Work Text:
King frets.
King paces. They know Purple now (actually, this time. As a stick and not a tool). Purple told them about Blue, the one that king didn't imprison and nearly kill. About what they did to Purple and what it did to them. Purple says that it made them...
Purple calls it monstrous. Fucked up. King refuses that idea, denying the words. They haven't forgotten that no parent should cause their child to think like that.
King knows that Purple isn't theirs. That Purple is fully capable of having a life separate from theirs and that King doesn't have to manage them. But King knows what it looks like when someone is doing something they know they shouldn't. They knew it very well with Gold, and Purple's mannerisms are just so Gold that it hurts.
Purple isn't Gold. They know. Purple isn't theirs. But Purple draws on their emotions around them and King can see that Purple wants it to be like that. King wants it to be like that. King wants Purple to trust them and they want to trust Purple in return.
It's hard. Purple comes back injured or tells them they got in another fight. It's always casual. It's never a secret, never something that Purple tries to hide. Purple can do what they need to. Sticks are built for it. King's well aware that Purple can take it. They shouldn't have to.
It's hard when Purple stays out later than King's used to. They visit their friends, through the portal in the basement. The sound hurts. King stays out of the basement. They have nothing to occupy them. Nothing that lets them chew through all their thoughts or ignore them long enough that King can forget them.
King doesn't do anything. They sit at home or go out, with Purple when they can. And then they sleep. They wake up. King knows they need to do something else with their time. They certainly have better things to do than wait all day.
But right now they don't have something. They wait at home for Purple and then fuss over them, and it's so much worse when Purple comes home late with bruises.
They don't need to do this anymore. King wants them to feel safe and whole. It's not fair that Purple went through their whole life like this and still hasn't come out on the other side. It makes King angry.
Purple should be sound and comfortable and they aren't. It makes King want to tear apart the world again. Nothing in King's life has pulled its punches. They want to do everything they can to stop that in Purple's. They want it to be better. The want to be better.
This rage burns. It makes King's body ache and complain when they wake up. When they wait at home. When they go to sleep. It grates at them. It rubs raw and blisters.
It explodes when Purple comes back late again, a little scraped up. King's tired and afraid and they tell them that they don't need to prove anything anymore. That King cares for them and they want it to be better. King means that.
King yells that Purple shouldn't be doing dumb things or coming back late. It terrifies King every time Purple goes through that portal. They build themself into this anger and let it crash down.
Purple stands straighter. Locks up their body and looks at King. Not in the eyes. They press their hand to their thigh. They'll be back soon, they say, and then Purple walks back through the portal.
King wants to chase after them and drag them back. Never let them go.
King watches and the world blares at them, bright sirens burning through their head.
The walls get new dents.
They text Purple. Text them again. Calls. Waits awhile. Calls Purple again.
They fall asleep, holding their phone. King wakes up and then panics, finding their phone and finding nothing new.
King waits. They're good at it now. Or at least better at it. Maybe if they had been better at waiting it wouldn't have come out this way.
King texts Purple.
They don't have their friends' numbers. King meant to get them. They'd ask Purple, and then Purple would forget, or King would forget to ask about it. They never manage to get written down. Maybe it wouldn't stress King out so much if they could call when they worried. If they knew where Purple was.
King waits two nights and then wakes in the middle of the third to the sound of the trapdoor. They rush to meet them, nerves far ahead of them.
Purple is there, standing solid and not meeting their eyes the way they did three days ago. King hugs them. Purple lets them. They return it. King feels it's different.
They pull away. Purple asks what they're going to do now. They tug at their own hands and waver. If it's really what King meant.
It's not. King swears on it. They explain. Purple listens. Evaluates.
Asks if King would do it again.
King looks at the wall. It's been painted over because King did everything they could to ignore it before. They patched up the drywall together, filling the holes from the knives and punches King's thrown at it. They look at the drawing of Gold they couldn't bear to paint over. Their knuckles ache.
They don't want to do it again. King doesn't know when they turned from a parent into whatever this is. They sit on the floor with Purple.
King promises that they won't, that they won't yell again, or let it get to here. They promise that they don't want to hurt Purple. They lean against them and ask if they mean it.
Of course they do. They want Purple to feel safe. They want it to get better. They want it to work. Purple asks if it will.
King wants to say yes, instinctually. They almost do, catching it just before. King thinks about it. If something will change after this. If King can claw their way out of this. King wants to.
What are they supposed to do now?