Chapter Text
A dreamless sleep. A dreamless wake. A brushing of teeth, a brushing of hair, and a nice smile at the mirror. Into it they stared. Seconds pass. Minutes pass, as they examine every facet of their face.
'Their face,' they think. It's just a blatant copy of Kris'. Just like everything else of theirs, save the hair. But they couldn't even copy them right. Red skin, stars for eyes... What a pathetic mimicry. But it's alright! It's alright, because that's fine. That just means they get to remember Kris' face better! Because they see it every time in the mirror.
The regular outfit comes on. The TV World's Restaurant outfit, their classic attire for bartending. They don't know why they latched onto it so hard, but that's a separate matter entirely to the current goings-on of their existence. Because, in all reality, none of this mattered. Today was likely going to be an empty day as always, not a single customer to their name. A barren neck, a lack of accessories, nothing. Just them and themselves.
Hopefully the minutes would pass quickly. They never did, but Chestnut could hope, right? They could hope.
Down the stairs. Quickly now, you have to feed the vessel! And do your opening actions! Can't leave the chairs and tables undone for long, right? What kind of bar has no seating? Blue magic coats all items in the main room as they step through the door, flipping each back to upright and gently scooting the chairs in to their rightful places.
That done, they take their steps to behind the bar, and dip into the back room. The kitchen was front and center in the hall of the back rooms, so they entered it, and began to think.
No, they couldn't do pancakes for the third time this week. ... Or was it the fourth? Ah, forget it. Losing track of time is nothing new. They have the stuff for... Aha! They'd prepped french toast mixture a while ago, that'd work juuuust fine.
About five minutes later, singular burnt piece notwithstanding, the vessel comes around the corner and snags the plate they'd just sat down. Nice, nice, NICE. Alright. That's that part of the routine done, then! Back to the front! They point forwards as they make their pilgrimage, as if commanding some great charge upon an enemy line.
... Only to end up back behind the bar, waiting. As always.
An hour passes. They're waiting. So, so patiently, they're waiting. They haven't put any elbows on the counter, or rested on it, as that'd just show a lack of professionalism to customers. And what would a customer think in the case of them being completely asleep? Absurd.
Two hours pass.
... a third.
And finally.
Klingelingeling~
The bell has rung. And in steps a customer. Entering backwards, as though having opened a door physically with their back. Leather jacket, long skirt, boots that make a decent bit of noise when tapping against creaking wooden flooring.
“Heyyyyyy, honey! Was out shopping and found something I thought you might liiiiiike!”
The stranger gives the last word in a sing-song voice. An endearing term. Was this an entry to her house that they'd gotten pulled from? They begin to turn around.
"Also, tell me how you'd feel about brisket for din-"
... She freezes in place, as if the world had ceased movement along with her. Getting a good look at her front reveals a tall woman, wavy brown hair rolling down her shoulders. Her face is dotted with freckles, all brought together by strikingly violet eyes.
The plastic bag of groceries in her hand falls to the floor unceremoniously, interior spilling its guts as the eyes widen further.
Where one bag falls, another is in sight. One made of fabric, clutched tightly to her chest still.
Chestnut waves politely, smiling at the entrant. The regular spiel spills from their lips with trained accuracy. "Hello! Welcome to the only bar for a hundred miles! Or a thousand! My name is Chestnut, and I'm the bartender here. It's nice to meet you."
The patron must be in shock, still. She hasn't moved an inch since their intro! Their smile remains plastered, even if it wavers for a moment.
"... Would you like to take a seat? I-I mean, you don't have to, but surely a drink would go down well?"
The patron's eyes transfix upon the bartender with an inscrutable expression. ... They still manage to identify it as the edges of panic.
"H-Hazel...?"
"I'm sorry, Ma'am. I don't know anybody by that name." Their head tilts in an oh-so-common to them way, and they give a worried glance. The patrons were often confused, but calling out the name of someone else wasn't really common. "This is the Angel Shot, I'm sorry if it wasn't where you expected to be. You can leave by opening that door, if you'd like."
The head tilt drives the patron even further, now beginning to hyperventilate.
"B-But it's not the Angel Shot anymore. I-It hasn't been in... In..."
The rest of the sentence falls to the wayside as she approaches the bar ever so slowly, guarded expression like someone approaching a feral animal. The groceries are still strewn about the floor, being forgotten in favor of this approach. The hand not clutching the cloth bag raises just a bit, as if to reach for Chestnut's face. But it moves no further than just a bit away from her body as they take a slight step back.
"Wh... What happened to you...?"
"I- What do you mean it's not the Angel Shot anymore. How do you even know that na-" They shake their head clear, standing up straight and taking another step back. This was either one of its tricks, or they were a bit less original than they thought. "... Ma'am, I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. Do I perhaps look like someone you know? I-If so, I'll have to explain a bit of multiverse theory. That always sucks."
Some amount of realization crosses the customer's face, though it's accompanied by both a scowl and tears.
A single thought, unbidden, passes through the sense they’d restrained during their time here. It contains a recognition of the past.
"N-No. No. I think... I think I know what's happening." Gingerly, she places the cloth bag on a table.
She moves a bit back, putting her hands up reassuringly. "Just... Bear with me for a moment. Just need to… establish something.”
The hands move from outstretched to over her chest with a deeply concentrated, if still distraught, expression.
In the next moment, in a flash of light, the stranger's getup transforms. Where one moment, she was all-but-human, the next, she's clad in a set of paladin armor, her head smothered by a large hood. All color has drained from her body save for the hair and eyes, evoking the image of another that was nearby. Inset in the center of her chestplate, there's a familiar heart-shaped object, glowing a vibrant purple. It sends pulsing conduits of energy throughout the silver, glimmering armor.
Her gaze once more transfixes upon Chestnut's, expression still miserable, even as her eyes give off a determined glint.
They stare back, bewildered, at both the notion that gearing up would solve anything, and the sudden transformation. Though it does clarify, at least somewhat, the identity of the patron. An Angel, if there was anything to go by with the SOUL inlaid squarely inside. Another stray human wouldn't have been out of the ordinary, but one so normal looking certainly was.
"I'm... It's..." They blink, before giving a nervous smile. "Cool armor? I'm not seeing what this is meant to clarify, though?"
She blinks at the comment before looking down, shaking her head in frustration. When she seemingly realizes the flaw in her reasoning, she sighs sadly.
"... Does... Does the name 'April' mean anything to you y-"
She cuts herself off at the last word, visibly unsure.
"... April. ... ..." Another nervous smile, before it comes to them. "Are you the one who left the note from a bit ago?"
A lot of the tension of mere moments before leaves them, easing back into the smile from the beginning. "Hey, hi! Nice to meet you face to face! I guess if you'd been here before you'd know the name of the bar!" They move closer to the divider, reaching over the counter for a handshake.
She offers a pained smile of her own, before visibly starting to hide the obviously-complicated emotions in her gaze.
"Haha, yep! That's me, the note leaver."
Hesitantly, as though shaking Chestnut's hand would burn her, the gauntlet grasps it and gives it a firm shake.
"I, uh, have a proper name now, though. April Rocheau. ... 'S a pleasure to finally meet you in person, H- ... Chestnut."
"Likewise!!" They squeeze gently, and pull away. She does too, stepping back with a hollowed expression on her face.
"I'm sorry I mistook you for someone else for a moment. It, um..." She swallows, thinking carefully of her next words as she withdraws and dissipates the armor. The previous, unassuming look takes its place. With a deep sigh, she grabs a bar stool and sits directly across from the bartender.
She's shaking ever so slightly as she does.
"I've, um... Met a couple of other angels myself in the time since I wrote that note. It's been... Two years for me, I think. One of them’s... A lot like you. That's all."
They give a giggle that only serves to jab her in the side, sound the same as she'd heard a billion times. "It's alright. A lot of the customers are confused when coming in. But two years is a little insane, it's only been like a month for me since the note!"
Her face twitches at the mention of it only having been a month.
Another thought flies by. One that questions if something has come to pass.
That thought in itself is stifled before that something is defined.
Regardless, they continue, cheer played up for the sake of levity. "Gosh, time really is really silly, isn't it? This place grabs people from pretty much anywhere at anytime, so I guess I'll excuse it."
As their eyes trace across the counter, looking to meet her gaze, they catch on the bag that had been placed with such care.
There's a tag on the outside.
"For: My darling daughter Hazel. Saw this and thought of you!
Love, Mom."
"... Whoever Hazel is, she's certainly quite the lucky girl." An audible choke from the patron, that earns another head tilt. "Did I say something wrong?"
April shakes her head with urgency beyond necessary. "No, nonono! You're fine, completely! I'm just... Um. ... Reminiscing."
"Yeah, that's fair. Lord knows I do enough of that myself, haha." Chestnut turns to the alcohol wall, before giving a backwards glance to April. "So, what can I get you to drink? Any flavors in particular? A lot of customers don't know what they want for sure, so I always offer that."
She fidgets with her hands some, looking between Chestnut and the wall of beverages. Finally, she lands on her pick.
"... Lava Flow, please."
Chestnut gives a thumbs up, picking the necessary pieces from the inventory and the back wall. It all starts with a frozen banana base that includes pineapple juice, coconut cream, and ice. This wasn't a popular drink, but it always paid to have everything prepared.
. . . Not much else to do on slow days.
Halved strawberries, coconut rum, and light rum go in the blender, that part not having been made quite yet. The banana base enters a large glass, strawberry mixture following shortly after. It sinks into the banana, creating an effect that looks like lava flowing down the lower layer. It's garnished with a small umbrella, given a straw, and placed in front of April with a glowing customer-service grin.
"Here you are, Miss! Hope you enjoy."
For a moment, she looks morally conflicted about accepting the drink. That moment passes, however, as she slowly slides it over to herself and takes a deep sip through the straw.
"... so, um... what do I owe?"
"Ah, nothing! All free of charge. I've received enough random gifts of money anyways to keep my supplies stocked to sky regardless." They gently rub at the cuffs of their outfit, fidgeting. "I just kinda like hearing people tell stories, y'know? Most of them don't get to tell their own, so... I like remembering for them! You don't have to tell me any, but I'd be greatly obliged."
"Right, right, it was stories. I... Dunno how much I can say, really. Just stuff I've experienced with my own instance of the Fun Gang, maybe...?" She appears to mull it over as she continues to sip. "This might be unorthodox, but do you have anything to share first? It might help me think of something."
Alright. Nope. One too many references to this place that weren't just 'on display.' Did they even have an Angel Shot sign on the interior? Who was this woman?
The answer was a customer. She was a customer, and as curious as they are, they don't want to press the issue. Because then the customer might leave. That would be worse than not knowing. So, so much worse than not knowing.
"I'm sorry, my stories are all really uninteresting," they chirp politely. "My world's mostly standard, and all my other stories are secondhand. I've been here a while, so!"
She shakes her head almost automatically. “Hardly. I mean, everybody’s story is unique, aren’t they? We’re all different people at the end of the day. That difference is what makes it interesting.”
"... If you're... Sure." Chestnut looks off to the side, genuinely thinking about a story to tell. It... They didn't want to think too deeply for memories like that. "Maybe how I got my name? That sound interesting enough?"
Her expression strains once more into something utterly indescribable. “… sure.”
While waiting for Chestnut to begin, she fishes something out of a pocket in her skirt. Looks like a stress ball. A well-used one.
They frown slightly at the reaction, but begin anyways. "... Well, when I was small. Really, really new to the world, barely stopped being just a SOUL. Like, my second run, I think. I reset after the events of TV World, and this was in Cyber City at the time."
"Noelle had gotten me mostly alone, as I was able to project outside of Kris to a degree. Not very far, but it was enough to have a conversation with her and give them a break. So... Gosh, she was so scared of me." Chestnut hums fondly at the memory, picking up pace a bit.
"But to solve that, she wanted to name the fear. Make it something controllable, something less scary. So she thought about it, and ended up with Chestnut. Cuz as a kid, she was running from Kris, and when she got up the tree, it dropped a chestnut on their head from an impossible angle. From her testimony, that was the day she started believing in the Angel for real. And since I'm the Angel..."
Their hands splay out to their sides, and they give a big grin. "I'm Chestnut."
Another long, long sip of the cocktail. Nearly half of the damn thing is gone. And that’s already a lot of alcohol.
... She looks... For lack of a better term, disinterested. As though she knows the whole thing by heart.
"Huh. Guess I can meet that with how I figured out my own name, then." She takes a deep breath, cracking her neck slightly. "Well. Uhh, not much to tell, I guess. Figured out the name I gave to my vessel was the one I wanted for myself, so I took it. After I got my vessel back, my last name sorta... Filled itself back in? Part of my memory got fried when I got angel-ified, but that was 'cause of how it happened. Got it back with my vessel."
The delivery and tone is stilted and meandering, as if cutting out something quite major. But from the silent voice in their head that sinks into other's hearts, they knew it was the truth. ... Just not all of it.
They nod, cataloguing the story away. "Well, from my view, it is a rather lovely name. The last name fits well." Mindreading is creepy, mindreading is creepy, you can't call her out, mindreading is creepy. "I'm glad you were able to reclaim it. The vessel and your name."
A sad nod. “Thank you.”
"I am... Unsure on the location of my vessel. I am also unsure as to the origin of this one, but it... Doesn't feel connected to me, past listening to commands."
Her gaze flickers over to the faceless humanoid in the corner, then back to Chestnut. She opens her mouth… then snaps it shut, looking to the side.
“I hope you find it soon.”
“... Me too. But as far as I know, it’s still back home, with the others. Not really a place I can so easily visit, y’know?”
The patron pointedly takes another deep sip of her drink at the mention of ‘home.’
“Is- How do you define ‘home?’”
“That’s… A good question.” Chestnut begins fiddling with the cuffs of their shirt again, thinking. “Where… Gosh, ‘where my friends are’ seems too broad to really mean anything, right? It’s… No, that’s just right. ‘Where the people I care about are.’ By their side.”
They shrug, seemingly at least somewhat satisfied with that answer. “Sorry for being so vague.”
The next thought that drifts through is especially cryptic: Is that why it grabbed me?
She finishes her drink as she stews on this question, leaving her probing for a drink that’s no longer there. “Um… are refills okay?”
“Eeyup! Prepped extra just in case. You sure you can hold your drink like that, though? Might get a bit of a headache when you get snapped back to where you were going, but you shouldn’t feel the rest of the effects.”
“…I’ll survive. Prrromise.”
They chuckle, turning to make another glass. Maybe not the best at taking alcohol, but surely a mother was a responsible enough adult to not get blackout drunk at the earliest opportunity? She’d stop in time, right? … Right?
… Toriel never did. But… Ah, whatever.
Another of the exact same as before, down to the garnish, is placed in front of April.
She stares down the drink as though it’s a lifeline, a sad smile finding its way onto her face as she pulls out the straw, licks it clean, and just starts sipping right from the glass. Well… gulping would be a better term here.
They watch on in both awe and horror at the speed of consumption. They, umm. Might have assumed wrong about stopping. But. Maybe she wasn’t quite as light a weight as they assumed?! Maybe?!
“... So, umm. A-Any other stories you have? Anything you’d like to say?”
The woman puts down her glass with a sigh and glances at Chestnut for but a moment, before looking away, almost as if the sight of them burned.
“I, ummm… how’s… business, been? Good, lately?”
“It’s… Only been a couple days since the last customer,” they begin, slowly. “Better than usual, but still not exactly bustling. At least it isn’t like the Long Days anymore, haha.”
The moment the phrase ‘long days’ is uttered, she inhales sharply, as though reminded of a painful memory. Something she had no business remembering as such, ostensibly.
They fix her with a gaze of such compassion, such warmth, that anyone would feel undeserving. “... You had ‘long days’ too? Frisk taught me the term, but that’s a whole story in its own right. I… Hope they weren’t too hard for you.”
“N- No, no. Not me. But… sh- somebody I care about. She, um. She had them. It was…”
A scowl makes its way onto her face. “She didn’t deserve it. No one does. I…” Then a fist curls up. “...that putrid fucking doctor. If I see his face, I’m going to… I’ll…”
She… growls…?
That is FAR from the weirdest sound they’ve heard from a human, though. Kris did it all the time, when unchained. But the rest of the sentiment… “Yeah, other shards of That Man suck. Sorry to hear about your friend, I hope… I hope she’s okay.”
A guilty slump.
“... she will be.”
“Good.” A soft smile finds its place on their lips. “So, how’d the drinks taste? I hope I did well, haha… Some customers order things and don’t like it made properly. Like ordering moondollars orders at a regular coffee place.”
It was likely a foregone conclusion with how much April had thrown herself into the drink, but it could always still just be the need for alcohol driving it. They’d rather know for sure.
“It’s… It’s delicious. My nose burns, but like… that’s kind of a given with the rum, haha…”
Just like always.
“Good!” Their hands are clasped, held close to their chest in an expression of joy. Another customer satisfied.
. . . Something is still eating at them about it all. Pushing hurts, not pushing hurts, what were they meant to do?!
“... Can you… Tell me about Hazel?”
The patron nearly chokes on her drink again mid-swig, swallowing unevenly with a cough.
“I… I don’t know if I can–” She pauses mid-sentence, seemingly thinking harder than before before pursing her lips with a sordid expression. “I… I guess it’s alright.”
One more deep breath is drawn in with a glance at Chestnut, before her eyes settle on her drink.
“Well, Hazel’s my daughter. Which… you probably already told from the bag over there, I guess. She’s an Angel, just like you and me. And, she, um…” A bite of the lips. “She’s one of the kindest, most patient people you’ll ever meet. Dragonhearted. A gem who was overlooked and neglected by the people in her life who should have fucking cared ages before I met her, but they simply didn’t give a shit for some esoteric, awful reasoning that just… makes no fucking sense when you consider it for more than two fucking seconds! God damnit!”
She brings her hands to her chest as she practices what seems to be a breathing exercise.
“S- Sorry. I got… carried away.”
Chestnut looks a bit taken aback, but quickly reshapes the shock into something a bit more polite. “I work with drunks for a living, Ma’am. You’re not even close to the biggest outburst yet. You haven’t even gotten violent!”
“I’m mostly thinking about how much you care for your daughter, if anything. She’s probably ecstatic to have a mom like you.”
After one more swig, fully finishing the whole of her second drink and letting it clatter down onto the counter, she finally gives the first full proper smile of the visit.
“D’shawww… you really think so? I… I dunno bout thattt…” Her words begin to slur.
“Y- Y’know? Cheszel? Nut? If… n- no, when, you, uhm, saw Kris n Syusie and Ralsei and… stuff… did you… was it, like… safe to tell them that you knew them in the future…?”
“Err… Yeah, for the most part. I at the very least revealed myself as the Angel every go-round. Ralsei took the least issue with it all, knowing about… Well, the time stuff. The rest just assumed I knew a ton more about the prophecy than church taught, and took that at face value. All at least a little creeped out.”
They shrug, thinking about theoreticals rather than what she was asking.
“A place like this, though, I’m like… A fixed point. People from all times come here, so if they remember stuff from here, their future selves might have a new memory. I dunno. Stupid timey-wimey bullshit. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the same person twice, though, so that shouldn’t matter.”
“Buhhht… But I’ve been here twice…”
“Yeah, ‘n that’s weird.”
“...d’... d’y’think that means that… something weird’s goin’ on…?” She probes a hand forward across the counter, knocking over her empty glass, vaguely in the direction of Chestnut. “L… Like… are you safe from… what the happening is…?”
“... I don’t think you arriving twice is particularly dangerous? I mean, I don’t really know what’s going on, but it shouldn’t be too big of a deal. Just a new occurrence, I suppose.” They gently pat the hand, smiling at the patron.
Without warning, she takes their hand, suddenly seeming to put an abnormal amount of focus into her speech. “Ch- Chestnut, if… if I said I knew you in the ffff- future, would that… would that be safe…?”
“I’d say that’s not possible,” they say immediately. Something in their tone is resigned. Either they were home, or they were here. Meeting them in the future wasn’t possible as a matter of principle. This response overtakes their immediate urge to flinch at contact. “So it’d be rather safe, yes.”
Her face scrunches up in a sort of pain. “It… It is possible. I know it is. It has to be. B- Because… Because…”
Her other hand wraps around Chestnut’s as she suddenly looks up at them, her face completely flushed and wet with tears.
“Because I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.”
They don’t have the heart to remove it, at this point, going rigid in her grasp. What the fuck did that mean? What the hell- Who the hell was this lady?!
“I’m sorry, w-would you kindly let go?” They’re trying their best not to get violent, or to freak out, or act on any number of the infinite questions about a future that they possibly have that they know they can’t. That they don’t.
The name Hazel sounded good.
“I must remind you, you do not know me. I am no such savior, I have done nothing for you save give drinks. Your daughter sounds lovely, but my resemblance is coincidence.”
Her face contorts and twists at Chestnut’s rebuke, only growing more sorrowful… until it takes a turn of spite. “I… Is it? Is it really? When Hazel, MY Hazel, lived a life exactly like this, imprisoned in a bar such as this, named like this, punished for her desire only being to see her friends? For my daughter to have closely held this name given on a whim until I helped her find herself? For there to have been such a horrid coincidence that a note I wrote to have shown up not only in her time, but in yours?”
With a lunge onto the counter, she grabs Chestnut’s other hand and pulls it close to herself, as she looks from a startlingly close distance, snot dribbling from her nose. She was crying the whole damn time.
“Hazel Chestnut Rocheau, I would sooner die than let you suffer in this hell of His making for another second. And… and if there’sh the slightest chance I could take you from it early, I will do everything in my power to do that.”
A broken sob as her head droops back down.
“Please. Please believe me.”
. . . The weight of the world is pressed down upon the patron. It is coated in a magic she knows well, room feeling suffocating beyond words. Her hands slip from the bartender’s, and she is slammed, however lightly, into the counter. She cries out in pain all the same.
“I apologize. But you may make it to the top of the list of rowdiest, rattiest drunks I’ve ever met. My earlier assessment seems to have been wrong. … Get out of my sight.”
The vessel is behind her in naught but a second at most, just a blink enough for it to have traversed between edge of room and bar counter. And she is hoisted forcibly onto its shoulder, as if she weighed nothing, even like this.
The door opens.
“Puh- Please… Please don’t… Please don’t let yourself rot like this! It’s not fair! PLEASE, HAZEL…!”
The vessel, still keeping her righted, leans to pick up the grocery bag and refill it with the items that had fallen.
It equips her with it, as April grows just a bit more resigned. … … That expression wasn’t one Chestnut liked seeing. The one with those sad, sad eyes.
It keeps the door open with its foot. Grabs April. And moves to throw her out.
“I… I will always love you,” she says softly, just as the threshold is passed.
And she is gone. Like the rest of the patrons were. Like the rest of the patrons will be.
The vessel turns back around, bowing once at the proprietor. And it makes its pilgrimage upstairs, as Chestnut- Hazel- ... Chestnut slumps over on the counter, uncaring for upholding the dignity they did earlier.
She knew so much.
She knew all about them. So surely it was them, right? Them that she knew? Her daughter?
… That just means that they failed, in her future. So they have to stay here. To make sure they don’t fail. That they don’t leave their home behind, or get whisked off somewhere else. They have to stay here and wait. Until they can go home. To their friends. Home.
… The other bag still lays on the counter. DAMMIT! They forgot to give that one over! … God- … … Hazel was going to be sad. Or maybe they wouldn’t? Would April even remember having gotten it, if she didn’t remember this? Nobody remembered this.
They… Reach over to the bag, gently peeking inside. And inside lies a plush. The bag is rather heavy. … It’s a weighted plush of a dragon. A white underbelly, unfurled wings, pastel rainbow scales… Haha. They loved dragons. … Maybe Hazel will be okay without this one. After all, April could just get another, right?
Chestnut couldn’t.
The gift tag still attached via plastic loop catches their eye, reading exactly the same thing it did the last time they noticed it. But… there’s something else underneath, too. And as they look closer, they’re met with a keychain imprinted with a photo.
One of mother and daughter at the Festival. The same one Chestnut had seen too many times to count. April, and a girl just about Chestnut’s age, both embraced in a hug and smiling widely. They’ve never seen her face before, and yet it is unsettlingly familiar, all the same.
They take it out of the bag, holding it to their chest as they slide down the wall into a slumped position. And they hold it gently to their being, arms wrapped tightly around it as they try their hardest to ignore the burning sensation just behind their eyes.
In a house on the outskirts of Ebott City, situated on a mountain road overlooking a small town, Miss April Rocheau falls backwards into the foyer and spills fresh groceries all over the floor with a heavy thud and a yelp. All complemented by a sudden, splitting migraine, because of course it is.
What the hell? Did she get hit in the skull with a rock or something?!
With nary a second wasted, her daughter comes rushing down the stairs, nearly falling over independently in her urgency but catching herself by the railing. “Mom! Are you okay?!”
“Y- Yeah, Yeah. I think so.” Gingerly, she caresses her pounding skull. “Good lord, I’ve never had a headache hit this fast before…”
Her daughter’s expression changes to one of pity, frowning deeply at the expression of pain. “You need some aspirin? … Or I could use Kindness, I guess. Been a while since I’ve had to.”
She waves her hand dismissively. “Naw, naw, you don’t have to pull out the big guns for one measly little headache. I would like some migraine relief, though… think it’s in the kitchen cabinet.”
Her daughter salutes dutifully before jogging off to get the necessary bottle. Or she tries to, before halted by a puzzled noise from her mother as she glances around the foyer for a seemingly missing item.
“Aw, no! Where is it?? I had it right here in my arms!”
The absconding girl turns back around, tilting her head at the words. “Whaddya mean? What was it?”
Her mother sighs disappointedly. “It was one of those weighted dragon plushies I know you wanted for a while… a limited edition pastel one, too. I have no idea where it went! Ugh, I’m sorry, honey…”
She pouts in response, slumping over. “Really?? And you have no idea where it went. … Do you promise you’re not just being scatterbrained?” To which her mother pouts.
… Ultimately, she retracts the sentiment, walking over and reaching out a hand to help her mother up. “Nah. I’m sure we’ll find it.”
With a sigh, April takes Hazel’s hand, pulling herself up directly into a hug.
She returns it on instinct, smushing April’s ribs as best she can. Bear hugs were in her very nature.
“Mmm… I suppose it’s not all bad. I did find some brisket at the Farmer’s Market, if you want that for dinner.”
… Brisket, huh? Gosh, the last time she thought about that, was—
… Her mom never came to the Angel Shot.
So why was she there? That’s not a memory she has. Why is it here?
What had she done?
Years. Wasted.
She shudders in April’s arms, her mother reeling from the sudden rigidity. “Hazel? Are you okay?”
“... I think I know where the dragon is, at least.”
“Wh- What?” Her tone is as bewildered as ever at the sudden interjection.
“Yeah. Give me a second.” Hazel breaks from the hug, climbing back up the stairs as her mother makes questioning calls after her. She pulls down a rope from the ceiling, unveiling the attic’s ladder, and climbs it.
Dust and boxes and light streaming through a solitary window, as she goes to one in particular. It’s opened ever so carefully, and the contents are exactly as expected.
A well loved plushie. Pastel rainbow with a white underbelly, stuffing flattened from its time being used as a source of comfort. … Haha. She hated being right.