Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Astro shuffled his feet nervously. He looked up at his handler, who practically towered over him. Astro was still fairly young, so he was still little. He was meeting someone new today, and even though it might not show on his face or body language, he was very excited. What was this new toon like? Would they be nice? He always liked making new friends, and it was good for him to be the first person to meet them because they were actually moving into the empty warehouse area connected to his room. Astro took a deep breath and fidgeted with the gloves on his hands, feeling the soft fabric wrinkle between his fingers.

He flinched and let out a small squeak when the doors to his exhibit opened. His handler put a hand on his back and rubbed it gently to soothe him. He watched as an unfamiliar girl approached and shook his handler's hand. She wasn’t wearing the uniform… She had this motorcycle punk rock style going on, and his handler suddenly looked uneasy.

“Hey you two, you must be Austin, and this little guy must be Astro. Awe, you're even cuter in person than on the posters,” she said warmly. Astro blushed and buried his face in his blanket, wishing he could disappear. The girl laughed softly, clearly amused, but not in a mean way.

“I- ..uhm yes, you are correct..” Austin cleared his throat and looked around before turning back to her, looking confused. “Uhm.. Where is your toon...?”

The girl tilted her head, then her eyes widened in realization. “Oh yea—that’s why I’m here—” She stepped aside and revealed a… cat.

Well, yes, a cat. The new toon was sleek and black, with a pink star over his right eye. He smiled gently and waved at Astro, tail flicking lazily behind him. He looked about Astro’s height, maybe a little taller. Astro stared for a moment, taking in his appearance, before stepping forward cautiously.

“Hello… Uhm, what's your name..? I’m Astro… er—sorry, you probably already know from the… ahem… Posters…” His voice trailed off at the end. He hated that his words always stumbled when he was nervous.

Instead of looking away or brushing him off, the cat gave a friendly, relaxed grin. “Hello! I’m Mace. I’ve heard a lot about you! You must be pretty popular around here! Well, you're a Main character so you’d have to be… But hey! I’m one too! Guess we have that in common!”

He spoke cheerfully, but calmly, not forcing the room to feel his energy. Astro nodded, forcing a timid smile in return. The pairing with his handler seemed natural; Austin gave a subtle, approving nod.

“Ah.. You're a Main toon…? That’s certainly… interesting..” Astro muttered quietly, taking a cautious step back toward his handler. He hoped he didn’t look afraid, but Mace’s presence, even at this calmer energy, felt a little… much.

“Yea! It's really cool, I get a huge room and everything. Oh! Do you like music? I love music, I’m in a band with my friends and I'm lead guitarist.” He said this proudly, though now his tone was soft, measured, easygoing. He wasn’t trying to dominate the room with energy—but his big personality overall didn't help

Astro froze for a moment.

A band.

Right next to his room.

Band meant music. Music meant loud. And from what he had already seen, it was likely going to be very loud. He tugged nervously at his gloves. He didn’t want to seem rude or ungrateful by asking to be moved. So he stayed quiet, forcing a small, polite smile. It couldn’t be that bad, right? He could probably tolerate it… right?
He nodded slowly. “That… sounds nice,” he murmured.

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After the introductions, the handlers stepped aside to talk logistics. Mace leaned against a crate, tail curling lazily, observing Astro with quiet curiosity. He hummed a soft, simple tune under his breath, just enough to fill the space with life but not noise. Even calm, his presence seemed to radiate energy, and Astro felt a subtle tension coil in his chest.
Astro tried to focus on his gloves, twisting the edges nervously. His mind wandered to the thought of drums, guitars, and amplified music just through the wall. He didn’t like loud noises, never had, and the anticipation made his stomach flutter.
He could see Mace’s tail flick gently, the star on his face catching the dim light. The cat wasn’t being overbearing, but just existing so near made the space feel smaller, the world a little louder. Astro reminded himself: Mace liked him, he wasn’t trying to scare him, and he was calm now. And yet… It was still a lot.

Astro closed his eyes briefly, hugging his blanket closer. “It’s fine… maybe it won’t be too loud… maybe I can handle it…”
The thought felt delicate, a fragile hope he clung to.

That evening, after the handlers had left, Astro sat on the floor with his blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The lights glowed softly, a dim, comforting hue. Silence had always been his refuge, but tonight, the thin wall did little to shield him.
He could hear faint movements: boxes being dragged, light footsteps, the occasional metallic clink. Mace was settling in. Astro’s ears twitched at every sound. Even though Mace’s actions were calm and deliberate, each small noise felt like a reminder of the music that would soon fill the walls.

Then came a single guitar string, plucked lightly. Astro flinched and pressed a hand to his chest. It was quiet, controlled, almost soothing—but the vibration through the wall made him tense.
He tugged his blanket tighter and tried to focus on slow, even breaths. It wasn’t loud yet. Maybe he could adjust. Maybe he could get used to it. Maybe… he could survive.

A few more careful notes formed a small, tentative melody. Mace’s tail flicked in rhythm, ears relaxed, eyes on him with a soft smile that clearly meant he liked him. Astro pressed the blanket tighter around himself. Mace wasn’t trying to bother him—it

was just… a presence, too close, too real, too alive.
He whispered to himself, clutching the blanket: “It’s fine… I can handle it. I just have to… try.”
But even as he said it, the thought of drums, loud guitars, and full-band rehearsals just on the other side of the wall made a small shiver run down his spine. He didn’t want to admit it, but he already knew, deep down… he couldn’t handle it.Still, he closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, focusing on the soft, careful strumming. He wanted to hope. He wanted to believe.

Maybe he could manage.

Maybe.

(He couldn’t.)

Chapter Text

Astro awoke with a start, blinking rapidly at the darkness around him. His ears twitched faintly at the sound that had ripped him from sleep: the unmistakable shredding of a guitar. He glanced at the clock. 4:32 AM. He groaned and swung his legs off the bed, tail dragging along the floor.

Stretching all four arms, he felt the tension of sleep lift slightly—but the irritation remained. Someone had decided four-thirty in the morning was perfect for guitar practice.

Grabbing his blanket and pulling on his gloves, Astro trudged toward the entrance. The sound of Mace’s guitar grew louder with every step. His stomach sank, and his tail flicked sharply behind him.

At the auditorium, he braced himself and swung the doors open. The noise hit him like a shockwave. He yelped, raising his first pair of arms to cover his ears while keeping the doors open with the second. The shredding stopped abruptly. He lowered his hands, letting out a shaky sigh of relief.

Mace had noticed him. The massive cat leapt down from the stage and padded over, tail swishing lightly, ears upright but relaxed.

“Uh… Astro,” Mace said, voice calm. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Astro crossed his arms under the blanket, tail flicking sharply. “You woke me up. Four-thirty in the morning. Why?”

Mace tilted his head, tail flicking slowly. “I started practicing. Hall’s empty, sound’s clear… thought it’d be a good time. Didn’t realize anyone would be up.”

Astro’s tail flicked again, irritation clear. “Well, I was up. I can’t sleep through this. You need to… not do it again at this hour.”

Mace nodded, ears tilting back slightly, voice measured. “Yeah. I get that. I didn’t think it would bother you. I just… got carried away. Sorry about that.”

Astro’s tail flicked, irritation lingering but restrained. “Good. That’s all I needed to hear. Just… don’t do it again.”

Mace’s tail swished slowly, ears forward, maintaining calm energy. “Got it. I won’t. Didn’t mean to ruin your sleep—just… didn’t think it through.”

Astro pressed a hand to his chest, letting out a quiet sigh. “Alright. That’s enough. Now I can go back to bed.”

Mace inclined his head slightly, a small, apologetic smile tugging at his mouth. “Understood. Sleep well, Astro.” Mace slinkied back into the empty amphitheater 

Well, that was great. Now Astro felt a little guilty. Mace had actually been… super nice, and he seemed genuinely remorseful when Astro confronted him. He let out a tired groan and turned around, trudging back to his room with his tail dragging behind him. 

He didn’t hate Mace—he really couldn’t bring himself to hate anyone—but the giant cat definitely got on his nerves sometimes. And he was just so oblivious to it. He didn’t hate him… but he did hate how he made him feel like this. Like he was the mean one. He wasn’t, but the way Mace had taken the scolding so earnestly didn’t help.

Astro finally reached his room and sank down, curling his tail snugly around himself. He slowly slipped off his gloves and placed his signature cloak blanket on the nightstand. He groaned, collapsing onto his bed, and curled up under the warm comforters. The tension in his shoulders slowly eased, and for a moment, the quiet of the room felt almost luxurious after the abrupt wake-up.

He let out a slow, tired breath, tail flicking once against the mattress. He probably wouldn’t be fully functional in the morning… again. But at least he could rest now. The hallway was quiet, the faint echo of guitar strings faded, and he could finally let himself sink into the comfort of sleep.

Even with the lingering irritation, he felt a small measure of relief settle over him. His tail curled tighter around himself as he shifted deeper into the blankets. He didn’t need to think about anything else right now—no guitars, no hallways, no disruptions—just the warmth of the bed and the pull of sleep.

A soft groan escaped him, low and tired. The exhaustion pressed gently against him, and for the first time since being woken, he felt… free to let go.

Somehow, he always had. Somehow, he always would.

—----------------------------7:32 [Opening hours]-------------------------------------------

Gardenview buzzed with life. The train came and went in steady rhythm, delivering families and their children to the exhibits. Most kids didn’t linger on the main floor; they took the elevators to the floors they wanted to visit. Astro’s exhibit, unlike most, was designed to be a sanctuary for restless children—a place to rest, play quietly, or even nap if needed. Calm, soft-lit, and orderly, it was a haven amidst the museum’s constant bustle. A contrast against Mace, who was meant for older kids.

Astro padded along the corridor toward his exhibit, blanket draped over his shoulders, tail flicking lightly behind him. From this floor, he could hear the faint hum of the lobby below and the occasional chatter of staff, but it didn’t bother him—yet.

The elevator dinged, and the first group of children stepped out, their eyes wide with curiosity. Astro greeted them softly, tail curling gently around him.

“Morning, everyone,” he said, his voice low and even. “Let’s find a spot on the mats and get settled, okay?”

Some giggles escaped, and one small child tugged at his blanket. Astro knelt, careful to meet their eyes. “Easy there, please. Let’s pick a cushion for now.”

The children arranged themselves across the room, some stacking small pillows for comfort, others curling into blankets. Astro walked among them, smoothing hair, adjusting blankets, and whispering instructions. “No running, okay. Let’s take a deep breath… in… and out… good.”

Even with the usual bursts of energy, he maintained a quiet rhythm. He guided fidgety children to drawing or stacking activities, while quietly encouraging yawns from the sleepier ones. A few were already nodding off, eyes heavy.

And then he noticed it—the faint, unmistakable thrum of Mace’s guitar. Low riffs and a distant beat drifted through the walls, pulsing softly in time with drums somewhere further down the hall. Astro froze for a second, tail flicking irritably. Seriously? He pressed a hand to his face under the blanket, letting out a slow, controlled breath. He could manage this. He had to. The kids didn’t need to sense his frustration.

One little girl was curling up on a pillow, eyes drooping, and a low chord vibrated faintly through the floor. Astro leaned down, voice soft and steady. “It’s alright… just rest, okay?”

A boy shifted nearby, eyelids half-closed. Astro adjusted the blanket around him, tail flicking once at the persistent hum. “Shhh… relax. Everything’s okay.”

Despite the faint background noise, the room slowly regained its rhythm. Children began whispering instead of shouting, some laying their heads down on pillows, others stacking blocks quietly. Astro moved among them, checking blankets and guiding them gently.

The elevator dinged again, bringing another small group. Astro moved to meet them, keeping his movements calm and measured. “Welcome. Let’s find a spot and settle down,” he said, guiding them to soft mats and pillows. A few whispered questions about the room or the other children were answered quietly, patiently.

Mace’s music continued in the distance, a faint vibration through the walls that made some of the younger sleepers stir slightly. Astro leaned close, smoothing a child’s hair and murmuring soothing words. Focus. Calm them. Keep the room under control. The day had only just begun, but he was already adjusting to the rhythm: elevator arrivals, quieting chatter, guiding restless limbs, helping sleepy eyes close.

Another group of children came off the elevator a short while later. Some ran toward the mats excitedly; Astro intercepted them with a raised hand and calm voice. “Easy… slow down… pick a spot and breathe. In… and out… good.”

One small boy carried a stuffed toy so tightly he could barely move. Astro knelt beside him. “That’s fine… just settle in. You’re safe here.” Tail flicking once, he glanced toward the faint thrum of music, pressing his lips together. He would not let this disrupt the room.

Gradually, the children began to relax, the volume of energy dropping. Whispers replaced chatter. Eyes closed one by one. A soft sigh escaped Astro as he curled his tail around his legs, blanket snug over his shoulders. The faint vibration of Mace’s guitar remained, but here in his exhibit, control was his.

He moved through the room once more, adjusting blankets, pressing a soft hand to a head here, smoothing hair there, murmuring quiet instructions. The rhythm of the room—the quiet breathing, the rustle of blankets, the occasional whispered word—replaced the tension of the morning.

Astro pressed his face lightly into the blanket, exhaling slowly. I can handle this. Somehow, I always have.

Even with hours to go, the children settled around him, some already drifting into sleep. The distant music persisted but no longer felt threatening—it was just background, something to navigate rather than resist. Astro allowed himself the faintest smile, tail curling gently around him.

The museum could buzz and hum, trains could come and go, and Mace could play his music as he liked. But here, in this space, Astro held the calm, and he would maintain it. Somehow. Always.

Chapter Text

After a successful and busy day, the Gardenview Museum and Play Emporium was coming to its closing hours. The halls that had been filled with laughter, chatter, and the occasional squeal of excitement were now empty, quiet except for the faint echo of footsteps fading down the polished floors. One by one, the trains carrying families away whistled in and out of the station, leaving the museum in the gentle hum of automated lighting and cooling systems.

At exactly 9:36 PM, the building was silent. The doors had been secured, the exhibits powered down, and all the staff had left for the night. Only the toons and their handlers remained, free to move through the halls until lights-out. The vast spaces that had once been chaotic were now calm, almost peaceful, their emptiness holding a quiet, reflective energy.

Astro stood in his exhibit, carefully folding a blanket that had been left out near one of the reading corners. The faint scent of crayons and warm cocoa lingered in the air, a reminder of the day’s activity, though now everything had been stilled. He hummed softly to himself, moving through his familiar routine — stacking pillows, arranging books, and setting plush toys back in their proper places. The motions were slow but practiced, calming him in a way that only routine could. His tail curled around his legs, moving almost unconsciously with the rhythm of his tasks.

He was halfway through tidying the last corner of his exhibit when the soft mechanical sound of the elevator descending reached his ears. His head tilted, ears twitching as he focused on the familiar ding signaling the doors’ arrival.

It wasn’t Mace.

Astro knew that immediately. Mace never needed the elevator — their exhibits were connected by the back hallway. If it were him, he would have simply walked in, guitar slung over his back, and greeted him with that mischievous grin that seemed to say he belonged wherever he wanted.

This meant it had to be someone else.

Astro straightened slightly, tail curling around his leg as he turned toward the open elevator doors. From within, a cheerful voice rang out, clear and bright in the quiet hall.

“Hiya, Astro!”

Shelly bounded out, dressed head to toe in her dinosaur onesie. Her plush tail wagged energetically as she dashed across the exhibit floor, her excitement palpable even without the presence of children. She almost tripped over a corner of a rug, catching herself with a soft thud and a bright laugh.

Astro blinked, then allowed a small smile. Shelly’s energy wasn’t overwhelming like some of the others he had to deal with during the day — it was warm, direct, and harmlessly enthusiastic.

“Hello, Shelly,” he said softly, putting the blanket he had been folding aside. “You’re certainly energetic tonight.”

“I know!” Shelly beamed, practically glowing. Her tail thumped against the floor in a rhythm that seemed to mirror her voice. “I finished my evening duties and thought I’d come see you! You always look so serious after closing.”

Astro’s lips curved into a quiet chuckle. “Do I? I hadn’t noticed.”

“You do! You’ve got that ‘I’m tired but pretending I’m not tired’ look on your face,” Shelly replied, tilting her head.

“Well, you’re not wrong,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s been a long day.”

Shelly nodded enthusiastically. “I bet! You had the most visitors again today, didn’t you? The staff said your exhibit was practically full all day. Everyone seems to adore you!”

Astro felt his ears twitch slightly, cheeks warming. “Ah… well, I just do my job.”

“Yeah, but you do it really well!” Shelly said, her voice bubbling over with excitement. “Even without the kids here, the day still felt so lively around your area. I swear, they probably weren’t the only ones enjoying themselves — you make everything feel so calm and welcoming.”

He smiled faintly, allowing himself a moment of quiet pride. “That’s… nice to hear,” he murmured.

For a short while, they moved through comfortable silence, Shelly rocking slightly on her heels and Astro folding blankets and arranging pillows. The soft hum of the building’s lighting and the distant mechanical whir of closed exhibits filled the background, a gentle reminder of the museum’s emptiness.

Then Shelly clapped her hands, breaking the quiet. “Oh! That reminds me — I came to see if you wanted to join us for movie night!”

Astro looked up, eyebrows lifting. “Movie night?”

“Yeah! Goob, Sprout, Cosmo, and Scraps are setting up the big screen in the auditorium! We found an old reel from the archives — one of those cheesy black-and-white adventure films. You know, the ones with overdramatic music and way too much suspense for no reason?” She grinned.

Astro’s ears lowered slightly. The thought of sitting through a loud, chaotic movie was not appealing after the long day, especially when he could instead enjoy the quiet of his own exhibit.

Shelly noticed the hesitation in his expression and hurriedly added, “It’s okay if you don’t want to! I know how much you value your rest, and you usually end up falling asleep halfway through anyway.”

Astro’s lips pressed together, a quiet groan escaping him. “Do I really?” he asked softly, ears flicking.

“Mm-hmm,” Shelly said, clearly delighted. “Last time, you were out before the opening credits even finished. Goob had to carry you back!”

Astro’s tail flicked in response. “Ah. Right. I’d… forgotten about that,” he muttered, his voice low.

Shelly giggled. “You looked so peaceful! No one wanted to wake you.”

He sighed quietly, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “Thank you for the offer, Shelly. But I think I’ll pass this time. I might turn in early tonight. It’s been a lot.”

Shelly tilted her head, watching him carefully. “You sure? Movie night can be fun — and a nice way to unwind.”

Astro shook his head gently. “I appreciate it, but I’ll rest tonight. That’s enough for me.”

“Alright!” Shelly said, undeterred. “No pressure. I’ll tell the others you’re resting, then.”

Astro nodded. “Thank you. Enjoy the movie,” he said softly.

Shelly grinned, wagging her tail. “We will! Don’t stay up too late, Mr. Sleep Toon!”

Astro chuckled quietly and shook his head. “Goodnight, Shelly.”

With a bright wave, she hopped back toward the elevator. The doors closed with a soft hiss, and the hum of the building returned to dominance.

Silence settled over the exhibit again.

But it wasn’t total silence.

Somewhere down the hall, faint guitar chords echoed, soft yet steady. Mace.

Astro’s shoulders tensed, tail flicking subtly. The sound wasn’t loud — far from the shredding he’d endured at four in the morning — but it was unmistakable, and it bled through the walls into the quiet of his exhibit.

He tried not to focus on it. He went about stacking the last of the pillows, adjusting the few blankets left unfolded, folding them carefully in neat squares. He reminded himself that Mace’s music was part of his nature — practiced, rhythmic, but unavoidable when he decided to play.

Still, the sound pressed gently against his concentration, coaxing a low sigh from him. “He really doesn’t know what ‘quiet hours’ means,” he muttered under his breath.

Astro settled on one of the small beds at the center of the exhibit, pulling his cloak blanket over his shoulders. The soft blue stars projected on the ceiling made the room feel gentle and calm, though his tail twitched with every quiet strum of the guitar in the distance.

He closed his eyes briefly, letting the subtle vibrations fade into the background as he centered himself. It was quiet here. No children, no families, no distractions beyond the faint, steady guitar. Just him, the empty exhibit, and the soft hum of lights overhead.

I can handle this… just one song…

The guitar wove through the halls like a heartbeat, steady and imperfect. Astro shifted, curling into the blankets, his tail wrapping neatly around his legs. He let the rhythm touch him without disrupting his peace. It was frustrating and oddly comforting at the same time, a constant reminder that the world outside his quiet bubble still moved, still played, and still existed.

The night deepened, lights dimming further as the museum’s automated systems continued their gentle routines. The air smelled faintly of lavender, a soft reassurance. Astro leaned back against the bed, his arms draped over the edge, the subtle glow painting muted highlights across his gloves. He hummed softly to himself, a quiet companion to Mace’s distant music.

Hours passed in the stillness, and eventually, the music faded from a distant, strummed melody to the quiet, final echoes of the strings. Astro exhaled slowly, burying his face deeper in the blankets. He didn’t need to think of anyone else. There was just the room, the soft glow, and his own slow breaths marking the passing time.

I can handle this… somehow… he thought again, letting the quiet fully envelop him. The building was empty, the exhibits still, and only Mace’s faint presence lingered in memory and sound. It was enough. For tonight, it was enough.

The last thing he heard before drifting into sleep was the faint, imperfect slide of a guitar string — human, deliberate, and oddly comforting in the vast emptiness of the closed museum.

Chapter Text

Sundays were supposed to be quiet, but for Mace, quiet was an invitation. Gardenview’s usual chaos — the screeching trains, children running wildly through halls, laughter bouncing off every surface — had vanished, leaving only the faint hum of the lights and the occasional echo of distant footsteps. It was a rare luxury. A day when he could string his guitar and actually hear himself think.

He had hauled his hot pink guitar into the rehearsal room early, adjusting the strap, plugging it into the amplifier, and strumming a few test chords to confirm that everything was working. The vibrations hummed under his fingers in a satisfying way. He gave a casual nod to Vex, his bright pink velociraptor drummer, who immediately began a gentle beat on the kit, testing the dynamics. The bat vocalist perched nearby launched into her pre-practice vocal exercises — a jagged, chaotic series of shrieks that would have sent anyone else scrambling for earplugs.

Mace barely registered it. He had built a tolerance, a rhythm, a kind of understanding with these sounds. They weren’t noise; they were energy, raw and alive. He was just about to dive into a run-through of the new track he’d been perfecting when the doors to the rehearsal room swung open.

All heads turned. Vex froze mid-beat, the bat stilled mid-screech, and every eye locked onto the intruder standing in the doorway.

Astro.

And not just Astro. Furious Astro. His pupils were narrow slits, his hair sticking out in wild angles, his tail snapping back and forth like a whip. Every part of him radiated a storm.

Mace straightened, tilting his head. “Uh… what’s up?”

Astro’s voice was low, tight, almost dangerous. “Mace… can I speak to you… outside?”

He could hear the words, but the tone was what made Mace pause. There wasn’t a hint of idle complaint or irritation in it. No, this was serious. Really serious.

“Outside?” Mace said carefully, strapping his guitar on his back. “Okay. Sure.”

The hallway was empty, dimly lit, echoing with their footsteps. Mace watched Astro closely, noting the way his tail lashed, how every small movement seemed like a coiled spring ready to snap. “Astro… what’s the issue?” he started, only to be cut off.

“Cut it out, Mace!” Astro hissed. Tail lashing, ears pinned slightly. “We need to talk about Looey!”

Mace froze. Oh. Looey. He remembered the balloon toon clearly — the tiny, bouncy, almost absurdly fragile figure he had waved his claws at earlier. That? he thought. Seriously?

“That? You mean the balloon?” Mace asked, raising an eyebrow.

“That! That?!” Astro’s voice snapped, rising slightly despite himself. His pupils were sharp, focused. “Do you realize how dangerous that was? You could have popped him! One careless swing and—”

Mace held up a hand. “Okay, okay, he’s fine. He’s a balloon, he didn’t pop, right?”

“It’s not about whether he popped! It’s about the fact that you threatened him! That tiny, delicate thing trusts you not to hurt him. Do you even understand that?”

Mace’s ears twitched, tail flicking lazily. “I get that you’re mad. You’re… furious. I see that. Chill, Moon.”

“Chill?!” Astro’s voice cut sharply. “You put him in danger! You don’t even think before swinging your claws at someone who could literally explode! Do you have any idea how irresponsible that was?!”

Mace shrugged, casually, as though he were talking about the weather. “Not really. Honestly, I didn’t. And… look. He’s fine, isn’t he? That’s what matters. So calm down. Seriously.”

Astro’s ears flattened. His tail thumped against the floor. “Calm down? I’m trying to make you see how wrong that was. You threatened him. That’s not a small thing! That’s… that’s a huge deal!”

Mace’s tail flicked slightly. “I know it’s a deal to you. I get that. You’re angry, and fine. But I don’t see it as catastrophic. I was careful, he’s still bouncing around, still… Looey. You’re letting it get to you too much.”

Astro’s hands clenched into fists. “Too much? Mace, you could’ve destroyed him! He’s fragile! He’s not like you, he can’t shrug this off! Do you even care?”

Mace leaned against the wall, tilting his head, smirking faintly. “I do. About you getting mad. That’s about it. I’m not… oh, I don’t know, scared of Looey. He’s a balloon. Still standing, still perfect. I’m fine with that. You? Not so much.”

Astro’s tail flicked sharply, hair falling into his face. “Fine with that? Mace, you threatened him! That’s not something you can just shrug off.”

Mace held his hands up, unconcerned. “Yeah, I did. I did threaten him. He’s a balloon. He’s fine. You’re mad. I see it. Can we move on now?”

“Move on?!” Astro hissed, tail lashing faster. “You don’t understand! This isn’t just about him! You can’t go around swinging your claws at other toons like that and think it’s okay! Someone has to care about the ones who can’t fight back!”

Mace tilted his head, smirking faintly. “I get it. You care. That’s good. You’re… loud about it. But I don’t see the apocalypse. He’s fine. And you need to calm down before you start—”

“Calm down?!” Astro’s voice rose, teeth bared in frustration. “I’m trying to make sure you understand what you did! That it wasn’t acceptable!”

Mace exhaled softly, and his tail flicked once. “Alright, alright. You’re mad. I apologize — happy? I didn’t mean to push you this far. Can we just… drop it now?”

Astro blinked, a mixture of irritation and disbelief written across his face. “You’re just apologizing to get me to stop yelling, aren’t you?”

Mace shrugged faintly. “Pretty much. You’re yelling, I’m not about to argue more. I just want quiet. You calm down, I move on. Simple.”

Astro’s tail twitched sharply. “Fine. But don’t think I won’t notice if you do something like this again.”

“Noted,” Mace said lightly. “Quiet, calm, all good.”

There was a pause, the dim hallway stretching around them. Mace watched Astro’s tail uncurl slowly, ears shifting back. He could see the lingering tension, the way Astro’s hands flexed and twitched slightly, but he also saw the edge of reason settling in. This is enough for now, he thought. Let him cool down, then back to practice.

“Go back to your exhibit, Moon. Quiet night. I’ll deal with the band.”

Astro’s ears twitched slightly. “Don’t think this is over.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mace said with a small smirk. “Noted.”

He returned to the rehearsal room, strapping his guitar in place and giving Vex and Batheny a glance. “We’re going to keep it low, alright?” he said, voice casual, even though internally he was already thinking about the argument. He knew Astro wouldn’t forget — and frankly, he liked that.

Vex tilted his head. “Everything okay?”

Mace shrugged, plucking a soft chord. “Yeah, yeah. Astro was upset about something. All good now. Just… keep it down, huh?”

The bat vocalist flapped her wings. “You mean, like… baby volume?”

“Exactly,” Mace said with a grin. “Baby volume. Try not to wake him”

Vex chuckled softly, tapping a quiet rhythm, and the bat vocalist muttered something about “lame,” but started humming a quieter tune.

Mace sat down on the edge of the stage, letting the guitar hum softly across his fingers, and exhaled. He’s mad. Of course he is. But it’s fine. He’s small, he’s furious, because he cares. Ugh I don’t know what he see’s in other toons…

The rest of the band adjusted around him, drums light, vocals tentative. Mace let the soft, muted sound fill the rehearsal room, strumming slowly and letting the quiet music wash through the space. He glanced toward the hallway, expecting to see Astro watching from the exhibit doorway, but it was empty. For now, the storm had passed.

Tomorrow, we’ll see, Mace thought. But tonight… Tonight, we practice. Moon will forgive me eventually.

Chapter Text

Today felt off.

Yes, the day ran on like any other. Children cheering, handlers chattering through their headsets, families laughing as they moved between exhibits. The train whistled, bright and chipper as always, and the doors of Gardenview opened wide to swallow another crowd of smiling faces.

You know what— you’re just paranoid.

Today is perfect.

Nothing different will happen. It’s just like every other day.
Every day is perfect.

…

But it could be better.

The star of the show: Dandicus Dancifer. Or better known to the world as Dandy.
He’s the icon of Gardenview — the first toon the guests see and the last they wave goodbye to. He’s the one they take pictures with, the one the commercials feature, the one everyone trusts to keep the place sparkling and safe.

To the handlers, he’s reliable.
To the toons, he’s the Star.
To the guests, he’s magic.

And to Astro… well, Astro calls him a friend. The only one who can get away with teasing him and live to tell about it.

That thought always made Dandy smile — it meant he mattered.

But lately…

Lately, the smiles had started to feel rehearsed. The laughter mechanical. Every “perfect” day stretched longer and longer, the colors a little too bright, the air too still.

Everything was fine.
Everything was perfect.

He just needed to make it better.

The door to the Ichor Operations lab slid open with a soft mechanical hiss. The room beyond was dimly lit, walls humming with low power. It was empty — everyone else was off running safety checks on the main floors.

Dandy stepped inside, his bright rainbow petals glowing faintly under the sterile white light. His reflection shimmered across the floor’s polished surface as he approached the central control panel.

The screen was a sea of green and orange lines — flow meters, pressure valves, and biochemical levels all tracking the invisible lifeblood of Gardenview.

Ichor, the handlers called it.
The liquid essence that kept toons stable — a blend of synthetic pigment, code, and something alive. It ran through pipes hidden in the walls, quietly maintaining their forms, memories, and personalities.

Dandy had never been supposed to touch this system. But lately, the handlers had been… distracted. They never locked the doors anymore, too busy patching up other exhibits. Besides, he knew the system better than most of them did.

He leaned over the panel, tapping the screen lightly with one gloved finger.

“All I need is a small tweak,” he murmured to himself. “Just a little adjustment to the flow rate— a nudge here, a reroute there— make things more stable. More lively.”

He smiled, soft and bright. “Happier. They’ll all feel happier.”

He imagined Astro laughing more. Mace playing without getting in trouble for being “too loud.” Shelly having more energy. The kids giggling, the handlers relaxing.

It was perfect. It would be perfect.

He reached for the lever and adjusted the pressure just slightly. The pipes above the panel gave a faint hiss.

“See? Smooth as silk.”

Then he reached for the data wheel, turning it one notch to increase the pigment ratio.

That’s when it happened.

Click—clang—

The screen flickered. The overhead light dimmed.

From the far corner of the room came a sound that didn’t belong.

Drip.

Dandy froze.

Another sound followed.

Drip. Drip.

Slow. Wet. Heavy.

His petals twitched. He turned, scanning the pipes until his gaze caught on the corner. There — a glossy black puddle, spreading from beneath a junction box bolted into the wall.

“Oh no no no…” he muttered, already hurrying over. “That’s not right, I barely touched anything—”

He crouched beside the leak, hands hovering uncertainly. The ichor pulsed faintly, rippling like oil. It shimmered with prismatic veins under the light  — alive and wrong all at once.

“Come on now… behave…”

He dipped a finger into the puddle and lifted it to inspect. The ichor clung to his fingertip like syrup, then began to sink into his floral skin, leaving no residue.

“See? Normal,” he said softly. “Just pigment feedback. Harmless.”

He smiled again — but it didn’t reach his eyes.

A faint tremor went up his arm. His vines tightened beneath the surface of his gloves. Something was moving inside him.

Then the pain hit.

Sharp. Burning. Like fire under his skin.

He gasped, staggering backward and clutching his arm to his chest. The ichor on his fingertip had vanished, absorbed completely — but the veins in his forearm glowed faintly black. His petals wilted at the edges.

His head pounded. Vision swimming, he stumbled against the wall.

“Wh—what…” he breathed. His words slurred, voice catching on a ragged gasp.

The throbbing spread from his arm to his chest, crawling up his neck like frostbite. His reflection on the metal panel warped — colors bleeding, eyes dimming.

Then, as suddenly as it came, the pain ebbed.

Dandy stood panting, hunched over, the sound of his breathing loud in the quiet room. He waited a long moment before opening his eyes. The glow had faded. His arm looked normal again — no cracks, no burns.

He flexed his fingers experimentally. Fine.

“...Okay,” he whispered. “Okay, you’re fine. Just a feedback loop. Nothing broke. It’s fine.”

He forced a shaky laugh, though his voice trembled. “See? You panicked over nothing, Dandy.”

He straightened up slowly and turned back toward the puddle. The ichor had stopped leaking. For now.

But something about it looked… off.

It wasn’t just black anymore. A faint hue — reddish, almost like rust — was seeping through the surface. It shimmered wetly, like diluted blood.

“Wait…” Dandy murmured, leaning closer. “That’s not supposed to happen.”

He stared, realization dawning.

This wasn’t just ichor. It had mixed with something else. Something organic.

His chest tightened as the truth hit him.

It was his blood.

He took a half-step back, eyes wide. “No, no, no, no…”

He hadn’t meant for this. He barely touched the system. The ichor must’ve reacted to his biology — absorbed it, corrupted it.

He’d contaminated the supply.

“Oh petals, no… no no no…”

He backed up until his heel hit the control panel. The monitors blinked, warning lights starting to flash across the system map — small red dots spreading along the lower pipes.

The ichor was already moving.

Dandy’s voice cracked. “No, no, they’ll fix it. They’ll— they’ll know what to do. It’s not my fault. It’s not—”

His reflection on the control screen twisted. For a split second, he thought he saw something moving behind his eyes — dark threads, coiling, blooming.

He blinked it away.

“This wasn’t my fault,” he repeated softly. “They’ll understand. They always understand.”

He turned toward the door, one trembling hand gripping the frame. The hallway beyond was dark, empty — the hum of the facility louder than usual. He swallowed, trying to ignore the metallic taste on his tongue.

He took one step out. Then another.

Behind him, the puddle of ichor rippled.

A small shape rose from it — a single, trembling vine tipped with a fragile flower bud. Its petals unfurled once, revealing nothing inside but black liquid and faint, pulsing light.

Then it sank back into the puddle, vanishing as if it had never been there.

Dandy leaned against the corridor wall, catching his breath. The facility lights flickered once.

He felt wrong. Heavy. Like something inside him was pulsing out of rhythm. His body wasn’t supposed to feel this warm.

He rubbed his arm again, eyes unfocused. The air seemed thicker — every sound too sharp, every vibration rattling through him.

Maybe he should find Astro. He always knew what to do in emergencies. Calm, cool-headed, gentle. He’d know how to explain this to the handlers without making it worse.

Yes. That was the plan.

He pushed off the wall and started walking.

Halfway down the hall, a faint voice echoed from the intercom above. Static crackled through it, followed by a distorted tone — like something trying to tune in but failing.

“…—peration flow… unsta— ble… sect— five—”

Then silence.

Dandy froze mid-step. The world around him suddenly felt distant, far too quiet.

From somewhere below, through the pipes in the walls, came a low, rhythmic sound. Like something moving, flowing faster than it should.

He looked up.

The light overhead flickered.

And for just a heartbeat — the shadows stretched wrong.

He stood there for a long while, listening to the silence press down. Eventually, he forced himself to move again, step by slow step.

The hall led to a stairwell overlooking the maintenance area — massive pipes running like veins across the floor. They gleamed under the dim red lights.

From up here, Dandy could see everything.

And right away, he noticed it.

One of the pipes was glowing faintly. Black, oily light seeping through the seams, pulsing in time with the building’s heartbeat. The ichor inside was no longer just circulating. It was spreading.

He stared in stunned silence.

Then he smiled — soft, strained, unconvincing.

“Okay… okay, Dandy… You can fix this.”

He said it out loud, even though his voice was trembling. “You just… you just need to reverse the flow. Yes. Easy. Easy peasy.”

He pressed the control button by the railing. The system interface blinked alive, showing the map of the lower floors. But the icons weren’t green anymore. They were bleeding into black, the lines rippling outward like ink dropped into water.

He reached for the override key. His hands shook.

When he pressed the first button, something hissed under the floor.

He pressed another. The lights flickered.

“Come on…” he muttered. “Work with me, please—”

He slammed his hand on the panel. Sparks flew.

The ichor in the pipes pulsed violently. A deep, resonant hum filled the air, vibrating the railings, shaking the floor beneath him.

Then — silence.

Everything stopped.

Dandy stood perfectly still, heart pounding in his chest. The entire room held its breath.

Then, from somewhere deep within the pipes, a soft gurgling began.

Slowly, the black ichor began to flow again — upward this time.

He took a step back, mouth dry.

“…No.”

The ichor crept through the transparent pipes, defying gravity, inching up the walls toward the ceiling. It shimmered like mercury, moving with purpose — almost as if it were alive.

Dandy stumbled back another step. His heel hit the stair behind him, and he fell to a sit, breath coming quickly.

“This isn’t right…” he whispered. “This isn’t right…”

The ichor pulsed brighter.

And in the reflection of the glass pipe, he saw his own face flicker — the edges of his smile too wide, the pupils of his eyes warping like ink in water.

He blinked and it was gone.

He stared at his trembling hands. The petals on his wrists were darkening — veins of black creeping up through the yellow.

He pressed them together, hiding the change. “They’ll fix it,” he whispered again, desperate now. “They’ll understand. It’s not my fault. It’s— it’s not—”

A loud clang interrupted him — metal straining somewhere below.

Dandy froze. The ichor was breaching containment.

He didn’t even realize he was running until he reached the door again, slamming it behind him. His chest rose and fell, every breath sharp and too fast.

Behind the door, he could hear it — the faint, wet sound of something crawling through the pipes.

As he walked the dark corridor back toward the main floor, his reflection flickered in the glass walls.

Every few steps, his smile wavered. His petals curled. His color dimmed.

But by the time he stepped into the main hall — when he saw the faint glow of Gardenview’s lights, the mural of smiling toons, the comforting hum of perfection — he smiled again.

Perfectly.

Brightly.

Like nothing was wrong.

Because nothing was wrong.

Then the pipes burst.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The pipes ruptured all at once, a metallic scream tearing through the building.
It wasn’t just a leak anymore. It was a flood. Thick black ichor shot through every fractured seam, pouring into halls, exhibits, and corridors.

Dandy froze, petals trembling, as the first wave surged toward the lobby. The liquid hissed against the polished tiles and pooled like a sinister tide. The smell was sharp, metallic, and suffocating. It soaked his gloves, slicked across his petals, dripping down his stem and leaving dark streaks on his clothing.

In the lobby, families were walking right into it. Children shrieked as the ichor clung to their shoes, sliding upward toward their legs. Parents tried to pull them free, but the viscous liquid coated skin and clothing instantly. It was toxic. It moved with horrifying efficiency.

Dandy’s stomach turned violently. He ran toward the nearest child, slipping in the sticky ichor, barely keeping his balance. His petals twitched, curling over his face in panic. “No! No! Get out of it!”

One little girl stumbled forward, feet sunk in the ichor. Dandy lunged, grasping her arms, trying to pull her free. But the ichor had already seeped into her shoes and up her legs. Her skin was turning black, veins thickening unnaturally beneath the surface. Her small fingers stiffened, bending in grotesque angles. Her breath hitched in choking gasps, her mouth bubbling with thickened blood as the ichor began clotting inside her.

Dandy fell to his knees beside her, petals curling tightly over his eyes. “It’s… it’s my fault… it’s all my fault…”

The flood spread relentlessly. Parents tried to carry their children out, slipping, shrieking, coated in black liquid as it spread over their skin. The ichor didn’t stop at clothing or shoes — it seeped into every crevice, absorbed through pores and scratches. For anyone who wasn’t a toon, it began coagulating the blood within, mutating cells, twisting their bodies with the unrelenting pressure of toxic contamination. People gasped, convulsed, twisted, choked — all silently and rapidly, a sickening clockwork of destruction.

Dandy’s mind could barely process it. He darted between hallways, trying to find valves, panels, any way to reroute the flow, but every action seemed to make it worse. Every second, the black tide surged further into the museum, swallowing floors, pooling around doorways, spilling into rooms meant for children, exhibits, and even the main atrium.

He stumbled into a hall where a family huddled near the wall, trying to protect themselves. The ichor reached them first, rolling up the wall like a creeping flood. A father’s face twisted as veins darkened, skin hardening in patches, blood thickening. His chest heaved, a coughing fit tearing from him as the liquid forced its way through. His children screamed — small, muted, suffocating screams — as black streaks snaked up their arms.

Dandy’s claws dug into the tiles, sliding on the slick surface. “I… I didn’t mean for this… I just wanted to—just wanted to help…” His voice cracked. The words sounded hollow against the chorus of panic.

He tried to reach for a control panel, desperate to reroute the ichor back into containment zones. Sparks hissed from damaged circuits. Some panels were already submerged, the black liquid pooling over buttons and screens. He slammed a lever down, hearing the rush of redirected liquid for a brief second — a minor victory. But another pipe above him split with a metallic crack, sending a torrent cascading toward the main entrance.

A child slipped into it. Dandy’s hands shot out, claws barely catching the small figure before she toppled completely. He struggled to lift her, slipping in the ichor himself, petals curling in horror. Her tiny body trembled violently, veins turning black as the liquid entered through her skin. Thick blood bubbled at her lips, her small lungs straining as the ichor forced her system into chaos.

“No! No! Please, stop, stop!” Dandy screamed, voice hoarse and cracking. He could do nothing. Every second another floor, another exhibit, another corridor flooded. Screams echoed in his ears, alarms blared, and the metallic smell of ichor was suffocating.

He ran. Slipping through the central hall, he tried to reach the atrium where the main pipes had burst. From above, icicles of black liquid hung from the shattered ceiling vents, dripping into the lobby. Families tried to climb to safety, but the ichor reached them before they could escape. He could see it: thick, viscous streams entering skin, crawling into open wounds. Their bodies twitched violently, joints locking, veins thickening, blood clots forming. Their faces contorted, children and parents alike gasping for air they couldn’t get, eyes widening as mutation began to twist their bodies grotesquely.

Dandy’s petals drooped, curling over his face as nausea surged. This isn’t real… this can’t be real… He moved on instinct, running toward the next group he could reach, trying to push them to safety. Every step left black streaks on the tiles, evidence of his own contamination. The ichor wasn’t alive, but its presence felt alive because of the destruction it caused so quickly.

In one room, a family tried to escape through a side exit. The ichor reached them first. Their small child’s hands became stiff, turning black as blood clotted beneath the skin. The father grabbed her, but his own body seized mid-step. Dandy lunged, pulling at the child, but the ichor crept along her neck, a thin black tendril sliding into her ear. She gagged, eyes rolling back as the internal clots formed faster than he could react.

Dandy’s heart lurched. He fell forward onto his knees, petals pressed to the floor as the flood lapped at him. He could feel the slick ichor sticking to his stem, his gloves, and despite his careful movements, some crept under his clothes, burning faintly, as though warning him it was only a matter of seconds before it touched him.

He couldn’t stop crying. Not yet. Not now.

He ran again, slipping through flooded hallways, trying to contain the worst of it with panels and levers. Every movement, every attempt was a minor success in an ocean of horror. He saw the twisted forms of humans as the ichor consumed them: veins blackened, joints stiffening, blood coagulating, faces twisting in silent horror. He could do nothing to stop the transformation once it began.

At the far end of the lobby, he saw the main pipes still spurting. Dandy pressed every lever, tugged every valve, but the flow was too strong. Ichor surged toward every open space, splashing into rooms, seeping under doors, pooling in corners. Families huddled in small pockets, writhing as the ichor touched them, their bodies failing. He couldn’t save everyone.

He sank to his knees in the middle of a flooded corridor, petals curling over his eyes, trembling. “It wasn’t supposed to happen… it was never supposed to happen…”

Somewhere in the distance, faint echoes of movement caught his attention. A figure moved through the chaos — a handler, desperately trying to evacuate people. Another figure ran past, holding a child high, slipping, nearly toppling into the ichor. Dandy’s heart ached, guilt squeezing his chest until he couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t undo it. Every drop he hadn’t contained, every pipe he hadn’t sealed, every second he hesitated, more humans were overtaken, twisting and choking as the ichor entered their systems.

His reflection caught him in the shattered glass of the main exhibit. Yellow petals streaked black, eyes wide, trembling, veins faintly darkened from minor exposure. He looked like the disaster incarnate. He was the disaster.

And the ichor still flowed.

Chapter Text

Wake up.

Why won’t he wake up?

Astro’s trembling hands pressed against the boy’s chest, his gloves dark with blood and ichor. The black liquid clung like tar, glistening under the emergency lights as it seeped between his fingers. The child’s body jerked once, breath catching — and then went still. His eyes were open, glassy, ringed with spreading black veins that crawled down to his jaw.

Astro blinked hard. “Come on…” His voice was barely a whisper, shaking with something raw and desperate. “You’re okay. You’re fine…”

He pressed harder, the motion mechanical. He wasn’t thinking — only doing. He was supposed to protect them. Help them sleep. Make them feel safe.

That was his job. That was who he was.

But the boy wasn’t breathing. Around him, the air was filled with the sound of shrieks and sobbing — the kind of sound that tore right through your chest. A dozen small voices. Some wailing, some choking. He could smell blood, oil, burnt sugar, and something else — something metallic and wrong.

He couldn’t look away. He couldn’t stop.

The ichor was everywhere. It dripped from the lights. It bubbled up through the floor vents. It soaked through the rugs, splattering across toys and coloring books. The floor was a slick sea of black.

Astro’s voice broke when he spoke again, barely audible over the alarms. “You’ll be fine—just breathe—”

He didn’t even realize the ichor had reached his wrists until it burned.

The liquid bit into him like acid. It crawled under his gloves, burrowed into his skin, and his veins lit up like veins of molten silver. Astro screamed — a sharp, raw sound that cracked halfway through. He jerked backward, clutching his hands to his chest, shaking uncontrollably.

The boy was gone. Gone.

He stumbled away, nearly slipping on the floor. His vision tunneled. His breathing hitched and stuttered as his mind tried to catch up to the reality around him — but it couldn’t. None of this could be real.

The lights above him flickered once, twice, then dimmed into a dark crimson hue.

That was when the ground shook.

The noise that followed was low and heavy, like thunder in his chest. Astro turned toward the sound, pupils contracting — and froze as a dark blur shot toward him from the hallway.

Mace.

The cat slammed into him, wrapping both arms around his smaller frame and shoving him down to the ground before another pipe exploded overhead, splattering ichor across the wall where Astro had just been standing.

“Astro!” Mace’s voice was harsh, panicked. “You have to move—now!”

Astro didn’t respond. His body was trembling, eyes unfocused, chest heaving.

Mace grabbed his face, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Hey! Hey, look at me!”

Astro blinked at him, glassy-eyed, his lips parting just enough to speak. “The children… they—”

“I know,” Mace interrupted, though his voice cracked as he said it. He glanced over Astro’s shoulder — saw what was left of the children’s room, the collapsed walls, the still shapes on the floor. His jaw tightened, and he swallowed hard. “We can’t help them now. We need to go.”

Astro’s tail coiled weakly around Mace’s leg, clinging to the only solid thing in a world that had come apart.

“I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” Mace’s tone softened, his claws careful against Astro’s shoulders. “I’ve got you, okay? Just hold on.”

And then he lifted him. The smaller toon’s cloak hung heavy, soaked through, but Mace didn’t falter. His feet splashed through the ichor as he ran, head ducked, fur matted with soot and black streaks.

The hallway ahead was chaos — handlers shouting, alarms blaring, red warning lights strobing against walls streaked with liquid metal. Mace’s bandmates appeared at the far end, yelling for him, holding open the elevator doors.

“Come on!” Vex’s voice carried through the din, frantic.

Mace tightened his grip on Astro and sprinted. The air was thick, heavy. The elevator doors were already closing when he dove forward, slamming into the metal frame just as they sealed shut behind him.

The small space was lit only by emergency lighting. Vex was gasping, his claws scraping against the control panel. Batheny hovered near the ceiling, wings trembling.

Astro sagged against the wall, his body trembling, his breathing shallow. The ichor that had burned through his gloves shimmered faintly under his skin — faint black veins glowing with a silvery pulse.

Mace crouched down in front of him. “Moon, can you hear me?”

No answer.

Astro’s eyes darted around, unfocused, pupils wide and glassy. His breaths came out short and uneven, his fingers twitching against the floor.

Batheny glanced at Mace, uneasy. “He’s infected.”

“I’m fine…” Astro croaked, though his voice was raw and hollow.

Mace shook his head, tail flicking in agitation. “You’re not fine. You’re in shock.”

The elevator jolted, throwing them slightly off balance. The sound of pressure in the pipes echoed above them, a constant reminder of what was still spreading through the floors.

When the elevator finally stopped, the doors opened to a room unlike any other part of Gardenview.

It was cold. Sterile. The floor gleamed white under flickering emergency lights, and the walls were lined with containment glass. Inside, toons huddled in groups — some injured, some just silent, staring at their hands as if afraid to touch anything. A handler’s jacket lay abandoned near the door, shredded at the sleeves.

They’d reached the Emergency Containment Floor.

A handler nozzle — one of the mechanical caretakers — whirred to life, detecting new arrivals, their faceplate flickering. “Decontamination required. Please remain still.”

Mace hesitated, looking down at Astro. “He’s been hit. What happens if—”

“Remain. Still.”

Jets of cold mist burst from the walls, enveloping them in a sharp chemical chill. The ichor that still clung to Astro’s cloak hissed and flaked away, though the veins beneath his skin stayed. The mist burned his throat, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t.

When it cleared, Mace helped him forward again. The room beyond was full of familiar faces — toons from different exhibits, all gathered in uneasy silence. A few were whispering, others staring blankly ahead. A faint alarm tone looped endlessly over the intercom: “Containment breach. Please remain in designated safe zones.”

Vex and the others stayed close as they guided Astro to an empty bench along the far wall. He sat stiffly, his eyes fixed on the floor. The bright light made him look smaller somehow, drained.

Across the room, Scraps and Brusha were arguing quietly — one of them trembling, her paint smudged with black streaks. “They didn’t get everyone out,” The paintbrush whispered. “The handlers, they—they’re still upstairs—”

“Shh.” Scraps companion hushed her quickly, glancing at the ceiling where the cameras blinked dimly. “Don’t say that.”

Astro didn’t listen. He couldn’t stop replaying the image of the boy. The sound of him choking, the way his body had just—

He shut his eyes tight.

Mace crouched down beside him, resting a hand lightly against his arm. “You’re still with me, right?”

Astro nodded once, but didn’t look up. His voice came out soft, uneven. “They were only children.”

Mace exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. His fur was still streaked with black. “I know.”

“No, you don’t.” Astro’s tone wasn’t sharp, but it carried weight. He finally looked up, his eyes faintly glowing in the low light. “You didn’t see what it did to them.”

That made Mace falter. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. What could he even say to that?

He settled for, “You did what you could.”

Astro gave a faint, bitter laugh. “Did I?”

Neither spoke after that.

The air in the emergency floor felt too heavy, thick with the unspoken. Every so often, a new toon would stumble in — coughing, shaking, covered in smears of ichor — and the caretakers would rush to spray them down with that freezing mist. Some didn’t come back out.

Astro kept his gaze low, clutching the edges of his blanket cloak tighter around him. The black stains wouldn’t come out, no matter how much he tried to scrub them from his gloves.

Then, somewhere down the hall, a door slammed open.

Everyone jumped.

A group of handler units rushed past, Austin, Riley, Veronica, And Sam… dragging equipment — cracked monitors, a handheld scanner, and what looked like vials of pure ichor sealed in thick glass. One of them muttered to another, static fuzzing through their speakers. “Source breach confirmed… origin unknown. Containment priority: red.”

“Red?” Vex whispered. “That’s the highest level.”

Mace’s tail flicked anxiously. He didn’t like the way the word origin echoed in his head.

Astro’s gaze followed the handlers. He caught a glimpse of a flower petal drifting loose from one of their carts — small, red, unmistakable. His stomach dropped.

Dandy.

The realization hit like a physical blow. His breath caught, and he leaned forward, whispering under his breath. “It was him…”

Mace glanced at him sharply. “What?”

Astro didn’t answer. His thoughts were already racing ahead — flashes of Dandy’s grin, the way he’d always said things could be better. The ichor incident wasn’t an accident. It couldn’t be.

A low hum filled the room as the main lights flickered again. The mechanical voice over the intercom buzzed back to life:
“Containment level red confirmed. Evacuation suspended. All staff remain in emergency zones until further notice.”

The toons in the room went quiet. Some began to cry. Others just stared blankly at the walls.

Mace rose slowly, running a hand through his fur. His bandmates looked at him expectantly, but he didn’t have an answer for them.

He just looked back at Astro — the moon toon sitting there, trembling, staring down at his hands as if afraid of what they might become.

Chapter Text

“DANDY! WHERE IS HE!?”

Astro’s voice split the air like lightning, rattling the emergency floor’s metal walls. Every light flickered in response to the raw power bleeding from him — thin blue arcs of energy snaking across the ceiling and crawling down the walls like veins of light.

He was wild, thrashing in Mace’s arms, clawing at the air toward the retreating handlers. Mace could feel the energy pulsing through Astro’s body like static, each tremor searing through his fur.

“Let me go!” Astro shouted, eyes blazing like molten glass. “Where is he!? Tell me where—”

“Stop—Astro!” Mace gasped, tightening his hold though it felt like trying to restrain a storm. The air around them shimmered with heat. His fur stood on end, his chest trembling under the force of it. “You’re gonna blow the whole damn floor!”

But Astro didn’t hear him. His pupils were pinpricks of light, his breathing sharp and ragged. His aura was expanding, pressing against the walls in shimmering waves. The air smelled of ozone and metal — the scent that always came right before something breaks.

Austin, the lead handler, turned back once, his voice distant through the hum of static. “We’re doing everything we can, Astro. Please — stay here.” Then he vanished around the corner with the others, hauling boxes of bloodied supplies.

Astro’s rage cracked and faltered all at once. His breathing slowed, his body slackened, the light around him dimming to a faint shimmer.

Mace exhaled in relief and loosened his grip, careful not to touch the flickering wisps of light that still sparked off Astro’s cloak.

For a moment, only silence. The hum of lights. The sound of something dripping in the distance.

Then — ping.

The elevator doors opened with a hiss.

Mace’s ears flattened as a metallic tang hit the air. He turned toward the sound, his tail curling tightly behind him.

Dandy stepped out.

He looked less like himself and more like a hollow imitation — his petals wilted, the bright whites of his eyes stained grey from smoke and ichor. His suit clung wetly to his frame, dripping black-blue fluid that left splotches on the tile. His gloves were soaked through, the fabric eaten away in spots to reveal blotched, trembling skin beneath.

He didn’t look at anyone. He just walked forward, slow and uneven, leaving a trail behind him.

The other toons froze.

Even Mace — who’d seen Dandy furious, drunk, giddy, unhinged — had never seen him like this.

Astro’s head lifted. His glow, which had dimmed moments ago, ignited again. The air around him tightened, the lights overhead dimming to a cold, quivering blue.

Mace took a half step back, tail bristling.

Astro moved forward. Each step he took made the floor tremble slightly, the hum of his power resonating through the metal. His cloak lifted in slow, ethereal waves, defying gravity. Thin blue tendrils of light coiled off his shoulders and twisted lazily through the air, tracing ghostly shapes in their wake.

The temperature dropped.

“Dandy.” Astro’s voice was low, shaking with restrained fury. His words vibrated in the walls.

Dandy’s eyes flicked up. They were unfocused — dazed, almost glassy. He looked straight through Astro, his expression blank and unreadable.

The room’s fluorescent light flickered once. Then again.

Astro’s pupils thinned to slits, the blue glow behind them flaring dangerously.

He took another step closer, and the metal grates underfoot groaned.

A loose sheet of paper on a nearby table ignited at the edge, curling inward as it burned.

“What did you do.” The words didn’t sound spoken — they reverberated, like thunder rumbling inside the walls.

Dandy blinked slowly, his lips parting — but no words came out.

“WHAT DID YOU DO!?” Astro roared, his voice exploding through the hall. Every light on the floor blew out in a shower of sparks. For a heartbeat, the world went black.

Then blue light flooded everything — a blinding, violent glow radiating from Astro’s body. The walls hummed, glass cracked in the frames, the floor tiles quivered under the force of it.

Mace could only stare. His instincts screamed at him to move, to intervene, but he didn’t dare.
He knew what that kind of magic felt like — ancient, raw, unfiltered power. One wrong word could level the entire floor.

Astro’s breathing was uneven, his voice breaking. “There were children in there!” he shouted, his eyes glistening with fury. “They didn’t even know what was happening — they were screaming—” His voice cracked. “You did this!”

Dandy didn’t respond.

He blinked again, slow, deliberate. His gaze dropped to his own trembling hands. Ichor seeped between his fingers like ink, streaking his sleeves, trailing onto the ground.

He looked… confused. Not guilty. Not sorry. Just gone.

Astro’s glow sputtered, the waves of light faltering for a heartbeat before reigniting. His aura lashed outward, sending a ripple across the room — papers fluttered, tools clattered to the floor, the faint blue haze distorting the air.

“Say something!” he demanded, voice hoarse.

Dandy’s lips twitched. One word barely escaped.

“…Perfect.”

The word was so quiet it almost wasn’t real.

Astro froze. His glow flickered, guttered, then flared back brighter than before — but this time, it wasn’t rage. It was grief.

“Perfect?” he repeated softly. “You think this is perfect?”

His hands shook. The light that surrounded him began to fray at the edges, breaking apart into motes that drifted up toward the ceiling. The faint shimmer of stars began forming in the air — fragments of some other realm bleeding through.

Mace had seen Astro’s power calm children, weave illusions, paint entire rooms in starlight. But this — this was something else entirely. It wasn’t gentle. It was hungry.

The very space around Astro began to warp, bending light and shadow together like liquid. The air pulsed with energy that made Mace’s fur rise.

He didn’t move. No one did. No one dared.

Dandy’s knees buckled. He collapsed forward, landing hard on his palms with a wet slap. The ichor smeared outward beneath him, reflecting Astro’s faint blue glow like a warped mirror.

He stayed there, head bowed, trembling. The only sound was his ragged breathing.

Astro’s magic surged one last time — a wave of light that burst outward, rattling every metal beam in the ceiling. Then, just as quickly, it died.

The glow receded. The air stilled.

Astro stood over Dandy, his chest heaving, eyes wide and glistening with tears he wouldn’t let fall.

“Look at what you’ve done,” he whispered.

Dandy didn’t move.

Astro turned away. His cloak drifted around him, the remaining blue wisps fading into nothing. He walked toward the far corridor, each step echoing.

Mace stayed rooted where he stood, tail twitching. His ears rang. He glanced toward Dandy — the flower toon hadn’t lifted his head. His reflection in the ichor looked more corpse than toon.

No one spoke. The silence was so thick it felt physical.

As Astro disappeared down the hall, the only thing left was the faint sound of dripping ichor and the low hum of power fading into stillness.

Mace finally exhaled, voice barely a whisper. “...What the hell did you do, Dandy?”

Dandy didn’t answer.

He just kept staring at his hands — at the black stains spreading across his gloves, at the way the ichor glistened like oil in the blue light. His breathing slowed, steady, mechanical. His petals drooped, trembling with each exhale.

Astro gave up.
He couldn’t deal with this anymore.

His magic flickered and dimmed like a dying flame. The blue wisps that had danced wildly around him gradually sank into the floor until only a faint shimmer remained. His chest heaved once, twice—then stilled.

He stared at Dandy for a long, unbearable moment. The flower toon hadn’t moved, his head bowed, petals wilted and streaked with black ichor. The air between them hung heavy with the acrid tang of blood and ichor, mingling with the faint scent of ozone left by Astro’s magic.

Astro’s eyes softened—just barely—before dulling entirely. He turned away, cloak brushing against the floor, and began walking down the corridor toward the bedrooms prepared for emergencies like this. Each step was deliberate, heavy, carrying the exhaustion and frustration of the day.

Mace followed silently, hand lightly resting on Astro’s shoulder—not to restrain him, but to guide. For a moment, as their eyes met in the dim light of the hallway, something unspoken passed between them. A brief, quiet acknowledgment of shared experience, tension, and trust. Mace’s gaze lingered on Astro, steady and protective.

Behind them, Dandy’s head lifted just slightly. His wide, glassy eyes tracked the two as they moved together. For a heartbeat, the room seemed to hold its breath. Dandy froze, noting the subtle closeness in that fleeting glance—Astro’s calm acceptance of Mace’s presence, Mace’s unwavering attention toward him.

It was only for a second, but it was enough.

Astro reached the door to the prepared bedroom and sank onto the edge of the cot, shoulders slumped, tail coiling tightly beneath him. Mace stayed at the doorway a moment longer, watching him settle, then gently removed his hand. He pinned his ears back slightly, a low, sympathetic snarl curling his teeth—not toward Astro, not toward Dandy, but at the weight of the moment. He didn’t intervene further. He didn’t dare.

Dandy remained on the floor, staring after them. His hands rested in the black ichor that still pooled around him. The light caught his reflection in the liquid, distorted, warped. It seemed to twitch, almost imperceptibly, as if something beneath the surface was stirring.

The emergency floor was silent except for the faint drip of ichor and the low hum of the lights overhead. Astro’s breathing was steady, but Mace’s ears flicked nervously at every sound in the room. The brief, significant glance they had shared lingered in the air like an unspoken statement of possession and trust—a quiet bond that Dandy had noticed, even if he didn’t fully understand it.

Finally, Mace gave a small sigh and turned away, following Astro down the corridor. The other toons watched silently. Vex and Battheny lingered near the doorway, uncertain, their bodies tense with unease. They had seen enough chaos for one night and knew when to give their lead guitarist space.

Vex’s claws tapped softly against the tile as he exchanged a glance with Battheny. The bat toon’s wings twitched nervously. Neither spoke; there was nothing they could say. Slowly, they turned and began leaving the emergency floor, retreating to find their own rooms.

One by one, other toons followed suit, their footsteps echoing faintly down the hallway before fading into silence. The emergency floor, once filled with activity and panic, fell into a quiet emptiness. Only Dandy remained kneeling on the floor, head bowed, hands in the black ichor, staring at the distorted reflection of his petals.

The subtle shift in the ichor made him flinch—a flicker, a distortion that wasn’t there before. Something about the reflection seemed… alive, or at least not entirely him. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but it sent a shiver racing through him.

Dandy didn’t move, didn’t speak, but his gaze lingered on the corridor where Astro and Mace had disappeared. The faint shimmer of residual magic still hovered in the air—a ghost of Astro’s power—lingering, unbroken, like a silent pulse of warning.

And in that quiet, empty room, with the last of the toons gone and the ichor dripping softly around him, Dandy realized—without fully understanding—the first ripple of something dark had begun.

Chapter Text

By morning, Dandy was nowhere to be seen. The handlers hadn’t spotted him in any corner of the emergency containment floor, and no one dared question where he could have gone. After Astro’s confrontation the night before, the flower toon had simply disappeared, leaving behind only the echo of chaos. His absence went mostly unremarked — the priority was the mess, the ichor, and the surviving toons. Nothing else mattered right now.

The emergency floor was quiet but tense, the usual hum of machinery mingling with the low, steady buzz of fluorescent lights. Shelly moved cautiously along the perimeter, her claws clicking softly against the reinforced floor panels. She hugged her arms around herself, overgrown claws curling into her sleeves, and tried to steady her breathing. The night had been too long, too loud, too violent. She hadn’t seen Astro this furious before, and even in the afterlight, the memory of his powers flaring like a silent storm made her skin crawl.

Vee noticed her distress immediately. The fossil toon’s screen face flickered, her eyes softening as she observed Shelly pacing near the railing that overlooked the vast empty expanse of the containment floor. With a careful step, Vee approached and placed a gentle hand on Shelly’s shoulder. Her microphone tail twitched with uncertainty, but she patted the smaller toon’s back, trying to offer comfort through her quiet presence.

“Hey… don’t feel bad,” she murmured, her voice low and steady, almost more for herself than for Shelly. “Things will get better.”

Shelly’s response was immediate. Without warning, she wrapped her strong arms around Vee, burying her face into the other toon’s chestplate. Quiet, shaky sobs rattled through her small frame. Vee’s mechanical systems hummed as she adjusted to support her friend, her glowing screen eyes blinking in careful rhythm to avoid startling her. The exclamation mark that had briefly flickered on her display dimmed, replaced with a soft, blinking smile. She continued to pat Shelly’s back, feeling the warmth and tension in the fossil toon’s body, trying to offer what solace she could.

Across the floor, Sprout stirred on a cot, Pebble resting limply on his stomach. The rock dog whined softly in its sleep, its tiny legs twitching sporadically. Even in unconsciousness, the small toons carried traces of the previous night’s terror. Shelly and Vee glanced at them, then back at the empty hallways beyond the emergency floor’s barriers. The familiar vibrancy of Gardenview had been replaced by stark metallic walls and the oppressive hum of containment equipment.

No one spoke of Dandy. Even mentioning his name seemed forbidden, a reminder of chaos too heavy to bear. Shelly’s mind kept returning to Astro, though she didn’t dare approach him yet. He had spent the night in one of the isolation zones the emergency floor offered, silently perched against a wall, tail coiled around his feet, eyes scanning every corner. Even now, he radiated the quiet storm he had unleashed the night before. The memory of his unleashed power made her pause with each glance.

Time moved slowly. The handlers moved in a systematic, robotic rhythm, cataloging supplies, surveying structural damage, and sanitizing areas affected by ichor. Their presence was constant, but impersonal, a stark contrast to the emotional chaos the toons carried inside. Shelly shifted her weight, dragging her gaze from one corner of the emergency floor to another. Each flickering light seemed to whisper memories she would rather forget — screams, chaos, and the unstoppable presence of Astro’s fury.

Vee finally settled down beside Sprout, her screen dimming slightly as she processed the scene around her. She had been built for observation, for monitoring, and for assisting, yet there was no procedure in the manual for this — a floor full of exhausted toons, lingering contamination, and the absence of one of their own. She could attempt to comfort them, but there was no solution, no protocol to repair the trauma or erase the fear etched into their systems.

Shelly straightened, brushing back the remnants of tears from her face, and finally took a hesitant step toward the observation window. The city outside was waking slowly, unaware of the disaster contained within these walls. From this height, it almost looked peaceful. The contradiction was jarring — outside, life continued, untainted and bright; inside, every heartbeat was heavy with the weight of the previous night.

The emergency floor was quiet except for the occasional hum of ventilation systems and the faint drip of residual ichor from compromised pipes. Every drop that fell reminded them of what had happened, of the thin line between survival and disaster. Even the faintest sound — a shuffle, a sigh, or a creak in the metallic flooring — drew eyes and quickened breaths.

Shelly exhaled slowly, allowing herself a single moment of vulnerability before resuming a more composed stance. She glanced at Vee, who had turned her screen face toward the other toons, scanning their vitals with quiet precision. “We’ll make it through this,” Vee said softly, repeating the reassurance that felt almost meaningless in the silence. Shelly nodded, hoping that it was enough to anchor them in this liminal space between catastrophe and recovery.

Astro remained in his corner, eyes narrowed and distant, but there was a subtle shift. His tail uncoiled slightly, his posture less rigid. Even amidst the lingering tension, his presence exuded a sense of vigilance, a quiet reminder to those around him that he had survived the worst and was still standing.

Hours passed, each tick of time amplified in the emptiness of the emergency floor. The toons moved cautiously, taking small steps to occupy themselves while the handlers labored below. Shelly remained close to Vee, occasionally glancing at Sprout to ensure he remained undisturbed. The mechanical hiss of sanitation equipment, the low buzz of lights, and the muted whispers of handlers formed a backdrop of quiet endurance.

Eventually, the floor settled into a fragile routine. Some toons drifted into shallow rest, curled against corners or cots. Others patrolled slowly, silently observing the room, as if ensuring that the ichor and chaos would not return. Shelly, still trembling slightly, allowed herself to lean lightly against Vee, finding comfort in their presence. Though the events of the previous night had fractured everything familiar, there was still a thread of connection between them.

The sun rose higher, casting weak beams of light across the cold metallic floor. Shadows stretched long and thin, clinging to the corners of the room, creating shapes that seemed to move with their own intent. Vee’s gaze swept across the floor one final time, lingering on every corner, every shadow, and every sleeping form. There was no way to erase the horror, but for now, this moment of quiet, fragile endurance was all they could claim.

And so they remained — Shelly leaning on Vee, Sprout still asleep with Pebble at his side, Astro silent and vigilant in his corner — all of them bound together by what had been lost, and by the uncertainty of what was still to come.

The emergency floor had become a sanctuary of survival, a small bastion of stability in a building fractured by ichor, fear, and the absence of one of their own. And while no one dared voice it aloud, every heartbeat carried the unspoken truth: the world they knew, the rhythm of Gardenview, would never be the same again.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mace stalked through the empty halls, muscles coiled and ears twitching at every little sound. The faint hum of the building’s ventilation system and the distant drip of water echoed like whispers through the corridors. He yawned, tail flicking irritably, but even in his fatigue, he remained alert. Something felt… off.

He paused mid-step, tilting his head to the left. A shadow moved just beyond the corner of his vision. Was it a trick of the light? A reflection from the flickering fluorescent strip above? Mace’s amber eyes narrowed. His instincts told him that it wasn’t nothing. Dandy, he thought, is this where you’re hiding? The idea seemed unlikely — Dandy didn’t usually linger in these quiet, isolated halls — but Mace had learned long ago to trust his gut, even when reason told him otherwise.

He crept forward, paws silent on the cold tile floor. The hallway stretched into darkness, the lights growing dimmer with each step. Luckily for him, being a cat meant the shadows held no fear. He could see perfectly, his eyes adjusting to the faint glimmer of emergency lighting.

The farther he went, the quieter it became. Even the hum of the ventilation felt muted, as if the building itself were holding its breath. His tail swished behind him, each movement deliberate, each clawed paw set carefully on the floor. He came to a dead end — just a wall with a network of pipes snaking across its surface.

Mace exhaled a low, frustrated growl. Nothing. Again. He crouched slightly, letting his eyes sweep over the wall for any sign of movement or hidden openings. For a moment, he considered turning back, abandoning the search.

Then his gaze caught it.

A faint glimmer. A slick, black liquid dripping from a crack in one of the pipes. He squinted, leaning closer to examine it. The viscous drops fell slowly, almost lazily, onto the tile below. Ichor, he realized, a prickle running down his spine. He knew the substance well enough to be cautious.

Careful, he bent down to get a better look…

SPLAT!

The pipe burst with sudden force, spraying black ichor directly into his eyes. Mace hissed, a sound sharp and frantic, and his claws shot up to his face. The liquid burned immediately, searing like fire, and he stumbled backward into the wall. His vision went white with pain, then erupted into a blinding, bleeding red. He clawed at his eyes, swiping frantically as his head shook violently.

Damn it… damn it… DAMN IT… Mace thought, each blink sending shooting pains down his temples. He thrashed blindly, hands scraping at the tile, tail lashing, ears flattened against his head. The liquid wasn’t just on the surface — he knew it had entered his bloodstream, coursing like molten fire through his veins. His muscles coiled with a mixture of agony and rage.

He staggered forward, wall to his right, pawing blindly at the pipe. Another drop splashed across his face, sizzling against the skin, and he let out a low, guttural snarl. His vision swam, everything a shifting blur of black and red, but he forced his feet to carry him forward. He had to assess the damage. He had to survive.

Mace shook his head violently again, claws digging into the tile. His teeth bared instinctively, a reflex born of pain and frustration. The ichor burned, but his body refused to succumb. He flexed his limbs, feeling the venomous liquid tingeing his muscles, and focused his senses on sound and smell. He could hear the faint drip of more liquid from the pipes above, smell the sharp chemical tang mixed with metallic undertones.

Finally, after a moment that felt like hours, he managed to wipe the substance away enough to open his eyes. The world was tinged red, blurred around the edges, but he could see. The pain was still there, a constant throb, but he could move. His claws dug into the floor as he hissed, shaking his head to clear the lingering sting.

He crouched low, ears pricked forward, muscles taut. The ichor leak was contained for now, but the damage had been done. His vision would recover, but the sensation in his veins reminded him that nothing here was safe — not the building, not the pipes, not even a seemingly empty corridor.

Mace’s tail lashed once, sharply, before curling tightly around his legs. His ears twitched, listening intently, every sense heightened. He could feel the residual burn in his eyes, the pulsing throb along his limbs. He cannot let Astro know about this, he’ll lose it.

Slowly, deliberately, he rose to his full height, tail still coiled for balance. His amber eyes glimmered with a mixture of pain, irritation. He shook his head one last time, claws scraping faintly against the tile, and padded forward with silent, predatory precision. 

Chapter Text

It was only after the upper floors were cleaned and secured that everyone was allowed upstairs. The surviving toons and handlers were guided carefully, separated into small groups so the elevators weren’t overcrowded. The building still smelled faintly of cleaning agents, and the floors were scuffed and damp from hurried scrubbing. Shelly, Vee, and the others moved quietly, tense with exhaustion. The handlers who had survived the night’s chaos stayed close, directing everyone with practiced efficiency. Shelly’s and Dandy’s handlers were not among them.

Astro hadn’t left his room since the night before. The moon toon remained curled up at the top of his bed, knees drawn close, blanket draped over his thin arms, eyes staring blankly at nothing. The faint ticking of a nearby clock seemed distant, irrelevant, compared to the stillness of the room.

Dyle stepped into the corridor, holding his long gold chain firmly in one hand so it didn’t drag against the floor. The ticking of his own body echoed softly in the silence, a precise rhythm that contrasted with the heavy quiet around him. He moved with deliberate steps, pacing with a purpose, until he reached Astro’s room.

The clock toon entered without hesitation, inspecting the room with his usual meticulous precision. His gaze swept over the blanket draped around the moon toon, the faint scuff marks on the floor, even the dust motes floating in the muted light. Finally, he lowered himself to the bed’s edge and studied Astro closely. “Who’s fault do you think this is?” he asked, voice calm and measured.

Astro blinked, tilting his head. “W-what do you mean…?” he asked cautiously.

“The events,” Dyle continued, voice precise. “The chaos, the ichor, the breakdowns. Decisions were made — or ignored — that caused all of this. Recognition is necessary. Don't you think so?”

Astro’s tail twitched nervously under the blanket. He did not respond, merely hugging his knees closer to himself. Dyle sighed, the hands on his face subtly adjusting his chain. He stood, moving toward the door, intending to leave.

But the doorway behind him darkened.

Mace.

The black cat stood with his arms crossed, tail flicking with restrained impatience, ears pinned slightly back. His pupils were thin slits, and his large frame radiated unyielding authority. He didn’t speak immediately; his presence alone carried weight.

Finally, Mace’s low, measured voice cut through the quiet. “I’m picking him up. It’s our groups turn to leave.”

Dyle’s eyes flicked between the black cat and the moon toon. There was no room for argument; Mace’s stance, the subtle curl of his tail, the protective way he crouched slightly, left no doubt. Dyle noted the dynamic — the moon toon responded subtly, stiffening first, then slowly settling, anchored by Mace’s presence.

Astro’s pupils dilated as Mace approached, lowering himself just enough to wrap a protective arm around the edge of the blanket. The moon toon shivered slightly, then relaxed into the shadowed warmth of the black cat’s body as he helped him off the bed. Dyle inclined his head, acknowledging the assertion without a word.

Mace’s tail flicked once sharply, wrapping around Astro’s legs. The faint hum of the emergency systems filled the corridor as he led the moon toon toward the elevator. Vex and Battheny waited silently, observing, their own bodies tense and ready to follow.

When Mace reached the elevator, the doors hissed open. Dyle followed without hesitation, his chain swinging lightly, the ticking echoing as he stepped in. He took a spot behind Mace and Astro, allowing the protective feline to lead. The moon toon’s head rested lightly against Mace’s chest, his tail curling against the black fur.

The elevator ascended quietly, the hum of machinery mingling with the faint ticking of Dyle’s hands. Silence filled the space, broken only by the rhythmic sound of Astro’s shallow breathing and the subtle, controlled movements of Mace. For the first time in days, the moon toon seemed to feel a tether to reality, fragile and small but present.

Dyle’s gaze flicked over the two, noting the silent communication between them — the small shifts in posture, the protective curl of Mace’s arm, the hesitant but steady relaxation of Astro’s tail. He could see the bond forming, or perhaps strengthening, even in this exhausted, post-chaos state.

The elevator slowed, approaching the lobby. Mace’s arm remained draped over Astro, guiding him steadily, ensuring no sudden jostle or noise could disturb the fragile calm. Dyle remained observant, cataloging the behaviors, the subtle emotional cues, the tiny indicators of tension and trust.

As the doors opened, the polished floors of the lobby reflected the soft overhead lights. Mace moved first, stepping out carefully, still supporting the moon toon. Dyle followed, taking careful note of the emptying spaces, the absence of families and the quiet echo that still lingered from the previous night’s chaos.

Vex and Battheny flanked them as they moved forward, forming a silent protective formation around the trio. Other toons and handlers were still sorting debris, assessing damages, and coordinating cleanups, but for a brief moment, all external chaos faded into the background.

Mace glanced down at Astro, ensuring he remained steady. The moon toon’s eyes were half-lidded, still distant, but slowly observing his surroundings. Mace’s tail flicked once in reassurance, a subtle signal that they were safe for now.

Dyle followed close behind, hands resting lightly on his chain, ticking steadily. He made a mental note of every detail — the protective dynamic between the two, the way the moon toon responded, the silent authority Mace exerted. Even if the situation was far from ideal, he observed, analyzed, and documented, ready to act if needed.

The trio moved toward a quieter section of the museum, one cleared and secure for temporary rest and observation. Astro remained close to Mace, still quiet but slightly more responsive, as though the mere presence of the black cat provided a tether to stability.

Mace’s bandmates, Vex and Battheny, lingered near the entrance to the auditorium, exchanging small gestures that conveyed understanding and readiness to act if required. Other toons were slowly filtering through the floors, checking on each other, moving with the quiet urgency of those who had survived a long and terrible night.

Finally, the trio reached Astro’s room, most of the Ichor spills, puddles, and leaks had been cleaned up and fixed, but the scent and stains still lingered. Mace carefully guided Astro inside, lowering him onto a prepared bed while keeping a protective hand on his shoulder. Dyle followed, standing near the door, chain resting across his lap, eyes vigilant. The soft ticking filled the room, a steady, precise backdrop to the tense quiet.

For the first time since the chaos, Astro was relaxed. Mace’s tail curled protectively, the black cat settling into a crouched stance beside him. Dyle observed silently, acknowledging the silent bond between the two without interfering, noting the small comforts, the protective gestures, the unspoken assurances.

Outside the room, the museum was still and quiet, but the tension lingered. Mace’s gaze never left Astro as he ensured the moon toon’s safety. Mace pinned his ears back and slowly turned towards Dyle, he narrowed his eyes at him and flicked his tail irritatedly. The faintest tint of red lingered in his eyes. Dyle took this as his cue to leave. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Far below the upper floors, past the sealed corridors and the emptied halls, a door creaked in the dark. It was a maintenance tunnel — narrow, half-flooded, walls smeared with old ichor stains that no one dared to clean. And there, hidden beneath a flickering emergency light, sat Dandy.

He had been hiding for hours. Maybe days. It was impossible to tell anymore. The ticking of the clocks above had stopped meaning anything. His once-bright petals — a vibrant rainbow — had wilted, edges darkened and sticky. He sat with his knees drawn close, his gloved hands shaking as they pressed against his chest, right over the place where he swore he could feel something moving beneath his skin.

The ichor.

He didn’t mean to make a mistake. He didn’t mean to break the pipes. He didn’t mean for the screaming, the black rain, the way the handlers clawed at their throats while the children fell silent one by one. He just wanted to make it better — perfect, just like it used to be. That’s all he wanted.

But now, his veins glowed faintly blue beneath the skin of his arms. The light crawled like roots, slow and hungry, spreading toward his fingertips. When he moved, the ichor clung to him in thin strings, as though it didn’t want to let him go.

He leaned forward, clutching his stomach as a ripple of pain shot through him. His body twitched, muscles tightening until they spasmed. A low whine escaped his throat, weak at first — but it deepened, distorted, until it wasn’t a whine anymore. It was something between a sob and a growl.

He looked down at his reflection in a puddle of ichor pooling near the pipes. His once-bright eyes — were darkening, the iris swallowing itself into something red and hollow. His petals trembled, twitching like nervous fingers. The air around him smelled metallic and sickly sweet.

Dandy exhaled shakily and pressed his hand against the ground to steady himself. The ichor pulsed faintly under his touch, like it recognized him — like it wanted him. His reflection rippled as another shudder passed through his body. He tried to lift his head, to remind himself that he was still the face of Gardenview, the one everyone loved, the one who made the children laugh.

But when he smiled, it cracked.

His cheeks ached. His jaw didn’t move right anymore. And when he breathed, his chest wheezed — not from exhaustion, but because something was growing there. He could feel it. Roots of ichor, crawling through his lungs, lacing around his heart.

He coughed violently, his hand flying to his mouth, but when he pulled it back, it wasn’t spit that stained his glove — it was black, thick, and bubbling. The sight made his stomach drop. His hand trembled. He laughed softly to himself, a broken, delirious sound that echoed through the pipes.

The ichor responded.

The puddle near his knees rippled again, bubbling faintly, like it was breathing with him. Dandy blinked through the blur in his vision and reached out, hesitating for a moment before dipping his fingers into it again. The liquid curled around his hand, pulling at him, sinking into his skin like it belonged there.

And maybe it did.

His body was already changing. His petals now bled faint black at the edges. His teeth had sharpened. When he smiled again, they poked out of his mouth, overgrown. One of his arms was now too big for his body, his fingers fused into three razor sharp claws. He tilted his head to the side and listened to the pipes humming above him — the soft, rhythmic thud of the building’s broken pulse. It was calming, in its own way. Familiar.

He muttered a sound, more instinct than word, and leaned against the cold wall. He could still see faint footprints in the dust near the entrance — the handlers who had run through here the night of the incident.

He laughed again, quieter this time.

“I’ll fix it,” he whispered — though his voice came out jagged, cracking at the edges. His throat burned, but the words were still there, trembling like prayer. “I’ll make everything perfect again.”

A droplet of ichor fell from the ceiling and landed on his cheek. It rolled down the curve of his face like a tear.

Dandy smiled wider.

The ichor in his veins pulsed once more — stronger this time — and his eyes flared with faint red light. The sound of his breathing, once steady and cheerful, faltered and skipped a beat.

In
Out
In.

Then silence.

The only sound left in the maintenance tunnels was the faint, wet dragging of his hand as he began to move slowly, crawling deeper into the dark.

Chapter Text

Toons roamed the empty building cautiously. Scraps was tending to her brother Goob’s wounds, Sprout was busy baking with Cosmo, hoping that sweet treats would brighten the mood, and even Shrimpo hadn’t had an outburst since that day. Everyone was still in shock, but they’d have to find a way to adapt sooner or later.

For poor Astro, it would probably be later.

Mace had tried everything he could to bring him out of the trance he’d fallen into. If he tried to offer him a gift, it was just added to the ever-growing nest of blankets and pillows he’d built around himself. If he played a song, Astro would fall asleep halfway through. He’d been doing that a lot lately—sleeping. Hiding.

Sprout, ever the caretaker, always delivered food to him. He could tell Astro wasn’t taking this any better than Mace was. The moon toon ate, but never finished, his meals left half untouched. Mace wanted him to get better so badly it hurt. It twisted something deep inside his chest every time he saw him curled up, distant and unreachable.

He also felt bad for leaving his bandmates to handle the auditorium repairs alone. They kept insisting they were fine, that he should stay with Astro, that this—him—was his priority. Still, guilt gnawed at him every time he heard the faint echo of construction down the hall.

He didn’t know what to do anymore. And that splatter of ichor that had gotten in his eyes a few nights ago wasn’t helping. He knew it was still there, buried somewhere in his bloodstream. Not enough to mutate him—yet—but when he got worked up, the headaches hit like a hammer. It was only a matter of time before that became a problem.

Now, Mace sat on the edge of Astro’s bed beside the mound of blankets and pillows, the moon toon sleeping in the center like a fragile, flickering light. The cat idly tuned his guitar, plucking the strings and adjusting each peg by sound alone. The low hum of the notes filled the quiet room, mixing with the soft ticking of the vents.

He didn’t even know why he kept coming here. Maybe he just needed to be near him—to make sure he was still breathing, still here. A part of him feared that if he ever walked away, even for a few hours, Astro would just… fade.

Mace’s ears twitched when he caught an off-key string. He turned the peg until it resonated cleanly, then glanced back down at Astro. The moon’s hand had slipped from the blankets, resting loosely against Mace’s tail. At some point, he must’ve unconsciously grabbed it, the soft coils of fur trapped gently in his grasp.

Mace blinked, then snickered under his breath. The sound came out rough, a little tired. He shifted slightly, making sure not to wake him, and let out a low, involuntary purr. It rumbled quietly in his chest, filling the silence with something almost—comforting.

He stayed like that for a while, half-playing, half-listening to the small sounds of the room: the faint buzz of the lights, the whisper of Astro’s breathing, the occasional hum of the building as it settled around them. His tail flicked once, then went still.

If this was what it took to keep him steady, Mace thought, he could sit there all night.

And he did.

Hours passed in a blur of quiet. The soft hum of the lights overhead dimmed as the building shifted into its evening cycle. Mace didn’t move much—just leaned back against the bedframe, his guitar resting loosely across his lap. The notes he’d played earlier still echoed faintly in his ears, like a ghost melody looping through the silence.

Astro hadn’t stirred once. His breathing was slow and shallow, chest rising and falling beneath the blanket pile. Every so often, his tail twitched from under the covers, brushing against Mace’s leg. It was strange—seeing him like this, so still. Mace had gotten used to Astro’s quiet personality, sure, but this was different. This was the kind of stillness that made him nervous.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. His claws clicked faintly against the neck of his guitar as he set it down beside the bed. The instrument leaned against the nightstand, silent and forgotten for the moment. Mace’s focus drifted instead to the soft glow of the lamps across the room.

He remembered the first night they’d all met—the way Astro had been distant, cautious, but polite. Mace had thought he was cold at first, until he realized it wasn’t coldness. It was caution. Funny how that hadn’t changed much, even now.

Mace’s ears twitched at a faint noise outside. Probably just someone moving down the hall, or a vent settling. The containment floor had been too quiet since the incident. It made the smallest sounds feel amplified—every creak, every whisper of air. He pushed himself up, stretching, his joints popping softly.

When he looked back at Astro, he hesitated. There was something almost fragile about him in sleep. His face wasn’t twisted with stress or exhaustion anymore—just peaceful. Mace’s chest ached with something he couldn’t name.

He sat back down and brushed some stray strands of fluffy hair away from Astro’s forehead. The motion was automatic, gentle, his claws careful not to scratch. Astro didn’t react—just sighed quietly and nuzzled further into the blankets.

Mace smiled faintly. “You’re really something, huh,” he muttered under his breath, the words too quiet for anyone to hear.

He leaned back again, resting his head against the wall. His tail, still caught in Astro’s grasp, stayed there without resistance. Every few minutes, he’d feel the faintest shift of movement, the subtle reminder that Astro was still alive, still holding on.

Time bled together. Mace didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there. The building lights flickered once—midnight, maybe? He didn’t care. His mind wandered, drifting between thought and haze.

He thought of the ichor. The burning sting in his eyes when it hit, the way his vision had blurred red for hours afterward. The headaches that followed were worse now. He could feel one creeping in, dull and throbbing behind his temples. He rubbed at his face with a frustrated growl, then stopped, forcing himself to breathe slowly.

He didn’t want to think about that. Not right now.

Instead, he listened to Astro’s breathing again. In, out. Slow. Calm.

Mace tilted his head back and stared up at the ceiling. The vents hummed softly above him, a rhythmic noise that matched the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. The combination almost felt soothing.

He closed his eyes for a while, not sleeping, but letting himself drift near it. His mind played half-formed memories behind his eyelids—Astro scolding him for being reckless, Astro smiling faintly when Mace teased him, Astro’s voice when he told stories to the kids during museum hours. He missed that sound.

His tail twitched again, but Astro didn’t stir. He could feel the warmth from his hand even through his fur, a faint pulse against his tail.

Mace opened his eyes and let out a quiet sigh. “You better not make me regret caring this much,” he whispered, voice breaking halfway between a joke and a confession. He reached for his guitar again, plucking the softest chords he could manage.

The melody came out low and gentle, almost like a lullaby. Nothing fancy, nothing for an audience—just something to fill the room. The notes vibrated softly through the walls, echoing faintly into the hallway outside.

He wasn’t sure when he stopped playing. The guitar eventually slipped from his lap, leaning against his leg. His head drooped slightly as exhaustion caught up with him.

Before he fully drifted off, he heard movement. A soft rustle. Astro shifted in his sleep, pulling Mace’s tail closer like it was some kind of lifeline. Mace chuckled sleepily, his purring deepening without him realizing it.

“Yeah… okay,” he murmured, barely audible, eyes fluttering closed. “You win. I’ll stay.”

The room fell completely silent after that. The faint buzz of the lights dimmed further until all that remained was the sound of two steady heartbeats—the quiet rhythm of something fragile beginning to mend.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Mace awoke, Astro didn’t. He was still curled up in the center of his fortress of blankets, a small lump in the middle of the soft chaos he had made for himself. Mace glanced down at him, a small smirk tugging at his muzzle. Carefully, he slid his tail free from Astro’s grasp, testing the waters. The moon toon stirred slightly, a tiny shift in his shoulders, but didn’t open his eyes.

Mace leaned back on his elbows, stretching lazily. “Good morning, Moon,” he murmured softly, his voice light and teasing. “How’d you sleep?”

Astro remained still, hugging a pillow closer, his pale eyes hidden beneath his messy hair. Mace’s ears twitched, a soft, amused hum escaping him as he noticed the way Astro’s pupils dilated ever so slightly when he grinned. He yawned, stretching obnoxiously wide and showing off all his sharp teeth. The motion made Astro flinch ever so slightly, though he didn’t make a sound.

Mace let out a quiet chuckle, letting the sound vibrate through the blankets. “Mm, you look ridiculous, you know that?” He nudged Astro lightly with his nose. Astro shifted just enough to retreat further into the nest, his small whine the only acknowledgment of Mace’s presence.

Rolling onto his back, Mace pressed closer to the pile, almost atop Astro, his purr beginning as a low, rumbling vibration. Astro yelped, squirming to the side, his little body trying to escape the weight. “You mangy cat, get out…” he muttered, voice quiet and reluctant.

Mace snickered, letting his tail wrap loosely around Astro, nudging him gently back down. “And so he speaks! Gee, it was getting kinda lonely around here,” he teased, letting the purr grow a little louder.

Astro made a faint whine, pressing his face into the pillow. Mace grinned and leaned closer, pressing his head against Astro’s shoulder. “Don’t be like that, Moon,” he murmured softly, tail curling protectively around the moon toon. “You can mope all you want… just don’t fall apart on me, yeah?”

Astro whimpered softly, not responding, letting Mace’s presence settle over him like a warm, slightly heavy blanket. The room was quiet except for the gentle vibrations of Mace’s purring and the faint rustle of blankets. Mace watched him closely, amused and slightly exasperated at the moon toon’s stubbornness.

After a few moments, Mace let out a soft, teasing sigh. “Alright, enough of this,” he murmured, shifting just enough to nudge Astro with his side. “You’ve been hiding here long enough.”

Astro tensed, his grip tightening on the pillow, but Mace didn’t hesitate. With practiced ease, he scooped the moon toon up, holding him close. Astro made a soft, startled whine, small arms wrapping reflexively around his chest. “…Mace…” he muttered, voice barely audible, but he didn’t fight.

Mace grinned, lifting him easily. “Yep. No escaping today,” he said softly, tail draping protectively around Astro as he carried him toward the edge of the nest. “We’re getting out of bed, Moon. Come on…”

Astro’s head lolled slightly against Mace’s shoulder, hair falling into his face as he muttered a quiet, resigned, “…fine…”

Mace chuckled, shifting him slightly to keep him secure. “That’s it” he murmured, adjusting the tail around his legs and letting it curl gently across Astro’s waist. “See? Not so bad.”

Finally, Mace set him on the floor beside a breakfast tray Sprout had brought them at earlier hours, still holding him lightly in place until Astro adjusted to the upright position. His tail stayed draped across the moon toon, a warm, protective presence. Mace’s grin softened into a fond expression as he watched him cautiously reach for a piece of toast.

“…thanks,” Astro whispered quietly for the first time that morning, his voice barely above a murmur.

“You’re welcome,” Mace replied gently, tail curling further to brush against him. “Eat at your own pace. No rush. I’m right here.”

Mace settled down beside him, strumming his guitar idly to keep himself occupied, letting the vibrations hum softly through the floor and blankets. Occasionally, he would nudge Astro gently with his tail or his shoulder, small teasing motions, never intrusive, always attentive. The moon toon’s faint movements, slow breaths, and tiny reactions were enough to assure him that progress, however slight, was being made.

Hours could have passed like this—quiet, slow, with only the faint sound of Mace’s purring and the soft strum of his guitar filling the room. Every time Astro shifted slightly, the tail wrapped tighter, a protective measure instinctively applied. Mace let himself relax into the rhythm of it, enjoying the soft, comforting weight of being near him, even if Astro remained withdrawn.

Chapter Text

Astro was slowly adjusting.

 Keyword: slowly.

He was still reserved around everyone else — the only ones he really spoke to were the band toons. That was mostly because Mace refused to leave him alone, and because Vex and Battheny were almost always hanging out in the auditorium that connected directly to his exhibit. It wasn’t that he didn’t like them — it was just that everything felt too loud now. Too close. He’d smile sometimes when they joked, or hum when Vex started practicing a song, but that was about it. His voice came out quieter than usual, his gestures smaller.
Still, for once, he was alone now. He finally had a little air to breathe, a little silence to think.

Mace was currently out of order — not broken, but close enough. He was being tended to by Sprout and Cosmo after that accident. A spotlight from the ceiling had come loose and crashed right onto his tail during a visit to the auditorium. It wasn’t just pain that overtook him when it happened; there was something else, something primal. Mace had thrashed like a wild animal, snarling and hissing at anyone who dared to touch him as they carried him away. Astro could still hear the guttural growls echoing through the halls, could still see the way his body arched like it was fighting itself.
It unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

He planned to check on him later — he would check on him later — but the image of those wild eyes burned behind his eyelids every time he blinked. He’d seen Mace angry before, frustrated, loud, obnoxious… but this wasn’t that. This was different. And for a moment — maybe only a second — Astro could’ve sworn Mace’s eyes had changed color. Not the soft gold he was used to. Something darker. Harsher. Wrong.

Astro sat back in bed, Pebble curled in his lap like a lump of stone. He rubbed the dog’s back slowly, tracing the fine cracks across the smooth surface. Pebble’s tail slumped over his leg, like he was tired of trying. He used to bound around the halls, tripping over his own paws, chasing his tail until he fell over. Now, he mostly laid beside Astro, or wandered the edges of his exhibit dragging his tail.
It hurt to see him like that. It reminded him too much of himself.

The room was dim, lit only by the faint glimmer of the ceiling lights filtering through the glass of his enclosure. Dust drifted lazily through the air, curling in the glow. He stared at it for a while, lost in thought.
Everyone was quieter now. Even the cheerful ones like Poppy and Shelly had grown softer around the edges, like the whole place had aged overnight.

He wondered where Dandy was. No one had seen him since that night, and that fact alone was enough to make his stomach turn. He couldn’t have left the building — none of them could — so that meant he was still here, somewhere.
Somewhere inside.
Watching. Waiting.

Astro didn’t like the thought of that. He didn’t like it at all.

He pulled Pebble a little closer, rubbing the side of his face against the smooth rock. The small warmth it gave off steadied him, but not by much.

He thought about checking the dream realm — his own little world — but even the idea of it made his chest tighten. He hadn’t gone there in a long time. The last time had been for Toodles, when she woke up crying about that night. He couldn’t say no. She was so small, and the way she shook when she asked him for help… It broke him a little. So he went. He entered her dream, cleared it of the shadows that haunted her.

But the dream realm didn’t feel safe anymore. It used to be a place of stars and calm, but now it felt empty and wrong.
The walls whispered. The light flickered.
And sometimes, if he stayed too long, he’d feel something else there — something that wasn’t supposed to be. Something that watched.

He didn’t know if it was Dandy, or something left over from all the chaos that night, but he didn’t want to find out.

So he stayed here, quietly petting Pebble, watching the light move across the walls. Astro exhaled softly, his shoulders slumping. He was tired. Not just physically — tired. Everything inside him ached. The world felt off-balance, tilted just a bit too far.

And through it all, one thought kept looping in his head, no matter how much he tried to push it away:
The way Mace had looked at him right before being carried off.
Those pale, burning eyes.
Not angry.
Just… hungry.

He swallowed hard and forced himself to look away. He didn’t want to think about it anymore.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 

Astro decided that quiet wasn’t really what he needed right now, so he set off to find Mace. Sitting alone only made his mind louder, and that was the last thing he wanted. He wandered through the empty hallways, following the faint hum of voices and the distant clatter of equipment that echoed off the walls. His tail trailed behind him, dragging against the floor as he passed flickering lights and silent rooms.

He turned a corner and spotted Cosmo and Sprout standing outside the medical room. The two of them looked exhausted — worn down in the way only caretakers could be. Cosmo’s usual sparkle had dimmed, his glowing freckles faint under the fluorescent lighting. Sprout’s shoulders sagged, his leaves dull and wilted at the edges.

When Sprout noticed him, his expression shifted from fatigue to mild relief, like seeing Astro had been the first good thing all morning. The giant cat must’ve been a lot to handle on his own. Cosmo followed Sprout’s gaze, then spoke a few quiet words to him before pressing a light kiss to his cheek. “Try not to stress yourself sick,” he murmured before heading down the hall, the faint shimmer of his glow fading with every step.

Sprout exhaled slowly, rubbing his eyes before turning back to Astro. “Thank goodness you’re here,” he said, voice tired but hopeful. “Maybe you can keep him company. We wrapped his tail and got all the glass out, but he’s not exactly the best patient. Just… make sure he doesn’t move it around too much, alright?”

Astro nodded silently. He didn’t need to ask how bad it was; Sprout’s tone said enough. He glanced toward the door — the faint sound of breathing, low and steady, came from within. He stepped closer, nudging the door open just enough to peek inside.

Mace was sprawled across the bed, tail heavily bandaged, fur uneven where they’d shaved and cleaned the wound. His claws were half unsheathed, digging faint grooves into the thin blanket. His chest rose and fell, slow but strained, and even in sleep his ears twitched like they were tracking some invisible threat.

Astro lingered in the doorway for a long moment, unsure if he should go in. Mace never looked small, not even when injured, but something about the way he lay there — motionless except for that faint rise and fall — made him seem almost fragile.

He finally stepped inside, his movements careful and deliberate. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant and iron — sharp, cold, sterile. It reminded him of the containment floors. He didn’t like it.

He stopped beside the bed, looking down at Mace. “You’re supposed to be sleeping fourteen hours a day, right?” Astro whispered, mostly to himself. “Guess that makes you normal for once.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it didn’t last. Mace wasn’t just any cat. He was wild, loud, always in motion — and seeing him like this felt wrong. Like the air had gone still in a room that was always supposed to hum.

Astro pulled up a chair and sat down beside him, his arms resting on his knees. Pebble wasn’t with him, and without that soft, rhythmic sound of the little dog’s steps, the silence in the room pressed down on him like a weight.

Mace shifted suddenly in his sleep, mumbling something under his breath. His ears twitched, tail flicked once, and then went still again. Astro leaned forward slightly, watching him — the way his breathing hitched, how his claws flexed like he was dreaming of something unpleasant.

“Dreaming about fighting someone, huh?” Astro said softly. “You never take a break…” He sighed, leaning back, eyes drifting toward the bandages around Mace’s tail.

There was a faint black stain seeping through the lower wrappings — small, but it was there. It shimmered faintly under the light like oil, a reminder of something that shouldn’t have been in him at all. Astro frowned, anxiety twisting in his gut. He knew that color.

He reached out without thinking, brushing a bit of fur from Mace’s cheek. The cat’s nose twitched at the touch, and a low rumble came from his chest — a half-purr, half-growl, instinctive and restless. Astro froze, then pulled his hand back.

“Guess you’re still in there somewhere,” he muttered, forcing a small smile. “Don’t you dare prove me wrong.”

He stood up after a while, pacing quietly across the small room, unsure what to do with himself. The ticking clock on the wall marked the seconds that seemed to stretch into hours. He looked back at Mace, still asleep, and something about the stillness of it all made his chest ache.

Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was everything else. But Astro sat back down, arms crossed on the edge of the bed, resting his head on them. His eyes fluttered shut, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the noise in his head went quiet.

Mace stirred slightly in his sleep — the faint sound of a growl mixed with a breath — but didn’t wake.

The two of them sat in that silence together. One trying to heal, the other too tired to keep fighting ghosts.

A knocking sound made him whip his head around. He pulled his hands away from Mace’s face on instinct, guilt flashing across his expression like he’d been caught doing something wrong. The door creaked open, and in stepped Riley — Mace’s handler.

A human.

Astro hadn’t seen one in days. The sight almost startled him; she looked so small in the doorway, out of place among the towering equipment and toons. Her expression fell the instant she saw Mace. The sharp focus in her eyes softened into a worried frown, and for a moment she just stood there, silent, taking in the sight of her charge restrained and bandaged. Then her gaze flicked to Astro.

“Astro…” she said, her voice calm but strained. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Astro blinked. Something in her tone — too careful, too measured — made his stomach tighten. He hesitated, glancing back at Mace, then nodded. “Yeah… okay.”

He stood and followed her out of the room, his footsteps echoing dully against the tile. The air in the hallway felt colder somehow, sharper. Riley didn’t stop until they were far enough that Mace couldn’t overhear, near a cluster of quiet vending machines and a broken neon sign buzzing faintly overhead.

Astro realized, with a faint pang of unease, that he’d grown taller than her. She barely reached his chest now. He used to have to look up when she talked to him, back when everything was simpler and smaller and less… haunted.

Riley turned to face him, arms folded tight across her chest like she was trying to keep herself together. Her brows furrowed, worry weighing down her face in a way that made her look older than he remembered. She didn’t speak right away.

Astro shifted on his feet, tugging at the edges of his fingerless gloves, trying to find something for his hands to do. He felt like a kid again, waiting for bad news.

Finally, Riley took a slow breath. “Look,” she started carefully, “you know how Main Toons have imperfections in their ichor genetics?”

Astro nodded, the motion small and hesitant. He’d heard the phrase before — usually followed by a list of side effects or stories about other toons that had gone wrong. His chest tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.

Riley’s voice lowered, almost a whisper now, the kind of tone someone uses when they know what they’re about to say isn’t supposed to leave the room.

“Well…” she began, eyes flicking back toward the door to the medical room, “…we never told you Mace’s…”

Chapter Text

Ok so its mentioned in the tags 'Main toon defects" 

Main toon defects are a part of my AU, its basically where Main toons have certain imperfections in their genetics that can lead to Issues, I'll just list off the ones they have here so that way you're not confused.


Astro: His magic mainly comes from his hands. the problem with that though is because since its all stored thats where his magic output is most powerful. So he can't touch anyone with his bare hands (Hence why he has gloves)

Sprout: He has to take a special daily medication to prevent his body from molding

Shelly: Her claws and spikes grow at an abnormal rate, If not cut to an appropriate length it can cause pain

Vee: Hers is technically not a genetic defect, but she does need to be checked and cleaned often for bugs (Real ones and virtual ones)

Pebs doesn't have one because he was made without the purpose of him being a Main toon

As for Mace... You'll find out next chapter <3

Chapter Text

“…His ichor strain isn’t stable,” she finally said. “It reacts differently to certain types of damage. Usually, it’s fine — he burns through energy fast, heals fast, but… it also means he can overload. If he bleeds too much or if he feels strong emotion, his system starts misfiring. It’s like his brain can’t tell what’s pain and what’s aggression anymore.”

Astro’s stomach sank. “So… that’s why he’s like that?”

Riley nodded sadly. She felt awful for keeping it from him—and from everyone—for so long. The guilt was written all over her face, softening the lines around her eyes. She looked down for a moment, gathering her thoughts, then lifted her gaze back up to him. She wasn’t finished.

“We also never told you the reason he had to take the warehouse connected to your exhibit…” she continued, her tone cautious.

Astro’s brows furrowed, curiosity cutting through the fog in his chest. Finally, This was what he had wanted to know since the day Mace moved in next door—why a band of all things was placed right beside a place built for quiet and rest. Why they’d thought he was the one suited to deal with the chaos. For once, he was about to get an answer that made sense.

“You are very special, Astro,” Riley began, her voice gentler now. “You have powers beyond what anyone here’s ever seen. Which is why you hide it… correct?”

Astro’s fingers twitched, his gloved hand clenching slightly. He didn’t respond. He didn’t have to—his silence said enough.

Riley exhaled, continuing carefully. “Delilah thought that… maybe you could keep him at bay. With your calming or sleep abilities.”

Astro froze. The name hit him like a strike of lightning. Delilah.
He hadn’t heard it in so long—hadn’t wanted to. His jaw tightened as her voice echoed in his head: the commands, the experiments, the control. The thought of her made his ichor feel cold.

Then the realization hit. What she was implying.
He scowled, his voice breaking the still air with sudden, raw anger. “What!? I’m not a beast tamer! Why the hell would she think I’d drug him with my powers if he got too excited!?”

His words came out sharper than he intended, but he didn’t care. It was wrong. It was cruel. He wasn’t some tool to be used to keep others in check—especially not someone he cared about.

Riley didn’t flinch. She’d expected the outburst. “Look, Astro,” she said softly, “that was Delilah’s way of putting it. Our intention—mine and the other handlers—wasn’t to use you. We just wanted to protect everyone. Him, you, the kids… all of them.” She rubbed the back of her neck, her voice heavy. “Shelly would probably have a breakdown if something happened. Sprout’s too short-tempered. And Mace—well, if he ever truly lost control, he’d tear Vee apart along with her show. You were the only one who could stop that from happening.”

Astro’s breathing steadied, but his eyes stayed cold. He wanted to argue, to deny it—but deep down, he couldn’t. She had a point, even if it made his skin crawl. He had calmed Mace down before, whether he meant to or not. His voice alone could steady him when no one else could.

Riley went on, a weary smile crossing her face. “Look, dude… that cat fucking adores you. You have no idea how happy he was when they told him he’d be rooming next to you. He’d come up to me after rehearsals, just—talking about you. About what you said that day, what you were doing. It was constant.” She chuckled lightly, shaking her head. “He’s not bad, you know that already. He just can’t always control what he feels. Sometimes that comes out… wrong.”

Astro’s shoulders slumped slightly. He wanted to stay angry, but the mental image of Mace talking about him like that—smiling, maybe even proud—made his heart ache in a way he didn’t want to admit. He stared at the floor, quietly processing, his thoughts a mix of relief and guilt.

“…He shouldn’t have to be controlled,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Riley’s smile softened further. “He doesn’t need to be. He just needs someone who gets him.”

Astro blinked and looked toward the small window of the medical room. Mace was lying there, ears twitching faintly in his restless dreams. Even with his usual confident swagger absent, there was a quiet strength to him that Astro couldn’t ignore. He could feel the tension, the residual energy from the past few days, but there was also a trace of something familiar—something he had missed more than he realized.

He exhaled, pressing his gloved hands together. Maybe Riley was right. Maybe that’s all Mace ever really needed—someone who understood without needing to control him. Someone who could just be there, and somehow it was enough.

Astro stepped closer to the door, then hesitated. His fingers hovered over the handle. Part of him wanted to check if Mace was truly okay, to sit beside him and ensure he was still breathing normally. The other part was scared—scared that by stepping into his world, he might disrupt the fragile balance they’d both been clinging to.

Finally, with a quiet, determined breath, he opened the door all the way and stepped inside. The air was heavy with the faint scent of Mace mixed with the lingering sharp tang of ichor. Mace’s chest rose and fell with steady breaths, but even asleep, he radiated the kind of intensity that could unsettle anyone not used to it.

Astro eased himself down onto the edge of the bed, careful not to wake him abruptly. He reached out and brushed a hand through Mace’s fur, just gentle, deliberate movements. The cat stirred slightly, letting out a small, almost imperceptible purr.

Astro allowed himself a small, almost shy smile. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for now. He settled into a quiet vigil, letting the silence of the room speak the words he couldn’t, and letting Mace rest while he collected his own scattered thoughts. For the first time in days, the chaos outside seemed distant.

For the first time in days, there was a hint of peace.

“Are you… petting me?” Mace’s voice was half-lidded, a mischievous smirk tugging at his mouth as his golden eyes flickered toward Astro.

Astro froze mid-motion, hand inches from where he had been brushing Mace’s fur absentmindedly. His face flushed a dark blue as he instinctively pulled back, hiding behind the blanket.

Mace chuckled softly, shifting just enough in the bed to ease his tail’s ache. “Ah, so that’s how it is, huh? Caught in the act,” he teased lightly, eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re sneaky, Moon. I like it.”

Astro’s tail flicked in irritation. “I… wasn’t doing anything!” he muttered, voice low but firm, not hiding his slight embarrassment.

“Uh-huh,” Mace said, letting out a soft purr that vibrated through the bed. “Sure you weren’t. I’ve seen that little hand of yours creeping closer a few times already.” He gave a lazy tilt of his head, smirk never leaving.

Astro groaned quietly, wrapping the blanket a little tighter around himself. “Stop it,” he muttered, flicking Mace gently with his tail.

Mace grinned, ignoring the tail flick. “Stop what? I’m just… observing.” His claws flexed lazily on the bed sheets.

Astro huffed, clearly unimpressed, but didn’t leave. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, voice quiet, almost muffled behind the blanket.

Mace tilted his head, giving a slow, exaggerated stretch that made a faint groan escape his injured tail. “Ridiculous? Me? Never. I’m a professional, Moon. You should take notes.”

Astro peeked over the edge of the blanket, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re injured,” he said flatly, “you’re supposed to stay in bed until Sprout or Cosmo say you can get up.”

Mace let out a dramatic sigh, mock-hurt. “Wow, the sandman is lecturing the rockstar. I’m dejected, Astro. Truly, the betrayal cuts deep.” He let out a low, exaggerated groan and flopped back against the pillows, tail twitching slightly.

Astro’s gaze softened just a fraction, though he didn’t move closer. “I’m not joking. Stay in bed.”

Mace’s smirk faltered just a little. The usual playful spark in his eyes dimmed as he looked at Astro, a flicker of disappointment passing through him. “Yeah… yeah, alright,” he murmured softly, tail curling a bit tighter around his own side. He adjusted himself, settling back into the bed with a faint, resigned huff.

Astro nodded, satisfied, and shifted slightly to keep his blanket wrapped more securely around himself. Mace’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, not sulking, but quietly frustrated at being confined. He let out a soft purr, half amusement, half irritation, and decided to make the best of his immobilized state, letting his tail twitch idly as he watched Astro from the bed.

For a few moments, the room was quiet except for the faint hum of the building and Mace’s occasional, exaggerated groans as he teased his own predicament. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough for now.

For a few moments, the room was quiet except for the faint hum of the building and Mace’s occasional, exaggerated groans as he teased his own predicament. But soon, he couldn’t resist stirring the pot a little more.

“Y’know, Moon…” he murmured, tilting his head so that one pale-gold eye caught Astro’s. “Being stuck in bed isn’t so bad… if I had a responsible assistant like you hovering over me all day.” He let out a low purr, soft and teasing. “I might even get used to it.”

Astro’s tail flicked, though he stayed silent, keeping his face mostly buried in the blanket. Mace noticed, and it made him grin a little, his sharp teeth flashing. “Aha! That tail flick—proof you care! I knew it. You can’t hide it from me.”

Astro’s ears twitched in irritation. “I’m not, not… caring about you,” he muttered, voice quiet, almost defensive, though Mace caught the slight lilt of embarrassment that betrayed him.

“Sure, sure,” Mace said, letting out a theatrical sigh. He shifted slightly on the bed, careful with his injured tail, and let his claws flex lazily against the sheets. “Whatever you say, Moon. But I can’t help noticing how tense you’re acting. You need to relax a bit.”

Astro peered over the blanket edge again, but this time he didn’t retreat. He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring faintly, though there was no bite behind it. “I am relaxed. You’re just… loud.”

Mace chuckled softly, the sound rumbly and low in the quiet room. “Loud, huh? That’s one way to put it.” He let out a small huff and rolled onto his side, facing Astro more directly. “I’ll try to be quieter… maybe.” His smirk returned, faint and teasing. “But I make no promises, Moon. I am a rockstar after all.”

Astro let out a small, almost reluctant sigh, his ears flicking back. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, more softly this time, the words carrying a hint of fondness he wasn’t ready to admit out loud.

Mace’s eyes softened a fraction, though the smirk never fully left. “Yeah, but you like it.” He shifted a little, settling his injured tail more comfortably under the blankets. “You do. Admit it. Or at least… don’t tell me otherwise.”

Astro’s tail twitched in response, a quiet concession. He didn’t move closer, didn’t let his guard down entirely, but he didn’t pull away either. Mace let out a content purr, the low vibration filling the small room, and leaned back against his pillows with a faint, satisfied grin.

For the first time in days, the quiet wasn’t suffocating. Mace stayed in bed, joking softly, teasing just enough to make Astro shift nervously under his blanket. And Astro, despite himself, didn’t leave. He stayed, a small, quiet presence beside the chaotic, golden-eyed rockstar, letting the tension ease just slightly without fully disappearing.

The room was still, except for Mace’s occasional soft purrs and low murmurs, and Astro found himself listening, watching, and—just a little—relaxing.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mace was discharged the next day, though he was fairly certain Sprout just wanted him out of the medical office. He padded through the empty halls, tail flicking lazily behind him, ears swiveling at every faint noise. His thoughts kept drifting back to Astro—the moon toon had been invading his head constantly lately, and Mace couldn’t deny he wanted to do something nice for him. Maybe Scraps could help him make something, he thought, though he wasn’t entirely sure what would be appropriate.

His steps echoed lightly against the polished floor as he wandered, half-lost in his own musings, imagining how Astro would react to a small, silly gift. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Maybe a little music, maybe a handmade trinket, something quiet to match his slow, steady presence.

Then his paw sank into something sticky. He lifted his leg, eyes narrowing as he inspected the mess. It was black, thick, and viscous—his fur bristled immediately, ears drooping as his tail twitched nervously. The hairs along his spine rose on instinct, the metallic tang of tension prickling in his nose.

Before he could turn, before he could even react, a heavy weight slammed into his head from above. The world tilted violently, and a sharp, muffled sound cut through his senses. Pain shot up the back of his skull, the floor tilting beneath him. Mace struggled to orient himself, but darkness surged in like a tide and took him under.

Chapter Text

When Mace awoke, a heavy dread crawled up his spine before he could even open his eyes.
Something was wrong.
Deeply, unmistakably wrong.

Call it a cat’s instinct—he didn’t need to see to know the air around him was wrong. Too still. Too cold. Too quiet. His head throbbed, a stabbing, nauseating pulse behind his eyes. He tried to move, but his wrists jerked against cold metal. A faint clatter echoed.

That’s when he opened his eyes—and saw him.

Dandy stood in front of him.

Mace’s heart dropped like a stone. His pupils narrowed into thin slits, his breath hitched, and a quiet growl rumbled low in his throat.
He yanked hard on his restraints, the sound of chain links rattling sharp against the silence. Nothing budged.

“W–What the—”

“Ah, you’re awake.”

Dandy’s voice was smooth, almost cheerful, which somehow made it worse. He leaned lazily against the wall, his petals shifting in a faint, almost shimmering motion. “Had a nice nap?”

Mace didn’t answer. His eyes were bloodshot, burning red, locked onto the flower toon like he was trying to set him on fire just by glaring.

“Let me go,” he hissed, his voice a low growl.

Dandy tsked softly and stepped forward, walking a slow circle around him. “Now, why would I do that? We’ve barely started talking.”

He dragged a finger along the cold metal pole Mace was chained to, the soft scrape making the cat’s fur stand on end.

“Mace… oh, Mace,” Dandy crooned, in that falsely pitying tone. “It pains me to see how clueless you really are.”

Mace’s breath came faster. His tail flicked, restrained between the cuffs and the pole. He looked cornered, his eyes wide and wild.
“What are you—”

The sentence broke into a sharp yelp as Dandy slammed his foot down on Mace’s injured tail.

A sickening crack followed by a guttural cry echoed through the room. Mace jerked violently, eyes wide, claws digging into the floor. Dandy smiled sweetly and crouched in front of him, tilting his head.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” he said with mock sympathy. “I’m just trying to help you understand.”

He reached out and grabbed Mace by the scruff of his neck, yanking him upright so they were face to face. Dandy’s eye glinted in the dim light—one of them a deep, burning red, the same shade as Mace’s.

“You poor thing,” Dandy murmured, voice soft but venomous. “You really don’t know, do you? Don’t worry. That’s why I’m here—to tell you the truth.”

Mace’s chest heaved. He didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

“You see…” Dandy began, pacing a slow half-circle around him again, “my dear friend Astro has a bit of a problem.”

Mace flinched at the name.

“He can’t help himself. He feels bad for people. Always has. It’s… cute, really. He sees something broken and just has to fix it. Even if it makes him miserable.”

“Shut up,” Mace rasped, voice cracking.

“You,” Dandy said, ignoring him, “are broken.”

Mace’s ears flattened completely. His breathing quickened, tail twitching in panic. “You’re lying—”

“Am I?” Dandy asked, and before Mace could finish, his head was slammed back into the pole. The clang of metal echoed, and he cried out, vision flashing white.

“Astro doesn’t care about you, Mace,” Dandy whispered sharply, crouching again, his grin thin and sharp as a blade. “He just feels sorry for you. You can't even control your emotions well enough to talk to someone that's not him. I’ve seen toddlers with more emotional control than you!” 

He paused and glanced down at him, smiling widely. “He doesn’t like seeing people alone, or sad, or pathetic. It’s a habit he can’t break.”

He leaned close enough that Mace could feel his breath against his ear.

“When he finally gets a reason to leave you behind, he’ll take it. And he won’t look back.”

Mace’s throat tightened. His mind screamed no, but his body was frozen. His claws trembled against the floor.

Dandy straightened and dusted his gloves off casually. “So here’s my advice, kitty. Do both of you a favor—keep your distance. Save him the trouble of pretending.”

He smiled, stepped back, and the chains clicked open.

Mace collapsed forward, barely catching himself with his hands. His arms were shaking, his breathing shallow.

“Good talk, yeah?” Dandy said, voice light, as if nothing had happened. He gave a lazy wave and strolled toward the door, his form fading into the dim light.

Mace stayed there, on his hands and knees, chest heaving.
When he finally moved, it was pure instinct—he bolted.

He didn’t know where he was going, just away. His feet pounded the floor, his head still ringing. The corridors blurred around him in streaks of grey and blue until he found himself where it began—the hall.

He stumbled and fell, catching himself poorly, then curled up right where he landed. His body shook. His breath came out in harsh, uneven gasps.

He grabbed at the fur on his chest, clawing lightly, trying to ground himself. His ears rang with Dandy’s voice.

“He just feels bad for you.”
“He’ll leave the moment he can.”

“No…” Mace whispered hoarsely, pressing his forehead to the cold floor. “He wouldn’t…”

His voice broke.

“...He wouldn’t.”

He curled tighter, tail limp and useless beside him. The tears that formed weren’t out of pain—they were something heavier. Something that burned.

It wasn’t real. Dandy was lying.
He had to be lying.

Astro was his friend.
He cared. He did.

Mace stayed like that for a long time, breathing unevenly, trying to stop the shaking. His heartbeat echoed in his ears, loud and desperate.

When he finally looked up, his reflection in the polished floor stared back at him—eyes blood-red, fur matted, expression hollow.

He didn’t recognize himself.

He wiped at his face and stood, wobbling slightly. He needed to move. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t let Astro see him like this.

He took a shaky breath, forcing the tremor out of his hands.
“Get it together,” he whispered to himself, voice barely audible.

He started walking.

Each step was slow, heavy, mechanical. The only sound was his breathing and the faint clink of the cuff still hanging from his wrist.

But even as he left that hallway behind, the words wouldn’t leave him.

He doesn’t like seeing people sad.
He just feels bad for you.

The sound of them looped and looped in his head until he wasn’t sure if he was hearing Dandy’s voice or his own.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Astro had returned to his exhibit later in the day, wandering the quiet halls with a mix of purpose and distraction. He wasn’t just looking for Mace—though that was the main goal—he also felt a strange need to reconnect with the other toons, to remind himself that the world hadn’t completely fallen apart. After his recent depressive haze, even the smallest interaction felt like a fragile tether to normalcy.

He moved slowly, ears flicking at every creak and thump in the otherwise empty corridors, eyes scanning corners and shadows, half-expecting Mace to appear suddenly. After an hour of searching and retracing his steps, he sighed and admitted defeat. Maybe Mace was hiding in his own room, tucked away where Astro hadn’t thought to check first. He shook his head at his own stupidity. That should have been the first place he looked.

As he stepped into the exhibit, his attention was drawn immediately to movement at the far end. Vex and Battheny were coming toward him, carrying various items between them. The pink velociraptor’s claws gripped several water bottles, and a blanket was draped haphazardly over his broad back. He looked like he had been running a mini obstacle course just to get here, and the careful way he balanced the bottles made Astro smirk faintly, despite himself.

Battheny, meanwhile, struggled with an object Astro couldn’t quite make out at first. Its edges seemed sharp, or perhaps just oddly shaped, and he could tell it required constant attention to keep it from tipping or dropping. The two bandmates moved with a coordinated rhythm, familiar from years of performing together, and Astro realized that even in the chaos of the past few days, they had adapted, functioning like a small, efficient team.

Astro stepped closer, his voice tentative as he asked, “Hey… have you guys seen Mace? Is he around?”

Vex paused for a moment, setting the bottles down carefully before responding, his claws flexing nervously. “We found him earlier… he looked really shaken, Astro. Tail bloody, fur all spiked up, eyes wide… he wasn’t himself.”

Battheny added softly, “Yeah… he’s quiet, jumpy… kept flinching at every sound. Sprout wrapped him up and cleaned him a little, but… something must’ve really spooked him dude.”

Astro’s stomach tightened. He wasn’t expecting this, the thought of him being that unsettled unsettled him more than he anticipated. He nodded slowly, trying to absorb the information. “What? What happened” he asked softly, almost to himself.

Vex shook his head. “We don’t know, he won't tell us, he just keeps muttering under his breath…”. He sighed. “Be careful with him, alright? He’s in his room”

Astro exhaled and ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of it. “Alright… thanks,” he muttered. His eyes swept the auditorium as he walked through the entrance with Vex and Battheny. His room was backstage, after all these years he’d never actually been. It made him a bit nervous to do this now of all times.

They stopped outside a door marked Mace’s Room — Band Access Only. Vex turned the handle carefully, and the two of them stepped aside to let Astro enter first.

Inside, the room was warmly cluttered, the kind of place someone could really live in. Posters of old concerts and half-finished lyric sheets lined the walls. A few plushies perched in corners, and guitars leaned against stands scattered across the floor. A messy pile of blankets and pillows was in the center of the bed, forming a soft nest. Among it, Mace lay curled up, his tail carefully bandaged and his fur slightly ruffled.

Astro froze. Even in the dim light, he could see the deep, unnatural red of Mace’s eyes. His pupils were narrow slits, his ears flicked, and the faint rise and fall of his chest told Astro he’d been tense even in sleep. For a moment, the sight made him hesitate, unsure how to approach.

“Mace…” he whispered, stepping forward.

The cat’s ears twitched at the sound of his name, and his head slowly lifted. Recognition softened the feral gleam in his eyes, though they still held a haunted, wary intensity.

Vex cleared his throat and set the bottles down on a small stool near the bed. “He’s been quiet since we brought him back,” Vex said. “Didn’t talk much — just muttered your name a couple times, then stopped.”

Battheny nodded, looking uneasy. “We’ll leave you two alone,” she said quietly, casting a glance between them. “Maybe he’ll start talking.”

Astro nodded wordlessly as the two quietly exited, leaving the door slightly ajar. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the faint hum of the lights and the soft strum of a guitar leaning against the wall as Astros tail brushed against it.

Astro stepped closer, slowly lowering himself to the floor beside the bed. Mace’s red eyes followed him, still wary but softening slightly. The room smelled faintly of guitar polish, old blankets, and a hint of band sweat — homey in a way that made Astro relax a little.

“You… you okay?” Astro asked, voice quiet.

Mace’s lips twitched into a faint, tired smile. “Could be better,” he admitted, wincing as his tail twitched slightly. “But I’m alive, so that’s something.”

Astro reached over, careful not to touch him too roughly, and offered a water bottle. “Here… drink some. You need it.”

Mace blinked at it, then at Astro. “You don’t have to… wait on me,” he muttered.

Astro shook his head. “Maybe I don’t have to. But I’m still gonna.”

Mace’s eyes softened a fraction more as he took the bottle and drank. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, and he let out a low, quiet sigh. For the first time in what felt like days, he allowed himself to relax a little under Astro’s gaze.

“So do you wanna tell me what happened..?” Astro asked softly, keeping his voice low, careful not to push Mace too hard.

Mace’s eyes widened, pupils dilating almost painfully. His chest heaved as he choked on his water, coughing violently. The sound tore through the quiet room, and his claws scraped against the sheets with every gasp. Astro shot upright, a sharp pang of regret hitting him immediately. Even without knowing the full details, whatever had driven Mace to this state had to be… bad. He cautiously reached out, placing a steady hand on Mace’s back, rubbing slowly and deliberately, trying to offer some grounding as the coughing subsided.

Finally, Mace slumped back against the pillows, body limp and trembling. His tail twitched restlessly along the bed, claws occasionally scratching the mattress as if trying to bury some of the tension. He blinked once, twice, and then his vision began to blur; black tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. He stared up at Astro, and that gaze — wide, unguarded, raw — sympathetic… no… stop looking at him like that… STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT

Mace pinned his ears back and bared his teeth in a sharp, instinctive snarl. His jaw trembled, and a low growl rumbled from deep in his chest, a sound born of confusion and panic rather than malice. Startled, Astro pulled back, but not quickly enough. In a sudden, almost mechanical motion, Mace’s teeth, the teeth that had unnerved him since the day they met, sank into his hand. The bite was sharp, precise, full of barely-contained panic and fear. Black ichor oozed from the wound, thick and unnatural, and dripped onto the bed and floor.

Astro yelped, stumbling backward into the door. His heart hammered in his chest, adrenaline spiking as panic twisted in his stomach. Mace hissed again, a wild, raw sound, his back fur bristling, claws digging deep into the mattress. He backed up slowly, creating space between himself and Astro, eyes wide and tear-streaked, glowing a frightening shade of red.

“GET OUT.” Mace roared, voice cracking under the strain, equal parts anger and terror. His tail lashed against the sheets, every muscle in his body coiled and tense, a living storm of fear and instinct.

Astro froze for a moment, caught between staying to help and obeying the command in that tone. But the intensity in Mace’s gaze left no room for hesitation. He scrambled to the door, fumbling with the handle, and bolted out, slamming it shut behind him. He stumbled back several steps, pressing a trembling hand to his now-bloodied glove, and carefully peeled it off to assess the damage.

The wound was deep, jagged, but not fatal. Astro’s chest heaved, his stomach twisting at the sight of black blood mixed with his own shock. He hadn’t liked blood before, but seeing it in this context — Mace’s panic, his teeth bared, the raw emotion in his eyes — made his stomach churn and his hands tremble.

He glanced back at the closed door, hearing ragged breaths and faint rustling from within. Every hair on his arms stood on end. The weight of Mace’s distress pressed against him like a physical force, heavy and suffocating. He could almost feel the fear radiating from the cat, the way every tense muscle and frantic movement screamed that something was very, very wrong.

Astro knew he had to act quickly. He couldn’t ignore the wound, and he couldn’t leave Mace in this state. But he also knew that approaching him again without care could provoke another attack. He took a deep, shaky breath and scanned the room for something to use, anything to safely tend to him from a distance. Bandages, water, a blanket to cover him — anything.

He swore under his breath, frustration and worry twisting together. Mace had always been strong, independent, almost untouchable, but right now he looked so… broken. And Astro felt a strange, heavy weight settle in his chest. He hated seeing him like this, hated that he couldn’t immediately fix it, and yet, he also hated the thought of pushing him further into panic.

Slowly, carefully, he stepped closer to the door, one hand resting lightly against the wall, the other still pressed against his chest as he tried to steady his racing thoughts. He couldn’t just leave him here, and he couldn’t afford to panic himself.

Mace’s breaths echoed faintly behind the door, ragged and uneven. Astro swallowed hard, bracing himself for whatever would happen next. He whispered under his breath, more to himself than to the cat, “I’m not giving up on you..”.

Chapter Text

“I never have any time to bake anymore—can someone not get hurt for once nowadays!?” Sprout grumbled as he and Cosmo entered the infirmary. The plant toon’s leafy tail flicked in irritation, and he held a tray of medical tools like it personally offended him.

Cosmo stopped in front of him, the smaller toon looking up with patient amusement. “I can take this one, Sprout. You go back to frosting the cupcakes,” he said gently, placing both hands on Sprout’s wrists and giving him a small, reassuring nod.

Sprout exhaled dramatically but softened almost instantly. “Fine, but if someone else comes in here missing a limb, you’re dealing with it,” he muttered, crouching down to peck Cosmo’s forehead before trudging out the door with a resigned wave.

Astro watched the whole exchange quietly, clutching his injured hand under the blanket. The warmth between Sprout and Cosmo made his chest ache with something complicated — admiration, longing, maybe guilt. He looked down at his hand, where faint traces of ichor still stained his fur.

What had driven Mace to do that?
Astro knew the cat well enough to know that he’d sooner break his own tail than hurt him. Whatever had taken hold of him… it wasn’t just pain. It was fear.

He sighed softly, rubbing his thumb over the edge of the bandage. Mace’s face flashed in his head — those red eyes, trembling, but full of anger. He missed him. He’d never admit it to anyone, but the quiet without him felt wrong. Too still.

Cosmo approached with a warm, knowing smile that snapped Astro out of his thoughts. “Returning patient, huh? What’s got you in here this time?” he teased, setting down a small tray of antiseptic and bandages.

Astro hesitated, then pulled his hand from beneath the blanket. The bleeding had mostly stopped, but the bite was unmistakable — crescent indents where fangs had broken skin, black ichor dried in thin trails. Cosmo didn’t flinch, just hummed and tilted his head, inspecting the damage.

“Pretty clean for something that nasty-looking,” he remarked as he got to work. His movements were practiced and steady, wrapping the bandages with a gentleness that felt almost mechanical — like he’d done this too many times before. Within minutes, he was done, standing back to admire his handiwork with a proud grin.

“So,” Cosmo started, casually cleaning his hands, “what exactly happened this time?”

Astro looked away, his ears twitching slightly. “Something’s really up with Mace… something spooked him earlier, bad. He’s been holed up in his room since. He calmed down for a bit when I showed up, but when I asked what happened, he just—” Astro swallowed, glancing down at his bandaged hand. “He went feral. Bit me.”

Cosmo froze mid-motion, his brow furrowing.

Astro hesitated again, lowering his voice. “His eyes were red, Cosmo. Not like… bloodshot red. Just… red.”

Cosmo frowned deeply now, his mind working behind his calm expression. That wasn’t normal — not even for Mace. He’d seen every kind of toon breakdown imaginable, and red eyes never meant anything good. If this was tied to his ichor, or worse, contamination… Riley needed to know.

He forced a reassuring smile and turned back to Astro. “I’m sure he’ll get better soon. Whatever’s happening, we’ll figure it out. Y’know what they say, things get worse before they get better!”

Astro didn’t look convinced, but he nodded anyway. Cosmo gestured to the door. “You’re free to go. Try to stay out of trouble for once, yeah?”

Astro managed a small smile, hopping off the bed and waving with his uninjured hand. “No promises.”

Cosmo chuckled as the door swung shut behind him.

Astro lingered in the hallway for a moment, his reflection staring back at him in the polished floor tiles. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, making the space feel even emptier. He pressed his bandaged hand to his chest and took a deep breath.

He really hoped Cosmo was right.

Because if Mace was slipping away, he didn’t know how to pull him back.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The lights in Mace’s room buzzed faintly. A low hum that wasn’t loud enough to be noticeable, but too constant to ignore. It crawled under his skin, like a whisper that refused to end.

He sat on the edge of his bed with a guitar in his lap, not playing it—just running a claw over one of the strings, over and over, until it was completely out of tune. His fur stuck up in uneven clumps, and his tail was wrapped around one leg, trembling slightly with each breath. The air smelled faintly of dust and copper, like old wires.

His room was the only place that still felt like his, but lately, even that was starting to turn on him. The posters that used to make him grin now looked like they were staring back. The plushies on his shelf had glassy eyes that gleamed in the dark whenever the light flickered. His notebook lay open on his desk, half-finished lyrics scattered across it like broken glass.

He hadn’t written a single word since that night.

Something was wrong. He could feel it — that same crawling unease that had filled his head before Dandy struck him.
Every sound seemed sharper, too close, too directed at him. The creak of the floorboards outside his room. The mechanical whir from the ceiling vent. The faint electrical static from his amplifier, even though it wasn’t plugged in.

He rubbed his temples, claws digging into the sides of his head.

It’s fine. It’s just the wiring. It’s just the wiring.

But then the static changed.

It wasn’t a buzz anymore. It was rhythmic, soft, like a breath being drawn through a microphone. He froze, his ears twitching upward, tail coiling tighter. Then—

“You thought you could leave?”

The voice was barely a whisper, but it hit him like a punch to the chest.

Mace’s claws dug into the bedspread. His breathing turned shallow.

“No—” he muttered to no one, his throat dry. “You’re not real. You’re not—”

“They’ll find out what you are.”

He snapped.
Mace lunged at the amp and yanked the cord straight from the socket. Sparks jumped. The hum died for half a second before it returned, faintly, from somewhere else. His fur bristled so violently it hurt.

He stumbled back into his dresser, knocking over one of his guitars. It hit the floor with a hollow thunk. His chest heaved. He was shaking now, violently, his claws flexing against his palms.

The hallway light flickered under the doorframe.

He froze.

Someone was out there.

He crept toward the door on all fours, the way he used to when he still trusted his instincts. His claws barely made a sound on the wooden floor. He stopped with his ear against the door and listened.

Nothing. Just the faint ringing in his ears.

He opened it a crack—
The hallway was empty.

But he swore he saw something dart past, like a shadow slipping just out of sight. He shut the door quickly, his breathing ragged.

“Not real. Not real. Not real.” He repeated it like a prayer, though even his voice sounded foreign now.

He stumbled back and dropped onto the floor beside his bed, curling up near one of the plushies that had fallen off the shelf. He clutched it close without thinking—until its stitched smile caught the light, the thread forming a grin wider than he remembered.

He tossed it across the room and pressed his hands over his ears.

They all saw you.
They all know.

He clawed at his bandages, feeling the fabric tear. His breath hitched. The memory of Dandy’s grin burned in the back of his mind.
Stop. Stop it. Stop thinking about it.

He thought about Astro instead—the way he looked at him before he ran, the pity in his eyes.
He could still hear his own voice echoing through the room: “Get out.”
And Astro’s face when he did.

The thought made Mace’s stomach twist. His tail lashed violently.
He’s scared of me now.
He should be.

There was a knock at the door.
He flinched so hard his claws tore through the bedsheet.

“Mace?” It was Vex. He sounded tired, worried. “You didn’t eat earlier. You okay, man?”

Mace’s throat went dry. Vex’s voice warped halfway through his sentence—low and echoing, the same pitch Dandy used when he whispered in his ear.

“You okay?”
“You okay?”

The repetition didn’t sound like him. Mace staggered toward the door and slammed his palm against it.

“GO AWAY!”

There was silence, then a soft shuffle of feet retreating. The click of a tray being set down. Then nothing.

Mace stayed there, forehead pressed to the wood, breathing like he’d just run a marathon. The quiet afterward was somehow worse. He turned slowly, his eyes landing on the mirror by his desk.

He shouldn’t have looked.

Because when he did—his reflection was smiling. Not in sync with him. Not at all.

“Stop…” he whispered. “Stop copying me.”

The grin widened.

He slammed his fist into the glass. It shattered, leaving spiderweb cracks that turned his reflection into a thousand fragments of red eyes and jagged teeth. His knuckles split open. Blood dripped down the mirror and across his fur.

He stumbled back until he hit the wall, his chest heaving, trembling like a leaf in the wind.

The amp crackled to life again.
The lights flickered.
A familiar voice, warped beyond recognition, whispered through the static:

“You don't belong”

His breath caught. Tears—black and heavy—spilled down his cheeks, staining the fur around his eyes.

“I’m not your puppet,” he muttered, curling into himself. “I’m not.”

The static faded slowly, replaced by the low hum again. He rocked back and forth until exhaustion finally dragged him under.

Much later, a quiet knock.

Astro stood in the doorway, half-hidden in shadow. The tray outside was untouched. The light above Mace’s bed flickered once, weakly. He stepped inside slowly, careful not to make a sound.

The room smelled faintly of his instruments, of old strings and the faint tang of Mace’s fur. Dust motes floated lazily in the pale afternoon light that slipped through the blinds. And there, in the far corner, sat Mace.

He didn’t move. His back was pressed against the wall, his legs drawn slightly up, arms loosely resting on his knees. His fur along his spine was slightly bristled, ears tilted back in that small, subtle way that told Astro he was tense, though not outwardly aggressive. His eyes were fixed on the floor, pale gold dimmed by fatigue and something heavier, something darker that made Astro’s chest tighten.

Astro crouched slowly in front of him, not rushing, giving him the space to register that he was there. Mace didn’t flinch, didn’t glance up; he just sat, still as stone, shoulders slightly hunched. Astro’s hands hovered for a moment over his own knees, uncertain. Then, with careful deliberation, he reached out and took Mace’s hands in his.

The contact was warm. Faintly, it made Mace tense again, but there was something in the simplicity of it, the quiet insistence, that made him pause. Astro didn’t move his hands. He let Mace adjust, let him pull away or flinch if he needed to. He didn’t say anything at first.

Finally, after a long, slow moment, Astro’s voice broke the silence.

“You’re… not broken.” he said quietly. Not a joke, not teasing, not even a question. Just truth, plain and steady. “In my eyes… you always have been perfect….”

Mace’s ears twitched. His eyes, wide and wary, flickered upward just slightly. That voice — calm, gentle, patient — seemed to fill the room in a way that nothing else could. But he didn’t respond. He didn’t shift. He just let Astro’s words settle over him, the kind of weight that was heavy, but not unwelcome.

Astro moved a fraction closer, maintaining eye contact long enough for Mace to notice, long enough for him to choose whether he wanted to react. Mace’s breathing was uneven, shallow, like he was trying to anchor himself somewhere in the world. Astro’s hands tightened just slightly on his, a silent promise that he wouldn’t leave, that he wouldn’t force anything, that he would stay here, here in this moment.

“I’ve got you,” Astro whispered after a long pause, his forehead brushing Mace’s gently as he leaned closer. “You don’t have to go anywhere… not right now.”

Mace’s pupils flickered, contracting and expanding as if trying to process the words, the presence, the care. A low, tremulous purr escaped him, small and jagged, more like a breath than a sound. Astro didn’t flinch. He simply held him, allowed him to make the choice to trust again, slowly, in increments that didn’t demand perfection, didn’t demand immediate comfort.

Minutes stretched. Seconds felt like hours. Mace finally moved, almost imperceptibly, curling his shoulders into Astro’s chest. His tail twitched faintly, and he rested his head just slightly against Astro’s shoulder, still tense, still wary, but no longer entirely alone.

Astro didn’t move. He let him lean there, let him be heavy with everything he hadn’t been able to release. He let the silence carry them, let it be full of understanding, of patience, of presence. The room didn’t need noise, didn’t need action, didn’t need words.

“You’re… really something, you know that?” Astro murmured softly after a long stretch of silence, letting the words fill the space like a cushion.

Mace didn’t respond verbally, but a slow, almost imperceptible exhale rolled out of him, followed by a shudder that seemed to release some of the tension coiled tight in his chest. His eyes flickered open just slightly, a hint of recognition, of acknowledgment, but still wary.

Astro’s fingers traced along the fur on his back gently, soothing, careful, patient. “It’s okay,” he whispered, almost more to himself than to Mace. “You’re okay. You’re here. That’s enough for now.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Mace allowed himself to believe it. Just for a little while, in the quiet of the room with Astro’s hands in his, he let himself exist without fear, without anger, without guilt.

He wasn’t healed. Not yet. But he wasn’t alone either. And that… that had to be enough for now.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“He bit Astro! We need to do something about this. Astro hates seeing him suffer — and so do we. If we don’t act, more people will get hurt.”

Cosmo’s voice was low but fierce, the tiny toon planted like a stake in front of Riley’s desk. Sprout lingered behind him, arms folded, jaw tight; the plant’s usual grump had been sharpened into something resembling righteous anger. Riley listened, expression closed, then let out a long, tired sigh. The room hummed with the fluorescent lights and the distant first aid machines; even the clock on the wall seemed to tick louder than normal.

Riley rubbed at the bridge of her nose, as if trying to clear the weight from her thoughts. “You’re right,” she said finally, quieter now — not because she disagreed, but because the truth of it sat heavy. “He won’t just… fix himself.” She glanced at Cosmo with a small, pained look. “This was supposed to be an absolute last resort. We never wanted to get here.”

She stood and moved to the supply cabinet, the drawers clicking softly in the otherwise still infirmary. She rummaged with calm, practiced motions until her fingers closed around what she’d been hunting for: a sealed plastic bag. She held it up, and both Cosmo and Sprout leaned forward involuntarily. Inside, a syringe lay nestled against sterile packaging — the liquid inside was the color of oil at midnight, thick and almost iridescent. A small label stuck to the bag read: 

UNCONTAMINATED ICHOR — FOR TRANSFUSION.

Cosmo’s eyebrows shot up; he took an involuntary half-step back. “That’s—” he began, voice thin. The word he didn’t say hung in the air.

Sprout moved faster. He stepped in front of Cosmo like a shield, eyes narrowing at Riley. “What the hell is that?” he growled. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking what I’m thinking.” His tone was raw; he hoped he was wrong. They needed to fix Mace, yes — but not at the cost of his life.

Riley set the bag down on the counter and let her knuckles rest there for a beat. She met Sprout’s glare without flinching. “Whoa, calm down,” she said, hands raised in a placating motion. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re not the only one who thought of the worst.” Her voice softened. “I am not suggesting we euthanize him. He’s not—he’s like family. You know that.”

She lifted the syringe again, turning it so the light caught the pitch-black fluid. “This isn’t a poison. It’s pure ichor — uncontaminated. The idea is a transfusion. Replace the contaminated portion of his bloodstream with clean ichor so it can reestablish normal function. It overpowers the corrupted particles, dilutes them out. Not enough to snuff out his ichor defect but just enough to cleanse his bloodstream of the contamination. It's a procedure that’s been used in emergencies before, in controlled cases.”

Cosmo’s shoulders loosened a fraction, but worry still laced his features. “And the risks?” he asked, candid and practical. “We’re not just swapping fluids. If this triggers—” He didn’t finish the sentence. They all knew the what-next: immune reactions, worse mutations, unknown side effects.

Riley nodded; she had the same list running through her head. “There are risks. There’s always risk,” she said plainly. “But the alternative is watching him keep sliding further. The bite, the red eyes, the panic… that isn’t just temporary fear. Something in his system is altered. If we can stabilize him, buy us time to figure out the source, this is our best shot.”

Sprout’s jaw worked. He didn’t like the idea of needles, of syringes, of playing god in any form. “There has to be another way,” he muttered, though the edge of his voice had lost a little of its bluff. “I don’t want a life sacrificed for the rest of us.”

“You won’t be sacrificing him,” Riley said, and there was steel under the softness now. “You’re not losing him. Not today.” She slid the sealed bag into a small sterile tray and snapped the wrapper open with steady hands. Her fingers were sure, practiced — the hands of someone who had to make hard calls and live with the consequences. “We have to try.”

Cosmo swallowed and reached out, steadying himself on the counter. He looked at the syringe like it was a tiny, dangerous creature. Sprout stayed where he was for a long moment, the posture of a guard on watch. Then, with a single hard nod, he gave Cosmo a small, almost begrudging thumbs-up and turned to leave the infirmary first. “This better work,” he hissed over his shoulder, the warning more for himself than anyone else as he followed Cosmo out the door, the sound of their footsteps swallowed by the corridor.

Riley watched them go, the faint tremor in her hand betraying the strain she’d been carrying. She sealed the tray, checked the label twice, and finally exhaled. The decision was made. The procedure wouldn’t reverse whatever had been done to Mace — not yet — but it might pull him from the edge long enough for them to intervene again, properly, with answers.

Chapter Text

Astro didn’t see Mace that day. They told him it would be safer that way.
He didn’t really understand what was going on — just that something was wrong and that they were going to “fix” him.
He hated that word.
Mace wasn’t broken. Just hurt, or scared… or something worse that no one would tell him about.

Still, everyone seemed so sure of themselves when they said it — “We’re going to make him better.”
So he let himself believe them. Maybe when it was over, things could go back to normal. Or at least, the closest thing to normal they could get after everything.
He missed that — the quiet days where Mace would complain about strings snapping on his guitar, or how Sprout’s cupcakes were “too sweet.” Mace always liked the salty stuff.
Now the halls felt heavier. Every sound reminded him of that moment in Mace’s room. Every silence reminded him of the look in his eyes.

Shelly had convinced him to hang out with her while the others handled things.
“You’re hogging him too much, you know,” she’d teased earlier, arms crossed with a grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Astro didn’t really understand what she meant, but she wasn’t wrong — he had been worrying too much.
So he agreed.

Now they were sitting by the pond outside her exhibit, the soft rippling water catching the glow of the overhead lights. Shelly was talking — well, rambling — about prehistoric creatures again. She could go on for hours, and Astro didn’t mind in the slightest. Her voice was a distraction, a steady, curious rhythm that kept him anchored.

“Did you know,” she began, snapping her claws for emphasis, “that the T-Rex actually had padded feet? They weren’t loud at all — totally silent hunters. You’d never even hear them coming.”
She mimed creeping up behind him, arms raised like claws, and Astro gave a weak chuckle.

“Silent, huh? That’s… kind of creepy.”

Shelly laughed, waving her tail dismissively. “Yeah, but cool creepy! Not nightmare creepy.”
She moved on to her next fact before he could reply. “And Troodon — that one was probably the smartest dinosaur of its time. Big brain, sharp eyes. No wonder they survived so long at night. They knew how to adapt.”

Astro listened quietly, his gaze lost somewhere between the water’s reflection and Shelly’s enthusiasm.
She paused every so often, checking that he was still with her.
He always was. He’d nod, offer a small smile, and she’d go on, her words spilling out like the pond’s gentle ripples.

It helped — having someone to fill the silence. Even if his mind drifted every few seconds back to the infirmary halls.
To Mace.

He wondered what “fixing” looked like.
And why it sounded so much like losing someone.

“Oh, did you hear? The handlers are thinking about letting the holiday toons out of cryofreeze?”

That caught Astro off guard. His ears perked up and he spun to face Shelly, surprise written all over his face. For a moment, he forgot everything else — the mess, the stress, Mace’s absence. Cryofreeze had been on the back of his mind, but with all that had happened lately, it had slipped entirely from his thoughts.

“Wait… really?” he asked softly, his voice carrying a hint of awe.

Shelly nodded enthusiastically, her claws clicking against the table as she leaned forward. “Yep! They’re still talking it over, but they’re leaning toward yes. I mean, it only makes sense, right? They’ve been frozen for so long… it’d be cruel to keep them like that forever!”

Astro’s mind immediately began racing. Faces he hadn’t seen in what felt like forever flashed through his memory. Bassie, with her cheerful laugh that could fill an entire room; Bobette, always so meticulous and precise; and little Gourdy, whose wide-eyed innocence made even the toughest toons melt. He had missed them all, more than he realized.

“I’m excited to see Bassie again… she was always so nice,” Shelly rambled on, completely caught up in her own excitement. “Oh, and Bobette! And little Gourdy too! He’s just the cutest, don’t you think?” Her thick tail thumped against the floor in rhythm with her words, like a metronome of enthusiasm.

Astro smiled faintly, imagining the little pumpkin toon’s tiny hands waving at him, Gourdy’s round eyes sparkling in delight. The thought made his chest ache a little — not with sadness, but with longing. “Yeah… it’d be nice to see them,” he murmured. “I’m sure Cosmo and Connie will be happy to see their family members again…”

He trailed off, letting himself imagine the scene: Cosmo’s jaw dropping in disbelief, Connie… Well her and Soulvester didn’t always get along but no doubt she wouldn’t be at least a little relieved to have her brother back. The way everyone would crowd around the newly thawed holiday toons, their frozen stares slowly transforming into bright, blinking eyes. He wondered how they would react to all the changes that had taken place since their freezing. Surely, some of them wouldn’t understand what had happened, and it might take a while for them to adapt. Still, it would be worth it — seeing them reunited with their loved ones, even just for a little while, seemed like a small piece of normalcy they could cling to.

Shelly noticed him zoning out and nudged his arm gently with her elbow. “Hey, you’re thinking too hard. It’s going to be fun, I promise. Imagine the look on Bassie’s face when she finally sees everyone again! And Gourdy… he’s going to run straight into your arms, I just know it.”

Astro chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Yeah… I guess… I just hope everyone can adapt. It’s… a lot, you know? Things have changed so much since they were frozen. Not everyone will take it well.”

Shelly gave him a reassuring smile, her tail flicking back and forth. “You worry too much. We’re all toons — they’ll adjust. It might take a bit, sure, but with everyone around to help them… they’ll be fine. And hey,” she added with a small smirk, “you’re going to be there, aren’t you?”

Astro’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Yeah… I guess I’ll be there. Someone has to make sure no one eats anyone else in excitement.”

Shelly laughed, the sound ringing lightly across the room. “Exactly! That’s the spirit. And besides… it’ll be nice to have some happiness around here for a change.”

Astro nodded, staring out at the dim glow of the exhibits beyond the room. For the first time in a while, he felt a small spark of hope flicker inside him. Maybe things could be okay again.

Astro was still lost in thought when the soft scuff of boots against the floor caught his attention. He turned just in time to see Sprout padding gently into Shelly’s exhibit, his leaf tail curling nervously behind him.

“Hey… uh,” Sprout began, his usual gruff tone softened by the unusual hesitance in his posture. “Good news… the transfusion worked. Mace… he’s awake.”

Astro’s eyes widened, and for a heartbeat he felt like he could breathe again. “Awake?” he whispered, his voice almost trembling with relief. “He… he’s okay?”

Sprout nodded, a small but sincere smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah. Cosmo checked him over again and… well, he’s… he’s here. Not 100% yet, but awake. And stable.”

Astro’s chest tightened with a mixture of relief and anxiety. He nodded quickly, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Thank you… thank you, Sprout.”

The strawberry toon shrugged, a little embarrassed by the gratitude. “Yeah, well… I figured you’d want to know. Go… check on him. He’s probably scared, maybe a little jumpy. But… he’s awake.”

Astro’s tail twitched as he straightened, determination settling into his shoulders. “I’ll… I’ll go see him now.”

With that, he hurried out of Shelly’s exhibit, Shelly waved him goodbye and gave him a small ‘good luck!’ A spark of hope guided his steps as he made his way toward the elevator, already imagining the cat’s tired, wary eyes opening just for him.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Astro burst through the doors. He stumbled a little bit — he hadn’t meant to be that loud.
Cosmo yelped and dropped a tray of tools, the clatter echoing off the sterile walls. He shot Astro a look that could kill, then bent down with a huff to pick everything back up.

Astro muttered a quick, sheepish “Sorry…” before his eyes darted across the room.

And there he was.

Mace.

Curled up in one of the infirmary beds, bandaged tail half tucked under the blanket, fur still mussed from whatever hell he’d been through. His eyes were open — pale gold again, clear — but they had that hazy, faraway glint that said he was only half there.

“Mace!” Astro called out, rushing to his bedside. “Are you okay? How are you feeling?”
His voice was sharp, frantic. It made Mace’s ears twitch. The cat blinked at him slowly, his head tilting to one side as he squinted.

“Wha—” Mace started, his voice low and slurred. “I’m not a mace… too fluffy for that... Who’re you?”

Astro froze.

“What— Mace, it’s me—”

But Mace interrupted, a lazy grin curling across his muzzle. “You kinda look like someone I know… Maybe you know him. You’re kinda pretty like him. Don’t tell him I said that though, he’ll get all pouty.”

He chuckled at his own words, his ears flicking like he was waiting for Astro to laugh with him.

Astro’s brain stalled. His face heated, the glow spreading across his cheeks like a flare. “You stupid cat,” he hissed, crossing his arms. “Don’t lie while you’re high off whatever they’ve got you on.”

Mace frowned and wiggled his ears, blinking up at him like a kicked puppy. “You’re pretty mean too… just like him,” he mumbled. “But I forgive him, ’cause he’s too pretty to stay mad at.”

“Wh–!” Astro whined, his face darkening to a deep blue as he turned away. He could feel the smug look radiating from Mace’s face. Even sedated, the idiot had him cornered.

“I’m serious, dude,” Mace said, sounding suddenly very earnest. “You look exactly like him. He’s… absolutely stunning. You should feel flattered. What was your name again?”

Astro made a strangled sound, burying his face in his hands. “Oh my god, you’re unbearable.”

He stood there for a long moment, trying to cool down while Mace watched him like an overgrown, doped-up housecat — tail flicking idly, pupils blown wide. Finally, Astro sighed and peeked between his fingers, deciding to end this game his way.

He leaned forward, smiling just a little too sweetly. “Astro,” he said with mock innocence, “It’s me. Astro Novalite.”

Mace blinked once, twice — and then his entire face lit up.
“Astrooo! It is you! I knew it!” He giggled — actually giggled — and reached out weakly toward him. “See? No one else could be as beautiful as you…”

Astro sputtered, his tail flicking hard enough to swat Mace right on the snout.
Mace yelped, ears pinning flat, clutching his nose.

“Damn you Mace” Astro hissed. “Stop that! Stop saying that!”

Mace blinked up at him, looking genuinely hurt for a second before slumping back against his pillow. His gaze softened, drifting down to his paws. “See…” he muttered quietly, his voice smaller now. “You are mean to me.”

He hugged his pillow closer, claws trembling faintly as they refused to retract. The air between them shifted — the teasing gone, replaced with something heavier.

Astro’s tail drooped. He wanted to say something, to tell him that he wasn’t being mean — that he just didn’t know what to do with all of this — but the words caught in his throat.

Instead, he just sat there beside him, watching the rise and fall of Mace’s chest, the way his ears twitched restlessly even in calm.

“…You’re impossible, you know that?” Astro murmured finally.

Mace’s lips curved faintly, not opening his eyes. “Yeah,” he whispered, the word melting into a soft, tired purr. “But you still came back”

Astro didn’t answer — but his tail twitched once, brushing lightly against Mace’s blanket.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After Mace sobered up, Riley finally gave him the all-clear to go.

And—unsurprisingly—Mace wasn’t much different sober than he was drugged out of his mind. His speech was a little less slurred, his tail flicked with a bit more control, but the goofy grin and shameless antics remained untouched.

Astro still had to help him back to his exhibit.

Apparently, Mace had “forgotten how to walk.”

Astro didn’t buy that for a second, but he played along anyway. After everything Mace had gone through, the least he could do was humor him. So, he let the cat lean on his shoulder, exaggerating every step like a drunk performer on stage, while Astro tried not to smile.

“See? My legs don’t work,” Mace said, pretending to wobble dramatically.

“You’re milking this, you know that?” Astro muttered.

“Mm-hm. And it’s working.”

Despite himself, Astro huffed a laugh.

When they finally reached Mace’s exhibit, the others were waiting. Vex practically bowled him over, and even Battheny looked like she was holding back tears. For once, Mace didn’t try to be funny—he just smiled and hugged them both back, murmuring small reassurances in between their relieved chatter.

He was home.

He was safe.

And for the first time in days, the tension around Astro’s chest eased.

Mace was back to his old self soon enough—loud, dramatic, and annoyingly charming. But there were small cracks now. He’d go quiet sometimes, staring at his claws like they were something foreign. He’d apologize without prompting. He’d start a sentence and stop halfway, ears folding down before he mumbled, “Never mind.”

Astro noticed.

The night before, Mace had finally broken. He’d sat in front of him, eyes glassy but clear, and apologized over and over again until his voice broke. He’d begged for forgiveness like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

Astro had been stunned. He didn’t know how to handle someone who was so openly sorry, so desperate to make things right.

He’d told Mace the truth—or at least, what he believed to be true.

That everything would be okay.

And when Astro said something, it had to be true. Astro didn’t lie.

He wouldn’t.

.

.

.

“WHY WON’T YOU QUIT HIM.”

.

The thought wasn’t a voice—it was a snarl in his head, sharp and unfamiliar.

Mace froze in bed, his chest tightening. He turned his head slowly toward the far wall of his dark room, half expecting to see someone standing there. Nothing. Just the dull glow of the hall light filtering under his door.

Astro told him everything would be okay. Astro wouldn’t lie.

But what if he was wrong?

It was late. He should’ve been asleep hours ago. His body ached, his mind buzzed, but his chest wouldn’t settle. He stared at the ceiling for a long while before finally sitting up.

Maybe I should check on him, he thought. Just to be sure.

At worst, Astro would get annoyed for waking him up. But… he’d forgive him. He always did.

Mace slipped out of bed quietly. His paws made no sound against the cold floor. He kept to the shadows of the hall, ducking past the dim lights and avoiding anything that could rattle or creak. The building was still, the kind of stillness that hummed in your ears and made your own breathing sound too loud.

When he reached Astro’s room, he noticed the door was cracked open just a sliver.

A small breath of cool air drifted through it.

He hesitated, ears flicking, then gently nudged it with his snout. The hinge didn’t squeak—thankfully.

The room was dim, lit only by the faint blue from the display screens. Astro was curled in his bed, half turned on his side, one arm bandaged and tucked under his chin. His breathing was steady. Peaceful.

Mace’s heart squeezed.

He took a step closer. Then another.

He crouched down beside the bed, eyes softening as he looked at the bandages wrapping Astro’s hand. His throat felt tight all of a sudden.

He got hurt because of me.

The thought repeated itself until it was a dull ache behind his eyes.

He shouldn’t be here. He knew that. Something in the back of his mind screamed at him to turn around—to go back to his room and stop feeding the strange unease that always followed him now. But his paws wouldn’t move.

Instead, he lowered himself onto the floor beside the bed, tail curling around his body.

He laid his head down and pulled his tail over his nose, the soft fur muffling his breath.

It felt safe there.

Quiet.

He could protect Astro from whatever this was—from the thing that whispered, from the guilt that burned holes through his chest.

He could keep him safe, even if he couldn’t fix what he’d done.

He stared at Astro’s sleeping form for a long time until his eyes grew heavy, until the hum of the monitors blended with the sound of his own heartbeat.

He didn’t notice the way his claws dug faintly into the floor.

Or the faint whisper that crawled through the air again, softer this time, almost sweet:

He doesn’t need you.

Mace’s ears flicked once.

Then he shut his eyes tighter and forced himself to sleep.

Astro would be safe.
He’d make sure of it.