Voiceless

by Pre-Animation Man

At first he thought he just endured a simple bruise on his neck. A minor injury that would eventually heal. But an alarming spurt of crimson that erupted from his mouth told a different story. He lamented the lack of training wheels that should've prevented such fate. This Story contains characters from Skunk Fu!, The Adventures of Tintin, Sonic X, and Super Mario Bros.

"Now I've heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord."

Were her ears deceiving her, or was she hearing a melodic voice singing?

"But you don't really care for music, do you?"

Placing her wrench back in her toolbox, she followed the sound of the heavenly voice. It sounded pleasantly familiar...

"It goes like this: the forth, the fifth. The minor fall and the major lift."

Lavender eyes widened at the sight of her little nephew sitting on the grass and singing to his heart's content. His falsetto never failed to impress her.

"The baffled king composing Hallelujah..."

Before she could stop herself, her lips were already moving, and she was singing along with the yellow boy.

"Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah-"

Traces of anxiety and discomfort laced his tone as soon as the little boy registered the second voice singing with him. 'Still afraid of singing in public, it seems.' Tintin thought sadly as she trotted over to her nephew.

"Uh...sorry, hon. Didn't mean to interrupt your lil' alone time. I just...well...you sound so lovely, I...l-look, I'm sure if you keep tunin' your tenor, you'll eventually find yourself singing in a choir, or even better, you may find yourself collaboratin' with one of them famous singers."

Pac fiddled with his thumbs a bit as he looked away in a poor attempt to hide the giant blush spreading across his face. "Thanks for the encouragement, but...I don't know about a choir or working with a singer. I mean, what if I hit a sour note and everything just...you know..."

Tintin gave her nephew a gentle pat on the back. "Oh please, don't give me those kinds of words. You know better than to think the worst."

"B-but what if I happen to lose the voice I have right now? Like, what if it goes hoarse? Or even worse, what if I lose my voice completely?"

"Pac," Tintin firmly put her index finger and thumb underneath the boy's chin and brought his face moderately close to hers, "look me in the eye."

Pools of sapphire stared into a lilac ether, the latter gazing at the other with concern and love.

"I never want to hear you say that ever again, Pac. You know as well as I do that you'll never lose your voice. You'll never lose your beautiful singin', and I sure as hell know you wouldn't fail a single choir or singer if you ever got the chance to work with 'em. In fact you're a special little kid." She sucked in some oxygen before continuing. "Just as special as your parents. Your mother and father had great singin' voices. Get this, their singin's so good, a famous popstar from Trumois offered them an opportunity to star in one of her performances. Can't remember her name though..."

Completely forgetting about his self-consciousness, Pac was drawn to the story with a big, adorable smile on his face. "Really? That sounds awesome!"

"It is." Tintin agreed, a nostalgic expression showing on her countenance. "The second I caught wind of their live appearance on stage, I immediately bought airplane tickets to Trumois and practically barreled my way through other peeps just to get to my seat." She chuckled to herself at the memory. "Your parents were phenomenal on that stage, Pac."

Pac hummed contentedly. "I bet they were..."

"So the moral of my story is this: if your parents can manage to get themselves on a singer's stage without much effort, you can too." She then fixed her firm gaze on Pac. "So I don't want to hear you say those kinds of things. It'll only bring ya down if you keep overanalyzin' yourself.

Yellow shoulders slumped and Pac's head tilted downwards in shame. He kicked the tip of his shoe lightly against the grass as he considered Tintin's words. "I guess I was being a little too anxious about myself." He admitted quietly, lifting his head back up and casting Tintin an expression of contemplation and determination. "Maybe one day, I'll collaborate with that Trumoisan singer just like my parents did. I could travel around the whole world with her, perform and sing with her, and do so much more!" A wide, bright smile complimented his features as he wrapped his small arms tightly around the elder woman. "I'm gonna make you so proud, Aunt S! Just you wait and see!"

Tintin chuckled heartily, returning the warm embrace. "You made me proud since the day you were born, my little nephew."

"So what did you want to show me, Aunt S?"

A light chortle sounded as Tintin led him to the garage, where a blanket of plain white tarp veiled a mysterious object. "It's something I believe you're old enough to use."

Pac walked over to the hidden object, then pulled off the tarp, revealing a bright yellow bicycle with stylish tiger stripe patterns embellished on it from the frame to the handlebar. "Woah..."

Tintin grinned warmly as she watched her nephew ring the little silver bicycle bell with an even bigger grin on his face. "Ol' Goldie used to be my bike when I was your age. Now that you're old enough to own and ride a bike yourself, I figured I can just give Goldie to you instead of buyin' a brand-spankin' new one." She said as her observant eyes scanned Goldie for any scratches or any kind of flaw that could lead to major injuries. "I'm really glad you like your new bike, Pac."

"It's perfect!" Pac exclaimed joyously as he picked up his new bike, but was stopped by two powerful hands ripping the object from his grip. He looked up at his aunt in confusion, wondering why she abruptly removed it from his hold.

"Sorry, Pac. I still need to make a few adjustments to your new bike." She explained apologetically, gently placing the object back where it sat and grabbing her toolbox. "I promise it'll be ready by tomorrow."

The yellow boy felt saddened about the newfound information, but knew better than to argue about it when he had many other things to do to entertain himself. Perhaps a movie and some popcorn will help.

If there was one thing Pac was embarrassed to admit, it would be the fact he never rode a bicycle before.

But that didn't stop him from climbing onto Goldie and trying to pedal her forwards, resulting in the bike tipping over on her sides constantly until he placed his right foot on the solid ground, preventing her from falling over.

"It's alright, Pac. You'll get the hang of it." His optimistic aunt assured him, kicking some rocks out of the walkway and discarding various pieces of litter into the bin until it was completely barren of anything threatening to topple Goldie over. "The path's all cleared now. You can start practicin' on ridin' Goldie."

He wasted no time on practically slamming his feet onto the pedals, racing the whispering winds and dominating the concrete paths of the lush green park, being wary of passersby and his own actions.

After what felt like hours, he was finally properly riding Goldie.

He initially thought it'd take him over ten minutes.

It only took him five.

with each passing second, his grip on reality faded as a daydream formulated in his head. His body seemed to move on auto-pilot as he drifted off into his own world, where many thoughts ran through his brain at once, most of them being memories, and most of those memories consisting of his aunt and himself.

Spending their summers eating ice cream and relaxing on the beach was more vivid than the surface of the ocean.

Observing the colorful blossoms with his aunt in the springtime was more memorable than the brightest flower.

Listening to the satisfying crunch of leaves as they trotted over them in the fall was more momentous than finding the most fascinating tree.

Frolicking in the snow and drinking hot chocolate during the winter months was clearer than the most transparent chunk of ice.

Laughs were shared.

Good time was spent.

And he can't seem to remember if he got that exclusive flavor of ice cream from last year.

'Pac...'

And what were those unique flowers called again? Azaleas? Forget-me-nots? or were they chrysanthemums?

'Pac...!'

Did he accidentally eat the carrot of the snowman's face again? Knowing himself, it is highly plausible-

"PAC! WATCH OUT!"

A familiar voice brought him back to reality, his attention now concentrated on the concrete path he rode on. Much to his chagrin and utter horror, another individual made the decision to walk the same path, blissfully unaware of the uncontrollable bicycle and her luckless passenger heading his way.

"Look out!" Pac's frightened shout went unheard as the man continued strolling onward, humming a cheerful ditty to himself.

He was left with no other option but to veer the bike off the path to avoid the painful collision with the man, putting him in a field of healthy blades of grass.

Without warning, an unknown object from below had rendered Goldie unstable as she began wobbling precariously. Pac still tried fruitlessly to stop the bike's perilous movements, ending up with him holding onto said bike for dear life.

Until Goldie's last shreds of balance was disrupted by another mysterious object, where he finally let go and was now plummeting to the warm, solid earth.

An expression of pure fear flashed across his countenance and gripped his conscience as he fell to the ground.

For a brief, blissful second, he thought the least he could get from this accident was a few minor bruises and a few curable grazes.

SCRAPE.

THUD.

That thought was promptly chased away when he felt a searing pain rocket through his body, a warm liquid pooling at his neck and steadily bubbling in his throat.

Darkness bespattered his vision as unconsciousness was soon to consume him, but he held on long enough to brush a single finger across his neck to inspect the damage caused.

He couldn't even summon the strength to gasp in fright as thick maroon fluid slowly trailed down his finger and dripped onto the grass with a revolting 'plop'.

The same liquid erupted from his mouth, the bitter taste of iron flooding his senses and rendering him unable to breathe.

The last thing he saw was the nebulous image of Aunt Tintin snarling at the man who caused him to swerve onto the grass to avoid colliding with him, then swiftly made her way to her nephew, visage contorted in worry and terror.

"PAC!"

Untold minutes flew by faster than a bullet.

Kaleidoscopes of multicolored individuals passed by her peripheral vision as she ran desperately to get to the nearest hospital, a yellow body bloodied and unconscious in her arms.

Tears materialized in her eyes, unknown if they were from the wind gusting against her face or the woeful thought of losing her treasured nephew to an ignorant man who simply refused to acknowledge the extremities of reality.

It was most likely the latter.

She could care less about the abundance of prying eyes staring frightfully at the body in her arms, some retching in disgust at the grisly scene playing out before them while others were brazen enough to accuse Tintin of something she would never commit. Her patience wore thin as the hurtful words drilled themselves into her memory.

"Oh my god! That poor boy!"

"You bloody murderess! Did you think you'd get away with killing that poor child!?"

"Look at her face! She's definitely guilty!"

"Call the cops! Call the cops!"

There was no way she'd let the police get involved in this abysmally misunderstood situation.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" She bellowed, her roaring voice muffling the terribly concocted accusations. "I did not, and would never, murder a kid! This child in my arms is my nephew, and he's in dire need of medical treatment! Now get the fuck out of my way before I make ya'll!"

Many pairs of eyes widened in fear of her fury being brought onto them, promptly scurrying away from her with their tails between their legs. Sighing in much needed relief, she resumed her hurried running towards the hospital that now presented itself to her, its' dull colorless walls almost appearing merry and vivid with the sun reflecting off them.

She looked at the beacon of hope that was the industrious hospital, then down at her suffering nephew.

Ever since the alleged disappearance of Pac's parents, she was burdened with the responsibility of raising the golden child. Now with the war over and the evil finally conquered and put in their rightful place, all she needed to concentrate on was her nephew's well-being. But with her steadily aging body and withering strength, the singular encumbrance felt more difficult than fighting in the war.

She had done well with taking care of her nephew, who she considered to be the last part of her family.

She had come so far.

She was not going to lose her nephew to some fool that caused the accident.

Pushing her thoughts aside, she did not hesitate to run into the archaic building.

'Don't worry Pac...you're gonna be okay...I promise...'

She could've been breaking several rules for all she knew.

But facing the consequences were the least of her worries.

She had forsaken her dignity a long time ago, barging through the hospital doors and demanding urgent medical attention on her nephew.

Once the doctors and nurses took notice of the wounded body in her arms, they were quick to bring him to the emergency room via a stretcher.

Several surgeons prepared their medical equipment for the circumstance, injecting anesthesia into the patient to ensure a painless operation.

Tintin almost snarled at the doctor blocking the doors to the emergency room. "What do you mean I can't see my nephew?! Do you even know how much pain he's in?! I need to make sure he's safe in there!"

A quiet, exhausted sigh fled the doctor's lips. "I'm very sorry, ma'am, but this area's accessible to staff only." He elucidated tiredly. "If you want to see your nephew, you'll have to come back here tomorrow during visiting hours. 11 a.m. to 2 p.m., to be specific."

"How long will his surgery last?" She inquired, her patience thinning with each passing minute.

"According to how severe his laryngeal injuries are, it should take approximately eight hours if we're fortunate." The doctor answered, examining his wristwatch. "In other words, it would take until midnight for his surgery to be complete."

She had to resist the inner compulsion to punch the doctor or the hospital itself when she absorbed the information, boiling with restrained fury until she let out a long, wavering breath in a strenuous effort to remain calm and composed.

"Alright...fine. I'll leave ya'll alone. But when I come back here, my nephew better be alive and well!" Reluctantly, she stepped away from the room where the surgery was taking place, stomping out the hospital while muttering inappropriate words under her breath.

Thankfully nobody paid attention to the foul language spilling from her mouth, saving her from the embarrassment she would've had to face otherwise.

Her legs felt gelatinous as she walked back to her abode, her eyes devoid of light and happiness, now replaced by a somber darkness that could only be banished by her nephew's successful recovery.

For now, she could only subdue that lingering hopelessness by means of a welcome distraction.

Her glazed lilac eyes stared pensively at the liquor store that caught her interest, a thoughtful hum reverberating in her pharynx.

There were worse ways to distract herself from her depression.

Albeit drinking her sorrows away was still an unhealthy method to quell her melancholia, at least it was better than ingesting her previous prescription, which ended up giving her some detrimental side effects.

Making up her mind, she trudged into the shop with a one-track mind.

She may regret her actions in the morning, but it didn't matter at the moment.

Not with the delectable alcohol bottles clinking noisily in her bags, ready for consumption by the time she made it home.

But with the extra weight in her hands, she soon found it difficult to walk, her energy sapping with every step she took.

Deciding she wouldn't be able to make it back home with how quickly her energy was draining, she pulled out her phone and dialed the last person she'd want seeing her in such a miserable state.

"Hey, could you give me a lift, hon?...I'm at the liquor store just a few yards away from the local hospital...alright, thanks. Love ya too."

Sonic yearned for nothing more than to celebrate at least one day of relaxation somewhere away from the Round House.

Unfortunately, a day like that would never arrive, not as long as he continued to hold his current position as president.

While his status as the president of Pac World gave him certain advantages, there were still hindrances that made it difficult for him to perform his job, one of them being his abysmal bodyguards occasionally creating a dog pile on top of him as their definition of 'defense' whenever peril decided to strike.

Aside from the few hurdles he manages to overcome, his responsibilities are relatively lenient, mostly consisting of the safety of the citizens and justice for the entirety of the world.

But in spite of his benevolent leadership and untainted dignity, he still held quirks that made him completely different from his presidential persona.

When paired alongside his long-time companion Yoshi, he was seen as the man who fought in that dreaded war, long before he was elected president and spreading peace and prosperity to the land.

The same man whose brother's heart was consumed by sin.

By unbridled wrath.

By unconcealed envy.

By shameless vanity.

By insatiable greed.

Every day, every night, Sonic asks himself the same question, always given by the same answer:

'Why did he change his ways...?'

The answer should've been obvious, but it just wasn't enough to quench the president's curiosity.

There should be a more personal reason behind the truth, the truth that would answer everything he needed to know...but what?

"Hello there, Sonic, old friend! Sorry for dropping in unannounced, but there's something I need to tell ya. I also brought lunch, in case you're hungry."

A shrill voice sounded from across the office, snapping Spheros out of his pensive reverie to stare curiously at the lime green man treading in, carrying a tray of fresh fruits and a medium-sized turkey, cheese and ham sandwich topped with mayonnaise.

He smiled at the man's unconditional kindness, accepting the tray of delicious goods with dignified gratitude. "Thank you, Yoshi. I am quite famished." He popped a smooth, ripe grape into his mouth, piercing through the supple emerald skin and delighting in the sweet taste saturating his taste buds.

Finally, he swallowed. "You need to discuss something with me? I'm afraid I don't exactly have the time, Yoshi-"

"I'll make this quick, don't worry." The unpleasant shift in the elderly man's tone took Sonic aback.

Usually his tone was valiant and enthusiastic, consisting of all the qualities of a retired freedom fighter.

Now his tone was grave, perturbed and impatient, completely corrupted by unwanted negativity.

The president considered setting his paperwork aside to listen to what the poor scientist had to say, the gravity of an unknown circumstance pressing down upon his conscience.

Reluctantly, he pushed the stockpile of papers away, his decision set in stone. "If it's anything grimly pressing, feel free to discuss it with me."

Yoshi drew in a breath, his hands balling up into fists as he carefully pondered his next choice of words.

"...Tintin told me all about this just yesterday..."

Agony.

When she awoke to the artificial lights over her head, all she felt was absolute, interminable agony.

Hangovers, an aftereffect of alcohol she could barely stand as it produced endless pounding in her skull.

Her vision was clouded over by an ocean of ashen brume, eyelids batting constantly until it subsided.

Lilac irises gazed at their surroundings, finding various types of machinery, beakers and several other scientific items lying neatly around what appeared to be a very familiar laboratory.

Oh. That's right.

Memories from yesterday flooded the forefront of her mind, a vermilion blush dusting her face at the brazen colloquy she and her inamorato discussed just last night.

Her humiliation was heightened by the epiphany of one undeniable fact:

She had told him everything.

It was supposed to be a beautiful day, not a single silvery cloud littering the blue skies or covering the brilliant sun.

It was supposed to be a mirthful day at the park; just simply Pac learning to ride his new bike with his aunt there to support him.

But that man...

CRASH.

Why couldn't he just notice the hapless boy in front of him? Could he not hear the constant ringing of the bicycle bell? Was he deaf?

THUD.

No, that couldn't be. He seemed to hear very well when she was at his neck, spewing a long string of curse words and threatening to rip his spine out from his throat.

"PAC!"

She ignored the pounding in her head as she gripped an empty liquor bottle tightly in one hand and threw it on the floor in a fit of rage, watching as it shattered into millions of pieces and scattered across the laboratory. She cared not for the robotic reprimand that was in the unfathomable language of beeps and chirps.

"Oh, quit yer yappin', Tiger! Can't ya see I'm having a moment?" She spat out irritably, groaning as she slowly rose from the bed she previously slept on and made her way to the table, where a curious little note sat alongside a couple pills and a tall glass of water. Lifting the small piece of paper to eye level, she read it to herself:

'Dear Tintin,

If you're reading this note, then I just wanted to say I hope Pac gets better. I am sincerely sorry for the trouble you had to go through yesterday and I hope you get back to your chipper old self soon. There are painkillers right next to the note in case you need them.

With Love, Yoshi.'

A small, grateful smile tugged at her lips, her heart thrumming rhythmically in her chest as she read the name of the person who wrote the note in such elegant cursive.

'That man sure knows how to pluck my heartstrings.' She thought sweetly, gently setting the paper down and picking up a single pill. Without hesitation, she lightly shoved the cylindrical object to the back of her throat and began chugging down the water at breakneck speeds, drawing her lips away from the glass when the first pill was successfully consumed.

The second pill was even less challenging. She had consumed it in a similar fashion, placing it on the back of her tongue before swilling it down with the rest of the water.

Now the glass was completely empty, pitiful droplets sliding down to the bottom of the glass and accumulating until there was nothing but a tiny crystalline puddle simply awaiting their demise down the drain.

Like being dunked into a rushing river, a single crucial thought grabbed her attention.

"Wait...what time is it?!"

She whipped her head round to see the clock, its' ticking an indication that it was still functional. Her eyes almost bulged from their sockets when she registered the time:

11:30 a.m.

"Ah shit!" She cursed out of anger, hopping off her chair and sprinting to the mechanical doors. "I'm thirty minutes late for visiting hours! Why didn't you wake me up earlier, Tiger!?"

The android chattered noisily in resentment, lifting his extendable robotic arms in front of himself in defense.

"Doesn't matter now! I have a nephew to visit!" She hurried out the laboratory, leaving Tiger to continue his daily cleaning in peace.

Until the vehement woman came back with a message that made the robot's gears rasp irritably. "And clean that empty glass on the table while you're at it!"

Tiger could've sworn in his own enigmatic language that his oil was surely boiling.

He'd been told stories of what it was like beyond life, how good souls are accepted into the heavens while unforgivable sinners are banished to the underworld to rot for eternity.

Opening his eyes, he was met with a blinding white light, radiating a somewhat heavenly glow as it beamed down onto his countenance.

He spluttered for a minute, trying to think of what to say to the light.

He feared speaking the wrong words to his divine superior would result in blasphemy, an act that he was sure would land himself in perdition.

"G-God...is that you...?"

He grimaced when he heard a guttural voice speak to the lord, a very unfamiliar voice he was sure did not just leave his lips.

His throat is quite dry. It's been a while since he drank anything, anyway. There's bound to be water in heaven, right?

Right.

A yellow hand reached to grasp the light, to grasp the eternal paradise waiting just beyond the existing universe.

Somewhere in the distance, there was a quiet creaking sound, followed by a flurry of footsteps entering the room.

The sounds beckoned him to look away from the light and crane his neck upwards to see in front of himself, only to be met by the scrutinizing stares of a single nurse and two green men.

One of them he knew of, considering the man on the right was the president of Pac World. But the man on the left was unknown to him.

Perhaps he's friends with the president. That would make reasonable sense, otherwise he wouldn't be in this hospital room-

Wait...hospital?

A sudden realization struck him as fast as a lightning bolt.

He did remember the agony he underwent that day, the crimson fluid ruining his throat and staining his fingers.

Blood had flooded his airways, preventing oxygen from reaching his lungs.

Before falling comatose on the grass, he caught one last glimpse of his loyal aunt hurrying towards him, utterly horrified of the scene she had beheld.

It clicked in his head, the final piece of the puzzle fitting into the picture.

She had brought him to the hospital and saved his life.

He watched disinterestedly as the nurse and the two men exchanged words, the official staff member bidding them goodbye and taking her leave a few minutes later, leaving Sonic and the anonymous visitor alone with him.

A deafening silence engulfed the tiny hospital room.

Pac raised a brow quizzically, his interest rekindled when he took in the incredulous fact that the president himself had come here to visit him alongside his ostensible companion.

And they just happened to know he was in the hospital. But how? They didn't even witness the scene themselves.

Unless there was news on the television regarding the unfortunate accident?

No, that would inspire too much attention. It would've been unnecessary as well.

Perhaps someone told them about the accident?

That's definitely plausible. But now the question is who told them?

The chances of the teller being the man who caused the accident was highly unlikely.

That left only one person left in his lethargic mind; the one person who had witnessed everything, from the crash to the bloody blackout.

The one person who had raised him since his parents' alleged demise. 'Aunt S...'

Now that he deciphered the mystery behind their unexpected visit, there was only one last question that needed to be answered: why would she tell them?

"It's a good sign to see he's awake." The unknown man stated nonchalantly, gently coaxing strands of aureate hair away from Pac's skull and inspecting the unblemished skin. The boy cringed at the unfamiliar contact.

"It's an even better sign to see he hasn't suffered trauma to the head. But just to make sure his brain is still unhindered from any additional injuries, let's see if he remembers some things, especially those important to him."

Pac hesitantly intervened, fixating his sapphire gaze upon the man talking. "Well, I do remember Aunt S, how kids would bully me at school, that banana, chocolate and vanilla ice cream I had for dessert a week ago, and the accident...I wanna forget that last one..." He quivered frightfully.

Two pairs of eyes exchanged fascinated and astonished glances, then looked back at the boy lying his head back into the pillow.

For a child attached to a tracheotomy tube, he seemed perfectly fine with talking.

"Pac, how are you feeling today?" Sonic asked tentatively, as if he was afraid of the answer.

He then directed his attention onto the president. "Tired." Another yawn fled his lips. "Did Aunt S tell you guys about the accident?"

"She told me specifically. And I beg your pardon, but I believe I never told you my name." A shrill chuckle filled the room. "You may call me Yoshi. I'm one of the greatest scientists in Pac World, you see. I also happen to be friends with the president of Pac World."

Yoshi...that name sounded awfully familiar...but where had he last heard it?

The door slamming open had him involuntarily recoiling in fear, the instinctual premonition that a criminal had broken into his room flashing through his mind.

Until he laid his eyes upon one exhausted and seemingly furious Aunt Tintin, a vein protruding from her temple as she stomped towards Sonic and Yoshi, particularly the latter.

"So instead of wakin' me up so I could visit my nephew sooner, you decided to bring Sonic to the hospital and keep him away from his job?" Her teeth were bared in an irritated growl. "Why did you even decide to bring Sonic? It's completely unnecessary, not to mention we don't need presidential company here. Not tryin' to be rude but if he stays here too long, you know how much attention he's gonna bring on my boy? I don't want him being swamped in reporters, paparazzi and all that jazz. He isn't quite social-friendly yet."

"I sincerely apologize for the inconvenience, but I didn't want your hangover to affect your intentions. So I just wanted you to awake on your own accord, ingest the painkillers I had ready for you, and just simply wait for your headache to subside." A quiet, wavering chuckle did nothing to appease the tempestuous woman. "I didn't quite expect to see you here so soon...heheh..."

She stared at him incredulously. "Ya think a hangover's gonna keep me away from my nephew? Absolute baloney; you know me better than that, Cee Cee."

"Well, I didn't want to see my darling poinsettia in pain." Yoshi smiled dopily, an affectionate giggle and a painfully audible smooch on the cheek having the yellow boy diverting his gaze away from the escalating scene and trying not to heave.

Fairy tales had told him that kissing was a natural occurrence in romantic relationships, but he never imagined something as revolting as this.

And the gut-wrenching realization that they were having their moment right in front of him did nothing to help his spiralling disgust.

As disgusted as he may be, though, there was still room for curiosity.

"Hangover...?" He questioned aloud. "What's a hangover? What's a painkiller? I'm so confused."

Yoshi hummed passionately when he felt the lipstick sticking to his face, a lovely reminder of who had kissed him with such vigor.

Pac had heard those terms used whenever his dear aunt was experiencing painful headaches, but he never understood the definition behind them.

Despite having autism and being able to learn faster than most children his age, there were still some things he couldn't wrap his head around.

"I'll tell ya when you're older, Pac." Tintin said, gently threading her fingers through silky soft hair and massaging his temples.

"Well, for starters, a painkiller is a pill you take to alleviate, well, pain. A hangover is-"

"Cee Cee, I appreciate you tryin' to open my nephew up to some things, but I think it's best to wait until he's older and more mature. I don't want a nine year old to learn about THAT part of humanity." She cast a worried glance down at her innocent nephew, an oblivious look plastered over his face.

"I know what a painkiller is now, but...what's a hangover?" He turned to look at his aunt, who shot an annoyed glance at her beloved before directing her lavender gaze to her curious nephew.

"I said I'll tell you when you're older." She repeated, hoping to engrave the message in his little head so he wouldn't ask again.

He stayed quiet for a minute, only to pierce through the lingering silence with a new question. "How much older?"

"I believe I've seen enough." Sonic declared after observing the scene silently for untold minutes, inconspicuously shivering in disgust at the scene he had unintentionally witnessed just seconds ago. "I just came here to wish Pac a healthy and speedy recovery."

"Why didn't you just send him a 'get better soon' letter? You're pretty busy these days and I didn't want my nephew's medical issues to interrupt your work."

"Yoshi convinced me to visit Pac. I made the voluntary decision to do my paperwork later. After all, the citizens of Pac World are far more important to me than some documents, especially citizens quite close to me." He explained smoothly, his shoes clapping against the polished floor as he headed towards the door. "I hope to see Pac back on his feet very soon. Farewell, everyone."

"Bye, Mr. President..." Pac waved his hand at Sonic tentatively, the little action making Tintin and her lover chuckle heartily. Sonic merely smiled as he walked out the door.

Silence began creeping into the tiny room, until Pac eliminated it with a question.

"...how much older do I have to be to know what a hangover is...?"

Tintin let out an agitated sigh as she glared at Yoshi. "You're lucky I love you."

The scientist only let out an anxious giggle.

Time certainly does fly, especially for the woman who had spent most of her afternoon talking to her healing nephew, her beloved departing the hospital when it reached 12:00 p.m.

One hour later, she was shepherded out of Pac's room by one of the nurses, now currently walking back to her own abode, displaying a content smile for all to see.

With how his recuperation was progressing, she was positive he'd be discharged in no time.

Somewhere in the corner of her vision, she made out a glittery golden light, shining brilliantly on her left.

She turned her head to look at the source of the luminescence, her jaw dropping when she absorbed the beauty of the antique store's interior.

Glittering chandeliers hung from the ceilings, fine china was neatly placed in polished glass armoires, deluxe picturesque artwork hung from the walls.

But only one luxurious item in the entire establishment had caught her attention, an item that reminded her of the one person she loved more than anything.

A charming golden bell was sat on a plush cushion, a small red ribbon attached to it. The label on the bell's pedestal read 'The Good Luck Bell.'

She touched the ribbon, delighting in the feel of such velvety fabric. "Satin..."

There was no doubt about it; the little antique was perfect for him. His tenth birthday was arriving in just a few weeks from now. She had plenty of time to prepare the bell for the special occasion.

Her wallet may have to suffer the price of the antique, but it would be worth it to finally have a gift for her nephew, even if it wasn't much.

With twenty dollars to spare and a happy little jingle coming from the bell clasped in her hand as she trotted out the store, she now had something else to smile about.

Tick...tock...tick...tock...

Weeks.

Tick...tock...tick...tock...

Two dreadful weeks.

Tick...tock...tick...tock...

It had been a whole fortnight since the day he was admitted to the hospital.

When is he going to be discharged? Her patience was already thin enough.

Tick...tock...tick...tock...

One more week until his birthday.

Just seven more days.

She could only hope he'd be discharged before the deadline.

"Ugh...how long do they plan on keepin' him cooped up in there...?" She thought aloud, a growl reverberating in her throat.

Celebrating his tenth birthday on medical premises would be the last thing she'd want to do.

On instinctual impulse, she practically barged out the front door, adrenaline coursing through her veins and her mind set on only one crucial intention.

It was fruitless to wait anymore.

She needed him home today.

Patience is a virtue.

An inspirational quote that never failed to kindle a spark of positivity.

Four simple yet powerful words that engraved themselves into her memory since childhood, always there to remind her of the limitless power of rectitude.

But the unyielding desire to discharge her nephew was somehow stronger than common sense, mercilessly shoving morality aside and taking the reins.

She couldn't bear another second without his presence. To leave him in the hospital for another day would be akin to asking for another episode of self-indulgence.

The mechanical doors sliding open alerted the attendants and patients, their expressions highly concerned when they registered the look of wrath creasing her features.

Her violent aura was dangerously potent at this point. One wrong move from the staff could put their lives on the line should they refuse to release her nephew from convalescence.

"He's been in here for two weeks, ma'am. Two. Weeks!" She said to the receptionist, lifting two fingers to emphasize her point. "When are ya'll gonna discharge him? By now, he should be fully healed and rarin' to go."

Dark brown irises skimmed through the paper on her clipboard, then looked up at the livid woman impassively.

"...Skunk will be here shortly, Tintin." She said monotonously. "For clarification, your nephew is being discharged today and should be here in a moment."

Relief cascaded down her frame, metaphorical weights were finally lifted off her shoulders.

She couldn't quite properly explain the relieving sensation, not that she wanted to. But at least she knew one thing:

Pac's recovery was successful. No longer was there reason to throw a pity party. He will be brought home seven days before his birthday.

Everything was going just as she had planned.

The few people who knew of the unfortunate predicament can now put it behind them.

There was no need to dredge up the horrifying experience anymore.

As soon as Pac was brought to her, they would both trek onward to a brighter future.

She doesn't care if the price is her life; she will make sure her nephew gets the idealistic future he deserves.

"Your nephew is ready to go, ma'am." A masculine voice pulled her back to reality, where a man in a white coat was accompanying Pac, whose throat looked perfectly normal save for the virtually invisible stitches adorning said throat. Without hesitation, the little boy sprinted to his aunt and wrapped his arms around her in the tightest embrace she had felt in countless weeks.

"It's great to see ya too, Pac." She crooned tenderly, lifting him up and returning the embrace. She caught a glimpse of a small smile tugging at his lips as she gently set him down.

"So," she started, turning to face the doctor just in front of her, "how much do I gotta pay for the surgery and all?"

"No need to worry about our expenses, ma'am." He waved his hands dismissively. "The president himself paid for your nephew's laryngectomy."

Tintin was dumbfounded. Then she recalled yesterday, where her loving partner had brought Sonic to the hospital to visit Pac. Her lilac eyes widened comically when the epiphany struck her.

It was likely Yoshi managed to persuade the president to pay for the surgery so she wouldn't have to.

'Cee Cee, you genius son of a gun!'

Her grin almost literally stretched from ear to ear when she remembered her beloved's talented nature, how he would always think ahead and what course of action would be best suitable for specific circumstances despite his quirky demeanor.

"According to how successful the laryngeal recovery is, Pac may immediately progress to a soft diet." A certain list was given to her. "Here's a list of food items he may and may not consume."

"Thank you, sir. Have a great day." With nothing further to add, she bid the hospital staff goodbye as she took her nephew's hand and walked out the ancient building, where her jalopy awaited the two of them. They climbed inside the antiquated vehicle and drove off to their destination.

There was no talking on the drive back home. It was concerningly silent aside from the intermittent purring of the car's rusty engine.

At first she didn't see the quietude as a problem. It was typical for Pac to be silent during most car rides, only verbally speaking whenever she spoke first.

But now an uncommon variant of silence engulfed the vehicle's cozy interior.

It was deathly silent.

When she stopped at a glaring red light, she adjusted the little rectangular mirror to look back at the yellow boy, whose small hands fiddled with his seat belt, his expression indecipherable.

Her brows furrowed in consternation as she tried to study his emotionless visage.

A minute passed, and she noticed the watery glimmer trickling down his baby soft face.

Was that sadness behind that mask of indifference?

Shouldn't he be overjoyed to know that he's finally released from the hospital?

"Hey sugar, is everythin' alright back there...?" She asked hesitantly, turning to face the mute child, his expression still unreadable.

Slowly, he turned away from his aunt, preferring to look out the window instead.

"Did you hear me? I said is everythin' alright back there?" She repeated, her tone an octave higher just in case Pac couldn't hear her.

Only silence met her ears.

Figuring he was giving his newly mended larynx some more time to heal properly, she sighed quietly and ceased questioning him again.

And the car ride was silent once more.

It wasn't until five minutes later she spoke to him again, this time giving him information on his speech therapy that was scheduled to start tomorrow.

And yet, he remained voiceless.