Crane tossed a handful of popcorn into his mouth as the theater screen flickered with the first episode of Arcane, projected from his own memory.
Midway through the episode, he hit pause with the remote.
The image froze on Silco's face, one eye glowing faintly.
Crane rubbed his forehead. "Silco gave Singed six months. That's what I heard."
He pointed at the frozen image on the screen.
"But then he said the timeline's moved up."
He narrowed his eyes. "So what the hell does that mean?"
He slumped back in his chair and chewed thoughtfully on a kernel.
"I've officially got no clue when canon's supposed to start anymore."
Then he turned to the empty seat beside him.
"What do you think? Am I just missing something obvious? Reading comprehension failure? Temporal distortion? Too much tea?"
With a snap of his fingers, a version of himself—pink-toned, shimmering slightly, and unmistakably smug—plopped into existence on the seat next to him.
The pink Crane crossed one leg over the other and adjusted invisible glasses.
"Oh," he said dryly, "now you want my opinion."
Crane recoiled, frowning in confusion. "What do you mean now? I just popped you into existence!"
He jabbed a finger at him. "You didn't exist until four seconds ago!"
"Semantics," Pinky replied, leaning back in his seat.
Crane huffed. "Just answer the damn question. I need a second opinion."
Pinky gave a thumbs-up. "Fine."
Then, with all the smug authority of someone who hadn't just been born out of nothing, he recited:
"Silco gave Singed six months. Then he said the timeline's moved up. Which means…" He paused dramatically. "We don't know when canon starts."
Crane stared at him.
Pinky shrugged. "That's all I got."
Crane buried his face in his hands. "That's not a second opinion—that's just my opinion. I need another understanding."
"Understanding?" Pinky tilted his head. "My understanding of your understanding is our understanding."
"Anything I could say, you already know. And anything new I learn…"
He trailed off, shrugged again. "Never mind."
He leaned sideways in his seat, scooting closer to Crane, resting his chin lightly on Crane's shoulder.
"You tried to make me different," he said softly.
His hand reached out, lacing fingers with Crane's without resistance.
Pink skin interlocked with red.
"You made me smug. Pink," he murmured, quieter now. "And gave me just enough sarcasm to annoy you."
Crane tilted his head, staring down at their hands—his own, red and rough. Pinky's, soft and… fake.
He let go and pushed pinky away from him.
"You're supposed to help me," Crane muttered.
"I am helping you," Pinky replied. "But your mind is so complex, t—"
"Don't you mean ours?" Crane cut in, raising a brow.
"I thought so too," Pinky said.
"Thought?" Crane echoed, his tone sharpening.
Pinky's voice wavered, smaller now. "But I'm really scared."
His lip trembled. "Hell, I'm terrified."
"I fear the dark. I feardisappearing."
He looked up at Crane, eyes filled with tears. "You don't fear those things. And you never will."
Crane's expression faltered. His brow twitched.
He hadn't expected that.
His eyes widened slightly as the realization set in—and then, with a dry, surprised laugh, he exhaled.
A soft chuckle escaped him, bitter and strange.
"…So that means you can give me an actual second opinion?" Crane asked, not the slightest bit concerned that he'd created another intelligent being inside his own head.
Pinky blinked at him, then nodded. "Okay. I will. Just… don't think me out of existence after."
Crane shrugged, noncommittal.
Pinky turned to the projection screen. "In my opinion, you should start expecting canon when Singed brings a cat into the lab."
Crane raised a brow, grabbed the remote, and rewound the memory. The screen flickered back to the cat.
"That's… not a bad second opinion," Crane muttered. "Good eye, Pinky."
Pinky smiled faintly.
Crane gestured at the seat beside him. "I guess you can stay. I'm watching the rest."
And so they did.
Crane and Pinky sat side by side in the empty theater of Crane's mind, watching his memories of Arcane unfold—from Season One all the way into Season Two.
When the final scene played, when the music swelled and the screen dimmed, Crane leaned back in his chair with a smile.
"That just rejuvenated my memories," he said quietly.
He pushed himself up from the chair and turned to Pinky.
"Sadly, I'm going to have to erase you," he said with a smile. "Actually, not sadly, because I'm not sad."
Pinky smiled too, a single tear sliding down his cheek. "Well… it was worth a shot."
Crane's expression shifted. His brow furrowed. "Why did you do that weird thing?"
Pinky blinked. "Which one?"
"The leaning on my shoulder. The hand thing." Crane gestured vaguely. "That."
"Oh," Pinky said simply. "Fear and lust."
Crane nodded slowly. "What about them?"
"Fear and lust—those are the easiest instincts in you to manipulate."
"My fear?" Crane snapped, incredulous. "I don't fear like you do."
Pinky gave a small, almost sympathetic smile. "That's true. But you fear being afraid more than anything."
Crane hesitated. Then sighed. "…That's true, I suppose."
He waved a hand, shifting the conversation.
"So what—you tried to seduce me? While being me? Just… pink?"
Pinky yawned, stretching lazily. "Well, I had to try something. You're not exactly receptive to conversation."
He made it sound casual, but Crane saw through it. The faint tremble in his limbs. The flicker behind his eyes. Pinky was scared—terrified, even.
Crane stared at him a moment longer. Then, wordlessly, he turned away.
"Okay. Bye-bye," he said with a little wave over his shoulder.
Pinky shot up from his seat. "Wait—don't leave!"
Crane didn't turn around.
He could hear the panic in Pinky's voice now. The desperate scraping of footsteps behind him on the theater floor.
"Please, I don't want to vanish! Don't go yet, just a little longer, please—!"
But it was already fading.
The theater.
The screen.
The chair.
The popcorn.
Pinky's voice became distant, warped like a radio underwater.
Crane's form dissolved upward, pulled like smoke through light.
He left the dream behind.
———————————————
Morning.
Crane's eyes fluttered open. The cold bit into his back, seeping through the thin fabric of his shirt. He lay sprawled across the basement floor, stiff and crooked like a discarded puppet.
A soft chuckle escaped him as he sat up, brushing dust from his shirt with a lazy hand.
"Watch out for the cat," he murmured, repeating it once, then again—like a child repeating a riddle.
The echo of Pinky's opinion clung faintly to his mind, fading like a dream after waking.
He stood, stretched, and made his way into the lab.
Singed stood over a vat of shimmer, his fingers adjusting valves and scribbling notes without looking up.
"So," Crane began, voice chipper, "any new animals to experiment on?"
Singed, without pausing in his work, shook his head. "If you want something new, you'll have to find it yourself."
Crane exhaled a sigh. "Fine."
He tilted his head, watching Singed closely.
There were few people Crane respected. Even fewer he couldn't quite decipher. But that made Singed all the more interesting.
Still… Crane didn't believe in unshakable people. Only delayed reactions.
So he tried something.
"Could you tell me another story about your daughter?" he asked, voice calm, almost offhand.
Singed's hands stilled.
Slowly, deliberately, he turned toward Crane.
"I never told you about my… daughter."
Crane didn't blink.
"Oh?" he said, with the faintest smile. "Must've been a dream."
——————————
I was on a road trip. A long one.
Some stuff in this chapter seems weird.
Because it is.