying, Bomb is just as grating, and you cannot begin to comprehend how Knife ever got on his good side, when he's just as awful as you are. Does Pickle NOT remember his tyranny in season 1!? He doesn't deserve to be his friend!

But neither do you. Especially not after…

after…

you can still hear his scream in the back of your mind. the sound of his lifeless body collapsing to the floor. the desperate tapping on mephone's screen behind you as he tried to bring him back, to no avail. all you wanted to do was apologize, to grasp at straws and try to claim that new start that you were told over and over again you could have by me—

…

…When did you start shaking?

You… feel lightheaded. Breathing hurts.

You should get down from this tree. You have enough lemons.

Carefully, you make your way back down to the ground, falling into a sitting position. Blinking rapidly, you squeeze your upper arms while forcing your breathing under control. Stop being so dramatic. it happened weeks ago. It's over. No need to shudder and cry like a toddler, you're a grown woman. Act like it. It's fine.

You're fine.

…

You can see a sliver of orange in the sky. Dawn will break any second now. You stand up, making your way towards the nearest river while picking up any other forageables you see, despite stumbling from the weight of all that you're already carrying. You'll recollect yourself from that childish display before you return, you're sure of it. For now, you just need arms that aren't covered in blood.

—

With cleaned arms, a hidden bow tie, and a shell full of food, you finally make your way back to the empty field the others have called home, just as the sun has risen. Most of the group is still asleep, that you can see, but your eyes draw themselves to Suitcase and Balloon, who were both already up, seemingly discussing future plans for the space.

You clear your throat, announcing your presence to them. They turn to face you, and Suitcase smiles warmly.

"Oh, Taco! Good morning! I didn't see you earlier, I was kind of worried…"

That last comment almost made you laugh, but you keep your mouth shut. You smile confidently, walking towards the two despite your legs beginning to tremble. You take a step a little too far forward…

"I found—"

…And immediately lose your balance, your legs giving out as you collapse to the ground face-first. The foodstuffs you foraged splay out in front of you, and you can feel the eyes of everyone currently awake burning into you. You're… fairly certain you heard some laughter, as well. Or at least, a very bad attempt of hiding it.

You wish you could sink into the dirt and never return from its clutches.

You hear footsteps approaching you, and look up from the dirt to see Suitcase looking down at you, offering a leg out with an amused expression. She thinks you can't back stand up on your own. How sweet.

"Youuu… need any help there?"

"I'm fine," You sit up, depositing the rest of your spoils onto the ground before standing without Suitcase's help, "I was just carrying a lot. I took the time to go foraging last night. I know the plan was to go out in a group this morning, but I figured I should at least get a head start."

…Suitcase and Balloon are looking at you funny.

"Wow, uh…" Balloon looks you up and down with furrowed brows, clearly trying to find a way to word his thoughts. "You look… great," is what he settles on. You scoff.

"Have you been getting sarcasm lessons from Nickel?"

"Uhh—"

You cut him off before he can respond. "You could use some more work."

Balloon makes… some kind of noise of frustration at this, before sighing. "Okay, fine, you look awful then. Were you up all night foraging…?"

"Yes?" You're not sure you see the problem here. "I couldn't sleep. I'd rather spend a sleepless night doing something productive than lie around doing nothing."

"Okaaaay…" Balloon looks down to your arms. "And the cuts are…?"

"Blackberry bush incident," you answer calmly and confidently. It was an incident, yes, you just aren't going to mention the part where the incident was a knee-jerk reaction to an unwanted memory that you then repeated several times on purpose. Leave that part out for the press. They'll think you're suicidal, or something.

…

…Uh, anyway. Your relationship with Balloon is... complicated. You were both actors, playing a character for the game. You could see through him like an open window, and sometimes, you wonder if he could see through you as well. Not like it matters, neither of you ever called each other out on your lies.

It's ironic. The two of you had both flipped your true personalities to a complete 180, accidentally mirroring each other, and were both believed. Unlike you, however, Balloon was shunned for his persona, not for what was under it. Also unlike you, he was forgiven. He was accepted back into the lives of the contestants that he hurt, and had grown stronger for it. You never saw him on season 3, (which happened, apparently?) but you heard whispers of him getting second place.

...Ha. Second. Funny. Just like you.

"Huh. Weeeelll, thank you for all of this!" Suitcase smiles hesitantly, scanning through the food you gathered. "You're probably exhausted… don't worry about the foraging party, Cabby made sure to let me know she'd be willing to stand in as a substitute for plant identification if you weren't available. You can feel free to take the rest of the day off—"

Ah! They're trying to get rid of you!

"Oh no, that won't be necessary," you answer far too quickly, "I'm not tired. I am more than capable of guiding you all through the woods this morning."

Suitcase exchanges a glance with Balloon, clearly upset that their master plan didn't work, before turning back to you. "Are you—…?"

Something about your expression stops her in her tracks. She clears her throat.

"O…kay then! Well, uh… so far, the people who are interested in coming today are Trophy, Yinyang, Bot, Life Ring, Tea Kettle, Box, Candle, and maybe Apple and Marshmallow."

"Trophy?" You don't believe it. "That pathetic, self-centered whelp? What business does he have going foraging?"

"Oh, he's not coming to forage," Balloon jumps in, as if you were talking to him, "he just wants to take pictures. He's surprisingly into photography!"

You find yourself looking towards the titular man. He's one of the few early risers, doing push-ups alongside Blueberry. Blueberry is doing reps significantly faster than him, with much less struggle. You're starting to think Knife calling him a 'jock' was a tad generous.

"So then he won't be contributing," you deadpan. "Wonderful. I'm sure his pretty pictures will be our saving grace in these trying times."

Balloon rolls his eyes. "At least he has a hobby…"

"Pardon?"

"Ooookaayy…!" Suitcase smiles, noticeably stepping between the two of you. "Balloon, would you mind helping me gather everyone?

"Yes, ma'am!" Balloon salutes playfully. "I'll get the season 3 gang, since I'm more familiar with them. Meet here in 10?"

"Sounds good!" Suitcase beams, watching Balloon run off to start picking up his friends. He's became quite the social butterfly since you last saw him.

"Season 3…" You still can't believe season 3 is actually a thing that happened. How? When? You're sure you've had it explained to you before, but you're still so confused. Suitcase laughs a little.

"Yeah, tell me about it… I thought Knife and I were the last to find out!" Suitcase begins walking off in the direction of Yinyang, though still talking to you. "I'm… still kind of processing it myself. Mephone's… definitely an interesting person."

"Hm. Interesting isn't the word I'd use." Just thinking about him makes your blood boil. What an awful, selfish person, creating all of these people to use as toys. Creating someone like…

"Oh!" Suitcase cuts off your train of thought. "How long have we been running low on fire wood…?" You turn to where Suitcase is looking. Sure enough, your pile was getting dangerously small. "Looks like we'll have to gather some of that while we're out this morning, too…" Suitcase hums thoughtfully.

"Ooh! Ooh! I'll do it!!" Lightbulb, who had apparently woken up at some point, raised her hand excitedly. "I'll be on stick duty!!!"

Suitcase goes to respond, but you cut her off quickly. "Absolutely not. the last time you were on 'stick duty', you ate over half of them." You're fairly certain she had less sticks in her mouth when she arrived at the truth or flare platforms than she did when she had initially gathered them. There was no chance you were trusting her with that task.

Suitcase stares at you, a little wide-eyed. "How… long were you watching us back there—?"

"Cmooooon! Suitcase, buddy, friendo, you trust me, right? I'll be so good. Won't eat a single one! Promise!" Lightbulb says this with the kind of mischievous grin that shows she's lying. She may bring wood back, but it will certainly be less than the amount she finds. Why is she so fascinated with eating inedibles, anyway…?

"I… don't see why not." Suitcase made the incredibly poor decision to trust Lightbulb. This was going to be her first mistake and, ultimately, her undoing. "Are you coming with our foraging group, then?"

"Well I would, but…" Lightbulb looks over to Paintbrush, Test tube, and Fan behind her, expression falling. "Painty's still asleep, and they get kinda nervous when we're not around."

"Oh…" Suitcase frowns. "That makes sense." It was no secret that the events of that day affected everyone… but, from the pile of bodies by the door of the mansion? It's pretty easy to figure out why Paintbrush doesn't want to be away from their friends.

After a brief pause, Lightbulb springs right back to her usual self. "Sooo, I was kinda thinkin' us four could go together! So they don't have to worry!" She says this, but her fidgeting hands make it obvious that this isn't only for their sake. You decide to not call her out on that, at least that means she has people to keep her from eating all the firewood. You grumble.

"As long as I'm not being forced into the same general area as that foolish flask."

"Ay!" Lightbulb, being Test Tube's second strongest defender topped only by Fan, quickly jumps in to interrupt you. "Test Tube's no dummy, you should know that after you fiddled with all her stuff!"

Right. you forgot the word that you were the true thief of all her things got spread around. The response has been… varied. You can't help but notice how people look at you, now. how they still look at you. You're sure Lightbulb feels the same as everyone else.

You have… thoughts, on Test Tube's intelligence, especially due to recent events, but you decide against voicing them. A good person wouldn't be badmouthing someone in front of one of her best friends, after all!~

"Right, of course, my apologies. She really is quite incredible." Lightbulb beams, seemingly satisfied with your backpedaling. For now, the countless of eyes you feel constantly on you have receded. You'll give it about 10 minutes before you mess something up again.

"Hey girl!" an unexpected voice makes you jump. Soap is walking towards your little group, looking directly at you. Joke's on you! The peace didn't even last 5 seconds!~

You find yourself tensing in her presence. "Ah, Soap. Good morning. I… didn't notice you walk over." She has a habit of sneaking up on you, you've noticed.

Soap seems slightly confused by your behaviour, but notices your arms before she can respond. Her expression hardens, the unmistakable look of you having done something wrong on her face. "Why do you have cuts all over your arms?"

You freeze, sputtering over your words like some moron. The very simple and truthful explanation you easily gave Suitcase and Balloon was stuck in your throat, all because it was Soap asking the questions. Lightbulb frowns, either only just now noticing the cuts or only just now visibly acknowledging them.

"Taco said something about a 'blackberry bush incident'…" As if on cue, Suitcase heroically sweeps in to answer for you. Something you'd normally detest, but you were currently very grateful for. You clear your throat.

"Yes! I was gathering blackberries last night while I was out foraging. My trip ended up bountiful, but the blackberry bush did a number on my arms." You feel yourself gaining your confidence back. "I washed the blood off in the river before I came back, and—"

"YOU WASHED YOUR OPEN WOUNDS WITH RIVER WATER!?!?"

Soap's sudden yelling nearly makes you leap 12 feet in the air. You make some kind of noise of alarm, before responding. "Uh… yes…?"

Soap sputters at you helplessly before shaking her head violently. "YOU—! YOU DON'T!!! YOU DON'T DO THAT!!! DO YOU KNOW WHAT'S IN THAT WATER!? BACTERIA! DIRT! FISH POOP! FISH CORPSES! YOU DON'T WANT THAT IN YOUR CUTS!!! THAT'S HOW YOU GET AN INFECTION!!!"

You… genuinely aren't sure how to respond to that. You're pretty sure this is a bit much. "I've drank water from that river before. it's perfectly accepta—"

"THAT'S EVEN WORSE!!!" Soap looks like you just told her you have a week to live. "No no no, I'm getting a proper antiseptic. DON'T. GO. ANYWHERE."

Soap runs off to Life ring with a sense of urgency, and you stand there, completely dumbfounded.

"…That was extreme, wasn't it?" You turn to Suitcase and Lightbulb. They do not seem to agree.

Suitcase simply frowns at you. "Please don't put dirty water on your cuts again."

After Soap spends a good 30 minutes disinfecting your wounds, Suitcase gets you to help gather everyone up for foraging, for some reason. You try to argue that you're the last person most of these people want to talk to directly, but you digress. Suitcase has gotten quite convincing since her victory. That, and you'd rather not get in the bad side of someone as highly respected as her.

Once everyone has been gathered, you set off into the woods. You can feel Suitcase staring at you oddly, which could be for… a variety of reasons. You're still pretty sure she wants to replace you with Cabby, which would certainly explain it. Oh well! They're not getting rid of you that easy!~

…Even if they all have good reason to not want to see you.

Chapter Text

Ugh.

You stare down at your chicken noodle soup, mindlessly stirring it around with your spoon. You didn't want to eat anything. You didn't even want to get out of bed. But alas, you were dragged out of your comfy and cozy room by the lettuce, into a kitchen filled with passersby preparing for tonight's ceremony, eating bland soup that doesn't taste like anything, despite there apparently being 'enough seasoning to kill a British person'. Hello, Brit here! What seasoning was used?! You certainly can't taste it!!!

Whatever. You have to eat it, otherwise Tea Kettle will throw a fit. Apparently getting you out of your room was such a big deal that Mic, Soap and Suitcase had to get a complete and total stranger in on it. Well, a stranger to you. You imagine everyone else is probably at least an acquaintance of hers at this point. Not you, though! And you don't care to get to know her!~

You hear more footsteps coming through the kitchen. This time, though, they stop right in front of the table you're sitting at. You turn to see Nickel staring at you with an indifferent expression.

"Huh. Thought you were bed-rotting."

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "Excuse you, I was not 'bed-rotting'. I just didn't want to get up."

"So, bed-rotting," Nickel deadpans. You glare at him. "Okay, look, I don't really care. I'm just surprised to see you actually out of your room."

"You can thank Tea Kettle for that…" you mutter, completely thanklessly.

"Tea Kettle?!" Nickel laughed as he spoke. "Oh man, that's the big guns! How long did you last against her?"

"Around five minutes." You're ashamed to admit how quickly you gave in. Nickel seems impressed with the short amount of time, however.

"Woah, five? That's not bad. TK's a scary woman when she wants you eating." Nickel pauses for a moment, his eyes widening. "Oh yeah! speaking of, do you know what hor d'oeuvres means?"

What.

"What."

"I mean. It sounds french," Nickel states, "figured you'd know. Unless you were lying about the french thing too—"

"For your information," you snap, "I never said anything about being bilingual. Bomb came up with that all on his own." You pause, for a brief moment. "…That being said, it was a lucky guess. The literal translation is 'outside the work', as in small, bite-sized food served before a meal. 'Appetizers', essentially."

You can't believe you're translating french for Nickel.

"Huh. Okay. I mean, I figured, but nice to have confirmation, I guess." Nickel begins to walk off. "Aaalright, I'll let you get back to moping."

"I AM NOT MOPING!"

"Yeah yeah, sure. See you tonight." Nickel leaves before you can get another word in.

…

Tonight.

You haven't prepared at all. No speech, no good words, nothing. Every time you try to think of something, anything, your mind goes blank. But you have to come up with something. You have to, or else they'll think you don't care. That you're only here for shallow sympathies, to say 'wow, look at me! showing up to a funeral! aren't i so much nicer than i was before? haven't i changed??? do you like me again yet???'

…

You feel numb.

You feel sick.

You…

…

You can't eat this.

You stand up abruptly, placing the bowl on top of the kitchen counter. Who cares how Tea Kettle will react? You ate some of it. If she's not happy with that, she'll just have to deal with it. Who cares if it's not good enough. Nothing's ever good enough.

You rush out of the kitchen, making a break for your room once more. You don't want to speak with anyone.

Ever since the finale of Season 1, you've been well-known for being one of the fastest contestants created. Getting back to your room from the kitchen before anyone noticed you were gone should be a breeze. You run, run, and run, barely paying attention to your surroundings, and—

"AH—!"

You feel your body slam against someone else's, nearly toppling the both of you over from the sheer speed. You barely manage to keep yourself standing upright, blinking as you regain your senses and figure out who it is you just ran into at full-force.

…

That's…

…

Cheesy and Bomb are standing closely beside Pickle, having caught him from falling over. They're all staring at you.

…

You continue to run before they can say anything.

You keep running until you reach your room, bursting inside and slamming the door behind you. Your entire body is shaking.

Why didn't you say anything?

Why didn't you SAY ANYTHING!?

You ran into him so hard you both nearly fell, and instead of apologizing like a normal person, you just KEPT RUNNING!? What is WRONG with you!? Why can you NEVER say sorry for ANYTHING!? Are you allergic to taking accountability? is that it? Is this just another cruel consequence of how you were created to be, another part of your TORTUROUS EXISTENCE!? You're disgusting, you're TERRIBLE, YOU—

…

…You need to write a speech. The ceremony is tonight. Don't go empty-handed.

…

Crumpled up balls of paper cover the floor of your room. You can't write anything good. They're going to think you don't care. That your little display back during the finale was an act, like everything else. And truly, what reason would they have to believe otherwise? The ones who saw you with him only knew you had been holding him hostage. The ones who didn't knew you had abused his power thanks to your inability to shut up back in the mansion. Perhaps they would think you cried because you had lost a powerful boon.

Perhaps they'd think the same for when you all had discovered his corpse, sombre proof that he was gone. You still remember seeing the smoke, the sickeningly sweet scent of the punctured lithium battery getting stronger with every step closer you took, making you dizzy. You were so lightheaded at the time, you can barely recall what you had done upon finding him; but from what you do remember, the outburst was humiliating.

…Which is all the more reason you have to attend. You have to be there, to have a speech, or, or—

Knock knock!

You blink, attention springing to your door as if you're snapped out of some kind of trance. You stare at it, silently, which invites the person on the other side to knock a second time. Maybe… Maybe if you just don't answer, they'll think you're asleep and leave you to write your stupid speech—

"Taco? You awake?"

…Mic.

…

"…Come in."

Microphone, wonderful Microphone, opens the door to your room and surveys the area. Her eyebrows furrow, focused on the countless paper scraps surrounding you, pen in hand with an empty sheet in front of you.

"Seems like you're busy." Despite her acknowledgment of this, she closes the door behind her and walks over to your window, pulling open the curtains. "I heard Tea Kettle talking about how you didn't finish your food, and Cheesy mentioned bumping into you… literally, apparently. I figured I should probably check in on you."

"How hard is it for that woman to understand I'm simply not hungry?" you huff, putting your pen down and curling in on yourself as Mic sits beside you with an all-too-knowing look on her face.

"When was the last time you ate? Before the soup, I mean."

"…Um. Well." You stay silent for a moment, trying to think. "I… ate an apple, yesterday." Not the woman.

Mic frowns. This is apparently not a satisfactory answer.

"Look— I can't help that I'm not hungry!" You shout, "Don't look at me like that!! When was the last time you ate!?"

"My LUNCH? AN HOUR AGO?" Mic responds, flabbergasted.

You smirk. "I'm doing better than you, then! I ate half an hour ago."

"You had a few spoonfuls of soup. I don't think that counts as a meal." Mic sighs. "I mean, I guess I can't blame you. I probably wouldn't have much of an appetite today either, if I were you."

Her eyes trace the balls of paper surrounding the two of you as she speaks. "Are you… trying to write a eulogy?"

"I have to show up with something," you insist, "who knows what everyone will think if I don't."

Mic doesn't respond, so you continue. "I'm usually so good with words, and long monologues about things I care about, but— but somehow— I'm drawing a blank." You see Mic uncrumpling one of the scrapped eulogies in the corner of your eye. "The one time I need to speak, and I can't. How ironic is that?"

"Do you have to…?" Mic questions, furrowing an eyebrow.

You stare at Mic as if she was stupid.

"Wh— YES? I can't just attend the dedication ceremony and have nothing to say!!!" You curl in on yourself tighter. "I have to show up, I have to have a eulogy, it's basic respect!"

"But you don't want to."

You freeze.

"What?" You turn to Mic.

"You don't want to write a eulogy,—" Mic reads through the paper she uncrumpled as she speaks— "you just think you need to." Mic looks at you, eyes soft. "But… nobody's forcing you. You don't have to write anything, you can just be there."

You squint, eyebrows furrowing, before looking away and down at the floor. She's right, you're not being forced. You could go to Mepad's dedication ceremony with not a single word to say, in theory, and nobody would be able to do anything about it.

…But it's not just the eulogy, is it?

You can feel Mic's gaze still locked on you. You're… not sure what she's thinking, but—

"Do you want to go?" Mic asks.

A simple question. A simple yes or no will suffice. And yet… you find yourself unable to answer her. You open and close your mouth over and over, trying to get a single word out…

"I… I have to," is all you manage to spit out.

"No you don't?"

"I DO!" You whip your head to her. "It's an obligatory event! If I don't go, they'll think I don't care!" You look at her with desperation in your eyes. You can't give them more of a reason to hate you. You can't, you can't, you won't.

Mic looks at you, considering. Her eyebrows furrow in pity, looking at you as if you were some kind of… sad, wet animal, rather than a grown woman.

Slowly, carefully, she responds.

"Toilet isn't going."

You… blink.

"Ah— he… isn't? But he was one of Mepad's closest companions. Why wouldn't he go to the ceremony?"

"That's why he isn't going," Mic clarifies, expression serious. "He said he couldn't handle it. And nobody blamed him for that. He's just… not going." She pauses for a moment, expression softening. "If you don't want to go either, that's fine. No one would be mad."

You don't understand. Doesn't Mic see the clear difference between Toilet, an innocent and clueless fool, and you? Of course they have more patience with him, he's bright, and cheery, and has a heart of gold! Assuming the others would treat you the same as him is foolish, the two of you couldn't be more different.

"It's your choice. But… I think it'd be good for you to go. For you. No one else." Mic smiles at you, reassuringly. "Mepad would want us to be happy at his dedication ceremony, not… stress ourselves out trying to write a speech we don't want to make. Let's try to have fun tonight, okay? For him."

…

You smile back.

"For him."

For him.

For him. For him. For him.

For…

…

…You can't breathe.

You've been sitting outside of the newly named Mepad Manor for what feels like hours. Hiding on the side of the building, away from the front door, where nobody can see you. Everyone is either inside, or helping Spoiled Lemon set up for later tonight, and you've just been sitting here. Rotting. Curled up on yourself, unable to do anything except shake and shudder and gasp for breath like a fish out of water.

Your mind is racing, your heart is pounding, and you can't calm down. You squeeze your upper arms, feeling the pain of your fingers digging into your skin, eyes shut. The cold air blows against your overheating body, making you nauseous from the conflicting temperatures. Why did you ever think going to this was a good idea? They'll all look at you. They'll look at you and they'll see nothing but the monster that held him hostage, and they'll wonder why you bothered to even show up. You clearly never cared, why would you want to attend his funeral?

His— his funeral. That's what it is, isn't it? You can call it a dedication ceremony all you want, but you know the truth. He's dead and this is his funeral. He's dead and that CALLOUS CORN TOOK HIM AWAY BEFORE YOU COULD EVEN THANK HIM FOR STAYING, FOR TOLERATING YOU, FOR EVERYTHING HE DID FOR YOU, AND NOW HE'LL NEVER KNOW HOW MUCH YOU VALUED HIM, BECAUSE HE'S DEAD AND HE'S NEVER COMING BACK—

"Taco!"

A familiar voice calls out to you. Opening your eyes, the worried yet determined eyes of Suitcase look back at you. Judging by her being right there, it's safe to assume she's been trying to get your attention for a while. Her expression melts in relief the second she realizes she got it, before quickly replacing itself with a look of focus you've seen her making a lot more, in recent times. The look she makes when there is a problem she knows how to fix.

"Taco. I need you to look at me, okay?" Suitcase speaks softly, calmly. "I'm going to take some deep breaths, and I want you to try and copy me the best you can. Can you do that?"

"I—" You cough, taking in shuddered gasps and choking on your own breath. She's right in front of you, and yet somehow feels so far away. You hate feeling like this. It just keeps happening, you don't know how to make it STOP. Every touch feels like being pricked with needles and every sound is deafening no matter the volume, and you still can't breathe.

But… Suitcase needs you to try.

You nod, shakily.

The next few minutes are spent between you and Suitcase, trying to help you regain control of your breathing. You cough, you hack, you choke to the point of tears, yet she doesn't give up. She stays there, breathing with you, until it becomes easy. Your body is still shaking and your mind is still racing, but you can breathe. You take one final deep breath, wiping your eyes dry, before looking at Suitcase with an expression you can only assume is like that of a kicked puppy.

She smiles, nervously. "Tonight's pretty scary, huh…?" Suitcase walks beside you, sitting down. "I'm honestly not feeling great myself… This whole situation is really heavy, and… I feel like a lot of attention is gonna be on me, being the season winner and all. I can't imagine how you must feel."

You ball up in on yourself, trying to avoid contact. "Don't you find it strange that I'm here at all? I was holding Mepad hostage last you saw me." Or, well, you thought you were holding him hostage. Turns out he was just playing along. "Why would I feel anything?"

Suitcase frowns. "It's… pretty obvious you cared about him. I may not know exactly what happened between the two of you, but he clearly meant something to you." Aah, Suitcase. Kind as always, even to those who don't deserve it. How on earth does she do it.

…

"Mepad… saw me at my lowest. Every ugly, cruel, disgusting part of me, all on display at once, and still believed I wasn't beyond redemption." God, you don't know why you're saying this. "If he wanted to, he could have just abandoned me, at any point. No one would have blamed him, certainly not I. But… he never did."

You look down at the ground, body trembling.

"Everything I have now is thanks to him. This second chance, my life… He…"

He…

…Saved you.

In more ways than one.

If he wasn't there for you, when Mic left, when you shattered, before you talked to Pickle, after he died in front of you, when you learned Mephone created you all, you…

You wouldn't… have anything to hold onto.

And now he's gone. And you're still here.

…

You don't deserve it.

Suitcase leans against you. You flinch from the touch. "He saw the best in everyone. That's just the kind of person he was. Kind, patient. He would have done anything to make sure we could all be happy." She pauses, expression turning somber. "And… he did. Even if it meant he couldn't be here to see it."

You feel a pang in your chest.

"…I don't even have anything."

"What?" Suitcase looks at you.

"I— I was going to write a speech, or a eulogy, or something, but I… I couldn't. I'm showing up to the funeral of one of the only people who ever cared about me with nothing." You laugh, weakly. "Isn't that horrible…?"

"Taco… you're not 'horrible' for not writing anything to say on stage." Her gaze is soft. "You were never obligated to bring anything, or even come. Just being here is more than enough! You don't have to have a whole speech prepared for people to know you care."

…Oh.

Your heart feels tight.

Suitcase smiles, seeing her job is complete. Standing up, she looks at you one final time.

"I really need to finish helping Spoiled Lemon get set up. Things should be starting soon. I'll… see you there?"

You breathe in and out, deeply.

"…See you there. Hurry along, don't keep them waiting."

She laughs, before walking away to finish her work. She really has grown so much since that feeble girl she used to be. You're… almost jealous.

Eventually, the time came for the dedication ceremony. Everyone gathered around the stage as one by one, those who made eulogies stepped in front of the microphone and said their piece. Marshmallow had the most to say out of everyone. You'll admit, you cried. But… it was nice. It wasn't nearly as overwhelming as you thought it'd be. Nobody stared at you. Nobody judged you. Several people asked how you were holding up, even! Spoiled Lemon outdid themselves as well, you think. The song they wrote for the ceremony was catchy, and getting to join in with everyone else who decided to sing was… nice.

You were smiling. You were laughing. You… you had fun. Just like he would have wanted.

For a brief moment, the world felt a little lighter.

…

But… despite that… you didn't sleep that night. Once you reached your wreck of a room you don't have the energy to clean, and collapsed into your unmade bed, its blanket in a lump in the middle of the mattress…

All you could do was cry.