Chapter Text
“Ugh, Jesus…” Bojack mutters harshly to himself, “Who do they– ugh!”
The automatic sink refuses to comply even after he frantically moves his stupid hands back and forth again and again over the sensor. It didn't seem to get the message.
‘Of course the damn thing’s busted, why even install this shit if there’s a chance it wouldn’t work?’ He clicks his tongue, ‘Management must have holes in their brains…’
He looks away from the sink and down to his feet, noticing his suit in between. He pats at himself while growling.
‘Christ…’ He thinks.
He’s at another one of those dumb kid’s award shows. He was with Sarah Lynn for a handful of seconds, if that counts for something.
‘Does it? Who gives a shit.’ He drives his doubts out from his mind, ‘Her dad was already at the show waiting before they even got here. She’s fine.’
This show. He wanted to skip this award show so bad. He knew it would be boring without his old stand up partner. But for some reason after he went down that rabbit hole of thinking he started to spiral. He got a little distracted and went a little overboard with the spiked OJ he took from work. And in his tipsy state he somehow managed to get picked up by and tag along with Sarah Lynn and her crotchety Mom after she practically begged him to come. He barely had time to throw on his suit! He was already feeling bad when he was about to ask Sarah Lynn if she remembered if they served alcohol at the last show but as soon as he sat inside the limo and shot a syllable out her mom chimed in and hijacked the conversation. She talked about shit that didn’t matter for the whole time and when they all finally arrived at the show she asked about David Hasselhoff. It felt like he was only here because she was trying to fish out something about that jag–off.
‘Why the hell would I care about some random B–lister when I’m obviously in S?’ He promptly thought.
Bojack eloquently told her to ‘piss off’ and was pretty much abandoned at the venue soon after.
“Where is my… goddamn…”
He rummages around through all his pockets and hidden sleeves and gives out an elated whine after a minute of searching. His fingers click against something metallic as he traces the cap of the container. He can’t help but savor the feeling of it but his will breaks almost instantly as he eagerly takes out an emergency flask and takes a hard swig. The vodka pours down his throat and it feels warm, tingly. He feels fortified.
He sighs with satisfaction while tossing his now empty flask to the ground.
“Thank god for past Bojack.” He mutters amusingly as he's hit with a wave of relief.
He stares at the ceiling while unconsciously feeling around for another emergency flask. As soon as he finds what he's looking for the horse slowly motions his head to this burden of a sink again. He can't help but slam his new flask into it without warning.
“Dumb brat, dumb awards, dumb sink…” He nags.
He grumbles again while reeling back for another good hit, but then he hears the door's creek come from behind him. He's too frustrated at the sink to give his full attention to the set of hard taps against the tile floor. But then the taps stop as soon as they start and the feeling of dread almost instinctively envelops Bojack.
‘Don't be a fan.’
“Bojack?”
‘That's worse.’
“Bojack Horseman! What is this? A crossover episode?” The new, chipper voice barks.
‘Of course he had to show up. Of all the times he could've pissed, now is perfect.’ He groaned, ‘Jerk.’
“Don't know you. You've probably got the wrong horse.” The horse responded flatly.
“Classic Bojack and his classic jokes!”
His eye twitches as he begrudgingly turns around to find sad and stupid Mr. Peanutbutter putting his fists to his hips and leaning toward him expectantly. He's probably waiting for more ‘classic jokes’ but all Bojack could do was sigh loudly. Peanutbutter then quickly turns his whole torso left and right.
Bojack raises an eyebrow, “What do you want, man? My time's worth more than yours.”
“Oh! You just reminded me to tell you what I want! Thank you BFF!”
“Don't call me that.”
“BFF&E! Have you seen my darling wife Katrina? I was with her for a wonderful six seconds before she apparently left with the closest caterer into a random crowd! I think she’s on an even higher streak than even me when it comes to making friends! Hahaha!” He chortles weakly.
‘Idiot.’
“No. I haven’t seen your dumb cheating wife. Go away.”
“Cheating? Haha! Bojack, Bojack.”
The lab shook his head and clicked his tongue disappointingly.
“Cheating is about love! And love is started with meet cutes! And meet cutes only happen on the street! Or in a park! Or in a cafe! Not where caterers work silly!” He fires some laughter.
The horse grits his teeth and turns his face towards the mirror. He wants to say so much but his brain hones in on the sink again.
‘This sink.’
“Can you not be annoying right now? I'm just– trying to–”
He fidgets with the sensor with his flask in hand. First tapping at it rapidly then trying to hit it again, and when that doesn’t work he switches to the sink’s neighbor. He reapplies some more soap and when the new sensor doesn’t register his fingers he huffs angrily and thwacks it with his hand without thinking.
“Shit! Urgh!” He wails while rubbing at the growing blemish.
“Woah there bud…”
The horse hears the lab gently speak up behind him and he can feel a vein popping out from his forehead.
‘Why the hell is he still here?’
The lab scrunches his face, “Are you uh, okay there?”
Mr. Peanutbutter steps closer with a concerned, pathetic expression. Bojack always hated his whole nice guy act. He made it look so easy. He got everything handed to him just by acting dumb and stupid. Sometimes he wondered if he really was this much of a little moron.
‘Oh god that would be so much more annoying.’ He thought about the possibility.
That thought just boosts his anger. He couldn't help but scowl at sad and stupid Peanutbutter.
“I’m fine, Mr. Peanutbutter. Go away and look for Martina or whoever. I’m fine.”
Mr. Peanutbutter looks sadly at the empty flask at the ground, then at the back of Bojack’s head. The gears in his head start to turn for the first time in god knows how long.
“I don’t mean to pry, but why are you–”
“I don’t want to talk about whatever it is you're going to ask about.”
“I just want to know why you're…”
He glances at the other flask the horse is holding.
“–partying, more than usual? Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Are you okay? You usually get ten trophies from this dumbass kid’s event, you should probably get out there and make sure you're all prepped to get ‘gooped’ or whatever." He insists, feigning integrity.
“I can get gooped later Bojack, I’m uh, kind of worried about you right now.”
He sounds so sure of himself. That he’s doing a good thing. That he’s actually helping a ‘friend’ out.
‘Bet he gets off on those brownie points.’
“I’m fine Mr. Peanutbutter. Leave so I can wash my hands in peace.” He swayed his tail in annoyance.
“I just.. I want to make sure you're alright! Who wouldn't be alright or excited when all of your favorite co–stars are just outside that door?! I know for a fact that all your friends are here Bojack! Even Me! Mr. Peanutbutter!”
Bojack tightens his grip on the bathroom counter. He felt like cracking the mirror in front of him.
‘I bet that’d make Mr. Peanutbutter feel terrible. Watching me bleed.’
“–I mean, we’re celebrating! I even took my own good ol’ senior staff out! Have you met my two show-runners? They're great! I'm sure if you meet them they'll cheer you riiiight up!” He exclaims that idea with so much giddiness his tongue was already sticking out.
The lab puts a soft hand on Bojack's shoulder. Bojack boils at the sudden touch.
“So, come on and–”
He had no choice but to erupt.
“Shut up! Oh my God, shut up!”
Mr. Peanutbutter's ears drop instantly as he immediately lets go of him and steps back. His shining smile is replaced with a crumpled and new frown. Bojack takes a step towards Mr. Peanutbutter while an ear twitches.
“Do you ever stop talking?” The horse hisses.
He chuckles to himself while looking off to the side for a brief moment. But he locks right back onto the lab when more words bubble up.
“Y’know, I don’t think I've ever seen you be silent in a room for more than five minutes! Five minutes!” He yells.
He takes a couple more steps closer to the mutt. Fists balled up and head fuming.
“You think you're friends with EVERYBODY you've met, you think everybody LOVES what you love. You're soooo perfect. Nobody is allowed to be sad around classic Mr. Peanutbutter!”
“I never–”
Bojack can't help but barge in.
“Never what? Never listen? Never take no for a goddam answer?? I hate you sooo much and that's awful. But oh, oh nooo, y'wanna know why that's awful? I hate you and you just won't take a hint!”
“Bojack It's okay if you–”
Bojacks takes another step towards the shrinking lab as his voice becomes more gravely. Fueled by unbridled resentment.
“Oh! Here it comes, your empathetic, good little puppy dog act! You're sooo good with people! You want world peace and happiness and love! Here comes my lovey dovey fans and my lovey dovey cheater wife! I bet the fun train’s coming too!”
“She’s not–!”
“I made out with a goddam supermodel last year!” He brags, “You think you have anything compared to me? Do you genuinely think you're actually something?”
He goes right up to Mr. Peanutbutter and pokes a stiff finger deep into his suited chest.
“You're just some talentless pretty boy who got lucky after walking on a set. You weren't handpicked like me. Never had to make the tough calls like I had to. You don't have the right to talk to me. Because anything that little peanut–sized brain comes up with will never, and I mean ever, mean anything to me or any other S–lister!” He loudly boasts.
The horse huffs and steps back. Mr. Peanutbutter just looks at him with a mixed expression. It’s unreadable at first but through the murk Bojack can clearly see him holding in tears and irritation, though it doesn’t feel targeted towards him. He’s just unresponsive, looking down.
“You absolute. Goddam. Idiot.” The words come out more harsher and colder than anything else he could've fired him with.
The lab just breathes for a moment, quietly, in and out. A harsh sniffling interrupts the panting every time he wants more air.
Bojack turns around and leans over the sink. He swallows hard and it soothes his aching throat. He sighs and stares intently at this still–standing sink.
“Whatever, screw this sink and screw you too.”
Bojack starts to walk towards the door while turning the flask he's held for so long to his face. He reaches a reddening hand out and clutches at the doorknob.
“If you want to help then sit.”
“Huh?”
Mr. Peanutbutter snaps out of his trance, and he looks warmly, or attempting to be at least, towards the back of Bojack’s mane.
“What?”
“Stay. And rot for a while. I'm trying to make sure I'm able to get as faaaarr away from you as I can. Can you do that?”
Mr. Peanutbutter’s ears would droop further if they could.
“–You're not allowed to say no, by the way. On account of my probably broken hand that you made me swing with. So don’t mess this up and just stay away from me.”
The lab just nods, unable to find any words. He hopes Bojack can somehow feel his confirmation. He doesn't.
Mr. Peanutbutter breathes slowly, still recuperating himself. After a couple of seconds though, he finds the words he wants Bojack to leave with. He starts to open his mouth, but Bojack's already closing the door…
“Have a good night, Boja–”
The door clicks hard behind the horse. All that’s left is sad and stupid Mr. Peanutbutter, left to think about whatever dumb as hell things he normally would.
Bojack starts walking slowly out of the venue while emptying the flask. When the constant warmness in his throat stops he blinks lazily. He eyes into the hole and turns the container upside–down and a few droplets fall out.
“Ugh.” He moans.
He drops it and it falls to the ground with a satisfying clank. He starts to pull out another flask sewn into the interior of his coat when he feels a hand on his shoulder.
“Goddamit Mr. Peanutbutter I told you to–”
He turns around harshly and his body feels cold. His heart pops into his mouth when he gasps. He stumbles back and nearly keels over. He hears his flask spark against the floor.
“It's… you.” His eyes widened.
Herb Kazzaz. Wearing a sparkling orange suit and plaid vest. He tipped his hat as he slowly sank to the floor. He’s eye to eye with Bojack. The man felt like death.
“Mhm.” The bearded man stared up and down at Bojack, “It’s me.”
He blinks once and the ghost doesn't vanish.
“You're… this isn't real. Where–” He coughs. He felt like he couldn't breathe.
He starts to look at the scenery around him, the carpets and walls start to dim black like the void, but the spotlights brighten. They almost seem to stare at Bojack.
“How? Am I–”
“Why didn't you just stay put?” The man interrupts him.
“What?”
“In that cell. Why didn't you just rot in there? Get high or crash behind those bars. Don't you think you've done enough? Hurt enough people?”
“I'm–I'm getting better, or at least, I'm trying to…” He grabs his forehead, he feels like he's about to vomit, and his vision starts to get blurry, “Diane?! Carolyn?? Todd?!? M–”
His name got caught in his throat. He felt it burn as he tried to swallow it down.
“Go on, bud.” Herb encourages, “Say it.” He commands.
He could only stare down at his partner's white dress shoes. He looks up at him for a second, and he nods without a hint of emotion.
“Mr… Mr. Peanutbutter!!! I was with him! We met up outside, near the front gate and– and…”
The void looms over him by now. The leftover lights start to flicker gradually. One by one they too start to fade away into the tar.
“I'm trying to be good! I am! I'm– I'm–!”
Herb squints at him, like he's warning him that he's about to shout out the wrong answer. Bojack blinks unconsciously and that gives him some small clarity.
‘Oh my god.’
Bojack knew what to say.
“I'm…”
Herb nods his head again. He felt so loud without even uttering a word. Bojack had to follow the script. He'd die if he didn't.
‘I deserve this.’ He states internally. As if he had to remind himself.
“I'm a stupid piece of–”
Bojack jumps a few inches up when he hears the heavy slam of his bedroom door fly open.
“Sunrise! Para ad Ientaculum!”