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The passage of time is a tough adjustment.
A few weeks-- perhaps a month or two-- allowed enough breathing room between challenges. When the contestants had first assimilated into Yoyle City, many found the free time opportunistic to explore the ruins, some more so than others. Pin was amongst the former, insistent that her team follow her in crusading the worn structures and what remained of the tourist attractions.
The game is over now. The days grow slow, monotonous. She has nothing to compete for, and certainly not anywhere she needs to be. It leaves her both relieved and unsettled; The peace gives her a lot of time, but nothing with which to do.
Except for thinking. She spends far more time in her head than not.
...Her mind is a bit of a mess.
In hindsight, the months between challenges weren't of much help. Not when she spent most of that time brooding and seething and anticipating the next contest. Driving herself up metaphorical walls thinking about what she could do to be the best at them.
When was the last time Pin had just stopped, and breathed? Listened?
She feels like a star after a supernova, collapsed within herself. Coiny, her team, whatever force that was keeping her from coming undone entirely had vanished in an instant one day. Then gravity had won out and the pressure was suffocating.
Her anger was explosive, visceral, and ran hot; no matter how many outbursts she had or times she tore her way to immunity, it had never been enough to sate that fire in her. She burned and burned and set the world ablaze in her wake.
Her thoughts were so loud. And everything else is quiet.
She used to know what she wanted.
Now,
She is just exhausted.
________________
Sometimes it tingles. Other times, it aches.
As it happens, relearning how to live with limbs after nearly two years without them is also a tough adjustment.
Four weeks passed since she'd gotten over her pride enough to ask for Golf Ball's help. Which felt like pulling teeth, when Golf Ball was equally prideful and had Tennis Ball flanking her like a guard dog whenever Pin drew near.
It had taken hours, ending with her sprawled about on a makeshift bed. She notes how light she felt first, then her suit discarded in a corner of the room, squinting her eyes against dim florescent light.
Her eyes roll over listlessly to her side and suddenly she's fully awake.
Pin had only half listened to GB's spiel of scientific jargon as she helps her sit up, occupied with marveling at her limbs like an awestruck deer. They looked the same, if not a deep faded red at the end of her appendages. Almost unnoticeable.
She tests her hands, flexing them as much as they'd allow. Bending her legs a little.
They quiver slightly, a dull rippling just shy of pain, like her limbs had just fallen asleep. It's uncomfortable. But the idea of feeling anything in them after the agony of nothingness for two years was doing something to a part of her she had long thought disappeared.
And against all better judgement she's off the bed and scrambling to wrap her arms around Golf Ball, almost barreling them both onto the floor, mumbling out a thank you through a lump in her throat.
After a month- maybe an additional few days- GB is the one counting, not her- of being cooped up in a lab, cycling through exercises like a guinea pig, Pin can't help but feel her gratitude (and her patience) wear thin. She itches to make herself useful, for her independence, or simply to do anything at all without her body feeling like it's been reduced to putty.
Pin smiles through it. She knows better than to complain, especially not in front of Golf Ball. At least, now, she can actually go outdoors.
She starts easy, striking conversation with her old teammates, though inwardly chastising herself for taking the easy way out, because it's not like she ever had bad blood with them. Either way, they're the first to visit her once she's out and about again.
Nickel had asked, once, if she thought if white looked better on her.
And, if Pin was being honest with herself, she doesn't really know what constitutes "better".
"I'll miss being red!" She had answered sheepishly, unsure of herself. "But I'm happy either way... I—I think. I'm still me."
I'm still me.
Whatever made up of her past self-- before BFDIA-- felt so distant and immaterial, Pin worries that she may have already lost her. Sometimes she doubted if that was ever her, someone brash, independent and commanding. The longer she turned the thought over, she bitterly thinks that it would be pointless to ever try and seek her out.
Being denied of personhood will do that to you, she guesses.
She definitely didn't feel independent. Walking feels unnatural when it shouldn't. Her own body feels foreign to her, like metamorphosis after being cocooned within. People are different, too: the game has changed everyone, armed them with knives to stab each other's backs. Poison of the worst kind that kept them crawling back for more, challenge after challenge, wiring them to believe that there was a purpose to any of this. (That it wasn't just for the title, for the thrill of it.)
Then everything ended and time let them embark on a path to heal with no directions and no end in sight.
It was new. Scary.
Though the worst of it had passed, Pin had always felt it. Felt the tension, in how some people talked to each other, or how others kept their distance. In each wary glance sent her way, as if this subdued, patient act she'd kept up was nothing but, and that true, vicious core of hers would snap in reflex at the slightest pressure.
Every little reminder that nothing was ever going to be the way things used to be.
It wasn't like she was not used to change; time and time again, she'd been forced to adapt. Pin had turned herself into a living weapon just to keep up with its pace.
But now the guilt hangs heavy on her shoulders, a sisyphean boulder she'd carry for the rest of her life.
It still hurts. (She thinks it never won't.)
But she was tired of being angry.
________________
To no one's surprise, a mind that isn't constantly addled with rage and adrenaline is much easier to live with.
It became easier to focus, especially when she needed rapt attention to not fall flat on her own face during one of GB's assessments.
It makes her perceptive.
It's enough for her to notice that Needle was spending less and less time around Freesmart. At some point she ceased saying a word about them, even in passing.
Pin doesn't pry, and Needle tended to bristle should anyone ask, anyway.
But Needle has a sweet tooth and the smell of butter cake gets her to talk.
"How did you even pull this off?" Needle was over Pin's shoulder, observing as she eyeballs a cup of flour. She gestures vaguely to the ramshackled bakery. "This place has gone to rack and ruin, I'm surprised the oven is still running."
Sure. It isn't ideal, but between the two of them, this was luxury compared to the months they had to ration bread in the TLC. Besides, if there's one thing Pin knows how to do, it was do what she could with the cards she's dealt.
"Magic," Pin intones, holding a large bowl close to her chest as she rigorously stirs through mounds of frosting. "And Coiny gave me access to the steakhouse pantry— here, lick this."
Needle takes the spoon Pin offers in her hand, hovering it inches before her mouth in trepidation. "Will I die?"
"Needle."
Needle does as she’s told, screwing her eyes shut for a few beats as if anticipating her heart to stop. When it doesn’t, and she finds herself genuinely impressed by the taste, she scoops the remaining paste onto her finger.
“See?” Pin says, smug. She retrieves a nearby whisk in lieu of a spoon. “Have some faith in me.”
The oven sounds, and she opens it by a crack, peering inside. Warm, sweet air escapes in billows from within into the cold kitchen.
Interest piqued, Needle takes a few steps forward as the smoke clears. “And this is…”
"An apology cake!” Pin twirls around, in a flourish. Baring her teeth in a smile that was a little too enthusiastic. “Thoughts?”
“Apology cake.” Needle parrots. "I don’t know. It smells edible," She shrugs, and Pin's eye twitches.
“Everyone’s a critic. You know, the last time you baked a cake, the world nearly ended.”
“I thought you wanted my input.” Needle mumbles. Not wanting to dignify that comment any further, she changes the topic. “Who were you planning on giving this to?”
"Um. Everyone?" Her face falls, a crease forming between her eyebrows. "I don't know, Needle. I'm trying."
"You are," Needle concedes.
She leans against the counter, giving her arms a momentary break—they were starting to smart again. It doesn’t go unnoticed.
“How long have you been at this?” Needle quirks an eyebrow. She was among the few who actually kept up with Pin’s progress and was a lot more cognizant in making sure she wasn’t stretching herself thin.
She shrugs. “An hour, maybe.” Lately, trying to do anything took twice the time than the standard.
“And I’m not even done. After I get through this I have to get started on the brownies—"
“Have to?” Needle catches, incredulous.
“Ah. In case anyone didn’t want cake. Fries told me in passing that he wasn’t actually a huge fan of it, and it gave me an idea; I wanted to accommodate everybody.”
Needle sighs. “This is the kind of activity GB advised against during your recovery. Does she know you’re doing this?”
“I’m just doing something nice.” Pin argues meekly. And it’s one of the few things I can do.
“Even last week, you nearly hurt yourself trying to bring a gadget from the museum back to the lab for Tennis Ball.” Even though he could’ve done it himself, needed not to be said.
“But I wanted to help! It’s not any trouble for me to—” As she lifts an arm off the counter, it seizes with a deep, sharp pang, making her hiss in discomfort and trail off miserably.
“Sit down, Pin.” Needle instructs, leaving no room for objection; Pin finds a seat on a lone stool near the kitchen island, but makes a show out of pouting.
“This is…” Needle tosses glances between Pin and the messy kitchen space, “Sweet, really.”
Pin, wearing a tight-lipped grimace, doesn’t meet her eyes. “You think it’s too much.”
“Honestly? I do.” Needle keeps her distance, talking to her back. Crossing her arms, she adds, “It’s only been a two months and a half, maybe less. You’re doing better, and I get wanting to prove that—"
“Golf Ball says I’m doing fine—”
“—But you also need rest.”
Whatever response she has to that dries at the top of Pin’s tongue. She doesn’t want to admit to her fatigue.
“The cake is halfway done.” Pin says defensively, in lieu of an answer.
“I know, and I’ll let you get back to it. So long as I get to help you. You— you’re doing a lot, right now. Way more than you need to.”
Pin hears the telltale footfalls of Needle shuffling beside her, pulling an adjacent stool and sitting with her elbows propped on the old marble counter. She pretends not to notice the mute concern with which she looks at her, the burning of her cheeks with a chagrin she can’t place: between herself, or being cornered like this.
“You know why I went solo? During BFDIA?” Needle inquires. It doesn’t sound like a question, more so a fact, but Pin shakes her head anyway. Where had that come from?
Then, her words heavy, carrying doubt, “It’s the same reason why I left Freesmart.”
Pin perks up, and she can tell that this was the first that Needle was speaking of them, voluntarily. She herself was planning on bringing it up, but now that Needle has, it dawned upon her that she didn’t actually have an idea how to navigate that conversation without offending her. Saved me the trouble.
“I chose myself. Much easier than choosing between the alliance, or W.O.A.H. Bunch.” If Needle was expecting a reaction, she didn’t get one, not beyond a small hum of acknowledgement. “It wasn’t anything against our team, or theirs— but it was so much pressure, yeah? I wanted my freedom.”
Oh, right, she thinks. Needle never exactly made that a secret. Desiring independence; Pin had related, on that front, to the point where relying on anyone felt like a blow to her ego.
"I don’t think you should apologize for wanting something different." She spoke after a beat.
Needle’s eyes widen. Her lip twitches yet a grin doesn’t fully take shape. “Thank you.” she remarked. “But, ah. It didn’t feel any different. On the alliance.”
"But you seemed happier there."
"Did I," Needle's face contorts, like she had said the wrong thing, or she didn't expect to answer so hastily. She amends, slower this time: "I thought I was. The fight I put up for them to see me as one of their own felt worth it. They welcomed me, eventually. I was happy."
Seeing Needle so uncharacteristically unsure of herself gave Pin one more thing to feel guilty over. "What changed, then?"
Needle visibly tenses. “Freesmart made me reckless.”
She gives herself a moment, choosing her words so carefully that they almost felt vague. “It… promised me too much, gave me more than I needed. Then, eventually, standards that I had to meet.”
If Pin didn’t want anyone to see how burnt out she was, than she can guess that Needle would rather die than express even the slightest weariness, because she swears she’d never felt her friend sound like this. Feeling protective, she impulsively extends a hand and brushes her fingers over Needle’s knuckles. Needle gives a near imperceptible nod, a gesture of appreciation.
“I never really cared for popularity, Pin. Trying to appease everybody was so exhausting. Not to mention it almost got me eliminated, ha.” Needle breathes a laugh, despite herself.
“Then the game ended. Pencil and I argued, a lot. I don’t think I’ve ever been so angry at someone. She stopped trusting me, and I didn’t trust myself to not do something completely stupid if I kept letting her put ideas in my head. So I left.”
Pin distantly realizes that her mouth was slightly agape in surprise, and her teeth click as she snaps it shut.
“That’s a lot.” She says, like a fool. She was never the best at consoling. “Why tell me this?”
“I don't want you going around giving yourself more than you're getting.” Needle tilts her body in such a way that they were face to face. “It's a dark place to be in.”
The words cascade over her like frigid drops of water, something in her brain finally catching up. Pin had spent a long, long time keeping up appearances, appeasing audiences; much longer than Needle has. So long, in fact, that she can pinpoint the exact moment she had given up entirely on trying to be liked. How liberating she thought it was to pretend, for a moment, that she didn’t need anyone, and the scrutiny never bothered her.
And even if some part of her did enjoy it, relished in it, that catharsis wasn’t ever rewarded— it didn’t deserve to be. It’s why, now, she throws herself at every possible opportunity to help, to compensate so that she would be. Retrieve Tennis Ball’s gadgets. Bake a cake for people who wanted it, bake brownies for those who don’t.
Anything less was just her being selfish.
“…It’s not that easy.”
Needle alternates the position of their hands, briefly running her thumb in a smooth circle over Pin’s. “Maybe not now, it isn’t. But just… think about it. Okay? Give yourself grace.”
The oven chimes again, and Pin doesn’t miss a beat.
“You’ll be my taste tester,” She teases, grinning over her shoulder as she slips oven mitts onto her hands. “And if it’s not up to par, I can try at one of your world-ending cakes instead.”
That earns her a light shove.
“Sure. Whatever. I’ll accept your apology cake. Do not take this as me crawling back to W.O.A.H. Bunch.” She smirks, only half-serious. “I don’t think I can ever live that down.”
"Well, I mean." Pin settles the cake onto the counter. "W.O.A.H. Bunch isn't really a thing anymore."
"Don't let Coiny hear that."
They chuckle.
________________
Dreams of rockets and emblems jolts her awake and sent onto her feet. The old motel she slept in after being discharged from the lab wasn't too far from city outskirts; before she knew it, the old structures thinned out and completely gave way to open fields.
Everything starts to spin and the all-encompassing panic in her chest leaves Pin winded and struggling to catch her breath. Her legs start to lock up from running and she practically ragdolls onto the grass. Still in the throes of her nightmare, she rolls onto her back, propping herself up with her knees to her chest, body buzzing with adrenaline. Trying to make sense of where she ended up.
Her mind clears just enough for her to gather that the sun was still rising, cringing at the potential of causing a scene so early in the day, before taking a small, sharp breath as it dawned upon her where she was.
She hadn't even meant to come here, having rushed outside in a blind panic to wherever she thought was safe.
It's a quiet little pocket of grass and flowerbeds; just below it lay a stagnant river, bleeding reds and yellows of the dawn sky.
He used to bring her here. Tucked safely, small in his hands, Coiny used to sit on the peak of the hill with her. The sun would hit just right upon the two of them, and he would simply talk to her, as if she could still respond, his voice a balm to her turbulent thoughts.
It gave her hope then, that even though the world had brought her so low, she would still manage to stand above it.
But now the world is closing in, scrutinizing every misstep. Pulling at her arms and legs and only tightening its grip as she tried to resist. And when it was done toying with her it left her with nothing, trapped within her own thoughts and with no mouth to scream about how unfair it all is, and how sorry she was, begging for a chance to fix this, won't someone please just have mercy on her
Stop.
Breathe. Listen.
Faint birdsong high above her, the ground soft and coarse underneath. She strains to focus on that over the sound of her own heartbeat, but it just wouldn't settle down--
There's a hand on her shoulder. Warm, grounding-- enough to make her jump slightly, sitting upright in the grass. She knows who's behind her before she even turns.
Coiny withdraws his arm ever so slightly, a silent apology for startling her. His eyes are wide-- attentive-- and his gaze was warm, like the hand on her shoulder, like the emergent sunlight behind them. Pin feels like she could never grow weary of looking at him.
For a moment, it's silent. Exchanging good mornings through smiles alone, before Coiny's face falls in concern and she suddenly feels small, exposed, under the weight of it.
Pin tries to turn him around, reassuring him that she was fine; but she is a terrible liar, and Coiny knows better.
"I like it here, too." He breathes, settling down beside her, "Surprised you remember."
Pin feigns offense. "How could I forget?"
"It's still early," He comments after a beat of silence. "what brought you out here?"
"Nightmare," she admits. "Sorry."
"Wanna talk about it?"
"It wasn't about anything you don't already know." Pin deflects, like that would stop him from caring.
Stubborn, Coiny thinks. His hands claim hers, squeezing. Forcing her attention onto him.
"Get out of that head of yours. You always know you can tell me anything."
Unable to meet his eyes anymore, she bites back another apology, eyes instead trained on their interlocked hands. "This was the third one this month, I thought..." I thought I was finally getting over it.
She goes quiet again. Coiny won't let her suffer in silence.
"Sometimes I get them, too." His confession doesn't surprise Pin as much as she thought it would, but it gets her to look at him again.
"Yeah. I don't always remember them, but they... stick around, up there." He muses, gesturing with a free hand to his head. "Makes my mind fuzzy."
Pin leans forward in concern, her voice firm. "You should've told me."
"It's not so bad--"
"Coiny," Pin hisses. His mouth snaps shut.
"You can't keep putting me before yourself all the time. You make everything about me and brush yourself aside like-- like it's nothing, when something's clearly bothering you. That's... not fair."
The mute shock and confusion on his face takes her out of stupor. Ashamed, Pin deflates, biting her lip in discontent. She hadn't meant to become short with him.
It's Coiny who's silent, now. His eyebrows contort in that look he gets when he's in deep contemplation, subtle in the scrunch of his face. Then, he smiles, small and what almost looks like guilt. "I know what this is about."
His earsplitting scream as he plummeted into the forest rears its head from the back of Pin's mind again. After she had abandoned him. She grimaces, desperate to shake off the memory.
"Pin, I enjoyed helping you, being there for you. Even now. Doing all of this isn't the burden you're making it out to be." His words steal her breath, the weight of how much he meant that seemed to press on her lungs. "I would've done it again. Trust me."
"Oh." Pin's words sounded small and strained to her own ears, "Okay."
Her fingers wander over his hands a little, idle and curious over calloused skin, of each little crevice like they carried stories in them. Tales of adventure, triumph, failure and heartbreak.
How did they get here?
"You believe me. Right?" He coaxes, patient. And she so desperately wants to. He had been the first to forgive her, far sooner than anyone else, far sooner than she could ever forgive herself.
"....Yeah."
If anybody told her, before any of this, that she would ever be so unconditionally important to anybody, she may have laughed. Heroic leaders didn't make companions, they made allies.
The competition made a complete wreck of her, but wishing that it all never happened didn't feel right. Not when this moment couldn't exist without it.
As if he knew she wasn't entirely convinced, he sighs softly and leans to the point where their foreheads meet. "It'll get better," Coiny murmurs into the side of her cheek. Sounding painfully genuine, his voice almost hitching with awe. "You're the strongest person I know."
Pin doesn't feel strong. She feels weaker than she had ever been in her life.
Because it was so hard to not pick herself apart at every shortcoming. To not think that those weeks she was confined in a lab weren't for nothing; That she would never belong; That she would never be useful or helpful to anyone, because this stupid body never allowed her to be, when she could be doing something actually productive, and whatever that may be still would not be enough.
Certainly not enough to support him.
She wants to say something. I believe you, or I trust you, or just anything that signified that all of what he's done never went unnoticed. Instead, her voice fails on her, swallowing heavily.
Privately, she envies Coiny. She knew that he, too, was exhausted, yet he remained unshakable, resilient, painfully loyal. Always finding something to smile about or make a joke out of. Even when it felt like she had given him every opportunity, every reason, to walk away...
...He was still here, like he had never left-- like she had never driven him away. Looking at her like she was the most precious thing in the world, and it makes her chest tight. She wonders what he sees.
(She took his kindness for granted once. All she ever did was take and take, and what did she ever have to give back to him?)
"You being here is enough for me," He reassured, like he had heard her thoughts. Maybe he had.
Coiny's hands retreat from her own in favor of hugging her sides, and she only just registers that her body is shaking. It completely does her in.
For the first time, she lets herself cry.
________________
Seeing Fries grow his own Grotato garden gives Pin an idea.
When her thoughts get too restless and her heart grows sick with wanderlust, she liked to pay the ancient library a visit.
Most of what she wanted to read was coated in unsalvageable amounts of dust and was barely legible-- oh well. She makes do with archaeology books for a few days. Until she discovers a thick textbook on yoyle biology and botany and she finds herself unable to put it down. She'd already harbored basic knowledge on the life sciences of Yoyleland, which was probably more than the average object anyway (not to brag). Many documented studies in the field were lost to time, but reading this... It makes her want to revisit another old hobby.
Unlike Fries, she's only doing this for leisure, giving herself something to do with her hands. Fries also never seemed to care about what anybody does-- especially not her-- so she settles down in the empty garden plot adjacent to his. Surely he wouldn't mind her making use of his discarded gardening tools, either?
She starts to second guess when, after a few minutes, someone clears their throat behind her, and Pin prepares to be thoroughly reprimanded. That is, until she peers over her shoulder.
"Ah--"
It's Book.
"What do you want," Pin questions flatly. Her voice carries no bite, but Book's hand runs up her other arm in discomfort.
"Nothing," she answered quickly.
"You're close to our meeting spot," She glanced behind her, and Pin quickly gathers that she was referring to the Yoyle Needy, "And I-I just... I'm sure you'd rather it be me than Pencil catching you. Not that you can't go anywhere you want-!" Book stammers. Pin, unimpressed, shoves her trowel into the dirt.
"Then it shouldn't really matter what I do or where I do it--"
"Right! Right. Sorry."
The silence is tense. Pin has half a mind to turn her away, largely for her own well-being because this is their first encounter in months since the season finale and she isn't as prepared for this conversation as she thought she'd be. Book never approached her without reason, which could only mean that she wanted something.
Book was always the one approaching her, always trying to amend that burnt bridge.
The hero to the villain. The underdog.
But Pin was uncompromising. It had been long enough for her to admit that she admired Book's kindness and earnest effort she put into challenges, even when the competition became so dog-eat-dog.
She was still too prideful to ever say that out loud, not to Book's face; Old habits die hard, after all.
"Did Fries tell you that you could use those..." Book starts again, and Pin gives her a pointed look.
"He'll live. His grotatoes are nearly full harvest. And..." She shakes a small packet of flower seeds into her palm. "I just needed something to do."
"Oh! I'm a Yoyleland biology book, so, maybe I could--? If you'll let me." Book takes a few hesitant steps forward, remaining at arm's length even after Pin gestures for her to sit. Now she absolutely couldn't turn her around.
"It says here that you don't have to plant the seeds too deep, it's roots grow wide to reach water in the soil. You'll have to place them far apart, too, their leaves get pretty long and grow upward. Little sunlight and all..."
They fall into a rhythm, for a minute. Book does the measurements and Pin gets to work at her behest. At some point she had left for a moment, swiftly returning with one of Tennis Ball's fertilizers, kneeling down beside her to help. Mutely Pin notes that this was, if her memory served correct anyway, the first time they were voluntarily working together without a fuss being made of it. She steals a glance at Book beside her and wonders why, when she had an entire alliance that turned their noses up at her.
"You never struck me as the type." Book says after a while. Pin withdrew from her thoughts. "Hm?"
"To like gardening. Anything domestic, really. You were very..."
"Ruthless, brutish? You can say it." Pin shrugs, aloof, as if that would throw off the scent of how much that comment actually bothered her. She was going to have to deal with that discomfort for the foreseeable future. Book hums in hesitant assent.
"Um. I guess it isn't so weird. Pencil liked to crochet between challenges-- she never let us touch her kit, though."
"Maybe you could've made a pretty good Freesmarter," Book laughs nervously. The idea of that sits sour in Pin's mouth, but she chooses not to dwell on it.
"Because I was a killer?" She lightly tips the watering can, brows furrowing. "That's not a compliment. Besides, you hated that. Everyone did."
"I did. I still do, that drill really hurt-- but, I don't know. Keep your enemies closer, right?" The smile on Book's face is fleeting.
"Besides. Pencil told me I was too, err. Soft. For things like that."
Pin briefly pictures the defeated, broken look on Book's face after BFDIA 19. She would've won, should've won. It wasn't a fair ask of her to abandon her principles just to keep momentum with the other finalists; all things considered, she thinks her conviction a naive endeavor as it was admirable, especially when Pin never reasoned past her own anger when it came to her (even when they were working together). The sour taste in her mouth returns.
Grimacing, regretting not bringing gloves, Pin gives her hands, purpled with dry soil, a hard stare. "I think you had every right," She dusts them off, yet they still felt grimy with regrets she couldn't dispel. "To be cruel."
Book looks down. Her hands are equally dirty. "I never wanted to be."
She tilts her head skyward, eyes focused on the Yoyle Needy. It was hard to miss; the lights strobe in vibrant neon, constant in the evening sky. A landmark of extravagance and social status, no wonder Pencil had made use of it. It represented everything that Book never had an affinity for, even after joining Freesmart's ranks. Even Needle, whose presence was completely incidental (and, initially, unwanted), assimilated much easier and had Pencil fawning over her in just a few months.
Pin gives her a look, having caught the way she suddenly went quiet and the frown bore onto her face. Book grows hot, both embarrassed by the attention and ashamed for thinking so negatively of her alliance.
Pardon Pin's bluntness, but she had both seen and heard more than enough of Freesmart to last herself a lifetime, and knew more than anybody that they were capable of more than just being a bit catty. A private part of her-- one that she smothers deep for the sake of being polite-- doesn't mind if she doesn't hear a word of them again.
Even so, the least she could do was listen.
"If that's the case." Pin says, carefully, fully aware that she isn't unbiased. "Why stick around them?"
Book wrings her hands together. "...I don't know. Game aside, they're my friends-- I love them."
Pin kneels to the earth and brandishes her trowel again. This time, Book stays behind. "But?"
She hears Book swallow behind her, heavy and audible. "Sometimes I think about what we did to you, and how I didn't do anything."
Not the answer she was expecting. Pin's hand tenses around the handle of the trowel. Then, sounding more snippy than she'd meant to: "I wouldn't have wanted you to do anything."
"...No?" Book seems to wilt, knowing she touched a nerve, preparing to be once again shut down just as she thought progress was being made. To her surprise, Pin solemnly shakes her head. Turning to face her.
"No." She echoes, with the cadence of someone who was reading the morning paper. Like it was something obvious. "You didn't do anything wrong."
It was complete honesty; she assured Book as much when she asked, perplexed and stammering . "--Because I always felt like it was my fault, and I always tried to make up for something and I could never get through to you!"
And, ugh, she hasn't felt this much shame in a while. She expected Book to yell and call her names the first chance she got, in fact, she probably preferred it. Instead she listens to the sound of Book's labored breathing, wondering if she could ever apologize enough. She had spent so long avoiding her like the plague because she couldn't find a way to apologize in a way that would actually mean something, and once more, it had taken Book taking the initiative just to coax it out of her.
"For what it's worth," Book steels herself, though her voice still quivers. "I'm still sorry. You deserved better than that."
Not any more than you, a voice broods in the back of her mind.
"And I'm sorry that I made my problems yours."
"I don't know if I forgive you—"
"It's okay." And Pin meant that. "I do."
"—But I want to start over," Book prods her in the cheek. "Let me finish next time."
"Here," Pin fishes a seed from the packet and pats the soil with a free hand. "Do the honors."
She turns the seed over into Book's palm, who descended knees-first to deposit it into the small dig. Careful in watering it. Once she withdrew they exchanged a small, satisfied smile, one of mutual understanding. Starting over.
They'll be complete strangers, all over again. Start from the same path that branches off one day and maybe, once or twice, they'll meet at a crossroad and recognize themselves in the other for the first time.
But for now, "Are you sure about this? I don't scare you anymore?"
Book answers, the most sure she's ever sounded, "Now is the best time. It's not like we can get those years back."
Pin scoffs. Didn't she know it.
As much as she found herself wishing to, she can't fix everything, she can't make it all better.
They don't have to be friends, but if only to lay everything to rest...
"So... Truce?"
Pin winks, taking her extended hand. "Here's to the Ultimate Alliance."
________________
Sometimes it tingles. Other times, it aches.
And sometimes,
She opens her eyes and finds herself standing alone in a kaleidoscope of reds and oranges. There is no horizon, her footfalls make no noise as she walks.
Was she walking?
She hardly felt like she was in a state of being. Like a ghost trapped in purgatory. Her voice was the only thing that felt tangible, what reminded her that she was still alive and this was real-- yet, there was nobody to call out for.
Eternity passes in minutes, and just when she decides to give up the search she collides with something cold, and hard. Dizzy, she tries to blink the red out of her vision, but it instead takes shape; sharp at the edges, the slight luster of the plastic, down to the point.
It's her. She's staring at herself.
At least, Pin thinks it's her; her other self doesn't speak even as she does, only staring like a curious animal. She can see the bright psychedelic backdrop past the red of its body, and wonders how she could've possibly bumped into it, but supposes she'll have to suspend her disbelief. Apprehensively, she extends a hand, but feels nothing as her fingers brush against its arm.
Pin blinks, and has to look down just to see it, recoiling with a surprised hiss at the-- literal-- object at her feet.
Then the world starts to tremble like a tectonic plate. She swears she can hear a million thoughts echoing in her ears-- everywhere-- vowing revenge, words of mounting, festering rage. Ragged, raking at her ears until they ached.
You are naive
For believing that there is good
to be found here.
She blinks again. Still limbless, but the apparition was only half her size, equipped only with treads and a battery to power them.
It's eyes were narrowed and smoldered like embers, alight with unbridled rage bright enough to eclipse the storm of hurt beneath them. She cringes like she wants to look away, but the ground beneath them starts fracturing and Pin knows she has to act.
Her hands reaches out again. It blinks at her, wordless, then scowls, turning its back to her. As if unaware that the world around them was flickering, falling apart. Maybe even pretending not to see it.
How do you get through to someone like that?
I think you're going to be a part of me forever.
But I'm not going to let you define me, she says sternly. Her words hardly feel like they're coming from her mouth, everywhere and nowhere all at once. But they are hers, that much she knew.
She persists. I know you hear me. I hear you, too.
Pin stares. It-- she-- stares back, calculating, searching for a lie in her words. The noise falters.
Her hand rests on the phantom Pin's, right below her cheek, kneeling to meet her size. She offers a small smile even as the ground rifts dangerously close to her leg.
Maybe I am naive. She reasoned. And selfish, too, for expecting you to believe me. But you have to.
She thinks of Needle, and Coiny. Their words a mantra, louder than the uproar in her ears.
There’s good out there. In you. You’ll find it.
She was going to keep trying, and pushing, and loving.
She'd give herself a chance.
The ground stops rumbling, the colors go still. Pin releases a breath.
________________
She jerks awake, the pillow damp beneath her. Sitting up in the bed, her head pressed against the bedframe with an audible, dull noise.
The dream wasn't unpleasant, at least, not compared to the ones she's accustomed to having-- this was the first sleep of hers in recent memory that was uninterrupted, as sad as that is to admit. But it still dwells in her mind, tugs at her heart.
She had tried to divorce herself from who she used to be as much as she physically could, regarding her old self as an entirely separate entity.
Half-asleep, her steps heavy, she finds her way to the nearby mirror in her motel room. She drinks in the sight of her, all tired eyes and a ghost-white body.
I think you're going to be a part of me forever.
She signed up to live with the memory the moment she had swore vengeance all those months ago.
It stung, having to accept that. But she swears her heart was relieved of a weight, the source of which she couldn't explain.
The Yoyleland sun is wintry, not quite reaching beyond the clouds. Yet Pin feels warm with a dim hope as she steps outside.