Chapter Text
MePhone walks into his fathers bedroom. Steve Cobs is laying beneath a thin blanket, eyes closed. He looks almost peaceful. His smirk is gone, replaced by a small frown. MePhone wonders if this is what Cobs looked like before he got obsessed with “futuristic tech.” A nurse walks in behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m so sorry for your loss. There’s a support group that meets on Wednesdays, I left a pamphlet on the tabl-.”
“I can find it myself.” He turns and walks out of the room, finding the nearest bathroom in the absurdly large mansion. He sinks to the floor, not able to force himself to cry.
He should love Cobs. His father, his mentor. He has to plan the funeral. And talk to his lawyer about the will. And-
“Mr. MePhone?” Can he deal with toilet right now? He’s so tired. So fucking tired.
“MePhone?” MePad is looking too. Goddamnit. he can’t ever catch a fucking break. He just wants a second without someone related to fucking Cobs.
“I don’t see him MePad. Maybe he’s downstairs?” Oh thank God. Thank Clovers dumbass luck. He takes a deep breath. One step at a time. Funeral comes first. Then, the will reading.
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Why on Gods green earth is funeral planning so expensive. Caskets starting at a thousand dollars? He knows Cobs has- had. Cobs had a massive fortune- but these prices are obscene. He knows he has to plan something nice but not too showy, the other Meeple products would kill him if their fathers funeral wasn’t good enough. But of course nobody else volunteered. Because MePhone4 was the only one not fucking sobbing constantly, he must be doing better than everyone else. At least MePad has Toilet.
“Mr. Mephone?” Toilet asks, gently knocking on the door.
“Come in.” His voice has been more monotone since his fathers death. He doesn’t really feel anything anymore, just a disconnection. Floory says that it’s just adrenaline, that MePhone needs to take a break. Breaks are for people who don’t have to prove that they love their father to a whole host of siblings.
“MePad wants to talk in the kitchen. I’m going to run to the store so you can have some time alone. Please just talk to him. You need support right now, Mr. MePhone.” Toilet looks so different now. He’s almost gotten the hang of how to be respectful in dark situations. (Keyword, almost) He switched usual graphic tee to a plain longsleeve and his baggy jeans to a pair of slacks. You’ve seen him right when he wakes up, shirt still damp from MePads tears. He doesn’t need to dress up nicer for this but you think it’s his way of showing that he’s trying to be professional.
“Fine. When’re you leaving?” You reply, attempting to sound less pissed than you actually are.
“Right now! I’ll just uh- I’ll just be on my way then-“
“Get out of my room.” He turns and bolts away, clearly afraid. Good. Maybe then his stupid boyfriend won’t pester you. Probably about the fact that he’s not “grieving properly” like 4S said. For no fucking reason.
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He walks into the kitchen, instinctively going to the cabinet to get a plate and glass. He loads up on cookies and fills the glass with some sort of half milk half whiskey that he shoves into the microwave. After all, what even are cookies without some nice warm milk? Or milk whiskey. Whatever the hell he’s about to drink.
“MePhone?” MePads voice is questioning, like he doesn’t know if MePhone agreed to this or not. Maybe Toilet didn’t stop running after leaving his room and just bolted right out of the house. Good riddance. Fucking dumbass.
“Yes, Toilet told me about you ‘wanting to talk.’” Your use of air quotes is gratuitous at best. You’re lucky MePad doesn’t decide to question it. “What do you want? You gonna tell me I’m not sad enough? You wanna say that you think I’m insane for not breaking down over his fucking death-“
“I’m not going to the funeral. I can’t go- I can’t hear everyone talking about how amazing my fucking abusive dad was. Our abusive dad. He hurt you too MePhone. He tried to kill you. He tried to kill us. I’m not sitting through that. I’m not pretending he was some amazing-“ He’s suddenly hugging MePad. Someone gets it. MePad starts crying again, getting tears on his older brothers hoodie. Same one he’s been wearing since Cobs death a week and a half ago. Christ, he needs a shower. He pulls back, looking up at MePad.
“I- I’m so tired of planning this whole show for him. He doesn’t deserve it, I don’t wanna pretend to be sad that he died.”
“I know. You can stop, say it’s too much. 4S would gladly put on a show. Whether or not that’s what Dad would want isn’t your problem.”
The tears finally start falling. He finally feels free.