Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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Prologue

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So close. It was so close to his fingertips. It danced against his hands, the cold metal of the vehicle that would get him and the other two (their names. What were their names? Why couldn’t he remember them?) out of whatever hell they had been thrown into. Unending agony, and torment, and looping death- torture that left lasting scars, physical and mental, on the three of them.

The little one. The yellow one’s father had done this to them, hadn’t he? For some reason that he, the red one, couldn’t understand no matter how far down he tried to reach into his mind, no matter how many questions he prodded the yellow one with. No matter how many times he’d run out the door, trying so hard to flee so far away.

The yellow one seemed careless with it all. Perhaps it was the last shred of hope his father still loved him, that its father would see the wrong he was doing and would save it and its friends. Maybe he didn’t care, resigning to the fate that its father had laid out in the path for it- the unending nightmares and pain, and the long hours of suffering. Or maybe he was just too stupid to understand, too naive. The thousand yard stare he’d always have printed on his face could tell its own story in a million ways.

And the green one- the duck, (crow? The talking bird,) seemed as though if it wasn’t about him, it didn’t matter. If the spotlight wasn’t on them at all times, at all hours of the day and sometimes even into the night, it didn’t matter and it was fake. A “ruse,” as they had put it at one point in time. It didn’t even matter to him some days, like when that coffin (made of the floorboards, and the blood from the bird) had so happily come to life to take him away to the afterlife. What a funny way of telling them that the three of them could never die, no matter what they went through, seeing as how when the little yellow one had dug him back up he was still alive.

Stain Edwards the Forever boy could never replace the duck, no matter how hard he had tried to pretend. And he tried. Even when he stood in front of the little mess (he wouldn’t refer to it as “duck.” It didn’t feel right.) with his hands hidden behind his back, like a little kid who’d just been caught sticking his hand in the cookie jar before dinner. 

But him, the red one, the tallest one, he needed out. He needed out and as far away as he could get, he wanted to grab the other two and hold them tightly as he ran into the darkest part of the world if it meant freedom for them all. He had got out once, but it was all fuzzy- it felt like he had his head plunged into water with his eyes still open and the salt of it made it hard to see. He remembered following that long, red cord from the computer when it had interrupted their… “game night.” And from there, he remembered waking up in the middle of nowhere with a splitting headache, dressed in a nice coat, a scarf and some slacks as rain had pounded against his chest.

That’s what was happening again, trying to follow anything, any tiny, miniscule, out of the ordinary thing in this house that could get him out, that could get him away from it all. But no matter where he went it led him into the kitchen, or into the sitting room, or at the top of the stairs where the shared bedroom was. At one point, he had made it back outside and ran for what felt like an hour, through the woods and over the hill. But it wasn’t long before he felt himself barreling through the air and landing back in that house- the soft red fur on his back meeting the rough planks of the sitting room floor.

The furthest he had ever gotten to getting them all out was when the car man (train man? He had started out as a train,... the vehicular man) had taught them about “transportation.” He had taken over and tried so hard to get them out, and it worked for a moment. They had driven for miles before it all started collapsing at his feet again, the fabric of reality tearing apart. He could feel his own seams and fabric and fur tearing apart and splitting with each mile he drove.

And even after that night of them escaping into nothing but junk, huddled in front of a fire, they had found themselves right back here. Back in the house, in their sitting room, then their kitchen- and the other two didn’t even remember it. Or maybe they didn’t want to talk about it. But the feeling of freedom- the feeling of air that was cold, and fresh, and didn’t linger with stale dust and rot- it burned his brain, he was pretty sure it could’ve started to leak from his ears- did he even have ears?

It was so incredibly quiet. It was almost a relief, it was almost better than in the house where there was always the dull noise of static, or whirring that never seemed to fit in with the rest of the ambiance. But something felt off, something didn’t feel right. His wrists felt tied to something, forced to move and be danced around despite his will against it.

His eyes opened (when had they closed?), and his head was forced up to stare into a dark void, it made the corners of his eyes shadow up as he stared ahead to what he could only assume was still straight void. His legs moved against his will, he felt as if he was teetering over the edge of something, he could feel that terrifying feeling in the pit of one’s stomach before they fell.

And fall he did, through what was once a black void into a repetitive world for the house he lived in, the green hills the duck had once been buried in, the long, unwinding road he had tried to run on- but he could only fall for so long before he felt his shoulder crash against what could have been his sitting room chair. He slid down onto the floor, the cold hardwood floor as he closed his eyes again, trying to ignore how badly his body hurt.

“Would you like to try again?” Spoke an all too quiet, and sickly sweet sing-song voice. “Perhaps your running could finally get you somewhere, Red.”

…

“There you are!”

Chapter Text

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Chapter i.) the shadows on my wall don’t sleep.

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“There you are!”

An all too familiar, annoyingly splitting voice pierced into Red’s head, his eyes slowly cracked open to none other than the duck and the yellow one- the bright glare of the light on the ceiling made him squint and cover his eyes. “We’ve been looking for you all morning! That one wouldn’t shut up about you.” said the duck, pointing his thumb (thumb? Feathers?) in the direction of the yellow one, who had its mouth slightly agape as it stared down at him. “Hallo!” He said loudly, waving his hand an inch away from Red’s face. Red sat up with a quiet groan and very minimum effort, the red strings on his head dangling as he moved. “You look quite dreadful,” the duck said. “Did you even sleep at all?” He asked, and Red shrugged, with a dull ache in his shoulders and neck from the position he had been in.

“Not really.” He said, standing to his feet in that terrible posture he had. “Ow.” He sighed when Duck smacked his lower back with the same old newspaper he read everyday. “Fix your posture. It’s awful.” Duck said, as he always did about Red’s poor posture, and as Red always did, Red stood straight again. Though it didn’t take him too long before he was slouched again and trudging slowly behind Duck and the yellow one into their kitchen- the same kitchen they always sat in, with the same blue walls they always were. “You could- can have a sleep,” the yellow one said to Red, who couldn’t even get his own answer out before Duck spoke. “No, you nitwit. We’ve stuff to do today, the other one can’t go sleep yet!” He paused, and turned to Red who dropped and slumped into his kitchen chair like his bones were concrete. “We do have stuff to do today, don’t we?”

Red remained seated and silent for two seconds too long apparently, as Duck snapped in his face to gather his attention. “Do we have stuff to do today?” They asked again, and Red didn’t bother to hide his minor frustration as he grabbed the planner from the middle of the table. He disliked this planner almost as much as he disliked that stupid clipboard the Duck absolutely insisted they carry around everywhere. As Red opened the planner, it showed that nothing was scheduled for the day. (Hopefully it could stay that way, and not be the same as when that briefcase and his… unemployed brother had come through.) “It says we don’t have anything.”

Yellow had managed to wiggle into his own seat, with a thousand yard stare in his eyes and mouth agape slightly as he looked at Red. “So you could go for a- have, get a sleep.” Red hummed to show that he had heard Yellow, but he didn’t plan to go through with the idea. While the idea of better sleep had sounded ideal, he didn’t have the motive or umph to get up and try to sleep.

Duck shook their head, walking over to the counter and stepping onto the stool he had, Red found it a little amusing that Duck needed a stool to reach anything in the house. “There’s no reason to sleep away the day, we could go for a chicken picnic.” Duck said as he pressed a couple buttons on their coffee maker. He turned to look at Red. “Fancy a cup of coffee?” They asked, and Red nodded. “With honey,” he paused. “..Please.” He added quietly.

Duck nodded and began making two cups of warm coffee- maybe that’d help Red wake up a little more. Though he wasn’t too sure it would get rid of the dull ache in his bones. He silently hoped that it would be actual coffee, and not the inky black oil that seemed to plague the trio everywhere they went. (Yellow would always rattle on about how it had drowned in oil, and most nights refused to sleep in his own bed.)

Red tapped the table to an imaginary tune, humming that same old, dumb, song that the yellow one had insisted they do… Not that he could really complain, it was the same but that’s what comforted Red about it. Nothing ever changed about it, and he always knew what was coming next. There was no sense of looming, overwhelming dread. Red’s eyes opened again as he heard the gentle clink of his mug being set down in front of him.

“Thanks,” Red managed out, taking a sip and relishing in the minor burn it brought onto his mouth. That was also comforting, Red thought. The honey added to his coffee always gave him a sense of home, something familial. Even if that familial feeling was… a distant ache. “…Well, what now?” Duck asked, his newspaper abandoned in the sitting room instead of being brought into the kitchen. “Huh?” Yellow blinked at Duck, and Red only took another sip of his drink. “It’s nothing day, what are we gonna do for nothing day?” Duck asked with a tone that implied his last question was the same as this one.

“Well.. erm. We could just sit in the sitting room?” Red offered, shrugging. “Y’know, watch the telly. Read a book, something.” Yellow scratched that (very nasty) welt on his arm. “I could make a coloring of… of a trains.” Red gently batted Yellow’s hand away from the very angry wound on his arm. “Yeah, you could I guess.”

“What about me?” Asked Duck, and Red had to resist the urge to roll his eyes; off he goes again, talking about themselves. “I don’t know, you’re a capable adult, figure it out yourself.” Red muttered back, taking a bigger swig of his coffee. “…I think you’re an adult, anyways,” he had added mainly to himself. He hated to know that he’s lived with these two for… an unidentifiable amount of time, and he barely knew anything about either of them.

He knew their favorite colors, though. The yellow one liked green (which supposedly wasn’t a very… creative color, whatever that was supposed to mean.) and the duck liked the color red. (Like him, maybe. He was red.) “Why don’t you just watch Grolton and Hovris? Go see if they get to their appointment in time, or, something.”

“Grolton is the… is an dog,” Yellow said. “Hovris is the dog. Grolton is the man.” Duck said, very matter-of-factly. Yellow didn’t really listen, by the looks of it- the way it idly swung its feet, and stared at the table. “I guess we could make breakfast.” Red hummed idly, and Duck glanced at him like he had grown a second head. (Which made him worry for only a moment.) “Why would we? We still have left-over curry in the fridge.” Duck said, flipping through his newspaper. Red grimaced lightly, that curry had probably gone off by now with how long it’s been in there.

“Um.. you can keep the curry. I think I’ll pass on it, this time.” He says, ignoring the nearly offended look from Duck. “Why don’t we just make some… I don’t know, what do we have,” Red trailed off, standing up to look in the pantry before staggering back, holding the middle of his face. “Ow!” He groaned as a plate shattered at his feet. “I thought I told you to put these in the cupboard!” Red looked over at Yellow, who was in his own world. “Wuh.. oh. I’d… I’d did. They just slipped out from their… their houses.” Yellow said, Red just sighed and rolled his eyes. “Right, ‘course they did.” He muttered, putting the plates where they actually belonged and discarding the broken shards.

“Could we um… could we make egg toast. The one with the sweet drippy.” Yellow suggested. Red’s brow furrowed as he turned to glance at Yellow. “The what?” “Drippy toast.” Yellow said again, as if Red should be able to read his mind. Drippy toast? Drippy toast sounded like something Red shouldn’t really know about. “…Oh, oh you mean the eggy toast. Uh, alright mate. I think we could do that.” Red finally figured it out, rubbing at the back of his head and cautiously going back into the pantry – he sighed silently when nothing else came tumbling into his face, and gathered the items for breakfast.

–

After breakfast was served, the trio had migrated into the sitting room. Duck was in their chair, reading over the newspaper and occasionally looking at the telly – which was playing that “Hovris and Grolton” show. Yellow was laying on its stomach on the floor, coloring on papers. He was engrossed in his drawings, and sometimes also stopped to watch the telly.

As for Red, he’d been sitting in his comfy green chair; his eyes were pointed at the telly, but he wasn’t really watching the show. The noise was something to focus on, instead of the tightening in his chest - the dread that came right back at him and loomed over him. His muscles were tense, and he couldn’t help but occasionally glance around the room; waiting for something–someone, more like–to show up. Red’s eyes kept glancing to the hole in their floor, dried blood still caked around the broken planks.

With great effort, he heaved himself out of the chair and pulled the rug over the hole. Out of sight, out of mind. “What are you doing?” Duck asked, having watched Red move about. Red uselessly motioned to the floor with his mitted hand. “Covered the hole. ‘S an eyesore.” Duck seemed pleased enough with the answer, seeing as how he didn’t add anything else to the conversation. Red stared at where the hole was under the carpet, for a bit longer than he would’ve liked before he trudged back to his chair.

Red flopped back into his chair, listening as it creaked underneath him. The comfortable material was easy to sink into; literally and figuratively. Red felt his head fall over the back of his chair slightly, and the telly went sideways in his vision. A glance at the clock told him it was only 10:30. A short nap surely wouldn’t hurt anything… Red’s eyes began to grow heavier, and heavier, until they fully closed. His neck wouldn’t thank him for this equally worse position than this morning, but he really didn’t feel like trudging to the bedroom. This would have to do.

Duck looked up from their paper, over to Red in his chair. The big oaf had fallen asleep right there, in a position that was most certainly going to break his neck; Duck tutted, and got out from his own rocking chair – they didn’t bother to readjust Red’s neck, but they grabbed the throw blanket from the back of his chair and threw it over Red’s lap. Duck stared for a moment before flattening it and smoothing it out over Red’s lap. “There,” Duck put his hands on his hips, seemingly content with the blanket’s perfection.

“You, yellow one.” Duck snapped his fingers, making the yellow thing look up. “Wheh?” It hummed at him. “The red one’s asleep, don’t make any noise.” Duck said, not really bothering to be quiet themselves. “So no shouting, no singing. Nothing! Understand?” The yellow one nodded, and quietly went back to coloring.

Duck seemed pleased enough with that answer; and sat back down in his rocking chair and resumed his reading spot in the newspaper. Duck didn’t get to read for very long before there were soft noises that drew his attention up–he glanced over to Yellow, prepared to snap at him to be quiet, before they realized that it wasn’t Yellow making noise; as it was still peacefully coloring. Turning his attention over to his right, Red’s eyes and brows had clenched and furrowed in discomfort.

“Oh, goodness me.” Duck muttered, watching as Red shifted restlessly in his chair. Apparently, Red’s body decided it didn’t want to sleep yet. With a ‘humph,’ Duck stood up out of their chair again and walked towards Red again. It hadn’t been an uncommon thing for one of the three of them to find solace in each other’s beds at night, the recurring night terrors were sometimes too much to handle alone. Duck loathed to admit that he found himself in Red’s bed more often than their own, the other two hadn’t mentioned it, or just hadn’t been paying attention. Good, they respected Duck’s very obvious authority then. Maybe. Something like that.

Deciding they should stop wasting time, Duck climbed up into Red’s lap none too gently as squirmed to make himself comfortable. Red let out a groan that was either uncomfortable, frustrated or both; but the restless shifting stopped, and Duck considered that good enough.

Maybe the Red one could finally get the sleep he needed – … and rightfully deserved, too.