Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Inside an abandoned warehouse, a small black cat dragged a plastic bag across the ground.

The place was hot and bright, the summer heat ricocheting off the metal rooves, making the air heavy and humid.

The cat could hardly see through the blinding red haze of the sunset that entered through countless slits and cracks on the walls and ceiling. He swayed slightly, confused by the heat and his own weakness, but his ears pointed straight up, turning this direction and that at every tiny noise. The metal creaked and whined in hundreds of places, cars rumbled outside, the bag crinkled and dragged on the cement with an intermittent "shhhh", as he stopped to focus on the pitter patter of something like steps behind him, and moved again, trying to walk faster, despite struggling with the weight.

Then, a harsh tug to the bag jerked his head to the side, and the surprise almost made his jaw unclench.

A rat, twice his size, was trying to steal his bag, pulling and shaking its head side to side to get the cat to let go.

The cat held on tight, pulling with what little strength was left in his body. His legs were sore, his eyes burned with tiredness, his stomach was empty, and it ached, but he didn’t relent.

He arched his back, puffing out his fur, and forced a hiss from the back of his throat. It came out muffled by the plastic. The rat gave no sign of having heard him.

Suddenly, the bag gave out, breaking apart at the seams. Its contents spilled across the floor, the smell of food filled the area. The cat fell on his back with a mouthful of plastic.

He spat it out and resumed his hissing, now unsheathing his claws and getting to his feet to leap on top of the food. The rat had already stolen something, and was trying to fill its filthy paws with more. The cat yowled, swiping with his claws.
It pulled back, growled, and bared its teeth.

The air felt heavier on his fur, to the point of being suffocating. It crackled and pricked at him, making his skin itchy and his paws restless. His jaw was clenched, his nose and forehead hurt from being so tightly knit. His eyes were locked on the rat, which held the food in its mouth as if taunting him.

"What is going on here?"

The rat skittered away as the sound of a deep voice broke the tension. The cat's concentration fell apart, and he blinked several times, trying to catch his breath. His heart was suddenly pounding against his ribs.

A tall cat stood before him, over a head taller than him. His ginger fur glowed in the sunset's red hues. The black cat felt like he was going blind, so he lowered his gaze.

"Quaxo."

He crouched closer to the ground, tail curling between his legs. The other cat's claws were out. He'd always wondered how they got so dark.

"I'm sorry, Macavity." Quaxo rasped.

Macavity tutted, lifting Quaxo's chin with a paw. Somehow, it was freezing, and Quaxo shivered in response. He was forced to look Macavity in the eyes. As sunken in as they were, they glowed a sickly green in the shadow his own brows cast over them.

"You know full well you shouldn't be using your powers." Macavity's glare was hard to sustain. Quaxo suppressed a hiss. "How many more times" Macavity spat, the grip on Quaxo's chin grew tighter as he pulled him so close their whiskers touched and twitched. "are you going to make me repeat myself?"

Quaxo felt like he might be sick. His stomach rumbled with hunger and something else he couldn't quite place, and it burned. He clenched his jaw and shut his eyes and let his claws rake against the floor as his paws curled in. "I'm- we're hungry. It was going to steal our food." He said, growling towards the end.

"And so what? You'd rather burn the whole place down?" Macavity said, letting go of him with a push and a louder growl. "Your powers are dangerous. Or have you forgotten that already?"

Quaxo swallowed. "No, Macavity."

"Let's not let this happen again." Macavity said, picking his way through the food scraps on the floor. Quaxo didn't know why he bothered. His fur was so dirty, it hardly made a difference. "Meet me in the den when you're done cleaning up."

For a bit, there was nothing but Quaxo and the creaking metal in the warehouse.

Then, a growl filled the air and Quaxo sank his claws into his own tail.

------------------------

The sun had set. Heat clung to the walls, but was slowly dissipating, and the red hues had left in favour of long, dark shadows cast by the moon.

Quaxo gathered the remains of the food and put the best and bigger bites aside. He licked a few scraps off of bones and empty containers, but the taste couldn't cover the copper that filled his mouth after grooming his tail.

He was shaking from hunger and the after effects of adrenaline when he brought the food to Macavity's den, a sort of tent created by fallen metal sheets. The air inside it was already cold, since the sun didn’t reach it during the day.

He could tell Macavity was in a better mood than when they parted. His posture was relaxed, though he was surely just as hungry as Quaxo was, the tip of his tail lazily swishing from side to side. His fur appeared more brown than ginger in the moonlight, but his eyes still glowed green.

"Quaxo," he said, and he sounded like a completely different cat. "what have you brought me?"

"Dinner," Quaxo said, pushing the container he'd used to carry the food closer to Macavity. "Human stuff."

Macavity sniffed it as if he hadn't seen the same stuff scattered on the floor just a few hours earlier. "Oh, what would I do without you?" He drawled, smiling, and Quaxo was sure there was a bit of irony in there. Despite himself, the underlying praise still felt good to hear.

"Come, join me." Macavity patted the ground, and Quaxo breathed a "yes" as he sunk down next to the other cat. He waited, watching as Macavity claimed the biggest pieces for himself.

"Don't be shy" Macavity said, startling Quaxo. He pulled a small fish out of the tray with a claw and set it in front of Quaxo. "Eat."

That was a pleasant surprise. There had to be a catch of some kind.

Quaxo was careful not to inhale it as soon as it was set down, because Macavity might still take it back or scold him for it, but his mouth was watering and his paws trembling. The rat had managed to escape with some good bites, and Quaxo's lip curled up in frustration at the thought. Why didn’t Macavity just chase those things out for good? Quaxo was too small to deal with them himself - they could easily overwhelm him if he actually got in a fight.

He found himself licking at the small, pointy bones before he could even taste the fish.

"There's something we need to discuss." Macavity said, and Quaxo's stomach flipped all of a sudden. There was the catch. Macavity was still mad, wasn’t he?

"What is it?" Quaxo licked his paw, feigning casualness.

"You’re going to stay with the Jellicles for a while.”

Quaxo bristled. That was not what he’d been expecting, and somehow it was worse. “What? Why?”

“I need information, but they won’t just give it out to anyone. You’ll have to gain their trust. I give it two, maybe three moons.” He said, not even looking at Quaxo, instead seemingly more interested in his food.

The Jellicles. Had Macavity gone mad? He wanted Quaxo to go get mixed up with the cats who shunned him, their own blood, and risk Quaxo ending up the same when they inevitably found out he had powers, too?

Quaxo resumed his grooming. He scrubbed a little too aggressively on the back of his head, trying to quiet it. “What kind of information?”

“I need to know where Old Deuteronomy is.”

“I don’t suppose you’re going to share your plan?” He said, showing a hint of teeth.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Macavity glared. “And you'd do well to keep your powers in check. This is too important for us to be set back by you getting distracted.”

“I’m trying!” Quaxo growled, matching Macavity’s stare. Just out of sight, Macavity started raising a paw. Quaxo relented, averted his eyes and lowered his head on the ground. Anxiety made his gut squirm, thoughts storming in his head. He could feel static building up under his skin. Macavity sighed. “Why don’t you dance for me? It’s been a while since you practiced.”

Quaxo resisted giving him a side eye, and just nodded.

Macavity motioned for him to get up and out of the den, and so he did, getting a few quick stretches in before he started. His body felt stiff, and he was tired, but at least he wasn't shaking anymore. He did technically have to warm up more, but he wanted to get moving as soon as possible.

Macavity laid on a barrel, watching him from above.

Quaxo started to dance. There was no music to follow, so he went with his usual routine. He used the large, empty floor to his advantage, going as far out as Macavity could see him, before the dark shadows could completely conceal him, then coming closer. He struggled to smooth each movement into the next, but, as he came and went, his muscles unwound, his fear melted away, and let him dance easier. He relished in the hint of a smile that sat on Macavity's lips. He was doing well.

Quaxo felt pride fill his chest, and he felt daring.

His movements grew bolder. Bigger, stronger - he'd call them aggressive, if he hadn't felt as free and relieved as he did while prancing and springing around as he was.

He bounded up on the barrel. He coaxed Macavity to dance with him, circling him and pawing at him. Despite acting annoyed at first, Macavity joined him. He lifted Quaxo, brought him down with him, let him lead for a bit. Quaxo tried to trip him up, purposefully getting in his way and resisting his attempts at taking control, but sooner rather than later it was Quaxo who had to follow his rhythm. His range was restricted. Every time he strayed a little too far, got too carried away, Macavity would tug him back, by the paw or by the tail.

The electricity dissipated with every kick of his legs, every leap, every full spin: Quaxo barely thought of what he was doing, of the strain in his muscles, of the pain he’d surely feel later, of how Macavity’s claws, too long to be properly sheathed, caught on his fur and scratched here and there. It didn’t matter.

The walls started to spin as he turned and turned and turned and turned, until the air around him was hugging and supporting him rather than him just moving through it. It charged and charged and it felt amazing.

Suddenly, his momentum was broken. He tripped, somehow getting caught in Macavity’s tail, and the surprise prevented him from falling properly. Macavity snagged him by the scruff of his neck, and Quaxo gasped, feeling backlash, as he was pulled up and back on his feet.

A heavy weight settled in his stomach, made it hard to keep going, made him feel weak as the fatigue caught up to him, but Macavity seemed happy, weaving around him and egging him on, so Quaxo ignored it and pushed through.

A while later, when Macavity deemed it enough, they stopped. Quaxo panted, standing on trembling paws. Macavity was much the same, only he wasn’t shaking.

“Why, I wasn’t expecting you to pull me in, too.” He huffed. It seemed dancing had improved his mood.

Quaxo didn’t answer. Now that all he could feel was the pain he’d been putting off, his mind piled on with worries about his incoming mission.

“Talk to me, Quaxo.” Macavity said, voice unexpectedly kind. Quaxo felt tears coming to his eyes, but he pushed them down.

“What if my powers come out while I’m there?” Macavity hummed. Quaxo scowled, feeling a wave of frustration. “And what about you?”

“What about me?” Macavity tilted his head, raising a brow with amusement.

“If I leave, then you’ll be alone.”

“I’ve been on my own longer than you’ve been alive. I can handle myself.”

Quaxo tried not to be hurt by the implication that Macavity didn’t need him. “What about…” And yet, he needed Macavity. “the nightmares?” He said, his voice too quiet, almost whiney, and he braced himself for the scolding that would come.

“You’ll have to deal with them for a while, I’m afraid.” Macavity said, and his voice was back to the usual stern tone. He was getting annoyed. “I’m putting my trust in you, Quaxo. You’re old enough to figure this out on your own. Don’t mess it up.”

Quaxo’s heart pounded. The scabs on his tail ached with each pulse. “Yes, Macavity.”

“It won’t be hard anyways. They’re a bunch of bleeding hearts. They’ll probably take you in the moment you show up. You’ll come back to report every moon, or whenever you learn something that you think I should know. Try to keep close to Munkustrap. He might have a stick up his ass, but he has a soft spot for kittens.”

Quaxo frowned. He wasn’t a kitten anymore.

“I’m sure he knows where father is.” Macavity continued, glancing at him. Quaxo straightened up, despite his bones screaming in protest. “Do you have any more questions?”

Quaxo did, but he knew Macavity wasn’t actually asking. He shook his head. “No, Macavity.”

“Good. Now, let’s get some rest. You’ll leave at sunrise.”

Quaxo numbly followed Macavity to the den, laying down in the corner he always slept in. Macavity laid a good distance from him, but his presence was comfort enough to ensure him a peaceful night.

This might be the last decent sleep he’d get in a while, and yet he was too nervous and too exhausted to let go of wakefulness. How was he supposed to go two moons, if not more, away from Macavity? He always had nightmares when they were apart, and they were horrible, and they made his powers come out. And he’d be surrounded by strangers, cats he knew only from Macavity’s stories, who’d turn on him when they discovered who he really was. He wasn’t sure which prospect was worse. Quaxo curled up tighter against himself, trying to hold onto the warmth from his earlier exercise, and to suppress the pain in his muscles.

He glanced at Macavity, whether he was asleep or not was impossible to tell.

He’d said he trusted Quaxo.

And Quaxo wouldn’t – couldn’t disappoint him.

Chapter Text

Quaxo walked along the edges of the junkyard that the Jellicle tribe lived in.

It seemed like an odd place to pick. It was just piles and piles of...human objects that Quaxo hardly knew the name of. But there were plenty of hiding places, crevices between the stacks, empty containers – all of them decent spots for dens, or for hiding. And higher up on the piles, though they seemed a bit precarious, there were sun spots to lounge in. Maybe it wasn't that weird after all. He could see the appeal.

He couldn't smell any cats quite yet, so he'd probably have to go deeper in to find them.

Macavity had told him the tribe wouldn't mind if a random cat just waltzed in - that they were used to it. But he couldn't help the anxiety swimming in his stomach. He was very aware of the sparks that thrummed beneath his skin - what if he got distracted for a moment? Worse, what if they could tell just by looking at him? Or smell it on him?

He shook his head. No, they couldn't possibly do that. Macavity wouldn't have sent him out if they could. And he’d groomed himself so thoroughly, he might have shed a new coat. Quaxo just had to be careful, and keep it all in. And then later he could hang out further away to sleep. It was going to be fine.

He walked in the junkyard, following the scent of territory markings until he got close enough that he could faintly hear cats chatting and moving around.

Just act innocent. Gain their trust.

It would be fine.

Quaxo entered a clearing. A bunch of cats were hanging out together. Some older looking queens sat out on what looked like the hood of a car, watching over a group of kittens that were giggling and running around. A few more cats were on the other side, talking to each other, or sleeping. One of them, a white tom with black spots, seemed to have noticed him. The cat that was talking to him, a silver grey tom, turned around as well.

Munkustrap, Quaxo's head supplied.

He scratched his ears nervously. He'd never seen this many cats in one place. He'd never seen other cats at all. It was loud.

Munkustrap approached him. Quaxo straightened himself up, trying to make himself slightly bigger. Not that it was of much use, given how Munkustrap was almost as tall as Macavity, and bulkier too.

"Hello." Munkustrap greeted. His tail was pointing straight up, a pleasant smile on his muzzle. He tilted his head slightly, as if trying his best to look inoffensive. Quaxo reigned in the instinct to glare and scowl at him.

"Quaxo." And so he answered politely, offering his name. He glanced behind the tom.

The other cats were staring. Quaxo swallowed. Munkustrap seemed to catch on, because he turned to wave at them, and they averted their eyes. Quaxo was amazed at how easily they obeyed.

"Pleasure to meet you. I’m Munkustrap. What brings you to the junkyard?"

Quaxo found himself struggling to speak. Which made him look a bit dumb, he imagined. He was supposed to say that he was looking for a place to stay just for a bit, to get back on his feet, that he wasn't going to be a bother - Macavity had suggested that he should look as pathetic as possible, play on their weakness, but Quaxo didn’t love that particular idea, so the words caught in his throat.

Then, he noticed movement around Munkustrap. It seemed the kittens weren't as keen on being discreet, and had come closer to investigate. One of them was particularly excited. She stepped forward, sporting a huge smile.

"Hello! I'm Etcetera, but everyone calls me Cettie. Are you a kitten? Do you want to play?"

It was easy to see why she'd assume. Quaxo was just barely taller than them.

"Cettie" Munkustap said, pushing her back gently with a paw, "don't overwhelm him."

"I'm not a kitten" Quaxo answered, finding his words again. However, just as he said that, another one poked her head around Munkustrap, and came closer to Quaxo.

"You look like one. How old are you?" The black and red kit stared him up and down. Her gaze would’ve been intimidating, if it weren’t for her big round eyes and the fur swallowing her tiny body.

But Quaxo didn't actually have an answer. Macavity had never given him his age, he'd just told him when he hadn't been a kitten anymore.

"I'm just not." He said, slightly irritated.

"Aww, but I wanted to play with him." Etcetera whined behind Munkustrap's paw.

"Are you going to stay here?" The fluffy kitten asked, letting out a squeak when Munkustrap picked her up and set her down further from Quaxo.

"Yeah, stay!" Another one piped up on top of Munkustrap’s head. His ears absolutely dwarfed her. "If you're not a kitten, then soon I won't be the shortest anymore!"

"You'll still be the shortest! You're gonna stay tiny, silly!" Cettie said, half scaling Munkustap’s arm.

"Nu-uh!"

Quaxo looked to Munkustrap, checking for his reaction. He didn't seem angry, or upset at the suggestion that Quaxo should stay, and somehow was very tolerant of the kittens climbing all over him. Evidently, Macavity had been right.

Looking down, Quaxo almost started when he saw a pure white queen that had sneaked between Munkustrap's legs, and was staring at him with wide blue eyes.

"Alright, let's give him some space, girls" Munkustrap said over the girls' chatter. “Paws on the ground, you” Quaxo barely heard them anymore. The white kitten slowly got closer, leaning up on her arms. She almost looked...familiar. He lowered his head towards her, trying to get a sniff.

A hiss filled the air.

The white cat retreated behind Munkustrap and Quaxo jumped back, his senses kicking up again, his mind screaming at him that he'd been found out. A gold and black queen came rushing towards them, and the kittens scattered away from him. She gave Quaxo a cold, furious stare, and he panicked. He hissed back, hackles rising, skin charging with static. Munkustrap got between them, another red queen jumped in, but Quaxo wasn't paying too much attention. He was more concerned about the possibility of being kicked right out, and he quieted when he realised that his own hissing wasn't helping his case.

A few moments later, the gold queen calmed down, and she was ushered away by the red one. Quaxo had to stop himself from batting at his ears, which started ringing when the quiet returned. He groomed them rather aggressively, scrubbing hard to smother the sparks beneath.

Munkustrap turned towards him, looking...sad. He waved to the cats lounging on the car, and one of them jumped down. Quaxo noticed that the kittens had gathered there, huddling together. The other cats sitting in the clearing had resumed their staring, tails lashing nervously. Clearly, they valued this queen's opinion, and it mattered more than Munkustrap's, given how the latter’s attempts at waving them down didn't work this time.

"It's okay." Munkustrap said to Quaxo. He sounded a bit winded. "I'll be back in a moment." With that, he walked away in the direction the other two had left.

"Hello, dear." A ginger queen approached him with a smile, but Quaxo noted the wary nature of it. He bowed his head slightly. Surely, if he looked innocuous enough, they'd dismiss that incident, right?

"Hello. I'm Quaxo."

"Lovely meeting you. You can call me Jenny. Why don't you come to my den?"

Quaxo nodded, taking the offer at an escape for what it was.

She gave him the small mercy of hiding him with her body from the other cats' line of sight. It wasn't a long walk from the clearing, but they got far away enough that he let his shoulders drop, and the itch under his skin simmered down. Then, he tensed back up when he realised he might have to be wary of this cat instead. For as nice and round as she seemed, that didn't mean anything. Macavity had taught him not to underestimate anyone.

They approached a long wooden thing that looked a bit like a container, covered in cloth. Jenny lifted it with her tail and gestured for him to go in.

Quaxo complied. He was surprised not only at how spacious it was, though that made sense considering Jenny's size, but at how soft it felt under his paws. There was more cloth, but it was stuffed, and gave a little under his weight. He stared at it, digging his paws in and watching it rise back up.

"That was quite the welcome wasn't it?" Jenny said, more to herself than to him it seemed, settling in after him. He wondered whether he should ask, but thought better of it. Maybe he could play off of it. If he acted like he wanted to leave on account of not upsetting them, that might work in his favour.

He had to consciously focus on keeping his claws in. "I, uhm. Maybe I should go. I'm sorry about- well, I didn't mean to upset anyone." He said, keeping his head low but peering up to check her reaction.

Jenny only smiled. "It's alright, dear. Happens more often than you'd think."

Quaxo frowned. That wasn't what Macavity had said.

"Will you take a deep breath for me?"

"Huh?" Quaxo only then realised he sounded just as winded as Munkustrap had. Regardless, it was a weird request. Maybe it annoyed her. He cleared his throat, and focused on his breathing, feeling a bit restless as she watched him. He filled his lungs, and breathed out slowly.

"Are you injured? Hungry, thirsty?" Jenny continued.

Quaxo watched her carefully. He wasn't sure what answer she was expecting. "Uhm, no. Thank you."

"Are you sure? Your tail looks a bit torn up."

Quaxo felt heat rise to his ears, the static in his fur threatening to show. He pulled his tail closer to his body, curling up to keep the electricity contained. "I- it just got scratched. I'm okay." He said, hoping she'd drop it.

She didn't drop it.

"It looks painful. How did you get hurt?"

Quaxo’s paws closed around the soft cloth. It did hurt. But he’d done it to himself, so he wasn't going to complain. And what did she care, anyways? He blinked forcefully, and racked his brain for a reasonable explanation.

"Thorns.” He blurted out. “Just...thorny bushes." He winced. Macavity would've laughed at how dumb that was.

But Jenny didn't laugh. "Oh, I'm sorry. You know, I'm always keeping the kittens away from sharp stuff. I don't know how they keep finding more." There was a lilt to her voice that put Quaxo further on edge. Maybe it's the fact that you live in a junkyard, he thought dryly. "Sounds like a handful." He muttered instead.

"Yes, indeed. May I look at it?"

Quaxo couldn’t help his claws sliding out, sinking in the soft fabric. He cringed, but didn’t look down to avoid drawing attention to it. Jenny surely wouldn’t appreciate him ruining her things.

It was a simple request, and saying yes would be easier, it would be the right thing to do. Quaxo would be showing compliance, he’d be showing vulnerability, they would see that as a reason to trust him. But he couldn’t control the energy of the electricity running in his body, and he didn’t dare let Jenny closer, in case she might feel it.

“You don't have to." Jenny said, that sickly sweet tone of voice doing nothing to ease Quaxo’s plight. “Have you walked a long way?”

Finally, she changed the subject. Quaxo grappled onto it like a lifeline. “Just from the city.”

Just then, a voice called for her outside the den. She turned towards the entrance. "Yes, come in."

Munkustrap poked his head between scraps of fabric covering the entrance. "Hey." His eyes lingered on Quaxo. He frowned. "Everything alright?"

Jenny gestured for him to come in fully, and Quaxo stepped back further.

"Yes, Munkustrap, we were just talking. How is she?" Jenny asked, taking their attention off of Quaxo.

"She's..." Munkustrap hesitated. He seemed tired, his posture was hunched as he curled in on himself. Jenny bonked him gently on the cheek, and he sighed. "She's doing better."

"That's good. I'll go check on her." Jenny said, patting him on the shoulder. Quaxo thought it was weird, how affectionate they were, but he was happy about them being too disctracted to notice him, as he worked on easing the tension in his muscles. Jenny got up and stretched her back legs. "Well, I'll see you later, dears."

She left, and so Quaxo was alone with Munkustrap, who seemed to be lost in thought.

When he felt like he wasn’t going to let sparks off his paws anymore, Quaxo decided to break the silence. "I'm really sorry. For upsetting her. I can go if you need me to."

"Oh no, don't worry. You don't have to leave, things like that just- happen sometimes."

That still didn’t make much sense to Quaxo. Things must have changed since Macavity had left. Seemed they just weren’t as open to strangers as they used to be.

"Will she be okay?" He asked, playing up his concern. He saw Munkustrap glance away for a moment, before he smiled and nodded. "Yes. But enough of that. We haven’t had a chance to talk yet - will you come hunting with me?"

Quaxo stood. That, he could comply with.

"Of course."

They started towards the forest, Munkustrap walking with no hurry.

"So, Quaxo. What brings you here?"

Quaxo was ready this time. "I was looking for a place to stay for a bit, and I heard about the junkyard. I won't be long. But- uhm, only if that's alright."

"You're welcome to stay as long as you need."

Quaxo nodded. How dumb. If he had had any intention of hurting the tribe, Munkustrap would be letting him straight in. He was lucky Quaxo was only there to spy on them.

"Were you staying with other cats before? Did something happen?"

"Uhm, no. I've been...alone for a while. In the city." Quaxo almost cringed at how stilted it sounded. Just keep going. “I, well, I was separated from my mom really early and some cats took me in a really long time ago, but now it’s just me.”

"Must've been hard."

Quaxo nodded, surprised that the tom had believed it so easily. Before Munkustrap could start asking questions Quaxo didn't have an answer to, he decided it was his turn.

"Are there any rules I should keep in mind? I don't really know how living in a group works."

"Oh, we don't have rules. Just don't hurt anyone on purpose, and don't go around causing trouble, I guess. We do patrols sometimes, but that's more of a day to day thing, and I usually take care of it." Munkustrap answered. "Well, there's hunting, but that's just for the kittens. Everyone else either hunts for themselves or eats at their human’s den."

Quaxo nodded, but he wasn’t convinced. It seemed too short a list. Surely something about “don’t be magic” had to be in there. But Munkustrap just smiled at him, clearly done talking, and Quaxo didn’t push. He’d figure it out. He could watch and learn.

When they reached the edge of the junkyard, Quaxo's ears started twitching this way and that, catching the tiny steps of mice, the flapping of bird wings, the occasional squirrel.

They separated and set out to hunt.

Quaxo put extra care in keeping his steps quiet as he approached a mouse he'd heard hiding in the shrubbery. He jumped in, jaws closing right on the creature's fur, carefully back stepping out of the bush. The mouse stopped writhing quickly.

"Good catch!"

Quaxo looked behind him, thinking it was Munkustrap, only to be met with the sight of trees.

"Up here."

And so he looked up. There was a big, fluffy cat laying on a tree branch above him, sunbathing. His tail hung down, swishing with the leaves. The light hit his fur in a way that made him look ginger, and Quaxo almost thought he was looking at Macavity. But the cat’s voice wasn’t as deep, and his fur was well cared for, to the point of being shiny. Was he part of the tribe, or just someone that lived here? Surely Munkustrap wouldn't hunt in someone else's territory.

The tom jumped down, landing right in front of Quaxo. The moment he wasn’t blinded by the sun anymore it was clear to see the cat was just a light brown tabby, and so Quaxo recognised him as Tugger. He looked more like Macavity than Munkustrap did. Their eyes were a different color, Tugger’s being amber as opposed to Macavity’s striking green, and didn’t have the same sharpness, but the white fur around them was the same, and the stripes patterns on their coats mirrored each other almost perfectly, aside from the lack of white on Tugger’s.

His smile was infuriatingly self satisfied. It made Quaxo want to slap it off of him. "Why, you must be the new cat! I've heard a lot about you already."

Likewise, Quaxo sneered in his mind. "Hi." He said, making an effort to stay civil.

"What are you doing all the way out here? Thought you'd be back at the junkyard."

Quaxo almost asked 'what does it look like?', but stopped himself. He hid the mouse he’d caught inside an empty tree trunk and started to look for the next. "I'm with Munkustrap. Hunting."

Tugger started laughing. "Ha! You got here what, an hour ago? And he's already put you to work!"

Quaxo just hummed. He crouched and walked quietly, following the smell of some rodent just behind the tree.

"How old are you anyways? The kittens kept saying you were their age, but that you said you weren't."

The squirrel ran away at the sound of the tom’s voice. Quaxo inhaled sharply.

"I'm not." He felt like a broken record. Quaxo hoped that would be the end of it. He crouched down to movement on his left.

"My name is Tugger, by the way. Well, Rum Tum-"

The creature skittered further away. Quaxo gave chase.

He jumped over the bush separating him from the mouse, and followed as it darted across the underbrush. He knew it wouldn't bother hiding, because he was too close, but instead it decided to climb a tree, aiming for a small woodpecker hole. Quaxo climbed up right after it, snatching its tail between his teeth before it could dive in.

"Whoa! You’re good, short stuff!"

Quaxo had to keep an exasperated sigh from leaving his mouth, because the mouse was still alive and well, and would run off the moment he let up. If Tugger didn’t shut up soon, Quaxo wasn’t going to last long before he snapped and ruined his already tenous reputation.

Thankfully, Munkustrap happened to be nearby. "Please, stop harassing him. But true, that was impressive."

Quaxo jumped down and busied himself with the small thing in his claws, trying not to think too hard about whether the compliment were genuine, coming from Munkustrap. It didn’t matter anyways. Their opinion wasn’t important. “Thanks” he said anyways, only to Munkustrap.

"I wasn't harassing him, I just said he's good." Tugger said.

Somehow, Munkustrap seemed more cross with Tugger than when the kittens were climbing all over him at once. "Were you planning on helping? Because if not, let us hunt in peace. You're scaring away the entire rodent population."

"Then hunt bugs! They're good for your fur. You could definitely use some." Tugger said, pawing at Munkustrap's somewhat dull hair.

Munkustrap smacked him behind the head. Quaxo silently approved. He deserved that.

"Ow! You're gonna mess up my mane!"

"Can't get any worse." Munkustrap said.

Tugger scoffed, fixing his fur more than necessary, then turned towards Quaxo and put up the cheesiest smile the small cat had ever seen. To be fair, Quaxo hadn't seen many. "Would you like to tell me your name?"

Quaxo raised a brow. Judging from how Munkustrap treated Tugger, putting up a little attitude would be more than welcome. "Did no one ever teach you it's rude to ask?"

Munkustrap laughed. Quaxo almost did too, given how Tugger actually seemed taken aback for a moment, then he remembered who it was he was talking to, and sombered.

Tugger recovered quickly, his smile had gone from an exaggerated grin to a curious one, eyes narrowing with interest. "Very well then, I'll be sure to do my best to earn it."

"Oh no" Munkustrap murmured next to him. Quaxo kept his face as neutral and bored looking as possible, which really wasn’t hard, considering he’d rather be telling him off, and turned around to resume hunting.

He heard Tugger sputter behind him as he walked away, Munkustrap laughing again. Quaxo sighed in relief. For as much as he'd had a rough start of it, he'd gained himself Munkustrap's sympathy already. Maybe, if Quaxo kept following him around and helped with hunting and patrolling and whatever else might be needed, he could gain everyone else's favour soon enough.

Chapter Text

Quaxo re-entered the junkyard with more critters than he could carry, Munkustrap walking ahead. The sun was fully up now, and Quaxo had to squint to see much at all, especially with the metal scraps scattered around reflecting the light in blinding white.

The other cats watched them curiously, though no one came close: it seemed that they had calmed down, but were still cautious. That gold queen wasn’t around. Quaxo did his best to appear unbothered, straightened his back and tried to subtly show off his catches. Munkustrap had seemed impressed, so maybe they’d be too. Not that it mattered, of course, but he’d need it for the mission.

The kittens were less wary. The same girls from before, save for the smallest, came trotting towards them, trying to climb up Munkustrap to steal the share he was carrying, and almost succeeded in tripping him up when they got too close to his legs. Quaxo’s ears caught movement behind him, and as he turned he saw three young toms trailing him. They were whispering amongst themselves and only one of them, a ginger and mostly white tabby, was bigger than the kittens.

“Okay, here,” Munkustrap sat below the car hood and put the food down. “remember to share.” He said to the kittens. He gestured to Quaxo, and so he caught up and put his own catches on the ground. He waited, licking his lips, while Munkustrap rationed and distributed it. When all the girls had gotten their pieces, Munkustrap gently patted Cettie on the head. “What do you say?”

“Thank you Munkustrap” she said, echoed by the red and black kit.

“Hey, he helped too.” Munkustrap said, turning his head to Quaxo. “He’s a really good hunter” he said, putting a paw next to his muzzle as if to hide it. Quaxo heard him just fine, so he didn’t know why he did that. The girls turned towards him, and belatedly Quaxo realised that the toms had caught up, and were watching him as well. His stomach felt uneasy.

“I, uhm.” he said, and his voice trembled. “I’m Quaxo.”

The following “Thank you Quaxo” grated a little on his ears. Quaxo set to grooming them to avoid having to look at the girls. It seemed that wouldn’t do. The white queen that he’d met earlier was waving in his field of vision. She smiled at him silently, then brought a paw to her chin and moved it away. Quaxo tilted his head at her, frowning.

“She’s saying thank you” The fluffy red and black kitten said, looking very intent on her mouse.

“She can’t hear very well, and she doesn’t speak much,” Etcetera explained, seeming only too happy to help. “so she talks with her paws. Jenny taught us too! Just because you don’t speak doesn’t mean you can’t be polite” she said, puffing out her cheeks and sitting up straight in a way that was probably meant to imitate the older queen.

Meanwhile, Munkustrap was pushing some of the food towards the three toms. The smaller ones grabbed some each and then, with their mouths full, said “Thanks” though Quaxo wasn’t sure who they were talking to. The older one sat behind them, watching over the kittens, and staring at Quaxo in a way that was slightly unnerving.

“Hey,” Munkustrap said, distracting Quaxo from the ginger tom. “you can eat too, if you want.”

He nodded politely, but he wasn’t about to make Munkustrap repeat himself. He picked a mouse and walked a couple steps back as he started nibbling on it, trying to be mindful of how fast he ate.

“Are you gonna stay, Quaxo?” One of the toms piped up. His fur was spotted brown, a patch over his right eye. He gestured this way and that as he talked. “I’m Pouncival, and he’s Tumblebrutus,” he put a paw over the other tabby’s head, who grumbled a complaint as his face was pushed closer to his meal. “and he’s-”

“Plato.” The older cat finished for him, voice short and eyes narrowed. Quaxo nodded, and huddled a little closer to the ground. Plato hadn’t taken any food and, now that Munkustrap was eating too, there was nothing left. Logically, Quaxo knew Plato wouldn’t try to swipe his share, not with Munkustrap right there, but it wasn’t like he had any idea how tribe life worked.

“I’m going to stay for a little bit.” He said, focusing on his prey. He wasn’t keen on making Plato think he was intimidated, but he wasn’t about to let the tom think he could steal from right under his nose.

“Wait, you’re really staying?” Etcetera jumped up, wriggling in her spot. “oh that’s great! Can we play after? Or we could dance! Can you dance?”

“Of course I know how to dance.” Quaxo said, paws shifting to cover his food. “Ballet.”

“That’s cool! Victoria does that too, she’s sooo good, you have to see her!” She said, now walking in circles.

“Ah, who is…?” Quaxo said.

“It’s her!” Cettie said, pointing at the white queen. Then, she grinned. She pounced on Victoria and tackled her to the ground, discarding their meals. Quaxo glanced at Munkustrap, who didn’t seem too concerned. Victoria was smiling, happily play wrestling Etcetera.

“Where are you from?” Pouncival asked, licking his lips. He was done eating.

“The city. I spent most of my time there.” Quaxo answered, eyeing the playing kittens nervously. They were nearing closer to him, and Pouncival was staring at him rather intently, though he was nicer about it than Plato.

“Do you know cats from there? There’s this black and white cat, like you, except he’s really big.” Pouncival said, “like this!” and widened his arms around his stomach as far as they would go, which had to be an exaggeration. Pouncival’s arms happened to be quite long.

“Pounce, just because he’s also black and white doesn’t mean he knows-” Tumblebrutus started, but Pouncival waved a paw in his direction. “I’m just saying! They look alike, a little, like his muzzle and socks and all that. Anyways, do you know him?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t know many cats.”

“What about humans? Did you tame any?” Tumblebrutus asked.

“Uh, what?” Quaxo asked, frowning.

“You don’t tame humans.” The black and red kitten said.

“Yes you do, you tame them and then they give you food. All they wanna do is grab you and stuff, you gotta teach them not to do that.” Tumblebrutus rebutted, scowling. Now that he was sitting up, Quaxo noticed that he was taller and broader than Pouncival, but he held himself as if he were trying to make himself look as small as possible.

“I don’t think so. Look how thin he is.” Pouncival said, and Quaxo almost told him off, but Munkustrap was faster. “Pouncival.” he scolded, sounding a bit tired.

“Sorry.” The tom said. Quaxo bristled. He was starting to get a bit annoyed with these kittens. The static built up in his fur, making him itchy. And Plato was still staring. When something suddenly bumped on his flank, a hiss came out of Quaxo’s throat unbidden.

“Ow!” Cettie cried out, and jumped away, scrambling to put distance between them. Victoria was still just barely a pawstep away from him, and was sitting as if petrified. Quaxo’s voice died in his throat at the sight of her wide, scared eyes.

“Hey, what’s your problem?!” Plato suddenly growled, jumping forwards, and Quaxo lowered his body, scowling and covering his still unfinished meal. Munkustrap put a paw out to stop Plato from coming closer.

“Kittens, step back. Give Quaxo some space. Plato.” he said, simply giving him a look. Plato scoffed but stepped back, and turned to check on Etcetera instead. Munkustrap sighed. “Are you okay, Quaxo?”

Quaxo dropped his head and looked away, shame suddenly burning his ears. “Yes.”

Munkustrap opened his mouth, a weird expression on his face, but they were both distracted by a quiet purring.

“Is something wrong?” Munkustrap walked closer to the huddle that had formed around Etcetera.

“It stings.” Cettie answered, sounding more confused than upset. Victoria and the other kit were fussing about her, purring and trying to check under her fur.

Quaxo felt a sharp stab in his stomach. She must’ve gotten shocked when she touched him.

Plato rounded on him. “What did you do?”

The air left his lungs. Macavity would not be happy if he was found out now. It hadn’t even been a day.

“He didn’t do anything! I just bumped into him.” Etcetera said, standing up and shaking herself off.

“I saw it too.” Tumblebrutus said.

“She must’ve tripped into something and gotten scared. There’s nothing under the fur.” Munkustrap said.

“It’s okay, it didn’t hurt.” Cettie said, nuzzling Munkustrap and then coming up to headbutt Plato’s shoulder. “Don’t be mean.” She said to him.

Plato huffed out of his nose, but finally stopped glaring at Quaxo to respond to Cettie’s touch and then grumble a “C’mon” to the other two toms as he walked away. Pouncival quickly fell into step, playfully bumping into him, but Tumblebrutus lagged behind.

“I, uhm.” He mumbled, looking like he wanted to say something to Quaxo, but then just said “bye” and ran to follow the other two.

When Quaxo gathered the courage to look around and check the other cats’ reactions, he was surprised to see them barely sending a glance his way. What was that about? They seemed pretty worked up when the other queen had come at him...

“Sorry I scared you.” Cettie said, Victoria basically hugging her side with how close she was standing. The other kitten trailed behind, watching Quaxo with narrowed eyes, but she wasn’t nearly as menacing as Plato was.

He felt like he was the one who was supposed to apologize, or thank Etcetera. Even though she didn’t know it, she’d just saved him from certain disaster.

“It’s okay.” He said instead, then cleared his throat when it came out raspy. He suddenly became aware of something uncomfortably wet under his stomach, and when he stepped back, he saw he’d gotten soaked from the blood of the prey he was covering.

“Could we dance after you’re done? Victoria could show you-”

“No, not now, kittens.” Munkustrap interrupted. “Maybe tonight, if Quaxo says it’s okay. If you’re done eating, go back to the nursery and get some rest.”

Etcetera whined, but then signed with her paws to Victoria, who matched the smaller kits’ pout. Munkustrap nudged them. “Off you go.” And so they went, making sure to stick out their tongue at the silver tom. “Bye Quaxo!” Cettie yelled as Victoria waved and the tortoiseshell kitten pushed her along.

Quaxo barely lifted a paw to respond.

“Are you sure you’re okay? I’m sorry if they scared you. Plato gets protective of the kittens.”

“I wasn’t scared” Quaxo said, licking off the mess he’d made on his fur. Munkustrap frowned at him.

“Hey” he paused, and so Quaxo looked at him. “You don’t have to worry about that, here. We don’t steal food from each other. Maybe I shouldn’t have-”

“It’s fine.” Quaxo said, returning to his grooming. “Is there anything else you need help with?”

Munkustrap hummed. “Well, not exactly. We usually sleep around this time, but if you’re going to stay, you’ll need a place for yourself.” He said, taking the hint. “We can walk around and find a good spot.” Quaxo nodded, and quickly finished what remained of his disfigured meal while Munksutrap set aside whatever the kittens hadn’t eaten.

“How about here?”

They’d walked a fair distance from the clearing, and the scrap piles became more and more tightly knit as they went. They cast tall and long shadows, creating an alternating pattern of dark and sunny patches. There were also critters about, bugs and the occasional mice, which Quaxo only now realised the clearing had a lack of. It wasn’t far enough to be soundproof from the main clearing, but Quaxo wasn’t going to scream loud enough to be heard in case of a nightmare. Macavity had taught him not to do that pretty early on.

“I know it’s a bit messy, but I figured you’d like some privacy. No one comes out here.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Quaxo said, ears turning at every noise. His eyes bounced from pile to pile, not really looking for anything in particular.

“Quaxo?”

“Yeah?” he said, distracted. His tail was lashing.

“You don’t have to stay out here, you know. You could sleep with me or at the nursery.”

“What?” Quaxo swallowed, and he batted at an ear to distract it from all the noises and set to looking for a good enough spot to sleep among the scraps. There had to be something to use as shelter. “No, it’s fine. I, uh, wouldn't want to bother you.”

“You wouldn’t.” Munkustrap said, which wasn’t the response Quaxo was expecting. Macavity only tolerated them sleeping together because of Quaxo’s nightmares, and to avoid the rats coming across him. And besides, Quaxo wasn’t supposed to trust Munkustrap, much less sleep around him. If anything, the tom only suggested it to keep a better eye on him. And that thought made Quaxo feel suffocated.

“I just-” he said, “I’d prefer to sleep alone.” As he searched, he found something that looked familiar. There was a rusty metal sheet leaning on the side of a pile, bent so that it was trapped under the scraps and almost too hot to the touch because of the sun. He started trying to pull things out from under it.

“Here?” Munkustrap asked, but helped Quaxo with embarassing ease to free it up. “It seems a bit...uncomfortable.” He put a paw to the metal and pulled it away with a hiss.

“I have a den like this, back at…” Quaxo interrupted himself. “I mean, I had. A den like this.” He sniffed the inside, deeming it clear enough to fit him. It was way too hot, not unlike the warehouse on a warm day. The smell was different, because there was too much stuff around messing it up, and Macavity’s scent was obviously absent, but Quaxo could make do.

Munkustrap didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t try to dissuade Quaxo again. “Let me check first. There could be something sharp, or poisonous – humans toss all sorts of things they really shouldn’t.”

Quaxo’s claws unsheathed, and his electricity spiked, buzzing lowly in the heat. His frustration with the other tom suddenly burst out of him. “I can do that myself.” Quaxo said, leveling his voice the best he could to avoid showing how upset he really was, but still looked Munkustrap in the eye.

Munkustrap’s eyes widened, and he nodded and retreated out of the den. “Right. How about this, I’ll go see if Jenny has some spare blankets. It’ll probably get cold at night.”

Quaxo hummed an assent. He really needed to ask Macavity his age when he went back. As much as it might be useful for them to believe him as incompetent as a kitten, Quaxo wouldn’t be able to take this for much longer. After a minute of listening to critters and kicking out shards of glass and sharp metal, he realised he should probably follow Munkustrap. If he was lucky, the tom and Jenny would talk about him.

So Quaxo ran off for Jenny’s den, taking the high road on the piles. He didn’t know exactly where he’d need to go, but he remembered the direction it was in, so once he reached the edge of the clearing, he skirted around it, staying hidden, and retraced the path Jenny had led him down earlier.

Despite being somewhat wobbly, the piles held his small weight well enough, and his steps were so quiet, even he barely heard them. Still, the sun heated things up quite a bit, and Quaxo was both trying to contain his panting and nursing burnt paws by the time he picked up on Jenny’s scent, and found Munkustrap’s tail peeking out of the cloth that marked the entrance to her den. He carefully descended the pile, stopping just above the old wooden thing.

Munkustrap was talking, volume lower than Quaxo had heard from him so far. “...what to do. I worry they won’t accept him.”

“It might take a while, but they’ve warmed up to Jerrie and Teazer just fine, haven’t they?”

“But what if Deme’s right and he got his paws on him? He’s still got kitten fur-” as Munkustrap talked, Jenny interjected with a sickeningly sweet tone that made Quaxo’s lip curl up. “I know,” “-and he looks so terrified-” “I know”

There was a waver in Munkustrap’s voice. He’d seemed so composed earlier, but now he was showing weakness. For Quaxo, nonetheless. Pity points were still points, he supposed, but he wasn’t happy about it.

“We’ll do our best to help him. It’s nothing we haven’t done before.” Jenny said, then she paused. Quaxo suppressed a hiss trying to come out. He most definitely did not need their help. “Oh, you poor thing. That good for nothing’s still giving you trouble?”

“Don’t call him that.” Munkustrap said, and Quaxo sensed the conversation topic had moved away from himself, but he still stayed. “I wish he’d just listen. He thinks he knows better than all of us combined. I tell him one thing, and he does the exact opposite!”

“Yes, I’m told that’s how teenagers work.”

Munkustrap chuckled. “I guess. But still…I fear he’ll get himself killed one of these days.”

“Don’t get your tail in a knot about that. That tom’s not going anywhere before we all croak.” She said, voice flat. Then it softened again. “Now listen, stop worrying and go take this to Quaxo. And get some rest, you look dead on your feet. Demeter’s waiting for you.”

Quaxo saw Munkustrap’s tail disappear behind the cloth as he turned to leave. Quaxo scrambled to run back to the den.

“Here.” Munkustrap dropped a blanket. It fell soundlessly on the ground, and Quaxo would’ve been happy to burrow himself into it any other day, but now it just reminded him of Munkustrap’s quivering voice as he said ‘kitten fur’.

“Thank you” he said, a little too breathless. Munkustrap looked at him funny, but didn’t mention it. The small mound of trash sitting outside the freed up metal sheet was probably enough of an explanation.

“Of course. Well, if you’re all set, I’ll go. I’ll see you at sundown?” Munkustrap said, smiling.

Quaxo nodded, and waited until Munkustrap left before he slumped and growled in frustration.

He stared at the blanket, ears swivelling with every mouse and bug skittering around the junkyard. Kitten fur. He checked his paws, his arms, his sides, skin buzzing with static. He didn’t know the difference. From what he’d seen, the other kittens’ fur didn’t look any different than Jenny or Munkustrap’s. Had he not been paying attention? What else had he missed?

And what did he mean by ‘got his paws on him’? Were they even talking about Quaxo?

He startled when something fell with a clatter. He blinked and re focused his eyes, only to find a metal scrap dislodged from the pile as Victoria struggled to climb down.

“What’re you...I thought Munkustrap said no one came here- did you follow him?” Victoria watched as he talked, a mouse wiggling in her mouth, but she gave no sign to show she understood. She stopped a good distance from him, put the mouse on the ground and stepped on its tail with a back paw. She smiled, eyes closed like she was pleased.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the nursery?” Quaxo said, but Victoria obviously offered no answer, only batting at the mouse she held hostage. “Are you going to kill that or were you just playing with it?” He raised an eyebrow, pointing at the squirming creature for good measure.

She extended a paw towards him, reaching and making grabby motions. Quaxo scoffed.

“I’m not playing with you.” he said, gritting his teeth. “I am not a kitten.” He stood and grabbed the blanket to show that he was busy, then he turned to drag it to the den. He managed, though Munkustrap made it look way lighter when he carried it, and bunched it up against the corner the metal sheet formed with the scraps. He wasn’t keen on using it.

He laid down, kicking the edge of it further with a paw. The warmth was nice, enough to make him realise how tired he was, but he couldn’t sleep if Victoria was around.

He heard tiny steps skittering away and sighed, relieved that she had left. Then he started when he heard a loud meow.

“What-” He whirled around, heart in his throat, only to see Victoria holding the most ridiculous pout he’d ever seen. He half stood, trying to figure out if something had happened, straining his ears. But he could only pick up the same noises he’d been hearing from critters as before.

Victoria waved her paws. They were empty.

Quaxo rolled his eyes, laying back down with a huff. “That’s what happens when you play with your food.”

Victoria just sat there, head hung low and lower lip jutted out. Quaxo stretched his arms and legs to the side, chin on the ground as he kept an eye on her. His tail thudded rythmically on the metal sheet, and he grumbled under his breath, ignoring how it still stung. “I am not taking you back if you’re lost.” When Victoria walked a few steps forwards, Quaxo found himself raising his fur and curling his upper lip, which Victoria gratefully read as a cue to stay away.

He didn’t like being this way towards her. It was unnecessarily mean, and really, he was a bit embarassed that he’d felt threatened by a curious kitten. He was still ashamed of how he acted at the clearing earlier, and he hid his face in his arms with a groan. Maybe he should apologize. If Plato cared so much about the kittens, it might help his reputation. But the thought of how Munkustrap had phrased it – “so terrified” – made him want to hit something instead.

He wasn’t some scared baby. He was just...reasonably nervous. This was all new to him, and being surrounded by so many strangers who could turn on him at any moment didn’t help. And there were so many noises and smells that confused him and put him on edge, but he could handle it. Macavity sent him here, he said he trusted Quaxo. So clearly he could handle it.

He raised his head to check if Victoria was still around. She wasn’t.

Quaxo swallowed as he curled up in a ball, trying to ignore the loneliness that suddenly made itself known in his chest. He kicked at the metal a couple times, not hard enough to disturb it, but enough to get his frustration out and to mask the chittering of the critters. He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, exhaled and forced a purr out of his chest, trying to convince himself that the warmth surrounding him was similar to that of when he was really small, and Macavity would shield him from the cold with his tail.

Chapter Text

Quaxo awoke from smoke and fire and yowling and meowing to something that didn’t feel much different - hot air flew in and out of his mouth, getting stuck, making him cough – he was too hot, his skin was ablaze and electricity hissed and echoed, so loud it overwhelmed his own thoughts. Macavity, where was Macavity? His muscles ached as he unwound from his position but, trembling as he was, he wobbled and fell, and his chin hit the ground, and his teeth clicked together painfully. He forced his eyes open.

He was surrounded by sparks. They flicked off his fur, flying over him, hitting the metal with a harsh sound like a clang and flowing straight into the ground.

Quaxo was struck by a cold sweat.

He sobbed as he whipped his head from side to side. Metal, trash, blanket. The den was wrong. Too small and too hot and too different. And Macavity –

Quaxo was alone. He was in the Junkyard, alone and helpless and terrified, and Macavity was back at the warehouse – or wherever the hell he spent his days, and not there, not there, not there.

One of the sparks hit his nose and he gasped and choked on air.

The buzzing kept growing louder by the second.

A growl built in his throat.
It was driving him crazy. He grit his teeth, jerked an arm in the air, claws out, tail trapped beneath his other paw. His arm stretched as tall as it could go, until his claws reached the roof of the den. They clicked intermittently on the metal as his paw shook. He hesitated.

The phantom feeling of too long claws pressing on his chin sent a shiver through him.

Quaxo could almost hear him.

Disappointed.

Angry.

Dangerous.

But Macavity wasn't there.

Quaxo was alone.

His paw slammed down on his tail. His claws didn't catch on the skin right, only scraping it.

He hissed against nothing but his own tears.

He zeroed in on the pain, shut his eyes, and started counting his breaths, fighting against lungs that didn’t want to collaborate. In, out. In, out, and then again and again, until the electricity fizzled out as it flowed in through his fur, making him feverish with heat and tremors. Smoke and a foul stench filled his nostrils with every inhale.

When he opened his eyes, the sparks were gone and all he could see were his own shaking paws and black scorch marks on rusted metal.

Quaxo spent the duration of sunset wrangling the blanket over the inside of the den, covering the marks his sparks had caused, and then rolling around on the ground and grooming himself until he couldn’t smell anything on his fur anymore. It stuck up in weird ways, full of static as it was, but it would make do.

When the moon began to rise, he felt steady enough to walk around. His skin was sensitive, itchy. A dull ache had formed at the back of his head. Still, Quaxo got up to go and meet Munkustrap halfway, just so he wouldn't have a reason to see Quaxo’s den.

He walked amongst the piles that led to the clearing. The smells and the noises were confusing him, too tired to parse through them, and so he almost bumped into Munkustrap when they crossed paths.

He stopped himself a few inches short, stumbling back a few feet. Any touch would surely cause a noticeable spark now.

“Hello.” Munkustrap greeted simply, and Quaxo frowned at the lack of his name.

“Hello, Munkustrap.” He said. Only then did he notice another cat right behind Munkustrap. It was that black and white spotted tom. Bathed in moonlight, he was barely distinguishable from the rest of the landscape. He didn't speak, and he seemed to not care much about Quaxo, as he barely threw a glance at him.

“Hi.” Quaxo addressed him regardless. Only then did the tom look down - and oh, he was tall. He was leaner than Munkustrap, and his fur was as short as Quaxo’s.

“Did you sleep well?” Munkustrap asked.

“Yes, thank you.” Quaxo said. “Did you?”

Munkustrap frowned, head tilting down. “Are you sure? You seemed a little frazzled when I left you yesterday.”

Quaxo bit the inside of his cheek. “Just, you know. New place. I'll get used to it.”

“If you say so. Please feel free to ask for anything you might need. We're doing patrol right now, but Jenny is back there” he gestured towards the clearing “with the kittens, if you'd like company.”

“I could come with you.” Quaxo said, raising his ears and tail. The other tom narrowed his eyes. Quaxo resisted from sneering at him.

“Ah, no need for that, I already have company.” Munkustrap said with a smile. He put a paw on the tom’s shoulder. “I'm sure I'll see you when we get back, though.”

Quaxo nodded, and stepped aside to let them through. As they walked away, he heard them chatter.

“He sort of looks like you.” Munkustrap whispered.

The other one hissed something Quaxo didn't catch. Then, a few steps later, louder “that was one time!”

Quaxo huffed. Apparently, everyone here thought all black and white cats looked the same.

With that, he remembered that he was supposed to apologize to the kittens. He felt a little queasy thinking about it – and then he felt dumb for being nervous. It was only kittens.

He approached the clearing, trying his best to keep himself upright and not slouch, though he kept his eyes low. Good thing it was dark out, or he would've been stuck in the den with this headache. He looked up when he heard a telltale giggling and paws hitting the ground with more strength than necessary: the three girls were playing, wrestling with some sort of thin rope, under Jenny’s not so watchful eye. That is to say, she was asleep.

Quaxo steeled his nerves. He swallowed down his hesitation and raised his voice to be heard. “Hello.”

“Hii! How are you?” Etcetera rushed up to him, holding the thread in her mouth. She flung it towards him, and Quaxo stepped back before it hit him. “You grab that!”

“Cettie, he doesn’t want to play. Munk said we have to leave him alone.” The tortoiseshell kitten whispered. Victoria watched him with a slight pout, maybe upset that the others stopped playing.

“Actually, I was looking for you.” Quaxo said.

“Was it to play?” Etcetera smiled so wide Quaxo could feel his own cheeks hurt.

“No, I, uhm.” His heart was beating a bit too fast for something so simple. His already hot skin was getting warmer. “I wanted to apologize for hissing at you. That was mean. I’m sorry.”

Cettie had no such qualms. “Oh, it’s okay! The boys hiss at me all the time” She said, and the other kit bapped her on the nose. “Yeah, because you’re always bothering them” Then, to Quaxo she said “It's okay, but don’t do it again.”

Quaxo humored her with a nod. If the kittens really did squabble as much as they said, then that must have been why no one had paid them much attention, when he'd hissed. It was normal to them.
He was about to speak again, before he was interrupted. “I'm Electra, by the way.” the tortoiseshell kitten said, with her usual serious tone.

“Oh.” Quaxo was taken aback. “Thank you for telling me.” Electra nodded back at him.

“But, uhm. She, she can’t hear, right?” He said, gesturing to Victoria.

“Not unless you scream real loud!” Etcetera must’ve deemed that worthy of demonstration, as she rounded up to the white kitten and yelled an incredibly high pitched “HI!” in her left ear. Electra covered her own ears with a roll of her eyes. Quaxo rubbed his, barely suppressing a whine of pain. Jenny woke up with a start behind them.

“Etcetera!” Jenny scolded. Her fur was all puffed up. “How many times have I told you not to yell like that?” Meanwhile, Victoria just giggled, and waved at Cettie with a paw. Quaxo was relieved he wasn't the one being scolded right now, though he couldn't help but notice that while Jenny was angry, the kittens weren't scared in the least.

Etcetera apologized with a smile, to which the queen huffed, intent on licking something under her arm. When he narrowed his eyes, Quaxo noticed a kitten curled up beneath the queen's fur. It was the same one who had climbed between Munkustrap’s ears, so incredibly tiny.

“Jenny doesn't like it, but Vicky does.” Cettie whispered to him, paw covering her mouth.

Quaxo most certainly wasn't going to yell. “Well, could I say sorry to her with my paws? Like you said she talks?”

“Oh, yes! I can show you!” Cettie jumped up a couple times, giggling, then she brought a paw to her chest and rubbed it in a circle. “You do it.” She said to Quaxo, then tapped Victoria’s shoulder and pointed at him.

Quaxo breathed in and copied the sign, rubbing at his chest. Victoria tilted her head with a frown, and Quaxo worried he’d somehow done it wrong, but then Electra tapped her and mimicked hissing with her body. Victoria’s eyebrows raised in understanding, and she smiled and nodded back to Quaxo. He sighed in relief, the tension in his body eased just a bit. He didn't know what he was so worked up about in the first place.

“She forgives you too.” Cettie said, head held up solemnly. Then she shot forwards and picked up the abandoned thread. This time, instead of asking Quaxo, she merely held it out towards him. Electra looked like she was about to scold her, but Victoria joined in, smushing herself into Cettie’s side with a pleading look.

The thread was made of multiple thinner threads woven together - they frayed at the end and at random parts of the length, probably from the kitten teeth nibbling. He rubbed his fingers together. He could feel the sparks traveling on his skin, stronger than usual.

“No.” Quaxo refused, stepping back. “You all play. But thank you for inviting me.”

Cettie and Victoria pouted. Electra didn't seem surprised. She pulled the rope from Cettie’s paws, and the game started again.

“Quaxo, dear.” Jenny called, and Quaxo lifted his tail and straightened himself to show he was listening. She smiled politely. “Have you seen Munkustrap yet?”

“Yes. He's patrolling.”

Jenny clicked her tongue. Then, she yawned. The kitten in her arms mimicked her, but she still seemed too sleepy to have even noticed Quaxo. “Doesn't stop for a minute, that tom. He barely slept a wink today.”

Quaxo froze. “Does he patrol during the day, too?”

Jenny put a paw to her cheek and sighed. “Oh, don't get me started.” Then, noticing Quaxo’s reaction, she frowned. “Are you alright?”

“I'm fine.” He said, but the words barely had meaning to him.

“Don't worry, you're quite safe here. He just worries too much.” Jenny said, in that sweet voice.

“I wasn't doubting it.” Quaxo mumbled, his own tone slightly colder.

Just then, he heard a familiar voice making its way towards them, singing to itself. A few moments after, the kittens heard it too: Etcetera let out an excited squeal, which alerted Victoria. Electra was a bit more composed about it, but still trailed after them. Jenny, for her part, hid the small kit further behind her paws.

Tugger gave the girls a nuzzle each and asked how they were, to which they happily replied. When Cettie showed him the thread, he joined their game. Quaxo tuned them out. He was too tired to deal with this, and so he turned around and started going the other way.

“Hey shortie! Leaving already?”

Not deigning him of an answer, Quaxo kept walking. It was just his luck that Jenny wasn't done with him yet.

“Oh wait, dear. Would you do me a favour?”

Quaxo’s head retaliated with a sudden ache. He inhaled, then exhaled slowly. “Of course.” he said, despite himself, and retraced his steps. “What do you need?”

“I've heard you're quite the hunter. The kittens haven't had breakfast yet, could you fetch us something?”

Quaxo kept his expression neutral, but he had to wonder whether she actually believed it.

“I'd ask the other toms, but they haven't shown up,” Quaxo raised a brow at that. “and Munkustrap took his friend to patrol.” She finished, to which Tugger snorted. Quaxo chose to ignore whatever that meant.

“I don't mind.” he said, bowing his head.

Tugger, however, didn't seem to appreciate being ignored. “I’ll help.” He said, voice a little strained from where he was on the ground, tangled in the rope, with the kittens pouncing on him.

Said kittens approved enthusiastically. “Can we go too, Jenny?” Cettie asked, hanging onto Tugger’s arm. “Pleeeease?”
Victoria, for her part, was tapping her paw to her chin repeatedly. Electra joined in, buried in Tugger’s tail fluff, creating a small chorus. Quaxo looked anxiously at Jenny.

Thankfully, she shook her head. “Absolutely not. You girls will not leave my sight.”

Cettie whined, but Tugger shrugged her off and disentangled himself from the thread. “C’mon, don't make a fuss. I'll get you something special, promise.”

A new squeal left the kit’s throat. Quaxo squeezed his eyes shut and flicked his ears. “Thanks, but I can go on my own.” He said, hoping Jenny might catch on. She did just act like Tugger weren't there, she should be on Quaxo’s side.

“I insist. Besides, I already promised.” Tugger said, patting Etcetera on the head. She giggled, batting him off. His stupid smile showed up again. “Shall we?”

Jenny was quiet. When Quaxo turned to check, she just waved them off.
“Don't go getting into trouble.”

Tugger pulled an innocent face. “Who, me? Never!” He drawled, “We'll be back before you know it. I'll make sure to get you something, too, Jenny.”

The queen rolled her eyes. The kittens said their goodbyes far more joyously.

Severely outnumbered, Quaxo kept his complaints to himself and tolerated Tugger walking beside him as they left the clearing.

It didn't take long for Quaxo to realize that Tugger was not heading for the forest.

“Where are you going?”

The edges of the junkyard were starting to come into view - the side where the fencing met the street.

“Tugger, where-”

Tugger shushed him, and Quaxo seethed, but he quickly realized what was happening. Two sets of steps and voices carried over the piles, reaching Quaxo’s ears as if through cotton. How he'd not noticed sooner was beyond him, but he was too busy dodging out of the way as Tugger jabbed an arm at him to really think about it.

“Hide!” He hissed.

Quaxo pulled a face. “What? Why? It's just your brother.”

“I'm not supposed to be here, c’mon!”

Quaxo frowned. All the same, he slipped behind some elaborate piece of human furniture. It was some sort of wood, and it was pleasantly cool against his skin.
From there, he could see the long fur of Tugger’s mane as the tom pressed against the ground under a trash mound. Since Quaxo couldn't quite parse through what Munkustrap and the other were saying - though it sounded a bit like they were fighting - he instead focused on the brown mane, the words ‘kitten fur’ stuck in his head.

Tugger’s fur looked nice and even, smooth, and flowed together in strands, it didn't fray or stick up or curl like Macavity’s. Munkustrap’s did curl and fray a little, but it wasn't as wild, and was still quite orderly.

Quaxo’s, on the other hand, was much shorter. It was patchy in some places, like his tail, and stuck up weird a lot and became fluffy on his chest and stomach. Was that what Munkustrap had meant? Now that he looked really close, there was a difference. And his chest patch did look a lot like Electra’s fluffy head…

He was broken out of his thoughts by a groan. Tugger got up and started grooming his fur more than necessary, muttering to himself. “Those lovebirds are worse than Jenny and her mate.”

Quaxo took a moment to understand what Tugger had said. “Lovebirds?”

“Yeah. Couldn't you tell?”

His face must’ve been answer enough. Tugger started laughing. “Seriously! You must be a kitten not to notice!”

Quaxo scowled. “Why, how old are you?”

“I'm seventeen in two nights.” He said, looking quite proud of himself.

Quaxo had no idea how that translated to kitten and adult ages, but he did know one thing.

“Then you're sixteen.”

“Does that mean I'm older than you, shortie?”

“None of your business.” He grumbled. “And quit calling me that.” he hissed for a moment, but quickly stopped when his head ached in protest.

“Well, what should I call you then?”

Quaxo glared at him. “Why are we going to the city?”

“What do you mean why?” Tugger huffed, unamused by the subject change, and reached for the fence. “You’ve lived there, you know the kind of stuff humans can make. Way better than mice! And I did promise the queens something special.” He finished with a smile and a gesture towards the edge of the fence he was holding up, making it rattle horribly.

Quaxo sat and drew his tail around his paws for good measure. “Jenny said I should hunt.” He was only doing it to be contrarian. He was far too tired to hunt properly, and noises swam between his ears in a way that made it hard to pinpoint what they even were. “And you said you're not supposed to be here. Won't she be mad?”

“Maybe she'll be too busy eating the best meal she'll have this week, and she’ll forgive us.” Tugger said, canines showing as he flashed a grin.

“Forgive you, maybe. Nobody told me I couldn't go to the city.” He rebutted. Hopefully Jenny wouldn't be too upset with him if he didn't hunt. He walked up to the fence, then jumped on it and climbed it to the other side.

“You’re welcome” Tugger deadpanned as he slipped under.

Quaxo had not missed the streets and the terrible ruckus of cars. He kept his body low, too wary to complain or question where, exactly, Tugger planned on taking them. There was the stench of whatever smoke came out of cars, and then stillwater and humans with their strong scent trails, either too sweet or too acrid, and he was starting to get nauseous on top of everything.

“There’s a place where the humans know me. If I just sit there looking pretty, they'll give me anything.” Tugger said, tail standing up proudly. As if ‘sitting pretty’ was anything to be proud of. “You'll probably get a good share too. Humans love small cats.”

“I don't really hang around humans.” Quaxo said, voice flat. A shiver ran through him.

“Well, technically I'm not supposed to, either. But it's worth the risk.” Tugger said, ducking under an unmoving car.

“Don't other cats in the junkyard den with humans? Why can't you?” Quaxo asked, not without malice.

Tugger didn't seem to catch on, or care. “Munk says I'm a little too pretty.”

Quaxo rubbed his forehead. Just stop talking already, he thought. “Right.”

Tugger looked both ways, then crossed the street. Quaxo followed, checking again for himself.

“No, really.” Tugger said when they reached the raised cement again. “It's like, a whole thing. Apparently humans love my father's lineage or something. They snatch’em right up.”

Nevermind. That, he was interested in. “Have they ever caught your father, then?”

The humans certainly didn't love anything about Macavity, but they still tried to catch him. Granted, they didn't do a very good job of it, and Macavity rarely entertained them.

“I dunno. Maybe? He's pretty good at evading them, though. He's really old now, so they just leave him alone.”

Before Quaxo could work out a question to subtly ask where Old Deuteronomy was, Tugger gestured to an alleyway. There was a large metal door on the wall, and a few small dumpsters lining the corners.

“We could check those, but they're usually empty.” Tugger said, scratching at the door with his claws.

“Right.” Quaxo bit out. He groomed his ears and the back of his head, trying to quell the pain with physical pressure. “How often do you do this?”

“Depends. Are you planning on ratting me out?”

“If it taught you how to hunt, then yes.” Quaxo deadpanned.

“I do know how.”

“Then why is this the second time you've refused to do it since I met you?”

“I just don't feel like it. Plus, this tastes way better.” Tugger said, grooming his whiskers. “Unless you were planning on showing off some more.” He grinned, coming closer to Quaxo. “That, I wouldn't be opposed to.”

Quaxo stepped back, a hiss in the back of his throat.

“Jeez, chill out. I'm not trying to jump you or anything.” Tugger said, stepping back himself.

Quaxo scoffed. “I could've already been back with enough for everyone by now.” Quaxo thumped his tail on the ground. “Actually, I'm going.”

“What? Where?”

“To get food.”

“No, come on-” Tugger whined, but Quaxo wasn't listening.

Just wait for the humans to give you stuff.

Just sit there looking pretty.

Macavity had been right. Tugger was nothing but a spoiled brat.

Every step he took sent a shock through his body, but he trudged on.

Quaxo knew the city well enough - he'd grown up following Macavity around, humans towering over them wherever they went, and occasionally slipping into places he could reach easily because of how small he was. He'd always made himself useful. He couldn't expect Macavity to just care and give him shelter, without nothing in return.

Jenny had asked him for food. And he was good at getting food. It was a task Macavity trusted him with everyday, and Quaxo had almost never failed. He wasn't going to slack off just because Tugger decided to tag along. And whatever Quaxo found, Tugger would most definitely not be allowed to eat.

He had the humans to feed him anyways. He probably never had to go hungry once in his life.

Quaxo found the place he was looking for: an alley with boxes stacked along the sides, and a dumpster right in the middle. He jumped in, swallowing back a wave of nausea as the smells hit him full force, and set to work gathering scraps. Too sick to eat himself, he just shoved whatever looked whole from the ripped bags into a box, and then looked for a small bag to carry it in. The rustle of plastic was louder than it should've been, the bag stuck to his fur and it felt awful, so wrangling it into place was a bit of a workout for his tired muscles.

A window opened above him, human voices echoed off the walls, and he yowled in surprise. Then, a bark pierced the air. Quaxo grabbed the bag, now shaking and on the verge of throwing up, and barely kept himself from stumbling over his own paws as he sprinted out the alley.

When he reached the street where he'd left Tugger, he just dropped the bag in front of him.

“You look awful” were the first words out of Tugger’s mouth, and Quaxo would've swiped at him if he hadn't been exhausted.

“Told you I could get it fast.” Quaxo said, breathing heavily. He swallowed and looked up at Tugger. He looked particularly smug. “What?” Quaxo snarled.

“Nothing.” Tugger said, but he pushed something into view from behind his back. It was a box, about as big as his paws, and the smell that came out from it promised something incredibly fresh.

“I was still faster.” Quaxo said.

“Well, it's not my fault you got impatient. We could've just hung out here, waiting-”

“Yeah, right, as if that's-” Quaxo started saying, but Tugger’s eyes widened and he suddenly lurched forward. “Watch out!” Before Quaxo had time to look, Tugger was dragging him by the scruff, and the air filled with a deep growl, followed by barks that shook Quaxo’s body to the bone. Tugger dragged him in a crack in the wall, bodies pressed way too tight against each other. Electricity traveled through the contact and Quaxo panicked, scrambling to get away from Tugger’s grip.

“Ow! Shit! What was that?” Came a hiss from Tugger. Quaxo couldn’t catch his breath, and Tugger still wasn’t letting him go, and something sharp was poking his ribs, and he felt suffocated.

“Stay still!” Tugger growled behind him.

“Let me go!” Quaxo rasped, claws catching on fur. He didn't know whose it was, but he dug in, trying to prevent more sparks from leaking out.

The growling picked up, followed by the sound of sniffing and claws scratching at the wall next to the crack. They froze.

The sounds were so foreign compared to those a cat could make. Quaxo had only ever seen pollicles from a safe distance, but now, even through the thin opening in the wall, he could smell its stench and see the teeth in its jaws, which were as big as Quaxo’s own paws.

After a few sniffs and growls, the pollicle walked away from them, but Quaxo could still see it linger close-by.

“What was that?!” Tugger demanded. “You shocked me or something, what the-”

Quaxo only half registered Tugger’s words, still too stupefied to speak.

“Get off” he snarled, and Tugger, for his credit, scooted back. There really wasn’t much space to work with, but Quaxo would take whatever he could. His breaths came erratically, in and out like a storm. His leg hurt. He was cold and sweaty at the same time.

“You okay?” Tugger asked, and his voice was suddenly devoid of the smugness it constantly carried. It almost sounded like Munkustrap’s.

Quaxo hissed in response.

“You're, uhm. You might wanna stop doing that.” Tugger said, and Quaxo was halfway to telling him to just shut up already, when he felt the sting of his claws deep in his leg.

Quaxo’s growl sputtered. He stared at the blood flowing between his fingers with a vague sense of fear.

“Hey,” Tugger asked for his attention again, and this time, wide-eyed and feverish, Quaxo gave it to him. “Just, let your claws back in. Come on.” he sounded sickening. Like Jenny when she talked to him in her den, like Munkustrap when he said ‘kitten fur’.

Macavity had warned him about that. Nice cats can't be trusted.

But Quaxo was tired. And he was in pain. And sometimes, when Quaxo was in pain, Macavity was nice to him, too. It was only going to be until they got out of there and the pollicle left - then he'd go back to being wary.

He let his claws slip back in, wincing at how it stung more, and put pressure on the wounds with his paws.

“Good, good. Just breathe. You're fine, we're, we're gonna get out soon. Promise.” Tugger said, and Quaxo wondered, vaguely, whether this was the same tom he'd been talking to the whole night, whether it was the same spoiled, egotistical cat Macavity had told him about.

It was like he'd flipped at the scratch of a claw.

Quaxo wasn't sure what to make of that.

Tugger’s eyes wandered behind Quaxo, to the alley.

“I think it's gone.” He said. “Here, I'll go first”

Quaxo barely heard him. A shiver climbed up his back and his mouth watered. His stomach lurched. He shot out of the wall crack and hunched in a corner. The horrible noises as he heaved made him wish he could just disappear. Why did this have to happen in front of Tugger, of all cats?

When he finished emptying his already barren stomach on the street, Quaxo just sat there. He didn't want to turn around and face Tugger. He couldn't, not if he kept being nice.

“Hey, shortie? You didn't pass out, did you?”

Quaxo took the opportunity to turn this into something he could handle.

He wiped his mouth and whipped his head around, only to regret it as he stumbled, hit with a wave of nausea. Tugger shot forwards to help him, but Quaxo hissed.

Acting like nothing had happened, Tugger kept talking. “I was going to offer you this, but it's probably not great for your stomach right now.” he motioned to the box he was holding. It was bent out of shape, leaking from one side, but mostly intact. “I think the Pollicle ate your stuff.”

Quaxo almost panicked. Then he remembered the food wasn't for Macavity, just the kittens. “Of course it did.”

“C’mon, let's head back.” Tugger said, still too soft.

He'd failed. Jenny probably wouldn't care. Tugger was bringing something. Something that he hadn't put a pinch of effort into getting.

“A sorry would be nice.”

“What?” Tugger asked. “Why should I apologise?”

“I told you we should've hunted.” Quaxo said, teeth bared.

“What, like it's my fault a Pollicle chased you? There's not even supposed to be Pollicles around here! And don't forget I saved your sorry butt!”

“I didn't need you to save me.” Quaxo said, because he had to be right somehow. It was true that Pollicles weren't supposed to be around this area, and if Tugger hadn't grabbed him… “If you weren't such a spoiled ass-”

“Woah, what the hell! You don't even know me! Why are you trying to pick a fight with me?”

“I didn’t think you’d notice.” Quaxo grumbled sarcastically.

“What the hell did I do? The kittens told me you actually apologized to them, so clearly it’s just me you’ve got a problem with.”

“Oh, get over yourself! Not everyone has to like you! And why'd you even wanna come anyways? Jenny didn't ask you!”

Tugger’s eyes widened. His composed facade broke - Quaxo thought he looked hurt. Funny how it wasn't insulting him that did it.

“I was trying to be nice. Okay? You looked exhausted, and Munk told me you didn't sleep well, so I thought I'd make it easier for you.” Tugger said, and hell, Quaxo was starting to actually feel bad. “Clearly you don't care about all that.”

Tugger watched him expectantly. Quaxo knew he was waiting for an apology, or a thank you. But no words came out of his mouth, and eventually Tugger got tired of waiting.

“Let's get back.” Tugger said, handing him the box. Quaxo took it without question.

Chapter Text

The box was heavy against Quaxo’s chest. The smell that came out of it promised fresh fish, something he hadn't had in forever.

It didn't matter. He wasn't going to eat it.

The sparks grew more intense with every step, and maybe the fever was getting worse and making him confused, and whatever guilt had been surfacing, Quaxo squashed down - but he was sure of one thing. He didn't need to be saved. The dog would've been shocked and let go, and he would've been fine. Tugger, for some reason, had been so stupid as to hold on through it. But he hadn’t mentioned it - not since they got out of the wall.

He hurried, fighting trembling paws to catch up to the bigger tom.

“I won't tell if you don't.” he said, voice cold and short. Macavity would say he sounded pathetic, but he pushed through.

“Yeah, whatever. Won't tell anyone that you're secretly a jerk. They'll find out soon enough on their own.”

“That's not what I meant.” Quaxo said.

“Oh, so I can tell everyone how mean you are?”

“Are you- the dog! Don't tell them about the dog!”

“The- oh.” Tugger’s eyes fell to the blood on Quaxo’s leg, his expression resembling that openness from just a few minutes ago. Quaxo hissed, nothing more than a weak echo in his throat.

Tugger’s gaze hardened. “I don't care. Tell them whatever you want.”

And it was more comforting than whatever kindness he’d been showing earlier.

The rest of the walk was quiet and tense. When they reached the fence, Tugger turned around, saying he didn’t feel like fish, and left, which in turn left Quaxo wondering why the hell he’d bothered to follow that far at all.

He watched over his shoulder as he groomed himself, rolling around in the dirt to get some of the electricity off, smoothing down the fur and wiping the blood from his leg, and all the way through the clearing, expecting something, anything, to happen, for Tugger to jump out, to hit him, to send him crashing into the scrap piles with a terrible noise and yell out what Quaxo really was.

But he got to the clearing, and Tugger wasn’t there. He was overthinking every step - his tired body barely held up any semblance of decent posture - and the few cats laying about on the piles glanced his way, but didn’t pay him any sort of special attention.

Quaxo was certain they could see right through him.

“Did you not hunt?” Jenny asked, sniffing the box Quaxo put in front of her. He barely remembered doing that.

The kitten she was holding was awake. When she saw him, she beamed. “You stayed!”

“Where's Tugger?” Etcetera asked. “What’s in there?” Electra asked. “It smells amazing” Pouncival, who had apparently joined at some point while Quaxo was gone, licked where the corners spilled. Jenny pushed him away.

Quaxo grit his teeth through his headache, wishing he were back at his den. He was shaking.

“Oh, you don't look so good. Are you feeling okay?” Jenny said. How it took her this long to notice, given how even Tugger had been able to tell, was beyond him.

“I'm fine.” He said. Victoria looked at him with worry. She waved at him, signing something he didn't understand, but Etcetera got her attention and signed back instead.

“Did Tugger get it?” Pouncival asked.

“Oh, right, where is Tugger? Poor Munkustrap’s always telling him not to go to the city, and of course he turns around and does just that'' Jenny said.

Quaxo inhaled and exhaled slowly. He was getting queasy again.

“I just…thought they might like this better than mice. He said he couldn’t come and left.” His shaky voice was hardly convincing.

Jenny tutted at him. “There’s no need to lie for that tom, dear.” She was opening the box with one paw, the other arm busy holding the wriggling kit. “We all know what he’s like.” Jenny said, and the disapproval on her face was an expression Quaxo had seen Macavity wear often.

He spared himself from arguing. “Speaking of Munkustrap,” he said instead, “is he back from patrol yet?”

“I believe he’s in the nursery.” She took the fish out with her claws, and started cutting it up. “Should be back soon.” The kitten pushed herself forwards, sniffing the fish.

“Where did you find that?” Tumblebrutus asked, and Quaxo almost jumped out of surprise. When did he get here?

“Tumble, look! It's as big as your head!” Pouncival laughed.

“Pounce, for the last time, be nice.” Jenny scolded.

“What did I say?” Pouncival whined.

“Quaxo, did you catch it?” Electra asked. Etcetera came to nuzzle Electra’s cheek.

Quaxo’s own cheek suddenly became itchy, and he rubbed it against his shoulder. “Ah, uhm. No. I found it.”

“I could catch a fish like that.” Pouncival said, puffing out his chest.

“You'd just fall in the river.” Electra said. “You can't even swim!” Cettie signed to Victoria, who giggled voicelessly.

“Kits, come get your piece.” Jenny said, “Quaxo, have you eaten? There's enough for everyone.”

Quaxo almost gagged again. He swallowed hard. “I did, thank you.”

“If you say so.”

“This tastes amazing! Thank you Quaxo.” Cettie said, mouth already full.

The others thanked him as well, and Victoria pushed a piece of hers towards him. Quaxo stared at it for a bit too long, before just shuffling back and turning his head to the side.

“Quaxo, will you stay for a bit? We're doing dancing lessons later. Vicky can show you what she can do!” Etcetera came up behind Victoria, hands on her shoulders.

“Ah, I don't know.” Quaxo said. “I should-” Jenny was watching him. Why was she watching him? “go find Munkustrap.”

Victoria pointed behind him. Etcetera smiled and waved. “Look, there he is! Hi Munk!”

Quaxo felt a stab of fear in his stomach. The kittens ran to greet Munkustrap, tails lifted and paws grabbing for his fur, but he brushed them off in a hurry, telling them to get back to their meal.

He approached Quaxo instead, and brought his tail up like a curtain between him and the others, voice low. “Quaxo. I thought Tugger was with you? Did you go to the city?”

“I did.” Quaxo said, shifting his paws. Electricity ran from one shoulder to the other, making him restless. “He said he couldn’t come.” He looked Munkustrap straight in the eyes, but if the tom knew he was lying, he didn’t show it.

“Did anything happen there?”

“No.” He answered, with as much conviction as he could muster.

Munkustrap’s whole body dropped with relief.

He didn't know. It was alright. The grip around Quaxo’s stomach somewhat loosened, but he still frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“Ah, well-” Munkustrap lowered his tail and looked Jenny’s way. She just pointed at the smallest kitten. “Right.” Munkustrap said, as if suddenly remembering something. He went to take the kit from her, then said “Come” to Quaxo as he started back the way he came. “Tell Tugger to find me if you see him?”

“Sure.” Quaxo said, with no intention of doing so. The kit squirmed her way out of Munkustrap’s hold, and instead climbed on his shoulders.

“So you'll stay, right?” She held a paw out to Quaxo.

“Ah, for a little bit.” Quaxo said, “Did you see something on patrol?”

“Cettie says you don't like to play and you don't like Tugs.” she said, and Quaxo had no idea how he was supposed to answer that. Munkustrap nudged her with his head. “Leave him be. We just-” he said,

“Maybe you like other games!” she gasped.

“We'd like to ask you something.” Munkustrap said, their voices overlapping.

“Do you like hide and seek?” she continued.

“Did, did I-” Quaxo, embarrassingly, stuttered.

“You're not in trouble.” Munkustrap smiled, though it did little to reassure him.

“Do you?” the kit asked, again, big eyes staring at him from a face of red and black spiky fur.

“Sure.” Quaxo said, and he had no idea what she had asked in the first place.

They reached the nursery pretty quickly. But just as Quaxo was about to follow Munkustrap in, another tom blocked the entrance - it was the black and white cat who had been on patrol earlier. He glared at Quaxo, or maybe that was just the way his face looked. “You wait here.” He said, then his ear twitched back at a voice from inside and he ducked back in.

Quaxo’s ears were still filled with cotton, which left him clueless as to what they were talking about in there. He could hear muffled rumbling, and a higher voice, which belonged to the kitten. There was another, more grown - probably a queen's.

Without the distractions, his mind circled right back to Tugger.

He’d felt the sparks. He’d felt them, much stronger than Etcetera did - he’d held onto Quaxo for several seconds while they coursed through him, and hadn't let go, and he’d said he felt it! But he hadn’t asked again. He’d been more concerned with his ego being hurt than the possibility of Quaxo having some sort of unnatural ability capable of hurting him and his tribe.

He must’ve been lying, waiting for the right time to turn everyone against Quaxo. Right?

Quaxo should've done more. Threatened, at least. Nevermind the fact that he wasn't supposed to ever use his powers, so he couldn't make good on his threats if he needed to. Tugger didn't know that.

“Alonzo.”

A voice broke through Quaxo’s thoughts, and he looked up, somewhat panicked. It was the spotted tom. He’d just given Quaxo his name. Right.

“Quaxo.” he reciprocated.

“You'll be helping Munkustrap and I with patrol and other duties. Starting-”

“Tomorrow night.” Munkustrap interrupted. Alonzo grumbled something under his breath, only to be ignored. “It’s mostly going to be patrol, and hunting, but we also do some maintenance here and there, or help cats if they need something. Would that be alright?”

“Of course.” Quaxo said. Now that was familiar. Directions. He could work with that. His tail swept nervously the ground from side to side. “Is that all?”

Alonzo gave him a look, and Quaxo resisted the urge to glare in response.

“It is for now.” Munkustrap smiled.

“Quaxo!” A voice called behind him. “Hi!” Etcetera said to the other two, sliding to a stop a few steps from him. “Quaxo, will you come see us dance? Please?”

He grimaced. Munkustrap ushered Alonzo into the den. “Cettie, remember what I told you.”

“I do! I was just asking.” She said, wiping her muzzle. She still had bits of fish on her whiskers.

“Oh, right!” Munkustrap said, “Did you get a chance to eat?”

Quaxo almost shook his head, but caught himself. “I ate on the way.”

“Will you come?” Cettie repeated, but Quaxo didn’t move.

Munkustrap caught on. “Go do your lesson, Cettie. Quaxo and I aren’t done talking.”

Her expression fell. “Okay.”

“Are you sure you’ve had something? You look a little faint.”

“I’m fine.” he said, and would they just stop asking.

“Quaxo.” Munksutrap stepped forwards, “Something happened in the city, didn't it?”

Quaxo stumbled back. His eyes widened, his breathing quickened, he sunk his claws in the ground to prevent the electricity from leaving his fur.

“Hey, it’s alright. Look, I understand if you don't want to talk about it. But if there's anything we can help with, please let us know.” He said, shocking Quaxo out of his panic with a voice sweet and low and so damn patronizing.

“I’ll be in my den.” Quaxo bit out, hoping that the coldness in his tone would be enough to tell Munkustrap to piss off. Munkustrap didn’t answer, and his face barely showed a reaction - but Quaxo had seen it earlier on Tugger. He saw the way his lips thinned, his eyebrows knit.

Macavity never looked like that.

Quaxo went back to the edges of the clearing. There, a queen's voice was calling out ballet moves, and he belatedly remembered what Etcetera had been asking him. Jenny was gone, and in her place, a tom surveyed the area from the top of the car hood. The boys were there too - not Plato, though.

Quaxo watched them dance in sync. They seemed good enough, as far as kittens went. He found himself following Victoria and Tumblebrutus. Victoria was methodical, poised, which was only a surprise because of how young she seemed. The tom was a little imprecise, clumsy in his movements. It was a familiar sight - Quaxo had watched himself in the mirror plenty, when he'd first been learning. He would shake, lose his balance, forget to point his paws. Macavity used to say it was because he thought too much about what he was doing.

Tumblebrutus fumbled and broke Victoria’s flow. He didn’t recover quickly enough on his own, so the older queen approached him.

Quaxo couldn’t hear the words, but her voice sounded rather unhappy, if not annoyed. She showed him what he was supposed to do, watched him repeat it, and then stepped away, and made a gesture that vaguely read as “continue”, and Quaxo realised he’d been holding his breath, and his eyes burnt. He let go, blinking, breathing in again, running a paw over his face, and his paw pads came back wet.

Victoria happened to see him as she twirled. She smiled.

Quaxo left.

Damn the mission.

Quaxo was exhausted, his powers were sucking his energy dry, and yet he was restless, and his head was a pollicle biting its tail - there was no way Tugger didn’t know, and he had to be planning to tell, to get back at Quaxo.

But then why didn’t he say anything? Why had he played nice in the wall, when Quaxo was vulnerable?

Why hadn’t he let go?

Tugger had chosen not to let go. He’d chosen not to ask Quaxo.

He swallowed, as his paws shook and the sparks ran from his ears to the tip of his tail. It didn’t make sense.

The rest of the night was a blur. Quaxo was pacing, keeping himself awake, when Victoria came by.

He hid in his den, pushing himself against the corner. His muscles hummed and ached, though he didn’t know how much of it was from the effort and how much was the powers induced fever.

She was holding a mouse, again, and she was walking closer. Quaxo lifted his upper lip, but his heart wasn't into it, and Victoria could tell. She didn't mind him. She placed the mouse, dead this time, at the entrance and then stepped back.

She meowed, pointed to him, then brought her bunched up paw to her mouth.

Quaxo hadn't seen that sign so far, but it wasn't hard to assume what she wanted, and his own mouth was already watering.

He hadn't had a bite all night. He did still feel queasy, and his headache had become blinding - he couldn't keep his thoughts in a line, he couldn't make sense of why he shouldn't just eat. He needed to be nice to the kittens, after all. Tugger liked the kittens. Maybe he wouldn’t tell if Quaxo kept being nice. Plato and Munkustrap and the queens, too. It was the reason he apologized, he couldn’t undo it by upsetting Victoria now. That made sense, right?

And so despite the shame warming his ears, despite his head yelling at him he didn't need this from a kitten, he caved. He shuffled forwards and cut up the mouse, making a tremendous effort to stop himself from pouncing on it, and offered the best bits to Victoria. She pushed them towards him again, but he stepped back with his share.

He pointed at her, too worn out for words.

Victoria nodded. And so they ate.

Dawn broke, and Quaxo couldn’t sleep.

He wanted to, he so desperately wanted to, and he couldn’t, because he couldn’t afford another nightmare. Sweat fell from his forehead, his arms. He swiped it forcefully, creating sparks with every contact.

He’d failed.

Macavity had told him to figure it out, and he’d failed miserably, he’d even failed at fetching food, the one thing he was good for, and he'd accepted it from Tugger first and then a kitten too - and it stung, and he hated it, and he brought a paw down on the ground and hit something and it hurt.

It made a metallic noise, and Quaxo felt the recoil as a new wave of pain spread all at once throughout his limbs.

He hadn’t meant to hurt Cettie. He hadn’t meant to hurt Tugger either, insufferable as he was, and he certainly didn’t want his powers to get out of control and bring back the fire and the smoke and the crying from his dreams, and he didn’t want to be dangerous,
and he couldn’t stay here.

He ran blindly, but his legs knew exactly where to take him. Out towards the city, the docks, the streets that roared and the humans bumbling about with their awful stinks and their pollicle dogs barking up a storm as he went by fences and windows, but he kept telling himself he’d be fine, he was a live wire, nothing could touch him, and Tugger was dumb, and there were too many dogs, but they couldn’t hurt him.

What felt like an eternity later, a familiar smell struck his nose and his limbs gave out, and foregoing the closed doors of the warehouse, he dived in a crack in the rusted metal walls and into inky darkness.

Quaxo shook himself off, a distressed, broken up purr thundering in his chest at the low light that his fur produced. He headed straight for their den, their hiding spot away from the rats.

He could see shadows moving in the corner of his eye, could hear the screeches even through his confusion. But they stayed away from him, because he was a live wire, and they could see it, Quaxo knew.

When he reached it, heart in his throat and ready to collapse, ready for yelling, for anger and pain, he found nothing but cold and empty shadows.

Quaxo’s lip wobbled. A keen ripped out of his throat - he barely realised he was making it, but he heard its echo bounce off the walls, “Mac!” and the rats skittered about, loud enough to pierce through, shrieking and horrid and mean and everything Quaxo had ran away from all his life, but it was no use.

Tears fell down his face and he rubbed them away with his paws, shaking off the wetness, letting sparks catch on it and hit the barren walls.

Macavity wouldn’t come.

Quaxo's sobs turned into hissing. Even though he was exhausted, a sudden burst of strength had him growling and kicking at the metal sheet that functioned as a door to the den.

"I hate you!"

Chapter Text

Quaxo woke up several times throughout the day.

There were no nightmares, or at least none he could recall, only the anxiety and the sparks on his paws jerking him awake every other hour. Every time, he’d whip his head around, blinking at the empty, dark space of the den, the air charged and heavy around him. Every time, disappointment would make his eyes sting, and he’d count his breaths until he fell asleep again, inhaling so deeply his nose would burn, straining to catch Macavity’s faint scent.

For once, the smoke and the stench of electricity would’ve been a welcome reprieve.

By sunset, he grew tired of that vicious cycle, and the heat of the day was already leaving the walls. He dragged himself up, and spent a good amount of time ridding his coat of sweat and wayward sparks. Fear stayed bundled in his stomach, plaguing his mind with worry, and his paws itched with something other than electricity - but his mind was clearer, no longer fogged up by fever and panic, and only then did he realise how stupid he had been not to chase after Tugger and demand he keep quiet.

He couldn’t find him now. Munkustrap and Alonzo expected him in the junkyard, and he should get going already, if the way they kept passing by his den early in the night was any indication. Tugger was probably waiting for the perfect time to ruin everything. Macavity did always say that his brother loved a good show. So, Quaxo took a deep breath, resolved to keep busy and keep his mind on the mission just so it could be over sooner, and ignored the way he felt like clawing the walls when he spotted the lonely red hairs that littered the floor.

The metal sheet had protected him well throughout the night. He slid it off, checking the surroundings. He could hear more clearly, and with a relieved sigh he appreciated how his muscles weren’t quite thrumming with charge anymore. His ears caught on the all too familiar pitter patter of non padded paws on metal. He stuck to the wall as he snuck out and emerged on the streets. The city was as overwhelming as it always was, but he wasn’t as nauseous or disoriented, and so he dealt with it better.

He navigated his way back to the junkyard, and then to his own den, where, thankfully, he was alone. Quaxo went through his grooming again, and right as he was finishing up on his tail - the scabs hadn’t quite healed yet, but they stung less - he caught Munkustrap and Alonzo’s voices behind the piles.

They talked calmly - something about a “Jemie” keeping them awake all day - Alonzo’s voice was down to a grumble, and Munkustrap didn’t sound too cheery himself, but they weren’t angry, which meant Quaxo was still in the clear, and that was all that mattered.

They quieted right as they came into view, and Quaxo acted as if he hadn’t noticed them until then, raising his head and quickly straightening fur that already looked fine before he turned in their direction.

“You’re up early.” Munkustrap said, tail raised as usual, but his tone betrayed worry.

“Thought I’d be ready so you wouldn’t have to wait for me.” Quaxo said, straightening out and stretching his back legs.

“Great, then let’s keep going.” Alonzo said, and he walked past without so much as a glance. Munkustrap nodded to Quaxo with a sigh. “C’mon.”

“Everything alright so far?” Quaxo asked before Munkustrap could, falling into step next to him. The tom’s back and shoulder were stiff.

“Yes. Most other cats are still asleep and won’t come out ‘till later. We’re going to walk the border, then come back around to the clearing.”

“Right.” Quaxo said. Alonzo finally deigned to frown at him over his shoulder. Quaxo suppressed a growl.

Patrol was uneventful, especially on the side of conversation.

Quaxo had hoped the toms would forget he was there and start talking to each other, but whenever Munkustrap tried to bring something up, Alonzo gave him no more than short responses and curt gestures. Judging from how they’d been talking just fine before he joined, it must’ve been because of him. It made his stomach uneasy, but as much as he kept alert and never took his eyes off of them, they never gave signs of hostility.

Finally, the tedious walk of the perimeter ended, and Alonzo left for the nursery, managing to glare at Quaxo while accepting a headbutt from Munkustrap.

Him and Munkustrap were held up saying good evening to Jenny and the kittens, then they left for the forest, intent on finding breakfast.

“You haven’t seen Tugger yet, have you?” Munkustrap spoke, breaking a silence that had lasted since leaving the clearing.

Quaxo’s ears, focused on something moving in the underbrush, suddenly swivelled towards the tom. Their steps scared the creature off, but Quaxo couldn’t tell which way it went if he tried.

“You haven’t either?” he asked, and his voice quivered. He hoped Munkustrap wouldn’t think anything of it.

“No.” Munkustrap said, and they left it at that. A mouse later, Munkustrap addressed him again. “Has he been making you uncomfortable?”

“What?” Quaxo hesitated, frowning. “Uncomfortable how?”

“Well, he can be…pushy, sometimes.” Munkustrap gestured vaguely.

Quaxo pushed his catch in the trunk, focusing all of himself on it. He didn’t even know how to begin answering that question, but the silence seemed to be enough for Munkustrap.

“I’ll talk to him.”

“Right.” Quaxo still didn’t know what he meant. He just had to hope Tugger wouldn’t use it as an excuse to spill. “Thanks.”

Much like every time so far, the kittens were ecstatic at the prospect of mealtime. The clearing was empty, aside from them and Jenny.

He let everyone have their share before he grabbed a bite for himself. Munkustrap kept the kittens distracted, and so Quaxo managed to make off to a more secluded corner with only a few hellos and thank yous, and a “what a dear” from Jenny. He had to force himself to just nod at her instead of hissing. He wasn’t sure why. It was probably something to do with her voice.

He climbed his way on a white metal box, and found that he had a pretty good view of the clearing. The lack of cats seemed odd. And where the hell had Tugger gone off to? Was it normal for him, disappearing? Munkustrap kept asking about him, so clearly it wasn’t. Quaxo should go look for him, after Munkustrap and Alonzo didn’t need him anymore. Probably would have to wait until sunrise.

When the electricity started rising in intensity, he counted his breaths and focused back on his food. And when he finished that, he moved his attention to the kittens. They were too loud to ignore, anyways.

He wasn’t sure what they were doing. They formed a circle, with Tumblebrutus in the middle, bumbling about with his eyes closed, while everyone else called out variations of his name. Quaxo scratched his ears, shifted in place. He couldn’t get comfortable.

Electra was supervising from a higher spot, giving the stumbling tom directions. Cettie circled Pouncival, calling Tumblebrutus towards them, much to Pouncival’s chagrin, who kept pushing her away and leading him to Victoria instead. She kept meowing, loud and high, which Quaxo supposed was the point of the game, but he was grateful when Jenny asked them to lower their voices.

Meanwhile, she talked to Munkustrap. They were on the car hood, that tiny kitten climbing her way up to Munkustrap’s head, but at one point she slipped off his neck and slid down the car. Munkustrap caught her, grabbed her arm before she hit the ground, and then both adults fussed over her for much longer than Quaxo thought necessary. She wasn’t even crying. Jenny licked her ears, voice somewhere between scolding and reassuring, Munkustrap sniffed her and checked her arm. Then, he picked her up and jumped off, most likely to take her to the nursery. Quaxo set his head down and looked away, lip raised in a grimace.

An unsteady pattern of steps covered the kittens’ chatter.

It was Tumblebrutus, with his head low and tail tucked close to his hind paws, and Quaxo wondered whether he’d missed something.

“Hello, Q-Quaxo” Tumblebrutus said, stopping a good distance below Quaxo’s perch. It shouldn’t have meant anything. Munkustrap had clearly warned the kittens from coming close to him - then again, they didn’t seem to be very good at listening.

When the kit didn’t speak again, Quaxo prompted him. “What?” He sounded snappier than he meant to. There was no way for Tumblebrutus to know. Tugger wouldn’t tell the kittens before he told Munkustrap, that would make no sense.

“I, uhm. Well, we’re uhm, Cettie wanted to know if-” He fumbled his words, rubbing his paws together. “Wouldyouliketoseeusdance?” He said it so fast, Quaxo really only caught the last word.

He took a moment to answer. Further in the clearing, the queen who was instructing the kittens the day before was joining Jenny on the car hood, along with a tabby tom Quaxo hadn’t met yet. The kittens were still playing, but Etcetera was looking at him.
He set his head back down, tail thumping on the metal below him. “I’ll watch you from here.”

“Oh, uhm, okay. Okay.” Tumblebrutus said, but he didn’t leave.

Quaxo waited, but annoyance was starting to build, too. “Yes?”

“W-well, she asked, uh- she wanted to know if you’d like to, uh, to” he murmured the last part, but Quaxo heard it fine, “join us”

“Oh.” His eyebrows shot up in surprise, his anger forgotten for a moment. But really, he should’ve expected it. Cettie had been asking since they met. He cleared his throat, smoothing down the fur on his arm. “Maybe some other time.”

Tumblebrutus finally raised his head, but he avoided Quaxo's eyes. "Okay" He took a step back, looked over his shoulder, then in Quaxo's general direction. "Thanks!" and he scrambled off, but before he went to Etcetera, he stopped to greet the new tom.

Quaxo turned his head just enough to watch him. He looked a little worse for wear, all frizzy pelt and droopy ears, but he smiled at the kittens like he was actually happy to see them. Victoria was playing with his tail, and he moved it around for her, occasionally letting her catch it. Tumblebrutus scrambled on the car hood with him, and set to fixing his fur. The tom thanked him with a few licks and a pat between the ears, and sparks gathered behind Quaxo’s head.

“Alright, kittens. Get ready, we’ll start the lesson in a bit” The queen said. Her voice was a little hoarse.

Everyone nodded and gave a chorus of “yes Jelly”, and Quaxo’s ears perked forwards.

He’d heard that name from Macavity before. Jellylorum. He said she used to take care of Tugger and Munkustrap when they were young. Idly, he wondered whether she’d taught Macavity to dance, too.

In her arms, she held Electra, and she was grooming the kitten clean. If Quaxo stopped breathing, a tiny purr made its way to his ears. His lips thinned in a line, brows knitting together, and he was too itchy to sit still anymore.

He licked his paw and smothered the sparks, then he jumped down. He’d had enough.

He found Alonzo at the entrance of the nursery.

“Follow me.” Alonzo said, leaving no space for niceties. “We’re going to reinforce the fence on the border.”

Quaxo frowned. “Right.”

He didn’t know Alonzo well yet, so he kept his mouth shut - but he didn’t see the point of that task. There was no fence on the forest’s side. If anyone wanted to intrude, they could come from there. Besides, any cat could climb it without fuss.

“There’s this thing the humans use to keep strangers away,” Alonzo continued, walking ahead. His long legs gave him a notable advantage over Quaxo, who was struggling to keep up. “I’ve seen some on the edge of the junkyard, in the piles towards the edge. We’ll get it first.”

“What are we looking for?” Quaxo asked, mostly out of habit. Alonzo shot him a look. The same one he’d been giving for the past two nights. “What?” Quaxo asked, exasperated.

“Why do you talk like that?” Alonzo asked, eyes narrowed. “You’ve done this before.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Quaxo said, keeping his chin high even as Alonzo stepped closer. He didn’t think Alonzo would attack - but if he tried, Quaxo would be ready.

“Munkustrap said you’ve been with other cats. Who were they?”

“I…” Quaxo hesitated, looking around for anything that might serve as a distraction. He didn’t find it. So, instead, he played up a pained look. “It’s been a long time. I don’t remember them anymore.”

Alonzo hummed, clearly unsatisfied. “How long? How old even are you?”

This time, Quaxo almost considered lying - except he had no idea what number to pick, and he could have said he was Tugger’s age, but Tugger didn’t seem very old, and none of the adults treated him like an equal. His hackles rose, electricity prickling at his skin, and he forgot he was supposed to look sad. “I was just really small. I've been alone since then.”

“In the city.” Alonzo said, raising a brow like he didn’t believe him.

Quaxo nodded.

Alonzo scoffed. “I happen to come from the city, too.” he straightened, puffing out his chest in pride. “I’ve been all over, and a lot of cats there aren’t any good. How do I know you’re not one of them?”

That was something he could use. Quaxo let his brows furrow and stepped forwards “Well, by that logic, how are you any different?” His nose barely reached Alonzo’s chest. “I was told this was a safe place, and Munkustrap said I can stay. Hasn’t he done the same for you?”

Alonzo raised his lip, showing a hint of canines. “You don’t know anything. Munksutrap trusts too easily, but I’m keeping my eyes on you.”

Quaxo made sure Alonzo could tell he wasn’t intimidated. He didn’t back down, didn’t falter. His tail swayed from side to side. “So, then, what are we looking for?”

“Thin metal string. Don’t whine if you get stung on the thorns.”

And so they set to looking. It didn’t take long for Quaxo to spot the edge of something that fit Alonzo’s description buried in a pile. The wire had threads, tangled and twisted around each other, littered intermittently with twin spikes that pointed up and down. “Alonzo,” he called. “I think I found it.”

Alonzo walked over, bending down and inspecting it. “Yes. Looks right.” He made a few attempts at moving the trash around it, but it didn’t budge. He was studying and digging uselessly at scraps bunched so tight against each other, they might as well have been welded into one giant piece.

Quaxo couldn't help testing him. “Are you gonna get it?” He asked, tilting his head innocently.

Alonzo gave a short hiss. Quaxo quickly jumped back.

“Very funny.” Alonzo growled, but it held none of the venom Macavity’s voice did when Quaxo spoke out of line. “Go find something to grab it with, I’ll try to get this stuff off”

Quaxo watched him as he stepped backwards, but the tom was busy fiddling with a piece of plastic that emerged from the compacted pile, completely ignoring him. Quaxo ran off, and Alonzo didn’t follow.

He felt elated with his discovery. So he went around the piles, searching for something thick enough that the thorns wouldn’t pierce. After climbing a few mounds, he found a thick fabric, vaguely shaped like a paw and of a faded orange, and a blue circle made of smooth and soft material. Quaxo had to pull it out from under the scraps, and it stretched before coming loose, smacking into his paws. “Ow” he hissed.

“Did you get stung?” Alonzo called out from below.

Quaxo rolled his eyes. He made his way back, stretching the blue thing between his paws. It felt nice.

Alonzo had managed to free up some of the space around the wire. He’d dug a hole around it, and a new pile of miscellaneous items laid at his feet. Deeper inside, though, the wire was trapped under a large wooden slab. It looked heavy, mostly from bearing the weight of everything on top.

“Here” and Quaxo passed Alonzo his finds. But Alonzo didn’t acknowledge him or take them.

“You use those and pull the wire, I’ll lift it.” He said, waving a paw in the air between them dismissively.

Quaxo felt sparks run under his skin. “Fine.”

Alonzo couldn’t lift the slab. Unsurprisingly, he seemed to have no intentions to admit it.

“Can’t we just find more?” Quaxo asked. His arms were sore from pulling, and he was getting so bored that staring at the threads of the fabric on his paw would have been more entertaining.

“Wouldn’t be enough. Most of what’s around is just small pieces.” Alonzo mumbled.

Annoyed, Quaxo stepped away for something else that they could use. Alonzo complained behind him, but he paid it no mind. He found what he was looking for: a thick metal bar that was about as tall as him.

“Let me try.” Quaxo said.

Alonzo scowled. “No way. You’d only hurt yourself.”

Quaxo pressed forwards regardless and wedged the bar under the slab. He tried wiggling it a few times, but it didn’t budge. Before Alonzo could stop him though, Quaxo slammed his paws down. The slab shifted, and so he kept pushing and working the bar until something loosened, and it lifted a few inches. His chest filled with pride, even though it strained with effort, especially when he caught Alonzo’s wide eyed stare and open mouth.

“Pull!” he yelled, weighing on the bar with his whole body, and Alonzo sounded like a broken record, repeating “You’re gonna hurt yourself” but he grabbed the temporary glove and then the wire and heaved, tugging and prying it from the trash it was pressed under, until it all came loose. Quaxo let go, feeling a good kind of sore in his chest and his arms. As soon as the slab settled though, scraps started crashing down, disturbed from their previous balance.

Alonzo yelped, Quaxo yowled as something hit his tail, but he ran without looking back, hoping Alonzo would be quick on his paws and save the wire before it got stuck again.

He climbed up a taller pile for safety, watching the rubble fall down with a clatter and covering his ears with an arm to lessen the noise. His tail pulsed with the hit it received, but it was easy enough to ignore. As soon as everything quieted, he picked up on Alonzo’s faint whimpering. Quaxo’s panting almost covered it up, but he jumped down, circling the piles until he found Alonzo on the ground below, wire pooling around him, tail caught in its spires. He was covered in dirt, but he wasn’t actually hurt, Quaxo could tell. He was just grumbling as he worked to disentangle himself, only succeeding in further prickling and tangling his own fingers. He swore each time, too, as if the wire weren’t meant to do that very thing.

He looked ridiculous.

“You need a paw?” Quaxo asked, rubbing his muzzle on his shoulder. There was the hint of a smile tugging at his lips, but he forced it down - probably not a good idea to outwardly make fun of Munkustrap’s…friend? Mate?

“Who taught you to do that?” Alonzo exclaimed, immediately distracted, and he sounded genuinely surprised.

Quaxo stepped closer. “Haven’t you ever pried a trash can open? I’m not that strong, but I can work around it.” He stole the blue thing from Alonzo’s paw and started taking out the knots one by one.

“Not that s-” He started, but then he stopped. He scoffed, dusting himself off when he was finally freed. Quaxo just raised his eyebrows at him. Alonzo’s expression turned to a poor imitation of anger, and he grabbed his tail to lick it clean of the trickles of blood that were starting to turn the white fur pinkish. “Of course I have.”

They kept gathering more wire - Quaxo had to admit Alonzo was right, there was nothing but trimmings left - and Alonzo made good on the time they were, on Quaxo’s opinion, wasting, by asking questions about how much of the city he knew, or where he came from exactly, and did he know his parents, or any relatives, and how did he learn to hunt, and Quaxo felt vaguely reassured that Alonzo seemed to be so suspicious, because really, at least one cat had a brain in this whole junkyard.

Too bad he was entirely harmless, and mostly just annoying.

“You’re doing it wrong.” Alonzo said.

They’d dragged the wire to the fence and had climbed up to wrangle it with knots over the top. Transporting it and then lifting it had been a prickly business, mostly for Alonzo, because Quaxo was extremely mindful of keeping all of his uncovered body away from it.

Quaxo sighed internally. “How?”

“It’s going to be too spread out.” Alonzo said, gesturing at his own work. He’d bunched it all up, creating big loops that, to be entirely fair, no cat could jump through without remaining caught.

“Yeah, but that’s the point. You can’t see it from below like this.” Quaxo’s, on the other hand, was flat to the uppermost chainlink of the fence.

Alonzo huffed. Quaxo almost felt satisfied.

“How would you think of that?” Alonzo asked.

Almost.

“I mean, isn’t that the whole reason we’re putting this here? So no one will be able to just climb over it? It’s not hard to imagine.”

“Yes, but there’s still too little wire this way.”

Quaxo widened his eyes and thinned his lips in annoyance. He complied, but still didn’t do it quite the same way Alonzo wanted it. They were just wasting it at this point, but whatever. He didn’t care.

On top of that, it was obvious that Alonzo was getting tired. He’d stopped talking, his breath was laboured, but he kept going as if he weren’t. Maybe he wanted Quaxo to call off first, but that wasn’t a battle he was going to win.

The moon was low in the sky and the horizon was starting to turn into that reddish hue when Munkustrap found them instead.

“Lonzo? What are you still doing up there?” He called.

“Just finishing up.” Alonzo answered, not taking his eyes off of his work. Quaxo raised his tail for him, but didn’t say anything.

Munkustrap climbed halfway up. He stopped an arm’s length below them, leaning back to check how much they’d covered. “That’s a lot of wire.”

Not nearly enough, Quaxo thought, rolling his eyes.

“What happened to you?” Munkustrap asked, noticing the dust on Alonzo’s fur. “Did you gather all that today? And how long have you been-” He glanced at Quaxo, then back to the other. “Alonzo.”

“What?” Alonzo asked, and for once, it wasn’t Quaxo who was snapping at him.

Munkustrap sighed. Long and heavy, and Quaxo thought of Macavity when he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Both of you, time to head back.” Munkustrap said.

Quaxo waited for Alonzo to jump down before he obeyed, refusing to be the first to relent.

Munkustrap didn’t neglect to give Alonzo a forehead rub that went all the way to their cheeks, and they looked each other in the eyes for a few seconds. Munkustrap had a deep frown, Alonzo just looked to the side with an aimless glare. Quaxo heard a purr from the spotted tom, but it was squashed down immediately. Alonzo walked away, and Munkustrap turned to Quaxo, tail and ears beckoning him in the direction of the clearing. He smiled, but it was forced.

“I really hope he wasn’t too hard on you.” he said, and Alonzo was already way out of earshot, walking far ahead.

Quaxo shrugged. “I don’t mind. But, uh, I was wondering why you need to reinforce the border? I mean, I thought this place was safe. Did something change?”

“That’s still true, for the most part.” Munkustrap sighed. “I wish we didn’t have to, Quaxo. But…” and he paused, looking at him a little too long. His eyes had that same sad downturn from the first day they met. Quaxo grit his teeth, but didn’t speak. “Nothing’s happened yet, at least not inside the junkyard. It’s more of a preventative measure.”

Quaxo hoped Munkustrap would address the giant gap in that plan that was the forest, or even the bottom of the fence, but apparently he either didn’t think of it, or had no interest in talking about it. Either way, Quaxo wasn’t going to bring it up yet. “Right.” The more important matter, it seemed to him, was that these cats were preparing for something. “Against what?”

“Oh, well…” he looked to the side, and Quaxo could tell he did not want to have this conversation. “There’s some not so well intentioned cats around, and we don’t want to be taken by surprise. They usually stay in the city, but-” and he glanced rapidly at Quaxo, but didn’t hold his gaze. Quaxo’s sparks gave him a sudden jolt, and it hurt, and sent his mind reeling, and he didn’t hear the end of Munkustrap’s sentence.

“What?” Quaxo asked, and his voice was strained.

“I just said- are you okay?”

“Fine.” He forced out. “What were you saying?”

It seemed Munkustrap finally learned better than to insist. Quaxo was relieved, but he also felt like hitting him. His muscles ached again, and was he shaking?

“Just that there’s been some more movement lately, so we’re playing it safe.” Munkustrap said, and wasn’t that vague. “You should rest. Alonzo and I will take care of dinner, and I usually do morning patrol alone anyways.”

Quaxo just nodded.

Munkustrap couldn’t know, Quaxo thought, over and over, running for the city. He’d run off after dinner, avoiding the kittens and the queens altogether.

It had to be a coincidence. Clearly. Munkustrap thought something happened when they went to the city, and he must’ve thought it had to do with those cats that loitered the streets, and that had to be why. Nothing to do with Quaxo himself. No chance.

He couldn’t hope to scour the endless web of alleyways for Tugger, but he could at least check the one they last went, and maybe he’d get lucky. He stuck to the high places as he made his way through, and the streets reeked of pollicle even more than they did of humans and smoke. It was odd, but it wasn’t exactly surprising either. Sometimes dogs just moved around.

The alley was empty.

So he tried the forest next.

Tugger had been there at sunrise the day he met him. Nevermind that Munkustrap had certainly looked already, that he'd just been there to hunt, and he would've met him first.

Quaxo climbed up every tree big enough to hold Tugger’s weight, looking out into the underbrush.

The sun broke through the leaves, hitting everything with mottled light, and it warmed his back and his arms.

There was nothing but birds on the branches and squirrels and bugs going about their day all over. There were ants on the tree, big and black, carrying bits of leaves and bark.

Quaxo sat there, breathing hard, staring at the ants because anything else would be too much. His sparks were running high, his whole body shaking. His own pounding heart was all his ears picked up on.

He dug his claws in the branch, desperate to keep his paws still. He'd look again tomorrow. He had time, he repeated to himself. Tugger was waiting for the right moment. He had time.

Eventually, he went back to the junkyard. He wasn’t going to the warehouse today - Macavity wouldn’t be there, anyways.

He heard the tell tale noise of tiny paws coming down the pile, and he headed for his den. The smell that hit his nose was entirely his own, a stark contrast to what he’d been able to smell back at the warehouse. He buried his face in his paws, only half trying to fake sleep, but his ears kept twitching and his tail wouldn’t sit still at his side.

Victoria, as usual, wasn’t deterred. She came up to the opening of the den, waiting.

Quaxo sighed and lifted his head. Victoria smiled as soon as he opened his eyes. She stepped away, and Quaxo wondered whether she was leaving already - but then she stopped, and Quaxo could see her shoulders rise when she took a deep breath - she bent at the waist, all the way down, then came back up and moved into first position. Passé, then a flourish of arms, slow and precise, and she raised them to encircle the rising sun.

In the back of his head, Quaxo remembered that Tumblebrutus had asked him to watch them dance, and he’d left before they even started.

Victoria twirled around, and ended in front of the den, arms twisted and extended towards him.

Quaxo could tell when he was being invited to dance. He did it all the time to Macavity, and Macavity, every once and a while, would do it to him. It was usually a challenge between them, to see who could lead the longest - but Victoria’s posture held none of that. Her head was thrown back towards the sky, body arched towards him, breathing even.

His tail thumped on the ground. His sparks were buzzing loud enough that he could hear it, but at least she couldn’t.

He didn’t move.

It felt like an hour before Victoria resumed dancing, occasionally moving closer, enough to reach out and touch, then away, graceful and light as a feather, and he knew firsthand how difficult it was to look that way. He found himself on the tips of his paws, even while laying down his stomach barely touched the ground, limbs ready to spring. He watched, and for once, he could ignore the endless calls and skittering of mice, of shrews, of birds lurking in the piles. He saw Victoria jump, and twirl, and he felt airless, and he forgot about Munkustrap and Tugger. His sparks only got worse, but he barely felt them.

And then she came at arm's length, and held her paws towards him again, panting and smiling. Quaxo stared at pink paw pads, and, slowly, he pulled out his own paw from underneath him. He wasn’t sure what he was thinking - he couldn’t touch her without hurting her, not with how intense the sparks were.

But when he danced with Macavity, his electricity lessened - it left with every kick and spin, and he’d never shocked Macavity, he’d always been careful. Maybe he could be careful with her, too?

Victoria waited. Quaxo’s paw stayed above hers, not touching.

Macavity would always grab him with such strength, it would tip him off balance. He knew nothing else - they never danced so calmly as Victoria did, so peacefully. He could feel, even now, Macavity’s claws close around his arm, tugging, digging in, pushing and pulling.

His paw wavered. Victoria tilted her head, a sad look in her eyes. He retreated in his den, turning his back to the opening and hiding his head and flattening his ears so he wouldn’t have to hear her leave.

Chapter Text

Quaxo didn’t get any sleep that day but, by sunset, he was still wide awake. He felt more alert than he had in a while, and he wondered whether that was the sort of energy Munkustrap was running on all the time.

The night passed much the same as the last, except that, when Quaxo was untangling the wire on the fence with Alonzo, Munkustrap was there too, supervising to make sure they got along. Quaxo wasn't in the mood for arguing anyways, despite the fact that he kept getting his paws and arms pricked, clumsy and distracted by every noise around him, and it was beyond irritating.

“Is there going to be a storm or something?” Alonzo said.

Munkustrap squinted at the sky. “Looks about as cloudy as usual to me. Why?”

“The wire is all electrified” Alonzo complained, smoothing the hair on his head, “Ugh, it makes my fur stand up”

Quaxo continued on, hoping they’d drop it.

“That’s weird,” Munkustrap answered, “maybe it got caught on something somewhere along the way?” and he grabbed the fence to climb up, causing it to shake.

Quaxo stepped back to allow Munkustrap some space, but his back paw missed the railing, and he went tumbling down. He held on for dear life, claws grabbing the fence as his legs slammed into it, and it rattled with a harsh, echoing noise that startled him enough to let out a garbled meow. Alonzo rushed over with an arm outstretched, and Quaxo hissed.

“Jeez, fine. Help yourself” the tom scoffed, going back to his own work.

Quaxo climbed up with some effort. His body stung and hurt, sparks flared up under the skin all of a sudden, and he had to try his hardest not to smack his own head to smother them. Instead, he grabbed the wire again, aware of Munkustrap watching him.

“Maybe we should call it a night.” Munkustrap said, and his voice was concerned but his muzzle looked like he was thinking of something else. Quaxo lingered on the fence after the toms jumped down and, shakily, he turned his head to check behind himself - but no sparks were breaking off the fur.

It was when he and Alonzo were coming back from the last hunt that Quaxo noticed something was different.

There was a concerning number of unfamiliar smells in the air, a ruckus of voices he’d never heard and one, above all, that stood out among the rest, sing-songy and self satisfied.

Tugger was back.

Every step Quaxo took felt like walking into his own tomb. It was just his luck that he had to be with Alonzo for it, because Munkustrap had left without saying where or when he’d be back, and so for a moment, he considered running off. Leaving, and never coming back - but then what? He couldn't very well face Macavity after such a laughable failure.

And so, when the clearing came into view, Quaxo hugged the pile in his arms to prevent it from falling off his unsteady paws and took in his surroundings with a shuddering breath, trying to judge how quickly he’d be overwhelmed the moment Tugger chose to spill.

The verdict was tremendously quick.

There were cats everywhere. On the piles, lounged Jenny, Jellylorum and that tom who always accompanied her. Most of the crowd, composed of the kits, Plato included, and a handful of cats Quaxo never met, was gathered around the car hood. Tugger sat there, a red queen laying beside him. Two calicos, a queen and a tom, rambled on, fussing about Tugger’s neck with something spikey and black that everyone seemed oddly fascinated by. The red queen didn't seem nearly as enraptured, probably because she sported a similar thing around her own neck. Her half lidded eyes wandered in Quaxo’s direction, and he had to dig his claws in the ground not to make good on his thoughts of bailing right in that instant as a chill settled between his shoulders.

She laid in a way so poised it couldn’t be casual - the slight tilt to her head, her front paws crossed one over the other with well manicured claws peeking out, her tail idly curling and thumping on the car. He'd only barely seen her, back on his first night, ushering away the queen he'd upset - now, it was hard to read whether there was resentment or indifference in her attitude.

Alonzo, for his part, just grumbled as usual. “Of course this is what he comes back for”

“Lonnie!” Pouncival shouted, jumping up and running towards them to headbutt Alonzo’s legs, and Quaxo might’ve teased him about it any other day but, as it was, he was too busy being observed by more than a dozen eyes.

Etcetera lit up, dragging Electra with her to greet him. They said their hellos, and he responded with a voice that threatened to break, which only made him feel worse. He was trying to force his ears to stick off his skull, his tail to unwrap from his leg, but it was a lost cause.

Most of the crowd just seemed curious. A sleek colorpoint lounged next to Victoria, nodding along as the kit pointed at Quaxo with a flourish of signs. A brown tabby was climbing over Tumblebrutus’ shoulders to see better, mostly just pushing him down to half of his height. For once, Plato’s menacing glare felt like a small comfort - at least that one he knew how to handle. Tugger himself regarded him with an expression Quaxo couldn’t decipher, all tight muzzle and furrowed eyebrows.

The two calicos, however, must’ve found the situation incredibly funny, because they smiled even wider. “Who's the new kit?” One of them asked. Quaxo bristled, but he didn’t say a word. If Tugger was going to out him, the last thing they'd learn about him would be his name.

“Ohh, hi! Since when did you join?” the queen jumped down to inspect him closer, and Quaxo took a half step back, thankful for how Etcetera and Electra created a barrier between him and her, and then he felt slightly dumb, because they were only kittens. “He can hunt already?” she rubbed Etcetera’s head, laughing in a high pitch. “When are you kits gonna learn and stop freeloading off these poor toms, eh?” Cettie pushed her paw off with a laugh of her own.

“Have we been gone that long?” The tom asked, “Whose kit even is he?”

“Munkustrap’s charge, now.” The red queen interjected, and Quaxo inhaled sharply at the sound of her voice, sparks making his paws restless. “Just walked in a few nights ago.”

“Ha! Munk’s got a handful doesn’t he?” the tom said, snickering, and Quaxo had no clue what that meant. He jumped off the car, coming closer, “Have we met?” he asked, rubbing his chin with pursed lips.

Quaxo was stuck staring at the tom’s eyes, that laugh bouncing between his ears, and he thought he had heard it before, but he wasn’t sure whether the tom was serious or not, because his expression seemed overly dramatic for such a loaded question. The queen pushed him to the side, and so they started bickering amongst themselves. “You’re scaring the poor thing, Mun!”

“I don't assume any of you bothered to feed the kits?” Alonzo asked, ignoring the two.

Quaxo almost flinched when Tugger opened his mouth, waving Alonzo off. “Actually, I brought a banquet, you're just late.”

Alonzo huffed. “Well, if no one's gonna eat this-”

“Nonono, we'll eat it!” the calicos chorused, immediately reconciled, and Pouncival and the brown tabby joined in, making grabby motions at Alonzo as they climbed over each other to be the first in line.

“Wouldn’t want your hard work to go to waste, Lonnie” Mun said, flashing an arrogant grin. Alonzo scowled, but he dropped his stuff, so Quaxo followed suit, quickly scrambling back, and immediately feeling exposed without the weight against his chest justifying his presence.

Tugger wasn't paying attention to him. He was talking to the red queen, who had put her head on his shoulder, and entertaining Victoria as she tackled his tail.

Static started to fill his ears. Etcetera was talking to him, but he couldn't bring himself to focus, and he rubbed at the fur on his chest with the pretence of fixing it, but his claws only caught on tiny knots. “Sorry, I-” He remembered the queens behind him, and when he looked back, he was grateful to find Jenny gesturing at him. “I-” he rasped, pausing just to see if Tugger wanted to interrupt - but he didn’t, he just barely glanced his way like the power he held didn't matter to him. He fixed his eyes on the ground. “I should go see what Jenny needs”

“Ohh, don’t make mom wait!” the calico queen said, and Quaxo barely heard her.

“Hello, dear” Jenny said when he was close, patting the empty space on her side “come sit with us a moment, would you? Keep us company.”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you” Jellylorum said, and the tom beside her, Quaxo realised, wasn't the one he'd seen from afar during the dancing lessons - although he looked very much like him.

“Likewise. I'm Quaxo” he answered, breathless, before sitting down, and he knew his body hurt - but he barely felt it.

“Jellylorum” she said with a smile. Her muzzle had wrinkles Quaxo hadn't seen on a cat yet, not ones that remained so deeply drawn even while relaxed.

“Asparagus” the tom said, and his wrinkles were only half as bad. He held out a paw. It trembled up and down and side to side, Quaxo noted, but Asparagus looked the furthest thing from scared or anxious, though his posture seemed a bit rigid. “Not a fan of the Rum Tum Tugger, I take it?”

Quaxo hummed, glancing back nervously. That was an understatement. “Not really. What, uhm” he said, and when he turned again Asparagus had retreated his paw, tucked it beneath his chest. Quaxo swallowed. “What's the occasion?”

“It's his birthday. Rallied up the entire junkyard for it.” Jenny answered, sounding somewhat exasperated.

“Well, at least we get to be together.” Jellylorum mused, “Haven't had much of a chance in a while.”

The junkyard had definitely felt empty, for the past week - not to mention the way he'd been welcomed. “Do they not, uh,” and he had to pause, because he was out of breath “live here?” He started grooming himself as subtly as he could, but he hardly felt the fur on his tongue.

“Some of them spend most of their time with humans.” Jellylorum explained, “-but Everlasting forbid Tugger didn't let them know tonight was the night he turns all of seventeen years old.” Jenny continued, “Really, I'm surprised he didn't tell you.”

Tugger did tell him. Quaxo just forgot. He'd had bigger things to worry about.

“He's being remarkably tame, too. Usually by now he has everyone singing and dancing” Jellylorum said, shaking her head.

“I'll never understand that tom.” Asparagus mumbled.

“Oh, but he’s a good lad,” Jellylorum said, patting Asparagus’ shoulder, and that was the first time Quaxo had ever heard any sort of compliment directed to Tugger from the adults. “He's just at that age” she continued.

“Well, I’m done talking about Tugger.” Asparagus huffed, waving off Jellylorum’s paw. “You know, I've heard a lot about you, Quaxo. The kits have a lot to say.”

“Oh, really?” Quaxo asked, his attention on the car. The red queen was draping herself over Tugger, while the kits bickered amongst themselves, calicos included. That laugh wouldn’t leave his head.

“I hope they're not too much of a bother,” Jellylorum continued. “When Etcetera sets her mind on something, it's hard to distract her.”

“No, don't- I don’t mind. I understand she's curious.” he answered, grooming his ears so they'd stop insistently turning every which way.

“I’m getting quite curious myself. Where did you learn to dance?” Jenny asked, and Quaxo had enough mind to realise that anyone who had ever been in Etcetera’s earshot must've known about her passionate pursuit by now. The idea that even these cats might want to see him dance was somewhat throwing him off.

“I- I guess I just picked it up. Mostly taught myself.” and it was only half of a lie, “I haven't had much time lately, uhm. Been helping Munkustrap and Alonzo around here”

“Already hard at work, eh? If only every young cat was like you!” Asparagus sighed, pointedly looking in Tugger’s direction. Quaxo hummed. At least all this running around was working in gaining him some approval. But really, wasn't it the bare minimum?

Jenny clicked her tongue. “Oh, speaking of, Alonzo has been coming back covered in dirt and scratches. You've had better luck, I assume?”

“Uh, yeah.” Quaxo lied. “I try to be careful.” The sting of the prickles from earlier felt like a distant memory. As he watched Alonzo being led outside the clearing by the colourpoint queen, he wondered how they took to making fun of him. Unable to stop himself, he continued, “He got his tail caught in the wire the other night”

Asparagus chuckled, and Quaxo felt like he was out of his body.

“Well, he hasn't mentioned that!” Jellylorum laughed, while Jenny shook her head with an amused expression. “You should keep a better eye on your kit, Jelly”

“Oh, quit it. He’s grown enough to know better”

When Quaxo glanced at the car hood again, he was horrified to find Tugger was gone. And then his ears picked up on footsteps, and then he was sitting up - because Tugger, for whatever reason, was approaching them, all raised tail and confident strut. The new thing around his neck could just barely be made out from under all the fur.

“Good evening” he greeted, bowing dramatically and smiling wide - but Quaxo saw something strained in it, too. “How are you, queens? Gus?”

“Quite fine, young boy” Asparagus answered, “No show planned tonight?”

“Nah, we’re taking it easy for now. Munkustrap’s gonna be bothering everyone with rehearsals soon, and I've prepared something very special, don't you worry.” he reassured, paw to his chest.

“Almost thought you got your head on straight for a moment” Jellylorum commented.

“You wound me, Jelly” Tugger pouted, but his eyes quickly moved to Quaxo, “Well, if you don't mind, I was hoping to-”

Quaxo’s blood was rushing in his ears, static building in his muscles, but Tugger didn't get to finish before he was interrupted.

“Tugger!” Munkustrap yelled, in a voice so loud and deep that Quaxo shrunk back. Munkustrap rushed through the clearing, with little acknowledgement to the kits that tried to greet him along the way.

“What did you do this time, boy?” Asparagus asked.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about” Tugger grinned, and Quaxo knew it had to be a show - because how the hell could he smile when Munkustrap sounded like that?

"Where have you been? I've been looking for you for days!" Munkustrap finally came close enough to grab for Tugger’s arm. The grim look on his face was new. Quaxo almost respected him for it.

“Yes Munkustrap, hello to you too, can we do this later? I need to talk to him" he said, nodding towards Quaxo, and it felt like a stab to the stomach.

"No, we're doing this now." Munkustrap stated, and when he turned to Quaxo, his expression didn't soften one bit. Quaxo, perfectly familiar with what it meant, stood before the tom even addressed him. “Would you go find Alonzo?”

“Oh, come on” Tugger grumbled, but Quaxo didn’t waste any time to excuse himself and run off.

He barely spoke a word all the way through patrol. Alonzo might’ve been asking questions. He wasn’t listening.

Tugger wanted to talk.

He must want something in exchange for his silence, he thought.

But then there was the trouble of Munkustrap, who’d been in such a rush that he couldn’t wait one moment to drag Tugger away, that he couldn’t take the time to put on his usual mask of niceness- and maybe he’d just been angry at Tugger, but with everything else that was going on, with how much he’d been questioning Quaxo, maybe the reason he was after Tugger was that he wanted to know what had happened that night in the city, and maybe he was willing to pass on Quaxo because he thought he was a kitten, but Tugger - well, Quaxo had seen how he treated him.

“What the hell is up with you?” Alonzo suddenly stopped, putting himself in front of him.

Quaxo scowled, because it seemed Alonzo understood that sort of language best. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

Where Alonzo wanted this conversation to go, Quaxo couldn't hope to guess. He doubted the tom was interested in what was on his mind. As it stood, he just seemed personally offended that Quaxo hadn’t put up a fuss about how to set the wires tonight.

“Did you even sleep?” Alonzo asked, in what was probably the most sincere tone that had ever left his mouth. Which in turn had Quaxo seething.

“What do you care?”

“Oh Everlasting, lay off. You look like you’re about to drop dead and I’d rather not have to carry you back. And you're slowing us down.”

“Sounds like you're the one who's tired.” Quaxo said, moving forwards. He only resisted shoulder checking Alonzo as he stepped past him because he certainly didn’t need another cat to feel the damn storm raging in his fur.

"What were you even doing instead of sleeping?"

"Why don't you take over Munkustrap's patrols and check for yourself if you're so worried?" Quaxo growled. Alonzo grumbled something about protecting the nursery, but Quaxo ignored him in favor of walking faster.

By the time they came back, dawn had fully broken, and the clearing was empty again, devoid of the noise Tugger had brought with him. The smells still lingered.

His every hair stood on his back, skin prickling with electricity that radiated into his limbs. Alonzo had left him there with a confusing “Sleep” uttered like an order, but Quaxo couldn’t coax his limbs to move and head for his den.

Munkustrap found him, and of course, Victoria was with him. Quaxo didn't need to check - the pattern of her light steps had become one he could tell apart in a crowd.

“Hey.” Munkustrap murmured. There was no trace of anger in his voice and, for once, Quaxo didn’t dare to snap back at the mellowed attitude.

He held his breath, the tip of his tail nervously tapping the ground. Victoria moved in front of him, demanding his attention with a waving paw and a purr. She pointed at him, then somewhere to the left.

“Sorry.” Munkustrap said, pulling her closer to himself with a gentle movement that was so starkly different from what he’d done to Tugger. “She saw Alonzo come back and insisted on finding you.”

“What is she saying?” He almost tripped over his own words. His throat was dry.

“She’s asking if you’d sleep in the nursery with her.”

Quaxo watched her eager gaze, the gentle smile he'd come to get used to from her. She reached out a paw to him, from Munkustrap’s hold, but he turned his head away. “Did you talk to Tugger?”

Munkustrap hummed an assent. “He didn’t want to talk about the city, if that’s what you’re worried about. I told him not to bother you.” he said, and his voice was still low. Maybe he was concerned about waking the others.

Quaxo felt his lip tremble as relief washed over him. His body sagged despite himself, but he dug his claws in the dirt all the same. “Where is he?”

“In my den.” Munkustrap answered, but then he sighed. “Well, last I saw him he was there. I hope he hasn't wandered off.”

“I want to talk to him.” Quaxo said. He stood, and he felt like he was floating, and he didn't feel the ground beneath his paws, but it didn't matter. He needed to settle this before it drove him mad.

“Sure.” Munkustrap didn't sound sure in the slightest. “Let me take Victoria back to the nursery and I'll walk you there.” And so he nudged the kitten, but she meowed in protest, pointing more insistently, adding a few taps to her chin. Quaxo shook his head. She deflated, but let Munkustrap pull her along.

Munkustrap’s den was a simple place, a burrow dug inside a pile, airtight enough that little to no outside light peeked in, and lined in blankets on every side except one. As soon as he stepped past the threshold, all the anger and anxiety that had been plaguing Quaxo throughout the day started flowing out of him.

“What are you playing at, Tugger?”

“Does no one say hi anymore?” Tugger asked, yawning as he got up, and the roof was tall enough for him to barely have to bend his neck.

“You had everyone there.” Quaxo growled, letting his teeth show, voice rising as he spoke “Why didn't you tell them what happened?”

“I told you, I don't care.” Tugger said, unfazed by his display of aggressiveness.

Quaxo’s tail lashed, and he didn’t care that it kept bumping into the wall. “Why did you want to talk to me then? What do you want from me?”

Tugger hesitated, and that told Quaxo all he needed to know. “I don't want anything.”

“Liar.” he spat.

“Hey, weren't you the one who told me to get over myself? Take a page out of your own book!”

“You must want something, Tugger. What other reason would you have not to tell your tribe - your family - that there's a dangerous cat right under their noses?”

“Dangerous?” Tugger scoffed. “You came in here, fetched lunch” he said, counting on his paw as he stepped forwards, but Quaxo didn’t budge, “had a skirmish with the kittens - and then apologised. You may be a jerk, but I'd hardly call you dangerous.”

“Try me” he threatened, and Tugger quieted. Quaxo let the air around him charge. The blankets lent themselves well to it, and so the heat grew and built on itself, heavy and oppressive. “I could really hurt you, if I wanted to.”

Silence hung between them, only occupied by low buzzing. Tugger’s expression turned softer, a frown and a tilt of the head, and then he said, whispering “Do you want to?”

Quaxo hissed, raising his shoulders, because at this point he was just about out of options.

Tugger’s gaze wandered up, above Quaxo’s head, and his eyes widened and his jaw fell open into something like surprise. “Are you doing that?”

Quaxo followed, and found that sparks were jumping off him, drawn to the walls and random objects in the den, lighting up the place in blue and white. He stumbled back, curling into himself as he reeled the energy back in. “Don’t-”

“You can’t control it, can you?”

“Of course I can!” he growled, claws digging in his own arm. He bit down a whimper as the sparks tormented his skin, fighting to be let out. Tugger’s eyes stayed on him, and Quaxo wanted to hurt him. Or maybe he wanted to run.

“I'm not gonna tell.” Tugger said, and his voice lowered again. “You don't need to threaten me.”

Quaxo glared, but only confusion filled his head. “What do you get out of this?”

“I get to know something no one else knows.” He said, shrugging, and Quaxo didn't believe him one bit. They both knew full well that there was one thing he could ask for - the one thing everyone knew but him. But the buzzing died down, the sparks flickered off, Quaxo painfully unwound from his position ignoring the shame warming his ears, and Tugger didn’t ask.

“Let's make a deal,” Tugger eventually said, and Quaxo’s ears perked. “You keep playing nice with everyone else, and I leave you alone. Sound good?”

“Is that what you want?” Quaxo asked, suspicious.

“Sure.” He said, holding out his paw. Quaxo watched it with a raised eyebrow. Tugger tsked. “Oh, come on. I've already felt it.”

For as much as Tugger looked like Macavity, there was no knowing sneer, no funny glint in his eyes, no tension in his posture that alerted to aggression or lying. And Quaxo had no idea what to make of that, except that perhaps, Tugger really was just dumb, and he had been worrying over nothing - or more likely, Tugger was messing with him, and it would all come back to bite him very soon.

But if it at least bought him some time, then it was just Tugger’s loss that he'd get shocked for it. So Quaxo relented, and he raised his own paw, and he did not hesitate once it was there - he was merely checking how strong the electricity was going to be - to bring it forwards until it touched the other’s. A spark travelled from Quaxo’s fur to Tugger’s, and it was visible in the dark den.

Tugger didn’t draw his paw back. He smiled like a kitten in the low light. “You have yourself a deal.”

Chapter Text

Quaxo woke up slowly. Birdsong reached his ears, critters ran around calling each other here and there, and he was just warm enough, comfortably laid on a soft surface that molded to his body.

He breathed in, and something like feathers tickled at his nose. It soothed the weariness in his muscles, chased the itchiness away.

But as he buried his paws deeper, feeling the ground give beneath him, pliable under the tips of his claws, all of a sudden dread filled his stomach, thick like sludge it coated his lungs, and he sprung up at once, choking on his breath and hissing in surprise.

Light flooded his vision and it was so bright his eyes hurt. Electricity sparked on his skin again, burning and buzzing and stinging. It felt like fire.

The birdsong was too close, the critters’ twittering came from the wrong directions, sounds too soft, too varied. And the smells - no metallic undertones, no plasticky staleness - it was wood and moss and dirt.

He wasn't in his den.

He dug his claws into dirt and grass and leaves, trying to catch his breath, and cracked his eyes open, just a bit.

The forest.

He'd wandered in that morning to try and get something to eat. He'd been too hungry to sleep, but apparently he must've dozed off at some point.

A bird sang, high in the trees, louder than all the others. Its chirruping was a popping crackle, and it sounded exactly like the buzzing of his sparks. It broke him out of his panic. He'd never heard it before - he hadn't even known there were creatures that could make that sound. It was comforting, in a way.

The dread in his chest eased as he listened, the sparks slowly retreated. Quaxo scratched at his sides, grooming what he could reach to ease the burning on his skin, and wipe off dirt and grass.

Squeaking caught his attention behind him.

He supposed he never did get dinner after all.

Alonzo and Munkustrap didn't show up that night to fetch him for patrol. Quaxo waited by his den, climbing the piles for a vantage point, because he was jittery and restless and needed something to do, but he'd already hunted and he wasn't too keen on showing up in the clearing. Not with all the cats that might still be hanging around from the night prior.

At least he felt somewhat rested. By some miracle, he hadn't had any nightmares. And yet, this nervousness wouldn't leave him - it almost felt like he'd forgotten something.

Voices came from the path that connected him to the clearing, and it wasn't Munkustrap and Alonzo’s usual grumbling chatter. Quaxo dove for his den, curling up in the corner, bracing for a headache. Why, oh why couldn't they leave him alone for one day.

“Hey! Are you in there?” Soon, Etcetera was calling for him through a metallic banging.

Quaxo pressed his arms on his ears.

“Cettie, don't do that!” Another voice called.

“Sorry” she amended.

Quaxo groaned. He crawled out, slowly, checking that nobody was blocking the entrance.

Etcetera greeted him with a big smile, half draped over the sheet of his den, whole body wriggling.

The kittens were sitting at a more respectful distance in the small clearing in front of his den. Electra and Pouncival argued between each other, while Tumblebrutus stood straight as a rod with his paws behind his back. Victoria sat just a few pawsteps behind, smiling pleasantly. Plato was right beside her, glaring much less amiably.

“Hello! We've come to cheer you up.” Cettie said, matter of fact.

“What?” Quaxo asked, halfway to a scowl.

“You always look so sad” Electra said, “-and grumpy” Cettie added. Quaxo, feeling more than a twinge of irritation in the form of sparks on his nape, was about to protest, before Pouncival jumped in between them, “-and we were gonna play hide and seek!”

“Hide and seek?” Quaxo cleared his throat, rubbing at the back of his neck, trying not to sound like it was the first time those words left his mouth.

“Yeah, you have to join us! It'll be fun!” Cettie said, nodding repeatedly.

“I really don't have time to play. I need to go find Munkustrap, get you all breakfast, patrol, all of that.” Quaxo said, making a show of stretching.

Plato’s voice cut through the kittens’ chatter. “You won't find him. Him and Alonzo went to the city.”

“They didn’t tell me that.” Quaxo frowned, and his paw hung in the air from where it was going to smooth the fur on his head. “Do you know when they’re coming back?”

“Not for a while.” Plato said. Quaxo hummed. How helpful.

“And Plato already got us breakfast.” Electra informed.

“We got to watch!” Pouncival added, grinning with bared teeth as he mimicked stalking prey, body low to the ground. Then, he sprung up in front of Tumblebrutus with his arms wide and a poor imitation of a growl. The poor tom stumbled back while Pouncival laughed.

“We saved you something” Electra said, bapping Pouncival on the nose, while Victoria nudged Tumblebrutus forwards. He hesitantly obliged, stopping much further than all the other kittens usually dared, eyes pointed somewhere over Quaxo’s shoulder, and drew his paws out from behind his back. They were far enough that he could extend his arms all the way, and there was still space left between them, but Quaxo was more interested in what was in those paws.

“Did you catch that?” He asked, having trouble hiding his surprise. It was a squirrel, and just the sight of it renewed the pain of a hundred tiny scratches and scars on his skin. They were persistent little things, with claws as sharp as they were small. It had taken him moons to catch his first, and then, it was another moon before he actually put one down. He would’ve given up entirely, if it weren’t for Macavity forcing him to.

Tumblebrutus seemed strong, sure, but Quaxo had seen how he kept tripping over his own legs.

“No! I mean, no uh, I- it was Plato” Tumblebrutus explained. And well, that made more sense.

Victoria gestured for Quaxo to take the prey, with a meow and a purr.

“Thanks.” Quaxo muttered, any hint of admiration lost through gritted teeth, and tried to think of where the hell he was going to put it. Tumblebrutus scrambled back as soon as his paws were free.

“Well, eat!” Etcetera encouraged, “So we can play!”

Quaxo sighed, trying to hide a growl behind a huff. “I’m not playing. I already told you, I’m not a-” but as he spoke Plato’s eyes narrowed, the bridge of his nose wrinkling further in clear irritation, and the words died on Quaxo’s tongue.

“What, scared you'll lose?” Pounce snickered, moving his tail this way and that in a challenging manner.

“I wouldn't lose.” Quaxo’s own tail lashed to the side, hitting the metal sheet of his den behind him.

Electra leaned over to Cettie. “I don't think he knows how” she whispered in her ear, to which Cettie gasped. Quaxo felt his ears grow warm.

“Is that true? You don't know?” Pouncival asked, inching closer with exaggerated suspicion.

“Of course I do.” Quaxo answered, and he had to stand straighter to match Pouncival with a scowl.

“Then how- hey!” Pouncival started, but suddenly bent at the waist, and Quaxo stepped back, startled. Etcetera had jumped on his back, pushing him down by the shoulders to make herself taller.

“We hide and then- well first you pick who searches for the others, then they hide, and you have to count! And then you search, and when you find them, they run and you have to catch them. But you have to keep your eyes closed, obviously.”

Quaxo frowned at Etcetera’s ramble, trying to piece it together. Hiding, searching, somebody to count…something. And running, apparently. So, basically hunting. “Right. I knew all that.”

“You said it all out of order!” Pouncival protested, pushing himself back up against Etcetera.

“No I didn't!” she protested, forcing his head down with a paw. “Will you play? Say yes- oof” Her grip slipped, and both her and Pouncival ended up falling on the ground in a puff of dust. Plato stood halfway, wide eyed, but the kittens began bickering between themselves, batting at each other’s paws until Pouncival hissed and rolled away, and he sat down again.

“I really don’t-” Quaxo started.

Plato glared.

Quaxo couldn't believe he was doing this.

“Ugh, fine.” he huffed.

Etcetera cheered, and he turned his ears away. “But I’m not running.” He added.

“Boring!” Pouncival stuck out his tongue at him.

“Well, it’s this or nothing.” Quaxo grumbled. “You hide, then I guess where everyone is from here. Eyes closed and all.”

“How will you find us without looking? We could be anywhere!” Pounce argued.

“You can’t go too far” Electra said, and her tone was about as stern as Jenny’s, “we’ll hide in this clearing”

Pouncival complained, but Etcetera shushed him, batting at his arm until he relented. “Fine. But I bet he can't find us and we win.”

Quaxo could feel a headache forming. He rubbed a paw on his muzzle, breathing in and out slowly to keep the sparks down. “Let's make this quick before I change my mind.”

Etcetera grabbed Victoria’s paw. “Okay, you count up to…”

“Twenty!” Electra piped up, “and don't cheat!” she warned, narrowing her eyes in all of her fluffy glory. “Plato, make sure he doesn't cheat.”

Plato nodded with the same amount of seriousness. “Sure.”

The kittens giggled. Pouncival still seemed sceptical. “Close your eyes!” He ordered, pointing with a claw.

Quaxo, despite himself, obeyed.

He heard the kittens’ paws hit the ground and run off in different directions. A few objects were dislodged off the piles, some clashed together, critters scattered and shrieked at the sudden intrusions.

“You have to count.” Plato reminded him.

“Right.” Quaxo agreed, barely resisting flashing his teeth at him.

He felt itchy all over, and a little more than an idiot, sitting there counting out numbers, and his voice was jarring enough that he couldn't tell which set of steps belonged to which kit, and this was really, really stupid.

But, for some reason, Plato wanted him to do it, and Quaxo was supposed to play nice, as per a certain tom’s wishes, and it wasn't like he had anything better to do, with Munkustrap gone. So sit there and count he did.

Glad to finally be done, he held his breath and turned his ears in each direction. Muffled giggling came from behind his den. And there, up at the very top of the mound opposite him, was a soft, tiny thumping - of something like fur hitting hollow metal. Closer to the entrance of the clearing, where a winding path ended up on the main clearing, a muted purr. Were they even trying?

“Etcetera, behind my den. Electra, in the big tube on top of the pile in front of me. Victoria, by the entrance.”

“That was so fast!” Etcetera exclaimed, jumping out of her spot and hitting the floor with heavy thumps. “He wasn't looking, was he?”

“No.” Plato said, his voice a tad lighter towards the end.

Electra came rolling down the pile, judging by the meows of complaint. “Go check on Victoria!” she called from the ground. A few moments after, Cettie gasped on the other side of the clearing.

“She’s here!!”

“How is he doing it?” Electra, having come closer, whispered. Cettie and Victoria caught up, too, Cettie giggling excitedly.

“Do the boys, do the boys!”

Quaxo didn't feel any sort of thing about it. This was exactly like hunting, and he did it every day.

“Right. Be quiet.”

The kittens shushed each other, but they were most definitely not quiet - from all the shifting and barely concealed giggles, they were still probably signing to each other. His ears flicked at a purr from Victoria, and he rubbed at them, shifting his shoulders to settle the itch between them.

The boys, right.

He sniffed at the air, for good measure. Aside from the girls and their barely smothered chatter, and the mice that tried to pull his attention every which way, there were no leads. He frowned.

“Well?” Plato asked, and Quaxo started to scowl, but then-

“Atchoo!”

Quaxo stood, head whipping to his left.

It was stifled as could be, but it echoed.

He opened his eyes to run and climb up the pile that separated him from the more uneven mess of the other side. He didn’t know it as well as his clearing, but he knew the critters’ patterns by now, their burrows and their paths. And there was only one spot where their calls echoed.

“Pouncival and Tumblebrutus” He called, pushing air out of his chest to be heard as he leaned down, towards the bottom of the pile, “inside the wood box below this pile!”

“No we’re not!” Pouncival yelled back, voice bouncing back another ten times.

The girls made their way over, with Plato hovering close behind, nudging and helping as they slipped, while they laughed and pulled Pouncival out kicking and whining. Tumblebrutus stumbled out of his own will, wiping at his nose.

Quaxo felt as if he’d just finished dancing, a little out of breath and a little lightheaded, as satisfaction filled his limbs, replacing the itchiness and the nerves for just a moment.

“That’s not fair” Pouncival grumbled, once he’d been dragged back to Quaxo’s den. “He blew us!” He pointed to Tumblebrutus, - “It was really dusty in there…” Tumblebrutus defended, sniffling - and then to Quaxo “And you moved! You said you weren't going to!”

“You’re not fair! I said we were going to hide in this clearing” Electra rebutted, stepping in front of Quaxo, and he stared down at her somewhere between surprised and offended, unsure of what he should feel about a kitten defending him. “It’s not his fault you didn’t follow the rules, so it doesn’t count.”

“It wasn’t that far” Pouncival grumbled, kicking at a scrap.

“How could you tell from all the way over here?” Tumblebrutus asked, wide eyed, and his mouth pulled down but his eyebrows shot up.

Quaxo shrugged. “I just follow the sounds. It’s not that hard.”

Plato’s expression was also quite surprised, and while Quaxo wasn't too interested in having his approval, he still made a note of how easy her was to impress. Victoria mostly seemed confused, tilting her head left and right as she watched Etcetera sign.

“I wish my hearing were that good” Tumblebrutus mumbled, rubbing at his ears.

“Can we play again?” Etcetera asked, pointing to Victoria. “Vicky wants to!”

And there, Quaxo was brought down to earth. He was reminded of what he was doing - playing. With kittens. His fur stood slightly from the electricity, and he scratched at the back of his head.

“Ah, no.” he said, glancing at Plato. There were no glares, this time - but Plato had the sense to put up a more serious face. “I should go, now”

“Aww” Cettie whined, “but we were having fun”

“He doesn’t wanna because he knows he won't find me next time” Pouncival said, and Quaxo scowled.

“I bet I would win,” Pouncival said, “we’ll hide both here and in the main clearing. And,” he added, grabbing Plato’s arm, “this time he hides too”

“What?” Plato looked at him like he’d just sprouted another head.

“You were snitching!” Pouncival accused.

“I was not!” Plato looked affronted, bending down so that his arm wasn’t getting yanked on. “I’m making sure you all stay safe!”

“Ohh, yes, play with us!” Cettie said, clapping her paws, “you must know good spots, right?”

“Even if I did, someone needs to watch where you're going.” Plato warned, batting Pouncival away from him with a pointed glare. “The piles are dangerous” The kitten rolled his eyes.

“What if we hide in pairs? Like Pounce and I did” Tumblebrutus suggested. Everyone turned to him, and his shoulders rode so high up his neck wasn’t even visible.

“Yeah!” Cettie agreed, “let’s do that! Promise we'll be really careful! Tell him, Vicky” she signed at Victoria at the same time, and Victoria repeated it at Plato with great emphasis. The tom sighed, his posture loosened just a bit.

“I can’t” he said, sounding like someone who had repeated himself a great deal of times, but his tone was whiney, and his tail batted at the ground nervously. “Quaxo doesn’t even want to" He said, and well, that was a first.

“Do you?” Pouncival urged, jutting out his chin at Quaxo.

“One last time.” he conceded, relishing in Plato’s look of defeat.

In his haste to inconvenience Plato, Quaxo had forgotten that going to the clearing meant he’d see other cats. Most importantly, they’d see him. Playing. He lingered on the edge, trying his best to look inconspicuous as he closed his eyes to try and sound out where the kits were hiding, and everyone was staring at him.

He was sure he could shrug it off if they addressed him, somehow - Plato was playing, too, hiding, as a matter of fact! - Quaxo was just…going along with it. It didn't mean anything. It might even help his reputation. He was being nice, after all. That was what he was supposed to do.

“Hi!”

A squeaky voice reached his ears, and, with everyone else accounted for, it wasn't hard to guess who it belonged to. Sure enough, when he looked down, he found the youngest kitten beaming up at him.

“Hi,” he answered, frowning. “What are you doing here all alone?”

“I’m looking for papa! Have you seen him?” she said, paws lifted pads up towards him.

“Who’s…?” Quaxo asked, head tilting, but he was soon interrupted.

“There you are!” A new voice called, and Quaxo only had to glance up to find himself scrambling back.

A gold and yellow queen rushed over, and she scooped the kitten up in her arms with ease. The kit squealed, wriggling around like she did whenever Munkustrap held her.

“Mom!” she laughed, tilting back to headbutt the queen under the chin. So not only was this queen upset with him, she had a kit. This only kept getting worse.

His heart was pounding. He lowered himself to the ground, and didn’t dare speak first. She stepped back, but she didn't hiss, or scowl at him. He didn't miss how she held her daughter tighter.

“Oh, hello.”

If she was being civil, then he supposed he should do the same. He bowed his head, until his nose was touching the dirt. “Quaxo.” he offered, “I’ve been meaning to apologise for upsetting you.”

"Oh, none of that," She clicked her tongue, in a way that resembled Jenny, but there was distress there, too, and Quaxo didn't know what the hell that meant. “Get up, get up”

He kept still for a few seconds, waiting, tail slowly sweeping the ground, begging his muscles to relax so that sparks wouldn't show on his fur. His brain was playing catch up. It was confusing, and it made his head hurt, how nothing of what he knew seemed to apply here. But the queen didn't speak again, nor did she leave, and so Quaxo had to assume she actually did want him to look up.

He lifted his head, slowly. The queen’s expression eased, arms somewhat loosening, and the corners of her lips lifted just barely. “I should be the one saying sorry. I thought you were someone else, when you came in, and it startled me. It really wasn’t your fault.”

“I can still leave, if you’d prefer.” he answered, a bit too fast. There were no hints of malice in her eyes. She seemed more sad, if anything, as if she were genuinely remorseful. And that made no sense. Why would a queen like her - a mother to such a young kit - whose opinion the junkyard seemed to value more than Munkustrap’s, go back on her word so easily? Why admit she'd been wrong? But most importantly, who else was he supposed to be?

“There’s no need for that. Like I said, it wasn’t your fault,” she took one paw from the kitten to motion him up, and so Quaxo finally relented, standing fully. “I’m Demeter” she said, tilting her body forwards just slightly, an arm extended towards him, and it left her daughter exposed.

If this was a trap, it was a perfect one, because Quaxo couldn’t for the life of him guess what was coming next.

In the meantime, the kitten had twisted in her arms to tap on her chest, calling for her in barely concealed whispers. Demeter covered the small paw with her own. And it occurred to him, then, how he hadn’t seen her since that night, how Munkustrap kept taking the kitten to the nursery, and if Demeter was her mom, that must’ve been where she’d been this whole time - and didn’t the kit say she was looking for her “papa”?

He was so caught up in his thoughts, that he almost missed when Demter picked up the conversation again. “Have you been okay in the junkyard so far?”

Going by her demeanour, she must've been expecting a positive answer. He wondered how much Munkustrap had told her about him. Or Alonzo, for that matter, given how much time the tom spent in the nursery.

“Munkustrap has been kind” he answered, checking for her reaction.

“I’m sure.” He’d guessed right. Her smile grew until it reached her eyes, the edges crinkling a bit, and a semblance of relief bloomed in Quaxo’s chest. “Do you know where the kits are? It’s a tad too quiet”

“Ah,” Quaxo felt his ears grow hot and his tail involuntarily sweeped the ground, “they’re, uhm, hiding” he said, and this could either go really well or backfire horribly. He braced himself, swallowing before he spoke. “I’m supposed to find them”

Demeter’s eyebrows rode up, and she readjusted her hold on the kitten, who was still calling for her. “Well, in that case, I won’t keep you.” she said, much to the kit’s dismay. “I’ll see you around, Quaxo” she said, smile audible in her voice, and left for the nursery, while the kit lifted herself over her mother's shoulder to wave at him. “Bye, Quaxo!”

Quaxo’s legs were still shaking and his ears burning when he called out Etcetera’s name, who had somehow managed to get inside the car hood along with Electra. A few of the cats lounging on the piles gave him weird looks, but thankfully no one had anything to say.

“Did you find the others?” Electra asked, hanging off the edge of the car as she struggled to climb down butt first, while Etcetera held the hood up.

“Not yet” Quaxo said, “a queen stopped to talk to me, so I lost some time” he justified himself, and then he wondered why the hell he felt the need to do that.

They found Victoria and Plato next. The tom’s frantic whispering had given them away - what he was hoping to achieve, Quaxo had no idea - huddled in a hollowed pile at the edge of the clearing. Plato shook himself off when he came out, sparing a few seconds to dust his fur and scratch at his head with a disgruntled expression. Quaxo counted it as a win.

They went back to his den, and Quaxo, again, found himself straining for anything he'd missed so far.

“Where are they?” Plato asked, bending slightly from his perfect posture.

“If you’ll let me listen” he huffed, and Plato immediately righted again.

“I’ve been trying, but” Quaxo paused, hoping to prove himself wrong mid-sentence, only to be hit by nothing but mice squeaks. “-they’re not here”

“I bet he broke the rules again” Electra helpfully provided.

“I knew I should’ve stayed to watch” Plato mumbled.

“Well, they must be somewhere around here” Cettie said, butting her head against Plato’s arm. Victoria sat beside him, pawing at his side, but Plato wasn’t paying attention to her. He wrung his paws together, muzzle tense and brows furrowed. Quaxo felt the grip around his stomach tighten, and he wasn’t quite sure why - it must've just been leftover nerves from meeting Demeter. He sighed.

“We’re looking for them your way, then. We’ll split up so we can cover more ground. Plato, you come with me”

Plato sprung up at the sound of his name. Victoria let herself be led away by an annoyed Electra and a worried Etcetera, and so they all went their separate ways. When Quaxo moved to walk, Plato followed without a word.

Plato did not,however, keep quiet during the search. It didn't render Quaxo’s hearing entirely useless, but all the muttering and mumbling was making his sparks worse, and Quaxo would've been able to hear the words, if he weren't more focused on trying to parse through a dozen other critters and making sure that the buzz of his electricity didn't get too loud.

“What are you going on about?” he snapped.

Plato’s jaw clicked shut, and he straightened. “Nothing, nothing”

Quaxo raised an eyebrow, but he figured if it got him to shut up, it was just as well.

Not five steps later, Plato spoke again.

“I shouldn't have let them drag me into playing, he always does this, what was I thinking-”

“Well then why did you play?” Quaxo asked, lip raising to show teeth. “You could've just said no.”

“I- I don't know” Plato said, sounding very much like he knew. Quaxo’s tail whipped side to side. “I never really play with them, and they drill me as much as you, I just thought- one time couldn't hurt. And you found them so fast the first time-” He cut himself off, “oh, please don’t tell Jenny and Munk- Munkustrap”

Quaxo’s tail stilled. The unease in his chest grew. An acrid smell filled the air, or maybe it was just his nose. “Why not?”

“They’d be so mad” and the way his ears flattened against his skull was as uncharacteristic as it was concerning. “I’m supposed to keep an eye on the kits, especially since Munkustrap’s not around, and…” He paused, then “I don't want to disappoint them.”

Quaxo felt like whatever it was in his chest was going to suffocate him by the end of the night.

It was upsetting to see Plato’s usual stern and composed figure crumble so easily at the thought of another’s reaction. Quaxo had never expected to see him like this - especially not when all he'd done so far had been glare over the kits’ shoulders, but Quaxo thought he understood, now.

Plato wasn’t like Tugger, who laughed in the face of Munkustrap’s anger, or Alonzo, who held himself above it, whether it was out of privilege or pride - he wasn’t so full of himself as to believe himself to know better, or be stronger than his superiors. He was following orders, just like when he'd readily backed up at Munkustrap’s request back on the first night.

That, Quaxo could respect.

“I won’t tell.”

Plato looked a little less nauseous. Quaxo felt a little less like he was going to die, too.

A clatter rang out in the silence, and it jolted them out of the moment. Plato startled, Quaxo turned in its direction faster than he even registered what it was, and bolted.

“This way!”

A few piles over, they were met with a sight that made Quaxo wish he hadn’t come out of his den at all. Plato let out a distressed meow, and it was deafening. Pouncival turned to them with a horrified look, freezing in place.

A mound, caved in at the top, Pouncival at the bottom, digging and pushing and pulling at the trash with little success. White paws peeked out from underneath the pile, and Quaxo feared the worst for an instant - until they moved, scratching at the ground.

Plato rushed forwards, pushed Pouncival aside, stuck his head to the ground, to the small opening between where Tumble was just barely visible in the dim light the moon provided.

“Tumble! Are you hurt?”

“Plato? I’m- I’m fine! I can't get out!” he cried out.

Plato grabbed at Tumblebrutus’ arms, and pulled - but the opening was too tight for him to fit through.

“I- I was trying to get him out-” Pouncival started rambling, but Plato interrupted him.

“How in the world did this happen?”

“We were just going to hide here, and I was looking for something to cover us with,” he said, and he was looking between Plato and the pile, back and forth, twisting his tail in his paws, “but then the pile fell down and Tumble-”

“You should've come get me!”

Quaxo felt himself reeling. His breath caught in his throat, tangled in with something painful and tight, as he stepped back. His eyes were full of the ginger patches of Plato’s fur.

But the shouting didn’t last. Soon, Plato ran his paws over his muzzle, mumbling to himself in a broken voice, and Pouncival moved back to the ground, where Tumblebrutus was calling out for him.

Quaxo shook himself off, grit his teeth, and filled his lungs with air, until there was no space for anything else.

“Pouncival, find a metal bar strong enough to lift this thing” he ordered. Pouncival, instead of arguing, nodded, and only lingered to tell Tumblebrutus why he was leaving before he ran off.

“Plato- Plato!”

Plato’s paws fell from his face, and he looked haunted - wide eyed and breathless - but Quaxo didn't have time to grapple with that.

“Get a hold of yourself, he's fine, and we're going to get him out” he hissed. “Help me make this gap bigger” he continued, and started to pull at some of the looser junk, hoping to lighten the load. Plato, for his credit, seemed to gain his senses back, and began to dig. He started to talk to Tumblebrutus, too, trying to calm him down.

Quaxo wasn’t entirely certain that the whole thing wouldn’t crumble once they tried to pull it up, but they couldn’t just sit around waiting for Munkustrap to come back, and hopefully they’d be able to get Tumblebrutus out before anything bad happened.

“Is this good?” Pouncival asked, struggling to carry a long stick which was most definitely not metal.

“No.” Quaxo said, but still took it from him. It was a thick, elaborate branch - probably from a human’s house - but it thinned towards the end. “It’s going to break.”

“I can't find anything else” Pouncival said, brows furrowed and eyes glassy, and Quaxo felt like yelling.

“We could pull him out with it.” Plato said, seemingly more himself - he'd stopped digging, paws firmly planted on plastic that had emerged beneath the dirt. It crumpled, but didn't rip. “There’s more space now, he might fit”

Quaxo tilted his head. “Huh. Yeah, I guess that could work”

They slid the branch in the gap. “Tumble?” Plato called, “Hold onto this!”

Quaxo grabbed on behind Plato, and Pouncival was quick to follow.

Plato looked like he intended to protest, mouth pulled tight and a thoughtful look in his eyes like Quaxo had seen many times on Munkustrap - but Pouncival set his paws wider on the ground, lowered his head between his shoulders, and stared right back. “I'm helping. It's my fault he's in there.”

And that was that. On the count of three, they began to pull.

With a few grunts, Tumblebrutus’ head managed to push through the gap, then his shoulders. The poor tom was struggling against the trash beneath him, pushing with his back paws, claws scratching at metal. He hissed as he went, debris started to loosen from the pile, and Plato hesitated.

“Maybe we should-”

The pile started crumbling faster. Trash fell around them, something hit Quaxo on the arm, but Tumblebrutus’ chest was almost completely out.

“Keep going!” he growled.

But suddenly, Quaxo felt the stick give. Plato, heedless of his yelling, had let go and was rushing into the raining pile. Quaxo jerked the stick backwards, hitting Pouncival in the chest and pushing him away from the barrage.

Pouncival got up right away, but by then, it was already over. “Plato! Tumble!” He yelled out, jumping on the trash to look around frantically, digging at the spot that looked the closest to where Tumblebrutus had been stuck. Quaxo jumped in to help, heart in his throat - this was not something he wanted on his record - but soon it became clear that they were looking at the wrong spot.

Pouncival turned to Quaxo, tears catching on the moonlight, desperate, a sharp contrast to his earlier cheeky attitude. “Please, find them”

And Quaxo had felt a great deal of things that night, but whatever this was, making his stomach roil and his lip tremble, he wasn't interested in thinking about any further.

“Right” he said, and started sniffing at the trash, hoping to pick up on something besides dust and rusty metal. The only sound that reached him was Pouncival’s sniffling. But if Quaxo stopped breathing, and kept entirely still, he heard a soft thumping, beneath the center of the mound.

“Here, here” He urged, leading the way as he began to grab whatever he could to toss it out of the way. Pouncival joined him quickly, working much faster, maybe out of desperation - and just when it seemed they'd hit a dead end again, faced with a flat slab of some material Quaxo couldn't identify, the trash under their paws trembled, moving from below, as the slab began to lift.

“Plato!” Pouncival called excitedly.

The reply came muffled, but decidedly less joyous, “Pull this thing up!”

“Right!” the kitten answered, and so with all three of them, they made quick work of the thing.

Finally, Plato emerged from the rubble, coughing and gasping as he pulled Tumblebrutus out of the pile before he was even fully out.

“Ow, ow, ow” the kitten complained, but to Quaxo, he looked mostly unharmed - a few scratches and minimal blood, no bones out of place, and Quaxo felt like he could breathe again. It wasn't like he cared for him, of course. But the adults would've certainly been unhappy with him too, had anything happened.

“Tumble! I'm so glad you're okay!” Pouncival immediately ran to him, hugging him so tight that Tumblebrutus started to push away.

“Well, I don't know about okay-”

“What is it? Did you get hurt?” Pouncival asked, letting him go, but still keeping within reach with paws on his shoulders.

“Everything hurts” he answered.

Just then, the girls caught up.

“We heard noise! What happened?” Etcetera ran up to Pouncival and Tumblebrutus, and she didn't give them time to answer before she was running her paws on their fur, checking them both over. “Did the pile fall on you?!”

Victoria rushed forwards, and started doing the same for Plato. He bent for her to reach easier, whining at random intervals. Reassured that the kits were fine, Quaxo moved his attention to him, too.

“Are you okay?” he asked, but when Plato reached out blindly, Quaxo had to step backwards. Victoria helped him steady himself.

“Everlasting, I can't believe I did that” Plato coughed some more, rubbing at his head, “m’fine, m’fine” he mumbled, breathless, rubbing at a spot on his head. Victoria signed something at him, and Plato just looked away, ears flat.

“There’s no way we can keep this from Jenny.” He said, and Quaxo had to agree. Even him and Tugger had fared better with a pollicle - and yet they couldn't keep it from her and Munkustrap that something had gone down.

“Why did you come all the way over here?!” Electra scolded, “You were the one who set the rules!”

“I did tell you it was dangerous” Tumblebrutus mumbled, smoothing the fur on his tail.

“You were right, I should've listened!” Pouncival admitted, ears flat on his head. “And Plato, too. I'm sorry I made you go in there, Tumble. That was stupid.”

Tumblebrutus sniffled, wiping at his face with an arm. “Promise you won't do it again?”

“I promise! And I'll follow the rules from now on!”

“You better” Electra said, smacking a paw on his head.

Plato snorted. “I don't know if I should be more scared of her, at this point” he said, tapping a clawed paw to his chest, eyes on Electra as she kept grilling Pouncival. Victoria giggled, signing something back.

“And you!” Electra whipped around, pointing at Plato with narrowed eyes, “did you seriously jump into an avalanche?!”

“He saved me!” Tumblebrutus spoke up, “that was amazing”

“Yeah!” Pouncival agreed, “don't be mad at him, it was my fault!”

As Electra resumed her lecture - did she never tire? - Tumblebrutus came up to Plato, standing in front of him, hesitant. Quaxo tilted his head, curious. So it wasn't just him Tumblebrutus was nervous with. But then, the kit shot forwards, arms tightening around Plato, who let out an audible "oof".

Quaxo had to strain himself to hear the tiny "thank you" that Tumblebrutus pronounced. While Victoria joined in, rubbing her cheek against Tumblebrutus' head, Quaxo stepped away, climbing higher onto a mound, to keep a look out, or to get away from the noise, not knowing what else to do with himself. Thankfully, none of the kits followed.

After a lot more fussing and arguing, the finally kits decided it was time to get back. Pouncival helped Tumblebrutus, along with Etcetera and Electra, fussing over him and asking him questions, and Quaxo kept an eye on Victoria and Plato as they trailed in the back.

“Thanks for your help.” Plato said, breaking their silence, “I guess I was being too harsh on you. I’m sorry about snapping the other day”

“I don’t blame you.” Quaxo said, for formality's sake. But as he watched Plato, head low and slow gait, knowing what they were walking into - and Quaxo couldn't deny that he felt queasy, too, even though it really wasn't his fault - he added something before he could think twice. “You do a good job protecting them.”

“Oh.” Plato’s ears and head righted ridiculously quick. “Thank you”

“Oh Everlasting, what in the world have you been doing?” Jenny ran to meet them halfway, immediately taking Tumblebrutus from the kits to cup his cheeks in her paws. “Oh, look at you”

“I’m fine.” Tumblebrutus protested, “Plato protected me!”

Plato ducked his head, making himself smaller. “I'm really sorry, Jenny, I-”

“It was my fault!” Pouncival cried, putting himself in front of him. “We were playing and I went too far out and got Tumble stuck-”

“Slow down, slow down, I can't understand a word you're saying,” Jenny said, gesturing for Plato to come closer, arm outstretched. Tumblebrutus was still tucked against her side, looking all too unhappy about it. “Are you hurt? Come inside, come”

Quaxo’s heart was beating too fast, muscles tense in anticipation. Sparks ran from his shoulders to his tail, but the worst part was the knot in his throat, the sludge coating his insides like poison, and he had no business being this nervous. He felt like he needed to apologise, but he hadn't done anything. They weren't even paying attention to him.

He watched as Plato, reluctantly, stepped into her touch. He put his forehead against her paw pads, and bent his head. She slid her paw between his ears and behind his nape, and Quaxo didn't know what it meant that there were no claws threaded into the fur as she guided Plato and Tumblebrutus into the nursery.

The kits followed, except Victoria who lingered, turned to him, holding out her arm.

He stared through her, ears pointed. Waiting. But nothing happened. And it made him want to claw at the door and growl, why, why, why are you so confusing? Plato said they'd be mad. He'd been scared. And yet Jenny had welcomed him so gently with a worried frown, and nothing was happening. And Quaxo supposed disappointment wasn't always loud - but he knew it when he saw it.

Instead, Demeter peeked her head out of the entrance, eyes immediately locking on him.

“Quaxo, hey. Would you like to come in?”

Quaxo swallowed, looking for an excuse to leave in the whirlwind in his mind. “I-” he had to try a few times to find his voice, “I should- patrol.” He improvised. “Is Munkustrap back?”

“Not yet,” she shook her head, sighing, and gave him that sad look again.

“Okay,” he swallowed, stepping back, “I'll go then”

Demeter didn't object, but after a few steps, he realised Victoria was following him. The queen exhaled through her nose, smiling. “I think she wants to come with. If it's a bother, I can tell her no”

And Quaxo couldn't guess why Demeter didn't just get Victoria to come to her, especially considering what had just happened, but then again, he wasn't going to indebt himself to her in any way.

“It's fine. I'll keep an eye on her.” He said, and couldn't help ducking his head out of habit.

Demeter nodded, sending them off with a warning to bring Victoria back before dinner time.

He followed the usual route for patrol, and it felt much like it had earlier with Plato, except this time his companion’s chatter wasn't quiet muttering, it was meowing to point his attention to something she'd noticed, or occasional scratching as she dug her nails into some particularly pleasant texture they found along the way, or quiet rumbling when she tried to climb somewhere she really shouldn't. The walk and the constant distractions helped ease his nerves, at least, but a lingering unease sat in his bones, making every breath hurt, and it was somehow worse than the itch in his skin.

At one point, they spotted a mouse. He wasn't interested - he'd like to get Victoria back before it got late, but she stopped for it, eyes focused, body low to the ground, and Quaxo supposed it would be rude to scare it away, so he stopped, too.

Victoria pounced, arms shooting out and mouth open, and landed a good tail length away from her target, hitting her chin on the ground. The mouse crawled into the cracks between the piled junk, not even bothering to run.

She straightened and rubbed at her jaw, pouting. Quaxo almost smiled, amused, trying to resist being mean about it - until a thought crossed his mind.

“Wait,” he exclaimed, “you can't hunt!”

Victoria tilted her head at him, none the wiser.

“Plato’s been getting you those mice! And you've been bringing me-” Quaxo stuttered. Sparks itched at his nape, and he pulled his lips in a scowl. “You know what?” He said, and Victoria just stared back, smiling, and Quaxo had to wonder if she could tell what he was referring to. “I don't think I like mice anymore”

Chapter Text

The day went by without a blink. The air was wet and heavy, promising a storm, and Quaxo’s sparks lit up the den, buzzing lowly, reacting to the humidity. He didn't even try to push them down. If anything happened, if they caught on something a little too flammable in this mess of a place the Jellicles called home, if the smoke rose outside of the den, maybe they’d blame it on lightning.

Macavity would know it was him, though. He always knew.

Thunder rumbled in the far, far distance, and it sounded like the pile that had fallen on Plato and Tumblebrutus’ heads just a few hours earlier. In the corner of his eye, the blanket glowed a faint blue where it tangled in his legs and tail. Quaxo wanted to kick it away, but the softness and warmth and weight weren't entirely unwelcome - it did something to ease the dread in his chest that bubbled in time with the clouds colliding in the sky. He replayed the moment when Jenny had touched Plato so gently, so gently, soft paws threading orange fur, over and over, always the same, like it was normal, natural. Like Demeter held her own kitten, with worry, and care, and protectiveness. Like a mother.

He didn't understand it. It made the sparks stronger, it made his skin itch.

Macavity had told him about how parents love their children, once. How, as long as kits act the way they’re expected to, as long as they match the picture their parents have in mind for them, they get love and protection. All they have to do is be pliable. Be obedient, and respectful. Kittens who aren’t actual blood have to work harder, he said. Munkustrap had done it so well that he’d overshadowed Macavity and Tugger in their father’s eyes, stole all the love and attention for himself. Had Plato done the same?

“But those of us who are different never get a chance in the first place, Quaxo” Macavity had added, voice low and eyes glimmering, reflecting the small flame that played on the tips of his fingers like a grim reminder. “No matter how hard we work”

Thunder rolled, growing closer.

Quaxo shivered, as he laid his head down and buried himself in the blanket, letting sparks hit and burn on his fur, letting the heat drown him.

The sound of pawsteps made Quaxo jump up, limbs aching from the aftermath of a steadily growing current having been forced back down inside his skin, the taste of smoke bitter on his tongue. Alonzo paid him little mind, walking straight ahead on the way to patrol.

“Alonzo!” Quaxo’s voice cracked when he spoke, and would it stop doing that already. “Plato said you went to the city. What happened?”

“Nothing happened” Alonzo snapped, quicker than usual, but still just as harmless. The corner of his lip trembled. His fur stuck up weird, much like Quaxo’s did when the static messed it up.

Maybe the cloudy sky and heavy air affected Alonzo too, Quaxo thought, not without irony. “Where’s Munkustrap?”

“Getting breakfast.” His eyes scanned the junkyard, especially the fence, like he was expecting something to jump out at any moment. If Quaxo was in the mood for games, he’d have jumped Alonzo himself. “Move it.” he continued, “We're late.”

Munkustrap had already fed the kits by the time Quaxo and Alonzo met him. Before Quaxo could get a word in, the two toms disappeared in Munkustrap’s den. The walls were too thick to eavesdrop - and so, guided by some involuntary pull, Quaxo found himself drifting to the clearing.

He lurked behind the piles, the dread in his stomach mixing with irritation at the thought of seeing the kittens again. Etcetera’s laughter rang loudly, piercing his ears, competing with Pouncival’s grating “you can't catch me”s. Between that and the thunder, the rest of the cats’ voices were rendered a distant, unintelligible chatter.

As it went, Etcetera made the choice for him. Too immersed in his own thoughts, brows so furrowed they cut his vision, he didn't hear or see her come barrelling at him, until she was skidding to a halt in front of him just a hair short of too close.

“Quaxo! You're just in time, come, come!” Cettie put her arm out, opening and closing a paw at him, pointing to the clearing with the other. Her smile was as wide as usual.

“In time for what?” Quaxo asked, knowing full well whatever the answer, he wasn't going to like it.

“Can’t explain, just come! Quick!” She took off, only to stop and backtrack to press him again when he didn't follow.

Play nice, said the nagging voice in his head. Quaxo sighed, long and suffering. His eyes wandered up, towards the sky, and he froze on the spot. The clouds had shifted, just a bit, just enough for the light of the full moon to shine through.

“Quaxo!” Etcetera urged again, “we'll be late!”

“Coming” he said, and he barely heard himself.

Luckily, nothing at all was happening in the clearing - and when Quaxo saw Jellylorum, directing the kittens through their stretches, he almost turned tail. And then he saw Demeter, and stopped dead in his tracks. She was sitting right below the car hood, watching him as intensely as Plato had the night before. It only lasted an instant - all too quickly, she smiled and nodded at him. Quaxo bowed his head in response, but she was already looking away, to her kitten copying Victoria’s stretches on shaky legs.

“Sit here” Cettie instructed, standing on her toes to pat at the car hood. Jenny had already left, and Tumblebrutus occupied her usual spot instead.

“Fine, fine” Quaxo grumbled, scratching at his ear just to delay compliance. Off to the side, Jellylorum scolded Electra and Pouncival as they bickered about each other’s posture. Sparks itched at the back of his head, and he pressed them down with his paw.

Under Cettie’s relentless insistence, he finally jumped up. Tumblebrutus scooted back as Quaxo sat on the furthest corner.

“You're not dancing?” Quaxo asked, because he wanted to know if he was going to be stuck with him the whole time.

“Jenny said I can't until my bruises go away.” Tumblebrutus mumbled, uncharacteristically annoyed. But soon, he started to wrangle his paws together. “Pouncival told me you helped a lot, yesterday. I, uhm, I wanted to thank you”

“Right.” Quaxo said. He tapped his tail. Play nice. “Don't mention it. What about Plato?”

“Nursery. He’- his head hurts”

Jellylorum was starting with the lesson. She gathered the kittens to stand before her, beginning a warm up routine.

“Jenny says he might have a, uh, a concussion. B-but she said he'll get better soon!” He stumbled over his words, hurried to finish the last part.

Quaxo didn't know what a concussion was, but he wasn't about to ask a kitten. “Is it gonna take long?”

“A few days, I think” his eyes looked about as wet as the clouds. His claws were scratching at his arm, and Quaxo was sure he wasn't just itchy.

“What is it?” Quaxo asked, that awful suffocating feeling surfacing again. Tumblebrutus’ ears flattened, his shoulders rode up.

“Six, seven, drop the arm, plié, stretch, grand” Jellylorum’s directions were an uninterrupted litany. The kittens followed with ease. It was all extremely familiar to Quaxo, yet it only made him feel sicker, droning on and on in his mind until it lost all meaning.

“It’s my fault he got hurt” Tumblebrutus said, and it was like the dam had broken, words suddenly flowed quickly, “I shouldn't have gone in there at all! I told him it was dangerous, but Pounce kept insisting, and he said we'd win, and then he called me a chicken, and- and so I- I went in” The last part came out muffled, because Tumblebrutus thrust his muzzle into the crook of his arm.

“Mom, mom, look!”

Their attention was pulled to the small red kit, who was holding onto her mother's outstretched arm as a makeshift barre. She was putting all of herself into bending her knees in a plié, eyes almost crossing from how hard she stared at the ground.

“Good job!” Demeter complimented, even as she reached over to adjust the kitten's legs. She nudged her head up, too, a finger under the chin - no pulling, no tugging, no claws. So much attention for a simple plié. Sparks ran quicker under Quaxo’s fur, his claws scraped at the metal on the hood.

“Maybe think with your own head next time” Quaxo said, harshly, but not enough to warrant an apology.

“That's what Jenny said, too” Tumblebrutus mumbled, laying as flat as he could make himself on the car.

“Were they mad at you?” Quaxo asked, forcing the words out of his mouth before he could rethink them. Tumblebrutus frowned. “Plato and Jenny, I mean. Were they mad? Did they blame you?”

“I don’t-” He scratched at his arm again, then his neck. “-not really. I think they were more just- scared. Pounce took most of the blame”

“Well, then. What do you have to worry about?”

Tumblebrutus looked at him, then - actually looked at him, straight in the eyes, all glossy and teary, and the concern in them was so strong that it hit Quaxo right in the gut. “I’m sad that Plato’s hurt”

Quaxo didn’t know what to say to that.

“Tumble,” Demeter’s voice came from below. Quaxo’s stomach sank, expecting the worst - but she only sent a smile his way, before addressing Tumblebrutus again, “Would you come show us how you stand on your toes?”

Tumblebrutus perked up, sniffling and clearing his throat. “Uh-uh, of course!” and so, with a nod to Quaxo, he thumped off the car.

Quaxo set to smothering the sparks on his fur, trying to settle his anxiety. Left with nothing better to do, he focused on the kittens.

Next to Victoria’s graceful, fluid movements, it was surprising to see Cettie’s exuberance contained, her tail perfectly wrapped around her leg, her head held straight up. Electra broke from her usual stiffness to bend at the waist, leaning all the way down and then up and back, keeping her composure with careful, measured strokes of her arms. He supposed he’d seen them briefly, before, and so he shouldn’t be too surprised - even Pouncival was following instructions, impressively quiet and pliant, if a little too eager. He seemed to be in a rush, toes lifting too often, too quick to come back up from pliés and to draw his legs in, leaving tendus half done. It made Quaxo’s nose wrinkle - it was difficult to ignore such blatant mistakes.

Jellylorum walked between them with narrowed eyes, interspersing her directions with reminders and encouragements. Demeter’s voice joined in occasionally, guiding her kitten through the positions. He found his tail tapping with the steady rhythm, his muscles tense with anticipation. His arm, almost of its own will, or perhaps just out of habit, followed the kits’ movements. The hood could've been scorching hot for how he leaned on the tips of his elbows, his upper body lifting up and forwards.

He used to watch the humans dance like this. On good nights, when he was very, very young, Macavity used to take him to human theatres, to their training rooms. They’d put up wonderful shows, with music and stories, wearing frills and feathers in colors that only existed in his memories, now. And then one night, Macavity said “I want you to learn this”. And so Quaxo learned. He practiced in the daytime, balancing on the high beams of the ceiling, above the humans’ heads. He listened to the teachers, their displeased rants at the tiny humans, would follow the corrections. And then, when night fell, he'd show his progress to Macavity in the warehouse. He loved the high of swirling and kicking and circling, the way his static subsided, the freedom of moving across the open floor - but most of all, he loved the swell of pride in his chest when Macavity’s mouth curved into a satisfied smile.

Quaxo missed it.

Despite all this, the scene in front of him felt foreign. There was none of the snapping and tugging Macavity used to do, none of the yelling the humans did in the training rooms - Jellylorum’s directions came easily, compliments too - and her reminders were never even close to mean, or snappy - at most, a little annoyed. He wondered if she meant any of it at all, or how she’d gained the kittens’ respect.

“Yes, good job, Jemima!” Tumblebrutus’ voice broke through his thoughts, muffled by the rest of the noise. Quaxo didn’t turn to look, didn’t move an inch. He felt Demeter’s eyes move to him, but all too quickly, the sensation was gone.

Jemima. That must’ve been the kit’s name – the same as the Jemie Munkustrap and Alonzo were talking about that one night.

“-and lower to first. Well done, girls. Pouncival,” Jellylorum called, and Quaxo straightened involuntarily, “what is up with you today?”

“Nothing Jelly, I’m sorry” For once, he sounded like he meant it, though he certainly wasn't too beaten up about it.

Jellylorum sighed. “Well, try and see if you can find your focus. I need to leave for a minute, you kittens keep going”

As soon as she turned away, moving towards the nursery, Pouncival broke from his position. “Tumble!”

“Pouncival, get back here! Jelly said you need to focus!” Electra scolded.

“One moment!” Pouncival answered, and then, when he'd reached Tumblebrutus, “What are you doing? Jenny said to rest!”

“I’m not too hurt to go on pointe, Pounce” Tumblebrutus replied, voice flat. Then, he eyed Demeter and the kit nervously. “Don't tell Jenny”

Demeter hummed, while Jemima nodded, putting a paw in front of her mouth to emphasize.

“Moment’s up!”

“Ugh, fine!” Pouncival groaned, making a big show of being forced to leave Tumblebrutus.

Above, thunder rumbled, and it was starting to get close enough to be worrying. Demeter suddenly jumped up. “We should go”

“But I wanna keep going” Jemima whined.

“I'll come with you” Tumblebrutus said, “we can continue in the nursery. Jenny isn’t there, I don’t think”

“Okay! Oh, wait!” Just as Demeter was picking her up, she wriggled out of her mother's arms and ran to the car hood instead. “Wait, mom! I wanted to tell Quaxo-” she called, “I have to tell you something!”

But Demeter scooped her up again, tucked her close to her chest so she couldn’t run off again, the alarm on her face growing, “No baby, I’m sorry, not now” She tossed Quaxo a look filled with worry, said goodbye as she turned away. Tumblebrutus followed them, like he belonged. Sparks began to itch at his own chest, and Quaxo rubbed at it until the skin burned.

He should leave, too. He'd seen the kits dance. Surely that was enough.

“Pouncival, you're doing it wrong” Cettie was saying, “you're supposed to be straight all the way up, like Vicky”

Pouncival was balancing on one foot, the other lifted to his knee. He wasn't looking at Victoria, but he still huffed “I'm trying” as he came back down on both paws.

“Press plié!” Cettie urged.

“You're not Jelly” Pouncival grumbled, but still obliged.

Quaxo stood up, taking in a shaky breath. Alonzo and Munkustrap were probably done by now.

Pouncival’s hip shifted, he lost his balance. When he tried again, his head was bent too far forward.

“It's wrong” Electra said.

“No it’s not” Pouncival objected, voice strained.

Quaxo tapped his tail on the trash behind him. He felt restless. One, two. Pouncival came down early. Where was Jellylorum?

“Watch me” Etcetera said, and set out to demonstrate.

One, two, three.

When she lowered again, her paws were misaligned, her toes didn't trail on the ground properly.

“That's not it either, Etcetera.” Quaxo spoke, pushing a poor imitation of annoyance in his tone.

They all turned to him in surprise. Etcetera swiftly recovered and gave him a huge smile. “Will you show us?”

“I don't need to. Victoria had it.” He gestured to her with his head as he jumped down from the car hood. “Ask her to do it again” he told Cettie. Victoria quickly got the message.

“Look,” he circled her, stepping to her side, “press plié, press up - and stretch it. Don't get your knee up right away,” as he talked, air escaped him, his heart beating too fast in his chest, but he pushed through, ghosting Victoria’s movements with his arm, “hold it, like there’s a fishing line pulling you up, up. One, two, three, and first, toes trail on the ground.”

“You need to slow down and keep your head straight, or you'll keep losing balance” he said, pointing to Pouncival, “and Cettie, when you come down, your paws need to end together.”

“Right, okay!” Cettie said, easily accepting the criticism. Pouncival just sort of scrunched up his nose at him. Still, they both followed his directions just as willingly as Jellylorum’s. He tried not to think about it too hard.

“There,” he mumbled, breathing properly again, “good” It went unheard in the kittens’ glee, and yet, for just a moment, the sparks quieted, and the tangle of anxiety and the itching of his paws relented.

When Jellylorum returned, she seemed pleased with the improvements, though none of them spoke a word of how they'd come about. By the time they wrapped up the lesson, the smell of rain had become all encompassing. Etcetera ran up to him, dragging Victoria along by the paw.

“Quaxo! So, what do you think?”

Quaxo hummed. “You did well”

“But Victoria!” Cettie insisted, signing something at her through a full body shake and a squeal, “she’s amazing!”

“Yeah, what do you mean well? We’re great, we’re awesome” Pouncival cut in, and Electra pulled at his ear.

“Maybe we are. You kept making mistakes”

Pouncival pushed her away. “I was just worried ‘cause Tumble’s - wait, where’s Tumble?”

Meanwhile, Munkustrap walked in. He talked to Jellylorum first, whispering so low that Quaxo couldn't hear.

“Nursery.” Quaxo answered, absent-mindedly. The word was starting to wear out on his tongue.

“And you kits should be going too,” Munkustrap said, turning to them, “You shouldn’t be out when it starts to rain”

“Munk! Quaxo saw us dance!” Cettie greeted, hugging his arm.

“Really?” he said, his smile too sharp a contrast to Alonzo’s harried attitude from earlier. His fur was unkempt, too, darkened with dirt. He cut a tall, towering figure against the sky. “I’m sure he’s impressed”

“He said we did well,” Pouncival repeated, sticking out his tongue in disapproval. “As if we haven't practised since we were born!”

“It’s true. They’ve been learning since they could balance on one paw” Munkustrap chuckled, ruffling Victoria’s head. She pushed up into him in response. “And they keep getting better”

“Now that you finally got the poor kit to sit through your lesson, will you leave him alone?” Jellylorum asked, throwing an exasperated glance at Cettie.

“I mean, he can still watch if he wants to. And he could join too, right?” she answered, nodding at Victoria, who meowed in his direction while still half buried in Munkustrap’s fur. Quaxo felt cold, all of a sudden.

“Sure,” he answered, all too eager to get out of here, still unable to tear his eyes off of Munkustrap, “maybe next time”

The trek through the city back to the warehouse was exhausting. Pollicles popped out at every corner, and so Quaxo had climbed most of his way here, scraping up his paws on bricks and iron fences. Even when the dogs didn't show, their scent was everywhere. He was starting to understand why Alonzo and Munkustrap came back looking the way they did.

Inside, it was freezing. Wind blew, hissing through every crack in the walls. The smell of rain had become concentrated, trapped between old metal and the rats’ pelts, to the point the air reeked of still water, pungent and foreign. Every step echoed and hit Quaxo’s ears tenfold.

It sounded like thunder, like the pile crashing down. It sounded like three words he'd screamed in a fit of desperation.

He hadn't meant it.

He set down the prey he'd carried and took a deep, shaking breath. It caught on the ugly dread in his chest, choked him until it hurt. The static in his body grew with the humidity in the air, strong enough to pull a whine out of him, but he couldn't afford to let it out now.

He forced his aching body into first, gave one last, long glance to the shadows in which the rats lurked. There was more than there used to - or maybe it was just the normal amount. It didn't make much of a difference to him, anyways. All of them had teeth and claws larger than his, all of them were able to overpower him, especially without the sparks to deter them. All of them had a glint in their eyes as they stared and snickered, at him, at the food, and then back again. Each squeak sent a new wave of anxiety through him, made the liquid dread in his stomach boil and rise to his throat - two syllables, repeated back at him in mocking - hate you, hate you, hate you.

His legs shook. His tail wrapped around his waist, his paws wouldn't still.

Why did he have to go and say that?

It was guilt, that awful turning and dripping behind his teeth, eating him alive, suffocating him with every inhale - and if Macavity had heard him, then it was no wonder that he wasn’t there.

Quaxo had to make it right. And so he began to dance.

At first, he struggled to keep up with his own rhythm - be it lack of practice, the sparks, or the constant skittering that made it hard to focus - but he pushed through, counting out his steps, steady and continuous with a lilt like a song he'd heard in the theatre long ago. Some of his motions were influenced by the routine he'd watched earlier. A jump here, a relevé there - and, as electricity drained from his body into the wet air, he finally found the relief he'd been after, his usual aggressiveness placated, soothed by the memory of the kittens’ light grace.

Rain began to fall outside. The droplets hitting the metal roof were deafening. The rats closed in on him every passing second, restricting his range, noses pointed at the food laying in the tight circle Quaxo drew on the floor.

Thunder roared, the rats yowled, and the sudden cacophony caused Quaxo to stumble. He lost his balance, but he picked himself back up, didn’t stop moving. He melted into it, slowly but surely, until his thoughts faded - until he felt eyes on his back, prickling and curious.

The rats skittered away.

Quaxo’s relief flew out of him in time with his steps, his tail unwinding from its tight coil. He finished with a flourish of his arms, shoulders moving up and down with his breath.

“You’re getting rusty.” Macavity said. His voice was a welcome sound to Quaxo’s ears, who’d been surrounded by foreign cats for so long - and despite the sting in the comment, it still brought him comfort.

He bit his tongue, keeping his head low. “I’m sorry.”

Macavity hummed. His paws hung off the barrel he laid on, claws clicking on the metal at every tiny movement, and it was louder than the rain in Quaxo’s ears. “Bring me that” he said, claw lifting to point at the food still laying on the ground.

Quaxo moved to grab it, leaned up on the barrel to leave it by Macavity’s arms.

He looked horrible.

His long fur was so tangled that his markings were rendered a jagged, unrecognisable mess. He was coated in a fine grime - dust, maybe - which dirtied his ginger color to the point that he was no more than a shadow in the darkness.

“I trust your stay with the Jellicles has been pleasant so far?” Macavity asked, examining the bird.

Annoyance was easy to play up, lip lifting in scorn. “They’re all terrible bores.”

Macavity made a sound like a chuckle, cold and short. “Quite.” Silence followed, only filled by the noise of chewing. He was eating like he hadn't seen food in weeks, tearing into the food, uncaring of the bits that fell off the carcass and slid down the barrel, wasted. “So, tell me. How are my little brothers?”

Water was starting to fall through the cracks, dripping in through the walls and the ceiling with a maddening tic, tic, tic. Sparks stung at his skin. Macavity couldn’t know about what happened with Tugger. And Quaxo wasn’t dumb enough to tell him, despite the guilt and the fear wrecking his mind.

“Tugger is the same as you described. He's never around, and when he is, he's insufferable. Jenny doesn't like him, even Munkustrap can't stand him”

“That's what they get for spoiling him.”

The approval eased the pull in his chest. “Munkustrap is constantly patrolling. He barely sleeps. Everyone defers to him, even though his mate likes to act like he's the one calling the shots”

A crack sounded out. Macavity had broken the prey’s spine, intent on getting every last bit of meat around the vertebrae.

“They-” Quaxo hesitated, then. The cold became more noticeable, biting at his limbs and down to his bones. Tic, tic, tic went the water. “-he and his mate, they take care of a kitten together”

Macavity’s eyes fixed on him. His claws closed around the rim of the barrel, his darkened fur puffing up ever so slightly. “Names, Quaxo”

“Alonzo,” he hurried to answer, “that’s his mate. The kitten’s Jemima and- her mother is Demeter”

Macavity’s frown deepened. Hatred brimmed out of the corners of his eyes. It was a reaction Quaxo had been after - but this particular one sent a shiver down his spine.

“You know them.” he breathed, “Why have you never mentioned them?” he growled, a fire igniting in his chest.

“You don’t expect me to sit here naming every cat I’ve ever met, do you?” Macavity’s displeasure shifted on Quaxo, and he knew he had to stop pushing soon. But he wasn't done.

“I think telling me about Demeter might've been important, since she clearly knows where I come from” he protested.

“Of course they know where you come from, Quaxo, they aren't completely daft!” Macavity yelled. Quaxo’s eyes widened, his stance faltering. “What, you didn't realise yet?” he said, irony dripping from his tone, “They don't tend to be very subtle”

Quaxo’s throat dried up. “Demeter hissed at me.” His sparks rampaged his skin as his mind connected the dots. “She thought I was you.”

“Always a feisty one.” Macavity examined a bone, holding it up as if light would come through the cracks in the roof. A droplet of water fell on it from the ceiling, and he tossed it to the side with a scoff. It rolled until a rat pounced on it.

“You said they wouldn’t care if someone just walked in, but I came in and now suddenly they’re reinforcing their borders. They’re preparing for something.” he said, barely hiding the growl under his voice. “Munkustrap said there’s cats trying to get in from the city, and the pollicles have been moving around - what the hell are you doing?”

Macavity wasn’t surprised in the least - instead, he abandoned the food in favour of grooming himself, doing a rather poor job. All he managed to do was cover his tongue in grime. “You’ll find out soon enough. ”

Quaxo bristled. “Why didn’t you tell me they’d know I’m with you?”

“I already told you, it wasn't that hard to figure out.” Macavity said. “It’s a good thing, anyways. They believe they can save you from me, take you out of your misery, whatever they call it.” His scowl might’ve been mistaken for disgust at the dirt he was inadvertently eating - but Quaxo read the threat in his eyes just fine. “Now, do you have something else to tell me, or did you just come here to waste my time?”

“You look horrible” Quaxo mumbled, giving in. Without asking for permission, he jumped up to take his place next to Macavity. His paws itched, sparks threading his fingers with anticipation, but he pushed them as far down as they would go.

“And you reek of kitten” Macavity commented, as he turned to lay on his side, his back to Quaxo. “I don't recall sending you over for a playdate.”

“They won't leave me alone. They think I'm one of them.” Quaxo inhaled, checking one last time for the static. Deeming it harmless enough, he put his paws to Macavity’s shoulders, and, exhaling so quietly the noise didn’t reach his ears, started to brush the fur down his back. It was soon clear that he’d have to use his claws - the long, dark strands were stubbornly clumped together, caked with dirt and smelling faintly of smoke, and it mucked up Quaxo’s white paw, too.

As he worked, he relayed the Jellicles’ routines, their names, their relationships - Macavity hardly seemed to care for most of it, though he did hum at the mention of the two calico siblings that had been around for Tugger’s birthday.

“Tell me more about that kitten, Quaxo. What was her name again? Jem…something?”

“Jemima.” Quaxo frowned, the chill from Macavity’s body making him shiver. “Why do you care?”

“Her mother is…an old friend of mine”

“Can’t have been a very good friend if the first thing she did when she saw me was try to attack me”

Macavity huffed out of his nose, and it sounded like a genuine laugh. Quaxo, despite himself, breathed in relief, his shoulders sagging. “Well, sometimes things aren’t so black and white, Quaxo. So?”

He picked at the fur of Macavity’s neck. Some of the red came through, there. “She’s, uh, really small. She hasn’t even learned to dance yet. Her fur’s black and white and- she’s got these red splashes here and there.” As he worked on the back of Macavity’s ears, he remembered that first night, when she’d climbed up on Munkustrap’s head. Quaxo used to climb up Macavity’s back, too - when his paws were half their current size. “Everyone adores her” he said, “Munkustrap treats her differently than the others - I think she’s his favourite. And Demeter keeps her in the nursery with her a lot.”

“Of course she does” Macavity mumbled, working on his own arms. Quaxo saw a hint of white. They were getting somewhere.

“How old am I, anyways?” Quaxo asked, hoping to take advantage of Macavity’s positive mood.

“Why does it matter?”

“It’s just- everyone keeps asking.”

“I don’t know, Quaxo, I haven't been keeping count.”

Quaxo frowned. “Then how do you know I'm not-”

“Do you have a better question to ask?” Macavity cut him off, voice short, as he half turned to face him. Quaxo shut his mouth. So much for a good mood. He tugged harder on the strands, claws catching on skin as he brushed. Macavity hardly noticed, anyways.

“I think Munkustrap trusts me.” He continued.

“Trusts you? Ha!” Macavity repeated, and his voice spiked up in a way that turned Quaxo’s limbs to stone. “Let me ask you something. Does he trust you, or do you trust him?”

Quaxo frowned, “Of course I don't trust him”

Macavity hummed. Slowly, he turned around. “Listen, Quaxo. I know they can be deceiving, with how they act all nice, and let you play with their kittens and share their food,” - every sentence stabbed at Quaxo’s heart. He hung onto the barrel for dear life as his back paws lost traction - “but you must never forget what you're dealing with. Trust means nothing to them. Don't let your guard down. You are never safe with them.”

“Of course.” Quaxo said, pressing his paws together to hide their trembling. He held Macavity’s stare, trying to quiet the sparks, quell the current. He'd been foolish, hadn't he? This whole time, he’d thought the Jellicles were the dumb ones, believing him some scrap from the streets - all the while they knew exactly where he came from, who he came from. Did Tugger know, too? The anxiety that the deal had quieted reared up again at the possibility - Tugger held his secret like a leaf on a spider’s thread, too flimsy to trust, too easy to steal.

“How are your nightmares going?” Macavity asked. His expression didn't ease.

Quaxo’s lip trembled. He regained his spot on the barrel, resumed the grooming, trying his hardest to sound unaffected. “I’ve been managing.”

“You’ve been back early.”

Tic, tic, tic, tic.

His paws were freezing, buried in Macavity’s coat. Quaxo hardly remembered the last time the tom had been warm. “You said I should come back if I had something to tell you.”

“And did you?” Macavity frowned at him, drawing closer. “You've disappointed me.”

White hot anger suddenly coursed through Quaxo. His paws clenched, fistfuls of fur caught on his claws. A spark, too strong and too quick for him to contain, passed between them, glowing for just a split second.

Macavity yowled. His arm flew out, and Quaxo ducked, darted for the wall, tail tucked tight between his legs and current almost strong enough to break through his fur. He half yelled, voice cracking, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to, I wasn't trying to-!”

“I’ve taught you better than this, Quaxo” Macavity roared. His arm was raised, tail swishing, claws spread out. Smoke burnt at the edges of his dark, tall figure, eyes glowing sickly green. “Is this how you repay me? Throwing tantrums, yelling you hate me, shocking me like you're still a kitten?”

Quaxo’s ears were ringing, every muscle ached in anticipation. His breaths rattled in his ribcage, eyes stinging with tears, “I’m sorry! I swear I didn't mean it, I never did!”

All too slowly, Macavity’s arm lowered back to his side.

Tension left Quaxo all at once. “I- I promise I won’t come back again until the next moon. I’m sorry, I-”

“Shut up!” Macavity hissed. Quaxo bit his tongue, backing further against the wall. “Do you hear that?” His eyes wandered somewhere to the side, ears pointed.

As the ringing subsided, Quaxo heard it, too.

Crying. Meowing and hissing, drowned out by the rain, voice - no, voices - too young to be coming from an adult cat.

“You want them to trust you?” A smile slowly made its way on his muzzle, but it was dark, mocking, as he nodded his head in the direction of the sound. He widened his eyes, and all but spat at him, “Go.”

Thunder boomed. Quaxo’s electricity buzzed like a hornet, catching on every pelting droplet. The pitchy cries cut straight through his skull. He expected fire and smoke to come soon, to rip him from sleep and bring him back to his awful, awful, too warm den - but the crying only grew louder and closer with every step, the rain only fell harder, and he was as awake as he could get.

Deep in the woods, in the cavities between the roots of a dead tree and the ground, two kittens crying out - red and white - Jemima and Victoria. A rat towered over them, clawing at the tree as if trying to break the trunk apart, digging up dirt with a ferocity he'd only ever seen in Macavity’s eyes.

The acrid stench of electricity filled Quaxo’s nose. His heart pounded in his chest, his lungs struggled to keep up with his quick, shallow breaths. It was all so familiar, and so, so wrong.

They were only kittens. Just like Quaxo had been in that warehouse, surrounded by rats everyday, stuck in that hole of a den, always too weak, always too small.

The rat's claws grazed Jemima. Victoria put herself in front of her, hissing louder than the rain and the thunder.

Quaxo yowled, charged with all he had, leaping to land on the rat’s back, digging his claws in the coarse, slick fur of its shoulders. Electricity ran through every point of contact, but he held it back, ever aware of the water connecting him to the kittens. The rat didn't let out as much as a whine, the current too weak to break through the fur. It started bucking - Quaxo was tossed left and right, his nose slammed on its spine more than once, and he was swallowing mouthfuls of fur and water. Rain got between his fingers and he slipped down, kicking with his back legs to stay on - until the rat tossed itself to the ground, rolling into the mud.

Quaxo lost his grip. As they rolled, he didn't know which way was up and which was down - the rat’s claws punched into his sides, its weight unbearable as it attempted to get back up. Trapped under the rat’s foot, cutting off his airways he saw it pushing its snout in the hole in the ground. Jemima screamed for him. It was drowned out by the rain, but he heard it.

Weak, weak, weak his mind screamed, and he felt small again, cowering in that damn den, alone, because Macavity didn't do anything, never did anything. One of his paws found purchase again, and Quaxo dug past the fur and latched onto the skin of the rat’s neck with newfound ferocity. With all his might, he pushed himself up, climbed back on the rat, and the air around him charged, growing hotter, fingers prickling with static. Macavity’s warnings rang in his head - he was dangerous, it said, he was going to burn down the entire forest - but the water in his ears rendered him deaf. Climbing back on, he bit into the rat’s naked ear and pulled, let the current grow until the air ran hotter than fire, until smoke came out of his fur - until finally, the rat screeched.

And then, it stood on its back legs, turned around, and violently thrust itself backwards - the next thing Quaxo knew, he was being slammed back first into the tree. The impact punched the air out of him. Something cracked, he lost his hold, fell to the ground. He sputtered, trying to suck in a breath. A soundless scream fell out of his mouth at the stabbing pain in his side.

Through blurry vision, he saw the rat, turned away, snarling at something ahead. His heart stopped - he whipped around to check the roots, but the kittens weren’t there - and then, a sickening crack sounded over the rain, too close, and Quaxo looked up to see the tree bending, trunk and empty branches falling right over their heads.

Gathering what little strength he had left, Quaxo pushed himself to his feet, slipped in the mud, pushed up again. The tree cast a shadow over him, falling ever faster, darkening the path and blocking the rain. Quaxo couldn’t run fast enough - but any thought of not making it, of blood and flesh and death was squashed beneath his feet, buried under the mud, as he pushed himself to just keep going. He saw Victoria shielding Jemima with her body, holding back the rat with her claws, tossing mud at its eyes, while the kit struggled to wade through mud, crying out for Victoria, for him, for Demeter. Quaxo was going to die or bring her back tonight.

A branch grazed his back as he finally, finally made it past the rat. He grabbed the closest hint of red fur in his sight, ignoring the whine of pain she gave, and then Victoria was off too. The rat was hot on their heels, but the tree soon fell with a crash behind them, water and dirt and splinters bursting up.

The rat’s cry rose to the sky, pierced through the water plugging Quaxo’s ears. He almost, almost breathed again - until he was pulled back by the tail, and he toppled forwards on his chin, teeth smacking together. Jemima tumbled forwards, out of reach.

The rat was stuck, crushed under the branches. The only visible parts of it were the head and the arms, and it kept an iron grip around Quaxo’s tail with both paws, pulling so much that he thought it would rip it clean off. Quaxo kicked at its nose, clawed at its face, snarling and yowling, growing desperate - even through the growing current that rose up into the sky in long tendrils, the smoke that came out of his sizzling fur, the rat held on, as if determined to bring them both down. Its mouth flashed open, its long, jagged teeth glinting in the light of Quaxo’s sparks. His heart stopped - he turned around, flailing in the mud, kicking at the ground to try and get away, certain he wasn’t going to make it. Teeth around his calf, and lightning struck them both.

—----------

Quaxo stumbled to his feet. His leg throbbed, his side stung with every breath, he could barely feel his tail. Rain poured on him mercilessly. And yet, he felt strangely light.

Victoria stared past him with wide eyes. There was a gash on her forehead, though the water washed off the blood. She held Jemima under her arms, a paw shielding her face. Quaxo shivered. He didn't look back, despite the morbid curiosity tickling at the edges of his mind. Without a word, he limped forwards. The kittens followed.

They were slow. Not too long in the walk, Jemima stumbled and fell. Victoria tried to pick her up, but she seemed too tired to carry her. Quaxo found an empty fallen trunk, and so they slipped inside.

The kittens huddled close together. Jemima was so, so painfully quiet - but Quaxo could still hear her screams. He still heard the rat screeching, the electricity buzzing, the kittens’ cries - it was gone, now.

It didn't feel like it.

Macavity had sent him against a rat, and the thought made him just as angry as it tore him apart. They couldn't possibly have survived without his powers - couldn't have survived if he hadn't ignored Macavity’s voice stuck to his brain like a tick. Frustration bubbled up within him, claws digging into the wood.

"Why did you follow me?!" He yelled, his heart beating too fast again.

Jemima stared at him with wide, watery eyes, fur puffed up in spite of the water. “I- I wanted to-” she said, hiccuping. Her lip wobbled, and tears started flowing like a flood. “I wanted to tell you my name!”

Quaxo’s anger splattered and died.

Both her and Victoria were covered in mud up to the neck, blood from visible and unseen scratches flowing alike.

They were only kittens.

Terrified, and defenseless and too small and too weak, and if he hadn’t made it in time - he sat back, trying to catch his breath. Outside, the rain fell harshly on the trunk. The noise was driving him mad. He doubled over and ran his paws over his face, pushing down on his eyes until he saw dark spots, biting his cheek so hard he started to taste blood.

All at once, as painfully as the bite, it hit him. They'd seen him - seen sparks come off of him and lightning strike and leave him unharmed, and still, they sat here with him.

Paws shaking, he opened his eyes again. Jemima was hiding in the muddied white of Victoria's fur, all muffled sniffles and muted purrs. Victoria watched him with regret written all over her face, and Quaxo didn't know how to tell her that it wasn't them he was angry at, despite something deep inside of him that really, really wanted to be.

Jemima was climbing up Victoria’s lap, holding onto her neck. Victoria looked down at the kit, then held out her arms, one paw pointing at him.

“What?” He asked, disbelieving, even though he knew exactly what she wanted.

Victoria leaned closer, almost close enough that her fingers touched his chest. As he flinched back, he realised that no static ran under his skin, no sparks glowed in his fur. Only the itch remained, ever unscratchable - but even then, it was much subtler.

It was terrifying. It was freeing.

“You can't want me to do that” he rasped, and the words were like rocks on his tongue. “Didn't you see what I did? I could’ve hurt you, I could’ve-” he paused, out of breath. “I'll hurt her”

She only meowed again, tapped a paw on her chin.

“Why aren’t you scared?” he asked, despite himself.

Victoria moved forwards again, until her paw was pushing into his chest. She stayed there, eyes locked on his, unwavering.

Quaxo thought he might cry.

Shakily, he held out his arms, half-expecting her to change her mind at the last moment - but then Jemima peeked out from the white fur, and slowly separated from Victoria’s side, rubbing at her muzzle and sniffling and squeezing the last tears out of her eyes. She turned towards him, and held out her own arms.

Quaxo remained deathly still. When Jemima willingly stayed close enough to grab for more than a few seconds, he lifted her. Smaller and lighter than he was, and yet her weight anchored him to the ground like nothing ever had in his whole life. Warm and breathing just like him, burrowing her damp nose into his chest and grasping his shoulder blades with tiny cold fists, like he hadn't just yelled and bared his teeth at her, like he didn't reek of stillwater and smoke. Between his fingers, her airy, fluffy, kitten fur tickled at his paw pads, teasing, hiding a body so incredibly delicate - all right beneath his claws and too close to his jaws - and she'd watched him fight the rat with all he had, claws and teeth and yowling and scowling and his own body sparking and smoking like a live wire, and still she clung to him.

Macavity had been interested in Jemima. But as he listened to the broken, self-soothing purr that came out of her throat, Quaxo felt a deep regret at having told him about her at all, having taught him her name.

Victoria reached out to pat Jemima on the head, an inch below his chin. She nodded at him.

Quaxo swallowed down the knot in his throat. He nodded back.

—------------------

Victoria meowed, pointing forwards and ducking to enter a pile. Quaxo followed, panting as he gathered his bearings, water dripping from every part of him, heavy and cold. When he slipped inside, Jemima pushed away from his chest with sudden insistence, and so he let her go.

“You found them!”

Quaxo looked up to find Tugger with a kitten under each arm, fussing over them as he parted the fur from their faces and checked them over. “What happened?”

“There was a rat, Tugs! It was really big” Jemima cried, and her voice was high-pitched as sobs took over her again.

Tugger’s eyes widened, “Where? How did you get away?”

“Fought it.” Quaxo said.

“You fought a rat?” Tugger exclaimed, and he pressed forwards, Jemima trailing behind him with fistfuls of his fur. The markings on his face pulled together with worry in that awful, sincere way. Then, he sniffed at the air, his eyes widened. “Did you-”

Quaxo lifted his lip and hissed. “Drop it. I did what you asked.”

Silence followed. Tugger seemed to weigh his options, until finally he made up his mind.

“I'm going to get Munk” he said, attempting to pry Jemima from his side, but she only held on tighter.

“I'll go” Quaxo said.

“No, you stay. I’ve been cooped up in here too long”

“Like I care.” Quaxo mumbled.

Tugger exhaled harshly out of his nose, but he didn't take the bait.

“Mama” Jemima whined, pulling on Tugger’s fur, and he gently undid her fists and passed her over to Victoria.

“I'll get your mom too, don't worry. She'll be here soon”

Quaxo tuned them out.

Demeter rushed into the den, trailing water and wind in her wake. Quaxo stumbled out of the way, loath to put himself between a mother and her child, pushing himself against the wall as far as he could go. Munkustrap entered next, followed by Alonzo who ran forward to fuss over Demeter and the kits.

“Quaxo,” Munkustrap addressed him, “Tugger told me-”

"Mama!” Jemima wailed, “There was a rat!"

“A rat?” Demeter cried, head whipping around to Quaxo.

"I went out to hunt and they must've followed me, I swear I didn't know, I'm sorry, I-" Quaxo gasped when he ran out of air, and then groaned at the pain that bloomed in his side.

“Are you hurt?” Munkustrap asked, too close. Out of the corner of his eyes, Quaxo saw dark fur, the stripes and patterns a jagged, undistinguishable mess, and he stumbled back, hissing and snarling.

Victoria got in front of him, then, separating him from Munkustrap.

“Quaxo,” Alonzo called, punctuating every syllable, and it chilled Quaxo to the bone.
“What happened?”

“There was a rat, deep in the forest. I got turned around in the rain, and I didn't know they were following me. I got there late, and I fought it to distract it from the kits and then-” he swallowed, breathed in and out, stalling, “-and then lightning hit. We- we managed to run in time”

A few moments of silence passed. Jemima had her face buried in her mother's shoulder, shaking. Victoria still stood in front of him, fur puffed up as she glared at Alonzo. Demeter fussed over Jemima. No one contradicted him.

Munkustrap put an arm in front of Alonzo, holding him back, nodding towards Demeter. But Alonzo pushed him off. “Where did the rat come from?”

“Alonzo” Munkustrap warned.

“I don't know” Quaxo lied, playing up his desperation, and it wasn’t that hard, “I don't know, I told you, it was already there when I found them”

Alonzo narrowed his eyes. For once, Quaxo was sure he could see right through him.

“Alonzo, that's enough” Munkustrap interrupted again, and this time Alonzo listened, huffing out of his nose in displeasure.

“Quaxo, we need to check your injuries. If the rat bit you, the wound could get infected”

Quaxo barely heard him. He barely saw him, too, his vision mostly shielded by Victoria’s muddied white form, and what little he did see only reminded him of Macavity.

“Quaxo-” Munkustrap started again, and Quaxo didn't want to hear it.

“Quit it!” he yelled, “leave me alone!”

The sadness that crossed Munkustrap’s muzzle was so striking that, suddenly, he looked nothing like Macavity - in fact, Quaxo couldn't draw a comparison if he tried, because the shape of their faces and eyes and ears were so, so different. For just a moment, his anger felt completely misplaced, thrown at a perfect stranger.

“Okay” Munkustrap murmured to himself, and Quaxo’s sensitive ears caught onto it even though he really didn't want to hear it, “okay, okay” he repeated to himself, as he moved towards Alonzo and Demeter.

Not for the first time that night, Quaxo thought he should leave. But where would he go? He couldn't very well go back to Macavity - he didn't have the strength for it, nor did he want to be surrounded by rats again - and he certainly couldn't go back to his den. It was probably flooded, by now.

The more he sat still, the more pain settled deep in his bones. His leg was pulsing - it felt like he was being bit again and again - his side left him barely able to breathe.

“No!” Jemima shrieked. They'd shifted her to Alonzo at some point, and she clung to him as he tried to pry her off.

Quaxo could still feel her arms around him. His chest felt unbearably empty, too light.

“I can't leave the others alone, Jemie” Alonzo said, a hair short of snapping, but still patient.

“You'll see him again when you wake up tomorrow.” Demeter backed him up, petting and soothing. After a lot more coaxing, she managed to take Jemima back.

When he passed Victoria on his way out, Alonzo stopped to inspect the cut on her forehead. He pointed to her - Quaxo didn't see her answer. His gaze shifted over her shoulder, to Quaxo. “Thank you” Alonzo murmured, and then left through the entrance.

The wind that hit Quaxo’s fur as the door opened only made it more unreal.

Macavity had said they'd trust him more. Quaxo had thought it was a sick joke - something to tear him down, revenge for being ungrateful - but it had been true.

He didn't get it.

When Demeter approached him, Jemima knocked out cold on her shoulder, she asked him where he was hurt with all of Jenny’s sternness in one beat. Victoria pointed at the spots before he could lie. Demeter didn’t ask him permission to look - she just told him she was going to, and Quaxo allowed it. He allowed her to feel his tender side, even though every graze sent him reeling, even though his brain screamed at him to fight it, allowed her to look at his leg. Victoria stayed close the whole time.

“Your rib isn't broken” Demeter said, voice low for Jemima’s sake, “it’ll heal in a week. And thankfully, the bite isn't too deep. Munk, could you-”

“On it” before Demeter finished talking, he sprung up, moving to rip one of the many blankets littering the den. He passed the fabric to Demeter, then they manoeuvred Jemima to his arms.

Quaxo rubbed at his arms. It occurred to him that he must still reek of smoke - and yet they hadn't said a word about it. If Tugger had noticed, then surely they did, too.

“We’ll use this to contain the bleeding. It’s the best we can do right now,” Demeter continued, as she folded the scrap, “we don't have anything in the junkyard to clean the wounds, but we'll send for it as soon as possible”

Quaxo grit his teeth as she worked the blanket around his leg. She was practical about it, reserving him none of the fussing she indulged in for the rest of the kittens, but she didn't jerk him around, either. He hated every second of it regardless. The knot she tied below his knee was tight, it felt like it was cutting the blood flow. It quickly stained red.

“Try not to move around too much, yeah?” She said, smiling with tight lips. Her eyes were wet. He wondered if she felt good about herself - if, like Macavity said, they felt that they were saving him.

Eventually, Munksutrap and Demeter settled down to sleep around Jemima, pulling Victoria in with them. Quaxo stayed where he was, hugging the wall by the entrance, letting his body drop on the hard ground, watching the outside through a small crack in the door.

He was still alive. He'd put down a rat. His leg hurt. He was still alive. He'd used his powers. He could've killed the kittens. The Jellicles hadn't kicked him out. They were all still alive.

None of it felt real. In fact, it felt as if he'd somehow just magically materialised in Munkustrap’s den because his own den was flooded, not because he'd rescued Jemima and Victoria from certain death.

None of it felt real, except for the emptiness in his chest, which was impossible to smother, no matter how much he pushed himself against the floor, sunk his claws in the ground, not caring about the additional strain it put on his aching side.

Back in the forest, when he was holding Jemima, he’d felt whole, if only for a few steps. Heavy and real and living and whole. Now, he was too light, unanchored, devoid of the sparks that never let him forget who he was, arms empty and grasping for something he could never have again.

Macavity had said he reeked of kitten. Quaxo didn’t think it was all that different from what he usually smelled like.

A silent sob bubbled up from his chest, and before he knew it, he was crying. He smothered himself, burying his face in his arms.

He curled up in a ball, tail over his muzzle, trying, trying, trying to breathe. He was tired. He was in pain. Couldn’t Mac hold him, just once? Couldn't he be allowed to sleep with him again, shielded by his tail from the world and the rats, to be rid of the nightmares just for one day?

Just one day.

And yet, he knew it wouldn’t work. He knew it from just earlier that night, when he’d been cleaning that ruined pelt - there was no going back. Quaxo wasn’t a kitten anymore, Macavity would never treat him like that again. And even if he did, Quaxo’s rotten anger would spoil it, just like tonight.

Pawsteps, and Quaxo held his breath.

He didn’t have to look.

He scrubbed his muzzle clean, tried to even out his breaths before she reached him, but it was a lost cause. He thumped his tail on the ground as a deterrent, but it hurt too much after the first couple times.

Victoria sat a respectful distance away, waiting, like always. Until Quaxo, like always, relented. He lifted his head. She tilted hers at him, a sad frown on her face. Her paw hung between them.

Quaxo swallowed down another sob.

He shivered, a full body tremor overtaking him as the wind creeped through the rare wall cracks, and his bones suddenly felt a thousand times heavier, extremely brittle, crashing against the hard floor. Slowly, he brought his arm up, up, up towards Victoria's. And there he waited, a fur’s breadth away from her paw, checking for his sparks, even though he already knew they weren't there. The phantom feeling of her paw on his chest, of Demeter’s ghostly, quick touches haunted him.

He knew he wasn’t supposed to, but he had never been pliable, never been good at being obedient to make Macavity love him - and maybe he’d never had a chance in the first place. Maybe not even two cats like them could love each other.

His paw shook all the same. So he pressed forwards to hide it, until white met black and dirt meshed together. Soft fur, much denser than Jemima’s, much shorter. It was nothing like Macavity’s bristly, scratchy mane, and yet it felt familiar.

Victoria smiled, purring, and Quaxo broke the contact and curled away, pressing his arms to his ears and hoping with everything he had left that this wouldn’t make his sparks flare up again. He was too exhausted to think of why they were gone. He had enough for a week-long headache already.

Something grazed his back, and his whole body jerked with a flinch. Quaxo uncovered his head again, weary. Victoria smoothed a paw over her arm a few times over, combing the fur with her claws. Then, she gestured at him. He just barely nodded.

And so she sat, just behind him, and laid her paws on his back so gently and carefully it coaxed him into a new wave of tears - she must've thought she'd scared him, touching him so suddenly, and he didn't know how to tell her that that wasn't it.

Her cool claws ran through his fur, not once catching on his skin - but he wouldn't have cared either way - rubbing out the dirt, easing out knots and chasing away the persistent itch that laid beneath his skin like an ache. Behind his head, over his back, his good flank, his shoulders and whatever she could reach of his arms, until Quaxo, bit by bit, began to let his muscles unwind, and lowered his arms from his head. Victoria combed through the fur between his ears, then, and he let her, even though he was perfectly capable of reaching himself. It pulled a purr from him, and it added to hers, much louder than he would ever dare.

And when she was done, she curled up behind him, back to back, and she stretched until her head hit his. She pushed against him, in the gentlest of headbutts. Quaxo he didn't reciprocate, but he didn't pull away, either. He let his purr speak for itself, and he knew that she could tell, because he could feel the vibration from her ribcage just as well.

Chapter Text

Large wooden beams line the wall. It smells of dust and warmth and stillwater. It smells of others. His head is too heavy to turn, and so he stares at the circles on the wood.

He doesn’t know where he is, or who he’s with. The question itches vaguely at his brain, but no words take proper shape, and so it doesn’t matter. He’s forced to breathe shallowly, because his side stings with every inhale. He’s trembling. There's someone pressed up against his back. Their body shifts up and down, ever so slightly, breathing more steadily than he can afford, purring. It’s comforting. But something is missing. His chest feels empty, a cry is clawing at his throat, trying to push his teeth apart to get out, and his leg and his tail hurt, and he wants it to stop, and he wants something he can’t name.

A kitten starts to cry. He fears it’s himself. But his mouth is still sealed, and it’s too far away to be coming from him. It pierces his ears, wordless and pitchy and familiar: mom, mom, mom.

The mother answers with a lullaby. The melody mixes with the cries, melting together and flowing like water all around him. He’s never heard it before. He’s heard it a million times. He knows it as well as the furs mixing with his own at his back. He knows that gentle cadence, the whispery voice that always soothes desperate cries, that promises warmth and safety and a full belly and fur rid of itchy dust.

The song stops, and another voice, deeper and lower, talks. A shadow comes over him, and he squeezes his eyes shut. After a few moments, a gust of wind takes its place. He shivers. It racks through his body like a storm, and the cry behind his teeth breaks through unbidden. Soon, there’s touches on his aching skin, his ribs, his leg. The weight against his back disappears, and so the emptiness swallows him all at once. Smoke fills his nose, and he cries out again, suddenly terrified - he’s burning and freezing at the same time, and someone’s coming to take him away, and he wants it to stop, and he needs to hide and he wants wants wants-

Warmth wraps around him on every side, all of his body compressed, held together. He’s impossibly small, surrounded by heaps of soft fur. He burrows, as far under as he can. The smoke is replaced with good smells again, and he closes his eyes, and he’s safe.

—--------------------

Quaxo loves the theatre.

He loves the humans’ shows, all flashy lights and music and dancing and acting. The colorful fabrics, the way loose skirts swirl and funny headpieces sway, the fabricated wooden landscapes. He loves to sit up on Mac’s shoulders, and watch it all from way up in the broken balconies, where the humans don’t go - and he loves the way Macavity explains what’s going on, and smiles, and points at the actors for Quaxo to pay attention to.

But most of all, he loves getting out of the warehouse. He’s not allowed out on his own, so he spends most of the day waiting for Macavity to come back with dinner, and that is terribly boring. When they go out, Quaxo gets to feel like a proper, grown cat, keeping up with Macavity’s brisk pace through the busy streets, hissing at the humans whose gaze lingers a little too long, whose hands wander too far. And, when they reach the building, it’s Quaxo’s job to sneak inside the window on top of the fire escape, and pull it open so that Mac can fit through. He’s figured that part out all on his own.

It was scary, at first. The city was a loud, confusing place, and the theatre was bright and crowded before shows, humans and their kittens talking and clapping and yelling at the end of every number. Quaxo would hide in Macavity’s fur, sparks running rampant under the skin, until he was pulled away by the tail with an annoyed grunt. But he got used to it fast. The headache is always worth it, anyways - the shows really are that good.

"Quaxo, you can't stay like that too long."

"Why not? Look!" Quaxo is hanging upside down from the balcony railing with his back legs. He pushes himself up, touching his toes with his paws. Macavity, clearly unimpressed, raises a single eyebrow at him. Quaxo has no idea how Macavity even does that - whenever he tried it in the mirror, both eyebrows would shoot up and he’d give himself the impression of being very surprised. So he sticks his tongue out in retaliation instead. He drops again. He can see the entire stage, albeit wrong way up, all the humans’ heads all lined up in their seats, as small as his paws. He giggles. He feels quite light.

"I'm like a bat!"

"Your blood will go to your head."

"There already is blood in my head"

Sometimes Mac doesn't quite make sense, and yet he wants to be right all the time. Of course there’s blood in the head - Quaxo hears it in his ears every day!

"There won't be any left for the rest of you."

Quaxo frowns. "That's not true"

"Come here. They’ll see you." Macavity repeats, and this time Quaxo relents at the irritation coloring the edges of his voice.

"Blood doesn't do that" Quaxo protests, still, smoothing the fur on his flank. It feels funny.

"It does.” Macavity drags him over by the arm, “If you lie on one side for too long, it'll still."

"Nuh-uh. I do that all the time,”Quaxo wiggles out of the hold, and climbs on Mac’s shoulders instead. Heat engulfs him when he sinks in the ginger mane. “I always sleep on my side-"

"Really? And yet I wake up with knots in my fur from all your kicking around"

"-you're the one that never moves!" Quaxo leans down to bap his paws on Mac’s muzzle.

Macavity waves him off like a fly. "It’s only like that for kittens."

Quaxo huffs. "No, feel it, look" he insists, grabbing for Mac’s wandering paw, “gimme your paw”

Macavity sighs, but complies. Quaxo grabs it with both of his, and pushes it against his chest. The touch is warm, hot. "Feel that, it's moving, it's going"

Macavity hums. "Congratulations.” Quaxo giggles. What a weird word. “Hush now. It’s starting”

The lights have turned off, the humans’ chatter quiets. The curtains pull away with a whooshing sound, and Quaxo alternates looking between one wing and the other, trying to see who will come out first, so he can guess which play they’re watching. He doesn’t recognise the actor that walks in. They're dressed in black clothes, no special frills. They begin to dance, and it’s something entirely new.

“Watch carefully, Quaxo” Macavity says, pointing to them, “I want you to learn this”

He tries his best to focus, to commit every kick and turn to memory - but he can’t help constantly looking down at Macavity. His muzzle is lopsided with a half smile, and it makes Quaxo happy.

If he learns this, he can make Macavity happy, too.

—--------------------

On some nights, Mac doesn’t come back to the den at all. Quaxo spends them alone, hungry and shaken by nightmares and terrors, fearing the smoke that comes out of his fur, suffocating him, while rats claw at the metal sheet walls trying to get in.

—-------

"You're starting to get a bit old for this, Quaxo"

Quaxo frowns, looking up at Macavity from the curtain of his tail.

"You'll be all grown up soon. Grown cats sleep by themselves, you know."

"Oh." Quaxo acknowledges, but he doesn't move. "Really?"

"Sure." Mac says, "And you keep making my fur stand up"

"I'm sorry" Quaxo stands, "I'll go."

He lingers longer than he knows Macavity will tolerate, loath to abandon the feeling of another's warmth against him. The weight of a tail over his back, the intense smell of smoke and dust. He fears the distance will bring nightmares.

The air already feels too cold.

Quaxo's paws stay fixed on the ground, right next to the ends of Macavity's fur. And then Macavity huffs, and Quaxo steps back, only to find himself pressed up against the tom again, closer than before.

It’s sweltering. It’s safe.

"Tonight’s the last" Macavity says, and Quaxo nods under the paw that threads claws on the back of his head. He can hear Macavity's heartbeat, or maybe it’s just his purr. He thinks about blood, rushing and stilling if he doesn’t move for too long. He thinks he’s going to need to turn around, but he’s tucked in too tight.

He lays there for what feels like forever. He starts to feel dizzy, feverish under the heat. He blinks, and days and moons all melt together, and the warmth slowly seeps away, until it’s nothing but a memory. He thinks he can see shadows on the wall, broken up by wooden beams - shapes like cats, melting and moulding together. It looks like they’re dancing. He closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he sees flames.

They trace patterns in the air, dancing and turning and taking on shapes that almost resemble a cat, or a human, or a dog, before melting back together. The den is lit up in reds and yellows, emphasizing the ginger of Mac’s fur, making Quaxo glow like he’s orange at the edges, too. It’s pretty. Macavity’s grown colder lately, and Quaxo is tempted to reach out and touch the fire, to check if it’s still as hot. It feels like he could shape it to his liking, if he got it between his paws - Mac makes it look so easy.

“Could you teach me to do that?”

Macavity’s muzzle is dark, deprived of the light when he turns to narrow his eyes at Quaxo. “It’s dangerous”

“I promise I’ll be careful. Please? I wanna do tricks like you”

Macavity doesn’t speak, his lip pulls up in displeasure. Quaxo thinks he’s about to be hit, and so he almost takes his words back - but then Macavity huffs. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Quaxo nods eagerly.

Macavity tells him he’s supposed to channel his energy. It should all be gathered in one single point on his body. He says more, but the instructions blend together in Quaxo’s mind, and he struggles to remember them in the right order as he focuses on steering electricity to his claws. Macavity is calm, and his cold paws ghost Quaxo’s, and he doesn’t raise his voice. When sparks begin to burst out on his fingertips, Macavity moves away.

They are colorful. Reds and yellows and purples, and it’s exhilarating. It’s a show a bit like falling stars and human fireworks, different from Mac’s fluid, ever changing flames, but enchanting all the same.

Quaxo looks up to check for Mac’s reaction. Maybe he likes it, too - but the set of his brows hasn’t softened one bit. The smile dies on Quaxo’s face, replaced by a scowl. Why can Macavity use his powers, but Quaxo can’t? It’s just not fair. Maybe Quaxo’s are more dangerous, but he could learn to control it. If Macavity would just let him try!

The current pours out of him, flowing upwards in long tendrils, crackling and smoking and hot, and Quaxo’s petrified.

Macavity growls. The den is too bright, and then all of a sudden, the light sputters, and darkness and smoke flood in. His heart is racing, every limb hurts, sore with pulsing currents. Through the fog, Quaxo sees Macavity looking at his arm. He turns, glares. “You hurt me”

Quaxo backs against the wall. He’s cold, he’s shaking, and his back burns, and it's not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair!

“I didn’t mean to! I just wanted to-”

“It doesn’t matter what you want!” Macavity roars, deafening, and he raises his arm high into the air, claws glinting with fire, eyes piercing and horrible and ferocious. Quaxo tries to back away, but the wall behind him disappears, and so he

falls

falls

falls.

—---------

Claws on the top of his head, ice cold. Chin pressed to the ground. Ears swivelling.

Birds fly above, framed between clouds and naked trees in the dead afternoon sunlight. Their nails click on the bark and bend branches with a creak when they perch. The ground is littered with sparse leaves, and a weak wind tickles their edges with a flutter. Bugs and mice chirp and twitter. Below his feet, critters burrow, wet dirt turns, pebbles roll.

Quaxo’s eyes track a squirrel, digging through the leaves at the roots of a tree.

Macavity presses down heavier on Quaxo’s head, claws poking at the skull.

The squirrel ventures further into the underbrush.

The weight lifts off him, and Quaxo bolts. He dives in the bushes, and, even blinded by leaves, presses on until his paws close around the creature. It writhes, screeches, kicks with piercing claws at Quaxo’s paw pads and arms. He pins it harder on the ground, fighting not to lose his grip. The squirrel is incredibly strong - whipping side to side so violently, like such a fragile body shouldn't be able to, biting and scratching, beady eyes desperate.

Quaxo’s teeth are suddenly too big in his mouth, too sharp against his tongue. His chest feels empty, his body too light. He hesitates. The squirrel kicks up, and claws rip through his cheek. It wriggles away, and escapes.

Quaxo should give chase, but, all of a sudden, his body stops responding. He's so, so hungry. Tired. He feels every scratch and bruise from each failed pursuit pulsing at once on his body. Cold claws close around his scruff, Macavity growling in his ears and jerking him back to the ground and saying “again”, but he can’t see the forest anymore, and he’s small again, and hunger is wracking in pangs through his stomach, and his heart beats too fast and he fears it’s going to explode and he needs to run but he can’t can’t can’t move fast enough, and he’s laying down, and he smells burning flesh, and then the forest floor turns to concrete and Quaxo is in the den and he’s sick and he hasn't moved in days.

His back is pressed tight between the floor and the wall. He dragged himself there in an attempt to soothe the burning ache between his shoulders, but the metal quickly warmed up from the contact. His static has built up to a deaf, maddening buzz that stings at every inch of his skin.

“Turn around. I need to look at your back”

“Hurts” Quaxo says.

“I know” Macavity answers, and it makes Quaxo want to try despite himself. He drags an arm out from where it's stuck underneath him, to push himself up - but the strain in his shoulders aggravates the burn, flaring up like fire lighting on his fur, and he just ends up on the floor again.

A cold paw grabs his flank. The touch is searing against the burning skin. He recoils, fearing the current will hurt Macavity, but can't put up a fight as he's pushed along until he's laying on his stomach. He’s too weak to protest or complain as claws rake at the raw skin of his back, parting fur, sending quivering jolts through his shoulders with every scrape. Macavity presses his paw to the skin. The cooling sensation spreads over him like a blanket, and he whimpers in relief.

“Thank you” he manages, words squeezed through his throat between a sigh and a sob.

—-----------

Quaxo shudders, a shiver running from his ears to his tail. He can't quite catch his breath, his lungs empty too quickly, take in too little air, his heart is racing. His shoulders burn. Or maybe it’s his leg, or his side. A thought torments him - he’s stiff, and sore, and heavy - his blood is stilling, and he needs to move. He fumbles to get a grip on the floor, finding a soft, slippery fabric beneath him. He twists his torso around, and shivers and pain wrack him all over. A coughing fit overtakes him. Pushing with his back leg - one of them doesn’t want to move properly - he turns the rest of himself around. He digs his ear in the fabric, listening for the blood in his head, to check that it's still there. He can’t hear it.

—----------

"Have I ever told you about my little brother?"

"Munkustrap?" Quaxo walks alongside Macavity. They’re at the docks, the air cold and humid. His powers usually act up near the water, but he feels strangely light. The day was spent on some job or other. Quaxo can’t remember it well.

"No. Him and I are about the same age. Tugger was born much, much later."

It’s eerily quiet, the chaotic noise of the city drowned out by the calm waves of the sea. The boats, dark, vague silhouettes, sway with the water, even though there’s no wind. The moon is so bright that it drowns out the stars.

"Munkustrap and Deuteronomy were never around, doing hell knows what. So I took care of Tugger since he was a newborn.” He smiled. A sound like a chuckle escaped his lips, and Quaxo hasn't heard it in so long. “He used to pester me every morning until I showed him my fire tricks. It didn't take much to blow his little mind. And when he started to walk properly, I taught him rhythm, and how to point his paws."

There’s a faraway look in his eyes, like he’s missing something. Quaxo feels it, too. He remembers shifting flames and dancing lessons - it’s all so far away, now.

"What happened, then?" Quaxo hears himself asking.

"Munkustrap.” Macavity’s lip lifts in contempt, “He was jealous he loved me more, because I'd bothered to be there, so he told him I was a monster. That I was going to hurt him, that I had hurt everyone!” his voice rises, and he inches closer to Quaxo, teeth bared, claws glinting in the moonlight. Quaxo straightens under the attention, trying to keep himself rooted to the ground as pressure builds in his chest. “And he believed him. Believed Munkustrap over me, his own blood!”

He turns away, and Quaxo lets out a breath, feeling unsteady on his paws.

“He turned his back on me like everyone else.” Macavity sits hunched over a little distance away, staring into the water. “But he was only a kit. Too young to understand what was really happening.”

"Do you think he could understand, now?"

"No one understands, Quaxo." He says, the growl in the back of his throat making his voice waver in a way that Quaxo never hears from him. "They might act like they do, but they all betray us in the end. They fear our powers, and so they hate us."

Quaxo sits next to him, just enough that their flanks barely touch, tilting his head so it grazes Macavity’s shoulder. Macavity is colder than the night. The water reflects their image back at them - Macavity, large and imposing and red, and Quaxo, too small, fur so dark that he blends in with the sky.

“I’m not your father, Quaxo.” Macavity says, slowly, and Quaxo knows this part by heart, “You are not my son,” His eyes are as bright as the full moon, “but we are the same. Promise me you'll never betray me.”

“I promise” Quaxo says. It falls out of his mouth, well practiced, while his heart races.

—----------------

Quaxo has been dancing for hours. The same stupid routine, over and over - he’s done it so many times he’s forgotten how it goes. His body just moves along on its own, but Macavity keeps telling him it’s wrong, and Quaxo is fed up.

“Again.”

"Fuck you!" Quaxo spits. The words feel good on his tongue. Before regret can set in, before his mouth has even closed, he finds himself on the ground. He’s not sure how he got there. He presses a paw to his cheek, trying to catch his breath, to quell the burn.

"Again!” Macavity growls.

Wobbling, Quaxo stands. His claws rake on the ground, leaving greyed-out lines in the concrete, and it hurts, pulling at his fingers right down to the bone like they’ll be pried off. He sees himself in the mirror, and he doesn’t think it’s him - fur out of place, wide eyes, sparks coming off him and lighting up the whole place. One hits his nose. Quaxo’s lip lifts, and his whole muzzle goes with it, a hiss caught in his throat. His chest hurts like someone’s trying to pull his ribs out, and he whips around with a clawed paw and a yowl on his tongue. He lets electricity spark all over him, and threatens with all that he has, small and tired and weak. But Macavity is already there, and his arm is engulfed in fire, and Quaxo’s heart stills.

—----------

Quaxo wasn’t trying to run away. He wasn’t, he was just hungry, and the rats were pounding on the metal so loudly, and Mac hadn’t been back in days, and-

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry! You weren't coming back and I-”

“Were you trying to get yourself killed?!” Macavity glowers. His fur lights up with fire. Smoke wisps out of him like from the backs of cars, puffs growing larger and larger until they cover the sky. His eyes widen, sharper and meaner than Quaxo has ever seen. Painful sparks light his every limb, a sudden surge of energy and fear eating away at his stomach like he’s never known, and before he realises it, he's running.

“Don't run from me!”

Macavity grabs him by the scruff. Quaxo goes blind with pain.

—------------------------

Voices break through the cotton in his ears. They swim in the air above him, and he doesn't know who they belong to. Opening his eyes, he can't see much past the blur - but there's a large figure above him, all long fur and dark stripes.

"Mac" he calls, over and over. He knows he’s too old for it. Grown cats sleep on their own, and his static makes Mac’s fur rise and itch, but there’s smoke in his nose and freezing water on his skin, and he feels like a kitten again.

“I’m sorry” he finds himself babbling, over and over, and he’s not sure what he’s sorry for.

It takes some time, but Macavity eventually curls around him. Quaxo’s smaller than he’s ever been, and Macavity is bigger than he can hold onto with his paws. Warmth hugs him as Macavity drapes his tail over him like a blanket, and it’s sweltering. A paw comes up at the back of his head, and Quaxo ducks to avoid the claws.