Chapter Text
His name… was Star.
He was… the copy The End made, of their Hope. As a cruel, cruel joke. Backed him up fully, without his consent, and arranged his file as it so wished. Named him “The Key”, just to rub salt into the wound, spit on his grave. How he’d been brought to be, why he existed– They should hate it.
They couldn’t.
Not when he was just like their Hope.
He smiled. He laughed. Stuck here with them, as he was, he offered nothing but kindness. Still eternally tracking them down, rounding them up, trying his best to bring them back to their Elder. All with a smile, that same gentleness and life about him that Hope had eternally possessed.
There’s no being mad, at a face like his. Not when at any sort of negative emotion they display, he’s bending over backwards to make them feel better. Not when he speaks so fondly of everything he talks about, whether it be them, the islands, or the friends he remembers having but never really had.
He’s…
He’s bitter. And resentful. Hateful and spiteful. There’s words of his, saved in their collective memory–because he runs on it, whether he wants to or not, they couldn’t change it even if they tried–that they never thought would come from Hope. Anger, disappointment. A deep loathing. Grief. All sorts of negative things that…
They already knew about.
They’d already seen all these nasty, horrible things in Hope, before. Except that they weren’t directed at anyone but himself, they weren’t for anyone but him, unspoken and never touched, cast aside in the heat of the moment, always for later, never to be dwelled on because it just wasn’t the time.
…
Star wasn’t Hope.
That was an important distinction. They… struggled to make it. Star himself seemed to struggle, if only for other reasons entirely. Because, in not being Hope… he seemed determined, to point it out, for Hope. As if not being Hope made him a completely different person. He loathed Hope. Laughed a bit, in a condescending manner whenever he was brought up.
“Don’t like him.” He’d tell them, at their fondness. Which he couldn’t escape , given they all felt the same. All of them, except for him. “He’s not good.”
“But he’s you. ”
“He’s…”
And then he wouldn’t say anything else. They’d try asking, multiple times. Tried getting him to speak, urging him to elaborate, desperate to help him work through it. Maybe he wasn’t Hope, but they still cared.
He wouldn’t budge.
“You don’t want to know.” He remained adamant. “You really don’t. You’ll find out, eventually. But that’s… his call to make. Not mine. Not yours. Don’t go poking around through his file. He’s gotta do at least one thing right, and if I have to help him then so be it. ”
No amount of begging worked. It probably wouldn’t work for a really long time.
But that was fine. They had a long time.
Star might have only been a fabrication, but he still mattered.