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Sprout wasn’t exactly sure how it worked, but he had a sort of sixth sense that let him know when someone nearby was hurt. It could have been his sense of smell, being able to detect the faintest scent of blood from a distance.
This was usually a good thing, because on runs he was able to figure out who needed his help the most. He was able to sense where they were as well, to a certain extent. The issue arose when he smelled blood outside of runs.
Once or twice he had managed to figure out that a toon had cracked under the pressure and began to hurt themselves to cope with the stress. One feeling ignored, the other fearing abandonment, but he only brought it up with either of them once and tried to be a good listener. After that, he tried to forget what he learned about either of them.
So it caught his attention one night at dinner when a metallic smell outweighed what was being served. He couldn’t tell who it was with so many toons in one area, so he didn’t bring it up. He really wanted to say something, though, because the smell was strong and whoever it was needed help soon.
He waited impatiently until the night when everyone was in their individual rooms before wandering into the hallway with a medkit in his hand. He walked past each door closely, trying to catch a whiff of something. He passed Vee, Astro, Dandy, and Shelly’s rooms, relieved that he couldn’t smell anything.
He made his way to the next floor, passing every door, still, nothing.
On the second to last floor, it was faint. He clung to the right side of the hallway. U-001. Faint. R-002. A little stronger, he had half a mind to think it was him again, but what he smelled earlier was not this weak. He walked around a stack of crates. R-004, R-005. No, it wouldn’t be them.
C-003. It burned in his nostril, and he was sure of it. But Shrimpo, of all toons? Had he hit his head too hard? He was awfully quiet at dinner, Sprout hoped he wasn’t concussed.
Faint banging and yelling noises could be heard from the other side of the door. He wondered how Goob slept with all that commotion on the other side of the wall his bed rested against.
Sprout contemplated whether he should knock or just barge in, or if him knocking would even be heard. He knocked once, but didn’t wait to be answered.
“GET OUT!” Shrimpo yelled. “YOU’RE UGLY!”
Sprout ignored his protests and closed the door behind him. “You’re hurt really bad.”
“Holy SHIT!” He feigned a shocked expression, looking at the oozing cuts and dark bruises that littered his body. “I had NO fucking idea. Get the fuck OUT!”
“I’m serious, these are going to get infected.” Sprout grabbed his arm, suppressing the nausea.
“Don’t touch me!” Shrimpo yanked his arm, but Sprout’s grip was stronger. “Why won’t you get out? Leave me ALONE!”
“Knock it off.” Sprout said. “You don’t need to be a brat, I’m trying to help.”
Shrimpo’s expression faltered for a split moment. “I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help, I’m better than anyone else.”
“You’re also more inured than anyone else. How did you even do this?”
“Obviously, I made a bomb and blew myself up. How the fuck do you think?” He yanked at his arm once more, but couldn’t get Sprout to let go. “Gee, Seedly, you’re the damn healer, shouldn’t you know a cut when you see one?”
“You’re really testing my nerves.” Sprout said. “If you don’t let me treat these wounds, you’re risking death. Is that what you want? To die?”
Shrimpo frowned. “Oh, fuck you. I hope I’m testing your nerves. I hope I’m pissing you off.”
“Yeah, you are. But I don’t care, because I’m a good friend,” He gritted through his teeth. “And I’m going to treat your wounds, then we’ll never talk about this again. So,” He asked again. “Can I try to help you?”
“I hate you.” He finally managed to slip his arm away.
“Jesus Christ,” Sprout muttered, pressing his temple. “I don’t even know how you aren’t passed out. There’s blood all over the floor and none of those wounds have clotted because you won’t stay still long enough. So I’m going to ask one last time.” He lifted the medkit into clearer view, shaking it a little in the same way he’d shake a treat for Pebble. “Can I try to help you?”
“UGGHHH.” Shrimpo groaned. “If you promise to get out and leave me alone after.”
“I don’t want to be in here any longer than you want me here.” Sprout assured him.
Shrimpo sat down on the bed as Sprout opened the medkit. He pulled out some hydrogen peroxide.
“This is going to sting really bad.” He said, pouring some onto a cotton pad. Shrimpo’s muscle twitched when he grabbed his arm. Sprout began to wipe at the wound gently, ignoring his hisses of protest. He wrapped the wound. One down, however many more to go.
He started on the next one. “Why is it so hard for you to accept help?”
“I don’t need it.”
“But you do.”
“I don’t want it.” He bit down on his hand.
“Stop that.” Sprout said. “We want to help you. You do realize that even if you don’t care about us, we care about you?”
“Nobody likes a bully.” He said dully. It was the most calm tone he had used all night.
‘You don’t have to be a bully, though.” Sprout wrapped another one. “You’re allowed to be nice, to make friendships with people. You don’t have to be this… this two-dimensional vessel of hatred.
“Nobody likes a bully.” He repeated. Sprout realized that he was quoting his introduction card. The phrase was plastered messily across all his walls, even covering some holes of that he had made.
“How about this. Is there any dessert you don’t hate?”
Shrimpo thought for a moment. “Cherry pie.”
Sprout hummed. He finished the last few wounds. There wasn’t much he could do about bruising at the moment. “Alright. That’s all.” He stood up and packed up the leftovers of the medkit to take with him. “You’ll need to change the bandages at some point. But be careful not to reopen the wound.”
“I know how to take care of myself.”
“Alright.” Sprout stood by the door for a moment, looking at the toon covered in bandages sitting one the bed with his arms crossed. “You really should be careful. You shouldn’t hurt yourself. If you need to talk to someone, there are plenty of people who care about you. I’m sure Finn would listen. Or Goob. Or Teagan.”
“I hate talking about my feelings,” He muttered.
“Most of us do.” Sprout said, finally leaving.
A sweet smell wafted through Gardenview. There was a new red stain on the kitchen counter from some spilled pie filling. Sprout pulled the hot pie out of the oven, preparing to guard it from his hungry friends to make sure the first slice got to the right person.
A small crowd gathered in the kitchen, but it dissipated shortly after learning that they couldn’t have any yet.
Shrimpo wandered into the kitchen, wearing his bandages with the same level of dignity as he would wearing a king’s robe. Many of his bruises had darkened, and he looked exhausted, but that did not diminish his pride.
“Hey Shrimpo, want a slice of pie?” Sprout asked. “It’s cherry.”
He huffed. “I hate when people make my favorite dessert.”
Sprout frowned, and Shrimpo looked at him for a second. It was hardly visible, but Sprout could see remorse.
“I… wouldn’t hate a slice of cherry pie.” Shrimpo corrected begrudgingly. “Thank you.”