"Are you sure you don't need any help?" Paper asked, standing off to the side of the dock.
"I'm fine, screw off." Trophy muttered, taking a step off the boat. Although he was slightly seasick, he wouldn't consider himself a liar. He walked onto the dock, one foot after the other, then off of it and back onto land.
The entire ride had been utterly exhausting. He hated seeing everyone already moving on, including the ones he thought would at least spare her a thought in the last few days, the ones who watched her die. He hated everyone asking if he was okay, and he hated not being sure if that was because he obviously wasn't or if it was because he didn't want their pity or false sympathy. And he especially hated how little everyone told him.
Nobody told him anything that wasn't straight pity anymore. No one told him Soap was dying, just like how no one told him Pepper was the one given the journals, or how she was also suddenly learning sign language. He had to find everything out himself, and if someone did tell him, it was after the point where he could've done something about it or just unreasonably late. Because apparently the doctors had known he had brain damage for a long while now, and only told him the day he was let out of the hospital.
Brain damage. He couldn't remember the specifics, no wonder why, but he had brain damage, and just today he found out. Not when he spent the entirety of last night going back and forth between his camera and tears. Not when he began questioning his own sanity because he kept on seeing things that weren't there, both back in that stained yellow room and out of it. No, only once all was said and done did he learn anything about anything.
He noticed he was putting things into lists a lot more, subconsciously but just enough so he noticed it himself. Maybe that was just his brain's way of coping with whichever pieces of it were destroyed. Or maybe he was overthinking things. After everything that had happened, he had a hard time being completely certain about things, so he wasn't sure.
However, he was certain of a couple things. And one of those things was that they were back on the island, and soon enough they'd be heading to the hotel. Hotel OJ, the place he guessed he could consider home, that building that had a view of the contestant fields that you may be able to catch some glimpses of in the background if you watched the show. Had it really only been a month since he last saw it? If Trophy hadn't known better, he would've sworn it had been years.
Needless to say, he wasn't excited about going back with everything that had been happening lately. He almost wished he could go back to the hospital and lay down in bed for a while longer, but that wasn't an option at this point. So instead, he patiently waited with the others while the last few objects piled off the ship.
Finally, Paper followed everyone off the dock, his bag in his hands. He waved over to those waiting, hastening his steps to reach them quicker. "Alright, just to make sure, you all have everything you brought along, right?" He asked. "If there's anything you might've left on board, now would be the time to grab it."
Trophy hadn't brought much along. It's not like he had much to bring along anyways, besides the camera slung around his neck. He took a look around the island behind them as the others checked they had everything they needed.
You may not expect it, but he was never the biggest fan of nature. Sure, he'd give it some credit for its 'beauty', but he could never see that beauty everyone else claimed to see in it. Maybe the animals you could find scurrying about the forest were unique, but apart from that, the island was just grass and trees to him, maybe with the occasional flower. Maybe looking at everything around him wasn't the most entertaining for him particularly, but there wasn't much else to do.
Luckily, he didn't have to spend long as everyone checked their bags relatively quickly. He lagged behind for a second as he hadn't been expecting them to finish that fast, but eventually they were all on their way to the hotel.
Trophy didn't know how to feel. About any of this, really. He tried to block out the sound of everyone talking around him, but their voices didn't fade easily. It all felt like it was mocking him, trying to get him to break. And he hated to admit it, but it felt like it was doing an awfully good job based on how badly he wanted to lash out at everybody around him. But he didn't, he walked along and tried his best to pretend he wasn't bothered. To pretend he was part of the crowd, something he never would've dreamed of doing just a month or two ago.
The walk felt like it took ages, yet once it was over, it felt like a minute. Just five steps from the hotel door, and the crowd would disperse and maybe he could go up to his room and do whatever it was his mind was begging to do. If he remembered where his room was, which of course he couldn't. He'd just ask OJ if he needed to.
Speaking of which, OJ walked up to the front of the building, keys in hand. "Well, it's been a while since we've had all of our residents here, hasn't it?" He said, and it took Trophy a second to realize he was speaking to the crowd.
"Yeah, it really has been." Paper said bittersweetly. "It's nice to have you all back. Would you like to do the honors?"
"It's just unlocking the front door, it's not that big of a deal." OJ said, but he slid the key into the hole regardless. "Well, welcome back everybody!"
He twisted his hand, and the door unlocked with a click, gently opening. The rest of the residents began to enter, some rushing in while others casually walked through the doorway while talking with one another.
So many high spirits, and each one felt like it mocked Trophy more than the last. He tried his best to shake it off. It would all be over soon, he'd just head back up to his room and lay down. Maybe he could get some extra sleep in, like Tissues would all the time. It's not like he got any sleep last night anyways, maybe it's just what he needed.
He forced himself into the hotel, trying to pay little attention to everything. However, that became awfully hard once he noticed the saturated yellow tones that spread from corner to corner on the hotel walls. Yellow, orange, he didn't care about the specifics. It felt like being pushed back into the room and hearing the door lock behind him all over again. He didn't dare to move forward, or anywhere for that matter. For a moment, he was standing in utter shock because he found his way back to that godforsaken room again.
"Uh, Trophy? Do you need help with anything?" OJ asked, closing the door behind him as he and Paper entered at last. Trophy didn't say anything, he didn't know if he could say anything. After a couple tries, he finally forced the words out.
"Where's my room?" He said, his voice surprisingly plain and steady. Maybe that was for the better that he sounded apathetic, he didn't want anyone's sympathy anyways.
"Oh, right. It should be upstairs with all the others, they should all have signs with names on them, you'll know which one is yours." OJ said. "If you need anything else, don't be afraid to ask."
Trophy nodded, not spending another second standing in the lobby. He tried to hurry himself up, just wanting to get away from it all. Strangely enough, he found himself wanting to go back to the hospital. Maybe he needed to, as his feet wouldn't move faster no matter how much he tried to push himself up the stairs.
He looked down the hallway. Even if it still had those awful yellow tones that reminded him of that room, it was at least closed off. The fact it was a hall undid the small sense of security he built from that fact though, leaving his mind in that hazy, almost panicked state it was in before.
Why did it all remind him of there? Why did it still feel like he was in the room if it was probably burned to a crisp now? He glanced over each sign as he walked past the doors.
Microphone & Knife, Salt & Pepper, Fan & Paintbrush. None of them were his, where was-
Oh, there it was. A single room that blended in with every other one, he had almost walked past it. Trophy & Tissues. He stood in front of the door, somehow hesitant to turn the handle. Why was everything so hard to do today? He really did need some sleep, huh?
He opened the door, and almost felt like giving up when he realized the inside of the room was still shaded with yellow. He didn't know why, but he couldn't stand looking at the color anymore. He supposed that meant he couldn't look at himself either, but he couldn't care about that at the moment either. It was just another unconscious thought in the moment. He shut the door behind him, not remembering the moment he had walked in, and began walking over to the bed.
Just a few more steps from his bed, and it'd be done. He didn't know why just walking to his bed was a mental struggle for him in the first place, but he didn't have the energy to care. The first thing he did once he reached the bed was pull the red covers over himself and hide underneath them, burying his head in the pillow. Red might've been a similar color to yellow, but he didn't care. At least it didn't feel like he was locked in again.
The second thing he did was scream. The pillow muffled the constant stream of raw emotion coming from his throat, but still allowed him to hear himself well. He didn't know what emotion it was, but he let it out, unable to care if anyone heard.
Emotionally exhausted. That's what he singled it down to, emotional exhaustion with a hint of something else. That's exactly what it sounded like as well, pure dissonance coming from a broken violin.
He let himself go on until his vocal chords threatened to break, and then for a little while longer to keep that aching feeling in his throat afterwards. When he pulled his head back up, the pillow had two darkened spots on it. At least, he assumed they were darkened spots. He had never turned the lights on, and his eyes felt a bit too sore to trust.
The third thing he did was try his best to fall asleep. He closed his eyes, his last bits of energy spent. At this point, maybe it was better for the day to be over. He couldn't be bothered to take the camera off, instead holding it close to him as he made himself comfortable in the bed. Maybe he'd have the energy to deal with everything tomorrow, but until then, he'd sleep it off.
Emotionally exhausted, with a hint of something. He searched for what that something could be as he drifted off. The thought only came to him as he slipped into unconsciousness, the last thought he'd have that day. Triggered, that was the best word for that something.
Emotionally exhausted and slightly triggered.
-
Lightbulb shuffled around the hotel awkwardly, readjusting herself to it. How long has it been now, four months? Even if it was the same place as before, it felt like a whole new place. She looked around the living room, glad that everyone else was readjusting well at least.
Her eyes caught sight of a particular portrait on the wall. They had quite a few, each with different memories the cast had with each other. The specific one she was looking at was the single picture they had of Bow. It had been printed in a monochromatic color scheme, a photograph of her smiling that old smile the season one cast members all remembered so well. And underneath, two dates. The date of her birth, and the date of her death.
Something itched her in the back of her mind. She knew immediately what it was, but was hesitant to actually think about it. Just as Bow was now permanently gone from their lives, dead without a Respawn Center she was implemented in, Soap was also gone. Suddenly, the wall felt uncomfortably bare, no matter how many different photographs had been nailed up there.
She looked around the room, searching for OJ. Instead, she found Paper chatting with a couple of objects on the couch, but that was just as good. Lightbulb walked over, quietly humming a single note to make sure her throat wouldn't close midway through her sentence.
"Hey Paper?" She asked, walking up to him before he could continue his conversation.
"Oh- yes?" Paper asked, jumping a bit at the sudden interruption. He smiled his classic awkward smile, trying his best to come off as friendly even if Lightbulb already knew he didn't mean any harm.
"Do we have any pictures of Soap? I was looking at Bow's portrait and..." She trailed off, letting Paper figure out the rest himself. She couldn't tell if the rest of the room went silent as well, or if the sudden drop in tone in that one section of the room just radiated enough that it felt like the rest of the room quieted as well. After a couple of moments, Paper finally replied.
"We do, but we're... OJ asked me about something similar. We're hosting a funeral next week, we're hanging up whichever portrait we used there, like we did Bow's." He explained, his voice somber. Lightbulb nodded.
"Thank you." She said, as there was nothing else to say. She walked away, hoping she didn't ruin the mood too much. Who was she kidding, of course she did. She quietly shamed herself for not thinking of that before she came up to Paper, but the thoughts quickly wore themselves out.
It was weird, the hotel she used to find so much energy in was now painfully bare. Everywhere was full of excitement as it usually was, but she couldn't find anything to cycle hers into. Maybe it was just the fact she didn't have anything to be excited about. That must've been it, she thought to herself.
She stared blankly at the wall once more. A single empty spot among the many pictures, one she imagined Soap's portrait in. Just a week from now, and they'd be saying their final goodbyes. Lightbulb highly doubted she and the others would stop clinging on just like that however. Her first question was just how long she'd continue mourning afterwards, her second being how long the others would.
Soap's imaginary portrait fit perfectly in the gap Lightbulb had found, blending in enough that you wouldn't notice it and have your mood dragged down constantly, but standing out enough for it not to be lost among the tussles of other pictures. No matter how Lightbulb tried to view the portrait however, it still had Bow's smile, even if Soap had a distinctly different smile than hers. But somehow, Lightbulb already knew exactly how it would look up on that wall.
Next week was their final goodbye, the funeral. It was real, she was gone. Maybe it had to be that way. She had to be gone, and everyone else had to continue living. While Lightbulb would never know why, or if that was even the case, it was the truth she settled for.
She had to continue living. Not just surviving after a tragedy, breathing lifeless breaths, but living a life. A different life, one that could never return to its roots where there was Test Tube being a friend to her and Soap playing a character in the background of a protagonist's song. But even if things would never be the same, Lightbulb had to continue living, not just because she wasn't dead yet but because she wanted to.
So maybe it was only because Soap said to, and Lightbulb would never disrespect someone's dying words. But at that very moment, she swore a promise to herself and whoever else might've heard that she'd continue on the best she could until the day came that everyone was reunited. And somehow, that felt like the most optimistic thought she ever had.
-
A/N : Heyyy! In case you couldn't tell, we're getting close to the end! Somehow I've stretched this thing to a little under 250 pages ( 130,000 something words ) and I'm gonna miss writing it. There's a couple more chapters after this one, but after that, this is all coming to a close and letting the traumatized objects rest. This has been a journey for me as my first major fanfiction that I didn't abandon or delete, and I'm proud of the progress it's made.
Now, I hate to be ominous in an author's note, but even if this particular fic ends, the end is never really the end :)
Good day/night everyone!