Work Text:
The first thing Penny and Agatha do after getting discharged is walk.
Penny inhales, feels her lungs - lungs - expand inside her chest, cold, sweet air slipping into them and aching wonderfully in her throat, then escaping in a little white cloud around her lips. She’s a little chilly, her sleeves rucked up past the elbows and her white shirt woefully thin, but she doesn’t care. The little dark hairs on her forearms that sprung up the moment she left the reception of the hospital are another reminder of her wonderfully imperfect humanness, as is the sniffling she’s doing due to the temperature change. The pavement is dirty and wet, and her shoes are really not waterproof, but getting her socks soaked by dazedly stepping in a little puddle and then uttering “Sssshit,” is another triumphant reminder.
All the sensory input then immediately overwhelms her.
She blinks back tears for what feels like the millionth time today and focuses on her fingers twined through Agatha’s instead. Agatha’s hand is large and warm, her thumb pressed to the centre of Penny’s darker palm, her ring and middle finger swollen at the nails from where she’s been restlessly pressing them to her lips and biting. Even so, there’s a strength to her hold that suggests she’d be clinging to her the exact same way even if she had bleeding stumps for fingers.
Because they have blood now, as verified by all the tests Penny had to take before being discharged. Delicate blue veins, instead of skeins of stitches up Agatha’s arms, one eye simply a little closed crescent curve of flesh and lashes in her face where the heavy, solid button used to sit and Penny would rub her gloved fingers along its edges, feel its smooth weight in Rag- Agatha’s soft, boneless body. Lips and teeth instead of a quick twist of a red, papery smirk, no lilac bow bouncing on the back of her head with every movement.
But Penny can see the similarities, even in this heavier, blood-filled body, Agatha still leans slightly to one side, her thoughtful little ragdoll droop. Her free hand fidgets at her sleeve, her hair, her jeans, all her fingers tap-tap-tapping individually, like she isn’t quite sure what to do with them now she has them back. Penny can’t say anything - twice, now, she’s almost had a meltdown at reaching up and finding soft hair instead of a solid yellow band to yank at comfortingly.
“I keep blinking,” Agatha says, quietly, smile pressed into the side of her freckled cheek, breaking Penny out of her thoughts. “I feel like I’m going to wake up and be stuffing again.”
It’s not really that funny at all, it’s too real for both of them, but Penny laughs, giddy, eager for any kind of release of tension. And there it is - dopamine, endorphins, serotonin, hormones running through her body. Penny knows that realistically she can’t actually feel them, but there is a constant, warm comfort in knowing how her body works, instead of the cartoon inconsistencies of her digital one. Skin to skin contact, Agatha’s hand in hers? Comforting. Why? Humans are a social species. Laughter? Feels good. Why? Need for connections and interaction. The real world, in which having friends is equivalent to survival, although the same could truthfully be said about the circus.
And yet, despite all of Penny's rationalisations, she finds no easy way to explain the ache behind her breastbone at Agatha's wide grin.
“Want me to pinch you?”
“Sure,” Agatha replies, releasing Penny’s hand to turn her own palm-up. “First bruise of the real world!”
Penny blinks, surprised at the sudden enthusiasm, then nods, reaching to delicately take the skin of Ragatha’s forearm between her finger and thumb. She pinches for one, two, three seconds before she lets go. Ragatha snorts, ruffling her curls a little. (They didn’t do that before. Her hair is so complicated and detailed now.)
“That was barely anything, That was like a love-tap but a pinch instead.”
“I’m still not used to having muscles.” Penny admits, pinching her own arm to leave a matching mark. They pause, momentarily, lit by the faulty glow of a street lamp, and watch as the skin pales, then slowly gains colour, then - in Agatha’s case - blooms an irritated pink.
“Weird!” Agatha remarks brightly.
“Weeeeeird.” Penny agrees, tilting Agatha’s arm this way and that to get a better view. Agatha continues, voice taut with barely-restrained mirth.
“Weird how we have blood.”
“Weird how I have more than six eyelashes.”
“Weird how I have five full fingers!” Agatha punctuates this with a waggle of said appendages.
“Weird how my legs are more than a matchstick in width.” Penny does a little skip, landing heavily in a puddle.
Giggles. “Weird how I don’t have a tiny dolly waist! Couldn’t that have transferred over?” Agatha groans, wrapping her arms around her abdomen, and Penny bursts out laughing, staggering into Agatha’s shoulder mid-skip. Agatha puts an arm around Penny with no hesitation, and Penny goes momentarily rigid before allowing herself to lean into her.
“It’d be weirder if you had a tiny dolly waist, just all human and then - boom!” Penny snickers. “Purple felt stomach!”
“True, true.” Agatha smiles. “What about you? Missing the Mickey-Mouse gloves, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart. Penny slips out from under Agatha’s arm and out of the shine of the streetlight, hoping it will hide her burning face, taking quick strides (though Agatha easily keeps pace - height advantage, and all that.)
“Holy shit, Agatha, I remember what Mickey Mouse is.” Penny blurts, half because she genuinely is shocked and half because she immediately needs to deflect. “And Disney. Disney movies.”
“It’s strange,” Agatha says, thoughtful, eye fixed on the smoggy city sky above their heads (no stars, sadly). “I wouldn’t have understood any references like that before, but remember Jax making jokes about Augustus Gloop? Remember, when we went on that adventure, the Candy Kingdom something-?”
“Yeah! And there was-” Penny’s heart skips erratically. “-Gummigoo.”
“Oh.” Agatha looks at her, and there is a certain carefulness in her eye, too kind to be considered wary. “Yes, he was there.”
“D’you think-” Penny swallows. Bites her lip. “D’you think he might have made it out too?”
Penny knows it’s unfair to lay such a big question on Agatha’s shoulders - but she does it anyways. Agatha sighs, running a hand through her curls.
“I don’t know, honey.” Agatha sighs. “I for one would be happy never to see Caine again. I don’t think- if he made it out, it would mean all the other NPCs were real people, too. It seems like a stretch is all.”
“Right.” Penny blinks, hard. “Of course.”
“Oh, don’t start crying again!” Agatha sniffles. “You’ll set me off and I’ve just stopped being all snotty and gross."
“Sorrysorrysorry.” Penny shakes her head, squeezes her eyes shut, and sniffs. “We’re… we’re headed to your apartment, right?”
Agatha takes her hand. “I was joking. Yeah, but I only vaguely remember… where it was. Not far, though. The receptionist tried to give me pointers but I was too busy realising I was real, y’know?”
Penny nods, and follows Agatha when she crosses the road. That’s about all she can do right now.