The Five Stages of Grief

Depression

I'm sorry.

Blanky spent most of his days plugged in. Almost no one was plugged in anymore, they were too old, not properly maintained by a licensed technician. It was considered a for hazard, the humans understood that, the appliances understood, it was simply that Blanky couldn't bring himself to care. He kept in the small basement, instead of the attic. He hated the attic nowadays. In addition, it was cold enough he could heat up without overheating.

It was a cruel cycle.

He couldn't stand how everyone was so lost in their grief they no longer socialised. All his attempts at games were rejected, and often he himself was rejecting the games before he even proposed them. Pair that with Kirby and Radio's bickering... It was as if he was back in the cabin, Master gone, toaster hopelessly hopeful. The differences were it was Kirby and Radio always fighting, not Lampy and Radio, and that he was not being constantly picked on.

He should be glad of that last fact always, but the latter two facts only drive in the fact that it is still different this time. This time Master really isn't coming back, and they can't set out to find him, and now instead of Toaster and him being hopeful for his return it is Toasters hopelessly delusional hope alone.

It is all so depressing, so run down and empty. Blanky hates the feeling, prefers the warmth, fuzziness and joy of laughter and good times. He can't find laughter and good times anymore, so he hides in the blanket, plugs in and recreates that cuddly warmth as best as possible.

He snuggles into himself, warms up, he knows it's not real, but in the moment, it's enough to pretend. Pretending, his guard is let down, and he falls asleep easily, tired from a more recent fear of the night and the stress of saddening, weighty emotions.

Sleep is vulnerability, and sleep is where one reveals their deepest wants and fears. One would say Blanky was lucky, he could be plagued by nightmares, but he's starting to think the nightmares would be better than being plagued by what he most wished for.

Every dream was the same, he wasn't snuggling alone in the basement, it was winter instead. Snow fell daintily on the window, freezing into frost. The radiator hummed gently, unable to keep up with the cold in the room alone. Thus why Blanky was there, he had been bought specifically for that reason; so here he was, tucked around The Master, only a coddling toddler.

When he wasn't protecting The Master from the cold, he was being carried all through the house, he was Master's first love, his one comfort item. It was akin to being a favourite toy.

But even so, Blanky's favourite moments were at night, where they snuggled together, keeping each other warm and far from lonely, fulfilled and happy.

But when a crash, or a yell or a sob wakes him, he's alone, the cold of the cement basement floor seeping in despite the warmth he was supposed to produce. Perhaps he was worn out more than he thought. And the dream would hit, and the emptiness returned, a void opening up like a gaping gash, a gaping gash of a rip in the middle of Blanky's fabric.

The cycle began again, as he curls tighter into himself, unplugs and cries softly, with quiet sobs into himself. If only he could cuddle up with Master, or even The Little Master, heck, even Toaster. And that brings a whole new wave of sadness, of longing for his other friend.

Sometimes, Radio would remember, check in on the Blanky. He'd make his way to the basement, searching, listening as he hopped down the stairs. It was always the same two situations, either the Blanky was asleep or crying. While it pained Radio to see his buddy in such a state, he wasn't good at comforting others verbally ever, and in these states of Blanky's, there was only one way to comfort him.

And so Radio would clamber down and approach Blanky, and silent nudge up against him, until the yellow blanket wrapped around him, cuddled up against him. It took only a few minutes for the crying to silence, for Blanky to instead give a content sigh, and snuggle tighter, and the radio would play a gentle tune, of soft lullabies or comforting words, or, in rare cases, very softly their own Hang In There.

It was the only happiness, however brief, that the Blanky could enjoy nowadays.