Chapter Text
He was shaking—wailing—screaming in The Spine’s arms, hands gripping, clawing at his vest.
He couldn’t stop screaming.
He couldn’t stop crying.
He was running out of time. Since the very beginning, he was always running out of time.
He remembered it now. He remembered everything.
He remembered dying. The feeling of two universes pulling, splitting, violently ripping him apart.
That first time—that very first death—he thought he’d finally be free. He would die, disappear, and finally be free from the malfunctioning and pain that plagued his existence.
And yet, once wasn’t enough for the universe, was it?
So, he came back again. Ready for another go-around at what the universe must’ve called a game.
And just the same, he died. Again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, AND AGAIN, AND AGAIN, AND AGAIN. HE DIED.
No matter where he existed, no matter what universe he happened to be placed in—eventually, he knew, he would die.
He would leave everyone he ever cared about and die, time and time again, with no foreseeable end.
Never, would he have peace.
But, a thing like him?
Things like him, “paradox children”, didn’t get to have peace. That he knew for certain.
Yet even so, he craved it. He was desperate for it, in fact.
A few times, he tried to escape the brutal fate the universe—no—the Powers That Be had planned for him. Maybe, if he followed the right path, went down the right roads, and made the right choices in every single situation, he thought, he would find a way to win the game.
But, he could never win. He would never win. After all, no one wins the game of the Gods. No one can outsmart them, let alone a little kid.
And when he realized that, he gave up, and let the Powers That Be do whatever they pleased with him.
He was a puppet on their string. A being of their creation. A freak of nature that broke the very laws of physics. And this fate, this life was what he was always destined for. No matter how many times he hoped, begged the Powers That Be, or however many times he tried to get an ending of his own…he knew, deep down, he’d never get one.
But this time—things had been different.
For the first time, he came into a universe with no memory. He couldn’t remember the other universes he’d been in, his origins, his name, or, even, who he was—or rather, who he was supposed to be.
For once, for all it was worth, he was at peace.
Considering all that he’d been through and what he was—living unaware of his past, was, perhaps, him being given a chance. A chance to start completely anew.
But now, he remembered everything. His past, who he was, who he is and always will be, the universes, the looping, the dying…he remembered everything in its brutal entirety.
And at this moment, he was entirely certain of this reality, he was sure of it now.
He was going to die again, and everything would be the same.
He couldn’t escape it, it seemed. He’d never escape his fate.
HAH. It was silly of him to even think, for even a fraction of a nanosecond, that he’d be free—that he escaped whatever HELL the Powers That Be were willing to put him through again, and again, and again, and again, AND AGAIN, AND AGAIN.
But…no.
No, no, no, no, no, no, NO, NO, NO, NO.
NOT AGAIN.
He didn’t want to die.
He didn’t want to die again.
He couldn’t! He couldn’t go through it all again! Not that same song and dance, repeating, repeating, repeating, repeating, repeating, repeating, repeating, repeating!!!
He just couldn’t anymore!
He was so tired.
He just wanted it to stop.
HE JUST WANTED HIS HELL TO END. HE WANTED THE LOOPS TO STOP. HE WANTED THE UNIVERSE TO STOP ERASING HIM FROM REALITY. HE WANTED TO LIVE, GODDAMNIT. HE WANTED IT TO STOP!
HE WANTED IT TO STOP. HE WANTED IT TO STOP. HE WANTED IT TO STOP. HE WANTED IT TO STOP. HE WANTED IT TO STOP. HE WANTED IT TO STOP.
HE WANTED IT to stop. HE wanted it to stop. He wanted it to stop. He wanted it to stop. He wanted it to stop …. He wanted it to stop …. He wanted it to stop …. He wanted it to …. wanted it to ….
He closes his eyes, and goes into stasis—-his metal body falling limp in Spine’s arms.
-
In the morning, he wakes up.
…
In the morning—he wakes up.
There was a part of him, last night, that was convinced that he’d die right then and there.
But he…didn’t.
He sits up, and throws his legs over the side of the bed he was offered.
For a moment, he just sits there. Staring blankly at the wall in front of him.
The Powers That Be had every right, every ability to kill him in that moment. Perhaps, it was a new version of their game that they wanted to test out on their favorite, little play-piece.
But they didn’t.
On one hand, it was sort of a good thing. He didn’t die, that’s something.
But on the other hand, it just means that at some point…he will die, right? Just as he always had before.
Great. That’s…great.
Now he has that to worry about.
As he thinks, he unglues his photoreceptors from staring at the blank wall and finds himself looking around his temporary—temporary, it’s always temporary—stasis chamber. He moves his head to the right, and then to the left. In a way, he does it to ground himself. To convince himself that at least, at this moment, he’s alive.
As he does, he notices that The Spine isn’t there with him anymore.
He doesn’t blame him, especially after what happened last night. After what he heard him sob into his chest…about dying.
Anyone would want to get out of that situation, he thinks, but that combined with the fact that he looks like and—in a way—is an alternate version of him…
Yeah. Hearing and having to comfort another version of yourself—who’s crying about repeatedly dying over and over and over again: kind of disturbing. Mortifying, even.
He should definitely apologize for that. He should also tell him that what he said, about dying repeatedly? Pshhh, that didn't mean anything. It was just—meaningless post-nightmare jibber-jabber. Who hasn’t been there, right? Yeah. That was normal. That was a totally chill, normal, existing boy way to handle that situation, right? He’s fine. He just had a nightmare. Nothing…else.
Of course, he knew it was more than that. But he was most certainly not ready to talk about it.
Okay, he should…he should go try to find The Spine to apologize. Yeah. That sounds like the most reasonable action to take.
Head and photoreceptors straight forward, he starts inching himself as close to the edge of the bed as possible and makes sure that his feet are on the ground and…stable.
Once his feet are on the ground he pushes himself off of the bed and stands up, half expecting his legs to give out under him and for him to fall flat on his face and for everything to really begin and for him to start glitching and hurting and—No. No. He’s not letting himself spiral, now. Not when he has an objective. Besides, all of…that…happens much later into his stay in a universe. So, that sort of thing wouldn’t happen now.
…Would it?
No. Stop it, he can’t think about that right now.
He needs—he needs to find The Spine.
He takes a step forward.
Walk-cycle in check?
He takes another step.
Okay, good.
He walks towards the door, or, rather, the space in the wall where a door should be. Apparently, so Peter the Sixth had told him back when he first arrived, he didn’t like doors and so they removed all of the doors from Walter Manor. But before he can take one step outside, his legs start to wobble and give out beneath him…! In response, He grabs onto the side wall with one hand to keep himself from completely falling over.
There it is. It typically doesn’t happen this early but, hey! This universe has, so far, been full of surprises, right???
Maybe he was going to start glitching early—malfunctioning early—breaking early—-dying early—and then he’d—
Then, he hears a gasp from somewhere down the hall.
“Lil’ Spine!” Rabbit calls.
“Don’t worry, I gotcha, b-b-buddy,” she says. She…she, right? That’s right. Rabbit’s a girl, now—helping him stand up just a little straighter.
“There ya’ go! How are you feeling?” She looks down at him, one hand on his shoulder, keeping him steady on his feet.
“I’m…feeling okay. You don’t gotta worry about me!” He tries to smile in the most normal, non-almost-about-to-spiral way he can. He really doesn’t want to worry her. Or, really, anyone for that matter. He really, really hates being more of a burden than he already knows he is.
“That’s good. Here,” she starts to pull something from behind her back. “Take some water. You c-c-could probably use it,” Huh. It’s a water bottle.
Did she already have that on hand? Or was she coming up here to give it to him to begin with?
Well. The exact details of that aren’t important enough to dwell on right now. After all, he doesn’t really need the water. His boiler’s full enough…probably.
So, he shakes his head.
“Oh, no, thank you. But, I don’t need any water right now.”
Despite him declining her offer, Rabbit looks at him. She tilts her head to the side, purses her lips, and says: “Mmmmm, are ya’ sure about that? Cause’ I’m pretty sure that your boilers runnin’ low.”
What? No it’s not?
“Huh? No, it’s not…at least I don’t think that it is—“
As if on cue, a small puff of steam escapes from his neck vents as a red, flashing, “LOW WATER. LOW WATER” warning appears across his photoreceptors.
Oh.
His boiler was low on water.
How didn’t he pick up on that?
“Oh. I…yeah. My boiler’s low on water.”
Rabbit just chuckles and holds the water bottle out to him, inviting him to take it.
He does and thanks her as he starts taking small sips from the bottle. When was the last time he refilled his boiler? It must’ve been last night before he…actually, he doesn’t really want to think about that more than he absolutely needs to.
“How did you know my boiler was running low?”
“Oh, please,” she lets go of his shoulder and puts the hand to hip, her now water bottle-less hand going limp as if she was trying to bat away a house fly. “My siblings constantly forget to refill their boilers, so I’ve gotten good at picking up on the cues of a low boiler and pointin’ it out to them! Although,” She giggles a little at herself. “I’m not exactly a role model for this kinda stuff. I’ve forgotten to refill my own boiler more times than I can count. Funny how this sorta stuff works, huh?”
He nods, continuing to take tiny sips of water.
“An-n-n-nyway, do ya’ want me to show ya’ to the bathroom? Your face still has some, um,” her hand waves in the vague direction of his face. “Remnants from…last night.”
Remnants? From…last night?
Oh.
Oh.
His eyes go wide and he almost chokes.
Does she know?
How does she know??
Did Spine tell her????
Oh no. This is bad. That’s one more person than he thought knew about what happened last night.
“Oh! Um!” He puts a hand to his mouth and coughs. At least it’s only water in his throat, this time. “Did…sorry…did Spine tell you?”
“Nope. He didn’t tell me anythin’. I mean, other than the fact that you had a nightmare.”
“Oh. Did you hear me at all?” He asks. How much does she know? He needs to assess the situation more than he originally thought. Assess the damage and fix it to the best of his ability.
“Other-ther-ther than your screaming?”
So. She heard that.
“Ah. Uh, sorry about that. I didn’t mean to wake you.” If she heard that, then probably the entire manor did too. Dang it. Even more to worry about.
“It’s fine! Eve-rey-reybody has nightmares that leave them wakin’ up screamin’. So, don’t worry about it. I get it. I’m sure the others understand, too,” She reassures him. Unlucky for her, he will probably never feel assured, no matter what anyone tries to tell him.
“I should probably still apologize to them, though,” he says. After all, he was about to apologize to The Spine…but…the others weren’t originally a part of that plan.
“Look, you don’t gotta worry about anythin’. But if ya’ want, I could go tell them your sorry for wakin’ em’ up—”
His eyes go wide again and apparently, Rabbit notices.
“Or for mayyybeee wakin’ em’ up, cause’ maybe you didn’t—on your behalf. That s-s-sound good?” Her hands go up and out, waiting for his input.
As much as he feels bad about putting that weight on her, it would keep his original plan as close to its original self as possible…
Anything and everything he could successfully plan out in this unusual universe would probably work in his favor.
So, he nods his head. “Yeah, I’d—I’d appreciate that. Thanks.”
“Yup! No problem, Lil’ Guy!” She smiles, toothy and so genuine and happy. A part of him misses a time where he could still smile like that.
“Just—you don’t gotta do that for Spine, though,” he screws the cap back on the water bottle. He’s had enough for now. “I wanted to apologize to him myself.”
Her shoulders relax, pushing them downward. “Alright. He’s all yours, then.”
Yeah.
Yeaahhhhhhhh…on second thought, maybe he should back track and tell her to just apologize to him, for him.
But no. No. He’s sticking to his guns.
That was the plan he made, and so, he’s going to follow through with it.
But first things first—he should probably fix whatever’s going on with his face.
“Um. Where’s the bathroom? You said you’d show it to me so that I could fix up my face?”
“Oh, yeah! It’s just down this way!”
She leads him down the hall and to a door on the far right of the hallway.
A door.
Thank god.
A blessed, blessed door.
He knows that Peter the Sixth doesn’t like doors and that’s the reason why they removed them in the first place—so, inherently, now he feels just a little bit bad for liking doors so much—but. It’s nice to see a door here.
Since it feels like he constantly has eyes—thousands upon thousands of eyes—on his back, or should he say his spine, privacy has become something he’s grown very, very grateful for. In the rare moments he can actually have it, that is.
But, frankly, he has more important things to worry about than doors right now. He has an objective. Albeit an additional objective, but at least it’s a good add on. It’ll actually make him look more presentable and thus, less likely to continue worrying this Spine more than he probably already has.
So, he thanks Rabbit for showing him to the bathroom, walks in, and closes the door behind him.
He assumes that whatever “remnants” happen to be on his face are his dried, oily tears but he needs to be sure.
So, he sets the water bottle down on the counter and takes his hand to his face, swiping his under-eye area with two fingers.
Looking at his fingers, there’s most definitely dried oil on them.
Figures.
He looks to his left and notices a blue rag next to the sink. Internally, he apologizes for the fact he’s about to get dried oil on it—but how else is supposed to clean up?
Grabbing the rag, he wets it with a little bit of sink water and dabs under his eyes.
He looks down at the rag. Well, it’s definitely coming off. It’s so flakey. Hopefully he’ll be able to just rinse it off and out.
He puts the rag back to his face and continues dabbing, occasionally rubbing at the streaks instead.
When he feels like he’s gotten the majority of it off, he sets the rag down and wipes his face with his palms.
He sets his hands down on the counter and grips onto the front of it with both hands, looking down at them and the counter as he does.
He knows there’s a mirror there.
He doesn’t really want to look up.
But…he needs to make sure he got it all off.
So, he composes himself and takes a deep breath, exhaling a puff of steam with it.
He can do this.
He looks up and at his reflection in the mirror. Luckily, he notices that he got the majority of it off.
Good.
He quickly wipes the remaining wet flakes from his face with his hands and focuses his attention back to the rag. Not the mirror.
The state of the rag isn’t too bad and he turns the sink back on to wet it a little more.
With his free hand, he grabs a bar of soap on the right of the sink and wets it a little, before gently rubbing the top of the rag with it.
Clean, clean, clean, clean, clean.
He wets the back of the soap again to get any remainder of oil off of it and sets it back down.
He rubs the soap into the rag and squeezes, watching as any last bit of oil still caught onto the rag drips down and into the drain.
After, he rinses the rag as best he can and tries to get the soap out of it.
Once he’s done, he sighs—satisfied, for the most part—and turns the sink off.
The rag is…damp. But not soaking wet. He’s made sure to squeeze as much water out of it as he can.
He folds the rag and puts it back where he found it.
He pauses for a moment.
His hands are still wet. Not dripping wet, thank god, but wet enough that he’s bothered by it.
He looks at the folded rag on the counter. No, he doesn’t want to use that, it’s drying.
He looks back at his hands and then down at his vest. No…he doesn’t want to get his clothes wet.
He looks around, but there aren't any other rags—it was just the one on the counter. He assumes that this is probably a guest bathroom and not enough people use it to warrant having more than just one rag on the counter.
He presses his lips together as they spread to either side of his face. He blinks.
Well. That’s annoying.
He grazes his palms with the back of his fingers as he moves them up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down.
That should at least get the padding of his palms a little less wet.
Hesitantly, he takes his hands and wipes the rest of the wet onto his pants. Looking down, he notices that it wasn’t enough wet to leave a dark spot, just enough to make his pants a little damp.
That’s…alright. He can deal with that.
Okay. He’s all good.
Clean up objective, complete.
Now he just needs to go and apologize to The Spine.
So, he grabs the water bottle on the counter and reaches for the door handle. Twisting it, he opens the door.
To his left, he notices Rabbit leaning against the wall.
“Lookie, there! All cleaned up!” She stands up straight and turns to face him. The way she said that almost sounded like she was verbally patting him on the back for doing a good job at cleaning his face. “Feels good to have a clean face, right?”
“Yeah. Much better.”
It did.
“Anyway, do you know where The Spine is?” He asks her.
“He’s probably down stairs, dunno where, though. You going d-down to talk to him? About—”
“Yeah!”
Ah. Too much.
“I mean. Yeah.”
That’s better.
“Do ya’ want me to help ya’ find him? You’re still findin’ you’re way around the manor, after all, and he could be anywhere!”
No. He’s already burdening her enough as it is.
“That’s okay. Thanks, but I can figure it out.”
“Alright! See ya’ later, then, Lil’ Spine!”
He hates that nickname.
Regardless, he just smiles and heads towards the long staircase. But before he can get more than four steps down, Rabbit calls out to him.
“Hey! Ya’ know that there’s an elevator, right? D-d-did I forget to tell ya’ that?”
Huh. That’s new. He’s not really used to Walter Manor having an elevator. Even so, he doesn’t really want to use it. He’s used to the stairs. And as much as he’s sure that the elevator ride would prooooobably be fine and that nothing unexpectedly bad would happen…the stairs were just a bit more predictable. Even if bad things could also, hypothetically, happen by taking the stairs.
“It’s fine, I’ll just take the stairs,” he calls back, turning around to face her.
“Are ya’ sure?” She asks.
“Yeah. I like the stairs.”
“Really? Well, that’s a new one. People around here complain left and right about the stairs and how lonnnnnnng they are,” she smiles down at him.
How does he end this conversation as quickly as possible—without being rude—so that he can just get on with what he needs to do?
Quick—he needs to say something quick.
“Yeah. Well, it’s good cardio,” he smiles wildly back at her.
What.
What????
Why, why, why, whyyyyy would he say that????
Where did that even come from?
Cardio????
Evidently, Rabbit’s confused by his comment and follows it up with a “You—You know we don’t gotta worry about that kinda stuff, right? We’re robots.”
He’s made this so weird and awkward he needs to end this right now.
“Right! Uh. Right. Sorry, I don’t know why I said that…”
Silence.
“Anyways, I should…really finish making my way down these stairs.”
He turns around as Rabbit says she’ll see him later a second time and starts walking down the stairs again.
Once at the bottom, he looks around for a second.
Where would Spine be?
He hasn’t gotten used to this one yet. His behaviors, his mannerisms, where he would typically be in the manor, so…this would either not take that long or take all day.
Also, the manor’s really big. In fact, it feels like it’s only gotten bigger?
He assumes that a bunch of additional rooms and space must have been added on since the 50s which…would probably make sense?
But, how many additions could’ve been made in the span of—how long would it have been? 50, 60, 70 years?
The changes that happened to Walter Manor in that time-span was already one thing, but being in a universe this far into the future was another.
The last time he was ever in a universe this far in the future was two loops ago when he was in the year 2013. Which—even though he technically started in the 50s for that loop—was weird.
And right now, two loops later, he’s even farther in the future.
Now, he’s in the year 2025.
And he doesn’t know anything about the year 2025.
No matter, though. He can think about that later.
Right now, he has a Spine to apologize to.
-
It takes him a little bit of poking in and out of a few rooms in the manor, but eventually, he ends up finding him.
He’s standing with his back facing him, but even so, he knows that it’s him.
All of the Spine’s dress the exact same.
He dresses the exact same.
Like them, he wears the exact same thing: the same black button down, black and gray vest over it, red tie underneath it, black pants, fedora—the typical “Spine-get-up”.
But now, he should just focus on apologizing to The Spine, right?
He reaches his free hand out to him. Should he…? Tap him on his shoulder to get his attention?
Before he can give it a second thought, without realizing it, he makes a very awkward, very audible “Uhmmm…” noise, sounding half like a squeak and half like he’s being strangled.
To that, The Spine turns around and looks down at him.
“Oh! Howdy, there,” he says.
Okay. Be normal.
“Hi,” he puts his free hand half-way up and waves.
“Did you sleep well? Or—ah—” he closes his eyes for a moment, pulling a hand up to his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. “—I mean, did you…did you have a better second sleep?”
“Yeah, I did,” he fidgets with the cap of the water bottle as he speaks, rubbing his thumb over the ridges, back and forth and back and forth and back and forth. It was nice.
“Well, that’s good,” he nods, “You certainly look a lot better.”
“Thannnkkssss…”
Damn it. He drew the “thanks” out too long. Now he probably sounds like a jerk because his tone was probably all kinds of off.
But, to his surprise, The Spine doesn’t seem to pay much mind to that.
“Is there something you need?”
Show time. What words was he going to use again? He planned this out, didn’t he? What was his guideline? What was it, what was it, what was it…OH. Right! Nightmare. It was just a nightmare. And anything he may’ve said after that was just post-nightmare jibber-jabber, nothing more, nothing less.
Okay. He has the words now.
Annnnd, action!
“Oh, I just wanted to apologize for last night. That was probably, really, um, uncomfortable for you. And I—I just wanted you to know that anything I may have said after the fact was just post-nightmare jibber-jabber and that it…didn’t…mean…”
He looks up at The Spine.
Why is he smiling?
That wasn’t supposed to be funny?
“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t mean to…um…smile like that while you were apologizing. It’s just that…well, you don’t really hear a lot of people saying ‘jibber-jabber’ these days and it was an appreciated throw back!” He gives him an awkward smile, followed by an equally as awkward thumbs up.
Oh no. This is getting into really, really awkward territory.
“But, for the record,” he drops his hand and his shoulders follow suit as his eyebrows tilt upwards. “You don’t need to apologize for anything that happened last night. You had a nightmare and…whatever it was about, it was bad enough for you to wake up screaming…”
He winces, and looks to the side, fidgeting with the cap a bit faster.
“…And to also ramble on about death and well, dying, after the fact, and—”
“That didn’t mean anything!”
The Spine’s face drops and he stares at him.
That probably came off a bit harsh, didn’t it? He was too quick, too sharp, maybe, with his delivery.
No matter, though. Time for damage control.
“I mean…anything I said after the fact was only because I was disturbed by my dream. It didn’t mean anything…and it most definitely didn’t allude to anything that may or may not have happened in my past. It was simply just…post nightmare ramblings! Everyone does that, right? I mean, who hasn’t been there! You know what I’m sayin’?” He jabs at the air with his elbow, grinning. That oughta do it, right?
“Uh. Right. Yeah. Um…What?”
Apparently, his lines didn’t quite hit like they were supposed to.
He darts his eyes to the side, then back at The Spine.
“What?”
“Well, I had more or less assumed as much…but…”
But?
“Since you felt the need to explicitly bring up how your ramblings ‘definitely didn’t allude to anything that may’ve happened in your past’…uh…I don’t mean to assume anything but, should I be concerned for you?”
Slowly, his eyes start to widen. Oh no. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. That wasn’t supposed to happen!
“I mean, that kind of sounds like a cry for help? And now I’m a bit inclined to believe that at the very least, your ramblings hint towards something regarding your past that may either have haunted you or had deeply hurt you in some way and—”
End this. END THIS. FIX IT, FIX IT, FIX IT, FIX IT.
“NO! No, no, no, no, no, no! I’m fine! Absolutely fine! I just wanted to clarify that just in case it wasn’t already obvious…which it already was, but I just wanted to make sure you knew anyway, but I just worded it really poorly, I’m sorry,” he throws his free hand up like he was caught red handed. If he digs himself even deeper than he already has, though, he might as well be.
“Are you…sure?”
Damn it. He really worried him, didn’t he? He manages to do this every time. No matter how hard he tries to avoid it, somehow, he always worries someone. And then he feels bad about worrying them and it’s an awful, painful cycle of guilt and hurt all round. He should, at least, try to put this Spine somewhat at ease before he hightails out of here and out of the horrible conversation that he ruined, though.
“Yes! Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure. Sorry.”
“Alright. But if you need someone to talk to…I’m here,” Spine says, evidently not fully convinced.
Spine not being fully convinced he’s perfectly “hunky-dory” aside, he should probably leave before he makes things worse, somehow.
“Um. Well, I guess I said what I wanted to say…uh. I’m gonna head back upstairs now, okay?”
“Yeah, sounds good. Goodbye…um.”
Um? Oh god please don’t let this conversation continue.
“Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask…since you’ve showed up, we’ve kind of just been calling you by ‘nicknames’ because we never knew your actual name, and even though you don’t seem to mind being called ‘Lil’ Guy’ or even ‘Lil’ Spine,’” he makes a face at that last one. Apparently, The Spine doesn’t seem to like him being referred to as “Lil’ Spine” either…albeit for entirely different reasons. “Is there something you’d prefer to be called? I know you probably don’t remember your original name, but…I just wanted to know.”
Should he? After all, he does remember his name now. But since he’s already got The Spine questioning whether or not his ramblings meant anything larger about his “unknown past,” if he says he remembers his name, will that just prove the actual validity of his assumption? No. You know what? No. He can spin this. He can make it work.
“Yes,” he decides with certainty. “Um. I do have a name I’d prefer to be called by.”
Spine nods, giving him the floor.
“Boodle. My name is Boodle.”
“Oh. Did you choose that name? Or did you…?”
It’s okay. It’ll be okay. He can spin this, remember? He can make it work.
“I remembered it…but just that and nothing else. I think I might be starting to remember bits and pieces of my past.”
“That’s good!”
Well, at least he seems to be taking that well.
“Thank you for letting me know…Um. Goodbye, Boodle.”
“Yeah. Uh. Goodbye, The Spine,” he says, turning around and starting his way back to the stairs.
It feels like he’s just given his name to the fae. Should he have told him? A part of him still thinks that that was an awful idea and that something really bad could come of that, somehow. But, as his mind begins to flood with doubt, he swats it away internally. It’ll be fine. What’s the worst that can happen? As far as he can tell, The Spine doesn’t seem to take him “starting to remember his past” as a bad thing…or seem to be relating him remembering his name to his dream at all…so…it’s probably fine? He’ll probably let the others know, which is fine. So long as it’s only his name that he tells them. In fact, that’s a good thing. At least they won’t call him by “Lil’ Spine” anymore. That is just…so many layers of bad.
Eventually, he makes his way back to the stairs, then back up the stairs, and then back to the room he was offered.
Inside, he looks to where the bed is. On either side of it, there are two night stands. On the one on the left, there’s a lamp. On the one on the right, there sits his fedora…which he…didn’t actually put on this morning.
Maybe he was too preoccupied with needing to apologize to The Spine to remember to put it on. Or, maybe, he just didn’t want to. Either way…he finds himself…not wanting to look at it right now.
Sighing, he walks over to the nightstand on the right of the bed and picks up the hat with his free hand, placing the water bottle down in its place. Holding it in his hand, he kneels down and pushes it under the bed. That will have to do for now.
Standing back up, he decides to sit on the bed…and then sitting on the bed turns into laying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
All of this has been so, so, so, so, so, so incredibly weird. Everything is different. In a way, it reminds him about the universe he was in two loops before this, minus the unexplained, temporary amnesia part. Which, by the way, what was that all about? It doesn’t make any sense. Make him forget just to make him suddenly remember in one horrible, drawn out nightmare? What was even the point? To torment him? Most Likely. But still…these changes. The big ones, the small ones, even the ones that to most people would just be miniscule at best…they happened.
At first, the loops had been consistent. Scriptable. They were the same exact events happening time and time again. Until, for no apparent reason in particular, they started changing. The dynamics between other Spine’s started changing. Parts of the narrative he had grown so accustomed to had started changing. He started changing. And all of it was just so unsettling. The last three loops, however, were by far the most different. More different than anything he’d ever been through.
Yet…even though it seemed that there was no explicit reason as to why these changes occurred…there had to be, right?
There had to be a reason for it all, regardless of the Powers That Be’s role in the matter.
Maybe there was a pattern to it?
A pattern that all the loops follow…that he just never considered before.
Huh.
Maybe, he could take this universe as an opportunity. An opportunity to figure it all out.
And when he does figure out what the pattern is, maybe it’ll put him more at ease. If he knew what the pattern was, surely he could then pin-point the exact moment he or his surroundings would change or when he would be inserted into a sort of curve ball universe like this. That would certainly make looping just a bit less stressful for him. For once, he’d actually feel prepared. Maybe, it would even reduce his fear of losing his mind and snapping because of how many times he’s looped and how many times he’s died over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over again.
Yeah. Yeah!
That was a good course of action. And productive, too!
He could…do that.
He could work it all out and figure out the pattern in the looping to make the whole process easier on him!
Satisfied with his new objective, he smiles. Proudly…confidently.
He’ll start this project tomorrow.
…
He’s going to have a tomorrow.