This end up

####

"Okay, you're in a new neighborhood, new start, new neighbors—"

"Does that really matter in a dimension that's technically a point pretending to be full of space? It's not like I really moved away, is it, when we're all in the same space..."

"Vonnie. You know what I mean," Bill said. "This is your chance to start fresh. So... try to get out a little, okay? Go some places? Meet people, make friends? Please?"

"Well..."

"Pleeease?" Bill batted his big beautiful lashes at her. "For me? I know I gave you a better place to wallow alone in the dark—but I think you'd be happier if you did less wallowing in general."

Yvonne sighed. "I mean... I guess," she said. "I could try. Maybe I could go to the library? Is there a library around here?"

"If there's not, I can bend spacetime and there will be!" (Which demonstrated exactly what she'd been saying about moving to a new place not really meaning anything in Dimension Zero.) "But I was kinda hoping you might go somewhere you can meet people—like a club! Or a bar, if a club's too loud!—but hey, you can start slow and work your way up, that's fine! The library's a good start, it's a chance to get over your fear."

Her fear? What fear? Why would she be afraid of visiting a library—?

Oh. Right. The last time. Well, now she was afraid.

"So. Library," Bill said. "Then next week, maybe some place people actually talk; and next month, you'll be running for president of the multiverse." (That got a giggle out of her.) "Ready to go?"

Panic shot through her hard enough to hurt. "No!" she gasped. "I didn't think you meant right now, I—I'd need to prepare..."

He sighed in disappointment, but said, "Okay! Okay, I don't want you to freak out. But tomorrow. Promise?"

She didn't know if a day was nearly enough time. The more she thought about it, the worse this idea seemed. She really should find out what the nearest library was like and find someone who'd been there to ask about it—what kind of doors did it have (automatic?), how narrow were the aisles between books, how much small loose stuff did they have sitting around on the desks and tables, did they have any staff patient enough to help a visitor who couldn't hold a book or turn pages by herself...

But nevertheless, she said, "Promise"; and it was worth it to see the smile curving Bill's eye.

####

The library doors were unlatched and swung outward, fortunately, so if she was careful she could pull on them to make them "fall" open. Hopefully she'd find someone who could help her leave later.

She made it no farther than the lobby before she was petrified by fear. She couldn't do this. She had no idea how this library was laid out, and just look at all the aisles where she could bump into someone or accidentally drag books off the shelves, and it would be so embarrassing asking strange librarians for help, and what if they'd heard about the black hole who murdered a person at another library, and she really wished Bill was here, and she should just leave but she didn't know how to open the doors from this side—

Another patron came in behind her. She darted to the side of the lobby to avoid them absentmindedly brushing against her as they passed. Stupid, she should have asked them to hold the door for her. She'd have to ask the next patron—

Someone else came in. She wasn't sure how soon it was appropriate to ask them to hold the door. She waited a second too long and now she was too self-conscious to ask.

Maybe she should just yell for Bill, like he'd said. She knew he would hear her. But that was also too embarrassing. This was a library...

To Yvonne's side, a piece of paper fluttered. She focused her attention on the cork board on the wall. It was full of community events. Bill really wanted her to find something to do out of her home. She should at least look; maybe there would be some outdoor activities. 

She began reading through the listings. 

####

"A support group," Bill asked skeptically.

"For people who have been displaced from their homeworlds," Yvonne said excitedly. "Which I think is most of the people in Dimension Zero? So there should probably be a good turnout."

"Do you think being in my dimension is something that needs grieving?" He showed her the title of the flier with the calendar that she'd asked a librarian to mail to her: DIMENSIONAL GRIEF COUNSELING. 

"Of course not," Yvonne said. "It's not about grieving being here, it's about grieving being away from home." She paused. "I think." 

"I dunno," Bill said. "I want to see you get better, Vonnie, but I'm worried something like this would just make you even more depressed! I mean—a bunch of aliens going around in a circle for an hour talking about how sad they are and how much they miss their worlds?"

"I'm already depressed," Yvonne said. "I've got to do something different, Bill. I'm not getting any better like this, I know I'm not."

"If you'd get outside more..."

"I don't want to go out. I never feel like it." She pointed at the flier, "But I want to go to this." 

He considered that. Then considered the flier again. "What'll you do if some of them got their worlds destroyed and they start talking about it? You know—they start complaining about the people who destroyed their planets, 'oh they're the worst,' that kind of thing—do you think you can listen to all that without feeling even more guilty? Or what if they find out you destroyed your planet—do you think they'd still welcome you to their little meetings?"

She hadn't even considered that. She felt awful just imagining it. "Maybe I'll just try it once and see what it's like," she said. "If it's bad for me, I just won't go again."

Bill sighed, almost like he was disappointed, but he said, "Yeah, okay, I guess that makes sense. But tell me all about it, okay? These psych-y therapy things can be pretty insidious! They make you think everything they say makes sense, but they're actually slowly worming into your head and laying eggs that'll hatch into more self-doubts and insecurities." Very seriously, he said, "And I do not want you getting brain eggs,"

She giggled. "My brain would crush them," she said. "I promise I'll tell you all about it, okay?"

"Okay." He lay the flier down on her coffee table. "Hope it helps more than it hurts! I'd love to see you feel a little better."

"Thanks, Bill."

When he'd left, she went to double check the date and time of the next meeting and discovered the flier laying face down on the table. "Oh—" She rushed outside. "Bill?"

He did a back flip to look at her upside down. "Yello!" 

"Could you turn over the flier, please?" 

"Do what?"

"The flier! It's face down. I can't read it." 

"Oh! Sure!" He zipped back into her condo. "Whoops, must've done that by accident! It's a good thing you noticed before I was gone, or you might've missed the meeting completely!" He set it back in place. "There." He read over the info again—Yvonne didn't think he looked any more impressed this time—but he managed to smile as he said, "Well, I hope you have fun."

####

"It was great" Yvonne gushed. "Everyone there was so positive! I mean, we talked about missing our worlds—but everyone was really focused on the future and finding ways to move on with our new lives here. Seeing all these people who have been making real homes and communities in Dimension Zero... It makes me feel like I have a future here for the first time."

"Hey, I don't make you feel like that?" Bill griped. "I made you a nice home!"

"You did! And you do, of course I feel like I have a future with you," Yvonne said. "But with you, I feel like... you give me a tomorrow. And a next week. You make me want to keep going." (He took her hand.) "But what do I do after that? I don't know—I don't even know how to imagine it. But all those people... They can imagine it. And it's not just next week anymore. I'm finally starting to think about next year."

"Psh, that's farther than I think." Bill said. "Who knows what'll happen in a year! But—good! I'm happy for you."

"And I'm not the only one there who's destroyed a world."

Bill blinked at her in amazement. "Wa—really?" How many of them were there out there?

"Really! There was this infinitely doubling pumpkin who covered her world and then—oh, I... shouldn't tell another member's story. But even though she'd ended her world, all the other attendees clearly knew her and accepted her. And her twin who showed up halfway through the meeting. And their other two quadruplets who showed up at the end."

Bill made a mental note to figure out how long it would take doubling pumpkins to fill Dimension Zero and see about incinerating some spares. "And she was nice, too?" Bill pressed. "I mean, some guys who destroy their planets are cool—like you and me—but I dunno if I'd trust all of them. There's gotta be a few supervillains out there, right?"

"Well, she was at a support group for people grieving their homeworlds. So, she regrets it," Yvonne said. "But I'll let you know more about what I think about her tomorrow afternoon."

"Why tomorrow?"

"Because we're hanging out. She said she had some resources for people like us—I mean, I didn't tell her about you of course, but people like us in general, you know? So we're meeting for coffee."

Before Bill had a chance to say anything, the phone rang. Yvonne gasped. "Oh—that's another one of the members! He said he'd call me about this charity for wormholed refugees he works with—yes, coming! Answer call!" She zoomed over to the phone as it automatically picked up. "Hey, Alpha! It's Yvonne, thanks for calling."

Alpha? Who the heck was Alpha? What kind of a smug egomaniac names their kid "Alpha"? How much had Yvonne talked to this guy? How much had she talked to that pumpkin freak? Was Yvonne taking her to their coffee place?

Bill wondered why he suddenly felt cold.

####

"I'm thrilled that you asked me out for a change," Bill said, "but I've got a few questions about the venue." From under his hoodie disguise, he eyed the building Yvonne was leading him toward. Didn't seem like a night club. "I don't know what this place looks like to aliens—but to me, it looks like a 3D version of a high school gym."

"It's a high school gym. They rent it out for performances when school isn't in session," Yvonne said.

"Oh! Sure, why not. So what is this, another open mic poetry thing?"

"Kinda? I joined a band!"

"A what?"

"A metal band! As their vocalist! I was hanging out with a couple of people I met at that grief counseling group—I'm trying to get out and do stuff more, like you said—and one of the other members is in this band, and thought it might be helpful for me, and so I went to a couple of their meetups..."

She trailed off as Bill pulled ahead to squint at the poster that had been taped on the gym's metal double doors. It read, "APOCALOSERS: Songs of Desolation & Regret". Warily, Bill asked, "Is this the band?"

"This is the band!" Yvonne gushed. "I mean—it's not exactly a band—it's sort of a loose group of like a dozen of us that do jam sessions? The founder comes to every performance," she gestured toward one of the performers in the poster, a sunglassed sax-playing cyborg who looked like a cross between a pile of medieval farming tools and a green penguin, "but the rest of us come when we can make it. This is our first scheduled performance!"

She was silent a moment as Bill studied the poster more closely—scythe-penguin on sax, some big hulking guy on drums, several pumpkins on both electric guitar and double bass, Yvonne behind the mic... Eyeing the sax"So they do like, what, death metal jazz?"

"Um. Yeah, basically," Yvonne said.

Bill laughed. "If you'd asked me what kind of band I'd expect you to join, that's exactly what I'd have said. That's perfect for you. They'd better appreciate your lyrics!"

She relaxed slightly. "They do, actually."

"Really?"

"I know! I was surprised too. But it's—it's really as much another support group as it is a band. Every member's destroyed at least one world—the founder's a mercenary who used to exterminate species for interplanetary colonizers—"

Bill rolled his eye. "He sounds like a peach."

"He's trying to grow," Yvonne said. "We all are. We use music to... to process what we've been through. What we've done. All that guilt and grief, and anger, and, and..."

"And desolation and regret?" Bill offered.

Yvonne laughed. "Exactly. After a session we usually go out for coffee and talk about what we've been through."

"Pff—who's helping you get a coffee?"

"The ones with hands help out. Just whoever's closest."

"Oh," Bill said. "Great, that's great. Guess you don't need me there then, huh."

"I'd like you there," Yvonne said. "Actually, I've told them a bit about you—"

A jolt shot up Bill's sides. He whipped around to face Yvonne. "You what?"

She flinched back. "I don't mean—"

"You promised you wouldn't tell anyone. I only told you. I trusted you—!"

"I didn't tell them, I promise!"

"Don't lie to me—"

"I'm not," Yvonne said, aghast. "All I told them was that all the negative propaganda about you is wrong and that the dimension you're from is gone, that's it. I didn't make them think you had anything to do with it! What's with you? I've never lied to you—you know that, right?"

He gave her a hard look. "If you'd done it well, how would I know?"

She stared at him, speechless.

His glare wavered. He looked away, staring at the poster. More subdued, he said, "Yeah. I—I know you wouldn't. I just... don't want people looking at me like that."

It wasn't an apology. There was a gap in the conversation where an apology was supposed to fit. "Sorry," Yvonne mumbled. (Why was she the one apologizing?) "I didn't say anything about what happened in your dimension. But... I think, you might want to?" At Bill's wary look, she hastily added, "I meant—it might be—beneficial! It's helped me a lot, being able to talk about it with people who get it. And—you play keyboard, so I thought..."

"No," Bill said firmly. "Sounds to me like a bunch of depressed screwups wallowing in how depressed and screwed up they are. I'm focused on moving on! Growing as a person! Finding my happiness!"

"Oh," Yvonne said quietly.

"Hey, what's that for? I don't mean you're a depressed screwup, obviously!" He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her to his side. "From the sound of these guys? You're too good for them! Honestly, I'm a little worried about whether they might drag you down. I mean, come on—'Apocalosers'?"

"It's—it's just self-deprecating humor."

"But I don't want you deprecating your self! You don't need someone encouraging you to spend all your time dwelling on how guilty you feel about a tragic accident." Bill shrugged with his free arm, "But, hey, if you're sure they're helping you..."

"I... I think so..."

"You don't sound sure," Bill teased. "But okay! Okay. Just be careful around negative Nancies like that. I don't want to see you get worse."

"I know." He just cared about her. He cared about her, she reminded herself.

She still couldn't believe he'd accused her of lying; but she guessed she hadn't realized how touchy he was around the topic. She'd never heard him discuss it with anyone but her. She'd have to be more careful about it.

She didn't ask him if he wanted to join the band again.

####

"And this is our drummer," Yvonne said, introducing Bill to the last of her bandmates after the show. "I can't tell you his name—he's a god of the end times, ancient prophecies foretell that speaking his name out loud hearkens the end of the world—so we call him Big X."

Bill looked the god up and down. Looked like a loaf of moldy bread with gorilla arms. "Does saying his name hearken anything if we're technically not on a world?"

Yvonne considered that. "Probably not," she admitted. "He's Xanthar."

"Xanthar! Nice to meetcha!"

Xanthar stood there impassively. Bill couldn't even tell if he'd heard him. Yeesh. This guy was not gonna become a permanent fixture in Bill's life.

While the band was packing away their instruments, Yvonne drifted off to the side with Bill, since she didn't have any instruments and couldn't help pack anyway. "Well?" she asked. "What did you think?"

"I think you were definitely the best one on stage," Bill said.

She giggled. "Seriously, Bill."

"I am serious! The rest of these losers? Amateur hour. But YOU? Total rock star! The record labels should be knocking your door down."

"Bill!" She laughed, "Those are my friends, don't call them losers."

"Hey, they're the ones who named themselves Apocalosers. But all right, all right. Honestly, it was a good show. The distorted guitar and blast beats really complimented your howls. It really captured the passion of your message."

Yvonne floated a little higher. "Do you really think so?"

"Would I lie to you? Hey, on that third song, where you accidentally shattered the gym windows? I actually cried a little. Honest! You really put the 'desolation' into 'songs of desolation and despair.' It was musical genius."

He was being honest. And it galled him a little to admit it, that it was so good; and he couldn't figure out why it galled him. this was his girlfriend, she'd done great, this was a great show! So what about the situation rubbed him wrong?

But she was so thrilled by the praise that she was vibrating. And that was enough to assuage his misgivings. He didn't get to see her this happy very often.

He surveyed the band again; and then looked out at the audience, less than a hundred people huddled together on the gym bleachers, some milling about after the show and some heading toward the exit; and then said, "And it was nice to see an audience applauding you instead of trying to escape."

"Oh, I know. It was so nice. And when they start cheering before the song's over it kind of sounds like they're joining in the screams of the dying? Which really added to the atmosphere." Yvonne bobbed in a shrug, "I guess my audience is metalheads instead of poetry fans! Who would've guessed?"

"I know! Wouldn't have been my guess. But hey, I'm glad it worked out!" Bill said. "I just wish I could've helped you find your audience."

That was it, that was what was bothering him. Yvonne had found a scene where she fit in, and that was great, really, and he was happy for her, really—

But it should have been him. He should've been the one to help her find it. Who here knew her like he did? Who here appreciated her like he did? They'd only scratched the surface. They didn't know her like Bill.

"I still appreciate that you tried. And you kinda did help me find them. If you hadn't pushed me to go out and meet people..." Yvonne delicately took Bill's hand (as delicate as an atom-crushing grip could be). "Don't feel bad. You already do so much for me."

"It's not enough," Bill said. "I want to do everything for you."

####

"Sooo, how are you liking your new place?" Bill asked. They'd been having more dates out on the town lately (or what floating venues passed for "the town" in the void that was Dimension Zero), so this was the first time in several weeks they'd been back at her place together.

"It's amazing," Yvonne gushed. "It's so easy to get around, and I don't need someone else to help me make calls or get in and out—and it looks so nice! I haven't even accidentally eaten the curtains yet!"

"Oh, yeah, I made the curtains immune to gravity for you."

"Really? Then why do they hang down instead of floating around?"

"Peer pressure," Bill said.

"Huh," Yvonne said thoughtfully. "Oh—and I can even host visitors here! I mean, besides you! Visitors that I need the place to look nice for! If I'd known I'd have guests someday, I would have asked for a bigger living room! I can only squeeze two or three guests in here right now!"

Bill's insides twisted with jealousy—who was she inviting over? Was it anyone he knew? How much did she like them? Did she like them more than him?—and he forced it back down. He should be happy for her. Right? "Bigger living room, coming right up!" He snapped his fingers, and it doubled in size. The long rectangular-topped coffee table widened into a square and the sofa was joined by a second sofa and matching armchair. "Need anything else?"

Yvonne squealed in delight. "It's perfect!" She squeezed Bill in a crushing hug. "Thank you so much!"

He couldn't speak until she let him go and his body popped back into shape. "So I take it the move's been good for you! And going outside more!"

"It has."

"You're welcome!"

"Thank you. I'm so lucky to have you." She squeezed Bill's hands. "I wish more people could be so lucky."

"Whaddaya mean? I don't think I have time for any more girlfriends!"

Yvonne laughed. "No, you're mine." (Bill's heart soared.) "I mean—I was lucky enough to have a home made for me, and lucky that your culture's used to building architecture in space rather than anchored onto a planet's surface, and lucky that I don't need to live on a planet with my body like this, but... meeting so many other people who have been displaced from their dimensions... I wish everyone could have what I have, you know? Almost everyone in Dimension Zero is living in dumps, and besides that most of them biologically need the gravity and atmosphere of planets..."

She'd been saying things like that more often lately. I wish everyone could have the good things I have; I wish everyone could be happy. This alleged death god of Bill's had to be the sweetest person in the dimension. He'd never even gotten to see this side of her when her mood had been lower.

And again, again, as always—he wished everyone could see what he saw. She deserved for everyone to know what a catch she was. "Well... why can't they have it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why can't they have nicer homes? And planets!" Bill said. "You've got that little support group of yours, some of them are already doing charity stuff—you can propose it to all the sad sacks moping about missing their universes there! They probably know where to find other people who miss having a big sphere to live on!" He paused. "Or—other big shapes." Were all planets spheres? He'd never seen one that wasn't, but he didn't see why they had to be spheres. "Go ask around, find out what everyone needs, pass it on to me, and I'll whip it up."

"Really?" For a moment she stared at him, rendered speechless; when she finally found her words again, she just repeated, "Really?"

"Yeah, sure! You get the specifications, I'll do the fabrications! It's effortless for me," Bill said. "And you'll get the credit, since it was your big idea that everyone should get to have what you have.."

"I..." She floundered for words again. "Really?"

"Really-really-really!" Bill laughed. "Didn't I tell you—if I deserve to be a beloved god, so do you. Think about it: aren't you ready to be someone other than the monster who destroyed your home? You can be the person who changed the universe."

####

(Because it always ends so well when Bill uses that line.)