AN: Inspired by the fridge horror of the Phineas and Ferb Effect from the episode of the same name, because I hate happiness.
Deep in his lair, below the Flynn-Fletcher house, Perry the Platypus stared at the locket collar he'd pulled from his neck. Or rather, through it, everything and nothing at the same time. His physical form may have been sitting there, but his mind was far away.
Phineas. Ferb. Perry. Three photos, set in their frames. They'd been so young.
The screen in front of him still displayed the results of his research. The Phineas and Ferb Effect. A universal law, apparently. One where, no matter what, everything would work out for the boys. Anything and everything that happened around them was the best of all possible options. That was what the data said.
Swallowing down a sob, he flexed his fingers. He'd sacrificed himself for them, sacrificed his self, let them forget so he could stay, all so they could continue to see only "their pet Perry, who doesn't do much".
They didn't want the rest of him. If they did, their Effect would have made it happen, would have freed him from these lies.
He'd ached at the rules keeping him here, chafed at them, wanting nothing more than to throw them aside to share his whole self with the people he loved most in this world. He'd believed, he'd hoped, they could accept that. Accept him. He'd thought the whole debacle with the Second Dimension was an outlier, the stress of everything making tempers rise, his boys' rejection of his self as a mere knee-jerk reaction, but.
His boys, his wonderful boys, really did prefer his cover identity.
With shaking fingers he clutched the locket close, curling fist and body around it like that could stop the deep shuddering breaths-maybe-sobs wracking his small form. He loved them, with all his heart, and it wasn't enough.
He couldn't keep living like this.
Lies, so many lies, stacking higher and higher until he feared he'd lose himself. He couldn't stand it. A growl escaped his throat, low and broken and hurting. There had to be a way out. Something he could do, somewhere he could go, some way to change things. Anything to not feel trapped.
It was nothing like Doctor D's traps. Those, at least, had weak points he could exploit, put in by the man himself.
When he was with Doctor D, at least, he felt wanted. For who he was. It was almost enough to push him into leaving. He'd found himself tempted sometimes, but he loved the boys so much and he'd hoped.
In vain.
He couldn't get the memory of Phineas's anger out of his mind. The way the boy's face had twisted, rage and fury and hard rejection. How he hadn't been able to breathe quite right for days afterwards.
Nothing had changed. He felt it in his chest, in his bones, in the tears prickling at his eyes, a certainty that his very self was not wanted here.
If he left, if he could bring himself to leave, he could take his life back. Stop running, stop hiding, stop lying. Live his truth, for the first time. If he left.
He scrubbed his tears away, looking around at the life he'd built. How could he leave, after everything they'd done for him? The times they'd shared. He still had a photo from the Second Dimension as his computer background. The wooden Perry the Inaction Figure they'd made sat on a shelf across the room, in pride of place, while beside it lay something they'd never had anything to do with at all.
A vase.
His breath caught in his throat. Doctor D had given him that vase, an odd gesture considering their nemesisship. But, he supposed it made sense in a way. Who else than a painfully lonely man would stop to notice another's loneliness?
And maybe, just maybe, that could be his way out.
Uncurling, he made himself cross the hollow space his lair had become, to stand in front of the vase. Behind him, the locket collar lay on the floor, abandoned. A symbol. Leaving behind this life for something new.
He took a deep breath to settle himself, then reached out, taking it. The weight was comfortable in his paws. Sturdy. Doctor D may not have found a gift he could actually use, but the quality of it was undeniable. And it had been nice to feel acknowledged.
Mind made up, he turned his back on everything else. All any of it would do is remind him of what he'd lost. What he never could have had.
So he left, head and tail held high. Tears welled in his eyes again, blurring his vision, and he blinked them back. Time enough for that later. For now, he put one foot in front of the other, climbing the stairs to freedom.
At last he reached the top, stepping into the warm afternoon sunlight. It felt so good on his fur after a day spent underground, cold metal floors and harsh artificial light, and he exhaled. This was it.
Pausing at the gate, he glanced back, for the last time.
The boys sat under the tree, as they always did, Phineas gesturing enthusiastically as he talked. Smiling. They both were. And, despite everything, he still loved them fiercely.
"Oh, there you are, Perry."
He chirred, wrapped in his "mindless pet" disguise. Exactly who they wanted him to be. Perry, family pet, platypus who doesn't do much.
Walking over to them, he let them scritch at his chin, run their fingers through his fur, tell him about their day, until his resolve crumbled.
At least he could be loved for this.
Not his whole self, but the next best thing. What other choice did he have? His superiors didn't care about his feelings, just his job performance. His nemesis, by definition, hated him.
Sparing no thought for his fedora, abandoned by the gate, or the broken vase beside it, he emptied his mind of everything but this life.
It hurt less that way.
AN: Title from Promises I Can't Keep by Mike Shinoda.