Work Text:
Mango shuffled the papers in his hands, considering them.
Gold had never gotten old enough to be classified. He was almost sure she would've been a caregiver, though. But Purple was the opposite. The girl was independent, too independent— she'd leave for days on end to who-knows-where, she was alone much more than a normal stick was, and honestly, it made him worry for her wellbeing. Not to mention the days she had where she'd be quieter, slurring her words when she spoke at all, easily distracted and a little drifty… if it turned out her time alone was hurting her more than he'd already theorized, he would be even more worried.
Mango himself was neutral, with a slight caregiver lean. The sudden drop into destruction made sense, then, even setting aside the grief from his own child being ripped from his life so suddenly. It also explained somewhat why he had taken Purple in the way he did. Even before the war ended, he was kind when he wasn't angry. She had her own room. He would give her anything she wanted, if she asked for it. Tools and resources and food from places she wouldn't go were beamed into her inventory without a second thought, and days off were granted with less. (Heat stroke was a very real thing, and he'd suffered it more than once. Somehow, he never thought to give himself the leeway that he was giving Purple, not until she insisted on it, an extra smoothie in her hand and a furrow in her brow.)
Purple was roughly 17, verging on 18, if he remembered her birthday right. Which meant this talk was long overdue.
"I'm gonna give it to you straight, Purple," he started, and immediately regretted his words as Purple straightened her posture and a worried grimace struggled onto her face. "Do you know what classification tests are?"
She stared at him for a moment. He watched confusion inch into her eyes as she turned the question around. "No...?" Good, she was being truthful. That meant he hadn't completely messed this up.
Mango held up the papers. "Basically, at 16 and 21, everyone has to take a test to see where they fall on a... scale, of sorts. It's nothing really life-changing, but it helps people..." He glanced at the wording at the top of a page. "Be more accommodated in their daily lives."
He looked up. Purple was paying attention, as he'd expected, because she was Purple and she always paid attention to every word out of his mouth. She nodded to show as such.
"Okay." Now came the hard part. Mango took a deep breath. "The scale it's testing for is... how you interact with age regression."
Her brow furrowed more, and her mouth opened a few pixels, like there was a question on her tongue that wouldn't quite form. All that told him was that she was unfamiliar with the term. Oh boy.
"It's... a state of mind," he started again, shuffling through the pages to find the explanation he was trying to give. "How often are you... a child, really, or something younger. And then the other end of the scale is called caregiving, which is people that take care of regressors." Ugh, all this official talk was making his mouth feel weird. He hadn't spoken like this since he worked at Rocket Corp. "Would I be right in saying you've never taken one of these before?"
She looked like she was about to rebuke the idea altogether. Which wasn't surprising for Purple, because, again, she was Purple and could never do anything just for the sake of her own happiness. She seemed allergic to the concept, actually. Like self-care was something to avoid. Like it made her weak to take a moment and enjoy a cup of overly-sweetened tea, or a nice morning in bed, or a good meal, without endless guilt being attached to it. Mango's face must have softened, though, because suddenly that rebuke was reluctant to escape her. This poor kid…
"... Yes," she finally answered, looking down and nodding her head.
"Well, can you? It's not required, so you don't really have to, but it is something most people do at your age."
Purple hummed. It sounded like a yes, and it definitely wasn't a no, so Mango smiled.
"Thanks, sweetheart. There's a version for me to take, too, since it's supposed to go to your parent or guardian, and that's... kind of me," he added with a laugh. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Purple shrink into herself, and wondered if he overstepped. "Only because I'm the closest adult to you."
He thought so, anyway. Now and then, stories of her parents would slip out, and he knew that her mom was dead and her dad was awful (but he could use several heavier terms to describe that man). As far as he was aware, Purple didn't have any other adult in her life. Which was concerning for multiple reasons.
Mango picked through the papers in his hands and pulled out a stapled packet of them. It was three pages long, but not double-sided, which he was quite thankful for. His own test, now and from his youth, was the same, although he'd seen some questions he didn't recognize. They must have updated it at some point.
The page of info was set aside on the table, and he turned back to the girl across from him, who was scanning the words on the page. "Do you want to do it out here, or in another room? I won't look at your answers either way."
Her throat closed up for a moment— her mouth was working, but no sound was coming out, and she refused to look at him again. In that case, he already knew what the answer was.
"... Another room," she finally managed. It was little more than a whisper. That fear of having her own opinions, her own wants… he wasn't sure if that came from her father as well, or some other life experience in her several long years, but he'd punch whoever was responsible for it as soon as he got the okay from her.
Regardless, he smiled and stood up. "Take your pick, sweetheart. The whole house is your oyster."
Purple huffed a sound that might've been a laugh, if she was less nervous. Soon enough, she was on her feet, looking around for a suitable place to go. She ended up dashing through the kitchen doorway and turning the corner to the dinner table that waited at the end of that technically-a-hallway. Mango sat back down, content with the coffee table in the living room, and started writing.
About two weeks later, when he had honestly all but forgotten about the test, he got an email with the results.
(And a disclaimer that they might not be entirely accurate, due to the written nature of it. There was an option for an in-person version, but he felt like Purple would never answer another stick honestly if her life were at stake for this sort of thing.)
Pure Purple - #980098
0% - Caregiver
50% - Neutral
50% - Little
There were more detailed explanations beneath that, but his eyes were stuck on the last percentage.
Holy crap. He'd expected a high number, given her fawning nature and the quiet, dizzy days she had, but 50%? Half the time? Was she little more often than she'd told him— no, more often than she herself knew?
His teeth clamped down on his tongue. She hadn't shown signs of regressing at all during the war. How long had that thing gone on? A month? Two? She was with him, or at least in his bastion, so much of the time. Granted, he didn't know the symptoms very well, and could easily have missed them with how good she was at lying and hiding herself, but...
Code, girl, he thought, rubbing his hand down his face. You're gonna kill yourself like this.
The screen bounced in his hand a few times. Purple was home- with him, at the moment. He could go and show her right now. Although, knowing her, she wouldn't take it well at all. He could just keep the results from her...
Mango shook his head. No. He'd promised he would never lie to her. A lie by omission was still a lie. He might as well get it over with now, and try to ease her into that sort of thing later. Properly. When he had time, and supplies, and a plan. When he could give her a good day.
With a deep breath and a squeeze of his phone, he started off towards the living room, where Purple was reading a book. It was a big one, something about diseases, and for some reason his first thought upon seeing it was Oh, sweetheart, you're too small for that.
He shook it out again. Purple wasn't even regressed right now, as far as he knew.
A heavy flop onto the couch was all that was needed to startle her out of reading. She'd already known he was there, of course. She just wasn't expecting to be bounced by the force.
Purple stared, wide-eyed, at him, and swallowed.
"Is... something wrong, m- Mango-?"
His heart clenched. She was about to call him "my King." The habit still had not been broken, not entirely. Not when she was nervous. Not even after a year of halfway living with him.
"No, Purple, not really." He smiled at her. Then he held out his phone, with the email still pulled up. "We got the test results back, though."
He watched her breath stop. Usually quiet, it was all but gone now as she scrolled down, slowly, taking in the words for a lot longer than he did. She must be reading over the extra information. Mango shifted himself up to sit properly, groaning quietly at the twinge in his back. Cursors, he wished he hadn't landed on his note block like that during the war.
Suddenly the phone was shoved back at him, leaving him fumbling to catch it. "That's not right," Purple said quickly. "That's not me. I'm not dependent- I'm not- I'm not helpless, or small, or- or anything that it says. They did it wrong. They sent the wrong info."
Mango scrolled through the email himself for a couple paragraphs. "... mm, nope, it's definitely your info."
Purple hunched into herself. Hard.
"Not that it's anything bad," he followed up, trying to salvage the situation before she decided to run. (She'd done it before.) "It doesn't say anything about you being helpless. Just that, you know, you need a little extra loving sometimes. I bet we could get your friends to help, if you don't want to feel like you're bothering me with it. Which, you know, you wouldn't be- I'd- I'd be glad to-" He was stumbling over his words now. Talking too fast always did that to him. And it didn't seem to be making Purple feel any better, anyway. "Look, you don't have to do anything with this." Continuing in a soft voice, he leaned in to put an arm on her shoulder. She didn't flinch away like she used to, but she did try to pull back just a pixel. "This doesn't have to change anything. I'm just glad I know now, even if you aren't. I want to be able to take care of you more. I want to be good to you."
Her eyes went wide. Slowly, slowly, she looked up, and met his smiling face.
"I know I'm not the best guy to be around, but I really do want to be better for you. After all that stuff in Minecraft, and… I want to help. If you're okay with it, please let me help."
A flick of her eyes. A blink. Two blinks. Then she reached up to take his hand off her shoulder and press it between her own. "Don't… don't say that. You're not bad, you're better than I-" A shaky breath in. "You're better. You're not bad at all, Kin- M-Mango." For a moment, her eyes darted downwards. And then they climbed back up to his face. And Mango hid the tension in his jaw as best he could. Was he really better than what she knew, even as the King? What the heck had she been through…? "I really don't want to trouble you with my problems. Because this is, this is a me problem, and you shouldn't have to-"
The look on his face cut her off. It wasn't anger, not really, just… sternness, mixed with care, mixed with sadness. He was never good at shielding his emotions, not like she was. It was never something he needed to do. The fact that it was for her...
"Purple." Her mouth shut tight. Her shoulders tensed. "I'm offering."
And Mango leaned forward, and hugged her, slowly, gently, with enough time for her to escape and no squeezing in case she wanted out.
"This isn't about what I need. This is about what you need, and what I want. I want to help you." Pulling back, he knocked their foreheads together and held her shoulders, shaking her around just a little. "I wanna spoil you and see you smile. I want to know I'm safe for you to be around. I… I want a kid again."
That last one hurt to admit. Searing guilt and grief crawled up his throat again, just like it always did at the thought of Gold, his little Marigold, who would have loved having an older-sometimes-younger sister. He hated feeling like he was gunning to replace them. He hated thinking that Purple thought she was a replacement for them.
"And, Purple?" He jostled her again, making sure she was paying attention to him, to his smile, to his words. "I would be downright honored if that kid was you."
Silence.
Then… she laughed.
The same quiet huff-laugh she'd made on the day he presented the test to her.
Then Mango felt something he'd never really felt before. He felt her arms reaching up to grab his back, and he felt her press her face into his shoulder. He felt her hugging him.
"If you're really, really sure," she mumbled, accent thick and muffled in his sweater.
He hugged her back. "Sweetheart, I'm certain."
And Purple went slack in his hold. Her hands still hung on tight, but the rest of her was lost, and he got the feeling she may be just a little small right now. Mango reared back, and flopped back down on the couch cushions, still holding her close.
"You know what, this has been an emotional little talk. What do you say we order BackdoorDash and watch a movie or something?" He waved his phone in the air by her face. Purple smiled and nodded and nuzzled a little deeper into his sweater. She was quiet. She was absolutely starting to drop.
Mango opened up the app, and didn't say anything.