Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

⇀ ❆ ↼

"I guess this isn't the worst place to sleep," Mouse said.

Perhaps it wasn't: a bench in the park definitely seemed cleaner and safer than a trashcan in an alleyway. But a trashcan had something the bench didn't.

Shelter.

The first snowflakes that fell onto them didn't worry Spraypaint. In fact, he was amazed by them. It had been a long time since it snowed in the city - global warming impeded the local climate in their parts. He stared at them, mouth hung open in fascination. They felt cold and funny, like sequins dancing on his skin.

But then the wind started blowing, and there was even more snow falling on them - the snowflakes no longer gentle, gaining velocity and impact instead.

Spraypaint wrinkled his nose. "Mouse... I think the park bench is quickly falling down our tierlist of beds."

"Mhm..." She looked up at the sky. "Maybe it'll stop." She seemed tired, and he knew she didn't have the will to look for a new place. My fault, he thought, I dragged her along all day.

"Alright." He scooted closer to her, not wanting to argue. She contently leaned on him, and he felt his stomach fill with butterflies, the sensation making him smile like an idiot. He'd give anything to protect Mouse - he'd felt that way for a long time, but he felt it even more so after last night in Speaker's cell.

He'd never fully repay her kindness, but he could try.

They sat next to each other, the wind howling and whooshing over them. Spraypaint could feel his body stiffen with cold and with worry, the smile quickly dropping from his face. He turned over his hand, shaking off the little bit of snow that had gathered on it. He looked at the sky, which was alarmingly more grayish and blurry than the last time he had checked.

He could feel his friend shivering next to him.

"Mouse," he said, nudging her. "We have to go."

She blinked her eyes open, looking at him, then simply slid off the bench.

He did the same, putting his feet on the gravel path. A new wave of cold went up his legs, and he suddenly missed the slight warmth of the bench that had gathered on it from his own body heat. Spraypaint clenched his teeth, shaking off more snow from his body, then briefly looking around and motioning Mouse to follow him.

"We have to find someplace warm," he said. "You think a homeless center will take us?"

"Worth a try," she murmured. Her tone of voice seemed hesitant, however.

They already knew where some facilities that could help them were. The city's council and the department for taking care of the homeless, although how well they did their job was questionable. A volunteer food truck someplace in North Creek, generous with nutrition, but often hard to find because of changing its location. And the city's sole homeless center, which was almost always full and which gathered a line of people every evening - people like them, hoping to find a free bed for the night.

Most of the time Spraypaint and Mouse didn't bother fighting for a place there. During summer and fall the air still had an acceptable temperature to sleep outside at night. Truth be told, they hadn't thought about what they would do in winter.

Perhaps now was the time to re-evaluate that.

North Creek seemed eerily empty while they walked through the streets. People that had been previously outside now hid from the possible oncoming snowstorm. The only commotion came from the cars, rushing through the streets to deliver their tardy passengers home. Spraypaint tried not to think about the omen of the bad weather, looming above the two of them right now.

Mouse kept quiet throughout the walk to the facility. When he turned around to check up on her, she gave him a small smile, but her eyes had a distant look, like something was troubling her. He supposed it must be the cold, and he reminded himself to walk quickly.

After a while, through the snowy mist limiting the visibility, they spotted a brown-red building, its windows shining with light, a big sign with the name 'NORTH CREEK HOMELESS CENTER' hanging above the front door.

"Phew, we found it..." Spraypaint sighed.

"You think we'll g-get in?" Mouse asked, a stutter sneaking into her voice from the shivering. "I-I mean, look at- t'line."

Twenty people were stacked up into a line in front of the entrance. Most were silent, but some of them were murmuring, talking, some even shouting at each other.

Spraypaint swallowed nervously. "We have to try. Maybe they haven't run out of room yet." He placed a hand on Mouse's back, trying to comfort his friend and himself at the same time.

"They won't let anymore folks in," a guy spoke up to them, when Spraypaint and Mouse got close to the line. "Lowlife screamin' at'a front probably just sealed that."

Spraypaint glanced over to the beginning of the line, where another homeless man was arguing with a volunteer, loudly demanding himself to be placed inside. He scrunched his brows, turning away from the noise. "They've got to have more space though, right? We can even sleep on the floor... anything that's indoors."

"Not a chance," snorted the guy talking to them, a bean can. "It lowers the standards, pro bonos won't let you do that." He leaned sideways, looking at the argument at the doorway, then shrugged. "Better find yourself a place elsewhere."

Spraypaint stood there dazed, staring after the guy, who took his leave. Meanwhile, a loud slam came from the front.

He snapped his gaze towards it, and his heart sank.

The door was closed.

The homeless that had been waiting were now starting to scatter, finding it hopeless to stay anymore. Only the first man kept yelling and banging on the door.

Spraypaint turned his disappointed look to Mouse.

"I think we have to find somewhere else."

Chapter Text

The sky was turning dark. Night was falling, and the snowclouds shrouding the light didn't help in keeping up the visibility. The wind, blowing in their faces, carried lumps of snow and threw it at them every step, vicious and mocking and relentless.

By now, Spraypaint was shivering as well, concerningly much so. He strode through the streets, one hand holding Mouse's cable, the other shielding his eyes from the blizzard. They had walked a long way to the homeless center, far away from the side-street they usually dwelled at, and he wondered if they would even make it back there... or if it was better to search for something else, closer.

The weather was completely unbearable, so he guided Mouse behind a corner to hide for a moment, to get away from the wind on the pavement - even though they couldn't completely evade it, as it also blew in the space between buildings, but at least there it did so less harshly than on the main road. There were no trashcans or abandoned boxes in this alleyway, only the walls stretching into the darkness and the windows of the flats on both sides. Spraypaint hovered near a wall, breathing out shakily, arms instinctively raising to wrap around himself... before he moved his gaze to Mouse and saw her pitiful state.

She had been following him without a word, her gaze continuously becoming more clouded and distant, and her walking pace slowing down. Due to this, he had tugged at her cable a few times - most of which were accidental, but once it was out of impatience. He couldn't get why she was lingering, when they needed to find shelter urgently. But now that he saw her expressionless face... he knew something was wrong, and sudden fear bloomed in him.

"Mouse?" He knelt down in front of her, ignoring the arrow of cold that shot through his knees. "Hey, you okay? Mouse... t...t-alk to me." He tried holding the sides of her body to make some sort of contact with her, despite his arms not being very stable and his muscles tense and trembling. In turn, she was not shivering anymore. He wondered if that was a good sign or not.

Mouse blinked slowly, her eyes still glassy, but at least they were on him. "Spray..."

"Oh..." he let out weakly, bringing her into an embrace, tight and desperate. "D-don't scare me like that..." He felt his chest ease a little, although he was still worried with how stiff Mouse seemed in his arms.

"Spray..."

"Yeah?"

"Where... Where are we going?"

"I'm gonna find us somewhere warm," he said, determined. "Just hold on, Mouse, we'll be alright. I'll... I'll find us something." He brushed a hand behind her back. She wasn't shivering, but her temperature was still low. "You're cold... We should hurry." He stood up, letting go of her.

Mouse's gaze lingered on where his face previously was, then slowly moved up to where it was now. Confused and a little senseless, blinking at him. Spraypaint felt uneasiness creeping up his spine.

"Come on." He cautiously grabbed her cable, reminding himself not to damage it if she were to stall again. She was probably dazed from the cold, slowing her reactions and movement.

Spraypaint took in a breath, braving the elements on the main road. They had to move, else they would freeze here.

The first somewhat-okay shelter they found was a stairwell in a block of flats. Most of these usually had locks with a code to get in, but this one seemed to be open. The tower of stairs ascended above them, dark, quiet and cool, but devoid of wind and snow. However, once they settled in a corner near the basement door, they heard steps, and...

"Get out of here, bumps!" someone spat out. "You can't sleep here! This is the residents' space!"

Spraypaint turned around, sending the porter - or whoever that person was - a glare. He was annoyed: they had been looking for a place to hide for too long, Mouse was too cold, and he was really not in the mood to calmly explain himself to this man. What was his problem, anyway? They didn't even break into anybody's flat!

Mouse shifted a bit, finding her voice to speak. "There's- r's... r's a 'lizzard," she said, ragged and quiet.

"I don't care. This ain't your place," the man retorted. "Go find somewhere else, or I'll go get a stick and chase you away by force."

Spraypaint and Mouse looked at each other, defeated. The last thing they needed tonight was new bruises. Finding no arguments against the man's threat, they helped each other stand up and slowly walked out of the building, Spraypaint swearing under his mouth at the hostility of the housed.

The snowstorm had become even harsher, as if the weather wanted to show them who's boss by throwing all cards on the table. It had gotten fully dark as well.

Mouse couldn't focus on the road. All she felt was the cold swirling inside her body, uncomfortably rising in her circuits. Her mind was foggy like the snow mist around her, thoughts fading in and out, quickly disintegrating out of no energy to sustain them. The only impulse that seemed to persist and that she could register was the touch of her friend's hand, holding her cable. At the realisation of that fact, she felt the slightest bit of warmth. It felt so comforting to know he was by her side, that even though she was probably slowing him down, he would never abandon her. That courage inside him was something Mouse admired, but something not many dared to see. People saw him only as a drunk, homeless guy causing turmoil in bars, but Mouse knew he was so much more. Flashes of memories swam through her vision. Him giving her shelter at his mother's house during her absence, then later at his own - small and confined - rented room. Their walks through the night. Him fighting off two guys who were trying to force themselves onto her. Him coming near the orphanage to meet with her, no matter what was happening at his house, because he wanted to make her feel less lonely. Years of sometimes small moments, sometimes days of sticking together through whatever was happening in their 'hood. Mouse closed her eyes for a minute, yearning to daydream about that right now instead of doing whatever they were doing, walking wherever they were walking, because the cold was growing so disturbing that it was taking away even the priviledge of reminiscing freely: the wind blasting snow particles into her face and the needles picking at her skin seemed to edge themselves into her brain. She blinked and found that she forgot what she was thinking about just a minute before.

Mouse felt Spraypaint's hand let go as they had come to a stop. He stepped forward, and she looked ahead to what was in front of them: the backside of an abandoned, disheveled car. It was a SUV with a big boot, and quite an old model, too - at least from two decades back.

Spraypaint gripped at the handle from the trunk, pulling it, but it didn't budge. He jerked it a few times, still getting nothing: was it frozen? He sucked in air and focused all his strength in doing it all at once. Then, with a slight grunt from him and a loud creak from the door, it finally gave way.

The red can turned to look at his friend, letting out a ragged huff as he shivered from the wind and the effort. As she stepped closer, he noticed the layer of snow covering her top, having gathered from moving through the blizzard. Spraypaint extended his hand and swept the snow off, meeting Mouse's eyes; he tried to smile to her reassuringly.

For a second, he forgot about the weather around them, because she was looking at him with the gratefulness and warmth of a thousand suns that would be able to melt any ice settled on his skin. She gazed at Spraypaint like he was all that mattered.

Flushed, he broke the eye contact to glance at the inside of the trunk. As it had seemed, it was fairly big and would fit them both, especially if they wanted to lie down and keep close to each other - doing so on the seats would be impossible.

"C...c-ome on, let's get in... before... uh..." he trailed off, not finishing the sentence, instead choosing to simply take a hold of her and lift her up into the car. After that, it was only a matter of hopping in himself and shutting the door back down, which he made sure he closed properly.

His friend curled up in a corner, trying to preserve any warmth she still had, her eyes squeezed and her body tense. Spraypaint briefly looked onto the rest of the vehicle, searching the interior for blankets, pillows, clothes, heater pads, anything useful left after the previous owners of the car; but he found none of what he needed, and instead only holes punched in the windows, glaring at him with cold indifference, letting in the screams of the wind - wheezes of cruel laughter at what these two poor people deemed their shelter in this relentless blizzard.

Disappointed with the lack of useful contents, Spraypaint bit his lip and descended to the floor of the trunk. Lying down on his side, he opened his arms invitingly for Mouse; she immediately knelt and got down to the position as well, huddling close to him. Embracing her tightly, he closed his eyes, breathed and listened to her breath, and tried his best to share body warmth with her, even though his own was naturally low by the standards. He still hoped it would help, and he prayed that the snowstorm would be over soon, because he had no other ideas where to hide, nor the energy to get up and wander again.

Mouse moved her legs and slightly slipped them in-between his. Absent-mindendly, Spraypaint did the same, and he could feel her tighten the hold, entangling their legs. Only after a minute of lying like this, he realised that they had never been so physically close: they had slept in one bed (the one in his terribly small room-flat), but they'd never cuddled like a newly married couple. If it weren't so cold, Spraypaint's face would be burning up from the proximity. He supposed it didn't matter, though. In this moment, this was necessary to survive and Mouse probably didn't think much of it.

For a few minutes, he observed the space behind his friend, listening to the sounds from the outside, but he knew he needed to sleep, so he closed his eyes and tried to doze off - although, it would be hard with the cold biting at his skin.

❆❆❆

As a matter of fact, he didn't really get to sleep: moreso he just shut his eyes very tight and tried to swim away into his thoughts, but he couldn't actually get his brain to enter any sort of rest and stayed half-awake through the following hours. His arms had gone numb from clutching Mouse, and his body felt like it had shrank in itself. Spraypaint jolted instinctively, retracting his arms, blinking as he stared at some point on the ceiling and a powerful shiver ran down his spine. Eyes wide, he lay senseless for a second, before his gaze fell onto his friend at his side: Mouse seemed to be asleep.

He let out a breath, which came out as a puff of air. The space around them seemed perfectly still, with no wind disturbing the silence, yet... the air seemed colder than it had been just hours ago. As if it was giving them a calm, numb, icy farewell.

Looking at his friend for a while longer, Spraypaint noticed that her exhales formed smaller visible puffs than his, and that they were more scarce across a minute. Concerned, he reached his hand to touch her... She was as cold as ice.

"M...Mou-se-" he stumbled, cringing as his voice betrayed him. He hated hearing how wobbly it was. "M-Mouse?" he tried again, and it came out better, louder, although still unstable.

But the part that terrified him more was that Mouse didn't respond to his words. He swallowed a thick breath and nudged her, but she didn't whine, didn't yell at him, didn't even open her eyes.

Spraypaint could hear his own breaths come out quick and his liquid paint practically freeze in his body cavity. He reached to Mouse again, this time both his hands, and he slipped them under her body so that he could get ready to carry her.

He needed to find help before it was too late.

Chapter Text

He got lost two times while trying to find the way back. 

Two times too many. 

His arms were numb, clenched around the cool body of his friend, and he could barely feel them anymore; the same thing was slowly happening to his legs, but the adrenaline seemed to keep his muscles working despite it.

After what seemed like an eternity, spent rushing fearfully through the chilly air and the frozen sidewalks, the right sign appeared in front of them, and Spraypaint involuntarily sighed a breath of relief. He found the homeless center: now came the trickier part of convincing the people inside to let them in.

He stopped right next to the door and carefully laid Mouse on the ground. He rubbed his arms to get some blood flowing in them, bouncing slightly up and down on his toes, and as soon as he could feel his limbs, he went up to the door and started knocking - then straight up banging on it.

"H...H-ello?!" he called.

Spraypaint could hear no commotion inside, as if the people there were sleeping. It's the middle of the night after all, he remembered, probably something like 3 AM. But that thought only made him more tense. He couldn't seriously consider the possibility of Mouse not surviving the night. He couldn't wonder about that: it would kill him. Someone had to come... Someone had to... please...

"Help! My friend is dying!" he cried, his voice for once clear when it needed to be. Fists trembling, he continued to call: "Doctor! Paramedic! Anyone, please...!"

A few minutes passed.

Spraypaint could feel himself shake out of exhaustion, which had accumulated in his body throughout the entire day as well as the entire night. He clenched his teeth, willing himself to stop at nothing to ensure his friend's safety, balling his fists to keep them steady, even despite their stinging from the constant hitting on the wooden surface. I really got out of shape, he thought. I used to beat guys with a skin harder than this door.

A cough forced itself out of his chest; his throat burned. Everything seemed harsher in this weather for some reason. Screaming continuosly for a couple of minutes usually wouldn't be the thing that knocked Spraypaint out, but the cold air pouring into his respiratory tract with each deep inhale seemed to worsen his already raw vocal cords. Fear pierced through him all of sudden.

"Please," he let out breathlessly, "please..." he took another stubborn gulp of air, "help..."

The door opened at a small angle, just enough to let someone peek out. A peppermint candy was looking at Spraypaint from behind it. Relief practically condensed in him, but he held his breath in anticipation.

"Sorry, but we're already full," the volunteer said tiredly.

"Please, help my friend at least," he begged. "She's- She's unconscious, cold... She's-...She's dying! Please, help her! Take her inside... I-I don't have to get in, but please, take Mouse at least..." His voice gave out as he drew another raspy breath. Shoot, it was worse; he didn't like that very much. If he didn't end up somewhere warm for the rest of the night, he should at least keep his mouth shut for some time to let it recover.

He used to get a sore throat quite often during his childhood. It happened whenever he was trying out his mist paint. His mother would endlessly scold him for that: according to her, their kind should be resistant to a decreased body temperature, as it was a natural side effect when marking their territory. But maybe Spraypaint had some sort of illness when he was little. Regardless, the issue had disappeared when he grew up, and it would only come back very rarely, in extreme, harsh conditions, like the ones right now.

The peppermint eyed the unconscious Mouse and pursed her lips into a thin line. "That does not look good," she agreed. "We can take her, but I'll have to move somebody and get them to free up some space." She looked at Spraypaint and he noticed dark circles under her eyes. "I can try to do the same for you, but we're already at full capacity and I can't really force anyone out of the center."

"That's... That's okay," he replied quietly. "I can wait here."

"Alright. Bring your friend inside. She will need to stay in the vestibule for some time, until her temperature rises just a bit, then I can move her near the radiator and heat her up more." Spraypaint blinked at her surprised, so she added: "It's to prevent rapid jumps of blood temperature. That could kill her."

In no time, he had picked up Mouse and carried her inside the center. He could only take three steps into the vestibule before he would've stamped onto somebody: there were people lying everywhere - even here, on the floor, curled up on blankets sprawled on the tiles beneath them. The volunteer had to wake someone up and ask them to move, promising she would find them a space elsewhere. When that person left, Spraypaint laid Mouse down on the floor, his heart squeezing at the idea that this was the best she could have.

He ached to think that this would be their life now: fighting for scraps of food and shelter, their only bed being the ground, with maybe a blanket if fate was generous. He thought they had put that stage of life behind them, he thought they could move past it, he thought... Tears gathered behind his eyes; he took a breath to hold them in. He thought they would never repeat their early teenhood.

But now they were back at the same point again, and this time he had nowhere else to go. No abusive mother with her nonetheless warm house that he could crawl back to if he decided he was worse off on the streets than there. His mother didn't want anything to do with him now. And Mouse couldn't return to the orphanage or her foster family: she was too old for any of the two to accept her.

They were truly alone, helpless.

Just them against the world.

The peppermint girl left to get some supplies, and in that time, Spraypaint relished the slightly-below-room-temperature air in the vestibule, which seemed like the air of a sauna to him right now. And it was so pleasant. It enveloped him from all sides, transmitting warmth to his metal layer and the skin of his limbs, slowly pulling his body out of a numbed out state. He only feared that going outside after this would be even worse than if he had never entered here... but he chose not to dwell on that thought, and instead focused on Mouse. Studying her still frame, looking at her from where he was standing, watching her chest slowly rise and fall.

"Here," a voice grabbed his attention.

Spraypaint unstuck his gaze from his friend and looked at what the volunteer had brought. She was offering him a mug of tea, with steam rising from its surface. He gratefully took it, gripping the mug at its ear, lifting it to his lips: tasting the liquid, which immediately burned him from how hot it was. Perhaps because he was colder than usual as well.

The peppermint candy unfolded blankets she had brought in her other hand, carefully stepping over the legs and body parts of other people to wrap two of the thin covers around Mouse.

"And these are for you," she pointed to the other two, which she temporarily left on someone's stomach. Now, she picked them up and jumped back to Spraypaint, handing them to him. "Unfortunately, there is no more space here, as you can see. Your friend will be safe here, but you should try to search for another shelter. Unless you want to stand like this for a few more hours."

The warmth of the room was promising, but he was too exhausted to consider staying on his feet for that long.

"Take these blankets and tea so you'll stay warm. You can try to find a gas station or a liquor store. They should be open at this time of night, although there's a chance the snowstorm has got them closed." She gave one last look at the items in his hands. "Just remember to return it afterwards, alright?"

He nodded and thanked her; and then, even though it pained him to leave Mouse, he was outside again.

He thought about going somewhere, as the volunteer had suggested, but he was barely standing. The adrenaline had worn out and he could feel that he just needed to sit or he would fall over. He threw one blanket on the ground, right next to the door of the center, then plopped down onto it and wrapped himself in the other one, holding with one hand onto his newly acquired tea.

Spraypaint closed his eyes and let out a breath, feeling that the cold was indeed a worse sensation now. When he had forgotten about it for just a few minutes, reentering the low temperature environment hit him like an avalanche. He curled up his knees, taking them from the snow-covered concrete and placed the hot mug atop them, hoping to spread the warmth there.

Even though he knew she was safe, he couldn't stop worrying about Mouse. Mostly because he was separated from her and he couldn't watch over her; thus, involuntarily, thoughts of distrust at the other people traversed through his mind. What if they trample her when they wake up? What if they do something bad to her? What if they use her?

They hadn't been separated forcefully for... years. Mouse only left his side when he was drunk and unbearable to be around. Other than that, they would always stick together. They had slept in one bed. They had rummaged for food watching each other's back. Even in Lazy's gang, they had always gone together on their heists. It felt strange not to be able to be with her right now.

In the end, maybe that was fair. He hadn't succeeded in providing her warmth when it was just the two of them. He hadn't been able to find a good shelter and Mouse had nearly frozen because of it. Only when he had passed her over to someone else, someone more competent, Mouse was safe. His heart ached as that thought made home in his mind. He had failed, again. Like always. 

He'd failed so many people in his life. His mother. His gang leader. His best friend.

Spraypaint put the mug close to his mouth and started sipping the tea to stop the thoughts. It was better to focus on the hot liquid burning his lips and tongue rather than on the whirlpool of his self-deprecation.

Soon, the tea had run out, the blankets had given away all their warmth to the sidewalk, and the wind had picked up again. Spraypaint pulled the blanket tighter to his body, shivering. Even though the tea had helped, the weather still had an upper hand. He wished he could sleep, but even though he was exhausted, there was no way he would be able to rest in these conditions.

He stayed like that for who knows how long, each minute stretching into eternity, with his back pressed onto the cold, brick wall behind him, and his limbs slowly losing sense.

Suddenly, he felt a nudge to the shoulder.

Blurrily, he looked up, seeing a figure standing in front of him - a dark-brown, furrowed wooden box, with a gentle, yet determined expression on his face.

"Come with me," Speaker said.