Jheselbraum brought them a large tray filled with little red (yes, after he peered over the tops of his glasses to check, they were indeed red) cakes, which smelled good enough for Fiddleford to cautiously lift one and take a bite.

It tasted like a mixture of pumpkin and cinnamon, and before he knew it he'd eaten three of them.

Baldwin, he noticed out of the corner of his eye, slipped several of the cakes into his pockets; Fiddleford suspected it was so he could take them back to his crew.

For a few minutes Jheselbraum just sat on the edge of the fountain with them and let them eat in silence; then, when they seemed somewhat sated, she looked at Baldwin.

"You are very fortunate to have escaped the Nightmare Realm when you did. Bill's creatures have a keen sense of smell, and they are always hungry."

At the word Bill, Baldwin made an appalled sound, as if she'd said something obscene, and nearly choked on his cake. "I wish you wouldn't say his name so casually," he muttered when he'd pounded on his chest for a second. "He might hear you, and-"

"He wouldn't dare come here," Jheselbraum said softly.

...Bill? Who's Bill?

The memory of a flash of yellow, a laughing voice, flitted across his mind's eye; Fiddleford shuddered and turned his attention back to his food.

After a moment Baldwin shrugged. "We got him to thank for getting us out." He reached over and patted Fiddleford's shoulder. "He fixed our ship when none of us could. Heh, we could barely get him to stop long enough to eat, let alone sleep."

Fiddleford blushed and looked down at his latest cake; he could feel all seven of the oracle's eyes watching him regardless as she said softly, "I see. That is an exceptional talent, Fiddleford."

"Heh. I've always been pretty good at tinkerin'."

In his discomfort he accidentally started pulling the cake apart, and realized too late that his hands and knees were becoming rapidly covered in crumbs. He brushed them off onto the floor, before realizing that might be kind of disrespectful, and froze up in panic over what to do next-

"Baldwin," Jheselbraum said aloud, "would you leave us for a moment?"

The guinea pig hesitated. "Why?" he asked suspiciously.

"I need to talk to Fiddleford about things he might not wish you to know. Don't worry, it won't take long."

Baldwin patted Fiddleford's arm. "I'll be out in the hall if you need me, okay?"

He nodded numbly-and felt another rush of fear at the realization that this person who'd become a familiar presence by this point was leaving him alone with the strange seven-eyed woman. A small whimper squirmed its way out of his throat, and his hands wrapped around his knees tightly as he heard the sound of a door closing ahead of him.

Once they were alone, Jheselbraum waited for a moment, before saying, "I know what you have seen. And what you have done to make yourself forget it."

Fiddleford froze; immediately his hands felt damp with sweat, and a chilly finger of ice ran down his spine. She must be an oracle, nobody else could possibly know-

"It's not a wise thing for you to do, Fiddleford." Jheselbraum's hand lifted his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. "Forgetting about what happened won't make it go away, and in the long run it will cause more problems than you can possibly imagine."

"It makes it so I can sleep!" he protested, jerking away from her touch. Somehow, admitting it aloud felt oddly freeing. "You don't understand-you can't understand, how it felt ta see things every time I closed my eyes or didn't have somethin' else ta focus on! It's a solution that helps me ta actually function, and that's all that matters, right? I'm a scientist, I'm supposed ta use my brain ta create solutions ta my problems!"

His thin chest heaved as he finished shouting, and he angrily pulled off his glasses and began cleaning them on his shirt, trying to get rid of the fog and dampness that had accumulated for some reason.

When Fiddleford put them back on, Jheselbraum was pursing her lips and giving him a thoughtful stare. He wondered uncomfortably what she was about to say next, what arguments she might give about how bad and dangerous erasing your memories was.

It turned out to be, "Look in my fourth eye."

"...I beg your pardon?"

Jheselbraum pointed to one of her eyes, which started glowing with a soft purple light. "Look. And maybe it will help you to make up your mind."

Somehow curiosity won out over fear, and Fiddleford scooted a little closer before peering into her eye.

Inside, just like a picture on a TV screen, was a tiny video of himself, holding the memory gun in his hands and using the specifier to write out whatever it was he was making himself forget. He pointed the bulb at his own head, closed his eyes, and pulled the trigger; when he finished, he let out a sigh of relief and pulled out the recorded tape, setting it on the table in front of him and then turning away. He staggered a little bit as he walked, but that was normal; using the memory gun often made him feel a bit woozy afterwards. Fiddleford didn't see what her point was.

Then the picture changed, and showed Fiddleford again, but not looking so well. Dark circles ringed his eyes, long stubble coated his cheeks, and his clothes were rumpled and stained like he'd forgotten to change them in a while. Hurriedly he snatched up the memory gun, typing in something, and zapped the side of his head with it. The relief afterwards didn't seem as strong as before, and instead of putting the gun down he stuffed it into his coat pocket as he moved away from the table, nearly tripping on his own untied shoelaces as he did.

The picture changed again, and Fiddleford blanched at the sight of himself looking like he'd been in some kind of accident: bandages everywhere, his arm in a sling, a crack in the left lens of his glasses. His beard was growing longer, and his fingers fumbled awkwardly as he tried to type into the specifier so he had to go back and fix it. Something about the way this version of himself looked was reminding Fiddleford of-

The picture changed again, and the vision of himself was curled up in a ball on the floor. Even though it appeared to have been weeks, if not months, since whatever had happened earlier, his arm was still in a cast, and the bandage that had been on his face was now trapped in the tangled, muck-filled mess that had become his beard. He was rocking back and forth and tugging his hair between his fingers-to Fiddleford's horror, some of it came right out into his hands. After staring at it in bewilderment for a moment, the other him just let it fall to the floor, before pulling the memory gun out of the ragged remains of his clothes-were his pants on backwards?-and pointing it at himself again. When he finished, it slipped from his fingers and he had to fumble to catch it, before shoving it back into his pocket and going back to rocking.

The picture changed again-and for a moment Fiddleford couldn't even recognize the wizened, wild-eyed figure staring back at him, cackling and waving his arms wildly.

He couldn't look anymore; he pulled away with a sob, and put a trembling hand over his eyes.

Jheselbraum gave Fiddleford a few minutes to collect himself, not saying a word until at last he looked up and wiped his face on his sleeve. The sternness in her expression was gone, replaced with a look of sadness and sympathy.

"Nobody likes bad memories, Fiddleford," she said softly. "Nobody likes being afraid. But if you spend all your time trying to hide from or forget them, eventually they will consume you."

Fiddleford moaned. "What do I do?"

"You face them." She put her hand on his shoulder. "You face them, and learn from them, and become stronger so you can better handle the next ones."

"...I dunno if I'm strong enough ta face 'em," he whispered. "I can barely think about 'em now without wantin' ta make myself forget ever'thin'." He even, to his shame, felt tempted to make himself forget his family, so at least he wouldn't have to despair over probably never seeing them again.

"You're stronger than you give yourself credit for being," Jheselbraum said firmly. "...But if you wish, I can ensure that you won't be able to forget."

Fiddleford looked at her sharply. "...How?"

"I can surgically implant a metal plate in your head so that memory-erasing technology won't work on you."

...Definitely not the solution he had been expecting.

"You can what."

Her mouth twisted in an almost amused smile. "It is a practice that was passed down by my people; there is an obvious risk, but if completed successfully it will protect your mind from many types of danger. Including that of the beast with one eye."

The repressed memory of the first time he'd gone through the portal forced itself to the forefront of Fiddleford's head, and he shuddered, trying to resist the impulse to shove it away and make himself forget as he considered the oracle's offer.

"...Will the plate be magnetic?" he finally asked.

Jheselbraum blinked; clearly this was not a question she had been anticipating. "Well-I suppose, if I use the right types of alloy I could make one that was safe-"

"Then I'll do it."

When he told Baldwin what was going to happen, the guinea pig pirate's knee-jerk response was to demand, "Have you lost your mind?!"

"Nope. That's what I'm tryna keep from happening."

It was such a grim response, and so unlike the gibbering nervousness he'd expressed up to this point, that it shut him up. He scratched the side of his head anxiously. "...I suppose if anyone's qualified to do it, it's her. But still...when I brought you here to get help from her, this was not what I had in mind."

"She says it should take about a week for me to recover afterwards. So if you wanna take your crew and leave, it's okay." Fiddleford smiled gently. "I'm sure y'all got places ta be."

To his surprise, Baldwin shook his head no. "You're our mechanic, Fiddleford. We can stick around while you heal."

Fiddleford was mortified to feel more tightness in his throat. "...Thank you."

Baldwin smiled and patted his arm. "When's this operation supposed to happen?"

"She said she needed ta get some stuff ready, then she'd be ready for me."

His eyebrow raised. "You're not wasting any time."

"I wanna do it quick, before I lose my nerve." Fiddleford shuffled nervously. "Just thought I oughta tell you what's going on first."

"Well, we'll all be here afterward, okay?"

He managed to smile, before heading to the room where Jheselbraum had said to come when he was ready.

In some ways, it looked like a traditional operating room: brightly lit, with a long white table in the center and a fountain against one wall that he supposed was for cleaning and sterilizing. There was also a side table with a set of tools lying on it, several of which looked very sharp. Fiddleford gulped despite himself, and quickly looked away from them.

A moment later Jheselbraum came in through the door at the other end; she was still in her robe, but she was wearing long blue gloves, and carefully cradling something metallic in her hands. When she saw him standing there, she gave him a reassuring smile.

"Before anything else, go into the next room. There's a place where you can clean yourself off, and some clothes you should change into for the operation."

It occurred to Fiddleford that he was in the same greasy, dirty, sweaty clothes he'd been wearing for the last week; with a self-conscious shuffle he headed for the door she'd indicated.

There was a pool there, which was probably a hot spring judging by the steam rising from it (and it looked like actual water, as opposed to the brightly colored stuff in the other fountain), and a bundle of white cloth lying next to it. Fiddleford stripped as quickly as he could and got in.

He hadn't realized how much he would enjoy the chance to have a warm bath; it was all he could do not to go to sleep in there, and focus on cleaning himself off as best he could, since Jheselbraum didn't seem to have left soap or anything nearby. Despite that, though, the water seemed to do a thorough job of cleaning him all on its own; he wondered if it had special properties or something.

When Fiddleford got out, he toweled himself off and then put on the white robe lying next to the towel. Then, before he could forget, he reached into the pocket of his old lab coat and grabbed the little robot Tate had given him, clenching it tightly in his hand as he headed back into the operating room.

Jheselbraum handed him a goblet filled with bright green liquid as he entered.

"Drink this, and then go lie down on the table," she instructed. "It will make you sleep."

Fiddleford sniffed at it gingerly, and then quickly gulped the drink down before he could change his mind. It tasted vaguely of cucumbers, or mint tea, he noticed as he set the goblet on the table with the tools on it and then clambered onto the bigger one before laying down on his back.

"Just relax, and close your eyes," Jheselbraum said softly.

Even though his brain was already starting to become foggy, Fiddleford took a moment to look at the little toy that was still in his hand before closing his eyes.

Then he knew nothing more, for a long while.