Lucas should wear suits more often.
This is literally the only thought passing through my head while Master Hand drones on and on about the proper way to answer questions, greet guests, something something good manners something. It sucks that Lucas and I can't sit together for dinner, but I'm not worried. We've got the entire night after to celebrate Christmas.
Oh yeah, and I kissed him.
Twice.
In one day.
Not that I'm keeping track, of course.
I try to smother the weird giddy gay noises into my hands, because the last thing I need is for Master Hand to think I'm convulsing and call for life support. I can't believe I just went for it and kissed him. And Lucas let me. I glance over with a grin and catch Lucas watching me. Flustering, he turns away, almost tripping over his own shoes.
His hair looks really soft.
I want to touch it.
"Ness, eyes over here," Master Hand deadpans, and I flush when the rest of the Twelve break out into a chorus of giggles and snorts.
Still, I sneak another glance when Master Hand isn't watching, because fuck me, Lucas actually looks hot in a suit, and my mind's stuck in this perpetual loop of "Help I've fallen and can't get back up."
On second thought, buying that Life Alert doesn't seem too ridonkulous.
Then something tightens around my chest like an iron fist, and I clutch my stomach because the feeling's traveling through my entire body like a wire. My empathy link. It's never been wrong before.
With rising dread, I glance up in time to see Tingle open up the double doors to the first guest in line.
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~Chapter Twenty-Three~
Lucas Breaks the Fourth Wall
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My relationship with Porky is - to be put simply - complicated.
We used to be on talking terms. Closer too, I guess. As neighbors, it was kinda inevitable, playing pretend and make-believe tales of dragons and kings. I'm not sure when the divide happened, but at some point, it all stopped when he woke me up one night banging on my front door and howling up a storm. His parents came to take him back shortly after. His mother blubbered some stupid fib about Porky running away and oh, kids these days are so rebellious, aren't they? before hauling him back to their place.
I remember that the change had been gradual. Porky began picking on his little brother. He bullied kids weaker than he was just because he could. And while I watched his victims cry over scraped knees and bruised injuries, I never spoke up for any of them. I never said anything.
Porky didn't have many friends.
Maybe that was why I never had the heart to speak up against him.
Perhaps I should've said something. My mom had such a saying, He who gets off with stealing a pencil eventually steals time in a jail cell. Basically, with a fucked-up family who had the cash to rig any lawsuit, Porky never had anyone to correct him on the right path. He became the Eric Cartman of the neighborhood, and everyone learned to fear him. Victimized and manipulative, Porky only ended up driving people away. Eventually, even me.
I'm sure he felt it too. Because the harder I tried to run away, the tighter Porky clung on.
And as Porky pushed me away, Lucas stepped into his place.
As a kid, I first saw Lucas as a second chance to stand up for somebody else. But now, I'm not quite sure why my kiddie self thought that way. Lucas and Porky really couldn't have been more different, even if they tried.
Porky was always too busy feeling sorry for himself.
Lucas actually went out and did something about it.
Porky pushed other people down to stay on top.
Lucas strove to climb up the social ladder with his bare hands.
Porky joined forces with an evil alien mastermind to take over the planet. All just to spite me. Take a good second to let that sink in.
And Lucas...
Need I say more?
Of what fascist tendencies Porky's been up to since Subspace, I have not a fucking clue, nor do I want to know. But after hearing about the existence of Lucas's different timeline, I'm getting the feeling that there's a special story behind Porky's beef against Lucas, and that whatever it is, it's personal. And I don't think I'll PK-like whatever's Porky's got planned, nope, not at all.
Because while I can describe Porky with many words, stupid isn't one of them. If Porky's finally decided to show his pudgy face again, then he's on the move. Seriously, after trying to bomb us skyhigh to Tokyo, Porky magically appears tonight as a sponsor, then decides to sit NEXT to Lucas for dinner out of the good of his heart. Coincidence? I think not.
Something smells fishy. And no, it's not the lobster.
As my mom tells me, always trust your gut.
Loud applause breaks my train of thought. I've lost track of the time... oh cool, Samus is at the podium. We must finally be at the awards ceremony. Perfect timing. When s̶e̶x̶ ̶o̶n̶ ̶l̶e̶g̶s̶ Bayonetta glides onto the stage to join Samus in her matching dress suit, smirking like she's won the whole fucking team tournament (hint hint, they did), I take the chance to check on Lucas. To my relief, he looks all right, just taking his time to speak with a curious Tom Nook. Though another cursory glance has turned on my wtf switch, because Popo looks strangely sluggish, like he's already drunk on his ass. Except I know better. Popo has a highass tolerance outta this world-
Holy fuck, he's slumped over on his seat.
Is he sleeping?
HEY, I think loudly, but as usual, my telepathy must be shit, because Popo doesn't even raise a hand to flip me off.
However, Mewtwo does respond to my crappy attempts at subtle communication with an annoyed flick of his tail, and I immediately stop because I value my life, thank you very much. Instead, I tug on Popo's empathy link, worried that this idiot's had a drink too much.
As slow as the DMV (god I hate that place, took me forever to get my driver's license), Popo lifts his head. Even from this distance, I can make out the fucking Cheshire Cat grin growing lazily across his face before he slides me a scummy thumbs up. Huh, I guess he was really dozing off. I don't blame him. Master Hand is droning on, and on, and on...
There's no escape from this hell.
Someone save me.
"-and the dance floor is yours. Merry Christmas!"
Hallelujah, my prayers have been answered.
Even before Master Hand snaps his fingers like a magician, I'm on my feet, jumping off the stage like it's hot. As I soar through the air, the atrium transforms into a sparkling ballroom dance floor before my eyes. When I land, gay Christmas jingles are turned up to max from unseen speakers. Soft snow even falls from the ceiling, magically disappearing in cool wisps whenever at the slightest touch, and the ceiling turns transparent so we can see the glittering stars.
Damn, Master Hand's gone all out today.
Like I said, magic.
Trying not to look too desperate, I rush forward to wherever I saw Lucas last, because it'll be hella hard to find him when the entire crowd rises onto their feet. But then I remember that Lucas is an ungodly 6'3", and that while he certainly can't see me, I won't have too much trouble picking him out. For once, I'm sorely grateful for his freakishly tall height.
A flash of a blond cowlick.
There he is.
Except he's not alone.
Lucas stands fixedly in place, looking every bit as rigid as a board. Smiling congenially, Porky leans over to say something to him. He shoves a small object into Lucas's limp hands, and when Lucas turns it over, I recognize it. A battered Game Boy Advance that's seen better days? No, wait, there's something slotted inside. A cartridge.
Any remaining color drains out of Lucas's face.
I decide to play nice and intervene.
Catching sight of me, Porky's smile widens. "Ness! Long time, no see," Porky wheezes, and though it's not the first time I've seen his sorry state, holy shit, call the nursery homes because Porky has aged. Like, a lot. We should be the same age, but the Porky I remember barely resembles the portly, blue-tinted, wrinkly old man I see in front of me. What happened to him before Subspace?
"That's my line. What's going on here?" I demand, and Porky's face sours at the less-than-thrilled reception.
"No need for hostility, Nessie," Porky sneers, there's something oddly sinister about his tone that sets off warning bells in my head. He sounds way too happy for a simple convo about a Rent-N-Return, and Lucas's stiff shoulders tell me that Porky's doing his best to make him feel as inhumanly uncomfortable as possible. Gee I wonder why. Underneath his conversational tone, Porky's definitely fuming over my interruption. His feelings are loud enough that even I can sort of make out his vulgar desires in my head. Something about wanting to fuck Paula, wanting to fuck Lucas, and then wanting to fuck me over. All in that specific order. Eurgh. Too bad I know that Paula would fry his balls to a crisp if he ever laid his hands on her, and that Lucas could send Porky on a free trip to the asylum from permanent brain damage if push came to shove.
As for me?
Yeah, good luck with that, buddy.
"What are you really doing here?" I say in disgust, and I don't blame Lucas for involuntarily shifting closer to me, because my skin's crawling, and I'm starting to get the bad juju vibes.
"I'm here to take back what rightfully belongs to me," Porky wheezes.
"And I said to give me another month," Lucas responds, his voice as stony as his face.
Ignoring him, Porky reaches around me for Lucas's arm, but stops when Lucas's eyes flare up in warning. An icy chill crawls down my shoulders like an omen of death, dangerous and unwelcome, and I involuntarily step back because holy shit, if Lucas ever shot me that particular look, I'd be off screaming for my life.
Throughout this entire five-second exchange, Lucas's face has remained eerily impassive.
"Don't touch me," Lucas says evenly, but I'm more alarmed by the uneasy ripple of emotion coursing through our empathy link. Lucas is crumbling.
Still, his deceptively calm tone has forced Porky to pause. "Y-You can't do anything. You wouldn't dare," Porky says uncertainly, his eyes flickering to his face as if trying to call Lucas's bluff, but this time his previous bravado is gone, like he's afraid that Lucas might actually fuck up his mind. Because while Porky might be immortal, he's not completely impervious to pain, and Lucas's eyes are flashing murderously like some cursed medieval sorcery.
Sensing Porky's impending doom, I quickly intervene before either of them can go ape. "Lucas, let's go grab some drinks," I say firmly, grabbing his hand, but Porky blocks our path.
"Where are you fuckers going? This bastard owes me money," Porky sputters indignantly.
"And he said that he'll pay you back in a month. Give it a rest," I shoot back, because I've finally made heads or tails of the situation, and right now, dragging Lucas AWAY from Porky sounds like a really good idea.
Porky flushes. In an attempt to cover up his blustering, he wheezes with laughter, but it's ugly and unpleasant, heaving and cracking like the pumps of a used car. In an unnerving show of confidence, his eyes don't leave Lucas's face. "One month, two, it doesn't matter. You can't repay me. You're only postponing your own demise." When Lucas doesn't respond, Porky wheezes again, turning to me. "I don't buy into this shipping scandal. What did he promise you, Ness? An eternity of debt? A one night stand?"
"Oh my god, shut up, shut up, shut uP," I grit between my teeth, because Porky is making it EXTREMELY difficult for me to play it classy and ignore him.
Still Porky doesn't get the hint, and backs out after us like a trash truck spewing out garbage. "He killed his own twin. All because his poor brother got in the way of his quest. Ness, he's capable of murder. He's an uncivilized savage-" His eyes fixed straight ahead on a faraway object, Lucas tightens his shaking grip on my hand, and catching onto the almost imperceptible motion, Porky turns to him with a wheeze. "It's a shame that your dad married a squinty-eyed chink. You could've been a purebred. At least your mom's dead. That's one less Tazmilian monkey to worry about-"
Furious, I grab Porky over by the collar. "Say that again."
"Shit, Ness. Did you catch yellow fever too?" Porky guffaws. "Never knew you had a fetish for tiny dicks. Maybe you should ask Lucas to do your math homework for you while you're at it. Or a blow job-"
Losing it completely, I punch him in the face, and Porky goes down like a sack of potatoes. Behind me, I hear alarmed gasps, but I give zero fucks, pummeling every inch of his face I can find because I just want to wring Porky by his fat neck for all the twisted, disgusting things he's said-
Someone holds me back by the shoulder. "That's enough, Ness," Lucas says sharply.
I wrench my arm out of his grip. "I'm not done yet-"
"You're causing a scene."
Staring first at the bruise swelling up on Porky's eye to the smeared blood on my hands, I swallow down the lump of unfairness rising up my throat. Suddenly, I'm all-too-aware of the horrified spectators around us.
"You punched me," Porky blubbers incredulously, as if the thought of me punching him into pulp has never crossed his mind before, and as he takes this new development into hard consideration, the SWAT team hastily hurries over. "Them sons of bitches dared to punch me, the great Porky!"
"Who attacked first?" Chrom barks, coming to a full stop in his impressive garb of security gear.
"He did," Porky bawls, pointing at Lucas. "He started it, an' he dragged Ness into it, I saw it with my own two eyes!"
"What? Hold on-" I start, but I'm quickly jostled aside when security guards shove a bewildered Lucas onto the ground.
Chrom's boots echo across the atrium chamber. "Lucas, you have the right to remain silent," he reads, stony-faced. "Anything can be used against you in court-"
Panicking, I grab Chrom by the arm. "Chrom, it wasn't Lucas, I punched Porky-"
Chrom roughly shakes me off. "All bystanders will stay on the side for testimony-"
"Yeah, but I'm not a bystander. I'm telling you, I punched him," I say angrily.
"He's lying," Porky wails. "Trying to save his friend's hide morelike. I demand compensation! Just you wait, I'll sue this entire place for admitting this riffraff into the tournament-"
Already convinced, Chrom inclines his head, and more guards bustle over to rip me off his arm. I protest louder, but like the massive fuckhead he is, Chrom pretends not to hear me. Amidst the bruise nicely swelling up on his jaw, Porky throws me victorious smile underneath Chrom's elbow-
"Father!" Breathless from running, Lucina emerges onto scene with Pittoo landing at her side. She glances first at me, then at the security guards roughly handcuffing Lucas before raising her eyebrows. "Father, what is the meaning of this?"
"Don't interfere, Lucina."
"Please, father, you can't do this-"
"Begone. I have no daughter," Chrom says stiffly.
Flapping his dark wings once in irritation, Pittoo crosses his arms and gives into a mocking laugh. "Wow. Never thought that you'd sink so low."
Chrom grits his teeth. "All bystanders will remain silent until testimony-"
A sexy 6 inch heel interrupts him with a sharp click, and the Number One tag team shows up to the rescue. "I beg to differ, Chrom," comes a familiar purr.
"Samus! Lady B-Bayonetta!" Lucina stammers, her eyes going round.
"Honestly, Chrom, you are stretching it too far. Let Lucas go," Samus says flatly, storming over and flicking her stun gun to the highest overprotective older sister mode.
"Samus, let me do my job-"
"Oh, your job? I'll do your precious job for you!" Angrier than I've ever seen her, Samus jabs a finger into Chrom's face like she's about five seconds away from poking his eye out. "You think that Lucas of all people got riled up, punched Porky in the face, and committed assault under your nose? Huh?"
At this, Chrom reluctantly glances back at me. "Well... perhaps not," he says gruffly. "But all evidence points against him-"
"I said that I punched Porky!" I almost scream. "I have dried blood on my hands! What more evidence do you need?"
"It wasn't his fault. Ness was provoked," Lucas says quickly.
"Is that so, little one?" Bayonetta asks softly, her voice dripping with seductive venom. Everyone turns around to face Porky, whose gloating smirk has been wiped out by the sudden turn of events.
Eyeing the loaded gun in Bayonetta's hand as if struggling to weigh his options, Porky finally comes to grips that a possible death in the hands of an angry mama Witch and an older Bounty Hunter sister isn't worth getting his hands dirty. "Fine," he says nastily. "Ness punched me. It was an accident, so I'll let it go, all right?"
"Well then, there we go. The case is settled. Fair, simple, and easy," Bayonetta purrs, sheathing her gun into her heel. "Chrom, I hope to see you handling future cases with a dignity befitting the size of your manhood. And you," she adds when Porky tries and fails to slip away. In fact, Porky looks all too ready to wet his pants in terror when Bayonetta licks her lips, leaning over his downed form with a wicked smirk. "Mmm. I'm growing tired of all the naughty little liars roaming our halls and giving us a bad name. What should we do with him, Samus?"
With a identically murderous scowl etched on her face, Samus cocks her gun, displaying perfect trigger control. Props to her. She's got greater self-control than I have. "That depends. What exactly did he say to provoke you, Ness?"
"I'm sorry!" Porky bawls, wheezing and crawling over to grab me by the ankles in terror. "Ness, I didn't mean it, don't let them hurt me-"
"Don't apologize to me," I say, disgusted, and push him away with the tip of my shoe towards Lucas, whom Chrom is currently unshackling. "Apologize to him."
Porky latches his piggy eyes onto Lucas, and as if unsure of where to train his eyes, Lucas looks extremely uncomfortable, like he doesn't want to be there.
A disarming smile grows on Porky's face. "Lucas," he says cheerfully, walking over to slap him in the back. "You know I didn't mean any of that. It was a joke! All in the name of good fun. You understand, right?" Reaching over to pat his business card into Lucas's coat pocket, Porky's smile doesn't falter. "Ness has a good point. I'll swing by for my debt in a month. You just call me anytime if you need my help repaying it."
Lucas's face turns sickly pale.
As if catching onto the insinuation, Samus grabs her gun. "That sonova bitch-" she starts furiously, but before any of us can do anything, Porky pats me on the shoulder and slips away with a smirk.
Damn it.
I knew I should've kicked him where the sun doesn't shine.
"Calamity! Profanity! Violence is abound," Tingle squeaks, running our way and waving his metal detector in fury. "Oh my, oh dear! The press is going to hear about this. Oh fairies above, rescue poor Tingle from sh-shame!"
"It was well-deserved, Tingle," Samus says grimly, keeping him at bay. During their busy dialogue, Bayonetta kneels down from her towering height to exchange quiet conversation with an unsettled Lucas.
"The press? Well, I'm out," Pittoo deadpans, wrapping a wing around a still-subdued Lucina. "Come on, Lucy. I owe you a dance before Palutena wrecks the dance floor."
Something twinges in my empathy link.
Worried, I glance in Lucas's direction. Curling his fists tightly by his side, Lucas clenches his jaw, now shaking so badly that his knees are knocking together.
I reach out for him. "Lucas-"
When my hand touches his shoulder, Lucas snaps his head up, wild-eyed like a feral animal. Shoving me aside, he storms out of the atrium.
Without second thought, I call after him, but ignoring me, Lucas breaks into a sprint. Past the elevators. Up the stairs. Shit, I knew that Lucas could run, but he's a fast little fucker. "Lucas, stop!" I scream after him, but up ahead, Lucas only speeds up, pressing his hands against his ears.
I'm going to lose him.
So when he skids into the second floor, I use every ounce of my burning thighs to lunge forward and tackle him as he turns into the library. Stumbling into a book case, Lucas struggles to wrestle me aside, but no matter how hard he fights back, I cling on tighter. His telekinesis is sucking everything in, and I can feel it, I can feel his rising anxiety, I can feel the sudden tug of his PSI towards his center of gravity. All of the bookcases begin to rattle like teeth. Loose papers slip off the tables, dropping onto the ground like dead flies. A few pencils sluggishly crawl towards us as if dragged over by an invisible hand. I hold my breath, transfixed by his involuntary show of telekinesis because our powers are highly dependent on the state of our mind.
And Lucas is far from okay.
In an angry fit of desperation, Lucas tries to push my head off. "Go away," he chokes out.
I wrap my arms around his back. "I love you."
Sinking into the floor from my weight, Lucas bares his teeth and makes a frustrated noise, his shoulders shaking from the force of holding back a sob. "Damn you, Ness, let go-"
"You're worth more than all the money in the world," I whisper.
Scrunching his eyes shut, Lucas buries his face into his hands and cries. I can feel his hurt radiate through our empathy link, and it's so raw and painful and helpless that my aching chest feels like it's about to rip into two.
Lucas isn't okay.
But maybe... maybe I can make him feel better.
Instinctively tapping into my magic, I reach for his shoulder, but when my fingers brush against his shirt, I hesitate. I don't take messing around with feelings lightly, and something tells me that Lucas won't appreciate me meddling with his emotions. For one, he's psychic. He'll know if I try to manipulate his emotions the same way I can tell he's reading my mind. And while there are times people can use some empathy, this isn't one of them. Sometimes you really need to cry it all out to think clearly.
Everyone is entitled to some privacy.
Lucas spasms. Another hiccup tears through his throat.
I lower my hand back to my side. The rush of power disappears from my fingers, tickling back into my chest, and the magical glow from my eyes fades away. "I'll give you some space. Come back up whenever you're ready," I say quietly.
His face still hidden in his hands, Lucas doesn't respond. Messy tears leak past the corners of his eyes and drip down his arms.
My heart as heavy as lead, I shut the library door behind me.
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~oO0Oo~
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There are two ways most boys my age deal with their emotional problems. You either (1) "man up" and ignore them until they explode in your face like a ticking time bomb, or (2) cut to the chase and explode first before your problems trigger themselves. I guess there was also (3) jack off, but these were all temporary solutions at best, and as much as I liked option 3, context applied. Sexually frustrated day? Whack it. Amnesiac best friend undergoing emotional trauma and borderline racist-homophobic hate? Seriously, don't be a dick.
Instead, I fiddle with Lucas's Christmas present on my bed, and aching for something to do, end up tracing over the smiley snowmen tap-dancing on the wrapping paper. Eventually, I leave both of our gifts on the couch. It doesn't seem right to open his gift, not without him there to open mine.
So I go to the bathroom to wash my hands.
Worst. Decision. Ever. My knuckles sting like a motherfucker when I shove them under running tap water, and I realize that the blood smeared on my hands is my own. I raise my right hand in dismay. There's an incision the size of a staple between my 1st and 2nd knuckles, which doesn't help because all the knuckles on my hand are sore and tender. I'll have to ask Lucas for a healing session when he gets back.
Then I think about Porky's swollen eye, and while violence doesn't justify violence, grim satisfaction lifts the weight off my stomach. Though by now, I'm sure that the press has gotten hold of my berserk fiasco, and Master Hand's out busting his ass to save my name. I can imagine the headlines on The Smash Daily tomorrow: Gay Teen Assaults Business Man. Even better, Homophobic Tub of Lard Gets His Come-uppance in Ass-kickery.
No shit, Master Hand's gonna be pissed. I'd better come up with a damn good reason to explain myself when he calls me into his office.
Then someone knocks on the unlocked door.
For a second, my heart leaps into my throat because I think that Lucas is back, but when a blue parka slides into the suite instead, I can't help but feel downtrodden.
"Christmas gifts for you and Lucas," Popo says, shaking his hoodie off and pushing a whole pile of packages into my hands. "I had a hunch that you two wouldn't show for the afterparty. Rosalina wanted to deliver the Christmas sweaters herself, but I said I'd take them along."
The ugly Christmas sweaters have that cozy "just knitted right" texture when I rub it between my fingers, and when I spread them out, I realize that they're embroidered with stripes of red-and-blue hearts and a matching golden Earthbound insignia shimmering over each chest.
Glancing around as if searching for someone, Popo steals a chair next to me. "Lucas hasn't returned yet?"
I glance at the clock. Eleven PM. "Nope."
"Thought so."
"Thanks for covering him. You called Samus and Bayonetta over, didn't you? You saved his hide twice."
Popo flicks his pipe. "Three times. I don't think Lucas noticed, but I stole his glass for a sip during dinner. Definitely tasted roofies, but whatever Porky spiked his water with hammered my head hard. Any more, and it might have knocked me out."
"Drugs dampen our powers because they fuck with our mind."
"Then shit, Porky definitely wasn't playing around. I think that the food was safe, but Lucas didn't eat or drink anything." Catching my numb expression, Popo slugs me in the back. "Dude, I told you I got it taken care of. You can trust me." Shaking out a Ziploc bag of weed, Popo offers me his marijuana mouthpiece, and when I scrunch up my nose, he shrugs, stuffing the mouthpiece with mountain of weed and smoking it. "Just saying, Porky's a dangerous guy."
"Really? He seems like a wuss."
"Frankly, yeah. But he's a manipulative little wuss. I'm honestly scared for you."
This makes me pause. "That's rich, coming from you. Aren't you supposed to tell me to chillax and smoke weed?"
"I wish I could this time," Popo says darkly, taking another whiff of the drug. If you've never smelled weed before, then be grateful you haven't. With its weird bitter-sour stench, summarized politely, marijuana smells like Sweet Essence of Rotting Skunk. "You'd better be careful, Ness. Rumors say that Porky runs an underground business in child trafficking-"
"He what?"
"Money leaves behind a dirty trail, and Porky's been a real busy body. CEO of a toy factory, loan shark, leader of a crazy cult. Where do you think he gets his drugs? He's clearly buddy-buddy with the boss of the Sharks."
"How do you hear about this stuff?!"
"Oh, from here and there." Popo says vaguely. "Why else do you think Master Hand keeps us under his thumb until we turn 18? It's his way of limiting our interaction with people like Porky in the celeb industry until we're old enough to make our own decisions. Or at the very least, prevent grooming. Because if you think about it, we're literally living amiibos. One stab in the right place, and next thing you know, someone could be selling you in a thrift shop."
"Sure, sell us in a thrift shop. WHILE WE'RE LIVING TRACKING DEVICES. What do you take criminals for, Team Rocket stupid?"
"God, Ness, you're so naive. Master Hand gives all this shit about "tracking devices" while you're petrified and whatnot, but if we go down in battle, then there's nothing we can do until someone arrives on scene. Anyone could petrify you, kidnap you, then UNpetrify you so we can't track you, genius."
"That sounds like an oddly convenient loophole for a story plot."
"Master Hand tries his best to protect us. Sadly, he can't save everyone." His phone buzzes with a notification, and Popo's lips quirk up. "Hey, check this out. Another booty call. Sweet."
"You should sleep around less. It's not healthy for you," I say quietly.
Popo laughs. "Dude, again? Fuck off. My sister's already on my case. So don't preach that shit to me, Ness, not when you can get by on a stable fanbase. You've just never experienced it before, but it's not half-bad. Sex is great. Especially when it pays well." Taking a last drag, Popo stretches his arms. "Ah fuck it, I'm off to get some snow. I'll do my best to keep an eye out for you, but for now? You'd better watch out for Lucas. He's already gone too deep into dangerous waters. Real deeeep." Popo giggles, shaking his head, then swings his legs off the chair. "Shit, I can't feel my head. This stuff's deep, man."
I snort and push him to the door. "Go outside, you're going to get me high on second-hand smoke."
"Nah, it's safe."
"Great, now my entire apartment smells like weed, you ass," I complain.
Popo winks. "Thanks, I do have a nice ass."
I slug him in the shoulder, and with a cackle, Popo stumbles off, waving a little off-center before staggering down to the atrium. I wonder how often he's high. All the time, probably. If Popo doesn't smoke weed, he eats it. I've seen him sneak an assortment of meth, acid, and ecstasy from Snake into his parka like a pro. A sad thought, but I wouldn't be surprised if Popo sobered up just for the Christmas dinner tonight. All to simply keep an eye out for us. He can be a surprisingly trustworthy person on the rare times he's actually sober.
So I swear to make a mental note to check on him next time, next time for sure, because I seriously can't afford to have another friend fuck up his life from a cocktail of drugs.
This then reminds me of my OTHER idiot friend who almost fucked up his own life from drugs, and I anxiously glance at the microwave clock. While Master Hand is less anal about the midnight curfew every Christmas because basically everyone is out partying in the Mansion, after tonight's little brawl, I'm most likely stuck PERMANENTLY on Master Hand's bad side. My heart sinks. Ideally, I want to give Lucas space, but I can't get him into trouble too. Best not to dig the hole any deeper. I'll be more than happy to give Lucas space back upstairs.
So I pass Captain Falcon's loud hahaha! and drunk chorus of Christmas cheer from Cloud's room, and pick my way to the library.
Moonlight streams across the dark carpet, casting a pool of light on a toppled set of bookcases. The velvet curtains flutter over their half-open windows, lonely and forgotten. When I step foot through the high-hanging arches and Roman pillars, it's like a sudden hush whispers into my ears. The library is deathly still and quiet, save for the tinny orchestral sound of a GBA. I can't describe why, but the limited sound quality is nostalgic, bringing a sharp pang to my chest.
Quietly, I trace my footsteps to its source.
Slumped underneath a low-hanging bookcase, Lucas doesn't say a word at my approach. The fluorescent glow of the Game Boy washes over his face and hands. As if tied to heavy weights, my feet slow of their own accord until I've reached a stand-still.
No words are needed.
Without breaking the silence, I watch him replay Porky's last save point over his shoulder. I watch as the background whites out from a disorienting blue, watch as the Masked Man confronts Lucas, watch as the Masked Man unmasks himself as Lucas's twin brother. I watch as the words drift in and out of focus, words that don't mean anything to me, but hold undeniable weight to the person slouching in front of me.
Claus fired an intense bolt of lightning!
A loud crackle bursts across the GBA speakers.
Lucas's Franklin Badge... reflected the lightning!
There was nothing Lucas could do but watch.
Claus took mortal damage.
A quiet click. The screen fizzles out. When Lucas speaks, his voice sounds incredibly bitter. "Porky was telling the truth. I killed my brother."
"It wasn't your fault-"
"I dealt the final blow, Ness. I-" Lucas suddenly cuts himself off, drawing up his knees and burying his face into his arms. "...I killed him."
"Your brother made a choice to end his own life. You never made that choice for him," I say softly, because while I'm no stranger to the pain of loss, my family is still intact. My family is alive. Though my dad's done some crummy things, I do love both my parents, I love my younger sibling, and hell, I even miss lazy ol' King from time to time. Shit, just thinking about losing my pet DOG makes me want to bawl.
But losing your brother? Right after losing your mom?
I can't imagine half of what Lucas is going through now.
"Porky gave you a game file from a save point. You don't remember anything that might've happened before the final boss."
"It doesn't matter. Replaying this game won't bring my brother back."
I quietly crouch down next to his hunched form. "I still think you should start the game from the beginning. You can't judge someone based on one scene, and you have no idea how your entire adventure unfolded-"
Lucas doesn't meet my eyes. "Ness. Would you ever willingly commit suicide."
"No," I say indignantly. "Why would I-"
"Would you sacrifice yourself if it meant saving the world?"
Fuck.
Doesn't help that Lucas would probably do the same in my shoes, but I don't have the heart to point that out. Best be honest I suppose.
"That depends. But only after I've tried everything else," I add anxiously, watching Lucas like he's about to explode. "Because honestly, dying would really suck-"
The only warning I get is a flash of his blue eyes before Lucas pulls me closer. I choke myself off, too stunned to react, but there's no mistaking the familiar arms snaking around my shoulders, and my eyes have widened to the size of saucers because Lucas is, well, hugging me. With another ragged intake of breath, Lucas shifts against me, and I can't help but recognize the stark contrast. Whenever I hug Lucas, I'm left with the bittersweet impression of how thin and scrawny he is. Or how his elbows and bony joints jut out and poke into my ribs. Or how Lucas's hand would awkwardly pat my back as if unsure of what it was supposed to do there.
But Lucas actually hugging me is different; I feel safe and protected in his fold, nestled against the crook of his shoulder with both of his arms and legs boxing me in and his breath warming the side of my neck.
When was the last time Lucas hugged me? He curls around me a little tighter, and I involuntarily find myself relaxing, sinking comfortably into his umbrella hold. Definitely not anytime after his growth spurt. The only time I can recall was when we'd reunited after defeating Tabuu, when the Hello, welcome to Brawl orientation had somehow turned into a clusterfuck of Subspace adventures. Shouting out my name, Lucas had dived over and wrapped his arms around my shoulders like a vice. He was so relieved to see me all right that he started shaking uncontrollably and crying on my shoulder, and it wasn't weird at all because I might have been bawling too.
Lucas's breathing remains unsteady, all uneven and erratic, so I uncertainly rest my fingers against his skinny shoulders. His face is pressed too close into my shoulder for me to make out his expression, but when Lucas starts to tremble like a leaf, the sudden dots of dampness seeping into my shirt speak more than enough about his feelings.
I swallow. Lucas always seems to know what to do when I'm upset... but I never know what to do when he is, because he tends to clam up and keep to himself. Lucas's worries are complicated and heavy. They aren't as easily as assuaged.
But I can be there for him.
And if Lucas wanted a hug... well, that was something I could give. Leaning into the arms curled around my shoulders, I scrunch up my eyes, trying to trigger a spark of happiness in my mind. Happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts. I gently prod Lucas's mind, and when Lucas involuntarily responds to my tendril of thought with a soft brush of his own, I let the strong pulse of warmth seep into our empathy link.
"Hey, buddy," I say softly, and Lucas shivers. The words somehow feel right on my tongue, so I reach up and ruffle his hair. "It's okay. I'm here."
The frown doesn't leave his face, but Lucas's shoulders relax a little. He mumbles something under his breath, then snuggles closer to my warmth.
My shoulders slump over with exhaustion. My heavy eyes start falling shut of their own accord.
Happy thoughts.
Think happy thoughts...
...
...
.
.
.
.
"Merry Christmas, you little piece of shit!" Someone crows in my ear, and I jolt awake flailing with a screech. Except that someone's wrapped me snugly in a blanket like a burrito, so I accidentally roll off the couch and faceplant onto the floor of the apartment instead. Goddammit, there goes my dignity.
Wait, the apartment?
"Oh fuck, who let you in," I complain, shaking myself upright to nurse my sore head, and Popo cackles like a lunatic. He's crazy, I tell you. Or high. The smell of weed is back, so he's definitely been out smoking with the guys again.
"I told you not to wake him up," Lucas deadpans in his matching ugly Christmas sweater, watching the exchange from the dinner table over a cup of tea, and I jolt again because I totally didn't know he was there. Lucas must've hauled my ass back upstairs. Again.
"Thought you wouldn't want to miss the day before it ended. So stop PMSing and wake up to smell the flowers, Nessie! Time to unwrap all your presents before midnight," Popo says cheerfully, giving me a noogie and messing up my hair much to my complaint. He expectantly turns his head over to Lucas. "Yeah so, that's an order, dude. I'd better see, like, both of you there."
"To where, you weirdo?" I spit out, because okay, maybe I'm not the nicest when someone YELLS in my ear like a foghorn just as I was getting comfy, but Popo's already gone, fluttering his fingers in what was supposed to be a seductive wave before skipping out of the apartment.
"His birthday party," Lucas helpfully supplies. Of course, Popo's birthday is coming up in early January. I bet we're eating out, because Popo's been itching for a drink and KBBQ ever since they've lowered the drinking age here to 18. Not that Popo HASN'T been drinking mind you, but between you and me, for legal purposes, Popo hasn't touched a single drop of booze. Okay? Awesome.
I rub my eyes. "How long was I out?"
"About fifteen minutes." Lucas surveys me in concern. "You shouldn't strain yourself."
Oh right, the magical therapy session.
"I'm okay," I say honestly, holding up my hands in defense. "Empathic healing doesn't hurt, just makes me feel drowsy afterwards. I do it for my mom all the time whenever she gets bad anxiety, because the effects are only temporary-"
"Don't burden yourself with the negative feelings of others. It's hard enough for you as it is," Lucas mutters, not meeting my eyes, and this puts a stupid smile on my face... Though he does catch sight of my grin and rolls his eyes.
"You didn't have to punch Porky," he says flatly, shaking his head at my busted knuckles. "Now look at what you've done. You fucked up your hands."
But when Lucas heals my fists, holding them gingerly in his, I can't help but notice how much lighter his eyes look. Like someone's taken a heavy load off his shoulders.
I hesitantly squeeze his hands, and when Lucas tenses up, I know that he can sense my reassurance through our empathy link. "You're never a bother," I whisper, and it's a testament to our trust that he doesn't pull away from my touch. He knows that I won't read his emotions. Not like this. Not unless he wants me to.
Lucas swallows, and his Adam's apple dips in his throat. "Stop caring so much. You'll only get yourself hurt."
My smile widens. "If you really do feel sorry for me, then kiss kiss!" I say, cheerfully opening my arms, and Lucas awkwardly squirms in my hold when I settle for hugging him instead.
Lucas wrinkles his nose. "You're choking me to death, you sap," he snarks back, but I snrrk at his expression. I don't take offense, not in the slightest, because I know that Lucas hides his feelings behind a veil of sarcasm. I guess that's his way of saying I love you too, dumbass, because if he really wasn't okay with it, then he wouldn't have let me hug him. He's just as capable of letting me know, and I know better than to overstep his comfort zone.
He's still not a fan of hugs though, so I let go, distracting him with an excited exclamation of hell yeah, Christmas presents! because Lucas will need time to get over his loss, and he'll better cope with me sticking to routine. It's literally an equation. If I stay constant, then Lucas will have fewer variables to worry about. The fewer the variables, the easier Lucas can prioritize his problems. His father's denial. Porky's debt. Other complicated stuff that Lucas thinks about.
Match his pace. Match his stride.
Like I said, we'll figure everything out along the way as we make shit up, because I still don't know how to fucking relationship, and I don't think Lucas knows how to either. I'm just a hot-headed, hasty, happy-go-lucky derp while he's a cold, careful, callous derp.
But we'll make it work somehow.
I know we can.
...
...
...what?
We're at the end of this chapter, what more do you want from me?
Ugh, all right.
Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal. And a Happy New Year.
Author's Note:
I like to think that Porky slipped in a date rape drug into Lucas's drink, more specifically, Klonopin (clonazepam). Similar to other date rape drugs, Klonopin is common over-the-counter medication used to treat seizures/anxiety, and is generally insoluble in water because of its chemical structure. However, it dissolves better in acidic solutions (i.e. lemon water, for example), and more readily in water than other drugs of the same family. It's argued to have a minty aftertaste.
Snow is another nickname for cocaine/coke/crack... as Popo is an ICE climber. I can imagine that Nana and Popo are members of a fictional matriarchal Native American tribe who live in a similar environment as the Inuits, and that their tribe is currently living in a reservation. Meth addiction, alcohol/drug abuse, and human trafficking are major problems in Native American reservations across the U.S., and combined with the fame of celebrity life, I'd like to think that Popo fell into drugs at a very young age.
Bonus Chemistry Fact! Chloroform is a slow-acting reagent. This means that you literally have to hold a chloroform rag to someone's face for several MINUTES before its effects kick in. Movie logic at its finest.