Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Purpled took a deep breath and locked the door as the last actress filed out. Pure, unadulterated silence. Beyond his keys rattling in his hand, there was no more yelling, no more hell week instructions and frantic critiques. Just silence. And, inevitably, one really fucking messy dressing room.

The keys clattered on the hook like a clumsy hello and Purpled waited a beat before beginning to pick up spare make-up and abandoned, drained glasses. A few still glowed amber in the bottom, an eclipsing look against the black furniture. He wiped at a smear of red lipstick on the rim of one with a sigh and frowned when he saw something flicker in the reflection.

His eyes drew up to the costume rack, which twitched slightly. Purpled calmly stood up, placing the glass down and walking over.

As he began to part the costumes, a blonde menace darted out, and Purpled set his jaw.

It took less than a second for Purpled to barrel his shoulder and all of his force into Tommy’s stomach. The scuttle of wood under shoes sent the two of them crashing and grappling on the floor before either could breathe. Tommy easily used the weight disadvantage to throw Purpled to the right and off of him. Instead of turning his back and bolting for help, Purpled tackled Tommy in a bundle of claws around waist, clothing rack clattering, knees on either side of a thrashing body, and resorted to hands scrabbling for flesh. Tommy caught two wrists after the third blow, and flipped Purpled panting and supine beneath him.

“Morning, Big P,” Tommy grinned.

Purpled sighed, running his tongue over his teeth, “It’s 20:30.”

“20:33, actually.” Tommy’s knee digging into his chest became a bit too intense, and Purpled, fed up, wrenched one arm free and punched him in the jaw or nose. The offended gasp and coughing sputter that followed as he kicked Tommy off of him leaned him towards the jaw. He tugged his flashlight out of his pocket, and with an authoritative click that sent light shining in Tommy’s squinting eyes, Purpled deadpanned,

“You need to leave.”

“Aww, and we— we’re having so much fun, though,” Tommy huffed a laugh between heavy breaths, half-hunched over himself on the floor and looking like a small dog in the dim light. Purpled remained between him and the door.

“I’ll find Sam.”

“Fuck you.” Tommy grumpily tugged himself to his feet using the prop table, which sent something clattering to the floor. He began for the door, and Purpled grabbed his shoulder as he tried to shove past him.

“Hey. Not yet,” Purpled’s eyes briefly rested on the concern flicking in Tommy’s, then he added, “Where’s Wilbur?”

His answer came in something completely rocking the theatre, the ceiling shaking dust from somewhere. Tommy’s eyes flew to the stage door and Purpled ditched him immediately, wishing desperately he had a weapon, had anything..?

The crackle of fire popped in Purpled’s ears above Tommy’s chatter before he threw the metal door open and saw the first sparks of it himself. His breath caught, and the sweep of a brown coat out the door opposite clued him in. Wilbur would be heading for the fire exit. He turned back towards the door and—

In red vested glory, Tommy had pressed his palms against the frame of the door, creating a human barrier. Purpled narrowed his eyes.

“Are you insane? Get out of the way!” Purpled shoved into him as the fire caught hold of one of the curtains and dragged its sandpaper tongue up the side with an aggressive snarl. Tommy shrieked, and Purpled elbowed him in the stomach and they hit the clothing rack again. This time, it toppled, and costumes went fumbling over them both. Smoke was drifting into the little room, and Tommy covered his mouth, squinting as his head emerged from beneath a glimmering purple dress.

“Your boss is going to fucking kill you for that.”

“I’m going to kill you, get—“ Purpled tripped over a toga as he tried to dive after Tommy. Tommy skittered back on all fours and then stumbled onto his feet.

“You’re not going to fucking kill me, pussy.”

At that, Purpled found it surprisingly easy to untangle himself in order to grab a fistful of Tommy’s shirt and punch him, hard, revealing a streaking red dripping down Tommy’s face. The blood managed to be warmer than the building, and Tommy landed on his ass, covering his face and squinting hard.

With the smugness that could only be held onto by a trained professional, Tommy managed, “Still won’t kill me.”

“If I won’t, the fire will. Let me through.” Purpled spat through his teeth as the flames gave a sharp snarl from behind. Tommy sniffed and gagged on blood.

“Nuh-uh—“

Purpled kicked him in the balls and Tommy fell over immediately. Purpled got through with only a strained, “fuck you??” from behind him.

“You’re fine.” Purpled snapped, running to the stairwell. The metal handle burned against his skin and he ignored it. A burst of cool air came through the door when it was flung open, and, even more rewarding, Wilbur froze where he was halfway up the stairs, staring at Purpled like a guilty child. Purpled reached for his gun and—

Fuck.

Purpled turned to look at Tommy, who was wincing, but still shakily pointing a gun at him. Purpled sighed and raised his hands above his head. He could hear Wilbur fumbling with the door behind him.

“Tommy, hurry, I think they called the fire department,” Wilbur chirped. Tommy edged around Purpled unsurely, and as soon as he was close enough, Purpled darted out and grabbed his wrist.

Tommy struggled for the trigger and nothing happened. Purpled pointed his arm to the ceiling and then was sent flying onto the stone floor by a speedy kick to the ribs from Wilbur. The gun clattered back somewhere near the dressing room, and Tommy’s eyes darted round between Wilbur and Purpled. Fucking idiot. Purpled reached for his pistol again, flicked the safety off, and rolled to the right before either of the perpetrators could get to him.

“Back up. Right now,” Purpled demanded. Tommy made a face.

“Gun doesn’t even fucking work.”

Purpled shot the ceiling, leaving ears ringing and all eyes on him. Except the fire, which was crawling closer on its hands and knees and the smoke of which was seeping in and making viewing anything difficult.

“You’re both going to walk out. Right now. And if either of you run, I’ll make sure you won’t be doing it again anytime soon. Got it?” Purpled flipped back and forth between who he was aiming at calmly, and Tommy indignantly let his mouth fall open.

“You never fucking pull the gun on us! What the hell?? That’s not fai—“

“Tommy,” Wilbur warned. Tommy made a frustrated sound that bubbled in the back of his throat and was cut off by coughing. Wilbur grabbed his shoulder and steered him towards the door. Purpled kept his eyes on them, noted Wilbur whisper something, and Tommy’s eyes flash in recognition.

“My compass!”

“Your what?”

“My compass—“ And Tommy bolted into the blazing inferno that was the dressing room. Purpled was so absolutely stunned that Wilbur managed to leap up the remaining stairs and climb out the door. Purpled looked between the two of them frantically, stuttering on air. He rubbed his face and then chased after Wilbur.

In less than a second Tommy had wrapped what Purpled guessed was a towel or a jacket around his throat, and he choked blindly, scrabbling for the source with less logic and more dying animal instinct. Spots formed in his vision and he landed a kick, enough for Tommy to stop and run past him. Purpled was too busy hacking up his lungs to even dare to look at the stairs. Tommy paused at the top of them, the spark tainted jacket he’d snatched from the clothing rack tightly gripped in his freehand. He shakily let out a breath and threw it down at Purpled’s feet.

“You’re fine,” He echoed in a piss-poor French accent, with little to no conviction in it. Purpled gave him the V and Tommy disappeared out the exit.

Something crashed in the theatre with a loud shatter, and a disoriented Purpled remembered, oh yeah, living is kind of fucking important. And thus, Tommy was discovered to have locked the door out. Purpled grimaced and kicked at the doorknob to no avail, pulling his sleeve over his mouth and crawling on the ground as things got hotter.

Sam nearly tripped over him as he came from the opposite side of the theatre, and they met eyes briefly. In one of Sam’s hands he carried the bright red fire axe and in the other he was soon gripping Purpled’s shoulder” breaking down the exit door effectively and spilling them into no longer cool night air.

Sirens played out the theme of the arsonists’ departure, and concerned voices in drolls played the crescendo. Sam broke away from Purpled to approach the ever hovering, gilded gold, hawk of a boss they followed, and Purpled watched with a glimmer of disgust in his eyes that shone brighter than the fire.

He pretended he could still spit at their feet for no reason other than righteous, bubbling anger.

Sam seemed to watch the gathering authorities with a mild distrust and Quackity practically hung off his arm, unconcerned by the crowd that was blocking any chance Purpled had of overhearing their conversation. He supposed he could walk closer. It wasn’t like he was visible to them. (Fundy was lucky to have gone home when he did. Purpled wouldn’t have gone back into that theatre to fish him out and he doubted any of the other employees remembered he worked there anyway.)

A lantern was set on a barrel and a blanket was tossed to the survivors and Purpled didn’t even flinch as a spark fluttered down onto his boot. Crowds were just clumps of people that grew like mould and he, while apart of the infection, took one look at his employer and knew he wasn’t going home anytime soon.

The fire was contained enough by the firemen to only distinguish their building from the landscape in a gritty, crumbling chalk. Even that wasn't enough for Purpled to be spared of the beckoning gesture of Quackity's ring covered fingers, and when they twinkled at him in the fading embers, he absolved enough to reflect polite hate back.

“Purpled,” Quackity greeted. Purpled gave a tight smile in response, but did not deign to repeat Quackity’s name back to him. Quackity gestured to him again, emphasising him more clearly to the officer in front of him, “This is my other employee, Purpled. Pertainably a witness to everything we’ve just seen.”

Purpled did spit on that officer’s feet, and raised his eyes to meet hollow unamusement. Quackity glowered at him, and Sam just took a deep inhale.

“Sorry. He’s not housebroken just yet.” Quackity tried to chuckle it off, nudging Purpled lightly. Purpled looked away and bit back a rude response. “Purpled, can you tell us what you saw before the fire began?”

“Tommy. And Wilbur. As per usual.” Purpled replied, adjusting his sleeves. Quackity grinned.

“And Wilbur set the fire?”

Purpled pursed his lips. Quackity’s smile faded before Purpled even forced out,

“I don’t know.”

Quackity pinched the bridge of his nose tightly. Sam kept his gaze glued on Quackity’s, but the intensity did little to wave off the aggressive jab of, “You don’t know?”

Purpled calmly clasped his hands together, shutting his eyes, “Tommy got in the way, and—“

“I don’t care— Purpled, I don’t fucking care!” Quackity laughed. Purpled opened his mouth to reply and Quackity barrelled on, “No, shut up. Shut up. Look at me.”

Purpled raised his eyebrows, “Mm-hmm.”

“The only reason you’re still here,” Quackity crouched down in front of Purpled, drawing out his words with the gesture, “is because right now, you’re useful, and—”

“Am I?” Purpled gave a sceptical glance at the sky. Sam shifted to stand behind him, and Purpled knew it was a warning, and also didn’t heed it.

“Don’t get smart with me.” Quackity stood again, and Purpled laughed.

“Well, I’m not going to get stupid.” Purpled scoffed. Sam audibly facepalmed. Quackity narrowed his eyes with a sharpness that practically snapped.

“Sit down.”

Like Purpled was a disobedient child. He opened his mouth, then shut it and did as he was told, perching on one of the boxes. Gears grinded to a halt as the firemen finished what their were doing, and water splashing trickled into more voices around them. “All I saw was him running away.”

“Did anyone else?” Quackity demanded. Purpled shrugged in response. Quackity sighed, locking back onto Sam. “Wilbur’s going to be the death of me one of these days. That’s who we’re looking for. Tall…”

The description fell on deaf ears. As Quackity drifted the conversation to the officer, Sam moved to stand beside Purpled. Neither said anything, twiddling thumbs and picking at teeth and etching contracts into the dirt with their boots. The car with the water pump rolled away, and Purpled sighed heavily with Sam.

“Do you want something to drink?” Sam raised his eyebrows. It was the vaguest amount of kindness, habitual and consistent. Purpled shook his head.

“Ask him.” Purpled waved to Quackity.

Sam gave a non-commital grunt in reply and Purpled smothered a smile. He hoped they raised the sun sooner tonight; it’d make the inevitable searching he saw approaching easier. Sam eyed the sky with a similar discontentment that Purpled took to mean the same thing.

“I need you to be careful, Purpled.” Sam finally added. Purpled’s mouth twitched. Sam did not elaborate and Purpled did not reply, and it was still night.

The officer and their herd of buffalo followers lumbered off and Quackity was outlined by his isolation for a moment before turning to them, their deserted street filled only with curious bystanders that stumbled like spare tumbleweeds.

“Well,” Quackity cracked his knuckles, circling around with a glint to his eyes like the enamel of a hooked beak, “The damages will be accounted for. We’ll have to house the show somewhere else.”

“Can we replace everything that fast?” Sam wearily heaved himself to his feet.

“I’m sure you can do anything if I’m paying you to.” Quackity lightly flicked Sam on the chest. Purpled snorted, and Quackity glanced at him. “Something else to say?”

“No.” Purpled folded his arms tightly, winding himself into a coiled spring. Quackity nodded, lightly tapping Sam, who politely moved away from him a bit.

“Keep it that way.”

Purpled tightened his shoulders, then stood quietly and turned down the street. Quackity scowled after him. “Purpled. Don’t fucking walk away from me.”

Purpled’s legs locked in place and he stared off. “Sorry, it seemed like everything was sorted.”

“Well, you’re coming with us.” Quackity cracked his knuckles above his head. Purpled turned around, tucking his hands behind his back.

“Alright. I’ll be there tomorrow. Which theatre is it?”

“Across the water, there’s a vacant one.” Quackity hooked an arm around Sam’s, and Sam looked exhausted as he was partially dragged towards the automobile resting beside the sidewalk. Purpled blinked after him.

“What?”

“You heard me.” Quackity opened the door, and Sam helped him climb up inside. Quackity flashed him a grateful look, then added, “It’s faster that way.”

“Yeah.” Purpled repeated numbly. Quackity furrowed his brows.

“Yeah?”

“I’m done.” Purpled scowled, and then stormed off. Walking away was easy. Swinging around the corner with the help of a light pole and stopping by a shop doorway, heart racing past the already frantic ticking of a grandfather clock in the window.

He didn’t know why he stopped. The car hadn’t begun running. No one was chasing him. And yet he was still listening.

Quackity dropped his hands with a smack Purpled heard ring across the street, and spat to Sam with all the sting of a shot of liquor, “…please go get him.”

Purpled hurried on his way.

The streets were lit by the forest of telephone poles and buzzing lanterns curling beside them. Soft jazz spilled out of one of the buildings with a group of drunk strangers who giggled amongst themselves, too loud and too assuming, but easy to blend into. Purpled slipped beyond them, into an alley, and towards… nothing, really. But away. Away was all he really wanted there.

His shadow stretched out before him with the drawn out trumpet in the distance in a blurry heap beneath the lights, and with a beat of familiarity, another soon lingered behind it with the energy of a kicked dog.

He travelled around the corner of another block before he decidedly stopped, leaving the two shadows nearly standing next to each other, and listening to the uneasy breathing from its owner behind him.

Finally, enough silence produced a thick, “Hi.”

Purpled glanced over, and Tommy waved, no longer a Peter Pan silhouette and instead Peter Pan himself. Purpled sat back against the wall and sighed, shoulders digging into brick. Tommy leaned beside him, staring off into the street. For a moment Purpled thought he’d headbutted him, but looking down revealed he’d thumped a white box against Purpled’s arm.

Purpled raised an eyebrow, and Tommy supplied, “I brought you some cigarettes.”

“I don’t smoke cigarettes.” Purpled pushed them back into his chest with a thump.

“Well, fuck.” Tommy huffed.

He waited a beat, arms folded tight across his chest. Purpled looked back out into the street as Tommy remembered to put the box back into his pocket. He slid to the floor and stuck his legs out on the path, swinging them back and forth.

“What do you smoke?”

Purpled sat down beside him. Neater, but still. “Theatres, apparently.”

“Fuck you.” Tommy laughed. Purpled glared at him, and Tommy’s laughter died off. “C’mon, man, you can’t be mad at me, too.”

“I’m not mad.” Purpled pushed himself to his feet and headed towards the light swallowing the stars above them glinting off of wet cobble. Tommy skipped onto his feet and bounced around on his heel after him.

“Yeah, right.”

“Tommy, why the hell are you here?” Purpled stopped in the middle of the street and studied him, and Tommy chuckled. His hair glowed in the light.

“Is the performance cancelled?” Tommy circled around him and Purpled spun around slowly to make sure he didn’t let Tommy end up behind him back.

“No. No, it’s not.” Purpled folded his arms again tightly, pressed so much against his chest the buttons on his jacket dug into his skin. Rolling his sleeves down might’ve been clever.

Tommy tilted his head, “That must fucking blow.”

Purpled gave him a very dry look.

“It was Wilbur’s idea.” Tommy grumbled, defensive, but sinking down. Purpled thumbed at his gums, picking at nothing between his teeth as Tommy barreled on, “I thought we should just paint on the sign again but Wilbur said we needed to get inside and then it all went to shit and balls, you know? Still. You didn’t have to kick me. Rude as fuck.”

Purpled waved his hand, flicking saliva off tiredly, “I thought you’d be more upset about the gun.”

“I am upset about the gun.” Tommy nodded decisively. Purpled spun his gesture to him, brows raising with his chin.

“Do you smoke?”

“Huh? No. Wilbur does.” Tommy grimaced. “It’s fucking nasty. Why do you ask?”

“Cos the cigarettes almost came off like an apology.” Purpled chuckled. Tommy chased after him as he began walking again.

“Nope. Not sorry at all. I reckon you think I’m lying, but I’m not. They call me Honest T, they do. I’m so fucking honest you wouldn't even know when I’m lying.” Tommy grinned and slowed to a playful trot. “So, is Big Q mad at you or something?”

Purpled gritted his teeth, “No.”

“Ah, so you're mad at him, then?” Tommy elbowed him. Purpled shoved him away.

“I’m not mad.”

“You know, you keep saying that, and every time you do, I believe you less.” Tommy hopped onto the curb, balancing along the edge. Purpled squinted.

“I’ve said it twice.”

“Twice is enough for me to know it's a fuckin’ lie.” Tommy started to fall off and redirected it to turn it into a light poke in the middle of Purpled’s forehead before stumbling off of it behind him.

“Mm.”

Tommy appeared on his other side, “Why’re you mad?”

Purpled sighed and opened his mouth to reply, but Tommy cut in smugly, “At Quackity.”

“Similar reasons.”

“And he admits he’s a liar.” Tommy chuckled easily. Purpled ignored him, sitting down against one of the lights. Tommy spun around it, scaling up it. “Do you have a lighter?”

Purpled shut his eyes. “Thought you didn't smoke.”

“Yeah, that's why I don't have a lighter, bitch.” Tommy moved to sit on the edge of the base of the lamp, kicking his feet idly. Purpled wearily glanced up at him, and Tommy shrugged, “You should get a lighter. People might like you more if you had one.”

Purpled rubbed his temples, “Maybe.”

Tommy puckered his lips, then stopped kicking his feet, “Do you ever fuckin’ disagree with people?”

“I do. But instead of biting their ankles,” Purpled gestured to Tommy, “I slit their throats.”

Tommy didn’t pick up on the jab, and just replied bluntly, “That's probably why people don't fucking like you.”

Purpled turned away again.

“Where's Wilbur?”

Tommy snapped his pocket watch open and closed with an annoying, repetitive click, swinging it around his finger. “Fuck if I know.”

“You should probably find out.” Purpled suggested. Tommy tossed the watch in the air, then caught it. “It doesn't seem like they're sending the sun up any earlier today.”

“Can't sleep.” Tommy slumped off the street lamp, landing in the space between the road and sidewalk slowly. “It's too fucking loud.”

“Too loud?” Purpled leaned over to peer directly down at him. “For you?”

“Ye.” Tommy snickered, clicking his shoes against one another idly. Purpled pulled away, and Tommy squinting as he found himself staring up at the light. “So, where's the performance gonna be now?”

“Over the water.” Purpled lay down against the lamp, then decided against relaxing and shoved his hands in his pocket instead. “Somewhere by the dam, I think.”

“Man. How the fuck are people around here gonna get there, then?” Tommy rocked himself up, back popping with the effort. He placed his hands on the ground between his legs, which made him look like a stupid red frog.

Purpled stared at him until he shifted to sit criss-cross, and clarified, “That's not Quackity's problem.”

“Well, it's—”

“Or Wilbur's,” Purpled added sharply. Tommy scowled.

“Fuck off.” Tommy’s eyes flicked over his pocket watch, then he shoved it in his pocket. “Are you gonna ride on a boat?”

Purpled didn't reply. Tommy’s eyes lit up.

“Fuck, can I come?” Purpled had to scramble to his feet as Tommy practically tumbled towards him, “I want to go on a fucking boat, Purpled, please?”

“I—”

“I’m getting on this boat with you Purpled,” Tommy grabbed his shoulders tightly. Purpled frowned at him. “You have no choice.”

“I do, actually.”

“You're a bitch.” Tommy complained. Purpled elbowed him off. “C’mon, please— I… eh… like boats. You know, they call me—“

“Quite frankly,” Purpled pinched the bridge of his nose, “I don’t give a fuck what they call you.”

“Purpled!!” Tommy whined, backing Purpled into a wall. Purpled shrunk into himself, grimacing. “Please—“

“No.”

Tommy thought for a moment, scanning the pavement before deciding on, “I’ll give you a kiss.”

Purpled gave him a bewildered look. “I don’t want a kiss.”

“I’ll give you a dime.” Tommy fumbled with his pockets, searching frantically. Purpled grabbed his wrist.

“And I’ll give you the count of three to get out of here.” Purpled narrowed his eyes. “Get lost, Tommy.”

“But—“

“There you are, Purpled.” Purpled stiffened, dropping Tommy immediately, and looking over at Sam. Tommy blinked, looking at his hand, then waved excitedly.

“Hello.” Tommy chirped, moving out of the way so Purpled was more obviously standing in the light.

“Hello, Tommy.” Sam turned back to Purpled. “You need to come back now.”

“I’ll be back later,” Purpled grumbled. Tommy looked between them, head snapping back and forth as each person spoke.

“Quackity is packing up tonight.” Sam’s voice wasn’t unkind, just… firm. Purpled huffed, and with a spare glance at Tommy, Sam informed him, “You’re coming now.”

“Quackity is getting ready already?” Tommy interrupted. Sam smiled politely and nodded. Purpled looked away, edging away from Sam.

“Tommy wants to come.”

“Quackity is still trying to convict Wilbur, Tommy. I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” Sam chuckled quietly. Tommy shifted his weight around, and then realisation hit Purpled like a train. He looked at Sam, who apparently did not think about what he did.

“Please, Sam?” Tommy grabbed Sam’s arm dramatically. Sam uncomfortably ruffled his hair and Tommy laughed.

Purpled cleared his throat awkwardly, taking a tentative step closer, “Sam, if we ask Quackity together, maybe he’ll say okay.”

Tommy and Sam turned to him in surprise. Purpled shrugged, and Tommy broke out into a big smile.

“Eyy!” Tommy went in for a hug and Purpled smacked his hand away from his wallet.

“Maybe.” Sam repeated in the voice of someone who very much doubts that. Tommy bounced on the edges of his toes, forgetting about Purpled immediately with sparks in his eyes.

“I’ll get Wilbur.” With a few hops he backed up and then spun, scrambling off. Purpled sighed, again. Sam’s hand landed on his shoulder, and Purpled glanced up at him.

“He’s going to try to burn down the new theatre.”

“Yeah.” Sam agreed. Purpled’s skin itched where he was being touched and he squirmed uncomfortably. Sam tilted his head, still staring after Tommy. “Why do you want him to come?”

“Because the issue we always have with getting Wilbur arrested is witnesses, isn’t it?” Purpled raised his hands to his sides with a grin, like he was preparing for his own little bow. It was effective in pushing Sam away, and let him back up without running into anything. “Can’t hide on a boat full of people.”

Sam blinked. Purpled threw a two fingered salute back at him as he turned on his heel and headed towards the noise of a running vehicle.

The suitcase slammed against the cobbled pathway as Fundy threw it from the automobile. Quackity sat smoking, watching them through narrowed eyes and being all together unhelpful. Foolish nudged him gently.

“Hey, little man. You gonna—“

Purpled shoved the box into Foolish’s hands roughly, cutting him off, but Foolish still just chuckled and beamed, nodding, “Thanks.”

Purpled didn’t like Foolish.

He didn’t really like any of his coworkers, he was realising.

Fundy stopped for a moment to sit, sighing and staring out over the water. Purpled wormed his way over around the maze of suitcases, folding his arms on the edge of the car and resting his chin on it. Fundy spotted him and gave a sweaty smile.

The sun was beating down on all of them, which meant collars were being unceremoniously unbuttoned and jackets discarded in heaps. Even Quackity had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and Fundy’s tie was about halfway to slipping off. To be honest, that was pretty normal. But still. He wished the midday were shorter sometimes.

The horn from the boat blowing shook all of them out of their thoughts and Purpled nearly fell over as Fundy speedily tossed the last box into his hands. He made an immature face at Fundy, and Fundy ignored him. Foolish offered his hands out to take it, and Purpled shook his head, shoving past and heading up the shaking wooden ramp.

The deck swayed under his feet, but not unpleasantly. Purpled quite liked the water. Yeah, maybe heading halfway across the city was miserable and spending more time working than he needed to would be the early death of him, but setting the box down and looking out into the water beyond him, he wasn’t all that unhappy.

Until he heard two very loud English voices behind him, and felt with a pang he was going to kill someone before they disembarked.

Below, on the rocky path by the port, in sunny, loud mouthed glory was Tommy, dancing around Wilbur to the quiet tune of some record the man in the ticket booth was listening to. Wilbur ignored him in favour of leaning over the hood to bother Quackity. More than bother him, it seemed. He straight up took his cigarette, and they were now locked in some sort of respectful version of a fight. Tommy stopped dancing and just watched idly. Purpled slid down the ramp, and spotted Fundy in the back of the car, very shakily covering his face and struggling to climb out. Purpled waved, and Fundy gave him the most hateful look he was probably capable of. Purpled moved out of the way as he stormed up the plank and headed starboard.

Tommy was in his place when Purpled looked back, flashing a grin up at him. Purpled frowned, and Tommy punched him lightly in the shoulder. “You’re probably real fucking excited.”

Purpled didn’t reply. Tommy walked past him to balance on the side of the ship’s railing, humming the tune of whatever had been playing. He turned around, hands resting on his hips. “You know Artie Shaw?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. Moonglow?? Stardust?” Tommy imitated playing a trumpet, or a clarinet, or some kind of instrument Purpled didn’t recognise, walking backwards.

And then promptly slipped off and landed in the water with a loud splash.

Purpled burst out laughing. Tommy emerged, gasping with his hair now a darker shade of not-quite-brown, arms swatting around blindly for something to grab onto. He managed to get the side of the port, hauling himself up, completely soaked and looking no less than a stray animal. He stuck his tongue out at Purpled and rolled onto his back, coughing a little.

“Fuck you.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” Purpled huffed. Tommy shrugged, getting up and shaking himself off. Purpled covered his face from getting sprayed.

“Arguably, if you’d been a bit more fucking cultured, I wouldn’t have been playing pretend trumpet, and I would’ve lived.” Tommy stepped past him, holding onto the side of the boat this time to prevent slipping again. Purpled had half the mind to push him.

“Well, if you stay out of my way, I’ll stay out of yours.” Purpled waved and walked off. Tommy flipped him off, and Purpled didn’t miss it, but he decided to pretend he had.

The issue with staying out of Tommy’s way was Tommy didn’t stay out of anyone’s way. Wilbur was better in that regard: He knew how to mingle with the higher class, and keep Tommy from destroying everything in his wake, which was probably what made Wilbur dangerous, and Tommy harmless, but also, it made Tommy really annoying and Wilbur tolerable.

Luckily for Purpled, Quackity and the rest of the “guests” on-board were confined to the lower half of the boat, and he was able to simply sit and lean against the railing, watching the water lap at the side of the boat. He tapped his finger on the wood, measuring out each bob of the boat. He wasn’t really sure why. It was just something to measure the time, pass the seconds.

He needed to buy a watch.

Purpled swatted at a fly that landed on his sweaty arm and remembered how temperamentally humid it was. He struck out and squashed it, scrubbing its remains on the railing and off his hands as he drifted away. Sam, Foolish, and Fundy were eating lunch idly beneath the canopy of the boat, and Foolish waved to him.

“Hey. You hungry?” Foolish nodded to the sandwiches in front of him. Purpled shrugged one shoulder, and Sam rubbed his eyelid.

“Come eat, Purpled.”

“Well, don’t force him.” Fundy uneasily moved his chair away as Purpled slunk over, sitting in the furthest chair away from Fundy’s. The metal burned at his skin, and he sucked his teeth.

Foolish stood up immediately, rising to his full height and casting a shadow over Fundy, who stared at his hands. “You want a towel?”

“It’s fine.” Purpled shrugged again.

“It’s not like it’s even going to work,” Fundy continued when he decided Purpled wasn’t worth worrying over, “It’s a two day ride over. Wilbur isn’t that stupid.”

“He wouldn’t be doing this without a plan,” Foolish disagreed, “It isn’t about if Wilbur is smart or not, right? It’s about how smart Quackity can be.”

“That’s oddly coherent coming from you,” Purpled commented. Only Foolish laughed. Sam gave him a weary look and Fundy’s mouth pinched into a very thin frown.

“Well, it’s not our job to worry about it,” Sam finished opening a tin with an aggressive popping noise, and turned to offer Purpled a package of sardines. He slowly placed it back on the table after receiving an singular, utterly disgusted look.

“C’mon, Sam,” Foolish challenged teasingly, nudging Sam under the table, “You’re allowed opinions.”

Sam crossed his legs. “Maybe I don’t have one.”

“Boring,” Fundy mumbled, struggling with his lighter. Sam outstretched his hand and Fundy gave it over with a resigned sigh.

“No, not boring. Professional.” Sam gave two flicks of his thumb, and a dew-drop of fire began to sway. “Something you all could stand to be a bit more.”

Fundy rolled his eyes and lit his cigar.

“I literally just got here.” Purpled raised his hands innocently. Fundy laughed.

“Purpled, you’re right, seriously, Sam,” Fundy leaned over the table, coughing, “Purpled’s never professional.”

Purpled looked to Sam for defence, which was something he didn’t really expect to do by habit. “What?”

“You look like you want to beat the shit out of Quackity at all hours.” Fundy scoffed.

Purpled blinked at him. “I do.”

There was a beat of dry silence where Fundy stared back.

“Yeah. That’s not professional,”

“I can’t just change my desires to suit my employer.” Purpled frowned, picking off a piece of the crust on the sandwich now sitting in front of him and rolling it around. “That’s not how whims work.”

“You could try to hide it,” Foolish suggested. Fundy gestured to him with his cigar and Foolish immediately began coughing.

“I don’t get paid for that.”

“Do you get paid?”

Purpled looked away. Foolish and Fundy chuckled and Sam shared a quiet, uncomfortable beat with Purpled. Purpled stood.

“I’m gonna get something to drink.”

“There’s not any…” Foolish’s voice droned off into the crowd as he mingled back into other people with their own gossip and chatter. A man holding the hand of a toddler firmly as to not let them wander off. A group of kids a bit younger than Purpled was playing a game in the corner of the deck that produced loud laughter and squabbling. People. Purpled wasn’t any good at people.

So, it could be said Purpled more shoved through the crowd than blended with it, elbows digging into bags and sides and everything that brushed past a bit too close. But the result was two bloody knuckled hands clasping the railing, and the slightest breeze passing through. He contentedly let his eyes slip shut.

He didn’t know how long he stood there until he was shoved by someone shuffling along. They threw back a hasty apology that Purpled didn’t acknowledge, instead backing away and looking for a way back to the rooms. The way he’d pushed through before was too crowded now.

Great. He slumped against the rail again, and ignored whoever stepped in line beside them.

“Hello, Purpled,” They chirped. Purpled’s head snapped up, and, staring back, was the vaguely amused expression of Punz. Purpled blinked at them stupidly, and then Punz offered out a handshake.

“Punz??” Purpled blurted out stupidly. Punz rolled their eyes and took his hand forcefully, shaking it.

“No, Ponk.” Punz nudged him in the arm with a smile. “How ya doing?”

Purpled laughed, stumbling over his words in bewildered confusion, “You’re— Why are you here?”

“Business.” Punz picked something off Purpled’s hair, flicking it off into the water. Purpled swatted their hand away and Punz ignored them. “Same as you.”

“I feel like we haven't— how are you?? Where are you working now?” Purpled tugged the strap of his suspender away from where it was rubbing his neck through his collar before folding his arms under his chest again. Punz shrugged one shoulder.

“Freelancing.” Punz twirled a ring up their finger and replaced it. Purpled frowned at the gesture, but was caught back by Punz’ conversational, “How about you?”

Purpled gave them a dry look, glancing down the deck for some sign of Quackity. Amongst all the people, there was none that stood out. He cracked his knuckles. “Same as I’ve been.”

“Same as you’ve been?” Punz raised their eyebrows invitingly.

Purpled scowled into the water below, biting hard enough on his cheek it burned cold beneath his teeth. “Doesn't matter.”

Punz chuckled, “Well, good to know some things never change.”

Punz’ inclination for long conversation was about the same as Purpled’s, and they lapsed comfortably into nothing for a while. A bird cried from above and landed somewhere nearby. The water continued shifting unhappily beneath the boat. Purpled fidgeted with his hands.

“Have you ever been on a boat before?” Purpled finally broke the silence. Punz hummed.

“Once or twice,” They gestured to the boat at large, “I’m not the biggest fan, but they’re okay. You?”

“No, not really.” Purpled didn’t have anything else to add, but before he could fumble for a new conversation topic, Punz picked up his tails.

“Do you get seasick?”

Purpled shook his head. “Mm-mm.”

“That's good.” Punz’ gaze flicked up as they thought of something, laughing, “My boss gets seasick. Last time we took a ship somewhere, I was sitting with him almost the entire time trying to keep him from vomiting on himself.”

“Ew.” Purpled made a face, wrinkling up the bridge of his nose. “Don't tell me you're a valet, Punz.”

“No, no, I haven't sunk that low yet.” Punz cackled, loud enough it carried over the other passengers’ conversations and was a nice cool in the heat of December. Purpled smiled.

“You had me worried.”

Punz gave a mini-bow, “I’m flattered.”

It was Purpled’s turn to laugh a bit too hard at something not all that funny.

“I don't think my boss gets seasick.” Purpled scrubbed the railing with his thumb. “He just makes me sick, you know?”

Punz inclined their head. “Mm. Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Purpled sighed. No more anger, just sort of resigned frustration. He supposed it gets like that after working for someone for a while.

“To be fair, though,” Punz teasingly nudged him, “A lot of people make you sick.”

“People in general are sickening.” Purpled nodded in agreement. He paused, then decidedly theatrically, “You’re okay.”

“Aw. Thanks.” Punz was quiet as well, and Purpled, assuming the conversation had sailed its course, “Did you know they have a band on here somewhere?”

Purpled snorted. “Really?”

“Mmhm.” Punz inspected their nails, digging at something black beneath them. Likely ink. “I don't know when they start playing, but it sounds fun.”

Purpled gave a scoffing laugh to himself, “Maybe they'll play Artie Shawl.”

Punz’ gaze lifted, a genuine laugh produced from them, “Who??”

“It's—“ Purpled pursed his lips, then struggled out, “Earlier there was… it's a long story.”

“I think we have time.” Punz nodded to the shore behind them. In response, Purpled heaved a heavy sigh. Punz rolled their eyes. “Alright. Suit yourself. Do you want a drink?”

Purpled’s gaze flicked up to the sky. “I’m not supposed to.”

Punz nodded understandingly. “Work?”

“No.” Purpled gestured to himself dramatically, “Seventeen.”

“Oh.” Punz thought for a moment, then chuckling, reaching over to fix Purpled’s collar. “You're almost there.”

“Almost there.” Purpled echoed, absentmindedly touching his collar as Punz’ hand landed on the balcony again.

They fell quiet again, and Purpled looked down at the ink on his fingertips. It wasn’t really ink, it was… probably oil. He grimaced, rubbing his fingers against one another. Great. There was probably a ton on his collar now. Very fun.

“Until then, I’ll get you some water.” Punz offered. Purpled had half forgotten what they were talking about, but in response to his confused look he received a grin. Punz gave a little wave and was gone with a sweep of their dress.

But, before the promised water could arrive, Sam was herding Purpled off, and he was forced to be as unsocial as he normally was.

The rooms they were given were very small bunks. Purpled assumed this was the staff corridors, but he couldn't be certain. There was enough room for his one mailbag of things stuffed full of his belongings, and that was all.

The curfew inflicted upon them meant nothing but creaking pipes and his (recently acquired) lighter to give him light to sketch by. He quietly fumbled with the latch on his bag and tugged apart his clothes. He’d set his notepad on the top, but, alas, moving things had probably tossed it to the bottom.

When he couldn’t feel for it, he systematically began taking things out. That was, until he received a weary, “Purpled,” from the bunk above him, and he flicked the lighter off with a speed known usually for chasing after the two recurring burglars of the Las Nevadas theatre. He waited. Nothing else. The bunk shifted. That was something.

Purpled frowned and carefully squinted in the dark, trying to make things out.

Still no sign of it, and things had been almost entirely dumped out. He began placing them back inside, along with the lighter, leg shaking idly where he’d let it slip off the mattress. Well. Fuck.

He’d either left it somewhere, it was too late to find anything, or it’d fallen out. The first and the last were the least appealing options and Purpled opted for the middle, decidedly shutting and latching his bag, staring at it in his lap.

Perfect.

When morning came again, it was still nowhere to be seen, not in his bag, not on the floor, and not in anyone else’s bunks. There was, however, a Fundy half-asleep in one, who was very unhappy to be disturbed. But the notebook was more important than Fundy’s sleep in any sense and so he continued tearing apart the room. And when the room was worn out and well checked, the ship became the next victim.

He worked security. It wasn’t unheard of him for him to stalk about for no good reason digging in matters with ears pricked and nose in every one else’s business. All the complaining he heard came in whispers from coworkers that were out of frame, therefore, wasn’t intended for him, and was unbothersome.

The deck was emptier than it was the day before. It was hot, still, hot as fuck, and while Purpled found that a good enough reason to stay out of the crowds, he reasoned that it was most likely due to the fact they were passing the core. No one liked dealing with the grinding of machinery, Purpled included. But sacrifices had to be made.

Speaking of annoying noises, Purpled deflated as he heard the clatter of one annoying British bell. He rested one hand on his revolver, and then, confirming it was there, relaxed. The footsteps and dialogue stopped behind him for a bit.

“Pretty, innit?”

Purpled hummed indifferently in reply, stopping at the back of the deck to stare at the huge, holed pillar. He’d never seen the blackstone frame that close before, bright orange poking on occasion between the gears, smoke and steam releasing up into the air. The moon could be seen beneath them where it was lowered in the water, all smooth rock and cool endstone connected with metal bars wrangled in a ruler straight web. Tommy pointed down.

“Imagine if I jumped off and just fucking sat there till it went up.” Tommy grinned, and the water glittered his expression back like the false sun. Purpled stared at him.

“Literally why would you do that?”

Tommy’s smile disappeared and he scoffed, fidgeting with a chain on his vest, “Because it’d be fun, dickhead. Ever heard of that? Fun?”

Purpled glanced behind one of the boxes, despite knowing for a fact he hadn't stood there. “I have.”

Tommy climbed onto the box and peered down at him. “It doesn't show.”

“Every war has its casualties.” Purpled shrugged. Tommy shifted to sit down, legs flopping over the edge and swinging back and forth.

“Okay, Edgar Allen Poe. Kiss my ass.” Tommy snickered. Purpled pressed his hands flat against one another and held them against his mouth, breathing in deeply through his nose and out through his mouth. It was more appropriate than beating Tommy into the ground.

“There you are.” Sam’s interruption, welcome this time, came in the form of a face around canvas covering. He gestured with his thumb behind him. “Quackity says he needs extra eyes on Wilbur. Finish this quickly and then cover starboard of Quackity’s room.”

Purpled nodded, expecting that to be it. Tommy squinted at Sam judgementally, “You talk like a fucking bizzy.”

“Yeah, well, he used to be a police officer,” Purpled snipped. Sam gave him a tired glance, turning to return to whatever hole he crawled out of. Tommy balanced after him, and Purpled lingered back.

“Why’d you quit?” Tommy stopped on the edge of the box. Sam turned to him very matter-of-factly, picked him up under his arms, and set him on the ground again.

“I didn’t quit.” Sam gave Purpled a look before he could laugh at Tommy and Purpled ducked his head.

“So, why’d you get fired?” Tommy raised his voice to be heard over the core as it increased in volume. Purpled rubbed his ear irritably. Sam seemed unaffected, rifling through his bag.

“I didn’t get fired.”

“So you’re still a police officer?” Tommy raised an eyebrow, leaning against one of the poles holding up the upper deck as Sam stepped under the canopy.

“Hold this for a moment.” Sam, without looking back, threw back something fuzzy with green patches into Tommy's arms. Tommy extended it as far away from him as his arms could manage, frowning.

“Is this a fucking teddy bear?”

“His name is Sam Nook.” Sam corrected. Purpled peered over at lopsided button eyes and resewn pieces and snorted. That spurred Tommy out of the confused daze he was in, and Purpled regretted breathing at all.

“Wow.” Tommy feigned clicking his tongue in disappointment, “Real fucking humble of you, Samuel.”

“Tommy, everytime you open your mouth, I physically want to hurt myself,” Purpled dryly informed him, “You talk too much.”

Tommy wrinkled up the bridge of his nose, dropping the bear to his side, “You don’t talk enough.”

“At least people want to be around me for my flaw,” Purpled stuck his chin up in the air, and Tommy looked prepared to tackle him before Sam interrupted.

“Sam Nook is my dog’s toy. She’ll be very upset if he gets ruined, and I need someone to fix him up.” Sam gestured to where threads were coming undone and patches worn away. Purpled slid down the railing, clicking his shoes on the floor below.

“I’m not your fucking employee.”

“Okay.”

“No— fuck off. I didn't say I wouldn't help, I just…”

The conversation died off behind Purpled, muted pastels, and he checked his jacket pocket for his gun before he ventured anywhere near where his boss was with the fucking asshole who kept pettily ruining things he built. The cool of metal touched his finger tips, but it was too smooth, and Purpled was left frowning at his lighter and the empty inside of his pocket.

Slow realisation dawned on him, and he turned heel and stormed back up the steps.

Tommy was still rambling to Sam, and it was incredibly easy to peek around the stairs and determine Tommy was his intended target. Tommy spotted him and waved cockily as he kept talking. Purpled narrowed his eyes.

He was going to kill him. Murder. Immediately.

Well. Not immediately, because one stern glance from Sam sent him creeping back below for the time being.

Following Wilbur made it surprisingly easy to observe Tommy, though. He followed behind Wilbur like his shadow, vivre à l’ombre de or vivre dans l’ombre de qqn, Purpled had no idea. It didn’t matter too much. Either way, he was observable, and that was the important part.

Tommy was far from a master of subtlety. In the ten minutes Purpled been watching he’d seen him snag Wilbur’s wallet, the spare change someone had left on the bar as a tip, and what Purpled was pretty sure was either a marble, another coin, or a ring. Purpled crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.

Sam was somewhere else, watching from above or below or somewhere he didn’t care about Tommy. Tommy wasn’t the target, Wilbur was, and Wilbur was being amiable. He was chatting with other passengers, smiling at Quackity, placing (one) of Tommy’s stolen items back on the bar. The closest thing to a crime he did was sliding one of Tommy’s stolen coins into the jukebox and picking the song for him when he was apparently too short to see the button labels.

Tommy got bored after that, and, to the hum of some Eileen Barton song, he slipped away from Wilbur, and dispersed to the upper deck. Purpled checked to make sure Sam couldn’t see him, and then followed.

He went faster than Purpled had expected. Darting around corners of the boat and between people. Purpled cracked his knuckles speedily and ran to cut him off, looping around and swinging himself down one of the empty corridors with the help of the corner. The chosen one was empty and tightly bound to the side of the ship. Tommy spotted him and his eyes went round. He threw open a door labelled “staff only” and tugged it shut behind him. Purpled made a frustrated noise that resembled machinery grinding and followed.

The inside was dark and small and Tommy had pressed himself entirely against the wall. The heavy door swung shut behind Purpled, blocking out any sight of Tommy as he snapped, “What’re you doing in here?”

“Hiding from you! Quit fuckin’— following me around!” Tommy wailed. Purpled bumped into the door, and then had to let his hands fly up to defend himself from a sudden charge. There wasn’t very much room in there. About enough for four people to very tightly squeeze inside. So, trying to push Tommy off was difficult, to say the least.

He managed to snag Tommy’s shoulders and was able to somewhat steer him with it, but Tommy had better footwork than he’d accounted for, and shoving him off entirely was harder than anticipated. In the time it took to even think of the blow anticipated, though, Tommy swung him around and shoved him back against the wall. Except it wasn’t really a wall, it was a pipe. A really freaking hot one.

Purpled struck out with a yell and Tommy dropped him, backing up and trying to open the door, an action which didn’t do anything but create a frantic jingling noise. Purpled breathed heavy where he was half crouched on the floor. His shoulder felt wet. Wet and limp and hot and wrong and like it was ten times the shape it should’ve been. Tommy uncomfortably stared at him, only the glints in his eyes visible in the dark and the vague impression of his hands.

Purpled went for the throat. Tommy’s elbows dug straight into his ribs and Purpled gave a choked noise as he struggled to push Tommy towards the pipe on the wall, trying to feel for his gun in Tommy’s vest. Tommy coughed, heaving out, “What the fuck are y— Take me out to dinner first. OW! Fuck!”

“I barely touched you!” Purpled barked. Tommy shifted to the left wall, pressing against it tightly before dropping to a sitting position and effectively latching onto Purpled’s leg.

“Fuck off!”

Purpled grabbed the door again to steady himself from toppling over. “Ew— Tommy!! Fuck— Get off of—”

Tommy’s voice cracked and he screamed, “Purpled!”

“Get off of me!”

“Purpled stop!”

It was said with such sudden conviction, Purpled, surprisingly, did.

Tommy didn’t say anything for a moment, breathing funny and still clinging to Purpled’s leg. He let go, clearing his throat and mumbling, “Look.”

Purpled scoffed. “It’s pitch black in here.”

“Well, then, crouch down and look.” Tommy huffed, very slowly shifting out of the way. Purpled rolled his eyes for no other reason than doing it as he began to crouch down, arm aching. Tommy grabbed his hand and then felt up for a tight grip on his wrist. “Don’t—! Don’t fucking touch anything.”

Purpled squinted. Through the sliver of light coming in through the bottom of the door, he could see Tommy’s leg bleeding on the now slick floor. He could see pipes and odd shapes, but nothing else. He sighed. “What am I meant to be seeing?”

Tommy swallowed.

“That’s a fucking pipe bomb.”

Purpled stiffened, then turned to glare at him. “You and Wilbur are going to kill everyone on this fucking boat!”

“It wasn’t— I’ve been with Wilbur almost the entire—“ Tommy exhaled shakily, changing his mind on his phrasing, “Look, they’re— we just have to break the end cap off and get the insides out.”

Purpled blinked at him slowly. “And risk blowing it up?”

“Would you rather be sure it blows up?” Tommy let go of his wrist, and Purpled remembered he’d grabbed it to begin with. He pressed himself as far away from Tommy as he could.

“I’d rather go get someone who knows what they’re doing.”

“I know what I’m doing.” Tommy insisted. Purpled got up and tried to open the door again. Tommy groaned. “Purpled!”

With a shoulder that was now trickling steaming blood down his back and onto his shirt, Purpled stubbornly hit the door, pressing down on the handle. “Help me open this.”

Tommy didn’t move. “It’s a metal door, it’s stuck, it’s not—“

“Give me my gun.” Purpled cut him off, freezing and outstretching his hand expectantly. Something in the dark shifted, and Purpled was pretty sure he saw Tommy shake his head.

“Absolutely fucking not. Near a pipe bomb?”

Purpled hadn’t really thought about that. He kicked the door wearily. “We can shoot the latch and open it.”

“That wouldn’t fucking work.” Tommy scoffed.

Purpled leaned back, nearly tumbling over onto Tommy (and where the bomb would be) due to the fact he was literally only being held there by one stubborn arm, “Why not??”

“Metal door, asshole! It’s not tinfoil!”

Purpled slammed his full weight into the door before sinking to the ground, head rested against warm metal that became burning the longer he rested there. Tommy sighed. Something rustled behind him.

“Look.” Something Purpled couldn’t do in the darkness. “If we blow up—“

“If???”

“If we blow up,” Tommy reiterated confidently. Purpled blinked, realising exactly what the rustling noise was, “I want you to know, you’re a real idiot.”

“Tommy, wait—” Purpled didn’t mean to sound like he was begging. It came out anyway. The noise stopped. “Please.”

Tommy waited.

“…Tommy, I don’t want to die.”

There was no emotion in it. Not really. No voice crack, no desperation, no deeper meaning. It was simple and honest and it was the only thing hovering between him and Tommy beside the bomb for a long while.

Tommy’s silhouette dropped its head like surrender.

“Neither do I.”

Purpled heard something metal clink and his stomach pitted.

Everything stopped for about three seconds. No noise, no movement, no breathing.

Until what sounded like sand anti-climatically trickled onto the ground, pooling between them and filling the space. Purpled looked up at Tommy. Tommy stared back, then laughed. Purpled joined in, heart racing in his ears and legs shaking where they were bundled in front of his face.

“Oh my god— How the fuck..?”

Tommy slumped entirely, shoes tapping Purpled as they extended fully. Purpled didn’t care, for once, as Tommy mumbled, “Bloody hell… I told you it’s easy.”

Purpled raised his eyebrows. “You also said “if we blow up”—”

“Shut up,” Tommy chuckled.

There was a bit of silence as Tommy scraped gunpowder off the floor. Purpled’s eyes had adjusted to the light enough to see that his hands were shaking, too. Tommy noticed him staring and looked up, which spurred Purpled to blurt out,

“Those would’ve been some shit last words by the way.”

“Those were great last words. Iconic.” Tommy grinned, coughing into his elbow. “C’mon. Your last words weren’t much better.”

Purpled hummed indifferently. Tommy sniffed, looking down at his hands.

“…so, how are we planning to get out of here?”

Purpled hadn’t thought about that. He looked at the door. Tommy nudged him, and Purpled pulled his leg away before he could somehow get burned again. “We could blow the door off.”

Tommy cackled, shifted around and head coming to rest in front of Purpled, his legs swinging in the air in a way Purpled could only imagine was uncomfortable, “What the fuck?”

“With the gunpowder.” Purpled nodded to the floor. “We just—“

“That’s a fucking awful idea,” Tommy decided. Purpled reached over and snatched his revolver from Tommy’s pocket, twirling it around.

“Do you have a better one?”

“What are you planning to…??” Tommy scrambled like a turtle stuck on its back and managed to drag himself to his feet, bewilderment apparent in his eyes, “Do you know how gunpowder fucking works??”

Purpled snorted, getting up. “Do you?”

Tommy wrinkled the bridge of his nose up, “Feel like I know more than you do.”

Purpled shrugged and began scooping up gunpowder off the ground. Tommy edged away best he could in the compact space.

“How the fuck are you planning to do this?”

“I just stuff the gunpowder in the hole and shoot it and it should, like, boom.” Purpled imitated an explosion noise with his mouth. Tommy stared at him like he’d just suggested the earth were flat.

“You know gunpowder isn’t, like, explosive on its own, right?” Tommy gestured to the keyhole. “There’s not enough pressure in there for that to work.”

Purpled sighed dramatically, dropping his hands authoritatively. “So, what’re we meant to do?”

Tommy thought for a beat.

“Pray?”

Purpled laughed, leaning back on his knees. “Pray?”

“I’m a praying man, Purpled. I don’t know about you,” Tommy brushed his vest off, and Purpled checked the safety on his revolver with a roll of his eyes.

“You are not.”

“I am!” Tommy insisted. “Lady Prime, man. Lady Prime has my ass.”

Purpled gestured to the room. If it could be considered a room. “Well. Clearly not.”

Tommy looked away smugly, “Mmm, says the guy who didn’t get blown up.”

Purpled dryly folded his arms.

“But is still stuck in a boiler room.”

“Better than being blown up.” Tommy slipped around him and kicked the door once before shaking the handle. With a shriek that split Purpled’s skull when he didn’t cover his ears in time, Tommy screamed, “Help!! Help!”

“No one’s here, Tommy.” Purpled murmured. “No one’s coming.”

Tommy disappointedly kicked the door again. He looked over at Purpled with round eyes. “You know how to pick a lock?”

Purpled shook his head. “No.”

“Neither do I.” Tommy nudged him out of the way and felt around, jokingly poking Purpled in the arm. “Oh, look, I found a bitch.”

Purpled smiled despite himself and struggled to stifle it. “Very funny.”

“Maybe if we both push it together it will break open.” Tommy pushed Purpled towards the door, and Purpled grabbed the handle again, sighing.

“Maybe.”

Tommy clasped his hands around Purpled’s, struggling to find a place that was freed up. He didn’t find one, and after a moment Purpled’s fingers ached from being shoved against metal. He pulled free, and Tommy huffed behind him.

Purpled turned to face him, eyebrows raised, “Now will you try to help me blow this up?”

Tommy scowled, “That won’t work.”

Purpled pointed at the keyhole. “What if I just shoot the door?”

Tommy grabbed at him, and Purpled kept the gun out of reach, “I already told you—“

“Well, it might get someone’s attention, right?” Purpled cut him off. Tommy blinked up at him, then looked at the floor again. Purpled smiled. “Cover your ears.”

Tommy backed up into the corner, squeezing his eyes shut and clamping his hands down as he was told, “Fine.”

One. Ears ringing painfully. Tommy shuddered in the corner of Purpled’s vision and so did the door. It smelled like smoke.

Two. No gunshot, only the noise already shrieking in Purpled’s skull. Door coughed pathetically.

Three. Hand shaking. Tommy said something and both of them were visibly surprised by how muffled it sounded. Tommy repeated himself. Purpled stared at him. The door swung open shakily. Tommy started.

Purpled looked back over and jumped a bit, too. He was staring directly down the barrel of Sam’s gun. To Sam’s credit, he looked more confused than aggressive, but Purpled was still wise enough to raise his hands in surrender. Sam lowered his weapon, looking around. Tommy waved from where he was crouched on the ground. Purpled didn’t have to hear well to know Sam was snarling, “What did you do?”

He did, however, get to hear Tommy’s genius response, which was, “Pipe bomb.”

Purpled winced.

Purpled had never been grounded before. That wasn’t part of his childhood in any way. But, Sam lecturing him and Tommy and leaving them behind with a vaguely implied punishment rather felt like being grounded, and Purpled probably would’ve been utterly indignant about it if he weren’t already completely mentally exhausted.

However, Tommy stood in front of the kitchen door with a stubbornness Purpled wished he had the strength to match. He looked back at Purpled with a sputtering sound as he stuttered into a sentence, “They can’t fucking lock us in here. We aren’t children.”

“Well, I’m not. Child. I’m not a child.” Purpled sat on the counter, sighing and shutting his eyes. He felt Tommy sit beside him and decided against moving. “Sam doesn’t want us fucking anything up.”

Tommy’s feet kicked idly against the counter. “We’re the only reason he’s fucking alive.”

“Mm-hmm.” Purpled lazily opened one eye. Tommy was gripping the front of the counter tightly, one of his vest buttons slipping free. Purpled didn’t comment on it.

“Stupid.” Tommy glared at their surroundings. Dirty dishes in neat stacks and stainless steel countertops reflecting back disdain and disappointment. “I’m not cleaning jackshit.”

Purpled nodded, “Yeah.”

Tommy let go of the front of the counter to cross his arms, then asked, “Is Quackity going to be mad at you?”

“Nah.” Purpled looked down at his gunpowder coated hands, then got up and walked to the sink, gesturing Tommy over. “It was a bomb.”

He flicked the sink on, scrubbing the shit he could off of his hands and hoping it wouldn’t be an issue. Tommy returned to his side, half pushing him aside to make room to do the same.

“Fuck Sam.”

“Yeah.” Purpled agreed half-heartedly. He stepped away and searched for a rag to dry his hands off with. Tommy hummed some tune to himself as he picked at his nails, and Purpled blinked, chuckling, “Did you know they hired a band?”

Tommy looked more appalled by this than Purpled expected, not taking the rag when it was offered to him and instead just staring blankly. “While we’re fuckin’ stuck in here???”

“Well, they had it before—”

“Dickheads!”

Purpled laughed. Tommy made a face, and then bolted to towards the door with a thrown back, “Hang on.”

“Oh, wh—” Purpled blinked as Tommy just… left. Scrambled out and was gone. He stared at the door, then looked around. He supposed this was his punishment, not Tommy’s, but it still stung. Just a little.

He picked up one of the dishes and plugged up the sink, beginning to fill it with water as he scrubbed off the grime on it. The edge of the plate was stained with blue flowers, and the edges had orange… something stuck to it. He set it aside when it was clean, and wondered briefly at the fact no kitchen staff were around.

Then nearly had a heart attack when the door slammed open again. Tommy grinned in the doorway, and Purpled clutched his chest with a snort, “Oh my god, watch where you’re going.”

“I am.” Tommy set the box he was carrying on the counter, looking around the back and then flicking something. Purpled dried his hands again and shut off the sink, walking over.

“What’re you doing?”

“No— look, look, watch! Listen.” Tommy set the record he’d been hiding behind the counter on the box, or rather, cheap looking record player, and stepped back. A small hum of jazz music slowly started up and began. Purpled gave Tommy a vacant look, and Tommy clasped his hands together. “Now we have our own little party.”

Purpled looked around the kitchen, then deadpanned, “Pretty lame party.”

“Well, yeah.” Tommy rolled his eyes. “Obviously right now, this isn’t a party yet. There’s no dancing.”

He outstretched his hand. Purpled laughed.

“No.”

“C’mon. You know you want to.”

“I can’t dance.”

“Everyone can dance, some people are just cowards.” Tommy grabbed his wrist and yanked him to his feet. Purpled sputtered and Tommy grabbed for his other hand. “Look, just copy me. Step-step-step— Nope, like, the same direction as me. There you go. One two three, one two three, leg behind— Yeah! Look at you go. Again the other way— Ow.”

Purpled looked down at where he was standing on Tommy’s foot and stepped off with a blank, “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Step back— No, don’t let go, dumb-ass.” Tommy laughed. Purpled hurriedly went to clasp their hands together again, and Tommy bounced on the edge of his toes to the beat. “Now we switch.”

“Switch? Oh!” Purpled gasped audibly as Tommy spun him around, nearly losing his footing and ending up on the opposite side. Tommy beamed at him, and Purpled looked away.

“All we need to do now is go faster.” Tommy determined, still doing the stupid little back and forth step he’d been doing.

“I don’t think I can do that faster.” Purpled snorted.

“You’ll get the hang of it. C’mon.” Tommy spun him around, and Purpled’s shoulders hiked up as his arms were crossed across his chest. Tommy freed him again, nodding, “The jitterbug is easy anyway.”

He looked down at Purpled’s feet and shook his head. “Nope. Rock step.”

Purpled scoffed, “What?”

“Step behind you, then stomp the first foot.” Tommy instructed, doing just that. Purpled attempted to copy it, which spurred Tommy giggling, “No, only one foot. Look— Copy me.”

“I am.” Purpled complained, spun out again and back in. Tommy switched sides with him again.

“No, you’re not, otherwise you wouldn’t be so bad at this.” Tommy teased. He shook Purpled’s hands teasingly. “You gotta sway more.”

“I am swaying!” Purpled made a frustrated noise.

Tommy snickered, “Sway better.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Purpled laughed. Tommy spun him around again and this time Purpled fell flat on his ass. He winced, and Tommy cackled. Purpled couldn’t restrain a laugh, but spat, “Oh, fuck off. What song is this, anyway?”

“Don’t change the topic.” Tommy took his hand again.

Purpled let himself be pulled up and rolled his eyes, joining back in on the beat.

He had to give it to Tommy.

Maybe that wasn’t a half-bad party