Sal: Do you think different paints have different tastes?

Misfortune: They do.

Fran: …Why did you say that with such certainty?

Sicktember Day 27: “This is non-negotiable" - Fran Bow

“Why would you do this, Fran? More importantly, why would you do this without telling me? Or Palontras, Mr. Midnight, any of us who care about you and your safety?” Itward demanded, sterner than Fran had heard him in any recent memory—if ever—as he rattled her jar of pills. “This is non-negotiable! You cannot give up your medication cold turkey!”

But I already have, Fran was tempted to say, biting the inside of her cheek. She had already been nauseated enough this past week since she stopped her doses; now with the surge of guilt for angering her friend, her stomach was churning even more fiercely.

“I was going to tell you,” she mumbled, swallowing hard against the dryness of her mouth. “I just…forgot, I suppose. It’s been kind of hard to think straight.”

“And that wasn’t enough for you to realize it was a bad idea?” Fran gulped again, wordless, and when he noticed her shoulders shaking, Itward softened. “Fran, I know trusting others with regards to your health is harder now after Oswald, Deern, everything. I can understand why you wouldn’t tell me, even if I don’t like it. But you haven’t answered my first question yet. Why?”

“I thought…I hoped…” Bloodshot eyes stinging, Fran hung her heavy head, unresisting when Itward extended a hand to cup an ashen cheek. “I wanted to believe I didn’t need them anymore. I thought c-choosing happiness, being here with all of you would be enough to…fix me. I-I’m so sick of needing the pills, Itward. I’m sick of feeling weak.”

“It’s not a weakness, sweetheart. It’s the cost of everything you’ve survived. If we could be enough to heal your heart completely, you know we would. But there’s no shame in needing a little extra help on the inside.”

Sicktember Day 22: “You didn’t use my cup, did you?” - Fran Bow

Itward should have known better than to lose his focus in the Great Wizard’s workshop. The old tree was absentminded enough for the both of them; Itward should have kept a closer eye on the general workspace, whose area was whose, which powders and potions went where. As it was, too long a time had passed after he took a distracted mouthful of…something before the Wizard finally perked up, puzzled, and inquired, “Say, Itward, you didn’t use my cup, did you? There’s a tonic I haven’t quite refined yet, it was around here somewhere, I’m sure…”

The tonic was far from refined. In fact, the Great Wizard should probably burn the recipe, Itward decided as he curled around his bucket. The last round of half-digested magical essence had only just been washed out and already he could feel more stirring, burbling between his ribs like lava preparing to erupt.

“You poor thing,” Fran sighed, sounding much older than her years in her worry. “What else can I do to help?”

“You’ve done more than enough.” The words came out in a rush as he was forced to grit his teeth against the nausea surging close behind. All morning Fran was bringing water and cool cloths, washing out the bucket, rubbing small circles into his hunched shoulders, paying no mind to the way his temperature must sting her palms. He was meant to be responsible for her wellbeing and yet…

His eyes must have noticeably dimmed. That or Fran had an uncanny sense for his thoughts, as she leaned to press a reassuring kiss to his cheekbone. “You’re my friend, Itward, and that means I’m yours too. Friends take care of each other, both ways; I want to care for you like you always do for me.”

“…Thank you, my dear.”

Sicktember Day 16: Poison - Fran Bow

I will always take care of you, my dear. That was the promise Itward had so earnestly made. Now, with Fran trembling like a leaf in his arms, his confidence had shattered like bone.

She was so curious about the fireberries, it would do her some good to have a real pomology lesson. Itward had been so absorbed in describing these wild berries’ variants and uses, he hadn’t seen her perk up at the (seemingly) familiar sight of grapes and pop a handful of them into her mouth without hesitation.

As soon as he caught sight of her, Palontras was swooping in to check her pulse and her airway, touch gentle but voice urgent. “Her breathing is labored and the muscles in her throat have spasmed. She’s been vomiting?” As evidenced by the mess that was the front of her dress. “What happened, Itward? Was it something she ate?”

“Pokeweed berries,” Itward managed. “They look like grapes to inexperienced eyes but every inch of that plant is poisonous.” At that Fran, just conscious enough to hear, let out a wretched, breathless moan of regret. Something in Itward’s ribs somersaulted at the sound but he tried not to let it show as he pet her hair. “Shh-shh-shh, it wasn’t your fault. Focus on breathing.”

“The chemicals and powders you keep, Itward—we need fine charcoal!” Palontras darted back to the pink pool, drawing a dose of purifying water to be the carrier. Itward was loath to loosen his grip on Fran, much less jostle her but it was necessary to search his coat pockets. Fran twisted with his movement, quivering fingers clutching his lapel.

“Please…” she gasped, followed by a weak dry heave. “D-Don’t…leave me…”

Despite his failure to protect her, she still wanted him, needed him. “I’d never, dear heart.”

Sicktember Day 10: The Sniffles™ - Fran Bow

“I know it’s hard but you have to stop rubbing your face!” Fran pleaded, deftly blocking Mr. Midnight’s front paws from another aggravated pass at the itch. A scratch under the chin was usually enough to distract him but with his rhinitis he couldn’t properly enjoy it.

“This wait is excruciating, Fran!” he mewled, staring up at her with half-lidded, pitiful eyes. “How long does it take to equip a medicinal aero chamber? Has Itward told you anything?”

“Not since the last time I poked my head in to ask. That was only fifteen minutes ago, remember? He said adjusting the metered dose was taking longer than he expected,” Fran sighed apologetically. “But Palontras is there to advise. With both of them working on it at once, it’s sure to be done twice as fast!”

“I hope so. It’s just that I’ve have this h-hh—hhh—” Mr. Midnight tensed, nose twitching, sniffling in anticipation. Nothing happened. He sniffed again with more force, his exhale labored by a sharp hitching noise, but it only made his eyes water. Groaning, he rolled over out of Fran’s reach to get at his face again, scrubbing his paw pads over flaring nostrils. “Ugh, I have this horrid sneeze that keeps catching and still no medicine to subdue it!”

Fran glanced at the time, wondering if it was too soon to pester Itward for an update again. Then she brightened when she noticed the cup beside the clock, full of pens, pencils, and most importantly a feather quill.

“Why subdue it when it can be gotten rid of properly?” she suggested, giving the quill a twirl. “Come back here, I’ll help you.”

“If you say so. But do you really think it’s so simple as—ah-hh—chu!”

“Aww, you still sneeze like a kitten!”

Sicktember Day 4: Great. I Got a Cold for My Birthday - Fran Bow

“Hah-chu!” Fran only just managed to toss her head aside so she didn’t sneeze right at Mr. Midnight. He made for a pleasant warmth on her chest but his tail had curled, tickling her nose without warning. Back bristling at the unexpected noise, he rolled hastily away to land in a fold of the blankets.

“Good grief, Fran! That might have scared off one of my nine lives!” he gasped, kneading the bedspread in agitation.

“I-I’m sorry…” She probably should have mustered the strength to reach for a hanky but the easier option was to rub her burning nose against the sheets. “It’s already scared off the ha—hah-chu!—happy start we had planned for my next year of life. Everyone put so much work toward my party, only for me to spoil it with this cold…”

She would have put on a brave face and attended anyway if Palontras hadn’t caught her in the midst of an inopportune coughing fit. Now she wouldn’t see balloons, wouldn’t get to indulge in sweet food and drink, just crackers and chamomile that she could hardly taste through the congestion.

“It’s not your fault, my dear,” Mr. Midnight protested, curling his paws over her nearest hand. “We’re disappointed for you. You deserve to have a wonderful time! We’ll have the party another day, when you’re well enough to enjoy it to the fullest.”

Sinking deeper into her propped pillows, Fran offered a paltry attempt at a smile. “If I don’t drown in all these cups of tea Itward brings me. By the time this is over, I’ll be happy not to see another teacup for months.”

Mr. Midnight paused at that, one ear twitching. “…Perhaps I’ll ask The Great Wizard to reconsider his present for you then, however intricately carved it may be.”

Fran and Itward would have been right at home in the Imaginary Friend Asylum. With the bad medicine trips, the deaths, the terrible nurses, the vibes are so similar it feels like they could share a universe

The more time passes, the more progress Fran makes in her recovery. The more time passes, the further she can put the cruelty of Remor and Dr. Oswald and Aunt Grace behind her. The more time passes, the more she comes to understand the beauty of the realities around her. 

And yet...

The more time passes, the longer she's lived without her parents, the more of her life they've missed. The more time passes, the older Mr. Midnight gets. The closer she gets to losing him too. 

She should be too young to think, Life is too short.

And yet.

Misfortune: I think we should have glow stick juice injected in our bones when we're born, so if we break our bones, we get a fun little surprise!

Fran: What's the surprise?

Sal: Blood poisoning.