Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Bell was pushed to a seated position by his shoulders.

“No more of that,” the Wire said sternly, “Stay there, out of the way, while we handle this.”

The Bell blinked up at him. Surely he wasn’t being that much of a nuisance, right? He’d expect this kind of treatment towards the Sea, or even the Temp, who both tend to be of no help. This couldn't be right, the Bell can help in plenty of ways.

The others were fighting and corralling a large, bestial creature made of blades. She didn’t seem to be going down easy, and the Bell was trying his best to give everyone his support, even though he isn’t quite the best at combat.

He had been pulled into the Wire’s place of residence, a cozy wooden cabin alongside a few others’ houses. The Wire left to rejoin the others, leaving the Bell to recount his misdeeds like a child in time-out. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to throw himself at his comrades in solidarity. Perhaps he shouldn’t have attempted an affectionate soliloquy to show his devotion to aiding in their battle.

He fidgeted with his feathers. He reminded himself to not over-preen.

It’s not his fault that he wants to give affection. For some reason, though, it feels a bit worse than usual. His advances, so blatantly, heartlessly rejected, sat in his chest, aching more than usual. He was used to this rejection, he’d gotten it dozens of times before, but the isolation in this instance did nothing to soothe the sting.

There is commotion outside. The Bell curled in on himself, hoping everyone else is okay. He wondered what they were going to do. The rest of them have banished these strange, alternate creatures before, and they all tend to be quite frazzled and unhappy for some time after. The Bell doesn’t want that to happen again, but… He’s already been shut out. They’re upset with him.

He shivered hearing metal clashing in the distance. He wished he could make them happy.

…

The time is gone, and he isn’t sure how much of it there was. The next time he opens his eyes, the sun is setting.

The door to the Wire’s abode opened, and in came the Tip of the Arrow, wearing an inquisitive expression as usual.

“There you are,” he muttered idly. With a few strides, he walks to the seated one.

The Bell lifted his head to watch him approach. The aching cold in his chest was warmed.

The Tip knelt to be at his level, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Are you alright?” He questioned.

The Bell only smiled at him. He isn’t upset like he had predicted. Things must have gone well.

The Tip brushed down the head feathers that had fluffed up in his short rest, then grinned in return. “A response would be nice.”

The other tilted his head into the gentle touch. That smile is so lively. So adorable. The Bell wondered if his dear fellow knew just how radiant that grin is, and how much it means.

He raised a weary hand to the Tip’s cheek, to which his smile slowly falls to some sort of entranced expression.

“You are brilliant, my friend,” the Bell hummed, “Every moment, I feel I am blessed to know you, and to have grown with you. You are entirely indispensable and irreplaceable, do you know that?”

The Tip retracted his hand. His expression contorted as the other speaks, as if he was being spoken to in another language. The praise was out of the blue, but it’s also… effective. He takes a moment to sort through the words and conjure a response.

“...Thank you…” He finally says, looking away. His face continues to contort as he searched for words that he couldn't seem to find.

Concentration broke as the Bell rose to his feet. He smiled, and the Tip followed. The usual thoughts of “why?” were nowhere in his mind.

“Let’s go,” the Bell said to him, leading him out of the building.

The Tip didn't question it. He enjoyed the feeling of his hand being held and gently pulled. There was relief and comfort in the glittering smile from the other. He couldn't keep his own happy expression off of his face as a warm feeling settled in his chest.

The Bell, on the other hand, was also elated. Finally, someone to be with, who wanted to spend time with him. Someone to hold his hand and share these wonderful feelings with.

Together, they walked past the Bell’s residence, and into the woods.

Confusion sparked in the Tip’s mind, but the most he could do in protest was squeeze the hand that guided him.

“Bell…? We passed your house.”

The Bell turned to him, beaming, radiant, illuminated by the orange light of the setting sun. His eyes squinted shut to make room for more smile.

“I thought it’d be a better idea to go to yours.”

The other squeezed the hand tighter. A cloudy feeling had overwhelmed his skepticism, but he managed what he could.

“Why?”

Eyes opened, but the warm expression didn’t drop. He clutched their held hands tighter in turn.

“I admire the level of comfort you had created. Truly one of the best homes of any of us; your planning is immaculate. And that defense system? I find it incredible to be close to someone with such an innovative, thoughtful mind. I was hoping I could show it some appreciation.”

The Tip couldn’t help his response; flustered feathers and a swishing tail. It did feel nice to be appreciated.

“Well, if… you’re sure…” He chewed on his lips to suffocate his smile.

The Bell chuckled, and they continued. Through the vegetation, weaving between the thick trees.

A few meters away, a voice called to them.

“Oh, Bell, lovely to see you. And you, Arrow-Tip.”

Suspicious but intrigued eyes peered through the gaps in the trees.

“Hello, Flora,” the Bell greeted with a smile.

The Flora returned the expression, stepping closer to the pair. “Unexpected for you to be all the way out here, yes? I expect it of the Tip, of course. Either way, I’m glad you’re here, I wanted to talk to you.”

The Bell’s eyes softened. Those last words rested comfortably in his mind.

“Yes, wonderful, I wish a talk with you too,” he said, then looked to the Tip, holding up their entwined hands, “Would you go on ahead, brother? Set up your house a bit? I’ll catch up right with you.”

“Do you know the path?” he responded, a bit worried. The Bell has never been too great with directions, especially on his own.

Nevertheless, he nodded assuredly. “I’ll be fine, dear. I thank you for your concern.”

The Tip stepped away into the underbrush, disconnecting them. A bit uneasy, he left the other two alone.

“I saw you trying to be helpful during the battle today,” the Flora spoke, “I know a lot of the others aren’t too appreciative of your style of assistance, but I think they just don’t get it.”

The Bell laughed a little, but the smaller one continued, “I mean, you’re trying, and I think that’s important. Everyone needs moral support, even those that pretend they don’t. Sometimes it kind of feels like those are the people that need it the most, you know? I, personally, was pretty delighted at your attempt to seren- ser, um.”

He is cut off and immediately distracted by the Bell preening the feathers on the side of his head.

“You’re so sweet,” he said. Gentle fingers and dull claws combed through the cleanly groomed plumage.

“Ah. Yes, thank you. I- I had- something else to say… Um,” the Flora stuttered.

The Bell continued instead, “You really are gorgeous. I do mean that. I understand that you aren’t too keen on accepting these kinds of compliments, but I want you to take my words to heart, my dear.”

The haughty, sneaky grin the Flora usually sported falls, his eyes widening and staring up at him.

“You try so hard for others. It does not go unappreciated. I am always on your side,” said the Bell.

“Really?” He responded weakly, before regaining his composure and recoiling with a step back. “Where is this coming from?”

The Bell gestured towards him. “Is it a crime to show my affections?”

“Of course not, you’re well within your right to…” He trailed off as the Bell stepped closer.

“I love the things you say. Your words have a beauty and effect that isn’t so clear to others.” He smiled, and reached to stroke his feathers some more. “The same way you had said for myself."

The Flora no longer retracted from the touch. Why would he? “You’re trying to butter me up,” he argued with no aggression.

“I am. You deserve it,” the Bell said. “I appreciate your kindness.”

He holds the other’s face with both hands. Pupils dart around, looking anywhere but back at the ones staring him down. The Flora opts to close his eyes instead. The Bell titters at the cute little expression in his grasp.

The larger one starts to drop his hands, but the Flora reflexively caught them by the wrists with his own. His eyes shot open like he’d been hurt.

“Um,” he grunts, looking at the hands as if they’re strangers’.

There is a breath of waiting silence. The sound of his heart is in his ears, desperately aggressive.

“Do you want to join us?” The Bell asked.

The Flora’s eyes glittered, finally meeting his gaze. Not maliciously, but excitedly. He usually doesn’t get invited to things.

He released his grasp, and his sharp-clawed fingers were held delicately.

“You’re usually much more vocal than this,” the Bell commented lightheartedly.

The other looked away. “Excuse me.” His mind crowded.

In his flustered stupor, the Bell started to pull him down the path, in the direction he had been heading in the first place; the way the Tip went. He rubbed the back of his hands with his thumbs, then released one hand to better lead them.

“Let’s talk somewhere more comfortable, yes?”

“Ah…” The Flora began to smile. “Yes, let’s.”

---

At the end of their path is a large tree atop a hill, and a well-hidden treehouse in the foliage, far from most others’ places of residence.

The Flora was holding onto the Bell’s arm, and he squeezed tighter in warning.

“There are traps here,” he said.

“I know the Tip of the Arrow quite well by now, my dear,” the Bell declared in response, grinning down at him, “Fret not, I know my way around most; I will lead the way and ensure no feather on your head is harmed.”

He quickly scanned the area, and headed towards the treehouse at an angle. The Flora was skeptical, but stayed attached to his hip.

“See? No worries at all. I will-” The Bell is cut off by an arrow piercing a low area on his chest. The other yelped. He must have activated a booby trap.

He looks down at the impaled wooden stick, confusion on his face more than anything. “My, he has gotten better at this. The correct thing to do is leave it in, right?”

“Y-yes-!? Don’t remove it, we can patch it up once we’re inside…” The Flora said, staring at the wound. The arrow tip is fully embedded in the feathered skin, straight through his shirt.

“Oh, you’re right! The Tip does have lots of healing equipment. The dangers of these deadfalls mean nothing to a heart like that of my own, and if the Tip can heal me, there can be no turning back. Come now!” He continued onward.

Some traps had been already set off, but he did manage to evade most of the countless booby traps. However, he got to the entrance of the treehouse with more than a few scratches. Nevertheless, he took the hits without complaint. The Flora was completely untouched, as the Bell promised.

The larger of the two knocked on the door. The lower half, of course. Knocking on the upper half would activate another trap. There was some commotion from behind it, and then multiple sounds of clicking locks. After a moment of awkward silence, the door bursted open, revealing the Tip, looking somewhat disheveled.

“Ah, there you- Oh, Lord.” He was immediately taken aback by the Bell’s many wounds.

“Hello again, my dear! Excuse my appearance.”

“Come on, come on, let’s clean you up,” the Tip motioned for them to come inside, not at all surprised to see the Flora accompanying him. “I tried to deactivate what I could so this wouldn’t happen, but…”

The Bell sits on a wooden chair. The Flora stood beside him to inspect the wounds as the other gathered his medical aid.

With an unceremonious tug, the Tip removed the arrow from the large one’s torso, and immediately went to work on patching it up. The Flora was concerned, but was shocked as the Bell did not even wince. In fact, he smiled.

“You’re always such a dear for fixing me up in these situations,” he hummed.

The Tip couldn’t help a smile in turn, “Of course.”

On the other hand, the Flora could barely stand to look at the blood. He looked everywhere else in the room, stressfully petting the Bell’s head feathers.

The seated one turned his head to him with a soft expression pulling at his lips. “And thank you, Flora, for staying with me.”

The petting slowed, and the Flora looked into those adoring eyes.

“Y-you’d… do the same for me.”

He grinned wider. “I would!”

“Hold still, Bell,” said the Tip.

After some time and many sweet words, the Bell was fully patched. The wounds were already starting to seal by the time the last bandage was in place.

“Are you alright?” The Flora asked as the Bell rose to his feet.

In response, he pulled his face close and placed a kiss on his forehead.

“I’m wonderful, thank you!”

The Tip chuckled at the Flora’s dumbfounded expression as the two of them are dragged into a room with a pile of linen and animal hide that resembles a bed.

“Will the two of you keep me company as I heal?” The Bell asked. Pleading eyes flickered back and forth between the two.

“In my bed, Bell?” The Tip questioned with a sarcastic smirk.

The Bell fell back onto the comforting plushness. “Yours is one of the coziest, brother.”

“It does look very well-made,” the Flora added.

No further argument; fabric rustled as the Tip joined the larger one, with the Flora following, fitting in right between them.

The Bell’s great wings extended to cover the other two, despite being bandaged and healing. Warmth expanded from inside his chest as he gazed at their contented expressions, sleepily huddling close to him.

His love for them was overwhelming. Aching wounds mean nothing as they lay before him in his embrace. They mean everything.

And now, he means just as much to them. He’s sure of it.

He exhaled, loved.

Chapter Text

The Pit stomped around the common area in a huff.

“Do you mind?” The Ray sneered. He was carrying an armful of firewood for the campfire.

The Pit ignored his annoyance, barking a question at him instead, “Have you seen the Tip?”

He followed the Ray as he continued on his way.

“Huh? No? I’m not actively keeping track of everyone,” he responded. “Why?”

“Him and me and the Scale have our game nights, you know that. But we can’t find him anywhere.”

“Maybe he’s just at his house and doesn’t want to come out,” said the Ray. With some effort, he lined the firewood in the shack near the campfire. He dusted off his hands and shirt. “Why not just ask the Thing to look for him?”

“That’s what the Scale’s trying to do,” the Pit answered, leaning against the wall, “But he can’t find him either.”

The Ray recalled an interaction with the Thing from a few days ago; the small one had complained of a strange scent that he couldn’t figure out. “Two missing isn’t bad, but you know them two better than anyone. They’re probably just planning something.”

The two of them headed towards the residential buildings.

“It’s not just the two though. Have you noticed we haven't eaten as a group in a couple of days? I don’t think the Flora has been growing or cooking anything,” the Pit explained through grit teeth.

“You’re sounding a lot like the Tip yourself,” the Ray chuckled.

“When is it ever like him to miss out on a game?”

The Ray sighed, “I know you’re worried, big guy, but none of us know where he put his house. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do for you.”

“Help me look, maybe??” The Pit gestured around him.

“All the people you say are missing seem like the type to not want to be found,” the other said, “Maybe just let it be.”

“That’s bullshit. A quarter of us are missing, and you don’t care?”

He puffed out his chest, and the Ray glared at him.

“You…” He shook his head, starting to smile. “Are such a softie.”

“Wh-!?”

“Good luck on your search, Pit. If you need more players for your game night, I’m always open to it.” He made a send-off gesture, then stepped into his cabin, closing the door behind him.

The Pit snarled, then turned to the woods. He stomped right up to the edge, then shouted with his voice as loud as he could make it.

“NOW!”

In response, a ball of loose dirt was thrown at the back of his head. He whipped around to see the Now, brushing off the hand he used to throw the dirt.

“Listen, rage-boy, I still don’t know where the Tip lives, so quit asking,” he answered the unasked question.

“Have you been looking!?” He hollered at him.

“I’ve been looking for his house since I first heard he had hidden it! The only people that know where it is are him and the Thing!”

The Pit angrily shooed him. “Useless, useless, joking bastard. Ugh. Where is the Scale?”

“Last I saw him, he was getting distracted in Flora’s den with all the new plants,” the Now said with a shrug.

Some grumbled cursing from the Pit before he decided on the next course of action. “Flower boy isn’t in his house either? Well, get Scale back here. We need a better plan if we’re gonna find where everyone’s gone.”

“Whatever you say, your highness.” He rolled his eyes and scooped up another wad of dirt. He threw it at the Pit then scampered into the forest.

The Pit, not as angry about the dirt as he would normally be, patted it off. He stood in silence on the wood’s edge, fists clenched.

With a grunt, he turned to the direction of the river to continue searching.

…

The sound of trilling lips sped through the forest.

“Doot, doot…. Da-doot…”

The Now flounced through the woods, throwing loose ribbons to leave trails across the trees.

One ribbon caught something.

A quick shriek, and the sound of slicing.

“Oh, hi, Thing,” said the Now.

There it was, back pressed against a tree in full panic mode: the Thing of the Night. Shredded ribbons adorned the grass around him.

“People have been looking for you, y’know?” The Now approached the smaller one, crouching to seem like less of a threat.

The Thing managed to recoil even further, staring wide-eyed.

“I can’t… Be with anyone right now,” he hissed lowly.

“We just need your help finding the Tip.”

The Thing shook its head and furrowed its eyebrows.

“I’m looking for the Flora. I need to ask him if he… If…” He trailed off, rubbing his head like it was aching.

The other tilted his head to the side. “Could you check Tip’s house? Nobody else knows how to get to it.”

The Thing winced, and his gaze dropped to the ground.

“That’s where it’s coming from.”

“... Where what is coming from?”

The look on its face turned into some twisted shape of fear. It looked back up at the Now as if he was some great beast.

The Now wasn’t entirely sure what to do. He could practically see the Thing shuddering.

“A… call…” It forced out.

“A call?”

“I can’t go there. You make sure-” He stopped himself.

The larger one leaned closer, eyebrows raised. The Thing figured a warning to not go looking for the Tip’s abode would mean nothing to the living embodiment of contradiction.

“Make sure of what?” Asked the Now.

The Thing looked down, and its voice dropped to something sadder, more strained. “Make sure you tell them that I do not wish to be found.”

Before the other could respond, he whipped around, and quietly fled into the underbrush.

“M’kay. See you,” the Now said flatly. He stood back up and watched the leaves rustle as the small one ran.

He wasn’t quite sure what to do after that brief interaction. The Thing seemed serious, and completely on edge. The Now likes to mess with him some of the time, but the little freak can be quite a dangerous mess when the wrong buttons are pushed.

He draped a few extra ribbons across the closest tree, to remember this event in particular, in case it was ever important in the future.

Rather than the racing pace he usually takes, he walks slowly through the woods. The ribbons he trails are no longer haphazardly strewn. He thinks about the Thing’s anxious words.

He isn’t sure how long he was walking for, he only knows it got very dark. In the distance, there is the sound of flowing water, and he heads that way.

After some time, he found the river. For a moment, he wondered why it is such a strange color; then he noticed the sun rising, making everything that same, odd color.

He looked around and saw the Pit sitting further upstream. Stalling a little, he kicked his feet before heading towards the other.

The Pit was staring into the river. A somewhat relaxed expression graced his face; something almost sleepy or content. Not very typical.

It fell the instant he saw the Now, twisting into a bared-teeth snarl.

“You better have news,” he said.

Vaguely remembering the interaction with the Thing, the Now only shrugged.

“You taking a break?” He asked, sitting beside him on the river bank.

The Pit looked back at the water. He growled, “No, I’m just thinking. There has to be something missing.”

“Other than the guys?”

“Shut your trap, ribbons.”

The Now managed to smile.

“I couldn’t find the Scale either, even at Flora’s den.”

“Did he go missing too…?” The Pit asked in response, mostly to himself. He put his forehead in his hands.

“Nah,” the Now said, leaning back, “I think you’re scared’a being left out.”

“I think you’re projecting your own shit onto me,” he hissed.

The larger one swayed back and forth on his palms, chuckling. “Projecting, eh? Big word for you.”

“Are you done yet? Or have you given up?”

He side-eye’d the Now.

After a few moments, the Now rose to his feet.

“I’ll look some more after a nap. I was up all night, you know.” He turned away.

The Pit only huffed in reply. The sound of footsteps started, and then faded.

He remained on the edge of the river, watching and hearing the rushing water. A part of him also wanted to nap, but the rest of him raged, the same as the angry waves before him. He can’t give up. Where are they?

Sunlight skittered across the water’s surface. Then, it pricked the side of the Pit’s vision.

He raised a hand to shield his eyes, but the spaces between his fingers still let some light through. His hand lowered, and he faced it head-on.

The brilliance stung his pupils and felt hot against the Pit’s face. He rubbed his eyes.

A droplet of the rushing water hit his leg. He stood, and started walking towards the sun’s direction.

He follows it for some time. The trees try to obscure the view of it, but they mean nothing. The light always finds it's way to the Pit. He always knows what way to go.

At some points, he feels as if he is going in circles. The sun is always there, though. It is always there to guide him.

He wandered through the countless rows of thick-trunked trees. Some have many layers of ribbons tied around them haphazardly. Some sections have no ribbons at all, meaning the Now had never been there. An idea to leave his own mark passed by the Pit, but he is too focused - or unfocused, perhaps - to act on his thought. He continued to follow the sun.

Time passed. He hadn’t slept that night, either, and he began to loathe the feeling of his body tiring.

He stopped for a moment. Everything was so quiet without him rustling the foliage.

He yelled at nothing. The wind picked up, rustling his feathers. He felt the coolness blow past him, contrasting the sun’s heat.

With a heavy breath, he continued on.

Just as the sun seemed too far overhead to tell a direction, the Pit happened upon somewhat of a clearing. His aching eyes spotted a treehouse hidden in the leaves of a tree atop a hill. He smiled, letting out a sigh of relief. He found it.

And then he remembered he was pissed.

He started again, with vigor, towards the tree on the hill.

As tired as he was, there was a pull towards the hidden structure. Nothing could keep him from reaching the obscured door.

Or so the Pit thought, until a spiked metal trap clamped down around his ankle.

He yelped, quickly falling to his knees, activating another trap that embedded a wooden spike into his upper arm.

A growl was let out at the swiftly growing pain. The sun felt hot against the dark feathers on his back; the blood dripping down his new wounds was burning.

He shouted, like he had before, at nothing. The wounds meant nothing. He tore out the wooden stake with his better arm, and broke the metal clamp around his leg with a clenched fist. Both wounds were losing lots of blood, and made slick noises whenever the Pit moved.

Groaning, he rose back to his feet. He should have known there were traps. He’s almost upset at himself for not thinking they were there sooner.

He stumbled on, getting hit by a few more traps. Every arrow shot into his body, every revealed blade that embedded itself in his skin, he removed immediately.

Eventually, he clambered up to the front door. The cogs of his brain were sure of another trap, but he couldn’t tell where.

“Tiiiiiip,” he groaned instead of knocking.

A bit of noise came from behind the door. He felt a wash of relief.

It pulled open.

“Tip, where- Bell?”

Indeed, instead of the Tip answering the door, the Bell stood before the Pit, smiling warmly.

The Pit looked him up and down.

“Where are your clothes?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

The Bell only chuckled in response.

“Pit?” From behind him, the Tip called out, hurrying over. “Oh, shit…”

The Bell beckoned the wounded one inside, and helped him along.

The Flora was there too, bringing over some medical supplies to the table.

“It’s fine,” the Pit grumbled as he was forced to take a seat.

“You took out everything that stabbed you? I thought you knew how to take hits,” the Tip said, ignoring his statement. He started to work with homemade gauze to patch up all the open wounds.

The Bell stood behind the Pit, holding his head gently.

“Don’t be silly,” his melodious voice hummed, “Of course he knows how to stand against an attack; Look how well he’s handling all of this.”

The Flora sat on the floor beside the Pit, resting his head on folded arms that laid on the larger one’s thigh.

“I’d love to have strength like that,” he agreed with a playful smile.

The Pit looked down at him, bemused at the compliment.

The Tip was growing his own grin, wrapping the wounds on the scaly leg tightly. “Well, I can’t argue. He’s resilient, that’s for sure.”

Lidded eyes looked up into the Pits’.

The wounded one remembers missing that coy gaze. The nights alone, searching.

“Where were you?” He asked him, leaning forward. “You haven’t been with me or the Scale to hang out. We couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“I know, Pit. This one’s been keeping me cooped up, and I didn’t know how to get a hold of you.” He gestured to the Bell.

The Flora added, “You’re here now though, big guy! We’re not going anywhere.”

The Bell continued to preen the Pit’s head feathers, running dull claws deep enough to massage the scalp.

“We can enjoy each other's company while we both heal up,” he said.

The Pit took a moment to register those words, getting a bit lost in all the physical stimulation. The Tip had moved to the wound on his arm; removing the fabric of his shirt sleeve and holding onto his wrist. The Flora had begun to pet the feathers on his wounded legs.

He looked over his shoulder to see the Bell out of the corner of his vision.

“You got hurt, too?”

“Mm,” The Bell purred in reply. “The Tip of the Arrow is quite adept when it comes to trap-making, isn't he?”

The Pit faced forward again. The Tip no longer smiled, looking at him at an angle. Lips parted, head slightly tilted, frozen, expectant, he awaited an answer.

With wide eyes and flustered feathers, the Pit choked out, “Of course.”

With that, the Tip smiled with bashful delight, and went back to bandaging the bleeding lesions.

“Ease yourself, my good man. It took a valiant effort to get here, but you made it nonetheless.” The Bell spoke soothingly to the Pit, caressing the messy feathers. “As the Flora said, we’re not going anywhere. We have all the time in the world.”

Slowly, the Pit’s tensed shoulders began to relax.

…

The Now awoke midday, strewn across a few tree branches, fitting right in amongst his mess of ribbons.

He hopped down and rolled his shoulders. Sleeping in trees is never the best, but anyone he would usually ask to bunk with was either busy or not in their own house at all.

He preened for a bit, looking around at where he had found himself. The air was quite still.

“Well. Let’s get the party rolling…” He mumbled to himself. After another big stretch, he went in a new direction; one without pre-existing ribbons.

He began to call out, “Thing…?”

Then, he realized that the Thing was probably the last thing he should be looking for.

“Uhh… Tip?” He called instead. “Flora… Scale….. … Pit….?”

He went quiet for a bit, not entirely sure who he’s supposed to be looking for.

A new ribbon was tied up, in a bow for once. He groaned.

“Floraaaa….. Raayy.. no, wait…”

“What are you doing?”

He flinched at the unexpected response. He turned to see the Scale, looking up at him incredulously a few feet away.

“Oh! You’re fine.”

“Of course I’m fine,” the Scale said, his face managing to look even more confused, “Why would I not be fine?”

The Now shrugged. “People are missing.”

The Scale mirrored him, “And I’m helping look for ‘em.”

“Oh, well, me too.”

“Have you got anything?” His eyes went wide in hoping.

“Yeah, I found the Thing.” He froze. “I mean, no I didn’t.”

The Scale stepped towards him, suddenly interrogative, “Huh? Eh? The hell d’you mean “no I didn’t”? Why are you lying about this? This is important!”

The larger one threw up his hands in defense, looking away with a grimace.

“I wasn’t supposed to tell you.”

“Why not!?”

“He- I mean, he doesn’t want to be found…” He explained, flailing his hands.

The Scale’s face twisted from accusatory anger to a look of pure hurt. His gaze fell.

“What…?”

“I don’t know why, but it seemed awfully serious about it… I wouldn’t- Oh.”

Without letting him finish, the Scale continued on, fists clenched, past him. Into the woods, he trekked wordlessly, not looking back.

The Now was suddenly alone again.

“What else am I supposed to say?” He asked the air.

He grabbed a tree’s trunk and shook it, swaying the leaves. With a groan, he went in a new direction.

…

The Scale felt a sting in his chest. The Thing and the Tip, both avoiding him for days on end. He wondered if he had done something wrong.

He journeyed through the trees, staying away from areas that had ribbons and had already been searched. He wasn’t the best when it came to navigating the woods, but at least he was trying. It had to count for something, he figured.

For something to do, he kept track of the wind’s direction. This was a boring adventure, to say the least, and every thought only brought more stress. He needed something else to think about.

Towards the sun. Away from it. Towards it again. The Scale wonders if he should just follow these directions.

Then, the air goes still. It puts him off a bit, until he senses something in the ground, distracting him from his distraction. There is a danger to it, however, and he isn’t quite sure he trusts it.

He grabs a fallen branch nearby, and tosses it at the area he sensed. As soon as the stick hit the ground, a sharp metal blade shot from the dirt, sending it flying.

“Tip,” the Scale breathed in realization. He began a swift walk in the direction the spike trap indicated, being careful of other snares.

There were a couple close instances, but he got by quite unscathed. He went until he found an open space that had one big tree in the middle, atop a hill. The ground seemed clear, but the Scale could tell there were definitely more traps. Some traces of blood gave him proof that someone else had fallen victim to them.

With a steady pace, he wove through the spaces between the traps.

The tree, he noticed after getting closer, held up a treehouse in its leaves. He continued to side-step all the traps until he reached the trunk, where he climbed.

He reached a balcony, and walked up to a wood door. There was some dried blood in front of it.

Warily, he knocked.

An arrow immediately shot out from a hole in the wall on his left, but he reacted fast enough to dodge out of the way.

“Fuck-!” He exclaimed. The metal tip had embedded deep into the wood beside him. That could have killed someone.

The Scale flinched when the door creaked open.

“Scale, there you are!” The Bell beamed at him.

“Bell?” The Scale looked up at him, confused. Then he realized just how far he was looking up. “You’re… bigger.”

The Bell only chuckled, opening the door wider to let him inside.

He cautiously stepped in and was immediately ambushed by a smaller, hooded figure throwing their arms around his neck.

“Agh- Thing?”

“Scale,” The Thing replied, its low voice brimming with a smile.

The Scale hugged him back. “Where have you been? You disappeared, and the Tip, what happened?” He pulled him off to face him better. Though angry, his tone was more worried than anything, “The Now said you didn’t want to be found, what was that about?”

The Thing brushed down stray feathers as he spoke, “I did tell him that, do not be angry at him. But, I was mistaken. Everything is alright, now.”

“What do you mean? Where is-”

“Scales! There you are,” shouted the Pit’s rowdy voice.

The Thing led him gently by the hand to the other room, where everyone else sat, smiling. The, inexplicably larger, Bell followed behind them.

“You made it through without injury,” the Tip commented with a warm grin, “Good job.”

The Flora waved, a deck of cards in his hands, “We waited for you to get here to start!”

Feeling fuzzy, the Scale was pulled to join the group.

“Everyone’s… okay?” He said in awe as the Thing rubbed his head against him.

“A little banged up, thanks to this guy,” the Pit chuckled with a gesture to the Tip. The Scale noticed various bandages wrapped around his limbs.

“You can’t pin that on me,” the Tip responded playfully.

The Scale felt the Thing crawl away for a moment, before he came back with the Bell in tow.

“Are you alright?” The larger one asked the Scale, eyes glittering. He watched the Thing crawl over into the Scale’s lap.

The cards were dealt. The Scale looked up at the Bell, before his large hand caressed his cheek. He forgot what the question was.

The Bell bent down and placed a kiss on his cheek; close enough to his lips to startle him. His eyes locked with the Scale’s, sending a deep, slow feeling, like warm honey, into his stomach.

“What’s your wager, Scale?” Asked the Pit, refocusing him.

After a moment, the Scale laughed. He picked up his cards with one hand, and began to pet the Thing with the other.

“More than whatever you put down, Pit.”

Chapter Text

As anxious as ever, the Wire paced around his abode.

The silence that permeated the residential area had been keeping him up all night. His sleeping worsens without noise, and so many people “missing” has definitely caused a decrease in the amount of sound on a nightly basis.

And, of course, the “missing” folks. But he doesn’t even want to think about that. Everything bad just feels amplified without proper sleep.

But, what could he do?

He fidgeted with some thread between his fingers. The Ray said none of this was a problem at all. Some people were just taking a break in the woods, probably. They’re all mostly of sound mind, they can handle themselves. They don’t need to be babied and monitored.

Not knowing where everyone is, though, had been quite stressful for the Wire. He usually has a much better hold on things… But something has been off lately. More than just his sleep patterns.

He’d lost track of how many days it had been since everyone ate together as a group. There hasn’t been this much of a span of time for as long as the Wire can remember.

He looked out of his window, towards the woods. He wondered if he should go looking for everyone, too.

Then, he shook his head. That’s crazy. He hates the woods. He has no plan. He isn’t meant for the woods; he’s not like the Now or the Thing.

He eyed his loom. A half-finished project was gathered in it from the previous night’s stressful quietude. He debated continuing it, just to pass the time, before his eyes fell to his thread.

The Now was only an expert navigator because he left a trail, right?

The Wire hatched an idea.

He gathered all the thread he could into a handmade basket, then hurried out of his home.

Outside, he scanned over the others’ residences, wondering who would be best for the job.

The Temp? The Wire couldn’t imagine trusting him with any serious task, so probably not. The Sea? Again, not one to take on anything important without some intense convincing. The Ray would probably try to advise against going into the woods at all, so he can’t be depended on at the moment, either.

The Wire blinked, counting his breaths. Was that really everyone left? Perhaps this was more of an issue than he’d thought.

He quietly scuttled to the Sea’s door. His knuckles knocked rapidly on the pristine marble.

After a silent moment, it scratchily pulled open, just a few inches.

“What is it…?” The Sea croaked, peeking through the crack.

“I have a bit of a favor to ask,” said the Wire, “I was hoping for just a small bit of help.”

“From me…?”

He nodded. “I’m afraid you’re the only one I can ask this from.”

For a moment, the Sea eyed the basket the other was holding. Then, he disappeared from the crack in the doorway. After a second, the heavy door was pulled open wider. The Wire stepped in.

The cathedral-like home was somewhat dusty in certain areas. Very dim light came from windows near the tall ceiling. Everything felt slightly damp.

“I was… Cleaning…” The Sea mumbled, slightly embarrassed.

“I know,” said the Wire, “It’s nice. You upkeep it well.”

Glassy eyes glittered up at him before they fell back to the basket of string.

“Will this be… difficult?”

“No, no, it shouldn’t be, on your end. If we’re lucky, you won’t have to do much at all,” he assured him, digging through the basket to find the end of a string.

“Though I am not counting on being lucky,” he continued, pulling out a thread’s end, “But it will be no fault of yours if something goes wrong.”

“Alright,” the Sea said warily. He took the thread from the Wire’s fingers.

The Wire explained, pulling out more slack, “All you need to do is keep track of your end. Affix it to something secure, it doesn’t matter what, as long as it stays here, with you.

“In, say, two days, give or take, if I don’t come back, I’ll need you to follow it, because it likely means I got lost.”

The Sea’s eyebrows furrowed. “Where are you going?”

“The woods,” said the Wire, decidedly.

The other’s face fell to worry as he clutched his string close. “You hate the woods. I hate the woods.”

“Yes, and I hate getting an indecent amount of sleep, I hate when my concerns are dismissed as paranoia, and I hate not knowing where certain problematic people are,” he rattled off.

The Sea winced at his tone.

“Sorry, sorry,” the Wire sighed, “I’m stressed. I’m worried, go figure. I just need you to do this for me. I am, frankly, terrified, but you are the only one I can trust with this right now.”

“Two days…?”

The taller one smiled with a shade of relief, “At least two, yes. Until you see fit.”

“What should I do until then?” The Sea asked.

“Oh, whatever you need. As long as you keep track of the thread.”

An echoing silence filled the humid room. The Sea looked up into his pleading eyes. Then he looked back down at his end of the thread.

“It doesn’t sound… too hard…”

The Wire let out a laugh. “You’ll do it? Ahh, thank you, thank you…”

He pulled in the smaller one for a hug, of which he did not expect, but did not fight.

When he pulled away, the Wire’s eyes shimmered with excitement that could only stem from a lack of many nights’ sleep.

“Alright… Alright,” he said, seeming to hype himself up. He turned to the door. “I’ll be back before you know it. I know it’s against everything you stand for, but try to manifest some positive things for me, would you?”

With one final hopeful glance towards the Sea, he nodded, then left. A gray string left behind, held in the Sea’s declawed hands. The door slowly rustled to a close.

“Good luck,” said the Sea, practically whispering.

He tied the thread around his wrist in a knot, then tugged on a bit of slack to continue on with his day.

He grabbed a duster, and began to clean.

The solitude hadn’t really been affecting him. He spends most of his time alone anyway. Though, he realizes he hadn’t eaten in some time.

After climbing up to a high point that had somehow managed to collect a layer of dust since the last time the Sea cleaned, he looked down at his shut marble door.

“Two days. Maybe more? And then I go find him, and he’ll have everyone.”

He cycled through that sequence as he dusted.

…

“What counts as a day?” The Sea wondered for a while, polishing the tile floor. “Until the sun is in the same place after the moon.”

This was an important task; he wanted to get it right. If he does, the Wire will have all the others with him.

The floor was always dirty. He scrubbed. The string rubbed his wrist; it was beginning to leave a mark with how much it chafed. Of course, he could remove it, if it was really bothering him.

But it is important. A request; a simple one, at that. At best, he’d have to do nothing, and that would be a good thing. The mark it left was a reminder.

One day has passed, though. The sun has returned to the position it had been. No sign of the Wire, not even a tug on the string.

Once the floors were polished, the Sea peeked outside, just to check. The thread attached to him led straight into the forest. He went back to cleaning.

…

He sat on the last step of the stairs to his front door. The sun traveled. This would be the second time the sun had reached that same point since the Wire left.

The Sea watches the woods, hoping, pleading to the skies and the trees and the dirt, that someone would emerge from them. Any sign of life; any tug on the string.

“Where is everyone…” He said to himself. He held his bound wrist, soothing the rubbed, rashing skin.

Typically, he would never just sit outside. On any day other than the past few, someone would come up to him and chat, but nobody has. He saw the Temp the night before, going into the woods and then coming back out a while after. Normal stuff for him; not normal for everyone else.

The sun went further and further, until the sky began to change in hue.

The Sea curled up, hugging his knees.

“One more day,” he muttered. One more day, and then he would go after the Wire. Just to give him enough time.

…

If he was deciding to go, the Sea figured he should probably bring something with him.

What, exactly? He wasn’t sure. He usually doesn’t have anything to do with the woods. Or leaving his house in general.

Most of his days were spent upkeeping his cathedral-like abode. Speaking of, it was starting to get dusty again. Part of him pulled to begin his routine cleaning, but his stinging wrist forbade the impulse to conform to normalcy.

This solitude isn’t normal. The others could be in danger. Everything is nice here; things could be bad wherever they are. His heart clenched.

He walked through his doorway; he had no reason to open or shut his door at this point, it was quite a hassle.

With a quick snap, he used his teeth to cut the string from his wrist. He tied the now-freed end to a column, securing it as well as he could. It would be his way back, after all. It had to remain intact. He tested it by pulling with some force.

Holding it carefully, he began to follow its trail into the forest.

It was midday. Thankfully, the trees’ shade kept away most of the sun’s heat. The dry air was so much different from the humidity of the Sea’s residence.

He followed the string for a while. Many times, one string of one color ended and was tied to another to extend it. The direction it headed seemed pretty straight, but at some points it definitely felt like he was going in circles.

His mantra carried him as he walked through the identical rows of tree trunks. “Follow the thread, find everyone.”

He imagined eating a warm meal with everyone. Going back to his house to clean. Maybe someone would join him; that happened sometimes. Cleaning in silence with someone. Times like those felt nice. As reclusive as he was, it felt special to be with someone.

He walked on with his eyes closed.

The thread stopped its straight direction. Suddenly, it was taut this way and that, getting caught on trees, sometimes wrapping them. It was somewhat stressful, considering this was the Sea’s only means of guidance.

Then, the path went still again. Very straight, hardly caught on anything at all. The Sea couldn’t tell the color of this one; he realized it had gotten quite dark, and he was relying on his sense of touch above all else.

He noticed the string was no longer as taut as before. A bit later, and he was following it from the forest floor.

Then, he came upon a clearing. The moon was overhead, illuminating a tree in the middle of a wide space. The string led right into it, but the Sea couldn’t see it beyond a few feet. He trudged on, sliding it through his fingers.

At a point, it went to his right. He stepped in the way it directed, not wanting to risk anything. This is new, and it’s terrifying, so he trusted the thread. It was all he had at this point. He continued on at this new angle until the string directed him a different way again.

His pace was slow, but it existed. He walked, practically sneaking through something of an invisible maze. The thread directed him strangely.

Then, something in his leg snapped.

With a hiccuped gasp, the Sea fell to the ground, losing his grip on the string. His vision whitened as an overwhelming pain dug into his knee.

He wheezed, writhing on the grass. He couldn’t even see what had happened to him; the only thing the moonlight illuminated was a vague metallic thing, and the dripping shininess of his own blood. He mumbled sounds of despair and denial.

Choking on his own tears, he pawed uselessly at whatever caught his leg. The pain was awful, he felt sick.

Worse than anything: he failed. He had quite literally lost the thread, it had fallen into the grass, it was hopeless to look for it with no light.

He curled into a fetal position. The Wire is gone, and even if the Sea was somehow saved, he would still be a failure.

He’s in the middle of nowhere, in the dead of night, and he could barely even move, let alone walk.

The air was quiet. He sobbed. It was supposed to be simple. His mind crowded with thoughts of disgrace and self-loathing.

When the pain numbed, he wondered if he was going to die here, alone.

…

The Now awoke, covered in flowers. This was to be expected, since he fell asleep in a bed of flowers.

Since the Flora, and many others, haven’t been in their homes, he had taken advantage of the empty beds and bounced between them to rest before looking for everyone. The Flora’s den is nice because he wakes up in the forest, all ready to start searching again.

As nice as it is to have a bed, the Now does prefer to have company to sleep with.

With a stretch, he emerged from the den. He made sure not to leave any ribbons behind, since the Flora would be pissed off if he knew the Now slept in his bed.

A few more stretches, and then he’s off.

Rushing through rows of trees, like he had been for days now. Luckily, there were some new things every now and again. Just yesterday he found a small pond with some frogs. Before that, there was this nice clearing with a big rock-

He tripped over something.

Face-planting into a few - thankfully thornless - bushes, the Now yelped.

“That’s new,” he said, lifting his head. Very rarely did he ever trip on things. He’d gotten very good at navigating the woods.

He looked around for what had tripped him up, and found nothing at first. Then, his eyes caught a grayish-blue strand of something, barely perceptible.

A string, it seemed, like the ones the Wire makes cloth out of. It was suspended and quite taut between a few trees.

One direction led back to the cabins, the Now was sure of it. Where did the other end go?

His tail swished, and he began to follow it.

As he went, he thought about those who were missing. He realized that he hadn’t seen anyone at all for the past few days, even those who were also searching.

Would the Wire be at the other end of this thread? It’d be nice to see him, thought the Now.

He followed and followed, until the string was no longer taut, and instead sat on the forest floor. He sped on still, before it led him to the edge of a clearing.

It directed him straight in, but his eyes caught something. Other than a large tree in the middle, some lump was on the grass about a hundred feet away.

His eyebrows furrowed, and he gained a sudden sense of dread.

Ignoring the thread, the Now hurried to the thing on the ground, fearing the worst. As he came closer, he realized that it was someone, curled up. He cursed, seeing a mess of dried blood.

He recognized the Sea by his clothes and frail, unusable wings. He knelt beside him, inspecting a large metal claw trap that was embedded into his left knee.

“Shit. Sea? Can you hear me?” The Now shook his shoulder desperately.

Thankfully, the Sea shuddered, his small wings hiding himself from the other. Alive, at the very least.

“I’m going to get this thing off,” said the Now. He got a weak grunt in response.

His large hands hovered over the wound. It was a mess; sharp prongs were deeply embedded in the skin, and had clamped down strong enough to break the bone, leaving the leg at an odd angle. Dried blood was everywhere, seeped in everything from the spaces between scales to the dirt the trap was chained to.

As careful as he could, the Now gripped onto the metal, and strained to pull the two halves of it apart.

Even the sound was awful; the closed scabs reopened with a crackling noise. The Sea whimpered lowly. His arms twitched as he wanted to pull the Now off of the trap just to make the pain stop.

Exerting his strength with a yell, the Now pulled the two halves of the clamp apart. Brighter red blood started to drip out of the wound. He threw the broken trap aside.

The Sea was hiccuping, trying to keep himself from being too loud. He felt like throwing up.

“Come here, I’m sorry,” the Now whispered, trying to be comforting. He turned the Sea to be on his back, then delicately picked him up into his large arms.

The pain numbing him from the waist down, the Sea could only grip his shirt. He sobbed, but was grateful for the comfort.

“Good lord, how long have you been out here? Why didn’t you call for me?” The Now asked, not accusatory or angry, but nearly crying himself.

The Sea gripped tighter, and hiccuped. “You never come when I call anyway.”

The Now exhaled shakily. Unfortunately, that was kind of true. He really can’t excuse himself. He cradled the small one closer. “I’m sorry.”

They sat, and blood dripped, until the Sea’s breathing slowed.

“Let’s go,” the Now said, slowly rising.

“The string,” the Sea mumbled instead.

“What about it?”

“It’s from the Wire,” he explained, and gestured at the ground, “Need to follow it, to find everyone.”

The Now looked to where he pointed, and found the thread once again. Tracing it with his eyes, he noticed it led right up into the big tree he had dismissed earlier. Then, with a bit of a shock, he realized there was a house in the tree’s leaves.

Understanding the situation's gravity, he didn’t question it, and stepped forward.

“Wait,” the Sea stopped him, pulling at his shirt and feathers. The Now immediately stopped. “The string. Don’t get caught like I did.”

Sure enough, the thread on the ground was leading to the left. He stepped in that direction instead. It was hard to follow exactly with a person in his arms, but the Now made his way to the base of the tree, where the string led straight up.

Using his ribbons, he lifted the two of them into the branches, landing on a sort of porch.

“Hello?” He called, standing at a door; the thread went under it. With another couple of ribbons - his hands were full - he twisted the doorknob, and it opened.

Nobody welcomed or stopped him, so the Now walked inside. The main room he was in was only dimly lit, but there was an open doorway that let in some light. Something big was sitting in the doorway, blocking most of the light and looking like a silhouette.

The Now immediately thought it was one of those strange creatures from the woods, before the face of it turned and looked at him.

It was the Bell, as beautiful as ever, but also much bigger than ever. Also, for some reason, he was not wearing a shirt.

“Now?” Asked his dulcet voice. Then, he saw the mess in his arms. “Oh, dear…”

The Now held the Sea closer as the larger one approached elegantly, put off by his size. However, the Sea twisted, reaching out for the Bell.

Great, scaly arms embraced the small one.

“Your scales,” the Sea said. He touched some patterned scales down the Bell’s neck that hadn’t been there before.

The other smiled. “Do you like them?”

The Sea mumbled some set of compliments, burying his face into the plumage on his chest.

“Tip,” the Bell called towards the room full of light. There was conversation, too, the Now could hear. “Someone has arrived hurt.”

After a moment, and some laughter from the room, the Tip of the Arrow emerged, with the Wire on his heel. The former saw the Now, and rolled his eyes playfully.

He too called back to the room, “You all will never guess who showed up.”

They both hurried to attend to the Sea, who was now seated in the Bell’s lap. Nobody acknowledged that the Bell was big enough to be someone’s chair.

From the other room, the Thing bounded out towards the Now, then put his whole body weight into a pounce at him. Though it is practically half his size and weight, it was enough force to make the Now stumble.

“Thingy-!” He exclaimed joyfully. He picked up the Thing by his armpits, and watched him wiggle as his tail wagged in wide arcs. He couldn’t help the infected elation the Thing brought, clearing his worry.

Lunging again, it headbutted the side of his head, rubbing happily.

“I thought you didn’t want to be with anyone,” the Now said, remembering their previous interaction.

The Thing continued nonetheless. “Being with everyone is better than what I’d envisioned.”

Without explaining further, it hopped down, and dragged the Now into the illuminated room. The larger one got one last glance at the Tip starting to bandage the Sea’s leg before he was met with a small group of smiling faces.

“See? The Now, just as I thought,” said the Pit smugly.

The Flora leaned against him, agreeing, “Yes, yes, no one’s challenging you.”

“I mean, it was pretty obvious,” the Scale piped.

The Now looked between all of them. He was surprised that they were here, of course, but he was more surprised to see that they didn’t not want him here.

“Are you calling me predictable?” he joked with a toothy smirk.

“As the weather,” the Pit answered, matching his expression. He picked up a pillow and hurled it at him.

The Now caught it. His lone wing flared with delight. “Damn right,” he said, then lobbed the cushion at the Scale, who laughed.

He reared up to throw it back at him, but the Tip walked into the room, and grabbed it from his wound-up arm. “Relax, tough guy.” He put the pillow back to where it was, and sat right next to the Now.

“Hey, Now, how’d you get here? Everyone else makes sense, but hadn’t you been looking for this place for forever?” The Flora asked. He began petting the Thing, who had crawled over to him.

“Oh, I found this string…” He began, but then remembered the Sea, and then the Wire. Everyone looked at him expectantly. “Right, the Wire. I’ll be right back.”

He stood and left the bright room.

He walked towards the Wire and Bell, who had the Sea in his lap, but then he froze.

The Sea was being pet by the Bell’s sizable yet gentle hands. He was also being… kissed. By the Wire, all over his face. The Now suddenly felt like he was intruding, and noticed his heart drop in his chest. His feathers stood on end.

“Feel any better?” Asked the Wire, holding the small one’s face and smiling softly. The Sea, eyes misty and unfocused, nodded. It was as if nobody was watching at all; strangely intimate despite them both being under the Bell’s towering gaze. It all seemed so… soft.

There was a fuzzy feeling building in the Now’s stomach. He didn’t understand at first, until the Wire brought his lips back to the Sea, slower this time. The former’s thin tail swayed. The Now wished, terribly, that it was himself sitting there, being shown that affection.

As if he could sense that gnawing want - a very vague “as if,” because it seemed very probable at this point - the Bell looked over at him with soft eyes. The Now glanced at him once, but could not tear his vision from the two in his embrace.

“Thing, Flora,” The Bell said, barely raising his voice. The Now was confused until the two he called for did emerge from the other room. The Thing went towards the others, but the Flora approached him.

The Now’s staring went back and forth between the catty grin that moved towards him and the Wire, who pulled away from the Sea. The Now was quite confused, until the Wire looked at him, smiling playfully.

“Jealous?” The Wire joked, his voice shaking in a familiar way. Banter wasn’t too strange for him, but the look in his eyes was something new. He glided to the Flora’s side, and the Thing took his place holding the Sea.

The Flora pulled the Now lower to reach his face better. “Understandable, I’d say.”

The Now was speechless, overwhelmed and heart pounding. He looked back at the Bell; now it was him kissing the Sea. The Thing was preening the small one.

He yelped in surprise as the Flora pecked his cheek, getting a chuckle in response. The Wire pet his lone wing. He felt like he was melting.

“Let’s go back to the room. We can play some new games,” said the Wire.

The Now looked down at him. He could barely think with the Flora hanging off of him, buried in the feathers on his neck.

“Games?” The larger one breathed. His voice was small and unguarded.

The Wire smiled.

Chapter Text

The Temp leaned over the side of the Ray’s bed, staring down with eyes that held a spark of accusation.

“Where is everyone?” He asked flatly.

The Ray blinked up at him, having only woken up about five seconds ago. “I’m sorry?”

“Where is everyone?” The Temp repeated with the same tone.

“You, too…?” groaned the Ray, stretching but not rising.

“I’ve had to fight two creatures from the woods. By myself.”

Finally sitting up, the Ray looked at him incredulously. “What?”

“Those things that come from the woods.”

“Yes, I- I know what you’re talking about,” He rubbed his eyes and gestured at him, “What do you mean you had to fight them by yourself?”

The Temp stared at him blankly, then shrugged and shook his head. “What do you need explained? Answer my question.”

“I don’t- I don’t know where everyone is. Why didn’t you ask for my help with them?”

“Ah, I see, I should have told the things to wait while I retrieved you. Brilliant.” He rolled his eyes.

The Ray rubbed his forehead with the heel of his palm. “Okay, alright, whatever. I don’t know where everyone is, I’m sorry. Could nobody else come when you called for them?”

“Nobody is left, Ray,” The Temp said with a snarl, his annoyance audibly growing.

The other squinted at him. “The Sea-”

“Even the Sea,” he hissed.

The Ray contemplated this. Surely someone was still here, he had just seen the Now a couple days ago. Just a couple… maybe more. The Temp groaned at the silence. He turned away as the Ray fumbled out of his bed.

“Where are you going?”

“Finding them,” the Temp answered. He gave no chance for a response before he was out the door.

The Ray stood dumbfounded, suddenly alone. A rude awakening, to say the least, and it left him with an odd, aching concern. Even the Temperate One was feeling some semblance of concern. That doesn’t really happen.

He looked around his room. It was still, and quiet. The quiet was never bad before. Why was everyone getting so worked up about it?

Bones creaked as he stretched his tired muscles. The quiet was nice, sometimes. It meant he slept well. Still, he’s been sleeping through most days. It wasn’t really that obvious to him when people weren’t around, since he wasn’t awake anyway.

He brushed off his shirt and cape, then headed outside. The sky was overcast; it only made him want to go back to bed.

---

The Temp stood at the edge of the woods. Various ribbons led into them at wildly different angles. He scanned the forest line.

Then, an idea popped into his head.

He stepped back, and looked up. A sunless, cloudy day. He rolled his shoulders.

Dark wings expanded. Feathers rustled; loud compared to the stillness of the leaves in the trees.

With a swift motion, the Temp flapped his wings, and took to the sky. The air was quite stagnant, so it took some effort to gain decent height, but he began to glide.

The Now and the Thing, both of the beings that regularly navigate the woods, are both unable to fly. Everybody else, though, does not get any excuse as to why they don’t do this more often.

Passing over the treetops, the Temp scanned for signs of anything at all. There were a few small clearings with nothing going on, and after a while, it started to get boring.

As he flew, his mind wandered. He thought about the creatures he had to slay by himself. Unfortunately, they were quite easy to defeat. One was wide-eyed and nearly crying, her limbs of vines could barely keep her stable as the Temp brought his blade to her neck. The other was a bit more of an issue, with her body only being semi-corporeal. Her chains were very real, however, and they were an easy weakness to take advantage of.

There was no doubt in his mind that he could handle them himself. Even if they were stronger than what they were, it was better that he was there instead of anybody else.

He did a flip. It was something.

In the distance, finally, there was something of note. A tree that somewhat stood out with its height, in the middle of a particularly large clearing. The Temp wondered if it would make a nice place for a treehouse, so far away from everyone else.

Alas, there was nobody in this clearing. He passed over the tree.

Then, he caught a glimpse of silver, flying through the air.

It shot through his extended wing before his brain even recognized it, coming out of the other side with a spurt of blood. Right at the joint.

Suspended in air for another moment, he eyed the thing that impaled him. Some sort of harpoon that came out of the big tree below.

He tried to keep his air, but his wing would no longer function correctly, even if he ignored the pain. It no longer fully extended, and he found himself hurtling towards the top of the tree that shot him.

He twisted as he fell, not putting in a particular effort to slow his descent. Wind blasted in his eyes. The last thing he noticed before he was harshly stopped was that there was a treehouse in the tree already.

The leaves made the fall not as bad as it could have been, not that it mattered to the Temp. He hit a wooden landing, and a bunch of debris fell on top of him. He let out a breath.

He sat up, joking to himself that this is why others don’t fly over the woods. With hands sore from catching his fall, he brushed off the sticks that fell on him. Finally focusing on his wing, he noticed that it was fully messed up from the harpoon. Blood was starting to get everywhere. When he tried to extend it, the tendons wouldn’t pull correctly. He brushed it a bit, then mindlessly plucked at some pinfeathers. With everyone gone for so long, nobody had been around to preen him, so he was looking quite the mess. Not that the Temp cared.

He looked around at where he landed. There were some other harpoon guns aimed towards the sky. A few were unarmed. He wondered which one had shot him.

The structure he stood on seemed entirely of wood. He contemplated the flammability of it; those leaves were probably pretty decent kindling.

Then, he heard a rummaging.

A few meters away, a hatch opened. The Tip poked his head out.

“I thought I heard something. What on earth are you doing up here?” He barked.

“Oh. It’s your house. I suppose I should have known,” the Temp hummed. He gestured to his ruined wing. “I fell.”

The Tip made a groaning noise. “I didn’t think anyone would be flying, I didn’t disarm the damn arrows. Ugh, come on, then. Get in here.”

He disappeared into the space beneath the trapdoor. The Temp followed him.

Down a ladder, he was led to a dimly lit room, only illuminated by the sun behind curtains and the light from another room.

He couldn’t help the bit of shock that flashed through him as he caught a glimpse of the Bell.

There were more scales than feathers. His fish-like tail was as long as he was tall - and he was huge. Hidden by shadow at first, he seemed too tall for the building they were in, propped up on his hands and still tall enough to be looking downward.

“Oh, it was the Temperate,” said the Bell. Graciously, he did not speak at full volume; at his size now, that booming voice could probably burst an eardrum. It was plenty loud now, and it sounded like he was putting in effort to whisper.

Brushing off the giant in the room, the Tip procured a bit of first aid. He said to the Temp, sarcastic exasperation in his voice, “Everyone else is here, too, if you care.”

“It was just boring by myself.”

“You poor thing,” he grumbled.

He started to walk back to start the patching up process, but the Bell stopped him with a wide, gentle hand. He looked down at the Tip.

“I’ll do it for you, dear,” he said.

The Tip looked back at him, eyes softening, a clear expression of favoritism. The Temp was unsure of his goal.

“Are you sure?” Asked the Tip.

The larger one held the side of his face, then took a hold of the bandages.

“Fret not. I’ve learned much from your handiwork, and I have some things to discuss with him. You must rejoin the others, take a bit of a break.”

With a glance back at the Temp, and a confused purse of his lips, he complied. The other two watched him return to the room of light.

Then, the Bell’s gaze turned toward the Temp. Something in those eyes was searching, prying. He elegantly pulled himself towards the other. The Temp reflexively stepped backwards, suddenly a bit cornered. The Bell sat back on his haunches, then reached for the wounded wing.

“You know,” he said, “My wing got harmed as well.”

“Congratulations,” the Temp replied flatly.

“Thank you,” he smiled, leaning forward. He delicately petted the messy feathers, combing around the wound, dirtying his hand.

Then, he stilled. One hand rested on the wing, the other had set down the bandages.

“Did it hurt?” He asked. The smile fell, nearly mirroring the Temp’s own vacant expression.

He replied immediately, “Of course not.”

The Bell looks into his eyes. “That’s too bad.”

The Temp’s eyebrows furrowed. Then, he felt a new sting.

Slowly, the grip on his bleeding wing tightened. More and more, he glanced down at it, the fingers dug. The Bell’s large thumb was pressing against the opening of the gash.

The Temp looked back up at him. Soothing, soft eyes turned razor-sharp, awaiting a reaction.

This could not break the Temp, however. It was something, sure, but nothing could hurt him. He returned the cold gaze.

Still, he could not stop the reflexive reaction to the Bell’s fingers. The clawed thumb bent into the puncture, through the bloody muscle with a soft squelch, causing the wing to twitch and curl. The Bell’s chest felt a tightening as he felt the muscle tensing, the joints and tendons moving against him. He flexed his thumb, and watched the feathers involuntarily shudder.

The Temp found his breathing getting heavier. He no longer looked at the bleeding infiltration. He didn’t need to see it to know what was happening. Instead, he watched the Bell’s chest rise and fall, and his scaly tail beat a few times against the floor.

This was a strange, new feeling. He’d never felt anything like it before. His body was frozen in place. What was happening?

Splatters of blood hit the floor.

“How is that?” The Bell asked.

His thumb had gone deep enough to come out the other side. When the Temp didn’t immediately respond, he pulled upwards, stretching the gash.

“How is what?” He said with a curled lip. This wasn’t getting to him. Nothing could.

The Bell seemed to slither forward, pushing and dragging the Temp backward, until the back of his clawed feet met a wall.

“It doesn’t hurt, no? Not even a little bit?” His flowery, flowing voice hummed, a false cooing.

His free hand slowly rose, and the Temp silently watched it approach his face. Heavens, it was huge. Maybe even twice the length of his own from palm to fingertip.

After so much time, the claws that were usually dulled and well-kempt had grown to be sharper. Both of his thumbs, one in the wound and one caressing his face, felt like fire to the Temp.

He finally brought himself to look back at the Bell.

“Not even a little bit,” he managed to say, as smooth as his voice would allow.

The hand on his face slowly moved, until, before he could realize it, the claws were digging into the back of his neck. The Bell took a firm grip of his throat.

“You prefer to pretend as if nothing can affect you…” He trails off, his tone almost… amused. His fingers squeezed.

Strangely enough, the Temp wasn’t having any more trouble breathing than before. The hold on his neck wasn’t painful, nor restricting. It was just… a feeling. He could hear his own blood rushing. His mind thought, but quickly removed, how this wasn’t so bad at all.

A smile graced the Bell’s face.

“And yet… you can’t control certain reactions.” Fingers and claws squeezed, causing the other to, once again involuntarily, jerk his wing out. “I can feel your heartbeat in your throat, you frigid thing. You shant act as if you have no heart at all, when it pounds so desperately.”

The Temp deals in fire, day-in and day-out. He had never experienced burning warmth like this. It was so new. His hands were clenched at his sides, his own claws digging deep enough to draw blood in his palms. He could deny his responses to pain, but he can’t argue that his heart is beating especially hard at the moment. The threat of his ability to breathe, teetering on asphyxiation, was quite the anxiety-provoking terror. The way his mind hated this was thoroughly intriguing.

His throat made a wet noise as he tried to talk. The Bell shifted his grip on his neck, and he tried again.

“What do you want?”

This was strange, and different. It felt like stabs to the gut. The Bell’s small smile widened. His hold on the Temp’s neck loosened, but the other one tightened, receiving another twitch.

“I want you to feel a bit, my dear.”

The Temp’s shoulders shook as he took rapid, deep breaths. How vague, he mused internally.

The Bell tugged him closer. Reflexively, the Temp put his arms forward to catch himself on the other’s chest. The grip on his throat was not nearly as tight now, but it was still present. From all the abuse, his wound was now probably twice its original size.

Sets of piercing eyes glared at each other.

“Is that all you have for me?” The Temp challenged, breathless.

The Bell laughed in response, then leaned closer. “You are pathetic.”

---

The Ray startled himself awake, again. He’d been aimlessly walking through the forest for hours now, following one set of ribbons to the next. He assumed that the Now had left a trail to where he was currently, but following the indecipherable maze the forest had become proved impossible.

He kept nearly falling asleep. The air was so still and comforting. The grass was cool beneath his feet. The sun didn’t even feel like it was out at all, the clouds hid it away so well. A lovely day to sleep in.

But these quiet days may go on forever. If everyone else is so convinced that something is wrong, then maybe he wasn’t being serious enough about it.

There’s never been any danger before. Nothing more than the creatures from the woods, and those were always dealt with handily.

He jolted to consciousness again.

It didn’t help that he didn’t even feel like he was in a forest. Nothing but his eyes were giving anything observable to tell him that he’s anywhere but somewhere soothing and relaxing. No wind moved the leaves, no sticks broke beneath his feet. The air didn’t smell of foliage, but some smoother, earthy, sweet scent. It was unlike anything the Ray had ever known, he could almost taste it.

He could understand why the Thing of the Night had been so uneasy. It was foreign, but vaguely familiar. The more he inhaled, the more he began to miss everyone. How could the Ray have gone so long without them? He berated his own reluctance.

When he opened his eyes again, he was on the edge of a hilly clearing. Atop the highest hill was a large tree. When the Ray looked around, he saw many metal things sticking out of the ground, and a few splatters of browned blood.

The tree… What did that tree contain, he wondered. Unhurriedly, he continued toward it.

His tail dragged silently across the grass as he sidestepped the exposed blades and activated traps. Closer to the tree, he could now see a house within the leaves. He walked to the trunk of it, and climbed up the steps.

Weary arms pulled him to a sort of porch. He looked around. It was so secluded. The residence of the Tip, he figured. The air sure didn’t smell like the Tip, though.

The Ray walked to the door, and realized it was ajar. With a hesitant hand, he pushed it open further.

It was dark inside. Even the shaded, cloudy day outside was bright compared to the dimness the Ray stepped into. A foot or so in front of him, he saw… Something. Some long, scaled thing, laying on the floor. He squinted at it, confused.

“What…?” He wasn’t sure what to say.

Then, it moved. The scales glittered with the limited light from the doorway.

The Ray followed it with his eyes, coming to the realization: it wasn’t an “it.” It was a “who.”

Those scale patterns in that specific shade proved to be those of the Bell. His charming face turned to the Ray, changing from a look of soft sleepiness to one of pure delight.

His large body twisted to approach him. The Ray noticed one of his enormous wings had some bandages draped around it, clearly of no use anymore. He got a bit distracted, though, when the Bell crawled closer to him.

“Oh, the beautiful Ray of Light,” he cooed with a smile. Even with his voice low, it seemed to boom and echo throughout the room, rattling in the Ray’s head. “Have you come to bring us sunshine on this dreary day, my dear?”

“What… Bell? I-...”

The Bell reached towards him and delicately grabbed. The warm palm pressed against him from behind. From fingertip to thumb-tip stretched beyond the entirety of the width of the Ray’s back. What had happened to him?

He praised, pulling him closer, “Ah, that voice… How I’ve missed it. Have I ever relayed the fondness I hold for the way you speak?”

“Um,” the Ray stuttered, watching the other hand glide towards his face. It started to caress his head feathers. “O-on occasion…”

This would probably be a much more terrifying situation if the Bell wasn’t so delicate. And, dear heavens, he was beautiful. Bright eyes glistened with tender devotion, like the Ray was the most perfect thing in the world. It was utterly intoxicating. He had no idea how to question any of it. He couldn't dislike it.

“Mmm… I should say so more often.” The larger one leaned down towards him. The Ray caught another whiff of that comforting, unfamiliar scent from before. He exhaled with a shock; that was coming from here - from the Bell.

“Where… Where is everyone?”

“They’re here,” the Bell said with a grin, “They missed you. I missed you.”

A full-body chill climbed through the Ray, earning an endeared chuckle from the other.

He came ever closer, his large face close enough to feel his breath.

“Did you miss me too?”

The Ray hesitantly brought his palm to the Bell’s cheek. He didn’t realize how harsh that gaze was until it softened under his touch. The Ray watched wide, scaly wings flutter. Hypnotic eyes closed as the Bell relished in the genuineness.

Of course the Ray missed everyone, in his own way. As he caresses the scales on the Bell’s face, he wonders if that was truly what was being asked.

The Bell, on the other hand, pulled away, eyes opened, now holding a sense of conflict.

Realizing he never answered the question, the Ray quickly said, “I-I did. Miss you.”

The Bell’s lip wobbled and he looked away, trying not to smile for some reason. The look in his eyes, however, seemed almost… sad. Mourning.

The Ray made a move to comfort him, but he was swiftly tugged into those great arms, and held softly against the Bell’s wide, feathered chest. He made no effort to struggle, but it was a strange situation. He felt… very small. The Bell’s heartbeat was right in his ear, mesmerizing.

“Just a moment,” said the Bell’s hushed voice. The other could feel the vibration of his words. It didn’t sound like he was talking to the Ray.

After many heartbeats, the Bell maneuvered him with a grip under his armpits, and set the smaller one in front of an illuminated doorway.

There everyone was, talking quietly amongst themselves, lazily draped across mounds of pillows and blankets, as well as each other. A few smiling faces turned to look at him.

“You made it through unharmed,” the Tip spoke first, “Good job.”

Like any other time, the Ray felt his tail swish at the praise. A little embarrassing, but they’ve all seen it before.

“Sooo cute,” the Now said with a grin.

He felt his throat close up. “Eh?” He choked.

A few others chuckled affectionately. The Ray felt a wide hand on his back once again, the Bell.

“Let’s have a bit of a nap, shall we? You look tired.” He was looking down at the Ray. He could only barely fit through the doorway.

“I… I guess it is getting close to night,” the Ray managed to respond.

“Is it?” Asked the Bell. “My, then we all should rest, yes? Go on, my light.”

He couldn’t help his heart fluttering at the affectionate nickname. He looked around the room. Everyone was so relaxed, even the Wire and the Flora. The Temp was here, too, resting against the Pit, who was preening the Sea. They all had various bandages wrapped around them, but didn't seem to pay them any mind. It was strangely welcoming, but he felt like an outsider.

Frozen by his indecision, the Ray finally moved when the Bell used his middle and ring fingers to move his chin to face him.

Before he could realize his yearning heart, the Bell placed soft lips on the Ray’s forehead.

“You are wanted here, love,” he assured him.

Somewhat dazed, the Ray felt a tug on his wing. He looked down to see the Thing, smiling up at him, eyes wide.

“Hey-” He began to greet with a returned smile, but was swiftly dragged forward to join the others.

The Thing sat him down, and a few others scooted to embrace him.

The Scale latched onto his arm. “Finally, we’d been wondering when you’d get here. You took so long, now you gotta be our pillow, yeah?” He half-joked, fully intent on using him as a pillow.

“Sounds fair enough,” the Ray chuckled.

“Some of us were starting to get worried,” the Wire mumbled, quite close to his ear. He grabbed the end of the Ray’s cape and pulled it around himself, shuddering but growing a smile.

“You’re telling me.” He rubbed his head against the Wire’s. “I didn’t realize how long you guys were gone. It got really scary for a minute there.”

The Pit plopped his head onto his lap. “Hush now, you lot. I haven’t slept in days, and this shiny dork looks like he needs it.”

The Ray petted his head. He had been getting plenty of sleep, but he couldn’t deny that he did want more.

It was so warm, and he didn’t have to worry anymore. He watched the Now fall asleep on top of the Temp, and the Tip preening the Sea, who was petting the Thing. So many sleepy but content faces.

He heard the Bell’s feathers flutter and felt them wrap around his little pile. A few feet away, his magnificent tail swayed peacefully.

The Ray nodded off, his heart full of love.

Chapter Text

The Tip awoke to a small hand petting his leg. Sunlight shone through a window, right onto his face, as always. He looked down at the hand on his leg. It was the Thing, looking sleepy after a night of watching over everyone. It was the Tip’s turn to watch, now.

He sat up and ruffled the Thing’s head feathers. It curled up next to him, and took many slow breaths. The Tip watched as he slowly fell asleep.

The room was slowly lightening, and he looked around. Everyone was huddled up, sound asleep. Wrapped around them, protecting his hoard, was the Bell.

The Tip rose from his bed, and laid a blanket on the Thing. Taking careful steps, he went up to the Bell’s sleeping head. He crouched, and began to comb him. He noted the incredible growth. How a being can flourish under the right conditions. He delicately stroked the scales and feathers.

“Bell,” he said.

The Bell, having not been fully asleep, opened his eyes, and looked up at his dearest friend. A smile spread across his dazzling face.

“I want to talk to you,” said the Tip.

The Bell pulled his arms in and rested his head on them. His tail - across the room - swayed audibly.

“Go on, brother. I am listening.”

The Tip’s eyes lidded. He didn’t look away. “I mean just us. Alone.”

The Bell pouted a bit, joking, then wiggled closer to his friend pile. “Anything that needs to be said should not be said in secret. I thought you out of all of us would understand that, dear Arrow-Tip?”

“It’s not for my sake, Bell,” he responded, tone harshening.

The glint in the large one’s eyes faded along with his coy grin. He avoided eye contact by glancing at the sleeping bodies huddled in his embrace. With a few grunts, he rose from his laying position, propped up on his large, draconic arms.

From under his wing, the Sea of Tears stirred; what was essentially his blanket was being removed.

The Bell soothed him, and pushed him to grab a hold of the Pit in his place.

“I’ll be right back, small one. Fret not,” he hummed. He could see the Sea smile sleepily in response.

The Tip led the way out of the room. It took a bit of effort to get the Bell through the doorway.

“Whatever do you need?” He asked once they were in the dim room.

“Come on,” the Tip beckoned, leading him further. He left through the front door, onto his balcony.

Not free of anxiety, the Bell took a moment to follow.

The wood creaked under his weight. He was enjoying his great size; so long as he didn’t have to move too much.

Outside, sunlight dappled through the leaves, illuminating everything quite beautifully. The Tip was leaning against the railing, looking out through the leaves at his booby-trap-ridden front yard. The Bell crawled to his side. They breathed in the fresh air together.

“How was… your rest?” The Bell asked him. He knew what was coming, but he wanted to remain in his blissful ignorance.

“As good as it has been,” replied the Tip.

The other could feel the tangible gentle scolding. He held onto the railing and fidgeted.

“Are you done?” Asked the smaller one. He tilted his head and gave the Bell a side-eye.

“With… what?” He looked back.

His eyebrows raised. “Healing.”

The Bell turned away. “My wounds still ache.”

“What, your wing? Your chest?”

A wide, scaly tail flicked, something embarrassed and cornered.

“Yes.”

“Is that really what needs healing, Bell?" The Tip asked. His head turned to look up at him better.

“I… I just need a bit more time,” he mumbled.

“Do you know how long it’s been?”

The cogs of his mind turned. “A few days, no?”

“More than a few,” the Tip corrected pointedly, “Many. Even I had lost count.”

“That… That isn’t such an awful thing. everyone is… Enjoying each other’s company. The time matters not; it flies. That’s… Great!”

“Bell.”

The Bell would not meet his eye. It was familiarly childish.

“Bell,” the Tip said again, “I think it’s time you let them go home.”

“This is home. They all… relish their time here. They don’t want to leave,” he responds, tone trembling. His usual flair and whimsy, faded.

“I let you have your fun, since they’d been mean and they needed a break, but all good things have an end. Or at the very least, a repercussion.”

“No, they don’t…!” The Bell turned to face the other, leaning down. “There is nothing that needs to change, it can remain as it is.”

“What if something shows up, Bell? Something bigger than what you or I can handle?”

The Bell’s handsome face contorted. He grimaced hard enough to show sharp incisors.

“I… I won’t allow them to be hurt…! I won’t let anything get in the way-”

“You can’t always promise that. You need to be reasonable.”

“Please, I beg,” the Bell said, twisting his body and reaching for the other, “Let me keep them. I don’t want them to go, I don’t want to be left alone.”

The Tip held the large hand extended to him. It was scaled and clawed, sharper than ever.

“They’ve always been there, they always will be,” he reassured him.

The Bell gripped the relatively small fingers tighter. “They hated me. They were cruel; I only wished to be loved.”

“Does your hoard make you feel loved, now?”

The larger one recoiled as if hurt. “I-I did. With them, they… they loved me, I am certain-”

“Bellie,” the Tip cut him off. He released their held hands.

The wings and feathers of the Bell folded. Usually so boisterous, it was strange to have him wear such a look of desperate fear. What did the nickname mean? Was it good? He hoped it meant good things, with all of his heart.

The Tip looked up at him. His arms opened out, waiting.

Slowly, lowering himself, the Bell crawled into his embrace. Arms, less than half the size of his own, cradled his head.

There was silence, and it grew a lump in the Bell’s throat. He listened closely to the faintly thumping heartbeat.

What was this for, after all?

“I love them,” he wept, “I miss them. I’m sorry.”

The Tip pet him. “Let it all out.”

With that, the other hugged him back. Large limbs wrapped the Tip, lifting him off of the ground with passionate force. He shook and gasped, then began to sob.

“You’re right,” his beautiful, quivering voice spoke into the smaller chest, “You’re always right.”

The Tip tittered, just a bit. “I love you too, Bell.”

The Bell’s breathing slowed. That’s what this was all for.

He pulled away, uncharacteristically solemn, but strangely wistful. Tears fell, as elegant as ever.

“I’ll help you clean up, okay?” The Tip bargained, trying to lighten the mood.

A weak, tearful smile spread across the Bell’s face. “Thank you. I love you, too.”

---

The Ray awoke with a sore back. Other than that though, he felt quite refreshed. It took him a moment to realize he was back in his own cabin, and his own bed. He stretched a bit. His foggy mind finally brought a thought to attention: Where is everyone? He remembered being with everyone… and falling asleep with everyone.

He shifted out of bed, a little unbalanced. The air was quite still. He left his home.

As he went out the door, he saw two others emerging from the Pit’s house: the Tip and the Bell. The latter seemed… a more appropriate size. He had his clothes back on.

The Tip saw the Ray first.

“Ah, should have known you’d wake up first,” he said as he walked over. The Bell followed with an embarrassed expression; quite atypical.

“B-Bell? Tip?” The Ray searched them for answers.

“Good afternoon,” said the Bell.

The Tip nudged him. “You don’t have to be so stiff.”

The other looked back at him, still flustered. Then, he looked to the Ray.

“May I hug you?” He asked. His voice was familiar and boisterous, but also patient. He braced for a rejection.

Like it was obvious, the Ray nodded, “Of course.”

Slowly, but bleedingly desperate, the Bell embraced him. The Ray hugged back. All of it, so familiar. Comfortingly so.

Still holding on tight, he asked the Tip, “Where is everyone else?”

“We just put the Pit back in his house, ‘n he was the last of you. They’re all just sleeping, I’ll go back to find something to wake ‘em up.”

“Great. That’ll be nice. Could you, uh, get something for my back, too?”

“My apologies,” the Bell responded.

---

The usual, busy hum of the air had returned. Always something to do, always a conversation going on. Distant hammering of red-hot metal. The creaking of a wooden loom. The drifting wind through strings and strings of ribbons.

The Sea sat in his home, washing up. It had gotten incredibly dirty without him; as well as dry. He was working to get the humidity back to where it had been. For now, though, the floors needed to be scrubbed.

He sat in a dark corner, grinding a sponge-textured wad of plants against the inexplicable grime. His back ached - a soreness many others seemed to share - and the Tip and the Flora were working on something that could soothe the pain. He just had to deal for now. It wasn’t the absolute worst, the Sea usually had to deal with random aches and pains. He felt a little bad for everyone else, though.

His mind, as well as many others’, had been quite clouded since he woke up. The Bell had come by to apologize for something nobody seemed to be able to pinpoint. Everyone just seemed a little bit… fuzzy, but nobody felt bad.

The Sea didn’t realize how much he was thinking about everyone else until he heard a knock on his stoney door.

He halted his repetitive scrubbing, wondering if he’d just imagined it. After a moment of staring at it in silence, there was another faint tapping.

“Sea of Tears?” Asked the Bell, muffled.

The Sea was startled by the use of his formal name. He stumbled to his feet and rushed to the door.

With an effort, he pulled it open, and got an eyeful of the Bell, back to his normal size. He wore that regular graceful smile, but the Sea could tell, probably better than anyone else, there were dark areas under his glittering eyes.

“Uhn… Hi, Bell.”

“May I come in?”

The Sea looked at the floor, then back up. “It’s… It’s a mess, I don’t…”

“That’s why I’m here,” the Bell assured him, the smile turning to something bashful, “I wish to help you clean.”

The Sea froze.

“Really?”

Flawless wings flared with joy. “Of course! I wouldn’t lie on that, my dear.”

The smaller one stepped away from the doorway, letting him in. The Bell was bright against the dreary interior, but the glow wasn’t unwelcome.

“I was just… Working on the floor… It’d gotten dirty,” the Sea mumbled as he walked back to where he was working. The Bell wordlessly followed.

They both crouched to the floor. The Sea handed him one of many sponges, and they got to work.

The Sea was, sensibly, a bit confused. The beautiful Bell, in this drab cathedral? Scrubbing, of all things? He fit better as something to be worshiped, not the worship-er.

His staring caught the Bell’s attention. He looked back, softly smiling.

The Sea found himself smiling back.

They cleaned together, in silence. There was a conversation somewhere outside.

---

The Flora worked tirelessly over his assortment of plants, picking off parts of some to graft to others. It was getting frustrating, however, when he wasn’t getting the results he wanted. Annoyances only worsened when he would crack his back, intensifying everything that ached.

He sat, taking a quick break as he waited for his last test to take action.

From above, he heard a patient tapping of claws against his den’s door. With a groan, he rushed to greet whoever was there.

He opened the wood-lattice trapdoor, and smiled up at the Bell.

“Hello again, dear Bell,” the Flora greeted.

“Hello, Flora,” the Bell returned, “How are you?”

“Aah, as fine as I could be. Come in, come in.” He waved to welcome him into the den.

The Bell gracefully descended behind him, leaving a comfortably generous distance. He followed as the Flora went right back to his table of growing plants.

“I, ah, don’t have any updates,” said the Flora, trying to mask his disappointment.

The Bell walked up beside him and spoke gently, “That is quite alright. My aim was not to push you further, my friend.”

The Flora eyed him warily. “What do you want then?”

“I was just a bit peckish,” replied the Bell. His expression turned almost sheepish. “I had hoped you would be open to a meal together?”

Neatly combed feathers flittered minutely; the Flora wasn’t used to… requests. His eyes shone for just a moment, until he looked away, guard rising once more.

After fidgeting with some foliage for a moment, he asked in reply, “What would you like?”

“A stew would be lovely, but I would eat anything,” said the Bell, “Something easy, for your sake. Anything you make is incredible.”

A crooked, awkward, but thoroughly delighted smile infected the Flora’s face.

“I could- ah- I could whip something up,” he practically laughed, then began to excitedly stumble over his words, “Just a moment- A stew? A soup would be quicker, something nice and easy, plenty filling- I have some meat from the Thing’s hunt earlier, that’d be great for it!”

He glided over to his kitchen area and started to pull things together. A pot was filled with water and set upon a fire, he threw in some salt and spices, then ran to grab the aforementioned meat. The Bell watched silently, glistening with adoration.

…

A steaming bowl was set in front of the Bell. It smelled rich and hearty, full of nutritious roots and fresh meat. The Flora placed his own similar bowl across the small table, and sat opposite to him. They faced each other. The Bell had been waiting patiently for this, and the caring grin never fell.

The Flora, on the other hand, wasn’t quite sure what to think. He got to cook for someone, and that’s always fun, but, was there an ulterior motive? He grabbed his handmade utensil. The Bell mirrored him.

“Thank you, Flora,” he said. His smile widened enough to make him squint.

“Yes, of course.” He stirred the bowl’s contents. “Do be careful. It just came off of the burner.”

This only seemed to make the Bell happier.

The Flora waited; stirring, stirring, waiting for it to cool, waiting to not take the first bite. He was the one that cooked it, obviously, meaning he had been tasting it the whole way - but he didn’t want to take the first bite.

The Bell took a spoonful, and blew on it. He radiated elegance that the Flora couldn’t help but admire and envy. He sipped the broth. It was very warm, rich, and earthy. Carefully flavored, a noticeable hint of spice that made one crave the next bite. Diced bits of expertly cultivated plants, cooked to perfection. There was no meat in his first bite, but the flavor was still there.

He felt the warmth travel as he swallowed. He met the Flora’s intense stare.

“It is immaculate,” he grinned, “Thank you.”

The Flora sighed, just as grateful.

---

The sun was just dipping into the tops of the trees. The Bell stepped through a familiar path in the woods, to the top of a familiar hill, up the trunk of a familiar tree.

Two knocks, and then one more, on the lower half of the door. A moment’s waiting, and a few clicking locks.

It is radiance, what the Bell is met with. The Tip seemed tired, stressed from a fitful day, but he was glowing.

“Evening, Bell,” he smiled, then welcomed him inside.

A bit of tea was warmed and poured.

They sat and sipped for a while. The silence was comfortable, just the two of them.

“How did things go today?” The Tip asked.

The Bell thought for a moment, and then a grin grew on his face.

“It was different,” he answered.

The Tip took another sip. “And?”

The other laughed; something shy, somewhat exasperated, but genuine.

“You were right,” he sighed, nodding.

The Tip hummed. His expression showed coy pride for both himself and the Bell. He waited, just a moment more.

The Bell continued, “You always are.” He sipped.

“Damn right.” The Tip raised his glass. “Love you too, Bell.”

In silence, they watched the sun set through a window. It was warm.