Gimme pain, gimme joy!

After two days of trying to sleep (just to see how Phos did it), his restlessness caught up to him and he started moving the pillows around, building little caves until he grew bored of that too.

Worry followed shortly after, then anger, then regret, and finally just listless state of ‘whatever happens, happens.’

As long as no one bothers me, I’m fine.

How luck would have it, his peace didn’t last long.

While Maso sat staring at the broken TV one day, wondering how he could upgrade it with the few tools he had at hand and hopefully shadow proof it so it could work even after Phos’ expected return, he heard some rustling in one of the hallways.

Phos! Was his first thought and then, The MiW? No wait...Stellan? Shadow Mariella? Can shadows even mimic footsteps?

Maybe she was still with that hopeless Alice. Maso hoped it wasn't them, because the last thing he wanted to see was a pawn of Calypso coming to gloat.  

The door swung open, letting two figures step inside the Lounge and Maso realized he had judged too soon. Any pawn of Calypso was welcome instead of them, hell, even the Absurdist would’ve been a much better sight.

“Told you the bracelet still works!” Anastasia said, sounding way too pleased. “He’s still here!”

It took Maso a second to recognize the Stanley by her side. He had changed since the last time he saw him, less glitchy and the worn employee 427 outfit (which Maso assumed he had worn ironically) was now replaced by a suit, which looked just as ridiculous.

His expression twisted into one of annoyance.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Not quite,” the Stanley smiled.

“Maybe he meant me~”

“Seriously, are you two here to gloat or something. Fuck off. I’m not hurting anyone sitting here so whatever twisted plan you have to torture me into getting better, I’m sure there are loooots of doomed Bradleys you can use them on.”

“Oh yess,” Anastasia let go of Stanley’s arm and, honest to god, marched over the pillows in five inch tall platform boots, somehow not twisting her prosthetics in the process.  “We have a hoooooorrible torture plan for you. So horrible, you’ll never call yourself a masochist ever again~”

She plopped down next to Maso, not so subtly blocking the exit should he try to jump up and run.

He glared at her. “You’re a disgrace to Bradleys everywhere.”

“I know!”

Stanley joined on Maso’s other side. He didn’t sit too close but Maso still scooted backwards, keeping a close eye on his hands in case he tried to paralyze or pump him full of hope again.

“We aren’t really here to torture you, Bradley,” He said in a softer voice than what Maso was used to from him. At first he thought Stanley was trying to appear as nonthreatening, although taking a closer look revealed that he didn’t look as strong as he did back when they first met. Probably why Anastasia was accompanying him.

“We’re here to talk.”

“That’s just as bad. I’d prefer torture.”

“Oh, any kind~?” Anastasia smirked.

“No! The pain kind, do any of you even listen to me when I say I’m a pain Masochist. As in physical pain. God! You just hear what you wanna hear, don't you?”

“That would make three of us, kiddo.”

“Yeah, fuck you, An.”

“Maybe if you ask nicer-”

“Kids,” Stanley interrupted. “Can we get on with it now?”

Anastasia piped down and Maso reluctantly turned his attention back to Stanley. All his arms were crossed tightly over his jacket, but at a moment’s notice he would be prepared to stab then both with any blade resembling object in his pockets. Stanley was weak but Anastasia was there to be his bodyguard and Maso knew that he’d have to take them both down if he wanted to escape.

Just want to talk, my ass.

“Calm down, Maso. We aren’t going to hurt you—“

“Then get on with it already so you can leave faster.”

Stanley sighed. “Fine. First of all, I wanted to apologize for...my obsession with you. It was creepy and desperate. You’re not even the Bradley, or my Bradley. So I shouldn't have come after you like that. Though I don’t apologize for paralyzing you, annoying you or giving you hope.”

His expression gave way to a bratty smirk. Maso was only slightly surprised to see he still had it in him to be a little shit, despite the beating he took from Phos.

“Okay.”

“Okay! So next, we wanted to offer you company if you are going to go get healed at Seraphim’s. I know you’re scared-”

“No I’m not-”

“Stellan confirmed you are, so yes, I know you’re scared and probably won’t go through it alone but it might help having someone you know with you!”

“It really won’t, I hate you both.”

Stanley looked pleased. He glanced at Anastasia, who took it as a cue.

“Okay, kiddo, listen up.”

Why is everyone calling me a kiddo, I’m probably their exact fucking age. If Maso wasn't annoyed yet, he was now.

“As a Spencer, I know what you’re going through.”

A derisive snort. Anastasia continued, unfazed.

“I’ve also been changed by past events in my life, ones that physically and mentally scarred me for life, or so I thought.” She glanced down at her prosthetics and despite his skepticism, Maso couldn’t help but listen.

“I was stuck in hell for months, a kind of hell that no Office can compare to. And after I was rescued, I was certain of only one thing: I didn’t want to be alive for another second. I asked my rescuers over and over again just to mercy kill me and let me be in peace, but they never listened. After immediate attention to my wounds, they gave me emotional first aid. I was put through all kinds of physical therapy and medication, the first year all against my will because I didn’t want to get better. I just wanted to curl up and rot.

But despite my struggling, it did help. And I realized I didn’t really want to die, I just wanted to stop hurting. My supervisor knew this and she told me they were willing to fix me up, give me new limbs and change my body as I saw fit, if I would promise to give living another chance. And with that deal, I did.”

So she blackmailed you into going to therapy, Maso wanted to say. He was determined to find flaws in her ‘redemption’ story. It made him feel uncomfortable, not that he would admit it. Was he supposed to believe he could have the same? A pill here, a touch of magic there and suddenly he was as good as new, Perfectly Normal Bradley Spencer, here to make the world a better place or some shit like that. Yeah right.

An continued, unfazed by his musings.

“Therapy wasn't easy, even after I decided I’ll give it a try. I hated it for a long while, but eventually the changes were noticeable. I stopped crying so much, I was able to talk to other patients at the Hospital, I found interest in hobbies again and even got my punning abilities back~”

Stanley snorted in the background.

“Either way! I know you’ve heard this from lots of people, therapy and medication helps along with a goal in mind. And I think you know we aren’t making this up to trick you into a straight jacket. But you’re holding yourself back because you’re too scared to make real goals, Maso. You think you will change into a different person. I didn’t. I changed into a different person under torture, but I changed back into my true self when I let myself heal. And I’m quite happy with how I am today. I will never want to go back to the broken husk of a person I was years ago. Even when I thought the trauma was the only thing I had left.”

She gestured around him. “You already know your true self. It’s not a sad little fusion moping around and self destructing is it?”

“Maybe it is,” Maso shot back.

“Nah, it’s not. Because if it is, then why would you still be here? Why aren’t you out there sulking and bothering Stellans and throwing yourself off platforms?”

“...well, because—“

“Because the real “Maso” or whoever you are now, isn’t that guy who wants to cosplay a corpse so badly. It’s the guy who almost literally raised Heaven and Earth to save the life of his friend. Or who spends his time taking apart broken TVs to see if he could make something interesting out of it. A robot, perhaps? A little automatic pranking device?”

Maso made a face. “I was thinking of a scanner,” He muttered.

“See!” An’s eyes lit up. “You wanna have friends who recognize you as one too, and you want to build stuff and make puns and steal people’s clothes to get your hair ruffled. If you really just wanted to die, you’d be dead already. If you didn’t want to change, you would’ve disappeared and quietly made it happen.”

“It’s the hope-”

“Hope isn’t a parasite, Bradley.” Stanley cut in. “It’s a natural state for a soul to have. If your soul only had one emotion, it wouldn’t know how to survive. You basically starved it of the thing it needed the most. Nourishment, in form of happiness, hope and comfort. Your soul isn’t true when it’s full of despair, it’s just starving.”

“You- you guys are just saying that to get me to come to your stupid hospital so you can fix me, aren't you?”

“No. We’re not dragging you anywhere. As we said, we just wanted to talk.” Stanley stood up and An followed suit.

“If you want to come with us, you’re welcome at the hospital. We have a garden, a library, workshops where you can build and craft to your heart’s content. You’ll get your own room and personal doctors assigned to you.”

“But I can’t leave whenever I want, can I?”

“...no. If you do come, you will have to stay there until you have shown improvement or signs of stability.”

Maso scoffed. “Then no.”

“It’s your choice, for now. But then I would look into other options. And I think you already know which one would work.” Stanley gave him a curt nod. “We’ll see each other around.”

With that, he turned and left for the door, back the way he came from. An lingered a while longer, studying Maso quietly.

“...what?”

“If you aren’t ready to change for yourself, think about what’s best for Phobos,” she said after a moment.

“What will you do when he comes back? Cling to him and do nothing? What if he needs help? Are you prepared to give him some hope and comfort too? If you aren’t, what will you do when he decides you aren't worth the trouble? You should then consider finding a purpose that is more than just existing around other people. You can’t help your friends if you’re nothing but a puppet following the motions.” She turned to follow Stanley out.

“Think about it, Maso. What kind of friend do you even want to be?”

And then they were gone. Maso fell back onto the pillows feeling strangely annoyed and tired. He wanted to say it’s because they were testing his patience with their whole ‘we can save you!’ spiel. But as much as he hated to say it, there were things that rang true, things he’d have to think about deeper.

What kind of friend do you even want to be?