Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Ingo. Do you know why you’re here?” General North asked, the perfect picture of the wooden toy solider, identical to everyone else in every way. Well, everyone except Ingo. 

Ingo couldn’t even bring himself to try and fake a smile. What would be the point? “I don’t believe I’ve done anything wrong, sir.” He still felt the need to try and defend himself even though he knew it would be futile.

North sighed and massaged his forehead. “Please, this is hard enough without you being difficult, Ingo.”

Ingo bit his tongue. There was nothing he could say here that wouldn’t land him in further trouble. 

“This is the fifth complaint I’ve had about you this week, you know I can’t just ignore it.”

“Sir, I really must insist. If you look you will find no wrongdoing on my part.“ He clasped his hands behind his back, trying to stop the tremors in his fingers. “I have done everything that was asked of me and more. I find it rather unfair to penalise me over something I have no control over.”

“And yet…” North sighed and leafed through the small stack of paper. “I’ve received numerous complaints from your squad, featuring your inability work with the group.” 

“Have you considered that it is the rest of the squadron who refuses to work with me?” And Ingo knew back-talking couldn’t possibly be helping, but he can’t afford take it quietly this time. Taking everything quietly and without complaint clearly hadn’t served him any better in the past. “I am perfectly willing to cooperate but everyone treats me with such hostility-“

“Ingo,” Noth cut him off sharply. “The Pine battalion was very generous in agreeing to include you in their ranks. I’ve already had to reassign you eleven times. It’s become quite clear where the problem lies, and it’s not with them.”

Ingo snapped his jaw shut, face hot with humiliation. 

“You’re difficult to work with. I’m not saying it’s anyone’s fault,” North smiled softy and Ingo, despite himself, was struck with a sharp pang of jealousy. “Not even yours. You can’t help your… defect.” 

Self-consciously, Ingo covered his mouth. It was such a minor thing but it caused him no end of grief. The standard wind-up solider was made with a sweet smile. By mistake, Ingo’s smile had been flipped, and he’d been carved with a perpetual frown instead. 

“Facts are facts. You look unapproachable. You’re difficult to read. It’s hard to communicate with you when you always send mixed signals.”

“I thought that I make myself clear with my words.” Ingo persisted with a wavering voice. If he could just explain himself, if he could make North understand how hard he had been trying, he might take pity on Ingo. “I have always considered my voice quite expressive.” 

North tilted his head, mouth still curving at the edges. Much like how Ingo struggled to produce anything close to a smile, the others struggled to look dour even in the most serious of situations. “Are you mad at me, Ingo?”

“…No.” Ingo clenched and unclenched his hands. “I’m upset at the situation but not… necessarily at you, sir.”

“I see.” North reordered his papers and set them to the side. “I’d say I’m better at reading you than most, on account of how often I… encounter you. And even I would have assumed that you were angry. You see how difficult it can be?”

“I understand,” Ingo forced himself to say.

“Then I hope you understand why I’m removing you from the Pine battalion.”

Ingo had known from the moment he had gotten the summons to North’s office that it was the worst case scenario yet hearing it said aloud still hit like a pommel to the stomach. 

“No! No, no, please.” Ingo lurched forwards. “You don’t have to do that. I can do better! I’ll try harder! I’ll-“

North grimaced and leaned away from him. “Oh, don’t have a meltdown on me. It’s too late, the paperwork is already signed. There’s nothing I can do about it.”

“I can still be useful.” Ingo sank down to his knees, the joints in his legs going weak. “Please, don’t scrap me…”

“What?” North stared down at him in bafflement. “You’re not getting scrapped, just reassigned. Again.”

“Reassigned?” Ingo echoed, feeling a little lightheaded.

“That’s right. You’ve got a couple more positions to fail through before you hit the scrapheap. Honestly, where did you get an idea like that? Absolutely ridiculous. Stand up!”

“Sorry, sir.” Ingo shakily got to his feet and stood at attention, suddenly feeling much lighter. “You told me that, sir.”

North squinted thoughtfully. “Did I say that?”

Ingo bobbed his head. “Yes, sir. When you reassigned me to the Pine Battalion you said it was my last chance, no one else would take me. And if I couldn’t make myself useful you would have to scrap me.” That wasn’t even mentioning the comments from some of his pervious squad members who held the opinion that Ingo would be more useful as firewood than as a solider. 

“Hmm.” North tapped a pen on his chin. “Well, I’m sure I must have had a good reason.”

“Yes, sir.” Ingo automaticity agreed, still reeling. 

“Yes, that must have been true when we last met, but since then there’s been a change of operations.” North steepled his hands on the desk. “Believe it or not, there’s someone out there who causes me even more trouble than you do, Ingo. We call him Null. He’s a bit like you. He’s dreadful at working with others, but unlike you, it’s because he actively sabotages teamwork. It was an unorthodox solution but we moved him into his own brigade. A squadron that consists of only Null.” North passed him a single sheet of paper. “And, as of today, you.”

It was variation of a form Ingo had seen every time he was reassigned. A pamphlet containing the barebones information about the new Battalion he would be joining. 

“I’ll admit, some people considered it a risky move,” the general continued. “But I figured, even if it goes to pot, it won’t affect anyone else’s performance. And it seemed a shame to scrap otherwise functional workers.”

At the top of the page was the name of the squadron, Gear Battalion. Ingo’s first few days were a bit of a blur but he could never forget the name of his original battalion - the one he was made for. “Sir, I was under the impression that we don’t reuse Battalion names out of respect.” 

North stared at him evenly. “We don’t.”

When new wooden soldiers were made, they were created in squadrons. Something had gone wrong in the manufacturing process for Gear Battalion because the entire group was defective. Missing arms, missing legs, missing faces. Misshapen torsos and fused joints. Some were lacking a windup key, effectively dead on arrival. Useless. All of Gear Battalion, bar Ingo, had been scrapped. 

At the time it had been ruled that Ingo’s defect, while unfortunate, was purely aesthetic and wouldn’t impact his functionality. So he was shuffled from group to group, filling out battalions that had lost members.

Sometimes Ingo wondered if his defect truly was the reason he was never able to integrate with a new Battalion or if the entire project had been doomed from the start. Maybe trying to wedge a newcomer, even a perfectly normal one, into a group that had spent their whole lives together wasn’t the best idea. Maybe trying to shove Ingo into a role someone before him had filled only bred resentment in the still grieving soldiers. Sometimes Ingo wondered if his only real chance at having a family someone who loved him a home fitting in had already been lost.

Or maybe not. 

Or maybe not because he was being reassigned into his original battalion and it already had someone else stationed there.

“I was unaware that anyone else had been salvaged,” Ingo said hoarsely.

“Well, now you know.” North tapped his wooden fingers on his wooden desk (Ingo tried not to think about the implications of that). “You’re free to go. All the information you need is on that paper, pack your things, you know the drill.” 

“Oh, I don’t have any possessions,” Ingo informed him without thinking. 

The general stilled in his tapping. “Nothing? What happened to the polishing kit I gave you?”

“When you reassigned me to the Pine barracks the Taffy Battalion wouldn’t let me back in to collect my belongings. I’m fairly sure they were redistributed between the squad.” It must have been an uneven split, with some members getting nothing. Ingo hadn’t had much to begin with. 

North rubbed his temples. “For the Maker’s sake, it’s always something with you, isn’t it? Just- Just move yourself then. Dismissed.”

Ingo saluted and left the office, knowing better than to push his luck.

——

“Hey, Null! Wait up!”

Since that wasn’t Emmet’s name, he concluded that they weren’t talking to him and kept walking.

“For goodness sake, are you deaf or something? Halt!”

Emmet rolled his eyes and stopped. They just couldn’t leave him alone, could they? “I am Emmet. What do you want?”

Marmalade and Cherry, ex-squadron members of Emmet’s, finally caught up. Marmalade’s mouth flattened in confusion. “Emmet?”

“That is my name.”

Cherry folded his arms. “No, it’s isn’t.”

Emmet narrowed his eyes. “It is. I know my own name.”

“But it says Null on all your paperwork,” Marmalade insisted because he wasn’t very smart. “So that must be your name.”

“Yes.” Emmet patiently explained. “The paperwork is wrong. I am Emmet.”

Marmalade squinted back. “Are you having an identity crisis?”

“Ignore him.” Cherry rolled his eyes. “He’s just doing it for attention.”

Emmet sighed. Words were wasted on these guys. “What do you want.”

“Right!” Marmalade straightened up. “You’re getting a new squad mate.”

“What.”

“You’re getting a new squad mate,” Cherry repeated. “Are your ears broken?”

“My hearing is fine.” Emmet snapped. “What do you mean, ‘new squad mate’? I work solo. That was the point. No other people.”

“How would we know? We’re just here to relay a message. That was the whole thing.” Cherry shrugged. 

Marmalade tapped his chin thoughtfully. “If I had to guess, I’d say he’s probably like you.”

“Like me?” Emmet mulled over that. “Defective?”

Emmet could see it. A little too well, honestly. A new defective soldier, lost, unwanted, and confused. Stuck with Emmet because no one knew what to do with a clockwork toy that didn’t work right. Yes, he could make room in his team of one for someone like that. 

“Eh, maybe.” Marmalade waggled his hand from side to side. “I was going to say difficult to work with.”

“Oh.”

“Annoying, probably,” Cherry added. “If no one else wants to be around him.”

“I am getting the picture,” Emmet said flatly.

Cherry’s smile was all edges. “He’s probably a total screw up too if he managed to fail this far downwards. Just an absolute disaster on all levels.”

Marmalade nodded in agreement. “I hear he got reassigned twelve times. Hey, just like you, Null!”

“At least his personality can’t be worse than yours.” 

Marmalade seemed startled by the comeback, for some reason. Cherry stepped in front of him, as if Emmet was the aggressor here. “Don’t talk to him like that,” Cherry ordered.

“Oh, I wasn’t.” Emmet smiled sweetly. “I was talking about you.”

Cherry narrowed his eyes, encroaching on Emmet’s personal space and getting in his face. “I’m just telling it like it is, you don’t have to insult me.” 

“So am I.” Emmet stood his ground. “It’s the truth. You are an asshole.”

“You know what? We don’t have to take this. The message is delivered, our part here is done.” Marmalade tugged Cherry away. “He’s not worth it.”

“Fine,” Cherry spat and marched past him, knocking into Emmet’s shoulder on the way out.

Finally. However, Emmet only got to take a few steps away before he heard Cherry call after him again. Despite his better instincts, Emmet stopped to listen.

“You really want the truth? I have one for you, Null,” Cherry snarled, hatred bubbling though his voice like boiling water. “I pity that poor schmuck who got stuck with you. Because I’d rather burn than spend another minute in the barracks with your ugly ass.”

“Cherry-!” Marmalade hissed.

“You’re goddamn thinking it too, you know I’m right.”

“I- yeah. I guess I am. I tried to make peace with it, you know, I really did.” Marmalade laughed bitterly. “I don’t know what they were thinking, trying to replace Cocoa with that.“

“I am Emmet. I can still hear you. I didn’t want me to be there anymore than you did.”

“That didn’t stop you from taking his locker or his location in formation. You still tried to replace him. But you never could because you aren’t worth half of Cocoa. You aren’t even a quarter as kind, loyal and brave as Cocoa was, and it’s a fucking insult to his memory that they ever thought a broken freak like you would come close to filling that void. You aren’t good enough. You will never be good enough.” 

An eternity of a second stretched out, filled with Cherry’s harsh breathing.

“Are you done?” Emmet asked though gritted teeth. 

He did not turn around but he could feel Cherry’s heavy gaze on his back.

“Yeah. We’re done,” Marmalade said forcefully.

Their footsteps faded away, one set more willing than the other. Emmet didn’t stay to watch them leave.

——

Ingo double checked the number on the door to ensure he was in the right place. He massaged his face, trying to force it into something resembling a smile. He wouldn’t be able to hold it for long but he wanted to make a good first impression. 

He checked one more time to be absolutely, positively sure that this was the Gear barracks and knocked on the door.

“Come in. It’s not locked.”

Embarrassingly, it took Ingo a couple of tries to open the door, fumbling the handle. He shook himself out, trying to expel his nerves. There was no need to be anxious, he had done this many times before. Safety checks complete. He was ready. Smile!

He opened the door. 

Inside was a wind-up soldier who looked distinctly unfinished. He was unpainted and unvarnished so his woodwork was plainly visible. It was actually quite uncanny to see him move and stand and talk. By all rights, he shouldn’t be alive yet. 

“So. You must be my new squad member.” He crossed his arms and Ingo realised three things simultaneously. Firstly, the metal frame was visible in his joints, glinting in the light without any paint to cover it up. It was fascinating in a morbid sort of way to see glimpses of his inner workings. Secondly, once past the initially shock, Null was actually quite beautiful. He was made of a pale wood - birch, if Ingo had to guess - and it gave him an angelic and dignified air, like a marble statue.

Thirdly, and most importantly, he was like Ingo.

“Greetings! I am Ingo!” He held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

Null seemed a little taken aback, but after a moment of hesitation he firmly shook Ingo’s hand. Ingo had to tramp down on the urge to trace the woodgrain along his wrists. “I am Emmet.”

Ingo blinked. “Oh, am I in the wrong…?“ He unfolded the slip of paper. “I was under the impression I was supposed to meet with someone called Null?”

“You’re in the right place.” Emmet snatched the paper, crumpled it up and tossed it over his shoulder in violation of proper garbage disposal protocol. “That’s me. They misspell my name all the time. I am Emmet.”

“Um,” Ingo said eloquently. “Pardon me, but… how would you spell Emmet?”

“E-M-M-E-T.” 

He blinked. “That’s quite the typo… You say they make that mistake frequently?”

“Constantly. They are verrry stupid. I am Emmet.”

“There must be an error in the archives that’s getting copied over. Would you like me to fix that for you?”

Emmet looked at him consideringly. “Why are you offering?”

“Because it’s not good that there’s a mistake?” Ingo fidgeted uncomfortably. “The longer it persists, the more difficult it will be to rectify.”

Emmet scrutinised him for another moment before his eyes slid away. “You can try. It won’t do you much good. They think they’re correct.” He marched past Ingo without giving him a chance to respond. “We have a shift patrolling the West Wing now.”

Ingo hastily followed after Emmet, closing the barracks door behind himself. “I was unaware that the West Wing was still in use.”

“It’s not. They just want us out of their way.” Emmet glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “We were supposed to start five minutes ago. You were late.”

“My apologies. It won’t happen again.” Not that anyone had given Ingo a time he was supposed to arrive at. He’d assumed he was miles early, due to not having to spend any time packing. 

“It better not. You’re throwing off my schedule. I make a point of being exactly ten minutes late to everything.”

“…What?”

“You heard me.”

Ingo made a point of being early to everything because punctuality was important. Being deliberately late seemed disrespectful to everyone else who had shown up on time. However, it would be quite hypocritical of Ingo to say so, since he was apparently late himself. “If it bothers you that much, we can wait another five minutes.”

“No, no, we’ve already left. I’ve committed. We’ll be late ahead of schedule.”

Nothing this man said made any sense. Ingo couldn’t tell if Emmet was genuinely this weird or if he was messing with Ingo. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time a battalion had put him through a secret test as part of his initiation. Truthfully, he was hoping Emmet was just a very strange person, because he could adapt to that, whereas he had never passed a test of character. He was always found lacking in some way or another. 

“What does the rest of our schedule look like?” Ingo asked, because he’d rather not be caught off guard.

“It’s just this. Patrol the West Wing. That’s our only job.” Emmet had a peculiar march, swinging his arms back and forth rather than keeping them firmly by his side. “It’s not very fun.”

“I doubt it’s supposed to be.”

Emmet hummed noncommittally and didn’t say anything else.

Out of habit, Ingo brought his hand up to cover his mouth. He lowered it again. There was little point in trying to mask his defect. Emmet was like him, after all.

——

Emmet had never seen such naked disgust before. Sure, no one went out of their way to hide the fact that they thought he was hideous and generally unfit to share space with, but the new guy was somehow even more blatant. 

When the new guy - Ingo - had stepped into the room his smile had been strained (didn’t want to be here, had probably been paired up with Emmet as a punishment) and it had dropped into a full-on glare when he locked eyes with Emmet. 

Wow! And he had kept at it! He’d kept glaring at Emmet throughout the entire conversation and he was still frowning now when they were well into the patrol route. Holy shit! How much disgust - how much hatred - did he need to feel to keep that up? Emmet knew from experience how difficult it was to pull his own carved smile into a frown, even at his most furious it just flattened. He was almost impressed at how deep Ingo’s frown could go.

He’d be more impressed if Ingo’s glower wasn’t directed at Emmet. 

Emmet was no stranger to the dislike of the other toy soldiers. Really, he should have been immune to the sting of rejection by now but Ingo’s obvious disgust still hurt. Maybe it was the way he hadn’t even given Emmet a chance to speak before solidifying his dislike. Perhaps it was the way his distaste manifested differently from the other soldiers: Ingo’s words were still polite, but his glare said everything Emmet needed to know. Normally it was the other way around.

Emmet glanced to the side, where Ingo marched in lockstep with him. Yep. Still glaring. He didn’t know if Ingo was deliberately holding that expression or if he just hated being around Emmet that much. Both options were kind of terrifying. 

But not terrifying enough to stop Emmet from being a pest on purpose. 

Fine. Ingo could hate him. Emmet didn’t care. Emmet was defective, and nothing he could do would ever be enough to make up for it in the other soldier’s minds. But if everyone was going to hate him for being different, then they were going to hate him for being different on Emmet’s terms.

Emmet purposefully slowed down, dragging his feet and falling behind. Admittedly, it wasn’t as effective when the patrol only consisted of two people, but being even more different and nonconforming and standing out always pissed off the rest of the troops. Especially if they perceived his acting out as interfering with their jobs. This was Emmet’s foolproof method of quickly getting kicked out of every battalion they ever tried to place him in. 

Ingo did a double take at not finding Emmet next to him. He looked over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes upon seeing Emmet falling behind. Emmet smiled sickly sweet at him and waited for Ingo to yell at him for being lazy and order him to fall in line.

But he didn’t. 

Ingo stopped and waited for Emmet to catch up before falling into step with him again, this time at Emmet’s much slower pace.

Huh. For whatever reason, despite his obvious distaste, he really was trying to make an effort to work with Emmet rather than against him. Emmet was almost touched. 

Almost.

He gave it a few more seconds, so Ingo could properly fall into the new rhythm. Then Emmet speed up, marching double time and leaving Ingo in the dust. 

Again, Ingo changed his pace to match him, marching to Emmet’s beat.

Emmet wasn’t sure what to make of this. So he walked backwards. 

Ingo had been watching him closely and caught on to the change almost immediately, diligently stepping backwards, still infuriatingly in sync. 

“What are you doing?” If it wasn’t for the frown, Emmet could have mistaken his tone for one of genuine curiosity rather than irritation.

“Patrolling,” Emmet told him and started skipping forwards.

And Emmet really had expected Ingo to stop humouring him this time, between the non-answer and the far goofier walk. Something he was sure someone as serious and severe as Ingo would never do.

But Ingo was full of surprises because not only did he start skipping along but he laughed as well.  

Emmet’s head snapped up to look at Ingo, who was covering his mouth but had the crinkled eyes of someone with a wide grin. “We must,” Ingo giggled. “We must look so silly!“

“Well,” Emmet said, feeling a bit off balance. “Maybe you do. I look handsome.”

This earned him another peal of laughter from Ingo (and Ingo had such a nice laugh, had Emmet mentioned that? Loud, boisterous and full of joy.) and Emmet felt his own smile ease into something more genuine.

“You’re so funny! No one told me you were funny.” Ingo uncovered his mouth and flapped his hands. Emmet was taken aback because underneath Ingo was still scowling. Glaring at Emmet.

Oh. He was being sarcastic. He was laughing at Emmet, not with him. Emmet was an idiot for not realising sooner. Of course he didn’t mean it kindly, no matter how earnest his voice had sounded. Of course he thought Emmet referring to his unpainted exterior as “handsome” was a fucking joke. Some mechanism in Emmet’s chest felt like it froze over. 
 
He halted abruptly. Ingo stumbled at a stop next to him. He just stared disapprovingly at Emmet, waiting to see what he would do next. What was he playing at?

Emmet gritted his teeth and kept going, this time marching in an unrhythmic pattern, with sudden starts and stops and going faster and slower at random intervals. It would be a frustrating thing to keep up with for anyone, but for clockwork dolls like them - who favoured predictable patterns and repetitive movements - it was near impossible. Ingo still tried to copy him anyway, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed, and still scowling. 

He was irritated. Fine. Good! That was the point. Emmet wanted to annoy him so he would leave Emmet alone. Emmet didn’t care! He didn’t! And he certainly wasn’t going to work himself into knots to please someone who couldn’t even be bothered to try and hide how much he hated Emmet. He certainly didn’t want to hear Ingo laughing again, especially not at Emmet. He didn’t want Ingo to keep faking being nice when Emmet could tell he didn’t mean any of it. Not that Emmet cared about what Ingo thought of him. His feeling weren’t hurt. Not even a little bit.

Emmet made the pattern even harder to follow, adding hops and backtracking and sidesteps and it wasn’t even a pattern anymore. Emmet was just doing whatever spontaneously crossed his mind. And Ingo was still doing his best to copy him.

Why? Why was he doing this? Mockery? A thin veil of politeness? Emmet didn’t know what Ingo thought he was accomplishing by mimicking Emmet, but by the Maker was Emmet going to make him work for it.

——

Ingo was feeling positively giddy. 

At first, Ingo had been confused by Emmet’s antics but it soon became obvious what he was doing. He was playing. It was a game! 

And maybe goofing off while on patrol wasn’t the best idea but there was no way Ingo was going to tell Emmet to stop now. Nobody invited Ingo to play games with them. Either because they thought he was too stern or because they… just didn’t like being around him… 

But none of that had stopped Emmet! Not even a little bit! He did wish Emmet had explained the rules first but that was okay! He thinks he’s doing alright for his first time but it wouldn’t matter even if he was doing terribly. He was having fun! 

Rushing down the dusty halls, wooden feet clacking against the tile, it had almost felt like dancing. 

“That’s enough.” Emmet halted when they reached the exit. “Patrol is over.”

“Already?” Ingo asked. He was fairly sure they were supposed to do at least two more circuits. Maybe even another four rounds considering that no one would be replacing them.

“Yep! We are off duty now. You can do what you like. The generals won’t care as long as you don’t cause trouble where they can see it.” Emmet turned on his heel and waved. “I don’t care either. Even if you are causing trouble!”

Ingo made an aborted motion to reach out after Emmet’s retreating figure. “Wait! I-“

With a heavy sigh, Emmet stopped.

“I just wanted to say thank you. I had a lot of fun. I really appreciate-“

“Don’t lie to me.” 

“Pardon?”

Emmet turned around, smile sharp and angry around the edges. “You don’t need to lie to me.”

Ingo frantically worked his brain to figure out why Emmet was so upset. When exactly had their interaction taken a turn for the worse? What had Ingo done wrong this time? “I’m not lying, sir.”

Emmet’s hands curled into fists. “I am Emmet. You are not funny. Don’t mock me.” 

“I’m not-“

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Emmet marched towards him, getting in Ingo’s face. “I’m not stupid.”

“I said no such thing. I don’t know what you’re talking about, s- Emmet.”

“You hated every minute.” Emmet poked him in the chest. “Don’t fucking lie to me.”

Ingo backed up, trying to put some space in between them, only to get cornered against the wall. “I am unsure what I did to give you that impression but I assure you that I truly enjoyed our time together-“

“Then why are you glaring?”

Ingo’s heart splintered. 

Of course. Of fucking course it was too much to expect for everything to go right for once, for him to go even one day without his face screwing him over. 

“I’m not glaring,” he said, muffled by the palm he had firmly placed over his mouth.

“You’re doing it right now!” Emmet snarled.

“That’s not- you misunderstand. That’s just how I look. I am physically incapable of smiling properly, it’s not a slight against you-“

Emmet raised his hand and Ingo flinched back. (And that would cost him later, wouldn’t it? Now he would be able to add cowardice to Ingo’s long list of faults.) 

Instead of the slap he was braced for, his jaw was firmly cradled between two palms. What? He cracked open an eye to find Emmet entirely too close, prodding at Ingo’s cheeks with an intense focus.

Oh. He was…checking. He was verifying if Ingo was telling the truth, feeling for the slight distortions in the wood caused by pulling an expression. The reshaping was mostly unnoticeable to the eye, but was incredibly obvious when felt for. Ingo did his best to school his appearance back into his default neutrality, a difficult feat when he was feeling so overwhelmed.

Emmet stilled. “You’re carved like that. You have to frown. You can’t help it,” he said. It was a statement, not a question. 

“That’s correct,” Ingo answered anyway, forcing himself to meet Emmet’s eyes.

All the sharp edged defensive anger crumbled away, leaving something like devastation in it’s wake, even as comprehension dawned in Emmet’s eyes, bright as the rising sun. “You’re like me.” 

——

The world seemed to flip inside out even though all that had changed was Emmet’s perspective. Like those tarot cards that changed meanings depending on which way you placed them, Emmet had been viewing the past hour or so from entirely the wrong angle.

What Emmet had assumed was a look of barely contained rage, (but once he tallied up Ingo’s body language, voice, and literally everything besides his frown) became so obviously fear. 

Ingo was afraid. Of Emmet.

Emmet yanked his hands back like he had been burnt.

“Sorry!” Realising it was a lot weird that he had grabbed Ingo’s head like that, he shakily clasped his hands behind his back. “I-I didn’t know there were others,” he said, as if that was any excuse for his shitty behaviour. 

Emmet had always thought that if he met someone like himself he would treat them with kindness, respect, understanding and everything else Emmet had wanted but had never gotten. How disappointing, how shameful, to realise he was just as bad as everyone else.

“I didn’t either, until today.” Ingo was looking at him and on anyone else his expression would be deeply disapproving and judgmental, but on Ingo he had no idea. Pity? Confusion? “I was also made as part of the original Gear Battalion. Did no one tell you?”

“No, no one.” Emmet was still reeling, but it made sense now that he thought about it. No one would be able to hold a frown that long if their face had been carved with a smile. And if he was originally part of Gear Battalion…

(In the deep, deep recesses of Emmet’s memory, there are others. They clung to him, because they were scared and couldn’t walk on their own. Emmet had held them tightly because he was scared too and he wanted to help. Loud and booming over all the noise and chatter, another tried to reassure them that everything would be alright. But it wasn’t alright because they were separated one by one and everyone was gone, gone, gone-

Emmet was alone.)

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Ingo said, hovering uncertainly. “If you thought I was mad at you, then why were you playing games with me?”

“…Playing? Games?” Emmet’s comprehension had never been so low. What was happening?

“I- follow the leader? Were you not-?” Ingo’s expression shuttered. “Oh. Nevermind, forget I said anything.”

Emmet blinked. “Normally people find that annoying. If I act up then they move me.” He winced, it sounded really bad when he put it like this. “I figured if you found me irritating you’d leave me alone.”

“I hadn’t realised my company was so unbearable,” Ingo said, voice tight.

“No, I- That’s not! I was wrong!” Emmet bit back a frustrated growl. “That’s not fair, I didn’t know! I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I thought you hated me.”

“Why would I hate you?” Ingo asked, and Maker above, he seemed genuinely confused. 

“Why-?” Emmet gestured to his entire self. “Look at me!”

Ingo’s eyes flicked up and down, and before Emmet could continue the to list the many reasons Ingo had to hate him, Ingo cut him off. “I think you look nice.” He said it hesitantly but sincerely. 

Emmet gaped at him, opening and closing his jaw several times. “You can’t just-“ He pressed the heel of his palms over his eyes. “You mean that? You’re not being sarcastic?” 

“I’m not being sarcastic! Not at all!” Ingo waved his hands frantically. “You’re snazzy!”

Emmet choked. “Snazzy?!”

“Sorry?!” Ingo winced. “I don’t hate you, or even dislike you, is what I’m trying to say. Especially not because of that.”

“…You can’t mean that.” Emmet whispered, mentally replaying every supposedly sincere compliment Ingo had given him. Even disregarding that, Emmet had been awful to Ingo. Actions that had ranged from defensive to petty revenge at the time, all of it was just uncalled for meanness. He’d been horrible to someone who had done nothing to deserve it, who had probably already been a punching bag for far too long. Ingo was just trying to be nice and Emmet had turned around and bullied him. How could he not hate Emmet after that? Emmet would hate Emmet. 

“I swear I’m not lying, or mocking you, or anything like that.” Ingo crept closer. “I don’t know what I’ve done to make you think I’m so cruel, I’m like not that. Please give me another chance. I think we got off on the wrong foot, can we start again? Allow me to reintroduce myself-“

“No! No! Stop!” Emmet wanted to scream. Why was Ingo acting like he was the one who need to apologise and make amends when Emmet was the one being a jerk? How often had Ingo needed to apologise for other peoples’ bad behaviour? Emmet wanted to scream more because Ingo looked absolutely crushed by his refusal and Emmet wasn’t even sure if he was reading him right. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I messed up. I’m sorry. Please give me another chance. I-“

He shook Ingo’s hand with both of his. “I am Emmet. I am verrry glad to meet you. Welcome to Gear Battalion. It’s good to have you here! You seem kind and… Snazzy!”

Ingo barked out a surprised laugh, then quickly covered his mouth. “Apologies, that was a poor word choice on my part...”

“Why are you sorry? It was a compliment. It was nice. You’re nice.” He hesitated, unsure if the sentiment would be appreciated. But Ingo had been made as part of the same battalion as Emmet so it was the truth, and Emmet owed him that much. “Welcome home, Ingo.”

It’s clearly the wrong thing to say because Ingo made a small, wounded noise and crumbled like a house of cards. 

“Sorry, sorry.” Emmet dropped down next to him. How is he still messing this up?! All his attempts at kindness just made Ingo more upset. “Forget I said anything, I’m sorry.”

“No, please don’t apologise.” Ingo lifted his head to reveal the way his mouth turned up ever so slightly at the corners, in the smallest and sweetest smile Emmet had ever seen. “I’m happy.”

Chapter Text

If Ingo was going to be staying, he would need his own locker. There was just one teeny tiny problem with that. 

Emmet had filled all of the lockers with spiders.

Fairy Floss Spiders thrived in dark and abandoned environments so, naturally, there were a lot of them in the West Wing. They were harmless little guys, but they were considered pests by most people. Emmet didn’t get it. They were cute! And they ate harmful bugs like termites, so they were nice to have around. 

The other soldiers made a point of stamping them out, so Emmet made a point of rescuing them. When he had the barracks to himself, it had seemed like a good idea to let them live in the lockers. No one was using them besides him, and they liked having a dark and quiet place to hide and make webs in. Then those spiders laid eggs that hatched into even smaller and fuzzier baby spiderlings. A few spiders turned into many spiders, which turned into - what some cowards might call - far too many spiders. 

Emmet wasn’t a coward, and he loved all of his darling fuzzballs. 

However, it wasn’t just his space anymore, Ingo was here too.

He hadn’t cleared out a locker for Ingo. Before he had met Ingo, he hadn’t seen the point in making room for some random asshole who would be just like everyone else. Inflicting his lovely spider army on the guy had initially been part of his extensive plan to scare him off, so Emmet could have the Barracks to himself again. 

And then Ingo had turned out to be an extremely sweet and lovely person who had never done anything wrong in his life. 

Emmet wanted to slap his past self silly.

He had no contingency plan in place for this. Sure, Ingo would need to find out about the spiders eventually but there was a world of difference between slowly acclimating him to the cotton candy hellscape that was his new life, and jumpscaring him with a legion of spiders in his locker. 

Emmet was trying to make a good second impression, he really was. Which would be easier if past-him didn’t make exclusively bad decisions. 

He must have been silent for too long because Ingo hesitantly said, “there is no need to trouble yourself over it. I don’t require a locker and I don’t have anything to put in it anyway.”

There was definitely a story there. Had this been a point of contention in the past? “No, you get a locker.” It would be equal parts cruel and absurd for Emmet to keep all twelve of them for himself. He was trying to be welcoming, damnit. “Give me a minute to clear one out.”

“I can assist with that-“

“No!” He yelled it too quickly, too harshly. Unlike most of Ingo’s expressions, hurt was extremely intuitive. And effective. Emmet felt like a monster.

“Sorry,” Emmet hastily tagged on. “I’d rather I do it. I have some… personal things in there. Just stay here. Please. Thank you.” 

“If you insist,” Ingo conceded, resigning himself to standing awkwardly in the corner. 

“I do insist!” Emmet chirped, opening the locker nearest to him, being careful to keep the door at an angle that would prevent Ingo from seeing inside. 

His spiders blinked their many eyes at the sudden surge in light, then chirped happily in recognition and waved their little pedipalps at him. Emmet hastily shushed them, pressing a finger to his lips.

Ingo’s brow furrowed and Emmet had to shake off his knee-jerk assumption. That’s just what Ingo’s face looked like, he wasn’t angry. …Probably wasn’t angry at him. “Is it supposed to…?”

“Yep!” Emmet squeaked. He needed to keep Ingo distracted so he wouldn’t notice Emmet trying to discreetly mime to his spiders that he needed to move them and could they take their webs down, pretty please. “What was that you said earlier? About not having… things?”

Thankfully it worked. He looked away with an expression Emmet couldn’t place and tried to awkwardly downplay the fact he’d been robbed. By the Taffy battalion. Emmet remembered those guys. They had been one of the worst groups he’d been placed in, and that was saying a lot. It didn’t surprise him at all that they would pull a stunt like that.

Strangely, he seemed ashamed about it, even though he was the only party in that story who hadn’t done anything wrong. Emmet didn’t understand. If it had been him he would have been fucking furious. And he was! He was absolutely seething on Ingo’s behalf. 

He gave up on charades with the spiders to approach Ingo, wanting to communicate his rage. This would require a delicate touch. He need to make sure Ingo knew it wasn’t him he was angry at, but rather the miscarriage of justice, the unfairness of it all. He needed to chose his words carefully. 

“Those assholes,” he spat. 

Ingo startled. “Well, I-I’m sure they have their reasons.”

“Yes,” he growled. “The reason is: they’re dicks.”

He looked down again and fidgeted with his hands. “I’m making it sound worse than it really was, it’s not important.”

Emmet opened his mouth to disagree and froze, catching sight of Lemondrop, a small yellow spider, slowly inching up Ingo’s arm. 

Unfortunately, he only saw her a split second before Ingo did. He flinched back and let out an ear piercing scream. Ears ringing, Emmet flung himself forwards to pluck the spider off Ingo.

“Don’t hurt her!” he snarled. “She’s harmless! If you touch her I’ll bite your hand off, don’t-“

Ingo backed away, arms up in surrender. “Sorry! Sorry, I wasn’t going to, she just startled me. I don’t intend to harm your friend. My apologies, I reacted poorly, I’m so sorry.”

Emmet looked down at where Lemondrop was cradled against his chest. His friend? He supposed there wasn’t any denying it, not with how quickly he had leaped to defend her. “Okay.”

“My apologies,” Ingo repeated. 

An uncomfortable silence descended. Emmet didn’t know where to go from here. It was a new situation. People didn’t apologise to Emmet. It was hard to tell, but Ingo seemed genuinely contrite. It was difficult to be angry at him and that was weird too. Rage had been Emmet’s oldest companion, his most reliable weapon, his greatest defense. He looked at Ingo - hands still up, looking at the ground, another five or ten apologies on his tongue - and he just felt sad. All his anger evaporated like it was never there.

If Emmet hadn’t intervened, would Ingo have swatted Lemondrop? Would he have crushed her and not thought anything of it? Was he sorry for scaring Lemondrop, or was he sorry for scaring Emmet? Did it matter? Emmet was distressed and Ingo had de-escalated the situation. He said sorry. No one else would have done that. No one else would’ve cared that Emmet was upset. They would have squashed her anyway just to spite him. Then scold him for threatening them/yelling/bringing a spider into the barracks/growing attached/getting angry/upset over nothing/existing. 

Maybe Emmet should apologise for freaking out. Ingo wouldn’t ask him to. But maybe he should.

“You’re not going to hurt her,” was what he said instead, and even he didn’t know if it was an order or a question. 

“Of course not!” He was loud, too loud for the small room and the tentative truce. It made everyone jump, including Ingo. He slapped a hand over his mouth and it was unclear what he was more ashamed of, his voice or his face.

Emmet messed up again. That didn’t take long. Maker, maybe he’s not made for this. All he does is hurt people, wether he’s trying to or not.

Lemondrop scuttled around the cage of his fingers, feet soft and featherlight. 

This was inevitable. The spiders were never going to go over well. Emmet wasn’t going to get rid of them, but he didn’t want Ingo to leave either - a novel feeling. He’d just have to keep stubbornly forcing these repelling magnets together until they got over themselves, even if he had to duct tape them together. 

“This is Lemondrop.” He uncurled his hand. “She’s a fairy floss spider. She’s still a baby. She likes to explore, and go places she shouldn’t. That’s why she was on you. Sorry.”

“That’s quite alright, I was just startled. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Lemondrop.” He bowed to the spider and it was so absurd that Emmet promptly forgot the rest of his speech. 

She blinked her many eyes at him and then tipped forwards, bending her forelegs and dropping into a crouch then standing in back up again in a tiny spider approximation of a bow. Outrageous, she was never this polite for Emmet. 

“That’s adorable,” Ingo said, too loud to be a whisper. It was the quietest Emmet had heard him, and his tone was that of someone talking to himself, rather than something Emmet was meant to hear. Well, at least Ingo appreciated her.

“Yep,” Emmet agreed.

Embarrassed, Ingo straightened up from cooing over her. “Ah, if you don’t mind me saying, I was unaware that there were yellow floss spiders. All the ones I’ve seen were pink or blue.”

“It’s verrry rare, but sometimes they are yellow. It makes them stand out, so they don’t last long in the wild.” Emmet had several yellow spiders and they were his favourites. Not that he would tell anyone that, his babies would be sad if he showed favouritism. “Would you like to hold her?”

It was only after the words were out of his mouth that Emmet’s conscience balked at the idea. Wasn’t it just minutes ago that he was worried about Ingo crushing her? Was he really going to risk Lemondrop’s safety at the hands of someone else? Was that really all it took to earn Emmet’s trust? Some sweet words and a silly bow?

Ingo’s eyes lit up. “Can I?!”

Yes. Yes, it was that easy to win Emmet’s trust and also his undying loyalty. He’d be willing to kill just to keep Ingo looking at him like that. 

Sadly, it didn’t last long before Ingo shied away. “Are you going to bite me if I do?”

Emmet barked out a laugh before he realised Ingo was being completely serious. “Only if you hurt her.” 

“Maybe I shouldn’t.” Ingo withdrew into himself, like a flower blooming in reverse. “She’s very small, what if I injure her by accident?”

“You won’t.” As Ingo’s doubt grew, so did Emmet’s certainty. “Put your hand out flat, palm up.”

And he did. He just did as Emmet asked, no questions or hesitation. Emmet hadn’t been expecting that. He’d been ready to argue over it for at least ten minutes. Quickly, before anyone could change their mind, Emmet brought his hand in line with Ingo’s so she could crawl between them.

“She doesn’t weigh anything,” he marvelled. 

Emmet hummed. “She likes it when you rub her head.” He demonstrated with the tip of his index finger, ruffling the hair on her cephalothorax. 

Gingerly, Ingo copied the motion. She chirred and leaned into the petting. 

“She’s so soft,” he said reverently, stroking down her abdomen, “and small.”

Emmet tilted his head. “She’s only a baby. She will get bigger.”

“A little baby. Tiny, itty-bitty, fuzzy baby,” he sounded oddly choked up. “She’s biting me.”

So she was. They did that sometimes. Emmet knew from experience that it didn’t hurt to get nibbled on, their teeth weren’t strong enough to pierce wood. He chose to take it as a sign of affection. “That means she likes you.”

Ingo looked up with shiny eyes. “Really?”

“Yep!” On impulse, he grabbed Ingo’s free hand and dragged him to the locker he had been clearing out. 

Ingo stared at their joined hands in shock.

Manhandling. A bad habit Emmet was slipping back into. Paradoxically, getting physical, or threatening to get grabby, used to be one of his most effective methods of guarding his personal space. From the way some people reacted, you would think not having paint was contagious. But he wanted Ingo to like him, so triggering that revulsion was counterproductive. Ingo had been shocking tolerant of Emmet’s everything so far, there was no need to push it.

Emmet hastily dropped his hand and Ingo snapped out of his trance, finally noticing the open door before him. “O-oh, that’s a lot of spiders. How many do you have?”

Emmet gently scooped up a pink spider. “A lot many. This is Blueberry. Would you like to hold him?”

“Yes, if that’s alright.” 

“Of course it is. I wouldn’t ask if it was a problem.” Honestly. Why would he do a silly thing like that? 

He plopped Blueberry next to Lemondrop. Ingo brought his free hand up to the brim of his hat and inclined his head in a simulacrum of tipping his hat. “Hello good sir! I am Ingo.”

Was he really planning on introducing himself to all of the spiders? …They were going to be here for a while. But Emmet would allow it, because it was verrry cute.

Ever adventurous, Lemondrop started to crawl down Ingo’s arm. “Ah, she is… on the move. Should I stop her or…?” 

“Is she bothering you?”

“Not at all!” He was hasty to deny. 

“Then it’s fine.” Emmet turned back to the locker then paused. “Be careful when she’s near your joints. Her feet might get caught. If you move, they become crush points.”

He instantly froze. 

Silly. Neither Lemondrop or Blueberry were anywhere near his joints. Still. It was sweet of him to worry about them like that. 

Emmet spun back to him again, a blue spiderling perched on his knuckles. “This is Strawberry.”

Ingo nodded almost imperceptibly. “Greetings, Strawberry.”

He nudged Strawberry on top of his head. “She likes to be high.”

Ingo’s eyes flicked up in a futile effort to see her, before sweeping back down to Emmet. “That’s very sensible of her. Although it’s not a preference I share, I prefer to keep my feet on the ground.”

“Me too.” His smile widened and he continued to decorate Ingo with creepy crawlies. His shoulder. His hat. The tips of his fingers, the inside of his wrist. He barely restrained himself from sticking one right on Ingo’s nose. He put Apple on one of his false buttons instead. 

“Are they all named after fruits?”

“Not all of them.” Not even most of them. He reached into the locker and gently lifted out Spark, the last spider (in this particular locker).

She was the first yellow spider he’d ever seen. It had scared him quite badly when she hatched - smaller, yellower and later than all the others. He’d spent ages fretting over her, wondering if there was something wrong with her, if she was sick. It was a scary first few days, but she turned out fine. 

Even though it had happened a million times, it still gave Emmet a rush of joy when they willingly scurried into his hands, eager for pets and treats. He gently scratched her and she leaned into it with a purr. 

Before he could introduce her to Ingo, the words vanished from his throat.

Ingo hadn’t moved an inch, still locked in place by Emmet’s warning, covered in fluff and going slightly cross-eyed watching Strawberry dangle from the brim of his hat by a thread, eyes gleaming with excitement. 

For a second, Emmet felt like he had slipped into some parallel world where spiders were cute instead of creepy, where wind-up soldiers frowned when they were happy, and where Emmet wasn’t weird at all. A kinder, happier, upside down world. 

“And who might this be?” Ingo asked and the moment passed.

“Spark,” Emmet said and plopped her on his nose and he went cross-eyed again. 

It was only hitting Emmet now that this was real. This was real. Not a fantasy, or a dream, or a hallucination. Emmet wasn’t creative enough to imagine something like this. He never would have been able to invent the little details, like the way Ingo’s nose scrunched up or the way he trembled with the effort to keep still. 

The reality of Ingo far outpaced all of Emmet’s expectations. It hadn’t even occurred to Emmet that his spiders could go over well, it never even crossed his mind. The best outcome he’d been able to conceive of was Ingo eventually learning to tolerate their cotton candy companions. But he liked the spiders. He was content to be covered in them, and learn their names, and bow to them in greeting. 

He was so much better than any of Emmet’s self indulgent fantasies of what friendship might be like. 

He was perfect.

A strange feeling welled up in his chest, fragile as a web made of floss and yet searingly bright. It felt like holding Spark for the first time and wondering if spiders could be defective too.

Blissfully oblivious to his inner meltdown, Ingo spoke up. “Do they live in the locker? You really don’t need to clear it out for me, I wouldn’t want to displace them.”

“They live in the other lockers as well, they have plenty of room.” He smiled cheerfully. “Besides, this is your home too!”

“I- That-“ he swallowed. “That’s very kind of you. I just - it seems unfair to make them move when I’m the one imposing.”  

“They don’t mind,” Emmet promised. “They like you. They want you to stay.”

He looked down bashfully. “Thank you. I hope so.”

How helpful of Ingo to put a name to the feeling.

Emmet hoped so too.

Chapter Text

“Would you like me to write this week’s report?”

Emmet didn’t look up from watching Lemondrop crawl across his knuckles. “You don’t need to.”

“I understand. I- I’m offering. You’ve done so much for me and- and I want to pay you back! So-!”

Emmet looked up. “You don’t need to.” Frankly, Emmet hadn’t done anything special. He found the idea that Ingo ‘owed’ him for his fumbled attempts at kindness unsettling. If anything Emmet owed him! He still hadn’t made up for their disastrous first meeting. 

But Ingo didn’t appear to feel the same because his face pinched in a distressed sort of way. Emmet had a feeling he wasn’t going to be winning this conversation. Perhaps a different tactic would be needed.

“No one reads the reports!” Emmet spread his arms. “So there is no point in you writing one!”

Ingo tilted his head. “How are you so sure no one is reading them?”

“Well. If someone had been reading them I would have gotten into trouble for cussing North out for three pages.”

Ingo’s jaw dropped. His perpetual frown elevated his horrified face to a new level. “You WHAT?!”

Verrry loud! Emmet snapped his fingers next to his ears to check they still worked.

“Why?! How are you not dead?!”

“No one read it.” He returned Lemondrop to the locker. “Besides. I did not start with that.”

“What-“ Ingo took a deep breath and sat down across from Emmet, moving with the slow gingerness of someone disarming a bomb. “What did you start with?”

“Flagrant lying.” 

 Ingo buried his face in his hands and whined like a rusty hinge.

“I didn’t get in trouble. So I knew no one looked at it.” Emmet didn’t understand what he was getting so worked up about. Obviously nothing happened. “I’ve been sending in blank reports. No point in writing if no one reads it.” 

Ingo peeked up from between his fingers. “Emmet?”

“I am Emmet,” he agreed.

“I am requesting permission to take over all the paperwork.”

“You don’t need my permission.” It was weird when Ingo said things like that. As if Emmet was in charge or something. “But you would be wasting your time.”

Ingo stared at the floor.

Emmet sighed heavily and shrugged. “You can do what you want. I won’t stop you.”

Technically Ingo didn’t smile. But his mouth levelled out and his eyes crinkled, his lower lids coming up in a happy squint. It was strange that Emmet had ever believed he looked angry when he smiled so often.

“Thank you! I will get to work right away!” 

Emmet had only had Ingo for a day and a half but if anything happened to him he would kill everyone here and then himself. 

Ingo liked the archives. They were quiet, peaceful and mostly deserted. As long as he stayed quiet and looked busy, nobody payed him any mind. It was easy to get lost in the here, where everything looked the same if you didn’t know how it was organised.

Ingo knew the place well.

It was easy to find to the filing cabinet labelled “Gear Battalion” and open the top drawer. Inside was two files. The first was Ingo’s own, he recognised it instantly. It was, regrettably, thicker than most, filled with all his many infractions. He briefly thumbed through the pages and he was unsurprised to find it mostly unchanged, with the only addition being a note about his transfer to Gear Battalion.

The second file was Emmet’s. 

He pulled it out of the cabinet and glanced around for a flat surface before deciding kneeling on the floor would be easiest. He rummaged around the satchel he had slug over his shoulder and pulled out some correction fluid. 

He began the slow process of covering up every instance of “Null” in the file and rewriting “Emmet” over it as neatly as possible. Unfortunately, he had needed to borrow the satchel and everything in it from Emmet so he hadn’t been able to use the version of correction fluid he was used to. Ingo’s was much less obtrusive, unnoticeable unless closely inspected. However, this was what he had to work with, so it would have to do.

Working his way through the documents, newest to oldest, he suddenly stopped in his tracks.

Oh.

That was a name he hadn’t seen in a very long time. The last page was a list of all the original members of Gear Battalion, and the first name on it was “Void.”

He’d thought he had gotten all of those. With a flick of his wrist, he blotted it out and wrote “Ingo” overtop of it. 

Honesty, he wasn’t sure this would work for Emmet. Ingo had only gotten away with it because he’d changed it early on, before most people had a concrete idea of Ingo as an individual rather than as one failure among many. He’d told a bold faced lie straight to General North’s face, “I’m afraid you must be confusing me with one of the others, my name is Ingo.” North had stared him for several nerve wracking seconds before brushing it off as an easy mistake to make. He could hardly be expected to remember all of their names, not when most of them would be scrapped soon enough. 

He was still shocked he had gotten away with it. But ultimately it had all been for nothing. A naive, ill-advised, and needlessly risky attempt to make himself more palatable. They called him angry, aggressive, belligerent, unenthusiastic, and prone to sulking. Back then he hadn’t understood why they would say such things, because he knew he wasn’t. But where had they been getting this perception of him from, if it wasn’t his actions? And Void was such an unapproachable name. A name that belonged to someone who was cold, unfeeling, and friendless. And didn’t Ingo sound softer? Friendlier? And it had a peppy little bounce to it. It was cheerful, one that could belong to someone… approachable.

But the problem had never been his name. 

Correction fluid dripped onto the tiled floor and he hastily swiped it away with his thumb. How careless of him.

Regardless, he had reached the end of the file. He screwed the cap back on tightly and returned it to Emmet’s bag. He quickly skimmed through the documents again to ensure he had gotten everything before returning it to the cabinet. 

The middle two drawers were empty but the bottom one was stuck. Not locked, just stuck. It opened a crack before jamming, and Ingo could faintly make out some loose paper inside. No wonder it was blocked, with things stored so carelessly. He tried to reach in and pull out the blockage but the gap was too small for his arm. 

After attempting to wiggle it loose proved fruitless he tried using force, which went about as well. He set one foot against the cabinet and heaved - and it opened with rip, the sudden lack of resistance sending Ingo sprawling. 

The freed paper drifted down like unenthusiastic confetti and one sheet settled on his face. 

Ingo sighed.

He was glad no one saw that. 

It was weird to lie flat on his back like this. His wind up key was folded down so it wouldn’t get in the way, but it still created an awkward lump that made it impossible to get comfortable.

Despite that, it was peaceful, in its own way. Lying on the floor with his eyes covered. He didn’t need to sleep himself, but the could see the appeal. He felt heavy, weighted down. Time seemed slower on the floor, sluggishly sleepwalking from one tick of his gearbox to the next. A ticking that gradually got slower and more infrequent. 

It would be so easy to never get up.

(A distant part of him morbidly wondered how long it would take for someone to find him if he shut down here - in this tiny, dusty corner of the archives. Would anyone notice if he never came back? Would Emmet be relived at the opportunity to return to his solitude? If he was found, would they wind him back up or leave him to rot?)

Ingo jolted upright, alarmed by his own thoughts. He couldn’t wind down here! He was on a mission! He had things to do, places to be! 

He wobbled to his feet and got to work gathering up all the lose documents and organising them into chronological order.

Relocated to Gear Barracks without issue. I like the solitude. 

Patrolled the West Wing without issue. No one else has been here for a long time. It’s verry dusty. 

——

Solo patrol is going well. I work more efficiently alone. Nothing else to report.

——

Nothing new to report.

——

Nothing. Dull. Boring.

——

Is this really all of my duties? I could take on more. I have the time.

——

Nothing to report.

——

The West Wing needs cleaning. I volunteer. If I do not receive a response by tomorrow I will assume I have permission.

——

THERES CRECHRURS

——

Spider problem resolved! Extremely resolved! Cannot emphasise enough how solved it is! Patrol is going normally and without issue! There are no spiders in the West Wing anymore!

What do fairy floss spiders eat? Asking to prevent future infestations and definitely no other reason. 

——

Nothing to report! Nothing has happened! 

——

Hello? Is anyone even reading this? General North? You said you would.

——

Floor has turned into lava. Please advise.

——

The West Wing was invaded by the Rat King and his armies. I single handedly fought them off. With my laser eyes. (I have always had laser eyes. I just never told you.) 

“I’m going to kill everyone!” The Rat king started to laugh evilly. “Hahaha!” he chortled.

“I’ll stop you! It’s Emmet time,” I, Emmet, said and Emmeted all over everyone. 

“Augh! He’s too strong and powerful! Who is this devilishly handsome adversary?!” The Rat King professed his undying love to me or something, I wasn’t listening. I was too busy blasting. With my laser eyes.

I was verrrrry cool and saved the day. Shame everyone missed it. I should get a medal.

——

Holy shit. Have you seriously read nothing I’ve sent you?! North you motherf-

True to his word, Emmet creatively cursed General North out for the next three pages. The audacity impressed Ingo almost as much as it scared him. 

If anyone besides Ingo were ever to find this, there would be grave consequences. Ingo couldn’t imagine the confidence it would take to write any of that down, much less send it. His own mind balked at the very idea. Emmet was very brave, wasn’t he? Ingo admired that, but it made him feel protective of Emmet as well. Such courage bordered on recklessness. 

The rest of the papers were blank, as promised. It really did seem like no one had even looked at anything that had been sent in. All the same, they were publicly accessible and leaving such blatant evidence of Emmet’s disrespect lying around was asking for trouble. 

Ingo shoved the swear essay into the bag, making a mental note to destroy it at the first opportunity. He also stored away Emmet’s silly story into the bag, intending to return it to him later. He pulled the correction fluid back out and lightly edited the references to the spiders to sound less suspicious.

Emmet had large blocky handwriting, neat like printed letters. Easy to read and easy to mimic. On every blank sheet of paper Ingo foraged the date in Emmet’s penmanship and a variation of his “nothing to report” phrase. It pained Ingo leave it so vague but he could not truthfully recount the events on those dates - he hadn’t been there. More importantly, he did not want to arose suspicion that the documents had been tampered with. He couldn’t change too much, he still needed it to sound like something Emmet wrote.

Satisfied with the changes, he double checked to ensure he hadn’t missed anything. 

In the back of the drawer, caught within the moving mechanisms, was the crushed sheet of paper that had jammed it shut. It had been torn in half when Ingo had forced the drawer open. He gently wiggled the stray papers lose. Without the obstruction the drawer opened and closed smoothly.

It had more written on it than most of the previous entries, completely filling both sides of the paper. Perhaps the swear essay was longer than previously suspected. Ingo smoothed out the crumped parts and slotted them back together. 

There was a stranger in the West Wing today. He looked like me.

“We’ve been looking for you,” said the unpainted toy soldier who was not me.

“Why?” I asked, because this whole thing seemed verrrry suspicious. I readied my laser eyes (which I have).

“Have they been treating you well?” he asked, which wasn’t an answer.

“That’s not an answer,” I said.

He smiled. It was a sad smile. “You haven’t answered me either.”

He circled me. I don’t take my eyes off him.

The pale stranger stopped. “I’m afraid there’s been a mix-up.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not supposed to be here. You’re not one of them.”

I didn’t say anything. He was right.

“Yep, you’re one of us. See, you’re supposed to be with us, in a place far away. But you were left here by mistake.” He nodded. He looked so much like me. “Yep.”

“You abandoned me.”

“No. We looked for you. We never stopped looking. And now I’ve found you.” He held out a hand and smiled warmly. “Let’s go home, brother.”

I took his outstretched hand and-

Ingo tore his eyes away, he couldn’t bring himself to read any more. It was such a painfully private story, it felt like he was peeking into Emmet’s diary. It was technically public, but that didn’t mean anything when he knew damn well that Emmet believed it would never be subject to another’s scrutiny. It was so clearly a personal daydream, one held close to the heart.

But the worst part was how scarily close it was to something Ingo himself might have written. How shamelessly it catered to his lonely yearnings. 

(Emmet had clasped Ingo’s hand between both of his, his grip strong and secure and overwhelming, and he had smiled so warmly. “Welcome home, Ingo.”)

He hadn’t questioned why Emmet had known just what to say. He had even assumed that Emmet hadn’t understood just how much that had meant to him. No, Emmet knew all too well. Of course he did. 

He tucked the torn papers into the satchel, careful not to damage it further. He tided away everything else, putting all the reports back in chronological order, leaving it in better condition than he had found it. He pushed himself back to his feet, legs stiff from sitting for so long, and left the archives with the heavy weight of a few sheets of paper in his borrowed bag.

Chapter Text

Emmet was not suspicious. No, sir. Speed walking down halls he had not been down since he was reassigned, with a garbage bag slung over his shoulder, was not suspicious in the slightest. 

Emmet was normal. He was so normal. It didn’t get more normal than this. 

Emmet (defective, stuck out like a rubber chicken during a violin solo) speed walking (not running, even though he wanted to) with a garbage bag (did not currently contain garbage) and definitely not doing crime (vigilante justice doesn’t count). 

Emmet swung around a corner and nearly crashed into Cherry and Marmalade. There was much screaming from everyone involved.

Shit, shit, shit! Emmet had been sure no one would be on patrol now! Had they changed the schedule?

“Null, you sad little freak, what the fuck are you doing here?!” Cherry snarled, hand on his chest, doing a poor job of hiding how badly Emmet had scared him.

“I am Emmet!” he refuted. “I am happy, big, and normal!”

“You-!” Cherry bristled, cheeks turning red. Verrry clown like.

Marmalade pulled Cherry back. “Why are you here?”

Emmet needed a plausible excuse. He could do that. He was so good at lying.

“I, uh, crime!”

Dammit!

“No, really. Why are you here and what’s…” he caught sight of the trash bag and a note of incredulity entered his voice. “Are you…? Are you on garbage duty?”

How convenient, he invented an excuse for Emmet. “…Maybe.”

The two exchanged a glance and started to chuckle, which evolved into uproarious, knee slapping laughter. “What are you gonna do Null? Throw yourself out?”

“Haha, yeah! I didn’t know the trash was self disposing!”

“Finally off to join your brethren? In the dumpster? Ahaha!”

Not funny. Rudeness aside, they weren’t even clever insults. Emmet slowly edged around them.  “Yeah. Haha,” he said flatly. “Hehe. Hoho.“

“Oh, no. I don’t think so.” Cherry blocked his escape route, his smile sharp. “Why don’t we help take out the trash?”

“Fuck off!” Emmet kicked him in the knee, ducked under his arm, and bolted.

Marmalade was yelling something but it was drowned out by Cherry’s, “get back here!”

Emmet did not go back. He kept sprinting until he was back at Gear barracks, with the door safely slammed shut behind him. Wheezing, he leaned heavily against it. Stupid of him to run the whole way. He did not have the energy to burn.

No one had followed him. 

“I’m back!” He called. The spiders chirped and came crawling out, hoping he had brought back food (he had not).

Ingo did not respond. He must not have returned yet. 

That was okay. Emmet didn’t like the idea of leaving the door unlocked after an encounter like that, but he didn’t want to lock Ingo out. He should give Ingo a key. Emmet had his own, and a hidden emergency key. That left ten. He wasn’t sure where they were.

He picked up the bag from where he had dropped it. He hoped he hadn’t broken anything.  Nothing had looked fragile, but he had been in a bit of a rush.

He stepped over his swarming spiders, being careful not to squash them. “Hello. Hi! Excuse me. Hi. I missed you too! Yep! Hello!”

“I’m putting this down now! In three… two… one!” His spiders scuttled out of the way as he lowered the trash bag. 

All the lockers were technically Emmet’s (except for one now) but this one was Emmet’s Locker, where he kept everything that wasn’t spiders. Surely there had to be a least one spare key in here. 

Emmet should clear this out at some point. He had accumulated a lot of useless junk. 

He became completely absorbed in his task of rooting around his locker, looking for a glint of metal. Not this. Not that. Useless. Useless. Pen. Candy cane. Cool rock. He had forgotten he had that. Sponge. Pencil. Lemondrop the spider. He nudged her out. Naughty spiderling, she knew she wasn’t supposed to be in there. She would not be getting treats later. Eraser. Compass. Slightly crushed origami frog. Even cooler rock. Lemondrop again. Playing cards. K-

Someone grabbed his shoulder. “Excu-“

Crack!

Ingo yelped and stumbled back, clutching his nose. “Ow! Sorry! Sorry!”

Emmet’s knuckles stung. 

“Ingo?” He didn’t remember moving but he could still feel the resounding shock up his arm, and the sharp crack of wood still echoed in his ears. He reached out and his heart dropped when Ingo flinched away. “Did. Did I hurt you?”

Shit.

“I- I’m sorry,” Emmet wrung his hands, unsure what to do. “I’m sorry! Are you okay? I didn’t mean to! You surprised me. Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again,” Ingo promised, muffed by his hands.

“That’s not- You’re not in trouble. I did that reflexively, I wasn’t thinking! If I knew it was you I would never-“ Emmet choked on his words. Knowingly, he would never, but he’d done it all the same, hadn’t he? No amount of excuses would change that.

He wanted. He wanted to brush Ingo’s hands away, cradle his jaw and see the damage for himself. Fix it somehow. But Ingo had flinched and surely that would only make everything worse. But this had to be fixable. It just had to be.

“You can hit me back!”

Ingo stared up at him with more confusion than fear, which felt like a win in Emmet’s book. “Pardon?”

“Punch me!” Emmet enthusiastically shouted. “Then we will be even. Fair’s fair!” 

He opened and closed his mouth a few times. “No, I… I’m not sure that’s…”

“It’s not a trick. You get one freebie.” Emmet held up a single finger. “As hard as you like. No retaliation. I won’t be mad.”

“Emmet…”

“I am Emmet.”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

His smile froze. “Are you sure.”

“I am quite certain.” Ingo rubbed his nose and looked up anxiously. “It was just an accident, wasn’t it?”

Emmet did not like how uncertainly he asked that. Did he still think Emmet decked him on purpose? Guilt gnawed on his insides like termites. “Yes. Accident. You startled me.” 

Ingo nodded, satisfied with that answer. “I will endeavour not to do so in the future.”

“That. Is a good idea. Yes. But.” He grimaced. It felt wrong to be shifting the onus of preventing a repeat incident on Ingo. Emmet had punched him. “Not your fault.”

“It’s not yours either.”

“I hurt you.”

Ingo waved him off. Emmet noted with great relief that he looked undamaged. “It’s nothing, no harm done.”

Liar. Emmet’s hand still stung. He hit hard. “Okay. Good. You can still hit me back. If you want.”

“I have no desire to do so.”

“Okay. Fine.” Emmet flexed his fingers and tried to act normal. They stood in awkward silence. Ingo absentmindedly brought his hand up towards his face, then caught himself and lowered it again. “Are you sure?“

Ingo scowled and it looked like real anger and not just his face. Emmet hunched his shoulders. “I don’t understand, why are you so fixated on this? Do you want me to hit you?”

No, of course not. But Emmet did not say so. That would make Ingo feel bad about taking his offer. “This is not about what I want. It’s about justice. I hurt you. There should be consequences.”

Ingo softened. “I’m not mad at you, Emmet.”

Liar. Emmet narrowed his eyes. “It’s not good to bottle up your feelings.”

“Truly, I’m not upset.”

“You should be!” Emmet stomped his foot. “You can’t let people get away with hurting you! It isn’t fair!”

Ingo looked at him with a bit too much sympathy. “Is that really how you see it?” 

“Yes!”

“…I understand. Very well then! I will take you up on your offer!”

Emmet was taken aback by Ingo’s sudden change of heart, but he wasn’t going to back out now. 

“Are you ready?”

Emmet screwed his eyes shut and braced himself, grateful for the warning. He might have automatically punched Ingo again if he had taken his due out of the blue. “Yep.”

“You promise not to be mad about my super extreme, ultimate justice?” He asked sweetly, much closer than he had been earlier.

This was going to suck real bad, wasn’t it? “Yep.”

There was something worse about the waiting. Knowing he was going to be hurt and keeping still anyway. Ingo deserved retribution, but Emmet wished he’d get just get it over with already.

Something tapped him, very lightly, on the nose. “Boop!”

Emmet opened his eyes and was greeted by Ingo’s squinty eyed smile. “Oh, Ingo.”

“You did say I could hit you as hard as I liked and-“ he withdrew, all his playful confidence draining away as suddenly as it had arrived. “-and you promised you wouldn’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad.” Emmet swallowed, his heart breaking a little. “Of course not. You can do what you like, Ingo. But it does defeat the point if you let me off easy.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Is it alright if I disagree?”

“You don’t need permission to have an opinion, Ingo.” Emmet anxiously tapped his fingers together. “What do you mean?” 

“Well, you already feel guilty, and it wasn’t even intentional on your part. There would be no justice in harming you.”

“Yes, there would be. It would help you feel better.” Absolute waste of a freebie honestly. Emmet had it on good authority that it was verrry cathartic to give his smug face a good whack.

“No, it wouldn’t.” Ingo said with a firm gentleness. “And I’ve already forgiven you. So…”

Oh, he doesn’t deserve Ingo. “Alright. You win.”

“I-I win?”

He hummed in affirmation and tapped Ingo on the nose. “Boop. No vengeance today.”

The tension around his shoulders dropped, “bravo! That’s wonderful news!”

“Instead. I will owe you a favour.”

The tension came right back. “A favour?”

“Yep! Anything you want.” Emmet was confident Ingo would ask him for something reasonable. It was almost a shame because Emmet would be willing to do some outrageous things if Ingo asked.

“No,” Ingo shook his head. “That’s quite alright. There’s really no need, you don’t owe me.”

“I owe you big time. There must be something you want.”

He fiddled with the strap on the satchel, winding and unwinding it around his wrist and between his fingers.  “No, there’s nothing.”

“Really? Nothing? Nothing at all?” 

Ingo hid behind the brim of his hat. “I don’t need anything.”

Emmet leaned over so he could see his face. “But you want something.”

Ingo’s eyes widened. Caught. “I don’t want you feeling obliged! You’ve been exceedingly kind to me already it would be-“ he pulled taught at the strap he had wrapped around his wrist. “Incredibly selfish to ask for more.”

“Ingo. I’m offering. You can ask-“

Ingo suddenly began frantically untangling himself from the satchel. “I INTENDED TO RETURN THIS TO YOU!”

“Huh?”

“I wasn’t bothering you for no reason!”

Emmet had not thought he was.

Ingo flipped open the bag and started individually handing him back everything in it. “Thank you so much for letting me borrow this, it was extremely generous of you!”

Emmet stared at the pen in his hand, not entirely sure how it gotten there. “You’re welcome?”

“So there’s really no need for a favour because-“

Emmet blinked and suddenly the number of pens he was holding had doubled. “What? Ingo, wait. Slow down. Stop.”

He froze, one hand back in the bag. 

“Okay. Back up a bit.” 

Ingo took a step back.

“Metaphorically,” Emmet clarified. “Conversationally. Stop changing the subject. I’m not mad. I just want to be clear. I owe you one. Don’t shake your head. I do.”

Ingo stopped shaking his head, but his disagreement was still obvious. 

“Me being nice to you in the past does not change that. Being nice now does not give me licence to be mean later. Nothing gives anyone licence to be mean to you. Ever. You understand?”

“I understand,” he said, uncharacteristically quiet.

“You do not need to use the favour now. But you have it. You are allowed to ask. It’s not a bother.”

“I understand. I’ll… take that under consideration.”

“Okay.” That was likely as good as he was going to get. “Thank you.” 

“I’m sorry.”

Emmet tilted his head. “What for?”

“I don’t know. Everything?” Ingo offered him the correction fluid. “Thank you again for letting me borrow that.”

“Of course.” Emmet took it back hesitantly.  “You were in the archives. How did it go? Did anyone give you trouble?”

“No trouble at all. Everything went smoothly. With any luck they will start getting your name right.” 

Emmet hummed. “Maybe. Don’t be too disappointed if it does not work. You did your best.”

“I-“ Ingo flustered, the spots on his cheeks growing red. It was a feature that Emmet had always thought looked silly on the other toy soldiers but was cute on Ingo. Aesthetically, it might be because the blush sat high on his cheeks rather than the corners of his mouth. Truthfully, (and Emmet was always truthful) he just liked Ingo more. “…Thank you. But you ought to save your concern for yourself. Whether this succeeds or fails will have a much greater impact on you than me.”

“I am used to disappointment.” Emmet casually chucked the items back into his locker. He fully expected whatever Ingo had done would have no effect.

Ingo’s brow furrowed and he straightened out everything Emmet tossed in. “I see.”

“Thank you for trying.” Emmet reassured him, because he didn’t want Ingo getting the wrong idea about his indifference. “It was sweet.”

Ingo went redder and refocused on emptying the bag so he wouldn’t have to look at Emmet. “You are most welcome.” He produced a folded up piece of paper from the depths. “I believe this is yours.”

Curious, Emmet took it and immediately became glad he did not have the ability to blush.

‘“Augh! He’s too strong and powerful! Who is this devilishly handsome adversary?!” The Rat King professed his undying love to me or something, I wasn’t listening. I was too busy blasting. With my laser eyes.’

Emmet was going to stick his head in a woodchipper. This was the worst thing he had ever written. And Ingo had read it.

“It’s bad on purpose,” Emmet blurted out.

“Pardon?” 

Head! In! Woodchipper! “It’s bad! Deliberately! I can write better than this! It being garbage is! A stylistic choice!”

“Oh! Yes, I realised that.” Ingo smiled with his eyes. “It was a choice that paid off well, I know I found it amusing.”

“…You did?” he squeaked. Absurdity had been the intent but Emmet had not thought anyone would find it funny besides himself. 

“Immensely so!” He said brightly, “while I do not condone fibbing on your reports, it was an extremely entertaining story!”

“Oh.” Again, he was incredibly thankful he did not have the paint to blush. “…Thank you.”

He still felt like combusting, but Ingo’s praise had done a lot to sooth his pickling embarrassment. Typical. The one person whose opinion Emmet cared about, and he kept making a fool of himself in front of him. Emmet had not needed more proof the universe hated him specifically.

“You’re welcome!” Ingo offered him the remains of a crumpled page, sheepishly ducking beneath his hat. “I believe this is also yours. My apologies, it was in poor condition when I found it.”

Emmet had been wrong. Emmet had been verrry, verrrrrrrry wrong. This was the worst thing had ever written. 

‘“No. We looked for you. We never stopped looking. And now I’ve found you.” He held out a hand and smiled warmly. “Let’s go home, brother.”’

Emmet was going set himself on fire and then throw himself in a woodchipper. There was no coming back from this, there just wasn’t. Emmet was going to fucking explode. If there was any sense of mercy in the universe Emmet would spontaneously and fatally malfunction right now and be spared the mortification.

Unfortunately, none of that happened. So he was well and alive to hear Ingo say, “my apologies, I could tape it back together, if you would like?”

“No!” Absolutely not. The reminder that Ingo had read his indulgent, wistful fantasy made him feel like he’d picked apart and poorly reassembled. “No way! I have a better idea.”

He ripped it in half. Into quarters. Into-

“No!” Ingo grabbed his wrists before he could destroy it further.

Emmet growled. Ingo flinched back. “Sorry, sorry! I’m sorry, I know I overstepped but please don’t tear it.”

“Why not?” He groused. “It’s mine. I can do what I want.”

Ingo backed up, “I realise that, I’m sorry. I just don’t want you doing something you might regret later!”

“I won’t regret this.” Emmet was certain. He ripped it again and Ingo made a pained noise that almost made him reconsider. But no. This needed to be destroyed.

“Favour!” Ingo blurted. “I want to call in the favour!” 

Emmet slowly turned to him in shock. “Ingo. You could could have used that on anything. Why would you waste it on this?” He waved the scraps in the air. “This is worthless.”
 
“It’s not worthless!” One would assume Ingo had been the one to write it with how worked up he was getting. 

“Less than worthless.” Baffling. Utterly baffling. What value he seen in Emmet’s incoherent word vomit? He hadn’t put up this much of a fight when Emmet accidentally punched him. He hadn’t put up this much of a fight about anything. He’d been quick to acquiesce to everything Emmet said, to a worrying degree. Of all the times to grow a backbone! “Why do you care so much?” 

“If it’s truly worthless then why do you care?”

How dare he. How dare he! That was completely different! Obviously Emmet didn’t want his weakness immortalised in print. Ingo didn’t get to see the soft and stupid and hurting parts of Emmet, no one got to see those. 

(Except he’d already seen it.)

How dare he even ask.

How dare he act like Emmet’s naive writing was worth preserving.

The sheer goddamn audacity to use his favour on this, when it would be better spent on literally anything else, and Emmet-

Emmet couldn’t refuse.

Emmet owed Ingo. He couldn’t back out just because it made him uncomfortable. That wasn’t how it worked. That defeated the whole point. What he did, what he said. Always the same. Emmet kept his word. His stupid, stupid word. Even when he didn’t like it.

Especially when he didn’t like it.

“Fine!” He spat and shoved the report into Ingo’s chest. “Now we’re even.”

Several scraps fluttered to the ground and Ingo scrambled to gather them all. Emmet did not help him. He slid down onto the floor and sulked. 

There was a timid shuffle of footsteps and then Ingo sat down next to him, offering him the papers once again. “Apologies, I believe I was unclear in my wording. When I used the favour I wasn’t intending to take it from you, I just didn’t want you to destroy it.”

“Keep it,” Emmet said curtly. It didn’t matter. He had already read the damn thing. “I do not want it. If you give it to me I will burn it.”

That got Ingo to pull it back, like he was worried Emmet would snatch it from him and follow through on his threat.

“Thank you for trusting me,” he said softy. “I know that was difficult for you. I’ll keep it safe.”

Emmet did not want it safe. He wanted it gone.

And yet…

And yet Ingo was looking down at the literal garbage he was holding with something approaching wonder. “I hate to impose on you again, but you wouldn’t happen to have any tape, would you?”

Emmet sighed heavily and got up to open his locker. Thankfully, a roll of sellotape was easy enough to find amidst the clutter. He tapped Ingo on the shoulder with it. “Here.”

“Thank you!” 

He leaned back and begrudgingly watched Ingo slowly and painstakingly sticking it back together with much more care and precision than it deserved. What a waste of time. What a pointless, sentimental waste of time. And tape.

Then again, it wasn’t like they had anything better to do. 

Emmet tapped his foot. “I don’t understand. Why bother?”

“It’s a sweet story and it deserves to be treated with care. Why are you so reluctant?” Ingo responded in a carefully neutral tone. Emmet wished he wouldn’t. He had no patience for word games. Emmet always said what he meant and was done with it.

“It’s embarrassing!” Did it really need to be spelled out? It was obvious.

“…You don’t need to be embarrassed,” he said gently. Emmet glared at him. He was lucky Emmet didn’t really have laser eyes or he’d be in big trouble. “It’s really lovely, it has a lot of heart in it.”

Emmet was going to kill someone. “That’s. The problem.”

“Oh, I see.” He ducked his head. “If it’s not overstepping to ask…”

He trailed off and didn’t ask. It was too late to worry about overstepping now! He had already done a medal winning seven mile leap over Emmet’s boundaries! He was so lucky Emmet liked him. If anyone else did this he would have chewed off their fingers ages ago.

“Go on.” Emmet said through gritted teeth. 

“Why even write it down if you find those feelings so shameful?” he asked, quieter than Emmet had ever heard him. Damn him, he sounded so sad and guilty too. Emmet couldn’t even be properly mad at him.

“You weren’t supposed to read it! And… It didn’t start out like that. It was meant to be silly. Like the other one. ‘Got kidnapped. But it’s cooler over here so I’m staying. Later suckers.’” Emmet laughed nervously and looked away. “Then… I didn’t know. I guess I got carried away.”

Ingo did not say anything. Emmet wasn’t brave enough to turn and see his face.

Emmet had tried for a very long time to be okay with being alone. It wasn’t like there were other options. He was off better this way. He liked the solitude. He liked the freedom. He liked his spiders. He liked the safety. 

And yet.

Emmet’s grip on his own arm was tight enough to hurt. “Pathetic, isn’t it?”

“No! Of course not!”

Emmet scoffed. Please. He saw it. He knew there was only one conclusion to draw after reading sappy drivel like that. He stood up and went back to rummaging through his locker. Not because he was looking for something, but because just watching Ingo determinedly patch it back together was a new level of hell.

Emmet hadn’t even been looking for it this time, he had just been mindlessly moving things, but he had finally found a spare key to the barracks. It glinted at him innocently, burning cold in the palm of his hand.

There was a quest rustle behind him and a happy spider chirp. 

“Pardon me, um, Blueberry wasn’t it? Could you please move? I need that.”

Emmet turned around and hid the key behind his back. 

There was a pink fairy floss spider curled up on top of the last piece of the report. Ingo was fruitless trying to coax it off.

“Please?” Ingo begged it. “Could you move a little for me?”

Emmet smiled, bemused. “You could move him. You are bigger.”

“I couldn’t possibly!” Ingo shook his head. “That would be so rude!”

“It is easy. I will show you.” Emmet nudged Blueberry with the side of his foot. The spider squeaked indignantly and scuttled off.

Ingo gasped, aghast. “You kicked Blueberry?! You kicked him like a football?! Oh! Ohhh!”

Emmet rolled his eyes. “Calm down, Ingo. It was just a tap. He’s fine.”

Ingo looked like he wanted to say something, but he bit it back and silently retrieved the paper. 

The edges of the key dug into his palm. He sat down across from Ingo on the floor, so they were face to face.

“You never answered my question. Why do you care so much? Don’t say anything about it being ‘good.’ Why is this your business?”

“My apologies-“

“I don’t want an apology. I want answers.”

Ingo didn’t say anything for a bit but his cheeks got steadily pinker while Emmet waited. “I-“ he swallowed. “…I’ve always wanted a home.”

That was a much more innocent motivation than Emmet had imagined. He had thought it would be… blackmail material or something. Leverage he could threaten to humiliate Emmet with. He still wasn’t happy Ingo had it but… Well, now he felt bad about his lack of faith. “Really? That’s it?”

“Is that not enough of a reason?” He asked, face crimson. 

“No.”

“I suppose that’s fair.” Ingo added another piece of tape and just like that, the blasted thing was complete again. “I know you don’t believe me, but I don’t think you’re pathetic. I never did. You don’t need to be embarrassed, wanting companionship isn’t shameful, it’s normal! Or- or at least, I’ve always assumed it was.” 

Ingo finally broke eye contact, ears pink. Emmet had not known ears could do that. Ingo smoothed over the tape on the troublesome report and then held it out to him like a peace offering.

Emmet pushed it back to him. “Keep it. It’s yours.”

“But it isn’t. It wasn’t my business what you did with it and I shouldn’t have interfered. I’m sorry I’ve caused you such distress, but I couldn’t bear seeing you shred it,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I saw too much of myself in there and I took it far too personally. I’m sorry. I just- I’m so sorry.”

His hands shook slightly and he clasped them together to hide the tremors. Emmet noticed anyway. “I feel like I’ve been imposing on you quite terribly, and I have since I got here. A-and I know it’s n-not the same but reading that I felt like maybe you m-might not- might not mind me being here so much? I know that’s such a selfish outlook to take and I don’t make for good company b-but- I mean- If you don’t mind — maybe we could be lonely together?” 

Oh.

Emmet had been planning on doing this anyway, no matter what happened, but this seemed like a particularly appropriate moment. He offered the key to Ingo. It was warm from him holding onto it for so long. “This is a key to Gear barracks. As far as homes go, it’s pretty shitty. But it’s yours too, if you want it.”

Ingo took it reverently, eyes wide and shiny. “Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!”

“It’s really nothing. I should have given this to you when you first got here but…” Emmet trailed off uncomfortably. “It’s overdue.”

“Thank you, thank you-“

“Ingo. Please.” Emmet muttered, shoulders up to his ears. “I haven’t even given you your actual present yet.”

Ingo went bug-eyed. “There’s more?!”

“Yep!” Emmet grabbed the garbage bag and swung it up and into Ingo’s arms. He caught it reflexively with a grunt. “Here you go!”

Ingo glanced between Emmet and the garbage bag clutched to his chest. “This is… for me?”

“Yep!” Emmet smiled. “It’s yours! To keep!”

He stared at it blankly. “Oh, umm… That’s… That’s very thoughtful of you, Emmet! Thank you, I’ve, uh- always wanted…” His eyes darted around and he grimaced in way that was nearly a smile. “…Trash?”

Emmet rubbed a hand down his face. “Not trash. Look inside.”

Cautiously, Ingo opened the bag and Emmet was treated to the wonderful vision of Ingo going from politely confused to amazed. “Wait, wait! This is- these are my belongings.” 

“Yep!” Emmet beamed, feeling incredibly smug. 

“How did you-?”

“I’m just that cool.” Emmet did not want to bring down the mood by telling him it was crime. 

“Oh, this is too much. You really don’t have to go out of your way for me.” Ingo said, fist pressed to his mouth, rocking back and forth slightly. Emmet hoped that meant good things. 

“It’s not everything. This is only what I could find.” Emmet shrugged. “Thank you for writing your name on your stuff. It made it easier to tell what was yours.”

“It’s a good habit, I didn’t want people getting confused.” Ingo was rocking more intensely now. “You won’t get in trouble will you?”

“Only if someone notices.”

“I- I don’t want you getting into trouble on my behalf. I’m so incredibly grateful to have it back but none it is worth your safety.”

“I’ve been through worse. Besides, this is for a good cause. You deserve nice things. Or… things in general.”

Ingo made. A noise. Like a squeak or a whistle or a catastrophic implosion of a worldview. Emmet was starting to wonder if he actually liked his present or if this is what he sounded like when he was upset. 

“Do you like it?”

Ingo made another difficult to describe noise. It seemed mostly incredulous. His hands were moving in a fanning motion, but more aimless. Unconscious even. He didn’t even seem to notice he was doing it. Unclear if that was a yes or a no.

“It’s not everything,” Emmet repeated. “And most of what I recovered wasn’t in the best condition. But. I tried,” he finished lamely.

“I wasn’t expecting to see any of it ever again. This is more that enough!” Ingo was flapping his hands like they were maracas and they clicked and clacked pleasingly. “This is so much! Thank you, I’m truly grateful! It’s- bravo! Super bravo!”

Emmet had never understood the concept of doing something just for the praise and recognition before now. He felt all warm inside and Ingo’s excitement was contagious. “You’re welcome!”

Despite all the pain leading up to it, the moment felt perfect. Emmet had finally done something right. 

Chapter Text

With a grunt, Null set down the bucket of water and stretched, his joints popping. Maker, he hated stairs. And buckets. And water. He was glad he was nearly done. 

Singing to himself, he grabbed the mop from the corner and set about cleaning the floors.

“A dream is a wish your heart makes,
When you’re fast asleep,
In dreams you will lose your heartaches,
Whatever you wish for you keep.

“No matter how your heart is grieving,
If you keep on believing,
The dream that you wish will-“

“Working hard I see.”

Null whirled around, the tendrils of the mop hitting the intruder’s face with a wet smack. For a moment, Null didn’t recognise him. With half his face covered he looked just like everyone else.

Unimpressed, his squadmate pushed the mop out of his face, revealing his missing eye. Above the empty socket were three claw marks, but below the damage was not nearly as clean. Jagged cracks scored down his face, met the corner of his mouth and continued down his jawline. “Do you mind?”

“Sorry, Jawbreaker,” Null said weakly, allowing the mop to drop the rest of the way to the floor. 

“Captain,” Jawbreaker corrected. 

“It’s just us.” Null thought it was silly to continue with formalities between a couple of broken toys. 

“I’m still the captain.” 

He wasn’t, not really. Everyone in the brigade treated him like he was, but Liquorice was the captain. Null understood it was something of a sore spot for him. “Sorry, Captain.”

“While I appreciate the initiative, the mopping is saved for last for a reason.”

“Huh?”

Jawbreaker gestured at the shelves. “Even if we are careful, when we start cleaning and dusting the shelves we will inevitably get the floor dirty again. It’s more efficient to save the floor to last.” 

“I’ve already cleaned the shelves.”

He blinked. “You have?”

“Yep. The dusting. And the sweeping. I’ve done everything.” 

Jawbreaker swiped a finger along the edge of a shelf and - of course - came away dust free. “Well, what about-“

“Done. I’ve cleaned everything. There’s only the mopping left. And I’ve nearly finished that too.”

Jawbreaker scanned the room, searching for some fault. He found nothing, Emmet had been verrrry thorough. “That is… impressive, Null, but-“

Null beamed. “Yup! Took me all day!”

“However,” he said forcefully. “We were scheduled to do all of this tomorrow. I was going to help you with it. There was no need for you to take on this burden by yourself, you only had to wait one more day-“

“Exactly!”

He raised an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

“Jawbreaker!” He glowered and Null quickly corrected to, “Captain! Sir or whatever, don’t you remember what’s happening tomorrow?”

“We clean the storeroom?” He asked dryly. 

“The Cookie Carnival!”

Jawbreaker stiffened, like he had realised a moment too late that he had stepped in chewed bubblegum. “Ah.”

“If I get everything done today, then we can go with the others tomorrow!”

Jawbreaker winced. “Null, have you considered why we would be cleaning the storeroom, a task that could be postponed indefinitely, while our peers supervise the parade?” 

“I’m not dumb.”

“I’m not saying you are-“

“They’re trying to keep us busy, so we can’t go. If you help me finish today then they won’t have any more excuses. They would have to let us join.”

“Hmm,” Jawbreaker said, still locked in a grimace. “Do you know why we have the Cookie Carnival? Do you know why our battalion will supervising the parade?” 

Null was a little put off by the sudden pop-quiz. Truthfully, he’d never really thought about it before. “To keep the peace? Stopping any runaway floats, and that sort of thing. Keeping the streets clear so no one gets run over.”

“That’s part of it, yes.” Jawbreaker looked over the shelves again with a critical eye. “It’s also a show of strength, the whole parade is. It boosts morale. Civilians see the might of the Queen and her army in a festive setting, and know that they are protected.”

“…So?” This didn’t seem at all relevant to anything.

“So the generals want to put their best foot forward. They’re not going to embarrass themselves by…” Jawbreaker trailed off as Null’s expression darkened. 

“I don’t care if they don’t like it. I’m going.”

“Cleaning the storeroom was my idea.”

Null reeled back like he’s been slapped. “What?”

“I was the one who decided we would be cleaning the storeroom tomorrow. The generals had nothing to do with it.”

“You- what? Why?! You’re too embarrassed to be seen with me? You’d rather lock us both in here than have me embarrassing you in public?”

“No, that’s not-“

“Or are you too ashamed to show your own face?” Null growled, jabbing him in the chest with the mop handle. “Hide in here if you want, coward. But don’t drag me-“

Jawbreaker grabbed his arm and twisted, and the mop slipped though his fingers. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that.”

“F-“

“Be quiet. And let me finish.” His stare was cold, and his grip was iron. “The general’s orders were that we couldn’t go to the parade. End of. I decided we would clean the storeroom so that something productive would get done. The generals won’t care that you’ve cleaned it.”

He finally let go and Null staggered back, clutching his wrist. “…But I-“

“They won’t care. Cleaning was just a time killer. What you’ve done doesn’t matter. You’re not going. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

“But… but I worked so hard…” 

Jawbreaker sighed. “And it was… a commendable effort. If I had known you were labouring under this misconception, I would have cleared it up sooner.”

“So it was all a waste.”

He hesitated. “Not a complete waste. It was a task that needed to be completed.”

He clenched his hands. “A complete fucking waste of my time.”

Jawbreaker sighed again. “If that’s how you want to see it.”

Null swung around and kicked the bucket over. Water splatted everywhere as the it spun away.

Jawbreaker stepped backward, away from the growing pool. “…Was that necessary?”

Completely uncaring, Null stormed through the puddle towards the wall and - maintaining eye contact the entire time - shoved everything off the shelf. A box burst open, sending a round of bullets spilling across the floor.

“Don’t do that.”

Still staring at Jawbreaker, Null reached up to the shelf above and cleared everything off that one too. Something shattered.

“No, really. Most of that is dangerous, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

It was a true and reasonable point. Null swept everything off a third shelf anyway. 

Jawbreaker crossed his arms. “Oh, verrrry mature of you. Throwing a tantrum won’t solve anything.”

“I’m not throwing a tantrum!” Null shouted and pushed the contents of another shelf onto the floor. He screamed again in wordless rage before storming off and throwing himself down into the corner furthest away from the chaos. He curled up and shoved his head in-between his knees.

“You are. You didn’t get what you wanted and now you’re throwing a tantrum. Honestly. I expect better from you, Null.”

Null flipped him off.

“Aren’t you going to clean your mess up?” 

“No point,” he muttered. “I won’t get to go either way.”

Maker, he was so stupid. A whole day wasted cleaning this stupid fucking room, sharpening the knives, sweeping the floor, and he had nothing to show for it. He was exhausted and sore from all the work and had gotten fuck all in return. It was so unfair. His expectations were so low they were in the basement yet reality still managed to disappoint him.

There was a quiet clink of metal on metal. Null looked up. 

Jawbreaker was putting the bullets back in the box. Methodically, one by one. It would take an ages before he got anywhere.

…It wasn’t his fault, really. He was as stuck here as Null was. It wasn’t fair to make Jawbreaker clean up after him. Sure, he was being an insensitive prick but it wasn’t like Null was taking the news gracefully either. 

It just wasn’t fair. There had to be some way around this. His first attempt hadn’t worked. But surely there was still something he could do. Maybe something they could both do. 

Null abruptly stood up and marched over to Jawbreaker. 

“Oh, good. I’m glad you’ve finally decided to join-“

“Help me sneak out.”

Jawbreaker raised an eyebrow out of surprise or incredulity. It was hard to tell when he only had the one. “Pardon?”

He leaned forward, grinning sharp and wide. “Sneak out. Then we can watch the parade. Stealthily.”

“You don’t know the route.”

“Yep. That’s why I’ll follow them.”

Jawbreaker graced him with a flat look of disbelief before returning to stacking bullets. “Then you won’t see the parade, only the aftermath.”

“I’ll follow from the side.”

“They’ll spot you. And when you’re caught they’ll drag you back and you’ll never see the light of day again.”

“I won’t get caught.”

“Civilians will be watching the parade too. It will be crowded. You will stick out, and they will catch you.”

“I’ll stay away from crowds. They won’t see me.”

“If they can’t see you, you can’t see them either. Have fun enjoying the carnival from five miles away.”

“I’ll bring binoculars.”

“Oh, for goodness sake!” He snapped. “You don’t even have binoculars!”

Null crouched down next to him, so they were on the same level. “Come with me.”

“Absolutely not.”

Null grinned wider. “It’ll be fun. We can watch it together. With binoculars.” 

He scowled. “I’m not encouraging this farce.”

“I’m serious. I don’t know the route but you do. We will be careful. We won’t get caught. If we do, I will take the blame.”

“I will not be going,” Jawbreaker said sternly, “and you will do no such thing.” 

“Captain-“

“If you try to sneak out, I will stop you.”

“Oh, come on!” Null slammed his hands on the floor. “Why can’t you just help me for once?!”

“You naive idiot, I am helping you! You think you’re invincible but you’re not! If you go out there all you will accomplish is getting yourself lost, or killed by rats, or caught by the guards. I won’t allow you do something so reckless-“

“I am going! I won’t let anyone stop me, not even you.”

“You are staying,“ he hissed, “even if I have to nail your feet to the floor. It’s for your own good.”

They glared at each other, fire in their eyes. Eventually, Null blinked first.

Jawbreaker leaned back and breathed in deeply. “Great,” he gestured at mess that had gotten scattered again during their argument. “Now we have to start over.”

“Your fault,” Null muttered petulantly.

“It doesn’t matter whose fault it is. It just needs to be cleaned up.” He awkwardly cleared his throat. “…Do you like chess?”

“What?” Null said weakly.

“Well,” he shifted uncomfortably, “our schedule for tomorrow has opened up. I thought you might appreciate doing something… ‘fun.’”

Any other day Null would have been overjoyed by the offer. Now the idea of it tasted like ash. “I don’t want to play chess.”

“Do you prefer cards?” Jawbreaker grimaced. “We can do that, if it’s more to your liking.”

It must have been hard for him to suggest. He always declined when their squadmates offered to deal him in. Null never understood that. He would have said yes if anyone had ever asked him. Or, normally he would have. His lip wobbled. “No thank you.”

Jawbreaker returned the box to the shelf. “Well, what would you like to do, then?”

“I want to see the parade.”

His mouth flattened. “You know we can’t do that. Pick something else.”

He sniffled. “I want to go. I know I can’t! I know! But that’s the only thing I want to do.”

“You won’t be missing much. They aren’t out there having fun, you know. Our squad will be working the whole time. Marching in the heat with loud, obnoxious music. Corralling annoying civilians. It’s not as great as everyone makes it out to be.”

“At least you got to go and decide you didn’t like it. I’ve never been.”

“You don’t need to go, I’m already telling you it’s not good. Believe me, having the barracks to ourselves for a day is infinitely preferable to chaperoning confectionary.”

“I would have liked to see it. Even if it was bad. I wanted to see.” Null shoved a repacked box back onto the shelf with more force than necessary. “I’ve never been anywhere. I’ve never left the castle. This was my one chance to see what it’s like…” He trailed off and gestured broadly, trying to encapsulate the span of the universe with only the length of his arms. 

“You don’t need to see beyond here. The world is a harsh place. You are far safer here.”

Safe? Null almost laughed. He raised an eyebrow. “You’re kidding, right?”

With the brim of his hat shadowing his face, the pit where his eye used to be looked like an inkwell. “I never joke.”

Null could keep on arguing forever. He still wanted to go, he probably always would, no matter how pessimistic Jawbreaker was. However, he was exhausted and squabbling with Jawbreaker was pointless. It wasn’t even the fun sort of petty bickering, it felt like rubbing sandpaper on his face.

He was so fucking tired and he could never catch a break. 

“Here.” Jawbreaker handed him the mop.

He looked at it blankly. “What?”

Unamused, he pointed at the tipped over bucket. “Do something about the water while I sweep up the glass.”

“Oh. Okay.” 

He righted the bucket and mechanically started to mop back and forth across the floor. 

It was hard to believe that earlier he had been doing the same task so enthusiastically, with enough energy to spare for a song. He wrung out the mop. The water drizzled back into the bucket. He returned the mop to the floor with a splat. Back and forth. 

Jawbreaker headed upstairs with the dustpan and brush to dispose of the broken glass. Null honestly couldn’t remember what it had been before he had broken it. He wondered if anyone would notice it was gone.

Jawbreaker came back down.

Null realised he had slowed down enough that he had stopped mopping. He was just standing still with his eyes glazed over. His feet felt numb. So did his hands. He wrung out the water. 

Back and forth.

It was all so pointless.

“It’s a shame,” Jawbreaker sighed, with a note of wistfulness that Null had rarely ever heard. “You could have been great.”

That brought Null up short. It’s the closest thing to a compliment that Null had heard from… anyone. “What do you mean?”

“You’re stubborn, strong, and hardworking. Fierce, brave, clever, I could go on really.” Jawbreaker lazily waved a hand at the nearly sparklingly clean room. “When you set your mind to something you always get it done. Although, I do wish you would apply yourself to something that wasn’t troublemaking more often.”

“Oh.” Null said elegantly, ducking his head, fairly certain he didn’t have the ability to blush but was wondering if that was because he’d never been sufficiently motivated to before. 

“But I suppose that’s not entirely your fault.” He sighed. “It’s such a waste. In another life I could see you easily climbing the ranks. You could have been a fine soldier.” 

But Null was defective, neither of them said. Null was here, mopping the floor instead of going to parades like everyone else. 

“I was headed for a promotion, you know.” 

“Really?” Null said, because he did not know.

Jawbreaker hummed vacantly, not like he was bored but like he was very far away. “General Jawbreaker. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“Yup,” Null agreed. “Alliteration and all that.”

Jawbreaker hummed again, absentmindedly tracing over the jagged cracks in his face. “General Jawbreaker. The great and terrible. Then… After, I was demoted instead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It could have been worse,” he said, with the bitter tone of someone who knew it could’ve been better. “They wanted to scrap me when we first came back. The damage was…” He clenched the hand that had been traversing his scars. “Unfixable. It would be less work to scrap me and start again from scratch.” 

“There’s no use in a toy that doesn’t work right,” Null recited, more to himself than anyone. 

“…Yes. Exactly.” Jawbreaker looked a little surprised, which was thrice in one day now and should be some sort of record. “You as well?”

“Obviously,” Null raised an eyebrow. That’s just how it was for toys like them. 

“Why weren’t you?” Jawbreaker asked, and Null would be offended if it wasn’t a legitimate question. 

“I don’t know.” He said, then hesitated. “I think North-“

“General North,” he corrected.

“General North,” Null rolled his eyes where Jawbreaker couldn’t see. “Pities me. I think he doesn’t want to scrap anyone. It would make him feel bad.” 

“Would it?”

Null shrugged. “Not bad enough that he wouldn’t follow through. Just bad enough that he’ll put it off for as long as he can.”

Jawbreaker mulled that over for a bit. It was hard to tell if he agreed. He was often difficult to read like that. 

“I owe my battalion my life twice over. I know you don’t get on with most of them-“ 

“They don’t get on with me,” Null muttered petulantly. Jawbreaker was magnanimous enough ignore him.

“-but they are good people. They fought for me every step of they way. It was at their insistence that I was allowed to stay, broken as I was. ‘No captain but Jawbreaker,’ they said.” He was looking off into the distance again. “No captain but me.”

“How sweet,” Null said, trying and failing to not be bitterly jealous that he hadn’t qualified for that kind of loyalty from anyone - not Jawbreaker’s squad nor his own. It must be nice to be so loved.

“…It was.” He shook his head and returned to the present. “They are. They’ll warm up to you in time.”

Null hummed noncommittally. He’d been holding the mop for so long that his fingers were starting to get stuck that way. He slowly eased his hand back open.

He’d had a growing suspicion for some time now and the squad’s ambivalence towards him seemed to confirm it. Null was just… fundamentally unlikeable in a way that went deeper than his defect. He’d been hopeful when he met Jawbreaker, thinking he might have found a potential friend in him, maybe even the whole squad. After all, if they still loved Jawbreaker despite his damage, maybe they could learn to like Null too.

Jawbreaker was aloof, but Null didn’t take it personally. That was what he was like with everyone, more or less. He was a pillar of solitude who liked to moodily brood from a distance, or smoulder mysteriously in a shadowy corner. That’s just the kind of guy he was. Null wondered if he ever got tired of ominously looming, or holding himself apart from those who loved him. It looked exhausting, but he must get something out of it or he would’ve stopped ages ago.

The rest of the Battalion avoided him for the most part. They were not unkind, but they did not make any effort to be nice to him either. They followed their captain’s lead, whatever or whoever that might be, but underneath simmered a quiet dislike and suspicion. They did not want Null here. Null didn’t really blame them. 

“It’s an adjustment for everyone, but they will get used to you.” Jawbreaker reassured him. “Perhaps if you were less difficult-“

“I don’t mean to be.” Not currently, anyway. With previous battalions that would have been a fair criticism, but right now he wasn’t doing it on purpose. “I’m trying not to be. It’s just how I am.”

Jawbreaker regarded him silently.

It felt a little like staring down a judge after being found guilty. It felt like he was waiting for an apology. Null wouldn’t give him one, not for this. 

“If you had the chance to be fixed, would you take it?”

“Huh?”

Jawbreaker leaned forward, a burning intensity in his eye. “Fixed. A fresh coat of paint. You would be normal like everyone else. Imagine if your fairy godmother flew down from on high-“

He scoffed. If anyone else had said that Null would have assumed they were making fun of him. 

“-and offered to make you perfect, the way you were always supposed to be, and all you had to do was accept. Would you?”

Null shrugged. What was the point in dwelling on hypotheticals? It would only serve to make him sad later. “I don’t know. If she’s really that powerful I would ask for a cooler wish. Like, uh… binoculars to see the parade with. Or a million fairy floss spiders. Oh! The ability to shoot lasers out of my eyes. You know, something fun like that.”

Jawbreaker gawked at him. He looked like Null had just pulled out a fish and played it like an Otamatone. “What.”

“Sorry. Two binoculars. Then you can watch the parade too!”

Jawbreaker’s jaw was still hanging wide open. Null was a little worried it might fall off. “…A million spiders?”

“Did you want some?”

“Why?!” For reasons Null couldn’t fathom, he seemed a little mad about the concept. “What would you even do with a million spiders?!”

“Cherish them.” 

“All of them? I don’t think you understand how big a million is.”

“What?” He said defensively. “I could do it. They’re cute!”

“And the laser vision? What practical purpose would that serve?”

Null pointed at him. “Smiting my enemies.”

“Null,” he chided. “Be serious.”

If he was anyone else, Null would have insisted that he was being serious, he was always serious and he meant everything he ever said ever. 

But Null considered the gleam in Jawbreaker’s eye, and that maybe, in some far off battlefield its twin might still be looking at the sky, unseeing and unblinking. He considered his broken, clawed-out eye socket and the intensity he had asked the question with. Maybe Jawbreaker needed a real answer from the only person who could understand.

“Okay,” Null said. “Let me think about it.”

Jawbreaker’s lips pinched, but he waited anyway. He would have to, Null didn’t want to give him a rushed answer.

Did he want to be fixed?

He ought to say yes. It was the obvious answer, maybe even the correct answer. 

It was bittersweet to think about. If he was like everyone else, he could just go to the parade. He’d fit in. He’d be normal and not ugly. People would like him. He’d be part of a battalion, truly part of one. He’d be one of the boys and he would know all the inside jokes and he’d stand with them instead of apart. 

Right? Maybe? His own crisis of his inherently unlikeable nature aside, would they really accept him, knowing who he was before? Even if everyone else could forgive and forget, could Null?

Could Null really be friends with people who had treated him so poorly? He would never trust them. He didn’t even like them. How could he ever feel safe knowing that he was only one accident away from losing half his face and returning to where he was now?

He could see his reflection in the puddle on the sparklingly clean floor. He was pale and worn, and it was creepy to see his woodgrain so clearly, weaving across his body like veins. It was repulsive, honestly. A half-formed nightmare that came to life and started making quippy remarks. 

It was an unforgivably ugly face. But it was unmistakably Null’s ugly face, and imagining a painted one staring back at him through the water was unnerving. And why was ugliness a crime, anyway? Why was he constantly punished for it? The only reason it was such a big deal was because other people were always taking issue with it.

He broke eye contact with his reflection. “Nah.”

Jawbreaker’s eye twitched. “What do you mean, ‘nah?’”

“I would stay the same. I don’t want to be fixed.”

“You don’t-“ his jaw clenched. “Explain yourself.”

Null rocked back and forth on his feet. “Well. If she’s that powerful, I would ask for a different wish. I would wish that everyone was nice to me instead of mean.” 

Jawbreaker slowed his words, as if he was talking to someone newly made and verrry stupid. “If you were fixed. Then everyone would be nicer to you. You could go to the parade tomorrow. You would get your wish and more.”

“No. Why should I have to change? They are being jerks. They should change.”

“That’s- Null, that’s not realistic. There’s no way-“

“So?” Null grumbled, hiding behind his mop. “Neither is fixing me.”

“But it is! That’s possible.” He had moved uncomfortably close. “Null, look at me. Look me in the eyes. That’s achievable. My damage? That’s unfixable. But you? It’s possible, you’re so close to being normal. It would be so simple-“

“Oh, you’ve been thinking about this a lot.” Had that always been what was going through Jawbreaker’s head when he looked at Null? How to fix him? His chest felt too tight, a size too small to contain everything. “If it’s that easy, why hasn’t anyone tried it before?”

“None of them had your best interests at heart.” He grabbed Null by the chin and forced his head up. The mop fell with a distant clatter as Null tried to push him away. “Not like I do.”

“Stop it!” He finally let go and Null scrambled as far away as the room allowed. “Stop! You’re scaring me.”

“Scaring you?” He tilted his head and his eye glinted like the barrel of a gun as he advanced. “Why are you scared? I’m trying to help you. It will be good for you, you’ll thank me after. You could have everything and all you have to do is reach out and take it. You will be as you were always meant to be! You could be perfect! Why does that scare you?” 

“Please stop,” he whispered.

Jawbreaker stoped underneath the dim bulb, the brim of his hat shadowing his face. 

“Don’t hurt me.”

“I’m not- It won’t-“ Jawbreaker dragged a hand down his face and sighed. “I’m not going to hurt you. It won’t hurt. That’s not what I’m doing. I don’t understand. Why won’t you let me help you? You will be better off afterwards, why would you ever choose a life of misery?”

“I wouldn’t be miserable if people would just accept me as I am!”

“That’s not possible,” he said through gritted teeth, hands clenched into fists. “It’s not reasonable to expect that. Why do you insist on clinging to delusion when there’s a real solution-“

“Yep,” Null said bitterly. “Clearly unreasonable. If no one can do it. Not even you.”

“I-“ Jawbreaker took a step back. “I don’t dislike you, Null.”

“No. You like what I could be. You don’t like me. Not as I am.”

Jawbreaker stared at him. He didn’t even try to refute it. How could he? How could he deny it? Hysterical laughter bubbled within Null and threatened to spill out. His shoulders shook. Of course! Of course he didn’t! Of course not! Obviously! Why would he? Why would anyone? Of course not! Of course nobody would ever love-

“…You aren’t thinking clearly.” 

“Fuck you!” Fuck him, fuck everyone, and fuck Null. He was thinking clearly, he was seeing everything all too clearly now.

Jawbreaker made a little self-satisfied nod, pleased to have his little theory confirmed. “You don’t need to decide right now, you can take all the time you need. Think about it for a little longer, and correct choice will soon become-“

“Shut up.”

“-clear. Must you interru-“

“Shut up! I’ve made my choice already! I’m not going to change my mind, not even if you give me a hundred years. If you don’t like that then you can fuck off!”

“…Are you certain?”

“YES!”

“…I see.” 

Jawbreaker stooped down and picked up the mop from where Null had dropped it. Null’s hand automatically when to his hip, where his sword was sheathed. It wasn’t a real sword, it was a wooden toy - one they were all made with, but it was better than nothing.

Jawbreaker moved towards him and Null drew his sword. Jawbreaker was stronger and better trained than he was, Null would lose in a fair fight. He need to get out of here. Unfortunately, Jawbreaker was between him and the exit.

Null swung at him as soon as he came in range, and Jawbreaker effortlessly parried him with the mop. 

“Calm down, there’s no need for dramatics,” he rolled his eyes. He held out the handle for Null to take. “Here.”

Null eyed it warily and took it. 

“Excellent. Now-“

Null smacked him with the wet end of the mop.

Jawbreaker let out a long suffering sigh. “Really? Must you?”

Null hit him again with a wet slap. And again. 

Jawbreaker drew his sword and countered. “That’s enough.”

Null crouched down, dual wielding his sword and the mop. He edged around Jawbreaker, trading blows. Jawbreaker countered all of them with a bored expression. 

Null saw an opening and bolted towards the stairs. And unexpected blow hit his knees from behind. Normally that wouldn’t have mattered but with the slippery floor it was enough to send him sprawling. 

He struggled to stand again, scrabbling to find purchase against the slick ground. 

“I gave you this so we could resume cleaning,” Jawbreaker unhurriedly picked up the mop after it rolled away from Null. “Not for this… impromptu sparing match.” 

He offered him the handle again. Null was so angry that he instinctively batted it away again without considering how satisfying it would be to literally wipe the smile off his face. With the mop. 

“Fuck off. You really think I’m going to keep acting like your maid after that?” 

“I don’t see why we can’t resume what we were doing before. I don’t wish to fight with you. You’ve made your stance clear, and you aren’t willing to compromise.” He looked away. “It was only a hypothetical anyway.”

“I don’t care. I don’t care! You...” Null scrubbed at his eyes and sheathed his sword. “I’m done. I’m done with you, I’m done with this. Just stop.”

Null trudged past him, towards the stairs. 

 “You must be exhausted.”

Null paused and turned. “…What?”

Jawbreaker was idly inspecting the mop. “You’ve had a very trying day, haven’t you? It must have been difficult to clean this whole place by yourself. Then receiving the bad news and our… disagreement just now. That must have been quite draining.”

He swallowed with some difficulty. “Yep…”

“Would you like me to wind you up?” 

That was as close to an apology as Jawbreaker was going to give. A peace offering. A favour. Null didn’t think he was ready to forgive him. However, he didn’t want to fight anymore, either. He hated fighting with Jawbreaker. 

And he was so, so tired. He desperately needed the boost, he probably only had a few hours before he collapsed. 

And it was so rare for someone else to offer to help him, completely unprompted.

“…Okay.”

“Excellent.” He strode past Null. “Let’s return to the barracks. It’s so dreary in here.”

Null blinked. “Can’t we do it here?” 

“Nonsense. The barracks will be far more comfortable.” He paused at the foot of the stairs. “Unless you’d rather sit on the wet floor.” 

Null grimaced. That did sound unpleasant. Even so, he would rather sit in a puddle for a bit than return to the barracks. The others would be there. “I…” 

Null knew he was an outlier in this regard, but he despised the idea of having others around him while he was vulnerable. He would rather keep the number a low as possible. Toys like Jawbreaker felt safer when surrounded by their own squad, but Null didn’t have anyone. 

Being wound back up left you vulnerable. Extremely vulnerable. Wind-up toys were built to not need sleep, but they still needed rest - everyone needed rest and maintenance - and the winding mechanism made it a very short and efficient rest. 

Jawbreaker was one thing, but the thought of so many eyes on him while he was unconscious was deeply disquieting. He didn’t like it. All of them free to gawk his malformed body while he was completely unaware-

“Are you coming?” Jawbreaker had paused halfway up the stairwell. 

…And he was never going to be able to explain his hangups in a way Jawbreaker would understand. Not without it turning into another argument. Fine. He’d just power through. He always did. “Yeah, coming.”

He trudged up the stairs and Jawbreaker resumed walking. 

It would be fine. This was a good thing. He didn’t need to be so worried. “…Thanks.”

Jawbreaker glanced back with an odd slant to his smile. “You can thank me later.”

There’s always a catch. Or some stupid, idiot person in a place of power with a dumb, stupid, idiot idea and no one to tell them to stop being stupid. 

For some forsaken reason, the wind up key is located in the middle of the back. Where it is just out of reach. No matter how you twist and turn, your arms were too short to do more than graze it. So you have to go ask someone else to help you not pass out.

That was the common belief, anyway. However, Emmet was an unstoppable genius and figured out a loophole. He was a strong and independent toy, who didn’t need any friends.

Made ever so slightly more complicated by the fact that he had one now.

Ingo was curled up in the corner, with a book in his lap. It didn’t look terribly comfortable, sitting on the floor, wedged between the wall and the metal door of the locker. Emmet had brought it up earlier, but 
Ingo had insisted that he was happy where he was. Emmet had made a mental note to pilfer a pillow or two later. 

He was bright-eyed and completely engrossed in his book, a couple of spiderlings perched on his hat. Absentmindedly, he had pressed the knuckles of his free hand against his mouth. He looked oddly small from Emmet’s vantage point. Someone of their size shouldn’t have been able to fold themselves into such a tiny shape. 

For a brief moment Emmet considered asking him for help. He quickly discarded the idea.

Sensing Emmet staring at him, Ingo looked up. “Do you need something?”

Emmet shook his head. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Oh, no! You didn’t disturb me at all.” Ingo’s gaze drifted to the candy cane clutched in Emmets grip. “What do you have there?”

Emmet moved it behind his back. “Nothing. Not important.”

A crease formed between his eyebrows. “…Is everything alright? You seem a bit out of sorts.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” 

Ingo raised an eyebrow.

“…I’m a bit tired,” Emmet begrudgingly admitted.

“Oh, is that all?” Ingo relaxed. “Would you like me to wind you up?”

The first thing he noticed upon jerking back into awareness was that it was dark.

He blinked. And blinked again but the world remained dark, with no difference between having his eyes open or closed. He tried to rub them but he was held in place by a strong hand on his wrist. 

Something soft and moist stroked his cheek.

Null yanked harder in a futile effort to free himself. What was happening? Where was he? The last thing he remembered was returning to the barracks with Jawbreaker…

“He’s waking up.” Null automatically turned to look in the direction the voice came from but there was only darkness. …Was that Warheads? It sounded like him. “Give him another turn.”

He writhed in agony as someone twisted his key, trying to force it further than it could go. He jerked, trying to turn around and shove them away but his arms and legs were being pinned down and they kept twisting and he felt like a rubber band about to snap-

“He won’t go any further.” The pressure stopped and Null collapsed in his restraints, a dull ache still radiating from the centre of his back. 

Someone groaned. “I told you to do it slowly, but did you listen? No! What part of time intensive you not understand-“

“Oh, that’s easy for you to say-“

A third voice cut in. “Stop arguing. It’s too late now. Marzipan, go grab a brush and make yourself useful.”

The three continued to bicker over him but Emmet wasn’t processing any of their words, not over his rising panic. Jawbreaker. That was Jawbreaker speaking. He felt cold all over. He trusted Jawbreaker and now he was trapped and he couldn’t see and-

And he felt sticky. Heavy. Like there was a layer of muck clinging to him and he couldn’t even wipe it off. An entire patchwork of grossness, from his still damp hands, to the areas that had dried into a crusty, peeling itchiness.

Something cold and wet brushed up his arm and he shuddered. It happened again, leaving a rapidly drying layer of ooze in it’s wake. What was that?!

“Stop moving,” Jawbreaker hissed, uncomfortably close to his ear. “You’re not dry yet. You’ll smudge the paint.”

…Paint?

He couldn’t see because they had painted over his eyes.

“Let me go.” His voice broke halfway through the sentence. 

The stupid, ugly, liar readjusted his grip on Null’s arm. “Just stay still, everything’s okay. We’re trying to help you.”

Help him?! They had fucking blinded him! How was that helpful?! “Let me go!”

“I’m fixing you!” 

Emmet turned towards the direction Jawbreaker’s voice was coming from and headbutted him as hard as he could.

“No!”

Ingo flinched back. “S-sorry! I just- I thought I’d offer! I-If you wanted-“

“Don’t want it!”

“Okay! Okay!” Ingo held up his hands. “That’s perfectly fine! I’m sorry! I-I didn’t mean to impose. To clarify- If I needed- is that also a no to-“

“No to everything!”

“Understandable, have a nice day! I’m just wondering- I mean- who else helps you-“ 

“Don’t want to talk about it!”

He somehow shrank impossibly smaller. “My apologies, shutting up now.”

Emmet took a deep breath. Everything was fine. He was fine. He’d said no. Ingo was listening. It’s fine.

The candy cane he was holding had snapped. The fairy floss spiders that had been clinging to Ingo had scattered. 

“No, you don’t need to be. Shutting up or anything. You can. You can talk. It’s okay.” 

Ingo blinked up at him, clearly not sold on the talking thing. 

Emmet should do something reassuring. 

He stiffly reached over and lightly smacked his hand down on Ingo’s head. He patted the top of his hat a couple times. Tap, tap. 

Ingo blinked again and he hesitantly reached up, towards where Emmet’s hand was still resting. Emmet pulled back before he came close.  

Hmm. Awkward, weird, and inscrutable. Emmet’s reassuring manner needed some work. “Sorry I yelled at you.”

Ingo’s palm was pressed where Emmet’s hand had been. His brow was furrowed and his mouth was pinched. “…It’s quite alright,” he whispered softly. 

“It really isn’t.” 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yes, I-“ he cut himself off and sighed. “I will be. Don’t worry.”

He dropped his hand and leaned his head against the locker door. “I honestly didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I know.”

“I’m deeply sorry.”

“I know. You don’t need to be. It was a reasonable question.” Emmet took another deep breath and slowly released it. “Please don’t ask again.”

Ingo hastily shook his head. “I won’t!”

“Okay… Good. Good.” Emmet swayed on his feet. “Excuse me. I need a minute.”

Alarmed, Ingo knocked his book aside and started to scramble to his feet.

“No, it’s fine! I’m fine!” Emmet waved his hands around, trying to convey his intent of pushing Ingo back down without actually pushing him. “Not your fault! Nothing to do with you! I just need. Space. For a bit. Okay?”

Ingo sank back down and looked up at him with his big worried eyes. “Okay. Are you sure there isn’t anything-“

“Yep, yep. Positive.” Emmet stepped back, moving towards the office door at the back of the barracks. “Don’t worry. I’m fine. Not mad. Or upset. Be back soon.”

“Oh, alright. If you’re certain…” 

“Yep!” Emmet fumbled with the handle and ducked inside. He locked the door behind him. 

Well, that could have gone better. He should have just gone straight here without disturbing Ingo. Then he could have gotten this over with without any questions. Now he had just worried Ingo for no reason and he still had to do it himself anyway. 

He tossed the broken candy cane away with a grumble. It was useless to him now.

With great effort he pushed himself away from the door and collapsed sideway into the nearby chair, throwing his legs over the armrest. He immediately reached for the desk drawers, knowing that if he paused now he wouldn’t be getting up again. He was grateful that past-Emmet had the foresight to place a few backup candy canes here. 

Now for the hard part. 

He slung his arm over he back of the chair and leaned his forehead against his wrist. …That wasn’t the hard part. That was just to make himself feel better. 

He pushed the candy cane against the armrest so that his grip slid down to the bottom of the stick. He swallowed, feeling slightly nauseous. His fingers twitched.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. 

Using the extra reach of the candy cane, he grasped blindly towards his back. Even though he had been expecting it, he still jolted when it struck his key. He tried again and was able to thread the hook of the cane through the decorative hole in his wind-up key. 

He pulled.

His gearbox click-click-clicked as his mainspring tightened. The sound was soothing, and he eased up his death grip on the chair back. 

One down, a shitton more to go. 

He unhooked the cane and reached down again to hook it through the hole on the other side. He winced when he pulled it and slowed down. Unfortunately, the uncomfortable tugging stemmed more from the awkward angle he was turning it from and had little to do with his speed. 

He unhooked it and reached down again. 

Click-click-click.

A quiet scrape when he missed his target, and a clink when he finally got it right. 

Click-click-click. 

It wasn’t so bad when he got into the rhythm of it. There was a monotonous tranquility to the repetition. Dull, numb, and floaty. In his mind’s eye he could see his mainspring spiralling in on itself, hypnotically spinning tighter and tighter…

Click-click-click. 

He closed his eyes.

Click-click-click. 

Null sniffled, picking at speckles of paint still on his arms. Most of it had been easy to peel off after it dried, but some of it was more stubborn. 

He hiccuped. 

He’d been so, so scared when his vision hadn’t immediately returned after he had removed the gunk from his eyes. Everything had been blurry, and maybe it would be like that forever, and maybe those assholes had permanently broken him-

But he needn’t have worried. With some time (and a lot of blinking) his vision had become clear again. By this point it was as good as it had ever been. 

He gave up on the arms for now and moved to his feet, which were now dry enough for him to scratch off the paint. It flaked away under his touch. 

Stupid cheap paint. 

His feet were raw and itchy underneath and he was verrry glad he was able to get it off. 

They hadn’t even done a good job. Those stupid jerks couldn’t even paint inside the lines. They’d gotten the white of his hands smeared on the black of his arms, and the silver of the fake buttons either spilled over or was covered by the paint on his torso. 

It was ugly, and it itched horribly, and it gummed up his joints and made it harder to move. 

And they hadn’t even asked, they- 

He clawed desperately at the crumbling strips peeling off his leg. 

-held him down and-

And the dark paint gave way to pale knotted wood. 

-fixed him!

Stupid, stupid, stupid! 

He choked on his own breath and coughed and wheezed. 

And even now as he gasped he could still taste the bitter and acidic dye on his lips, and there was no escaping the chemical stench. 

He pressed his palms to his eyes and curled up, pressing his aching back firmly against the wall. His gasping breaths eventually slowed, and so did the frantic ticking in his chest. 

Someone knocked on the hatch.

He froze, not even daring to breathe. He’d run away and locked himself in the highest tower of the West Wing. They’d perused him and tried to break in, but the trapdoor had held. They’d cajoled and promised and threatened but Null had stayed put. 

“I know you’re in there,” Jawbreaker shouted. “Come down!”

“Go away!” Null croaked. 

“You can’t stay up there forever!” 

“Yes I can!”

Something banged against the trapdoor and he flinched.

No one could get in now. He’d flipped over a table and pulled it over the hatch to barricade it shut. He’s also piled everything in the room that looked even remotely heavy on top. No matter how hard Jawbreaker tried, he wouldn’t be able to break in. Hopefully.

“For the Maker’s sake, can’t you think something through for once? You literally cannot! You’re not self sustaining! You’ll need to leave eventually.”

Null pressed himself into the stone wall and said nothing. 

“I’m in a forgiving mood.” Jawbreaker said, “come out now and we can forget this ever happened.”

“I’m not,” Null spat, “in a forgiving mood.”

The hatch ratted. “Don’t be dramatic. I’m trying to help you, I haven’t done anything wrong. All you had to do was listen to your captain and-“

“You are not my captain.”

“Null,“ he began, a dangerous undercurrent to his voice. 

“Shut up!” Null screamed. “You’re not my captain! You don’t deserve to be anyone’s captain! You- you selfish asshole! You don’t care about anyone but yourself! I hate you!”

His voice echoed back, ricocheting between the curved stone walls. His throat burned from overuse and paint fumes. 

When he finally spoke, Jawbreakers voice was cold. “If you don’t come out I’ll burn everything you own, one by one.”

 A chill ran through him. “You wouldn’t,” he choked out, humiliated by how small he sounded. 

“I’ll do it. I’ll start with your sword.” 

His hand automatically went to his hip. He already knew nothing was there, it had been one of many unpleasant surprises he’d had when coming to. They must have taken it from him when he was being wound up.

“No,” he said weakly.

“Come down and I won’t have to.”

“No,” he whimpered, curling in on himself and pressing his hands over his ears. “No no no no no no no no no no no…”

Time passed in a blur, he wouldn’t remember most of it later. Just little snatches here and there. The sun through the window moving across the floor. Mechanically scratching at his arms until they were rubbed raw. Sneezing from the dust in the room.

Shadows growing longer.

Pounding on the trapdoor.

“This is your second warning!”

A metallic, bitter taste. 

Paint flakes scattered on the ground beneath him.

He blinked and night had fallen, and a chill had crept in.

“This is your final warning!” Yelled from far away.

Smoke in the air.

Null crept towards the window and peeked out.

He could see the overgrown courtyard at the base of the tower. A bonfire had been put together in the centre, the orange flames burning high. Shadowy figures surrounded it in a lose circle, a heathy distance away from the blaze. Every so often one of them threw another branch into the fire. 

Silhouetted against the searing inferno was Jawbreaker, the ex-captain of the Taffy Battalion. 

Despite Null’s attempt to be sneaky, Jawbreaker noticed him looking. He raised up something held between his hands like an offering. Null leaned over and squinted, trying to make out what it was.

It was long and thin, pointed at one end and wider at the other, with a silvery sheen. A sword.

Oh.

It must have been his sword, but Null’s lack of recognition had little to do with the low lighting or the distance. Null’s sword was made of pale birch wood, unpainted like the rest of him. The one Jawbreaker was holding was grey along the blade and the handle was black. They must have painted it. That was why they took it. 

It didn’t look like it belonged to him anymore. 

“This is your last chance!” Jawbreaker called up. “If you come down then nothing drastic needs to happen.”

His eyes burned. “Go to hell!”

Jawbreaker turned and raised Null’s sword high above his head, poised to cast it into the flames. He hesitated and glanced back, giving Null another split second chance to change his mind.

Null had never hated anyone more. 

How dare he! How dare he hold Nulls sword like it was his own. How dare he take this small piece of Null and destroy it so easily. How dare he try to pretend that any of this was for Null’s sake when all he had done was break Null more.

Null’s sword was swallowed by the fire. 

He staggered away from the window, each step unsteadier than the last. He collapsed on the floor like a puppet with its strings cut.

Oh, Maker. Jawbreaker had actually done it. He hadn’t realised it until now, but there had still been a small part of Null that had hoped he wouldn’t. A very small part of him that had burned to ash as surely as his sword had.

He closed his eyes and covered his ears, but there was no escaping the smell of chemicals and woodsmoke. 

Emmet opened his eyes. 

Oh, he’d zoned out during winding again. 

He unhooked the cane and lowered his arm, which was sore from being bent at an odd angle for so long. His back hurt too, and he was stiff from not moving. 

He never felt energised after winding himself up. Which wasn’t that surprising since he usually gave up long before becoming fully wound up again. He really should keep going, but he didn’t have the willpower. 

He had enough to get through the rest of today. Everything else could wait for tomorrow. He’d been here long enough anyway. 

He twisted and knocked his key against the chair back so that it would flip his key down, flat against his back. His key twinged, and he winced but it worked so it was fine. 

Ugh.

He stared at the ceiling for a bit. 

Eventually, he pushed himself to his feet and returned the candy cane to the desk drawer. He shambled out of the office. 

Ingo looked up from his book and brightened. “Emmet!”

“I am Emmet.” 

Ingo hadn’t moved from his spot. Emmet belly flopped onto the bench nearest to him. 

“Oh goodness, are you sure your alright? I really am dreadfully sorry about what happened earlier, I wouldn’t want-“

“S’fine,” Emmet grunted. “Tell me about your book. Please.”

“Oh?” Ingo stammered. “Well, um, it’s Cinderella, the version by the Brothers Grimm. Are you familiar? It’s rather… grim, for lack of a better term but I still enjoyed it. It has a happy ending, which is better than some other tales. Honestly, I can’t stand unhappy endings, can you?”

Emmet closed his eyes and hummed occasionally when Ingo paused. He was content to let Ingo’s chatter wash over him like soothing wave. He felt truly relaxed for the first time today.

“Ah, my apologies! I didn’t mean to monopolise the conversation! I haven’t let you get a word in edgeways, I’m so sorry about that.”

“No, please talk. I want to hear your voice.”

“Oh,” Ingo squeaked. Emmet cracked open an eye. Ingo had gone red again. “Well, um, in that case, would you like me to read the story to you aloud? I’ll go back to the beginning for you.” 

“Yes please. I would like that.”

“Of course! It’s no problem at all.” Ingo flipped back to the start and cleared his throat. “Once upon a time…”

Chapter Text

People Who Might Be Persuaded To Wind Ingo Up; a numbered list:

 1. Emmet

I cannot ask Emmet, he gave a very clear no, as is his right. He seemed extremely distressed by the prospect and I don’t want to upset him further. There’s no need to burden him with my problems.

 2. General North

I know that if I asked him he would oblige me, as he has done so in the past. After the entirety of the Taffy Battalion rebuffed me he came to my aid. However, this also caused him to reassign me to the Pine Battalion, effective immediately, because if they refused assist me with basic maintenance then our working relationship had clearly deteriorated beyond repair. He would not listen when I tried to persuade him otherwise. 

I cannot risk him removing me from Gear Battalion. Do not approach under any circumstances.

 3. Whoever it is that helps Emmet?

It doesn’t make any sense. Who winds Emmet up? He’s been working on his own for quite some time, and he doesn’t appear to have any friends. General North? It can’t be, Emmet hates him. Besides, if he asked the General now he would simply redirect him to me, or worse. There must be something I’m missing.

I can’t ask Emmet directly, but perhaps there is some other way to find out?

 4. The fairy floss spiders

I talked to Emmet’s spiders about my dilemma and they were very good listeners. I had a far fetched and rather outrageous theory that Emmet might have trained them to wind him up. In my defence, they are the only living beings Emmet has a positive relationship with. Further thought proved that this was an even more ludicrous idea than first assumed, as they are too small and lightweight to physically turn a key, even if a whole cluster of them worked together. It is possible that exhaustion is making me slightly delirious. 

It was not a complete waste as I feel better after putting my thoughts into words. Additionally, spending time with the spiders always puts me in a positive mood.

Update: a cluster of them worked together to drag a candy cane to me. They must have misunderstood my worries about running out of energy for me being hungry, not understanding that I don’t need to eat like they do. All the same, it was extremely sweet of them to try to help me and it’s a gift I will treasure. 

 5. Donner 

Even when we were in the same battalion our relationship was transactional in nature. If I did a chore for him, such as cleaning or moving cargo, he would return the favour and assist me with maintenance. I have not spoken to him since my removal from his battalion. Although we parted ways on a sour note, he might still be willing to aid me if I offer my services.

Update: He refused. He laughed at me.

 6. Captain Jawbreaker

Previously, he gave me an ultimatum: no member of the battalion would wind me up unless I smiled convincingly beforehand. At the time I was unable to. If this ultimatum is still in effect, perhaps it works in the reverse as well. 

Update: I’ve tried in front of a mirror and I was unable to produce anything that Captain Jawbreaker would be satisfied with. Since my removal from the Taffy Battalion I have not been practicing as frequently and upon joining Gear Battalion I stoped completely. It’s noticeable. I’m terribly rusty.

Update: I can’t do it. My more recent attempts would be more likely to elicit a punishment than a reward. My cheeks hurt.

Update: I still can’t do it, I wouldn’t be able to even if I had days to improve and I don’t have days. I shouldn’t be wasting my time trying but I don’t know what else to do.

Update: I can’t 

 7. ???

I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, who else is there? Everyone hates me. Everyone hates me. I can’t even bring myself to try pleading with more of my former squad members I already know they’ll say no they don’t like me no one does

I’m running out of time

 8. Emmet

Beg. I could throw myself at his feet and beg for mercy. He’s been kind before and he’s shown concern for my well being in the past, he might take pity on me. He’s my friend, isn’t he? If he knew how dire my situation was

What a horrible thing to do to a friend. He was so distressed the first time I brought it up, I won’t add guilt to that too. I don’t want to risk our friendship by pushing beyond what he is comfortable with. I don’t want him to hate me.

Maybe he already does

 9. Nobody

I don’t have much time left. It’s probably too late to do anything about it now. There’s something freeing about that realisation. I think I will wait out my remaining time in the barracks. It’s safe here. 

Emmet left earlier and said he would meet me at the West Wing for patrol. I regret not telling I wouldn’t be able to make it. I thought I had more time than I did, and was trying to procrastinate on bring up the subject with him. I’ve tried writing him a note but I wasn’t satisfied with any of my attempts. They all either came off as too accusatory or too… for lack a of better word, reassuring. It’s horribly selfish of me to deny him the closure, but if there’s even the slightest chance he might change his mind I don’t want to dissuade him. 

So… no note.

I don’t want to be in the way after I shut down, and if Emmet doesn’t care change his mind then… 

I imagine it would be quite distressing to have to move my body after. Obviously the most out of the way place would be inside one of the lockers. However, I couldn’t- even the idea of being trapped inside- 

I am a terrible coward, so I’m hiding in the corner of the office. Emmet uses this room the least, so I should be out of the way. Besides, the lockers are the spiders’ territory and I would hate to intrude.

The spiders have been far more clingy than usual. I haven’t been truly alone since venting to them. I like to think they’re worried about me. It’s nice to imagine that someone is. I suspect the real reason is because I haven’t been moving as much, to conserve energy, and they like having a new playground. I hope they continue to stick around. I enjoy their company and it’s nice to think I might still be useful even after I stop consciously contributing.

It feels unfair to have finally been given a home, but only a brief time to enjoy it. I shouldn’t complain, I’ve gotten far more than I ever thought I’d receive.

Knock knock.

The spiders scattered. 

Odd, Ingo hadn’t been expecting anyone. How strange. Perhaps auditory hallucinations were a late symptom of winding down? Ah, but no, the spiders had reacted too. It was real.

Emmet was supposed to have started patrol around this time. Perhaps when he had noticed Ingo was missing he had returned to the barracks to collect him? The notion touched Ingo, yet made a coil of dread curl up in his abdomen. If Emmet had returned then he would want an explanation, and then Ingo would have to ask him for help — something he had been content to accept he didn’t have time for. 

The knock sounded again. 

Reluctantly, Ingo pulled himself up and dragged himself towards the door.

It was strange that Emmet would knock considering he had his own key to the barracks. Unless he had forgotten to bring it? Perhaps that was what he had returned for. If he had somehow locked himself out then he would require Ingo to let him back in. It was for the best then, that he had arrived now and not later. 

He grasped the handle and pulled the door open. 

It wasn’t Emmet. 

No, the soldier that stood in the doorway was painted, and he was identical to the other three toys behind him, aside from his missing eye.

Ingo went pale and closed the door. A foot wedged itself within the gap at the last second, forcing it open.

“Now, now,” Jawbreaker said, “is that any way to greet your old captain?”

“My apologies, I believe you have the wrong room, sir, goodbye!” Ingo rambled, and tried again to close it. 

“On the contrary,” Jawbreaker drawled, forcing the door wide open with the aid of Warheads shoving his weight against it. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“Oh,” Ingo squeaked, backing away as the squad invaded the barracks. “…Is that so? I- I can’t imagine what you might need me for, I-“

“The strangest thing happened the other day,” Jawbreaker began as if Ingo hadn’t said anything. “We had returned to our barracks to find it had been ransacked.”

“Oh no… How terrible!” Ingo nervously eyed Warheads as he prowled across the room. 

“Indeed.” Jawbreaker sneered. 

Click. 

Liquorice closed the only door out of the barracks and leaned against it, his arms folded.

Tick,

Jawbreaker’s smile was empty. “Why don’t we have a little chat about that?”

Tock,

“I- I- I-“ Ingo felt extremely lightheaded, like he might pass out. “I- I don’t know a-anything.”

Tick,

“Like I said, it was the strangest thing. This thief had a very peculiar itinerary.”

Tock,

“He took all sorts of odds and ends, but he skipped over several valuables in favour of… worthless items.” 

Tick,

“He took my damn pocket knife,” Marzipan grumbled, eyeing a spiderweb with great disgust. Out of the corner of his eye, Ingo could see Liquorice roll his eyes. 

Tock, 

“Regardless,” Jawbreaker cut in.

Tick,

Ingo crept backwards, towards the office. His gearbox was frantically churning. He was feeling more awake than he had in ages. 

Tock,

“The only commonality between these objects was that they once belonged to you.”

Tick.

Ingo stepped backwards. “I- that’s-“ his vision was tunnelling. There was nothing but Jawbreaker’s steel eye boring into him. “Please, Captain, I really don’t-“

Something seized him by the neck and he choked. His hands jumped up to claw at the arm strangling him and he thrashed, trying to break the headlock. 

The stranglehold tightened and black spots flickered across his vision. “Stop that,” Warheads hissed into his ear.

Ingo went limp in his captor’s hold. 

“He was headed for the office,” Liquorice quietly observed, still blocking the exit.

Jawbreaker looked at Marzipan and jerked his head.

“Ugh, fine,” Marzipan threw his hands up, strode past them, and kicked open the office door. Ingo flinched when he slammed it shut. 

Ingo struggled to breathe. His fingers were still locked in a death grip on Warheads’ arm, too frightened to let go, too scared to struggle. Warheads was sickeningly warm against him. He was harsh and unyielding and the only thing keeping Ingo on his feet. He knees were weak, and his legs were shaking. 

Warheads roughly jostled him, cutting off his airflow again. “Hey! The Captain is speaking to you. Don’t ignore him.”

Ingo reluctantly craned his head up to see Jawbreaker looking down on him dispassionately. “We know it was you, Ingo. Just admit it.”

He opened his mouth and only a hoarse rasp came out. But it hadn’t been him! Really, truly, honestly, he hadn’t done anything, and it stung that they were so ready to believe that he had, when he had always tired so hard to endure their punishments without complaint. 

Who was he kidding? This was his fault. Emmet had only done it for Ingo’s sake, and Ingo should’ve- should’ve stopped him, not enabled him. He knew it was wrong then, and he let it happen anyway out of selfish desire because he was a horrible person. He knew better, he knew this would have consequences for Emmet…

…Emmet…

Jawbreaker’s brow furrowed and he tapped Warhead’s shoulder. “Ease up, we’re not trying to hurt him.”

“He’s fine,” Warheads grumbled, but loosened his hold anyway. 

“I did it,” Ingo gasped. “It was me, I’m sorry.” 

“I’m very disappointed in you, Ingo.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” 

“Resorting to petty theft now?” Warheads sneered. “What would the general think?” 

“I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.” 

“Is that so?” Jawbreaker regarded him coldly. “Then tell me, why did you steal it in the first place?”

“I-“ Ingo struggled. “I- I just- I wanted- I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“It’s not a difficult question, Ingo. Why steal? You know you could have earned it back the honest way. This should be beneath you, why resort to it?”

It wouldn’t be difficult to answer if he’d actually done it, because then he would know his honest motivation and could easily edit it into something more acceptable if need be. Only, he hadn’t done it. Emmet had, without consulting Ingo. So, Ingo had no idea why Emmet had done anything. Why had he risked the backlash? Emmet didn’t directly benefit at all, he’d kept nothing for himself. 

Admittedly, Emmet had no way of knowing there was a way Ingo could have legitimately earned back his belongings. Maybe he would have tried that avenue first, if he had been aware. Still, that didn’t explain why he had gone out of his way for something as inconsequential as recuperating Ingo’s material possessions.  Emmet was a great believer in such ideals as fairness and justice, but why inconvenience himself with Ingo’s problems at all? Far greater wrongs had been done to Emmet personally. Why risk it? If he gained nothing, and stood to lose everything, then there was only one logical explanation Ingo could think of.

Emmet was a kind person.

He was a fundamentally good and kind person, in ways that Ingo hadn’t even realised it was possible to be. 

This was not an answer Ingo could give Jawbreaker. There was no version of this answer, no matter heavily altered, that would be both satisfactory and sensical. 

So, inventing a lie from whole cloth it was.

Ingo could think of several lies, but none of them were believable. The truth was, Ingo wouldn’t do something this dangerous, he’d never dare. And Jawbreaker knew that. He knew Ingo was a coward, he’d see right through any excuse he’d give.

Jawbreaker was staring at him, waiting. 

Ingo didn’t know what to say.

He could feel Liquorice’s heavy gaze on him, and Warhead’s humid breath on his neck. 

He didn’t know, he didn’t know! What did Jawbreaker want him to say?! 

“I told you to ease up,” Jawbreaker rapped on his forearm. 

“I did,” Warheads released him completely and Ingo collapsed, scraping his palms on the floor when he tried to catch himself. “There. Happy?”

“Much obliged.”

His arms still stung from hitting the ground. The places where Warheads had been touching him still burned, a phantom brand against him. He pressed his hand around his throat, trying to override the lingering sensation with his own. 

Jawbreaker loomed over him. “I’m feeling merciful, so I’ll tell you what. If you earn it back now, the way we initially agreed, then you can keep what you stole and we will be on our way.” 

“Thank you,” Ingo rasped. “You’re very generous.”

“I know. Stand up.”

Ingo pushed himself upright. His vision blacked out, and he wobbled, trying to stay on his feet. 

Jawbreaker waved a hand. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Ingo nodded. Wonderful, he could do this! He had been practicing! He could do this! All he had to do was one little thing, and they would leave him be. He could- could-

Both Liquorice and Warheads cringed, and Ingo’s smile fell.

Jawbreaker sighed. “Try again.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Ingo muttered. It was simple, not difficult, and everyone else could do it, so Ingo could too. He just had to try harder. Stretch his mouth wide and upwards and open slightly-

“Yikes,” Warheads grimaced.

Ingo ducked his head and dropped the expression. 

“Try for something less angry next time,” Jawbreaker advised. 

“Less like a rabid animal,” Warheads added.

“Yes, sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll do better.” Ingo scrubbed at his face and looked up again. 

Deep breath in, deep breath out. He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t be put off by their judgmental gazes. With great focus he slowly lifted the corner of his mouth into a twitching lopsided smirk. 

“A proper smile, Ingo. We have standards.”

“Right, yes, sorry, I can-“ he hastily tried to rearrange his face into something more symmetrical and promptly lost control of the other side. “Wait, wait, I can-“

Liquorice and Warheads exchanged a glance. 

“I can do it! Please let me try again, I’ll get it next time!” Ingo sounded hysterical even to his own ears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m trying!”

“You haven’t been practicing.”

Ingo wilted. “No, sir. My apologies, it was difficult to do on my own.”

Jawbreaker pinched the bridge of his nose. “You gave up? You let all that progress go to waste? All that effort down the drain because you couldn’t be bothered?”

“No!” Ingo shouted. “No, not at all! That’s not it at all! I- I couldn’t-“

“No,” he cut him off sharply. “You wouldn’t. You are fully capable, you always have been. You just refuse to try.”

“No, sir, I am trying! I promise I’m trying really hard, please-“

“Not hard enough.” Jawbreaker sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to do it myself then, like everything else.” 

He stalked towards Ingo and raised a hand.

Ingo flinched back, rising his arms to shield his face. Jawbreaker easily pushed them aside and grabbed his chin. “Stop that. I’m helping you, don’t move so much.”

Ingo stopped moving. Jawbreaker inspected his face, turning it this way and that, and rearranging it like a puzzle box that needed to be solved. He tugged the corners of Ingo’s mouth up with his thumb, stretching it painfully. His hands were clammy and cold. Ingo couldn’t help but lean into it a little.

“You’re perfectly capable. Do you know how I know that?” Jawbreaker moved a hand upward and flattened the furrow between his eyebrows. “Don’t look so angry.”

“Sorry,” Ingo said.

Jawbreaker flicked his nose. “I told you not to move.”

Ingo swallowed another sorry. 

“The day you joined my battalion I personally showed you around the barracks.”

Ingo remembered. Even if he hadn’t, Jawbreaker had told this story often enough that he had memorised that too. However, Jawbreaker always left out some details in his narrative. Perhaps he didn’t think it was worth mentioning, or maybe he had forgotten it entirely.

But Ingo remembered.

He had been a little tired, and a lot anxious. Reassigned again, with new rules to learn, and new people to appease, and an eleventh chance at a good first impression. And seeing Jawbreaker. And thinking.

He’s like me.

Ingo had struggled to pay attention to the tour, had struggled to tear his eyes away from his new captain.

Captain.

It was almost beyond belief. Jawbreaker commanded the respect of his peers. They admired him. They listened him. He was broken and they loved him anyway. And things had suddenly seemed possible in a way they never had before. 

Then Jawbreaker had turned to him, placed a hand on his shoulder (and that had startled him so much he had jumped), and said, “I’m going to help you.”

“Help me with what?” Ingo had asked.

“Become your best self.”

“Really?” Ingo had breathed, not entirely understanding what that would entail but believing in the promise anyway. Reaching a higher state… Having someone willing to coach him there, to teach him how to be good enough that people would see his defect and still want him anyway… That sounded exactly like what he needed. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“It- it might not be easy.”

“I don’t expect it to be.”

“I’ve been reassigned several times,” Ingo hedged. He knew it wasn’t the best idea to discourage Jawbreaker, but it didn’t feel right to let him walk in blind either.

His eye, which had been wandering around the room, focused solely on Ingo. “Are you worried about that?”

“A little.” A lot.

“Don’t be. You’ll always have a place with the Taffy Battalion.” 

Ingo had been so happy he could’ve burst.

In the present, Jawbreaker pinched and pulled at his cheek, moulding it into the desired shape. “At the end of it, you smiled so perfectly. So beautifully.”

Ingo didn’t remember that part, but he believed Jawbreaker when he said it. He rarely had an accurate idea  of what expression he was making, or what it looked like to the outside world.

“Don’t you understand? You can smile, I saw you do it. There’s nothing wrong with you. If you just put in the effort in you could lead a normal life! I don’t understand why you won’t…”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Ingo whispered. “I’m doing my best, you know it’s difficult-“

“It’s not!” Jawbreaker’s grip around his head tightened, his hands shaking with repressed rage, like it was taking all his self control to not crush Ingo’s skull. “It’s not difficult! It’s easy! Why do you insist on being-“

Ingo winced, unable to move any further in Jawbreaker’s grasp. 

“….You stopped smiling.” He sounded the way a blizzard might, if one could speak. His eye was wild and his lips were tight edged. He eased up and moved back to his mouth, forcing the corners back up again. “Stay. Hold that.”

Jawbreaker is helping me, Ingo reminded himself, he means well.

“Everyone faces adversity, Ingo.” He resumed arranging Ingo’s face into the desired shape. “That’s how life is. You must fight your way through, you can’t expect the world to bend to accommodate you. You can’t give up just because it’s difficult. Stop being so weak willed.”

Jawbreaker made a motion like he was wiping a smudge off Ingo’s face, a repetitive swiping between his cheek and the corner of his mouth. It forced his sculpted smile down a little, which Jawbreker quickly corrected. He began making the motion in reverse, from his mouth to his cheek, scowling the whole time. Tracing the small gap between his uncomfortable smile and the circular blush below his eyes. As if he could connect them through sheer will alone. 

But there were some things that were beyond even Jawbreaker’s ability to fix.

“You could have everything and you throw it away,” Jawbreaker whispered. It was unclear if he was talking to Ingo or himself. His thumb traced Ingo’s eyebrows, forcing them back up into a more neutral position. He paused halfway, pressing against his eye socket. “You don’t deserve this.”

He stayed there a moment too long for comfort, the pressure against Ingo’s eyelid increasing imperceptibly, the infrequent ticking echoing in his ears.

Jawbreaker pulled back. His grasp dropped to his chin and he tilted his head side to side. 

“I’m doing this for your benefit, you know.” His eye socket was dark. “I want what’s best for you. Once you’ve fixed yourself your life will improve. I really can’t stress enough how much this is holding you back.”

Ingo didn’t say anything. He knew.

“But it doesn’t have to stop you. All it takes is a little effort, and you look perfectly normal. Like so.” He clapped a hand on Ingo’s shoulder and spun him around to face the others. “Perfect.”

The others eyed him critically.

Liquorice shrugged and gave a thumbs up.

“I don’t know… He’s still a little tense.” Warheads squinted and tilted his head. “It looks fake.”

“Don’t be so tense.” Jawbreaker ordered.

Ingo let out a deep breath and forced himself to relax.

“Not that much. Keep smiling.”

Ingo pulled the smile back up from where it had slipped. His cheeks felt sore.

A door slammed open and Ingo jumped and whirled around. 

“Ugh,” Marzipan grumbled, holding a half eaten candy cane. “I didn’t find anything! It’s all useless junk.”

Ingo noticed with a grimace that he hadn’t been gentle in his search. The office looked like a small hurricane had passed through it, all the papers that had been on the desk were scattered on the floor and the drawers had all been thrown open and riffled through. The trash can had been knocked over. Ingo hoped he would get a chance to clean before Emmet came back.

“Is that so?” Jawbreaker asked flatly. “Did you search thoroughly or did you get distracted?” 

“Did you bring me any candy?” Warheads added.

“Captain, I went through that whole place from top to bottom and didn’t find shit. Nothing was there.” He turned and pointed the chewed end of the stick at Warheads. “And no. This is mine. Finders keepers, losers weepers.”

He bit down on the candy cane and it crunched loudly. 

“Bitch,” Warheads muttered.

Jawbreaker’s eye twitched. “Neither of you need to eat.”

“I know, but it tastes good!” Marzipan leaned against the doorframe. “Do you want some, boss?”

There was an outraged gasp from Warheads but no one was paying attention to him.

“Absolutely not. This is getting completely off topic.” He narrowed his eyes at Ingo and jerkily motioned for him to keep smiling.

Ingo hastily corrected himself. 

Jawbreaker eyed him thoughtfully. “Well, you did get there eventually, but you weren’t able to do it on your own. So, I’m willing to compromise. You can keep half of what you took, and we will confiscate the rest. If you cooperate and hand it over then I will even let you choose which half you get.”

“Thank you, sir.” Honestly, this was a much better deal than he thought he would be getting. It seemed quite reasonable and Ingo was half-way through nodding when a horrible thought occurred to him.

Emmet’s story. 

He had stored it in the locker along with the rest of his belongings. If he guided them to his locker they would find it and read it. They would undoubtedly be extremely cruel about the contents. 

Ingo’s mind raced as he struggled to think of a way out. Would Ingo be able to pass it off as his own work? Did Emmet write his name in that one? He probably did, he had a penchant for reminding people of his name. Damn it!

This was all his fault. He’d promised Emmet he would keep it safe. If he’d just let Emmet destroy it like he’d wanted to from the start he wouldn’t be in this mess. But, no, he’d had to be selfish…

A loud shriek interrupted them.

Warheads had Marzipan in a wrestled to the ground, and he had bitten off the end of the candy cane. Marzipan was wailing like he had bitten him instead. “Captain! Captain! Warheads attacked me!”

“He wasn’t sharing the spoils!” Warheads defended himself, his mouth full of candy chunks. 

“If you can’t behave yourselves then give it to Liquorice.” Jawbreaker sighed. “He’s the only one not acting like a complete fool.”

Liquorice smirked and smugly beckoned them over. 

“Yes, Captain,” they both grumbled. Marzipan grumpily trudged over and reluctantly slapped the remains of the candy into Liquorice’s open palm.

“Now,” Jawbreaker turned back to Ingo. “Where were we?”

Ingo swallowed. Was he really going to do this? It seemed like such a bad idea on every level. On the other hand, if he didn’t… the consequences were too awful to think about. 

“Right.” Jawbreaker nodded. “You were telling me where you have stashed the items.”

He had to do this.

He pointed to a locker at the far end of the line. “This one is mine,” he quietly admitted.  

Jawbreaker turned to Marzipan and motioned with his head. 

With a put upon sigh, Marzipan went where Ingo had pointed. “This one?”

Ingo swallowed and nodded. He was making such a mistake.

“What’s the code?”

“It’s unlocked,” Ingo said, voice as steady as he could make it. “You shouldn’t need one.”

Marzipan swung open the door. In less than half a second his expression shifted from bored to confused to horrified, and then Ingo could no longer see his face past the multicoloured fuzz that had leapt out of the locker.

Everyone was screaming and yelling, and Marzipan stumbled back, flailing and wailing and shaking off spiders the way a dog shakes itself off after the rain. Spiders dropped like shrapnel and scuttled across the room. Warheads cursed and leaped out of the way.

It was absolute chaos. 

Ingo stood alone, unaffected, shocked still. The unassuming eye of the storm. 

That had worked so much better than he had thought it would. 

“Get it off, get it off!” Marzipan hollered, hopping around and frantically brushing down his body. 

“You’ve got one on your face!” Warheads shouted.

“Augh!” Marzipan wiped at his head.  

“No, it’s still there!” Warheads raised his hand. “Hold still, I’ve got it!”

“N-no! Don’t-“ Ingo started.

Strawberry hopped clear. Warheads slapped Marzipan across the face, sending his head spinning. After a few rotations Warheads grabbed the brim of his hat to stop it. “It’s gone now.”

“…Thanks.” Marzipan did not sound particularly grateful.

“Ingo,” Jawbreaker said, icy and dangerous. “What the hell was that?”

“W-what?” Ingo asked weakly, abruptly reminded why these stunts were such a terrible idea. “What do you mean?”

Rapid footfalls came running towards him, and Ingo turned just in time to get punched square in the face. He fell to the ground, Marzipan standing over him. “You knew that would happen! You bastard!”

Ingo deserved that. He clutched his smarting jaw and curled up into the fetal position, shielding his head. “My sincerest apologies, I really didn’t know! I was just trying to do as you asked!”

Marzipan kicked him. “No! No, you weren’t! There was nothing in there besides spiders! And more spiders! And- and-“ he kicked Ingo again, for emphasis. “And more creepy crawly bug things!”

Ingo curled up tighter. “I’m sorry! It used to be there, I don’t know what happened!”

Marzipan stomped on him and Ingo cried out in pain. He pressed his fist against his mouth, hiding his defect and muffling his cries. 

“Alright, that’s enough.” Ingo cracked an eye open to see Jawbreaker holding out an arm to stop Marzipan. “Now, Ingo, be honest. What happened?”

“T-that’s where I kept everything,” Ingo lied. “I-I really don’t know what happened. It s-should have been there.”

Marzipan scoffed. “What, so the spiders ran off with it then? Is that what happened?”

“I-I don’t know?” Ingo’s mind landed on a new outrageous idea, but as long as he was leading them on this goose chase he might as well run with it. “M-Maybe the spiders ate it.” 

“Are you kidding?” Warheads asked dryly. He reached down, grabbed Ingo by the arm, and yanked him to his feet. “That stuff was inedible.”

“Oh no, I’m not kidding, not at all!” Ingo said, as earnestly as he could. Warheads’ grip was like a brand against him. “They’ll eat anything, you know. I-It’s a real problem.”

“Even the pocket knife?” Marzipan pouted. “But that was metal!”

“Good s-source of iron,” Ingo said weakly. Everything ached. “How do you think they got inside in the first place? They must have chewed a hole through the locker.” 

“Do they…” A hint of nervousness entered Marzipan’s voice. “Do they eat wood?” 

“Oh, absolutely,” Ingo said, eyes wide. “They’re worse than termites.”

Marzipan’s eyes widened and he shoved Warheads out of the way, beelining for the door.

“Hey!” Warheads barked.

“Nope, nope, nope! I’m out!”

“We’re not leaving yet,” Jawbreaker corrected him.

Marzipan didn’t seem to hear him, he just kept running until Liquorice, who hadn’t left his post by the door, blocked him.

“No, I’m not doing this, let me out!” He swatted away Liquorice’s appeasing hands. “There’s termite spiders and shit I’m not going back there!”

“No, you can’t go yet,” Liquorice said, so quietly that Ingo had to strain to hear him. “Captain wants our help, so we have to support him, alright?” 

He pulled Marzipan close and he struggled for a moment before leaning to the hug. They muttered reassurances and complaints respectively as Liquorice rubbed soothing circles into his back. Liquorice gently rocked them back and forth, tender and warm.

Watching them made Ingo’s chest ache and his eyes burn. 

“Hey!” Warhead jostled him. “Your Captain is talking to you. Pay attention.”

Ingo shook his head. “Sorry- I- my apologies.” He tried to refocus on Jawbreaker, but his eyes kept straying to back to the embrace. 

“I know you’re lying, Ingo.” 

His gearbox skipped a tick. “W-what? No! No, I wouldn’t.”

Jawbreaker stared at him, as immovable as a glacier. “Tell us where it really is, and nothing drastic has to happen.” 

“I- I’ve already told you.” And even now, despite the danger, Ingo couldn’t help the way his eyes wandered back to that gentle hug. He stopped himself and refocused on Jawbreaker. “That was it. There’s nowhere else it could be.” 

“What are you looking at?”

“N-nothing.” Ingo tired really hard to maintain eye contact with Jawbreaker and look nowhere else.

A triumphant smirk crept across his face. “No?” He back up a few paces and rapped against the door of a locker near the front of the room. “You weren’t looking at this?”

“N-no.” A frisson of glee ran through him at the perfect opportunity that had been handed to him. He let none of it show, and only allowed his anxiety to bleed through into his voice. “No, that’s not- I wasn’t looking there! It’s nothing.” 

“Oh? If it’s really nothing then you wouldn’t object to Warheads taking a little look, would you?”

“That’s not-“ Ingo stuttered, “what you’re looking for isn’t there. Don’t- please don’t.”

“What’s the harm? Warheads, if you will.”

There was an uncomfortable pause where nothing happened. 

Jawbreaker loudly cleared his throat. “Ahem!”

Warheads stayed rooted to the spot. Ingo shifted awkwardly. 

Jawbreaker’s mouth flattened. “Oh, for Maker’s sake. Don’t tell me you’re scared.” 

“No!” He shouted. “No way! It’s just- why can’t you do it? You’re closer! Are you scared, sir?”

“Of course not, don’t be stupid.” Jawbreaker lifted his chin. “I’m the Captain. Menial work like this is beneath me.” 

In unison, they both turned to the other members of their battalion, who were still wrapped around each other. Marzipan let out an ugly sob into Liquorice’s shoulder, babbling about the horrors of having a trillion spiders consuming him. Liquorice patted his back and narrowed his eyes at them, slowly shaking his head.  

Ingo was shoved forward by a hand on his back. “Why don’t you do it?”

“M-me?” Honestly, Ingo was fine with doing that but it would be suspicious if he didn’t show some hesitation. “B-but-“

“No buts!” Jawbreaker cut him off, “the sooner you do this, the sooner it will be over.”

“…Okay…” Ingo moved forwards with trembling hands, Warheads following behind him in silent threat. 

There was no code for this one either, Emmet kept the door to all the spare lockers unlocked so the spiders could come and go as they pleased. The door easily swung open and a hundred beady eyes turned to Ingo.  A ripple passed through the cluster as their gaze shifted from Ingo to the solider behind him. 

The cluster swarmed over Ingo, and he suppressed a giggle as their little fuzzy feet passed over him. But Ingo was only a temporary stop for them, most of them leaping off of him and onto Warheads or the floor. 

Chaos again. 

Despite Ingo having just pulled the same tick twice, this fraction of the Taffy Battalion were not any more prepared for it the second time around. Marzipan shrieked and leapt into Liquorice’s arms. Jawbreaker moved even further back than he already was, giving the explosion of arachnids a wide berth. 

Warheads leaped back and cursed, smacking spiders off himself. He stomped on the floor, aiming at the spiders even as they scuttled away.

“No!” Ingo pulled him off balance, yanking him back before he could crush any of them. “Don’t hurt them!”

“I knew it!” Warheads snarled, jabbing his finger in Ingo’s face. “You’re in league with the bugs!”

In an inexplicable complete and total failure of Ingo’s rational mind, he bit Warhead’s finger.

Warheads howled and yanked his hand back. Ingo stumbled back, covering his mouth.

Why had he done that?!

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Warheads shook his hand out. “That fucking hurt!” 

Ingo looked back at him with wide eyes, his mouth tasted like paint. Why had he done that? What was wrong with him? He was unable to say anything, even as hundreds of replies rattled around his head. Most of them went, “oh, Maker, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” and a few of them went, “shocking, it hurts to be hurt, maybe you should think about that before you attack someone,” and, “you shouldn’t harm animals just because you can.” A voice that sounded suspiciously like Emmet’s said, “you deserved that and worse. I’ll do it again, don’t fucking try me.”

Warheads advanced. “If you like vermin so much, then stay with them!”

He shoved Ingo backwards, into the locker. Ingo’s head slammed into the metal wall and he saw stars. His vision cleared just in time to see Warheads slam the locker door closed.

Ingo lunged forward as the lock clicked shut and slammed against the door.

No, no, no, no, no! 

He clawed at the lock and bashed himself against the door but it was no use. 

He was stuck.

“Let me out!”

He pounded on the door. There wasn’t even enough room to stand upright. His heels were pressed against the back wall.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Please let me out!”

He clawed desperately at the bolt holding the door shut. There needed to be a way out. He could feel the walls closing in. Shrinking smaller and smaller. “Please! I’m sorry! I’ll be good! Please let me out! Please, please, please-“

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Ingo leaped away and hit the back. It felt like the whole locker rattled from the force of someone pounding on the door.

“Shut up!”

Ingo peered through the narrow slits in the locker. “Can I come out now?”

“No,” Marzipan sighed, tried of being asked a hundred times. 

“…Please?”

“No!” There was a thunk against the door, presumably from Marzipan knocking his head against it. “Maker, for the last time, Ingo, I can’t let you out until Captain Jawbreaker comes back and gives the okay, okay?”

“Right, sorry,” Ingo mumbled. 

“I guess I could let you out early if you smiled properly, since that’s what you’re in for, but, like, let’s be realistic.”

“I could smile,” Ingo mumbled. 

“Could you?” He asked, skepticism clear in his voice. “Could you really? A good one? Right now?”

“Maybe?” Ingo squirmed uncomfortably. “I could try?”

“Yeah, that’s a no.”

“You won’t even let me try?” 

A wordless groan. 

“Please let me try, I’ll do my best, I think might really be able to do it this time! Please-“

“No! I’d have to open the door to see you, and you’d get out, and then you won’t even be able to do it! Then you won’t want to go back in if your already out and Warheads isn’t back yet so he can’t wrestle you back in, which means I would have to do it! And if I can’t do it then no one will let me hear the end of it so just shut up already!”

Ingo went silent.

For about thirty seconds. In his defence, from where he was trapped in this dark locker, it felt more like thirty minutes.

“What if-“

“Uuuhhhaarrrghh! For fucks sake! Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

“Sorry,” Ingo whispered. 

What sounded like the back of Marzipan’s head slammed repeatedly against the door. “Can’t you be quiet for five fucking minutes?! You’re giving me such a headache!”

Ingo didn’t say anything. He fidgeted in place, try to think of something besides how close the walls were or his inability to stand or stretch his legs or extend his arms or move. His breath was coming in rapid pants but he couldn’t get enough air. It felt like there wasn’t enough in here, he couldn’t breathe! His arms strained and spasmed against the door, trying to force it open but only succeeding in pressing his shoulders back against unforgiving metal. 

“Please let me out, I can’t-“

A heavy sigh. “Fine.”

“Really?!”

“On one condition!” Marzipan hastily added.

“Anything! I’ll do anything, please-“

“You stay quiet for ten minutes. I mean dead silent, I don’t want to hear a peep from you, okay?”

“Understood! I won’t make a sound!”

“You better not. If you do, I’m adding another five minutes to your time.”

“Thank you! Thank you, you’re a lifesaver, you won’t regret this-“

“Starting now!” Marzipan loudly cut him off.

Ingo shut up.

“Now this is very important. If you’re able to do this and I let you out early, when Captain Jawbreaker comes back I’m telling him you smiled well enough and I let you out because of that. That’s our story. Stick to it. We never made this deal, and don’t contradict me about the smiling, okay?”

“Of course, thank you.”

Marzipan’s voice was exasperated and deeply unimpressed. “Fifteen minutes.”

Ingo swallowed a sorry. 

He awkwardly lowered himself down, away from the thin beams of light from the outside world. He shuffled around the bottom of the locker, trying to get comfortable since he would be here for at least fifteen more minutes. It was hard to find a good position for his legs. There wasn’t enough room to sit cross legged and kneeling was too uncomfortable against the metal floor. 

He tired to readjust again, removing his feet from underneath himself, but moved too quickly and knocked his toe again the door and it rang like a gong.

“Twenty minutes.”

Ingo closed his eyes tightly and his lip wobbled. Slowly, carefully, he curled up and hugged his knees, trying to pretend he was anywhere but here.

Something brushed his cheek. 

Ingo startled out of his memory and instinctively grabbed at it.

It squeaked at him and he immediately eased his grasp on the fairy floss spider. He opened his mouth to apologise and no words came out.

He needed to apologise, he had to get over his stupid fear.

(He couldn’t! He couldn’t talk or they would keep him in here forever!)

No. No, that was ages ago. Their deal was already over. This was now. This was something else. A different situation with a spider he owed an apology to.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked out.

It chirped back.

“Are you alright?”

It chirped again and scuttled about beneath his hand. It seemed fine, aside from being trapped in here with him. Which wasn’t fair to it at all, it hadn’t done anything wrong, there was no need for it to share Ingo’s punishment.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered. 

This was all Ingo’s fault. It was his fault it was trapped in here. 

He was awful. He was so awful to them, his stupid plan had put the fairy floss spiders in so much danger. Danger they wouldn’t have been in if Ingo had just done as he was told. And for what? A piece of paper Ingo had been too selfish to let go off? Emmet hadn’t even wanted to keep it! It had only become a problem because Ingo had insisted.

Emmet was going to be so mad when he found out. 

Ingo petted the spider with trembling hands. “I’m so sorry.”

Beyond mad even, he was going to be furious. Ingo had made such a mess of everything. The vague hope that Emmet might change his mind and wind Ingo up when he found him flickered and died. He would not be helping Ingo after he bungled everything so badly, he probably wouldn’t want him around to screw everything up again. 

Endangering the spiders, embarrassing Emmet, trashing the place, letting hostiles into his home, the list just went on.

Ingo was so stupid! Why even open the door in the first place? Emmet wouldn’t knock! Maker, he’s such a moron! No one with two brain cells to rub together would make such a foolish mistake. 

Absolutely useless moron. 

He hadn’t even been able to smile when they asked. Such a simple thing and he could never manage to do it. He kept letting everyone down. 

Useless freak.

Stupid, idiotic, bumbling hunk of junk! He was a worthless waste of space, and everyone was going to be so  much better off now that he wouldn’t be around to fuck up basic tasks. He was a lying coward, who just made everything worse. He deserved this. This was all his fault! 

No one was coming to save him, nobody ever was. No one would ever want to. He was going to rot in here and everyone would be happier.

Stupid, useless, pathetic-

Something light and fuzzy tickled against his cheek. 

The spider, again. Poor thing, it was probably scared. Ingo raised his hand to pet it, and found the basic gesture difficult, like his hands were covered in weights. 

Ingo’s breath hitched.

Maker, everything was going wrong today. 

The spider was soft and fuzzy beneath his hand. Its body rose and fell with tiny breaths and its heart thrummed beneath his aching fingertips. It was so small and fragile. Trapped in here, with only Ingo for company. Only Ingo to depend on. 

He supposed he ought to do something actually helpful, instead of panicking. 

It was too quiet. He suspected that the Taffy Battalion had left at some point while he was spiralling. He should… he should try to confirm that.

He raised a hand to knock and his joints locked up before he could actually do it. He stayed like that for a bit, hand hovering in the air. Too anxious to follow through. 

It was just a knock. He was just knocking, it wasn’t that difficult. 

He stayed frozen. 

Alright. He didn’t need to knock. He could look through the small openings and try to see them instead. Yes, that sounded like a good plan. 

He carefully got to his feet and peered out.

There wasn’t much to see. The thin slits didn’t grant a large field of vision. The barracks looked the same as they did when he had last seen them. A complete mess. The only saving grace was that it didn’t look like any of the other lockers had been opened. 

He couldn’t see anyone. 

Hesitantly, he quietly knocked against the door. 

Nothing happened. 

Emboldened, he knocked again, louder this time. 

Nothing.

He hammered on the door.

Nobody came.

He really was alone then. It was… probably for the best.

He lowered himself back down again, acutely aware of how small the locker was, the way he could only move a few inches in any direction before being blocked. 

He ran a hand along the seam of the door, searching for a fault. He found the bolt keeping the door shut and tried to force it open. His hands stung. They felt raw and tender, but he kept trying anyway. Pushing and pulling and clawing and-

Squeak!

Ingo nearly jumped out of his paint. But it was only the spider on his shoulder. There was no reason to be scared. He patted it.

This was a lost cause. No getting out.

So, in summary, Ingo was trapped, at least one spider was trapped with him, he was winding down, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about any of it. 

….If there was nothing to be done about it. If this was all the time he had left then… Then he wanted to spend it thinking about something nice. 

Yes, something nice. 

He folded in on himself and tucked himself into a corner, where he couldn’t feel the opposite walls. This way, he could imagine he was in a larger space, and that he was pressed against the cold metal by choice and not necessity. If he closed his eyes he could tell himself all sorts of things that weren’t true. 

Something soft and gentle. Something warm.

A small fuzzy body nestled against the crook of his neck.

Yes, he wanted to think of something exactly like that. 

Ingo was blanketed in fuzz, desperately trying to hold still for the sake of the tiny creatures Emmet had entrusted him with.

Emmet beamed at him and added another.

Something warm curled up in his chest at the tacit acknowledgment of his good behaviour. Emmet was pleased with him. He was doing well.

Tiny feet tickled him, feeling like hundred snowflakes. He struggled not to laugh, he didn’t want to hurt them. So many lively little creatures, and none of them minded his presence. They had taken to him quite quickly. Perhaps they were happy to have found new furniture.

Emmet laughed and placed another on his nose.

It was so close it made him see double. Truly, sixteen eyes was far to many for any one creature.

“What’s wrong?” Emmet asked.

“Ah?” Ingo stammered. “Nothing is wrong. I’m happy.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Ingo looked away from the spider and up at Emmet.

“You’re not smiling.”

(No, that’s not what happened. He didn’t say that. Try again.)

Emmet laughed and placed another on his nose.

It tickled and Ingo sneezed, his whole body jerking. 

There was a horrible crunch and then silence. Spiders dropped off him like autumn leaves and didn’t move again.

“What have you done?” Emmet demanded, eyes wide and horrified. 

Ingo was frozen, he had no words. There were not enough apologies in the world for something this unforgivable.

(No! No, Maker, that was so much worse!)

Ingo shuddered and ran a fingertip along the abdomen of the spider, despite the near insurmountable difficulty of raising his heavy arm. He needed to feel it breathing. It chirped softly. 

A slow, infrequent ticking echoed in his ears.

(A different memory was needed, this one clearly wasn’t working.)

(Remember, something happy.) 

“And they all lived happily ever after. The end.” Ingo closed his book. 

Emmet did not acknowledge the end of the tale, confirming Ingo’s suspicions that he hadn’t been paying attention. 

Ingo didn’t mind though, it was hard to when Emmet seemed so relaxed. The tension he had always seemed to carry had faded away, and the ever present crease of his brow had eased. He looked so peaceful.

In a move that Ingo would never dare try outside of the bounds of his own imagination, he reached out and held Emmet’s dangling hand. 

Emmet snatched his hand back, all traces of peace gone. “What are you doing?”

“Uh,” Ingo said.

(No, no! He was supposed to be thinking about happy things. He needed to try again.)

With a trembling hand, Ingo reached out to Emmet again but he jerked back before Ingo could even make contact.

“What is wrong with you!?” He yelled, disgust and anger warping his face.

(Maker, what was wrong with him? He tasked himself with thinking of something nice and this was what his mind jumped to?) 

Emmet slapped him away like a bug.

(No wonder he hates you.)

Ingo tentatively curled his fingers around Emmet’s. 

Emmet rolled his eyes but allowed it. 

This time Ingo was the one to drop his hand and retreat, the guilt eating away at him. If Emmet didn’t want his presence then he had no right to force it.

(Maker, you’re so fucking creepy, what is wrong with you?)

“The, um, the book had pictures,” Ingo whispered. “Would you… Would you like to see them?”

“Hmmm,” Emmet sat up and stretched. “Sure, ok.” 

He knelt down beside Ingo and reached for the book. Soon they were holding it between them, fingers overlapping. 

Guilt clogged his throat. 

(…)

Ingo closed his book. “Would you…” His voice wavered, “would you ever reconsider it? Would you wind me up?”

Emmet opened an eye and watched him impassively. 

“I don’t mean to bother you, or- or upset you. I know you already said no, and I don’t want-“

“I don’t…”

“I sorry, I just… If I really needed it. And you know I’d never trouble you about it unless it was important, I don’t-“

“I- I could really use your help right now. I don’t know what else to do.”

“Please.”

Emmet shook his head. “No. Never.”

“…Okay,” Ingo quietly agreed and closed his eyes.

He didn’t move again.

…

..

.

Chapter Text

Ingo hadn’t come to patrol. Emmet had waited for him. He’d waited for ages and then decided to start on his own. He’d ended up doing the entire thing by himself and Ingo never showed up.

That was fine. Ingo could do what he wanted. Emmet skived off patrol all the time, it was fine.

It was just uncharacteristic of him, that was all. 

(It wasn’t like Emmet had been looking forward to it or anything. It wasn’t like he’d waited for hours like an abandoned puppy. If he’d known Ingo wasn’t going to show up he wouldn’t have wasted his time.)

(It was his own fault for getting his hopes up.)

He returned to the barracks and froze in the open doorway.

It looked like a war zone. 

A few of the lockers were blown open, doors swinging on their hinges. One of the benches was tipped over. The door to the office was open as well, the drawers were ransacked and all the papers that had been neatly piled on the desk were strewn on the floor. The garbage bin had been knocked over. His spiders were agitated and crawling along the walls and ceiling. 

“…Hello?” He called and it echoed back. “…Ingo?”

A few spiders chirped in response but there wasn’t a word from Ingo. A cold feeling settled like a stone in his stomach. He called again. If Ingo wasn’t here then…

He hesitantly stepped forwards into the ruined barracks. 

Something crunched under his foot and he hastily stepped back. He’d crushed something into red and white shards. A candy cane? Only a small part of one, judging by how little there was on the floor. 

How had this happened? Emmet always locked the entrance. He was even doing it right now, closing the door and locking it behind him out of sheer habit. 

(Ingo had a key. Emmet had given it to him.)

Gear Barracks had always been a safe place for Emmet. The only safe place. When Emmet returned home it always felt like a weight had been lifted, like he could finally relax. Here, he had been untouchable. 

That feeling was gone now. He didn’t think he would be getting it back.

(Ingo hadn’t shown up for patrol.) 

It was a shitty, barren, uniform place, but it had been Emmet’s. And someone had broken in and torn it up.

(Was it really breaking in if Emmet had invited him inside?)

No! Emmet shook himself. He shouldn’t make assumptions when he didn’t have all the facts. There was no proof that had happened. Ingo wouldn’t… 

(Emmet was still an easily suckered fool who had learnt nothing. Ingo had betrayed him and Emmet had made it so easy.)

Ingo was his friend. He trusted Ingo. Ingo was shy, earnest, and sweet. He said things like, “lonely together” and he meant it, Emmet knew he did!

(Or maybe Emmet wasn’t as good at spotting liars as he thought he was.) 

(Ingo had always been too good to be true.)

A clicking whistle snapped him out of his spiralling thoughts. Emmet dropped to his knees and reached towards his fuzzy babies. “Is everyone alright? Is anyone hurt?” 

Emmet was appalled by his own behaviour, getting wrapped up in his own doubts when his focus should have been on the creatures under his care. Poor little things, they had needed to endure whatever had happened without Emmet there to protect them. 

They squeaked and scuttled away from him, towards a locker all the spiders were converging on. Dread crawled up this throat. He rose to his feet and followed them.

The door was cold when he laid a hand on it. “…Here?”

They squeaked and moved back, a fluffy multicoloured halo surrounding the locker. The dread only worsened.

It was locked. 

He blinked. He never locked this one. He never locked any of the spider lockers out of fear he might trap them in there. Hesitantly, he filled in the default code and hoped that was correct. Emmet had never changed any of them, but he clearly wasn’t the only person who would have had the opportunity to do so.

He hesitantly tried the handle, and it swung open.  

A body fell out. 

Emmet screeched and leapt backwards, tripping and falling over the bench in his haste. “What is wrong with you?!” He scrambled back to his feet, hand pressed to his wildly ticking chest. “That’s not fucking funny!” 

The body didn’t move. The spiders had all scatted to the wind, except for the one perched on the body’s shoulder. 

After a few more seconds of the body not moving, Emmet’s concern won over his fear. He crept closer, careful to stay out of grabbing range. 

His eyes were closed, face smooth and peaceful, except for the downward curve of his mouth. 

“…Ingo?”

Ingo remained unresponsive. He had fallen on his side, one arm sprawled out on the ground, the other curled around his chest like a half-formed shield. 

“Ingo?” Emmet’s voice wavered. “This isn’t funny. Knock it off.” 

He nudged Ingo’s arm with his toe and hopped back when that caused his fist to uncurl. 

Emmet gasped and knelt down, all hesitance forgotten, and took Ingo’s damaged hand in his own. The paint had been scraped off of his fingertips, revealing dark wood underneath. 

(And this was such a completely inappropriate reaction considering the circumstances, but Emmet felt a pang of disappointment when he saw it. Under the paint Ingo was a rich dark brown. Maybe mahogany, or black walnut, or perhaps even ebony. Until now, Emmet had assumed Ingo was also made of birch. The same battalion, the same batch, so surely the same wood would have been used as well. It was… a bit of a blow to know that he wasn’t.)

(Emmet had wanted them to match.)

He reached over to inspect Ingo’s other hand as well and found the same thing. The paint had been chipped off. Emmet turned to the locker. It was empty now, threads dangled uselessly where webs had been. On the inside of the door, around the lock, were flakes of white paint. 

Emmet felt sick.

Someone had trapped him in there. Ingo had been so desperate he had hurt himself in an attempt to escape. 

And Emmet knew someone else had done it, because Ingo wouldn’t have been able to lock himself in from the inside. It was physically impossible. Someone else had broken in and trashed the place. Ingo had probably been trapped in there because he had tried to stop them. No wonder he had never shown up for patrol! Emmet should have known something was wrong when he was late and came home right away. Maybe he could have prevented this. 

Emmet shouldn’t have doubted Ingo. 

He pushed Ingo’s shoulder and rolled him onto his back. Emmet pressed his ear against his chest. No matter how Emmet positioned himself, he couldn’t hear the telltale ticking of a working gearbox. 

Ingo… Ingo had probably just wound down! That was an easy fix, Emmet could wind him back up! There was no other explanation for it, the damage to his hands were the only injures on his body, there was no other explanation for why his gearbox wasn’t working. So! Emmet would fix it and everything would be okay!

(But that didn’t make sense! Emmet had only been gone for a few hours! That wasn’t enough time for him to have wound down. If he was that low, why hadn’t he asked Emmet to help him this morning? Or yesterday?)

He grabbed Ingo under the arms and hoisted him up. He wasn’t heavy, but it was awkward to carry someone the same size as him. Emmet made his way over to the upright bench and sat down, dragging Ingo with him.

Ingo’s head lolled at an unsettling angle. Emmet cradled the back of his skull and, for lack of a better support, leaned him against Emmet’s shoulder. Unthinkingly, Emmet also repositioned the rest of him. He folded Ingo’s dangling arms over his stomach and adjusted his legs so that he was sitting sideways in Emmet’s lap. A pose that looked much more comfortable and natural and less like a dead body. 

Emmet spent way longer than necessary fussing over Ingo’s position, acutely aware of what the next step was and procrastinating. 

Because Ingo hadn’t asked for Emmet to do this. If fact, he had gone out of his way to avoid asking Emmet to help him. If Emmet were in Ingo’s position, he would hate it. No matter how sound the reasoning or the necessity of the act, it would be a violation. 

But Emmet couldn’t leave him like this either because that would be so much worse!

Emmet groaned and dragged a hand down his face. He had to do this. Emmet couldn’t ask for permission, so he would have to seek forgiveness later.

“I’m sorry.” 

Naturally, Ingo didn’t say anything. His resting frown was much deeper and severer than Emmet had assumed it was. Emmet hadn’t realised how much Ingo had been doing to mitigate it when he was conscious. 

Emmet hesitantly touched the cold metal of Ingo’s windup key, and flinched back like it had burnt him. 

Maker above! This was stupid. It was probably fine, most people didn’t have hang ups about this like Emmet did. It was normal. It wasn’t a big deal! Hell, if it wasn’t for Jawbreaker, Emmet probably wouldn’t have thought twice about giving Ingo the help he needed. 

Ingo was eerily still against him. He was completely helpless and vulnerable and he needed Emmet to stop stalling and help him!

“I’m verrry sorry,” Emmet said again and turned his key.

Click-click-click.

It was different, doing it for someone else rather than himself. Easier. No pain, no strain, no zoning in and out of consciousness. Just the quiet and soothing clicking. 

Click-click-click.

It was nice. He’d never wound up anyone that wasn’t himself before. Not surprising, considering that Emmet was everyone’s last choice. No one liked or trusted him enough, and frankly the feeling was mutual. Well, for most people anyway. 

Click-click-click.

Emmet wasn’t sure he was doing this right. It couldn’t possibly be that complicated but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was messing this up somehow. He went slowly, much slower than he usually went for himself, in the hopes that would make this a relatively painless experience for Ingo. 

Click-click-click.

There was… a quiet intimacy to it. Ingo had started breathing again, exhaling warm puffs against Emmet’s neck. It tickled a little, but it was a nice confirmation that Emmet had been on the right track, and that all it would take to get him up and running again was to continue winding him up. 

Click-click-click.

He still wasn’t awake — and he wouldn’t be for as long as Emmet kept winding him — but he was moving more than Emmet had thought he would. Not much, but Emmet could have sworn that Ingo shifted slightly closer, curled up a little tighter, nuzzled against Emmet’s neck with a soft sigh-

Emmet froze. 

What was he doing?! Winding Ingo up was one thing, but they- they were practically cuddling! He was in Emmet’s lap! The winding was necessary but this- this wasn’t! Not even a little bit! He hadn’t been thinking, he’d just kept holding onto Ingo even though the normal thing to do would have been to put him in front of Emmet and wind him up with minimal contact! 

Why had Emmet done this?! How would he explain it to Ingo? He was going to be revolted when he found out!

If he found out. Or was that worse? He could take advantage of the fact Ingo was still unconscious to move him away and then pretend the snuggling hadn’t happened. No, that was definitely worse. That was much worse! Ugh, he could understand why people lied so much now, the thought of Ingo being repulsed by him made his stomach turn. But-

Ingo stirred and his eyelids fluttered. 

Fuck! 

No! He was waking up! Emmet had been so busy panicking he had forgotten to keep winding and now- 

Emmet shoved Ingo off his lap.

Ingo yelped and tumbled to the floor.

Emmet wanted to hit himself. Wow, what a great idea, dumbass! Pushing him around would really endear Emmet to him! The best way to prove that the was trustworthy to was get physically violent with someone who was only semi-conscious! What a fucking charmer!

“I’m sorry!” Ingo didn’t get up from the ground, and it took Emmet a moment too long to realise that he was kneeling. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I’ll be good! I’m really sorry!”

He was bowing to Emmet, the brim of his hat nearly touching the floor, and that was so nauseatingly wrong Emmet had to fight to urge to grab him and haul him back up.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t put me back in there, I’m sorry!”

“It’s fine. You’re fine. Don’t be sorry.” Emmet scooted off the bench and lowered himself down so that he was on the same level as Ingo.  “It’s alright. Everything is okay.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Don’t- please don’t-“

“No one is going to hurt you. You are safe.” Emmet itched to reach out but restrained himself, acutely aware that he had already done more than his fair share of overstepping Ingo’s boundaries today. “Please sit up.”

“S-sorry I-“ Ingo hesitantly pushed himself upright. “…Emmet?”

“I am Emmet.”

Ingo blinked at him then looked around the room in bafflement. “Oh.”

“It’s just us,” Emmet agreed, “You are in Gear Barracks. You are safe.”

“Yes, I- I know that now.” He ducked his head, “sorry, I- I was disoriented, and- I apologise for my outburst! T-that was completely inappropriate and-“

“No need to apologise.” Emmet shuffled awkwardly. “Sorry I pushed you.”

“That was you?” Ingo’s brow furrowed, then he shook his head and laughed nervously. “We’re the only people here, of course it was you. Obviously, right, sorry. I-It’s fine- I probably deserved it anyway-“

“No. You didn’t.” Emmet clenched his fists. “You were waking up. I panicked. I am sorry. You did not deserve that.”

“Oh, s-sorry for umm… waking up, then.”

“No!” Emmet slammed his hand down on the floor between them, making Ingo jump. “Don’t be sorry! Stop apologising!”

“S-sorry!”

Emmet glowered at him.

“I-I-I mean, I’m, umm… not… sorry..?” Ingo fidgeted. “I’m… unrepentant? Unremorseful?”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m never sorry and I never apologise. I am… a hater?” 

Emmet’s lip twitched. “Ingo, please.”

“Sorry- ah! No!” He slapped his forehead. “I meant! I… I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything, Ingo.” Emmet sighed. “You especially don’t need to be sorry about waking up. That was the point. I’m glad you did.”

Ingo flushed and looked away. “…Thank you for saving me.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t do much.”

“M-maybe it wasn’t much to you, but for me... I didn’t think anyone was coming and I- I thought- I thought that you wouldn’t think I would be worth the effort.”

“What?” Emmet said, aghast. “Ingo! I would never abandon you like that!”

“Even though you would be better off without me?” His voice wobbled alarmingly. 

Emmet growled. “I would not be better off without you!”

Ingo was quiet. 

“Besides,” Emmet continued, softer now. “I would not want to be if it meant you were worse off. That would not be fair.”

“Oh,” Ingo said, really small and quiet. 

“…Is that why you didn’t ask me to wind you up?” Emmet asked gently. “You thought I would say no?”

Ingo’s eyes were glassy. “Y-you did say no.”

Emmet’s jaw dropped. “What? No! I never said that!”

Ingo shrunk back. “Y-y-you did! I-I offered to help you and you said no and then I asked if it would be okay for me and you got really mad and told me never to ask again so-“

“No! I didn’t say that! I mean, yes, that was a strong no for you winding me, but not for me winding you!” Emmet panic flailed around. “It’s different if it’s for you!”

“O-okay! Sorry! I apologise for the misunderstanding! That was my fault, I’m sorry!”

“Ingo-“ He brushed the back of Ingo’s hand and he jolted violently. 

Emmet removed himself, feeling like he’d been punched in the throat. “Sorry.”

He stared at him wide eyed, clutching the hand Emmet had touched to his chest. He looked so, so scared, and Emmet had never wanted Ingo to be afraid of him. Especially not the point where he was too frightened to asked him for basic things.

“I am Emmet. I am verrrrry sorry. For everything.” He forced himself to meet Ingo’s silver eyes. He didn’t want his apology to seem anything less than sincere. “You can always ask me for anything. Especially if it’s something you need. You shouldn’t have to go without just because I’m being a stupid jerk.”

Emmet was so blindingly angry at himself, and doubly frustrated at the lack of someone deserving to take it out on. Ingo never should have been backed into a corner like that, and Emmet was a dumbass for being so caught up in his own fears that he hadn’t even realised what he’d done. He’d failed Ingo.

He felt gross, like he had been dunked in paint. Ingo said Emmet had ‘saved’ him but it hardly counted when Emmet was responsible in the first place. It was so skeevy! To (unintentionally) create a situation where Ingo was helpless then Emmet got to sweep in at the last second and earn his gratitude (and bonus cuddles (which he still didn’t know about! Because he was unconscious!)) It felt like a million termites were crawling over him.

Emmet was the worst.

More practically, Ingo needed a way to sustain himself outside of Emmet. Loathe as he was to admit it, Emmet had proven himself unreliable at best and Ingo deserved better.

“Excuse me.” Emmet abruptly stood up.

He stormed off and was stopped by a stammering from Ingo. He paused and turned around to find Ingo midway through standing, eyes fixed on Emmet. “You stay. I’ll be back in a moment.” He smiled ruefully. “I’m not going far. I’m not even leaving the room.” 

He didn’t storm off, unlocked his locker and rummaged through it to grab a candy cane, then slammed the door shut and marched back. 

Ingo was cradling his own hand, brushing his thumb back and forth against the spot Emmet had touched with an unreadable expression.

“For you.” He held out the candy cane.

Ingo stared at it in bafflement.

He wiggled it temptingly. “It’s a gift. Take it.”

Hesitantly, Ingo reached out and gingerly took it, like he was expecting Emmet to snatch it back at the last second. “Thank you.”

“So you never completely wind down again. You can take care of yourself. You don’t need to rely on other people.”

Ingo’s gaze flicked from the stripped candy to him. “…I don’t understand.”

“For winding yourself. Like… like this.” Emmet reached behind himself in a mimicry of what he did for himself.

Ingo blankly copied him. There was a metallic clink when the cane hit his key, and it was like a spark lit up in his eyes. “Oh!”

“Right! And then…” but Emmet hadn’t needed to explain any more. A distinctive clicking sounded as Ingo gave it a tentative pull.

“That’s so clever!” Ingo gasped.

Emmet’s smile widened a little. “Thank you.”

Ingo unhooked himself and twisted the cane between his hands. “…It’s so obvious now that you’ve shown me. You must think I’m quite thick for not figuring that out myself, even though I had clues.”

“Not really. Most people don’t.” Emmet shrugged and rocked on his feet. “Honestly, it’s better to get someone else to do it. My way is a hassle. But it works when other people aren’t an option.”

“…Thank you.”

“Do you want some privacy?”

Ingo startled. “Pardon?”

“You’re not fully wound up. My bad. I messed it up. I stopped too early. Sorry.” Emmet ducked his head. “You have… about an hour? Mayyyyybe two. Tops.”

Ingo contemplated that. “…I could make that last for a day.”

“What?” Emmet flattened his smile. “By not moving? Why? Terrrrrible idea. Do it now and get it over with. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, of course. But it would better to do it now. It takes more energy than you would think.”

“…You want me to do it myself.” His voice was subdued. Emmet wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“I wanted you to have the option.”

Ingo nodded slowly. “…Alright. Thank you again.”

“Okay.” Emmet turned on his heel. “Bye!”

“W-wait! Where are you going?”

“Out.” Honestly, Emmet didn’t know. He might wander around the West Wing for a bit. Again. “I’m giving you privacy.”

He fiddled with the candy. At this rate he was going to rub the green stripes off it. “Is that… necessary?”

“No, but wouldn’t it defeat the point if I stayed?” Emmet tilted his head. “You don’t need me.” 

“…No, I suppose not. You’re right, I’m being stupid, I-“ The candy cane snapped in his hold and he flinched. “Ah! No! I- It was an accident! I didn’t do that on purpose! I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay!” Emmet held up his hands. “Ingo, it’s alright. I know you didn’t. It happens.”

Ingo fitted the two halves back together, as if that would fix it. “I’m so sorry, that was so careless of me!”

“I break them all the time too. I have spares.” Emmet said, in what he hoped was a soothing manner. “I can get you a new one.”

“What if I break that one too?”

“You won’t.”

“Y-you don’t know that, what if I do?”

“You are verrrry careful with your belongings.” Much more careful than Emmet was. “I’m sure you won’t.”

“But-“ The parts he was holding together shattered. “Shit!”

Emmet’s eyebrows shot up and Ingo slapped a hand over his mouth.

In retrospect, it wasn’t so surprising. It was just the latest and mildest in a series of signs that Ingo was verrrrry stressed right now. Cursing, breaking things, being somehow even more jumpy and apologetic than he usually was. Again, not surprising considering the state of the barracks when he came back.

“…I didn’t know you could do that.” Was what finally came out of Emmet’s mouth. 

“Sorry,” Ingo mumbled into his palm. 

“Don’t be. I swear all the time.” Emmet smiled. “You should swear more.”

Ingo frowned. “I’m not going to do that. My apologies, it was a slip of the tongue. It won’t happen again.” 

“Shame.” Emmet rocked on his feet. “Let’s take a break.” 

“Pardon? But we weren’t doing anything in the first place.”

“We’re taking a break.” Emmet pointed at the remains of the candy cane. “You should eat that.”

“…I don’t need to eat.”

“For now, we are shelving the winding conversation. Don’t worry about it.” He raised a hand to silence Ingo’s incoming protests. “You need the extra energy. Eat it.”

“Alright, but… you should have some too.” Ingo held out the half with the hook. It was the larger half. 

“Keep it. You need it more.”

There was a long pause where it looked like Ingo wanted to say something but kept thinking better of it. Emmet waited, hopeful that if he was patient Ingo would spit it out eventually. “…Please?”

“…Alright.” Emmet delicately plucked it from his hand, careful to not touch Ingo directly.

He sat down next to Ingo and snapped the cane in half like a wishbone. He took the hook began the slow process of crushing it into tiny pieces.

“…What are you doing?”

“Making it small. For the spiders. As a treat.” He smirked as his fuzzy freeloaders emerged from their hiding places. “It’s not good for them to have too much, but a little is okay.” 

His darlings were swarming around their feet, aware of what the crunching sound and sweet smell meant. Some of the more daring ones were crawling up his legs. “No!” Emmet waggled his finger. “Down.” 

They chirped unhappily but Emmet was firm. “Down.”

With a sad little whir, they got off him. 

“Verrrry good.” Emmet beamed and gave them their treats.

Ingo broke off part of his own candy and fed it to Lemondrop, who was perched on his shoulder. He winced when he did, the raw uncovered wood taking the brunt of the force.

“Feeling better?” Emmet asked after Ingo had finished eating, and the spiders had scattered.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Good.”

Ingo let out a slow, shuddering sigh. “I’m sorry. Thank you for being so patient with me, I didn’t mean to be such a bother.”

“Wasn’t a bother. You’re fine.” Emmet leaned back. The energy Ingo had gained from eating was a good first step, but it was no replacement for actually being wound up. “Do you need more time, or can we talk?”

“Sorry, we can talk.” 

“You need to be wound up again, soon.” 

“Right.”

“I could get you a new candy cane. Or... I could wind you up.” Emmet looked away self-consciously, feeling foolish about saying such an obviously unappealing option but he felt the need to include it anyway for the sake of completeness. “I can only think of these two options. I am sorry I do not have more. I know neither is great. If you have another idea, please say so.”

“Is that…” Ingo whispered, “is that really still an option?”

“Of course.” Emmet brushed himself off. “I’ll get you a new one.”

“No, not that one.” Ingo’s cheeks were pink. “The other one.”

“Huh?” Emmet blinked and pointed at himself. “You want me to do it?”

“…If that’s okay?” He wrung his hands and Emmet really wished he would stop doing that. It had to hurt. 

“Really?”

Ingo deflated. “S-sorry, we don’t have to do that, the candy cane is fine. Y-you mentioned it as an option, so-so I- I- never mind. I’m grateful for the first option, thank you.” Which was well and fine and good and maybe even true but did little to dissuade Emmet of the impression that Ingo seemed to want the first option. As if he would prefer Emmet over doing it himself. Emmet! Of all people! 

“Me?” Emmet asked, feeling simultaneously stuck and unmoored. “You want me to do it?”

“Please forget I said anything,” Ingo bowed his head. “I don’t want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable. It was thoughtless of me to suggest it.”

Emmet felt completely lost. “You trust me that much?”

Ingo paused a little too long as he processed Emmet’s words. Slowly, his eyes crinkled and the corner of his mouth pulled up into a forced near-smile. “Of course.”

“…But I pushed you.”

“…You did,” he reluctantly agreed.

“I don’t understand.” He could only stare in bafflement. “Why would you even want me near you after that?” 

“I broke your gift.” Ingo shrugged awkwardly. “Why would you entrust me with a second one?”

“That is not the same thing.”

“Isn’t it?”

Emmet spluttered. “It’s not!”

“Maybe not, but both were mistakes, so second chances are not unwarranted.” He squinted. “Haven’t we already discussed this? You know I’m not one to hold a grudge.”

“You have given me… more than two chances.” Emmet’s shoulders slumped. “Many more.” 

“If I broke the second candy cane, would you have given me a third?” 

“It’s still not the same,” he growled. “That would cost me nothing! It wouldn’t matter!”

“Wouldn’t it? Your supply isn’t unlimited. The loss of one might not phase you, but over time my clumsiness could become quite costly. You would still need some for yourself, after all.”

“Still! Not! Comparable!” He stomped his foot. “I could have hurt you! Or worse! And you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it! You wouldn’t even know. Not until it was too late.”

Ingo shrank back, his pupils narrowed into pinpricks.  

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.” Emmet took a deep breath and looked away. “I wouldn’t… I don’t want to hurt you. I really, rrrreally don’t want to.”

“It’s alright.” He spoke softly, his hands clenched around his knees. It did little to hide the tremor. “…I know you wouldn’t.”

“You don’t know that.” Emmet sank down next to Ingo and scrubbed at his face. “You have no reason to think that.”

He inched a little closer. “…I trust you.”

Emmet let out a shaky breath. “Is this really what you want?”

“You know, if you don’t want to, you can just say no,” Ingo said with a forced slanted smile. “I won’t be offended. You don’t need to indulge me.” 

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“…It is.” Ingo stared at the floor. “However, I’d never want to force you to do anything you’d be uncomfortable with.”

“I would not be uncomfortable,” Emmet said, voice tight. “I would be honoured.” 

“Oh!” His eyes shone. “Truly? It- It wouldn’t bother you?”

“Ingo,” Emmet bit back a laugh. “Have I ever agreed to something I didn’t want to do?”

“I suppose not, that does seem uncharacteristic.” Ingo said, sounding a little dazed. “Are you sure? Is this- is this a one time favour or…?”

“As often you need.” Emmet smiled. “Turn around.”

Shellshocked, he did so. 

It felt unreal. It was such a brazen declaration of unearned trust. Emmet would do his best to ensure it wasn’t misplaced. He waded through all the surrealness and unfamiliarity to reach for Ingo’s key. It was still warm from when he had been holding it earlier.

Ingo shivered.

Emmet let go immediately. “Having second thoughts?” He tried to keep his tone light. 

“Not at all.” Ingo shook his head. “Are you?”

“I’m not.” He reached out again and Ingo stayed stock-still. “Last chance to change your mind.”

Ingo didn’t say anything, frozen under his touch.

“…Ingo?” Emmet could feel the rise and fall of his chest as breathed. “Do you want to back out?”

“…Do you want to?” Ingo asked, voice small.

“No.”

Ingo let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry to keep bothering you over this, I know you hate the whole thing.”

“Not the whole thing,” Emmet muttered. “I told you. It’s different if it’s for you. Ready?”

“Yes.”

“…Alright.” 

Click-click-click.

The process still felt foreign. Not in a bad way. It was just strange. For Ingo’s sake, he tired to be slow so it would hurt as little as possible.

Click-click-click.

The tension slowly ebbed out of Ingo, and his shoulders slumped. He sighed, and his hands unclenched from the death grip he had on the edge of the bench.

Click-click-click.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?”

Ingo turned his head slightly to look at Emmet out of the corner of his eye, the silver of his iris almost glowing in the shade under his hat.

Click-click-click.

“Hmm? No, not at all.” His voice was soft and achingly wistful. “You’re really gentle.”

Click-click-click.

“You’d tell me if I was, right?”

Click-click-click.

Ingo hummed quietly in an agreeable sort of way, and his eyes slid closed.

Click-click-click.

“Ingo?” Emmet whispered, but he didn’t respond. Didn’t seem to have heard him at all. That was fast. Emmet had thought it would take longer, but perhaps his own practice of fighting to maintain awareness for as long as possible was distorting his perspective. 

It was a surprisingly meditative experience to wind someone else, not dissimilar to how winding himself sometimes felt. Time slipped away from him, and before he knew it, he had reached the end. Ingo could be wound no further. Emmet flipped his key down. 

Emmet wondered how long it would take for him to wake up. He was acutely aware of how vulnerable Ingo was, to the point where it was difficult to think of anything else. 

Fragile… was the wrong word. He wasn’t. Emmet wasn’t either. They were built with durability in mind. And yet… 

Ingo’s hands were still broken. He could see the woodwork underneath. Emmet couldn’t stop looking. Did it hurt? Was this how others saw Emmet? It must be. It was no wonder no one liked looking at him.

He reached out without thinking and only caught himself after his fingertips had touched the back of Ingo’s hand. 

Emmet ripped himself away and planted himself in the far corner of the barracks. 

He’d been given a second chance and nearly screwed it up again. Maker above, what was wrong with him? Why did he keep overstepping Ingo’s boundaries? 

Ingo might trust him, but Emmet didn’t.

It was cold.

His hands hurt a little. He was sore all over, but his fingertips were the most notable. 

The paint on the back of his hand tingled, like someone had brushed against him, even though he knew no one had. The phantom feeling was surprisingly detailed, more like a memory than a dream. 

Emmet was standing in the corner with his arms folded, his face was pinched into as close to a scowl as he could make it. His mouth was flat and downturned at the corners and his eyes were hard. His glare fixed on Ingo and he shrank down.

Emmet’s expression eased a little, into a smile too hollow to be real. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thank you.” Ingo looked away, something inside him twisting up. He shouldn’t have been so clingy, he had known Emmet had wanted nothing to do with the whole process but he had kept pushing anyway. 

“What about your hands?”

“Pardon?”

“Do they hurt?”

Ingo reflexively looked at them then curled his hands to fists. He suppressed a wince as the raw wood pressed into his palm, where Emmet couldn’t see it. “It’s nothing, I’m fine.” 

Emmet raised an eyebrow. 

“The damage is minimal and I’m still completely functional! The pain is negligible really, and- and it’s nothing that can’t be fixed.”

“You can fix it?”

Ingo nodded frantically. “I can, yes! It’s not a big deal really you don’t need to trouble yourself over it. It’s only a scratch.”

“Would you need paint for that?” Emmet grimaced. “I do not have any.”

Ingo tried to smile, “I didn’t think you would. It’s alright.”

“I could…” Emmet’s face scrunched up like he’d smelled a rat. “I could get some for you?”

“No!” Ingo yelled. “That’s not necessary! Thank you for the offer, but you really don’t have to do that, I wouldn’t want to bother you-“

“It’s no bother.”

“Please don’t.” As thoughtful and kind as Emmet was being, Ingo had no desire for a repeat incident of stealing. Not everyone was as forgiving as Jawbreaker was. What might they do if they noticed Ingo had used it? Scrape it off with interest? “Emmet, please, please don’t. There are other things I can use, it’s really not necessary.” 

“Alright. I won’t,” Emmet said, slow and measured like Ingo was a feral animal. “What would you need instead?”

“Do you still have the correction fluid?”

“The whiteout? Yep.” Emmet rummaged through his locker. He came back and glanced between the bottle and Ingo. “…Are you sure? You wouldn’t want paint instead?”

“I’m sure,” Ingo tired to smile reassuringly but Emmet only looked more worried.

“This doesn’t seem… good. It’s not…” Emmet paused as he struggled to find the right word. “I don’t like this plan. Do you really think it will work?”

“I know it will. I’ve done it before and without any complications. See?” He pointed at the back of his hand, near his wrist. It was a close colour match to his original coating and, as far as Ingo knew, no one had ever noticed the discrepancy. “Good as new.”

Emmet’s smile was still flat but he passed it over anyway. 

“Thank you.”

The cap was stuck. Ingo tried to grasp it in a way that kept his broken fingertips from touching the bottle, but he couldn’t get a good grip like that so he had to readjust. 

Emmet was watching him, tapping his foot. Ingo was wasting his time. It must be excruciating to watch him fumble a simple task so badly, just because he was afraid of a little pain. Ingo gritted his teeth and twisted the cap, brute forcing it anyway. He’d endured worse before, he could handle this. 

“Stop. Let me do it.” Emmet plucked the bottle from his weak grip and Ingo wasn’t strong enough to protest.

Emmet effortlessly opened it.

Ingo was so useless. 

“It would be hard to paint with a busted hand,” Emmet said, his voice carefully neutral but some disgust slipped through anyway. “I can do it for you.”

Ingo was pathetic. He couldn’t keep relying on Emmet to fix his problems. The amount of dept Ingo must be accruing… He didn’t like to think about it. It was already astronomical, he was never going to be able to pay it back. Especially since he brought nothing of worth to the table.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to keep imposing on you.” His voice cracked embarrassingly. “I- I can manage my own maintenance.”

“It’s fine.” Emmet sat next to him. “Hold out your hand.”

Ingo did.

The brush came near and Ingo couldn’t help flinching back.

“I need you to stay still.” He paused and then added. “Please.”

“Right, right, sorry.”

It stung and Ingo didn’t flinch or wince. It was cold and tacky and Emmet was using too much pressure.

“Ingo-“

“I’m sorry!” He was trembling and he grabbed his own wrist to force himself to stop. “I’m sorry! I’m trying, I really am!”

“Can I touch you?”

“What?”

Emmet’s jaw clenched and he glared at the ground. He set down the bottle and gestured to at Ingo. “Can I?” 

“O-of course, go ahead.” His face flushed with mortification at his misunderstanding. Obviously Emmet was asking if Ingo was ready to go ahead with the painting, or if he was going to keep messing around. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stop you, I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Emmet said, and folded his fingers around Ingo’s. 

His hand was warm. 

He was coarser than the other toy soldiers, nothing at all like their glossy and smooth exteriors. He felt… more stable. Less likely to slip away. More real.

“Ingo?”

His eyes snapped up to Emmet’s wobbly smile. His grip loosened a little.

“This was the easiest way to keep you still, but we can think of something else.” His voice was soft. “Are you okay?” 

Ingo nodded rapidly. 

They were holding hands!

Or Emmet was holding his hand, and Ingo wasn’t supposed to move. But, if he crooked his fingers a little, they curled around Emmet’s thumb. Which had to count, at least a little, as reciprocation. 

They were holding hands!

“…You’re smiling,” Emmet whispered with the same awed shock Ingo had heard once before. 

Ingo slapped his free hand over his mouth. He could feel the downturned curve of his mouth the same as he always did. But if Emmet said he had seen it then Ingo believed him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you self-conscious.”

“I c-c-can’t-“ Ingo sucked in an uneven breath. “I c-can’t do it on c-command, I’m s-sorry, I’ve tired! I really have tried! But- It’s not- I can’t control it! I swear I can’t!”

“I know.” Emmet gently squeezed his hand. Ingo’s hand. That he was still holding. They were still holding hands!

“Uh,” Ingo said. “B-but I- umm… what? You knew?”

“Yep.” Emmet held up the brush. “Ready?”

“Right, yes, sorry. Go ahead.”

Emmet applied the substitute paint. 

A strangled whine built up in his throat. Everything was so much right now. The sting of the whiteout, Emmet’s hand over his, the bright lights overhead. Even normally innocuous things, like the scuttling of spiders, grated on him. 

“Sorry,” Emmet said softly. “Did that hurt?”

“No. It’s fine.” He blinked rapidly. “How long have you known?”

“Known what?’ Emmet asked distractedly, already moving on to the next finger.

“That I could smile.”

“Since the first day. You smiled when I said this was your home.” Emmet’s eyes softened. “You have a nice smile.” 

Ingo was a little lightheaded, but he wasn’t sure if it was from relief or fear. He’d made the same stupid mistake twice without even realising it. “So you’ve always known that I’m a fraud.”

Emmet paused. “What?”

“I could smile all the time but I don’t. I’m too weak. I don’t- I don’t practice enough a-and it hurts to keep up, so I don’t, even though I know I should.”

Emmet let go of him to screw the cap back onto the bottle. His hand felt so much colder without him holding it.

“If I was just…” He spread his arms, searching for the word, “better. I could be normal but I’m not. And it’s not that I’m not making an effort! I am, I swear I am, but it’s never enough!” He sighed. “I’m sorry. I know that’s not a good excuse, I’m being lazy. I just need to try harder. It’s my own fault that I’m such a freak.”

He reached up to scrub at his face. Emmet lurched forward and grabbed his wrist. “Careful!”

Ingo stared at him, stunned. 

His eyes flicked away. “The whiteout isn’t dry. Don’t touch anything.”

“Sorry,” Ingo croaked.

“It’s not your fault. It’s unreasonable to expect you to smile all the time. It’s not fair to you.”

Ingo didn’t have anything to say to that. 

“You don’t have to smile just to appease other people. You’ve done nothing wrong. They’re jerks. Bullying you for something you can’t control.”

“But I should be able to control it. Everyone else can.”

“That’s not fair. You’re not built like they are. It’s harder for you. You did your best. It didn’t work out. That’s not your fault. It’s just how you are.”

Breathing was suddenly extremely difficult.

“I am Emmet. I like when Ingo frowns. I like when Ingo smiles too. I want Ingo to be comfortable.” Emmet was rubbing small circles with his thumb. “Don’t worry so much. It doesn’t matter how you look.”

“It does matter,” he croaked.

“Not to me.”

It would honestly be easier if Emmet was being mean. He knew how to handle that. He had no idea what the appropriate response was to whatever this was supposed to be. However, he was fairly sure that it wasn’t throwing himself at Emmet and sobbing into his shoulder. So Ingo bravely refrained. 

Emmet let go. “Do you need another break, or should I continue with your repairs?” 

“You can continue.”

“Okay,” Emmet smiled. “We can do that. But it would also be okay if you took a break instead.”

“I know, but it’s best to do it now. I’m afraid time is a factor, the sooner repairs are completed, the more effective it will be. I see no reason to delay.” Ingo was also a little worried that if he got enough downtime to process things, he might curl up into a little black hole of mortification and never return. Or implode. So it would be nice to be fixed before either of those things happened. 

“If you’re sure,” he shrugged and unscrewed the bottle again, then held out his hand.

Ingo automatically reached back, then pulled back at the last second, looking to Emmet for confirmation. It seemed like he was initiating the hand holding again, but maybe Ingo was being presumptuous.

“Changed your mind?”

“N-no, it’s just- I- I’m not sure if I should- do you want me to…?”

“What?” Emmet’s eyes narrowed. “Am I too gross for you?”

Ingo jerked back. “No! I’m sorry! I-I didn’t mean to imply anything! That’s not what I meant!”

Emmet closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. “It’s fine. We don’t have to touch. You will need to hold still on your own.”

“I’m sorry, you’re not gross, t-that’s not why I hesitated!”

“It’s fine!” Emmet snapped, clearly not fine. “I get it, you don’t need to explain yourself.”

“I just- I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to-“

“Of course you’re allowed!” Emmet threw his arms up. “You can do what-“

Ingo grabbed his hand in both of his. Emmet froze. 

“Ingo,” he said sharply. 

It wasn’t an outright command to let go, but there was definitely an implication that he had done something wrong. Should he let go? Or would Emmet take that as confirmation that Ingo found him repulsive? Ingo clung on. 

“You don’t have to do that. You can let go.” Emmet tugged his hand back, Ingo held on tighter. “It’s nice of you to try and spare my feelings, but I already know. You don’t need to do this to yourself.”

The back of Emmet’s hand was rougher than the front, which had been sanded down by time. Ingo wondered if he would be able to tell if Emmet was left or right handed solely by the smoothness of his palms. “I don’t think you’re gross. I like holding your hand.”

“You don’t need to lie.”

“I’m not!”

Emmet tried to bury his face in his hands, and was only partially successful. “Look. I’m sorry for freaking out. You don’t want to be touched. That’s fine. I shouldn’t have pushed.”

“I never said that was what I wanted.”

“You didn’t need to.”

“I’m afraid my body language has never been a particularly accurate indicator of what I think.” Ingo gingerly reached out and tugged at Emmet’s wrist. “May I?” It was barely even a suggestion, but Emmet allowed him to lower it away from his face until Ingo was holding both of his hands. “I’m sorry that’s the impression I’ve give you, the truth is the complete opposite.”

He couldn’t believe that Emmet was letting him do this. He stared at their intertwined fingers and ran his thumb along the metal joints of his knuckle. Emmet was left handed. 

“…It really doesn’t bother you.”

“Of course not.” Ingo tried to smile to show his sincerity. “Why would it?”

Emmet hunched his shoulders and mumbled something.

“Pardon?”

Emmet scowled at the floor. “…it’s not a nice texture.”

Ingo suspected that wasn’t exactly what he had said the first time.

“It’s different,” Ingo conceded, “but that doesn’t make it bad.”

He untangled one of their hands, and Ingo didn’t fight it this time. Emmet repositioned himself and tapped each of his newly covered fingertips in turn. Ingo didn’t feel much, as those parts had gone numb. It was a good sign that it would soon be integrated the rest of his paint. “It’s dry.”

“So it is.” That was one of the few benefits of choosing correction fluid over actual paint.

Emmet looked at his own hand for any stray whiteout. There was none. “How do you feel?”

Ecstatic, but he knew that wasn’t the answer Emmet was looking for. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.” The hand that hadn’t been painted yet was still a little sore, but that was beside the point.

“Good.” Emmet sighed. “I felt like… I was hurting you. With the paint.”

“It wasn’t that bad. I’m extremely grateful for your help.”

“I didn’t feel like I was helping.” Emmet’s grip had become uncomfortably tight. “…Can I ask you a weird question?”

“Of course!” Ingo would agree to anything if it meant Emmet would keep holding his hand. 

Emmet’s death grip was at odds with the evenness of his tone. “If you had the chance to fix me, would you take it?”

This was a test. An extremely important one, judging by the seriousness of his voice. Ingo panic squeezed Emmet’s hand and he loosened his grasp, having just noticed that he was crushing Ingo. “By fixed, do you mean…?”

“I would be normal. I would look like everyone else.”

There was a right answer here. Unfortunately, Ingo had no idea what it was.

It would make Emmet’s life easier if Ingo said yes. He would no longer have to face the scorn of their peers. It’s what Ingo would want, if he was in Emmet’s position. He would snatch it up without a second thought. Acceptance, normalcy, it would all be within reach. 

But what if Emmet took that to mean that Ingo didn’t like him as he was? If Ingo agreed, wouldn’t he be reinforcing the idea that Emmet was ugly and repulsive to the touch? That wasn’t why he would be choosing that at all! He liked defective Emmet just as much, if not more, than he liked hypothetical ‘normal’ Emmet! If he changed Emmet, it would be solely for Emmet’s wellbeing, not out of any preference on Ingo’s part!

But if Ingo said no, then Emmet would miss out on the chance for a better life. One that might never come by again. Ingo would have doomed him to an eternity as an outcast. And for what? Would Emmet assume Ingo had chosen out of selfish desire? If Ingo couldn’t be fixed, then neither could Emmet? Would he accuse Ingo of not caring at all about Emmet, because only someone who didn’t care would decide so cruelly? Would Ingo get a chance to explain himself? Would Emmet even believe him? 

If Ingo answered yes, then it would suggest that he didn’t like Emmet as he was. If Ingo answered no, then he would not be looking out for Emmet’s best interests. Normally, Emmet’s health would take precedence over his feelings, but this was a hypothetical question. He was fairly certain that Emmet did not possess a real way to fix his defect. Any harm done would be purely theoretical, but his hurt feelings would be very real. But wouldn’t theoretically choosing to harm him not also hurt his feelings?

Was there a right answer? Were both wrong? Was there a third option he was supposed to pick? What could it possibly be? What did Emmet want?

Ingo was far too stupid for these kinds of tests. It was such a simple question, but he wasn’t smart enough to figure out the correct answer. He was going to pick wrong and Emmet was going to hate him!

“Take your time.” Emmet squeezed his hand. “There’s no rush.”

“Why am I picking?” Ingo blurted out.

“Hmm?”

“I-It’s your life, shouldn’t you be the one to decide?” 

“Yep!” Emmet beamed at him. “I should be! But, ah, hmm… Let me think.”

Ingo waited. Had that really been the correct answer? Were there more questions? 

“She said you have to pick, or the magic doesn’t work.” 

“W-what? Who is she?” Since when was there a third person in this scenario?

“Fairy godmother.”

“Pardon?!” Ingo yelped. “Can you elaborate?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’d like to hear it.”

“Ok. Imagine. Our fairy godmother shows up. She can turn me normal. But because of how her magic works, you have to pick, not me.” He shook his head. “Sorry. I lied. It was a short story.”

Ingo tilted his head, trying to wrap his head around the lore Emmet’s question apparently had. “Would it be against the rules of her magic for me to ask what your preference would be?”

Emmet watched him carefully. “I would stay the same. My answer is no.”

“Then I would tell her no as well,” Ingo said immediately, grateful he had been handed the right answer.

Emmet smiled, small and uncertain. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, this decision would affect you the most.”

“Thanks.” Emmet’s grin took on mischievous tilt. “She also said you could choose to give me laser eyes instead.”

Ingo raised an eyebrow. “…Do you want laser eyes?”

“Yep!”

Ingo couldn’t help but laugh. “Sure, why not.”

“Yay!” He swung their linked arms, then leaned in conspiratorially. “If she asked me, I would also say no for you, and give you laser eyes instead.”

“Thank you, but, ah… Would it be alright if I preferred to be normal instead?”

His smile dimmed. “Is that really what you would want?”

Ingo tugged his hat down. “Well…” 

“You shouldn’t pick just to appease those assholes. You’re already perfect.”

Ingo’s breath hitched. “That’s kind of you to say.” Maybe Ingo was dreaming. Maybe he had never woken up.

“I mean it. Anyone who says otherwise is an idiot.” 

“Then I must be quite stupid.” Emmet’s hand was warm in his. He really was the nicest person in the world. “Because I’ve never liked the way I look.”

“…Oh,” Emmet said, crestfallen. 

“I wish I was easily able to express myself, the way everyone else can. I don’t like coming across as bitter, or angry, or whatever. I don’t…” He swallowed. “I wish I wasn’t like this.”

“I still think that if they didn’t try to understand you, then they’re an asshole who doesn’t deserve your friendship. But…” He looked away. “If that was really what you wanted, I would support you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Emmet sighed. “If it made you happy.”

Ingo tried to speak past the lump in his throat. “Thank you.” 

“Well, don’t thank me just yet. It’s all hypothetical, I don’t actually have the power to change you.”

“I am aware, I’m just grateful you were willing to listen to me prattle on.”

“No worries. You listened to me.” 

Ingo didn’t know what he’d done to earn someone as wonderful as Emmet in his life. There was no way he deserved this. He must have done well on Emmet’s test. This was the first one he had passed with flying colours.

“You don’t have to tell me now, if you aren’t ready.” Emmet truly did seem unbothered either way. “But what happened while I was gone?”

Ingo’s gearbox skipped a tick.

“It can wait as long as you need.”

“No,” Ingo said, “you deserve to know.”

“I do like knowing things,” Emmet said amiably, “but don’t stress yourself.”

“Do you remember when you stole my possessions back?”

The smile slipped off Emmet’s face. “Shit.”

“Well, they, um… The Taffy Battalion wanted it back.”

“Oh, fuck. Ingo, I’m so sorry.”

“It was my fault really,” Ingo mumbled. 

“No!” Emmet shouted. “It’s not! I stole it! I thought they would come after me for it, not you!”

“No, you don’t understand-“

“I wanted to do something nice for you! I didn’t think… Maker, Ingo, I’m so sorry.”

“They took it because I wouldn’t smile!”

“What?!”

“Captain Jawbreaker tries to train me to s-smile more, s-so I can pass as normal. A-and when I c-c-can’t do it he h-has to punish me so I learn. He would have given it back at a-any point if I just smiled for h-him.” He pressed the heel of his palms into his eyes. He couldn’t look at Emmet. “You didn’t need to s-steal it, I’m s-sorry.”

“That bitch.” Emmet seethed.

“I’m s-sorry!” Ingo curled up, tremors wracking his body. “I couldn’t do it! I tried, I really did! Captain Jawbreaker gave m-me another chance to earn it back when they came here, but I couldn’t-“

There was a pressure on his wrists, and Ingo let his arms be pulled down to reveal Emmet kneeling in front of him. “Jawbreaker is a selfish jackass who wouldn’t admit he was wrong if his life depended on it.” 

“H-he was just trying to help me.”

“He was trying to help himself,” Emmet spat. “He doesn’t actually care if it hurts you.”

“B-but he’s right! I can do it, I’m just not trying hard enough!”

“How is harassing you helpful? You only smile when you’re happy, of course you couldn’t do it then.”

“I-I should- I should be able to-“

“No. He was being unreasonable, it’s not your fault. It’s his. And mine. But mostly his!” Emmet was frowning, truly, genuinely frowning. He looked a lot like Ingo when he did that. “It’s not your fault, is the point. I’m sorry, Ingo, I didn’t think.” He tilted his head. “…Did he ever find out it was me?”

“No!” Ingo shouted, then forced himself to calm down. “No, I never told him.”

Emmet tapped anxiously against his hand. “I wouldn’t be mad if you did.”

“I didn’t, I swear I never said a word!”

“You should have. It’s the truth. I always intended to take the blame if we got caught.” 

“I would never throw you into the line of fire like that.” Ingo bristled. “Especially not when you did it to help me in the first place.”

“Well, it wasn’t helpful at all, was it?” Emmet snapped. “All I did was cause more trouble for you. Then you lost everything again anyway…”

“I… I don’t think I did.”

Emmet paused. “No?”

Ingo pushed himself up. “Let me check. They were scared of the spiders, I don’t think they would have opened any more after, umm… after the first two.”

Tragically, Emmet had let go of him so Ingo had both hands free to input the code and open his locker. Everything was still there, untouched since the last time he had seen it. 

“Huh,” Emmet said. “So they just gave up? How did you do that?” 

“I considered letting them take everything so they wouldn’t hurt me, but then I realised that I couldn’t allow that to happen.” Ingo pulled out his book of fairytales from the back of his locker.

“You did?” Emmet couldn’t conceal the surprise in his voice. “That’s verrry brave of you, Ingo, but why…”

Ingo extracted a sheet of paper held together by tape from the inside of the cover, he had stored it there so it wouldn’t get crushed. “Because they would find this. And I promised you I’d keep it safe.”

Emmet stared at the paper in horror. “…What?”

Ingo offered it to him. “W-well, it would lead back to you, a-and they w-wouldn’t be nice about the contents so…”

“You got hurt…” Emmet continued to look at the sheet like it had scrapped his whole family. “Because you were protecting me?”

Ingo lowered it uncertainly. This wasn’t the reaction he had been hoping for. Which was stupid, it was his fault it was still around to cause problems in the first place, why would Emmet have any praise for him after that? 

“I’m sorry, you were right, I should have let you destroy it-“

Emmet snatched it out of his hands and threw it to the floor. 

“No!” He couldn’t stop his knee-jerk reaction to reach for it, even though Emmet could do whatever he wanted to it, and Ingo would have no right to stop him. 

The wind was knocked out of him when Emmet tackled him. Ingo recoiled but it was too late, he was trapped! An involuntary whimper left him. It didn’t hurt, Emmet wouldn’t hurt him, he was just being restrained so he couldn’t go after the little story. 

Emmet’s arms tightened around him. “I’m sorry, Ingo,” he mumbled, his breath warm and ticklish against his neck. 

And wasn’t that nice of him? To apologise when he hadn’t even hurt Ingo, just scared him a little. He could feel Emmet’s gearbox ticking against his chest. 

He couldn’t decide if he wished Emmet had used a different position to restrain him, or if he was grateful. It was too much like a hug to be fully comfortable. 

“You don’t need to protect me.” Emmet patted his back. “I can take care of myself.”

Oh.

This was a hug. 

“I’m just so glad you’re okay!” Emmet turned his head and their cheeks rubbed together. Emmet was rough and warm and practically shouting right in his ear, and something about that made Ingo’s eyes go blurry. “If anything happened to you because of me…”

So… did Ingo do good then? He did what he was supposed to? He was getting a lot of mixed signals. Emmet still seemed a tad upset with him, but a hug couldn’t be anything less than a reward…

Should Ingo do something? Hugging was… reciprocal, wasn’t it? And Emmet had been quite upset before, when Ingo had hesitated to take his hand earlier. 

He tentatively raised his arms and nobody stopped him. Slowly, keeping his touch light, he wrapped his arms around Emmet until his fingers brushed against cold metal.

“No!” Emmet flinched. “Let go! Let go!” 

Ingo had already jerked backwards. “Sorry! I’m sorry!”

Emmet leaned against the locker for support, his smile strained. “It’s fine. You’re fine. Don’t touch my key. I can’t-“

“I’m really sorry, I should’ve known better.” Ingo wrung his hands together. “I won’t hug you again, I’m so sorry!”

“No, I didn’t say that.” Emmet reached out and took his wrists and gently tugged his hands apart. “The hug was nice. I liked that part. Here, let me try again.”

He coaxed Ingo closer, guiding his arms over shoulders and around his neck. Ingo was still like a mannequin, going where Emmet moved him with no resistance. “Better?” 

Ingo was stiff in his arms. “…Are you sure this is alright?”

“Yep.” He gave Ingo a little squeeze and he squeaked. “As long as you stay up there and avoid my key, I have no problems.”

“Okay, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Emmet said shortly.

Ingo didn’t dare move after that. This hug was already much more awkward than the first. It was still nice though. Emmet smelled like wood shavings and cotton candy. 

Emmet hummed idyll and rubbed circles into Ingo’s back. He sniffled and tucked his face into the crook of Emmet’s neck. Closer to his joints Emmet’s scent had a sharper, metallic tang. 

For a moment Ingo thought Emmet was trembling, then realised it was himself. 

“Oh, don’t-“ Emmet hugged him tighter. “I’m sorry, do you want to stop?”

“No,” Ingo gasped. “No, it’s fine. My apologies, I’ll pull myself together, I didn’t mean to-“

He rocked them back and forth, in a way that was probably meant to be reassuring but came across as panicked instead. “No, no, you’re okay. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed into Emmet’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise!” Emmet squished him.

“Okay,” Ingo mumbled. “Thank you.”

At some point Ingo’s knees gave out and they both sank to the floor. They desperately clung to each other in the ruins of the barracks.

They stayed like that for a long time.

Chapter Text

Emmet happily swung their arms back and forth as they walked in sync. The amount of physical contact between them had gone up dramatically, most notably how they had made a habit of holding hands while on patrol.

Thump!

Emmet dragged them both to a halt. There was another bang and a crash, like something heavy and made of glass had been knocked over. It came from above them. The abandoned tower?

He and Ingo exchanged a glance. 

Together they moved up the steps, creeping quieter than a fairy floss spider. The steps ended in a landing, across from a ladder. Above them, the sound of footsteps and voices grew more distinct.

In all his time guarding the West Wing, nothing like this had ever happened. It had been mind-numbingly uneventful. Such a long stretch of nothing, and now everything was happening all the time. It was ridiculous! He wouldn’t trade Ingo for the world, of course, but he didn’t think getting a break would be too much to ask for.

He climbed up the ladder and glanced down, only to be startled by Ingo tailgating him. He was so quiet, Emmet hadn’t even noticed that he had also gone up the ladder instead of waiting at the bottom. 

Ingo tilted his head, eyes flicking to the trapdoor above them.

Emmet held up three fingers.

Two.

One!

Emmet threw open the trapdoor with a crash and leaped into the room. Dumbasses hadn’t even bolted it shut or anything. 

“Halt!” Emmet shouted. “In the name of the Queen, you’re under arrest or whatever.”

The dumbasses in question, two toy soldiers, whipped around to stare at him, dropping the dressing table they had been hauling upright. Disappointing; Emmet had been expecting rats or something. 

Marmalade deflated when he saw Emmet, pressing a hand to his chest. “Maker above…”

“Oh,” Cherry folded his arms. “It’s you.”

Well, Emmet wasn’t thrilled to see them either. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you—“

“Knock it off,” Cherry scoffed. “You don’t have the authority to arrest us.”

“Bold words for someone caught breaking and entering.”

“What?” Marmalade spluttered. “Excuse you, we’re here on a job, what’s your excuse?”

“Also my job!” Emmet threw up his hands. “I’m on patrol here!”

“Excuse me,” Ingo poked his head up through the trapdoor, so that only his eyes were visible. “Do you… know each other?”

“Unfortunately,” Emmet and Cherry said at the same time, then glared at each other, resentful about agreeing on anything. 

“Who are you?” Marmalade stared at Ingo, wide-eyed.

“Oh, my apologies.” Ingo clambered up to stand beside Emmet and tipped his hat. “I’m Ingo, of Gear Battalion.”

“Marmalade, sixth of the Marshmallow Brigade.” He clicked his heels together and saluted. 

“Cherry, fifth of the Marshmallow Brigade.” He eyed Ingo with a calculating gaze. “So, you’re the unfortunate sucker that got paired up with Null?”

“I am Emmet!” He paused and then added, “of Gear Battalion.”

“Emmet and I are on patrol here, it’s unusual to bump into anyone else.” Ingo breezed past the obvious hostility like he hadn’t heard it. “You say you’re here on a job? Perhaps we can be of some assistance.”

Cherry’s nose wrinkled. “We don’t need your help.”

Good. Emmet didn’t want to help him.

“Are you certain? As the guards of the West Wing, we know the place well.” Ingo glanced around at the mess the room had become. “Are you looking for something?”

“Someone, actually.” Marmalade shook his head. “The princess has gone missing.”

“Oh dear!” Ingo paused. “…Is it the Sugar Plum Fairy, or…?”

“It was her, naturally,” Marmalade sighed. 

“So? She runs off all the time. What’s the big deal?” Emmet tapped his foot. “The generals have never sent anyone to investigate the West Wing before.”

“That’s the thing!” Marmalade leaned forward. “She always leaves a note when she runs away, but this time? Nothing!”

“Sure, take your time to gossip with the freaks, why don’t you,” Cherry rolled his eyes. “It’s not like we’re on an important mission or anything.”

“What? They might have seen something! Or would you rather we search all of the West Wing ourselves? This could save us a lot of time.” Marmalade turned back to Ingo. “And that’s not the only thing; the Pine Battalion found rat prints in the garden!”

“You think she was kidnapped?” Ingo had a hand on his chin, deep in thought, in a pose that conveniently covered his mouth. 

“The generals have cause to believe it.”

Ingo’s brow furrowed. “I’m afraid we haven’t seen anything. There have been no signs of fairies nor rats in the West Wing. I doubt they came through here; Emmet and I have been on patrol all morning. I think we would have noticed something like that.”

“The only thing out of place has been you two.” Emmet crossed his arms. “Why did you knock over the dressing table anyway? Thought there was a rat behind it or something?”

Marmalade laughed sheepishly and rubbed his neck, glancing at the shattered mirror on the ground. “Aha, yeah, funny story about that…”

“Shut up,” Cherry hissed. 

“—bit of an accident—“

Cherry elbowed him. “I said shut up!”

Emmet snorted. 

Cherry rounded on him. “Oh, you think that’s funny, do you?”

Emmet shrugged. “A little, yeah.”

“Because you’ve never broken anything, have you?”

Emmet bristled. “That was not my fault.”

“If you weren’t such a klutz—!”

“You shouldn’t have pushed me!”

“As if you had any right to touch Cocoa’s mirror with your filthy fucking hands!” Cherry stormed over and got right in his face.

Marmalade grabbed his arm, “Cherry, wait—“

Ingo tried to tug Emmet back, “h-hold on, I’m sure this is all just a misunderstanding—“

Emmet didn’t back down. “You can’t push me around and then blame me for all of your problems!”

“You ruin everything!” Cherry howled and shoved him.

Emmet stumbled back then rushed forward, ramming into Cherry and knocking him to the floor. Cherry recovered quickly, shooting to his feet and unsheathing his sword. “You walking scrapheap, I’ll kill you!”

Ingo cringed back, inexplicably trying to push Emmet behind him. “W-wait, wait, please don’t—“

Emmet grabbed Ingo’s sword and leaped in front of him. “Stay back!”

That gave Cherry pause, presumably surprised to see that Emmet had a weapon at all.

A hushed silence descended upon them, a sudden stalemate. 

“Ooookay,” Marmalade had raised his hands up in a show of surrender. “Cherry, take a deep breath, and count down from ten—“

“I don’t need to count!” he shrieked and lunged at Emmet. 

A harsh crack sounded through the air as their swords collided, nearly overpowering Ingo’s scream.

Cherry struck hard and fast, and it took everything Emmet had just to parry his blows. Despite his best efforts, Cherry managed to sneak in a cheap shot at his side. Their swords were blunt, so it wasn’t anything to worry about, but it still stung like a bitch. 

Emmet had grown rusty. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Marmalade sliding up to Ingo. “Aha, sorry you had to see that—“

Emmet blocked a swing that reverberated down his arms. 

“—Cherry’s been in a bit of a bad mood all day—“

Cherry let out a primal scream and tried to bash Emmet’s skull in with his sword hilt.

“—and seeing Null was kind of the last straw. You know how it is.”

Emmet ducked under and backhanded Cherry while he was off balance, sending him staggering back. Cherry shook off the blow and snorted, then geared up to bull rush him. Emmet slid into a defensive stance and braced for impact.

He gritted his teeth as Cherry bore down on him, his footsteps thundering and his blade blurring—

“Look out!”

Something grabbed Emmet and yanked him sideways. Cherry hurtled past him and plummeted down the still open hatch. 

Everyone winced at the crash of his body hitting the floor. Ingo continued to cringe at each and every successive thud as Cherry tumbled down the stairs.

“…Sorry…” Ingo mumbled.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Marmalade hopped down the ladder. “Cherry! Are you alright?”

Emmet kicked the trapdoor closed, cutting off Cherry’s slew of curses, and bolted it shut. 

“…Emmet?”

He ignored Ingo and dragged the dressing table over the hatch, barricading them inside. One of the legs had snapped off, the wood rotted through, explaining how they managed to accidentally knock over such a heavy thing. 

Glass crunched beneath his feet, a hundred fragmented Emmets shattering into smaller and smaller pieces, littering the ground like gleaming paint flakes. 

“Emmet?” Ingo was kneeling next to him. When had Emmet sat down? “Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

“I… I need a minute.”

“Take all the time you need,” Ingo said. “Would you like a hug?”

Emmet nodded jerkily. 

He was gently gathered up in Ingo’s arms and he laid his head against Ingo’s chest to hear the ticking. As he listened, he could feel his own gearbox slow down until they fell into sync. The air didn’t smell like woodsmoke, but rather faintly sweet, like his spiders.

Ingo carefully avoided his key, as he always had since that first slip up. He stroked the back of Emmet’s head, from just below his hat down to his neck. 

Emmet peered up at Ingo. He caught Emmet looking and his eyes crinkled. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Emmet croaked. 

“How are you feeling?”

Emmet considered that, then shrugged. “Fine. I’m not hurt.”

Ingo hummed. Emmet could feel the vibrations. He hummed back. 

He wasn’t hurt. He mostly felt completely worn out, and bad about making Ingo coddle him until he calmed down. He normally skipped this tower on patrol, but Ingo didn’t like it when they cut corners.

“You know,” Ingo said conversationally, “I’ve always thought this room was a little strange.”

“Huh?”

“Well, it’s quite a nice place, isn’t it?” Ingo idly patted Emmet. “And the, ehm, remaining furniture seems to be of high quality.”

The dresser was old, but it was also pretty fancy, as far as Emmet could tell. It was intricately carved, and the mirror frame was engraved. The empty bed frame had four posters, and probably supported curtains at one point.

“But there are bars on the window.”

Emmet had always assumed it was a safety feature. The window was big enough for Emmet to jump out of, but with the bars in place, he could only fit an arm through. 

“I’ve always wondered… why would a prisoner be treated so well?”

Emmet shrugged. “Maybe it’s not for prisoners?”

“But then why bar the window? I haven’t seen any areas of the castle that have such an attribute.”

Emmet squinted. “Really? I feel like I’ve seen that somewhere else…”

“Truly? Where?”

He racked his brain. “…The dungeon?”

Ingo snorted and hugged him a little tighter. “I’m afraid you’re proving my point, Emmet.”

He grumbled, but let himself be squished. “Does it matter? Whoever lived here, they’re long gone now.”

“I suppose it doesn’t.” He shifted slightly. “Sorry, I was just making conversation.”

“It’s fine.” The tips of Ingo’s fingers were tackier than the rest of his glossy coat, despite being fully dry. Emmet should have pushed for getting real paint, instead of letting Ingo settle on a worse option. Oh well, it was too late now. “Sorry I stole your sword.”

“Oh, um, that’s fine. No worries.” Ingo swallowed. “Can I ask you a question?”

“I’ll give it back,” Emmet promised. 

“T-thank you, but, ah, that, um…”

“Not the question?”

Ingo ducked his head, jostling Emmet’s hat. “Sorry.”

“Go on, then.” 

“Why don’t you carry your own?”

“Don’t have it anymore.” Emmet stared out the barred window. “…Burnt.”

Ingo gasped. “What? I’m so s—“

“Don’t say sorry.”

“That’s horrible!” Ingo amended. “What a terrible thing to happen to you!”

Emmet shrugged. “It was a long time ago.” 

“Would you like to have mine?”

Emmet jolted. “Huh?!”

Ingo’s blush circles, which had only been a few shades pinker than the rest of his face, started to go rosy. “I-I mean, it’s not like I use it much anyway and—“

“Ingo. I’m not stealing your sword.”

“It wouldn’t be stealing! You have my permission, so I’d be…gifting it to you.”

Emmet poked him. “It’s yours. I’m not taking it.”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be for forever! You could just… hold onto it for a bit. You’d be borrowing it. For an extended period of time with no deadline.”

“Ingo.”

“D-do you not like it? Then… I- I can find you something better!”

“Maker above, that’s not what I meant.” Emmet knocked his head against his shoulder. “It’s a nice sword. I like it.”

“So you’ll take it?”

“I didn’t say that either.”

“Why not?”

Emmet didn’t know how he could make it any clearer. He unsheathed the sword and held it out for Ingo. “It isn’t mine to take.” 

Ingo gently pushed it back. “Isn’t it mine to give?”

The painted black hilt looked wrong in his hand. “Ingo, I can’t accept this…”

“Wouldn’t you feel safer if you had one?”

It was ridiculous, but he did. It wouldn’t actually make him safer — it was hardly an effective weapon — but it was hard to deny how reassuring it was to hold. “Wouldn’t you feel exposed without it?”

“Really, Emmet, I never use it. You’ve done more with it just now than I ever have.” Ingo smiled with his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll feel safe enough if you’re around.”

“Ingo…”

He pulled back. “N-not that I expect you to protect me or anything, or I- I didn’t mean to burden you with that kind of responsibility, it’s just that… there’s safety in numbers, right?”

“Ingo.”

“I wasn’t trying to imply that you need to do anything! I- I just mean if you’re existing nearby, with my sword, that’s like, a similar level of protection, isn’t it? Emotionally, at least? Since its main purpose is just looking scary, really—“

“Ingo!”

“Not that you look scary!” Ingo’s voice took on a hysterical bent. “I d-didn’t mean to imply that either, you don’t look threatening or anything! Unless you want to? In which case, you are the most terrifying thing I have ever laid eyes on, but only if you want to be! If you don’t then you are supremely non-threatening and, uh, adorable and cute—“

Well, which one was it, then? He couldn’t possibly be both. If Emmet wasn’t so sure that Ingo was just spouting off nonsense in an attempt to appease Emmet, it would have hurt to hear. As it was, he just wanted Ingo to stop talking. “Alright! I’ll take it.” 

“—and snazzy, wait, really? You will?”

“Only for a bit.” He sighed. “Until I find something else.”

Ingo nodded solemnly. “I’ll help you find something better.”

“Who said anything about better?” he snorted. “I was just going to grab a random stick.”

“What? Emmet, no!”

“Why not?” Emmet bumped his shoulder. “I don’t need anything fancy.”

Ingo’s lips pinched. “At least get a nice stick.”

“You can pick one for me, if you like.” Emmet sheathed Ingo’s sword and stood up. “Why don’t we go stick hunting today?”

“In the garden?”

“No.” Emmet watched Ingo carefully. “Outside.”

Ingo’s eyes widened. “Outside the castle?”

“Yep.”

“…How?”

“You heard what those two goons said earlier, about the princess?”

Ingo nodded. “Of course.”

“Sounds like an all hands on deck situation.”

“…You really think the gate guards would believe we were sent out?” Ingo asked hesitantly.

“Why not? It’s an emergency, isn’t it?”

Ingo looked away. “I- I don’t know… we’d still be the last choice.”

“Come on,” Emmet wheedled. “What if we uncovered some top secret, need-to-know information—“

“We have done no such thing.”

“Like a rat in the castle! And we need to report it to whoever is on patrol, post-haste!”

“They’d never believe it.”

“Never?”

“I’m afraid not. We aren’t important enough for a role like that.”

Emmet leaned against the window sill and glared at the horizon. Of course Ingo wouldn’t help him break out. He’d have to figure a way out himself, then. 

“But, umm, maybe they would believe that we were sent out to search the Marshmallow Marsh?”

Emmet turned to look at him. “Huh?”

Ingo hesitantly came up behind him and pointed out the window, between the bars. “It’s also colloquially called the Bottomless Bog, if that’s what you’re more familiar with.”

“Why’s that more believable?

“Nobody likes the bog. It’s infamous for being the worst place to be sent, enough so that it’s considered something of a punishment.” 

Emmet raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“…You don’t spend much time in the archives, do you?”

“Nope. It’s boring. And people stare at me.”

Ingo ducked his head. “Right, I can see why that would be a problem, um, sorry. M-my point is, the generals don’t like sending people there either, since it has the highest rate of MIA soldiers of any area.”

“Oh!”

“It’s quite treacherous,” Ingo agreed. “But that’s why, in a situation like this, it’s important to search there. It is one thing for a soldier to go missing—“

“—but they can’t afford to lose a fairy.”

“Exactly. And they’ll believe we got sent because we’re the most expendable.”

Emmet tilted his head. “So you want us to go there?”

“…No,” Ingo said. He pointed out the window again. “It’s a long way from here to the marshes. If we leave from the north gate, it will look like we’re going the right way. But we don’t have to go all the way, there’s a forest and some meadows between here and there, or if you like we could even go west, towards the sea.”

“Ingo?” 

“Yes?”

He grabbed Ingo’s face with both hands. “You’re a genius.”

“Oh,” Ingo squeaked, his cheeks growing warm.

Emmet let go and pushed the dresser off the trapdoor. “Come on! Let’s go!”

“W-wait!”

Emmet paused, already on the ladder. “Yes?”

Ingo crouched down. “Are you sure you want to do this? I can’t guarantee our plan will work. This is… quite risky.”

Emmet nodded. “I’m sure.”

“Alright… alright,” Ingo sighed. “Could I have some time to prepare?”

“Okay,” he chirped, “but don’t take too long! We have to leave before they find her.”

“You should prepare as well. It takes several days to travel to the marsh on foot. We will need to be gone for at least two days to be believable, maybe more, so make sure your spiders will be alright without you.” 

Emmet gasped. “Good point!” And slid the rest of the way down.

Emmet was Normal. So Normal. It was hard work being Normal, but he kept it up until they were out of the sight of the north gate guards, and then a little further, just to be sure. 

Ingo was also trying very hard to be Normal, and he was better at it than Emmet. If Emmet hadn’t been holding his hand the whole time, it would have been easy to miss how difficult pretending to be Normal was for him. 

But now they were out of range, it was just the trees and them, so Emmet could do what he wanted. 

He pounced on Ingo. “Where did you get that?”

“P-pardon?”

“The letter! Let me see it!”

To Whom It May Concern,

I’ve ordered Emmet and Ingo of Gear Battalion to search for the Sugar Plum Fairy in the Marshmallow Marshes. They have my permission to leave from the North Gate, and are expected to return within a week if they cannot find her. 

General North

P.S. Don’t bother me unless it’s important. I’m very busy dealing with the current crisis.

Emmet read it over again. “…How did you get North to sign off on this?”

Ingo looked at him quizzically. “I didn’t?”

“But…” Emmet waved the letter. “That’s his signature! And his handwriting!”

Ingo shrugged. “His penmanship is easy to forge, I’ve seen it often enough.” 

“Huh?” Emmet went bug-eyed. “You wrote this?!”

Ingo glanced back anxiously. “P-please don’t yell that so loudly, we’re not that far away.”

“I didn’t know you could do that.”

“It’s nothing really, I’m sure anyone could do it if they had a reference.” Ingo fiddled with the bag strap. “I-I wasn’t too sure about the wording, do you think it was formal enough? General North tends to keep it brief, do you think I made it too long? But I was worried that if I wasn’t specific enough with the details they wouldn’t let us through, or find loopholes, or worse! They might not let us back in later…”

“They bought it completely. Don’t worry so much.” The words tasted like chemicals in his mouth. “You were verrrrry convincing.” 

“You really think so?” 

“You’re good at lying.” 

“Thank you…”

It was for the best that Ingo had taken it that way, but Emmet hadn’t meant it as a compliment.

Emmet couldn’t deny the usefulness of the skill, but it still… unsettled him. Ingo was good at it. Verrry good. It made him reconsider if everything Ingo said earlier was a lie. Was the Ingo he knew really the real Ingo?

It was. Of course it was.

Probably.

Emmet had seen Ingo at low and desperate points. His blind panic after Emmet had dragged him out of the locker and wound him up had been too visceral to be fake. Emmet would say that by this point he had become a pretty good judge of character, and his gut told him that sort of raw emotion could only come from an honest place.

Sure. That was real. A good anchor point. But that didn’t mean everything was. He’d been so cordial with Cherry, Marmalade, and the guards, no matter how aggressive they became. How much of his camaraderie with Emmet was just him playing nice? Being kind because he felt like he had to, not because he wanted to be. Or worse, was he being polite because he was afraid of what Emmet would do if he wasn’t?

No. Surely not. Ingo only smiled when he was happy. It couldn’t be faked, as Jawbreaker had proven. Ingo was comfortable around him. They held hands because Ingo liked the contact, and not because Emmet had said that he wanted to. 

Right?

Because it made a fucked up sort of sense; Ingo had always been far nicer to him than he ever deserved.

“So,” Ingo pulled out a map, eyes squinting in a pleased sort of way. “Where would you like to go first?”

“You brought a map?”

“Of course! I said I’d prepare, didn’t I?”

“Good thinking!” Emmet took the other side of the map, so they were holding it between them. “Any suggestions?”

“Ah? N-not really, I’ve never left the castle before. I wouldn’t know.”

Emmet bumped his shoulder. “Come on, you must have some ideas.”

“I don’t know, y-you were the one who wanted to go on this trip! Didn’t you have anything in mind?”

“Nope!” Emmet shrugged, watching Ingo closely. “I just wanted to be out of there. Isn’t there anywhere you want to go?”

Ingo shook his head. “Not really. Why don’t you take another look at the map? I’m sure something will catch your eye.”

Lie. It was easy to spot, and a huge relief. Emmet could read Ingo like an open book, his face gave him away completely. He must have never needed to learn to mask his expressions, since they came naturally encrypted.

Still, it was discomforting to see Ingo continue to put Emmet’s whims above his own desires. It wasn’t right.

“Hmmm? Mr. Prepared doesn’t have a list of recommendations? Do the other battalions only talk shit about the marsh? Nothing nice to say?”

“No!” Ingo jabbed at the map. “A lot of p-people like the beach!”

“Great!” Emmet beamed at him. “Let’s go there th—“

He stumbled like he had missed a step in a staircase, his foot going through empty air where there should have been dirt.

“Emmet!” Ingo caught his upper arm.

He’d gotten his foot stuck in some sort of small hole. “What the hell? Who put that there?!”

“…An animal? Maybe some sort of rodent? It looks like a burrow.”

“Rude. Inconsiderate to put it there.” Emmet yanked himself free. “I hate rodents. Should’ve put up a warning sign.”

“I-I’m sorry, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have been reading the map while we walked.”

“Not your fault.” Emmet pointed down the hole. “It’s that guy’s fault. I hate that guy.”

“I-It’s just an animal living its life, it really is my fault, I should have been paying more attention, we’re out in the wild now, it could have been a lot worse—“

“I hate the wild.”

“…Do you want to head back then?”

“No.” Emmet straightened up. “You know what I hate more?”

“…No?”

“Those guards!” He huffed and kept walking, carefully stepping around the hole. “They were such dicks to us!”

Ingo folded the map and stashed it away, then jogged to catch up to Emmet.

“And another thing! You know who else is the worst?”

“…Me?” Ingo asked.

“What?” Emmet stopped. “No! Why would you say that?”

He ducked his head. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s Cherry! He’s the worst. And also Marmalade. And also Jawbreaker. And also—“ Emmet stepped into another hole. “Fuck!”

Ingo blinked. “Who?”  

“I don’t like sand.” Emmet announced. “It’s coarse. And rough. And irritating.” He shook out his foot and sand fell from between his joints. “And it gets everywhere.”

“S-sorry, we don’t have to walk on the beach, w-we could go swimming instead?”

“No.” Emmet folded his arms. “I don’t like getting wet. And the sand would stick to me more afterwards.”

“Oh, r-right, sorry. That’s— I’m sorry, we can go somewhere else, this was a bad idea…”

Emmet pulled Ingo into a hug. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m glad we came here. It’s nice. Thank you for suggesting it.”

“You’ve been complaining the whole time,” Ingo muttered into his shoulder.

“I do like complaining,” Emmet agreed.

He sighed. “You seem to dislike everything.”

“Not everything. I like the sound of the waves. The sea is pretty. It sparkles. Lots of colours. Blue. Green. Red.”

Ingo wrinkled his nose. “Red?”

“And!” He turned and pointed at a crab scuttling along, causing it to withdraw into its shell. “I like that guy!”

“The cone crab?”

Emmet scooped it up. Its shell had a raised grid pattern, like a waffle cone, and it had a darker brown pattern near the opening, like chocolate ice cream had melted down it. “It reminds me of the spiders.”

“Yes, I can see the resemblance,” Ingo conceded. “It’s very cute.”

It poked its head out, and two beady black eyes looked out at them. 

Emmet beamed. “Hello!”

It ducked back inside.

“…I think you’re scaring it, Emmet.””

“Sorry.” He put it back down.

Ingo sighed. “I’m sorry, this isn’t what you wanted. This detour was such a waste of time, I’m sorry.”  

“Ingo...”

He set his bag down and rummaged through it. “You should pick the next location. I won’t interfere this time. Here.” He pulled out the map and handed it to Emmet. “We should have plenty of time to head somewhere better, so today won’t have been a complete waste.” 

“This hasn’t been a waste.” Emmet took the map, but didn’t look at it; his focus solely on Ingo. “Do you know what I like most?”

He tilted his head. “Pardon?”

“My favourite thing in the world. Can you guess?”

“Ummm…” Time ticked onwards as Ingo’s expression grew incrementally more panicked. “Uhhh…!”

Emmet’s heart twisted painfully. “You want a hint?”

Ingo relaxed a little, equal parts relieved and hesitant. “Is that… allowed?”

“Yup.” Emmet’s smile quirked. “Why wouldn’t it be? Do you want one?”

“Yes, please.” 

Emmet nodded. “Thing was…” He paused, unsure of the phrasing. “Not the right word. Misleading. What I’m thinking of is not a thing.”

Ingo was doing that thinking pose again, hand on chin, covering his mouth. “So, it’s alive?”

“Yep.”

Ingo brows furrowed, and he cast his gaze up and down the beach as if the right answer would pop out, helpfully labelled. 

In retrospect, maybe it had been a little mean to make Ingo guess. Perhaps he should offer a more obvious hint? Like, it starts with an I. And rhymes with pogo. Or, Emmet was looking directly at it right now. 

Ingo snapped his fingers. “Oh!”

“Yeah?” Emmet hadn’t expected him to get it so soon. Great!

“I-I think I know who it is!”

Emmet was practically vibrating with excitement. “Yeah?!”

“The spiders!”

“YEA— wait, what?”

“Your f-fairy floss spiders?” Ingo seemed to shrivel up. “Wasn’t t-that the a-answer?”

“…I do love my spiders…” That hadn’t been the answer he had in mind. But it wasn’t wrong either…

“I was wrong, wasn’t I?” He covered his face. “I’m sorry! I was so sure that was it…”

“Uh…” Emmet said, still trying to categorise the curveball he’d been thrown, all too aware that the longer he took, the harder it would be to drag Ingo back out of his panic spiral. “The spiders are… my favourite. I love them.”

“But it wasn’t what you were looking for! I’m sorry, can I try again?”

“No, you were right!” That sounded unconvincing even to Emmet. “You were right.” He tried again, more sure of himself. “Good job! Yippee!” 

“No, not yippee!” Since it was physically impossible to yell yippee and still feel down, the sheer whiplash seemed to knock Ingo out of his doom spiral a little. “I got it wrong, that’s not very bravo-worthy at all.”

“Not even a small one?” Emmet held two fingers a smidge apart. “A tiny bravo?”

“No.” Ingo pouted. “Please let me try again. I’ll get it right this time.”

“You don’t need to.” Emmet debated how good of an idea telling Ingo what the ‘right’ answer was when he had just gotten him back to something close to calm. Maybe Emmet was coming across a bit too strong. He’d been told he could be too intense. 

“I just don’t understand, what could you possibly like more than your spiders?”

Emmet sighed heavily. “…Ingo.”

He tilted his head. “Yes?”

Before Emmet could say anything, a blue blur shot out of the tree line and zipped towards them. They both leaped back. Emmet drew his Ingo’s sword. 

Sand sprayed out as it crashed to the ground and skidded to a stop right in front of them. 

“Are you kidding me?!” A high-pitched voice cried out.

Emmet wiped the sand out of his eyes. Egugh.

There was a girl, her flesh face all twisted up and distraught. Her skin sparkled in the sunlight, as did her baby blue dress. Her hair was done up in a windswept bun, with two long locks that had fallen out, framing her face. 

“How are there more of you?!” she demanded.

“I’m sorry…?” Ingo tried.

Emmet hesitantly lowered his sword. He had no idea what her deal was, but it felt rather uncouth to be pointing it at a girl less than half his height. She very suddenly stopped being shorter than him when dragonfly-like wings buzzed behind her, and she unsteadily rose up into the air.

Emmet hurriedly sheathed his sword, because threatening a civilian with it was ungentlemanly, but attacking a fairy was definitely a crime. 

And then she was gone. She zipped down the beach and then swerved back into the forest, leaving nothing but a puff of glitter and skid marks in the sand. 

He turned to Ingo, and for a split second their eyes met. 

‘Holy shit,’ Ingo’s eyes seemed to say, (although, knowing Ingo, he probably would have used less profanity,) ‘that was the fucking princess.’ 

And then they were off — Ingo snatched the bag from the ground and stuffed the map back into it. Emmet grabbed Ingo’s wrist and dragged him along because they could not afford to lose even a single second if they wanted to catch up to a flying fairy. 

Chapter Text

Emmet leaned against a tree, gasping for breath. He was weak and shaky and shamefully relieved that he had told Ingo to run ahead of him when he’d started to flag. Thank the Maker Ingo wasn’t here to see him fall apart like this. 

The air seemed thin in a way it never had before. He knew, logically, that the castle was where the ambient magic in the air was the most concentrated, but that had in no way prepared him for the reality of being outside of it. Nor had he realised how dependent he had become on that energy boost since he had started winding himself. 

Ingo, the lucky bugger, was fully wound up, and didn’t seem affected at all by the change. 

Embarrassing. He was a soldier. Built to be resilient in even the most adverse of conditions, he shouldn’t be on the verge of passing out because of a silly thing like not having enough air. Breathing was a nice luxury for talking, not a requirement!

Well, apparently it was necessary. For Emmet. Because he should have wound himself up sooner before it had gotten this bad. 

Not that it was his fault! He had done it recently enough that it shouldn’t have been a problem. It was just that they had done so much walking today, and then a lot of running, and there wasn’t enough ambient magic for him to supplement his energy reserves like he was used to. 

…It had crossed his mind that since he was burning through his energy faster than usual, he ought to take a break to wind himself up but… He hadn’t wanted to do it with Ingo nearby. Not when he wasn’t able to quickly duck into another room and have that shield of privacy.

Sure, he would have needed to do so eventually, but he had miscalculated how far away ‘eventually’ was. 

But at least he was prepared! He had brought a few candy canes. Then put them in the bag. That Ingo had. Who he had sent away.

Damn.

However, there was a rather knobbly branch above him, that curved towards the end.  

How convenient. 

Emmet reached up and put all his weight on it.

Snap!

He fell to the ground, the long and conveniently shaped branch in hand.

Victory. 

It was a struggle to sit up, but he got there eventually. Victory again. The other soldiers might not like it, but this was what peak performance looked like. 

Emmet reached behind him with the stick to make the first turn.

And missed.

The stick was a lot longer than his usual candy cane. He adjusted his grip and tried again. 

And smacked it painfully into his key. Being bigger than a standard candy cane, it did not easily loop through the decorative hole. He stubbornly tried again anyway.

Click-click-click.

Bravo, said no one, because Ingo was not here. And Emmet was too tired to say it for him. Still. Emmet stayed winning. Now all he had to do was that, but a fucktillion more times. 

Missed again. That one did not count. 

Click-click-click.

It was weird. He was glad Ingo was not here, but he missed him all the same. 

That was hell. Emmet was never going to complain about using the candy canes again. 

Although the branch had been subpar as a winding tool, it was solidly average as a walking stick. 

He arduously followed the trail Ingo and the fairy had left through the woods. Mostly the fairy. It was like a snail trail, but with sparkles instead of slime. 

Ingo’s voice echoed through the trees. He must be getting close.

He stopped shambling and started creeping instead.

“Why are you running away?” Ingo was standing at the base of an old oak tree, and yelling up at the branches.

There was a rustle of leaves, or maybe of wings, from the branches. “Why are you chasing me?!”

“My apologies, it’s our job…” For all that getting sent out to look for her had been a fake fabrication, it was still technically true. The safety of the royal family was the first directive for any soldier, and the reason for their existence.

“To chase me?!”

“To protect you, your Highness.” Ingo clasped his hands together. “You shouldn’t be out here alone, it’s too dangerous.”

Her hair blended in with the leaves, but he could catch the blue sparkles of her dress. “I’m fine. I don’t need protecting, and I definitely don’t need your help!”

“Your family is really worried about you, they think you’ve been kidnapped,” Ingo pleaded.

“Really?” she grumbled. “I left them a note that said I’d be back soon.”

“A note? I was told they didn’t find anything.”

“Yeah, I left it on my desk beside the wind… oh.”

“Ah.”

Emmet crept around the opposite side of the tree from Ingo and the princess, and quietly laid his stick on the ground. Despite his attempts to be sneaky, Ingo caught his eye. Emmet shook his head and held a finger to his lips.

Ingo looked back at the princess like he hadn’t seen anything. “Won’t you come home, please? Your mother must be worried sick.”

“Yeah, I know.” She sounded annoyed, or maybe a bit guilty. “Look, I will be back soon, I just have to do something first.”

Climbing trees was hard. Doing it sneakily was even harder.

Ingo dutifully ignored him, even though Emmet was making a spectacle of himself. “What’s so important that it can’t wait?”

“It’s- It isn’t-“ She huffed. “It’s none of your business!”

“I suppose not.” Ingo sounded like a kicked spiderling. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You can stop chasing me! If I hadn’t spent all my time running away from you guys I would have already been there and back by now!”

Emmet finally hauled himself up onto the branch behind her.

“My apologies-“

“Just leave me alone!”

The branch made an alarming cracking sound beneath him, and she whipped around.

Emmet lunged forward to grab her, and she sprung into the air, out of reach. He barely grazed the edge of her skirt, and then he was falling.

The wind rushed past him and the ground hurtled up, and—

Something crashed into him, and now he was going more sideways than down, and little arms had snaked across his chest and something feverishly hot was pressed against his back. It scorched him like sparks off a grindstone. 

“Hold on, I’ve got you!”

Emmet did not want to be got. He thrashed in the snare of her arms as they slowly plummeted towards the ground. 

“Hey, stop squirming! I don’t wanna drop you!”

—touching him and she hadn’t asked and he couldn’t escape being pinned down and—

“I’m trying to help you!”

He jabbed her beneath the ribs, and she dropped him with a cry. 

It was a short fall.

“Emmet!”

He must have blacked out for a moment. When he opened his eyes, a blurry Ingo was crouched over him. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

He slowly pushed himself up. “I’m fine,” he croaked. 

For some reason, this didn’t reassure Ingo, who helped him brush off the dirt and check for damage. Eventually his fussing was satisfied, and he scooted closer, drawing Emmet into a hug. “I’m so glad-“

“No.” Emmet pushed him back. “Not now.”

Ingo let go immediately. “Sorry.”

If he had to endure any more touching he would explode. Far too much contact for one Emmet. Still, Ingo was looking gutted by the rejection, so Emmet grabbed his hand. Compromise. Handholding didn’t grate on him the way full-body contact sometimes did. 

Ingo perked up. Well done, Emmet. He was really getting the hang of this friendship stuff. A real aficionado. Yep!

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Ingo brushed his own thumb back and forth. 

Emmet nodded.

“I’m okay too, thanks for asking,” the princess deadpanned, sprawled out on the grass.

Ingo turned, a guilty flush on his cheeks, and bowed deeply. “My apologies, princess, are you unharmed?”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “I’m fine.”

“Thank you, for saving my b- Emmet!” Ingo tensed, realised he’d misspoken. “For saving Emmet.”

Emmet bristled. His Emmet? He didn’t own Emmet! Emmet belonged to Emmet and no one else. He huffed but didn’t say anything. Whatever, he wasn’t going to berate Ingo for what was clearly an accident. 

The princess didn’t even look at them and kept staring at the sky. “I dropped him. You don’t need to thank me for that.”

“All the same, it could have been much worse if you hadn’t intervened.” Ingo bowed again. “Thank you, your Highness.” 

“Why did you do that?” Emmet asked without thinking.

She frowned and turned to actually look at him. “Hey, you nailed me in the gut. I didn’t do it intentionally.”

“No, why try to save me?” His mouth flattened. “You didn’t need to do that.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sure, macho man. My bad for getting in the way of your double backflip and flawless three-point landing.”

“No,” he snapped. “Why save me? You don’t like me.”

“Geez, how heartless do you think I am?”

He curled his hands into fists. “You would be better off if you let me fall. You would have a head start if you ran away. If I broke, we wouldn’t be able to chase you. This doesn’t benefit you!”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t thinking about that! You see someone fall, you catch them!” She threw her hands up. “It’s all reflex!”

“That doesn’t make sense!”

“Your face doesn’t make sense!”

“Fuck you! I have a great face!”

Ingo clapped a hand over his mouth. “Emmet! You can’t swear in front of the princess!”

Emmet batted him away. 

“And you shouldn’t argue with her either,” Ingo hissed.

“Hey!” The princess squeaked. “I know swear words!”

“Your Highness-“

She cut Ingo off with a litany of curses. It went on for an impressively long time.

“Oh my goodness,” Ingo muttered. 

“…Wow,” Emmet said. “I didn’t know that one.”

Ingo slapped his hands over Emmet’s ears. He squawked and shook Ingo off. He wanted to hear!

“-humbly request that you stop swearing, your highness.” Ingo was saying. “You’re being a bad influence on my- uh, my squadmate.”

She cackled. It didn’t sound very princess-like at all. “Sure, alright, I’ll spare his delicate ears.”

“What?!” Emmet shouted. “My ears are not delicate! I have tough ears! Strong ears! Unlike you with your weird, pointy,” he gestured at the sides of his head, “fleshy, meat-“

Ingo forced his hand back down. “Please stop insulting the princess.” 

Emmet shut his big mouth. Reluctantly.

She tilted her head. “I have a name, you know.”

Emmet nodded. “Pointy Ears McGee.”

She smirked. It was worth the absolutely appalled look Ingo sent his way. 

“Yep, that’s my full legal name. Skyla Pointy Ears McGee.” She looked at Ingo. “I don’t think I caught yours?”

“Uh,” he blurted out before freezing up.

“I am Emmet.”

She waved dismissively, “yeah, yeah, I already heard yours, Mr. Dainty Ears. Who’s your friend?”

He glanced at Ingo, who was still frozen. Emmet folded his arms. “You don’t have to tell her anything, Ingo.”

A deeply pained expression crossed Ingo’s face. 

“Oops,” Emmet said sheepishly after a second. 

He sighed, “it’s… alright, I was going to tell her anyway.” 

“Ingo and Emmet, huh?” She closed her eyes like she was savouring a meal. “That’s an unusual set of names.”

Emmet shrugged. “We’re an unusual group.”

“I guess so.” She leaned forwards and rested her elbows against her knees. “So, what now?”

There was a pause as they looked at each other. 

“Your highness, can you elaborate?” Ingo asked.

“You caught me.” Her eyes were an unnatural fluorescent blue. “Are you going to take me back now?”

“…Have we? Caught you?” Emmet asked. There wasn’t anything stopping her from flying off again, as far as he could tell. 

“I’ve been captivated by your fragile ears and ensnared by your bumbling antics.” She smirked.

“Hey!” Emmet put his hands on his hips. She blew a raspberry at him. 

Ingo fidgeted with the bag strap. “We… well, we have to take her back, don’t we?”

“No.” Emmet decided.

“No?” Ingo and Skyla gasped, equally shocked. 

“No.” Emmet bowed shallowly, uncomfortable with the motion. “You can go. I won’t chase you.” He glanced at Ingo.

After a moment of hesitation, he nodded. “We won’t follow you.” 

Skyla looked lost. “Why?”

“You saved me. That was a stupid thing to do. I don’t know why you did that.”

“Gee, you’re welcome,” she said dryly. 

Emmet plowed onwards. “So I owe you one. You can go, if you like.”

She made a face like she’d bit into a lemon. “I dropped you.”

“It was a good effort.” 

She looked between the both of them. “Won’t you get in trouble?”

Ingo grimaced. Emmet waved off her concerns. “Don’t worry about it. Not important.”

“Ah, geez.” She was pouting in a way that wouldn’t look out of place on Ingo. “Aw man! You guys are making me feel real bad about this!”

“Sorry?” Ingo shuffled. “You- you don’t need to feel bad, the punishment won’t be- I mean, it might not be too bad? We’ve been through worse. It’ll be fine.”

“If we don’t get caught.”

“Right!” Ingo nodded frantically. “As long as you don’t tell anyone, your Highness, nobody needs to know!”

“Wow.” She raised her eyebrows. “Yeah, that was, uh, really unconvincing, guys. I won’t tell anyone, but this doesn’t seem super well thought out.”

“My plan is flawless. My ideas are brilliant.”

“They most certainly are!” Ingo agreed.

“Uh-huh.” Skyla did not sound convinced.

“My brain is huge. My ears are mighty.”

“Absolutely,” Ingo chirped. 

Skyla rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s definitely not true.” 

“My face is handsome. My wood is hard.”

Skyla’s head whipped around so hard her hair smacked her in the face. “I’m sorry, what?!”

A truly agonised expression crossed Ingo’s face, but his chipper tone didn’t falter at all. “Whatever you say!”

“I say only normal things,” Emmet insisted. “I have tough wood! Sweet birch has a Janka hardness rating of 1470 lbf. That’s pretty good!”

“Wowza!” Skyla clapped her hands on her cheeks in mock astonishment. “Over a thousand, you say? You must be so hard!”

“I am!”

She snorted. 

“Can we talk about something else for a bit?” Ingo asked, oddly red.

“Oh, but I haven’t finished yet!” Skyla said, giggling behind her hand. “Are you hard, Ingo?”

“I- I- I don’t want to discuss this.”

Emmet tilted his head. “Are you embarrassed? You don’t need to be embarrassed.”

“There are no good answers to any of these questions,” Ingo lamented.

Although Emmet didn’t know what specific wood Ingo was made of, most of his guesses would have placed above birch on the hardness scale. He wouldn’t have guessed a softwood, but it would explain why Ingo kept evading the question. He knew it could be a point of insecurity in the other soldiers. 

“It’s okay, I’m hard enough for the both of us!”

Skyla wheezed. 

“SURELY THERE ARE MORE IMPORTANT THINGS FOR US TO BE DISCUSSING RIGHT NOW!”

Emmet held his hands up in surrender. “Okay.”

“Whoo!” Skyla wiped away a tear. “Sure, sure. I’ll drop it.”

“I have an idea, your Highness, if you would be open to hearing it?” Ingo swiftly changed the subject. 

She shrugged. “I’m all ears.”

“If I’m understanding this correctly, you plan on returning to the castle soon anyway, right?”

“Yeah.” She squinted suspiciously. “Why?”

“Then, perhaps Emmet and I can escort you to where you’re going, and then walk you back home?”

She silently mulled that over.

“I- I understand that y-you wouldn’t want us meddling with your private affairs, we would stay out of your way! I just- The highest priority is your safety, so as long as we can ensure it, Emmet and I are… technically doing our jobs?” Ingo glanced anxiously at him. Emmet nodded encouragingly. 

Skyla chewed thoughtfully on a hangnail on her thumb. 

“Sorry, you don’t have to listen to me if you think it’s a bad idea! Is it a bad idea? It’s a stupid idea, forget I said anything. You should go. We won’t stop you.”

“Sure, alright.” She hopped to her feet and brushed off her dress. “You can come with me.”

Emmet tilted his head. “Is it really okay for us to tag along?”

“Why wouldn’t it be? It’s a win-win. I do what I want, and you guys do something that vaguely resembles your job.” She grinned. “Besides, you amuse me.”

Ingo was starting to get a little worried about his companions.

Emmet had nearly made him jump out of his paint when he had slung an arm over Ingo’s shoulders. He’d done it casually, as if this was normal behaviour for him and not the first time he had ever done something like that. Then he stayed like that for the rest of the walk. Not that Ingo minded! No, not at all, every small touch was still precious to him, but it was apparent that he was shouldering most of Emmet’s weight. 

That wasn’t even mentioning the random stick Emmet was using as a cane. It made Ingo wonder if he was truly as uninjured from the fall as he claimed he was. 

It was also equally obvious that Skyla… wasn’t much of a flyer. It was an unbecoming comparison, but she reminded Ingo of a chicken. Not so much flying as jumping really high and gliding from tree to tree. It was hard to tell when she was in motion, but one of her wings was much smaller than the other. 

Skyla wasn’t much of a walker either. She found it too slow, arduous, and painful for her tiny feet.

All in all, Ingo had the sinking feeling he was going to have to carry both of them back home. 

“Here we are!” Skyla beamed and waved at the field, where poppies rippled like waves in the wind.

It was a very open space with no cover. Ingo scanned the tree line for enemies, and promptly felt foolish for doing so upon finding none. 

It must have stretched on for miles, nothing but poppies as far as the eye could see, stunningly scarlet and practically glowing in the dying sunlight. The field itself seemed to breathe, a subtle but unsettling rhythm, an illusion created by the breeze. It was breathtakingly gorgeous, right out of an old oil painting, and Ingo felt uncomfortably out of place. 

Emmet was unimpressed. “There’s nothing here.”

She hopped from her perch and drifted to the ground. “There’s plenty here! Look at all the flowers.”

He narrowed his eyes, investigating the view. His eyebrows raised. “Oh, there are flowers here.”

Skyla laughed incredulously. “How did you not notice?”

He shrugged. “They blend in with the grass.”

“They’re bright red!”

“So is the grass!”

They both stared at him. “What?”

His mouth flattened. “What?” 

“The grass is green.”

Emmet waved his stick at the meadow. “It’s basically the same colour!” 

“It is not!” 

“It is too!”

“It’s not!”

“Emmet.” Ingo tapped the arm that was still wrapped around his shoulders. “Are you serious?”

A brief look of betrayal crossed his face. He pulled away. “Of course I am. They look the same.”

“They’re not alike at all!” Skyla grabbed his other arm and he flinched. Her palm was soft and warm and… strangely bubbly? Like the fizz of a carbonated drink. “Come on, Ingo! Tell him!”

“I, uh…” It felt very much like a crime that he was touching her. Most definitely a sin of some sort to be sullying her hands like that. However, since she had initiated the touch, it was probably also a crime to pull away? “I- I- I don’t know that…”

“Ingo,” Emmet said firmly from his other side. His once gentle grip had turned harsh. “Tell me the truth.”

“I’m sorry,” he winced. “They look different to me.”

They both let go of him. 

“See?” Skyla crowed triumphantly.

Emmet wasn’t paying her any mind at all. He was looking out at the poppy field, as if staring hard enough would allow him to see it the way they did.

“Quick!” Skyla pointed. “What colour is my hair?”

Emmet paused for a concerning amount of time. “…Gree- Red!” He cut himself off at their horrified reactions. “It’s red.”

“Maker!” Skyla pulled at her scarlet locks. “You really can’t tell!”

“No, I can!” Emmet’s voice was pitched an octave higher than usual.

“What colour is my dress?”

“…Blue?”

“Yeah,” Skyla relaxed and they followed her lead. “That’s right. What about my eyes?”

“Blue,” Emmet answered confidently.

She beckoned Ingo over and he obediently knelt down. “And his eyes?” 

“Grey.” 

She pointed slightly further down, towards his cheeks. Ingo couldn’t suppress a flinch, uncomfortable with the route the conversation was taking. “Now?”

Emmet hesitated. “…Red.”

“It’s more of a pink really, but I’ll allow it.” Skyla waved a hand to dismiss Ingo and produced a berry. He stood, glad to be dismissed. “What about this?”

“Red.”

“It’s green!” 

“It is not! Berries are red! Everyone knows that!” 

“Only some of them! And only when they’re ripe!” She held up a second berry. “What colour is this one?”

“Yellow!” 

“It’s fucking orange!”

“This is bullshit! You can’t just invent colours!”

“What?!” Skyla spluttered. “It’s a real colour!” 

Emmet leaned on his stick. “Sounds fake.”

“Ingo,” she held out a hand. “You got anything colourful in that bag?”

“I might?” He rummaged through the satchel. “Please give me a moment to look.”

“You’ve made your point,” Emmet grumbled. “I’m bad at colour. We don’t need to keep doing this.”

Ingo paused. If Emmet didn’t want to be interrogated anymore, then he wouldn’t need to get anything.

“You’re giving up now? We haven’t even tested all the colours yet!” 

Ingo grimaced and kept looking. Skyla’s wishes outranked Emmet’s. He hoped Emmet wouldn’t be too mad at him later for his complicity. 

“There’s more?!” Emmet demanded.

“Exactly! That’s why we need to check!”

“We don’t-“

“Ow!” Ingo snatched his hand back. 

He was suddenly the centre of attention.

“What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing!” Ingo squeaked. “Sorry, sorry, it’s nothing! Something pinched me and I wasn’t expecting it, that’s all, you can go back to what you were doing.”

Emmet came over and gently inspected his hand. “It looks okay…”

“Y-yes, it’s nothing, like I said. I didn’t mean to distract you.”

Skyla peered into the bag. “That’s a pretty shell.”

“…Shell?”

A brown waffle-patterned shell wiggled, and two beady black eyes glared up at them from beneath it.

“Oh dear,” Ingo said faintly. “I’m sorry, it must have snuck in while we were at the beach. That was careless of me. Should- should we return it?”

As he talked, the crab slowly trundled to the far end of the bag, grabbed the zipper in its pincer, and slowly started to zip the bag shut.

Skyla cackled. 

Emmet’s grin widened. “I think it lives there now.” 

“Sorry, sir,” Ingo said to the crab and helped it close the bag. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” 

Skyla wheezed. Ingo was getting the feeling that she wasn’t taking his crab dilemma seriously at all.

Ingo turned to Emmet for help. “But- but it can’t live in the bag, that’s not- that’s not a crab habitat, we really should return it.”

“Or,” Emmet beamed. “We could keep it. I’ve always wanted a sea spider.”

“…Are you serious?”

“I always am.”

He guessed they had a crab now. This was his life. “Great.” He had no idea how to care for a crab. What did they eat? “Wonderful.”

“Emmet?” Skyla peered around Ingo.

He tilted his head. “Yes?” 

“What colour is the bag?”

Emmet’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Are you still on that?”

“You’re dodging the question.” 

“I don’t know, red?”

“No, it’s brown!” She cast her gaze around. “What about-“

“Would you stop?!” Emmet’s voice cracked. “This isn’t a game!”

Skyla’s ears and wings folded back. Ingo winced.

“You don’t need to yell at me,” she snapped.

“I already said I didn’t want to, but you wouldn’t listen.” He huffed. “Oh, forget it.”

He stalked off into the field, crushing poppies in his wake. 

“Geez, what’s his problem?” Skyla’s ears twitched and she crossed her arms. “For someone so quick to insult, you’d think he’d be better at taking a little teasing.”

Ingo knelt. He needed to do some serious damage control. “My deepest apologies, princess.”

He didn’t dare look up, but he could see her feet jump back. “What? Don’t do that, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“On Emmet’s behalf, I am gravely sorry. I am willing to take any punishments you have planned in his place.” 

“Good gravy, nobody is getting punished!” Sparkles fell from her and littered the grass like dewdrops. “Especially not you!” 

“Thank you, your Highness.” He already felt a little lighter. She seemed like the type to keep her word. 

“My name is Skyla.” 

“I recall.”

“If you know it, then why won’t you use it?” 

He couldn’t help but recoil at the idea. “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly, your Highness.”

She dropped down in front of him, her dress flaring around her like petals on a flower. He averted his eyes. “Ingo, please look at me.”

Hesitantly, he lifted his head until he met her gaze, and was overwhelmed with a wave of déjà vu. Her eyes were bluer than the sea and just as liquid. She looked, a cynical part of his mind noted, like she would be easily swayed by further begging.

He pushed his luck and tried to look pitiable. “Please don’t be mad at him, princess. I’m sure he regrets snapping at you, he didn’t mean it. It was probably very distressing for him to learn that his vision differs from everyone else’s. I promise he’s really nice once you get to know him.”

“Naturally.” She bit her lip. “Look, I’m not mad at anyone. Could you please call me by my name?”

“It- it doesn’t seem proper…”

She sighed. “Yeah, but it’s weird to call friends by their titles, isn’t it?” 

“…Friends?” Ingo gaped at her. “Do you… Do you mean… With us?”

Her smile was wobbly. “I’d like to be.”

He couldn’t possibly be hearing her right. She had nothing to gain from friendship with them. Had she not noticed that he was defective? There was no way she had missed Emmet’s. “I- I’d be honoured.” 

“Aw, shucks,” she waved him off. “You don’t need to be so formal about it!”

“Your- umm, M-M-Miss Skyla-“ he choked out.

“Sure,” she heaved a great sigh. “I’ll take it.”

“I know we already owe you a great deal, but could I bother you to ask for one more favour?” 

“Neither of you owe me.”

“Please don’t tell anyone that Emmet’s eyes are defective.” 

She blinked. “Sure, but, uh, is it really that serious? It’s not even that bad, it seems like he can still distinguish some colours. It was only red and green he struggled with. And orange, I guess? Not sure what was up with that one. And brown, but that’s a kind of orange if you think about it.”

“It could be that serious, if the wrong people caught wind of it.” Ingo took a risk and inched a little closer. “Please understand, his position is precarious as it is, and this information could easily be used against him. It would be best if this remained a secret between the three of us.”

“Alright, I won’t tell a soul.” It seemed that some of his seriousness had started to sink in for her. “Pinky promise.” 

“Pardon?”

She solemnly extended her pinky. Baffled, Ingo copied her, and she linked their fingers together. It zapped through him like a jolt of static electricity and he was hit by the strong taste of sugar plums. 

He lurched backwards and nearly fell over. Fortunately, Skyla didn’t seem at all bothered by his poor reaction. 

“I guess I should apologise to Emmet. I wouldn’t have ribbed him so much if I’d known it was such a big deal.” She leaned her head against her fist. “But I don’t think he wants to hear from me right now. How long do you think he’ll take to cool off?”

He worked his jaw back and forth, unsettled by the lingering sweet taste. “I could talk to him for you, if you want?”

“Oh, would you?” She beamed. “Thanks, Ingo, you’re the best!”

Heat worked its way through his cheeks, even though he knew she was just being facetious when she said it. “It’s no problem at all.”

Carefully, he picked himself up and wandered after Emmet, following his path of trampled flora. He was easy to spot, a dot of white amidst a crimson sea. He was picking the petals off a flower one by one. Ingo mentally counted along with him as the wind took each discarded petal away.

He loves me…

He loves me not…

He loves me…

“May I sit with you?”

“You can do whatever you want.” He sounded tired. 

Ingo crouched down next to him a few inches away, hoping that was an appropriate amount of space. He set the bag down next to him, where it wouldn’t be jostled by all his moving around. He already felt bad about all the running he’d subjected the poor crab to.

“Miss Skyla said that she’s sorry. She didn’t mean to upset you.”

Emmet plucked another petal. He loves me not. “Okay.”

“I’ve sworn her to secrecy. She won’t tell anyone.”

“Oh,” Emmet said tonelessly. He loves me. “That’s smart.”

“Thank you.” He couldn’t help but preen a little. It was terribly self-congratulatory, but a compliment always made him feel warm.

He loves me not. “Now no one will know that I’m even more of a freak than we thought.”

Ingo jolted. “That’s not! That’s not what I meant!”

“Why not?” Emmet flicked away the bare stem. “It’s the truth.” 

It was certainly how others would see it, and that was why Ingo had tried to hide it. In a roundabout way, he had been feeding into the idea even if he hadn’t meant to. Stupid, he should have considered that before making a whole palaver out of it. Chastened, he bowed his head. Emmet’s boldness often made him feel a little foolish for having worried at all. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing you did.” Emmet flopped backwards and stared up at the sky. “It’s just how I am. I can’t believe I’m only finding out now. You’d think I’d have noticed something like that.”

Ingo settled down next to him, clasping his hands over his torso. “I’ve always thought that you saw the world a little differently. I didn’t think it was quite so literal, though.” 

“Ha.” It was a fake laugh, but the corners of his mouth twitched up into something more genuine. “Verrrry funny.”

Sheepish, Ingo tried to smile. “Sorry.”

Emmet hummed. “It explains a lot, now that I’m thinking about it.”

“Oh?”

“Previous battalion. They had these uh…” He gestured in a cubical fashion. Or maybe it was supposed to be a sphere? “These thingamabobs. Doodads.”

“Whatchamacallits,” Ingo agreed.

“Doesn’t matter. They were colour coded. And they would always be like, Emmet, you dumb bitch, you brought the wrong one! And I would be like, fuck off, they’re all the same! And they’d be all, I can’t believe you’re causing problems on purpose again! I had always assumed they were just giving me a hard time. For no reason.” 

Ingo couldn’t help but feel like that maybe should have tipped him off. Then again, it was easy to say things were obvious in hindsight, it probably wasn’t such a natural conclusion at the time. “That must have been difficult for you.”

“It was annoying.” Emmet turned over so he was facing Ingo. “Whatever. It’s in the past. You were talking to Skyla?”

Ingo wiggled onto his side so that he mirrored Emmet. “I was, yes. She told me that she wanted to be friends with us.”

Emmet blinked. “With us?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Are you sure?” Emmet absent-mindedly tugged at the grass. “Maybe she just meant you.”

“What? Just me?” Ingo tugged on Emmet’s hand so he’d stop picking at the plants. “No, no, she definitely meant both of us.”

“Hmmm.” Emmet intertwined their fingers. “That’s weird.”

“I thought so too.”

Emmet sat up, and Ingo went with him. “Where is she anyway?”

“She wanted to give you space.” It took a bit of looking, but he eventually spotted her on the far end of the field. He waved to her, and she waved back. “Here she comes.”

She crossed the sea of flowers in a few bounds, jumping and using her wings to propel herself across the distance. Her wings moved so quickly it was hard to be sure, but it looked like her smaller wing was beating twice as fast as the longer one. 

She crash-landed next to them, her arms full of bouquets of poppies. “Hey, Emmet! Ingo! …I’m sorry about earlier.”

“I know. Ingo told me.” Emmet wasn’t looking at her. “I’m sorry too.”

“Aw, it’s no biggie, don’t worry about it.” She tucked her face into the blooms as the conversation petered out into awkward silence. “So, um, do you boys know how to make flower crowns?”

They shook their heads.

“Would you like to?”

There was the snap of a delicate stem under clumsy fingers. 

“Damnit!” Emmet shouted, a frequent occurrence for this activity. 

“You’re pulling too hard,” Skyla scolded him, looking over at his little project. She wasn’t sitting properly, not by royalty standards, nor by what modesty required for somebody wearing a skirt. Not that she needed to, since she was wearing athletic shorts beneath her dress. 

“Your face is too hard,” he grumbled.

“Oh no, we have firmly established that you’re the one who’s hard-headed.” Skyla giggled and knocked her knuckles against his head.

“Is that what you two were laughing about earlier?” He lowered his floral chain. “It’s not even that funny.”

“Totally,” Skyla smirked and focused on her own flower crown. “Keep braiding, your hardness.”

Emmet wasn’t the only one trying to puzzle out answers to questions everyone else had long since moved on from. It was still bothering Ingo that he had answered Emmet’s earlier question about what he liked wrong. 

It was strange. He’d been so certain that the spiders had been the right answer. Emmet didn’t dote on anything or anyone like how he doted on his pets. 

Ingo added another poppy to his chain. It was an easy, repetitive task once he got into the swing of it, and it gave him time to think. It had been nice of Skyla to teach them.

The answer was alive, which narrowed it down quite a bit. It couldn’t be Skyla, because they hadn’t met her at that point. It couldn’t be another soldier, because Emmet hated all of them. Which only left the fairy floss spiders, and Emmet had already told him that was incorrect. 

Emmet shouted again, a certain word Skyla had said earlier. Ingo grimaced; he’d been hoping Emmet wouldn’t have remembered that. It was unclear what exactly Emmet had done to cause it, but his chain was rapidly unravelling itself. Skyla abruptly abandoned her own to help salvage what was left of Emmet’s botanical disaster. 

Ingo stayed out of it. He wasn’t advanced enough at making flower crowns to help fix whatever had happened, and he would probably just be in the way.

Perhaps he was supposed to name a specific spider, instead of suggesting the collective? Still, that then raised the question of why Emmet hadn’t said so. Or at least mentioned that Ingo was on the right track. No, Emmet’s reaction had indicated that he was on the wrong route entirely. 

“What did you even do?” Skyla muttered, inspecting the crumpled flowers. “Hang on, I’ll fix it.”

Emmet folded his arms. “It’s supposed to look like that.” 

Skyla glanced between her perfect crown and Emmet’s tangled knot. “Sure.”

The only remaining possibility was… Emmet, himself. That seemed strange. What an odd answer. The thing he loved most, above all else, was himself? 

It seemed plausible enough, from a certain angle, Emmet certainly looked after himself. Still, it was such a weird and narcissistic conclusion to come to. Perhaps it had been the lead-in to some sort of joke that Ingo had ruined by taking the question too seriously? It just didn’t seem right. It was like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit, even though it looked like it ought to. 

Strange as it was, it had to be correct. It was the only plausible answer left. A living being that Emmet loved more than his spiders, and Emmet was the only person who even came close to fitting that description. There wasn’t anyone else.

Still, the question bothered him. 

Ingo bent the chain into a loop. It had reached an appropriate size for a crown. It wasn’t as neat or well put together as he had hoped it would be, but it wasn’t too bad for a first attempt. It didn’t look half as nice as Skyla’s, but he supposed that was to be expected. 

“Pardon me, but how do I connect the ends?”

Skyla passed the world’s saddest wreath back to Emmet. “That last bit is a little tricky, I’ll do it for you, hang on.” She hopped over and weaved together the ends. As far as Ingo could tell, the methodology seemed to be jamming the loose stems back in wherever they would fit.

“Tada!” She held up the completed crown. Ingo clapped politely. “It looks great, Ingo! You’re a natural!”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” He cautiously reclaimed the garland. “It was all thanks to your teachings, really, I was only copying you. You did all the hard parts for me, anyway.”

“Aw, don’t sell yourself short.” She leaned in and whispered, “I mean, look at Emmet’s.”

“Hey!” He brandished the mangled garland. “This is art!”

“It’s terrible and you know it!”

“It’s abstract!”

She sprawled out on the ground, pillowing her head on her arms. “Uh-huh, alright Mr. Artiste, what does your masterpiece represent then?”

“Um, well, obviously it represents…” Emmet stalled, looking long and hard at his own creation. “Actually, you wouldn’t get it. It’s too deep. To be fair, you have to have a very high IQ to understand the, uh, art of…”

“Terrible flower crowns?”

“War?” Ingo suggested.

“Yes! War!” Emmet pointed at him. “See, Ingo gets it. His IQ is over 9000. See, the poppies represent death. Picked before their time.”

Skyla was enjoying watching Emmet flounder a bit too much. “And they’re all crushed and broken because…”

“War. Violence. Death. It’s very deep,” Emmet insisted. “Very metaphorical. There’s two colours… Two?” He glanced at them and plowed on after they nodded. “Two! Sides of the fight. The red represents death. The green also represents death.”

“Gosh, what gloomy art.” Skyla sighed. 

“It’s a tragedy,” Emmet said loftily. 

“It really, really is.” 

“I like it,” Ingo offered, running his fingers over the soft petals of his own wreath.

“Thank you.”

“It’s much better than mine.”

Skyla snorted. “Let’s not go that far.”

“But-“

“No, she’s right.” Emmet smiled. “Yours is verrrry nice, Ingo.”

“Oh, th-thank you.” Ingo looked down at his crooked crown. “…Do you want it?”

“What?” Emmet blinked. “It’s yours. I mean, it’s pretty. And I wouldn’t mind, but just because I said like something doesn’t mean-“

But it was too late, Ingo was already sliding the flower crown down Emmet’s hat until it rested on the brim. 

“Oh, oh, okay.” Emmet reached up to adjust the blossoms adorning his head. “Thanks?”

“Awww!” Skyla squealed. “You look adorable!”

“What? No.” Emmet pulled a face. “I don’t.”

“You’re just the cutest widdle guy in your widdle flower crown.” Skyla’s voice got steadily higher pitched and more cutesy.

“Stop that. How dare you.” 

She leaned back. “…Do you actually need me to stop?”

“Yes!”

“Oh, alright.” She settled down. 

“I’m sorry,” Ingo said timidly. “Should I take it back?”

Emmet softened. “No, I’ll keep it.”

“Bravo!” He cleared his throat. “I-I mean, that’s great! I’m really glad you like it!”

Emmet chuckled, the light from the setting sun glinting off his metal joints. “Of course.” His smile was wide and it met his eyes, and it was so unmistakably fond. It was a rare, unguarded look that Ingo had only caught glimpses of before, directed at his spiders after they had done something particularly endearing. 

A puzzle piece slotted into place. 

“Wait,” he blurted out, “was it me?”

Emmet’s brow furrowed, and he tilted his head. “Was what you?”

And Ingo knew, with dead certainty, that he was wrong. 

“Earlier, w-when- when you-“ he stammered. “You asked-“ He was so incorrect, so far from the truth, he wished he hadn’t said anything at all. He already knew he was wrong, but he couldn’t bear to hear Emmet confirm it. “Never mind, it wasn’t important.”

Skyla propped herself up on her elbows. He was abruptly reminded that his blunder had not one, but two witnesses, and wished he was dead. “…What are you guys talking about?”

“I don’t know.” Emmet’s expression had shifted from bafflement to concern. “Ingo, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” He protested, far too shrilly, too loudly. Maker, he was stupid. “Nothing is wrong. Sorry, I got mixed up, just forget it.”

The flowers slipped down over Emmet’s ear, the crown slightly too big for him. He pushed it back up. “Hold on. I don’t understand. Was what you?”

“Nothing, I’m sorry, please forget it.” Maker, the sheer narcissism of it! What had possessed him? ‘Was it me? Do you like me the most?’ He sounded like such an egomaniac. Ingo had such a whiny, grating, and obnoxiously loud voice too, he didn’t know how Emmet and Skyla put up with him. 

Emmet’s gaze landed on his own attempt at floral art. “Are you asking if this was for you?”

Ingo had to bite back his impulse to deny it. That would have been such an entitled thing to ask! He would never assume such a thing! Or, he would like to think so, but it was certainly possible since what he had actually asked was so much worse. After all, what could be more entitled than trying to claim that he was Emmet’s favourite, above all else? Emmet probably didn’t like him at all. “I-I’m sorry…”

Emmet probably hated him. He was very hateable. 

Ingo used to be humble. Whatever happened to that? He used to be modest, that was his only good trait. So that left him with what? Nothing? He used to know his place, when did he forget? He would have to beat the humility back into himself until it stuck. He was already unlikeable enough, he couldn’t afford to lose his one redeeming quality. 

“Don’t be. It was for you.” 

“…What?”

“I made it for you.” Emmet held up the crumpled flowers that had once formed a chain. “But, uh, it’s fallen apart… It’s a bit too broken to be a gift…”

Skyla propped her head up on her fists. “So you admit it?” 

“It’s part of the metaphor,” Emmet said quickly. “It represents… the futility of war.”

“Emmet, it’s okay.” Skyla cracked a smile. “You can just admit that it’s bad.”

“It’s bad,” Emmet admitted. “But Ingo can still have it, if he wants.”

“I-I couldn’t p-possibly-“ Ingo stammered. 

…It was possible to be kind to people you disliked. It was also completely plausible, if he considered that Emmet’s golden rule seemed to be to treat others as they treated him. Emmet was nice because Ingo tried to be kind towards him, and that was likely all there was to it. A gift for a gift, Emmet didn’t like to leave debts unpaid. 

“Of course you can.” Emmet pressed the blooms into his hands. “Here you go.”

“I-“ he couldn’t talk past the lump in his throat.

Maybe he could be forgiven for getting confused? Because Emmet was so, so nice to him. Emmet was kind, and that was easy to mistake for care. 

“…That bad, huh?” Emmet asked, a little to the left of joking. 

“No,” Ingo gasped, hunched over the little gift caged in his hands. “It’s lovely, thank you.”

It was a lovely gift, and Ingo wished he had gotten it for reasons other than misplaced obligation. He was an ungrateful wretch of finding fault in a nice present. 

“Aw, don’t be sad.” Skyla fluttered over and slipped her flower crown over Ingo’s head. “Here, you can have mine.”

“No, no, you don’t have to-“ Ingo tried to push it off, but stopped upon feeling the loose fragility of it. The last thing he wanted to do was break it. It was much too nice for him. “I can’t accept this.”

She crouched down, wings spread out for balance. “Haven’t you heard that it’s rude to turn down a gift?”

Ingo shut up.

Oh, Maker, was it? It probably was. Obviously it was, what kind of idiot didn’t know such basic etiquette? Now he had gone and offended the princess. He was such a moron!

“…I didn’t mean to upset you.” Her smile was gone. It was strange how fluidly her expression could change. There were some perks to being made of flesh, he supposed. “You can give it back if you want. I thought it might cheer you up, that’s all.”

His hand flew to his mouth. He hadn’t even realised he’d been making a face. “I apologise for the misunderstanding! I’m perfectly fine! I tend to look more unhappy than I actually am, that’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“…You sure?” Skyla asked gently, and even Emmet looked concerned. He must have been making quite a hideous face.

Ingo nodded rapidly. 

What must he look like to them? He must look absurd with such a beautiful crown paired with his grumpy face. He looked stupid. He looked grotesque. He was sitting weird. He was taking up too much space, all gangly limbs and sharp edges. 

“It’s just that if both you and Emmet give me your own crowns, then you won’t have anything, princess.”

Skyla waved him off. “Oh, it’s no biggie! I can make these easily, don’t worry about it.”

“But-“

“Hang on.” Emmet picked up a flower that had fallen out during his attempt at braiding. He tucked it behind Skyla’s ear. “There. Now it’s fair.”

“Is it though?” She turned to him with a teasing grin. “You both got a whole bunch, but you only gave me one!”

They continued to bicker as Emmet threaded a few more into her hair in the name of equality. Ingo was glad that he hadn’t completely ruined the cheerful atmosphere.

Ingo lowered his head and let out a shaking breath. 

How mortifying… 

The petals were soft and waxy beneath his fingers. His chest ached, and his eyes felt hot. He was undoubtedly pulling a ghastly face, but his head was bowed so no one could see it. He was stupid, and self-centred, and he didn’t deserve a present, much less two. 

He still didn’t know what Emmet’s favourite thing was, he just knew it wasn’t Ingo. He didn’t know why he had thought that at all. Emmet was nice to him, but that didn’t mean that he liked him. Skyla was proof of that. She was astonishingly kind to them for no reason, and she had only met them today. No correlation between kindness and fondness, Ingo only thought so because he was ignorant. 

He wished he hadn’t said anything. 

He wished he wasn’t an idiot. 

He wished…

It didn’t matter. As Emmet would say, it wasn’t true, so it wasn’t worth dwelling on. 

“Ow!” Skyla squeaked, hands pressed to her scalp. “Ow, ow, ow!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Emmet tried to pull away, a few scarlet strands caught between the joints in his fingers. 

With a yelp and a snap, they broke apart. 

“Owie…” Skyla rubbed her head, which was absolutely bedecked with poppies. 

Emmet sheepishly picked the remaining hair out of his joints. “Sorry. My bad.”

“Are you alright?” Ingo asked, ashamed for not helping with either the flower decorating or the extraction of Emmet’s hand from her hair. 

“‘M fine.” She turned and a few of the poppies fell from her hair. “You good, Ingo?”

“Of course,” he said, and tried for a smile.

“Alright.” She gathered the remaining flowers together and stood up. “I don’t know about you boys, but I’m done here. Let’s head home.”

Ingo stood as well, and reached down to help Emmet up. Emmet grabbed his stick and let Ingo haul him upright. “Are you sure? You don’t need to go back.”

The sun had set, and the light was fading fast. The sky was in that strange state of a pale night, just dark enough to reveal a single star. “Yeah, I’m sure.” She pulled out the sash around her waist and tied it around her bouquet. “I got what I came for.”

Ingo scooped up his bag and held it carefully to his chest. It contained precious cargo he didn’t want to jostle too much. He immediately failed, jumping when Emmet slung his arm over his shoulder. 

“Are you sure you’re okay to walk back?” Ingo whispered. 

“Mmhmm!” Emmet nodded.

“What’s the stick for?”

“My new sword!” Emmet beamed, clearly still using it as a cane. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

“That- That will not suffice.” Ingo shook his head. “You can keep using mine.”

“But it’s yours.” They followed behind Skyla as she leapt into the trees. “I can’t leave you with nothing.”

“I’m gifting it to you. I can take the stick.”

“It’s my stick.”

“Fine, then keep both of them.”

“I can’t keep both!”

“One more thing, boys!” Skyla called down. They stopped and looked up. “Can we try to be sneaky about this? I have one more thing I want to do before I turn myself in.”