Inkling shut his eyes in regret. Because as much as he wanted to calm Captain Barnacles' fears of being kicked out (Kwazii said that the Captain was deathly afraid of that), he would be lying to say that these recent developments would not affect his place on the Octonauts. How would he even bring it up to the polar bear? He didn't want to hurt him. But as the Founder, what else was he supposed to do? He didn't want the Captain get hurt, plain and simple. And if being on the team caused him so much stress that he couldn't function in day to day life, that it made him want to kill himself, then he'll have to let him go. Inkling couldn't handle the guilt if he was responsible for his death. He didn't tell anyone else, though. It might not happen; maybe Captain Barnacles would get well again.

What if something happened on a mission? What if a bad situation happened, and the polar bear broke down again? Not only would it hurt Captain Barnacles, but frankly, it could put the other Octonauts or the creatures they were trying to save in harm's way.

As much as it hurt, Inkling had to look at this… he had to look at this with as much logic as possible, though all his heart wanted to do was keep Captain Barnacles on the team.

Inkling got so attached to this lot; he couldn't imagine it being broken apart.


Time was flying by. Barnacles was a lot calmer, and the psychologist was considering releasing him tomorrow. He was grateful, and surprised, that he was getting let out that easy. But he guessed it made sense. He had felt infinitely better than coming in here. Maybe he could have another chance at life.

"Where will you go now?" the doctor asked Barnacles. She put a paw to the clipboard. "We need to know where you live."

He had been agonizing over this question, ever since he ran away in the Gup A (he felt shame at that memory). He hadn't decided yet.

Being with his sister was out of the question. As much as he knew she loved her sibling, Bianca wouldn't understand what he was going through. She wouldn't see that it was a mental problem; she would just say that he needed to try harder. Which he absolutely agreed with, and he hated that he was failing all the time. To hear it from someone else... He couldn't handle that for long. He could just feel that in his bones.

He couldn't live with the Octonauts again. He couldn't. He thought of Peso's eyes and Tweak's judgment. But he didn't want to be alone either. The loneliness would kill him.

Heck, any of those choices would kill him. It just felt like a matter of time, an inevitable end to the journey and path, whichever one he would take.

Yes, that's what he felt. But the other side of him felt hope. Hope that he would live long, to an old age. That he would pass away from natural causes, and not by his own volition. That he could still feel happy and fulfilled. That he could still have and carry out a purpose.

He chose to focus on the latter vision of the future.

He took a breath and considered his options again. Out of all of them, it seemed the least painful was to live on his own again, away from the ones he knew. That way, he wouldn't have the shame follow around him, waiting to pounce at every social interaction.

That still didn't mean that his heart didn't feel hollow at the prospect.

But... what else could he do? Even if he stayed with the Octonauts, just being in the Octopod set him off. It just kept reminding him of the event; the windows kept threatening him with visions of gaping teeth and torn flesh.

How could he handle living in there?

But, if he was honest with himself, how could he handle living in general? Where he was now mentally and emotionally, he was so worn out that it was hard to perform daily tasks anymore. He couldn't drive the Gup anymore. He couldn't sleep in his own room. He had no appetite, even at moments when he should. If it wasn't for the fact that the Octopod had a strict eating schedule, and that the others would have noticed, he was certain that he would have skipped meals on his own, too run down and high strung to cook or buy a meal. He would even skip brushing his teeth, because even with something as simple as that, he would become overwhelmed and sit on the floor, staring at the ground. With all of this, how was he even supposed to face the outside world again; how could he live on his own? He couldn't keep up a facade anymore. He was too jittery now.

Now he was fine, but there was a huge chance he would slip and end up being suicidal again.

But... there was hope, too. Hope that somehow, it will all work out. It was small, barely burning, but it was there, and he intending to cherish it and foster it and make it grow.

It'll work out, somehow.