Chapter Text
They left on awkward terms like they often did in the fall.
There was always a reluctance on both their parts. To go, to stay. A day, a week longer. But this time there were mumbled goodbyes, looking anywhere but each other. There was a tension in the air between them, enough that those around them noticed. But there was always something between them.
And that tension weighed heavily on snufkin as he walked over the mountains and away from Moominvalley. Don’t think about what happened, think about the weather. The snow might start falling heavier and he should look for a place with a good supply of firewood. Think about supper, where to fish. Maybe he would follow the beaches this year and find someplace warm and sunny.
And for a while, he managed not to think about it. Winter hadn’t touched these parts yet, the leaves just starting to turn. It was full of bird song and he hadn’t seen another person in ages.
And yet… under his breastbone, a knot. An ache. Almost like… loneliness? That was impossible, he liked being alone. He needed his solitude. But there it was, refusing to go away. No, he must be coming down with something.
A wave of dizziness hit him, he grabbed onto a tree to keep from stumbling. His head throbbed behind his eyes, sharp and stabbing. He really was coming down with something. See, he told himself, he was just sick. Not lonely. Coming down with the flu, that’s all. He’d dig up some coneflower root, find some willowbark, go to bed early and he’d be fine in the morning. He would not think about moomin and how badly he wanted to-
He wasn’t any better by morning. He ached, he froze. Head spinning, he still took his tent down and carried on. Maybe he could walk it off. (why was that knot in his chest worse?)
things kept flickering in and out at the edges of his vision. It felt like something was following him…
“Moomin?” he swore he saw something duck behind a tree. “Did you follow me?” it was ridiculous, it’d been weeks since he left the valley, but-the thought that moomin was there gave him a selfish relief.
But no, nothing. He groaned quietly, rubbing his face. He felt awful, maybe he should find a place to- his foot hit something soft.
His stomach lurched and turned as he took in what he’d stumbled on to. A massacre, not the result of hunting for necessity, but murder. All around the clearing, bits of- the stench hit him and he emptied his stomach behind a tree.
He fled, running away from it, until the adrenaline faded and he could hardly put one foot in front of the other. Panic wasn’t- he didn’t panic. This fever was throwing him off. He needed to set up his tent, make a little fire. A little food, nothing fancy.
That feeling of being followed hadn’t gone away.
It surprised him how much he had hoped for that one moment it was moomin. Moomin and him… well..
It had started when moomin thought snufkin was asleep. Just, gentle brushing his hair, softly, sweetly. Snufkin was a light sleeper at best, but- he hadn’t stopped him. Pretended to be asleep and let it happen. Then touching his face, cupping his cheek. Sweet things, comforting things. Soft words, gentle kisses and he drank it all in. he wanted it, he wanted it so much, but… he didn’t know how to ask for it. He didn’t have the words. And then he’d have to admit he was pretending to sleep, that seemed like a nasty trick. And admitting that… he needed someone. He wasn’t the aloof loner he acted like, that he needed comfort and affection- he couldn’t admit it to himself how much he wanted it, much less to anyone else.
And… moomin was going to marry snorkmaiden one day, wasn’t he? She certainly acted like it was inevitable, most people agreed with it. When they were getting married, the house they’d have, the children. He wasn’t jealous, he wouldn’t make anyone a good spouse. It was just the way things were- and that knot hurt every time he thought about it. Moomin with snorkmaiden. Snufkin… just passing through. No more little adventures, sleeping together on the creekbank. Expeditions for herbs and fruit-
He made himself stop thinking about it, rubbing his chest to ease the knot. Made himself eat some thin porridge to warm himself up and settle his stomach. Moomin- oh moomin would be warm- he stopped himself. He was feeling miserable and sorry for himself, and moomin would fuss on him. That’s all. He wanted the fussing. It was for selfish reasons, and he couldn’t make a relationship work that was one sided.
He curled up by the banked fire, wrapped up in his sleeping bag. He was cold down to the bone, the fire couldn’t touch it. If he couldn’t sleep this off- he might have to find a doctor.
His dreams were awful, fevered things. Black feathers, black fur. Teeth, the glint of firelight on eyes, eye gleams where they shouldn’t be. The red-green stink of old blood and rot. The dreamed blurred into half-wakefulness, eye gleams he knew didn’t belong to any animals he knew, shadows moving in the moonlight.
He somehow pulled himself out of his bedroll, packed up his tent with stiff, painful hands. He needed to find a town, one with a doctor.
It was much like walking underwater, blurry and slow. He tried to remember the lay of the land, where the path might lead him. If he was at the moominhouse, momma would have tucked him into bed with a hot brick or two, feed him soup and tea until he sloshed. Moomin would be- he stopped to rub his face, to make the ground stop rocking back and forth. He loved them- but if he tied himself to anyone, how could he truly be free? That bond of family was bad enough- there was a loud ringing in his ears, a rush of hot and cold- and then nothing at all.
Moomin was rubbing his back, patting his shoulder. Whispering soft, loving things in his ear- oh he loved it, wanted it. Drank it all in.
“Snufkin-” moomin’s voice was urgent now. “You need to get up. It’ll be dark soon.”
Get up? But he was- he was good here. Comfortable. He could sleep here- but moomin was shaking his shoulder.
“You have to get up, you can’t be sleeping out in the open all night. It’s not safe.”
Moomin wasn’t here, this was the fever cooking his brain. And he was slowly coming to wakefulness, of a sort. Aware of how thirsty he was, that he hurt from lying on the hard ground. The sun was low in the west. It was a struggle getting to his feet.
Water. He needed water.
He found a stream and dunked his head into it, trying to clear his head long enough to make a campfire. He was too tired to make food after setting up his tent and making the fire. He should eat, he hadn’t eaten since the night before- but it was easier to just drink water until his belly stopped complaining. He was so thirsty.
He kept… seeing things moving in the trees. Deer, he told himself. Bears, porcupines. Except-
It moved too much like a person, on two legs. The firelight flicked on its shape every so often, giving him glimpses of black hide, black fur- He couldn’t tell if it was there or if he was hallucinating- things were… dreamy. All the same, he kept an eye on it… just in case. Being sick meant the strange things that might lurk out here might think he was prey.
Things with moomin had fallen apart one afternoon. Laying in the cool grass, cicadas buzzing in the trees, it was a drowsy afternoon. Snufkin half-dozed, laying on his pack. Moomin’s paw rested on his chest, a comforting weight just over the v of his half opened shirt. Slowly the paw drifted downward, across his belly to the waistband of his pants. No one had ever touched him there, just the gentle stroke was- intimate, arousing, shocking- he gasped, twitching away in surprise.
Moomin jerked away, turning pink under his fur before running off. Snufkin- he was surprised, not upset, but he didn’t know how to tell moomin that. Because...he didn’t know what he wanted. Didn’t know how to tell moomin it was okay, and okay to do it again. Just… it felt bad to not have him there. That knot in his chest was a near-physical pain.
So they avoided each other’s gaze and stayed an arm’s reach apart. Unwilling to stay too far away, unsure to try again.
The fever wasn’t much better, but he needed firewood and to forage for food. He found more coneflower and dug up the roots. If he crushed and chewed on them, it might help. Willow bark, if he could find some it might bring down the fever. He needed his strength to get down to a town.
That thing… was following him.
It lurked on the edges of his vision, melting into the shadows when he tried to get a better look. Long, skinny limbs. Teeth. He coughed into his sleeve and tried not to look so sick. It was waiting for dark, for him to be too weak to run or fight.
Fuck it.
The coneflower root made his mouth numb as he chewed on it, cutting through the feverish haze. No willowbark, he was too high up in the mountains. But he managed a few bites of acorn porridge again, making himself eat what he could.
He huddled by the fire, arms wrapped around his knees and knife in hand. He hoped that thing in the woods was just delirium from the fever, from lack of sleep. Because if it came down to it… he wasn’t sure he could fight it off.
It made its move right before dawn. He was half dozing, the fire down to embers when-a noise? The stench? -woke him up right before something burning and cold crashed into him. It clawed at his face and neck, tired to bite and he jabbed upwards into it with his knife. It hit home, with a crack as it broke through its shell-like hide and the thing screamed. It pierced through his pounding skull, but he couldn’t stop, he kicked at it to get it off. Somehow he got to his feet and ran.
The horizon was just barely turning grey with dawn. He crashed and tripped through the underbrush and pine boughs, almost falling over the edge of a cliff- only to be tackled by the thing again. There was a tearing feeling in his side, adrenaline dulling any pain. He fought without thinking, hitting, kicking- he got his feet between it and him and pushed-
And it screamed again as it fell, crashing onto rocks and brush as it tumbled down. A final crash and…. Silence.
Snufkin laid there on the ground for what felt like hours, as the sky slowly lightened. He was numb. Slowly, carefully he picked himself up. His side hurt where its claw caught him, in a distant way. He could see blood seeping down his side, black in the dawn light.
This… wasn’t good.
He couldn’t feel much. Shock? Like his body wasn’t his own. He pressed his arm against the wound to slow the bleeding, tottered back to camp. He needed to… He needed to…He sank down to the ground, face pressed into damp pine needles. He hoped moomin would forgive him for not coming home.
And then…
Nothing.