Work Text:
“Pigsy?”
Pigsy jumped at the sound of MK’s voice. He whipped around, seeing his beautiful boy standing behind him, concern etched on his features. He held a broom in his hand, twisting it uncomfortably between his fingers.
Pigsy panted for a few seconds as his mind caught up with him. He glanced around, noticing that he was standing in the kitchen of the shop and that there was dough resting between his fingers. He picked up the sound of noise coming from outside, of recently departed customers leaving and going about their day. He picked up the scent of the broth that was beginning to bubble behind him, lacking the key ingredients that made it so good. MK’s brows creased the longer he went without a response, and it almost seemed like he was about to leave the room entirely.
Oh. That’s right. Pigsy remembered why MK was in here.
Ever since the whole…incident, MK had been helping around the shop however he could. Pigsy had told him that he didn’t have to, that he had it all under control, but, of course, MK relented, insisting that he did something to make it up to Pigsy. So, Pigsy caved. He told MK he could help clean up around the shop when nobody else was around, and MK had gotten so excited that it almost seemed like Pigsy had given him the day off.
And it broke Pigsy’s heart.
MK thought that Pigsy was mad at him. He thought that he had completely broken his trust after what happened with the pillar and had assumed that Pigsy was still upset about it, and was doing whatever he could to build up the trust that was never lost. MK thought that Pigsy was mad at him, and Pigsy was too caught up in his own emotions to tell him it wasn’t true.
And the poor kid had been trying so hard. He had worked harder than he ever had before, scrubbing the tables and mopping the floors and disinfecting the counters so much that Pigsy felt like it was a whole new version of his son. MK starting working with so much precision, in fact, that even the others had caught onto it, praising him for his sudden hardworking attitude and assuming that it was for extra pay from Pigsy.
But MK wasn’t doing it for extra money.
He was doing it because he thought that Pigsy was mad at him.
And the lack of communication didn’t help much either. The longer Pigsy went without talking to MK, the more upset he got with himself, and the more the bad energy radiations reached MK. MK had begun to talk to him less, coming in every day with no words to say as he began to clean the shop. Pigsy wanted to talk to him, of course—he wanted to talk to his son so badly— but his stupid mouth couldn’t form the stupid words he wanted to say and he ended up never saying anything at all.
And Pigsy was still trying to forgive himself for the damage he had been causing MK for nearly 20 long years. For pushing him away, for insisting he wasn’t MK’s father until he got too close to losing him for good. And even then, even after they had had a long and deep conversation about their relationship, Pigsy still continued to hurt his precious son. Even after all this time, Pigsy didn’t change. He couldn’t change.
MK tapped the broom against the ground, snapping Pigsy out of his thoughts. He lifted his hands off the dough and turned around, fully facing MK a he coughed awkwardly. “Oh—um- yeah?”
MK’s expression soured with concern. “Are…you okay?”
“Yeah,” Pigsy awkwardly lied. “‘M okay. Why?”
But MK didn’t seem convinced. He took a step closer, his eyes flicking up and down as Pigsy flinched ever so slightly. “Are you sure?”
Pigsy’s brows furrowed. “Yes?” He took a step back, feeling like MK was towering over him the closer he got. “Kid, what’s going on?”
“Nothing’s ‘going on’,” MK did air quotes with a free hand, “I just want to know what’s wrong with you, Dad.”
Pigsy took a deep breath. “Nothin’s wrong.”
“Something is wrong, though,” MK dropped the broom to the floor, letting it clatter behind him as he got closer to Pigsy. He stood right in front of Pigsy, now, his finger accusingly pointing Pigsy’s chest. “Because if nothing was wrong, you wouldn’t look like you haven’t slept in days.”
That kid and his stupidly good observation skills. “I did sleep,” he muttered, his face burning at MK’s persistent glare. “Um. Last night.”
MK raised a brow. “For how long?”
“As long as I normally sleep.” Pigsy pushed past MK and picked up the fallen broom, tossing it in MK’s direction. “Now, can you get off my ass and help me clean around the shop?”
Oh.
Oh no.
Pigsy’s heart plummeted into his stomach the second he realized what had come out of his mouth. The broom clattered to the side, loud and harsh. MK stared at Pigsy, his mouth slightly agape and his eyes widened. There was a look in his eyes that Pigsy couldn’t place—maybe fear, maybe anger, maybe a secret third emoji that Pigsy couldn’t decipher.
MK was mad at him. He had to have been. Pigsy had been treating him like shit for so long and what he just said had only proved it even more. Pigsy remained frozen, his arm outstretched and his eyes beginning to sting with tears.
Pigsy always messed up. He messed up in raising MK, in loving him, in keeping him safe, in hurting him over and over and over again until the boy was crying for him to stop. All Pigsy did was hurt MK, and there was no way that the kid didn’t want revenge by now.
There was a lump in Pigsy’s throat that he tried to swallow down. His eyes were still watering, and his voice was broken when he spoke. “Kid—”
“Something’s wrong,” MK interrupted, his voice deep and harsh. Pigsy’s heart felt like it may as well just stop beating.
Pigsy’s entire body shook as he spoke, his lungs pushing out harsh and ragged heaves of air. “What?”
“I said, something’s wrong!” MK walked past him, leaving the kitchen and moving to sit on one of the stools at the bar. Something told Pigsy that he was expecting company in the stool next to him. “You—You haven’t snapped at me like that in years, Pigsy! Something’s wrong!”
Pigsy walked over, joining MK two stools down. “I’m— fine,” he grumbled, not really meaning it. “I’m fine, MK.”
MK scooted closer to him. “No, you aren’t.”
“Yes, I am.”
“You aren’t.”
“I am.”
“Pigsy!”
“Nothing’s wrong, MK!” Pigsy slammed his fist onto the counter, trying his hardest to choke on the sob that dared to leave his throat. MK let out a sound similar to a growl, and Pigsy felt himself freezing.
“Stop doing this!” MK cried out, and for the first time that day, his voice was cracking. “Stop pushing me away! I want to help you!”
“There’s nothin’ to help me with because I’m fine,” Pigsy hissed through gritted teeth, wanting desperately to leave the conversation forever so MK wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore.
But then there was silence. There was a long, long silence that stretched out so far Pigsy was afraid to look over out of fear that MK had dropped dead. He didn’t want to look over. He didn’t want to see that MK was mad, that MK was enraged, that MK was one second from leaving him forever and never coming back.
Pigsy’s ears caught the sound of breathing next to him, loud and shaky. Pigsy swallowed, biting back another sob. MK was mad at him. MK was mad. He wanted this to be over with already.
Not knowing what else to say or do, Pigsy lifted himself out of the seat, making his way towards the exit of the shop. However, before he could get very far, a hand gripped his back, keeping him in place.
“Do you—” MK’s voice was shattered, his hand squeezing Pigsy’s shoulder. “Do you think I’m stupid or something?! I’m not stupid, Pigsy!” “You think I can’t tell what’s going on with you? What’s been going on with you?!”
Pigsy couldn’t turn around. He didn’t have it in him. There was a brief sensation of fur brushing against his skin, and Pigsy felt his entire body shake as he realized that MK had shifted into using his monkey form. A form so terrifying to him that he had cried into Pigsy’s arms for weeks and weeks, begging for the pain to go away. A form so sacred that he rarely used it out of fear of hurting people. A form so upsetting that he only used it when he was mad. When he was mad.
MK was mad at him. Pigsy felt like he was one second from losing his mind.
Pigsy tried to shake off the hand on his back, but MK was faster and sharper and only further tightened his grip, claws beginning to dig into his skin. “I know what you’re going through, Pigsy! I know!” There was a brief moment of silence, and Pigsy’s body felt numb when he heard the sound of a strangled sob behind him. “With—with me, a- and the pillar, and—and—”
Pigsy’s heart dropped for the upteenth time that day, and he whipped around to face his son. “MK—”
“Let me help you,” MK cried, holding his arms close to his chest as his eyes began to water. “Please let me help you!”
Pigsy’s heart broke at the desperation in MK’s voice, and his mind swirled in confusion when trying to pinpoint what was causing MK to be so distressed. “MK, it— it’s not like that, kid, I’m just in a bad mood—”
“And you’ve been in one for weeks!” MK yelled, his voice suddenly raising. “You think we haven’t noticed? You think I haven’t noticed?!” He pointed his fingers to his chest, leaning down in a way that seems like his legs weren’t enough to support him anymore. “I’ve noticed the way you get sadder and sadder every day! I’ve noticed! You don’t even look like Pigsy anymore, you look like—like a zombie!” MK cried, tears beginning to stream down his face. “That’s not normal, Dad!”
Pigsy couldn’t reply. He couldn’t find it in him. He turned around again, being too weak to look his son in the eye.
“I want to help you,” MK begged, voice quiet and scratchy. “I know what it’s like to feel helpless. To feel like nobody will ever understand what you’re going through.” There was a sniff, and Pigsy heard the sounds of footsteps approaching him. There was a gentle hand placed onto his other shoulder, and, for a moment, Pigsy almost leaned into it. MK sniffed again. “I know, Dad. Please let me help you.”
But Pigsy couldn’t let his son help. He couldn’t allow it. He couldn’t allow him to help because he had already hurt MK so much and he would only be placing even more burdens that his son didn’t need onto his shoulders. He couldn’t allow him to help because he would just agree, would say that Pigsy was right and that he was a shitty father and a shittier person and that he should’ve protected MK and he should’ve kept him safe from the Lady Bone Demon and Azure and Nuwa and that it wasn’t fair that MK had to be raised by someone who didn’t even love him enough to save him from suicide—
“Where are you going?”
Pigsy realized that he had wandered off to the doorway of the shop, leaving MK behind. He knew that the boy was right behind him, of course he did, but a part of him wished he was further away, that he would just leave Pigsy alone and go back to enjoying his life so he wouldn’t have to worry about letting Pigsy down again.
But Pigsy needed to go somewhere. He needed to go somewhere where he could be alone and by himself and with nobody else but his own thoughts. He needed to go somewhere where he was away from MK, away from anyone that he could hurt, away from anything that would cause pain and misery and suffering to others.
“...Flower Fruit Mountain, I guess,” Pigsy mumbled, barely able to hear himself over the roaring thoughts that pounded in his head. “Gonna ask Tang to bring me there. I need to…” He swallowed, leaning his head against the doorframe. “To think.”
He practically felt the way MK straightened up. “I can come with you.”
Pigsy shook his head. “I need to be alone.”
As expected, MK continued to push. “I can help you.”
Pigsy didn’t want help. He didn’t want his son to be involved in any way at all. This was a him problem, not an MK problem. He had to just…suck it up. Deal with it himself. Keep pushing until it went away enough for MK to stop noticing.
But he also knew that if he told this to MK, he would just keep pushing. He would dig and dig and dig until Pigsy caved in only to realize that there was no reason to be worried at all when Pigsy’s guilty and regret was true. When he realized that there was no point in helping his father when his father was upset about something that was obvious to everyone around them.
When he realized that Pigsy was only worrying about mistakes he made because his father was nothing but selfish.
Pigsy bit his lip. “Tonight.”
“What?” MK said. “‘Tonight’?”
“We…” Pigsy swallowed. “We can talk tonight.”
Tonight. Enough time for Pigsy to think of some sort of lie to give MK so he wouldn’t realize that Pigsy’s fears were right. Enough time for Pigsy to text the others and tell them that everything was fine and under control and that there was nothing to worry about.
But MK only growled. “...No.”
Pigsy looked behind him. “No?”
“I don’t—” MK swallowed. “Promise me,” he whispered. “Promise me you won’t do anything bad until then.”
Pigsy stood uncomfortably, shifting awkwardly as he put out his pinky finger. “I promise,” he whispered, not really meaning it. “I promise, MK.”
MK took a long, deep breath, closing his eyes during it. Pigsy wasn’t sure if it was from relief or from pent-up anger. “Okay.”
And then, MK placed out his own pinky finger, and the two of them intertwined, trapping each other in a promise.
However, the second Pigsy let go, MK tugged him close, wrapping his arms around him and shoving his face into MK’s chest.
“I love you, Dad,” MK cried out, squeezing tight. “I love you so much.” He let out another pained sob, and that was when Pigsy knew to return the embrace. One of MK’s hands coiled around Pigsy’s head, petting him gently. “Please don’t forget that.”
“I know,” Pigsy mumbled back, voice muffled by MK’s shirt. “I love you more, son. So much more.”
They remained in their quiet embrace for a long, long time, until Pigsy had to force himself to let go because MK was holding on to him too tightly. He wished he could hold on to his son forever, keeping him close and never letting go. But he couldn’t. He didn’t deserve it.
MK took another deep breath, and there was a flicker of gold as he returned to his human form. He gave Pigsy a weak half-smile, clearly not meaning it. “Tonight at 7?”
Pigsy gave a weak half-smile in return, going back to his place in the doorway. “Tonight at 7.”
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The flight to Flower Fruit Mountain was very, very awkward.
When Tang picked him up, Pigsy knew that he could tell something was wrong. Tang had tried to fly slower than usual, presumably in hopes that Pigsy would speak up, but all Pigsy had done was say that he didn’t want to talk about it and that him and MK were going to anyways later that day. And Tang had tried over and over again to push into Pigsy and try to force an answer out of him, but nothing had worked. Pigsy stood his ground.
He felt tears burn his eyes when he realized that he had forgotten to close up shop, meaning that MK would most likely do it for him. He felt the guilt continue to swallow him alive, eating into his flesh and digging into his bones, rooting itself into his body. He wished he could do better. Wished that he wasn’t such a useless coward and that he could do more for his son, more for his Family, instead of just wallowing around in his own thoughts like dead weight.
Dead weight. Sometimes, Pigsy wished he could be dead weight. Suicide wasn’t an unusual idea to him. There had been plenty of times when he had considered it, or thought about it, or even tried to, even if by accident. But he had never succeeded out of fear. Out of shame. Out of the desperate wish to want more out of life, but never being able to hold onto it.
After the whole pillar incident, Pigsy had tried to drop the idea of suicide altogether, and, for the most part, he had succeded. However, the lines between guilt and death had began to blur as of late, and Pigsy was finding it harder and harder to not give into it. He knew suicide was bad. Of course he did.
But he didn’t know how much longer he could live with this guilt.
He didn’t know how much longer he could live feeling useless, of feeling like he’s nothing but a burden on everyone’s lives. Of living under the guilt that if he had just tried harder then maybe he could have protected MK from the Lady Bone Demon and from Azure and from his own death. That if Pigsy actually tried to be a good person, MK would be happier.
MK would be happier without him.
He had Mei. He had Tang. He had Sandy and Monkey King and everyone else by his side. MK didn’t need him. He didn’t need Pigsy slowing him down and doing nothing but worsening everything. He didn’t need a half-assed father that only continued to hurt and hurt and hurt because he only cared about himself. MK didn’t need someone like Pigsy in his life. MK didn’t need Pigsy.
When Pigsy arrived at Flower Fruit Mountain, he immediately felt hundreds of eyes on him everywhere he walked. He figured that there was a possibility that MK contacted Monkey King and told him to keep a close eye on Pigsy, but he didn’t think that this many people would be watching his every move. It made him feel uncomfortable and anxious and afraid. He hated it.
Pigsy didn’t know where he was going. He let his feet follow the trail in front of him before it led to a river, loud and fast. The river was loud enough to drown out his thoughts, so he sat by it, lying on the ground and keeping his ears close to the water.
And Pigsy stayed. He stayed there for hours and hours and hours, listening to nothing but the sound of rushing water from above his head. He didn’t fall asleep, of course he didn’t, but he wasn’t exactly aware, either. He was just….there. A spectator of his own body.
Eventually, the feeling of eyes on his back vanished, as did the feeling of unease that coursed through his body. When Pigsy opened his eyes again, it was dark outside, with nothing but the night sky looking back at him.
Shit.
What time was it?
Pigsy scrambled for his phone, fishing it out of his pocket and nearly throwing it into the river as he flicked on the screen. 6:50. Only 10 more minutes until MK would come over.
Pigsy suddenly felt scared. He felt very, very scared. His heart start pounding and his body started shaking and every part of him felt like running away. Running to safety.
Running to where MK couldn’t find him.
Pigsy didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to talk to MK because it wouldn’t do anything to solve the hurt and it would only push the wound in his heart even deeper. He didn’t want to talk because MK would say that he was right, that he was useless and annoying and nothing but a burden on everybody’s lives. He didn’t want to talk to MK because the selfish monster inside of him loved living in this fantasy world where him and his son pretended like nothing was wrong, like Pigsy wasn’t a horrible, horrible person.
Pigsy couldn’t talk to MK.
He couldn’t.
He whipped around, frantically trying to find an escape route where MK wouldn’t be able to track him. The river seemed to go on and on and for miles and miles, and it was far too wide for him to jump over, but—
Wait.
The river.
Pigsy’s breathing began to even out as his eyes slowly laid on the river. He leaned closer to it, listening to the sound of rushing water passing through. He carefully dipped his hand into it, pulling back almost instantly. Cold. Cold in a way that felt like he would get pulled in, never to come back out again.
It frightened him. It scared him in a way he didn’t know was possible.
But at the same time, it felt like there was no other way out. No other way for the hurt and the pain and the misery to leave.
Pigsy took a deep breath, his mind already two steps ahead of him. He pulled out his phone, shaky hands reaching out to pull up MK’s contact. His son had messaged him, asking him where he was and if he was ready to meet up yet.
6:53.
Pigsy couldn’t bring himself to say goodbye. He couldn’t. His hands were too shaky and his mind was racing and he felt like there was nothing he could say in the moment that could convey how he truly felt. So, he settled on two sentences:
I love you.
I’m sorry.
And threw his phone into the river, as far away as he could, never wanting to see it again.
He sighed. He sighed long and hard, bringing his knees up to his chest and closing his eyes as tears began to spill over.
Pigsy was tired.
He was so, so tired. So tired of hurting, so tired of living in pain and stress and fear, so tired of feeling the burn of regret eat him alive every single day. He was tired of feeling useless, of feeling worthless, of feeling like he was the sole cause for every horrible thing that had ever happened to his poor, poor boy.
But there was nothing else he could do. Not now. Not ever.
If he was dead, MK would be happier.
Pigsy repeated these words in his head like a mantra as he approached the river. He leaned down, running his fingers through the stream of cool water. The ice-cold temperature of the river didn’t even compute to him, his body feeling numb even as the frigidity of it bit at his hooves.
If he was dead, MK would be happier.
Pigsy took off his shoes, rolling up his pants and dipping his legs into the water. For a second, the nerves under his skin picked up the sting of the freezing current, but his mind was so full that he didn’t bother holding onto the feeling.
If he was dead, MK would be happier.
Pigsy took a deep breath, anchoring his soul into the river. He moved himself fully into the water, now, leaning back onto his elbows. The current felt like it was rising the longer he stayed in there, barely able to keep his head above water. His clothes became soaked and his entire body suddenly tensed up in a way that left him breathless. He struggled for air, wheezing as everything around him began to constrict his limbs, his face, his bones, everything. For the second time in his life, Pigsy felt completely frozen.
If he was dead, MK would be happier.
It would be over soon. The cold would be too much and the river was far too deep for him to breath once he laid down. When he laid down, his entire body would be engulfed under frigid temperatures and his fate would be sealed within minutes. When he laid down, Pigsy would be dead.
If he was dead, MK would be happier.
Pigsy found himself struggling as his body refused to move itself under the water. He tried, tried to push his arms off the ground and lean his head back and prepare himself for death, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t. His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest, and his entire body was shaking in a way that didn’t feel like it was just from the water.
Pigsy was scared. He was afraid.
But he had to do it.
Pigsy took in his final breath and lowered himself under the water, almost instantly fighting the urge to jump back out at the way it felt like his entire body was convulsing in agony. The cold rush of water hit him like a tidal wave, tightening his muscles and stabbing into his body in a way that almost hurt. But Pigsy didn’t move. He couldn’t.
For MK.
Pigsy’s mind, in a disgusting attempt to keep him at peace, replayed the memory of the first time he and MK met. Of the way the boy had clung to him, begging to never let go. Of the things that Tang had said about him, about that little boy that was practically velcroed to his side. Of the way that Pigsy had denied it, had pushed back and back and back until MK was so hurt by what Pigsy had done that there was no hope in fixing what was lost. Even though he tried to, even though they both tried to, it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
Nothing would ever be enough to heal the wounds that Pigsy had caused.
Pigsy’s mind bagan to wander, and he started to think of Tang, and the noodles he’ll never get to have again. He thinks of his son, and the father he’ll never get to have. He thinks of Mei and Sandy and his Mother and his Grandma and everyone else that had ever made his life feel like it was worth living.
It was getting harder to think with every passing moment. He steeled his body into the water, pushing and pushing and pushing to keep himself steady.
He thinks of the shop, of the customers that would praise his work and swear they would come back for more. He thinks of his employee, bright and shining and always eager to work. He thinks of the cookbook, resting in one of the cabinets in the kitchen, collecting dust as it waited to be opened again. He thinks of the recipes, of the history, of the everything that was still in the shop and would never be seen again.
He thinks of MK, of his precious, beautiful son, finding his body lying in the river. He tries to tell himself that MK won’t care, that MK won’t try to look for him, but he isn’t stupid enough to believe that. MK will look for him. MK will find him.
Pigsy couldn’t move. His limbs felt stuck, his eyes wouldn’t open, and, if he could breath, the current was so strong it felt like his lungs would be crushed in an instant if he tried to.
But he couldn’t stop thinking. He couldn’t stop thinking about MK, about the shop, about the Cooking With Chang’e episodes that he’ll never get to watch, about the late nights spent with his family watching corny movies and listening to cornier songs.
He thinks of the pillar, of the absolute hypocrisy in begging MK not to leave his side and then doing the same thing himself.
But he couldn’t.
He couldn’t.
It was getting harder and harder for Pigsy to think the longer he was submerged underwater. His fingers gripped the earth below him, the muddy texture only reminding him once more of the dirt-soaked little boy that he had met so many years ago. Pigsy swore that he must’ve been crying now, even if he couldn’t feel it.
He didn’t know if MK would be happier.
If MK would be happier finding his body and pulling him out of the water, if MK would be happier calling 120 or Mei or anybody to help, to save Pigsy, to bring him back. If MK would truly be happier knowing that his father was gone, that his father was dead, that they would never get to see or talk or hug each other ever again because Pigsy was gone.
Pigsy nearly screams as his mind finally catches up: MK would not be happier if Pigsy was dead. Nobody would be happier if Pigsy was dead.
MK wouldn’t be happier.
He wouldn’t.
Pigsy swore he heard the desperate screech of somebody calling his name. Of MK calling his name.
MK.
Pigsy wanted MK.
He wanted to apologize. He wanted to get out of the water and run into his son’s open embrace and apologize for ever trying to leave him. He wanted to see his son again.
And, with a sickening gasp, Pigsy realizes
that he wants to live.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
MK is stressed.
He’s stressed because Pigsy won’t respond to him. He’s stressed because he just got two cryptic, mysterious messages that only set off even more alarms in his head. He’s stressed because Monkey King stopped sending him updates, and he had no idea if his father was okay.
MK made a mad dash for Flower Fruit Mountain the second Pigsy had sent him those messages. He ignored the feeling of his body switching into his monkey form, the sudden weight of despair pulling him down, the anxiety and nausea coiling through his stomach as he pushed himself as fast as he could towards Pigsy. But he couldn’t give in to the fear. He couldn’t give in because it would only give Pigsy more of a chance to do something bad even though he had promised—
MK knew he shouldn’t have let Pigsy go on his own like that. How stupid he was, for assuming that Pigsy would be okay by himself despite the fact that he was repeating the same behaviors that MK had when the pillar was collapsing. How stupid he was for ever letting his father out of his sight, for letting him step facefirst into danger with no way to escape. MK was stupid, so, so incredibly stupid, and it only pushed him further towards the Mountain.
When MK got there, he’d apologize. He’d stop Pigsy from falling off the cliff, or force the pills out of his mouth, or untie the vines he could use as a noose. He’d pull Pigsy into a hug so tight that he wouldn’t be able to escape no matter how hard he tried, trapped in the embrace of his son. He would beg and scream and cry and sob and do anything to convince Pigsy to stay. He’d say everything he could, let every single word that he’s ever wanted to say flow out of his mouth in an uncontrollable current of emotion that never ended.
And Pigsy would stay. He’d stay, and he’d apologize, and they’d both hug for hours and hours until the sun rose and Pigsy knew that he could survive another day. They’d talk for days and days and weeks and weeks until Pigsy felt happy again, until they both felt happy again. They’d learn to laugh again, to smile again, to hug without fear and say their farewells without the weight of a goodbye on their shoulders.
MK would save his father.
He would.
MK crash-landed on Flower Fruit Mountain, ignoring the scrapes and bruises that came from hurtling into the ground. He threw himself to his feet, immediately doing whatever he can to find where Pigsy was.
“PIGSY!” MK screamed out, his throat already sore from the sheer force he was using to shout. “PIGSY!”
There was no response. No answer, no shout of his name, not even a rustle so MK knew where to find him. There was absolutely no response.
But MK didn’t relent. He couldn’t. He continued to shout Pigsy’s name, continued to run down the path in front of him as his heart pounded in his ears until eventually—
He reached a river.
There were monkeys gathered around it.
And there was a lump in the water.
“No,” MK breathed out, barely feeling like he was even alive anymore as his limbs went numb and his legs moved without command. He collapsed onto the floor, scaring the monkeys away and leaving him all alone.
MK’s eyes landed on Pigsy’s body resting in the water.
“NO!” He wailed in a voice he didn’t even know he could make. MK raced over, plunging his arms underwater to shake Pigsy’s shoulder. “PIGSY!”
But Pigsy didn’t respond. His eyes were closed, and his arms were resting at his side. For a moment, it looked like he was at peace.
But MK couldn’t leave him there. He couldn’t. He dove under, kneeling onto the ground and hauling Pigsy’s body through the current with all the strength his body could muster. His clothes were soaked beyond reason and his body screamed at the freezing temperatures of the water, but he didn’t care.
MK shoved Pigsy’s body onto the ground, leaping out of the river to shake his father some more. But still, there was no answer.
MK wanted to throw up. His father’s body was so pale it was almost white, lacking any sort of warmth or love. The bags under his eyes looked darker, and his eyes almost looked like they had sunken in. MK swore he could make out tear stains under Pigsy’s eyes even through the dampness of the river that he had been submerged under.
MK’s breaths were ragged and feral as he leaned down, placing two fingers on Pigsy’s neck and resting his head on his chest.
No pulse.
No breathing.
And no sign of life.
“NO!” MK roared out, his body uncontrollably switching between his monkey and his human form in an agonizingly painful way. “I’M NOT LOSING YOU!”
MK tore off Pigsy’s shirt within seconds, immediately performing CPR even as his body fought against the switch between forms. He had never actually learned how to, never thought it was necessary, but he didn’t care. He’d learn. He had to learn.
MK pushed and pushed and pushed, desperately trying to bring his father back. But it wasn’t working. Pigsy wasn’t responding. His eyes remained closed, and his chest remained unmoving when MK stopped. So, he went back to pushing, over and over and over again.
“Pigsy, stooooop!” A young MK cried out with laughter as Pigsy scooped him up into a hug, ruffling his hair and laughing boisterously. MK wrapped his arms around Pigsy’s neck, giggling as he felt warm and safe and loved.
MK continued to push, never once relenting in his actions. His eyes were so full of tears that he could no longer see, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care. He had to keep going.
”It’s okay, kid,” Pigsy’s voice soothed, soft hooves running through MK’s hair. MK pushed himself further into Pigsy’s embrace, squeezing as tight as he could. Pigsy just laughed, rubbing circles into MK’s back. “She’s gone, MK. She’ll never hurt you again.”
MK let out a cry of pure agony as he pushed. He pushed and pushed and pushed and pushed and pushed and pushed and pushed and—
“Thank you for comin’ back, son,” Pigsy’s broken voice had whispered as MK held his father’s head in the palm of his hands. MK gently stroked Pigsy’s cheeks with his thumbs, wiping away the tears that threatened to spill. Pigsy placed his hand over MK’s, smiling warmly.
Suddenly, there were hands wrapping around MK’s waist, pulling him back and off the ground and away from Pigsy. MK screeched, his movements becoming animalistic as he fought tooth and nail to escape the captor’s hold. There was an orange blob in front of him, reaching towards Pigsy’s body, and MK screamed, blinded by his rage and misery.
“GET AWAY FROM HIM!” MK shrieked, still fighting against the person holding him tight in their arms. “LET ME GO! PLEASE— DAD!”
Everything was too blurry for him to see. He reached out as far as his arms would let him, reaching and reaching and reaching until he pulled a muscle. His legs twisted and turned on the ground, moving in a way that would surely break them if he was set free.
There was talking, but MK couldn’t hear over the ringing in his ears and the screams in his mind. The orange blob was moving up and down and up and down, but nothing happened. Nothing happened.
MK continued to howl and thrash and push, trying everything he could to escape the grasp. His body was forcefully trapped in his monkey form, locking him in a way that he was sure he’d never be able to get out of.
MK wailed. He sobbed and bawled and weeped in a way that didn’t sound like him. His throat was sore, so incredibly sore, and his claws began to dig into the skin of his captor. But they didn’t move. MK was trapped.
MK screamed. He screamed long and loud and hard, his lungs burning and his head pounding with pain. His body ached, desperate for the relief he refused to give it as he continued to move. He screamed his father’s name, hoping it would bring him back. He screamed his father’s name, hoping that whoever found him in the afterlife would be kind enough to send him back. He screamed for his father, wanting so desperately to be held and comforted and soothed in the way that he used to be. In the way that made him feel warm and safe and loved.
Now, all MK felt was cold. Cold in his bones, cold in his chest and his limbs and his heart and his everything. Everything hurt.
“Hey, hey,” Pigsy reached over, scooping up a 10-year-old MK off of the ground and holding him close. “I’m jus’ goin’ grocery shoppin’, kiddo. It’s gonna be okay.”
MK sniffed, leaning into Pigsy’s hold as a hand reached up to wipe away his tears. “Will you come back?”
Pigsy snorted. “‘Course I will, MK,” he chuckled, his laugh bouncing MK ever so slightly. “I’ll always come back.”
MK’s lip quivered. “Always?”
Pigsy smiled. “Always.” Pigsy reached out his pinky finger, prompting MK to join him. “Promise.”
MK smiled weakly, wiping his eyes as he connected his pinky finger to Pigsy’s, locking them in a promise.
MK was finally lowered to the ground, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t move. His body was froze in place, kneeling into the earth below him and forcing himself to stare at the lifeless body in front of him.
MK cried. He cried and cried and cried and when he didn’t know what else to do, he cried some more. He cried out Pigsy’s name so much that it didn’t even compute as a word anymore, lost in the rampant chaos of his mind.
There were arms that came to wrap around him, but they weren’t Pigsy’s. They’d never be Pigsy’s again. MK screamed, pushing himself away from the people next to him and weakly crawling over to Pigsy. He collapsed next to him, laying his head on Pigsy’s chest and his body on Pigsy’s torso and wrapping his tail as tightly as he could around Pigsy’s leg. He held one of Pigsy’s hand in both of his, squeezing so tightly that he felt the bones in Pigsy’s fingers begin to break.
MK roared, digging his face into Pigsy’s chest. His arms continued to squeeze and his tail continued to move, but none of it processed in MK’s mind anymore.
Pigsy was gone. His father was gone, and he’d never come back. He wouldn’t come back tomorrow, or the day after that, or the day after that. MK would never see his dad again.
MK would never get to eat Pigsy’s food ever again. He’d never get to feel the love and passion that went in to every meal made for him. He’d never get to feel the hooves that softly ran down his hair, calming him down almost instantly. He’d never get to hug him again, to feel his warmth again, to cuddle with him on bad nights and crawl into his embrace until he felt safe again. He’d never get to hear Pigsy’s voice, soft and gruff and so, so soothing. He’d never get to feel Pigsy’s kisses, gentle and loving as he guided MK to a safe slumber.
MK took Pigsy’s broken hand, dragging it down his hair in hopes that it would work the way it did all those times before.
But it didn’t.
Nothing would ever be able to fix what happened.
MK’s father was dead.
And MK had to keep living.