#lesser knows fancy words exist he just struggles to know how to pronounce them

[sardinesandhumbugs]

It takes an ecosystem...

A/N: Thank you @fan-of-my-fandoms for getting the boat moving on this with your enthusiasm for this idea, and also to all the anons who dropped by to throw yet more fuel on this au fire. This is a oneshot based on the “Portia gets adopted by all the Wild Wooders, several Riverbankers, and Mrs Otter Copes” au. 

This particular oneshot is set from Badger’s POV, since it felt the easiest POV to get an overall impression of this mess, and is meant to give a gist of the vibe I had in mind. 

x

In the wake of the retaking of Toad Hall, a strange sort of truce had settled between the Riverbank and the Wood. 

This wasn’t because, one might expect, either side had offered any sort of apology (and there were plenty owed to go around) but rather that a peculiar double-booking of parenthood had occurred. Because while Portia’s (the eldest daughter of Mrs Otter) kidnapping had begun as an attempt to provoke the Riverbankers, what it had ended in was Portia gaining at least two new weasel uncles and one extremely strong-opinionated stoat aunt. 

And honestly? Badger didn’t really see what all the fuss was about. (This was mostly because if he did see what the fuss was about, he’d be obligated to Help, and the retaking of Toad Hall had been enough excitement for one season.) 

But regardless (and possibly courtesy of the new truce making it easier than ever for even the Riverbankers to appeal to his aid) animals kept turning up on his doorstep with the latest saga. 

“She’s doing it again,” Mrs Otter grumbled, before Badger had even finished opening his front door. “Undermining my authority.”

Badger motioned for the Riverbanker to see herself in. “I take it the ‘she’ in question is the stoat you spoke of before?”

“Portia asked if she could go ice skating with friends and I said no, because there’s no guarantee it’ll be thick enough to stand on, and the last thing I want is to lose my daughter to the river after the year we’ve had,” Mrs Otter griped, making herself thoroughly at home in the way that one does after a too-long day. “And then the moment that I turn my back, that stoat sweeps in and takes her out onto the river anyway!” 

The weather had been bitterly cold recently and, from what Badger had been hearing, most animals had ventured out onto the frozen river. There had even been races, with the only injury incurred that from a bad slip.  

“Was there any trouble?” he asked. “On the river, I mean.”

Mrs Otter glowered. “She twisted her ankle.”

“That happens to pups her age.”

“It wouldn’t have happened at all, had she not been out when I said no!” Mrs Otter snapped.  

“It mightn’t do her any harm to be out and about,” Badger told her gently. “To have some fun - or normality.”

She snorted. “Normality? What could be possibly normal about having the same Wild Wooders who kidnapped my daughter hanging around the Riverbank like it’s nothing?”

“Does Portia seem distressed by their presence?” Badger asked, already knowing the answer.  

 Mrs Otter glowered again. If the term ‘Stockholm Syndrome’ had been about, she would have swung the diagnosis like a baseball bat. As things were, however, all she was left with was a daughter who cussed more creatively than a sailor, and a gaggle of Wild Wooders who kept getting under her feet. 

“She’s also picked up all sorts of foul language,” she added belatedly. 

Badger grinned. “I seem to remember another otter who had to hastily clean up her language when her first pup came along.” He poured a mug of tea and handed it over to the grousing otter. “She’ll grow up. You did, after all.”  

“I was never that bad.”

“You regularly threatened to run away to join the Wild Wooders whenever your mother made you eat your greens,” Badger reminded her, with only the barest edge of teasing. “You forget, I was around when you were Portia’s age.”

Mrs Otter didn’t have much to say to that. 

x

“Yer an insecti- insecurei- insect-e-vore...” 

Badger waited patiently for the weasel to find his way to the end of his sentence. It wasn’t unheard of for the Wild Wooders to seek out his advice, but in Badger’s experience, it tended to be for the more life-threatening situations - someone had caught pneumonia, or broken a rib, or eaten something they really, really shouldn’t have... 

It generally wasn’t for whatever... this was. 

“You eat worms, right?” the weasel finally settled on. 

Badger observed the weasel. The animal wore a red-stained tie (made all the clearer for the unfortunate - or short-sighted - choice of a white fabric) and, as far as Badger could remember, was one of the Chief Weasel’s sidekicks. The name Lesser rang a bell. 

“I do indeed eat worms,” Badger conceded. “When the mood takes me.”

“Do you know how to make worm broth?” 

“I have been known to make it, on occasion.”

“I need some.”

 “I do not,” Badger added, “have any on the go at this exact second.”

“That’s okay, I’ll wait right here.”

Badger gave the weasel another look. He believed the animal would just wait, too. He was probably going to regret asking this, but: “What do you need worm broth for? I wasn’t under the impression it was a favourite among your kind.”

The weasel squirmed. “It’s for the otter pup.”

“The otter pup.”

“She went out in the snow the other day and - uh, well...”

“Twisted an ankle?” Badger offered.

“Something like that. And, see, one of the other pups said that their mum always makes them worm broth when one of them’s sick, only we tried to make what we thought’d be worm broth, and it came out...” Lesser declined to describe it. “So, you see, we thought you’d know how to make it-”

“I do,” Badger said, “and I’m not going to.”

“But-”

“If you’re needing an expert in worm broth, I suggest you appeal to Mole’s nature,” he continued. “He usually has some on the go and, if not, you’ll do a lot better convincing him than me.” 

x

It was not two days later that his door was subjected to yet another round of knocking. And he would have told his would-be guest to stop abusing his hospitality except - well - it was Ratty. 

He ushered in the water rat, relieved to discover that Ratty’s previous visits hadn’t been mere outliers, but perhaps indicators of regular occurrence. 

Regular occurrence, he quickly discovered, as long as there was chaos on the Riverbank. 

“Are you quite sure we can’t do anything about the Wild Wooders, Badger?”

Badger pushed a steaming mug into Ratty’s paws. If Mrs Otter’s visit was anything to go by, then this was not going to be a quick turnaround. “Have they done anything worth doing anything about?”

“It’s not about what they’ve done, but what they’re going to do.”

“And what is that?”

Ratty mumbled something into his drink.

“Yes?”

“They’re dragging Mole into... whatever they’re up to,” Ratty muttered. 

“I doubt Mole can be dragged into anything he doesn’t want to be,” Badger replied, entirely honestly. “What nefarious schemes are they enrolling Mole into now?”

“One turned up on our doorstep, asking for worm broth.”

“Ah yes, worm broth. The most heinous of meals.”

Ratty’s whiskers twitched self-consciously. “That’s not the principle of the thing. The principle of the thing is-” He faltered, and that flicker of righteous outrage faded. “The thing is that the first time Mole crossed paths with the Wild Wooders, they scared him half to death.”

“Animals change, Ratty.”

“These lot don’t.”

“Then circumstances do.” 

Badger watched the son of his late friend fret, and marvelled at how, even though father and son differed in such ways (he never remembered the previous Rat getting quite so caught up in his own mind), he could still read Ratty the same way he had his father. Ratty’s paw ran along the back of his neck, coming to a stop at that hand-me-down hat, just as his father had done in his rare moments of discomfort. 

“Ratty,” Badger said, “you’re not to blame for what happened that day.”

“I never said I was,” Ratty replied, just a little too curtly to be wholly at ease. “But...” and here, Badger could hear the truth cracking, “it’s true, isn’t it? If I hadn’t let him go off into the Wood alone...” 

“Then things would be different,” Badger said simply. “As is the case with most choices. Now, Mole’s a grown animal; if he wants to help the Wild Wooders prepare a little bit of comfort food for a sick otter pup, then I think there’s nothing you can really do to stop him.”

x

By the time the next door knock arrived, Badger wasn’t even surprised. 

He was, however, surprised to see the duo in question. 

“I see you’re back on your feet, Portia,” he rumbled.

The otter pup shuffled from foot-to-foot, but kept her paw steadily over her nose, a bloodied handkerchief pressed into place. “Fell outta tree,” she mumbled around the makeshift compress. 

“Are ya gonna let us in, or are ya gonna leave her to bleed all over your porch?” the Chief Weasel demanded. 

Badger raised an eyebrow but gestured for them to enter. Portia bustled herself in with no reserves, but Badger didn’t miss the way the Chief gave him a wary look-over before following after the pup. The unease didn’t let up, even while Badger was seeing to Portia’s nose. 

“So, fell out of a tree, did you?” Badger prompted. “Last I checked, otters weren’t an arboreal species.”

“A what-species?” Portia asked. 

“Tree-dwelling.”

“Oh.” Portia tried to wipe the blood clear, and Badger firmly - but not harshly - slapped her paw away before she could smear it across her fur. “That’s probably why I fell out then.”

Reassured she hadn’t broken her nose, only given it a shock, he passed her towel to ease the blood. “So what were you doing up one?”

“Fetching a kite. One of the weasel pups’ ones got stuck.” 

Badger glanced to the Chief in a ‘and you left the otter pup with the recently-twisted ankle to get it back’ kind of way. 

“She said she could do it just fine!” the Chief snapped. “Ain’t my fault if she didn’t tell me she couldn’t climb!” 

“S’true,” Portia mumbled.

“Well, there’s not much more to be done,” Badger announced. “And what have we learned from this?”

“That I need to get better at climbing trees,” Portia replied instantly. 

Badger decided that was the best he was going to get. He let the odd duo out, but not before he saw the Chief Weasel pat the otter on the head in a decidedly paternal manner.  

 x

Badger quickly resigned himself that it was going to be at least a month of odd duos. 

“My front door hasn’t seen this much action... well, ever,” he announced to the mole and weasel on his doorstep. Both looked suspiciously sheepish, and Lesser was fiddling with the arm of his glasses. 

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen an otter pup?” Mole asked. 

“I suppose the otter pup in question would be Portia,” Badger made the educated guess of. 

“You have seen her then?”

“No.” Badger let the seconds pass before eventually caving to curiosity. “Why-”

“No reason!” Lesser announced, and dragged the mole off. 

Badger shut the door and headed back inside. With the way this season was going, he didn’t doubt that he’d discover what was going on before long. 

x

“Hide and seek in the Wild Wood!” Mrs Otter bemoaned. “Who thinks that’s a wise idea for an otter pup?”

“Probably a Wild Wooder,” Badger replied. He’d gone to the trouble of making his visitor a cup of tea, and his hospitality had been duly rewarded by watching it go cold in her paws. It was, however, making a good prop for Mrs Otter to wave about whenever she needed Emphasis. “And they did find her, I presume?”

“Up a tree. She stayed up it for a good hour, just to make sure she won the game.”

Badger made a mental note that apparently Portia had made good on her promise to get better at climbing trees. “Safe?”

“Unharmed, if that’s what you mean,” Mrs Otter muttered. 

“Then I really don’t see what has caused your distress.”

“It’s not safe for a Riverbanker!”

“Then it’s just as well she’s also under the care of Wild Wooders,” Badger replied tiredly. “Anyway, from what I heard of it, Mole was also keeping an eye on her.”

Mrs Otter grumbled again, in such a way that made Badger doubt that her eldest was going to be under the care of a certain mole any time soon. 

x

At this point, Badger thought, he probably should just consider giving out keys to his front door and save himself the hassle of having to answer it. He opened his door to see - briefly - two soaked animals, before both dashed inside. 

“HiMrBadgerHaveyoumetmyAuntieCheryl,” Portia blurted as she scooted inside. 

‘AuntieCheryl’  turned out to be a stoat and also the Chief Weasel’s other second-in-command. She made a cursory attempt at a glower as she passed the badger, but was hampered somewhat by her chattering teeth. 

“Pleasure as always, Portia,” Badger returned. He raised his gaze briefly to the thick rain beyond his door, before shutting it firmly out, and following after his impromptu guests. Portia was quick in claiming the chair closest to the fire but not, it had to be said, for herself; rather she had bundled the stoat into it and was already introducing a blanket to the mix. 

“It’s rather wet for a walk through the woods, wouldn’t you say?” Badger hazarded. 

“T’wasn’t raining when we started,” the stoat grumbled. It sounded like she was aiming for a growl, but had again been hindered by the shivers. 

“It’s really raining buckets out there,” Portia said, and Badger understood this to be the closest she was going to give for an apology for barging in. “Auntie Cheryl would have caught her death of cold if we’d tried to make it back to the Wooders - or the Riverbank.”

“I’m fine,” the stoat muttered. This would have been a lot more believable had she not been retreating steadily further into the blanket. 

“You’re not fine, you’re shivering,” Portia said. 

“Little bit of rain never did anyone any harm-”

“Auntie Cheryl,” Portia said, and - to Badger’s amusement - she had her paws on her hips in the spitting image of her mother; “you are going to sit there and concentrate on not catching a cold while I get you something to warm you up.” Portia leant over to Badger and whispered, “Where’s the kitchen?”   

“That door.”

“Thank you.”

With the same busyness that Badger recognised from Mrs Otter, Portia bustled into the kitchen, leaving him alone with ‘Auntie Cheryl’.

‘Auntie Cheryl’ eyed the badger warily. 

“I’ll be out from under your nose before you know it,” she deadpanned. “Until then, I’ll try not to drip too much on the furniture.”

Badger sighed and pulled up a chair from the dining room. “I wouldn’t worry too much about the furniture,” he said. “It’s seen its fair share of damp guests.” 

“Mr Badger!” Portia hollered from the kitchen. “Where do you keep your pots?”

“Second cupboard to the right!” Badger called back. 

 He didn’t entirely miss the way the stoat’s form stilled at his booming voice. 

“So,” he said. “You’re the Auntie Cheryl I’ve been hearing all about.”

The stoat bared her teeth. “I suppose that worrywort of a mother has been talking your ear off about me,”

“Oh, I’ve heard about you from several quarters,” Badger replied, honestly enough. “But yes, the elder otter certainly does have her qualms about you.”

“She has her qualms about everything,” Cheryl snarled back.

“She has her reasons. After all, she did believe she’d lost her daughter only last winter.”

“But she never went looking proper for her, did she? She, what, scurried around the edge of the Wood for an afternoon, and then proclaimed her daughter a lost cause?” The stoat’s lip curled. “No Wild Wooder would ever give up on a pup so easily.”

No, Badger believed they wouldn’t. And he could read the anger in the stoat - this animal, who had somehow gained the mantel of aunt, and now simmered in the ire that her newfound niece would ever be abandoned. 

“Things aren’t quite so simple as that.”

“It is!” the stoat snapped. “You either care enough to fight, or you don’t. She didn’t.”

He regarded the stoat. She was younger than Mrs Otter, but carried the years she did wear with a sharp sort of pride. Time had not yet dulled her claws nor tired her senses, and both were buffered by a quickness to clash. 

“You’ve never lost a fight that truly mattered, have you?” he asked. 

“Toad Hall--”

He held up a paw. “Toad Hall was a place, a thing,” he said. “You held on to it because you wanted it, not because it was precious. I’m talking about fighting for someone, and losing.”

Cheryl didn’t answer, but her face twisted as she searched - fruitlessly - for a reply to prove him wrong.

“It’s not a failing,” he said gently. “Merely an observation.”

“I don’t get what this has to do with anything.”

“Mrs Otter has,” he said.

“Then she should’ve fought harder.”

“We don’t always have that option.”

“Yes, we do.”

“Then what would you have done in the wake of a hunt?” he asked. “Defend your mate or protect your young?” He waited merely long enough for the stoat to realise she had no easy answer. “Like I said,” he continued, “fighting harder isn’t always an option.”

“Auntie Cheryl, Auntie Cheryl, I made you tea!” Portia came running in, wafting in the faint aroma of burnt... something from the kitchen. “Well, I tried, but Mr Badger’s stove is weird, and the kettle boiled over, and I might’ve knocked a bit of onion into the water from one of the garlands - sorry, Mr Badger--”

“No problem.”

“--but it looks like the right sort of colour, and you like onion in your food normally, so it’s probably okay–”

‘Auntie Cheryl’ dutifully sipped her onioned tea and didn’t reignite the conversation for the rest of her visit. 

x

A/N: Aaaaaand I’m gonna stop there because this is getting long. I was intending this to have more of a narrative focusing on the Mrs O & Cheryl dynamic, but it mostly became “animals keep turning on Badger’s doorstep thanks to Portia”. I was aiming for both Mrs O and Cheryl to have valid points (Mrs O can be over-protective, while Cheryl isn’t always the most careful) and for them to be dealing with the side of Portia installed from the other guardian (Cheryl being mothered, and Mrs O dealing with recklessness) and I hope I got some of that across. 

I might do more of this? This was fun, but I can’t really add much more to this post without it becoming A Lot to read. (3K. Oof. If you got this far, I’m impressed!) 

If you did read and enjoy this, please leave a comment or nice tags so I can bask in their light and be energised for more writing!