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Cosmos’ hand felt heavy… so did his head, his bones, and everything else. He would like to say he was just tired, but being tired didn’t feel like drowning in your own blood. Didn’t make you want to rip your own friends to shreds and eat their corpses.
He stumbled around the diner with wobbly steps, his back aching. He needed a break. So, he waddled over to a section of tables and collapsed.
He slumped over a table, his ichor-covered arm hanging limply over the side, thick black liquid dripping from his claw. Ichor still seeped from the empty socket where his eye once was, forming a puddle on the table and staining everything it touched.
The brittle crunch of old leaves and the familiar sound of Boxten stumbling and crashing into something reached his ears. Boxten’s balance was terrible, with all that ichor sloshing around in his head. Cosmo felt bad. All he had was an eye and an arm drowned in ichor. Sprout’s body was nearly overtaken by the stuff, his body forcefully stretched and twisted by the growth. And Boxten carried gallons of it in his skull. Yet here he was, complaining about an arm and an eye.
He was selfish... useless... a horrible friend... a toon that should’ve never been created. Maybe Shelly should have—maybe she should have never introduced him and Sprout. This was all Cosmo’s fault. If Sprout hadn’t run over to help him at the last second, THEN HE WOULD STILL BE OKAY!
His claws dug into the table, wood splintering beneath his grip. He shook as globs of ichor leaked from his good eye, spilling over his cheek. His head met the table with a dull thud. Then another. And another. Each hit was harder than the last. His head throbbed with each collision, but the pain was nothing compared to the agony inside.
He sobbed, the sound guttural and raw. He didn’t even notice the approaching rustle of leaves or the heavy footsteps drawing near. Not until he was lifted from the ground by a large claw, scooped up and held securely.
Cosmo’s sobs continued, his body trembling as the tears came out as gurgles and growls. The arms wrapped around him—one black, one red—rubbed him gently, comforting him despite the ichor soaking his skin.
Eventually, the tantrum passed, and Cosmo looked up, his good eye meeting a concerned, hazy red gaze. Cosmo chirped weakly, and the large strawberry let out a wet, labored sigh, thick ichor dripping from his chin.
Sprout lifted Cosmo higher, inspecting him carefully for injuries. Cosmo looked away, guilt pressing down on him. He didn’t want to make Sprout worry. Sprout had his own problems to deal with. Another reason Cosmo was a burden... a nuisance... And yet, Sprout still kept him around.
A low, reassuring grumble escaped Sprout’s throat before he lowered himself to the ground, sitting down and settling Cosmo on his lap. A wet claw lightly pressed against Cosmo’s head, a strange, affectionate gesture that made Cosmo blink in confusion.
Sprout’s eyes narrowed fondly, his attempt at silently telling Cosmo to stop thinking those poisonous thoughts. They’d been best friends for years, always taking care of each other despite everything. But with so much ichor clogging Sprout’s throat, words were impossible. So, he stuck to what he could do: physical gestures.
Cosmo rolled his eye and tried to climb off Sprout’s lap, but the strawberry wasn’t having it. His scarf unfurled and wrapped itself around Cosmo, yanking him back with surprising gentleness. The scarf cradled him like a blanket, creating a soft nest for him to rest in.
Cosmo let out a frustrated gurgle, glaring at Sprout. But Sprout only chuffed softly, patting Cosmo’s head before getting to his feet and leaving the table ring.
The crunch of leaves underfoot soothed Cosmo’s nerves, but Sprout’s shallow, ragged breathing kept him from drifting off. Worried, he pushed himself up and placed his small hands against Sprout’s neck, looking up with big, anxious red eyes.
“O... Ka-y?” Cosmo rasped, his voice raw and broken.
Sprout’s gaze softened, and he nodded gently before patting Cosmo’s head with a tenderness that contrasted the harsh, wet rasp of his breathing. His non-ichor-covered arm cupped Cosmo’s right cheek, lightly tapping the corrupted eye with a questioning tilt of his head.
Cosmo gave a weak nod and sank back into the nest of fabric. Exhaustion soon claimed him, his wet snores a strange but welcome melody to Sprout’s ears.
Sprout wandered around the diner for a while, occasionally helping Boxten back to his feet when he fell over. Sometimes he just stared at fragments of old memories scattered throughout the place. For a while, there was peace.
Until a loud ding reverberated across the floor.
Sprout hissed, his body straightening to attention. The scarf unraveled in his haste, and Cosmo fell free. Sprout caught him with his ichor-covered arm, cradling him close to his chest and ensuring no one could see the vulnerable cake roll.
Once Cosmo was safe, Sprout went on the hunt.