Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You always remember the first time you die.

Or, perhaps more accurately, you always remember the first time you wake up after dying.

It was the first, and last, sign that the life you previously led is now over. It was a notion of a curse wrapped in a blessing. It was a herald that, from this point onward, you essentially lived the life of the bird in the gilded cage, to borrow a metaphor, twist it’s neck, then dance on it’s grave, so to say.

For what is eternal life, if it came with eternal death? A juxtaposition, an impossibility. And yet, in a small town cloaked by trees, with only one road in and out, it was the life the unlucky inhabitants of HT Town led. You wouldn’t be able to find this town on a map. You wouldn’t be able to ask for directions to this town. Hell, you could ask about this place and 99.9% of the world would just stare blankly at you. Officially, geographically, and terminally speaking, this town did not exist.

But it’s easy to say that when you don’t live in it.

To visit this town, to live in this town, to call this town your home, would be to succumb to a curse of unending agony, to be dragged into a restless loop of undying. Again and again, time after time. Some say you get used to it.

Others don’t say anything at all.

But all of them… All of them know the feelings.

Those feelings you feel, the first time after waking up from dying… You’ll always remember them. No matter how many times you die, how many times you wake up, how many times the process repeats…

The feelings never change.

“Something on your mind, Toothy?”

Toothy blinked. The purple beaver, lost in thought, found himself dragged back to reality - or, rather, what passed for them as reality - as a bright yellow paw waved in front of his face. Leaning back, Toothy brushed the appendage away, earning a snicker from his companion. The two sat on a bench in the park of the town, a soft westward breeze sending a refreshing chill across the area despite the hot summer day. Each nursed a milkshake from Giggles’ Diner, a treat that they got for free due to her and Cuddles being ‘kinda-sorta-together-ish.’ What exactly that meant, Toothy didn’t have a clue, but it meant Giggles would occasionally slide from treats to her friends - or Cuddles, and whatever friend he happened to be hanging out with at the time - for no cost. While Toothy had barely touched his milkshake, Cuddles had devoured it in record time, instantly complaining of a brain freeze.

Dimly, he wondered whether it was possible to die of a brain freeze, then shook his head. Deaths like that were too… Mundane, for this town.

“Do you ever think about… Stuff?” Toothy voiced aloud.

Cuddles merely raised an eyebrow. “... Yeah. ‘Stuff’ is a very broad topic, Toothy. Could you narrow it down?”

Toothy waved an arm listlessly at their surroundings. “Y’know. All of… This.”

Cuddles stared blankly, before the expression of realization dawned on his face. The implication of the town, their neighbors, the world around them… The curse. “Oh. Yeah. I mean, no, well, I-” He paused, eyebrows furrowing. “I try not to, but… Yeah. Every now and then. Why?”

Why, indeed.

Or, why not.

Either would’ve been an appropriate response.

Instead, Toothy pointed at the road, encircling the town park. “I died there, yesterday.” If he squinted, he was sure he would be able to make out how one specific patch on the road was slightly off-color, as if something had stained it, before being removed overnight.

Cuddles sheepishly coughed into a fist. “Yeah, that was a mess. Sorry about that. I was skateboarding and didn’t see you.” Honestly, it was a surprise how… Easily his friend’s skull had cracked apart, whilst his own skateboard was relatively unharmed. Save for the messy new paint job it had spontaneously acquired, of course. Still, a quick hose down took care of that.

Toothy waved a hand flippantly. “Eh. Not the worst way any of us have died. But when I woke up this morning, I felt all the usual feelings… And… I felt a … Question.”

Toothy trailed off into silence.

Cuddles sat quietly next to him, grimacing in concern. Yet, he didn’t prod, nor did he hasten Toothy to hurry. He waited.

After all, they had all of eternity, in theory, so a few minutes of Toothy figuring out the best way to phrase the question they all had thought at least once wouldn’t hurt in the long run.

Eventually, Toothy exhaled, an uncertain expression caressing his features. “Do you think we’ll ever be free?”

A pale silence echoed between the two, broken only by the sound of distant traffic, chatter from nearby conversations. The question hung between them like a weighted blanket, a question just about every inhabitant of this town had asked themselves, if not others, at least once.

He wished he knew what to say, whenever someone asked. He wished he knew what to do, even.

Instead, he shrugged, and gave the same answer he gave himself every so often. “One day.” He simply replied. There was no lack of confidence in his voice, no unease. Sure, he didn’t know when, or how, or any of the particulars - but he knew one day, they would find a way out. “Drink your milkshake, it’s getting warm.”

Toothy shot a glance at him, pointedly taking the smallest of sips of his now room-temperature milkshake. “‘One day.’” He repeated, with a roll of his eyes. “You always say that.”

“And one day it’ll be true.” Cuddles nodded, idly spinning his skateboard in his hands.

“When? How? What makes you believe that?”

“Because the alternative is worse.”

There was a long, painful silence.

In the distance, Toothy heard the clatter of a crash, the brief scream of one of his neighbors - judging by the pitch of the voice it might’ve been Lumpy, and judging by past efforts of the most likely reason for any such occurrence happening in this town, it was almost certainly Lumpy - followed by silence. He cleared his throat. “It’s been-”

“I know how long it’s been.” Cuddles cut him off, not unkindly. “And I’m sure there’s a way out. Someway, somehow. Maybe it’s scientific, like Sniffles says. Maybe it’s supernatural, like Nutty thinks. Maybe it’s both, I don’t know. But I know there’s a way out. There has to be. We just haven't found it yet.”

The words were supposed to be more encouraging than they sounded, a fact Cuddles realized with a damper. But he refused to let it show, however. Instead, he smiled, stretching. “Look, how about we go to my place, get the gang together, and have a ‘us’ night. Boot up the gaming system or the board games. Like old times. You, me, Giggles, Flaky… Who else, you think?”

It was a distraction play, a change of the topic to avoid dwelling on the bigger issue at hand, and both of them knew it. “Nutty, I suppose.” Toothy mused, continuing along. “He’s not big on board games but he’s down for the electronics.”

“Plus he’s great for keeping the energy going all night. Anyone else?”

“I would throw Petunia’s name into the hat, but she might be with Handy tonight. Maybe one or both of the Raccoon Twins?”

“I’d have to lock every cupboard in the house and nail everything to the floor.”

“That would hardly stop them.”

“Fair.” Toothy leaned back, taking a sip of his milkshake once more. “I guess Lammy? I don’t know. Is she… Y’know.” Toothy coughed into a fist. “Is she okay for it?”

Cuddles frowned. “I’ll… have to ask her. She’s not exactly Flippy, but…” His words trailed off into silence. Both knew what the issue was, without mentioning it. “I guess what we’d need best is some new blood. New neighbors, add some variety to things here.”

Toothy mumbled something noncommittal. Then suddenly his eyes grew so wide Cuddles thought they might pop out of his skull and deflate like a balloon. “And with new neighbors…” Toothy continued, a sudden burst of enthusiasm in his voice. “... Comes a new pair of eyes to examine this place and find a way out of it.” He beamed. “Yeah! That’s it, yeah. Sniffles might be too laser-focused on one avenue, or something, and Nutty might be too entrenched on one theory instead of another, but a new pair of eyes to look at the things we haven't, might be enough to get things going in the right direction!”

Cuddles blinked. “I was talking about variety in, y’know, our get-togethers with the crew…” Catching the brief crestfallen expression on Toothy, Cuddles quickly corrected himself, eager to keep a bit of hope breathing in his friend. “But yeah, you might be right, Toothy.”

Toothy nodded eagerly, puffing his chest out. “Well, my middle name is Mr. Right, after all.”

Cuddles giggled. “Toothy, you don’t have a middle name. Or a last name, for that matter.”

“Well, if I did, it would be Mr. Right.”

“That’s a terrible middle name, Toothy. Middle names can’t include a title like that.”

“Why not? Who died and made you Mayor of Middle Names?”

“Lumpy, probably.”

“Yeah, that sounds like something he would do.”

With the hopeful grin on his friend's face, Cuddles allowed himself to relax. It was easy to lose hope in this place, and harder to regain it. So if Toothy found something to keep pushing himself forward with, well, that was perfectly fine for him.

As the implications of Toothy’s newfound hope settled in, both of them quietly found a new question, burning within them.

Toothy’s mind raced with ideas and suggestions, based on bringing new people into town, to help them get free. Can they attract new inhabitants to the town? How? He didn’t even remember how he himself got stuck here. The most recent arrival would’ve been Lammy, and her reliability was… Questionable, at times. Still, though, she was still worth asking, if only to gain more insight on the process and seeing whether they could have an effect on the intake of the townsfolk.

Cuddles, meanwhile, found himself circling one question, and one question only.

If they were to, somehow, bring in fresh hearts and minds into the town, then it would be only a matter of time until they, too, fell victim to the curse, and found themselves trapped here in turn, fated to die and live and die again. Surely. Would they be willing to risk the livelihoods of complete strangers just so they all have a slightly high chance of one day breaking out of this town? If they can really help, then everyone in the town could be saved. Everyone. From Mole, to Mime, from Pop, to Cub. They could be saved.

They could go home again.

But if they can’t…

Then list of those entrapped within the town would only grow.

And the day of anyone escaping this place would continue to be out of reach.

Unlike Toothy, Cuddles didn’t have any idea at all how to answer his own question. Even later at night, as he lied awake in bed, listening to the soft sounds of his friends nearby sleeping, the question tumbled in his head, looking for answers and finding none.

And all the while, just outside the edge of town, a bus slowly approached.

Chapter Text

Under a moonless sky, a pale blue yellow bus cruised through the forest.

The bus drove down a road without signs, only the bright glare of its headlights cutting through the fog. The bumps and rattles of the road felt familiar beneath the rubber tires of the bus, a road it had not taken in a long time, and yet, one that was innately familiar with it.

The bus driver sipped his lukewarm coffee, sparing a glance in the mirror at his passengers. For the most part, his passengers seemed to be asleep, dozing off quietly. Or loudly, in the case of one snorer, but they were asleep, all the same. Aside from one, who gazed listlessly out the window.

The bus driver hid a scowl. It’s easier when they’re asleep.

There were eight of them. The number seemed too high, too risky. But the driver wasn’t in any position to argue. If it was to be eight, then it was to be eight. So be it. In a way, it felt almost fitting. What is eight, but a symbol for infinity? A pair of loops, tied together in a gordian knot?

Or, more likely, it was just a number. But if there was one thing the driver knew, it was that life doesn’t do ‘just’ numbers. Everything happens for a reason, everything has a meaning attached to it. Exactly what that meaning was, was often up for interpretation. Some things have a meaning, even if they don’t have an answer.

The driver stole another glance in the mirror, his eyes meeting with those of his lone awake passenger for a barest hint of a second, before the passenger looked away. The bus driver frowned. That one might be a problem. The awake ones always are. Squinting, the driver raised his thermos again, just as the bus drove over a pothole. Jartled, the thermos slipped from his palm, where it bounced against his knee, spilling increasingly-cold coffee over his leg and onto the floor.

“Motherfu-” The driver quietly hissed, cutting himself off as the single awake passenger once again glanced his way. He instead forced a smile, waving a reassuring paw. With only a raised eyebrow, the passenger - a burnt-orange dormouse with eyes that were, somehow, alert and tired at the same time - turned away once again.

The driver turned back to the road, grunting, before he stared at his leg, the cold wetness seeping into his fur now. Grasping a tissue, he patted away at his leg, failing to have any impact on its current dampness. Giving up, he tossed the tissue over his shoulder, raising his head to look back at the road.

The dirt gave away to gravel, gave way to concrete, as the tires sped onto a gray old bridge, thin and ramshackle, with only one lane, overlooking a long fall into a deep river. The driver exhaled - they were nearly there. His eyes flickered over the side of the bridge, quietly noting what a long, long fall it was, into the raging rapids below, before he glanced back at the road.

Cutting through the fog, at the end of the bridge, was a fallen tree on the road, not too far ahead. The driver groaned. This would mean a detour, and time was already short enough. He had passengers who needed to be somewhere before the sun rose, after all. The tree and the surrounding forest were too close to the bridge, with its solidary lane, for him to pull over and turn around on. No, he’s have to stop, reverse back up the bridge - slowly, carefully - and find a detour. And so close to their destination, too.

The driver pressed a foot down on the brake.

Nothing happened.

A thin bead of sweat dripping from the driver’s brow. He pressed harder on the brake pedal.

The pedal didn’t even budge.

The bus driver tore his eyes away from the approaching collision, glancing at the brake pedal - and the discarded thermos stuck behind it, preventing the brakes from being applied. He reached down with a pale blue arm to dislodge it, but couldn’t reach. He tried to kick the thermos with his feet, yet couldn’t make it budge. The bus drifted, screeching against a guardrail on the bridge. He hurriedly corrected the angle, eyes wide as the hazard became closer and closer.

They couldn’t slow down.

This time, he swore openly, loudly enough that he heard a passenger behind him stir.

Loudly enough for the single awake passenger to realize something was wrong, and grip their seat as tightly as possible.

All he could do is wait for the bridge to end, wait for the brief moment where, between the bridge and the tree, there might be enough space to swerve into the forest, and hope to any deity that might be listening that he wasn’t about to doom himself, along with everyone else in the bus.

-/-|-\-

Mole didn’t so much as hear the crash in the distance, as he felt it.

Late at night, or early in the morning - he had trouble telling the exact time and, quite frankly, didn’t care enough to distinguish the particulars - he sat on the porch of his home, hands clasped, glasses laying across his lap.

It wasn’t that he enjoyed the night, per se. To him it was just a slightly colder part of the day. He held no affinity for this particular time. He wasn’t a stargazer or an astronomer, perhaps for obvious reasons. No. He simply… Enjoyed the quiet.

It was rare that HT Town was quiet, motionless, with all the usual catastrophes, incidents, and screaming that occurred due to such. From morning to evening, not a day would pass without a shriek, a clatter, a bang, or a scream. So these quiet, motionless moments, lost in time, where nothing would happen and he could just… Exist.

He treasured those moments.

It allowed him to reflect on a life he once had, before he found himself stuck in this town. A life where he felt like someone who got… certain things done. A life where he moved in the shadows, where his name was spoken only of in hushed whispers or cursed hisses, usually from that rat.

Of all the people in his past life, Mole found himself missing that rat the most, and he wasn’t entirely sure why. He didn’t even know his name, or if he was still alive, for that matter.

He probably wasn’t.

His pale, glassy eyes stared into the distance, a finger tapping his cane. Nowadays, though, he wasn’t seen in the same light. No. To most of his neighbors, he was something of a burden. A hindrance. A liability. Truthfully, he couldn’t blame them - what led to simple accidents before, now led to life-threatening incidents now. And he had yet to meet anyone who liked dying. So he understood. They were still polite enough about it, but he understood.

It was fine.

It was better than being patronized. To be talked down with a smile and a soft voice as if he were a doddering, clueless, inept old man. Thankfully, such an occurrence was rare. Nowadays the only one who would approach him during his nighttime gazes, if anyone was even out and about during this time, would be Handy. At this point in time he would probably be in bed, assumingly. That left Mole, quiet and alone, as the wind whistled around him.

It was at this point he felt a thin murmur, a small rumble in the earth, roughly at the same time a muffled bang echoed somewhere else. His ears twitched, and he frowned.

No sky-splitting scream followed the crash.

Only silence.

That was… unusual.

The brief vibration of the earth with the noise felt… Well, his skills were a bit out of date, but they felt heavy. Heavier than a dropped pot or such. Assuming the vibration came from the same source as the crash did, then that meant it was something big and heavy. Mechanical, judging from metallic crash. And it was somewhere in the distance, not necessarily close by.

He tilted a head in the direction the noise came from, feeling the wind on his face. North. That was away from town, towards the only road that ran in and out of the town. Away from all of his neighbors, sleeping soundly.

Hm.

It might be nothing.

And if it was nothing, then it was nothing.

And if it was something?

Then he’d better do something.

Rising to his feet, gripping his cane, Mole stepped onto the footpath. He could walk to where he thought the crash might’ve occurred, but that would take time - time he didn’t have. He could drive, but if this incident was the kind of incident he thought it was, then his… Poor luck, so to say… Needed to be minimized.

So, the answer was to get someone else to go investigate the crash for him.

And at this time of night, there was only one person who would take his concerns seriously, even if they grumbled all the way through it.

-/-|-\-

Renet was rocked out of her dreamless sleep, first by a high-pitched shriek that ceased into an ear-splitting crash, of metal colliding, twisting and warping with a screech, as the world seemed to turn sideways. Thrown from her seat on the bus, tumbling through the air, she skidded along the polyvinyl floor, still getting her bearings as around her, more passengers shouted in surprise and fear, others being pinballed around the bus much like herself. Her black beret flew off her head, gone with the wind. She could only let out a quiet yelp as a thin glass window, embedded with spider web-like cracks, rushed towards her - a sea of waving, twisted daggers scratching behind it.

Flailing, she scrambled for purchase, for any kind of stability of safety, but the world was moving too fast for her to even know what direction up was. The window, and the beckoning alarm of the barbed abyss, screamed towards her-

A paw suddenly wrapped around the back collar of her tunic, halting her with a start.

The nest of daggers burst through the window with a crack, sending shards of glass scattering throughout the bus.

And the wicked skewered branches of a tree, thick and sharp, rushed toward her, stopping inches from her eyes.

Renet stared, chest heaving, at the splintering arms of the tree - the branches that had come almost painfully close to burrowing it’s way through her skull. Her chest heaved, her mind working in overtime to connect the dots and figure out exactly what just happened.

She didn’t even realize the bus had stopped moving until the paw on the back of her collar relaxed its tense grip with a whimper.

Silence reigned the scene, broken only by the sounds of breathing, of groaning, of people getting their bearings.

A voice cried out. Then another, in response. A third joined in, but the words were just… There. Like an improperly tuned radio - Renet heard, but didn’t process the voices as anything other than white noise. Her mind was still coming to terms with exactly what nearly happened to her - exactly what she avoided by the slimmest of margins.

She was quietly aware that one of the voices nearby was addressing her, or at least seemed to be, by the proximity of it. Blinking, she turned her head, finally noticing the passenger next to her. The flickering, barely working fluorescent lights in the bus illuminated a hyena that seemed devoid of color, save for black, gray, and white like an old movie, his crumpled suit not looking quite as professional as it might’ve once before.

“-eeding. You okay?” The hyena seemed to say, his face awash with concern. He had one of those funny looking mustaches that spread down his jawline and connected to his sideburns, forming a separating border from the toothy frown that was pointed her way.

Renet blinked, letting go of a breath she wasn't aware she was holding. "Sorry. I wasn't… I mean…" She trailed off into silence, eyes darting at the daggered branch before her, before quickly pushing herself away from it, brushing her paws on her paint-splattered apron. "What did you say?"

The hyena let out a nervous bark of laughter, completely devoid of humor. He gestured with a twitching paw. "You're bleeding, a bit. And you got tossed around a fair amount. Are you okay?"

Raising a paw, Renet became gradually aware of the wet, copper tang of fresh blood, a thin trickle cascading down her face from a cut on her cheek. She pressed a paw against the wound, hissing, and with the adrenaline fading, Renet felt the bruises and aches of being thrown across the bus. Oh, this was going to hurt tomorrow.

"I'm okay." She quietly replied. "The- the glass must've nicked me."

The hyena exhaled, a sigh of relief. "Considering our options, that could've gone… Slightly worse." His eyes flickered to the tree branches, scratching in the wind.

Renet felt herself shiver, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself. Her brown paws brushed against the camera strap around her neck, and she brushed a thumb against it in comfort. "Are you hurt?"

The hyena's eyebrows rose, as if he was genuinely not expecting someone to ask about him. He glanced at his being, carefully inspecting himself. "I think I might be in shock." He mused, with a wince. "But that aside, just… Fine and dandy." He chuckled an anxious chuckle, running a paw through his platinum white hair, before he suddenly paused, patting the empty space next to him. “My briefcase.”

Renet blinked. “Briefcase?” She echoed, as the hyena glanced around himself.

“Have you seen my briefcase?” He asked, glancing at the wreckage around them. “My boss is going to kill me if I lose that briefcase…” He made to rise to his feet, before letting out an involuntary whine, a clawed hand fumbling against his knee, and he rapidly sat back down. “Fiddlesticks.”

“I… haven't seen your briefcase. Sorry.” Renet replied, fidgeting. “But I can help you look for it, if you want?”

The hyena’s gaze swiveled to hers. He grimaced, eyebrows furrowed in concern, but said little else. Renet avoided his eyes, instead gazing somewhere up and to the left. It was… easier, that way. The hyena's eyebrows lowered, then raised, then lowered again, seemingly recognizing something, and his visage softened.

“Kind of you to offer.” He observed, with a quiet nod. He rose again, this time slowly, careful not to put weight on his bad knee. After a second, Renet followed, gently brushing away some glass with a shoe. “That would be much appreciated…?” He trailed off into silence, glancing once more at Renet.

She nodded, smiling. "Renet."

“Thank you, Renet.”

Renet beamed. “What should I call you?”

The hyena paused for a second, head tilted, before letting out a brief bray of laughter. “Oh. Uh, Whisky. Just Whisky is fine.”

“Whisky it is! Let’s find your briefcase.”

-/-|-\-

Mole knocked once, twice, three times on the front door of his neighbor, then stood back and waited.

There was no response. To be expected, really, at this time of night. Undeterred, he stepped forward again, knocking twice, a little bit harder this time.

There was the slightest murmur of a rustle inside, yet no real effort to answer the door.

Mole knocked again, this time completely missing the door and sending a fist through the window. The shatter most certainly drew attention this time, judging by the sudden, slightly muffled response of vulgarity at the sound.

“IT IS TWO IN THE GODDAMNED MORNING.” A voice shouted out, as annoyed and frustrated stomps grew closer. “IF THIS IS ONE OF YOU GODDAMNED THIEVES AGAIN I’M GOING TO SET YOUR HOUSE ON FIRE.” The stomping footsteps suddenly stopped, just a few feet away, and the voice let out a groan.

“Good morning, Handy.” Mole brightly replied.

Handy groaned again. A long, elongated groan, that trailed on and on. Seconds, then minutes ticked by, before the groan finally ended.

There was a beat of silence.

“You’re still here.” Handy remarked, disappointment in his voice.

Mole nodded. “Sorry about your window.” He said, with zero hint of apology in his voice.

Handy sighed, coming to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t be able to shoo Mole away. “Mole, do you have ANY idea what time it is?”

“Nope. But I’ve been informed by a semi-reliable source that it’s somewhere around, quote, ‘two in the goddamned morning’, unquote.”

Handy grumbled. He did that a lot. “Tell me what you want, and it had better be a kick to the liver, because that’s what I feel like giving to you.”

Mole shifted uncomfortably, before he cleared his throat. “I heard a noise.”

The wind whistled, blowing a cold shiver through Mole. And yet, he stood still, hands clasped neatly in front of him. If the cold or the wind affected him in any way, he didn’t show it. He stood tall, confident.

“Mole, you’re blind, not deaf. Hearing things isn’t abnormal.” Handy sighed, and waved an arm in a way that was a combination of encouraging and dissuading. “Please get to the point so I can go back to bed.”

Mole frowned, and leaned in. “Handy, I think it’s happening again.” He said, with an uncharacteristic seriousness in his voice.

“What do you m-...” Handy cut himself off, realization dawning upon him. Seconds passed, and when he spoke again, the vague tone of annoyance gone from his voice, replaced with trepidation. “Mole-”

“The last time this happened, we missed it.” Mole continued, pacing. The wet grass flattened underneath his feet, and felt Handy’s deep gaze follow him. “We missed it, and Lammy got stuck here before we could do anything.”

“We-”

Mole rounded on Handy, and threw a hand on what he hoped was his shoulder. “We should do something, Handy.”

“It’s probably nothing.” Handy said, but he sounded unconvinced.

“And what if it isn’t? Mole retorted.

Silence.

Thunder cracked, somewhere in the distance.

Handy exhaled. “How long ago?”

“About… Five, ten minutes, maybe. Due north.”

“Of course it’s north. Why me?”

“Who else would take the concerns of a blind old man seriously?”

Handy moved away with a brief rummaging, before stepping out and letting the door close behind him. “I don't think that's entirely true, but fine. Let’s go check it out.” With a jangle of car keys, Handy stepped away. Mole followed his footsteps, until his cane tapped the side of Handy’s truck.

“We might need a third.” He spoke. Handy paused.

“Why?”

“Neither of us are the… Safest to be around with, so to say.”

“... I hate that that’s a good point.”

-/-|-\-

The seat next to Biscuit was gone, torn from its hinges as the bus bulged inward with the sudden impact.

Or, rather, the seat Biscuit was sitting in ten seconds before the bus crashed, was gone.

Biscuit let out a breath, paws gripped tightly on the bar of her new, undamaged seat. Sound slowly returned to her being, the awareness of the rest of the world rushing back to reality. And with it, the pained groans of her fellow passengers.

Beside her, the purple Japanese badger swore. Or kept swearing, rather. The past ten seconds of their vocabulary had consisted entirely of one recurring swear, which to their credit they pronounced spectacularly. Biscuit nudged her companion. “Language, Sketch.”

Sketch closed their eyes, swore once more, then turned to Biscuit. “Situation calls for it, Biscuit. You okay?”

“I think so. You?”

“Yeah. Did we seriously just crash?” Sketch rubbed their eyes, scowling.

“Seems like it.”

At the front of the bus, a figure stood, waving a flashlight. “Sound off! Who’s alive and uninjured?”

Biscuit & Sketch exchanged glances, then raised their hands. The flashlight swiveled towards them, temporarily blinding them with a hiss. The figure approached, lowering the flashlight apologetically. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to blind ya. Do either of you have any experience with first aid, medical stuff, anything like that?” The flashlight lowered, revealing a tall prairie dog, clad in a bright red marching band coat. Her pale white shako hat was almost like a beacon in the dark, and in one hand she held a first aid kit.

Biscuit shrugged. “I’ve got a little bit of experience, I guess, but I’m not–”

“Great!” Biscuit was cut off, as the prairie dog thrust the first aid kit in her direction. “A little bit of experience is better than no experience. Start at the back of the bus and check the passengers up there, see how they’re doing. If it’s something small, patch them up, if it’s something big, come get me and we’ll figure something out. Can you do that?”

Something about the confident tone in the prairie dog’s voice told Biscuit that yes, she absolutely could do that, and the cat nodded in determination. “I’ll do what I can.”

The prairie dog beamed. “That’s the spirit. And you-” She turned to Sketch, gesturing with a paw. “Follow me to the front of the bus. The driver seems incapacitated, so we’re going to check on him, see what the damage is, and try to get the radio working, and call for help.”

Sketch shot an unconvinced glance at Biscuit. “If you say so.”

“Marvelous!” The prairie dog offered a hand to Sketch. “Thanks for helping out, you two. Accidents like this, we should look out for each other, help each other out. The name’s March, by the way.” She flicked a paw against her shako hat, almost posing heroically, before retreating to the front of the bus.

Sketch hesitated for the briefest of seconds, before sighing. “You’ll be alright, Biscuit?” He asked, looking over his shoulder.

Biscuit shooed in response, gripping the first aid kit. “I’ll be fine! March is right, we should help each other out while we can. Go see how the driver’s doing, I’ll be with you in a minute.”

With that, Sketch followed March to the front. Meanwhile, Biscuit stepped towards the back, careful not to step on the broken glass strewn through the bus. “Ahoy!” She called out, to the two figures sitting at the back. “You two okay back there?”

She hoped she wasn’t about to find a dead body.

Luckily, an arm waved in response. “My buddy banged their head pretty hard.” A lavender deer, with flowing locks of dark blue hair that looked way too composed despite just being in a car accident, gestured to the person next to them. “They-”

Their companion, a white rabbit adorned with brown spots, slapped his arm down. “Shut up, Stan! I’m fine!” They groaned, a palm pressed against their head. A thin trail of blood seeped between their fingers, dropping down onto their long white coat. “It’s just a scratch, ain’t nothing I’ve gone through before, so just-”

The deer - Stan, seemingly - tittered, patting a hand on their companion’s shoulder. “Aw, c’mon, Dottie, don’t be like that. We’ve had good luck so far, no harm in getting checked out.”

“Good luck?!?” Dottie hissed, glaring daggers at their casual compatriot. “Are you an imbecile?!? We’ve gone through two vehicular accidents in the timespan of a day, how on earth is any of this good luck?!?”

Stan casually shrugged, wiping the back of their hand against their striped shirt. “Well, we’re alive, for one.”

Dottie’s eyes narrowed, yet they didn’t have an answer to that. They merely grumbled, as Biscuit approached, sitting next to them. “I’m good.” They said, through gritted teeth.

Biscuit stared at the rabbit for a second longer than necessary, her eyes seemingly boring into Dottie, before she blinked, and nodded sagely. “I think you are good, Dottie. But just to be on the safe side, can I take a look at your head?” She flipped open the first aid kit, gripping a cloth in one hand.

Dottie leaned away from the would-be medic. “No, thank you! No offense, but I don’t know you, and I don’t trust you! I’d rather-”

“I trust her, Dottie.” Stan interjected. A lazy smile graced Stan’s face, as a vein of frustration throbbed on Dottie’s forehead. “She gives off good vibes.”

“To hell with your good vibes, Stan! We don’t even know her name!”

“Biscuit.” Biscuit chirped, offering a paw. “Nice to meet you!”

Stan leaned over, briefly shaking Biscuit’s paw. “Hiya. I’m Stan, and my grumpy friend here is Dottie. Don’t mind them, they just bumped their head trying to protect me.”

“Shut up, Stan!” Dottie groaned.

“Now that we’re acquainted, let’s give that lil’ scratch a look, shall we?” Biscuit offered, dabbing the cloth with disinfectant.

With a sigh of resignation, Dottie eased their palm off of his wound. Blood seeped from the wound, the flow thicker now that it was unobstructed. They hissed as Biscuit gently pressed against the wound with the cloth, shooting Stan a frustrated glare.

“Any noticeable symptoms with either of you?” Biscuit asked. “Dizziness, hearing or vision impairment, memory issues? Accidentslike this, concussions are one of the more regular results, so-”

“I am fine.” Dottie scowled.

“I feel great.” Stan echoed.

“This wasn’t your first vehicle accident today, you said?” Biscuit pondered, making idle conversation as she unwrapped a round of bandages. “You two must have some interesting lives.”

Dottie shot Stan a glare, silently sending a message. Stan seemed to pick up on it, and remained silent, simply leaning back into his seat and closing their eyes.

“You could say that.”

-/-|-\-

As his friends slept soundly, Cuddles lied awake.

He tossed and turned, but sleep escaped him. The conversation earlier and its ramifications continued to echo within, long into the night. Time ticked away, the night drifted on, and yet Cuddles remained awake.

Eventually he gave up, threw off the covers, and tip-toed out of the room, careful not to wake his friends.

Into the kitchen he went, the sudden glare of the lights burning into his eyes. Squinting, he stumbled to his fridge, and grabbed a carton of milk, pouring himself a glass before he stepped outside, into the cool night air.

It was softly raining. Likely to rain heavier later, but now, it was almost gentle. Cuddles sat on his porch, quietly sipping his milk, and tried very, very hard to stop thinking.

He wasn’t successful in this endeavor.

A pair of headlights cut through the night fog. Cuddles squinted. Who would be out and about, this time of night? His surprise only increased as the headlights came to a sudden stop outside his house. Cuddles felt a brief second of panic, before one of the windows wound down, and his panic subsided.

“You’re awake?” Handy called out, eyebrows raised. “Didn’t think you would be. Get it.”

“... What?” Cuddles replied.

“We…” Handy exchanged glances with someone else in the vehicle. “We might have a situation.”

There was something in Handy’s tone that spread a pang of worry through the rabbit, the sense that whatever it was that had happened, it was important. So, without another question, Cuddles downed the rest of his drink, and got in the truck, strapping a seatbelt on.

“Good morning, Cuddles.” Mole greeted, causing the rabbit to jump.

“Mole? What’s happening?”

“Hopefully nothing.” Handy answered instead.

“Where are we going?” Cuddles asked, noting with dismay that Handy nor Mole bothered to wear seatbelts.

There was a beat of silence.

“North.” Mole replied.

Cuddles felt his heart stop in his chest, before it sunk into the pit of his stomach.

-/-|-\-

With a frown, Snoozy pressed a finger against the neck of the bus driver. The driver’s body hung limp, slumped over the steering wheel, their blue face a wet, ragged mess of blood. The windscreen was shattered, the glass cracked and broken into several hundred pieces. Snoozy wasn’t sure whether it was due to the driver’s face slamming against it, or the thick wooden branch of a tree impacting through it and burying its way through the driver’s seat, narrowly missing the driver.

What didn’t miss the driver was a thick, jagged shard of glass, jutting out of his chest.

Snoozy honestly thought the driver was going to be dead. And yet, the barest hint of a pulse throbbed against his finger.

The dormouse studied the scene, waving himself with his stetson. He didn’t know much about first aid, but removing the glass shard causing the stab wound wasn’t the best idea. No, they’d have to get the driver to a hospital, or something. The first aid kit wouldn’t be much help here.

“How’re we doing?” A voice spoke up from behind him. The prairie dog, March, had returned, a japanese badger in tow. The badger took a glance at the bus driver, and paled slightly.

“There’s a pulse.” Snoozy remarked. “It’s weak, but it’s there. Anatomy isn’t my strong suit, but it looks like the shard might not have hit any vital organs.” He didn’t tell them this was mostly guesswork.

“Great! So he’ll live?” March queried, shining the flashlight on the tree branch.

“Think so.”

The badger cleared his throat. “We should move him.” They spoke up, gesturing. “Move him onto an empty seat, that would be fine, right? Then we can try the radio.”

Snoozy clicked a tongue. “It’s an option, but… I’m not too confident in it, not without an expert opinion. No offense.”

“None taken. Biscuit’s the one with experience and even then I don’t think it’s enough to help with…” The badger gestured to the driver’s chest. “This.”

March tilted a head, before gasping. “Biscuit? Oh, I didn’t even ask your names, I’m sorry. I’m guessing Biscuit is your cat friend?”

“Yeah. I’m Sketch. You’re March, and you’re…?”

“Snoozy. I wish it was under better circumstances, but pleasure to meet you.” Snoozy shot a grin, before turning back to the driver, reaching a paw out to the nametag on their chest. “And our driver’s name is…”

The bus driver gasped awake with a jolt. Snoozy withdrew their hand, instead pressing it on the driver’s shoulder. “Sketch, get his other shoulder, hold him steady!”

Sketch blanched, yet surged forward, reaching over the seat to help hold the driver down as they coughed and writhed. “Relax, dude, relax!”

The bus driver did not relax. Even as recognition sparked in his eyes, he still struggled, panic and distress clear on his face. “How long was I out? How long?”

“It’s okay, you’re okay!” March soothed. “You’re alright, everyone is okay. We-”

“How long was I out?!?” The bus driver repeated in a panic, a palm shoving away Snoozy’s grasp.

“Five minutes, maybe six.” Snoozy replied. “But in case you didn’t notice, you’ve kinda been stabbed. Quit struggling, don’t make it worse.”

“I’m not okay.” The bus driver whined. “I shouldn’t be here. I can’t be here!”

Something in the bus driver’s words set off a quiet alarm in Snoozy’s head, and he shot a glance at March. She glanced back, squinting, potentially sensing the same hint of urgency in the driver’s voice. “What do you mean?”

“Does it matter what he means?” Sketch asked. “He’s clearly not in the right frame of mind, so le-”

With a groan, the bus driver shoved himself forward, out of everyone’s grasp. With the shard of glass jutting from below his ribcage, the driver heaved, leaning on the steering wheel, sweat dripping down his skin, before pushing Snoozy aside and staggering to the door.

“Hey hey, woah now, settle down!” March said, thrusting her paws onto the driver’s shoulders. “I know, you’re probably spooked right now. I think we all are. But you’re hurt. Let’s stick together, and whatever it is that has you all wound up, we-”

“Get off of me!” The bus driver roared, breaking March’s grip. He gripped the shard with a hand, and with an agonized cry, ripped it from his body. Blood oozed out of the wound, steadily dripping onto the floor, yet the driver barely even noticed as he brandished the shard at the others. “Get the hell away from me!”

Eyes wide, March stepped back, arms raised. Sketch stepped forward, only to pause when the bus driver switched attention to him. “You. You stay here. You ALL stay here.” The bus driver demanded with a haggard breath. “It’s not- It’s not safe out here.”

Snoozy squinted. “What do you mean… Not safe?”

The bus driver stepped back, pushing open the doors. A thin trail of blood followed him. “It’s not safe, it’s not safe, it’s not safe.” He repeated. “I- I’ll go, I’ll go get help. Help will come. They’ll find you.” His words sounded far from convincing, blatant lies if Snoozy had ever heard them.

“You don’t have to go. We can radio for help.” Sketch said, gesturing to the radio.

The bus driver shook his head. “The help from that radio, is not the help you want.” The bus driver remarked quietly, one foot out the door and on the wet grass. “I can’t stay here.” His other foot followed. “But someone will find you. They’ll come for you. Sit tight, don’t move, and whatever you do… Don’t leave this bus.”

“Why not?” Snoozy asked.

The bus driver risked a glance behind him, at the misty forest and trees, and shook his head. “I can’t stay here.” The pig said once more, backing up a few more steps, before turning and running away.

“Hey!” March shouted, leaping after him. But it was too late. The bus driver had already vanished into the fog. She stopped, already losing sight of the driver, and sank back into the bus with dismay. “Damnit.”

“And then, there were eight.” Snoozy remarked, looking around the bus at his fellow passengers.

“What the hell was that about?” Sketch questioned, head in his hands. “Do we go after him? We could follow the blood trail.”

March slowly sighed. “He’s armed and unsettled. If we go after him, we’d risk him attacking us.”

“Then what do we do?”

March turned, stepping back into the bus. “We’ll sit tight. Wait it out until morning. Get on the radio and try to contact someone, figure something out.” With that, she gently peeled the doors shut again.

Snoozy frowned, but nodded. “It’s our best choice. Get the others, we’ll talk things out and make sure we’re all on the same page.” He paused, clearing his throat. “We’ll make it through this. Alright? We’ll survive in one piece.”

Sketch simply nodded grimly, shuffling up the bus to the back, to Biscuit, Dottie, & Stan.

March shot Snoozy a glance, moving in the direction of Renet & Whisky.

And Snoozy remained at the front, absently observing his fellow passengers, strangers thrown together in a situation he doubted any were prepared for.

Snoozy the dormouse.
March the prairie dog.
Dottie the spotted rabbit.
Stan the deer.
Sketch the badger.
Biscuit the cat.
Renet the elk.
Whisky the hyena.

It wasn’t the merry band of adventurers he might’ve chosen, but in times like these, you tend to make do with what you have. He might’ve led similar groups in the past, but the passengers here were all civilians. Untrained. Unknown. Not his first choice.

But again. Make do with what you have. With a grunt, he clenched a fist, frowning as he felt something dig into it. Bringing his palm into the flickering lights, he gazed at the small, plastic name tag he had accidentally ripped off of the bus driver.

The thick bold lettering of the name ‘TRUFFLES’ stared back at him.

Chapter Text

Within the twisted carcass of the bus, Snoozy tapped a finger against the steering wheel. The orange dormouse let out a breath, glancing out the shattered glass windows. Already, the vague shape of the bus driver had vanished from view, disappearing within the mist that had enveloped the forest. His gaze flickered to the radio, built into the dashboard, then back into the depths of the mist. Wordlessly, he cradled the transmitter in a paw, and flicked a thumb against the switch embedded on its side.

He was expecting static.

He received silence.

“What’re you thinking about?” A voice spoke up from behind him. Snoozy barely restrained himself from jumping - His travels had given him better nerves than others, but this situation had him a bit on edge. Sudden crash, driver runs off spouting gibberish, and something about the trees, the forest, the entire atmosphere surrounding them felt… Foreboding. He couldn’t explain it, but there was the slightest siren of an alarm echoing inside his ear, that something here was terribly wrong.

Or it could be a concussion. He was just in a car crash, after all.

Instead, Snoozy cleared his throat, nodding in the direction of where the bus driver had fled. “Guy was about as spooked as an asylum patient who had been told to act normal.” He drawled with a frown, before turning to purple badger, Sketch. A cat stood beside them, and Snoozy racked his brains trying to remember what March said their name was. Some kind of snack? Cookie? Pretzel? Wafer?

Sketch followed his gaze. “Yeah, that was… Weird. Anyway, Biscuit wanted to take a look at you. She’s the closest thing we have to a medic, so, y’know, if you’re bleeding, or anything, she might be able to help.”

Snoozy waved a hand flippantly. “I’m fine. I was awake before the bus went offroad, so I was able to brace myself.”

Biscuit raised an eyebrow. “You were awake? It’s something like 2 or 3 in the morning, everyone else was asleep.”

Snoozy glowered, eyes narrowing, before shaking his head. “I don’t sleep well at night.”

“Does medicine help, or-”

“I don’t. Sleep well. At night.” Snoozy repeated, perhaps a bit more forcefully than intended.

Biscuit’s eyes stared unblinkingly into his own for what felt like a minute, but in reality it was only seconds, before she blinked, nodding. “Alright. Sorry.”

Snoozy sighed. “It’s fine. Forget it. Is everyone else okay?”

Biscuit shrugged. “Okay enough, considering. No-one died and no-one’s life is in danger. Everyone’s got a few bruises, some more than others, but I think we came off lucky here.”

“Good. Good to know.” Snoozy turned back to the radio, flicking the on/off button again. Still, nothing happened. He peered over the dashboard, frowning at the twisted antenna at the hood of the bus. “Ah.”

“What’s up?”

“Antenna needs to be fixed before we can radio for help.” Snoozy pointed out. “Can you two try to straighten it out?”

Sketch frowned, shooting a glance at Biscuit. “Will that work?”

“Worth a try. Otherwise we’ve just got dead equipment, and I’d rather try and contact someone sooner rather than later.” Snoozy shot another glance out the windows. He didn’t say that something out there unsettled him, neither did he want to.

“If it’ll help us get a signal…” Sketch replied, their voice unconfident. Snoozy’s ears flattened. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who was getting some ‘bad vibes’ from this area. Biscuit nodded, pushing open the door and skipping out onto the wet grass. Sketch hesitated, waiting to make sure Biscuit couldn’t hear them. “Didn’t the bus driver say not to use the radio?” They asked in a hushed whisper.

Snoozy shot a glance at the mirror. “The driver clearly wasn’t in the right frame of mind. I wouldn’t trust a word he was saying.”

Sketch stared, tight-lipped. “We shouldn’t have let him run off.” They said grimly, before turning and following Biscuit outside.

Snoozy only nodded. They were right. But the driver was a danger, not just to himself but to everyone else. Maybe they could’ve subdued him, maybe not. But the fact of the matter is he was brandishing a weapon, something that could easily kill someone else, and insisting on leaving. Better to play it safe than risk it.

-/-|-\-

Sketch stomped through dirt, the grass, and the debris of the bus crash, as he cornered to the front of the bus. The cold air swiped him, almost aggressively so, biting at his exposed fur, sending an almost painful shiver through his bones.

“Biscuit, c’mon! Let’s get this over with.” He shouted above the wind.

There was no answer.

“Biscuit?” He turned, squinting in the night.

Biscuit the cat - the kind, earnest cat - stood still, frozen on the spot where she had disembarked from the bus. The wind didn’t sway her, nor did the cold droplets of rain have any visible effect. She was like a statue, frozen in time. Her eyes stared into the distance, pupils tiny, barely viewable pinpricks against the white.

Then as quick as he noticed it, she blinked, and it was over. And the effects of the weather hit her at once, staggering her. She slipped on the grass, onto her hands and knees, eyes darting around the area. At the trees, at the sky, at the forest floor.

Was she looking for something?

Or was something looking for her, something she didn’t want finding them?

The thoughts did not occur to Sketch, as they grasped Biscuit by the arm, helping her back to her feet. “You alright? What was that?”

Biscuit blinked, a hitch in her breath, before she her head. “Nothing.”

Sketch frowned. It clearly was not nothing, but now wasn’t the time to press the issue. Instead, he jerked a head to the front of the bus. “Help me onto the hood and get this antenna working.”

Biscuit hesitated, but obeyed, pushing Sketch onto the hood of the bus. Wobbling unsteadily, the rain giving him no grip on the crumbled hood of the bus, Sketch threw a paw at the small, twisted metal, gripping the base of it in a paw as he slid close to the window. Inside, Snoozy watched him, offering an encouraging thumbs up.

The metal rod was bent, nearly snapped off just above the base, while the remainder of the antenna was twisted within itself. Yet, it seemed to be in one piece, which bode well. It just meant he had to straighten it, make it as vertical as possible.

“Sketch?” Biscuit spoke up from behind him, her words going unheard.

The rod felt malleable, frail, as he soothed it out, bending it back into shape bit by bit.

“Sketch-”

Sketch stretched, finally getting the antenna as high as possible, as straight as possible. It’s sheen shone in the night as a crack of thunder struck out, a bright light struck out-

“Sketch!” A paw suddenly grabbed Sketch by the back of his neck, pulling him away from the antenna as lightning struck with a flash.

On the ground, leaves scattering in the wind, Sketch huffed, eyes wide. A thick black scorch mark was burnt into the hood of the bus, where Sketch had been studiously working a mere second ago.

He glanced at Biscuit, mouth dry. But his feline companion was already motioning for them to get back on the bus, wordless.

-/-|-\-

Snoozy breathed a sigh of relief, as the shaken but unharmed duo of Biscuit & Sketch stepped back on the bus. When lightning struck Sketch had vanished, and Snoozy feared he had been reduced to dust, like some sort of comical yet violent cartoon. When he reappeared no worse for wear, he felt his heart start to work again.

Just like the radio.

Feedback screeched into life as lighting struck the antenna, and Snoozy scrambled for the receiver. “We’re working! Not sure how long, but we’ve got something.” He remarked. “Nicely done, you two. Go sit down for a bit.”

Biscuit & Sketch merely nodded grimly, and Snoozy couldn’t blame them. It’s one thing to survive a car accident, but to very nearly get struck by lightning only minutes later would be a shock to anyone’s system. They were besieged by a worried March, who gave them both an ocular and physical patdown, wiping a few smudge marks from Sketch’s face.

Snoozy, meanwhile, thumbed the receiver, his free hand gripping the dials as he flicked through static. “Hello?” He spoke into the receiver, squinting. “Is anyone there?”

Nothing but static greeted him.

“Sketch is okay.” March said, approaching and leaning beside him, twirling her shako hat in her paws. “A bit shaken up, but they’re okay. If Biscuit didn’t grab him…” She trailed off into nothing, a shadow of worry crossing her face, before she cleared her throat. “Radio’s working, though. Any luck?”

“None so far.” Snoozy repeated, flicking the dial. “Hello? Is anyone there? Do you read me?”

If anything, the static was louder. Snoozy frowned, slapping the dashboard in frustration. “I don’t get it. Where are we that we’re out of signal?”

“... That’s a good question.” March whispered, her voice growing soft and low as a harrowing thought reached her. “I don’t… Do you know where we are?”

Snoozy froze, the receiver nearly dropping from his grip. “What?”

March shot a glance behind herself, making sure none of the others could hear them. “I don’t recognize this area. I don’t know how long I was asleep for on the bus, I don’t know where in the country we’re supposed to be. And I don’t… I don’t think the others know either. The only people who were awake when the bus crashed were the bus driver… And you, apparently.”

Snoozy nodded slowly in affirmation. “That’s… That’s right. Yeah.”

“So… Before we crashed, did you know where we were? Did you recognize any roads or landmarks or… Anything?”

Snoozy sat silent, mentally reliving the past hour in an attempt to entice a location from his memory, anything that might give their would-be rescuers something to zero in on. He had watched the scenery pass with barely a passing thought, zoned out more than anything. Realization gripped him, as he placed the receiver back on the dashboard.

“No.” He softly whispered back. “I don’t know where we are either.”

March’s face fell, dejected. “How are we supposed to radio for help if we can’t tell anyone where we are?”

“What’s it matter if we can’t even get a signal?” Snoozy replied in frustration, switching to another frequency. “Hello, mayday mayday, do you copy? Does anyone copy? We are in need of assistance, please respond! This is an S.O.S to all who may be listening, do you copy?”

More static as an answer.

Snoozy grumbled, running a palm over his eyes.

March narrowed her eyes. “Why were you the only one awake?” There was a hint of suspicion in her voice, a suspect of something unsaid. “Everyone else seemed to go to sleep pretty easy on a moving bus… Except you.”

“I told you, I don’t sleep well at night.” Snoozy snapped. “What, exactly, are you trying to imply here?” They hissed, clenching the receiver in their palm.

March bit her tongue, and closed her eyes. “Nevermind.”

Snoozy opened his mouth to speak, a flush of irritation flowing through him, when-

“G’morning.”

Snoozy & March whipped around, each quietly hoping their heated whispered conversation wasn’t overheard by the passengers, as Stan stood before them. A placid, calm smile fitted the purple deer’s expression, as he leaned against the driver’s seat, stretching. “What’re you talking about?”

March & Snoozy exchanged glances. “Just the radio.” Snoozy said. March slowly nodded in agreement. “We’re trying to get it working, radio for help.”

Stan made a humming sound in response. “Cool, cool. Could get some tunes going too, raise the vibes of this place.”

March opened her mouth to speak, to explain how it wasn’t that kind of radio, when suddenly, another voice interrupted the conversation. A voice none of them recognized.

A voice coming from the radio.

“I copy.”

Snoozy & March stared at the radio, stunned, frozen, before once again meeting each other’s eyes. Both reached for the receiver at the same time, then drew back.

“I’ll handle it.”

“It’s my call, I’ll handle it.”

“No-”

“‘S alright, I got it.” Stan interrupted, picking up the receiver before either could stop him. “Ahoy-hoy. Thanks for picking up, our bus crashed and we’re in a bit of a pickle here, as you might’ve heard.”

“How many… of you… are there?” The voice on the radio was breathless, ragged, as if on the brink of collapse. And yet, there was no hint of sleep, of tiredness, of exhaustion. It was simply… Breathless.

“Hang on, lemme check.” Stan turned, doing a brief headcount, as March gestured for him to hand the receiver over. “Six, seven, eight. Eight of us. There was nine but the driver left. I think he went to get help.”

“How m-m-mmmmany…” The voice on the radio stretched and stuttered the word, before falling into a barely decipherable whisper. “Casualties?”

“Nah, no casualties. A few of us are a bit banged up, Dottie hit their head pretty hard, but I think we’ll make it.”

Snoozy glanced at the back of the bus. Dottie, once again, looked furious as they overheard Stan dropping their name.

“What is-” There was a sudden slam, a bang, a smack over the radio, and a long silence.

March glanced at Snoozy in concern. The shadow of a frown passed Stan’s face. “You alright, dude? Still there?”

Breathing echoed over the radio, before the voice returned. “What is your location?”

“We’re… in a forest.” Stan stated. “The bus went offroad during the crash, and I guess we landed in a forest somewhere. Dunno exactly where, I think we all were asleep.”

“What. Is your. Location.” The voice repeated forcefully, a scratching noise resonating in the background. Stan looked at March, shrugging, before Snoozy swiped the receiver from his grasp.

“We went over a bridge just before the crash. Long one with a big drop. That’s as far as we know. Is there some way you can triangulate our position? Anything?”

Empty static answered him.

Snoozy clenched a fist in frustration. “Hello? Are you still there? Can you help us?”

A long, painful silence answered them. The trio collectively held a breath. Even Stan. March held her breath, silently urging for a response ,any kind of response. People were depending on her. People needed her. And she needed an answer.

Finally, the voice replied. “I’m on my way.” Gone was the ragged exhaustion, replaced by a calm, collected, empty tone. Lifeless, somehow.

Snoozy exhaled in relief. Help was on the way, they just had to wait it out. “Thank you. How will you get to us? Should we look out for you or a signal?”

There was no answer.

Only static.

March gestured for the receiver, and after a pause, Snoozy handed it over. March flicked the receiver in her paw, hesitating, before speaking.

“Who is this?”

Nothing.

The radio fell silent. No voice, no static, nothing.

-/-|-\-

Whisky groaned in disappointment, running a paw through his platinum hair. “It’s not here. We’ve looked just about everywhere in the bus and it’s not here.”

Beside him, Renet frowned, casting another glance across the bus. While a lot of luggage had been thrown just about everywhere during the crash, their attempt to find Whisky’s briefcase in particular was fruitless. She fidgeted, twirling a finger around one the strap of her camera. “Sorry.”

Whisky sighed. “Nah. Not your fault, no need to apologize. I appreciate you helping out anyway, Renet. Thanks for trying.”

The two fell silent, as Stan casually ambled past, on their way back to Dottie. The sound of Dottie angrily giving Stan an earful echoed through the bus, before growing quieter into a hissed whisper as Dottie resumed their seat beside them.

“What’s so important about this briefcase of yours, anyway?” Renet questioned, tilting a head. “I mean, what’s inside that’ll have your boss so angry if you lose it?”

The hyena in the ragged suit shifted uncomfortably, trying and failing to appear casual in the face of the inquiry. He scratched a claw against one of his fangs, his eyes finding the flickering lights to be extremely interesting right now. “It’s- Well, see- It’s kinda… Complicated.”

Renet bit her tongue, but let the question go. There was a specific tone in Whisky’s voice, a vibe in the air that although familiar, wasn’t innately obvious. So, playing it safe, she relented, and followed Whisky’s gaze to the flickering lights. “Wonder how long those lights will last.” She noted with a squint.

Whisky blinked. “Hm?”

“Those lights. They’re running on ancillary-” Renet paused, clearing her throat. “Auxiliary power right now, but with the crash I don’t know how long they’ll last until they spark out. Then we’ll be sitting in the dark.”

The lights chose that particular moment to flicker ominously, under Whisky’s contemplative gaze. “I think you’re right, Renet. Aren’t buses supposed to have, like, emergency flashlights and fire blankets and whatnot, somewhere on them? Maybe we should find them while we have light.”

“We can’t find your briefcase, what makes you think we’ll find flashlights too?” Renet idly stated, muffling a grin. Whisky blinked, then softly barked a chortle of laughter.

“Ha! Well, if we can’t find them, then they don’t exist. Deal?”

“Deal.” Renet nodded, getting to her feet. “I think they should be in the undercarriage part, with the heavy luggage, right? Let’s check it out!” Taking care not to step on any glass or debris, Renet bounded to the front of the bus. Whisky hesitated for a brief moment, before following. In truth, they probably didn’t need flashlights - he didn’t know how much auxiliary power a bus had, but surely it was enough to last until sunrise - but being on their feet and doing something proactive felt… Right. It meant they were making some kind of progress, doing something other than sitting back and letting panic set in.

Similarly, in truth, Whisky wasn’t sure if these short tasks were for his own benefit or Renet’s.

It could be both.

At the front of the bus, March halted Renet with a hand. “Woah, hold on, Renet. Where are you going?” Placing the now dead radio receiver on the dashboard, she fixed Renet with a stare. Beside her, Snoozy stared out of the bus windows, into the surrounding darkness.

“Oh, I- I was thinking that… Well, buses usually have insurgency - I mean, emergency supplies somewhere, so…” Renet quietly trailed off, losing confidence and fidgeting, as Whisky caught up with them.

“Flashlights.” Whisky clarified, massaging a paw against his knee. “And blankets. Emergency supplies, in case the auxiliary power runs dry. If we have to stay here overnight, we might need those supplies.”

“Hopefully it won’t be that long.” March reassured them with a smile. “We made contact with someone before the radio died. Help is coming.”

“They’re right, though.” Snoozy interrupted. “The way the lights are flickering, I think they’ll lose power within the next hour. We should prepare ourselves for that, flashlights for the dark and blankets for the cold, while we wait for… Whoever is coming.”

“We think they’d be in the undercarriage compartment,” Whisky continued. “So me & Renet figured, let’s check and see what we can scrounge, why not. It’s worth a look, right?”

March fixed the two with a stare. Renet forced herself to meet her gaze, while Whisky peered around her at the inky blackness surrounding them. With a sigh, March relented, stepping aside. “Alright. But make it quick, check the undercarriage and come right back in. Alright? No exploring.”

Renet nodded in determination, stepping past March and pushing open the doors. Cold air greeted her, as she stepped onto the wet leaves. Whisky followed, and despite only being footsteps outside, their shapes rapidly vanished in the darkness. If it wasn’t for the soft crunching of footsteps on the grass and leaves, March would’ve thought they had simply been erased from reality.

Which, all things considered, didn’t seem completely impossible.

“It’s so… Dark.” Renet whispered, tiptoeing her way to the undercarriage hold. “I know there’s no moon out tonight, but even still…”

“I know, right?” Whisky agreed. “I’ve had a lot of late nights, but even then I’ve never seen a night with such an absence of light.” Flicking open the hatch of the undercarriage, the two thrust it’s cover open, peering inside. “I can’t see anything in here, it’s too dark.” Whisky complained. “I guess we could-”

Suddenly, a bright flash illuminated the scene, for the barest hint of a second. Whisky jumped, banging his head on the cover of the undercarriage, and swore. He scratched a claw into the metal frame of the bus, turning. “What on earth was-”

Renet held up her camera. “It has flash photography.” She explained, beaming.

“... Thank you for the heads up.”

“I think I saw some flashlights in the back corner over there when I took a picture.” Renet gestured. “Maybe some blankets too.”

Leaning into the undercarriage, Whisky grasped around in the dark, before his paw brushed against a thin, cylindrical object. With a triumphant flourish, he switched the flashlight on, illuminating their surroundings. He let out a bark of victorious laughter, spying two more flashlights along with a heap of blankets. “Finally, something goes right today.” He cheered, rolling the flashlights to Renet and grabbing as many blankets as possible.

Renet switched her own flashlight on, happy to have some light, and aimed it around the area. It wasn’t the strongest of lights, but it was better than nothing. Scattered debris of the bus was strewn across the ground, broken glass and twisted metal, and even an uprooted seat. Trees extended as far as the light would illuminate, and if it wasn’t for the trail of debris, she would have no idea which direction the original road they had been traveling on was in.

Idly, she turned the flashlight up, pointing it at the tops of the trees. A flicker of something caught her attention, and she frowned.

“I know March said don’t wander off or something like that,” Whisky rambled, as he climbed out of the undercarriage, a bundle of blankets tucked under one arm and a flashlight in his free hand. “But I don’t think she would notice if I had a quick look around, right? See if I can spot my briefcase?”

Renet remained silent.

“Renet?” Whisky glanced at the elk, noting her being transfixed on the treetops. “What’re you staring at?”

It took another few seconds, before Renet finally answered, her voice hushed. “The light.”

Whisky coughed, glancing at the flashlight’s path. “Yeah?”

“Look at it. As it passes the trees up there. Don’t you see it?”

Whisky squinted, frowning, then shook his head. “I don’t-”

He stopped. Blinked twice, leaned in, as if it would clear the picture somehow. “Renet… What am I looking at?”

“The light.” Renet swallowed with a dry throat, and tried to keep the tremor out of her voice. “Once it passes the treetops… It bends.”

Whisky’s mind tried, and failed, to properly assess what he was seeing.

But Renet was right. The illuminated path of the flashlights traveled up, following the height of the closest tree. Then, as the path of light passed the canopy of the forest, it seemed to… Whisky didn’t know if there was a proper word for it. His mind kept coming back to ‘glitch’, so that’s what he went with.

As it cleared the forest, an inch of the light seemed to just… Stop, before continuing another inch later, at a slightly askew angle. Like for a fraction of the path, the light simply stopped existing, then resumed existing at a jilted angle. It was barely enough to notice… But Renet noticed it, all the same.

“Light doesn’t… Normally do this. Right?” She spoke, her voice a barely decipherable whisper.

Whisky didn’t answer, as he trailed his flashlight back down to the ground. He swept the light around the area, running a hand over his facial hair. The darkness within the forest seemed looming, ominous, as he coughed. “Let’s head back on into the bus and… Wait for morning.” His voice was shaken, unsettled.

“Good idea. C’mon.” Renet quietly agreed, tiptoeing back to the door and pulling it open. She stepped inside, handing the spare flashlight to March.

Whisky began to follow, but hesitated, turning back to the clearing.

He could’ve sworn he heard something in the distance, a whisper in the wind, a footstep on the grass that wasn’t his. “Y’know, I think… I think I’ll pass on searching for my briefcase for now.” He spoke aloud, more to himself than anyone else. He let out a nervous bark of laughter, turning, an-

His voice died in his throat.

The bus was gone.

The clearing was empty, naught but trees glaring down upon him. There was no trace of the bus, the crash, or anything. Wind bristled, blowing leaves across the area.

Whisky felt his heart thump, his lungs work into overdrive, and a bead of sweat drip from his brow. His throat felt painfully dry, as he opened his mouth yet no words came out. He knelt down, paws over his mouth, and tried very hard to stifle his frantic breathing, soothe his twitching legs, and ignore the voice in his head that kept repeating the same words the wind whispered to him.

Those whispers in the wind grew louder, to the point where they almost felt familiar, when-

“Whisky?”

He jolted, turning with a start.

Renet stood at the doorway to the bus, concerned. “The rain’s getting worse, come in.” She said, gesturing.

“I-” Whisky stuttered. He coughed, cleared his throat, ran a paw through his hair slicked with sweat - when did it get like that? - and swallowed. “Y-yeah, sorry, I… must’ve gotten lost in thought. ‘Scuze me…”

Renet didn’t say anything else, as Whisky bundled into the bus, passing the blankets to March, before quickly and quietly retreating to his seat. He exhaled, rubbing his eyes with a hand. Renet slid into the seat across from him, quietly nodding in agreement.

-/-|-\-

Within a small bunker, on the northern point of Happy Tree Town, a figure stood, staring, at the radio in front of him, blaring static. White noise exploded from the radio, deafening and disorienting.

“Hello, mayday mayday, do you copy?” The radio screeched, the words barely audible over the static.

The figure twitched. His silver dog tags jangled around his army jacket. He shivered, gripping the bedpost of his bed, claws digging deep into the wood. His breathing grew hushed, frantic, as he staggered to the radio.

The radio.

The static.

The voices, crying out for help.

It was familiar. Too familiar.

“Does anyone copy?” The voice on the radio repeated.

Flippy shuddered, reaching for the radio.

There was another voice in his ear, one that was almost exactly like his own. It hissed, sending it’s claws into his shoulder painfully. “Enemy…” It whispered to him, sending a shiver down his spine.

There was another voice in his opposite ear. Two, in fact. “Non!” Mumbled the first, accented with a French background. “Mon ami, zhey are not ze enemy! Don’t listen to zhis man!”

“Civilians.” Another voice spoke up, a hint of a lisp in their voice. “Civilians in distress, t-”

“We are in need of assistance, please respond! This is an S.O.S to all who may be listening, do you copy?””

Flippy felt his eyes shrink, as he held the receiver in the palm of his paw. He raised it, then lowered it once more. “How? Why?” He spoke aloud, wincing.

“The HOW and the WHY does not matter.” The voice to his left barked. “We have stumbled upon the radio channel of the enemy. Of those planning harm upon us. Upon our friends. Upon… You.”

“Non! Zhis is incorrect, Monsieur Flippy!” One of the voices to his right implored. “Zhey need help!”

“They’re innocent.” The second voice to his right agreed. “They’re innocent who lost their way. They don’t belong here-”

“If they found their way here, then they belong here.” The voice on Flippy’s left snapped insistently. “There’s no such thing as an innocent in a warzone-”

“Merde! Zhis is not a warzone!”

Without thinking, Flippy, brought the receiver to his face. “I copy.”

Silence fell between him and the voices within him.

“Maybe it’s a fluke.” One of the voices on his right mumbled.

“Quiet.” The dominant voice on his left snapped.

Soon, a voice returned to the radio, laid back and relaxed - certainly not the one who was calling before. “Ahoy-hoy. Thanks for picking up, our bus crashed and we’re in a bit of a pickle here, as you might’ve heard.”

The voice on his left slapped his shoulder. “See? The change in operators - It’s an enemy trap. It’s bait, to lure people like you in, pretending they’re a hurt civvie. You know this. You’ve lived this.”

“Zhat means nothing!”

Trying to ignore the voices, Flippy responded. “How many… of you… are there?” He was shaking, twitching, as he felt his own being seem to fade, being replaced by… The other one.

“Flippy, mon ami, please listen to us! Zhese people, zhey need help!”

“They mean harm!” He heard himself reply, forcing his other self back out with a grunt.

“Hang on, lemme check… Six, seven, eight. Eight of us. There was nine but the driver left. I think he went to get help.”

“Has anyone died?” The other voice to his right prodded. “If someone has fallen to this town, then we should know. We should prepare.”

Flippy nodded in agreement, even though there was no-one else in the room. “How m-m-mmmmany…” He trailed off, cranking his neck, as the other him forced itself back into control. “Casualties?” He whispered, hoarse.

“Nah, no casualties. A few of us are a bit banged up, Dottie hit their head pretty hard, but I think we’ll make it.”

“What is-” Flippy, or rather, the one currently in charge of Flippy, felt something strike him, as Flippy kicked him back. He slapped a hand against the desk, sweat dripping down his back.

“You alright, dude? Still there?”

Flippy gulped. “What is your location?”

“We’re… in a forest… The bus went offroad during the crash, and I guess we landed in a forest somewhere. Dunno exactly where, I think we all were asleep.”

Flippy opened his mouth to respond, when the voice to his left struck, digging it’s claws into his chest, and ripping control back. “What. Is your. Location.” They demanded pointedly, teeth growing into daggers.

“Tu es un monstre! Leave Flippy be!”

“We went over a bridge just before the crash. Long one with a big drop. That’s as far as we know. Is there some way you can triangulate our position? Anything?”

His hand shook, the receiver nearly cracking within his grasp.

“Hello? Are you still there? Can you help us?”

“Please, I am begging you,” The voice to their right pleaded, begging. “Retreat, stay back. Zhis is not a fight for you. Zhis is not a fight for Flippy. Zhis is a rescue mission! Surely you realize that?”

Flippy - or, rather, the being piloting Flippy - stared at the space where he imagined Sneaky & Mouse Ka-Boom would’ve stood. “You know as well as I do, as soon as Flippy heard that static, I was coming out.”

With that, Flipqy brought the receiver to his shark-like mouth, yellowed irises squinting out the window, to the north.

“I’m on my way.”

Chapter Text

Inside the bus, the lights flickered more. At first, the glimpses of darkness were spare, sparse. Now, it took longer, seconds or more, for the lights to resume illuminating the interior of the bus. With every temporary plunge into darkness, the wait for the lights to return grew incrementally, and Dottie felt their stomach churn.

It wasn’t that they were afraid of the dark. Far from it, really. In certain times, they felt a sense of… Contentment, in the night. But the current situation, the strangers, the accident, the entire weirdo area, it reminded him of a certain place. One they tried to forget, to move on from, but the shadows in the dark…

It wasn’t the dark that made Dottie uneasy.

It was what could lie within the dark, awaiting unseen, that made Dottie uneasy.

Beside them, Stan quietly whistled a tuneless number, a melody that they seemed to be making up as they went along. Their placid expression didn’t change as Dottie discreetly nudged them silent with a knee. As the remainder of the group seemed to congregate near the front of the bus, huddled together, Dottie remained on their seat at the very back, detached from the others, too wrought with suspicion to join in.

"Stan," Dottie hissed with a whisper. "I don't like this."

"Yeah, but you're you, Dottie.” Stan replied with a shrug. “You don't like anything."

"That’s not true! I like plenty of things."

"Alright, name thirty seven."

Dottie huffed. "Number one, me. I like me. Number two, my bat. I like my bat. Number three-"

"Am I number three?" Stan interrupted, batting their eyes.

"Stan, you're not even in the top ten."

"Aw, c'mon, Dottie, you don't have to lie to me."

"Number three, ice cream sandwiches. Number four-" Dottie halted, stuttering, before shaking their head. "What am I doing?"

"You were telling me what you liked. I was number four, maybe."

"Shut up, Stan! Blazes, you talk too much. Look, this is too… suspicious for my tastes. Don't know about you, but the entire day is giving me red flags. I don't even know what happened with the plane, but now we end up here, stranded in the middle of nowhere, with none of us getting hurt or dying, a weirdo voice on the radio says he's coming to help and refuses to say who it is? And everyone who steps outside comes back looking shell-shocked? This reeks of a trap, or a setup, or, or, or something, Stan."

Stan took in their partner’s monologue with barely a tilt of the head. "You think they caught on to us? Surely they would've just nabbed us at customs instead of letting us on board."

"Exactly!” Dottie exhaled, grabbing the hem of Stan’s shirt for emphasis. “It doesn't make sense. Why all the theater? Why the risk of collateral casualties? No, you ask me, someone's making a point, and we're the full stop. My question is…” Letting go of Stan’s shirt, Dottie turned, gazing at the other passengers. “Where do they fit into the equation?"

“Ehhh… I don’t know, Dottie. I think you’re being paranoid.”

As if on cue, one of the passengers broke from the pack, approaching the duo at the back. The dormouse, the one who had taken charge - or one of the two, come to think of it. Dottie fell silent as he approached, eyeing him down with suspicion, and didn’t try hard at all to remember what his name was.

The dormouse cleared his throat, "Hey. Dottie and Stan, right? You're welcome to join us, y'know.” Snoozy paused. “We’ve got snacks.”

Stan’s eyes grew wide, as they immediately rose to their feet. “Oooh, snacks!”

Dottie felt a pang of envy at how… Easy it was, for Stan to be so trusting.

Snoozy shrugged. “Nothing special. March packed a big lunch for… Wherever she was going, and I don’t think anyone’s eaten for a while. Grab a quick bite, sit down with us.” He stared pointedly at Dottie.

Dottie crossed their arms, and stared right back.

The dormouse sighed. “Look, we’re all strangers. Some of us aren’t good with strangers. I get it. But we’re all in this together. We should stick together, look out for each other, at least until help arrives.”

Dottie grumbled, and began some sort of retort, only to be interrupted by Stan grabbing them by the wrist and pulling them to their feet. “C’mon, Dottie, you can be paranoid later. I haven't eaten since before the flight, and neither have you.”

“Damnit, Stan-”

“Eat first. Damning later.”

Dottie could’ve sworn he saw a shadow of a smirk on Snoozy’s features.

-=-=-=-

There was a point on the road to the North where the asphalt became cracked, decayed, rattled with time and misuse. There was a certain point, just past the outskirts of the town and before the road got swallowed by a hungry treeline, that the road clearly stopped being cared for. It was a symbol, a sign, a wavering point, that no matter how much they tried to care for the town, each other, and themselves, that one day the trap would spring.

The truck rumbled past Flippy’s bunker-like home, shaking over the uneven terrain. Cuddles bounced on the seat, staring out the windows, as they passed. “Huh. Flippy left his door open.”

“If he wants his place robbed - again - by the raccoons, then he can be my guest. Not my problem.” Handy grumbled. “Damn potholes. You sure it was North, and not literally any other direction, Mole?”

Mole sat, unmoving, in his seat, tapping his cane across his thigh. “Sure enough.”

“And you’re sure it’s… An incident again?” Cuddles questioned.

“Sure enough.” Mole repeated, once again. “You seem unsettled, Cuddles.”

“Well- I mean, if you’re right about what’s happening, then yeah, I guess I am. I don’t… I don’t want anyone else to be trapped like us. Y’know?”

“Mmm.” Mole exhaled. “So what’s the plan, Cuddles?”

“I-What? What do you mean?”

From the driver's seat, Handy scoffed. “We didn’t pick you up because of your skateboard tricks.”

“Although, I am told you can perform a notably impressive kickflip.” Mole offered.

Cuddles did not correct them in the fact that the last kickflip he did ended with Toothy's head spread across the pavement like butter on bread.

“You’re the people person, Cuddles." Handy explained with an exhale. "You’re the social face of this place. People listen to you, for some reason. If Mole is right, and we have a potential visitor, then you'll need to keep them calm, keep them at ease, and get them away from the town as soon as possible. The longer they stay here, the more they’re likely to get… Caught up in this mess."

Cuddles nodded slowly, leaning on his knees. "And what if we… What if I can't get them to leave safely?"

Handy glanced at the yellow rabbit in the rearview mirror. Then back at the road. He was quiet for a long, long while, before finally speaking up.

"We'll figure it out."

=-=-=-

“Whisky? You alright?” Renet gently asked, as she sat down on an empty seat. Beside them, Whisky shivered, hands twitching as he brushed them through his hair. He glanced her way, forcing a grin on his expression, one that seemed more pained than carefree.

“What? Yeah, no, I’m fine, I’m fabulous, don’t worry about me.” Whisky replied, a nervous chuckle escaping from his throat. “Guess the dark spooked me a little. I just- I think I need- No, no, I’m alright. Just a bit on edge. Y’know?”

Renet slowly nodded. She raised a hand, then faltered, withdrawing. They knew enough to know that Whisky might not have been as fabulous as he said, but in that same vein, exactly what she should say in this situation escaped her. She bit a nail, before gently patting him on the shoulder in what she hoped was reassuring. Whisky exhaled a shaky breath, before smiling again, this one less forced and more natural. He was still shaking, but any improvement is an improvement.

“What about you two?” Renet turned her attention to the two sitting across from them. “Both of you look kinda… Out of it.”

Across the aisle from her, Biscuit & Sketch sat, with wide eyes and silent lungs. Sketch shot a concerned glance at Biscuit, knuckles whitening across the fabric of the bus seat, and not-so-gently elbowed her. With her head in her hands, Biscuit blinked, exhaling, massaging a headache. She locked eyes with Sketch, a silent conversation occurring between the two, words going unsaid, before Sketch cleared his throat.

“We’re okay. Just a bit frazzled, is all.” She said, with a rather unsteady tone of voice. “Just… A bit frazzled. That’s it.”

Biscuit smiled uneasily, in a way that possibly should’ve been reassuring, before putting her head back in her hands and groaning softly. Sketch coughed into a fist, before turning his attention back to Renet. “What about you?”

“I think… Yeah. I think I’m okay.” Renet nodded. “I’ll be better when I’m out of here.”

Sketch grunted in agreement. “I hear that.”

The foursome all nodded, sharing in the equal longing to be anywhere else. The weather outside grew colder, raining heavily now, as March approached them, clapping her hands. “Right! Who’s hungry?” She asked, kneeling down to open her suitcase.

The other exchanged glances. Sketch felt his stomach rumble in affirmation. “I mean. Maybe a little?”

“I haven't had anything since… Since before the bus, come to think of it.” Biscuit noted, suddenly aware of the empty pit of her stomach. “I was expecting a quick drive, not… This.”

"They're nothing special," March admitted sheepishly, passing around a plate of sandwiches. "Just something I brought along for the trip. I was going to share them with the… Well, it doesn't matter now. What matters now is us, getting through the night. I know it's only a little, but…"

"But it's something." Biscuit continued with a smile. Beside her, Sketch nodded. "Thank you, March."

"Something is better than nothing, and a little can mean a lot." Renet chimed in, daintily picking up a sandwich and inspecting it. “My dad used to say that.”

“Your dad sounds like a smart fella.” March noted. Renet beamed in response, before taking a bite of the sandwich. Nearby, Dottie & Stan sat down, one more hesitatingly than the other. Snoozy followed, accepting an offered sandwich. Whisky stared at his sandwich for several long seconds, before catching Snoozy giving him a gaze, and tentatively munching away.

Minutes passed in relative silence, broken only by the sound of soft munching, as the eightsome quietly took bites of the platter. March passed a bottle of water around, ensuring that everyone had at least a few mouthfuls, before clearing her throat. “Alright, squad!” She rallied, much to the rather surprised expressions of her peers. “So, help is on the way, but in the meantime, I was thinking - We’re all in this together, why not get to know each other a bit?”

Dottie started choking on their sandwich, spluttering impotently, as Stan slapped them on the back. Dottie coughed. “What are you on about?!?” They demanded, once stabilizing themselves.

“We’ll go around and tell the group about ourselves a bit.” March explained, her curls bobbing with her head. “Get some connections going, make each other feel a bit more relaxed, y’know? Like the first day of school all over again.”

Whisky groaned, wiping a paw on his waistcoat. “Please don’t make me relive school.”

“But what’s the point?” Dottie asked, raising an eyebrow. “After we get picked up, we’re all going our own separate ways, and I’ll hopefully never see any of you again and be reminded of this s-”

“Aw, don’t be such a curmudgeon, Dottie.” Stan rebuked, shoving his palm over Dottie’s mouth. “There’s no harm in a bit of social networking.”

“Get your hand away from my mouth. You know I bite.”

Stan casually dropped his hand. “March isn’t saying to unload your life story, just a few tidbits. Who knows, maybe you have something in common with someone else here, aside from having terrible luck when it comes to public transportation.”

Dottie made a noise that was halfway between a pained groan and a resigned grunt, which March took as a good sign. She clapped her hands twice more. “No-one has to say anything they’re not comfortable with. Something as simple as where you were going before the crash would be more than enough. I’ll start - I’m March! Hi.” She waved.

Renet waved back.

“I’m something of a Rhythm Coordination Major.” March continued, twirling her shako hat on a finger. “Which is a fancy-pantsy way of giving myself a title that sounds more official than Band Leader. Always been pretty good with timing & music, leading a class through a routine during the yearly Big Game. I got asked to come to some highschool on the other side of the state, give a talk about teamwork and coordination, give some pointers and help coach some of the students into having more confidence with their footwork. Hopefully they’ve got a backup option, I’m not sure I’ll be there in time after this little setback.”

“Wait, you’re the person in the fancy jacket and pointy stick who comes out during halftime and does this big routine?” Biscuit asked, leaning forward in her seat.

March nodded. “We also do parade appearances too, but I like working with students better.”

“I’ve always looked forward to those shows more than the actual sporting game.”

“Ha! I wish more people looked at it the same way.” March giggled. “But yeah, that’s my story - would anyone like to share?” She waved her baton in a paw, the veritable ‘talking stick’ of the group. The others exchanged glances, before Snoozy cleared his throat.

“I’ll go. I’m Snoozy.” He quietly accepted March’s ‘talking stick,’ quizzically inspecting it in a paw. “I’m an archaeologist. Well, former archaeologist, if we’re being honest. I’ve been out of the game for a while. Nowadays I’m a guest speaker for college lectures and occasional writer.”

“Archaeologist?” Renet queried, raising an eyebrow. “Like, Indiana Jones, someone who unearths ancient bones and trinkets from a lost civilization that threatens to bring about a curse upon the world if they fall into the wrong hands?”

Snoozy chuckled good-naturedly. “Not always. Sometimes a discovery is just a small cup or utensil. That’s more of a Hollywood thing - Rarely, if ever, would anyone find something that would cause a bunch of people in suits to lock the place down.”

Whisky coughed.

“What’s the biggest thing you’ve found?” Renet inquired, rapt with attention. “Or the most important, or life-changing?”

Snoozy scratched the back of his neck. “Those are all… Different answers. Biggest, probably a ribcage from a Brontosaurus. Most important, some preserved documents from the Mayan Civilization, estimated to be within the century before they all disappeared. Never could make head or tails of it, our philologists and linguists translated it as best they could and it still came out as gibberish. A birth without a death, a failed ouroboros. I don’t know. As for most life-changing…” Snoozy fell silent. “I’ll have to get back to you on that one.”

He held up March’s talking stick. “Who’s next?”

After a beat, Renet reached out, gently grasping the talking stick. “I don’t think I can measure up to that, but I’ll try. Hi, I’m Renet. R-E-N-E-T. I’m kinda… Wandering, right now. Y’know? I graduated, finished my studies, and I guess now I’m… Looking for my place in the world. So I decided to get on the first bus available and see where it took me. If I knew what this bus would have up its sleeve, I might’ve waited for the second one.”

“Unlucky.” Biscuit soothed. “What were you hoping to find out in the world?”

Renet hummed. “A variety of scenery, mostly. Like, yeah. I love my folks, love my town, but if you limit yourself to one space then every painting is going to look the same, y’know? Every photo is the same filter. I went through the whole summer feeling creatively burnt out, because I was so bored with my old town that there wasn’t anything new to photo, or paint, or anything. So I just… Cleared it with my folks, took the jump, and here I am.”

“I hope you find what you’re looking for, Renet.” Whisky noted, not unkindly.

“Thank you.”

“So you’re an artist too, huh?” Sketch queried, looking relaxed for the first time. “I know what you mean. You can have all the tools in the world but if the scenery never changes, then the inspiration fades.”

Renet nodded in agreement. “Agreed. But that’s me, in a paragraph or two. Who’s next?”

With a sigh, Whisky held out a paw. “I’m not good at this, but I’ll try.” Whisky exhaled, before accepting the talking stick. “Whisky. I’m not terribly exciting, I’m just an office clerk, really. Data archivist, or something. No-one important.”

“Don’t say that, Whisky.” March prodded, frowning. “Everyone is important in some way.”

“She’s right.” Renet agreed. “I mean, that briefcase of yours sounds super important, so surely your boss must think you’re someone important if they want you to hold on to it.”

“It’s a nice thought, but I suspect I just drew the short straw in that one.” Whisky shrugged. “We suffered a security breach that compromised our emails, and we needed these classified documents sent to our sister office across the country. Might as well hand it to the intern and have him take several buses over several states, right? Not like I had to cancel plans on short notice just for this, not like we could’ve waited for the system to be secured.” He held the talking stick out with an irritated sigh. “Any takers?”

“No, thank you.” Dottie insisted, crossing their arms. “Me and Stan aren’t interested in-”

“Sure, we’ll give it a try.” Stan interrupted, accepting the talking stick. “Me and Dottie were on the ru-”

“Stan!” Dottie hissed, pressing a palm over Stan’s mouth. “Ignore them, they’ve been watching too much TV. We were just… Traveling. Yeah. Just traveling, nothing else.”

Snoozy tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at the rather obvious non-answer. “Traveling… Where, exactly?”

“Oh, y’know, just… Around, lots of sights to see, y’know?” Dottie chuckled, a mirthless chuckle as he elbowed Stan again. "Right, Stan?"

"We were hoping for a stopover in Canada then figure out where to go next." Stan said, shrugging. Beside him, Dottie facepalmed.

"I don’t… think the bus was heading to Canada...” March quietly pointed out, exchanging glances with Snoozy.

“Why are we getting the third degree? I didn’t see you interrogating Renet for the same answer!” Dottie snapped, gesturing to a wide eyed Renet furiously.

“Hey now, don’t turn this on to Renet." Whisky quietly requested, stepping in front of Renet protectively. “Let’s all take a step back, alright? We all have our secrets, after all, so there’s no harm in keeping your cards close to your chest, for one reason or another. Right?” Whisky said, glancing around the group, before settling on Dottie’s averted gaze.

“... Right.” Dottie quietly responded.

Biscuit gently picked the talking stick out of Stan’s aloof grasp. "Whatever your story is, I hope you enjoy your… ‘travels.’” She remarked.

“Thank you.” Stan beamed, while Dottie grouched.

Biscuit cleared her throat, and nudged Sketch. “Well… Me & Sketch are - or were, I guess - traveling together. Got invited to a big ol’ art convention, right Sketch?”

Sketch rolled his eyes, huffing. “One of my paintings got nominated for some art show across the state. I didn’t catch the finer details, I’m used to this, but they let me have a plus one so I brought Biscuit along.” She explained, carelessly inspecting his nails.

“I’ve never been on a big road trip like this before!” Biscuit continued. “So I was just about over the moon when Sketch asked me to accompany them.”

“Who else was I going to take, the butler? Pass. That guy wouldn’t know a Dali from a Magritte.”

“I… probably wouldn’t either, Sketch.”

“That’s okay, Biscuit. You’re still my friend.”

“Hooray!” Biscuit cheered, clapping her hands. “Sketch, tell them about your painting! The one that got nominated!”

Sketch made a big deal out of not wanting to, but obviously relished the opportunity, as he gestured broadly with an imaginary paintbrush. “Well, it’s something of a minimalist piece mixed in with some surrealism, essentially an attempt to paint the world through the lens of a snowglobe - Shapes and lives are distorted and stretched in a way that feels uncanny, but still recognizable as a home. It’s something of a piece I’ve been working on privately for some time. Wasn’t expecting it to get nominated, especially since it’s technically not quite finished, but I-”

Sketch suddenly stopped his speech, eyes widening, before she leapt to his feet. “The painting. My painting! It’s in the undercarriage, I completely forgot to check on it since the crash!” With that, she sprinted past the others, pushing open the door to the outside, where a thunderous rainstorm had begun to fall.

“Sketch?” Biscuit called after him, getting to her feet.

“Idiot! Why didn’t I consider this sooner?!?” Sketch cried out, barely recognizing the heavy raindrops thundering from above as she stepped outside, so hyperfocused on his art, as she fumbled for a grip on the latch of the undercarriage.

“Sketch, it’s raining! Come back inside, you’ll catch a cold!” Biscuit shouted, her voice barely audible above the din. The darkness was so heavy she could barely make out the drenched figure out Sketch, hunched over the latch.

An agonized cry echoed out, sending shivers down everyone’s spine. Snoozy grabbed one of the flashlights, sprinting down the steps and outside, instantly soaked. He flicked the flashlight on, illuminating a distraught Sketch, hands shaking as he held the tattered remains of her painting. “It’s ruined!” She cried, first in sorrow, then in anger, as he threw the painting back in the undercarriage and banged a fist against the side of the bus. “I worked so hard on that, and it’s ruined!”

“Sketch-”

“Motherf-”

“Sketch!”

“WHAT?!?” Sketch hissed, reeling on Snoozy, eyes blazing with a fire unseen. Stunned silent, Snoozy stammered twice, as Sketch kicked one of the tires of the bus furiously.

“Stupid bus!”

“Sketch,” Snoozy began, carefully placing a paw on Sketch’s shoulder. “I’m sorry about your painting. But we need to go back into the bus. The rain’s getting worse, the cold’s settling in - We’re risking catching a cold standing out here in the rain.”

Sketch huffed, clenched fists resting on the lid of the undercarriage, before he groaned in resignation, shoving the lid shut. “I worked so hard on that…”

“I know. C’mon.” Snoozy cooed, gently steering her back to the door of the bus.

Biscuit sighed back. “He’s very… Passionate about his art.”

“You don’t say.” Whisky observed, wringing his necktie with a claw.

Dottie rolled their eyes, and turned away - before snapping back to the scene as a stunned expression came across their face, pushing Biscuit & March aside as they pressed themself against the window.

“Hey!” Biscuit protested.

“... There’s someone out there.” Dottie whispered, stunned.

“What?”

“There’s someone out there!”

Those in the bus murmured, muttering to each other. “Snoozy! Sketch!” March called out, as they reached the front step of the bus. “There’s someone out there!”

“Huh? Where?” Snoozy turned, waving the flashlight towards the trees. “I don’t-”

There was a flash of lightning, and as one, the group saw a hint of a shape, just at the edge of the treeline. Turning his flashlight in that direction, Snoozy illuminated the outline of someone, features unseen in the dark, a still silhouette. He felt a familiar sensation that should’ve been relief that help was here… But it didn’t feel like relief.

“I told you help was on the way.” Match said, to no-one in particular. She leaned out the doorway, above Sketch & Snoozy. “Hey! Hello there!” She called out joyously.

The figure at the edge of their vision remained still.

Dottie felt that familiar pang of paranoia eek at their insides. “Why’re they still? Why are they just standing there?” They whispered, attempting to keep their voice low, yet was still overheard by everyone else. “This doesn’t feel right.”

The feeling spread through the bus, and everyone fell silent. Biscuit clutched the rim of her hat, that horrible premonition of something terrible nipping at her heart. Renet whirled around in silent confusion. Whisky pressed his paws over his mouth to muffle the anxious bark of laughter from him. Dottie retreated back to the back of the bus, dragging Stan along with them. March frowned, shivering. “H-hello?” She called out once more, her voice echoing through the night. “Can… Can you help us?”

The figure made no motion to move.

Training his flashlight on the being, Snoozy slowly stepped backwards, into the bus. “Sketch, c’mon, with me.” He quietly ordered.

Maybe it was the anger from his painting being ruined, or the adrenaline of punching the bus a few times, or maybe just frustration at the entire situation, but Sketch did no such thing.

Instead, she snatched the flashlight from Snoozy’ grip, trained it on the figure at the edge of their vision, and took a step forward.

“Hey! What’s your deal?!?” He shouted, furiously stomping through the mud. “We’ve been in a damn bus accident, and you’re standing there gawking? What’s the matter with you?!?”

“Sketch!” Snoozy hissed. “Get back here!”

“I’m tired of sitting around waiting for someone to find us, when someone is right there and they’re not doing a damn thing to help us out!” Sketch hissed back, taking another step forward.

Suddenly, the figure in the dark moved, slowly taking a step back. Away from them. Then another. Then another, before they seemed to turn, and walk away.

“What the-HEY!” Sketch shouted in anger, breaking into a run. “Get back here!”

“Sketch!” Biscuit cried out, her heart thumping.

Swearing, Snoozy leaned in, quickly snatching one of the spare flashlights, and ran after the artist. “March!” He called over his shoulder. “Look after the others, I’ll take care of him!” With that, he sprinted after Sketch, their flashlights bobbing in the dark.

“Wait!” Biscuit shouted, grabbing the last flashlight and making to follow them - until March grabbed her by the collar and dragged her back into the bus, closing the door behind them. “What are you doing?!? We need to go after Sketch!”

“Snoozy has that covered.” March replied, trying and failing to calm her shaking arms. “We have to stay here, look after each other, and wait for help.” Already, any trace of Snoozy, Sketch, their flashlights, or the figure in the dark was gone, swallowed by the void of the dark.

“But-”

“Biscuit,” March gripped the cat by the shoulders, firmly yet gently. “There’s nothing we can do now. Sketch will be okay - Snoozy will make sure of that.”

The sinking feeling in Biscuit’s chest said otherwise, as she exhaled shakily, glancing back into the night. March was right - they had to sit and wait, and if she ran out with the last flashlight, then the others would have to sit in darkness once the bus’s auxiliary power ran dry. She had to wait, and hope that Sketch wasn’t about to get herself killed, or worse.

She clutched the last flashlight against her chest, before relinquishing it to March with a twitching paw.

The six sat in mostly silence, as slow, painful minutes passed, without any sight of Snoozy or Sketch. The lights above continued to flicker, before extinguishing themselves with a final hiss.

They did not come back on.

-=-=-=-

“How about we play a game to pass the time, Cuddles?”

“Mole, I don’t-”

“Let’s play I Spy.”

“Mole, no.”

“I spy something black.”

“Mol-”

Handy groaned. “Can you two cut it out? I think I see something up ahead.” He said, peering through the windshield, the headlights of his truck cutting through the dark and the rainfall.

“I also see something.”

“No you don’t, Mole, shut up.” The truck slowly crawled to a halt, its headlights illuminating a thick, downed tree, strewn across the middle of the road. Handy let out an annoyed sigh, slapping a limb on the steering wheel. “Found the source of your phantom noise, Mole. You heard a tree falling over. Congratulations.” Handy grumbled, stepping out of the truck. “Sorry we grabbed you for nothing, Cuddles.”

“Hold on." Mole gasped, following the unarmed beaver, Cuddles following behind them with a flashlight in paw. "What I heard, what I felt, was more impactful than a tree. We should check around, just in case.”

“Just in case there’s a second tree?”

“Hey, hey,” Cuddles interjected, throwing his arms out. “There’s no harm in a quick look around, right? Maybe Mole heard a tree, maybe he didn’t, but… Better safe than sorry, right? That’s the entire reason we’re here, right? Just in case it’s something more… Right?”

Cuddles felt Mole pat him encouragingly on the shoulder, while Handy grumbled. After a long, tense few seconds, Handy sighed. “Fine. We'll move this tree, then take a look around. Cuddles, help me hook this tree up to my truck's cable winch, would ya?"

"I know I heard something." Mole quietly insisted.

"I know, Mole." Handy replied, more tired than anything.

Leaving the two to their quiet argument, Cuddles grabbed the cable from Handy's truck, wrapping it around one of the thicker tree limbs as best he could. Then, stepping back, he called for Handy to start the truck-

When a glint of silver caught his eye.

As Handy’s truck roared back to life, slowly dragging the tree out of the road, Cuddles stepped around it, aiming the flashlight at where he thought the silver glint was, and raised his eyebrows at the sight of a silver metallic briefcase, leaning in the dirt.

“... Huh.” He mumbled. He aimed the flashlight back at the dirt, and glimpsed a pair of tire tracks, veering off into the forest.

"Mole?" Cuddles called out. "I think I found your noise."

-=-=-=-

“Sketch!” Snoozy called out, squinting through the rain as he tried to keep his flashlight aimed on Sketch. Keeping up with the artist was harder than initially assumed - it wasn’t just the rain and the dark making it difficult to keep track of Sketch, it seemed like the forest itself was trying to wrap it’s branches around Snoozy, grasping and tugging at him with branches that clung and scratched.

Slicked with rain and mud, the dirt ground was an uneven, slippery mess, as Snoozy struggled not to lose his footing. Sketch shouted something inaudible above the din of the weather, and did not respond when Snoozy shouted back. "Sketch, wait up!" Snoozy shouted, tripping in a tree root and stumbling, head over heels-

Into Sketch. The artist had halted, pointing his flashlight wildly, gritting his teeth in anger. "Where'd they go?!?" He grunted. "I lost them in the dark, did you see them?"

"Sketch," Snoozy interrupted, his voice struggling to be heard above the storm. "We have to go back. It's not safe, it's not-"

"Why aren't they helping?!?" Sketch insisted, stomping around the clearing. "What's their deal? What are they doing?!?"

"I don't know." Snoozy shivered, glancing around the clearing. There was no sign of their pursuee. There was only thin, ragged trees, underneath a wet pitch black sky, and ground that-

Huh. One patch of the ground looks slightly different from the rest. Snoozy squinted. I didn't look like dirt at all - it looked like leaves and branches, covering a-

"This is ridiculous!" Sketch snarled, kicking some rocks in anger. "Is this some kind of sick game to them? What the hell is going o-"

Sketch's foot landed on the mismatched covering, and shot straight through it. Eyes widening in surprise, Sketch fell, scrambling for purchase. Hands gripping the dirt, he dropped her flashlight, where it rolled behind him, into the black hole hidden beneath the covering. "Snoozy!"

"Hold on!" Snoozy exclaimed, diving and catching Sketch as he began to slide into the pit. Straining, he glanced behind Sketch into the dark pit, and his eyes widened at what Sketch’s dropped flashlight illuminated.

Rows upon rows of sharpened bamboo sticks, bladed to a point, aimed directly at Sketch, dangling precariously above them.

Even worse, he felt his grip slipping.

-=-=-=-

Silence reigned in the bus.

The six within sat uneasily, antsy. Despite March’s attempt at teamboning earlier, a tense atmosphere had fallen over the others. The situation with Sketch and Snoozy dampened things, especially with Biscuit, who had grown increasingly agitated and anxious as time ticked by. Several times she sat up with a huff, staring out the windows as if she had seen her friend return.

But there was nothing but darkness out there.

And aside from March occasionally flicking the flashlight on and sweeping it across the bus, darkness reigned inside the bus too.

In the back of the bus, unseen in the dark, Dottie reached a hand into the carry-on compartment, deftly sliding something out and letting it lay against their leg. Next to them, Stan quietly slept, though how and when they dropped off, no-one knew.

Feeling the cold start to seep in, Renet wrapped one of the blankets around herself, and tried to ignore the discomforting texture of the fiber.

Whisky rested his head on the window, and tried to ignore the shapes flickering at the edges of his vision.

Minutes passed. They didn’t know how many minutes, before the bright shine of a light glowed outside.

Renet noticed it first, sitting up. “That must be them!” She exclaimed, triggering the others to glance outside - except for Stan, who grunted in their sleep and rolled over.

Biscuit pressed her face against the window, hoping that her growing sense of unease would disappear at the sight - instead, the feeling only deepened, as two lights - big, bold and bright - came into view, not one.

“Hello there!” A voice called out. “Is everyone okay?”

“Ahoy!” March called back. “Who are you?” She swung the flashlight, illuminating a pickup truck, slowly approaching the bus before grinding to a halt. One of the doors swung open, and out stepped a bright yellow rabbit, smiling.

“I’m Cuddles! Happy to meet you.” Indeed, even the pouring rain didn’t dampen the bright, toothy smile on the rabbit’s face, as he eagerly shook March’s paw, before glancing at the bus and whistling. “And you are…?”

“March.” March exhaled, before pointing a finger at her fellow passengers. “That there’s Biscuit, Renet, Whisky, and those two up the back are Dottie & Stan.”

“Six, huh? That’s… Quite the number.”

“There’s two more of us - Sketch & Snoozy saw someone out there and… Thought they might help us? That was… I don’t know how long ago that was, but they’re still out there.”

For the briefest of seconds, a shadow of a frown crossed Cuddles’ face, the cheery expression fading into concern. So brief, a mere flicker, that March thought she imagined it. But a quick glance with Biscuit confirmed - she saw it too. “Well, the forest isn’t… TOO big, we’ll send a search party out and track them down. In the meantime, let’s start on getting you home. Mole? Handy?”

From the truck, the door swung open again. Out stepped a purple mole in a thick turtleneck sweater and black glasses, behind them an orange beaver with bandaged arms and a construction hat. With a walking cane in one hand and a length of cable in the other, the mole knelt, and hooked one end of the cable on the front bumper of the truck. “I’m glad we found you.” He greeted. “Don’t worry. We’ll keep you safe. Right Handy?”

The beaver mumbled something inaudible, gesturing with a limb. “Eight of you. Of course. Had to be eight.”

“Were one of you the person on the radio? Neither of you sound like them.” March noted, glancing between the trio.

Handy & Mole froze. “... Radio?” Handy repeated, eyes darting towards Mole.

“Yeah. We contacted someone on the radio, they said they’d be here to help out soon.” March confirmed, frowning at the hesitant expression on Handy’s face. “Was… Was that not you?”

Handy & Mole exchanged glances. Whereas Mole’s face was primarily obscured by the turtleneck, and Cuddles was better at having a poker face, Handy had no such luck. His eyes were wide with alarm. “Not us. C’mon Mole, help me fix the cable on the bus - Rear end has more stability.”

Nodding, the beaver and the mole circled the bus, disappearing from view, concerned voices snapping at each other.

“Yeah, that wasn’t us.” Cuddles admitted with a shrug. “But that only means there’s two search parties out looking for you, which means twice the amount of people who can help find Sketch & Snoozy.”

“Wait, what are you doing with the bus? What’s with the cables?” Biscuit interrupted.

“We’ll tow it back to town, see whether we can get it fixed.” Cuddles explained optimistically. “Handy doesn’t look like much, but if anyone can fix this bus, it’s him.”

“But- wait. If you tow the bus away, and Sketch & Snoozy come back to find it gone, won’t they be lost?”

“That’s why we’re organizing search parties to help them out.” Cuddles nodded. “Trust me, we won’t let them get lost out there. In the meantime, though, we should focus on what we can do - and that’s ensuring you and your friends get home safely.”

“Don’t worry, Biscuit. They’ve got a plan.” Renet assured her, smiling.

Biscuit wasn’t convinced.

Meanwhile, at the rear of the bus, Dottie pressed their ears against the walls, frowning. The alarmed expression on the beaver’s face as he passed didn’t escape their gaze - it was an expression they had seen many times before. It was the same kind of expression one had at an approaching avalanche - a recognition of extreme danger. The hurried sprint the beaver & the mole had towards the back of the bus while the rabbit continued to distract the others at the front only served to confirm Dottie’s suspicion - There was something they weren’t telling them. A hazard in the area that made them want to get out as fast as possible, without inciting panic.

With that in mind, they strained their long ears, hoping to catch a whisper of the conversation the beaver & the mole were having, as they hooked the cable into the rear bumper of the bus.

“-adio, who else would’ve been active this time of night to answer them on the radio?” One voice said in a hush. “Hurry up, we don’t want to be here if he’s active.”

“All the more reason to help these folk out.” The other calmly replied. “We know what we’re in for if he’s here. They don’t.”

The first voice grumbled. “His front door was open when we drove past. He’s out here, somewhere.”

“If he is, then there’s little else we can do about it.”

Suddenly, there was a whistle, and a thunk. Dottie felt something impact the rear wall of the bus, heard a gargle cry as something slumped onto the ground, and a voice shriek with alarm.

“CUDDLES! START THE TRUCK!”

Back at the front of the bus, Handy’s shout reached the others, panic in his voice evident. Cuddles knew that tone, and sprinted to the driver’s seat of the truck. “You lot, back in the bus, hurry!” He ordered behind him, trying and failing to keep his voice casual and carefree. Throwing himself into the driver’s seat of the truck, Cuddles switched on the ignition, the truck hissing to life. “Handy?” He shouted hesitatingly. “Y-

“FLOOR IT!” Handy demanded, voice strained and pained. “DON’T WAIT JUST GO!”

Cuddles obeyed, and shoved the pedal to the metal.

“You heard him, everyone!” March echoed, as the bus groaned and pivoted. “Sit down and strap in!”

“Wait, what’s happening?” Whisky asked, his voice quivering as the truck roared, jerking the bus backwards up the dirt path. He gripped his seat with white knuckles, very nearly slipping out of the jagged hole on the side of the bus. He glanced out the hole, and stifled a shriek.

Mole was lying shivering on the ground, glasses thrown aside and a cavernous crimson void where one of his eyes should’ve been. Viscous blood seeped, pooling and mixing into the mud, mud that dripped and caved into the empty socket on his skull. A military boot stomped the mud into Mole’s head, one, twice, three times. By the first, Mole ceased groaning. By the second, he shuddered. By the third, he caved. With each stomp the cracks became thinner, wetter, before ultimately devolving into a wet, dull, thump.

Attached to that military boot, now covered in a mixture of mud and remains, was a pale green bear, his camouflage jacket billowing in the wind. A razor-sharp bowie knife was clenched between his teeth, and as Mole expired with a final stomp, the bear turned a head, and locked a pair of bright, yellow eyes with the inhabitants.

Time seemed to freeze.

Renet stared, stuttering.

Whisky whimpered, knees faltering at the sight.

Biscuit felt her blood run cold, the vivid imagery burning into her mind.

Dottie hissed, trying to make himself invisible.

Stan snored.

And March turned back to the front of the bus. “GO!” She shrieked. “HURRY!”

The truck picked up speed, the bus trailed along with haste-

- Just as Flippy leapt, driving the dagger point of his knife into the wall of the bus, forcing himself in.

Chapter Text

Hunched over, flicking his bowie knife in a paw, Flipqy observed and analyzed the inhabitants of the bus in less than a second.

Five. No, make that six - he almost missed the sixth occupant at the very back, so motionless it was like they were asleep. Maybe they were asleep? Could the enemy really have gotten so lazy and complacent that they would be sleeping on the job like this? Perhaps they’re getting desperate. Low on reserves, forced to draft the unlucky., unpassionate. Maybe. No. It would be a trick - The sleeping blue deer would be the biggest threat. Hiding in plain sight.

Besides - Focus on the immediate threats first.

Immediately before him stood a gray hyena with wavering legs, unlucky enough to be occupying the seat directly across from the hole in the bus. Flipqy hissed - a suit. A cowardly one, if there were any other kind. Probably the type of suit to sign off on sending young men to die in the trenches while he hid behind paperwork. Oh, he would make this one cry.

Towards the front of the bus, a pale yellow cat clung on to the frame of a seat, staring at Flipqy with eyes that… Lacked surprise. Sure, there was fear, but there was awareness. Did she know he was coming? They would mean their intelligence and spyware might’ve upgraded since the last time he clashed. That would mean there was a leak on his side. Leaks got good people killed - He had seen it happen, firsthand, too much for his tastes. Torture this one, figure out where the leak is.

By the driver’s seat, the de facto ‘leader’, judging by the uniform, a bright yellow prairie dog. She held the only weapon he could see - a baton that seemed rather flimsy, but Flipqy knew even the most unassuming weapons could be instruments of death, if used properly. The leader was shaken, unnerved by Flipqy’s intrusion. Shameful - a leader should inspire strength and hope in their followers - this one was just as shaken as the others. Kill her first, and what plans her soldiers have will fall.

On the other side, towards the back, a brown elk shivered, frozen in fear at the sight of Flipqy. If the previous occupants had been the specialist, suit, the intel, and the leader in due order, then that would’ve left this one as the infantry. The frontline. The fresh meat thrown into the grinder. For the briefest of moments, the slimmest of microseconds, Flipqy felt a pang of something akin to sympathy - This recruit had clearly been a draftee, never been in action before. They did not want to be here, and yet, they had no choice in the matter.

The feeling passed. Whether they wanted to be here or not, them being here meant they were still a threat against Flipqy’s health, safety, and his loved ones. Them being here meant that if Flipqy stood down out of misplaced pity, then the massacre of his friends and family would soon follow. That’s how the worst of the enemies operated - sickened you by seeming so unthreatening that you lower your guard - then they strike. The elk was merely a tool in a war they wanted no part in. Death would come to them as it did the others. Flipqy would make sure of that.

Finally, in the rear of the bus, the last figure shifted. The white rabbit, eyes locked onto Flipqy’s frame, unblinking. There was an intensity behind those eyes, a fire that burned with no end in sight. That one knew their mission. That one, knew the stakes present. Therefore, they had to be the elite - the one you send out to get the job done. He would try to kill Flipqy while he was pressed with the others, if he had any sense. Keep one eye on them - it would only take a second for them to change the outcome of a fight. For them, their end would be brutal, proficient, to the point.

The specialist. The suit. The intel. The leader. The infantry. The elite.

Six of them.

One of him.

Seemed a bit lopsided in his favour, come to think of it.

-=-=-=-

“Hold on-”

“Don’t you DARE drop me-”

“I’m not dropping you, just- just hold on!”

As the dirt continued to shift beneath him, and sweat encased his paws, Snoozy’s head swiveled around the area. In the dark of the night, he couldn’t see anything at all that could help him. His flashlight lay discarded by his side, surrounded by dirt, mud, and leaves - nothing to help here. Sketch’s paws slipped, and for a brief moment he jerked away - stopping only by Snoozy darting forward a second later. Sketch’s legs dangled above the pit, above the rows upon rows of potentially impaling bamboo.

Snoozy recalled something about this. That this was a common trap in a war, long ago. That had been designed to catch and snare the unaware, sticks sharpened to a point and walls too slippery to climb out. If for whatever reason, the fall into the spikes didn’t kill them immediately, the unfortunate victim could look forward to bleeding out or starving if help wasn’t nearby. And even then, the risk of infection from the sticks themselves, coated with poison or other ailments, often meant it would’ve been better to die instantly from impalement.

To put it lightly, the best way to avoid injury from a pit trap like this would be to not fall into it. Of course, we’re beyond that point now.

“Snoozy!” Sketch shouted out, legs kicking open air. “I’m slipping!

“I know! Just give me a second!” Snoozy yelled back, knowing that they probably didn’t have that much time. With the mud continuing to act as a deterrent to any potential grip, Snoozy came to a grim realization.

This wasn’t some accident.

Someone lured them here on purpose, knowing full well that the rain on the soil would prevent any grip, should one of them fall into the spike pit. And the pit was angled such that, if Snoozy continued to hold on to Sketch, there was a notable risk that he, too, would be dragged down into the pit. And thusly, be forced into a horrible decision: Release his grip and let Sketch fall to an end. Or, without the ability to grip onto anything, hold on, and allow himself to be pulled into the pit with Sketch.

Neither option seemed particularly enjoyable.

“Snoozy! Hurry!”

Snoozy eyed his flashlight, just next to him. It was the only thing he had, that and the clothes on his back.

He had an idea.

If it failed, Sketch would surely die.

If it didn’t, then they might stand a chance.

“Sketch,” Snoozy breathed, grunting. “Grab onto the sleeve of my coat.”

“What?”

“Both hands, on the sleeve of my coat, on my left side. Just do it!”

Sketch hesitated.

The hesitation slipped the two of them a centimeter closer to their doom.

“Sketch!”

“Alright, alright!” With trembling hands, Sketch obeyed. First letting go of Snoozy’s right hand, slipping another little bit down, then grabbing Snoozy’s left sleeve. He repeated the action with his right hand, knuckles whitening on the fabric. “Now what?” He cried.

“Just give me a second…” With his right arm now free, Sketch reached behind him, stretching as far as possible. He extended his fingers, stabbing them into the mud, digging and jerking into the soft, wet texture. He stretched his fingers, digging deeper, until his fingers reached solid dirt underneath the mud. Then, he turned, grasping his flashlight in the same hand, and thrust it into the crevice.

The flashlight scraped against the solid dirt. He pulled the flashlight out, then stabbed it in again, this time feeling it dig into the dirt.

He couldn’t get a grip on the mud. Especially not with his sweaty paws. But if he could dig through the mud, into the slightly less watery dirt underneath, then they might stand a chance.

With a third strike, he felt the flashlight dig deeper, and hold. It was an anchor - not a particularly good one, but one nevertheless.

“Sketch,” Snoozy called out. “Climb up my arm!”

If his coat held, it would work out.

Without stopping to question it, Sketch did just that - slowly, carefully, one paw above the other. Keeping his paws on the coat, Sketch dragged himself up, and out of the hole, enough to roll away once his legs were free. With a gasp, Sketch laid on his back in the mud, rain pelting her face, as Snoozy yanked the flashlight out of the makeshift crevice, gasping.

Snoozy swore, his grip slipping, before reaffirming, and yanking Sketch out of the pit. The two sat in the mud, gasping, as rain poured on them. Thunder and lightning stuck, as Snoozy sat up. “You okay, Sketch?” He asked, shining his flashlight at the artist.

The anger had gone, evaporated into dust, leaving only shock, as Sketch dryly swallowed. “I-... I think so. I dropped my flashlight into that… Into that pit, but I’m okay.” He slowly stood on shaking legs, glancing around the clearing. “I… What is something like that doing out here?”

Snoozy didn’t answer.

He didn’t confirm that something like that, a spike pit, rarely existed without someone putting it there.

He didn’t voice his suspicions that whoever it was that they had seen, had chased through the dark, wasn’t helping, but actually luring them away.

Maybe he didn’t need to. The thought almost certainly passed through Sketch’s mind, as well.

Instead, he cleared his throat. “We should find our way back to the others.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re… We should head back.” Sketch coughed. “But if I catch that guy from earlier, I’m going to kick his ass. Alright?”

It felt like an empty threat to Snoozy, and he quietly nodded, jerking his head back the way they came.

Internally, he hoped whoever it was they saw, they didn’t run in to.

-=-=-=-

Inside the bus, everything happened so fast.

For the briefest of seconds, the strange bear in a military jacket simply observed the inhabitants of the bus, eyes flicking from one to another. There was a glimmer in his eyes, something indescribable, that seemed to find something that wasn’t entirely there.

Then in the next second, the stranger lashed out, slicing through the air with the blade of his bowie knife.

Whisky shrieked, cradling his hand within his chest. A thin red line appeared across the palm of his hand, slowly dripping blood onto the floor.

Renet was the next closest, and the stranger kicked her in the chest, driving all air from her lungs and likely fracturing several ribs. She flopped against an empty seat, gasping, trying to recall how lungs worked.

March took a step forward, mouth open to shout, to talk down the stranger, assure them that they meant no harm – but he seemed quick, innately quick, and by the time her foot came back down onto the floor of the bus the stranger was by her side, snapping her nose with a headbutt and pushing her to the ground. Blood flowed freely from her nostrils, staining her marching uniform. In a flash, the stranger’s knife was held above her, and thrust down, directly towards her heart. She didn’t even have time to scream.

The knife thudded against solid metal. Biscuit had interfered, grasping and dragging March out of the line of fire just in the nick of time. She seemed… Well, not calm, but aware, seemed to be the proper word for it. The stranger hissed, and threw a jar – Biscuit ducked under it, stepping towards the rear of the bus, keeping her eyes locked onto the stranger. She seemed to be muttering to herself, words going unheard by the others.

The stranger followed the lure, swinging the bowie knife wildly, Biscuit pivoting and avoiding the dagger at the last microsecond. It was as if she knew what his next action was going to be before he took it.

Then she slipped, feet sliding on the wet floor of the bus. She fell to her back, broken from her trance. Sensing the opportunity, the stranger leapt, catching Biscuit with a swift kick to the face like she was a soccer ball. Dazed, seeing stars, Biscuit was unable to do anything, but watch the knife some sailing towards her-

It was blocked, intercepted, by an aluminum baseball bat?!?

Dottie stood above Biscuit, brandishing the weapon he had taken out of the overhead carry. “Beat it!” Dottie shouted, pushing Biscuit behind them.

The stranger didn’t even hesitate, locking eyes with Dottie and slashing with his knife. Dottie blocked the attack, swinging their bat and striking the stranger in the wrist, forcing the knife to be dropped. It clattered onto the floor, sliding behind the stranger, towards Renet. But that didn’t even stop the homicidal stranger, who instead threw themselves at Dottie, ducking under a wild swing of the bat, and catching Dottie with a haymaker right between the eyes, followed by a knee to the stomach, and a headbutt to the chin. Stunned, Dottie stepped back, tripping over Biscuit, and the stranger advanced-

Only for March to intercept, wrapping her baton around the stranger’s throat and trying to hold him still. “Calm down! Relax!” She cried, as the stranger struggled. “We’re not an enemy! W-”

She screamed, cutting herself off as the stranger drove a series of claws into the back of her wrist. Her attention drawn, the stranger threw her off, kicking her down the aisle, where he stomped after her, bloody claws raised-

Renet stood, trembling, the stranger’s knife held in her hands, dagger pointed directly at him.

“Stop!” She begged, hands shaking. “P-Please!”

The stranger paused, eyes studying the quivering Renet. The shadow of something that might’ve been mercy passed through his expression, and for the barest hint of a second, Renet thought the nightmare would be over.

Then he chuckled.

"You're out of your depths, soldier." He grinned. He stepped forward, reaching a hand out-

Without thinking, Renet swung the knife.

The stranger paused as one of his fingers fell to the floor.

Blood dripped out of the stump in his hand.

The bus fell silent, and as one, seemed to watch the finger roll across the floor, through the gaping hole on the side of the bus. It fell onto the road, vanishing.

In disbelief, the stranger stared.

The disbelief turned into swift anger, and he darted forward, punching Renet across the jaw with a bleeding hand.

Renet yelped, the knife falling from her grip, quickly swooped up by the stranger’s remaining hand. He grabbed her by the scruff of her collar, and threw her to the floor, kicking her towards the open hole of the bus. Renet wrapped her arms around the legs of a seat, just above the hole. The stranger raised a paw, aiming to punch her and send her tumbling onto the road-

Whisky intercepted, attempting to grab the stranger’s arm. The stranger just punched him in the jaw, sending him down to the floor with a startled cry, before turning their attention back to Renet-

Sharp teeth clamped down on the stranger’s leg. The stranger grimaced, glancing down.

Whisky, terrified out of his mind, snapped his sharpened fangs on the stranger’s ankle, eyes closed so he wouldn’t have to see the stranger’s yellowed eyes glare at him. And he increased the pressure in his jaws.

Fun fact - Hyena’s jaws are strong enough to crush bones. Which the stranger felt immediately, forgetting about Renet as he felt his ankle start to be pulverized in the jaws of a carnivore. Hissing in discomfort, the stranger pushed Renet away, stabbing Whisky in the cheek with his knife, ripping it apart. A loose flap of skin dangled against Whisky’s lower jaw, as he cried out in muffled pain, still forcing his jagged teeth on the stranger’s leg.

With a sigh, the stranger forced his knife between Whisky’s teeth, and prised a gap - enough for him to reach his free hand in, grip Whisky’s upper jaw, and yank it open as hard as he could. He then reached in with a hand, wrapped a fist around Whisky’s tongue, and with the knife, he-

March swung with the baton, catching the stranger in the hand! The knife flew from his grip, falling through the hole in the bus. The knife hit the road, bounced, and struck the rear tire, shredding the rubber wheel with a pop. The bus lurched as the axle of the bus scraped against the speeding road, sending sparks flying across the tarmac. In the bus, balance was lost - Renet stumbled, losing her grip as she slid, slid towards the open hole of the bus. The rushing road greeted her, the wheels of the bus churned right on it. If she slipped too far, she would fall to the road - then immediately be dragged underneath the massive, spinning axle of the bus, reduced to a thin smear on the road, a crushed mess that barely resembled her. Eyes wide, she scrambled for purchase as her legs, her body, fell from the bus-

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around her wrists, halting her descent.

Stan, a serene, placid expression on his face, smiled.

“It’s okay.” Stan quietly assured Renet, calm and even. “You won’t fall.”

The bus went over a pothole, causing Stan to lose their grip ever so slightly, before he caught her again.

“You sure about that?” Renet grimaced.

Meanwhile, the stranger whirled on March, eager to finish the job without a weapon- only for March’s baton to catch him on the chin. Dazed, the stranger stepped back, and Biscuit threw a fire blanket over him. Blinded, the stranger swung wildly, whipping the blanket off in time for Dottie to swing the aluminum bat at his face.

The bat struck, sending the stranger off balance, flying out the open hole in the bus.

He struck the road, rolling and twisting into the dirt, vanishing in the night.

The gang exhaled, staring into the hole, as if sure the stranger would return.

But he was gone.

Just as quick as he appeared, he was gone.

It felt like minutes, but it had been only seconds.

Biscuit knelt down, helping Stan drag Renet back into the bus, and the gang relaxed, panting.

"Is he gone?" Dottie asked, spying into the dark. "He'd better be gone, if he knows what's good for him. I don't play nice with strangers!"

"I think… I think he's gone." March said, bringing a palm to her nose, hissing at the pain. "Who the hell was that?"

Nobody answered her.

-=-=-=-=

Snoozy scanned his surroundings, casting the beam of their remaining flashlight across the clearing. The two walked steadily through the dark, Sketch careful to keep her grip on the back of Snoozy’s jacket. In the dark and uneven territory, it would be easy to fall behind and get lost - especially since Sketch’s flashlight is long gone now.

It didn't help that, in the confusion of the spike trap, Snoozy was unsure which direction they had come from.

All the paths looked the same. All the trees looked the same. Snoozy pointed his flashlight at the ground, hoping to find the tracks he and Sketch left behind.

But there was nothing there.

He couldn't find a single track in the dirt.

As if the forest itself worked to cover his tracks and keep him trapped within.

"We're lost, aren't we?" Sketch soon asked, their subdued voice breaking the quiet.

"No, we're not." Snoozy replied, marching through the dirt. "We're just… Not where we're meant to be."

Snoozy’s tone was not encouraging. Inwardly, he cursed himself - he should’ve been watching the trail better, noting what direction they were going in - with the wind, against the wind, anything. Instead, he had nothing. He had chosen the direction that felt… Accurate. But with each step, he felt less and less confident, and he wasn’t even that confident to begin with.

Behind him, Sketch sighed. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.” She insisted. ”I went running after a stranger in the dark, like an idiot. What was I thinking?”

“You were thinking with your emotions, you were thinking ‘why is this bozo not helping us?’ It’s understandable. We’re in a stressful situation, we don’t know when help would arrive, and some whackjob is just staring? I don’t blame you, Sketch. Give it another hour or so and I might’ve done the same.”

Sketch made a noncommittal humming noise, but otherwise, remained silent.

The two continued their approach, steadily through the forest, growing less and less confident as the minutes ticked by. The rain grew heavier, the storm grew louder, and soon, the two of them were shivering in the cold.

Suddenly, Snoozy stopped. “I think… Is that a house?”

Sketch peered over his shoulder. Lit by the light of Snoozy’s flashlight, was a building - less of a house and more of a bunker, come to think of it. The kind you'd find on a military base, a cylindrical building almost the same color as the ground. A dark green jeep sat in the driveway. The door was open, swinging in the wind, a yellow light spilling out, seemingly beckoning them forward.

Sketch frowned. “That’s ominous.” He noted. “But it also means we’re probably close to a town or something, right?”

Snoozy cast the glow of his flashlight past the bunker, into the darkness beyond. “Maybe. I don’t know, usually places like this aren’t close to a town.” Lightning flashed, and Snoozy fought back a shiver. “But the weather is getting worse. I say we hunker down in there for a few hours until sunlight, wait out the storm, see if there’s a way to contact someone, and hit the road in the morning.”

“Do you think anyone’s home? There’s a light on, and a door open. Maybe they left in a rush not too long ago?”

“Without closing the door? I don’t know. Something doesn’t add up.” Snoozy glanced, before stepping forward. “But staying outside, wandering in the dark, isn’t a better idea.”

Sketch nodded. The two approached the bunker, exchanging a hesitant glance, before Snoozy stepped inside. Sketch followed, eyes darting warily for anyone, or anything, that might be a threat.

There was nothing. Just a normal home. A faded brown couch with a TV, a few shelves with some books and photographs. A kitchen off to the side, and two doors further in the bunker, doors that Snoozy suspected would lead to a bathroom and bedroom. Sketch shut the door behind them, grateful at the warmth within the bunker. “Hello?” She called out, to no response, before wiping his feet on the mat. “Well. I don’t know about you, but I need to rest for a bit. That couch looks comfy.”

“Go ahead. I’m going to explore the rest of this place.”

As Sketch sat themselves down on the couch, resting, Snoozy stepped through the bunker, towards one of the rooms at the back, pushing the door open. A messed, dishevelled bed greeted him, as well as a HAM radio, the receiver left laying on the desk. Snoozy inspected the receiver with a paw.

“I think I know who this house belongs to.” They called out.

Silence.

“Sketch?”

Turning back into the living room, Snoozy approached the couch.

Sketch slept, exhausted, on the couch.

After the night they had, Snoozy didn’t blame him, and simply patted Sketch gently on the shoulder. “Get some rest, Sketch. I’ll grab you a blanket from somewhere.”

-=-=-=-=-

The honking of a horn echoed through the sleepy hollow of Happy Tree Town.

A few lights from a few houses flickered on, asCuddles ground the truck to a half in the middle of town, the bus slowly slowing still as he did so. Sweat poured off of him, as he leapt out of the cab with shaking hands, breathing heavily.

His eyes flickered to the cable, attaching Handy’s truck to the bus, the cable that allowed him to hoist the bus into town in a panic. His gaze rested on the part of the cable, wrapped around Handy’s crushed torso.

When Handy shouted for Cuddles to start driving, as Flippy started his attack, Cuddles didn’t know that Flippy had wrapped the cable around Handy before he started driving. He only knew when the truck lurched in reverse, his headlights catching the agonized body of Handy, twitching as the cables coiled tightly around his being, crushing his torso with a sickening snap.

It wasn’t his fault, he knew that. Flippy - or Flipqy, sometimes Cuddles had to remind himself of that - deliberately put Handy in that situation, knowing that if Cuddles started driving, it would cause the death of Handy. Cuddles didn’t realize that until it was too late - but Handy knew. Handy knew, even as he shouted for Cuddles to start driving, exactly what would happen.

Because if Cuddles didn’t drive, Flippy would mercilessly slaughter everyone on the bus.

And they’d be trapped there. Just like him.

“Good morning, Cuddles,” A deep voice spoke from behind him. “What’s all the hubbub?”

Cuddles jumped, banging his arm on the sideview mirror of the truck, before shooting a glance at the cyan flying squirrel, floating slightly above the ground. Splendid eyed the truck, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t that Handy’s truck? Cuddles, you’re not up to any mischief, are you? Stealing is more of a Shifty & Lifty activity-”

“Stealing?!? What - Where were you?!?” Cuddles nearly shouted, forcing himself to keep a hushed whisper. “We could’ve used you, like, ten minutes ago!”

Splendid blinked, taken aback. “What?”

Cuddles wordlessly gestured to the bus.

Splendid glanced at the bus, first dismissively, then with more attention as his eyes flickered onto the symbols on its side, marking it as not from here. He paled, in immediate understanding. “Oh. Oh dear.”

“I know.”

“You should not have brought them here.”

“I know!” Cuddles snapped, kicking a rock. “Alright? I didn’t have many options, Flippy was on board, and I couldn’t drive them the way they came, because-”

“-Because you wouldn’t be able to.” Splendid finished for him with a sigh.

“Yeah. This place wouldn’t let me. It was either drive here for help, or stay and try to help them against Flippy. Which-”

“No. No, I see now. You were between a rock and a hard place.” Splendid placed a hand on Cuddles’ shoulder, patting him gently. “You did good. You did the right thing. My apologies.”

Cuddles felt an innate understanding of why Toothy admired the local superhero, as a sense of calm washed over him. He shook his head, glancing towards the bus. “I should check on them, make sure our visitors are all okay, and alive.”

Splendid followed his gaze. “How many do we have?”

“Eight. There’s six in the bus, and two more got separated in the forest.”

Splendid whistled. “Risky, being out in the forest this time at night. What’s the plan, Cuddles?”

Cuddles blinked, frowning. “Plan? I don’t have a plan, Handy & Mole had a plan, and they’re… Temporarily unavailable.”

Splendid’s gaze traveled to Handy’s pulverized corpse, wrapped and crushed between the coils of the cable. A fragment of something that might’ve been a kidney dipped onto the ground. “Noted.”

“So I guess… I don’t know. Wing it.”

“Cuddles, you drove the bus into town for a reason. What do you think that reason is?”

“I- uh.” Cuddles paused, putting his thoughts together. “Shelter, safety, get some help from the town?”

“Exactly. There should be somewhere here for our visitors to rest and recuperate from what happened, just for the night.” Splendid used, looking expectantly at Cuddles. “Got a place in mind, Cuddles?”

Cuddles cast his eyes across the main street of the town, eyes resting on a tall building, just across the road. “... Maybe.”

“Good.” Splendid smiled, nodding. “Check on our guests, make sure they’re okay, alive, and in one piece, then find somewhere for them to rest overnight. Maybe discreetly alert the rest of the town. We’ll figure out what to do with them afterwards.”

“What about the two in the forest?”

Rising into the air, chest puffed out heroically, Splendid struck a pose. Cuddles was certain he heard a triumphant sound play from somewhere. “You can leave that to me.”

“Wait.”

“Hm?”

Cuddles gestured at Handy’s corpse. “Could you, uh… I don’t think our guests should see this.”

“Oh.” Splendid blinked, having completely forgotten about the crushed body. “Good point.”

“Could you… I don’t know, get rid of it before I get the guests?”

“Yeah, yeah. I got it.”

-=-=-=-

As Sketch snored peacefully, Snoozy felt a pang of jealousy, a brief spike, before he pushed it back down. He wishes he could go to sleep as easy as that, but… Decisions, mistakes in the past. No sense bringing them up now.

Instead, he returned to the bedroom, to the HAM radio. Noting the scratch marks on the wooden desk, he flicked the receiver on.

“Hello?” He spoke into the radio. “You guys still there? It’s Snoozy.”

He received nothing but static in response.

“Damn.” He rested the receiver back on the desk.

Snoozy cast their gaze across several photographs and trinkets scattered across the room. Many of them, he noted, had some sort of military connection, most notable a framed photo of a green bear, an olive lizard, and an orange mouse, resting on the bedside.

Military man. That made sense.

He then cast his gaze to the deep gouges in the desk, the cracked bedpost, the signs of intense fits of violence. Someone with issues relating to anger and control. Trauma from their time on the frontlines, likely.

Maybe it was a good thing, that the homeowner wasn’t here right now.

Stretching, Snoozy headed back into the living room, sitting himself on the couch beside Sketch. It had been a while since he had been able to sit down and consider the situation he found himself in, and now felt like as good a time as any.

So, let’s recap.

Midnight bus across the state. No-one knows where they are. Swerves into a ditch, crashes. Driver runs away shrieking. Passengers exit the bus and come back shaken. Someone on the radio says they will be there soon. A shadow figure lures him & Sketch away from the bus. Sketch nearly falls into a spike pit. They can’t find their own trail back to the bus, but find this house instead. No-one is home, but evidence dictates that it’s the home of the voice on the radio.

When you put it like that, it’s almost normal.

But there was a thought nagging within Snoozy. A thought that said this was all… Prepared. Like they were expected here. Like this place was expecting them, and was doing all it could to keep them… There.

What a silly thought.

Lost in his thoughts, Snoozy didn’t notice the time tick away, as he considered and disregarded theories and possibilities. He didn’t notice the storm wither, and fade away.

And he only noticed he and Sketch were no longer alone in the home when the door swung shut with a THUMP.

A green bear in army fatigues stood in the doorway, staring at Snoozy & Sketch in surprise. Soaked in rain, speckled with blood, dripping the mess on the floor, a bloody stump where a finger once was, the bear stared.

Snoozy stared right back.

A tense silence ensured between the two.

-=-=-=-=-

Wrenching the door of the bus open, Cuddles cleared his throat. “Hello? Everyone okay?”

At a glance, everyone seemed okay. Well, alive. To his immense discomfort, a few had gathered new injuries sustained during Flippy’s intrusion, and everyone seemed miserable, exhausted. March, holding a piece of fabric to her nose, moaned. “We’re alive. That’s enough.” She said. “Cuddles, who was that?”

Cuddles hesitated. “I don’t know. Anyone injured?”

“Everything hurts.” Renet groaned, clutching at her ribs.

Whisky grunted in agreement, holding still as Biscuit tried to stitch his cheek closed.

“If it helps, Whisky, your facial hair seems undamaged.” Biscuit chirped.

“Great.”

“You’re all alive.” Cuddles noted with a sigh of relief. “That’s good. That’s the best option.”

“The best option would be us not being here.” Dottie snapped beneath their breath.

Cuddles tried very hard to ignore that remark, and instead smiled encouragingly. “Alright, so, here’s the plan - You’re all tired, and need a rest, right? There’s a hotel across the road. No-one really uses it, not anymore, so I’m pretty sure I can set you up to have a night’s stay, a hot bath, something like that. You can sleep, rest, and in the morning we can work on getting you all home.”

“Oh boy, a hotel!” Stan remarked, beaming. “Last week I slept in an alleyway, this is a neat upgrade.”

“What about Sketch and Snoozy?” Biscuit asked, squinting in concern.

“We’ve got some people out looking for them.” Cuddles replied. “With any luck, we’ll have you all reunited before long. Follow me.”

“Are you alright to walk, Renet?” March asked, holding out a hand. “You got your ribs hit pretty hard.”

“I’ll be alright.” Renet said, putting on a brave face, despite winching in discomfort as she stood. She accepted March’s hand, nevertheless. The six exited from the bus, some limping, none entirely alright. They shivered in the cold, some wrapped in blankets, others gripping whatever coats or jackets tighter around themselves, as Cuddles led them to a tall, brown building. He pushed in the door, opening it for the others. Everyone stepped inside, grateful for the warmth, as Cuddles tapped the bell on the desk.

Nothing happened. Cuddles hammered the bell twice more, before giving up. “I’ll do it myself.” He stated, vaulting over the desk and rummaging through the drawers. “Where- Ah. Here we go.” He slapped four keys on the desk. “Alright, only four rooms, so you might have to double up. Everyone okay with that?”

Some shifted, but nobody said no outright, which Cuddles took as a good sign. “Normally I’d just let you all sleep over at my place, but… Now’s not a good time. I’ll let you figure out who’s going in what roo-”

“Me & Stan’ll be together.” Dottie immediately remarked, snatching one of the keys from the desk.

“If it’s okay with everyone else, I’d like to room with Sketch.” Biscuit noted, fidgeting. “I just- Sketch is my friend, and I don’t think I’ll even go to sleep until I know for sure they’re safe. I don’t want to keep anyone else awake from that.”

“Any objections?” Cuddles asked. Receiving none, he slid a second key over to Biscuit. “What about the rest of you? Any preference?

March glanced at Whisky & Renet, quietly thinking it over. “Whisky? You alright rooming with Snoozy for the night?”

Whisky shrugged. “Look, at this point I’ll take a prison cell. A hotel room with someone who might not even be here for another few hours is fine.”

“That settles it. You’re with me, Renet.” March said, smiling encouragingly as Cuddles slid the remaining keys over. “Now, I think we should all go an-”

“No.” Biscuit interrupted. “I’ll wait for Sketch to come back.”

March blinked. “We don’t know how long it’ll be.”

“I’ll wait. I’m very patient.”

March only nodded in response.

-=-=-=-=-

The bear cleared his throat.

“Uh. Hi.” They said, awkwardly raising a paw.

“Hey.” Snoozy replied, glancing at Sketch. “We, uh. We were lost, found your house. The door was open, I hope you don’t mind?”

“Oh. Yeah, no, that’s fine, that’s fine.” The bear nodded, rubbing his paws on his sleeves. “Welcome to my, uh. Home, I guess.”

“I guess you were the one on the radio?” Snoozy inquired, distantly. The bear covered in blood only had a small amount to do with it. The familiar feeling of internal alarm bells, ringing with danger, struck him, and he inched himself slightly further away.

“Affirmative.” The bear nodded, then winched. “Sorry. I mean- Yes. That was me. Which would make you two from the bus?”

“We spoke.” Snoozy confirmed. “I’m Snoozy. This is Sketch.” He gestured to the sleeping Sketch, who yawned, rolled over, then continued sleeping.

“Flippy.” The bear held out a paw, the one missing a finger, before swiftly retracted it. “I’m not- I don’t usually-”

“What’s with the blood?”

Flippy stared, first at Snoozy, then himself, before rubbing his head with a paw. “I, uh. It was dark and I didn’t grab a flashlight. In the rush, I… tripped.”

“... And the finger?”

“I tripped into a bear trap. It’ll be fine.”

“I see.” Snoozy shifted, uncomfortable. “Did you, uh, find the bus? Find the others?”

Flippy coughed. “No. Sorry.”

A pause, a hesitation.

“But I’m sure they’re okay.”

“... Right.”

Flippy shuffled his feet. “Would you like some tea? It’ll be nice and warm at this stage, put you at ease.”

“I don’t usually drink tea…” Snoozy mused, before shrugging. “But I’ll make an exception for now. Kind of you to offer.”

The smile turned genuine, as Flippy turned into the kitchen. “I don’t usually have guests, I’m a little underprepared. Would you like some cookies? A snack? Anything?”

“Just the tea is fine.”

“Tea it is.” Flippy echoed. He reached for the tea kettle, paused, before placing on a pair of earmuffs.

The tea kettle began a long, shrill whistle. Snoozy raised an eyebrow, while Sketch stirred awake beside him. “Hm?” Sketch yawned, stretching. “What’s th-” She cut herself off, noticing Flippy quietly whistling in the kitchen. “Who the hell is that?” He whispered.

“Flippy.” Snoozy whispered back. “This is his home we found. I think he’s… Alright.”

“He’s covered in blood and missing a finger.”

“No-one’s perfect.”

Pouring the tea into several mugs, Flippy handed the warm drink to each of his guests, smiling. “So what brings you two here?”

Snoozy stared at his own mug, more than a touch suspicious. A stranger covered in blood just gave him a drink. Sure it looked like tea, but…

Sketch took a small sip. “Oh. Oh, that’s good.”

Flippy beamed.

Snoozy sighed, accepting a mouthful of the tea. “So… Our bus crashed. We contacted you on the radio, but while we were waiting for help, there was… We thought we saw someone in the woods, watching us. So we… Chased them.” Snoozy decided not to speak about the spike pit trap, shuffling in their seat. “That… Wasn’t you, was it?”

Flippy hummed, tapping his chin with a finger. It seemed he had completely forgotten about the injury to his hand. “I don’t… I don’t think so.”

There was a sudden knock on the door. Flippy blinked. “This is more guests in one night than I get in one month.” He mumbled, standing and pulling open the door. A cyan squirrel, a red face mask around his eyes, leaned past the frame.

“Splendid! You’re just in time for some tea.” Flippy greeted warmly.

Splendid eyes traveled down Flippy’s body. “Have you been busy, Flippy?”

“Hm?” Flippy blinked, before glancing at himself, at the blood and dirt scattered across him. “Oh. I- Maybe.”

Leaning past Flippy, Splendid’s eyes met Snoozy & Sketch, and he smiled, nodding. “You must be Snoozy and Sketch. I figured I might find you two here. In one piece, even.”

Sketch frowned. “How do you know us?”

“Your friends sent me. Your friends from the bus.”

Sketch’s eyes widened. “They’re alright? Biscuit and the others? Help came?”

“Correct.” Splendid confirmed, patting Sketch’s hand. “They’re waiting for you in town.”

“You can take my car.” Flippy offered, pushing a pair of car keys to the two. “It’ll get you there quicker and safer.”

“Yeah. Yeah! Let’s go!” Sketch said, rising to his feet. “C’mon, Snoozy.”

Snoozy hesitated, glancing at Flippy. “Thank you for the tea, and letting us stay for a bit.”

Flippy simply nodded, waving them away. The two stepped out the door, Splendid following, when-

“Splendid, wait.” Flippy whispered, beckoning the hero over. “They’re all alive?”

Splendid nodded.

Flippy breathed out a sigh of relief. “So I didn’t…?”

Splendid shook his head. “No.” He glanced out the door. “But it might be safer if you… Avoided town for the next few days. Just while we figure out this mess.”

-=-=-=-=-

Cuddles yawned. With the adrenaline fading, the exhaustion of the night started to really hit him. But he remained in the hotel, determined to make sure their new guests got back safely. “I’ll wait with you lot until Splendid returns with your friends.” He said. “Trust me - if there’s anyone who can track anyone down in that forest, it’s either Splendid or Fl- Splendid. Just Splendid.”

“You’ve got a lot of confidence in this guy.” March noted. “Who is he?”

“Splendid’s our resident…” Cuddles paused, weighing his words. “Well, superhero doesn’t seem like the right term, but it fits, usually. He’s… Well. His heart is in the right place.”

March hummed, narrowing her eyes. It didn’t escape her of the implications of some words going unsaid. But, she left it, instead sitting on the bench next to Biscuit. Biscuit clutched her room key within her paws, sitting on the waiting couch in the hotel lobby, while Renet gently patted her on the shoulder. “I’m sure they’re fine.” Renet said, encouragingly. “Snoozy, Sketch. They’ll be alright.”

“I know they will.” Biscuit replied, confident.

“C’mon, Stan.” Dottie ordered, grabbing Stan by the wrist and dragging them further into the hotel, up the stairs towards the guest rooms. “We gotta talk. Privately.”

“I hope Sketch & Snoozy turn up okay!” Stan called over their shoulder, to the others, as they retreated to their room. “Good night! Or good morning, I guess.”

Renet waved them away, fighting back a yawn herself. “G’night, Stan, Dottie. Sleep well.”

Cuddles echoed the sentiments, before pausing. “Hang on, where’s Whisky?”

March pointed out the door. “He said he was stepping out for a quick minute.”

Cuddles hesitated, before moving to step outside, muttering under his breath.

Biscuit suddenly sat up in her seat.

“Biscuit?” March raised an eyebrow.

Wordlessly, Biscuit stood, darting out the front door. March followed, frowning, with Renet close behind. “Biscuit?”

Biscuit stepped into the street, glancing around. Cuddles & Whisky stood on a street corner, quietly conversing. About what, Biscuit couldn’t hear. Didn’t matter much.

What mattered was preventing the image in her head.

“Hey!” She called out, seizing the attention of the two. “There’s this… Weird bug inside the hotel you should see!”

“Like a spider?” Cuddles asked, moving towards her. “I’ll get rid of it, I hope it’s not poisonous.”

Meanwhile, Whisky shrugged, and remained in his spot, turning away dismissively as he rummaged around in his pockets.

There was a haze of light somewhere to the edge of her vision, and Biscuit knew she had little, if no, time left.

Pushing Cuddles aside, Biscuit darted forward, grasping Whisky by the tie and yanking him towards her.

Just as a car sped past, its wheels rolling over the spot where Cuddles & Whisky had been standing only seconds ago.

March, Renet, & Cuddles stared, mouth agape, as Biscuit exhaled, letting go of her grip on Whisky’s tie. Whisky staggered, breathing heavily, eyes wide as he leaned on the wall of the hotel. “W… What…?” His voice was quiet, unsure of exactly what just happened.

The car ground to a halt just outside the hotel, and the head of a cyan squirrel poked out. “Sorry!” Splendid shouted. “I never learned how to drive a manual!”

“Told you I should’ve drove.” Another voice from within the car stated, as the doors opened, and out stepped Snoozy & Sketch.

“Sketch!” Biscuit called, pushing aside the previous moment and darting to her friend. “I knew you’d be okay!” She said, embracing her in a tight hug.

“It’s good to see you too, Biscuit.” Sketch replied, smiling. “Boy, do I have a story to tell you.”

“Me too. Let’s go inside, I’ve got our room organized.” Biscuit said, jerking a thumb towards the hotel.

“We all should go inside, now that we’re together,” March motioned. “Snoozy, you’re rooming with Whisky for the night.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Renet approached the shaking Whisky, holding a hand out. “You alright?” She asked, quietly.

Whisky only shrugged helplessly. “I-... Is there a record for the amount of ties someone has nearly died in a day?” He forced a smile, trying to brush aside the moment.

Renet giggled. “No. But I think you might hold it now.”

Whisky barked a short chorus of laughter, the smile giving away to a frown as he groaned. “I think I need a cigarette.”

-=-=-=-=-

Inside of room 1A, Stan spread their body across one of the beds, relaxing with a blissful sigh.

As far as hotel rooms went, it was fairly standard. Two beds, a small kitchen, and an even smaller living room, with a door to a bathroom off to the side and a door to a balcony. But compared to some of the other places they had to crash at night, it was practically paradise.

“I call dibs on this bed, Dottie.” They called out.

Frenzied mumbling answered him.

Stan sat up, rolling his eyes. “Aw, c’mon, Dottie. Relax, put your feet up. All this stress will turn your fur white.”

That caused Dottie to pause. “Stan, my fur IS white.”

“See? It’s already settling in.”

Scowling, Dottie resumed his previous activity - carefully inspecting the hotel room for… Well, anything. He didn’t get this far without assuming the worst, and he had been in hotel rooms enough to know there were usually at least one or two bugs or mics. Some could call it paranoia. Dottie preferred the term ‘not taking any chances.’

He unscrewed the vents near the ceiling, peering inside, squinting in the dark. “Relax all you want, Stan. This entire situation is waaaay too sketchy. I’m not sleeping until I’m sure we’re safe, and until I’m sure no-one is watching us.”

“Who’d want to watch us, though?” Stan remarked, leaning back on the bed. “I mean, besides the government.”

“Shush. Like I said in the bus - this place, this situation, it’s too… It’s weird. Everything is setting off my ‘someone terrible is around the corner’ radar. Something is going on here, Stan. I just don’t know what.”

“But why?” Stan questioned. “Let’s say you’re right, let’s say this is some big… Trap, some big scheme, with you and me as the targets. But why? You saw what happened to the plane. You saw what happened to the bus. The scale of something like this, just to get at us too, it’s a lot. Who would be willing to throw that many lives away just to get to us?”

Dottie cleared their throat, screwing the vent back into place. “We’ve made a lot of enemies, Stan. You know that.”

-=-=-=-=-

Inside of room 1B, March quietly closed the door behind her. “I feel like I could sleep for days.” She remarked. “How are you feeling, Renet?”

“Like I should never have gotten on that bus.” Renet admitted, running a paw over her forearm. “I already miss my home. I already miss my parents.”

“It’ll be okay. We’ll get you home, soon enough.”

“I know, but… I don't know. I feel like- This is my first real experience by myself, away from my family, and I’m… Blowing it, somehow.”

“Hey. It’s not your fault.” March reassured her. “Who would’ve guessed this entire situation would’ve happened? You’re doing okay. Alright? This… What’s happened today has been pretty… Horrifying. A bus crash and some whackjob trying to kill us, it’s, yeah, I don’t blame anyone for falling apart. But look at you. You’re persevering. You’ve gotten this far. Your parents would be proud of you for staying upright.”

Renet exhaled, before nodding. “Thank you.” She said, quietly looking at the floor.

“Now let’s get some sleep. I don’t know about you, but falling asleep in the kitchen when there's beds right there sounds like a terrible idea.”

Much to the warming of her heart, Renet giggled. “You’re a good leader, March.”

March beamed. “That means a lot to me, Renet. Wanna be my second-in-command?”

“I thought Snoozy was your second. Or you were Snoozy’s second.”

“It’s a flexible thing. And I think you’d make a great second.”

Renet smiled.

-=-=-=-=-

In room 1C, Sketch exhaled, sitting on his bed, as she recapped her adventure to a rapt and attentive Biscuit. “This place is insane. Who has a spike pit just randomly in the forest?”

“If it helps, I knew you would be okay.” Biscuit commented, fluffing her pillow. “The entire time you were gone, I was worried, but I didn’t get a single sign that you would be hurt.”

“You and your… Moments.” Sketch sighed. “Snoozy looked out for me. If it wasn’t for them… Might’ve been different. Y’know?”

Biscuit shrugged. “Good thing they were with you, then. You shouldn’t have run out in the first place-”

“I know-”

“-but since you did, it’s good Snoozy stuck with you. So what happened after the spike pit?”

“Funny thing, we couldn’t find our own trail.” Sketch laughed, a laugh devoid of humor. “Well, not much of a funny thing at all, come to think of it. But we were pretty lost, until we found a house. No-one was home but the lights were on, so we went in, sat down on the couch, and I just… Nodded off.”

Biscuit clicked her tongue. “You DID have a really big day.”

“I’ll say. When I woke up, Snoozy was having some tea with the homeowner, who wandered in looking like he went bungee jumping into a meat grinder. Dude was covered in blood, missing a finger, and didn’t even seem mildly discomforted by it.” Sketch shrugged, while Biscuit frowned, staring. “Then this Splendid guy ju-”

“Wait.” Biscuit interrupted, shaking her head. “Wait, wait. This guy, the homeowner, was he a bear? Green fur, camo jacket?”

“Yeah. Yeah, he was. Said his name was Flippy. Why?”

Biscuit exhaled in disbelief. “That’s the guy who tried to kill us on the bus.”

Sketch blinked. Opened her mouth, then closed it again, before placing a hand over their face. “Oh my god. H… What?”

“Yeah. He killed two of the people who came to help us, Mole and Handy I think their names were, and he was looking to do the same to us before we managed to fight him off.”

“... That explains why everyone looked a little bit more beat up than when I left you.”

-=-=-=-=-

Snoozy closed the door to 1D behind him. “Whisky?” He quietly called out. Both beds were empty, and the bathroom was wide open, with no-one within. The glass balcony door was open, however, as Snoozy approached.

Whisky leaned on the railing, a cigarette held in his mouth, trying and failing to get his lighter working, cursing beneath his breath.

“Whisky?”

Whisky yelped, starlet, and accidentally dropped the lighter. It fell over the railing to the ground below, where it shattered against the pavement. “Damnit. Hey Snoozy.” He remarked, straining against the stitches in his cheek to smile.

Snoozy’s gaze drifted to Whisky’s cigarette. “Those things’ll kill you, y’know.”

Whisky chuckled nervously. “I mean- what won’t kill you nowadays, am I right?” He forced a grin, before faltering, taking the cigarette between his fingers. “Sorry. You’re right, I know, it’s a terrible habit. It’s just- I’ve been really stressed lately. The bus crash and nearly being murdered by a nutcase doesn’t help.” He sighed, exhaling. “And I know when I get home, I’m going to be in so much trouble after losing that briefcase. Boss is going to kill me.”

Snoozy placed a hand gently on Whisky’s shoulder, squeezing it, but said nothing. Hesitantly, Whisky shoved the cigarette back into his pocket, fingers curling around the railing as he glanced at the sky. “At least the stars still look nice.” He remarked.

Snoozy nodded, eyes narrowing as he studied the sky.

Whisky stretched. “See any you recognize?”

“A few.” Snoozy pointed a finger at several clusters of stars. “See that up there? Big Dipper. Over there, the Southern Cross. And right over there, Ophiuchus the Serpent Bearer.”

“I’ve never heard of that one.”

“It’s usually behind the sun. It’s rare to see it.”

“Makes you feel somewhat at home, right?”

Snoozy didn’t respond.

Whisky shrugged, yawning. “I’m going to bed, try to catch some sleep. Snoozy?”

“Hm?”

“Glad to see you’re okay.”

“... Thanks Whisky. You too.”

With that, Whisky retreated back inside, to the awaiting bed.

Snoozy stayed outside for several minutes, eyes scanning the stars, the constellations above, before retreating.

He didn’t tell Whisky that the constellations were out of order, that none of them were in the place they were supposed to be.

He didn’t have the heart to inform his fellow passengers that wherever they were, it was probably very, very far from home.

-=-=-=-=-

Yawning, Cuddles exited the hotel. “You’ll keep an eye on them through the night?”

At the hotel desk, Splendid nodded. “You go home, Cuddles. Go get some sleep. We’ll figure out the next step in the morning. Figure out a plan to get everyone home.”

Cuddles didn’t respond any further, exiting the hotel, and starting the walk home.

He didn’t know how he was going to tell his friends. Hopefully, within the next few days, all of their guests would be gone, on their way home, and they’d never see them again.

But until then, the next few days would have to be approached very, very carefully.

He and his friends would have to coordinate a plan. Ensure that anyone the guests had witnessed dying stayed out of sight. Try to minimize as many potential deaths as possible, minimize panic.

It was lucky they had gotten this far, without falling to the curse. Between Flippy nearly killing six of them, and the other two nearly getting swallowed by the forest, it was luck, and little else, that got them through.

If he knew anything about his home, it was that eventually, luck started running the other way.

As he stepped into his home, collapsing on the couch, he immediately began to fall asleep, exhaustion overwhelming him.

The final thought before he closed his eyes, was pondering on whether Toothy was right, all along, and by pushing new guests away before the curse took hold of them, they would also be pushing away any hope of truly escaping.

Too tired to catechize himself, Cuddles fell asleep.

And he dreamed.

Chapter Text

Unable to sleep, Snoozy sat up in bed, resting his jaw on a palm.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not at this time. His internal clock told him it was around 5am, still a bit before the sun would rise.

With heavy-bagged eyes, Snoozy glanced at his temporary roommate, Whisky, in the other bed. In contrast to himself, the hyena was fast asleep, in spite of everything. Snoozy felt a pang of jealousy run through his veins - Some people don’t know how much a good sleep cycle did until it’s taken away from them. And yet, he pushed the feeling away. Whisky didn’t do anything wrong - it would be wrong for Snoozy to lash out at others, for a problem he brought on himself.

But that was a story for a later point.

Besides, the anxious hyena looked... Peaceful, at rest. Less panicky and high-strung than when he was awake. It was kind of nice. So, instead, Snoozy swung his feet onto the carpet. He had sat in bed for an hour without success, might as well stretch his legs, see if he could gain a bit more info.

Taking care to be quiet so as not to wake anyone, Snoozy tiptoed to the door, quietly stepping into the hallway. He exhaled, glancing at the three other rooms of the hotel. Two of them seemed silent, but the sound of muffled whispering wavered through one of them. Stretching, Snoozy stepped down the stairs, stifling a yawn as he entered the lobby.

“Can’t sleep, huh?” Splendid sat at the desk of the lobby, idly reading a romance novel. He glanced at Snoozy dismissively, before turning his attention back to his book. “One of those nights, hm?”

Snoozy shrugged. “Something like that.” He didn’t feel the want, nor need, to go into further details or something he was tired of explaining. Nor, did Splendid ask. “Got bored tossing and turning, figured I might as well go for a walk outside. Stretch the legs a bit.”

Splendid nodded impassively, flicking through a page in his book. “Wouldn’t recommend it.”

Snoozy paused, a hand wrapped around the doorknob of the door of the hotel. “Why not?”

“Dark out. Easy to get lost.” Splendid stated simply. “Not worth the hassle. Plus I locked the door.”

Snoozy’s hand twisted the doorknob, feeling its resistance within his grasp. “What gives? Am I under house arrest or something?”

Splendid fixed Snoozy with a glance, eyebrow raised. “Of course not.”

“Then why are we locked in?”

“Just a precaution.” Splendid mumbled, dropping his eyes back to his book, as if the conversation was over.

“A precaution?” Snoozy scoffed, arms crossed. “Against what?”

“Don’t you worry. Go back to bed.” Splendid waved Snoozy off.

Snoozy hesitated, eyes narrowing at Splendid’s nonchalance, before sighing, and withdrawing his hand. “Can you at least answer a question for me?”

Splendid sighed, but nodded, placing a bookmark in his novel and giving Snoozy his full attention. “Shoot.”

“Where, exactly, are we?”

A flash of something unreadable passed across Splendid’s face, too quick to entirely make out, before he cleared his throat. “You’re in a quaint little borough called Happy Tree Town. Sounds picturesque, doesn’t it?”

Snoozy scoffed. “That’s hardly an answer. I’ve never even heard of Happy Tree Town.”

Splendid shrugged. “It’s pretty small. Fairly quiet. Wouldn’t even surprise me if it wasn’t on a map. Now, if that’s all…?”

Snoozy shook his head. He had additional questions, surely, but something about Splendid’s tone warned him otherwise. Instead, he headed back to the stairs, shooting a glance behind him as he did so.

Splendid had turned his attention back to his novel. Yet, Snoozy could still feel the track of his eyes, as he vanished up the stairs.

Passing the other rooms, he noted that the lone voice he previously heard had fallen silent. He briefly wondered who it belonged to - March, Renet, Stan, Dottie, Sketch, or Biscuit - before shaking his head. He didn’t even know who was in what room, having been absent when it was all decided. And it wasn’t like he could knock on the door and loudly ask.

Well, he could, technically speaking. But still.

Instead, he reentered his own room, quietly closing the door behind him. Whisky still slept, blankets wrapped haphazardly around him, as Snoozy approached his own bed, laid down.

And waited for dawn.

-=-=-=-=-

As the sunlight gazed into the bedroom, Toothy yawned, stirring awake.

He sat up in his sleeping bag, rubbing his eyes, as he glanced at the sleeping forms of his friends around him - Flaky, Nutty, Giggles, and Petunia, all of whom still slept soundly. A placid smile graced Toothy’s face - It was nights like those, where he could lose track of time with his friends, that helped him move forward. His smile faded slightly, as he noted the empty spot where Cuddles should’ve been.

Climbing to his feet, Toothy sauntered into the living room, feeling mild relief at the sight of Cuddles, collapsed and sleeping on the couch. Must’ve gotten up for a midnight drink then immediately went back to sleep on the closest available thing. Shrugging, Toothy stepped into the kitchen, as he heard soft footsteps from behind.

“Mornin’.” Flaky greeted with a yawn. Toothy idly waved back, as Flaky grabbed some milk from the fridge, opening the pantry and squinting within. “Does Cuddles have any alphabet cereal?”

“Top shelf, next to the cheerios.” Toothy replied, drinking a glass of water. With a soft nod, Flaky found the specific box of cereal, and sat at the table. She closed her eyes, and took a breath.

Leaning on a chair, Toothy watched in quiet fascination, as Flaky began her morning ritual.

Gamely nodding, Flaky poured some milk in a bowl, shook a handful of alphabet cereal into the mix, and stirred it with a spoon. “One… Two… Three… Four.” She counted. Sometimes she counted to three, sometimes to four, sometimes to ten. It depended on how she felt that day. Once she reached four this morning, she stopped, withdrew the spoon, and watched the cereal.

Toothy leaned in. “What’s the forecast today, Flaky?”

Flaky squinted, staring at the letters in her cereal, quietly mouthing letters, as she tried to find patterns and meanings in a seemingly random result. “C-O-L-L-I-S-I… no, the O & N aren’t connected. Not collision. L-I-G-H-T-N-I-N-... No G. Can’t be lightning. S… S-K…” She gasped, leaning in, pointing at the connected letters as she read out loud. “S-K-E-W-E-R. Skewer. That’s it - Skewer.” She exhaled, staring into the wall. “That’s how someone dies today.”

Toothy simply nodded, as his toast dinged.

He wasn’t sure when Flaky’s ritual began, or exactly how it came about. He had asked only one time, and gotten an answer so incoherent that he chalked it up to Flaky starting to crack under the pressure and finding any way to cope with it. Something about patterns, hints in the background, clues that don’t make sense until long after the fact. Like a jigsaw puzzle that you only got the majority of the pieces of at the end of the day.

Sometimes, Flaky’s ritual seemed to be accurate. Sometimes it wasn’t. Toothy didn’t question, nor disagree. If that was what it took for Flaky to cope, then that’s what she’d have, and Toothy would be remiss to take it away from her.

“So, avoid anything sharp that can stab you?” Toothy pondered. “Like, knives and such, I guess.”

“Well, yes and no.” Flaky replied, drumming her fingers. “It says ‘Skewer’, not ‘Stab.’ Stabbing is - Like, it goes partway in, then comes out. Skewering, is… It goes all the way through.” She mumbled. “Like a kebab.”

Toothy only nodded, as Giggles bounded into the room, in a rush. “I overslept, I need to be at the diner to open things up-” She breathlessly explained, quickly grabbing Toothy’s toast. “Sorry Toothy, drop by the diner and I’ll have some free lunch for you.”

Toothy frowned, but shrugged. Free lunch is free lunch.

“Where’s Cuddles? He wasn’t in bed.” Giggles asked, pausing her morning rush, as she took a bite of toast.

“On the couch.” Toothy said, pointing a thumb over. “Dunno why.”

Scarfing down the rest of the toast, Giggles bounded into the living room, swiftly giving him a brief kiss as she approached the door. “I’ll see you later, squad.” She shouted back, as the door swung closed behind her.

Cuddles awoke with a jolt at the sound of the door slamming, blinking. “Wha-whosat?” He mumbled, blinking. “Why are there bread crumbs on my face?”

“Giggles gave you a gift before she left for work.” Flaky said, spooning some cereal into her mouth.

“Right, right.” Cuddles yawned, before groaning. “Damnit, she left already? There was something I needed to tell her-”

“Like what?” Toothy asked, leaning forward.

Cuddles hesitated. He intended to tell everyone, inform as much of the town as possible about their newer… Residents. But the eager look in Toothy’s eyes, and the conversation just yesterday, caused him to pause, momentarily. “Well… Look, you gotta promise me you won’t freak out or anything.”

Toothy scoffed. “Cuddles, please, we’re the most stable people in town.” He said, brandishing a hand behind him at Flaky, who seemed to find a new word in her alphabet cereal and was frantically mumbling about it’s meaning, and Nutty, who arrived somehow silently, without anyone noticing his wide-eyed and eagerly awake stupor as he chugged a bottle of soda that Cuddles was certain expired two days ago.

“That’s… Not as big of a boast as you think it is.” Cuddles noted, considering the remaining inhabitants of the town and how everyone seemed to have their own… Quirks, to put it generously. “So… I guess everyone has to know at some point so we’re all on the same page, but… Last night, uh. We got a few new visitors last night.”

There was a tense silence, broken only by Flaky dropping her spoon into her cereal. “N… New visitors?” She echoed. “As in…?”

Cuddles only nodded. “Bus accident. About half a dozen. None of them died, well, not yet at least, so as far as I know, the, uh… The curse shouldn’t have an effect on them. So, they… They should be able to leave. Hopefully. I think.” He explained, scratching the back of his head, unsure. “So we need to- We need to keep them in the dark. Y’know? Don’t let them know about this place, about the curse. Get them out of here before they become trapped like us.”

Flaky paled, pushing her cereal away. “Oh god… New residents. They have no idea what they’re in for.”

“And if we do everything right, they never will.” Cuddles said, reassuringly. “We can do something here. We can protect them, look out for them, make sure they avoid falling under, so they can do what we can’t.” He paused, clearing his throat. “So they can go home.”

Home.

A word they all knew, but still seemed so foreign.

Cuddles’ eyes drifted to Toothy, staring blankly. “Toothy?”

Toothy idly wiped a finger on the table, glancing at Cuddles. There was a tense, unspoken conversation between the two. Flaky looked back and forth, uneasy, as she detected something in the air.

“We can help them…” Toothy began, as Cuddles nodded. “But maybe, they coul-”

“Toothy.” Cuddles said, closing his eyes.

“This is just like what we talked about yesterday-”

“Toothy, don’t-”

“I’m not saying we SHOULDN’T protect these new visitors, alright?” Toothy clarified, waving his hands. "Yes, I agree, we should ensure they’re safe and get them out of here without allowing them to become like us.” He hesitated. “But, if any of them could possibly know something that can help us escape, shouldn’t we at least explore that avenue before we ship them away to safety? Before we close off that possibility for good?”

Cuddles fixed Toothy with a tired gaze. “The longer they’re here, the higher the risk of them becoming like us. You know that.”

“I know! I know, but I’m just saying-”

Cuddles sighed, massaging his head. “I’m not disagreeing with you, Toothy. I just don’t want to risk their fate to save our own bacon.”

Toothy opened his mouth, then closed, biting his tongue. He looked away, seemingly wanting to say something, but thought better of it. Meanwhile, Nutty cleared his throat. “I should tell Sniffles.” He said, in that fast, unfocused way of speaking. “He’ll want to know.”

Cuddles nodded. “Everyone will. Spread the word. I gotta go assemble the newbies, make sure they’re all still in one piece, and start figuring out a way for them to leave.”

-=-=-=-

“Daddy!”

It was one of those nights.

Her father came home late, as he often did. He was tired, exhausted, body aching for rest - but his eyes still lit up when he saw her, bouncing down the hall towards him. “Hey hey, sport.” The tall groundhog greeted, scooping his daughter into his hands, spinning around as she giggled.

No matter what horrors he saw during his shift, seeing the smile on his daughter's face made it all worth it. He nuzzled her gently, carrying her to the sofa, where he sat down, relieved to be off his feet.

His daughter, yellow fur shining under the light, stared up at him, with bright, inquisitive eyes. “Why do you have to be out so late?”

He shot a glance into the kitchen, withholding a groan. His wife has been making remarks again. He sat up in his seat, patting his lap. Taking the hint, his daughter scurried onto his lap.

“Some people…” He began, choosing his words carefully. “In frantic events, some people can’t lead for themselves, they have to be led. You understand? When faced with tragedy, some people freeze up. Some people panic. They can’t think straight, they can’t think clearly. They need someone to stand before them, and tell them what to do, reassure them that it will be okay.  You know?”

She didn’t seem to know, but nodded, nevertheless.

“Think of it this way. When there’s, say… A car accident on the freeway. How many people stop and look?”

She shrugged.

“Alright. How many of those same people try to help whoever is in that car accident?”

She shrugged, again.

“It’s called Bystander Syndrome - Everyone assumes someone else will step forward. If no-one steps forward to take charge, then no-one will step forward to help. Everyone can be a helper, but some people need that extra push to really help. And that’s what I do.  Because there will always be helpers. Look at any tragedy, and you’ll find helpers. There will always be people willing to lend a hand. But a lot of those people need someone to give them a push, take the initiative. There’s always that one person who takes the first step to helping others, the step that spurs others into action. Sometimes, that person is me. Sometimes, that person could be you.”

His daughter slowly nodded, eyebrows furrowed, deep in thought. “... Me?”

“Sure. Everyone can be a helper. Why not you, March?”

-=-=-=-=-

Renet stretched, yawning, as she awoke. Bright sunlight filtered into her room, as she drew back the curtains. Her eyes immediately scanned the treeline, looking for any more… Glitches, to borrow a term, but found none. 

“Good morning, Renet!” March beamed, already dressed and doing some brief exercises in the middle of the room. “Sleep well?” She cheerfully queried, twirling her baton in her hands.

Renet nodded, swinging her legs onto the floor. “Well enough, all things considered.” The elk replied, tugging on her tunic. “What time is it?”

March glanced at her wristwatch, “Just after… Oh. My watch is broken.” She noted with surprise. “When did that happen…?”

“Must’ve been bonked during the crash.” Renet offered.

March smiled a thin lipped smile, and only nodded. “Well. It feels like… Eight or nine?” She squinted in estimation. “My internal clock isn’t that reliable, but that’s my guess.”

Renet nodded, as she felt her stomach growl. She anxiously blushed at the noise, while March chuckled. “I agree.” March noted. “I think some of the others are up. Let’s see if there’s some kind of breakfast menu in the lobby or something, yeah?”

The two stepped into the hallway, the door swinging closed behind them as they bounded down the stairs, into the lobby, where Sketch and Biscuit were in a deep conversation with Splendid. The trio paused at their arrival, Biscuit offering them a brief wave, before turning back to Splendid. “So this, this Flippy guy, is he dangerous?”

Splendid paused briefly. “Well. Flippy himself isn't dangerous.” He slowly said, choosing his words carefully. “Really, the guy wouldn’t harm a fly. It’s just that… How do I put this?”

“For someone who wouldn’t harm a fly, he did a pretty good number on us.” Sketch snarked, jerking a thumb at March. “How’s your nose?”

March bristled. “Fine. How did-”

“Biscuit told me.” Sketch simply replied, crossing her arms. “Me and Snoozy ran into the same guy while we were out.”

March raised an eyebrow. “Small world.”

“Mm.” Sketch noted, turning back to Splendid. “Well?”

Splendid hesitated. “Flippy has… Episodes, sometimes.” He explained, as best as he could. “I don’t… Fully understand it myself, but there’s a reason he tends to live further away from the town. It’s a precaution.”

“A precaution against what?” Biscuit asked, leaning in.

Splendid simply gave her a withering look, before rolling his eyes. “Look, you’ll be alright, okay? You’ll be fine. Just listen to me when I ask you to, and you’ll be okay.”

“But Flippy-”

“If everything goes well, you won’t even see Flippy again.” Splendid continued, waving a dismissive hand. “Where’s Cuddles? He’s the people person, he does this questioning thing better than I do.” He mumbled beneath his breath.

Footsteps approached, as from the stairwell Stan and Dottie entered, the former looking rather relaxed and warm, the other, not so much. “Morning.” Stan greeted placidly, waving a hand.

Dottie mumbled some kind of vague noise that could be generously construed as some kind of greeting, running a hand against his eyes.

“Stan, Dottie.” March greeted. “Sleep well?”

Stan nodded, smiling, before he elbowed Dottie. “This bun-bun stayed up half the night poking around.”

Dottie hissed, swiping Stan’s hand away. “I, was making sure WE, could rest safely and securely, while YOU slept in your bed, mumbling about pancakes. One of us has to keep an eye out for things like that.”

Renet blinked. “Things like what?” She asked.

“Err.” Dottie glanced at Stan. “Not important. Ju-”

“Bugs, mostly.” Stan idly replied. Dottie whirled and glared at him, making a strangling motion with his hands.

Renet frowned. “Like, spiders and moths and things like that?”

Dottie slowly nodded. “Yes. Just like those. Right, Stan?” They elbowed Stan in the ribs, until Stan nodded in agreement.

“Dottie is afraid of insects.” Stan declared. “So whenever we stay at a new place, he has to make sure there’s no creepy crawlies around. Isn’t that right, Dottie?” Stan smirked, the warmth of mirth within his features.

Stan’s face contorted into the kind of expression that could leave third degree burns. They clenched their fists, then unclenched them, forcibly nodding. “Yes. That is true.” They replied through gritted teeth. At least Stan went along with the thin cover story, even if he did add unwanted details.

“Aw, it’s okay, Stan.” March reassured him. “Lots of people suffer from a fear of insects, it’s very common. What’s it called?”

“Enochlophobia?” Renet answered, before shaking her head. “Entomophpobia. Sorry.”

“All good. Don’t worry, Dottie, we won’t let any sort of bug get on you.” March announced, clapping a hand on Dottie’s shoulder.

Dottie looked like they wanted to spontaneously combust, an expression that wasn’t rare to them. But they bit back their frustration, and only forced a smile that did not meet their eyes. The thumbs up Stan flashed at them did not help matters. Hearing footsteps approaching, and grateful for the sudden change of subject, Dottie glanced over his shoulder, frowning at the sight of whatshisname, the hyena in the teal suit, making his way down the stairs.

Straightening his tie, Whisky frowned, brushing a bit of lint from his suit, freezing at the glare Dottie sent him. His expression twitched into concern, frowning uneasily. “Am I, uh, interrupting something?”

“Dottie doesn’t like bugs.” Stan offered, while Dottie resisted the urge to start strangling.

Whisky raised an eyebrow. “Oh. I’m… Sorry to hear that?” He said, in the tone of voice that said he wasn’t entirely sure what he was apologizing for, but felt the need to, nevertheless.

Dottie grumbled, mumbling something beneath his breath. Whisky didn’t hear it, but Stan did, and a brief frown passed his features. “Dottie, be nice.”

Before Whisky could inquire further, the front doors of the lobby creaked open, and Cuddles poked his head in. “Oh, good. You’re all awake. I wasn’t sure if you’d be up yet.” He noted.

Splendid let out a sigh of relief, getting up from behind the lobby. “You’re up, Cuddles. Work your magic, I gotta run a few errands.” The superhero said, brushing past the rabbit and out the door, as quick as that without a second glance behind him.

Cuddles stepped forward, clapping his hands. “Alright, hope everyone here slept well. Here’s the plan - First, we’re getting some breakfast in you. I’m sure you’re all hungry. I don’t know how long you were on that bus, but I wager you haven't had much to eat for at least half a day. Then, we’re going to work on get you home.” He said, beaming as he scanned the crowd, before pausing. “Hang on. Six… Seven… We’re missing someone.” He noted with a brief pang of panic. “Where’s Snoozy?”

Sketch glanced around, eying Whisky. “He’s your roommate. Is he okay?” She asked, shuffling their feet.

“Oh. He’s still asleep.” Whisky casually replied, waving a hand. “I think he had trouble sleeping during the night - at least, I didn’t see him sleeping - so I figured… Maybe best to leave him in bed for a few more hours. Goodness knows he could do with a bit of extra shut-eye. We can always bring him breakfast later.”

Cuddles hesitated. “I, uh. No, he should come with us. I don’t think we should split everyone up if we can avoid it.”

March raised an eyebrow. “You sure? He had a big night, a bit of extra rest won’t harm him.”

“No, he’s right.” Biscuit noted. “Strange things happen when we split up. At least when we’re all together, we can… Look out, for another.” She shared a wordless glance with Sketch, who nodded. “Who wants to wake the poor sod up?”

Whisky’s shoulders sagged. “He’s my roommate, I’ll get him.” He said in resignation, turning to move back up the stairs. As he walked back up the stairs, pushing the door to him & Snoozy’s room open, he hesitated. He knew as much as anyone else how much it sucked to be woken up, especially after a rough night. Whisky shook his head, stepped into his room, and approached Snoozy’s sleeping body.

“Hey, uh, Snoozy? You awake?” He quietly asked, hesitatingly.

A soft snore answered him. Whisky sighed. Compared to him awake, Snoozy looked so… Calm and peaceful asleep. Almost cute, in a way. Kneeling beside the bed, Whisky reached a hand out, gently tapping Snoozy on the shoulder. “Snoozy?”

A groan answered him, and Whisky shamefully withdrew his hand, as one of Snoozy’s eyes peeked open. “Gwah?” Snoozy mumbled.

“Good morning to you too.” Whisky replied, smiling toothily, before letting it fade. “Look, I hate to do this to you, I know you had trouble sleeping, but… We’re all going out to get some breakfast, then we’re going home. They, uh. They don’t want anyone to be left by themselves. I guess they think we’ll vanish or something.” Whisky chuckled, humorlessly, before clearing his throat, as he eyed Snoozy apologetically. “Sorry for waking you. I figured - I figured you can come with us, have some breakfast, then nap while we figure out what comes next.”

Snoozy closed his eye again.

For a brief second, Whisky thought he immediately fell back asleep.

Before Snoozy exhaled. “Alright. Give me five minutes. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

-=-=-=-

Knocking on the door of a random house not too far away, Splendid waited patiently on the front lawn for the inhabitant to answer. He idly inspected the front garden, marveling at how well-kept it was, despite the occupant’s limitations.

He knocked on the door again, this time louder, more forcefully, and a twinge of regret passed him as he saw the wood bend inwards ever so slightly. He whistled and pretended it was like that when he got here, as the occupant finally pulled the door open with a groan.

Handy spat out the doorknob, glaring at Splendid with an expression typically reserved for Lumpy. “What.” He said, flatly.

“Oh, good, you’re alive.” Splendid noted dryly. “Cuddles said you got into a bit of a-”

“If you’re about to say some stupid pun, I don’t want to hear it.” Handy interrupted harshly. He idly patted his torso with a limb, a motion Splendid knew everyone was familiar with.

Death might be temporary, but the scars that no longer existed, the phantom pain… It still lingered, occasionally.

They all knew that.

“I just wanted to check with you.” Splendid said, shrugging. “Give you an update on last night’s situation.”

Handy grumbled. “How many died?”

“Outside of you and Mole? None. Some close calls, from what I hear, but if you, Mole, and Cuddles didn’t do what you did… We might have new, permanent residents.” Splendid noted, before offering a reassuring smile. “You did good. Well done.”

Handy grumbled, avoiding eye contact, as he crossed his arms. “Yeah, yeah.” He replied, dismissively.

There was a beat of silence, before Splendid cleared his throat. “That being said… You DID die, last night. The visitors might’ve seen or heard your death. The last thing we need is them seeing you or Mole out and about, risking them finding out about this places’ curse.” He breathed, slowly. “So, just for the time being, I’d like to place you under house arrest.”

Handy scoffed. “You serious?”

Splendid nodded. “I am. Keeping this place and its quirks a secret is imperative to the safety of our visitors. We have a duty to protect any unlucky visitor from this town, a duty to prevent them from becoming like us. A duty we have failed to uphold, the last few times.” Splendid pointedly glanced a few houses over, where the latest resident resided, with their pickle companion.

Handy sowled, unamused. “Fine. House arrest it is.”

At the unhappy expression on the beaver’s face, Splendid sighed, relenting. “I’ll be sure to let Petunia know, so she can drop by for groceries or company or anything like that. Alright? It won’t be long. Once these visitors are safe and sound, things’ll go back to normal.”

He didn’t say that, to them, ‘normal’ was hardly a concept they were familiar with.

But the message was understood, nevertheless.

“I gotta go inform Mole too.” Splendid noted. “Stay safe, alright Handy?”

Without even waiting for an answer, Splendid took off, leaving a gust of wind in his wake. Handy rolled his eyes, before letting out a surprised grunt as a piece of paper flew into his face, thrown up via Splendid’s departure. Rubbing a nub against his face, Handy peeled the paper off of his face, pushing it into his garden. He cast an annoyed glare at the paper, an advertisement flyer for a free eye care & optometrist appointment, and stomped it into his rose bush until it caught on one of the thorns, tearing.

-=-=-=-=-

“-And then it’s a one, two, three, spin on the four. Spotlight on the west section, five, six, seven, spin on the eight. East section, you’re up, nine, ten, eleven, spin on the twelve. We all point towards center stage, then Mexican Wave for the next eight beats. Pirouette, everyone on the edgelines does a highkick, and as the band reaches a crescendo, those in the center are held up by the others, strike a pose, and BAM. There’s our routine, what do you think?” March finished, beaming, as she finalized her powerpoint presentation.

The remainder of the performance troop stared, some nodding, some blankly. “Seems a bit… Much, isn’t it?” A fox spoke up. “It’s just the mid-game performance.”

“All the more reason to make it outstanding, Hazel!” March replied, nodding her head. “A lot of people already see the mid-game performance as the snack break, it’s time we made people regret not sticking around to seeing what amazing things we can do.”

Hazel shifted. “I guess.”

The other members of the troop exchanged similar remarks, as March shut her laptop. “Take the night to think on it, alright? Give it some thought, I’m sure there’s a few holes in the routine, and I’m happy to adjust.” She said, as the others began to pack up. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, March exited the gym, glancing at her watch. If she hurried, she’d make it home in time to help Mom cook dinner. She passed another student, then paused.

She turned back to the student, noting the tear streaked face, the heaving shoulders, the visible distress.

Hazel and another student walked past, shooting the other student a curious glance, but did nothing more.

March glanced at her watch, hesitant.

Before turning and approaching the distressed student.

“Hey. Are you okay? Would you like some help?”

-=-=-=-=-=-

Giggles let out an exhale, as she stood in the storage room of the diner, idly running her palm over her chin.

The pantry was full, as it always was, every morning.

There were a lot of things about the town that remained a mystery. Everything else seemed so pale in comparison of exactly how and why everyone comes back after dying, physically unharmed, if not mentally shaken. To the point where, as far as she could remember, the pantry was always full. She could use up every inch of ingredients throughout the day, close the pantry doors and go home for the night, and when she came back the next morning, it would be full again.

She never saw anyone deliver or load goods into the diner.

Everything just comes back.

Just like they do.

In a way, it wasn’t the worst or most pressing mystery. It meant they wouldn’t starve to death anytime soon - but even if they did, they’d just wake up again the next day, ready to do it all again. It always gave her the feeling of ‘why’, more so than usual. If you’re functionally immortal, then what’s the point of worrying about food? Then again, starving to death was not ideal, even if it was only temporary.

In another way, it was somewhat beneficial - The running of the diner gave her a resemblance of normalcy, something that reminded her of a normal life, in a normal kind of town. She supposed that was why she gravitated towards the diner, or at least she supposed that’s why she started to do so. Truthfully, she couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t start up the diner every morning. She was certain she had a life outside of the town - everyone did, to a degree - but exactly what that life was, remained foggy.

That’s what this town does to you.

It changed you in ways you didn’t realize, made you forget memories you once had. It turned you into something else. Slowly, gradually, over time, until you couldn’t recognize that you once had a life outside of this place.

These small moments of normalcy helped keep Giggles - and others like her - rooted. Alive, in a sense of the word.

She grabbed a bag of coffee beans from one of the shelves - The morning crowd would be showing up within the next half hour, and Lumpy was going to be clearing the lawn, and he’d need that pre-job pick-me-up. The clang of a bell sounded, the door swinging to alert her of someone entering the diner.

“Hey, uh, GiGi?” A voice called out. She recognized it instantly, and as she closed the pantry behind her, she skipped to the counter with a smile.

“Good morning, Cuddles!” She greeted, before freezing, the smile immediately leaving her features. Cuddles stood at the counter, but he wasn’t alone.

Eight strangers trailed behind him, all glancing around at the diner with curiosity. All different species, all different colors. One of them seemed to be lifeless, carried by two of the others, though the gentle snoring cleared that up.

Giggles quietly mouthed a particularly profane word at the sight.

Cuddles only nodded in response, clearing his throat as he turned to face the visitors, that reassuring smile back on his face. “This here is the best diner in town! Run by the best gal in town too.” He added, shooting Giggles a smirk.

Giggles stared back. Cuddles’ grin faltered.

“Hi!” One of the visitors stepped forward, a prairie dog in a bright marching outfit. She idly twirled a marching baton in her hand, as she waved to Giggles. “You must be Giggles! Cuddles said a lot of good things about you.”

Giggles’ eyes idly traced back to Cuddles. “Did he now. How about you all take a seat in one of the booths, I need to talk to Cuddles for a second.”

Cuddles’ ears fell, as he gestured for the visitors to sit down in a booth, before following Giggles behind the counter and into the pantry, out of sight. “Okay, look, I know this is a lot to take in-”

“This is bad.” Giggles groaned, running a hand over her eyes. “This is real bad. How long have they been here? Do they know?”

“Only a few hours.” Cuddles raised his hands, placating. “A bus crashed during the night, so they holed up at the hotel. I don’t think they realize what’s up with the town, and with any luck, they won’t.”

“We need to get them the hell out of here.” Giggles hissed, glancing through the kitchen window at the visitors.

Cuddles rested a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. “Relax, GiGi. I know, alright? I’m working on it.”

Giggles fixed him with a stare. “What’s the plan?”

“Get some food in them. We don’t know how far away the rest of the world is once they leave, it could be a long trip. So once they’ve had some breakfast, I’ll see if I can find a car big enough to accommodate all of them. A van, or something.”

Giggles tapped a finger against her chin, deep in thought. “Pop has a station wagon that might do. It used to belong to his wife, but…” She hesitated, falling silent.

“He’s not really using it much, is he?” Cuddles noted with a raised eyebrow. “That might be the best option. Do you mind keeping an eye on our guests? I’ll go talk to Pop about borrowing that car.”

“Yeah. I’ll get them some breakfast and watch them.” Giggles agreed.

However, as Cuddles turned, she caught his arm. “Hey. Hey.”

Cuddles blinked. “Yeah?”

Giggles gently kissed him, running her hand over his long ears. “You’re doing great, Cuddles." Then she pushed him out of the kitchen without another word.

-=-=-=-=-

The eight visitors sat awkwardly within two booths, side by side - Snoozy, Whisky, Sketch, and Biscuit in one, March, Renet, Stan, and Dottie in another. Snoozy had already dipped back off to sleep, leaning on Whisky like he was an oddly shaped pillow. For his part, Whisky seemed hesitant to wake Snoozy back up, and so he remained still, allowing the dormouse to sleep on, only pitifully shrugging with his other shoulder to Sketch & Biscuit.

“Alright, Giggles is going to whip up some quick food for you.” Cuddles explained, as he stepped out of the kitchen and back into the dining area. “I’m going to go secure a car for you to leave in, so sit tight, and I’ll be back here within an hour. With any luck, you’ll be on your way home.” Cuddles smiled, shooting a pair of fingerguns at the guests, before beginning to step outside.

“Wait, uh, hold on a second-” Whisky said, hesitatingly rising to his feet. He carefully propped Snoozy’s sleeping head on the backrest of the diner seat, before quickly scurrying to follow Cuddles outside. “Cuddles, uh, do you have a quick second?”

Cuddles stopped, turning to face Whisky with his charming, natural smile. “What’s on your mind?” He asked, tapping a foot. A van nearby came to a halt, two green raccoons getting out and moving towards the diner.

Whisky fidgeted, running a hand through his platinum hair, glancing anxiously around him. “This is probably a silly question, but, well - Look, I appreciate you finding us last night. Y’know? You probably saved our backsides. Did you happen to - I don’t know. Did you happen to come across a silver briefcase anywhere last night?” He asked, trying to smile casually and failing. One of the green raccoons paused, listening in.

Cuddles hummed. “Actually, yeah. Right before we found you, there was a silver briefcase on the side of the road, by the bridge. If the flashlight didn’t reflect off it, we might not have found your trail. In the haste to bring you back here, I didn’t pick it up. So, yeah, as far as I know it should still be there. We’ll pick it up when we take you home.”

Whisky exhaled a visible sigh of relief. “Oh, thank goodness. The boss will kill me if I lose that briefcase.”

“Why? What’s in it?”

Whisky clicked his tongue. “Ah. Y’know. Just… Things, and stuff.”

Cuddles raised an eyebrow at Whisky’s vague answer. “Valuable things?”

Whisky hummed, avoiding eye contact. “I, uh, can’t say.”

Cuddles squinted, but shrugged. “It’s cool. We’ll swing by and pick it up before we leave.”

“Thank you.” Whisky replied, smiling more naturally.

Neither of them noticed the green racoon signal to his brother, quietly heading back to their van, snickering to themselves.

-=-=-=-

March wasn’t sure exactly what happened.

One second, she had stepped off the deck to answer a quick phone call.

The next, the deck, and everyone on it, was gone.

Wood splintered, and collapsed, as more than a dozen students cried out in surprise, in shock, in fear, in pain, rapidly buried beneath the deck.

March didn’t hesitate even a second, leaping into action. “You, and you!” She shouted, pointing to a pair of wolves. “Help me start lifting debris off, getting these people less trapped. You!” She pointed at a cat, who was staring at the scene, frozen. “You’ve got a phone, yeah? Call emergency services, get them here as soon as possible. We’ll need ambulances. No time for questions, chop chop!” She clapped her hands, and spurred on by her orders, those around her leapt into action.

More and more bystanders pitched in, digging around the debris to unearth as many injured students as possible. March didn’t stop, directing traffic as more and more people joined in, people who had been standing in shocked silence before her voice broke the barriers.

By the time the wailing of the ambulances had drawn near, March’s arms were numb, stuck with splinters, and she was panting with exhaustion. A strong arm eventually took her by the shoulders, leading her away from the scene, forcing her to sit down. Her dad stood before her, smiling.

He nodded once.

She nodded back.

And then he took her place, shifting debris and saving people.

March leaned back on the ground, the soft grass beneath her. Just like her dad said.

Helpers were everywhere.

They just needed a bit of encouragement at first.

-=-=-==-

Idly fidgeting with her baton, March smiled as Whisky rejoined the group, sitting back in his booth. Snoozy immediately rolled over, resting his head on Whisky’s shoulder again, snoring quietly. Biscuit and Sketch snickered.

March’s eyes trailed over to those at her own table, hesitating as she caught the sour gaze Dottie shot at the others. “Dottie? You alright?”

Dottie blinked, then turned away. “‘S fine.” They replied, drumming their fingers on the table. There was a hint of venom in the tremor of their voice, and beside them, even Stan seemed hesitant to speak up with their casual demeanor.

The tension was broken, as the pink chipmunk waltzed over, several plates of pancakes in her arms. “On the house, fellas.” She greeted, serving out plates to the group. “Made with love!”

“Not too much love, I hope.” Sketch mumbled, hesitatingly poking his plate with a finger. “I’m a diabetic…”

“Shoot. Sorry, I’ll whip up an alternative for you.” Giggles sighed, taking Sketch’s plate back. She paused, hesitant. “Do you have insulin with you?”

Sketch shrugged. “A bit. Enough for a day or so.”

Giggles smiled. “Good! Good, good good. I’ll be back in five with something else for you.” She nodded, turning and strolling back into the kitchen. As she ducked into the kitchen, her smile fell, and she glanced back at Sketch in concern.

Unaware, Sketch leaned back, watching the others quietly tuck into their breakfast. Except for Snoozy, who continued to sleep, finding Whisky’s shoulder to be particularly comfortable. Whisky caught Sketch’s eye, and simply offered a halfhearted chuckle, blushing. Sketch smiled, leaning against her palm.

Beside him, Biscuit jabbed with an elbow. “I almost forgot about your diabetes, Sketch. We’ll have to refill your stash when we reach a chemist.”

Sketch waved a hand. “Eh, you heard me. I’m well off for a few more days.”

“Did you take your injection this morning?”

Sketch rolled her eyes. “Yes, mother.”

With a ding, the door to the diner swung upon. With a bonk, a tall, blue moose smacked his antlers against the doorframe, before reeling back, groaning. He re-entered sideways, and the door swung shut behind him. “Morning, Giggles!” He shouted out in a deep baritone, a leafblower slung over his shoulder.

“Morning Lumpy.” Giggles greeted back, poking her head out of the kitchen. “The usual?”

Lumpy nodded, humming. Giggles flashed a thumbs up, before retreating back into the kitchen. Turning on the stool at the counter, Lumpy spied the new inhabitants, and gasped. “Oh! Hello, new neighbors!” He waved a hand in excitement, strolling towards the eightsome.

Renet swallowed part of her pancake. “Hi!” She beamed, wiping her mouth. “And you are…?”

Lumpy placed the leafblower next to the table, smiling at the group. “Lumpy. I’m so pleased to meet you!” He clapped his hands, before leaning in. “Did they tell you about the town yet?”

Renet shot a confused glance at March. “... No?”

“Oh ho! This place sure is a doozy, lemme tell ya. Nary a day goes by without someone dy-”

“Lumpy!” Giggles shouted brandishing a warm mug of coffee. “Order’s ready!”

Lumpy blinked, immediately abandoning the train of thought and approaching the counter. “Wait,” Renet shouted after him. “What were you going to say? Without someone what?”

Lumpy turned back to them, eyes blank and vacant. “... Huh?” He rattled his head. “What are you talking about?”

Renet grimaced. “N-nevermind.”

As Lumpy turned back to his coffee at the counter, oblivious to the daggered stare Giggles shot at him, Renet turned back to the others, whispering. “Something isn’t right here.”

But before anyone could say anything, the door swung open again - and this time, two entered. A green squirrel, and a blue anteater. The anteater cleaned his glasses with a tissue, eyes fixated on the newcomers as he and the squirrel approached. “Hello.” In sharp contrast to the rather naive and airheaded greeting Lumpy offered, this one was more reserved, more measured, a lack of warmth in his voice. “I presume you are our latest visitors?” He asked, in the tone of voice that didn’t imply a question.

March slowly nodded. “Yeah, our bus crashed last night. Cuddles found us.” Stan sat back warily, uncharacteristically uncomfortable at the sight of the scientist.

The anteater glanced at the squirrel, who wordlessly whipped out a notepad and pencil, scribbling. “Mmm. He would, of course. My name is Sniffles, and this is my assistant, Nutty.” The squirrel waved an energetic hand, his lazy eye rolling around at the base of his socket. “We’d like to ask you some questions.”

“Are you a cop?” Dottie asked, eyes narrowed. “You gotta tell me if you’re a cop.”

Sniffles fixed Dottie with a dry glance. “That’s a myth. Police and similar officers of the law have no legal obligation to inform you of their status. But, for the record, no, I am not.”

“Is he a cop?” Dottie pointed a finger at Nutty.

Sniffles glanced at Nutty, and cackled. “Good lord, no. I know standards are low, but surely they haven't fallen that low yet. No, Nutty is my assistant - and a very good one, at that.”

Nutty beamed, idly chewing on some gum.

“What kind of questions would you like to ask?” March asked, tilting a head. “We already told Cuddles a good amount.”

Sniffles rolled his eyes. “Think of it as something of a…” Sniffles clicked his fingers, furrowing his brow. “What’s the term for it…”

“Census?” Nutty offered, almost too quick.

Sniffles nodded. “Census, yes. That’ll do. So, who would like to go first?”

The eightsome exchanged glances. Some looked hesitant. Dottie looked outright indignant.

Sketch cleared her throat. “This won’t be long, right?”

“Not more than five minutes, maximum.” Sniffles replied. “Just protocol. You’ll be fine.”

Sketch sighed. “Alright, fine, I’ll g-”

“No.” March interrupted, gesturing for Sketch to sit. “You haven't even had your breakfast yet. I’ll go first, get a scope of things, and these guys seem reliable, then the rest of you can go.”

“Good.” Sniffles nodded, beckoning her to the other side of the diner. “Trust me. This won’t take long.”

And with that, Sniffles and Nutty led March to the other side of the diner, sitting in an empty booth, away from the others.

-=-=-=-

“I assure you, these questions won’t be anything unusual. We just need them for our records.” Sniffles began, as he gestured for March to sit across the table from him. Nutty stood standing, pencil and notebook scribbling away, and as March sat within the booth, Sniffles pulled out a tape recorder, pressing a button on it. “Please begin by stating your name, age, and species.”

“Can that tape recorder even hear me?” March asked.

“I assure you, it does.” Sniffles dryly nodded. “Name, age, and species.”

March cleared her throat. “My name is March. I’m twenty-one years old, and I’m a prairie dog. Why do you need this information?”

Sniffles glanced at Nutty, who scribbled something down. “Just ticking boxes. Please state the date and time of your entry to our town.”

“Ninth of October, 2022. Around… Two, three am?” March glanced at her watch for confirmation, only to frown at remembering it to be broken.

Sniffles paused, exchanging a glance with Nutty, who quietly made another note in his notepad. “If you have a current state of employment, please state it.” Sniffles instead inquired.

“Oh. Uh. Rhythm Coordination Major.”

Sniffles stared blankly. Nutty nudged his shoulder. “Band leader and parade organizer.” He clarified.

Sniffled turned to his squirrel assistant. “How do YOU know that?”

Nutty opened his mouth. Sniffles immediately popped a lollipop within it. “Nevermind. March, next question. Please state the method of how you entered the town.”

“Uh. Bus?”

“Always the bus…” Sniffles mumbled. He sat back, clearing his throat. “These next questions may be a bit strange, but just… Humor us. Have you ever had a near-death experience in your life?”

March blinked. “What kind of question is that…?”

Sniffles closed his eyes, exhaling. “Please answer the question.”

March sighed, drumming her fingers on the table. “I mean. Once, I guess. A third-floor deck collapsed during a post-graduation party. I had gotten off of it only seconds before. A lot of people were hurt. I tried to help where I could, but… But some people died.”

“We’re sorry to hear that.” Nutty said, voice low. He glanced at Sniffles, elbowing him.

“Yes. We’re sorry to hear that. That must’ve been a difficult time.” Sniffles said, shooting a glare at Nutty. “You mentioned you tried to help…?”

“My dad used to tell me, look at the helpers.” March began, leaning back. “When tragedy strikes, it can be easy to be overwhelmed by what happened, but take a step back, look around, see who’s helping. Because there will always be helpers. Some of them just need someone to direct traffic, kick them into gear, break through their shock. The world can always use more helpers, can’t it?”

Sniffles slowly smiled, nodding. “You’re right. People looking out for each other… That’s how we get through the day.” He cleared his throat. “Do you have any… Conditions, be it medical, psychological, or physical, that may present yourself to be a danger to those around you?”

March blinked, leaning back. “What? What kind of- No, no I don’t. What’s the point of this?”

“I understand your frustration. But this is the last question, then we’re done here.” Sniffles reached into his bag, pulling out a large map of the country, pushing it towards March. “You mentioned you arrived here via bus. Can you pinpoint the location where you boarded the bus?”

March glanced at the map, shrugging and pointing at a spot that felt familiar. “There, I guess.”

Nutty made a pointed note.

Sniffles exhaled. “I believe that will be all, for now. Thank you, March. Pl-”

“MARCH!”

Then, the sound of shattering glass.

-=-=-=-

At the bus stop, March studied the letter in her palm.

She had never heard of this school across the state before. Neither had any of her friends, who had dismissed the letter as spam. But when she phoned the number at the bottom of the letter, and got patched through to the headmaster, March felt reassured.

A guest director, someone to help give the team some pointers? It seemed like such a wild thought. But evidently, one of March’s former teachers had relocated to that school, and recommended March for the position, for at least a few days. Plus, all expenses paid. It seemed like too good of a deal.

“I dunno. This still seems fishy to me.” Hazel said, rolling her eyes. “I mean this in the nicest of ways, but if a school’s performance troop is so bad they have to reach out to someone who lives on the other side of the state, then maybe they’re a lost cause.”

March shrugged. “All the more reason to help them.”

Hazel scrunched her nose up, an action she was familiar with. “Right. They at least wired you money up front, right?”

“Yup! Half now, half after the weekend. The way I see it, even if there isn’t any money involved, then they're still asking for help.” March nodded, wagging her tail. “And I can’t turn that down.”

Hazel sighed. “You and your ‘helping.’ The world sucks, y’know? It’s full of dirtbags. Some day, helping the wrong person is going to wind up with you getting hurt.”

“Maybe.” March acquiesced. “Maybe. But until then, if I’m in a position to help someone, then I’m going to take it. You know that. And if I do get hurt, then at least I’ll have tried to do good. I’m certain when that happens, someone will help me in turn.”

“Yeah…” Hazel replied, though she didn’t sound convinced.

A bus slowly pulled up to the bus stop. The doors opened, with a rather impatient pig at the steering wheel. He looked at March expectantly, tapping his watch, as March stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll call you when I get there, ‘kay? It’ll be fine.”

Hazel sighed. “You’ll be back in time for my birthday, right?”

“Of course. This’ll be a few days, tops.” March opened her arms, and Hazel, though hesitant, embraced her. “I’ll talk to you later, alright?”

Hazel broke the hug, stepping back. “Take care, March. Don’t put your neck out too far.”

March simply waved back, smiling, as she boarded the bus.

The doors closed behind her, and without another second, the bus rumbled, driving away.

It didn’t strike Hazel until days later, that there wasn’t any sort of identification on the bus, and no matter how much she wracked her head, she couldn’t recall the number or even the brand of the bus, before it vanished over the horizon.

-=-=-=-

Sliding an alternative breakfast plate to Sketch, Giggles smiled, bobbing her head. “There you go. Sorry about that.”

Sketch waved a hand. “It’s fine, no big deal. Thank you.”

Turning to the others, Giggles began to collect the now-empty plates. “What about the rest of you? Enjoy your breakfast?”

Renet nodded, wiping her mouth. “Yes! It was fantastic, thank you.”

Snoozy rolled over, a half-eaten mouthful of pancake in his mouth, as he slid off of Whisky’s shoulder and banged his head on the table. “Ow! Mother-”

“Oh, good. You’re awake.” Biscuit noted, beaming. None of them noticed the force of Snoozy’s head banging against the table caused March’s discarded baton to slowly roll off the table, deftly sliding into the nozzle of Lumpy’s leafblower.

“Long night?” Giggles asked, sympathetically.

Snoozy groaned, rubbing his eyes, as Whisky rubbed his shoulder gently. “You could say that.”

Leaving Snoozy to scoop up a bit more of his pancakes, Giggles collected the rest of the plates, retreating into the kitchen. She passed Lumpy, as he finished up his cup of coffee, and stretched. “Thanks for the drink, Giggles. I’ll get that front lawn cleaned for ya.” He cheerfully said, nodding, as he scooped up his leafblower and retreated outside.

Left to their own devices, the visitors sat in a tense silence. Renet nodded in the direction of March, Sniffles, and Nutty. “What do you think they’re talking about?” She asked, curiously.

Dottie huffed. “I don’t know, but it can’t be good. Stan, when it’s our turn, we give them nothing, got it?”

Stan quietly shrugged. “Normally I’d say something casual, but… I don’t know. This feels… Clinical.” They shot Dottie a knowing glance, one Dottie returned with a nod.

“Agreed. There’s three kinds of people I don’t trust - cops, suits, and people who ask too many questions.”

Whisky glanced at his suit, chuckling nervously.

“Wait. Someone fill me in, what’s going on?” Snoozy asked, fighting back a yawn.

“Some of the townsfolk wanna ask a few questions. Something about a census?” Renet squinted her eyes, curious. “March is giving them the trial run, and if she thinks they’re alright, it’ll be us up next. But Cuddles shouldn’t be too far away by then, I think…”

The lights above them flickered slightly. Sketch glanced up at the lights, swallowing a mouthful. “Shoddy wiring, I bet. Biscuit?” She turned to her cat companion, and paused.

Biscuit sat in a trance next to them, eyes vacant, staring into the void.

“It’s happening again.” Sketch mumbled, pushing his plate away.

“Is she okay?” Whisky asked, looking on in hesitating concern.” In the other booth, Renet, Dottie, and Stan all looked on.

“Biscuit, talk to me. What’s up?” Sketch asked.

With a blink, Biscuit shook her head, glancing around. She eyed the empty space next to them, where the moose’s leafblower once stood, and the empty space where March’s baton rested only minutes ago. Her mouth grew incredibly dry, as she turned her head, looking out the window.

Outside Lumpy stood, the leafblower in hand. He yanked the cord once, twice, three times - the motor powering up into a frenzy. But it didn’t blow the leaves away. He frowned, turning the power up an additional setting, then up to maximum power. The leafblower, roared, smoke billowing out the back of it, as Lumpy yanked the starting cord once again, twisting the power knob past maximum power. The machine rumbled, shaking in his hands as the pressure built up, increasing rapidly.

Biscuit whipped her head back to the group, suddenly very pale. “March.” She whispered. She tried to climb out of her seat, but succeeded in only tripping, spilling onto the floor. “MARCH!” Biscuit shouted.

It all happened so fast.

Outside, Lumpy grew frustrated with the leafblower, throwing it onto the ground. It spun, churning black smoke from the engine, as it grew to a halt, its nozzle pointed towards the diner.

At the other end of the diner, March heard her name being shouted, and stood, turning to face them, her expression lined with confusion and worry.

Lumpy kicked the leafblower, dislodging the blockage in its nozzle. With force and speed far greater than any leafblower should have, the pressure within the machine shot out, shooting March’s baton at the diner with dizzying speed.

The glass window beside March shattered, sending glass scattering across the diner, as something burst through it with a speed so fast, it was blinding. March felt something strike her in the head, and she staggered backwards, leaning against the counter of the diner for support.

Sniffles and Nutty instinctively ducked, hiding underneath the table as glass shards rained down around them.

Giggles whipped out of the kitchen, startled, wordlessly gaping.

The visitors jumped. Biscuit scrambled to her feet, sprinting towards March. Renet leapt off of her seat, following, and the two quickly helped her to her feet. “March! Thank goodness, you’re okay. I thought…” Biscuit paused, her voice going quiet, as March ambled, turning to face her. Renet squeaked, paling, stepping back.

“Did you say my name?” March said, her voice wavering. A trail of blood dripped down the side of her face, from her left eye socket, where her baton had skewered through her, destroying her eye and busting partway through the back of her skull. Chunks of bone and matter lay across the diner counter, as March took an unsteady step forward. Her remaining eye watered, as she glanced around, struggling to focus. “D-do you n-need my h-h-help?” March raised a shaking hand, feeling her face, tapping her hand against the baton, sticking out of her eye socket. “... Oh.”

Her remaining eye rolled into the back of her head, as she stumbled forward, falling to her knees. She exhaled, mumbling something going unheard, as she slackened, falling forward onto the floor. A pool of blood slowly spread from underneath her, as March lay still.

Someone shrieked. Someone cried. Some only stared, silent. Sketch quickly sprinted to Biscuit, gripping her in a tight embrace, whispering into her ear. Whisky carefully approached, trying not to faint himself, and gently steered Renet away from the scene, back to the table. Dottie and Stan stood in their seats, Stan uncharacteristically stunned, while Dottie craned his neck around the booth, trying to figure out what just happened. Snoozy knelt down on the floor, reaching a palm out against March’s neck, and felt nothing.

March died for the first time, surrounded by relative strangers. Strangers who had only known her for less than a day, but quickly came to know her as a kind, reliable soul. Someone who would help others without question, a rarity in today’s world. Someone who would certainly be missed, and didn’t deserve the fate of the freak accident that had befallen them.

Giggles only glanced at Sniffles and Nutty, face contorted in despair.

March had fallen to the curse, of Happy Tree Town.