Work Text:
It was simple.
Yellow and Brown had known each other for years. They'd shared secrets, memories, and more than a few perfect moments. They knew each other better than anyone else ever could. Brown was fully aware of those facts.
The fact that closeness could come back to bite them had never crossed their mind.
Brown knew from the moment Yellow started dicing tomatoes that it wasn't right. The knife grip hadn't changed, but Yellow always wanted to roll and throw the dough. They would step aside if Brown asked, yes, but both of them knew that most times, Yellow handled the dough and Brown handled most of the toppings. Together, they'd make the sauce, and with it the pizza came together. So for Yellow to, without any prompting, immediately step into Brown's role as sous chef…
They knew it wasn't them.
They knew when Yellow didn't joke about adding flaky salt behind their back. They knew when Yellow casually spoke to Orange and Red as if they were friends. They knew when Yellow didn't pause to listen when Brown was struggling to put together a question.
They’d only left Yellow’s side for a second. A fraction of a moment in storage, and now, this person wasn’t Yellow. They were looking at a stranger.
Brown knew from the start. Every little tell, every tiny motion, every small thing that only they would notice…
No one else would see it. The rest of the crew was busy celebrating, and Brown just loitered by the freezer, wondering if they should go to bed or try to talk to someone else. If they spoke, could it be dangerous to Yellow? Or would it help them? They weren’t themself, but could Blue see that? Lime might get it, but they would skew towards the supernatural aspects, and Brown couldn’t help but doubt those theories would help now.
“Brown?” Yellow asked, placing a hand on the side of their face, and Brown longed to keep it there, to warm the cold skin against their own. “You okay? You’re giving me a look.”
“I…” They breathed, and they moved closer to Yellow. “...I need you to tell me that it’s okay.”
“Of course it is. No one’s dead, and we’re still here.” Yellow’s voice was soft, and Brown closed their visor. “It’s all fine.”
The rest of the crew was slowly filtering out, off to do tasks or clean up the mess in storage. They could hear the footsteps, the fading voices, the stillness. There were almost certainly plates left over-- rarely leftovers, usually just crusts. It was so normal. So standard.
And yet Yellow spoke so soft, acting soothing and lovely when they were the one to argue with anyone who hurt either of them. Yellow was the talker, the fighter, the one people noticed. Brown only heard Yellow “soft” when they were both scared, trying to calm both of them at once, and that was only for a moment before they’d inevitably cry out or laugh.
Yet Brown only played into it. They slightly opened their visor again, trying to keep the fact they were looking a secret. It worked, yes, but at a cost.
They could see the thing behind Yellow.
…Inside Yellow, too.
It noticed when Brown stepped back against the pizza oven. It saw when they looked back in horror, unable to find the words to say.
Yet somehow, when Brown threw the nearest object, a still-cooking pizza made just for two of them, that thing still looked surprised.
Blue wrapped a bandage loosely around Brown's hand, taking care to not press too hard on the burns. Brown didn't look them in the visor, keeping their gaze trained on the hands around their own.
“What happened wasn't your fault,” Blue said, gentle but firm. “I want to make sure you know that.”
Brown didn't answer. Not even when Blue started to apply burn cream to their other hand.
“I might not be aware of the circumstances that caused this, but… I trust that you have your reasons, Brown.”
“It wasn't Yellow,” they muttered, still looking down.
“No. No, it… I don't believe it was.” Blue shook their head. “If I had answers for you, I would offer them, but as it is, you likely did the best you could.”
Brown waited for Blue to finish wrapping their second hand, then stood.
“If you need to hold anything, please, ask someone for help,” Blue implored. “Even if you won't rest here.”
“I'm going to Storage. I want to see if they found the real Yellow.”
And, despite the knowledge they wouldn't find anything, Brown exited Medbay, off to wait for a return that would never happen.