Work Text:
When the world falls apart, what can Bread do? He crawls up into the chest of the thing, cavity carved deep to expose inner workings, and tries to hold the code together in shaking hands. Banana would know what to do, but all Bread knows is the agony tearing out his insides to match the thing he tries his hardest to hold together.
When the world falls apart, Bread tries, and fails, to do something. There isn't much a man with a splitting headache can really stop, pains shaking his hands into submission when all they're trying to do is keep reality alive. Bread wishes Banana was here, he understands the world unlike Bread ever will, could feed life to what's burning and turn it new.
When the world falls apart, there is nothing. Nothing but Bread and his failed attempts at existence, the emptiness left in Banana's absence, and the void that swallows it all whole. Bread swears he can see Banana watching him. Sitting there on seemingly nothing and staring through him, as if Bread isn't a person there to be seen, as if he isn't holding himself and the very plane of existence together.
When the fabric of everything tears apart, Bread is left suspended.
Until he isn't.
He wakes up in his bed and everything is how it should be. He goes outside, and the sun moves overhead as it always has. It is not collapsing in on itself, ready to give way to the zeros and ones that swarm in and out of his red-hot vision. It's just… normal.
There is no headache breaking him apart, there is no code pulsing inside him, and there is nothing suggesting it wasn't just a dream. It couldn't be a dream. It can't be.
He wishes it was.