Star Blank

That was all BoBoiBoy knew; Amato was in a grave condition, being rushed to the hospital as they spoke and was in dire need of care or, for god’s sake, the worst case scenario would play out— his father would die.

The words sting him, striking him harshly, a slap across the face, blooming his face into a shade of blue as he can only sit there, taking the brunt words, the pain and the feeling of complete loss. A harsh and cold and cruel feeling of helplessness.

He can only listen as he hears of his situation, of the mangled arms and his internal bleeding caused by cuts that shine through the skin, of bruised and battered tan skin. Something he couldn’t even bring himself to imagine.

His father was supposed to be safe. He was not supposed to be hurt.

He breathes in, but his lungs have a different plan in mind as his chest halts and he finds himself unable to breathe, the air pushing out of his lungs in a pant. He tries again, but he can only stifle a sob as another deep, suffocating intake of air sounds—the air comes this time, but it’s rough and unnatural, and he can feel the side-effects of despair with each breath. 

With every breath, he feels like he’s descended to hell, unable to breathe, completely and utterly helpless, and he can’t begin to imagine the situation his father is in; another shaky breath, and his head go numb. Hazy, blurry and dizzy, it’s so hard, he can’t take this. He feels himself back in that place, a rope has wrapped its way around him and begun to tug his back, pulling him to grief. It’s a feeling of utter helplessness, to not be able to save those you cared for.

His father couldn’t die. BoBoiBoy couldn’t accept that.

There was no way his father could end up like all his friends whose lives he had failed to protect. BoBoiBoy had promised him that he would continue to live so he can make Amato proud of the good things he did. And now he sat, informed of the man’s critical condition and the lingering knowledge of death right around the corner, it feels so unreal.

He couldn’t believe this, not in a million years, or another lifetime, not ever could he believe it. His father couldn’t die, not after everything they had gone through.

No, his father couldn’t die. BoBoiBoy wouldn’t have that. He wouldn’t allow it.

“Sir—” he pushes out from his lips, standing hurriedly as he grasps at his jacket and looks into his eyes, pleading with all his might to admiral, “take me to my dad. Please.”

“BoBoiBoy, are you sure? You-”

“Please!” He choked out, a desperate plea.

He agreed and rushed him out the door. Quick on his feet, the man navigates him to his car and to the hospital that was currently housing Amato.

BoBoiBoy’s not sure if he can handle it, seeing the adult in that condition, and it seems Maskmana feels the same from his demeanor; he’s fit his normal composed face, the calm and confident face of Maskmana, but he’s nervously tapping on the steering wheel and he keeps glancing back at BoBoiBoy to check if he’s alright. It’s all the little signals to BoBoiBoy that something’s off with him, something’s not right.

Yet it was indeed that something was not right. Amato was hurt horribly. A case gone beyond terrible, a dreadful turn of events in the situation of a mission. Amato was not supposed to be lingering between consciousness and not, he was not supposed to be the one to die early. Not when he still had such a life waiting for him.

So BoBoiBoy wouldn’t have that, he wouldn’t die, just as he told himself over and over again, whispering to himself on the car ride over.

And it seemed the car ride couldn’t go fast enough as he found himself lurching over, nearly ready to throw up at the imaginable sight of his father dead in a hospital bed, him too late to get to him. It haunts him, and he can only pray that the journey would somehow speed up so they could arrive and BoBoiBoy could see him, to assure himself his father was fine and safe.

But he was not fine and safe.

Was this what it was like to feel true despair? The feeling of complete loss of hope? He finds himself able to crawl to Amato’s side, unable to take control of himself as he stares at his unconscious body. He could barely register anything else around him; in the corner of his eye, he notices Maskmana on a chair, a calm demeanor but he holds fret in his eye. He’s already seen the body, he let the shock take its course and now he’s only able to stare with aspiration at Amato.

“D-Dad…” the only words he can choke out is his name, sputtering in sorrow as he grips his cold hand.

A hand grips BoBoiBoy’s shoulder. It was Maskmana’s, he can notice right away from the cold that stings him in an instant. He’s saying something, but he can’t hear it, he’s too busy in his sobbing.

He’s not sure what had happened. All he remembers is his ears ringing, loud and blaring through his head as his vision went blurry and then it crashes to white, and he sat there in the loud mess of his mind. 

It continued for what felt like an eternity until suddenly it blared to a stop and he’s able to see again, all at once, with puffy eyes, he found himself standing, shifting his gaze to the beeping machine wired to his unconscious parent.

“He can’t-” BoBoiBoy cried, “Dad!”