Author's Note: The last chapter is finally here! I don't know why it took me so long to get this finished – I suppose life got in the way. But it's here now, and I hope you like it!

Oh, and 123 New Days, yes, that was Turbo in Part Three!

Have you guys heard the other news? Wreck-It Ralph 2 has been officially announced! It'll be released in March 2018! And the plot is going to have Ralph leaving the arcade and wrecking the Internet! To quote Vanellope: "This is it! This is really happening! I almost don't believe it. I mean, I have dreamt about it for so long and now – and now I – now I think I'm gonna puke, actually, I mean, I think I might puke. You know, like a vurp! Vomit and a burp together, and you can taste it, and it's just, like, rising up – OH, THIS IS SO EXCITING!"

Part Four: The Redemption

Her

"Kid? Can you hear me? Squeeze my finger if you can hear me."

Something thick and squidgy lands in the palm of your hand. Your fingers close around it. You try to lift your eyelids, but they feel like dead weight.

"Vanellope?"

That voice. . .

You force your eyes to open, and he's there – your big brother, sitting by your metal bed. A pristine white duvet covers your small body.

You don't remember getting into bed.

"Where am I?" You blink, and your blurry vision clears a little. Now you can make out the sky-blue tiles covering the walls. Pink flowers have been arranged in a yellow vase by a tiny window.

"This is Game Central Hospital, kid."

"Hospital?" You lift the duvet. Sure enough, you're wearing the typical blue hospital gown.

Ralph strokes your other arm, which, as you can now see, is heavily bandaged. "Geez, you really scared everyone."

"Did I do something stupid?"

"'Stupid' is probably the wrong word. But it was pretty dangerous." He sniffs. "I could've lost you."

That's when you see it: the moisture coating his cheeks.

"Are you crying?"

"What? No!" he snaps. "It's hay fever from the flowers over there."

You give him a scathing look. "Admit it, you're crying."

But as the last word leaves your mouth, it hits you. Ralph is crying because of you.

You place your tiny hand on top of his colossal one. "That was mean. I owe you a bigger apology."

"What for?"

"For making you so scared. I wasn't trying to hurt myself. Well, maybe I was, a little. But I just. . ."

You sigh. You have no idea how to explain this. It was fine talking to Felix about it because he understood. He did it himself. But talking to Ralph? It's a lot harder.

"Tell me." The words are a whisper.

"I just . . . I just thought . . . listen, I'd spent fifteen years being treated like garbage. And then all this wonderful stuff came along at once and I didn't know what to do. I kept thinking that it was all a dream, that none of it was real." You bow your head. "I guess I needed the pain to convince myself that it was real. And yet there's always this feeling that maybe . . . maybe I don't deserve it."

Without hesitation, Ralph grabs you and pulls you into a big hug. "That's ridiculous. Of course you deserve it. You deserve every nice thing in the world. You're sweet and adorable and definitely the best racer in Sugar Rush. If I haven't said that enough, then I'm the one who should be apologising."

Tears threaten your own eyes now. "Then why is my game broken?"

"It's not."

"Huh?" You wiggle out of the hug. "Says who?"

"Says the Surge Protector. They found a spare tyre lodged in Cakeway's code."

Despite your current location, you snigger. "How'd that get there?"

"No-one has a clue, but they've taken it out and everything's back to normal. The game's fine."

"Really?"

"Really."

You beam. Something warm and comforting swells in your chest – something you didn't know had a word until recently.

Hope.

Hope for your game. Hope for your friendships. Hope for an end to the dangerous habit.

It looks like things might just be fine after all.

Well, nearly everything.

"Where's Felix?" you ask suddenly, smile fading.

Ralph glances down. "He's in another ward. I don't think you should visit him right now."

"Hey, I may have busted my arm, but I can still walk, can't I?"

"That's not what I meant. The doctors say you should be . . . kept away from each other for a while."

The news hurts more than a knife to your throat. "Why?"

"It's complicated."

"Then I'll go and visit and he can explain."

"No."

"Please!" You grab his shirt. "Let me see him. He needs me."

Your brother listens. He closes his eyes in thought.

Then he helps you out of bed.

Him

As soon as the doctor closes the door behind him –

"WHAT IN CODE'S NAME WERE YOU THINKING?!"

The black-clad soldier paces the room. "How could you do that to yourself – to all of us? Do you have any idea what you've caused?"

You briefly clock the handgun strapped to her belt and opt for the truth. "No."

The sergeant stops at the head of the bed, grips the metal rail and leans forward, eyes narrowed into slits. "Well, shall I tell you, short stack? You've made Ralph cry like a little girl, you've given every Nicelander a panic attack, and you've nearly killed yourself."

Through your gown, your fingers stroke the bandage around your thigh. The doctor's already warned you that you narrowly avoided a major artery. You don't need a telling-off from your wife as well.

"Tammy-" you start.

"Don't 'Tammy' me!" she cries. "You can't expect us to be on nickname terms after something like this!"

"I'm-I'm sorry," you stammer.

"How about apologising to Ralph?"

That takes you by surprise. "What did I do to Ralph?" Haven't you been punished enough for those thirty years?

Wait, no. Of course you haven't. It will never end.

"You didn't do anything," Tamora replies. Now she's moving to the side of the bed. "You were there watching his best friend die and you didn't do anything." Globs of spit fly out on the penultimate word.

It takes a second for the sentence to bring about a response.

"Oh my land!" you gasp. "Vanellope's not dead, is she?"

"I don't know," Tamora admits. "I haven't seen her."

"Well, she can't be dead!" you tell yourself. "She's too young."

"Youth is no protection. You die outside your game, you don't regenerate. Game Over."

Game Over.

It's an impulse decision to yank her gun from its holster and point it towards yourself.

"Give that back!" She reaches out for it.

"No!" you yell.

"Felix, you're being ridiculous."

"No, I'm not!" You push her onto the floor. You're stronger than you've ever been before. "I can't keep hurting everyone. This is the right thing to do."

Looking down the barrel into pure darkness, you say it out loud.

"I'm a bad guy and I must be punished."

You close your eyes. The gun moves to the side of your head.

"NO!" a woman screams.

You pull the trigger.

BANG!

Your face explodes in pain. You're thrown against the pillow. All you can see is black.

Someone unfamiliar rushes in. "What just happened?"

"Nothing, doc. It was an accident. Everything's fine."

The stranger leaves.

When your body doesn't feel stiff with shock anymore, you sit up. You blink. The bullet has lodged itself in the ceiling, cracks spreading like tree roots. Tamora holds the gun; she must have snatched it from you while she punched you in the eye.

"For Code's sake, you're unbelievable!" she hisses, returning the gun to its holster. "You're not going to make things better by giving up on life. That's the last thing we want. We're trying to help."

"I know, and I appreciate it." You rub your bad eye and groan. "I just can't do anything right. Ralph, Vanellope, you . . . it's all messed up. Because of me." Your gaze falls to the duvet. There's something lodged in your throat. You open your mouth, but all that comes out is, "I-I-I-" before you burst into tears.

You're making a lot of weird gasping noises and your face probably looks hideous, but right now none of that matters. The weight of your sadness is too much to bear. Reality fades away until you're aware of only two things: your existence, and the fact that you are truly, truly miserable.

There must be a way out.

But right now you can't see it.

"Hey."

Who's that?

"It's okay, Felix."

A gentle touch rests on your arm. You lift your head from your wet hands.

She's here. One arm is wrapped up in bandages, but at least she's not dead. She's here, and she's telling you it will all be okay.

And for the first time since everything changed, you're starting to believe it.

You embrace her. You thought you were going to cry again, but you're not – you're too relieved to see her. Her presence has stemmed the flow of your tears.

For now.

"What happened to us?" you ask.

"I don't know," she replies. "But we can find out, and we can fix it."

"Together?"

"Together, sure. But not just us. We'll have our friends, too, like Ralph and Calhoun. They'll be there for us. That's what he told me." She turns back to Ralph, as if to confirm his presence, and smiles back at you. "No more hiding away. We're gonna face it. We're gonna be strong."

You can't do much more except grin in admiration of her bravery. Maybe it'll rub off on you, and then you'll never be too afraid to ask for help again.

After all, perhaps there are no such things as heroes and villains. There is no separate class of people who are destined to save the day but never allowed to save themselves. Instead, we save each other. We have people by our side who will never abandon us, and in turn we promise not to abandon them. That's how we get through the tough times.

And as long as you hold on to that, anything is possible.

THE END?