Archive of Our Own

Purple didn't sleep for a long time, when she was around her King.

It wasn't that she refused to, although that was part of it (she didn't feel safe around this man, and wouldn't for a long time... if she ever did). She simply couldn't. Occasionally, if he was deep enough in his own sleep to snore, she'd be able to close her eyes and rest, properly, for some time, and maybe even trick herself into thinking that it was her father whose bedroom floor she was sleeping on.

(She didn't know what that was like. When she slept with her parents, it was always up in their bed, snuggled in between them, and she never had any trouble then. It had stopped entirely by the time she was 6, by the fear of her father's training and her mother's illness. Even her father stopped sleeping in the same bed as her mother, coerced into spending nights on the couch rather than watching over her.)

(Sometimes Purple thought that wasn't the only reason.)

But oftentimes, she spent entire nights wide awake, anxiety curling in her chest from just being in the presence of another person. If she was lucky, she'd drift uneasily for a time, closing her eyes and opening them several minutes later. Always, she woke up at the slightest sound of movement, whether it be the house settling or her King shifting in his bed.

He noticed, of course. Her nightly vigils couldn't go unnoticed by anyone, not when she was always awake before him and constantly groggy when she wasn't wired up on increasing amounts of caffeine.

So he offered to stay up for a night. To watch for whatever she was wary of, so she could get some time to rest.

But that offer made the nervousness sharpen into painful, pointed fear, suddenly all too ready to jab at something specific.

She denied that offer almost immediately. The only reason it wasn't out before he finished speaking was because she was forcing it down. Because she wanted to look like she was considering it. Because she didn't want him to think it was him she was afraid of, even though it was.

Even in the Nether, guarded by the Piglins and across the entire bastion from him, she hadn't been able to sleep. The one outside her door was enough to scare her awake. Just their presence set off whirling thoughts in her mind of what they could do to her if she ever let her guard down. It had happened before.

It had happened before.

But she hadn't gotten proper sleep in months. It was only a matter of time before the debt had to be collected.

All things considered, the day wasn't that busy. She'd gone to visit the Prism gang. Her usual path, skirting the boundaries of the bastion her King had commandeered, was smoothly travelled, not even a Ghast to interrupt it. When she got back to her King's house, lightheaded from the temperature shift, he wasn't there, off at his new job of the week and trying to get readjusted to normal life.

She'd been intending to go get herself some coffee. They had enough instant packets left that she wouldn't feel guilty about it.

But her head was still light. Floating. Barely tethered to her body. So she took a step, and...

And suddenly she was waking up, hours later, tucked into her King's bed and exhausted. She opened her eyes — even that was a feat — and turned her head, hearing pacing from another room. The rhythm of the footsteps was quick but uneven, made so by a lingering panic she could place by the breathing that accompanied it.

Her eyes slipped closed again, but she forced them open, and forced herself out of bed. She could not afford to sleep when there was someone else here. And when she stumbled out from behind the shelf, barely catching the photo on it when it rocked-

Her King was there.

Staring at her like he'd seen a ghost.

He rushed over, ignoring the way she flinched and tried to fight to grab her by the shoulders and start babbling something like oh thank code you're awake, are you alright, what happened, but she couldn't answer because she was too busy trying to process that she hadn't been fast enough. When had she ever not been fast enough to react to something? Not since she was 7, that's for sure. He was right— what happened?

Mango patted her wrists and held her hands. The way he looked at her... somehow, it reminded her of her mother.

"Are you okay?"

Purple nodded, still dazed and a bit floaty. He moved his hand to tap at a spot on her cheek. She flinched again. This time, he moved away.

"It seemed like you landed pretty hard. There's a bruise right there."

She pressed on it herself. It definitely felt bruised, but there was no alarm when she realized that. Why was there a bruise there? Who had she been fighting?

... No one.

Herself.

She realized she could remember a bit of what had happened. Only a second, of her opening her eyes and looking up at Mango. At his panicked face, barely hearing his panicked words, before she was out again.

She looked up at him again. He was taller than her, but... Not that much.

"I'm sorry," she said before anything. He looked confused.

"Sorry for what?"

"For passing out on your floor." He furrowed his brow. Her heart stopped in her throat for a moment. "It won't happen again."

That look on his face only got worse. Fuck, she sounded scared. Even at the worst of his Kinghood, she had never let herself sound scared. "For- Pure, sweetheart." He took her face in his hands and leaned in. A million things flashed through her mind, most of them unwanted, all of them terrifying. "Listen, I'm not mad that you took up space. I'm worried, because you wouldn't wake up." His thumb brushed her cheek. Purple felt the urge to cry. "Is this because you haven't been sleeping?"

Again, the lump in her throat. Again, the urge to lie battling against the inability to say something. She closed her mouth, swallowed, and opened it again.

"Yes."

Fuck.

Mango's expression twisted. Before Purple could say or do anything else, he pulled her in-

In... to a hug.

She didn't blink. If she blinked, that would've let the tears fall. But what she did do, tentatively, was return the gesture.

When was the last time someone had hugged her...?

Her mind brought up Green. It was still in a half-asleep frenzy, but that one image was enough to quell the rest of it, send it into the background instead of clamoring for her attention. She was still scared of her King, she was still upset at herself, but mostly she felt... warm.

Tired and warm.

Her eyes closed. She didn't notice, but she had started slumping into his hold, trembling limbs barely holding their place. He seemed to notice, though, and shift her in his arms. She tried to open her eyes again, and saw him kneeling down and taking her with him. A few awful scenarios screamed their way into importance again, quieted as soon as he scooped her up to carry her like a princess.

As he stood up, her head swam, and she just barely got it to fall on his shoulder instead of hanging limply in the air. He smiled at her.

"Come on. Let's get you back to bed."

It was only a few steps back to his bed. The blanket was still out of place— she felt a bit guilty about not fixing it before getting up. But it seemed unnecessary, since he laid her down oh so gently on the old mattress again, and pulled it up even while she grabbed at him and fought. She didn't want to go back to bed. She was awake now, and he was here, and-

"Shhh," he whispered, coaxing her back to the pillow. "It's okay. I'll sleep on the floor tonight. You just get some rest, alright, sweetheart?"

She whined. Something of her fear must have shown through, even without words, because somehow his face got impossibly soft.

"Nothing's going to happen. You're gonna wake up, safe and sound, whenever you want to. Okay?" He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She resisted the urge to lean into his hand. He wasn't safe yet.

Purple's lips pressed together. It was the only way she could stop them from trembling.

"I'm not going to do anything." Her breath came in quick. Shaky. Almost a gasp, but not quite. "I'm not going to hurt you." Cursors, she really was about to cry. Gentle as anything, gentler than she had ever felt before, Mango rubbed the edge of her eye. "Not again."

And that was the thing to let Purple finally relax into the mattress. Her eyes drooped, still refusing to close even as her hands fell and were carefully folded next to her chest. Mango took the blanket again and tucked her in. Her head floated off to bump around the ceiling. Like a balloon. Like...

"Goodnight, Pure."

Mango stroked her hair, and she was out.