Archive of Our Own

”Took you long enough.”

Rodger’s eye is heavy and exhausted. Sprout scrapes up a tape he missed before getting in the elevator, with a resting smile, exhaling passive-aggressively to Rodger’s comment. Sprout’s steps are light and unshaken. They barely rock the elevator.

The doors shut. The elevator hums to life as it gets ready to descend yet again.

And then there were two.

…

After a half of a minute of tension, the silence breaks.

“That was, ah, rough, back there,” Sprout coyly tugs on his scarf. He puts his hand through his tuft of leaves. “I just couldn’t get to them in time.”

Rodger continues with the small talk. He hasn’t moved from his spot, back against the wall of the side of the elevator. “Our distractor is gone. This mission may be fruitless, pursuing a higher floor may not be worth it.”

A delayed, mouthless sigh. “…But I suppose that’s hindsight now. I’ve already taken us down another floor.”

Sprout’s voice rings with the sound of a proud older sibling. “Floor 48, huh?” He looks at Rodger. “Is that your new record?”

“I suppose it is. Just barely.”

Sprout continues. “I can’t confirm it with her, but I think that was also Flutter’s new highest.”

Rodger senses that self-aggrandizing tone that’s been on his nerves all day.

“Don’t speak for her,” Rodger mutters.

“People do it all the time. It’s not like we can help it,” Sprout rubs his forearm. “If we stopped to let her write everything down before we get on the field we’d probably be done in double the time.”

Sprout backpedals, slightly, keeping up his smile. “Not that her input isn’t valuable…”

“Why do you treat this so… flippantly?”

Sprout’s pupils dilate as he darts his glance to Rodger, his smile losing strength.

“Can you use a word that other people know?” Sprout says, his heavy-handed, optimistic tone now a bit more exaggerative and clashing with his aggressive statement.

“You’re treating this like it’s a game. Like a high number on an arcade machine. I saw you dart after her when her body fell from the air. I know you care. Why do you pretend like there’s… nothing? No reason to grieve?”

"I do everything in my power to make sure people stay alive. When I can't do anything, I know when to give up and move on," Sprout stares at Rodger, still as a statue. "I've done all I can, and at that point, it's on them for making themselves vulnerable." Sprout speaks with an educator's authority. "We've made well past the amount of ichor to make up for the losses. Objectively speaking, we're better off."

Rodger stares at the floor, away from Sprout's piercing gaze. Sprout had done a lot. They had been very successful.

Sprout continues after a pause. "I'd be significantly more worked up if this was at a net loss of resources. What we do from here is just a bonus. With all of this, everyone can be reprinted and we can just move on."

Rodger weakly looks up, meeting Sprout's cold gaze.

"I guess that's a fair point."

Sprout's shoulders relax. "I'm glad you agree."

Rodger lets the room breathe.

"...Is that why you're not worked up about Cosmo?"

...

It's like the room goes down several degrees.

Sprout fidgets with his bracelet and responds with clenched teeth. "...Yes."

"It's an interesting case," Rodger scrapes his thumb against his handle. "Cosmo disappears overnight, nobody knows where he went."

Rodger lowers his head and gazes at Sprout with his own icy stare.

"You haven't been very upset about this."

Sprout nearly talks over Rodger. "I'm just not making it everyone else's problem. I had an ichor run set for that next morning, so I decided to suck it up and try to make some more ichor. We might have made enough to bring him back if he's..."

"So you're assuming he's dead."

"...I know Cosmo, he's not the type to run away from his responsibilities. Or from me."

"So if you don't know, he's probably dead?"

Sprout clenches a fist. "I never said that."

"You don't have to have said it to have implied it."

"I know him very well, we've been best friends for well over thirty years. Since we met. You have no right to assume you know more about him than I do."

Rodger's feet press into the elevator floor as he stands his ground.

"Some time after midnight last night, the west elevator was used without permission. I checked myself. The shaft was empty, and the cabin had to be summoned. I hadn't reported this to Dandy because I figured you'd want to know first."

Sprout's face falls. "Is that why you've been so quiet until now?"

"Yes," Rodger breathes. "I wasn't sure how to break the news, but if you're so quick to assume he's dead, I figured you might know about this as well."

Sprout's gaze lowers to the floor.

"He's done this before."

Rodger looks up, incredulously. His posture shifts to something less composed. "You're saying he goes on solo missions in the dead of night often enough for it to be a repeat incident?"

Sprout meets his gaze with Rodger. "It's not for a happy reason."

Rodger's pupil shrinks. The back of his neck tingles.

"Are you satisfied, detective?" Sprout spits out. He fidgets with the six-petaled medallion on his wrist.

If Rodger knew any less, he'd have backed off by now. But he's onto something, so he presses forward against his own judgement.

"Last I spoke with Cosmo was over dinner. He had mentioned you were going on an ichor run soon, and that the two of you were going to have a sleepover that night beforehand. Is it not reasonable to think you might have been able to pick up on any behavior that might lead to this?"

Sprout is silent. Rodger doesn't even look at Sprout until he's done talking. "...But that's very generalizing. Here's something else. The main toons' rooms are separate from the side toons' rooms. More importantly, you two are supposed to sleep in different hallways."

"Yes?" Sprout's voice is bitter.

"When you left, you were both headed to Cosmo's room. When you woke up and headed to the elevator to meet up for the run, you came from the direction of your room."

Rodger finally meets Sprout's gaze, and he is met with a pallid, staring, blank-faced strawberry.

"Sprout, did something happen that night?"

Sprout raises his voice. "Are you accusing me?" He sounds like a different person, matching this expression Rodger's never seen before.

"Of murder? I don't have it ruled out." Rodger is running off adrenaline. "I don't want that to be the case, which is why I'm asking you."

...This is a half-truth. Rodger could never try anyone for something this serious, let alone a main toon. Sometimes bad toons are punished by not getting to eat that night, but Sprout can conjure baking goods. By all metrics, Sprout is immune to criticism.

A good investigator would never normally spew everything they know. But this is a special case. Rodger could never win. It's not like the two of them are gonna be alive for much longer, anyway.

“No. I did not murder my best friend, Cosmo. Is that so hard to believe?”

Rodger snaps back in frustration. “He might be your best friend, but are you Cosmo’s best friend?”

Sprout dryly laughs, leaving a worried smile. “Rodger. We were made for eachother. Of course he’s my best friend.”

Rodger squints. “Right, I forgot that was textual evidence.”

“Exactly.” Sprout nods.

“It says so on the poster. Of course he’s your best friend.”

“Tell me what I don’t know.”

Rodger is appalled at how revealing Sprout is being. “Do you listen to yourself? Do you realize how… weird that is?” Rodger leaves the wall for the first time since he got onto the elevator. “Ever since 2002, those posters are hymns of the past. There are no expectations for us. Why should you expect someone to stay your best friend when there is no longer an obligation?”

Sprout leans forward and takes a step. “If that’s the case, why are you being so nosy? You don’t have to be a detective anymore.”

“Why are you baking? You still nearly burn the kitchen down if you’re unattended,” Rodger’s breathing is shaky and furious. “…Being a detective is what I’m good at. It’s what I was made to do. Investigation doesn’t directly hurt anyone that wasn’t already in trouble. What concerns me is that you’re trying to maintain an expectation that robs Cosmo of his agency.”

Rodger points at Sprout, putting his whole back into it. “What I’m asking is… are you Cosmo’s best friend? Does he think this, independently of your pressure?”

Rodger’s heart skips a beat.

“And has that charm on your wrist always had a full flower medallion?”

A switch flips.

Sprout’s face blinks, and his face reverts back to a toothy grin. He separates the savory and sweet charms and puts the sweet charm in his inventory.

“He will soon.”

Rodger takes a moment and his vision blurs. He understands. Oh no.

“You… he’ll be fresh.”

Sprout giggles. “Yep! Cosmo will be brought back with the help of my personal ichor cache, and he’ll come right back to me, and I’ll be his entire world again.”

Rodger can’t help but stare Sprout directly in his crazed eyes. “…Because he didn’t know anyone else very well other than you in the show. His default state is depersonalized.”

“I’d say being my life partner is pretty important. My sous chef. My little buddy. My beloved.” Sprout’s pupils are dilated and his gums are showing. He jerks himself forwards and rubs his arm, spraining it with the sudden movement. “That’s what my head tells me, anyway. How do you think it feels to be me in this situation? Cosmo is me. He was made to be a subset of my identity.”

Rodger feels like he is in danger. His body flares up. “T-Tisha and Brusha have stopped talking. That stands to prove-“

“-that we can be our own people? Rodger. There are lunchboxes with our faces on them. Baking kits. T-shirts. Playsets, Rodger. Cosmo wasn’t even sold separately. I have been in 147 out of 166 episodes of Dandy’s World. Cosmo has been in all 147 of those. Tisha and Brusha’s relationship is a footnote compared to the legacy of our friendship.”

…Rodger doesn’t know how to respond. He backs up as Sprout slowly approaches him, with heavy footsteps and an eerily calm posture. He leaves his hand outstretched.

“I’m the victim here, Rodger. Cosmo is capable of forming new relationships. He doesn’t have the problems I have. Side characters like you were a second batch. You were perfected. I was not.”

Sprout pulls back his hand. Sprout is dangerously close to Rodger. Rodger can hear Sprout’s breathing.

“When Cosmo makes an effort to spend time away from me on purpose, it is like a tooth is pulled. He’s met a new friend named Boxten. ‘That’s great!’, I say, knowing that I have to share with someone that isn’t dependent on him to be my own person.”

Sprout slams that hand on the wall behind Rodger, trapping him.

“So I ask Cosmo to have a little sleepover that night. I tell him how much he means to me. I make him feel awful about making a new friend. Not by disavowing it, but by reinforcing the bond we have. There’s nothing in Gardenview like it. It should be protected.”

Sprout slams his other hand against the wall. Rodger’s eye darts around the room, begging to look anywhere but at Sprout, whose eyes are shot with ichor, his forehead is in a cold dewy sweat, and Rodger can even pick out the kind of muffin he had for breakfast this morning.

“So, I quietly leave his room. I leave no note. Then, I slam the door after leaving, and I hide. Cosmo thinks I’ve left in a hurry. I make him think I’ve left on a solo mission. It works every single time. He leaves, he tries to find me, he dies.”

Sprout smiles.

“…And I get a new best friend the very next day.”

Rodger’s body and attitude reaches a state of lucidity.

“Cosmo is a common Twisted.”

“Yes, Rodger. Cosmo is a common Twisted.”

Rodger attempts to push Sprout to the ground, but Sprout swivels to the side and grips Rodger’s handle like a two-handed weapon. Rodger sounds like he’s been choked.

“W-Why did you tell me all of this?” He struggles to speak, his voice tightened by Sprout’s grip. “I have a firsthand account. You’ve filled in holes for me. I can trace back steps to solve them myself. You’ve doomed yourself, Seedly.”

"After a reprint, a toon's memories do return." Sprout digs his hands into Rodger's handle. “But something I'm very familiar with, is that the more recent the memory, the more likely it fades forever when someone dies."

“So you have killed before.”

Sprout snarls. “And I’ll do it again.”

Sprout swings Rodger’s head up by its handle, and smashes it into the ground. The glass shatters immediately. Ichor spills from the edge of the lens. The body twitches, and eventually goes limp.

Sprout presses the button to return to the lobby. Rodger assumed he had pressed the button, but neither of them noticed the elevator wasn’t moving.

A roaming Scraps sniped Rodger on the way into the elevator, Sprout thinks. It was really unfortunate. Someone should clean this up before it twists.

...

The case is closed.