Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Boss, perhaps you should consider using Mugman, we wouldn’t want to damage the better brother,” he says, away from the two brothers, already knowing what would happen if he dared utter the words in front of the older dish. 

The demon doesn’t show any signs of having heard the man. He plays with a cup of whiskey, rolling the glass around his hands. 

Then, a cruel smile spreads across his face. 

A shadow moves, but Flug pays it no mind, all too used to seeing things that mean nothing. Sharp, evenly distributed, white teeth gleam in the dim light. Flug suppresses the urge to shudder.

“Better to get rid of a burden, then add one,” Hat finally sneers, and the glass shatters between his claws. 

Flug curtly nods, before exiting the room.

He needs a drink.

The machines are blaring, and the dish on the table is screaming - awful dreadful screams that would make anyone wince. Anyone but the two who caused them. 

“It was a good idea to use the lesser product," Flug doesn't respond. Too busy attempting to keep the younger boy alive. For the scientist knows, that if Cuphead were to find out who killed his brother, being dead would be a mercy.

The dish didn't react well. Obviously. Or else he wouldn't be hanging in and out of consciousness. When the dish didn't clench his eyes shut, the scientist was able to see that Mugman’s light eyes glowed purple.

The boy’s breathing comes and goes. A cause of great concern for both scientist and demon.  If it weren’t for the restraints Mugs would be scratching at his head. Attempting to extract the fluid out of his system - barbaric means if necessary. 

Not knowing what else to do, Flug injects morphine to alleviate the boy’s pain. It doesn’t do anything. Not even slightly working to stifle the screams.

Then, boy falls silent, and the alarms turn monotonous.

Flug has some compassion for the kids, even if it’s the kind you show to a rabid animal.

“His heart stopped,” he states, stepping away from the table, as Hat steps forward. Claws outstretched towards the boy, Flug sighs, already marking a number down on the sheet. Hat scoops up Mugman, oddly gentle,  and disappears in a burst of green flames. 

The scientist, too tired and desensitized to death, thinks nothing of it.

He’d leave Hat to break the news to the older dish.

He needs a drink.

Mugman doesn’t remember the six months spent in the deepest levels of hell. 

Cuphead doesn’t like talking about it. Mugman doesn’t like putting more stress on his brother than he already carries (because Mugman is a cussin’ burden ). There’s never been a reason to ask Cuphead about what happened during their time stuck underneath the devil’s thumb. So Mugman doesn’t. Simple.

There’s something familiar in sweet and metallic smell surrounding him. He inhales deeply, not able to get enough.

‘Fear,’ his mind supplies, and Mugs shouldn't feel so happy about it. 

Blood dripped down his jaws, caked underneath his claws. His handle is broken, yet that doesn’t bother him. Perhaps it should. 

His brother shoves him aside, taking the kill for himself. 

He growls, stomping the floor in irritation. 

Cuphead laughs, a piece from his rim gone. 

“Mugman!” his brother snarls, the cold night air bites Mug’s exposed arms. His light eyes look for the chip in his brother’s rim, finding none. 

They need to get clothes for winter, it’s getting cold. Absentmindedly, Mugs tugs at the scarf around his neck, bringing it closer. It does nothing against the cold. 

“Are you okay?” his brother asks, dark eyes searching his. 

Again, Mugman blinks. 

The shadows dissipate out of his vision, red haze melting away, leaving the world in its shades of gray. He hadn't noticed the change until it was gone. The younger dish ignores the instinctual warning of something being amiss. Mugman is all too used to ignoring his instincts in favor of completing a mission.

“Yeah,” he rubs the back of his neck, casually running a hand over his handle - still intact, as it should be. 

“I’m fine,” he shrugs, lifting his scarf higher over his neck. Cuphead narrows his eyes, not fully believing him, then turns away.

Mugman is not okay. 

He pulls his clothes tight to his body, bringing his scarf over his nose in order to block out the scent of copper.

The sight that greets them is gorey and bloody.

Mugs averts his gaze to the walls. Hoping to hide the purple glow in them. His brother too busy hiding the evidence of them ever being there.

People do desperate things when they're backed up in a corner.

They didn't get the woman's contract, yet she'd slipped others before, so they’ll be okay, even if it’s only for a little while. Hopefully. 

She caused quite a number on the folks that crossed her path.

He can see why the devil wants her captured. He presses the scarf over his face, but the scent only gets more overpowering as they venture further into the room. His brother walks in front of him, and Mugman keeps Cup's trench coat within sight.

He’s doing this all for his brother, for Elder Kettle.

Mugman needs to find a purpose or else he's afraid of something bad happening. 

A craving fills his body.

He needs to carry a pouch of peppermint or something. 

Walking through the rooms, Mugman can’t help wondering if he'll ever feel okay again.

The sweet smell of copper is addictive. The warm liquid covers the dish like a blanket.

Mugs finds he’s never felt this sort of warmth before.

When did they start growing apart?

Cuphead doesn’t bother asking him about those three days. Silver-tongue coming in use when the questions came. It’s easier if Cuphead is kept ignorant about what happened.

Those three days a haze of something better left forgotten.

Yet.

Regardless of the consequences Mugman yearns for ignorance.

"Please," and he's begging, "I don't want to remember."

Mugman awakens (or what's left of him does), on the third day, or so he’s told. 

His body aches. His eyes glow purple. Fangs and claws where he used to have none.

“What did you do to me?” he asks, taking in his appearance with a mixture of awe and fear.

His voice sounds wrong - distorted. Gone is its youthfulness and innocence. Though, if Mugman is being honest, which isn't often, both had been gone the moment they'd lost.

The devil sneers, “Black Hat gave you demon blood.”

“Oh,” Mugman nodded, unusually numb, “is that bad?”

The Devil lets out a terrifying cackle.

“Bad! It’s a good thing they used you instead of your brother.” 

He suppresses the urge to frown. To argue. From the corner of his eye, Mugman sees Dice snicker. Hat is standing steely. Mugs feels his eyes start to water. He blinks.

“Black Hat,” his forced foster parent stiffens upon hearing his name. There’s no warning before the devil’s claws are around Hat’s neck, the other demon barely wincing, “if you ever experiment on those dishes again, I’ll strip you of your titles and throw you to the deepest pits of hell to rot.”

He throws Hat aside like a used rag. 

“Understood?”

Hat rubs at his neck, picking himself off the floor with a gingerness that displayed feigned nonchalance. 

His gruff voice, soft, he doesn’t meet the devil’s eyes, “understood.”

The devil smirks, narrowing his yellow eyes, “now get out of my sight.”

A black hole appears underneath them without any warning. The devil’s glowing yellow eyes, filled with cruel mirth, are the last things Mugman sees before he’s engulfed by darkness. He falls into the same room where the experiment took place. All traces of the experiment had been wiped away, most likely by Flug.

The child rubs at his eyes, sleepiness engulfing him.

“Turn your eyes normal,” Black Hat orders, startling Mugman.

The dish shrugs, “I don’t know how.”

Hat huffs, rolling his eyes, “figure it out or I’ll just rip them out.”

Mugman flinches at the threat, before remembering the devil’s words:

“The devil wouldn’t let you do that.” He firmly says, leveling the demon with a purple glare.

“Is that a threat?” Hat mockingly asks, narrowing his eyes. 

Mugman continues to glare at the demon. 

The faint scent of his own fear messing with his head.

“Yes.”

Chapter Text

Laughter and cursing is commonplace here. Background noise for the young cup wiping down tables. Careful to keep his head down as he does, shying away from recognition. No one who was looking for him was kind. The young cup loses himself in the monotonous task. 

A circulatory motion, a bit of a swipe, move a little, repeat. It was doing little to nothing to remove the germs, but Mugs didn’t really care. Anything to look like he was busy. Granted, if Hat happened to see him, he’d either be punished in hell, screamed at to do it again, or a combination of both. 

Nearby, two janitors talk in low voices with one another. Mugman tunes out the worker’s gossip.

Someone behind the young cup clears their throat, Mugman jumps - his straw no doubt turning into an exclamation point. Years of instincts, making the tip of his finger glow blue, and him to swirl around to face the speaker.

He notices the dark eyes first. Curly hair framing a delicate face - speckled with freckles. They look like a woman - pretty and sharp angles. Their smile is soft, gentle even. 

Mugman blinks, waiting for them to speak,

“Sorry, I’m new around here,” their voice is smooth, and oddly soothing. Mugman finds himself lowering his guard. Mugman nods. The stranger stares at him, lazily smiling. 

The dish realizes that he is waiting for a response. He flushes, bashfully grinning, and nervously chuckling.

“Sorry, we don’t get new people very often, “ he answers truthfully. 

The boy laughs - soft and golden. Everything about the boy is oddly pretty, almost feminine.

“No worries, I’m Cooper, the new performer, and you are?”

“Mugman, “ he smiles. It wasn’t usual that people wanted to talk to him, “performer - so you sing?”

His voice is too smooth and nice for him to be anything but a singer. 

Cooper nods, laughing, “what gave it away?”

“You have a nice voice,” Mugman compliments, grinning. 

Cooper smiles, “thank you.”

From the corner of his eye, Mugs sees his brother, Cuphead, get into a fight with a worker. Internally he winces. Hat wouldn’t be too pleased with his brother. Mugs just hoped Cups punishment wasn’t anything too drastic.

“How old are you?” Cooper asks.

“15,” Mugman is saying before he even thinks about it. It takes a second for him to realize what he’s said. He keeps his cool, not letting Cooper see the turmoil Mugs feels. 

Cooper has a very disarming aura. 

Dangerous, Cuphead would sniff, but his older brother had always been paranoid.

“I’m 17,” Cooper says, with a wink, “I think we’ll be pretty good friends.” 

Cuphead would call him stupid, but it’s been a while since he’s made any friends. They’re leaving as soon as Cuphead turns 18, as was stated in the deal made with Black Hat. There can’t be anything wrong with making a ‘friend’ with someone they’ll only be seeing for a little while. 

Mugman grins, “golly, that’d be berries!” 

“Berries?” Cooper questions, not in a mean way - surprisingly. Curious. 

“Awesome,” Mugman translates, grinning.

It’s rare on the occasion that he knows more about something - even if it is about the words they used back on the islands.

From the corner of his eye he sees the dark silhouette of Black Hat. He stiffens, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Cooper. Who opens his mouth to ask, but Black Hat is there, standing over the boys.

“Is everything alright here?” Hat scowls. Mugman meets the demon’s eyes headfirst, feigned nonchalance. 

He'd been caught.

Mugs shouldn’t be caught slacking off - doesn't want to risk his brother’s bet.

Screaming and begging, his own, “please! Stop! It hurts!”

Mugman's body burns. The young dish is experiencing the worst headache of the century. Pounding.

Mugman fears he'll lose his mind.

“You made a deal,” the demon apathetically says, and Mugs blacks out.

The soft chatter of the usuals. This casino never closes. 

The clanking of beverages, hitting against one another. Coughing from the chain-smokers, their smoke hangs in the air like gray clouds. The bright lights cheering on new patrons. Handsome architecture embracing their vices.

“Yes sir,” Mugman answers, feigning politeness. Hat smirks, before turning his full attention to Cooper.

“Cooper,” Hat says, ignoring the dish, “have Mugman show you to your quarters.”

The performer mutely nods.

The demon and dish share a look, Mugman frowns.

He stuffs the dirty rag inside his apron’s pocket. Turning towards where the worker’s quarters are, he motions for Cooper to follow him. Ignoring the demon’s ire, he smiles at Cooper.

They pass by the kitchen. Mugman sees his brother getting scolded by Dr.Flug. Flug getting angrier and angrier as Cuphead nonchalantly looks past the scientist. Behind his older brother, Mugs can see 505 wring his paws together in a nervous tic.

Cup won’t be in a good mood.

Though lately, his brother hasn’t been in a good mood.

“He's your brother?” Cooper asks, breaking the tense silence.

Mugman nods, the shadows calming,“Yup - he’s Cuphead, my older brother.”

“Older?” 

The shadows recede into their rightful places - not that he can control them. But he can deter them by not giving into his negative emotions.

“He’s 17, almost 18,” Mugman shares. Cooper nods. 

“What's your job here?”

Mugman hums, leading Cooper down the stairs, finding the worker’s quarters is as easy despite never being allowed to step foot beyond the doorframe, “bus boys, card dealers, sometimes even waiters - it depends on what Hat wants.”

It’s not a lie, nor is it a truth. 

Mugman stops in front of the door leading to the rest of the worker’s rooms. He’s not welcomed inside. Even being outside the door could cause them to become hostile.

“This is the worker’s quarters, you’ll have to ask one of them where to put your stuff,” Mug explains, smiling at Cooper. 

Cooper nods, flashing the dish a charming smile. 

“Thank you Mugs! I’ll see you around,” with a slight wave, Cooper disappears through the door. Leaving Mugman alone in the hallway. 

The dish begins his way back to his room, ignores the whispers, the glares from the workers. All of them fall silent when he looks. He smiles at them, causing them to flinch away. 

The path towards their room is silent and dark. A sharp contrast to the main casino, lively and attractive. Goosebumps erupt across his arms, which he ignores. 

The door opens with a soft squeal.

His eyes are quick to adjust to the darkness. 

Cuphead is already in his bed, snoring. 

Mugman pauses, taking in their room, their ‘normal’. 

“Night Cup,” he whispers, knowing Cup won’t respond.

He falls asleep the moment his head hits the pillow.

“Night Mugs,” Cuphead whispers back. 

The younger cup doesn’t hear. 

“Mugs watch out!”Cuphead snarls, and Mugman uses his dodge move to avoid the rain of bullets. He hisses, one of them hitting his shoulder, digging into his skin. 

“You idiot, I told you to be careful!” Cuphead reprimands, punching one of their assailants. 

Mugman doesn’t dignify him with a response, loading one of his bullets, and aiming towards one of the men. Yet, he hesitates before he shoots. 

(Roaring fire and tortured screams. His handle was broken then. Cup’s and Mug’s eyes both glowed red and purple respectively.)

The man’s head explodes in a bloody display - brain matter and bone fragments scattering about the air in several directions. Cuphead sharply curses. Mugman numbly watches his brother aim at the man’s chest, his chest cavity doing the same as their partner’s head. 

Then, silence. 

Cuphead kicks the man’s limp form. Mugman buries his face into his scarf, the scent of lavender doing little to nothing. He’s avoiding his brother’s sharp eyes. The smell of copper is too strong. Mug’s fear stinks .

“Next time, “ Cuphead’s voice is a low growl, nearing a snarl, and Mugman has never feared his brother, but in that moment he’s very close, “if I say duck - you cussin’ duck. Got it?”

Mugman wordlessly nods. 

Cup scoffs, before turning away, leaving their mess behind. 

Cautiously Mugman lifts up his gaze. He pulls out a mirror from his pocket. His eyes are still their light gray color - he sighs in relief. The young dish closes the mirror with a snap, before following his brother.

“I just don’t get it,” Mugman whines, “I tried my best, and he still got mad at me!” 

Cooper empathetically nods, wisely saying, “big brother’s can be a pain sometimes.”

It's a month before Cuphead's 18th birthday, just a month before they could be free from Hat's clutches.

Cooper and Mugman are on the casino’s roof. Mugman has just returned from a mission. Cooper is off his shift. Cooper, politely, doesn't ask about his mission. Answering Mugman's questions about his work with ease. 

Cooper pulls out a lighter. 

Too used to his older brother smoking. Mug expects a small box, containing small, uniform cigarettes. 

Cooper surprises him by pulling out a baggy of tea leaves. At least that’s what Mugman assumes. Then, he pulls out another piece of paper, rectangle in shape. 

“What’s that?” Mugs asks, with a tilt of his head.

“A blunt,”Cooper shakes the baggy, “Not sure what it’s called up here, but where I’m from we call it the Sea's Elysium , it relaxes you,” he explains. Mug nods, intently watching the young man roll the blunt. 

Mugman watches the boy bring the blunt to his lips, inhaling deeply. A relaxed look spreads across his face. Cooper lazily opens his eyes. Staring directly into Mugman’s curious eyes. The dish flushes, rapidly looking away, flustered at being caught looking in such an obvious manner.

“Try this,” Cooper chuckles, brushing his curly hair out of his face.

Mugman tilts his head. The siren lazily grins; the smell indicates that whatever he's smoking is strong. He outstretches his hand, offering the blunt to the dish. A small part of Mugman remembers Cuphead warning him about accepting drugs from strangers. It's the furthest thing from his mind. 

The younger dish is feeling a little rebellious. 

Mugman concentrates on breathing in how he saw Cooper doing it. 

Conveniently forgetting about the time his brother offered him a cigarette and Mugs waved him off. He sucks on the lit blunt, mockery of the gratefulness both Cooper and Cup had when doing this. Immediately, the young cup remembered why he waved off his brother. Coughing, he hands it back to Cooper.

“It’s alright,” the siren grabs the dish’s wrist, Mugman attempts to hide the urge to flinch, “here try this,” 

With gentle fingers, Cooper angles Mug’s face to his own. 

He laughs at the nervous look on Mug’s face, “relax, I don’t bite.”

Mugman lightly chuckles, trusting the boy. Cooper takes another drag from the blunt. Concentrating on Cooper’s actions, anticipating whatever the boy was about to do. 

“Open your mouth,” the boy says, before blowing the smoke into Mug’s open mouth.

The effect is almost instantaneous. 

Mugman feels more relaxed, calm.

“Huh, I feel funny,” Mugman murmurs, Cooper chuckles.

Leaning against the dish, before throwing an arm around his torso. Cuphead would go ballistic if he ever saw Mugman lowering his guard around anyone who wasn’t him. 

But Cuphead isn’t here. 

They’re not as close as they once were. Not since Hat’s experiments. Cup’s been more distant, and Mugs knows he’s become more of a recluse. More obedient. Not a bad thing considering how much of an idiot he can be.

How long has it been since they last hugged?

Mugman is having trouble stringing in any coherent thoughts.

Cooper tucks him underneath his chin.

Cooper isn’t Cuphead, not by a long shot. Too nice, too kind, too soft. But he’s alright. 

“Ain’t it a feeling,” Cooper murmurs, breaking Mug’s thoughts by offering him the blunt. 

Mugman takes it without question, clumsily taking another drag.

Above the pair, the stars silently twinkle. 

Back on the isles, they used to watch stars.

Cuphead knew all of the constellations, and despite how often he’d repeat the constellations to his younger brother. Mugman was never quite able to recognize them. Cuphead also knew quite a bit of folk stories about them too. Mugman would listen to his older brother recount the stories, each of them emblazoned with something so uniquely Cuphead. 

Mugman’s love for stories had been fueled by that.

The stars they painted on their room when they were young, an attempt of bringing back their home. 

Cooper’s arm is good enough to use as a pillow, and Mugman is only closing his eyes for a second. 

The dish falls asleep.

Cooper shakes his shoulder, Mugman snapping awake. 

“-ugs! Mugs! Mugs!” Cooper urges, “Wake up!”

“I’m up, I’m up!” Mugman says, pushing himself up. 

Cooper jumps out of the way - avoiding the dish. 

Mugman still feels dazed.

“How long was I out?” Mugman asks, putting his head between his arms.

Cooper frowns, tilting his head, “an hour or so.”

Mugman’s heart drops. Cooper watches the dish - analyzing his pale face, the slight condensation on the side of his head. Cooper nods. 

“You should go.”

Mugman uses his dash move, making his way through Hat’s Casino. Ignoring the drawings on the wall, Cup and him did when they were young. Ignoring 505 and the other Casino workers. He arrives at their room. Hesitates. Before mustering up the courage to open the door.

His brother is sitting on his bed, facing away from the door. 

“Cup?” he tentatively calls, pausing by the door frame. 

His brother’s head snaps around in an instant. Mugman has no time to react before he finds himself shoved against the wall, the smell of alcohol filling his senses. His eyes sting. Mugs barely avoids shooting when he sees the familiar curved and striped straw and the jello-esque hair.

“Cup?” his voice cracks, tears stinging the corner of his eyes. Pathetic.

Cuphead looks over his face. An eerie calm expression over his older brother’s face. Mugman has never been scared of his brother. Not really. Yet, there’s something in Cuphead’s eyes that makes him pause, hold his tongue. The person in front of him isn’t his brother, no, it’s the man who cuts down people without a second glance. Any words he could think of speaking dry on the tip of his tongue. 

The silence is suffocating.

“Where the cuss have you been?” 

Cooper’s gentle manner contrasts greatly with his brother’s. The floatiness he felt when they shared the blunt, dissipating. Cuphead’s grip on his shoulders hurt. 

“Dammit Mugs! Answer me!” Cup snarls, slightly shaking him.

“I fell asleep on the roof,” Mugman croaks out, not meeting his brother’s sharp eyes. 

Cuphead tsks, shoving his aside. Mugman stumbles, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

“Stay in this room, I’m going out.  Don’t you cussin’ dare take a step outside this room or else, you hear?” The threat lays heavy in the air, and Mugman doesn’t move from his position against the wall, not even when he hears Cuphead leave. 

He lied to his brother. 

He hadn’t done that before. 

Not without prompting at least.

Chapter Text

The mission they're tasked with has not been going well. 

The owl is smart, too smart. 

He is not, and Cuphead has to be held back because of him.

Mugman is icing a bruise he got from chasing the owl. He didn’t notice the bruise until his brother pointed it out.

The younger brother sits on the floor, holding the pack of frozen peas to his cheek. Cuphead is puffing away on a cigarette, a deep scowl ingrained into his face. Permanent, it would seem. Mugs has the sudden urge to steal a light from his brother's pack. Wisely, he ignores the urge. He rests his head back on the wall. Closing his eyes for just a moment.

(Blood pooling underneath his body, a gash across his stomach, his intestines slipping out of the wound. His brother’s steely gaze, cold and smart, on him. 

“I hate you.”)

He wakes up, cold. 

“Coffee?” Cup asks, a cigarette already between his teeth.

“No thanks.”

It doesn't hit him until the owl is dead at their feet - not by any means of their own. 

“Cuss’,” Cuphead curses, Mugman agrees. 

The people have long since cleared, law enforcement the only one’s milling around. They’re easy to slip past.

(They used to want to become knights, well he did, when he was a kid. Cup hadn’t wanted to, not too much anyways. Not on the same level as he had at least. It had something to do with their parents, Mugman guesses.)

His brother pushes the owl with his foot, “ check his pockets.”

Mugman kneels beside the owl, pulling his scarf over his nose, the faint smell of lavender covering the copper, if only by a little bit. A habit he picked up - an attempt at hiding away from the smell of blood and gore. It annoyed Cup, though he never bothered learning why nor did he try too hard to make Mugman change. Too busy with figuring out how to lessen their contracts. 

(Being a knight meant being a good person, and Mugman isn’t a good person. He is not even a useful person.)

Cuphead is the brain and the muscle, and Mugman is the burden. 

His fingers graze the leather spine of a book. Gingerly, the younger dish pulls it out. A journal. 

At least their mission wasn’t all for waste.

He used to be good. Once upon a time Mugman was good. Or at least useful.

Cuphead holds out his hand, and Mugman wordlessly hands it over. 

Cuphead’s keen eyes look over it, he nods.

“Let’s go.”

(If Mugs was never a good person, then once upon a time searching through a dead man’s pockets wouldn’t just be another Tuesday for him.)

The pair turn away from the dead owl. Easily slipping past the officers. No one ever sees them leave.

Their newest mission are Bendy and Boris - two kids caught up in the Boss’ mess. By no fault of their own, mind you. The dish brothers chase the B’ brothers into Toon Town

(Mugman tries not to empathize with them, knowing that empathy won’t change the fact that he’s not going to do anything for them.

At least not if Cup decided not to.)

When fighting, the Warner Bros show him things that make his head pound and ears ring, and yet, he can focus on getting the mission done, enough. It’s easy to not let himself think, to let instincts take over.

The hatred and anger they show him taking backseat in place of something more animalistic.

Cuphead pulls him out of the way, an anvil falling where he had stood not a few seconds ago. He looks back at the Warner Bros, then meets his brother’s eyes. 

They would go with that trick then. 

In the end, they win, the oldest hacks and coughs up ink. The band disperses with a few choice words from his brother. Mic cowering away from them. Cup makes Mic promise to take the kids to the hospital.

(His brother is soft too. Even if it's only a little bit. For a few people.)

The kids slip past them again, and Dice has a new mission for them, in New Orleans. They hitch a ride on the Phantom Express. Spector’s hatred for them is burning. 

T-Bone gets involved, and when it’s all over, Mugman leans against the window, craving sleep. His brother and Chalice stay silent. 

He should talk - this could be the last time they ever see the dish spirit.

(Was he one of them? He doesn't want to know the answer, already knows, he isn't.)

But Mugman is tired. 

He closes his eyes, falling asleep.

Fire and hatred, but Mugman only feels a deep cold, something akin to apathy. He reaches out for the dancing flame. Hatred and anger raging closely, almost burning him. Mugman should pull back. He doesn’t. Choosing instead to continue. 

“How far are you willing to go for warmth?” A voice whispers.

Chalice wakes them at their stop. Pulling Mugman away from the warmth. She offers them a jovial smile. 

“It’s good to see you again,” Mugman says with a small smile, and Chalice's grin widens. 

“Of course, I’m glad to see you too,” Chalice says, her large, round eyes staring intently at the cup brothers. She smiles, waves, then disappears into the train.

Then the train leaves. 

Leaving a chill in the air, and two brothers. 

“Let's go,” Cuphead finally says.

It’s not often that the pair find themselves too over in their heads. In their line of work, getting in over their heads has severe consequences. 

Facillar was too strong - both brother’s didn’t know what they were getting into. Mugman is dumb and a burden. Resulting with his brother being turned into a teacup.

He can’t cry, the tears won’t spill past his eyelids.

All Mugs feels is numb.

“Help me,” he dully says. 

Ribby and Croaks look at one another before bursting into laughter.

“No!” Then they throw him out.

For a moment, just a moment, he entertains the thought of ruining the pair of brothers. Who was the younger brother again? Ribby or Croaks? No, they were twins. Both could do. An eye for an eye, and all that jazz.

But Mugman isn’t that type of man. He isn’t violent. He’s dumb and soft. Just like his brother says.

Mugman turns away.

He’s hungry.

Mugman doesn’t have it in him to be prideful. Not when he knows he has no reason to be so.

It’s easy to focus on things that didn’t really matter in the big scheme of things.

He’s hungry, and he forgot that Cuphead carried all of their money.

The manager is in front of him. She’s pretty in an old, worn-out sort of way - her mascara too heavy and the shade of lipstick too dark on her thin lips. A token of when she was young most likely. She’s screaming. Nothing unusual then. The woman shrieks, and the words sound murky. He doesn’t understand what is being said. Mugman lets himself be pulled by the woman, her nails digging into his wrist. 

“Do the dishes, you wouldn’t drop your relatives, would you?” she sneers, shoving him into the kitchen.

He can’t help the slight snickers escaping his throat when she’s out of sight. It’s been a while since someone said that to either of them. Cuphead didn’t like being disrespected, neither did he, but Cup was more likely to do something about it.

He turns around, smiles awkwardly at the other workers. Their eyes are wary, a few are even hostile. Mugman nods at them, making his way to the sink. 

His eyebrows go up, the pile of dishes is tall, comedically so. 

This would be harder than he thought it would be.

Washing the dishes is a task he remembers well from his childhood. Hat asking for someone to drag him out of the kitchen when he was needed. The scrubbing off of the half eaten food. Soap sloshing onto the apron, running down his wrists. The water is cold. 

He turns around with the clean plates in his hands. Sees the cook’s foot, but can’t do anything. He braces himself for the fall. 

The crash is loud, and the world seems to go silent. The manager is there again. 

Screaming. 

He meekly apologizes, going through motions at this point. When it’s over. His ears are left ringing, and his debt is raised. 

Cup always said he was soft.

Mugman turns to the cook. He memorizes the face for future references. 

This wasn’t going to help him get back his brother, but he can’t get his brother back on his own, and he’s always been good at following orders.

There must be something about the look on his face, for the cook takes a step back, looking equal parts wary and uneasy. 

“Get back to work,” he finally says. Quickly making his way away from the cupman.

“Of course,” Mugman replies, smiling - mockingly polite.

Mugman has to remind himself to be nice. Sometimes.

The dish is tasked with getting the dirty dishes of the other patrons. Some of which saw him get a tongue lashing when he couldn’t pay for his meal. He smiles and goes through all of the formalities. In turn, they politely pretend they don’t recognize him.

He’s tripped a couple more times by other daring workers. Mugs makes sure he remembers their faces. He’s holding dishes once for that, and they remain on the floor in shattered pieces around him, until he’s shouted at to pick them up with his bare hands. 

“I would’ve thought you’d be more careful, considering they’re your relative n’ all,” the manager sneers. 

Mugman ignores her.

If he’s ever given a mission to hunt them down - he’ll remember them as they treated him.

It’s easier when the faces have only even been associated with cruelty.

(He feels less like a monster that way.)

Mugman’s stomach rumbles, and his mouth waters at the food surrounding him. 

He’s gone hungry before. He can do it again. 

Sleep is fitful, and the chair hurts to sleep in. Still, as is tradition, Mugman pulls the scarf over his nose, inhaling the faint smell of lavender. It calms his nerves. Enough for him to fall asleep. 

Mugman keeps his head down, and he does as he’s told.

The dish man ignores the racist comments. Most muttered underneath breaths, the more daring looked him right in the eyes as they spit their views. He shrugs it all away. It’s nothing he hasn’t experienced before.

He’s lost in thought, trying to create distance between his reality and the seemingly impossible task of beating the Faciller lady to get his brother back, when it happens.

The cook, who he learned was called Tom, sticks his foot out. Mugman is too engrossed in his thoughts. Carrying the load of dishes limiting the cupman’s sight.

Then, Mugman is on the floor, the littering remains of the dishes surrounding him like sharp confetti. 

The manager swoops in, screaming. 

Mugman is too dazed, and he can’t make sense of the words being spit at him.

Splinters dig into his palm, alongside small slivers of glass. Neither of which hurt. His vision goes to his hands, plain and unassuming. Blood pooling around them, so much blood. He’s falling through one of those holes the Boss and Dice use to get around.

Then:

“Hey!” 

The voice is familiar, and Mugman focuses on that split second of familiarity. The blood disappearing, and the floor appearing underneath his feet. 

“The fella messed up. We all get it. You only gotta say it once.”

The manager hisses back poison, and through his muddled mind he can’t understand the words - chooses to not understand.

“Did yours ever teach you how to treat people with any manners at all?” That same voice defends him.

“We’ll pay off his debt!” another voice, young, but still familiar, pipes in.

“Yeah lady, we will,” the voice impatiently adds. The manager snorts. “How much?”

“I’s forty.”

“Nu-uh!” His voice joins the mix. 

Quiet and out of sight, he was, he is. 

“I don’t owe that much!”

Until now.

She swivels around to face him, her eyes alight with ire, “Ya broke that many dishes, ya bumbling idjit!”

He frowns, returning her fiery glare with a glare. She scoffs, but he notices her shift slightly away from him. The fella behind her must’ve done something because her attention shifts, and she turns away from him. Stealthily he gets up, untying the apron and letting it fall onto the floor, even if they choose to not help him, he’s leaving. 

Staying here isn't helping him get his brother back.

He should’ve left the moment he couldn’t pay for his meal.

Mugman has wasted valuable time being here.

He’s an idiot.

“You!” Mugman freezes, turning to look at the familiar voice.

Boris’ eyes are wide and horrified. Then, his brother is grabbing the wolf’s paw, and the pair are running out of the establishment. 

Mugman does what any normal person would do. 

He chases after them.

“Wait!” he shouts, and his brother is still in Facillar’s clutches, but with their help maybe -

They’re fast, he’s come to learn. Smart too. Resourceful. Especially the little one, Bendy.

“Please,” and he’s on his knees, wheezing after dashing in front of Bendy and getting absolutely floored. 

Who knew someone so small could be so strong?

He’s not strong or smart, so he’ll swallow his pride and bow his head:

“Help me get back my brother, and I’ll help you retrieve whatever you want.”

Bendy sneers, and around him the shadow bend to the demon's will, “as if! The lot of you have been hunting us! Why should we help you?”

Mugman is a liar. 

(though it wasn’t always like that, was it? or had it always been his vice - a silver tongue?)

He finds that if you tell some of the truth the lies become more believable. 

He lifts his head to meet the demon’s eyes - glowing red. 

(Mugs wonders why the glow is so familiar, why his chest aches.)

Mugman’s never been able to lie to a demon, at least a high-class one, but then again, he wasn’t lying, not really.

“We’re not the most dangerous ones that they could choose to send to hunt you down.”

Bendy growls, and Boris throws an arm in front of his brother in an attempt to placate him. 

“I want Cup back, I’m willin’ to do anythin’ to get ‘im back,” his voice is steady. The emotion he feels is slightly dull. Like it’s just the basic sense of the feeling, not the real thing. An imitation. 

Boris’ eyes glisten, he whimpers, “Bendy.”

Mugman feels nothing. It’s unsettling. He feels wrong. Not for the first time in the last few days does Mugman wish Cuphead was with him. Cuphead would know what to do because Cuphead always knows what to do.

(How unfair it must be to place all the burden onto the older brother.)

Bendy narrows his eyes. “Anything?” his eyes hardened, “then you and your brother can cuss’ off, and stop chasing us!”

“Can’t do that,” Bendy scowls. Mugman elaborates without prompting. “My brother and I’ll just be replaced,” killed, disfigured - something along those lines.

It wouldn’t be good.

They take him to a small bar. Conversation there is safer than out in the open. Away from prying eyes and ears.

Boris looks at his brother, which causes Bendy to curse. 

"Fine! We'll talk over the terms, and we’ll confide with you later.”

Mugs is left at the table, his stomach twists into itself. 

Boris comes back later, Bendy close behind him. The wolf is glaring at him, determination brimming in his eyes. Bendy is scowling. Apprehensive.

Mugman tugs at his scarf, the whiff of lavender a small comfort. 

“You and your brother promise not to hurt our friends and we’ll work with you,” Boris says, attempting to look mean,  as he extends his paw out for the dish to take. The dish looks into the wolf’s dark eyes, spotting no deceit, he slowly extends his hand, taking the kid's paw. Repeats the words that condemned him and his brother - wonders when their luck ran out.

“Deal.”

Mugman never claimed to not be selfish.

His stomach growls while they are planning. Flushing. Mugman is quick to apologize:

“Sorry about that.”

Mugman isn’t particularly hungry. His stomach doesn’t seem to get the memo though.  

“When was the last time you ate?” Bendy asks, looking him over.

Mugman shrugs, “not sure.”

The demon gives him a disbelieving look. He shakes his head before motioning to his brother. Boris is watching the pair.

“It’s almost dinner Boris, you should go find a place where we can eat.”

Boris hesitates, glancing over at the dish, and Mugman wants to sink into the ground. He deserves suspicion, Cuphead would be beyond hostile if the roles were reversed. It didn’t make him feel any less than a schmuck. 

They were coming back. His emotions. Slowly, but surely. First came desperation - pathetic, and now it stuck around, driving Mugman to ask the kids their hunting for help. He’d get his brother back, and everything would be right again.

(poor Mugman couldn't function a few days without his brother - when had been the last time either had been separated?) 

There was also guilt, but that had always been there, now he just couldn’t drown under layers of following what his brother was doing, all the choices no matter how ruthless they seemed.  When he got Cuphead back, maybe he would be able to.

“By myself?”

“Yeah, why not? I’m tired, and I’ll have Mugsy here with me to keep an eye out. You know your way around a street.”

“Can I really leave you alone with him?” Boris quirks an eyebrow at his brother. 

“What? You don’t trust me?” Bendy grins, baring his fangs, “We already have an attack set up against that thieving woman. I won’t waste all that effort.” 

Boris hesitates, and Bendy rolls his eyes. waving him away. 

“He’ll be fine when you come back to show us where we’re eating tonight.”

“Be nice,”Boris says as he leaves. Taking Mugman's safety with.

“The shadows were after him,” Mugman comments, watching the wolf disappear into the crowds. Bendy shrugs, taking a sip from his drink.

“Kid’s smart. He’ll be okay.”

Mugman nods, dropping his gaze onto the table. He fiddles with his scarf. Would he be able to run if it came down to it?

“It’s nothing against you personally - I just don’t like running around with people that are trying to hurt my brother and me,” Mugs can relate. 

“I can’t relax around you, and I don’t trust you,” he feels exposed under the demon’s eyes, as if his soul has been laid out for the demon to judge. Something, Hat and the Boss, had both made abundantly clear that their kind could do.

“I can’t forgive people that endanger my bro.”

Mugs finds himself drawn back into Bendy’ intense look, his eyes aren't glowing red, though they are teetering on the edge of a glare.

“I understand,” Mugman says.

“You don’t,” Bendy rebukes, and Mugman blinks at Bendy’s glare.

“I can’t forgive people that endanger Boris. That includes me. There are things in this world we can’t help. I can’t leave Boris, but bringing him with me is putting him in danger. I chose this. I let him come because I know he wants to. He wouldn’t stand for me leaving him. I also selfishly don’t want to do this alone. Do ya get it?”

Mugman nods, he knows a thing or two about selfishness.

Didn’t he follow his brother for similar reasons?

Mugman knows he’d never live with himself if he let his brother do everything alone.

“Yea,” Mugman hoarsely says, “I get it.”

Bendy nods, “good.”

They fall into silence, each sipping on their drink.

They were just two brothers looking out for what was best for their brothers. Mugs just had to be useful. Everything would work out if he could just do that.

The first place Boris finds refuses to serve them. Serve Bendy at least. He commits the waiter's face to memory. When the B'bros are out of ear shot, he tugs the man close. 

"You're gonna die one day for turning away the wrong guy," Mugman whispers, the man pulls back, eyes wide and pale. The dish smiles, showing off his teeth, mockingly waving before following the B'bros.

The next place is smaller, but they serve Bendy and Boris. Mugman doesn't want to eat either way - even if he's hungry. 

Mugs looks at the food on the plate. Looks up to see Bendy casually watching him, eating his own food with calmness. He looks back at the food on the plate. He grabs a fork, puts some food on the fork, and brings it up to his mouth, he opens his mouth, he places the fork in his mouth, he swallows, he repeats. Trying not to look into either Boris' or Bendy's eyes, staring intently at him. Waiting. 

It tastes like sawdust, and he has the urge to puke.

Bendy and Boris are both watching him.

Mugman is the first to finish.

Chapter Text

They’re walking down her alley way, the meal he forced down his throat sits at the bottom of his stomach like lead. He’s moments away from getting back Cuphead, but that desperation that was driving him morphs into something else. 

“Fall back, bro,” Bendy murmurs to Boris. 

Mugman doesn’t hear Boris’ reply, too busy trying to remember what went wrong last time. 

(“Run!” Cuphead snarls, arms pinned to his side, something sickly scared in his brother’s face that Mugman can never remember seeing before as he barely dodges a shadow.)

The door comes into view, “we’re here.”

The B-bros conversation abruptly ends. Bendy stands beside him, scrutinizing the door.

“Right, let's go,” Bendy finally says, then they walk the final meters to the door. 

Mug’s heart is beating in his chest, all of his senses heightened. 

“One…two…thr-”

The door swings open, and Mugman dodges into the room, shadowy beings swiping at him, small scratches drawing flecks of blood. He hates how familiar it all is. 

Standing in front of Faciller, the world seems to melt away. 

"Where is my brother?" he snarls, beneath his skin hatred simmering. She laughs, cackles, and the shadows around them follow suit. 

Bendy and Boris fighting the multitude of her masks. He can’t find it in him to care about the pair. The shadows surrounding him swipe and claw at him. He keeps them away with chaser bullets.

Would his brother be proud? With the way the whole world melts away - leaving only a magenta haze, tunneled in on the woman. 

Mugman wants to hurt her. 

She says something, lost in the commotion around the room, moves her hands and does something. Casts a spell Mugman realizes too late. (and his anger always makes him slow) His vision goes hazy and the floor rushes up to him. Last second, he turns onto his shoulder, and then the world goes dark, his head cracking against the floor. The faint taste of copper in his mouth, he must've bitten his tongue, as he went down. 

The room disappears, the screams too. 

Elder Kettle right in front of him - older and more worn out. He’s reading a newspaper.  

“You -”, Mugman hisses, turning to face Lady Faciller, and she sneers, mockingly bowing, leaving him alone with the imposter.

Mugman can't bring himself to look into the old man's eyes.

"Mugman?" Kettle's voice is stricken. 

"Elder Kettle," and Mugman's voice is cold. He looks anywhere but at the old man - taking one singular glance before deeming it too much for his sanity. 

"Is that you?" the man seems to find his answer on his own, "it is, but why are you a child?"

Mugman doesn't answer him, trying to find a way out of her illusion. Cruel.

"Where's your brother? Are you boys alright?" the old man takes a step forward, and Mugman takes a step back - keeping his distance, the old man stops.

"What's wrong Mugman?"

"You're not real," Mugman says, still refusing to look at the old man.

“What?”

He wonders what he looks like, blood oozing out of his mouth, and the small cuts and bruises around him. 

Elder Kettle sobs, and the sound makes his heart clench and his eyes sting. Mugman bites his tongue. Stubborn.

"I'm sorry Mugman, I should've protected both of you better," Elder Kettle cries. 

The dish shakes his head, biting his lip, refusing to let the whimpers out. He needs to escape the illusion. Mugman won't forgive Faciller for pulling the dirty trick. Old wounds opening up, raw and angry. 

'How could have she known about Elder Kettle? Didn't the Devil promise to keep the Kettle out of the underworld?'

“Don’t worry,” Mugman replies, “it’s not real.”

He points the lit blaster to the fake, and closes his eyes to refuse to see the mockery of the old man, and he's back in the dark room of Faciller. Like a light switch, the sounds rush back. 

"Wake up! Don't nap now!" Bendy shouts, fighting the masks. Mugs rolls onto his feet, staying low, locking away his emotions. Mugman accesses his surroundings. Boris is hiding in the shadows, all of Faciller's attention on the demon taking down her shadows easily. The table, which he hadn’t looked at, holds only a crystal ball. 

It's been a while (forever) since Mugman fought alone.

He wonders how Cuphead did it. The ability to egg their enemy into an emotional outburst.  Emotional people were weak - he had first hand experience.  He reels in his anger, hot and red, his fear, choking and blue. 

The faint smell of lavender wafts up to his nose. 

He analyzes the self-dubbed Voodoo Queen. 

She winks at him, masks and shadows surrounding him, another tactic. 

"Why do you need power?" He asks, all too aware of the shadows surrounding him - doesn’t bother wondering why he feels numb. Synthetically focused. 

She slyly sneers. Smart and cunning, she wouldn’t make it far in this game if she wasn’t a mix of either. Strength also played a big factor - he couldn’t forget. He'd been in the game long enough to know how to play.

He heard something shift behind him, his eyes finding a child. 

Mugman makes a choice. 

The shadows and masks pounce, but the dish uses the only special move the devil allowed him to keep, disappearing in a puff of smoke, reappearing behind the child. Scooping up the child, he dashes to stand across the Voodoo Queen.

Her eyes are wide - disbelieving.

'You’d thought I wouldn’t use a child,' he tilts his head to get a better look at the kid. He looks similar to Facilllar. The kid struggles, and it's futile.

(what a shame)

"Mugman!" Bendy snarls, the masks and shadows temporarily leaving him, "what are you doing?"

The dish ignores the demon. 

"What's it goin’ to be our thin’s or your child ?" Mugman asks, the room seems to fall silent. Except for the shadows, who seem to be almost celebrating. He pushes down the sickness in his stomach, and he lights up his finger, aiming it at the shadows. The kid sobs.

"M-mugs?" Boris whimpers from somewhere to his left. . 

Mugs is a good cussin’ liar. 

'Sorry kid,' Mugs dangles the child above the masks and shadows - something about the boy seems to intrigue them. Faciller’s white face, her mouth open wide. It’s a dangerous game he’s playing, too much, and he’ll lose - spectacularly. 

Acceptance for what he's about to do, the consequences that follow.

(After this, he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to face anyone from back home)

"Give us what we want, or I’ll throw him to your pets,” Mugs cooly says. He pities the boy, knowing the price of your soul too young.  

"Mugman!" Bendy screams, "don't you dare!"

His eyes never leave Faciller, carefully gauging her reaction. She’s tensing, his bluff didn’t work, “Boris! Now!” 

(bluff, right.)

He throws the kid, just as she pounces, the child dives into his mother's arms. The woman grabbing her son and rubbing his back. She's whispering into his ear, consoling him. 

The sound of glass shattering making a new numbness spread throughout him. They’re good people. He just threatened a kid. He turns around, and it’s not white ceramic on the floor, it’s clear and smoke spills out of it with a hiss. Boris clutches his brother, a map, and a doll in his paws.

There’s an unreadable expression on his face. Mugs looks away, can't bear facing them. 

“Mom?” the child asks, his voice trembles and Mugs forces himself to look. Pay for his crimes, at least some of them. 

Faciller looks scared, almost younger, and she’s holding her son close, shielding him,  “wait! Please, we can work something out!” 

The masks and shadows surround her, excited.

The front of the room bursts with light, an old woman steps in.

Her light makes him cringe away. Both Facilier’s hiss, and the masks all move away.

He needs Cuphead - he would have never got to this point if Cuphead was here. 

(light colored eyes, delicate features, blood and gore on the floor - surrounding him, on him — that never happened)

The shadows have all retreated, scared of the light.

He can feel the disgust from Bendy and Boris, any relationship he had built up with them, delicate as it was - demolished. 

“Hey,” Bendy is shoving his brother into his hands, the old lady, Mama Odie as she introduces herself later, trying to prevent the shadows from taking her. It doesn’t work. Deals like their own can’t be broken - never. Unless, of course, if you work them off. He ignores the child crying, and of the woman shrieking - everyone sounds too human when they’re like this. 

He hates his line of work. 

But then she’s gone. Her contract broken, and what's left of her soul cursed to wander the earth for all eternity. Cuphead doesn’t turn back. The dull hopelessness fills him, ever so familiar. The child huddles around her body, sobbing and Boris tries to comfort him without avail. 

He can feel Bendy’s eyes on him. Calculating - they almost remind him of his brother. 

Mama Odie surprises him. She reaches out, taking his brother and by doing something - the teacup turns back into a dishman. 

His brother stumbles into existence, and Mugs is quick to reach out to stable him. 

“Mugs!” his brother grins, and Mugman smiles, relief spreading throughout his body.“Holy cuss! I can talk and move again! Where’d you go? I was stuck in a chest all day, and you just left?” 

He knows his brother is teasing him just to cover up for the fact that he was scared. 

“Sorry,” he shrugs. The dish brothers quickly hug. 

Boris and Bendy glance at one another, and Mugman makes the mistake of looking at them. Naturally, Cuphead follows his gaze. The tension in the room is thick enough to cut it with a knife. 

“They helped me get you back,” but his brother fires a shot, and the B-bros disappear out the door. He yanks his brother back. 

“Mugs!” Cuphead snaps, glaring. 

“I made a deal,” that caught his brother’s attention, “we can’t hurt their friends.”

For a long time, Cuphead only studies him, then he grins, showing off his teeth, “fine - let’s go then, ain’t no point to stick around here.”

He turns to Mama Odie, to thank her. 

The old woman is shaking her head, clicking her tongue, “them boys need to do a lot of digging, Juju.”

Cup didn’t hear her, or else he would’ve gone back. Mama Odie’s words ringing in his head. He feels stricken, exposed. Even though Mugman knows the old woman is blind - he can't help the feeling that he’s the one who’s been left in the dark.

He stuffs his hands in his pocket, feeling the edge of the cards he stole from the Toad brothers. Quiet listening to his brother's talk about food. 

Chapter Text

They find themselves in front of the Toad's brother's establishment. It's ritzier than the one they have back home, but Mugman doesn't like thinking about InkWell.

"I' goin' beat some sense into them," Cuphead darkly says, and Mugman can't find it in himself to talk his brother out of it. 

Ribby steps out, followed closely by Croaks, they're both glaring. "What are you here for?" 

" A rematch," Cuphead shortly says, the brother's glance at one another before sharply grinning. 

" Right after getting caught by the Voodoo Queen?" Croaks sneered.

" We beat you once before," Cuphead smirks as he says this, Mugman tugs his scarf over his nose.

Ribby and Croaks were one of the first they beat. Mugman couldn't help but wonder if they had gone all out back then, if they would now. He isn't sure if he will. 

Cuphead and him ready themselves for a fight, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't excited. 

How long had it been since they'd fought something without being expected to kill it?

They win because they're the Devil's dogs, and the Devil doesn't allow for any cuss ups. Mugman has a bruise on his cheek and Cuphead's handle is chipped. But the Toad brother's surprise them, laughing, teetering on edge of friendly. They got better too. Learned new tricks, it seems like all of them were Devil's dogs in the end. 

" Looks like we'll have to rematch some other time," Croaks grins, he has a burn on his shoulder. Ribby gestures for them to come inside and the Cup brothers waste no time in doing so. 

" Sounds fine by me," Cuphead smarts. 

They share stories about Inkwell, how it's nothing like it was, and he stifles the shame that comes whenever home is mentioned. Cuphead has always been better at keeping a lid on his emotions; he doesn't have a tell. Mugman's too soft, it's why he has the scarf (though he can't quite remember why he always puts lavender in it). 

" You know," Ribby says, and he isn't quite meeting their eyes, until he does and the intensity and pity, force Mugman to look away, " we never really apologized for not helping you guys when you were kids."

The apology hangs in the air for an awkward second. 

Cuphead finally accepts it, " it's fine." 

But his voice is short and clipped, the conversation seems to die out then. 

"Well boys," Cuphead says, forced cheer that makes Mugman's skin crawl and his eyes dart to the nearest exit, " we thank you for the meal and hospitality, but it's best that we be on our way." 

The Toad brother's look at them warily, and Mugman pretends he doesn't notice the pity deep in their eyes. 

They're almost out of New Orleans when Dice stops them. 

"Did you get the doll?" he hisses, and Mugman can't help but glare at the man. His brother isn't much better. 

" You never told us to get the cussin' doll," and Dice's card slams it's way into the wall, sticking out of it like a knife.

" Of course you needed to get the doll! I didn't just send you here for you to waste your time with a little witch!" the man continues, smoothing out his pristine gloves. He narrows his eyes that glow that unsettling green. 

" You should've been more clear about that," Cuphead snaps, and Mugman looks at a place on the wall. They exchange more quips to one another, but Mugman doesn't really hear them. 

" The boss won't be pleased to hear about this." 

Finally Mugman cuts in, " the boss wanted you to collect the item, he would've sent us to get it if he wanted to, but you went behind his back." 

Dice opens his mouth to say something before the room turns noticeably colder. It's a feeling Mugman has gotten used to. That everyone in the room has learned to familiarize themselves with. The Devil. Mugman gets up, already going to the boss. He ignore Dice's and Cuphead's eyes on him. 

None of them would ever win against the Devil.

What was the point in trying? 

No one is smiling. The Devil has a snarl on his face, it twists an already unpleasant face into something downright disgusting. Mugman's ear ring, but he's aware enough to know that this could be it.

The Devil's hand has expanded and crushes his brother's and his throats. He's losing oxygen. 

"How is this our cussin' fault!?" Cuphead manages to snarl, and the Devil momentarily closes his fist tighter around their throat before abruptly letting go. He finds himself gasping for air, as Cuphead coughs beside him. 

More words are exchanged, but all Mugman's head is submerged in cotton, nothing is making much sense. 

He still manages to see Dice glare at them as he jumps down one of the Devil's holes. Too stiffly, the second in command must be in trouble. 

"Your new assignment is to chase down those boys, understood?" the Devil hisses, and Cuphead nods for the both of them. The Devil jumps down his own portal, and the room remains cold. 

Cuphead drags him up.

Mugman forgot he was on the floor. 

In their line of work they have done the worst of the worst. They have seen the worst of what humanity has to offer. 

And yet:

He can't remember if he had ever considered killing a kid. 

Mugman won't ask Cuphead; his older brother is reasonable and logical. 

Whatever line is crossed, will be crossed when they get there. 

If they do. 

It's deafening, as something warm and dark covers his hand. Metal fills the air, something fleshy falls to the floor. The room is silent. 

"What did you do?" Boris probably asks. 

"You didn't," Bendy hisses. 

Mugman can't look down. 

"Monster," his brother only says. 

His finger alight with blue. 

There's no anger in his brother's eyes. 

No.

Just relief. 

His vision fills with blue, and Mugman gasps. 

He sits up, the sudden movement sends a pang down his side. Cuphead stares at him, a cigarette between his fingers.  

"Bad dream?" 

Mugman shakes his head. 

The rest of the ride is silent.

Chapter Text

There's something off about him. 

When he crashed into them, a dirty apron around his waist, scarf no where to be seen. On the dirty ground of a slimy alley, he almost looks younger. More vulnerable, like he'll break. 

Bendy knows better. 

Those dishes are cut from the same cloth.

Emotionless killing machines. 

(and Bendy ignores how ones gaze always finds it's way back to the other, how the older dish man never lets the younger stay too long out of his sight) 

Cuphead is smarter than Mugman. Or at the very least he's the one that leads them. So to see the other dish on his own is strange. 

Maybe more alarming. 

Mugman is naturally quiet, his eyes always on the ground in front of him. Bendy wonders if the other knows he does that. He stares off into the distance. Not glaring, just blankly watching. 

It's almost as if he's unbalanced, like he's missing something. 

But it's so obvious. 

His brother. 

Without Cuphead, Mugman seems like he's going to sink and disappear. Going to fade right into the air itself. They have similar goals, or parallel goals. 

They need the Voodoo Queen. 

Boris and him need a doll that they now know is part of the machine. 

They're planning when Mugman's stomach growls. 

Boris and him know hunger, and they wouldn't wish it on anyone. 

Mugman is quieter.

He has some ideas, but he always seems to be stuck in his head. Stuck somewhere else.

"You know why I don't trust you, right?" 

Mugman nods, and his eyes are surprisingly intense. 

Bendy nods, and the dish looks away.

They stay silent until Boris comes.