TW: SEVERED LIMBS, HEAVY GORE, DEAD MUTILATED BODIES, DEATH.

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True suffering.

You don't know it yet.

But you will...

———

Lightbulb silently entered Paintbrush's room. She walked over to the bed that Paintbrush was resting on. Lightbulb peered down sadly at the object laying in front of her. She lifted the blankets and got into the bed, wrapping her arms around Paintbrush. Even if they were barely conscious enough to feel it.

She could just tell Paintbrush appreciated her presence. She could tell by the way they weakly shifted towards her body heat. She smiled gently, trying to be comforting.

Or distraction from their current suffering. He hoped at least. Paintbrush didn't deserve what happened to them. They can be a little mean, but that in no way invoked this kind of torture! She frowned at the thought of Paintbrush being in pain right now.

The look of discomfort on their face... and the cold sweat that paired with their fever. It was concerning... She was afraid Paintbrush would die... Permanently.

Paintbrush sat under their blanket, their bristles a mess from the friction of the piece of fabric draped over them. They scribbled on the piece of paper with a smile.

They slid out of bed. And walked to their door, past the drawings that littered their bedroom walls, and collections of crystals and other trinkets. Their hand hovered over the door handle. They remembered what their mother told them.

Not to come out past bed time tonight.

They shrugged it off. It was Christmas soon, maybe they were wrapping presents! They wouldn't peek of course, but they did want to hang their new drawing in the fridge as a surprise for their mom and dad. They adjusted their sweater and opened the door quietly.

They slipped down the stairs and towards the kitchen. They grabbed a magnet and hung the drawing on the door of the fridge. That's when they heard something.

It came from the basement.

Usually the door was locket. They walk over to the door, eyes sparkling with curiosity. And grabbed the handle. The door creaked at first. Which made them stop, and open it slower.

They smelled something fowl... they grimaced at the smell, and their face scrunched up in an instant. They wave their hand at their face trying to waft away the clear smell of iron that now filled their lungs.

"Ugh..." they whispered.

They pulled the neckline of their sweater over their face below their eyes to block out the scent, and grabbed the railing with their other hand.

They climbed down the stairs slowly, testing each step before committing to the stairs, as to not make too much noise and wake their supposed sleeping parents.

They then heard whispering.

"How long do you think until they catch on?" They heard a whisper, unclear of who it was coming from.

"They haven't found any of them yet. I'd say we're doing well." The other huffed in a hushed tone.

"Pass me the saw... And then open the floor boards. We have to hurry before the concrete sets."

"Yeah, on it."

Paintbrush listened in to their conversation around the corner, and walked up to the edge of the wall and peaked around. They saw their parents there.

Mop, and Palette. They looked confused, they peek their head around the corner a little more and felt their heart drop. Two bodies... Mutilated and burnt beyond recognition.

They cover their mouth and gag at the sight of the blistered burnt skin, and melted metal. Along with the rotting burnt blood. The smell was putrid, and the air was growing thicker.

What happened here...?

The basement was littered with tools, and various weapons. They weren't pretty... They didn't want to know what they were used for...

Palette, Paintbrush's father took the saw from their mother's hands. And began to aaa the limbs off of the two mutilated corpse's bodies. The blood leaked out slowly through the pale limbs of the dead objects. Dripping down onto the floor and towards the small drain in the centre of the basement.

Mop, then walked over to the wood flooring section of the basement, and pried off the wood flooring, revealing a small area underneath.

Palette dragged the bodies and the severed limbs over to the small pit and dropped them inside. Mop then poured a large bucket of pet concrete over the bodies, and watched as it was filled up to the top. They placed the boards back over the concrete, and waited for it to set.

Paintbrush forgot how to breathe for a moment. Before the stumbled away from the corner and ran towards the stairs, careful not to make a sound as they slipped back upstairs and ran to their room. The sight and smell of the blood.

Was a memory they'd never forget.

They shut their door and leaned against it as they breathed fast and heavy. Their throat burned as they forced air into their lungs rapidly, sweat poured down their face and tears prickled their eyes. Their parents were murderers...? But... They we're always  so nice to them. Their parents always gave them everything they wanted. And let them go to a good school.

They loved their parents.

They were good people.

Right...?

Their heavy hyperventilation didn't calm as sweat and tears spilled from them. They clutched their arms. What would they do? Call the police...? No, they couldn't do that! That was their own parents! They couldn't— besides. They had no proof.

The memories. The blood, the bodies, mutilated and disfigured from burns. Mangled beyond their child comprehension. They felt it physically as it etched and carved its way into their mind.

Their heart was racing. They needed a distraction. Some sort of way to— take their mind off things! It was— a bad dream... Yeah. A bad dream.

When they calmed down, they could sleep, and wake up from this nightmare. They laughed slightly. It must be. It MUST be a dream.

They walked over to their desk, and grabbed one of their untouched sketchbooks. And took out their drawing supplies.

The one they really wanted to use.

A red coloured pencil.

Paintbrush's eyes opened, the cold sweat dripped down their face. They were super out of it. Everything felt like it was spinning and caving in. It was so cold... It was like they were close to death's grasp. They didn't want to give in though. Not yet.

They feel the glass of Lightbulb against their wood body. They can hear her breathing. The world kept turning faster than they could comprehend, they felt so lightheaded. Their eyes drifted open slightly.

They felt someone place their hand on theirs. They felt their fingers close around their hand. And they weakly interlocked their fingers back. They knew it was Lightbulb. Who else could it be after all.

Paintbrush's whole body felt like it was being dragged under the ocean by heavy weights. No matter how desperately they tried to fight to stay above water. They would sink eventually. They were grasping into life by a rope, and the strands were snapping one by one.

They also felt a piercing agony when they moved. In their chest, arms, legs, head... all of it hurt. They wanted it to stop. They didn't want to give up, but life was telling them to. Their flame was going to go out, but they just keep trying grasp onto it. To protect the small flame that they had left.

"Are................ok....y.................Pai.......ush......?" A faint voice called. The familiar voice of Lightbulb.

They couldn't understand most of it as their head continued to spin, and their body ached. All they could manage to let escape their lips was a small groan of their agony. They felt the hand that was on theirs tighten it's grip. And the arms around them tighten.

They wanted so badly to tell Lightbulb that... They were fighting. Fighting for her. They didn't want to leave Lightbulb. Not after the pain their family had caused her all those years ago.

They felt responsible...

They wanted to clearly see her goofy smile again. To see Lightbulb laugh and play with Baxter. To have her grab their hand and drag them to a picnic. Or go on a random boat ride, just for the heck of it. They wanted Lightbulb to braid the bristles they now lacked due to the flame the card had caused that still flickered beneath the cover on their head. They wanted to breath normally. They wanted to live.

But that as of now...

Seemed like an impossible feat.

As it slowly slipped out of their grasp.

They breathed in shakily, and heavily. Which seemed to make Lightbulb panic. They felt her wipe their tears away. Paintbrush shifted around as that stabbing pain shot through them again. God... It was agony.

They wanted to escape this pain. Go back to their happy face. To draw, play with Baxter, or at least distract themselves if only for a moment. But every time they tried to move, pain dragged them back down to suffering.

Lightbulb just wanted to help... Paintbrush seemed so weak, and vulnerable. It was such a rarity that she forgot Paintbrush could even get like this. The last time she saw Paintbrush like this was when they were kids.

She always remembered the face they had when she told them about her parents. The way they seemed so shocked and immediately apologetic after she told them they died in a horrible house fire... She was lucky to have got out of the house.

Paintbrush seemed so worried for the next few days. They also seemed so jumpy. She felt bad about Paintbrush. She wanted them too feel better.

To help in some way.

Lightbulb remembered who caused this... The person who had made Paintbrush sick in the first place. She felt the hand that wasn't holding Paintbrush's tighten in rage. Her eyes glowed brightly. She would... Pay Fan a visit... Surely nobody would mind if she said a few harsh words right?

Just a few.

She got up from the bed, and pulled the blanket back all the way over Paintbrush. And then let go of their hand. She turned and left the room quietly, as to not disturb them any longer.

She then stormed down the hall towards the closet. And hit the door. Which mad the object inside flinch.

"Test Tube—?"

"THINK AGAIN YOU DIPSHIT!" Lightbulb screamed in rage, as she held her fist to the door. Usually, she wouldn't act like this, but she needed to get her anger out.

Fan flinched at the sound of Lightbulb's voice. "Lightbulb...?! Lightbulb! Oh! Are you fixed—?!"

"SHUT THE HELL UP!" She growled in seething rage, her fist shook. "Can you fix Painty's sickness?!"

"Lightbulb I just...!"

"ANSWER THE QUESTION." She barked as she pounded the door again.

Fan sat there silently on the other side of the door. "If you let me out..." He muttered.

Lightbulb's eyes widened. She actually considered it for a good moment or two. "What if you're lying?"

"You... You'll just have to trust me. We're friends after all!" He said in a friendly tone, nobody could ever think this was deception.

Right?

Lightbulb hovered her hand over the door handle. "How can you fix them?" She asked in a skeptical tone. She hoped that Fan wasn't lying.

"Probably with my powers... I'm sure I can help you! Just let me out! Also, I want to see you since... Well...— It doesn't matter! Just open the door!"

Lightbulb reached towards the small latch on the centre of the doorknob that locked it, and was about to twist it.

"Lightbulb?! What are you doing?" Called Test Tube from behind her.

Lightbulb flinched and moved away from the door. "Fan was— I... You know what? Never mind... I was just angry again." Lightbulb frowned and looked at the ground.

Test Tube sighed and put a hand on her shoulder, Lightbulb's small wings folded inwards at the contact. "I know you're worried about Paintbrush... But attacking Fan won't fix it."

"I wasn't gonna attack him or nothin. Just give him... I dunno... A stern talking to." Lightbulb muttered as she fiddled with her hands.

Test Tube looked at Lightbulb's nervous behaviour. "I assure you Lightbulb. Fan is getting a lot of those as of late. You don't need to trouble yourself with him right now."

Lightbulb crossed her arms.

"I know you're upset... Why don't you go play with Baxter? I bet you'll feel better after." Test Tube gave a reassuring smile.

Lightbulb thought about it for a moment, and gave a small nod. "Alright." She turned and left.

Test Tube waved with a kind smile, and then scowled towards the door when Lightbulb had left. "What did you tell her?!" Test Tube hissed.

Fan was quiet.

Test Tube scoffers and hit the door. "Fan! I swear to god!" She growled.

"T-Test Tube..." Fan had taken a completely different tone rather than what he did with Lightbulb. This tone was scared.

Behind the door he sat with a deadpan face.

Test Tube flinched at Fan's sudden scared tone. "Wh-... Fan...?"

"T-Test Tube I... I'm so... I'm so sorry... It hurts so bad... I hurt so bad..." He said in a scared tone. "I want— I want to help... I cant take this...!" He sounded like he was crying. "I only wanted to help!"

"Fan... You know you weren't helping..." Test Tube muttered in a sympathetic tone.

"I-I see that now... I hurt... And now I'm hurting..." His tone was shaky, but not his breathing. "But maybe it doesn't have to stu like that...?"

"You'd be... Willing to help Paintbrush..."

"Of course... They're our friend!" He said in a brighter tone. Only a bit though. "It's what friends a-are for! I-I can help! I can! You don't even have t—to take the cuffs off! You cou-could use a device? Somehow using the energy to heal them? I-I Dunno— J-just... Let me help..." Fan pleaded.

"..."

"After all, we're all friends... Right?"

Test Tube sighed, and opened the door after unlocking it. She entered the room.

Fan gave a small smile. In his eyes was something else though. She couldn't tell what it was. She shut the door to be safe.

Fan watched as Test Tube took a step closer.

"You'll help?" She asked as she crouched down to Fan's level, since he was sitting on the ground.

Fan's smile grew.

"Fan?" Her eyes narrowed.

"Oh... Test Tube..."

"F-fan—?"

She yelped as Fan used his hands that were bound together to grab one of her legs.

"I'll help... Don't worry..." his grin filled with malice, and a desire for revenge.

"F—?!"

SMASH

CRACK

Fan looked down at the pile of glass shards that came from the girl's body.

He grabbed one, and manoeuvred the shard to his wrist. THIS was his way out...

Blood trickled down his arm. The warm blood soaked into the wood and paper as he cut through veins. He winced as he felt the shard of glass tear through nerves and muscle. He inevitably reached bone, and he hit his wrist on the wall as hard as he could, hearing the crunch and snap.

Blood poured out of his limb, as he yelled in agony, but pushed through. His hand now gone, as it hit the ground with a painful squelching sound. He dropped the bloody shard of glass, his wrist now having enough room to maneuver out of the cuffs.

His eyes sparked blue once again.

He was free.

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