Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Micky hated spring.

Summer was fine, lovely even! The sun would shine, the ocean would be pleasant, there would be festivals and parties all night long, and more gigs than he could ever hope to play at.

Autumn was always nice. There were crisp breezes and good food, he got to visit his family, and it was always the perfect temperature to wear his favorite sweaters. 

Winter was Micky's favorite. There was rarely snow, but all the parties, celebrations, and festivities made up for that tenfold. Cheer was in the air, people were happy, and it was guaranteed to be the best part of the year.

But by god, did Micky hate spring. 

Bees and wasps all over the place, enough pollen to coat the entire Monkeemobile three times over, and allergies that would leave him bedridden for days.

But worst of all, there were so few gigs.

Sighing and turning the page of the newspaper he held, Micky felt the last of his hope in finding a musical job disappear. 

He glanced at the clock. 7:33 AM. He had to be at work by 8.

Another awful thing about spring. No gigs meant they had to get regular jobs. Micky was currently working at a grocery store, checking out and bagging items at the cash registers. Mike had landed a post just down the street, at a butcher's shop. He was probably there already. Peter hadn't had as much luck finding a job, but they were still on the lookout.

Heaving himself off the sofa with a grunt, Micky grabbed the keys to the pad and stepped out door, locking it behind him. Peter was still home, but with him asleep, better safe than sorry.

Starting up the Monkeemobile, Micky prepared himself for another long workday.

--

Lettuce. Beep. Eggs. Beep. Bread. Beep.

"Thank you ma'am, come again soon!" With a false cheery grin, Micky handed a middle-aged lady her groceries. She returned the smile halfway, then hurried out the store. 

Another glance at another clock. Six minutes until he could clock out, head back home, and relax with his hard-earned money... But surely, no one would notice if he left a little early.

Sweeping the store with his gaze, Micky found his boss nowhere in sight. No customers, either. Perfect. 

Jumping out from behind the register, Micky made his way into the staff only area, grabbed his bag, and turned to leave--

--walking straight into the wall. The paper that had hung there stuck to his face, and Micky sputtered and cursed trying to get it off. But as the paper fell to the ground, the title on it caught his eye.

Urgent! Musicians Wanted: Spring Festival

Crouching down to pick the offending paper back up, a grin found its way back on Micky's face- A real, genuine one this time.

Maybe spring didn't suck as much as he thought. This gig would go perfectly, he was sure of it.

--

The gig couldn't have gone worse.

Rock and Roll musicians weren't what Mr. Jensen, the man who posted the flyer, had wanted, but with no other options, he invited the Monkees to play anyways.

The crowd, no doubt, hated them. Mike started coughing, choking on his own spit right in the middle of "Sweet Young Thing". They managed to get back on track, only for two of the strings on Peter's banjo to snap with no warning. They hadn't even gotten partial pay, and went home with pockets just as empty as they came with.

Feeling defeated and exhausted, Micky flopped face-first on to the couch the second he was through the door. Mike and Peter trailed after him, also taking seats on the couch and nearby chairs.

"Well," Mike said after a moment of silence, "That certainly could've gone better."

"Yeah, no doubt. We really flunked tonight." Micky brought his face off the couch, resting his chin on his arms. 

Peter stayed silent.

"Maybe we should talk about it. Y'know, see what went wrong, so we know what to do better next time," Mike suggested.

"Yeah, sure. Maybe, we cou-"

"Oh alright, I'm sorry!" Peter cut Micky off throwing his arms into the air. "I'm sorry, I know it was my fault! I'll do better next time, I promise!" 

Mike saw tears starting to form in Peter's eyes, and quickly cut him off.

"Now, hold it right there, Pete! How could tonight possibly have been your fault at all?" He asked, incredulously. Micky sat up all the way, preparing to jump to Peter's defense too. 

"I- Well, you and Micky've been working so hard with your jobs, at the store and butcher's, you know?" Peter's rambling picked up in pace. "And- and I've just been sitting at home, doing nothing! I know how stressful all this must be for you both, and then tonight, I just ruined it! I couldn't sing right, and my instrument broke, and I think Mr. Jensen hated me, and--"

"Peter." Micky broke through. "How could any of that be your fault?"

"Well, I just said. It's all-"

"You've been taking care of the pad, and keeping an eye out for jobs for us. I'd swear this place looks cleaner than I've ever seen it! You've been writing songs and practicing, that don't sound like sitting around doing nothing to me," Mike countered, crossing his arms.

"Yeah, Pete! What he said. And tonight, your singing was wonderful! And it ain't like you took a pair of scissors and cut up your banjo, that was out of your control. None of it was your fault, Peter!" Micky continued, building off of Mike.

Peter's tears were falling freely now.

He leaned forwards, capturing both Mike and Micky in a quick hug.

"Oh, what did I do to deserve friends like you two? I don't have any clue where I'd be without you." Peter said, muffled by the fabric of Micky's shirt.

Mike reached around Peter, and patted him on the back softly. 

"Something tells me you'd be doing just fine, Pete. Now why don't you go change into PJ's and get washed up? We should all be hittin' the hay soon."

Nodding in confirmation, Peter released Mike and Micky and bounded off to his bedroom, giving no signs that he had been crying moments before. 

Micky stood up, planning to go get ready for bed as well, but was stopped by Mike gently grabbing his arm. 

"Hold up, Mick. I had something I wanted to ask you about."

Micky sat back down hurriedly, holding his arms out in a calming manner.

"Listen, Mike, if this is about your belt that went, uh, missing, a while ago, I swear, I-"

"Wha- My belt?" Mike gave Micky an accusing glare. "We're gonna be coming back to that, but I wanted to talk to you about Peter."

"What about Peter?" Micky's tone swiftly shifted from playful to concerned. 

"Aw, it's probably nothing, but I'm a little worried about him. Has he seemed- I don't know, a little lonely lately to you?" 

Lonely? No way was Peter lonely. He had Micky and Mike, and sure, they didn't hang out as much as they used to, and sure, they left early each day for work, and sure, Mike and Micky were a little closer to each other than Peter, and sure--

Oh. Peter was probably really lonely.

"Yeah, I could see that," Micky admitted. "But it's not like either of us can just quit our jobs to spend time with him all day, what do you suppose we do?"

"Well, I've kinda been thinking about this for a while, but I wanted to run it by you first." Mike shifted in his seat. "What would you think about maybe- getting Peter a pet?"

Micky hadn't been expecting that. A thousand possibilities ran through his brain- Could they get a dog? Something cool, like a snake? A parrot would be fun, maybe they could teach it to sing! Or a spider, chicks would dig that! Or-

Mike took Micky's silence as hesitation, and kept talking.

"Now, it wouldn't have to be anything big. I was thinking something small and cheaper, like a fish or hamster. Just something to keep him company during the day, give him something to do." 

Aaaand, there went all the cool options. Mike shifting in his seat again reminded Micky he still hadn't verbally responded.

"Why Mike," Micky began, "I think that would be a lovely idea. However, instead of something lame like a hamster, would you consider a parro-"

"No parrots."

"Or a turt-"

"No turtles."

"We could stick with the band theme! I've always wanted a-"

"We are NOT getting Peter a monkey, that would just be asking for trouble."

"Why would you be getting me a monkey?"

Mike and Micky both jumped, neither of them having noticed Peter approaching the back of the couch. He had a towel in his hands and was dressed in PJ's, clearly having just stepped out of the shower.

Mike gave Micky a look.

To Mike, the look meant 'Hey, don't say anything to Peter yet. I wanna have a more solid plan before we get his hopes up.'

Micky interpreted the look to mean 'I don't want to explain it, you go ahead.' 

And so he did.

Watching the look on Peter's face morph from confusion to pure joy, Mike couldn't find it in himself to be too frustrated. Quietly, he resigned himself to driving Micky and Peter to the pet store the next day.

That could wait, though. For now, all the wanted was a solid night of rest.

--

David knew he didn't have long. 

Ten minutes, he would give it. Ten minutes, max, until Gabriel would realize he could no longer sense David asleep in his bed. Ten minutes until Heaven would get locked town tighter than any human prison until David was found. 

Ten minutes for him to get the hell out of there.

He raced down hallway after hallway, knowing exactly what turns and passages to take to wind up in the courtyard. He slipped through the door, then immediately dived into a bush, hearing footsteps from around the corner.

Two angels, it sounded like. He craned his head, trying to hear part of their conversation. 

"David.... Get Gabriel... Missing..."

Damn. Forget ten minutes, it had barely been five. He needed to get moving.

He was so close. Just across the garden were the gates, then he could slip through, and go see the human world for the first time. He was so close. He'd wanted this for years, no way was David giving up now. 

Silently, David thanked his past self for choosing to change into a dark turtleneck and trousers, instead of his usual blinding white robe. He was nearly invisible in the dark, so long as he stayed low and blended with the shadows.

The two angels eventually moved on, continuing their patrol through the gardens. David creeped forwards.

Through flower bushes, past the apple tree, around the fountain, duck against the wall as the angels come by again- and there it was.

The gate. 

As a child, David had come to this very spot nearly every day, admiring the beauty of the gate. The only thing separating him from the human realm, the place he'd wanted to go to so badly.

The place he now could go. 

David stepped up to the gate, and carefully slid his body through a gap in the bars. He held his breath, concerned his head wouldn't fit through-- but it did.

He'd done it.

David was on the other side of the gate.

He stepped forwards, and only a split second after letting go of the gate did he remember one of the things he'd read about this realm years before--

The clouds weren't nearly as solid as he was used to- or maybe his body was more solid than he was used to?

David wasn't too worried about the specifics of it, he was much more concerned with the fact that he was now plummeting to Earth with no way to slow his fall.

--

Well. His human body was pretty close to invincible, it seemed. He hurt like hell, but at least he was in one piece, with no broken bones. 

David had landed, screaming, with a loud THUD on something solid. He felt the air shift around him, and let out a small groan before opening his eyes. A bright blue sky, just like the one in heaven, greeted him. 

Disappointing. He'd hoped the human sky would be something cool, like bright green or red. Or Orange. Orange would've been nice.

He resisted the urge to magic away his aches and pains-- using any magic, no matter how little, would be like sending a beacon to Gabriel, saying 'Hey, here I am! Come scoop me up and rush me back to Heaven, and don't let me leave for the next three million years!'

That would be a rather disappointing end to his escape, he thought. He was on Earth, and he was gonna stay here and enjoy it for as long as he could.

...Once he got up.

Groaning again, David picked himself off the ground, and observed his surroundings.

He'd landed on a mass of small rocks, spread out over a few miles of land. Sand, his mind helpfully supplied.

In front of him water- more than he'd ever seen in one place before. Hell, probably more than he'd ever seen, ever. He'd imagined oceans would be a lot smaller, this was just ridiculous. Who needed that much water in one place?

He continued looking around, turning in the small crater he'd created. The sand he'd landed on- a beach- was deserted, but in the distance, he could see a mass of metal and stone- a city. 

Well. If he was going to see the human world, a city seemed like the perfect place to start.

--

A city was an awful place to start.

Humans crowded the streets, walking and driving and biking every which way, not one willing to give David the time of day.

Only now was David starting to realize what a bad idea this had been. He had no money, and he was now almost kinda human, and humans had to eat, meaning he did too, but he had no food either.

Regret began to seep into his mind. If he'd just been a little more patient, waited another couple hundred years, Gabriel probably would've agreed to let David explore the human realm, with supervision and all the food and money he would need. Now that he'd run away, however, if he went back to heaven, he'd be lucky to get out again before the sun exploded. 

But no. David just had to be impatient, and now he was starving. What a lovely first day as a human this was turning out to be.

--

It was an even worse second day. With still nothing to eat, David wandered the city hoping some human would take pity and feed him. He got a couple of odd looks, but no help.

It's not like he could ask- that would be rude, and besides, he only knew English, and he wasn't sure how common that was to know around here. If he asked someone in English, he might end up under suspicion, exactly what he'd been trying so hard to avoid. Besides, he was an angel. What human would believe his story? Asking was off the table.

He'd figure something out. He was sure of it.

--

David felt awful, worse than he'd ever felt before. He was hungry, thirsty, and his throat felt like it was tightening up more and more every second. He was desperate enough now to ask for help, but couldn't manage to form the words anymore. 

Slowly, he trudged over to an alleyway, and sat down, trying to rest.

The second he touched the ground, David shot back up, only to grow dizzy and fall back to his knees. His left knee hit a glass shard on the ground straight-on, causing him to sharply inhale, and the chain reaction was worsened when the intake of breath caused his throat to seize, and he began coughing so hard he was convinced his lungs would come up.

Still collapsed in the alleyway. hunched over and kneeling and coughing like there was no tomorrow, David cursed his past self for ever wanting to leave Heaven. 

--

Paw-sitive Vibes, the sign above the window read. 

It was the only pet store Peter had been able to find that was open at 6 o' clock on a Sunday, but Peter couldn't wait one more day. A pet! A real, live animal to call his friend. He'd barely been able to sleep, thinking of all the different things he could name his pet. 

Micky and Mike stepped out of the Monkeemobile ahead of him, still deep in conversation over what pet would be best. Mike was still in favor of a hamster, but Micky wouldn't let the idea of getting a monkey go.

Peter was hoping for a dog. He knew it'd be a long shot, getting Mike to agree, but he was still going to try. If it was a boy, he would name him Ben, and if it was a girl-

A loud quiet wheezing sound drew Peter from his thoughts, and he stopped walking. Neither Mike nor Micky noticed, and they both stepped through the door into the pet store. Peter knew he should follow, but something about the noise distracted him. 

He stayed quiet for a moment, waiting to see if it would happen again.

Peter held his breath. Nothing happened for several seconds. Then- there it was. 

A little louder this time, sounding more like a hack or a cough, coming from the alley right next to the pet store. 

A glance through the window confirmed that Micky and Mike hadn't noticed his absence yet. Good. He'd be quick, he was just curious. 

After a split-second decision, Peter grabbed Mike's water-bottle from the car. Just in case it's an angry homeless guy, he thought. It'd be better to have a weapon.

Carefully, Peter peeked around the corner glancing into the alley.

His heart almost stopped in his chest. 

The wheezing and coughing- they'd both been from a kid. They were tiny, their back facing Peter, hunched over on the ground- and oh god, was that blood? 

Peter had to help. He just did.

But the kid hadn't noticed him yet, and Peter didn't want to spook them.

"Uh- are you okay?" He asked hesitantly. Immediately, he felt like taking it back. Of course the kid wasn't alright, that was such a dumb thing to ask! But it had its intended effect, and the kid whirled to face him. 

Peter shuffled awkwardly, trying to decide whether to come closer or not. "You just, uh, seem like you could use some help, is all." He added. The water bottle hung limply from his hand. 

As if trying to preserve some dignity, the kid stood to face Peter- then instantly fell over backwards. His hand shot down to catch him, but the kid still let out a small cry of pain- which, in turn, triggered more coughing. 

Peter stood completely still, not sure what to do. The coughing, he needed to stop the coughing so he could help with the rest, but how-

Peter remembered the water that hung from his arm. Mike wouldn't mind all that much, his water was going to a good cause.

"Uh- hey, I got some water, if that would help? I don't really-" Peter reached out, offering the water, but wasn't able to finish his sentence before the kid snatched it from his grip, opened it, and started chugging. 

"Wait, wait, take it slow, you might puke-" Peter grabbed the waterbottle, and tilted it slowly, so the water came out in a smaller stream instead of all at once like it had been. The kid's arms dropped the second Peter started to hold up the bottle, as if all his energy had been going into carrying it. Once about half of the plastic bottle was gone, Peter took it back and put the cap back on.

The kid gave him a look that might've been a glare if there were more energy behind it.

"Hey, you can't drink too much at once, or your body's gonna have too much water, and you'll puke, and then you'd be right back where you started," Peter defended, while holding the bottle away from the kid, who was reaching back for it. "I read about it in a book."

Now that he had a closer look, Peter had to admit that he probably wasn't a kid- a few years younger than Peter, at the very oldest. He had long, dischivled and dirty brown hair, and eyebrows that matched. He could be cute, Peter thought, if he didn't look so exhausted. He had bags under his eyes that matched Mike's when he was in a writing frenzy, and a slightly crazed look to rival even Micky. He was small, that was for sure. He was short, but skinny too. When was the last time he'd eaten?

As all of this was going through Peter's mind, the kid just sat there with a blank look, as if he was only slightly aware of his surroundings. 

Peter didn't want to just leave the kid there. He really didn't. 

But Mike and Micky would notice he was gone any second now, and he wanted to go into the store to find a pet to keep him company and for him to take care of-

All of a sudden, and idea hit Peter.

Mike would hate it. Mike would say, 'Pete, this kid has a home. A life, a family that's worried, that can look after him. You can't take care of him, now come pick out a fish.'

"Hey," Peter said, trying to gain the kid's attention again. He snapped back to attention, staring at Peter with that almost-crazed look again.

"Hey," He started again, "I don't suppose you have a home?"

No response. 

"Or a life? A loving family that's worried and can look after you?"

No response, but the kid did blink this time.

"Do you have somewhere to go? Someone to call? I don't want to just leave you here on the streets on your own..." Peter tilted his head to the side, waiting for a reaction- anything.

Slowly, the kid shook his head.

Peter stood up, and extended his arms in what he hoped was a welcoming way. 

He remembered, one time Micky had gotten a stray cat loose in the pad, and Mike had to gently coax the cat out from under the couch. 'Be gentle,' He'd said. 'Let them come at their own pace, so they know it's safe. Let them trust you.' It had worked, Mike was able to pick up the cat and set it outside with no issues.

It probably wouldn't work the same with another person, but Peter supposed it was worth a shot.

"C'mon," He said, trying to use the same relaxing voice Mike had with the cat. "We can go somewhere safer, and get you taken care of."

Peter just stood there for a moment, neither party moving. Peter was about to give up, when something shifted in the kid's eyes, and he began to slowly step towards Peter.

Peter took that as a confirmation, and stepped forwards, closing the distance, reaching around the kid's knees, and lifting him up like a child. The kid made a noise of surprise, but leaned into Peter and didn't fight.

Peter started back towards the car, kid still in his arms. If he was going to be taking care of him, he would need a name. Something unique, and as new and weird as the kid.

Smoothie. He would call the kid Smoothie.

"Smoothie," He said aloud to himself, smiling. From his perch in Peter's arms, the kid gave him a look.

"Smoothie," Peter repeated. "That's what I'll call you. And we're going to be friends."

Smoothie, like usual, didn't respond. Peter opened the back door to the monkeemobile, and set Smoothie down. He rummaged around in the glove compartment for a moment, before producing a first-aid kit Micky had purchased for emergencies. 

Peter crouched down in front of Smoothie, and continued to talk about nothing as he cleaned up his scrapes. Smoothie still didn't respond. Peter couldn't help but wonder, silently, if there was something wrong with Smoothie beyond just the physical. Why wouldn't he speak?

But, at the moment, this was all he could help with as he waited for Mike and Micky to return to the car.

--

"Hey Mike, do you feel like we've been standing here, just doing nothing for a pretty long time?" 

Mike didn't look up from the handout on guinea pigs he was reading. "Naw, just ignore it. Pacing's all over the place, the author's kinda shit at that."

"What?"

"What?"

"...Nevermind. Anyway, Mike, do you think Peter'd want a ferret? I think a ferret would be pretty cool." Micky asked, deep in a staring contest with one.

"I don't know. Hey Pete, do you want a-" Mike looked up from the paper, eyes falling on where he could've sworn Peter had been standing. 

A quick spin around confirmed Peter was nowhere in sight.

"Micky. Where's Peter?"

Eyebrows  furrowing in confusion, Micky glanced around the store too. "What do you mean, he's right-"

Mike and Micky locked eyes. 

"Shit."

Mike's paper went flying as he and Micky tore out of the store, top speed, onto the street. Mike was just about to start shouting, when he saw Peter calmly standing by the car, carrying- was that a kid? Oh boy, this was gonna be an interesting conversation. Micky slowly trailed behind Mike, not sure what to do.

"...Hey, Peter." Mike started.

"Hey, Mike! I'm ready to go back to the pad," Peter responded with a smile. The kid in his arms stared with an air of confusion. Peter didn't elaborate, so Mike tried a more direct approach.

"...Who've you got there, Pete?"

"Oh, this?" Peter smiled again, as if he'd been waiting for Mike to ask that question. "I'm gonna name him Smoothie."

Again, Peter didn't elaborate.

"...That's... That's a human, Peter. You can't name him, he already comes with one. Like a pre-packaged meal, you know?" Micky started. "Or, I guess you could give him a nickname. Smoothie'd make an alright nickname..." he trailed off. 

"Don't. Encourage him," Mike could feel his energy levels dropping already. "Please. Now Pete, you wanna tell me why you have... uh," 

"Smoothie," Peter filled in.

"Right... Smoothie, here with you, instead of with his family?"

"Cause he doesn't have one."

...Oh. 

"Can you elaborate a bit, Peter?" Mike asked.

That, it seemed, was all Mike needed to say to get Peter to tell him everything.

"Well, I was walking into the store, but I heard coughing, and I went to check it out, and it was Smoothie! But he wasn't doing to good, so I gave him water and offered him to stay with me. Oh, please Mike, you can't make him stay here! I asked him, he has no home and no family, he has no one to look after him! And look at him, Mike! He's hungry, and he was thirsty, and he has nowhere else to go! I'll pay for everything, and he can sleep in my room-" Peter seemed more and more frantic with every passing second.

"Peter. We can take him to the police station, but we can't just take a random kid home. How old is he, anyways?"

Smoothie, who looked like he'd been falling asleep in Peter's arms, perked up at that, drawing each of the Monkee's attention. Slowly, he mimed out a number.

"...18? You're 18 years old?" Mike asked.

(David had meant 18 hundred years, but just 18 worked too.)

Smoothie nodded.

Mike sighed. This wasn't a choice he wanted to make, but Peter and Micky and even Smoothie were looking at him expectantly, waiting for something.

On one hand, they could barely afford to take care of just the three of them. They couldn't realistically support a whole 'nother person, with the way money had been recently. Who knew what was wrong with the kid, he hadn't uttered a single word in the entire time Mike had been standing here. He was a stranger, nothing would be stopping him from killing them all in their sleep, if the kid turned out to be a murderer. Mike didn't trust him.

But... on the other hand, the kid was clearly struggling. Peter said he'd been coughing his lungs out when he found him, and that he was parched. The kid was clearly starving, and probably hadn't slept in days. If he'd told Peter the truth, Smoothie was probably homeless, and Mike knew firsthand just how awful that could be. Besides, Peter was clearly attached, and by the looks of it, Smoothie was too. Micky seemed fascinated, and Mike knew it wouldn't be too long before he was attached too.

All this rushed through Mike's head in a second. He stepped forwards to where Peter and Smoothie were standing, and leaned to be at eye level with Smoothie. 

Their eyes met. A beat of silence.

"Do you really have no place to go?" Mike finally asked.

Smoothie's eyes widened, as if he hadn't been expecting that. Slowly but surely, he nodded.

"Do you swear, on whatever God you believe in, not to hurt any of us? You don't mean any harm?"

Another nod, quicker this time.

Mike straightened out, silently praying that he wouldn't regret this.

"Alright, Peter. Let's go home."

Watching Smoothie's face break into a smile, Peter let out a HOORAY! and Micky do a quick fist pump, Mike felt like he'd done the right thing.

He stood back as Peter set Smoothie down in backseat and slid in beside him, helping with the seat belt. Micky jumped in shotgun, and Mike walked around to the driver's side.

As he was driving back to the pad, Mike occasionally glanced into the rear-view mirror, and caught glimpses of Peter whispering something or another to Smoothie. It was clearly a very one-sided conversation, but Smoothie looked just as interested at Peter was. For the first time in a while, Peter looked... Happy. Really, genuinely, happy.

Yeah, he thought, readjusting the mirror and continuing the drive. I'd say I made the right choice.

Chapter Text

David didn't remember falling asleep.

He could vaguely recall the events of the last 72 hours- falling to Earth, then stumbling around all dazed and confused, being found by a human, getting into a metal contraption and moving, the human he'd found telling him all about the place they were going- but that's where it ended.

As he sluggishly blinked the sleep out of his eyes, David started to notice his surroundings.

He was laid on his side along a black leather lounge chair, a strange mis-matched blanket draped over his body. It was made of loads of different fabrics, haphazardly stitched into a semi-checkerboard pattern. It was hideous , nothing so imperfect would ever be allowed into Heaven. A quilt, he thought. Wasn’t that what they were called?

David loved the blanket immediately.

A loud CLANG !, followed by cursing drew David from his observations. He sat up and glanced towards where the noise had come from. A small kitchen area, it seemed. One of the humans from yesterday was standing, leaning on the countertop, with another hopping on one foot, still quietly cussing. A frying pan laid innocently on the ground- the hopping one had dropped it, most likely.

The first human- David decided to refer to him mentally as Green Hat, just to avoid confusion- seeing David was awake, began to walk over, leaving Frying Pan, as he'd dubbed the other man, in the kitchen alone. Green Hat covered the short distance quickly, settling down in a chair across the coffee table from David.

"Mornin', Smoothie." He said, in a slow and deep voice. "How're you feelin'?"

Smoothie. Right. That's what the other human had named him. Smoothie, David, Green Hat, Frying Pan- this was gonna get confusing quickly.

Silence. Shit, what was he going to do about the talking thing? English seemed common enough in this area, but now that he'd been silent for so long, David suddenly speaking might be regarded as weird or suspicious. Not talking seemed like the best course of action, it wouldn't be too hard.

"Aw, he's not gonna talk. Just give up, Mike." Frying Pan seemed to have recovered from his sudden injury, and walked over, joining Green Hat- Mike? "Look at him, I doubt he gets a thing we're saying!"

David understood everything perfectly fine, thank you very much.

"Maybe he's hurt and can't speak?" Mike reasoned, "We might have enough saved up to call the doctor over."

David was fine, he didn't need another human poking at him trying to find out what was wrong. Still, he was quiet.

"No worries, man! Maybe he just... forgot how to talk?" David jumped as Frying Pan leaned forwards, suddenly inches from his face. "DO... YOU... REMEMBER... HOW... TO... SPEAK?" Frying Pan asked, emphasizing each word.

David didn't move, trying to will away his annoyance. For his safety, he mentally reminded himself. He would stay quiet.

"See, Mike? He's just forgotten!" Frying Pan said, still in David's face. "We could probably pick up some books from the library, start to teach him. It'll be fun!"

Aaand, that was where David drew the line. Pride and annoyance won out. He could deal with staying quiet, but being re-taught a language he'd been speaking since it was created was an indignity he refused to suffer through.

"Get out of my face, you curly-haired weirdo. And by God , does your breath stink." David snapped, shoving Frying Pan's stunned face away. He fell backwards into a chair alongside Mike.

Mike and Frying Pan both just stared, until Frying Pan let out a chuckle. David didn't speak again, narrowing his eyes. Was he being made fun of?

The quiet rumbling of David’s stomach broke the tension. 

Mike cleared his throat. "Right... Well, I suppose y'all are pretty hungry. We were just about to start breakfast, if you'd want to help with that?"

David wasn't sure if Mike was offering out of politeness, or if he genuinely wanted assistance. Either way, David nodded, and shrugged the quilt off of him, standing up.

"Micky, can you check Peter’s closet for any smaller clothes he has? Somethin’ for Smoothie to change into?" Mike asked, also standing up.

Frying Pan- Micky?- nodded, still smiling bewilderedly at David, and left.

--

“HE’S UP? And you didn't wake me earlier?” Peter asked, frantically clambering out of his bed. 

Micky strode past him to Peter’s closet, and began to comb through the hanging shirts for something that looked a bit smaller. Peter reached passed him, grabbing a t-shirt and throwing it on.

“Don't worry, Pete. He only just got up, Mike should be getting some food and water in him right now,” Micky said idly, grabbing a shirt and holding it to himself for reference. “Would you mind lending this one to Smoothie for a bit?”

A half-dressed Peter peered over Micky’s shoulder at the shirt. “No, that one’s too long on me too. It wouldn't fit him at all.” 

Peter reached past and grabbed a blue striped turtleneck, not too far from what Smoothie was currently wearing, as well as a pair of dark trousers and passed both over to Micky. 

“These are both a bit too small on me, they'll probably fit Smoothie alright. Can you give me a sec to get dressed, and I'll come down with you?”

Micky stepped out of the room, clothing in hand, and waited. 

--

Smoothie talking had been a pretty big surprise to Mike.

He'd tried to play it off coolly, and sent off Micky, so as to not make him feel threatened, but the kid had gone from not saying a word, to insulting Micky to his face, right back to silence.

Mike snuck another glance at Smoothie, who was sitting at the table slowly cutting up fruit. After giving him the task, neither he or Mike had spoken. Mike couldn't remember the last time the pad had been this silent.

Earlier, when Smoothie had spoken, he'd done so with a British accent. What was he doing so far from England, obviously lost and confused? Mike found himself growing more and more curious about Smoothie's story. But he wouldn't press it.

For now. 

"So," Mike began, breaking the quiet. "I don't suppose you've got a name of your own, other than Smoothie?"

Smoothie looked up from the fruit, locking eyes with Mike. Nothing.

"It's just, calling a kid 'Smoothie' if he already has another name doesn't quite sit right with me. Y'know?" Mike said, turning away and continuing to prepare food. He wasn't expecting a response this time, just talking to get rid of the uncomfortable silence.

He continued muttering to himself about this and that, not really paying Smoothie any mind.

--

Jesus Christ, did these humans have awful self-preservation instincts. David could hardly believe his luck, to be taken in by complete strangers, fed and watered, given a place to sleep, no questions asked.

Well. Some questions asked.

His name?

Mentally, David began to panic. He didn't want to be called Smoothie for however long he was on Earth, but what if Mike recognized his name as an angel? Surely David wasn’t a common name. And the humans even know angels existed? For sure, being called David wasn’t gonna happen. 

Could he shorten it, maybe? That might make his name harder to recognize. Dave? Ew, no.

...Could 'Davy' work?

Davy. He kinda liked it. Davy. Davy . Davy, Davy, Davy.

David- No, Davy- kept silently repeating the name to himself. It was perfect.

--

"Davy."

Mike looked up from his pancakes, surprised by the noise. Since Smoothie's lack of a response to the name question, aside from Mike's ramblings, they'd lapsed into a comfortable silence. Not wanting to make Smoothie wait for longer than necessary for food, they'd begun to eat as they waited for Micky to return from his clothing hunt, and for Peter to wake up.

"Sorry, what was that?" Mike asked.

Smoothie sat up a little more, and set his fork down. "You asked about my name. It's Davy. Not Smoothie." His voice was still quiet and raspy, most likely from dehydration and lack of use. Mike made a mental note to remind the kid to drink water throughout the day.

"Davy? That's a groovy name. Suits you." Mike kept his voice casual, trying not to make a big deal of it and scare him off. Scare Davy off. 

"Thanks."

"I'm Mike, by the way. The one with the curly hair that was all up in your face is Micky, and the blond guy who picked you up yesterday is Peter," Mike supplied.

"...Where is he, anyways?"

"Hm?"

"Peter," Davy asked. "He's not here."

"He's still in bed, he sleeps late most days," Mike explained. 

“Hm.” Davy went back to staring at his plate, offering no more to the conversation. 

Moments passed, and Mike went back to eating. If Davy didn't wanna keep the conversation going, he wouldn't press it. 

As Mike began to gather his dishes, the stomp-stomp-stomp of two sets of feet caused him to look up. Peter had woken up it seemed, and Micky was probably close behind. 

He set his dishes down in the sink, and turned towards the stairs. Sure enough, Peter and Micky were quickly descending. 

“Pancakes? Aw, yeah!” Tossing the clothing he’d found into Peter’s arms and rushing past Peter, Micky raced towards the table and slid into the chair across from Davy, immediately grabbing a plate and digging in. 

Peter caught the clothes roughly, and walked more slowly to the table. He draped the clothing on the back of the couch as he passed. 

“Morning, Smoothie,” he said calmly. “Glad to see you're feeling a bit better.” He offered Davy a slight smile, and turned to grab a plate of pancakes. 

“..Yeah. G’morning, Peter.” Said Davy, in a quiet voice. 

Mike couldn't help but laugh at the bewildered look on Peter’s face, as he whipped his head back to stare at Davy.

A wide, genuine smile spread across Peter's face. 

“You can talk!” He exclaimed, setting down his pancakes and rushing to Davy's side. 

Davy seemed unsure at the sudden attention on him, and turned away, blushing. “Yeah, been able to do that most my life,” he muttered. 

Mike’s eyebrows shot up, and a smile started to reform. “And he can snark too, it seems.”

A laugh from Micky. “Yeah, with that attitude, you might be able to give Mike a run for his money as Captain Sass!”

Slowly, everyone settled down to eat, and the idle chat continued. Davy stayed quiet aside from the occasional quip, but Mike had a feeling he’d open up more soon. He'd give it a week at most until Davy felt right at home.

Peter just had that effect on people.