Chapter Text
The Binglebops were no strangers to reconstruction. When your body plan is basically a colorful handbag and your self-defense capabilities boil down to “being so adorable that only a real jerk would try to hurt you,” you end up being conquered by a lot of real jerks. Dominator’s planet-busting stint was certainly the most extreme destruction the civilization had so far endured, but when push came to shove, the Binglebops had done pretty well for themselves.
The capital of New Bingleborp was a huge – for a Binglebop, anyway – city of painted stone and cutesy buildings. Banners and streamers hung above the streets, and colorful lights blinked a happy rhythm for the first Bingleberry festival post-Dominator. Nearby was a clamorous carnival that rivaled those of festivals passed. A cacophony of melodies competed for dominance from the hundred-or-so rides and booths, and Binglebops flit among the fair and city with laughter, songs, and other noisy merry-making.
They were rightfully proud of their city, and they flaunted this pride in their flag, which hung high enough in the city square to be seen from anywhere in the capital. A marble statue of Old King Bingleberry posed valiantly in the heart of the square. Standing over twenty Binglebops tall, he surveyed the Bingleberry festival with a debonair twist of his fabulous stone mustache.
It was too mushy-gushy of a scene for Peepers’s taste, but the gaiety that hung so thickly in the air made the crushing of spirits all the more satisfying. That, and the lack of any real defense mechanisms, made New Bingleborp the perfect first planet to invade post-Dominator. Right on schedule, the Skullship landed in the square, sending Binglebops running for cover.
The mouth opened, and platoons of chanting watchdogs emerged. They corralled the scrambling civilians, zapping any would-be escapees with their lasers. Peepers stood tall at the ship’s entrance and observed what could hardly be called a battle below. The soldiers were performing acceptably; it wasn't that the Binglebops could overpower them, but Peepers had been embarrassed by the watchdogs’ inconsistent competency before, so their progress was reassuring.
A small smile curled at his lids as he prepared to introduce Lord Hater. Admittedly, it was one of his favorite duties. “Attention, citizens of New Binglebopolopolis!” He mentally congratulated himself on pronouncing the town correctly. “This planet is now under the control of Lord Ha-gah!”
When he spun around to cue the next phase of the invasion, he was not met with Hater’s elaborate rockstar entrance but with Andy’s dumbstruck face and blasted microphone. They both jumped.
“Andy!” Peepers yelled. “What in glorn’s name-”
“Sorry, sir! I didn’t mean,” he scratched the back of his neck, “It’s – uh – funny story, actually-”
Peepers snatched him by the collar and yanked him down to his level. “Why,” he snarled, “do you so consistently go out of your way to cause problems – “
“N-no, sir!” He raised his hands defensively. “I’m not trying to cause problems, not at all. I just thought, surely we should document the comeback of the Hater Empire!” he intonated as though it were a question. “Besides, most of my viewers have never seen an invasion, not up close.”
They both trembled, Andy with fear and Peepers with rage. “You’ve got some nerve,” Peepers spat as he gripped Andy’s uniform tighter. “You’ve got some nerve. You think your stupid show is worth jeopardizing this entire invasion!”
“Please, Commander Peepers, sir! I won’t get in the way!”
A vein bulged in Peepers’s forehead. “You’re already in the way!” Shouts and cries of terror from below reminded him where they were and what was at stake.
“Just get out of here! Go!” he hissed as he unceremoniously shoved Andy aside. He took a quick breath to get back into character. “Lord Hater!”
Right on cue, the overlord roared as neon green fireworks shot from the Skullship and stained the sky. In a flash of lightning, Hater appeared at Peepers’s side.
“Took you long enough,” he grumbled as agitation flickered across his face.
Peepers suppressed a twinge of irritation. “Sorry, sir. Shall we?”
Hater immediately perked up. “Yeah. I’m so ready to conquer every stupid planet in this new galaxy! Starting with New Binglebrap!”
“Bingleborp, sir.”
“Ugh. Whatever!” Hater sprung forward, landing on the scorched pavement in a one-knee stance. Sneering, Peepers raced after him.
While they bickered, a band of watchdogs surrounded King Bingleborp on the center podium. He cast resentful glares at them as they trained their lasers on him. Once he noticed Hater striding towards him, his gaze turned murderous, which would have been far more effective if he was neither purple nor less than a foot tall. All around him, the watchdogs herded his people in droves, zapping any stragglers.
“Well, well well,” Hater jeered. “Looks like I conquered your pathetic planet again, Binglebart.”
The king breathed a halfhearted sigh. “It’s Binglebo-”
“Shut up!” Lightning crackled in Hater’s fists. “You should be honored, Bingus-bort,” he hissed in mock praise. “Your stupid rock is to be my first step in re-becoming the greatest in the –”
“Hater! Are you here for the first Bingleberry festival on New Bingleborp, too?”
Hater and Peepers turned around so fast it was a miracle their necks didn’t snap. Sure enough, Wander stood at the end of the town square, waving frenetically and pulling a dopey grin.
Peepers saw Hater vibrate with rage from the corner of his eye. He threw himself in front of him, standing on his tiptoes to obstruct Wander from view. Just as he expected, Hater’s face twisted with fury.
“Sir,” Peepers snapped his fingers a few times, “remember your Wander Avoidance Training. You can do this.”
Hater took a long, deep breath. “Right. Thinking evil – but focused – thoughts.” He rubbed his temples and slowly turned around. Peepers’s chest swelled with pride.
“As I was saying, Bigger-boot –”
“Did you know that the first Bingleberry festival was held to celebrate the birthday of old King Bingleberry? Which is funny because King Bingleberry actually hated bingleberries –”
“Don’t listen to him, sir. Remember: conquering planets, torturing deposed rulers, blowing up entire systems…”
“Parking in disabled spaces, kissing fawning fangirls…whew. Alright. King Burger –”
“Oh, Hater! Wanna have a rematch for our Greatest in the Galaxy competition? That was so much fun!”
Hater shook violently. Beads of sweat dripped down his bones as his teeth scraped against each other.
“Sir?”
Hater made a weird, strangled noise. “Conqueringplanetstorturingdeposedrulersblowingupentiresystemspiratingcartoonsarguingonlineleavingnegativecommentsonfanfics –”
“Also, I think you're saying it wrong! It’s Bingleborp! B-I-N-G-L –”
Hater literally exploded. He discharged a massive surge of electricity, launching a shocked – figuratively and literally – Peepers into the crowd.
“DESTROYING WANDER!” he boomed, foaming at the mouth. He snarled like a wild animal and charged at the offending party, all the while shouting barely intelligible cries of frustration.
“Whoops! Here we go!” Wander said cheerfully. Giggling, he ran to the fairgrounds. Hater pursued, bowling down a gaggle of watchdogs in the process.
With no offer of help from his useless soldiers, Peepers pulled himself to his feet. He moaned with pain as his muscles twitched from lingering shocks. Staggering out of the crowd, he cast a forlorn glance at the chase.
“Fantastic,” he grumbled to himself. “I wonder how long it’ll take before –”
Before he could finish his sentence, he was knocked flat on his face. The blow didn’t hurt as much as he knew it could. He could only presume it was meant to get his attention.
He flipped himself over and found the Zbornak towering over him. She cracked her knuckles with a roguish smile. “How’s it goin’, Optic Nerd?” A couple of watchdogs gasped and muttered among themselves.
Every movement was met with protest from his aching body, but Peepers managed to stagger to his feet once again. “Ah. There you are.” Peepers laughed humorlessly. “I was wondering when you’d finally show up.”
“Hah! As if I’d ever miss a chance to put you in your place. I’ve been looking forward to finishing what we started back in the Blasteroid formation.”
Peepers was prepared to sling a few insults, but he faltered as the watchdogs encircled them. Good. They were finally about to make themselves useful –
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” they all chanted in unison.
Just when he thought his blood pressure couldn’t get any higher, Peepers found himself seeing red yet again.
“What are you idiots doing?” he spluttered. “Why aren’t you –”
Now, he was struck by a blow meant to hurt. Peepers yelped as he flew backwards. The crowd groaned, and before he could collect himself, a pair of watchdogs hoisted Peepers up by his armpits and threw him back into the makeshift ring. He teetered forward, reeling from the hit.
“Get her, Commander!”
“Go for the eyes!”
“Honestly, my money’s on Sylvia.”
The voices seemed so distant over the ringing in Peepers’s ears. His vision doubled, and he found himself struggling to stay on his feet. Somewhere, the Zbornak was laughing.
Peepers’s drab, logical brain stalled, but a few colorful thoughts bounced around his throbbing head. One, this day totally sucked, and somebody was going to pay for it. Two, he really, really, really wanted to hit something or someone right about now. Three, the Zbornak was annoying.
Enough neurons fired in sequence for him to steady himself and plot a course of action. He clenched his fists at his sides, his tiny body tight enough to snap in half. Then, he lunged forward and popped the still-cackling Zbornak square in the snout.
She stumbled backwards as the watchdogs whooped and cheered. Peepers puffed out his chest and lifted his chin. It was as close to looking down at her as he could physically get.
The Zbornak shook the hit off with a snort. “Now we’re talking.”
Their battle cries drowned out the mob as they rushed at each other. They seized hold of one another in a clinch, each party grappling for leverage. While the Zbornak had the clear size advantage, Peepers had been training for these skirmishes for an entire season of their lives. His uniform might not have shown it, but he had built quite the muscle mass over the last few months. He laughed breathlessly as he matched his opponent’s formidable strength.
“Had enough, Zbornak?” he panted. “Give up now, and I might just make your inevitable doom slightly less painful.”
His taunts were met with rapturous approval from the crowd. The Zbornak only scoffed.
“What, you want me to go easy on you, now?”
Before Peepers could fire back, he heard an infuriatingly animated voice from the edge of the crowd.
“Oh! My! Grop!” Andy gasped, facing an unseen camera and frantically jabbing a finger at their scuffle. “Commander Peepers might actually win against Sylvia. No watchdog has ever come this close to beating her one-on-one!”
“Andy!” Peepers barked. If a watchdog was in his place, he would have vehemently reprimanded them for losing track of their priorities on the battlefield. The irony was lost on him, however, because the Zbornak used his moment of distraction to land a nasty uppercut. The sighs of the crowd died away as Peepers flew into the air and landed into a cart of bingleberries with a wet splat. The sticky juices soaked through his uniform and covered him in a sickeningly sweet stench. Disgusted, he scrambled to climb out of the wagon, but before he could make it over the side, he heard a loud crumbling. He snapped his head to the statue, and just as he feared, the Zbornak let loose a series of furious kicks into Old King Bingleberry’s knees. Peepers strained to move, but his limbs turned more stone than the statue as a growing crack spread across Bingleberry’s legs. With a deafening creak, the statue split in two.
Peepers braced himself. Old King Bingleberry landed on the wagon’s shafts, and Peepers was once again launched into the air, but much, much higher. He screamed, flailing his arms wildly as the wind rushed past his ears and the figures below him receded. As he started to plummet, he covered his eye and resigned himself to the humiliation of being scraped off the pavement by his subordinates, but the impact never came. Instead, his descent slowed. Peepers was about to thank whatever deity was misguided enough to save his life, but he was yanked and swung back and forth at the waist until coming to a stop. He blinked a few times. He threw a look over his shoulder and turned pale. He was hanging from the flagpole – nearly fifty feet above the ground – by his waistband.
Adrenaline pumped its way through his veins and with it came an overwhelming surge of fear and embarrassment. To the watchdogs and the Binglebops, however, this spectacle was the highlight of their year. The explosion of laughter deafened Peepers even at such a distance, and as it reverberated in his skull like the drop of a hydroflask during a standardized test, never in his life had he felt so small.
His pulse thumped furiously behind his retina. “Shut up!” He prayed that he was too high for anyone to see his flustered expression. “You idiots! Get up here and help me!”
The laughter died down as the watchdogs stared at each other. None of them seemed too enthused to get him down.
The Zbornak leaned casually against the flagpole. Peepers’s heart stopped as the movement caused his perch to shift. “You know, fellas,” she started, “if you wanna enjoy the festival before rescuing Commander Buzzkill, he can’t punish you if you all go.”
Peepers stared in disbelief as the watchdogs actually deliberated amongst themselves before giving a loud cheer and rushing to the fair. The Binglebops celebrated as well and joined them. Meanwhile, the Zbornak was in hysterics.
She wiped a tear from her eye. “Don’t worry, Peepsqueak. I’m sure someone will get you once the festival’s over. You know, in a few hours. See ya!”
She ran off laughing as Peepers shouted obscenities at her. As she disappeared from sight, Peepers was struck with the horrifying reality that he was completely alone. The streets below were empty. His only company was the distant sound of calliope music and shouts of excitement.
He made a short-lived attempt to spin around and wrap his limbs around the pole, but the elastic wouldn’t stretch far enough without forcing it to, so he abandoned the plan as to not snap the band entirely. Next, he tried grabbing the pole above his head, but no matter how much he tensed his upper body, he couldn’t reach far enough. He groaned. His body ached already, and the smell and texture of ripe bingleberry juice against his skin was nauseating. He refused to imagine bearing it for several hours and instead focused all his brainpower in formulating an escape, but he was tired, he was filthy, and he was really, really over this whole situation, and so his mind remained empty. Just as he made another halfhearted attempt to reach above him, he heard the voice of the second-to-last person he wanted to see right now.
“Mr. Peepers!” Wander shouted cheerily as he waved. “Do you need some help?”
Peepers made a noise of disgust but shoved his pride aside. “Obviously!” He threw up in his mouth, but his only other option was to fall to his certain death, which was only slightly less desirable. “Get me down from here!”
Wander’s attitude remained insufferably cheerful. “Okie-dokie!” He stroked his goatee in thought. Peepers glared at his stupid face. The longer he stayed up there, the more blood rushed to his head. He counteracted the resulting dizziness with his seething hatred for Wander, which worked at first, but as he continued to just stand there, the pressure became unbearable.
“Are you just going to just stand there,” he huffed arduously, “or are you —“
“Wander!”
“Oh, there you are, Hater!”
And then came the last person he wanted to see. Hater dragged himself over, out-of-breath from the chase but still in laborious pursuit.
Peepers wasn’t a man for wishing, but in that moment, there was nothing on his mind but the pleading hope that Hater wouldn’t see him, that Wander would run off and continue their little game and Hater would follow. He would stay up there for a year if it meant Hater would never know.
As if he didn’t have enough reasons to despise the little orange freak, Wander waved a finger at Peepers like a toddler at the zoo. “Now you can help me rescue Mr. Peepers!” he bubbled with enthusiasm.
“Rescue — wha?” Hater panted. He followed Wander’s finger, and Peepers watched helplessly as Hater got an eyeful of his commander’s humiliating situation. There was a moment where they simply stared at each other, Peepers mortified and Hater utterly baffled. Then, Hater broke the silence by falling to the ground howling with laughter. Peepers was overwhelmed by the urge to vomit.
“Aw, c’mon, Hater,” Wander chided, but Hater didn’t budge. He leaned down to whisper something into Hater’s ear while occasionally shooting Peepers a glance. Hater stopped, looked at Peepers, and laughed even harder.
Peepers’s face ran boiling hot. Wander gave him a sympathetic look. In return, Peepers visualized torturing him as if he could communicate to him the image telepathically by thinking really hard.
Wander furrowed his brows and crossed his arms. “Well, if you won’t help me help Mr. Peepers,” he pointed to himself, “then I’ll help me help Mr. Peepers!”
Hater’s laughter subsided, but there was an unsettlingly mischievous way he stood and smiled at Peepers. “Oh, I’ll help him alright,” he sneered. Peepers gazed with horror as Hater gripped the pole tightly in both hands. His heart pounded as even this small movement caused a harrowing jolt at the top.
“Sir!” he begged, “Please don’t —“ Hater violently yanked the pole back and forth. New Bingleborp became a smear of color as Peepers instinctively floundered for something to grab, but there was nothing, and so he bounced around like a puppet with a manic puppeteer.
Only when Peepers felt like his head would explode did the torment cease. He swung to a gentle stop as he fought to keep his breakfast down. Once again, he saw double as his head continued spinning. Below him, two frantic Wanders clung to two very annoyed Haters, although Peepers was unable to hear them over the throbbing in his ears. As the vertigo subsided and his senses gradually returned, the first thing he heard was the dreadful ripping of fabric. His head whipped around, and with wide-eyed horror he witnessed a tear split across his waistband.
He didn’t even have time to shout before he plunged screaming through the air. He screwed his eye shut and braced himself. There was no splat, no crunch, nothing. Just a soft, painless, thump. Tentatively, his eye blinked open, and he was astonished to find himself staring up at Hater’s puzzled face and cradled firmly in his arms.
“Sir,” he stammered in disbelief. “You caught me?”
Hater looked just as surprised as Peepers. “Uh – yeah.” He chuckled. “I guess I –”
He fell silent. Peepers stiffened at his unreadable expression. A smirk creeped slowly across his face as he shuddered with stifled laughter, and he dropped Peepers to the ground to clutch his sides. Groaning, Peepers rubbed his head as Hater’s uncontrollable laughter assaulted his ears.
He cleared his throat wearily. Hater laughed so hard he visibly struggled to breathe. Peepers was enraged. He stood to his full height – which wasn’t much, but still – squared his shoulders, and hissed, “Sir. If you would stop –”
“Uh, Mr. Peepers?” Wander interrupted sheepishly. Peepers pinned him in place with a silent but livid stare. Wander grit his teeth with discomfort and fidgeted with his hands. His eyes repeatedly bounced to Peepers only to look away in the same moment. Confusion chipped away Peepers’s anger as a sudden draft caught his attention. He glanced down.
His pants had ripped clean off. Commander Peepers of the Hater Empire was standing on an unconquered planet in his briefs. Death was suddenly the superior outcome, but unfortunately, that ship had sailed.
“Oh,” he peeped. His mind was an empty shell, and his traitorous limbs refused to move. Hater’s laughter was nothing short of agonizing, and Wander’s pitying gaze wasn’t helping.
He removed his hat and fished inside. “Let me see what I have.” He rummaged fruitlessly for much longer than Peepers preferred. When his hand finally grasped something, he withdrew it triumphantly, only to reveal a tiny white card with simple lettering that read “Back in 5.”
Peepers’s stomach dropped. “Whoops!” Wander chuckled uneasily. “I guess it remembers ya from last time, heh.”
Peepers snatched the hat out of his hands and covered himself. “Sh-shut up!” he stuttered, finally broken from his stupor. “This – this is all your fault, you know!” He found slight solace in Wander’s hurt expression. “You and your stupid zbornak, do you have any idea the time, th-the resources you’ve wasted –” he began to squeak with anger, and he hated it. He hated the childishly high cadence of his voice, he hated how stupid and pathetic he looked –
“Oh Peepers, you should see your face!” Hater wheezed. “You look – you look so –”
And that was the final straw. “You!” He stabbed a finger into Hater’s sternum. “If you would just listen to me for once – once, none of this would’ve ever happened!” Hater had the gall, the utter audacity, to look clueless. Peepers continued his rant, “I have endured years of abuse, years of disrespect for this Empire, and you can’t even be flarped to follow instructions so simple a child could do them!
“We would’ve been ruling the entire galaxy in the last season of our lives if you weren’t such a – such a – a –” The words caught in his throat. Even he himself didn’t know what he was trying to say; all the repressed frustration and embarrassment he had bottled away for years was finally uncorked and spilling out. He could sense the approach of angry tears, but he absolutely refused to cry on top of everything else that happened that day. So, with a yell of frustration, he stormed off to the Skullship as both Hater and Wander stood in stunned silence.
After a few steps Wander spoke up. “So – uh,” he muttered. “When can I expect m’hat back?”
Peepers hurled the hat as hard as he could. It caught the breeze and landed softly three feet ahead. He covered himself with his helmet, spun on his heels, and stomped back to the Skullship. Let the invasion fail, since he clearly was the only one who cared. He slinked miserably through the ship’s empty halls, down the elevator, and to his room. The door slammed shut behind him as he flung himself into bed and committed to screaming into a pillow for at least the next hour.