Chapter Text
You lay on the ground, what passes for your body aching in places that don’t really exist, as your Stardust pins you.
You could keep fighting, drag out the inevitable like a child digging in their heels, but you and Stardust both know you are done. The ending is set, the victor of this little tiff already decided, and you are too tired to keep prolonging the inevitable.
Instead, you decide to be the helpful Loop one last time, give advice that makes your stomach clench at the mere thought of having to follow it, and allow yourself to be honest with your Stardust for the first time in a great many loops.
They ask where you will go now, and you throw out the first thoughts that appear in your head.
You would like to believe that the Universe wouldn’t be so cruel as to mix your rotted self into the relatively fresh mind of your Stardust, or leave you underneath the tree until the end of time, but you are not that naive.
While going back to your family, getting to wake up from this horrid nightmare of being “Loop”, will always be what your heart screams for, you think it would be cruel to them if you did go back.
Luckily for you, you are pretty sure the Universe is killing you.
You can feel it unweaving all that you are, pulling you apart thread by thread, each second leaving you less real than the one before it.
You finish up with your Stardust around the point the Universe grasps your last thread (purely a coincidence, of course, you snark gently to yourself), and let your self slip into what you hope is the mindless nothingness of death.
You are awake in what you are pretty sure is not death.
In fact, you think you know where you are, having spent unknowable nonexistent time here in between loops and timelines.
Stars dammit.
You sigh, and imagine your body existing again. You look around, seeing dark nothing and wondering what to do now.
When you were Siffrin, you would’ve simply woken yourself up in the field. When you were Loop, you would’ve made the pretty set you used to let your Stardust choose where to wake up, and waited. Now you are as alone as you can be, with nowhere to be and no you to wake up to being.
You know that most in your position build little slices of the daydream into versions of their loved ones or comfortable homes, but you are tired of keeping your loved ones trapped with you, and have no building or location you would call home, so you feel stuck. You suppose you could go and see what the gods are up to, but you might run into the Change god or the Universe, and you don’t really want to deal with that right now.
You could go and spy on your Stardust, but you would like at least a little break from them.
As you try to figure out what to spend the rest of your nonexistent life doing, you are struck with a desire for coffee, and maybe a little pastry. You decide that thinking through your eternity can happen over some treats.
Having decided on where to go, you think about ending up at a coffee shop and turn around, walking into the fairly nondescript little coffee shop that has now always been there, with a sign over the door reading “the celestial coffee pot”.
Upon entering the coffee shop, you immediately know something is wrong. The interior itself is normal, with tables, chairs, a counter to order at, and a floor that is far too spotless to be real. No, the thing that alerted you to the problem are the beings in the store. the only “people” in the coffee shop are yourself, a couple dozen faded figures who were only distinguishable as being from The Island due to the specific mix of headache and yearning they caused, your party standing around a table, motionless, and the assembled concept of space, time, and all it encompasses gathered down into a vaguely humanoid form, wearing a barista’s uniform and standing behind the counter.
Of all the stores you could have walked into, you just so happened to have walked into one hosted by the blinding Universe.
It isn’t a coincidence, of course it isn’t. You are struck by a desire for coffee and a pastry out of what now feels like nowhere, and the coffee shop that appears has a blinding star themed name! You can’t even drink coffee!
Well, actually you can, you are less a living being here and more a idea of a living being, so your lack of a mouth doesn’t really matter, but you don’t think you can, so you can’t! And even if you could, why would you want coffee of all things?!
You hate it, the forceful awareness it sends through you, the anxious energy having made you go from the “taciturn yet kind traveler” to “the kid who trembles like a chihuahua and keeps half telling me stories” more times than you can remember.
Yet here you are, on a new stage, with the true sponsor of your torment itself making a cameo as a barista.
You want to scream, to tear into the being on the other side of the counter, to vent all your grievances, to beg it to let you go home, to finally kill you, to plead with it and ask why? Why did you do this to me? Why was this your plan?
Instead, you step up to the counter, and begin placing your order. Back to the stage, no rest for the cosmic joke.
The Universe adjusted our current puppet, the outfit we shaped for it feeling confining in that irritating way most clothing feels, even when the clothes are simply more of ourself. The Universe mused that if we were a human, we would most likely be a nudist. Yet another trait we share with our favorite fella, The Universe cooed to ourself silently.
The Universe sees them, standing at the entrance of their “next stage”, a delightful little coffee shop dreamed up in the small infinities of the singularity of our final black hole, staring at our puppet with such strong feelings in their eyes, their head brightening and letting out those adorable craft sparks that take the form of twinkling stars.
Its cute, we think, that even when they can choose any form imaginable for themself now that their “play” is done, they choose to still keep that lovely body we made for them, cute little fake stars mirroring the view they can see from the geographical location that used to be an Island that could be remembered, with a beautiful luminous head styled after our favorite puppets, and those gorgeous, expressive eyes.
The Universe always liked the look of eyes, but could never quite get them to work.
We always forget to close them or make them move, and having to use them is always so constricting, like wearing clothes for our senses.
But of all of our favorites many physical features we liked, the one The Universe loved the most was the section of ourself charged with “wish craft” glowing proudly in their chest, a testament to how they proudly swallowed as much of us as they could handle, and managed to remain sane.
The memory of that moment, of our favorite managing to accomplish what no other creature in existence has, would make The Universe swoon, if we could. As it is, we simply choose to increase sudden particle generation in such a way as to cause a supernova a few years sooner, as a treat.
Coming back into our current moment, The Universe realizes we missed our favorite finally deciding on what to order, which is a frankly uninspired order of a pain au chocolat and a black tea. We can do better than such bland choices, it’s a celebration after all!
Before we go and create their reward, we make sure to give them our congratulations on such a wonderful play, and have their family clap for them. It is their big celebration after all, and we know they would want all of their family with them.
Granted, our favorite doesn’t remember most of their family due to some truly foolish wishes, only knowing the ones they made on their journey, but The Universe thinks that this would qualify as a case of “it’s the thought that counts”, and gives ourself a pat on the back as we turn the puppet back to work. It was such tough work, keeping the discarded world lines of all those “islanders” around without a body while keeping them functional, but we are willing to do hard work for our favorite.
Why, we even made sure to keep every single instance of their party all for this moment, when we could finally have them join the celebration!
It’s mocking you.
You know it is, and yet you can’t bring yourself to leave, the same energy that trapped you in time holding you in this café with all the force of gravity. You gave your order, a simple pastry you like, and the only tea you remember. Simple and quick, you should have been able to finish both in under a minute and leave.
You anticipated having to spend a few more minutes playing whatever role The Universe wants you to have, but you could still get to the next scene faster.
Yet in front of you is a familiar star, and a mug of some dark, starry liquid that gives you a pounding headache when you look at it, and sends jolts of familiarity and yearning through your core.
Across from you are pale reflections of your party (and you sincerely hope that’s all they are), stuck clapping and unable to speak, yet their eyes tell you their fear and horror enough, the terror unmistakable. The Universe said it “wanted to congratulate you on such an entertaining play” while it handed you the star and the drink, and the steps to the chair you now sit in felt as inevitable as the concept of motion.
As you sit in a uncomfortable chair in the den of your greatest torturer, surrounded by the puppeted bodies of everyone you have ever loved (that is a lie, luckily), you suddenly decide, for what you believe to be entirely sound reasons, that you would prefer to be crushed by a boulder right about now.