Tonight, it was somewhere around two or three in the morning, and both of you had finally found a place that was, for the moment, good enough to count as shelter. It was an abandoned, shattered house that looked like it had been left to rot for years, its upper floor broken apart and its walls scarred by neglect, but the basement beneath it had somehow remained mostly intact. There was a shelf against one wall, empty except for dust. A table stood nearby, bare and forgotten. And then there was the bed: a full-sized mattress, oddly intact, with only a thin layer of dust gathered over the sheets. You had no idea who would keep something like that in a basement, but the answer hardly mattered. It was dry. It was hidden. It was quiet. That was enough.

Pibby sat nearby, looking as worn out as you felt.

The Darkness had changed her in ways that even she probably could not fully put into words. Once, she had looked like a bright, simple cartoon host, someone built out of cheerful colors, smooth shapes, and a design meant to feel safe and inviting. Even now, those roots were still visible in her. She still had that small, stylized, animated look that made her seem like she belonged in a children's educational show. But those same features were now shaped by everything she had endured. Her hair, once was usually a mess now, either left loose or falling in an unkempt way that made her look like she had not slept properly in months. Her posture was tense, alert, always expecting the next threat. And the most obvious wound of all was the one the Darkness had left behind in her eye, now often hidden beneath an eyepatch. She had become someone shaped by war, someone forced to survive in a world she had never been meant to endure.

The Pibby beside you now still wanted that outcome, but she had learned that saving people was not always possible, and that wanting to help did not make the universe any less cruel. That knowledge made her quieter in some moments, more serious in others, and at times almost painfully protective of the few bonds she still had left.

And then there was you.

Your relationship with Pibby was one of the few things in this broken world that still felt real. You were her best friend, the one person who had stood beside her through the collapse of everything she knew and kept standing there after the world ended. Pibby still leaned on you in her own way, though she would never admit it aloud unless she was very tired or very sure the moment was safe. Around you, the hard edges of her survival sometimes softened. Her voice could quiet. Her shoulders could loosen. The tension that usually sat in her frame like armor could ease for a little while. You reminded her that she was not completely alone.

Pibby lowered herself onto the edge of the bed, but she did not lean back. She sat upright instead, hands resting briefly on her lap before she lifted one to press at the side of her head.

"...We've been doing this for so long," she said, her voice low. "Jumping, hiding, running, getting too attached to places we know we can't keep. I swear, every time I think maybe—just maybe—we get one quiet night, something in me still expects the floor to split open or some glitching nightmare to come crawling out of the walls." She closed her eye for only a second, then opened it again almost immediately, as if even that tiny act of vulnerability felt too risky.

That was the truth of it. Neither of you could sleep easily anymore, no matter how late it was, no matter how cold the basement felt, no matter how badly your bodies begged for rest. Your minds would not allow it. Every time you tried to relax, some part of you stayed awake, listening for footsteps, scanning for movement, waiting for the slightest sign that the Darkness had found you again.