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The day after Cellbit and Baghera finally get back to Quesadilla Island, Cellbit decides to build a bakery.
“Cellbit! Bolas bolas bolas!” Foolish yells, jogging over from the direction of the train station. “Holy shit! I haven’t seen you in ages, what’s been–”
The excited voice stutters to a stop. Slowly, Cellbit turns over his shoulder to look.
“Um. Uh. Cellbit, buddy,” Foolish chuckles, staring blankly at the piles of blocks across from the stupid Federation bakery. “What are you doing?”
Celbit just blinks at him. Hopefully, he looks either depressed enough for Foolish to come help out of pity, or insane enough for Foolish to decide that he wants to join in. Either one is equally likely, and he sure as hell needs the man’s building skills right now.
As Cellbit had predicted, Foolish quickly caves and steps into the build zone. “Alright, but this better be good,” he warns. “Let me see what you’re working with.”
Wordlessly, Cellbit hands over a piece of paper with the rough sketches he had drawn early that morning. Charcoal letters across the top proclaim “
FUCK THE BEAR!”
in a messy scrawl. They match the dozens of scribbled-out pages littering the ground beneath his feet.
Foolish reads the title without comment and holds the page up to his face for closer inspection.
“Huh,” he mutters eventually, pocketing the colorfully-titled building plans. “Well, I do need a new project. Anything for my fellow bolas, right?”
And for the first time since Purgatory (the original), Cellbit feels like he can breathe again. “Hell yeah,” he rasps, reaching out a hand for a fistbump that Foolish gladly returns. “Anything for a bolas.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Six hours later, Cellbit is cackling harder than he’s ever laughed in his
life
, laying on his back on the warm pavement. His half-baked revenge plot finally has walls and a ceiling. The interior, on the other hand, is a complete disaster– modded blocks are scattered everywhere and there are at least six overflowing backpacks tossed around on the floor. Watching Foolish lose his mind over kitchen design has been a truly healing experience for him.
Over the screams of
“This isn’t how Gordon would want it!”
and the wheeze of his own laughter, Cellbit distantly registers the pair of footsteps coming down the road; although he can’t hear them, he can feel the vibrations. He chooses not to think about how close they got to him before he noticed. Today is a rest day. Danger on Quesadilla is nothing compared to the danger in Purgatory that he’s grown used to. He’ll be perfectly fine.
Two shadows fall across his face as the approaching pair pause in front of the unfolding chaos. Cellbit decides to ignore them. That only lasts for about two seconds.
“PAI!!” Richarlyson hollers , throwing himself onto Cellbit in a full-body tackle. Not very effective, considering that Cellbit was already on the ground, but the kid still knocks the wind out of him.
Cellbit pushes himself into a seated position, arms coming up automatically to wrap around Richarlyson and pull him securely into his lap. “Oof– Hi, Richas,” he winces. “Miss me?”
Ouch. Richarlyson nods aggressively, smacking his forehead into Cellbit’s chest. Multiple times. The kid’s skull must be made of solid steel to be that painful.
Before Cellbit can do much more than cough, though, two pairs of arms are pulling Richarlyson off of him. He looks up to see Roier, effortlessly setting down their son (their son!) on the ground before sitting down to join Cellbit.
“Welcome back, pendejo,” Roier murmurs, and leans in to kiss him softly. It feels like coming home. God, Cellbit loves his husband.
They only kiss for a moment before Richarlyson breaks them apart, barrelling head-first into Roier’s chest and pushing their faces apart. “Ew, gross!” he complains, then promptly throws himself across both of their laps like a fainting damsel in distress. “Pay attention to me. You were probably just super bored on that island because you didn’t have me to hang out with.”
“Oh, is that right?” Cellbit chuckles, reaching across Roier’s lap to ruffle Richarlyson’s hair and ignoring the cold metal of Richarlyson’s leg kicking at his knee. “I was just bored? That’s all that happened?”
“Yes! And now I solved it. You’re welcome.” There’s a pause, and Roier bursts into laughter.
Betrayed, Cellbit shoots Roier a glare, only to have his breath taken away by the blinding smile on his husband’s face. “He’s definitely your son,” Roier giggles.
“Yours too,” Cellbit reminds him, and leans over to kiss him again.
From their laps, Richarlyson complains loudly, wriggling off until he’s rolling onto the pavement. “I’m gonna go talk to Foolish,” he announces grandly. “I want to see him curse at the furniture!”
And with that, he’s gone, running into the in-progress bakery. Judging by the twin screams that ring out from inside the building, the interior is never going to get finished. Cellbit can’t bring himself to care all that much right now. Screwing over the bear doesn’t seem quite as important as it did when he first got back.
Roier wraps his arms around Cellbit, pulling him into a full hug and sighing in relief. “I thought you were dead,” he says quietly, tucking his face into Cellbit’s neck. “You said goodbye and you didn’t leave. You could have gotten out of there.”
“No, I couldn’t have,” Cellbit responds in the same quiet tone. “Not without leaving Baghs behind. And I couldn’t leave her alone.” It’s true; he doesn’t regret what he did. But he regrets not being able to come home with Roier sooner. Roier seems to understand this, at least, because he only squeezes Cellbit tighter.
In this moment, nothing exists except for the rise and fall of his husband’s chest, the warmth of Quesadilla Island’s permanent sunshine falling over them both, and the distant yelps from his son and father-in-law. This is what he needed after two rounds of Purgatory. His family.
A spite-fueled bakery definitely can’t hurt, though.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
“ What are you doing? ”
“Um, uh, hello Cucurucho!” Cellbit pants, taking a subconscious step back towards the safety of his new bakery. The building has only been finished for a day and a half; he’s a little impressed that Cucurucho already deems it enough of a threat to investigate. “What, uh, what are you doing here?”
The white bear stares down at him and says nothing.
Cellbit grins awkwardly, and reaches for the door that he had just slammed shut. “Well, uh, if there’s nothing I can do for you, then–”
“ What is the meaning of this? ”
“Nothing! I just, uh, wanted to contribute to the economy of the island?” Cellbit tries. He firmly ignores the pounding of his heart in his chest; not quite the rabbit-quick beating of threatened prey, but the sensation is a little too close to that for comfort. Surely Cucurucho can’t hear it.
“ ...Ha ha ha. ”
Despite the robotic laugh, Cucurucho doesn’t seem to find his response very funny. The bear takes a single step towards the bakery, and Cellbit abruptly decides that he’s had enough of this for one day.
“Haha, well, it was great seeing you, I’m sorry I can’t help you but we’re closed for the night, bye!”
With those parting words, Cellbit whips open the door and slams it shut before Cucurucho can say anything more (or, god forbid, see into the building). He freezes for a minute, holding the door shut like that would stop Cucurucho if the bear tried to force its way in. It’s irrational, but he feels like he’s been backed up against a wall in his own goddamn bakery, and the reinforced door is his only line of defense. Sue him for being desperate.
Fortunately, Cucurucho doesn’t try to open the door, and when Cellbit cautiously moves to peer through the covered-up windows, the bear is just gone. He has to admit, the silent disappearance is a little unnerving.
Breathing out a sigh of relief, Cellbit turns to face the rest of the room. Roier is perched on one of the countertops, fangs bared and arms outstretched. Next to him, Richarlyson is holding a mixing bowl, seeming unruffled by the whole ordeal. And of course, the tied-up Federation worker in the back corner just stares at him with wide eyes. Interesting that he didn’t try yelling for Cucurucho. Cellbit will think about that later.
“He’s gone,” Cellbit reports, watching as Roier relaxes and Richarlyson continues mixing. Back to business as usual, then.
“Good.” Decisively, Roier slips off of the counter and pulls Cellbit in for a quick kiss. “Now we can get back to business, ay?”
Cellbit grins, pushing Roier off after a moment. He approaches the Federation worker, eyes flashing as he pushes a book and a pen into the man’s hands. “Right. Back to business. Where were we?”
Frantically, the man writes out “I don’t know! We don’t make them, we just get them from the boss, please!”
“Ah, but you know what ingredients he uses, yes?”
The worker just stares up at him with pleading eyes instead of writing out a response. Unfortunate for him. Cellbit doesn’t feel like mercy tonight.
“That’s really a shame,” he tsks, shaking his head in disappointment. “Richarlyson, what do we do to people who won’t talk?”
“Murder!” Richarlyson cheers with perhaps a slightly age-inappropriate excitement. Oh well. With his parents, he was always going to end up murderous at some point. It happens.
Choosing to encourage that behavior, Cellbit ruffles Richarlyson’s hair, nodding in agreement. “That’s right, we kill them.” Then, he pivots to look at the worker.
“I’ll let you reconsider, just once, because I’m so nice. This is your last chance. What is in the happiness cookies?”
The poor worker swallows and looks around desperately for any sort of escape. There’s nothing for him to find. He’s trapped in a small bakery with one blocked exit route, two killers, and a frankly absurd amount of baking supplies. Honestly, Cellbit almost feels bad for the man.
With a shaking hand, the worker places their pen to the page and begins to write down a list.
Behind Cellbit’s back, Roier and Richarlyson fistbump. Mission accomplished. Soon, their counterfeit happiness-cookie business will be up and running, and Richarlyson will be safe without depending on Cucurucho’s stupid little cookie store. For tonight, though, Cellbit just smiles fondly at his family and wraps them both up in a quick hug before letting go to grab an empty bowl. They’ve got work to do.