#mylo's lmk stories

[mylo-space]

Stitched and Stone

Summary: Wukong and Macaque were never very concerned about the demons that intruded on their home. There was no fight they couldn't win, and it made Flower Fruit Mountain the safest place on Earth. But winning doesn't stop Macaque from being flesh and blood, and safe doesn't mean the fights don't leave scars. guys, i can't write summaries. it's soft past shadowpeach stuff.

Posted on Ao3: 2023-10-19 Word Count: 8,279

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The annoying thing about being king were the demons who decided it was a good idea to challenge his rule. Wukong had long since gotten used to various demons looking to pick a fight, and it’d almost become more of a nuisance than a concern. Fortunately, as his reputation grew, fewer and fewer challengers appeared to fight him. Unfortunately, the ones that did had started bringing small armies with them.

The demons were especially difficult to deal with when it was dark. For all his many powers, he had yet to find a way to see at night. As he tore through a crowd of demons, he also lamented that he hadn’t found a way to control the weather, as a tropical storm had started showering the mountain with torrents of rain. He’d considered making a few clones to help, but they couldn’t see any better than he could, and he’d accidentally hit two of the five he made at the beginning of the fight.

“Wukong!” he heard Macaque shout from somewhere across the battlefield. “I thought it couldn’t rain on this stupid mountain!”

Wukong swung his staff at a noise to the left, the iron colliding with some blurry figure darting around the trees. “It can't!” he confirmed. “One of these guys must have struck a deal with a thunder god or something.”

“Great!” Macaque grunted, striking down a vaguely fish-shaped demon. “Someone else whose ass we gotta kick later.” Wukong felt a hand tug his arm. “Get down!”

He’d learned not to question when Macaque gave him direction, often hearing threats that Wukong couldn’t, and so he ducked, feeling Macaque’s spiked staff ruffle his hair as he swung at a demon making a jump for them. “Getting pretty tired of this,” Wukong muttered irritatedly. “Feels like there’s no end to them.”

“Yeah,” Macaque said, and his hand was back on Wukong’s arm. “Portaling, now.”

“What?” Wukong tried to protest, because they couldn’t just leave the horde of demons roaming the mountain, but Macaque was already pulling him through. “Wait, we can’t-” He closed his eyes against the shadows, falling hard on something slim and instinctively wrapping his arms around it to stay steady. “Macaque!” He yelped, claws digging into the grooves of a tree branch. “What are you-”

A hand fit itself over his mouth. “Quiet,” Macaque hissed. “I’m thinking.”

Wukong batted Macaque’s hand away and sat up on the branch, tail lashing to keep himself balanced on the rain-slicked tree. “We don’t have time for-”

“Sh.”

“There are demons swarming the mountain,” Wukong persisted. “I can still hear them from here, put me back!”

Macaque inhaled sharply. “Okay, I got it.” Wukong opened his mouth to protest again, but Macaque had a hand on his shoulder before he could manage a word, locking eyes with a determined expression that had the king’s mouth snapping shut again. “They’re overwhelming us, and you can’t see.”

“I mean, I can see a little.”

“Not good enough,” Macaque said.

“I don’t have to see them to hit them, Macaque!”

“They’re going to try and regroup,” Macaque continued, paying Wukong’s protests no mind. “I’m gonna get between them and the cave, and you need to get between them and the bottom of the mountain.” He paused for a moment, and Wukong could see a flicker of magic flash by Macaque’s ears. “I’ll hear if any demons get too close to the troupe and stop them, then I’ll work my way towards you and take out everyone I can.”

“But-”

Macaque shook his shoulder. “Listen to me,” he scolded, “we don’t have time.” Six delicate points fanned out from the sides of Macaque’s head. “It’s dark, and I have the advantage of being out of sight. Turn into something that can see at night–a wolf, a fox, I don’t care–and keep them distracted. It’ll be easier to take these guys down if they’re spread out and disoriented. With both of us thinning the horde, they’ll either all die, or they’ll start retreating.”

And there was a pretty integral part of the plan that Wukong had an issue with, the separating, not wanting Macaque to be out of sight with danger crawling up the mountain. Which made it all the more frustrating that it was actually a really good plan. “Alright,” Wukong relented, knowing that he didn’t have the time to argue, “but you come find me if the troupe is in danger.”

A chuckle echoed around the trees as Macaque opened another portal, “Don’t worry,” he said, eyes alight with a familiar purple flame, “the demons won’t even get close.”

Wukong knew better than to question the legitimacy of Macaque’s claim. As much as he was the king and ruler of Flower Fruit Mountain, Macaque was easily the better protector. Even without Wukong on the mountain with him, Macaque had managed to keep Flower Fruit Mountain safe, granting any demon that crossed his path the mercy of not living long enough to regret the decision.

Dropping from the tree, Wukong shrank his staff to hide it in his ear, overtaken by golden smoke as he took the lithe form of a wolf. His eyes pierced the dark with ease as he tore through the forests. Really, he should have thought of his transformations sooner, and he was sure he’d hear some teasing from Macaque about it once they were safe in the cave.

He slowed as he approached the sound of clanging metal and angry voices, the demons having indeed started regrouping, struggling to come up with a plan to take down Wukong and Macaque. Wukong’s new toothy maw itched to surge forward and sink into something, but Macaque had a plan, and he’d stick to it.

There was a flash of golden light as Wukong turned back into himself, startling the demons that had gathered together. “Hey!” he called. “This whole storm thing ain’t working out for you, huh?” He was met with a roar of voices that made him wonder if there was any clear leader in this little army, as they all began rushing forward at once. “Yeah, come and get me,” he muttered, turning back into a wolf and darting into the underbrush.

Wukong ran until the voices became distant, then stopped to shift his form again, hiding in the trees as the demons began running past him, slowing once they’d realized Wukong was no longer in sight. It was almost amusing, in a way, watching their faint outlines in the rain, prowling around the area where they’d last seen him, fanning out to try and find him faster.

It was only a matter of time before they were spread out enough that Wukong was certain they couldn’t overwhelm him. He pulled his staff from his ear and jumped on the demon closest to the tree he’d been using as refuge, only a startled cry escaping the creature before being silenced. There were shouts of alarm from the other demons, trying to figure out which one of them had just been struck down and where, giving Wukong enough time to bring his staff down on three more intruders before they found him.

Their efforts to track him were proven fruitless as Wukong once again assumed the form of a wolf and retreated to the trees. It became a sort of rhythm, running and stopping, preying on the demons who let their guard down, losing them in the dense forests only to reappear from the trees and from behind boulders, hiding in bushes and tall grass that whipped his face in the storm.

And he wouldn’t be the Monkey King if he didn’t do his fair share of taunting, whispering to some stray demons from above, sending clones to snap sticks and tree branches, tricking demons into attacking the copies so that Wukong could strike from behind. He became a fox and an owl and even a snake once, just to really mess with a few demons that had started straggling behind.

By the time that the demon army realized that their numbers had been absolutely devastated, Wukong had become almost bored with the runaround. If Macaque had taken out as many demons as he had, the horde would have been thinned to maybe a quarter of its original size. A few dozen demons were child’s play to the King of Flower Fruit Mountain, and the diminished horde knew it.

It wasn’t an official surrender, but it was a victory for Wukong nonetheless, seeing demons stumble over themselves to get off the mountain. He wondered for a brief moment if Macaque had done that intentionally, telling Wukong to lure them to the bottom of the mountain so that they could make a swift escape from the island.

Probably, Wukong decided, Macaque was always good about planning things like that. An efficient strategy on all fronts.

The storm began dying down, and Wukong didn’t quite care enough to figure out which god of thunder aided this demon army in trying to catch him and Macaque off guard. But he would be sending a strongly worded letter to the Celestial Realm about what weather was and wasn’t allowed on his mountain.

Regardless of who was responsible for what, the fight was won. “Yes!” Wukong cheered, pumping his fists in the air so fast that it jolted every sore muscle in his body. “Ah- woah, okay,” he winced, lowering his arms and dusting off his hanfu as best he could with his clothes soaked from the rain. “Man, I’m glad that worked.”

Suddenly remembering he hadn’t been alone in the fight, Wukong whirled around in search of Macaque. With the trail of demons he came across, it seemed as though Macaque’s plan had gone accordingly. Which didn’t really surprise Wukong as much as it did make pride swell in his chest, just further confirmation that his trust in Macaque to protect the mountain in his absence was well-deserved.

Wukong broke through a clearing, a grin splitting his face as a familiar outline came into view. “Macaque!” He called, “Dude, that was amazing!” he exclaimed. “I got ‘em to follow me, just like you said! And then- in the trees and I, you know, woosh! And they couldn’t see me, I totally wiped them out and…” his enthusiastic rant trailed off as Macaque staggered a bit. “Are you okay?”

“What?” Macaque turned, blinking and offering a smile that shook at the corners. “Yeah, I’m… pretty sure.” His eyes fluttered a bit. “I- did we get them all?”

“Yeah,” Wukong said slowly, “yeah, we got them, just-” HIs gaze caught on Macaque’s hanfu, torn nearly in half. “What happened to your shirt?”

Macaque lifted a hand to tug at the torn collar in surprise. “Huh,” he mumbled, “that’s… weird, I don’t-”

“Macaque?” Wukong took a cautious step. “Mac, what’s wrong?” There was something dark on Macaque’s hand as he drew it back, staining the tan fur on his palm and chest. A sharp, coppery smell reached Wukong as Macaque stumbled, darkness pooling the more he moved, too liquid to be his shadows. “Macaque!”

Wukong surged forward before Macaque attempted another step, and the shadow fell against him. Macaque made a sound Wukong didn’t recognize, a strained wheeze that punched out of Macaque’s chest before he tried pushing himself away. “I’m okay, I’m-”

“Stop,” Wukong demanded, clutching Macaque tighter to him. “Macaque, stop, what-” Something warm seeped into Wukong’s sleeve, realization dawning, a violent nausea churning the pit of his stomach. “No… no, no.” Macaque’s knees buckled a bit as Wukong pulled away, which made it all the easier for the king to slip an arm under his legs and lift him into the air.

Macaque drew a sharp breath as Wukong lifted him. “What’re you-”

“Shut up,” Wukong hissed, summoning a dark wisp of condensation left over from the storm. “I mean, don’t- no, don’t shut up, actually, keep talking to me.” The cloud swooped low for Wukong to step up, then whisked them both into the sky. “Tell me what hurts.”

There was a beat of silence, nothing but the wind rushing past Wukong’s ears, and then Macaque jolted in his grasp, “I-” he gasped for air, only for the oxygen to stutter and rip itself back out of Macaque’s lungs in a pained groan. “I can’t-”

Wukong cursed as the energy seeped out of Macaque, leaving a limp, trembling shadow in his arms. “Mac, talk to me.” Macaque shook his head stubbornly, shifting in Wukong’s arms in a feeble attempt at escape and prompting the sage to hold him tighter. “No, Macaque, you need to hold still.”

“Hurts,” Macaque managed, sounding both surprised and angry to be saying it out loud. Wukong had told the warrior before not to hide injuries from him, and he’d gotten very good at noticing Macaque’s subtle limps and careful, practiced movements meant to hide bandaged joints. Macaque prided himself on being able to handle pain, in his ability to keep up with the stone-skinned monkey, and Wukong wasn’t sure he wanted to know how grievous the injury was if Macaque was admitting that it hurt.

“We can fix this,” Wukong promised, though he didn’t know what it was he had to fix. He just knew there was something, there was blood and Macaque was hurt, and he was going to fix it if it was the last thing he did in the Mortal Realm. “Just hang on, okay? I’ll fix it.”

Macaque hummed, nodding against Wukong’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice soft, distant, “whatever you say, Wukong.”

Emotion crawled up Wukong’s throat before he could manage another word, lodging itself there as something thicker than rainwater ran over his hands. He blinked away a burning behind his eyes and urged the cloud faster, running his thumb over Macaque’s arm as comfortingly as he could manage. Never before had he wished that he could trade his cloud for a portal, preferring the wind in his hair to the cool rush of shadows, but with Macaque’s breath coming shallower with every second, Wukong couldn’t help but curse the fact that he didn’t have his own pool of darkness buried in his chest somewhere.

The flight back to Water Curtain Cave couldn’t have been longer than a half a minute, but it felt closer to an hour, Macaque curling tighter against him to shy away from the cold night air. “Home,” Wukong whispered hoarsely, the gold seal over the cave parting just enough for the cloud to zip through, lowering its passengers to the ground before dissipating. “We’re home,” he told Macaque, ignoring the way his voice wavered. “Now, we gotta- uh…” His limbs locked up with indecision for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts.

He was certain they had supplies to deal with almost any illness or injury, between Wukong’s cloud-jumping and Macaque's teleportation, they had the means to acquire medicines, ointments, and cures from all over the world. It was the matter of remembering where those supplies were, and what he would need to treat the stab wound. Or the gash, or the burn, or the whatever it was, and perhaps the first thing Wukong should have done was set Macaque down.

The shadow made a small noise as Wukong began walking. He tried to keep his gait steady, but the awkward weight of Macaque in his arms and the exhaustion from their fight caused a tremor in his steps. Still, he made it to one of the alcoves they used as rooms. Macaque had his own a little further back in the cave, away from the unrelenting sound of the outside world, but Wukong’s was closer, and the door easily shouldered open.

Distantly, Wukong could hear his subjects stirring, chattering to each other curiously, calling out to their king, and he ignored them. Not something he was in the habit of doing, but Wukong felt Macaque might slip away from him the second he shifted his focus, so he pressed forward.

“Here we go,” he muttered, placing Macaque on the blankets as gently as he could. “Just gotta- yep. There-” Macaque grunted as he fell back against the bed, eyes screwing shut at the impact. “Sorry!” Wukong gasped. “Sorry, I’m sorry-”

“S’okay,” Macaque grabbed Wukong’s forearm. “It’s just- I’m okay, promise. Just hurts.”

Wukong shook his head. Just hurts. He maneuvered so that he could look at Macaque’s injury without forcing the warrior to let him go. Macaque wasn’t the cuddliest monkey to ever walk the mountain, but Wukong knew he drew a certain amount of comfort from physical contact. “This is gonna suck, but I gotta get a better look at what we’re dealing with.”

Macaque’s free hand tugged weakly at his hanfu. “This,” he managed, “it’s- I can-”

“I got it,” Wukong reached to carefully peel back Macaque’s hanfu, grateful that he didn’t have to try and wrestle the fabric over Macaque’s head. “Oh,” he swallowed back something acidic as the injury was exposed to the air, two wounds that looked like the slash of a sword, crossed over Macaque’s chest in a near perfect ‘X’. His claws clutched at Macaque’s hanfu like that might somehow help hold the shadow together. “That- Macaque, I’m gonna be honest, that looks bad.”

“Feels bad,” Macaque wheezed, his hold on Wukong’s arm loosening, “looks worse than it is.” He was still talking, just as Wukong had asked, but his voice was ragged from fighting its way to open air. “Hurts, but… it can’t be- I’ve, uh,” his brow furrowed, dazed and confused, like the act of putting thoughts into words was suddenly an exhausting task and he didn’t know why, “I’ve probably had worse, I think.”

Any worse, and Macaque might have been dead before Wukong made it to the clearing, which was something the king didn’t want to consider for very long. Wukong bitterly hoped the demons responsible were grateful to Macaque for banishing them to Underworld himself, because Wukong would not have been particularly merciful if he’d gotten the honor of sending them to kneel before the Ten Kings.

“Are we-” Macaque’s gaze darted around the room, “this isn’t my room.”

“My room was closer,” Wukong explained, tucking Macaque’s hanfu back to reveal the whole of the injury. The wound spanned the entire left side of Macaque’s chest, an angry crimson blossoming through the tan fur, deep enough that Wukong could see a layer of fat under the pools of blood. “Don’t worry about it.”

Macaque’s face twisted. “But it’s gonna… I’m bleeding. On your blanket.”

“Don’t care,” Wukong said. Macaque tried to protest, but Wukong placed a gentle hand over his mouth. “Nope.” There were far more important things to worry about, and Wukong refused to let Macaque fret over the state of a bed. The blanket was replaceable, Macaque was not. “I need you to wait here for a second, okay? Need to grab some stuff to help you.”

Slowly, Macaque nodded, and Wukong let his hand fall away. Macaque swallowed, eyes fluttering tiredly. “Supplies are in the washroom,” he muttered. “Shelves.”

Wukong offered him a smile. “Thank you.” He stepped back from Macaque slowly, allowing the claws in his sleeve to detach carefully. “I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t go anywhere.” The last bit might have been a wholly unnecessary addition, as Macaque was thoroughly pinned in place by his injury. Still, Wukong felt the need to remind him. Knowing Macaque, he’d probably try and patch himself through sheer willpower alone, and Wukong wouldn’t have it.

His hands still trembled as he left, the cave now filled with curious monkeys trying to peek around him and into the room. He closed the door enough that they couldn’t see inside, but open enough that Wukong would be able to slip through again with his hands full. The subjects of Flower Fruit Mountain had always liked Macaque, even before Wukong liked Macaque, and no doubt the scent of blood was causing alarm for the troupe.

“It’s alright,” Wukong told them gently, making his way to the washroom and exploring the shelves next to the basin. “He’s gonna be okay,” and he wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince his troupe or his reflection, but he kept repeating the reminder as he pulled down a few boxes of supplies to look through.

Macaque might have laughed at him for being so incompetent, a good-natured tease as he guided Wukong’s hands to the correct box. He found himself a bit overwhelmed by the amount of supplies in the boxes, though he supposed he shouldn’t have been too surprised. Macaque had always taken his role as a warrior seriously, protecting Flower Fruit Mountain from any foe, be that demons or injury or illness. 

But, for the moment, it was Wukong’s turn to fend off the danger, and he reached into the boxes to arm himself. Alcohol to sterilize, and an ointment made of aloe to keep out bacteria, it’d do the shadow no good to battle an infection alongside his injury. He found rolls of bandages and, in a small container that Wukong almost missed, a needle and thread.

Wukong hesitated for only a moment before taking the needle and thread and grabbing towels from a shelf higher up. The towels unfolded in his haste to leave the washroom, one even falling to the ground, but Wukong paid it no mind. He’d come back for it later.

A fearful chattering followed Wukong back to his room, pushing open the door only to stop as several monkeys tried to force their way inside. “Hey, no,” he scolded softly. “Not right now, okay? Let me get him fixed up, and then you can see him.”

The elders on the mountain were far more used to injury than some of the younger members of the troupe. Wrinkled hands reached for the restless infants and pulled them away from Wukong’s door, knowing that whatever rested upon his bed wasn’t for young eyes to see.

When he was certain that the troupe was calm–as calm as they could be with a bedridden protector–Wukong went inside and closed the door behind him. “Okay,” he breathed, “I think I got everything.” He moved back to Macaque’s side, setting the supplies haphazardly on the bedside  table and the towels atop his blanket. “Now we just-” His gaze flicked to Macaque’s face, eyes closed and lips parted enough for puffs of shallow breath. “Macaque?”

Wukong shook Macaque’s shoulder as much as he dared and tapped a paling cheek, but there was no sign of consciousness to be found. If it were simply exhaustion, Wukong might feel a little better, but with blood still oozing from the shadow’s chest, fear seized the king by the throat. Panicked, he placed a hand just under Macaque’s jaw, pressing fingertips into the pulsepoint just to make sure there was something still there to feel.

And there was a pulse, much to the king’s relief, but it was slow, too sluggish for his liking. So, he pulled away and snatched up a towel, folding it in halves until it fit the wound, and placed it carefully over Macaque’s chest. The warrior made a sound as Wukong pressed on the injury, and for a moment he almost recoiled in fear of hurting Macaque more than he already had, but he persisted. He couldn’t treat the injury if he couldn’t see it, and he couldn’t stitch it closed with black fur so slicked with blood.

It could have been an eternity that Wukong stayed trying to stop the flow of blood, eventually pulling a second towel from his pile and pressing it to the wound. When the blood had finally slowed to a less disturbing dribble, Wukong was able to inspect the injury without fear of more pooling crimson. The issue that remained was the blood that stuck to Macaque’s fur. “Water,” he muttered to himself. “Of course, I forgot something.”

Reluctantly, he left Macaque again to retrieve water. After some rummaging around, he managed to find a bowl, and he brought it outside to a stream that ran past the cave. It was a pretty decent size, but there was so much blood matting Macaque’s fur that Wukong would no doubt have to refill it with clean water at some point.

He wondered briefly if Macaque might be willing to help him set up something in the cave, a clever mortal invention that allowed running water inside one’s home without having to run back and forth to a water source. There were plenty of streams that ran through Flower Fruit Mountain, and he was sure they could figure it out if the mortals could. Though he’d perhaps bring up the idea after Macaque was healed, lest the shadow try and start the task right away.

Wukong watched the bowl as he walked back into the cave, careful not to spill the contents as he waded through the crowd of monkeys that had gathered. They didn’t try getting into the room again, but that didn’t make them any less anxious, and the elders had started grooming through some of the younger monkeys’ fur in an attempt to calm them. Wukong nodded his thanks before retreating back into his room.

Macaque’s position was unchanged from where Wukong had left him, aside from his head twisting to bury one half of his face into a pillow. “I’m back,” he told the shadow quietly. To any other unconscious form, the words of reassurance might not have mattered, but Macaque’s ears still flicked at the sound, and his head turned to find Wukong’s voice again. “Gotta press on this again,” he warned, taking a clean towel and soaking it in water. “Kinda glad you’re asleep for this, actually,” he said absently, “stitching this up is not gonna be fun for you.”

Not that it was going to be particularly fun for Wukong, either. It’d been a while since he’d needed to stitch up anything other than their clothes, and the needle and thread sitting on his bedside table were quite possibly the most intimidating tools he’d ever seen. Stitching flesh together was… an uncomfortable thought, but he knew Macaque would do it without hesitation, with sure hands and a playful taunt for good measure, so Wukong furrowed his brow and grit his teeth and busied himself with cleaning the fur around the Macaque’s wound.

He wasn’t necessarily afraid of Macaque dying, though he kept pressing his fingertips to the shadow’s pulse just to reassure himself. The wound was deep, but they’d caught it fast and the blood had stopped its flow. Macaque’s chest rose and fell steadily, with only the occasional stutter of pain, but there was just something about seeing Macaque lying in a pool of blood that made him uneasy.

If there was anything to provide Wukong with some sense of ease, it was that Macaque, despite not being as invincible as Wukong, did heal pretty fast. Most small cuts and bruises were gone in a day or so, gashes healing into scars within a week. A wound of this size would probably take a little while longer, but that wasn’t unmanageable. The hardest part would be keeping Macaque in bed.

When the water in the bowl began turning an off-color pink, Wukong sighed and stood. “I’ll be back,” he said, gathering the soiled towels and tossing them into a corner somewhere. “Sometimes I wish you were made of stone, you know that?” He took the bowl of water and added, “Hate seeing you like this.”

Macaque, of course, had no response for him, so he left. The elders had begun herding infants back to their nests, and Wukong was thankful that they couldn’t see the tainted water from the other side of the cave. The scent was unmistakable, surely they knew Macaque was bleeding, but Wukong could at least shield them from how deep the wound ran.

When Macaque was bandaged and awake, he’d let the troupe swarm the warrior all they liked. Until then, Wukong would tend to Macaque as gently as his stone hands knew how.

He disposed of  the bowl’s contents outside, pouring the bloodied water into the stream. Kneeling on the soft bank, he rinsed all traces of red from the bowl and watched the ribbons of pink flow swiftly down the current. When he was certain the bowl was clear of old blood, he refilled it and stood, returning to his task of cleaning Macaque’s wound.

It was a methodical process, gently working the blood that had started drying to Macaque’s fur; Wukong found it almost grounding, in a way, his hands slowly losing their tremor the longer he felt Macaque’s heartbeat under his hands. For just one split second, he considered what would have happened if the weapon had been stabbed into Macaque’s chest rather than slashed across his flesh, if there’d still be a heartbeat under his fingertips if the demon who wounded Macaque had been just a bit bolder.

He swallowed the growl that rose in his chest at the thought, forcing himself to remember that the demon had been taken care of already. There was no one else that could hurt Macaque that night.

Wukong had to pull his hand away at the sight of protruding white bone. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure if it was cause for concern, not having this kind of issue with his own stone skin and near invincibility. It wasn’t like he could wake Macaque and ask, so Wukong simply continued. It wasn’t a lot of bone, a mere nick, really, and as soon as he got Macaque stitched up, it wouldn’t even matter.

Still, that didn’t make the sight of Macaque’s ribcage any less unsettling, regardless of how little was actually visible. It was a painful reminder that it didn’t matter how immortal they became, Macaque was still flesh and blood. But the wound was finally clean enough to stitch, which Wukong knew was a good thing, despite how much he was going to hate what came next.

The bowl had once again turned a dull pink by the time he finished cleaning Macaque’s injury, so Wukong took it back  to the stream. He went through the process of rinsing and refilling mechanically, trying to map out a strategy for stitching Macaque’s wound, if there even was a strategy to prepare for such things. If Macaque were awake he wouldn’t worry so much, he’d trust the warrior to sit still enough for steady stitches.

But the shadow could hardly control himself unconscious, and if he flinched in his sleep, Wukong could hurt him. He’d only been a bit twitchy while Wukong cleaned the wound, but the needle was a bit more intrusive than a cloth. There were plenty of awful images that flitted through Wukong’s mind about the many worrisome and very incorrect ways that a needle could go through Macaque’s flesh.

Shuddering to himself, Wukong took his bowl of fresh water back into the cave. The troupe had largely settled, only a few of the elders stirring as Wukong walked to his room. He’d have to come up with a gentle explanation for what had happened that night, but that could be a problem in the morning, he decided.

He slipped into his room as quietly as he could so as to not disturb the infants that had managed to go back to sleep. A soft sigh escaped him as he pushed the door closed, steeling himself for the task that came next.

“Wukong?” The rasp startled Wukong as he turned to face Macaque, looking just barely awake in his bed. “Wha’s going on?”

“Hey,” Wukong said gently, setting the bowl back on the table. “Don’t worry, everything is fine.”

Macaque coughed out something that might have been a laugh if it weren’t for the way his vocal cords strained to be steady. “There’s a hole in my chest,” he said dryly.

“There’s an ‘X’ in your chest,” Wukong corrected as he took the bloodied towels and tossed them in the corner with the rest. “But!” he continued, “Not for very long, because I’m just about ready to start stitching you up.”

“Oh, good,” Macaque muttered, “glad I woke up for my favorite part.”

Wukong hummed in sympathy, grabbing a clean rag from the edge of the bed. “Well, it saves us the trouble of you moving in your sleep, at least.”

“Small blessings.” Macaque watched Wukong take the small bottle of alcohol and pour it on the rag. “Does the troupe know anything?”

“They know there’s blood,” Wukong said, “and they know it’s you,” he swiped the alcohol-soaked cloth across the needle, “but they didn’t see the injury. The elders have managed to get most of them back to sleep, but they’ll probably want to see you in the morning.”

Macaque smiled and shook his head. “Of course.” He tugged at his hanfu. “Can we take this off me before you start? It feels gross.”

Wukong hesitated for a moment. “I really don’t want you to start bleeding again.”

“It’s gonna bleed either way, Wukong,” Macaque huffed, “at least let me bleed comfortably.”

“You’re gonna have to sit up so I can get the bandages around you, anyway,” Wukong pointed out. “We can get it off then, okay? It’ll be a lot easier than trying to do it laying down.”

Still tugging uncomfortably at his ruined hanfu, Macaque considered Wukong’s request. “Fine,” he relented finally, “just be quick about the stitches, yeah?”

Making an unsure noise, Wukong clumsily pushed a silk thread through the eye of the needle. “I mean, I can try to be fast, but I’m not gonna risk making this worse.” Macaque huffed at that, but he didn’t counter. Which either meant he was too tired or in too much pain to argue. In either case, it had that anxiousness creeping back into Wukong’s chest. “Macaque?”

“It’s fine,” Macaque said, though his voice was pulled tight. “Just get this over with. Please.”

Wukong studied Macaque for a moment, watching his jaw set and his claws curl into the blanket in preparation. There wasn’t anything Wukong could do to make the process easier or less painful, and it left him feeling a bit helpless. He couldn’t even provide comfort with a needle and thread in his hands.

Although, when the king’s frantic mind gave it a couple seconds of thought, he realized that he might have a solution for that. Reaching up with his free hand, Wukong plucked a strand of hair from his head, blowing gently to form a clone sitting on the other side of Macaque. “Hey,” the copy greeted warmly.

Macaque blinked. “What-”

The clone took the shadow’s hand, gently prying the blanket from his claws. “Really should have thought of this sooner, huh?” Wukong smiled as Macaque’s shoulders untensed a bit. “I’ve been walking all the way to the stream to get clean water.”

“Oh, yeah?” Macaque asked, realizing the bleak comfort the clone was trying to provide, keeping him distracted while the real Wukong began the grueling process of stitching. “Incredible. A whole fifteen steps.”

“Mm-hm,” the clone pressed its palm to Macaque’s, curling its fingers loosely around the shadow’s trembling hand, “it’s actually thirty steps, when you think about it, fifteen steps both ways.” Macaque’s fingers twitched as Wukong placed a hand near the wound in warning. “And I did it three times.”

Wukong watched Macaque’s reaction carefully as he began pushing the needle through skin. “Oh, three times,” Macaque said mockingly, “can’t believe the Great Sage would waste his energy on… what? Eighty steps?” Macaque’s hand latched onto the clone’s as Wukong started stitching his flesh together.

“Ninety steps,” the clone corrected. “That’s, like, a whole workout.”

Macaque rolled his eyes. “You disappear for weeks to go train, and ninety steps is-” His breath hitched, his entire body seizing and his eyes screwing shut. Wukong’s head snapped up, his hand going to Macaque’s arm to stop it from twitching. “Okay,” Macaque grunted, “I’m okay.”

“It’s fine if you’re not,” Wukong told him. “We can take a break if-”

“No,” Macaque said through gritted teeth, not bothering to open his eyes to look at either Wukong in the room. “The faster you stitch this together, the sooner I can get out of this bed.” Wukong deliberated for a moment, knowing Macaque would forgo taking a break in favor of just getting it over with, and he didn’t want to overwhelm Macaque because the warrior decided he was too stoic to take a breather.

His clone glanced up, giving Wukong a minute knowing nod. If Macaque couldn’t decide when to take a break, Wukong’s clone could monitor it instead. “Alright,” Wukong relented, releasing the arm he'd been holding and placing his hand over Macaque’s chest, steadying both himself and the shadow as he went back to stitching. “We’re almost halfway there.”

“Hey, that’s good,” the clone said, taking Macaque’s hand in both of its own. “We’ll be done before you know it.” With a crooked grin, the clone informed him, “And you’re absolutely not getting out of bed, by the way. Not for, like, at least two weeks. Probably more.”

“Yeah?” Macaque challenged, finally cracking his eyes open. “I’d like to see you try and stop me.”

“I have my ways,” the clone said.

“You ain’t got nothin’.” A small smile making its way to Macaque’s face. “I have portals.”

The clone hummed. “True,” it admitted, “but I have the softest blankets and the best hugs.”

Macaque’s voice was strained, pulled taunt with pain, but he still managed a chuckle. “Oh, hugs, you say,” he drawled. “How could I possibly refuse such a generous offer from the king?”

“You can’t refuse,” the clone informed him. “I simply will not let you.”

Wukong inhaled sharply as the needle caught awkwardly, Macaque’s barely concealed flinch not going unnoticed. “Almost done,” he promised. “We’ll get you bandaged up and then move you to your room, okay? And smother you with every blanket I can find.”

“As long as none of them are made of hair,” Macaque sighed.

The clone perked up. “Ah, so you’ve admitted defeat,” it exclaimed. “Don’t worry, bud, you’ll be the comfiest bedridden celestial primate in the realm.”

“Bedridden for the night, maybe,” Macaque said. “I’m exhausted. I’ll be your worst nightmare come morning, mark my words. I am not staying in bed.”

“Aw, are you sure I couldn’t persuade you?” the clone asked. “What if I bring you some fresh mangoes for breakfast?” Macaque looked like he was about to argue, then his face turned contemplative at the offer of breakfast in bed. “Yeah? Pretty good deal, right?”

Macaque huffed, though there was an unmistakable smile in his voice. “Whatever.” He turned to Wukong, who had started delicately tying off the stitches. “You done there?”

“Think we’ve got it.” Wukong set aside the needle and thread, picking up the small container of aloe. “Gotta put some of this on, and then we’ll start wrapping bandages.” He passed the bowl of water he'd set on the bedside table to the clone.

“No infections on our watch,” the clone agreed, releasing Macaque’s hand to take the bowl of water and a grab clean rag, gently dabbing away some stray droplets of blood from the stitches. “Can’t have you injured and sick. The elders would have a fit.”

“Don’t remind me,” Macaque groaned, the clone chuckling as it set the bowl aside. “Really not looking forward to being fussed over for the next two weeks.” He hissed a bit as Wukong began spreading ointment over the wound. “It’s fine,” he told Wukong before the king could ask if he was alright. “Just cold.”

Wukong winced. “Sorry,” he applied the ointment as quickly as he dared and then set the container back on the bedside table. “Alright, let’s sit you up.”

The clone slipped an arm under Macaque’s back. “Gonna go real slow, okay?”

“Yep,” Wukong supported Macaque on his side, gradually guiding Macaque to a sitting position., “nice and easy, bud.” The movement was slow, but a few pained, ragged breaths still escaped the shadow as he was moved. “You okay?”

“Never felt better.” Macaque looked down at himself. “Can I get a clean shirt, please?”

“I’m on it,” the clone slid off the bed and walked to the dresser tucked into the corner of Wukong’s room, pulling open drawers and sifting through clothes. “Find you something good and comfy, and get you moved.”

The room was quiet as Wukong began wrapping the bandages around Macaque’s chest. The clone spent much longer than necessary sorting through Wukong’s clothes, making sure Macaque didn’t have more of an audience for his vulnerability than necessary. Luckily, the bandages didn’t take long to wrap, just a few minutes of careful binding, and then Wukong sat back with a smile. “Okay! I think we’re all good here."

“Finally,” Macaque shifted like he was going to get off the bed, and Wukong stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Wukong,” Macaque said sharply, halting any protests before Wukong could say a word. “My legs aren’t injured, I can stand.” He glanced up, his voice softening at the sight of Wukong’s concern. “I can get changed into new clothes by myself, alright? I’ll be careful.”

And as much as Wukong wanted to say ‘absolutely not’, he also knew how much Macaque valued his independence. Reluctantly, he nodded, “Okay,” he relented, “just yell if you need help with anything, okay?” he reassured himself knowing that he’d have every opportunity to tend to Macaque while the shadow healed, anyway. “Me and the clone will step out.”

“Thanks,” Macaque breathed.

The clone returned from the dresser with a loose fitting shirt and pants. “Got it from here, bud?”

Patting the clone on the shoulder, Wukong said, “Yeah, he’s got it.” He steered the copy towards the door. “C’mon! Let’s grab some blankets to smother him with.” Macaque snorted, which was enough to relieve some of the weight in Wukong’s chest.

Wukong left the door open a crack behind him, just in case Macaque needed him for anything. The clone immediately began padding around the cave in search of blankets for Macaque. Luckily, there were plenty of comfort items lying around, a necessary collection for a king with the world’s most affectionate subjects. And while the clone was busy, Wukong visited the stream one last time to clean off the blood that had dried on his skin and fur. 

He let the current flow over his hands for a few minutes, trying to suppress the urge to go check on Macaque, giving the shadow some time to dress himself. When he was certain that enough time had passed, and his claws had been thoroughly picked through and cleaned of blood, he stood and flicked the water from his hands, retreating back into the cave. The clone gave him a clumsy thumbs up with an armful of blankets, and trotted to Macaque’s room.

Making his way to his bedroom door, Wukong cleared his throat. “All good in there?”

“Yeah,” Macaque answered. “You can come in, if you need to.” Despite having permission, Wukong still opened the door cautiously. Macaque was dressed in a plain, loose fitting shirt that hung off his frame, and a pair of soft pants. If Wukong hadn’t just finished stitching his chest back together, he wouldn’t have guessed that Macaque was injured at all.

The shadow glanced up at him, brow furrowing.  “Should probably change your shirt, too,” Macaque noted as Wukong stepped in. “Got some, uh… you know.”

Alarmed, Wukong pulled out his shirt and looked down at it. It probably should have occurred to him sooner that carrying Macaque would leave a good amount of blood soaked into his own shirt, but it hadn’t really crossed his mind until Macaque pointed it out. “Yeah, probably,” he said. “The clone has some blankets ready in your room, if you wanna go ahead and-”

“Yep,” Macaque scrubbed his hands over his face wearily. “I’m ready for tonight to be over. Going to bed.” He slowly made his way to Wukong’s bedroom door, though he lingered at the door frame for a moment. “Are you, um… your bed kinda has a lot of blood on it, so- I mean, if you wanted to crash in my room, you’re more than welcome.”

Wukong smiled warmly. “Of course,” he replied, knowing that Macaque had a hard time asking for things like company and affection. “Lemme get changed and assign some clones to clean up, and then I’ll be there.”

Relief flitted across Macaque’s expression. “Alright,” he said, pushing open the door and leaving Wukong alone in his room. “Don’t take too long,” he added as he walked away, “I’m tired.”

The king shook his head at the shadow’s theatrics, smiling to himself as he dug through his dresser for something clean to wear. He took a few seconds to pull out a lock of hair, summoning a small team of four clones. “You guys mind cleaning up?” Wukong asked, tugging off his bloodied clothes. “Macaque and I had a rough night.”

Of course, the clones knew that, seeing as they were just Wukong, and they set to work cleaning up the towels and medical supplies, stripping the blood-soaked blanket and sheets off his bed. After a few seconds of wrestling with his clothes, Wukong passed them off to the nearest clone and tugged on his clean pajamas. They’d probably be at the cleaning for a while and, as a general rule, most clones weren’t too good about doing tedious work, but Wukong trusted them to do this job without his supervision. No Wukong wanted to stare at the aftermath of Macaque’s injury for longer than they had to.

A yawn stretched his jaw until it cracked, which Wukong took as a sign that he should head to Macaque’s room. Between the fight and the injury, he’d had his fair share of excitement for the next month or so. He’d promised Macaque breakfast in the morning, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if they both ended up sleeping for the entire day.

He made his way to Macaque’s room, nudging the door open to find his first clone and a bed piled high with blankets. “Where-”

“Under here,” the pile of blankets muttered. “Your stupid clone already buried me.”

“You’re welcome,” the clone replied, looking rather pleased with itself.

Wukong couldn’t help but laugh at Macaque’s predicament. “Go help the others clean up,” he told the clone, “I’ll take it from here.” The clone gave a mock salute and left, closing the door gently behind it. “Boy, that guy sure knows how to pile on the blankets, huh.”

“I literally cannot move,” Macaque deadpanned. Wukong walked over to the bed and pulled off the top few layers of blankets. “That’s a little better,” he muttered, “at least I can breathe again.” Macaque’s expression twisted in pain for a moment as he shifted, then he sighed and settled into his pillow. “I think I could sleep for a week after tonight.”

Humming in agreement, Wukong slid under the blankets. “Good,” he replied, his eyelids already dragging shut the moment his head hit the pillows. “You could use the rest.” Wukong heard the blankets rustle and cracked his eyes open, met with the sight of Macaque worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “What’s up?”

Macaque shook his head. “Nothing. Just thinking.” He shifted again, struggling to get comfortable with his injury. “I’m probably gonna pop a stitch rolling over in my sleep or something. Not used to sleeping on my back.”

Wukong frowned. “Well, can’t have that.” He wriggled his way through the blankets so that he was closer to Macaque, sliding an arm over the shadow’s stomach and holding him as close as he could without disturbing the bandages. “Think this’ll help?”

“I… uh, yeah,” Macaque stammered, “probably.” It wasn’t unfamiliar territory for either of them, sleeping in the same bed, more often than not waking up with their limbs tangled together. But no matter how often Wukong showered Macaque with affection, he always seemed surprised that the king would willingly be so close to him. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Wukong nuzzled into the pillows and closed his eyes. “Now get to sleep. King’s orders.”

“Yes, sir, Your Majesty,” Macaque replied tiredly.

It didn’t take long for Macaque’s breathing to even out, falling asleep within minutes of laying down, but despite his own exhaustion, Wukong couldn’t help but feel restless.

He had never liked seeing Macaque hurt, and he didn’t like seeing the scars that these kinds of injuries could cause. Macaque, of course, never cared too much, having scars from even before Wukong knew him. It came with having flesh and blood instead of stone skin.

Wukong hoped that the mark would fade entirely as it healed, but he knew it was a long shot. At the very least, maybe Macaque’s fur would grow over most of it and leave only a small ‘X’-shaped remnant of the gaping wound. Just one more scar among the many that spanned Macaque’s body, a mere inconvenience to the Shadow of Flower Fruit Mountain, but a haunting reminder to the King.

Swallowing back the bitter hatred of his own incompetence, Wukong gently curled himself tighter around Macaque. He breathed the tension out of his body as Macaque’s tail thumped under the blankets, seeking out Wukong’s, and unconsciously winding them together. With his last fleeting moments of consciousness, Wukong vowed to absolutely cosset the bedridden warrior when the sun came back up.

[mylo-space]

Never Touching, but Never Far

Summary: The king isn't used to having company on his mountain anymore, but he's not as opposed to it as he thought he'd be, especially when the company is familiar and not actively trying to be a menace. So, he and Macaque continue stumbling their way through conversations and hoping for the best. Title from "When the Sun Loves the Moon" by Reinaeiry, because I couldn't think of any better titles and this song has been stuck in my head all day.

Posted on Ao3: 2023-08-31 Word Count: 5,559

-

There was an odd thing that kept happening, Wukong noticed, where Macaque would just appear on the mountain. He’d been doing it since the fight with the Lady Bone Demon–never to Water Curtain Cave, of course–and he’d just exist there. Admittedly, Wukong had been wary the first couple of times it’d happened, but it seemed Macaque had no ulterior motive. At least, none that Wukong could figure out.

Every so often, with no warning or pattern, and only if Wukong was on a specific part of the mountain–the place they’d stopped to recover after the Lady Bone Demon fight–Macaque would appear. Sometimes Wukong poked at a fire long into the night, stargazing with no company, and sometimes Macaque’s lithe form would bleed into the clearing from the treeline, wisps of shadows solidifying into a red scarf.

It wasn’t like they were being friendly, Macaque never came without a dry remark or taunt, but they weren’t punching each other, either, which was a huge step forward in their situation. From barely tolerating each other’s presence to sharing the occasional sunset. From a distance, of course, Macaque never got too close. “So, is this what we’re doing now?” Wukong asked absently. “I know we’re being civil for the kid, but…”

Macaque hummed from where he lay on the ground. “I guess so?” Since MK had dragged Macaque kicking and screaming into helping them beat the Lady Bone Demon, the worst Wukong and Macaque did now was argue, but they mostly just talked, and on both accounts, the topics were never anything substantial. “Fighting isn’t nearly as fun with MK giving us sad, puppy dog eyes about it.”

The fighting hadn't ever been fun, MK or no MK, but Wukong wasn’t quite ready to confront that, yet. It felt easier to pretend he enjoyed the ‘frenemy’ thing they had going on. And he did, to some extent, it wasn’t entirely a lie. The banter was probably the most social interaction he got outside of training MK, and it had always been fun to tease Macaque, though the jabs had a bit more bite now than they did.

“You’ve gotten pretty soft for the kid, huh?” Wukong teased, and grinned at the warning scowl he got in return. “Aw, don’t worry, bud! Your secret’s safe with me.” Macaque rolled his eyes and turned over, laying on his side in the grass. “Big ol’ softie,” he taunted.

“Don’t make me come over there, Wukong,” Macaque threatened, though it was completely devoid of any malice, rolling so that he was on his back again and giving Wukong a half-hearted glare. “Seriously, I do not wanna get up.”

Wukong snickered, flopping backwards in the grass and stretching out. “Long day of scheming, Macaque?”

“I do other things, you know,” Macaque countered. “Picked up a couple hobbies over the years. Unlike some people, who spend all their time on a mountain.”

“It’s amazing that you have time for hobbies,” Wukong commented, closing his eyes and settling into the grass, “considering all the time you spend praying on my downfall.”

“Downfall,” Macaque scoffed, “implies that you haven’t already hit rock bottom. At this point, I’m praying on your burial.” Wukong snorted and blindly reached out with a hand to swat at whatever part of Macaque was closest, and he was met with something sharp and small colliding with his knuckles. “Hands to yourself, Great Sage. There’s a lot more pebbles where that came from.”

Hissing in pain, Wukong shook out his hand and tucked it behind his head. “Jerk,” he muttered. “Thought we were being civil.”

“I can be civil and throw rocks at you,” Macaque replied easily. “I’m a great multitasker.”

Wukong grumbled, “Great, big thorn in my side, is what you are.” He watched a few clouds idly cross the sky for a moment before admitting, “Being civil is so boring.” Picking up a rock and tossing it over the cliff’s edge, he asked, “Do you wanna go to the moon, or something?”

There was a moment of silence, then Wukong heard Macaque shift. “Do I what?”

“Well,” Wukong tilted his head back to catch a glimpse of Macaque's confusion, “when me and the kid and his friends were getting the rings, we had to fly up to the moon, so I built this rocket and-”

“Yeah, I heard,” Macaque interrupted.

“Oh,” Wukong blinked at him. “The kid tell you this story already?”

“No, moron,” Macaque said, “I heard. Do you have any idea how loud a rocket is? Could have heard you a thousand miles away without the four extra ears.”

Wukong snorted, “Alright, smartass, I got it.”

“Also, side note,” Macaque continued, “why are you inviting me to the moon?”

“Because I’m bored,” Wukong groaned. “And there’s a really nice lady named Chang’e up there and she doesn’t get a lot of company.” Giving a flippant wave, he added, “Plus, she’s a chef, so we’d probably get a good meal out of it, and- oh! The best part!” He held up his hands to indicate a vague, small shape. “She’s got these adorable bunny robots that I definitely don’t want to steal-”

“No! I meant-” Macaque paused, taking a slow breath. “I meant, why are you asking specifically me to go to the moon with you in your stupid death rocket? Just ask the kid, I’m sure he’d love to go to the moon with you again.”

Wukong huffed. “First of all, I got us to the moon and back, with absolutely no death. So, I think I’m pretty great at making not-death rockets, actually.” Macaque chuckled. “And, second of all…” and he found that he didn’t have an answer for Macaque’s question. “Huh.”

Macaque made an unsure noise. “Is this a trap?” he asked. “This feels like a trap, you-” There was a sharp inhale. “Were you going to throw me into space or something? Dude-”

“No!” Wukong protested. “Look, you got that sun and moon theme that you like so much, so I thought I’d take you to the actual moon, you stupid… moon warrior, you-” He crossed his arms with a huff. “Ah, whatever.”

A slightly bewildered, “What…” reached Wukong before Macaque let out a startled laugh. “Oh, there’s actually no ulterior motive to this,” he said. “You’re just being nice.”

And that- it didn’t necessarily bother Wukong, but he wasn’t sure how to feel about it, either. Most of their communication relied on barely concealed insults and argumentative banter, not… meaningful offers to visit the moon for a nice dinner.

“Aw, man,” Wukong covered his face with his hands, “that is what that is, isn’t it.”

At that, Macaque outright laughed. Not the mean sort of cackle that Wukong had grown used to, just a genuine laugh–at Wukong’s expense, of course, but still. “Getting soft on me, Wukong?” He hummed in thought. “I mean, I guess I could go to the moon with you, since you’ve so graciously offered. You know, if I have the time.”

That seemed to be as far as Macaque was willing to take the teasing, giving Wukong an out from the conversation. “What do you do in your free time?” he asked. “Still doing plays and stuff?”

“When I get the chance, yeah,” Macaque replied. “Been doing some work with my shadow magic, too. Decided to branch out a little in the last few decades.”

Wukong tipped his head back to look at Macaque. “Where do you perform at? In the city?”

Macaque shrugged. “Sometimes,” he said. “Haven’t done anything recently, though.” He plucked a blade of grass and held it aloft. “It’s been a while since I’ve been on a stage, now that I think about it,” he added, a wistful afterthought.

“How come?” Wukong rolled over and propped himself up on his arms. “What, you suddenly develop stage fright or something?”

For a moment, Macaque didn’t say anything, simply watched as the stripe of green between his claws swayed listlessly in the wind. “Nah,” he said finally, letting the breeze take the grass as his arm dropped to rest on his stomach. “Nothing specific. Just haven’t gotten around to it.”

The statement left Wukong with a choice. He could confront the very obvious lie, which could have potentially drastic consequences, or he could ignore the fact that there was definitely a reason that Macaque hadn’t done any more plays recently. “What was your last performance?” he asked. “Something Shakespeare? I know you were always a fan-”

“Actually,” Macaque interjected, “I don’t think you want the answer to that question.”

“Was it something weird?” Wukong tilted his head curiously. “Like, uh… what’s the one with the donkey?”

“Wukong.”

“‘Midnight Summer’s Dream’, or something,” Wukong continued, letting his chin rest in his hand, observing Macaque as he became increasingly frustrated. It was a fine line between what counted as banter and what would start a fight, and Wukong was rather comfortable in the grass. “Did you have to be the donkey?”

Macaque’s nose scrunched. “Ew.”

“Did you have to kiss the donkey?”

“No!” Macaque exclaimed, sitting up and turning to look at Wukong. “Look, first of all, it’s ‘Midsummer Night's Dream’, and second of all, no.”

Wukong shrugged. “I can keep guessing,” he suggested. “You have been on a moody streak the last few centuries. Was it something murder-y? Like- oh! Like, ‘Macbeth’!” He grinned. “I bet you’d make a pretty good Lady Macbeth.”

“I’d make a fantastic Lady Macbeth,” Macaque corrected, “but, no. That wasn’t it, either.”

“Dang it,” Wukong huffed, pushing himself up so that he was sitting, making him face to face with Macaque. Sort of. Face to face, from about five feet away, which was the closest they got when they weren’t fighting. He was surprised to find that bothered him, that he was closest to Macaque when they were at each other’s throats. “Well, I don’t actually know a lot of plays, so I’m out of guesses.”

Macaque chuckled. “You never would have guessed it, anyway,” he said, though it lacked the mocking tone it usually had. “Last thing I performed on stage was a shadow play I wrote myself. Not my best work, but it was alright, I guess. Got the message across.”

“What was it about?” Wukong asked.

And there was a moment, a flash of uncertainty, a furrow in Macaque’s brow, that made Wukong second guess asking. Maybe it was something personal. Maybe Wukong and Macaque weren’t at that point in their… situation, to be asking about personal things. Macaque had always held his performances close to his chest, even back when they were friends.

“It was,” Macaque said slowly, choosing his words carefully, “a story about…” The furrow in Macaque’s brow deepened. “I can’t-”

“You don’t have to,” Wukong interjected quickly. “I mean-” he stammered, because he couldn’t stand to see Macaque uncomfortable, but he couldn’t stand Macaque knowing that, either. “I didn’t realize your little shadow play was so terrible that you couldn’t talk about it.”

It was strange being so close to Macaque again without the blur of fighting, to see every minute expression so clearly, even if Wukong couldn’t quite place them. Something like relief, and a deep-rooted hurt, both there and gone before Macaque’s gaze evened, and with a scoff, he replied, “I’d like to see you write a play,” and they were back to banter. Crisis and conversation avoided, just like that.

“I bet I could.” Wukong wished he still understood Macaque as well as he used to. He could see Macaque’s claws toying with the frayed edge of his scarf, clearly bothered by something. Maybe a thousand years ago or so, he could have identified why, just by the way Macaque’s gaze drifted to the side or the way his tail flicked. “And I bet it’d be way better than yours.”

Another thousand words flashed between Macaque’s eyes and the twitch of his claws. He opened his mouth hesitantly, having a very clear debate with himself before replying, “Well, the kid thought mine was pretty good.” He shrugged. “Came back to see it three times.”

Wukong narrowed his eyes. “Ah,” he said slowly, “I see.” Not a shadow play. The shadow play. The one MK had reluctantly told him about in the back of Sandy’s van. A lesson, he’d said, and not a kind one, either. “You were right. I didn’t like that answer.”

“Told you,” Macaque was pointedly looking anywhere but Wukong. And he was left with another frustrating choice about whether or not he was confronting this. He certainly had a lot of things he wanted to say about the whole mentoring conflict they had going on, and most of those words weren’t very nice. But, then again, Macaque hadn’t been very nice, either.

Macaque knew that, though. There wasn’t a lot that Wukong could say about the situation that Macaque wasn’t already crystal clear about. It was harsh and cruel and unnecessary to teach a lesson that way when MK would have responded so much better to just talking. There was a part of Wukong that was so unbelievably angry, could spout off a hundred colorful phrases about how stupid and irresponsible and awful it was for Macaque to take MK’s friends and use them like puppets for the sake of a lesson.

At the end of the day, though, Macaque wasn’t going to do anything like that again, and they both knew it. Didn’t really seem like a fight worth starting, all things considered.

Besides, there were a lot of things that Macaque could say about Wukong, too, a lot of stupid and irresponsible and truly awful things. Macaque had done Wukong a mercy by never making a comment about his eye, or what had followed after. Of all the ways Macaque could have gotten MK on his side, revealing what’d happened to his face might have been the easiest, and easy to prove, thanks to the scar he kept hidden behind his magic.

And yet, for reasons that Wukong hadn’t figured out for the immortal life of him, Macaque… hadn’t. Despite how much he hated Wukong, Macaque had resorted to trickery and shadow plays to get through to MK, when the truth of what had happened between them might have actually been more efficient in getting the kid to stop trusting him.

If Macaque could watch a sunset with the guy that blinded him, Wukong supposed he could let the shadow play thing slide. He’d have a talk with MK about it some other time to see where the kid stood about the whole thing, since that was the only opinion on the situation that mattered. For the moment, though, Wukong decided he was going to let sleeping dogs lie.

That did not, however, stop him from being angry about it. “Don’t,” Wukong said through a set jaw and clenched fists, “do that. Again.”

Macaque blinked at him owlishly. “I… well, I didn’t plan on it.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You know, kinda thought there was gonna be more to that.”

Wukong made a face. “I mean, I’m not happy about it,” he emphasized. “But if I say something, then you’re gonna say something, and it’s just gonna- it’ll be this whole thing, and I don’t feel like fighting.”

“Oh,” Macaque shifted, “uh- good. I didn’t really feel like fighting, either.”

There was a silence between them, both of their gazes trained on the sunset. “Wasn’t that-” Wukong cleared his throat, “that play was a few days before the Lady Bone Demon attack, right?”

“Mm-hm,” Macaque hummed.

“Is that why you haven’t-”

“Why are you so invested in this?” Macaque asked, glancing up at Wukong with a furrowed brow. “You’ve never been this interested in my performances.”

“I’m not invested,” Wukong rubbed his arm awkwardly, “I’m just, you know. I’m making conversation.”

Macaque huffed and looked away. “Make different conversation.”

Wukong leaned forward a bit, trying to catch Macaque’s gaze. “Okay, come on. Don’t do the weird moody thing.” Macaque rolled his eyes. “Come on,” Wukong wheedled, “Macaque. C’mon. Quit makin’ the grumpy face.”

“I’m not making a face.” Macaque’s shoulder hunched, his face ducking further out of sight. “That’s just my face.”

“No, it’s not!” Wukong insisted. “I know what your normal grumpy face looks like, and that,” he gestured vaguely at Macaque’s expression, “isn’t it. You’re doing that thing where you get weird and pouty and-”

Macaque whirled on him, eyes wide in disbelief. “Pouty?”

“And!” Wukong continued, “You get all, like, squinty, and you won’t look at anyone, and-” He barely had time to register Macaque’s hand moving before something hit him between the eyes. “Hey!” Wukong furiously scrubbed at his forehead. “Quit throwing rocks at me!”

“Quit being dumb,” Macaque replied. “Don’t ask me any more weird questions, and I’ll keep my rocks to myself.”

“I wouldn’t have to ask questions if you’d tell me why you’re being pouty,” Wukong countered. “I just asked about your stupid play, and now you’re…” he trailed off upon seeing Macaque’s expression falter. “What?” he asked. “You’re making a different face now.” It felt like meeting Macaque all over again, sometimes. Every twitch and expression felt so familiar in some ways and so foreign in most others.

Macaque sighed. “It’s not about-” a frown tugged at the corner of his mouth, his eyes narrowing at the setting sun like it’d offended him personally. “It’s not about the play, Wukong, just- don’t worry about it.”

It was a clear dismissal, but Macaque was still pouty, and Wukong was still curious. “Is it about the Lady Bone Demon?” he asked, because it was the only other thing he could remember saying that might have caused this, and the glare he received almost made him regret asking.

And maybe he should have left it alone, but Wukong hated the brick wall that he and Macaque kept running into. Every time they approached something resembling a conversation, there was an unwillingness to press. Any misstep in the conversation could start a fight, or worse. But their situation couldn’t progress, either. Not until they could do more than banter at each other.

Wukong supposed that raised the question about whether or not they both wanted the situation to progress. He was sure Macaque wouldn’t be seeking him out if there wasn’t some desire to reconcile, but Macaque was always a lot more reserved than Wukong was. Reconcile required vulnerability, and that wasn’t something the shadow was very good at. Never had been, and the last thousand years or so certainly wouldn’t have helped.

“I’ll talk about her if you will,” Wukong said quickly, before Macaque could find something scathing to say. “Because I- I’d have a lot of choice words for that demon if she was still alive. I dunno if you’ve ever had a conversation with her, but she was so creepy. Like, I’ve fought a lot of demons, but she was-” he shuddered, “the worst.”

Macaque nodded slowly. “Yeah, we had a few… chats.” If Wukong hadn’t been looking directly at Macaque, he might have missed the way claws twitched and dug into the dry mountain soil. “Definitely the worst.”

“I know, right?” Wukong leaned back on his hands. “Like, what was with the creepy whispering thing, huh?”

With a tired groan, Macaque’s head tipped back. “And the destiny talk? I swear it was every third word out of her mouth.”

“Oh, don’t even get me started!” Wukong said. “She was like that the first time around, too. Right up until she got sealed away. And she didn’t learn a damn thing, either, because she came back with the exact same shtick. Easily the most stubborn demon I’ve ever met.”

“Really?” Macaque raised an eyebrow. “That’s some pretty high praise coming from you.” He laced his fingers together and stretched his arms above his head. “Didn’t think there was anything in all the realms that could out-stubborn the Monkey King.”

Wukong snickered. “Well, not anymore.”

Macaque leaned into his stretch until he fell unceremoniously into the grass. “Yeah,” he agreed, closing his eyes against the last few dying rays of sunlight, “thanks to our student and his friends.”

“My student,” Wukong corrected. “And, yeah, the kid did really good.” He allowed his gaze to linger on Macaque for a moment, the way he hadn’t let it in what felt like forever. Macaque looked different without the shadows and too-sharp smiles, washed in fiery sunset colors and a gentle breeze ruffling his scarf, a little more like the Macaque that he used to know.

It occurred to Wukong that he missed this–had been missing this. And he always knew, in a distant sort of way, that he missed Macaque. It was an old, bone-deep ache that Wukong had never quite gotten rid of, but managed to bury under just enough resentment that he could ignore it. Now, though, without the fighting to keep the ache at bay, he was at a loss.

“The kid ever visit you?” he asked. “Not for training, I mean, just- you know, because he’s a good kid, and that seems like something he’d do.”

“Sorta?” Macaque answered. “He makes the occasional noodle delivery, but he doesn’t, like, hang around.” Amber eyes cracked a bit, practically glowing slits in the sunset. “Don’t blame him, though. I gave him a hard time while you guys were on your little journey. And before the journey.” His nose scrunched. “I’ve kinda been an asshole since I met him, actually.”

Wukong chuckled. “Yeah, kinda.” He scratched his cheek absently. “Thinking about it, I was kind of a jerk before, too. Not as bad as you, obviously, but still.” And he had been, however unintentional it was. He was a terrible teacher, and he put MK in danger, and his rash decisions had nearly gotten the world destroyed. “And you were right, you know,” Wukong added.

“Usually am,” Macaque replied. “But, uh… about what, specifically?”

“I made things worse for MK.” Wukong fidgeted with his hands. “Worse for everyone, really. Mei took off with the Samadhi Fire, then I went and pretty much handed myself over to the Lady Bone Demon.” He laughed awkwardly. “I mean, you nailed it, right? It’s like you can hear into the future or something.”

“Or something,” Macaque’s eyes closed again. “Or maybe it’s just pattern recognition.” Something in Wukong curled into a ball at that, recoiling from harshness, the realization that he’d changed so little from the impulsive creature that had been chained under a mountain. “But,” Macaque continued, “you’re trying. I think the kid knows that.” He shrugged. “Tryin’ a lot harder than me, anyway. Sort of gave up on that whole ‘good guy’ thing a while back.”

Having expected Macaque to gloat or hurl an insult or two, Wukong was surprised at the response. “Really? The guy who single-handedly saved the Monkey King’s protege?”

Macaque snorted. “Okay, that- that’s stretching it a little bit.” He waved a hand flippantly. “I don’t think portaling MK away from danger counts as saving him if the danger ended up finding him again.”

“And the little girl you saved,” Wukong added.

“Again,” Macaque debated, “not sure if that counts as saving. Letting go of you and the girl gave the Lady Bone Demon more power to fuel the mech.”

Wukong heaved an exasperated sigh. “The kid was right, you’re trying way too hard to do the bad guy act.” He raised an eyebrow at the resting shadow. “But you’re saving small children from demons and portaling students away from their possessed mentors, which means you’re basically a hero.”

“Neither one of those things make me a hero,” Macaque scoffed. “It just makes me… not a monster. Which isn’t the same thing.”

“Nah, you’re just a big ol’ softie,” Wukong sang. “The Six-Eared Macaque, the world’s squishiest celestial primate!”

Macaque groaned and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Sun Wukong,” he retorted, “the world’s hardest head.”

“Uh-huh,” with Macaque’s eyes covered, Wukong slyly reached for a small pebble, “is this the part where you ramble on about how hard-headed and stubborn I am?”

“I mean, I feel like we already did this,” Macaque said, “but, yeah. You’re pretty damn stubborn when you wanna be.” Wukong took the opportunity to lob the small rock at Macaque’s hands, revenge for his earlier antics. Then Macaque moved his hands, “Actually, I think arrogant might be-”

Wukong’s heart rocketed to his throat, hardly breathing the syllable, “Wait-” before Macaque was suddenly crying out. “Macaque!”

He knew, logically, that the rock couldn’t have hurt that much. Macaque wasn’t made of stone, but he was tougher than he looked–had to be, to keep up with Wukong in the early days–but Wukong also knew it wasn’t really about how hard he’d been hit, it was about the where.

Macaque shot up from where he’d been laying in the grass, scrabbling for purchase and stumbling to his feet. With no sunlight to cast shadows, every inch of darkness within five feet of Macaque was reacting, streaks of ink black and glowing purple swirling in anxious circles.

Shadow magic was finicky, especially when Macaque was feeling nervous or flighty, and he looked ready to portal away at any moment. Wukong stood, taking a hesitant step in Macaque’s direction. “Macaque, I didn’t-”

“I’m fine,” Macaque interrupted, the words sharp and jagged. “Wukong, just-” With the hand not pressed to his eye, he made a frantic gesture to keep Wukong at bay, “just stay over there.”

But Wukong had never been a very good listener, and took another careful forward, hands raised so that they were in Macaque’s line of sight. “Look, I swear I didn’t mean to!” he quickly explained, desperately hoping Macaque would hear him out before making a portal to escape. “I was just trying to- I mean, you were throwing pebbles at me earlier, and I thought- I didn’t think you’d move your hand!”

“Wukong, stop,” Macaque snapped. “Stop getting closer, can you just- just quiet, please, I-”

“Oh!” Wukong took a breath. “Oh. Okay, I’ll just,” he took a step back, “be quiet. Over here.”

Macaque gave a jerky nod, hand still pressed to his eye as he turned away from Wukong. He probably looked a like an idiot standing and staring, but he couldn’t help but watch Macaque anxiously, shifting his weight from one leg to the other as the warrior stepped away. He could handle giving Macaque space if he had to, but he couldn’t watch Macaque leave again, not like this, not this angry, not when Wukong couldn’t do anything to stop him.

After a couple seconds of ragged breathing, Macaque straightened, his hands coming to rest on hips. “Man,” he chuckled, finally turning enough so that he could give Wukong a crooked smile, “remind me to not throw stuff at you anymore.”

“Macaque-”

“Wukong,” Macaque interjected, “seriously, it’s not a big deal.” He kicked at the offending pebble. “You think that thing is gonna scare me off? I’ve fought you, Wukong. You. And you think a rock is gonna be the thing that sends me running?”

“Well, I-” Wukong faltered. “Well, no. Probably not.” he shrugged helplessly. “But you, like, yelled. And it freaked me out.”

Macaque tilted his head. “It caught me off guard, dude, I wasn’t dying. I’m sure you and the kid have done something during training that freaked you out for a second.”

And Wukong almost protested out of habit. He was the great and powerful Monkey King, and he wasn’t allowed to be freaked out or scared. But, “When Spider Queen was in town,” it felt weird saying her name, knowing her fate, “there was a second, when MK and I were flying into the city?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “The kid got freaked out by some spiders and he, uh… jumped on my head.”

It felt silly, saying it out loud, but in the moment it had been a lot less fun. Of course, his young successor hadn’t meant to do it, just being a scared kid and clinging to whatever was closest, but feeling MK’s arms around his head had blinded him with terror for just a brief moment before he’d regained his composure.

“His arms were kinda,” he cleared his throat, “you know, squeezing pretty tight. I threw him onto a roof.” Wukong laughed it off as best he could, but he doubted it sounded very convincing. “I know it sounds pretty weird, but-”

“Caught you off guard, huh,” Macaque said.

“I guess.” Wukong sighed. “Look, I just- I know things are different now, and it’s all… really weird, so I was worried that you’d-” His hand trailed up to his forearm, grasping his sleeve anxiously. “I just didn’t want you to walk away angry again.” He quickly added, “I mean, we’re supposed to be civil for the kid, right?”

Gaze softening slightly, Macaque huffed out a laugh. “Ah, come on, Wukong. You know I never really leave, right?”

Wukong gave a doubtful hum, “Sometimes you do.”

“Yeah, sometimes I do.” Macaque crossed his arms. “And sometimes you’re loud and stubborn and throw rocks at my face.”

“You,” Wukong protested, “threw way more rocks than I did, in my defense.”

“My point is,” Macaque continued, “everything’s weird now, but it doesn’t have to be… bad weird, I guess. We’re trying.” He took a step forward, “Look, as long as you don’t hurt me on purpose, I’m not going anywhere.” Wukong recoiled slightly as Macaque offered a hand. “Deal?”

Wukong reached out a tentative hand. “Okay,” he said quietly, like he might still scare Macaque off by being too loud, too eager to agree. “Deal.”

A cool palm pressed against Wukong’s. “Look at you,” Macaque taunted, though thin, clawed fingers gave Wukong’s calloused knuckles a reassuring sort of squeeze, “Sun Wukong, making deals with the devil. What would your master say?”

And what would the monk say, if he could see Wukong reconciling with Macaque? “Probably something about forgiveness.” He wondered if his old companion would be proud of the amends he was making. Wukong liked to think he probably would be, or maybe just happy that Wukong wasn’t clinging to anger and hatred. “Uh- does this mean we’re gonna stop fighting?”

“I mean, we’re definitely fighting less,” Macaque said. “But I don’t think that guarantees that we won’t ever fight. We may be civil, but that doesn’t mean I like you.”

“Well, obviously,” Wukong agreed. “I don’t like you either, but-”

“Civil,” Macaque nodded. “Yeah. For the kid.” He glanced down. “So… you gonna let go of my hand or what?”

Wukong blinked. “Huh?”

Macaque jostled their still-intertwined hands. “You’re holding me hostage here, Wukong.”

“Oh! Right,” Wukong was thankful the embarrassed flush crawling up his neck and face wasn’t visible through his fur. “Well, maybe this is all part of my master plan.”

“Oh, yeah?” Macaque asked coyly. “And what master plan is that, oh, wise Great Sage?”

“My plan,” Wukong said, with a confidence that was quickly failing him, “to… uh-” Without giving it much thought, Wukong dropped to the ground, tugging Macaque off balance. An action that he’d perhaps regret, but he was willing to take that risk in order to avoid the awkwardness he’d created.

Macaque tumbled to the grass with a surprised shout, Wukong letting go of his arm and rolling away before the warrior could swat at him. “You!” Macaque exclaimed, claws swiping at the edge of Wukong’s cape. “Are so stupid, it’s physically painful.” He scowled as Wukong doubled over laughing. “You know what? I don’t want to go to the moon with you anymore, I’ve decided.”

“No!” Wukong rolled over and reached a futile hand to his grumpy companion. “No, come on, you gotta come to the moon.”

“No, I don’t.” Macaque settled into the grass, staring at the star-filled sky and pointedly avoiding Wukong. “Gonna build my own rocket and throw you out of it.”

“You’re no fun,” Wukong flopped on the ground–side by side with his shadow, and five feet from him, close from a distance–and went back to lounging comfortably and watching the steadily rising moon. “Well, we can just lay here and stare at the moon, then. Since you wanna be so boring.”

Macaque hummed. “Fine by me,” he replied. “I only come for the view, anyway.” 

Wukong glanced over to Macaque, whose gaze stayed fixed on the sky, eyes half-lidded and the closest to relaxed that Wukong had seen in centuries. Part of him wanted to be closer, wanted to tear himself away, and he wished he had the words to describe how that worked or what that meant. Macaque would probably have the words, but Wukong doubted that he’d be willing to provide them, trapped behind clenched teeth and walls of distrust that they’d hardly put a scratch in.

“Yeah,” Wukong replied, turning away from Macaque and closing his eyes against the soft light of the moon, basking in the sounds of the mountain’s nightlife. He was willing to wait however long he needed to for their words to come to them, at whatever distance he had to wait, as long as Macaque was never so far away that Wukong could not reach him again. “The view.”

[mylo-space]

Welcome to Your Future

Summary: After a ritual goes awry, MK finds a memory-impaired Macaque in his dojo. Macaque, confused and more than a little overwhelmed by the changes, seeks out the one person he finds most familiar in the hopes that he can get some answers. And Wukong, faced with a Macaque unburdened by their millennia of rivalry, realizes there are some pretty complicated emotions resurfacing, and he's not sure he can bury them a second time.

Completed on Ao3: 2024-06-24 Word Count: 81,428 Chapters: 11

Chapter 1: Lost Memories, Found Names >> Chapter 2

-

If MK were to have any fatal flaw at all, it would probably be that he was a tad more trusting than he should be, considering he was in a position to make a lot of very powerful enemies. On the bright side, his optimism usually convinced people not to kill him. In the year or so since receiving the Monkey King’s powers, most of the people who’d attacked him, usually for some revenge plot or another, ended up becoming allies. Some of them had even become good friends.

Others became mentors.

MK considered himself a very enthusiastic student, and Macaque was by no means a reluctant mentor, but their lessons typically weren’t very substantial. They mostly just hung out, and Macaque occasionally offered up some advice, but it was an unspoken rule that the physical training got left to Monkey King.

It wasn’t that MK didn’t trust Macaque to do some combat training with him, it just brought up a lot of memories that they’d both rather forget. That, and MK had a sneaking suspicion that he still reminded Macaque of Monkey King. Which seemed to be a pretty common problem among most of the people Monkey King used to call his friends.

So, they didn’t do much training, but Macaque was still content to call himself MK’s mentor, if only because it annoyed Monkey King to no end. And MK was content to let him, only because he knew Monkey King wasn’t actually as annoyed by it as he pretended to be.

Truthfully, neither one of them seemed to hate each other nearly as much as their bantering would suggest. MK never got an answer about it, no matter how much he asked, but he’d learned that immortals were just strange that way. They had all the time in the world to work out their issues, and refused.

He considered asking Macaque again, maybe in a slightly roundabout way. Macaque generally saw through that kind of thing, but it never stopped MK from trying. And, maybe, MK mused as he pulled up to his co-mentor’s dojo, recent events might encourage the reserved Mystic Monkey to open up.

Long shot, probably. But MK was optimistic.

MK knocked on Macaque’s door, humming a jingle he’d heard from a commercial on TV while he waited. He’d finished delivering noodles for the day, and figured it wouldn’t hurt stopping in a little earlier than usual for his ‘training’ with Macaque.

After a few moments of no answer, MK knocked again. “Hey, Macaque!” he called. “Open up, man, I know you can hear me!”

It crossed his mind briefly that maybe Macaque was just out roaming the city. MK had shown up a couple hours early, it was possible Macaque would show if he waited around long enough. Only odd thing about it was that Macaque didn’t usually just ‘roam the city’, or roam much of anywhere, for that matter. It wasn’t the first time MK had shown up early, and Macaque was always home.

“Hey, uh-” MK knocked on the door, deliberate and loud, “Macaque? You’re kinda weirding me out here, so… I’m just gonna open the door, if that’s cool.”

The door creaked as it opened, and MK was met with a poorly lit room. Not that Macaque’s dojo was particularly bright on any given day, which was sometimes a nice change from the glaring, neon city, but it was especially dim. MK tried to convince himself that it wasn’t as concerning as the fluttering in his chest insisted it was.

Pulling out his staff, MK tentatively closed the door behind him and walked through Macaque’s dojo. “Hello?” he said loudly, a reluctant shout. “You in here, Macaque?” A noise caught him off guard, a strangled gasp escaping him as he moved to press himself against the nearest wall.

He had half a mind to be embarrassed. The noise was hardly a threatening sounding thing, just the wisp of magic, a glimmer of power. It would have been nearly indiscernible anywhere else, but in Macaque’s near silent dojo, it may as well have been an explosion. It’d always been quiet at Macaque’s place, which was kind of impressive, considering it stood in the middle of a bustling city.

Fortunately, the quiet energy was familiar. After a few steadying breaths, MK recognized Macaque’s magic hovering in the air. He hadn’t quite figured out how that worked, sensing other people’s magic, but he assumed it was another weird 'Mystic Monkey’ thing that he’d have to learn. Just when he’d thought he’d gotten things down, there was always something new.

In any case, the magic was warm. Not as warm as Monkey King’s, a near constant heat buried under stone skin, embers in the aftermath of a fire, eager to relight. Macaque’s magic was a subtle warmth, a patch of grass warmed by sunlight, a heat soothed by shade and a cool breeze.

It took a moment of searching, but he traced the magic to a room near the back of Macaque’s dojo. The door was left slightly ajar, and a light spilled through the crack. “Macaque?” MK said quietly, pushing open the door. “Macaque, are you…” He trailed off at the sight of Macaque sitting in the room, cross-legged with his hands on his knees, eyes closed and face passive.

MK, thinking perhaps Macaque was just meditating, knocked on the open door to get his attention. It almost looked like Monkey King’s transcendental meditation, but the magic around him looked different. Macaque didn’t glow like Monkey King had, there was just a steady swirl of soft blue around his head, two streams of magic that flowed in steady circles around his ears.

When knocking didn’t snap Macaque out of whatever was happening, MK walked into the room. “What kind of meditation is this?” he asked aloud, not bothering to wait for an answer as he gingerly poked Macaque’s arm with his staff. “Hey, Macaque,” he sang quietly, as though trying to wake a child from their nap. “Wakey, wakey.”

Macaque’s tail flicked, which MK took as a good sign, and moved to shake his shoulder. The magic stuttered, the flow breaking apart a bit, and Macaque’s face scrunched in discomfort.

“Macaque?” MK took a step back as the magic began to flicker, expanding and contracting erratically. It crackled, until the steady streams were jagged bolts of energy. “Macaque!” MK tried, abandoning the staff to grab Macaque by both shoulders and shake him.

The magic around Macaque didn’t feel threatening, but the whispers hadn’t seemed so dangerous, either, until the Lady Bone Demon had overtaken some of the strongest fighters he knew. She’d stolen away his mentor and his best friend, shards of ice wreaking havoc in the city, destroying the world. And even Azure had seemed harmless, until he wasn’t, until he’d revealed his true intentions, until he’d almost dissolved the universe to achieve his goals, so maybe MK had been wrong to assume that the magic surrounding Macaque was innocuous.

“Macaque!” MK demanded. He had been certain Macaque was past trying to hurt him to get to Monkey King, things had been relatively peaceful for a few months, but now there was frostbite in his ears and shadows on the walls, and his heart raced with the possibility that maybe Macaque’s need for a fight hadn’t been satiated, after all. ”Wake up!”

At that, Macaque’s eyes snapped open, inhaling sharply as though pulled from underwater. MK had just a breath to be relieved, until he saw Macaque’s violet irises. The magic turned one vicious circle around the shadow before surging outward, a ring of energy knocking MK back into the wall behind him.

MK scrabbled to grab his staff and staggered to his feet on unsteady legs, his vision blurred from the impact. He blinked against light that surrounded Macaque, watching warily until it faded. “Okay,” he breathed, “this is probably fine, uh-” He cleared his throat, his gaze finally focusing on the crumpled form of Macaque. “Are you okay? Macaque?”

All Macaque gave in response was a groan, pushing himself up off the ground and shaking his head. Purple wisps dissipated as he stood, looking just as unsteady as MK. “What’s happening?” he finally managed, turning to MK with confusion etched into his features. “How did you…” His gaze drifted to MK’s staff, “Why do you have-”

“Macaque?” MK said slowly, “Is everything okay? We were- we had training today, remember?”

“Training?” Macaque asked, looking bewildered, which was not an expression MK was used to seeing. “Kid, I don’t even… who are you?”

MK blanched at that. “Who- what the donk are you talking about?” he asked. “Is this a joke?” He lowered the staff to the ground, setting his free hand disapprovingly on his hip. “We need to work on your sense of humor, man. I’m fine with you scheming and pulling pranks and- you know, being a general menace, but giving me a heart attack does not give off the ‘cool mentor’ vibes you think it does.”

Macaque blinked at MK like he’d spoken a different language. “Okay, well… that didn’t make any sense,” he said. “So, I’m gonna ask this again,” he lifted his hands placatingly, “and I need you to stick with me on this.” His gaze flicked around the room. “Who are you, and–while I’m asking questions–where am I?” Eyes narrowing on the staff, Macaque added, “And, uh… how did you get that?”

Uneasiness settled in MK’s chest at the questions. Macaque’s voice lacked the playful lilt it usually had when he teased MK, and the confusion on his face was so genuine, so much more vulnerable than the shadow would allow under normal circumstances. “You’re freaking me out,” MK said.

“I’m standing in a room I’ve never seen before with a kid I’ve never met,” Macaque replied shortly. “Not to mention you’re holding a staff that doesn’t belong to you.” MK flinched back at the clipped tone, and Macaque seemed to realize how sharp his voice was, because he took a step back, face softening. “Look, I- you seem like a nice kid, and I don’t want to hurt you if I don’t have to.” He gestured to the staff. “But I need to know why you have that.”

MK hesitated for a moment. “I’m… okay, let’s start over.” He shrank the staff and tucked it away, startling Macaque, as though he hadn’t expected MK to actually be able to wield the weapon. “My name is MK,” he started. “I’m the Monkey King’s successor, and I-”

“Successor?” Macaque interrupted incredulously.

“Uh… well, that’s- that is what I said, yeah.”

Macaque let out a startled laugh. “How long has Wukong had a student? He should have told me that he was-” His smile faltered. “He should’ve… he would have told me if he had a student.” He studied MK carefully. “And your clothes look strange.”

Looking down in surprise, MK tugged at his jacket, inspecting the white shirt underneath. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“What was I doing when you came in?”

MK turned to check the back of his jacket. “No, seriously, what’s wrong with my clothes?”

“Hey, kiddo,” Macaque insisted, “I really need you to focus, okay?”

“Right!” MK straightened, nodding quickly. “Right, sorry, totally focused. What’s the question? Hit me with it.” Macaque opened his mouth to answer, just as it occurred to MK that he’d already asked the question. “Oh, yeah! So, uh- I don’t really know what you were doing in here?” he said. “Some kind of magic ritual thingie, maybe. It kinda looked like you were meditating?”

Macaque frowned. “Meditating?” He gestured to the sides of his head. “There wasn’t any magic going on up here, was there?”

“There was, yeah,” MK told him. “I didn’t know what was happening, and I panicked, so I just…” he shrugged helplessly, “I tried to wake you up.” Dread pooled in his stomach, hoping that his decision hadn’t just irreversibly messed something up. “Why? Was that- is that bad? Did I do a bad?”

Inhaling sharply through his teeth, Macaque replied, “Maybe? I don’t know, honestly, I just… well, I’ve never had this problem before.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Ah, Wukong is going to kill me when he finds out.”

MK scowled. “That’s not funny, dude.”

His reprimand was met with a confused tilt of Macaque’s head. “What isn’t?” His focus flitted away before MK could answer, looking around the room curiously. “Wait, where are we again?”

“This is your place,” MK replied. “Well, it’s a room in your place.” He waved for Macaque to follow him. “Come on, maybe seeing your stuff will, uh… I don’t know, jog your memory or something.” Macaque cautiously followed him out of the room and into the dim dojo. “Forgot how dark it was in here, one second,” he moved to the lightswitch on the wall, “lemme just get this-”

Macaque made a noise of surprise as the dojo’s overhead lights kicked on. They weren’t terribly bright, but the shadow recoiled from them all the same. “What is that?” He reached up gingerly, hand hovering around a lightbulb like it might burn him. “Did you do this? Doesn’t look like any kind of magic I’ve ever seen.”

MK shook his head. “It’s just a lightbulb, dude. It’s like, you know, electricity? Pretty much every house in the city has some.” His brow furrowed as Macaque continued to marvel at incredibly mundane things around the dojo. “So, uh… you recognize anything?”

“Huh?” Macaque said absently, “Uh, yeah, some of this… it’s definitely my stuff.” He ran a hand over the weapons rack. “I just don’t know why it’s here, and not on Flower Fruit Mountain.”

“I mean, probably because you live here?” MK offered.

Macaque whirled on him at that, eyes wide with shock. “I live here?” His hands flailed a bit, gesturing around the dojo. “Why do I live here?” He demanded, “What happened to Flower Fruit Mountain?”

Lifting his hands in surrender, hoping that it’d placate the panicking immortal, MK quickly explained, “Monkey King still lives on Flower Fruit Mountain, nothing happened to it, you guys just-”

“Then I need to get back,” Macaque said, breezing past MK and towards the door. “How far is it from here?”

“Uh- hold on!” MK wasn’t sure what he was dealing with, but if Macaque was startled by a lightbulb, the city was going to be a whole different kind of shock. “Let’s just- uh, hang on a second-”

But Macaque had already thrown open the door, barely taking one step outside before he was reeling. “What the hell is that?” His hands clapped over his ears as he stumbled back into the dojo. “What is-”

MK rushed forward to slam the door shut. “Okay! So, just to explain some stuff here, you live in the city,” he explained. Macaque reluctantly moved his hands, the outside noise banished with the closed door. “And it’s a pretty big city. There’s lots of people, lots of cars, lots of… lots of everything, really.”

“Right,” Macaque nodded, blinking owlishly. “Can I just-” His body dropped until he was crouched on the ground, resting on the balls of his feet. “Could you give me a second, kid?” He asked, lacing together his fingers and pressing them against his forehead. “Processing some stuff here.”

All things considered, MK was having a pretty weird day, but it occurred to him suddenly that Macaque was probably having a way weirder day than he was. “Yeah, that was probably a lot.” He gave Macaque’s shoulder a reluctant pat. The Macaque he knew probably wouldn’t have accepted any kind of reassurance, but this Macaque looked like he needed it.  “You, uh… you good?

“Probably,” Macaque mumbled. “Just gotta get ahold of myself.” He took a deep breath, the shoulder under MK’s hand trembling on the exhale. “What century is this?”

“I think we’re somewhere in the 21st century?” MK replied, “Probably. It’s not super clear.” He cleared his throat. “I’m guessing things are a little different than you remember?”

Macaque hummed. “Pretty much everything.” He stood and brushed off his shirt. “Okay, let’s try that-” He paused, looking down at himself with an odd expression. “That… that’s not right.”

“What isn’t? Your shirt?” MK shrugged. “You wear that thing all the time.”

“Do I wear it wrong all the time?” Macaque asked. “Because it’s folded-” He shook his head. “Whatever. I’ll worry about it later.” He looked back to MK. “So, about getting to Flower Fruit Mountain.”

MK clapped his hands together. “Yes! Flower Fruit Mountain, can do.” The issue with that was the Monkey King himself. MK was sure that Macaque wasn’t trying to pull anything, but he doubted his mentor would feel the same. If MK enlisted the help of Monkey King, there was a pretty high chance that he’d taunt the shadow rather than help. “There might be, uh- a slight problem with that, actually.”

“What?” Macaque crossed his arms. “Why?”

“Well-” MK was saved from having to say anything else by his phone, which exploded with sound. “Uh, hold that thought.” MK pulled his phone out of his pocket and fumbled with it for a moment. “I gotta take this.” And he did, not just because it served as a good distraction, but because MK had learned that if he missed a few calls from his friends, they would assume another world-destroying threat had appeared and start panicking.

Macaque frowned at MK’s phone. “What is that?”

MK made a vague gesture for him to wait as he answered the phone, quickly glancing at the caller ID before putting it to his ear. “Hey, Mei! Now isn’t really a good time, if I could just call you back-”

“MK!” Mei interrupted. “They fixed the Monkey Mech game at the arcade,” she informed him cheerfully, “and I owe you about two weeks of butt-kicking.”

“That’s great, Mei,” MK said, “but I kinda got a situation here, so-”

“Who are you talking to?” Macaque asked, tilting his head curiously at MK’s phone, like the device might somehow make more sense at forty-five degrees. “Is the talking box magic? Or is this another lightbulb situation?”

Shooing Macaque away, MK replied, “It’s another lightbulb thing, don’t worry about it.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway! Mei, I really-”

“Is that Macaque?” Mei gasped, “Oh, you should totally invite him to the arcade! Then I can kick both your butts at Monkey Mech. That counts as training, right? I feel like that should count as training.”

Macaque waved as though Mei could see him. “Hello, girl in MK’s talking box,” he greeted awkwardly, clearly unsure what to make of the phone. “What’s an arcade?”

Mei winced, “How out of touch is this guy?” she asked quietly. “Even Monkey King knows what a videogame is.”

“Does Wukong know her?” Macaque leaned closer to MK’s phone. “Girl in the talking box! Do you know Wukong?”

MK gently shoved Macaque away from his ear. “It’s called a phone, Macaque, would you just- Mei, I’m putting you on speaker.” He pulled the phone away from his head to find whatever button would play Mei’s voice aloud, so that Macaque didn’t have to talk in his ear to be part of the conversation. “There! Okay, um- Mei? I have a serious situation here, and it’s not a ‘go to the arcade now and fix it later’ kind of problem.”

“Macaque isn’t trying anything, is he?” Mei demanded, her voice suddenly taking on a low, dangerous tone. “MK, what did he do?”

“I just met MK five minutes ago, why would I do anything?” Macaque exclaimed, looking bewildered at the very notion. “And how did you get inside this box?”

“No, Mei, Macaque didn’t do anything this time,” MK told her quickly, and Macaque looked disturbed by the phrase this time. MK hoped that they’d figure out how to fix Macaque before he had to explain what had happened. “Macaque is the situation, he’s… I don’t know, he’s stuck. And I don’t know how to fix him.”

“Stuck how?”

Macaque made an unsure noise. “Yeah, we’re still trying to figure that out, too.”

“Hence, ‘the situation’.” MK pinched the bridge of his nose. “He doesn’t remember a lot of stuff right now, and I don’t know how to make him unforget. And, no, before you ask,” MK interjected before Mei could, “he’s not faking it. He’s a good actor, but he’s not this good.”

“Thank you,” Macaque said brightly. “I think. Have you seen me perform?”

“You’re absolutely sure this isn’t a trick?” Mei asked skeptically.

MK hummed. “Mm-hm, like, ninety-nine point nine percent sure.” He sighed, “But I have no idea how to fix it, and I’m not sure I can bring him to Monkey King-”

Macaque straightened at that. “Wait, why can’t we go to Wukong for help?”

“Uh- he’s busy,” MK said quickly. “Doing Mystic Monkey business, probably.” It was a lie, but it was easier than explaining the long, complicated history between them. Especially since MK didn’t actually know a lot about what happened. Macaque didn’t look very satisfied with the answer, but he didn’t press.

There was something garbled on Mei’s end of the line, a gruff voice that MK could recognize anywhere, even if he couldn’t hear the words. “Yeah, so,” Mei said, “Piggy is saying to bring him here? He and Tang think they might know what’s happening.”

“Really?” MK asked. “That’s great! We’ll meet you guys over there.” He hung up the phone, turning to Macaque with a grin. “Okay, change of plans. How do you feel about noodles?”

Macaque gave a half-hearted shrug. “I mean, they’re fine, I guess?” He fidgeted with his scarf, tugging at the red fabric with a crinkled nose. “Why? Are there noodles where we’re going?”

“Pigsy will probably have some ready when we get over there. He owns a noodle shop, and I work as his delivery boy,” MK explained while Macaque turned in a circle, staring at the tail end of his scarf as though baffled by it. “Did you- do you wanna change before we head out?”

“Can I?” Macaque swatted at the flowing scarf in irritation. “This stupid hanfu is driving me insane, and the scarf isn’t much better. It wasn’t even cold outside.” He started wrestling the red fabric over his head as he walked to the back of the dojo. “I’m gonna go look around this… whatever this is, and find something sensible to wear. I’ll be right back.”

MK wondered if Macaque would be insulted by himself when he got back to normal, taking jabs at his own fashion choice. He couldn’t wait to relay everything that had happened to the shadow when his memories came back, exposing the edgy lord of shadows for the softie he was, because MK did genuinely believe, somewhere deep down, that Macaque was still this soft.

But in order to tease Macaque about his long-buried softness, they’d have to fix him first. And MK figured Macaque would probably take a while with the wardrobe change–he could hear the shadow opening and closing doors, apparently having trouble figuring out which room might have some spare clothes–so he leaned against the nearest wall and scrolled through his phone. While he waited, he looked up the proper way to wear a hanfu. He wasn’t super familiar with traditional clothing, but Macaque seemed adamant that it was wrong, and MK was curious.

The results he got were a little more off-putting than he had anticipated. A hanfu wasn’t supposed to be folded the way Macaque’s had been, right over left, unless it was on a corpse, which had a pretty disturbing implication that MK didn’t want to think too hard about, even if it was just symbolism. He shoved his phone and his pocket and resolved to scold Macaque for his dramatics later.

“Hey, kid,” Macaque called, stepping back into the dojo, wearing what looked like a simpler version of the hanfu he’d taken off, folded left over right and accessorized with a red bandana. He looked nearly identical to the memories MK had seen in the Scroll. “I’m pretty sure that city outside is pretty difficult to navigate if you're a millennia behind the times. How are we getting to this noodle shop?”

“I’ll drive us there,” MK replied, “but we should probably head out now before traffic gets bad.” He started for the door, but stopped with his hand on the door handle. “Uh… is there any kind of- like, a magic thing you can do? So the city doesn’t hurt your ears so much?”

Macaque made an unsure noise. “I can keep them hidden, but there’s not much I can do for the sound.”

“Sorry, hidden?” MK clarified, confused by the statement as Macaque’s ears were clearly in plain view. Though, when MK thought about it, his full name was the ‘Six-Eared Macaque’. He hadn’t ever considered that the name was literal, but Macaque was capable of creating some pretty powerful illusions. MK knew about the scar he kept hidden, it was reasonable to assume that the shadow might keep a couple extra sets of ears hidden, too.

“Uh-huh,” Macaque replied absently. “Wukong usually handles the noise when I need it, but he’s not here… for some reason.” He looked around, like something in the four walls might have more answers if he looked hard enough. “I don’t know why I’d be doing this without Wukong around,” the shadow muttered quietly. “We must have become morons in the future.”

“You mean the present,” MK corrected. “Right? This is still the present? You’re morons in the present.”

“Technically, yeah,” Macaque conceded. “But my memories are stuck in the past somehow, so to me? It’s the future, and I’m not an idiot yet.”

“You know, fair enough!” MK replied, opening the door and letting the city noise back into the dojo. “Let me know if the city gets too loud for you, I’ll let you borrow my headphones.”

Macaque followed MK outside with a barely audible wince. “Your what phone? The box you were talking into?”

MK took the blue headphones off of his neck. “Put these over your ears,” he instructed, hopping in the driver side of his tuk-tuk and putting his key in the ignition. “They’re noise canceling, and I can play some music if you want.”

“No, it’s…” Macaque slipped the headphones over his ears, looking pleasantly surprised at the lack of noise. “This is great, actually.” He slid into the passenger seat of the tuk-tuk, looking around the city in amazement. “The mortals have gotten creative over the years.”

“Yup!” MK drove slower than he usually would, letting Macaque take in the sights as they made their way across the city. “Nothing like good ol’ human ingenuity.” He turned onto a busy street, watching in amusement as Macaque marveled at the skyscrapers and buses and neon signs. “It’s weird seeing you like this, you know? You’re not usually this enthusiastic.”

“Really?” Macaque asked. “What am I usually like?”

MK hummed. “You sorta got this… like, a slightly edgier vibe going on? Kinda broody, a little mean-ish.” Macaque looked concerned at that, so MK quickly amended with, “I think you have good- like, mostly good intentions, you’re just not always the nicest person, you know?”

“Mean, huh?” Macaque mumbled. “Wonder when that started happening.” MK had a few guesses, most of them involving a fight he saw, one deep below a mountain, but he kept that to himself. “I’m sure Wukong will know what’s going on. Whenever he gets back from his… what’d you call it? ‘Mystic Monkey’ business? I’m gonna need him to fill me in on a few things.”

“Well, hopefully we can get you fixed before he has to explain anything,” MK said. “No ‘filling you in’ required, because there’s, like, hundreds of years worth of stuff to tell you, and I don’t think Monkey King would have the patience.”

Macaque chuckled. “Fair enough.” He leaned back in his seat. “I can’t wait to tell him all about this when I see him again.” MK stopped at a red light, turning to watch Macaque. It was odd seeing an almost child-like wonder from the otherwise cynical shadow. It was easy to see how Monkey King had gotten along with Macaque in the past, if this was the Macaque he’d befriended.

But it made a small, anxious pit in MK’s stomach, knowing that this Macaque was also, somehow, the same Macaque that stripped him of his powers and pinned him to a mountain. The Macaque so eager to see Monkey King had grown to be someone who’d go to unfathomable lengths just to provoke his former friend into fighting him. MK had seen some pieces of their past, a peach-scented promise on a beach and a vicious, scathing fight from under a mountain, but it still seemed so surreal, that two people who cared about each other so much could become such bitter enemies.

MK shook his head as the light above him turned green. Macaque lurched a bit as MK hit the gas, and he put his hand out to brace himself on the dash. “So,” the shadow asked, “how far are we from this noodle shop?”

“It’s right up ahead,” MK told him, turning down familiar streets. “Oh, and just a heads up, I guess, because you don’t… you don’t remember it, but you don’t always get along with my friends. So, if everyone’s a little on edge, don’t take it personally.”

“Huh,” Macaque frowned as MK pulled up alongside the shop. “Well, I guess that’s not a surprise. I don’t get along with a lot of people in the past, either.” He pulled the headphones off his ears and handed them back to MK. “Maybe I can win them over. I don’t know what I did to make them mad at me, but I probably shouldn’t be on bad terms with your friends if you’re Wukong’s successor.”

“I mean, yeah,” MK said, hoping he sounded more optimistic than he felt, “maybe we can, uh- we can put in a good word for future you. Present you. Whichever you it is.” He cleared his throat and hopped out of the vehicle. “Come on! I’m sure Mr. Tang is pacing a track in the floor trying to figure out what’s wrong with you.”

Macaque slid out of the passenger seat and followed MK to the door. “Is this Mr. Tang guy familiar with my kind of magic?”

“He’s familiar with some magic,” MK supplied. “He’s still learning. And you’re a little cagey about your, uh… whatever you got going on.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense. I don’t even understand my powers half the time.” Macaque’s hand trailed to his chest, like he had something to protect there. “Hopefully, we won’t have to pry at anything to figure this out.”  He grasped the knot of his bandana as MK parted the wooden curtain leading inside.

Everyone was waiting, heads snapping to the door as MK entered. “MK!” Mei gasped, jumping from her chair and grabbing MK by the shoulders. “Are you okay? Where is-”

“Macaque!” Tang, half-hidden by a pile of books, yelped as the shadow slipped in the door behind MK. “He’s here!”

Pigsy’s eyes narrowed. “He didn’t try anything, did he?” He jabbed an accusing ladle in Macaque’s direction. “I better not find out that this is some trick of yours, ‘cause I have a pot of boiling water with your name on it.”

Macaque crossed his arms, looking self-conscious under Pigsy’s scrutinizing stare. “Alright, yeah, I see what you mean,” he told MK. “These guys do not like me. Which,” he lifted his hands placatingly, “I’m sure you all have perfectly good reasons for! So, I’m just gonna sit over here,” he moved to a table in the corner of the shop and pulled out a chair, “and, uh… be very quiet.”

While everyone else in the noodle shop seemed surprised by the complacency, Sandy waved from across the room. “Hello, Mr. Maquack,” he greeted warmly. “I heard you’re having some memory trouble.” He held up a book full of flowers and plants, “I’ve been looking for some cures; I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

The shadow gave a hesitant smile. “Maquack?” he asked.

Sandy shrugged. “You never corrected me.”

“Fair enough,” Macaque replied.

Tang squinted at Macaque, readjusting his glasses. “You know, I had my doubts about Macaque’s amnesia before, but… he’s like an entirely different person.” He pulled a book from his pile and flipped through the pages. “I’m not exactly sure what to do about this.”

“You think this is like the Monkey King’s amnesia thing?” Pigsy asked.

Mei clambered onto a barstool and leaned against the counter. “Uh- question?” she said curiously. “What amnesia thing are you guys talking about?”

“Yeah,” MK agreed. “Just a recap for, you know, anyone that didn’t see what happened.”

“Well, someone woke Monkey King from his transcendental meditation,” Tang said, glaring pointedly at Pigsy, whose only response was a huff and an eyeroll. “We were dealing with a much younger Monkey King for a while, and he seemed convinced that Mo, Pigsy, and I were his friends from the Journey.”

Macaque, from across the room, asked, “What journey?”

“But Macaque doesn’t think we’re anyone else,” Mei pointed out. “He just doesn’t know who we are.”

“And I don’t think he was meditating when I found him,” MK added. “I mean, it looked similar, I guess, but we're still not really sure what happened.”

Pigsy idly stirred his pot of noodles. “Well, it’s still amnesia, ain’t it? Let’s just find a big rock and have MK chuck it at his head. It fixed Monkey King just fine.”

“Sorry,” Macaque interjected. “Did you, uh- did you say that you threw a rock at Wukong? Because I find that both hilarious and mildly concerning.”

Sandy scratched his head in thought. “I’m sure there’s a better solution than that,” he insisted. “Throwing a rock at him seems like such a violent way to solve a medical emergency.”

Tang made an unsure noise. “Are we sure that this is a medical emergency? MK said that Macaque was doing something with his magic. If this is some kind of mystical interference, there might not be a lot of mortal remedies that can help.” He gestured to Macaque. “We don’t even know if Macaque is as indestructible as Monkey King is. Throwing a rock at him might actually make this worse.”

Mei hummed in thought. “Remind me again why we’re not asking Monkey King for help?” She placed her chin in her hand. “I mean, he’d know Macaque better than any of us, right? Maybe Monkey King has seen this before, even if this Macaque doesn’t remember it.”

“Even if this Macaque doesn’t remember anything, Monkey King does,” Tang pointed out. “Would he even be willing to help Macaque?”

“I mean…” MK started reluctantly, “they have been on better terms since the Scroll of Memory.” He fiddled with the zipper of his jacket, dragging it up and down anxiously. Just because Macaque had helped with the Scroll, didn’t mean the shadow and the king were on good terms. Their whole situation was too difficult to navigate. “Monkey King might be willing to help, probably.”

Pigsy raised an eyebrow. “Then why didn’t you call him,” he asked, and the question made MK shrink a little, because Pigsy never asked questions like that unless he already knew the answer. And, the truth was, MK wasn’t sure if Monkey King would help.

There were centuries of distance between Monkey King and Macaque, and MK was certain that the gentle exchange of glances he’d seen in the Scroll was only a mere dent in the walls they’d created around each other. Even with Macaque out of the loop, MK honestly wouldn’t put it past his mentor to heckle the oblivious shadow, anyway, just for the fun of it. And not only would that be incredibly unhelpful, it also wasn’t particularly fair to the memory-impaired Macaque.

“You know I can still hear you guys, right?” Macaque said from across the room, not looking particularly happy about what he was hearing. “I’m not called the Six-Eared Macaque for nothing.”

At that, Tang’s head snapped up, staring Macaque down with an odd look. “Six-Eared Macaque,” he repeated slowly.

Macaque nodded. “Uh… yeah, that’s- is that news to you?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe I should have introduced myself. MK seemed to know who I was, I guess I just assumed his friends would, too.”

“The Six-Eared Macaque?” Tang clarified.

“Well, I assume it’s the Six-Eared Macaque,” the shadow replied, sounding vaguely amused. “Unless that’s somehow become a common name in the last few hundred years.”

That didn’t seem to soothe Tang’s confusion, his brow furrowing as he turned to MK. “Did you know that was his full name this whole time?”

MK shifted nervously. “I mean, yeah, he mentioned it when we first met, but I didn’t think anything of it. He introduced himself as Macaque, so that’s what I called him.”

“That can’t be right, I thought…” Tang grabbed a book, a familiar one, worn with age and use. MK leaned over his shoulder as he flipped through the ‘Journey to the West’. “I didn’t think you were-” He snapped the book shut before MK could get a good look at what chapter he was reading. “How did I not see it before?”

Tilting his head, Macaque asked, “Sorry, what can’t be right? I’m still new here, so-”

“He was part of the Brotherhood,” Tang scolded himself. “The Macaque Spirit King, the Six-Eared Macaque, it’s Macaque, it all seems so obvious now.” He slipped a hand under his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Monkey King has a thousand titles; he’s Sun Wukong, the Monkey King, Great Sage Equal to Heaven, the Protector of Celestial Horses-”

“Oh!” MK interjected, “I asked him about the horse thing one time? He does not like that title, like, at all.”

Pigsy shook his head. “I don’t have the slightest clue what either of you are talking about.”

Mei hummed in agreement, “Join the club.”

“I mean, in my defense, people called Monkey King ‘macaque’ all the time!” Tang continued. “They called him ‘monkey’ and ‘simian’ and,” he turned to Macaque, “you’re a- like, a monkey demon thing, right? I thought ‘Macaque’ was just a name you got… stuck with.”

“Well, I’m- I think I’m technically celestial,” Macaque said. “And I don’t really see what my name has to do with anything.” He squinted at Tang’s copy of the Journey. “And I definitely don’t see what it has to do with that book, that’s… did someone write a book about Wukong? Am I in it?” He smiled, a fond looking thing. “Aw, he’s probably insufferable about that. His very own book.”

MK had been made acutely aware that he should have read the ‘Journey to the West’, Macaque had said as much at least three times in the Scroll. And, in hindsight, it would have been useful to have some information about Monkey King’s old enemies, but never had MK been quite so annoyed with himself for not actually sitting down and reading the Journey cover to cover. Of course, Macaque was in the book. He’d been trying to pry the information out of the two immortals for months, and he could have just read the book.

But he hadn’t, and maybe it was because some part of him didn’t really want to know the extent of the damage Monkey King had caused, or maybe he was afraid some of the enemies he’d fought had real reasons to hate the Great Sage. In any case, MK didn’t like the expression on Tang’s face as he looked at Macaque. “You know what? Maybe I should get Monkey King,” he said quickly. “I can try astral projecting, see if he’ll come to the noodle shop and help us brainstorm. Or I can bring Macaque to him! Maybe he’ll have something in the cave that can help.”

“He has always been a bit of a hoarder,” Macaque mused. “And if he’s been collecting for a thousand years, maybe he does have something.” Confusion creased his brow. “But I thought he was busy.”

Mei snorted. “Busy eating peaches, maybe,” she joked. “It’s his day off. MK had training with you today, so I doubt Monkey King is doing much of anything.”

Macaque glanced at MK, raising an eyebrow, “Mystic Monkey business, huh?”

MK gave a sheepish smile. “Yeah, so…” He ducked away and scurried to the stairs that led up to his apartment. “I’m gonna go call Monkey King! Be back in a minute.” He bolted up to his room, eager to escape Macaque’s prying gaze, shutting the door firmly behind him and slumping against the nearest wall, dragging his hands down his face with an exasperated groan.

As much as MK wanted to avoid a fight between the mystic monkeys, he’d reached a point that he was flailing for answers. And Macaque was behaving himself, if only because he didn’t remember how to be bitter, so if Monkey King was willing to call a truce long enough to help, maybe–just maybe –MK wouldn’t have to deal with them fighting like children.

He sighed and pushed himself off the wall, closing his eyes and summoning the focus to project himself outwards in search of Monkey King. If there was anything optimistic to be found in the ruins of his training session, it was that dealing with his two emotionally incompetent mentors would, at the very least, be a fantastic exercise in patience.

[mylo-space]

Swear It on the Sun

Summary:

Macaque steps away from a Brotherhood meeting to find some peace and quiet, and finds himself with some unexpected company.

A sort of character study on Macaque and Peng during their time with the Brotherhood.

Posted on Ao3: 2023-10-05

Word Count: 4,805

-

Nights on Flower Fruit Mountain hadn’t been quiet since Wukong had started inviting his little team of rebels to their home. Not that Macaque minded–at least, not enough that he’d say anything to Wukong–but he did miss the peace sometimes. Especially when it seemed like nowhere in the temple was quiet enough to think, drunken voices bouncing off the mostly empty halls.

If he were a bit more honest with himself, he might be a little annoyed to be sitting on the roof while Wukong partied. Luckily, Macaque wasn’t known for being honest, so he settled for distancing himself, waiting until his ears stopped ringing so much before rejoining the party. Wukong was a social creature, and Macaque refused to compromise the first real company the king had managed to keep just because he would prefer the quiet.

From the trees, Macaque could hear a branch rattling. His ears twitched at the sound, too harsh to have been the breeze, and he scanned the canopy for the culprit. It didn’t take long to spot a small, white monkey exploring the branches. She paused for a moment, peering around as though she could feel Macaque’s gaze, exploding into excited chattering at the sight of him and immediately climbing the tree closest to the temple.

Macaque watched in amusement as she perched on a branch just a few feet shy of him. The young monkey wiggled in place for a moment, judging the distance before hurling herself from the tree and onto the roof. She scrabbled over the ledge for a moment, and chirped happily as Macaque reached to help. “Woah, there, I gotcha,” he said quietly, pulling the monkey to safety. “Not quite ready for that jump, huh.”

The monkey was young enough that she definitely should have been asleep, and Macaque could have easily teleported her back to the cave, but he had a soft spot for rule-breakers. It took some real skills to sneak past Wukong’s generals, and they were far enough away from that party that, even if Wukong and his guests did do something stupid or dangerous, Macaque wouldn’t have to worry about her being in harm’s way.

“Don’t tell Wukong I let you stay,” Macaque told the monkey quietly. “You know he doesn’t like you little guys seeing him drunk.” 

Despite Macaque setting her on the roof tiles, the infant immediately climbed his arm and perched on his shoulder instead. Macaque struggled not to laugh as she nuzzled into his neck, his bandana doing little to stop the ticklish assault. He fought the urge to move as she cuddled close, and took a slow breath as she settled, reaching up to smooth down her white fur.

Wukong would have probably pointed and cackled like a witch at the two of them if he had seen, especially at Macaque for being such a big softie. The sage would’ve tried to muffle the sound behind his hand, but Macaque still would’ve heard it, and he’d have still elbowed Wukong in the ribs. They’d have shushed each other unnecessarily for a while, before settling to let the young one on Macaque’s shoulder continue her sleep.

But none of that actually happened, because Wukong was off partying. And had been, for much longer than Macaque would have liked.

He didn’t like the ugly, twisting feeling that came with the thought that Wukong might prefer the Brotherhood’s company over his own, and crushed it down until it was a mere splinter in his chest. It wasn’t just the partying that had kept the king occupied, Wukong had also just been busy with the whole ‘dethroning the Jade Emperor’ thing. Which Macaque understood the importance of, even if he did think it was a bad idea.

Macaque had made it well known that he wasn’t too keen on the plan, but his opinion on the matter went pretty much ignored, other than Wukong’s reassurances that everything would be fine. The Brotherhood clearly favored the bold on the situation, which was to be expected when too many egos collided and made a band of merry men. And in a world that rewarded bravery and recklessness, Macaque’s pragmatism probably did look a lot like cowardice.

Peng in particular seemed to have a bone to pick with him over this ‘cowardice’, never mind that Macaque had seen Peng dart away from more than a few battles that weren’t going their way. Of all the members of the Brotherhood, Peng was probably the one that Macaque found the most irritating. They were selfish and materialistic, complaining about squabbling for scraps while enjoying a hearty meal. It was so performative that it made Macaque want to roll his eyes every time the bird spoke.

But Wukong seemed to really like the Brotherhood and the company they provided, Peng included, so Macaque opted to weather the insults until their war with the Celestial Realm was over. And in any case, it seemed to annoy Peng more that he never reacted, and Macaque was great at tuning out meaningless noise. It was a win-win, all things considered.

So, when Peng joined him on the roof, gait slightly unsteady in their drunken haze, he was understandably confused, seeing as the bird never sought him out for anything other than using him as a verbal punching bag. “Macaque!” they greeted loudly, the way they did most things. “Enjoying the party from a distance, I see.”

Macaque glanced at Peng warily. They weren’t usually the type to get blackout drunk the way Wukong and Demon Bull King were, but it looked as though they’d been partying a little harder than usual. Still, they were mostly coherent, so as long as they weren’t completely insufferable, Macaque decided he was fine with temporarily sharing the roof. “What brings you up here?”

“A desire for conversation,” Peng replied. “Yellow-Tusk bailed, and Azure is such a lightweight that he’s barely coherent.” They swirled their glass of wine idly. “And I refuse to attempt small talk with the bull and the king in their current state.”

There was a beat of silence before Macaque asked, “So… you came to me?”

Peng scoffed. “No. I came to see the monkey sleeping on your shoulder.” Macaque’s eyes narrowed, his hand reaching up to rest on the young monkey’s back protectively. “Oh, relax, little warrior,” Peng drawled, stretching their wings and leaning back on their hands. “Believe it or not, I didn’t come up here to start a fight.”

“Fine,” Macaque carded through the white fur settled on his shoulder. “Just don’t start insulting me around the little guys. I don’t want them hearing that kind of talk.”

“That’s what it takes for you to grow a spine, eh?” Peng cackled. “The infants might hear.” A clawed finger pointed in Macaque's general direction. “You know- do you know what your real problem is, Macaque?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me,” Macaque muttered.

“Exactly that,” Peng said. “You’re so passive, and you have no reason to be.” They gestured to Macaque vaguely. “You may be a coward, but even I cannot deny your strength in battle. It’s downright shameful how timid you are with that kind of power at your disposal.”

Macaque raised an eyebrow. “Careful,” he warned, “that almost sounded like a compliment there for a second.”

“Certainly the closest you’ll ever get from me,” Peng shrugged, “It’s no secret that I respect power, and yours is nothing to scoff at.” They scowled, “But your refusal to be anything outside of Wukong’s shadow is… irritating, to say the least. All that potential, squandered on a… a lapdog. If I weren’t drunk, I’d be infuriated at the thought.”

“Ah,” Macaque deadpanned, “weird. Didn’t realize you had to be sober to be infuriated.”

“I mean, it just- it’s pathetic the way you follow him without question,” Peng continued heatedly, and Macaque resigned himself to their drunken rambles. He had the distinct feeling that this was actually the closest to nice the bird was capable of, however wrapped in barbed wire it was. “You’re capable of more than this. Better than this.”

Macaque hummed. “Maybe I don’t want any better than this,” he replied simply. “Not everyone is obsessed with power, you know. I’d be just fine living peacefully on this mountain for the rest of eternity.”

Peng laughed, “Oh,” they asked dryly, “and is the king content to do the same?”

“Of course, he is,” Macaque insisted. Wukong had promised him, and Wukong didn’t break his promises. “It’s the only reason he’s doing any of this, so we can-”

“Between you and Wukong, no one would dare stop you from living peacefully on your precious mountain,” Peng pointed out. “So what is it, exactly, that’s keeping you from living his ‘perfect life’ of yours? Why fight the Jade Emperor at all?”

The answer, of course, was Wukong. It was the king’s own paranoia that was stopping them, but Wukong was just looking out for them the best way he knew how. He wanted to be strong enough to protect them from anything, but Macaque also knew Peng was right, however much he hated to admit it. There was no threat that he and Wukong couldn’t handle, and hardly anyone would dare try, anyway. They could have their eternity together, with no wars and no armies and no fights.

If he were more honest, he might admit to Peng that Wukong was really more irritated about the whole ‘stable boy’ incident than he was truly dedicated to Azure's cause. But honesty, the elusive thing, was still hard to grasp, so Macaque only scowled in response, prompting another cackle from Peng, “You admit it, then,” they crowed, “you’ll never get that blasted chimp to stay!” Their eyes narrowed. “So, why are you still here?”

Irritated at Peng’s smugness and their lack of volume control, Macaque hissed, “Where would you suggest I go?” and gently pulled the infant from his shoulder, laying her across his lap. She sleepily buried one side of her face into Macaque’s shirt, and he let a hand rest against her ear, hoping that it’d muffle Peng enough to let her continue her sleep uninterrupted. “My home is here.”

“The mountain?” Peng asked, “Or the king?” And that was a more complicated question than Macaque was prepared to answer, because he wasn’t sure if the difference mattered all that much. Home was wherever Wukong was, and he couldn’t imagine that being anywhere other than Flower Fruit Mountain.

The world had not been kind to Macaque before meeting Wukong, loud and dangerous and harsh. Both Wukong and Flower Fruit Mountain had been safe havens in their own right, providers of peace and quiet and gentleness. If Macaque had to choose a home, he would have taken living on Flower Fruit Mountain over literally anywhere else in the world, any day. Any century, any lifetime, he’d choose the mountain, so long as it had Wukong on it.

Seemingly bored with watching Macaque ponder the question, Peng tsked at his lack of response. “You really are a loyal little warrior, aren’t you.”

Finally in more familiar territory with the banter, Macaque huffed out a laugh. “Certainly more loyal than you,” he countered, less as an insult and more of a harsh truth. The honesty came a bit easier when he had jabs and taunts to hide behind.

Rather than refute the statement, Peng nodded, “It’s true,” they agreed, “I don’t have much loyalty to give.” Casting Macaque a sideways glance, they added, “Which is why I only give my loyalty to those who will return it.”

Macaque straightened, his free hand curling into a fist at his side. “Wukong’s absence doesn’t make him less loyal,” because Wukong always came back, no matter the distance or time. They had eternity, and if it meant Macaque could share that eternity with Wukong, he didn’t care that it came with the price of occasionally watching over the king’s mountain. The absence would be worth the forever they promised each other.

Peng heaved a long-suffering sigh, as though Macaque were the one being ridiculous. “Of course, it doesn’t, you insufferable simian, but it’s not about-” They lifted a hand to rub their eyes. “Let’s try this a different way.”

“Are you lecturing me right now?” Macaque asked incredulously. “How drunk are you?”

“Not nearly drunk enough,” Peng huffed. “How about we make a deal, hm? Humor me for a single civil conversation, and we can go back to hating each other in the morning when I’m far more sober.”

For a moment, Macaque considered portaling himself and the infant away, and dealing with the consequences of an annoyed Peng later. Then he considered that he’d probably never get another chance to speak civilly with the bird and, sue him, he was curious. “Sure,” Macaque agreed, “a conversation.”

“Thank you,” Peng said. “I don’t even know what you see in Wukong, anyway. He’s a lousy king, and a worse companion, by the look of things.”

“It’s complicated,” Macaque answered, because he really wasn’t sure how to describe what drew him to Wukong. It could’ve been the easy way that Wukong accepted Macaque needed quiet days, never questioning or belittling his famed six ears, the way he trusted Macaque despite the rest of the immortal world treating him like something to be wary of. But Peng probably would have scoffed at any of those answers, so Macaque said, “He’s just… Wukong, I guess. He pulls you in.”

Peng hummed. “Indeed.” They lifted their empty glass to inspect the stains around the rim. “I know Azure is certainly captivated by him.” Snickering, they added, “Hope that doesn’t cause trouble in paradise.”

Macaque blinked for a moment, “Well… I don’t think-” There was an implication under the question somewhere, Macaque was sure. Peng often spoke in a way that had Macaque’s ears twitching trying to hear between the lines. “I don’t see why it would?”

At that, Peng gave Macaque an odd look, setting down their glass again to give him their full focus. “You don’t see any way Wukong soaking up Azure’s admiration might cause problems.”

“I mean, it ain’t good for Wukong’s ego, that’s for sure,” Macaque conceded. “His head was big enough already without this whole… becoming the new Jade Emperor thing.”

“And what will you do, then?” Peng asked, and despite the question sounding genuinely curious, there was a sharpness to it that had Macaque’s brow furrowing in thought. “When Wukong becomes ruler of the Celestial Realm, what becomes of your precious ‘forever’?”

With no real alternative answer, and no rebuttal, Macaque reluctantly admitted, “I… don’t know.” It wasn’t something that he had considered. The way he understood it, they were fighting the Jade Emperor and then they were going home, but if Wukong was becoming the Jade Emperor, then the ‘going home’ part of the plan might be a lot harder than Macaque had originally thought.

Peng hummed, “Seems like you and the king need to get your priorities in order,” they said airily. Which… Macaque didn’t disagree with, but it was hard explaining that kind of stuff to Wukong. Once he’d set his mind to something–and in this case, fighting the Jade Emperor–there was little to nothing that would change the king’s mind.

It didn’t matter how many times Macaque said it was a bad idea, or reminded him that they’d make enemies of the entire Celestial Realm, and maybe spend eternity defending the mountain from the repercussions. Wukong was determined to fight this war, whether Macaque liked it or not, but he’d long since stopped arguing with the king about it. Wukong put up with enough of Macaque’s problems, his anti-social ways and sensitive hearing and anxiousness over every small thing he heard out of the ordinary. The least that Macaque could do was be there for Wukong through his own fears and quests for strength and immortality.

“Really, it’s not even his fight,” Peng mused. “It’s Azure’s. You, at least, don’t pretend to care about this war. The Demon Bull King is only interested in the fight, and I suspect Wukong only cares for the adoration he gets for his valiant deeds.”

Macaque closed his eyes and took a slow breath. He knew Wukong better than the rest of the Brotherhood, knew that Wukong wasn’t the benevolent hero Azure believed him to be, despite how much the celestial soldier looked up to the king. Wukong didn’t join the Brotherhood for the mortals’ sake, Macaque had–on more than one occasion–seen Wukong more upset about the cancellation of an event over the safety of the mortals weathering the conditions that canceled it. He wasn’t heartless, by any means, but he wasn’t exactly noble, either.

That said, Wukong wasn’t quite the selfish fool that Peng made him out to be, either. Reckless, maybe, but he still understood the risks and what was on the line, it was just that the collateral damage didn’t matter as much as achieving the goal. And, sure, Wukong liked validation, it was the whole reason the ‘stable boy’ incident irritated him as much as it did, but that wasn’t the point. The adoration he received from the Brotherhood–and Azure in particular–was more of an added bonus to the whole ordeal rather than a motivation.

Wukong wasn’t noble or selfish, or any of the odd labels that people liked to assign to him. Wukong was simply Wukong, a determined king with people to protect. So long as he reached his goal, any price was worth it, and since the goal was their gentle life on Flower Fruit Mountain, Macaque was more than willing to be a warrior in Wukong’s fights.

"There are no priorities to sort out," Macaque said evenly.

“No,” Peng agreed, “it’s just the one priority, hm? The king’s?” They studied Macaque carefully. “And you’ll just keep… prioritizing, until Wukong gets what he wants.”

“He wants a life of peace,” Macaque said. “We both do.” The wars be damned, they would have their quiet life. Wukong had promised, and Macaque could never give up on him.

“Even if he wants to fight other people’s wars to get it?” Peng asked. “You’re alright with that?”

Macaque’s chest tightened, resolve settling into his bones, even as he opened his mouth to lie. “Yes,” he answered, even though he was far from alright with fighting this war. Because it didn’t matter that he wasn’t alright with it, what mattered was that he and Wukong could live just as the king had promised. Peacefully, with full stomachs and content subjects, without fear of any threat. “However it has to happen.”

Peng sighed, “I see.” They shifted, startling Macaque as they rose to their feet. “Well, with that dismal display of blind faith, I suppose this conversation is done.” They snatched their glass and dusted off their tunic. “It’s a shame, really. When Wukong inevitably falls through with his promises, Azure will at least have Yellow-Tusk and I to rely on.” They glanced down at Macaque with something like disdain, or maybe something a little closer to pity, “But you… well.”

Since Peng was happy enough to drop the polite pretenses, Macaque gave the celestial soldier a cold glare. “Why don’t you go back to the celebration,” he said sharply, “the rest of the party might enjoy your gossip a little more than I do.”

Scoffing, Peng threw up a flippant hand. “Fine,” came the haughty reply, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” They sneered a bit as they turned away. “That king will be the death of you, Six-Eared Macaque, mark my words.”

Macaque grit his teeth to keep the growl in his chest from escaping, still trying to keep the infant in his lap soundly asleep. Frustration burned behind his eyes as he heard Peng rejoining the party inside, smug as always, though the knot in his chest loosened when Wukong asked where he was. At the very least, he hadn’t been forgotten.

Figuring he only had a few minutes to compose himself before Wukong came looking for him, Macaque scrubbed both hands over his face and heaved a sigh, the sound ragged and wavering as he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. Hopefully, the excitable king was drunk enough not to realize how upset he was, otherwise the Brotherhood might have a case of infighting.

And as assuredly as the sun rose in the east, Wukong came not two minutes later, calling Macaque’s name. Macaque dropped his hands back to the infant in his lap as Wukong came peeking over the roof's ledge. “Hey!” he greeted cheerfully, hovering on an unsteady cloud. “Thought Peng was gonna bring you back. What’re you still doin’ sitting on the roof all by yourself?”

Wukong’s antics did wonders for driving out Macaque’s anxieties, snickering as Wukong all but fell off his cloud and onto the roof tiles. “Not all by myself,” he gestured to the infant sleeping in his lap. “Got some sleepy company right here.”

The king scowled, not bothering to pick himself up from where he’d collapsed and instead propped himself up on his arms. “Mac, c’mon, you know I don’t like the little guys hanging around our meetings.”

“You mean your parties?”

“Bah,” Wukong flapped a hand at Macaque, “semantics. It’s not for little ears.” He brought his hand back and let his chin rest on the palm, his gaze softening as it landed on the bundle of white fur. “I guess I can let it slide this time, though. You guys are pretty adorable.”

Macaque rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t help the smile that found its way to his face. “Oh, don’t you start.”

“But it’s true!” Wukong rolled onto his back and poked Macaque in the side. “The mysterious shadow,” he said in a gravelly voice, doing his best impression of a serious tone while hopelessly intoxicated, “the warrior of Flower Fruit Mountain!” Macaque batted his hand away playfully and Wukong let his arms fall to his side. “But you’re really just a big, ol’ softie,” he preened, “and only I get to know about it.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Macaque said, “Peng certainly seems to think I’m soft.” A different kind of soft, perhaps–cowardly, and weak–but soft, nonetheless.

“Well, Peng should mind their business sometimes,” Wukong huffed, getting himself upright so that he was properly sitting next to Macaque on the rooftop. “Soft, squishy Macaque is only for me.”

Nudging Wukong with his shoulder, Macaque lightly scolded, “Don’t call me squishy, dude, that sounds weird.”

Wukong shrugged. “Not my fault you’re squishy. Facts are facts.” He pressed his own shoulder against Macaque’s gently, mindful of the sleeping infant. “And, actually- like, to be fair, you are literally squishier than me.”

“Can’t all be born with stone skin,” Macaque mused. “Sure would be nice, though.”

“If you were, maybe I wouldn’t have to worry about fixing your armor so often,” Wukong teased.

“Yeah, whatever,” Macaque leaned into the warm shoulder pressed against him. “Worry about watching your own back before you worry about my armor.”

“Not worry about you?” Wukong scoffed. “Might as well ask me to move planets.”

Macaque hummed in thought, “You probably could.”

There was a moment of quiet, Wukong puzzling over the statement. “Huh… maybe.” He shook his head and reached over Macaque’s lap to card gentle fingers through the sleeping infant’s fur. “But I’ve got this planet to worry about, so. Not a theory I plan on testing any time soon.”

“Good,” Macaque said, closing his eyes and resting against Wukong contently. “Just got you back on the mountain, can’t have you flying into space on me.”

Wukong snickered, “Yeah, right.” An arm wrapped around Macaque’s shoulder and pulled him into the king’s side. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy.” There was a moment of comfortable silence before Wukong hesitantly spoke again, “Macaque,” he started slowly, “you… if you’re still anxious about this whole- you know, the ‘fighting the Jade Emperor’ thing-”

“Did Peng say something?” Macaque asked, all too familiar with how the bird spoke of him and how easily Wukong worried. “Something about me being a coward, perhaps?”

“No, no,” Wukong replied quickly. “I mean, nothing out of the ordinary, I guess.” His free hand reached up to rub the back of his neck. “Might have mentioned something about you sulking, but, uh… yeah. Just wanted to check in.”

“Of course,” Macaque sighed wearily, a sudden tiredness washing over him with Wukong’s warmth by his side. The hand on his shoulder gave a reassuring squeeze as he sank into his friend. “It’s fine, Wukong. They just… got under my skin a little, but it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Well, I am worried!” Wukong protested. “I don’t bring the Brotherhood up here to make you more anxious, bud. This is supposed to be a team effort.”

Macaque nodded into the crook of Wukong’s shoulder. “I know,” he said. “But it’s really not that big of a deal, I promise. They’re drunk and I’m an easy target to tease, that’s all.” There was obviously a little more to it than that, but Macaque didn’t want to dwell on it more than he had to, and he didn’t want Wukong to dwell on it at all. “We actually managed a pretty civil conversation, if you can believe it.”

Wukong gave an impressed whistle, “You’re out here working miracles,” Macaque could hear the smile in his voice, “a whole conversation with the Golden-Winged Peng,” he marveled. “A feat no man or beast has ever accomplished.”

Cracking an eye open, Macaque blearily reached up to put a hand over Wukong’s mouth. “Shut up,” he said, fighting to keep the amusement out of his voice as his fingers splayed ineffectively across the king’s face. “You’re going to wake up the baby.”

“The baby should be sleeping in the cave,” Wukong reminded him, gently tugging Macaque’s hand away from his face. “Why didn’t you portal her home?”

“Ah, you know me,” Macaque yawned, pulling his hand out of Wukong’s to rub at his eyes. “I’m an enabler.”

Macaque was jostled slightly by his headrest, Wukong’s shoulder shaking with a quiet chuckle, “Yeah, but you’re my enabler. Next time, we have to take the infant home.”

“Probably for the best,” Macaque agreed easily. A particularly loud noise from the temple had his ear twitching, suddenly reminded that Wukong had company to attend to. “You wanna get back to your party? I think your buddy DBK just challenged Yellow-Tusk to an arm wrestle.”

Wukong gave a disinterested hum. “Maybe in a few minutes,” he said. “Think I’ll just enjoy the view for a little while longer.”

“You sure?” Macaque asked, only to satisfy the tiny guilty part of him that felt bad keeping Wukong away from his fun.

But the part of him still rattled by his conversation with Peng sagged in relief as Wukong replied, “Yeah.” A familiar weight fell across Macaque’s tail, clumsily winding around the thin, black fur comfortingly. “It’s been a while since I just sat and stargazed, anyway. And it’s a beautiful night for it.”

“You’re drunk,” Macaque muttered, though he didn’t mind the extra bit of sweetness that came from a tipsy king. Really, Wukong was always a little soft-hearted when they were by themselves on the mountain, dropping the boastful, kingly act for Macaque and Macaque alone. It was only Wukong’s own walls and Macaque’s that kept him from showing such tenderness around the Brotherhood. However, alcohol and tiredness did them both tremendous favors in being vulnerable around company.

“And you’re a peach for putting up with me,” Wukong replied, a soft exhale escaping him. “You know, pretty soon, we’ll be able to do this all the time,” he said quietly. “Spend our days eating fruit, our nights stargazing.” His tail wound tighter around Macaque’s. “No wars, no… no fighting. I know you don’t really like that part of the whole plan.”

Macaque made a vague noise of agreement. “Not my favorite,” he confirmed. “Could do without the noise.”

“I know,” Wukong whispered, “I’m sorry.” He pulled Macaque closer, a good-natured jostle. “But, hey! We’ll have our forever soon,” the king promised. “Once this war is over, you won’t ever have to fight again. There isn’t anything in all the realms that could stop us.”

Ever the dreamer, the King of Flower Fruit Mountain, to think himself larger than any threat. Most people who dreamed so big didn’t have the heart or power to realize them, but Macaque knew Wukong, believed in him. There was no worldly threat that could escape the light of the sun, and no mere moon that could escape its orbit. “Whatever you say, Wukong,” Macaque breathed. “Whatever you say.”

[mylo-space]

Black Crayons, Arcade Tokens, and Glow Sticks

Summary: A day in the life of MK after the events of season 5, struggling with an exhaustion he can't shake and thoughts that won't stop racing through his head long enough to let him get any real rest. The city and its people have changed, the world has changed, MK has changed, and none of it is processing very well (or at all), it doesn't go unnoticed by his friends and family. What's a poor Harbinger to do with all these existential crises? The simple answer is to just Ignore the Crisis, but the real, much more complicated answer is that MK needs someone to talk to and, luckily, good advice finds him where he least expects it.

Posted on Ao3: 2024-10-17 Word Count: 16,903

Coming home was always the strangest phenomenon after saving the universe, because MK knew, fundamentally, that so much had changed–about himself, his friends, the world in general–but his room was always exactly as he’d left it, right down to the jacket on his chair and the figurine he’d knocked over in his rush to get ready for work.

Dealing with all the changes that happened after the Pillar of Heaven was harder than MK thought it’d be, and most days he felt as though the whole world had been tilted on its axis. The feeling had gotten better since his rooftop conversation with Monkey King, but it still felt childish, clinging to his familiarity to a point that he couldn’t even stand to look outside.

And since MK was never one for idle hands, he adapted to the change the only way he knew how, and he changed something he had some control over. He pushed his bed to the opposite wall and contemplated where to put his TV now that he’d displaced it. Pigsy had already long since left the establishment, meaning MK could scoot the furniture around however he liked without bothering anyone, and he was taking advantage of it. Mei would probably have questions for him when she saw the state of things, but for the moment, it was just some mindless task to occupy his time.

The TV and the stand where it sat were easy enough to find a place for, but his dresser was harder. It weighed absolutely nothing to MK’s strength, he could have picked it up and thrown it across the room if he chose, but he preferred the old fashioned method of driving his shoulder into the side and shoving until it found a place–though he had to be mindful not to dent the walls as he pushed.

Rearranging his room had taken practically no effort, but he still all but collapsed into his bed once he was satisfied with it. For all his many powers, MK still had the mortal need to sleep, and it was well past two in the morning, not that lying in bed did much in terms of real rest since his eyes refused to stay closed and his thoughts never slowed their rotation long enough to sleep. But it was nice to just be comfortable for a few hours.

Bitterly, MK wondered if Nuwa was ever amused by him, growing more tired with every disaster while sleep became increasingly elusive. Perhaps the ‘monkey form’ was a red herring, and he truly was a child in her making–a snake eating its own tail.

MK took a deep breath and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. It didn’t seem to matter anymore how much he rested, there wasn’t a single bone in MK’s body that wasn’t tired. He’d convinced himself that it didn’t really matter anyway; even if his body craved sleep like a mortal, he doubted ‘chaos incarnate’ could die from lack of sleep. 

Monkey King probably wouldn’t approve of him putting that to the test, but he hadn’t exactly agreed with a lot of MK’s recent decisions. He’d already been prying about MK’s sleep schedule before the Pillar of Heaven situation, and he doubted the phrase, I’ll sleep when I’m dead, got to fly anymore, no matter how playful he meant it.

Struck with a realization, MK pulled his hands away from his face, blinking at the ceiling. It’d been phrased so much more eloquently by Nuwa and the Nine-Headed Demon–his sacrifice to the world, his role in destiny, his fate by creation–but separating the martyrdom from it all, MK was left with a very simple conclusion.

Furrowing his brow, he weighed the whisper, “I died,” and found it much heavier than he’d expected. His heart rocketed to his throat, lungs stuttering on a sharp inhale. “Huh,” he said slowly, trying to smother a hiccup of fear, “okay.” Saving the universe had given him a whole host of new crises to sort through, but he hadn’t figured his death to be one of them. He had known what he was doing when he walked into the Pillar’s light, welcomed it, even, if it’d meant saving the world, and yet-

Blindly, eyes trained unseeing on the ceiling above him, MK reached for his chest in search of life. He could feel his heartbeat brush against his fingertips as he clung to his shirt, nails digging into the skin through the fabric just to be certain. It was unmistakably present, but he was overwhelmed by the sudden, childish anxiety that his heart might somehow stop if he didn't hold his hand there to count the beats.

He waited until his heart slowed to a more reasonable pace before closing his eyes again, grappling with his blanket and burying his head in his pillow. His eyes were so tired that they burned even when he tried to rest them, hiding behind the darkness of his closed lids, and a swarm of thoughts flitted like fireflies through his mind.

It wasn’t just Nuwa and Xianglu who had put death so eloquently that he could brush past it. MK had beaten the Lady Bone Demon, he had defeated Azure. And it occurred to MK that the Lady had spoken true; they were more similar than they were different, willing to pursue their convictions even at the cost of their own lives.

The only real difference was that MK had gotten to come back. Not that he’d want the Lady to have a second chance at destroying the world, but Azure, at least– poor, broken Azure –was more than deserving, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Eventually, he must have fallen into a fitful sleep, because when his eyes opened next, it was to the sound of Pigsy’s truck parking outside. He wrenched his eyes closed again as the door to the noodle shop rattled and opened, and he knew without even looking at the clock that it was precisely half-past five, because that was always when Pigsy opened the shop, every morning without fail, for as long as MK had known him.

Figuring he wouldn’t get any more rest than what he’d already gotten, MK decided he’d get up and help Pigsy prep for the day. Deliveries wouldn’t be ready to go out for a while yet, and it was touch and go whether or not the shop owner would even let him do them, but he could still do his other chores until then.

MK quickly rolled out of bed, footsteps light as he rummaged around for an outfit, so as not to alert the chef downstairs. If Pigsy came up to check on him, there’d be questions about his reorganized room and barely slept in bed, but if he made it to the shop ready for the day, MK might get away with saying he just got up early. He doubted Pigsy would actually believe him, but he’d get away with it.

Only half the shop’s lights were on when MK peered downstairs, an old habit of Pigsy’s ever since the delivery boy could remember. He was rarely awake so early in the morning, but he knew Pigsy didn’t turn on all the lights until the shop was open for the day. There was just enough light for Pigsy to safely slice his vegetables in the kitchen, and the rest was cast in gentle dawn shadows, an easy sight on MK’s tired eyes.

“Hey, Pigsy,” MK greeted quietly, trying not to disturb the chef’s concentration. “Need any help with prep today?”

For a moment, MK could see Pigsy’s gaze flick to him, expression undecipherable as he pulled a stalk of bok choy from his pile of rinsed vegetables. “You’re up early,” he said, turning his attention back to the rhythmic slicing, “you gettin’ enough sleep, kid?”

“Yeah,” MK replied, and ignored the twinge of guilt that came with his small, white lie, “nothing wears a guy out like saving the universe.” Looking through the closet of cleaning supplies, MK tacked on, “Except maybe a Monday lunch rush, but it’s a close second.”

That earned him a huff of laughter, which MK took as a good sign and began sweeping the floors. “Y’know there was a time when sweeping the floor was an uphill battle with you,” Pigsy said absently. “Even doing your deliveries on time was a struggle.”

MK winced, “Yeah, I wasn’t always the best employee, huh.” He swept his line of dust into a pile. “Had my head in the clouds,” he chuckled, “or the arcade games.” Clearing his throat, he sheepishly added, “I’m, uh- I am sorry about that, by the way.”

“Sorry for what?” Pigsy replied easily. “Being an obnoxious, irresponsible young adult?” He shuffled the collection of sliced vegetables off his cutting board and into a bowl. “You may not have been the best employee, but you were always a good kid, MK. I was doin’ way worse at your age, trust me.”

“Oh,” MK said, dumping his full pan of dust into the trash. “That- that’s funny, you know, considering how many times you  threatened to fire me.” Pigsy’s rhythm faltered a bit, dark eyes darting to MK with an intensity that had him glancing away. “I mean, I definitely didn’t feel like a ‘good kid’ when you did that.”

Admittedly, the sentence had come out a little more bitter than he’d meant it, and MK blamed his exhaustion for not being able to deliver the comment with the light-hearted air he’d wanted. It wasn’t as though Pigsy’s strictness had been malicious, it was just how the shop owner was, and MK wouldn’t have changed him for anything. The day he’d spent in the calabash proved how much he preferred the original, gruff Pigsy over one with soft edges and a too-sweet demeanor.

“But it was probably good for me,” MK continued quickly, shoving the broom back into the closet of cleaning supplies. “You know, teaching me responsibility and, uh- diligence, and stuff.” He ducked into the closet to fill his mop bucket before Pigsy could formulate a response. While the water ran, MK scrubbed his hands over his face in an attempt to banish the tired pulling at his eyelids, smacking his cheeks to wake himself up.

Pigsy was still staring when he emerged from the closet, studying MK carefully and he dragged the mop over the floor. He’d long grown used to the shop owner’s scrutinizing stare when it came to judging his performance as an employee, but it felt different in recent months, like Pigsy was trying to peer into MK’s very soul.

“Kid,” he said finally, and MK took a fortifying breath. “MK,” he persisted, “do you think I’m gonna be angry with you for not doing deliveries or somethin’?”

“No,” Mk replied honestly, “it’s not like that, I just-” And it was hard to explain for the same reason he couldn’t quite manage his usual cheerful demeanor; he was exhausted.

There would always be some deep-seated desire to make sure Pigsy was proud of him, but he’d also always known that threats of being fired were half-hearted, at best. The shop owner hadn’t been a perfect guardian, but MK figured out of all the things that might give him a complex, Pigsy’s parenting was the least of his concerns.

Grip tightening around the handle of his mop, MK sloshed more water across the floor–perhaps a bit more violently than necessary. “Look, I didn’t- I don’t know why I said that.” He purposefully hovered over a stain he knew wouldn’t come out so that he could scrub furiously at the floor, taking out his frustration without looking suspicious. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, “I’m just tired.”

Humming, Pigsy noted, “I thought you said you were sleeping.”

MK’s mouth twitched to scowl, and he was thankful that he’d trained his gaze so firmly on the floor. “Well, I don’t know if that’s exactly what I said,” he replied, keeping his voice as even and neutral as he possibly could. It was never a good thing when Pigsy caught him in a lie, not because he feared a punishment to fit the crime, but because Pigsy had developed a habit of prying, and MK wasn’t quite ready to talk.

“Well, I know that’s what you said,” Pigsy said shortly, “and it sounds like you lied.” When MK didn’t immediately deny the accusation, Pigsy continued, “So, you’re not sleepin’, but you wanna start doin’ deliveries again?” MK huffed and dunked his mop back in the water. “Kid, it ain’t healthy to just- to keep goin’ like this.” He could hear the edge in Pigsy’s voice, he was concerned and irritated–perhaps more irritated with himself for not being able to handle the situation, but that didn’t make MK feel any better; he was the one making the situation difficult. “A year ago you would’ve killed for a day off from work.”

“Yeah, well, now I’ve killed,” MK snapped, “and I decided I’d rather be working.” The moment the words left his mouth, he was struck with ice-cold guilt, but seeing as he couldn’t face Pigsy and he couldn’t very well walk away, he continued to mop as though he hadn’t said anything, though that didn’t dissuade the piercing gaze burrowing into the back of his head.

The slim, wooden handle of the mop creaked a bit when Pigsy spoke again. “You got somethin’ you wanna talk about, kid?”

MK ducked his head, forcing his hands to loosen their grip before he broke the handle. “I’d rather mop,” he said quietly, barely audible over the sound of his own roaring heartbeat. “It’s just more Mystic Monkey business, anyway,” he added, trying futilely to deter Pigsy from asking any more questions, “and you hate dealing with all my ‘magic mumbo-jumbo’, so…” he trailed off, “just not gonna talk about it, I guess.”

He’d half expected Pigsy to let him leave it at that, but his heart sank at the staccato sound of a stern chef setting down his ladle. “Kid,” Pigsy said with military firmness, “you’re done cleaning.” MK was actually only half done mopping the floor, but once Pigsy had pulled out the Dad Voice, there wasn’t much point in arguing with him. “Put that away and sit down.”

Part of MK was frustrated with the intervention, more than anything he just wanted to do his normal chores at his normal job like a normal delivery boy. A year ago, Pigsy would have loved this sort of dedication from MK, but it seemed the more he wanted that life back, the less of it he got to have.

Surprisingly, Pigsy didn’t confront MK after he put the mop and bucket away, and he didn’t say anything once MK had sat down at the bar, either. MK let his arms rest on the wooden counter and buried his face in the crook, closing his eyes as though he were merely resting, and not childishly hiding from Pigsy’s sight.

“I’m not angry with you,” the suddenness made MK flinch a bit, but he otherwise gave no indication that he’d heard, “you know that, right? I’m not mad that you don’t wanna talk about it.”

MK mumbled, “Maybe you should be.” But he didn’t really want Pigsy angry with him, even if he deserved it, so he shifted the conversation a bit, “Why aren’t you?”

“Because you’re havin’ a hard time,” Pigsy replied. “And givin’ you a hard time on top of it ain’t gonna do either of us any good.”

There was a lot MK wanted to say, but the last bit of his frustration had left him, leaving only the bone-deep tired that never seemed to fade. So he stayed hidden in his arms, listening to Pigsy go back to his morning prep. He knew it wouldn’t have been very productive, but he’d have preferred to sit in the quiet ambience of the shop rather than have a conversation. At the very least, it might have allowed him a bit more rest.

But Pigsy didn’t seem content to let them sit in silence for long. “You know,” he said, “when you were a kid, I couldn’t get you to talk for nothin’.” MK didn’t lift his head, but he turned it enough to hear Pigsy better. “Quiet as a mouse, when I found you, following me with your big, brown eyes starin’ right into my soul.”

“Huh,” MK muttered, vaguely intrigued by the direction of conversation. “Now you can’t shut me up.”

“And I wouldn’t want to.” MK could hear some clattering around as Pigsy continued prepping for the day. “Never had too much trouble figurin’ you out back then, and whatever you couldn’t explain or point to, you could draw.” MK’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t dare look up. “But then, there was this whole week you just refused to go to bed.”

Hesitantly, MK asked, “What was wrong with me?”

“Wasn’t anythin’ wrong with you,” Pigsy said. “You were a toddler, and scared of the dark.” MK opened his eyes and stared at the fabric of his jacket, curling his arms tighter around his head. “Hard to draw ‘the dark’, though, huh? I think you broke just about every black and gray crayon you could find tryin’ to tell me what was wrong, but I eventually figured it out.” There was a brief lull, then, “Well- Tang figured it out,” he admitted. “Point is, sometimes it’s hard talkin’, and nobody here is gonna hold that against you.”

MK could feel the disgust for his own immaturity carving a pit into his stomach. “Yeah, well, I’m a big boy now,” he muttered bitterly. “Maybe I should use my words.”

Pigsy sighed, not impatiently, but it still made MK want to curl in on himself. “It’s not a matter of ‘should’,” he said, “you just can’t.” MK dug his teeth into his bottom lip, blinking back a burning in his eyes. “That’s nothin’ against you, kid; you had a lotta growing up to do in the last year, lotta things to, uh… process.” Pigsy huffed out something that might have been a laugh, if it weren’t so laden with melancholy, “And I’m not doin’ much better in the processing department myself.” He shook his head. “I feel like I used to read you like an open book, but with everything that’s happened, there’s some things I just ain’t equipped for.”

There was more to the statement, MK was sure of it, but that didn’t stop his heart from plummeting to his stomach–though he supposed he was happy to feel it do anything. “What’s that mean?” he asked timidly, finally lifting his head to see Pigsy setting a pot on the stove. “Not equipped for… like, me, in general, or-”

“Wha- no!” Pigsy said, nearly dropping the pot in alarm. “Not you, just-” He took a moment to pinch the bridge of his snout, taking a breath to collect his thoughts. “No matter what happens,” he said evenly, drilling the words into MK’s head, “I’m gonna be here for you, alright? But you’ve-” His hands moved to sit on his hips, head tilted back in frustration. “I dunno what I’m even tryin’ to say here.”

“That’s okay,” MK said quickly. “Look, I get that you’re trying to help, you know? I appreciate it, even if you can’t, like, articulate it well-”

“It is okay,” Pigsy exclaimed, “that’s what I’m sayin’, kid.” At MK’s owlish blink, he tried, “MK, you don’t- you’re always gonna be my son, yeah? I’m your Dadsy, all the way.” Some tension eased from MK’s shoulders at the assurance. “But you’re also somethin’ more than that, you’re- and it’s somethin’ great, MK, you’re somethin’ incredible, but it’s more, y’know? You’ve outgrown this ol’ chef.”

Almost unconsciously, MK’s sneaker braced against a leg of his barstool, knee bouncing anxiously. “Oh,” he started picking at the edges of his nails, then laced his fingers together to stop himself; Tang would kill him–or at least tsk him sternly–if he saw MK had picked up the old childhood habit again, “I’m sorry.”

Pigsy snorted, “You didn’t ask to be ‘chaos incarnate’, kid.”

MK shrugged helplessly, “I’m still sorry.”

“If anyone should be sorry, it’s me,” Pigsy countered. “I know I ain’t always much help when it comes to this sorta thing.” His gaze fell a bit, distant and solemn. “And I am sorry, MK. All this- the celestial destiny stuff, and the meditation amnesia, or the, uh… primordial curses, or whatever, it’s just-” his snout scrunched, “it all kinda goes over my head.

“But bein’ your father means having your back,” Pigsy continued. “And if that means a warm bowl of noodles, I’m in the kitchen; and if it means chasin’ the dark outta your room, I’ll get an extra nightlight for the hallway; and if it means fightin’ giant snake demons, I’ll deal damage with a magic rake.” He tilted his head a bit to meet MK’s downcast eyes. “And if it means you need somebody to talk to that ain’t me?

“Then you go have tea and a heart-to-heart with Sandy, or train all day with the Monkey King.” His gaze turned thoughtful, “Or maybe you find that one real fiery kid- what’s Mei call him? Red Boy?” MK’s lip twitched to smile, a small, aborted laugh escaping his nose. “Don’t matter, wander however far you need, kid.” Reaching across the counter, Pigsy gave MK’s arm a warm, comforting pat. “Your ol’ Dadsy is gonna have a family recipe and a shoulder to sleep on when you get home.”

The warm hand on MK’s arm melted the static under his skin, his anxious twitching fading to a less perceptible tremble. He had to gnaw on his lip for a moment to steady his wobbling voice, “You know you’re not, like… lacking in the ‘having my back’ department, right? You’re the best Dadsy a guy could ever ask for.” He tried for a smile, but if it looked shaky as he felt, then it probably wasn’t the most convincing thing, “I mean, I don’t even understand a lot of this stuff, so-”

“All the more reason for you to try talkin’ to someone who might,” Pigsy said. “It ain’t gonna hurt my feelings none if you need to work out some stuff about demons and chaos and whatnot.” MK hummed and put his head back on the table, more exhausted by his efforts to stay upright than attempting to hide. “Just don’t take it out on the mop next time, huh?”

“Sorry,” MK yawned, already halfway to falling asleep right there on the counter. He was sure Pigsy would let him, at least until Tang arrived for his morning bowl of noodles, and it grew more tempting the longer he let his tired eyes rest. His thoughts blurred together, and all he could manage was another murmured, “M’sorry,” though couldn’t quite articulate why he felt the need to say it. Perhaps for all his earlier snapping, or being on the counter and in the way, or maybe some combination of the two.

The next hour or so passed in blurry increments, MK only occasionally stirring just enough to adjust his head to sit more comfortably on his arms. He could hear Pigsy preparing the shop to open as he drifted in and out of consciousness, boiling water, chairs being pulled off the tables and set on the floor, vegetables being dropped into a fragrant broth–at some point Pigsy had even turned on the small radio, though MK barely noticed as the tinny music lulled him back to sleep.

Distantly, he’d felt himself being moved, some disjointed memory of Pigsy pulling him off his barstool. He’d tried with little success to get his feet under him, mumbling something incoherent even to his own ears, but Pigsy had placated him with a warm grumble. “I gotcha, kid.” And MK couldn’t find it in himself to wrestle with the effort it took to keep his eyes open, so he’d let himself be carried back up the stairs, only feeling a little guilty about how much more difficult it seemed for Pigsy to do this now that he wasn’t a kid.

Actually landing on the bed was probably the clearest memory MK had of the exchange, eyes cracked and struggling to stay open as he kicked off his shoes and fell sideways across his mattress. Pigsy pulled up his blankets, muttering something about MK having done a number on the room. “Pigsy?” he mumbled, trying to pull together at least one coherent thought before he went to sleep.

“Don’t worry about your shift, kid,” Pigsy replied absently. “I’m sure I’ll survive without you for a few hours while you catch up on some sleep.”

MK frowned. “No, I was-” he propped himself up on his elbows, “I wanted to say sorry for not… I want to talk about this stuff, you know?” Pigsy turned to MK with a furrowed brow, sitting next to him on the bed and urging him to continue. “And I will, as soon as I figure out how to- when I fix whatever’s wrong, then-” he managed around the lump of emotions in his throat. “I don’t think I’m explaining this well. I just… I’m just tired.”

“Kid, you save the whole damned universe,” Pigsy said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “‘Course, you’re tired.” MK opened his eyes again long enough to lie down properly, then buried his face into his pillow. “Hell, if I was you, I’d be sleepin’ for a week straight.”

“Yeah, great,” MK huffed out something he hoped sounded like a laugh, “saved the universe and now I gotta take a nap,” like he was a child throwing a tantrum, “because I can’t talk about my feelings.” He was certain that if he’d been less tired, the joke would have landed better, but the words, “Some savior I turned out to be, huh,” fell hard enough to crack his voice, and he clenched his teeth to stop his watering eyes from spilling over. “Sorry,” he whispered, an instinct he couldn’t shake.

There was a hesitation that told MK he’d be in for a long talk later, but Pigsy let the apology slide with a quiet, “You’re doin’ everything you can, son; you’re just scribblin’ with black crayons.” There was a hand in his hair, ruffling the strands fondly and sapping the little energy MK had left. “We’ll get it figured out, I promise.” The bed creaked as Pigsy stood. “Now, I better not see you downstairs until you’ve gotten at least four consecutive hours of sleep, capiche?”

Breathing out a laugh, MK gave a half-hearted salute, “You’re the boss, Dadsy.” With an approving hum, Pigsy left MK to his rest, pulling the door shut behind him with a barely audible click and retreating downstairs.

MK clung to consciousness just long enough to hear the familiar clatter of Pigsy in the kitchen, then surrendered to his exhaustion, lulled to sleep with a gruff voice mumbling along to the radio and the scent of his favorite noodles cooking downstairs. His heartbeat was a distant thought, and the world felt a little less tilted having the comfort of his old man within earshot, just a nightlight and a staircase away.

Rest was dreamless, perhaps too exhausted to conjure up any nightmares for him, and MK supposed he should be thankful for the small mercy while he had it. He’d regained some semblance of consciousness to a distant chorus of familiar voices and he struggled for a moment to truly wake up. It was tempting to let himself slip back into the gentle, rolling waves of sleep, but his eyes snapped open as someone began knocking fervently on his door.

The warm light of an overhead sun disoriented MK for a moment as he blearily reached for the alarm clock sat next to his bed, squinting at the hazy red numbers. The exact time didn’t really matter, he supposed, but it was noon- something, and he had a feeling that the voice attempting to break into his room wouldn’t be too pleased if he managed to sleep through breakfast and lunch.

“MK!” she shouted through the door that separated MK from the rest of the world. “MK, you better get your butt outta bed so I can kick it in the new Monkey Mech game!” Another voice shushed her, a panicked, reedy whisper that could only be Tang, but Mei paid him no mind, continuing her assault on MK’s door.

MK set down his alarm clock, the need to rest still clinging to him insistently, but less heavy than it’d been that morning. His nerves were less fried and his mind less clouded, and he figured that was the best he was going to get for the moment, so he dragged himself out of bed, not bothering to straighten the clothes he’d fallen asleep in or make himself in any way more presentable; if Mei was so bold as to disturb his slumber, then she could stand to see the tired monster she’d awaken.

The door opened to a startled Tang and green-sleeved arm halting mid-knock. “Woah,” Mei lowered her arm, looking only somewhat surprised at the state of him, “buddy, you look rough.”

“Really,” MK deadpanned, haphazardly pushing his bandana into place, “I hadn’t noticed.”

Mei hummed, “Piggy said you didn’t have breakfast,” she said, “so you’re coming down for lunch.”

Tang cleared his throat, “Pigsy also said he needed rest.” He looked to MK apologetically. “I tried to stop her, but-”

“S’alright,” MK yawned, jaw cracking with the force. “I probably shouldn’t sleep all day, anyhow, otherwise I won’t sleep tonight.” Not that there was any guarantee he’d sleep either way, but it didn’t hurt to try.

Slinging an arm over MK’s shoulders, Mei crowed, “Excellent! We’ll get some food in that belly, and then I can kick your butt all the way to the arcade and back.” MK laughed as he was dragged down the hallway. “Piggy!” Mei called from the top of the stairs, “Two bowls of noodles, please!” He was half-dragged down into the shop as Mei cheerfully skipped down the steps. “Extra hearty, for our growing Monkey Man.”

“Make that three bowls,” Tang called after them, making his way down the steps much slower than Mei and MK. “I still can’t believe you slept this long,” he noted while Mei busied herself with shoving MK into a barstool. “I don’t think you’ve slept in that late since you were fifteen.”

Pigsy grunted, “Hey, you’re the one always sayin’ I’m too hard on him,” he pointed out. “Thought you’d be thrilled to hear he’s sleeping in.”

Tang lifted his hands in surrender, “Hey, I’m not complaining,” he replied, “I’m just worried.” MK scrubbed at his eyes, blearily taking in his surroundings as Mei tutted at his haggard state. “Besides, my issue was that you worked him too hard,” Tang continued, “not that he got up for work at six in the morning.”

“Five-thirty,” MK corrected, “work starts at six.” He squinted at a pile of books. “Who’s homework?”

“Tangy brought them,” Mei chirped. “He’s gonna try being all studious and stuff, like Master Subhodi said.”

MK’s brow furrowed, realizing that while he had known about their time with Master Subhodi, they’d been a little too occupied at the time to really go into detail about it. “I thought you guys passed the, uh… the training montage thing. The tests, or whatever it was.”

Mei inhaled through her teeth. “Yeah, we didn’t really have time to finish our training? You know, with Azure trying to kill the Jade Emperor and all. So we didn’t exactly pass,” she shrugged, “but now that we’ve got a little downtime, we figured it wouldn’t be a bad idea to, uh… you know, do a little growing.”

“I’m taking full advantage of the peace and quiet,” Tang declared proudly. “I feel like we’re less and less prepared every time the universe almost breaks, and I’m tired of being caught off guard.” He patted the stack of books. “Next time, I’m gonna have a whole arsenal of spells we can save the world with.”

Pigsy snorted. “Right,” he drawled, “which is why those books have been sittin’ there for the last half hour instead of gettin’ read.”

Scoffing, Tang replied, “Come now, Pigsy, I couldn’t possibly study on an empty stomach.” Pigsy rolled his eyes and handed Tang a bowl of steaming noodles. “Master Subhodi’s teachings aside,” Tang continued, cracking open his chopsticks, “with everyone in the world having some power at their fingertips, it probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to study up on all sorts of magics and arts. Mystic, celestial, demonic-” He pursed his lips in thought for a moment, “though I’m having trouble finding anything substantial on Chaos.”

MK straightened at that. “Chaos,” he echoed, catching the two bowls Pigsy slid across the table and passing one to Mei. “You think learning about Chaos magic would help?”

Tapping her chopsticks against her bowl thoughtfully, Mei pointed out, “I mean, that’s the thing that caused this whole mess, right?”

“I guess,” MK said slowly, “I just- I kinda thought sealing away the Primordial Chaos meant that we, uh… like, wouldn’t be worrying about it anymore?”

“Not worried about it,” Mei replied, scooping a bite of noodles into her mouth. “Jus’ wanna learn ‘bout it.”

Tang nodded, “Precisely.” He ruffled MK’s hair affectionately, “And thanks to you, we have all the time in the world to do it.”

Cracking a hesitant smile at the praise, MK turned to his bowl of noodles. “Until someone finds a brand new way to start an apocalypse, you mean.”

Mei scrunched her nose playfully, “Nah,” she said, waving a flippant hand. “Who’d start a new apocalypse against three-time reigning champs of world-saving?” Her gaze turned thoughtful. “Oh- actually, don’t answer that.”

“Redson?” MK asked.

“Redson would totally start an apocalypse,” she confirmed. “He, like, casually created a botched Samadhi Fire, you know, for funsies or world domination or whatever.” Setting down her chopsticks, Mei slipped a phone out of her pocket and scrolled furiously through her gallery of pictures. “It was the cutest thing I've ever seen in my life, but in a real scrungly way. Like, the world was almost destroyed by the world’s ugliest pug, but,” she shoved a picture in MK’s face, “how could you be mad at this face?”

MK squinted at Mei’s phone, perplexed by the elaborate containment system and the vaguely canine-shaped ball of fire it held, “How did this thing almost destroy the world before I did?” He gently pushed the screen out of his face. “Did, uh- does Redson still have the Samadhi Dog, or…?”

“Yeah,” Mei admitted, “but it’s all good!” She swiped across her phone screen, showing MK a picture of a much smaller, harmless looking creature sitting in a glass jar, “It turned into this after we did some magic ritual thing to make it not on fire anymore, so problem solved!”

“Okay, good,” MK could feel his shoulders ease, relief washing over him, “I mean, I like the guy, but I do not want to think about Redson with a superweapon. That- that’s actually nightmare fuel, I think.”

Tang hummed in agreement, “Very bad for our health.” He plucked a book off his studious pile. “And all the more reason to get studying.”

Mei blew Tang a raspberry. “I don’t have to study to take down ol’ Red Boy. I have the OG Samadhi Fire right here,” she thumped her chest proudly. “I’ll take on that apocalypse single-handed.” She nudged MK’s shoulder, “You don’t mind me taking a turn with the whole ‘world-saving’ thing, right?”

Poking idly at his noodles, MK admitted, “I’d rather nobody take a turn actually. If the world could just, uh… not end, that’d be great. Fantastic, even.”

Pigsy grunted, “I’ll second that.” The shop owner gave MK’s bowl a pointed glance, a silent prompt to finish lunch that he obeyed with little fuss, his lack of breakfast starting to catch up with him now that he was a little more awake. “I oughta make a swear jar for this stuff, keep you morons from talkin’ destiny and apocalypse in my shop.”

MK couldn’t help but agree with Pigsy’s sentiment, already losing the little appetite he’d regained just hearing the words, though he did continue eating if only because it gave him an excuse to not contribute to the conversation. His gaze trailed to Tang’s open book, scanning a page full of sigils and their meanings. He wondered vaguely if he should ask Monkey King about them sometime. The sage had mentioned that he’d still had a lot to teach MK just before he’d-

And the seals and sigils seemed like handy magic to know, anyway. There weren’t a small number of allies and enemies that had used them, so it probably wouldn’t hurt to do some studying up. He wouldn’t want to start with anything as complicated as what Redson had used to get them to the Celestial Realm or whatever seal Monkey King had used on his powers, but-

His eyes darted to his hand, curling into a fist at the memory of a gold circle, the magic at his fingertips tightening around a mane of auburn fur, a scream piercing the air, and MK decided maybe he’d rather not learn such sigils, after all.

The hand on his shoulder ripped him from his thoughts so violently that the chopsticks in his hands snapped. “Wha-” His head shot up to see Mei’s hand hovering over his arm, concern flickering across her expression at the sharp crack of broken utensils. “Uh, sorry. What?”

“Dude,” Mei chuckled, though there was an anxious edge to it that made guilt swirl around his already churning stomach, “you zoned out on us, Monkey Man. What’s the last thing you heard?”

MK’s brow furrowed, struggling to recall the last bit of conversation he’d heard, not realizing that it’d simply continued around him. “I think Pigsy mentioned a swear jar?”

Tang inhaled sharply through his teeth. “Well, that wasn’t the last thing we were talking about.”

“You only zoned out for a minute or two,” Pigsy assured him. “We were just talkin’ about what other words I need to ban.”

Mei huffed, “You can’t ban the word ‘chaos’, that’s literally just our day to day lives. I thrive on chaos, Piggy, you can’t take that from me.” She looped an arm around MK’s shoulders. “Plus, it’s part of MK’s super official title! Y’know, like, Really Cool Sage, Destroyer of Heaven, or whatever Monkey King calls himself.”

“Okay, Mei,” MK said, untangling himself from her grasp, “I love you, man, but if you ever actually call me Harbinger of Chaos, I might have to launch you into space.”

Undeterred, Mei gasped excitedly, “Oh, launch me and Tangy!” she exclaimed. “We never got our space adventure.” The phone she’d left resting on the counter began buzzing insistently. “My mom,” she explained shortly, “I’ll be right back.” She jabbed a finger in MK’s direction as she walked away. “Seriously, though, I wanna see the cool moon lady and her pet rabbits, send me to the space garden!”

“Don’t send me to the space garden,” Tang interjected as Mei retreated to the other side of the shop. “No offense, but Pigsy said Monkey King’s rocket was barely passable, and I’m not sure you even know what a spaceship looks like outside of a videogame.”

“Not really,” MK confirmed. “I was kinda picturing something from Cosmic Pillagers.”

Tang gave MK a dubious look. “Tell me that’s not the name of an arcade console.” MK’s gaze darted back his bowl, pointedly not telling Tang what he’d attempted to fly them to the moon with. “Your silence speaks volumes, MK.”

Pigsy snorted, “You were gonna fly us to the moon in an 8-bit UFO?”

MK shrugged. “Look, I didn’t even know rocket mechs were an option until Monkey King said something, a UFO was just the first thing that came to mind.” He pushed his mostly empty bowl and broken chopsticks across the counter, “I think I could pull it off now, probably. Monkey King never even made a rocket before, and he did fine.”

Tang hummed, one hand idly tapping his chopsticks, and the other cradling his chin thoughtfully, “MK, you can teleport now, can’t you?” he pointed out. “Assuming there’s no planetary limitations to how far you can teleport, you might not even need a rocket to get to the moon.”

Blinking, MK realized, “Oh, yeah.” There was a time when a power like that would have been cause for celebration, a reason to drag his friends to the roof at three in the morning. He supposed he had been fairly occupied during the discovery, but even now it was barely noteworthy. It was a useful skill, to be sure, but it was also just one more power he’d have to learn the basics of and train relentlessly until mastered and probably fight someone with, eventually.

“Right,” Pigsy said flatly. “And, uh- what’s the plan if you miss the moon?”

“Eh, I think it’d probably be fine.” MK pushed his empty bowl aside, “You know what they say: if you miss for the moon, then you’ll aim among the stars, er- something,” He clapped his hands together. “Besides, I bet I could get to the moon, easy peasy!” Although, when he gave it more thought, “Hypothetically, if I did get lost in space, do you think I’d get to meet any aliens?”

Pigsy reached across the counter and bonked MK on the head with his ladle. “You’re not telelportin’ to the moon,” he said decisively, “and you’re definitely not hurling yourself into space to see if you meet any aliens.”

Mei, apparently finished with her call, bounded back over to the counter. “Aliens?” she gasped, clearly having only caught the last few words of the conversation. “We’re gonna go see aliens?”

MK grinned, “Like real life Cosmic Pillagers!” he exclaimed, not because he was agreeing with her that they would, just because it was fun to feed each other’s excitement. “Speaking of Cosmic Pillagers,” he turned to Mei expectantly, figuring he’d be dragged to the arcade now that they’d finished lunch.

But he was met with a hesitance; aliens forgotten, Mei’s beaming expression faltered a bit. “Actually,” she said slowly, “do you think we could take a rain check? My parents just called about a gala they’re attending this evening, and I kinda have to split now-ish if I want to get ready in time.”

And it really shouldn’t have been a problem, there’d be plenty of other days for arcade shenanigans with Pigsy forcing MK to take a break from work. “But you hate those galas,” MK protested anyway. “You used to sneak out through a hole under your garden wall to escape the dress fittings.”

“Yeah,” Mei chuckled, “but considering my whole year has been apocalypse after apocalypse after apocalypse, I’m kinda looking forward to spending time with my folks. Even if it is at one of their stuffy parties.” She gave MK’s shoulder a punch, “Plus, you kinda still look like you wanna fall over,” she added. “So, maybe you rest up today, and I’ll drag you to the arcade tomorrow?”

It was such a reasonable request, and MK couldn’t for the life of him figure out why he wanted so badly to tell Mei, no, he didn’t want to wait until tomorrow. It was the whiny sort of childishness that he’d long since left behind him, unbefitting of someone who’d recently saved the world three times.

Distantly, he heard himself reply with an assuring, “Yeah,” and snapped back to himself. “I mean, it’s not like the arcade is going anywhere,” he reasoned, crushing down the urge to wheedle Mei into spending time with him. “Just make sure you livestream,” he told her, “so I can see whatever gaudy nightmare your parents put you in.”

Mei groaned, “God, it’s probably gonna be terrible; they always want me to wear something uptight and formal.” Then her gaze turned thoughtful, “Although, I wonder if I could request something like that dress Ao Guang’s seamstress made for me. Something nice and flowy and good for running.” She clapped her hands together. “Oh, I bet I could get them to let me add an actual sheath for my sword!”

“Not if you don’t get going,” MK said, urging her towards the door. “And, seriously, I better get so many pictures.” He dodged her swatting hands, shoving his giggling friend through the wooden curtain, “If you’re not running around with at least two ribbons and a bedazzled sheath, I’m disowning you.”

“Disowning me?” Mei managed through a laugh, “MK-”

“Disowning you!” MK sang. Shaking her head fondly, Mei waved him off and started in the general direction of her house. He watched until she turned a corner–a street further down than usual, MK noted, meaning there were probably some repairs being made down the usual streets. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence since the three different apocalypses, not to mention the several neighborhood blocks that got destroyed every time Tim and Jim–or whatever those twin demons called themselves–started causing trouble.

There was a beat of silence, MK staring out into the bustling streets and trying to ignore Pigsy’s gaze boring into the back of his head. He’d almost been able to ignore how different the world had become in the safety of the noodle shop, but even just crossing the threshold seemed so daunting when MK could see a taxi driver picking up his own cab and setting it down curbside rather than attempt parallel parking.

“What’cha thinkin’, kid?” Pigsy asked.

MK closed his eyes for a moment, “I think,” he started slowly, “I’m gonna go to the arcade.” He nodded, mostly to himself, and tried for something more convincing, “Yep! I’m not wasting a perfectly good day off just because Mei wants to go to her parents’ stuffy party.” He scuffed his sneaker against the ground, not quite willing to look Pigsy in the eye. “Besides, with all the streets getting rebuilt and stuff, I figure it’s not a bad idea to map out my new routes for when I start doing deliveries again.” He cleared his throat, “Not in the near future, but, y’know, whenever it happens.”

Pigsy hummed, a dubious, doubting thing, but he didn’t argue with MK about it. “Don’t get yourself lost,” he advised instead, letting MK take the option of having space over getting rest..

“He could always teleport home,” Tang offered. “It’d be good practice for future moon travels.”

“Will do!” MK grinned, turning to shoot his fathers a pair of finger guns as he backed out of the door. “If I’m not teleported back to this kitchen by dark, feel free to grumble about it until I get home!”

He was chased out with some indistinct holler from Pigsy–something about Tang not enabling Mystic Monkey shenanigans. MK lingered just outside the noodle shop for a moment just to hear the light-hearted banter, trying to recall the last time he’d heard Pigsy call Tang a freeloader and coming up blank. He shook his head fondly and turned to the city, taking a fortifying breath before braving the busy streets.

The further he walked from the warm familiarity of Pigsy’s Noodles, the less sure of himself he became. As he’d suspected, there were a number of streets in various stages of repair, though none of them seemed too damaged, certainly not the worst the city had ever looked after an ‘end-of-the-world’ scenario. In fact, the more he looked around, the more he realized that the damage may not have been from the apocalypse at all.

The street that Mei had skipped was closed because of a leaking fire hydrant, and MK could only assume that the sheepish young man anxiously passing a ball of water between his hands was responsible. More than one of the buildings MK passed had a hole in it, one of them still smoking–he had stopped to investigate, only to find the local fire department had already handled everything.

As proud as he was of his city– of his world, really–for adapting to the changes as well as they had, the ups and the downs, it did make him feel just that much worse about his own shortcomings, his reluctance to accept how things had changed, and would change, how it would all be different from here on out, and not in a fixable ‘things could eventually go back to normal’ way.

This was the normal, from the child he saw turn invisible to avoid being tagged to the cat he watched walk up the side of a building. He was surrounded by what he would have once found extraordinary, and could only be wary of it, fear snaking around his ribcage and crushing his heart. Every particularly loud noise had MK’s head snapping to make sure no one was hurt, that no fires had been set, that no cars had started spontaneously floating, or whatever could go wrong–and there was a very long list of things that could go wrong.

All things considered, there weren’t as many detours as he’d anticipated; MK hadn’t been lying when he told Nuwa that the people of Earth weren’t weak, and they were adapting well to the complications of their newfound powers. He only wished knowing that did more to settle his nerves, unable to shake a needling anxiety even as he pushed open the door to his favorite arcade.

The world wouldn’t fall apart if he took the afternoon off to play games, he scolded himself, the city wouldn’t crumble around him if he took some time to enjoy a little peace and quiet. He skirted his way around a gaggle of arcade goers to a token machine, gathering his painted coins and shoving them into his jacket pockets. As soon as an employee noticed he was there, he’d probably be offered more, but he was aiming to lay low until that point and wandered the rows of games until something caught his eye.

It was kind of a moot point to go looking, since he did eventually loop back around to Monkey Mech, forever his go-to arcade game. He’d have to play the computer since Mei was presently unavailable for butt-kicking, but it’d be a nice warm-up to prepare for her brutality. He slipped the allotted tokens into the machine and took a breath, forcing his shoulders to relax, training his gaze on the screen and letting the arcade become ambient noise behind him.

By the time he’d chosen his character and an avatar for the computer to battle him with, he had just about wound himself down from the fight or flight mode that had plagued him since the wee hours of the morning. His thoughts were drowned with arcade music and the sound of his own rhythmic tapping, mashing buttons as soon as the game’s booming announcement declared, Fight! It was absolutely mindless entertainment and just the thing he needed to clear his head.

He wasn’t sure how many levels had passed–it was all a blur of punches and shouting, not unlike a real fight; the way he lost himself in it was similar, in any case–but his attention was swayed slightly by some rambunctious kids racing past him. At first, he didn’t care to know what they were doing, but as he watched one of them kneel before the coin slot of a game, he spared just a bit of focus to tune in.

Doing so cost him a round, but he still had two more lives and plenty of tokens to spare. As Monkey Mech loaded up his next round, the kids mumbled something about coins or tokens, pestering the one inspecting the slot and asking if he was really sure that his plan would work. Some part of MK wondered if he should intervene, but he decided that he was officially off hero duty, and remained only half tuned in while he played.

His lack of vigilance was rewarded with the sound of creaking, and MK had looked up just in time to see several small, silver chunks fly to a kid’s outstretched palms as though they’d been summoned there, and the arcade game began slowly collapsing in on itself. Everyone in the arcade stopped at the sound, the nearest turning to stare as the group of kids tried desperately to be as small as possible.

MK could distantly hear some employees shouting and the sound of his character dying a second time as he walked over to the pile of parts. “Hey, uh…” his sneaker carefully nudged one of the collapsed walls, “what was the plan here?”

Upon seeing the Monkie Kid, people went about their business, probably assuming the situation was handled. Two accomplices stood between MK and the kid staring dumbfounded at the pile of bits and bolts stuck to his hand. They glanced at each other with muted panic, and it wasn’t unlike the glances MK and Mei exchanged when their roughhousing got out of hand, and Pigsy was demanding to know what that noise he just heard was.

He smiled fondly at the memory as he pulled the staff from his ear. “Magnet hands, huh?” he asked. “Pretty neat trick you’ve got there.” He tapped the staff gently against the floor, willing the console parts to settle back into their places. “Hate to tell you, but the tokens here are made of brass, and they’re not magnetic.” The kid on the floor finally looked up, screws flying from his hand as the machine reassembled itself, “Screws on the other hand…”

Perhaps only just realizing how big of a mistake he’d made, or maybe just noticing how big of an audience that mistake had, the kid’s face began turning red with shame. MK felt a pang of sympathy, knowing how it felt to stumble through learning brand new powers and make a spectacle of himself. It was never a pleasant feeling, and although the rest of the arcade appeared to have moved on after seeing the game fixed, there were still a couple of people whispering–and there would always be whispers, even if they weren’t malicious, just people passing along a story; the neutrality of it didn’t make being a spectacle any less embarrassing.

“Check this out, though,” MK reached down to help the human magnet off the floor, hauling the kid to his feet and tilting one end of the staff in his direction. “Try that magnet on this bad boy.” He wouldn’t be able to hold the staff in any way, shape, or form, but MK could hold the staff and let the kid’s hand get stuck to it, no problem. There wasn’t much MK could do about them being embarrassed, but he could maybe offer them a memory good enough to drown it, something to look back on and laugh instead of cringing in shame.

The three kids exchanged furtive glances, like they were waiting for MK to spring a trap of some kind, but their curiosity clearly won out as a tentative hand cautiously lifted and stalled a few inches from the intricate, gold pattern that adorned the end of the staff.

MK felt the staff tug a bit in his hands–he hadn’t actually been sure if the staff would respond to something like a magnet, since it seemed to have a mind of its own about being handled, but he was relieved that it didn’t seem opposed to playing along–and he loosened his grip enough to let the staff slide through his palm. The kid recoiled a bit when the metal hit his hand, but then he blinked, eyes so wide that MK could see the neon arcade lights brighten his face, a small smile of wonder tugged at the corner of his mouth as he wrapped his hand around Monkey King’s staff. MK was still carrying the eight and a half tons of weight, but for all intents and purposes, the kid was holding the Monkey King’s most famous relic. “Cool,” he breathed.

“Way cool.” MK asked, lifting the staff slightly to see if the magnets would hold. The hand wrapped around the staff opened in surprise, but the magic held firm, and MK kept lifting until the kid dangled by the magnetism in his hand alone. “That is some serious industrial strength magnet power you got there , man.”

For a brief moment, MK considered if this would ever be an issue in a fight, but the magic that bound him to the staff seemed to respond more to MK’s desire to be a hero than anything else. So if he wanted the kid’s magnets to work, then they would, but barring Redson making another gizmo, MK assumed he’d be safe from anyone trying to magically magnetize his staff away from him.

He glanced at the other two kids, their skittish gazes melting into awe at their friend dangling from a single magnetized fingertip. “What about you guys?” MK asked, “What kind of magic mumbo jumbo you got going on?”

The tallest of them readjusted her glasses nervously, looking like she hadn’t really expected to be addressed. “I just, uh- I actually just turn invisible? It’s not as cool as, like-”

“Oh!” MK exclaimed, pointing at the girl enthusiastically. “I think I spotted you guys playing tag on my way to the arcade! Just a block or two down, right? You turned invisible and slipped right past a guy.” He tilted his head curiously. “Not sure why you think that’s not, like, super freakin’ awesome, but it totally is.”

“Ha!” the third crowed. “I told you it was cool!” He punched the girl in the arm playfully, and promptly earned a punch in return, though he hardly looked upset about it, “I said, ‘that was totally awesome! I can’t believe you dodged the fastest kid in class!’ but you were all like-”

“You can’t talk!” interjected the kid still hanging from the staff. “I’ve been saying that your hops are mad cool since day one, and you’re just as bad as she is about it!”

The ‘mad hopper’ in question scoffed. “So, I can jump high, that’s not cool! You guys are, like, superheroes, and I’m a sad rabbit boy. My superpower is frog, dude!”

Whatever shyness the girl had about her vanished at the deprecation. “You jumped over a house!” she exclaimed. Hopper blew her a raspberry and crossed his arms. “No, shut up,” she persisted, “you jumped-” she turned to MK, as though imploring him to believe her, “he cleared my two story house like it was nothing. I bet he could jump over a whole skyscraper if he tried.”

MK hummed. “You know, I met a real nice goddess lady on the moon who had these robot rabbits,” he mused, “sounds like you could give them a real run for their money in the ‘mad hops’ department.”

“Dude!” Magnet exclaimed, dropping from the staff and beaming up at MK, “Robot rabbits?” It was his turn to do some roughhousing, clambering to ruffle Hopper’s hair. “You can jump higher than robot rabbits from the moon.” He poked his friend in the cheek, and was swatted at for the offense, “You’re literally awesome and you have to deal with it, Sad Rabbit Boy.”

Glasses gasped, “Do you think you could jump all the way to the moon?”

“Uh-” MK interrupted, “maybe you try some slightly smaller experiments first, okay? Experiments that involve lots of adult supervision and no arcade games.” Suddenly reminded of their troublemaking, all three kids chuckled sheepishly, but looked a lot less embarrassed about the situation in general. “Now, I’m sure you’re all tired of hanging out with lil ol’ me,” he said, “you’re at an arcade!” Flicking his wrist idly, he shooed the giggling scoundrels out of sight. “Go on, get!” he called after them. “And get your tokens the right way this time!”

There was some shouted confirmation, but MK had a sneaking suspicion that there’d be more mischief in their future. Laughing to himself, MK put away his staff and went back to his game. It was still waiting for him to confirm whether he’d like to continue playing, his last heart blinking at him urgently. “Great kids,” he muttered as he geared up for another round. “Good thing I was here to fix that machine.” The kids would have been in a lot more trouble otherwise, and he doubted any of the parents would be thrilled to get that phone call. Pigsy certainly wouldn't have appreciated it, and MK would have probably been banned from the arcade until the end of time.

When he wasn’t so focused on how changed everything was, MK could admit that the new odd, normal world was a little easier to connect with when he did what he did best. He felt good to do a little hero work that didn’t involve stopping an apocalypse–not that a kid attempting to rob an arcade was a threat of any kind, but he felt like a pretty accomplished hero about the situation, anyway. He had to be a good role model even when he wasn’t fighting demons, and it was nice to be someone to look up to, someone that people could depend on. When the world stumbled, MK would be there to catch it, whether it be the end of the world or a broken arcade game.

Unless, of course, he wasn’t.

His hands stilled for a moment as the thought ran through his head a few more times, then he resumed fighting, cursing his divided focus and halved health bar. There wasn’t any point in dwelling on the what-ifs, he was gone and then he wasn’t, so there was no need to anguish over all the things that would have gone wrong if MK hadn’t come back.

But all the things that could go wrong, if he ever left again and couldn’t return, was a whole other track of thinking, and all of the trains on it crashed on impact at the realization. Some day, maybe sooner rather than later, MK’s morality would fail him. He wasn’t quite as indestructible as the stone Monkey King, and not nearly as immortal; the odds that he’d cheat death a second time were slim to none, and if another apocalypse should arise after MK was gone, what then?

Of course, Monkey King would always be around, MK tried to reassure himself, furiously smashing buttons to pull his thoughts above torrent waters. If and when MK did die again, it wasn’t like the world would be vulnerable. The people of Earth weren’t weak, and they’d be even more capable with the newly bestowed magic. Perhaps someday, the world wouldn’t need the Monkie Kid at all. It certainly never needed a Harbinger of Chaos.

MK watched the screen before him blankly as it turned black, red letters flashing a haunted looking You Died! across his reflection. His hands slid off the console, curling into fists at his side as a smaller, white text asked, Try Again? He supposed it was only fair that the universe got to mock him a little, he did go about defying fate and all.

He barely had time to register the second reflection in the glass as a cheery voice gave a sympathetic, “That’s unfortunate,” MK glanced over to see an arcade employee offering him a plate of tokens. “Saw you fix the game,” they explained, “tokens are on the house.”

Numbly, MK shook his head, “No, I’m- I gotta, uh… go.” He brushed past the employee with a muttered apology, all but darting out the door and back into the unforgiving afternoon sun. Blinking back a burn he attributed to the harsh change in light, MK summoned a cloud to swoop low just long enough for him to clamber on, then he sent it rocketing back into the sky. He was thankful the cloud seemed to mostly steer itself, as MK wasn’t sure he could even make out his own two hands through the wind-stung tears, much less fly himself to Flower Fruit Mountain.

It was sort of a last ditch effort, he supposed, the last place he could think of that might provide him with comfort. MK wasn’t sure if he could work up the nerve to seek out his mentor, he just needed somewhere quiet to collect his thoughts, and since the mountain was almost completely disconnected from the rapidly changing world around it, he figured it’d be the perfect place to clear his mind.

Pointedly avoiding anywhere near Water Curtain Cave, MK all but crash-landed on a ledge somewhere on the far side of the mountain. The nimbus dissipated under his hands, leaving MK to catch his breath on the cool, stone ground. “I’m okay,” he told himself firmly, “everything’s okay.” The mountain was far from a comfortable resting place, but MK was too tired to care, falling on his back unceremoniously and scrubbing at his eyes. “I am literally fine.”

MK spent a long few moments with the heels of his hands pressed to his eyes, trying and failing to stop the steady trails of water slipping down the sides of his face. He took long, deep breaths to ease his tightening chest, clenching his jaw around any hiccups so that they were hardly a sound in his throat. The arcade tokens he’d forgotten in his pockets clinked quietly and the birds that had been frightened off by his landing gradually began singing again, the flora of Flower Fruit Mountain filled MK’s lungs with every steadying breath, and while he loved his city dearly, there was something almost addicting about the smell of flowers and crisp, mountain air.

Eventually, MK let his hands fall away from his eyes, swiping away the last of his tears and staring up at the sky above him. Tree branches swung lazily in the breeze and clouds rolled idly across a blue canvas as MK composed himself. “I’m okay,” he assured himself again, feeling marginally more confident about it, “everything’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” a voice echoed, and the air around MK darkened with a familiar presence. “Because you’re looking pretty rough to me.” MK glared as Macaque solidified above him, hovering with a smile and a raised brow. “Bad day, Misery Kid?”

MK heaved a sigh, “Great. Glad to hear that nickname stuck.” He turned onto his side and pulled the hood of his jacket over his head. “Look, I’m super not in the mood for whatever this is, okay? So if we could hold off on the teasing for, like, three to five business days, that’d be-” he tugged the strings dangling from his jacket, pulling the hood closed to cover his face, “yeah, that’d be great, thanks.”

There was a beat of silence that made MK wonder if Macaque had actually slipped off, then, “Alright.” He could hear Macaque touch down somewhere nearby, clothes rustling as he got comfortable. Rolling over just enough to peek at the shadow, MK narrowed his eyes suspiciously through the small circle of space in his hood. “What?” Macaque asked. “You wanted me to lay off, right?”

“Well, yeah,” MK said hesitantly, “but you… what, you’re just gonna, like, hang out? Here?”

Macaque shrugged. “It’s my mountain,” he replied, “I can hang out wherever I want.”

“Pretty sure this is Monkey King’s mountain,” MK muttered, but he understood. This had been Macaque’s home once, and maybe it still was, in a way; if anything, MK was the intruder. “Are you here to give me some weirdly convoluted life lesson,” he asked warily, “because I think we established how not in the mood I am.”

“I’m here for the view,” the shadow corrected, “you can talk about whatever you want.”

Brows furrowed in confusion, MK sat up and pulled off his hood. He couldn’t yet discern if Macaque had any ulterior motives, but the view was nice, so he reasoned that Macaque wasn’t lying, at least. “I wouldn’t even know what to say,” he admitted. “So if you’re trying to get me to, like, spill my guts to you-”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Macaque interjected, which MK felt counted as teasing, but didn’t have the energy to argue about it. “C’mon, kiddo,” he wheedled, “I’ve been told I’m a great listener. Six-Eared Macaque, remember?” MK grumbled a bit and pulled his knees to his chest. “Brooding is more my thing, anyway,” he added, “it doesn’t suit you.”

MK grasped at his sleeves and hugged his knees tighter. “Why can’t literally anyone else ever find me when I’m like this,” he muttered bitterly. “Why’s it always you, with your weird, shady… probably only meddling because of some scheme, or something.”

“Hey, now,” Macaque protested in mock offense, “I think my meddling was pretty darn helpful the last time I found you brooding.” He raised an eyebrow, “But, by all means, if you’d rather talk to ‘literally anyone else’, you’ve got a noodle shop full of friends that are worried sick about you.” He nodded at the mountain. “Wukong’s just napping, go brood to him if you’re so bothered by me.”

Truthfully, MK wasn’t all that bothered by Macaque, certainly not enough that he was going to drag himself upright and walk away. “Whatever,” he said quietly, and his frustration reared again as Macaque gave a knowing chuckle. “Okay, seriously, if you’ve got something to say, then say it. Can’t stress enough how not in the mood I am for mind games.”

“I don’t have anything to say unless you have something you wanna hear,” Macaque said. “Any burning questions or revelations…” his gaze slid to MK, “any bad decisions you need someone to talk you out of.”

“You didn’t do a great job of talking me out of the last one,” MK replied dryly. “Good thing there aren’t any giant pillars of light to jump into, huh?”

Macaque hummed, “How was that, by the way?” he asked. “Jumping into the pillar?”

“I-” the words caught in MK’s throat for a moment, “it was… I mean, I don’t know, I just walked into it, man. It was easy.” He tittered for a moment, struggling to regain his usual, cheerful energy. “I guess that’s kinda what you want in a sacrifice, though, right? Easy, painless- like nothing even happened.”

There was a lull, just long enough for MK to realize that he’d done something yet again to warrant someone’s concern, and Macaque turned to give him an even stare, “Like nothing happened,” he echoed, “except, you know, the whole dying thing.”

MK swallowed back a burning in his throat. “Yeah, well, I don’t think I get to complain about that,” he murmured, “I knew what I was walking into.”

“Maybe not complain,” Macaque amended, “but you could certainly use a verbal punching bag of sorts.” He gestured to himself with some flourish, “And as your co-mentor, I think I’m qualified to give some advice on the matter.” He tilted his head curiously, “I mean, that’s what the chef said to go looking for, right? Someone to talk to?”

There was a retort on the tip of MK’s tongue, but it died as Macaque’s sentence registered. “How do you know that?” Macaque raised an eyebrow and tapped a round ear. “Oh, that’s- like, that’s not a symbolic name, you can… wait, how far can you hear?” he asked. “You’re not always eavesdropping on us, are you?”

Macaque snorted, “I know I don’t have the best reputation, but I’m not gonna spy on some kid and his noodle obsessed friends for funsies; there’s a literal billion more interesting things to listen to than Tang’s mindless rambles about Wukong.”

“Okay, I got it,” MK snapped in frustration. “You have super ears and you hate my friends, cool, can you just get to whatever stupid point you’re trying to make here?”

Heaving a sigh, Macaque simplified, “You have questions, I have answers.” He gave MK an expectant look, “Shoot.”

For a moment, MK wanted to refuse, but then he gave it more than a moment’s thought and realized that Macaque wouldn’t be offering help if he didn’t think MK needed it. MK needing advice was one of two things that could kick Macaque into slightly more helpful gears–the other being the literal end of the world. And, when MK gave it a couple more moments of thought, Macaque’s offer might not be as hollow as it sounded. “You said something once,” MK said tentatively, “back when we were looking for the Rings?”

“Did I?” Macaque asked.

“Yeah,” MK shuffled uncomfortably, “something about already having a taste of death. I don't wanna pry, but- well, you kinda gave me permission, so…” Macaque gave a noncommittal hum. “Right, so, uh- I mean, what was that like for you? Like, how did you deal with,” he gestured vaguely, an indication to his circumstances rather than the surroundings, “the dying thing?”

The shadow took a deep breath, expression pensive and melancholic. “What happened to me,” he said slowly, “was so incredibly different from what happened to you that I’m not sure telling you about it would help.” MK nodded minutely in understanding, his situation was quite unique, and he could only imagine that whatever had happened with the Lady was much worse than literally walking into the light. “But I can tell you that I didn’t handle coming back well.”

“It was weird, right?” MK asked. “Because ever since I’ve been back, it’s just- I feel so off, like-”

“Like you don’t belong in this world anymore?” Macaque suggested, and MK recoiled a bit at the bluntness, though he supposed that he shouldn’t have been surprised; Macaque never had an issue being brutally honest with MK before . “Feels like everything ended and now you’re back, laying in bed for hours thinking, well, now what?”

“Huh…” MK leaned back on his hands and stretched out his legs, looking up to watch a flock of birds fly overhead. “Yeah, I guess that’s a big part of it.” His eyes narrowed in thought, “I mean, literally my only purpose was to be sacrificed, and it’s just… like, that was it. Now, what?”

Macaque chuckled. “Get used to it, kiddo,” he advised. “Destiny aside, you left the Mortal Realm and forced your way back in.” He fiddled with the collar of his scarf for a moment, “I’ve been around a long time, and it still feels a bit like my soul is somewhere it’s not meant to be.”

MK turned to glower at him, “Super helpful,” he deadpanned. Macaque rolled his wrist theatrically, giving a small bow. “So, is there anything I can do about it? Or am I just going to be miserable and out of place for the rest of my life, like some warrior I know?”

Tail twitching, Macaque curtly replied, “Scathing.” Guilt burrowed a hole into MK’s anger, his gaze flitting from the warrior’s icy stare. “You are out of place, MK,” he said firmly, “and you can be angry about it, cry about it, but no one is going to hand you a place in this world. If you want it, make it yourself, otherwise it’s just this,” Macaque gestured vaguely at MK’s haggard state. “And just this, forever? It’s not what you want, kiddo.”

“Yeah,” MK said flatly, “just make a place. It’s that easy, huh?”

“The only easy thing about it,” Macaque corrected, “is figuring out what you want from this life. The hard work is striving to be that person, every day, for the rest of your second life, even when the world doesn’t feel all that welcoming.” MK worried his bottom lip between his teeth, mulling the advice over. “So, what do you want from this? What kind of story do you want to be?”

A distressed sound escaped MK, “I don’t know!” he exclaimed. “I just… I thought I wanted this, being the Monkie Kid, but then I-” He pressed his hands to the sides of his head. “But after the Lady, all I wanted to be was a plain, old delivery boy again, and now I don’t know what to do.” His eyes wrenched shut for a moment, sorting through his own thoughts carefully, “I guess… I mean, I just wanted to help people, but-”

“And there you go,” Macaque praised. “Delivery boy, Monkie Kid, Harbinger of Chaos, none of that matters.” He reached over to give MK’s shoulder a small shove. “You want to help people. Frankly, I don’t know anyone better for the job.”

MK scoffed. “You can’t think of anyone better than the guy who almost destroyed the world three times?”

“No,” Macaque said firmly, “I can’t.” Somewhat surprised by the shadow’s insistence, MK’s moth clicked shut. “You wanna know something incredible?” his co-mentor asked, and MK nodded mutely. “You don’t get to decide how much difference you make in the world.” He picked up a stray leaf and spun it between his fingers by the stem. “You’re so focused on all this ‘end of the world stuff’ that you don’t see the real impact you make.”

Giving little more than a bitter snort, MK pointed out, “My biggest accomplishment this week was putting an arcade game back together.” With no small amount of sarcasm, he added, “Unless that console was secretly another demon-prison-box thing, not sure how much fixing it really did for the world.”

Macaque sighed, running a hand over his face. “It’s not just about the…” There were a few beats of silence, Macaque staring pensively into space as though wrestling with some internal debate. “Those kids you helped today,” he said finally, releasing the leaf he'd been holding, “do you want to know who they become?”

“Who they-” MK’s brow knitted, “What do you mean?”

“I can hear farther than most people can even comprehend, MK,” Macaque replied cryptically, “I hear everything,” which didn't clear up much of anything. “Do you want to know who they become?”

Shrugging helplessly, MK relented, “Yeah, whatever, I guess… yeah. Who do they become?”

“Astronauts.” MK’s head snapped up, lips parted in shock, though something in his heart soared in delight. “They meet Chang’e,” Macaque continued, “and tell her all about the day they swore they’d go to space together. Something to do with ‘robot rabbits from the moon’,” he hummed in amusement. “They’ll help inspire a new generation of space exploration, all because some noodle delivery guy at the arcade made them feel like superheroes after breaking a game.”

A lump of something painful lodged itself in MK’s throat. “That, um… that’s actually pretty great.” He couldn’t articulate it very well through the fresh wave of tears, but there was a swooping elation in his chest thinking about those three kids making it to space; it was the most comfortable MK had been with his own heart in the last few days, swelling his ribcage with pride–despite not even knowing their names.

“Yeah, pretty great,” Macaque agreed. “Not bad for a guy who doesn’t even belong in the Mortal Realm, anyway.” MK choked out a laugh, too appreciative of Macaque ignoring his barely contained sniffles to bother scolding him. “Even when you’re tired and mopey, you’re doing more good for this world than Wukong ever did.”

MK gave Macaque a withering glare, “I can’t tell if you’re saying that organically or if you overheard Monkey King say it to me, but I’m still super not in the mood to deal with the sass.”

At that, Macaque brightened with a cheshire grin, “Oh, he’s already admitted it himself?” MK’s glare hardened a bit, and the shadow lifted his hands placatingly. “Not the time,” he acknowledged, “no shit-talking Wukong, just advice.”

“Actually, your whole advice shtick sucks, too,” MK managed through a throat wired shut with unshed tears, “You always do this, and it always sucks; I didn’t want another taxing emotional conversation today.”

“Well, you’ve got one more before the day’s over,” Macaque told him. “You still have to explain yourself to the boss when you get home.” MK started to protest, but the shadow continued, “Yeah, you think you’re going to wait until tomorrow, but you won’t be able to sleep until you talk to him.”

“Fantastic,” MK huffed. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, “Can I ask you something?” Macaque tilted his head, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Hey, if you didn't want me asking questions, you shouldn't have offered up your co-mentoring skills; advice was your idea, I told you to leave me alone.”

Macaque hummed, “Make it quick, then,” he conceded, pressing a hand to his knee and standing. “I do enjoy our chats, but there’s a play in town I’ve been meaning to catch.” His tail flicked idly as he checked an invisible watch on his wrist. “You may be my favorite student, but you are not ruining my evening plans.”

“Gee, thanks,” MK drawled, and Macaque tapped his wrist with theatrical impatience. “Alright, look, just… what about you?” MK started, his mouth moving faster than his thoughts as he scrambled to expand his question, “Your reason, I mean. For being here? For finding your place, what was…” he laced his fingers together tightly, avoiding Macaque’s gaze. “What was the reason?”

“Good question,” Macaque mused, “with a complicated answer. It’s definitely a more selfish reason than, like, ‘wanting to help people’. You’re a much better person than me in that regard.”

“In most regards, really,” MK corrected. “Like, in pretty much all the regards, I’m a better person than you, I think.”

Nodding in agreement, Macaque admitted, “Yeah, probably.” He scratched at his neck idly, pursing his lips in thought for a moment before, “Not that it’s any of your business, but my place in the Mortal Realm has always been the same. I just, uh… haven’t bothered putting in the work since I got back.” He flashed MK a small, genuine smile, “I don’t have it together quite as well as you do, Smartie Kid.”

MK laughed, “Now, that’s a nickname I can get behind.” He stood and brushed off his jacket, not pressing Macaque any further on the subject, since the shadow seemed determined not to give a straight answer. MK had a feeling he knew the reason, anyway, it just would have been nice to hear Macaque admit it. “Man, I don’t feel like I have anything together,” MK said, flexing his legs and stretching his back to iron out the soreness creeping up his body. “I feel a little ‘falling apart at the seams’-ish, actually.”

“That’ll happen,” Macaque replied, jutting a thumb in the general direction of the city. “You should probably get back to your old man before you pass out here, he’ll be worried sick if you end up being home after dark.”

“Yeah,” MK agreed, “real stickler for curfews, that guy.” He rolled his shoulders and shook out his hands. “Alright, got any tips on teleporting? I kinda did it by accident last time, like, uh… a reflex or something.”

Macaque snorted. “Pretty sure your little light show works a lot differently than my portals.” As if to demonstrate, a swirling pool of darkness opened at Macaque’s side. “You’d have better luck asking Wukong or Tang.” He sidestepped, slipping through the shadows, the only clue to where he went being the hand in MK’s hair. “But in your current state,” he teased, rocking MK’s head around with the force of his ruffling, a far cry from the affectionate gesture Monkey King usually provided, but reassuring in its own aggressive way, “my advice is to walk home.”

Swatting at the shadow in vain, MK hissed out a, “You’re such a-” but Macaque vanished before he could finish the thought, “You suck!” he hollered to the air. “I hope your super ears can hear me call you a jerk!” But Macaque’s jab aside, MK had a feeling the shadow was speaking from experience about not teleporting while tired. Last thing he needed was to plant himself in the middle of evening traffic.

If nothing else, the long walk down Flower Fruit Mountain gave MK time to check his phone. He had an alert notifying him that Mei was online, and opening her stream revealed a very pleased looking swordswoman with a flowing gown and a whole tray of tiny sandwiches. There were a few confused, disapproving faces in the background of the video, but Mei appeared to be enjoying the gala regardless, which was really all that mattered. Even Mei’s parents, the brief moment they were on screen, looked fondly at their daughter’s antics.

He tapped out a quick, slayed! in the chat so that Mei knew he’d tuned in as promised, prompting her to gush over the dress design, and rather smugly declare that her scabbard should more than secure her place in MK’s will, as he couldn’t possibly disown her with a sheath so fabulous. MK chuckled to himself at the flood of hearts filling the screen in agreement, and laughed harder at the GIF of a sneezing dog that spammed the chat–no doubt Redson’s attempt at deciphering Mei’s language of cute pets.

Content with his update on Mei’s gala, MK slipped his phone back into his pocket and started for the city. The walk was long and winding, and he stopped every once and a while to say hello to any of Monkey King’s subjects he passed; it was a welcome change in pace from his usual racing up and down the trails for training or getting back to Pigsy’s to do deliveries, and he took the time to decide what he was going to say to the shop owner, since he apparently wasn’t waiting until after he’d gotten some rest to do it. He found that it was a lot less intimidating to think about now that his feelings were a little more sorted, and the walk was really quite pleasant despite mulling over how to discuss his death with his father.

By the time MK reached the bottom of the mountain, dusk had fallen over the city, street lights flickering on and the city nightlife slowly coming to life as he walked. MK must have driven the streets thousands of times doing deliveries, but there was a muted vibrance about the city at night that made it feel like a whole other world. Three stumbling club-goers waved to MK cheerfully where a businessman at lunchtime rush might have pushed past him, and one of them even offered MK a glow stick as he passed. It was so small, so trivial, but it made something in MK’s chest thaw a bit, and he rolled the small gift in his hands as though it were treasure.

It’d been a while since he’d gone on a walk through the streets so late, and there was a hum to it that he missed; the city never slept, but traffic was slow and quiet, music and voices drifted on the cool evening breeze. He was so caught up in gazing around that he almost didn’t notice that he’d made it home, the only thing disrupting his autopilot being a familiar neon pink glow.

Pushing aside the wooden curtain to Pigsy’s Noodles brought the scent of herbs and spices, and MK breathed the warm comfort as he poked his head in. “Home before dark!” he declared proudly. “You know the sign’s still on?”

“Must’ve forgotten,” Pigsy grunted, reaching over to flip the switch that’d turn off the lights outside the building. There was no way someone as routine-oriented as Pigsy forgot to turn the shop’s lights off–late by a second or two, maybe, but a glance at the clock told MK he’d gotten home at quarter after six, a whole fifteen minutes past closing time.

MK smiled to himself about nightlights and neon signs while Pigsy finished up in the kitchen. “How was business today?” he asked, spinning the glow stick between his fingers idly. “Need me back on deliveries anytime soon?”

Pigsy hummed. “I reckon we’ll be alright,” he said. “Had a lot of people in the shop for the dinner rush, if you can believe it.” At MK’s surprise, he swore, “Honest to god, folks sittin’ at the tables.”

“You mean those aren’t for decoration?” MK asked, “People other than Mei and me are supposed to sit in those?” He was rewarded with a carrot slice to the forehead, snickering a bit as he flicked it back across the counter. ”You know, I’ve noticed we’re getting more people sitting at the bar outside lately, too.”

“Yeah,” Pigsy replied, “I noticed. One of them just about took my face off.” MK hummed, remembering the girl who breathed fire after trying one of Pigsy’s spicer soups. “Did you see the other fireball that happened?” the shop owner asked, pulling the lid off a pot he had simmering. “Passed it on my way in today, big ol’ hole in the wall. Like a flaming wrecking ball came barreling through the building.”

Chuckling, MK confirmed, “Saw that, and an exploded fire hydrant not too far from here. Not to mention the arcade game I had to fix.” Pigsy raised an eyebrow at him, prompting a defensive, “Hey, I didn’t break it,” MK explained, “a kid with magnet hands thought he could pull tokens out of the machine through the coin slots, ended up yanking out all the screws instead.”

A spoon dipped into the pot, stirring lazily for a moment. “What a world,” Pigsy grumbled, ladling out a bowl of warm noodles and passing it to MK. “Things are gettin’ crazier by the day.”

“Eh,” MK shrugged, “I think it’ll work out.” He took the bowl from Pigsy, his stomach sharply reminding him how little he’d eaten as he cracked open his chopsticks. “Just takes time.” While Pigsy busied himself with making another bowl, MK tucked in–he almost immediately regretted not checking how hot it was, but it only marginally slowed him. “Thanks for dinner,” he mumbled to Pigsy around a mouthful of noodles.

Pigsy didn’t reply, merely pulling up the barstool beside MK and giving him a firm pat on the shoulder. They ate in comfortable silence, and MK took advantage of the quiet to think of some way to open the conversation that needed to happen. Macaque had a way of getting people to open up that MK envied, as trying to pry at those feelings himself proved a lot more difficult.

“You’re awful quiet,” Pigsy noted, breaking the silence only when he and MK had finished their dinner. “Somethin’ on your mind, kid?”

MK hummed, pushing aside his bowl and reaching for the uncracked glow stick. “A few things, yeah,” he admitted. “It’s, uh- I think I figured out why I’ve been so moody lately.”

Brow raised curiously, Pigsy prompted, “Oh?”

“Yeah,” MK rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, “so, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about… and there’s not, like, a nice way to say this, I guess, which is why I’m having such a hard time talking about it, but-”

A warm weight on his arm gave him pause, “Take your time, kid,” Pigsy encouraged. “I don’t need to hear it ‘nice’, I need to hear what I can do to help.” MK nodded, swallowing back his anxiety and forcing a steadying breath into his lungs. “Now what’s been keepin’ you up, huh?”

Wrestling just a few moments more trying to make the words softer, MK finally managed an ungraceful, “I, uh- well, I died.” A heartbeat of silence passed, an eternity of Pigsy’s gaze boring into the side of his head. “And I knew that, of course, it’s not, like, big news or anything, but I think it took a minute to really hit me.” He fiddled with the glow stick in his hands nervously, pointedly avoiding Pigsy’s gaze. “It’s hard to explain.”

“I think I got it,” Pigsy said slowly. “I mean, I ain’t ever gonna understand how it felt, doin’ what you did, but I think I get where you’re comin’ from.” The hand on his arm squeezed for a moment. “Seems like it’s hittin’ you pretty hard, kid–not that I blame you.” He leaned forward a bit, trying to meet MK’s gaze. “Is there anythin’ you need me to do?”

MK shook his head. “I’m not sure this is something we can fix. I left the Mortal Realm, and now I don’t… I don’t belong in it anymore.”

“Bullshit,” Pigsy retorted sharply. “What, just because destiny says that you- well, I’m not buying it.” He chuckled, low and dangerous, and MK had the distinct feeling that if there was a way for Pigsy to fight Nuwa himself, he’d do it. “I think we both know how I feel about all that fate and universe crap.”

Lifting his hands in surrender, MK placated, “I know, not the biggest fan myself.” Pigsy looked placated enough, so he continued, “But it’s not about destiny or fate, it’s not- it’s not about anything. I just died.” He cleared his throat, reaching for the glow stick to keep his hands occupied. “It’s not something people are supposed to come back from, you know, and being alive again doesn’t… something changed in me after the Pillar.”

He could tell Pigsy wanted to argue MK’s place in the universe further, but the shop owner relented, “Alright, I hear you.” He reached to take MK’s empty bowl, stacking it on top of his own. “I can see why you’re losin’ sleep over this, kid, I’m…” the shop owner set his jaw, biting back an emotion MK couldn’t quite pin down, “I’m sorry I can’t be more help.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” MK offered. “It’s not like feeling out of place is the end of the world or anything.” The glow stick in his hands cracked a bit, a single swirl of yellow streaking through the plastic tube. “As long as Mei needs a gaming buddy, and you need a delivery boy, and kids at the arcade need a Monkie Kid, then I’ll be fine.” He glanced up at Pigsy, relieved to see some of the concern had eased from his shoulders. “I don’t need destiny to belong in the Mortal Realm; I already belong right here.”

“You’re damn right,” Pigsy agreed, voice strained with tears MK knew would only fall once he’d left the room. “The world never needed any destiny harbingers, anyway; we just needed a you.” MK smiled, methodically cracking the rest of the glow stick while Pigsy took their bowls to the sink. He’d usually have offered to help with the cleanup, but he knew he’d be refused, as Pigsy was only retreating to the kitchen to discreetly swipe away tears he thought MK couldn’t see. “You gonna talk to Monkey King about this?”

MK made an unsure noise, “Probably not.” He cupped the cracked glow stick to see it illuminate the darkness between his hands. “I mean, if he asks what’s wrong, I’ll tell him, but it’s kinda hard to get real in-depth about dying with someone who’s, like, a bajillion times immortal.” Pigsy hummed, running water in the sink and complaining about a splash, snatching a towel to scrub at his face–with a barely audible sniffle that MK pointedly ignored. “I, uh… actually ran into Macaque.”

At that, Pigsy turned, raising an eyebrow. “More shady advice, I take it?”

“Hey, he was pretty helpful with the Azure situation,” MK protested on Macaque’s behalf, “even if the videogame thing was kinda weird and convoluted, and not a great way to do lesson plans.”

Pigsy hummed, turning back to his dishes. “So, he gave you more convoluted advice, then.”

“Yeah,” MK sighed, “but it helped, I think. He really isn’t that bad a co-mentor when he’s not worrying about the world ending or, like, scary demon ladies that wanna kill him.” His gaze drifted to the counter tiredly, the grain in the wood blurring a bit as he yawned–the day’s emotional toll and full stomach both hitting him at once. “Maybe he’ll mellow out a bit, now that the universe is safe again.”

“We can only hope.” Pigsy replied, grabbing a towel to dry the clean bowls. “Maybe he and Monkey King can start figurin’ out their, eh… whatever they need to figure out.”

Pocketing the glow stick, MK slid off his barstool and made his way into the kitchen, “You know, I do think they’re getting close to a breakthrough,” he said, taking a freshly dried bowl from Pigsy and reaching for the cabinet door to put it away. “They got along well enough for us to escape the Underworld.” Pigsy gave him a dubious look. “They almost held hands when the world was ending,” MK insisted, “it’s progress. Maybe next time the apocalypse happens, they’ll manage a whole conversation.”

“Ah! No ‘apocalypse’! Pigsy said sharply, smacking MK with his drying towel. “I ain’t kiddin’ about this swear jar,” he warned. “we’re keepin’ the ‘end of the world’ words outta my shop.”

MK lifted his hands in surrender, “Alright, alright,” he placated, plucking the other bowl from Pigsy’s hands and putting it away, “no more ‘end of the world’ words.” Pigsy huffed in approval, then startled a bit as MK leaned down to wrap his arms around sturdy shoulders. His vocabulary could live without ‘apocalypse’ and ‘destiny’, and it gave him an opportunity to try some kinder words. “Thank you,” he mumbled, struggling to remember when he’d gotten too tall to hug his father properly and coming up woefully blank, “I don’t think I say that enough.”

Slowly, as though MK might break, Pigsy gave him a reassuring pat on the back. “Never needed to,” he replied, then he shifted to hug MK properly. “But I’ll take it over the apologies.” MK hummed into his shoulder. “Seriously, kid, me and Tang were thinkin’ about adding I’m sorry to the list of swear jar words.”

“Well, I’m gonna be in swear jar debt until you start letting me do deliveries again,” MK teased, pulling out of Pigsy’s grasp to offer the shop owner a mischievous grin, “Maybe if I get a good night’s rest, I can get back to earning my keep tomorrow, huh?”

Pigsy snorted, “You get a solid week of good nights’ rest, then we’ll talk about you gettin’ the keys to your tuk-tuk back.”

“Three nights?” MK wheedled as Pigsy nudged him in the general direction of the stairs. “Three really, really good sleeps, and then I can start delivering again?”

He’d probably get away with three nights of good rest if Pigsy’s softening expression was anything to go by, but the shop owner insisted, “Maybe five.” He nudged MK in the direction of the stairs. “I’m gonna finish closing up shop and head home. Got anywhere you need to be tonight?”

“Eh, maybe leave the spare key just in case,” MK said, “but I think I’m gonna go watch some Monkey Cop reruns and pass out.” Resting a hand on the banister, MK tacked on an extra, “Thanks,” because his excessive gratitude was better received than excessive apologies–though he was certain that Pigsy would catch onto the loophole soon enough. “For, you know, pretty much everything.”

“Get your tail upstairs and get some sleep,” Pigsy grunted. “I’ll see you in the morning, son.”

Smiling at the chef knowingly, MK teased, “Love you, too, Pigsy.” as he made his way up the creaking steps. It’d probably be a couple of hours before Pigsy finished cleaning up, and the quiet clattering of dishes and dull, pattering footsteps only tugged MK closer to the edge of sleep. He pulled his phone and glow stick out of his pocket, setting them both on the nightstand before wrestling his heavy limbs into some pajamas.

He still felt every bit as exhausted as he had that morning rearranging his room, but it was a much more comfortable kind of tiredness. Sleep called to him like a siren song and MK sank into the mattress willingly, cocooning himself in blankets and burying his face into the pillows. His heartbeat echoed softly in the cool sheets where his head lay, but it wasn’t the ominous, thudding warning it had been that morning, just a quiet, steady reassurance as his eyes drifted closed.

In the morning, MK’s eyes would open to the sight of a dull glow stick and the sun rising over a neon city, to the sounds of Pigsy’s grumbling and Tang’s enthused ramblings about his studies, to several puppy gifs from Mei letting him know just how badly she was going to kick his butt in Monkey Mech. With his heartbeat came the promise of another day and, destiny and fate and the universe be damned, MK would spend that day–and every day after–being nothing other than achingly, wonderfully alive.

[mylo-space]

It's the End of the World as We Know It

Summary: After freeing Wukong from the Scroll of Memory, there is little else for the mystic monkeys to do but train while they wait for Azure to bring the fight to Flower Fruit Mountain. That, and attempt some decent conversation, so it's good thing Nezha is surprisingly great (and brutally honest) company. They may even be bold enough to try having a conversation with each other, if they can keep their shit together long enough.

Posted on Ao3: 2013-09-20 Word Count: 8,591

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Watching a new generation of warriors be trained by the king’s hand was a familiar enough sight that it struck a long-still chord deep in Macaque’s chest. Granted, the hands were a bit more trained than the young infants of Flower Fruit Mountain and the weapons far more dangerous than a few spears, but Macaque still found himself just as endeared to MK and Mei as he was to Wukong’s subjects.

It was different in a lot of ways, of course, the oversized helmets and weapons donned by white-furred hands had felt more lighthearted than what was happening in the training session down below. There hadn’t been a need to take it seriously, since there was no danger on Flower Fruit Mountain that Wukong and Macaque could not contain. Individually, they could take on demons five times their size–and Macaque had, those years Wukong had vanished to train–but together they were all but unstoppable.

They had been, at least.

He and the injured prince watched with critical eyes as Wukong trained with MK and his friends, occasionally offering the team a constructive tip or, in Wukong’s case, a less constructive criticism. Nezha had opted out of doing actual training so that his wounds could heal as much as possible before their fight with Azure. Macaque, on the other hand, opted out of training because had no one to impress and nothing to prove. And even if he trained for the few days they had leading up to the fight, the amount of control and focus it took to hone his powers would be nearly impossible to accomplish on a mountain full of people.

With the little time they had left, either MK and Wukong could beat Azure, or they couldn’t. Hardly mattered if Macaque trained or not.

He watched, feeling something akin to fondness, as MK put a tip to good use, seizing the moment Wukong tried to catch him with a sweeping tail, dodging the auburn fur set to trip him and striking Wukong’s back while he was open, knocking the king off balance. Macaque had been just as satisfied by the thud of Wukong hitting the ground when he’d pulled off the trick for the first time. Of course, they’d been much younger, then, a little more carefree. Wukong had snatched his arm and dragged Macaque to the ground with him, wrestling until Macaque had breathlessly relented.

Now, though, there was only a proud smile and ruffled hair, a few encouraging words from the king. It was familiar, in some ways, but still so different from the Wukong that Macaque had known.

“You’re not training with the others, then,” Nezha said suddenly. It wasn’t an abrupt enough break in the silence to have startled Macaque, the prince had been shifting for the better part of an hour, clearly wanting to ask something. “Never thought you would give up the opportunity to punch Wukong.”

Macaque huffed out a laugh. “Could say the same for you,” he pointed out. “Heard you and the king had a go around for the map.”

Nezha’s face twitched into something resembling disdain. “He was holding back on me.” He turned to face Macaque. “You haven’t answered my question about training.”

“Think I’ll sit this one out,” Macaque said, leaning against a support beam. They had been watching from the  roof a little closer to the training area to observe the hand to hand combat, but once Wukong and the kids started throwing some real power around, they decided to move to the second floor balcony a little further away. “Not really interested in squaring up with the king at the moment. Our situation is a bit strained these days, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“As if anyone in the realms could forget,” Nezha replied. A studious eye raked over Macaque. It’d been a while since he’d seen the prince face to face, and they had ever been particularly close, so he supposed there was a lot to take in about each other. “I am considering a question, though I’d rather not have another stitch burst, if possible.”

Macaque’s eyes narrowed. “I suggest you proceed with caution, then.”

“Of course,” Nezha returned to watching the training session below, waiting for the clash of metal to subside a bit before continuing, “I wanted to ask about your… very specific choice of clothing.”

“What about it?” Macaque asked.

“Is it folded incorrectly,” Nezha asked, “your hanfu?”

Which was an interesting question, because it was folded incorrectly, and it wasn’t. A hanfu was meant to be folded left over right and, once upon a time, Macaque had folded it that way, but the eclipsed pattern on his clothing had been decidedly shifted, two stripes guiding the right side of his hanfu over the left.

“No,” Macaque said, keeping his gaze trained somewhere past Wukong’s sparring match. “It’s folded exactly the way it needs to be.” The way someone might fold it for a funeral service, right over left, a corpse waiting to be buried.

“I see,” Nezha replied quietly. “I had heard stories, but-”

“Careful, prince,” Macaque warned.

Nezha nodded, a barely there movement in Macaque’s peripheral. “I understand.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t often wear traditional clothing, but I imagine I’d have to style similarly if I did.”

“Oh?” Macaque considered Nezha for a moment. His death wasn’t a topic he enjoyed, but the prince wasn’t one to pry where he wasn’t qualified. If there was anyone that could navigate this conversation with any amount of grace, it would probably be Nezha. “Well, I… hope it was kinder to you than it was me.”

“It was restless wandering, mostly,” Nezha told him. “I wouldn’t call it cruel, the… space between, but it was certainly no kindness.”

“It’s impartial,” Macaque agreed. “Hard to take it personally.” The space between being alive and being dead was perhaps the strangest part of dying. It hadn’t lasted long for Macaque, mere moments of his spirit floating free of his body before the ribbons of shadow around him turned to chains and dragged him into the ground. But the prince's soul had been too young, too burdened, too full of turmoil to pass on, leaving the last wisps of Nezha’s dying breath to wander the earth.

The prince gave a minute nod. “I suppose ‘impartial’ is a good way to describe it. I imagine your journey was less so.”

Macaque couldn’t suppress the shudder that shot through him, though the prince was kind enough not to mention it. “The afterlife isn’t nearly as impartial as the dying, no.” Everyone had their vices in life, their punishments in death. Whether a spirit walked the earth or the Underworld, the dead had only one thing in common: chains. “Not that the dying was pleasant, but the space between was duller, less loud.”

“Is that how it was for you?” Nezha asked, “Loud?”

“Was yours quiet?”

“It was…” A hand drifted to Nezha’s neck, absently tracing something hidden by the collar of what was left of his dress. “It wasn’t peaceful, but I was at peace with my decision. I suppose it was quiet, in some ways. Like the world had been narrowed down to me and my fate, but,” his brow furrowed, “it mostly just burned.”

Macaque raised an eyebrow. “Burned?”

“I didn’t expect it to,” Nezha said. “I suppose I didn’t know what I expected it to feel like, but I did know the sting of a blade.” His gaze grew distant. “Dying by blade hurts a little differently, it was like… I could feel the warmth bleeding out of me.”

“Horrifying,” seemed the only appropriate reaction, if a little blunt.

“Indeed,” Nezha agreed. “And after that, everything was just…”

“Limbo,” Macaque provided.

“Numb.” The sound of claws on stone caught Macaque’s attention, a familiar spot of blue accompanying them on the balcony. “I thought I’d be angrier about dying,” Nezha mused as he reached down to wrap a gentle hand around the cat’s middle, lifting Mo into his lap, “about what had happened while I was dead, but the anger didn’t come until after my resurrection, and it was… not a particularly pleasant time for anyone. Feeling again was more overwhelming than I thought it’d be.”

Humming thoughtfully, Macaque added, “Being warm was an odd one for me. Still is, sometimes.” Being more than scared, confronted by things softer than chains and less frigid than ice, still felt a little like dreaming, sometimes. It was hard to reach out and grasp the warmth without the fear of waking up and losing it all again.

Nezha’s hand rested atop Mo’s head, idly carding through the bright, orange fur, “Being cold was awful for a while,” he said, “The wind felt so sharp in the winter after being stuck in limbo for so long.” He made a disapproving noise, bordering on disgust, “And being wet-”

Macaque gave an equally disapproving grunt, “And the noise.”

“And the light.” Nezha’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though the lights in question had appeared to annoy him. “I had never realized how unbelievably bright the Celestial Realm was until my second life.”

“I get a migraine just thinking about it,” Macaque muttered, “and there’s no night time in the Celestial Realm, either. Can’t imagine that’s any fun.”

“I’ve grown used to it over the centuries, but It was certainly an adjustment,” Nezha confirmed, and Mo pressed into his hand with a happy purr. “The first few days were the worst of it, learning to feel and breathe again. I was fortunate enough to have my teacher, Taiyi, to guide me through the weeks following my resurrection.”

And Macaque hadn’t been fortunate enough to have anyone by his side for his resurrection, but that might have been a good thing. Macaque didn’t like being vulnerable, and he had been a mess trying to shake off the feeling of death, curled in a ball on the ground and clawing the cold out of his skin. “Glad you had somebody,” Macaque told Nezha genuinely.

Nezha offered a kind condolence, “I’m sorry that you didn’t.”

“Well,” Macaque shrugged, “kind of my own fault, I guess.”

“Does…” Nezha gave their general area a good look around before continuing. “Did Wukong know what happened to you?”

Macaque hesitated. “I… thought he did.” glancing down to the training below, Macaque let himself ruminate about the centuries he’d spent seething over what had happened between them. He had assumed that Wukong knew what he’d done to Macaque, making him vulnerable to the thing that consumed him, before running back to the precious pilgrimage. “I guess I’m not sure anymore. I know he knows now, but I don’t think he knew at first.”

“But you were under the impression he knew the whole time,” Nezha tilted his head questioningly. “Did you not speak after..?”

“No,” Macaque chuckled bitterly. It’d only served to fuel his anger, how Wukong had treated their fight with an airy disinterest, like taking an eye and leaving him for dead was a justified punishment for briefly inconveniencing their Journey in a failed attempt at showing up the king. It hadn’t occurred to him at the time that Wukong might not have known. “No, I was already too angry and distant to do much talking after what had happened. I think by the time he found out, we were a little past saving.”

Really, he wasn’t sure why it never crossed his mind, or why he was so willing to assume that Wukong had truly left him for dead. Maybe the decades he spent watching Wukong’s retreating back was enough to convince him, and leaving him half-blind and alone was just the blood-soaked cherry on top of a bitter, cold ache that Macaque had carried around for a thousand years.

If Wukong could leave him alone on the mountain to be a royal stable boy, to harness more power, to find more sources of immortality, why not leave him for dead? Why not shed the figurative turned literal dead weight?

“It is a recorded event in the book,” Nezha said, drawing Macaque from his thoughts, “I imagine it’s common knowledge to anyone even remotely familiar with the Journey. Rather, it should be.” He chuckled, “Though, I suppose it’s safe to assume that Wukong never bothered to read it.”

“The one media about himself that Wukong won’t consume,” Macaque said, an amused lilt finding its way into his voice. “The book.” He gazed up at the setting sun as Wukong began calling off the training session. “I suppose he doesn’t have to, though, considering he lived it. Kid hasn’t read it, either, actually. I think he just hears all the stories second-hand from Tang.”

Nezha hummed, scooping Mo into his arms and standing. “Well, the Great Monk’s descendant is a decent storyteller, from what I hear, if a little vague about the more… graphic details.” He nodded to the team below them, winding down from their sparring. “We should join them. I believe the pig has finished preparing dinner.”

Macaque nodded. “I’ve got it,” he held a hand out to the empty air and opened up a portal. “After you, Lotus Prince.”

Said prince gave him a withering glare, “I am capable of taking the stairs.”

“Sure, you could,” Macaque replied amicably, “but the portal is already here, so…”

With a roll of his eyes, Nezha stepped through the portal and into the training area below, immediately swamped by MK and Mei demanding to know how they’d done in the ring. Macaque followed close behind, his ears twitching at the sudden onslaught of noise. He’d been fairly tolerant of the noise so far, but there was only so much his sensitive ears could handle before he needed a break.

In any case, the training session appeared to have gone well, if MK and Mei’s twin beaming smiles were anything to go on. A little red in the face, and more than a little breathless, but unmistakably proud of themselves. And for good reason, in Macaque’s opinion, every single member of MK’s ragtag group of fighters had been improving by the day.

“Grub’s up in five, kids,” Pigsy grunted.

“And assorted immortal beings,” Tang added.

Macaque leaned against a nearby pillar. “What’s on the menu, pig man?”

Pigsy shot him a glance. “Family recipe,” he said curtly, “zha jiang mian.” The pig still didn’t seem particularly fond of Macaque, which was probably fair, all things considered. “And you’re welcome to a bowl so long as you’re not stealin’ it.”

“I would never steal from such a fine establishment,” Macaque said, somewhat offended that his character had been mostly boiled down to ‘thief’, especially considering how much Wukong had stolen over the centuries. “I’d be more worried about ol’ Monkey King over there.”

“Hey!” Wukong called from the other side of the training area, his arm held out for Sandy, who appeared to be inspecting an injury of some kind. “I’ll have you know that my thieving days are over. Long behind me.”

Macaque hummed. “Right, yeah,” he turned to the Lotus Prince, “hey, Nezha? How’s that map to the Samadhi Fire doing?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Nezha answered plainly, “Wukong stole it.”

“And fairly recently, too,” Macaque added, giving Wukong a sideways glance. “So much for your thieving days being behind you, huh?”

Wukong scoffed, “Okay, I don’t think the stealing should count if I was trying to save the world.”   He waved Sandy off with a polite flick of his wrist and straightened his sleeve. “I was doing important hero stuff! The mends justify the means,” he said. “Er- something.”

“I think it’s ‘the end justifies the means’?” Mei chimed in thoughtfully, “And considering we didn’t actually use the map to find, like, any of the rings, I’m not sure the end did justify the means.”

MK hummed in agreement, “No, yeah, we pretty much found all of the rings without it. I mean, we couldn’t really even read it, much less follow it anywhere. Kind of, uh… a not very helpful map, like, at all.”

“Well, I did use the map to release the Samadhi Fire,” Tang pointed out. “But that turned out to be sort of a bad thing. So, I’m not sure that end justified the means, either.”

“Okay!” Wukong put both his hands up in surrender. “Not my brightest move, I’ll admit.” He shot Macaque a glance and a crooked grin. “At least I didn’t release the universe-destroying superweapon.”

“Didn’t you hear?” Macaque nodded to the monk’s descendant. “Tang released the Samadhi Fire.”

“Oh, just an innocent bystander, were you?” Wukong rolled his eyes. “Hey, Tang,” he called, “mind telling me who told you to release the Samadhi Fire?”

Tang cleared his throat. “Well, that was- Macaque, technically, did force me to do it.” He adjusted his glasses and glanced away, “But I also think it was... I don't know, destiny? Sort of. I think the Samadhi Fire would have been released even if we had been able to try Monkey King’s plan.”

Pigsy handed Tang a bowl of noodles. “Yeah, you mean the Monkey King’s non-existent plan?”

“The plan existed,” Wukong protested, “It just, you know… wasn’t a very good one.” It was odd having people poke fun at his less-than-effective planning skills again. On the one hand, it wasn’t unfamiliar, Macaque had done much the same thing centuries before, back when he still cared enough about Wukong to try and stop him from doing dumb shit.

Macaque snickered. “Sounds like most of your plans.” And as strange as it was receiving feedback about his plans again, it was even more surreal hearing it from Macaque. To hear the taunting, teasing lilt of his voice without the bite. “I guess some things never change, eh, Wukong? Just as reckless and impulsive as ever.”

Wukong put his hands on his hips. “Says the guy still slinking around the shadows,” he countered. “Guess I’ll be making better plans around the same time you get a new gimmick.”

“Oh?” A portal opened near Macaque, “But my gimmick is so much fun.” An arm disappeared through the portal, and Wukong barely had time to open his mouth for a retort before something was clamped around his ankle. Whatever he had been about to say was lost alongside his balance as his leg was tugged out from under him.

The embarrassment of face-planting the training area was offset a little by the good-natured laughs of MK and his friends. Still, he gave the best glare he could manage from the ground, which Macaque met with a raised brow. “Jackass,” Wukong whispered, far out of everyone else’s earshot, but Macaque’s left ear flicked, the corner of his mouth twitching into something resembling a smile before he turned away.

“Monkey King?” MK offered a hand, a giggling waver to his voice. “Need help?”

Grunting, Wukong sat up and took MK’s hand. “Just great,” he muttered, letting MK haul him to his feet. “Thanks, Macaque. As if I wasn’t sore enough today.”

A solid hand landed on his shoulder. “I have a great ginger tea recipe if you get too sore with the training sessions, Mr. Monkey King,” a kind voice offered, not for the first time in the last couple of days. “Could boil some up right now, if you’d like.”

The big, blue friend had been hovering since Mei had gotten in a good shot with her sword. The girl packed a lot of firepower, and while there was nothing she could do to physically hurt Wukong, taking those kinds of hits still took a toll on his body with the quiet burn of stiff joints and sore muscles. “I might take you up on that, brother,” Wukong said, and tried to ignore how much Sandy’s smile reminded him of Wujing’s.

“Tea, later,” MK said, tugging Wukong’s sleeve and pulling him in Pigsy’s direction. “Noodles, now.”

“Alright, alright,” Wukong laughed, letting himself be dragged across the stone floor and to the fire pit Pigsy had set up to cook. “After dinner, we should probably head back to the house. This temple’s big and all, but a bit too exposed to spend the night.”

Nezha set Mo down to take a bowl of noodles offered to him by Tang. “Agreed. The house isn’t the most secure place, but it’s better than the cliffside.”

“Sleepover!” MK cheered, as he had every night they stayed at the house so far, him and Mei throwing pillows and blankets into piles on the floor and declaring movie night. Wukong was happy to indulge them, as they all were, wanting to give the kids as much normalcy as possible while they trained for Azure’s arrival. Waiting for the Brotherhood to come to them gave them time to train and prepare, but it also created a cloud of overhanging stress, wondering when it was all going to come crashing down.

“Might head out early, if that’s alright,” Macaque said. “Find myself a couple of blankets before MK and Mei steal them all for a pillow fort.”

Wukong studied Macaque carefully as MK and Mei both protested in sparing even a single blanket for their fort, both of them abandoning their bowls of noodles to crowd around Macaque with sparkling, puppy-dog eyes. Amusement crinkled the corners of Macaque’s eyes, though the lines of his face remained passive, smiling in a way only Macaque could. The same way he’d attentively watched over Wukong’s subjects, gaze soft and knowing. It warmed a part of Wukong’s heart that had sat idle for as long as Macaque had been absent from the mountain.

Then Macaque’s gaze slid to Wukong, a muted sense of urgency in his eyes that made Wukong stand a little straighter. They hadn’t done much more than glare at each other in the last thousand years or so, but he still understood what Macaque was asking for, even without the words.

Macaque wasn't leaving to be a brooding menace somewhere, he was asking to leave because he needed to. "Hey, MK,” Wukong called, “you gonna eat these noodles?” He slowly reached out for MKs abandoned bowl with his chopsticks. “I’d be happy to take them off your hands, if-”

“Nope, no.” His successor abandoned his attempts at persuading Macaque to build a pillow fort with them to dart towards his bowl, snatching it up and holding it out of reach. “You are a menace to noodles everywhere, Monkey King.”

Wukong placed a hand over his chest. “Slander! And from my own student.”

“Wukong trying to steal food,” Nezha intoned. “Never heard that story before.”

“Not like he’s famous for it or anything,” Mei added teasingly.

As Wukong spluttered out some weak excuse, he watched Macaque slip behind a pillar and disappear. He should have expected it, really, Macaque had never particularly liked large gatherings. Even the Brotherhood had been a lot for him, back in the day, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise that Macaque would need a break from the harsh sounds of training.

“Here,” Wukong startled a bit at the voice, glancing down at the bowl of noodles being presented to him. “Before you go snatchin’ food from the kid, how ‘bout you ask for a bowl, first.”

Wukong laughed, “Aw, where’s the fun in that?” He took the bowl from Pigsy and absently summoned a cloud to sit on. “Gotta keep the kids on their toes, y’know?”

“Training’s over for the day,” Pigsy said. “Give it a rest, yeah? You and the kids have earned a break.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Just trying to lighten the mood a little.” And distract MK and Mei from the now-missing Macaque. “Thanks for the noodles, Piggy.” Wukong tacked on, stabbing his chopsticks into the bowl of noodles and swirling the broth around.

“Pigsy,” the pig corrected him.

“S’what I said.” In lieu of response, Pigsy gave an irritated huff. But he seemed content to let it slide, moving so that he could sit next to Tang with his own bowl of noodles and tuck in. He didn’t have the best relationship with the shop owner, considering everything that had happened on their journey to find the rings, the lies and secrets, but they were taking small steps.

MK made a whining, disappointed noise, causing Wukong to look up from his bowl. “Wait, did Macaque actually leave?” he looked around with a frown. “I thought we were past the whole ‘running off’ thing!”

“He just went back to the house, MK,” Mei nudged his shoulder. “We’ll see him in, like, half an hour.”

“Yeah,” MK deflated a bit, though he still smiled and leaned into Mei with a playful nudge of his own. Wukong hadn’t known MK would be so off-put by Macaque’s absence, otherwise he might not have helped the shadow slip away. “We’ll have to trap him in our pillow fort later.”

Mei gasped and grabbed his shoulder. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “We can wrap him up, like a burrito! Not even Macaque could escape my patented Burrito Blanket technique.”

Wukong refrained from mentioning that Macaque could, in fact, escape a Burrito Blanket without too much effort. If he told them now, then they’d never try it, and he was more than looking forward to seeing Macaque get jumped by two young hooligans armed with blankets.

Nezha made his way over and took a seat on the steps near Wukong’s hovering cloud. “You seem more at ease, lately,” he commented.

“I think at ease is the wrong way to describe it,” Wukong said. “Kinda hard to relax when the entire universe is on the verge of collapsing.”

“And, yet, this is the most I’ve seen you smile in centuries.”

Spluttering out a laugh, Wukong tried to brush past the very pointed statement. “What- Nezha, buddy, I live in paradise with a hundred loyal subjects and all the peaches I could eat. I’ve been doing nothing but smile for the last thousand years.”

Nezha gave him a dubious look. “Wukong.”

“Alright,” Wukong sighed. “Look, sue me for being proud of the kids, okay? I know the world is pretty much dissolving, but have you seen the way MK and Mei have been training? MK’s had his power for less than a year, and he’s mastered techniques I spent a decade studying under my first master.”

“Master Subodhi?” Nezha asked. “That’s not necessarily a well-kept secret anymore, Wukong. Anyone who’s read the book knows who taught you the 72 Transformations.”

Wukong shrugged. “Yeah, well, I promised I wouldn’t say.” He briefly wondered if Macaque would have anything to say about promises. Or something to quietly brood about in the corner, at least. “First promise I ever made, and I intend to keep it.” Though it was far from the most important promise he ever made. That promise had no place in the book, engraved only in his memory and an ink-cursed scroll, quiet assurances under the shade of a tree.

It was a shame, really, that the most important promise he ever made was also one that he had failed to keep.

“Right,” Nezha said absently, scooping himself another bite of noodles. “And you’re sure it’s just the training that’s got you in such a chipper mood?”

“Well, there’s always the good company,” Wukong gestured around them, to MK and his friends. While he didn’t know the rest of them as well as he knew the kid, he did thoroughly enjoy spending time with them. “A decent meal, chillin’ with my favorite prince, my best student, and his friends? Couldn’t think of a better way to spend my time.”

“And Macaque.”

Wukong let out a startled laugh. “Macaque?” he asked in disbelief. “We must have different definitions of good company, Nezha, because I- I mean, he’s just, you know… hanging out, scheming up something shady, probably,” and he knew he didn’t sound very convincing, because he didn’t feel very convinced. It had been easy to keep believing that Macaque only ever stuck around for his own self-interest, because the alternative would be so much harder to accept, and Wukong could only handle one earth-shattering event at a time.

Confronting Azure, at least, was a danger that Wukong could measure, a threat that he could see and fight, but grappling with the idea that Macaque might still care was something that could break Wukong entirely with its weight.

“Who is it that you're trying to fool with this… callous disinterest?” Nezha asked. “Because if you truly did not want Macaque here, you would have found a way to make him leave by now, and everyone knows it.”

“Uh- because I don’t need to find a way to make him leave,” Wukong scoffed. “Eventually, Macaque will run off all by himself.” And even as he said the words, a wave of doubt crested the edges of his confidence, unsure if he could bear Macaque leaving him again so soon after reliving their fight in the Scroll of Memory. “Besides, it’s not like I invited him to save the world with us.”

“Nobody invited him to save you, either,” Nezha reminded him. “And we both know Macaque can’t be forced into something he doesn’t want to do.” Which was true, of course. While Wukong was usually the one titled stubborn, Macaque could be pretty obstinate when he wanted to be, and always had been.

But that brought about a train of thought that Wukong tried hard not to dwell on, not wanting to distract himself from the training he'd been doing.

In the quiet lull that came with everyone eating and winding down from sparring, Wukong allowed himself just a moment to think about Macaque, and what it meant that the shadow had come to help them save the world. And what it meant that Macaque had come for Wukong in the scroll. 

The memory of their fight had been so raw when they’d found him. The whiplash from the warm sand and warmer laughter to the stone-cold cave of his prison, poison dripping from their words where there had been promises.

You know I'd help if I could, Macaque had reasoned, and it'd felt like a lie listening to it, as Macaque was still free and Wukong was still trapped.

Just run off, like you always do, Wukong had spat back at him, and it had felt true, abandonment and anger settling into his bones– caged, as Macaque was still walking away.

And even though Wukong had relived the memory, believed it wholeheartedly–Macaque was not coming for him, and maybe nobody was–there the shadow had stood to prove him wrong.

It was a comfort that Wukong didn't deserve, and it made him sick the more he thought about it. Despite their past, despite the memories, despite the risk of being destroyed alongside the Scroll, Macaque had come for him, and they hadn't even asked him to.

“You’re bitter,” Nezha continued, “and so is he. But I don’t think you’re nearly as angry about the whole thing as you pretend to be.”

As a general rule, Wukong did not like to be told what to do and, by extension, what to feel. “And how do you figure that?” he asked, a little sharper than he meant it, but he didn’t like being told that he wasn't angry about ‘the whole thing’ when he was, in fact, absolutely furious.

“Because you cannot possibly be angrier than he is,” Nezha replied, a very intentional blade in his voice that had Wukong glancing away, training his gaze on the bowl of noodles in his lap. It wasn’t an unfair statement, and Wukong was almost annoyed that he didn’t have a retort, but the irritation was quickly smothered by the guilt of knowing Nezha was right. “There’s a part of you that wants this fight resolved.”

Wukong huffed, shoving another mouthful of noodles into his mouth. “Like that’s gonna happen.”

“I think you’re underestimating his willingness to reconcile,” Nezha said, “just as much as he is underestimating yours.” He nodded in the vague direction of the secluded home they’d been using as refuge. “You should talk to him.”

“He wants to be alone, at the moment,” Wukong muttered.

Nezha hummed. “He wants quiet. That’s not the same thing.”

“And what makes you think he’d want my company?” Wukong asked. “We can barely hold a conversation without one of us getting angry.” He stabbed his chopsticks into his bowl, pushing his noodles around more than eating them. “And if one of us gets angry, then we’ll both be angry, and I don’t think being at each other’s throats will help us save the world.”

“Then find a way to not be angry,” Nezha replied. “Because if you don’t, then anger will be the last thing he remembers of you, for a second time.”

Wukong could handle being Macaque’s bitter rival, if he absolutely had to, resigned to the fact that they’d just have to work it out next time– next time, after he was done training, once they dethroned the Jade Emperor, as soon as he was released from the mountain, the second the Journey was over–but the realization that there may not be another ‘next time’ landed like a cold, jagged stone in his stomach. Nezha, thankfully, didn’t appear to have anything more to say, returning to his dinner and letting Wukong sit in silence.

Something warm began wrapping around Wukong’s leg as he stared into his bowl of noodles, Mo requesting attention with an affectionate mew, but in his haze of thoughts the king could do little more than reach down and drag idle fingers over the cat’s striped back. He was pathetically grateful for the distraction to keep him grounded, but it did little to soothe the unease that had settled in his chest.

“Hey, Monkey King?” MK called suddenly, jolting the sage from his thoughts. “We were just about to head out,” he jutted a thumb to Pigsy and Sandy loading the cooking essentials into backpacks and heading towards the thin, winding trail that would lead them back to the house, “you coming?”

Wukong’s bowl of noodles had grown cold in his hands without him realizing, Nezha no longer beside him and instead giving him an expectant look from where he stood at the foot of the trail. The king realized he must have been a little more distant than he thought, seeing the shadows of trees stretching and crawling across the ground in the dying light of sunset. “Yeah, I’m coming! I’m coming, just-” He gave the bowl of noodles in his hand a quick glance before making the impulsive decision to chuck the whole thing over the cliffside.

“Dude!” MK exclaimed, “What did you do that for?”

Truthfully, Wukong just hadn’t wanted MK to see his unfinished dinner and ask what was wrong, and it only occurred to him with MK’s outburst that throwing the bowl might look just as concerning. “Ah, it was made of hair, anyway.” His brow furrowed, suddenly unable to recall if he'd created the utensils himself, or if he had brought them from the house. “I mean, probably. Pretty sure it was.” He cleared his throat, " Uh- anyway!” He guided his cloud to hover around MK and ruffled his hair. "Let's get this show on the road, huh? We're losing daylight."

Mei sucked in a breath through her teeth. "Oh, okay, good. And now there's two of you." Before Wukong could ask what that meant, she asked, "Look, Monkey King, um… you good?

Heat crawled up Wukong's throat and bubbled out of him with an awkward laugh, ashamed of being so upset and embarrassed that he'd been caught. "Uh- yeah, I'm all good. Great, even. And, actually,” he stood up on his cloud, “I’m so good right now, I bet I could beat you guys back to the house.”

The kids called after him as he zipped through the air, protesting the challenge through their startled laughter. It was far from a fair race, but Wukong didn’t care to debate that with MK or Mei, or do much of anything, really. Physically, he wasn’t too worn out, but sometimes just sorting through his own tangled web of thoughts was tiring enough. It wasn't a struggle he particularly liked dealing with, and definitely didn't like having witnesses for, but it was familiar. Distant from the world outside, caged in with his thoughts. He spent five-hundred years doing little else.

In his haste to escape MK and Mei’s pestering and Nezha’s prying eyes, he hadn’t really considered what he was going to do until the others joined him at the house, but with the way he was struggling to keep his thoughts tethered to his body, he probably wasn’t going to do more than sit on the couch and stare at the wall. Of course, his sluggish train of thought finally got around to realizing that if he got to the house before MK and his friends, then he’d end up being alone with Macaque.

Under normal circumstances, Wukong would have turned right back around and walked the rest of the way with the kid, unwilling to try and force civil conversation with Macaque, but… Whatever Azure was planning hardly qualified as ‘normal circumstances’, and Nezha’s advice was the only clear thought that managed to stick to the inside of his head. After all, it wasn’t like talking Macaque would be the end of the world.

The flight back to the house was peaceful, Wukong soaring quietly over treetops and breathing deep the cool mountain air to soothe his fried nerves. The sunset washed over the mountainside, cradling the trees and flowers in its warm light, and the view was just enough to bring a small smile back to Wukong’s face. Whether it was a convincing one remained to be seen, but hopefully it would be good enough to stop Macaque from asking questions.

With the house in sight, Wukong dipped below the tree canopy and hovered above the grass. The lanterns hanging outside were both lit for the incoming nightfall. Macaque must have lit them in case the kid and his friends didn’t make it back before it got dark. The smile on his face tugged a bit more genuinely, remembering how Macaque used to do the same for him, all those centuries ago, when Wukong would come home late from exploring or training or…

He clambered off the cloud and onto numb legs, dragging his gaze away from the lanterns and shoving the memory aside with a determined scowl. Most of his memories of lit lanterns had a soft silhouette accompanying them, waving to Wukong from the doorway. As the cloud floated away in thin wisps and returned to the air, Wukong forced himself to confront the closed door with what he hoped was a fairly neutral expression.

It wouldn’t have been fair to assume that Wukong was the only one nervous about the encounter. No doubt Macaque could still hear everything on the mountainside, including Wukong heading to the house early and walking up the front steps. Wukong briefly wondered if he could still get away with sneaking back to the kid and pretending he hadn’t ever made it to the house. Macaque would have let him pretend, too, if he ran back and acted as though he’d only just arrived with the rest of the group.

Wukong shook his head, clearing his thoughts as much as the fog would let him before opening the door. At first glance, nothing in the house appeared to have been disturbed, then his gaze caught on a shape in the corner. The only movement from Macaque was an idle tail, flicking in acknowledgement as Wukong entered the house.

The whole affair was a bit quieter than either one of them had expected it to be. Macaque had heard Wukong challenging the kids to a race with bravado he could only describe as forced. He’d half expected Wukong to kick the door down and proclaim his victory, Macaque’s hearing be damned.

But the door hardly made a sound as it opened, Macaque keeping his gaze firmly trained on the wall of drawings as Wukong made his way inside. He could hear Wukong pad his way to the couch, boots near silent as they scraped across the floor, a creak as the couch dipped, and then there was quiet. And even though Macaque had come to the house for exactly that, he found himself unnerved by the silence.

Taking a deep breath, Macaque tried to come up with something to say. “So…” he tried, “the kids finally wear you out with training?”

Wukong made a vague noise of confirmation, “Something like that.” Macaque turned just enough to spare the sage a glance. “Think I just needed some space, really, just… needed to not be around people for a minute, you know?”

“So, you came here,” Macaque questioned. With me, goes unsaid.

“You don’t count,” Wukong replied, “you’re not a people.”

Macaque hummed. “Right.” He watched as Wukong’s fingers laced together, anxious hands resting in his lap and his gaze distant. “Good to know.”

They lapsed back into silence, Wukong staring at the floor and Macaque staring at the king. There was a time when Wukong hadn’t been a ‘people’ to Macaque, either. When he needed to be alone and away from anything that made sound, away from people, that had never included Wukong, who would always seek him out with whispered assurances and a strong heartbeat to drown out the noise.

“You know,” Macaque said, furiously shoving aside an ache that felt like fondness, “you would think someone could learn how to make a decent plan after a thousand years of hindsight.” He flicked at a stray red string. “But I guess what you lack in strategy, you make up for with your art skills.”

“As opposed to your superior strategizing,” Wukong asked, “and subpar art skills?” Macaque scowled at him, though the king didn’t appear to find it all that intimidating. “The kid told me about your game, by the way. That it helped him make up his mind about the Azure situation.” He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, hands hanging limply between his legs. “Still can’t believe you made a whole videogame just to spite me.”

“Told you I would,” Macaque replied. “Had to focus on the story a little more than the art, though. Lesson plans, you know?” Wukong made a vague, disapproving noise, apparently still hesitant on the co-mentoring, but Macaque paid it no mind. He hadn’t needed Wukong’s permission to give MK advice before, and he wasn’t about to start apologizing for it right that moment. “I’ll admit, the game doesn’t look nearly as polished as yours, but it’s hard to beat your eye for art.”

“Yeah?” Wukong asked, kicking at a slightly crumpled piece of art, discarded from when Mei swiped it all down to explain her plan. “Still a fan of my art, then?”

“It’s about the only impressive thing you do, really,” Macaque said, bending down to pluck a piece of Wukong’s plan off the floor. “Anyone could throw a punch, but this?” He held up a picture of the Brotherhood. “This is real skill, right here.”

Wukong’s lips twitched, an awkward movement that almost looked like a smile, if it weren’t for the odd stiffness to the sage’s expression. “Well, at least I’m good for something.”

Under normal circumstances, Macaque might have pestered a bit more, perhaps made a snide comment about all the other skills that Wukong so severely lacked in. But given the complete lack of confidence–the complete lack of anything –in Wukong’s reply, Macaque thought it best not indulge in their usual banter. “And I’m particularly fond of your impression of Peng.”

“Hm?” Wukong sat up a little straighter, and Macaque held up the picture for him to see, claw tapping the paper over the little green lines that hovered around the bird. “Oh, I-” The sage breathed out a laugh, “The little stink lines, yeah. I forgot I did that.”

“An inspired detail, truly,” Macaque said. He tossed the paper back to the floor, looking at the other drawings scattered about the room. “Is Peng the only one you drew with stink lines?”

Wukong shrugged, “Only one that deserved it, I guess.”

“So, Azure is actively destroying the world,” Macaque reminded him, “but Peng is the only one that deserves the stink line treatment?”

“Well, Azure and Yellow-Tusk weren’t all that bad when they were part of the Brotherhood,” Wukong pointed out. “But Peng has kind of been a jerk since the beginning.”

Macaque chuckled, “Yeah, no kidding.”

“To you, specifically.”

Which wasn't news to Macaque in the slightest, but hearing Wukong acknowledge it had the warrior slowly turning to face the sage, unsure if he’d heard correctly. “What?”

“I just-” Wukong cleared his throat. “You know, Peng wasn’t all that nice, like, in general? But they were especially not nice to you, so…” He hesitated for a moment. “You knew they were being mean, right? I know you’re not, uh- like, super good with people, but-”

“No, I knew that Peng was a jerk,” Macaque moved to lean against the chest adjacent to the couch. It was easier than talking to each other from across the room, and with Wukong at the far end of the couch, there was still a comfortable distance between them. “I just… didn’t know you knew.” Wukong’s gaze faltered at that, and Macaque, unable to decipher the expression, glanced away. "Never said anything."

The king was quiet for a moment, as though contemplating his next words. "Did you… want me to say something?" He asked carefully. "I mean, you never said anything, either, I just- I guess I just assumed it didn't bother you.”

"It didn't bother me," Macaque said. "I mean, all they really did was call me a coward. Which, you know,” he shrugged, “big deal. I've been called worse things." He waved a hand flippantly, "Besides, we both know Peng ran from way more fights than I did, anyway. Pots and kettles, you know?"

"You know, it's actually kinda funny." Wukong admitted, "Everyone gave you so much shit about not wanting to fight the Jade Emperor, but you ended up being right about the whole thing."

Macaque let out a startled laugh. “I’ll be damned," he marveled. "Did you break something trying to get those words out?"

“Don’t get used to hearing it,” Wukong warned.

“Too late,” Macaque grinned, “I’ve decided ‘Wukong admits I’m right’ is my new favorite sound.” He pushed off the wooden chest and stood in front of Wukong with a teasing tilt to his head. “C’mon, one more time.”

“Shut up,” Wukong said, the words wavering with suppressed laughter, some genuine emotion creeping into his smile. “You were right about fighting the Jade Emperor. Happy?”

“Very,” Macaque replied cheekily. “Don’t worry, Great Sage, I won’t bruise your ego too much.” He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Consider me satisfied.”

Wukong shook his head, rolling his eyes with half a smile still gracing his features. “You’re insufferable.”

With a bow, Macaque drawled, “Why, thank you.” He moved to collapse onto the opposite end of the couch. “It’s nice to have my efforts noticed.” He settled against the cushions, noting how Wukong straightened a little, shifting to sit on the very edge of his side of the couch. Macaque wasn’t sure if he was offended or grateful for the gesture. “Or not ignored, at least.”

“Couldn’t ignore you if I tried,” Wukong replied absently, tipping his head so that it dropped over the back of the couch. Before Macaque could ask what that meant, the sage was pressing another question, “You know what else is funny?”

“How bad your neck is gonna hurt tomorrow from you doing that?” Macaque guessed, earning him a deadpan glare from Wukong. “Okay, okay,” he shifted to drape his arm over the back of the couch, facing Wukong as best he could with the king’s head at such an awkward angle, “what’s funny?”

“That you’re here again,” Wukong answered, “helping me fight the Jade Emperor, again.” Gold eyes pierced Macaque with a sincerity that would have had the warrior pulling back if there was any further on the couch that he could go. “You don’t have to be, you know.”

Macaque crossed his arms and slumped against the cushions. “Well, it’s either I help or the world ends. Seems to be where the stakes are for every fight MK manages to drag me into.”

Wukong’s head lifted from the couch. “Yeah, the kid’s gotten real good at that. Pulling people in.”

“Guess so,” Macaque’s ear flicked at the mention of MK, checking the kid’s progress as he and his friends trekked across the mountainside. “Speaking of,” he said, “hope you’re okay to start being a people again, because MK and his friends are nearly back to the house.”

“Yeah,” Wukong sighed, “yeah, I should be good.” He stretched his arms above his head and leaned back, spine popping loud enough to make Macaque grimace.

“Good,” Macaque replied. “Glad you’re, uh... feeling better." It wasn’t even a particularly friendly thing to say, but it still fit awkwardly in Macaque’s mouth. Wishing the king well after spending so many centuries trying to tear each other apart was… not difficult, really, but it was strange.

Wukong snorted at Macaque’s stilted well-wishes. “Still not good at the whole ‘civil conversation’ thing, huh?”

“Like you’re any better,” Macaque muttered, settling further into the couch and closing his eyes. “Just shut up and go back to hating me before the kid gets here.”

“Already done,” Wukong replied, the couch creaking a bit as the king stood. “Hope you like Blanket Burritos.”

Macaque’s eyes cracked open at that. “Blanket what?”

All he got in response was a wicked grin before the door opened, noise spilling into the house as MK and Mei immediately began their search for blankets. Macaque gave Wukong a tired glare, realizing that he’d forgotten to snatch one for himself before the kids arrived, too distracted by their conversation to bother.

As soon as MK and Mei located nearly every blanket in the house–it was an impressive number for one home, really, but Wukong had always been a collector of comfort items, both for himself and all his subjects–they crowded in the living room, a distinct lack of pillows for a fort making Macaque raise a brow in question.

It took maybe two seconds of MK and Mei giving him mischievous glances to realize what a Blanket Burrito was. If it weren’t for Nezha giving him a knowing glance from across the room, he might have strangled Wukong right then and there for not giving him more warning. Instead, he disappeared into the shadows, appearing and reappearing around the room in a sort of keep away that had both young mortals running into walls trying to tackle Macaque with blankets.

As far as doomsdays went, Macaque had to admit, this was probably one of the better ones. Less lonely than he thought it’d be, less cold. If he had to spend the end of the world doing anything, he supposed lighting lanterns and teasing Wukong’s successor would do just fine. Surrounded by laughter and light and warmth, and occasional comforting quiet, Macaque could almost believe that the world wasn’t ending at all, only giving them a tentative, hopeful new beginning.

[mylo-space]

City Nights

Summary: I'm awful at summaries, but it's basically Wukong dragging Macaque into having a conversation with a familiar face. Macaque, like most social interactions, doesn't feel very equipped to handle the situation at all. In other words, I kinda just wanted some Bai He content and since LMK won't give me it, I decided to write it myself.

Posted on Ao3: 2023-08-06 Word Count: 7,002

-

Living in the city had as many drawbacks as it did advantages, both of which being the constant noise and hum of people and cars. A little overwhelming, sometimes, especially during festivals or other big events, but it was mostly just background noise. And if anything odd happened, Macaque was the first to hear. Not necessarily the first to do anything about it, but certainly the first to hear.

The strangest thing was hearing his own name from time to time. It was very rarely, people occasionally referencing him in the Journey to the West or, more commonly, talking about a likeness of his on one of Wukong’s shows. Still, not a common occurrence.

It became a little more common after meeting the kid, though. The noodle shop where MK worked may have been on the other side of the city, but that was nothing to Macaque’s hearing. He didn’t like tuning in on the kid’s conversations or anything, but he did catch the occasional odd sentence or two, a few of which contained his name.

He tried not to think too hard about what the kid might be saying about him. Nothing good, he could assume, but he was never brave enough to snoop. He liked keeping an ear or three out for demons and other threats, but privacy was privacy, and MK was entitled to his.

Which was why it came as such a surprise to hear his name, not just once, but over and over again, coming from the direction of the noodle shop. He dismissed it, promptly trying to tune out the sound and go about his business, getting ready to make dinner.

“Macaque,” a voice cut through the sounds of traffic outside. “Macaque. Macaque, Macaque, Macaque-” It was an incessant, toneless sound. If Macaque hadn’t already dressed down for the night, cozy in a purple sweater, he’d have gone to go do something about it. But, considering who the voice belonged to, he’d decided that he would rather not.

It’d been so long since the Great Sage had called for him, not since they’d lived on Flower Fruit Mountain together. Anywhere Macaque was on the mountainside, he could hear Wukong, the sage never even had to shout. He could simply call, and Macaque would come. It was a habit that Macaque had assumed Wukong grew out of.

“Macaque, Macaque,” Wukong continued to drone. Macaque grumbled to himself and tried to let the sound fade into the noise of city nightlife. Pulling out a small pot and filling it with water, Macaque was determined to enjoy a bowl of noodles and ignore Wukong until he gave up whatever game he was playing.

Except that Wukong was frustratingly stubborn, and never gave up anything easily. “Macaque, Macaque, Macaque,” he repeated like a broken record. “Macaque? Macaque. Macaque, Macaque, Mac, Mac, Mac-”

Macaque turned off the water and slammed the pot down. “Oh, for crying out loud,” he muttered, opening a portal to wherever Wukong was, his shadows searching until they found the familiar auburn energy and ripped open the space in front of it.

Centuries of portaling around the world, and Wukong was still the easiest thing to find.

“Macaque!” He could hear Wukong through the opening portal. “Macaque-”

“What,” Macaque demanded as he emerged from the shadows, rising from the ground and glaring at the sage standing before him, “do you want?”

There didn’t appear to be any danger, just Wukong standing idly in an alley next to the noodle shop. Macaque recognized the color-blocked jacket, the hood pulled up over his ears as he leaned against the shop’s wall.  “Huh,” gold eyes blinked at Macaque in mild surprise, “didn’t think that’d still work.”

“My hearing?” Macaque asked.

“No,” Wukong replied. “Just the…” he trailed off, apparently remembering what he was supposed to be doing. “Uh- anyway,” he nodded to the noodle shop, “the kid’s here.”

Macaque crossed his arms, already annoyed with the sage for interrupting his dinner, and even more so with the vague response he’d received. “Okay? The kid lives here.” He pointed to the neon pink sign hanging on the side of the shop. “And he works here. Obviously, he’s here.”

“No, no,” Wukong waved him off. “The other kid. She’s visiting for the day, and she wanted to invite you to dinner before she leaves.”

Macaque’s brow furrowed. “Wait, the Lady Bone Demon kid?”

“Yep,” Wukong said, cheerfully popping the ‘p’ and pushing himself off the wall. “And now that you’re here, you’re gonna come say ‘hi’. I told MK that you probably wouldn’t show, but-”

“What?” Macaque asked incredulously, following after Wukong just enough to keep the sage in his line of sight, but not enough to leave the safety of the alley. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes,” Wukong emphasized, pausing to look back at Macaque, lowering his voice so that no one could hear them through the shop’s window. It was closed and locked for the night, but the walls looked thin, and the entrance to the shop was more of a wooden curtain than a door, “you are. You’re gonna come say ‘hi’ to the kid.”

Macaque took a definitive step back, away from Wukong and the gentle yellow light seeping through the shop’s door. “No,” he said, “I am not.”

Wukong’s head tipped back with an exasperated sigh. “Aw, come on, talking to a kid isn’t gonna, like, tarnish your ‘bad guy’ rep. Can you drop the act for one night and-”

“This isn’t about my reputation,” Macaque snapped. “It’s barely been a month since-” the words caught in throat, “and I- I’m the last person she needs to be seeing right now. What the hell made you think this was a good idea?”

“First of all,” Wukong started, "my ideas are always good ones.”

“Not even remotely true.” There was a rattling somewhere, the sound of soft footsteps, and Macaque retreated a little further into the alley to stay out of sight. Probably just a nearby pedestrian leaving their house, but Macaque didn’t want to risk being seen. “Historically, most of your ideas are actually really bad ones.”

“Second of all,” the sage continued, “it was her idea. She wants to see you, for some reason.” He shrugged. “I mean, I don’t necessarily approve, and the pig isn’t keen on having you in his shop, but you did kinda save her, so I guess we can make an exception.”

Macaque rolled his eyes. “Okay, I don’t think saved is the right word here,” he said. “It’s not like I got her unpossessed.”

“You caught her, though,” Wukong pointed out. “If I remember right, you were the furthest one away, and you still caught her.”

And while it was true that he had been the furthest from the kid when she fell, Macaque didn’t really see what that had to do with anything. “So, what?”

“So, knock it off with the tough, bad guy act,” Wukong said firmly, “and come say ‘hi’ to the kid you saved. You’re, like, her hero. It won’t kill you to visit for a little bit, and then you can go back to brooding, or whatever it is that you do.”

Growing increasingly frustrated, Macaque protested, “I didn’t save the kid!” He pointed to the noodle shop, a vague gesture to the people inside. “Look, if she knew half the things I did to the people in there, I doubt she’d ever want to see me again. I’m not a hero, Wukong, and I’m not gonna pretend I am just to impress some kid.”

Wukong groaned. “You’re impossible, you know that?” He rounded the corner of the shop, making his way to the door. “If you’re not going to come in, then I’m sending the kid out here to you.”

Macaque scoffed, moving to lean on the corner of the shop and just under the neon sign, keeping Wukong in his sight without being seen by anyone inside. “I’ll be gone before you can get in the shop,” he said, shadows already pooling at his feet.

“Oh, yeah?” Wukong asked, pausing in his steps to give Macaque an expectant look. “Go on, then.” Macaque scowled, Wukong’s expression growing smug as he stayed rooted to the spot. “Her name is Bai He,” the sage provided as he opened the door to the noodle shop. “Don’t move.”

The door opened and closed, warm light spilling into the streets before retreating again. Without Wukong to argue with, the buzz of the city returned to Macaque’s senses. The shop wasn’t located in a particularly busy part of the city, but it was still alive at all hours of the night, rumbling cars and distant headlights, the murmuring of people in their houses.

But Macaque had his own piece of the city, and a pot of water that still needed boiling if he was going to eat dinner at a decent time. Turning away from the noodle shop and taking a few steps into the darkness, he ripped open the space in front of him, a portal appearing to take him home.

And he was stopped by a sound. A series of sounds, all in very rapid succession. Something confused in Wukong’s voice, followed quickly by MK’s startled response, was enough to give Macaque pause, but the sound of a cat meowing was the thing that really made him stop. That, and the sound of a young girl frantically trying to coax it down.

“No,” Macaque muttered. “I’m not doing this.” Despite saying that he wasn’t, however, the portal sealed itself shut, and Macaque began walking. The girl–Bai He, Wukong had said?--must have been a pretty slippery kid if everyone in the noodle shop had seemingly lost track of her.

As the commotion in the noodle shop became more panicked by the second, Macaque rounded the side of the building, peering around the empty streets for the source of everyone‘s concerns.

And, sure enough, illuminated by a nearby streetlamp, was a young girl with her arms outstretched. “Come on,” she tried, attempting to persuade the cat down, though it seemed perfectly content to relax on the awning it’d found. “Not again, kitty, I really need you to come down now.” She gave a half-hearted jump. “They’re gonna notice I’m gone, please, come down.”

Macaque tilted his head back, glaring at the nearly full moon. It stared back at him impassively, as though daring him to walk away.

“Hey,” he said quietly from where he stood in the shadows, taking a few cautious steps forward, but staying out of the streetlamp’s glow. “You’ve got everyone worried in there.”

Bai He jumped at the sound of his voice, giving the street a panicked look around before finding him. “Oh,” she gave a small wave, her gaze averting, never looking directly at Macaque, “hi, um..” She gestured weakly to the stubborn cat. “He just… you know, he's doing cat things.” Macaque hummed. “I only meant to step out for a minute, just- but then my cat jumped up onto this awning and he won’t come down.”

Chuckling a bit, Macaque replied. “Yeah, cats can be pretty stubborn when they wanna be.” He squinted at the orange tabby, his tail flicking idly as he lounged on the awning, completely unaware of the stress he was causing the girl below him. “Here,” he moved a little closer, the shadows around him pushing and pulling into the space around the cat, “hold out your arms.”

“Um…” Bai He reluctantly held out her arms. “What’s this for?”

“You’re gonna catch him,” Macaque replied easily, opening a portal just above the girl’s open hands. “Count of three, alright?” Bai He nodded, looking skeptically at the portal, but had yet to recoil. Which was odd, Macaque thought, since most people were wary of his powers, but he supposed the girl had been exposed to worse things. “One,” he said, shadows solidifying under the cat, “two,” and the cat fell through the shadows with a started yowl, Bai He gasping as he disappeared, “and, three,” Macaque allowed himself a small smile as the cat was deposited neatly into the girl’s arms, both portals sealing themselves closed.

Bai He beamed, gathering the cat into her arms and holding him close to her chest. “Thank you,” she said, nuzzling into the cat’s furry head, “I didn’t think I’d…” Her gaze caught on him again, blinking rapidly as she finally took a good look at who had helped her. “Wait- wait, you’re the-”

“The guy who’s leaving,” Macaque interrupted gently. “I know, I just-”

“You came!” Bai He exclaimed, startling Macaque as she ran up to him. “Mr. Monkey King said you probably wouldn’t, but I’m…” she trailed off, deflating a bit as she registered what he’d said. “Wait, you’re leaving?” she asked. “But you just got here.”

Macaque hesitated, unused to people being upset at his absence. “Well, I-” he cleared his throat, “I thought Wukong was… I guess, I didn’t think you’d actually wanna see me.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to see you?” Bai He tilted her head. “MK said you’re the one who saved me.”

“Yeah, well,” Macaque shrugged, “MK’s a good kid, but I don’t think he understands that I’m not-” He gestured to the noodle shop, “Look, they’re the real heroes, kiddo, not me. I don’t think I’m someone you wanna be around.”

Bai He frowned. “Why do you get to decide that?”

Macaque blinked. “What-”

“Bai He! There you are,” MK’s voice cut through the quiet city air, “and… Macaque?” he looked relieved upon seeing the girl safe, though his gaze trailed warily to Macaque. “Hey, uh- good to see you, man. Glad I caught you before you disappeared, Monkey King said you were just leaving.”

“Well,” Macaque glanced at the cat in Bai He’s arms, wishing that he could curse the cat for making him stay and help the kid, putting him in a situation he had definitely not prepared for, “I was, but we had a bit of a… cat-related emergency, but I should probably go now, um- didn’t mean to intrude or anything.”

MK frowned. “But we asked you to come.”

“I-” Macaque wasn’t sure how to explain that being invited did not mean that he was welcome. Wukong had already said that the pig didn’t like him there, and he was sure Tang wouldn’t appreciate his presence, either. And Wukong himself seemed exasperated at even having to call him, so, “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” The orange tabby in Bai He’s arms gave an obnoxious meow. “See? The cat agrees.”

“No, he doesn’t!” Bai He protested. The cat meowed again, quickly shushed by the girl holding him. “MK, tell him that we don’t want him to leave.”

“I mean, I don’t want him to leave,” MK agreed, “but it’s not like I can make him stay, either.” He gave a cautious smile. “He’s, uh- a pretty slippery guy, when he wants to be.”

Macaque clapped his hands together. “That settles that, then,” he said. “I’m not going in the shop, and you can’t make me, so-”

“Can I stay out here, then?”

“I’ll just be-” Macaque stopped, the shadows he’d been summoning to make a portal promptly falling back into place. “What?”

“Sure!” MK replied. “I’ll bring you guys some noodles.” He waved them off as he retreated back into the shop. “Be right back! And Macaque,” he narrowed his eyes and jabbed a finger in Macaque’s direction, “you better be nice.”

Affronted, Macaque spluttered, “You- what-”

“Be nice,” MK warned, though there was a lilt of playfulness that suggested that MK didn’t actually believe Macaque was going to do anything. “I’ll be back when Pigsy finishes up the noodles.” And, frustratingly enough, MK disappeared before Macaque could give a retort.

Macaque sighed. “Ah, that kid.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Listen, Bai He, right? I don’t… I don’t know what you’re expecting here, but I really don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be around.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, regretting the lack of scarf to hide in. “I’m not the sort of company people like to keep.”

Bai He made a noise of disagreement. “MK says you’re actually kinda nice, and you’re only pretend mean.”

“No, MK is nice,” Macaque corrected. “And he’s giving me more credit than I deserve.” He shook his head. “But you’re the one that wanted me here, I guess, so… color me curious.” Nodding to the sidewalk. “Wanna sit while we wait for the noodle delivery boy?”

“Did you make a portal?” Bai He asked, taking a seat on the sidewalk. The change in subject was sudden, but Macaque wouldn’t complain. “To catch my cat, I mean. It looked like a portal.”

Macaque nodded. “Yep. I can, uh-” he held out a hand, opening it slowly to reveal a small mass of shadows dancing across the lines of his palm, “well, I can do a lot of things, but, yeah. Portals.”

“Monkey King can shapeshift,” Bai He added, her cat curling in her lap with a content purr. “Can you shapeshift, too?”

It was probably the easiest thing that Macaque knew how to do, shifting his shape to suit his needs. “I mean, I wouldn’t go comparing my powers to Wukong’s,” because while there were similarities, there were also a great number of differences, “but, yes. I can shapeshift.”

“How come you never tried to portal away from me?” Bai He asked. “Or- or turn into a bird, and fly away? You could do that, right? I think I seen you turn into a bird before.”

At that, Macaque tilted his head. “I’m… not sure I’m following, kiddo. I mean, yeah, I could turn into a bird, but I don’t need to fly away from you. Or portal away from you.”

“Not me,” Bai He glanced away. “You know, me. When I was… not me.”

“Oh,” Macaque said in surprise. It hadn’t occurred to him that Bai He might remember some bits and pieces of being possessed. Wukong certainly did, moments where the Lady Bone Demon’s hold on him had been weakened for just a few seconds, but, “Listen, kiddo, we don’t have to talk about all that.”

Bai He nodded. “I know. But,” she glanced up hesitantly, “can we?” Her teeth dug into her bottom lip anxiously. “I tried talking to MK about it, but I don’t… I don’t think he likes talking about it too much. I think I make him nervous.”

All Macaque had wanted was a nice, quiet night in. He’d wanted to make himself a bowl of noodles and fall asleep to the sounds of the city. Whatever this was, he hadn’t been prepared for it in the slightest. “It’s not you, really. It wasn’t you.” He took a seat next to Bai He, though he was sure to leave some distance between them. “MK tends to, uh… not talk about a lot of things.”

“I talk to Sandy sometimes,” Bai He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and Macaque couldn’t help but notice the streaks of snow-white that bled into the dark strands. “He’s really nice, and he has lots of cats.”

Macaque offered a small smile. “It’s, uh- good that you’re talking to someone.” He remembered advising MK about something similar, about getting it all out. Macaque had always been good at giving advice, but never at following his own.

“But still I feel bad,” Bai He said, “and I know I wasn’t- she wasn’t very nice. I don’t remember a lot, but I remember that I was mean.” Macaque set his jaw, refusing to let even a twitch of emotion betray him. Bai He clearly needed to talk, and she didn’t need to see Macaque upset about it. “I think I was mean to the whole world.”

“She was,” Macaque corrected, “but you were just-”

“And I think I was really mean to you.” Bai He looked up at him, something sad and apologetic shining in her eyes. “Or- she was, I guess.”

Macaque took a slow breath. “You don’t need to worry about what she was to me,” he said carefully. “I- are you sure you don't want to go in and enjoy a nice dinner with… nicer people? I’m sure there’s someone better to talk to about this. Wukong is a certified hero,” he gave the word a pair of air quotes, as he didn’t believe in the title as much as the rest of the world did, “wouldn’t you rather-”

Bai He made a face. “I think the Monkey King almost killed me.” Macaque’s heart twisted at the words. He knew Wukong might have been capable of it, with the Lady Bone Demon’s power steadily weakening the way it had been. If it had come down to it, Macaque had no doubt–absolutely zero doubt–that Wukong would have killed the young girl sitting beside him if it’d meant saving the world. “It’s weird talking to him.”

“I get that,” Macaque replied. “I don’t really talk to the guy, either.” He leaned back on his hands. “I dunno if you’ve ever noticed, but he’s kinda full of himself.” At that, Bai He gave a small laugh, which Macaque felt a weird sort of accomplishment about. “Did you know his whole title is the Handsome Monkey King? He made it up himself, no surprise there.” And Bai He exploded at that, laughing hard enough that her voice gave way to a series of high-pitched giggles. “You good, there, Squeaker?”

Nodding, Bai He gasped for breath. “I’m okay, I’m okay.” She let out a slow exhale and went back to petting the cat in her lap. “So, who do you talk to?” she asked, her bout of laughing apparently not distracting enough to stray her from the conversation. “I talk to Sandy, but-”

“No, see, I,” Macaque said, “don’t need to talk to anyone about this kind of stuff.”

Face scrunched in thought, Bai He made an unsure sound, “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Sure, it is,” Macaque replied. “Because I say so.”

“Could you talk to me?” Bai He asked hopefully.

“I am talking to you,” Macaque pointed out. “We’re talking.” The sound of Pigsy’s voice caught his attention, informing MK that two bowls of noodles were ready to go. He could hear MK take the noodles, and then hesitate, and then he started passing the bowls off to someone. “And… I think MK is sending Wukong with our noodles.”

“The Monkey King?”

With a hum of confirmation, Macaque glanced up to the roof of the noodle shop, an idea coming to mind. “Wanna do something really funny?” he asked. “Maybe try out a portal?”

An excited gasp left Bai He. “Yes!” She jumped up, keeping a secure, gentle grasp on her cat as she stood. “Yes, I want to try a portal!”

Macaque laughed. “Alright, then.” He rose to his feet and summoned a portal to the roof. “Come on, Squeaker. Let’s give ol’ Monkey King the slip, huh?”

Despite her earlier giddiness, once presented with the swirling pool of darkness, Bai He suddenly had a look of trepidation on her face. “Um… it’s safe to go through that, right?” And Macaque couldn’t blame her. He’d been wary of his powers at first, too. It was intimidating to take a blind step into the darkness.

“Of course,” Macaque replied, taking a step forward and shoving his hand through the portal, “nothing to worry about.” He pulled his hand back out to show his unscathed palm. “Just a little shadow magic. Perfectly harmless.” Unless Macaque was pissed, of course, then there were plenty of ways to harm someone with a shadow. Not that Bai He needed to know that.

Bai He shifted to hold her cat in one arm, and reached her free hand towards the portal, just barely grazing her fingers across it before recoiling slightly in surprise. “It’s cold.”

“Ah,” Macaque said awkwardly, “sorry, it’s…” he trailed off as Bai He brought her hand back to the portal, pawing at the shadows curiously.

“It’s like standing in the shade,” Bai He said in wonder, “is it like that all the time?”

“Most of the time,” and it was. Macaque had always found comfort in the shadows, a refuge from an otherwise bright and deafening world. There were days, though, when the darkness was a cold and suffocating presence that rooted itself in his chest. Still not something a child needed to know, though. “You ready?”

Taking a deep breath, Bai He nodded and held out her hand to Macaque. “I’m ready.”

It was such a simple gesture, an unsure child doing something for the very first time, requesting guidance. A hand to hold. And she was asking Macaque. It wasn’t a level of trust that he was accustomed to being given–not anymore, at least–and for a moment, all he could do was stare.

Then he heard the noodle shop’s door begin to open, the heavy sound of Wukong’s footsteps making their way outside. “Alright,” he offered his hand, allowing Bai He to take it, small fingers curling around his, “let’s go.”

Traveling through the shadows was as easy as breathing, if a little disorienting the first time. Bai He stepped through the portal with him and stumbled a bit as they landed on the roof of the noodle shop. “Woah,” she watched as the portal closed, “that was so cool.” Her hand slipped out of his as she took a walk around the rooftop. “You do this all the time?”

“Gets me places quicker.” He peered over the side of the roof, watching Wukong appear with two bowls of noodles in his hands. “There he is,” he waved Bai He over. “What do you say we prank the Monkey King?”

Bai He brightened. “What are we going to do?”

“Watch this.” Macaque summoned a clone from the alleyway shadows, eyes glowing an eerie purple in the moonlight. It appeared silently, just behind an unsuspecting Wukong, and tapped on his shoulder playfully before vanishing.

“Hey!” Wukong whirled around, as much as he could with two bowls of noodles. “Hello? Macaque?”

Another clone rose from the ground, watching Wukong in a vague reflection of Macaque's own amusement. It looked up to the rooftop and waved to Bai He. Then it gave Wukong another soft tap on the shoulder before sinking back into the darkness.

“Macaque!” Wukong exclaimed, turning in circles, looking for the culprit. “Very funny, you- sneaky little… shadow thing-” another clone placed a hand between Wukong’s shoulder blades and gave him a soft nudge. “Dude!”

Macaque felt a tug on his sleeve, and glanced down to see Bai He staring up at him, eyes sparkling with barely suppressed laughter. “Can we-” she giggled, “can we have our noodles now?”

“Sure thing, Squeaker.” He summoned another clone to appear right in front of Wukong, who scowled at it. When it held out its hands for the noodles, Wukong hesitantly handed them over. Then the clone disappeared into the shadows, reappearing next to Bai He on the roof and leaving Wukong at a loss on the ground.

Bai He set down her cat and took a bowl of noodles from the shadow clone. “Thank you,” she said, taking hold of the chopsticks that were set in the bowl. The clone blinked, then passed Macaque his bowl of noodles, and disappeared. “I didn’t know you could make clones.”

“I can do lots of things,” Macaque replied easily.

“You!” Wukong’s voice echoed off the walls. Macaque glanced down to see Wukong glaring up at him, hands set sternly on his hips. “What are you doing up there?”

“Hi, Mr. Monkey King!” Bai He peeked over the side of the roof. “I’m on the roof!”

Wukong sighed. “Yeah, I can see that.” He squinted up at them. “You okay up there, kid? Need me to come get you?”

Bai He shook her head. “No, I’m okay! It’s fun up here!”

“Hear that, Mr. Monkey King?” Macaque taunted. “All good.” If Wukong was going to put Macaque through the trouble of traveling halfway across the city, then he was absolutely going to make the whole thing as annoying as possible for the sage. “Thanks for the noodle delivery.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Wukong rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome, I guess.” He looked to Bai He. “You holler if you need anything, okay, kid? I can send MK out and check on you in a few minutes.”

“Okay!” Bai He said agreeably, “But I think I’ll be okay with Mr. Macaque for a little bit.”

“If you’re sure,” Wukong stepped away, back towards the door of the noodle shop. “Guess I’ll leave you guys to it, then.” His gaze caught Macaque’s for a brief moment, gold eyes searching his expression before turning away. “Better not start scheming up there.”

Bai He grinned. “Scheming?”

“No,” Wukong said quickly. “I said no scheming!”

Macaque hummed. “Well, maybe a tiny bit of scheming. Little scheming never hurt nobody.”

“You’re a terrible influence,” Wukong called up to him. “I’ll tell MK!”

Gasping, Bai He set down her bowl and happily bounced on her heels, “Yes! Can MK come up here and scheme with us? And Mei?”

“No!” Wukong protested. “You-” he gave an exasperated sigh. “Macaque-”

“Oh, relax,” Macaque reassured him. “I’ll get Squeaker down, safe and sound. No schemes.” Another clone emerged from the shadows behind Wukong as he said the words, prompting a giggle from Bai He. “Absolutely no schemes, at all, whatsoever.”

Wukong’s eyes narrowed, and Macaque raised an eyebrow in response. The clone behind Wukong made a face, which got another smothered laugh from Bai He. “Fine,” Wukong said, ”but!” he jabbed a finger in Macaque’s direction, which the clone immediately copied, much to Bai He’s amusement. “I’m still gonna send MK out here to check on you guys later.”

Macaque and Bai He bit their tongues as Wukong retreated, the shadow clone following after him in an amusing mockery of his walk. They waited with bated breath until Wukong had moved from their line of sight, then Macaque recalled the clone to the shadows, and Bai He nearly collapsed with laughter.

It’d been a while since Macaque had gotten anyone to laugh like that. The last person he’d gotten to even enjoy his company was MK, and it was only for training under false pretenses. Maybe he had the option to do something about that, with the impending danger of the Lady Bone Demon subsided, but Macaque also knew how it felt to be betrayed, and he doubted MK would be okay with anything resembling friendship.

“You need to eat your noodles, Squeaker,” Macaque told his giggling rooftop companion, taking a seat to start in on his own bowl. “It’s gonna get cold.”

“Okay, okay,” Bai He managed, sitting up and grabbing the bowl she’d set down. “Mr. Pig makes really good noodles.”

Macaque nodded agreeably, taking a bite of dinner he’d been given. “Guess he’s got his own restaurant for a reason.” The meal was certainly better than anything he would have made himself. “Can’t remember the last time I had a home cooked meal like this.”

“Maybe you should come around more often,” Bai He suggested, scooping up another bite with her chopsticks. “I think MK would like it if you did.”

“Huh…” Macaque shifted, unsure of how to feel about that statement. “Maybe- I don’t know. Maybe I should.”

With that, Bai He seemed content to sit and eat her noodles. Macaque, with the sounds of the city floating around the night air, very begrudgingly enjoyed his dinner. He hated to admit it, but he was glad that Wukong had interrupted the meal he had been about to make for himself. The whole visit, really, hadn’t been the grating experience Macaque had expected it to be.

“You know,” Bai He said suddenly, swirling the broth in her nearly empty bowl. “I don’t know why Mr. Monkey King said you were weird and broody. You’re actually really fun.”

“Eh, he’s got his reasons,” Macaque answered. “We don’t really get along, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Bai He set aside her bowl, reaching out a hand to pet her cat, who pressed into her affection gratefully before flopping onto his side. “I think you guys should get along better.”

Macaque chuckled. “Think so, huh?” He tapped his chopsticks idly against his bowl. “I guess it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” Which wasn’t something he’d admit to Wukong or MK and, when he thought about it, he wasn’t sure why he’d admitted it to Bai He, but he was surprised to find that it was the truth.

Although, maybe it shouldn’t have been too much of a surprise, all things considered. They’d been friends before, and it wasn’t impossible that they could be friends again someday.

“Maybe when he stops being so hard-headed,” Macaque mused. “Which will be pretty tough, considering he’s made of stone.”

“He is?” Bai He asked. “I didn’t know people could be rocks.”

“It’s just Wukong, as far as I know,” Macaque said, stacking his bowl on Bai He’s and moving them so that they were out of the way. “Never met anyone else made of stone, anyway.”

Bai He tilted her head at him, scooting so that they were sitting side by side, and settled against the small wall bordering the roof. “What are you made of?”

Macaque shrugged. “I’m just flesh and blood, kid, not made of anything special.” It was something Wukong had complained about pretty often, back in the day. Constantly trying to readjust Macaque’s armor, fussing over every scratch and bruise, Macaque was pretty sure Wukong was more upset about the lack of stone skin than he was.

But that was a long time ago.

“Have you and Monkey King known each other very long?” Bai He asked. “You guys seem to know each other.”

“That’s…” Macaque hesitated, “a really complicated question, but, uh- the short answer is, ‘yes’. We used to be pretty close, like, a thousand years ago, give or take.”

“A thousand?” Bai He’s face scrunched. “You guys are old.”

Macaque spluttered, the sound somewhere between shock and a strangled laugh. “Oh, yeah? And what are you, six?”

“I’m eleven!” Bai He protested.

“Hm?” Macaque hummed. “Seven, you say? Well, I was pretty close.”

“No,” Bai He put a hand on his shoulder and shook him. “I said I’m eleven.”

“Yeah, seven,” Macaque replied, “that’s what I said.” Which only earned him another protest and a half-hearted shove. “Woah, there! Anybody ever tell you that you’re pretty tough for a seven year old?”

Bai He’s cat, which had been settled beside her rather peacefully, gave a plaintive meow as she attempted to tackle Macaque, though it mostly amounted to her pulling on Macaque’s arm and demanding, “Say I’m eleven! E-lev-en,” she emphasized.

“Oh, yeah?” Macaque stood, with Bai He still clinging to his arm. “And what are you gonna do if I don’t?” She squealed in delight as she dangled above the ground, swinging her legs in a playful attempt at kicking Macaque. “Looks like we got two monkeys on the roof, now.” He moved around the rooftop carefully, gently swaying his arm to jostle Bai He. “You sure you’re not hiding a tail somewhere? You’re swinging like a pro, Squeaker.”

“Hey, Macaque!” Macaque’s ears flicked to the sound of MK’s voice. He could hear the iron rod briefly hit the ground, and then Wukong’s protege was rocketing over the side of the roof. “Monkey King said to-” he paused upon seeing Bai He dangling from Macaque’s arm, a smile slowly stretching across his face. “to, uh- check on you.”

Macaque squinted at MK. “Not a word.”

MK lifted his hands in surrender. “I didn’t say anything!” he exclaimed, though Macaque could hear his voice waver from suppressed laughter. Then he tilted his staff to point in the general area to his left.  “Monkey King will probably have something to say about it, though.”

As if on cue, Macaque could hear a cloud being whisked from the night sky. Macaque didn’t have nearly enough time to try and detach the child swinging from his arm before Wukong was appearing over the side of the roof, floating on a wispy gray cloud. “Is everything okay up-” he blinked at Macaque and Bai He, “uh… you having fun there?”

“Yep!” Bai He chirped, dropping from Macaque’s arm and beaming up at Wukong. “I think you should invite Mr. Macaque every time I come over. He’s a lot of fun.”

Wukong’s lips quirked in a barely concealed smile. “Oh, is he?” Macaque glared, though it didn’t appear to have the effect he wanted. “Well, we’ll talk about inviting Mr. Macaque next time, alright? I think you gotta get back home.”

“Aw,” Bai He pouted, “really? Do I have to?”

MK gave her a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, it’s getting pretty late.” He crouched so that he was eye level with Bai He. “But, hey! We can meet up again real soon, okay? Mei and I could take you to the arcade!”

Looking somewhat less deflated, Bai He nodded. “Okay.”

“Alright, then,” MK straightened and walked to the edge of the roof. “Let’s go ahead and get you down, and then I’ll take you home.”

Bai He gasped. “Wait!” She turned and ran back to Macaque. Expecting a goodbye, Macaque lifted a hand to wave, only to be met with Bai He’s entire weight barreling into him, arms thrown around his waist and face buried in his purple sweater.

Despite the fact that Bai He couldn’t have weighed more than seventy pounds soaking wet, all the breath left Macaque at the impact. At a complete loss of what to do, Macaque gave her a cautious pat on the head. “I, uh… I’ll see you later, Squeaker.” Bai He nodded into his sweater, giving him a squeeze before pulling away.

“Tell Pigsy I’ll be back to help clean up in, like, fifteen minutes,” MK said, scooping up Bai He’s cat and handing him to his owner. “Ready?”

“Mm-hm,” Bai He said, waving to the celestial primates with the hand not holding her cat as MK picked her up and prepared to get her off the roof. “Bye, Mr. Monkey King! Bye, Mr. Macaque!"

Macaque watched as MK’s staff stretched to the ground below, acting as a rather effective elevator for getting himself and Bai He down. Wukong was a persistent presence, floating on his cloud and staring at Macaque expectantly, though Macaque waited until he heard MK’s delivery car start up before directing his gaze to the sage.

Wukong, the smug bastard, simply grinned at him. “The last person she needs to be talking to, huh?”

“Shut up,” Macaque said, picking up his and Bai He’s empty bowls. “I didn’t actually plan on sticking around. She just needed help with her cat.”

“If you say so,” Wukong drawled. “You enjoy your noodles?”

“I enjoyed when the rooftop didn’t have you on it,” Macaque muttered, dropping the bowls through a portal, hoping that the resulting clatter into the sink didn’t startle anyone in the shop too badly.

Wukong hummed. “Technically, I’m not on the roof.” He gestured to the cloud he was lounging on. “I’m floating above the roof.”

“Whatever,” Macaque crossed his arms. “Look, you got what you wanted, alright? I came here, I said ‘hi’ to Squeaker-”

“That’s adorable, by the way,” Wukong interrupted.

“So, I’m going home,” Macaque continued sharply. “And if you so much as breathe a syllable of my name in the next few days, I’m opening a portal to the ocean and dropping you in.”

Leaning back against his cloud, Wukong relented, “Fine, fine.” He waved Macaque off. “Go back to your dojo of brooding, I guess.”

“Gladly,” Macaque replied, the shadows around him solidified into a portal leading home. “And…” he hesitated for a moment, “I guess, I wouldn’t mind visiting again.” He cleared his throat, expecting some kind of rebuttal. “If that’s alright with the Great Sage.”

“Hey, fine by me,” Wukong said flippantly, much to Macaque’s surprise. “Just keep the scheming to a minimum, and I don’t really care what you do.”

Macaque nodded slowly. “Right. Well,” he took a step towards the portal, “guess I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Here’s hoping it’s not because of the end of the world,” Wukong replied. “Again.”

Huffing out a laugh, Macaque retreated into the portal. “Here’s hoping.”

If the sage had a response, Macaque didn’t hear it, already stepping into the quiet halls of his dojo. It was almost eerie, the near silence that his safehouse offered, and Macaque sighed as the portal behind him closed. He’d long since grown used to the quiet, and having nothing but city sounds to keep him company, but… he could admit that having actual company to share a meal with hadn’t been the worst thing.

The pot he’d been preparing for his dinner still sat on the counter, and as Macaque poured the water out and put the utensil away, he wondered if Wukong truly meant what he said. If Wukong truly didn’t mind what Macaque did, so long as it was nothing malicious, would he object to Macaque visiting MK and his friends? If he appeared on Flower Fruit Mountain, would he be immediately turned away? How tolerant of Macaque would Wukong be, and–perhaps the trickier question–would Macaque be able to deal with Wukong?

Questions for another time, he supposed. For the moment, he was content to find something not Monkey King related to watch on TV and listen to the dull roar of city nightlife until he fell asleep.

And maybe next time he heard Wukong calling his name about something or another, he’d be just a little less annoyed about it.

[mylo-space]

Aftermath

Summary: I don't have a particularly creative title or summary for this, but basically: Wukong and Macaque talk after the Lady Bone Demon fight and very quickly realize that they have no idea how to deal with each other. Attempts at conversation are made and, all in all, it goes? definitely not as bad as it could have gone, but that doesn't mean it goes great, either. They're making an effort, but the real MVP here is the rock.

Word Count: 9,407 Posted to Ao3: 2023-07-17

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Fighting the Lady Bone Demon had taken far more out of Wukong than he would have ever liked to admit, and it didn’t help that he’d already been pretty tapped from getting the map. After a few hundred years of doing nothing but eating peaches and occasionally training MK, back to back fights were a little more exhausting than Wukong remembered.

Back when he ran with the Brotherhood, it seemed like he could go for weeks on end without ever putting down his staff. Starting fight after fight until they were faced with a full out war against the Celestial Realm, Wukong had felt like he could fight forever, and to think that he’d actually enjoyed it. It was all just so tiring now.

Maybe he was just getting old.

Watching the kid clamber down the mountain with all his friends in tow, Wukong couldn’t help but feel a little relieved. Not that he didn’t love the kid’s company, but after being possessed and still barely recovered from his fight with Nezha, the great Monkey King wanted little more than to sleep for an entire day, possibly a few decades.

Which was why the presence to his left was especially irritating, lurking at the edge of the treeline and the edge of Wukong’s patience. “I thought you left.”

“You assume that a lot, don’t you,” Macaque replied, emerging from the shadows with a smile that put Wukong on edge. Not that it was particularly menacing, it just didn’t sit right with him, the way it tugged at Macaque’s mouth like puppet strings. It’d looked like that for centuries now, but Wukong never got used to it.

“Not an assumption,” Wukong grumbled, “I watched you leave.” He returned Macaque’s smile, hoping it looked just as bitter and uncanny. “Guess you’ve always been pretty good at that, though, huh? Leaving.”  

“Learned from the best,” Macaque sneered. “How is it, by the way? Sitting on this mountain all by yourself.” He leaned against a nearby tree and crossed his arms, a routine Wukong was familiar with. Old habits die hard, he supposed, and Macaque never did like having his back exposed. “Is eating fruit for eternity the good life you thought it’d be?”

“As a matter of fact,” Wukong said haughtily, “it’s great, thank you for asking.” He wondered if the memory of peach-scented promises haunted Macaque’s dreams as often as they did his. “How was being the Lady Bone Demon’s puppet?”

Macaque shrugged. “I don’t know, Wukong, how was it?”

“Hey, I was possessed,” Wukong pointed out. “What’s your excuse?”

“I owed her,” was the frustratingly simple reply.

Wukong scoffed. “You owed her,” he repeated. “Was it worth attacking the kid and his friends?”

“If I wanted to hand MK over to the Lady Bone Demon, I would have,” Macaque snapped. “Do you have any idea how many times I had him in the palm of my hand? He offered to walk away with me once!” Then Macaque laughed, a harsh sounding thing that didn’t sound anything like him. “If you hadn’t done such a terrible job of coaxing his powers back out, I wouldn’t have had to push him so hard.”

And, fine, looking back on things, Wukong could admit that Macaque probably wasn’t trying as hard as he could have been. The guy could teleport, and it wasn’t like Wukong was in great shape for a lot of trip. There was no reason Macaque couldn’t have wrapped MK in shadows and opened a portal right to the demon’s lair, especially if Wukong’s selfless little successor was offering himself up.

But Macaque hadn’t done that, which meant that he really had been purposefully incompetent, to some extent. He’d taken on Ao Guang with no trouble at all, but MK managed to slip away? The kid was tough, but Wukong wasn’t ignorant enough to believe that MK could have taken on Macaque powerless, not if Macaque was really going at it.

If Wukong were a little less exhausted, he could’ve found a sense of relief knowing that Macaque wasn’t actually the revenge-fueled drama queen he pretended to be. Still, he had hurt MK on more than one occasion, and that was reason enough to be pissed off. He didn’t have the energy to be angry and grateful. “If you hadn’t been working with the Lady Bone Demon,” Wukong said, “it wouldn’t have been a problem at all.”

Macaque sighed. “I told you, I owed her. I had about as much choice in the matter as you did.” His claws dug into his sleeve almost imperceptibly. “Trust me, I didn’t like it, either. But if I had let it slip that I wasn’t really trying to bring MK back to her, she-” There was a beat of silence, a fraction of a breath where Macaque’s amber eyes betrayed him, lined with the same bone-deep exhaustion that Wukong could feel pulling at his limbs. “It wouldn’t have been great for my health,” he finished.

She would have killed him.

Neither one of them needed to say it, the implication was there. Macaque had to hunt them down, or the Lady Bone Demon would have sent him back to the Underworld the hard way. Wukong feared death without having ever experienced anything close to it, but Macaque… he had real reasons to be afraid. Wukong wasn’t sure what Macaque owed her exactly, what promises he did or didn’t keep, but it was clear the price he would have paid for failure was his life.

The thought made him sick. Even with the centuries of distance between them, Wukong couldn’t stomach the thought of another shallow grave with Macaque’s name on it. “Still pissed about the Samadhi Fire thing,” he grunted. Sympathy aside, Macaque was still an eternal pain in his ass.

“It was either I released Samadhi Fire on the mountain, or I brought the rings back to the Lady Bone Demon,” Macaque said. “Rock. Hard place. And I didn’t have time to wait around while you pretended to get your act together.”

“I had a plan.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Wukong bristled at the accusation, even though it was technically correct. Really, Macaque wasn’t being nearly as vindictive about the whole thing as he could’ve been, but Wukong still didn’t appreciate him pointing out his incompetence. “Well, you didn’t have to dip right after you ruined everything,” he said. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“Oh, I ruined everything,” Macaque deadpanned. “Remind me again, how did the Samadhi Fire get inside of Mei? Whose fault was that?” Wukong, rather than justify that with an answer, exhaled sharply and turned away. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“You’re pretty smug for someone that took off as soon as things got tough,” Wukong muttered bitterly. “Even if I didn’t have a plan, releasing the Samadhi Fire was a really stupid idea.”

“Kinda like going to fight the Lady Bone Demon on your own,” Macaque countered. “Lot of good that did everyone, getting yourself possessed.”

“Oh, right,” Wukong rolled his eyes, “because you were so much help.”

Macaque raised an eyebrow. “You know, you’ve got a really weird way of saying, ‘thanks for saving the kid, Macaque’. And here I was, coming to check on you.” He huffed out a laugh, so quiet that Wukong almost didn’t catch it. “Serves me right, I guess. Maybe next time you get possessed, I’ll just let you hit him.”

At that, Wukong’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

For a moment, Macaque studied Wukong like a particularly challenging puzzle. He seemed to find whatever he was looking for in Wukong’s expression, because he asked, “How much do you remember about being possessed?”

“Uh-” Truthfully, Wukong hadn’t given it much thought. Hadn’t wanted to, the feeling of demonic power under his skin still sending the occasional chill down his spine. “I mean, it’s a little clearer towards the end there, when MK was snapping me out of it, but the rest is- it’s, um…”

And it occurred to him, suddenly, that Nezha was injured the last time Wukong had seen him. But he was so sure that the prince was in decent shape when he’d left to go fight the Lady Bone Demon. A little worn out from their fight on the train, maybe, but-

“What did I do,” he asked Macaque, hoping that the answer wasn’t going to be nearly as awful as the many possibilities that started swirling around his head.

Macaque shrugged. “Well, the demon rocked Nezha’s shit so hard that it put him in a small crater.” Not the worst he could have done, but Wukong’s stomach still turned itself inside out. It took a lot to bring down Nezha, and the Lady Bone Demon clearly hadn’t been kind with his puppeteered body. “And then she turned you on MK.”

It was blurry, the whole being possessed thing, and part of Wukong had been frustrated about it, at first. Hearing what the demon had done with his body, though, he was almost thankful that he didn’t remember. The brief flashes he could remember would haunt his nightmares enough, and if he closed his eyes, he could almost see MK’s terrified expression before it dropped through the ground.

Through the ground.

“You-” Wukong fumbled with the words for a moment, “so, they followed me, and you-”

“Don’t read into it,” Macaque interjected. “If you got yourself taken out by the Lady Bone Demon, MK was going to be the universe’s only shot at getting saved. No sense in letting her take you both out in one go.” Self-preservation, of course. That was what it always came down to, with Macaque.

Macaque’s motivation for helping aside, it didn’t change the fact that he had saved MK from Wukong. “Where did you send him?” he asked.

“Right to his spicy friends,” Macaque answered. “Er- somewhere close, at least. They were in one of DBK’s little secret hideouts, so I didn’t know the area super well.” He scratched at his neck absently. “Gonna be honest, I do kinda miss that guy, sometimes. And his kid’s a real firecracker.”

Wukong let out a surprised laugh. “Redson? Yeah, uh- yeah. He is.” It occurred to him that he and Macaque weren’t arguing anymore. He thought it’d be weirder, talking to Macaque again, after everything that had happened between them. Everything that continued to happen between them.

The strangeness of the situation wasn’t lost on Macaque, either. If asked why he returned to the mountain, he wouldn’t have been able to give a completely honest answer. The one he’d give would be something along the lines of kicking Wukong while he was down, but the truth was something a little closer to Macaque being incapable of leaving.

Might as well ask an asteroid to leave its orbit. Entirely possible, but never of its own volition. Something would have to hit it pretty damn hard first.

In any case, the banter Macaque had grown used to had long since petered out into something much more familiar and, yet, infinitely more unsettling. This was the closest to civil he’d been with the Great Sage in centuries, and he didn’t hate it as much as he thought he would. He wouldn’t say he was having a great time, but it was… it was kind of nice, talking to Wukong again, if he ignored the steady, phantom throbbing behind his right eye.

“Wukong,” Macaque prompted after a few moments of the king trailing off. If Wukong was anything like he was when they were younger–and he probably was, he never changed much–then getting in his own thoughts about things was going to be more detrimental than anything.

Not that he cared. He couldn’t afford to be pulled into Wukong’s orbit a second time.

“Wukong,” Macaque said again, this time shaking the king from his thoughts. “You’re still hung up about almost hitting the kid, aren’t you.”

“Huh?” Wukong blinked at him for a moment, then scowled. “No.” He crossed his arms, mirroring Macaque’s stance. “What do you care?”

The easy thing to say would have been, “I don’t”. And Macaque almost said it, brushing off the concern entirely, because what did he care? The kids were safe, the city was safe, everyone was safe and everything was fine. Why should Macaque care if Wukong still looked stressed out and exhausted beyond belief? The king wasn’t the only one who walked away from the fight with ice in his veins and a lingering voice in his ear.

And maybe that was why Macaque didn’t say it, knowing how it felt to be so exhausted that it burrowed into him and made a home in his bones. So, “Do you still draw?” was what he said instead, because he was curious, and it’d been a while since he’d seen Wukong’s art.

Wukong opened his mouth to give a scathing retort, then closed it again with a confused stare. Macaque could almost see the words being processed behind Wukong’s blank eyes. “Do I- you…” He shook his head briefly, as though trying to clear it. “What?”

“You know, like, art? Pencil and paper, crayons, markers.” Macaque spoke slowly, as though talking to a toddler, “Do you still draw?”

“No, I heard what you said, I just-” Wukong gave an annoyed huff. “Whatever. Yes, I still draw. Why?” Then he looked thoughtful for a moment. “Do, uh… do you draw, still?”

Macaque snorted. “I never really did. You were always the artist, not me.” He looked around the mountain. “Not gonna find anything to draw with here, though.” Macaque used to know every rock and tree on the mountainside, but after a thousand years of avoiding the place, his memory was a little blurry. “You got a temple or something nearby?”

All at once, the tension from earlier crept its way back into their conversation. “You’re not allowed back in Water Curtain Cave, Macaque.” It wasn’t quite a threat, but it was a very clear warning.

“I’m aware,” Macaque said, and he ignored the pang of hurt. He hadn’t even thought about returning to Water Curtain Cave in decades, but the reminder that he wasn’t allowed bothered him a little more than he thought it would. “I don’t want to hang out in your little hole in the wall, anyway. That’s why I asked if you had a temple nearby.”

The question seemed to register, the anger easing out of Wukong’s shoulders. “Right. Uh…” He jutted a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ve actually got a little- like, a house? Nearby. I was probably just gonna head there before I went back to the cave.”

“Great,” Macaque pushed himself off the tree. “Lead the way.”

Wukong gave him a strange look. “And… where, exactly, do you think you’re going?”

“We are going to find your little house in the woods,” Macaque replied easily, “and find you something to do before you combust.”

“I am not-”

“Look, do you wanna go draw something,” Macaque asked, “or do you want to sit here and argue about it for an hour before we go? Because we’re both going, either way.”

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Wukong relented, “Fine,” he waved for Macaque to follow him, “but if you try anything, I’m punting you over the side of this mountain.”

Macaque hummed, following behind Wukong and just to his left. “In your condition? I’d like to see you try.” If he took another two steps forward, they’d be walking side by side, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It’d been far too long since he’d stood at the sage’s side.

“Don’t tempt me,” Wukong warned, “You’re a pretty throwable guy.”

“And you’re a pain in my-” The rest of Macaque’s sentence caught in his throat as a new pain shot through his leg. Not new, really, but Macaque had gotten good at tuning out things that made him uncomfortable, the injury he sustained from his fight with a possessed Wukong included. Unfortunately, a gnarled tree root catching him off balance brought the pain right to the forefront of his mind. “Ah, come on-”

He steadied himself and leaned most of his weight on his right leg, timidly checking the left before taking a few careful steps. Now that the injury had been irritated, it was a lot harder to ignore, especially with the amount of walking he was doing trying to get Wukong home.

Wukong had stopped a few paces ahead of him, watching Macaque with an unreadable expression. “You, uh… you forget how to walk or something?” he asked. “What’s going on over there?”

“Nothing,” Macaque hissed, straightening his gait, just barely keeping the limp out of his steps.

“You sure?” Wukong asked, “Your leg looks-”

Macaque glared at him warily with a clipped, “What about my leg,” daring Wukong to continue his line of questioning. The Sage could hardly acknowledge the damage he’d caused a thousand years ago. There was no way Macaque would get sympathy for the battle they’d fought just a few hours before.

Apparently realizing Macaque wasn’t going to admit the obvious, Wukong’s brow furrowed. “Okay, yeah.” He went back to leading them through the forest. “And you think I couldn’t throw you down a mountain.” Macaque was almost relieved that Wukong picked up the banter right where they left it, unsure of what he would’ve done if the king had kept pressing. “I may be tired, but you’re not doing so hot yourself.”

“I’m doing just fine,” Macaque muttered.

“No, you’re not,” Wukong replied. “You’re definitely not. You’re just better at hiding it than me.”

“I’ve had more experience getting hurt than you,” Macaque pointed out. “We can’t all be made of stone, you know.”

Wukong hesitated for a moment. “Yeah, I… guess not.” Gold eyes trailed back to Macaque. “You holding up okay? Not gonna collapse on me again or anything, right?”

“Relax,” Macaque rolled his eyes, “I might not be made of stone, but I’ll heal fast enough.” Healing would fix his leg fine, but it probably wouldn’t do much for the ragged fur on his right arm, destroyed by the demon’s ice and the fire that had melted it. His sleeve hid it well, but he wasn’t entirely sure that the fur would grow back right, if at all.

Luckily, the fur on his face hadn’t taken too much damage, having not been covered in ice for nearly as long as his arm. It would have been a pain to have something new to hide. Between his ears and his eye, Macaque had enough to cover up already.

With a curt nod, Wukong said, “Good. Because I was not carrying you back to… wherever you live now.”

“Wouldn’t have expected you to.”

Wukong didn’t appear to have a retort, and they fell into a relatively peaceful silence. With the sun going down, most of the animals on the mountain were settling, giving way to the much quieter nightlife. Macaque was sort of grateful, both for the lack of noise and the fact that wouldn’t have to deal with any of Wukong’s subjects.

It wasn’t that he didn’t miss them or anything, because he did, but he couldn’t bear to see their chipper faces.

Maybe another day, assuming he and Wukong weren’t at each other’s throats after this.

Whatever this was.

“Just up ahead,” Wukong said after a few minutes of walking. “I can see the lanterns.” Macaque squinted into the forest, noting the faint glow of firelight in the setting sun. “About time, too. I am tired of being on my feet today. I don’t even think I’ll make it back to the cave tonight, I’ll probably pass out here and fly home in the morning.”

Macaque made a noise of agreement. “I’m probably gonna sleep for a week straight whenever I finally get horizontal.” For the moment, Macaque couldn’t imagine closing his eyes. Not that he wasn’t tired enough, just that he had already felt so close to death again, even lying down with his eyes closed felt like a daunting task.

Wukong chuckled. “I know, right? I already wanted to sleep for a century after getting the map from Nezha. Between fighting the Bone Demon and… well, you,” Macaque hummed in acknowledgement, “I’m pretty wiped out.” He rubbed his arm. “But, weirdly, kinda too wired to sleep. If that makes any sense.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Macaque replied, gently pushing a branch out of his path as he and Wukong entered a small clearing. “Like I said, I’ll probably sleep for a week when I get around to it. Probably won’t be for a while, though.”

The house was a modest looking thing, and it looked old, something from their past that was recognizable. Looking around, Macaque could recall a few memories in this clearing, though everything had looked a little different, then. The house seemed relatively untouched though, aside from a hasty patch job on one of the walls. 

Pushing open the door, Wukong immediately told Macaque, “Don’t touch any of my stuff.”

“Not even coming in.” Macaque leaned against the doorframe, looking around what he could see of the house. It was a lot different than he remembered, more modern, a TV and a gaming system sitting across from the couch. It still looked cozy, though, apart from the mess sitting by the wall that stood behind the TV. It looked like whoever destroyed the wall hadn’t exactly cleaned it up before nailing some boards over the hole. “What do you even use this place for nowadays?”

He could hear Wukong shuffling around the house, moving things around, presumably looking for art supplies. “Can’t get electricity to a lot of places on this mountain, and I wanted a place to play videogames. This was the easiest place to get a TV set up.”

Macaque snickered, genuine amusement finding its way into his voice, “Videogames? Seriously?”

“Hey! They’re more useful than you think.” Wukong reappeared with a box of what looked like paint. “Great way to kill time, and the artwork is pretty great, too, if I do say so myself.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you do say so yourself,” Macaque said. “And I’m sure that it’s full of the corniest pictures known to man.”

Wukong made a flapping motion with his hand, “Yeah, yeah, you’re just jealous ‘cause no one ever made a videogame about you.” Macaque scoffed from his place in the doorframe, but it sounded… not as annoyed as Wukong expected it to. “What?”

“Nothing,” Macaque said, though his grin said otherwise, “It’s just- that’s probably the most you thing I’ve ever heard. Being a fan of your own videogame.”

“It’s a good videogame,” Wukong protested, checking a shelf for any loose paper. He was almost certain that he didn’t have any, and he was lucky he even managed to find the small box of paints, but he was mostly trying to avoid Macaque’s gaze. “MK was just telling me the other day that he used it as training while I was gone.”

There was a thoughtful hum from Macaque. “Is that right?” he asked, and Wukong could hear the sly smile before he even turned around. “Interesting.”

He could see the gears turning behind amber eyes, and put his free hand on his hip to make himself look more stern, preparing to throw the box of paints he’d found if he needed to. “Don’t you do it.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Macaque replied smoothly, inspecting his claws.

“Macaque,” Wukong warned. “Do not make a videogame for MK. You’re not his mentor, I’m his mentor.”

“Well,” Macaque drawled, “I don’t think that’s for you to decide. The kid should get a choice.” He slipped out of the doorway, standing on the porch and just out of sight. “And who knows! Maybe I’ll make just a nice, normal videogame, with no mentoring involved at all.”

Wukong followed Macaque outside. “Hey!” he called. “You can’t- you were just talking about how you can’t draw, you can’t make a videogame.”

Macaque raised an eyebrow at him. “Actually, just because you said I can’t, I think I kinda have to.” He shrugged. “You know, just to spite you.” His gaze caught the box of paints in Wukong’s hand. “No paper?”

“Huh? Oh, uh- no, couldn’t find any.” Wukong lifted the box of paints. “But I found these, so…” He glanced around. “I mean, we could probably paint on a rock, or something.” He jumped the stairs leading up to the house and glanced around the clearing, looking for a decent-sized rock with a smooth enough side to paint on. “Gimme a second.”

“Out of curiosity,” Macaque said from the porch. “Was the kid responsible for whatever happened to the wall? Because I do not remember that being there.”

Wukong laughed. “Yeah, he got a little too immersed in the game, I think. Sandy was telling me about it on the trip.” He grinned in triumph upon finding a good rock at the clearing’s edge. “Got one!” Using his free hand, he rolled the rock a little closer to the house. “Can you grab some water for our brushes real quick?”

“I thought you didn’t want me touching your stuff,” Macaque taunted, though he still disappeared into the house. It was weird, the way Macaque was so different, and yet, eerily familiar in some ways. Like nothing and everything had changed, all at once, and forever ago.

Reaching a hand into his hair, Wukong yanked a couple strands free, effectively distracting him from thoughts. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned two brushes for him and Macaque to paint with and sat down, setting the box of paints next to him. He wondered if Macaque had an idea for something to paint, or if was going in as blind as Wukong was.

Macaque returned with a bowl of water in one hand and two small pieces of wood in the other. “Here,” he said, tossing a piece of wood in Wukong’s direction. “Makeshift paint palette. Plenty of wood laying around from the DIY project in the living room.”

“Yeah,” Wukong sighed. “I’ll probably have to get that cleaned up before I go to bed.”

“Don’t bother,” Macaque said absently, “portaled the rest of it away while I was in there.” Wukong blinked at him. The staring didn’t go unnoticed, Macaque’s brow furrowing. “What? It was in the way.” He plucked a brush out of Wukong’s hand. “You gonna paint, or what?”

Wukong shook himself. “Uh, yeah, I-” He hesitated, watching as Macaque reached for the black paint. “Actually, I’m not sure what to paint.”

“Paint yourself,” Macaque suggested, uncapping the black paint. “It’s your favorite subject.”

“Very funny,” Wukong muttered, though he did rummage through the box for something resembling his fur color. “They never have my color in any of these things. Everything is too orange.”

Macaque pressed his brush to the rock’s surface. “You know how to mix colors, don’t you? I know you never learned how to read, but surely the Great Sage has mastered colors by now.”

“You’re just full of quips tonight, huh,” Wukong said, but he couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face. “I can read, you know, just not well. Let me know when you’ve learned how numbers work, and we’ll talk about my ability to read.”

“I don’t need to know how numbers work,” Macaque replied. “What part of my life requires me to know anything about math?”

Wukong tsked, “Excuses, excuses.” He pulled a light shade of red to mix with the orange he’d found, the color far too yellow to look like his actual fur. “Language is hard, okay? It changes a lot. But numbers have been the exact same for literally forever, and you’re hundreds of years old.”

“If I can go hundreds of years without learning math,” Macaque said, “then I clearly haven’t needed it.” He frowned at his painting. “You know, I started painting myself because I thought it’d be easy, but I don’t even know if I want to attempt drawing eyes.”

“Eh, just slap a circle on there somewhere and squish it around until it looks right,” Wukong said. “People are mostly circles and rectangles, you know.”

Macaque made a vaguely frustrated noise. “It’s a painting, Wukong, not a sketch. I can’t make any- I can’t make circles.” He tapped his brush against his leg, glancing over to Wukong’s side of the rock. “You’re making this look too easy. I thought you were tired.”

“Not as tired as you, apparently.” Wukong gestured at the crude outline Macaque had made of his own hair. “Like, what is- what is that? A porcupine? Or maybe a hedgehog-”

“You’re hilarious,” Macaque muttered. “You know what? I’m just gonna make it like one of those- whatever they’re called. The cartoons that MK likes so much.”

Wukong turned to look at Macaque. “Dude, don’t even pretend you don’t know what anime is.”

Squinting in concentration, Macaque waved Wukong off with his free hand. “Yeah, anime, whatever.” Another small smile crossed his features. Mischievous, but not malicious. “They make an anime about you, yet? Or are they still making that dumb cop show?”

“Probably? Honestly, I have no idea,” Wukong answered, picking out a light blue. “I don’t bother keeping up with what the mortals do with my name, anymore.” He held out the paint for Macaque to look at. “Does this look like the right color blue?”

Macaque tilted his head at the color. “Uh… yeah, that looks pretty close to your bandana.” He turned back to his own painting, seemingly oblivious to Wukong’s blank stare. “You said the body is mostly circles, but this arm is not making shapes the way I want it to.”

“What-” Wukong quickly shook his head, ignoring that the first thing Macaque had thought of when he saw the color blue was his bandana from a thousand years ago, and not the skirt he’d seen Wukong wearing for the last few hundred years. Although, he supposed he had been wearing it on their journey to the get the rings, and maybe that was why it was the first thing Macaque thought of. “Wait, the body is circles and rectangles.” He leaned over to inspect Macaque’s painting. “Oh, you-” His voice caught in his throat as he desperately tried to bite back a laugh. “Alright, well, that’s… not how that works.”

“Something funny?” Macaque asked.

“Dude, why are your arms ovals?” Wukong’s question betrayed him, a giggle slipping through his wavering voice. “They’re, like, football-shaped, how did you do that?”

Looking affronted and a little confused, Macaque looked between Wukong’s painting and his. “You said the body is circles and rectangles! That’s, like, an oval. Right? A circle and a rectangle.”

This time, Wukong couldn’t help the laugh that exploded out of him. “You know, maybe I do want you to make a videogame,” he managed through his giggles. “I’d love to see a playthrough of nothing but this.”

Macaque shoved Wukong out of his space. “Shut up,” he said, but there was a playful lilt that made Wukong think he wasn’t actually as irritated as he made himself out to be. “You’re saying it to make fun of me, but I will make this game just to spite you.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Wukong managed to compose himself, turning back to his own painting. “Except you better get some art lessons or something first, because, man-”

“Alright!” Macaque interrupted. “I dragged you up here to get you out of your own, stupid head, not for you to criticize my art skills.”

Wukong paused at the admission, that Macaque had stuck around this long to… help. Of course, he'd mentioned something like that earlier, too, that he’d come back to the mountain to check on Wukong. And, really, Wukong hadn’t forgotten it, he just wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Far easier to pretend that there was no motive to keeping each other company other than banter and borderline arguments.

Most simply, neither one of them wanted to be alone. And if they couldn’t have the company civilly, then they’d have it violently, or reluctantly, or in the dying rays of sunlight pretending they didn’t miss each other just as much as they hated each other.

Only, Wukong wasn’t sure if they could call this hatred anymore. He wasn’t sure he wanted to and, when he thought about it, he wasn’t sure he ever did.

“So, what are we doing about… us? This?” Wukong pointedly kept his eyes on his own painting, but he could still feel Macaque stiffen beside him. “You know, because this whole situation we have going on isn’t- I don’t think it’s working out.”

Macaque took the bowl of water and idly swirled his brush around the sides. “Wanna be more specific?”

“You’re not going to attack the kid anymore,” Wukong stated matter of factly, because he knew Macaque wouldn’t. “And… I mean, it’d be really cool if you stopped attacking me, but, you know.” Macaque set the bowl down and flicked his brush in Wukong’s direction. “Hey!”

“Look, can we not have this conversation right now?” Macaque picked out a deep red and golden yellow from the box. “I’m too tired to deal with… us.” He gestured around them vaguely. “This.”

Wukong frowned. “Why not?” he asked, picking out a brown for his animal pelt skirt. It was strange painting his old clothes again, pulling the past from his memories and sealing them onto the stone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d even seen his clothes from before the Journey, much less drawn them. “You’re here trying to get me out of my own stupid head, so why can’t we just talk-”

“You know why not,” Macaque said sharply.  “I don’t want to fight, Wukong. Don’t make me regret doing this.”

And his exhaustion be damned, Wukong almost bit out something mean. Wukong turned to Macaque, ready to ask about all the other things he should regret doing.

But then his gaze caught Macaque’s picture. It wasn’t bad, considering Macaque’s painting experience was limited to set pieces. Wukong could see where Macaque had painted his black and yellow sleeves, though the style didn’t look quite like what the warrior had on, and the crudely shaped smear of red around the neck looked distinctly more like a bandana than a scarf. 

“Can we at least agree to be civil?” Wukong tried. “I mean, for MK’s sake, you know? I think he wants to- I don’t know, befriend you?” He chuckled awkwardly. “I can’t imagine why, but-”

“You can’t?” Macaque asked, taking them both by surprise. Really, Macaque wasn’t even sure why he’d said anything at all, but he chose to blame his lack of filter on the post-battle exhaustion.

Maybe it was the way Wukong was so willing to forget what Macaque couldn’t help but remember. A closeness that Macaque couldn’t imagine having with anyone else, and Wukong couldn’t imagine Macaque having with anyone at all.

Though, he supposed he couldn’t blame Wukong, either, even if it hurt to admit. Why would anyone bother befriending the shifty Six-Eared Macaque? It wasn’t like he made it easy.

Macaque shook his head. “You know what? Never mind.” He went back to his picture, determined to finish it before he inevitably got pushed to a breaking point with Wukong. “Yeah, we can be civil for the kid.”

“Macaque-”

“Wukong,” he interjected. “We can be civil for the kid, and that is all you’re getting out of me right now.” For a moment, Wukong was blessedly silent, leaving Macaque to detail the armor in his painting in peace. There was a tension in the air that felt borderline electric, and he wasn’t sure if breaking that tension would be good for either of their healths. It certainly wouldn’t be good for Macaque’s, in any case.

But Wukong had never been very good at long silences, and only graced Macaque with a few moments of quiet before speaking up again. “That’s all I’m getting out of you… right now,” Wukong repeated slowly. “Does that mean we can talk more- uh, later? We could- I mean, if you want to.” Wukong cleared his throat. “Because I don’t, you know- I don’t really care-”

“No, of course, you don’t,” Macaque said bitterly. “The kid’s managed a damn miracle, getting you to care about anything.” And he knew that wasn’t fair, because there were certainly plenty of things the great and powerful Monkey King cared about, like his kingdom and his subjects and the precious few friends he managed to make over the years.

The Great Sage cared, of course, he did. He just didn’t care for Macaque.

Wukong’s expression flickered for a moment, and since Macaque refused to look directly at him, it was hard to tell what was going through his mind. “Fine, Macaque,” he said finally. “Fine.”

“Fine.” Macaque swallowed back his anger. If he got angry now, he’d be forced to retreat from the mountain. More than that, he’d have to go back to his empty dojo, and convince himself that the never-ending sounds of the city made him feel less alone.

“Can I-” Wukong started, and Macaque made a vague warning sound. “Come on, dude, I just wanted to ask you something. You don’t even have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Macaque considered him for a moment, letting his gaze drift to Wukong’s painting. It looked infinitely better than his own, a perfect replica of Wukong before the journey. Before the Brotherhood, even, and Macaque… he missed the days when he and Wukong could promise each other a forever. Back when living in eternal peace on Flower Fruit Mountain didn’t seem like some hopeless pipe dream, back when the promise was more than just an excuse for Wukong to seek out sources of power.

He took a slow breath, bracing himself for whatever idiotic question Wukong might have prepared. “Sure,” he relented. “Ask.”

Wukong hesitated for a moment, like he wasn’t sure if Macaque was setting a trap for him. And, given Macaque’s track record, he supposed that wasn’t an unreasonable assumption. “You knew the Lady Bone Demon was coming,” he said. Not a question, Macaque noticed. “You tried to warn MK that something was coming–that she was coming. And you were… I don’t know, you were trying to teach MK, I think? About his powers, and listening to his friends.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I was, uh- also, trying to do that.”

“You don’t use a weapon,” Macaque quoted himself, “you are a weapon.”

“He doesn’t need his staff to use his powers, right,” Wukong agreed. “Although, I gotta say, I did not approve of your methods on that one.”

Macaque shrugged. “Eh, to be honest? Kinda did it to annoy you more than I did to teach him.” He picked up the bowl to rinse his brush again, noting how murky the water was getting. “I know better than anyone that there’s no way to actually kill you, it wouldn’t have mattered how much energy I stole from MK.”

“And,” Wukong added, “you couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.” He snickered, “I mean, you really punched the side of a mountain trying to hit MK with your giant shadow demon thing. Like, I still blocked it, but you seriously weren’t even close-”

“Trust me, if I wanted to hit MK, I would have. Could’ve done it literally anytime I wanted,” Macaque pointed out. “Like I said, I was mostly just trying to annoy you. And maybe prove a point.” He spun the brush in his hand for a moment, contemplating on what to paint next. “I was taking that other lesson a little more seriously, though. You know, about not ignoring his friends? Listening in general, actually, doesn’t seem like his strong suit.”

“Yeah, I sent him a magic blindfold trying to teach him some listening skills,” Wukong mused. “I don’t think it worked out too well, considering the whole gambling fiasco that happened in the desert.” He chuckled. “You know, maybe we’re both just really bad at teaching. I’m too lazy and you’re too mean.”

“Probably.” Macaque agreed. “I thought you were going to ask me a question. If you wanted to compare lesson plans, you could’ve just-”

“Why-” Macaque heard Wukong’s breath catch for a moment. “If you knew she was coming,” he said slowly, “and… you knew how absolutely screwed you were,” he glanced at Macaque, “I mean, I know we’re not on great terms, or- like, barely tolerable terms. But if she was really- I mean, if you were… you know.”

Brow furrowing in confusion, Macaque tilted his head at Wukong. “If I was… what?” He allowed himself a small smile. “You’re pretty bad at asking questions, you know that? You haven’t even-”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Macaque’s smile fell faster than a rock through water. “What?”

“Er- you could’ve run away? Or something. I just-” Wukong shifted uneasily. “Look, I may not want you back in the cave, but that doesn’t mean I want you back in the ground.” Macaque blinked at Wukong, struggling to attach a meaning to the words he was hearing. “You should’ve told-”

“Who?” Macaque asked in disbelief, finally realizing what Wukong was asking of him. “You? And why the hell would I tell you anything?”

Wukong shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know! You could’ve told the kid, or-”

“No, because MK would’ve told you,” Macaque interrupted, “and you would’ve done something stupid about it, and made my whole situation worse. Not that it was great to begin with.” The paintbrush in hand felt close to snapping, and Macaque forced his claws to loosen their hold on the slim, wooden handle. “Last thing I need is you getting involved in my business.”

“Oh, right,” Wukong said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “because what you did was so much smarter than anything I would’ve done. Going along with her plans and hunting down the kid, that was all real smart.”

Macaque felt a smile tug at his lips, too sharp around the edges to be friendly. “Yeah, actually, I think I handled the situation a lot better than you would’ve,” he bit out, “considering I made it out alive.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he could feel the regret coiling around his stomach. Wukong looked ready to say something, but Macaque wasn’t ready to hear it. “I’m-” he snatched the bowl of murky paint water and stood, “cleaning this. You’re done painting, right?”

“Macaque, put the bowl down,” Wukong protested. “I’m not gonna-”

But Macaque didn’t want to hear what Wukong wasn’t going to do, hauling himself to his feet and ready to abandon the situation altogether. His left leg creaked in protest, buckling under the strain of his sudden movement. Pressing his free hand against the top of the painted rock, Macaque steadied himself, though the bowl still jostled, water cresting the rim and dripping down the side in two small rivulets.

“Hey!” Wukong shot to his feet frustratingly fast, a hand hovering awkwardly between them. “I thought you said your leg was fine.”

“It is fine,” Macaque hissed. “I’m fine, would you just-” He didn’t like that Wukong was standing steadier than him. They weren’t fighting–not yet, at least–but Wukong having any advantage over him made an uneasy static burrow into his skin. Wukong hadn’t attacked yet, but what would Macaque do if the sage decided he was no longer interested in playing nice?

He refused to show weakness in Wukong’s presence again. Almost entirely forgetting about the bowl in his hand, Macaque shoved himself away from the rock and out of Wukong’s reach, trying to prove to himself as much as the sage that he was fine. Despite his determination, another bolt of pain tore through his leg at the motion. His tail whipped back and forth in a futile attempt at regaining his balance, but his leg refused to cooperate with him, determined to send him careening into the ground.

“Macaque!” Wukong took a step towards him, a strong hand grasping Macaque’s upper arm to keep him steady. “Alright there, bud, now I know you’re lying about your leg.”

It almost didn’t register at first, the warm hand encircling his arm, because the only thing Macaque could feel was the pressure. And it didn’t matter that the pressure was keeping him upright, it still felt far too much like chains. “Stop-” he barely choked out, then angrier, “Stop it!” He tore himself out of Wukong’s hold, hands raised before he could think about it, “Get off me!”

Wukong reeled back, his expression something between confused and hurt. “Macaque-” Whatever he might have said was lost as the bowl clattered to the ground. Macaque stumbled back from Wukong, his leg stooping dangerously before righting itself, and took a few steadying breaths once he’d regained his balance. Wukong’s hand still hung limply between them, the sound of the bowl spinning around until it settled the only thing breaking the silence.

Macaque took a stuttering breath. “I’m-” Empty hands closing into fists, Macaque slowly dragged his gaze away from Wukong to stare at the bowl of water he’d dropped. “Wukong-”

The bowl was the absolute least of Wukong’s concerns.  The water that had spilled out of it, on the other hand, was an entirely different story, because it was grayish brown with used paint and currently splashed across the rock that Wukong and Macaque had just been painting on. And he wasn’t even angry that his picture had been ruined, he was just upset. The pictures had barely been given time to dry, there was no way either one of them would remain fully intact and, his rocky past with Macaque be damned, Wukong had wanted those pictures to stay right where they were.

“I didn’t-” Wukong’s gaze snapped back to Macaque, who flinched a little under his stare. “Um… I wasn’t trying to do that. That wasn’t-” His expression crumbled for a moment, in a vulnerable way that Wukong hadn’t seen it do for at least a thousand years, “I didn’t mean to,” he finished lamely.

A very awful, bitter part of Wukong wanted to blame Macaque, anyway. It was a small part, though, a part of him that never really left the Five Elements Mountain, and he smothered it with a strained smile. “It’s all good.” Macaque hesitated, then started forward, hand already outstretched to grab the fallen bowl. “I got it,” Wukong said quickly, not wanting to risk Macaque falling again, and swooped down to grab the bowl. “I’ll, uh… I’ll just go put this away.”

If Macaque had a reply, Wukong didn’t stick around to hear it. He quickly brushed past Macaque and into the house, trying to ignore the lump of emotions that had started crawling up his throat. He wasn’t even sure why he was so upset. It was a painting. He’d made MK destroy a thousand year old mural, and he was upset over some painted rock.

A rock he’d painted with Macaque.

Wukong walked to the sink and turned on the hot water, letting it reach temperatures that anyone without stone skin wouldn’t have been able to touch. Under normal circumstances, Wukong probably would have made a clone take care of the bowl, but he needed a distraction, so he took his time rinsing out the residual paint and letting the scalding water slip through his fingers.

He wished Macaque were a little more open to talking about… them, whatever it was they had going on. They certainly weren’t friends, but Wukong couldn’t imagine them being enemies again after this. Not only because it’d be a really stupid decision on Macaque’s part, but also because it didn’t seem like either of them wanted to.

But Macaque didn’t want to fight, and their past looked a bit too much like a battlefield to start charging into things blindly, so Wukong settled for the strange no man’s land they’d created.

Turning off the water and tossing aside the bowl, Wukong quickly looked around for something to dry his hands on before giving up and shaking the water from his fur. With the bowl clean and nothing else to stall him, Wukong put on the best smile he could manage, and mentally prepared himself to deal with the situation he’d left outside.

“Hey, Macaque,” he called, making his way back to the door he’d left standing open. “You see our paintbrushes out there? I was gonna-” He halted at the sight of Macaque crouched in front of the rock, the end of his scarf clutched tightly in his hand and pressed against the face of Wukong’s painting.

Wukong almost called to him again, demanding to know what he was doing. Hadn’t the painting been ruined enough without Macaque wiping it off?

Then Macaque pulled back, shifting a bit and pressing the scarf into a painted, light blue bandana. His brow furrowed in concentration as he continued to meticulously dry off the rock’s surface without disturbing the artwork. There were some spots that rubbed off more than others, and the gray paint water clouded the pictures a little, but they were still intact.

“Hey,” Wukong said quietly, trying not to startle Macaque. “You’re gonna ruin your scarf.”

Macaque’s ear flicked at the sound of Wukong’s voice. “Eh,” he shrugged, “it’s been through worse.” He pressed the red fabric to his own picture. “I’m… I didn’t mean to-”

“I know,” Wukong interjected, “I know.” Macaque gave a minute nod and then returned to his task. “Kinda my fault, anyway, for startling you.”

“You didn’t startle me,” Macaque said defensively.

Wukong chuckled, “Uh-huh, sure.” He waved for Macaque to move over. “C’mon, scooch. Lemme see.” Macaque moved from his crouching position, falling more than he did sit, and Wukong heard him wince. “You good?”

Macaque hummed as Wukong settled beside him. “Fine.” Then he scowled at the painting. “Ah, man. Smudged it a little.”

“Well,” Wukong said reluctantly, biting back his own wince at the face of Macaque’s picture, “I mean, that eye was giving you a hard time, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Macaque let his scarf fall, leaning back to see their partially ruined handiwork. “You know, maybe it’s just because I haven’t seen your art in a while, but I think this is probably one of my favorites.” Something in Macaque’s expression softened a bit, the lines around his smile easing. “I’m kinda glad you dragged me out here.”

Wukong spluttered for a moment. “What- you dragged me out here!”

“Doesn’t really sound like something I’d do,” Macaque replied. “I think your memory is starting to fail you, old man.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Wukong said, though a smile still tugged at his lips. “Fine, I dragged you out here, whatever.” He jutted a thumb over his shoulder. “Do I have to drag you inside, too? Or are you going to try portaling home with no sleep?”

There was a moment where Macaque didn’t say anything, and Wukong was sure he’d messed something up, somehow. Maybe after their near-argument from earlier, Macaque wasn’t interested in staying longer than he had to. Maybe Wukong was embarrassing them both by crossing a line that they weren’t nearly ready enough to approach.

Then, slowly, Macaque nodded. “I could probably use the rest,” he admitted. “At least a few hours, you know, so I don’t portal myself into a wall trying to get home.” He fidgeted with the hem of his scarf. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gone before you even wake up in the morning.”

At that, Wukong could feel his smile fade, though he tried his best to keep it in place. “Oh! Well, I mean- do you have to be?”

Macaque’s gaze stayed trained on their painting. “Yeah,” came the quiet response, his voice hoarse with an emotion Wukong couldn’t pin down, “I think I do.”

And there wasn’t much that Wukong could do to argue with that, so he didn’t. He and Macaque slipped into an easy silence that Wukong would have  given anything to never break. If it meant that Wukong never woke up to find Macaque gone, he’d have gladly stayed awake in the lantern light until the moon laid itself to rest again.

That wouldn’t be very fair to either of them, though, not with how tired they both were. So, Wukong only allowed himself a few minutes of selfish peace before clearing his throat. “Alright, then.” He pushed himself up, offering a hand to Macaque. “I think I’m gonna pass out right here if I don’t lay down somewhere. You good taking the couch?”

“Are you kidding?” Macaque grunted, gently knocking aside Wukong’s offered hand–not harshly, Wukong noticed, just a polite denial of assistance, “I could fall asleep on a bed of nails right now. A couch sounds like actual heaven.”

Wukong gestured to the door. “After you, sleepy-head.” Macaque snorted, but took the invitation. “There should be a blanket somewhere, I’m gonna throw a hammock up or something.”

“I will never understand your love of sleeping in the air,” Macaque all but collapsed onto the couch. “Seriously. Tree branches, hammocks, not to mention all the times I caught you sleeping on a cloud-”

“You do realize that we’re monkeys, right?” Wukong plucked a hair from his hand and blew on it gently, summoning a hammock that swayed gently from the rafters. “It’s weirder that you want to sleep so close to the ground.”

“Not all monkeys sleep in trees, dude,” Macaque pointed out, grabbing a blanket off the back of the couch. “Gorillas make nests almost exclusively on the ground.”

Clambering into his hammock, Wukong said, “Yeah, okay.” Settling into the cloth and tucking his arms behind his head, he continued, “Hey, I got a question for you, Macaque: Are you a gorilla?” He had just enough time to register a shuffling coming from the couch before he was hit with something soft. “Hey!” Snatching the pillow off his face and shoving it under his head, Wukong gave an annoyed huff. “Rude.”

“You’re welcome,” Macaque replied, settling deeper into the couch and pulling the blanket around him. “Now shut up and go to sleep before I teleport you to the North Pole.”

“Alright, alright,” Wukong closed his eyes and sighed contently. “G’night, Macaque.” Macaque gave a noncommittal hum in lieu of response, but Wukong wasn’t bothered. He turned onto his side and tucked an arm under the pillow Macaque had thrown at him, practically wrapping himself around it and nuzzling into the fabric as the last bit of tension left his body.

In his last lingering moments of consciousness, Wukong could hear Macaque’s breathing slowly even out. Macaque was always so slow to fall asleep when they were younger, his sensitive ears doing him no favors in finding peace, and his vigilance refusing to let him relax. The recent battle must have been just as exhausting for Macaque as it had been for Wukong if he was able to sleep within moments of laying his head down.

Still, Wukong knew Macaque would be gone when he woke the next day. Regardless of how tired Macaque was, sunlight never failed to wake him, and there was still a gaping hole in Wukong’s wall. Macaque would rise with the sun, hours before Wukong even stirred, and then he’d leave.

They would never speak of this night again, of course, and they probably wouldn’t even see each other for weeks or months or however long it took for the world to be in danger again, but Wukong couldn’t find it in himself to mind. He didn’t care that it almost took the world being unraveled for them to talk civilly, Wukong and Macaque were not hopeless, and there was proof painted on the stone outside.

If anyone had told Wukong, however many months ago it was that Macaque had reappeared, that they’d be sleeping under the same roof again, he’d have laughed. Surely, neither one of them would dare to be so vulnerable around the other without fear of being at each other’s throats. But now, finally losing his fight with exhaustion to the sound of crickets and Macaque’s quiet, rattling breaths, Wukong couldn’t imagine a better way to fall asleep.

[mylo-space]

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