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ice-cap-k · 10 days

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Owen Had a Cough

Hey! Got a new story for part of the 2024 MCYT Horror Gift exchange ( @mcythorrorgiftexchange ). This is for the amazing @some-stupid-wannabe-artist. I hope I did your request justice. It was honestly a lot of fun. Been a while since I bothered with Rats.

It's longer than my old whumptober stuff, so feel free to read it on AO3 here: Owen Had a Cough

____________________________________________________

Owen had a cough.

It wasn’t that surprising, since Scott had found the other rat passed out at the entrance to the boiler room. His friend had been down there for a long time, breathing in air that had been festering in the quarantined room. The basement had been downright hazy with all of the airborne spores. And Owen, well, Scott figured the bigger rat had gotten off lucky if all he had to show for such a stupid stunt was a little cold.

He told Owen what would happen if someone went in there. The larger rat could be almost impossible to sway once he set his mind to something, so of course he decided to set his sights on fixing the infestation down there. First the bugs, then the fungus. Scott just wished his best friend had told him. Then he wouldn't have found him crawling on his belly four days since the last time they saw each other.

Other than that, though, the tinkerer seemed alright. He had apologized and admitted Scott had been right. Those words would have been like music to Scott’s ears if he hadn’t been worried half to death for the sake of his friend. Owen promised to never go down there again, which had given Scott some sense of relief, and life moved on.

The cats were still a problem. The people living downstairs still chased them and their friends whenever they ventured out of the attic. And just today there were tiny little termites they’d gone to the effort of rehoming. But hey, life in the attic was full of surprises, so even that was typically atypical. Despite looking half dead on his feet the morning before, the large rat was starting to bounce back.

He was even leading the way as they raced back up to the attic with the others. Claws scrabbled at the red carpets lining the halls. The trash talk was flowing freely, and the bathroom was in sight.

“Oh, come on. I’m already at a tactical disadvantage with this dress,” Martyn huffed. His claws hooked over the edge of the side table. Owen was already pouncing off the edge towards the mouse hole in the wall. There was no catching up now so Scott turned to help haul Martyn up. Willow and Crow passed by beneath the table legs, still aiming for the doorway.

“Thanks, Scott,” Martyn breathed. He smoothed out the wrinkles of his maid’s dress with padded fingers as Scott leaned against a nearby plant pot.

The ceramic was cool against the fur lining his bare back and the hall was quiet, save for the excited squeaks of the returning rats. The cats were nowhere to be seen. The human residents were busy elsewhere. They were free to enjoy themselves without worry for a little while. How everyone else wasn’t tired yet was beyond Scott. His lungs hurt from all the running on top of all the laughter. This place was making him soft.

“Of course,” he said absently, mind already back on the race. Even if he wasn’t physically keeping up, his eyes followed Owen as his best friend leaned out of the chewed-out hole.

“Oh no you don’t!” he squeaked as the two smaller rats passed beneath him.

Scott flicked his ears back as he watched Owen launch himself from the wall. His arms and legs splayed as he dropped. A star-shaped shadow passed over Willow and Crow. The two rats had just enough time to look up. They were already running, but Owen’s aim was true and he crashed into Crow with a pained WHUMPF! Both of them went rolling tail over ears across the floor, knocking over Willow in the process and leaving all three of them sprawled and groaning.

It was just a bit of roughhousing. They were rats. Scott himself had leaped off the tallest bookshelves in the library and safely landed paws first on the tile more times than he could count. Despite knowing that, though, concern drove him forward. He pushed off the pot and was leaning over the edge of the table in an instant. His eyes raked over the three for signs of injury. His ears twitched at the rustle of fabric behind him. Martyn was there, looking over his shoulders.

“Is everybody ok?” he called.

“I’m okay,” Willow called back almost immediately

Crow managed to untangle its limbs from Owens. It rubbed at its head with a paw, claws parting strands of red and black fur until Scott could almost make out its eyes. “Owww-ow-ow-owww,” it groaned. “That really hurt. I think you bruised my tail. What were you-”

Its words were cut off by a drawn-out, wet cough. While Willow and Crow brushed themselves off and stood up straight, Owen only rolled over. He curled up into a ball, pulling his knees up to his chest but unable to keep them there. His arms wrapped around his heaving midsection as his whole body shook.

His coughs were like nails on a chalkboard to Scott. Wet and shaking, they wracked his friend’s lungs and rattled his ribcage with each one.

It was easy to forget that Owen wasn’t at one hundred percent until moments like these. They weren't short either. The gaps between stolen intakes of breath were long and drawn out. The coughing fit seemed to last an eternity if eternity could be packed down and contained in the span of minutes.

“Are you okay, Owen?”

“Try taking deep breaths.”

“My mum used to say it helps to put your arms up over your head. If you can hear me, try that.”

Owen did try. It was a feeble attempt, but his arms only left his torso long enough for the tips of his fingers to reach his shoulders before another wheeze sent him curling back into himself.

So yeah, Owen had a cough.

Martyn whistled. His voice was quiet in Scott’s ears. “He really is getting sick. I suppose that’s what you get for not drying off after a dip in the pond.”

He didn’t answer. Only slipped off the edge of the table to rush to his friend’s side.

Let the others think that. If Owen hadn’t told anyone else about going past the plastic sheets in the basement, then it wasn’t Scott’s place to tell that story. Owen would be so angry if he thought Scott went around telling people things he might be too embarrassed to talk about.

“Come on now, Owen. Let’s get you up. You’re okay.”

His friend didn’t protest as he looped his paws under the taller rat’s armpits and pulled. Now he could feel firsthand the way every muscle in Owen’s body tensed and untensed with the dwindling coughs. The way his lungs practically vibrated around the fluid there. Getting Owen upright helped. His lungs didn’t have to work so hard to keep up. Scott let him go to see if he could stand on his own, and the hacking noises subsided. He looked tired out from all that effort, but at least his breathing had returned to normal.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better.” He sounded tired too.

“Ya sure,” Crow asked. There was still an edge of annoyance in its words, but it was duller now. Its tail was no longer whipping around frantically. Rather, Crow and Willow were standing close and shifting uncomfortably from side to side.

Owen nodded. The corner of his lips pulled back into a half smile. “I’m sure. Just needed a second, but I’m good.”

“Good. Then apologize.”

“What!?” Owen looked affronted. “Why?”

Crow crossed its arms in front of its chest. “Because you cheated.”

“Did not.”

“Did so!”

“Did not! I was just being creative and came up with a new way to beat you both.” Owen’s smile lengthened to a full-blown grin as he looked from Crow to Willow. “Besides, neither of us made it to the attic so it’s not like I won at your expense.”

“You could keep going,” Martyn chimed in from where he was still standing on the tabletop.

“Ah… I think it would be a good idea to call it a day,” Scott insisted. He wrapped a paw around Owen’s arm and gently tugged. “Let’s get behind the tub and up to the attic.

To his credit, Owen didn’t argue back or struggle. He looked too tired for that. Instead, the bigger rat let him tug him along and then kept going toward the top as Scott let him go. The tile was cool underfoot. The smell of floral soap was sweet and fresh. The path behind the tub was clear, almost like the bathroom itself was welcoming them home.

“I think that might be for the best. It’s been a long day,” Owen finally admitted, standing a little straighter as he strutted across the room. “It doesn’t really matter who wins anyhow.”

“Yeah, but I totally would have won,” Crow muttered, and Willow giggled.

Scott smiled. This was much better. He and the others were just about to follow Owen when the sound of scrabbling caught their attention. It was coming their way. Everyone tensed, turning to see the source of the noise.

So help Scott, if that was a cat on its way-

A familiar purple shape came bobbing down the hall towards them. Scott felt himself let go of the breath he hadn’t meant to hold while the others began to relax around him.

“Took you long enough, didn’t it,” Martyn shouted with a bark of a laugh.

The rat came to a stop behind Scott and doubled over. His breath was coming in heavy pants, despite the slow jog. The loser of the race that was no longer taking place. “Hey,” Acho finally managed to sputter as he reigned in his breathing. “What did I miss?”

___________________

Scott padded down the steps leading from his home to the main floor of the attic.

His flower garden was still alive, despite the incoming cold, and the vegetable patch he had managed to throw together was one of the rats’ main sources of food now that snow covered the ground. The sunlight coming through the attic windows was just enough for his plants to keep growing, and it made his new home feel a little bit closer to his old one.

Now that he had more than enough food for himself, he was consistently helping to keep everyone fed. Just earlier this morning he and Owen had sat down together for lunch. Scott had thrown together all the food. Now he was stepping away from his cooking pots with chicken soup, ready to be passed out to anyone looking for a warm meal.

He handed out full bowls to Oliver and Sniff, then Shelby, then Jimmy. With each rat fed, Scott had a nice chat to catch up before saying goodbye and moving on. When he stopped by Eloise’s art gallery, he was surprised to find El and Bek arguing inside.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that,” Bek was saying. She leaned against the wall in between frames of paintings, watching El pace back and forth.

Not daring to say a word, Scott reached out and wrapped his knuckles against the side of the open doorframe. Thump thump thump.

The two rats looked up in surprise, only to relax as they realized it was only him. “Hey, Scott.”

“Hi!” He stepped into the room. “Brought some chicken soup.”

Bek’s ears perked up. She pulled away from the wall with a smile. “Oooh! That sounds quite good right now, actually.”

“I brought plenty for both of you. Here.” He held one bowl out to El. “And here.” Then he shuffled across the hollowed-out room to pass another to Bek. Both brightened as they took it.

“So, is everything alright?” he asked, glancing back and forth between the two. “You two looked pretty serious a second ago.”

Bek shrugged. She slurped loudly, drinking the broth directly from the edge of the bowl in loud gulps. Scott tried to offer a spare spoon, but she didn’t take it when he held it out.

“Bek, please…” Eloise groaned.

The shorter rat lowered the bowl and smacked her lips. “Sorry. I don’t think anything’s wrong. El’s just being weird about things again.”

“I am not,” the taller rat snapped. “If anyone’s being weird, it’s Owen.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Is it his cough again?”

“No.” She said immediately, then hesitated. She silently weighed her words in her head, tail flicking restlessly before she amended, “Okay, yes, technically. He was definitely still coughing today, but that’s not the real issue this time.”

The cough wasn’t the issue? What scheme could Owen possibly be getting up to this time?

Scott folded his arms in front of his chest. “Then what was the issue?”

“He’s being weird. He’s acting really weird and I don’t like it. Me and Bek got back from a pantry run and when we walked into the gallery, Owen was just… I don’t know. Sitting in a corner in the lower level?” She flung her spoon towards the open door leading to the scaffolding platform and still bare white walls that were waiting for future masterpieces. “Like, there was nobody else here. He just had his head resting against his knees, arms wrapped around his legs, like he was taking a nap. The light was off too, so I didn’t see him right away.”

Bek shivered. “Gave me a real fright, when you turned the light on and he shot to his feet. You screamed.”

“So did you,” El shot back. “Neither of us saw that he was here until the light came on.”

Scott tilted his head. That certainly was… unusual. “Okay. Yeah. You’re right, that’s weird. What was he doing?”

“See!” Eloise straightened. She dropped the spoon back into her soup so she could scratch at the side of her head with free claws. “That’s what I asked him. All he said was that the dark felt nice, and then he rushed out.”

“Felt nice…?”

“We’ve been trying to figure out what he meant by that for the past half hour,” Bek added. “Eloise’s convinced the human girl slipped him some potion that’s turning him nocturnal-”

“We’ve already had to deal with potion issues. I don’t understand why you think it’s so far-fetched. I still vividly remember getting turned into a CAT of all things!”

“But I think whatever cold he caught is just making him tired.” Bek finished.

He waited patiently for either of them to continue. For them to take the conversation somewhere else, or break into laughter and call it all a joke. When they didn’t, he awkwardly twitched his tail. They were both looking at him expectantly, waiting to see how he would reply. “Uh, I think Bek might be onto something.”

“See!”

Eloise was still balancing the bowl of soup in one paw, but she threw the other into the air and groaned. “Fine. Sure. I know mine sounds crazy in comparison, but neither of you saw his eyes. I swear, they were glowing when he looked at me.”

Bek scoffed. “Eyes don’t glow.”

“His did,” El insisted. “I swear, they really were glowing. Owen’s eyes aren’t supposed to be bright blue like that.”

Her words sounded sincere. There wasn’t a teasing bite, or smile pulling at the side of her lips. No twitch in the corner of her eye from struggling to keep a straight face. She was serious.

Scott’s tail went ramrod straight. “Blue? You’re sure?”

She nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Did either of you think to go after him to check if he was alright?”

The two girls exchanged side glances before turning back to him and answering in unison. “No.”

Of course they hadn’t.

Scott brought his paw up to his forehead. He pressed his palm against the center of his forehead as if it could chase away the headache that was starting to develop there. He took a deep breath in and sighed. “Which way did he go? I think I’m going to go check up on him and make sure everything’s alright.”

“He turned right when he ran out the door,” El said. “Not sure where he went, since he didn’t stick around long enough to let us ask. We’ll go with you and help you look for him.” She stepped forward. The now cold bowl of soup was placed on a nearby shelf next to the bowl Bek had just finished emptying.

“We will?” Bek asked.

El nodded once more. “We will.”

Scott was grateful for the help. He didn’t argue as both girls followed him out of the gallery. With more eyes searching, they checked high and low across the attic. As they went, Scott dropped off more bowls of chicken soup and asked around if anyone had seen which way Owen went. It was Oli who eventually pointed them in the direction of the little food mart.

Sure enough, Owen was inside the brick build rummaging through the chest inside. He pulled out a rather limp-looking bunch of lettuce leaves and began to nibble as they spotted him.

“Owen,” Scott called. He rushed to the door with Bek and El hot on his heels. His best friend turned, eyes wide. They were notably not blue.

“Hey guys,” he greeted, waving the lettuce in his paw at them. “What’s up?”

“We were looking for you.”

“Yeah!”

Eloise shoved her way forward. “What is wrong with you?!?” She had to squeeze into the small mart to do it, and the room was starting to get too cramped. Bek tried to follow, but she was too wide to fit in the small space and quickly gave up. Instead, she pressed herself against the glass window and watched with ears pinned back against her head.

“Wh-” “Eloise and Bek told me that they saw you napping in the art gallery,” Scott supplied.

“Oooooh, so that’s what you mean…” He looked a little sheepish as he put the leaves in his paw on top of the chest. “I wasn’t napping. I was just, you know… enjoying the dark.”

Eloise planted one paw on her hip. “You know that makes no sense whatsoever, right?”

“Don’t know what to tell you. It just felt nice. Good on the eyes, and the wall felt cool. It’s not like I thought much about it-” Before Owen could finish his sentence, Scott could hear the breath catch in his chest and rattle. The big rat doubled over, and both Scott and El backed away to give him space. Owen kept his elbow firmly over his mouth as the watery coughs took hold. When he finally managed to reign his breathing back in, he lowered his arm and opened his eyes.

Scott could have sworn he saw the briefest flicker of blue. Or maybe green? Something bright and alien to Owen’s dark eyes. But the color was there and gone in the blink of an eye. Had he just imagined it? Perhaps it was a trick of the light?

“Well, maybe you should go back to your clock and take a nap,” El snapped. She looked disgusted as she backed out of the room. “Get some good rest and get over that cold.”

Owen let himself slump against the side of the food chest. “That… that might not be a bad idea,” he admitted. “The going back to the clock part. No promises on the nap.”

Where seconds ago Owen had seemed content and full of life, the sudden coughing fit appeared to have drained all of that out of him. He looked tired now. Drawn out. Like some of the color had leached right out of him. It hadn’t even been that violent or lengthy of a fit. He often had much worse as of late.

Not to be put off by Eloise’s reaction, Scott readily offered his paw out to Owen. “How about we all go back to your clock? I’ve got plenty of chicken soup you can have if you get hungry.”

“That does sound pretty nice...”

Owen took his offered paw, and Scott tried not to focus on the way Owen’s fingers felt clammy and cold between his claws.

____________________

Christmas time was getting close and the attic was abuzz with excitement. Plans for a Secret Santa gift exchange were underway. All the rats were finding themselves a part of the holiday season rush as they prepared their gifts.

Martyn had taken charge of this one. He had set up the whole event, convincing everyone that the best way to celebrate the Christmas season was with homemade gifts from the heart. He had set up the raffle to decide who would be giving their gifts to whom. He was the one who had set up the post box outside of the bar for everyone to submit their names for the event. He had even done up the entire building in some of the most over-the-top seasonal decor Scott had ever seen and the farm rat was loving it.

Tis the season, and Scott was embracing it as much as anyone. He had already planned on giving a gift to everyone, but there was no way he was going to turn down the opportunity to join in on a Secret Santa. That just meant that the name on his list would get two presents instead of one. Scott was ready to go all out for it.

Yes, it seemed like the holiday season had started to help some of the rats calm down and put to rest some of the old squabbles that had been going on for some time now. They had something to focus on, nice deeds to do, super cute decorations to put up, and the occasional visitor coming in from the cold outside to make their day a little more topsy turvy. That was where most of the excitement came from nowadays: the random people who just sort of showed up. Other than them, life in the attic was pretty peaceful.

So Scott was surprised when, late one night when he was ready to drop off his note at the bar post box, he heard frantic shouting and horrible retching noises.

He froze about ten paces away from the bar. His fingers clutched tight around his book as something slammed and there was another shout. What on Earth was going on?

He swiveled his ears to get a better listen. That was Martyn’s voice. What he thought was incoherent shouting turned into panicked, somewhat broken words.

“Oh geez. I can’t believe… Ugh! Oh, come on! Why you… I just- You know, you’re lucky I don’t bar you from the bar again. Keep it in the can. That’s it. Deep breaths… There you are. Oh! Uh… Good lord! That’s so gross. You know, I’ve already got one crime seen taped off at this establishment! I don’t need another!”

Martyn’s babbling was repeatedly broken up by the sound of someone gagging and the splash of something wet hitting metal.

Scott crept forward on soft paw steps. He was not sure what he had stumbled upon, but Martyn sounded close. Keeping his tail low to the ground and book against his chest, Scott inched his way around the side of the building until he could make out Martyn’s back in the dim lighting.

Martyn’s ears were pinned against his head. His tail twisted with discomfort, and his eyes were looking everywhere but at the figure slumped over the tin can next to him. He was rubbing his scarred arm back and forth along their back like he was trying to comfort them, but the motions were stiff.

Another retch split the air. Another sound like a garden hose being switched on, and the figure’s shoulders heaved. Martyn flinched.

“You didn’t even have anything to drink,” the barkeeper mumbled.

“Is everything alright?” Scott called.

Martyn patted the other person’s back once more before turning to face him. He looked queasy himself. “We’ve got a bit of a mess in the bar right now,” he said with a grimace. “I wouldn’t suggest going in there at the moment.”

“And who is that? Are they alright?”

“It’s Owen,” Martyn said simply.

Sure enough, the next gag turned into a cough so ragged it sounded like ripping fabric.

“And I’m gonna be honest, I don’t know if he is alright,” Martyn continued. “He came here asking about details for the Secret Santa. Seemed fine one moment, and then threw up all over the entryway the next. And the counter. And my back room when I tried to bring him out here.” He gestured towards the bar’s back door. There were a few wet spots near the doorway that Martyn pointed to that Scott didn’t want to focus on too closely. “And before you ask, I didn’t pour him so much as a glass. Alcohol’s got nothing to do with this one.”

“I can believe that,” Scott nodded. He dared to inch closer. A sour smell hit his sensitive nose when he came within a tail’s length of the two other rats. Sure enough, it was Owen. His goggles had been tossed to the side, out of the way as his head hung in the tin can Martyn was using as a rubbish bin. His clothes looked crumpled and wrinkled. His tail and ears hung limp. “Oh, Owen,” he breathed, already pitying his poor friend.

“Hey, Scott…” Owen’s words echoed and warped around the edges of the can. His voice sounded small.

“Are you feeling worse?”

“I’m fine.”

Martyn snorted. “Tell that to my carpets.”

Owen’s ears drooped a little bit lower. “Sorry about that.”

The apology seemed to take Martyn off-guard. Owen didn’t normally apologize so easily. Not without a couple of jokes or light teasing mixed in for good fun. It made Scott want to ask his friend ‘What’s wrong with you,’ but he knew he probably wouldn’t get an honest answer, let alone an honest one.

“That’s alright,” Martyn finally said, giving Owen another gentle pat on the back. “I’ll just clean it up-” Owen pitched forward into the can again and dry heaved. Martyn yanked his paw away and stuck his tongue out, clearly struggling not to gag as well. “I’ll clean it up later. Blegh!”

Scott stepped up to place his paw on Owen’s shoulder. His grip tightened slightly when Owen’s heaving stopped and his friend relaxed into his grip. “You go ahead and clean up your bar now, Martyn. I can stay out here with him for a while.”

Martyn’s blue eyes narrowed at him. He almost looked relieved as he glanced back and forth between Owen and Scott. Only the twitching of his tail tip hinted at his hesitance to leave Owen while he was still like this. “You sure?”

“It’s fine. He’s my best friend. I can watch him.”

That seemed to be enough to convince the barkeeper. “Thanks, Scott. I’ll come back out here once I take care of Owen’s mess.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Owen grunted into the can.

“I know,” Martyn said before stepping back into the bar and pulling the back door closed behind him.

The back of the bar was quiet for a moment. The only noise was the slight scrape of Owen’s nails against the bin and the rise and fall of their breathing. Scott was half afraid that if he tried breaking the silence, the pause in Owen’s coughing and retching would end and all of his troubles would come rushing back. Instead, Scott lowered himself onto the floor where there didn’t seem to be any suspicious-looking puddles. He crossed his legs out in front of him and pressed one shoulder against Owen’s side.

It was Owen who broke the silence first. “Why are you here, Scott?” His voice didn’t sound so small this time.

Scott shrugged. “I was going to turn in my book for Secret Santa when I heard the commotion.”

“Oh…”

“You?”

“Something similar. I wanted to talk to Martyn about the chances of someone not being able to make it to the gift exchange.”

“What did he say?”

“That a gift could be given to someone else who can give it to the right person on the day of. Or we could just arrange to swap gifts with a delivery. I didn’t get the chance to ask him about when it would get delivered.”

“Oh.”

They fell into silence once more. A moment passed where Scott could feel Owen shiver. His muscles locked up and claws dug into the rim of the can. Scott braced himself for the sound of gagging, but it never came. Owen’s breath quickened, then gradually slowed back down. His muscles untensed, and the threat passed. As he relaxed, he let himself slide down the side of the can to sit next to Scott.

When Scott looked over, his dark eyes flickered blue-green in the low light.

“I really think I might be okay now,” he said slowly. “I think the worst of it has passed.”

“You should still stay right here, just in case. I don’t think you should be taking any chances right now.”

Owen winced. “I think that’s fair.”

“You’re sick.”

“Maybe,” Owen huffed. Even now, he couldn’t sit back and accept that it might be true. “I could have just had something bad to eat.”

“What have you eaten so far today?”

Owen’s face instantly fell into a regretful frown. “Or maybe not. It probably wasn’t the food.”

“Why? What all did you eat?”

“The last thing I ate was the dinner you offered me.”

Scott had prepared a nice picnic basket with cabbage rolls, fruit salad, and ratatouille. They had enjoyed a nice outing on Owen’s balcony, bundled up against the brisk winter chill. They were all dishes Scott had made countless times before. None of them could possibly have made Owen that ill.

Before Scott could ask him about lunch, the other rat hunched his shoulders and started coughing once more. It was gargled and sharp. The ripping noises that shook his lungs were enough to make Scott want to pull his chef’s hat down over his ears to keep the sound out. As the sound of Owen's hacking grew weaker and eventually died out, Scott watched Owen turn to spit into the can.

“Your cough doesn’t seem to be getting any better,” Scott mused.

“I know…” he said, annoyance and exhaustion evident in his voice. “It’s such a pain and it won’t go away.”

“Have you been resting?”

“As much as normal.”

“Any more weird instances of hiding in dark rooms?”

“Scott…” Owen’s tone was bitter.

“I’m not going to complain. Getting a few more naps in would be good for you. So have you?”

“Maybe, but it’s not napping.”

“Uh-huh.” Scott didn’t believe him. “It’s winter, Owen. You never really stopped to slow down after you went into the basement. I think if you want it to get any better, you should take a few days and stay in bed.”

Rather than complain, or wave Scott off and say that he was fine, Owen seemed to seriously consider his words. His arm snaked over his waist. He clutched at his stomach like it was threatening to spill its contents again. “Do you think that would help?”

“I don’t think it would make anything worse to try.”

Owen brought his head up only to let it fall back against the can. Thunk! “Aw, but it’s going to be boring staying in bed all day.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll come to visit. And so will the others. We’ll keep you busy while you take it easy.”

“You promise?”

“Promise.”

“Good. Can we get out of here now, then? I think I want to go home.”

Scott pointed to the paw still wrapped around Owen’s waist. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Honestly…yeah,” he said. The grip he had on his stomach loosened. “It doesn’t feel like my stomach is on the edge of bursting anymore. It kind of feels stable now, you know?”

“Mm-hm,” Scott hummed. He bumped his shoulder once more against Owen’s and then unwound his legs so he could stand up. “I’ll go tell Martyn we’re going to get you home.”

The barkeeper hadn’t made his way back out to them yet. Scott had a feeling it would be a while before Martyn finished cleaning his bar up. While Owen and Martyn didn’t always see eye to eye, Martyn would probably appreciate being told that they were leaving. The alternative would mean heading out without saying a word and letting Martyn come back to an empty back of the bar and no clue whether Owen was alright. Considering how he had been trying to comfort Owen when Scott first got here, it was probably safe to assume Martyn would appreciate the heads-up.

That and Scott still had his book to drop off. He was already here, after all.

Owen thumped the back of his head against the can once more. He tilted his head back so he could smile appreciatively up at Scott. “Thank you.”

“And I’m going to ask if he has a bag or something we can take with us, in case you get sick again on the way back.”

The smile fell into a frown so suddenly, that Scott couldn’t help but laugh.

He brushed his dungarees off as he stood. His tail, cramped from being sat on for so long, gave an experimental wave to work the pins and needles out. Then he picked his way past Owen and the can.

Some morbid curiosity took hold of Scott at that moment. Before he reached the door, his gaze passed over the rim of the rubbish bin. It was still pretty dark, but he could make out the wet shine of the puddle at the bottom.

Scott was no doctor, but he guessed that the dark red tinge to it wasn’t natural. Not considering what Owen had claimed to eat most recently. Nor were the fleshy, glowing cyan chunks floating on top.

___________________________

Owen was finally getting some rest.

Scott didn’t even have to beg him to stay in bed. He didn’t have to pester his friend with apologies and nervous requests to stay put. Owen didn’t fight him on anything anymore and didn’t complain about being cooped up in his room at the top of the clock.

That’s how bad it was.

It had Scott on edge.

The farmer rat couldn’t sit still. He busied himself coming over to visit all the time. Owen’s clock wasn’t messy, but Scott busied himself trying to clean some of the lower levels. He chewed on chunks of wood and wool, shaping them into nice things he could work into his Christmas gifts for the others. And when he ran out of ideas for things to do with what was already here, he took it upon himself to bring his hobbies closer and reduce his number of trips away from the clock.

Owen didn’t have a kitchen, but that didn’t stop Scott from hauling over his pots, pans, or even an entire stove so he didn’t have to stray too far to cook up a few meals.

Most bowls and platefuls went to the many rats who came to visit their bedridden friend. It gave them a chance to stick around longer if they had a meal at the ready. Some meals were brought up to Owen. Soups proved especially difficult to carry while climbing up the gears to Owen’s room, but Owen was always grateful to Scott for bringing them. A few dishes were whipped up purely for himself. A rat’s gotta feed himself, too.

Every time he poked his head into the dark bedroom, he would catch a flicker of blue-green before Owen registered that he was there and would greet him. Once, Scott made no attempt to make his presence known when he entered the bedroom. He didn’t knock against the door frame or call out, assuming that Owen would simply spot him in a moment or two. He did not. Scott waited, and waited, and watched as Owen simply stared at the blank wall. There was nothing to see. It was too dark for him to make out the natural grain of the wood. His unfocused eyes stared, and now Scott fully believed Eloise’s claim that Owen’s eyes glowed in the dark.

And yes, Owen still had the cough.

A couple of days on bed rest seemed to have no effect on the malady. If anything, it was worse. They kept a thimble on the side of the bed at all times now. When Owen felt a coughing fit coming on, he would reach for the bucket and hold it close. As the coughs shook his body, he would sometimes cough up… something.

The first time Owen coughed it up, they hadn’t thought to have the thimble nearby. His friend had done the best he could and leaned over the side of the bed when something solid and wet went splat against the wooden floorboards. Scott had to clean that one up. Whatever it could have been was solid. Soft, but solid. Pulpy. It was always an unnatural mix of teal and orange.

Funny. He normally liked those colors together. Now though… This wasn’t cute.

The night behind the bar had been dim, but he still recognized it as the stuff he had seen in the tin can.

Scott had no clue what it was supposed to be.

After that, Scott made sure Owen had a thimble at all times. He instructed his friend to cough into it whenever he could. Then Scott could take care of the mess later.

That proved to be somewhat difficult. Not even trash rat would bother with it. They were banned from tossing it in his dumpster. Scott was left to try digging shallow holes in the frozen ground outside to bury it or burn it in the family room fireplace when the coast was clear of cats.

He came back from one of those expeditions to find Eloise and Bek standing outside Owen’s clock.

“How’s he doing?” El asked as he approached.

Scott shrugged. “He’s still sick. Still coughing.”

“That bites.” Bek kicked her bare foot against the floorboard with a frown. She cast her gaze across the rest of the attic, eyes lingering on their neighbors’ homes. “It’s a shame there are no doctors up here.”

“I agree. None of the home remedies that we used on the farm are working.” He patted his palm against the thimble. Claws clicked against its side on impact. “I just got done emptying this for, what? The fourth time today? You don’t suppose the humans downstairs have some medicine?”

Eloise tilted her head. “That work on rats? I doubt it.”

“Want some help?” Bek offered.

El reached into her pocket and pulled out something that looked like a covered bowl. Through the see-through top, Scott could make out a bright red-ish orange liquid sloshing around. It was thicker than water or juice. As she held it out towards him, something spicy made his nose twitch. “Yeah. As I said, no doctors here, but I had a thought,” she said. “How about a home remedy? Back in the city, there were these places that sold food. And in their kitchens, they had all these pretty bottles of tasty sauces. There was one my family would use whenever we got sick. Called it hot sauce. Burned going down, but it helped clear the sinuses.”

Scott tilted his head. “He’s coughing, El. Not sneezing or blowing his nose. I’m not sure that will work.”

“Aren’t those things normally connected?”

“Are they?”

“Probably,” Bek chimed in with a noncommittal shrug.

Scott’s tail lashed as he considered his options. That stuff smelled pretty strong. She called it a sauce, so it was like food. “He’s supposed to eat it?”

Eloise nodded. “We would put it on our dinner.”

At worst, they could run to get Owen some milk if it was too hot. He didn’t think a bite of something spicy would necessarily make the cough worse.

“Sure,” he relented. “I guess it’s worth a shot. Come on. Let’s run it by Owen and see what he thinks.” He waved towards the opening at the base of the grandfather clock and started padding towards the entrance. The three of them shuffled inside, only to be greeted by the muffled sound of coughing. Scott sighed. “There he goes again.”

“He sounds worse,” Eloise said, tipping her head to look up past the levels of gears lining the inside of the clock.

“It’s dark, too,” Bek noted. “Is he doing that thing where he hides in the dark?”

“He’s still in the bed. Not hiding,” Scott supplied. “But the dark seems to help.”

She clicked her tongue. “Rather odd.”

He wasn’t about to disagree.

The two girls waited long enough for him to grab a bowl full of chicken soup from his pot. They could put the sauce into that for Owen to try. Then they scrabbled up the gears to the sound of Owen’s hacking and wheezing. It drowned out the sound of their claws scraping against brass and nickel. It took a few leaps, and both El and Scott had to help Bek pull herself up the last ledge.

Owen was still coughing as they reached to top. Scott’s ears drooped as he heard a pained wheeze between intakes of breath. He could tell the sick rat was getting tired.

“Owen!” Scott called as he led the two girls toward their friend's room. “You alright? Eloise and Bek came by.”

“Hey th-” Owen couldn’t even finish up the greeting as they stepped into the room. He was curled up in bed, gripping the covers as he leaned over and shook with each raspy breath. Scott picked up the pace until he was at the bedside, holding the thimble out for his friend. Owen took it with a shaking paw. He gripped it in his lap, but this bought appeared to only be a cough.

When it finally began to slow, Owen took a deep, deliberate breath, and breathed out a “Hi.”

“You look worse than something one of the cats coughed up,” Bek said bluntly. El smacked her shoulder and Scott pinned back his ears, but Owen smiled at the jab, so the farm rat didn’t audibly gasp in horror like he wanted to.

“I’d rather take getting chewed out by the cats at this point,” Owen said, his voice all but shot.

“No you wouldn’t,” Scott corrected. Owen didn’t argue.

“Well,” El started, holding out the covered bowl of hot sauce for him to see. “I brought something with me, that might be able to help.” Again, she explained what was in the bowl. How it was spicy and full of flavor. How at her old home they would use it to help clear their stuffy noses and make it a little easier to breathe.

Then Scott showed him the bowl of broth he brought up. “I brought some soup we could mix it into if you think it’s worth a shot. It should tone down some of the flavor and make it easier to eat.”

Owen wrinkled his nose. “Not the biggest fan of spicy food, but if there’s a chance it’ll work then it’s worth a shot.”

“You sure,” Eloise and Scott asked at the same time.

He nodded and reached out towards the bowl in Scott’s paw. “Got a spoon?”

Of course Scott brought a spoon.

Eloise popped the cover off her bowl and tilted it. Scott brought the broth underneath the rim to catch a few drops before swirling the angry orange sauce in. Since El was the one who knew about the home remedy, he let her judge how much to put in. She let a few more drops dribble into the broth before pulling back her bowl and covering it back up.

“That should probably be enough,” she said with a flick of her tail tip. “Don’t want to overdo it.”

“How spicy is it,” Owen asked nervously.

“It is hot sauce, so pretty spicy.”

Owen slunk a little deeper under the covers. “What if it’s too hot?”

“Well, you want it to be hot if it’s going to work.”

“Uh… Actually… I don’t know about this anymore, guys.”

Bek snorted. “Don’t be such a baby.”

“I am not! Fine.” In the blink of an eye, Owen snatched the soup bowl and spoon out from Scott’s paws. “This better work,” he grumbled, before ladling a spoonful of the liquid into his mouth.

Scott held his breath for a moment as he watched Owen swallow. His friend blinked rapidly at the taste, clearly uncomfortable. But he went for another spoonful and downed that as well. He handed it back to Scott with more than half the broth left.

“Feeling any better?” Bek asked brightly.

He held up one claw as if asking her to wait. His face contorted against the heat. His breathing became heavy and drawn out, but that was good, wasn’t it? Those were the deepest breaths Scott had heard Owen manage in a while.

“Did it help?” he pressed when Owen didn’t answer.

In less than a second, Owen’s demeanor changed. He went from tense patience, face screwed up with discomfort at the taste, to twitching and thrashing silently. So silently, in fact, that they even couldn’t hear him breathe.

Scott’s blood ran cold.

Owen wasn’t coughing anymore. Wasn’t gagging. He was wheezing. Gasping. Ribcage rattling. Convulsing. his back arched. He writhed beneath the blanket so wildly that it knocked the covers from the bed entirely. Both paws went to the base of his neck and gripped at the soft tissue there, claws raking along the exposed surface. Angry red marks flared up against his skin, visible beneath his fur.

“Oh my god he’s choking,” Bek shrieked.

Her words hit Scott hard, knocking his brain back into action. “H-how?!?! It was just chicken broth!” He didn’t understand. There weren’t any noodles or chunks of chicken or vegetables to worry about swallowing.

He dropped the bowl and spoon in his paws, not caring when they clattered to the floor and sent broth splattered everywhere. It didn’t matter. What mattered was getting his best friend breathing again. Scott reached under Owen’s armpit and hauled the other rat closer to the side of the bed where the rest of them could reach him more easily. He bucked in Scott’s grip. He almost completely lost his hold on the other rat’s arm as Owen kept reaching for his neck. Not sure what else to do, Scott started pounding on Owen’s back with the base of his palm, praying it would knock his airwaves free. “What could he possibly be choking on?!”

“No no no! You’re doing it wrong.” Bek shoved him to the side and took over, wrapping her arms around Owen’s chest from behind. The back of his head nearly smashed into her forehead as he struggled to breathe, but she gripped tight. “You gotta do it like in the movies.” With that, she started pounding her fist up and in just below his sternum.

Scott was grasping at straws. Reacting instinctively without knowing what would help or why. Let alone how this could have gone so wrong. He rushed around the bed to the other side so he could face Owen. He passed El, who still stood shaking against the wall. He’d ask her to help, but what could she do, really?

Scott crawled up onto the bed with Owen. He intended to hold Owen’s paws to keep them from knocking into Bek as she continued to attempt to force out whatever was caught in his throat. Before he reached out, though, Owen shifted his paws from scratching at his throat to clawing at the sides of his mouth.

There, just visible past the foremost incisors, something was glowing at the back of Owen’s mouth.

Something teal. Something orange.

Thoughts of the fleshy thimblefuls Scott had been doing his best to throw away swam to the forefront of his mind. The glow shook and strobed with every desperate attempt for air. The lumpy shapes the glow emanated from shook and wobbled as Owen opened his mouth wider and wider. Scott’s muscles locked up. He couldn’t have willed himself forward if he wanted to. Couldn’t think straight enough for it to occur to him to try. He watched as Owen tried reaching into his own mouth with desperate claws and scraped at what was inside.

Bek gave another heave, knocking Owen’s paw away from his mouth with enough force for his flailing claws to rip a tear in his lip. Something hooked on his claw came loose, and with a wet plop, it fell onto the bedspread in front of Scott.

It looked like part of a mushroom cap.

A very familiar teal mushroom with glowing orange splotches.

Something clicked in the back of Scott’s numb mind that this was probably what had been in those thimbles, although less smashed up and not swimming in bile. This cap was far more sturdy. He could still make out the delicate edges of gills lining the underside. The damaged end was blackened and wilted. The entire piece still glowed, despite being severed from the rest of the larger body.

He had warned Owen about those awful mushrooms.

Why couldn’t his friend have just trusted him and gone through with burning it?

“It’s not working,” Bek cried. She let go of Owen, cradling her wrists. Bruises were already becoming visible there beneath pale fur.

Scott blinked.

Owen was reaching with one paw for his mouth again. The glowing shapes there were clearer than they were a second ago. More sharply defined. Larger. Scott could hardly believe what he was seeing as caps pressed against the backs of Owen’s teeth, threatened to grow out right past his lips. Owen was grabbing at them. Clawing at them. Pulling fistfuls of crushed mushroom stems and caps. Scott reached forward with a half-baked thought to help rip more away, but Owen smacked his paw away before he could get close. Owen’s other paw was reaching up towards some unseen point on the ceiling with eyes that were glassy and blank. Color flickered in the pupils.

Orange, teal, orange, teal, orange, teal…

Scott whirled to look at Eloise. “GO GET HELP!!!”

She hadn’t so much as moved from her spot by the wall. At Scott’s words, her shocked face blanched. She was shaking in fear and reached for Bek like the smaller rat was a lifeline. “WHO DO I GET!?!”

“I DON’T KNOW!”

POP!

Owen fell limp.

Scott turned back to stare down at his best friend, too frozen in shock to move, dread pulsing through his veins where his heart stopped beating. “Owen…” he whimpered. The name sounded fuzzy to his ears through the radio static of his own thoughts.

Owen’s chest was moving. Barely, but it was. Scott could see it rising and falling with short, shallow breaths.

“Owen, please…”

Please what? Answer? Survive? Be okay?

The two girls gripped at each other. They stood in front of the entrance, their shadows falling over Owen in the bed. Through their quivering dark shapes, Owen’s eyes blazed.

Orange, teal, orange, teal, orange, teal…

“No more of that.”

Scott pealed his ears up away from where he had pinned them flat against the back of his head. “Owen?” His voice cracked. Owen’s voice sounded… hollow.

The fallen rat’s chest twitched. His arms drew in closer to his sides. His legs spread out over the sheets. Scott scrambled away to make room for his friend as a foot passed by where he had been kneeling on the bed. Every movement was agonizingly slow. Pained.

“W-what d-do you mean?” El stuttered. “Y-you gave us a r-real fright, there.”

“I mean no more of that.” Owen’s voice sounded empty. Distant. Scott couldn’t make out his friend’s mouth moving in the dim lighting. Not at this angle. Considering what he had just seen, it was shockingly clear considering all the mushrooms he had to be talking around. “Whatever that was, it burned. No more burning us.”

One of Bek’s ears swiveled. “Uh… ‘us’? What do you mean ‘us’?”

With a long, labored heave that looked unnaturally limp, Owen’s head lolled back as he pushed himself up shoulders first. He sat up.

Orange, teal, orange, teal, orange, teal…

“Us.”

It wasn’t just Owen’s eyes that glowed anymore. They were vacant. Glassy, empty eyes with irises that flashed back and forth. But below his eyes, crawling out from the cracks in his mouth, flowing down with the line of blood escaping the cut on his lip, curling around his front teeth, were mushrooms. Many, many, many mushrooms.

“We won’t let you burn us again,” came Owen’s voice, but it wasn’t Owen. It couldn’t be. His mouth didn’t move. His shallow breathing, now growing even shallower, hadn’t hitched or changed. Rather, with each rise and fall of the syllables, the glowing orange splotches strobed brighter.

“No more heat. No more burning.”

Orange, teal, orange, teal, orange, teal. Bright, dim, bright, dim, bright, dim.

“Just the damp. Just the dark. Like me. Like you…”

He turned to Scott, but he didn’t actually look at Scott. Those eyes stared straight ahead. The pupils were so dilated, he couldn’t be focusing on anything in front of him. His head tilted, ears falling limply with the motion.

“Hey Scott.” The mushrooms blinked with the hollow words. “You were helping me. Now I think you should help us…”

Owen lurched forward, reaching out for the nearest one of them. His claws brushed Scott’s arms and Scott leaped back.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

He shrieked. Behind him, Bek and Eloise screamed as well. They scrambled back as Owen pushed forward out of the bed. Every movement was sluggish and stilted. His muscles quivered with distress and his legs shook as he stood up, but he WAS up. And he was coming right for them.

They bolted. All three dropped onto all fours and scrabbled through Owen’s house as fast as their paws could carry them.

This was a nightmare. It had to be. Scott knew the mushrooms were dangerous, but whatever this was had to be something else. However, when Scott slipped on the carpet in the hall and slammed shoulder-first into the wall, the pain sent dark spots dancing across his eyes.

Dreams weren’t supposed to be this painful.

The three of them were halfway down the gears when Owen’s distant voice met their ears. It still had that hollow ring to it. “Come on Scott. Come on guys. You wanted to help me, right? Then come back. The dark is better.”

Scott clenched his claws and dared to look up. He couldn’t see Owen past the ledge.

“Scott… Eloise… Bek… I thought you wanted to help?”

A shiver passed down Scott’s spine. Owen didn’t sound any closer. He wasn’t chasing them. He let go of the gears, allowing himself to drop the rest of the way to land heavily alongside the girls. The three of them looked up

“Are you still there, guys?”

El placed a finger over her lips and glared at Scott and Bek. She flicked her eyes off to the side and waved in the direction of Owen’s mudroom. It didn’t take much to figure out what she meant. Scott and Bek shared a glance, then nodded and followed her around the corner.

As soon as they were all packed into the cramped room like sardines in a can, Scott pulled the door closed behind him. She dropped the finger from in front of her mouth.

“What do we do!? What do WE DO!?!?” she whispered frantically.

“I DON’T KNOW!”

They all scrambled, moving back and forth as much as they could in the small space as they talked over each other in a panic.

“Is he coming!?”

“I don’t think so.”

“It didn’t sound like it.”

“I don’t think we can be sure.”

“The door’s closed even if he was.”

“That just means we’d be trapped.”

“I don’t think he’s coming, though.”

“What even happened?”

“It’s those mushrooms,” Scott babbled, words flowing out of his mouth as quickly as they passed through his head. “Those were the mushrooms from the garden that we burned. I’d recognize them anywhere. They were in him! My god, his mouth was full of them. He was coughing them up all this time and I didn’t even realize-”

Eloise cut through his panicked rambling to grab him by the shoulders and give him a shake. “You’re the expert here on those things. Did you know they could do that?”

“Of course not!”

“Okay,” Bek started. “So a bunch of angry mushrooms were making Owen sick and now he’s…” She opened and closed her mouth a few times, but could not find the words. She helplessly gestured to the mudroom’s ceiling, approximately in the same direction as Owen’s room. “That. Now he’s like that. Didn’t the mushrooms from the garden get burned?”

“Yeah,” El hissed. “That took care of them last time. Should we try that again?”

“And do what?” Scott wanted to shout, but he strained to keep his volume down low. “Set Owen on fire?!?”

El blinked, her face going blank. “Right. Might need to think of something better.”

“What about what he said,” Bek said, her whisper now bordering on becoming a shout. “He said that something burned.”

“Yeah, the hot sauce,” El said dismissively. “I’m sure it was spicy and hot and everything I said it would be but that doesn’t actually help us now because it doesn’t actually burn things like a fire, now does it?!”

“But he- it- they- whatever that was- I don’t know?! It didn’t seem to like it.”

“So you’re saying it caused this?”

“Those mushrooms were already in his system,” Scott admitted. “He was throwing them up for a while now. Whatever this is was already in him.”

“So the hot sauce made it worse? It pissed some bloody mushrooms off and made Owen…” Eloise didn’t even know how to finish her sentence. She threw her paw up in the air and turned. She pressed one of her knuckles against her forehead.

Scott ran through everything he knew about the fungus in his head. From his early days on the farm, where he had seen the brightly colored caps from afar, to the blight they caused, and the wildlife that choked on their spores until they couldn’t breathe. The awful way it spread in the dark, closed-off spaces. Places like the basement.

Places like Owen’s lungs.

He shook his head. Now was not the time to dwell on that.

At the farm, the only thing the farmers could do was burn it. Gather it up in a neat pile and set the whole thing ablaze. Even if there were a few mycelium roots below the surface, if they set the fire close enough to the patch, the heat still managed to leach through the topsoil and kill it off.

Hot sauce didn’t put off real heat. Not like that. But the mushrooms reacted to it. He didn’t know if his parents had ever tried any irritants against something like that. Acid wasn’t necessarily available to a family of rodents working the field.

He thought of the partially blackened piece of mushroom Owen had clawed out of his mouth.

“Okay… I think… I think your hot sauce might have helped, actually.”

El pulled her knuckle from her forehead and looked at him from the corner of her eye. “You’re joking.”

“That’s what I was saying,” Bek exclaimed. All pretenses of keeping her voice down were tossed out the window. “It was mad about how hot it was. What if hot flavors work just like hot fires.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Probably. But I saw a piece break off that looked burned, and I know for a fact Owen hasn’t been around a fire for some time. I don’t know if it works like some sort of acid, but it did something.”

“Yeah,” El huffed. “It made him like THAT . Worse!”

Bek rolled her eyes. “That just means we didn’t use enough.”

Scott pointed to the smaller rat. “What she said.”

Bek didn’t seem to be prepared for him to agree with her so easily. Her eyes flew wide and her tail went ramrod straight. “What?!”

“I think you’re, right, Bek. I think we need to try using more.”

“But you- I thought- I can’t believe-” Eloise sputtered. Her paws waved uselessly in the air, grasping at straws. Finally, she gave up on trying to find an argument and slumped forward. “Fine.” She pulled the small covered bowl out. “I suppose it doesn’t hurt to try.”

“Great! Now we just need to figure out how to do that,” Scott said as he leaned his back against the door.

Knock.

“Is it nice and dark in there?”

All three rats stiffened at the sound of Owen’s voice filtering through the cracks in the door. Scott’s heart outright skipped a beat as he pushed off the door, trying to put as much distance between him and the door as he could. Considering the small mudroom, it wasn’t much. He hurtled into Bek and Eloise, who were pressing themselves through the hanging coats and boots against the furthest corner of the room. Something fell at his side. He tore his eyes away from the door long enough to see Eloise’s covered bowl of hot sauce bounce once off the floor and go rolling.

Squeak… click!

The doorknob turned and swung open. Blinking orange lights strobed across the room as Owen stepped inside.

“Well, would you look at that?”

Orange, teal, orange, teal, orange, teal. Bright, dim, bright, dim, bright, dim.

“It is dark in here. I knew you guys wanted to help.”

“O-Owen…” Scott said shakily. He pressed himself further into Bek and Eloise’s sides. “I-I thought you were upstairs in y-your room?”

“But you guys came down here,” he said through a mouth that did not form the words. His blank eyes passed over the room. “You can’t help when you’re down here and I’m up there.”

“Help with what,” El demanded.

“Us. And you.”

He took a stilted step forward, and every fiber of Scott’s being screamed at him to run.

“Go! Go! Go!” He squeaked, shoving Bek and El aside. Owen stood between them and the door, but he couldn’t stop all of them if they tried to go around them.

Of course, that didn’t mean they would all be able to get out scot-free.

Because Owen’s claws wrapped around the strap of Scott’s dungarees before he could make it past.

His best friend’s paw gripped like a vice. His grip was so white-knuckled tight that it shook as he yanked. Scott was too busy trying to run forward to get a good grip on the floor with the soles of his feet. They slipped out from under him and the farm rat found himself suspended for a moment, staring at the retreating backs of the girls before his back hit the ground.

Owen’s flashing eyes appeared over him.

Orange, teal, orange, teal, orange.

“Hey, Scott,” the mushrooms glowed down at him.

Scott tried to pull away, but Owen still had a grip on the strap. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the bowl Eloise had dropped. It was still covered and clean on the wooden floor, right there next to a set of boots. Scott reached for it. His claws brushed the rim, only for the strap of his dungarees yanked back once more. He couldn’t budge an inch as Owen forced the strap down against the wood planks, pinning him to the floor. The bowl rolled uselessly out of his line of sight.

“What are you doing,” Scott squeaked, voice small. His ears tried to swivel back to lay against his head, but they could only press uselessly against the floor.

“Helping us,” the mushrooms in Owen’s mouth blinked. “Don’t worry, Scott. It’s not so bad. A little time, a bit of coughing… you’ll barely notice.”

Dread clawed at the pit of Scott’s stomach. Owen was still looking at him blankly, but the mushroom caps in his mouth flared. The gills widened, revealing dotted dark pores between their inner layers. Scott could make out the dark spore particles between them. The dread dug those claws in and yanked.

“Owen! Owen please- I don’t- I- I- Please don’t-”

“Take this!”

Owen tore his glowing eyes off Scott. The moment his head tilted back, the open end of a bowl hit him square in the center of his face. Rivulets of red-orange liquid sprayed out along the side of his head. It caught in his hair and dripped down his jaw, and when the bowl fell away, his entire face was covered in Eloise’s hot sauce.

Bek stood in the door frame, wide-eyed, arm outstretched in front of her, utterly shocked that she had hit her mark.

The squeak of pain Owen let out made Scott flinch. He wanted to curl into a ball and cover his ears against the sheer agony that would have shredded Owen’s voice box if he was actually using it. Scott instead dug his heels into the floor and slid back as far as he could. Claws wrapped around his shoulders. To his relief, Bek had rushed to his side. She and El each took an arm and helped him up while Owen backed away. The slow, pained movements were now even shakier as he reached to wipe at the sauce covering his face.

Wherever the sauce touched the mushrooms, the stems and caps twitched and shriveled. Steam hissed, bubbles popping along their wet surface as the lukewarm liquid wreaked havoc on them. Burnt, dried-out stems fell from between his lips and crumbled against the floor.

A rather large mushroom broke free, falling to the floor. Owen let out a gasp. The sudden breath was heavier than what he had managed since the mushrooms appeared, and it triggered a cough. The same kind of heavy, burdened, full-body cough Owen had been struggling with for so long now. Scott could see flecks of hot sauce get sucked in from the edges of Owen’s lips, and full splatters of reddish-orange peppered the walls as the air was forced back out. He was gripping his throat again, but it wasn’t the desperate, clawing grasp from before.

With each cough, more and more blackened bits came tumbling from his mouth. With each cough, his chest expanded more and more. He managed to pull in more air. Let out more ragged breaths.

Bek and El’s grips on Scott’s shoulders tightened when Owen collapsed down onto his knees, shoulders stooped, and his stomach heaved. Scott didn’t react. Only watch. He had been around Owen’s vomiting spells longer than the two girls. He watched the puddle of bile and fleshy lumps that spread across the floor with cold recognition.

The chunks of what he now recognized to be mushroom pieces bubbled and boiled in the puddle, withering away amidst the swirls of undigested orange hot sauce.

Owen heaved again. And heaved. He kept going until there was nothing left, and even then he dry-heaved once or twice before he fell back into a weak cough. It was an exhausted cough. One that barely even managed to shake the rat’s shoulders. One that made his elbows waver as he tried to hold himself up off the messy floor. A few more flecks of orange and teal fell from his lips.

The coughing stopped.

It felt like an eternity passed in the time Scott, El, and Bek sat there, watching Owen pant. They were holding their breath. Didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t react in any way, as if the moment was so jagged and sharp that any change might cause it to break. Or to break one of them.

But if nobody broke the moment, than there was no way to know if it could be fixed.

“O-Owen?” Scott flinched as the sound of his own voice startled him. It cut through the quiet like a knife. He would have reached out to his friend. Risked that bit of movement, but Bek caught his wrist before he could go far.

Both she and El held him back. Their eyes were brimming with fear and concern, both emotions warring over what was best. Should they help Owen? Stay away from him?

“Are you back to feeling like yourself?” Bek asked carefully.

Owen looked up.

Orange, teal, orange, teal, orange, teal…

“I…” He took a deep breath. A small, tired smile pulled on the corners of his mouth as the flicker in his eyes finally guttered out. “I feel better…”

Thump!

Owen’s shaking arms finally gave out. He slumped down to the floor. Eyes fell closed. His body went still outside of the rise and fall of his chest.

And for the first time in a long time, Owen’s breathing sounded normal to Scott’s ears.

#mcythorrorgiftexchange #horror #body horror #mcyt fanfiction #rats smp #scott smajor #owengejuicetv #bekyamon #soupforeloise #alternate universe canon divergence #hurt/comfort #and then some more hurt #sickfic #vomiting #nonconsensual body modification #mind manipulation #unconventional use of hot sauce #embedded art #it's at the end

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leighsartworks216 · 6 months

Text

The Rescue of Magistrate Ancunin

Astarion x gn!Tav (could be read as the beginning of a romance or a friendship)

I started this like weeks ago but I wasn't happy with it so I left it alone. And then I came back fully expecting to delete and re-write half of it, but nope! I like it now!

This should have been more angsty but it sure is not

Warnings: blood, injury, fear of death, descriptions of dying, swearing, descriptions of pain, angst

Word Count: 2,202 (fun!)

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

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Boots kick in his stomach, his face - anywhere they can reach - mixed with fists and nails. Astarion tries covering his head, but it’s in vain. The air is torn out of him over and over, until breathing becomes too difficult. Everything is excruciating. Pure, unbridled agony washes over him, replaced only by short bouts of numbness.

He can no longer feel his fingers or his toes. They’re just cold. So cold.

His nose breaks with a sickening crunch. He chokes around a gasp. Tears pour down his face, snot and blood dripping from his nose.

He’s going to die here.

They’re going to kill him.

And he’s terrified.

At the edge of his senses, he can hear the clicking of boots against cobblestone. The Gur hear it, too. With one last good hit each, some spitting on him as a further disgrace, they rush from the scene. He can’t move. The longer he lays there, the more the pain goes away. There’s a warm liquid beneath him, all around him - he can almost pretend it’s a warm bath.

The clicking gets faster as the boots run toward him. Soft hands turn him over to his back, but it hurts so fucking bad. He wants to curl up into a ball, let death wash over him and remove his fear and his pain. The hands don’t let him. They brush his hair, matted with blood, from his forehead.

It takes too much effort, but he tries to look anyway. His vision won’t focus. The person’s speaking, he thinks. Their mouth is moving insistently. He can’t even begin trying to read their lips.

They lean over him and press their hands to his chest. It hurts. He tries lifting his arms to push them away, but he can’t even feel his arms anymore. He tries mouthing the word “Stop”, hoping he can find enough air to speak. Alas, nothing comes out. And he’s so tired.

For one brief moment, his vision is clear. He can see their face. Their eyes are closed, but they glow beneath the lids. Another glow, the same pale blue, surrounds their hands. He tries to commit their face to memory: their hair, the shape of their nose, their brows. But before he can get a clear image, darkness crawls in from the edge of his vision. The last thing he is aware of before he slips away - into unconsciousness or death, he isn’t sure - is their voice, whispering spells under their breath.

The cleric casts spell after spell - anything they can think of. If they try moving him in this state, he won’t live past the end of the street. One incantation after another spills from their lips, desperate. In the back of their mind, they pray to their goddess to spare this man from this fate. Too many people have died on these cobblestones with no one to help - they will not let him continue that cycle.

By the time they’ve spent all their spells and opened their eyes, a ring of flowers and grass grow around him, risen from the blood as though it was fresh dirt, climbing through cracked stones. Shaky hands carefully examine him.

His ribs are no longer cracked, and blood no longer fills his lungs. When they lean down to listen, his breaths are slow, but constant. He was by no means fully recovered - he was injured too much for that - but he’s stable enough to move.

They brush away some flowers that tangled in his hair and wrap his arm around their shoulders. Once they had him sitting up, they wrapped their arm around his waist and did the monumental task of carrying his dead weight to his feet. They weren’t weak by any standards, but they also weren’t in the habit of carrying full-grown people. Not to mention how weak they were now they’d cast everything available to them.

His feet dragged as they supported him down the road. They could continue to treat him at their house, where he’d be safe from another attack.

The flowers were the only witnesses to a figure in the shadows that scoffed and disappeared into the night.

Astarion’s eyes slowly opened. The afterlife looked much different than he expected. The room was a bit shabby… Maybe this was one of the Hells? His head sluggishly flops to the side when the door opens with a creak. Is this… a god? He expected something a bit more… spectacular.

They didn’t seem to notice him as they went around the room. They peeked underneath anything with space below it, muttering frustratedly under their breath. With a huff, they opened closet doors, shutting them quietly despite their exasperation.

He would have spoken, but his mouth was so gods-damned dry. So instead, he cleared his throat. It barely made a sound - a small grunt if anything - but they jumped out of their skin and looked at him.

“Oh! You’re awake!” They shook off the jitters as they rushed to the nightstand next to the bed he lay on, pouring him a glass of water from a pitcher. They carefully supported the back of his head off the pillow and held the glass to his lips. “Here, drink this.”

He did as they asked without much thought. All he could really think to do is stare up at them, even as the blessedly cool liquid soothed his throat. Surely, this couldn’t be a god. He’d never been one to believe, but he’d never heard any stories that had gods take care of visitors. Certainly not those that discussed gods of death.

After letting him drink for a moment, they took the glass away and set it back down, easing his head back on the pillow. They smiled at him, warm and welcoming. Where in the Hells was he?

They chuckled. Oh, had he said that out loud? “You’re at my house. You’ve been asleep for a few days now.”

He blinked slowly and cleared his throat again. “Why?”

“You don’t remember?” They tilt their head at him, watching, as though they’d seen this before.

“I remember… heading home. And…” He scowled. “The Gur.”

“Is that who attacked you?”

Right. He was attacked. He grunts and forces himself to sit up. Their hands hover over him, ready to catch him if it’s too much, but they don’t touch him. He looks down at his body. Other than some nasty bruises, he’s perfectly fine. He feels nauseous just remembering how he couldn’t breathe - yet here he was, breathing perfectly fine.

“How did you…?” He touches his nose, surprised it isn’t broken. He looks at them again. They almost laugh at the bewildered look on his face. “I thought I was dead.”

They wince slightly. “No, fortunately I found you just in time. A moment later and you would be. I can alert the officials about the attack, but they probably won’t catch those responsible.”

He groaned. The thought of his own predicament becoming a court case gave him a headache. “Great. They’re free to roam without consequence.”

“Hm. I’m sure their luck will run out.” He looks at them from the corner of his eye. “Oh, do you believe in karma?”

“No, not really.”

They smile despite this. “For your sake then, I hope they get some repercussions for their actions.”

“If you really believe, then you’d think this was karma getting back at me.”

“Why? What did you do?”

He sneers as he says it. “I handed down a sentence they didn’t really like.”

They look at him for a moment. He can’t tell if they’re assessing him or just formulating an opinion. They choose their next words carefully. “It’s against my faith to believe that a violent action against another is just.”

“And what do you think? Outside of your faith’s rules.”

They frowned as they thought. “I think… I don’t have enough information to form an opinion.”

He hummed. “Fair enough.”

They offered him a polite smile and turned to search the room once more. They peered under the bed, squinting into the darkness, before huffing and looking somewhere else.

“What are you looking for?”

“Hm? Oh, my cat, Pumpkin. She loves to sneak into the guest rooms, and for some reason, she loves sneaking in here, specifically.” They paused, realizing something. “Actually, she only started coming in here so often once you showed up. She may just like you.”

He hummed noncommittally. Cats did seem to like him, but he did his best to avoid them. It wasn’t professional to have fur all over his clothes, especially during court.

“You said you passed down a sentence,” they said as they rifled through a pile of blankets with no luck. “Are you a judge?”

“Magistrate,” he corrects, haughtily. “Magistrate Ancunin.”

They stand straight and turn to him. “Oh! I never introduced myself.” They smiled sweetly. “My name’s Tav. A pleasure to finally meet you,” they teased lightly. “I didn’t really know what to call you while you healed. It’s nice to put a name to a face.” Their smile dropped as they sighed sharply, turning with their hands on their hips to look around the room. “Now, where is that damn cat?”

He almost chuckles as he watches them re-check the wardrobe, lean down to peer under furniture they already looked under, and pick up each blanket in the stack with such vigor they nearly came unfolded.

A slight movement caught his ears. As they opened drawers and shuffled spare clothes within, he looked at the pile of pillows beside him. At a glance, they seemed perfectly normal. It was a large bed - the pillows on the side he wasn’t sleeping on were set up just as they ought to be. But, as he continued to look, something shifted the pillow. A minute motion. He carefully pulled it back.

“This cat you’re looking for…”

They hum, not looking at him. “Pumpkin.”

“Yes, Pumpkin, what does she look like?”

“Oh, um, orange. White belly. Her tail was bit off by a stray dog when she was little, so it’s rather short now.”

“White paws?”

“Mhm.”

“Blue eyes, sort of brown in the center?”

“Exactly.”

The only sound in the room was the creak of wood as they tried peering on top of the bookshelf. Then silence. They slowly turned around as their mind finally caught up.

Astarion, still holding the pillow back, watched with a slight grin as the aforementioned cat rolled on her back, stretching out with paws reaching toward the sky. Even from across the room, they could hear the loud purrs she emitted.

They let out a long suffering sigh as they stepped off the bottom-most shelf and made their way to the cat’s side of the bed. Bright blue eyes looked up at them, mouth curled in the cutest way. They sighed again. “You’re terrible, you know that?”

With a sweet mreow, Pumpkin rolled back over and, before he could react, jumped into his lap.

“Ah, I don’t- Hey! Wh-What are you doing?!”

Tav laughed as he floundered, hands raised like he had no idea where to put them. Pumpkin brushed up against his chest, her short tail just brushing his shoulder, before she began kneading into his lap. Her claws pulled at the handmade quilt, and he was all-too-relieved he had the protection. Before she could curl up, Tav rounded the bed and swooped her up by her middle, tucking her into their arm like a baby. The cat mrowled in displeasure.

“Like I said, she really likes you.”

He frowned, brushing his shirt of fur on habit, even though the pajamas he wore were not his own. “Delightful,” he droned. “If you don’t mind, when can I leave this place?”

They took the rudeness in stride - they’d been asked the same question in far meaner ways before. It was part of the job, they supposed. “You’re welcome to leave today, if you feel well enough. I’d warn against going out at night, until it’s safer, at least. I’d be happy to lend you some clothes.”

“What happened to mine?”

They gave him a soft look, like a mother afraid to tell her child disappointing news. “I’m afraid they were too soaked in blood to be salvaged. I saved what personal effects I could, but…”

He blinked. How did he forget he was there because he was nearly beaten to death? Funny how one forgets something so major when looking for a cat and having idle conversation. He cleared his throat. “Of course.”

Pumpkin wriggling in their arms, they pull the door open and turn back to him. “I’ll bring some clothes right up, Magistrate Ancunin, and your belongings.”

“Astarion.” He looks away, chin up, trying to keep some modicum of professionalism. “You can call me Astarion.”

He can hear the smile in their voice. “You’re welcome to stay for supper, if you’d like, Astarion.” They pull the door closed behind them as they say, “Though Pumpkin may try for your lap again.”

After a pause, he lets himself relax in the silence of the now-still room. A dumb grin slides across his face. Surely the court could await his return a while longer?

---

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