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Chapter Text

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Welcome! Here’s the chapters so far.

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Chapter 1: You’re currently viewing it.

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Chapter 2: World War Cats - Tiger Centric - Crack treated seriously
Prompt/Summary: ‘Tiger with an army of street cats that he feeds. They save him when things go awry and he finds himself almost mugged’.
Primary characters: Tiger, Joe.

Any additional information: N/A

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Chapter 3: First Game Back - Tiger Centric - Hurt/comfort
Prompt/Summary: ‘Tiger’s first game back with Nakama after recovering from his arm injury. He finds himself up against Colossus once more. Luckily, Kendo’s there to offer a guiding hand’.
Primary characters: Tiger, Kendo, Colossus FC members

Any additional information:
I recommend watching the SS episode “Between friends” for the best context.
Not needed to read, but my version of the Nakama players stems from my other AO3 fic “Between family”.

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Chapter 4: The Alien Debacle - Tiger Centric - Klaus Centric - Crack treated semi-seriously
Prompt/Summary: ‘Remember that one joke in the episode “Super Skarra” where Tiger jokes about being an alien? Well he is one, and he’s trying his best to hide it from a very suspiciously paranoid Klaus’.
Primary characters: Tiger, Klaus, as well as North/Blok and Rasta/Bo as supporting duos.

Any additional information: N/A

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Chapter Text

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“-and this lil guy is Tachio.” He scooped up the large, mottled brown cat into his arms. Tachio settled with little fuss, as he always did, his big furry head coming to rest against the fabric of Tiger’s hoodie, eyes already beginning to close sleepily. “I called him that ‘cause I was eating pistachios when I first met him.”

“Wow.” Joe snickered. Not mean, or biting. A teasing, friendly tone. “Great naming skills you have there, Ti.”

“Better than some other cat names I’ve heard.” He scoffed, “I mean, what was it you called your childhood cat again? Mittens?”

Joe mock-gasped. “You leave Mittens out of this you heathen.”

“Mittens has to be one of– no, the most overused name for cats.” He continued, settling himself down onto the floor, Tachio still in his arms, dead asleep. The concrete was cold beneath him, but not uncomfortably so. He grinned up at Joe, “It’s kinda like how everyone calls their dog ‘Buddy’, or ‘Max’. It’s so boring.”

“Hey now, cut me some slack–” Joe whined, even as his face cracked into a smile. He followed suit, lowering himself down to sit beside Tiger, narrowly missing sitting atop Dalgona, an old, cream-coloured tabby. She darted away with a grumpy huff, disappearing behind one of the nearby dumpsters. “I was like, five,” He added with a roll of his eyes, “it was the best I could come up with.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

A loud, obtrusive “mreow” had Tiger glancing upwards. Bright, sharp, golden-yellow eyes blinked back at him. He chuckled, “See? Rye agrees with me.”

“Rye.” Joe echoed, “Like… Like rye bread?”

“I like to name a lot of them after different foods I like.” He pointed up to a balcony high above them, where a lone cat lay, sprawled out on her side. She was basking in a small, rare patch of sunlight that had crept past the high walls of the surrounding buildings. Her fur, usually a dull, muddy-brown, was shimmering under its rays. “That’s her up there.”

“Very cute and all, but we need to go back to the name, brother-” Joe made a weird, scrunched-up face, “-Rye? Is rye bread seriously your favourite kind of bread? Really? Not, like, brioche or literally anything else?”

Now it was his turn to make a face, “I thought brioche was a pastry.”

“No, it’s…” Joe paused, then frowned the more he thought about it, “Maybe…? Ugh.” He waved a hand, “Besides the point, okay? Rye is disgusting.”

“Meow.”

He couldn’t help but snort. “I think she took that personally.”

“I could tell.” He shook his head with a mock-sigh, “Getting back on track– are we feeding them or not? That’s what we came to do, right? Feed your little mini army?”

A mini army? As if. “I was waiting for you to finish bashing my naming choices first.”

“Still gonna continue bashing them, ‘cause that shit’s nasty.”

“Whatever you say, man.” Carefully, Tiger slid Tachio out from his arms, letting the cat lazily flop down across his lap, his furred chin resting against one of his thighs. He napped on, oblivious.

Now, with his hands free, he could reach for the bag he’d brought along with him. The sharp sound of the zipper immediately caught the attention of the cats lurking in the shadows around them. Bright, eager eyes popped out from the darkness. He grinned.

“They’re like little ninjas.” Joe muttered quietly, his own eyes wide, “I didn’t realise there were that many. I counted like, seven, not seventeen.”

“There’s usually more, honestly. Quiet night.” He busied himself with rummaging through the bag, pulling out two plastic containers, filled to the brim with chunks of fresh chicken and fish. “Here–” He tossed one towards Joe, who fumbled to catch it. “If you wanna make any friends, you’re gonna need that.”

“I thought they were friendly…” He glanced between the container and the manifested crowd of hungry cats, “You said they were friendly.”

“Friendly with me, yeah.” He laughed, “They don’t know you, you gotta earn their trust.”

“I’m gonna get bit.”

“We’ll start you off easy.” He promised, already scanning the crowd of cats, gaze landing on a familiar speckled figure. “Tutorial round, yeah? I think I can see Pepper– on your left. He’s probably the friendliest here.”

Joe squinted. “Pepper..?”

“Yeah. Black fur, little white specks. Kind of like ground pepper?” He shrugged, “He’s a big baby. A little shy, but he’s not mean.”

Joe shook his head with a quiet laugh, “You’re seriously running a whole grocery store out here.”

"Hey now, I branch out." He giggled, “There’s maybe like, three of ‘em who aren’t named after food. I let Miko name those ones.”

"You dragged Miko into this?”

“Only sometimes, when I’m bored.” He hummed, cracking open his container of food. The quiet crowd became loud with excited, hungry meows, the cats gaining more confidence now that they could outright smell the food. “I like annoying him. Like I like annoying you.”

“As much as it pains me to say this, you don’t annoy me at all.” Joe chuckled, opening his own container in tow. Pepper poked his head out further than the other cats, beginning to slink over, towards Joe, just as he’d hoped. “You just make me question my sanity sometimes. Like why I agreed to come sit on the floor of some shady alleyway on a Thursday night to feed cats.”

“You enjoy it, deep down.” Tiger gestured to Pepper, still slowly padding closer, sniffing the air curiously. “He likes chicken more than fish. Hold some out for him and he should come right up to you.”

Joe scooped out some chicken from the mix, his nose wrinkling in mild disgust at the jelly-like texture. "If he claws my face off, you’re paying my hospital bill,"

"Deal.”

As expected, he didn’t get his face torn off. Instead, Pepper, after a few more cautious steps, simply bit the bullet, waltzing right up to Joe before snagging the piece of chicken from his outstretched hand, gulping it down in a flash. As soon as he’d swallowed it, he immediately began nudging at his now empty palm, meowing incessantly for more.

Joe looked up with a broad, almost childlike grin, "See?” He puffed out his chest, “Natural-born cat whisperer right here."

Tiger chuckled, throwing a piece of fish out from his own container. "Not bad for a guy who named his cat Mittens."

Joe mock-scowled, but he couldn’t quite hide the smile tugging at the edge of his mouth as he fished out another piece, watching as Pepper took it eagerly, purring all the while.

—

“I need your help.”

“You know it’s, like, nine PM over here right now, right?” Miko yawned loudly on the other end of the screen. The angle of his camera was tilted slightly, his face half-buried underneath what looked like the many thick, cozy blankets he knew Miko kept on his bed at all times. “I’m about to go to sleep.”

He waved a hand dismissively, “You being an old man and going to bed early isn’t my problem.”

“Well then what is your problem, exactly?”

He darted out of frame, returning moments later with a little, squirming, white-furred kitten. Holding her out towards the camera, he waited for the lens to focus so Miko could get a better look before speaking, “–what should I name this one?”

Miko pulled a face almost instantly, “Seriously? I thought you only fed the strays, now you’re full-on adopting them?”

“I’m not– I don’t usually.” He huffed, “These guys are a litter from one of the cats I was feeding. She trusted me enough to show me her kittens.” Adjusting his grip as the kitten tried to claw her way up his arm, he added, “And I’m not keeping them, for the record, just housing them until they’re fully weaned, then they’ll be off to new homes. Their mom’s here too. I’m getting her spayed as soon as I can. She’s not happy being inside, though.” He chuckled, “So I doubt she’ll be heading off to a new home herself.” Detaching the tiny claws that had wormed their way through the fabric of his shirt, Tiger brought the kitten back out towards the camera, “But they deserve names in the meantime! C’mon, help me out here.”

“I should’ve never answered your call.” Miko muttered, staring at the kitten intently for a moment before sighing, “..how about Snowball?”

“I’ll take it.” He grinned, “Thanks for the contribution, Anija.”

Miko shook his head with a laugh, “I can’t believe I still put up with you. I’m not paid to like you anymore, you know.”

“You know you love me, pay or no pay.” Tiger couldn’t help but sing-song, gently putting Snowball down, watching as she waddled back towards her siblings. He reached down into the pile, plucking up another kitten. A lanky, bony little thing, which let out an undignified squawk, flailing around in his arms like a fish out of water, “What about this one–?”

Miko leaned in closer, squinting at the screen. “He looks like he’s got about three brain cells.”

He reached for a nearby tube of cat food. The kitten, upon spotting the treasured item, settled almost instantly, mouth snapping open, waiting. His bright little eyes stared in rapt attention all the while. He barked out a laugh, “He definitely does.”

“You like food names, right? What’s that American food called again?” Miko tapped his chin idly, brow furrowed in thought, “The one with the funny name?”

“There’s a lot of American food with funny names.” He snorted, wiping the kitten’s fur as he gulped down the food, flecks of chicken-paste going just about everywhere. “Like this thing Bo was telling me about the other day- a sloppy joe? It sounded disgusting.”

“I got it-” He clicked his fingers, “Spam. That’s that canned meat block thing, right? Spam?”

“Oh, yeah, spam.” He hummed, "Blok loves that stuff.”

“Yeah, well, that cat looks like that stuff.”

He chuckled. The kitten really didn’t, all things considered, being a greyish white like his sister, but the food-paste had dyed his whiskers a pinkish, flesh-like hue. “He does now he’s all covered in meat goo.”

“Spam. Take it or leave it.” Miko yawned, “‘Cause I’m too tired to come up with anything else.”

He kissed the kitten atop his furry little head, making sure to avoid the gross gooey spots. “Spam it is, then.”

—

“Yeah, yeah. Hello to you too.”

Tiger barely made it three steps into the alley before his oh-so-familiar welcoming party descended.

Without Joe here, or any other person he might’ve forcibly dragged along, the cats were much more open. More willing to come out at just the scent of him alone. Just turning into the alleyway itself was enough to receive an audience of eyes on him. Cats appearing left and right from high ledges, or peering out from beneath dumpsters and wooden crates.

There were his usual few who always came right up to greet him Rye, Saffron, Tachio– and Pepper too, of course, ever the gentle, welcoming sweetheart.

Unlike one of his other more regular cats. Sushi, a white-and-cream cat who had the patience of a toddler, had leaped out from one of the higher perches in the alleyway, latching onto his leg as he walked with an abrupt meow. Her claws dug deep into the fabric of his joggers, prickling at the skin underneath as she began to climb, meowing all the while.

“Alright, alright!” He couldn’t help but laugh, wiggling in a feeble attempt to get her off. She clung tight, though. He should’ve called her barnacle or something… Maybe parasite? That seemed more fitting. “Gimme a second, Sushi– geez,”

Once he’d gotten a bit further into the alleyway (and Sushi had gotten further up his body, now clung to his hip) he put down his sports bag, his now free hands instantly moving to pluck the cat from his clothes. She purred, her rough tongue licking at his hands as he swiftly deposited her back onto the ground where she belonged, before moving back for his bag. He’d shoved some food in here somewhere…

A flurry of meows had him groan, even as he grinned. A hoard seemed to form around his bag, cats eagerly jostling against one another as they tried to practically merge with him as he unzipped the bag, pulling out the food (and quickly shooing away the more curious cats, who had instead focused on attempting to drag his sports gear out from the bag, rather than the food). He zipped the bag back up quickly– he’d be damned if he lost another shoe or sock to one of these furry thieves.

The food itself wasn’t anything amazing this time- usually he brought chicken, or fish. Something he knew the cats would appreciate over basic kibble, but he hadn’t had a chance to stock up on wet foods yet, as of this week, so kibble would have to do. Not that it seemed to bother the cats, who swarmed the floor as he spilt the kibble onto it, the sound of tiny teeth crunching and snapping quickly echoing around him.

Now that everyone seemed settled, he allowed himself to sit down fully onto the concrete floor, Rye quickly moving to secure his lap, stretching out along his legs with a scruffy purr. He rubbed at the back of her ears fondly.

Crap, his shirt was covered in fur. Caked in it, even; it was hard to tell what the beginning colours had even been at this rate. He hadn’t brought a damn lint roller this time either…

Oh well.

He breathed, exhaling tiredly. Pepper bumped his head against his leg, as if sympathetic. It only served to cover him in more fur. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes, reaching out to pet the gentle tomcat. “Thank you, Pep.”

One of the cats Miko had named many months ago also bumped against him, reaching her body up to rest her paws against his shoulder, leaning forward to sniff his ear curiously. Her nose was cold and wet as it pressed close. He had to stop himself from outright flinching at the random protrusion. “And… Thank you, Haru… I guess.”

Haru meowed… Right down his ear. That he had to flinch away from. Haru let out a strange hmprh sound as she was dislodged, slinking back to the ground. She turned away almost instantly, back towards the kibble, and continued to graze on it as if nothing happened.

Tachio, who had been somewhat nearby, batted a paw at her as she went. He missed entirely, by miles, even, but at least the thought was there.

Tiger couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the scene.

“Anyway, this was only supposed to be a short trip,” He spoke aloud to himself, checking the time on his phone as he did so. “Five more minutes then I gotta book it, otherwise I’ll be late to practise.” He scrunched his face at the mere thought, “Last time I was Coach made me run ten laps around the pitch. That sucked.”

A few cats looked up at his words, chirping back, as if protesting. Others bumped up even closer to him, meowing and purring. He couldn’t help but smile at the attempts. They wouldn’t work on him.

Until five minutes turned into ten.

Then fifteen.

Then twenty.

Oh he was so screwed…

—

He ended up running twenty-seven laps around the pitch this time. Each representing a minute he was late by. A new record, honestly. For both how late he was and how much he’d run. Fun times.

“Hey, Tiger?”

Tiger grabbed at his water bottle, bringing it up to his lips to take a quick sip, “Yeah, Joe?”

“I just realised I forgot to ask, so, well–” He sounded sheepish as he slumped down nearby onto one of the changing room’s many benches. “How’s Pepper doing?”

“Don’t tell me he’s looped you into the whole cat-thing too.” North groaned from across the room, tossing a towel over his shoulder as he made his way towards the showers. He couldn’t help but laugh at the grumpily-fond look North threw his way. “This is turning into some sort of cult, Tiger, I swear.”

“How’d you even know what I was talking about?” Joe chuckled, his confusion ebbing away the more he thought about it. “Wait, don’t tell me-”

“You aren’t the first, Joe.” North snorted. “And I bet you won’t be the last, either. He’s dragging all of us in by the second. I mean, I was only there a few days ago for like the third time. Not to mention Rasta’s been helping him out for months.”

Rasta blinked at the mention of his name, glancing up from his phone, confused, “Hm?”

“He’s talking about the ‘cat cult’.” Joe quoted with his fingers, “Am I seriously the last to meet the family? I’m offended, Ti’.”

“Not the last, amigo.” El Matador called out smugly from his locker, adjusting his hair in the mirror he kept on the inside of the door, brushing the long black strands up into his typical ponytail. “But that’s because unlike you, I refuse to be dragged into some stinky dump and catch lice and whatever else those cretins carry. Absolutely not.”

Tiger couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Who said I even wanted you near them to begin with, El Matador? You might be carrying something yourself.”

“Even the mutts of the street want to meet me, Tiger.” He shot back, “And the only things I carry are Gucci, Prada, and Balenciaga. Things I’m sure those mutts have only ever dreamed of.”

“Mutts are dogs, dude.” North sighed, pinching his brow, though the edges of his mouth quirked up into a faint, exasperated smile, “These are cats. Stray cats.”

“Strays don’t sound nearly as demeaning as it should.” El Matador huffed, “I’ll stick with mutts, thank you.”

—

"Hi, Mrs. Liang!"

The little bell above the door chimed as Tiger slipped inside. The scent of the store hit him instantly, as it always did: dry hay, dusty plastic, and the heavy sweetness of something floral and powdery. It was familiar, and comforting. Like he’d walked right into his grandmother’s living room after a long day.

Or a horse stable… Both ideas were nice, though, so he couldn’t really complain.

"Nǐ hǎo, Tiger," Came the usual elderly voice from behind the counter, warm and friendly. "Back so soon? I could've sworn you just left!”

He laughed, already halfway down an aisle, basket swinging from one hand as he scanned his options. "I practically live here, nǎinai. I thought you knew that by now."

"At this rate, I should be charging you rent.” She hummed, “Or at least letting you sleep in the back. I could make you a bed out of the bags of millet I have."

"Tch. If you start paying me in tuna cans and cat toys, maybe I’ll consider it." He poked his head out the end of the aisle, flashing her a grin. "I could be your on-call cat guy.”

“You already are.” Her face creased with a smile, “And I don’t have to pay you whatsoever.”

He ducked back behind the aisle with a huff, “I guess I’ll have to rein back in on how much I help out around here.”

“You’ll come crawling back.” She teased with a laugh, “You always do. You and your crazy obsession with those strays, I swear. I’m surprised they don’t follow you home.”

That made him chuckle, “Sometimes they do, actually.”

“Oh?”

“I had one sneak into practice once.” He grabbed a bag of kitten formula– he figured maybe it might be useful if any of the kittens needed some at any point. “She managed to crawl into North’s locker. Spooked him so bad when he opened it back up that he almost punched the locker door.”

Mrs. Liang let out an amused puff. “I’m sure he wasn’t too pleased with that.” Her face came into view once more as he finally finished up, wandering out from where he had hidden between the aisles, hoisting his now-full basket up onto the counter. Her eyes held a sort of parental sternness that made him duck his head in mock-shame, “And I’m sure neither was your Coach.”

“Yeah…” He laughed, “But it wasn’t my fault! I didn’t think one of them would hide in my bag.”

She gave a low, noncommittal hum, looking up from scanning the items to send a wink in his direction. “Sure, sure.”

“Gah.” He whined, making her giggle, “Stop judging me. I check my bag now before every practice.”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded, sending him another wink. He couldn’t help but giggle too “Whatever you say. Now. Back on the more important things– why don’t you go grab some more wet food? On me, of course. For the little ones, yes?”

"Ah ah ah, nǎinai." He wagged a finger at her, shaking his head fondly. "You know I make more than enough to pay for it. You’ve gotta stop giving me freebies."

“I’m not giving you freebies.” She argued halfheartedly, “They’re for the cats, unless you plan on eating them yourself.”

He pulled a face at that, “Now I’m definitely not grabbing more.”

She tutted, “You never let me spoil my grandchildren, lǎo Hǔ.”

He couldn’t help but snort, “They’re not my children. They’re more like… friends?”

“And I’m not your grandmother.” She pointed out with a teasing grin, “But yet here we are, and I want my grandbabies well fed. So go get the damn cans, young man–”

—

Night had begun creeping in by the time Tiger finally managed to save himself from Mrs. Liang’s ‘freebie argument’ and get himself out of the store. The sky was grey and clouded, heavy with rain; the only light coming from the yellow-bulbed streetlights leaning over the pathway as he walked.

Now that he’d escaped the calm wrath of his pseudo-grandmother, it was time to head home, get out of his training gear, and collapse onto his couch to watch some crappy TV with his little hoard of kittens. That sounded like heaven right now.

The walk home wasn’t too long, thankfully- if he took the back routes, that was. Luckily he knew these alleyways like the back of his hand, and while they weren’t too bright, lacking the lights the main streets had, they were bright enough to maneuver through with ease. And that lack of light meant a lack of people.

Not that he was avoiding people, but sometimes even he preferred some quiet in his hectic life sometimes.

Especially after having spent all his energy bantering with Mrs. Liang. And from running laps around the pitch because he was just a few minutes late.

Not to mention also lugging his sports bag along, full to the brim with both his sports gear and the cat supplies he’d just purchased. Usually he’d bring regular bags, but having only been able to slip in last-minute because of practice getting in the way, he’d resorted to shoving the food in there, instead. So much easier to carry, slung over his shoulder. Not that it didn’t weigh a ton, though, because geez, it did. The thing was a whole workout to carry. His back wouldn’t be thanking him in the morning, that was for certain.

He turned the corner, shifting the weight of his bag slightly as he did so with a grunt.

And that’s when he noticed it. Footsteps. Somewhere behind him. Light, but with an obvious weight behind them. As if someone was trying to sneak, but lacked the frame to do so.

His gait quickened. There was no reason for him to look back– that’d only draw more attention. Walk forward, ignore. Simple– he wasn’t too far from his house, either.

Besides, what were the chances this was an actual criminal? He wasn’t the only damn person walking around this time of day. He was getting anxious over nothing.

The footsteps grew quicker. “Hey.”

Okay, maybe he’d misspoken. He had far too much bad luck…

“Hey.” The stranger repeated, practically storming after him, “You know I’m talkin’ to you, dammit.”

A big, burly hand shot out, gripping the back of his jacket. He couldn’t help but try and squirm away, but the hand only tightened, a hot breath against his ear. “Fuckin stop.”

Tiger couldn’t help but grit his teeth, instantly stopping his movements. “What do you want?”

“Wallet, bag, the usual shit.” The guy sneered, “You never been mugged before or somethin? Wanderin around in these alleyways? You’re one lucky fella.”

“What can I say? The people I meet aren’t usually assholes.” He bit back. He found himself shoved into a wall for that comment. “Yeah, yeah, fine. Take it, man. There’s nothing of worth in it anyway.”

The stranger’s free hand dragged his bag’s strap over his head, letting the bag drop to the floor. “I’ll be the judge of that. Don’t think I don’t know who you are– you’ve gotta have some good shit in here somewhere.” The hand shoved him into the wall once more, his head bouncing off of the bricks. “Now stay there and don’t fuckin move. You look at me and I’ll kill you, got it?”

He kept his head pressed against the wall. His forehead was warm, and wet now, with what he assumed was blood. “Got it.”

Tiger couldn’t help but wince as he heard the zipper, followed by the sound of cans being haphazardly tossed out onto the concrete floor as the bag was looted. Hopefully they wouldn’t break, it’d be a shame to waste the food. “You some sort of cat-fanatic or somethin?”

“Something like that.”

The carton of formula he’d bought just moments ago hit the ground, a slosh of milk exploding out from the now broken seal. Oh come on. “There’s jack shit here.”

“I told you that.”

The hand was back now, against his jacket, the hot breath back, pressed to his ear. “You got that stupid charm on you that you always carry around?”

His heart lurched at the mere mention of his charm. His shoulders hunched instinctively. “That’s not worth shit either.”

The stranger’s hands moved upwards, towards his neck. “Liar.”

“I’m serious–”

“Mreow?”

Tiger could’ve almost laughed at how the pair of them instantly paused at the sound.

From his peripheral, he could see a little black blob, wandering down the middle of the alleyway. From some of the casted moonlight hitting the alley, he could just make out white speckles.

…Was that Pepper…?

Well this was awkward.

He bit his lip as a finger looped around the necklace his charm sat on, dragging it up so the charm was exposed from where he usually hid it behind his shirt. The stranger chuckled. “For someone who says otherwise, this shit looks mighty expensive.”

Pepper tottled closer, meowing again. He felt the stranger stop to look down at the cat, kicking a foot in Pepper’s direction. “Shoo!”

Pepper hissed, scrambling backwards slightly to avoid being hit.

…Before running and jumping right up onto the guy, claws and teeth fully bared.

“What the fuck-!?” The stranger screeched, letting go of Tiger as he stumbled backwards, Pepper still hissing and yowling all the while.

Tiger took this opportunity to move, forcing himself away from the wall and spinning around to take in the view.

The man was huge, a big, bulky, tall guy, but he looked absolutely dwarfed with fear as Pepper clung to him, hissing and screeching and snapping, teeth and claws flying.

“Geez.” Was all he could say– because seriously? Was he actually seeing this right now?

He blinked as a few more eyes peered out from the darkness. No way. No way.

Rye, Tachio, Sushi, Haru– all of them were here, darting out from the darkness, looking just as pissed as Pepper did. They joined their fellow cat in what could only be described as a movie-esque battle scene, jumping atop of the stranger and beginning to claw and scratch at him as he cried and babbled, flinging one off only to have two attach themselves in their place. “Get them off of me–!! Please!”

“Uh.” Tiger’s voice couldn’t even begin to be louder than the current war-cry of his weird little cat army. He shrugged at the man, instead moving to sit himself down on the concrete below before he ended up falling down. That blow to the wall earlier clearly took its toll on him. “Sorry…?”

He blinked as a weight settled in his lap, looking downwards despite the nauseous feeling that overcame him as he did so. “Oh.” He grinned at the scruffy-looking, elderly cat curled in his lap. “Hey, Hotdog. I was wondering where you’d gone off to.”

The stranger continued screaming and yelling, beginning to now try and scramble up from where he’d collapsed against a nearby wall. He took off, sprinting down the alleyway, falling into dumpsters and trash as he went, a hoard of cats still clutched tightly to him, with others following suit, yowling and hissing as they ran.

Tiger figured he could sit here then. For a bit, just to regain himself a little. Seemed like his ‘friends’ had everything covered… If the echoes of the stranger’s screams still ringing out into the night meant anything.

Hotdog yawned, nuzzling up against him with a scratchy purr. He accepted the love happily.

—

Chapter Text

—

Colossus FC.

Of all the teams to come back against, it had to be them. Six months of surgeries. Six months of rehab. Six months of trying to claw his way back into the game, back into his own body, and his first match back was against them? What kind of cruel fucking joke was that?

The dread had been simmering for days, now. A creeping, crawling kind of fear. The kind that tugged at your throat. Made it hard to breathe. The kind that made your hands tremble, and your legs shake, even when you couldn’t possibly begin to fathom why.

He’d felt it before. The moment he’d gone down, six months ago. Clutching at his arm. Wailing in agony. Panting and gasping through the pain. His body had tried to curl inwards, desperate to protect him. To shield him against more hits. More pain. More enemies.

It was a fear of the unknown.

He’d told himself, all those months ago, that it would pass. That once he was back on the pitch, he’d feel better. That it was nothing more than a silly, little, unremarkable fear- like a child, afraid of the dentist.

But it hadn’t. If anything, it’d just grown worse. Like something was rotting under his skin. Like it had wormed its way around his heart like some sort of parasite, squeezing and pulsing.

It wouldn’t leave-

“Hey!” An all-too-familiar clack-clack-clack on the tiled floor has his ears perking, his mind snapping out from the gutter it had crawled down into. “Tiger!”

He spun around. “Miko!” Tiger grinned sheepishly as the man hobbled forward on his crutches, a smile of his own gracing his lips,“You came to watch?”

“Of course I did.” Miko scoffed lightheartedly, “It’s your first match back, after all. I’d be a real crappy Captain not showing up for it.”

“You didn’t have to.” He giggled, nudging Miko with his good arm. Gently, because he was seriously worried he’d topple the man with his full strength. Miko, like him, had come leaps and bounds in recovery, but his crutch-walking skills were still… debatable, at best. “I don’t think your physical therapist would be pleased to know you’re wobbling around just to see little old me kick a ball.”

“She’ll live.” Miko snorted, “You did far worse during recovery than I ever did, and she survived that just fine.”

“Hey!” He laughed, “I was a great patient-”

“You were a terrible patient.” Miko adjusted the crutches with a soft grunt. His arms were beginning to tremble with the strain, “And I think I might need to sit down before I end up following in your footsteps.”

Immediately, Tiger moved, his fingers latching on to the fabric of Miko’s sleeve, steadying him. He frowned, “Do you want help? I don’t mind walking you out to the benches–”

“I’ll be alright. Thanks, though,” He smiled, leaning forward to gently knock his forehead into Tiger’s own, “It’s not too far. I’ll see you on the pitch, yeah?”

The anxiety-casing around his heart squeezed. He forced a smile. “For sure, brother.”

—

He’d forgotten how tall the Colossus players were.

Which was stupid, because he knew they were tall. They were called Colossus for crying out loud. They were known for their size. Their towering presence. Their brute strength.

He’d run into Demetrius, in the corridors before the starting lineup. The man had given him a heart-attack, appearing out of thin air like some sort of ghoul. His shadow had swallowed him up, his figure blocking out any light from the nearby bulbs as he leaned down to peer at Tiger.

“Hi.”

“Hi?” Tiger couldn’t help but squeak. Jeez, for such a tall, obvious presence, he sure as hell could sneak around pretty damn well. “Can I- help you?”

Demetrius’ gaze flittered to his bandaged arm. His jaw moved idly, as if chewing on something. “I don’t think it’s me who needs help, friend.”

Okay, well that… Wasn’t an answer.

“You better take care of that arm of yours.” Demetrius spoke up once more, straightening back up from where he’d slumped down. “It’d be a shame if anything happened to it so soon.”

That did nothing good for his already pounding heart. Tiger simply nodded, quickly slinking off back towards his own team and far away from the utter creep that was Demetrius, apparently.

Yugiro seemed to be in the middle of some sort of pep-talk as Tiger slid his way back into the room, the door shutting softly behind him. He pressed his trembling spine to the wood.

Nobody seemed to notice him. Thank god.

“You alright?”

Nevermind.

He jumped at the breathy whisper, snapping his head to the side. Kendo curled a confused brow at him. “I’m fine.” He whispered back, scowling, “Give a guy a heart attack, would you?”

“You’ve been off all day.” Kendo’s face scrunched. The kind of pug-like scrunch where he knew the man wanted to say more, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“I don’t need a babysitter, Kens.”

Kendo’s eyes narrowed, “You know that’s not what I mean.”

“And what do you mean, exactly?” Tiger couldn’t help but snipe back. Frustration leaked over his paranoia, bringing fire to his ice-cold veins. It felt good, in a strange way. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“I’m no genius but if I had to guess.” Kendo’s soft voice oozed with sarcasm, “It probably has to do with, oh, I don’t know, Colossus?”

Yugiro threw the pair of them an odd look, his lips never stopping as he continued on with his talk, waving his arms about as he paced the length of the changing room. Kylo and Keita followed the Sub-Captain’s gaze, their confused eyes flittering over to Tiger and Kendo for a brief moment before zoning back in.

Tiger took this moment to elbow Kendo in the ribs. Hard. His arm ached at such a simple notion, throbbing from shoulder to wrist. “I’m. Fine.”

“Don’t act like a brat.” Kendo muttered, not even flinching at the hit. “We’re talking about this as soon as Yugiro shuts up.”

—

“He said what?”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it, Kens.” Tiger groaned, hiding his face in his hands as he walked, “It was nothing. I’m just being paranoid.”

“It was nothing?” Kendo sounded violent. He looked it, too, muscles tightly coiled, standing at his full, towering height. His fists were shaking. “That’s not nothing. What kind of sick bastard says something like that?”

“One who’s just trying to rile me up. Rile us up.” He corrected himself, “And you’re letting him win.”

“I’m going to punch him.”

“No you are not.” Tiger snapped, groaning. He tugged a hand through his hair, pulling at the strands, “You’re making me feel worse, not better.”

Kendo peered down at him, his gaze softening. Just a tad. “What can I do to help?”

“First of all, stop threatening to punch people.” Tiger joked loosely, “Second.. I’ll, uh. Have to get back to you on that one.”

“...Are you sure you don’t wanna sit this one out?” Kendo’s voice was so very gentle now, “No one would blame you one bit, kid.”

“I’ve sat out every damn match we’ve had for six whole months.” He forced a shaky smile, “I’m finally back and I’m not going anywhere.”

The tunnel lineups came into view as they turned the corridor’s final bend. Colossus on one side, Nakama on the other. Yugiro was peering over his shoulder, eyes lighting up when he noticed the pair. He gestured Tiger towards him, to his designated spot in the line.

“Where did you two wander off to?” Yugiro asked as Tiger slid into his usual spot, the Sub-Captain behind him, and Kylo and the other strikers up front. His voice wasn’t angry, just confused. “Did you miss the part of my talk that spoke about arriving on time?”

“Must’ve done.” Tiger couldn’t help but grin. Yugiro simply rolled his eyes with a sigh, turning around in the line to try and force an answer out of Kendo instead.

Beside him, one of the Colossus midfielders craned his neck to look down at him. “Didn’t think you’d come back, if I’m honest.” He rumbled, “Can’t say if that’s impressive or dumb.”

Tiger let out a shaky breath, “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Well,” The midfielder flashed a toothy smile. “We can certainly try.”

—

The anxiety was so much worse now.

Tiger fought back the urge to tug at his hair again. And against the urge to run away. And the urge to commit several atrocities that he’d probably end up jailed for life over if he were somehow successful. That god-forsaken paranoia was stronger than ever, coursing through his veins, heavy and thick, like some gooped-up sewer sludge. It constricted his lungs, made it hard to breathe. It felt like he was drowning.

“Dude.” Kylo breathed, nudging him slightly with his arm as he stretched the limb out, “You look like you’re about to be sick.”

“First match back nerves.” Thank the stars for Keita, who piped up for him, doing a lunge warm-up nearby, “Can’t really blame you, man.”

“I’m only a little nervous.” He lied through the skin of his teeth, “I think I just need some water before we start. Any of you guys want some?”

“Nah, but bring me back an orange slice, yeah? I could use some sugar.”

“Kylo, those are for half-time.” Renji rolled his eyes as he stretched out his calves. “You’re supposed to wait.”

“The ref isn’t gonna foul me just because I want an orange slice early.” Kylo scoffed, “Tiger- make it two slices. Just to spite Renji.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re more ridiculous!” Kylo laughed, “It’s a friggin orange slice, it’s not gonna kill anyone.”

Tiger slipped away as the pair began to banter back and forth, quickly making his way over to the little refreshments stand they kept close to the sub-benches. The cooler had already been opened, apparently, condensation dripping down its sides in thin, watery lines. He crouched down, grabbing a bottle with his good arm. The water was sweet, and cold. It soothed his scratchy throat, but it did little to soothe his heightened nerves. If anything, it only made them worse.

Shakily, he stood, moving to open a nearby second container, which he knew from experience would have the half-time fruits in. With his free hand, he fished out two slices of orange, for Kylo.

He didn’t hear the approaching footsteps until it was too late.

“Aw,” A voice drawled lazily above him, making him jump, “Look who’s back from the dead? Could’ve sworn I ended your career.”

Tiger froze. His fingers tightened on the bottle, the plastic crinkling under his grip.

“I like the bandages.” Another spoke up with a snicker, “Makes the pathetic vibe you’re going for really pop.”

Slowly, he turned.

Ares was standing behind him, flanked tightly by Achilles and Titan. The defenders all wore the same shit-eating grin, their eyes roaming him hungrily, like wolves to a rabbit.

He forced yet another smile, attempting to relax his posture as he peered up at the trio, squinting his eyes against the sun glaring from behind them. “Nice to see you guys too.”

“Oh please.” Titan snorted, crossing his arms. “It’s obvious you aren’t.”

“And don’t worry. The feeling’s mutual.” Achilles smirked. “At least it’s only one of you who came crawling back. For now.” The defender nodded over to Nakama’s bench, where Miko sat, blissfully unaware, chatting happily with some of the substitutes. “How long ‘till he’s back on the pitch, hm? Can’t wait for a little rematch with him, too.”

Tiger’s lip curled. “You’re a prick.”

Achilles leaned down. Closer. His breath was hot against his skin. “Say that again.” He whispered, voice icy, “I dare you.”

His stomach clenched. Every part of his soul screamed for him to get out, but still, he held his ground, jutting his chin up, “I said-”

“Cute little reunion you’re having here.”

Ares instantly backed off, turning to look behind himself, a loose grin on his face, “Kendo.” He greeted, “We’re just having a little welcome-back chat.”

“Do you typically get in people's faces just to chat?” Kendo sounded livid. “Or is this a one-off thing I’m walking in on here?”

Ares shrugged one shoulder. “Just a bit of friendly banter. You know how it is.”

Kendo stared at him. “Friendly,” he repeated flatly.

“Course,” Ares said, smile widening. “We were just talking about how good it is to see Tiger back in action.” His thick, calloused hand reached down. Tiger fought against the flinch that attempted to wrack his body as it made contact with his skin, ruffling his hair. “Real inspirational stuff, this kid is.”

“Funny,” Kendo replied, taking a slow step forward. “Because from where I was standing, it looks very fucking different.”

Achilles let out a sharp little exhale. Not quite a laugh. Something breathy and nervous. “You’re overreacting.”

“No,” Kendo said, moving to stand toe-to-toe with him, squaring his shoulders. “I know what I saw. And if I catch any of you getting in his face again –on the pitch, off the pitch, in the fucking car park, even– I’ll make sure you’re the ones leaving on stretchers this time.”

A pause. Ares' hand slipped from Tiger’s head. The three Colossus players exchanged awkward glances with one another.

Kendo arched a single brow. “That’s your cue to leave.”

Tiger had expected them to fight, but they… They just left. Without another word.

Kendo’s steely gaze watched them the entire time. He didn’t even acknowledge Tiger until the trio had fully rejoined their team, heads bowed and shoulders hunched. They looked like cowering dogs, their tails stuck tight between their legs as their teammates laughed and jeered at them. Only once they were far enough away did he turn his head back, looking down. His gaze had softened completely. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Tiger gave a stiff little nod, sighing. The anxiety was still there, still pulsing and coursing through his veins, but that confrontation, as… horrible as it was, it’d helped. He felt… calmer, now. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me, I’ve been wanting to say that to him since that day. Fucking disgusting man.” Kendo grunted, throwing an arm over Tiger’s shoulder. Despite his anger, the touch was gentle. His hand ruffled through his hair, fingers working to fix what Ares' boisterous touch had destroyed. “C’mon. Kylo’ll get upset if he doesn’t get his stupid oranges.”

—

Chapter Text

—

“–Yeah, and is it true Twisting Tiger’s an alien?”

Tiger grins. He brings his hands up to his face, waggling his fingers like makeshift antennae, “Can I park my flying saucer on your soccer pitch?”

—

Twisting Tiger.

Is an alien.

And now– listen! Listen, okay– he’s not saying that for the sake of saying it. This isn’t another one of his ‘delusions’, as the team lovingly puts it, this is real. Klaus knows Tiger’s an alien. He really knows! Even if the others laugh him off, think this is some made-up fairytale he’s spinning, he knows it isn’t. He knows the truth.

That news report in the paper? It was shabby, yes. Poorly written, yes, but he’d read it over, and it had pretty good points! Tiger was an inhuman force of nature. He has physics-defying hair. And it’s blood red, for crying out loud! That’s weird! That’s not normal! That’s inhuman.

Twisting Tiger is an alien. And he’s sleeping in the room just across from him.

That ‘joke’, earlier today. When Joe had the question that had been buzzing under his skin since that news article came out. Is it true Twisting Tiger’s an alien?

Tiger’s response was no joke. It was a real, genuine question played off as a joke. He had been asking to land his UFO on their soccer pitch- like a vampire asking for permission to enter a house. He didn’t know that was the same for aliens, but it was clear now that it was.

When no one had bothered to say yes and invite him to land his saucer, Tiger’s laugh had slowed into a soft, casual giggle, but his eyes- they’d roamed. Eyed up all of them. As if he was checking that they were laughing, and not second-guessing his apparent slip-up.

Klaus had laughed along- he’d have been stupid not to, after all. He’d closed his eyes when Tiger’s lizard-like gaze pierced into his own, feigning wiping tears, blending in with the rest of the crowd.

He couldn’t let Tiger know he was onto him.

Not yet.

—

So.

Klaus thinks he’s an alien.

The mere thought had Tiger snickering into his pillow.

After all their years together, this is what caused the switch to flip? A crappily-made news report? The photo of ‘alien him’ was just a picture of him saturated green; the antennae were a stock-image, and his eyes had just been photoshopped bigger. It was a load of crap! And yet that ‘load of crap’ had been the thing to work.

He’d expected Klaus to come to this conclusion much, much sooner. The guy was the team’s detective– he lived for crime thrillers and science-fiction novels. He’d had long-since figured Klaus would be the one to sniff him out first.

But this long? Seriously?

I can’t let Tiger know I’m onto him.

Unfortunately for Klaus, one of Tiger’s many added bonuses of not being human was the fact he could mindread. Even from behind several heavy doors. Klaus’ head was especially easy to gain access to, out of all his team members. His was scattered and loud, like, constantly. It was hard to not listen to him- his thoughts took up the whole room sometimes. In an amusingly horrible way, that was; it could either be like listening to a train actively derail, or the most in-depth, scarily-accurate theory about something Tiger had ever heard in his life.

This, however, was neither.

Because firstly, it was a joke. He didn’t need permission to land a god-damn flying saucer anywhere. He wasn’t like a vampire– vampires didn’t even exist. Ghosts do, and demons do too, for the record, but vampires? Nah. Nope. Still just a myth, unfortunately- he’d double checked himself after learning about them from Grimm FC. A true shame, if you asked him; Vlad would be ten times more intimidating on the pitch if he actually was a vampire.

Secondly, his hair? It was gel- could Klaus seriously not tell he gelled his hair? He’d watched him gel it before, many, many times before. What kind of amnesic, dementia-ridden illness had ravaged this man’s brain? And the colour? He dyed it- you know, like normal people do? Did Klaus never question why his eyebrows were black? Because, maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t a natural blood-redhead? His own actual species didn’t grow bright red hair. They had typical, natural shades just like the rest of the galaxy. Humans weren’t as special as they thought they were.

And thirdly?

Hm.

Well, he had no other points, really. All he had now was an issue on his hands. A mild one, granted, but an issue nonetheless.

Klaus was… He was persistent. When he wanted to be, that was. Usually, Tiger appreciated his bounds of endless energy and child-like determination, but his apparent new obsession with him could definitely prove to be an issue.

But, on the contrary, it also might not be. For where Klaus had persistence, he lacked… Well, he lacked brain cells, to put it bluntly. Klaus could be smart, but he typically wasn’t, and that was that.

Either way, he needed to act normal. Just enough for Klaus’ week or two obsession period to calm itself down, at least, then things could go back to the way it was.

Yeah. That didn’t sound too hard. Right? Hell, maybe he could even mess with him a little.

—

He didn’t even mean to mess with him, but the next morning, here he was. Messing with him.

The team had gathered early for pre-match practice, yawning and stretching as they jogged easy laps around The Sultans’ pitch. The grounds were immaculate, as expected from the richest team in the league, every blade of grass identically trimmed like it had been cut with nail clippers. It was a beautiful, peaceful place to train, even if most of the guys looked too groggy to appreciate it.

Staying overnight in places this fancy tended to lull the body into a sort of vacation-mode. Or maybe, Tiger thought, casting a look toward Shakes and North dragging their feet like zombies, some people had simply stayed up too late exploring endless hotel lobbies. Or in El Matador’s case, it was probably more shop after shop than anything. The man’s bank account was probably as drained as that poor guy looked right now.

He, on the other hand, was in his prime.

While the others blinked at the sun like hungover cats, Tiger was loose, focused, stretching and jogging with the ease of someone built for movement.

Which, to be fair- he was.

His species thrived on minimal rest. Had adapted to it millennia ago. He didn’t need more than a few hours, biologically speaking- not that he’d ever listened to that, though. He’d grown fond of sleeping in, of curling up under warm blankets and pretending he was just as tired and soft-limbed as the rest of them. There was something nice about naps. Comforting. Warm. Human.

But this morning, he was sharp. Limber. Muscles humming with restless energy. He was excited for the game later this afternoon, after all. He was always energised on match days.

Even with his restlessness, he kept himself reined in. He always did.

Stretching was where he had to be careful- he had too many extra tendons. Hidden joints, muscles; little evolutionary tweaks that gave him a range of motion human bodies just weren’t meant to have. Over the years, he’d learned what he could get away with through trial, error, and several panicked teammates yelling things like “Your shoulder’s not supposed to bend that way!” or “Oh my God did you break your leg!?”

Long story short, he knew the acceptable boundaries.

He started with casual, basic stretches- calves, thighs, hamstrings. All slow, familiar movements anyone could do with ease. Once he was ‘loosened up’ he then eased into deeper poses. He took a lot of inspiration from yoga, when he stretched. The poses helped scratch some of his itches when it came to not being able to use more hidden parts of his alien self. He’d learnt a lot of the techniques through watching videos; he especially liked the ones where the instructors looked like they were folding themselves in half like a piece of paper, but somehow kept a casual, happy smile on their faces the entire time.

Arching backwards, vertebrae flexing one by one, he leaned until gravity tipped him over, hands catching the ground, absorbing the fall with practiced ease. He lifted into a smooth handstand, his legs swinging up and over his head in a graceful arc, momentum carrying him forward, gracefully.

Then he dropped. Into the splits.

And not just a casual, yoga-guy-on-Instagram kind of splits. He sank into it, legs pushed so far apart they nearly flattened against the turf. It was gymnastics more than yoga at this point, but it felt good. This kind of stretch helped reach muscles of his that humans didn’t even have- ones he never, ever got to stretch out. He leaned into it happily, pressing down on his knees to curve them inwards towards the grass. It probably looked a little odd, but nobody had to be looking that closely at him, right–?

A sharp, strangled wheeze from behind him told him otherwise.

Tiger glanced over his shoulder and found Klaus standing a few feet away, completely frozen. His eyes were wide, horrified. Luckily, his eyes didn’t seem to be on the unnatural curve of his knees- instead, his gaze was sitting… between Tiger’s legs. Klaus’ own legs were crossed over on another tightly, in a way that suggested the sight had caused him physical pain down there–

Oh. Oh. Right, humans had sensitive groin areas. This probably looked really, really uncomfortable.. He tended to forget that, sometimes. There was a lot to remember, okay? He was trying.

Easing up on the pressure against his knees, he flashed Klaus a smile. “Hi.”

Klaus didn’t respond- he simply turned and walked away. More so waddled away, actually, kind of like a penguin. It was as if he’d actually been struck down there.

Tiger blinked, “Uh… Bye?”

—

“Supa Strikas aren’t doing too well, Mac.”

“You don’t need to tell me, Brenda– it’s clear to see! Something needs to change on their end, and soon, otherwise this’ll be a clear win for The Sultans.”

“So much for positive commentary,” Tiger couldn’t help but mutter under his breath, painfully dragging his body up from the stadium floor.

He winced at the dull throb against the curve of his back. His attempted sideswipe had gone wide, his timing off. By the time he was upright again, the ball was already speeding down the field, right into Strikas’ defence. He spat a sharp curse in Japanese.

Fast. I need to go fast. He pushed off his back foot. Catch up, catch up. This is your fault if they score, catch up.

The world blurred. The crowd was a smear of noise. The ball was his target, and Zahir– well, Zahir was just an obstacle. The Sultan’s captain moved like smoke and silk, threading between defenders with cold precision. Blok was bearing down on him like the solid tank he was, but Zahir wasn’t interested in brute force. Instead he twisted, he slipped, and Blok stumbled past with a frustrated grunt.

Zahir smirked, confident enough to wink at the man as their paths crossed. The goal was opening. Bo stood at the ready, arms outstretched and face clenched in focus.

But Tiger was faster. He was always faster.

“Twisting Tiger’s appeared out of nowhere!”

He didn’t think. He didn’t even need to. He let his instinct guide him.

He dropped low, palms slapping painfully against the turf. His leg whipped around, a blur of motion, grazing the ball with just enough force to tear it from Zahir’s feet. The Sultans’ captain barely had time to react before Tiger had already spun, redirecting the ball back out towards the midfield with a sharp, strong kick.

Rasta was there, as expected. He caught it, pivoting swiftly on his feet as he turned and pushed forward. Joe was quick to the change in direction, his shoes skidding against the ground as he moved to follow, hot on the Captain’s heels. The crowd exploded into a deafening roar.

“What a dispossess! That looked insane– Tiger’s doing the defenders’ job for them!”

“It looked inhuman, Mac! That was incredible work by the midfielder!”

Shit.

Tiger froze for half a second as he moved to sit up. That… that had sounded a bit too impressed. Were they playing it up for the cameras? Or had it really looked that unnatural?

Whichever it was, he wasn’t about to risk it. Forcing a few exaggerated pants, he held a hand to his ribs as if winded, buying himself the illusion of recovery. Sweat dripped down the side of his face- forced, not natural. He hated sweating, but it worked a charm in his little world of pretend.

The sun blotted out as a shadow cast over him. Blok loomed above, expression hidden behind his hair. A large hand reached down, palm up. Tiger took it gratefully, letting himself be gently hauled to his feet like a baby deer finding its legs. “Brrztl.”

That he was sure meant something positive. Cool maybe. Or nice job? He wasn’t too well-versed in Brislovian. It was one of the more tricker languages the Earth had to offer. Regardless, he gave a small, grateful smile and nodded. “Thanks.”

“Dude, that looked nuts- you good?” North jogged over, sweat clinging to his forehead and hairline. “You saved our asses. Coach would've skinned us alive if we’d let that bastard through again.”

“I’m good. I think.” Tiger coughed once, lightly, then pretended to stagger slightly. “Didn’t know I could run that fast. Wow.”

North barked a laugh. “Humble as ever.” He reached out and gave his shoulder a firm squeeze, steadying him. “You’re a force of nature, man. That was top-notch.”

“Bratzle brot,”

“Stop it-” Tiger couldn’t help but smile, ducking his head, “You’re embarrassing me.”

“Don’t lie, you enjoy the attention.” North teased, ruffling through his hair. “You soak it up more than El Matador does sometimes.”

“I do not!”

“Oh you so do.”

“After his earlier save, it seems Twisting Tiger’s decided to call the game quits!”

“Come on, Tiger! One save doesn’t make you a defender– stop hanging out with your backline!”

North snorted. “They’re right, y’know.” He chided with a tut, “You’ve caught your breath. Time to buzz off and go do your job- slacking’s totally more our thing.”

“Ha ha.” Tiger rolled his eyes, throwing up his hands in mock-surrender, “Alright, I’m going, I’m going.”

—

Tiger had been wandering back from the water fountain when he’d heard it.

“I’m telling you, guys!” Klaus’ shrill, panicked voice echoed through the corridor, “It’s true! It’s really true!”

Ah. So much for subtlety, then. Seemed like just because Klaus didn’t want Tiger to know he was ‘onto him’, it didn’t mean the rest of the team were spared his crazed conspiracy rants. Lucky them.

His insane save during the match probably hadn’t helped much… If anything, that’d probably just put more coal into the burning fire that was that man’s delusional brain.

Wandering a little closer to the semi-open door of the changing room, he slinked into the shadows of the closest wall, folding his arms lazily across his chest as he listened in.

“You seriously believe that dumb news report thing?” That was North’s voice, flat, yet laced with amusement. “C’mon, dude. That pic was made in IBIS Paint or something. I could’ve made something better with my eyes closed.”

There was a chorus of light snickers- Blok’s rumble of a chuckle, Cool Joe’s sharp bark of laughter. Even Rasta let out a little snort, “You can’t seriously be thinkin’ Tiger’s an alien, man.”

“I don’t think it,” Klaus huffed. “I know it. Forget about the newsletter- didn’t you guys see him today? How he ran? Moved? That wasn’t normal!”

“Like how you ‘knew’ Joe was a cyborg?” Shakes giggled, electing to ignore Klaus’ ‘facts’, “Or when you thought Bo was a werewolf?”

“What about the time he thought I was a vampire?” Eagle Eye’s voice sounded a mixture between fond and amused, “The only proof you had was that I slept ‘like a vampire’ during the one night we shared a room.”

“Guys?” Klaus’ voice grew louder, attempting to hover over the rising voices, “Are you even listening right now?”

“–Still had him convinced for months.” North cackled. “Remember the bulbs of garlic he used to wear around you?”

“Hello!?”

“–He used to spray me with holy water he bought on ebay too.” Eagle Eye chuckled, “It came in one of those little plastic spray bottles- it was kind of cute, honestly–"

“Forget about all of that! I’m right this time!” Klaus butted back in, “And I’ll prove it. I will! And when the mothership comes down and Tiger’s on it, waving at us with all seven of his arms, don’t come crying to me!”

This, of course, only served to make the team laugh harder.

Klaus’ thoughts seeped out into the hallway, loud and pouty. Why don’t they believe me? They’re not taking this seriously at all. This is a very serious matter! There’s an alien among us!

Tiger stifled a snicker.

Maybe Tiger wiped their memories… Maybe- maybe he’s controlling them right now, forcing them to try and throw me off course. I know I’m right- I’m onto you, Tiger!

He wasn’t even doing anything! Klaus was spiraling all on his own, he had absolutely no part in this madness.

Yet. He had no part in this madness yet.

Shifting his weight, he leaned closer, tilting his head to peer around the door.

Klaus was standing in the middle of the group like a preacher mid-sermon, wild-eyed and gesturing dramatically, while the rest of the team tried their best not to collapse laughing.

“I’ll prove it– you hear me!” He ranted, “I’ll prove it, and I’ll save us all! Then you’ll be thankful! You’ll all be thankful!”

“Whatever you say, man.” Shakes chuckled, “Whatever you say.”

“Gah!”

Tiger drew back just as Klaus stomped over to the door, yanking it open with frustration.

That frustration was quickly replaced with a -very manly, mind you- scream of sheer terror.

“Hey Klaus.” Tiger grinned up at him, “Whatcha talkin’ about?”

“I-uh-I-” Klaus’ throat squeezed, making a weird, odd little squeak sound. Kind of like a startled rabbit. Or a mouse. That was probably more accurate. “Somethi-nothing- uhm, I- scheiße-”

“You alright there?” Tiger tilted his head innocently, “You look a little pale, my Earthly companion.”

The rest of the locker room howled in laughter. Poor Klaus only freaked out more.

He’s onto me! Klaus’ thoughts screamed at him, He’s going to silence me! Drag me to his ship and dissect me! Oh lord, this is the end!

Tiger leaned in closer, lowering his voice for only Klaus to hear. “I won’t dissect you.” He whispered with a toothy smile, “Yet.”

Klaus’ jaw dropped comically as he reared backwards with a surprised; “What the fuck-!?”

—

Klaus had run off after that, sprinting and ducking behind one of the corridors winding through The Goliath's halls like he was a character straight out of an episode of Scooby-Doo. Cartoonish wails and screams included, of course.

And Tiger hadn’t seen him since.

Granted Tiger hadn’t seen anyone since. That was Friday. It was the weekend now, and they’d long since travelled back to Strikaland. Everyone was off doing their own thing, as they typically did, but Rasta, ever the social one, had invited the team to a barbeque at his place, and Tiger absolutely couldn’t say no to a good meal. Especially if it was one of Rasta’s- his food was out of this world. Pun intended.

And neither could Klaus, apparently, because as Tiger wandered into Rasta’s living room, there he was, sitting on the couch in all his paranoid, conspiracy glory.

Dressed head-to-toe in layers of black, he wore a thick, crumpled tin foil… Hat? Helmet? It extended past what Tiger would define as a ‘hat’, covering part of his jaw and cupping around under his chin, but looked far too shabby to be some sort of helmet. Whatever it was, it was accompanied by a brand new, fresh garlic bulb, hung from a thin piece of string around his neck. A little notebook was resting against his thigh, a hastily scribbled title across the front of it. ’Alien proof’, it read.

And in his hands sat a– was that a gun?!

No, wait, pause, not a gun. Well, technically it was a gun. Both a gun and not a gun. A nerf gun. It was a nerf gun. Spray-painted a weird mix of greens in some crappy attempt at mimicking military camo, it was clutched tight in his shaky fingers.

Fingers which had raised and took aim at him as soon as he entered the room.

Tiger said nothing.

Klaus said nothing back, but his sweaty fingers tightened against the plastic toy ever so slightly. He can’t read my mind now, because of the tin foil. His thoughts, as loud and unmuted as always, seeped into his ears, He’s trying, I know he is. I was ready for you this time, Tiger!

He blinked.

Klaus blinked back.

He knew Klaus had some serious issues, but this was a whole other level.

“Be careful.” Klaus finally decided to break the silence, cocking the gun like some sort of western gunslinger, “It’s loaded with blessed foam.”

Tiger quirked a brow, “Blessed foam? Blessed by who, exactly…?”

“I emailed a priest.” Klaus replied, his voice deadly serious. “And paypaled him five bucks to bless them over a video call.”

“Well…” He blinked once more, “Does it work on aliens?”

I don’t think so, “Yes.” I don’t even think the priest blessed these right… “It does.”

“Uh huh.” Tiger nodded, “So… Are you gonna shoot me with it, then?”

Klaus looked visibly uncomfortable now. “Yes— no- maybe?” He stammered, “Just- just don’t come closer and I won’t have to, alright?”

“I’m literally just here for the food, dude.” Tiger couldn’t help but grin, raising his arms up in mock surrender, “Alien or not, a guy’s gotta eat.”

Klaus squinted at him suspiciously. “I’m not sure I believe you, Außerirdische.”

Tiger chuckled. “Do you think I don’t eat or something?”

“I think you do more than you let on, that’s for sure.”

“What is that even supposed to mean–?”

Click .

An orange-tipped foam dart soared through the air in a high, powerful arc, slamming into his chest with the power of… Of a feather, honestly. Bouncing off of his chest, it did a little aerodynamic twirl before it hit the floor with a weary, pathetic plap.

Both of their eyes instantly moved to stare at it. An awkwardly long silence followed.

Tiger sighed, shaking his head sadly. “Honestly wish it’d killed me at this point.”

Klaus shrieked, pelting more foam bullets at him as he bolted upwards, sprinting like a madman for the patio doors, “Rastaaaaa-!”

“Rasta! Bo! Bo!! He didn’t even flinch!” Klaus wailed, throwing the gun once closer, his hands childishly grabbing the nearest body for safety- Bo, in this case, who didn’t even budge an inch despite being clung to like a human shield. “I shot him and he didn’t even flinch!”

“Wait, what–?” Rasta instantly turned from the grill at that, looking mortified, “-you shot someone!?”

Klaus pointed a trembling finger back toward the house, where Tiger had now casually situated himself, hands in pockets as he watched the whole mess unfold. “I hit him with the blessed foam!” He cried, “And it didn’t do anything!”

Bo’s brows raised now, this time in confusion. “Blessed foam?”

Rasta groaned softly, clearly already sensing where this was going. “Klaus…”

“He’s immune to holy artifacts!” Klaus sounded on the verge of tears, “And that proves it- that proves it! He’s an alien!!”

Bo and Rasta shared a look. The look in fact. It was often a look the duo usually reserved for El Matador and El Matador alone, but clearly they’d decided amongst themselves it was time to add alien-hunter Klaus to the list.

Bo sighed, reaching down to peel Klaus off of him like a strip of velcro, lifting him up by the scruff of his shirt so they were eye-to-eye. “Tiger’s not an alien, Klaus.”

“He is!” Klaus flailed his arms wildly, “Why won’t you believe me!”

“Aliens aren’t real, Klaus.”

“They are!” He wriggled and writhed in the man’s grip, twisting about until he could point directly at Tiger’s smug face. “He’s right there, Bo! Right there! Look at his face!”

“He’s a lost cause, brother,” Joe called from over by the pool, a soda in one hand. “Just duct tape his mouth shut and let nature take its rightful course.”

“Not a bad shout.” North snickered from beside him. “Some quiet would be nice.”

“Klaus.” Bo sounded so, so tired. “If I let you go, will you promise to keep the conspiracies to a minimum–?”

“If you get go of me he’ll kill me!” He wailed, “He said he was gonna dissect me!”

“Tiger!” Rasta scolded, sounding less like a friend and more like a dad of sorts, “We don’t say things like that to people.”

“I was joking!” He laughed, raising his hands up in mock-surrender, “I’m sorry, Klaus, I didn’t mean it.”

“You read my mind!” Klaus accused him, “You knew I was thinking it, that’s why you said it! Admit it!”

“I did not!”

“Did too!”

“If he admits it,” Bo sighed, “will you shut up?”

“Yes!”

“Tiger, please just admit you read his mind–”

“I didn’t read his mind!” Tiger barked. Then, catching Bo’s deadpan look, he gritted his teeth. “…Fine! Fine.” He muttered with a huff, “I ‘read your mind’, Klaus.”

“I knew it!” Klaus shrieked, pointing triumphantly, wriggling even more in Bo’s grip like an excited puppy. “I knew it! You’re an alien! A mind-reading, soul-sucking, spaghetti-brain alien from— from– uh-” He sputtered, “somewhere in space! Mars, probably!”

Tiger looked to Bo and Rasta with a flat expression. “This is your fault.”

—