Chapter Text
On some level, he reasoned, he must’ve known it would go this way. Yes, on some level, he could be at fault for his complete ignorance of the facts. Of course. His fault. Those words give him some semblance of comfort, some semblance of control. Because if it’s his fault, he does have control. Fault signifies he could have done something and chose not to. Fault makes his poorly dealt hand okay, because fault means if he wanted to, he could still win the game. Go fish.
Bdubs can feel himself spiraling. He drags his sorry ass out of bed again. Before the sun can even imagine peeking in through the window, he closes the blinds. It only takes about four turns of a time loop to have the important things down. Any moment now, Etho would be at his door knocking and knocking.
He sighs. Walks down the stairs. Opens the door to Etho’s raised fist.
“Etho! It’s early!” He screeches through his still-asleep throat.
“I know, I know,” Etho laughs, “but I wanted your expert opinion on the new section of my base. And the new feature I added needs a play tester, as it were.”
“That sounds all fine and good, Etho, but for Chrissakes, it’s 7 in the morning!” Bdubs wipes the sleep from his eyes, from his mouth, letting his hand hold his chin up for a moment. He is exhausted.
“Alright, if you need your beauty sleep that much, I’ll come back at 8, mkay?” Etho’s eyes belie his amusement at Bdubs’ little act. Bdubs allows himself a genuine grumble of malcontent. Not like Etho could tell it was real. Everybody believes at this point that Bdubs is just like that. Just some funny guy with his little mutters and ramblings. He slams the door in Etho’s face.
“See you at 8.” Etho’s voice, muffled through the door, brushes Bdubs’ back as he slides down to the floor. See him at eight. Sure he will. Because Bdubs knows what happens between now and eight. What happens is the entire server shuts down. And he is stranded in Void alone for minutes, hours, whatever, it doesn’t matter. And then it all resets.
Nobody remembers. He hasn’t exactly gone asking, not wanting to panic anyone, but if anyone remembered, he’s sure the news would’ve made its way to him by now. What good would it even do? He wakes up at seven and the world’s gone at eight.
And mind you, it would be one thing if everything just ended at eight. If he was stuck in Void forever for real. Then there wouldn’t even be an illusion of choice, no fault, then it would really, truly, irrevocably be over. He wouldn’t worry or stress whatsoever if it was over. But it isn’t over. Every so often, the nothingness of Void fades into this: this gifted last hour of time turned curse by repetition.
Nothing to be done about it. Bdubs gets up and walks to the kitchen for a lackluster breakfast. Lackluster, he thinks, is a very weird word. Lack luster. Not even shiny a bit. Well, it’s accurate enough. Nothing shiny in shoving bread into your mouth, treasuring the sensation of anything at all after the long nothing.
See, here’s the problem. Of all the people to get stuck in some stupid loop, it’s just gotta be him, huh? Where’s the catch? There’s the catch: he cannot pay attention to save his life (to save everyone’s life!) Who cares about “lackluster”? The world is ENDING and he is in his kitchen, eating bread and thinking about the freaking English language. That’s why it’s his fault. He is brought back here time and time again, they are ALL brought here time and time again, because he can’t save them. Because he did something to cause this. That’s the only way this can be possible.
The bread is gone, Bdubs realizes, when he is left chewing on his thumb contemplatively. He checks his clock. It has been three minutes. Somehow. In a moment of sudden, jarring clarity, he considers running after Etho. Telling him everything. No, better not to trouble him. Better to never try than to try and fail.
And yet. And yet something pushes him. If it’s all over before it starts, why not just… try. Once. One time.
Bdubs dismisses the thought with a shake of his head, trying to erase it like an Etch A Sketch. It persists. Well, he reasons, I’ll try it next time. Next loop, if I’m still here, I’ll do it. How about that, huh? What say you now?
He’s losing it. Arguing with his own head. Maybe anyone would after being in Void. Maybe anyone would after being out in the sheep pen and watching the sky fold in on itself and knowing yet again that it’s all disappearing. That it’s all gone.
The first time wasn’t as bad. At least then it wasn’t his fault.