Short Stories #8: Sponge
CW/TW//Uncomfortable themees, and arguing parents
The little cup had been tossing and turning all night and woke up with a sharp gasp.
The room was dark, minus the night-light plugged in the corner.
He could feel his heart pound against his chest in a way it never had before. Cuphead held his breath for a moment, only to gasp and sharply flinch again when he heard the yelling voices of his parents downstairs.
Were they STILL at it??
He was pulled out of his thoughts when he realized he was sitting on something warm.
Ah, blast.
Cuphead pushed the covers off him, and got to his feet, breaths still heavy as a warmth crept up his face.
He looked over his brother’s sleeping form; he always seemed more peaceful when asleep.
Too bad he was gonna break that peace…
Cuphead stepped towards Mugman, and shook him awake.
“Mugsy…?”
The older boy groaned, yet still woke up, his vision blurry. Mugman looked at the red blob infront of him, “What do you want?” He snapped.
Cuphead gulped, and wiped his tears, “I-I can’t s-sleep.” He whimpered, watching his older brother sit up on his bed and put on his glasses.
“You gotta try, anyway.” Mugman’s eyebrows furrowed when he saw his little brother’s head hang low.
Something was up.
“Cuphead?” He spoke, voice not any softer, but not cruel either.
Cuphead stepped back, enough for Mugman to see his bed.
The boy stood up, and cringed when he saw the damp spot on his brother’s bed sheets.
“Wha- Cuphead, I told you not to drink so many liquids before–” He was about to say. Or rather, scorn. Cuphead was 12, he should’ve outgrown this habit.
But he paused when Cuphead cut him off completely.
“I’m sorry…! I-I had a really r-really bad nightmare an’ I couldn’t sleep ‘cause Mom m’ Dad kept yellin’ an’ I’m sorry..!!”
Mugman found himself silent. He saw the humiliation and distress on his little brother's face, the way tears left his eyes, and the tension in his shoulders, like he expected to be struck.
It made Mugman’s heart clench uncomfortably.
The older boy sighed, and stepped in front of his little brother, kneeling on one knee.
“Let’s just run you a bath. Okay? Get yourself cleaned, an’ I’ll scrub your back. After I fix your bed, of course.” He spoke, his voice firm, but a lot calmer. More caring. Understanding.
Safe.
The little cup smiled lightly, despite how much he still wanted to cry.
“O-Okay.” He nodded and ran off downstairs.
Mugman rolled his eyes and stood up, turning on the lamp.
After he freshened up Cuphead’s bed, he went through the little guy’s drawers to have clean clothes prepared.
He really didn't feel like bathing his brother at 2 in the morning, but…
The image of seeing Cuphead so unbelievably scared, hurt. He shouldn't feel this way.
Ever.
If only the blue mug knew.
Back with our little cup, he had washed himself up, and made an effort to make the water extra soapy.
His head perked up when he heard the knock, and he took a breath to stabilize himself.
It’s JUST Mugman.
“Come in!” He called out.
He watched his brother enter, the older boy dressed in mismatching clothes he had no problem getting wet, clothes in hand, and a towel over his shoulder.
Mugman set the clothes on the counter and closed the door. He hung the towel on the rack and spoke simply, “Sponge.”
Mugman would press the sponge against his brother's back and begin gently scrubbing the skin.
“…What’d you dream about?” He questioned quietly, as if trying to maintain the fragile peace.
Cuphead felt the tension release from his shoulder in a way it hadn’t before. He rested his arms on the edge of the tub and lay his head on them.
He didn’t realize how much he had needed a simple, affectionate moment like this with his brother…
“…Bad things…I was stuck, an’…” He murnured.
And hands were tearing my skin off.
“…Saw scary faces.”
Mugman pursed his lips, and nodded lightly. He wasn't gonna push…Why should he? He figured Cuphead’s just been more stressed than usual.
It worried him. But not enough to make a change in himself.
The boy sighed, and began scrubbing the back of Cupsy’s head, the crook of his neck, the rim of his head his…Handle.
Mugman felt his grasp on the sponge tighten. He felt that familiar wave of insecurity and frustration wash over him.
His little brother always had clear skin, barely chipped, and even when he was injured, everything always seemed to heal gracefully.
Not Mugman, though. He was one hard blow on the head away from completely dying. His handle? Gone. The cracks ran from his arm to his face, and his eye?
Well, it was practically useless. He could still see, but his vision was even more blurry; only a contact lens and prescription combo could let him have his sight back.
He was envious.
He wanted to smash the little cup’s teeth in, just to see if he would ever crack—
What am I even thinking…?
He took a deep breath, and looked at his little brother, how peaceful, yet tired he looked.
He can’t do that. He wouldn’t. He shouldn’t.
