Chapter Text
Every day was a toss up, in its own way. For example, you could wake up in an upside down bedroom, or everything could be scooted two inches to the right. Sometimes the room was empty, other times it was so full and messy that perhaps a bomb had gone off in the middle of it.
Either way, it at least have Yellow something to do. Today he rummaged through the drawers in the kitchen, tugging each one open with a dogged, single-minded focus.
The pattern was easy - which was good, because otherwise it would have been too hard to keep up. Yellow hummed to himself as he worked. Open a drawer, feel around in it, pray there was nothing slimy, and start on the next one. Sometimes he even remembered to close the drawer when he was done.
He didn’t know how long he’d been at it so far. Time didn’t have much meaning in this house, and besides, Yellow wasn’t good at telling time anyway. Ever since the clock came to life, he tried not to think about it.
That’s how Red found him a little later, bent over a drawer and halfway dumping it out from excitement. The taller one didn’t comment, at least, and that was nice because the Duck definitely would have. Instead, he looked down with a tilted head and barely-visible amusement in his eyes.
“Well, well, well,” Red said slowly, as Yellow laboriously closed the drawer. There was a trail of open ones littered in his path that Red started shutting for him - oops. “What do we have here? Whatcha up to, mate?”
Yellow…didn’t know, actually. He paused, tilting his head, and opened his mouth to say as much.
Except he said, “Looking for batteries.”
Yellow didn’t notice Red stiffen, because suddenly he remembered. That’s right, he was looking for batteries all along! Silly him, he almost forgot why he was shuffling through the kitchen. Maybe all this forgetting was why he needed new batteries in the first place.
It wasn’t until he’d reached the next drawer, starting the process again, that Red finally snapped back to the present. With the air of someone who touched a hot stove, the giant reached over and slammed the drawer closed. Yellow barely snatched his fingers away in time.
“Huh?” Yellow said, blinking up at Red with wide eyes. ‘Cause Red must have had a good reason, definitely, but Yellow couldn’t think of one. “What’d you do that for?”
Red scrubbed a hand over his face. Maybe he was hard to read for others, but Yellow thought it was easy, when you knew what to look for. His face was all scrunchy, and his hands were moving too jagged. All of that meant he was angry. The hard part was figuring out why.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Red said at last, folding his arms. “You don’t- you aren’t yourself, with those batteries.”
Yellow furrowed his eyebrows, confused. “Yes I am,” he answered. “I’m me, but not stupid in the head.”
Red flinched backwards. The other two didn’t like it when Yellow brought up how slow he was, though they never hesitated to talk about to themselves. Maybe it was a family-lawyer clump thing.
“You’re fine the way you are,” Red argued, mouth twisted with unease. “This is the way it’s supposed to be.”
And, for the first time, Yellow felt angry. Well and truly upset, like a worm crawled up his chest and into his brain again. He scowled, spinning away again to the next drawer. “Well, I want batteries,” he huffed, tugging it open. “And you’re not the boss…of…”
He trailed off, eyes wide. Behind him, Red shifted to look over his shoulder.
There, nestled perfectly among ransom letters and gaudy magazine papers, was a set of batteries.
Neither of them moved, transfixed by the sight. This never happened - they never got these sorts of nice things, just by hoping for them. Yellow almost couldn’t believe it.
Then Red yelled, “No!” and dove forward.
Yellow moved on instinct, and even though he wasn’t nearly as smart as Red, he was closer. In one fluid move he snatched the batteries and ducked down beneath the drawer, scrambling for his chest hatch.
Red didn’t stop himself in time. Seconds later his head thunked against the wood, and he reeled backwards with one hand against his forehead. “Ow,” he grumbled, shaking out of it. He focused on Yellow again, something intense in his voice as he crouched and slammed the drawer shut. “You’d better not-“
“Hey there, friends!” a cheery voice called above them. Far, far too bright to be the Duck one. “Wow, that bump on the head looked like it hurt.”
Hatch open and batteries in hand, Yellow froze again, watching Red do the same. He was still mad at Red, for sure, but Red was far, far less scary than the teachers. Yellow met his eyes, heart hammering in his chest.
Red held his gaze, then slowly looked upwards. Like a horror movie, Yellow considered hysterically, where the monster was right behind you but you had to look anyway.
It was a bandaid. A giant cartoony bandaid, with a cotton patch and fleshy tones to the plastic. The smile on the cotton grew into something just a tad too large, standing on the counter above them. “I’m here to teach you all about pain!”
Oh, no.
“Uh, we’re good, thanks,” Rednsaid dismissively, though there was unmistakable anxiety in his eyes.
It was the wrong answer, apparently, because the bandaids’ eyes flashed a bloody red color. Without preamble, the teacher tugged out a small green vial from goodness knew where and flipped it over the red one. Green ooze splashed down, and Red immediately started screaming.
“That’s what pain feels like!” Bandaid announced over Red’s agony, ignoring as he doubled over and clutched at his face. Music started up from somewhere in the background, bouncy and too joyful.
Yellow didn’t stop to think. He didn’t wonder what the right answer was, what this could do, how dangerous it could be. All he knew was one moment Red was crying and screaming and so hurt, and in the next Yellow yanked out his old batteries. He shoved the new ones inside and slammed the latch, surging to his feet all in one motion.
It wasn’t like last time, where Yellow spent so long marveling at the clarity in his head and the new ideas he never had before. There was no time, not when the song was starting and Red was hurt and-
“What’s going on in here? I heard all the ruckus and I demand to know what it’s about,” Duck thundered from the doorway, marching in. His expression changed from irritated to stunned in an instant, but Yellow didn’t give him time to react.
“Get him out of here,” Yellow said, pointing to a still-sobbing Red Guy. He didn’t risk breaking eye contact with the smirking Bandaid.
By some miracle, Duck didn’t argue. He only darted forward, catching Red under the arms and tugging backwards. There was obvious hesitance as he looked to Yellow, who hadn’t budged from his spot, but Duck was still kind enough to ask, “What about you?”
“I’ll take care of it,” Yellow answered, mouth a firm line. “I won’t let him hurt you, don’t worry.”
“That’s not…” Duck started, and trailed off as he went to the living room. Then the door slammed itself, locking Yellow in with the teacher.
“Interesting,” Bandaid said, with no small amount of amusement. “Very well, then. I guess it’s just us!”
“Sure is,” Yellow said. He could feel sparks of energy in his chest, like being able to breathe for the first time in years, and let himself savor it just a little. Lessons were never fun, but at least this time he could do something for his friends.
Before they took his batteries away, at least.
Yellow shook his head, banishing the thought, and finally let himself smile. “So, Bandaid, tell me how pain receptors work.”