Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I opened my green orbs to tender sunbeams peaking through the cracks in my humble rat abode’s decrepit walls. My orange fur glistened and welcomed the warmth. It was Sunday, or at least I thought it was Sunday. It’s not like we had anyone keeping track using rat-sized calendars, but despite that, there were still key details that no other day of the week had. For example, only on Sunday did the humans leave for church and leave us rats with free reign of the house. That’s when we got to have REAL rat-based fun. 

We pulled out our little rat crosses, summoned the little rat priests, pulled out the little rat pews, and worshiped RaJesus (rat Jesus), our one and only. The true rat beloved. Our rat lord and savior, the one who delivered us from the cats 20 years ago. It was your typical rat Sunday service…

(To the beat of How Great Thou Art)
Oh rat Lord, my Rat
When I, in awesome rat wonder
Consider all the worlds thy rat paws have made
I see the LED bulbs, I hear the shrieks of  grandma Bertha
Thy power throughout the rat den displayed

I sat with my little rat family in the little rat pews listening to the holy rat choir sing RaJesus’s praises, it sounds like home. It’s angelic, like Saint Rat Danny Devito and his glorious presence, holy be thy name…
 

Then saves my rat soul, my savior rat God to thee
How great thou tail, how great thou tail

Then saves my rat soul, my savior rat God to thee

How great thou tail, how great thou tail

I remember going to this rat church when I was a young pup, I remember the lessons I was taught in rat Sunday school. “Thou shall not cheat on thy spouse, even if they have a nice rat ass”. I always wondered about that, why would someone think that’s a brilliant idea? Wouldn’t that just hurt everyone in the long run…?

And when I  think that rat God, His rat Pup not sparing

Sent him to lead the rats to safety, all those 20 years ago

In that cat, being willingly eaten to save the mischief

He was munched and crunched to take away my rat sin

I sit in the back of the rat church, and I try my best to pay attention, but rat Father Django is glaring directly at me. He has always hated me and my family, we were considered the bastards of the mischief. Brother Father kept his two sons, who were my age, away from my family so as to not “Contaminate them”. But how can I stay away? Remy and Emile have been my best friends since I was little. 

Then saves my rat soul, my savior rat God to thee
How great thou tail, how great thou tail

Then saves my rat soul, my savior rat God to thee

How great thou tail, how great thou tail

I told them everything, and they did the same for me. They were there and supportive when I came out as nonbinary, and Remy and I were there for when Emile began to accept his transhood and homosexuality. He can’t transition in fear of being excommunicated by his father, and he still gets called “she”. His original name was not Emile you know. He actually found it in a rat Playboy magazine. 

When RaJesus shall come, with squeaks of acclamation

And take me home, to the cheese far above

Then I shall chirp, in humble adoration

Then squeak giddily, my rat God, how great thou Rat

He actually made the magazine himself, Playboy doesn’t support ratussy after all. LGBTRats aren’t commonly accepted, we’re seen as freaks. We’ve utilized the dishwasher as our gathering place, since it’s perfectly steamy for our steamy shenanigans. I can tell you right now, Remy was one of the most fabulous rat drag queens, though he’ll never admit it to anyone besides the two of us. We were family, despite the shit I got from Father Django.

Then saves my soul, my savior rat God to thee
How great thou tail, how great thou tail

Then saves my soul, my savior rat God to thee

How great thou tail, how great thou tail

The service ends, and Brother Father Django is staring daggers at me as he skitters furiously to my location. I think he caught me trying to make eye contact with the brothers, he for some reason always hated when I did that. He hated everything about me; my androgynous appearance, my neutral voice, my rat claws covered in blackberry stains, everything. 

“Y/N!”

I flinched as he called my name.

“I need to speak to you in private, NOW.”

Oh, great. Perfect, even! This is exactly what I need right now. A fucking thumbtack in my otherwise solid hand of a Sunday. He’s more angry than usual. He’s physically vibrating, like [REDACTED]. Oops, can’t make that joke, can I? Besides that, he’s getting closer and I can smell his disgusting holy rat musk wash over my snout.

He snatches my little rat paw and drags me to the rat confessional no one used. He glares directly at me, bitter loathing in his reflective pupils, all directed towards me.

“How many fucking times have I told you, you filthy nightcrawler, to stay away from my pure and holy pups? My family doesn’t need the likes of your kind infecting my pups and steering them away from the righteous path of RaJesus.”

“I’m sorry Father, but it’s not my fault they’re family to me.”

“That’s bullshit. You will never be close to my sons, they can barely stand you. You’re a worthless piece of scum, along with your family. I only allow you in these walls because it is RaJesus’s command, if I had the opportunity I would make sure you and your piece of shit family never came back and spread your RaSatanic (rat satanic) filth onto this clergy.”

I had heard this many times before, and I’ll probably hear it many times again. I had learned long ago to just nod my head and pretend to listen. This time, for some reason, felt different. He was more aggressive, more serious. He looked at me in a way I had never seen before—----------

There was a sudden sting on my cheek as I fell to the ground. It was over before I realized what had even happened, and he was walking away. I felt a moist warmth on the floor below me. I lift my hand up to check the mystery substance, and it’s my own blood. 

“Get out of my sight, Y/N. And wipe that shit off of your muzzle..” He spat before finally scampering out of earshot. Leaving me on the floor, the slow drip, drip, drip of blood being the only sound to keep me company.

Chapter Text

I walked out of rat church that evening, the blood already scabbing up my ginger fur as I resisted the urge to scratch at the wound. I looked at the paw I placed over the injury, and realized I was scratching at it anyway. It hurts being fucking stupid. I was soon at the washing machine, not really caring what my rat family would say if I came back late. I had one goal now; to get absolutely shit-faced and pretend this never happened. Emile and Remy don’t really need to know anyway, it would just start more rat family conflict than needed.

I snuck inside the secret entrance to the dishwasher to see Remy and Emile by the entryway, waiting for me. Remy was fully glammed to high Rahell in his little rat corset and rat fishnets, decked out with his expensive rat-fur wig. It was a luxurious mane, bedazzled with diamonds and sapphires, contrasting the atomic blonde rat hair like pearls in an oyster. He was in a short emerald rat cocktail dress and little rat heels, though Remy was dogshit at padding them correctly.

Emile was still in his pale rose rat church dress, though he carried his fashionable magenta rat button-up and snazzy white bell bottom rat trousers in a bag on the floor next to him. He was a huge rat Harry Styles kinnie, and it showed. He had around his neck his loosely draped little hot pink rat scarf, ready to be cinched into place. I will never admit it, but both of them are very hot in their gay little rat outfits. I’m no rat simp of course, but I would smash, platonically anyway. What I mean is that they both look great.

“Hey you two! Long time no see!” I called, happy to see them after today’s shitty events, “How are you scrunklefucks?”

“I’m good darling, how about you? Ready to party hoe?” Remy shouted back. Emile scurried to the rat bathrooms to go throw on his little rat suit, sliding on his full body rat binder in the process. Remy and I were left standing there, effortlessly getting lost in conversation. Emile came back a few moments later, sporting his fabulous outfit. When he showed me a drawing of the outfit on the shelf at the rat Macy’s I was already blown away, but to see him wear it in person, I was in awe. Mans was an absolute sigma rat.
Remy was called to perform on the rat stage, in his gorgeous rat drag, while Emile and I sat watching and cheering him on from the front row. He threw a gentle and appreciative smirk at us as he continued his set, soon finishing with a performance of “Squeak So” by Doja Rat. He stepped off the rat stage, the next rat drag queen stepping to take his place. We met him by the bar, all getting our first round of rat shots for the night.

“YOOOOOO YOU DID SO GOOD BESTIE” Emile and I both squealed in twinkish unison.

“Thanks, darlings! I’m glad ya both liked it, it meant a lot to have y’all there, I was starting to get nervous,” Remy chimed in gleefully after we were done.

Remy goes to undress and change into a more comfortable outfit as Emile and I go separate ways. Emile heads off to the rat dance floor, little bloody mary in hand, as I head back to the rat bar to get shitfaced and forget for a while.

I grabbed a thimble and sat on an open matchbox at the rat bar. I’ve been here countless times, so I’ve memorized their rat spirit selection, and am pretty close to the rat bartender. I ask her for my usual, a shot of rat vodka mixed with honey.

I down the first rat shot, and already I can feel the warmth trail down from my muzzle to my stomach.

I down the second, and yet I still don’t feel numb enough, not happy enough.

I down the third rat shot, and … and… I feel like I need another.

_______________________________________

I down the fifth rat shot, and the rat bartender tells me I need to wait till I can have another. I could be mad, but I feel too exhausted to even furrow my brow. So I sit there, asking “When?” only to be met with “30 minutes,” “15 minutes,” “10.”
Someone sits next to me. I don’t even bother to glance at them, I just need another drink.
Finally, the rat bartender pours me another. Lucky me, I was just about to crash. I put my muzzle to the thimble without a second thought. And again, and again, and again.

“So, what has you drinkin’ like this on a weeknight, Y/N?” the rat bartender asks me, the little rat barkeep cleaning thimbles just behind her.

“Just feel shit.” I slurred, giggling at my own pathetic rat image. One rat part of me still felt sober, watching over me and begging me to shut up verbally and physically. The other rat part, of course, kept going. Because rat vodka is more powerful than rat self awareness.

“Have you ever felt…” I pause for an uncomfortably long time as I struggle to form a cohesive rat sentence in my mind. The rat bartender is patient with me. “Like you’re just… Out of place? Like you’re supposed to be somewhere else and yet, there’s nothing you can do about it…?” I manage to mutter, though the sober rat in me is convinced it will get lost in translation.
It does not, unfortunately.

“That’s one Rahell of a way to say you feel trapped.” The rat bartender squeaks.

“Yah, sure… Whatever” I squeak back.

Suddenly the topic shifts, not that I care. I take another rat shot.

“Uhm. you’ve got something on your face, Y/N.”

“Yah, I know… My drink!” I laugh at my own joke. I’m a rat comedic genius. My rat muzzle itches, so I scratch it. Hurts like a rat bitch but it stops itching.

“No, I mean— Oh RaJesus, Y/N! Stop, you’re getting blood on– Oh, just come with me, you’ve had enough to drink” Turns out, around halfway through me and the bartender’s chat, Emile had managed to sneak a seat next to me. He gently grabbed my little rat paw and nudged me out of my seat. I reached for my thimble like a rat toddler, but to no avail. I was already too far away to grab it with my tiny little rat fingers.
A few exhausting minutes of struggle later, and Emile takes me to the roof of the dishwasher. Away from the other rats, away from the rat booze, the rat partying, the rat drag, away from all my rat problems.

Just us, the twilight sky in the kitchen window, and the fairy lights in the kitchen look like mini suns gently illuminating the otherwise deep blue night with gentle fluorescent golden light. He sits me down near the edge, allowing the both of us to get a good rat view of it all.

I’ve surprisingly never been up here before, and I can’t remember how we got here. We sit in rat silence for a few minutes, as my rat body ceases its craving for rat vodka. I’m gently swaying back and forth, my rat core not quite stable yet, as Emile glances at me with a worried expression on his snout. He looks surprisingly handsome in this lighting now that I look closer.

“Well, you wanna talk about it?” He questions calmly.

“About what?” I respond, trying to maintain a hold on my rat speech.

“The scratch on your snout, dumbass. What’d you do?” He playfully teases, though its obvious there’s a strong hint of concern in his rat tone.

“Nahh, just me being a rat dumbass and accidentally ran into a rat pole. Don’t worry about it bestie,” I reason.

“That doesn’t look like an accident, or an injury from a rat pole. Don’t bullshit me, what happened?” Emile knows something happened, doesn’t he? How the RaHell (rat hell) do I explain it to him without making him hate his father even more?

“Your dad fucked up my face a bit, deserved if you ask me,” I answered straightly.

I start getting anxious as Emile sits in rat silence for a minute, saying nothing. I start peeling the scab on my rat snout without thinking, more focused on the almost sobering rat dread at what Emile’s going to think.

I feel a rat paw on my rat wrist, gently but firmly pulling it away from my snout.

“Don’t do that please, you’ll make it worse.”

I look up from my hand to see Emile, his auburn fur almost glowing in the fairy lights. He begins to speak, but we’re both stopped by the faint playing of “I Love You So” by The Rat Walters coming from inside the dishwasher. He loves this song, and immediately recognizes its beginning rat guitar chords.

I just need someone in my life to give it structure
To handle all the selfish ways I’d spend my time without her

I begin to feel the rat vodka release its grip on me, ever so slightly, at least enough to be able to process basic shit. I tell Emile everything that happened, him not opening his rat mouth a single time. He sits and just, listens. No judgment, no persecution on his face, just his pure rat attention.

You’re everything I want, but I can’t deal with all your rat lovers
You’re saying I’m the one, but it’s your actions that speak louder

“You have really dark bags under your rat eyes,” Emile questioned when I was done. “How long has it been since you slept?” I almost start to sob. I genuinely don’t know at this point, I don’t know the answer, I can’t remember most days.

Giving me love when you are down or need another
I’ve gotta get away and let you go, I’ve gotta get over

At this point I can’t hold it in any longer. I put my rat head in my rat paws, and sob. Emile scoots over and wraps his little rat arms me, saying nothing. I’m a babbling rat mess, and yet he still doesn’t walk away. He just stays here, realizing just how long it’s been since I’ve truly felt like this.

But I love you so
I love you so
I love you so
I love you so

“Why didn’t you tell me this was all going on sooner? Take a deep rat breath, it's all gonna be ok Y/N.” I cling onto his rich pink rat button-up as I break down. I feel the salty rat tears fall down my rat snout, hitting the now opened rat scab. It burns a little, but I simply ignore it. I don’t care at this point anyway.

I’m gonna pack my rat things and leave you behind
This feeling’s old and I know that I’ve made up my mind

I start to shake, and Emile, recognizing this, gently tightens his grip. He sits and starts mumbling comforting nothings as I let everything out, an amalgamation of everything, the bullshit with Father Brother Django, the fact the three of us are stuck in our own rat flesh, unable to really be who we are, and the problems with the past that I don’t think got resolved. This mischief is decent, but my parents were always shitty. I don’t want to go into it, it hurts too fucking much. “Shhhh, it’s ok Y/N. You aren’t alone, we’re here for you. We aren’t going anywhere.” Emile remarks.

I hope you feel what I felt when you shattered my rat soul
‘Cause you were cool and I’m a fool

So please let me go

Emile sings along with the bridge of the song, knowing the words in brutal honesty. We’ve both come from hell, and we’re both just waiting for the bomb to drop and we both get exocomunicated from the Holy Rat Church of RaJesus. “I’m sorry for everything, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry your father hates me. I’m sorry he blames you for my existence. I’m sorry you and Remy are put under such shit for me. I-” I’m cut off there. Emile doesn’t even need to say anything, the tender look in his chestnut rat pupils says more than enough.

But I love you so (please let me go)
I love you so (please let me go)
I love you so (please let me go)
I love you so

The song ends, and I finally catch my rat breath a bit. My dexterity is still a little shit because of the rat vodka. A few moments later there’s a click at the door across the room. Emile knows what this means, screaming at me to get up. I can’t get up fast enough, and he resorts to tossing me over his rat shoulder before taking off towards the washing machine. He wasn’t fast enough, as the humans walk in, turn on the light, and look directly at us. We know we’re fucked when we hear behind us, “RATTTTTTTT”.

We still book it back inside the dishwasher, telling every rat to scatter. We go find Remy, who’s getting frisky with the rat bartender’s assistant. The three of us take a back path to the rat den from the dishwasher, listening to the screams of the humans behind us still. We know we’ve been discovered. We all get back to the den in the drywall, and the entire town’s awake. They heard the screams as well, and no one knew what to do.

I say my goodbyes to the two rat brothers, scurrying as fast as my rat body can take me back to my home. My rat parents are waiting there, clearly worried about where I’ve been. I hear yelling come across the den, clearly the voice belonging to Django. I remember that Emile was still in his suit and binder. It all makes sense now.

Now a lot more sobered than I was before, I hear Django calling out his son for what he was wearing, calling him multiple rat slurs. I overhear some other rat profanities and words, though I don’t dare speak them. I hear the slap of rat flesh on rat flesh, knowing exactly what happened. I want to go help him, but I can’t. There’s sadly bigger rats to fry at the moment.

Brother Father Django stands in the middle of the mischief on top of a stack of rat pews, calling them all to attention.

“Attention every rat,” he calls in a booming rat voice. “This is not a rat drill. We have to evacuate since we’ve been discovered, and by our rat intell the humans are calling the rat exterminators.” With that line he stares at the three of us with pure rage in his rat coffee-colored orbs. I know I’ll be hearing about that later.

As soon as every rat calms down a bit, we all begin to pack our rat belongings, uprooting our tiny rat lives in a rat instant. I still haven’t had the chance to talk to Emile and Remy yet, and it’s worrying to be honest. Within a few minutes we’re all in a long rat line, making our way in a rat exodus through the drywall, leaving our old rat lives behind.

As I walk past where Remy and Emile were standing minutes before, I notice a familiar hot pink rat tie, now stained with blotches of red covering its rat cloth, trampled and lying on the floor, leading to a small trail of rat blood drops in the direction I was walking. I knew what happened, and I wasn’t going to settle for this.

Chapter Text

I hugged my little rat paws to my rat chest as we all scurried to the shore of Weemp Womp River, the thump thump thump of human footsteps chasing behind our rat exodus. The air was thick with rat tension as I scanned the backs of the hundreds of rat heads in a desperate attempt to locate Remy and Emile.

It was complete rat chaos as I scampered through now panicked rat crowds in search of the brothers I had seen only hours before. We were now far from the kitchen, our cozy drywall rat community now gone, the dishwasher abandoned. And that beautiful fairy light night sky now vanished, never for any of us to be seen again.

Father Brother Django had a feeling in his rat gut that we had somehow caused all of this, and rightfully so. Me and Emile had been the ones to actually get caught. The thought made a large rat pit form in my rat stomach. We all knew that he wasn’t done with us, we were bound to get our collective rat shit kicked in. Right now though, it was all about surviving this rahellhole [rat hellhole].

We reach the shore, our rat paws leaving imprints in the fine soil beneath us. The humans are getting closer. Father Brother Django calls out to the mischief, “RUN.” We quickly find and hoist up some emergency rat-sized rafts we put together when we first built the rat commune, and we begin evacuating quickly. First, the rat women, the rat pups, and the rat elderly. Soon, the rat men are allowed aboard. Emile, Remy, and I are just about to board different boats when I reach out to them, luckily securing a place on their rat liferaft. Sadly though, Father Brother Django was standing right behind us.

We all take a collective sigh of relief as we slip under the drain pipe roof, the humans now nowhere near us. I look up and smile a warm, exhausted rat smile at Remy and Emile, and they return my relief tenfold. I didn’t want to break the moment by saying anything to Emile directly, but his rat snout was caked in scabbed rat blood, much like my own, the injury was probably from his rat father. Brother Father Django scurries over to us in a rat rage, and we all knew we were royally rascrewed [rat screwed].

“You three,” he scowled at us in typical scummy rat father fashion, “This was your doing. I knew you were doing truly unholy shit.”

Remy steps up, pushing us back. “Father, they had nothing to do with this. I brought them to the dishwasher, and I was the one who got us caught. I-”

Father Brother Django grabs Remy’s rat wrist and drags him away from Emile and I, as if we were going to slaughter the rat man. “Son, get away from that filth, they’ll contaminate you more.” Remy struggles to break free from his father’s grasp, but he doesn’t let go. Django starts tearing into Emile and I like a vulture and a carcass.

“This vermin of a child turned out to be an unholy rat twink, and on top of that, it befriended Y/N, a damn rasatanist, and abandoned the Lord RaJesus.” Father Brother Django still hasn’t let go of Remy and slowly begins to back up. Before Emile or myself can formulate a response, let alone process what the rahell happened, we watch Father Brother Django slowly advance towards us. Father Brother Django then mutters something unintelligible to the clergyrats next to him, and within seconds the entire rat clergy is slowly circling us like a dizzying furry typhoon. Remy understands what his father’s trying to do, and begins to plead for our rat lives.

“Father please, it wasn’t their fault, please spare them I beg you,” Remy begins to almost break down. I would do damn near anything to be able to give him a hug, tell him it’s ok, but I can’t. I can’t lie to the poor rat man.

“Son, it’s for the good of the mischief, I must preserve our holy rat faith, even if that means cleansing it of pests along the way.” Father Brother Django has made up his rat mind, and is damn near going to execute us. He looks at the rat clergy, and points at us. Soon, the rat clergy begins tightening the circle, pushing us to the end of the rat raft. The sound of the pitter patter of rat paws just barely making Remy’s pleading unintelligible to me and Emile. I can barely see him through the wall of rat fur, but I can tell he’s sobbing.

Emile and I are now inches away from falling into the dark void of the water, and all I can think of is Remy. Why the rahell is it always back to these two? I’m about to be thrown overboard, and all I can bring myself to worry about is Remy and Emile. I don’t process what happens in the next few rat moments, but soon I hear muffled screams and feel the bitter cold of the water below weigh down my fur.

It’s a vortex of pure disgusting black I can’t escape. I cry and scream for my life, for someone to help me, but I am answered only by water rushing into my rat lungs. It’s never ending, and I soon begin to accept that this might be how it all ends as we fall down deeper into the sewers. I’ll never be able to see my rat parents again, see the grass, see the night sky, sunsets, birds, the blossoms in spring, the summer twilight skies, the winter fires, the fall colors, Remy and Emile. My entire world is gone, replaced by a suffocating, frigid void of black. I’m not getting out of this, am I? Why can’t I breathe? My lungs are burning. I can’t move. There’s no escape. I’m going to fucking die.

I feel an oddly warm body of warmth wrap around my rat chest and I feel the void slightly lift after what feels like eons. I soon reach the surface, though I can’t see it. I’m pulled onto a flat surface, albeit a little damp. I can’t hear clearly, but I can pick up muffled, and slightly panicked, rat voices over me. I soon feel rhythmic compressions on my rat chest.

1 2 1 2

I soon am able to sense things more clearly. I jolt forward, coughing up an unholy amount of tar black sewer water from my rat lungs. I can feel the sweet release of oxygen fill my rat chest. My rat eyes begin to focus, and I see a distressed Emile looking back at me, while Remy is steering our rat raft with a broken spatula. I’m still heavily waterlogged, I think the abyss rearranged my rat brain cells a bit. I’m pulled into a warm rat embrace, ginger rat fur tickling my rat snout. I feel the mass on me begin to heave slightly, and soon I hear broken rat sobs coming from my left. I hear a gentle metallic thunk come from across the rat raft, and I feel a second warm body encircle me. I’m now surrounded in slate blue and ginger rat fur, both mumbling things under their rat breaths. Emile and Remy have surrounded me in a big rat group hug, and upon realizing this, I start to feel rat tears come from my rat eyes. I let them fall, feeling the rat raft begin to slow its bobbing, my eyes not holding back this time. We’re all alive, and maybe, if not for a second, everything might be ok.