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The kitchen rumbled to life as Y/N used the Dateviators. An argument had erupted in the kitchen between Luke, Stefan, and Friar Errol. Y/N had never liked arguments, as they always reminded them of their parents and their failing relationship, always have gone downhill over anything and everything; cheating, bills, and even on Y/N's accidental birth and thus leading into a messy divorce that lasted a few years. Y/N never wanted to ruminate too deeply on the past, since it always burned a searing rage into them, but it also awoke something further buried. A sorrow that Y/N seldom shown, one that they would keep hidden under liquid wraps. What kind of liquid? The one that makes you forget until the next morning, when your head throbs and your stomach lurches in on itself. Y/N thought that they could be free from their past, but it felt that it was coming back to haunt them.
But even with how they hid swirling emotions, Y/N should have learned that they would never be free, not unless they faced the past head first and talked about it. Even if it did hurt, it would have been much healthier than bottling up what should have been shared, and drinking what should have stayed in the bottle. The conversation was lively, almost tumultuous in nature, the words of Friar saying that those who did not adapt would simply fall behind enraged Luke and Stefan dearly, saying that anger was a normal reaction to finding out about their obsolescence, only further fuming the other two appliances up.
The other two dragged Y/N into their argument, whipping their heads to look at the reluctant home owner and commanding them to go forth towards them. The echoes of the yells along with Friar's pretentious words steamed Y/N's mind into a cacophony of enraged insults they attempted to hold back. This was stupid. Utterly moronic. Y/N hated that they were fighting, since there was no real reason to be fighting. The bickering continued as Friar spoke about the sorry state of their souls, Stefan and Luke pointing out how rude and enraging Friar was acting towards them, and it equally enraged Y/N. Eventually, it got more than just Friar slinging his insults disguised as advice, with both Stefan and Luke going at one another's throats in a more passive-aggressive manner before dissolving into a full on circle-jerk of an inflating-ego contest, at least that was how Y/N would describe it. Before Friar could even utter about the power of convection...
"Oh my God, SHUT THE FUCK UP, ALL OF YOU!!"
Y/N had finally snapped. Their voice was rigid with hate and disdain, what once was a gentle caress of words was now a hurling boulder of inferno. Their face became flushed with the heat of their rage, grabbing all three of the men and slapping them across the face, something that was far from Y/N's usual impassive and collected personage that everyone had grown used to. Y/N, once detached from the tension, had now merely added more of it in a way that killed the previous fight. The silence felt guilty, each of the appliances shocked at how suddenly the switch in Y/N's brain had flipped, going from the calm and nonchalant house owner, to a beast of vexation so deep that it unfurled in a way so frightening, so sudden, that the others had been left speechless. Y/N first turned to Friar Errol, the one who had started the battle, determined to end this petty war.
"Friar. You are so, so fucking annoying with how pretentious you are. So what if you don't like oil? Big whoop! You're like every other fad dieter I met; shallow, empty, and lacking in personality. I could say the same for that shitty haircut, too. Not to mention that you preach convection like gospel. Guess what, 'friar'? Not everyone likes your cooking methods! Some people prefer to eat without having a pompous, pontifical waste of screws and bolts blathering in their ear about how oil is going to send them straight to hell! You God damned waste of scrap metal and convection fans!"
Y/N then turned to Luke, the same cold disdain on their face. Friar had been stunned silent, eyes wide and brows furrowed. But while he thought, his expression softened. Y/N's words had cut deep. All he had wanted to do was just save others from the devil that was oil. Was... Was he in the wrong? All his life, he had been taught that oil was a sin and that convection was salvation. He wanted to deny it all he could, every fiber of his being yelling at himself that he was right. But Friar Errol could not shake off the everlasting feeling that maybe he was a bit too insistent in his ways. As Y/N turned to Luke, Luke could only feel his heart sink down, deep into his stomach as Y/N's harsh and apathetic gaze landed on his own eyes, peering into his soul.
"Luke, I can't tell if you are as toxic as the uranium they used on your first ancestors or if it's the radiation getting into your thick goddamn skull, but you are not 'heroic', you're fucking neurotic. You kept talking about these 'barrens' and 'swarmers' like they're real world issues on the first days we met. Last time I read, hotshit, the world is perfectly fine, and you made it all up so I could run along with your little fantasy-land! And that whole thing you had me do with the chassis, and the fact that you told me yourself that you were lying instead of telling me sooner? What, did you do that just for kicks? You put on a whole song and dance just so that I could play around with your chassis? You're sick, Luke! Just as sick as the people who died due to your radiation poisoning back in the fifties, you radiation expelling, militia babbling, tendie-reheating dolt!"
Luke felt tears pinprick his eyes, a saddened whimper leaving his lips as he frowned. He was genuinely hurt at Y/N's words. The same ranger he cared about, that he opened up with and told him that they still saw him as cool and awesome, had said all those mean things about him. His heart shattered into thousands of pieces, as no mission he got, real or fake, would ever cause him to forget those harsh, bitter words that strangled him by the heartstrings. Stefan was last. Y/N looked at him, standing on the tips of their toes, gaze brimming with hate, scorning rejection that made Stefan sweat a little bit, despite the stove keeping his most expressionless poker face. He may be a passionate chef, but he was a lot tougher than many credit him for.
"As for you. You think you are so high and mighty? Just because people used you for centuries? No. That just means that you are old, Stefan. People grow tired of the old, toss them out. You may be passionate, you may be caring, but both your age and your temper will be the end of you. You boss others around like you own the place! And to be honest? That's a dick move. People don't like the overbearing nature you hold, the bossiness. They are tired of it. And I won't surprised that one day, they'll grow tired of you. So don't be shocked if your new home of retirement is a scrap yard once you can't cook as well as you used to, either that or you lose all of your passion once your metallic frame grows brittle with rust. Once that fire of yours goes out and you can't flare up those flames of yours anymore, both literal and metaphorical, you'd be surprised to see the house in a lot more peace."
Stefan's eyes widened slightly at hearing that. It was scary for him, since he had been within the house for a while and he was indeed growing old. Stefan started to question everything that he once knew; Did everyone in the house really not like him? Were they all insincere towards him? Even Miranda, his own adopted daughter, did she even have the pride to call Stefan her own father? It sent him into a silent spiral, one that was visible for a few seconds before Stefan hid his emotions, although still visible in his eyes and a slightly down turned frown on his lips that went unnoticed to the naked and untrained eye. Stefan knew that he wasn't the best: he had flaws like everyone else, even Y/N, but seeing a turn in Y/N so bad like this made him ruminate on a lot more than one stove could possible handle. Was the argument really that bad? Why did Y/N react so badly?
But before either of them could speak, Y/N backed a few steps away, their gaze faltering into one of mild, seething contempt. No, they didn't deserve this. If anything the silent treatment would have been better, but silence would be far too late now. Y/N knew that they had to remove themselves from the situation. Slowly, their words lingered, an echo of the past that had once resided in the back of Y/N's mind had resurfaced like a beached whale. It was what they said to Stefan, their tone, that really lit up the flare that was memories of Y/N's parents deciding to divorce. Of their father calling their mother an aging hag, saying that she would be of no use to him if she grew old and wrinkly, bitter from years worn on their marriage... Y/N's expression softened slightly, before they shoved their feelings into the locker, the recesses of their mind so deep to never let them out.
"I'm leaving. I'm not coming back until midnight, so don't keep up," Y/N muttered, their expression cold but with the light hint of regret
"And just where do you think you're going?!" Friar asked, still bitter from Y/N's words.
"A tavern, a club, fucking anywhere away from you three!"
Y/N then ripped the Dateviators off of their face, harshly stuffing it away into their pockets. Y/N felt guilty, knowing that they became a remnant of the very people that they destined, no, promised themselves that they would avoid becoming. But alas, the apple does not fall too far from the tree, now, does it? With a swiftness of a typhoon, Y/N grabbed their phone, their wallet, and a butterfly knife, and stormed out of their house as the dark clouds of their thoughts followed them around to their desired destination: far. Far away from the house, at least long enough to temporarily obliterate the thoughts that ran rampant in their head, flooding them with a guilt that Y/N had wished they would never feel, but was now haunting Y/N's each and every step.
Eventually, Y/N landed on a small bar, nestled within the Validian city they lived in. That would be nice enough to get their mind off of the whole argument and outburst: they could go bar hopping, and then settle in a club until they had to go home. It was a well plotted mapping of the town, even if it wouldn't truly help them in the long run. But what did the others know about them? It wasn't like they would magically know everything about Y/N, let alone about how they use alcohol to mute the voices of their parents arguments and the echo of the divorce in their head! And besides, Y/N was responsible! They never drunk and drive, they made sure there was nothing in their drink that could drug them, and they didn't get drunk enough to moon people in public!
Hours pass. Stefan was pacing around, fire forming from his burners that adorned the fronts of his shoulders as he muttered to himself in a panicked manner. He tried to keep running smooth, but it was already four o'clock in the evening, or fourteen-hundred as Luke would say, but the smoothness became ridged as he thought more and more about Y/N, both about their safety and what they said. He tried not to let it get to him, but the words stabbed deep, a serrated blade into his heart that was so full of passion. Friar Errol was silent for the most part, ruminating about the entire crash out that Y/N had. Luke was silently weeping, hiding it behind simply having something caught in his eyes or that it was raining. The three men were caught into a pit of worry and woe, both for their livelihood, and for Y/N's well-being. Of what the imminent future may hold for Y/N was a mystery, their activity was under wraps and kept anonymous.
Well, until a certain someone came into the kitchen.
The gossiping candelabra himself, reminiscent of a 1700's dandy, Scandalabra. He graced the kitchen with his presence, his silver shoes tapping with elegant poise each step he took as he trespassed welcomingly into the threshold of the kitchen, an unwanted guest, but one that would be needed. For Scandalabra knew one thing that the appliances in the kitchen didn't. Well, the three that were fighting, anyway. There were two other kitchen comrades that knew of Y/N's ailment, but Scandalabra did not wish to spoil the surprise on which two lucky witnesses had seen Y/N's issue at first hand. He laughed, god it was boisterous and smug, just as he was. The three appliances whipped their heads around, Stefan already growing annoyed with whatever antics Scandalabra had up his ruffled sleeve cuffs.
"What do you want, you candle-holding conundrum causer?!" Luke asked, hiding deep tears that stained his rugged cheeks.
"Well, I must certainly abstain from speaking, but it seems that you three are in a struggle from a conflict previously encountered! And with the master of the house, no less!" Scandalabra pointed out, a smirk forming on his pale face as his arched eyebrows raised in intrigue, "However, you're not the only ones within the conflicted wits of struggle, as Y/N has a habit for certain liquids," Scandalabra gossiped, giggling at his own truth framed as a rumor.
The others were confused, looking at one another. What was Scandalabra even talking about? It didn't matter, it could possibly be one of his rumors that he would chatter about with little chaste nature. Least until further analyzing the words, that was what the trio assumed. But further speculation hit them. Did Y/N have a drinking problem? That could explain why sometimes, they would buzz home in a more inebriated manner, or the countless times Y/N had awoken tired and retching out their own organs, or the times that Y/n would hobble about within the house with their clothes all messed up and their face flushed with a tsunami of blush.
"By convection... Scandalabra, are you saying-"
"And I don't mean to confide any further, but if thou shall worry dearly about the homeowner, then I must indulge within serenading your ears with my susurration!" Scandalabra proclaimed confidently, a hand on his chest in a pose reminiscent of a regal from the renaissance period, "If you were to inquire further with Beverly or Freddy, a more unequivocal answer will come to you three, but the both of them know the same thing: Y/N can't put down that which is distilled! It's rather disappointing, yes... but the way that they keep going to Beverly for all of their problems was merely a dead give-away into issues lying beneath that calloused surface we've seen many a time before! I wouldn't be surprised if they came home with their pants on their head and their organs their own brewery... Farewell, my quarrelsome comrades!"
And with that, Scandalabra left with another haughty guffaw escaping his lips, wandering out of the kitchen as his words lingered onto the trio. Luke, Stefan, and Friar Errol now knew the awful, painful truth: Y/N did indeed have a problem with alcohol. Further investigation with Freddy and Beverly solidified the denouement of despair, the feeling of dread and woe cascaded all around them in the air. Would Y/N be okay? They couldn't do anything, since they were merely household items, but the sentiment of life filling their beings without the Dateviators just to chase after Y/N and inquire about their state of well-being still stood high and mighty, a kraken of emotional devestation, guilt, and worry. But, why would Y/N have a drinking problem? Why would they snap at the three so suddenly? They needed to ask further.
Diana. The diary. She knew everything about Y/N, past and present. Luke grabbed the others, dragging them along to Y/N's bedroom to talk to the eccentric, wayward woman, pushing past Dorian and entering the bedroom. Diana looked at the three men, wondering why they looked so frantic and in panic. It wasn't long before the tension in the room fell upon Diana. Diana didn't explain it in any sugar-coated manner, not ever since she managed to separate her own memories from Y/N's. Diana explained that Y/N was a child of divorce, a messy one at that. Their parents married young and stupid, but were soon to grow bitter and hateful towards one another after years of marriage that had little communication, financial trouble, and unmet expectations. Y/N's birth was hoped to help, but it only furthered the issue due to how sudden the pregnancy was for Y/N's mother, leading Y/N to be called 'accidental'. This caused Y/N to believe that everything that happened to their parents was an issue of themselves, and it damaged them severely.
It hurt the appliance trio to hear of such a tragic past for someone that showed no emotion. Diana said that Y/N kept that as a mask, even though Y/N had little motivation to do things, or when they would struggle to make friends, or their aggressive nature. Everything about Y/N, they hid behind a stone mask of deadpan blankness and booze. Stefan, Friar, and Luke booted themselves out of Y/N's bedroom. They needed to figure something out, they had to warn Y/N, or at least just let their beloved homeowner know that they were there for them. The conflict between Luke, Friar, and Stefan was long gone, now relaxed with sentimental agreement that Y/N was more important than figuring out who was number one and who else would be left on the chopping block.
Meanwhile, with Y/N, they were indulging in every alcoholic beverage in sight. Like a tornado in Kansas, they hit every bar, every tavern, each and every pub and club as far as the Valvidian eye can see. A kid in a candy store, some call it. Others, a monster on the rocks. But Y/N would simply dismiss it as a 'fun night out'. They danced, they belted their heart out, they managed to break a few bar records and even some bar furniture here and there. Eventually, everything became a blur; the kitchen fight, Friar's pretentious words, the fact that Y/N became the one thing that they despised and eventually, Y/N's brain just put itself on auto pilot. It was now the liquid courage talking, a cloak of what truly hid underneath the spurious happiness and bravery, rather than Y/N's own memories and thoughts that kept all sorts of shoved inside of a big suitcase that could burst open any second.
Time flew by, and soon it was 1:15 AM. It was later than Y/N had expected, since they were sitting on the curb and looking up at the night sky, due to how the club they were subjecting themselves into had kicked them out for destruction of property. It was one of the prettiest nights, one where the sky was a blanket of black and deep rich blues, where the stars sparkled and danced in a serenade of pure beauty, when the moon was full as its silver light cascaded down onto the town and shone onto the streets, illuminating them with the dim, glimmering brilliance. Eventually Y/N managed to recall in a miraculous manner of effort, they were supposed to be home at least an hour ago! Dammit.
Y/N dashed through the empty, sleepy streets of their town. Their feet stumbled about as they fell about on the sidewalk, swaying back and forth with each little step. the sound of cars and trucks passing by rumbled and screamed, causing a panic to brew within Y/N. Eventually, paranoia seeped into Y/N's mind, as they took out their butterfly knife to protect themselves from the rustling of bushes nearby. One flick of the wrist, and suddenly Y/N's palm was cut open, the knife loudly clattering onto the ground beneath them and scaring off the perpetrator: a singular cat within the bushes. Y/N wanted to chase after the cat to pet it, but it was too quick and sound of mind for Y/N to keep up, rather disappointing for Y/N. Y/N simply chose to take their drunk walk home rather than chase a stray on the streets. While they were walking, Y/N felt something in their pocket, and deciding to take it out, it was a pair of glasses: the Dateviators. Y/N put the glasses on, the pink hue added a rosy tint to their vision that was rather lovely to see, as they were giggling in enjoyment on their wayward way back home.
At the house, the appliances fret. Luke sat by the door, staring at it with no end. Stefan was making a meal for Y/N when they would arrive home, Friar Errol was praying for Y/N to come home safe, or at the barest of minimums alive. With the sound of the door knob's jiggle and the creak of the door, the brazenly drunkard figure appeared at the door. It was Y/N. Their face was washed over with blush, their clothes covered in stains and splotches that painted their once clean and neat clothing, now wrinkled and messy with little recognition. Y/N's H/C hair was now tousled, a storm of messy tangles and frizzy nature that was once a neat, well cared for mane of locks and strands. Even the smell of booze stuck onto Y/N like a bad omen. Luke didn't hold back, running up to Y/N and hugging them tightly in his strong, muscular arms.
"Ranger! Oh, thank the immortals! I was scared that you died!" Luke joyfully cried, nuzzling his face into Y/N's neck, but stopping once he smelled the alcohol all over Y/N, "Eugh! Whoof! Ranger, you kinda reek..."
Stefan looked over, seeing Y/N's newfound inebriated state. "Oh... Y/N, look at how drunk you are!" He gently pointed out, a frown softly tugging at his lips.
Y/N paused, looking over at Stefan, their E/C eyes slowly adjusting to see his towering figure. Y/N was once again seeing double, but that was something that they had gotten used to. They shivered, the house feeling cold just to be in. At least outside, it was somewhat warm, the house felt like a blizzard had gone in and wreaked havoc on everything. Y/N didn't think they were that drunk! After all, their pants were still on, they didn't vomit out their dinner yet, and they only got in trouble once throughout the night! Y/N's eyebrows knit in slight anger, frowning at the accusation of the truth.
"I am not.... Fucking drunk," Y/N stated, their words melting together like a cheese fondue.
"Is that so? Tell the time, then," Friar inquired, asking Y/N to tell the time.
Y/N turned to the clock, Timothy Timepiece. They pointed at him, their movements awkward and uncoordinated like a wobbling baby cat. "I am not.... Fucking drunk," Y/N stated. Timothy gasped, clutching his chest as he walked off from the conversation. How rude!
Stefan walked closer, gently holding Y/N's face in his large, calloused hands. He made sure that his touch was gentle, since he was a stronger appliance, rubbing his hands over Y/N's cheekbones that were warm to the touch, almost lava hot. Y/N's vision was crossing, doubling, blurring all over, as their blinks were seldom and stagnant, evident that their brain was in no proper manner to function all by itself. It caused Stefan great sorrowful pains, to know of Y/N's past, of their addiction, of everything. He wanted to pull Y/N into a big and loving hug, but he knew that he had to watch his strength. Y/N was confused at how nice the other appliances had suddenly been. Weren't they fighting with one another earlier?
Luke sat Y/N down on the couch, Stefan handed Y/N a plate of supreme stuffed-crust pizza, as Friar Errol just sat next to Y/N, reading from his book. Y/N didn't understand any of it, the kindness was foreign to the drunk homeowner due to how they were used to being alone while they were in their befuddled state of mind. It was not long before Friar took both of Y/N's hands within his own, his eyes that were bluer than any morning sky gazed deeply into Y/N's own drunken gaze, the concern was obviously plastered onto his guilty face, a frown of somber apologetic nature that was subtle to the bare gaze. The other two had similar expressions, almost worried about how the outcome would be, but confident that they could help Y/N within the deep hours of waking night.
"Y/N... We know. We were told everything, and this is of no healthy manner to deal with your issues. I'll admit, I made your situation worse, even if I was unaware of your past... But I take full accountability," Friar admitted, Stefan and Luke also nodded to show that they too took credibility for their actions. "But drinking your problems away is not a good path, but rather one of self-destructive nature that will cause harm to you. However, we wish to help you, to correct this behavior so that it will hurt less. The road to recovery may be long, but we shall aid you with every step of the way."
Silence filled the room, as Y/N pulled all three of them into a tight, loving hug. Sobs and wails filled the room, as years of unattended emotions flooded out of Y/N's eyes, a tsunami that had been finally unleashed as the storm of many feelings flushed from the barrier that Y/N had built. Words of love and endearment, of thankfulness all spilled from Y/N's mouth, a waterfall of appreciation for those close to them cascading from their lips. The others hugged back, no hesitation, as they had all cared for Y/N equally as much, for they were more than a friend and homeowner, but rather someone they cared about deeply, someone that the trio loved and cherished. Y/N had helped them all through thick and thin, and now it was their turn to help Y/N. And soon, Y/N fell asleep in the arms of their appliances, their friends, those who held Y/N near and dear to their hearts, comforted at the fact that Y/N would have someone to turn to rather than a bottle of liquid courage. It was a release, a break out of the chains that once held Y/N down, a liberation of Y/N's self from something that could cause more pain and suffering rather than satiating it.
And Y/N was glad that they had friends there to help them, grateful, even.