Work Text:
When Taco first arrived to the hotel, it was just a small crack. She knew she shouldn’t have picked at it, but after days of bed rotting she found it nearly impossible. By now, it was a massive gash across her face that she was sure would draw some unneeded attention if anyone bothered to look at her for half a second. She shouldn’t have touched it, she knew. Permadeath was a risk now. Taco wasn’t surprised to find she didn’t mind taking that chance. She scratched the wound. Tea might take her mind off things. Yes, just some nice, warm tea. It would take the edge off, even if just for a couple minutes. She checked the time. 3:24 AM. If she was quick and sneaky enough, maybe nobody would notice her.
Maybe.
It felt like the world was spinning as she gingerly took a step towards the door. Despite how blurry and dark everything was, she could make out a lot of cards placed near the entrance of her room. If she had to guess, probably a lot of “sorry for your loss”. What did they ever know about losing others? Death had never been an issue until now. Mepad- Ugh. Thinking about him made her sick. Stumbling through the hallway, she saw the names on each of the doors. Baseball’s room. Nickel’s room. Salt and Pepper’s room. Pickle’s room. Shut up. She had lost everything because of him. Where had apologizing gotten her? Pain. Suffering. Guilt.
So, what if she had been stalking all of them for years? It was better than sitting in the woods for months on end. She knew now that she didn’t want the million anymore. She didn’t know what she wanted. If Mepad was here, he would know. He always knew.
The kitchen was eerily silent. After living in a forest for so many years, pure silence was unknown to her. When it was, it meant that someone was with her. Watching her. Taco hated it. She could swear someone saw her, yet whenever she moved her head towards the noise, she saw nothing. Perhaps the many sleepless nights were finally catching up to her, but she could swear that she heard someone approaching. No, it was definitely coming closer, whatever it was. She dropped down and attempted to make herself as small as possible.
“Taco?” A soft, gentle voice called out. She couldn’t quite identify it. It was a bit like Microphone’s-
Oh. She was being lifted now. Her limbs felt fuzzy and weak. She was used to this feeling by now, like falling from a tree, knowing what’ll happen to you before you hit the ground. She couldn’t struggle anymore. She couldn’t move. As hard as she tried to fight the urge, it eventually won.
Taco went limp.
___________________________
“Mepad..? You know, you shouldn’t worry about me at this hour. You have a battery that needs recharging, you know.” Taco drearily tried to shove him away. “At least turn your screen brightness down, it’s hard to sleep when you’re shining all that effulgence in my face.”
There was a click, and it went dark.
She tried to settle in again, but it felt... wrong. There was no wind howling in her ears, no whip-poor-wills singing by the light of the moon. This wasn’t grass or wood. Mepad was dead.
Mepad was dead.
Rubbing her eyes, she looked around the room for a moment. Most of the lights in the room were on, although the lamp right next to her was turned off. From what she could tell, the entire room was completely spotless. Every surface literally glistened, and the only thing that could be considered moderately messy was the countless cleaning products spaced evenly all over the room. Immediately, she knew where she was.
In earnest, Taco was terrified of Soap. She was constantly reminded to make any false moves, constantly being watched with a permanent smile plastered upon the solvent’s face. At this point, she wasn’t sure if she was joking about wanting to kill her.
However, at the moment the germaphobe had an all-too familiar look upon her face, the last expression that she had ever seen upon his face. Furrowed brows, inquisitive eyes, a look of utter pity.
He acted as if she was capable of change.
“He meant a lot to you, didn’t he?” Soap asked, somehow reading her thoughts. Taco didn’t say anything. Soap knew the answer already.
“I don’t blame you for-” She gestured to Taco’s injury. “...That. Cleaning has been my way of coping with whatever troubles I manage to face. Without it, I try to fill that void by doing not-so-nice things to myself, others, really whatever I can get my hands on. The longer I go without something to do, the worse it gets. I hope you can find something to fill that void if you ever feel the need to pick at it. When I saw you starving and delirious while I was cleaning the kitchen, that’s what I was reminded of.”
Taco hated the fact that she had a point.
Starving and delirious were definitely a harsh choice of words that she didn’t appreciate being characterized as, but it was the truth, in all its bitterness. Shocks like that were what she had tried to avoid for years, and yet they always caught up to her.
“I’m going to get something. Don’t move.” Soap took a few steps away.
Okay. Someone who she barely knows is now taking care of her. She needn’t show any perturbation. She needn’t ask why anyone would want to save her. They somehow always find her, and try to help her, like the scared little animal she was. Taco was broken, that had been proven time and time again. No matter how many times they tried to put her back together, she would always shatter once more. She was an unspoken name, a stain on everyone’s perfect life.
Taco instinctively reached for the wound again. Even if Soap had just warned her not to, even if she knew not to, she couldn’t help hersel-
She recoiled as the cleaning product slapped her hand away from the gash.
“Don’t move.” She repeated, coming out a hiss.
Taco watched Soap saunter away towards a large plastic tub. She began rummaging through a whole stockpile of cleaning supplies, (How many bottles of cleaner did she own?) eventually grasping a small white container with a conspicuous red cross shabbily painted on.
She snatched a bottle full of an odd, clear liquid, shaking it a few times. Slowly, she added a bit of the substance to a cloth, proceeding to dab it on Taco’s shell.
“This’ll sting a bit.”
Despite how disgustingly gentle Soap was, Taco still flinched at the sensation. You deserve this, she reminded herself.
Her thoughts were shaken by the ripping of fabric as Soap stared wrapping gauze around her shell.
“Taco, if anything happened to you, I’m pretty sure Microphone would go haywire. After she- uh- told you that she hated you, she kept telling me how much that was a mistake, and was never truly listening to her heart.”
Yep, that sounded like her. Microphone couldn’t just leave her to rot; she had to bring her into the hotel, she had to make her interact with people, she had to check in on her. She was irritatingly pathetic, and yet she found herself missing her, depending on her.
“...Overbearing...” was all Taco could say, her voice raspy and hoarse.
Soap scoffed. “That’s one way to put it.”
She used that sickly-sweet expression again that Taco just hated, the one she used whenever she did her probably-joking threats.
“It’s best if you sleep now, m’kay? We don’t want Mic worrying about you any more than she already is.”
Taco narrowed her eyes. She would probably pass out if she stayed much longer, and fainting in front of Soap again would be a witless deed. Slowly, she rose, ignoring the bile creeping up her throat.
She quietly uttered a soft “thank you” and sheepishly exited the room.