Chapter Text
Wally Darling lay in bed, staring at the bright light emanating from his window. From his position, he could just barely see the tree that sat right outside. Even from where he lay, he could still see the orange sunset shining through the leaves. His eyes lazily trailed a leaf as it slowly fell to the ground.
He’d loved that tree, especially sitting under its cool shade with Barnaby as he sketched whatever. He’d laugh as his best friend told him his latest joke. He loved to laugh as much as he could, not actually knowing how before he met the blue dog.
“You don’t know how?! Well, everyone deserves to laugh. I’ll teach ya, buddy!” Barnaby had said to him. To repay him, Wally made sure to always laugh his hardest at Barnaby’s jokes.
Wally sighed, thinking about his best friend. It’d been five whole days since he last saw him, or any of his neighbors for that matter. Five whole days since his conflict with Home.
Five whole days since he lost his color.
He’d hear them stop by every day, asking home if the puppet could come out. Wally hated to worry his friends and would go see them himself if he could. Ever since what happened though..he just can’t. He’s never felt so down in his life. Even the idea of getting ready and going out utterly exhausted him.
Wally sighed and glanced back at the tree. God, how he’d loved painting that tree. Every season brought a new set of colored leaves and even flowers in the Spring. Wally loved painting it during the Fall when the leaves were a beautiful mix of oranges and reddish purples. He’d spend so much time making sure the color was absolutely perfect.
Home, however, loved it most in the Summer. Wally knew this because Home’s reaction to the dazzling green-painted leaves was always the biggest. It’d flutter its curtains and make high-pitched creaking sounds. Wally’d laugh and hang it up where home could see it best.
That’s it.
Maybe a painting could lift Home’s spirits, and in turn, convince it to give the puppet back his color. Wally mustered all of his energy into getting out of bed, using the wall as support while he walked.
Slowly, the puppet made his way toward his easel. Despite his better judgment, he couldn’t help but glance at the hallway mirror on his way. He’d gasp if he hadn’t already spent hours examining his new appearance when it first happened.
The once vibrant man was now various shades of grey, literally. Even his usually colorful clothing lacked any sort of hue. His once red ascot, which reminded him of fresh apples, now resembled muddy paint water.
And oh, his hair! His poor hair! Wally Darling prided himself on his hair, often spending hours preening it to perfection. He was a man who cared about details, maybe that’s why he was an artist.
Now, however, his usually azure-blue hair was, you guessed it, grey. He ran a hand through it, a fruitless attempt to tame the multiple stray strands, ‘Well I’m not completely colorless,’ he thought. ‘At least Home made my hair a slightly darker shade of grey..’ he huffed sarcastically.
He pried his eyes from the mirror, turning the final corner to the room containing his paints. He could’ve cried at the sight, not realizing how much he missed the joy of creating art.
He turned his head to look at the ceiling, even though he was technically talking to home no matter where he looked, it felt appropriate.
“Hey home..” the man attempted to get the house’s attention. A dark creaking sound was heard. ‘Alright, that’s progress!’ the puppet thought to himself.
He slowly made his way to the paints, still relying on the wall to hold most of his weight. He prayed this would work, unsure if he’d have the energy to attempt anything else.
Wally sat at his stool, “How ‘bout a painting?”. He did his best to keep his voice level, despite the shake. He poured some reds, yellows, and blues into his pallet.
“I know you love flower paintings–,” He glanced down at the yellow he’d just dipped his finger into, “would a beautiful yellow sunflower help-”.
Wally stared down in shock. The bright yellow on his finger had a grey hue to match Wally’s creeping across it. He dropped his pallet in horror, falling off his stool.
“What?!” he gasped. Wally watched in horror as grey overtook all the paint on his finger. He clutched his hands to his chest, afraid to touch anything else.
This had gone on too long. First his hair, then his friends, and now his paint? They needed to solve this now. Wally made his way to the door, wanting to be face-to-face with Home.
Wally stepped outside, knees wobbling at the overstimulating outdoors. Even with the sky being a muted hue from the sunset, Wally still found himself squinting at the brightness. Maybe doing this outside wasn’t the best idea in his state.
He turned around to face the house. Home’s door immediately shut.
Wally ran a shaky hand through his hair before stepping back, smiling warily at Home. “I’m sorry you’re unhappy, Home”. He reached for the doorknob, “I will bake you some cookies to feel better!”
To be honest, the puppet wasn’t even sure if he’d have the ability to do so. However, he hoped Home would accept his peace offering. He wasn’t sure what he could’ve done to upset it, but he’d very much like to find out away from the too-bright sky, thank you.
The knob didn’t budge.
Wally tried again, this time more frantic. “Home please–I don’t feel good, and Barnaby will worry if he finds me like this!”. He searched home for any kind of reaction but found none. “Home, it’s getting dark!”
This routine went on for quite a while, Wally switching from pleading with Home to warily glancing at the setting sun, which could now be classified as a set sun.
Finally, the puppet gave up. Even from the short energy expelled from battling with the doorknob, he felt weak. He turned around to look at the now dark sky, his back pressed against Home’s door. “Home..” he weakly croaked out, “please let me go back inside.”
Not even a creaking floorboard filled the silence. Wally sighed, holding out his hand to examine it. Once a brilliant, bright shade of yellow was now a spiritless grey. Not even like Frank’s– which was more akin to the cool surfaces of the rocks Wally loved to paint, or the misty skies on a rainy day that was filled with splashing in puddles and hot cocoa with neighbors.
No, the grey that now “colored” all of Wally’s features is utterly lifeless–the emptiness of it so strong it feels like he’s even becoming grey inside. He felt weak, mentally and physically. His mind felt cloudy and dull.
If he put all of his energy into focusing, he still couldn’t quite remember what he’d done to make Home take his color. He’d been like this for five days now…
〇
“Home, I’m home!” the blue-haired puppet chuckled as he walked inside. He smiled as he placed a fresh apple from Howdy’s on the window sill beside his easel. He’d been waiting all day to paint the beautiful fruit. It truly was the most perfect apple he’d ever seen, and Howdy saved it just for him!
“Look at it, Home! Isn’t it just the most? Howdy said he saved it for me, but wouldn’t give it to me unless I promised not to steal all the apples before Poppy had a chance to get some.” Wally cupped his hand over his mouth to whisper to Home (as if anyone could possibly hear him), “But my fingers were crossed!” He chuckled.
He waited expectantly for Home’s usual floorboard creaks or curtain waves that only Wally could decipher as laughter, but none came. He paused for a moment before putting a hand on the wall, “Hey, I was just messing! I’ll make sure Poppy gets some, promise!”
Still, no response….odd. Wally turned to face the windows that usually held Home’s “eyes”, painting and apple completely forgotten. “Is everything alright, Home? I hope you’re not upset at me for being gone so long. I told you I’d be helping Sally paint scene backgrounds.”
He waited…
Nothing but an unintelligible, eerie floorboard creek.
Wally took a step, making his way toward the wall. “Home, I-”. Suddenly, a floorboard shot up, tripping Wally and causing him to tumble to the floor. “Ouch! Did you-” He cut himself off with a forced laugh. “No, surely not.”
Certainly, it was just a loose board…
Still, Wally elected to stay on the floor, crossing his legs. He glanced warily at the shadows surrounding him, hoping it was just his imagination making them appear so large and– were they coming closer?
No, of course not Wally. Back to Home!
“Let’s talk Home, you know I never want to upset you!” he smiled up at the wall, electing to focus only on the wall and not on the shadow that was definitely getting closer.
He warily slid a few feet back, “I promise I’ll spend all day tomorrow with you! Would you like a fresh coat of paint?”
The shadow crept closer.
“Or maybe I can plant some fresh flowers around your path?”
Wally stands up, backing up further from the approaching shadows.
His attempts to get a response from Home became more desperate, “Please Home, you’re really scaring me. This isn’t funny! Home? Home!”
The shadow began to engulf Wally’s leg. It hurt. Wally cried out at the burning sensation, back hitting the wall as he attempted to escape. The shadow continued to climb, reaching his torso, then his neck…
“Home, I’m sorry!” Was the last thing Wally remembers shouting before the burning became unbearable and he passed out.
When he regained consciousness– which was odd since Wally wasn’t really one to lose consciousness, he was left in his current predicament, feeling as lifeless as he looked.
〇
And now here he was. He had spent the past five days urging Home to talk to him and hoping the grey would fade away. Wally didn’t dare to leave, fearing it would only worsen Home’s ire. His conclusion was that Home was upset at him for being gone all day…even though it was never a huge problem before.
Sure, Home got passive-aggressive and a little possessive sometimes, but it’d never kept Wally from leaving longer than a few hours. Still, it had to be the reason. As much as Wally prodded his cloudy mind, he couldn’t think of anything else that might’ve caused such a reaction from Home.
Besides, even in his less-than-great state of mind, Wally knew his neighbors seeing him like this wouldn’t be ideal. No need to unnecessarily worry them over a little argument, right?
‘My, my, what a predicament’, he thought. He looked to the houses surrounding his that he could see from where he stood, all with their lights off.
The puppet’s shaking legs struggled to hold him up, and he allowed himself to slide down the wall into a laying position. “Home..” his grey finger traced along the divots in the dirt. “Being colorless hurts..” he cried.
The grey puppet glances up to the dark sky, no one would be up at this hour.
“And I’m scared...”
Sure, he’d felt weak before. He thought back to his sore limbs after accepting Julie’s challenge of a “just hopping, no walking” day. Or the mental-burnt-outness he felt after working 11 hours straight on a birthday painting for Barnaby (he had really wanted every color to be perfect).
Huh.. color. He couldn’t help but feel like he took the word for granted. What if he never again got to help capture the beautiful hues of an insect Frank finds? Or never got to help Poppy decorate one of her beautiful cakes? Surely no one would want a grey-colored cake..or a grey painting..or a grey Wally!
Wait, what was he thinking about again?
His ‘train of thought’ felt more like a bunch of little paper boats floating every which way down a stream, and it seemed every other boat would disintegrate in the water… like it was too tired to keep floating.
Right, tired.
Yes, Wally had felt mentally or physically weak before but it was certainly never anything that relaxing over some hot dogs with Barnaby couldn’t solve. No, he was tired. And being that he didn’t sleep, this was quite concerning indeed.
Despite himself, Wally found himself drifting off. As sleep overtook him, the last thought on his mind was the hope he might dream. Sally had described it as a magical play in your head every night, the plot possibilities endless. Wally found the concept intriguing.
Like laughing, Barnaby had tried to teach him how to sleep and subsequently dream. He’d invited Wally for a sleepover, (which he’d later face a moody Home for accepting).
His best friend had taught him all the tricks from drinking warm milk to counting imaginary sheep. “Walls, you gotta close your eyes!” he’d remind the puppet every so often, to which Wally would respond with a hushed “Oh right!”.
Barnaby had told him the best way to sleep is to pretend you’re already doing it. How silly was that? So Wally layed there for hours, curled into Barnaby’s side as he mumbled “I am sleeping, I am sleeping” over and over again.
For some reason that made Barnaby laugh at first, but even he eventually drifted off. Wally, however, couldn’t manage to do the same. Though disappointed he couldn’t dream, he definitely didn’t see the night as futile. He enjoyed being cuddled up to his best friend, even if no one was talking. It was oddly relaxing.
He’d ask for more “sleeping-practice-sleepovers” with Barnaby, even though both knew Wally probably wouldn’t figure it out. They still enjoyed each other's presence.
Now, however, the doziness overcoming Wally was anything but relaxing. This was cold and uncontrollable. Was this what sleep was? Surely not.
‘At least ’, he thought, ‘this grey may allow me to dream.’ He shivered from the cold night winds, curling tighter in on himself.
Maybe this was Home’s plan all along, maybe it wanted to give Wally the gift of dreams.