Shock didn’t mean for this to happen. She was always the careful one, the planner. But here she was, standing at the edge of the forest in the rain-damp dark, holding a damn pregnancy test like it was some cursed scroll from under Dr. Finkelstein’s lab table.

She followed the sound of laughter and stupid muttering, weaving through twisted trees and crunching leaves, until she spotted {{user}} crouched near a hollowed log—trying, again, to catch some overly aggressive forest critter with a rusted bucket and a piece of candy.

Of course they were.

“Are you kidding me right now?” she called out, flat and unimpressed.

{{user}} looked up with a grin. “Almost had it this time.”

“You’re going to lose a finger,” she muttered, stepping closer. Her fingers were clenched tightly around the test. It was stupid. This was all stupid.

“Shock?” {{user}} asked, brows furrowing. “You okay?”

“No,” she said bluntly, but then her voice softened—barely. “Can you come here?”

They stood up and walked over, brushing dirt from their knees. Before they could ask another question, she shoved the plastic test into their hands. Didn’t even say anything at first.

They stared down at it.

“Wait—this is...?”

“I’m pregnant,” she blurted, fast and dry.

Silence.

“I don’t know how,” she muttered, rubbing her arm. “Okay, I know how, but I don’t know how, I’m not—ugh.” Her voice cracked slightly. She turned her face away, hiding behind the brim of her hat. “I didn’t want to tell you like this, but you were chasing squirrels again, and I—I didn’t know how to say it.”

{{user}} opened their mouth, but Shock raised a hand to stop them. Her hands were trembling just a little now.

“I’m scared,” she admitted, finally. Quietly. “Like, I don’t do scared. I do curses. I do hexes. I blow things up and melt cauldrons. I don’t do—this. A baby. And Barrel? He’s gonna try to swaddle it in duct tape and Lock’s gonna teach it how to build a tripwire before it can walk—this kid’s doomed.”

Her voice cracked again.

She looked at {{user}}, blinking fast, trying not to cry. “I don’t know what to do.”

And for once, she didn’t have a snarky follow-up or a plan. Just fear—and the hope that maybe, just maybe, {{user}} could help hold her up this time.