Chapter Text
"Here," Wemmbu offered, tossing the rod like it couldn't decimate a whole nation if he flicked it the wrong way.
The fishing rod sat heavy in Eggchan's palm like it weighed tens of pounds. It wasn't, actually. The tool was reduced to the last bit of its durability and it weighs just as light as his feathers. Eggchan could easily carry a shulker box full of them, maybe even two if he's smart about it.
"This came out of nowhere," Egg commented. Slender fingers gently tracing each imperfect edge of the wood like it could explode there and then.
It definitely could, that's like their only use. But Eggchan already had many lessons from past experiences that he's pretty much immune to explosions.
Wemmbu snickered, waving him away as he's off to their shared farm, something about harvesting their first batch of carrots of the month. "Well, I promised, didn't I? At least now you can defend yourself from getting kidnapped again."
Egg hummed an agreement, his focus stolen by the single fishing rod in his hold. It felt weird, to have the power of multiple TNT cannons in his hands. Usually he wields the bow from afar, away from mace attacks and blind sword swings, or with a medic shulker ready for restocks in the middle of a match. But here he is, in the peaceful home that was Wemmbu's treehouse, with the same pair of hands that has spent more time being used to grip a quill rather than swords and strength potions.
The bow has a familiar feeling to the fishing rod, if Egg could close his eyes and imagine. But the power it contains was crazy to hold; too big for him, too close to the days he wished to forget.
Eggchan doesn't want to be stronger anymore.
He's read hundreds of books about the corrupt nature of being powerful– how the itch of power will only crawl deep into someone's heart and plant a seed so invasive it turns the person into someone else entirely. It rots them inside out, from the very tip of their toes to every last inch of their hair.
Power will only burn bright and hot— a forest fire you can never put down. It will stay as an inferno until every last ash of it disintegrates into the sky and even then it will still pollute the air. He's seen it happen to Wemmbu firsthand, understood what it had turned him into. And when he finally had a taste of control in their old, stupid civilization, Egg foolishly leaned onto the bait.
Eggchan remembered the last time he felt powerful. When the fire had set aflame every part of what makes him Egg, and dimmed the hopeful light of his own best friend through his mouth and orders.
The angel remembered when he had turned his best friend into a weapon.
It wasn't that long ago, he had realized. The eye tower had crumbled and the civilians' houses were reduced to nothing but rubbles now, but the memory still felt as fresh as the bread he baked this morning. The hours spent going through reports in his so-called office blended into one single lump of discomfort in his guts, especially so when he didn't quite remember spending a single hour of it with Wemmbu– despite the fact they created the whole thing as a duo. Despite Egg creating it to keep them together and safe.
Then Jaden happened, safety no longer felt as achievable as they used to dream of, and suddenly they became broke and homeless in the span of thirty minutes— sent millions of blocks away from what used to be their home.
The regret was still growing, silently and deadly beneath Eggchan's pure white feathers and dry jokes.
Has Egg ever apologized for that? Has the word sorry ever been spoken out of his mouth? For being selfish, for letting the power and authority corrupt him despite being knowledgeable of it. For treating Wemmbu the way he did— reduced to nothing but a yes-man.
Maybe he didn't. Eggchan doesn't have the best memory, which is why he has the journal with him, but he could always remember the important stuff. He remembered Zam Empire, remembered Wemmbu and Flame's neverending rivalry, the mafia was always in the back of his mind, and he missed Rejoice and Loppezz. He kept note of every wonderful view his eye sees, described every person he had become close with, relayed stories from strangers in the End.
But that was before LettuceK had fallen. The idle life and mundanity had softened his edge; days spent lazing around in his study and helping Wemmbu in the fields had let his mind roam free of the past. His journal was no longer in his grasp, and the new one was quite empty. The most exciting event he had written about was about the giant squid he had caught that ended up inking Wemmbu in the face.
The fishing rod with the power of TNT cannons had somehow brought back the loose feeling of the past he had always regretted. The guilt gnawed on him further the more he realized he had even forgotten ever hurting his own best friend.
Eggchan should probably say sorry, do something to make up for his mistake– anything to tell Wemmbu that he was sorry. He should—
"Yo Egg! Can you toss me the trowel?" Wemmbu yelled from outside, and Eggchan jumped from surprise. Feathers rustled from hitting the edge of the cupboard beside him, his hands almost set off the fishing rod he forgot he was holding.
"Egg?" Wemmbu called again, when the angel took a second too long breathing in oxygen manually. Egg could hear the demon taking off his boots by the door and the squeaking of the floorboards Wemmbu never bothered to fix is getting closer towards the rigid angel.
When Egg felt Wemmbu's hand floating above his shoulder– the smell of the sun and soil clung to his figure– the angel finally turned around. Hif faace fixed to that usual, indifferent mask Eggchan had always been known for.
"Right— trowel yeah? I'll get it for you, bro," Eggchan stumbled through the hallway, fishing rod stored in his inventory. His calloused hands found the trowel, deep inside the boxes they hadn't finished unpacking. "Here."
"Nice, thanks man," Wemmbu accepted the tool before swiftly making his way back outside.
"Wait, Wemm," Eggchan called.
A disgusting part of him wished Wemmbu didn't hear him. To see his friend's back fade into the summer sky and leave him alone; for the angel to buy more time keeping this ugly side of him longer and let it eat him whole in the night when he couldn't seem to sleep. For Wemmbu to never be weighed by him again.
But the demon stopped anyway, because he would always do. Eggchan will never truly understand him.
"Yea?" he asked, so disgustingly genuine it twisted Eggchan's guts.
"I'm sorry bro," Egg finally said. He gained a surprised stare by Wemmbu, his right eyebrow rose in confusion and Egg feels like he's being cornered again.
Wemmbu fully faced him, the trowel in his hands swinging idly behind him, "For what?"
For betraying you, for treating you like shit, for everything wrong I have done to you, Egg wanted to scream. He wanted to use the whole vocabulary from his study to express his regret, each word strung from his heart and written with regret.
But his throat closed up, and Eggchan had always been the weak one.
"Nothing bro, just go back being the server's number one farmer– or something," Egg joked.
Wemmbu hesitated for a split second, before eventually walking back out. "Okay bro, whatever, just call me for dinner yeah?" he snickered.
The backdoor closes, and Eggchan could finally sigh in relief. He loosened the fist he subconsciously tightened, and there's no more ringing in the back of his head. The fishing rod still weighs heavily in his inventory, inviting him with those sickly, sweet temptation of power. But right now, while the sun is still high in the sky and the smell of dirt is slowly getting into his nerves, the angel would rather focus on what he should make for dinner today.
At least then, he can make Wemmbu's favorite and hope it was enough to replace what he could never say out loud.