Work Text:
Death had come swiftly for Oakheart. He’d felt the rush of adrenaline, his heart pounding, but the battle was over. Then, a scraping sound, behind and above him. He’d started to turn his head.
And then he was in Starclan, pale mist receding from his paws, a gentle glimmer all around him.
And there were cats, all around him. Oakheart felt a bit like a kit being passed around, as cat after cat wove around him, greeting him.
So it’s little wonder it took him so long to notice the one cat who hadn’t surged forward, a light brown tom who sat apart from the tidal wave, his green eyes full of mild patience. After the rush of cats had slowed, and he’d said everything that needed saying to his father, and mother, and former leader, and everyone else he’d ever known that had passed before him, Oakheart made his way carefully over to the stranger.
Or, near stranger. Some dim memory sparked in him, although he couldn’t quite place the cat yet.
As he neared, the tom spoke. “Greetings, and welcome to Starclan! You might not recognize me,” the cat continued, “we didn’t really know each other in life. But my name is Thrushpelt.”
Thrushpelt Oakheart thought. Yes, that was a name he knew. He’d hear it in passing, as any cat might hear the name of another clan cat as a Gathering. But more than that, he’d heard it during that Gathering. The one after Bluestar’s kits had ‘gone missing.’ It seemed as if every cat had thought he was their father, and Oakheart had felt a brief pang of jealousy and bitter anger at this tom who could openly mourn for the lost kits. Oakheart was raising two of them, of course, he didn’t need to grieve for them. But his heart ached for the third, the kit he’d never even been able to meet, and the ache had stayed there with no relief or escape.
Would it have been better, or easier, if I could have shown it? He wondered, not for the first time.
Thrushpelt still stood, waiting. Oakheart nodded at him, to show that he knew who Thrushpelt was, and the lighter tom rose to his paws.
“Follow me, please. There’s someone who wants to meet you.” Thrushpelt turned, flicking his tail to beckon Oakheart on. “She was going to be there when you first got here.” He continued, as the pair padded softly through the bushes. A stream bubbled quietly nearby. “But the crowds made her nervous. And she didn’t want your first meeting to be rushed. Here we are!”
Pushing through a final bush, Oakheart found himself in a small glade. Sunshine filtered down, warming everything pleasantly. Flowers dotted the grass, perfuming the air. In the center of the glade, three kits tumbled over each other. One pale silver, one dark gray, and one white and gray.
A shadow moved in the corner, solidifying into a dark, spotted she-cat. The cat nodded at Thrushpelt and Oakheart, then flicked her tail at the kits.
“Nightkit! Mistkit! Come along now.” She called, and two of the kits pulled free of the game, trotting off after their mother and mewing cheerful goodbyes to the final kit.
“Thanks, Leapardfoot!” Thrushpelt said, and the she-cat waved her tail in response.
The white and gray kit sat up, shaking out her pelt. She tipped her head, studying him carefully, and Oakheart felt his mouth go dry. He forced himself to swallow, then crouched down to meet her gaze.
“Hello, little one.” Oakheart said softly. “I’m Oakheart.”
The kit nodded. “I’m Mosskit. And I know who you are.” She added, narrowing her eyes slightly. She took a deep breath, then continued.
“When I was alive, I thought my father was Thrushpelt. Bluefur - Bluestar - didn’t say he was, and neither did he, but everyone else did. And he played with us, and brought us treats. I don’t know you. You’ve never played with me, or brought me prey. But you’re still my father.” Mosskit paused, looking up at him. She seemed to be searching his gaze for something.
“Oh, Mosskit.” Oakheart whispered. “I would have. Please believe me, I would have if only I could.”
Mosskit nodded slowly. “Ok. Come down here then.”
Oakheart lowered himself fully to the ground, almost without thinking. He felt a moment of confusion, before Mosskit jumped onto his back.
“Badger rides first, then.” She said imperiously. When Oakheart didn’t spring into action immediately, she continued “You did say you would play with me if you could.”
Oakheart thought his heart would burst out of his chest with the sudden and immense rush of joy he felt. A purr rumbled deep in his chest, filling him to the brim. He stood, lumbering around like a badger, listening to his tiny daughter laugh with glee.
They played game after game, running and jumping and chasing for what felt like hours. Eventually, Snowfur arrived, saying she would watch Mosskit for a bit so he could have a moment to adjust to being in Starclan.
Sitting, watching them walk off together into the woods, Oakheart didn’t feel as though he needed a moment. His paws pulsed with energy. He could - and would - play any game Mosskit wanted, hunt any prey she desired, tell her any story she longed to hear, until the stars blinked out of the sky, and he would never tire.
A flicker of movement caught his eye, and he turned to see Thrushpelt walking away.
Did he stay that whole time? Oakheart wondered, then called after him “Wait!”
Thrushpelt turned, tipping his head curiously.
“You’ve been looking after her, all this time?” He asked.
“Well, me and Snowfur. And Moonflower. Sometimes Shellheart comes by, as well.” Thrushpelt replied.
“And you looked after her in life, too?”
Thrushpelt glanced down, shuffling his paws. “I know it wasn’t my place, if that’s what you mean. I knew she wasn’t mine, even then. But still…” He raised his head, meeting Oakheart’s gaze. “Yes. I knew they weren’t mine, but I loved them all the same. All four of them.”
Oakheart let the meaning of his words sink in. He was surprised to find that, after everything, he didn’t feel jealousy rise within him. Nor anger, or even bitterness. Instead… “Thank you.” Oakheart replied, gratitude filling his words. “I didn’t know you in life, but in death, at least, I would be honored to consider you a brother.”