#fawful be like 'i miss my surrogate mom so much its unreal' *explodes*

[we-write-fics-here-sir]

Due to my insatiable hunger for Fawful content we are now writing fic for him and his hopefully speedy recovery from being the dumbest bean alive.

Title: Beans and how to soothe them

Characters: Fawful, Popple, Bowser (for like 3 frames)

Chapters: intro and chapter 1 (more to come)

Summary: Fawful's final moments in a great battle, Popple has an asthma attack in the woods

The dark power, as it turns out, is not feeling as wonderful composing his body as it did coursing through it.

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Fawful is finding breathing very difficult right now.

In simple terms, Fawful's body is on fire!

The world around him glows and pulsates, many colors swirling and changing as two little pests red and green smash into him with hammers that hurt so much worse than the last time he faced their brunt end.

The floor breathes. His legs are shaking. The air is so hot. His glasses are shattered and broken, and his legs are following their lead in this play of pain and fracturing. He may be having the panic attack, but he will choke that down to continue his fight!

And yet

He is having the dish of victory torn away from him, and loss served on a dirty platter rusted with sadness- he can feel the power of the dark star connected to his being finally shudder and die. It feels like his heart is gone. His body has never felt such chill.

Everything is moving with such swiftness- he...lost? The dark star, it is gone? Just like that? After he put in so much work, after he slaved away for so many of the hours?

Fawful needs revenge.

Fawful gathers the last of his strength for one final attack. An explosion of goodbye and suffering! To finally kill the foul fink-rats who have been a pain for so long! To finally- avenge her! Cack--

Fawful detonated into an abysmal swirl of black energy, instantly wracking Bowser's body with pain as the once-beanish, now undefined, wrecked havok in the king's body. In one quick motion, Bowser coughed up the dark poison in his body- along with all of his other unexpected visitors.

The swirl of darkness ascended high above the castle, abandoning the scene of man-meets-koopa, and instead being swept out by the southern wind.

What a pleasant breeze.

....

.....

Today is not Popple's day.

That bein' said, most days aint. First off, hes been havin a less than ideal time pullin' in a haul. Money is scarce. This 'smiling crisis' over to the east and the blorbs pandemic to the west make gettin money of any sort- legitimate or stolen- a real hassle. Everyone's just hidin' indoors n' sick, or theyve got swirly-eyed glasses and an intent to kill. Either way, Popple doesnt want a thing to do with any of em.

Hes been scraping by- with everyone shut in or downright nutty, not many palookas can stop him from stealin' in broad daylight, which brings us to today's haul: a car battery.

A pretty nice one too- one of those fancy new-age batteries for them carts that go upside-down and whatnot. It glows a faint rainbow hue with the unknowable power contained within... eh its probably actually pretty knowable and anyone with a hooniversity degree in star power engineering could understand it, but to a thief with a two-bit education? Magic, baby. Might as well be a miracle of technology. So why is this haul so troubling? Well as it turns out, this loot is surprisingly heavy. If Popple were a wimp he mighta even called it agonizingly heavy, but its fine, the intense pain in his spine means hes gettin a real workout and NOT that hes making his scoliosis ten times worse.

And heres the cherry on top of this pain of a situation- hes haulin this junk through Dimble Wood. Dimble freakin Wood.

Popple's sleeves were rolled up to his shoulders. Sure he loved his shadow thief getup (it was really the only clothes he owned) but boy oh boy if he wouldnt KILL for somethin just a little more airy. The woods are humid with the unwinding heat of the evening sun, drawing out Dimble Wood bugs that found comfortable perches on Popple's ankles, making the walk all the more unbearable.

At least the wind wasnt howling like it was earlier. A sudden hurricane with freaky purple winds was ripping through the mushroom kingdom earlier in the day, and as suddenly as it had appeared, it dispersed. Popple aint complaining that its gone though- it was just....weird. Plus, though he loathes to admit it- pretty scary. It felt like the wind wasnt just howling through the branches, but *screaming* with hatred at every living thing around him. The pure evil coming off of that storm had shook Popple to his core. He honestly needed an hour or two after the whole thing to regain his composure. Hes only managed to keep on movin by convincing himself he had some kinda heatstroke vision. Those are real, yea?

....ugh. hes really gotta focus. If he wants to not be out here after dark, hes really gotta step up the...pace...?

Popple glanced up, a familiar, dark wind rushing through the branches of the woods. The screaming sound of that wind- it makes his chlorophyll run cold with a terror thats almost instinctual.

It was not a heatstroke vision. It definitely was not.

Popple set the battery down, his spine practically yowling a silent thank-you to the stars above, as the shadow thief quickly glanced around, trying to locate the source of the uncanny storm.

The odd thing was, there *wasnt* a storm this time. No overwhelming, disasterous hurricane, just one, solitary gust of-

AGH- BLEGH- GODDAMMIT-

As if the gust of visibly purple air had some sort of personal vendetta against the bean, it took a sudden turn (can wind even DO that?!) and blew across Popple- and rather suddenly into his lungs.

A bitter taste covered Popple's tongue as his lungs immediately burn with a discomfort unlike anything hes felt in his (admittedly short) life. Instantly, unwillingly, Popple started coughing, and in the process inhaled *more* of the foul air now hanging around him, as if *waiting* to be inhaled by the man wheezing on the forest floor.

Its a painful affair- Popple is sure he can taste chloraphyll in the back of his throat. With tears in the corners of his eyes by the time the pain in his chest finally feels somewhat tolerable, he lets out a last shuddering wheeze. He doesnt know when he fell to his knees during that, but he eases himself into a sitting position instead, trying to catch his breath.

The purple breeze is gone now, only a faint, dark mist hanging in the air around Popple- which he unwittingly breathes in, to his immediate regret. At the very least, it doesnt hurt him- his chest just feels....real bad.

He should get home.

In an unfamiliar place, Fawful tries his hardest to cling onto life. He tries to breathe in time with the breathing around him, as ragged as it may be. A heartbeat that isnt Fawful's own begins lulling him into a quiet, dreamless sleep, as scared as he is that if he shuts his eyes, he'll never open them again.

This is what happens when you stay out late, see?

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Though, what does he have to be losing if he doesnt open them? After such waiting, he can finally be by her side again. He can finally...say sorry to her.

For letting her down yet again.