I was trying to make this sad. I don't think I did it very well. Let's see how this goes.
When Merida gets the call from Rapunzel, she thinks, at first, that Rapunzel wants to go out for dinner, or for a movie, or to complain about Flynn. She nearly doesn't pick up at first, but after her phone continues to ring insistently, she finally sighs and picks it up.
"Hello?" she says, tiredly, because she's exhausted and she's just cleaned up the house she and Bunny shares and she's really not in the mood to put up with Rapunzel's cheerfulness.
But Rapunzel's voice isn't optimistic, or happy, as it usually is.
"Merida," she says, and Merida snaps to attention then, because Rapunzel's voice is worried and trembling and she knows there's something wrong. Even then, she thinks it's something to do with Flynn, or something. Even then, she thinks it's something that's happened to Rapunzel. "Merida, you have to come over."
Her voice is still shaking, trembling.
"Rapunzel," Merida says, firmly. "What happened?"
She hears Rapunzel take a deep breath, hears her shaky voice on the line: "It's Bunny."
Merida's not really sure how she gets to the hospital without crashing into something. It's broad daylight, and the hospital is full of people who are either looking grim and worried or bright and happy and smiling, and she wants to snap at the latter group to shut the fuck up because she thinks her world might be falling into pieces around her.
She finally gets to the right ward, to the right room, where Rapunzel is waiting in her nurse's uniform, looking pale and scared and anxious.
"Where is he?" Merida demands, her voice unnaturally loud. "What's happened?"
"Car crash," Rapunzel says, and her voice is still trembling. "He was – he was driving, and this truck just hit him out of nowhere. Merida, I don't – " She stops, takes a watery, tearful gulp, and says " – I don't know if he can make it."
"No," Merida says, but her voice sounds hollow and empty, even to her. "No, no, no. Where is he?"
Quietly, Rapunzel leads her to Bunny's bedside.
She can only see his eyes, intense green and warm, and the half-smile on her lips, amid the midst of wires and tubes and drips and bandages and bruises and scratches and scars that cover him, and he looks so broken and small there that she wants to scream and cry and yell.
"Red," he rasps out.
"Bunny," she says, and her voice is shaky and she doesn't quite know what to do, so she just pulls up her chair and sits down next to him and takes his hand, softly, gently.
For some reason, he chuckles, a hoarse, quiet chuckle.
"What?" she wants to know. "Why are you laughing, you complete idiot?"
"Do you remember," he asks, "that our positions were reversed, once? Three years ago?"
"I can't believe you're bringing that up, now," Merida tells him, but there is a shaky, fragile smile on her face. She knows what Bunny is talking about, of course.
She can still remember that dinner with Hans, how he'd pleaded with her to stay with him, to go back to him, that he was better and a changed man. She'd thought she would have to battle with her heart to say no – but it hadn't been very hard, surprisingly. She'd told him that she couldn't do it, that they were no good together, and that it was better this way for everyone.
She can remember him refusing to drop her off at the corner, hours later. She can remember finally just shoving the door open and kicking off her heels and running away, back down the many streets he'd passed by at a ridiculously, dangerously fast pace, trying to get away from him. She can remember him catching up, grabbing her, lashing out.
She forces that memory away, focusses on what came after.
Bunny.
She can remember him visiting her, rushing over to the hospital, staying with her, by her side, bringing her flowers and chocolates and making her smile and laugh and just being there. She can remember days in Scotland, when everything was the same but everything was different, and he was always there for her, just like how he's always been, his whole life.
And now she's here for him.
"If you want to draw parallels," Bunny croaks out, "Rapunzel was the one who called up too, the last time."
"Shut up, yer daft idiot. You need to rest and get better."
"Rida." He smiles at her, a sad, small smile. "I'm not sure if I will be getting better."
He lets out a cough, a horrible, hoarse cough that wracks his body, and fear floods Merida.
"No," she says, stubbornly, insistently. "No. You're going to get better."
I don't know if he can make it, she remembers Rapunzel saying.
No. She pushes the thought aside. Bunny can't go. He can't.
"You're staying with me," she tells him. "Remember? As long as you need me. As long as I need you."
"As long as we need each other," he says, softly.
He smiles up at her again, sadly, a look in his eye like he knows something she doesn't, and he squeezes her hand.
"I love you," he whispers.
Her voice is ragged, her throat choked, as she whispers back: "I love you."
Numbness.
That's all she can feel.
Numbness, and coldness, and emptiness and darkness and just plain nothing surrounding her, engulfing her, and there's something painful and cold and heavy in her heart as she twists the fabric of the dress in her hands.
She doesn't know what to do.
She doesn't know what to feel.
And she has to swallow, because she keeps expecting to hear a laugh that's never coming, to see a smile that will never light up his face again, to feel a hand slide around her waist and pull her close but is never going to happen.
And she has to take a deep breath, because she can still see his smiling, laughing face in her mind's eye, and it's a face she's not going to see again.
The kitchen is in a mess.
Bunny stares around the kitchen in shock. He's never seen anything quite like this, not even when Hubert and Harris and Hamish tried to cook something, or when he's let Jack loose in the kitchen. "Merida?"
"Before you ask, I am going to clean this up," a clear Scottish accent grumbles, and he sees Merida's mane of red hair appear from behind the table. "I thought you were going to be back late."
"I finished grading the art pieces early." He is still staring: "What happened?"
"I tried to bake," Merida admits. "It didn't turn out so well."
He blinks at her: "You tried to bake?"
Merida doesn't bake. She can cook a simple meal, to be sure, but she can't bake – not as far as he knows, anyway. She's horrible in the kitchen. Even Fergus doesn't dare touch anything she cooks, half the time.
"I'm not completely hopeless," she grumbles, and she brings out a batch of chocolate cakes. "Come on. Try one."
He eyes them warily. They look harmless enough, but he knows how deceiving appearances can be.
Merida frowns at him, and he thinks it's better for his own personal health to try one.
Tentatively, he reaches out, and, squeezing his eyes shut, bites into one.
His eyes fly open as soon as he swallows: "These are really good!"
"Of course they are," Merida scoffs. "I'm not trying to poison you, you know."
He laughs. "What are they for, anyway?"
"You looked stressed," she admits. "From preparing for your artpiece for that exhibition, or competition, or something, and for all the grading you have to do. I mean, you come home every day and lock yourself up all the way until dinner time. So I thought I'd try to do something for you."
There's a warmth in his chest, for this blue-eyed Scottish girl holding out a tray of cupcakes, and he doesn't care that she's covered in flour and sugar and who-knows-what else; he grabs her to him and kisses her, hard.
"I love you," he says, resting his head on top of hers.
She sighs, and wraps her arm tightly around him: "I love you too."
It's not right. Nothing is right. There are people in black, filling up this house where she and Bunny spent so many days together, laughing, messing around, playing. There is a familiar face that is Lightning McQueen's, his eyes dark and his whole face distraught, and there is someone she recognises as Hiccup, and she thinks that she sees Flynn, and then there's a long blond mess shaking in front of her that she knows is Rapunzel.
"Oh, Merida," Rapunzel says, her voice soft and full of pain and scratchy. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
Her hands clasp Merida's, and Merida can't bear it anymore. Her head falls onto Rapunzel's shoulder, onto that long blond braid that she always wears, and she is sobbing, sobbing quietly, because everything is wrong and it feels like nothing will ever be right again.
He's not here.
She's searching under her bed for her wallet – she's never going to tell Bunny she accidentally dropped her wallet on the floor and then kicked it under the bed – when she feels something like a shoebox, and she drags it out, curiously.
When Bunny peers into the bedroom, it's to see her cross-legged on the bed, sifting through old, yellowing papers that he recognises immediately.
His face flames red. "Merida!"
"Bunny, you naughty boy," she says. "Are these drawings of me?"
"You're not supposed to see that!" He jumps up onto the bed next to her, and tries to stow away the old drawings. They're a bit embarrassing for him – some of them were drawn when he was much younger, still sketching uncertainly and unsurely, some of them are sketches that make him feel like he'd been a stalker of some sort whenever he glances back at them again.
She laughs: "Are you embarrassed?"
"Yes," he growls. "There's a reason why they were under the bed."
He wants to shove them under the bed again, but she grabs him and drags him down onto the bed next to her.
"Merida," he complains. "I've still got lessons to plan – "
"Hey," she says. "I just discovered you keeping some very creepy old drawings from me that make me feel like I've been stalked. I think I need some comfort."
He catches the glint in her eyes then, and he wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.
"Your wish is my command," he tells her, and he grabs her close and presses his lips on hers.
"Merida."
She can her a voice behind her now, a voice that is low and dark and so painful that she lifts her head and turns around.
And it is Jack. Of course it is Jack. He is dressed in black, and his face is empty and his eyes are hollow, and his face is gaunt and stricken and whiter-than-white.
"Jack," she says.
They don't say anything to each other, because the pain is there between them, raw and throbbing because Merida knows just how important Jack is in Bunny's life.
Not is. Was.
He doesn't say he's sorry. Neither does she.
Instead, he holds out his arms and Merida falls into them and then she's crying her heart out, her body wracking with sobs, and she can feel Jack shaking as well, shaking and trembling, and she buries her head on his shoulder.
Bunny.
Bunny is gone. Bunny is gone, and he is never coming back, and the last words he left her with are I love you.
And Bunny is dead.
He's not here anymore. No more grin, no more smirks, no more half-smiles; no more intense green gazes, no more mop of dark hair to ruffle; no more late movie nights, no more eating pizza curled up on the couch, no more trying to figure out what happened to their bills; no more laughing over stupid things, no more dragging each other playfully into the shower when she comes back drenched in mud and dirt and he's covered in paint and marker ink and sand, no more wrestling with each other until it's just him and her and the world's ceased to exist around them.
No more Bunny.
Dead.
Gone.
And she doesn't know whether to scream or to cry because he is dead and gone and never coming back.
It's when everybody leaves that Jack finds her, still curled up on the sofa, her hands clutching at her arms.
"He's not gone, you know," Jack says, finally. "Not really."
"No," she whispers. "He's not. But he's not here."
"Hey, Red," Bunny is looking up at her, over his ice cream, his face suddenly just a bit anxious and worried. "I have a proposal for you."
"I think we need to be dating first, Bunny, before you bring up marriage." Merida is trying to figure out paperwork she can't really understand, and she's not really looking up, and she's annoyed because she can hear the stupid basketball game that the other guys are yelling about.
"Not that, you idiot. But, uh – I was thinking of moving out."
Her head shoots up, at that. "Moving out? Of the apartment?"
It's ridiculous. Incredible. This apartment that she's somehow made her own, this apartment that she shares with Bunny and Lightning and Jack and Flynn?
"Yeah."
"Why?" she demands.
"Because – " he swallows a bit, and then rushes on: "I kinda wanted to get my own place, mate. And I kind of want you to, uh, maybe stay with me."
She looks at him, a long, slow look; and Bunny shifts in his seat nervously, his heart beating rapidly.
And then Merida leans forward, across the table, and she kisses him.
She kisses him long, and slow, and hard, and Bunny's not really quite sure when his own eyes fall shut and he's kissing back, until they finally break away, wide blue eyes staring into green.
"So – " he swallows, and he can still taste her on his lips, chocolate and apples and warmth. "Is that a – is that a yes?"
"Yes, you idiot," she breathes, and her eyes are bright and sparkling and Bunny thinks he just might be melting into his seat. "Of course I will."
And then she kisses him again, and he's kissing her back, and neither of them notice Lightning and Flynn tiptoeing away, Flynn grumbling as he slides some money into Lightning's hands.
Jack clears his throat, and he glances around the house. Everywhere there are reminders of Bunny – the endless photos, the decoration, the ornaments, the canvas and the paints and the sketchbooks, everywhere. It hasn't been long, not very long, since Bunny left. But there is a huge empty hole in his heart.
He thinks, that maybe, just maybe, Bunny will walk through that door and cross his arms and demand, a smirk on his face, exactly what his best friend is doing with his girlfriend, before he slips his hand around Merida's waist and claims the Scottish girl for his own.
But Bunny won't be walking through that door anymore. Because he's not coming back. Not anymore.
And it hurts. It hurts so much.
"Bunny asked me to pass you this," Jack says, finally, taking a battered envelope out of his pocket and sliding it into Merida's hands. "He got me to – to do some stuff for him, while he was in the hospital, before he – before he died."
He swallows again.
"I have to go," he says, in a hoarse voice that doesn't really sound like his own. "I need to – I need to go. Goodnight, Merida."
And he's out of the house in a flash, shutting it behind him, because it's too painful and he can still see the laughing green eyes of his best friend in his mind.
Merida takes out a letter, first. It's written in Jack's handwriting, that's unmistakeable, but the words are Bunny's and she can feel her heart clench.
Hey, Red.
I don't have a lot of time left, so here's just something for you.
And here is the most important thing I need to tell you – DON'T YOU DARE STOP LIVING.
I don't mean commit suicide. I mean make sure you live. I'm not going to last long. I know that. I'm trying to fight, for you, I'm trying to hang on as long as I can, but I don't know how much longer I've got. Kind of stupid way to die, huh – getting hit by a truck?
I want to tell you I'm sorry. I'm sorry I let myself get killed and that I'm letting myself die and that I'm not going to be around for you anymore. Forgive me, okay? Please?
Red, you're one of the strongest people I know. And you're going to continue to be. And don't you dare be anything else.
You are and always will be the best thing that's ever happened to me.
But I don't want to be the best thing that's ever happened to you. You go out there, and you find some way to be happy, you hear me? Or I'm going to haunt you from the grave. You get out there, and you go and smile again and be happy. Because you are my entire world, Red, and if you're not happy, well, I'm never going to be at peace, either.
I want to tell you I love you.
But you know that already.
But I like saying it so much, so I'll say it again.
I love you, Merida.
(Maybe in another life, we'll grow old and have little redheaded devils of kids with Australian accents. But that's another life. And I'm counting on you to make the most out of this life that you have left.)
I love you.
Love,
Bunny.
She has to take a deep breath, and she wants to scream and cry and yell at the whole damn world because she is not prepared for this and she cannot cope with Bunny being gone, and she wants to throttle that stupid Australian guy because she thinks her heart is just hurting even more now and cracking into two.
She's vaguely aware of tears sliding down her face, of gasping and sobbing and the words becoming a blur in her eyes.
Everything is wrong and broken and she thinks that nothing will ever be okay again.
She's about to fling the stupid, dirty envelope into the cushions when she realises that there's something else inside, and she drags out a small, square paper.
One last thing, Red.
I thought it would be a waste not to give you what I ended up dying for.
You would have said yes, wouldn't you?
Bunny.
Merida doesn't want to know what it is, she wants to throw away the envelope because nothing is worth dying for, but instead, carefully, cautiously, she tips the envelope over.
A ring tips out onto her palm. A gold ring, with a shining silver diamond.
Merida knows what it is immediately.
An engagement ring.
And then it feels like her heart is breaking all over again, cracking into a million little pieces, but she's not sure if that's what's really happening because she also thinks that there is an empty, hollow place where her heart should be.
"Fuck you," she murmurs, and then she is shaking again, and she is so cold and sad and lonely and she wants to just cry and cry and cry: "Fuck you. Yes, you stupid, annoying kangaroo. Yes."
So, I mean, I don't know, I kind of wrote this for fun in, like, an hour? An hour and a half?
Let me know what you think I guess haha