Work Text:
One of Stonefur’s coworkers texts a link to their group chat.
i’ve worked with this org b4. if they’re looking for support they need it. anyone have a few bucks?
He clicks on the link.
* * *
“I’m sorry, we don’t give information about our clients out.”
Stonefur taps the desk. It’s a good policy. He wouldn’t want them to make it easy. But.
“I might – look, I don’t want you to give me any information. But…is there a way I could prove who I am, and you’d maybe pass that on, if I’m right about who this is?”
The phone worker sighs. “If I can clear it with my supervisor, and if you can prove who you are, and if we do have who you think we have, and if they were to agree to it, maybe.”
For six years, Stonefur has been trying to find a way to get home. Greystripe visited, actually, but the school said Featherpaw was no longer enrolled, and he wasn’t allowed to even knock on the door of Tigerstar’s compound.
Every weekend, he pours over the news that comes out of his hometown, looking for some sign that things are different. That they have a chance.
For six years, Stonefur has failed. This is the closest he has been to any chance of finding Mistyfoot and Featherpaw since he first carried Stormpaw off the compound.
“I’m looking for Mistyfoot, daughter of Oakheart,” he says. “I’m Stonefur, son of Oakheart. She might be with Featherpaw, I have her brother, Stormpaw.”
“I’ll speak with my supervisor,” the worker says. “Can we call you back at this number?”
* * *
He still can’t fly. His identity is somewhere between fake and real, but it won’t hold up to airport security. He packs the car for a week, loads Stormpaw and Greystripe in, and takes to the road.
After spending months walking across the country, a few days is nothing.
* * *
“Okay, Stonefur, you’re on speaker.”
His heart is beating so loud, it must be audible over the phone. He’s practised this, prepared what he’ll say, but he never could have imagined how this moment would feel. He forgets everything he planned.
“Mistyfoot?”
There’s a long pause.
“I’m here.”
It’s her voice. It’s a little older, but it’s her voice, the same voice he has grown up with. He’s not sure how to describe the feeling, the way it snaps his rib cage in two, the way his head feels light, the way his shoulders release, a hundred pounds vanishing off of them.
Stonefur starts to cry.
* * *
Four months after Stonefur first called, and they finally arrange a meeting.
They’re informed not to arrive early, and Stonefur drives around the block three times until they can park. A woman meets them at the front doors.
“I’m their caseworker,” she says. “This is how this is going to work. Our security guard is going to pat you down, and then I’m going to check in with Mistyfoot and Featherpaw. If they’ve changed their minds, you’re going to leave. If they haven’t, you come in. If they ask you to leave at any point, you leave. Got it?”
Stonefur nods, and Stormpaw copies. The woman sighs, and he can’t read the emotion behind it perfectly. It sits somewhere between relief and stress.
The security check is fast: Stonefur expected it, and had them dress in simple clothing without any bulky sections. Whatever building they’re in is clearly rented. They wait outside a set of double doors, and the caseworker opens them, smiling.
“You’re good.”
Stonefur walks past her. Mistyfoot is standing, her hand laced with Featherpaw’s, but it is her, really her. He feels tears at the corners of his eyes, and he doesn’t bother to try to stop them. Mistyfoot’s expression shifts, softening, and she lets go of Featherpaw’s hand, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“I love you,” she says, and he hugs her back. He doesn’t think this is real. He doesn’t think, after all this time, he has found her again.
“I love you,” he says. “I love you so much.”
She takes a shuddering breath, and he feels her tears against his neck, and she is real and alive and whole.
* * *
“She didn’t want to talk to me,” Stormpaw says, after.
Stonefur sighs. Reintroductions now made, he has Mistyfoot’s number. She’s sent him,
featherpaw’s asleep
i’ll call you tmrw
tell stormpaw i love him
and he’s sent back,
Tell Featherpaw we love her. We’re free all day, call me whenever.
“I don’t get it.”
Stonefur sighs, watching Stormpaw’s frustrated pacing. “Mistyfoot said she’s sleeping,” he offers. “I think she was just tired.”
Stormpaw huffs. “She left after…”
“If she didn’t want to see you, she wouldn’t have,” Stonefur says. “But it’s a lot to take, and…I think it’s good that she left. She didn’t ask us to leave. I’m guessing, but I think that means she wants to see you again.”
* * *
“You can’t hold them,” Featherpaw says. “And you have to wash your hands.”
She’s holding two of the infants in her arms, swaddled and asleep. Mistyfoot holds the last one, who’s awake, but not moving.
“We already washed them,” Stonefur says.
Featherpaw stares pointedly at the sink.
After, he sits next to Mistyfoot.
“This one is Frogkit,” she says. “Featherpaw has Hawkkit and Mothkit.”
Featherpaw leans her head against Mistyfoot, smiling at Frogkit.
* * *
When they’re three months old, Featherpaw’s statement changes to, “You still have to support their heads. And wash your hands.”
Stormpaw smiles at her, and she pulls Hawkkit a little closer to her.
“They’re not going to take them,” Mistyfoot says.
Featherpaw glances at Stormpaw. “Do you want to hold him?”
Mistyfoot rubs her shoulder, and turns to Stonefur. “Here,” she says. “You remember how to hold babies, right?”
“I practised on a doll,” he says. “Are you sure?”
Featherpaw hands Hawkkit to Stormpaw, correcting his hand placement. Mistyfoot nods. He takes Mothkit from her. She smiles at him.
* * *
After they’ve all moved in, to an apartment that’s still too small but has just enough space, Stonefur watches Mistyfoot and Feathertail’s routine sigh in relief. Stonefur helps Feathertail and Mistyfoot feed them, and Stormheart finds himself pacing with a crying Hawkkit.
“Give him here,” Feathertail says, holding out her arms.
Hawkkit quiets instantly, and she rocks softly, holding him against her. She kisses the top of his head. “I’m still your favourite,” she murmurs.
* * *
“I heard you were back in town,” Shadepelt says. “It’s good to see you.”
“Good to see you too.” Stonefur runs his hand through his hair. He hasn’t seen Shadepelt since she was a kid, maybe ten or twelve. “I’m sorry it’s-”
Shadepelt hugs him. “I’m not an idiot,” she says. “I follow the news. I’m just happy you’re safe.”
* * *
Stonefur takes the kids for a walk with Feathertail. She pushes their stroller to the end of the block.
“I’ve got them,” he says, and she releases the handles. “You okay?”
“I thought physical therapy was supposed to make me less tired,” she says.
“Well, it takes time,” Stonefur says.
* * *
Mistyfoot curls up on the couch. Stonefur puts his hand on her shoulder, and she flinches. Stonefur draws back, and she relaxes, but unnaturally, like someone has cut a puppet’s strings.
Her hands were curled into balls, but they release, and he sees angry marks from where her nails dug into her hand. She rubs the heel of her hand against her forearm, and opens her eyes, glancing at him.
“I didn’t…” Mistyfoot swallows, blinking rapidly. “Sorry. I didn’t realize it was you.”
* * *
Shadepelt arrives at six in the morning. She doesn’t complain, even though they’re only paying her ten dollars an hour.
He’s glad he asked her to come early, because Feathertail walks her through the kids’ schedule at least three times, and Shadepelt dutifully take notes, asking the occasional question. Stonefur has walked her through everything, but she won’t be able to contact them once they’re in the courtroom.
Stonefur drives them, and Stormheart sits in the passenger seat. He’s missing school to be here, but he doesn’t seem concerned. Feathertail sits in the middle seat, her head resting on Mistyfoot’s shoulder.
The prosecutor told them to wear whatever was comfortable, as long as it was reasonably presentable, but Mistyfoot and Feathertail had gone shopping. Mistyfoot still seems uncomfortable, but that might be indicative of where he’s driving.
Feathertail’s phone chimes, and she doesn’t wake.
When he pulls up to the courthouse, it’s barely past 7:45, and there’s already a scattered flock of reporters. Mistyfoot wakes Feathertail, and Stonefur sends Stormheart while he goes to park.
* * *
“Remember,” the prosecutor says, “you’re not on trial.” She’s not saying anything they haven’t heard before, but it seems like a reassurance. “I won’t lie to you. The cross-examination is going to be brutal. But you can always take a break.”
She sighs. “We might not get to Feathertail today. But if we do, Mistyfoot, you can hold her hand, and that’s it.”
* * *
“All rise!”
Feathertail grips Mistyfoot’s arm, bracing herself.
* * *
Stonefur and Stormheart sit on either side of Feathertail. She’s not watching Mistyfoot, but she glances towards her occasionally.
Stonefur has come to most of the days of trial. In that sense, he’s prepared for when they start. Stormheart isn’t, and his anger shows in white knuckled rage. He glances at Feathertail occasionally.
“And why do you believe he said that?” the prosecutor asks.
Mistyfoot has kept her gaze trained to the side, avoiding Tigerstar. He’s dressed well, and his lawyers take frenetic notes.
“Objection, speculation.”
“Sustained.”
Mistyfoot takes a sip of water.
The prosecutor pauses, and she retraces her steps. “Had you seen any examples of consequences for similar infractions?”
“After our brothers — after Stonefur and Stormheart had escaped, Tigerstar said Feathertail and I were corrupted. He used that as a rationale for punishment. I was the only person Feathertail has regular contact with.”
“Were you led to believe your actions would have an affect on Feathertail?”
“I…” Mistyfoot blinks. Feathertail folds a piece of paper in half, and then in quarters. “He said she needed a good influence in her life. And that if I failed to provide one, he would make sure she was corrected.”
“What kind of corrections did Tigerstar use?”
“Um. It depended. Denial of food. Manual labor. Usually it was more than one person could complete.” She takes another sip of water.
“Can you give-”
“But the big one was…um. Corporal punishment. And it was always…he wanted you to feel small. He usually made things as embarrassing and public as he could think of.”
“Can you give some examples?”
Mistyfoot glances towards Feathertail. She closes her eyes for a moment. Feathertail’s hands are shaking uncontrollably. Stonefur places his hand out, where she can reach it. Feathertail takes it.
Stormheart glances at Feathertail again. She’s gripping Stonefur’s hand tight enough to hurt.
“Do you want to leave?” he whispers. Feathertail shakes her head.
* * *
(You’re supposed to be watching the testifying witness. You know that.
But it’s hard not to watch the others. Tigerstar is calm, like Mistyfoot is not describing a litany of public humiliations he had her suffer, his face neutral.
On the other side, Mistyfoot’s family is fighting with the edge of permissible expression. The teenaged girl grips the man’s hand, her head not lifting, and the teenaged boy beside her looks livid, glancing back at her often with a softened expression.
In a few days, the situation is rearranged. You’ve learned all their names, now, and it is Feathertail who takes the stand. She clutches Mistyfoot like a lifeline, and you see her look too far in one direction. As soon as she sees Tigerstar, she looks close to tears.
Her brother, Stormheart, is notably absent. You speculate he didn’t think he could maintain composure through her testimony.
You can’t blame him. She answers the prosecutor’s questions with uncomfortable forthrightness. After adjusting to Mistyfoot’s tendency to find a neat, formal way of saying matters, it is jarring to hear Feathertail respond to, “And how did he punish you for that?”
“He beat me until he broke skin.”
You are just as grateful as Feathertail when her request to take a break is granted.)
* * *
When they get home, every night, Feathertail goes straight to bed. Mistyfoot brings the kids in to say hello, and a plate of food, but she doesn’t make an appearance beyond that, either.
* * *
Stonefur had made a promise to himself, that he would remain calm. Whatever happened, he wouldn’t risk being removed from the courtroom, and he wouldn’t make things worse by being angry.
It is a hard promise to keep.
* * *
They don’t celebrate when Tigerstar is sentenced.
It’s a normal day. Stormheart goes to school, and Mistyfoot kisses Feathertail on the forehead before she leaves for work. Now that everything is settled, Stonefur’s been fixing his paperwork so he can apply for a job.
The kids are starting to transition to just an afternoon nap, and they’re tired when Feathertail herds them upstairs.
Stormheart gets home when Stonefur wakes up the kids, although Hawkkit climbs into bed next to Feathertail.
“I’m quiet,” he whispers, although it’s not that quiet. It’s probably best to leave him.
Feathertail blows bubbles for them while Stonefur cooks dinner, and no one says what today is.