Work Text:
Something is chasing her.
This is the simplest explanation for why Purple is suddenly running.
Her surroundings are dark and murky, reflecting her inner turmoil as she's sprinting as fast as she can.
Purple tries to scream, but her throat has suddenly closed up, dry and painful. Footsteps follow her.
She does not look back.
The only thing that is registering in her mind is one foot in front of the other, rushing to meet her steps, running but having nowhere as to where she's running. She's out of breath, but she cannot stop.
Otherwise he would get her.
It's not fast enough. He is catching up.
Closer, closer, closer—
Purple sits up frantically in a flurry of panic— it's dark outside, quiet and still, the hums of the PC monitor set in Sleep Mode, but inside, her heart beats frantically.
A nightmare.
But for some reason, her panic still lives on. Her mind is still half asleep, but she's aching all over. And her brain can only think of the face she swore she would forget.
Purple tries to breathe, tries to remember what they had told her in those Outernet self help groups. Take steady breaths, count to 10. But her insides are pounding too furiously for her to process anything. Her thoughts fly around like lost fireflies, glowing and dimming, scattering across the room, her night sky. She tries to grab onto one but it slips from her hands— she can only watch helplessly as it darts away.
Everything is so much, too much. Her thoughts are half formed, barely coherent, unable to think about anything but that horrifying face, peeking back at her through her nightmares.
She wishes she were asleep. It would be easier.
Then again, it hadn't been easy for a long time.
Purple grips at her chest, feeling that thrashing near her heart, feeling that helpless feeling that she had grown so used to, it picks up, her chest pounds faster with each beat, she's breathing, no, gasping for air, each desperate inhale followed by a sharp exhale, what to do what to do what to do she's not sure she can't handle it it has found her again clawing at her insides it knows she's there, he is laughing at her, mocking her with his snide smile—
Dumb girl. Did you really think you could run from your own father?
A sharp pain shoots through Purple's chest and she cries out, collapsing in an agonizing wail, his voice in her head, her desperate hands finds her face, a shield, she doesn't want to see anymore. She risks a glance and it's still there. He's still there.
Don't you understand? I raised you.
She buries her face deeper into her hands, almost painfully. That's going to leave marks, but she can't be bothered to care, all she can hear is the Voice and the sound of her own ragged breathing that's now coming out in uneven gasps.
Such a disappointment. You should've been a boy.
The words thrash around in her heart. She hears it, it's closing in, Purple cannot breathe any longer, she wishes to hide herself from the world. The Voice is the world, her Father, so greedy and hungry. Her thoughts are far away; if she is taken, what will become of her? What would the others, her friends, think when they find her limp body, limbs twisted out in strange angles beside her, an act of a Father's hate? Perhaps there would be a grin plastered on her face, a display of her last act— she did tend to smile in morbid situations. What a pity— she almost wants to laugh— she'd always wanted to go out with a bang, but instead, no, she's going to die to this horrible memory, this echo of the past, of the man that she thought she had moved past, and no one will even ever know what became of the girl who once saved them, the one once prevented the extinction of Minecraft, and most of all, their friend.
You're worthless. You'll never be enough.
It's closer now and Purple is aware of a knocking at her door. The tears running down her cheeks tickle at her face, almost teasingly, tauntingly, scoffing into her ears. The knocking grows stronger, her shoulders shake, she doesn't want to look up. There's a loud force, indicating that he is here, he has found her at last, she ducks her head into her covers, she waits for the blow—
It never comes.
Purple waits for a long moment. She knows someone's there. So why has he stopped?
She gingerly takes her head out of her hands, and no, it's not him.
Rather, it's a familiar stick, one that drew feelings of affection and trust, a stark change from what she had felt previously.
Green.
Worried eyes, brilliant hair, arms close and safe.
Purple has an urge to be held.
An almost insane laugh breaks from her lips and she laughs and she laughs, but Green doesn't look afraid, he doesn't look bothered, he just looks at her with those patient, forgiving eyes and suddenly Purple finds her laughter blending into a desperate sob, then another, then another, and before she knows it, she's crying, her tears flowing freely down her face, and arms wrap around her, safe. A hand is on her head, it runs through her hair in calming stirs and sends a wave of something akin to safety, and he murmurs, "Hey, hey, shh, it's okay," which only makes her sob harder, her entire weight is pressed against him now, her face buried in his soaked shirt (did she do that?), arms tucked close to her heart, shoulders trembling in poorly disguised fear.
She's so afraid.
But she's not alone, he's there too, the two of them huddled in the dark.
Her, small, terrified, him, steady, kind, safe. Safe safe safe.
He continues to murmur words of comfort, promises of a better, kinder life into her ear, and she allows herself to relax against him, to feel and be safe. And gradually the sobs come to a close, and she's quiet, and they're both just there for a long moment, holding onto each other, like the other would disappear if one let go.
"I'm sorry," Purple whispers against him.
"Don't apologize," He murmurs in response, firmly, kindly.
Purple shivers. "You don't need to do this."
"Oh, but I want to. And I'll keep doing it, no matter how long it takes." His breaths are steady. "It's not your fault."
Maybe one day, she'd find it in her heart to believe those words. Maybe one day, she'd be able to move past the thoughts of her Father. Maybe one day, she could just be Purple, and that could be enough for her and everyone around her. But for now, being buried in Green's warming presence is all she has.
And as Purple's sitting there, heart rate slowing to sync with his, she finds that, at least, in the moment, it is enough.