Chapter Text
It's been two years since Anne visited Amphibia. Two years since she came back, unable to return. And in those two years Anne had changed. In most ways, she’s changed for the better. Anne was less careless, more responsible, and seemed more certain about what she wanted rather than moving along directionless. That was all well and good, but there were days where it seemed like she also changed for the worst. Days where Anne seemed so distant.
It started just a month after leaving Amphibia. The government went into double time covering up Andrias’ invasion and Anne’s involvement, Marcy had moved away from California, and there was a lot of crying from a lot of people. When it was all over, Oum caught Anne sitting on the couch, staring at nothing without even scrolling on her phone or watching the TV. And there was this hint of...something in her eyes. Was it sadness? Anger? Fear?
“Anne?” Oum spoke up. “Are you okay?”
Anne didn’t respond. She didn’t speak or move, and she barely even blinked or breathed. It left Oum more concerned as she carefully walked over and waved a hand in front of Anne’s face. It did the job of temporarily shaking Anne out of this sort of daze, looking to her mother more clearly.
“Mom…?”
“What’s wrong?” Oum asked, wanting to get right to the point, but Anne just looked at her with confusion.
“What? Nothing’s wrong, I’m only watching TV.” Anne turned her attention back to the television, but the screen was dark, never even turned on. “Oh…I…thought I was, at least.”
“Anne—“
“I must have just zoned out. It’s no big deal, really.” Anne tried proving this with a smile, which, to her credit, seemed genuine. “I’m fine.”
“Well…okay,” Oum said, trying for a smile herself. “If you’re sure.”
“I am. Don’t worry.” Anne picked up the remote and turned the TV on. The sincerity of her words was enough to make Oum believe it that time, leaving Anne be.
But then, six months after that incident, another one occurred. Anne was helping out in the restaurant, mopping up the bathrooms as per Oum’s instructions. Surprisingly, Anne didn’t object to it.
“I’ve lived through grosser,” she joked, which was a good sign at first. However, after an hour, Oum went in to check on Anne, only to find her mopping one spot, slowly and repeatedly. She barely moved and her head wasn’t even tilted down to pay attention to her work. It was up and attended, Anne facing the wall instead of the floor. Oum felt concerned again, going over to shake Anne by the shoulder.
“Huh, what?” Anne turned around and looked as though she had woken up from some kind of dream.
“I think that spot is clean enough,” Oum attempted to joke, but the worry couldn’t help but seep through. “Everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah, uh, sorry.” Anne rubbed the back of her neck, seeming embarrassed. “Must have spaced out.”
“Like a few months ago,” Oum pointed out.
“Well, I mean, yeah. Sometimes a person just…goes blank.”
“I know, but I’m hoping it doesn’t become a pattern.”
“Mom, trust me, it won’t.” Anne smiled, but the genuineness appeared a lot more fake this time. “It’s just…a thing. Nothing bad. You won’t be seeing me like this anytime soon.”
Except that Oum did. Four months after the previous incident, during dinner, it happened again. They were all eating together as a family, enjoying themselves with some specially made peanut noodles prepared by Bee. It was normal at first, until Oum noticed Anne staring down at her plate. It was that same sad/mad/scared expression on her face as she continuously and meticulously stabbed her noodles with her fork. It was the first time Bee noticed it too, him and Oum sharing a look of unified unease.
“Anne?” Bee was the first to speak up. Anne didn’t respond, though. All she did was stab at her noodles.
Stab, stab, stab.
“Anne,” Oum said more assertively, this time getting her to look up, her expression unchanged.
“What?” she asked, her voice having a sort of dark tone to it.
“You seem a little…out of it,” Bee said. “You’ve stopped eating your supper and, well…Is there something wrong? Anything on your mind.”
Anne stared blankly for a minute, not saying a word. She blinked once, twice, and by the third blink she shook her head, becoming a little more clear headed as her sadness/anger/fear dissolved. At least slightly.
“N-No,” she said with a much lighter tone. “It’s nothing. Just–”
“Spaced out?” Oum finished for her. “You’ve been doing that a lot since Marcy left. Maybe it’s connected?”
“What? No. I-I don’t think so.”
“Is it something to do with the Plantars?” Bee asked. “We know saying goodbye to them tore you apart too.”
“No,” Anne asserted, her brow furrowed. “It’s not that either. You would know if it was.”
“She’s right,” Oum agreed. “There’s a lot more tears involved if it’s that. But maybe it does have something to do with Amphibia. You’ve been through a lot there, so–”
“Could you both drop it!” Anne snapped, banging her fists onto the table. It was enough to make Oum and Bee jump. Never in their lives had they heard Anne raise her voice in such a way. Especially towards them. Anne was quick to realize her own mistake as guilt and shame was written all over her face.
“S-Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—I’m…sorry…”
“Anne,” Oum spoke carefully, reaching out to put her hand over Anne’s. “We’re sorry for pushing. We’re just worried is all. If you don’t feel like talking about…what’s wrong, we can be patient and wait until you feel ready to talk.”
“Your mother’s right,” Bee added with a smile. “If there’s anything wrong, it’s up to you to share. We won’t force anything.”
Anne was silent at first, chewing on their words instead of her food. But eventually, she stood up from the table and picked up her plate.
“I think I’m going to finish my dinner in my room,” Anne told her parents, not looking them in the eyes. “Thanks for not pushing…but I want to be alone right now.”
“Anne—“ Oum was interrupted from reaching out further when Bee put his hand on her shoulder. She turned to him and, with a shake of his head, understood that now was a time to not be pushy. Lest they risk pushing her away.
So Oum silently allowed Anne to leave with her dinner, hoping Anne would speak up soon. The problem is that she’s been waiting for a whole year.
Patience may be a virtue, but it was torture for Oum. She just stood by and barely did or said anything all while Anne continued to have these little episodes. She wouldn’t cry or seem hurt, but she’d go completely blank for a short time before going right back to normal once someone said something to her. Sometimes, it’s not even that, as Anne would talk or numbly do as she’s told on autopilot as she tuned out the rest of the world.
And let it be known that Oum tried. Only to be shut down just as fast as the night Anne had her third episode. Or, as far as Oum was concerned, the third episode she was aware of.
Even now, as Anne laid in her bed, staring up at the ceiling and eating marshmallows with that same exact expression again, it made Oum beyond concerned at this point.
“Sweetie, would you like–”
“Not right now, Mom…” Anne said, her voice dull. “I just want to be alone. Please.”
“Anne, I really think–”
“Mom. Please.”
Reluctantly, Oum sighed and walked away, closing the door behind her and leaving Anne to deal with whatever this is alone because there's nothing else she could do. Not without worrying about pushing her baby away in the process.
Oum made her way to Bee's computer room, catching him in the middle of what looks like another video game.
"Honey--"
"Hold on." Bee held up a finger for quick silence. "I'm watching a walk-through on how to find all the hidden cyber-ducks in Mega-Mecha-Man Plus. There's this one in level twenty that's really--"
"Bee, I'm worried about Anne," Oum said clearly. It was enough to get Bee to pause the video and spun around in his chair to face her.
"Is this about her...episodes?" he guessed.
"It just feels like it's happening a lot more now," Oum said, rubbing her arm nervously. "At first it was like every few months, but now it feels like she's going through this once a week. And I don't know what to do when it happens every day."
"Well, I've actually been researching that," Bee said as he opened another tab. "It could be a result of PTSD. I mean, she had to go through some traumatic stuff in Amphibia. Her best friends...did bad things, she was chased a lot by giant bugs and birds, and apparently something happened in their last visit to Amphibia. It wouldn't be too far to assume that it's post traumatic stress."
"Are there any suggestions on how to help her with it?"
"As far as I can tell, the best course of action is therapy."
"So it's a no, then," Oum huffed. "We can't just send her to a therapist. She says one thing about the frog world and she'll get thrown into a padded cell."
"And Mr. X said keep it all hush-hush," Bee said in agreement. "So, can't really have her say any of that Frog-vasion stuff was real."
"To anyone. Meaning that Anne's got all this trauma bubbling up inside her and there's nothing we can do to help..." Oum started to tear up, both out of frustration and heartache, with Bee being there to get up and hug her.
"I know, it's a lot," he softly said. "But remember what our therapist said when Anne went missing? We can't just focus on a problem that seems unsolvable. We just need to approach things step-by-step and take time to focus on ourselves when we can. Which is what I'm doing. I'm researching whatever solution I can find and having fun with Mega-Mecha-Man Plus to let my brain relax. Can't help Anne with a burnt-out mind."
"I guess not..." Oum muttered.
"Things will be okay, don't worry." Bee kissed her. “We’ll get through this. Anne will get through this. Eventually. Just gotta have a little faith until that.”
And with that, Bee returned to his chair, as well as his video. However, once he pressed play, he got about ten seconds in before an ad started to play.
"Aw, not another ad!” Bee groaned as he slumped back in his chair. Oum came over and watched over his shoulder. “And this one's unskippable?! I knew I should have gone with the ad block..."
Once the ad buffered, it started with a close up of a woman looking over her shoulder with brown hair and a blush to her cheeks.
"Hey," the woman said. "You lookin' at me? Are you seriously looking at me? Because if you are..."
The video zooms out to reveal that the woman's wearing a graduation gown with a party popper in her hand as she spins around with a bright, wide smile.
"Then you're looking at the new graduate of UCLA's psychology program!" The woman cheered as she pulled the popper, its POP transitioning to her now holding up a picture of a twelve-year-old girl wearing a sweater.
"Hi, I'm Mabel Pines!" The woman said. She then booped the girl's nose in the photo. "And this little angel was me twelve years ago! Can you believe how adorable I was? Well, can you also believe that this little girl suffered from a little something called trauma?"
The video transitions to Mabel now laying on a couch.
"It's true," she said with a sigh. "Some really bad stuff happened to me at that age. Stuff that no one but my brother, Grunkles, and best friends would believe. While talking to them about my issues was fine enough, none of them could really give the insight needed to recover. And it's not like I could go to a therapist about any of it. They'd think I'd be way too crazy when I told them about my biz. That's when I remembered something my Great Uncle Stan once told me: If you can find a professional..."
The video cuts to a new angle of the couch, showing a shoddy split-screen shot of two Mabels, one sitting on a chair while the other still laid on the couch.
"Be your own professional!" both exclaimed.
"That's right," the one on the couch said, "The best way I approached my trauma was to learn how to fix it myself, basically becoming my own therapist!"
"And a fine one at that," the one on the chair said with a wink, making Couch Mabel blush.
"Oh, STAWP!" she said as the ad transitioned to her gesturing at a degree. "After figuring out my own issues and crying a whole lot when I did, I realized I could do the same for other kids like I was. Kids who think their issues are too crazy to fix can come and have a chat with good ol' Dr. Pines! You can lay down, have some tea, and even pet a pig!"
The video quickly cut to Mabel petting an old pig. "That's right, I said, 'Pet a pig!' And do all of that and more as we go through what's really going on in the center of your brain! Just call this number or visit this address!"
Both a phone number and address zoomed in on the top and bottom of the screen respectfully.
"So come and visit Dr. Pines, and remember: There's nothing too crazy for a woman who probably experienced crazier!" Mabel then winked to the camera just as the ad ended, going back to the walk-through.
"More like there's nothing too crazy for a woman that's already crazier," Bee commented. "That lady sounds like a nut."
"You want to know the best thing about that though," Oum said from behind him.
"What?" Bee turned around again and saw Oum dialing a number into her phone.
"Crazy people are too crazy to believe if they blab someone's secrets," she said, putting the phone to her ear.
"Hang on, you're not seriously considering that whackjob, are you?” Bee asked. “Her therapy involves petting a pig.”
"I'm seriously desperate," Oum said with a scowl. "Anne needs to talk to somebody, and it might as well be someone who might be too insane for--Hi! Is this, uh, the therapist lady? From the internet? Uh, Doctor Pines, yes. I think my daughter could use your help..."