Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The coffee machine buzzes and grinds, just a few feet away in the late morning light that filters through sheer yellow curtains. A bottle of creamer has already been taken from the fridge and set next to the machine.

Mike pours cheap cereal into two bowls, one green and one blue. Like all good things are.

Pac leans against their dining table. He obviously left his leg in the bedroom, from how the generic blue sweatpants hang formlessly just under his stump. Their table is a small thing, placed off-center in their kitchen. It’s meant for two or three people, but they’ve never reached that capacity. A plastic tablecloth intended for a child's birthday party is taped onto it, with stools across from each other on each side. At a glance, I'd be easy to think the stools were stolen from some old ice cream parlor and taken here. If anyone asked them if they were, both would change the conversation very quickly.

Pac sees him carrying their favorite bowls, and smiles brightly at the man. Mike’s not sure he would be the same person, without his soulmate. Pac is such an affectionate person; lonely, too. He wishes Pac had more people to be around, or even for Pac to have the choice to join him. Mike grimaces, but sets Pac's bowl in front of him before holding Pac's hand between his own.

This is never easy.

“Pac, I have something to tell you.” He says. Pac tilts his head at him, already having a spoonful of cereal in his mouth.

Mike takes a breath in. “They called me, before you woke up.”

The spoon falls from his mouth with a dull clatter, his mouth hangs open, and his eyebrows begin to furrow into an expression Mike is very well acquainted with.

“Paccy, I have to go abroad, but I will be back soon-” Mike tries to explain.

“Nooo you can't leave me like this Mikey!” He whines, and there's the pout he was expecting. Pac falls to the floor dramatically, clutching onto his soulmate's shirt. He actually tugs pretty hard on his shirt, trying to keep his balance on a knee-and-a-half, exposing Mike's collarbone to the world.

Mike rolls his eyes. No matter how many times this happens, Pac is always one for the dramatics. “You know why I have to leave, man.” Mike lifts him into the air like a misbehaving cat, sitting him back down onto a stool instead of on their kitchen floor. “When the Federation tells me to go do things-”

“-You have to do them, because they have our crime records.” Pac recites from memory. Mike can't count the amount of times he's had to tell Pac this. He knows, they both know that he knows, but that doesn’t make it any easier. Pac lets out a heavy sigh. “But how am I going to cope being on my own?”

Mike combs Pac's short black hair with his fingers, correcting the bed head from earlier this morning. “You talk to Tubbo all the time, Pac, I'm sure he won't mind more calls.”

Pac leans against the shitty table, paying no mind to how the cheap plastic creaks. “It's not the same, Mikey. How can I take care of this huge home without you here?”

Mike raises an eyebrow. “It's a one bedroom home with a garage where you keep a massive mess.” He gestures to the rest of the house, “Plus, we wouldn't even have this place if-”

“If it weren't for the Federation's help, I know. I'm just not used to being alone, Mike. What if I need your help?” It always boils down to this, they both know.

Mike smushes Pac's cheeks together. He can pout all he wants, but Mike will make him look like a fish for it. “The Federation sends me out on these often, so I know you'll be okay. I'll try to call as much as I can to check up on you, man. While I'm gone, maybe try to make a friend. It's been a long time since you had someone besides Tubbo and I.”

Pac stops his pouting, instead adopting an expression Mike is far too familiar with, one that usually ends in some strange machine that puffs up into smoke. His pink hair covers Pac’s face as their foreheads meet.

“If I get another message from the fire department while I'm away, I'll come back and kill you.” Mike pulls away with a mischievous smile.

Pac quickly matches. “Is that a promise?”

He's promptly shoved off the stool with a laugh.

They finish their breakfast together, sitting side by side with their matching bowl on their matching stools on their childish table cover. Mike gathers everything he'll need for the trip ahead, with Pac's assistance. The duo sit together on the half-decently painted porch steps until the Federation escort arrives to take Mike away.

—

Pac's workbench is a mess. Tools are scattered across the surface, their empty spots on the pegboard in front of him glaringly obvious. The table itself is a basic workspace. There’s a drawer on the front and a larger one on each side. The tabletop is marred with slices and nicks, the remains of marker and pencil lines give the impression of all the projects that came before this one. Against the wall, several containers are filled to the brim with unorganized mechanical parts. All around him, boxes line the walls of the garage; full of abandoned projects, ‘acquired’ spare parts, past iterations of his leg, and everything in between. It’s disorganized, but it's familiar.

The left drawer of his workbench is pulled completely open, full of crumpled papers and rolled up blueprints. In front of him, with clutter pushed to the side in mounds, is an empty blueprint. Pac bounces his leg, chewing mindlessly on his pencil.

Make a friend… Make a friend…

MAKE a friend.

He could do that.

He's a mechanic after all, an expert in machines and robotics. Of course, Tubbo is the AI expert between the two of them. And it's not like he's had the chance to take on a large project like this ever since they moved into this house. Really, he hasn't had the chance to do any real projects since before prison.

It couldn't be that difficult to make a friend, right?

He sets to drawing out a blueprint.

He wants a companion. Something strong enough to help him if he falls or needs a machine moved, dexterous enough to help him put on his leg in the early mornings and help him out with menial tasks. He wants it to at least look human, although he's not sure how well that will go. Oh, maybe tall too? So it can help him get stuff off the shelves and water that poor plant above the sink.

He wants a protector. Something big enough and strong enough to make him feel safe.

His missing foot itches.

Pac ignores it.

Time passes without him. Pac finally breaks out of his stupor as his stomach makes sure he knows that he’s already missed 2 meals. Pac blinks the dry feeling from his eyes, and drinks in all the work he’s done.

Perfect.

Glancing at the previously forgotten clock, he realizes that now is the perfect time to call a friend.

—

boop.

boop.

boop.

click.

“Hiii Tubbo!” Pac waves excitedly at his camera. Tubbo's audio comes through first, the video taking a second or two to load on his end. Pac can see Tubbo as the video finally snaps to life. Tubbo's room is dark, the only illumination is a lamp that must be somewhere above his camera and the light from the hallway behind him. He looks as tired as he always is, although still excited to see Pac. His black, ‘clearly stolen from his roommate’ shirt is wrinkled, and his blond-tipped hair is held back by a sparkly pink headband.

“Heyy Pac.” Tubbo says, leaning back in his chair. “What's happening, man?”

Pac sighs. “Well Mike is out for work for a while-”

“The fuckin’ Feds again?” Tubbo asks, voice cracking. Pac is glad that despite how secretive The Federation is, there’s still someone he can talk to about all of this.

“Yeah, they called while I was asleep. He left two days ago I think.” Pac knows its been two days; as soon as the white Federation vehicle had gotten far enough down the street, he had trudged his way to their bedroom and curled around Mike's pillow. He's glad he managed to get himself out of bed today to work on the project.

Tubbo rolls his eyes, fidgeting with a stress ball. “Those assholes, they just keep draggin’ you and Mike around. I don't know why you guys took their deal in the first place, I'm just sayin’.”

“Well, Mike took the deal for the both of us.” Pac corrects.

“You're- You're a package deal, man. Tazercraft: do not separate.” he says very seriously, holding his hands parallel to indicate Pac and Mike.

“Yeah that's true. But this is not why I called you today!” Pac excitedly snaps his fingers rapidly, “I've started a new project!” As he smiles widely, he can feel the dry skin of his bottom lip rip, and flinches.

Tubbo sits up. “Oh shit really? I haven't seen you take on a project in fuckin’ ages. I'm still working on that one from a while ago.”

“Oh yes, the helper robot, right? number 15 or so?” Pac tilts his head, dabbing his lip with a finger to make sure it doesn’t bleed.

“Ehhh,” Tubbo scratches his head, “15 escaped into the road and got crushed by a granny car. You know, those tiny ones that drag across the ground and are always an ugly color? 16 caught on fire in our bathroom, somehow – which my roommate is still pissed that it charred our new shower curtain by the way– and 17 wouldn't stop sending me error messages. I recycled what I could, but we're on Number 18 now.”

“Oh wow,” Pac's eyes light up, lip forgotten, “How's 18 doing?”

“...Would it be right to call a robot a dick? Because it's a dick. I swear to you, it intentionally knocks over my drinks and trips me and shit. But it seems to love my roommate.” Pac spots a little robot in the doorway when Tubbo leans back in his chair again. It's about waist height with a flat plate on top of it's head, the body resembling a compact, vaguely human shape. Some lights flash red on it’s head before it speeds away. Weird.

“Can't you just make another? Number 19?” Pac asks.

“I tried to, but my roommate won't let me. The last time I brought it up he clutched the thing like it was a child and was all like ‘nooo he's my little dude, my right hand man, my partner in crime’” Tubbo says in a poor impression of Foolish's voice. “It's ridiculous, and I'm convinced 18 knows Foolish likes him more than me.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. So what's your project?” Tubbo asks.

“Well I knew that Mike was going to be gone a long time, and I don't have anyone around here to help with stuff. So I'm thinking of this,” Pac holds the blueprint up for the camera. It looks like a person, more or less. There's spots marked out for heating units in all limbs but especially in the chest, a very close up model of the delicate hand mechanisms, and some behavior notes. The body itself ends up looking very muscular, and Pac is already dead set on it being taller than him. “It's going to be a companion! I don't have a name for it yet though.”

Tubbo squints at the monitor. “It looks very.. fit.”

“Oooh that's a great name, Tubbo. Fit. It matches my design.” Pac bounces in his seat, beaming at his blueprint.

“He's a robot, so shouldn't it be an acronym?” Tubbo asks. “What kind of acronym works with FIT?”

Pac ponders for a moment. “Friend In Training?”

“Formidable Intelligent… Trainer?”

Pac shakes his head. “That one makes no sense. Maybe… Fantastic Impressive Time?”

“How does that make any more sense than what I said?” Tubbo laughs, and Pac laughs too.

“Maybe it doesn't need to be an acronym. It can just be it’s name. But I was wondering Tubbo, could you help me out with his programming? I'll send you what I'm looking for after this, but AI is your expertise.”

Tubbo gets a glint in his eye and huh, Pac finally understands how Mike feels now.

“I am so down to do that king. I'll also try to figure out a better acronym because I'm not letting this down. Also-” A crash comes through the microphone. Tubbo turns away, making his voice sound faraway. “What the fuck are you doing?” he yells down the hall. There's a long pause where Pac assumes Foolish is responding. “No no no. Absolutely fuckin’ not, I will not be responsible for you breaking 18 and crying to me to fix him again-” Tubbo turns back Pac. “I need to go, Foolish is trying to dress up 18 again and I need to go kill him for it. I'll talk to you later king. Foolish, get the fuck back here-” Tubbo's voice fades out.

Pac has mercy on him and ends the call.

—

Click.

whir.

“Okay ah, I took this recorder from Mike's side of the bedroom so I could record my progress for this project? Tubbo said this helps and that if anything funny happens, he gets to hear it.”

Pac scratches his chin.

“I guess I could just record with my phone, but this feels more authentic, you know? Plus using one of Mike's things makes me feel better, our bed feels cold.” He clicks his tongue. “Ah, I'm getting distracted.”

Click.
-

Click.

“Day one of my companion bot project, ‘Fit’. The name isn't an acronym, despite Tubbo's best efforts. Today I'm just collecting the parts I need for this from around the workshop so I can get everything ready to start.”

Pac hisses at the sound of metal scraping and tapping against various objects.

“I'll probably clean off my workbench too, It's gotten pretty bad. Hold on, I'll just turn off the recording while I do this, let me ju-”

Click.
-

Click.

Pac pants slightly, out of breath. “Okay, that took longer than I expected it to. I need to sit down for a while and give my leg a break. Christ.”

“It's nice having all the tools back in their spots again. I usually don't bother, Mike always gets fed up with it eventually and puts them all back for me. He knows I appreciate it though.”

Pac mumbles to himself, but it’s too quiet for the recorder to pick up.

“I've got most of my parts picked out for this, I'll definitely have to get some more from Tubbo's ‘friend’. I should be able to finish the endoskeleton without the extra parts for now. I think this is all I can do today, I'm going to rest for a while now.”

Pac makes a pop sound. “How am I supposed to end these? Ah.. End of day 1? Statement ends? Whatever, I'll just shut it o-”

Click.
-
…

Click.

“‘Fit’ project day 3. I'm starting to assemble the arm pieces I need. I'm concerned about how the hands will turn out, there's a lot of precision I'll have to tweak. That would be a fun recording, right? All that testing?”

“Eh, my leg is giving me trouble today. You'd think after all these years– I'm not a stranger to the phantom pains, but the crutches are still a pain to use sometimes. At least the lawn chairs we keep stashed in here are finally serving some good use.”

“That reminds me. Would it be weird to use my spare legs for Fit?”

Click.
-
…

Click.

“‘fit’ p-project,” Pac yawns, “Day… 7? I think it's been 7 days, it's hard t’ tell. Hey little recorder, did you know that it's really hard to tell time when you've hardly slept in a week?” Pac yawns again, “anyways, ah I've gotten most of the basic endoskeleton finished. The parts I ordered from Tubbo's friend-crush-thing should come here pretty soon.”

“Y'know? Mike always said that, that Tubbo only buys from Fred because he thinks he's hot. I think he's right, because that's the only robotics shop he buys from anymore. I think it's funny though, for an ex-Federation person to buy from someone who's actively undermining the Federation, with someone that technically works with the Federation.”

Pac grumbles. “I'm exhausted, man. Our bed is so cold and the house is so quiet. If I can just work fast enough on this robot then things can feel bett-”

Ding ding ding.

Ding ding ding.

“Oh, Mike is calling! Let me turn off this recorder real quick- Okay there we go.”

Tap.

“Hey Mikey! Let me put you on speaker.”

“Hey Paccy, what have you been up to? You sound like shit.”

Pac yawns. “I have been working on a project since you left. What have you been doing?”

Mike groans. “I'm convinced the Federation doesn't care at all for my natural skillset. Me and you are built for stealth, not this shit. I don't know why they sent me halfway across the planet just for what is just a package drop-off with extra steps. Although it's not like they tell me anything until it's already happening. But I'm used to it at this point. Are you doing alright Pac?”

…

“Pac? Are you okay?”

…

Pac snores very quietly.

“PAC!” Mike yells with a laugh.

With a loud snort, Pac startles awake. “Wha'is't?” He mumbles.

“You've been up way too late, Pac. I'll stay on the phone with you if you go and lay down in bed to sleep, alright?”

Pac yawns. “Okaay. Ah fuck, I didn't turn off the recorder.”

“Wait. Are you talking about my-”

Click.
-

—

Pac's mouth is sticky. He feels like his face is covered in dry drool and there's pink creases on his arms from the sheet below him. The assortment of quilts on the bed are barely touching the bed at this point, kicked off at some point during the night. Pac notices the digital clock across the room and oh, it's well past midday.

He's made sure not to alter anything in their bedroom while Mike has been gone. It would feel wrong to make big changes in the house, even just on his side of the room, without his soulmate home.

Home.

–

Testing this robot is going to be the most difficult part, Pac knows. He messaged Tubbo that he was going to test the fine movement capabilities of his arm and hand mechanics as well as the strength tests this morning, and was met with a message saying something like ‘make sure you record it in case it fights back’. Pac is rather sure that wouldn't happen, but recording it would be a good idea, just in case he needs to watch the footage back. He props his phone up so it can see him and the arm standing upright on his table, attached to a stand, then presses play.

“Okay uh, I'll be sending this to you right after, Tubbo. I'm testing the preset fine hand movements I have made. They won't be anything special.” Pac clicks a keypad into the arm. “First is holding a pen.” He pushes in the first button, and places a pen into the ready robotic hand. It curls around the pen and makes small, rough circles with it.

“Success! Okay, next is holding a toothpick.”

Pac goes through several hand motions and positions, making notes as he goes. The hand has trouble forming around handshakes, but that is probably for the best. He had put the machine's strength as low as it could go in case there was an incident.

“Okay, now is the scary one. I have an apple, and I am going to have the hand hold it gently, then slowly squeeze it until I can see a change.” Pac places the apple into the hand, and presses 0 on the keypad, holding it in place until he's confident it is being held.

“Upping the strength by 1 in 3… 2… 1…”

click.

The apple is instantly crushed. “MEU DEUS-” Pac screams. Juice sprays all over Pac's face, as well as the lense of his phone camera. Wide eyed, Pac grabs his phone and wipes the bits of apple off of it's cracked screen. He can see how much his hands shake in the view of the video. “Okay. Not as planned. Ah, I will fix that.” Pac ends the video and sends it to Tubbo, getting a very, very long voice memo of him and Foolish laughing their asses off.

–

Weeks have passed since this project began. The robot is nearly done, all of the parts are together. The last thing it is missing is the brain, his AI. Tubbo said it should be coming through in the mail today, so all Pac has left to do is wait. He's checked the front door nearly every 10 minutes since he woke up. It feels… bittersweet, knowing that the easiest part of this project is almost over. A lot of progress has been made, of course, but it is still strange.

The robot, Fit, is a masterpiece in his eyes. Sure, you can see ‘scars’ on his metal insides and plastic platings from many incidents with his welding tools, but it adds character. Pac has his own littering of scars, so he supposes they match, in a way. The face is uncanny in a way only humanoid robots can be. The plastic is a white, tanned skin colour but not overly textured. He's no artist, but he did his best to add details that make it look more accurate. The unsettling part is the eyes, to him. He's been keeping them shut for now, but the beautiful brown eyes he picked out for their great sensors just feel strange without any life behind them. Pac's not sure how he's managed it, but the robot is… handsome, somehow. He's proud of how the body of the robot itself turned out. It's strong, of course. That's how he planned it. But Pac figured out how to give the robot what looks like muscles. It's a minor detail, sure. But everything counts.

He's been pacing in front of Fit for hours now, waiting for the package. He's glad the robot – well he knows the right term is android, but he likes the sound of robot better – he's glad it's not awake to see him.

Oh a whim, Pac checks the front door again and-

“Oh how long has this been out here?” Pac says aloud. There's no cars passing along the road, so he must have missed the knock on the door. Tubbo said there would be a Benson sticker under one of the flaps so Pac would know it was from him. Lifting the package, he closes the door and puts it on their dining room table. He checks and yes, there's a Benson sticker taped to the underside of the left flap. He's always thought Benson was such a silly thing, just a cartoonish white duck that Tubbo got obsessed with years ago. The sticker in particular has Benson with a welder's helmet laying against his side. He pockets the sticker for later.

Inside is a piece of machinery that he's not sure he could understand. Tubbo told him the specs, so he's confident it will fit in Fit.

Moment of truth, Pac thinks to himself as he stands in front of the nearly complete robot. There's a cavity in his chest where a human's heart would be, the perfect size for his core.

He slides the core into place.

Closes the plastic casing.

And stands back.

On the edge of his senses, he can hear the whir of electricity. The sound of machinery starting up follows. The robot's hands twitch slightly. It's head lifts slowly, and Pac feels proud of what he's done.

It looks up at him, blinking at Pac while it's bootup sequence ends with what he's sure is a ‘Hello World’ message.

Pac smiles widely.

“Good morning, Fit.”

Chapter Text

‘Note: It runs on a large databace of informastion, but doesn't have all of it downloaded for the sake of memory. Basiccally, it's learning as it goes. -Tubbo’

Pac probably should have read this note beforehand.

When Fit's programming finished booting up, the android started looking at items around the garage in a way Pac knew was the robot's way of observing. He didn't want to put indicator lights on Fit, so one of his behavior requests for Tubbo was using body language. So, instead of having an easy to understand LED, he got to watch Fit hold his chin as he downloaded information to his memory banks. It's strange to watch, but he knew what he was getting up to.

“Okay, Fit?” Pac says.

Fit stops pondering and looks at Pac. He moves his mouth to speak, but only the quiet crackle of speaker static comes out.

Shoot, he forgot to- “Oh, sorry, sorry Fit. The voice modulators are still coming in the mail, and I haven't picked which one to give you yet. But ah, I am going to give you a tour of the house, okay?” Fit processes for a moment, then nods.

“Okay, this is our garage. We don't own a car, because I don't know how to drive. Mike uses the bike over there to go to the shops for me.” Pac doesn't actually remember the last time he got groceries.

Pac leads Fit through a doorway connected to the side of the garage. “Here's our kitchen and living room. It's small, I'm sorry.” The living room has gone nearly unused since he started this project. The TV sits cold on an old dresser, and the couch has blankets scrunched up from the last time Pac fell asleep before he could make it to the bedroom. Fit ponders the barstools at their table, then furrows his eyebrows at Pac.

“A-anyways, Through this hall is the bedroom. On the right here is the bathroom, and a bit past that is the laundry room. I guess that's it? You can wander around if you want and ponder while I check on your systems.” The robot scans the room and nods. Pac cringes when he continues to ponder the barstools.

Okay, movement is functional. His sensory inputs seem to be working as intended and have integrated with his AI very well. I might have to shut him down temporarily when the voice boxes come in, but I'll figure that out. He should alert me when his battery gets low, but I'll have to keep an eye on that.

Then Pac's stomach growls. Loudly.

Fit stops pondering, and Pac is suddenly hit with another one of the behavior requests. He wanted Fit to be aware of his needs since, according to Mike, he forgets to take care of himself.

Curse his past self.

He looks at Pac and ponders, complicated processes between his AI and database running through his processor, and Pac is frozen with embarrassment. Fit nods eventually and walks to their fridge.

“Wait Fit, it's fine-” Pac tries to say, but Fit has already opened the fridge. It's pretty much empty, aside from a container or two of what used to be leftovers.

Confused, Pac watched his robot walk away, into the garage, then re-emerge with an empty blueprint in one hand and a pencil in the other. Oh, that's great problem solving abilities, the man thinks to himself.

With what he can only describe as a grumpy expression, Fit writes on the empty blueprint. In a very neat font, it says ‘Where do you keep your food?’

“It's uh. I don't…” Why is he so intimidated? He built this robot for Christ's sake. “I don't have any.”

‘What have you eaten in the past few days?’ Fit asks.

“Oh, I've just been ordering delivery. Are you wanting something?”

Wait a second.

‘I can not eat.’

Pac wants the earth to swallow him whole.

‘Please order yourself some food. My programming says that I must maintain your health and wellbeing.’

Curse past him.

—

Pac is noticing a flaw in his plan.

Not the fact his food has been delayed for the last hour, but in this whole ‘make a friend’ thing. He's got the robot, he's made the friend.

But what is he supposed to do now?

He had planned to make a companion, and somehow he ended up with a babysitter. A babysitter with defined muscles and very pretty brown eyes. Pac considers putting him in better clothes than the spare oversized T-shirt and stretchy pajama pants he fished out of the closet, but now might not be the best time. Especially since now he's-

“You don't have to do that, I can clean up my own mess, it's okay.”

Fit blinks at him, pausing in cleaning off his counters.

‘I am made to help.’

“I- I know that, but I'm just saying- at least let me help you, okay?”

The robot pauses, but nods anyway.

“I know the house is a mess,” Pac says while putting away old takeout containers, “I'm really sorry, I should have cleaned this up before I woke you up.”

‘I do not understand. Why are you apologizing?’

Pac drops the trash for a moment. “Uh, sorry. It's a habit that Mike has been trying to work me out of.” Fit ponders – and Pac is really regretting making that a physical gesture – but furrows his brow, as if he's come up empty. Is there something wrong with one of his processes?

knock knock knock

“Oh, that's probably our- my food. You…” Fit really doesn't look human, does he? Maybe at a glance, he supposes, but definitely not up close. It's the eyes. “You stay right there while I go get it.” The robot nods and continues cleaning up.

Pac opens the door and sees a young man, probably still in his teens. Parked on the road, a car with the logo of whatever local fast food chain Pac chose is displayed on top. The kid is wearing a matching uniform, and holds out a paper bag to Pac. “We are sorry for the delay.” The kid says in a tired customer service voice. They must have this kid working overtime at this time of day.

“Thank you,” Pac says as he takes his food. He presses money into the kids hand, along with a few extra bills. “Here's a tip. Keep it.”

The boy's eyes light up, and he smiles tiredly. “Thank you.” Pac smiles back and slowly closes the door.

click.

Fit taps the tablecloth as Pac turns around, and he doesn't need to see Fit's paper to know he's being told to sit down and eat.

He sits down, and Fit sits as well. It takes the android a moment to balance on the stool. Pac peeks into the paper bag, not quite remembering what he ordered, and pulls out a slightly too greasy burger and some fries. Fit watches him the entire time.

He watches him as he unwraps the burger. And as he eats a fry. And as he tries to take a bite of the burger. He feels like a prey animal under the eye of a predator.

Why did he give Fit such creepy eyes??

Pac doesn't want to say anything. He should be over this, it's been several years, but he can feel his hands shaking and his leg hurts-

Fit taps the table. He points at a section of text on the blueprint. ‘Your breathing and heart rate have drastically increased, and several signs point towards a possible panic attack. Are you okay, Pac?’

Right, programmed to take care of him. Pac wills his body to stop shaking. “C-could you.. I'm sorry. You're staring at me while I eat and..” Fit nods. Pac swallows past the frustration in his throat. The android looks away, finally, and he can finally relax and enjoy his food.

It's pretty good, actually. The burger and fries feel a little soggier than he would like, but they taste heavenly after not eating all day.

“‘fank you,” Pac mumbles around a mouthful of burger. Fit nods slowly. Pac can see him pondering out of the corner of his eye.

—

Pac clicks Fit into place on the maintenance stand. It's meant to keep him upright in the event of a system failure during maintenance. He can't help but think it looks like a doll stand, though.

“Since you've been running for a few hours now, I need to make sure that everything is going okay. I'll keep you online for this though, so I can ask questions. Okay?” Fit nods. He won't have access to his paper right now, so it'll be yes and no questions only. “Have you detected any problems?”

Fit shakes his head ‘no’.

“Do you have access to all of your systems, to your knowledge?”

Fit nods his head ‘yes’.

“Is your battery over 50% charged at this point in time?”

Fit nods his head ‘yes’.

“Very good! I'm so happy, Fit. I'm going to check for any stress on your endoskeleton and then-”

Ding ding ding.

Ding ding ding.

“Shit, ah. I'll have to finish this tomorrow. Mike is calling, so that means I have to go to bed. I'll unlock you so you can have free reign of the house while I am asleep. Just don't clean our room. Good night, Fit.” Fit blinks, and waves him good night.

—

“Hey Pac.”

Pac sighs in relief, sinking into the mattress. “Hi, Mike.”

“Are you comfy in bed now?” Mike asks. His voice is rough and he yawns as he talks.

He hums. He removes his leg after some difficulty, propping it against the beanbag within arms reach of the bed, and crawls under their quilts. “All tucked in. You sound exhausted, man.”

Mike chuckles. “I'm getting about as much sleep as you.”

Pac smiles and sets his phone on Mike's pillow as he lays on his back. “Aw, are you missing me, Mikey?”

“Pfft, as if. I get to stretch out allll I want to out here.”

“Oh I'm sure, Mike.” Pac entertains himself by trying to find patterns in the uneven ceiling. He remembers spotting a funny looking dog with Mike a while back and wants to find it again. “And your teammates don't mind that you sleep like a starfish?”

“Hey, the Federation gave us sleeping bags this time, so my teammates can mind their own business. For once. Seriously, have I mentioned how nosey Chipped and Smudge are?”

Pac laughs. “I would be nosey too if my mother named me Chipped and Smudge. Who are those guys?”

“Oh I didn't tell you? You remember how the workers are dressed up?”

“Oh right, you all have to wear the same uniform, and those creepy masks, right?” Pac yawns. He saw some of those workers when Mike got employed, and the first time Mike went on a mission. All Federation workers have to wear the same White and grey button up shirt and pants with a blank white mask. Mike told him a long time ago that the higher ups said it ‘encouraged teamwork, unity, and equality between employees’.

“Trust me, I take mine off the second I get the chance to, they're so uncomfortable. But these two guys – they're my teammates – they won't take theirs off! Or even tell me their names! Everytime I try to, they refuse to acknowledge me or call me anything but my number.”

“So you..” Pac trails off.

“Yeah, one of them has a chip in his mask, and the other has a smudge of something on his shirt. Seriously, the least they could do is have something actually defining like Chief. He carries a blue handkerchief in his shirt pocket. Other than that they're okay to be around, even if they gossip all the time.”

Mike goes quiet for a moment.

“I'll be honest, I have bad news, Paccy. The mission didn't go as planned and one of us got injured. That stupid package drop off I told you about blew up in our faces. Literally. We managed to get away without much trouble, but Chief was hurt pretty badly. The Federation is trying to send help, but we've ended up remote and can't go anywhere until they find us. I'm okay Pac, and I'm going to try and get home as quickly as I can.”

Pac takes a shaky breath. “Okay. You're not hurt?”

Mike laughs quietly. “Besides a bruised ego? Just some scrapes. Chief took most of the blow but my ears are definitely still ringing.”

“Where are you now?”

“I have no idea.” Mike yawns, “Somewhere. It's some forest in the middle of nowhere, probably near the actual middle of nowhere. I don't know why the Federation had us deliver an actual bomb to a random building out here, on foot, but I'm going to have a word with the Boss when I'm done out here.”

“Anyway,” Mike continues, “We've set up in a clearing out here. Chief is in our biggest tent and Smudge is tending to the fire. If you can ignore the fact we're stuck, it's pretty out here.” Mike tries to describe the clearing, but Pac can't understand him through the yawning.

Pac turns onto his side. “You should get some sleep, Mikey. Do you want to hear about Tubbo's latest project?”

“Nothing would make me happier.” Mike says drowsily. Pac can hear his smile.

Mike falls asleep to the sound of Pac's laugh as he describes Foolish's attachment to a meter tall helper-bot. Pac drifts off to the sound of Mike's snores, reassuring him that his soulmate is alive and well, halfway across the world.

—

A sound at the entrance.

Knock knock knock.

…

Closer now.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

…

Something shakes Pac's shoulder.

Pac jolts awake, heart racing.

Fit is standing next to his bed, plastic eyelids drooping slightly. His eyes glow in the dark room. It's unsettling.

A paper is held in front of his face.

‘My battery is nearing 30% and it would be wise if I were fully charged by morning. You did not tell me where to charge.’

Pac nods and tries to take deep breaths to calm his pounding heart. “I made sure there were a few ways for you to recharge.” Pac's voice is rough from sleep and adrenaline. “There should be a panel in your left arm with a cable inside. You can plug that up wherever. The other way is something I left in the workshop, I'll grab it. You just stay here for now.” Pac grabs a crutch and makes his way through the hallway and kitchen, and into the garage. Next to Fit's maintenance stand is a cardboard box, containing a rolled up black mat with a cord attached. Pac slings the mat over a shoulder and makes his way back to their bedroom.

Fit stayed exactly where Pac told him to. As soon as he walks in, Fit grabs the mat from him.

“That mat will let you just sit or lay on it to charge. It stores charge too, so it'll be helpful if we run out of power. You can pick either method and sit wherever you like.” Pac yawns.

Fit assesses the bedroom. The android plugs the mat up and lays it on the beanbag, then sits down.

“That works.” Pac mumbles. “I'm going back to sleep now. Your voice modules should come in tomorrow. Good night Fit.”

Fit nods, and waves him good night.

—

For once something arrives on time, Pac thinks to himself as he closes the front door.

Pac woke up early for once today. Fit was still in sleep mode, charging on his mat when he got up. He slept pretty well, all things considered.

Pac sits down at the dining table with the box, propping his crutch against his stool. The table has been completely cleaned after last night's dinner; not even a crumb can be seen on its cheap covering. Fit must have been cleaning while Pac was asleep.

Inside the box is the packaging he's been very familiar with recently. White tape, blue filler, and way too much bubble wrap. On top of the wrapping though, is a short handwritten note.

‘Sorry for the delay. My stocks have taken a hit recently and I was only able to get you one of the modules you requested. I don't know when I'll get more. -Fred’

“Of course.” Pac mumbles. He got to listen to a few potential voices for the modules when he ordered them from Fred. They all sounded good, of course. But Pac would have prefered to choose from the batch he ordered.

I'll just hope this one sounds alright. Pac thinks. It'll work for now at least. I can just order a different one later on if this doesn't sound right.

Pac checks through the box for any bonus parts, and is only mildly disappointed to find there are none there.

He hears heavy footsteps down the hall.

Fit makes eye contact with Pac as he enters the kitchen.

“Good morning Fit. Have you fully charged?”

Fit nods.

“Good good. Follow me into the garage so I can get you into your maintenance stand. The voice module just came in.”

—

Pac clicks Fit into the stand once again.

“Now, I'm hoping this will sound alright once it's in. I made sure it would integrate with your system when I ordered it, so we shouldn't have any trouble there. According to the module information, it should synthesize a voice for you with some presets. Tone, accent, some vocal quirks maybe, things like that. Are you ready, Fit?”

Fit nods and tilts his head up.

Pac removes the flexable panel over Fit's throat and sets it to the side. Inside are some wires and a small cavity. Carefully, Pac slots the modulator into place in the cavity, listening carefully for the click of the safety latch that will keep the module in place.

Click.

“Good! Okay, don't use it just yet. I still need to plug in the wires.” The wires have to be plugged in in a specific order. It takes him two tries to get them in correctly, but his success is met with the sound of a speaker crackling to life.

“Okay okay there we go. Fit, could you please give me a status update?” Pac holds on tightly to his crutch as he bounces excitedly on his toes.

Fit nods. “My battery is at 97%.” Fit says in a surprisingly deep, level voice.” My systems are online and functioning correctly. Memory storage is less than 1% full.”

Pac looks at him wide eyed, mouth agape. “wow.” Pac breaths out.

“Is the vocal module good, Pac?” Fit asks.

“Very.” Pac says shocked.

He is definitely keeping this one.

Chapter Text

After installing Fit's voice, the robot insisted Pac eat breakfast before he tries to do anything else. Begrudgingly, Pac ordered some sugary breakfast for himself. He can already tell that this is going to get old pretty fast, but for now it’s just frustrating. He’s getting bored waiting for the food to arrive though, the man wracking his brain for any kind of conversation.

Pac watches Fit stare at the photos lining the walls, holding his chin in a way that tells Pac he's trying to learn something. The picture he’s standing in front of is probably the one that Mike demanded they frame. The picture shows their first week in this house; In the background, Pac is dead asleep and laying halfway off the bed, his head touching the floor, with the thin blanket strewn around him, visibly snoring loudly. In the foreground, Mike gives the camera a gleeful grin with mischief in his eyes and a laugh in his chest. He almost forgot that that beanbag in the bedroom has been there as long as them, visible under Pac and the mess of blankets.

Hm.

“Hey Fit?”

Fit furrows his eyebrows at the picture frame. “Yes, Pac?”

He’s never going to get used to this. His voice is so nice. “I meant to ask this morning, but why did you choose the mat over your built-in charger? The charger would have gotten you to full much faster.”

Fit turns towards Pac and ponders, but seemingly comes up empty. That keeps happening. Why? Fit speaks in a neutral tone, “According to several events, specifically the reasons for my creation and your phone call, I came to the conclusion that you prefer to have someone nearby when you sleep, likely due to anxiety. This is also supported by my mistake at yesterday's dinner, and research on specific behaviors you were exhibiting. I chose to charge on the mat, near your bed, to alleviate your anxiety. Was I successful?”

Huh. He hadn't thought about it. “Besides scaring me awake, yeah. I don't think I would have fallen asleep that easily without Mike on the phone.” Fit nods.

“Your food has arrived.” Fit pipes up.

Pac tilts his head. “No one has knocked yet-”

knock knock.

He glances between the door and Fit, bewildered.

“Would you like me to retrieve it for you, Pac?” the android asks.

Pac grabs his crutch. “No no, it's okay, Fit. I can get it,” Pac stumbles, “It's just a small bag.” Fit stares at him for a few long moments, processing.

Fit waits at the dining table for Pac, watching him as he carries his food in and grumbles about how the woman that brought it wouldn't stop staring at the loosely tied leg of his pajamas.

From the edges of his vision, Pac watches Fit scan the room like a security camera, taking extra care to not stare directly at Pac while he eats his sugar filled breakfast. It's strange, but comforting in a way.

He stops as Pac licks sticky syrup off his fingers, and holds his chin, thinking for a second. “Your computer is chiming, I believe you are getting a call.” Fit says calmly, concluding his pondering.

Pac stands up quickly. “That's probably Tubbo, I didn't think we were calling today? C'mon, let's go see what he wants.”

–

“PAC HELP THEY'RE TRYING TO OVERTHROW ME-” Tubbo yells down the mic as Pac answers the call. He's barely hanging onto his desk as he's not even sitting in his chair. Number 18 zooms into the room, closely followed by a giggling Foolish.

“Yeah, this is a coup motherfucker! Hands in the air!” Foolish laughs. 18 beeps and flashes his lights as well as Foolish points gun fingers at the blond tipped man. “This is what you get for being late on rent last month!”

“You can't throw a coup against me, bitch!” Tubbo cries, “I'll take 18 down with me!”

Foolish gasps dramatically, lifting the cleaner bot into his arms. 18's treads wiggle like he's upset at being held, and-

“Did you paint his treads?” Pac interrupts. Last time he saw 18, the robot had black treads. Now there's a checkerboard of silver paint covering the surface. And some stickers decorating his plastic sides.

“Yeah I hmghf-”

Tubbo covers his mouth as he tries to talk. “Yeah and he nearly got the paint in it's vent- EW DID YOU JUST FUCKIN’ LICK ME?” Tubbo screeches, shaking spit off of his hand.

Foolish just laughs at Tubbo. “Hey at least the treads look cooler now. And Agent 18 here seems to agree, don't you buddy?” Foolish coos. Number 18's lights flash, but he's still wiggling his treads. “Okay okay I get it, I'll put you down.” Foolish gently lowers 18 to the ground, getting a happy chirp from the bot in return. He looks at 18 with affection, enough to have Tubbo fake gagging.

“Save the love eyes for when you get your boyfriend back, man.” Tubbo says, rolling his eyes.

“Hey, I've only got love eyes for my Vegetta, alright asshole? I'll-” Foolish's threat stops abruptly when he glances at the screen. “Who's the hot guy? Holy shit?”

Pac jolts, suddenly registering the presence next to him. Fit carries a bar stool into the room and places it next to Pac's, sitting politely.

“Oh right you've never seen him, Foolish. This is my robot, Fit.” Pac says excitedly.

Foolish stares at Fit for a long while, mouth agape. “...Why is he bald?”

Tubbo smacks him on the arm playfully, “You can't just ask someone why they're bald!” he quotes.

“Well he looks attractive in literally every other aspect, he's all mamadicimo n’ shit. He's even got cool scars! I just thought it was a weird ass choice!”

“I think he looks good bald,” Pac mumbles, “I'd like to see you try to make a wig look good on Fitch anyways.”

Foolish sounds like a windex bottle with his infectious laugh. “Uh Pac? He looks constipated. Can robots get constipated?” He turns to Tubbo. “Can they get constipated?”

Tubbo curls in on himself, covering his face. he mumbles “I wish you would get your visa shit figured out, get out of my flat.” Although they all know he doesn't mean it.

Pac glances at Fit, confused by Foolish's earlier question. His gaze shifts between the computer and Pac, eyebrows furrowed slightly. That usually means he's encountered a problem, but he isn't pondering? Pac wracks his brain for what the issue could be-

“Ah não, meu robô só sabe português!” He exclaims suddenly.

Fit's attention shifts at the familiar language while Tubbo and Foolish clamber for a translation.

“Pac, estou tendo um erro.” Fit says slowly, eyebrows still furrowed. An error, of course that would register as an error.

The human laughs nervously. “Tubbo. Tubbo what do I do.” Pac asks.

“Just tell him what language to translate into,” Tubbo giggles out, “Fred told me that the voice module can do that with my programming.”

That man deserves a kiss for all the work he's doing for us I swear. Pac nods quickly and turns to Fit. “Eh, quando estou conversando com Tubbo e Foolish, eu uso o inglês. Eles só sabem inglês.”

The robot takes a long, slow moment to process. Finally, he speaks. “Okay, I'll use English when you talk to Tubbo and Foolish.”

“Why is he American??” Tubbo yells out incredulously.

“I don't know why, I didn't exactly get to pick out Fitch's accent, did I?” Pac bites back.

Foolish is at a loss for words. “That uh. That's a nice voice you've got there, Fit.” He strains.

Fit blinks. “Thank you. Pac picked it out for me.”

Tubbo and Foolish glare at Pac, judgingly.

“So did you ever choose one of the acronyms I sent you? I tried to find stuff that would fit Fit.” Tubbo says, changing the subject.

Fit tilts his head. “I am sorry, but my name does not stand for anything.”

Tubbo sputters. “Hey- hey don't get wise with me! I created that wisdom! Your name does stand for something, I just haven't figured out what yet.”

“Oh, yes Fitch,” Pac explains, “Tubbo was the one that made your AI for me. I did all the rest though.” Tubbo protests in the background.

Fit nods. “Your tech has integrated well with Pac's systems.”

“Thanks I guess?” Tubbo replies. “You're definitely the most advanced AI I've ever created. 18 here is the 2nd, but I regret that decision every day. ‘Oh Tubbo, it's just a robot made to do errands for you, why did you bother to put a personality matrix in it’ I sure as hell don't know.” Tubbo glares at 18, lights flashing as Foolish pets between the bolts on his head. “He doesn't even have touch sensors there yet.” He mumbles.

“He doesn't have to have sensors to love me more!” Foolish crouches in front of 18, “Could you bring me a drink buddy?” 18's lights blink green as he raises his plate above his head and zooms off. “So is Mike home yet? Tubbo told me he was working overseas and that someone was feeling lonely.”

Pac glances at Tubbo. Neither of them have told Foolish about their involvement with The Federation (although somehow he knows about Pac and Mike's criminal record, but never seems to care), so these calls are always a delicate balance of information. The Federation doesn't like civilians knowing anything about them. “Yes, he is overseas with his.. team. Their ah, their transportation got messed up, so he is going to be gone for a lot longer.” Nailed it.

“Pac,” Fit says suddenly. Oh god please don't tell them something about the phone call last night, Pac panics. He's pretty sure that Fit was cleaning the kitchen while he was talking to Mike, but these aren't the thickest of walls- “Your heart rate just spiked considerably. I advise taking deep breaths. Is there a problem?”

Pac sends a silent thank you to the forces that be. “N-nope! It is all good here, Fitch-”

“Hey Pac, I get it.” Foolish says, his tone more sober than he's heard for this entire call, “I get being anxious when your person is away. I know you and Mike are some other thing, but sometimes I get worried about my boyfriend, you know? But then I remember that he's just a phone call away and loves me just as much as I love him.” The lovestruck man smiles and Pac swears he can see the hearts in his eyes. “You'll be reunited soon, just like me and my Vegetta. You just have to trust him, right?”

Pac nods. Tubbo gags, shoving Foolish into the chair next to him. “You don't know how much I have to hear about his boyfriend, Pac. It's torture.”

A chirp just barely crackles through the speakers as 18 zooms into the room, delivering a glass of water to Foolish. Foolish coos over the bot, thanking him for the drink.

“Nothing for your generous creator?” Tubbo asks incredulously. 18 whistles and flashes his lights in an almost annoyed fashion.

“Ooo, Tubbo, you're going to start a robot uprising with that attitude.”

Fit ponders. “Tubbo, I believe that giving 18 a clear order would give better results than ‘Nothing for your generous creator?’.” Fit mimics Tubbo's inflection.

Tubbo waves him off, “Yeah yeah yeah, sure. So everything turned out alright? No big errors?”

“Aside from that video I sent you?” Tubbo and Foolish snicker at the reminder. “Aside from that… nothing, so far. Plus, Fit is supposed to tell me when there's a problem.”

Tubbo nods, thinking hard.

“...Hey Pac?” Foolish prods with a smile.

“Yeah?”

“...Is that the barstool you and Mike-?”

“Meu deus not now.”

—

The call ends shortly after, conversation topics quickly drying up. While having a realistic android on call would usually be more of a conversation piece, Pac is pretty sure Foolish is used to this kind of thing by now. Plus, the guy seems pretty laid back most of the time.

Pac's half-laying against the arm of their couch, idly watching some cartoon he and Mike have watched dozens of times.

Once again though, Pac finds himself watching Fit. Fit is just so interesting to watch. As a whole, Pac knows why he acts the way he does. He could recite what programming certain behaviors come from off of the top of his head. But he's becoming very aware of a certain process that Fit has repeated several times since he woke up.

The android keeps pondering at him.

Well, not exactly. Most of the time, he's staring at one of the photos on the wall, or – too often for comfort – at the stolen goods around the house. Other times, he catches Fit looking away from him before they can make eye contact. He assumes that's because of the near breakdown he had at dinner yesterday. Everytime Pac sees him pondering at him or a stolen good, there's one thing that happens every time.

He furrows his eyebrows. Every time.

The furrowed eyebrows are supposed to be another indicator, replacing the red light of an error with a physical gesture, but Pac is at a loss for what the error is. Plus, Fit has yet to bring it up to him, so maybe he's just overreacting. It may be something else, and he's getting it mixed up.

“Pac.”

He jumps hard, as Fit seemingly materializes next to him. He's looking at Fit upside down from the way he's sitting. For a huge android, he's freakishly silent.

Fit continues speaking once Pac catches his breath, back to speaking in their native Portuguese. “There are many items in your house that have shown up on missing inventory reports.”

Ah shit.

“And,” He continues, “All of the items have one thing in common. None of them have any information about the theft, beyond it being missing. After thorough investigation, I have come up empty. I require assistance.”

Pac sighs. “Sit down on the couch.” Fit sits, ponders, then mimics the casual way Pac sits against the couch, although he braces his arm up on the back of the couch. “I need you to promise not to tell anyone about this, okay?” Fit nods. “Well, all of those objects were stolen, yes. By me and Mike.”

Fit furrows his eyebrows. “That may contribute to the second problem I have encountered.”

A second problem?

“What's the second problem?” Pac asks.

“You and the man in those photos do not exist.” He points at the pictures in the hallway.

Pac is possibly more confused than Fit is. “Do you mean Mike?”

“Mike is the man in those pictures?” Pac nods. “Then yes. You and Mike do not exist, according to every database I have access to.”

“Ah, that's because we don't exist in any of the databases you have access to.” Pac admits. He should have expected this conversation at some point. “We were removed from them all.”

Fit nods. “That would explain why I could not find any information about you- or Mike. I was unsure if it was a quirk of my programming until your call with Tubbo and Foolish. I was unable to find much information on Tubbo; He has been in one relationship before and is currently single, however I was unable to find a trace of the previous partner. The rest of the information is very basic, but still lacking. Foolish however, I was able to find more on. He has an extensive family, the majority of which are not related to each other. He is in a committed relationship with a man named Vegetta, however he lives in another country. Foolish has been stuck in the UK with Tubbo for many months now due to an error with his identification. I found more, but I believe that this is enough to prove my point. After observing Tubbo and Foolish, I came to the conclusion that there was an error in identifying you and the man in the pictures.”

“Yeah, I think Tubbo's information is locked away too.” Pac mumbles.

Fit tilts his head. “Why is that? If I may ask.”

“That… is going to be a long story, and one that you really can't tell anyone. Do you have the time?”

The robot pauses. “My battery is more than sufficient for the day, and we have 2 hours before you should eat lunch.”

He sighs. “That'll work. The reason there's no information about us is because of The Federation. You probably won't be able to find anything in your databases about them. They're very careful about information leaking. A long time ago, they came to Mike and I. We were desperate and I was… I was hurt. So Mike took their deal. Only Mike. They didn't want me. They strive for perfection and I..” He thumbs the thigh above his missing leg unconsciously. “Well you can probably guess why they didn't employ me. Mike took the deal with them. They would wipe our records, and in return Mike would work for them. That's the same reason Tubbo doesn't have much information. I don't know why he took his deal, but he doesn't work for the Federation anymore.”

“You said you were hurt. May I ask how that occured? I apologize if my questions upset you. My lack of information on you or Mike makes certain processes difficult.”

Pac chuckles flatly. “Right. The leg.”

“I believe it's your left leg that is missing, Pac.”

That gets a genuine snort out of Pac. “I- yes you're correct. Ah, this story is hard to tell. A long time ago, Mike and I were caught stealing. We went to prison. A big prison. One that should have been impossible to escape.” He smiles at the memory. “While we were there, we made some friends. But there was this one guy. He worked in the kitchen. His name was Cell.”

Fit grabs Pac's hand, holding it awkwardly as he rubs his thumb against the back of his own. “Please regulate your breathing and look at me while telling this story. You may be at risk of a panic attack and are beginning to zone out.” Pac nods, breathing deeply. From the corner of his eye, he can see a character on the TV doing the same gesture that Fit is doing right now.

“His name was Cell. He worked in the kitchen. We found out pretty fast why he was in the prison. He was.. he was a cannibal. A-and uh. That's why he liked working in the kitchen, I guess. He was… He was terrifying, Fit. He was..” Fit motions for Pac to take bigger breaths. “We made friends while we were in prison. We also made some dumb decisions. We lost one of them to- to Cell. I don't remember how far into the prison sentence it happened, but Cell cornered me one day.” Pac can feel himself already spiraling, no longer looking Fit in his strange eyes, but instead past him. Through him.

“He cornered me, when noone was around and- and I don't really remember what happened after that. It was just a blur of pa-pain and I think I passed out at some point. I don't know, I don't know, but he…”

Fit squeezes his hand. “What did he do, Pac.”

Pac responds, voice barely holding together. “He ate my leg. He just… ate it. I blacked out from- from the pain, I guess. When I woke up, He was gone. Mike found me bleeding out on the cafeteria floor. It took me- took me weeks to recover enough. We had to put our escape plans on hold for a long time. Mike was with me in the medbay as much as he could. But sometimes, HE would come visit, when I was alone. He wouldn't come close, or even say anything. He would just come and lean against the wall, licking his lips. On my last day in the medbay, he told me that I was the best meal he had in ages.”

Fit sits up, his expression shifting slightly into something Pac doesn't quite recognize. “Is he still in prison?”

Pac shakes his head. “No, we had to take him with us when we escaped. I don't know if he survived when we left him on that island.”

Fit nods, squeezing Pac's hand again. Pac finally gets his eyes to focus on Fit again. He knows that the question both of them have is whether or not Cell might still be alive or, even worse, escaped that barren island, but Pac forces it out of his mind. It refuses to leave, but he pushes onwards.

“Yeah, when we left him there, it was just Mike and I on that little boat. My leg wasn't in the greatest shape before we left, and being lost in the sea in that disgusting boat didn't help any. I got a nasty infection and we weren't sure what was going to happen. I wasn't doing well at all. Then out of nowhere, this boat shows up. This big, white ship stops next to us, and these people wearing white masks walk out. They had heard that some people had escaped the most secure prison in the world, and I guess they wanted to investigate. And found us. They offered to fix my leg, and give us a fresh start. Mike didn't have any other choice, because of me. He says I would have died otherwise. I think I was already pretty delirious with fever at that point, so I didn't get much of a say.”

Pac unties his pants leg and rolls it up, showing off the scar-riddled stump, just below his knee. “The prison nurses didn't clean up the cut when I was healing in prison. I mean they cleaned the wound, because if blood loss and shock didn't kill me, then an infection from a cannibal's spit and unclean prison floor definitely would have. Anyway, the leg healed funny, and so my nerves were messed up. The Federation fixed it up as much as they could, while treating my infection, but my nerves are still fucked, man. I get phantom pains a lot.”

Fit ponders at Pac, and for once it doesn't end with furrowed brows. “I will make sure that that never happens to you again. You have my word.”

Pac laughs shallowly. “It better not. But I made you to be big and strong, you know? I know you'll be able to protect me.”

Fit nods, slowly.

“Are you having phantom pains right now?”

Pac throws his head back and groans. “Fuck yes, it feels awful, man.”

“What do you need to help alleviate it…” Fit hesitates, “man?”

Pac laughs hard at the stilted way he tacked ‘man’ onto his sentence. “Just bring me a pillow and my warm compress. It should be sitting on top of the microwave. Put it in for however long it says on the tag. Thank you Fit.”

Fit nods. “Of course, Pac. It is, however, time for you to order lunch, if you could do that while I retrieve your items.”

Pac groans dramatically, throwing his arms around as if he was trying to bat the idea of healthy eating away from him.

“Fiiiine,” Pac complains, “But I'm getting something unhealthy after that. I deserve it. Not even the shitty therapist the Federation got us got that much out of me.”

Fit smiles, barely, as he stands up. “Thank you, Pac.”

Chapter Text

Battery level: 79%

Remain in sleep mode.

—

Battery level: 81%

Remain in sleep mode.

—

Battery level: 87%

Change in Pac’s breathing detected.

Movement detected.

Location: Pac’s Bed.

Pac is waking up.

Exit sleep mode.

—

Fit boots up quickly, automatically running a check of his systems. Everything appears to be in order, but Pac still dozes in bed. It would take too long to go back into sleep mode, so Fit decides to remain on his charging mat until Pac wakes up. The man had previously shown signs of paranoia, and according to the story he told yesterday, seeing Fit standing next to his bed again may increase his stress.

Mission: Do not share Pac’s criminal record, prison story, and Federation information.

Mike called Pac last night. The calls do not have a pattern as of yet, but Fit decides it requires documentation. Mike is very important to Pac’s mental health, and a large gap in the call schedule is likely to cause Pac’s health to decline. When Pac left the room to answer Mike’s call, Fit continued his ongoing mission to clean the house.

Mission: Do not clean Pac and Mike’s bedroom.

Early into the night, Fit’s battery alerted him that it was getting below 30%. Since Pac was likely asleep due to his call with Mike, Fit chose a wall plug near the couch. He didn't need to sit on the couch to charge, of course; while touch sensors were built into his casing, he never experienced discomfort. The android chose to sit on the couch to charge to appear more human, and to not stress out Pac when he woke up. Before he could open the panel on his left arm that housed his cord, however, he heard Pac groan from his bedroom, followed by the heavy thuds of him bouncing down the hallway. He paused in the mouth of the hallway, and stared half-lidded at the android.

“Fit?” Pac croaked tiredly. “What are you doing?”

“I was about to start charging, as I am getting low. Is there a problem, Pac? Usually after a call with Mike you fall asleep.” The android tilted his head as he watched Pac. He’d only had one point of data to work with, of course, but it was not a far fetched guess.

Pac bounced to the sink and plucked a cup from the recently filled drainboard. The cup sported the logo of a local buffet, and after a quick search, he found that it was a local buffet that did not give out their plastic cups.

He downed the cup in one gulp. “There's not a problem, I just couldn't fall asleep. And his phone cut out- well he was already asleep but I like being able to hear him, you know?” Pac looked into the cup in his hand, and tapped it anxiously with a finger.

Fit nodded. Hearing Mike, even just Mike’s snoring, alleviated Pac's stress. He suspected that hearing him was a sign that he was alive, or maybe it tricked Pac’s mind into thinking he was with Mike? Fit had noticed that, on his first day, Pac had left his phone on the pillow next to him, so that theory was probably correct. Fit created a reminder for himself and continued.

“Is your leg still hurting,” Fit paused for a second, “man?” The unstructured way people apparently talked had confused Fit since his conception (Of which, he noted, was just a few days ago.), but he had been making efforts to understand and adapt to the way Pac, Tubbo, and Foolish talk.

An effort that was met with a snort from Pac. “No, that faded an hour ago. I’m just exhausted now, man.”

Fit nodded. “I’ll get settled on my charging mat while you get hydrated, okay?”

Pac had opened his mouth, likely to ask why he had changed his mind, but instead nodded. “Okay, I’ll be there in a minute.”

From there, Pac went to sleep, bringing Fit back to the present where Pac shifts and mumbles in bed while the morning sun streams from windows through the slats of the white blinds. Fit watches Pac as he wakes up. He knows the man would feel unsettled at being watched, but he has a reason. He’ll look away when Pac wakes up, but for now he’s watching. The human is currently lying on his back, one hand on his stomach, the other thrown above his head while his leg stretches as far as it can, nearly touching the edge of the bed like a starfish. His black hair takes on a nearly blue tone where the morning light touches as it splays across his pillow, partially covering his face. The blankets had been kicked around during the night, now bunched up at his feet. His shirt and pants have ridden up slightly, proudly displaying scars of varying types. A deep scar on his stomach matches the one on his cheek. A circular one on his arm with a similar pattern to the ones on his stump. Unlike him, humans don’t come with scars. His scars, lacerations on his plastic and metal, are from his creation. The scars on Pac are… from destruction. They’re opposites.

“Hey Fit? Are you alright?”

Fit blinks, suddenly noticing Pac is sitting up and staring back at him. His hair is wild from sleep, and he’s looking at Fit with a mix of confusion and sleepy concern.

“I was processing something,” Fit answers with a nod. “I am sorry for staring.”

Pac rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Eh, it’s alright man. Did you manage to get charged?”

Check: Battery level.

Battery Level: 84%

He makes a note to himself to investigate why he lost 3% battery in such a short amount of time while still on his charging mat. “I did not reach full charge, but I am charged enough for the day. You appear to have slept soundly, as my sensors did not detect you stirring. Do you feel well rested?”

He groans and stretches his arms above his head. “As good as it’s going to get, man. What’s the plan for today?”

“Breakfast, for you, Pac.”

Pac groans.

—

The day goes by without anything important happening. Despite his complaining, Pac does order food when Fit reminds him to, and will eat it without any further complaint. He doesn't seem to put much thought into what he is eating, however. Fit has watched him open the food delivery app on his phone and just choose the first preset that pops up plenty of times now. Despite this, Fit has been keeping meticulous notes on what foods Pac seems to enjoy the most, as well as what nutrients he hasn’t been getting.

While Pac distracts himself with other things, Fit takes every opportunity to clean the house. For the first time since his all too recent creation, though, he is running out of things to clean. Pac told him that his casing may sustain damage if its exposed to some cleaning chemicals, the damage primarily being discoloration and weakening, so he hasn’t been able to tackle the bathroom or kitchen to the degree he wants.

Just like yesterday, Pac settles down on the couch and Fit joins him. He puts on a drama that apparently he and Mike had watched a dozen times, adamantly ignoring Fit’s attempts to chastise him for wearing his prosthetic all day while the limb is still inflamed. The plot of the show is strange to Fit. Pac told him that it is pretty standard for a telenovela, but his attempts to research the plot and understand it just made it more confusing. The characters fight over perceived slights and misheard conversations, but seemingly ‘make up’ the moment it’s over. It is strange.

Things change as the sun sets, and the time that Mike usually calls passes by. Pac fidgets with his phone and tells Fit to wait an hour. And then another. And then another. Until finally 1am rolls around and Fit decides it’s time to convince Pac to go to sleep.

The man stutters, trying to convince Fit to let him stay up longer. Based on the data Fit has collected on him so far, he is confident Pac will refuse to move into his bedroom until he falls asleep on the couch by accident again, or he will return to the habits he formed while creating Fit, staying awake for days at a time.

Search: How to get him to go to sleep.

…

That should work.

Fit recalls a scene from the novella that continues to play on the TV. A character had been upset, but the character they were upset at picked them up in a “princess carry”, which seemed to be effective. It doesn’t seem to have a purpose beyond transportation, but Fit has reason to think it would work.

“Pac, I am going to pick you up. Is that alright?”

Pac looks up from where he was opening and closing apps on his phone.

“What?”

Fit stands, watching Pac carefully for any signs of distress. Gently, he loops an arm under Pac’s knees (keeping his hand steadily above the prosthetic on his left leg) and behind his back, then lifts the shorter man into his arms. A successful princess carry. Pac makes a short cry of alarm as he’s hoisted up, but freezes up like a scruffed kitten. He blinks wildly, eyes wide and searching Fit’s face.

“What?” Pac repeats, at a loss for words. “I- I- uh, don’t drop me, please?”

The robot smiles, just barely. It’s a strange thing. “Don’t worry man, you made me very strong, remember? I just need you to go to bed, alright?”

Turning red, Pac nods, burying his face into Fit’s arm. He appears to be embarrassed. Strange. He'll have to investigate why at a later time, when he is not focused on Pac's current situation.

He carries Pac into the bedroom, sitting him on the edge of the bed. “I am going to take off your prosthetic now, is that alright?”

“You don’t need to do that.” Pac mumbles, avoiding eye contact.

“Please answer the question.”

Pac’s mouth tightens, but he nods. Fit kneels in front of him and begins working on getting the leg off. While cleaning, Fit had found several blueprints for the legs that Pac uses. Since all of the legs are custom made, the release mechanism is very different from the ones he could find in his database. Going off of the blueprints he found and downloaded, Fit twists a small knob on the outside of the leg until it shifts from the stump. Feeling for the panel on the inside of the leg, he pops it off and presses the release switch. The leg clicks, and comes loose. He puts the panel back on the leg before setting it against Pac’s bedside table. The last thing to do is remove the silicone and the sock, but Pac stops him.

“That’s- that’s fine, I’ll get those.” Fit nods and watches Pac. The silicone that covers his stump is discolored yellow and damaged from wear at spots, but is still clearly white. On the side a black logo is embossed that appears to be a building of some sort. It’s tiered with columns and a domed top. His searches come up empty.

“Oh, yeah you wouldn’t recognise that logo. That's the Federation.” Pac holds the silicone sock up, “you wouldn’t believe how annoying these things are to get normally. I at least get several from the Federation when Mike asks for them.”

Fit takes note of the logo. “Is there anything I can do to help you sleep, Pac?” Fit asks, pulling the edge of the blankets up towards Pac.

Pac takes the blankets from him and lays back, humming. “I don’t know, ah maybe just.. talk? Like background noise?”

Fit searches his database. His eyes close as he holds his chin and searches. “Would a book suffice? Any preferences?” Pac agrees to a book, so Fit continues.

“Here’s one with high reviews, ‘The History of 2B2T’. Does that one sound interesting?”

The man turns onto his side. “I know a little bit about 2B2T, go ahead Fit.” Fit nods, settling onto his charging mat.

“2B2T, the oldest anarchy country in the world…”

—

It's raining.

Fit hasn't seen rain before. Of course, he knows what it looks like. He has access to thousands of databases and it is trivially easy to find photos, videos, and audio recordings of every way that rain can fall. But today is the first time he has seen rain. He watched the clouds roll in across the fields. Pac's house is situated between large pastures and a long road that leads to the city, and the miles of open land, cut through with trees and ponds, is an advantageous place to watch the weather.

It's raining.

People are often affected by the weather, although they aren't always aware of it. For some, it brings comfort. For others, it makes them sad. Fit doesn't feel either of these. He is an android after all, emotions are more like actions for him. But the rain intrigues him, and so he stands at the window and watches the clouds roll in.

As for Pac…

His emotions are not being affected by the weather. Or, more accurately, the weather is not the main contributing factor.

Pac is stressed, and it is raining.

Even a human that, unlike Fit, wasn't built to track Pac's emotional state and heart rate, would likely be able to recognise how anxious Pac is. The dark haired man has checked his phone thirty-six times in the past hour alone. Of course, it is clearly due to Mike. The man from the hallway photos didn't call last night, and the lack of a call stressed out Pac. The thing that is confusing him, however, is why this time is different. To his understanding, Mike has gone on much longer stretches of radio silence than this, which have resulted in significantly less stress from Pac.

“Fit?” Pac croaks, voice cutting through the rhythmic pounding of the rain.

He pivots quickly at the distressed tone of Pac's voice, and is suddenly bombarded by his programming.

Emotional distress – fear response – possible panic attack – heart rate and breathing rate have increased–

Pac's hands are shaking around the white-knuckled grip on his phone, eyes dilated, taking shaking and rough deep breaths as he stumbles against the kitchen counter.

The rain pounds harder.

If this was a different kind of breakdown, Fit wouldn't be so quick to rush over to Pac. But Fit knows what this is, or at least he has a very well educated guess. Fit catches Pac as he lurches forward from the kitchen counter. His speakers crackle as he grips his shoulders.

Pac interrupts him before he can speak. “I- I ah. I think my leg is acting up.” Pac mumbles.

Oh. That… That would make sense, considering the weather.

“Would you like for me to grab your compress?” Fit asks.

Pac nods, avoiding Fit's eyes and biting his lip. Strange. He said it was his leg acting up, but the behavior doesn't line up. But, he has a job to do, and retrieves the compress from Pac's room. The man is no longer in the kitchen. He keeps his sensors locked onto Pac as he microwaves the warm compress. The man is curled against the arm of the couch, his back pressed against the couch like he wants it to devour him, one leg propped up like he was trying to enter the fetal position, stump below his knee crossed to rest on his leg. His arms are wrapped around himself, still clutching his phone like a lifeline. He's closed himself off from the world, like a turtle.

What a strange comparison, Fit processes.

Beep beep beep.

Clunk.

Fit holds the warm compress out to Pac. His eyes look at Fit. Then to the compress. Then back to Fit.

Pac bursts into tears.

Every alarm in Fit's programming goes off at once.

“Why are- What happened- Are you- Do you need help putting on the compress? Is your leg hurting more?” Fit finally says. He's never glitched like that before. What was that?

Pac is staring at him, wide eyed, the grip on his phone impossibility tighter. “It's- It's not about the fucking leg–” Pac chokes through the tears, “It's-”

Fit is confused. “It's not your leg?” Pac said it was his leg bothering him, why would he lie about that?”

“No it's not my leg!” Pac wipes his cheeks roughly. “It's- it's…”

Oh. As Fit watches the hand holding the phone twitch, he's confident his initial guess was correct.

“It's about Mike, isn't it?”

Pac's face falls, and the big eyes that were staring up at Fit fill to the brim with tears. “I don't know where he is.” Pac whispers. “He didn't call last night and I don't know where he is.”

Fit sets the compress down. “There have been times where Mike has gone a long time without calling, isn't that right?” Pac barely nods. “What makes this time different?”

He sobs. “He's been stuck in the middle of nowhere for days. He told me, he told me that he would call tomorrow. The Federation forces him to do all of these things, but when he says he is going to call, he never misses it. he's never missed it before and I don't know where he is.”

“Maybe something came up.” Fit reassures.

Pac grips the fabric over his heart. “No no no, he would have told me, that's not how it works.” his breath wheezes. Fit needs to fix this and fast.

Fit activates his heaters and sits next to Pac, opening his arms as an invitation. He stares at Fit, breathing harshly. With another sob, Pac collapses into Fit's warm embrace. Fit can feel him relax, minutely, but it's a start. He lifts him into his lap; Pac grips his shirt like a lifeline and sobs. It reminds Fit of the rain. He wonders if this is why rain makes humans sad sometimes. Does it remind them of tears? Do they believe the sky is crying? Fit presses his arm against Pac's back, making sure the heater in it is at a comfortable temperature.

“What if something happened to him?” Pac cries muffled by Fit's shirt.

“What if something good happened?” Fit rumbles back, turning the heaters up a tick.

“But, but what if-”

Fit recognises a phrase from his many trips through his databases. “What if the world were made of pudding?” He doesn't really understand what that means, but Pac snorts a little.

“What?”

Belatedly, he rubs Pac's back in a circular motion. “There's no way of knowing what happened, so looking for what ifs is just going to stress you more. From what I understand, Mike is a very capable person, who has been on plenty of missions. Between you and me, as the robot here, I think he has a very high chance of being okay.”

Pac giggles wetly. “You'd think that I would remember to trust the numbers you make.”

Fit nods, smiling gently. “You did make me man. I'm as accurate as you could get.”

“And Tubbo.”

“And Tubbo.” He agrees.

The rain lightens up, the pittering of droplets on the roof growing quieter. Pac's tears, likewise, also start to dry. He hiccups as Fit continues to rub his back.

“Hey, Fit?” Pac mumbles.

“Yes, Pac?”

“You're bony as shit.” He giggles.

He raises an eyebrow. “I'm made of metal and plastic, I can't exactly help with that, can I?”

Pac finally laughs. “No, I don't think you can.”

They sit in silence for a while, until Fit feels Pac's muscles untense further, until he can sense Pac's breathing even out and his heart rate slow, until-

He snores softly.

Oh. He's asleep.

Fit holds tightly onto Pac's sleeping form. This is new. As carefully as he can without waking up the exhausted human, Fit shifts until he's lying on his back, Pac resting on top of his chest. This is very new.

This feels very different from the last time he observed Pac while he slept. Before, he was seeing the man relaxed, but alone. Stretched across the bed like he was searching for a person. Now, he's more relaxed than Fit has ever seen him, lying peacefully on his side, soaking up the heat from beneath Fit's shell like a cat. His hair is draped in front of his face, clumped from emotions and sweat. As he breathes in, the hair tickles his nose and Fit can see his eyebrows twitch in response. He brushes the hair out of his face with the arm not currently pinned under Pac's sleeping form.

Pac stirs, just barely. He shifts around, trying drowsily to get comfortable on Fit's rough exterior. Eventually the human settles on lying flat on his stomach, his stump leg pressed against the couch while the other goes between Fit's legs. His arm grips Fit's shirt, just over his collarbone, his head nestling between Fit's shoulder and head. With a huff, Pac falls asleep again.

Error

…

?

Fit's heaters rise by a tick. There's some process running that he doesn't feel like he recognises. Is it a bug? It must be a bug if it made his heater adjust without his input, the temperature he is maintaining is going to drain his battery enough as is. The sensors in his false skin can detect Pac's breathing against his neck in intimate detail. He's reached a good, relaxed breathing rate. That strange process whirs at him again.

He does what he can to shut it off, but it only seems to tampen it.

Today was his first time helping Pac through a full blown breakdown. It went well, all things considered. He notes that physical touch seems to help a lot for Pac. He probably doesn't get very much of that when Mike is away.

He doesn't really know anything about Mike. He's never met him. He can find no trace of him. The pictures on the walls only tell him so much, and he's afraid that if he asked too much about him from Pac, they would end up in this exact situation again. When Mike gets back, he'll have to tell him off for hurting Pac like this, even if it was by accident.

Pac snores against his neck. There and then, Fit decides he would do anything to protect him. He knows that's coded into him, but he reinforces it anyways. That process pushes its way through him, and Fit lets it. It wiggles its way into his core, settling down in his heart. It doesn't make sense, it doesn't make any sense, but as he watches the rain through the window above the couch, and he feels Pac breathe against him as his heaters keep the sleeping man warm, he feels that strange process rise and crest above them both.

Chapter Text

Alright, that's it,” Fit says, shutting the fridge, “You're going shopping today for some real food.”

Pac blinks owlishly at the android, sitting at the dining room table. “...Huh?”

“Food,” Fit repeated. “Something that humans need to live. Does that ring a bell?”

“Wh- Hey, where did you learn sass?” Pac pouts.

He taps his head with a finger, which makes a dull plastic sound. “I learn, and you watch a lot of TV.” He might have made a mistake in letting Fit watch so much TV with him. If TV rots the brain, who knows what it does to his processor.

Pac huffs, although it's more performative than out of actual frustration. “How am I supposed to get to the store? The closest one is in Esempe city, which is about 30 minutes South by car. All we have is Mike's bike, and we haven't built the right leg for that yet.”

Fit closes his eyes and holds his chin, thinking. “There's a bus that passes by here at 11:36 AM that you can catch.”

“But Fiiiiit,” Pac draws out, leaning forward onto the table and whining, “It's so much easier to just order food to the door, why do I need to go to the store?”

He turns and sits across from Pac at the kitchen table, his eyebrow raised high as he stares down Pac. Pac's anxiety doesn't kick up luckily, but it makes the intimidation more apparent. “Because, you've eaten nothing but fast food since the day I woke up, and the only thing that was in your fridge was a tupperware full of something that was not safely edible to you.”

“I was wondering what that was..” Pac mumbles. A foul smell had been permeating the kitchen for days, and now that he was thinking about it, the smell had disappeared.

“Yes, I had to take it outside wrapped in several garbage bags to personally hand off to the garbage men when they came by before you woke up less than an hour ago. They treated it in the same way humans treat toxic waste.”

“Ah yes, thank-” Pac stands suddenly. “You went outside? And spoke to people?” Shit, what if they tell someone that I've got an android in my house? What if Fit said something that could get us in trouble? What if-

Fit looks away. “I.. I'm sorry Pac. I know you would prefer it if I didn't interact with humans, especially without your supervision. However they did not seem to notice anything strange about my appearance. One, in fact, asked me how I keep my head so shiny and blemish free. I was unsure how to answer, and I replied that I just have very good genetics. Is that acceptable?”

They didn't notice? It's so obvious to Pac that Fit isn't human. His eyes are strange, there's thin seam lines along his joints and plating, his fake skin has a distinctly non-human texture to it, not to mention it's room temperature whenever he doesn't have his heaters on. Pac chews on his nails. Well, if they didn't notice, then nothing bad is going to happen, right?

“Pac? Are you alright? You're exhibiting stress regulation habits. Man.”

Pac pulls his hand away from his mouth. “Yes, I'm fine. I'm glad they couldn't tell you weren't human.”

Fit nods.

The android looks at a picture framed on the wall, his gaze bringing Pac's along with it. The picture shows Mike covered in paint, halfway through painting the kitchen walls. He's grinning like a madman despite having blue paint in his then brown hair.

“Convenience is not the only reason you are against going to the store, is that right?”

Hit the nail on the head with that one. “I really miss him.”

“You two have been together since you were children, is that correct?”

Memories flood past Pac's eyes, bringing emotions forward with their tide. “Yeah, we were from the same orphanage. I'm the eldest between us, but only by a few years. We were never apart before the Federation employed him.” He looks down, rubbing his arms absentmindedly as Fit no doubt listens. “It's hard to do things without him. I never really have the energy to, it's like he's my battery. Plus, when I do things without him… I don't know. It feels like I'm leaving him out on something important.”

Fit stares at him. “And?”

“You're really pushy, you know that?” He smiles, just barely, and shrugs. Pac sighs. “And, being on my own can make my paranoia worse.”

“Which is why you don't go on grocery trips when Mike is away?”

Pac nods. “Which is why I don't go on grocery trips when Mike is away.”

Fit ponders. “Well, I understand that you don't like the idea of me interacting with people, but if you would allow me, I could accompany you to the city. Provided I wear the correct disguise, of course.”

“Right, of course, a disguise…” Pac trails off. The white shirt he had given Fit before his conception is visibly sweat stained from Pac sleeping on him a few days ago, not to mention from crying, as well as wrinkles from where he gripped the fabric. Both his shirt and grey sweatpants wear a fair share of scuffs from the android's compulsive cleaning habit. “I think we'll have to change the entire outfit.”

—

This isn’t going to work.

The thought won’t stop running through Pac’s head as they wait at the bus stop. Why there is a bus stop all the way out here, he will never know. They had to walk down the road for nearly 30 minutes in the heat just to find it. According to Fit, It’s near a junction of farms that get a lot of attention from the two nearby cities, when fall comes, helped by the fact that it’s a middle point between Esempe City and the smaller city to the North. Thank god it’s still early summer, Pac thinks. He did what he could to hide the android’s non-human nature, but he knows he couldn’t have hidden everything. Not to mention the slight… hiccup he encountered with the wardrobe. Fit is big, intentionally so. Pac, by contrast, is shorter with a less broad chest. Pac glances up at Fit’s chest where the shirt barely manages to contain it. He didn’t- he didn’t intentionally put Fit in such a tight shirt. It’s just that the dark, nearly black shirt he found tucked into the back of his closet was the biggest shirt he could find in the wardrobe that wasn’t Mike’s.

He can see the android’s skin colored plastic through the thin cotton of the shirt. His face heats up. He tries not to think about the Khaki pants he found too.

For once, Fit doesn’t react to the increase in his temperature or heart rate. Instead the robot has his eyes closed, focused, as he internally tracks the path of the bus to Esempe City. He’ll have to remind Fit to put on the sunglasses he took off of the counter so he can hide his eyes. Under the partly cloudy sky, Pac swears that the seams of Fit’s limbs must be so obvious. He had assured Pac before they left that it would be very difficult for a human other than Pac to notice such a minor detail, especially with all the scars on his plastic to distract them, so he tries to take Fit’s words to heart.

He is really regretting his choice to wear his blue comfort hoodie today. He probably stands out more than Fit does right now, wearing a hoodie in 90° weather, drenched in sweat. Maybe it will distract people from the fact that Fit isn’t sweating at all.

“The bus will arrive in 1 minute. Are you ready, Pac?”

Pac bites at his cheek. “We can make this quick, right? In and out.”

“Of course, Pac. Man.”

He snorts and tries to ignore the way his heartbeat picks up as the bus stops in front of them, the door hissing as it opens. Pac walks forward first, putting one foot onto the steps of the bus before he looks back at Fit for reassurance. The android flicks the sunglasses over his eyes and nods to Pac.

They both avoid eye contact with the bus driver as they pay their fees and find a place to sit.

The bus isn’t exactly full, but it’s definitely not empty enough for Pac’s liking. Over half of the seats are taken, although some people are standing anyway, and all of them look like they’re going somewhere much more important than the grocery store. To his immediate left, three young women in popular clothes and bright makeup huddle together over a phone, laughing and pointing at the bright screen. On his right a straight married couple in business casual suits sit next to each other, looking in opposite directions. Past them, a teen boy wearing chunky gothic wristbands bounces his leg nervously as he stares off into the cow fields. Then there’s a woman with a large handbag, a child with a runny nose, a teenager with more piercings than Pac thought possible, a man in an all white suit, A broad shouldered man with his tattooed arms crossed as he naps, and what feels like far more people than there should be on a half empty bus. The back right corner of the bus is, miraculously, mostly empty. Pac glances back to make sure Fit is still behind him, before he nervously beelines it for the empty corner.

Thank god we caught a bus with a working AC unit.

The hair on Pac’s neck stands up. He feels like he’s being watched. He glances around, trying to not bring attention to himself. Noone has shifted positions, besides where he sits in the back as Fit stands next to him like a bodyguard. Noone is looking at them either; most seem engrossed in their phones or on the person sitting next to them.

Pac groans and scrubs his face.

“Are you okay, Pac?” Fit says in a very quiet voice that feels entirely foreign to him.

He scans the crowd for- for something one more time. “I’m fine, I’m fine. I just haven’t been around people in a long time. Ah, and my paranoia is kicking up again, I think. I’m okay for now though, I’ll be fine.”

Fit hums, and extends his hand for Pac.

“Wh.. do you want me to hold your hand, Fit?”

The android nods, watching their fellow passengers for Pac. “After you slept on top of me, I figured that you liked physical touch.”

Pac can feel his cheeks flush as the woman with the large handbag glances up at them, pulling her snotty child a few steps away. “Fit, you can’t- you can’t just say out of pocket shit like that in public, man.” He hides his face with one hand, but accepts Fit’s with the other. “That sounds weird out of context.”

“Ah. I’ll keep that in mind then.” Fit says, completely unphased.

This is going to be a long trip.

—

The automatic doors of the grocery store shutter closed behind them. The bus ride was long and awkward, but at least they’ve finally made it.

“Just very quick, in and out?” Pac asks.

“Very quick, in and out. I have a recipe in mind and have already figured out what we need to get. Unfortunately your seasonings were not in date, so we will have to buy them new instead. You do have all the right equipment at home at least, as well as running water, so we will not have to worry about that.” Fit pulls a cart from the dock. “Are you ready, Pac?”

Pac nods, holding onto the cart. “You still haven’t told me what the dinner plan is.” He reminds him.

Fit raises his voice over the rattling of the old cart. “It’s a simple recipe that will last you several days. It is also very comforting, according to the books I downloaded. Based on your previous food choices, I decided that chicken and dumplings would be a good real meal to start with. I do want to introduce you to more healthy foods in the future.”

He sputters. “You say that as if I’ve never eaten healthy food in my entire life!”

The android smiles. “No, I say that as if you’ve never eaten healthy food in my entire life.”

“Fine, great chef Fit, what are we picking up first?” Pac grumbles.

“Most of our shopping list is seasonings, so we will start here.” He points to the shelf directly across from them. “We need salt, pepper, bouillon cubes, onion powder, and rotisserie seasoning. We could use more seasonings, but it’s good to keep it simple for now.”

Pac gathers the seasonings and drops them into the top of the cart. “Alright, what next?”

“Next we need two rotisserie chickens from the deli. We could use raw chicken breast, but the recipe recommends rotisserie chicken.”

“That sounds like a lot of chicken for one person.” Pac admonished as they approached the deli counter.

“Like I said, this should last you a few days.” Fit raises a hand and waves to the deli worker. “Excuse me ma’am, could we-”

The worker turns around to greet the two of them. She’s old and hunched, but seemingly still has the energy of a much younger woman. “Hello, now what would you two handsome boys like today?”

“Two rotisserie chicken, please.”

The woman nods. “Coming right up, dear.” She turns to the oven behind her, glowing orange as the cooked chicken is slowly rotated around inside, and retrieves the poultry. Pac can hear the snap of plastic containers before she turns back towards them. She slides the containers as far as she can across the deli counter and gives the pair a kind smile. “Here you go, enjoy your date, boys.”

“Thank you ma'am.”

“Thank you.”

…

Wait a second.

Date?

Pac jaw drops as Fit puts the chicken into the cart, seemingly unaware of what the woman said. He can feel his cheeks and ears turn bright red. The woman just stares at him with a smile, chuckling very quietly.

He decides not to bring it up, to save himself the embarrassment.

Pac coughs, looking away. “What uh. What's next, Fit?”

“Baking aisle.”

They roll away at a faster-than-leisurely pace, leaving the nice deli worker behind, as Pac follows his android across the store. He pauses for a moment in front of one of the endcaps, before swiping a bottle off and into his cart. Pac cocks his head at Fit. “Vegetable oil,” he explains, “we need it for the recipe. I thought I would take it from here since we were passing by.” Finally, they turn into the baking aisle.

“We need flour and baking powder, if you could grab that for me, Pac?” Fit asks politely.

“Yeah I'll grab it while you man the cart, right?” Pac teases.

Fit looks away in an almost sheepish manner. “I'm sorry, Pac. It's just that you can read faster than I can at the moment.”

Pac looks up at him. “Wait, seriously?”

He nods. “When it's something I have downloaded or already scanned, I can read it faster than any human. However, when it comes to situations like these where I am solely relying on my optical units, and the containers look very similar, it would take me significantly longer to decipher text. Humans can just do it a lot faster ‘on the fly’.” Fit air quotes as he talks.

“Ah, okay. Is this my fault or Tubbo's?” he asks as he hoists the bag of flour and container of baking powder into the cart.

Fit hums. “Limitations of modern technology.”

Pac's fault, got it.

Fit closes his eyes, probably checking over the recipe again. “The last thing we need is milk and evaporated milk.”

“I think the evaporated milk is in the next aisle over, and the milk is against the wall just past that. I can get the evaporated milk if you can get the regular milk.” He doesn't want to split up, honestly. But he really wants this trip to be over already. Fit nods, telling him to come to him when he finds the evaporated milk.

He walks into the next aisle, scanning the cans for what he needs.

chicken soup, cream of chicken, golden mushroom soup, no…

Oh there it is.

Pac stares up at the very top of the shelves, where the evaporated milk stands proud just slightly too far back for him to reach. “Who's bright idea was this?” he wonders aloud, baffled. He reaches for it on his tiptoes, but his fingertips barely brush it. “Dammit.” he mumbles.

“Do you need some help?”

Pac jumps at the sudden English and polite feminine voice. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Do you speak English?” A tall woman stares down at him, possibly an inch or two taller than Fit. She's in an all white outfit, complete with a dress, dress pants, and a coat. The only colour is in the purple ribbons tied into her hair. There's at least 3 tins of cookies held under her arm.

“Ah, yes, yes. I speak English. Could you help me reach the can of evaporated milk?”

The woman smiles and nods, reaching the can with ease. She plops it into his hands unceremoniously. “Here you go sir. Good luck on your cooking.”

“Oh, thank you, you too.” Pac replies. She smiles at him, and walks away.

Alright, time to find Fit and get out of here.

He takes exactly one step before his thoughts record scratch.

I said you too.

…

Dammit.

He fights the impulse to hide himself in his hoodie until the earth swallows him up.

—

Pac spots Fit in the milk section very quickly, on account of how silly he looks. The android has taken a knee, and is staring intensely at a milk jug through his sunglasses.

“Uh, are you okay Fit?” He asks, holding back a giggle.

“Yes. There are a lot of milks to choose from.”

Pac can see three different milks, tops, but decides not to mention it.

Depending on what he's looking for, Pac can probably speed this up for him. “Is there a specific milk that you need for the recipe?”

“No, the recipe doesn't specify. Which is why I am researching each of these to figure out which one would be the best choice.” Fit doesn't even look away from the milk as he speaks. He probably looks like some weird bodybuilder right now. Pac glances around to see if there are any witnesses; there's noone nearby, although he can see the nice lady with the cookies in the cheese section several meters away.

“Don't worry Fit, let's just get the one that Mike usually buys.” Pac grabs the 2% milk and, after checking the date, tosses it into the cart.

“Is that everything?” Pac asks. He hopes that that's everything.

Fit nods.

Pac sighs in relief. Time to checkout.

—

“So what are we doing here again?” Pac asks as he takes in the fact that their kitchen hasn't been this busy since the day Mike left. There are ingredients, bowls, and measuring spoons placed neatly on nearly every surface.

“We're making the broth. I need you to get eight cups of water,” he points at the sink, “and pour it into this.” He points at the large pot on the stove.

Pac fills the measuring cup with water, walking slowly to the pot, making sure he doesn't spill any. “I haven't had to be this careful since our last heist.” Fit counts out loud as Pac pours all eight cups in.

Fit picks up a half-teaspoon measurement. “Now we need to add half of a teaspoon of salt, and half of a teaspoon of pepper.” He measures it out exactly, and pours it into the pot. “If you could put the can of milk in there, I'll put the eight bullion cubes.” Pac nods, popping open the top of the can. He pours the contents in, using a spoon that Fit left out to scrape as much as he could out. Fit unwraps each cube, putting them into the pot with a quiet plop.

Fit reaches over the pot, putting it to medium/high heat.

“Next, while the broth heats up, we'll shred the chicken. You can use your hands or a fork for this, just make sure that no bones are in the meat. It's okay if you don't get all the meat off the bones, though.”

Both rotisserie chickens are on the small dining table, with a medium sized bowl between them for Pac and Fit to put the shredded meat into.

Shredding the meat is actually pretty fun, Pac realizes. It doesn't feel the best on his hands, but it smells amazing. Just ooone bite, Pac thinks, lifting a little bit to his mouth.

“Oi.” Fit warns.

He looks Fit in the eyes, putting the chicken into his mouth like he's in slow motion.

“I will wack you with this fork.” He says, pointing the fork towards Pac.

Pac drops the meat into his mouth and swallows it whole. Like a snake.

Fit gives him a deadpan look.

Pac can't hold back a laugh.

They finish shredding the meat, and pour it into the broth.

“Now we start on the dumplings,” Fit explains while they both wash their hands. He directs Pac to another station with another medium sized bowl and several ingredients around it. Pac sits and waits for Fit's instructions. “You'll need to add two cups of flour, then half of a teaspoon of salt, pepper, and onion powder, and a full teaspoon of rotisserie seasoning. Then you mix it all together.” Fit waits until Pac has finished mixing. “Now you just need to add two tablespoons of oil, and then keep adding milk until the dumpling mixture is the consistency of mashed potatoes, but not runny. I can't tell when it's like that, so instead I'll be keeping an eye on the pot.” Pac nods and gets to work stirring.

Pac stirs for a while, making sure to scrape the sides and incorporate everything properly.

“The broth is beginning to boil, is the dumpling mixture ready?”

Pac runs his spoon through the mixture, inspecting it. “I think so. What now?”

“Hand me the mixture.”

He gives Fit the bowl and spoon, and takes a step back. The android takes a large spoonful of the mixture, and lets it plop into the pot. He repeats this a few times, then stirs the pot gently, making sure to scrape the bottom. He then reduces the heat to medium, and continues to plop spoonfuls of dough into the broth, although at a normal size instead of the larger ones before.

“Pac, could you come over here for a second while the dough cooks?”

Pac comes up next to him, a little confused. Fit picks up some broth and chicken with a spoon and holds it up, cupping his other hand below it to make sure nothing spills. “Blow on this gently, please.” He asks.

Even more confused, Pac blows on the spoon for a few seconds. “What part of the recipe is this?” he asks.

“The recipe doesn't say this, exactly. Open your mouth.”

Pac nearly jumps out of his skin. “W-what?”

“I need you to taste this so you can add additional seasoning, if needed. I can't check it myself.” Fit holds the spoon in front of Pac's face, which is rapidly turning a bright shade of red for what feels like the hundredth time today. With a mountain of hesitation, Pac blows on the spoon one more time before opening his mouth, moving forward to sip from the spoon. He watches as Fit tilts the spoon into his mouth, until all the contents are gone.

The broth is really good. He tries to ignore the fact that Fit just spoonfed him.

“Yeah, thank you Pac. What do you think?” Fit puts the spoon away, entirely unphased.

“It's uh.. uh,” God, can his brain just work with him here? “It's good, yeah.”

“Good. The dumplings should be cooked by now, if you could help me check.” Fit pulls the largest dumpling out of the pot, and cuts it open. “If this is a biscuit consistency, then it's all done.” Pac inspects it, confirming that it is in fact a biscuit consistency, and nods to Fit.

Pac retrieves a bowl from the cabinet (a green bowl, of course.) and spoons as much as he can into it. His stomach growls loudly in anticipation.

If he thought that the broth tasted amazing, it's infinitely better with the dumplings. The entire dish tastes warm and homely, even if it's not the kind of thing he would eat very often. He watches Fit clean up and wash dishes while he eats, the android taking great care to make sure that every scrap of debris is cleaned up.

Pac takes another bite.

This is definitely better than delivery.

Chapter Text

He crawls through the vent, away from the scent of blood. His knees scrape against the metal below him, but he has to get away. He can't stop for a moment.

There's a throbbing pain in his leg. He spares a moment to glance back, some part of him wanting to make sure that all of him is intact. Instead there is a long red smear, trailing behind two identical stumps.

The monster's eyes glare in the darkness like a wild animal, a sickening grin on it's distorted face, full of jagged and dulled knives instead of teeth, extending past the limits of human anatomy. Not that it matters. He was never human to begin with. It pauses, for a moment, crouching down to take a long, relishing taste of his blood. It licks it's lips. An expression of ecstasy takes over it's features, it's smile growing ever wider.

He needs to get away.

The echoing, warped sound of an endlessly ringing phone emanates from the monster, entertwined with the sounds of muffled screams.

HE NEEDS TO GET AWAY.

Before he has a chance to react, the creature rushes towards him, faster than anything should be able to move in the tight quarters of the vent.

Go.

The walls around him rattle with the monster's vigorous chase.

Go.

He crawls faster, as fast as he can on only two limbs, caught somewhere between existence and nonexistence, and weakening from blood loss.

GET AWAY.

A knife pierces the metal under him, just barely missing his chest. On instinct he scrambles back. A mistake.

The monster's deathly cold hands grip his ankle.

No.

He closes his eyes, shielding himself from the sight.

No no no no.

The ringing and screams go quiet.

Until the sound of a sickening crunch replaces them.

They crescendo into a symphony of suffering, the sound of tearing flesh and broken bone now joining the orchestra.

The man licks his lips, and goes for another bite.

Pac jolts awake with a harsh breath in, breaking into a coughing fit, as if his lungs were convinced they were full of blood again. “Fuck.”

His dreams are never very vivid, but that one seemed like an exception. He hasn't had a Cell dream in what, a few months now? At least not one he can remember. He should be over this by now. It's pathetic.

He sits up, running a hand over both of his legs. His left arm stops short just past his knee, but he lets his right keep going until he touches his toes.

Just a dream.

Pac swallows, suddenly aware of a tickle in his chest and a dryness in his throat. With a sigh, he stands with his crutch and blearily stumbles to the kitchen. It's too dark to look at the pictures on the walls as he walks.

The light over the kitchen sink is still on, but Fit is nowhere to be seen. He opens the cabinet to grab a cup.

“Hello Pac. You're up early.”

The cup flies out of his hand as he screams. The plastic bounces on the tile.

“Uh, sorry for startling you, but I've been down here for a few hours now and I need assistance.” Pac turns, despite his racing heart, and takes in the strange scene before him.

Fit is sitting on the tile floor of the kitchen, propped up on his arms. One leg is extended casually, while the other is bent tightly against his body, the foot pointed like a ballerina. There's cleaning supplies strewn around him, with at least one bottle open and spilling. There's a broom resting against Fit's shoulder.

He crouches next to Fit, hands hovering. “Are you- are you okay?” Based on the scattered supplies, it looks like he must have taken a fall.

Fit stares at him for a moment, then nods. “Yes.”

“...Then what do you need help with?” Pac tilts his head.

Fit gestures widely to his bent leg. “I cannot stand.” The way he says it makes it seem like that should be obvious.

Pac looks at Fit. Then his leg. Then back to Fit. “Do you know why? Do a, ah, do a diagnosis check.”

“Diagnostic check.” Fit corrects. The android closes his eyes. Pac coughs - probably drainage from getting up so quickly. After a few more quiet seconds, Fit finally speaks up. “It would appear that I’ve lost connection to my leg. It is still receiving energy from my batteries, however.”

Pac rubs his face, analyzing the glitched leg. “I’ll have to get my tools from the garage and bring them here since you’re too heavy for me to drag you into the maintenance stand. Could you disconnect the power going into that leg so that I don’t uh, electrocute myself while working on it?”

He leaves the kitchen, returning with an assortment of tools. Fit’s glitched leg looks more relaxed now, no longer folded tight against his body. Pac sits on the ground, pulling Fit’s leg into a comfortable position in his lap.

“Is the power all disconnected?” He asks.

Fit hesitates. “..Yes, it should be.” Pac nods and opens the plastic panel on his knee as Fit speaks. “But I have a question, Pac.” Pac hums for Fit to continue, hyper focused as he completely disconnects Fit’s leg from the knee down, pulling it away from his body by an inch or so to inspect the joint. It’s ironic that he’s having to disconnect Fit’s leg after having a nightmare about the exact same thing. He would laugh if it didn’t make his skin crawl.

“If you’re worried that working on my leg might harm you, why not just power me off until you are done with repairs? With my leg glitched and unresponsive, I could have been incorrect when I said that the power was disconnected. You could have been hurt.”

Pac stops abruptly. Why didn’t he just power off Fit?

“I… I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right to alter you while you’re asleep. Maybe it’s because you look human, and act mostly human.”

There’s a long period of silence. Pac finally spots the disconnected wire in Fit’s leg.

“But I’m not human, Pac. I’m an android.”

Pac stares at the wires in his hands. The plastic hinge connected to Fit’s leg where a human’s kneecap would be. The false skin that covers Fit’s entire body.

“...Humans personify inanimate objects a lot. It’s part of our biology.” He speaks quietly in a voice edged by a raw emotion. “So… I see you as another human, just like me.” He reattaches Fit’s leg and closes the knee panel. “Your leg should work now. One of the wires had disconnected and made it lock up.”

Fit stares at him. Is he trying to process something? On the edge of his senses, he can hear electricity pouring back into Fit’s leg. The android tests out the movement, rolling his ankle and bending his knee. He stands, pulling Pac up with him. He looks up at Fit, still staring into him like he’s trying to decipher something. The stare feels so different from the one in his nightmare.

He finally looks away, pressing Pac’s crutch into his hand.

“You should probably go back to bed, Pac. I’ll clean up my mess. Thank you for fixing my leg.”

He turns, without another word, and picks up his broom.

—

He woke up without another nightmare.

Instead, he’s faced with a different problem.

He can’t stop coughing.

Every deep breath rattles something in his chest; his body’s attempts to dispel the sensation just bringing him more discomfort. Talking for long periods of time, moving too quickly, laying in specific positions- they all send him into a coughing fit that tears at his throat and tightens the muscles in his back. He knows that it’s way too late in the year for him to be suffering from a cold, or even allergies, but that has to be the only thing he could catch.

He waves away Fit’s concerns when he coughs so hard it leaves him gasping.

It’s just a cold.

—

A cold, and a body that hates him specifically. Pac groans, rolling onto his side in bed and hissing at the discomfort. Of all the days for his phantom limb to act up, this is definitely the worst. His stump hurts like it’s frostbitten, and his missing foot feels like it's wading through water. Fit came to check on him less than an hour ago. He feels bad for hissing at him to leave but he just feels like hell right now. He coughs into his pillow, every muscle aching. Why is his entire body aching too? Is that part of the phantom pains? He coughs again, into his elbow this time. A shiver runs through his body from head to toe. How can he be cold too, on top of all of this?

Fit knocks on the door. “Pac, are you alright in there? Do you need anything?”

Pac pulls the blankets up to his chin, shivering. He swallows, launching himself into another coughing fit. “...Could.. Could you bring me some water please.” He asks, voice rough as if he was gargling rocks. He listens to Fit’s footsteps get quieter and then return, watching as the door opens. The android’s eyes search him. He approaches Pac’s bed slowly, as if he’s a scared animal.

He coaxes Pac into sitting up, one hand resting on his back while he coughs up a lung. He instructs Pac to drink slowly, of which he does. It doesn’t soothe his throat.

“Pac, what symptoms are you showing?” Fit asks.

Pac whines. “I’m not-” He coughs, “I’m not sick. It’s just a cold.” Fit already has to take care of him every day, He can handle a cold.

Fit grabs Pac’s hand and squeezes lightly. “I know. I would just like to make sure.”

He caves.

“It feels like there’s something stuck in my chest and everything I do makes me start coughing. My leg is acting up and hurting like shit and it’s making my entire body ache and I’m so cold and just exhausted-” Pac hiccups, tears streaming down his face. He didn’t feel this bad yesterday, he thought he was fine, but everything just feels so awful. Why did this come on so fast?

A room temperature finger swipes the tears from his eyes. He looks into Fit’s eyes, and leans into the hand that feels so warm to him. Another hand cups his jaw, the tips of his fingers resting just under his ear. His eyes are wide, and his mouth is a thin line.

Fit strokes his cheek with his thumb in a way Pac can only process as soothing. “Pac.. you have a fever. It’s not dangerous yet, but I really need to get you cooled down, okay? I’ll be right back, I need to get a wet rag for you.”

Pac whines, tears streaming down his warm face. After a few minutes, Fit’s warmth is replaced by the uncomfortable coolness of the wet rag on his face. He sobs silently, Everything just feels so uncomfortable. There’s a weight in his chest that just won’t go away. Fit runs his hands through his hair in an effort to comfort him, doing his best to keep the strands from sticking to his face.

“You’re going to be okay, Pac. I can order some fever reducers to the house if you give me permission to, so we don’t have to use the cold rag as much.”

Pac nods. Anything to not feel so bad.

With a single blink, Fit pipes up. “I’ve ordered them. They should arrive tonight from Esempe City.”

“Thank you.” he sniffles.

Fit squeezes his shoulder. “You should get some rest, Pac. I'll keep watch.”

“M'cold.” Pac complains.

Fit pauses, then offers Pac his arm. “I have my heaters very low so I won't worsen your fever,” he explains, “but you can hold onto my hand if you want.”

He nods, resting his cheek against Fit's hand. It's warm against his freezing skin.

Sleep comes unsteadily, shaken by any tickle in his chest, but it arrives all the same.

Chapter Text

Hi everyone sooooooooo I don't think I'll be finishing this which sucks but I'm at least doing this.

If someone wants to try and continue this fic in my stead you are more than welcome to as long as you show it to me and also if you use some AI you suck ass and should go plant a tree i don't want to see AI bullshit :D

So the whole point of this fic was to make a robot/human romance between Fit and Pac.

As is pretty obvious by the previous chapter, Fit is very much sentient but he doesn't realize it. Neither does Pac but Tubbo has a guess on it. IDK why Tubbo keeps making sentient robots like that he's just build different. But yeah Fit feeling emotions frustrates him because its not part of his coding.

After getting pac back on his feet after catching a bug at the store, they go on a walk through the local dog park in hopes of aleviating some of Pac's paranoia, since he woke up that morning from a Cell nightmare. During this we would see another figure in a white suit but they would be ignored in favor of seeing dogs and Fit was supposed to have a cute scene about butterflies and sunsets.

The next chapter would have been a short one, just Pac finally noticing some of Fits behaviors that don't match up to what he and Tubbo programmed him to do. This chapter would also be the beginning of Mike's trek back home which would make Fit wonder if Pac will need him anymore. This would have been the catalyst for the rest of the story.

Next is finally the confrontation. Pac asks why Fit has been acting so human, and Fit, being the gay dumbass that he is, FINALLY realises that he has free will and emotions. This causes an identity crisis, and, with Pac's encouragement, he heads towards the city to figure himself out alone. Pac is sad as hell of course since thats been his best friend for months and also hes HOT. it's really late when im writing this out so forgive me lol. Anyways as soon as the bus is out of sight Pac gets kidnapped by the Federation oops. My notes say: Pac spots a Federation vehicle down the road that starts up as soon as they are away. he gets disfruta la isla'd.

Fit is absolutely at a loss when he arrives to the city. he's never been alone like this, never thought for himself like this. he struggles to blend in and yet he yearns for contact. he also really misses Pac but convinces himself it's because he was programmed to. He goes to a cat cafe ofc but cant stop thinking about pac like that valentines episode of jimmy neutron.

Waking up in the Federation base, Pac learns that The Federation wants soldiers and, seeing how sophisticated Fit is, they want him to make them, since their own workers are too unpredictable (Mike) or fragile (Chief). I frankly can't remember why they kidnapped him but thats fine lmao, just know they've also got Mike as ransom.

frankly im just gonna copy and paste this part of my notes:
They didnt get him sooner because of the scary dog privileges. they take away his leg. Fit is still trying so hard. He meets a person(?) on a bench feeding the crows and pigeons. He knows Way Too Much and honestly might be a ghost. Fit can't tell. He convinces him to return to Pac. When he turns around to thank him he dissappears so he's left confused on that. Fit finds that Pac has been kidnapped and BOOKS IT to the Fed office with the data that tubbo 'accidentally' put in his database.

He breaks through the Federation offices and wrecks it because hes a very upset and very buff robot that just lost his bf. Along the way he discovers another android like him, although one with less capabilites and free will. aka Cucurucho is a robot. he also has an Axe. There was going to be some cool contrast with Fit's more human and emotion filled fighting style vs. Osito's cold and calculated robotic movements. Theres a little bit of dialog i wrote that isn't great but here:
"Where. Is. Pac."
"Well, aren't you a fascinating piece of machinery. I might have to get some of our engineers here to figure out what youre made of."
"Where is he."
"Hm yes, Pac was it? I assume that's your creator?"
"Pac is my FRIEND."

So yeah he downs cucurucho (losing an arm in the process) and finds Pac, getting him out of his cell. But surprise! Cucurucho is back up and FUCKING MURDERS FIT. THATS RIGHT. Just kidding he's a robot he cant die probably. What actually happens is that cucurucho swings at his head and fucks up his voice box as well as seriously damaging his torso. This completely shuts down Fit and Pac thinks he's dead. So he fully ACTUALLY murders cucurucho with the axe because hes badass like that.

He finds Mike and they escape the facility with the shut down body of Fit.

There's snippets of scenes next, and then Fit wakes up! He learns that Pac and Mike found an abandoned warehouse and have set up shop there. Mike has quit the Feds and Tubbo scraped their records. The warehouse is chume labs of course. Fit learns that he, by all rights, literally died. Pac tells him they did the best they could but his voice box will always have a slight stutter now, and his new arm isn't quite as sophisticated as his other. Fit says that they now match.

I don't actually know what was meant to happen after that but tldr they profess their love and kiss and maybe Mike is there too??? who knooooows

anyways again sorry that this was never finished but I hope my ramblings ease the pain a little.