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You think there might be something wrong with you. Something undeniable, unsurmountable.
You used to be able to hide it, with a familytale, advice, guidance, under the cover of a thousand stars. Laughing because they love you, your family surrounding you. Bonnie’s snot on your cloak, Isabeau’s presence at your side, Mirabelle’s smile imprinted on the back of your eyelids, Odile’s hand in your hair.
They loved you, and they didn’t notice all the damage that was scalded into your very being.
And then you ruined everything.
You refused to try one more time, to do what Loop suggested you do. Talk to your family, right? Let them know about the loops so they can attempt to help you, and you. . .
All but spit in their face.
Instead, when you hit rock bottom, you went to your family and tore them apart.
Awful, terrible person that you were.
You hurt them. You yelled at them, dredged up all the awful things about them that weren’t actually that bad in the end. It was just them being people, having flaws because who was really perfect?
But you just had to make them feel bad about it all anyway.
You watched the light die from their eyes, and, what?
It made you feel good?
You felt powerful, you felt disgusting?
Yeah, you didn’t need to make them hate you to do that. You could have made them love you instead, and could’ve gotten high off that.
But no. You just had to make them upset! You had to ruin it!
And the worst part? The absolute worst part?
It was what they remembered. They remembered you and all your terrible words. They remembered your venom, remembered your hatred.
And yet they’re sitting beside you like you never said anything, and does it make you a horrible person to want them to yell at least a little bit?
If they’re not mad at you, that means they don’t really care about taking care of themselves, because the healthy decision would be to cut ties with you. Now that they know that you’ll rot them, that you’re cruel and manipulative, they should be taking care of their own needs.
You’re not really part of their group, their family.
They have to take care of you.
You’re. . . a threat, after all. If you attempt to end the world again, what’s supposed to happen? They have to stop you. They have to be close enough to make it fast, so the world’s not really in danger.
Besides, if all you do is loop in time, how will they ever make it to you within the set time before everything loops again? Better safe than sorry, because they can’t risk you screwing up.
Yet, they somehow seem to still like you?
Mirabelle sits so close your shoulders touch, and Isabeau keeps his arm halfway around you. Bonnie hugs you often, and Odile runs her fingers over your hair when she walks past. They. . . spend time with you. Beyond obligation.
You kind of hate it, because you know you don’t deserve it.
It comes to a head one night when you’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, and you feel Isabeau curl around you. His grip is tight, his breathing even.
You wonder if this is his solution to you stealing the blankets. You don’t even mean to, you just wake up to either him tugging them back or to find him sleeping in the early morning, half out in the open, sleeping in the frigid air.
. . . It’s effective, if only because it makes you no longer want to lay here.
You manage to disengage yourself from him. Not because you want to leave, but because you have to. You can’t keep making them feel trapped with you.
You’re lucky the inn gave you a room with a pull-out couch.
Three rooms. Mirabelle and Bonnie in one – you bet Bonnie claimed the pull-out couch, because it’s something new and interesting and what kid doesn’t want to try it out? – Odile in another, and you and Isabeau in the last one.
You know pull-out couches are actually uncomfortable, so you didn’t let Isabeau take it, and Isabeau knows the same and didn’t want you to take it because you’re in constant ‘chronic pain’ or whatever, but–
But being comfortable or not doesn’t actually matter that much, does it? It’s not like it’ll go away just because you have a good mattress underneath you. So it’s fine.
You pull your cloak off of the ground, where you shucked it off earlier, and pull it on over your head. It’s nice and comfortable. Of course it is.
It was crafted for you by someone who loved you, when you were a child and thus too young to actually start manipulating people. Back when the love was real, and not put upon.
Back when hurtful things you said were just mistakes.
You fold out the couch, and it releases a horrible squeak as you do, the metal bars scraping against each other. Bristling, you look up towards the bed you share with Isabeau. He shuffles a little, and then lays still.
Thank the stars.
You cross back over to the bed, just to grab your pillow and claim it for yourself again, and then pull the blankets firmly over Isabeau just to make sure that he’s comfortable. He deserves to be. You want him to be happy.
You turn back to the couch, but don’t get more than a step before you feel something warm snap out, fingers curling around your wrist. Your breathing catches, and you look back at Isabeau.
. . . He’s awake, then.
“Hi, Isa.” You whisper at them, watching him blink heavily with the lingering effects of sleep. “Go back to sleep.”
“Wh’r ‘ou goin’?” He mutters furiously at you.
Your heart unspools with warmth. You can’t believe you were ever cruel to him. Well, no, that’s a lie. You can believe it, because you’re an awful, horrible person. “Bathroom.” You lie.
Isabeau squints at you in the dark, getting his free hand underneath him and pushing himself clumsily up. You’re anchored to him, unable to move away.
“Sif,” Isabeau says tiredly, “‘m not st’pid, evn th’s l’te.”
You wish he was. You really, really wish he was. You drop your pillow, as if that’ll hide it from his view. Of course, his gaze follows it down.
He frowns, and then sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “Y’ve got a p’llow, and y’re wearing y’r cloak.” He points out, yawning hoarsely to the point that you can hear his jaw crack like a blow from a sadness knocking him out– “So, you’re. . . leaving?”
“No, I’m not–” you dip your head. “I’m not leaving.”
“You’re moving to the pull-out couch, though.” Isabeau says. When you blink, surprised, he points to where it’s very clearly visibly unfolded. You curl into yourself, defeated. “. . . yeah. I guess so.”
“Why?”
“I kept stealing your blankets.” You admit, cringing into yourself. “And my cloak keeps me plenty warm, so this way you have your space–”
“Sif. I don’t care about any of that stuff. The pull out– we agreed it’s too uncomfortable. So we weren’t going to use it!”
“Bonnie can sleep on it fine.”
“Bonbon’s a kid. If they decide they don’t like it, they can climb in with Mira.” Isabeau says seriously. He’s looking at you. It makes you uncomfortable with how pressing his gaze is. “But you wouldn’t take it back. I know you wouldn’t. Come back to bed? Please?”
“You do care about the blankets, though,” you argue bitterly. “You’ve told me it annoys you– so just. Let me do this. Let me sleep somewhere mildly uncomfortable so you can be happy, and–!”
“Is this a loop thing?” Isabeau presses.
You flinch without meaning to.
Isabeau’s gaze softens. “Sif, you don’t. . . You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You don’t have to try to– make us happy!”
You did. In the loops you did, you needed to. To keep everyone upbeat. The more calm and positive they were before going into the House, the more powerful they were, the more they wanted to spend time with you!
“Sif. You don’t have to try so hard anymore.” Isabeau said worriedly, biting the inside of his lip. He squeezes your hand. “Come on, what’s. . . What’s bothering you so much? Come on, You gotta talk to us.”
“I need to make up for everything awful I did to you.” You mutter down at your intertwined fingers. “I need to be nice and good, so there’s a– a purpose, you know? So you have a reason to love me.”
“Sif. We don’t need extra reasons. Just you is enough.”
“No! That’s not fair, that’s not–” You force your voice to quiet. You can’t wake up any of the neighboring rooms. You can’t be awful about it, you can’t–
You shiver, and look down, defeated. There’s tears in your eyes.
Isabeau patiently waits.
“If the power of love beats it–” Your voice cracks right down the middle. “Why couldn’t it have been– because I was nice? Instead I– I was just mean, I was so mean–”
“Oh, Sif. . .” Isabeau reaches over, wraps his arms firmly around you, and pulls you right back against you. “Oh, bud, we aren’t mad at you. We don’t hate you because you were a little mean. Especially since you were going through such a tough time! There was a reason for it!”
“You’re mad– I didn’t talk to you!” You argue fiercely, wanting to push away from him, but your stupid body betrays you and you curl up tighter against him, feeling his arms encircle you and warm you up and–
“Not mad! Frustrated a bit, but!” Isabeau shook his head. “Not mad at all! It certainly was a situation you got yourself stuck in, you know? How can we be mad about that?”
“If I– if I had talked to you during the good loops, then– Then you wouldn’t have to be frustrated.”
“Yeah, there’s a lot of what-ifs, aren’t there?” Isabeau agrees. He dips his head until the crown of yours is nestled safely between his chin and his neck. “But none of that is what happened, is it? Yeah, you were a little mean, but you were in the loops too long! Yeah, you could’ve said something earlier, but you’re Sif! Talking is not your strong suit, and especially not talking about things!”
Too taciturn.
“It’s– it’s just the worst timing.” You mutter. “I could’ve held out for one more loop. Done all the good stuff and then talked to you all and completed it all, as soon as I learned it worked–!”
“You mean kill yourself, again. Just so you could get something a little nicer.” Isabeau sighs. “Look. A lot of stuff happened. Some bad stuff, but some good stuff, too. But I wouldn’t trade it just for a mildly happier ending, you know? I wouldn’t trade your life for anything.”
“Even beating the King?”
Isabeau was quiet for a long moment. And then he said “You’d be dead either way, Sif. That’s not a win. You already died more than you had to. I’d prefer no more times happened.”
You nodded listlessly against his chest.
He squeezed you.
“We love you.” Isabeau told you gently. “We love you so much. And we’re happy you’re alive. Okay? We’re really happy.”
“I love you too.” You murmur to him, hating that you folded so easily, hate that it just takes a little bit of affection for you to crumple.
But you can’t be mad at Isabeau laying you both down, forcing you to lie down while he pulls the blankets over you both.
. . . oh. That’s one way to stop you from stealing the covers. You wish you had thought about that yourself. But you never would’ve asked if you did, and he might not have gotten close enough to try if you hadn’t let him. You inhale sharply, pressing your forehead firmer to his neck.
Isabeau’s breath ruffled your hair. He holds you close, and you can practically feel his eyes close.
“Get some sleep, Sif.” Isabeau murmured. “Maybe it’s not the perfect ending, but it’s a pretty good one. And that’s good enough for me.”
You nod.
. . . it has to be good enough for you, too. Oh, well, it’s too late to change it now.
But they love you anyway, don’t they?
A perfect ending was never necessary. If only you had opened up.
Isabeau’s arms were so nice. You love him so much.
You. . .
Let yourself drift off again, saddled in comfort.