Work Text:
You’ve never had the scar fixed. Never used Body Craft to cover it up, not even letting the healers make it less obvious. Nothing. You could never bring yourself to do it. You can't risk forgetting.
You have to remember, even if nobody else will. Even if nobody else ever likes to talk about the kid who washed up on the beach all those years ago. The kid with the darkless hair, the weird eyes and sharp teeth. A darkless hat and poncho. (Cloak?) The kid with pointed fluffy ears and fur around their neck. The kid who chittered and squeaked when they got excited. Who growled when they were grumpy. Who whimpered and whined when you forced them to take a bath. The kid who, the first time you saw them smile, your heart melted, even when that smile showed you their fangs.
You took them in, despite their oddities, despite the fact you could barely support yourselves, you couldn’t just leave them alone. You couldn’t.
You didn't care that they didn't speak any Vaugardian, that what few words they spoke made your ears ring. You didn't care, because when you saw them, lost, scared, confused, all you could see was a scared kid. All you could think was, “What if it was Bonnie?”
They stayed with you for three months or so, and in that time you did your best to teach Bon and them Vaugardian. They had a bit of an accent, struggling to make some of the noises required, never able to say your full name quite right, and eventually settling on just calling you Nille, just like Bon. The first time they said it without prompting you almost started crying. They sounded so excited. So proud of themself, chirping out a happy “Nille!” and just grinning. Grinning with those sharp teeth that don't scare you anymore.
He ate like he was starving every meal. You’re just glad you had enough for all three of you, ‘cause if you didn't, he'd probably eat you out of house and home.
They didn't seem particularly picky about what they ate either, which became a tad concerning when, while you were cutting up from fresh meat you got from one of your neighbors, they swiped a piece and ate it raw, licking the blood from his fingers. You may have panicked a bit, but you calmed down when they reassured you in messy Vaugardian, “For me, safe!” You were dubious, but they genuinely did seem fine so… you let it go. They must've been able to tell it stressed you out though, because they never did it again, instead picking up a new habit.
Some nights, they'd sneak out, vanishing for a few hours. The house is creaky and you're a light sleeper, so whenever they moved around, you always woke up. You'd check the couch, and then finding that they were gone, you'd wait up for them. You didn't try to stop them. Something told you that whatever they were doing, they needed this. When they came back, and they always came back before sunrise, they looked like they'd been stumbling through the woods, sticks and leaves in their hair, dirt on their darkless clothes and… stains on their lips and teeth and claws.
After the first couple times, you stopped asking where they went, just helping them clean up and offering cuddles, an offer they always accepted. This is also how you discovered they could purr.
They really did remind you of a cat sometimes, the way they stalked around, the way they snuck out, the way their ears twitched when they heard something you didn't, the way their eyes reflected the light, showing odd… pointy shapes in them.
Sometimes, you'd catch them looking at a paper, one that must've come with them if the water damage was any indication. They hid it from you for a while, tucking it away quickly whenever you approached, but eventually, one night when you had woken up from a nightmare and were making yourself some coffee, he walked in silently and laid the letter before you, pointing at some of the words. Looking at it… hurt. It hurt a lot, but clearly they were trying to show you something so you kept pushing. They pointed at one word, a word that swam across your vision, intermingling with the surrounding ones, and mumbled, “My name?”
It was then that you realized they couldn't read it either. A letter presumably from their home, one of the few things they still have, and they couldn't even read it. You both tried taking it to the more educated people in town, and even the nearby House, but nobody could read it. Nobody even knew what the language was. They. Didn't take that well. Late into the night, you held them close while they cried, mumbling words that made your ears ring, mixed in with the bits of Vaugardian they learned. Home and Mama and more you couldn't catch. A part of you envied them, in a way, you would've loved to forget where you came from, but the rest of you hated that part of you.
After a while, you held their face, pressing your foreheads together, telling them “This is your home now. We're your family. We aren't going anywhere.” This, of course, made them cry more, and you joined in when they started calling you their family, their home.
Over time, you all adjusted to the new normal. Originally you were worried about having them around Bon, but after you saw just how careful they were with your sibling, keeping their claws sheathed, never using the somewhat alarming level of strength they've been shown to possess, you started to relax. This was home to all three of you now, and you were happy.
But... good things never last forever. Not for you. Never for you. You were awoken one night by a crash, briefly thinking it to be thunder from the rainstorm outside, before you realize it came from the kitchen. Little Bonnie, the heavy sleeper they were, barely even reacted to the sound. Good. You lingered for a moment to tuck them in a bit more and give them a kiss on the forehead, before grabbing your hammer from the wall, just in case. Squeaky probably just knocked something over but... but you couldn't be too careful.
Your door opened and shut silently as you crept down the hall, making barely a sound. You know this house well enough to avoid the creaky spots. The noises coming from the kitchen are definitely theirs, growling and keening, ones you've come to know mean they're hungry or scared. They tend to start keening when storms hit. They do not like thunder.
When you round the corner and look into the kitchen, you find them, hunched next to the crafted icebox, eating some of the raw beef you got recently, licking the blood from their fingers with a desperation you've never seen from them before.
You’re frozen in shock, watching them, tears streaming down their face, inhuman growls rumbling in their chest. Growls you're starting to understand. hungry starving why starve why hurt helphelphelp!
You need to help them. You need to. They're scared and- and it breaks your heart seeing them like this. You set the hammer down against the wall out of their view, but the soft thunk is enough to make them stop, head snapping towards you.
Those four pointed symbols are practically shining in their eyes. Something's wrong. Your heartbeat picks up. This doesn't feel like them. This feels like a predator wearing their skin, and it makes you feel like prey.
"Hun?"
You didn't know what else to say. What else can you say when you find someone you care so deeply for with blood dripping from their lips, staring at you like you're their next meal. You so badly want to reassure them, tell them that you'll help them, but the words don't come.
You could hear a pin drop in the silence that followed. One moment they're on the floor but the next? The next, they're tackling you, teeth bared. You only have enough time to raise an arm, blocking his fangs from reaching your throat, instead digging into your forearm.
For a split second, it's a sharp stabbing pain, but quickly it gets drowned out by a strangely euphoric and sleepy feeling washing over you as they drink. They drink your blood, the glowing shapes slowly fading as you watch, enraptured. Tears never stop flowing, but they can't seem to stop themself as they hold your arm steady, pressing near the bite to keep the blood flowing.
Your brain feels like sludge as you struggle to stay conscious, but that's fine. It's fine. You try to tell yourself this, listen to the syrupy sweet feelings their venom is making you feel, but what if. What if they're still hungry? What if you can't stop them from going after Bonnie? That sobers you up immediately, and with your free hand, you grab your hammer, slamming the haft into the side of their head. Their eyes go wide, mouth opening to let out a shout that dies in their throat. They crumple to the floor.
You... don’t know what to do for a few moments, before realizing blood is still running down your arm. You leave them on the floor for just a moment, grabbing the first aid kit and walking through the steps you were taught. clean, disinfect, bandage. Good. You return to their side, picking them up gingerly, looking as if they're just asleep, and you lay them on the couch.
Despite what happened, you can't bring yourself to tie them up or anything. You know they didn't mean to. You know, but… but you still need help. After covering them with a blanket, carding your fingers through their hair a bit, you go to wait by the door, lightheaded, until one of the defenders patrols walks by.
Everything passes in a blur. The defenders get the story of what happened, a healer is called to check on you both (thankfully not waking Bonnie), but whatever they find out about your friend, they don't share, excusing themself to get someone. You didn't like their expression. The whole time you wait, you're holding someone you've come to love so much in your arms, petting their hair, quietly telling them how it's gonna be okay. You'll get them help. They'll be okay…
When a Head Housemaiden arrives, not Bambouche's though. She smiles kindly, explaining that Bambouche's Head was busy and sent her in their stead. That struck you as odd, because from every interaction you've had with them, they were a very hands-on person. You don't like this woman, face mostly hidden in her hooded cloak. It feels like a facade, a facade you know all too well from every time your parents were in public. You almost tell her to leave, before she says she can help your friend. She says it may take time, but she promises to help. You look to the healer, also not someone you know, and they smile supportively, the defenders seem to trust her too. Every instinct screams at you not to let go, but something about the way she talks, the words she says, it flows through you, and you catch yourself nodding along, like listening to her is the most natural thing in the world. She already had a carriage outside when she got you to agree, signing… something. You can't remember what it was, what it said, but you remember it making perfect sense to you.
And then he's gone. Taken away to who knows where by a Housemaiden you never got the name of, whose face you never saw. When asking the defenders about her, they looked at you strangely, not recalling the event at all. Bambouche's Head Housemaiden had fallen ill around that time apparently, and as such you couldn't talk to them. You were never able to ask either, seeing as a few weeks later, they died from complications with their illness.
Now you're alone with your baby sibling again, in a house that feels too empty, devoid of the squeaks and chitters you'd become so used to. Bonnie's laughter as he makes silly faces. His grin when he made you laugh at a joke he had learned. You don't think Bon will even remember them, with how young they are. So that just leaves you. You have to remember. You will never forget them, and you'll never give up hope that you'll find them again, that your family will be reunited, whole. The three of you against the world.
After all, what else do you have but hope?