Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She doesn’t watch children’s shows.

Well, sometimes she does. There are a handful from her childhood that she still wears rose-colored glasses for. On the rare occasion she stumbles upon an episode of those few, they bring back many fond memories of watching TV over summers long past. 

But those are exceptions, carried by a sentimental nostalgia branded into her brain. Even then, she doesn’t voluntarily watch them if she can find something better.  

Because nostalgia aside… They’re bad. They’re just bad. Too patronizing, the plots sparse, characters flat, and she hates to say it, but terribly stupid too. She can only watch characters make the same preventable mistakes over and over again before reaching a limit. 

So no, generally she doesn't bother with them. 

Except for this morning, apparently.

She had reached for the remote after sitting, already put off by the assault of bright colors on screen.

Then it speaks. Their voice is distinctly slow, soft. It takes her a moment to recognize what’s on-screen. A puppet.

The puppet is painting, head tilting back to face her often. The person controlling it must be having a good time, the arm is recklessly lashing strokes across the canvas, uncaring for the paint splattering on the doll’s face and surroundings. Despite the chaos, its voice remains smooth, calmly inquiring as to whether the viewer has been having a good morning.

It’s kind of like a demented Bob Ross. That’s why she hasn’t changed it yet.

The violence doesn’t last long, the felt hand briskly burning through the remaining white canvas with red and yellow paints. 

An apple. Right, children’s show. A landscape might be too much for them to do. Or take too long. Probably both.

She could change it now, is still half-tempted to, but she’s almost done with her breakfast. It’s not worth looking for something else.

She watches the painter meander through the town for five minutes before she shuts off the TV. It cuts the puppet off as it speaks, its blank gaze still staring at the screen.

She turns on the TV to the show every Saturday morning throughout the month. It just always seems to be set to that channel when she sits for breakfast. She only stays if the puppet is painting, and never lingers long after it stops.

It’s a bit surprising, really. Even if it doesn’t quite count as ‘watching’ the show, she usually grows bored of this kind of thing quicker than this.

Then again, for at least that segment, it’s more similar to Bob Ross than Sesame Street. 

They have a similar attitude, not concerned with perfection, relaxed. The puppet smears an accidental patch of yellow against a blue background, and declares it the apple’s new friend. A new banana friend.

It makes her smile, amused, and she’s forced to accept this realization. She’s actively enjoying a children’s show for the first time in over a decade. A fourth of a show, anyways.

She watches the puppet’s head cocking back, eyes focused at the camera. The mouth is half open in a dumb, airheaded smile.

Wally Darling. What a dorky name.

As simple as the paintings are, she still finds herself impressed by the technical nature. While the puppet gets paint on itself and makes mistakes, there’s no hesitation once the brush hits the canvas. The strokes are controlled, purposeful despite the brash nature they’re applied in. She’d dare to call it ‘practiced’.

Practiced or not, she can’t believe they’re allowed to make such a mess. But it does perk the question… How do they get all that paint out of the puppet?

Could they be editing it out somehow after production? Probably not, then they’d have to be constantly editing out the blemishes in the other segments. Maybe the paints are water based and they can just wash them out after. Or they could have a dozen of those puppets stuffed away somewhere. How else would the puppet stay such a bright yellow?

Probably the water-based thing…

Well, she could look it up. Who knows, the set looks far from cheap, maybe they have the budget for a hundred Wallys stuffed inside some closet.

Luckily, she lives in the 21st century with access to the greatest database of mankind’s knowledge. Maybe she won’t find that information easily, but she’s up for the challenge. 

She finds their website right away, something as gaudily colorful as their show. It doesn’t have many answers, not the kinds she’s looking for. It’s more ‘get to know the characters’ and not ‘how many Wally puppets are allowed in the budget’.

But she’ll take what she can get, flippantly shifting through the layers of information. She reads the Wally puppet’s biography, and can’t help the short chuckle that follows. The ‘Home’ is a character? Well, now the ‘creaking’ makes sense. She thought the puppet was just pretending their house could speak. What a bizarre gag… Then again, these producers wouldn’t be the first ones to get high off their asses brainstorming show ideas.

It doesn’t take very long after that particular thought for her to realize a certain abnormality of this webpage.

They don’t list anyone from the production team. No directors, no voice actors, no puppeteers, no film editors…

Well, this could just be a website for the actual children viewers.

She leaves that website, goes looking elsewhere. There’s handfuls of news articles praising the show's success among children, a brief Wiki article, and scattered posts from various social media platforms. But there’s nothing on the production team. Nothing.

How can there be nothing?

She goes back to the first website, the only ‘Welcome Home’ website.

There should be something here. Their website manager-whatever can’t be that negligent.

But she can’t find anything. Not a name, not an email, not a single social media link. 

…The credits. They always give credits to the production team at the end of episodes. She’s just never bothered to stay long enough to watch them.

She relaxes back into her bed, settled by this thought. There’s a clear answer, she’s getting worked up over nothing. 

She only has to wait a few days for the next Saturday to roll around. She’s already called in to work, claiming to be an hour late in order to take her dog in for emergency surgery.

Really, she’s told her boss a thousand times she’s a cat person. But she’s seen that beagle picture they keep in their wallet, and she only plays to win… Even though she knows she’ll feel guilty later. She’ll get him something. Donuts, maybe. 

But for now she must dutifully suffer through the entire episode, even as the characters largely annoy her. Except the dog. The dog is kind of endearing. Just a little. It’s a dog. It also makes her feel a little worse about her lie.

Then the show finally begins its ending sequence, and she rolls her eyes at the overly jubilant tune. 

She’s not reassured when the voice actors aren’t credited, each puppet only having its character name shown.

Then, without much more fanfare, the post-credits ads begin. Burger King: Eat Fresh.

This makes no sense. Isn’t it a law, or something? All shows have credits.

…She doesn't have time to look that up now, not when she still has to pick up donuts on her way to work. Later. She’ll deal with this shit later.

But she doesn’t want to wait until later. It bothers her. She expects the feeling to go away, it’s not something that actually has an impact on her life. It doesn’t affect her money, her material treasures.

It does affect her sanity. Why is there nothing? Cut off ending-credits aside, it’s the internet, there should never be nothing.

Her resolve only strengthens. Maybe a little too much, abruptly ditching a customer near the end of her shift and bolting out of the store like there’s a fire on her ass. 

It’s okay, her boss will forgive her. He still thinks she needs to take care of her post-op canine.

Now that she's home, it’s finally time to break out the big guns. She needs her laptop to do this level of digging.

The sun is still rising in the sky and she takes the time to look at every fucking page of that damn website, irritation growing with every dead end. 

Is she crazy? Why is no one concerned about the massive hole in this show’s existence?

It must be her. She’s going to go back to the website and the information will be staring her in the face. Then she’ll say ‘oops silly me’ and be allowed to move on with her life.

She wishes. But she doesn’t think so.

Well, she’ll just have to embrace the crazy.

She goes back to the Wikipedia page, opening up the fucking edit history. Maybe there’s something, maybe a punk deleted half the information as a prank.

No, just a lot of punctuation and bickering over ‘speculation’.

Oh. Except for that.

The comment is simple, but it’s enough to make her freeze, excitement and hope perking up inside her.

“Personal information about the actor removed.”

Well, removing it hardly means anything when you can preview the unedited version.

And… Yep. That right there is a phone number.

No area code, though. The number isn’t explicitly linked to anyone either. It’s only labeled “For questions about the show:”.

Oh. They must have worked on the show, had their number put up here without permission.

She shouldn’t call it, then.

…

Well, it doesn’t even have an area code. Would it even go through?

Probably not. Not worth trying either. 

Besides! Does she not vehemently hate the idea of awkwardly calling a random person trying to go about their life?! 

…She wouldn’t have gone this far if they didn’t have something. A Twitter for her to ask her question and forget about later. Or, literally anything. 

Maybe it's just a joke, the phone number here could be some sort of prank in and of itself. Then the poor sap got harassed by children asking about their favorite show.

…Or other crazy adults with no fucking lives.

Well, what does she have to lose? She’s gone this far, already sunk her evening into this goose chase. If the other person doesn’t want to talk, she’ll accept the ‘no’ without bitterness.

Before she can talk herself out of it, she dials the number, barely breathing as she waits.

It rings four times before she hears the click on the other end, deceptively loud in the silence.

“…Hello?”

They, he, sounds confused. Which makes perfect sense, as she is a stranger calling him at…

She looks at her laptop. Shit, 8:00 PM.

“Sorry, I know it’s late.”

“Oh, it’s okay! Who is this?”

She does not want to give him her real name. Would she get in trouble? No, it’s not illegal to call someone.

Still, she feels the need to brush off the question.

“Someone curious.”

“Ha ha, I don’t understand that.”

She should leave the man alone, seriously. 

No, she has him, she’s going to ask.

“Yeah, I know, sorry. It’s just, do you know about the show ‘Welcome Home’? I’m trying to find out who worked on it. Actually, I have a specific question. You know ‘Wally’?”

A bit more of a word vomit than she intended.

“That’s me! I’m Wally.”

…Holy shit. She knows this voice. The fucking painter dude!

“I watch you paint all the time. This is, wow.”

Not her best sentence, but it’s the one she spoke. 

There’s nothing from his side for a few moments, and the awkwardness of this call seeps into her soul. Why can’t she just let things go? There’s something wrong with her.

She presses her fist to her temple, internally groaning.

“I’m sorry man, I shouldn’t have bothered you so late. I’ll leave you alone.”

“Wait, don’t go!”

His voice is sharp, has her jerking, grip tightening around her phone. His next words are so soft that she almost misses them.

“You’re Outside.”

She glances up, the light of her computer glowing on her face in the distinctly ‘inside’ room. She whispers back, her voice as quiet as his.

“No… I’m indoors. In my apartment.”

“No, you’re Outside.”

He stresses the word even more that time, but she can’t understand what the hell he means by it.

“…Are you tripping right now?”

“No? I’m standing. Please stay.”

Well, she’s not gonna antagonize the high man. Besides, she has more questions.

“I’m staying.”

“Thank you.”

It’s said so earnestly, and it’s just so strange to hear it in this context. She’s heard that same tone, same voice, many times in the show. Wally is a more sincere character, kind and straightforward. Except now that voice is with her, speaking to her.

Is this what it feels like to meet a celebrity? Does this count as meeting a celebrity? Maybe she can understand this irrational excitement a bit better, if that’s the case. 

A smile twists onto her face before she can flatten it out. Control yourself girl, be cool.

She clears her throat, returning to a more comfortable volume for speech.

“I have a few questions.”

“Okay.”

His voice remains a bit quiet. She doesn’t mind in the slightest.

“I watch the painting segment, and I want to know… do you keep a thousand Wally’s in the back closet? Or just clean the one Wally?”

“There’s only one me, ha. I take baths every day… Do you always watch me?”

“Only the painting parts.”

“How many watch me?”

“Uhm, you mean the people? Like, the viewer count?”

She doesn’t know, a lot? There seemed to be a few places online where fans gathered… and those were adults, not even the target audience. Saturday morning… Yeah, a lot of kids would be watching.

“A lot, I guess. You don’t know how many?”

If anyone would know, it would be them. They would have those numbers, right? So they know if the show is doing well.

“I can’t tell how many. But I know they’re there.”

…That’s a really weird sentence.

She wants to ask him what he means, but he continues before she can speak.

“Can you see me now? I can’t see you. I can never see you. Do you know that?”

Yeah, this guy is high as balls. Really high.

She knows he wanted to keep her on the line, but this guy needs to drink some water and go to bed. 

She also should rethink her life choices, bothering this innocent man so late.

“You’re really high.”

“I’m not high up? Why would you think that?”

“Listen, you should go to bed.”

“Please stay on, just a bit longer.”

There’s a strain in his voice, although she can’t quite identify it. Anxiety? Is he having a bad trip? Does he need help?

“Do you need help?”

“…I don’t know?”

Yeah, he definitely sounds like he needs help. 

“Can I call someone else for you? Or an ambulance?”

The puppeteer for Wally cannot die. 

“I don’t know what that is. You say so many funny things… Talk to me a while longer. Please.”

She thinks she can place the tone now. Desperation. Unease rises up in her even as she rushes to agree, to soothe that agitation.

“Okay, okay, I’m staying…”

The conversation stagnates again, until she finds the spine to continue it.

“So, how did you get into puppets?”

He ignores her question, following closely with one of his own.

“How do you see me when I’m painting?”

Alrighty! This is how it’s gonna be! She is officially going to navigate a conversation with a wildly high celebrity!

“I watch you on the TV.”

Which he should know, which he does know, but she’ll play along.

“What is that? How does a TV Work?”

“I don’t know how TVs work. It’s a TV.”

“Why don’t you know?”

“Do you know how phones work?”

“…No.”

He doesn’t add anything onto that solemn response. She wishes she could think of something better to say, something comforting for whatever he’s dealing with over there.

“…What’s your name?”

If she didn’t want to tell him that before, she definitely doesn’t want to tell him now. But, she doesn’t quite want to lie to him either.

“I don’t want to tell you.”

Well, looks like she’s just being honest tonight. 

“That’s not fair. You know my name.”

…No she doesn’t. The whole point of this was because she didn’t know who anyone was. But she can’t blame a high dude for not remembering these things.

She probably shouldn’t push it, but she can’t help needling just a tad, letting a bit of humor into her voice.

“You never introduced yourself either.”

“Yes I did.

“No?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Okay, now this is the funny kind of high, greatly preferable to the mentally unstable high.

“I do not know who you are.”

“I’m Wally. I said this in the beginning, remember?”

Right, high person. She isn’t in a rational conversation, stop forgetting that.

“Oh, I remember. ‘Wally’. My bad.”

“I’m glad you remembered… Ha ha, you’re so strange.”

Don’t go throwing stones with your glass house, buddy.

But if she can’t help them, she shouldn’t keep on the line with them either. High or delusional, this isn’t the conversation she wanted to have.

“I need to get going. It’s late. I’m tired.”

“You can’t go yet.”

Yeah, he can’t tell her what to do. She does not like that shit. Not one bit.

“I can go when I want.”

“Will you call again?”

“Definitely not.”

It was a mistake to call in the first place.

“Please call again tomorrow. At this time.”

Why on God’s green earth would she ever do that?

“Why should I?”

“...You have more questions, don’t you? You must have more.”

Not wrong. Although, many of those questions now concern the well-being of this man.

“I think I’ll be able to continue on without knowing.”

“I also have questions. It’s not fair. You have to give me another chance.”

Again with trying to tell her what to do. Ugh. Can’t reason with crazy.

She leans back in her chair, a groan stifled in the back of her throat.

“Why do you want me to call back so badly?”

All this drama might just be their high talking. It must be. 

“You’re Outside.”

It’s said with such certainty, as if the answer should have been obvious to her. 

This guy is fucking crazy, isn’t he? Is he even high? Is he dangerous?

But it’s not like she has to call him. She hasn’t agreed to anything, no matter how pushy he’s acting. Actually, can’t he call her? He’d have her number in his call logs.

…Well, she’s not going to remind him of that.

She shivers, the room suddenly a hair too cold.

She smiles, the expression forced, closer to a grimace. She tries to alleviate the sudden discomfort, but she knows her joke falls flat.

“Yep. And you’re ‘Inside’.”

“I am, ha ha ha.”

What a creepy laugh, slow, controlled. Relaxed. She thinks ‘Wally’ is anything but relaxed right now. Does Wally laugh like that in the show? She thinks she would have noticed a laugh so misplaced in the children's show.

No, it’s because she’s alone in a dark room. That’s why it’s so eerie to her. Definitely not the possibly high and likely mentally unstable individual on the other end of the line.

She takes the phone from her ear, the black screen flickering back on. Would it be so bad to just… hang up?

“I am going now.”

No room for argument, not this time. Still her body is tense, her hold tight on the phone.

“I’ll be waiting. Bye bye sweethea-“

She hangs up, thumb slipping over the button.

… Did he seriously just try to call her ‘sweetheart’? Sounds like he did.

What the fuck? Really, what the fuck?!

This is why you don’t call random fucking numbers from random fucking websites!

What an idiot. A dumb idiot caught up in the chase.

She’s not calling him. No matter what, she isn’t calling him.

But she does think about the conversation. A lot. While she buys groceries, while she fills up her gas…

So ominous. She understands the game he was playing a little better now. He was pretending to be the puppet, that ‘Outside’ simply meant off-set… She thinks. 

Creepy. Very creepy.

Maybe he did it on purpose, to unsettle her. To punish her for calling so late. To punish her for calling at all.

Doesn’t explain the desperation, unless that was fabricated too. Doesn’t explain why she needs to call him back either.

Well, she’ll just have to be okay with not knowing. Because she isn’t going to be calling him again.

It gets closer to 8:00. Well, as close as 7:30 is to 8:00. After a whole day of knowing it was far in the distance, it feels almost stifling now. She didn't know time could feel stifling, not like this.

She wants to call.

She’s curious. One of her worst traits, really.

And despite the creepiness of the interaction… it was interesting. More interesting than anything she had going on.

But is it still absolutely inadvisable? Yes. Very much yes.

…She can be careful. She won't tell him her name, where she’s from. No personally identifiable information.

He answers before the first ring finishes, voice deceptively slow despite how the idiot was so obviously eager to pick up the phone.

 “Ha ha ha… You called me back. I wasn’t sure…”

Wasn’t sure that she would?

“I probably shouldn’t have.”

Her response is bitten out, annoyed. A short silence follows, and she wonders if she offended him, or maybe even hurt his feelings. She shouldn’t care. She doesn’t care. He’s the creep between them.

She’s just the one indulging him.

She doesn't make haste to apologize for the sourness, and his next hushed question comes along quickly enough.

“I wanted to ask… what are you?”

Not off to the best start. He wants her to play the ‘pretend I'm actually the puppet’ game again. 

“I don’t want to play this game. You wanted me to call back, I called. What do you want?”

“I told you. If you won’t tell me your name, will you tell me what you are?”

“Are you legitimately asking? It seems like you're taking this ‘l’m just a dumb puppet’ thing too far.”

“How would I know what you are?… And I’m not dumb.”

“Well, what do you think I am, ‘Wally’?”

“…You called me a puppet. But you’re not a puppet, right?”

“No.”

Another curt, irritated response. She doesn’t feel the need to curtail the emotion anymore than she already is.

“…You’re angry. But I didn’t do anything, ha ha.”

There’s that fucking laugh again.

Could he be high two nights in a row? No, she’s sure he’s fucking with her now.

Or he’s just mentally ill. In which case, she’s bullying a mentally ill person. Somehow, she doubts it.

She should hang up. She’s not interested in playing along with something so unnerving.

… But she was curious. And she’s the one that called him. She knew this was probably how it was going to go. It is hypocritical of her to feel this way now, isn’t it?

He must be feeling impatient. She couldn’t have been quiet for that long before he asks again.

“Please just tell me.”

“I’m a person,” she pauses, and generously adds “a human.”

“Human. I don’t know what that is.”

“Sucks to suck.”

“You keep doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Using words that don’t make sense.”

“Like ‘sucks’?”

“Yes, what do you mean? It sounds so silly.”

Oh, she has an idea.

“I’ll tell you what it means, if you do something for me.”

He pauses, and she grins, finally feeling like she’s turned the tables, even just a little.

“What is it?”

“Say ‘fuck’.”

“Fuck?”

Holy shit. Bastard didn’t even hesitate.

“Say ‘supercalifragilisticexpialidocious’.”

“Supercool… I don’t remember.”

She laughs, almost cackling. God, it sounds so strange from his voice.

“You’re laughing.”

“Yeah. It’s funny.”

She’s terrible, making a character in a children’s show curse.

He’s just as terrible for letting her.

“It’s nice. I’m glad you’re laughing. I thought I was doing something wrong.”

The smile slips from her face just as easily as it had came.

“You are doing something wrong. I’ve made it pretty clear I didn’t want to play this game. But… I’m the one staying on the phone, aren’t I?”

“You have stayed. And, while I like games, I’m not playing one now.”

“Come on. You can’t be serious for even a moment?”

“Ha, I don’t get it. I am being serious. You’re the one laughing, playing games.”

Is he for real? He’s the one pretending to be a puppet.

… She doesn’t know what to do. To return to her stubborn rigidity, to continue to laugh at ‘Wally’. Neither seems worth the effort anymore.

She needs some coffee.

“Ask me something else then, ‘Wally’.”

“…What is a human?”

What is a human indeed?

“Different from a puppet. Five fingers on each hand.”

“Five? Why?”

“Why do you only have four?”

“I don’t know?”

She can almost really believe it, can almost fall for the act of innocent confusion.

She’s trying to think of another difference, one vague enough to inspire more of that befuddled demeanor he’s acting out. 

He comes up with another question before she can think of anything.

“Is that why you’re making that sound?”

“Sound?”

“Yes. I thought it was wind, but it's different.”

She pauses, listening. The vents are running warm air into her apartment, but she doesn’t think they would be able to hear that.

“I don’t think there’s a lot of wind going on here.”

“I can hear it through the phone, is it coming from you?”

“... Pfft, you mean breathing ?”

“Oh, ‘breathing’, I’ve heard of it. ‘Take a breather’. That’s what Eddie says when he finishes delivering mail. Ha ha, I didn't know it came from a human thing.”

He pauses again. She thinks he’s wanting her to say something more. If he thinks she’s patient enough to explain breathing to him, he’s got another thing coming.

Maybe he senses this lack of patience, seeming to drop the topic altogether in favor of something more convoluted. Or maybe he just lost interest.

“Where are you?”

Nah, that's personal information right there too. No address for him, poor creeper.

She turns it back on him, despite knowing it won’t be very helpful to the flow of the conversation. It seems her generosity is beginning to wear out.

“Where are you ?”

“You know where I am.”

“I really don’t? I don’t know where the set is, assuming you're in that character ‘Home’”.

Or rather, pretending to be inside ‘Home’.

“I’m with Home now.”

“…Is ‘Home’ listening in?”

“I don’t think so. I’m being quiet.”

If she was half as mature, that sentence would make her want to scream into the phone. But she does have neighbors… and a sense of decency.

“I really would like to know your name, please.”

Not this again.

“Not a chance. I’ll never let you find me.”

If she means anything, she means that. It’s bad enough she’s called him a second time, and knows he must have her own number. Giving him any more scraps of her identity? No, not a chance in hell.

“I wonder… if there’s a way I could find you.”

“What?”

No! No, thank you!

She follows up quickly, cutting whatever he had to say off at the throat.

“If I ever see you, I’ll run in the opposite direction.”

“Ha ha, that’s mean. Do you watch Frank too?”

“I don’t know that one. I told you, I usually just watch your painting segment.”

“Ha… I’m the favorite. Can’t say I’m too surprised. I’m the most.”

…The most what?

She shifts, rolling her eyes. Another lure, maybe, and she’s not biting.

“Don’t get too flattered. The dog might take first place at this rate.”

“I wouldn’t be mind… Barnaby is my best friend.”

“He is?”

“We had a sleepover just a few days ago. But you only watch the painting… You must like it then, since it’s the only part you watch.”

“It’s nice. Reminds me of Bob Ross.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

She repeats after him, a bit amused, a bit tired.

“You don’t know who that is.”

“Ha ha.”

Still an unsettling laugh. She bites her cheek, and wonders if she should try the same.

Let's see how far this ‘puppet’ will take the act.

“I have a question for you, actually.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. How do you always know where to look?”

“You mean… when I know someone can see me?”

He pauses, only for a moment.

“I always know when someone is looking at me.”

“How?”

“I can feel it.”

…Fair enough? I mean, don’t people usually get a creepy feeling when someone is staring at them? Or in this case, when a camera is staring at them?

“But you said that you can’t see us, right? So you’re just… looking at a wall?”

“Ha ha, it might look like that.”

“Don’t the other characters find it strange?”

“No. Sometimes I think they feel it too. But… they don’t know what it means.”

“And you do?”

“I do.”

This… feels like a horror video game. Like Undertale, when an ‘NPC’ suddenly addresses the player themselves and not the character.

She takes a moment to remind herself that this is pretend. She isn’t really talking to a puppet. 

It’s embarrassing, to catch herself getting swept up into the moment like that, forgetting reality for just a few minutes.

“You… are so weird.”

And she’s weird for entertaining him

“I think you’re just as silly. Silly, silly.”

“Probably.”

It feels a little better to admit it. She’s weak to her impulses, and horribly, isn’t having an entirely bad time with this ‘puppet’ on the line.

“…I’m so glad you called. Ever since, well, it’s been so exciting.”

“We first talked only a day ago.”

It can’t be that exciting. But again, all part of the act.

“And I keep thinking and thinking… about Outside, about you.”

That’d almost sound flirtatious if it wasn’t so disturbing.

“It really isn’t that great out here. In the ‘real world’. Stay in your cute little village and paint apples.”

“I do love my neighborhood… I don’t want to leave. But things have been changing, even in only a day.”

She’s sure he’s baiting her, but he doesn’t give her a chance to leave him adrift, already rolling into his next tangent.

“There’s so many… I can’t hear any one voice. I didn’t know that they were voices until recently. But now I know your voice… so if you spoke, maybe I could make it out. Then I could find you, ha ha.”

She takes it back. She is not having any remotely good time with this creepy ass puppet.

… ‘Creepy ass puppet’? She means ‘psychotically deranged puppeteer’.

He’s changing his story too. He said he could only feel people watching not even twenty minutes ago. Or, maybe he only told her he can’t see them. 

Well, it doesn’t matter much either way.

She brings her voice down, as quiet as she can without being silent.

“Then I will be very careful… to never make noise when your face is on screen.”

He does the opposite, his voice raising to an exclamation for the first time this call. It makes her flinch, and she resents herself for it. So much for not letting ‘Home’ listen in.

“Ha ha ha, I’ve always been good at hide and seek! Especially when I’m seeking.”

“I’m actually the national champion of hiding.”

“What is that?”

“It means I’m the most.”

She hopes for the same silence she gave, a short pause as they wait for the rest of a sentence that will never come.

But they don’t hesitate, not for an instant.

“Next week, I’ll listen for you.”

“Maybe I won’t even watch.”

“Please, you have to watch.”

“I won’t.”

“You will”

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

“I will.”

“Yes, you will.”

“Shit.”

It didn’t work on them.

“That’s another new word. What does it mean?”

“Just don’t say it on TV.”

“I told my Barnaby the other word you taught me. He said it was rude.”

“That’s cursing for you. It’s supposed to be crass.”

“I don’t know what ‘crass’ is.”

“Of course not.”

She’s starting to get more irritated with this. 

“I’m hanging up.”

“Call me again tomorrow.”

“Three days in a row? Keep dreaming.”

“Soon, then. I have more questions.”

“Oh no, what will the world come to if ‘Wally’ can’t ask his questions?”

More like, ‘What would the world come to if she didn’t indulge this crazy ass motherfucker?’.

He starts the speak, and she interrupts them, their words incomprehensibly blurring together until he trails off.

He waits, and she takes the opportunity to end the conversation once and for all.

“Good bye.”

She hangs up promptly.

…She was definitely rude to him, wasn’t she? It’s not even a question.

Well, it seems to fit. He wants to play games, then so will she.

She doesn’t call the next day. She’s too tired after work to even seriously consider it.

…But she does consider it.

The next-next day is even easier. It’s less tempting, and it does seem a lot more likely that she’ll never call back.

Instead she flits through social media, finding the small spaces where fans of the show gather.

…She’s hesitant to really call herself a fan. Both because it’s a children's show, and because she knows the puppeteer controlling Wally is a total nutjob.

Still, she sees what’s there. She learns Wally apparently sleeps by repeating ‘I’m sleeping’ with his eyes closed. What a weird choice.

When, err, if she calls ‘Wally’ back, she’ll have to ask if he came up with that himself.

…He definitely did.

In the third day post-call, she feels no inclination to pick up the phone. Not in the slightest.

She’s finally over it. She’s moved on. She’s free to live her mundane life without high, deranged men dragging her into their games.

It’s only a few days later that Saturday rolls back around, no call in the meantime.

It’s strange, isn’t it, to feel a little nervous. She knows ‘Wally’ wouldn’t actually be able to hear her. 

Ugh, he’s still in her head, isn’t he?

But she’ll watch the short ten minute painting segment of the show, nothing will happen, and those phone calls will be a distant, bizarre memory.

It starts out normal… normal for the show.

Wally is painting, nothing seems strange about it. 

…Has he always looked at the screen that much? She can’t remember. It’s normal for ‘interactive’ children's shows to have eye contact with its characters.

But this does seem excessive. Even the puppeteer’s lines are sloppier, the head still turned towards the screen. The painting is a second thought. Rattling off questions for the viewer is the priority.

She’s making a mountain out of a mole-hill, isn’t she? She’s just psyching herself out.

Fuck, she wishes it would stop staring at her. She can hardly stand it.

…No one is making her watch.

That thought makes her arm jerk into movement, lunging for the remote.

In the process, knocking her coffee over onto the recently-vacuumed carpet.

“Fucking-!”

Coffee on carpet. Goddamnit. She does not have the time to clean it up. She’s going to have to put a wet rag over it so it doesn’t settle. Where the hell is-

She glances up, but forgets what she was looking for.

He’s staring at her.

No, the audience. He’s staring at the audience.

She averts her gaze from his, watching his paintbrush. It’s still on the canvas, overloaded by the thick drop carving its way down to the edge of the canvas. A bead of the red slips to the floor, and the brush begins to move again.

It’s like nothing happened. Did anything happen? Wally’s painting normally again, not tilting its head back as often.

Its smile is wider, she thinks.

…Did anything happen? How long was that pause? Did she hallucinate it?

Whatever it was… It wasn’t because of her.

That belief only grows stronger while she’s at work. It’s easy to convince herself she imagined it. Crazier things have happened.

But when she closes her eyes, she sees the paintbrush pressed against the canvas, bristles haphazardly splayed out. She sees the red travel down the canvas, sees it create a perfect drop of red on tiled floor.

She sees him, seeing her.

She scrambles to catch the box that had started to slip from her grasp, a coworker snickering at the near accident.

It takes her a moment to get her bearings again, snapping back into action when her manager calls.

For the first time in years, she’d rather stay at her job than go home.

She almost asks. She can use a few tarps for blankets. Fold her jacket into a pillow.

But she doesn’t.

She’s not a coward. She’s not afraid of her own home.

She returns to her apartment, hastily switching on the lights.

Everything looks normal. Looks safe.

And that fucker has gotten to her again.

Fucking, fuck!

She wants to throw something. Almost does, her fingers tightening around a candle grabbed from the coffee table.

Then she takes another step, socked foot meeting the wet coffee rag.

Well, disgust is a good way to quench anger.

She takes a hold of distraction, spending the next ten minutes scrubbing the shit out of the carpet. It doesn’t last nearly as long as she needs it to.

She does the dishes, vacuums the still-drying carpet, makes dinner.

She watches a documentary on how bubblegum is made while she eats, feeling unable to tolerate anything other than the polite, distanced tone of the narrator.

But then she’s done, scrambling for her next distraction. Laundry, check. Dust mop the kitchen, check. Clean out the refrigerator, check. 

If she was tired enough, she’d go to bed, sink into her mattress and look forward to her day off tomorrow.

Instead she sits, her abandoned phone having watched her from the arm of the couch.

…Is she really going to call the lunatic?

What’s the point? What could she gain?

She could ask him if he heard her, betray the fact that he’s wiggled under her skin.

…He wouldn’t be able to tell her what she said. Since he can’t hear her through a fucking TV.

She finds the number easily. Stares at it for a moment.

There’s something wrong with her, isn’t there? To keep coming back for more. She should get a therapist to find out why she’s doing this to herself.

She calls, and so horribly, he picks up again before the first ring finishes.

“Ha ha… I found you.”

She hangs up.

“Oh goddamn it.”

She’s such a fucking coward.

She calls again.

This time they wait until the third ring to pick up.

“Why did you hang up?”

“Because you’re creepy.”

“No, I’m not! I’m very lovely!”

Said in such a genuine, sickly-sweet voice. He really believes it, doesn’t he?

Or maybe this is still part of the game he’s playing.

“So. What did I say?”

“Another one of those rude words. ‘Fuck’.”

Fuck. But not that close. She said ‘fucking’ not ‘fuck’. Also, he could have easily guessed ‘Fuck’. It’s not reliable.

In an instant she’s at his heels correcting him.

“No, I didn’t say that.”

“I’m pretty sure you did.”

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t.”

“Did.”

“Didn’t.”

“Did.”

“I actually said, ’Barnaby is my favorite character’.”

“You didn’t…. Though Barnaby would be a good favorite. But I’m still the most, aren’t I?”

She honestly doesn’t know anymore. No, the creepy puppeteer cannot be her favorite. That’s a fact.

“Why are you doing this? I just don’t get it.”

“I told you. You’re Outside. And you’re interesting. I want to learn more. I want you to answer my questions.”

“I have been.”

“No. I’m not dumb. You don’t take my questions seriously. But you will.”

“That’s really not helping your ‘I’m not creepy’ façade, you know.”

“What’s a façade?”

“You.”

“Ha ha, you won’t even answer that. No one else is this way towards me.”

“I’m actually very nice.”

“…Are all ‘humans’ this way?”

“Some of them. I guess you’re unlucky.”

She’s sure he would have preferred someone that would have been more into this ‘game’.

Really, she’s so self-centered, playing the whiner when she keeps fucking calling and talking to him.

“No, I’m lucky.”

“I don’t think so, but okay.”

“Why didn’t you call before now?”

“I didn’t think I should be talking to you.”

“Ha ha, that’s silly. We’re friends.”

“We can’t be friends. You hardly know anything about me.”

“I would like to know more. And we are friends, of course.”

“Yeah? Tell me a secret. Something juicy.”

“Juicy?”

“Something no one else knows but you.”

“Ha ha… Something no one else knows…”

“Yep. That’s the price.”

“Here’s a secret for you. I think we’ll be getting a new neighbor soon.”

“A new puppet?”

“Close enough.”

“How does that work anyways? There some great puppet city around? Do they also get tired of capitalism?”

“Ha ha ha, no… not like that… whatever that means.”

She opens her mouth, but Wally beats her to the punch.

“Home usually brings them.”

The house.

“I don’t get it.”

“I don’t understand it either. It’s just what they’ve told me.”

“They speak in creaks and thumps? How can you understand anything they’re ‘saying’?”

“Same way I knew you spoke, I suppose. I just hear it.”

He pauses, and she waits for their next crazy proclamation.

“I bet you’d like to live here. You said the Outside wasn’t very good.”

Her life isn't luxury, but it sure as hell ain’t shit either.

“I don’t need saving.”

“You don’t have to be Outside.”

What a basket case. But, to hell with it, right?

“Oh Wally! Save me from the throes of Capitalism! Let me live in your commune enjoying the riches of shared labor!”

“Ha ha ha, that’s a joke, but I didn’t get it at all.”

“You still laughed.”

“I did.”

“That doesn’t make us friends, you know.”

“But it does, sunshine.”

Well, that takes her for another loop. ‘Sunshine’? Ugh, who knew how sappy he would get when she finally played along.

She’s not sure where else to take the conversation, but he seems to be full of ideas tonight.

“I would like an apology, friend to friend.”

“An apology?”

“You ignored me for a week… that’s not what a good friend does.”

“Less than a week. And this could still count as ‘soon’. Not that I agreed to call back in the first place.”

“It made me nervous… that you could just be gone like that. That I couldn’t do anything.”

He giggles, breaking his usual monotone, if only for a moment. Somehow, it’s worse than his ‘normal’ laugh.

“It’s different now. I know where you are. How to reach you.”

She tries to jump in, a thousand different retorts on her tongue.

“You-”

“I am so glad you called. I’ll see you soon.”

It’s the first time he hangs up first. She doesn’t like the reversal.

…’See you soon’? 

Doesn’t like that shit either.

But there’s no way he could know her address. He doesn’t even have her first name. Just a phone number and a lucking ‘fucking’ guess. Which wasn’t even correct, technically.

He’s just a liar. A pretender. Delusional.

She’s just humoring him, humoring the story. But that needs to stop, doesn’t it?

Can she stop? Hasn’t she already failed twice?

Does she need to keep trying when it already seems inevitable? Isn't she just lying to herself at this point?

What happens if she gives up? She just has this undefinable relationship based on lies, a relationship that can’t go anywhere?

Shit, she knew she needed friends, but she didn’t think she was this pathetic. 

No, she deserves better. She knows she does. He also deserves better. The ‘intensive therapy’ kind of better. But that isn’t her job. She won’t be calling him back. Not again.

Late into the night, she hopes that she means it this time.

She doesn’t realize until the next morning that Wally didn’t even ask her to call him before he hung up. She wonders if that means he’s done with her. 

She doesn’t know what to do with the conglomeration of disappointment and sweet, sweet relief she feels inside at that idea. Maybe she really will never talk to him again, and it strikes her as such a strange thought. 

She didn’t know such a weirdo could exist, who pretends to be his own puppet. He probably put his own number on Wikipedia for that purpose.

How many others has he talked to like that? How many played along? More importantly, she wonders how many actually played along with him. 

Couldn’t have been just her, right?

Chapter Text

Today she makes some negative progress towards her ‘absolutely do not contact the puppet maniac’ goal. 

She changes the number in her phone to a name. ‘Wally’.

Well, she also tries out ‘Puppet Man’, ‘Deranged Psychopath’, and her personal favorite, ‘stupid dumb stupid face’.

But none of them are enough to describe him. They’re funny, accurate, of course they are. She just doesn’t know why only ‘Wally’ seems more fitting than any of them. It just feels… More ominous. More threatening.

He should have a threatening name, something to remind her who he really is. She shouldn’t forget she’s dealing with someone unstable. If she’s still dealing with him at all.

Which she fucking is, isn’t she? Made a contact for him. 

She should just delete it. And block the number while she’s at it.

But hey. It’s almost been an entire week, Saturday’s just around the corner. She didn’t call him. That’s at least three steps forward, and then this is just one step back. Not even a full step. A half step at most. The math is still working in her favor.

…Man, she knows it’s bad when she can’t even believe in her own excuses.

She rolls over, facing the back of the couch.

She opens her contacts, starts scrolling to ‘W’… Actually, she has a lot of old contacts and text histories she would probably be better off getting rid of.

But not her old girlfriend. She wants to hold on to some of that blackmail material. Never know when that bitch might pop back up to take an ax to their already burned bridge.

…Does she attract dangerous people? Well, it’s only been two times. It takes three to be a pattern.

She’d rather her reluctance to delete anything just be because she’s a hoarder, or something. 

She doesn’t get to ‘W’. Her alarm interrupts her thumb, and it’s for the best. She has shit to do.

Saturday morning. Sat-ur-day. 

She lays in her bed a little longer than usual, face illuminated by the lock screen of her phone.

Is it against her mental well-being to watch that show? 

Obviously.

…She wants to, though.

She has time to decide. There’s always Netflix.

Except, her eggs and toast have never made themselves quicker. Really, what the hell? She thought she had more time than that.

She sits down, leaves the plate on her low table as she cradles her warm coffee.

Aw fuck it, she’s gonna watch. She’s going to watch it and hate herself.

The painting doesn’t start until five minutes in, but she clicks to the channel early.

He asks a lot of questions to the viewer as he sets up his easel. She wonders if he always does that. 

When he actually starts painting, it gets more familiar. He looks back often, asking questions and viewing the audience expectantly. Not unusual.

Still, she finds it disturbing. That calm, relaxed gaze. Their mild, placating tone. It seems today he’s reminding her more of a patronizing host for children than Bob Ross.

Maybe it’s just because she knows the crazy motherfucker that lives behind it. Or, well, the crazy motherfucker controlling it. They aren’t actually the puppet. She knows this.

Still, she feels a need to rebuff this discomfort. He can’t hear her, but she wants to pretend he does.

“Ayyy Walllly! You suck!”

The puppet pauses, tilting its head back to the audience. She tenses, waiting.

But it doesn’t speak, turning back to its painting.

They keep painting, a red background, a green thing in the middle. Probably a fruit.

“Is that a pear?”

Wally pauses, and answers, gaze slowly swinging back to her. Back to the audience.

“This is an apple! A green apple. Red apples are my favorite, but green apples deserve some attention too!”

…Okay, that’s spooky. But also, he had to announce at some point what he was painting. It’s just a predictable coincidence.

She nods, a solemn crease in her brow.

“Ah! Of course. Silly me.”

Then he nods, surely only to reaffirm what he just said, and turns back to his painting. 

…She wants to test him again.

The idea is as tempting as it is bizarrely frightening.

You can’t hear things through her television. It doesn’t have a microphone, for God’s sake. 

She remembers her food, half cold on the coffee table, and decides to eat before she says anything more.

His painting segment has ended, and she needs to go to work. She lets the TV stay on while she gets her jacket, her bag.

Then she has to leave, key in hand to lock the door behind her.

But she should turn off the TV first.

“…Bye, then.”

She clicks off the TV in the next beat, not allowing him the opportunity to react. She takes a step back. Then she notices it. A quiet buzzing.

…The TV isn’t turning off.

It’s showing a ‘black’ screen, but it’s still on. The Sony logo is still lit up along the bottom. With a weird, quiet buzzing.

Very strange indeed.

But there’s no image on-screen. There’s nothing to burn into the pixels while she’s at work.

Shit, she doesn’t have time to deal with it any longer. She needs her pay, and she doesn’t want her boss giving her that sad face again.

She’ll figure it out when she gets home.

When she returns hours later, she’s almost forgotten about it.

But it’s there, with another issue.

There’s a thin white line going horizontally across her buzzing TV. It’s about a third of the way up, and it does not look good for her.

Oh goddamnit. The pixels might be fucked up. Her TV might be fucked up. 

Okay, uh, if it won’t turn off, she’ll just unplug it. Like she should have done this morning before she left.

She does so, the TV audibly switching off. Then she looks back towards what should have been an empty black screen.

Shit.

The white line is still there. Why is the white line still there? Shouldn’t it have-

Oh, now it’s gone. Whew.

Except, not ‘whew’. Her TV might be broken. She does not want to buy another one.

…She could afford it. Her boss gave her a small raise to help with ‘Daisy’ and their massive vet bill.

Don’t judge. If she couldn’t come clean before, she sure as hell can’t do it now.

She’ll have to doctor some photos for her boss later, he’s been asking for them.

Hold on, focus. Her TV might be broken.

She plugs the cord in, and holds her breath. It switches back on, but the screen flickers, still black.

For a moment her stomach drops, expecting a white line to cut its way through the black once more.

Then it clicks again, the cartoon channel abruptly blaring the theme for SpongeBob. It has her cringing, swiping up the remote and rushing to turn down the volume.

Jumpscare aside, she’s never been so happy to listen to that god-awful annoying voice.

She watches a movie on Netflix as she eats dinner that night, and doesn’t think about what she’ll do next Saturday.

Maybe she’ll test Wally. Something more definitive, if she’s not a coward again.

But she won’t call him. Not tonight, and not this week either.

That night, she dreams. Which by itself, is rather unremarkable.

But there is something a little funny about how she dreams. Namely, she doesn’t have bad dreams. Not since she was a young kid.

That doesn’t mean that bad things don’t happen in her dreams. A ‘bad guy’ shows up and she has to run away. But she doesn’t feel fear or anxiety. She runs because that’s what you do when a bad guy shows up.

She’s always assumed it’s because, at some level, she’s aware it’s a dream. She escapes the bad guy, or the bad guy catches her and she beats the shit out of him. She’s never actually hurt. She always finds a way out of it.

This dream isn’t different.

In this dream, which again, is notably the same as any other, she’s sitting on a ladder. It’s steep, a stair digging into her lower back as she leans against it. She looks down at her bare feet resting on the dark wood. The varnish is so close to black, if she couldn’t feel the rippled texture against her soles, she might think it was iron.

Something moves, near the bottom of the stairs. There’s a black floor, and she watches it, waiting to see if something wiggles along the ground once more.

Then the floor itself flexes, coming up to brush against a lower rung.

Oh. The ladder doesn’t end at the ‘floor’. It’s water.

She’s ‘safe’ a few steps up, and doesn’t feel any need to move.

She wonders if there’s something in the water. Something dangerous. That’s what’s supposed to happen, right? Dark water is supposed to hide something dangerous, at least until it’s ‘too late’.

Maybe she could be the dangerous one instead, if she went in.

The floor, the water, rolls again, reaches a little higher. There are no tiny droplets, no sound. It almost seems like syrup.

She wants to touch it.

It should be harder to shift down those three rungs. She knows how steep the ladder is. But then she’s already there, somehow seated more comfortably than she was higher up.

She waits until the next slow movement, and reaches down.

She tries to gather a few droplets from the surface as it passes. Instead it slips through her fingers, leaving no wetness, no residue.

She waits. Tries again. She still can’t grab any.

She needs to be lower.

Two whole rungs lower. The black is resting right under her feet. She watches it swell up to her calves, and this time tries to scoop the water with both hands.

Finally.

It’s just a little pool of the black. She can’t see her hands through it. It feels like nothing. No weight, no texture. Not hot, not cold.

When she closes her eyes, it feels like nothing is there.

When she opens then, a wave is already rolling past her calves again. She didn’t notice.

Wait. There’s another feeling. Fabric, soft against her cheek. Something is twisted around her middle. She wants to kick out, get it off of her.

She shifts on the step, uncomfortable. The black of the dream is becoming blurry, light gray blending into the foreground.

Hold on. She wasn’t done yet. She wanted to become the monster.

“You’re taking too long.”

Something touches her shoulder, curls around it. A hand.

It pushes, her feet slip from the step.

She lifts her arms, doesn’t want to drop the meager pool she collected.

There isn’t a splash when she falls in.

~

The narrow path made

Life threaded through a needle

Subterranean

~

Something brushes against her arm, soft, strange.

She isn’t in her bed.

The thought makes her writhe for a moment, confused, half asleep.

She rolls to her knees, clawing, spilling dirt from in between… lamb’s ear?

It’s covering the ground.

It’s, it’s so much? Why is there so much?!

“What the hell?”

Is she dreaming? She can feel her voice in her throat, doesn’t it usually sound muffled in a dream? 

She get to her feet, fucking barefoot for some reason, and finds the whole clearing covered in the lamb’s ear. Lamb’s ear, why lamb’s ear?

This seems like a dream. Right?

She feels her face, pinches her cheeks.

…She’s wearing pajamas. She doesn't own pajamas. She sleeps in panties and a T-shirt.

Okay, definitely a dream. She can handle that.

She squats down, reaches out for the lamb’s ear. It’s soft. She hasn’t seen lamb’s ear for a while. Hasn’t touched it since she was a kid. Soft.

It’s everywhere here. No stalks that she can see, though. It’s just covering the ground. Like grass. 

She stands again, starts walking through the clearing.

There are some small yellow flowers peeking out from under leathery petals. A few tiny white ones too.

She can see the trees better now. Something about them is a little off too. They’re very… round. Not quite uniform, but close to it.

She can’t make out much undergrowth either, strange for a ‘forest’. There should be more shrubs and small plants, right? 

…This really doesn’t feel like a dream. She’s not usually this coherent. She doesn’t question things like this in dreams.

But there really isn’t any other explanation. 

Holy shit, is she dead?

She’s totally dead.

Then, what is this? The afterlife? It certainly doesn’t fit the stereotype of heaven or hell. Well, it’s not like she ever believed in that shit when she was alive.

…She really doesn’t want to be dead.

Fuck, they’re isn’t a TV somewhere here, is there? So much TV she never got to watch… Seasons that still had to come out.

…Her mom might be here. If she really is dead.

“…Mom?”

It’s croaked out. She clears her throat, tries again.

“Mom?!”

…No response.

Okay, purgatory, maybe.

She keeps walking, until she gets to the edge of the clearing. The bark of the perfect trees is smooth under her hand, polished.

That is not a tree. She doesn’t know what it is, but it is not a tree.

The lamb's ear doesn’t extend far past the treeline, the forest must be too shady for it. Instead there’s moss, greatly preferable to walk on. She’s sure the lamb’s ear tried to trip her up a few times.

She continues on, looking for… Something. Anything.

It takes her a few minutes to start noticing more bizarre facts of this forest. There are no leaves on the ground. Only on the trees. Sometimes she thinks she might hear a bird, but she never sees them. She never sees squirrels or rodents either.

How unsettling.

Maybe this is a dream? Or a coma? Because she thinks death would be more straightforward. Not that she’s an expert on death. It’s her first time, actually.

She giggles, uneased.

She doesn’t know what’s happening.

“Whhhhy am I here? Hmm? Why?”

No one answers. She doesn’t expect anyone to.

Ugh. Her legs are getting tired. She couldn’t have been walking that long, could she? Maybe… An hour? She’s tougher than that, than this. There’s barely any hills, if the slight inclines can even be called that.

Maybe that fact is another point in favor of dreamland. Shouldn’t be tired if you’re dead, right?

“Hello.”

She halts at the interruption, stumbling as she aborts her next step. She’s not alone.

A person. She should be relieved.

Why is her stomach sinking?

She calls back, much quieter than the voice. She’s not sure if she wants to be found.

“Hello?”

She looks around, and finds him when she peers over her shoulder. He was behind her.

Hell. This is Hell.

He’s just standing there. Menacingly. 

He doesn’t look the same as on TV. His hair seems to actually look like hair. His face is less fuzzy, but still looks unnaturally smooth.

His eyes stare at her the same.

He speaks, his thoughts echoing her own.

“You look different.”

And he’s so fucking so short. Has he always been that short? Why is he so short?

“It took me a while to find you. I was in a bit of a rush. You know that.”

He’s- he’s a dwarf. A short little dwarf man. Puppet. Dwarf puppet.

“You seem to be okay. Got all your parts. I wasn’t so sure you’d have all of them, ha ha.”

Just a dwarf puppet that’s speaking to her like this is just another Tuesday afternoon.

…Wait, what did he say about her parts?

He takes a step towards her, his head cocked to the side.

No way in hell.

She’s off become she can make any decision, tired legs now light as air as they obediently race away from the devil himself.

He calls after her, voice thankfully farther away.

“Why are you running?!”

She sure as hell ain’t going to stop and explain why she’s trying to get away from the obvious fucking danger!

It’s been years since she ran like this, as fast and as long as she could go. She almost falls a few times, shredding moss and patches of lamb’s ear in her wake.

She’s leaving a trail. Fuck.

When her legs are too weak to go faster than a walk, she finds a nook formed by a bush next to a tree. She hides there, trying to catch her breath.

It’s painful, and she coughs around the dryness of her throat. Shit, she needs water.

No, what she needs is to understand what’s happening. Is this a dream? A coma? Why would Wally be in her fucking afterlife?!

…Unless this really is hell and this is how she’s being punished. 

Oh, so, what was it? Stealing from the school carnival? Cheating on her math tests? Having gay conquests?

… Probably from that one time she accidentally ran over that squirrel. Fuck, she felt really bad about that.

Okay, well, it most likely has to be a dream, right? And she’s not scared of her own dreams. Whether it be a regular dream, or a coma dream.

She, she can do this. She knows how this is supposed to go.

She waits, her heart rate slowing, breath coming easier despite the lingering thirst. She’s so tense, she knows the moment she hears something unnatural. The soft stepping of shoes on moss.

A thin vein of fear comes to life, and she holds it firmly. It feeds into her adrenaline, allowing jelly legs the strength to bounce up, to face her enemy.

 It’s him, just as she thought.

She brings her arms up in front, thumbs outside the fist just like Mama taught her. 

Wally just tilts their head again.

“What is that?”

“I’m gonna kick your ass, puppet man.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Good, he’s never been in a fight before. She can win this. Also, he’s only three feet tall.

“I’m gonna punch you, and wake up from this hell hole.”

“This is the neighborhood?”

“That’s what I said.”

“You’re saying all these weird things again… I don’t get it.”

She edges closer to him, even as she’d rather keep the distance.

Just, right in his face, right? Really, it’s probably the only place she can reach.

He takes a step back, his eyes widening as he watches her. That damnable smile stays on.

She hopes he fears her behind that mask.

She swings, and he ducks out of the way easily, taking another step back.

She tries again, but fuck, he’s just too short, it’s like she’s trying to box a fucking teddy bear.

He smiles fully at her, and she wants to crumple it in her hands.

“Ha ha, is this a game? Am I winning?”

Oh, she’ll show him ‘winning’.

She fakes a punch, and then lunges at him, fists catch his jacket.

Got ‘em.

She holds him as far away from herself as possible. He’s heavier than she expected.

He doesn’t react. Actually, he seems to almost go limp, limbs hanging uselessly, not even trying to free himself. His head stays forward, eyes still firmly fixed on her.

She’s not sure if she likes him being eye level with her. But she knows holding him must offer her something strategic.

…Now what?

“I, uh, why are you here?!”

“I live here. We’re in the forest by the Neighborhood.”

“That is literally not possible. You’re a figment of my imagination, or something, right? How the hell do I get out of there?”

“Why would you want to leave?”

Ugh, she does not have the time or energy to play twenty questions with this thing. 

“Just, how did I get here?!”

“I brought you here, remember?”

No, she distinctly does not remember. 

“Yeah? Little puppet ‘brought’ me to this hell? Send me back.”

“I can’t send you back.”

It’s said so nonchalantly, and she doesn’t know how he couldn’t be taking this seriously.

“What? Of course you can, if you brought me here!”

“I don’t know how.”

“Learn?!”

“You have to tell me all about Outside.”

No, she does not have time for all that bullshit.

“I have a life, man! I have bills!”

“…What are ‘bills’?”

“Ahh you motherfucker. Oh, fuck you so much.”

Her arms are starting to ache, it’s hard holding him up this long. But she’d be damned to show him any weakness now.

At least he doesn't seem to notice the slight tremble in her biceps, cocking his head with that annoyingly oblivious curiosity.

“Why are you so unhappy? You wanted to come.”

“I absolutely did not!?”

“You wanted me to rescue you from… that thing you said.”

“…Capitalism?! That was a joke!”

“What is capitalism?”

“Something terrible, and stop trying to change the subject!”

“I rescued you from something terrible, shouldn’t you be grateful?”

“I specifically said that I didn’t need saving.”

For the first time, his smile drops. He looks annoyed, and he doesn’t have any goddamn right to be.

“You made the choice to come here. Don’t get angry now.”

“I absolutely did not.”

“You were. And you were going to come all on your own.”

“What? I-… What?”

“It didn’t happen that long ago. We were on the ladder, remember?”

Ladder… but that was a dream?! Wait, hold on-

“I didn’t choose to come here, someone pushed-!”

…Fucker!

“It was you! What the hell?!”

Her grip tightens on him, and it only unsettles her more how the fabric and cotton squished under her fingers. She wants to squeeze tighter, make him hurt for this.

Did she say her arms were tired? No, they’re powered with more rage now than ever before.

There aren’t enough words to describe her fury in this moment. She feels fear, despair, a burning sense of injustice. There are a thousand words on her tongue, and she trusts none of them to accurately convey how much he’s fucked her over.

Instead she shakes him ruthlessly, like a cat trying to snap the thin neck of a rat.

He doesn’t tolerate it for longer than a few seconds.

“Stop.”

Her arms freeze, still holding him tightly. She meets his eyes, that wide, flat stare, and the hair on the back of her neck prickles.

“Put me down.”

She obeys, even as a small part of her still wants to tear into him. 

A bigger part, an instinctual part, is telling her to run away from this thing.

She backs away as soon as his feet are on the ground. She doesn’t want to be anywhere near him. Near whatever he is.

He dusts himself off, and he really hasn’t once taken his gaze of her, has he?

That tight feeling is in her chest again. This time it doesn't know if it wants to fight or run.

He tries to sneak towards her, foot sliding forward on the moss, and ‘run’ is quickly becoming the dominant inclination.

He tries to cut this off, he must see it in her eyes, her body.

“Don’t run away again.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

It’s great that in these dire times she has years of innate sass to fall back on.

“Ha ha, you never do listen…”

She has a handful of bitter retorts to that, only a handful of which she’s sure he would understand.

But that’s a waste of time. She has bigger fish to fry, she can’t let him distract her.

“I didn’t make the choice to come here. You pushed me.”

“You were going to go in. I could see that you wanted to. But you were waking up.”

…She did want to, and probably would have. But he couldn’t have known that for sure. She didn’t even know what it meant, she can’t be told that she ‘chose’ this just because she was curious about a black… a black whatever it was!

“I don’t care. It’s your fault I’m here, and you need to take me back.”

If he can. If this isn’t some fever dream or afterlife.

He hesitates, just long enough that she knows she can’t believe anything that leaves his mouth after.

“Sure. We’ll see.”

‘We’ll see’ her ass.

“Okay. Come on, let’s get this over with. You have a list or something?”

“A list of what?”

“Of all your questions! So I can be done with this!”

“I don’t have a list.”

“Then just ask. Just, just ask.”

“…Your ‘breathing’ is different.”

“I’m thirsty. And I just sprinted for twenty minutes. Give me a fucking break.”

“Do you need water?”

“I’ll get water when I’m back in my apartment.”

He hums, still staring at her.

“Can you look, maybe, any other direction?”

“I don’t want to.”

He is a literal child.

He tries to sneak another step towards her when she’s rolling her eyes, and she takes two back in retaliation.

“Don’t come near me.”

“You picked me up. It’s only fair that I get to look a little closer too.”

He takes a bigger step, how bold of him.

“I’ll run again.”

“You won’t get as far the second time.”

Creepy, so fucking creepy.

She grimaces at him, and he smiles even wider.

He takes another step.

Fuck, she really doesn’t want to run. Her legs are feeling like jello again.

She takes a few wobbly steps back.

“Just ask another question.”

“Come with me. You can rest at Home.”

Like hell she is.

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Ha ha, that was mean, wasn’t it?”

“You cannot actually be that dumb.”

His face twitches. She might have actually got through to him.

“You’re such a rude human… Maybe I can understand it. But I hope you won’t be mad for long.”

“I won’t be here long enough to forgive you for this shit.”

No, she’ll never forgive fucking abducting her from her home.

“Silly… I have too many questions for just one day.”

God, she doesn’t want to look at him anymore. She doesn’t want him to look at her anymore.

“Tell me where I can find water. And then go away.”

Preferably never to return. Fuck, she doesn’t like this.

“Come back with me to the town. It’s already evening, and you can’t sleep outside, ha ha ha.”

“Bet.”

He pauses, opens his mouth, and she doesn’t want to hear one more ‘I don’t understand’ or ‘what’s ‘bet’ mean’?

“I’m not going into any of your weird ass buildings.”

“…Where are you going to sleep?”

“Outside.”

“That was a joke. You can sleep at Home.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No. I would rather sleep outside. Forever.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Yes, I can.”

Worst sleep of her life, but she can. Well, who knows. It’s warm here… wherever ‘here’ is. Lamb’s ear can’t be a bad mattress either.

“It’s a rule. You can’t be out at night.”

Really?

“Those rules are for puppets. I am a human. It’ll be fine.”

“Ha ha, no, the rules are for you too. You have to be inside.”

“Bet.”

The unfamiliar word doesn’t make him pause this time. He ignores it, continues trying to verbally corner her.

He’s in for a fight. If curiosity is her worst trait, stubbornness is a close second.

“Why won’t you come with me to Home?”

“Because being in a sentient building is creepy.”

Not to mention, knowing he’ll also be there is far from a bonus.

“Home is perfectly pleasant.”

“Oh? Well, it’s a shame I’ll never find out.”

“Ha ha, ‘Bet’.”

…Did he seriously-!

“You know what? I’m not dealing with this.”

She hates to turn her back, but physically dismissing him, and breaking their locked eyes, is too tempting to pass up.

Still, as she starts walking she hears his quiet footsteps following behind.

“Don’t follow me.”

“No.”

“You are so creepy.”

“I’m very lovely.”

“I have seen zero lovely faces today.”

“I wouldn’t be the favorite if I wasn’t lovely.”

Yeah, he’s no longer the favorite. The dog, Barney or whoever, that one’s the new favorite.

“What’s it gonna take for you to leave me alone?”

He doesn’t get to answer. Her foot catches, her own fault for dragging them.

She catches herself easily, but is more keenly aware that the footfall behind her hasn’t stopped.

Her hand digs into moss, and she twists, lobbing it at Wally, who’s definitely too close to her. He swerves around it, only a few specks of the dirt dotting his jacket.

She grabs another fistful of raw dirt, leaning back on her elbows, legs tensed to kick out if he comes any closer.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

“I’m not going to touch you.”

Bullshit. 

“You’re practically touching me.”

“I’m not touching you?”

“You’re touching me.”

“No, I am not.”

“You are.”

“Ha ha, is this a joke?”

This is in no way funny to her.

“No, it is not.”

“…I don’t get it.”

She presses her lips together, averts her gaze to the sky. He’s kept in the corner of her vision, thankfully not trying to slip any closer than he already is.

But he’s not silent for long. God forbid she’s allowed one moment of peace.

“…Will you get up soon?”

“…I don’t have the strength to go on. Leave me here.”

“You do look tired. I can get Eddie. He could carry you.”

She bravely meets his gaze once more, and puts on her best smile, her most cheerful voice.

“Oh, that sounds great! Go do that!”

He perks up, and she really hopes the puppy-dog act is real.

“Really? You’ll come to Home?”

“Yes! As long as I don’t have to walk!”

“Okay! I’ll be right back.”

He finally turns, probably taking his eyes off her for the first time since he found her.

Then he pauses, turns back towards her.

“Don’t go anywhere.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, my dear Wally.”

Alright, laying it on a bit thick.

He brightens at the endearment, his perpetual smile growing.

“I’m glad you’re not mad anymore. I’ll be quick!”

“Take your time, I’m not going anywhere, ha ha.”

She mocks his laugh, which really would have given her away to anyone else. He only smiles, brightly, warmly, and turns to leave.

Then she waits.

She waits for his already soft footsteps to disappear, and then a little longer after that.

But then she has to move. She doesn’t know how long it will take him.

She doesn’t run, she won’t leave such an obvious trail of fucked up moss this time.

But she does notice how her feet still leave slight imprints. Not as bad as shoes would, but it could be enough to track her.

If only she had time to cover them, somehow. Ruffle the imprint out with a hand. Even then, having to keep bending down would be too tiring. She’s barely keeping up a brisker walk as it is.

She looks for something to break the trail. A creek, anything.

She finds another meadow of lamb’s ear. This one isn’t completely empty, a few trees littering in the open space.

She jogs through it, terribly aware of how easily she could be spotted out here in the open.

She veers off to the right before reentering the forest. It wouldn’t help break her trail if she went straight through.

She continues walking, hoping to find something else, break up her trail a second time. Please god, let it be a creek. She’s so fucking thirsty. Hungry too, but that’s a much lower priority for her situation.

Just as her legs are aching for a break, she finds a ‘good’ hiding spot. Two bushes against a tree. How delightful. She crawls in through a small opening, leans back against the tree with her arms wrapped around her legs. She rests her head on her knees and savors the calming darkness the act provides.

Her thirst feels even worse now that she isn’t moving. Maybe she can look for water at night. If she believes him, that means all puppets will be inside then, and that should include Wally himself.

Fuck, she really is thirsty. It’s almost enough to make her regret ditching him. But she’s not going to his house. To Home.

…So, she believes him then. That he brought her here.

It could still be a coma dream. Her mind could just be latching onto this while she lays in a hospital bed somewhere.

…She keeps wanting to cling to that idea, but fuck, this really doesn’t feel like a dream. 

And afterlife? This? This makes no sense as an afterlife.

But this supernatural shit can’t actually be real. Why would it happen to her if it was? She’s not someone this kind of thing is supposed to happen too. She’s supposed to live her mild life, maybe marry, get a cat, and then die like a good, red-blooded American!

This is what she gets. Her mother always told her being nosy led to more trouble than indulging curiosity was worth. Now she’s here. Hiding from a psychotic puppet. A decision which is steadily becoming a worse decision with every passing minute.

…He couldn’t hurt her, could he? He’s 3 feet tall. A nimble little bastard, but she’s also sure any punch he throws would be more of a light bop than anything that would hurt.

She should have watched that Chucky movie when she had the chance. Then she would know what threatening behavior to watch out for.

Ugh, so creepy. She doesn’t want him to find her.

She huffs, lifting her head from her knees. Holy-!

“Mother fucker!”

He’s there, just beyond the entrance to the bush. Staring at her. How long has he been there?!

The feeling is back, a nervousness that’s sunk into her very bones. God, she’s sick of feeling this fear.

She doesn’t move to run or fight this time. She watches her dirty feet, and waits for him to act first.

He doesn’t reach for her, stays comfortably outside the bush as he speaks.

“…You said you weren’t going anywhere.”

“Yeah. I lied.”

He pauses, only for a moment.

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m not going inside your house. It’s creepy. And sentient.”

“… What is ‘sentient’?”

“It’s when something can think. Houses don’t think. ‘Home’ does. I don’t like that.”

“But I think, and you like me.”

She holds back the reactive ‘actually, I hate you and your guts and would be happy to light your cotton corpse on fire as I dance around the pyre with unhinged glee’. 

“Still don’t want to go in.”

He’s silent, and she hesitantly glances back towards him. It seems to be the attention he’d been waiting for to announce his new dictation.

“You are so difficult.”

“I’ve been abducted by a psychotic lunatic.”

“…I don’t know what any of those words mean. Please come with me to Home. You still need water, don’t you?”

Shit, more than anything. 

“…I’ll only come for water. I’m not going inside.”

Wally hums.

He backs away, the action more considerate than anything he’s done since bringing her to this godforsaken place.

She tries not to feel too exposed when she has to crawl on all fours to get out, quickly standing to tower over him.

She wishes she felt bigger than she does. Big enough to squish him.

She says nothing, and although Wally looks tempted, maybe he doesn’t want to risk inspiring her ire again.

She follows a good distance behind him. Her legs hurt, and most of her concentration goes into keeping her stride and breathing even. It’s a welcome relief from his gaze that he never looks back to check that she’s still there.

As they walk, the sky starts to darken. She’s not sure how long she’s been here, been awake. Hours, surely.

Her stomach growls. It’s been grumbling for a while, but it’s especially loud this time.

Wally tilts their head, unwilling to ignore it.

“What was that?”

“I’m hungry. You don’t have food too, do you?”

“Oh, right. Barnaby makes that sound sometimes. I have food. What do humans eat?”

“Lots of things. Who knows, keep asking so many questions and I might eat you.”

He stops, turns to face her.

“Would you really do that?”

No. She can’t. Not that he needs to know that.

“Wally. I’m not going to actually eat you.”

“Okay. I won’t eat you either.”

…What?

That’s a joke, right?

He’s already walking away from her again, and she keeps the question to herself.

He was joking. Had to be.

It’s almost sundown when the neighborhood’s lights become visible. A dirt path emerges from the moss and lamb’s ear, a little chilly under her bare feet.

The neighborhood is only a handful of buildings. No one seems to be out either. She wonders if this counts as being outside at night. 

Shit, there’s a creek. She can hear it.

“We’re almost there.”

Ah, right. Home.

They’re coming at it from the side… It really does look like a regular house. From this angle.

Then they round the front, and a black mass shifts to follow her, making her flinch.

Eyes. Giant window eyes.

She’s quick to back away from it, bristling under its gaze.

She waits as Wally opens the door, keyless. Well, why would they bother with that here? There’s no crime in this jolly all-is-perfect neighborhood.

He opens the door, walks in… holds it open. Expectant.

“Please, come in. Don’t be shy.”

“…Really dude?”

“You’re already this close. Just a little more.”

“I told you from the beginning that I wasn’t gonna go inside.”

“You will. You need water.”

“Bring it to me.”

“No. If you want water, you have to come in first.”

Bastard. Fucking-! Fucking bastard!

“Bring it out.”

“No. Come inside.”

“Come on, I need it.”

“Good. If you need it, you will come inside.”

God, she hates him. Trying to control her, lure her in like an animal.

“I don’t have to be here. I heard a creek back there.”

…Hopefully the creek has clean water. Why wouldn’t it? Of course this lovely little neighborhood would have clean water.

Huh, he hasn’t responded yet. Maybe she’s got him there.

“You also need food.”

Her stomach growls at the thought, loud enough for them both to hear. She shoves any embarrassment she feels down to her empty gullet. As much as she could kill someone for a burger right about now…

“I can go without.”

“You don’t have to. Come inside.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

She hesitates only a moment longer before she leaves.

She hears a door close, hopes with all her soul that it was closed with him inside. 

That hope dies as she hears a whispered ‘don’t worry’ and the light taps of shoes on the dirt path.

Even worse, he’s bold enough to walk beside her this time, although he keeps a certain distance between them.

If she wasn’t so tired, she’d pick up the pace, make this shitty squeaky toy jog to keep up with her. A girl can dream… Well, that’s an ironic thought.

She does find the creek, has to walk off the path and through more lamb’s ear.

The water looks clear, and she almost slips on a round stone in her haste to reach it.

She sits on another round stone near the edge, rolling up the mystery pajama pants to put her feet in the stream. It’s horribly, deliciously cold against her skin.

Thoughtlessly, she goes to cup the water, pausing as she begins to lift it out.

It reminds her of the dream.

But this isn’t that. It’s wet, and cold, and clear.

Beside her, Wally watches her stare at it. She wonders if it reminds him of that too, or if he’s only curious as to why she isn’t drinking yet.

…She hopes she wakes up tomorrow in her own bed. She doesn’t want to keep living with this creepy ass puppet always staring at her.

She drinks quietly, self-consciously.

When she’s done, she stays there a while longer. The water feels nice on her feet.

“…Come back with me.”

And there’s Wally. Ruining the moment.

“Why would I do that?”

“I have food. You can’t find food out here.”

“I’m not that desperate.”

Hopefully she’ll never be that desperate. A sentient house… She doesn’t trust it. What if it locks her in? Or, more generally, watches her all the fucking time?! 

She already has Wally to deal with as it is.

Wally edges closer to her side, and she keeps her gaze on him, stopping him from sneaking up on her. He doesn’t seem to notice her scolding frown as he speaks.

“Will you be ‘desperate’ soon?”

Oh, she thinks it would be a while before she’s desperate enough to do ‘anything’ for food. Hopefully. She’s never… not had access to food. Could… Would she have to steal it to avoid Home? This is a children’s show though, asking might be enough.

“You’ll be disappointed by how long I can go.”

He doesn’t seem to like that, his ‘smile’ small on his face, eyes wide. It feels like he’s trying to intimidate her.

It’s not surprising when he tries to pressure her.

“You’re breaking the rules. It’s night.”

“You’re out here too, aren’t you?”

“Yes… Because I’m trying to stop you from breaking the rules.”

“What? Is there something I should be scared of out here.”

“…I don’t know, ha ha. No?”

“Then why can’t I be out here?”

“It’s… we’re supposed be inside at night. Why would we be outside? Most of us can’t see well. And, night is when you’re supposed to sleep.”

“… Is it true that you say ‘I’m sleeping’ when you sleep?”

“Yes.”

“…Why?”

“Because I am sleeping?”

“And you do that by saying ‘I’m sleeping’?”

“Yes, that is how I sleep.”

“…That can’t be how you actually sleep.”

“It is.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Or maybe she should. Crazy children’s show, remember? But she won’t pass up a chance to antagonize him.

And she seems to have been successful. He really does look confused by that, like he can’t fathom why she wouldn’t just believe his outrageous claim.

“It’s… it’s how I sleep?”

She could go on with him, she knows. But seeing that dumb, confused face… it just isn't as fun as when they know you’re doing it on purpose. 

“Sure.”

She gets up, wiping the soles of her feet on lamb’s ear as she leaves the creek’s edge. Wally is at her heel, peering up at her. She notes that he’s just barely out of her smacking distance. Bastard.

“You’re coming home?”

“No.”

She gets back down to the lamb’s ear, rolls to her back. It feels so fucking good to finally lay down. She hasn’t exercised like this in… a long time. She should probably try to go on more walks.

Her eyes drift over to where Wally’s standing over her a few feet away. His head is tilted, disappointment, she thinks.

“…Please?”

“No.”

“Home will worry if I don’t go back.”

“Then go back.”

“… I don’t want you to go anywhere. Also, it’s against the rules.”

“I can go where I want. And you haven’t given me any reason for that rule yet.”

“I did give you a reason. It’s because we sleep inside at night.”

“Not a good enough reason. I can sleep outside just fine at night.”

“It’s dark. You can’t see well.”

“I sleep with my eyes closed. It’s always dark.”

“…Oh, right.”

“Mhmm. So, you better run off now.”

“…Home will be okay. For one night.”

No, he cannot be serious.

“I don’t want you to watch me sleep. You have to leave.”

“Ha ha, what is it you say so often? ‘You can’t tell me what to do’?”

“You suck.”

He does that fake, monotone laugh again. Then he pauses, and she senses nothing good.

“Now that you’re here… will you tell me your name?”

“I would rather perish here in the lamb’s ear.”

“What’s lamb’s ear?”

“The plant I’m laying on.”

“We call it grass. But why ear? Is the grass listening in? Ha ha ha, that’s so silly.”

“No, it’s… Nevermind.”

She hopes that’s the end of it. She’s only given 7 blessed seconds of silence before he speaks again.

“…Please tell me your name?”

“No.”

“You’ve come all this way, and you still won’t tell me?”

Yeah, he can go screw himself.

“I will never tell you my name.”

“You will.”

Ugh. She is not walking into that trap again.

“I wish I had a pillow to beat you with.”

“…You mean a pillow fight?“

“You know what a pillow fight is?”

“Of course I do.”

“Of course you do, please excuse me.”

“It’s okay.”

Asshole, ‘forgiving’ her like she’s so crazy for thinking he doesn’t know what a pillow fight is.

…Well this is a children’s show. He probably knows what a pillow fight is.

“Whatever.”

“What?”

“Not you, just, I’m going to bed. Don’t talk to me.”

She rolls away from him, hating that she can’t watch him, but needing to close herself off from him.

Still, he better know her fucking boundaries.

“…Don’t touch me either.”

“I will not touch you.”

Ugh, she doesn’t believe him.

She looks back at him over her shoulder, and doubt must be clear across her face.

“I am not lying.”

…Well? She would wake up if he did touch her, right? She wouldn’t go into any deep sleep out here. Not with the slight chill and less forgiving mattress of lamb’s ear.

“…Are you sleeping yet?”

“No. Stop talking to me.”

“Okay. Will you tell me when you’re awake?”

“Sure. Now hush up.”

“…Goodnight, sweetheart.”

’Sweetheart’? God.

She doesn’t return the same courtesy of a ‘goodnight’. Awkward endearments aside, God knows how else he could drag out this ‘conversation’.

Instead she closes her eyes, and hopes that she wakes up at home tomorrow.

Chapter Text

She doesn’t quite fall asleep. The creek will burble too loud or a breeze will come and chill her legs. It brings her up just enough to disturb her each time.

When she fully wakes, the sun too bright behind her eyelids to sleep through, she’s taken off guard by the unfamiliar ground. She’s lost again, confused.

Then she opens her eyes, sees a thick blade of lamb’s ear against her thumb.

Oh no.

Is he still-?

She gets to her elbows, looks back.

He’s there. Sitting on the lamb’s ear. His smile grows wide, gaze relaxed. 

“Good morning, sunshine.”

Very not ‘good morning’. She’s feeling shitty as hell… and hungry.

She’s about to ask for food, although she already expects the bargain Wally will want to make with her. But he keeps going, voice soft, preoccupied.

“I’ve never stayed outside all night before. It was… nice. Quiet.”

“Wow. What a rebel.”

“What a rebel?“

“Someone who breaks the rules, I guess.”

“I don’t break the rules.”

“Pfft. You just did.”

Idiot.

“Right. I did.”

“…I want to go home.”

“Oh, we can go to Home! Are you hungry?”

“I meant my home. Where you took me.”

“Ha ha, it doesn't work like that.”

“What, you want me to answer questions? I’ll call you from the comfort of my apartment. My non-sentient apartment.”

“You hadn’t called me in a week. You weren’t going to call me again.”

“So what? You just decided to rapture me out of my apartment?”

“‘Rapture’?”

“Steal. You stole me from my home. Put me back.”

“…Yesterday you said you were fine answering my questions before I’d send you back.”

“That was yesterday. I want coffee.”

“Barnaby has coffee.”

“I want eggs.”

“…You eat eggs?”

“Yeah. What, you don’t eat eggs here? I know one of your ‘neighbors’ is a bird…”

Maybe it’s insensitive.

“It’s… strange. Poppy came from an egg. Barnaby too.”

“… The dog?”

“His mother was a chicken. Barnaby came from an egg.”

She’s gonna have to fact check that one. But hell, what does she know about this cartoon world? Maybe puppies come from chickens.

He’s staring at her still. His head is slightly cocked, considering her.

“I understand. Sometimes… I want to eat things I’m not supposed to eat too.”

He leaves a gap, and she thinks she’s expected to say something. Confess something. She lets the silence float until he seems to come to a resolve, somehow straightening up even further.

“Last night was the exception. From now on, we both will follow the rules. No staying outside at night, and no eating eggs.”

Alrighty, eating eggs is a sin here. No eggies for her.

“I’m still not sleeping in Home.”

“…I will think of something.”

An alternative sleeping arrangement or a way to trick her into going inside Home?

He stands, and she sits up too.

“Come with me, please.”

“Will you feed me?”

“…Yes.”

…Why did he hesitate again?

“I’m not following you into Home.”

“We’re going to Barnaby’s house.”

The dog?

“What? Why?”

“I need him to watch you for a while. I have some things to take care of.”

“What responsibilities could you possibly have?”

It comes out more condescending than she intends. Not that she regrets a single ounce of it.

She probably shouldn’t be questioning an excuse to get away from him. If Barnaby is half as gullible, she could ditch him too.

…Where she would go after she ditched him, she doesn’t know. Maybe just have some alone time. Regret her many ill-advised decisions in private.

“I have to take a bath. I was outside all night.”

He literally looks pristine. She’s the one still covered in a layer of dirt.

…She needs new clothes too. She hates pajamas.

Ugh, no, she’s not going to be jealous of this shithead.

She gets up, body aching. She’s not sure if it’s more from the shitty bed or yesterday’s ‘hike’.

“Fine. Barnaby.”

He better have a bathroom too. She needs to go .

Oh god. What if they don’t have bathrooms here?!

Fucking-! Ugh, one problem at a time.

Wally is still staring at her. Unmoving.

“…We gonna get going, puppet man?”

“Yes.”

With that, he pivots on one foot, swiftly striding off towards the town. She catches up easily, and remains a good distance behind him.

It’s early enough that not many are out. They pass what looks like a market, and she’s very tempted to make a pit stop, take one of those oranges carelessly left unattended.

Then there’s movement from beyond glass windows, a tall figure slipping between shelves, long, spidery limbs, scurrying in the shadows.

Fuck no. That’s more than enough to keep her away.

…Oh my god. She might have to meet them. The rest of the puppets.

Does she really need to? She doesn’t want to deal with any more optimistic dunderheads… Or spider puppets.

Especially if they’re like Wally. Ominous, threatening dunderheads.

Ugh. She wishes she knew more about Barnaby. He seemed nice in the show. Wally also seemed ‘nice’ in the show. Look where she is now.

She can’t believe she was actually excited when she realized it was him on the other side of that phone call. If only she could go back and shake some sense into herself.

Trapped in a fucking sci-fi horror show. Really, could it get any-?

…Is that a giant doghouse?

That’s one way to distract her from brooding.

Wow. That door is big.

Right. Barnaby is big. She knew that.

Wally knocks on the door, stands back politely as heavy footsteps fall somewhere behind it.

It isn’t so much a dog that answers as a huge blue wall.

“Good morning, Barnaby! Here’s our new neighbor! Just as promised.”

‘As promised’?

“That’s fantastic! Hello neighbor!”

Holy shit, he’s huge. Very huge.

He’s coming closer, opening his arms, wide paws lined with rainbow claws looming over her.

A hug. 

“Don’t touch me.” 

Her words are sharp, accompanied by a few quick steps away from the looming animal. Her leg bumps into something, Wally, and she can’t even feel proper revulsion at the contact. Not when she has another massive problem to worry about.

Barnaby, to his credit, is quick to drop the issue, brow furrowing apologetically.

“Sorry kid. I know I can be intimidating, ah, I just got ahead of myself. It’s not often we get new puppets… Well, you’re not a puppet. A new human! We haven’t had a human resident before. You smell… different.”

As he rambles his nose, a leathery fabric, flexes in the air. Smelling her.

Gross.

Okay, definitely a cat person.

“What does she smell like?”

Almost forgot the little shit still pressed against her leg. What, he can’t move on his own?

She looks down at him, uneased, and moves away from him too.

“Like… Like meat, actually.”

No, she does not like the new direction of this conversation.

She hopes she’s not noticeably sweating as she rushes to correct any assumptions they might be making.

“I’m not edible, actually.”

She looks down at Wally, remembering his promise not to ‘eat her’. It’s a mistake to expect support from him, if that blank-eyed look is any indication.

She won’t have him make any claim to the contrary, not in front of this towering canine. She insists again, teeth gritted.

“I’m not. ”

“What’s edible?”

Oh. Right. Little dum-dum here has the vocabulary of a five year old.

Barnaby is the one to answer Wally, paws coming to rest on his hips.

“She means that she can’t be eaten. It’s not that unusual. Julie smells like cupcakes. I just never smelled someone who smelled like meat before. Very tasty!”

Thank god for that convenient excuse.

“Ahaha. Yes, very funny.”

Not funny. Very un-funny. 

Wally steps in front of her, and she doesn’t mind in the slightest. Any barrier is a good one at this point.

“Barnaby, I was hoping you could watch them for a while.”

“Yeah?”

“I need to take care of some things. They’ll want to go in the woods, but they get lost very easily. Try not to let them do that.”

“There’s no shame in having an adventurous spirit. If they insist, I’ll make sure they can get back to town safely.”

Well, that just sounds like a challenge, doesn’t it?

Barnaby addresses her next, and even with the distance she can’t help leaning back a bit.

“You must be hungry, right? We could go down to Howdy’s Bugdega! Get a hotdog! Really get to know each other, ya’know?”

How delightful. She is 100% looking forward to that… And she’s only being half sarcastic with that thought. She’s fucking starving. But first…

“Actually, do you have a bathroom?”

“Of course I do. Oh! Wait out here a moment. I need to tidy up.”

Thank you, kind, merciful Jesus. Thank you for making these puppets need restrooms.

Barnaby shuts the door with a sudden bang, almost having her jolt at the sound. Unfortunately, this also leaves her and Wally alone together.

He doesn’t even make it five seconds before he speaks.

“…Barnaby wouldn’t eat you if you told him you were ‘edible’.”

“I’m not edible.”

She looks down at him. He just smiles again, opens his mouth, and she is not going to let him argue with her about this.

“I’m not fucking edible!”

“Ha ha, no one is going to eat you. Why are you worried about it?”

“Because it’s creepy as hell! Humans don’t eat each other!”

“They don’t?”

…Well, the Donner Party aside…

“It’s very unusual. And if you talk about whether someone is edible, it implies you think about eating them. Which is, like, one step away from actually eating them! Which I do not want!”

“But I already told you that one of the rules is that we don’t eat each other. We don’t eat… ‘sentient’ things.”

“…You mean I’m not allowed to eat Home?”

“No.”

“Pfft… I was joking. How the hell would I eat a fucking house?”

“You can’t eat a house?”

… Is that a real question? Does she want to answer it honestly?

No, she doesn’t. She’d rather Wally believe she’s capable of more than she actually is.

“Home is too big to eat in one sitting.”

“How much can you eat?”

“…More than you, probably.”

“More than me? Ha ha ha.”

…What is that supposed to mean?

“How much can you eat?”

“I don’t know.”

Well, you’d think he’d have some idea, wouldn’t he?

“You do eat, right?”

“I do.”

Kind of a dumb question, really. He already implied he could.

Wally has edged back to her side again. She can feel him staring up at her, and doesn’t give him the satisfaction of glancing down to meet his eyes.

“What’s your favorite food?”

She doesn’t really have one. But, she’s not gonna pass on the chance to fuck with him a little.

“Apples.”

“Really?!”

“Ha! No!”

She snickers, even as she hates to laugh in front of him, knows he thinks it means they’re ‘friends’ or something. But she’s laughing at him, so it’s different.

“…Then why did you say that they were?”

“Because I was messing with you.”

“I think it was just lying.”

“Fun lying.”

“Lies can be fun?“

“Yes.”

“Alright… You are going home today.”

“Like, my home?”

“Yes.”

He’s definitely lying to her. Definitely.

…She has to be sure.

“Really?”

“No, ha ha ha.”

…She should probably not be teaching this puppet to lie to her.

“You ass.”

“What does that mean?”

“That you’re a butt.”

“…I don’t get it.”

“It was rude. Be insulted.”

“Okay.”

That is not an insulted ‘okay’. Maybe that’s for the best. But shit, it’s hard not to antagonize him. Not that she’s successful half the time. Or most of the time, really.

“…Puppet man, let’s not lie to each other anymore.”

“But you like lying. And saying confusing things.”

“It’s not my fault you were born yesterday.”

“‘Born’?”

“…You have a birthday, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“That was the day you were born.”

…Are puppets born? Well, Barnaby and, uh, that other puppet came from eggs.

But that seems to spark some connection in Wally, as he perks up.

“Oh, you mean hatched?”

“Hatched is for eggs. Did you come from an egg?”

“I… don’t know.”

“Well, who’s your parents?”

“I don’t have any.”

Wow, orphan Wally. Guess that could explain some of… this.

“How is ‘born’ different from hatched?”

“Uh…”

She doesn’t want to explain something as disgusting as giving birth to him. 

…And if she explains birth, she’ll have to explain sex too.

No. Simply not an option.

“I’m not explaining that to you.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s awkward.”

“…In the same way that talking about eating humans is awkward?”

“No, different awkward.”

Blessedly, so fucking blessedly, Barnaby chooses this moment to swing open the door, slightly panting.

“Okay! All clean. Please come in.”

She never thought she would be so eager to squeeze past that giant beast.

…He is soft though.

“Bye-bye, beautiful!”

‘Beautiful’? That’s a new one.

She doesn’t respond to the shrimp. God, what a creep. 

She needs to just forget about it, forget about him. She has different priorities now.

Despite his size, Barnaby’s toilet seems normal enough. Thank god.

But even after she’s… done her business… she doesn’t want to leave the safety of the bathroom.

She didn’t want to be alone with Wally, but at least Wally is… somewhat predictable. Kidnapping her to a puppet world was a decidedly unpredictable act.

But she ain’t no fucking coward! Mama wouldn’t’ve raised one of those!

She swings open the door, puffs her chest as she speaks.

“Okay! Food! Give it to me!”

“I like your spirit! Let’s get some grub!”

Barnaby walks out the door, shoulders set and determined. She follows, and walks next to him, trying to match his confidence.

The dog isn’t content to be in their stoic silence long, something she’s starting to suspect might be a pattern in this town.

“So, you know I’m Barnaby. What’s your name?”

“I unfortunately don’t have one”

“How does that happen?”

“I dropped it somewhere.”

Unlike Wally, he gets the joke immediately, barking soft laughter.

“Ah, that’s a good one. But what can I call you?”

Well, ideally she wouldn’t be here long enough for it to matter.

…That’s becoming more and more unlikely, isn’t it?

Fuck her life.

“I don’t know.”

“…We’ll, what about ‘Human’?”

“No.”

“Okay. I can be more creative… Bones.”

“…Bones?”

“They’re my favorite toy. I have one that’s great for chewing!”

…She can never let him find out she has bones. No bone talk from this point forward.

“I don’t want to be called Bones.”

“Maybe Howdy has a better idea.”

It’s then she realizes he’s leading her to the food market. The oranges are still there, woefully unattended. She peers inside, and sees no spidery figure darting in between the shelves.

She loiters near a barrel, not daring to actually touch the fruit.

“Is it… free?”

“Well, we usually give Howdy something. I like to share a good joke, although today I have an idea he’ll just love!”

“Huh.”

Maybe she can give a human fun fact or something. Or a joke! She has jokes.

Barnaby picks up an orange, offers it to her. It looks so small in their paw, and she takes it as gingerly as she can. 

She follows Barnaby closely, twisting her head back towards the door as loud bells jingle from the movement.

They move through a short aisle, and then…

…What the fuck is that thing?!

It towers over her just like Barnaby, but so much more foreign, and she can’t do anything but stare.

The green puppet doesn’t have the same surprise, grinning and launching into their greeting.

“Hey there! I’m Howdy, this is my bodega!”

She nods, transfixed by all their arms moving, one set washing dishes and another fiddling with a pen and paper. He’s tall too. Little antennas on top. Not a spider. But he’s something bug-like.

Barnaby takes the reins from her, allowing her more reprieve to stare. 

“This is the new neighbor, a real life human! Won’t tell us her name for some reason.”

“Hm? Why not?”

“I’m not sure. But she’s taking suggestions.”

“What about… Baloney?”

Hell no.

Barnaby’s tail, a little rabbit thing, wiggles like a worm at the idea.

“Oh! That’s a great one!”

She doesn’t wait any longer to shut the idea down.

“Nothing food related.”

Howdy nods, flipping through his notepad.

“Caterpillar.”

A bug? Why?

“Absolutely not.”

Barnaby shrugs behind her, seeming completely at home with the idea.

“I think it’s kinda cute. Like ‘kid’, but for bugs.”

Howdy nods, supportive.

“That was the idea.”

“I’m an adult?!”

“So am I, Caterpillar. Now then, what can I get you two?”

She’s inclined to argue further, but Barnaby shifts in front of her and she backs away from the counter obediently. She’s not gonna get physical with the eight foot monster.

“We’ll have a hot dog, and whatever she wants.”

…They’re not gonna talk about it anymore?! She doesn’t want to be ‘Caterpillar’!

They’re both oblivious to her irritation, Howdy only focused on Barnaby.

“And my payment?”

“Of course! I had an idea for a caterpillar shelf. The head would be on top, and each shelf down would be a segment of the caterpillar.”

“We could make it a rainbow caterpillar, each shelf a different color.”

“Frank would love that.”

“I’ll let Eddie know.”

Ugh. More people she’ll have to meet.

“Caterpillar, what would you like?”

“Don’t call me that…”

But of course, they don’t bother to address her complaint that time either. Barnaby moves back, allowing her center stage to read the board behind Howdy.

Oof. There are a lotta names up there. Not a lot of descriptions.

Ugh, she can’t choose. But she thinks she’d eat just about anything right now.

“Surprise me. No bugs!”

Just in case.

“Why would we eat bugs?”

“I don’t know. This neighborhood is weird.”

Howdy pauses, examines her with a more serious look. First frown she’s seen here, actually. Wow. She does not like the eight foot bug man frowning at her.

She pushes down her rising anxiety, meeting his eyes with the flattest expression she can muster up.

Their next question is quiet, careful.

“Do humans eat bugs?”

In some places… but she can distinctly tell they would not like that answer.

“…No.”

He looks settled by that, and she’s glad no one noticed her hesitation. Shit, she needs to get better at lying.

“Ha! Well then, don’t worry, we only make bug furniture in this town, we don’t eat them.”

Barnaby chuckles low in his throat behind her.

“Can you imagine what Frank would say?l

“Oh, I could Barnaby. I could.”

Then Howdy remembers her, and her lack of payment.

“How about a story? I want to know more about you.”

“Uh. A good story. I have those. Yes.”

She pauses, her life sudden devoid of any mentionable events.

Except…

“One time… I went to a skatepark after school. And there were some other teenagers there. And they told me I wasn’t shit. Then I tried to prove them wrong by shredding on this bench after a big jump. And then I broke my arm.”

Howdy lifts his fingers to his chin thoughtfully, his lower arms finishing wrapping the sandwich.

“You broke your arm?”

“Yeah there was like-“

Blood. And bone. Distinct qualities of meat. Which she is not interested in them ever finding out about.

She averts her eyes from his, suddenly a bit sweaty.

“It was just broken. Like ‘pshaw’! And then, ‘bam’! Broken. I got better.”

Barnaby hums, accepting the sandwich and hot dog from Howdy over the counter.

“I’m glad you’re alright, kid. Sounded bad.”

“I mean, in hindsight it was pretty hilarious.”

Howdy laughs, looking down at her.

“Wally was right, you really are an interesting one!”

Great. Wally’s also been talking about her to him too. Probably everyone.

She’s inclined to ask more, to see exactly what Wally told him about her.

But Barnaby is already leaving, and although it isn’t by much, she trusts him more than Howdy.

Still, the bug-but-not-spider man calls out as she exits the bodega.

“See you later Caterpillar! Maybe you can tell me what you meant by ‘shredding’ next time!”

“Uh, sure.”

She’s not even positive he heard her response, and can’t bother to care at the moment. The orange is stuffed into a pajama pocket, and she begins to unwrap her sandwich.

Fuck, it’s a good sandwich. Ham, she thinks.

Barnaby eats as he walks too, chomping off considerable sections of the comically large hot dog. Really, it’s obscene. And long enough to make any man insecure.

She follows him mindlessly, letting him lead her to another lamb’s ear clearing just in view of the town.

She sits a safe distance from the dog, and they quickly finish their food together.

“You keep up with my pace pretty well.”

While walking or eating?

“I’m pretty tough.”

“I don’t doubt it! You know, we ain't got too many sporty puppets around here. Maybe you’d like to play ball with me and Eddie sometime!”

“Ahaha. Maybe!”

Never.

She’s almost done with her sandwich when she sees it. Brightly colored, fluttering at the corner of her vision.

A butterfly.

Her eyes follow it, watching as it delicately lands near a small yellow flower.

“Why is it so colorful?”

Barnaby follows her gaze, but doesn’t seem to find anything amiss with the absurdly colored butterfly.

“...Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

Must not be a lot of predators for them to be that bright… Or this is just cartoon-land.

But didn’t she hear birds here too yesterday? Or was that just a hallucination?

“Are there birds here?”

“Well, Poppy is a bird! A bit of flamingo, I think.”

Right, she thinks Wally mentioned them.

“But… smaller birds?”

“How small? Most things are small to me.”

“Like, smaller than my hand.”

“...No. Maybe some hatchlings? Err, chicks?”

“...Did you really come from an egg?”

“Hm? Haha! No, my adoptive mother is a chicken though. Believe it or not, you’re far from the first to ask that!”

“Then just Poppy came from an egg?”

“And Howdy. He’s a caterpillar. I’m not sure about Julie or Sally, you’d have to ask.”

She probably won’t.

“How interesting.”

How weird.

“Well then, Caterpillar-”

“I really don’t want to be called that.”

“You’ll have to find something eventually… Or you could tell me your real name. I promise I won't tell!”

“Not even Wally?”

“...I’d have to tell Wally. He’s my best friend!”

That’s one way to confirm she can never trust this guy. Talk about a dog’s loyalty. No wonder Wally ditched her with him. But, points for honesty, right?

Bastard. Maybe he’s hoping Barnaby would get more information from her.

…Can Wally plan something that devious? It’s kinda hard to imagine.

No. No, he absolutely could. If he could plan out her kidnapping he could plan out this.

What a faker, pretending to be so dumb all the time.

…Well, she actually does think he’s enormously stunted. Or sheltered. How can his vocabulary be that fucking small? Like, yeah, she was joking with the ‘being born yesterday’ thing, but it really feels like that sometimes. Maybe it’s because he’s an orphan. Does he know how to read?

…Dumb question, she’s literally seen him read a letter on-screen.

No, she really doesn’t get that part of the act.

“I have a question for you, ‘Wally’s best friend’.”

“Yeah? What is it?”

“Why doesn't he know anything? I’m constantly having to explain things to him. It’s kinda...”

It’s kinda getting on her last fucking nerve.

“I’m not really sure. He’s always been like that, a little slower to pick up on the punchline, haha!”

“Uh-huh.”

Somehow, she doesn’t believe that.

“I usually say things a little simpler around him. Don’t want him to get too lost, ya’know?”

Sounds like a great way for him to never learn new words! And now she’s the one dealing with it!

“I’m not changing the way I talk for him.”

“So I’ve heard! He’s told me about how confusing you always are. That’s probably why he likes you so much.”

Oh joy.

“I’m so lucky.”

Why is this her burden to bear?

“Wally sure is lucky to have you! I’m sure soon he’ll be spitting out more dollar words than an ATM!”

He barks out a laugh, but she’s more intrigued by that last part.

“ATMs?”

This puppet world has ATMs? Wasn’t even sure this place had money after visiting Howdy’s.

Barnaby doesn’t answer her right away, cocking his head at her curiously.

“...I can’t remember what an ATM is, actually. Let me think for a moment.”

He pauses, a thoughtful crease in his brow. She waits, not minding the silence in the slightest. 

“...Aw, bonesticks, I can’t remember these kinds of things too well anymore.”

“I think it's an ‘Automatic Telling Machine’. Could be wrong, though.”

“Huh, that’s interesting. You know what that is?”

“Yeah, I know what an ATM is?”

Why did he use it in a joke if he doesn’t know what it is?

“That’s so cool, Wally really is gonna learn a lot from you.”

“Yeah…”

This is fucking weird.

Well, she is now thoroughly off put by the conversation.

“I think I’m gonna want some alone time. Maybe go on a walk.”

“What? I gotta go with you, Wally wanted me to keep you safe.”

“Wally was overreacting. I really am fine on my own.”

“But if you got lost, I couldn’t forgive myself. Let me come with you.”

“Uh, no. I want to be alone.”

“...Can you be alone somewhere not in the forest?”

…Does that mean if she wants to be alone outside the forest he’ll go?

“Yes. I can be alone here in the lamb’s ear if you leave.”

“Lamb’s ear?”

“Grass.”

“Huh, funny word for it.”

Yeah, haha, human make funny word sound. So wow. Now will you do it or not?!

“So… Can you leave?”

“...I dunno kid. Wally asked me not to leave you alone. He’s my best friend.”

“I’m an adult. I’ll be okay. And I can't get lost, because I can see the neighborhood right over there.”

She gives him an encouraging smile, hoping it reaches her eyes.

“Well… Oh, okay. Try not to wander off. But if you do get lost, don’t be afraid. I’ll just smell you out.”

…Shit. Right. She’s trying to ditch a dog while smelling like literal fucking ‘meat’. Damnit.

But he’s still standing there, waiting for one last reassurance.

“Thank you.”

There. She gave it to him.

Still, she feels just as weirdly hesitant as he does as he awkwardly waddles away, looking back every once in a while, making sure she’s still there.

But he does really leave her alone.

Wonderfully alone.

She lays back in the lamb’s ear, shooing away a butterfly that tries to land on her chest.

…Should she try to escape? That’s why she wanted him gone, isn’t it?

How would she stop him from smelling her out, though?

She lets her fingers slip between the carpet of leaves, digging into dirt. Could this be enough? Dirt?

She draws her hands back, and the dirt clings to the edge of her sleeve. Fuck, she hates these pajamas. There better be one fucking normal sized person in this town for her to borrow clothes from.

She puts her arm over her eyes, the almost overhead sun too bright. Blessed darkness.

Oh. This is nice. Warm, dark. She didn’t realize how tired she was.

Fuck it. She’ll escape later. 

For now, she just wants to enjoy the first piece of safety she’s felt since she arrived in this hellhole.

When she stirs, there’s a sensation on her cheeks. It’s on her hands too. She bravely opens her eyes, and gets hit right in the pupil. 

Her hands cup her face, rubbing the assaulted eye.

“Ah, what the-?!”

Rain. It’s raining.

It can rain here.

It’s soft rain, and she doesn’t move for a moment. Just takes it in. Rain.

At least somewhat normal things can happen here.

She rolls to her side, curling up, her face still coddled in her hands. The rain has already started to permeate her pajamas, but she doesn’t really mind. The feeling is almost pleasant, if a bit chilling.

It’s not long before her precious moment is interrupted by the sound of distanced footfalls. Loud, heavy.

She peers through fingers. It’s Barnaby, jogging over to her. She can feel the movement through her side where she lays.

He stops next to her, paws on his knees as he leans over her. It blocks out part of the rain, and she tries not to show any reaction to the proximity of him looming over her.

“Hey kid, you alright? I came as soon as it started to rain.”

“I’m fine.”

“Let’s get you back to my house, I… I forgot to bring an umbrella.” 

He reaches down, and she’s abruptly aware that he intends to pick her up. She swats at the hand, making him flinch back, as if she’s the dangerous one between them.

“No touching.”

“Oh, sorry. Get up when you’re ready and I'll take you home then.”

“I’m staying.”

“...It’s raining. Neither of us has an umbrella.”

“You can go, I’ll be okay.”

Please go. She was having a pleasant nap.

“But, will you be able to get up?”

…Why wouldn’t she be able to get back up?

“Yes?”

“If you aren’t sure, then you should at least find some shelter. It doesn't have to be my house. We could go back to the Bugdega.”

She sits up, feels some water drip down her nape and into the back of her shirt. 

“It’s kinda nice? I don’t mind it.”

“...I don’t have an umbrella, I can’t stay out here with you. And you shouldn’t be out when it’s raining anyways! I told Wally I’d look after you.”

“I’ve been in the rain like this lots of times.”

Usually not by choice. She’s terrible at remembering to bring an umbrella. Or checking the weather forecast.

“...Really?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll- I’ll come back with an umbrella! Just, let me do that.”

Less than ideal, but at least he’s leaving.

“Sure.”

She watches him jog off, faster than before, and wow, he can move fast, can’t he? She’ll have to remember that. 

…The rain doesn’t seem as enjoyable now. Colder than before. Or maybe it’s just the discomfort from her pajamas. They don’t feel good now and they’ll feel even worse once they’re completely soaked.

Still, she doesn’t regret staying behind.

She lays back down, covers her eyes with an arm. 

…She wants to go home. Where her heater is. And her pillows. And her comforter. 

So cozy. That’s what she wants.

She lays there for a while, dreaming of her warm apartment, where she was safe, happy… enough. Happy enough. Shit, best anyone can hope for, really.

“Ha ha, why are you all the way out here?”

“Ah, fuck me. Damnit.”

She lifts her arm from her eyes, sees that fucking half-pint puppet standing only a yard away, a bright red umbrella lifted over his head. She doesn't know how she didn’t hear the rain on their umbrella sooner. 

He tilts her head at her, that horrible, charming smile on their face.

“...Did you run away from Barnaby?”

“No. He’s coming back with an umbrella.”

Wally nods, gazing down at her with those half-lidded eyes.

“Good. We’ll need his help to carry you.”

Not happening.

“Go to hell.”

“...You could have gone with him, couldn’t you?”

“I wanted to stay.”

A choice she now realizes was a mistake.

He takes another step, bare inches from her shoulder. He’s being bold considering how she grabbed him last time.

She tenses, watches him. He doesn’t seem worried at all, the bastard.

“...But now you can’t go anywhere.”

…What?

He squats down next to her, letting them share the umbrella. Well, her legs are still being rained on, but her face is sheltered. 

His eyes leave her, roaming down her body in a decidedly unnerving way.

“Let me touch you, please.”

“You are so creepy. Do you even know how you sound?”

“I said please?”

“Ugh. Fuck off.”

“You know, if you want to go home, you have to teach me about humans, ha ha. I just want to know what your skin feels like…”

“Wow. That’s very motivating.”

“...Are you lying again?”

“Yeah.”

He hums, and is quiet for a moment. Then that moment stretches out into a minute.

He can’t be thinking of anything good.

“I will body slam you.”

“What is that?”

“Something you won’t enjoy.”

“I doubt you could do anything as you are.”

She raises a brow at him, and despite her confusion at what the fuck he’s talking about, feels a little amusement at his claim.

“I’m bigger than you.”

“Then you shouldn’t have stayed outside in the rain.”

He tilts his umbrella back from her face. The rain falls on her face once more, having her narrow her eyes to better protect them from rogue raindrops.

“If you touch me, I’ll make you suffer for it.”

“I don’t think you’re capable of much.”

“Brave enough to try?”

He watches her with open curiosity, and maybe she shouldn’t have dared him like that, encouraged him like that.

She watches with a rigid body as he reaches, fingertips gently snagging the end of her sleeve. He pulls it up, the wet fabric fighting him. He goes to feel her wrist, and that's when she moves.

It’s easier than the last time she had to fight him, terribly easy, actually. He doesn’t seem to expect it, even squawking as she pounces, sending him to the ground. The umbrella shudders as it wobbles nearby, twisting from the force of its abandonment.

She leans back, pushing him down hard with her hand, and lets the water rain on him.

But despite the quick turn of events, he still speaks in that calm voice. How annoying.

“I’m getting wet.”

So? Who gives a shit?

“Join the club, dipshit.”

…He does not look happy, smile almost completely gone. His eyes are very wide, and she could swear his pupils have gotten bigger.

She doesn’t understand why he has that look, and it makes her skin itch.

“Get off of me.”

Just like yesterday, her stomach drops, she starts to pull back from him, lifting her hand off his chest. She wants to get away from him.

Wait. She didn’t do anything wrong. She’s not hurting him. She’s just keeping him here. He’s the one that keeps toeing the lines she sets, the one that fucking kidnapped her! It’s hardly wrong to keep him uncomfortable now, to enjoy a little power over him, right?

She lifts off most of the pressure, but keeps her hand firmly on his chest, a reminder to both of them that she’s calling the shots here. He’s three feet tall, and she can’t be so afraid of him that she’ll just let him have whatever he wants. She can’t afford that fear, not if she wants the hope of getting the hell out of here.

No, this strange power play isn’t to correct him. This is her convincing herself that she’s not under him, despite him bringing her here.

She keeps her eyes on him, keeps her hand on his chest. She’s slow as she reaches to the side, snags the end of Wally’s discarded umbrella. 

The umbrella is large enough to shield his head and torso when she props it up over them both, and she protects the rest of his body where she’s perched above him.

She leans down, much closer than she feels comfortable with, her cheek almost touching his as she whispers in his ear.

“...It’s very rude to touch someone who doesn't want you to.”

She hopes to god this is half as frightening to him as it is for her, to be this close to a being that she knows nothing about, that apparently thinks it could eat her.

But then again, he thinks the same about her, right?

“It’s warm, ha ha ha.”

…What?

She leans back, meeting his eyes.

“Warm?”

“I can feel it through my shirt.”

He breaks their eye contact, looking down at her hand keeping him pinned to the lamb’s ear. He lifts one of his own hands to lay it on her forearm, softly squishing the flesh there.

“Why is it warm?”

His hand isn’t warm, though. It just feels a bit like smooth fabric. But, there's no seams to be found.

Hold on, he isn’t supposed to be cool about this. Wasn’t he freaked out just a moment ago? And shouldn’t she be scolding him again, he’s touching her literal seconds after she told him how fucking rude that is!

God, she wants to shake him again.

“Oh? So we’re just touching each other now? Did you not hear me just call you rude?”

“I thought you wanted me to be brave, ha ha.”

For fucks sake, did he think she was serious? She really is dealing with the most thickheaded idiot on the planet. 

…If she is on a planet. Maybe this is a flat-earth situation.

“Yeah? I’ll be brave too.”

She hopes she surprises him again, releasing him to smear her hands across his face, getting streaks of stray dirt on yellow cheeks. He flinches back, shutting his eyes when she proves she’s not afraid to poke one.

He really is uncanny, no nose, no eyebrows. Actually, he does have brows. She can feel a crease in them as he weathers the assault. 

Smooth fabric, almost skin like with its elasticity. Actually, his cheeks always have that faint red on them, don’t they? A blush. Maybe he applies makeup. God knows he puts the effort into that dumb hair.

“Do you wear makeup?”

“Sometimes.”

He does, damn.

“Blush?”

“No. But Julie did teach me how to do that too.”

She has more questions on the tip of her tongue, but really, she doesn’t want to start that conversation. She shouldn’t want to start that conversation.

She limits herself to the most eloquent reply she can muster.

“Huh.”

There’s a short lull between them, but when it’s clear she doesn't intend to say anything else, Wally makes his own prerogatives clear.

“...Can I touch you again?”

What, didn’t get enough?

He must sense an opening from her hesitation, attempting to go in for the kill.

“You got dirt on my face. Please?”

She did do that.

“It’s not gonna be free. I need something from you.”

He cocks his head up at her, and she wants to smear more dirty on that stupid face.

“What do you want?”

“Why did you bring me here? Give me a real answer.”

“I did give you a real answer? I want to know about Outside.”

“Why? Does it really matter?”

Is this world not enough for him?

“Why does Outside get to watch me, but I can’t even learn about it?”

…That isn’t entirely wrong. It is kind of creepy, isn’t it? One day a week another world watches him, and he doesn’t know who they are, what they are…

But that wasn’t her problem. It shouldn’t have become her problem.

“I regret having ever called you.”

And how else does she expect him to respond except in that painfully earnest way that he always does? 

“I’m very glad you did.”

She groans, rolls off to sit beside him. He draws his legs up, safely under the umbrella. He doesn’t move to scoot closer to share the shelter, and she’s grateful he knows better, at least in this moment.

She glances at him, and he’s staring at her. Always staring at her. Her eyes find her feet in the next instant.

She wonders if he’ll be honest when she asks her next question, or if he’ll try to slip around it like yesterday.

“...Will you actually send me back?”

“...I don’t know how to do that. I knew where you were before because you were there… But I don’t know if I could find the same place.”

“Just send me back to ‘Outside’ and I’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t know where that is. I just knew where you were.”

“...I don’t understand that at all.”

He took her from a place, is it not so crazy to think he could know where that place still is?! She’s sure her apartment hasn’t been torn down in the two days’ she’s been gone! 

Ugh, she hates being the confused one.

“Sorry. I don’t have a better way of explaining it.”

“You better find one. I want to go home. My home. Not your ‘Home’.”

She closes her eyes, tilts her face a little more up in the sky, feels rain on her face. Her face is gonna be so dry after this. She can’t really give a shit right now.

Wally has to interrupt this moment too.

“I… don’t want you to be unhappy. I hope you know that, even if you’re angry at me.”

“...Right now, if you could send me back, would you?”

“...No.”

“Ah, you fucker.”

“I’m sorry.”

She looks back at him, and damn, he looks sincerely apologetic. All small frowns and puppy-dog eyes. Too bad she doesn’t quite believe him.

“Don’t say that like you’re actually sorry.”

“I am sorry.”

“You aren’t”

“I am.”

“I cannot play this fucking game with you.”

“...We’re not playing a game? Ha ha.”

“Ugh.”

“...If I had another way, I would have taken it. But you were… You are my chance to learn more. I couldn’t just let you get away from me.”

She doesn’t care.

“You know what Wally? I think you’re gonna learn you’re a lot more similar to us than you think.”

“...I am?”

“Breaking rules, committing immoral acts on other’s agencies… Damn, what’s more human than that?”

“So all humans are as difficult as you.”

“In this situation, I’d hope they’d be as difficult as I am. You kidnapped me. You’re my enemy.”

…Shit, should she have called him that? She doesn't know how much of his ‘kindness’ has been because he’s under the impression they’re ‘friends’.

“What’s an ‘enemy’?”

Oh, thank God, she can backtrack a little bit.

“It means I don’t like you.”

She did say backtrack a bit, not a lot.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’.”

“...I’d like the chance to change your mind.”

“I owe you zero chances.”

“Please?”

“...Stop asking me to go with you to ‘Home’.”

“You can’t stay outside another night. Home was unhappy with me that I did it even that one time.”

“You are very welcome to stay with Home tonight. Without me.”

“No. You need to be inside tonight.”

What happened to his apologetic spirit, huh?

“I’ll be okay.”

“...You really won’t come with me?”

“No.”

“...I asked Barnaby if you could stay with him. He said yes. But no one else has a spare room. Only me.”

…She doesn’t want to stay with Barnaby either. A huge dog that thinks she smells like tasty ‘meat’. Probably less safe than ‘Home’.

Hold on. She’s done this before. Barnaby isn’t here yet.

“Okay. I’ll stay with Barnaby.”

Then she’ll tell Barnaby she’s staying with Wally. The perfect plan.

…Although her mom did find out a month later. And Wally is certain to find out when he scampers over to Barnaby to ask how the ‘sleepover’ went.

Actually, that does sound kinda funny, doesn't it? She doubts she’d get to watch that exchange.

“So, you better get going. He could be back soon.”

He looks at her, and now that she knows it’s there, she can see a slight tenseness in his brow. A whisper of a frown.

For a moment, she’s certain he knows she’s trying to fool him.

“You said I could touch you if I answered your questions.”

Oh. Right. Damn.

“...You can touch my arm.”

Definitely not her face. 

“Thank you.”

She offers her arm with some reluctance, and he’s quick to stroke down her forearm with his palm. It feels like he’s trying to pet her. She doesn’t like the comparison.

His hand moves down to her wrist, thumb probing at her carpal bones.

“What is that?”

“My arm.”

“No, ha ha. What’s inside your arm?”

She can’t answer that. No bone talk, no meat talk.

“Something that helps me move.”

“Why can’t you just answer me?”

“I live to make you miserable.”

He hums, and she hopes that’s the end of it.

“...How did you move so fast?”

When she got the jump on him?

“Why wouldn't I move fast?”

“You’re bigger than me, and you’re soaked.”

“...So?”

“Aren’t you heavy?”

“No? It’s just water.”

‘Heavy’? Barnaby did ask her earlier if she would be able to ‘get up’.

Oh, shit. These are puppets. They must get waterlogged as shit.

“Oh. I’m not a puppet. I don’t get waterlogged.”

“Waterlogged?”

“Rainwater can’t get inside my skin.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I guess…”

It makes more sense now that Barnaby didn’t want to be out. He’s really big, could carry a lot more water. But she’d think he’d be strong enough to walk around anyway.

“...I get ‘waterlogged’. But it doesn't slow me down like the others.”

“No?”

“No.”

“...Good for you?”

“I still don’t like the rain. It ruins my hair.”

She looks up at his hair, which had once been perfectly groomed, and is now looking rougher around the edges. Oh, what a shame.

“I’m not sorry about that.”

“...It was rude of you.”

“I warned you.”

“You did, ha ha. Now I know what a ‘body slam’ is.”

“That wasn’t a real body slam. It was a small slam. You’d get the wind knocked out of you with a real body slam.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“You probably don't have to worry about that. Only happens if you can breath.”

“Please tell me.”

“It means you have trouble breathing for a bit. I assume it is unpleasant.”

“How do I do a body-”

“You’re too short.”

“...Oh.”

…She doesn’t know that. But she’s not teaching the puppet how to beat the shit out of her.

“So… You gonna get out of here? You don’t have to wait.”

Please don’t wait.

“I want to wait with you. I have a lot of questions, ha ha.”

Ugh, how can she get him to leave?

“I want to be alone. If you want to be my friend, you have to give me space.”

Okay, hopefully the ‘friendship’ angle will work.

“I want to stay.”

“And I want you to go. Are you gonna be selfish?”

…Feels kinda awkward to guilt the puppet. Like she’s gaslighting him. But he is selfish, no doubt about that. She wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t.

Hm, he isn’t answering right away. He’s thinking about it. There’s hope.

“...Okay. But stay here until Barnaby comes. Don’t run away.”

Oh, she’ll stay to tell Barnaby her lie. It’s after that she’ll leave.

“No prob, Bob.”

“What?”

“I’ll explain later.”

He nods, and finally fucking starts to leave.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

Gross.

He looks back about a dozen times, almost waiting for her to beckon him back over. She never does, and he disappears into the neighborhood.

It’s very good timing. She spots Barnaby before he enters the clearing, running with two opened umbrellas.

By the time he gets to her, he’s completely flustered and babbling.

“Hey! Sorry it took so long! My umbrella was torn, so I had to borrow one from Howdy. But then I remembered where mine was and I ran home to find it! But at that point I didn’t need it. Because I already had the one from Howdy’s. But I had already found it when I realized that, so! I brought two! Sorry again, I hope this makes sense. It’s been a really long half-hour.”

“That’s fine. I’m actually gonna head over to Wally’s, I’m staying the night at ‘Home’. I just didn’t want to leave you wondering where I was.”

“Oh! That’s great! I’m glad you’re more comfortable with them. Home is very kind… although I can’t understand them the way Wally does. Haha, that Wally really is something special!”

“Yes, he certainly is.”

Something creepy, anyways.

“Oh, let me help you up.”

She takes their offered paw, and pretends to be a little unsteady on her feet. That’s right, just like a puppet. Not meat-like at all. 

He leaves his umbrella with her, and so horribly offers to walk her to Home.

“No, I really can’t keep you. Besides, I think I just need to sit under this umbrella for a bit and… get less heavy.”

“Oh, of course. I could carry you!”

“No, I’m not comfortable with that, but thank you!”

Please leave so she can drop this sugary bullshit.

“Well, I can wait.”

Holy shit, why is everyone in this village so fucking helpful and considerate all the goddamn time!? Go away!!!

“No, you should go home, you’ve been running around so much. Go get dry!”

“...I am very tired. You’ll really be okay?”

“Yes, just a little longer. Wally’s preparing his guest bed for me, so it’ll all be ready once I head over.”

Damn, she really is redeeming her lying abilities right now, isn’t she?

That seems to be all that Barnaby needs, and for the third time that day, she’s left alone.

She waits until Barnaby is gone, and then, just like with Wally, a little more. She doesn’t need anyone to catch her walking back into the woods.

With her new Barnaby umbrella, this becomes a better plan too. Hopefully she’ll dry off soon, it could stop raining, and she’ll find somewhere safe to spend the night.

…She doesn’t know what the hell she’s gonna do about tomorrow night, though. Ugh, that’s tomorrow’s problem.

Her feet touch on the moss of the forest, a bit drier than the lamb’s ear, and she feels a bit more certain of her place in this world.

Chapter Text

It’s really getting dark now, and she settles down next to a tree, leaning her back against the smooth bark. She hasn’t gone too far in, can still see the lamb’s ear meadow. The town is harder to make out through the rain and distance.

…She is not looking forward to spending another night out here. She feels like a stray dog, kicked out for the night.

She isn’t, of course. She was fully aware of the consequences when she chose this. But knowing it’s the safer option doesn’t make it any less unpleasant.

This… is not going to work out long term. At some point they’re going to force her into an actual indoor facility. They won’t fall for her tricks forever.

Shit, why isn’t there an extra house or something? An extra shack? A piece of plywood set up against the bodega?

Maybe she can make her own. 

She looks up at the branches high above her.

She made a treehouse when she was younger. It was a shitty thing, probably only staying together because she was sixty pounds. 

She wonders if that would be against the ‘rules’.

Are there any consequences to breaking the rules? Or does everyone just assume they’ll be followed? This is a ‘perfect’ little neighborhood after all, isn’t it?

She’s sure neither she nor Wally suffered for last night’s indiscretion.

…So this is it, then. She’s really in a puppet world. With puppets. 

And she might never be able to get back. 

…That piece of shit.

All her stuff… gone. She has literally nothing except for a dirty pair of pajamas. Pajamas that aren’t even hers anyway.

Oh, but her stuff… Her cat mug… Her cast iron skillet… Her galaxy comforter… Her eggs…

She may never eat eggs again. God, there better be beef in this universe and not just pork. But she can't recall a cow puppet in use. Maybe she’ll still have steaks in her future.

She wants steaks… and she wants her stuff back. All of it. Wally couldn’t just apparition her whole apartment here?!

Damn. She hates him. Really hates him.

She should cut off all his hair. That would be hilarious. Bald Wally. Maybe he’d even cry.

…He’d definitely cry.

She coughs, although she’s not sure why she’s trying to disguise her laugh. It’s a fucking funny idea.

It would certainly make him regret inviting her into his house, into Home… Not that she would ever enter that place.

Ah, she thinks the rain is done. She’s not sure when it stopped.

She keeps her umbrella open over her. Never know if it’ll start up again, and she likes the thin illusion of proper shelter.

…A tent. She needs a tent.

Do they have a Lowe’s here? Maybe she could make own. With a sheet.

She’ll just need a few sticks to prop it…

There are no sticks in the ground. No sticks and no leaves.

What a shitty forest.

Maybe she’ll just drape it over a bush then. Lay a blanket near the base for a bed. That could be her ‘home’.

God, she’d really be an animal then, living under a bush… But she’d be an animal that’s not going to be trapped with a dangerous puppet or sentient house.

An animal safe and tucked away in its den.

She sits against the tree for a long time. She becomes thirsty, finally eats the orange she had been hoarding. Doesn’t help with the hunger that follows after, stirred awake by the meager offering.

She wants more food.

But she doesn't want to walk into town to get it. It would necessitate risking a neighbor spotting her from their window, and stealing from Howdy… Not that he charges real money for anything.

She tries to at least get some sleep. Barnaby’s umbrella is big enough to prop against the ground and use as a nook for her head. It’s far from comfortable, but the moss is wet enough that she doesn't want to lay down on it. It took long enough to get as dry as she is.

Besides, if she stays sitting up she’s more ready to defend herself on the off chance someone, or something, finds her.

The hours pass restlessly, feeling twice as long as any other night she’s stayed up through in her youth. She is so fucking exhausted when the sun comes up. And sore. She should have laid down.

But it’s too late for that. Her lie will be discovered soon. 

She thinks they’ll come back to the clearing, to the last place they saw her, right?

…She does not know what she’s gonna tell them.

She gets up, settles closer to the edge of the forest. The umbrella fights her when she tries to close it, but she manages. She ain’t no umbrella’s bitch.

She’s ready for a long wait, but despite it still being so early in the morning she isn't sitting for more than half an hour before she sees him. The shitty pipsqueak.

He spots her immediately. Then he walks towards her, as if nothing is wrong, as if she didn’t lie to him, again.

He stops a distance from her, and she finds the spine to keep his gaze.

He speaks first, as they both knew he would.

“I did something bad today.”

“...What did you do?”

“I lied.”

Well, alright?

“Okay?”

“I’ve never lied to Barnaby.”

Oh. Guess the loyalty doesn’t go both ways, huh?

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him you were with me and Home last night.”

“...Why would you do that?”

“Because you broke the rules.”

“You didn’t have to lie for me because of that.”

“I didn’t.”

Well, Wally lies now. She’ll keep that in mind. 

…She taught him that, didn't she? Damn, he picked it up fast.

He takes another step forward, taking back her attention where her mind had drifted.

“Why did it make me feel bad?”

“...Probably because Barnaby is your friend.”

“It doesn’t feel bad for you?”

“You’re not my friend. Neither is Barnaby.”

“For now. I hope to change your mind.”

“Yeah, good luck with that. ”

Wally brightens, and she hadn’t noticed how dejected their expression had been. It’s a shame they lost that pitiful look. She should have been more clear with her sarcasm. 

“I’m very charming!”

“I find your presence mildly jarring at best.”

“Ha ha, I am the most!”

“...You don’t know what ‘jarring’ is, do you?”

“I do not.”

She rolls her eyes, and certainly doesn’t volunteer any explanations for him.

Without another word, she picks up the umbrella and begins to walk around him, back towards the neighborhood. She’s hungry, and maybe the bodega has a restroom she can use.

Wally steps into stride beside her. She doesn't know how he can constantly look up at her without tripping over his own feet.

“You aren’t going to thank me?”

Why would she?

“I didn’t ask you to lie for me.”

“But you wouldn’t want Barnaby to be unhappy with you, would you?”

…No, she wouldn’t want the giant canine to be unhappy with her.

“Thank you.”

It’s a great accomplishment that she can say that without gritting her teeth at him. Mama didn’t raise no ungrateful bitch, even if she didn’t ask for the ‘help’.

Ugh, whatever, it’s over. Now she has to think about ‘payment’ for Howdy. Nothing about injuries. Maybe that time she ate ten cupcakes and threw up blue vomit all over her aunt’s 30 year old persian rug? Do puppets vomit? Would that be as foreign as breaking an arm?

Wally interrupts, and dammit man, she’s trying to concentrate on something more important here.

“What do-”

“Hold on a moment, I’m trying to think of a story for Howdy. I need food. Does he have a restroom there?”

“We’re not going to the bodega. We’re going to Julie’s for breakfast.”

‘Julie’? Was she the cupcake-smelling one?

“...Who is that?”

“A friend!”

Hell no.

“I’d rather go to the bodega.”

“You have to meet your new neighbors eventually. And what better way than over breakfast?”

“What about a way where I never meet any of them?”

“...You are going to be here for a while. You should meet them. Friends will make you happy.”

Oh, she knows this puppet man is not trying to socialize her. 

“I don’t appreciate you trying to make me accept my kidnapping.”

Of course, a coward like him doesn’t address her accusation.

“Julie also has a bathroom. Howdy’s bodega does not.”

“It doesn’t?”

“...No.”

“‘No it doesn't’, or ‘no it does’?”

“His house upstairs has one. The bodega doesn’t.”

“He’d let me use it.”

“He doesn’t open the bodega for another hour.”

“Damn… I can wait.”

“...Please come meet Julie.”

“I am failing to find an adequate reason to do so.”

“She’s kind. You’d like her.”

“Oh? Would I?”

“Maybe you could stay with her? If you don’t want to stay with Barnaby.”

“I decided I’m going to live the tent life. Under a bush.”

“A bush is not inside.”

“It will be. Once I put a roof on it.”

“We can’t build in the forest. It’s a rule.”

“I’m not building an actual roof. I’ll just put a sheet over it.”

“…That’s not a roof? Ha ha.”

“It is.”

Close enough, anyways.

“I’m sorry. But a ‘tent’ doesn’t count as inside.”

“We’ll see about that.”

She can see he wants to retort to that, but she beats him to it with another question, hoping to avoid another spiral of stubborn immaturity.

“Why can’t you build in the forest?”

“It’s a rule to protect the homes of plants and bugs.”

Yes, the plentiful wildlife, which consists of identical trees, identical bushes, and the stray LGBTQ+ insect.

Unfortunately, Wally jumps right back in on their ‘you can’t live in a bush’ argument.

“Julie’s house would be much more comfortable than a bush.”

Not wrong. Julie could also be just as mentally unstable as the rest of them.

“…She’s not eight feet tall is she?”

“Ha ha, what?”

She does not have the patience to explain fucked up American measurements to him.

“Is she as big as Barnaby?”

“She’s my size.”

That’s good. She could probably beat her up in a fight.

Fine. She’ll meet this ‘Julie’. 

But something about this still feels off. She doesn't really believe Wally, that he’d really be willing to let go of the possibility of her rooming with him. Oh god, Home aside, the onslaught of questions she’d have to endure from living with him should be enough on their own to dissuade her.

“Alright. I’ll meet her.”

She feels something brush up against her hand, and smacks it away, assuming Wally was wandering too close for his own good.

When it happens again, she glances down, catches him with his arm half raised, his hand hesitantly hovering near hers.

Oh god, he’s trying to hold her hand. Like a fucking child.

“Stop it.”

“Please?”

“You’re a literal toddler.”

“Ha ha, what’s a toddler?”

“Someone who wants their hand to be held.”

“...I think everyone here likes holding hands. Do humans not like it?”

“Only with our friends. Which you are not.”

“You let me touch you yesterday.”

“As part of a trade.”

“...I’ll give you new clothes if you hold my hand.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Damn. She really needs out of these pajamas.

She wordlessly holds her hand out a little ways to him, and he eyes it, eagerly, and with a wariness that she’s reassured to see. He knows he’s not entirely welcome.

“Can I-”

“Just hold my hand. Fucking dork.”

He doesn’t need anymore encouragement, his small hand slipping into hers. She rubs her thumb over the back of his hand once, feeling the foreign sensation of skin-like fabric.

How unsettling.

“What’s a dork?”

“You. A big dork.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Someone who’s weird.”

“You’re stranger than I am, ha ha.”

“I don’t want to hear that from you.”

He hums, is quiet for only one short moment.

“...It’s warm.”

“What? My hand?”

“Yes.”

Gross.

“Enjoy it while it lasts. As soon as we get to this ‘Julie’, I’m dropping it.”

She watches him, and he nods his understanding.

“...And don’t take us the long way just because you want to hold my hand.”

She really does need a restroom.

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not a liar.”

“Biggest liar in the neighborhood.”

“I’m not.”

“Totally are.”

“You lie a lot more than me.”

“I don’t live here.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don’t have a house here.”

“You might sleep at Julie’s house tonight.”

“Doesn’t mean I'd live there. Not my house.”

“...You could live with me at Home-”

“Not in your life.”

“You would have your own bedroom.”

“A tent would also have a bedroom.”

“Can a tent fit a bed inside?”

“…No.”

Wally’s hand tightens around hers, and she doesn’t have to see his face to know the smug confidence that must be written all over it.

“Then Home is the best choice-“

“Don’t care.”

“I’d feed you.”

Oh God, she really is like a stray dog, isn’t she?

“The forest has food. I’ll eat-“

Bugs. Definitely can’t say that, not even as a joke. Not here.

Wally takes her silence as a concession and not the near mistake it almost was.

“There’s nothing to eat in the forest.”

Again, with that cocky attitude. 

“I’ll eat dirt.”

“…You eat dirt?”

“No.”

“That lie wasn’t very funny.”

“You believed it.”

“Ha ha, but I don’t know what humans can eat. That’s not fair.”

“We eat food.”

She can’t resist looking down that time, Wally giving her an openly perturbed look. Man, she didn’t know a smile could be so versatile. But after a moment he seems to settle for amusement rather than any real annoyance.

“You are very silly, ha ha ha.”

She has many retorts to that, none of them polite.

She’s distracted from choosing one when Wally tugs her hand, pulling her down a smaller path towards a red house.

…It’s a very round building, with a white roof and a big garden around the side.

Julie’s house.

Ugh, she hates meeting new people. New puppets. Please let this one be remotely normal.

She wiggles her hand out of Wally’s as they walk down to the house. She can feel how his hand wants to chase hers, how it reaches back up for hers more than he could play off. Not that he would. Smug, clingy piece of shit.

Before they can even knock on the door, it swings open, and yes, Julie is short.

“Hello stranger! Or should I say, new neighbor!”

She grimaces, but tries to make it more sincere.

“Ahaha…”

So funny…

“I’m sure Wally’s told you all about me! I’m Julie, and your name is…”

This again.

“I don’t have one.”

“Oh? Why aren’t you sharing it?”

She shrugs, because really, at this point it’s for no other reason than to spite Wally.

She glances down at the grody puppet man, and Julie follows her gaze, taking it as a hint.

“Why doesn’t she want to tell me?”

Wally, with his damnable smile, responds in quite a flowery tone despite his words.

“She’s difficult.”

She expects more confusion, but Julie, Julie fucking smirks at her.

“I’ll get it from you one way or another!”

…She does not like that.

But she won’t back down from the challenges, not from this slight thing standing in front of her.

“I wish you the worst of luck.”

“Ha! She’s a funny one, Wally.”

He nods, a fucking bitch-ass bright smile on his face.

“A very silly human, ha ha.”

Ugh. She doesn't have time for this fru-fru shit. 

She turns to Julie, coughing for her attention.

“Do you have a bathroom…?”

“Yes! Just down the hall.”

Thank God.

Of course, she has the same reluctance to leave the small room after she’s finished, distracting herself with all the knickknacks on the sink’s counter. But she’d hate for one of them to come ‘check’ on her, and regretfully leaves her safety net.

It’s a good thing she did. There’s food. Cupcakes and lemonade, it’s like a goddamn dream walking into that.

…No wonder Julie always smells like cupcakes. She can see frosting in her hair.

They’re in the throes of one conversation or another, but drop silent as they spot her.

“Come join us! We’re having a tea party!”

…There is no tea here.

Not that she’s complaining.

She sits on the couch next to Wally, Julie unfortunately sitting in the only single chair.

She tries to be polite as she eats. But fuck, these are good cupcakes.

Julie, notably more considerate than any puppet she’s met so far, waits for her to finish eating before beginning the interrogation.

“Where have you been staying?”

Wally jumps in before she can speak, lying again for her.

“She stayed with me and Home last night. But she wants to sleep somewhere else for a while.”

She’d rather sleep ‘somewhere else’ forever, actually.

“Hm? Why?”

Wally looks at her, and she's on her own for this one.

“I don’t get along with Home.”

Julie tilts her head, gazing at her with a confused look.

“Home likes everyone?”

“I don’t like them.”

“…Why?”

“I’m ‘difficult’.”

“Then stop being difficult?”

“It’s just how I am.”

“Well, you’re going to have to work on that.”

No, she doesn’t think she will.

“I don’t like change.”

“…You’ve moved to a new neighborhood. There’s going to be a lot of change.”

“Not my best decision.”

Julie frowns at her, nowhere near as intimidating as she thinks it's meant to be.

“No one made you move here.”

Oh, but someone did make her move here.

She side-eyes the assailant in question, and he just tilts his head at her, as innocent as a puppy.

Bastard.

“It was unusual circumstances.”

“You should still make an effort to be nice to your neighbors. Keeping your name to yourself is not considerate.”

…She senses they are not off to a good start.

“Let’s play a game!”

There's Wally, as unable to read the room as he always is.

Julie nods, and she doesn’t raise any arguments herself either.

Thus began what may have been the most awkward game of Go Fish she’s ever had the displeasure of partaking in.

Julie poses a challenge at least. The cupcake puppet is good at remembering what she’s already asked for and stealing cards right from under her own hand.

Wally, conversely, keeps asking for the same card over and over again. Unless she or Julie reveal a card they have in the turn just before, he keeps asking for a fucking three of spades until it’s given or taken from him. The first game he gathers a good chunk of the deck in his hand from it.

The next few games go the same way, with her or Julie winning.

As they start another game, Julie has something special in mind.

“Let’s make a bet.”

Well, that can’t be good.

“If I win, you tell me your name.”

“You’re gonna have to offer something pretty big for me to take you up on that.”

“If you win, you can stay at my house tonight.”

“Only tonight?”

“A trial run. I don’t know what you’re like to live with.”

Fair. Also not enough to bet her name on.

“My name is the one thing everyone wants from me. I want to make sure I get something good from it.”

Sure, sheer stubbornness may be the leading cause of not giving anyone her name, but it may come in handy someday. Everyone seems to want it, and she can’t afford to give anything away for free. Not when she only has the clothes off her back.

…Really, fuck Wally for leaving all her shit behind.

“What are you so afraid of? It’s just a bet, just your name.”

The ‘chicken’ angle. Julie’s gonna have a hard time playing on her ego.

“I deeply fear the crippling misery of defeat.”

Julie practically growls at her, a strange vibration from their throat. It’s… kind of cute, like a kitten.

“I’m not enjoying all these excuses.”

She shrugs, not really sure where to go from here.

“I probably wouldn’t tell you my name anyway, even if you won.”

“What? You would have to. It’s a bet.”

Wally nods, elbowing in his own two cents.

“She lies a lot.”

Fuck Wally, are you trying to kill her chances?

“I was actually very honest just now. Lying would have been not telling her that I would be lying if I took her bet.”

Julie shakes her head, as if she’d give a shit about disappointing the cupcake puppet.

“It doesn’t make you seem like a good person.”

“Do you think you’re a good person? Trying to trap me into giving you my name? That’s not very neighborly, Julie.”

Well, that seems to only inspire more of Julie’s rage.

“I’m going to beat you into the ground.”

How else can she respond but in kind?

“I hope you cry when you lose.”

This game is blatantly angrier than the others, cards slapped down with noticeable force. Julie focuses solely on her, wanting to chip away at her hand.

But her anger just makes her memory worse, and she wins again.

Wally, oblivious to the tense air, laughs their stagnant, lifeless little laugh.

“Ha ha, you keep beating me.”

No kidding.

“That's because you’re dumb.”

“I’m not dumb.”

“No. You’re worse. You’re a loser.”

She looks down at him, where he’s sitting just a bit too close. He has that small crease in his brow again.

“I want to play again.”

“No, I’m done.”

“Please?”

“No.”

Julie turns to her, already shuffling the cards for another round. Whore.

“We should play again. Wally hasn’t won yet.”

Fine. She’ll beat some more humility into the both of them.

“One more. Then we gotta do something else.”

This game, thankfully, is moving along quite well for her too. Especially since Julie is clearly throwing the match, avoiding asking for obvious cards, dragging out the game.

She finds herself very close to winning. She only has one card, and a plethora of points gathered.

Julie is openly glaring at her, trying to smite her with only their eyes. It isn’t half as unnerving as Howdy’s frown was. She’ll have to try harder than that to peer-pressure her into purposefully losing to Wally .

She acknowledges Julie’s silent berating for the first time that game as she steals another card from the puppet’s hand.

“He won’t get good if you coddle him.”

“We’re supposed to be having fun.”

“I’m having fun.”

“You are very rude.”

Wally looks between them, tilting his head.

“What’s happening?”

“Julie wants me to lose to you.”

“I also want you to lose to me, ha ha.”

“She wants me to lose to you on purpose.”

“Oh.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and it makes her sigh.

“You want a false victory, puppet man?”

“…I don’t have a chance?”

Well… That’s pathetic. He’s ready to give up already.

Ugh. She hates to encourage her enemy.

“You have a chance.”

She holds up her card, wiggles it in front of his eyes.

“The draw pile is empty. If you can take this from me, I’ll be out of the game.”

And maybe then he can scrounge enough points from Julie to win.

Wally watches the card, an unfamiliar, wary expression on his face, even with his perpetual smile.

She likes that face. She wants it to be fearful too. Fearful of his imminent failure.

“Come’on Wally. I have one card. You know what it is.”

“How would I know?”

“Because at some point in this game I asked you or Julie for it.”

“…I don’t remember.”

“Well, you either remember or you lose. You wanna keep being a loser?”

“No.”

“Then ask me for it. You have half the deck in your hand. You must have it.”

Ugh, she doesn’t know why she’s trying to help him. 

But even Julie is leaning forward, on the edge of her seat, eyes locked onto Wally. She can see the hope in that cupcake puppet’s eyes. Hope that Wally will strike down the rude human.

Then, Wally seems to resolve himself, sitting up a bit straighter.

“…Do you have any Aces?”

“Ha! No.”

Oh how she loves that blank look of devastation. She didn’t think it could feel that delicious.

But she should probably come clean with her lie.

“I’m fucking with you Wally, yeah, it’s an Ace. I guess even a broken clock is right twice a day.”

She offers it to him, and he takes it delicately, with far too much care that berefts a single playing card.

Then he looks at Julie, his face lighting up with disgusting, unfettered joy.

“I won!”

“You won!”

…Julie hasn’t been beaten yet, why are they celebrating?

“Julie-“

The puppet whips her head back to glare at her, Wally blinded by blond hair smacking his face.

“He. Won.”

Okay, damn.

“…Yay, Wally won…”

“I did! I’m a winner.”

God.

“You certainly are, puppet man.”

A winner of idiocy.

She tolerates them gloating over Wally’s victory much longer than she thought she could. Still, it’s a relief when Wally calmly sits back in his seat.

Julie puts away the food and cards, and she waits in a distinctly polite fashion for their host.

Wally scoots a little closer to her on the couch.

“Are you friends now?”

Julie looks at her from across the room. They reach a mutual understanding.

Julie has a more diplomatic way of putting it.

“You’re right, Wally. She is difficult.”

“I know, ha ha.”

She doubts Julie is nearly as amused as Wally by the fact.

In a weird way, it almost makes her like the tiny flower-cupcake puppet. Someone who makes sense. 

She already knows the answer, but decides there’s no harm in asking.

“Will you let me stay here, Julie?”

“No. I think you should try again to get along with Home. Also, you’re not very nice.”

Ouch.

“You aren’t wrong.”

Really, she’d be crazier if she wasn’t a little mean. ‘Oh? You kidnapped me from all I know and love? Please, let me treat you with the same respect I’d give the president of the United States. No, no, please, let me tie your shoes for you. You’re about to lose a game of crazy eights? Let me throw myself in front of a train so you don’t have to experience the disappointment of complete and utter failure.’

“You should be nicer to Wally.”

Wally perks up at that, watching her expectantly, curiously.

He can’t actually think she would agree, right?

She doesn’t respond right away, instead taking a long sip of her lemonade.

Julie doesn’t understand the breadth of what Wally has done to her, but she decides to hate the monster bitch anyways.

She relaxes back into the sofa, and says a truth she knows Julie won’t appreciate.

“I don’t owe him anything. He owes me.”

Julie stomps her feet, looking so young as she does so, and puts her hands on the hips of that flowery dress.

“Wally’s never done anything, he’s never hurt anybody.”

She has her response in an instant, waiting on the tip of her tongue. ‘It’s me, I’m the one Wally hurt’.

She looks past Julie at where Wally still sits, content to watch her and Julie bicker. He doesn’t have any reaction to Julie’s words. Not the twitch on his face nor a shift in his posture.

It’s a very subtle change she experiences, a quiet realization that Wally really doesn’t understand the impact of what he’s done. He’s ‘sad’ that she’s unhappy. Perhaps regrets it as much as someone of his very limited life can experience regret.

But he is selfish. Very selfish. He wouldn’t take back what he’s done, he’s admitted it himself. In fact, he would hurt her again if it meant getting what he wanted. She’s sure of it.

He would keep her here forever, if he could get away with it.

And he is getting away with it. Why isn’t she telling Julie? Telling Barnaby? Howdy?

Well, she knows why. She doesn’t know any of them. And they all seem to think Wally’s the shit for some reason. The fucking baby man who can do no wrong.

She hates him. Scampering all over town with his ‘lovable’ and dumb smile.

And here she is. Lurking in the woods, being openly dishonest and a generally shitty person.

Julie wouldn’t believe her. None of them would. Not without proof. She wonders if there’s any to find in the first place.

Even if she could find it… Wally is still the one in control. And he won’t let her leave. She could very well live here until she dies.

…But what is she supposed to do with that?! Simper in a corner catering to his every demand? Pretend to be his ‘friend’? All for some semblance of a life in this hellhole?

And what is she doing here? Once again playing this ‘friendship’ game with him and his friends? She’s going to let him think everything will just magically be fine and she’ll forget what he did?!

She refuses. 

“I will never be your friend.”

She speaks it right to Wally, with every ounce of sincerity she can put in it. He has a reaction to those words, his smile shrinks, eyes widening from their relaxed slant.

That look sparks unease, some fear. She accepts the feeling as the reminder it should be. 

And innocent Julie, poor, stupid Julie, thinks she’s talking to her.

“You are very welcome to leave.”

It’s said with anger, righteousness. It doesn’t make anything rise within her, and for once she does exactly what her mother would have wanted.

“Thank you for hosting. Your cupcakes were delicious.”

Julie seems a bit taken aback by this, face red in confused anger.

She gets up as Julie sputters, and ushers herself out the door. Wally, so horribly, is at her heels, saying rushed, cordial farewells to his friend.

His friend. Never hers.

She walks down the path with decisive steps, although she doesn’t have a destination in mind. 

No, she does. She wants to go home.

She wants her cast iron pan, her comforter, and strangely enough, her mom. 

Maybe it would help to pretend. She could pretend her apartment building was just a bit further. We would talk up the stairs, get a slight smile from that one gray stain in the shape of a penis. God, she would do anything to see that stain again.

Then she’d unlock her door, feeling a little nervous that someone would jump her despite being alone in a vacant hallway. Then she would have dinner, maybe a steak in her cast iron pan, curl up in her bed, and sleep soundly through the night.

And if the next morning was a Saturday, she would not watch Welcome Home. Because that is a children’s show, and she is an adult.

“Are you okay?”

What she really liked was Breaking Bad. That’s what she needs. A little of Walter’s confidence, a little of his anger. All of his badassery.

She never got to watch Better Call Saul. She heard it was just as good. She wants to see him fuck up prosecutors and defendants in the name of crime.

She’d also wanted to adopt a cat for a while. Never did. It would have been nice. Maybe then she wouldn’t have been lonely and desperate enough to call a raNDOM FUCKING PHONE NUMBER ON THE INTERNET!

“Hello? Are you okay?”

GODDAMNIT!!! 

What the FUCK is wrong with her?! Stupid ass fucking person who can’t fucking think. 

And now she’s here. Alone. Surrounded by puppets who think she smells ‘tasty’. 

She’s going to die here. He won’t let her go, and now she’s going to die here. She’s going to die here and Barnaby will eat her corpse.

“Ha ha… I don’t understand this.”

No, that’s not right. She’s going to die here, Wally will dissect her corpse because he’ll be curious, and then Barnaby will devour her body.

She hopes he gets indigestion.

She hopes he chokes to death on one of her bones.

She hopes-

“Are you ignoring me? Please stop.”

She turns to him, views his small, nervous smile.

“You…”

She has no words to properly explain to him what she’s thinking.

But it’s like she said before. She doesn’t owe him anything. He owes her.

She turns away from him, and keeps walking.

She needs a shower. And new clothes. And she wants some real fucking food.

She doesn’t want to sleep outside anymore. Her back hurts. 

And she’s gonna be here forever so why the fuck is she making herself miserable all over a fucking house?!

A sentient house.

A fucking sentient house.

It can’t eat her… she thinks.

But it could trap her. That could be just as bad.

And she would have to live with Wally.

…Okay, she cannot seriously be considering going anywhere near that house! What is wrong with her?!

She stops, and Wally fucking bumps into her legs. It’s tempting to reach back and smack the idiot upside the head.

Instead she looks ahead, and wishes she knew where to go. She, perhaps unwisely, confesses this aimlessness.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Of course, Wally is full of suggestions.

“We can go to Home! I have clothes for you.”

Right. He owes her clothes. She needs clothes.

She starts walking, slower this time. Less angry.

‘Home’, clothes, then… Then she needs to figure something out. 

“You’re feeding me too.”

“Yes! I will!”

Fucker, don’t be excited about it.

“Ugh.”

‘Home’. She doesn’t even know how it works.

“…Can ‘Home’ hear anything inside of them?”

“Ah, yes. But, they can only see in the front outside and in the center room inside! Your bedroom wouldn’t be seen.”

‘Her bedroom’.

“I’m not sleeping there.”

“But you could go inside? Please?”

“How do I know they wouldn’t trap me in? I’d- I’d have a fucking crap attack or something!”

“What’s that?”

“It means I’ll become violent.”

“Violent?”

“I will try to hurt them.”

“What? Don’t do that.”

“If they don’t try to trap me I won't. Not that I would ever go inside.”

Nope. Not even an option. She’s sleeping outside again tonight. Without a blanket. On the hard ground.

“Why would Home trap you?”

“Because they can control the doors.”

“That doesn’t mean they would trap you.”

“It’s a statistical inevitability.”

“A what? Ha ha.”

“If it can happen, it will eventually happen.”

“...I don’t get it.”

“Has Home ever kept you inside? Or outside?”

“Ha ha, a few times they’ve locked me out when I’ve had mud on my shoes. They don’t like having it tracked around.”

“See? If they can, there eventually will be a situation where they will.”

“...Oh, I think I get it.”

“Wow, look at you Mr. A+ student. Get this man a gold star.”

“You mean Sally?”

Who?

“No, a sticker. Teachers used to hand them out if kids did a good job.”

“Star stickers.”

“Yeah. I was making a joke.”

“Oh, okay. I get it.”

On a roll there. Might pass for a six year old any day now.

Ugh. Why is she joking with them? He isn’t her friend. He’ll never be her friend.

She stops, wanting his attention, wanting him to know there’s nothing casual about what she’s about to say.

He stops too, looking back towards her, confused on why she stopped moving.

She speaks before he can ask.

“I don’t belong here.”

“You could belong here.”

“I’m not a puppet.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“What happens when I get old? When I die?”

He gives her a curious look, and she doesn’t wait for his inevitable questions.

“You’re supposed to do research before you buy a pet.”

The joke falls flat, to herself and of course to Wally.

“Didn’t buy human care 101? You didn’t even check out the shelters, did you? Some humans might have actually wanted to come here, you know.”

Humans with terrible lives. 

“Ha ha, but you’re the human who called.”

“You know, I’m starting to wonder if it was actually a really bad idea to call you.”

“I’m very glad you called.”

“This place is a fucking nightmare for me. You do know that, right?”

Wally makes a show of looking around, particularly focusing on a pink and purple beetle on a potted plant nearby.

Then he turns back towards her, and speaks his biggest lie yet.

“The neighborhood isn’t scary, ha ha.”

“I’m in a town of deranged puppets who have unclear morals about what is acceptable. I am trapped with what appears to be the most delusional individual of them all, who was somehow able to kidnap me through a fucking dream. Yeah, it’s scary, you unempathetic shitbird.”

“I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

There must be something very wrong with her to feel a slight relief from those words. Even if those words mean he didn’t understand half of what she said to him. Even if she knows he couldn’t back up those words of push came to shove. Maybe he’d want to protect her because he wants information and ‘friendship’ from her, but he wouldn’t be able to do it.

“You are three feet tall. You can’t protect anything.”

“I could.”

“You couldn’t.”

“I could.”

“Couldn’t.”

“I already did.”

What?

“You did?”

“I lied for you. To Barnaby, remember?”

Not that kind of protection, idiot. 

“I meant from an imminent demise.”

“What is-“

Someone come fucking put her out of her misery.

“I can’t talk with you anymore.”

“…Yes, you can? Ha ha.”

She ignores him, starts walking again. Home is still far away, but seems too close.

But she doesn’t have to go inside. She doesn’t have to do anything. Wally can’t make her do anything.

He’s only three feet tall.

Shit, they’re getting closer.

She tilts her head down at Wally. He’s watching her from the corner of his eye. 

She slips behind him, both to avoid his eyes and to put him between her and the Home.

Yep. There’s the back of Home.

She wants to take a bat to its windows. A few matches tossed in that bush by the chimney. She could really make it beautiful.

“I don’t think you’ve met Home.”

She replies absently, still imagining various ways to make Home ‘beautiful’. 

“I have not.”

“I should have done that in the beginning. I know now how difficult you are with new puppets. I can’t expect you to live with someone you don’t know, ha ha.”

Yeah, she’s the ‘difficult’ one.

“I don’t think introducing us would change anything.”

Those massive eyes staring down at her… is Wally not bad enough?

Wally, wisely, grabs the edge of her sleeve instead of her hand, and leads her around to the front of Home.

Yeah, she does not like those huge eyes.

“Home, this is…”

He looks back at her, waiting.

“That will never work.”

“Home! This is sunshine.”

“Sunshine?”

That was not an invitation to name her.

“Sunshine, this is Home.”

Fuck, she’ll deal with that shitty name in a moment.

“Sorry to meet you under such unfavorable circumstances. Which is to say, any circumstances.”

…Did that house just roll its fucking eyes at her?!

She was asking for it, but damn!

“I don’t get it.”

“I was being rude.”

“Stop that.”

“Fine.”

“And say you're sorry.”

“What?”

“Say it.”

“…I’m sorry.”

…Sorry for not lighting Home up when she had the chance.

Home’s door swings open. An invitation… although she wonders if it could also be a threat. A trap.

Wally steps up to the door, looking back at her.

“You’ll have to come inside to change.”

Hell no.

She shakes her head, but Wally is already ‘kindly’ compromising with her.

“I’ll bring them out here then.”

…She does not want to change out here. Not with anyone around.

Ugh. Food first, then.

She turns away from him, starts off to the bodega.

“We’ll come back for them.”

She’ll change in the dark night of the woods. She’s spent almost three days in these pajamas, what’s half a day more?

Wally catches up easily, unfortunately.

“You need a bath too.”

Rude. Also, very true.

“I’ll stop by the creek.”

“You could have a warm bath.”

Yeah, in the creepy ass house.

“Creek’s warm enough.”

The sun is just starting to descend from overhead.

“You could have a warm bath, as long as you want, since you can’t get heavy. A warm bed too. Home couldn’t watch you in your bedroom. And you don’t make much noise when you sleep either. They’ll forget you’re even there.”

Right. He’s watched her sleep. That’s a very comforting thought.

“Wow, you are really trying to sell this to me.”

“I would like you to stay in Home tonight. Please. Just try it?”

“No, I’m not going inside.”

“You can’t be outside tonight. Or any night.”

“I just need a sheet-“

“No tents.”

“You’re the worst.”

“I’m the most.”

“Most annoying.”

“Most pretty!”

“Most egotistical.”

“What does that mean?”

“That you think the world revolves around you.”

“…Home is at the center of the neighborhood, ha ha.”

“Now you’re getting it.”

Doofus.

She intends to leave the conversation there, fully expecting Wally to strike up another one.

But they aren’t alone anymore.

“Hey! You two, wait up!”

Barnaby waves widely, dropping it to jog up to them.

She watches their expression carefully as they get closer, as their eyes meet hers. But they don’t show a negative reaction, thankfully. Her secret really is safe. It’s like it’s just a regular Monday. No, Tuesday? She’s been here three days.

She has been here three days.

Before she can spiral into another ‘what has my life come to’ internal epilogue, Barnaby barks out a laugh at something Wally says, and asks her a question of his own.

“Kid, you have my umbrella at Home?”

He must mean ‘Home’ home, right? Either way, no.

“Aw, shit man. I forgot your umbrella at Julies.”

“Don’t curse! Wally’s right there. And it’s fine, I’ll stop by tomorrow and get it from her. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, I ditched it.”

“You could have left it in a worse place.”

“True.”

Good luck finding his umbrella in the woods. But he’s a dog, it would’ve been fine.

They walk together a little further, Wally babbling on about their morning with Julie. He doesn't seem to realize how absolutely terrible he is at Go Fish.

It’s a relief for her to open the door of the bodega, the smell of fresh bread in the air.

Howdy spots them immediately, smiling at the group.

“Wow, a big crowd, huh?”

“A hungry crowd.”

Please feed her.

Barnaby, the inconsiderate whelp, wiggles in front of her.

“I’ll have my usual Howdy! As for my price, I’ve thought up a joke for you.”

Howdy leans over the bar, fully focused on the blue dog.

“Lay it on me.”

“What do I chew when I want a good laugh?”

“I don’t know! What do you chew when you want a good laugh?”

“A funny bone!”

Howdy cackles, overly delighted at the very lazy joke.

“Ha ha ha.”

Wally too, apparently.

She waits for their laughter to die in silence. She’s not keen on laughing at a joke about bones.

Then Barnaby looks at her, almost looking a little hurt by the lack of humor.

“Ya didn’t like the joke, kid?”

Don’t be a smart ass. Lie your ass off for the eight foot dog.

“It was great!”

“You didn’t laugh.”

“Humans don’t laugh at jokes.”

A lie, but one she may never be found out on if all the jokes in this neighborhood are that bad.

Wally rudely assumes she’s lying, probably because he knows best how much of a lying liar she is. 

“Did you not get the joke? Do you know what a funny bone is?”

“I do. I don’t think you do.”

“It’s a bone that’s funny, ha ha.”

Barnaby nods sagely.

“A funny bone is a bone that’s so funny it makes you laugh by chewing it.”

…No, the ‘funny bone’ is actually a nerve.

She doesn’t contest them, though. This might be another ATM situation.

“Right. My bad.”

Wally shakes his head, as if tired by her shenanigans.

“Silly, silly.”

What an overdramatic hussy.

“Well, you’ve more than earned yours, Barnaby. Now, little Caterpillar…”

Shit. That’s her.

Wally inconsiderately interrupts before she can order, putting his chin up on the counter.

“Caterpillar?”

“That’s what I named her. It’s cute, right?”

“Very cute. I named her Sunshine.”

“I didn’t ask for either of those. And, same thing as yesterday, please.”

“We wouldn’t have to use them if you gave us your name. Which, of course, would easily pay for your meal.”

“No.”

“That only makes me more curious, Caterpillar.”

“Sucks to suck.”

…Shit, probably shouldn’t be rude to the eight foot not-spider puppet.

He doesn’t frown at her as dramatically as yesterday, a small quirk in his brow. Barnaby is the one to scold her.

“That’s rude.”

Wally nods beside her.

“She’s always rude.”

“I am sorry.”

Howdy hums, leaning down on two elbows.

“You’re going to have to give me something extra good to make up for it.”

“Not my name.”

“Doesn't have to be your name.”

Alright. An idea. Or joke.

Oh. She thinks she has one.

“…There’s this really popular kind of house humans live in called a ‘tent’.”

Wally has no patience for this, loudly protesting as soon as he realizes what's happening.

“You’re not living in a tent.”

Barnaby is suitably more open to her idea.

“What’s a tent?”

Wally, the motherfucker, tries to sabotage her.

“It’s just a blanket.”

Not just a blanket, asshole.

“You have a special sheet, and you put it over some sticks to make a temporary house to sleep in.”

Howdy leans up, begins to make her sandwich as they speak.

“…A sheet? Oh, it’s like a cocoon. Some of my siblings had those for a while. But that’s not a house.”

“It’s a human house.”

Barnaby laughs, low and in their throat.

“Haha, kiddo, that sounds like a blanket fort.”

Wally perks up at Barnaby’s connection, turning his smile towards her.

“I love blanket forts! Let’s make one at Home!”

“No, it’s, it’s outdoors. It's for outside.”

Barnaby shakes his head at her.

“Blanket forts need furniture, you know? To spread the blanket out over.”

“Yes, that’s what sticks are for.”

Howdy, ‘pleasant’ bastard, tries to be helpful.

“Oh, maybe you don’t know yet, but you can’t hurt the trees here. So, there are no sticks.”

Wally tugs at the edge of her shirt, and she looks down at him.

“Well, I could put the blanket over a bush, yeah? And then I’m not hurting the trees.”

“Doesn’t the bush need sunlight?“

“I would only need to be in the tent at night, so there’s-“

“You can’t be out at night.”

…Woah, they all spoke that at the same time. And now they’re all staring at her, not speaking.

She doesn’t like it. It feels like she’s close to something she might not be able to back away from.

She stammers something out, doesn’t know what else to do.

“Ah, I-, I don’t fucking know!”

And just like that, she seems to have been forgiven, their gazes letting up on her.

“Language.”

Barnaby scolds her gently, as if she’s just a lil dum-dum like fucking Wally.

Howdy looks over to the smallest guest, leaning over the counter to meet his eyes.

“Wally, what would you like? Your hot dog? Something new?”

“I don’t fucking know.”

You could hear a pin drop in the bodega. This eerie silence, different from the one she felt less than a minute ago, only lasts an instant before Barnaby dwarfs Wally’s shoulders in his paws.

“Wally.”

Howdy snaps into motion too, looming over her despite the counter between them.

“You! Stop teaching him all those bad words.”

“He’s growing up! Becoming a man! He can curse if he wants!”

She looks down at him, sees him watching her face intently, that wide smile on his face. She can also feel both eight foot monsters towering over the two of them.

But she isn’t a coward. Or maybe she’s just this stupid.

“Do it again, puppet man.”

“Fuck.”

Barnaby whines, loud and shrill, and she looks back to see Howdy holding his head in one of his many hands. Damn, what a satisfying sight.

She smiles, very content with her life choices at that brief moment.

“Ahaha! Yes, very good, very good Wally.”

Barnaby whines again, tugging Wally away from her side.

“No, not ‘very good’! It’s not polite to curse.”

Wally, to his credit, does look abashed in the light of Barnaby’s disappointment.

“I’m sorry Barnaby. It just came out.”

“What about the second time kid?! That sure wasn’t an accident.”

“I like making her laugh.”

Gross. She doesn’t want him to pretend that he actually likes her. He doesn’t even know her.

Well, that’s a mood-killer.

She looks back to Howdy, who slowly, ominously shakes his head at her with his long frown.

It makes her want to flee without food, but somehow she’s unwise enough to ask after her sandwich anyways.

“Do I still get my sandwich?”

She does. She gets it last, slightly cold, but she gets it.

Alright. Two puppets now concretely dislike her. Maybe Barnaby too. That would mean she’s made enemies of all three puppets she’s met.

Except Wally. She doesn’t know how he doesn’t hate her.

It must be the stupid gene he carries. Not that puppets have genes… do they?

But she doesn’t want to start that conversation. It could easily lead into ‘meat’ territory. Or, possibly worse, ‘sex’ territory. Instead she trails behind Barnaby and Wally as they lead her to the creek.

Barnaby is already finished with his hot dog, and Wally passes his own over to be devoured by the blue beast.

Weird. Why did he get it if he didn't want to eat it?

She sits down a fair distance from the both of them to eat her sandwich.

Wally stares at her for a moment. This must be the first time he’s seen her eat. She wants to turn around so he has to watch her uninteresting back.

…But she’s not too keen on letting the giant dog out of her sight either.

She makes sure she looks busy with her sandwich, and for a while they talk among themselves. Barnaby had a very good time with ‘Eddie’, whoever that is.

But she can’t avoid the conversation, and Barnaby’s curiosity, forever.

“So, how do you like Julie?”

“She hates me.”

“Julie doesn’t hate anyone.”

“She definitely hates me.”

“She made your blanket.”

“…I own nothing.”

“No, everyone chipped in on your room. Julie made the blanket.”

Ah. ‘Her room’. At Home.

“Oh. It is… pretty.”

Barnaby frowns, and she’s probably going to have to get used to that, isn’t she?

“It’s okay if you don’t like it. But be nice to Julie if she brings it up, she worked really hard on it.”

Ah fuck, he thinks she’s being rude. When really she’s just a bad liar. Which, lying could also be seen as being rude.

“I wouldn’t trash-mouth it, I’m not that terrible.”

“Then don’t draw out that pause when you compliment it.”

“She said it was pretty?”

Ugh, Wally.

“Listen, Barnaby, I honestly can’t remember what the blanket looks like. I didn’t know it had any more significance than just being a blanket on a bed.”

Whew, okay, that actually sounds plausible.

“Oh. Okay, kid.”

…Looks like he bought it. She thinks. He still has that tense expression on his face.

Damn. He does not like her.

Well, she shouldn’t care, but… No. She shouldn’t care. This is crazy-land. No one here is rational.

… But does everyone here have to hate her? She hasn’t hurt anyone! Just been… prickly. 

Ugh, she won’t survive if all of them are such prudes.

“Does anyone else curse here? Just me?”

“We don’t curse here.”

“…Is it a rule?”

“No… But it’s rude. Neighbors aren’t rude to each other.”

“Cursing isn’t always rude.”

“That’s not really how cursing works.”

Uh, excuse her? Cursing has more flexibility than that?!

She might regret this, but hey, Barnaby already doesn’t like her, right?

“You look cuddly as fuck. Like, goddamn, what do you have to do to keep your fur that soft? It’s fucking amazing.”

She does like that face, twisted up in conflicted cringe and flattery.

“…Thank you. But you can say that without cursing.”

“It’s not as good. You want another example?”

“No, one was enough, kid. Don’t curse again.”

“You can’t tell me what to do. Cursing isn’t against a rule.”

“…No, but-“

She interrupts him, for once unintimidated by the giant hound.

“If it’s the last thing I do, I will have everyone in their god-forsaken neighborhood cursing like sailors.”

Barnaby guffaws, looks down his nose at her like the unstable, erratic maniac she knows she is.

“That’s… not going to happen. We have better manners than that. It might take a while, but you’ll stop cursing eventually.”

She points at Wally, and he straightens at the attention.

“Look at him. Look at that face. That face said ‘fuck’ today. I did that.”

Wally nods.

“I said it.”

She nods too.

“He said it. We all heard it.”

“Wally, kid, please don’t start cursing. It really isn’t the polite thing to do.”

Ugh, gross, ‘polite’.

“Okay Barnaby. I don’t want to be rude.”

Ugh! Gross! Friendship!

“And you better be careful too. Next time you curse in the Bugdega, Howdy might not feed you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

…She wonders if he’s lying to her. She doesn’t really want to test it. Wait, no, that’s how he gets her, right?

“Are you just saying that to get me to stop cursing or to actually help me out?”

”Both.”

“…I’ll have to test it out.”

“If you curse, I’m not feeding you either.”

“Wally will feed me.”

Wally nods.

“I will.”

Barnaby groans, shakes his head.

“We’re trying to break her habit, kiddo.”

…Hold on, they're not seriously talking about restricting her food, are they?

“I will bring chaos to the neighborhood if I am not fed.”

He raises a brow at her, amused. She doesn’t know if it’s at the thought of her somehow bringing the neighborhood into further disarray, or humor from thinking she wouldn’t be able to do anything about not being fed.

Fuck him, amused at the thought of fucking starving her over some words.

“Go fuck yourself.”

“That’s very rude.”

“Dude. I’ve said some cusses, big deal. Don’t fuck around with my food.”

“You must have been pretty spoiled, wherever you came from. But here you have to earn things, or at least keep your cursing to yourself.”

Yeah, really spoiled. In her small apartment with her creature comforts and a dead end job.

No offense, old manager. You were really cool and accommodating. She would work there forever if it meant she could come back home.

Wally speaks, apparently deciding to play peacemaker.

“You should apologize.”

It takes her a moment to realize the bastard is talking to her and not Barnaby.

“No.”

He should fucking apologize to her. Stupid dog.

“I don’t want a fake apology anyway.”

Barnaby growls, and she resists the childish urge to do the same.

Damn, who knew she could get over her fear just by being pissed at him?

She gets up, dusting crumbs off her gross pajamas.

Her back itch was when she turns it on him. Fear, she thinks, that Barnaby might lunge at her.

Excitement too. Stupid, ignorant excitement, because she couldn’t actually beat him in a fight.

Wally calls after her when she leaves.

“Where are you going?“

“The fucking creek.”

“Okay!”

At least Barnaby doesn’t call out to scold her for cursing. She might be the one twisting back to attack him then.

She steps into the water, wades in. It’s up to her calves, and she sits, uncaring of how uncomfortable her wet pajamas will be once she leaves. She runs her palms along her legs, rubbing off some streaks of mud.

She hears Barnaby get up, groaning in exasperation at her.

“Kid. Come on. Get out, you’re gonna get soaked.”

“I’m fine. I told you I do this a lot.”

“I don’t want to have to pull you out.”

“I wouldn’t let you.”

They whine, annoyed, tired.

“Don’t make me come in there…”

She would beat the shit out of him if he tried to touch her.

…Holy shit. If she can knock him down, get him waterlogged, she could win.

She stands up, almost dizzy at the movement. She spins to face him, smacks her chest with her fists, indulging the animal inside of her.

“Come on in. You and me. I’ll beat your ass.”

“What?”

Finally, something that’s really caught him off guard.

“I, I’m not going to fight you?”

“Afraid to lose?!”

Wally, the piece of shit, has no respect for her challenge.

“She’s not very good, ha ha.”

“Wally! What the hell?!”

“What is it?”

“Ugh. Nevermind.”

Barnaby seems to collect himself, taking a step back from the creek’s edge.

“I’m not going in the creek. I’ll get too heavy! I still have to walk back home, you know.”

“Coward!”

“Just- come out of the water, kid.”

“No way, you’re eight feet tall! I wouldn’t have a chance.”

“I’m not fighting you. We don’t hurt each other here. That is a rule. That you are currently trying to break.”

“I would be breaking it if I just attacked you. This is a challenge of physical strength.”

“I’m not fighting you. Come out, we’ll, we’ll talk about this.”

She sits back down into the creek, unafraid to turn her back on him in light of his recent cowardice.

“No, I’m not coming out.”

“…Are you too heavy to get out?”

Oh for fuck’s sake.

“I’m getting out of here.”

She stands up, marches out of the water with notable ease.

It’s late enough, right? The sun is just starting to set. She can get rid of both of them and go hobble away to the woods to live out the rest of her shitty life here as a hermit.

Thankfully, neither of them attempt to speak to her as she storms ahead of them.

They stop in front of Home. Alright. Now they can say their goodbyes, and she can slink off to her forest.

She tunes their conversation out, artfully avoiding Home’s eyes, and murmuring her own insincere farewell.

But then she notices they’ve been standing in silence for a moment too long, and looks over to see Barnaby watching her.

“Aren’t you going to go inside?”

Please no.

“I, uh, aren't we going to walk you home first?”

So that she can sneak away later.

But Barnaby is stubborn, crossing his arms. There’s no room for argument.

“No. You’re already here kiddos. Go inside.”

“You know, I actually wanted to watch the sunset from out here. It really is beautiful.”

Wally is at the door, holding it open for her.

“Sweetheart. Come inside.”

She… doesn’t know what to do.

But they’re all standing around. Waiting for her.

…Maybe she could make a break for it. Run for the creek. They might not be brave enough to fight her there.

She’s startled when Wally moves from the entrance, the door staying wide open behind him.

He tries to take her hand, and she lifts it above his reach. She isn’t quick enough with her other one, and he catches it with both of his hands.

He tries to tug her with him, and she abides him a few steps, almost feeling like she might fall forward if she refuses.

“You’re almost there. A little closer.”

She doesn't know why she’s letting him pull her along, why is she letting him? He shouldn't be able to take her anywhere. She knows how much heavier she is.

She halts before she can get through the doorway. She shouldn’t be doing this, she should be-

“Don’t run. Come in.”

She doesn’t think when she takes that last step, barely inside.

Then the door shuts behind her, the wood bumping against her back, making her jerk forward away from the contact. 

Holy shit. She’s inside the house.

She needs to get out of here.

She nearly knocks Wally over as she jerks her hand from his grip. She sprints past him, away from the Home’s eyes and into a small kitchen in the back.

No back door, not here. But it’s a relief to be away from the eyes.

Windows. She could leave through a window.

Should she break a window?

Holy shit, she doesn’t know how either of them, Home or Wally, would react to that.

Maybe she could pry one open? Would Home be stronger than her?

How strong is a fucking house?!

She spots a short broom, snatches it from where it hangs on the wall.

The window above the low counter opens easily, but she feels it start to resist the movement. Shoving the broom in the opening probably saves her fingers when it cracks down hard on the wood.

Oh, fuck, that was actually scary.

“What are you doing?”

Fuck her life.

“Getting the hell out of here.”

“It’ll be night soon, you’re not supposed to be outside.”

“Ha! You are just so fucking funny, Wally.”

“I’m not trying to be funny?”

“You literally told me I had nothing to worry about, but Home is already trying to trap me in here!”

“…Ha ha, you really don’t like being told what to do.”

God, just go away you insufferable puppet!

“No. I do not. Just- go pretend you’re asleep or something. It’s night, isn’t it?”

“‘Don’t tell me what to do’.”

“Are you mocking me? Don’t mock me.”

“‘Mock’?”

“It means you’re making fun of me.”

“...I’m sorry. I know this isn’t easy for you.”

She feels something on her side, looks down to see his hand on her side, patting her, trying to sooth her like an agitated animal. She hates it, but doesn’t have the energy to get it in with him, not now.

She shifts away from the touch, a chill going up her spine.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Sorry, ha ha.”

He takes his hand back, but still stands a bit too close, staring at her once more.

“...I’m getting out of here.”

“You can leave in the morning.”

“I want to leave now.”

“It’s against the rules.”

“This rule is stupid.”

“You can’t chose which rules to follow. Not while you live here.”

“Oh? Is that right?”

She means it sarcastically, and of course Wally doesn’t pick up on it.

“Yes. If everyone could choose which rules they followed, it would be bad.”

“Yeah, everyone could have bonfires that lasted into the night, so terrible.”

She wiggles the broom under the window frame, not finding much allowance for movement.

“...If there wasn’t a rule about eating sentient things, you could eat eggs.”

Ugh, he’s still talking to her.

“Well, I won’t do that. They’re sentient.”

…Well, chicken fetuses aren’t really ‘sentient’. Not when they’re first laid. It wouldn’t be so immoral to eat them then, would it? But either way, she wouldn’t want someone eating an underdeveloped human fetus in front of her. So, she wouldn’t do that to the bird or Howdy.

“Others might not feel the same.”

Hm?

“Other people here would eat eggs if they could?”

Wally pauses, seems to consider something before he speaks.

“Maybe Barnaby would want to eat you. If he was allowed.”

…What the fuck?! Did Barnaby tell him that?!

Oh my god. He really does want to eat her.

“I am never going to be alone with Barnaby again.”

Despite his thick skull, Wally seems to realize her reaction as a concretely bad one and rushes to ‘reassure’ her.

“You can be alone with Barnaby. Because Barnaby follows the rules. And, Barnaby likes you. He wouldn’t want to eat you, even if it wasn’t a rule.”

That is not nearly as comforting as Wally thinks it is. Did they absorb fucking nothing from the last half hour of her arguing with that mutt?

“No. I don’t want to be near him anymore.”

“...You know that he’s not the only one here that could want to eat you. And you can’t avoid everyone.”

…Is he implying-?!

“Do you want to eat me?!”

Oh hell no, she needs to get the hell out of here.

She applies more force to the stick, feeling it creak under her grip.

“You said you could eat us too. And that you ate eggs before.”

“Eggs aren’t sentient on the ‘Outside’!”

“… But they’re still eggs?”

“ Yes.”

“…I still don’t get it, ha ha.”

“Holy shit! I would literally rather starve than eat you or anyone else in this shitty neighborhood! Because I have fucking morals!”

“...What’s ‘starve’?”

“It means I would die.”

“You mentioned that before. What is that?”

Jesus Christ.

“It’s something very painful! Okay?! Do you know what ‘pain’ is, you fucking idiot?!”

He doesn’t respond, and she wonders if she’s gone too far, if she’s-

“...That’s very kind of you, ha ha.”

…Oh my God. 

“There’s something really wrong with you puppets if the only thing keeping you from eating each other are a few rules .”

“Humans don’t need rules?”

“No, we fuck each other up all the time. We have laws that punish people for that.”

“Punish…?”

He can’t be for real.

“Wally, how old are you?”

“...I don’t know.”

She pauses, looks down at him.

“Were you hit in the head as a child or something? I just don’t get it.”

It would explain a lot if he was.

“Barnaby censors himself a lot for you, you know.”

“What does-”

“It means he uses simpler words when he talks to you.”

“He does?”

“He does.”

She looks down, at that dumb, confused face, and almost feels bad.

…Okay, she definitely feels bad.

“Don’t look so fucking sad about it. He just wants you to know what’s going on.”

“I don’t want him to do that.”

“Me neither. It’s probably why you’re still so dumb.”

“Do the others do it too?”

“I’ve been here three days, I don’t fucking know.”

Oh god. Three days. Less than a week ago she was still safe at home.

Now she’s ‘safe’ at ‘Home’.

She giggles, a high pitched thing that she cuts off as she tries to wiggle the broom a bit more. Shit, she doesn’t think she can pry it up.

But then, then it moves, slides up like it’s light as a feather.

Oh, something is very wrong about this. Very wrong.

Still, she’s tempted by the escape. She can almost believe that Home could want her out just as much as she does.

She keeps the broom under the frame, slowly begins to reach her arm through the open window.

He feels hands at the edge of her shirt, trying to pull her back. The frame twitches against her hand, halting.

“You’re-“

The frame snaps down on her arm, and she doesn’t move for a moment, the impact felt more than the pain.

Oh, but then she feels the pain.

“Son of a bitch!”

She has to wrench her arm back to get it out, the wood of the frame scraping on her skin. Thank god she had the broom, or the fucking house might have tried to rip off her fingers!

Fuck, fuck that fucking hurts!

…It bit her! The fucking house bit her! 

She leans over the counter, cradling her arm. Fuck these short ass counters. Fuck this place. Fuck her life.

Her arm is already turning bright red, can feel the sensation of heat building in the throbbing pain. The top layer of her skin is shredded in a few places, a few tiny beads of red bubbling up.

“Ah, fuck. Fuck this house.”

The frame snaps again, sharp enough to make her flinch back from it, broom finally slipping out onto the kitchen floor.

Her arm is still burning.

There’s a sink in the counter, and she rushes to it, running her arm under the water.

She can't let him see the blood. She isn’t meat.

He comes over, and she needs to distract him, just for a few minutes.

“Does Home control the fridge?”

“No, Home-“

“Get me something from the freezer. An ice pack, a bag of beans, whatever.”

He’s obedient, even as she bites the words at him.

But he does bring her something bizarre. Frozen berries. 

He’s exactly the type to eat smoothies, isn’t he? 

She presses it to her wound, and tries to hide her grimace from the contact.

“What are you doing?”

“Don’t talk to me.”

“…Please tell me what you’re doing.”

“Your rabid house bit me. I’m icing it.”

“Why?”

“Because it hurts.”

“...That hurt?”

…Shit. Would this not hurt a puppet? Maybe it would just squish their arm, or something. Bastards.

“Actually, I’m totally fine! Go to bed!”

“No.”

“You are the worst.”

“...Why does ice help it?”

“It just does.”

“Please tell me.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t like you knowing these kinds of things.”

“...Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“...Is this because you’re meat?”

“I am not meat.”

Wally’s quiet for a moment too long, and she cannot tolerate this fucking bullshit.

She presses the berries harder into her arm, wanting the pain to distract her from having to continue this conversation. 

Fuck, it hurts.

“You can talk about being meat here. Home is safe.”

She laughs, more genuinely than she probably has in months.

“No one makes me feel more unsafe here than you do, Wally.”

Not even Home.

“...But I protected you again.”

“Protecting me? Protecting me would’ve been letting me fucking go instead of, fucking, whatever you did to get me in here so I wouldn’t break your stupid rule!”

“Barnaby is still waiting outside.”

“…What?”

“Barnaby is standing in front of the house right now.”

“…You couldn’t have told me that sooner?!”

She wouldn’t have risked getting her fucking arm cut off if she knew he was still around!

…Not that she waited long before trying to escape anyways.

“I wanted-“

“Fuck off.”

She bites those words at him as fiercely as she can. It’s enough to shut him up, even for just a few minutes of silence between the two of them… the three of them.

“…Would you like your new clothes now?”

“…Yes.”

He walks out of the room, a cheery little jump to his stride. He should feel cheery. He fucking won, didn’t he? He got what he wanted. He has his human in his house nursing its wounds over his uncomfortably low sink.

She hates him.

Goddamnit.

She should have just gotten a cat.

Chapter Text

Her arm is starting to feel better, although it still aches, skin twinging when she shifts the berry ice pack.

She can’t believe the house bit her. 

Being trapped? An obvious inevitability. Being fucking bitten?

…She’ll have to be careful not to get bit again. Carry something with her to keep the door open when she passes between rooms. Broom’s not gonna cut it. A chair? 

She doesn’t notice Wally walking back in, not until he speaks.

“You should take a bath before you put these on.”

She looks back. He’s carrying a stack of clothes. A shirt, shorts.

She doesn’t want to ask if he also has underwear. Or a bra.

God, they better have bras here.

She beckons him over, takes the shirt. It’s bigger, but it’ll be fine. It also looks a little worn near the hem.

“…Where did you get these clothes?”

“Everyone donated some of their older clothes, so you have a few things. But it would have been easier if you were my size, ha ha.”

“Who’s were these?”

“These were Eddie’s.”

She hasn’t met them yet. Or rather, hasn’t made an enemy of them yet.

She drops the shirt over his head, hiding herself from his eyes.

“Keep it there, puppet man.”

“This seems rude.”

“I don’t care.”

She removes the berry ice pack, takes her arm out from the water. It’s still very red, the outer layer of her skin scraped up, looking almost like shedding skin. But the blood has been washed off, only a few tiny red dots remain.

Shit, he doesn’t have bandages, does he?

Maybe it doesn’t matter. It’s only tiny pinpricks, and it doesn’t seem to be bleeding anymore.

She puts the ice pack back on, grits her teeth at the renewed chill.

“And ‘Home’ definitely can’t see the shower?”

The window clacks softly… which is to say, menacingly.

“They can’t. Only the front yard and the other room.”

“Fine. And I’m taking the berries with me.”

“Okay. It’s upstairs.”

The stairs in question are a bit small, she can take them two at a time with relative ease. Wally follows closely behind, and she only barely resists kicking him down the stairs when she gets to the top.

But then she has another problem. The bathroom door.

She does not want to get bit.

She eyes the ‘welcoming’ door that has opened for her, and Wally, for once, can put two and two together.

“I’ll hold it open.”

“I doubt you’re stronger than Home.”

“Home wouldn’t hurt me.”

…Maybe so.

“Ah, goddamnit. I didn’t do anything to deserve this.”

“You tried to leave Home.”

“I meant in general.”

“I don’t get it. What-“

She turns around to face him, her finger pressed against her lips.

“Shhh… Don’t speak.”

Thankfully, he does shut up, silently positioning himself so that Home would have to crush him too if it tried to bite her.

She slips in as quickly as she can, stopping by the sink. She places the berries on the counter, examining the swelling skin again. No more blood, it really is done. 

“…Can I touch it?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“I thought you didn’t want to hurt me.”

“I can be gentle.”

Oh my God.

“Pain is not enjoyable even when it’s ‘gentle’. You have actually felt pain before, right?”

“Yes.”

Interesting. And reassuring. Not a complete monster.

“…What hurts you?”

“…I don’t think I should tell you, ha ha.”

“Well, then don’t be asking what causes me pain. Ass.”

“…No, that isn’t fair of me. I burned myself once, on a hot pan. It hurt a lot.”

Oh. Of course. Fire would be a puppet’s worst enemy.

“Can humans burn?”

“Yeah.”

“Right, because you’re meat, you would cook.”

No. Just-! 

“Wally. Stop calling me meat. I’m serious.”

“But it’s what you are, isn’t it?”

Yes, but no. And he absolutely cannot be calling her fucking ‘meat’ in a neighborhood of morally ambiguous puppets.

She has to be smarter about this. If insisting that she’s not ‘meat’ doesn’t work, then she needs a different angle.

“Calling humans meat is like… Calling you a sock.”

“…A sock?”

“Yeah. A puppet is basically just a sock.”

“No? I wear socks. I’m not a sock, ha ha.”

“No, you're pretty much a sock.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

She takes the clothes from his hands, knocking the stack against his chin as she lifts it. Lucky her, he included socks, orange ones.

She puts one sock on her good arm, forms a mouth in the sock with her other hand. 

Then she proceeds to mock him.

“I’m Wally! I don’t have social intelligence or a vocabulary more advanced than a five year old! Nice to meet you!”

He stares at the puppet, like he’s never seen one before. Which is ridiculous, because he sees them everyday.

“…I don’t understand.”

“See? This is a puppet. This is what you are.”

“But it’s just like you too. It’s speaking.”

“Look at your skin, Wally. It’s just like this sock. But you're not just a sock, and I'm not just meat. So calling me meat is fucking rude.”

Please let this bullshit make sense to him. Which, really, isn’t that bullshit-y. It’s basic empathy. Treat others how you want to be treated. Don’t call her ‘meat’ anymore.

Because he has no ground calling her ‘meat’ when he’s just a creepy, living sock.

Wally tilts his head, and for a moment she thinks he might have actually understood.

“…But I don’t smell like a sock.”

Jesus Christ.

“What? Have you ever actually smelled meat? I don’t smell like meat. I have a distinctly non-blood smell.”

“I can’t smell. What’s ‘blood’?”

She wanted to avoid the meat talk, and here she is, basically having the meat talk.

“Is it something meat has? Do you have it?”

God, she can’t do anything right.

“Get out. I need to shower.”

“Can I stay-“

“Out.”

“Okay, I’ll be right outside.”

Yeah, she knows he will, no boundary-having son of a bitch.

The door has a small lock, thank god. She’s not sure if Home could control that too, and doesn’t dare ask. Ignorance is bliss, she thinks.

Then she’s alone in the small bathroom. It’s very… Yellow.

A box catches her eyes, a note on top. ‘For the new neighbor! -Howdy’. 

Shit, guess that’s her.

…Holy shit, it’s a matching toothbrush and hairbrush set.

Oh god, clean teeth! Thank you, Jesus! 

…Do puppets have teeth? She hasn’t seen any. How did he know to get her this? Maybe it was after he saw she had teeth. But this also implies that puppets have teeth, because why else would he even have this?!

She calls out to him from behind the door, a bite in her voice.

“Wally?!”

“Yes?”

“Do you have teeth?”

“…No?”

“Why did you hesitate?!”

“You’ve seen my mouth, you should know I don’t have teeth, ha ha!”

“Who has teeth then?!”

“Ha, you do, silly!”

“Then how did Howdy know to give me a toothbrush? And how do you know what ‘teeth’ are?!”

“He gave it to me a few days ago! I went to get apples after you and Barnaby were there and he said you would need it!”

“…He what?!”

“He also explained teeth to me! I didn’t know you had bones!”

“Oh my god.”

They know she has bones. Probably everyone does. A bone-filled meat bag.

She is never going near Barnaby again. Or anyone.

Wally, meanwhile, is still calling questions through the door at her.

“But your ‘teeth’ don’t look like bones! Why don’t they look like Barnaby’s bones?”

“Don’t talk to me! I am not okay talking about meat or any of my bones!”

“Do you have more bones? Where are the other bones?”

“La la la! I can’t hear you over the shower!”

She cranks the knob, more violently than necessary. But it doesn’t turn back, and maybe Home is giving her a break… or maybe they can’t control this.

She waits a moment, but Wally has been sufficiently shut up. Shit. Will she have to avoid meat talk and bone talk now? Goddamnit!

She strips, and she’s temporarily distracted by finally being free of those horrible pajamas. She hopes to never put them on again. Except for the bra. Well, maybe she can forgo it tonight.

Since she’s sleeping here.

Ugh, how did she let this happen?

Now she’s here, in this sentient, bitey house. In this puppet neighborhood that has apparently known all along that she’s meat and bones! 

What is she supposed to do with that?! Is it useless to try to hide the humans-are-meat-and-bones thing? Since apparently everyone already knows while she’s been denying it like a lunatic?!

No, she’s not in the wrong. They shouldn’t fucking talk about that shit when they know she has that boundary…

‘They’? She means ‘he’. Wally’s the one fucking bringing it up all the time.

…But Barnaby called the smell ‘tasty’. Did he know then what she was? That she was actually meat?!

She just can’t do this. She just can’t. Someone get her out of here, please. She can’t live here anymore.

She sits down on the bath mat, watching the water fall in front of her. Leaning back against the sink cabinets, she tries to talk herself out of her imminent spiral. 

Because, just for now, it’s okay. She’s in the shower. The door is locked. She can freak out about the bone thing later. There’s no reason to do this now. She should be showering, not wasting the hot water. 

But getting up feels impossible, her legs heavy. She sits as the room heats from steam, wondering when the hot water will run out. It’s a small house, the water heater can’t be that big.

She should hurry and get in before it gets cold. 

It’s both harder and easier to get up than she thought, a slow hesitance hampering the smooth movement.

She sticks her hand under the water, and takes in the warmth. It feels nice.

No, not nice. Nothing about any of this is nice.

…Fuck, she doesn’t want to think about that anymore. About being here. 

She just wants to pretend she’s back in her apartment.

And she does that. With warm water on her back, she can close her eyes and imagine she’s back in her shitty apartment. Except with better water pressure.

But she can’t fully pretend. Not with the hot water burning its way down her scraped arm. Still, she props the arm against the cool tile wall, and tries to enjoy it.

She stands there for a while, wondering if the hot water will ever run out. It’s a careless indulgence. She hasn’t even cleaned herself yet.

But the water doesn’t get cold, and eventually she knows she should get moving.

…Wally has a lot of hair products here. Ten bottles is too many. 

Maybe she should be grateful to have any choices. She could be stuck with a three-in-one shampoo. That… well, in this situation, a three/in-one shampoo would be the least of her problems.

She chooses a non-apple scented shampoo from the lineup, and gets to work.

After she’s done washing herself, she lingers until the hot water starts to make her feel nauseous. Even then she considers just turning down the temperature a bit and sleeping here under the endless warm water.

…But her skin is already going to be dry as hell when she gets out. She doesn’t need to make it worse for herself.

She towels herself off, investigates the pile of clothes. There is underwear, a pair of boxers. No bra.

Damn.

At least the shirt is soft, although, having short sleeves and pant legs after three days in long pajamas… She feels a bit exposed. Very exposed.

Wally better not get overly familiar. Or bring up bones. Please don’t bring up bones or meat.

With that thought, she does brush her ‘bones’. Her teeth. 

…Maybe the toothbrush is a good thing. She knows everyone here is a puppet, but a toothbrush could also be an accepting thing? This could mean they know other sentient people that have teeth? Why else would Howdy have one?

She wants to ask him. She will ask him. This is… she needs to know how he knows about toothbrushes.

She slings the towel around her hair to keep it from making her shirt wet. Then she gathers up her pajamas. She hates them, but they’re hers… and she’ll want to keep ahold of her only bra. 

She opens the door hesitantly, and despite the wood not resisting the movement, she knows better than to trust Home.

A yellow hand pulls it open the rest of the way.

“You take long showers.”

“Get used to it.”

“I will.”

Gross.

She slips out of the bedroom, tries to ignore him ogling her. Yeah, she has skin, get over it.

“I didn’t mean it literally. Just, take me to my- uh, the guest bedroom.”

“Your bedroom is across from mine.”

“The guest bedroom.”

“Yes, your bedroom.”

“…The guest bedroom.”

“Your bedroom.”

He leads her the short distance to what must be the guest bedroom. He starts to open the door, once again keeping himself as the safety cushion for her to squeeze past.

But she doesn’t go in right away, just looks for a moment. A pink bedspread. Yeah, that has Julie written all over it. Light blue walls. Yellow trim. A strange sun decoration hanging on the wall.

She walks in, and he tries to follow. Well, she can’t have that. She blocks him with her leg, and he catches the door before it hits him.

She hopes he feels like she’s looming over him when she stands this close.

“From now on, you aren't allowed to come in here. Ever. Bedrooms are off-limits.”

“…Can I show you around first?”

“It’s a room. I’ll figure it out.”

“Okay, that’s fine. It is your bedroom.”

Bastard.

“I’m not living here. This wasn’t a choice I made. Your house literally won’t let me leave.”

“You can leave in the morning. Then you’ll come back tomorrow night too.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“You will.”

She takes her hair down, feels the wet towel in her hands. Wally is much too pleased with himself.

She wants to smother that shitty smile.

He doesn’t flee more than a flinch as she thwaps the towel over his head. When that isn’t satisfying enough, she assails him, roughly handling his face and hair through the towel.

She tugs it off, letting the towel fall to the floor. 

She’s ruined his hair, all disorganized clumps and stray hairs

Still fucking smiling.

“Why did you do that?”

“To make you miserable.”

“That’s so silly.”

“I just messed up your hair. Be more upset.”

“But I’m about to take my bath anyway? Ha ha.”

“I hope you drown.”

“What’s ‘drown’?”

“It means the water stops you from breathing.”

“Water can do that? Is that bad?”

“It’s bad. And I hope it happens to you.”

“I don’t breathe. You know that.”

“I wish you did. So you would drown.”

“That’s rude.”

“Should’ve kidnapped a kinder human.” 

“No, I like the one I have, sunshine.”

She does not like that.

“I’m not yours.”

She’s not a pet.

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m not. Actually, you’re mine. You owe me. All of your shit? Mine. Your food? Mine. Hell, your apple? Your favorite apple? The one you’ve painted a few dozen times? That belongs to me now.”

He pauses, seems to consider it. Maybe she’s proven her point. 

“Okay.”

…’Okay’?!

“What if I eat your apple?”

“You won’t.”

“I will.”

“You won’t.”

“If it’s the last thing I do, I will eat your apple.”

“You said bedrooms are ‘off-limits’.”

“…You don’t sleep with it, do you?”

“It’s on my nightstand.”

“God, that is so… weird.”

He loves apples so much he keeps his favorite one by his bedside.

“Just get outta here. I hope Home bites you on the way out.”

“They would never do that to me.”

“Congratulations.”

They leave, indiscernibly murmuring from down the hall. Must be talking to ‘Home’.

…That’s so weird. That she’s alone, but not alone. Home is listening.

Can Home feel her? Like, her feet on their floor?

Well, that’s more than enough motivation to get into bed.

She ditches the pajamas on the floor with the towel, and makes haste to scramble up onto the bed.

She sits on the comforter. It’s… very pink. The stitching is a little uneven in places. But it’s a whole ass comforter man!

…It makes her miss her old comforter. 

Around her… It really is a strange room. There’s a short orange bookcase with rounded corners, a… red leggy sculpture of sorts on top of it. Better not look that way once the lights go out. Kinda looks like a little demon.

Although the real demon is just a room away! Haha!

She slips her legs under the covers, trying to be quiet in case Home is listening. Which, when would Home not be listening?

…The sheets are nice. Real nice.

She resists the urge to swish her legs under the comforter.

Oh my god. Is she for real? Spend a few days out in the wilderness and suddenly she’s a sucker for anything comfy?!

…Well, she’s always been a sucker for that.

But she can’t be seduced by this house. She just can’t be. She is absolutely not okay living in a sentient house.

She reaches for the lamp, cringing inside from the pattern so clearly based off of Barnaby, and turns off the light.

She wakes up, sun in her eyes, and groans. Too bright. 

And for a moment, pulling the comforter over her face, it’s almost like she’s at her apartment.

Almost.

Blue walls have already ruined the fantasy for her.

Shit. She doesn’t even remember falling asleep.

She runs her face against the pillow, savoring the clean smell and feel…

No, not savoring. There is nothing special about this. She could have this at home. Her home. Where she is not. Because of a lunatic in a puppet’s body.

Hold on, sun. It’s morning.

She needs to get out of here.

She tries not to worry about House hearing or feeling her skitter around the room, putting her dirty bra back on under the t-shirt, stuffing the rest of the pajamas under the bed.

The red on her arm has darkened into a bruise, her scrapes making the skin almost scaly from thin scabs. It’s an ugly thing, and she already dreads having to navigate that conversation with Wally.

…She looks at the sculpture. She still doesn't know what it could be beyond some demonic figure. Creepy.

She goes to Barnaby’s lamp, feels the smooth fabric of the shade, and almost gets the shit scared out of her by a rainbow bug.

Cockroaches. This house has fucking cockroaches. Well, should she call them-

…Why isn’t it moving? At all?

…It’s not a bug. It’s a fucking hair clip.

Fuck this place.

She leaves the room, bug clips eagerly abandoned.

In her haste, she had forgotten about the door, her body jerking at the reminder of the near-bite after she’s already at the top of the stairs.

Shit. Maybe she caught them off guard. She wasn’t waiting around when she sped out the door.

She goes down the stairs, the shithead himself suspiciously absent-

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

Vomiting. Throwing up. Retching.

“Good morning, fuckface.”

“You are very rude.”

“And proud of it. Don’t call me ‘sweetheart’.”

“You like ‘sunshine’ more?”

“No.”

“If I had a name…”

“Fat chance.”

“Please?”

“No.”

He hums, and she can tell there’s a petulant disagreement on his tongue.

Then his eyes dip down, and catches something else of interest.

“Your arm is black. Why is it black?”

She ignores him, walking around him and skirting around the corner to the kitchen, wary of the brief glimpse Home must have stolen at her.

“Please tell me why it’s black.”

“It's actually a darkish purple.”

Should she be hiding it? Would a puppet know bruising is a quality of ‘meat’?

“Why is it purple?”

“That's just what happens.”

“Ha ha, I don’t understand.”

“It’ll go away. Just a bruise.”

“What's a ‘bruise’.”

He lifts a hand to touch it and she takes a step away from him, lifting the arm out of his reach.

“I told you not to touch it.”

“You did. Sorry.”

He doesn’t sound the least bit apologetic.

She looks away from him, towards a smaller table. 

“I made breakfast.”

He did. There’s two pieces of toast on two plates, an array of jams on one end of the table. On the other end, three apples are gathered too. Green, red, and dark red.

Wally makes their way to the seat facing her, beckoning her over. 

She tells herself she comes closer only for the food, not because she’s ‘obeying’ him. He can’t tell her what to do.

“Please, take an apple.”

She looks at Wally, and he tilts his head at the attention. 

“Well, which one of these do you want?”

He smiles warmly, pleased at the offer.

“The bright red one. Thank you.”

She picks it up, starts to hand it to him. As he lifts his own palms up to accept it, she pulls it back, holds it against her chest.

“This one’s mine now.”

“Ha ha… That’s so mean.”

“We’re not friends. Also, by now you should have known better.”

“I don’t know how I could’ve known you would trick me..”

“You couldn’t’ve? I’ve tricked you loads of times. But here, let’s give it another go. Which of these two apples left would you like?”

He pauses, staring at her. He’s smarter this time.

“…The green one.”

But not smart enough. She takes the other red one, and is pleased when his mouth drops open, just the slightest bit. He looks so shocked.

“But I asked for the green one!”

“Yeah, but I knew you would ask for the one you didn’t want because you thought I would take it. Also, I know you prefer red apples… Did you put out two red apples so you could have a red one no matter what I chose? Very sneaky of you.”

Luckily for her, he’s a sneaky idiot.

She sits down, her two apples by her plate.

“…Are you gonna get an apple?”

He looks solemnly across the kitchen, and she follows his gaze. There’s a bowl of apples on the counter, predominantly red.

“Thinking about the coward’s way out?”

“What’s a ‘coward’?”

“Someone who takes the easy way out.”

“You tricked me.”

“I did.”

She can still see him thinking about it, maybe cursing her out in his pea-sized mind. But he takes the green apple, and places it by his plate.

Well, look at that.

“I’m so proud. You’re really growing up.”

He nods, like he really did do something brave by taking the rejected green apple.

“Thank you.”

She sits down in the notably small chair. She has to spread her knees so they don’t knock against the lower rim of the table.

Looks like any comfort this house begins with warm showers and ends with Julie’s comforter.

She looks across the table to her ‘host’. He’s staring at her. Waiting for something.

“Are you going to eat?“

Oh, right, breakfast.

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

“Why aren’t you?”

He pauses, glancing down at his food.

“I can’t do it when someone is watching.”

“…Really? This is what you’re self-conscious about?”

“What is that?”

“It’s when you’re nervous about doing something in front of people. But you’ve been shameless about all your… everything, really.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Then eat. I’ll be watching.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I cant.”

“Wally. You’ve already told me that you can. You mean ‘I won’t’.”

“I won’t.”

“There we go. Now do it.”

“No.”

“The more you don’t want to eat the more I need to see it.”

“Ha ha, you can’t make me do anything.”

“Ahh, you bitch. How dare you turn that against me.”

“I like using it.”

“You and everyone else.”

Ugh. She should not be teaching him all these things. Barnaby’s right. She’s a terrible influence.

…Well if she has to suffer captive here, they do too. Captive to her. She’ll corrupt every shitstained corner of this neighborhood. 

Oh. They’re staring at each other in silence again. Wally never responded to her.

…Maybe he’ll respond if she gives him a little leeway.

“Please eat?”

“No.”

“Damn. That’s the last time I use ‘please’.”

“Please continue using it. It will make you seem nicer.”

“No. I’m going to become the town bully.”

“‘Bully’?”

“It means I’m going to make everyone in town cry.”

He straightens in his seat.

“That is so mean. Don’t do that.”

“I’ll do it.”

“You will not.”

“I’ll start with you.”

“I have never cried.”

“…Really?”

“Yes.”

“You must have cried.”

“No.”

Well, since everyone here treats him like glass, no wonder he wouldn’t.

“I’m going to make you cry.”

“You can do that?”

Bastard actually looks curious.

“Yes.”

He places his hands on the table, waiting patiently.

Well, he asked for it.

“Your hair is dumb.”

“My hair is very lovely.”

“You're short.”

“Yes, I am. Ha ha.”

“Red is a terrible color.”

“It is the most.”

Damn. Well, she could really try harder. Curse at him and shit. But she thinks that would confuse him more than hurt him.

…Hold on, should she be trying to insult the monster of unknown capabilities?

Fuck, it really is easy to forget what he is when all this… dumbness is right in front of her.

She… She should actually be doing something. Not just fucking around with her kidnapper.

She stands up, takes the apples and leaves the toast.

“Where are you-?”

“I’m leaving. Come let me out through the front.”

“Please sit down.”

“No.”

She walks into the main room, where Home can see her, and resists the urge to pitch one of the apples right through one of its ‘eyes’.

“Don’t try to bite me and we can both walk away from this. Or, I can, at least.”

Not that she’d risk leaving only through Home’s good will. But warning the thing wouldn’t do any harm.

Oh, there’s a stool. She can use that.

She picks it up, and gingerly opens the front door. Just like in the bedroom, it opens as smooth as butter.

She uses the stool as a barrier as she steps over it, leaving it in the doorframe. Wally is right behind her, halfway looking like they want to climb over the stool after her. 

“Don’t follow me.”

“But I wanted you to meet-“

“No.”

And with that she walks away from Home, keenly listening for any footsteps.

She hears none. Small mercies.

Okay. She’s out. She’s okay… She’s alone.

But that’s preferable. And she’s not breaking any rules… that she knows of. So she should be fine, even if Barnaby shows up.

God, she hopes he doesn’t try to find her. 

She walks away from Home, not really sure where she’s going except ‘away’.

She takes a bite of an apple with her teeth. Her bones. They know she has bones. Well, Wally only seemed to be aware of her teeth-bones. 

She doubts the others are the same.

Ugh, no, she does not regret leaving the house and puppet maniac behind. She doesn’t.

She can take care of herself perfectly fine out here. And she hasn’t broken any rules. That they know of. So there shouldn’t be anyone coming after her. It is safe. She is safe. She can do what she wants.

And she wants… to have something to do. Well, she should be doing something to help her situation, right?

…She’s in another world with no conceivable way back home. What is there for her to do?

She could follow through on her promise. Corrupt the town into foul-mouthed sailors… Although the idea of Barnaby coming after her for that offense is far from a pleasant one. Especially since he probably knows she has bones.

Why did he stay outside last night? Maybe he thought she would try to sneak out, try to stop her from breaking that stupid fucking rule. She wasn’t exactly subtle about the whole ‘tent’ thing.

…Or maybe like Wally implied, he could want an excuse to eat her.

If she doesn’t follow all the rules, then would the rules not apply to her? 

That seems ridiculous. She’s out a few minutes past curfew and suddenly they’re getting the fine silverware out? No. That makes no sense.

But she had wondered before if anyone had ever broken the rules. If no one did, there would be no reason for punishments. Or, the bird neighbor would have been eaten by now… assuming they were caught. And assuming the town loves a slow roasted bird.

Or! They could have liked the bird neighbor enough to forgive them. She’s sure there would be very few protesting if it was her on the chopping block. Besides Wally. 

…But Wally said he lied to Barnaby to ‘protect’ her. So he must know that something happens. Then again, he literally doesn’t know what ‘punish’ means. But maybe they called it something different in front of Wally, like ‘ouch-ouch’ time. 

She needs to ask him, she needs some fucking answers about how this place works. Since she’s fucking living here now, apparently.

God, she doesn’t want to stay here. She wants to go home. Her home.

Maybe she could make Wally send her back? If she could be as unpleasant as possible.

But damn him, insults seem to roll off him like water on a duck's back.

She wants him to fear her.

…Really, making him fear her wouldn’t help. If she believes him, he doesn’t know how to send her back yet, and doesn't intend to learn. If he suddenly feared her, wouldn’t it make more sense for him to just sick Barnaby on her instead? 

Maybe she can just lie down and die somewhere. That seems very appealing at the moment. She can just lie in the lamb’s ear and pretend she doesn’t exist for a while.

What if she just refused? Refused to talk with him? Would that make him angry? He seems patient enough on the outside. But he’s pushy. And he keeps getting what he wants from her.

She really doesn’t like that part. Things keep happening how he wants them too. Really, that’s what's been going on since she first called him.

And she keeps teaching him things. Like how to fucking lie to her. She literally just gave him another lesson about tricking people this morning.

Barnaby’s right. She’s creating a monster.

…But then maybe Barnaby can help. Maybe he could convince Wally to send her back. The dog would want that too, right? He doesn't want her here to corrupt Wally.

Or maybe he would take the knowledge that she doesn't really belong here to go ahead and eat her. Then he could lie to Wally and say she wandered off into the forest. He said he wouldn’t keep anything she said from Wally… But to protect the innocent little baby, maybe he would. 

Fuck, she just doesn’t fucking know. She doesn't know anything about these puppets.

She just wants to go home-

Oh god, there’s another puppet.

Wait, it hasn’t spotted her, she can still get away. 

Except, there isn’t exactly anywhere to hide. The town is wide fucking open besides the houses and some trees. She doesn’t know how she didn’t spot them in the first place.

Fine, she’ll hide behind a tree like a toddler. A toddler safe from mentally unstable puppets.

She peers around the tree, watches the puppet for a moment. 

They’re trying to put a new plank of wood across two fence beams. But the poor fucker is trying to hold it up and nail it in at the same time.

…It’s kind of amusing. He looks so helpless. Maybe he’s like Wally. She’s not sure if she would prefer that over them being more forwardly intimidating like Barnaby.

Damn, she really is feeling how unarmed she is out here. She should have taken something, right? A knife? That would hurt them too, right? Can't really ask Barnaby or any other homicidal puppet to hold on one moment while she lights a match. Can’t run and light a match at the same time either.

“Hey!”

Shit. The puppet’s looking at her.

“You’re the new neighbor! I’m Eddie! Can you help me out?!”

“I think I’ll stay over here!”

Far away from the unknown puppet.

“Are you a little nervous?! That’s okay! Moving is hard!”

He has no idea.

Now that he knows she’s here, but doesn’t seem inclined to approach or further beckon her closer, she’s quite comfortable leaning against her tree to watch him. Breakfast and a show, right?

He almost gets it a few times. Once using his leg to prop up the plank, or trying to perch it up in his elbow. Really, the issue comes from getting a good enough angle to use the hammer properly. He keeps missing the nail, and when it does land it’s too weak to do more than glance off the head.

…She’s not going to help him. She absolutely cannot show acceptance of this kidnapping situation in any way. Which includes being kind. Helping this mess is a decidedly kind thing to do.

Oh god, he’s trying to use his teeth now to hold up the plank.

Okay, so if she helps him, she has an ally, right? Kinda? Someone in the town who doesn’t hate her… and who isn’t Wally.

But this guy might not be far off. 

Shit… Walking over there is going to be awkward.

She tosses her eaten apple core aside, and tightens her sweaty grip on the waxy surface of the darker apple she still holds.

“...Hey there.”

He sits up, grinning at her.

“Are you gonna help?”

“Yeah, I am.”

This better not end up being a stupid decision.

But it isn’t hard, he babbles a bit, and she silently moves to hold the plank with her free hand. He takes it from there, and she flinches when he only needs one good hit to get the nail in. 

“It’s so great to have another neighbor! I can't wait to learn all about you.”

He takes another nail from his pouch, positions it. It’s hit in again with only one stroke of the hammer.

He goes to the other beam, and she keeps her eyes on the hammer in his hand.

“I made the shelves in your room! I’m real good at woodworking, but I’m also the mailman! So you'll see me running around a lot! It's a surprise I haven’t run into you yet, it’s already been a couple days.”

Two more nails, two more hits. Each one cements it into the wood up to the head. There's no fumbling, no uncertain movements.

She watches the end of the hammer as he twirls the tool around his fingers and she gets up from her crouch, taking a step back from him.

“Say, I don’t remember you telling me your name! What is it?”

Ah, not this again. 

God, she can’t keep having this conversation. Maybe she should just make something up at this point. Or tell them her actual name.

But most preferably, she’d rather just exit this conversation as soon as possible before she has the chance to antagonize him.

“I should get going. I have things to do. Many things.”

She takes another step back, and he follows her with a much bigger one of his own.

“Oh! That’s right! I heard from the others that you forgot your name!”

He takes another step, almost landing on her toes, and she has to back up just so he doesn’t bump into her.

But he just keeps fucking walking?! And what else can she do but awkwardly keep backing up?!

“So, was that true? Did you just forget it?”

“I suppose, yes. I ‘dropped’ it somewhere, haha…”

Shit, walking backwards is not easy.

“You know, I forget things all the time. Real bad with names and places.”

“...Then why are you the mailman?”

She almost stumbles, a thick tuff of lambs ear trying to catch on her heel. Then her back hits something, something smooth. Ah, fuck. She let herself get backed into the one tree in a fifty yard radius.

She lifts her arms, ready to punch the fucker in the jaw or stuff her apple down his throat. He doesn’t seem to notice the threat, stepping right up to her. She feels like his breath should be on her face, but puppets don’t breathe. 

She hopes her breath smells bad, gets him to back off. She does not want to punch the buff puppet.

“Be careful! You almost fell over there.”

“You’re very close.”

So back the fuck up.

“No, it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

…She wasn’t saying it for him?! It’s too close for her, dammit!

“I might not have the best memory for a mailman, but I gotta help out the neighborhood somehow! You’ll find your niche too, don’t worry. And back to the name thing, you can totally take your time remembering it. You aren’t going anywhere!”

He laughs, much too loud for being this close to her. She tries to stand taller, despite the volume making her want to cower back from his voice. 

“I guess not.”

“Thanks for helping me out! You’re much nicer than I’ve heard.”

Shit, exactly how much have they been gossiping about her?!

“It was nothing. Really.”

So leave her alone. Or maybe she can just weasel out the side. He’s only blocking her front.

“Actually, since you don’t have anything to do today, why don’t you tag along with me?”

No way in hell.

“No, I don't think I will.”

She says it harsher than she probably should, but he just laughs, doesn’t take the sharpness in her words as malice.

“That’s totally fine! Don’t let anyone pressure you into getting busy right away. If you just want to lay down and take a nap, that’s exactly what you should do!”

“Maybe.”

This puppet is… Weird.

He, fucking finally, takes a step back, allowing her to breath again.

“I’ll see you around, greenhorn!”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sure! I’ll think of something else! Maybe I can make a list, I have a lot of nickname ideas! But of course, this is only until you remember your real name, unless I find a nickname you like!”

“Right, right.”

She edges to the side of the tree, so Eddie wouldn’t be able to back her up against it again. 

“Okay, I have to head out! Lots of handiwork to do today! See you around!”

He jogs away from her, and…

Damn. Was that a positive interaction? Her first positive interaction in this hellhole?

No. Just because she didn't curse him out doesn’t mean it was positive.

And something about him was… off. He had seemed so inept, trying all those crazy ass ways to hammer in a plank… Then she offered to help, and it changed, didn’t it?

…No, he doesn’t seem trustworthy.

But he was kind. Or, at least accommodating. Didn’t push her to do anything, even though it was… uncomfortable. That’s what it was. Just because he didn’t frown at her didn’t mean it was positive. It was still concretely unsettling.

She wonders if backing her into the tree was purposeful, or if he’s really that dense. The longer she thinks about it, the more she doubts the ‘pitiful dum-dum’ show he gave her.

Ugh. Can she just chalk it up to another crazy puppet and call it a day? She’s supposed to be thinking of a plan for… something, not obsessing about the danger rating of a puppet.

…Except she should also do that too. Kind or not, a puppet who would pull that kind of casual deceit is not one to take lightly. 

She turns around, doesn't want to risk bumping into Eddie again if she follows down his same path.

Only to see her fucking nemesis again. Wow. God is really hating on her today.

Wally is watching her from a small distance, and he better have just fucking gotten here.

“How long have you been following me?”

He ignores her question, the bastard, skipping up to be closer to her. She kindly resists kicking him, her leg twitching from the impulse.

“Ha ha, I’m glad you’re friends with Eddie now.”

“I’m not his friend.”

“You helped him.”

“I don’t think I did.”

“You did.”

“I don't think he actually needed it.”

“It still counts.”

Well, that's all the confirmation she needs.

“No. It means he tricked me.”

“You still helped.”

“What the hell do you want from me?”

“You weren't rude either. You didn’t curse at him once.”

“I’ll correct that the next time I see him.”

“Please don’t. You two are friends now.”

“I don't have any friends here.”

“I’m your friend.”

She doesn’t know how many times she has to fucking tell him that they aren’t friends. 

“Maybe Eddie is right. I should just lay down and die here.”

“You keep mentioning that. What is ‘die’?”

“Something bad.”

“You already told me that. And that it’s painful too.”

“You wouldn’t like it. If I died you couldn’t harass me anymore.”

“What’s ‘harass’?”

“It’s when you keep talking to someone who doesn't want to talk to you.”

“You can’t talk if you ‘die’?”

“You can’t do anything when you die. No talking. No eating. No sleeping.”

“Please do not die.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“You will not die.”

“Pfft, I’m gonna die whether you like it or not, puppet man.”

“Ha ha, no, you won’t.”

“I will.”

“You won’t.”

“I literally will and you are gonna look so dumb when it happens.”

“I’ll make you not-die.”

“Doesn’t work like that.”

“How does it work?”

“I die. But then I do not un-die. I will do nothing forever.”

“...I don’t understand.”

“You will. When I die.”

“Please explain so I understand it now.”

She pauses, leans back against the tree not too far away. She’s not worried about Wally trying to trap her against it. Measly fucker’s only three feet tall.

“You know, in a way it’s almost comforting? No matter what you do, I will have to die. You can’t own me forever.”

It’s not the freedom she wants, but it is a freedom in its own way. And her last ‘fuck you’ to Wally.

“I really don’t get it, ha ha.”

“I don’t care if you understand it.”

“Please tell me.”

“No. I think it could be even better as a surprise.”

“...But surprises are good. You said this was painful yesterday, when you said you would ‘starve’.”

She slides down the tree, crouching with her back against it. She's closer to Wally’s eyes, a little lower than him, but she doesn’t mind in this instant.

“What do you call a bad surprise? If it was a pregnancy, you’d call it an accident.”

“What’s ‘preg-”

“Oh, I got it. It’s called a ‘shock’.”

He has enough time to move, she knows he does, has seen his speed. But he lets her shove him, although he does seem taken aback by the force, almost tripping onto his ass.

“Don’t push me.”

“My death will be ‘shocking’ for you. I guess I prefer it that way.”

“I won’t let you die.”

“That’s not up to you. I don't know what you are, but I know you’re not a god.”

“I can be a ‘god’.”

“Do you even know what a god is?”

“...No. But I said I wouldn’t let anything hurt you. Even… ‘die’.”

“You mean ‘even death’.”

“Even death.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“Then tell me how it works. Please.”

“Let me think about it… No. I don’t think I will.”

His brow twitches, perturbed. She tries to enjoy the small movement.

“You… are so difficult. I don’t understand why you won’t tell me what it is.”

“I did tell you. It’s ‘nothing’. It’s not my fault you don’t understand what that means.”

“…That’s not funny at all.”

“It’s very funny to me.”

“Why are you so difficult?”

“Because I’m not your friend.”

“I could be. We could be best friends.”

“I don’t want to be your friend.”

“…I think I’ll change your mind.”

God, how many times has she had this conversation with him? It’s useless.

She changes the subject, uninterested in hearing anymore of Wally’s nonsensical delusions.

“So, what happens when someone breaks the rules?”

Wally pauses, and she wonders if he’ll try to go back, ask more about death. But he decides to oblige her, thankfully.

“...I don’t know. I’ve never been caught.”

“Did you break the rules often?”

“Never, until I brought you here.”

“You don’t know anyone else who broke them?”

“No.”

“…Then why did you lie to Barnaby, say that you protected me? Didn’t you know something bad would happen? Some kind of punishment?”

“I didn’t have a good reason for lying then. I got there, and you weren’t at Barnaby’s, and... I just did. I’m glad I did. I don’t know what would have happened if I didn’t.”

“…Do you think it would have been bad?”

“I don’t know. Ha ha, no one tells me those things.”

There’s that irritated twitch again.

“Yeah, they definitely wouldn’t tell you if it was bad.”

“I could ask, I’ve never asked that before… but I’m not good at knowing when someone is lying to me.”

“Yeah, you’re pretty trash at it.”

“I’m getting better. Your lies don’t last long, ha ha. I think I’m starting to get it.”

“Shut the hell up, I’m a great liar.”

“Thank you for teaching me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go on to lie a lot to Barnaby for me.”

“I don’t want to do that.”

“Sucks to suck.”

“Ha, you’re so rude.”

Then why is he still smiling? Ugh, what a fucking weirdo.

She doesn’t rush to fill the short silence, and he continues with his own questions.

“What would a ‘punishment’ be? You said it was bad.”

“I don’t know. Anything. Barnaby wants to ‘punish’ me for cursing by taking away my food.”

Fucking bastard. She won’t let him if he tries.

“I think I’ve been punished too.”

“Yeah? How?”

“A week ago I tipped over a barrel of Howdy’s apples. So I had to pick them up. Barnaby helped me.”

“...Did they make you pick them up?”

“No? But that’s what you do when you make a mess. You clean it up, ha ha. It was fun, we made a game of tossing the apples back into the barrel.”

“I don't think that counts as a punishment.”

“Right. Punishments are bad.”

“And sometimes you don’t even do anything to deserve it.”

“…When does that happen?”

“It happens when you fuck around with stranger danger and get kidnapped from your own home to live in this shithole.”

He cocks his head, conveniently confused by this comparison.

“This isn’t a punishment. It isn’t painful to be here.”

“It is mentally exhausting. Other humans don’t have to worry about being eaten.”

“I already told you no one would eat you.”

“Then why do you keep fucking talking about me being meat! And saying shit like Barnaby wants to eat me!”

“Because you are meat? And Barnaby won't eat you, it’s against the rules. Ha ha, your teeth would be too small for him to chew too! So you don’t have to worry. It is safe here.”

Oh, for fucks sake. He’s never gonna get it. And now she has to deal with meat talk and bone talk.

Bastard.

“You know what? I’m going to eat you.”

Wally smiles wider, amused by the thought.

“No, you won’t.”

“I will.”

“You said you’d rather ‘die’.”

She did.

“I was lying.”

“I don’t think you were.”

“Oh? Suddenly you’re the czar of lies?”

“‘Czar’?”

“You know what Wally? Cute little Wally Darling who can do no wrong? I’m going to punish you.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I literally just reminded you that you stole me from my home.”

“You have a new home now. With me, here. With Home too.”

“You can’t decide my home for me. That’s not how it works.”

“But you have a bedroom. And hot showers. And I fed you.”

“I’m not a fucking pet.”

“What’s a ‘pet’?”

“An animal you keep.”

“…Is that what you are? An ‘animal’? A ‘pet’?”

Not if she can help it.

“If you try to call me a pet, I will fucking strangle you.”

“Hm… ‘Pet’.”

“Don’t fucking feel out the word you dipshit.”

“What animals are pets?”

“Dogs.”

“Ha ha, maybe Barnaby would want to be my pet.”

“Nothing sentient would want to be a pet.”

“Why not?”

“Because pets don’t get choices. Just like how I don’t have fucking choices.”

No choice but to stay, no choice but to live in Home, no choice but to barter stories and shit jokes for food for the rest of her miserable life.

…Wally has been very quiet.

“You know what Wally! You’re the fucking pet! ‘Home’ is the one fucking giving you shelter and shit!”

“…I guess I am? Ha ha. I don’t mind them taking care of me.”

“Well! Aren’t you just so fucking content! And happy!”

She stands up, flustered and fucking furious.

“Follow me and I’ll beat the shit out of you.”

“…I don’t understand why you get like this.”

“That’s because you have the emotional capacity of a fucking grain of rice!”

She starts to walk away, but something tugs at her shit.

The shitbag has grabbed the hem of her shirt, demanding her attention. She swats the hand off, even as she turns back to hear him.

“I know you’re not happy to be here, and I’m sorry this feels like a punishment. But it isn’t, this place isn’t bad! Please give it a chance. You could really like being a neighbor!”

“I don’t need to give it anything. Send me back to where I belong.”

“…If I send you back, you won’t talk to me.”

“I swear to god I will.”

“Ha ha, you’re lying, aren’t you?”

“I am not!”

Oh, she’s lying alright. If she got back, she’d go all paper. No phone, no TV, no laptop, no nothing.

But Wally doesn’t need to know that. Wally doesn’t know that.

Yet Wally gives her, her, a fucking patronizing stare, a humoring nod.

She wants to kill him. Make him suffer in ways he’s never suffered.

“I… I’m going to get you for this.”

Wally tilts their head, curious, unthreatened.

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know yet. But I will figure it out. And you might not be sorry now… but you will be.”

“…I am sorry.”

There’s just no getting through to him. It’s a mistake to even try. It’s just… never gonna happen.

“If you follow me, I will beat the shit out of you.”

Then she hears a step, soft, hesitant.

She turns, feels the smooth surface of the apple under her thumb, and pitches it at him.

She misses, partly because he steps aside. But her aim is shitty enough that she would have only hit his arm anyways.

It stops him, and he breaks his gaze from her to watch the apple roll to a stop behind him.

She turns away, and the absence of footfall behind her is decidedly less comforting than it should be.

She does visually check behind her after a few minutes. He really does seem to be gone.

And once more she is alone! Set free upon the neighborhood to do… something!

She could… get everyone cursing. Ahaha. So funny.

…What if she chose a direction and just ran? Or, well, walked. Maximize distance away from the town.

She’d have to leave at dawn. Not be noticed.

But then there’s the issue of her tracks. Wally was able to follow them that first day. He isn’t against going out at night, he could follow her as soon as he noticed. Which, despite his utter stupidity, is not something she thinks would take long.

And if she covers her tracks, tries to ruffle the lamb's ear… She would not get very far, to say the least. Barnaby would sniff her out.

Shit. She should have taken advantage that night in the rain to get out. Rain could have covered her tracks well enough.

…Ah, so she just has to wait for rain.

Holy shit. If it rained really hard, so hard that anyone would get soaked even with an umbrella, then she wouldn’t have to worry about any of the puppets coming after her… except Wally. So she’d just have to trick him.

This, this is good.

Should she make a get-away bag? Food for a few days? She’ll have to hide it outside of Home. In the movies they would bury it by a tree.

Wow. She did not know her mood could improve this much with just a few thoughts.

Even though there’s issues with this. Mostly the risk of not knowing what the fuck is out there.

But she knows what’s here, and it is not fucking good.

Okay, now she’s a little nervous about it.

She looks to the sky. Not a cloud. 

She’ll have time. She’ll prepare, and then she just has to be brave. She can be brave. She’s the bravest bitch on the block!

She leaves the path, strides into the lamb’s ear.

Okay food. Toiletries. Hairbrush. A change of clothes? Maybe not that, she doesn’t want to carry much weight. 

…Damn, she’s disgusting. Spend three days in the same pajamas and suddenly she thinks wearing the same clothes for a week might not be so bad.

The sun is warm on her legs. She sits down, and wonders if she could get a sunburn in this world.

…Maybe there won’t be anywhere to go. She thinks the worst case would be a huge monster, but maybe the worst scenario would just be starving to death. 

Which is worse? Slowly starving for the few weeks it takes to die or getting eaten in the few minutes it takes for a giant bear to gobble her down?

…She honestly doesn’t know. Both sound reasonably horrific.

“Hey! You!”

She jerks at the voice, for a moment thinking Wally had found her again.

But that’s dumb. This is clearly not his voice. It’s Julie’s.

“Oh, it’s you.”

She watches the puppet with some apprehension as they approach. Is this a confrontation? Julie does seem riled up for something. Should she be getting up to fight her? She doesn’t want to. 

She kneads a hand into the lamb’s ear, tears a few leaves. The leathery greens leave an unpleasant sticky feeling on her fingers.

Julie is next to her now, hands on her hips. Confrontational indeed.

“What are you doing out here?“

Truthfully?

“Avoiding Wally.”

“Why would you do that? Did you do something?”

“He creeps me out.”

“How would Wally creep anyone out? It’s Wally.”

“With ease.. Fucking following me everywhere. Trying to get me to do things.”

“He’s just trying to introduce you to people and show you around. You could be more appreciative.”

“He didn’t send you, did he?”

Bastard.

“No. I just saw you laying out here alone.”

“What? Did you think I was up to something bad? Damn, I can’t even sit on my ass in peace.”

Her arms drop, eyes averting hers.

“That… is fair. Sorry.”

Oh wow. She’s apologizing.

“Whoa, careful Julie, you might just become the most rational puppet in the neighborhood.”

“Everyone’s rational here. And kind. You could work on those qualities.”

“I prefer pushing people away.”

“That’s… so sad.”

“I am very tragic.”

“Less sad.”

“Ah! That’s extremely rude.”

“I don’t have to listen to that from you.”

“…Hey, can you do me a favor?”

“Why would I do anything for you? You said you would ‘never’ be my friend. And I only do favors for friends.”

“I’ll be your friend if you do me this favor.”

“You overestimate how much I want your friendship.”

“Damn. You’re really breaking my heart here.”

The flower puppet pauses, looks around. She sits down quickly, her dress ‘wuffing’ on the lamb’s ear.

Then Julie leans in, whispers very quietly to her.

“…I won’t do it… but what is it?”

She doesn’t return the same courtesy of whispering.

“Curse in front of Barnaby.”

Julie frowns at her, returning to her normal volume too.

“What? No.”

“I see the fire of hate inside you!”

“I prefer release through healthy competition.”

“But you could also curse! Come on, no one’s around. Haven’t you done it before?”

“…”

“Oh shit. Which one did you say?”

“I don’t curse.”

“Liar! Don’t you know it’s no use lying to a lying liar like me?”

“You’re not a good liar.”

“What? I’m a great liar.”

“Not really… Wally’s just very gullible.”

“I’m going to tell Wally you insulted him.”

“It’s not a bad quality. It’s endearing. And you’re taking advantage of it. You should be ashamed.”

“Uh, I’m proud of it? Wally signed up for this.”

A kidnapper has to suffer for his choice of kidnappee.

“It’s very dishonest of you.”

“Have I ever given you the impression I was an honest person?”

“Never.”

“Asshole. So, new question.”

“Why would I answer anything when you just called me that? No one has ever called me that!”

“It’s done with affection.”

Julie gives her a flat look, unamused. Somehow, she soldiers on through it.

“Come on, cupcake. One question.”

She points at her own mouth, sneering to show her teeth.

“…Do you know what these are?”

Julie dips their gaze down indulgently, and answers without hesitation.

“No. Something like Poppy’s beak, right? But inside.”

Oh thank god. Julie doesn’t know what teeth are.

She agrees absently, still mulling over this discovery.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“I haven't seen a puppet with those.”

“You should be jealous.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just want you to be.”

“That is very… Honest.”

“I’m making big strides in character development. Aren’t you gonna praise me?”

“No.”

There’s that unimpressed look again.

“You’re an ass.”

“That is very rude.”

“You could be rude too… Say it. Insult me.”

“Wally was right. You are so weird, and difficult, and-! And just weird!”

“Wally’s weirder.”

“No. He really isn’t. You are, though. And despite your crassness, you really are harmless, aren't you?”

‘Harmless’?! She’ll show her fucking harmless.

“I will burn down your house.”

“Do it. It’s been chilly lately.”

“I will pee in your garden.”

“Good. My plants will enjoy it.”

“How dare you call me weird and then encourage me to pee in your garden.”

“You offered.”

“I look forward to your face when you see me out your window pissing in your garden.”

“It will look like this.”

And then Julie smiles, sweetly, as if she had just called the puppet beautiful. It’s a natural, childish sort of smile.

She hates it for that.

“Yeah, we’ll see if it stays that way when I decide I'm due for a shit instead.”

Julie coughs, a very badly disguised laugh.

Damn. Little girl Julie has potty-humor.

“Say it. ‘Shit’.”

“I would never say that.”

“I’ll get it out of you.”

“Unlike some people, I wasn’t raised in the woods.”

Doesn’t she mean ‘raised in a barn’?

“I was actually raised in a bush. It’s okay, I know they look similar to simple minds.”

“Again, very rude. You do know that if you had just cut out the insults, this would have actually been a very pleasant conversation.”

“No regrets. I’m a curse-slinging hoe for life.”

“We are going to work on that.”

“Good luck, cuntcake.”

“...I don’t know what that one meant, but it felt worse to hear.”

“It was especially ‘crass’.”

Julie gets up, rolling her eyes. She rolls her eyes too, making sure Julie sees her doing it. But the bitch doesn’t take the bait.

“I have to get going. I’m meeting Frank to look for a special beetle. Have you met him yet?”

“No, and I intend to avoid him forever.”

“You’re so dramatic. If you want, we’ll be this way. You’re welcome to join.”

Julie strides off through the lamb's ear, presumably towards ‘Frank’. She doesn’t call after the girl with any sarcastic response, although she’s tempted to.

…What a weird conversation.

Yeah! It was weird, wasn’t it? Was she being fucking ‘playful’? Her?! With that puppet?!

…Julie does seem to be the most predictable of the puppets she’s met. Or at least she hasn’t been intimidated by them yet.

Shit. She was being friendly with the girl. Worse than being kind, ‘friendly’.

She doesn't need friends here, right? She isn’t staying. 

Julie is a one-off. That talk was a one-off.

If she had actual people here she wouldn’t be this desperate for sane interaction… Not that their conversation was entirely rational.

But the thought stands. Whatever this was… She can’t trust it, and even if she did, there’s no relationship to be built there.

Because she’s not fucking staying here.

She gets up, leaves in the direction of town, away from Julie and her open invitation.

She’s hungry, after all.

She feels like a stray cat, approaching the bodega like she’s halfway attempting to sneak up on it.

She knows Howdy doesn’t like her much after yesterday, but he’d still feed her, right?

Either way, she’s hungry and the only other option is going back to Wally’s.

Shit. She shouldn’t have thrown that apple at him. She could have eaten it.

She enters, bells ringing above her head. She takes the initiative to speak first as she strides down the aisle.

“Hello.”

“Hello! All alone today?”

“Yes. You gonna feed me?”

“Just don’t curse in my shop.”

Damn. Maybe Barnaby planted that idea in his head. But this is still plenty workable when food is involved.

“Sure.”

Howdy begins to lean over the counter, but seems to think twice, choosing to straighten instead. Not that she’s complaining. She doesn’t want the eighth foot bug looming over her.

“Well, you know how it works. You feel up for trading your name today?”

“No. I’ll stick with Caterpillar.”

“I’m flattered.”

Wow. He looks genuinely happy. 

She doesn't dare consider saying anything to circumvent that happiness.

“Actually, I had something I wanted to talk with you about first.”

But, well, fuck. Let's have a little confrontation about the ‘teeth’ thing while he’s already in a good mood.

“...Is it about your toothbrush?”

“What?! Who told you that?”

“Wally came in earlier.”

“Ah, damn him… Sorry.”

“That’s your one pass.”

“I am very sorry.”

“Don’t do it again.”

Don’t jinx her, asshole.

“...What exactly did Wally tell you?”

“That you were worried about being what you are.”

“...And what am I?”

“An animal. Wally specifically called it ‘meat’.”

She’s going to kill him. She’s going to wring his scrawny rat neck.

“I… am going to be very unkind to him soon.”

“Don’t be mad at him, he’s just worried. You’re not adjusting very well to the move.”

Yeah, people don’t tend to adjust to a kidnapping.

“Wally also told me you’re worried about Barnaby eating you.”

…HE WHAT?!

Holy shit, she can’t believe Wally just outed her. She’s been too relaxed around that goddamn bumbling donut.

“Caterpillar, look at me. I’m a caterpillar, and I live in a neighborhood with a bird. But even if birds ‘stereotypically’ eat bugs, that doesn’t mean it has to define our relationship. We’re good friends, and she’s given me some great ideas for safety around the neighborhood. Sure, there are more awkward aspects of our friendship, but she would never try to actually eat me.”

The bird would never ‘actually’ eat him?!

“The bird wants to eat you?!”

Holy shit! And he’s still her friend?!

“No, Poppy doesn’t. Because we are neighbors, friends, and most importantly, we are both people. Caterpillar or bird, we are both thinking puppets.”

Yeah, thinking puppets that want to fucking eat each other! And he’s just okay with it?!

“I’m saying you don’t have to be scared of Barnaby. I think that if you cleaned up your language a bit more, you’d get on real well! So don’t overthink it.”

“And if I don't he’ll eat me.”

“No. He would not eat you even if he didn’t like you.”

“He said I smelled tasty.”

“...He said that?!”

“Yes!”

“That Barnaby… Don’t take what he says too seriously. He might not even realize you’re actually meat, I mean, an animal. It’s, it’s rude, yes, very rude, but it’s not a big deal.”

“Don’t tell me it’s not a big deal! Everyone here is eating meat! But I don’t see any cotton behind this counter, so where’s the puppet meat?!”

“No, I don’t serve ‘puppet meat’. It's another rule of this neighborhood, we don’t eat puppets.”

“Well, aren’t I conveniently omitted from that rule?”

“We could add you? We haven’t exactly had an animal, ah, human resident before.”

“Thank you for your thoughtful consideration.”

“Well, why would you have an issue with us serving meat? You’ve eaten my ham sandwich twice! I thought this was normal for you!”

“It is not normal for ‘neighbors’ to think about eating each other!”

“We don’t think about eating each other! You’re greatly exaggerating this situation, caterpillar. Just, calm down for a moment.”

She drops her gaze to the meats on display. Pork, beef. Lunch meat mostly, but there are bigger cuts with bones.

“...How did you know what teeth are? Julie doesn’t know, neither did Wally. And the only ones here are in steaks and porkchops.”

Howdy pauses, averts his gaze.

“…I don't think I should tell you.”

“You can’t say that and then not tell me.”

Howdy still hesitates, and if she was a few feet taller maybe she’d be brave enough to grab him by his throat.

“Howdy. Tell me how you know about teeth.”

“...When I get our meat, it comes as the whole carcass. I’m the one that does the butchering. Of course I know what teeth are.”

Oh my god. Ohhh my god.

She backs away from the counter, holding her hands up.

Howdy has been patient so far, but she sees the first hint of real irritation now, his brow dipping into that eerie frown.

“Where are you going? You eat meat! You had butchers where you came from, didn’t you?”

“All I hear is that I’m not off the menu.”

“No one is going to eat you here! And if it makes you feel any better, I’m strictly vegetarian!”

“It does not!”

“Just- why does this bother you so much?!”

“Because!”

Because they can eat her and she can’t eat them. But they don’t know that second part, and she isn’t going to leak it now.

“That’s not an answer! Come back here, I don't want to yell across the store!”

She’s almost at the door, almost to freedom from the fucking butcher of the town.

“Hey, hold on!”

She pushes back against the door, small bells ringing above her. Howdy has leaned over the counter, all four hands perched, some on the wood surface, others on the displays next to him. He looks ready to lunge over the counter at her.

That’s more than enough to light a fire under her ass.

She keeps her eyes on him as she slips out, ready to break into a sprint the moment Howdy moves.

But then she bumps into something that’s soft on her arms and the back of her legs. It’s fur.

Barnaby.

She freezes, hands forming fists.

“Hey kiddo, I’ve been looking for you. Listen, about yesterday-“

She doesn’t try hard to punch him, her flailing more to get space than to actually smack him.

He backs up, lifting his own paws. Maybe it’s supposed to be non-threatening, but it only feels like he’s preparing himself to grab her.

“Don’t touch me!”

With this small distance she’s found, she turns from him and bolts like the devil is after her.

“Kid? Kid?!”

She curses him as she runs, not daring to turn her head back.

“I’ll fuck you up!”

“I just want to talk to you!”

Oh thank god, he sounds farther away. He isn’t chasing her.

She doesn’t insult him again, and she never hears the pounding of paws behind her.

But she runs until she hits the forest, and then a little more after that.

“Holy shit. Oh, holy shit.”

When she finally stumbles to a stop, leaning against a tree and wheezing, she can hardly believe the conversation she just had.

They want to eat each other, and no one has a problem with this.

But even if they ‘would never’ eat each other, isn’t it still fucking disturbing?! And why would you be friends with them?!

Well, she’s not going to be friends with anything that wants to fucking eat her. Not Barnaby, not Wally, who she thinks implied it a few times, and not even fucking Howdy. ‘Vegetarian’. He butchers animals! Fucking bastard saying it like it makes him harmless.

And where… where does he get the meat? Howdy implied someone brought it to them.

Is there another way out of here, then? A better way?

Well, escaping through the fucking meat providers might be the quickest way to death of any here. They might not mind adding ‘human’ to the list for their buyers.

Ugh, she feels sick.

Maybe it’s also her hunger exacerbating the feeling, but she’s quick to sit down, hoping to soothe the feeling before she actually barfs. Putting her head between her knees also helps, and the feeling abates after only a few minutes.

She sits there for a while, just trying to feel the moss under her toes and the unnatural tree supporting her back.

But she never has long to come back to herself, not in this town.

The footsteps are light enough to rule out Barnaby or Howdy. It hardly grants much relief for her rising anxiety.

She raises her head to see the puppet man she hates most. He walks right up to her feet, staring at her.

“You are the last person I want to see.”

Small lie. She barely prefers him over Barnaby. 

“I saw you run into the forest. Why did you come here? Are you trying to hide until night? That’s not going to work again, ha ha.”

Bastard, what the fuck does he know?

“Maybe I will sleep out here. Everyone in that that fucking town wants to eat each other and I’m not fucking having it.”

She grabs at his sweater, pulls him close enough that he needs to glance down to keep himself from tripping over her feet. His eyes are on her again in the next moment, no longer as relaxed as they were before.

She thinks she’s starting to get it. That wide-eyed look with only a hint of his usual smile means he’s taking her more seriously. Maybe she should manhandle him more often if it intimidates him this much. She’s real fucking tired of him brushing her off all the time.

“Send me home where no one wants to eat me.”

“No one’s going to eat you here.”

“I don’t care what you think the other puppets will do. You clearly don’t know any of them as well as they know you.”

“I know them, they’re my friends, ha ha.”

“Friends who baby you, dumb it down for poor little Wally who doesn’t know any words over seven letters. You don’t know anything. Worse than that, you think you could actually protect me. God, you're delusional.”

 “Why are you being so mean? I haven’t done anything wrong, ha ha.”

“Why did you tell Howdy about the fucking Barnaby thing? Hm?”

“He knows about meat, and I asked if he could help. He said he would talk to you. Do you feel better?”

“I feel worse.”

Wally pauses, just for a moment.

“Oh. Why?”

“Because everyone here is insane.”

“Everyone here is kind and would not eat you.”

“Actually, I learned there’s a rule against puppet meat, not human meat. One of your ‘besties’ eating me is still very plausible.”

“You’re a neighbor. Neighbors don’t hurt neighbors.”

“I’m not a neighbor! I don’t live here!”

“You live at Home now, so you're already a neighbor. Silly, ha ha.”

“That’s not my home.”

“It is now. Unless you want to be an ‘wild animal’.”

“You know what a wild animal is?”

“Howdy told me. And there are no rules against eating wild animals.”

…He’s trying to threaten her. Scare her.

She can’t let him know it’s working.

“Wild animals are also violent. They’ll fuck you up to protect themselves. Do you want that?”

“No, and you don’t want to fight either. So you’re a neighbor.”

She’s not a neighbor, and she’s not a wild animal. And…

“…Wally, why don’t you know what death is?”

Wally tilts their head at her, his hand coming to hold her wrist. She gets goosebumps at the contact, and although Wally’s eyes latch onto the movement, he answers her question.

“Because you haven’t explained it to me, ha ha.”

“No. You know what it means to eat an animal. So you should know what death is.”

“…I don’t understand.”

“Animals die when they’re eaten. It’s the most obvious shit in the world. Are you that fucking ignorant?”

“You’ll die if you’re eaten?“

“Yes! Holy shit! Yes, I would be dead and in someone’s belly forever.”

Until they digest her and crap her out. Oh god, that’s disgusting.

“But you’re not actually gone?” 

“Yes I would be? I would be dead.”

“Aren’t you still somewhere? Just inside Barnaby.”

“What?! No! If Barnaby wanted to eat me he’d have to bite me into little pieces! Like a hot dog.”

“And that would kill you.”

“Yes.”

“What if you were eaten in one piece?”

“Then I would suffocate because I need air to breathe.”

“And if you can’t breathe, you drown. And then you die.”

“It’s only ‘drown’ when you can’t breathe because of water. Otherwise it’s just ‘suffocate’.”

“… Ha ha, ‘Suffocate’. That’s a strange word.”

“Don’t say it like that. Oh my god, why do I keep having these conversations with you?”

“I don’t know if I can eat air, though.”

What? Who cares?

“I dunno? You just swallow it? Isn’t that hard. You’ve never swallowed a lot of air and burped?”

“No, ha ha ha. I can’t burp. Barnaby tried to teach me. I couldn’t do it.”

“Well then you can’t eat air. What a shame.”

“I agree, ha ha.”

What an idiot.

“Listen, I don’t want to be eaten and die, and I don’t want to play nice with puppets who want to eat me. Because they might actually eat me, and then I would die. Can you follow that?”

“Yes.”

“Finally. Some progress.”

“But no one would eat you here. So you can be friends with Barnaby or anyone else.”

“Well, never mind then! Never mind! There’s no hope!”

“I have plenty of hope.”

“Of course you do. And you know what? I actually do have some hope. Hope that I can bring you half as much misery as you cause me.”

“Ha ha. I think we’ll be good friends.”

“You… are so delusional, I literally have nothing else I can say to you.”

She loosens her grip, and Wally steps away. His hand trails along hers as he takes it back from her wrist, and she brings the assaulted limb to her chest, a grimace on her face.

“So fucking creepy.”

Wally adjusts his sweater, smoothing out the wrinkles.

“That’s rude.”

He follows it up before she can spit another insult at him, smiling as if nothing is wrong, as if nothing had ever been wrong.

“It’s getting late. Have you eaten?”

“…No.”

“Come back with me to Home. I’ll make dinner.”

Ugh. It’s probably bad that going inside Home doesn’t seem so unthinkable anymore.

“No…”

Even now, she’s refusing mostly just to spite the bastard.

“You can’t be outside at night.”

“Why do you keep saying that as if I care?”

“I’ll feed you. And you can have a warm shower. A warm bed.”

“I hate you.”

“Ha ha, I don’t think you mean that.”

“I really, really do.”

“Can I feel your ‘bruise’?”

Ignoring her again, huh?

“I already told you no.”

“Please?”

“It doesn’t feel any different from the skin you’ve already felt.”

“Really?”

Well, her scrapes are rough. But she’ll lie if it gets him off her ass.

“Yes. I don’t get why you keep asking to touch me.”

“You’re warm. It’s strange.”

“You’re strange.”

She looks up, at the sun that's just starting to set. 

“I do need the restroom… And this doesn’t mean I like Home. I will get my tent.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I will.”

“You won’t.”

“I will, and you’re gonna be jealous.”

“I doubt that.”

“Just you wait.”

She gets up, dusts her pants off, and starts walking back the way she came.

“We have pillow forts at home.”

“I’ll make you into a pillow fort.”

“Ha ha, what does that mean?”

“Ah, I don't know. Just stop talking.”

“No. I have more questions.”

“Choke on them.”

He hums, and she hopes that's the end of it.

But it never is.

“Hold my hand, please?”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Can we trade again?”

“What can you give me?”

“…Food?”

“You’re gonna give me that either way.”

“Do you have any questions I can answer?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Why is the burden of the trade on me? You’re the baby who wants his hand held.”

“I’ll ‘shut up’ for the walk back if you hold my hand.”

“Wow. That’s actually kind of tempting.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. But the point of you shutting up is so that I can pretend you're not there. I can't do that if I have to hold your hand.”

“Please?”

“You are incessant.”

“What does that mean?”

“Annoying. You won't stop talking.”

“If you hold my hand, I’ll stop talking.”

“The more you want it the less I want to give it to you.”

“...It would make me very sad if you held my hand.”

“That's a pathetic lie.”

He tries again, ever the incessant nibbling flea on her back.

“I don't want to hold your hand anymore. You are very mean.”

“Oh, really?”

“...Yes.”

“That’s too bad. My hand is lonely.”

“...”

She looks down at him. He’s still staring at her face with that familiar intensity.

It’s like a dog, waiting for their release command to stuff their face with dry kibble. Really, holding her hand isn’t that special.

But if he wants it that bad…

“I want to live outside in a tent.”

“No. That’s not allowed.”

“I want to eat your favorite apple.”

“No.”

“I want… to go home. My home.”

“Ha ha, you know I won’t do that.”

“Well, you are shit out of luck.”

“We’re still a long way from Home. Are you sure you don’t want me to be quiet?”

God, they are. She shouldn't have run this far.

She doesn’t want to listen to him anymore. Not about fucking words, not about humans, not about meat…

Meat.

“Okay, Wally. You can’t talk until we get to Home, and you can’t talk about meat anymore. As in, never again.”

“...I won't talk about meat tonight.”

“Tonight or tomorrow.”

“Tonight and tomorrow morning.”

“Ah, fuck you. Fine.”

That lukewarm hand finds hers, and she wants to crush his hand in hers. Probably wouldn’t even notice, no bone-having fuck.

But she gets to enjoy a blissful walk home. Blissful-ish. She can’t escape Wally’s presence, and she knows he’s watching her out of the corner of her eye. 

She doesn't look at him once, and hopes he’s disappointed by it.

It’s a bittersweet relief to finally get to Home. She does have to actually go inside, and she has a staring contest with one of its eyes as Wally holds open the door for her.

“Home won’t bite you again.”

“Yes. They will. Statistical inevitability, remember?”

“I remember. But it won’t be now.”

No, probably not. 

She takes the risk, jumping through the door and nearly knocking her and Wally over in the process. They don’t mention it, scutting around to be in front of her.

“Come make dinner with me?”

“No. You do it.”

They pause, and she wonders if they want to fight her on it.

“Okay. You can stay here.”

Good. 

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

He leaves, and she’s left alone in the center room.

She doesn't have to stay here, could go huddle up in her room. The guest room. But she hasn’t looked around here. Maybe there’s something useful.

She tries to ignore the eyes she can feel following her. She doesn’t have anything to hide. And she isn’t near any doors or windows that could bite her.

It’s… a little spooky to be here. She’s seen this place before on the TV. He painted sometimes by that side window for light. There’s nothing there now.

There’s also a red couch, and-

Oh. There’s a phone on a short end table. Old, with a curled wire connecting the receiver to the base. Bright red too. 

She walks over, the room feeling very quiet. This is where it started. The end of her life as she knew it.

She wants to smash it.

She picks the phone up, her arms jerking up when it’s much lighter than it appears. It doesn't have a cord running out the back. Does it… How does it work?

She places it back down, picks up the phone. The dial tone plays.

Sitting down on the end of the sofa by the phone, she slowly types out 9-1-1 and waits for the call to connect. But the phone continues in that same tone… damn. What, would that have been too easy for her?! Fuck.

“Who are you trying to call?”

He’s back.

“The police.”

“Police?”

“Someone to come beat you up for me.”

“Humans have people for that?”

“Yes. But they also beat up people who don’t deserve it. You would be the rare exception. You deserve it more than anyone. I would pay good money for them to beat you into the New York pavement. See how you’d like piss-fermented gum in your hair.”

“Ha ha, you’re so mean.”

She places the phone down, ignoring him. Then her attention goes to a small box nearby.

Holy shit. It’s a rolodex. So clearly he knows what phone numbers are.

“Wally… Why was I the one that had to call you?”

“I didn’t have your number. I only have cards for the other neighbors.”

“You could have asked for it.”

“Oh. You know your own number?”

“You don’t?”

“I don’t.”

“Well, where did the other neighbors get your number from?”

“They already had it? I don’t remember getting their numbers either.”

“What, you moved in and the rolodex was already here?”

“...’Rolodex’?”

“This box with their numbers.”

“I think so.”

“Ugh. You make no sense.”

She flips open the box, starts filtering through the cards. They’re printed out in a clean, simple format. Half of them she recognizes.

Oh, there’s Julie’s.

…Would she be at home?

Well, she’s not going to call her… Except to fuck with her. 

She starts to punch in the number. Next to her, Wally perks up, smiling. But that bastard has no idea what Julie’s in for, and a ‘pleasant’ or ‘friendly’ conversation is far from her capabilities.

Julie picks up the phone, and she steels herself.

“Hello?”

“Is your refrigerator running?”

“What? Oh, it’s you-“

“Is your refrigerator running?”

“…Yes, why?”

“Well then, you better go catch it!”

She snaps the phone down on its rest, the loud clack unpleasant to her ears.

Wally tilts his head, and she relishes his confused expression.

“…Why did you-“

Then the phone starts ringing. She knows who it is.

She picks it up, the ringing halts, and she places it back down again.

“That’s rude.”

“I live to be rude.”

It rings again, Wally reaches for it, she picks it up first, hangs it up once more.

“That’s very rude.”

“It’s almost night. She can’t come and get me.”

“You need to apologize.”

“Wally, sit down.”

“No. Stop being rude to Julie.”

He tries to reach the phone again, and she picks him up by his shoulders, places him on the couch a foot away from her. The phone starts to ring, and she turns away from him as she picks it up and places it back down once more.

Wally is staring at her, that pinch in his brow betraying his unhappiness.

She stares back into that dark gaze, dares him to do something about it.

She expects another insistence for her to be kind, or maybe another proclamation of her rudeness.

She doesn't expect him to scoot closer to her on the couch. His gaze, cautious with that hint of eagerness, betrays his intentions.

“No.”

“What is it?”

“I would rather die than cuddle you.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

“I’m letting you be mean to Julie.”

“You’re three feet tall, you’re not letting me do anything.”

The phone rings, and she looks away to hang it up once more.

That’s the opportunity he’s been waiting for. God, he’s fucking touching her. Gross.

“I’m five seconds away from pushing you off the couch.”

“I’m not hurting you.”

He shifts a little closer, leans his head on her arm.

“God, you’re like a cat.”

“A ‘cat’?”

“Cats love harassing people who don’t want to be near them.”

“Do you like cats?”

She loves them, actually. But Wally isn’t a cat. He’s a mentally unstable puppet.

“I eat them.”

Ugh, that joke feels wrong in her tongue. She would never eat a fucking cat.

Wally calls her out on the lie. 

“Liar.”

She doesn’t know how he knows, or maybe Julie is right and she’s just a shitty liar.

“Yeah. But I still don’t like them.”

“I bet you like them, ha ha.”

“I don’t.”

“You haven’t pushed me away yet.”

Yeah, she should probably get to that.

She, rather abruptly, slips her arm behind his back to push him forward, cackling as he tumbles to the carpet.

“Ha! I would never do that to a real cat.”

He rolls to his back, sits up to watch her.

“So you do like cats.”

“Yeah. But you're not a cat.”

“You said I was like a cat.”

“You’re more threatening than a cat is. And less cute.”

“I’m very pretty.”

He stands up, moves to get on the couch again. She shifts, crossing her legs along the edge of the sofa cushions, blocking him from climbing up.

“Sorry, no puppets on the sofa. You sit on the floor now.”

“Ha ha, that’s mean. It’s my couch.”

“As I said yesterday. Everything you own is mine now.”

“Please let me up.”

“Bring me dinner and I’ll think about it.”

“Ha, okay. It’s a trade.”

He walks out, and she calls after him with as much annoyance as she can put in it.

“I didn’t say it was a trade!”

He doesn’t respond. Bastard.

She looks forward, to large eyes watching her.

God. She almost forgot about Home. They’ve been watching everything.

She sticks their tongue out at them, and they roll their eyes at her, door shuttering in its hinges. Asshole.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

Their blinds half shut, giving her the impression of an unentertained stare.

Yeah, ‘asshole’ is right.

She breaks their eye contact, and spends the next five minutes fiddling with the rolodex, pretending she isn't ignoring how Home is still staring at her. 

God, Home and Wally make quite the pair, don’t they?

She hears a microwave. Okay, warm food for her. That’ll be nice. And maybe reassuring that Wally isn’t making her a PB&J like a literal five year old.

No, when he finally brings it out, it’s a fucking pasta salad.

Damn, alright. Let’s fucking go, an actual meal.

“Did you make this?”

“Yes, earlier.”

She takes it from him, generously curling up her legs for him to sit on the other end of the couch. He sits, and doesn’t move to go fetch his own bowl.

“...Are you not eating?”

“I'll heat mine up later.”

“You still won’t eat in front of me?”

“Not yet.”

“Aww, and here I thought we were becoming friends.”

“You’re… such a weird person. Always saying those strange sentences.”

“Baby’s first time with sarcasm?”

“‘Sarcasm’?”

“When I say one thing, but my tone leads you to believe I mean something else.”

“Ah. You do that a lot.”

“Do I?”

“You just did it again, ha ha.”

“‘Ha ha’ indeed, puppet man. Now stop staring at me. Look at Home or something.”

He pauses, but ultimately obeys her wish. Not without scooting a little closer to her legs, thankfully not actually touching her.

They’re silent for a while while she eats. And… It feels wrong to lounge on a couch with food and no TV.

“It’s a travesty you don’t have TV.”

“What’s a ‘travesty’?“

“Something very sad.”

“…What do you watch on the TV? Just us?”

“Other things too.”

“Other puppets?”

“I’m not a big fan of Sesame Street, so not really.”

“What’s that?”

“Another neighborhood.”

That gets his attention.

“Another neighborhood with puppets like me?”

“Yeah. There are puppets and humans on that show.”

“Did the puppets know they were being watched?”

“…Sometimes? No, I guess they did. They did things like you did. Directly address the viewer, ask them questions.”

“Can I talk to them?”

“I hope not. I’d rather protect them from your creepy ass. Unless they’re also demented. Hopefully not, their neighborhood was more normal than this.”

“What is ‘normal; for a neighborhood? I don’t think we’re missing anything. We have it good here, ha ha.”

“I don’t know. There are more people and buildings on that show.. This place is just… so fucking empty. The trees all look the same, there aren’t any animals or small birds. Just bugs.”

“…Empty?”

“Yeah. Have you always been here?”

“Yes.”

“Weird. Guess that’s why you think this place is the shit.”

“What else are we missing?”

“I don’t know. The ability to interact with each other without a little voice in the back of your head telling you to eat them.”

“We don’t eat sentient things here.”

“Thinking about eating someone else is only one step from actually eating someone else.”

“I thought you didn't want to talk about… The animal thing.”

“You’re right. I don’t.”

They’re silent for a few minutes. Really, she's a little impressed. Wally’s been able to tolerate silence surprisingly well this evening.

But all good things must end.

“Oh. I got it.”

Ugh.

“Got what?”

“The joke. The refrigerator is running, so she has to go catch it. But refrigerators don’t actually run.”

Oh, for God’s sake.

“Good job.”

“Thank you.”

“…So, back to the whole TV thing…”

“Yes?”

“What’s going to happen on Saturday? When the neighborhood goes on TV?”

“I have already thought about it.”

“…And?”

“Ha ha, I don’t know what would happen if they saw you. I want to learn more first. But I am curious to find out if you can feel them watching like I can.”

…It could be a chance to get help. Maybe someone who knows what’s going could see her, someone who would know that she doesn’t belong there. Really, all she’d have to do to ensure it is swear on live TV. That would get their attention.

Maybe Wally is already thinking about that possibility, since they want to hide her. 

If she wants this chance, she should make sure he thinks she agrees with him.

“I agree. I don’t know what would happen.”

A little bit of truth always makes a lie more palatable, doesn’t it?

She feels Wally’s eyes on her, and hopes to god he’s as gullible as Julie says.

Chapter Text

Their conversation has chilled her. She doesn’t want to let it show, but pretending to be relaxed while the puppet slowly edges closer to her is much easier said than done.

“I’m going to push you off the couch again. Do you think I don’t see what you’re doing?”

“Please don’t push me off.”

She turns to watch him. He’s staring up at her, betraying nothing behind that stupid smile.

She sees him start to lean, probably to scoot fucking closer, again.

Before he can, she shoves the empty plate at him, almost making him tip over at the force.

“Go wash my plate.”

The bastard isn’t put off by the demand, obligingly taking the plate.

“Okay. Will you wait here?”

“Sure.”

He takes her plate, leaves for the kitchen. She only waits a moment before she gets up too, snagging the stool and ignoring Home’s eyes as she sneaks up the stairs to the bathroom. Hopefully the running water disguises her escape.

She uses the stool to get into the bathroom, almost tripping over the seat and eating tile. Fuck, fuck it all. She hates this shit.

Having to use a stool just to open a fucking bathroom door. Whatever. She’ll… get used to it. Maybe. Unless she escapes or gets eaten first.

Fuck, she lives her now. She lives here for now. Not forever. She’s not going to live here forever. And if Home thinks they can lull her into a false sense of security by letting her open doors, they have another thing coming. She knows what they’re capable of, and she’s not getting fucking bit again.

She brushes her teeth, uses the restroom. She’ll skip a shower tonight, hurry and hop into bed. Maybe Wally’s still busy upstairs.

But she’s not the only one tiptoeing around. Wally is waiting outside the bathroom when she finally comes out.

“Goodnight.”

She tries to cut any conversation short with that curt statement, climbing over her stool and taking it with her to the guest bedroom. 

“Ha ha. Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Gross!”

One more chair transition later and she finally has another door between them.

Her and this stool are gonna be fast friends, aren’t they? Her own Wilson the Volleyball. Except, it’s a stool. Ha ha, what about Shitty McStool the stool? Get it?

…Okay, she needs to put the stool down. She’s not going to get emotionally attached to a stool.

She leaves the stool by the window, squinting past the glass. It’s dark outside. Empty, quiet, and so fucking creepy. Now that she’s spoken those qualities, they seem more glaringly obvious than ever before.

She gets into the bed, pulls the comforter up and tugs it tight around her. It feels colder than last night, her toes curling from the unpleasant chill, and she can’t remember where she put those orange socks.

Fuck, she wants to be home.

In the morning… She doesn’t get out of bed when she wakes. 

She should. She should be making a bag full of food to escape during the rain, or figuring out a plan to get attention on Saturday… She doesn’t think she’s brave enough to go back and ask Howdy for more information on his meat suppliers. But she still has two perfectly good plans to pursue. 

Yet here she is, unwilling to do so much as shift beneath her covers.

Fuck. She knows she’s not this pathetic. Come on, she’s better than this.

Fine, she’ll think of a plan. The safest would be waiting until Saturday, right? If she tried to get help that way, the worst case scenario would be contained to Wally’s reaction. He’s the only one who knows they’re being watched, so only he would get more mad than usual if she cursed.

…Wally’s never been mad at her though, has he? Exasperated, a bit annoyed, but not mad. Is he even capable of it?

Well, of course. If he can be annoyed then he can be mad.

Mad Wally… What would that be like? Does she really have anything to fear from it? He’s three feet tall.

…He also kidnapped her from a fucking dream.

Maybe she can still risk it. He doesn’t fully understand any consequences of her drawing attention to herself. It could be worse if she did it later when Wally already knows there’s an ‘unfavorable’ outcome.

Which, for him, could be her getting the fuck out of here.

What day is today? Thursday, right? Two more days, then. She can do two more days.

Two more days. Then she’ll have a chance. It’ll be okay.

Her stomach growls, and she ignores it. Her bed, the bed, is warm and comfy. And she doesn’t want to deal with Wally.

Could she spend the whole day here? Well, she has to eat… and use the restroom.

…And she’s in a sentient house. Even if it’s easy to ignore when the windows and doors aren’t wiggling, Home is still listening. 

But she’s being quiet. She isn’t touching the floor. The house can’t ‘see’ her.

She lays there for a while longer. God, she misses her phone. Misses TikTok. Misses listening to music as she went to work.

She hasn’t heard any music since she got here. But she’s sure they’re must be something, right? No TV, but maybe a radio?

…If there are radios, she could also get help with that, right? If she can also figure it out. She’s never tried to broadcast anything on the radio. Her experience begins and ends with the dials in cars.

Would there even be any good music? Might just be fluffy shit about friendship, working together, and resisting the urge to eat your neighbors.

All very common themes in a children’s show.

She pulls the covers up over her head, holds them there until her breath becomes stifling.

She takes a deep breath when she surfaces, savoring the cool air.

Her stomach rumbles again. She still doesn’t want to deal with Wally.

Okay, food, then she can go back upstairs? She doesn't have to talk to him more than strictly necessary, and he’s not allowed in the guest bedroom anymore. Well, at least not while she's in there.

She gets up reluctantly, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. The orange socks are halfway under the edge. Where were they last night, huh?

She leaves them there, making a note of their location for later… Because she fucking sleeps here now.

Goddammit.

She grabs the stool, and brings it over to the bedroom door. She doesn’t even have the opportunity to set it down before the door prematurely swings open.

It’s him, too eager to even wait for her to open the fucking door.

“Good morning, Sunshine.”

She grunts at him, placing her stool in the doorway and watching him slip out of the way before she can step on him. 

“I want to introduce you to the rest of the neighbors today.”

“Sure, whatever.”

She moves to walk around him, stool in hand. He beats her to it, scurrying down the stairs in front of her, patiently waiting at the base while she carefully makes her way down the tiny steps. Fucking rat.

She follows him into the kitchen, ignoring Home’s eyes.

Same as yesterday. Toast, jams, apples.

Wally sits down first, watches her expectantly.

But her plan still involves retreating, and she only stands near the table, picking up a slice of bread and examining the jams. She intends to ignore him for all of this, but she knows he wouldn’t tolerate that.

“Which apple would you like?”

…Is he going to try to beat her at her own game? Tough shit, she ain’t playing.

“I don’t want an apple today.”

“You don’t want to play the game again?”

She looks up at him, reaching for a jar of strawberry jam. He almost looks… disappointed.

Good.

“What, you wanted me to make you eat a green apple again?”

“I wanted to learn more about lying.”

“...I am leading you into your villain arc.”

“‘Villain arc’?”

“Your evil arc. You were good. Now you’re gonna be bad.”

“I’m not bad. I don’t break the rules.”

“Except for those times that you totally did.”

“I only stayed outside at night once.”

She’s about to sling an insult at him, but a sharp bang interrupts her, her heart leaping up her throat.

The window.

Wally only smiles wider as she recovers.

“It wasn’t that bad.”

The house, Home, responds again, the window groaning as it’s threateningly pulled up once more.

“I only broke it once. No one knows, ha ha.”

Right. The house ‘talks’. Wally is speaking to his house. This is normal.

A door from another room squeaks, high, long.

“She won’t tell anyone.”

She uses a knife to slather some jam on a piece of toast. The window snaps again, lighter, but no less startling. She almost stabs herself as she flinches, and promptly places the knife back on the table. 

“She won’t.”

Another strange clack sounds from across the house. She doesn’t know what made that noise.

“I’ll be with her the whole time today. She said she would let me introduce her to the neighbors that she hasn’t met yet.”

More clacking, accompanied by the window shuttering open.

Ugh. This is terrible.

She stands up, takes her toast with her.

“I’m not listening to this.”

Wally perks, tilting his head at her.

“You can hear ‘Home’?”

“Yeah, they’re saying that I’m a liar.”

She looks at Wally, and he’s wide eyed, excited. 

“Oh my god, it was a guess! A lucky one. Get that dumb look off your face.”

“…Is that a lie?”

“No.”

She puts her toast in her mouth as she grabs the stool, making her way to the front door.

It resists her a little this time, and she’s rougher in return, forcing it open to wiggle her stool in between.

Yeah, it shouldn't trust her. She doesn’t trust it. Fucking house.

She makes haste climbing over, almost tripping over it again. But when she tries to pull the stool out, intending to put it on the small porch… she can’t.

It’s stuck, the door pushing it so hard she can barely get it to shift in her grip.

Fucking bitch ass house.

“Give it to me.”

She tugs again. It doesn’t move at all this time.

“Fine. Fucking keep it! I’ll just wave all of Wally’s secrets around to his neighbors.”

The door unlatches from the stool abruptly, and stupid her, still leaning back trying to use all her weight to pull it out. She falls right on her ass.

The pain shoots right up her tailbone, sharp and stunning.

“Fuck!”

She hasn’t felt that kind of pain since she tried roller skating.

“I’ll fucking take out one of your windows, you shitty house!”

The door slams, and she can faintly hear Wally’s low voice from inside.

She hopes Home doesn’t let him out. She hopes he rots in there.

She leaves the stool askew in the dirt alongside her thrown toast, and heads away from the pair of assholes she’s left behind.

She walks and walks, plenty long enough to regret leaving the dirty toast behind. Damn, how the mighty have fallen. But she really is hungry, hasn't been eating well since she arrived. Hasn’t been properly hydrated either.

It’s almost enough to have her wandering over to Howdy’s. And by almost, she means she has quite the ways to suffer before she drops that low. But fantasizing never hurt anyone.

Well, she can at least stop by the creek. It’s not too far off.

She does so, and it was a good decision. She manages to avoid Eddie when she spots him running down the path from Howdy’s. She would have ran right into them. Shit, he’s real fast.

But she avoided him! Successfully!

Thank god. Maybe she should just find a place to hide for the day. The forest could be good, as long as no one sees her go in.

It’s also her only choice of hiding spots, isn’t it? She doubts Home would let her back in anyways. Not that she wants to go back in. Actually, she’d like to never go back in. She’s not against roughing it! She’s proved that already.

…But it was nice having a bed again. Not that a bed is worth more than her freedom. She can be sad about the bed and also never want to go inside Home again.

She leaves the creek, wetness clinging to her feet as she strides up the bank. She walks until the creek deepens, almost a river if only the water moved faster. 

The town is farther away, the forest further up ahead. She can follow the river into the forest, use it as a guide to get back. Unless she decides to ‘accidentally’ get lost anyways.

Except on her side of the river, there’s some red building up ahead. Definitely want to avoid that. She can wade through to the other side, hopefully the water will deter any puppets from coming after her.

But she’ll go further first, look for a shallower band of water. No need to get her pants wet.

She sets her path briskly, ideally quick enough to avoid being noticed.

Then something yellow glitters near her. Something yellow and buzzing-

A beetle whizzes past her, and she jerks away from the sudden movement. Fuck, wasp trauma. There better not be rainbow wasps here too.

It buzzes by her head again.

“God, just, fuck off! I’ve done nothing!”

She runs from it, tossing her head to try and keep track of the pest. But it doesn’t take long for the thing to vanish into thin air. 

It better not be back.

…Oh. The red thing is a lot closer. Did she really run that far?

It’s… a fucking barn? It looks straight out of a children’s book.

It has the stereotypical white accented doors out front, but there seems to be something poking out the back.

She goes nearer, starts to circle it, finds a deck that comes out the side of the building. The porch is fairly big, elevated up with nice wooden rails and a cross lattice hiding a crawlspace. 

…Hold on, should she really be investigating this? She doesn’t know who lives here, if they’re friendly. Or at least uninterested in eating her.

Yeah, she should bounce.

She turns away, but a squeak of a metal door has her twisting her head back, almost dizzy from the movement.

…Holy shit.

No one told her the bird was eight feet tall.

The bird locks eyes with her, and then, horribly, long legs stroll toward her from across the porch.

They hop down the stairs, getting very close, too close!

She breaks out of her frozen stance, taking a step back, lifting her hands.

“Hey! Not too close!”

The bird doesn’t falter, almost on top of her. It finally stops only a few feet away, forcing her to crane her neck up to meet their eyes.

“Oh, let me get a better look at you! It’s not everyday we get a new neighbor. Has the place been treating you well? Are you hungry? I have a snack here…”

The bird turns from her, head twisting back as her feathered hand dips into her tail.

She pulls something out, something in a wrapper, and offers it to her. Food.

…She doesn’t want to take it, she wants to get further away from this puppet, not reach out.

But she’s really fucking hungry, and she won’t be able to go to Howdy’s or Home for a while.

The bird continues to hold it out, patiently waiting for her to make the first move.

So she takes it, fingers brushing against wide feathers. Soft.

She doesn’t even have time to examine the label, not before the bird is screeching, having her cringe away from the painful noise.

“Ah! You’re so cute!”

The bird leans forward, and although she takes a step back, it’s not nearly far enough. The wrapped bar falls from her hand as those long wings wrap around her. Then they squeeze tightly, so tightly that her arm smarts like it’s been struck all over again, so tightly that she croaks as her air leaves her.

Thank god she makes any sound at all, the wings release, and she coughs as she inhales sweet, sweet air.

“Oh, dear, are you okay?!”

Despite moving away from her, her forearms are still healed firmly in their wings, pressing right on her fucking bruise. She tugs at them, and the fucking bird has the audacity to squeeze harder on her.

She could scream, maybe she needs to scream, get help. But this thing could hurt her, and it won’t let her go. She can’t aggravate it. That could go downhill very quickly.

She smiles with gritted teeth as she speaks, trying to ignore the heavy pit in her stomach.

“Yes. I’m fine. Let me go.”

“You don’t look fine! Where are you hurt? I have Band-Aids! And ointments!”

“I’m fine, really. Please let go.”

The bird shakes their head, a frown on their face.

“I heard you were skittish, but you can trust me! I won’t hurt you.”

This bird is hurting her right now, crazy fucking lady! 

“I… I just need to get something from my pocket. It’s a gift for you.”

“Oh, okay! What is it?”

The bird’s grip slackens, and she takes the freedom, pretends to reach into her pocket. But her eyes stay on the tips of their wings, and as they fall to the bird’s sides she turns, and she fucking runs for it.

“What?! Don’t run!”

She hears its feet slap against the dirt as it begins to run after her, and feels her own feet burn as she skids around the edge of the barn. 

Oh my god, it’s chasing her. It’s fucking chasing her!

“Fuck off! I’ll beat the ever-loving shit out of you!”

“Just let me get you a Band-Aid! Why are you running?! It doesn’t make any sense!”

Fuck, she’s already getting tired running around this goddamn barn, and she hasn’t even done one full loop. This fucking bird doesn’t even seem the slightest bit out of breath.

Well, why would it? Puppets don’t breathe.

“Let me help you!”

She needs a weapon, something to fight the bird off with, something-

As she swerves around another one of the barn’s corners, something catches her around her middle, the impact so unforgiving she almost retches from it.

Then it lifts her up, and her hands cling to blue fur.

Oh no.

“Kid, Poppy, let’s hold on one-“

“Let go!”

She claws at his shoulder, wheezing as she catches her breath. But his grip stays firm, keeping her pressed against his shoulder.

His mistake. He’s unwise to have her this close to his face, perfect distance for smacking the shit out of him.

“Ah, kid, stop-“

His arms are both supporting her, and he can’t do more than squint his eyes and turn his head away from her.

“Put me down or I’ll fucking bite the shit out of you!”

‘Poppy’ squeals, voice unpleasantly high.

“Barnaby, she’s hurt! Give her to me!”

She watches the bird reach out with those wide feathered wings, and doesn’t know which pair of hands she wants to shrink away from more.

She grapples onto Barnaby, trying to pull herself over his shoulder to slip out of his grip. She can feel his nails through her shirt, holding onto her back, digging deeper as she writhes. Her hand twists his ear, pulls it. He doesn’t seem to even feel it.

“Let’s just all take a moment and-“

She brings the long ear to her mouth, and bites it as hard as she can, feels threads shift and come apart under her teeth.

“BONESTICKS!”

He shouts, and she doesn’t expect him to shove her away, holding her ear with both paws. Poppy watches him, wings drawn up in shock near her face. Then the bird turns to her, and her blood runs cold.

But Poppy doesn’t call her name. She turns back towards the dog, outrage in her voice.

“BARNABY! How could you?!”

“She bit me! It hurt!”

“It couldn’t have hurt that bad!”

“It, it did! It hurt, Poppy!”

Holy shit, it really hurt him.

…Why is she sticking around?!

She stays on the ground, not wanting attention, not yet. She needs somewhere to go, somewhere to hide.

Then she sees it.

There, under the barn’s porch. There’s a gap in the lattice between two wood beams. It must be for maintenance.

It’s also too small for any eight foot puppet to fit though.

She’ll have to be fast.

Their eyes are on her the moment she sits up, but she was ready for that.

She’s less ready for the mad scramble to the crawl space, both Poppy and Barnaby reaching for her, tripping over themselves.

But the rising terror in her gut gives her more than enough adrenaline to beat them to the entryway. When a wing wraps around her ankle, she kicks at the hand savagely, her toenails scratching her own skin along with their feathers.

They let go, maybe because of the profuse sweat on her legs more than her kicks. But once she's free, she crawls through cool earth until she can partially hide behind a cement block.

She’s out of their reach. They can’t get her. They can’t see her face. She’s safe.

But they’re still talking to her.

“Come out! We’re just trying to help you! I have Band-Aids!”

“What a mess… Why were you chasing her in the first place, Poppy?”

“She was hurt.”

“She is? Where?”

“I don’t know where! That’s what I was trying to get her to tell me.”

“Kiddo? You in there?”

Obviously. But fuck him if he thinks she’ll say anything to him.

“Are you hurt bad? Just a little?”

“Kiss my ass.”

Okay, she’ll say one thing to him.

“Language! …Well Poppy, she can’t be hurt that bad.”

“You don’t know that. She had this terrible pained look on her face when I hugged her!”

“…Are you sure it wasn’t just that she didn’t want to hug you?”

“I know what pain looks like, Barnaby.”

“She didn’t want to hug me either! I think I scared her. I’m very tall. And so are you, which is why you shouldn’t chase someone who runs from you.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t hurt a caterpillar!”

There’s a moment of silence, one that stretches a bit too long.

“…What’s with that look?!”

“Nothing, Poppy.”

“I don’t have time for this. The human is under my house Barnaby. How do we get it out?”

“We can get her out by promising not to touch her. She doesn’t like it.”

“If you knew that, then why did you grab her?”

“Because I was stopping the chase… maybe I could have thought of a better way.”

She hears him shift near the entrance, knows it's him because of the slight scrape of nails against wood.

“Hey kiddo! You can come out! We won’t touch you, I promise.”

Yeah, no way in hell.

She ignores them, focusing on the dirt under her palms. It’s more moist than the dirt paths, almost like mud. Wow, she can add a fourth new type of terrain to her book. What variety. This neighborhood should win an award.

Looking down at her leg, welts are rising from where she kicked, a bit of blood smeared along her calf. Gross. She really does need a Band-Aid.

But not from Poppy, crazy fucking bird.

“…Kid? Can you say something back?”

“I hope your ear falls off and you choke on it, you miserable fucking bastard.”

“Language. Just, come out. And are you actually hurt?”

“I’ve actually never felt better in my life!”

‘Poppy’ has officially lost her patience, cutting in with an aggravated hiss.

“Oh! Just come out already!”

“Fuck off, you stupid bird!”

“…What did you say to me?!”

“Your brain must be the size of a fucking walnut!”

“Barnaby get her out this instant! I’m going to-!”

“Okay, okay! Everyone relax. Poppy, you relax. Bones, you relax too.”

“My name’s not fucking Bones, you bitch-ass dog!”

“So crass!”

“Poppy, please. Listen, Caterpillar, I’m sorry, now just relax. No one can touch you.”

“I know! Why do you think I fucking fought you two off to get in here?!”

“Barnaby, make her stop cursing!”

“I’m doing my best here, Poppy. Can you go inside and make yourself some herbal tea?”

“I don’t want tea knowing this thing is under my porch.”

‘Thing’???

“You fucking shitty ass bird. You’re the most disingenuous pieces of shit here!”

“Hey, now let’s just-“

Poppy cuts the dog off before he can finish his pacifying bullshit.

“Barnaby, hush. Now maybe you don’t know this, but I take care of this neighborhood! I had the paths smoothed out to prevent tripping! I make sure Julie and Frank don’t plant anything dangerous! I took all the sharp stones out of the creek! I do more for this neighborhood than you ever will!”

“Yeah? Why do you always look at Howdy like you want to eat him then?! Huh?!”

There’s a pause, and she braces herself for their scream.

“What? What?! Where did you hear that?! I would never hurt Howdy!”

“You fat fucking liar. Go suck on a worm!”

“I wouldn’t hurt Howdy! Or Frank! Barnaby, make her stop saying those things!”

“Caterpillar, please stop provoking Poppy.”

“She’s a goddamn whore and I’m not sorry!”

Poppy shrieks again, thankfully muffled by the cement block between them.

“BARNABY!!!”

“Kid!”

“Still not fucking sorry!”

“Apologize to Poppy.”

“Oh, man, I don’t think I will.”

“Just do it, Caterpillar.”

“No.”

The bird squawks, and she hears feathers beating against air.

“She’s completely unrepentant! We need a way to get her out, and now.”

“We can’t just make her get out, Poppy. And you’re not helping either. Go inside, I’ll get her out.”

“No, I want to be here when she’s dragged-“

“Hey everyone! What’s happening?”

Oh no.

But for Poppy, it’s a resounding ‘oh yes’.

“Ah! Eddie! You’re just what we need! Crawl in there and drag the human out.”

“Why’re they under there? Are they fixing something? I was just tweaked the pipes the other day, maybe-“

“They’re under there because they’re a menace! And I need them out!”

“Oh. Are you going to come out, Sprout?”

…What the fuck? ‘Sprout’?!

“Don’t call me that.”

“Not that one either? That’s okay, I have more.”

“Eddie, get her out.”

“I don’t think she wants to come out.”

“I don’t care! You can fit, go drag her out!”

“I can’t make her come out if she doesn’t want to.”

“Of course you can?!”

“Greenie, take your time. You can come out when you’re ready!”

Ugh, ‘Greenie’. Maybe they really did make a list.

She doesn’t get the chance to reject that name either, Poppy is already whining again.

“Eddie, please, please just do it. I know it would be easy for you!”

“Dragging someone out of their hiding place isn’t very nice.”

“They don’t deserve ‘nice’.”

Bitch.

“You’re not nice! Bitch!”

“No, you-“

Barnaby interrupts, voice low and weirdly calm.

“Poppy, they’ll come out eventually. They’ll want to eat.”

Oh shit. She will.

Poppy is quiet, and then speaks, their voice confident, assured of their victory.

“That’s right! You have to come out and eat eventually! And I’ll be waiting.”

Eddie hums, and it’s unsettling that her last hope for a reasonable puppet has fallen to them. Please let him be normal enough to still vouch to leave her alone!

“I don’t think Green Bean would like that.”

“I don’t care. They’re under my porch. And I just wanted to help them!”

“‘Help me’ my ass! Don’t ever fucking touch me again you fucking dodo!”

“It was a hug.”

A rather painful one.

“A non-consensual one!”

“Yeah, the kid doesn’t like being touched, Poppy.”

“What, so they can’t use their words? They have to invade my crawl space?!”

“I’m ruining your foundation as we speak!”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Caterpillar, don’t do that! The house could come down on you!”

Eddie’s voice is by far the most composed when he speaks.

“Are you really?”

“…No.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the kid could. She bit me and it hurt, Eddie!”

“It hurt? It’s just a bite.”

“It’s those things in her mouth. My ear still stings from it.”

“I told you to let me down, asshole!”

“I was trying to help!”

“You failed! Miserably!”

“Oh, for barking out loud, just come out!”

His voice dips into a howl, drawing out their last word.

“Go away and I’ll leave.”

“…Do you promise?”

Oh shit, she might actually get to leave here alive.

“Do you promise no one will chase me?!”

“Yes.”

She’s so close, but Poppy fucking ruins it again.

“What? No, I’ll need an apology. She can’t just cause this ruckus and get off without anything!”

“Kiddo, please apologize.”

“She’s the one who grabbed me! And chased me! I’m the fucking innocent party here!”

“Okay, both of you apologize.”

Poppy is the first to make her disagreement known.

“I did nothing wrong!”

She herself stays silent. She’s sure Barnaby knows she’d never apologize to that bird bitch.

Barnaby doesn’t seem to know what to say next, but Eddie tries to move it along.

“It seems to me we already have a solution. Both Poppy and Greenie made some mistakes. Let’s go inside so everyone can walk away peacefully. We can try for a better introduction another day!”

Yes. That works. And she’ll avoid that introduction until she leaves or dies.

But that Poppy bitch never gives up.

“I don’t like that.”

“This is how we get Greenie out from under your porch.”

“You could still crawl under! And drag her out!”

“I’m not going to do that. She’ll come out when we go inside.”

“Poppy, I think saving this for another day is best too. The kid’s not going to come out otherwise.”

Yes, fucking finally. Now get that bird brain inside.

“I’ll get you back for this, human.”

“No, you won’t. She won’t, kid.”

Yeah, she doesn’t believe him, stupid mutt.

She watches their shadows lumber over the deck, staying still under their heavier foot falls. But those were only two of them. She thinks Eddie is still by the entrance, and her fingers dig into the dirt. Why is he still here?

“Take your time, Greenie. And if you’d like, you can come inside and join us. Poppy would come around very quickly.”

No way in hell.

“Yeah, sure, see you later!”

Eddie takes the dismissal with ease, and she watches his shadow walk across the porch too.

She stays still for a few minutes, half expecting one of them to investigate. Maybe they went out the back, they could be planning an ambush.

Well, she can’t see anyone through the lattice, or any looming shadows through the deck’s boards.

Okay. It really does seem like everyone’s inside.

She waits a bit longer, still expecting something bad to happen. But as she crawls through mud to the entrance, it remains quiet, almost eerily so.

…If she waits too long, will they eventually come and check on her? Maybe decide it’s been long enough and drag her out?

Or this is an ambush, and they’re waiting somewhere.

She… where does she run to? The forest? Home? She doubts they’d let her in, or keep the others out.

The creek. It was deeper. But it’s still a longer run, could she make it?

Her legs don’t feel too tired, although she doesn’t trust them that much.

She’ll try to be as quiet as she can, crawl around the lattice to the other side and walk until she’s caught. Then if they chase, she’ll hoof it.

She can make it. She can. She can and she fucking will.

She leaves the crawl space, feeling braver than she knows she actually is. 

It goes well, no one calls out to her, and when she reaches the side with those bigger barn doors she gets up, walking briskly towards the river.

Nothing calls after her, nothing runs after her.

She can relax. They’re keeping their word.

…And then she hears the crack of a large door opening.

“Poppy! Get back here!”

“I’m getting my apology!”

Holy shit, she’s gonna die. She’s gonna die and that’s gonna be all she fucking wrote!

She bolts, not daring to look back.

Can she make it? She can see it, but she doesn’t know how fast that bird can run.

She has to make it, she has to.

Her legs ache, heels of her feet throbbing where she slams them down hard on lamb’s ear. She’s tearing it up behind her, and doesn’t spare the carnage a second thought.

But then she’s there, taking a long leap into the water, up to her knees, and then fights against the water to get deeper.

The water is up to her waist when she finally looks back. Oh, it’s such a giddy relief to see Poppy halted at the edge, glaring at her from the bank.

“You, You!”

The bird seems to be at a loss for words in her rage. She keeps her own eyes on their wings, feathered hands flexing, wanting to grab her.

Barnaby and Eddie arrive next, coming to a stop at the edge too.

“Kiddo, not the water again! Just, get out on the other side.”

No? If she stays here she can try to waterlog them if they come after her. She can’t fight them on land, when she’s already exhausted.

Here, with the water lightening her weight, she feels stronger.

“I’m staying right here.”

Eddie shakes his head, hands on his hips.

“Green bean, you really can’t stay there! You won’t be able to get out soon!”

“I can do what I want.”

She doesn’t expect pushback, not from him. That’s her own mistake, because he’s the one puppet that’s brave enough to step into the river.

Barnaby tries to stop him, holding Eddie back with a paw on his shoulder.

“Eddie, no. It’s too deep.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m very strong!”

Oh no.

She backs up as he starts to wade in, raising her fists. The water is up to her stomach now.

“I’ll beat you up.”

More like, he’ll beat the shit out of her. But this is all just intimidation, hopefully.

“Hey, I’m not going to hurt you. Just come out the other side with me.”

Shit, she’s really gonna have to fight him.

It’s hard to find secure footing on the smooth bottom of the river, but at least that means he doesn’t have it either.

She clenches her fists, and prepares herself.

He lifts his arms up too, hands open, eyes on her own balled fists. He’s going to try to catch them when she punches, isn’t he?

She can’t have that. 

He’s up to his waist too, and she tries to find reassurance in the surprise she sees she tackles him, arms around his neck, trying to drag him further into the water.

He goes down easy, and holy shit, she’s going to win, she’s going to-

His arms wrap around her, and he falls onto her, pushing her head under the water.

She releases him, thrashes. His grip around her stays firm, and she very much remembers that breathing is a foreign concept here.

Holy fuck, she doesn’t want to drown!

She slaps her hands over her mouth, not sure if her aching lungs are from actually needing breath or just the panic of fucking drowning.

But just as suddenly he pulls her up, and she inhales sweet fucking air.

She doesn’t resist when he grabs her arm, guides her to the opposite shore from the others.

She’s soaked, her clothes and hair clinging to her. She almost drowned. He could have killed her.

And he’s still holding her by her arm.

She tugs at their grip, her bruise stinging under their hand. Oh, for fucks sake. Of course he grabs this arm, of course he does.

“I’ll walk you back to Home. Barnaby! Take Poppy home too!”

“You gonna be alright with the kid?”

“Yeah, I have them!”

Fucking-!

“I don’t want your help! And stop touching me.”

“Sorry, Greenie. My legs are too heavy to chase after you if you run. So for now, we’re gonna be like this!”

He lifts where he’s still holding onto her, and she grits her teeth at the feeling.

“Don’t squeeze me.”

“Okay.”

He looks down at his grip, his thumb ghosting over her bruise and the healing skin.

“Is this really a spot?”

“A spot?”

…He doesn’t know what a bruise is either, does he?

“Yes.”

He stares at her for a moment, but seems to accept it. She hopes he accepts it.

“Okay! Well, let’s get going. Are you hungry? Maybe we can stop by Howdy’s first-“

“No. Take me to Home.”

Lesser of two evils.

“She doesn’t deserve food!”

Fucking Poppy, screeching from the other side of the bank. Barnaby has their paw on her shoulder too, trying to guide them back to their shitty barn.

“You don’t deserve jack shit, bird brain! Eat dirt!”

“Greenie.”

She looks at Eddie, and can’t stop from stepping away. Their smile is gone, watching her with furrowed brows.

“I know that you’re angry. It was unkind of Poppy to chase after you after we agreed to leave you alone. But right now, I need you to stop talking.”

It’s embarrassing how easily that gets her to shut up, any retorts she has dying in her throat.

She lets him guide her away, and when Poppy screeches something unintelligible at her back, she dutifully ignores it.

They walk in silence for a bit. She glances back often, making sure Barnaby is keeping a hold on Poppy too.

But soon they disappear into the barn, and she doesn’t have a reason to be with Eddie anymore.

She flexes her arm, testing the grip. It doesn’t squeeze in response, only keeping its same firmness.

“You can let go now.”

“I’m still too heavy. You know how it is!”

“I won’t run unless something chases me.”

“Maybe so!”

…He still isn’t letting go. Goddammit.

Can she make a fuss about this? She shouldn’t, not when she doesn’t know him.

A polite fuss, then.

“Please let me go.”

“I can see how this would be frustrating. Please give me some more time to dry off! Then you can walk by yourself.”

“I’m heavy too. I couldn’t run very fast.”

“I doubt that!”

Asshole. What does he know?

“Oh no, so heavy…”

She makes a show of slumping her shoulders and trailing behind Eddie. His pace doesn’t falter though, and she has to keep up with him unless she wants to trip on the lamb’s ear.

He laughs at the performance, turning his head back to watch her.

“Ha! That’s funny! So, you’re only mean when you’re threatened, right?”

Uh, she is not up for further reflection on the terrifying situation she just escaped from, thank you.

Good thing deflection always has her back!

“I can be mean whenever I want.”

“You haven’t been mean since Poppy left.”

Yeah, because a monster who can hammer in nails with one hit is holding onto her. Of course she shouldn’t provoke him. Just like with Poppy, she needs to bide her time until she gets a chance to escape.

“Today’s been pretty rough, hasn’t it? And you did a good job! Poppy can be pushy, but you stood your ground! Which isn’t always easy with her.”

Yeah, if by ‘stood her ground’ he means ‘ran and hid like a wuss’. She wouldn’t have been able to fight the bird off. She’s sure they both know that.

“I’m never going near her again.”

“She isn’t so scary. Poppy is also very generous and caring. I’m sure you two will make up in no time!”

Ugh, not him trying to sell her on the dumb bird.

“I don’t want to be her friend.”

“You take it at your own pace, Greenie.”

And then horribly, so horribly, he stops, faces her. Puts his free hand on her shoulder, resting its weight without much more pressure.

“You’re doing great!”

No. Just, no. She is not going to tolerate being fucking comforted by this fucking buffoon. She has been kidnapped from her home and forced to live with cannibalistic puppets, she is the furthest fucking thing from ‘great’! And he sure as hell isn’t any more of a saint than any other backwards-ass puppet who lives here!

“Thanks.”

Fuck, she’s a coward.

“Of course!”

Then they keep on trucking along, and all she can think about is how much she can’t wait to get rid of him.

She doesn’t understand how someone could be so polite and thoughtful… and so fucking unsettling too. She’s never met such unsettling people before. But these aren’t people, they’re puppets.

“Please let go of me.”

“I will do that when I am dry.”

Goddammit.

Any conversation rapidly dwindles. Her mind wanders as she lets Eddie guide her down the side of the river, occasionally remembering that she should be fighting him somehow. She’ll ask again for him to let her go, and he’ll say something to placate her. Bastard. But she’s the coward for not putting up more of a fight, isn’t she?

It’s not until they can see Home that it changes. Eddie leads her across a thin part of the creek, the water barely over her ankles. But once they reach the other side, he drops her arm.

She takes a generous step back from him, rubbing the once-captive skin. Eddie doesn’t comment on this obvious aversion.

He continues to walk towards Home, and she follows.

…But should she be following? Now that he let her go he must think he could chase her if she ran. The creek’s too shallow here to slow him down either.

Shit. She doesn’t know how to get out of this. Maybe she doesn’t need to. Eddie will drop her off and then wander away somewhere. Then she can travel the opposite way down the river.

Ah fuck, Wally’s come out of the house, lidded eyes following them as he stands on the very edge of the porch. God, he’s like a fucking dog waiting for their owner to come home. If only she had that kind of power over him.

He speaks first, returning Eddie’s enthusiastic wave.

“Thank you for bringing her back, ha ha.”

“Of course! She’s had a very busy day.”

“What happened?”

“Well, when I found her-“

No, she doesn’t want to listen to this conversation. Wally doesn’t need to know about her hiding in the fucking mud for half an hour.

She steps between them, even as it unsettles her to put her back to Eddie.

“I’m hungry.”

Wally nods, lightly dusting non-existent dirt from his pants.

“There’s still food from this morning.”

He turns, takes a few steps to the front door. She goes to grab her stool too, avoiding Home’s eyes.

Then she hears a distinct sound. The squeaking of a doorknob abruptly cut short.

She doesn’t need him to confirm it. Home locked him out.

“Home? Are you going to let us in?”

She watches his yellow hand twist the knob again, far more gentle than the wretched house deserves. It halts once more.

“Ah, fuck.”

But Wally doesn’t even seem disturbed by it, simply turning back to address the two of them.

“Home doesn’t want to let us in right now. We’ll go to Howdy’s for lunch.”

Eddie nods, always the supportive bastard.

“That’s a great idea! Let’s go there.”

Uh, not a fucking chance she’s going into that death trap.

“No.”

“Home won’t let you in right now? Ha ha, where else will we get food?”

“I’ll wait here, just bring it to me.”

Wally shakes their head, stubborn piece of shit.

“No, we should go there.”

Eddie supports him again. 

“I agree, I should tell Howdy that I dropped off the package for Sally.”

God, she can’t believe she ever thought she could rely on him. Her mistake.

Eddie reaches for her, and she pulls her bruised arm away from him. But she doesn’t get the chance to verbally defend herself, as meek as any response of hers might have been. Wally has that covered.

“Hey! That’s her bruise. Don’t touch it.”

Eddie’s arm drops easily, although he takes a step closer to examine the mark.

“So that’s what it is! ‘Bruise’.”

Oh hell no. No spreading around her fucking meat traits!

She covers it with her hand, turning that side away from him.

“It’s a spot. Like you said before.”

But Eddie, fucking Eddie has already accepted Wally’s word as gold.

“No? It’s a bruise. Wally just told me.”

Wally takes that as his opportunity to jump in again.

“And it hurts when you touch it. So don’t do that.”

“It does? She let me hold it all the way back!”

Fucking-!

“I told you to let me go several times!”

“I didn’t know it was hurting you!”

“I hope the guilt eats you alive.”

Assclown.

But a concerned assclown, looking at her like he just sat on her birthday cake.

“Next time, please tell me. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“No.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to tell me?”

“If you don’t know where I’m hurt and you don’t want to hurt me then you won’t be able to touch me anywhere without risking hurting me.”

Eddie pauses, the concern lifting from his face, and looks down at Wally besides him.

“I see it now. She really is a strange one.”

“Ha ha ha, I told you.”

“No one else in our neighborhood is this jumpy.”

“She’s the first, ha ha.”

“Don’t worry, Greenie! I’ll prove that you can trust me, and the rest of our neighbors!”

Oh no.

“Don’t bother, really.”

“I will. It’s important that you feel comfortable here! And I will get that apology from Poppy!”

“That’s really unneces-“

“And I will get you some more clothes now that I know you’re my size! I’ll get the fabric from Howdy’s when we get there.”

What- is he going to make her clothes?!

“Really, it’s not a big de-“

“It is a big deal! And I will deal with it. Because I care!”

Well, alrighty then. Fuck.

Wally, meanwhile, has latched onto a detail of Eddie's rant.

“What did Poppy do?”

“She chased Greenie across the meadow. Scared her right into the water!”

“Wow! She should apologize. Sunshine too, I’m sure she was rude to Poppy.”

“Yes, Greenie was very rude when she was under their porch. But she did seem frightened too.”

“She’s always rude, even when she’s not scared.”

“The more I see her talk with you and the others, the luckier I start to feel!”

Wally reaches for Eddie’s hand, holds it in both of his.

“Please teach me how you do it! I want her to be kind to me too.”

Go die in a ditch you psychotic puppet man.

“I hope you fucking rot in hell.”

But of course, she's ignored. She’s always ignored. Eddie only responds to Wally when he speaks.

“I think her kindness is always there, just behind the skittishness. Although, I don’t know why she would be scared of you…”

“Me neither! It’s a mystery.”

He cannot be fucking serious. She’s had several conversations with him about the whole ‘I hate you for kidnapping me’ thing.

Unless he’s lying. It’s hard to tell.

Fuck, she really can’t lie in front of him anymore. She just can’t.

She feels sick.

Her stomach grumbles, and no, she doesn’t feel sick, just really fucking hungry.

Eddie laughs at the sound, and she imagines tripping him flat on his stupid face.

“We should get going, you’re hungry.”

“No. Bring me food here.”

“You should make up with Howdy.”

Wally pauses, motions for Eddie to lean over. Then the fucker ‘whispers’ conspiratorially in Eddie’s ear, plenty loud enough for her to hear.

“He scared her the other day too. They both need to apologize.”

“Oh, they definitely do. You can’t be on the wrong foot with Howdy, he’s how we get so much of our… everything, actually.”

He has no idea just how much ‘everything’ is. Howdy gets entire fucking carcasses! 

Eddie must see the dread on her face, hurrying to ‘reassure’ her.

“Don’t worry. Wally and I will be there the whole time!”

A thunderbolt of inspiration strikes her, so heavy that she almost stumbles.

“No.”

And then, before anyone can stop her, she sits down on the lamb's ear.

Dear God or whomever this request concerns: please let her dense human body be too heavy to tow.

Eddie doesn’t tolerate her show, not for a moment. He leans down and grabs her unbruised arm, gently. And when he squeezes to gain a firmer grip…

“Ow! Pain! It hurts!”

But Eddie doesn’t release her. Wally leans over her too, his amused smile stretching wider.

“Ha ha, she’s lying. There’s no bruise there.”

“I think so too. Come on, Greenie. Up!”

“I’m not a dog.”

They start pulling her up, and she’s pleasantly surprised by the slight frown on Eddie’s face.

“She’s heavier than she looks. But she isn’t wet anymore?”

“Humans are heavier than puppets, it’s normal.”

“I don’t want to hurt her.”

“You won’t, just pull her up.”

She doesn’t have any time to prepare herself. Eddie drags her to her feet, using both arms to balance her.

“There you go!”

She slumps over him, but she should know better by now than to think that would make him falter.

He lifts her up, and she is very uncomfortably draped over his shoulder. Fuck, she’s not this flexible.

“She’s very warm. I noticed that when I was holding her arm.”

“It’s very nice! We sat together on the couch for dinner yesterday, and it was just lovely!”

“Oh, I bet!”

Wow, so glad they’re bonding over her being fucking warm.

“Put me down. Now.”

“Okay.”

He lets her off him, and she puts a good few yards of distance between them. She’s less thrilled to hear his next words.

“Alright, let’s head off to the bodega!”

Not a chance.

Could she run? The creek is definitely too far away, and she already knows it’s too small to use against him.

She turns toward Home, warily eyeing their front door.

“I’m very sorry for cursing at you. Please let me in.”

 There’s a pause, and then the door begins to squeak open. 

Oh, they’re actually going to-

The door snaps shut, and the handle jiggles wildly.

Is, is it fucking laughing at her?!

“Oh, fuck you!”

She has a thousand other curses for the building, but something tugging at her shirt demands her attention.

Of course it’s the fucking gremlin, smiling brightly up at her.

“They still won’t let you in. You’ll come with us to Howdy’s.”

“I will fight you every step of the way.”

“Don’t do that.”

“I will! And I’ll tell Howdy to go fuck himself so I won’t be fed anyway!”

“You won’t do that!”

“I don’t need food.”

“You’re not allowed to starve.”

Oh? That right? Then he should have tried harder to get Home to let her in, dammit!

Eddie takes a step closer to her, looking a bit too much like he’s already preparing for her to run.

“Sometimes apologizing is uncomfortable, and that’s normal. But you’ll feel a lot better once it’s been smoothed out between you and Howdy. I’ll tell you what, you just have to apologize, and then you can wait outside. I’ll trade an idea for your food.”

“I don’t want to be near him.”

He fucking butchers animals! She’s not gonna be cool with that!

“Why is that?”

Ah, fuck you, Eddie, trying to be all understanding and shit! She hates it!

“Because!”

“Ha ha, that’s not a reason.”

“I’m an adult. You can’t make me apologize.”

The two puppets exchange a glance, and really, fuck them.

“Go fuck yourselves, I’m leaving.”

She starts walking away, and grimaces when she already hears footsteps coming after her.

She turns around just before Eddie reaches her, smacking away his outstretched hand.

“Hey! No touchy! No!”

He holds up both his hands. She knows better than to misinterpret it as a surrender.

Wally comes up next to him, reaching for her hand too.

“I’m not holding your hand! Get off’a me!”

“Please?”

“No.”

“You let Eddie hold you…”

“He was holding me hostage .”

“‘Hostage’?”

“It means when you keep someone somewhere against their will. You’re also holding me hostage, you shitty fuck.”

“Come’on Greenie. It won’t be bad.”

“I might not be able to win in a fight, but I will try goddammit!”

Eddie tilts his head, taking a step closer to her. 

“We’re not allowed to hurt each other. I’m sure you know that rule by now.”

Wally hums, takes a step around her side. But two puppets aren't enough to surround her, and definitely not when one of them is only 3 feet tall.

“She knows that rule, she just ignores it.”

“I haven’t hurt anyone.”

They’re the ones harassing her.

“Ha ha, she is bad at fighting.”

“She hurt Barnaby today. I think those things in her mouth hurt him when she bit him.”

“Her teeth can hurt?”

“Oh, they’re called ‘teeth’? I wonder if Frank knows anything about that.”

“Howdy knows-“

“Stop fucking talking about my teeth!”

“...Greenie does not like talking about teeth, does she?”

“She does not, ha ha.”

She starts to back away, but their eyes are on her in a second. Eddie follows, and here they are again, walking her backwards again. But there’s no tree this time.

“What happened to not making me do things I don’t wanna do, huh?”

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I also want you and Howdy to get along. He’s where everyone gets their food, and the longer you put it off the more awkward it’s gonna be.”

Okay, that's reasonable… If this was a reasonable fucking situation! But he doesn’t know that she has no intention of staying here long-term. And he doesn’t know that Howdy fucking butchers animals and she’s just one step away from an animal.

Well, really, she is a fucking animal! So it’s not weird for her to never want to be within a thirty yard radius of that puppet.

She should have been more focused on Eddie instead of her internal monologue. She doesn’t have any warning when he attacks.

He lunges towards her, and in her haste to get away she trips, starts to fall back on her ass, again.

But of course he’s quicker than her, grabs her hand before she can fall and tugs her back up. Fuck, that really did hurt her shoulder. Almost jerked her arm right out of its socket.

“Okay, that actually hurt.”

“It did?”

“Release me.”

It’s a futile question. She already knows the answer by how his fingers decide to lace with hers, disgust rising in her throat at the motion.

“I’ll let go when you’ve made up with Howdy.”

“No.”

“What do you think will happen if you go?”

“I dunno. Something bad.”

Like being killed or eaten. But Eddie doesn’t know she can be eaten… hopefully.

Small hands catch her other hand, cradling it.

“Ew, no.”

She half-heartedly shakes her hand, pulling it up and out of Wally’s grasp.

“Please?”

“No.”

“I won’t talk about your teeth with Howdy or Eddie.”

…Fuck, was he going to bring it up again? It is past morning. Shit. She really doesn’t want them having a meat and bones conversation with fucking Eddie there to witness it. She needs damage control.

“Or the other things?”

Meat, bones. She hopes he can extrapolate at least that fucking much.

If she’s optimistic, she’d believe that he would.

As it is, the bastard only smiles and tilts his head up at her. With that expression, she has no way of knowing if he really understands.

“Of course! Ha ha.”

“Goddammit. For real, go to hell.”

He grabs her free hand, and then Eddie begins to guide them back to the path, back towards Howdy.

Fuck her life. 

“Sunshine?”

“Don’t talk to me.”

“Why are you so polite to Eddie and not me?”

Because Eddie could beat the fuck out of her. But that’s not really an excuse, is it? Lots of puppets here could beat the shit out of her.

…Eddie’s weird, aren’t they? Polite, makes excuses for her. 

But just because they’re more ‘understanding’ doesn’t mean they know her, or her situation. They’re not her ally, and she can never rely on them. They belong to this place first and foremost. The proof is right here, holding her hand firmly as they pull her towards the place they know she doesn’t want to go.

Puppets have no fucking boundaries.

Wally squeezes her hand, demanding her attention back.

He’s still waiting for her excuse, and well, why not give him one?

“Eddie’s very pretty.”

Wally’s mouth drops open, a small crease in his brow.

“I’m very pretty too!”

“You’re not half as pretty.”

“I’m very pretty.”

“Are you saying Eddie isn’t pretty?”

“No. Eddie and I are both pretty.”

“It sounds like you don’t think Eddie is pretty enough to be kind to.”

“I don’t understand why you’re saying these things. You know they aren’t true, ha ha.”

“It’s fun.”

“…Then do you really think Eddie is pretty?”

“Prettier than you.”

Eddie finally interrupts, must find the show of her needling Wally too unbearable to endure any further.

“Wally, you’re just as pretty as me.”

“Ha ha, I know. But she’s saying such weird things again.”

Uh, no, he’s weird.

“You’re weird.”

“Not as strange as you, Sunshine.”

“Oh, man. I don’t think I can recover from that devastating insult.”

“You manage, ha ha.”

She stops, and is half ready to start her protests all over again, even if it means getting dragged.

Eddie must sense this, and she tilts her head towards him as he hums, bracing herself for whatever argument or ‘encouragement’ he tries to give her.

 But at that same moment a small hand trails down her opposite calf, down her scratches .

“I will fucking eviscerate you.”

The hand draws back, and Wally doesn’t dare say a word. Not if he wants to keep fucking holding her hand, he doesn’t.

She starts walking again, doesn’t want to hold still anymore, but Eddie isn’t inclined to let the outburst go.

“Is everything all right over there?”

“Just peachy Eddie! Just the best! Everyone’s so fucking happy to be here! Just having a gay ol’ time!”

She waits, but… neither of them rebuke her.

…Well, shit, that seems to make the atmosphere concretely awkward. Well, at least from Eddie’s side. Wally still has that oblivious smile on their face, doesn't even seem to be paying attention.

Asshole.

Ah fuck. She should have walked slower, the bodega is almost here.

It’s a little late, but she’ll start dragging her feet while she has time to drag them.

…She can’t really go in, right? He fucking butchers animals! And then he acts like it’s all fine and dandy. Like she isn’t a fucking animal. Like humans aren’t on the ‘do not eat’ list.

Wally said himself that she was only a step away from a wild animal herself, and she knows he got that from Howdy. Fuck, she wishes she could have asked Wally the context of that conversation he had with Howdy. Certainly it didn’t go in a way that pertains directly to her, right? Howdy didn’t entertain the possibility of her being a ‘wild animal’, right?!

She remembers how he had been perched over his counter ready to pounce. She wouldn’t put it past him.

Without a doubt, there are zero reasons that she should go back in. Zero.

Her stomach growls, so fucking hungry.

One reason. Only one. One that is not fucking worth it.

“Hey Greenie, I’ll be here, it’ll be okay.”

Ah, fuck you, Eddie.

“You are not nearly as comforting as you think you are.”

Eddie is just as deranged as the lot of them. Just because he hides it better doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

Her comment makes him frown, and she cuts him off before he can try to ‘reassure’ her.

“I don’t like you.”

It’s simple, petty. It makes his frown more confused.

Wally hums lowly, jostles her arm.

“That’s very mean.”

“What? That was one of the tamest sentences I’ve said since I came here.”

“It was mean.”

“It was true.”

“Apologize.”

“No. I don’t like him.”

“Why not?”

Because he’s a faker. A faking fake faker who’s just faking his fake face all over the faking place! 

…But does she really want the one puppet that semi-respects her wishes to have a reason to dislike her?

“Oh wow, we’re here. Great. Fantastic.”

Her diversion from the conversation is poor, and she can still feel them staring at her. Fuck, she wants her hands back.

But she ignores it, takes those final few steps to the front. They’re here.

…She doesn’t want to go in.

She’s about to voice these last protests before she’s inevitably forced inside, but doesn’t have the chance. Something shifts behind the glass door, and she flinches, squinting her eyes to make out the figure.

Fuck, he came to the door!

Howdy doesn’t even have to open the door to have her jerk away, maybe adrenaline or surprise allowing her to drag her weights back with her.

“Son of a bitch!”

Oh my god, are they gonna fight, she can’t win a fist fight without her hands!

She wouldn’t have a chance even if she did though, would she? They have four fucking arms! And four legs!

He starts to come out, and the grips on her hands do nothing for her panic.

“I swear to god I’ll fuck you up!”

“I’m not going to do anything!”

“Why did you come outside?!”

“I’m allowed to come outside! And I thought it would be better to do this out in the open.”

“I am literally restrained right now, and you are eight fucking feet tall! This is an incredibly intimidating situation!”

Eddie drops her hand, and she wrestles the other from Wally’s suddenly sticky hands. Really, did her fear make her that feeble to not even be able to simply shake him off?!

She points at Howdy, even though he’s stayed in the doorway of his bodega.

“Don’t come any closer!”

He holds his plethora of hands up, and that fucker has no right having such a helpless expression on his face when he’s the one fucking butchering meat from unknown origins!

But he tries to recover the peace, not that there was any to begin with.

“Just, let's just get through this. Okay, Caterpillar?”

Okay. fine. And then she’ll never fucking talk to him again. Because she will be fucking polite to Home! And they will let her in so she can eat Wally’s food and sleep in a real bed!

…Oh god, is she actually wanting to be in Home?

Oh my god. Oh my god!

“I could have been more delicate in our conversation. I’m sorry.”

Fuck, they’re apologizing, but she’s too wound up from her internal Home tirade to respond in any manner other than defensively.

“I’m not sorry!”

“Greenie.”

“Sunshine, please apologize.”

“Fuck! Sorry!”

Her quickest turnaround yet.

Howdy seems just as relieved for it to be over as she is.

“Okay! We’re good then, right?”

“Right! Please never come outside again!”

There’s that creepy ass frown on that long ass face.

“That’s rude.”

“Sorry! Now please leave me alone.”

Howdy retreats back into the bodega, holding open the door.

“You’re not coming in?”

“Never again.”

Eddie steps in before Howdy can get more offended than he already is.

“She’s had a long day. We’re going to bring her food out for her.”

“Oh. Well, okay then.”

They all go inside, Wally casting her a long glance before he enters.

“Don’t go anywhere.”

“I want food, dingus.”

He hums, and then he finally disappears inside too.

She waits a moment, watching them through the glass.

Oh. She’s alone. She could leave.

…Fuck, she’s so hungry.

But fuck if she doesn’t want to be alone too. She doesn’t want to be with anyone.

But her food…

She looks at the many barrels out front of the store. Oranges, apples, potatoes.

Stealing is looking like an easier option. Could she get away with it? That’s almost definitely against the rules. And she should avoid making them mad, even if it isn’t a rule.

Would Howdy even notice? He doesn't seem overly meticulous.

…He also must be meticulous enough to butcher carcasses to make lunch meat and clean cuts.

No, she shouldn’t take anything.

But there’s nowhere else to get food.

Would they leave her alone to eat if she asked? She doubts they’d want to. Even if Eddie obliged her, Wally might just follow along anyway.

She hates it. Is she going to have to always fucking rely on Howdy or Wally for food? 

Well, no. Because she is not living here. She is getting out. Just one more day after this and she’ll have her chance.

What should she say on Saturday? ‘Help! I’m stuck in the TV and this isn’t a joke’! ‘Wally kidnapped me from a dream and he won’t send me back!’ ‘Get me the fuck out of here’!

Definitely needs cursing, right? At least then the parents would get riled up from it, complain. Then something would be done.

Holy shit, maybe someone will recognize her! She’s been gone a week, surely her manager has noticed! He would call the police for her!

…Oh god, please let him watch that fucking children’s show. She doesn’t want to be here anymore.

She’s still busy trying to think of the few people who both know she exists and would watch a children’s show when the two bastards emerge from the butcher’s cave.

Eddie’s holding two parchment-wrapped sandwiches, the handle of a heavy bag over their elbow. She leans forward when he holds a sandwich out to her, swiping it and taking care not to brush his fingers with hers.

Then she sets a steady pace away from them, calling out over her shoulder.

“Don’t follow me!”

She hears a few light footsteps, hurried, wanting to catch up with her. She jumps back around, drawing back her foot and threatening to punt the shitty puppet.

“Hey! I’m dead serious.”

Wally halts just out of kicking reach. Eddie, who stayed by the door, gives his own permission for her self-banishment.

“Sure! Don’t go back towards Poppy.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Wally’s smile wavers. Disappointment, so satisfying to her soul.

“But I wanted to tell you about an idea-“

“Keep it to yourself.”

“I think you’ll like it!”

“Is the idea ‘leaving the human alone’?”

“Ha ha, no-“

“Then I don’t think I would!”

She turns, and this time there’s no pitter patter of tiny feet.

But she still holds her breath and keeps the tension in her shoulders. She learned her lesson earlier with Poppy. She won’t make the mistake of relaxing too soon, not again.

Then the minutes drag on… and she can accept it. She’s alone.

Well, almost. She looks back, and she can still see them. They can still see her. She’s not alone enough.

She doesn’t want to run and risk provoking either of them into chasing after a rapidly leaving figure of interest. She holds herself to a brisk walk as she heads for the woods, fingers clutching the wrapped sandwich. So fucking hungry.

She wanted to wait, but unwraps one end, feeling much like the animal she is when she’s too impatient to properly bite off a corner. A strip of lettuce drops to the lamb’s ear, and her pace stutters, almost experiencing grief over what is probably less than one calorie.

Shit. She doesn’t know how she’s going to build up a hoard of food when she can barely secure one substantial meal a day.

If Saturday doesn’t work, she’ll have to start playing nice, won’t she? God, that makes her sick. And it’s fucking dangerous. She doesn’t need anyone here, least of all Wally, becoming ‘attached’ to her. Or in Wally’s case, any more attached than he already is. None of these puppets should want her to stay here.

Maybe… if escaping during a heavy rain really would be her last ditch effort, stealing wouldn’t matter as much, right? She could grab a bag, stop by Howdy’s on her way out, and steal a shit ton of food from the barrels. That could work, right? Would a punishment for stealing be worse than for being outside at night?

…She really doesn’t know. And asking would definitely make them suspicious of her. Which, even if she wants them to at least mildly dislike her, suspicion involves more interest in a person’s activities than simple, beautiful hatred. It’s best to avoid that.

She steps onto the pleasant moss of the forest, already feeling relief from the sun and Wally’s eyes.

She walks a few more minutes before settling against a tree to finish devouring her sandwich. 

It’s good, and she’s left wanting another. Her dry mouth wants some water too.

But leaving means dealing with puppets. So unfortunately, she wants to stay more than she wants water.

…And now she’s sitting alone in a forest. It’s boring, but it’s safe. And safety is quickly becoming a most desirable atmosphere.

She lays down on her back, feels the moss on her arms and legs.

She’s always wanted a moss garden, like they have in Japan. She was right to want that. It’s as soft as it looked in the pictures.

But she did not imagine her ‘dream’ coming true in this way.

Really, why her? All because of a fucking Wikipedia edit? 

And was she really the only one that called? Wally acts like it was only her, acts like she’s something new and strange.

…She hopes she is. It makes her indispensable to him. Which serves to make sure he has interest in keeping her alive in whatever the fuck is happening here… although it’s also the reason he kidnapped her. 

How old is he? Maybe he’s literally a five year old. God, when was the Wikipedia edit? When did the show first air? Maybe a few years? Why can’t she fucking remember anything important?

But the phone number was put up for something, right? ‘Questions’. And that’s what she fucking called him for.

…Still, it means there’s hope, right? Links between these two places. Wherever ‘here’ and ‘there’ are. This world and her actual home. This can’t be on Earth, right? It must be… Somewhere else. Whatever that means.

But wherever she is, because there was such an obvious link… She has to believe that someone else out there knows the truth. Maybe a whole bunch of people.

There was no one credited for the show, and that has to be purposeful. 

So, she may have been the idiot who got herself into this shithole, but there must also be someone who’s responsible for getting her out. Really, Wikipedia is not a place where they can just permanently delete things. This whole situation is someone’s fault, goddammit, and they can’t just ignore it!!!

She’ll fucking tank the show if that’s what it takes. Who knows, maybe flash the screen, show them some fucking titty!

…Okay, maybe not that. She would die from embarrassment if that's what saved her. No. Just, no.

But she will make sure anyone profiting off the show will have a vested interest in getting her the fuck out of here, so help her God.

She sits up, revived by her energy. She wishes it were Saturday, so she could do something with this courage. She doesn’t want it to die before then, fade into doubt and fear.

She’ll have to just believe that she can do it, that it’ll work out. Her cowardice might win otherwise.

It will work. It will all work. It will all work and she will give her boss the biggest hug in the world and come clean about her ‘dog’ emergency. 

“It will be okay.”

It has to be.

She lays back down, feeling the air in her lungs. Still thirsty, still unwilling to leave the forest.

Does she even have anywhere to go after? Would Home let her in? Should she want to go in?

She sits back up, reaching down to smooth her palm over her scratched calf. It stings, although the welts have receded. 

Maybe she can stay out here. It doesn’t feel so bad. It’s more comfortable laid out on the moss than stuffed under a bush.

She entertains the thought. But she knows it wouldn’t work. Wally knows where she entered the forest, and he’ll come after her soon if she doesn’t leave. And when he finds her, she probably won’t be left alone, not again. 

She waits for him, laying down on the moss, eyes closed as she treasures every moment of peace, not knowing how fleeting it could be.

But it takes him a long time, at least an hour. She hopes it’s because Eddie was keeping him busy, and not him silently staring at her until he grew bored. Probably not the second one, Wally doesn’t strike her as someone who specializes in impulse control.

“Are you sleeping?”

Fuck.

“Yes.”

“May I join you?”

Like she has a choice.

“I don’t care.”

She keeps her eyes closed as she hears his soft footsteps coming around her, and the shuffle of him laying down.

…Wow, he’s actually being quiet. She can almost imagine he’s not even here-

“I’m sleeping. I’m sleeping. I’m sleeping. I’m sleeping. I’m-”

“Stop.”

“…What’s wrong?”

“People don’t say ‘I’m sleeping’ when they’re sleeping. It’s just silent. So stop it.”

“You aren’t quiet. You snore.”

“I do not.”

“Not as much as Barnaby. Just a little one. It’s cute, ha ha.”

‘Cute’? God, so fucking creepy.

“Gross.”

“You’re not gross.”

“Humans are gross. It’s a fact.”

Gross little animals spreading their variety of fluids and cells around their environment.

“I want to learn more about humans.”

“Well, it’s a shame I hate talking about ‘meat’ and ‘bones’, isn’t it?”

“If I knew all about humans, I wouldn’t have to bring it up so often.”

“Why humans? Ask me about art. Or plants.”

“I want to learn about humans first. They’re from Outside.”

“I really don’t know that much.”

“You know more than I do, ha ha. Please share it with me?”

“I have nothing to gain and possibly everything to lose.”

The more he understands her the more he could exploit her.

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

“...If you tell me everything you know about humans, I won’t talk about what you are with the other puppets here.”

…For real? Then she might have hope of keeping a lid on the whole ‘meat’ thing. But no, she is not seriously considering it.

“You won’t talk about that shit even when I’m not there?”

She hates herself.

“Even when you’re not there. I won’t share anything you tell me.”

“You’ve gotten very good at lying. Why should I believe you?”

“Ha ha, I’m glad I’m becoming more convincing.”

Shit. Maybe that was a mistake to reveal her own ineptitude.

…Yeah, it was definitely a mistake.

“It only makes it more difficult for yourself. Now you have to prove you mean it, puppet man.”

But she doesn’t know how he could prove it, even if she wanted him to. Which, she doesn’t care if he can. Definitely doesn’t care.

“When you talked to Howdy, something made you scared of him. What was it?”

That’s off-topic. Where is he trying to go with this? Well, it doesn’t matter. She’s not going to answer him truthfully.

“Nothing.”

Except not nothing. She has very good reasons to fear Howdy, and puppets as a whole. Puppets can eat meat, but she can’t eat puppets. She is very concretely below them in the food chain. Anyone, any human, would become unsettled to be abruptly dethroned from their apex-predator status. And even if Howdy isn’t doing the actual slaughtering, he still carries out the processing of the corpses, err, carcasses. Why wouldn’t she be fucking nervous to be near him?

“Tell me what it was. Please.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Ha ha ha, I don’t understand why you won’t tell me.”

“Because I don’t trust you.”

And because she’ll do anything she can to prevent these backwards puppets from finding out that she can't actually eat them. That lie could be what's keeping her as an ‘equal’ in this place.

“How can I prove it to you?”

“Not my problem to fix that for you. Also, I will never tell you. Because I hate you.”

He hums, soft, thoughtful. She expects to be scolded again for her ‘rudeness’, but he doesn’t seem to have even heard it.

“I have kept our other trades.”

“Those were a lot smaller than this one.”

“They were. But they count.”

“Not enough.”

“I could tell you about puppets too.”

…Okay, that’s more interesting. It could help her make more plans to get out of here, help her avoid them if it has to do with her ‘rain’ plan.

But it still isn’t quite worth it.

Unless she heavily censors herself. Really, she doesn't know a lot to begin with. And she’s already exposed two big weaknesses, starving and drowning… and suffocation. What else is there?

Shit, maybe it is a good idea?

“Maybe. But you can’t talk about me being a human or ‘meat’ to anyone at any time. And I get answers about what the fuck you are too.”

“Of course, ha ha. You can trust me.”

We’ll see. And in case she can’t, she won’t give up too much.

“I’m going first.”

“Okay.”

Okay. She’s going first. She just needs a question… 

…Why not start with the obvious?

“Do all puppets fake being asleep, or is it just you?”

“I do sleep, ha ha.”

“You don’t. You say ‘I’m sleeping’ over and over again. Usually it’s just silence. Or snoring.”

Which she does not do. And if she does, she hopes it annoys him.

“But my eyes are closed, and I lie still. I’m sleeping.”

“So are all the puppets aware when they’re ‘sleeping’?”

“...I don’t know what you mean.”

“Is there any point when you’re sleeping that you can’t hear what's happening around you?”

“Ha ha, I can always hear. Why would my ears stop working?”

…So, he just can’t sleep? None of them do? Then why would sleeping be a thing in the first place?

But it's safe to assume Wally’s different from the others, isn’t it? Eddie or Barnaby don’t kidnap humans from dreams on their off days, do they?

Wait, how different is Wally?

“You are a puppet just like the others, right?”

“I am a puppet, yes.”

…Well, okay. What, is she supposed to not believe him? He’s a literal puppet. Looks like a duck, quacks like a duck. 

But then do the other puppets here have any… strange things about them like Wally does? Supernatural powers of a horrific variety? If so, she hasn’t seen any of them perform said ‘talents’.

“I have a question.”

Ah shit, she has to return the sentiment.

“...Fine. Ask away, puppet man.”

“You have more bones than just your teeth.”

That’s a comment, not a question. She answers him anyway.

“Yeah.”

“Can you show me?”

Uh, no, not happening.

“If I showed you, I would die.”

From blood loss, probably. And there is no situation where showing him her ‘inside’ bones would be good for her, so better cut that off here with the most extreme scenario.

“Where are they?”

“Under my skin. You’ve felt my wrist. The hard things under the, uh, ‘meat’ are bones.”

“I want bones.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Why not? They’re strong if you could hurt Barnaby with them, ha ha.”

“I don’t want you to be any more dangerous than you are.”

Although really, she meant it more because breaking a bone is exceedingly painful. Puppets don’t have that issue, fluffy bastards.

“I’m not dangerous.”

“You kidnapped me.”

“I didn’t hurt you.”

“You could eat me.”

She wants him to argue against her again, but his silence tells her more than she wants to know.

Her skin itches, a skewed defensiveness rising to the surface.

“You should fear me too. I could eat you.”

“But you won’t. You said you’d rather die.”

“I would if you were threatening me.”

“I won’t hurt you.”

“You’re hurting me mentally.”

“Mentally?”

“In my brain.”

“What’s a ‘brain’?”

“My mind.”

“Oh.”

…Why doesn’t he know what a brain is? Well, do puppets even have organs? They’d at least have a stomach, or something equivalent, for eating.

“Do you know any organs?”

Wally hesitates, and she already knows that he’s perplexed by the concept, or at least the word.

“‘Organs’?”

“Like, a heart. Lungs. Liver.”

“Oh, I know what a heart is. It’s what makes you love something.”

“Actually, a heart pumps blood through a body.”

“What? Ha ha.”

“A heart pumps blood through a body. Can’t say it simpler than that.”

“Why does it do that?”

“So I can live. If my heart stops pumping blood, I’ll die.”

“…Blood is like water?”

“Special water.”

“Home has pipes that run water to different rooms. Is it like that?”

“…Sure.”

Close enough.

“What about the other ones? ‘Lungs’?”

“I use lungs to breathe.”

“Why do you breathe?”

“My organs need air to keep going. So, my lungs take the air, put it in my blood, and my blood feeds it to the other organs.”

Well, more or less. Gotta dumb it down for Wally.

“And your blood can do that because it’s pumped everywhere.”

“Yeah. Gold star.”

“I would like to see them.”

Oh my god, no, absolutely not.

“If you ever see my organs, I will be dead.”

So never fucking ask or think about it again, shitty muppet, uh, puppet. God, this better not become a pattern with him.

“You… have many ways to die, ha ha.”

“Yeah. That's why I don’t like talking about this shit.”

“I want to know all of them.”

“...All of my organs?”

“All the ways you can die.”

She rubs her arm, swallows the lump in her throat. She hates this, hates how this conversation is making her nauseous in the pit of her stomach. She needs to calm down. Wally doesn’t want her to die, and he doesn’t understand how he sounds.

That’s right. It’s just a conversation. A conversation with a socially stunted puppet. Nothing bad is happening.

She tries to brush off her anxiety with that sentiment, answering with a lazy, annoyed tone.

“There are literally too many. There are so many ways for me to die, I could never tell you all of them. Death is creative like that.”

Life is creative too. Creatively sadistic for putting her here.

“I don’t want you to die.”

“Tough shit. Something’s gonna kill me eventually.”

“I won’t let it.”

“I’m not having this conversation again. And it’s my turn.”

“Ah, okay.”

“Do the other puppets have powers like yours?”

“Powers? Like what?”

“Like how you stole me from a dream, you fucker. Stop forgetting about it.”

“I didn’t forget. And no, they don’t.”

“How do you know that? Would they hide that from you?”

“...I don’t think so. I asked if they could feel you, the ‘humans’ watching us. They said they couldn’t.”

“Just your weird ass, then.”

“Ha ha, yes, just my ‘weird ass’.”

“...Do you even know what an ‘ass’ is?”

“No, what is it?”

“Is that really your question?”

“...No. I would like to know about all the other organs.”

Fuck, she shoulda just tricked him out of his next question. And that question is too long to entertain, ‘ass’ would’ve been easier.

“Ask me a question with a shorter answer.”

“You said you would tell me everything you know.”

“I may not know every organ, but there are too many for them all to count as one question.”

“How many do you have?”

“At least ten. Probably a lot more. I didn’t go to school for this.”

“Ha ha, I haven’t gone to school at all.”

…Well, there isn’t a school in the neighborhood, is there? Are any of them educated? How do they know what school is?

“If there’s no school here, then how do you know what school is?”

“Frank told me.”

…Well, it is kinda a silly question. Of course these puppets would know what ‘school’ is. Pretty strange for a children’s show to ignore school as a whole. It’s a big part of their viewer’s day.

Although, with Wally as the ‘main character’ it is weird that he hasn’t gone. He’s supposed to be setting a good example, right? 

Maybe he didn’t go because he’s dumb. Dumb Wally. Ha, funny. 

But that thought assumes that he had the chance to go. Has he been out of this neighborhood? ‘Frank’ must have, since they went to school.

..Except Wally didn’t say that. He just said that Frank told him about school, not that the other puppet went.

“Wally, have you ever left this neighborhood?”

“No? I live here, ha.”

“For how long?”

“Ha ha, it’s not polite to ask a gentleman his age.”

“You’re the farthest thing from a gentleman.”

So he’s been here his whole life. Wow. Or, less wow if he’s only existed a couple years.

“How old are you, sweetheart?”

“I’m not telling a gross old puppet my age. You’re probably, like, a hundred. Fucking puppet.”

Or five. No in-between. But she doesn’t think he could actually be five. His voice sounds like a late twenty-something.

…Then again, he’s a puppet. Isn’t he just ‘made’ and then that’s what he is forever?

Puppets don’t… do the ‘do’, do they?

She will assume not.

“I am very clean.”

“Your hands are dirty.”

“No, they aren’t. Do you want to see?”

She meant it metaphorically.

“No. Just, let’s move on.”

“Ha ha, okay. What’s your favorite organ?”

Her ‘favorite organ’? What the fuck?

“What? I don’t know. I don’t have a favorite.”

“Why not?”

“You… ask such stupid questions.”

“They aren’t stupid.”

“They’re strange.”

“Please answer them anyway, ha ha.”

“I dunno. I guess I like my brain.”

“Your brain?”

“Yeah.”

He pauses, and she doesn’t understand what’s so fucking confusing about it. She told him what a brain is.

“…I don’t understand.”

“What is there to not understand? It’s how I think.”

“Organs are things, aren’t they? Something you could touch. But you can’t touch a mind.”

Wow. Is he getting philosophical?

…She doubts it. Maybe this just means that puppets don’t have brains… although she didn’t need him to confirm that. 

“That’s how it works with animals. Our minds come from brains.”

 He starts to speak, and she cuts him off before he can finish a single word.

“Where’s your mind? What creates your thoughts, hm? Where does it all come from?”

“...I don’t know. Not here. Somewhere else.”

His hand lifts towards the sky, and she watches it from the corner of her vision as he mimics a petting gesture with wiggling fingers. She doesn't know what the fuck that’s supposed to mean.

“Now that doesn’t make sense.”

“It does.”

“Doesn’t.”

“It does.”

“Well, to be fair you shouldn’t have a mind at all. You’re a puppet.”

“Ha ha, of course puppets have minds.”

“Nope. Not where I come from. You’re all just socks.”

“But I’m not a sock? Ha ha ha.”

“You look like a sock.”

“I don’t.”

“You do, a real smelly one.”

“I took a bath last night?”

“Stinky sock man. That’s what you are.”

“Ha ha, are you joking?”

“No. Be offended.”

“I think you are. But I don’t get the joke.”

“People wear socks on their feet. Socks become stinky. You are a sock. If A equals B and B equals C then A equals C. Simple logic.”

“…I don’t understand at all. Say it again.”

“Puppets are socks. Socks are smelly. So you, a puppet, are a smelly sock.”

More or less.

“But I’m not a sock? Ha ha.”

“You are. I’m going to prove it to you.”

“Please do.”

“What? You want to be a stinky sock?”

“I’m not a sock, but I want to know why you think I am.”

“I know you’re a sock in the same way you know I’m ‘meat’. It’s just that neither of us wants to admit it.”

“…But you know you’re meat.”

“And you don’t seem to realize you’re basically a sock. But you are.”

“…I really don’t get it.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, huffing a heavy breath. 

“I don’t care.”

“Why are you so confusing?”

“I’m only confusing because you don’t know anything.”

He hums, a low sound. He has some fucking nerve to sound tired. She’s the one who’s fucking tired, dammit.

“I brought you here so you can tell me what I don’t know. Being confusing isn’t helpful.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Ha ha, I don’t know why you’re being rude again.”

Oh, fuck him.  

“I don’t owe you clear answers, and I don’t know why you expect that kind of cooperation from someone you kidnapped. But you know what? It literally doesn’t matter that I’m telling you this. We have these talks, and then we get to this point were you act like such a clueless fucking idiot that I have to doubt whether you’re actually capable of understanding anything I’m saying. It’s like, God, here we are and Wally is once again just so fucking surprised when the human gets pissed at him for being an insensitive, psychopathic piece of shit. So, what does that mean for me? Should I just accept that you’ll never fucking catch up? Do you even want to catch up, or do you wanna keep learning your little vocabulary notecards until I fucking rot away?”

She pauses, almost winded from talking, but she can’t help snarking out one last bit to fuck with him.

“You know what, that would be a great PG-13 movie. Dumbest puppet in the neighborhood summons a human to fix him only to find out the reason for his crippling idiocy was inside himself all along.”

She drops her arms down from where they’re crossed, still keeping her fingers threaded together over her stomach. She’s so tired of having this conversation, of giving yet another reality check to the puppet from this distinctly not-reality world. But here she is, once again testing to see if Wally could shoot the broad face of a barn. Or maybe she’s just taking out some frustration on him. It’s not like he doesn’t deserve it.

She rolls her head to look at him, to meet the gaze she knows has been on her since he stopped pretending to sleep.

He’s frowning. More than a small crease in his brow or a shrunk smile. His eyes are wide open, mouth almost flat.

It should scare her to see him closer to ‘mad’ than ever before. In a way it does, dread sitting heavy in her stomach. But she doesn’t express that fear. Instead she finds herself fighting a smile, humor bubbling up from the sheer hilarity that he’s already this irritated from what little he would have been able to derive from her ridicule. 

She already knows his protest before he has a chance to speak it.

“I’m not dumb.”

“Pfft, you so are. You are very dumb.”

“…If I am dumb, I won’t be for long. You’ll teach me what I don’t know.”

Just like that, he proves he learned nothing from her tangent. 

She could get angry at him again. It’s still there, bubbling beneath the surface. But she pauses, wanting to reflect further on the root of the anger.

“Why should I?”

She voices it aloud, but the question is for herself. The smarter he becomes, the harder it will be for her to escape. She has nothing to gain from him becoming smarter. It’s only if she can pull off her ruse, extracting useful information about puppets while leaving him with a trail of lies, that it could be worth it.

And besides, if he really can’t move knowledge into application, then she has nothing to worry about, right?

…Except for the fact that he has clearly begun to see through her own lies and taken to lying himself like a duck to water. Fuck. Hopefully that's the exception. Or maybe she’s just really bad at telling when people, puppets, are lying to her, and he’s not actually that good at it. Yeah, that’s probably it.

She had moved her head back to watch the branches above them, but a fist tugging at the short end of her sleeve has her lolling her head right back at him. His smile is back, but his eyes haven’t relaxed, remaining attentive to her expression.

“What can I give you?”

Oh, and what can he expect her to say except for what she always demands?

“Put me back where you took me from. I’ll teach you over the phone.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

“I can’t take that risk. Not with a liar.”

“I’m not a liar.”

…It should not be possible for a puppet with no eyebrows to give her such a skeptical, patronizing look.

“You are a big liar, ha ha.”

She looks back up at the branches and the sky that peeks between thick leaves.

“Stop talking to me.”

“But I have more questions.”

“Oh no. What are we going to do with all of your questions?”

“...Ha, I can ask them?”

“Oh! Right! I almost forgot that’s what you do with questions. Aren’t you just so fucking smart! Here, let me give you a little freebie.”

She makes a show of coughing into her fist, dislodging the hand that clung to her sleeve.

“Did you know that a human stomach is great at digesting puppet flesh?”

She hopes he eats this bullshit up and spreads it to all his fucking neighbors.

“What’s ‘digesting’?”

“Breaking food down into something your body uses.”

“How?”

“It just does. Acidic shit. Like lemons.”

“…I still don’t get it.”

“The sandwich I ate earlier is no longer a sandwich. And if I ate a puppet, the puppet would be dissolved too. Into nothing.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Puppets eat too, isn’t it the same?”

Well, he did admit that he didn’t go to school. Why would he know about a digestive track?

“No. When I eat, it doesn’t become something else, and it doesn’t become nothing either.”

“...Then is it just chewed up food when you… you know.”

“When what?”

When puppets shit it out, man!

“Never mind.”

Actually, maybe she’s better off not knowing some things.

“Please ask.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“New topic. So uh…”

Not kidneys or digestive track. That’s a gross line of conversation.

“Do puppets have immune systems? Like, livers?”

Maybe she can give them all tetanus.

…She doubts it. They’re puppets. Can they get infections? Or parasites? She hasn’t seen any rainbow moths around, not yet.

“What are ‘livers’?”

“They put stuff in my blood that fights other things that want to hurt me.”

“Can I see your blood?”

What the fuck is with him wanting to see everything?! Shit, it is a fucking pattern.

“No. That would also kill me.”

“Really?”

“Yes. One hole in the ‘pipes’ and it’ll all come rushing out! And then my heart will have nothing to pump and it will stop. And then I will be dead.”

“Would your blood hurt me if I touched it?”

…What? Where did that come from?

“...Why would you ever need to know that?”

“You said the liver makes something in it that fights.”

“I did say that. Yes, it would hurt if you touched blood. So, leave it alone.”

“…What about your leg? Something hurt you, but it didn’t hurt your pipes?”

“Human pipes are called blood vessels. And no, it didn’t scratch deep enough for me to bleed.”

Wow, she’s really on a roll with lying out of her ass. But Wally doesn’t seem to know any better. She just… Cannot bleed again. Ever.

Shit, maybe not her most ironclad lie.

“Can I touch-“

“No touching my scratches. Same rules as my bruises.”

“Please-“

“No. And if you ask again I’ll smack the shit out of you.”

“Please don’t.”

She lifts a hand, keeps her fingers loose. He shifts minutely away from her.

“Good. Always fear me.”

“You aren’t scary.”

“I can eat you.”

“But you won’t.”

“I can bite you.”

“You won’t.”

“I will.”

“You don’t want to.”

Of course not. Fabric is hardly a pleasant texture to grind between enamel.

She stays silent, and Wally’s eyes finally leave hers, glance down towards her mouth.

“I do want to look at your teeth.”

“If you do, I’ll bite you.”

“Just open your mouth wider. How many do you have?”

She loosely covers her mouth with her hand, muffling her words.

“Enough to bite you with.”

“You won’t die if you show them to me.”

“You have to be content with what few teeth you’re allowed to see.”

“Maybe not today. But later you will.”

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

“I shan’t.”

“Ha ha, what?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Ha, yes.”

“Okay, I can’t do this anymore.”

“I have another question about your ‘organs’.”

Ugh. No. She wants to be done with it.

“No. It’s my turn.”

…Shit, she really doesn’t know what would be a good question to ask. Maybe, something to do with their capabilities? 

“Do all puppets have good senses of smell?”

“Barnaby has the best, of course. Our other neighbors can smell too, ha ha. And you know I can’t smell.”

Yeah… He doesn't have a nose. It’s weirdly easy to forget. Probably because it’s not that unusual when it’s a puppet.

…Although it is another way that he’s different from the other puppets here. Is that important? Should she be writing down all the differences? Maybe it’s not important, all the puppets here have weird features, like four arms or, you know, being a fucking bird.

For now, she should be focusing on her line of questioning.

“What about puppet eyes? Can you see at night?”

“Ha ha, why wouldn’t I be able to see at night?”

“Because it might be too dark?”

“Too dark to see?”

…Is that a ‘yes’? Does Wally have fucking night-vision?!

“Can other puppets see in the dark?”

“I don’t know. We don’t go out at night, ha ha.”

“But no one ever comments ‘wow it was so dark outside, couldn't see a thing’!”

“No? Ha ha. Can humans see when it’s dark?”

“Yes. But some other animals can’t.”

…All these lies might be hard to keep track of. Or maybe not. It’s the rational conclusion of what she’d want the puppets to believe. She’d make the same lie again, no question, so no use worrying about that either!

More importantly, if all the other puppets can see in the dark, it could make sneaking out in the rain harder. Well, if it’s heavy enough, night-vision wouldn’t matter past a certain point. Heavy rain could hide her even in this open-ass town.

Well, the other thing would be hearing, right? How would she even ask about that? ‘Could you hear a pin drop from a hundred yards’? Maybe that’s something she can test on her own, answer him quietly and see if he can make it out from another room.

“What else causes puppets pain? Burning, sure, but can you get stabbed, or something?”

“...I don’t think I should tell you that.”

“You know I can be hit and scratched. I deserve a second way for puppets to feel pain.”

“Ha ha, I heard that biting hurts.”

What-?!

“Asshole.”

“Ha ha ha.”

“Ugh. Just answer it.”

And, to her mild surprise, he actually obliges her.

“I think we get hurt in the same ways. But, being hit or squished doesn’t hurt, unless it’s with something sharp.”

“I mean, surely there must be something that hurts you and doesn’t hurt me. Like with water. Makes puppets heavy, but not me.”

Except water doesn’t make him heavy, does it? Another discrepancy for Wally.

“No, not you, ha ha. But I’m not sure what else would cause pain.”

“Wow, lucky you.”

“Do you get hurt often?”

“Only since I came here.”

Another lie. She gets mystery-bruises all the time.

“Oh.”

She repeats after him, half habitual, half mocking.

“Oh.”

He doesn’t respond right away, although she hears him shift on the moss. She hopes he’s uncomfortable.

“I have another question.”

No.

“No.”

“Please? One more? I answered many of yours.”

“...Only one. Then we’re done, at least for today.”

“What do your organs look like?”

Ah, another question with a long ass answer. But she’s plenty willing to take the easy way out.

“They’re blobby shaped. Not much to say.”

“What color?”

Red. But she holds her tongue on that answer.

…No, she cannot tell the mentally unstable puppet that her insides are his favorite color. Definitely not.

“Black. Everything is black. My organs, my blood, everything.”

“...Really?!”

“Yes.”

She looks over at him, a bit suspicious of his sudden excitement over what was supposed to be a resounding, disappointing ‘fact’.

He’s… smiling very warmly at her, eyes relaxed, affectionate.

She doesn’t like that look on him.

“I love that, ha ha ha.”

…WHAT?!

“What? Why would you like that?”

He reaches for her again, and she realizes his ‘shifting’ had been him scooting closer along the moss.

“Fuck, stop it! I’m not cuddling you.”

“Please?”

“Oh my god-!”

She sits up, escaping those tiny, menacing hands, and wobbles to her feet, blood rushing to her head. Whoa, woozy.

She takes a few stumbling steps, regaining her stability after a few moments. 

Wally bounds right back to her side again. Right, non-blood creatures don’t experience a head rush.

“No touchy.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“We can do another trade.”

“You already traded me your silence on meat.”

Wally hums, and she starts walking back towards the edge of the forest. She hopes he can't think of anything she’d want bad enough, doesn’t want to hold his hand.

As he comes back to her side she crosses her arms, in case the bastard wants to try his luck again. She’s had enough hand holding for a fucking year. Actually, a fucking lifetime!

Ugh. Was it a mistake to tell him about organs? Half of it was lies anyway. Nothing worse than what he already knows.

Shit, he’s so dumb, she can’t tell if he was willingly participating in the banter or just a victim to it.

…Not that she enjoyed the conversation. ‘Banter’ implies enjoyment, but it had clear instances of very disturbing exchanges. 

And why does he like the idea of black insides? What the hell? Does he actually like black? There’s hardly any black around the neighborhood, and certainly not in his house.

…But does she really want to restart the organ conversation to get those answers? Probably not. She should be enjoying the silence of the evening. The rather eerie silence.

But blessed silence nonetheless, and she will be grateful.

She wanders towards the creek, even if it's a bit out of the way of Home. Well, it’s not like she could escape him there anyway.

She knows the quiet would have a short life, but still sighs when Wally talks to her as she sips water from her palms.

“Why are you scared of Howdy?”

“Because.”

“Please tell me.”

“No.”

“...I want you to get along with the neighbors here.”

“Tough shit. I don’t get along with any of them.”

“You will.”

She ignores him, refilling her palms to take another sip.

“...I could make you go to him for food.”

Oh, fuck him. Just, fuck him!

She wants to tear him apart for suggesting it, and her earlier frustrations don’t tame the impulse. 

The pool of water trembles in her hands, although she knows there wouldn’t be any satisfaction in ‘crushing’ it under her fingers.

Her voice is steadier than she feels, more blasé than Wally deserves for voicing such an idea.

“Not scared of me starving anymore?”

“...He wouldn’t hurt you.”

“I don’t know that, and you don’t know that.”

“Howdy is very kind, he wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“He would hurt a wild animal, wouldn’t he?”

“You aren’t wild.”

And that’s not a ‘no’.

“Wally, I am the definition of a wild animal.”

“No. You have a home, you’re taken care of. You’re a ‘pet’, remember?”

Goddammit, she should’ve never taught him that word.

“I told you, you’re the pet here Wally. Home’s pet.”

“You’re also Home’s pet.”

…Really?

“Oh my god. You are just… You are just fucking rich Wally.”

She takes the water in her palms, lifts it. Wally takes a step back, but isn’t fast enough to save himself from the faceful of water.

And really, ‘faceful’ is an exaggeration. But he certainly acts like she drenched him, hands frantically pawing it off his face and eyes.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Ha ha… You got it in my eyes.”

“Yeah, your eyes are kinda part of your face.”

Wally takes their hands from their face, stepping further back from the creek’s edge.

“Are you ready to go back to Home? I can make dinner.”

…Wow, it really has been a while, hasn’t it? Sun will set soon. God, she can’t believe she tolerated this idiot for that long.

“I’m not helping make dinner.”

She’s not lifting a fucking finger for her kidnapper.

“Will you sit in the kitchen?”

“No.”

“Why not?“

“I’m tired.”

“You can rest in the kitchen.”

“The couch is more comfortable. Or my bed.”

Bed would be better, wouldn’t have to be in a situation where she could provoke ‘Home’. 

“Okay.”

She leaves the creek, flicking extra water off her fingers at him. He leans away as she does so, squinting his eyes.

The creek isn’t far from Home, but she’s still surprised he’s been so quiet for most of the way back. She turns her head to watch where he’s following slightly behind her. His eyes were facing forward for once, but immediately move to meet her’s, smile brightening.

Fucking creepy.

“...Is there an organ for-”

“No. I’m done with human questions. My eye contact wasn’t an invitation to talk more.”

“Can we talk more tomorrow?”

“…Yes. But you do know our deal is still on, right? Even if I didn’t answer all the questions you had tonight.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

Ugh.

When they finally approach Home, it occurs to her again that they still might not let her in. But Wally seemed to think they would…

…He didn’t arrange the whole locking-her-out thing with Home, did he? That was purely Home’s spiteful personality. 

As they round the front of Home, those windowed eyes seem to leer down at her. Okay, plotting seems less likely. Although now she has to deal with a house fucking frowning at her. Hopefully she doesn’t look intimidated by it. 

“I… Am sorry.”

There’s a pause, and then a few shrill noises from inside the house somewhere.

She looks back to Wally, hoping for a translation, but he just cocks his head at her. Fucking worthless paperweight.

Okay, fine, she doesn't need him to chaperone! She’s a fucking adult, dammit!

“...Are you going to let me in?”

Fuck, it comes out meeker than she intends. But just as she finishes her plea, Home silently opens the door, leaving plenty of room. 

Well, she’s not gonna fucking dawdle.

She approaches gingerly, picking up her stool. Then, one awkward transition later, she’s inside. 

She wastes no time excusing herself from Wally’s presence.

“I’m taking a nap. Knock on my door when you’re done cooking… And don’t come in or open the door, even if I don’t answer.”

“Ha ha… Because you might not hear it?”

…Shit.

“No. I always hear when I’m sleeping. I might just choose to ignore you and eat in the morning. Because I hate you.”

She hurries to the stairs, holding her stool to her chest to watch where her feet are placed on the narrow steps.

It’s not until she’s at her door that she hears him, so soft she almost misses it.

“...Liar.”

Bastard. But did he really think she was aware when she was sleeping?

Fuck. Ah, fuck!

Did he think she was aware the entire time she was sleeping?! Is that why he has been leaving her alone?!

Well, truthfully she had simply refused to acknowledge the possibility of him trampling all over her boundaries as she sleeps, but now… Now she has really fucked up. 

No, hold on. Calm down. She’s not that heavy of a sleeper. She would wake up if he opened the door. Or walked in.

…Except for the fact he has snuck up on her several times, fuck! He’s a cat! 

She opens the bedroom door, testing the hinge. Smooth as a baby’s bottom. Fuck. Can’t have one goddamn rusty hinge in this shithole?!

She puts her stool in, uses it to get into her bedroom. 

She… She can’t go to sleep. 

Hold on. Maybe, maybe she can do some crazy shit.

Only one window, that’s good. She can, uh, put something on it.

Her gaze flits around the room, from the bug hair clips to that weird sculpture. But no, the metallic sun decoration is best.

She places it delicately on the windowsill, having to carefully adjust it just right on the edge. If someone opens it more than an inch, they’ll knock it off. That’ll wake her. 

But the fucking door… if only her stool had a back, then she could push it up under the handle.

Maybe the shelves would work? Nothing’s on them, it’d be light, and make a scraping sound. 

Just as she thought, it’s light, and makes a delightful scraping noise, high and whiny.

But even as she puts it in front of the door, it doesn’t feel like enough. She might sleep through it, especially if the door is opened slowly. 

Well, there’s a simple solution. 

She tilts the shelves so that it’s standing on two legs leaning against the door. Either it falls on its back or on four legs, and both will make a good bang.

…This is crazy. She is a crazy person. Setting up booby traps is something a crazy person does.

Except this is a crazy situation, and this is actually an extremely rational course of action. Yes. Everything is going to be okay. Mhm. 

She lays over her covers, fully clothed. She doesn’t want to be constricted by any blankets.

But it doesn’t make falling asleep easier. Or maybe that’s just her paranoia. There shouldn’t be, Wally is busy making dinner, right?

Regardless, she only lies on her back for half an hour, staring up at the ceiling.

But it’s also time to think. About their conversation, and about, really, how little she gained from it. But she doesn’t think Wally got much from her either, right? Except the hearing thing… Which was a rather big ‘oopsy’ in retrospect. She should have played it more cool. God, why is she so fucking lame and bad at lying?

But her wallowing comes to a stuttering halt.

There’s a knock, gentle, quiet. She immediately pegs the softness as a test of whether she could actually hear, and half a tapestry of insults is conjured before the knock is followed up with a louder, verbal question.

“Ha ha, are you sleeping?”

“Yes. And I heard you knock too.”

Because obviously humans can hear when they’re sleeping.

She gets out, and fuck, now she has to deal with the shelves.

She grits her teeth when the legs scrape against the floor, and can’t believe that she actually bothers to check for scratches on the hardwood. This house can go fuck itself.

She puts the stool in the doorway before Wally can lean into the bedroom, which he seems very eager to do.

“What are you doing in there?”

“Interior decorating.”

He nods, almost closing his eyes in his show of agreement.

“It is empty. We can get more things for you.”

“Thanks.”

Maybe a large machete. Or a gun. Could a gun kill a puppet? Do they have guns here?

Once she escapes the guest bedroom, she has to go down those damned stars again. Really, she’s going to fucking eat wood at some point, it’s a fucking hazard having such narrow steps.

But then she’s in the kitchen, can already smell dinner. Something tomato-y.

She places the stool down by the doorway, viewing the single plate at the table. It’s pasta again. The spaghetti variety.

She sits, Wally scuttling up on his own chair, and they have dinner together.

It’s a stilted thing, at least on her part. She doesn’t speak to him once, focusing on shoveling her dinner down and powering through the rising heartburn. Wally doesn't mind her silence at all, blabbering on. Well, what else are they gonna do when they still refuse to eat in front of her?

It’s easy to tune it out, especially when his tone has such little inflection. It’s almost like her college days, really. Just a man, very far away from her, droning on about some mind-numbing topic, and she hops back on that daydreaming bike like she never left.

Another episode of Cat-Woman verses the maniacal puppeteer! She may not be able to beat up puppets in ‘real life’, but she can imagine she can! Haha!

Wa-pow! Scah-tuush! Fuwah!

…He isn’t talking anymore.

She glances up at him, where he’s silently staring at her. He perks up at the attention, and she looks back down to her food as he opens his mouth once more.

Thank god she’s almost done. Or, well, does she really need to eat all of it? She could leave now.

…She should eat all of it. She isn’t having a very good track record with breakfast.

So graciously, she suffers through more of Wally’s chatter. 

It’s a relief when she finally finishes. Her fork clatters on the plate, only a few noodles left abandoned.

“Done.”

“You ate fast.”

Yeah, so she could get away from him.

“I’m going to bed.”

“Why? You just took a nap.”

“I’m taking another one.”

She gets up, grabbing her stool. She knows from a small squeak of a chair leg that Wally isn’t far behind.

She carries it up the stairs, Wally close behind.

It really is like having a cat, isn’t it? He watches her brush her teeth, reluctantly leaves for her to use the bathroom.

God, she wishes he was a cat. Cuter and less disturbing that way.

She doesn’t speak a word to him when she leaves, using her stool to get into her bedroom. The bedroom.

She watches his face from above the stool as she turns to reclaim it. He’s watching her expectantly, and she slides the stool out, ready to shut the door.

“You aren’t going to say ‘goodnight’, sweetheart?”

“No.”

She tries to close the door in his face, presses her palm flat to the wood. It doesn’t so much as twitch.

“What…”

She pushes again, nervous that it might abruptly slam shut with the force she’s applying. Instead, it opens wider. Fuck, she doesn’t want to say goodnight to this fucker. That’s why Home is doing this, right?

“Why are they doing this? What is-“

“I have a surprise for you. Tomorrow.”

It’s harder to apply force on the door, she has to curl her hand around the edge to get the same leverage. The door halts under the new grip, but still won’t fucking close.

She answers Wally distractedly, digging her nails into the wood as if Home could feel it.

“Wow. I am just so excited.”

“Really?”

“Fuck no! Return it. I don’t want shit from you.”

Unless the surprise is returning her to her rightful realm, and she knows it isn’t.

“I think you will like it.”

“I think I’ll hate it.”

“It will make the neighborhood more interesting.”

…Interesting? That’s… That’s ominous.

“…In what way?”

Wally pulls back, eyes uncharacteristically avoiding hers, head tilting away.

“I shouldn’t say more. I want it to be a surprise, ha ha.”

“Wally, tell me what it is.”

As much as he wants to keep his secret a surprise, he still leaps at the chance to peel back the edges just a little bit more.

“Something to make the neighborhood more like your home. It was difficult, but I know how to do it now.”

Oh no. She doesn’t know what she’s ‘oh no’-ing, but she knows it deserves a very big ‘oh no’.

“You are making me very uncomfortable. Tell me what the surprise is, now. ”

“Don’t be scared. It’s a good surprise, not a ‘shock’, ha ha ha… I can’t wait.”

The door begins to close, and hold on, she needs it to stay open, needs to know what the fuck Wally’s planned. Her knuckles turn white as she strains against the movement, but she can’t stop the slow, unrelenting progress.

Does she squeeze to get out? She doesn’t have her stool on hand, Home could crush her.

Fuck, the door’s already too far to risk it, and she pulls back her hand. No way in hell she’s risking her fingers.

She watches him from the shrinking slit. His eyes stay on her the whole time, never darkening as the door casts a shadow on his face.

“Goodnight, Sunshine… Sleep a long time.”

The door clicks shut, and a shiver goes up her spine. Her feet feel rooted to the floor, waiting, listening.

Then she hears it. Not from behind the door, but further down the hall, or maybe from down the stairs?

It’s a wiggling sound, harsher along a few edges, with a trembling lilt as it trails off.

She’s heard it before, hasn’t she? It’s familiar.

The corners of her lips twitch up, her diaphragm spasms, air rushing out of her nose. It’s a reactive movement, a nervous mimic.

A giggle. That’s what the sound was. His actual laugh. 

Holy shit. She remembers. 

He made that sound over the phone, she thought it had been so fucking weird and creepy, and, uh, and genuine too, actually. More real than that monotone imitation he always uses.

Shit, uh, but that was during his last call, wasn’t it? Before he took her.

Yes. It was. She knows it was.

Her hands, clammy now, curl into fists. She rests one on the door. The wood feels firm, much stronger than she is. 

She wants to pound in the door, make him come back. She wants to attack him. She wants to do something to make him feel pain, to force him to answer for what he’s planning.

Except, she doesn’t want to do any of that. She wants… She wants to hide. She doesn’t want attention, not from that Wally.

But it’s always that Wally. It’s always been that Wally. Calling him dumb doesn’t mean anything.

She stumbles back, jerking with the realization that she’s standing too close to the door. It could swing back the other way, knock out her teeth or break her nose. She can’t believe she let down her guard like that. She’s in a sentient house, she can’t forget that.

Her hands come up to her face, cupping her nose and mouth. An impulse to scream is rising in her throat, the source of the feeling confusing for her.

She… She doesn’t know what to do. Where to go.

She backs away further, her bed hitting her legs. She sits on the edge obediently, but can’t imagine getting under the covers.

Instead she keeps still and watches the door. She should put the shelves back up against it. Even if she’s not sleeping tonight, she has to at least do that much. 

As useless as it could be, it’s not nothing.

She can’t have nothing.