Fallout and Future

Chapter 1: Not Today

A/N: Holy shit, Wattpad is not built to handle paragraphs like these. Welcome to my glorious Sunflower post-canon fic, which I've already uploaded more of on AO3, but I seek comments, so I ended up here. I hope you have fun; CWs are at the bottom. This fic was beta read by UdonPuddle, SubwayBossEmmett on AO3, and Solais143 on AO3.

A/N 2: A Sunflower Discord server, if you will. Run by FireOfPies: https://discord.gg/3m3e3tHEPg

Basil had, with few exceptions, worn the same formal sweatervest and shorts for the past four years; they were meant to be worn at Mari and Sunny's recital. For a few short days after being released from the hospital, he put on his old, more casual clothes, but that came to a stop once it was time for his grandmother's funeral. He'd opted for a black vest and finely-pressed white shirt with a hyacinth, her favorite, tucked into his hair instead of the typical flower clip. It was similar to his old outfit, just more subdued. It fit the occasion well.

An uncharacteristic chill hung in the air as Basil walked briskly through the streets of Faraway. Grey clouds obscured the late morning sun, as though the sky had briefly ceased its usual routine to pay tribute to the dearly departed. The same thing had happened back then, at Mari's funeral. A familiar pang of guilt and self-loathing tugged at Basil's heart, but he pressed past it. At the very least, there was now a sense of freedom alongside the chill in the air - now everyone knew what a terrible person he was. Basil mulled over the days following his grandmother's death - he thought back to last night, when he'd once again found himself hunched over the toilet, his throat filled with bile following yet another bad dream.

But now, there was no kind touch from Grandma to guide him back to bed. And there never would be again.

Leaves dotted the sidewalk as Basil moved, hands in his pockets and his gait unusually determined. He didn't let his limp from the fight distract him, or at least tried to. Today wasn't about him - he had to keep going. This was what she'd have wanted, after all. He briefly wondered if she'd feel the same way if she knew the truth that Sunny had revealed at the hospital, nearly a week ago. His best friend - it felt so wrong to call him that, after all Basil had done to him - was still undergoing treatment for his eye. And there was that pang again.

Basil had been put on suicide watch, given mandatory therapy, and was briefly released for the funeral and its preparations. Hopefully those therapy sessions would be enough to make him into someone who, at the very least, wasn't a danger to everyone around him. That was quite enough for Basil; he didn't deserve this, but other people still had to put up with him, so it was for the best that he got better.

Where would Basil even start, though? Had the doctor already been informed of his crimes, or would he have to confess personally? After four years of mounting pressure, forced to confront his guilt in his dreams, he'd been about ready to finally break, anyways. It had been one of the many reasons he locked himself in his room on that night.

Basil twisted his fingers uncomfortably. Dreams were a funny thing. They'd spoken forbidden truths in his ears, suggesting that Sunny had been behind the photos and... killed Mari. He only wished that he had listened sooner; even now, after Basil had heard it (repeatedly) from the man himself, it was strange to think about Sunny as an imperfect, human entity rather than some kind of imaginary messiah. And, regardless of who Sunny really was, he still had to move.

Even if Basil logically knew he'd have to be able to live life without Sunny, it hurt that he was going to go away. Perhaps it's for the best. A voice nagged at the back of Basil's mind. You can't hurt him any more than you already have if he's living in the City, right?