Chapter Text
Purpled stands at the line in the cafeteria, hoodie drawn over his head. He waits patiently, fingers tapping against the metallic tray he holds in his hands while his gaze darts everywhere, watching, observing the other boys of his age milling about in the cafeteria.
The cafeteria was definitely quieter than it had been just months ago. The loudest and most talented of the Facility were all gone, having been adopted and taken away by Handlers who were looking for the best of the best. All that was left were those that did not have much combat prowess, and thus were not as highly sought after compared to the rest. The line moves, and Purpled moves with it.
He finds himself staring at the food lined in trays behind the glass window, and grimaces quietly to himself. Tasteless soup, dry potatoes, the usual. Purpled considers skipping lunch for today, but his stomach thinks otherwise. Purpled raises his tray to the lady behind the glass window, her plump cheeks rising as she beams at Purpled, the ladle in her hand scooping a generous amount of soup and dumping it onto his tray.
“Hello, Purpur. More potatoes for you today?”
Purpled squirms uncomfortably. “It’s Purpled, mam.” He mutters, but nods anyway. The potatoes are always dry, causing his throat to mimic the desert, but Purpled likes it regardless. He’ll just have to make do with soup to compensate for it. The lady beams at Purpled once more and scoops an extra portion of potatoes just for him. Muttering a silent word of thanks, Purpled retreats to his corner in the cafeteria, out of anyone’s sight, and picks drearily at the vegetables as he fishes out the results of his aptitude test from his pocket.
The big, fat 0 scrawled in bright red ink smirks back at him. 0, again.
Every single month, every single year, the number 0 was his faithful companion. Hell, even Ranboo was once a 0, but his aptitude test scores started to pick up after he turned 17. Meanwhile, Purpled was still stuck on 0 despite being months older than his friends. No signs of powers, no signs of magic.
At this rate, he would be stuck in the Facility forever. No Handler would ever think of adopting a wolf who couldn’t even hunt. He thinks about how Tommy had been adopted by Philza, Angel of Death, a year ago, and the multitude of postcards and letters sent by Tommy stashed somewhere in the confined spaces of Purpled’s bedroom, describing all the exotic and surreal places he had been to while working with the Angel of Death.
We’re heading to the Corvarian Empire today! I’ll send you some souvenirs if I can get my hands on any. Hope to hear from you soon! Tommy had written, and Purpled found himself silently tucking away the letter into a box filled to the brim with letters from his other friends, deciding that he would write a half-hearted reply later.
“Hey Purpled!”
Purpled snaps out of his thoughts, his hands fumbling awkwardly to keep the paper that holds the results of his aptitude test. Coughing lightly, he meets eyes with Tubbo, who smiles at him though traces of concern line his eyes.
“Hey Tubbo.” Purpled greets back lifelessly, wondering if Tubbo had seen the big fat red 0 on the paper as he stabs at a piece of potato with his fork. Purpled gestures at Tubbo to sit, but much to his dread, Tubbo doesn’t, standing with his hands hidden behind his back, an awkward smile dancing on his lips.
Purpled becomes acutely aware of Tubbo’s getup as he lets go of his fork, which remains upright and stuck in the potato. The formal white shirt, crisp and clean without any traces of wrinkles, the long black jeans which were a little too large for Tubbo, and the light brown hair neatly pushed back with gel.
Oh.
“Who is it?” Purpled murmurs tiredly, hoping that he could get this conversation done and over with. As much as he wanted to be cheery for his friend Tubbo for finally being adopted, Purpled could not help but feel the pool of loathe bubbling in his chest, threatening to rise and spill out of his mouth. He was being abandoned, yet again, by the people he considered to be his closest friends. This particular one stung more than the rest, for it meant that once Tubbo was gone, he would be alone.
Forever.
Tubbo’s gaze drifts to the ground as his smile falters. “It’s… Wilbur.” Tubbo says softly, sounding almost apologetic. It makes Purpled scoff lightly.
Wilbur. A familiar name, one that was taught during the lessons in the Facility about the various Handlers and their ranking. Ranked below the Blade and the Angel of Death, Wilbur was a man said to be the living epitome of hubris itself. Purpled wasn’t sure if the meek, soft-spoken Tubbo would be able to live under the man whose reputation revolved around chutzpah, but being adopted was indefinitely better than being stuck in the Facility. No more dry potatoes, no more crumbling walls, but an adventure around the world awaits.
“Good luck.” Purpled echoes emotionlessly, before turning his attention back to his lunch. He pops the piece of potato in his mouth and takes a forceful jab at another piece of potato, imagining it to be Tubbo’s face, Tubbo flinches slightly, startled by the jab, but Purpled doesn’t care. He continues eating, ignoring the boy, ignoring his heart willing him to say a last goodbye.
“Yea. Good luck.. To you too.” Tubbo replies meekly, before turning and heading towards the entrance of the cafetiera where the Administrators of the Facility are waiting for him. Purpled sees the bag Tubbo holds in his hands, which had been hidden behind his back a second ago, and his heart sinks when he sees the 4 miniature figures strapped to the handle as keychains.
The four of them were always inseparable. Tommy, Ranboo, Tubbo, Purpled. They were The Four, and they spent all their time in the Facility together ever since they were just kids. Eating, playing, studying, mocking Handlers, wondering about the world outside of the fenced gates. There was never a moment where the Four weren’t together, for they depended on each other for company, for a sense of belonging.
Then it changed once they turned 17. Tommy was adopted first, the Angel of Death fond of Tommy’s aptitude for the skies, leaving behind Ranboo, Tubbo and Purpled.
The trio was devastated. They knew how talented Tommy was, how much Tommy yearned to be adopted by a Handler, playing it off as a joke, but they never expected the day to actually come.
And when the chance came, Tommy took it, leaving behind a gaping void that was near impossible to fill.
Purpled recovered faster than the other two. He became the mood maker of the group, filling in the spot left behind by Tommy. Ranboo and Tubbo depended on him to lighten up the mood with his lame jokes. But as they recovered, Purpled soon found himself falling deeper and deeper into the pit of lament even if he never showed it.
The trio promised to be together, until the end, like what the original four had promised each other.
Until Ranboo stumbled into the room on his 17th birthday, completely dazed, holding the familiar paper in his hands with the numbers 94 scrawled on it in bright, crimson ink. And then everything happened, so quickly, Purpled felt sick.
Purpled’s last minute with Ranboo was hectic, to say the least. Purpled remembers the faint flickers of the candles on the cupcake he and Tubbo had stolen from the cafeteria, intending to use it as a substitute for a birthday cake. But before they could even sing a happy birthday song for Ranboo, the Administrators came, together with the Blade.
The Blade, whose Handler ranking was at the very top, high above everyone else. The man whose presence was enough to scare away troublemakers. The man who once took down a violent organisation by himself, single-handedly, without any inch of help. Purpled remembers seeing the pictures of the Blade, glowing crimson eyes and a spiked mask covering his mouth, and making a silent promise with himself to steer clear of the Blade.
But there he was, taking up all the space in the corridor, his crimson eyes blazing against the shadows as he folded his arms, staring disapprovingly at Purpled, then Tubbo, then Ranboo.
Purpled remembers cowering underneath the frown of the Blade.
Ranboo packed in a rush, hand shaking and trembling as he struggled to shove all his belongings into a tiny duffel bag. While Purpled watched the events unfold, in a complete state of shock, Tubbo started to help Ranboo pack silently with a crestfallen gaze.
Once Ranboo was done, the Blade extended his hand. And Ranboo took it, and the two left.
Ranboo didn’t even say goodbye. The cupcake was abandoned, the flames of the candle dying down, leaving the room enshrouded in darkness. The two sat in stifling silence. Purpled grabbed the cupcake, pushed open the window sills, and flung it outside as hard as he could, along with the shredded remains of his friendship with Ranboo.
It was too much for Purpled to bear. The bright, inquisitive kid grew withdrawn into his shell, never making another joke. While Tubbo tried his best to talk to Purpled, his efforts were in vain, and soon the two stopped talking to each other all together.
Now he was truly alone. Purpled rakes a hand through his hair and sighs to himself, staring at the remains of his lunch. Deciding that he felt too sick to take another bite, Purpled moves over to the bin which is half filled with leftovers of today’s lunch from the other kids, and dumps his food into the bin before silently returning his tray and making his exit.
He didn’t know what to do. When the Four were still together, they were always throwing out mischievous ideas to pass the free time. Sneaking into the Headmaster’s office, stealing a bottle of whiskey from an Administrator… the Facility was their playground and Purpled loved every moment of it.
Purpled walks aimlessly. He finds himself in the basketball court outside, the overgrown blades of grass tickling his ankles. The basketball lies abandoned in one corner, and Purpled moves over to pick it up, examining the rough orange surface of the basketball. In one small spot on the surface, he sees the signatures of the Four, and his heart sinks.
Purpled drops the basketball angrily, turning around to stomp back to his room like a small child throwing a tantrum. He stops in his tracks, turns around once more and picks up the basketball before shooting it into the hoop. Purpled watches as the basketball soars through the air gracefully, and enters the hoop without any difficulty.
Purpled can almost hear the cheers of his friends, Tommy being the loudest of them all. “That’s 1 point for Purpled.” He mutters to himself softly. His eyes start to sting and he rubs them hastily, willing himself to not cry. Crying is for kids, and Purpled is certainly not a kid.
The basketball bounces on the grass, before stopping by the feet of someone. Purpled looks up, and his eyes widen.
Administrators. They were talking among themselves, before one of them points at Purpled and beckons to him.
Purpled remains rooted to the ground, frozen in his spot. He glances around hurriedly, and realises that he is the only one in the basketball court.
“Purpled, come here.” One of the Administrators calls out.
It takes Purpled a few seconds for him to register those words. Purpled nods dumbly and runs across the grass, occasionally tripping over his own feet, his mind a flurry of jumbled thoughts as his heart screams at him. He is next to the Administrators in second, panting lightly as they start moving down the hallway. “W-what-” Purpled stops for a moment to catch his breath, mind giddy and hands shaking.
“What are you calling me for?”
One of the Administrators turns around, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t it obvious?” She says, the corners of her lips curling into the lightest of smiles.
“You’re getting adopted.”