Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A bitter wind howls through the bare tree branches, carrying the scent of frost and decay. It whispers of forgotten memories and dreams, melancholic, in the hearts of those who listen. Should it send a chill into my rusting bones, stinging my eye? May it be that, but it can’t stop my watch; our involvement in this could be beneficial. Please don’t take this to heart; I'm just doing my job. You already gave up your happiness, I’m not giving up mine. The prosperity of this place is what makes me feel needed; we are everywhere— in their discussions and in their minds—yet,

unlike me ,

There is nothing going for you anymore.”

…

“Wake up”

...

Dashing through the dungeon, Bad’s footsteps echo against the weathered stone walls. His heart races with the rhythm of his hurried breaths, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he navigates through the cold magenta corridors.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, Dapper, go to the entrance. Please, Dapper, go to the entrance!" He cries out in panic, his heart gripped, his breaths ragged and desperate, as he watches his son fall to the ground.

"DAPPER, crawl to the entrance, you need to crawl to the entrance!" He bellows, his voice cracking with fear and his hands reaching out as if to pull his son to safety.

Exhausted, he exhales, sobbing, his body racked with sobs. "Okay, run to the entrance; YOU HAVE TO CRAWL."

“DAPPER, PLEASE”

…

“Gosh, Dapper Run, come on, come here. Okay, listen, all right, listen... Fudge, we don't have anything, we don't have your crystal,” he implores, holding his son even closer.

“We need to be careful,” his voice trembling.

He softens his tone while trying to calm a little egg he cradled near him.

“Okay, listen, it's not your fault, okay? Okay, listen, we're kind of vulnerable right now, okay? Okay, it's not your fault, all right?” 

…

..

.

At first, the dream is vivid, each detail sharp and defined, as if painted with the finest red brushstrokes. The previously bloody scenes fade away, leaving a vast white space that is cold, like a blank canvas waiting for the mind to fill it.

There wasn't a scream from him, just a silent, hollow stare directed at the cracked ceiling above. His eyes glistened, slightly watery, reflecting the dim light filtering into the room. If he could describe what he felt at this moment in time, he would reply with otter numbness that he felt like he feels every morning—nothing. Dreams are dreams; you had plenty, and you always let them go, yet somehow, his hands were still shaking. And where he woke up didn’t make it any better. His surroundings made it obvious about the quality of rest he had received, or rather, the lack thereof.

The room, if it could be called that, was a sterile expanse of white walls that seemed to amplify the sense of emptiness and absolute office-esque dread. Against one wall sat an empty bathtub, now repurposed for Bad as an improbable bed. He now sat there, soaked wet, next to a lonely coffee machine, a robe hung limply from a hook, a chest, and a block of moss, cradling a withering rose.

"Good morning."

The voice jolted Bad a tiny bit. He turned his head slowly, ignoring the stiffness in his neck, setting his gaze on a figure perched in his chair, a mug clasped in their hands with an engraving of "Best Boss" written on it with a red marker. The figure rose from the chair, a benign smile playing at the corners of their lips as they extended a tiny white book.

"Did you sleep well? :) "

Relief washed over Bad as recognition dawned upon him: "Oh my goodness, it's just you, Cucurucho.".

With a resigned sigh, he replied, "Good morning to you too, Roomie." Readjusting his posture, so he seemed more composed in front of the white bear.

"I slept alright; I'm just very confused… Why did I wake up here? I mean— it’s not the worst place I've slept in, bathtub, soggy and stiff. What am I doing here?”

Cucurucho's hand extended once more, offering yet another book to Bad. "Good to hear you are adequate."

"You had some injuries from last night that desperately needed to be treated, which, surprise, you didn't, instead opting for drinking the healing potions in the backpack near your village hall," Cucurucho explained, a sense of mild annoyance creeping into the book's tone. "Then you started bickering with 'Emotional Support' and tried cooking something unidentified before presumably passing out near eggs' beds." Cucurucho met Bad’s gaze. Bad winced, both from the recollection of the injuries he had sustained and also from the slight embarrassment of letting himself be seen that way. Cucurucho continued his boasting.

"I decided that a bathtub would be at least sufficient for a floor. It also allowed me to clean and examine some of the damage dealt. "

        Despite the lingering embarrassment gnawing at his pride, Bad refused to let it show, not allowing a little stumble to ruin his reputation in front of his bud. Pushing himself out of the bathtub with a slight relief, he stood on unsteady legs, his muscles protesting the awkward position they had been forced into throughout the night. He stretched his arms overhead, feeling the satisfying crackle of his spine realigning itself.

"Ooooohh, big stretch," he murmured, “Yep, yep, yep. I guess you can call my sleeping place… ‘A Bath-Nap’ :D”

“...” Cucurucho stood with a deadpan expression.

“Get it :D, get it? It’s because I took a nap in the bathtub! Get it? :D”

“...” Cucurucho is still standing with a deadpan expression.

Bad stood awkwardly silent for a second before chuckling to himself, quietly saying to himself, "Oh, Bad, you've still got it. He hee" Turning to a very unimpressed Cucurucho.

"Last night was… an experience. I guess I'm just feeling a tiny bit reckless with Pomme and Dapper not waking up.  I end up just walking around alone, and I guess I've been out of it for a while. But that is kind of obvious; I miss my little guys."

When Bad finally fell silent, Cucurucho spoke, his voice flat and devoid of inflection. "Interesting," he remarked, his tone betraying nothing of the thoughts swirling in his mind. There was no hint of amusement or irritation in his words, only a quiet acceptance of the absurdity of the situation.

Cucurucho quickly moved away from the tub as he set the mug down on the table with a soft clink. The aroma of tea mingled with the faint scent of parchment. He gathered the scattered papers into a neat stack, arranging them in a single file, grabbed a book, and with the scratch of a quill against paper, he began to write down some passages and notations, his hands moving swiftly across the page in fluid strokes. As he wrote, Cucurucho shot quick glances at Bad, their gaze, with some unspoken tension that lingered between them.

"You're awfully nice today." Bad remarked, skeptical of the sudden altruistic wish to check up on him; his wounds didn’t bother him, so why should they bother his roommate? I mean, if we’re being honest here, Cucurucho clearly wasn’t  bothered enough for Bad to be put in a comfortable bed, but still, it was odd that he checked on him.

"I would've preferred to stay by the side of Dapper and Pomme during the night."

“Wounds of any kind need to be treated, big or small. I care for the island and its residents, especially if the residents don’t care for themselves :).”

“WHAaaa pshhhhh, yeaaa whatever, I care for myself plenty. I know what I can take. Thank you very much, sir. Your help will only increase the chances of me getting scoliosis. You could’ve at least put me on the proper bed. You have a cyan COUCH on the other side of this room.”

He hands over a book and quill, "Well, unfortunately for both of us, you couldn’t get hurt in a convenient ‘hygienic’ way of being entirely covered by various matters. And by matter, I mean the previously mentioned potions, dirt, and blood, both yours and of other origins, which do pique a slight interest in me in what you were getting up to while I was working. I have high respect for you, Mr. Halo; in fact, I wouldn’t let you get into your bed in that state; otherwise, from that point on, we would have to set a bed on fire and just try again.”

"Yeeaah alright… Thanks, I guess.  But if you think that'll help you convince me to let you keep the tigers and crocodiles, you're crazy. You’re lucky I don’t charge rent here." Bad added with a hint of defiance in his voice.

Cucurucho paused in their writing, slightly  amused at Bad's stubbornness. "Well, you’re no better; your chickens are a constant strain on my work productivity. And as for the payment, the Federation declined the agreement about rent pay here, so I don’t understand the stubbornness. In the perfect world, you should've paid us instead. :)”  

 "PAY YOU?!?!” Bad’s voice became just a tiny bit high pitched. "Oh, that’s rich of you. Pffff, sir, you have lost your marbles. What do you mean to pay you? For what? For putting up your pictures on every wall of this house? I mean, I don’t mind if you do; you are rather photogenic, but it’s not something I generally wanted.”

He makes a slight pause, wanting to add something to that statement but cutting himself off before doing so. “ When we went on a date, it was organized by me (and Tubbo); when you needed pictures of the old spawn, guess who was right outside your door; that’s right, ME! (and Tubbo)” He puffs up his chest a tiny bit, somewhat saying that with overexaggerated pride.

“I do everything around here! While you just move in here, all fancy shmancy, put your stuff here, then take it all out, then put it all back, then you take it all out again. At first, I thought you had moved out, and I’ll admit, maaaaybbee I was slightly sad when you did. BUT THEN you moved in again, and you asked me to arrange dinner for you. That’s no way you treat a roommate. And ‘I’ need to pay you? Phffff-” He dramatically exhales, covering his face with one hand, awaiting, at the very least, some sort of reaction, only to be met with a blank stare from the white bear, clearly not amused at this act.

“Are you done?”

"No, I can keep going, actually! I have a lot to say. You are never at home; you never do the laundry; you never cook breakfast-”

“I don’t need breakfast.”

"Well, I do! Pomme or Dapper are sleeping if you haven’t noticed, and they usually cook for me. I haven’t eaten properly in 3 days.”

“Cook then”

“I’m not allowed near the kitchen supplies; Dapper said so.“

“Then just eat the food raw.”

“But I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“I want a French breakfast. Pomme used to serve it to me with the tastiest French people.“

“Cook the French breakfast, then, Mr. Halo.”

“I’m not allowed, Cucurucho; I'M NOT ALLOWED!!”

“The federation has had to bear witness to you eating like you have free healthcare from the moment heavens threw you out; this shouldn't be the craziest option for you if you haven’t eaten. ”

“Hee hee, ‘bear’. I mean, and so what.  You weren’t in heaven when that happened, were you? You’re a crazy white bear; you could’ve lived on an iceberg for all your life, but you moved here instead. It's nice and cozy. I mean, you get, sometimes you just want to be treated nicely; is that too much to ask?”

Cucurucho flips a couple pages in front of his original writings, charting a quick response on a separate page, before preemptively ripping it out and giving it to Bad.  

“The taste of heaven is something that, contrary to a popular belief, I’m familiar with, and as dramatic and pathetic as your response is, I do understand a part of what you are saying. Although I still would’ve been happier with being more respected around here, any money donation would prove beneficial to the Federation, and so I do try to incentivize the islanders to be more courteous with us, especially since our job is to help.”

        “Wait. That’s your job?”

        “Yes. Yes, it is. There are still many issues on the island. My task is to keep the residents happy. I have to keep them happy.”

"Ahhh, I get it. Well, if you’re such a great peacekeeper and caretaker, cook breakfast then.”

        “What.”

        “Help me cook. If you’re such a helper to the residents, you can help me with my food problem. I usually can feed myself whatever; it’s just that Pomme and Dapper liked to constantly remind me to eat only what is mine and not make myself public enemy number 1, but sadly, unless I get my savory treats, I guess I’ll have to make do by the nearby farm over at FOBO. There are only two residents with functioning arms to hold pitchforks, so I feel like I have a good chance to outrun them.”

        “What is that supposed to mean?”

        “You know what I mean”

        “I really don’t, Mr. Halo” With a weary sigh, Cucurucho turned away as he felt finished surveying the confusing man before him. He started walking to the door.

        “Maybe we can cook together?”

        “...”   

        “Maybe I can shop for the ingredients? I’ll prepare everything; it’s just that I’m not going to be near the stove.”

        “...”

        “Please..?”

        Cucurucho paused for a bit. He stood in place, then turned his head around as Bad met his gaze.

        “Pretty please? With a cherry on top?”

        “Fine…”

Chapter Text

As they made their way towards the kitchen, Cucurucho couldn't help but notice the state of Bad's attire. Halting just before the threshold of the office, detaining Bad a bit.

"Are you comfortable in those clothes?" Cucurucho asked sarcastically.

Bad glanced down at himself, soaking wet clothes and red bandages peeking out from beneath the damp fabric, emitting a faint odor of mildew.
Cucurucho extended a book and quill towards Bad. "You're wet. If you walk out like that into the kitchen, you'll damage the wooden flooring. Go change." Cucurucho instructed firmly.

“The floors can handle it; I'll be fine.” Bad yelped.

Yet Bad's protestations were cut short by Cucurucho's somewhat terrifying stare. With a defeated sigh, Bad relented, casting one last glance at his attire before scurrying off to his storage system to change.

As Bad disappeared from view, Cucurucho couldn't help but chuckle softly to himself, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. He shook his head in amusement. Resuming his journey to the kitchen, Cucurucho donned an apron and began rummaging through the cabinets. His fingers brushed against a thick cookbook, pausing at a recipe for croissants. He couldn't help but take an interest in the handwritten notes scrawled in blue ink.

"The Best Croissants Ever Created- made by Pomme, written down by Dapper >:3"

“2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1 teaspoon salt
2 1/4 teaspoons instant yeast
1 cup of warm milk
1 cup unsalted butter, chilled
1 egg, beaten.”

He took out the scribbled page of the book. Adjusting his apron with a quick flick of his wrist, he glanced around the cozy kitchen, slowly making his way towards the storage system, his steps echoing softly against the tiled floor. As Cucurucho made his way to the storage system, he glanced down at the welcome mat with the words "Welcome BB" embroidered on it. Undeterred, Cucurucho decided to break through the reinforced blocks. Before he could make a move, a piercing shriek echoed from within.

"Wait, don't come in!" Bad's panicked voice rang out, halting Cucurucho in his tracks.

Perplexed, Cucurucho hesitated, his curiosity piqued by Bad's sudden outburst.

"Why?"

"I, uh, am still changing. I'm having a bit of trouble with my outfit," Bad replied sheepishly, with a slight embarrassment in his voice.

"Why?" Cucurucho pressed.

"I ran out of outfits. I mean, I have some clothes that do fit me, but I don’t think I’m willing to wear them," Bad confessed. “I mean, why do I have an Elsa outfit? What is this?!?”
Bad scoured through his inventory panel, his voice growing slightly quieter as he muttered to himself before exclaiming, "AHA! This is something I can work with! Hold on"
With a triumphant exclamation, Cucurucho sees this as a sight to break through the rest of the reinforced blocks, finally seeing Bad emerge with a mismatched ensemble of pajama pants, a bathrobe, pink slippers, and a Hawaiian shirt. Cucurucho stood there dumbfounded, although a slight tingling of amusement flickered across his mind while staring at the odd demon man.
"Ah, there you are." Bad exclaimed, "You could've waited outside, but sure, break in," he remarked with a slight grumble.

“Ha ha ha.”

"So, what do we need?" Bad quipped, quickly seizing the scribbled page from Cucurucho's hand and quickly glancing over it, stopping for a moment then moving swiftly as he gathered the necessary ingredients for his breakfast out of the inventory panel and bustling out of the room with haste. Cucurucho with his classic smile following behind.

…

"Alright, now we can finally start. I'll follow your lead," Bad said eagerly.

"Good," Cucurucho replied, his tone calm and composed as he handed Bad another note. "I'll read the recipe out and instruct you on what you'll do. Understood?"

"Got it."

Cucurucho began to recite the steps; his voice, although robotic, was clear and precise as he guided Bad through the intricate process of crafting the perfect croissants.

"First, we must gather the ingredients: flour, sugar, salt, and yeast," Cucurucho instructed, his tone unwaveringly clear. Bad, fumbling with measuring cups, attempted to follow along, occasionally veering off course, yet lucky for both of them, Cucurucho was a steadfast guide, intervening whenever necessary to ensure accuracy prevailed amidst the chaos of Bad's attempts.

"Knead the dough until it's supple," Cucurucho directed, his metallic gaze fixed on Bad's hands as they clumsily worked the mixture. Under the robot's watchful eye, Bad gradually began to find rhythm, his movements aligning with Cucurucho's instructions.

"Allow the dough to rest," Cucurucho continued, as they progressed through each phase Together, they started to create something strangely beautiful: destructive tendencies in Bad’s cooking and Cucurucho's efficiency. You wouldn't think those would match but you’d be surprised, yet something was troubling the demon. As Bad complied, he gradually grew quiet, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

"Shape the croissants," Cucurucho guided, noticing Bad's gaze fixed on a paper on the other side of the counter that he had been reading from. He repeated the instruction, slowly approaching Bad as he remained lost in thought.

“Mr. Halo?” Cucurucho's inquiry broke the silence, prompting Bad to snap out of his reverie.

“Oh. Sorry. I got a little distracted,” Bad murmured.

There was a moment of quiet between them, before Bad eventually opened up. “For this recipe, Dapper wrote it down. I miss Dapper. I miss Pomme. I miss them so much. They’re so talented, my little guys,” he confessed.

Cucurucho remained silent, his metallic gaze fixating as Bad continued. "You know, it’s kind of funny that we are doing this stuff together. I wouldn’t take you for a type that would help out a roomie. Why didn’t you do it before?”

Cucurucho chose not to answer, retreating to where he had been reading before.

"Please, shape the croissants," he urged, redirecting their focus to the task at hand.

“You really like avoiding answering my questions, huh? I won’t pry, but I just want to let you know I’m... I'm kind of glad you’ve chosen this recipe. Thank you for being here; I like having your company,” Bad expressed, a sense of gratitude underlying his words.

Cucurucho's ears perked up with slight interest in the unexpected sentiment. “Are you alright?” he inquired, sensing the shift in Bad's mood.
“Yeah, I’m good,” Bad reassured him, though his voice betrayed a hint of vulnerability.

Without further ado, Cucurucho decided to take over the croissant-making process, pushing himself closer to Bad as they worked together in silence, each lost in their own thoughts yet finding solace in each other's company.

"Let them proof," Cucurucho prompted, as they waited for the dough to undergo its final transformation. Time seemed to stretch as they stood side by side, in their anticipation of the delicious treat that’ll reward their waiting, with the warmth of the oven embracing them.

"Enjoy," Cucurucho declared with a smile. "They are best enjoyed fresh from the oven with a cup of coffee or tea. Bon appétit!"

…

Bad stood in the kitchen, a mixture of pride and disbelief evident on his face as he gazed at the freshly baked croissants cooling on the countertop. He couldn't quite believe that he, with the help of his friend Cucurucho, had managed to create such delectable treats.

Cucurucho, ever the diligent assistant, had guided Bad through every step of the process with unwavering restraint in not leaving him and tolerating his antics, and that is something worth acknowledging; many folks back before this island were not as… patient with him. I mean It’s their loss to be fair, who wouldn’t want to spend time with such a… kind, and calm…and collected soul. Well sucks for them. At least Cucu knows who to hang out with, am I right?

Despite Bad's initial clumsiness, he had gradually grown more confident under Cucurucho's guidance.
As they sat together, savoring the golden-brown croissants they had labored over, a moment of levity broke through the atmosphere. Cucurucho, ever the perfectionist, inquired about their creation. It was a stark contrast to the heaviness that had enveloped Bad earlier this morning, just moments before, a brief respite from the weight of his nightmare.

The tension of the nightmare still lingered in the air, but Bad tried to keep his cool.

"What do you think?" he asked, curious.

"They're amazing!" Bad exclaimed with genuine surprise, taking another bite of the buttery pastry. "I never would have thought I could make something like this. These croissants are 'dough-lightful'!" Bad replied with a tiny chuckle, yet unexpectedly, it was met with a response.

Cucurucho started to laugh.

It was a moment of vulnerability, one that caught Bad off guard. He didn’t expect that a bad baking pun would be the thing to break the bear's stoic demeanor. Cucurucho always laughs at stuff, that’s a no-brainer, but this laugh was oddly deeper? He heard his voice this low once in his life, and that was when he was freshly reborn and “new” to the island, the time he was in Cucurcho’s office and he was asked if he was ok.

Cucurucho's laughter, though mechanical in nature, this time carried a slight warmth to it. It was as if the laughter was more than just a response to a joke; like tension being released from his metal jaw, a fleeting moment of joy shared between them. And as Cucurucho chuckled, his eyes sparkled with a hint of affection. A brief one, but the one Bad took notice of.

In that moment, amidst the crumbs of croissants, Bad felt a surge of fondness for the robotic polar bear sitting across from him. He found himself staring less at the croissant and more at the bear, with a slight smile creeping up on him as the pit of his stomach felt lighter and lighter as he did. And as Bad allowed himself to bask in this funny feeling, he couldn’t help but stare in the direction of his kids’ room. The pit in his stomach became even deeper.

…

As Cucurucho simmered down, Bad's gaze held his mechanical eyes. Now, the smile on Bad's lips was different. It had a hint of sadness. He went on about eating, and Bad's thoughts ran away with him, their words tumbling out in a stream of consciousness.

"I know we don't always see eye to eye," Bad’s voice soft yet tinged with emotion, "but I can't help but wonder why you treat me differently. It's... odd."

He thought over the moments he had spent with Cucurucho, ones where they had been distant but somehow connected.

“Whenever I see you, I remember that moment when we were having a date that one time, even if it wasn’t elegant or very pretty, or the table was made out of two much smaller tables, and our entertainment was getting beat up while we ate Dino nuggies.”

The tone of Bad's voice grew solemn.
“Feelings overshadow each other. Any fear I had when I first arrived on this island was overshadowed when I finally had a family. I don’t remember much of that time, just bits and pieces. But I knew I was needed, and that drove me to strive for more, and my hunger calmed down.
Now, everything I’ve done feels pointless, and the hunger's back, stronger than ever. If I can't have my eggs back, I don't know what I’ll do with myself. I’ve said it over and over again, but... They’re not waking up.

I’ve tried everything: their favorite songs, games, promises of adventures... some nights, I press my ears against their shells, hoping to hear a heartbeat. I know it doesn’t work like that, but my mind goes to the worst possible conclusion.”

His voice quivered as he spoke.
"Now everything feels pointless," Bad muttered, his voice thick with despair. "I feel empty, just like I am every time I start anew."
His words were unsteady as he spoke of Dapper and Pomme, laying comatose.

"They're not waking up," Bad said quietly. "I don't know how to feel. I can't feel anything but creeping dread with every passing day."

"But I couldn't thank you before for being there when I was stepping lower and lower into the emotional abyss. So I wanted to thank you now."

As Bad fell silent, the kitchen rang out with more deafening stillness.

…

Cucurucho's hand extended, hesitating briefly before finding its place on Bad's shoulder.

His gaze, though lacking in expressiveness, met Bad's. Quietness prevailed, yet every ounce of Cucurucho's being seemed to radiate warmth.
In an attempt to calm the demon down, Cucurucho tried to provide the closest thing he could to a heartfelt hug… without actually fully touching him, seemingly not to press on his wounds from last night.

Confusion flickered across Bad's face, replaced by surprise and then realization as he understood what Cucurucho had done.
Despite lacking the ability to express emotions in the conventional sense, Cucurucho had found a way to offer Bad comfort by providing warmth through heating pads on his paws and heating up his shoulders?

“This.. feels nice.” Bad quietly mumbled. “Why are you doing this?”

“Getting warm can often have a calming effect on a person. This is because warmth can trigger physiological responses in the body that promote relaxation. When you're warm, your muscles tend to relax and your blood vessels dilate, which can help to lower blood pressure and reduce feelings of tension or stress. Your shoulders looked a bit tense.”

“Do you have these heat pads only on your paws?”

“To be more comfortable with the touch of the islanders, I have these packed all around my body. I usually turn them off so as not to overheat my system, but at the current moment they’re all in use.”
Without a word, Bad pulled Cucurucho into a hug, seeking more of that warmth.

Cucurucho felt a sudden rush of heat reciprocate from the unexpected embrace. His mechanical heart seemed to skip a beat as Bad pulled him into the hug, catching him completely off guard.
For a moment, Cucurucho was frozen, his processors whirring as he processed the sudden shift in their interaction. One could say that Cucurucho really can’t feel emotions, and you have a right to think that, but somehow, in this twist of events, the bear stood in shock—flustered, some would say. He blinks rapidly as his internal systems work overtime to make sense of the situation. Cucurucho felt like overheating.

Allowing himself to slightly lean into the demon. In a true sense of not being emotionally unable to reciprocate the hug, Cucurucho awkwardly hovered his hands in the air before tentatively settling them on Bad's back, a gesture meant to offer what comfort he could in return. His paws were twitching a bit.

Cucurucho couldn't help but feel a fleeting, strange stirring deep within him: puzzlement. His mechanical frame seemed to soften ever so slightly, his rigid outer giving way to the intimacy of the moment, hesitant in his touch. Cucurucho felt a confluence of sensations that swept over his circuits: confusion. It was as though every circuit within him was alive; his system noted these subtle changes in temperature and pressure, which were recorded by his sensors, providing him with additional depth of understanding of this new feeling. It was a moment where he surrendered, letting himself be caressed by the warmth and closeness of the embrace.

For a fleeting moment, Cucurucho felt more alive than he had in years, his mechanical heartbeat echoing the rhythm of Bad's own heart.