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wreckless-tempestry · 24 days ago

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Fresh Starts

Year of the OTP 2025 - March Prompt

Characters: Finn and Shrimpo (Dandy’s World)

AN: Hello my lovely readers! It took me a little bit longer than I thought I would to write this month’s addition, which I apologize for. Thankfully due to the current time zone I’m in, I am posting this early enough to be on time for my American readers. To any of you who live in Europe, I was not as fortunate. My apologies!

This chapter focuses more on character development (and lore… heheh) than interactions between the two main characters, so keep that in mind. A lot of other characters are featured in this one, so if you’re a multishipper today is your lucky day. (particularly for angryhug fans. I see you out there). I do have some trigger warnings for this one, however. There is a description of an unhealthy lifestyle and implied self-hatred/suicidal thoughts. The later is mentioned for only a brief period, but you’ve been warned nonetheless. Also some violence, but no one gets seriously hurt. Remember to take care of yourselves. :)

added note: I started writing this before yatta was announced to the public. How she lined up so perfectly with the events in this story was quite a pleasant surprise. You aren’t mentioned in this one though, queen. Maybe next time.

word count is 9.9k words. Not proofread and a little rushed. yeesh…

part 1 part 2

There was a hum going about the small gathering in Gardenview Center today; not exactly the thrum of excitement that hovered amongst everyone when it was a holiday or the like. It was more… conspiratory. Like something was up and no one was sure whether it was safe to acknowledge it openly.

And we all know how much Shrimpo enjoys that sort of atmosphere.

“WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH EVERYONE? I HATE PEOPLE ACTING SUSPICIOUS.” As per usual, he announced his presence with little shame, making some of the Toons nearby flinch in surprise. A couple looked at him with resigned admonishment, but at this point most people had become accustomed to his behavior – at the rate in which this occurred, adaptation was almost mandatory.

Tisha, the good soul she was, was the first to speak up. “Haven’t you heard the rumors?” she murmured, padding closer to him. She glanced at the others, as if confirming she was allowed to inform him. No one spoke up in protest, which she seemed to take as a yes.

“No,” he replied, only a little more quietly. “I demand you tell me.”

“Alright, alright,” she huffed, toying with the ends of her feather duster out of habit. “Glisten mentioned that he happened to overhear Dandy and Astro discussing something earlier… he couldn’t say with absolute certainty, but he thought he caught something about a new Toon that might arrive soon.”

At this, even Shrimpo couldn’t help but perk up a little from his slouched posture. Such things were not everyday news, and even he took a level of interest in the possibility.

Of course, this interest was always short-lived, and his expression soon reverted back to its default sourness. “So?” he snorted. “Big deal. I bet Glisten didn’t hear shit and is making up this bull.”

The mirror in question, a couple yards away, huffed in disdain and crossed his arms. “I am not,” he cut in. “It’s all true. Heard it with my own ears.”

“Did not.”

”Did too!”

“Let’s just say there’s a chance a new Toon will arrive, and leave it at that,” Sprout wisely intervened from his spot next to Glisten, who begrudgingly relented and took a step back. “Nothing’s been confirmed yet, at least until either Dandy or Astro announce something publicly.”

“I wouldn’t count on that, either,” Vee snorted from a separate cluster of Toons. “Astro’s about as tight-lipped as you can get, and frankly I wouldn’t trust Dandy to hold some gumballs for me.” Taking on an even more bitter tone, she added, “Plus, at this rate Dandy’s all but got Astro wrapped around his finger. He won’t say nothing if–”

“Vee.” Sprout shot her a warning look, which Vee met with a glare but was silenced by. “Not the time or place.”

An awkward pause. Before Shrimpo could offer some scathing remark, Shelly broke the silence with somewhat strained laughter and said, “Well, ah… back to the original topic! Even if it hasn’t been confirmed for sure yet, it’d still be fun to try and prepare for the newcomer, right? Give them a warm welcome! Let’s all put our heads together and see what we can do.”

Shelly’s words were met with instant murmurs of approval, grateful for an escape from the previous tension. Like clockwork, the small clusters merged together and voices were raised to provide their input. Curling his lip slightly at the sudden close proximity, Shrimpo forced his way out of the throng and swiftly departed, lest someone attempt to rope him into whatever they had planned.

Okay, yeah, new Toons weren’t particularly common, but there didn’t need to be such a commotion. The circumstances that led one to Gardenview in the first place weren’t always a pleasant affair, so throwing some big celebration seemed rather unfitting to him.

What had changed? This certainly wasn’t how he was greeted when he arrived, nor anyone else up until more recently.

He should know. He was one of the first.

He thought back for a moment, to the train that had brought him here. He didn’t have any ticket; if you were going to Gardenview, you didn’t need one. Considering where you were headed, making you pay for transport wasn’t deemed the most appropriate of actions. You just told the conductor where you were going when they passed by, and they’d nod and tell you to get off at the end of the line.

He’d huddled in the corner of an empty roomette, and the few that opened the door to check for an open seat quickly departed at the glower they were met with. Though the ride was only about an hour long, it felt like days before they’d screeched to a halt at the station. Eight others, strangers to him back then, had trickled out of their rooms with faint murmurs as the doors slid open. Shrimpo had stood silently until the others had stepped off, tightly clutching his sole possession – a brick he’d pried loose from the sidewalk before coming aboard – and only when he was alone did he walk through the doors himself.

Dandy and Astro were waiting for them behind the turnstile gates, with Pebble at the flower’s side and Vee a step behind (Shelly and Sprout had come around a little later, Shrimpo recalled). They had been greeted individually, and names were exchanged before they’d been led to their rooms. They were all a bit bare the first day, but Dandy promised they could be customized to people’s liking in the following days, when he knew more about everyone’s personal tastes.

Shrimpo had punched his first hole in the wall that day, and a couple more for good measure. When new wallpaper was put in a couple days later, he’d torn it so that the holes would still show. He didn’t ask for much — to him, other amenities just felt like clutter that would take up space. He had a bed, wardrobe, desk, and the punching bag that was randomly procured one way, and already that was enough. He hadn’t wanted to own anything that was in possession of Gardenview, hadn’t wanted to be subject to their pity.

The room that he slept in but was not his remained almost as empty as the day he arrived. Good; it matched how he felt perfectly.

To call him a recluse would have been an understatement. For the first month he scarcely emerged into view of the public, only lurking about in the wee hours of the night to snatch some food from the fridge and retreat back to his lair. He’d heard knocks on his door in the earlier days that gradually stopped the longer he ignored them. A good amount of his time was spent laying on the floor, looking up at the ceiling and wondering how long he needed to close his eyes to just

disappear.

This proved to be impossible, at least with the method he was trying. He didn’t feel inspired to attempt anything more likely to reap results, so for the first month he just lay and stared and hoped.

The second month was when, at long last, Shrimpo began to saunter around during the waking hours, and many Toons quickly realized that they much preferred his previous behavior. To run into him was always an unfavorable experience, as any attempts at conversation devolved immediately into some loathing retort before he trudged off again. Most everyone got the message quite quickly and didn't pester him much; any attempts at doing so we're never received well. And for a time there was a period of unremarkability, one of the most peaceful moments yet in Shrimpo’s lifetime.

Then the third month came around, and just like last month a small cluster of new Toons arrived… but this time would be different. One of them was someone who, though Shrimpo was unaware of this then, would be one of the most difficult and wonderful things that would ever happen to him.

And it began with a smile and a punch to the face.

Immersed in his excursion down memory lane, Shrimpo had failed to notice that his feet were leading him to a room that was not assigned to him until he stood right in front of it. He blinked. He did not have a lifesaver wreath on his door – though he knew who did. Why had he come here? He should go back.

The door creaked open before he could so much as turn around. Shrimpo let fly a string of curses in his head as Finn peered out curiously at him.

“Shrimpo? Thought I heard someone out here. What's up?”

‘Quick, think of something to say!’ He'd much prefer to avoid any blows to his dignity, and showing up at Finn’s doorstep without any accompanying reason would not help. As was typical of him, he opened his mouth and blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“A new toon might be coming soon,” he announced, volume still high but not as loud as it might be upon initiating an interaction with someone else. “Everyone’s yapping about it upstairs.”

Mercifully, Finn didn’t appear to have heard the news yet. “Reel-y?” he hummed, the fins on the side of his head perking up slightly. “We haven’t heard anything about newcomers since Bobette and the others left… gosh, ain’t that excitin’!”

“Whatever,” Shrimpo scoffed, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorway. “It came from Glisten, if that tells you anything. No one’s even asked Astro or Dandy if it’s true.”

“Well, lemme know if they do say somethin’ — I’m hooked!”

“You’re even more pun-prone than usual today,” Shrimpo noted, scrunching his nose.

“I’ve been perusing my joke books again. Would hate to disappoint you were I ever to run trout of puns, mate,” Finn replied with a chuckle. As an afterthought, he waved Shrimpo in. “Sorry — come in, come in! Don’t want you to have t’stand, heh.”

Shrimpo grumbled internally at the situations he managed to put himself into before trudging into the room. Subconsciously, his eyes scanned the room, taking in the surroundings as he reluctantly sat down on the edge of Finn’s bed. The walls were a bold turquoise, a fashion choice Shrimpo would have hated in his own space but supposed was very in-character for his comrade. Sitting proudly on the bookshelf next to his bed (which he already knew was stuffed to the brim with jokebooks and marine encyclopedias) was a fish tank, inside of which swam a couple of goldfish. Amongst them was a purple specimen, whose movements were stiffer than the others, and one glance at Finn’s empty head confirmed that it was none other than the infamous Barnaby Wilikers.

A calendar was pinned on the wall, one that looked exactly like the one Shrimpo had been gifted – right, Finn had gotten duplicates from Brightney and wanted them to be matching. What was this month’s fish again? A brief squint at the displayed illustration brought back his memory: a lamprey. Shrimpo had thought it looked pretty cool when he’d first seen it, what with its teeth and all. The factoid written at the bottom of the page had stated it latched on to other fish and drank their blood – feeding off of their life force – and by that alone it earned his seal of approval.

It took him a moment to realize that this was the first time he’d been in Finn’s room; previous encounters had usually happened at Shrimpo’s place, since Finn was more often than not the one seeking him out. For reasons beyond Shrimpo’s understanding, his awareness of this detail brought a sensation of both lightweightedness and compression in his chest. Another Finn-related mystery that he had yet to learn the answer to.

“Aren’t they rad?” Finn had taken note of his gaze on the calendar. “I love lampreys. A shame that a tuna people think they’re scary. They only do what they do to survive, after all.”

“Hmm.” Shrimpo looked away from the photo of the marine creature, hands balled into tight fists as they rested on the edge of the mattress.

A pause, in which Shrimpo stubbornly kept eye contact with the carpet on the floor that had patterns like sea waves. He couldn’t tell whether the burning feeling he felt underneath his skin was from the mystery sensation or Finn staring at him, and he dared not look up to check.

“You know…” Finn began slowly, as if mulling over his words whilst he tread towards the fish tank (and closer to Shrimpo). Uh oh. Finn’s tone had shifted to the one he had used while talking to Shrimpo on the eve of Valentine’s day. The day that had brought with it a rollercoaster of emotions he would greatly appreciate not suffering through again. The shrimp’s shoulders tensed.

“What?” he snapped, a little too quickly.

“This new toon and everything… might be a good opportunity for you, if you think of it. A good first impression is a good first step to makin’ friends, yeah?”

“EeeEEEH? WHADDAYA MEAN? I DON’T NEED FRIENDS. I HATE EVERYBODY. SHRIMPO BOWS TO NO ONE!” What on earth was Finn insinuating? Just cause he didn’t get yelled at with every sentence Shrimpo spoke didn’t mean he could start throwing out bullshit like that. Who did he think he was?

Shrimpo was rapidly beginning to relapse into his typical behavior, and Finn didn’t take long to backtrack some.

“Hey now,” he chuckled a little nervously, waving his hands in front of him as a sign of surrender. “I was just castin’ my reel of thought out there. Don’t pay me no mind if ya don’t wanna.”

Shrimpo’s grip on the side of the bed didn’t loosen, but he did stop leaning forward with an accusatory glare. Finn let out a breath, then turned back to the fish tank as he reached for the capsule of food pellets. The silence resumed, albeit now accompanied by an undercurrent of vague tension.

Shrimpo resumed his staring at the carpet, inhaling deeply through his nose. It didn't really help. He'd thought his whole issue with rooms feeling smaller was restricted to his own, but it was now infesting Finn’s.

I don’t need friends. I bow to no one. I don’t need friends. I bow to no one. I don't need friends. I want no friends. I have never wanted friends. I will never want friends.

“I’m gonna go,” Shrimpo announced into the quiet, rising to his feet as Finn fed Barnaby and the others their lunch. The fishbowl shot him a glance that Shrimpo couldn’t immediately decipher, but looked somewhat like a silent apology. Whatever. He didn’t need anyone’s remorse. He exited the room without another word.

Now, Shrimpo had had to admit some things to himself over the course of the last month. For example, Finn was not, as originally planned, his mortal enemy. The term ‘friend’ had been tossed around (which he refused to accept) but in the end, if you pushed past the ambiguous words of ‘acquaintance’ or ‘comrade’... that was practically what they were. Friends. Since Finn seemed so damn adamant about it, anyway.

God, look at him. He’d made one promise to himself when he arrived here, and already he was putting it in jeopardy. It was sad, truly.

By the time he arrived at his own room, his forehead was beginning to hurt from how severely his brow was furrowed. He all but threw the door open and shuffled in, slamming it shut behind him.

‘Fuck,’ he thought to himself, falling face first into his mattress. Why was it that he was the one who felt bad whenever he snapped at Finn? It was the latter who started spouting nonsense, after all, and hell would freeze over the day Shrimpo let anyone talk to him like that.

Making friends. Hah! He wanted to both laugh and scream. What right did Finn have, suggesting he ‘make friends’? He sounded like some camp counselor, for Christ’s sake. Shrimpo had no intention of letting anyone else slip past so much as a single one of his barriers, forget some new guy.

Finn was an accident, and one that he would not make again.

What benefit could he get from friends, anyway? He already spent all of his time antagonizing all the other Toons, and was doing a great job at it – or at least, he hoped. Now that he thought about it, their initial looks of shock and anger upon first being met with his prickly disposition had recently been fading to acquiescence from many, if an annoyed one. It got the job done, at least, but once in a while he caught himself thinking back to his starting days here. When people truly took him seriously. Now that was a time.

Sure, he’d mostly started being that way because he had been absolutely miserable, but he remembered feeling… safer, shoving everyone away. And he had his shit all together now, of course, so he could fully enjoy the effects of his negative output into the world.

If ever he was presented an opportunity to remind everyone again of what a truly horrible person he was, he’d take it in a heartbeat. Things were getting sort of chummy around here, with this growing tolerance towards his antics. Just yesterday Teagan had invited him to a tea party. A tea party. “Finn will be there,” she had added, as if that was a selling point. If people were coming up to him requesting his company at social events, something definitely had to change.

They needed to be taken by surprise. See something different.

Different…

Hold it.

He hated to mooch off of someone else’s ideas, but maybe, just maybe, Finn’s idea wasn’t completely idiotic.

Oh, he definitely wouldn’t try to get all buddy-buddy with some rando. But what if he pretended? It would take a bit more work than Shrimpo usually put in – a lot more, actually – but it sure would surprise everyone. ‘Look at him, being nice,’ they’d think. ‘Maybe he’s turned over a new leaf after all.’

And then they’d be surprised yet again, when he brought those hopes crumbling into dust while he proved them wrong. He hadn’t figured out exactly how he’d do that yet, but surely it wouldn’t be too hard to make the newbie go running off with their tail between their legs. Make some biting insults, sweep them off their rhythm when they least expect it. Maybe scuff them up a little. That could do the trick.

And wouldn’t it all be worth it, then, when everyone learned what had happened? Maybe this time they would all hate him for good. Maybe he would finally stop having to worry about people trying to make friends with him, and be able to spend the rest of his days feeling like he’d gotten what he needed out of life.

This was the promise he had made to himself when he first stepped off that train. He’d be damned if he didn’t see it through. He had to.

‘Couldn’t you just, like, be pissy to them when they first get here instead of adding all these extra steps?’ Here came the Voice of Reason yet again, which to be fair had come in clutch last month with the valentine’s fiasco; but for once Shrimpo had to disagree with it.

‘Nah, everyone would probably be expecting that. They’d just tell the new guy not to talk to me and that’d be that.’

Shrimpo had to admit, a part of him was a bit mystified as to why he was suddenly determined to put so much effort into this plan of his, why it mattered to him so. He didn’t fully know. Maybe he was tired of people thinking he could be redeemed, or fixed, or saved. To hell with that, to hell with Gardenview. Some things you just couldn’t fix.

However, if he wanted to pull this off, he had to practice. Set the stage for himself, if you will. It seemed that he’d have to venture outside of the confines of his room and… interact with other Toons. On purpose. And be nice to them.

‘Yuck.’

He supposed this time it was a necessary evil, for if he did a complete 180 on the day of arrival it would seem a bit random, and the chances of him being called out were substantially higher. Whereas if he gradually started integrating himself in whatever it was people did all day, without being as much of an asshole as usual… perhaps they would fall for it. It was a gamble, but knowing the mindset this place was built upon he suspected most of them would.

He glanced at his clock, surprised at how late it already was. There wasn’t a very clear passage of time in here, what with the lack of windows Shrimpo had noticed, and the days always seemed either to drag on endlessly or slip out of his grasp like soap.

Tomorrow, he vowed to himself. Tomorrow he would begin planting the seeds of deception amongst the others. Already he had a target in mind. A dimwitted, bothersome, very gullible target.

A certain little imp would have no idea what hit her.

It didn’t take him long to track down his victim the following day; many times he had spotted her crouching near one of the bells in the Gardenview center, playing schoolhouse or whatever the fuck it was kids pretended nowadays. Today was no different; she had assembled all her mismatched trinkets together, from painted rocks to her infamous dog plushie, and was sitting them all around in a circle.

“TOODLES.” The girl turned to look at him, and upon recognition she once again took up that aloof expression she had given him way back in January, feigning disinterest.

“Yeah?” Shrimpo assumed she was trying to sound cool and detached, when in actuality her voice only became really breathy. Not for the first time, he willed himself not to immediately snap at her and instead forced out a question in the flattest tone he could muster; it would take some time before he could fake genuine interest.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING.”

“Nothing,” she huffed, turning up her nose. Shrimpo’s fist twitched from its spot in his pocket. “Like you’d care.”

‘Now is not the time, pest.’ He surveyed her haphazard collection with a raised brow, gaze settling on one of the rocks, which seemed to have a rather crude likeness of Poppy painted onto it in acrylic. There was little doubt about who the artist was.

“I…” Hate. “…LIKE THAT ONE.” He had to yank the words from his gritted teeth. Geez, how could other people afford to be nice all the time? Speaking only a few words was already putting him in a world of pain.

And yet, such simple words seemed to have an effect after all. Toodles’ half lidded eyes opened a little more, her posture becoming straighter as she considered him in a new light. “…Ya really think so?” She looked down at the rock in question, picking it up in one of her grubby palms. “Rodger said it looked great, but he says that about everything I make.” Her eyes returned to him, now with an added sparkle. “Ya reaalllyy think so?”

“UM. SURE.” Shrimpo was a bit taken aback at how easily the girl had brightened with just four simple words he had spoken. Then again, it played right into his mastermind plan, so he wasn’t complaining.

“Well… if you say so, then it’s gotta be true.” She grinned suddenly, and a giggle escaped her. “Thanks, Shrimpo!”

“...NO PROBLEM.” He’d ponder over this newfound mystery later. He’d done his kind deed for the day.

“Oh, hey–” Toodles added before he could turn around. She fished around in the pockets of her hoodie, and when she pulled out her hands again she was holding two other rocks, these ones blank. “Um… Do you wanna paint some? I’ve made most of the other Toons, but I haven’t made you and Finn yet.”

“Finn?” Shrimpo raised a brow, lowering his voice a little now that the hard part seemed to be over. “Why’re you asking me to paint him?”

“Because, dummy,” she replied with an eye roll, as if it was obvious, “you know him like the most out of everyone here. Like, you always hang out together and stuff. And whenever I talk to him he always brings you up even though I didn’t ask. And–”

“WHATEVER,” Shrimpo cut her off as he raised the volume again, reaching out with one hand and snatching up the pebbles — anything to make her stop talking. “I’LL DO IT. I’LL PAINT THEM.”

“Yay!” She clapped her hands, her smile somehow getting even wider. “Give them to me when they’re done!”

“UH HUH. SURE.” This time he made sure to make himself scarce before she could speak another word.

The exhale he let out as soon as he closed his door could have created a tornado given the right amount of wind. He sagged slightly against the surface, then tensed up again and threw the pebbles at the floor, both landing with a substantial thump.

He stared at them, hands balled into fists. Then got to his knees, picked them up, stood, and carried them over to his mattress, where he set them down.

‘Come on, Shrimpo. It was only some little comment from a random brat you don’t care about. If you can’t handle just one day of your plan, then you’re too weak to bother trying at all.’

He wasn’t weak. Never was, never would be.

So… painting rocks. Couldn’t be too hard, right? Maybe this way he could also gain the favor of Rodger, if he noticed him being on good terms with what might as well be his daughter. Two birds with one stone. Har de har har, rock joke.

It occurred to him suddenly that in order to paint the rocks, he needed�� well, paint. And preferably a brush, unless he wanted to try his hand at finger painting. The thought of getting such oddly textured fluids on his hands was a thought he did not wish to entertain, so a brush it was.

There was only one problem; to his knowledge he owned absolutely no artistic materials of any kind. He’d never been particularly creative in his younger days, and he doubted he’d gained any more experience when he’d been rotting in the dorms all day.

He’d have to find some, one way or another.

Buying supplies seemed a bit much, since he had no plans of picking up the arts as a long-time hobby. Which brought up the option of borrowing some. But from whom? Asking Toodles for supplies to paint rocks she had given him herself didn’t seem entirely appropriate. So who was most likely to own a decent amount of paint and the like?

‘Oh wait.’

Two names popped into mind almost instantly. Shrimpo wished that they hadn’t.

This task had just become approximately four times more painful.

He’d been hoping to avoid this pair for the duration of his little experiment, or at least delay it for as long as possible, yet it became evident now that this hope was futile.

He stared at the rocks.

‘Tomorrow.’ Good Deed #2 could wait for now. Toodles had been enough of a nuisance for Shrimpo in the last half an hour; he didn’t feel inclined to add another.

But hey, at least this way he might be able to hit four birds with one stone. Goodness, how quickly one small action could branch outwards. Chain reaction or whatever it was called.

He spent the remainder of his day either using his punching bag or napping – his usual hobby of harassing the public would have to be put off until after this whole charade was over. The rocks were moved to the closet.

The hours had come and gone, and Shrimpo now stood in the hall facing his imminent doom, pebbles in his pockets. His fist hovered in front of the door, before rapidly knocking twice and jerking his hand back as if stung.

“Who’s – oh, Shrimpo! Hi, pal!” A face Shrimpo knew all too well swung the door open fully with one clumsy hand, flashing a sharp-toothed grin.

“...GOOB,” he muttered, hands clenched at his side as they usually were whenever he ran into his archnemesis. He had known this would be an arduous task, but experiencing the agony of it in real time took a whole new level of self-containment. ‘We must stay focused, brothers, we must stay focused.’

After a couple uncomfortable seconds of Goob smiling at him without a word, the craft spoke up again. “What’s up, bud?” The dreaded question.

He took a deep breath through his nose. Looked at the floor. Stuffed down his pride as best as he could. May whatever deities looking down from above grant him strength, because he was going to need all of it and then some.

“DO YOU… WANT TO PAINT. TOGETHER. OR SOMETHING.”

Goob’s surprised smile upon his arrival faltered, becoming a completely blank stare directly into Shrimpo's eyes. For one horrible moment, the latter thought his plan had been uncovered by none other than Gardenview’s most dimwitted inhabitant.

Then, as if the words had finally dawned on him, his grin rebounded with double the brightness, stars all but dancing in his widened eyes. “Really? You really wanna? Paint wi – pai – paint with me?” Goob tripped over his words with how hurriedly he was trying to rush them out of his mouth. His hands clasped together tightly as he bounced on the soles of his feet, looking almost desperately hopeful.

Shrimpo’s bullying mindset was really tempted to say no, just to see if he could finally rid whatever Goob’s foolish hopes were of being friends with him. But no – no, patience was key. Seeing Goob’s reaction would be great, but seeing everyone's reaction would be perfect.

So he said, “YEAH.”

The poor Toon seemed seconds away from bursting like a piñata, practically trembling with joy. “Yay yay yay YAYYY!!” His arms reached out to presumably grab Shrimpo, who immediately locked his jaw and braced for impact; yet at the last moment Goob seemed to recall something and retracted his arms a little.

“Oh, um… sorry,” he apologized, his grin turning sheepish. “I forgot you don't like that. Scraps keeps reminding me to ask people before I hug them.” He reached out his arms again, slower this time, and kept them extended in front of Shrimpo. “Do you want one? A hug, I mean.”

Shrimpo blinked, considering the scene in front of him. Whenever the two of them had been on an expedition together, he'd had to basically yell at Goob and curse his entire bloodline to resist his attempts at physical affection. To see that his sworn enemy was capable of remembering to ask consent was significantly higher than the bar of expectation he'd set for the guy… which was abysmal, to be fair. The bar might as well have been six feet under.

He weighed his options. He didn't really desire any physical contact with anyone, much less Goob, but if it helped with the plan…

“FINE,” he grumbled. Goob’s smile brightened, before the boy reached a little further and lightly wrapped his multicolored arms around Shrimpo’s torso. The usual prickling feeling creeped up on the shrimp again, but this time he tamped it down, if only for a second longer than usual.

He supposed he could see how some children might enjoy this sort of thing. Goob’s voluminous fur was rather soft, and his hands weren't entirely rock-solid – rather, they were ever so slightly squishy, like a stress toy you might find at the pharmacy or something. To a degree, it could almost be comforting.

Not Shrimpo’s thing, though. Probably never would be.

“OKAY,” he said, shrugging himself out of Goob’s embrace. “PAINTING. WE WILL PAINT.”

“Yippee!! Okay, come on in!” Goob turned around and skipped inside, Shrimpo shuffling in behind him. “I'll get the acrylics.”

Painting was decidedly not as easy as it looked. Nose scrunched up in concentration and armed with thick rubber gloves, Shrimpo painted an orange triangle shape that could sort of pass as his tail. Maybe.

Wait, now he had to repaint part of the white circle that was his face. Urrghh. Thank God Scraps was out somewhere; the thought of another one of his biggest opps (#3 on his hit list, if he recalled) overseeing his current predicament was a thought he didn't even dare to entertain.

“Layers are real important when you're doing this sort of thing,” Goob offered across the table, tongue sticking out the side of his mouth as he stroked his brush across his paper. “Ya have to sort of think about what goes over what, so they don't overlap later.”

“Shrimpo listens to no one,” he hissed, aggressively wiping his brush on the provided towel. “If you're such a painting genius, let's see what you have so far, huh?”

“Sure! Give me a sec for this one line…” Setting down his paintbrush, Goob delicately flipped his paper around to face Shrimpo, revealing a wintry forest landscape that looked like it would belong in a museum of the arts. You could all but feel the snow underfoot, taste the dew on each individual pine needle.

“...”

“I’m not done yet, but hopefully I can make it look a bit nicer. Scraps is better at this sort of thing,” Goob chuckled in apology, horribly misinterpreting Shrimpo’s silence. “She taught me a lot of what I know. Maybe one day I can be as good as her!”

“...Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Shrimpo huffed, snapping out of his stupor. As an afterthought, he managed to get out, “I think it… looks great.” The plan, he reminds himself, remember the plan. “The trees are cool.”

“D’aw, thanks pal! I try.”

A surprisingly painless silence settled over them. Applying two final black dots for eyes, Shrimpo scrutinized his somewhat disheveled self-portrait painted into the stone and decided that it was suitable enough. He doubted Toodles would care that much anyway.

His miniscule doppelganger had no facial features, save for the eyes, he noticed. Should he add some? From what he recalled, the other rock figures all had lopsided smiles, applied by a child’s unsteady hand.

He dipped his brush once more into the small blotch of black paint Goob had poured and raised his brush over the rock.

It was here he paused.

To paint himself with a smile might fit better with the general theme, but he couldn't make himself to put the brush to the surface. It would not be him. It would be some other version of him that smiled and looked happy.

A frown, then, with diagonal lines for eyebrows and everything. Simple enough, only three strokes. It would fit him for sure.

And yet, he still could not lower his brush.

He ended up pushing it to the side with one finger, bringing forward the second unpainted rock. He could do without a mouth.

Whilst he cleaned off his brush in preparation for the blue paint, Goob spoke up again.

“Y’know, I'm glad you're starting to come around,” he hummed, adding some more painstakingly careful strokes of green to his piece. Shrimpo stiffened. He'd expected someone to eventually comment something about his ‘change of heart’, but he hadn't prepared himself to hear it from the Toon across from him of all people. He was only just beginning to wrap his head around the whole asking-before-hugging deal – to hear such sentiment from someone he'd always thought ate crayons for fun was an entire other revelation to process.

“...I dunno,” he muttered evasively, keeping his eyes on the rock as he mindlessly painted a blue circle in the center, followed by a single horizontal stroke resting on the top. A fishbowl. “It isn't that big of a deal. I just agreed to paint some stones for the ankle biter.”

“I mean, that's true in a sense. But small things can go a long way! I overheard Rodger talking to Teagan yesterday about how happy Toodles seemed after you left, and then Glisten overheard also and grinned at me and left. And then later more people were talking about it.”

It took a second for the words to register. “WHAT?!” Shrimpo almost dropped his brush. How he managed to not smudge his painting was a miracle. “WHY ARE PEOPLE TALKING ABOUT ME? I HATE NOSY PEOPLE!” Glisten was now dangerously close to replacing Goob’s placement at #1 on Shrimpo's hit list.

“I mean, a lot of people were smiling too,” answered Goob, seeming completely unbothered at the catastrophic bomb he had just dropped.

Shrimpo put his face on the table for a moment, then rose to his feet with sudden rage. “I'LL BASH ALL THEIR NOSES IN! SHRIMPO IS NEVER HUMILIATED!” He could see the smug faces of the others now, laughing at him. Mocking him. Look at him go, being Toodles’s little errand boy. Maybe he’ll let us trample all over him next.

Screw the plan, he refused to be made a laughingstock. Ever.

“Whaddya mean?” Goob tilted his head to the side a little. “They weren't making fun of you.”

“OF COURSE THEY WERE.” Shrimpo breathed heavily out of his mouth, slamming his fists on the table. He swore he saw red. This is what happened, always, without fail. Give an inch and you'll be robbed a mile. How could he have ever forgotten? How had he told himself to become smaller, tidier than he was for the sake of others?

He felt that in times like this, more than ever, he truly understood what it meant to hate.

Goob stilled for a moment with his hands tucked in close to his body, seeming uncertain in the face of such ire. Yet he didn't truly seem afraid. Not fully.

At last, he pointed a finger at something on the table. Shrimpo looked down.

The half-finished painting of Finn stared up at him, lopsided grin baring its missing tooth for the world to see. Only one of the eyes had been worked on, and the lifejacket was currently only a stroke of orange, but there was no doubt about who it was meant to be.

He'd done Finn well, just like Toodles had predicted. Most of him wanted to wipe the entire thing off and throw it at the wall, or maybe at Goob’s idiotic face. His hands did not reach for it.

“I think,” Goob said into the silence that followed, “that you're making a lot of people happy. In a good way.”

Shrimpo stared at him. Goob stared back, without malice or fear.

‘Making people… happy.’

“...HOW WOULD YOU KNOW?” He growled eventually. “YOU DON’T SPEAK FOR EVERYONE.”

“I don’t,” Goob conceded with a bob of his head. “But I’m happy for you. I don’t see why anyone else would think much differently.”

They were the words of a fool, a naive shit-for-brains who hadn’t quite grasped the concept of opinions that differed from his own.

At the same time, it may have very well been one of the most enlightening things Shrimpo had ever heard. He hesitated, stuck on how to proceed.

“…I AM DONE,” he managed to grumble after a pause, fists sliding off the table. He used his thumb and index finger to place the still-damp rocks in his free palm. “I WILL LEAVE NOW.”

“You sure? You could give them some time to dry a little, and Finn’s lifeja—.”

“I’M GOOD.” He considered thanking Goob for letting him use the paint, and rapidly decided not to bother. He was out of niceness for the day, and he already had enough troubles to think about already. He went out the door without saying anything more.

As luck would have it, he almost ran into Scraps out in the hall, who was returning from wherever she’d been earlier. The two regarded each other with some wariness, neither moving a single muscle. She glanced at the rocks.

And then… Scraps smiled. It was a small smile, somewhat crooked, but a smile nevertheless.

“We’ve been waiting for you a while,” was all she said. She retreated into her room. He could hear her complimenting Goob’s painting from inside.

In the privacy of his sleeping quarters, laying on his back facing the ceiling, Shrimpo considered his plan yet again. Despite the many trials he’d already endured, it seemed to be shaping up well; his current victims remained unaware of his intentions. Though he wasn’t sure if Goob was the most trustworthy source of information, whether the other Toons were mocking him or not made little difference — he was fooling them all, one way or another. At this rate, when the new Toon finally arrived the stars would be perfectly aligned for him to deliver a splendid grand finale.

He tried to picture it: the looks of horror, disgust, and more at what he’d done. The sobbing victim, probably with some bruises, or at least emotional damage. Victory would be his. Everyone would see him for the unredeemable soul he was, and the days of being pestered and prodded at in hope of change would be over.

But to his surprise, the mental image did not stir triumph in him, nor even contentment. That future seemed detached, unfeeling. Cold.

Against his will, he recalled the last time he’d ever watched a new Toon arrive.

He didn’t know why he’d chosen to come and stand with the rest of the gathering crowd that day, everyone watching on with rising anticipation as the train screeched to a stop in an explosion of sound and gas fumes. He’d clutched his arms tightly, hunched over a bit and smoldering eyes focused on the doors as they slid open with a hiss.

The first to exit had been Sprout, at which Vee and Astro had perked up and stepped forward to give their own personal greeting to. Following closely behind was Cosmo, hand in hand with his friend, and a rather flamboyant Glisten who chose to act like he was stepping onto a catwalk or something.

And then, hopping down the steps… Finn.

It mystified Shrimpo to this day why, out of all the Toons assembled, Finn’s inquisitive gaze had settled on him first. Maybe it was because he stood a little ways away from the others, maybe it was his almost accusing glare, maybe it had been pure chance. But they met eyes, and Finn smiled. The gap in his teeth was as prominent as it was in the current day. Stupid fucking smile.

And right after everyone had given their group hellos? He ran right in Shrimpo’s direction. Head on, waving with one hand with that twinkle in his eye.

He was fast. Fast enough to catch Shrimpo off guard. And above all, Shrimpo hated being caught off guard.

“What’s swimming, mate? My name’s—“

CRACK.

A deathly hush fell over the crowd as heads turned in the direction of the sound. Shrimpo stood ramrod still, fist still semi-outstretched after the peak of his swing. Small rivulets of black blood had begun to trickle from his knuckles where his skin had been pierced by tiny shards of glass.

Finn lay limp on his side, water pooling on the floor and staining the carpet while Barnaby Wilikers robotically flopped around a couple feet away. The boy's right face had been shattered, a cluster of cracks branching out from the point of impact right next to his eye. Mercifully, he’d fallen into unconsciousness right after his head hit the ground; otherwise there was no telling how he would have reacted to the inevitable pain.

In no time at all Cosmo had weaved through the crowd and knelt beside Finn, Sprout joining him not a second later. They spoke with each other in hurried yet quiet tones, flipping him onto his back and assessing the damage. They then carefully slid their arms underneath him and lifted him up. “We’ll be back,” Cosmo had announced to the crowd of bystanders, before waving a shaken Astro over and murmuring something to him. He nodded and began striding off, the two healers not far behind. And then they were gone.

A beat of silence. Two.

The center erupted into chatter, some panicked, some concerned. But all eyes ended up turning to Shrimpo, who had dropped his fist and was staring at the damp blotch on the carpet. And in the cacophony of voices, many of them quickly turned angry.

I can’t believe he did that.

I know he isn’t the friendliest, but he went way too far.

Geez, what a bully. Punching the poor kid.

Ever heard of common decency?

No one had come up to him directly, and he had said nothing in his own defense. He did not know how to communicate that he had felt threatened and was trying to defend himself, and even if he had he didn't think it would matter.

And besides… a part of him had taken a sort of morbid pleasure with it, with the swarm of voices and eyes and disapproval, criticizing him for what he had done. This was what he had been trying to achieve all along, the world versus him. He had wanted this. He had brought it upon himself.

He'd gotten what he deserved.

And that was how it would've stayed, if Finn hadn't been a happy-go-lucky prick who forgave Shrimpo the second he woke up. Hell, he'd even apologized, this idiot with nothing but the faintest dent in the side of his bowl as a scar, for running up to him too fast. “I shoulda known I’d startle ya,” he'd reasoned from his position on some cot Astro had procured. Shrimpo had stood incredulously next to him, at a loss for words.

Word spread like wildfire through Gardenview, and before the hour was up pretty much everyone had chosen Finn’s route and let Shrimpo off the hook. A lot more holes were added to his wall that evening. His driving goal from the moment he arrived here, achieved and stolen from him within a single day. To call him livid would have been an understatement.

He sat in the same room now, soon to make a similar choice on a different Toon. Would everyone forgive him again, this time? Fool me twice, shame on me.

He couldn't go back now, after all the effort he's already put in. After all the hopes he'd already begin to awaken. Just a little while longer, surely. A little while longer.

He needed this future. Needed to fulfill it.

He had to.

Shrimpo gave the rocks to Toodles the next day. She said they looked great and offered to let him play with some of them, to which he replied he had other business to attend to. Then to keep up the facade, he enlisted himself to help with some of Brightney’s to-do list. This turned out to be a wise choice, for a lot of it involved helping out other Toons and further spread the word of the new leaf he was turning. No one sneered at him or made uncalled-for comments. When all had been said and done, she wiped her brow and thanked him profusely. “I couldn't have done it all without you,” she said. He left feeling like he'd eaten something distasteful.

The day after that, he finally accepted one of Teagan’s moronic tea party invites. A surprisingly large congregation of Toons showed up, and by pure chance (he hoped) Shrimpo got sat with Finn to his left. “Glad t’have ya join us,” he greeted Shrimpo cheerfully, passing him the tea kettle. “Kelp yourself to the tea, man, Teagan’s truly outdone themshellf this time. She made biscuits and everything!”

It turned out to be sweet tea, Shrimpo later overheard from some of the other guests. Sweet it was, a bit too much so for his liking. Yet he saw the way his host swelled with pride at the compliments she received, answering, “Only my best for all of you.” A couple of times he saw people looking his way. Some in curiosity, perhaps confusion. Many of them shot him a smile when he caught them looking, each one looking undeceiving and genuine.

The day after that was the day of pretending to be engaged and interested while other people yapped at him — first Glisten, who’d approached him asking for an honest opinion about his new leg warmers and ended up basically giving an in-depth review of what the different fabrics were and where they had come from, and also didn’t his new bow look fantastic? Shrimpo was probably the last person Glisten should have asked (that day was when he first learned what polyester was), but pretty much all he had to do was nod occasionally and say “mm-hm” or “really?” a couple of times. He was sent on his way with a singular studded silver ring, which had been given to him as “a gift for one of my doting fans.” He didn’t know a whole lot about metals, but the jewelry piece felt an awful lot like the plastic mesmerizer ring he’d gotten once at the dentist.

Not ten minutes later, he promptly got cornered by a rather enthusiastic Shelly, inviting him to a presentation she was about to give on some recently discovered mystery bones, which she suspected belonged to a new species. Though it was posed as a question, she had some weirdly desperate glint in her eye that left little room for refusal.

It turned out that the only other people that came were Cosmo and Sprout, the latter probably only attending because the former was there. About halfway through the presentation, Shelly realized that the cluster of bones she thought had all belonged to one organism were in fact bones from several different dinosaurs, all of which had been discovered a good deal of time ago. Disheartened, she apologized for wasting the three’s time. Against his better judgement, Shrimpo walked up to her while the others were leaving and stiffly commented that he thought the bones looked interesting. Never had he seen someone look so pathetically overjoyed. He left the joint with yet another souvenir, this one a velociraptor claw. Shelly had claimed she could afford to give up one of her many claws to a “curious mind.”

More often now he had to remind himself of his end goal. That’s all there was to this, nothing more, nothing less. You will see this through to the end. You must, you must, you must. He repeated these words in his head like a mantra after each day’s work was complete, when it was just him and his thoughts. It was beginning to sound less like reminding and more like persuading.

It was on the sixth day of his plan, later in the evening, that Shrimpo attended his first book club meeting. Brightened looked pleased to see him, coaxing him to put his name on the sign-up sheet before letting him take a seat wherever he liked. “I’ll give you a copy of our current book when everyone is here,” she informed him.

Dazzle shot him a glance from his spot three chairs away, waved timidly, and quickly went back to perusing his book. Razzle’s head already hung limp, snoring softly.

A little less than a minute passed before a serene presence swept quietly into the room behind them. Brightney straightened and welcomed the final club member, and Shrimpo risked a brief look to the side. There Astro stood, with a collected calmness that both soothed and commanded the attention of anyone around to witness him. Even slumbering Razzle groggily blinked himself awake and raised their head to get a look at the tall figure.

Astro’s eyes wandered over in Shrimpo’s direction. “I see we’ve grown in number,” he hummed, slowly and thoughtfully, as was his way of speaking.

“Yes — yes, Shrimpo came in just a few moments ago,” Brightney chuckled.

“That is nice,” the moon replied. Had it come from anyone else’s mouth, the words would have sounded rude or condescending, but whatever Astro voiced always sounded neutral and matter-of-fact, as if he was just stating the situation for what it was. “Shall we begin?”

“Of course. Let me just give Shrimpo his copy and catch him up on what we’ve discussed already, and then—“

“Um, sorry!” A silvery voice interrupted Brightney. Dazzle gave his twin a cautionary stare, but the comedy mask remained undeterred. “Before we start this week’s meeting, I have a, uh, a quick question for Astro. It’s something I think a lot of people have been wondering about for the past couple of days.”

This was it. The elephant in the room was being called out, and it didn’t look like anyone was planning to dismiss it. Astro’s head turned to Razzle and settled his even stare on him. “Yes?”

“So… about the new Toon everyone’s been talking about. Do you know when they’re coming? I mean, you don’t have to answer, of course!” they rapidly added, waving their hands in front of them. “It’s probably private or something, but if you’re at liberty to say then—“

“There is no new Toon.”

Dazzle’s book dropped to the floor, alongside Shrimpo’s jaw.

“WHAT?!” Shrimpo screeched for the second time that week. Astro flinched and made a brief, low groan in the back of his throat at the loud noise.

“Please keep your voice down. But no, as far as me and Dandy are aware he have not received news of any incoming Toons.”

“But Glisten…?” Even Dazzle couldn’t help but jump into the conversation. “He said he heard you two talking about…”

“The only conversation I can recall that might have led Glisten to such a conclusion was when Dandy was reviewing Toon arrival protocol with me. We never discussed any specific future Toons that may come our way.”

Shrimpo wondered if this was what being in shock felt like. His limbs were rendered immobile, and his eyes stared ahead without drifting. Out of any of the dumb mistakes he could have made, it was this one — forgetting the lack of complete guarantee. All the hours he’d devoted, all the words he’d wanted to say and didn’t, all the thank-yous and no-problems and will-dos, all for naught. Rendered useless. If his mouth let him scream he would.

The air had suddenly become unbearable. His legs shot him upward, knees locked. “Gotta go,” he coughed out before he turned tail and saw himself out, ignoring the surprised “hey, wait—“ of Brightney.

Down the hall, past the elevator, down the stairs, down another hall, through the door, into his room. His surroundings felt hazy, his lungs constricted. He leaned against the wall, fighting for breath as his fingers clawed at his chest.

Everything he’d done, he’d done for someone that didn’t even exist.

WHAM! The wall cracked under his fist. He pounded at its surface until the material crumbled away, as it had so many times before. His knuckles ached, a burning feeling that only fueled the flames in his stomach.

It was not enough. He whirled around, almost face planting into the floor as his hands reached for something, anything, to quench his sudden carnal need for violence. They slapped the table, fumbled across it until they grasped something. The claw, Shelly’s claw. He swung back to the wall, lifting it over his head. His room would look like a jaguar’s hunting grounds when he was through.

The downward arc of the blade never happened. His hands shook and his fingers turned white as bone from his iron grip on the claw, but he did not swing down.

When he imagined his enemy, the poor invisible victim at the mercy of his attacks, he did not see some hypothetical newcomer. Nor did he see Astro, or Goob, or Scraps or Finn or anyone else.

He saw his reflection. He saw that mouthless figure he had brought to life not that long ago, doomed to neither smile or frown, to never show joy or sorrow, staring right back at him.

He was his own laughingstock.

He lowered his weapon, bloodlust dwindling until the boiling feeling left him completely. He shouldn’t use it, not like this. It was not truly his. Nothing in his room truly belonged to him; it had all been gifted to him as a show of generosity. Whatever had caused such a feeling in the bestowers, be it pity or gratitude, everything here was in his hands now out of the acts of others.

He surveyed it all, every trinket he’d collected during his stay. Shelly’s claw. Glisten’s ring. Goob’s valentine.

Finn’s valentine. Finn’s friendship bracelet, still on his wrist.

The calendar.

Out of habit, he glanced at the last item, hanging on the wall. The lamprey was still there, as ominous and fascinating as ever. He recalled what Finn had said about them. Lord, it seemed like ages ago.

They only do what they do to survive.

Was he really a lamprey?

He shook his head. Reflective and profound contemplations made his brain hurt. He put the velociraptor claw back on his desk, pulled out the chair, and collapsed onto it. The rush of adrenaline, fury, and other complicated emotions he’d gained after Astro’s announcement were beginning to fade, leaving nothing but a hollow exhaustion. It had been a long couple of days.

‘You’ve come this far.’

This at least was true. Even if he would never get to see it through to the end, he’d persevered through all the various challenges thrown at him. Hell, he might dare to claim he was an expert at faking his way through social interactions. Perhaps this whole ordeal wasn’t entirely useless after all.

‘You down for one more?’

He blinked. At first he did not comprehend where his mind was going with this. Then, gradually, he began to.

Well. It certainly wouldn’t be the grand finale he was originally expecting.

Then again, perhaps not all endings have to be grand. They just have to get the job done.

So Shrimpo sat up a little, sifting through the mess of crumpled paper on his desk until he unearthed his rather blunt pencil.

His brain was right. He had come this far. He’d be damned if he didn’t get to the finish line, even if it wasn’t the finish line he thought he’d end up at.

He found a fresh leaf of paper, put graphite to its surface, and did his final good deed for the one person he had yet to satisfy. He wrote, and waited for nightfall.

In the early hours of the dawn, when the overhead lights had not yet sputtered to life, a door quietly creaked open, and a Toon stepped out into the darkness. Yeesh, he probably should have eaten a snack or something before bed — he could eat a whole great white with how loudly his stomach was rumbling.

A soft crunch underfoot. With a half-awake “wuh?” he raised his foot and looked down. A folded piece of paper, now slightly crumpled, sat right in front of his doorway. On the front, written boldly in hurried scrawl: “FINN”.

His curiosity peaked, the fishbowl bent down and plucked the thing off the ground. With adept fingers he flicked the note open. It did not take long to read its message.

“SORRY FOR PUNCHING YOU THAT ONE TIME. YOU ARE TOLERABLE.”

It was not signed; it did not have to be. A drowsy grin spread across Finn’s face.

“You ain’t so bad yerself,” he replied into the empty air.

#dandys world finn #dw shrimpo #finn dandys world #finn dw #ragebait dw #shrimpbowl dw #shrimpo dandys world #shrimpo x finn #dw #dandys world #dandys world shrimpo #shrimpo dw #finn x shrimpo dandys world #dw finn #shrimpbowl dandy’s world #shrimpbowl #finn x shrimpo #ragebait

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therealjambery · 2 months ago

Text

Year of the OTP: February

Shush, it's still February where I am for (checks clock) almost two hours.

I am trying to write ficlets each month this year. I meant for them to be written in one sitting and be minimally edited, but so far both of them have been longer than I expected! This one took me all week. (Mostly because I started working for a prompt for March earlier in the month by mistake. Oops.)

Fandom: MCU Pairing: Winterhawk Rating: Teen Prompt: bed sharing Wordcount: 3355

"Someone has to stay with him."

Clint groaned and leaned back against the wall by the elevator. "I'll be fine, guys," he said. "The doc didn't even want to keep me overnight." Sure, his head was throbbing and his stomach was one sharp turn from rebelling completely, but it wasn't that bad.

Natasha poked him in the ribs, right in a spot where he knew was going to have a spectacular bruise in the morning.

"Ow, Nat, come on!"

"Concussion protocol," she said primly.

"Not it," Tony said. "What?" he asked, at Steve's frown. "I have repairs to make. If you don't recall, I was the one the building fell on, after I rescued birdbrain here from certain death."

"My hero," Clint said.

"You know I would," Natasha patted his cheek, "but I have to be on a plane to South America in four hours."

"I'll do it," said a quiet voice to his left.

Clint straightened in surprise. Bucky was standing at the edge of the common area, one hand on the doorframe. He was wearing jeans and a soft looking grey henley. The other Avengers seem momentarily lost for words. Bucky didn't often voluntarily spend time with any of them, except Steve.

"It's really not necessary," Clint said. He started edging toward the elevator. "Look, I'm just going to go home, walk my dog, and go to bed. Nothing strenuous."

"You're going to Bed Stuy?" Steve asked in an incredulous tone.

"Well, yeah," Clint said. "Lucky's been alone all day. Kate's still on the West Coast and Simone is visiting her sister. I can't just leave him there."

"And how," Natasha asked, pinning him into place with her glare, "were you planning on getting to Brooklyn?"

"The subway?" Clint tried, and then wilted as all four superheros, including Bucky, stared at him in horror. "I have a concussion," he said, very reasonably, he thought. "I can't drive."

"Absolutely not," Natasha said flatly.

Steve turned his worried face toward Bucky. "You sure, Buck?" he asked.

"I can take him," Bucky said. "Just gotta," he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, "put my boots on." He turned and left before there was a chance for anyone to object.

Clint was, possibly, a little jealous. He slid a little closer to the elevator.

"Well, they're not taking the subway," Tony said. "I will not be responsible for a concussed Hawkeye and the Terminator on line 5 during rush hour. Happy will drive them."

"Okay," Steve said. He was still looking toward the doorway, forehead wrinkled, but he kept any other objections to himself.

"Do I get a say in this?" Clint asked plaintively.

"No," Natasha said. She poked him directly in his bruised ribs again. "Don't give him a hard time. It will be good for you both." She turned on her heel, apparently satisfied. "I'm going to bed," she said.

Tony shoved his phone back into his pocket. "Happy will meet us downstairs in five minutes," he said. He nodded at Steve. "I'll take them down on my way to the workshop. Don't worry, Cap."

Steve pointed at Tony. "Dinner in an hour," he said, cutting Tony off when he tried to argue. "Nope, you're not getting out of this one, Stark. I promised Pepper."

Waving a hand dismissively, Tony said, "What she doesn't know won't hurt her."

Steve started walking backward. "Tony," he said, mouth curling up at one corner, "are you asking me to lie to Pepper? I'm Captain America. I can't lie." He turned around and jogged out of the room before Tony could answer.

"You are too a liar, Rogers!" Tony shouted after him. He put his hands on his hips and glared at the open doorway.

Clint really had to get better at leaving a room before people could argue with him.

Bucky appeared, his hair tucked up under a baseball cap and wearing a leather jacket. He had a small backpack slung over his shoulder.

"Great, we're all here." Tony pushed the button for the elevator. "Garage first, then the lab, J," he said.

"Of course, sir." The elevator doors peeled open and they all trooped inside.

Too tired to argue any more, Clint slouched against the wall of the elevator, crossing his arms and staring at his feet. The ride down was silent, Tony typing away on his phone, and Bucky looking at some point in the middle distance and ignoring them both.

Tony ushered them into the garage and into the sleek black car waiting for them. "Have fun kids," he said, and slammed the door shut.

Clint leaned his head against the window, not bothering with the seatbelt. "You really don't have to come babysit me," he said.

"I don't mind." Bucky's voice was rough, and he was looking out the window, not at Clint, when Clint peeked at him out of the corner of his eye. He cleared his throat. "Change of scenery would be nice," he said. "Really, you're the one doing me a favor."

"Sure," Clint said sarcastically.

That pretty much killed the conversation. The silence was starting to weigh heavily on Clint by the time they got to his apartment building. He opened the door and was out of the car almost before it had come to a complete stop.

"Thanks, Happy," he called, almost tripping over the curb.

"Please don't give yourself a second concussion," Bucky said drily, walking around the car in a more staid fashion. He waved as Happy pulled away from the curb and out into traffic.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Clint said. He was feeling better, just being out of the car and so close to home. His bed was calling him, a siren song that he didn't have the willpower to resist. He really needed to take a shower, rinse the plaster and brick dust out of his hair and wash the antiseptic smell of medical off his skin. And eat something, probably, but Lucky came first.

He dragged himself up the steps to the building and input the code for the front door. When he saw the 'out of order' sign hanging crookedly on the elevator door, he groaned. "I forgot to call the elevator guys," he said, sighing.

Bucky looked around, taking in the scuffed tile floor, the worn banister on the stairs, the mailboxes with peeling address labels set into one wall. He raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that the super's job?" he asked.

Clint tapped his chest. "I'm the super," he said. "I own the building." He started for the stairs, gripping the banister to steady himself as he started to climb.

"You own the building."

It didn't seem to be a question, so Clint didn't answer. He needed all his breath for getting up the stairs without looking like too much of a loser, Bucky a silently judgmental presence behind him. They finally made it to the fourth floor and Clint heaved a big breath in relief. He dug his keys out of his pocket.

He could hear Lucky on the other side of the door, tags jingling, as he shoved his key into the lock.

"Hey buddy," he said, opening the door. Lucky barked and ran around in a tight circle.

Clint dropped to his knees and hugged the wriggling dog, getting a faceful of slobber when Lucky licked his cheek. "Aw, I missed you too, boy," he said. He stood up.

Lucky barked again, tail wagging, as Bucky stepped inside, shutting the door behind himself. Clint could see his eyes moving as he cataloged the open concept apartment, kitchen on one side, living room and stairs to the loft on the other.

"This is Bucky," Clint said to his dog. "He's a friend, okay?"

"Hey Lucky," Bucky said, his voice soft. He put his backpack down carefully on the floor and held out his right hand for Lucky to sniff.

Lucky took his time, sniffing Bucky's hand all over, then his boots, letting Bucky stroke a hand over his head as he investigated his footwear.

"I gotta," Clint said vaguely, picking up Lucky's leash off the kitchen island.

"Sit," Bucky said, and Lucky sat. "Not you," he told the dog, but patted his head and said, "good boy. You," he said to Clint. "Sit down before you fall over."

"Are you gonna tell me I'm a good boy too?" Clint muttered rebelliously, but he sat on one of the stools and put his elbows on the island, resting his chin in his hands. His heart was still pounding from climbing the stairs, and he felt lightheaded.

Bucky leaned on the counter and raised an eyebrow at Clint. "Good boy," he said.

Clint could feel a flush rising from his neck to his face as Bucky didn't look away, a small smile curling the corners of his lips. He buried his face in his arms. "Ugh," he said.

He heard Bucky open the refrigerator and set something on the counter. He patted Clint's shoulder. "Eat something," he said, and his fingers slid over the back of Clint's neck so lightly Clint couldn't tell if it was on purpose or not. "I'll take the dog out."

He kept his head pillowed on his arms, willing his blush to die down, as Bucky picked up the leash and got Lucky out the door, closing it softly. When he finally felt able to lift his head, he saw a pizza box on the counter. It was even fresh - he had just ordered in yesterday. He flipped over the top and grabbed a piece. He didn't bother warming it up, just took a bite, wincing a bit at the soreness in his jaw as he chewed. Yeah, that was probably going to bruise later.

It must be the concussion. He had to have imagined Bucky flirting with him. Bucky had never shown any interest in flirting with anyone, as far as he could tell. He had slowly emerged from Steve's suite at the Tower, but to see him on his own without Steve was still rare. Clint couldn't figure out why he had chosen to set himself on Hawkeye concussion watch.

Clint usually spent time at the Tower when Lucky was with Kate, so he wasn't always in residence. But he had come to appreciate Bucky's quiet, wry sense of humor and steady presence during team dinners or movie nights. Bucky was kind, funny in an understated sort of way. When his mood turned dark, it was always focused inward, and he would retreat; emerging a day or two later seemingly none the worse for wear. And sure, the guy was hot as hell, with his metal arm, and his aim, and his thighs that could probably crush a man's head like a watermelon.

Not that Clint had spent a lot of time thinking about Bucky's thighs or anything. Not that he hadn't been nursing a teeny tiny crush on the man, since he had first made Clint a cup of coffee - black, two sugars - exactly the way he liked it.

He was working on a second piece of pizza when Bucky came back. Unclipping Lucky's leash from his collar, he hung it on a hook by the door. Clint had put it up for just that purpose - well, that and hanging up his keys - but never actually used.

Bucky set a paper bag on the counter and pulled out a bottle of Gatorade, sliding it across to Clint.

Clint caught it with the hand not holding his half eaten slice of pizza. "Thanks," he said. "You really - you really don't have to."

"Already said I don't mind." Bucky dug around in the bag and pulled out another bottle of Gatorade and a carton of eggs, putting them in the refrigerator. He leaned his hip against the counter opposite Clint.

"Help yourself to whatever you want," Clint said. "Mi casa es su casa or whatever." Abruptly nauseous, he set his crust back in the box. He cracked open the sports drink and took a small sip, trying to will his body to cooperate. He stood, only wavering on his feet a little before catching his balance. "I'm gonna take a quick shower," he said.

Bucky only nodded, picking out a slice for himself from the open box between them.

Clint took the Gatorade to the bathroom, downing two aspirin with it after he turned on the water. He stripped and rinsed off efficiently, only realizing as he stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel that he hadn't thought to bring clean clothes with him. He toweled off roughly, cursing, and wrapped the towel around his waist.

Glancing down, he could see the darkening bruise on his right side, approximately the length and width of Iron Man's forearm. It was going to develop into a deep bluish purple overnight, he could tell. He stretched, wincing, to look at it in the mirror. The doctor had said he hadn't cracked any ribs, most likely, but Clint thought it was probably a close call. He had already been falling pretty fast by the time Tony had caught him.

He brushed his teeth and put his hearing aids back in before he left the bathroom, holding the towel securely around his hips.

Bucky was sitting on the stool that Clint had abandoned, back to the bathroom, typing something on his phone one handed. The counter was clear of both the pizza box and whatever else had been in the paper bag. He turned to face Clint, and blinked once, slowly.

"Sorry," Clint said. He ran a hand over his wet hair. "All my clothes are upstairs."

Bucky slid off the stool and pocketed his phone. He had taken off his boots and jacket, too, Clint noted, looking down at Bucky's feet. His socks were blue. "Come on, then," he said.

"Seriously?" Clint spun on his heel and marched toward the stairs. "You already walked me to my front door, I'm good from here."

He heard Bucky sigh behind him. "It's just I like your brains where they are," he said, putting a steadying hand on Clint's elbow as he wavered dizzily halfway up the stairs. "On the inside of your head."

"I like your brains too," Clint said. "And your head." He frowned, unsure whether that made any sense.

Bucky huffed out a laugh. "You're a sweetheart," he said.

They made it up the stairs. Clint walked over to his laundry basket and dug out a pair of clean sweats. He turned around, hand on the towel, and hesitated.

Bucky cleared his throat, putting his back to Clint and starting to straighten the sheets on his unmade bed.

Clint let the towel drop to the floor and stepped into the sweatpants. He decided he couldn't be bothered with a shirt. Bucky had finished fussing with tucking the top sheet in and was smoothing out a blanket over the top. He flipped one corner down invitingly.

Clint slid into the cool sheets with a sigh. "Thanks," he mumbled as Bucky pulled the blanket over his shoulders. "Don't mean to be a dick about it. Just hate feeling like people have to take care of me." He settled onto his left side, shoving a pillow against his back so he wouldn't turn over onto his bruised ribs.

"You're not half as bad as Stevie was, back when we were kids." Bucky put a warm hand on Clint's forehead and then ruffled his hair. "Don't worry about it. Get some rest."

"Sleep up here," Clint said. He propped himself up on one elbow and took out his hearing aids, dropping them in the dish on the nightstand. "Couch is too short and too old to sleep on." He glared at Bucky. "Don't argue."

Bucky shut his mouth on whatever he was going to say. He looked surprised, but amused. "I'll come check on you in an hour, all right?" His voice was almost too quiet to hear without the aids, the lower register lost in static.

Clint pulled the blankets back over his shoulder, eyes slipping closed. He meant to answer, but he fell asleep before he could.

He woke when Bucky put a knee on the bed, climbing onto the mattress. He had left his henley on, but had changed out of his jeans into soft pants with some sort of pattern that Clint couldn't clearly see in the dim room. "Okay?" Bucky asked.

"Fine," Clint said. He waited as Bucky settled on top of the blankets, propping himself up against the wall with a pillow. "Time is it?"

"Early." Bucky opened a paperback book. "Go back to sleep."

"Gonna ruin your eyes readin' in the dark," Clint mumbled. "Turn on the light, won't bother me." He was sweating under the blankets and sat up. The cooler air felt good against his overheated skin.

"I can see just fine. You thirsty?"

Clint groaned, but obediently drank more of the Gatorade Bucky handed him. He ached all over, especially the back of his head where he had hit it on the way down. Yawning, he dropped the empty bottle over the side of the bed and lay back down on his stomach, pulling one of the pillows over his head. He left the blankets where they had fallen, still too warm.

"Light," he said, and stretched out a hand far enough to nudge Bucky's hip.

He couldn't hear if Bucky said anything in answer, but felt him lean over on the bed. The lamp clicked on, a soft orange glow that bled through the edges of the pillow. He patted Bucky's thigh clumsily and then let his hand drop, already half asleep again. Bucky's hand settled on Clint's bicep, the metal cool against Clint's bare skin, but not cold.

"Feels nice," Clint said, and was asleep before Bucky moved his hand away.

Amazingly, after that he slept through until morning. He had rolled over on his side again in his sleep and he was almost too warm. His body still ached, but his head had stopped throbbing so insistently, and his stomach had settled, at least.

He froze in place as he realized why he was so warm. Bucky, still asleep, was pressed up against his back, one arm draped heavily over Clint's side. It was almost painful against his bruised ribs, and he took a shallow breath. Still, It was nice. He liked knowing that Bucky Barnes was a cuddler. It made him feel a little gooey inside, to be honest, which was way better than the nausea.

All the Gatorade had made its way through his system, though, and he reluctantly tapped Bucky's arm to wake him.

Bucky tensed, then rolled away from Clint onto his back. "Sorry," he said, voice muffled.

Clint sat up and put his hearing aids in, glancing over at Bucky. "I don't mind," he said. "It was nice, actually."

Bucky scrubbed a hand over his face but it looked to Clint like he might be hiding a smile.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, Clint said, "When I come back it's your turn to be the little spoon."

"Guess you're feeling better," Bucky said. He sat up and clambered off the bed.

"For a certain value of better," Clint said, standing. "What are you doing? I don't need an escort to the bathroom, I promise I'll be fine."

Bucky stretched, showing off a strip of skin between his shirt and the soft pants that had ridden low on his hips. "Thought I'd make you breakfast," he said. "Since we're both up."

"Stop being so nice to me or I'm gonna try to keep you." Clint could feel himself flushing under Bucky's steady gaze. "Ignore me, I haven't had coffee yet."

Bucky came around the bed and pressed a soft kiss to Clint's cheek. "That's kind of the idea," he said.

Clint felt his knees go a little weak, and it wasn't from the concussion this time. "Oh," he said. "Well, in that case, I want pancakes."

"Can do," Bucky said, and his smile lit up his whole face.

#my fic #winterhawk #year of the otp 2025

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