Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hey!”

The Chosen One flinched as a chunk of sky-blue background hit the dashboard next to him. Another few seconds, and he and the new Animation would be dead along with the PC. The redhead whipped his head around at the call, ponytail swinging. The Chosen One waved frantically to him before reaching down and grasping the edge of the dashboard. He grunted as he pulled, hyper-aware of the explosions growing louder above him. It took some effort, but just as the red Hollowhead had pattered up next to him, he managed to rip the dashboard apart. His new partner gasped quietly as The Chosen One managed to tear a hole in the dashboard itself, showing a shining white space beneath. Once the hole was big enough, The Chosen One didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the red Hollowhead’s hand and jumped, leaving the remains of the PC—the remains of his prison—behind.

The Hollowheads flew through the blank space. A mysterious force tugged them forward; where, The Chosen One didn’t know. Wherever it was, though, he had to believe it was better than what he just left. Beside him, the red Hollowhead let out a wild whoop.

“That was epic!” He shouted, flipping gleefully in midair, “You were like ‘SKADOOSH’ and I was like ‘BZZAT’ and then the whole thing went ‘BOOM!’” He laughed, the sound maniacal and unrestrained, yet The Chosen One found himself grinning along with the other’s enthusiasm. It was… strange. After five years alone with no company but his creator (who wasn’t much company to begin with), it was surreal to finally be in the presence of another Stick. Granted, the Hollowhead had tried to kill him within the first ten seconds of being alive… but The Chosen One knew that wasn’t his fault. And once they combined forces, his own code burning out the mission the creator had given the other…

Well, The Chosen One wouldn’t get his hopes up, but he was kind of looking forward to maybe, possibly, having a real friend.

As his laughter died out, the red Hollowhead twisted onto his back, letting the force carry him as he raised his hand to The Chosen One. “Up-top, man, we did great!”

Still grinning, The Chosen One obliged, slapping his hand against the other’s. A thought suddenly struck him, and he chuckled lightly.

“You know, I don’t think I even got your name,” he said, noticing with some amusement the way the Hollowhead’s black eyes were half-narrowed in pleasure; like a cat’s. Out of politeness, he added, “I’m The Chosen One.”

“I know,” the other responded flippantly, but he didn’t sound rude. He said it as though he was simply stating a fact, like the weather. Flipping back over, he jabbed a thumb at his chest and grinned. “Name’s The Dark Lord! But since that’s a pain to say all the time, I think it’d be cool if you just called me Dark. Waaay easier.”

The Chosen One rolled his eyes, but there was a sense of warmth in his chest at the easy way the other Animation spoke. He said, “Okay, Dark. Nice to officially meet you.”

He stuck his hand out to shake, but Dark just stared blankly. After a pause, he slapped his hand against The Chosen One’s and said, “I ain’t calling you by your full name either, you know. Imma call you Chosen; or—you know what, actually, Imma call you Cho just cuz I feel like it!”

Chosen’s own laughter sounded strange to his ears. The noise was long and loud and emanated deep within his chest. He had never truly, fully laughed before. It felt… good. Really good.

Orange chuckled as Gold yawned, his head nodding onto his father’s shoulder. “Tired, bud?”

The three-year-old hummed, his eyelids drooping. Orange smiled as the boy rubbed them with a chubby fist, fighting sleep. He hadn’t meant for the playdate with the neighbors to last so long, but he had gotten into a conversation with his friend and, well… needless to say, the man had lost track of time. Thankfully, they were only a couple blocks from home, so the walk wasn’t too far. With Gold slowly drifting off, Orange was able to take a moment to enjoy the quiet.

It was a cloudless night, with the full moon shining overhead, white and bulbous among the scattered stars. It was bright enough that no one had bothered to turn on the street lamps, so Orange could see the full sky clearly. He kept his eyes turned upward, admiring the scene as his feet carried him mechanically toward home.

Abruptly, Orange's steps faltered. His head swiveled, his brow furrowing as he held Gold a little tighter. He thought he had heard something… There! On the other side of the house just next to them, Orange could hear hushed voices. He hovered uncertainly, shifting his feet as he tried not to wake Gold. On one hand, he figured it was nothing. They didn’t get much activity out in this little town away from the city. Some of the older residents didn’t even bother locking their doors most nights. Orange knew everyone within a mile radius, and everyone knew him.

But he didn’t recognize these voices. And with his only son in his arms, that scared him just a little bit.

Still, he would have to walk past the voices to get home. If the circumstances were different, he would walk back to his friend’s house to wait out another hour or so before trying to head home again. But it was already late, and he could see their house from where he stood. He would just have to risk it. Though he couldn’t make out the words, it sounded like there were only two voices. He could take two people if he had to, even with Gold in his arms. He wasn’t a black belt in martial arts for nothing.

Steeling himself, Orange resumed walking, though he now made sure to keep his footsteps light and soundless. He wanted to at least see who he was dealing with. If it was some shady-looking strangers, he’d make a call to the local authorities when he got home. If it was just some of the neighbors out and about enjoying the night air, he’d rather know than be left wondering all night. As he drew closer, he was suddenly struck by the realization that these voices were young. He couldn’t place exactly how young, but they were definitely children. The tension in his chest eased immediately when he realized what was going on. A couple of the local kids had snuck out on a late-night jaunt. He rolled his eyes exasperatedly.

Of all the irresponsible…

No longer afraid of what he might find, the man stepped into view. He opened his mouth to begin scolding the little hooligans, but froze when two pairs of glowing eyes snapped in his direction. His mouth ran dry as he stood gaping at the kids. Their eyes were… unnatural. The colors were opposite of each other; One with bright crimson irises and black pupils, and the other with deep black irises and disturbing red pupils. These colors too spread to the rest of their appearance. The black-eyed boy was dressed in plain white pants and T-shirt, with long red hair pulled tight into a low ponytail. The other, to Orange's alarm and concern, was in what looked like a prison uniform, with black hair cropped short in a buzzcut. From what little he could see in the dim lighting, there were pale scars littering the kid’s arms, with a single long one cutting across one eye. As if all of this wasn’t enough, Orange's eyes were drawn to the symbols aborning the pair’s foreheads; a perfect, hollow circle, colored to match their respective hair.

The kids also looked startled by Orange's sudden appearance, but they were quicker to recover. Before the man could process what he was seeing, the redhead had summoned some kind of… orb of glowing, sparking energy. He raised his hand as though to throw it, but the other jumped forward, shouting, “Dark, don’t!”

“Wha—Why?” the redhead asked, his brow furrowed in confusion as he stared at the kid acting as a shield between Orange, Gold, and the deadly orb. “I thought you said not to let anyone see us?”

“I did, but…” The scarred boy shoved his hand through his hair, making it stick up in the front. He glanced back at Orange, who instinctively turned so that Gold was less visible. The man was shaken by the look in the kid’s eyes. There was a maturity, an intensity, in those glowing irises that shouldn’t belong to someone of his age. The boy studied Orange with a troubled expression before he turned back to the redhead.

“Let’s just try and talk first,” he murmured, though Orange could still hear him, “Just look how small the other one is… there’s no way they can be a threat.”

The redhead huffed, “You don’t know that.”

Even so, he seemed to listen to the other, as the orb shrank into his hand until it disappeared. Orange hadn’t realized how much light it had been casting until it was gone, and he blinked rapidly to recover his vision. When his eyes adjusted, he almost jumped when he found the black-haired boy almost right in front of him, eyes fixed unblinking on his face.

“So, um… sorry about that,” he started, shuffling his feet awkwardly. His mouth twitched up in a small smile, though it wobbled slightly. The boy’s eyes didn’t leave his.

“We’re, um… well, we’re new,” the kid continued, clasping his hands behind his back, “And we were wondering if… you could maybe tell us where we are?”

“I—yes,” Orange stammered, the words slipping out before he could properly think. He must have spoken a bit too loud, because Gold stirred on his shoulder, murmuring sleepily. The black-haired kid flinched as the motion, his eyes snapping from Orange to Gold in an instant. Thankfully, the toddler stayed asleep, settling back down a moment later. Yet Orange was transfixed by the expression on the strange boy’s face; a sort of wariness, a tension in his body like a coil that threatened to spring at any second. The look melted through some of Orange's fear, tugging at his heart and making him feel sick with sympathy. Whatever reason this child had to be so on-guard… it couldn’t be pleasant.

Seemingly satisfied that Gold wasn’t going to wake, the boy’s eyes slid back to Orange's, and the man found himself stuttering again.

“You’re in Etchingburg; about twelve miles from Stick City,” he explained, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the city with his free hand. He was met only with blank stares.

“What’s a ‘city?’’ He thought he heard the redhead mutter before the scarred one spoke over him.

“Okay,” he said slowly, his eyes narrowing as he stared fixedly at the zipper of Orange's jacket, obviously thinking hard, “And, um… where is that exactly?”

“Where—” Orange was baffled. “You mean, like… what country?”

“What, ah… world..?”

Orange blinked. He stared down at the kid, searching for some sign that this was all a massive prank. There was no way he was serious. He scanned every inch of the boy’s expression, taking in the way his eyes flitted nervously to the floor, his mouth pulled down, his eyebrows pinched. He kept wringing his hands, pulling and squeezing his fingers as he shifted his weight from side to side, rocking slightly. Slowly, dread settled in the pit of Orange's stomach.

The boy wasn’t joking, which meant one of two things; either he was insane, or he was from outside of the Outernet. And while visitors from the Internet weren’t that uncommon, a pair of children were.

Orange's head was reeling. All of it—the powers, the outfits, the strange birthmarks—was too much. He had no idea what he had just walked into, but he knew one thing for sure; these kids were not normal. Every bone in his body screamed at him to turn them over to the nearest police station; let the government handle their weirdness. But something held him back. Maybe it was the way the black-haired one tensed every time Orange moved, his fingers twitching, his eyes glowing ever so slightly brighter as a flicker of fear crossed his face. Maybe it was the way the redhead hovered behind, bouncing slightly on his heels, his eyes flicking all around them with a wandering curiosity, but always coming back to the exchange. Maybe it was the burns and cuts covering them both, noticeably fresh. Whatever it was, it made Orange's chest ache. The kids—Cursors, they were just kids—looked like they had been through hell.

Without fully meaning to, Orange felt himself slowly untense. He still kept Gold shielded with his body, and though his mind raced with questions, he was somehow able to keep his voice level as he asked carefully, “Where exactly are you kids from?”

The redhead scrunched his nose up, his head jerking back as though he had smelled something foreign, but the scarred one didn’t react except with a thoughtful frown. After a long pause, he slowly raised a hand to point upward. Orange blinked. What did that mean? They came out of the sky..?

Oh. The Skygrid. But… that wasn’t possible. He knew every square in the Skygrid acted as a gateway to a PC; the private devices of the mysterious Outsiders. But the gateways had been inaccessible for centuries, closed up by constantly upgrading firewall systems. Nothing could get in…

But did that really mean nothing could get out? Orange wasn’t sure. But after everything he had already seen from these boys, he was willing to believe it.

Swallowing a tired sigh, the man forced himself to smile, trying to keep his expression friendly as he said, “My name is Orange, and this is my son, Gold.” He tilted his head to gesture to the sleeping child. To the boys, he continued, “It’s pretty late. Do you guys… need a place to stay the night?”

He internally winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He knew it wasn’t smart, inviting two potentially-dangerous strangers into his home, especially with Gold. But… Stick it, they were kids! He couldn’t just leave them here.

At his offer, both boys looked surprised. The redhead blinked, staring at Orange like he had grown a second head, while the other shook his head.

“I… why?” He asked, a note of suspicion in his voice as he took a step back, “Are you offering?”

Orange hesitated briefly before he nodded.

“I wouldn’t be a very exemplary parent if I just let two kids roam around at night by themselves,” he said, chuckling awkwardly, “It’ll just be for the night. Then, if you want, I can help you find your way home—”

“NO!” “No way!!”

Gold started at the duo’s shouts. He whined a bit, blinking as he sluggishly lifted his head. Instinctively, Orange began making soft shushing noises as he stroked the toddler’s head.

“Shh, go back to sleep, bud,” he murmured. Gold whined quietly again, but he obliged, his eyes falling closed once more as his head sagged back onto Orange's shoulder. Once he was sure Gold was asleep, the man turned back to the older boys. The red-eyed kid’s gaze was fixed on Gold, an odd expression on his face, while the redhead looked upset. His face was pinched, his eyes flaring as he marched up beside his partner, glaring up into Orange's eyes.

“There is no way we’re going back,” he hissed, his voice holding a malice that shook Orange to his core, “No one can make us, least of all you!”
“Okay, I’m sorry,” the man said quickly, gesturing with his free hand for the kid to calm down. He was disturbed by their visceral reaction, but he was saddened to find he wasn’t surprised. Judging from their beat-up appearance—and the old scars covering the black-haired one—he was beginning to suspect what they seemed to be running from. As one more test, he added as gently as he could, “I would just think your family is worried about you.”

Orange didn’t know what he was expecting in response. Maybe some kind of avoidant reaction; averting of eyes, awkward shuffling, mumbled excuses. Maybe more hostility. He definitely wasn’t prepared to receive nothing more than blank, puzzled stares.

“What is that?” the redhead asked bluntly, his nose wrinkling. Orange was confounded.

“I—family?” He repeated, wondering if they perhaps just misheard. The kid nodded.

“Yeah, that,” he said, tossing his arm in a half-hearted gesture, “What does that mean?”

…Coded Cursors, Orange did not sign up for this.

Chapter Text

Orange stifled a yawn and rubbed his eyes. The light from the laptop screen was at its lowest setting, but it still felt too sharp and bright. He longed to close his eyes and lay his head down, just for a minute, but he knew if he did, he’d pass out.

He had been up for hours talking to the boys; Chosen and Dark, they called themselves, though the names were the least concerning piece on their list of abnormalities. Their powers, their attire, those marks on their foreheads… Orange felt like he had landed himself smack in the middle of a science fiction novel. Particularly with the way the boys conducted themselves; tense and aloof, but also nervous and awkward. They could be painfully blunt sometimes, especially Dark. The redhead seemed to have no filter, blurting out the first thought in his head without any regard or mindfulness for his audience. Chosen was more subdued, but Orange didn’t think it was from any sort of extra social awareness. If anything, he acted wary and skittish. He stuttered when he spoke, constantly second-guessing his words and trying to correct himself halfway through a sentence. Sometimes, Orange would catch him going to say something, only to change his mind and keep quiet.

All in all, getting information out of them proved to be extremely difficult. He gathered that they had run from a bad situation, but he couldn’t get a clear answer of what that bad situation was. Dark ranted about cursors and minefields, Chosen mumbled about chains and pop-ups, and Orange got a headache. Eventually, he noticed Dark starting to nod off, his babbling dying down as he rubbed his eyes. Gently, the man suggested they get some sleep, and after a brief whispered discussion, the boys agreed. Orange led them to the guest bedroom, showing them where the bathroom was in case they wanted it. He mentioned showers, as they were still pretty scuffed and dirty, but he had only received blank stares in response. Honestly, he was starting to get used to that reaction.

So he showed them how to work the faucet and showerhead, walking them through how to properly wash their hair and helping them clean their wounds. He tried not to show too much of his horror when he came across several burn marks, as well as deep cuts and dark bruises. He didn’t have a clue how these kids were still standing. He eventually went to get the medical kit in the kitchen, just to disinfect and bind some of the worst injuries.

After much time and effort, the kids had been successfully washed and treated. Orange lent them some of his extra T-shirts for them to sleep in. Not only were their old clothes torn and bloodied, but he couldn’t stand seeing Chosen in that sickening orange uniform any more. The shirts seemed to swallow the boys whole, but since the man didn’t have anything better, he supposed they would have to do. He had already mentally started to plan a shopping trip for them in the morning before he caught himself.

Orange waited until the boys had settled down before he left the room. Dark was out almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, snoring loudly from where he lay splayed on the floor pallet. Chosen, however, didn’t show any signs of sleepiness. He awkwardly and politely told Orange goodnight before he crawled under the covers of the bed, but Orange could see his open eyes glowing dimly in the darkness. But he figured he couldn’t force the kid to sleep, so he simply whispered for Chosen to find him if he needed anything before he left, leaving the door cracked behind him.

That had been two hours ago, around midnight. Even after their conversation, Orange’s brain itched with questions. So he had decided to utilize his next best resource; Google. He typed everything he could think of into the search bar, from “how to break through the skygrid ” to “circular forehead symbols or birthmarks.” After about an hour, he stumbled upon a lead.

At first, he was skeptical about the article. It was on Stickipedia; one of those websites that was inaccessible to Outsiders. While the site itself wasn’t too sketchy, he wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that the article was labeled “mythology.” As he read through it, however, dread began pooling in his stomach.

The article was about supposedly mythical beings called “Animated Sticks” or simply “Animations.” These Sticks weren’t like people from the Outernet, nor were they like the Web Sticks of the Internet. Instead, they were created on the private PCs beyond the Skygrid, by Outsiders known as “Animators.” According to the article, Animations were brought to life by the imaginations of the Outsiders, which meant they held the capacity for limitless possibilities. They could look like anything, be anything, do anything. It all depended on the Animator’s whims.

There were a few pictures attached to the article; some art and things people had created for these mythical beings. They were all different, each depiction containing some kind of unusual feature; pointed ears, extra limbs, animal-like traits… But Orange noticed one consistent detail. On the foreheads of every creature drawn, there was a hollow, circular symbol.

The man sat back, the chair creaking as he slumped against it. He blew out a long breath and rubbed aggressively at his eyes. The information was so… overwhelming. Part of him didn’t want to believe it; these beings were fictional . Nothing more than stories passed down through generations from the ancient peoples of the Outernet. And yet there were currently two children in his guest room that seemed to match these stories almost exactly. Orange didn’t want to believe it. But he couldn’t deny it.

The question now was; what did he do about it? If the boys were created by one of these Animators, then they really didn’t have a family to go back to, did they? And it wasn’t like the authorities could help much; they’d likely just stick the two in foster care. Or worse—Orange shuddered—they’d somehow end up in some lab far away, to be dissected and scrutinized under a microscope. In the back of his mind, a little voice told him this was ridiculous. Still, he couldn’t help but think it.

The man sighed again. It was far too late for him to be thinking about this. He could feel his systems crashing, his eyes aching to be closed. Perhaps an answer would present itself in the morning, after he slept on it.

Yawning, he closed the laptop and stood, stretching out his stiff limbs. With trudging steps, he started toward the back. All of the lights in the kitchen and the hall beyond were off, since the boys were sleeping, but Orange was familiar enough with the layout that he could find his way through easily. He had just neared the doorway when a sudden clatter made him jump out of his skin. Worried something had broken or someone had gotten hurt, he rushed into the kitchen and fumbled for the light switch. He caught a glimpse of a dull red light before he found the switch and flipped it up. The lights flared, and he blinked rapidly to get his eyes adjusted. Once his vision cleared, he was startled to find Chosen standing frozen next to the counter like a deer in headlights. The cabinet above him was open, and there were several plastic cups on the floor by his feet.

Orange was running on fumes at this point, so it took him a second to register what was going on. Rubbing one eye, he yawned, “Chosen? What’s up, buddy?”

“I, um… it’s nothing,” the boy muttered, shifting his eyes down as he wrung his hands. The nervousness only lasted a second before his expression suddenly hardened, and he quickly corrected himself, “Actually, I was… thirsty. I just came to grab a water or something. I-I didn’t mean to bother you. You can go if you’re going to bed, I can just get it myself, and then I’ll go back to the room. I’ll be quick…”

His voice trailed off to an indistinct mumble as his gaze dropped again. Orange’s first instinct was to laugh at the boy’s awkwardness, but this was quickly overshadowed as he automatically glanced at the scar over the kid’s eye. His amusement faded to sadness, then sympathy. With a soft smile, he stepped forward. Chosen flinched, his body tensing into a defensive position before he seemed to think about it. Immediately, Orange stopped. He kept his voice quiet and kind as he said, “You can get a drink if you’re thirsty. Do you want me to help you clean up?”

Chosen’s expression flickered for a moment into something Orange couldn’t read, but he shook his head. Hastily, he gathered the scattered cups and set them on the counter. The cabinet was beyond his reach, but Orange watched as he easily pushed himself onto the counter. He remained sitting, sliding the cups back onto the shelf before he shut the door and jumped down. He flashed Orange a short, tense smile, as though to say, “ See? All good. ”

Orange returned the smile with some amusement. A moment passed before realization dawned on Chosen’s face, and he gave the cabinet a rueful look. “Oh, yeah.”

Orange chuckled and walked to the cabinet. Chosen skittered out of his way, his shoulders hunching as he ducked his head. Orange smiled again, though this time the gesture was a little forced as a wave of nausea passed over him. The man tried to ignore it as he reached into the cabinet and pulled one of the cups back out. He handed it to Chosen, “There you go. Water’s in the fridge; that big thing there.” He pointed at the refrigerator. “Just press the cup against the little tab there on the door.”

As he suspected, the boy’s nose scrunched up in confusion, but he obeyed nonetheless. Wandering over to the refrigerator, he scanned it with a furrowed brow. Orange almost wanted to laugh at his intensely focused expression. Only a second passed before the boy hesitantly pressed the cup into the alcove on the door. He flinched a bit when the water came out, but soon relaxed. His eyebrows shot up, and he leaned forward, watching the stream of water slowly fill his cup. Orange guessed it was about halfway full before Chosen pulled it away, and the water stopped. Hesitantly, the boy lifted the cup to his lips and tipped it back. He sipped once and swallowed. His eyes widened, and he began drinking with more gusto. Orange’s fond amusement faded to concern as he watched the boy down the cup in a single big gulp. He acted like he had never had water before.

Come to think of it, did Animations even need to eat or drink? Surely, there wasn’t any food on a PC. But Dark and Chosen looked… well, not healthy, per say, given the wounds (Orange still needed to figure out what those were from). But they didn’t look or act underfed. The man suddenly realized that he hadn’t even thought to offer the boys any food. He almost face-palmed. Idiot!

Chosen, having finished the drink far more quickly than what Orange thought was normal, went to fill the cup again, but he stopped. He glanced at Orange from the corner of his eye, his brow furrowed, his mouth pulled into a deliberating frown. He seemed to be silently asking permission for seconds. At Orange’s nod, the boy eagerly pressed the cup to the tab. This time, he filled it up almost to the brim before he carefully pulled it back, taking care not to let the liquid slosh out.

Orange eased back to lean against the counter, crossing his arms as he watched the boy thoughtfully. He could tell Chosen sensed his gaze from the way the kid’s eyes kept darting to him before quickly looking away. He could see a tension slowly building in the boy’s shoulders, so to ease the atmosphere, he asked, “How old are you, buddy?”

The question seemed to catch the Animation off-guard. His eyes widened, then narrowed in an expression of confusion. He didn’t answer immediately, swallowing a gulp of water before he looked at Orange, his brow furrowed.

“How old do I look?” He asked slowly, an edge of caution in his voice. Orange frowned, tilting his head as he assessed the boy’s appearance.

“Twelve?” He hazarded after a pause, “Maybe thirteen.”

Orange wasn’t sure what to make of the expression of dread that crossed Chosen’s face. The boy’s eyes shifted, and he swallowed thickly. Carefully, he set the water on the counter. Orange thought he saw his hands shaking as he pulled them away.

“What, um… what year is it?” Chosen asked quietly, staring fixedly at the cup. Orange felt the sudden urge to draw closer, maybe give the boy a hug, but he refrained. The kid seemed skittish about contact. He didn’t want to scare him more.

“Twenty-eleven,” he responded, “August sixth. Well—” He glanced at the clock on the wall and chuckled, “August seventh, as of two and a half hours ago.”

He could see Chosen doing the mental calculations, his brow furrowed as he seemed to glare at the counter, his mouth pulled into a deep frown. After several minutes, the boy’s face cleared a bit.

“That’s not as bad…” Orange heard him mutter to himself before he looked up. “I think I’m only four.”

“ Only— ” Orange almost choked. He stood up straight, his arms dropping to his sides as he stared at Chosen, slack-jawed. Though he couldn’t quite help his reaction, he did regret it a moment later when the boy grew nervous, ducking his head and stepping back quickly. Orange struggled to keep his tone calm as he said, “Chosen, Gold is four.”

“Oh…” The boy whispered, wringing his hands, “But… he’s so small…”

“Yes, because he’s a child,” Orange explained as gently as he could, “He only learned to talk a couple of years ago. He can’t even read yet.”

“Really?” Chosen blinked. “I knew how to talk and read as soon as I was created. Is… is that not normal?”

The man was about to reply “no,” but he stopped. Chosen’s eyes looked at him, wide and questioning and fearful. There was a blooming dread in his expression; a slow realization that even among other Sticks, he wasn’t ordinary. Orange didn’t want to do that to him. To imply that he was some kind of freak of nature. Because he wasn’t. Behind his alarming age and intelligence, behind his scars and his red eyes, Orange saw a real child, scared and craving some kind of validation; just the smallest gesture of care and affection.

Slowly, the man drew in a deep breath. The shock was starting to wane, giving way to that gentler sense of concern. This time, he didn’t hesitate to approach Chosen. The boy visibly flinched, his body tensing to defend himself if necessary, but Orange stopped just within arms’ reach. He knelt down to Chosen’s level and looked the boy straight in his bright, crimson eyes. Softly, he confessed, “No, bud, it’s not normal. But there’s nothing wrong with it. I want to tell you that now because there will be Sticks who want to tell you otherwise, but trust me when I say there is nothing wrong with you. You—and Dark—you’re different, but that’s okay. You understand what I’m saying?”

Chosen was frozen, staring into the man’s eyes as a thousand conflicting emotions played across his face. His hands were clenched together, knuckles tight as he squeezed his fingers. Orange read it as some sort of unconscious effort to ground himself. After a long pause, his eyes glistened with a silver sheen, and the boy quickly looked away.

“I, uh… yeah,” he murmured thickly, a hand swiping over his eyes. He went silent again, but from the way his hands started to tense and untense, Orange guessed he had something he wanted to say. The man didn’t push, but he patiently waited as Chosen shifted his footing. After a moment, the boy blurted out, “I didn’t—the day I was created, I… it was a lot. I had a lot of power. It was overwhelming. I didn’t know what to do with it, so I just… I freaked out; started destroying everything. I didn’t really know what I was doing until he… stopped me.”

Orange blinked, but he made sure to keep his face neutral. A part of him almost cheered. This seemed like a big confession, and he hoped Chosen would share more. Gently, he asked, “Who is ‘he?’”

“My creator,” the Animation replied, his voice shaking slightly. Orange had suspected as much. He was silent for a moment, pondering how best to continue.

“Chosen,” He started carefully, keeping his tone neutral and deliberating his words before he spoke, “What was your… relationship with your creator? It… It wasn’t a good one, was it?”

The boy scoffed; a harsh, mean sound without mirth. His eyes flicked up, and Orange almost flinched back at the look of venomous hatred in Chosen’s gaze. It took him a moment to realize that the look wasn’t meant for him.

“That’s a mild way of putting it,” the boy muttered, and there was a slight, inhuman growl in his voice. He hugged himself, fingers gripping his arms so tightly that Orange could see his nails digging into his skin. His eyes stared over the man’s head at something unseen, and he kept doing something strange with one foot; lifting it and putting it back down again. Up and down, up and down. Orange noticed the thick, pale scar on the Animation’s left ankle. He had seen it earlier, when he was helping the boys clean up. At the time, he had passed it off as one of the many old wounds Chosen had. Although, now that he was actually looking at it, he realized it was different from the others. Most of Chosen’s scars were various pale slices and burns, like leftovers from a fight. However, this one was wider and deeper, made of multiple localized cuts all the way around his ankle. It was as though something had scraped over it several times; something like a metal cuff… Without thinking, Orange grabbed the jiggling leg to get a closer look at the scar. He realized his mistake a second too late.

He had barely grabbed hold of the leg before he felt a stinging blow to his face. The man was sent flying, crashing into the cabinets under the sink. The doors broke beneath him with a sharp crack, and he felt some of the jagged edges scrape against his arms. Orange didn’t move for a second, completely stunned. His ears were ringing, and he could feel something warm trickling down his temple. In a daze, he touched his shaking hand to the warmth, and his fingers came away sticky and red.

As the fog in his head cleared, Orange began to register Chosen speaking. He blinked, looking up to see the boy hovering over him, his expression panicked as he babbled.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to!” He blurted out, his eyes wide and scared. He kept reaching down as though to help, then stopping halfway and quickly pulling back with his fists clenched. His words were rushed, his voice pitched a little too high as he rambled, “I’m sorry, I just… I didn’t think, I freaked out…”

“S’ okay,” Orange managed to mumble, but Chosen didn’t seem to hear him, still babbling. Groaning slightly, the man pushed himself up, relieving the pressure of the broken cabinets jabbing into his back.

“Chosen,” he said softly, trying to get the boy’s attention. Immediately, the Animation stopped talking, his eyes round as he stared at Orange. His chest heaved, his breath coming out quick and heavy. Shakily, the man gave him a reassuring smile.

“You’re okay ,” he said earnestly, ignoring the throbbing pain blooming on his cheek, “I shouldn’t have grabbed you without warning. I’m sorry for startling you.”

“But I don’t know why I did that,” Chosen muttered, one hand shoving through his hair as he shook his head vigorously, “You weren’t… you weren’t trying to hurt me. I just reacted, and…”

“And that’s normal,” Orange interrupted. Chosen’s eyes widened, and he glanced down at the man, confusion written over his face. Orange was starting to regain feeling in his limbs. Carefully, wincing slightly at the way his bruised body protested, he reached up and braced his hand against the counter, pulling himself to his feet. Chosen tracked his movements, but he didn’t do anything. He kept his hands clenched firmly at his sides, and Orange noticed his arms were trembling slightly. Letting out a breath, the man smiled sadly, “Chosen, I don’t know everything you and Dark have dealt with, but I can still tell you’ve been through a lot. I wasn’t trying to hurt you, but you have had someone hurt you in the past. It’s only reasonable that your first response to an unwanted or unexpected touch would be to defend yourself. I recognized that, but I forgot to respect it. What just happened was my fault, not yours. I’m sorry.”

From the way Chosen stared at him, Orange wondered if the boy had ever received an apology before. His eyes glossed over, and his mouth was open slightly in shock. After a long pause, the boy drew in a shuddering breath. Slowly, his hands unclenched from their tight fists. He dropped his gaze, staring down at his hands as he methodically flexed his fingers.

“I… I don’t, um… I don’t know what to say,” the boy finally managed to stammer out, “This is all so… it’s weird. I don’t understand. I never—” His breath hitched, and he blinked rapidly like he was holding back tears. When he spoke next, his voice sounded very small. “I never got the chance…”

He trailed off, hands tugging at the edge of his shirt, weight shifting from one foot to the other. Despite the blood still oozing from the cut on his forehead, despite the pounding in his head, Orange couldn’t focus on anything but the kid in front of him. Grunting with the effort, he carefully lowered himself down to eye-level again. It didn’t feel right talking down to the boy, if he could even be called that. It was a bit confusing; for all intents and purposes, Chosen was a child. He looked like a child, and in some ways, he had the same ignorance of a child. But Orange could also see the seriousness in the way he conducted himself. A seriousness that, unfortunately, was only gained from being forced to grow up too fast. A seriousness that came from dealing with far too much pain.

Chosen’s gaze flicked to Orange as he knelt down, once again meeting the boy’s eyes. Solemnly, the man told him, “Chosen, I want to help you. I am going to help you. Whatever that looks like—whatever you need from me—I’ll give it if I can. I don’t know what you’ve gone through, and you don’t have to tell me everything tonight. You just… let me know whatever you need, okay? You and Dark are safe here; I promise.”

For what had to be the fifth time that night, Orange found the boy staring at him, entirely dumbfounded. The man felt a flash of worry. Had that been too much? What if he overwhelmed the kid and he ran? It wasn’t like Orange would be able to stop him—

Chosen’s eyes glistened, and he quickly turned away. His hand swiped over his face as he swallowed. When he spoke, his voice was thick, “Um… Thank you, Orange. I… It means a lot. Like… a lot.”

He sniffed, and Orange saw the way his face screwed up, like he was holding back tears. The boy choked, sounding startled as the water squeezed its way out anyway, trailing down his cheeks.

“I, uh—sorry,” Chosen stammered, scrubbing viciously at his eyes, as though desperately trying to erase the evidence of his emotions, “I’m not sure why I’m doing this…”

“You’re probably tired,” Orange offered, “I’m guessing you’ve had a long day, and it’s been a long night. Go get some sleep, okay? I’m going to clean up and then head to bed myself.”

Chosen didn’t reply, hesitating briefly before he gave a silent nod. Sniffing slightly, he shuffled off back down the hall. He glanced back once at Orange, his eyes shimmering with uncertainty. The man gave an encouraging smile and a nod, and this seemed to be enough. Orange thought he saw the tiniest trace of a smile before Chosen faded into the darkness of the hallway.

As soon as his faint red glow had disappeared into the guest room, Orange let out a deep sigh and slumped against the counter. His head throbbed, and the blood felt itchy where it was slowly drying. He knew offering shelter to the kids would be difficult; he didn’t think he realized just how difficult. Oddly enough, instead of questioning his decision, he found himself even more sure of it. So what if they were some kind of mythical beings easily more powerful than himself? Chosen was intelligent, and Dark was strong. They were perfectly capable of handling themselves. But that didn’t mean they had to. That didn’t mean they weren’t still kids. Whatever strange aging system they had couldn’t change that. If what just happened told Orange anything, it was that they needed help.

And if he just happened to be in a position to be that help, then, well… so be it. He didn’t think—heck, he knew he wasn’t the most qualified. He wasn’t a doctor or psychiatrist or whatever else these kids seemed to need. He was just a single father living in the middle of nowhere with not even thirty years to his name. But he was what they had, so stick it all , he was going to do his very best.

Chapter Text

The next few days were… strange, to say the least. Gold was naturally disturbed to wake up and find two kids with “creepy eyes” sitting at the kitchen table eating “his” pancakes. He cried for a little while and avoided the boys for even longer. It took a few hours, but eventually he got over his fright enough to ask them to play with him. Orange couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of them sprawled out on the living room floor, Chosen listening intently to Gold’s toddler ramblings while Dark methodically dismantled an action figure (that he later put back together with unsettling accuracy).

In his free time, Orange scoured websites and online library books, digging up every shred of information he could find on Animations. Unfortunately, most of it useless; fairytales and myths, many with no clear origin, circulated through the years into nothing more than folklore. Very little was said about how to deal with them, much less take care of them.

The weekend came and went; Orange eventually decided to call in sick to work, just so he could stay home and keep an eye on the boys. Their second day with him, he caved and bought them new clothes. He didn’t feel comfortable taking them into the public yet, but he didn’t want to risk leaving them at home by themselves, so he eventually just sent their measurements to his sister and asked her to pick the clothes up for him. He didn’t really know how to explain… anything to her yet, so he just told her they were for a local children’s drive. He was pretty sure she didn’t believe him, but she thankfully didn’t pry.

Over the next week, Orange paid special attention to the boys, noting their habits and what things seemed to trigger them. Dark didn’t like sudden loud noises; he flinched anytime a door slammed, and the first time he was introduced to the toaster… needless to say, Orange no longer had a toaster. Chosen was a bundle of nerves, and Orange could never quite predict what might set him off. He was nervous about touch, as Orange had learned the hard way. A high-five or a pat on the shoulder was acceptable as long as he saw it coming and knew what was happening. He didn’t like to be grabbed, pulled, or pushed. While it looked like he was trying to avoid a repeat of that night in the kitchen, he still jumped if startled. Sometimes, Orange noticed sparks fly from his hands when he raised his arms in instinctive defense.

The boy also had moments where he seemed… at war with himself? Orange didn’t know how the boys operated with authority, so he tried not to demand or order them around. Any rules or admonishments he gave them he backed with good reason. And the explanations did help, usually. Dark would argue at first, but reluctantly give in once he understood Orange’s perspective. Chosen, however… Sometimes, he wouldn’t question anything, only nodding mutely and keeping his gaze fixed on the ground in tense submission. Other times, his eyes sparked with a defiant fire, and he acted like he didn’t want to hear anything the man had to say. It often took several minutes for the boy to calm down enough that he would be willing to listen.

Orange did his best to be patient. Even when Chosen set one of the spare blankets on fire, nearly burning the house down and then refusing to apologize; even when he accidentally knocked a stack of ceramic plates off the counter and wouldn’t help clean up the mess; even when he blatantly ignored Orange’s rule of not climbing on the roof of the house… although Orange let that one go after he found out the boys could apparently fly.

The man wasn’t sure what was going on or how to handle it. He started doing research on abuse as well, reading articles and books about how to recognize symptoms and what to do about them. It was a grueling process, and in the meantime, Chosen’s behavior only seemed to get worse.

Orange first noticed it about four or five days after he had taken the boys in. They were sitting down for breakfast, a simple meal of waffles and bacon, but Dark devoured it like it was the first thing he had ever eaten. He somehow managed to sneak Gold extra syrup when Orange wasn’t looking, which meant the four-year-old was now sticky all over. He thrust bits of waffle into the syrup lake on his plate, giggling when it spilled out, and Dark cackled with him. Orange sighed and was about to tell them off when he noticed something odd with Chosen.

Usually, the boy was as eager to eat as Dark, wolfing down the food with a wondering look in his eyes that Orange never got tired of seeing. At the moment, however, he seemed somewhat… listless. He still ate, but his movements were subdued and sluggish, his fork struggling to cut into the soft waffles. He sat blinking at the syrup for a solid thirty seconds before he eventually reached across the table to pour himself some. Orange frowned in concern as he watched the boy sip quietly on his chocolate milk, detached from Dark and Gold’s antics next to him. The man thought he saw dark circles under Chosen’s eyes, but he couldn’t quite tell.

Thankfully, the boy seemed to perk up after breakfast, and he spent the rest of the day in the backyard with Dark. Still, he seemed more irritable than usual, bristling at both Dark and Orange over littlest things. When it was time for bed that night, he lingered, sipping water in the kitchen for nearly forty-five minutes before he begrudgingly returned to the guest room.

The next day was worse. Chosen snapped at Orange over breakfast after the man off-handedly told him to be careful with the hot biscuit pan. Then he grew impatient when Gold asked to play with him, brushing him off and becoming annoyed when the toddler persisted. Things came to a head when he almost got into an all-out brawl with Dark. Orange’s whole body went cold when Chosen sent a spurt of flame at the other Animation, catching the curtains on fire right next to where Gold stood yelling at them both to stop.

Orange was quick to act, snatching Gold out of the way while Dark sprinted across the room and yanked the curtains off the wall. The metal rod clattered to the floor as the redhead threw the curtains on the ground and proceeded to stomp on them until the flames were gone. The bottoms of his jeans were scorched and black as he whirled toward Chosen, his expression pinched with anger.

“Nice going, Cho!” he shouted, throwing his arms out to encompass the whole of the situation, “You almost hit Gold with that one! Even I know better than to start slinging fireballs around in the middle of the living room! Seriously, what has been up with you lately?”

“I… I didn’t—”

Chosen’s eyes were wide, all of the aggression completely drained out of him as he stared at the ruined curtains. He glanced at Orange and Gold, who was crying into his father’s shoulder. Chosen’s expression was one of horror, knowing just how close he had come to gravely injuring the toddler. Orange could still feel panic coursing through his own veins, his heart pounding as he hugged Gold tightly to his chest.

“Hey, bud,” he spoke softly, carefully, his voice shaking, “I know you wouldn’t try to hurt Gold on purpose. So what’s going on? What can I help with?”

“I… I don’t know,” the boy murmured, his eyes on the floor as he wrung his hands, his left leg jiggling. “I just feel… strange. Like everything feels heavy, and my head hurts all the time, and sometimes I can’t remember what I was doing. Dumb stuff makes me angry, and I don’t know why. I—”

He broke off with a sudden yawn, and he scrubbed irritably at his eyes. Something clicked in Orange’s head, and his grip on Gold slackened as his fear began to fade. He asked, “Chosen… how much sleep are you getting?”

“None,” Dark blurted out before Chosen could respond, “I know because he’s always still awake when I go to sleep, and he’s always up first when I wake up in the morning, and he keeps waking me up in the middle of the night when he goes and gets water from the kitchen.”

“Wha— You’ve been getting up too!” Chosen argued, giving Dark an incredulous look, “You keep getting snacks out of the pantry.”

“Yeah, because you wake me up, and then I’m hungry, and then what else am I supposed to do?” Dark retorted. He crossed his arms, rolling his eyes at the other Animation. Orange remembered noticing they were suspiciously low on cheese puffs that morning, but he ignored that realization in favor of the more pressing one.

“Chosen, have you slept at all since you’ve been here?”

The boy huffed, and his shoulders slumped. “I mean, no. But I don’t see how that’s really relevant. I never slept on the PC either.”

Orange’s breath caught, and he shut his eyes. He didn’t mean to; it was a habit he had picked up recently, whenever the boys dropped one of their verbal bombs. The man gave himself a moment to recover before he opened his eyes to find Chosen and Dark staring at him, expressions pinched. They had also picked up on Orange’s little tic, so despite his best efforts, they knew what Chosen had said was abnormal. The man sighed.

“Are you saying in four years, you never got any sort of rest?”

Gold was starting to get heavy, so Orange let him slide to the ground. The boy had stopped crying, but he stayed where he was, clinging to Orange’s leg as he sucked on his fingers, eyeing Chosen warily. Chosen, meanwhile, gave a noncommittal shrug, his gaze not leaving the floor. “I mean, I had long periods of time where I was, um, stationary. When I wasn’t… working.”

Working.

Orange’s gaze flicked to Chosen’s bouncing leg, and he struggled to keep his mouth shut. The mental picture he had been building for the last few days was not getting any better. A part of him screamed to sit the boys down and have them tell him the whole story from beginning to end, but he knew it wouldn’t go over well. He still had the scab on his head to prove it.

Taking a deep breath, he deliberately pushed the questions to the corner of his mind, filing them away with the others for a later date. He instead focused on the matter at hand.

“I’ll admit, I don’t know how things work on a PC,” he began carefully, “Maybe it was different. But for… Outernet Sticks, lack of sleep usually is a bad thing. We don’t function quite right without it.”

“Okay.” Chosen had his arms crossed against his chest, his shoulders hunched defensively. “But I’m not an Outernet Stick. That stuff doesn’t affect me.”

Orange swallowed an exasperated sigh. He wasn’t sure what to do. It was very clear now that Chosen was suffering from lack of sleep, but unless the boy believed it himself, there wasn’t much Orange could do. He couldn’t very well force the kid to rest.

“Look—” The man glanced up at the clock. “It’s almost five-thirty, and I need to go get dinner prepped. Why don’t you go get a shower, and after dinner, we’ll all go to bed early tonight.”

“But I’m not—!”

“It won’t hurt to just try, bud,” Orange interrupted. He winced at the edge of frustration that leaked into his voice, and he quickly softened his tone. “If it’s not that, we’ll figure out what it really is. But you admit that you’re not feeling well, and we have to start trying something to help you get better, okay?”

Chosen didn’t respond, but he stared hard at Orange, his mouth pressed into a thin line. For a second, Orange worried he would continue to argue, but to his relief, Chosen only glared briefly before giving an exasperated sigh.

“Okay, I’ll try,” he muttered, and Orange’s tense shoulders relaxed.

“Thank you, Chosen,” he said gratefully. Some of the hardness in Chosen’s gaze melted, and the boy nodded. He mumbled something Orange couldn’t make out, but it didn’t seem to be important as the Animation slipped past him, into the kitchen and down the hall. As he listened to Chosen’s footsteps pad softly away, Orange turned to the child still clinging to his leg.

“Gold, why don’t you go play in your room for a bit while I get dinner ready?” he suggested. Gold frowned.

“Why was Cho-Cho mad?” he asked, voice trembling slightly. Orange gave him a reassuring smile.

“He’s not mad, just tired,” he assured the toddler, “You know how you get fussy when you don’t take your nap?”

Gold blinked, his brow furrowing in deep thought.

“Maybe Cho-Cho should take naps,” he recommended seriously. Orange laughed.

“Maybe,” he replied, “Now go play, dinner will be ready soon.”

“Okay!” the little boy chirped. He ran off, his near-death experience already forgotten as he charged toward his room. Orange watched him for a moment before a sharp clang grabbed his attention. He turned back to the living room to see Dark nudging the bent curtain rod with his toe, his brow furrowed. He looked at Orange.

“I don’t think that’s going back up,” he admitted bluntly. The man sighed.

“It’s fine,” he said, “The curtains were old, anyway.”

His gaze drifted to Dark’s bare feet, and he winced; they were completely black.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice dipping into concern. He quickly crossed the room, crouching down to get a better look at the boy’s feet. The redhead looked surprised, his eyes narrowing in confusion before he followed Orange’s gaze.

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Dark lifted one foot, inspecting it half-heartedly as he shrugged. “I’m good. That wasn’t even one of Chosen’s most powerful fireballs. Now those… Those hurt.”

He laughed, and Orange wasn’t sure if he imagined the slightly bitter edge in his tone. He frowned, but seeing as Dark didn’t seem to be in pain, he let the comment go. He straightened up, sighing again as he eyed the downed curtain. There was a brief moment of silence.

“Hey, Dark,” Orange said, not taking his eyes off the curtain.

“Yeah?”

“Can you do me a favor?”

Dark’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of favor?”

“Just…” Orange bit his lip, his foot tapping slightly. “Can you make sure Chosen actually sleeps tonight?”

‘Why?” Dark’s gaze hardened, and he subtly shifted his weight. He continued, his voice sharp with defensiveness, “He said that wasn’t the problem.”

“I know,” Orange said, and he finally turned to look the boy in the eye. “But… do you really believe him?”

Dark opened his mouth, but stopped. Orange watched his expression contort as his words filtered through the Animation’s mind, shifting from wary to thoughtful, and finally settling on a mixture of resignation and concern.

“...No,” he admitted begrudgingly. He immediately added, “But I’m not going to force him to do it if he doesn’t want to.”

“No, don’t force him,” Orange agreed, raising his hands swiftly, “Of course not. I just want… It might help if you talked to him. He might listen to you more than me.”

Dark went silent again, his mouth turned in a slight frown as he stared at the wall. After a long pause, he said slowly, “Okay… Okay, I can try. If it will help Chosen get better.”

Orange smiled, a mix of reassurance and relief.

“Thanks, buddy,” he said. Glancing at the clock, he added, “Do you want to go ahead and get your shower before dinner too? You guys have time.”

Dark’s eyes shifted to the clock as well, and he nodded.

“Sure.”

Without another word, he walked off, disappearing into the kitchen. Orange released yet another sigh and turned his rueful gaze back to the destroyed curtain. He realized it might be a good idea to invest in a couple of fire extinguishers.

Dark sat on the air mattress on the floor, picking at the frayed edge of his sleeve while he waited for Chosen to finish brushing his teeth. It was something Orange had introduced them to; something to do with “hygiene,” like with the showers? Dark didn’t really get it, honestly. Why would he need to clean his teeth if they were inside his body? He bet it was just some kind of weird Outernet thing that didn’t even apply to Animations.

…That, and Dark had accidentally bitten his toothbrush in half the other day and hadn’t told Orange yet.

The redhead mulled over the incident in the living room. He felt… torn, in a way. He wanted to stick by Chosen (heh, stick) and be able to tell Orange to back off, but… Dark couldn’t deny that something was going on with Chosen. It wasn’t like him to lose control. Since their first fight, Dark recognized that the older Animation had a level-headed way about him. Chosen had been the one to stop Dark from blasting Orange and Gold on their first meeting, and Chosen was the one to suggest they stay whenever Dark talked about leaving. He claimed it was the only practical option, given they knew nothing about the rest of the world, but Dark got the feeling he liked being here. Which Dark… wasn’t opposed to, he’d admit. He liked Gold, and Orange made some pretty killer pancakes. The man definitely hadn’t tried to lock them up, or order them around, or force them to do anything they didn’t want to…

Until now. But was it really a command? That’s what really had Dark stumped. Orange had asked him as a “favor”; a request, not an order. He assured Dark he wasn’t trying to force Chosen into anything. He didn’t say there would be consequences if Dark didn’t do what he asked. He even said he was trying to help Chosen. And given everything he had done for them since they met, a part of Dark believed that. But it still meant trying to convince Chosen to do something he didn’t want to do. Did Orange really have the authority to say he knew what was best better than Chosen? Did Dark? Did anyone?

Noogai didn’t.

The name of their creator flashed through Dark’s mind, making his lip curl and small sparks fly from his fingertips. Noogai had been powerful, but he didn’t deserve that power. He had hurt Chosen, hurt Dark; made them fight each other in a war that wasn’t theirs. The worst part was that either of them could have died, and Noogai wouldn’t care. He didn’t even notice when Dark got caught in that minesweeper explosion, he didn’t notice when Chosen had Dark down, he didn’t notice the brief moment where Dark looked into Chosen’s eyes and saw a smoldering desperation, an intent to kill for fear of being killed. Noogai thought he could tell them what to do, force them into submission with chains and codes, but in the end, he could have cared less about their lives.

…Orange seemed to care, though. He cared in the way he helped them clean and dress their injuries that first night, his hands uncertain but gentle. He cared in the way he listened when they told him they wouldn’t get hurt from climbing on the roof to look at the birds’ nest in the branches just above their window. He cared in the way he made sure they were dressed and fed and healthy. Chosen had admitted he was constantly on-guard, testing Orange to make sure it wasn’t a trick, so Dark had been sure to stay on-guard too. But so far, Orange hadn’t asked a thing from them. And now, when he finally did, it was for their own benefit.

Dark gritted his teeth, plucking more aggressively at his sleeve. It didn’t make sense. What was Orange getting out of them being here?! They were getting food, shelter, clothes, warm beds… Cursors, Orange had even asked if Dark wanted him to pull the couch from the living room so he could sleep on that instead of the air mattress! Dark had refused since he didn’t want to owe Orange anything more than he already did, but still… Dark didn’t understand it. He hated not understanding stuff. It made him want to throw balls of energy at the problem until it went away. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the kind of problem he could just explode his way out of.

Well, technically..? Nah.

The muffled sound of footsteps in the hall pulled Dark back to the present issue.

Should he talk to Chosen about trying to sleep?

His sleeve was in tatters by the time Chosen entered the room. Instantly, Dark took stock of his shaky limbs and half-lidded eyes. The glow of his red irises seemed dimmer than usual, and he had his face twisted like he was trying to stifle a yawn. He failed, and his mouth stretched open, his tongue curling like a cat’s before his fangs snapped shut. He didn’t even seem to notice Dark watching him as he stumbled across the room toward the window.

“Where you going?” Dark asked instinctively as he stood up. Chosen glanced back and blinked, his eyes glazed.

“Just—” He smothered another yawn. “Gonna go check on the nest. Watch the stars come out, probably. I won’t be too long.”

Dark felt a strange pit form in his stomach.

I won’t be too long.

That’s what he had been saying every night. He was just going to get a drink of water, he wouldn’t be long. He was just going to check on the bird’s nest, he wouldn’t be long. He was just going to take a walk in the backyard, he wouldn’t be long. But he always was. Dark would drift off, and the next time he would be awakened would be to Chosen slipping in or out of the room, either through the door or the window. All night, he would come and go, assuring Dark he was fine and to “go back to sleep, I’m just doing this one thing.”

Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar…

“Liar.”

Chosen paused halfway out the window, glancing back to give Dark a puzzled look. “What?”

“ Liar,” Dark repeated, crossing his arms as he raised his eyebrow at the other Animation, “You say that every night. You’re just looking for excuses to stay up.”

“I—No, I’m not!” Chosen retorted. His feet thumped against the carpeted floor as he slid off the window.

“Are too,” Dark shot back cleverly, “Just get some sleep, dude. You might feel better.”

Chosen rolled his eyes and scoffed. “You sound like Orange.” A pause. “Did he put you up to this?”

…Shoot.

Well, there was no getting around it now. Throwing his hands in the air in exasperation, Dark exclaimed, “Yeah, maybe! So what? You’re obviously not yourself, we all know it; you admitted it. What if Orange is right and it’s a sleep thing? I mean, I’ve been sleeping, and I’ve never felt better!”

He summoned a crackling orb and tossed it between his hands, just to show off his mastery of power and control. The glow faded as he let go of the orb, and he gave Chosen a crooked smirk. “Bet I could beat you in a fight right now.”

Chosen scoffed again, but the sound was half-hearted and tense; tired. Dark’s grin slid back into a frown.

“Come on, man. What have you got against sleep anyway?”

“It—”

Chosen shifted his gaze down. His fists clenched and unclenched as he glared at the carpet, as though trying to set it on fire through sheer willpower. His eyes glowed, and Dark almost jumped when twin beams of light struck the floor. Chosen snapped the lasers off immediately, shaking his head. The new black mark on the floor smoked slightly, but it didn’t burst into flames. With a long sigh, Chosen stepped on it, smothering the lingering heat with his foot.

“…You remember what I told you last night?” he spoke up finally. His voice trembled, and his eyes stayed fixed on the floor. “About the antivirus chest?”

Dark’s eyes narrowed, not quite sure where this was going, but he nodded anyway. Chosen had been cagey about everything he had gone through under Noogai’s control, but he would sometimes share snippets at night, when he and Dark were alone in their room with the door shut. He talked about his job as an ad-blocker, how he would sometimes be stuck for hours just burning away ads until his hands were blistered. He talked about the ball-and-chain, how it cut into his ankle when Noogai tossed him mindlessly around the PC, rubbing it raw and leaving permanent scars. The night before, he mentioned the antivirus program where Noogai would lock him up when he wasn’t working, leaving him there for days, sometimes weeks on end. He hadn’t said much more than that, and Dark didn’t pry, but he guessed there was more to it than just being confined to a hidden corner of the PC.

Sure enough, after some hesitation, Chosen continued.

“It wasn’t… I didn’t really get any idea of time in there,” he said, his words stilted, his brow furrowed as he scuffed the carpet with his toe, “I never felt things like hunger and thirst and exhaustion. I mean, I would feel them when I was out on the PC, but as soon as Noogai put me in the chest, it was just… like a void. And—and it was small. It hurt, but i-it didn’t. Not, like, physically. But there was no sensation of touch or sight—it was dark, and I could never see. I couldn’t even hear anything except myself! It was just… nothing.”

He trailed off, his eyes swimming. His breath came out oddly short and loud. When he spoke again, his voice wobbled, thick and liquidy.

“I tried the first night,” Chosen confessed, “But this room—sleeping—reminds me so much of that… stupid chest. I can’t do that again, Dark! I lost so much time in there; months, years of my life gone to… to that… that nothing.”

His voice dipped, barely audible.

“I want to be able to see and do things. I want to live.”

The boy stared fixedly at the floor, his arms wrapped tight around himself. His leg bounced. For a moment, there was silence as Dark turned the other Animation’s words over in his mind. Very carefully, he spoke.

“Yeah, okay.”

Immediately, Dark winced and cursed to himself. That had to be the least sympathetic response in history . How did Orange manage to sound so calm and understanding?! Dark wished the man was here instead of him. He’d have something comforting to say; something about Chosen’s fears being normal and understandable and that they’d figure it out. But Dark just… couldn’t bring himself to say that. Because it wasn’t normal… right? They weren’t normal, their past wasn’t normal, why would what Chosen was dealing with be normal ? He knew Orange would mean it well, and maybe it would help Chosen. The other boy always seemed to like it when Orange said he wasn’t weird. But Dark wasn’t Orange. He didn’t think it would sound the same coming from him.

But what could he say? Dark tapped a finger against his thigh as he tried to think.

“So how do we fix it?” he asked finally. Chosen lifted his head, the shimmer in his eyes dulling somewhat as he blinked.

“What?”

“Well, you obviously can’t keep staying up,” the redhead rationalized, “But if you can’t sleep in here, then how do we fix it? Can we change the room? Like, what specifically about it brings back memories?”

“I…” Chosen’s eyes flitted about the room, lost and aimless. He chewed his lip for a second before his gaze landed on the bed.

“Well, like I said, it was… small,” he admitted haltingly, “Really small. I didn’t even have room to move. The first night, I… woke up. The blankets were all tangled around me, and it, um… that freaked me out.”

Dark nodded, a sense of purpose swelling in his chest. Without a word, he marched over to the bed and grabbed the covers. With a harsh yank, the blankets came flying off the bed, sheets and all. They fell in a heap on the floor, and Dark clapped his hands together.

“Okay, no more blankets,” he said, “You have all the room in the world to move around. What’s next?”

Chosen stared at the pile of covers on the floor, an odd expression on his face that Dark couldn’t quite read. His self-hug loosened.

“Ah, it was dark too,” he said, his eyes flicking to the half-shot lightbulbs in the fan, “Not like when we’re outside, you know? With the moon and the stars and stuff. It was always pitch-black in the chest.”

Dark frowned, the gears in his head turning as he assessed the room. He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep with all the lights on, but maybe just a little? Enough that they could at least see?

He started wondering if he could somehow rig up a small light when he glanced at the closet door.

Aha.

Quickly, he crossed the room to the closet, flipping the light on and pulling the door closed. He left a thin sliver of access to the closet before he practically skipped toward the bedroom light-switch. He flicked it off and was blinded for a moment as the room went dark. As his vision adjusted, he was able to still make out the details of the room with the light streaming from the cracked closet door. Still by the window, Chosen’s eyes glowed faintly as he watched Dark. His arms had dropped, and his hunched shoulders lifted. His leg had finally gone still.

“Better?” Dark asked. Chosen hesitated thoughtfully before he nodded.

“Better,” he replied, and in the gloom, Dark saw his mouth quirk into a tiny smile.

“Cool,” the redhead said, and he couldn’t help grinning himself. “Anything else?”

The smile faltered as Chosen blinked, his gaze shifting down.

“It was, uh… cold.” He spoke haltingly, like he was struggling now to recall the memories. “Like Orange’s refrigerator. And… lonely. I mean, the PC was always lonely, but the chest just made it worse since there was…”

“Nothing,” Dark finished in a thoughtful murmur, “Yeah, got it.”

He frowned as he glanced around the room again. What was he supposed to do about the cold? That’s what the blankets were for! But if Chosen couldn’t use the blankets, what else would help keep him warm?

Dark’s gaze drifted from his own air mattress to the bed where Chosen usually slept. He stared for a second before he snapped his fingers.

“Got it,” he said. Springing across the room, he grabbed Chosen’s wrist and dragged him over to the bed.

“What are you..?”

“Alley-oop!”

“Wah—!”

With a delighted cackle, Dark picked Chosen up by the middle and threw him bodily into the bed. Chosen hit the mattress face-first, letting out a muffled “ oomph !” as he landed. He pushed himself up, sputtering, as Dark dove into the mattress beside him.

“What was that for?” Chosen demanded, sounding more confused than indignant as he gave Dark a bewildered look. Dark responded by throwing his arms around Chosen’s neck, causing the other boy to choke as the redhead yanked him back down.

“Sharing body heat,” Dark stated matter-of-factly, snickering at Chosen’s annoyed protests, “If you can’t use the blankets, then sharing the bed will help keep us warm. And it takes care of the loneliness problem too, right? Since I’m right next to you.”

Chosen stared at him, eyes flickering like twin flames. Slowly, he started to relax. He let his head fall into the mattress, chuckling slightly.

“Yeah… yeah, this works.”

A strange sense of victory surged through Dark. He was proud of himself for coming up with a solution to the problem, but more than that… he was glad he could help Chosen feel better. He was glad to see all of the worry and tension melt off his shoulders as the boy let out a content sigh, his eyes fluttering shut as he pulled Dark closer.

Silence fell between the two, and Dark could feel himself beginning to drift off when Chosen shifted. His eyebrows furrowed, and his mouth pulled a bit as he opened his eyes.

“What?” Dark asked as Chosen stared at him, eyes troubled. The older Animation didn’t respond.

“It’s… quiet,” he admitted after a pause. Dark’s mouth twisted.

“Right…” he said slowly, “And you said it was too quiet in the chest, right?”

Chosen nodded, and Dark pursed his lips.

“Okay, sooo… Do you want me to talk or something until you fall asleep?”

“That… Yeah, let’s try that.”

Dark grinned, and he pushed himself off Chosen slightly. “Nice, this means I can tell you about this dream I had last night! Turns out that’s one of the cool things about sleeping, is that you have dreams; Gold was telling me about them. So in this one, I was out in the backyard…”

Morning light streamed through the window, bringing with it the faint sound of birdsong. Orange groaned as his alarm clock went off, blaring an annoyingly peppy beat. It used to be one of his favorite songs, and he had made it his alarm tone hoping it would make waking up easier. Joke’s on him; it just made him hate the song.

With another groan, he slapped the alarm clock off and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He stifled a yawn as he threw the covers off and slid out of bed. The sooner he got going, the faster his body would wake up. Trudging into the bathroom, he combed down his untamed beard and hair and washed his face. After he dried off, his eyes were a bit more alert.

Leaving the towel by the sink, he stepped back into the bedroom and started for the door to go make breakfast. It was about seven now; Gold and Dark wouldn’t be awake until eight, but Chosen usually came wandering into the kitchen as soon as he heard Orange was up. Orange had gotten into the habit of preparing the boy a small snack to hold him over until the others woke up.

He moved quickly down the hall, body and mind becoming a little more active with each step. He slowed as he came to the guest room door. He didn’t want to invade the boys’ privacy, but he couldn’t help the squirm of concern in his chest. He kept thinking about the conversation yesterday; about Chosen’s refusal to admit his need for sleep, and about Dark’s reluctance to do anything that might be encroaching on the other Animation’s freedom. Part of him wanted to trust the two could work things out, but that didn’t stop him from worrying…

He stopped by the door and listened; nothing. Normally, he could hear Chosen shuffling about inside, waiting impatiently for Orange to pass by so he could escape the bedroom without too much suspicion. But today, there was silence. Some of Orange’s worry eased. Could it be he actually..?

Orange raised his hand, hesitated, then knocked softly on the door. There was no response. As carefully as he could, he turned the doorknob.

“Boys..?” he called in a half-whisper as he pushed the door open. He braced himself for one of them to shout, or for Chosen to be standing at the door glaring reprovingly. What he found instead dispelled his fears entirely.

The floor was a mess, blankets and pillows scattered across the carpet, with something that looked suspiciously like a burn spot half-covered by the corner of a sheet. The window was wide open, a small breeze batting at the curtains as the sunlight illuminated the figures tangled together on the empty bed. Dark lay on his back, limbs splayed out like a starfish, his hair a matted mess under his head as he snored. Chosen lay beside him, one arm draped across the other boy as he breathed deeply and evenly, his eyes closed.

A sense of warmth swelled in Orange’s chest. Without a word, he backed out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind him. He turned the doorknob back into the place so it wouldn’t wake the boys before he continued toward the kitchen, his pace slower. It looked like he would have a little more time to himself than he thought.