Chapter Text
The silence in the elevator is telling.
It's not overbearingly muted, not the kind that signals major loss or ruin, but it's, well, quiet.
Everyone's energy has fizzled out since the start of the run, and what is left is tiredness. A long run will do that. There is no foot tapping, no familiar tunes hummed, and, less so, no sociable laughter.
There's conversation, but it's limited, nothing that requires enthusiasm.
Little to no reaction happens when Sprout's heavy sigh falls into the atmosphere.
“I’m at seventy-five,” he says to no one in particular, flipping through his bag like the tape count will somehow change after his third search. It's a nice effort, but fruitless. His count rarely changes.
The look that falls on Astro should be telling of what is to come.
“Stay alert, will you?" Sprout voices. "I’ll heal you as soon as I can.”
His tone is sharp, like it always is with Astro nowadays. He almost sounds worried.
Astro doesn't let it affect him. His mind goes to Sprout's yawn. After more than forty floors, it's expected that he would be tired.
Truthfully, he's looked tired since floor thirteen, when the first heal occurred. Astro wants to say he understands. If there's someone who knows the first thing about being tired, it's him, him who dozes off on his feet and has his head in the clouds even in the face of danger. Astro wants to stand beside Sprout and relay his similar feelings, but he doesn't want to pretend he knows anything about Sprout's struggles.
He doesn't remember why, but he knows that would only drive them apart further. The memory behind this is distant, just like the stars in the night sky that don't belong to him, and that he misses all the same.
Astro looks to their distractor.
Goob, who is also one heart, and whose role earns him the heal a dozen times over.
Is Sprout really that tired?
“Aren’t you going to heal…”
“Cosmo’s got Goob,” Sprout interjects.
Astro pauses.
He looks again, and sure enough, Cosmo is there with Goob, giving the other a good look over. The rollcake notices and sends a polite wave. Astro waves back.
The pleasantry is not enough to remove the obviously ticked-off look from Sprout's face.
Still, he keeps talking. “I’ve got you.” Sprout's eyes pin him down. "So don't go slacking on me, understand? It won't be too long."
With a dragging clank, the elevator doors open before them. Back on two hearts, Goob’s the first to go, and after, the others follow in their own directions before eerily stopping in their tracks.
A deep growl echoes throughout the floor.
The thing behind the growl has not yet taken notice of them, but it will, it always does.
They wait in silence. One second passes. Then two. Then three. Then a tell-tale bark alerts the rest of the team that it’s safe, or as safe as it gets, to go forward.
Astro looks down at his items. A two-liter. A box of chocolates. And a jaw breaker. None particularly helpful extraction items.
He looks around at how many machines need booting up: twenty. Not a relieving amount, but also not the worst they have dealt with. They are halfway to being halfway done when a crunch and a yelp make everyone’s back straighten.
Astro's stars pause their movement.
He looks in the distance, where he knows the distractors favor jungle kiting. There's no flashing light, no sign that Goob's stamina has been drained. He moves closer as a precaution.
He stays close and extracts, keeping a watchful eye. That's as much as he can do, considering his role.
“Stay! Really, I've got it!” Cosmo’s voice gets closer.
Passing Astro, he smiles and uses the same barrier to block his body from sight.
A flowery jingle rings as the healer throws a cookie right at Goob’s passing form.
It hits home on his back, and Cosmo’s health diminishes to one.
Usually, people wouldn’t appreciate being pelted, even if it was with sugary frosted sweets. But as a scientist, Delilah performed her job spectacularly well and made it so their logic was just as spectacularly warped.
Before their eyes, the fresh injury on Goob’s arm heals.
Goob throws it in the air with a wave. “Thanks!”
Nine machines done. Not bad.
Well, not that bad, considering Vee or Squirm hadn’t come along. They would probably be done sooner if they had.
Instead, Scraps, Brusha, Blot, Cosmo, and he work as best they can. Seeing as the items have been wiped clean off the floor, Sprout and Bassie should have hopped on their own machines, too.
Cautiously, Astro looks around him.
There’s a machine a breath away from where Goob is. He could wait until the rest of the machines are done, but that would take a while… They are all the way across the map, too… Even if they left it for last, who would complete it fast enough to get into the elevator in time while not getting spotted?
He thinks the idea over with reason.
The machine is at a point where the twisteds could potentially spot him. But when has that mattered? At the angle it’s at, Goob would keep all their attention. His strides are wide, and even Pebble’s attention would be hard to catch like that. They’ve done it before. He knows that Goob knows not to worry about him getting seen.
It’s a no-brainer from there.
From behind a shelf’s cover, Astro prepares to step out – and like dominoes falling, one by one, chaos hits.
A yell surprises everyone. It doesn’t come from where one would assume.
Goob, who is fine and still on two hearts, turns his head in the direction of it. That scream, he knows it.
“Scraps?” He mouths, head turning. When he looks towards Astro in question, he has no answer for him.
There’s no way there’s a twisted still out there, right?
They had all heard Goob use an airhorn.
Goob looks anxious. Astro can tell he’s thinking about what, or who, could have potentially caused that strong a reaction.
His big sister's not weak-hearted. It couldn't have been nothing.
Could it be Razzle and Dazzle? Not likely the case at hand, seeing as everyone knows not to run inside their domain by now. Maybe Rodger? He’s relatively harmless if no one picks him up, and they know not to, but it could be that the fatigue is catching up to everyone. That’s how runs tend to end.
Astro steps out to gain closeness.
Goob’s stamina is depleting. He’s not in his right mind anymore.
“KREHHHHHH!”
That’s probably the reason he doesn’t notice the arms approaching before it’s too late.
From the ceiling, a twisted captures him in place.
Goob struggles. His arms try and fail for a moment to untangle themselves from Twisted Squirm’s grasp. In the end, what it ends up taking for him to let go is for Goob to make his claws of use.
With a shriek as loud as the first, the twisted lets go and retracts to the ceiling.
Again, Astro fears it’s too late.
Goob’s back on one. And Twisted Pebble is not so forgiving. Neither are the rest of the twisteds behind him.
Astro feels his heart almost stop as he instinctively reaches out to his teammate.
A gasp is torn out of him as he sees Twisted Pebble close in on Goob. He stares with wide eyes. Goob’s right in front of him, and he’s about to –
“Catch!” Sprout’s yell is relief. In a split second, Goob is back on two.
However, Astro’s heart doesn’t yet settle.
Goob… is slowing down.
Twisted Pebble is right behind him, and he’s stopped running. Instead, he’s ducking…?
Over his head, Twisted Pebble jumps, ignoring him completely.
A foreboding feeling that Astro doesn’t like at all arises.
Surely not. It’s stupid even to entertain the idea.
If he turns around, there will be someone there. Someone with a stealth that doesn’t rival that of an actual ghost.
It’s the only way this would make sense, except maybe all of this being an obscure dream in the first place. (That isn’t all that realistic either. Astro observes dreams. He does not partake in them. He doesn’t imagine a particular reason why that would change now.)
And so, on unsteady, embarrassingly shaky feet, Astro turns and meets a realization colder than the floor they are stuck on.
There is nobody behind him.
“Hah,” he laughs silently.
“Haha…” He laughs pathetically, feet already having started running.
Twisted Pebble’s bark is straight in his ears.
Astro’s not scared of dogs. Not by a long shot. He trembles at the sound nonetheless.
“Turn a corner,” Astro hears Goob call out to him.
He does. Either Goob hadn't been close enough, or something is really wrong.
He turns the corner around the same row of shelves. Nothing. They try again. Nada.
“Try these!” Bassie hurries to Goob.
The next moment, Astro hears two airhorns go off.
That causes a change. The handful of common twisteds behind him trail off in the direction of Goob, where the distractor hesitates, not knowing what to do with Twisted Pebble still being hot on Astro’s tail.
“Go!” Sprout steps in. He waves Goob off to distract those few elsewhere. And when that is dealt with, he looks to Bassie. “Any more airhorns?”
She shakes her head, flowers nearly toppling out of her basket. “No, those were the only ones on the floor.”
Anddd of course they were.
Sprout nods and takes a deep breath. Before long, he’s joining Astro on the run.
“What’s your stam at?” He gets straight to the point, trying and failing not to look back at the twisted chase.
Astro nearly screams. “Why is he on me?!” Sprout is quite literally right there – ! And Twisted Pebble isn’t paying him any attention!
Infuriatingly, Sprout says nothing.
Astro wants to shriek. His legs are on fire, and it's been a few seconds since the chase began. He’s trying to remember everything he’s seen distractors do before. He circles the island of shelves like his life depends on it, and knows well it does. The turns he takes are tight, and between them, he switches between running and a light jog. His stamina suffers, but not as much as it would if he just tried running.
The ping of a completed machine rings in the back of his mind.
That makes fifteen machines done in total. A fact that would be relieving if he weren’t aware of how much faster the twisteds become in panic time.
Astro is halfway spiraling when Sprout’s voice brings him back.
“Don’t doze off!”
Astro’s eyes fly to Sprout. He’s still running with him.
“You can’t get distracted.” Sprout’s tone is firm. It betrays none of the worry he's internalizing.
“I’m not. I’m really not!”
Twisted Pebble’s growl is way too loud to even think of dozing off.
“How’s your stam? Where’s it at?”
Astro glances down as quickly as he can. “Forty-three.”
Sprout curses inwardly.
“Well… at least it’s not zero...”
“Sprout!”
Sprout yelps. “I know, I know!”
Still running, Astro pops a chocolate, then another in his mouth. He speeds up just enough to keep a fair distance between himself and the twisted behind him.
Sprout’s eyes zero in on the chocolates.
“How many more of those do you have?”
“Three, I think?”
“Anything else? Eject button? Bottle of pop?”
“One bottle of pop, and a –” His eye squeezes shut when he hears another machine finish. “- jawbreaker.”
That would probably be enough for any other toon. But he’s not any other toon.
He pops another chocolate when his stamina goes down a notch.
“Don’t waste them!” Sprout admonishes, actually stopping in place. (He panics mid-stop and wearily looks at Twisted Pebble to see if he'll finally notice he's there. Fortunately, and unfortunately, he does not.)
“I’m not!” As much as he wants to turn back for a quick peek, Astro keeps his pace. This is really all too much. If he lives through this, he’s sure as hell not joining another run for a year!
“You will live,” Sprout shouts from where he is. He doesn’t try to keep running. He knows it won’t make a difference. “Don’t jinx yourself and say you won’t!”
“I wasn’t trying to!” He was thinking about it, though.
Sprout pays his words no mind, like he does half the time anyway. “Well, you were! Listen, the machines will be done soon. You’re going to need to save some chocolate to outrun Pebble during panic mode.”
Astro gasps. More so, because he’s tired and needs a break. He'd already panicked - ha! - about panic mode.
Really, how does Pebble do this every run? How does Looey?
“Isn’t there another way?” Astro looks at this stamina bar. His stamina isn’t regenerating fast enough. If he doesn’t pop another chocolate, he’s done for right now. “I’m losing stam!”
Eighteen machines done.
Sprout curses. “Okay, okay! Eat, eat!” The strawberry tries another futile attempt at getting Twisted Pebble’s attention. “C’mere, boy!” Above his head, his hands clap, loud and clear. “Look at me, don’t I look tasty? C’mon, pssttt psttt!”
“Sprouuutttt!!!!”
Astro’s panicking. And slowly, Sprout is joining him in the crazed desperation.
Twisted Pebble is not letting go. Not for Bassie, not for him, and not even for Goob. The chance he’d let go of him for any other toon is small. All of their stealths vary, and with Astro’s being the highest, it doesn’t make sense that he’d want him out of any of them.
Is it an emotional attachment?
Out of them all, Astro is the one who interacts the most with normal Pebble. Has that transferred over to the twisted version of the pup? It’s never happened with any other twisted, but twisteds are strange creatures, and he doesn’t imagine they’ll stop surprising them any time soon. Still, whether that's the motive or not, he's got to think of what to do before something worse happens.
His eyes scan the sight before him crazily for any signs.
Astro doesn’t look out of the average, nor does Twisted Pebble. No new effects, passive or active. It’s almost like instead of Astro, he’s just chasing any other distractor. Usually, Sprout's own stealth would’ve sufficed…
As the nineteenth machine finishes, Astro pops his bottle of pop, opting to save his last chocolate. His stamina bar goes back to being full. That is still not enough.
Sprout is almost tempted to try to wrestle Twisted Pebble to the ground. Astro’s handling this as best he can, but it’s clear to anyone that this is not what he was made for.
Delilah, help them all.
Just as Astro’s hand thrusts back into his blanket for the jawbreaker he’d saved aside, Sprout catches something. A glimpse of pink catches his attention. Whatever it is, it is not a part of Astro’s usual getup.
“Astro! Inside your blanket, what is in there!”
A frustrated look falls over Astro’s face. His eyebrows twitch with faint irritation. “Chocolate?! That’s it, that’s really it!”
“No, no, it has to be something else. I saw it, something pink! Take it out! Try to!”
Astro hesitates. He’s not the best at multitasking, and using his hands could slow him down, even if just a bit…
Sprout means well. He knows that.
There’s an undeniable distance between them—a rift caused by secrets and distrust. Deep in his heart, he knows the other is valid in his worries. If it were someone else keeping secrets, especially secrets as important as his, he’d be distrustful too.
Sprout has every right to ignore him fully. And yet, he doesn’t. He maintains a cordial distance, but he’s never intentionally done wrong by him.
Sprout can be blunt, standoffish, and occasionally rude. He can be a huge pain in the ass that Astro can’t ignore because, even as Sprout holds distance, he can’t help but butt into Astro’s space and demand prudence. There’s no end to the frustration the other causes. It’s all-consuming.
“Astro, take it out!”
However! However, above anything, Sprout is kind.
That’s why he’s so infuriating. Sprout’s kindness guides him into habits that not all of them can handle easily. He appears in the blink of an eye and doesn’t leave until he’s found a way to help. Stubborn, pesky, and way too warmhearted.
“Okay!” Astro's hand dives into his blanket. “Okay, yeah!”
He trusts Sprout. Wholeheartedly.
Four hands searching inside his blanket, Astro touches something his mind had written off since he found it near the beginning of the run.
A blue hue spreads like wildfire over his face.
“Astro?! Astro, what is it!” Sprout shouts, worriedly.
His teammate’s face is lapiz blue. Embarrassment leaks from his lips. “D-Dog treats.”
“Are you kidding me?! Why would you – Ugh, never mind, just throw them over, will you? I’ll handle him."
Astro pulls on the small pink bag tied to the inside of his blanket. His fingers grasp its strings to untie it. No luck.
“Astro!”
“I…” Astro blanks. “It’s stuck. The bag, it’s - it’s stuck.”
Sprout frowns. “Try yanking. Or shaking!”
“The strings are tangled. I can’t get them untied.” Astro’s voice is worryingly loud. He’s talked more on this single floor than Sprout remembers him talking this whole month. It’s infectious. Sprout finds he doesn’t like the look of terror on the moon’s face. It’s unfitting of him. “Sprout! Sprout, I can’t! I can’t, Sprout!
Twisted Pebble's jaw closes in an attempt to bite. Sprout's heart spikes. He thinks quickly. "Leave it!" He says, "Just let go, and he'll probably stop chasing!"
He looks behind Astro and expects Twisted Pebble to stop any second. He doesn't. He continues to chase, almost invigorated.
Astro hadn't dropped the blanket.
"..." In a daze, Sprout feels himself move, run, and try to take matters into his own hands.
He can't recall the last time he'd seen his fellow main without his blanket. When they were young, he had asked once why the other chose to stick with the same blanket. Was it sentimental? Or was it a costume, like Sprout's scarf was?
Remembering that in itself makes him cringe. Back then, he had been so obsessed with his friends. It was instinct built into him. Getting to know them. Helping them when he could. Making memories among all five of them, six, including the resident pet. He'd pestered Astro often, and in return? The moon had confided in him something personal and special, a thing only told to close friends.
So, he does understand; he reasons in his head, tugging on the blanket wrapped tightly around Astro. He understands just how important this is to Astro. But for the life of him, he doesn't get why he would let that get in the way right now.
“Leave it.” Sprout bites out.
“I–”
Worry makes no room for pleasantries. “You’re going to die if you keep it on! Leave it!”
Astro hesitates.
His hands grab on tighter to the material. Even the sweat dripping from his forehead and arms wouldn't be enough to pry the blanket away at this moment.
His arms. His chest. His scars would be on display.
The would-be fact is discomforting. Alienating, even.
No one outside the mains knows someone like him exists.
He’s not supposed to exist. He’s a mistake. An unforeseen setback. An abnormality.
Delilah had managed to save his body. She’d altered what needed fixing – his eye, his face, his vocal cords, his chest – and left the rest as collateral. What Astro is is a bunch of mixed and matched parts glued together in hopes of appearing somewhat appealing to the public eye.
Even then, he’s really not… He’s tall, but lanky. His hands look strong, but his skin is soft and delicate. For a long time, he hadn’t been able to show off most of his body without attracting uncomfortable questions.
Austin had managed to spew off things to satisfy everyone’s probing curiosity, things about the lighting being off and Astro not yet developing fully, but Austin is gone, and there is no one to help shield him now. Dandy’s not in the right headspace. Vee’s not one for sentimental talk. Shelly has her own issues. Bassie and Bobbette weren’t created early enough to know about this side of him, and bitterly, he doesn’t want more people to know. Pebble’s a rock. And Sprout…
“–sten to m–”
Sprout is Sprout. He’s kind. But it’s been some time since Astro stopped being a problem of his. Their friendship has all but evaporated. Sprout is kind, but he’s not one to cross his own boundaries. And being Astro’s friend is a boundary he had decidedly put up.
“–snap out of it and listen –!”
Astro’s got to leave the blanket if he wants to live. He knows this. On one heart and with the bag knotted as it is, there’s no other choice.
And still, his body refuses to act.
His mind is working faster than his feet are running.
Would it really be that bad?
Isn't it like going to sleep?
Wouldn’t he be dying the same way he lived?
It’s a coward’s way out, and Astro would be stupid not to see it.
Having said that, he’s inclined to take that path. He’s scared. Terrified. Of being seen authentically and cast away, even so.
Living that way would be a true nightmare then.
Ding!
The last machine goes off. Somewhere to the side, a string of apologies is heard. An accident, probably.
It doesn’t matter. Twisted Pebble is gaining on Astro.
“ASTRO!”
Astro looks up.
Is this it? The moment his life flashes right before death?
Sprout's the only thing he sees. Beautiful. Angry. Scared. Tormented. Sad.
His face is pinched. Astro’s ability to make sense of anything is gone, but he thinks he’s yelling his name. Astro. Please. Astro, drop the blanket. Please! Listen, just this once. I won't ask you for anything else again. Just drop the blanket, Astro! His eyes are desperate, like Astro’s already gone.
The timer is counting down, and Sprout is still there, by his side, running.
That’s who Sprout is.
Is this who Astro is?
Take my hand, Astro reads his lips, Drop the blanket and take my hand!
Astro’s body screams against the command. It fights against it, whispering don’t do it. Everyone will see. There’s no place for a toon like you.
That very well may be true. Astro's never not listened to the things his body tells him. He's lived years within the blanket for that very reason. He's a coward, a sad, hiding coward, who doesn't know how to fess up to the people he cares about.
But that doesn't matter.
Because if Sprout is reaching his hand, there is still a place somewhere in the world for a toon like him. There's a light at the end of this tunnel. It'll take a while to find, but it's there, waiting.
When they make it back into the elevator, Astro feels seen, more than he has since his arrival. His fellow toons fuss over him. Goob apologizes, and Cosmo offers his jacket. There's a grateful feeling all around that everyone made it back safe.
It's...okay. More than okay.
For the rest of the elevator ride, Sprout and Astro let themselves believe that they made the right choices.