Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“‘I don’t really think Evil is heartless.’” - Bear Nuts, p. 878

“No, Mommy! I wanna stay! I don’t wanna go home!”

The sound of children screaming was a hallmark of closing time at the Discount Zoo. This was especially true on days like this, when the sky was clear, the weather warm but not too warm, and schools were on summer vacation, leaving parents and children with seemingly all the time in the world to scope out Canada’s most irrelevant landmark since the blackhead on Maryann from Edmonton’s nose. As for the zoo’s inhabitants, their feelings on the matter were very much the same as Mommy’s: it was time for everyone to go away and leave the animals be. But some children were not as willing to relent as others. Few could say they hadn’t seen it. Wherever you are in the world, there is no shortage of children who want what they want and want it now. Unfortunately for both man and beast, those children happen to be the target demo for the Discount Zoo. The animals behaved as docile and non-sapient as they could, unceremoniously trudging to their respective caves and burrows - both because they hoped to bore the kid into capitulation, and because the day had been long and they had, once again, grown fed up with performing.

Evil, on the other hand, never had been one to go along with the crowd.

“Look at me, little boy! Yoo-hoo! Over here!” Evil called out, hooting and hollering and jumping about. The little boy screamed louder and kept on tugging at his mother’s shirt. “Hey! Over here! Don’t you want to be my best friend?” Evil laughed, freely and uproariously, knowing very well that his stunts were being drowned out by all the shouting. He threw in a Macarena as the little boy once again looked his way. After that performance, the boy had lain himself flat on the asphalt like a corpse, screaming until he was red in the face and refusing to get up. The other animals had picked up on this and were glaring in the direction of the bear exhibit, for they knew it to be the source of most mayhem at the zoo - but Evil paid this no mind as he continued to laugh, shout and dance.

“Hey, kid! You know people throw candy in here all the time? I can give you some!”

“Want to get out of school? I hear those SATs are tough! Why don’t you join us and be a bear instead?”

“Hey, kid! Fairies enchanted me to give me a voice! Come here and I’ll grant you one wish!”

Mommy was at her wits’ end, the animals were furious, and Evil laughed so hard he was scarcely able to stand.

“Hey! Hey! Kevin! Holy crap, he looked up! I didn’t even know that was his name! Are you seeing this?”

By this point, Prozac had marched on out of the cave, the other bears not far behind and eager to see a piece of the carnage. “No, Evil, I am not ‘seeing this!’ In fact, I am refusing to validate any of this by looking!”

“And I’m refusing to validate any of that by listening,” Evil replied with a smirk.

“Evil! You are walking a very thin tightrope! How can you do all that in plain sight? Haven’t you learned anything from the snowcone incident?” Prozac was sure that that would get through to him.

“Sure have! I learned that I can beat a clown in a fight! Just like I’m doing right now!” At that remark, Evil let out a hollering laugh.

Thinking back to the horror show that was Tanked’s period of withdrawal coupled with the stress of the situation at hand compelled Prozac to take a dose of mood enhancers. At the same time, Evil continued to laugh at his own joke, bringing the argument to a brief recess.

“EVIL!” Gay’s voice projected out from inside the bears’ cave. “WHAT DID YOU DO?”

Evil lurched upward almost immediately. He had stopped laughing, but his expression was one of bright-eyed excitement. “Aw, man! I forgot about that!” He exclaimed, rushing into the cave as fast as his legs could take him.

When he arrived in the living room, Evil saw that all the bears had assembled. They didn’t look happy.

“There you are!” Gay said, exasperated. “Would you care to explain what’s going on with the TV?”

Evil turned to face the television. He figured the answer was pretty obvious.

“Looks like a Ming vase if you ask me. And paint-by-numbers, too!” Evil remarked. “At only $500, plus shipping? You’d be stupid not to buy! Well, you’d be stupid either way.” He finished, turning back to look Gay square in the face.

Gay huffed. “I know what I’m looking at, Evil, thank you very much.”

“Then why bother asking? Sounds like a waste of time if you ask me.”

“And I know just what you did, too!”

“Again with the time-wasting.” Evil sighed. “You should be glad I superglued all the buttons on the remote control. You’ll get so much more done.”

Everyone scowled.

“Evil,” Prozac said sternly. “You know more than anyone the chaos that unfolds when the TV schedule here is not adhered to. You should also know that a calm home is a happy home.”

Evil rolled his eyes. We’ve all seen your motivational posters. I don’t need to hear them, too.

Prozac’s demeanour immediately elevated in that spooky way it did. “Now remember: it’s the Friends Reunion Reunion at 6, Baby Shark: Kalabar’s Revenge at 7, and Chiodos: The Animated Series at 8:30. Now, at 9 they’re running a crossover special where the spaceship Serenity lands in Orson, Indiana. They’re calling it Malcolm in the Middle. Oh, and Crack has American Pickers.” Prozac then took his leave to fetch everyone refreshments.

“Well, Evil, what are you waiting for?” Lech yelled, nestled comfortably on the couch with the others. “This is the second only time they’ll all be together again!”

“Why can’t you just go up to the TV and do it yourselves?” Evil groaned.

Everyone began to clamour at once. Why would we? Who does that? Nobody does that! It’s the principle of the thing, for God’s sake.

“I think Gay should do it.” Asserted Evil. “He’s the one that keeps wasting time.”

“I do not waste time!” Gay snapped. “I don’t know why you keep saying that when I practically carry this household on my back, and I know you’re only saying that to get a rise out of me but it’s just not gonna work!”

“I’ll say.”

“Shut up!”

“Hey!” Nerd interjected, pointing at the TV. “What’s that?”

Everyone looked up. The shopping channel was still on - in all the squabbling nobody had actually changed it - but that hideous vase had since gone. Instead, taking its place in the spotlight was a painting. The moment everyone was able to process it, the room fell silent. They watched. In the painting was a ring of fire. A ravenous crowd. A wall-eyed grey bear cub in a frilled clown costume, mounted on the dinkiest of tricycles and careering through the blazing ring. The bears merely stared in awe and disbelief, saying nothing as the presentation went on. It was a silence that the bear exhibit had never felt even in its non-waking hours, and would never feel again.

Evil wanted so badly to leap for the buttons and turn the channel, but his limbs did not relent. Instead, he was forced to stay frozen in place as everyone looked at each other, eleven heads darting left and right and all at a loss for what to say. Evil’s eyes remained fixed on the painting. He tried to decide whether to stay where he was, or leave the room, or sit down with the other bears and pretend that nothing happened, but all other thoughts dissipated from his head like a fog. He knew what he saw in that painting. There was nothing he could do to change this. He just had to be certain that they did not see the same thing that he saw. Then, he could work to keep it that way.

Predictably, Lech was the first to speak up. It wasn’t one of his loudmouthed jeers as one might expect. Instead, he spoke with a groundedness and decorum that Evil didn’t think he was capable of, one that unsettled him almost as much as the words he said. “Evil? In that painting… is that you?”

Ever the voice of the people, Lech had said what everyone was thinking. The sound of his words set everyone off at once, and Evil tried desperately to listen in through all the discordant jabbering. Prozac flip-flopped between trying to convince everyone it was only a coincidence and eagerly joining in on the speculation. Crack worried about hidden cameras and spies, but he would have done that either way. Gay japed about how the world didn’t need another tacky sad clown painting and certainly not one of Evil, and Nerd and Lech joined him in laughing at how ugly it was. They wouldn’t be doing that if they hadn’t seen what Evil saw. Vanity’s attitude was similar, but the idea that nobody in their right mind would buy such a thing placed him on the sceptical side. Sara laughed. Cara wept. Death maintained his distance, and a faint sense of gratitude bubbled up through Evil that he had remained true to his word, but it wouldn’t be enough to quell the panic. Tanked and Gimp said nothing, but they were both staring Evil’s way - even Tanked, who lived in a perpetual state of delirium, seemed to be giving special deliberation to the distinct features of Evil's face.

Whatever part of Evil was keeping him frozen to the ground had been taken out back and shot by the more sensible parts, and Evil finally dove for the TV’s manual controls. On the TV, Lisa Kudrow was gleefully remembering the time she remembered the time that Chandler got really into bubble baths. But nobody was interested in the show. That painting had gone, but the memory remained.

The silence was broken by Prozac suddenly leaping from his seat. “Everyone!” He announced in that awful false cheer, “I’ll be needing you all in the kitchen. Right. Now.” The other bears rose along with him, muttering to one another but otherwise obediently quiet. Neither he nor the others left any indication that Evil was invited. Silently, Evil watched as each of the bears vanished one by one into the kitchen. He knew exactly what it was that they would discuss, and he was certain that nothing could prepare him for what would happen when the conversation was over.

Wait a minute, Evil thought to himself, They’re gone. His ears pricked up. The diabolical vigour returned to Evil’s body, and with a wide, toothy grin, he bounded out of the cave. He was starting to wonder what the giraffes were up to.

(AND SO IT ENDS)

Chapter Text

“Cara looked at [Sara] in surprise, then smiled. ‘No, but he does like to hide it.’” - Bear Nuts, p. 878.

The giraffes were patsies, as per usual. For all the time they spent looking down on everyone, they never did think to look at what was right in front of them. This time, that so happened to be Evil, hiding in the tree outside their exhibit. Stiffneck, who was just as happy to see him as he had always been, swung his head into the tree, hoping to knock down the smaller creature provoking his ire. What fell from the tree was not Evil. It was instead a collection of water bombs Evil had graciously filled with fat-free Greek yoghurt some days before. Piece of cake. All that was left for him to do was slip out discreetly as the chaos unfolded and return to the safety and comfort of his home.

As he walked his usual path through the bear enclosure and crossed the threshold into the cave, a sense of dread overtook him. Everything was… normal. Too normal. The TV valiantly warmed the room with Police Academy 4 while everyone flitted around its nucleus, and life went on. Gay, Lech, Nerd and the girls watched on the couch. Lech insisted that it was just as good as the first Police Academy, with the others either not knowing or not caring that they were being trolled as their loud arguing filled the air. Tanked sat by their side, having the knots brushed out of his fur by Gimp, who looked nonplussed as usual. Death mopped the floor, taking a glance over his shoulder now and again while Prozac made tea for the bears whose various ailments allowed them to drink it. Crack watched the film 2-3 butts apart from the others on the couch. He clearly hated it, preferring to fixate on the short tufts of fur that grew around his claws, but his hatred of being alone for even a second cajoled him into joining them. Vanity occupied the armchair a few feet away, issuing a loud warning to Tanked not to lick off his mud mask as it dried.

It was truly eerie. Evil watched the scene unfold. It was exactly the same as any other day, except with a different crappy movie. But still, Evil could not prevent himself from feeling as if they weren’t actually there… or he wasn’t actually there… or the whole world wasn’t actually there and he would fly off or phase through the ground at any second. Tentatively, Evil held out his paws and waved them about. It wasn’t a hologram. The furniture was also real, Evil found, as he advanced into the room and pretended to take interest in a coffee table book. Nobody looked up.

Evil decided that his next course of action was to talk to Nerd. Not because being around him made him feel anything other than derision, but because Nerd smacked of desperation and if you gave him even a crumb of attention he would milk it for all it’s worth.

“Hey Nerdly,” Evil said as demurely as could possibly be believed from him, “Which is better - Police Academy, or Snakes on a Plane?”

Nerd looked up and grinned as if someone had given him an electric shock to the head. “Oh! If we’re talking about pure comedy - you might be one of those people who thinks ‘lowbrow’ automatically equals ‘bad’ and will just see them as one and the same, but there’s also the matter of line delivery, pacing, place in the narrative, and - ”

Evil turned around and walked away. So it was settled - people could indeed see and hear him. But still, that sense of dread kept on gnawing at him. He went up to Lech.

“So, what’s new?”

Lech’s ear gave an idle flick. “Not much.”

“Lech, how can you say that?” Gay chided back at him. “Haven’t you forgotten something? Something important?”

Evil wrenched his eyes shut, ready to accept his destiny.

“Ella’s birthday! Don’t tell me you haven’t signed the card?”

“What, you think I’m so lazy that I can’t even write my name on a goddamn card?” Lech scoffed, “Course I did.”

“And did you get her a present?”

Lech grunted.

“Something other than a rock with googly eyes like you got her last year?”

“Oh, Ella loved that rock!” Prozac cooed, “But Gay’s right, you ought to get her something different this year.”

“What’d you get her, Wisenheimer?” Lech asked.

“I got her a deck of positive affirmation cards so that whenever her self-compassion gets low, all she needs to do is shuffle the deck,” Prozac smarmed, appearing to ignore everyone’s eyes rolling. “And I got her a stuffed animal, too. An adorable fluffy chicken.”

“Why a chicken?” Asked Sara, bored.

“I wanted to pick something that wasn’t too violent. Children need positive role models, and goodness knows you won’t be finding any of those around here.”

“Have you ever even been to the petting zoo?” Asked Nerd, “Chickens are crazy violent!”

“But they’re so cute!” Cara piped up.

“I hate them!” Nerd continued. “They have these sharp talons they use to attack people, and I heard they eat each other! Also, I can tell the hens are clucking about me.”

“Are you sure you didn’t do something to piss them off first?” Chortled Lech.

“Oh, sure, blame the victim! They’re bullies! Plain and simple!”

“Well, it’s too late now to get another gift, so we’ll just have to not point anything out in front of the birthday girl, okay?” Prozac asserted.

“And just because real chickens are mean, it doesn’t mean Ella’s chicken has to be!” Cara added. “Crack has a lion plushie, but I’m sure he’s super friendly!”

“Not always,” Crack muttered.

“Well, is he mean in a way that’s lion-like, or is he just a douche?” Sara asked with a groan as if immediately regretting taking part in this conversation.

Crack looked like he needed some time to think about it.

“So let me get one thing straight: Ella gets a chicken and Crack gets a lion and it’s okay because of make-believe, but I’m not allowed to play Dungeons and Dragons because it’s too violent?” Nerd let out, channelling the self-righteous fury of the renegade action hero about to stand up to the stick-in-the-mud police commissioner.

“Oh, here we go again,” Grumbled Lech.

“That’s make-believe too! I swear, everyone here has it out for me! Well, your snobbery and my subjugation ends here!”

“That’s different!” Prozac exclaimed, not elaborating.

“How is it different?”

“He didn’t want you to feel bad about not having anyone to play with,” Sara answered impassively. “Prozac told Cara and Cara told me.”

“What?” Nerd scowled.

“I’m sooo sorry, Prozac, it just got away from me! You know how Sara and I tell each other everything!” Cara whimpered, tears dredging up.

Is it me, or is the conversation around here somehow more inane than usual? Evil felt like he was fit to burst, the tension gnawing at his senses. He wanted to speak, but he was sure the sensation would leap right out of him, leaving the others able to read him like a book. He almost preferred being a ghost.

“Ah! Evil!” Prozac regarded him at last, face twitching beneath his ever-so-diplomatic smile. Evil swore his horns were about to fall off. With Prozac eager to divert attention from his own blunder, all that was left was to find a bigger fuckup to divert it all onto. And who better to be a fall guy than the source of most of the zoo’s mayhem? He felt his claws involuntarily digging into his palms. This was sure to be the moment of truth. 

“What are you getting Ella?” Prozac cooed.

Evil could feel each of his teeth start to melt. They grew soft enough to slip from their sockets, becoming hot tar when they landed on his tongue. His dignity and primness quickly abandoned him. “FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!” He screamed, the other bears only slightly fazed. “IS NOBODY GOING TO TALK ABOUT THE PAINTING?!?”

Prozac, without a word, turned and left. Evil was quick at his heel. Even with all the mood enhancers in the world, Prozac couldn't deny everything. He could keep on smiling, and he could fight like a dog, but Evil was stronger. Evil was more determined because, unlike Prozac, he wasn’t willing to let anyone’s rules hold him back. 

Prozac stopped when he reached the kitchen. He silently filled the kettle with water and turned it on to boil. Evil had no patience for this foolishness. He loaded the tea tray with a mug for each tea-drinking bear and placed a tea bag in each one. Prozac’s ear twitched. Evil added a squirt of honey to Cara’s favourite My Neighbour Totoro mug, remembering how Prozac would harp on and on about making it just the way she liked it and added a teaspoon of sugar to Tanked’s SpongeBob SquarePants mug while he was at it. When the kettle had finished boiling, Prozac continued to take no notice of Evil’s presence. He filled the mugs that he had prepared, stirred them, and returned to the living room. Evil’s brazenness must have shaken Prozac so much that he had forgotten to bring the tea with him. Evil picked it up in his stead, following him as quickly as he could while still keeping the tray level. Prozac returned to his place among the bears, and Evil held still. After a few seconds of suspense, Prozac swivelled round to face Evil with the most cherubic, doe-eyed smile that could possibly be made by a living creature.

“Well, now that you’ve pointed it out,” Prozac cooed, “Let’s address this once and for all!” He turned off the TV and turned to the rest of the room. “Eyes and ears up, everyone! Family meeting! Family meeting!”

Evil suddenly began to feel all the warmth leave his veins.

“Oh, and Evil? Thank you so much for helping out with the tea!”

In Prozac’s room, all of the bears had gathered. They all stood in a perfect arc around Prozac like he was a prism refracting a rainbow. To Evil, this made sense. Both were transparent. The exceptions were Cara, who stood attentively at Prozac’s side, and Evil, who was smack-dab in the middle. Hiding in the crowd seemed like an endeavour both pointless and embarrassing. Silence filled the room, freeing up precious sensory bandwidth for the odour of burning incense. It somehow smelled even more annoying than usual. Everyone took on a solemnity that Evil would never have thought them capable of. In any other meeting, Gay and Lech would’ve started arguing and Nerd would’ve started whining and Crack would’ve started screaming by now. But not today. He didn’t know how much of it he could chalk up to the tension he brought with him, or how what he saw uncannily matched Gay’s retelling of the first time they were brainwashed by Sara, but seeing them all that way was truly uncanny. It wasn’t right. This wasn’t home.

Prozac cleared his throat.

“Everyone! I’m sure you know why we’re all here.”

Evil looked around. Everyone remained silent and solemn, the only movement being a few idle nods. No Lech cracking wise. No Gay chiding him for how immature he was acting. No Crack working himself into a frenzy convinced that today would be the day someone gets released into the wild. No loud clamouring over who landed them all in trouble this time and why it was unquestionably Evil. No Tanked burping, no Cara weeping, No Sara rolling her eyes. Just silence, and staring, and silence. Evil imagined that he was fidgeting like a cat in a crate. But he would never know if they were seeing the same thing.

“That’s right! We are assembled here at Evil’s request! He doesn’t normally call family meetings, so I can only imagine that he has something very important to tell us.”

Everyone leaned in. Evil could feel his heart damn near thrust itself against his chest. It was a sensation he’d never felt since the… since the… 

Evil found himself looking down, unable to face the others. His eyes landed on his navel, pentagram shape deep red as if carved into him. This was supposed to happen. It was a sign. It was an omen, a reminder to all of who he was and who he would always be. Who he could only ever be. It should be impossible for him to forget.

Evil shook his head and steeled himself. He wasn’t going to forget. Nobody was.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Evil tried to shift into Telemarketer Mode, “I know you all saw… something… on the TV. Something that you think has to do with me.” He could still feel his heart pound. What was going on? Normally, Evil could bullshit with ease. But the difference here was apparent. On any other day, nobody would believe his lie, and it wouldn’t matter. He’d have had his laugh, and life would go on. But this time, he actually cared whether or not he got busted. He could feel his chest seize up and his fur get drenched with sweat.

“Whatever it is you think you saw - I mean, whoever it is you think you saw - it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change what happens after. This is the here and now, and I’m the same guy you’ve always known. I’m your brother. I’m your friend. And I’m the guy who has a voodoo doll of each and every one of you, so if I catch you talking behind my back I’ll toss yours into a wasps’ nest!”

Evil was panting. He felt as if he had just taken a cinderblock to the chest. Though his words had outpaced him, he could take a small amount of solace in the fact that his message was clear. Evil stood locked in a fencer’s stance while the other bears silently waited. And waited. And waited. Evil was certain that his legs would atrophy. Finally, he caught his breath, and flashed the bears a toothy smile.

The first bear to leave their stasis was Cara. She broke out into a sob and ran towards Evil, fully embracing him in a hug. Her tears mingled with the sweat in Evil’s fur. Cara’s paws were soft, likely due to a dedicated beauty regimen that she convinced herself was just the essentials because she’s so not one of those shallow girls. But to Evil they felt coarse and unwelcome, filled with rot and disease that leaked into him. Her fur smelled like a Yankee Candle. All Evil knew how to do was stand in place, receive it, and wait until it ended. He placed a reticent paw on Cara’s upper back, feeling it the appropriate course of action. He glanced around at the others. They looked mournful. This, Evil found more unnerving than the solemn Easter Island gazes they had on before.

“Oh, Evil!” Cara bawled, “I’m sooo sorry!”

Evil gave her exactly three pats on the back. The ferocity of her sobs told him that she was deeply moved by this action. Prozac gently pulled her from him. He took each of her paws in his, and whispered something in her ear. Both bears then immediately stood to attention once more. 

Death was the next to come forward. His movements were terse, and he kept a good distance from Evil. There was the Death that Evil knew and missed. This did not come as the relief that Evil expected. In fact, knowing that he was being completely sincere made this much, much worse. The Death that Evil knew and missed regarded him with a mournfulness that surpassed all of the others’. His ears drooped behind him, his eyelids hung heavy on his face, and the creases of his frown embedded themselves into his muzzle. His eyes shone with sympathy. Evil tried and tried, but his sense of denial was not strong enough to convince him it was in any way manufactured. Death's countenance oozed pity, pity that spilled out like sunbeams from each and every pore, and Evil’s body forced itself to recoil.

“Evil?” 

Prozac had finally spoken. Evil spun to face him.

“It’s important that you know that we understand you, we care about you, and you don’t have to go through this alone.”

Evil hoped that if he curled his toes enough, his claws would bore through the floor and allow him to dig his way out.

“I know it hurts,” added Cara, eyes still wet with tears, “but we’re proud of you for making it this far.”

“We just want you to know that even in spite of everything you might have done, we can sympathise.” Death’s voice came out behind him, giving Evil yet another shock.

“But that doesn’t mean you’re not the same Evil we always knew.” Prozac finished up, looking for all the world like he’d found a plum in his Christmas pie.

WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU ALL TALKING ABOUT?

Evil did his best to speak with as little inflection as possible. “So… what happens… now?” He had no way of telling how successful he was.

Prozac’s stance and expression remained unchanged. If this was supposed to calm him down, it wasn’t helping. Cara looked at him the way you’d look at a puppy to be sponsored on TV. Death’s expression couldn’t quite be discerned, but the closest thing Evil could come up with was disappointment. Everyone else looked exactly as morose as before. Evil decided he couldn’t tell which was worse.

“Nothing!” Prozac flashed a smile worthy of 8 out of 10 dentists, “Nothing in the slightest! If you don’t want to call a family meeting, that’s just fine! All that’s going to happen is that you’ll be treated like the bear we know you are.”

“Now what do you say we get back to that movie?” Asked Cara. The question appeared to be directed towards Evil, but she kept on looking at Prozac.

“Why, of course,” Prozac replied. “Meeting adjourned!”

Right as he said it, the bears immediately regained their life forces. The cave filled with its typical clamouring as everyone made a stampede for the sofa. Evil decided to take a seat. He could test their illusion of peace later, but now, he’d been put through the wringer.

“Ah! Still warm!” Nerd remarked, phrase directed at no-one in particular.

Evil baulked in disbelief. “Give me that!” He snatched the mug of tea from Nerd’s paws.

“You’ll spill it!”

Evil ignored him and plunged a digit into the mug. The tea was indeed still warm, and a comfortably drinkable temperature at that. Then, he plunged it in again. And again.

“Now it’s all full of your fur!”

“Do you ever stop whining?” Evil gave Nerd a cautionary kick to the [WEBCOMIC TITLE]. He looked up at the TV and found that Police Academy 4 was still on and Bobcat Goldthwait was still prancing about on the screen. How long does a cup of tea take to cool down? 20 minutes? 15?

The family meeting barely lasted for ten minutes. Evil was sure it had been an eternity. It felt like an eternity. Evil cursed his nerves and his senses and his body and his brain for their hideous betrayal. He cursed the TV for daring to give away his secrets, he cursed Bobcat Goldthwait for mocking him in his direst moment, and he preemptively cursed the other bears for whatever they had planned for him with this new information.

Evil looked away from the movie and turned to face Crack. There he was as always, picking away at the thin tufts of fur cropping each of his claws. To get through each day feeling like that - all the time - Crack was a stronger bear than he ever was.

What am I thinking? 

What horrible, abyssal low did Evil have to sink to that he envied Crack of all people? It spoiled his stomach and stung his eyes like a bad odour.

He felt a cut on his belly, and a shape immediately flashed in his head. 

He had forgotten again.

Whatever was wrong with him, he had to push it out fast. Sweat it out, puke it out, bash his head in with a rock and get amnesia like in the cartoons, crack his skull and carve out his frontal lobe with a railroad spike, whatever it took. Maybe he just had to get out of the cave. Scare the otters. No, go to the petting zoo. No, steal everyone a nice juicy steak and pray that they’d forget. Forget what? Who’s forgetting? There it was again! Evil had to get a grip on himself, and fast.

“Hey Nerd!”

“What?”

Evil delivered another precise kick to Nerd's [GUNNERKRIGG COURT].

“Again?” Nerd whimpered. Lech laughed, Cara chastised him, Sara told her to stop being such a goody-two-shoes, and Prozac leapt to mediate the conflict before it inevitably ballooned into a bloodbath. Bloodbath or not, this was precisely what Evil was counting on. He slid down from his place on the couch and shuffled his way to his room. He shut the door firmly behind him. Silence. The other bears could caterwaul and yelp, but they would be doing it far away from him. 

Evil had been living in the Discount Zoo long enough to know that disasters come and go. He had caused most of them, after all, and he was immensely proud of his work. But the bears’ faces that afternoon were still etched in Evil’s memory, and he knew that this day would not be so easily forgotten. 

(AND SO IT ENDS)

Chapter Text

“‘If you’re still trying to think of some way to get vengeance I think giving him a big hug out of nowhere would be the most unsettling thing you could do to him.’” Bear Nuts, p. 878

When Evil woke up, his entire body felt like it was being held together with gardening wire. Far too big and far too heavy, always on the verge of collapsing under its own weight. Evil wriggled his digits. Then his forearms. Then his toes, until he could finally coerce his members into hauling him up from his doggy bed and balancing him upright. He pulled himself along to the nearest surface - his chest of voodoo dolls - and leaned over it. It was all in his mind. He knew it was. But he didn’t have complete faith in his legs quite yet.

After some time, Evil did some small crouches with the aid of the chest, giving him the strength and morale to traverse the bedroom under his own propulsion. He opened up a cabinet in the alcove and consulted the Burberry watch he had stolen from Gay—1:27 PM. Evil winced. It was just as he suspected: after kicking Nerd in his [SATURDAY MORNING BREAKFAST CEREAL] and making a handy escape, Evil immediately collapsed into bed and didn’t wake up for more than 12 hours. Yet another betrayal his body dealt him in its ever-continuing mutiny.

Evil went to his mantle in a way that even the less generous could describe as ‘walking’. He remembered being so proud of that mantle. What started as an empty threat to hang over Vanity’s head when he first arrived had become his greatest craftsmanly triumph. His weapons were either stolen or repurposed. His voodoo dolls were never made with creativity in mind. But with this, it wasn’t enough to mount an errant plank to his wall and call it a day. No, Evil had absorbed all the handyman tricks TV taught him and sanded, primed, painted and varnished it all himself to transform it into something worthy of supporting the many, many trophies he’d accrue. Evil knew all this. He was there for it, after all. And yet, he was having trouble finding that same pride, as the bear he was when he made it simply wasn’t there anymore. He found his legs becoming weak again.

Evil diverted his attention to the trophies atop the mantle: a jar with a pair of petrified eyeballs, his eyeball scoop on its stand, his ever-dutiful purple marker, and his favourite knives all mounted on their board. This was a selection that told you all you needed to know about the bear who assembled it.

That’s right. It told you all you needed to know about the bear who assembled it.

Evil regarded the eyeball scoop, pristine and unblemished. The only time he’d used it - or rather, tried to - was on Vanity, and that plan was quickly squashed by the others in the name of ‘family’. He regarded the petrified eyeballs in their jar, plastic trinkets bought from a Halloween decor supplier and faker than a Rock of Love Bus contestant’s undying love for Bret Michaels. He looked at the knives. Unlike the eyeballs, those were plenty real, but if Evil didn’t use them to cut anybody, then they were trinkets all the same. He looked at the marker. It was real. He did use it. But seriously? A marker? A marker for a trophy? Why doesn’t he just take a fistful of straw from the floor and stick it up there? 

All of these things were true, and Evil knew it. Evil kept on staring, and staring, and staring, but he could not make himself feel that same rush of arrogance he got when he typically looked at his mantle. Come to think of it, that paint job is looking… No! No more of these pestering thoughts. He just had to keep on looking. He had to keep on, and then he would find it again.

Evil was cruelly yanked from his focus by a knock on the door. Before he could answer, however, Prozac had already made himself welcome. 

“Yeowch!” Prozac gave a cat-like yelp, clutching his right foot. A small grin slithered onto Evil’s face. Then, before it could make purchase, the revelation hit him that it had not, in fact, been one of his boobytraps that caused it.

“You’ve been getting too many pedicures from Gay,” Evil groaned, “Our feet are supposed to be calloused, you know.”

Prozac pulled the offending bit of straw from his foot, but did not say anything more on the matter. 

“Evil, I’d like to let you know that I forgive you for your outburst yesterday.”

Evil trudged back to his doggy bed, knowing this would surely be as tiring as any other conversation with Prozac. “I forgive you for my outburst too, Pro.” 

Looking up at the blue bear, Evil could see that he was indeed the same Prozac as he’d always been. The remark had clearly gotten under his skin, but he didn’t get defensive or tell Evil to stop. He wasn’t interested in doing that. He had a doleful look on his face. It wasn’t quite as severe as that night, but somehow the mundanity of it made it all the worse.

“Did you rest well?” Prozac cooed, hovering over the doggy bed. He waited for a response, but no response came. Prozac pouted at him. The sight made Evil's blood congeal and spoil. “Ohh, it’s not nice, is it?”

Evil let out a feeble groan, and said nothing.

“Now that you’ve had plenty of time to recharge, how’s about you and I have some one-on-one time?” Evil’s fur bristled as Prozac levelled a gentle paw on his chest. Prozac’s expression turned ever so subtly.

“If it wasn’t already obvious,” Evil admonished, with more fury than had been anticipated, “I’m fucking exhausted. I’m clearly in no position to do chores. Have Gimp unclog the sink.”

Prozac then yanked Evil from his doggy bed and onto his feet. The motion made him dizzy, both due to general wooziness and due to surprise at the amount of force Prozac could use without transforming.

“This isn’t about the sink, Evil. This is about you.”

“Whuh?” was all Evil could say before getting swiftly dragged to Prozac’s room. Prozac knew that Evil was in a compromised state and was entirely willing to use that to his advantage by turning him into a ragdoll. Indeed, Prozac did not have to try hard to make any sort of resistance difficult. Once they arrived, Evil could see that Prozac had his room fully decked out for a meditation session. The candles were aglow, the incense stunk, and there were woven mats laid out on the floor. Two woven mats.

Oh no.

Prozac sat cross-legged on one of the mats. He said nothing and did nothing, but Evil could tell what he wanted by that insipid grin on his face. Evil took a seat on the other mat. He was far too tired to bargain and he wasn’t interested in making a spectacle of himself a second time, so he decided to see just where Prozac was going with this.

“Thank you, Evil,” Prozac said. “The first thing I’d like you to do is close your eyes, and take some deep breaths to let out that tension,” He spoke gently and solemnly, but he couldn’t get that Prozac chirrup out of his voice. “Think of your diaphragm like the bottom of a bottle, and your lungs like the neck, and just keep on filling the bottle and emptying it. Full… and empty… full… and empty…”

Evil was sure that if he opened his eyes, he’d find Prozac dangling a pocketwatch in his face. There wasn’t any point to that. He’d all but confessed already. Of course, if Prozac wanted the satisfaction of hearing him say it, he’d just nag. Still. Evil tried his hardest to ignore the itch on his back and the booger in his nose as he breathed. He had to keep his ears open.

“Now, I want you to picture yourself in a meadow. Can you feel the grass under your feet? Can you see rays of sunlight streaking through the trees? What colours can you see? What kind of birdsong can you hear? What can you smell?”

Evil was much too exhausted to imagine anything morbid, so there he was, in a perfectly ordinary meadow. He felt the grass mingle with his fur. He felt a gentle breeze against his face. A wayward cluster of dandelion puffs flittered by him. It was actually quite nice. He was beginning to understand why some people liked the quiet.

“Once you’re settled in, I want you to think about that difficult emotion you’re dealing with. Call up that suffering. Where in your body is it? Does it have a shape? Does it have a size? Is it still? Is it moving?”

Evil reflected on the great tangly thing in his chest and his belly. To him, it was a big black mass with buglike feelers that squirmed about inside him. But now, after the whole thing with the bottle and the meadow, it felt as if he wasn’t actually there for any of it. Like he was watching a movie about his life, and the guy on the screen was the one having all the problems. On any other day, he would have spent the session singing 99 Bottles Of Beer On The Wall until Prozac got so annoyed he threw him out. But now, with Evil exhausted, humiliated, and at the nadir of his career of notoriety (and possibly his time on Earth), he could legitimately see why Prozac does this.

“Now, I want you to acknowledge that this is a moment of suffering. You are in pain, and things are difficult for you right now.”

Well, that wasn’t hard.

“The next step is to acknowledge that suffering is a part of life. That means it’s okay to feel bad. You’re not the only one who has to feel this way.”

What was Prozac going on about? Unless he was about to say, ‘Sure, your most painful moments may have been sold for money and put on TV in front of everyone who respected and feared you, but guess what? The same thing happened to Tanked about two months ago!’ Evil called bullshit. And what was this nonsense about it being okay to feel bad? Evil felt bad right now, and it sucked! It’s a good thing Evil was in a meadow right now. If he had been the one hearing this instead of the actor playing him in this movie, he’d be pissed.

“Now, I need you to ask yourself this question: May I be kind to myself in this moment? Try placing a paw over your heart, and feel the care flow from your digits.”

He placed a paw over his heart. It felt good. It was not supposed to feel good. There was nothing resembling care in Evil’s digits or the rest of him. He made sure of it. He made sure others knew it. He had worked for years to make this happen. If he had not, there would be nothing setting him apart from the pathetic, snivelling child in the painting.

“You can be kind to yourself in this moment by telling yourself the things that you would tell a good friend:

“‘I’m here for you.’ 

“‘I care about you.’ 

“‘Everyone else cares about you too.’ 

“‘If I reach out, they will listen.’ 

“‘I can help you see that.’ 

“‘It’s ok to let people in.’ 

“‘It’s ok to want to be helped.’ 

“‘It’s ok to be vulnerable.’”

Suddenly, the mat beneath him got itchy. His skin started to crawl. The incense smelled awful and the room was too humid and he was thirsty and he still had that booger. He squirmed in his place. The meadow quickly fell away. His eyes thrust open.

“I would never say that!” Evil roared. It was gratifying to give Prozac a shock. People like him deserved to be a little uncomfortable. “I would never say that, because it’s the greatest load of bullshit I was ever forced to hear, and I saw Rock of Love Bus. Do you even know what I’m capable of? Do you even know who I am?”

Prozac, clearly used to being yelled at, stood firm. “I forgive you, Evil. You’re only acting out because you’re hurting.”

“I’m acting out because I hate you!”

“You don’t have to be ashamed. Why, it’s because of this incident that I’ve been able to look at you in a whole new light. We’re all here for you, Evil. All you have to do is admit it.”

The tangly thing got restless. It spread to Evil’s limbs, and his weary body found itself bolting toward Prozac’s candles. “I’ll show you a whole new light!” He held the candles over the woven mat he had sat upon.

Prozac didn’t react. He just stood there smiling at him like a dad watching his kid perform Three Blind Mice at the Christmas pageant. Evil was disgusted at his stupidity.

“Don’t act like I won’t do it! Don’t you act like I won’t do it!”

Prozac shook his head, still smiling. “You’re not going to do it.”

“That’s it!” Evil opened his paws and let the candles drop to the floor. Drips of hot wax splashed his toes as they fell. The candles hit the ground, their flames mingling with the fibres of the mat. But nothing happened. The jars holding the candles faded to a dusky white and the flames disappeared. Evil stood incredulous, while Prozac continued to smile.

“How long have we both lived here, Evil? Did you really think I wouldn’t disasterproof my room?”

Evil could only pop his ursine jaw at him. An admission of defeat, written into every bear’s DNA.

“I told you, you weren’t going to do it.”

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

“Oh, Evil. It’s just like you said. It doesn’t change the past. So, no matter what acts of mayhem you have planned, I’ll always know who you really are. And so do you,” Prozac said ever so primly, “Now, I only ask that you reflect on this since I can smell chemicals and I need to make sure Tanked is still alive.”

With that, Prozac made a mad dash for the source of the yelping coming from the other side of the cave. Gay, Vanity and Sara were probably testing cosmetics on Tanked again to settle another score. Evil would have to refrain from shaving him for a week as a token of gratitude for providing him with this window of escape. He raised a foot to leave, when - 

“Hi Evil!” Cara stood in the doorway, rocking on her heels and beaming giddily. With Cara, this level of excitement could mean anything. It could mean that Rainbow Rowell wrote a new book or that she drank a particularly nice glass of water. Evil remained cautious. Cara was unpredictable, and more importantly, she was loyal to Prozac. If yesterday’s h…ideous transgression against him was anything to go by, Evil would not be coming out of this in one piece.

“I heard all the shouting and I had to see if you were ok.”

“Well, nobody hit me or anything,” Evil replied with his eyes to the wall, making sure not to say anything untrue.

Cara’s face took on a more serious expression in a way that Evil knew wasn’t just because of hormones. “It’s Prozac, isn’t it? Between you and me,” Cara leaned in towards his ear and whispered, “He’s kind of a control freak.”

Evil laughed. A clear side effect of the adrenaline rush from the fight fading away.

“Come over to the yard, Evil, and we can do something different.”

Evil had no idea what ‘something different’ entailed, but he followed her anyway. These emotional highs and lows were making him a little giddy, and an intelligent and shrewd bear such as himself understood how important it was to know thy enemy.

There were no woven mats to be found in the garden, but there was a large picnic blanket. As the two of them took their seats, Evil immediately regretted agreeing to meet here in the open air. He sat bolt upright, his eyes darting around for anyone who might be listening. The birds weren’t circling them (Evil made sure of that long ago). The giraffes weren’t leaning in. Even the polars seemed to be minding their own business. It was a Monday, and the zoo was closed to the public, but Evil had to cover every single one of his bases. Whatever Cara was going to make him do, there could be no witnesses.

“Did you see how I fell right on my butt, Evil?” Cara giggled, “I’m such a dork!”

Somehow, Evil failed to find this endearing.

Cara opened up the hamper and pulled out a hoagie. It was a thick and handsome thing, the sight of it reminding Evil that he hadn’t eaten anything since he woke up.

“Th…awesome!” Evil snatched the sandwich from her paws and wolfed it down. Cara smiled.

“I thought you might appreciate it,” There was lemonade in the hamper too, which Evil guzzled straight from the jug. “Much better than your gross rodent traps.”

“I’m a wild animal, Cara. One thing about me is that I’ll always have one foot firmly in the deepest and deadliest forests. It’s all part of the hunt, and your disgust just shows I’m more bear than you’ll ever be.”

There it was again—that goddamned look of pity. Cara’s eyes got all dewy and her lip curled into a pout.

“I’m a wild animal too, Evil,” Cara said solemnly before immediately perking up, “You know, I guess we’re not so different after all!”

The tangly thing had come again. Evil suddenly regretted eating anything.

“So, what kind of business are we here on?” Evil asked as light and airy as he could.

“Business?” Cara trilled, “We’re just here to talk! Have you seen any interesting movies lately?”

Evil was so confused by this that he forgot how to manipulate his jaw.

“That’s okay, I can go first. I saw Police Academy 4 with everyone else last night! I didn’t see the first three so I don’t think I got the most out of it. Also, it didn’t pass the Bechdel Test. Yeuch. But, everyone had fun watching and so I did too!”

“Uhhh…” was all Evil could say, because he still lacked control of his faculties.

“Yeah, it wasn't a very good movie, was it?” Cara continued, “I would rather have seen something with more relatable characters. And a good, wholesome message! Us adults have a lot to learn too, you know.”

Evil could see why Prozac liked this girl so much. They were just the same. The only difference was that the vomit she induced had a distinct taste of make-your-own Butterbeer. 

On any other day, Cara’s saccharine nature, hipster-geek-girl materialism and general dorkaliciousness would have left him rolling his eyes before messing with the hippos to let off some steam. But today, it was making him angry. The tangly thing inside Evil spasmed and spat at Cara’s voice, causing his stomach to sour. His muscles tensed as his digits gripped the grass under the blanket. His skull felt tighter than it ever did before. Be that as it may, he couldn’t allow himself to stew about impotently in his own juices or lose his cool. This was war.

“I think if a movie pisses off people like you, then it can only be a public good. I don’t wanna watch pastel-coloured animal people playing patty-cake on a cloud! And especially not if there’s…” Evil stopped to suppress vomit, “…singing. I’ll rupture my eardrums with a salad fork before I let you turn me softer and dumber.”

Cara paused, as if to reflect on Evil’s words, before returning to her usual treacly smile.

“What if you told a story?” Cara crowed, eyes ever so gooey, “It would come straight from your heart! What do you want to tell the world, Evil?”

“If I made a movie,” Evil began. Cara leaned in eagerly, “There would be no blood and no gore, and no bad role models.”

Cara’s eyes glittered.

“There would be two hours of nothing but giant letters saying, ‘The guy in Seat 24-J is a kidtoucher.’ Then everyone would form an angry mob and eviscerate whatever poor sap booked that seat. It’d be hilarious!” Evil forced a smirk.

Cara’s face began to resemble the Wicked Witch of the West after being doused in water. “Evil! Lying is disgusting!”

“About your AO3 bookmarks… was Kurt Hummel aged up or was The Onceler aged down?” This was said with less of Evil’s intended cheek and more of his agitation seeping through.

Not that Cara was concerned. “Anyway,” she swiftly regained her composure, “Is there anything else you’d like to share?”



“Not really,” Evil made a show of searching for lint between his toes.

“Oh, Evil. Don’t give up yet! Everybody has the heart of an artist. You just have to reach in and find it!”

“I don’t want to be an artist,” Evil grumbled, words strained, diplomacy getting harder and harder, “Those fuckers know what they did.”

“Okay, Evil, you don’t have to draw or paint or… sing or anything,” Cara spoke softly, but that all too Cara-like bounce in her voice disconcerted Evil more than usual, “But surely you’ve got something to say. Something way deep down inside of you that you just can’t ignore.”

Crawling.

“You can talk to me about anything at all.”

Burning.

“I’m only here to help.”

“ENOUGH!” Evil’s muscles were tight to the point where he was certain they’d rip, and he thought his skull would surely cave in under its own weight. Whatever reprieve the tangly thing had given him was over now, and it was threatening to engulf his entire body in writhing, tar-like rot. “Stop… just stop.”

“What?” Cara looked perfectly ignorant, with her mouth hanging open and her paws to her heart. But Evil wasn’t so easily bamboozled.

“You’ll never get anything out of me!” Evil sprung to his feet and loomed over his foe, “You’ll never make me play into your paws! You’ll never make me one of you!”

Cara seemed more insulted than hurt by Evil’s defiance. “Evil, come on,” she said, her voice soft and her face serious, “We’re not doing things Prozac’s way. He does it all by the book, but us? We don’t need rules to open up and work towards our best selves! It’s like punk rock, but with more empathy!”

This was, quite possibly, the single worst thing that Evil had ever heard said.

“You think I’m a big joke, don’t you? You think I’m so pathetic that I need to be mothered. Just say it, Cara. You think I’m a joke. SAY IT!”

“Evil. What’s going on out here?”

Both bears turned to face Death, who stood nonchalantly in the middle of the field. Nobody answered his question. He didn’t need an answer. His gaze said it all. Evil and Cara stopped what they were doing and stood to attention.

“Cara, Nerd asked me to pass along a message. The author of the Kurt Hummel/Onceler fanfic you were reading just uploaded a new chapter.”

Cara stood humbly in place, defeated. Classic Death.

“And Evil,”

“Whaddya want from me? I don’t read fan fiction,” Evil forced a laugh.

“I think you know.”

Evil and Death continued to stare at each other. Evil tried to throw him, popping his jaw and slapping the ground, but Death’s gaze was unyielding. It was clear what Death wanted out of him.

“Okay! Fine! It was me who threw fat-free yoghurt-filled waterbombs at the giraffes!”

Death was unmoved. “Try again, Evil.”

Evil focused each and every one of his muscles into remaining still and stoic. He internally screamed at his rebellious organs to conduct themselves, but to no avail. The tangly thing was thrashing with all its might, and his insides burned like acid.

The thing was, when Death stared at Evil, he wasn’t looking into his eyes. 

Death was looking at the scar on his right forearm.

“FUCK YOU, DEATH!” Evil roared with all his might, a roar that cut away at his throat like gravel, “FUCK YOU! GO FUCK YOURSELF ALL THE WAY TO THE SUN!”

Prozac emerged from the cave, and the other bears slowly trickled out behind him. But they weren’t salivating for drama like usual, not even those reality TV obsessives, Gay and Lech (and yes, Lech, Mantracker counts as a reality show). They looked legitimately worried. Evil hated it.

“AND FUCK ALL THE REST OF YOU TOO! I DON’T NEED TO TALK ABOUT MY FEELINGS, AND I DON’T NEED TO BE BABYSAT BY A BUNCH OF DEWY-EYED EGO-STROKERS! 

Let’s make ONE THING clear: that bear you saw on TV is NOT ME. He USED TO BE ME, but he is NOT ME. That bear DIED when the circus burned down. He was WHINY and WEAK and PATHETIC and couldn’t do a SINGLE THING that wasn’t what SOMEONE ELSE told him to do. That bear died because he DESERVED IT! IT’S LIKE HOLDING A FUNERAL FOR A LADYBUG YOU STEPPED ON!

“And YOU WANT ME TO BE JUST LIKE HIM! YOU WANT TO PRETEND THAT I’M HIM, JUST SO YOU CAN HAVE A PITIFUL LITTLE CUB TO FAWN OVER! JUST SO YOU CAN ALL FEEL LIKE HEROES! Well, it WON’T WORK, BECAUSE I AM NOT HIM! AND I’M NEVER GONNA BE HIM AGAIN! NEVER! NEVER! NEVER!

“I AM THE LEERING GHOST THAT HAUNTS THE DREAMS OF LESSER CREATURES! HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN WHO I AM? HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN WHO I’VE BEATEN? HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN WHAT I CAN DO? HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN WHAT I CAN DO TO YOU? YOU CAN’T TELL ME WHO TO BE, AND YOU CAN’T TELL ME WHO I ALREADY AM! ONLY I DECIDE! SO FUCK THIS, AND FUCK YOU!”

The bears stood in silence.

Evil looked at Death. He was no longer exacting that piercing gaze into him. Evil had given him what he wanted. He was satisfied, but he was not smiling. Instead, he wore that same piteous expression he had at the family meeting.

Cara, still keeping her distance but no longer concerned about her questionable love stories, wept as if she herself had been wounded. Was that how Evil was supposed to feel? Fuck no - nobody was going to tell Evil how to feel. Not now, not ever.

Prozac, Evil expected to have the biggest shit-eating grin known to bearkind. Wasn’t he supposed to, knowing that he was right the whole time? Knowing that this feathery-strokery bullshit actually worked on him? Knowing that his nefarious plot fell into place without him having to lift a digit? But Prozac didn’t look happy at all. This was what Evil should have wanted, wasn’t it, no smug smirks or I-told-you-so’s? But what Evil got instead was so much worse. Prozac looked frightened, but not the way Crack looks frightened when he hears the microwave beep. No, Prozac looked haunted.

“Evil, I have some good news,” Prozac said. He didn’t seem interested in forcing himself to be cheery, “You have been relieved. Go and get some rest. We won’t bother you for the rest of the day. What a treat! Come on, everyone, let’s let him be.”

Prozac guided everyone back into the cave. Once they had gone, Evil could only stand frozen and dumbstruck in the middle of the field. He could go inside if he chose, but it didn’t seem like his members would be willing to cooperate. Thinking about going anywhere forcibly reminded him just how exhausted he was.

This was stupid. It didn’t even make sense for him to be so tired when he hadn’t actually done anything today. It was just yet another new way his body was cheating him.

After remembering that he had the capacity to manipulate his body, Evil lay down in the grass. The giraffes could look. He didn’t care. Let them look. 

It would be a while still before Evil could think about doing anything at all.

(AND SO IT ENDS)

Chapter Text

"Sara's eyebrows rose. 'I definitely can't beat him at his own game...'" - Bear Nuts, p. 878

Evil, much to his horror, woke up the same way he woke up every day.

He was, like every other day, safely in his doggy bed (although that blanket wasn’t there before). He was, like every other day, bleary-eyed but properly easing into alertness, the languid state he was in before a distant memory. On Discount Zoo business days, the bears were relied upon to wake themselves. If not, Prozac would wake them by clapping along to Sister Sledge’s ‘We Are Family’ playing at full blast. He believed it to be more inspiring and motivational than the classic alarm clock. Evil was, like every other day, lucky enough to avoid this punishment and was instead gently roused by the sounds of chatter and metal against earthenware. In other words, breakfast.

And like every other day, Evil’s first instinct after waking up was to go look for something to eat. But Evil chose not to follow said instinct. Memories of the previous day were flooding in, and they were keeping him squarely and dutifully in his room. It was hard to believe he could forget such a thing at all, even for a second. But, he could hardly blame himself for it. Everything just felt so very… normal.

Evil glanced about the room. He looked at his water cooler, his boobytraps, his wall graffiti, and the Satanic shrine he kept in his alcove (anything but his mantle) for any signs that time had gone backwards while he was asleep. Or, if he was especially fortunate, that it had moved far enough forward for everyone to forget about the painting. But of course, there were no such signs, and Evil had to resign himself to living in the present.

There was no other option but to get out of there. The big question was how. Would he ignore everyone, grab his breakfast and report outside for business as usual? No, they might find it suspicious. Would he replace the maple syrup with crafter’s resin from Nerd’s room? No, putting on theatrics would just draw unnecessary attention. He should say hello to Prozac first. No, Death. No, whichever bear he sees first. No! Being polite was the most suspicious possible thing Evil could do. He couldn’t act normal, and he couldn’t act too weird either. Maybe he should kick Nerd in the [MEGATOKYO] again… God, no! They’d never let you pull the same trick three times! How dumb do you have to be?

Whatever Evil did, he had to act fast. He’d been floundering. He’d been spending far too long in this room.

And that could only mean one thing.

WE ARE FAMILY! 

The insipid ‘70s beats pounded through the walls, permeating every pore in Evil’s flesh. His eardrums ponded as if they were angry at him for putting them through this. Then Prozac burst through the door, stereo in hand, Cara and Death at his sides like backing dancers with Gay and Lech, drama-whores that they were, not far behind. Prozac’s grin alone amplified the pure wretchedness of this song like the pinch of salt in a cookie.

I GOT ALL MY BROTHERS WITH ME! WE ARE FAMILY! I GOT ALL MY SISTERS WITH ME!

Prozac turned down the music.

“Evil! Glad to see you’re awake! How are you feeling? Plotting some classic mayhem, I gather?” Prozac said, still dancing.

“You know what, Prozac?” Evil smirked, “I don’t think so! I’m going to do the responsible thing, listen to my body, and set to work! I think the discipline would do me good! I’d better hustle! The kids are waiting!”

Prozac blocked his path. “Nice try, Evil.”

Evil feigned a gasp and leapt back into his doggy bed. “You’re right! I should relax! Well, have my breakfast brought to my bed and keep it quiet out there, I’m ailing!”

Evil tried to keep his eyes closed, but he could still feel their presence burning into him. He knew they would not relent until they had what they wanted. He was pretty sure he heard Gay laughing. His eyelids tried to force themselves open, but Evil fought to keep them clamped shut.

About two minutes later, Evil abandoned this farce and let them open. The others were all still standing there, as expected, spry and unburdened and enjoying the show. He leapt to his feet.

“You did it. I’m not asleep. Fine! I don’t care! That doesn’t change anything!” He knew how whiny he sounded, and it only made him angrier.

“Good! You’re ready!” Prozac chirped, clearly ignoring everything Evil said. Why wouldn’t he? He sounded like those brat kids he teased who didn’t want to leave the zoo.

“Ready for what?” Evil scowled.

“Ooh, things are going to get so much better for you, Evil!” Cara squealed.

“It might be difficult at the start, but you’ll soon see why this had to be done,” Death added, voice slow and warm.

“Ready for what?” Evil barked.

“You’re going to come out of this a new and better bear,” Said Lech, gooey-eyed and soft-voiced.

“I know this should have happened a lot sooner,” Gay whispered, “But what matters is that we make things right in the here and now.”

“We’re doing this because we love you, Evil,” Death stated. 

It was beginning to sound less like they were talking to Evil and more like they were talking to each other, congratulating one another on reciting the correct poems. Evil did not like poems.

“READY FOR WHAT?” Evil yelled with full force.

“Oh. Ah,” Prozac delicately wound down his enthusiasm. Everyone else calmed down in turn, they and Evil all awaiting Prozac’s next command. They had never been this composed before. They had never been this obedient before. Soon, the other bears emerged from the halls until every area of Evil’s room was coated with dewy eyes and twinkling smiles.

Prozac pressed his paws together. “You see, in the aviary, there is an owl.”

Evil backed away from Prozac, faster and faster until his back struck the wall. “No. No, no, no.” He was sure that he had cut his shoulder blade against a jagged bit of rock. His feet drove him further in, insisting he could move further back by walking up the wall like a spider, and his head left him in no position to argue.

Gay and Lech, bored of this performance and unreceptive to Evil’s cries, advanced upon him. Each took an arm and lifted him on their shoulders out of the room, then the cave, then the bear exhibit.

Evil let out an almighty howl.

“YEEEAAAAARGH!”

“UGHHH. It’s so hot in here!” Lech groaned. His words were punctuated with overhead squawks of “Loser,” and “Crybaby.” Prozac, Cara and Death led every bear willing and able to attend Evil’s treatment through the aviary.

“I don’t see what you have to complain about,” Gay tutted back, “This humidity is a nightmare for my hair type! Meanwhile, you have no regard for your appearance whatsoever!”

“Squawk! Diva!”

“Don’t have to. I’d be hot with pinkeye and half my fur shaved off. Looks have nothing to do with it. It’s all about a little something called ‘pheromones’, baby.” Lech made a show of fanning himself to spread his musk. Cara let out a high-pitched groan.

“Squawk! Dog breath!”

“‘Pheromones’ don’t mean a thing to humans! They want to see cute animals, and I’m busting my tail to give it to them! I can’t be doing all the work around here! Tell him, Prozac!”

“Calm down, you two,” Prozac tutted without looking back.

“Why’s it so hot?!?” Lech bellowed.

“It’s because these birds are all from the rainforest, and so this part of the aviary has to match their climate,” Death scolded, “Now stop complaining.”

“We understand it! We just don’t like it!” Gay groaned.

Lech took a good look at Gay. A wayward budgerigar squawked that he was a wimp. “Is that mascara?” He asked, pointing out the black streaks running through his fur.

“Hey!” Vanity shot back, pointing to himself, “This face gets you steak! So quit judging!”

Draped upside down over Gay and Lech’s shoulders, Evil was more indignant than he had ever been. Nobody had even bothered to explain what was going on. For days on end and even just a minute ago, everyone was oh-so concerned and oh-so doting that everything had to be put on hold to give his inner child an ice cream cone or whatever. Evil had gone from Leering Ghost That Haunts The Dreams Of Lesser Creatures to precious widdle bunny rabbit too fragile to face the world. 

Now, it seemed, he’d advanced from widdle bunny rabbit to sack of flour. Here Evil was, being hauled off to certain doom, and all anyone could do was pretend that nothing was happening and everything was the same. They were doing a piss-poor job at it. Every bear was clearly itching to see Evil at his most staggering, abyssal, life-destroying low - the only reason it wasn’t a full house was because someone had to keep up appearances with the humans in addition to watching over Crack and Tanked. They were probably putting on some kind of revue back there.

They all thought they were such heroes. With heroes like these, it was no wonder Evil was so devoted to being the villain.

“If your face is really that great,” Gay taunted, “Why are you following us bridge trolls around instead of frolicking around for the tasteless children back at the bear exhibit?”

“Prozac said I had to be more generous,” Vanity muttered.

Gay and Lech deposited a very dizzy Evil onto the ground. Once Evil’s head had stopped spinning, he noticed that he was in the middle of a heavily wooded clearing, with grass and trees not unlike the ones he saw when he got released into the wild. At the centre of this clearing, and the area that got the most sunlight, was a mound of dry soil protruding from the grass. On top of that was a pestle and mortar, worn and caked in green stuff. Evil would never understand what was in that mixture. He was no scientist - knowing what a substance could do to people was enough for him and everything else was nothing but window dressing. But Evil did know who it belonged to.

The Owl swooped down from the treetops, positioning himself atop the root of a large tree just behind the mound, as if they were a desk and chair. The bears surrounding Evil beamed at his entrance and all were giddy to say their hellos.

“Good morning, Owl,” Prozac cooed, “Death and I can’t possibly thank you enough for the meditation scripts! I only wish the others would be receptive.”

“You can’t force people to change, Prozac,” The Owl gazed solemnly at him, orange eyes piercing but oddly consoling, like Crack’s nightlight, “Only I can do that. As for you, you can only nudge them a little further in the right direction. The people who can change, will. The people who can’t change - well, they’ve made their bed, haven’t they? Nothing you could have done about that.”

The Owl turned his head to face Evil (180 degrees, as owls do). “Now then, what can I do for you, Champ?”

“Who are you calling ‘Champ?’” Evil spat back, “I’m not even supposed to be here! It’s just that these people think - ”

“Doctor, I’d like to apologise for him,” Prozac laid a paw on Evil’s upper back, but it did not comfort him. It only aggravated the cut from the cave wall, “He’s still at the denial stage.”

The Owl rolled his eyes, “Nothing I haven’t seen before. Now, everyone, move out of range,” The bears all fanned out away from the mound, “The treatment is about to begin.”

Everyone was standing safely back while The Owl tended to his pestle and mortar. Except for Evil, who sped marching towards The Owl all but ready to tackle him to the ground.

“You have some nerve ordering me about!” He roared, “Do you have any idea what I could do to you? Just ask the otters! Ask anyone! I - ”

The Owl was unmoved by Evil's threats. He wasn’t the first creature to threaten him. It helped that he knew what was going to happen. As expected, Evil collapsed onto the ground as the fumes from The Owl’s green stuff hit him at full force. The other bears showed no concern at Evil’s condition and continued to stand politely before The Owl.

“Business as usual,” The Owl announced. He leaned over the pestle and mortar and breathed it in deeply, elegantly lulling him into unconsciousness. The work could begin.

When Evil awoke, he found himself in a stark-white, cloudy expanse. ‘Cloudy’ might have been presumptuous. Maybe it wasn’t clouds. Maybe it only seemed that way because there was nothing out there for clouds to obscure - just white, white, white, utter blankness as far as the eye could see.

Maybe ‘far’ was also not quite accurate. It was hard to perceive distance with no point of reference.

Beneath Evil was liquid. It was barely as deep as his feet, the only proof of its existence being the soggy feeling on his soles and the ripples when he looked down. He couldn’t see what was below it. He bent down and reached out his arm, finding himself able to submerge it up to his shoulder. He took two tentative steps to that spot. He again found it barely as deep as his digits. There was no telling if or when he could fall through. If he walked, how far would he go before he fell off the edge, or hit an invisible wall? Would he even have moved at all? Even standing still could be a mistake.

He tried to focus his eyes, but he didn't see any sort of point to it. What was there to focus on? Evil gripped himself tightly. It was too much like being in a dream. Too much like not knowing what was real and what wasn't. He tried to remember the events that led him here as a sort of grounding technique, to tether himself back to reality. Was he dead? Did he die here?

After a second too long, The Owl finally arrived. He looked chipper.

"Hello again, Evil, and welcome to your stream of consciousness," The Owl crooned, as if he hadn't also just forgotten his place in the fabric of reality to wind up here. Evil tried to rise so he could pounce on the owl and demand he send him back or else he'd re-enact that weirdly morbid French nursery rhyme on him. Nothing happened. Sure, something like this had happened to him before, but this didn’t play out quite the same way. Before, it was like he was having an argument with his body, with him wanting to get up and move and his body throwing a temper tantrum and insisting they stay still. But here, it was as if his nervous system wasn't his, like an entirely different liquid flowed through his different veins and different air fuelled his different lungs, and he had to learn an entirely new language to get his body to obey him.

Then he felt something slip, as if he had been walking on a piece of loose pavement. The Owl got taller all of a sudden.

Evil had fallen off his legs. He was now cleaved perfectly in two.

"What the fuck?" Evil roared, jaw mercifully intact.

“Oh my,” The Owl remarked, almost mocking, “Somebody hasn't been doing their meditation. You've been making things difficult for our good friend Prozac, haven't you?”

"Let me out of here, you sick bastard!”

“All in due time! Now please, find it in your heart to cooperate so that I can do my work.”

The Owl’s contempt for Evil was clear. Good thing Evil didn’t care about being hated. He relished in it. Evil was to be loathed and feared by everyone who knew him.

“And another thing!” Evil continued shouting, “You never even explained to me what this even is! All you did was give me a new-age chloroform and transport me to a secondary location! If this is even a ‘location’ at all! Don’t fuck with me! I might not be able to fight you, but I can sure as shit sing 99 Bottles Of Beer On The Wall all the way through without getting bored, so tell me who you are and what you do this second!”

The Owl was unfazed, looking at Evil with more derision than usual. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“What?!?” Evil spat, not knowing how he could have possibly made himself more clear.

“I mean, I knew psychology was a pre-science, but this level of ignorance is ridiculous. I’m like a doctor, but for your brain. Can you grasp that, at least?”

“Like a doctor,” Evil repeated.

“Again, yes.”

“So, not a doctor?”

“SHUT UP! You try applying for distance classes without thumbs!” The Owl spat, “I may not be a quote-unquote, ‘real’ doctor, but that doesn’t stop me from knowing that this lack of sync between your body and your spirit shouldn’t be possible inside your own stream of consciousness. The only possibility here is… wilful resistance of the self.”

“My own stream of… you’re telling me we’re inside my head?!?” Evil cried, “No way. This is not possible. I refuse to believe it.” Evil made a show of squeezing his eyes closed and turning his head. He crossed his arms and the right fell off like overripe fruit from a tree.

“I expected you to be a difficult case,” The Owl warbled on, “Such a shame you won’t even get to meet your subconscious. Though, given what I’m seeing here, I shudder to think how much of him is left.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Evil pivoted towards The Owl, entirely prepared to take him to task when he caught sight of what The Owl was describing. Suspended in the air was a perfect copy of him, still and corpselike, with empty eyes and an expressionless face.

The Owl winked at Evil, which reassembled his body until he was whole again. He watched as The Owl proceeded to Evil’s subconscious, hovering just above it. He used his talons to pry subconscious-Evil’s skull open in a single swoop. 

The Owl reached inside and pulled out subconscious-Evil’s brain and handed it to Evil, who found himself accepting it with no questions. A pink-coloured elixir appeared from thin air. The Owl poured it onto the brain, causing it to expand in Evil’s paws until it was the size of his head.

In any other situation, at any other time, in any other loser’s head, Evil thought this would have been tremendously badass.

“There we go,” The Owl announced. He seemed to be waiting for something.

“…What the hell do I do with this?” Evil asked, struggling to find his voice after that incognisable display.

“Why does everybody ask me that?” The Owl sighed, “What you are looking at is your own mind. You now have the power to access and see the parts that are blocked off to even you! This is an extraordinary ability that I am giving you, and so I expect you to use it!”

Evil looked down at the brain. But he couldn’t focus on it, not for long. His neck craned itself forward to the subconscious-Evil, still hanging there in the air, still with that blank, dead face. 

Evil wasn’t looking at his face, nor was he looking at the newly-acquired hole in his head. He couldn’t. He was looking directly at his navel. He looked at the pentagram, allowing the bright red to burn itself directly into his retinas. 

The Owl said he was here to know himself with no restrictions. He was going to do it. This was all going to be over soon.

“It’s not supposed to be this way. I’m not supposed to be like this. Something has gone horribly wrong with me, and I’m supposed to be - I mean, I already am above all this. And if I can’t get everyone to forget about that painting and that bullshit idea of me they have swimming around in their heads, then I can at least fix things up here. Just because they’ve forgotten who I am doesn’t mean I have to.

“I want to get my self back,” Evil demanded. Not threatening this time, but still determined.

“What are you waiting for?” The Owl replied, almost smiling, “He’s right here.”

Evil took hold of the brain. He considered its texture, its various bumps and crevices, and the way it oozed in his paws ever so slightly. Evil didn’t focus on the inside of the brain. Inside was nothing but meat. Instead, Evil focused each one of his faculties on visualising the space between the outside and the inside. He imagined synapses lighting up. He imagined millions of thoughts and memories running down a spinal cord. That cord was him.

He opened his eyes.

“No. No! Not here! I can’t be here! I made sure! I can’t be here!”

Evil was no longer in a featureless, white expanse. He was not so lucky this time. Instead, his eyes were met with a row of sturdy metal bars.

He instinctively scurried back, but he didn’t get far before a similar set of bars stopped him. He immediately knew to make himself small. There was a flimsy, well-worn layer of straw beneath his feet. It smelled just like him. Desperately, Evil wrenched his eyes shut again, waiting for the brain to send him back.

Before it could - if it even was going to send him back - Evil felt a hand around him, soft and warm like a glove filled with dishwater. He wished he could pretend otherwise, that some mystery would keep him from fully processing what was happening, but this sensation was all too familiar.

The stagehand pulled Evil from his cage with ease. Evil was small. He didn’t remember the litter he was born into. He had never seen another Ursus Moronis cub in all his life, and so didn’t know whether he was bigger or smaller than the average cub. Not that it mattered. The stagehand was able to wrap Evil in a closed fist. This was convenient for the stagehand. It left his other hand free. In that hand was a tiny jingle-bell ruffle.

Evil had been through this enough times. He was intimate with the nooks and crannies of the Big Top, and he knew every little moving part in the grand mechanism that was the circus. He had gotten out before, and he was going to get out again. Was this even a challenge? The only thing keeping him in that circus before was weakness and stupidity. Evil was an older, wiser bear now, and he would be facing no such obstacle. All he had to do was fight.

But, Evil didn’t fight. He couldn’t. The stagehand had to loosen his grasp on Evil in order to fit the ruffle around his neck. It was the perfect opportunity to wrest himself free and run and run and never stop running. An opportunity his body would not let him take. Evil tried and tried to command it, but it did nothing but lie limp in the stagehand’s grip.

“AND NOW!” The ringmaster shouted from the ring. The clowns trudged backstage. Evil was shoved onto his tricycle, “THE FEARLESS BEAR CUB WILL DRIVE THROUGH THE DEVILISH RING OF FIRE!”

Evil’s trike was ejected into the ring with an almighty push. The moment he caught sight of the crowd of boggle-eyed humans in the stands, he pedalled as fast as he could, darting all over the ring like a trapped fly. No matter where he went, he would find himself in the path of a flying concession stand snack thrown by a kid or the ringmaster’s whip. All Evil could do was keep pedalling, left and right and back and forth for as long as it took.

Evil cowered. But Evil never cowered. Not anymore. If he had the choice, he would claw the ringmaster’s eyes out, or burn the tent down all over again without making the mistake of leaving survivors. It was the correct thing to do. It was the smart thing to do. It was the brave thing to do. It was the cool and badass thing to do. It was what Evil knew and what Evil was best at, and yet when the opportunity was ripe he was powerless once again. A powerless, ugly, snivelling, complacent creature all too happy to withstand the humans’ torment until his dying day.

Then, something that wasn’t food rocketed into Evil’s face. He didn’t know what the hell it was supposed to be. It was some sort of children’s toy, a weird lump with neon-coloured fur, pointy ears and a plastic bill.

No sooner than Evil had spotted the toy, a boy waddled onto the ring. The toy was his, and here he came to grab it back, either not knowing or not caring that he’d be surrounded by wild animals and open flames.

People only threw toys into the ring about two or three times. Human children typically wanted to hold onto those. Some even saw them as friends or siblings, showing these ungrateful inanimates more care and compassion than the animals they beheld.

But only once did a child walk into the ring for one.

It was at that moment that Evil understood. He wasn’t just being transported to the past. He was being forced to live out his memories all over again, exactly as he experienced them the first time.

Evil’s sense of panic went into overdrive. He could not tell whether it was from the harrowing revelation that he was forced to be a bystander in his own life, or his body going through the same motions it had the first time he experienced this moment.

Why would The Owl do this to him? What did he expect to gain? What did he expect Evil to gain? How long would this go on? Would it last until he burned down the circus, or would he be forced to relive every moment until the day he got dragged to the aviary? Were the other bears in on it? Did they know about this?

Would he ever see them again?

They had all betrayed him. Each and every one of them, under the ugly pretence of ‘caring’. Life was fine back when they didn’t ‘care’. It was caring that made him forget who he was. It was caring that made it so he couldn’t recognise his own body. It was caring that got Ella a crappy chicken dolly for her birthday instead of a flamethrower like any sensible little girl would ask for. And it was caring that thrust Evil into this nightmare.

The tricycle cleared the ring of fire. Evil couldn’t remember it happening, but he felt the jolt of the tricycle hitting the ground after the leap. The crowd cheered. The crowd laughed.

Immediately, prickles of heat began to crawl across Evil’s skin like a thousand angry hornets. The prickles turned to screams and swiftly enveloped every square inch of flesh. Every blade of his fur was a tiny candle’s wick that kept the flame alive and roaring. Even with the knowledge that he would survive, Evil was certain he could feel his flesh bubble and melt away from the ravenous white heat. His past self instinctively writhed and squirmed. Adult Evil knew how to handle fire. He knew when to use an accelerant and when not to. He knew how to properly control its spread, and he could start one with nothing but a rubber band and a paperclip. He knew what to do if he caught fire. But what was the use of this knowledge when he didn’t have the free will to use it? When he couldn’t answer his instincts? Evil was cruelly reminded that his adult self also had a far greater tolerance to the fumes as the odious miasma of burning flesh threatened to send his cub body unconscious. The thrashing quickly stopped as parts of him started to become numb.

A jet of foam launched into Evil and coated his body. It was the clowns, ever dutiful, and their trusty fire extinguisher. A clown shoe shoved him in the gut, forcing out a frail cough. 

“AND… HE’S OKAY!” the ringmaster declared. The crowd exploded with pleasure. Evil continued to lay limp on the ground. The charred flesh smell faded ever slowly. 

Evil remembered how angry he felt that day. His naive cub self didn’t recognise it as anger back then, but Adult Evil knew exactly what he was feeling. The body and the mind are not so far apart, and the body informs emotion more than one might think. The anger Evil was feeling might have come from his cub self, waylaid and failed by humanity from the very beginning, but that anger belonged to both of them. Evil still burned.

The pain was gone. So was the smell. So was the hollering crowd. When Evil looked up, the very first thing he saw was the ignorant smirk on The Owl’s face.

“Welcome back,” The Owl said, slow and soft and all too cheery, as if Evil were being read these words from a phonics book, “It’s time for the big moment.”

Evil looked around to find that he was he was back inside his stream of consciousness. In his paws - his normal, adult paws - was that same brain from before. The dead-eyed subconscious-Evil hovered patiently in front of him.

“What… what is it time for? What did you do?” Evil sputtered. He wanted answers so, so badly, but had to fight not to provoke The Owl into sending him back again.

“You’ve rediscovered your truth, Evil! I’m sure you’ve learned a lot from this spiritual journey,” The Owl crooned, obviously more proud of himself than of his reluctant client, “Now, you can choose to leave that pain here and get on with your life.”

Evil looked at his subconscious, then back at the grinning Owl. He didn’t know if he had really travelled through time or if this was all some elaborate illusion caused by his increasingly traitorous mind. The flames may not have been real at all. Even if they were real, it didn’t matter.  Evil was safely in the future. But Evil continued to burn, white heat still attacking him from the inside out. The liquid in the stream of consciousness couldn’t help him. He knew it wouldn’t. Evil knew what he was here for.

Evil opened his paws, and the brain set itself aloft until it landed safely back inside subconscious-Evil’s head cavity. By the twisted magic of the stream of consciousness, subconscious-Evil got the rest of his head back, and he was whole again. Evil inched closer and closer to him, feeling a magnetic pull. He took the lifeless bear’s paws.

“This better have been worth it, you sack of shit.”

“Were you talking to him or me?” Asked The Owl, who really had to work through his irrational need for external validation.

The treatment was complete. Flecks of the aviary’s leafy green flashed into Evil’s vision while its sounds and smells punctured the serenity of the mindscape.

“Well. Now that you mention it.”

Evil woke up groggy and hazy in the middle of the aviary, just as he had been left. The other bears rushed to greet him - Cara excitedly taking the lead and Prozac trying to keep up, the others stopping a few feet away to keep their distance.

“Evil! Evil! What did you learn? Did he fix it?” Cara squealed.

“Cara, slow down,” Prozac set a paw on Cara’s shoulder, “Evil will tell us everything in time.”

Gay, Lech, Vanity and Death didn’t even try to hide their disappointment at the lack of hot goss.

“Everyone, clear the way,” The Owl instructed. The bears did just that, except for Prozac who chose to flank him like a teacher’s pet. The Owl waved him away with a mass of feathers to the face.

“Now, Evil, tell me how you feel.”

Evil focused, waiting for his body to speak to him. Everything was still. No pounding heart. No tight chest. No heavy limbs. No relentless writhing and squirming in his chest. Evil felt still, stable and energetic. He felt the way he had the day before he superglued the remote. He felt ready to pounce. There was nothing left inside him to get in his way.

But Evil still burned. Even far away from his memories and The Owl’s illusion, the flames from the ring still lashed at his skin. Evil’s future was not that different from his past. He still had to perform in front of gawking children day in and day out. He was still being confined and mistreated by callous humans. And he still had a gawking crowd taking advantage of his misfortune in the form of every other bear at this zoo. Everyone in front of him knew exactly what they did.

Evil was a clown then, and he was a clown now.

Not anymore.

“I feel… like a weight is gone,” Evil replied.

The other bears whooped and cheered. Prozac and Cara tackled him in a hug. It didn’t matter whether or not Evil was happy. This was about their own comfort and their own satisfaction. They preferred him when he was a whimpering pile. If he wasn’t, they couldn’t be heroes anymore, and they’d have to confront the fact that they were just as selfish as anyone else. This little adventure just gave them some more time to suppress that. And now, they were having their victory party.

“SHUT UP!” Evil bellowed. Silence fell over the aviary. Prozac and Cara refused to let go of him, and Gay, Lech and Vanity even joined in on the cuddle pile.

“But Evil,” Death maintained his distance and kept up a soft smile, “I thought the weight was gone. I thought you were healed.”

“It’s true, Death. I meant what I said. The weight is gone,” Evil opened, “But I was right from the very start. You don’t know me at all.

“The Owl did one thing right. I haven’t forgotten who I am anymore, and neither will you. And the most important thing I remember is that I never let anyone get away with what they’ve done to me. The last time that happened, I burned everything to the ground! And this time, I won’t be leaving any survivors.” Evil stuck out a leg and tripped Lech, the tallest among them, over, sending the entire cuddle pile tumbling.

Evil took this chance to storm out of the aviary. Flocks of birds parted as he went. Cara called out to him, but quickly saw the futility in this and let her voice grow quieter and quieter. All anyone could do was prepare for whatever Evil had planned. Gay and Lech looked uneasily at each other. Cara held on to Vanity, instinctually guarding the bears’ youngest despite him being far from cubhood. Death approached Prozac with some comforting words prepared but found him distracted, clearly racking his brain for ways his leadership could get them out of this.

The Owl, having done his duty and little more, positioned himself to take flight. Lech grabbed him by the left talon as soon as he left the ground.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?” Lech roared.

The Owl was used to complaints such as these from unenlightened clients and so easily wrested his talon free.

“My job,” He replied, “Now, that’ll be one Siracha Quesarito plus Sangrita Blast.”

(AND SO IT ENDS)