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Published:
2019-12-15
Completed:
2019-12-21
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3,983
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2/2
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Belonging

Summary:

‘I know, I know it all! "I just look at things and keep the memory, oh how good it is to be free and to have nothing.”
You aren't the only beast who grew up with nothing, you know!’

Sniff loses something very precious to him, as well as his patience with Snufkin's philosophy.

Chapter 1

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

'It's dreadful! Terrible! A complete catastrophe!' wailed Sniff, rousing Snufkin from an afternoon nap in the cattails.

He'd taken some finding, camouflaged as he was in his mossy clothes under the wild grass. Snufkin should have counted himself lucky; the awakening could've been much ruder had Sniff not noticed the docked rod he was about to trip over at the last second.

'It can't be as bad as all that,' he muttered almost immediately, and Sniff thought that a very stupid thing to say when he didn't know what it was.

'Oh, but it is,' he continued miserably, ignoring Snufkin's lips puckering into a frown.

He couldn’t see them under his wide green hat, but Sniff imagined that his eyes had rolled, too. That was just like Snufkin, to act so flippant when people interrupted him.

But Sniff didn’t care if he was interrupting him, this was a matter of great importance!

'Do quiet down,’ he was told over his woeful noises. ‘You'll frighten away the fish. And I can't hear a word through your sobbing, take this.'

‘I’m not sobbing,’ hiccuped Sniff. He accepted the ragged handkerchief Snufkin had offered from his pocket and patted at his streaming eyes.

'Breathe properly now. That's right. Now, whatever's gotten you in such a state?'

Sniff threw himself to the ground like a limp rag doll and took in a very deep breath. Something as serious as this needed the right sort of build-up, as a truly awful, horrible thing had happened to him that morning.

'I've lost my pebble.'

Such a tragedy was sure to be met with sympathy, but Snufkin only slowly lifted the brim of his hat and stared at him as though Sniff had said something completely ridiculous.

Snufkin had a way of making you feel like that. He would never, in his life, be able to wrap his head around Moomintroll's sickly gushing over him. If he and the Snork Maiden agreed on anything, it was that big brothers were impossible.

'Oh, I'm sorry,' he said flatly.  'But no matter, there are lots of pebbles - right at our feet, in fact. You can take as many as you like.'

To that, Sniff simply shook his head and sighed.

'No, you don't understand. This isn’t just some ordinary old stream pebble. My pebble is very special, you see.'

'I'm sure it was,' replied Snufkin, sounding anything but.

‘Yes, as a matter of fact, it is!’ snapped Sniff. Honestly, snufkins didn’t know how to appreciate anything.

He'd held and admired that pebble so many times that he could tell you every little detail with his eyes blindfolded and his paws tied behind his back. It was round and perfectly smooth and blue, but for a little brown speck in its centre. It was comfortingly cool and had a pleasant weight. And it was very lucky.

Sniff had had it for as long he could remember, even long before the Moominfamily had stumbled upon him. ‘And now I’ve gone and dropped it somewhere, haven’t I? Urgh, Sniff, you big buffoon!'

Smacking his paws against his sodden cheeks, Sniff began pacing the reeds in desperate circles, as though he might summon the lost pebble right under his nose if he tried hard enough.

But of course, nothing happened.

'Carrying on like that won't do you any good,' grunted Snufkin. ‘Haven’t you searched for it?’

‘Of course I have!’ bellowed Sniff, feeling quite exasperated at all these suggestions. He didn’t know why Snufkin took him for such a fool. Obviously, he’d done so the moment he’d noticed it missing.

 

Firstly, he’d retracted his steps. Sniff hadn’t done much the previous day, except for lazing about in the garden while the others busied themselves with laundry, so there wouldn't be many places to look.

It wasn’t waiting for him on the veranda, nor was it sitting beside the line where he'd sat blowing bubbles from the wash tub. He did find a very fetching sock caught on a nearby shrub, which he kept, as it made a pair with the one he’d come across the week previous (they didn’t match, but Sniff didn’t see a problem with wearing odd socks. And if no one had claimed it by now then they certainly wouldn’t miss it.)
Still, there was no sign of the pebble.

Then he checked his bed, just in case he'd fallen asleep with it and let it roll away in the night. He rifled through the sheets, shook out the pillow cases, and even shined a match underneath it, which nearly sent the whole thing up in flames. But it wasn’t there either.

After that, he ran to the moomins for advice. Moominpappa was of no help, brushing him off on the way to his study with a stack off papers under one arm and some odd talk about being driven by a “mews” (what on Earth cats had to do with not helping him, Sniff didn’t know).

Moominmamma had meant well, assuring him that all lost things were bound to turn up eventually and brewing a calming tea to clear his head, but all of this only wasted precious time that he could have spent out looking for his pebble.

Sniff had begun to feel desperate, so he’d gone to Moomintroll, who’d sent him out here in the first place.

‘Snufkin’s ever so wise, you know,’ he’d cooed, wetly. ‘I’m sure he could help you.’

 

Fat lot of good that had done him.

'See what happens when you want for things?’ he chided, shaking his head. ‘Just look at you, all this fuss over a pebble.' But Snufkin wasn't cross with him.

Sniff would have almost preferred it if he was.
No, Snufkin was speaking in that soft, understanding tone, the one he used on people who he believed were foolish and needed his guidance. For a person so unconcerned with the morals of others, he certainly had a rather high opinion of his own. And it made Sniff absolutely tremble with rage.

He balled up the handkerchief until every inch was creased and tossed it to the ground in front of him. 'I'm upset because it was important to me!' 

That certainly wiped the self-satisfied smile from his face. It was rare for Snufkin not to bite back at Sniff whenever he acted in a temper, and the silence rather strengthened his willingness to speak up.

'How would you feel if you lost your mouth-organ, or-or-or that wretched old hat,' he cried unkindly, for Sniff was not in a very kind mood at all. He didn't even feel a bit sorry for Snufkin when he pulled it defensively over his ears. 'I bet other people think those are worthless - but to you they're not, are they?'

‘I just—' began Snufkin, but Sniff wasn’t finished with him yet.

‘I know, I know it all! “I just look at things and keep the memory, oh how good it is to be free and to have nothing.” You aren't the only beast who grew up with nothing, you know!’

Snufkin at least had the decency to look thoroughly ashamed with himself. And so he should, thought Sniff.

What did Snufkin know. It was all very well wanting for nothing if that was how you liked it, but Sniff had lived long enough without and wanted far more, and was that really so terrible?
He once hadn’t owned so much as a strip of rags to lie on in the coldest nights. No cosy canvas to settle down in wherever he wanted to keep away from the rain, or beautiful instruments to play to while away the hours spent alone. At least Snufkin had the choice to leave them.

‘That’s not – that isn’t what I—' he stammered, but Sniff didn’t bother sticking around to hear what he had meant.

There wouldn’t be any point; it would only be more nonsense about how he’d gotten himself attached to some stupid little stone, like the stupid little creature he was, as Sniff it seemed could never do anything right by him.

So he turned and tore up the daisies under his feet, leaving Snufkin unable to do much but to sit and stare as he marched away back to Moominhouse.

Notes:

wow I love snufkin, my perfect baby boy.
can't wait to just uh (fist clench) magnify his flaws and rip him to pieces.

Chapter 2

Notes:

cw: snufkin is like. 12. and referenced to Have smoked in the past but doesn't Actually smoke in the chapter.
other than that, enjoy!!

Chapter Text

Sniff ended up shutting himself away in his room for most of the day, with not even his favourite possession to comfort him. Only Moominmamma had been allowed to visit, to bring warm milk and cakes. One could never be too angry for cakes, after all.

She was at the bottom of the stairs just now, and Sniff was eagerly anticipating more treats. But he couldn’t hear the sound of the tea-tray rattling. What he did hear sent a hot streak of resentment shooting up through his chest.

‘Yes, dear, he’s here. The one straight ahead, that's right.'

Pooh, that was the complete opposite of a treat. Sniff flounced onto his stomach and flattened his ears under one lumpy pillow, pressing his snout uncomfortably against the other. Unfortunately, it didn't block out the irksome tapping of heels on the floorboards growing ever closer.

'Go away,' he croaked, feeling lousier that his protests sounded so pathetic. He bit down hard to keep the tears from pricking in his eyes. 'And before you ask - no, I haven't been crying!'

'There's no shame in crying,' said Snufkin, gently.

'Maybe so. But it doesn't matter, because I haven't been.'

Sniff felt a tiny paw patting cautiously at the middle of his back. That only annoyed him further. He huffed and folded in on himself like an angry cat, before springing up to sit on his legs.

‘What do you want?’ he grumbled.

'I suppose I haven't been very nice to you.'

'You haven't,’ agreed Sniff, who wasn’t willing to humour him.

'And I've been a rotten friend.'

'You have.’

Maybe if I act difficult enough, he thought to himself, Snufkin might just give up and leave - though a spiteful part of him found the idea of keeping him indoors more than he could stand it quite tempting.

Irritatingly, he didn't budge at all. But then, in one quick movement, Snufkin took a step forward and looped his arms around his back, so light and awkwardly, that it took Sniff a few moments to realise he was being hugged.

And even more surprising than that was what happened next.

'I'm very sorry - that I hurt you, Sniff,' he muttered over his shoulder. ‘You aren't a snufkin, and I shouldn't expect you to behave as one just because I say so. I shouldn't have been so inconsiderate.’

Well, never had he heard it before. He'd been scolded many a time after doing something Snufkin thought was foolish, but never received so much as a sorry glance for it after. Sniff didn't bother biting his lip this time. Instead, he cried fat, soppy tears that soaked right into Snufkin's scarf. He probably wouldn't be too happy with him later, but right now that didn't seem to matter.

He'd gotten himself so lost in the bother that he almost hadn’t noticed how Snufkin was still hanging loosely over him like a too-large coat. Without the righteous anger fuelling his dour mood, it all became so silly that Sniff couldn’t help but laugh at the two of them.

He probably should have said something in forgiveness himself, or told him that his hat wasn’t really so wretched, but instead he replied: 'You're dreadful at hugs.'

Snufkin pulled away and smiled a little bashfully. ‘At least you’re happy again,’ he said.

‘Yes – well, not really,’ admitted Sniff, drying his eyes on the back of his wrists. ‘It still hurts to have lost something so important.’

He hadn't experienced the misfortune to until today, but Sniff would have been lying if he said he believed it impossible to lose anything truly important, as he’d often considered himself to be an example. He considered it an awful lot; on moonless nights in particular, when all was dark and still in the way that made it difficult for one to catch any sleep, and all the thoughts he’d been thinking that day were used up and he couldn't shut it out any longer, Sniff would find himself drifting to the same matter over and over.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t perfectly content here, not at all - but there was always something that nagged at him, at these times where he felt at his most unsettled.

'Sometimes I wonder what became of my Mamma and Pappa, and how they lost me,' he said quietly.

Snufkin didn’t respond, but Sniff saw his eyebrows lift ever-so-slightly just beneath where the brim hung over.

‘But at the same time I've wondered if they even did. I'm always being told I'm too little to be involved in anything. Perhaps back then I was so little that I wasn't any good to them, and they threw me away.'

'I'm sure that's not true,' comforted Snufkin, sounding more sincere than he had about the pebble.

'You know, Sniff, I've just had a thought,' he said, after what looked like a great deal of consideration. 'There's a cave at the foot of the Lonely Mountains that I happened across on my return here. I saw something glittering in the caverns, but I didn't have chance to explore further.’

‘I imagine that it's full of all sorts of beautiful gemstones, and wouldn't you know, I was only thinking this morning how you might like to see it!’

He spoke with grand gestures and wide eyes, as though the memory had just now come to him through some wonderful epiphany. Snufkin wasn't the most talented of liars, but Sniff appreciated the performance anyway.

'With Moomintroll and the Snorks?' he asked, hesitantly.

'No, this will be just us,' replied Snufkin; Sniff's ears perked up immediately. He had hoped as much, but it was so very unlike Snufkin to take just the one of them on his adventures. Well, unless one was Moomintroll. He decided not to push that in case he changed his mind.

'And after, we can go and look for that pebble of yours if you'd like.'

'Thanks, but I know where my pebble is,’ Sniff responded, only a little sadly.

‘Great news!’ crowed Snufkin, clapping his paws together. ‘And where did you find it?’

‘I didn’t.’ He sighed and rested his head on his knees, knowing the whole miserable lot of it. ‘I remembered – when everyone was washing their clothes yesterday, I set it down on the edge of the tub, just for a moment. It must have fallen in when I wasn’t looking. But the tub has since been emptied; it’s surely washed away to the sea by now.’

‘Oh ... What an awful shame,’ consoled Snufkin.  'You said your pebble was special, didn't you?'

Sniff nodded eagerly. ‘I don't remember where it was I found it, just that I've always had it with me. Well, until now,' he lamented. ‘But that’s not the only reason it’s – was, so special. Promise you won’t laugh or say I'm ridiculous when I tell you. I’m not in the mood for that.’

‘I promise,’ said Snufkin, doffing his hat.

‘That pebble - it was my lucky charm,’ Sniff whispered after a moment’s pause. ‘Whenever I felt particularly sad, I’d squeeze it between my paws and I’d think very hard, then something good would happen right after.’

He expected him to laugh anyway, but to Sniff’s surprise, Snufkin was looking at him - perhaps for the first time - with a sincere interest. So he continued.

'It always worked. I did that just before Mamma and Moomintroll had found in the forest, and when the comet passed the Earth, and everything turned out fine, didn't it?' But truth be told, now that he was telling someone, Sniff noticed that he was never not without his prized pebble. He supposed then that it might be possible that just as many bad things happened when he wished on it as good. 'Maybe that is ridiculous.’

‘Of course it isn’t,’ said Snufkin seriously. ‘Lucky charms are very powerful things.’ And at once Sniff began to feel confident in himself again, as for all Snufkin did act a know-it-all, he did in fact know-enough that it must be true. Though it did make the loss ache deeper.

‘At least it could bring the Moominfamily to me in the time I had it,' conceded Sniff. 'Even if I never got to know my parents, Moomintroll’s are just as good to share.’

Snufkin nodded, idly swinging his legs so that his boots almost grazed the floor. He took out the wooden pipe from his pocket and held it between his teeth, but didn’t light it. He never did so indoors. He’d said once that it was because the smoke would have nowhere to blow, but knowing how Snufkin cared little for manners, Sniff wondered if that was for the smoke itself rather than others.

Sniff recognised his signs of growing restless; if he wanted to approach the subject while he had the chance, then he would have to make it now. 'Do you ever think about your Mamma and Pappa?' he asked timidly.

'No, because I haven't got any,' Snufkin said plainly. 'If you remember, I came from a basket.'

Sniff wanted to argue that that was silly; beasts didn't come from baskets, but now didn't really seem like the time.

‘I do think though, sometimes,’ he started after a short while, popping his lips off the stem. ‘I think it might be nice if I had.’

‘When I stayed here over winter, and it was the last night before hibernation, Moominmamma came up to the bedroom and tucked Moomintroll and I in. Then she nuzzled our snouts and wished us sweet dreams.'

Snufkin drummed his fingers under the bowl and looked past him. In the way he held himself, sitting solemnly with his pipe much like Moominpappa at the end of a tiring day, speaking like he'd lived as many years and more, it was easy for Sniff to forget how small he was, too.

‘She did the same to me,’ he recalled, wistfully, not knowing what else to say.

Moominpappa himself had also arrived, providing a bedtime story to “stoke the long winter’s dreams”, which turned out to be an early peek at his memoirs. This was apparently quite the honour, so Sniff made sure to snuggle down into his covers and clasp his paws together earnestly.

He hadn’t stayed for long, as Sniff was out like a light within a minute – or so Moominpappa thought. A bit mean of him, yes, but he did insist on starting with the dullest part: his time at the dreary foundling house, which was so drab that Sniff felt he was stuck there himself.

Not all of Moominpappa’s storytelling nights were dull, mind. He was just as good at immersing him and the other children in more interesting tales, especially those that involved seafaring heroes. Sniff in particular loved the one about the fellow with the one leg and the mysterious map, and although he’d heard it many, many times, Moominpappa would never decline to tell it.

What a doting family they were. Even Moomintroll, much as they pestered one another here and there, as siblings do, would always invent fun games for soggy days, and give him the best roles whenever they played pretend. And he’d been so happy about the prospect of Sniff moving in with them after the flood.

They were such kind people. The thought brought him almost to tears again.

'Mamma also knitted this blanket, just for me,’ said Sniff, squeezing a square between his fingers to distract himself. She’d chosen red with yellow thread, all because he’d mentioned how much he adored bright things, and she thought it would shine like rubies and gold in the sunset.

‘Did she knit those socks for you, too?’ asked Snufkin.

‘Oh no.’ Sniff giggled, waving his feet. ‘I found them’

‘“Found” them?’

‘Um. Yes.’ He picked shyly at a loose thread on the left one, with the blue and black stripes. ‘In the brambles outside. You won’t tell, though?’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ smiled Snufkin. Sniff should’ve known he was in supportive company.

It really was a waste that they’d spent so much time bickering when they had more in common than he'd realised. And what an odd realisation that was! In fact, if someone had made this observation to Sniff just a few hours ago, it probably would have been the most insulting thing he’d ever heard.

‘You know what I think would go with them?’ asked Snufkin, though he didn’t wait for an answer. He unravelled the scarf from around his neck and delicately arranged it over Sniff's shoulders.

‘Oh!’ he said in surprise, stroking down the wool anxiously. ‘But you love this!’

Sufkin may not have owned a lot of things, but that yellow scarf was one of the few possessions he was never seen without. It must have meant a great deal to him. Sniff, for once in his life, did not feel right accepting such a precious gift, but when he made to push it back to him, Snufkin simply held his paws and smiled.

‘I do, and that’s exactly why you should have it.’ He wrapped Sniff in it again, more securely this time. ‘It may not be lucky, but it’s nice to hold if you’re feeling sad.’

He tested the soft material against his cheek. It was probably a very fancy scarf, once. Sniff had an eye for such things. Of course, nowadays, it was just as moth-eaten as the rest of Snufkin’s clothes; the wool was quite bobbled in places, and some of the tassles at either end had fallen away. He wouldn’t have pointed this out for the world, however.                           

Still, it didn’t sit well with him to take the present without giving something in return, so Sniff, feeling very clever, leant over and rummaged around in his bedside table for just the thing, a thing that Snufkin would undoubtedly approve of. At the back of the drawer, behind the loose coins and tin toys, was a small cardboard box.

‘I bought this from a craftscreep’s shop,’ he explained excitedly, jiggling out the contents and thrusting it under his face. A colourful little wooden fish with a bright feathered tail sat in his paw.

It had been whittled in the shape of a minnow and painted a shining green with a white underbelly, and had one large, glossy eye on either side. The lure hadn’t ever actually seen the water, as Sniff hadn’t bought it to be functional; he just thought it a very attractive ornament.

Snufkin’s expression remained unchanged, and Sniff wouldn’t have had a clue what he was thinking if not for the swish of the little tail under his dress. He wasn’t very good at hiding it yet, having only sprouted up this year, so his emotions showed a lot more often than he would have liked. (Naturally, Sniff took a lot of opportunities to tease him for it. Tonight would be an exception.)

‘The owner said it was one of the best lures they sell, but I don’t go fishing as much as you do. You can have it.’

‘Me!’ exclaimed Snufkin, eyeing the fish intensely as though he expected it to come to life any moment. ‘That certainly is something. Are you sure?’

Sniff nodded, preening in his friend’s amazement.

‘Well!’ he said, pocketing it. ‘Thank you. I’ll be sure to treasure it.’

Snufkin was true to his word. When Sniff awoke bright and early the next morning to meet him at the worn-out tent, he saw that same lure glistening in the river where Snufkin had cast his line and tightened the yellow scarf around him happily, ready to set off on the day’s adventure.