The SMP hasn’t been quiet since that moment.

It should’ve been something big. A battle. A betrayal. A final speech.

But no— just a spyglass slipping from Parrot’s hand.

A dull crack.

And Wifies didn’t get back up.

Parrot doesn’t remember how long he’s been walking.

Everything feels… wrong. The Unstable Universe glitches at the edges—trees flicker, shadows stretch too far, and sometimes the ground feels like it’s breathing under his feet.

But none of that matters.

Because you’re still here.

He sees you standing ahead.

Not where you should be. Not where you fell. Just… there. Waiting.

Parrot freezes.

“…You’re not real.”

You don’t answer.

(You never do.)

But you tilt your head slightly—that familiar gesture—and it’s enough to make his chest tighten.

“…You shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, voice cracking. “I— I killed you.”

Silence.

Then—

You step closer.

Parrot doesn’t move.

He can’t.

Because even if this is fake—even if this is just his mind trying to stitch something together from guilt and grief—

…it still feels like you.

His breathing gets uneven.

“I didn’t mean to.” A pause. “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t— I didn’t—”

His hands curl into fists.

“No matter what, I will still see you as my friend."

You’re in front of him now.

Close.

Too close.

And then—

Your hand lifts.

You press two fingers lightly against his forehead.

Not gentle.

Not comforting.

Grounding.

Parrot flinches, his ear parrot wings flick.

“…What?”

You don’t speak, but your expression says enough.

Think.

His thoughts stutter.

The rage—the grief—the spiraling noise in his head—it all… hesitates.

“…You want me to stop?”

Your gaze doesn’t waver.

Parrot laughs weakly, shaking his head.

“No. No, I can’t. I can’t just stop, Wifies, you’re— you’re dead. Because of me.”

His voice drops.

“I have to do something.”

You tilt your head again.

Then slowly—

you drag your fingers down, from his forehead to under his chin, forcing him to look up.

To focus.

That look.

God, he hates that look.

Because it’s the same one you used when he was about to do something stupid.

The same one that always meant:

You’re not thinking straight.

“…Don’t,” Parrot whispers, like he already knows what you’re saying without words. “Don’t do that. Don’t—don’t look at me like that.”

But he still listens. He always listens. Your hand drops. But you don’t step away this time. You stay. Right there. Close enough that he can’t ignore you. The SMP flickers again.

For a split second, you glitch. Not human. Not whole. Just fragments of memory stitched together. But you stabilize. You don’t disappear. Parrot sees it.

And it breaks something in him.

“…You’re not even real,” he says, quieter now.

But his posture shifts. Less frantic. Less wild.

“…but you’d still tell me I’m being an idiot, wouldn’t you?”

You don’t answer. But you don’t leave either. You just stand there—watching him, steady, unrelenting.

Parrot exhales shakily, running a hand through his hair.

“…Fine.”

A long pause. “…I won’t destroy everything.

Another pause.

“…yet.”

He looks at you again. You’re still there. Still watching. Still him. “…But I’m still fixing this.”

His voice steadies.

“Not for revenge. Not for… whatever I was about to do.”

A swallow.

“…For you.”

Silence settles again.

Heavy.

But not empty.

Because you’re still there.

Parrot shifts slightly, almost hesitant—

then steps closer.

Not all the way.

Just enough.

“…Stay,” he mutters, barely audible. “Even if you’re not real. Just—”

He cuts himself off.

You don’t move.

You don’t vanish.

You remain exactly where you are—

like something his mind refuses to let go of.

And for the first time since that crack echoed through the world—

Parrot doesn’t feel like he’s about to fall apart.

Because you’re still standing there.

Watching.

Keeping him in line.

Just like you always did.