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ilovereadingandilovebreathing · 7 years

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The Great Ukulele Caper

Sorry my titles are cheesy lol

So this was supposed to be cute and funny, but it got out of control, so prepare yourselves for the post-”Moving Forward” feels cuz here. they. are. That video wrecked me and I needed an outlet, okay? Okay.

So here, and I am actually sorry.

Also, this is my first time writing a fic with Thomas in it, so sorry if I get him all wrong or step on any toes. I don’t usually write him in, but I felt like maybe it was okay in this case? Either way, I did my best.

Summary: Thomas’s ukulele is missing, and the only place he hasn’t checked yet is the MindScape…

Characters: Thomas, Patton, Roman, Virgil, Logan (no pairings)

Word Count: 3,280 (my longest SS fic yet. oops.)

Warnings: “Fix You” by Coldplay is back, and I’m. Not. Sorry. It’s too #relevant to ignore, and I have a lot of emotions. Other than that, no real warnings that I can think of besides angst.

Tags will be in the reblog because Tumblr hates me.

ALSO I’m SO sorry the Read More keeps disappearing!! I forget that every time I edit something on mobile, that vanishes. SO sorry to everyone who had to deal with that.

He’d been searching all afternoon, but he just couldn’t find it anywhere. Not on the couch, in the couch, or under the couch. Not in his bed, on his bed, or under his bed. Not in the laundry room or the kitchen; he’d even checked the stairway!

Thomas just couldn’t find his ukulele anywhere, so he mustered all the mental power he could spare and transported himself to the MindScape.

When he appeared in the living room nearly identical to his own, Thomas immediately spotted Patton sitting cross-legged on the floor, happily humming “Winnie the Pooh” while coloring a picture of the same eponymous bear.

“Hey Patton?”

The Moral Side’s head jerked up, for he hadn’t heard Thomas enter. Once he had a second to process, a characteristic grin broke out across the Side’s face as he replied, “Yeah, Thomas? What’s up, kiddo?”

“Have you seen my uke anywhere? I thought I left it on the couch in my living room, but I can’t find it.”

“Mmmmm nope, sorry, kiddo, I haven’t seen it! Maybe Roman has it? He’s the one most likely to be involved in a capo’ed kidnapping!”

“True.” Thomas chuckled a bit. “So, which way to Roman’s room?”

“Up the stairs and to the left; his door is the one right there, on the left side! Good luck, kiddo!”

“Thanks, Pat, see you around.” Thomas gave the waving side a two-finger salute as he mounted the staircase. “Weird how this place looks just like my house, but is just different enough…” Thomas mused as he approached the Royal’s door. From behind the thick wood, Thomas heard the smooth tones of a familiar little instrument being strummed to the tune of “Once Upon a Dream.”

“Uh, Roman.” Thomas tapped on the Creative Side’s door, opening it slowly as the music quieted a bit.

“Greetings, Thomas!” Roman declared, turning to face the doorway with the ukulele strapped around his neck, held in place by a bright red strap. He played the ending notes of the song, gently singing out, “The way you did once…upon…a…dreeeeeam…”

“Roman!” Thomas exclaimed, throwing his arms out. “I’ve been looking for that everywhere! If you want to borrow my ukulele-”

“Whoa, there, my Confidently Confused King,” Roman threw up his arms defensively, keeping Thomas at arms-length from the instrument. “This is my ukulele. I conjured it up after you bought yours. Well, it took a few tries to get it just perfect, but-”

“Wait, Roman, you made this?” Thomas stared in awe.

“Why, yes, I did!” Roman beamed with pride. “I had to study yours first, of course, because I love its tonality and wanted to emulate its sound perfectly! Although, I did make a few design changes…” He gestured to the sides of the instrument, intricately carved into designs of a castle, dragon, shield, and sword.

“Roman, that’s incredible! It’s beautiful, and it does sound exactly like mine. I thought it was mine when I heard it in the hallway, actually.”

“Delightful!” Roman exclaimed, clapping his hands. “Though, I am sorry yours is missing. Did you ask Patton, perhaps?”

“I did.” Thomas sighed. “He hasn’t seen it; he told me to come talk to you.

“I’m afraid I don’t have it either, compadre.” Roman smiled sadly. “I can’t imagine where it could be. It’s not like Logan could see any use for it…perhaps Virgil? He does love music, even if it’s that Chemical Romance garbage.”

“I guess it’s possible. I have been meaning to check in on him and make sure he’s doing okay more often…”

“It’s settled then! Thomas’s Quest for his Magical Instrument is underway! Now he will head into the darkest, most dangerous, most-”

“Roman.” Thomas warned.

“Most….enigmatic corner of his mind.” Roman grinned sheepishly. “I apologize. Old habits die hard, and all of that. His room is at the end of this hallway, the final door on the right side!” He gestured grandly before strumming his own ukulele again, the beginning notes of “How Far I’ll Go” from Moana filling the air as Thomas took his leave.

“Best of luck to you, Brave Thomas! I surely hope you find your ukulele before it’s too late.”

“Thanks, Roman.” Thomas smiled, shutting the door. “No need to be so dramatic, though.”

“There’s always room for flair!” Roman declared. “I’ve been-”

Thomas shook his head slowly as he turned from the Royal’s room and headed toward the end of the hall; the “DO NOT DISTURB” sign attached firmly to the door was an obvious signal that he was in the right place.

“Virgil?” Thomas knocked on the Anxious Side’s door, frowning when he did not receive an answer. “Virgil!” Thomas called louder, knocking harder and turning the door handle. It was unlocked, and for an instant Thomas felt bad for entering Virgil’s room without really getting permission, but that faded when he realized the Anxious Side wasn’t even in his room.

“Hmm, weird.” Thomas thought to himself. “Maybe he went out for some reason…to another part of the MindSpace I can’t get to…” He shrugged and pulled the door shut. Maybe Logan knew where the other Side had gotten off to, so Thomas started toward the opposite hallway, smiling as he passed Roman’s room, the Moana tune still in full swing within.

Thomas approached one door, realizing instantly that it must be Patton’s, if the “Come On In!” sign written in bright marker was any indication. Thomas continued down the hall, coming to a halt outside the door that could only have been Logan’s. Hand on the doorknob, Thomas’s jaw became slack as soft tones slid from beneath the door. A voice, similar to his own but quieter, with a slight rasp to it, was singing the bridge of “Fix You” by Coldplay. The voice cracked on a higher note, and Virgil’s familiar, frustrated tone bit out, “Crap. So close. We made it so far!”

“I apologize. Do I need to transpose the song into a lower key to suit your range?” The Logical Side replied evenly, sounding patient in spite of Virgil’s outburst.

“No, no, it’s fine.” Thomas could hear the bite in Virgil’s tone, even when it was muffled by the door. “I just….Ugh. We’ve been working on this for days, and I really thought we had it by now…”

“We have worked through most of the final bridge, so, comparatively speaking, we are much closer to the end than we were when we started.”

“Of course, Logan…” Virgil grunted. “I just need a second…”

Thomas suddenly realized Virgil’s voice was closer to him than it had been, but before he could retreat, the door was flung open and Virgil stood there, eyes bulging and mouth slightly agape.

“H-Hey, there, Virgil.” Thomas waved awkwardly. “I was just looking for my-”

“Your ukulele.” Virgil grumbled out. He quickly turned back to Logan, who held out the instrument toward the Anxious Side, and gently took the ukulele from his hands. Virgil turned back to Thomas, peering through his bangs as he apologized. “Sorry we took it. We would’ve made our own, but creativity isn’t our department, you know? Roman could make one, but we didn’t want him to get involved and try to steal the show.” He held out the stringed instrument to Thomas. “Sorry, again. We won’t take it again-”

“No, please do!” Thomas held up his hands, refusing to take the ukulele. “You sounded amazing, Virgil. I had no idea you have such a great voice.”

“Well…I mean, I never said I’m not a singer. I just….don’t like to do it around Sir Sing-A-Lot, you know? That’s kind of his thing, and it’d just be….embarrassing.”

“Well, like I said, I think you have a great voice! And Logan, were you playing the ukulele?”

“Well, though I said I am not much of a singer, that does not mean I am not much of an instrumentalist. There is a lot more than creativity that goes into playing an instrument; certain types of mathematics and precise muscle movements play a large role, as well. It’s a challenge that I quite enjoy, actually.” The Logical Side blushed just a bit while gesturing toward a corner of his room Thomas could not see. “I have tried a few instruments, but the size, shape, and sound of the ukulele are by far the most pleasing to me.”

“I can tell; you sounded amazing from what I could hear. You’re very good at finger picking!”

“As I stated, the precise muscle movements are enjoyable.”

“So I see.” Thomas smiled, looking back to Virgil whose head was still ducked in embarrassment. “So, why were you two practicing in here? I would assume for fun, but you said you didn’t want Roman involved or he’d ‘steal the show.’”

“Right, well….Obviously, you know Patton’s been a little….off lately, what with the whole…break-up and all.” Virgil swallowed. “We’ve been trying to get him to open up to us. When we’re all in sync and working together, things go a lot smoother, from actual thought stuff to every day stuff, but Patton’s still been hiding from us.”

“He’s down in the sitting room right now.” Thomas remarked.

“Right, but if we were to go down there, he’d start acting too happy or try to do something so that we couldn’t ask him if he’s doing alright. He’s still hurting, Thomas, he’s hurting a lot, and we really want him to know that he can open up to us and be honest with us and that we care about him and want to make sure he’s okay, so….”

“During the last couple of days, Virgil and I have been preparing to perform “Fix You” for Patton.” Logan chimed in, giving a worked up Virgil a second to catch his breath.

“Right.” Virgil sighed. “We figured the words were pretty perfect for what’s been going on lately, and we hoped maybe it would….I don’t know, break him in a way? Maybe it’d finally get him to break down and be honest with us for once.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea.” Thomas replied thoughtfully. “Music always makes me really emotional, especially if it’s the right song, and since Patton is my emotional core….this could work. And, if you want, I can teach you a couple of breathing exercises to get you to that high note.” Thomas smiled as Virgil blushed, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “But like I said, you sounded great, Virge. Patton will love it, regardless.”

“I sure hope so.” The Side muttered, turning back to his Logical companion. “Well, we could use all the help we can get, so if you’re willing, I’ll definitely take you up on those breathing exercises.”

“Great.” Thomas walked past Virgil as the Side shut the bedroom door, taking a seat in Logan’s vacant desk chair.

“Alright, Teach.” Virgil sat on Logan’s bed, across from the other Side, and took a deep breath. “Let’s get down to it.”

——-

“Hey, Dad?”

Patton’s head, once again, jerked up when he realized someone else was in the room. “Hey there, Virge, and other kiddos!” The father-figure grinned up at the three standing before him. “What’s up?”

“We, uh….We….Ah, man, guys, this is a stupid idea-”

“We know that you have been struggling as of late.” Logan cut in, placing his empty hand firmly on Virgil’s left forearm. “Made obvious after our last two filming sessions, so Virgil had an idea to try to remedy your emotional condition.” Thomas pulled the ukulele from its hiding place behind his back, handed it to Logan, and moved to take a seat behind Patton on the couch. “Virgil and I have been practicing our own musical rendition of a song we believe might provide a sort of proverbial balm to your…”

“Burned heart.” Virgil finished, breathing deeply before giving Logan a thumbs up.

The Logical Side slowly began picking the opening chords to “Fix You,” and Virgil breathed out and in again, closing his eyes as he softly began singing, “When you try your best, but you don’t succeed…”

Thomas smiled at the pair, his heart picking up a bit when he looked down and realized how Patton had stiffened on the floor, his coloring book fully abandoned. The Moral Side sat stock still, his eyes fixated on the standing pair as they continued to softly serenade him.

“When you love someone, but it goes to waste….”

Thomas chanced a glance down at Patton, but the Moral Side remained resolute, a look of what could almost be described as determination glinting in his eyes. He’d caught on, it seemed, to what their plan could be, and was refusing to give in.

Great. If there was one emotion Thomas didn’t want to be battling right now, it was his own stubbornness.

Still, Virgil and Logan played on, hoping the fruits of their labor would flourish rather than spoil, wasted.

Patton made it through the chorus, and Thomas began to lose hope when the Moral Side remained resolute through the second verse. He really thought one of the two would get to him, but he’d apparently underestimated Patton’s ability to repress unwanted feelings. As they reached the bridge, Thomas sighed, accepting defeat and slumping into himself. Well, maybe they didn’t get Patton to break, but at least the other two had grown, in a way. Virgil was singing his heart out, perfectly using the breathing techniques Thomas had taught him to belt out the high notes in the bridge with all the passion he could muster.

“Tears stream down your face when you lose something you cannot replace-”

Suddenly, Thomas felt something.

Like the first drops of rain falling after the clouds have hung overhead for days, gathering and gathering their darkness and dew. The first sliver of pain, of sadness, of sorrow, cut right through his heart, and he knew the onslaught was to come.

Thomas clenched his jaw, feeling the wave of emotions sweeping through Patton overcome him as the painfully relevant lyrics were, as hoped, the straw that finally broke the camel’s back. Patton’s shoulders shook violently as he drew his hands over his face, choking back gut-wrenching sobs as the other Sides continued on, steeling themselves against responding to the Moral Side’s emotional outpouring. Slowly, and ever so tenderly, Thomas placed a hand on Patton’s back, and the emotionally-wrought Side collapsed under his touch. Thomas was on the floor in an instant, protectively holding his emotions in his arms as they wept together, finally, blessedly, coming to terms with what the Moral Side had been holding back for so long.

Virgil and Logan finished out the song, and Thomas looked up through his tears, smiling gratefully at the other two as the bittersweet release of pent up emotions flooded through him. It hurt. It hurt more than anything Thomas had felt in a long time, but he was so grateful for it. He didn’t want to go back to the facade they’d dealt with for too long, and he knew the others didn’t either. Virgil and Logan came and sat behind Thomas and Patton, placing their own hands on the others backs in a sign of comfort and solidarity, and, looking up into their faces, Thomas realized the other two has flushed, wet cheeks, too.

Patton’s anguished cries must have made it up the stairs and past Roman’s own noise somehow, for the Royal was suddenly at the bottom of the stairs, sword drawn and eyes wide at the scene before him. Slowly, he sheathed his weapon, face crumbling with relief and sorrow at seeing his beloved companions in such a state. He moved to sit beside Virgil, leaning his head on the Anxious Side’s shoulder and allowing himself to break, as well, taking the shaking hand that was offered to him as he wept.

The five remained this way until Patton’s cries subsided, his body slumping against Thomas from exhaustion.

“How you feelin’, buddy?” Thomas asked quietly, rubbing the Side’s back as he followed Virgil’s instruction to breathe.

“Not great, kiddo. Not too good.” Patton sniffed and ran a hand under his nose. “But….better than before. It’s a process, right? Getting better, m-moving f-forward….it’s a p-process.” He sobbed out, still trying to get control of himself by breathing.

“It sure is, Padre, but we’ll be here for you every step of the way.” Roman smiled shakily, patting the Moral Side’s shoulder.

“Definitely.” Logan chimed in, wiping the remnants of moisture from his own eyes. “Whenever you might need us, we are here. We are with you, in solidarity.”

“We wanna help you, Dad.” Virgil mumbled, pulling his hand out of Roman’s death grip to ruffle Patton’s hair as he’d done so many times to the Anxious Side. “So let us. We can take this thing on together. You don’t have to be alone. We got your back.”

The Moral Side breathed in, and whispered, “Thank you all, so much….It’s…it’s been so hard…I just….I didn’t want to bring you all down. I wanted to protect you….from me.”

“Patton.” Thomas released his hold on the Moral Side, prompting him to sit up and look him in the eyes. “You don’t have to protect us. From any part of you. We’re all part of the same unit, and we all have to work together to function at all. We need everyone to be willing to give it all to each other and for each other, and that includes you. Let us help you and work along side you. We’ll get better together. Okay?”

“That….that sounds good.” Patton smiled, wiping a few stray tears from his cheeks.

“Well, I’m beat.” Virgil sighed, trying to wiggle out from between Logan and Roman. “Glad we finally got you back, Dad.” He stood over Patton and reached out a hand which the other Side took gratefully, shocked when the Anxious Side pulled him into a tight hug that was over before he could process it. “Love you, Dad.” Virgil whispered before vanishing into his own room.

“I will have to exit, as well.” Logan declared, carefully laying the ukulele on the couch behind Thomas. “I still have much to get done.” The Logical Side rose, placing his hand on Patton’s shoulder before pulling him into a surprisingly not stiff (and longer than Virgil’s) embrace. “Take care of yourself, Patton.” The Logical Side admonished as he released the other. “We only have one you, and we want you at your best. Because we love you.” Logan threw him a final smile before also disappearing into his own realm of the MindScape.

“Well.” Thomas looked at Roman, still on the couch, and Patton, staring up the stairs toward Virgil and Logan’s rooms.

“I think I’ll stay down here with Padre, here.” Roman replied softly. “I think some….one-on-one time is in order. Sorting things out for good sounds like a grand idea right about now.” He gestured toward the empty space on the couch, smiling when Patton relented and sat across from him.

“Not a bad idea. Considering everything else…we might as well.” The Moral Side sighed, turning to Thomas.

“We’ll be okay here, kiddo. You can go on home now. Glad you managed to find your ukulele.” The emotional Side sniffed and smiled.

“Yeah, me, too, Pat.” Thomas gave the pair a soft smile and a wave as he picked up his ukulele and vanished out of the MindScape, re-materializing on his own living room couch. Sighing deeply, Thomas laid his little instrument on the coffee table, settled back on the couch, and closed his eyes, willing his mind to do as it pleased as his Creativity and Morality worked themselves out.

All of my Sanders Sides fanfics

#Sanders Sides #Thomas Sanders #Sanders Sides Fic #Sanders Sides Fanfic #Thomas sanders fanfic #Patton Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Roman Sanders #Logan Sanders #I'm not sorrryyyyyyyy #but i am a little bit #but mostly not #this was supposed to be so cute and fluffy but i rUINED IT with the ANGST #tsfanfics

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sigma-receptor · 6 years

Text

A cat for the clinic

“You want to bring more animals into the clinic? Won’t that just make the problem worse?”

Anders sighs. This isn’t the first time he’s explained this concept. “Cats are very hygenic! And it could hunt vermin for us. All these rats and mice, gophers, what-have-you, always skittering here and there, it can’t be good.” He fishes around on his desk for the right stack of papers. “According to my projections, a cat would reduce clinic-acquired ailments by 37 percent.” He brandishes his sheaf of models and calculations. Truthfully, 37 percent is quite a generous estimate, but none of his algorithms suggest that a clinic cat would increase bad outcomes, so a little fudging seems forgivable.

Finding himself a hunting cat is more than a passing fancy. Beyond the issues with his patients getting sick when they should be getting better, Anders has been hearing rumors of darkened, malformed rats and mice. If the rumors are true, he will need to make preparations before all the mousers are snatched up to defend the chantry and the homes of the wealthy.

Anders lays a hand on Fenris’s shoulder. “Please, won’t you help me with this? I want to make sure you like our new family member.”

Family. Even if he is slowly coming to believe that it is what Anders means to him, family is a peculiar view to take of cats, and besides, Fenris cannot fathom how adding more beasts to the crowded clinic will help. The small Darktown complex isn’t a sailing ship—whatever vermin the cat might hunt will just be replaced by different, more clever vermin. But there is a fervent hope breaking Anders’s features and it makes him relent.

So the next day, at dusk, the two men wander the streets. Cats are everywhere for those who look, but the ones they approach are too skittish to catch until finally, they see an orange tabby lounging on a heap of garbage. It regards them archly when they near, but when Anders offers the cat a flake of fish, it barely bothers with an exploratory sniff before gulping the treat down.

After a moment, the cat stands. It is a broad-chested tomcat, bulky and confident. One of its eyes is scratched, but it is alert, and seems keen on the bag of food in Anders’s hand. He offers another fish flake and the cat approaches.

“I think he likes us! What shall we call him?” Anders asks.

“This cat? You can’t be serious, it was lounging in refuse!”

“Don’t worry, he’ll clean himself up. How about, Pumpkin. He’s orange!”

“And round,” Fenris says, but he has to suppress a smile. It’s good to see Anders in a mood besides the frenzied stress that has been plaguing him since the uptick in illnesses coming from the clinic. The three of them retire for the night, coaxing Pumpkin along with the occasional bite of fish.

Even the larger rats are no match for Pumpkin. As the weeks go by, Anders starts to notice less scratching in the walls at night, fewer shadows darting under beds as rodents scavenge for bits of bloody gauze. He thinks it must still be too soon to notice an effect on patients’ health, but Pumpkin is surely making a difference.

One night, as Anders is writing up his clinical notes for that day, Pumpkin appears by his knee with a fresh kill between his jaws. Pumpkin drops the mouse and looks up triumphantly at Anders, who reaches down to pet Pumpkin in gratitude. Mumbling a prayer for this unlucky mouse, who gave its life so that his patients might live, he gets out his cleaning solutions and a bag for aseptic disposal. When he gets close enough to really see the dead mouse, he recoils. It has six legs, the extras sticking bizarrely out of its stomach. On its flank is an eye, yellow and too large to be a mouse’s, that seems to still be looking at him, though the poor headless creature is surely deceased.

Steeling himself, Anders loads the corpse onto a cart headed for the incinerator. He should really have the body examined by an expert. But what expert could he trust? If he gave the body to Hawke, surely they would do something with it, but there was no guarantee of a favorable outcome there. Besides, Anders can’t even be sure this was the result of evil. The workings of the natural world are mysterious and sometimes grotesque, and he is so far behind on his clinical duties already. He will be vigilant, but it’s best not to get distracted by fantasies when so many people depend on him.

Though he strives to keep his mind focused in the days that follow, the image of the malformed mouse keeps coming back to Anders. It makes it hard to sleep. Whatever caused such horror to befall the mouse, could the same thing happen to his patients, his friends? He tries to put it out of his mind and focus on the moment he is in, lying in his soft bed with Fenris’s arm draped across his chest, breath tickling his cheek. Pumpkin is purring loudly at their feet. He has so precious few of these moments to savor, he should relax and experience it.

But he can’t, not tonight. He murmurs the tale of what he saw into the darkness, hoping to release some of his fear into the night air, to make some space for comfort to take its place. He is surprised, but relieved, to hear Fenris reply. Troublingly, they have heard the same whispers in different parts of the city, of dark fluids that corrupt whatever they touch.

Anders centers himself. Hysteria grips the populace not infrequently, and one strange animal isn’t cause for alarm. Nonetheless, he resolves to start looking into this in earnest in the morning. He doesn’t know how he’s going to manage this on top of all his other responsibilities, but he will protect those dear to him, no matter the cost.

Fenris returns to the abandoned mansion, his feet aching after a long day of walking the rough city streets. He is exhausted, for hours he’s been running mostly on how irritating it was that Anders assumed he would have to investigate the mutated mouse on his own. Were they family, or weren’t they? A family member wouldn’t abandon Anders, already buckling under the weight of his clinic duty, to solve this gruesome mystery all alone. For as brilliant and accomplished as Anders was, he could truly be a fool.

Fenris collapses onto a divan, moth eaten yet somehow still garish in gold, red, and pink. He hears scrabbling in the corner and gives a start, imagining transformed rodents. However, it Is just a miniscule runt of a grey kitten, fiercely attacking its own tail. Blasted cats. Did life with Anders mean he would have no end of them? Admittedly, this little one is amusing enough to look at, and it has about as much claim to the manor as he does. Too tired to make the trip to the undercity, Fenris falls asleep watching the kitten.

Later, in the clinic, though Fenris is trying to report on the results of a long week of mostly fruitless investigation, he can tell Anders is distracted. He seems fidgety, distressed. Finally, Fenris can bear to witness no more poorly concealed anxiety. “Out with it,” he says.

“It’s Ser—it’s Pumpkin. I haven’t seen him since that night. When we talked about the mouse.”

This is the way of cats. It seems life at Anders’s clinic no longer suited the capricious beast, and it owed them no explanation. Still, if it truly is gone, Fenris must admit that he will miss stroking its coarse fur, feeling the sturdy vibrations his attention elicited. “Cats have their own agendas. I’m sure Pumpkin will come back when his business is concluded,” Fenris offers.

Anders sets his jaw, trying to make himself believe. “Just keep an eye out for him, won’t you?” The cat had been more than a worker to Anders, he knows. It was a companion on long and uncertain days, a warm, constant comfort, and the loss of the cat is more of a pain than Anders wants to reveal in words.

Fenris takes one of Anders’s hands between two of his, calloused and strong, but too small. He hates it, but this is no time to fall to pieces over his body. He focuses on his breathing, hoping that the comfort of his presence is enough. He is not a cat, he will never leave.

Fenris continues to scour the city for any word of monstrous vermin, but it is difficult to discern the truth. If he had heard of the six-legged mouse from anyone besides his Anders, he surely would have thought it a lie. What he does hear, time and again, is the corruption takes the form of a harmless looking liquid, colorless like water, like condensation. The only warning is that it appears in peculiar places, like on the mantle over a burning fire, or on the spine of a book. The mystery seems to be gaining energy, and the city guard is starting to get involved. Fenris is disturbed to think there might be something to these grisly suggestions.

Before long, Hawke has involved themself too. As Fenris crosses the square towards the manor, where he is to meet Hawke, he notices the grey kitten from before. While still small, it has clearly matured, its limbs lengthening and growing strong. It has taken an interest in a fine lady out for an afternoon stroll, and when she reaches down to pet it, the kitten accepts her attention, its entire body shivering with delight. As Fenris passes the pair, it seems for a moment that the woman’s hair is coated in a colorless liquid. No, it was just glare from the sun. Fenris shakes his head as if he could clear it, miffed that he’s allowed himself to get caught up in these fancies.

Through a series of implausible coincidences and a penchant for working bizarre jobs, Hawke has accidentally collected more information than Fenris has scraped together in nearly a month. Someone has been conducting sorcerous experiments, and while their goal is unknown, it is believed to be a person who is not a mage, yet can produce otherworldly effects. Hawke is certain that the culprit is a woman, though when he asks how they know, Hawke merely gives a sly smile. Perhaps by Merrill’s wicked machinations, which they must know he would disapprove of.

Walking through Darktown to tell Anders all he has learned, Fenris sees Pumpkin lounging in the place they first met. The garbage has mostly rotted away, but Pumpkin is sitting in what remains and is staring at Fenris, burly and implacable as ever. Fenris doesn’t have any fish, and while Pumpkin accepts a few pats on the head, that isn’t enough to entice it to follow. He tries to lift the unwilling animal, determined to get it back to the clinic by any means necessary, but something about the desperation with which it fights back stops him. Fenris had thought life in the clinic had was good for Pumpkin. It had as much milk as it could coax out of soft-hearted Anders, safety, soft places to sleep. Yet it seemed to prefer the filth in the streets. Is it seeking freedom out here, or is it afraid to be content? It is true that comfort and companionship can feel like chains sometimes. But it hardly matters. This isn’t Pumpkin, his family. This is a street cat. He can’t even be completely sure it is the same one.

As he walks away, something strikes him. Had those been whiskers scattered over the cat’s body, all along the torso and tail, where they didn’t belong? Fenris turns back to look again, but when he gets close, Pumpkin escapes into a storm drain. Maybe some poison had infected his mind, and that’s why he was seeing things that weren’t really there. Thinking about it, it doesn’t make any sense for the cat to be in the precise spot where they first met. If Fenris knows one thing about cats, it’s that they don’t deign to keep appointments.

Now that the investigation is out of his hands, Fenris is able to return to his usual routine of assisting in the clinic. Pumpkin’s contributions, difficult to discern at the time, were quite tangible, and rates of infection are rising again in the cat’s absence, so they are quite busy. The corrupting fluid is a matter that, however grave, does not concern Fenris. Although he joins Hawke when needed, and counsels them upon request, he is glad not to be investigating the mysterious pollution anymore. He does not like to question his own eyes.

One night, as he is rummaging in his cellar for a magical artifact Hawke needs, Fenris hears a pathetic whining echoing through the rooms. It is a wild animal, injured by a predator and seeking refuge. It will perish soon enough, he thinks. It is not his place to interfere in the hierarchies of nature. But the mewling does not cease, and eventually he has no choice but to seek out this creature and put them both out of their suffering.

What he finds is not any wild beast, however. It is the tiny grey kitten, grown now into a very small grey adult, crumpled onto a cushion on the floor. And Fenris can see at a glance that its injuries were not caused by a predator acting its ordained role, but something more nefarious. One of its hind legs has been removed, carefully, surgically. One of the instruments used for the procedure, bloodstained and covered in arcane markings, is lodged in the poor cat’s flank. The cat looks pleadingly at him, as if it knows the cruel experiments Fenris has suffered and can appeal to his compassion.

This cat, already small and further weakened, will have no use as a mouser for the clinic. Indeed, what use could this pitiful being be to anyone? But Anders would say that living creatures have value beyond their utilitarian purposes. Carefully, he scoops up the bloody cushion and rushes to the clinic. He gives the cat to Anders and leaves with barely a word. Fenris needs to give the surgical tool to Hawke right away, as it could be important to the investigation. More than that, he cannot bear waiting to find out the sweet grey kitten’s fate, to know if it would die because of his callousness.

The night is consumed by a confrontation between Hawke’s team and a legion of possessed, altered animals under the control of a crazed inventor. Such horrific power in the hands of a woman who was not even a mage would have seemed unthinkable before tonight, but the facts were plain before Fenris, and his eyes were clear. Among the army of mutated beasts were mechanical monsters, prototypes perhaps, bladed and with many limbs, wind-up monsters driven by keys in their backs.

They fight their way through chamber after chamber of creatures mechanical and organic, all of them sharp, most venomous. In addition to the attacking creatures are humanoids, unmoving, each with the inventor’s wild red hair, each facsimile altered somehow. One has wings made of hammers, another has a long felt appendage protruding from its chest without an apparent function. If the inventor’s goal had been to change her own body, the suffering of thousands of animals and people wasn’t worth the outcome. Still, Fenris isn’t quick enough to muffle the pang of sympathy that chimes in his chest.

Though they are victorious, the battle is grueling, and when Fenris finally returns to collapse into Anders’s bed, he falls asleep before his mouth can form the words asking about the little kitten. He awakens long after the clinic is filled to brimming with patients for the day. His chest clenches when he realizes grey cat is nowhere to be found. There’s no way Anders would have let it leave already if it had lived. If Fenris had to rely on the generosity of someone like himself, would he have survived either? He tries not to let the guilt consume him.

Around midday, Anders has a moment to drink water and eat a little food. Fenris sits beside him at the table, silent and unable to make eye contact.

“Hey, don’t feel bad,” Anders begins, a little hesitant. “It’s not your fault. It’s just a stupid cat.”

Fenris can barely believe what he’s hearing. His temper flares. “That ‘stupid cat’ needed my help and I let it die for no reason! I can’t believe you don’t understand.”

“Die?” He chuckles, placing a hand reassuringly on Fenris’s soft thigh. “What kind of healer do you think I am? No, I meant, about the fact that the cat hides from people it thinks are women! It must be because of the inventor who hurt him. Though I think they’re still calling her a sorceress.”

This stings too. Though he’s glad the cat lived, Fenris doesn’t know how to respond. Avoiding him because he’s a woman? He’s not. It really is a stupid cat.

By the end of the day, Fenris still hasn’t so much as glimpsed the little grey kitten. He allows himself to hope that the cat wasn’t hiding from him after all, but frightened by all the commotion in the clinic. He sits on the ground and leans against the wall, trying to release the stress of the day, and at floor level, he has a better chance of glimpsing the cat. The minutes stretch on with no sign of it. Why would the cat think he’s a threat, after what they had been through together? Is it his narrow shoulders, his wide hips? The way his voice catches when he’s nervous, a gesture or a posture giving himself away? Fenris tries not to despair.

He is dozing when he suddenly feels a warm weight on his legs. Anders. He is too tired to open his eyes right now, but he lifts a hand to run his fingers through Anders’s hair, and when he touches Anders’s face, it’s downy and soft. Fenris opens his eyes. The cat! It looks at him and gives one tiny meow that sounds more like a songbird’s chirp than a cat’s voice. When Fenris scratches the cat’s head, it lifts its chin to receive affection, and he notices a piece of sparkling paper sticking out of its mouth. Perhaps the cat has been hunting trinkets all day.

“Ah, he found you,” Anders says. “I’m sorry for what I assumed, it’s just that he had been so affectionate with me but so fearful of…”

Fenris had assumed it too. Despite everything, it was sometimes hard to own his identity, but he knew Anders understood him. “We should name him Legion. To honor the other creatures.”

Legion had a passion for hunting, both for pests and for shiny treasures. His small frame and his three legs did not deter him, and often made it easier for him to slip into and out of well-hidden rodent nests. Between the capture of the sadistic inventor and Legion’s residence, clinic-acquired illnesses began to decline, as life returned to what passed for normal in Hawke’s Kirkwall.

#da2 #fenders #cute cats!#mine #cw animal experimentation #cw gender dysphoria #I thought I wanted to write a mystery but it turns out I'm way more into fenris angst #sorrryyyyyyyy #fics

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