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(“CatNap is supposed to be someone that protects the Playcare, but they're small. How about we scrap the human design and make them like everyone else; a toy.”
KickinChicken makes his hands into fists, slowly looking at Hoppy, who also appears…
“But that means CatNap won't match the other Smiling Critters. Do we also turn them into toys?”
... appears frightened, eyes wide and shaking. No. No, no, no. He feels Hoppy grip him tightly.
KickinChicken just wanted to ask if his baseball glove came in so he and Hoppy could finally play baseball without hurting his hands. Not to listen to this.
“No, the others have to teach. KickinChicken is the only oddball, as he mostly plays nurse, but I still feel like that's an important enough role to let him stay human. Let's drag CatNap in and turn them into a toy.”
… KickinChicken stumbles, no longer caring about some stupid glove. His stumbles turn into full-blown sprints, booking it straight to CatNap's Orphanage.)
Eight weeks.
It’s been eight fucking weeks.
Eight weeks without CatNap.
Eight weeks of crying because he couldn't do more to save CatNap.
DogDay has even gone quiet, almost reminding KickinChicken of an actual dog. Each time a staff member comes into the Playcare, he runs to them, begging for any updates on CatNap. But, from what he tells everyone, the response is always the same,
“Sorry, DogDay, that's confidential.”
(“Fuck this! Fuck them!”
“DogDay—”
The classroom is trashed, and DogDay seems to be barely holding on. Scrapes are all over his hands from throwing everything, dried blood on some of the objects. A loud whine leaves DogDay as he’s held by CraftyCorn, who drags her fingers through his hair, humming quietly in his ears.
“Fuck them,” the male chokes, coughing harshly. “They took my Kitty.”
Yeah. They took DogDay’s best friend, they took KickinChicken’s best buddy. The only other person KickinChicken has a genuine connection with, other than Hoppy.
His chest hurts, not because of the lack-of his lavender scented friend; but hearing DogDay scream and cry, curse, and in the years he’s known DogDay, he’s never once swore. Now?
It's all he's saying.
“Fuck this” and “fuck them”. Two simple phrases that KickinChicken uses on a daily basis when away from kids, but hearing them from DogDay—...
… Hearing how DogDay's heart is bleeding out, and in a room of six people, not one of them is able to reach a hand out and save him from that pain.
“They’ll be back soon, Cyrus,” Bobby whispers, and KickinChicken freezes at the “dead name”—DogDay’s human name. “And when they're back, you can hug them all you'd like.”)
False hope, really.
Bobby gave him and everyone else false hope.
As when CatNap came back, they never saw their tiny friend. CatNap's children also seemed on edge and a little boy named Theodore warily explained why. Because CatNap, “was now scary”.
A lot of kids didn't like CatNap, and CatNap seemed to accept that fate. Poppy Gas has a bad side effect—hallucinations and nightmares. Because of that, a lot of the kids see CatNap as a threat, and would even scream and cry when the kids saw them despite it not being Light’s Out. The other Critters would always try and calm the kids down, but it never really worked—the only ones that seemed remotely to like CatNap were the kids that they took care of. Those kids know CatNap. Know that CatNap is the least threatening creature in existence, someone that loves to chase light beams from flashlights and loved watching birds on old VHS tapes. Know that CatNap's tail carried the majority of their midnight coffee runs and know that CatNap's ears dance back and forth when listening to music they really liked—a favorite song of CatNap's that immediately started the “ear dance” is a song called Blind by Korn.
That song was almost always playing at their orphanage.
All their kids love them.
So hearing a child that was probably CatNap's favorite—one that often would take naps, cuddled right beside CatNap—call them scary set off so many red flags, and more went off when they noticed how those kids livelihoods started to steadily decline, some explaining that they don't eat as much anymore because, “CatNap doesn't have thumbs, they can't cook”.
Those kids have barely eaten. A realization PickyPiggy quietly said.
So here the group is now. DogDay in front as he explains to the kids that they're gonna go check on CatNap. “Go to one of our orphanages, okay? Pick one, we’ll house you until we get this settled. Try not to bunch up too much, okay?" A chorus of, “okay”, is his response and he stands tall. After watching all of the kids disappear into the houses, DogDay unlocks the door and drops the keys. “What the fuck?”
Bubba pushes his way forward, and KickinChicken peers over and freezes.
The walls, floor, and ceiling are covered in scratch marks. The place is trashed, but it's clear some sort of attempt was made to clean, by either the kids or CatNap is the question.
“CatNap? Kitty?” DogDay's voice cracks as he speaks, and KickinChicken watches Bubba quickly close the space, holding his arm in front of DogDay to act as some sort of barricade.
A light, red mist can be seen in the air.
DogDay forces himself in front of Bubba, looking around as KickinChicken cringes at the lumps of purple fur scattered. Bobby weakly laughs, now gripping onto Bubba as she looks around. “Hey. Does anyone else feel like they're in a horror movie? Asking for a friend.” Bobby whines, and Bubba drags his fingers through the long red hair, as if attempting to calm her down. It seems to work slightly, reaching forward to CraftyCorn to hold her hand. “Because this is getting creepy, sorry, I don't do well in horror situations.”
A loud bang; and the seven jump, a loud squeak leaving both CraftyCorn and Bobby, the two girls hugging each other tightly, and KickinChicken can feel Hoppy grab the back of his shirt. It only takes a heartbeat for DogDay to rush forward, despite the screams of the others to stay back—safety in numbers—but he ignores them. “For the love of—Hops, I’ll be back!” KickinChicken is quick to speak, pecking Hoppy on the cheek and running after DogDay, deeper into the orphanage.
“Kitty! Where are you?!”
Desperation seeps through those words.
Eight weeks.
That's the longest time they’ve been apart from CatNap, and despite not being that social, CatNap has never been alone for that long. Either with their “Angel” or the other Critters—and KickinChicken already confirmed that 1006 hasn't seen CatNap.
(“Wait, please.”
The hand stops. KickinChicken ended up going too far from the Playcare, as he was trying to find the Experiment CatNap seems to love so much. And by God, he finally found it. He finally found CatNap's angel. It taps its fingers, a clear, “on with it” and KickinChicken slaps down a piece of paper, almost resembling an ouija board, with “Yes” and “No” written with letters covering the paper.
“I need your help. I just have a few questions, and then I’ll leave you alone. Promise. I’ll never look for you again.” KickinChicken grips his jean shorts, staring at the hand. “Please.”
Silence, silence that suffocates KickinChicken, silence that makes him wonder; can 1006 even read this paper? See it?
And the hand crawls over, tapping yes .
A breath of relief; KickinChicken could cry. “Okay, thank you, thank you so much. It's about CatNap.”
Hollis?
Right. 1006 always addressed CatNap by their actual name. “Yeah, uh—do you know what happened? I can explain if I need to.” He murmurs, watching the hand tap out explain . “Okay. So. Uh, the staff took CatNap away—it’s been eight weeks. Technically eight weeks and six hours, but, really, who's counting?”
KickinChicken. KickinChicken is. Probably DogDay, too.
“They… Took CatNap, staff did. Scientists. Staff and scientists decided they didn't need them to be human, and instead, realized that as security CatNap probably couldn't stop someone bigger and stronger than them. They needed something better than a human body.” He chokes out, forcing the words out of his throat, forcing his nails to dig into his palms, to feel something other than the pain of missing CatNap.
He’ll bleed if it means his heart finally gets off of that lavender kitty.
That's why Hollis isn't in their room?
“Yeah. You haven't seen them?”
No. Can't find them.
“Shit,” KickinChicken stands and looks around. “The staff won't tell us anything, I was hoping you knew something.” He whispers, and 1006’s response is no.
“Okay. Thank you, 1006. I’ll leave you alone now.”)
“‘Day! Get back here! Safety in numbers, you numbskull!” KickinChicken screeches, not caring to be quiet, not caring to be careful to trip or knock over stuff. “Come back! DogDay!” He doesn't care that his voice is growing hoarse, he doesn't care that his throat feels like it's about to split.
All KickinChicken wants to do is have DogDay back in his arms, with DogDay hugging him back, with his nails dragging across his neck in a calming manner. Comfort. He’s a source of comfort with kids and even the other Critters; and in this orphanage, one that's filled with claw marks, with clumps of purple fur or hair, with knocked over vases and trash strewn about—he’s not ashamed to admit that he could use that comfort.
But it seemed no matter how much KickinChicken yelled at him, it’s clear he wasn’t getting through. DogDay simply jumps over everything, and KickinChicken watches DogDay body slam into the door that separated CatNap's bedroom from the rest of the house, red mist thicker. It makes him cringe, and looking behind him, KickinChicken watches the group following after.
But before the others can say anything, the door, weak from wear, tear, age—breaks open and DogDay kicks the door out of his way, only to freeze. Those eyes, once filled with desperation, are suddenly filled with tears. “Kitty?” He croaks. And KickinChicken stumbles forward and stops, body stiff as each and every single nerve is set alight; his brain screaming at him to run from danger.
That's not CatNap. That can't be.
Not a human, but he wouldn't call that a toy, either. CatNap sits in the darkness, a cloud of red smoke leaving their mouth, ears flat against their head, and their pupils stare right into KickinChicken.
Long. Tall. Boney.
That's not CatNap.
“This is a joke, right? Ha! Funny! Funny, funny, ‘Nap! You got me— us! ” He can't hide the fear in his voice, even if he tries. “Now go back. This isn't you.” KickinChicken begs, waving his hand to break the cloud of Poppy Gas leaving them.
Why? Why use the gas? They have masks on—they almost always have masks on.
Bobby stumbles inside, despite CraftyCorn reaching for her hand, walking straight to CatNap. She reaches her hand up and drags it through the fur, quiet purring filling the air as KickinChicken listens to the sound of Bobby trying not to break down.
Listens to her gasps of breath, listens to her coughing.
Because of course he does. He isn't like DogDay, who is already racing forward to comfort her. He isn't someone that would lead. He’s never been one to step in.
It's why this is his fault. He couldn't get CatNap safe in time. He failed.
“What are we gonna do now? We found them. Not like we can do anything about this now. They're gross.” CraftyCorn mumbles, only for the white pupils that were previously down and looking at the other two to shoot up and stare right at CraftyCorn causing her to tense up as she backs away slightly.
“Shut up,” DogDay's voice is soft, but it's the loudest thing in this orphanage. “They aren't gross. They aren't ugly. This is my Kitty.” Each word is more pronounced than the last, and CatNap seemingly lays down—or, tries to, at least—to continue getting affection. KickinChicken takes a step, only for his hand to be grabbed by CraftyCorn. He stares at her for a second, sending a confused look that asks, what?, but she shakes her head and tugs KickinChicken back, and almost immediately, he scowls, and pulls himself out of the grip.
“Just go back if you don't wanna see them. Just get out if you are only going to be here to insult and berate. Just leave. Just fucking—”
A paw is gently placed on his leg.
KickinChicken slowly follows the long leg back to CatNap's body, and CatNap shakes their head.
Lucky bastard.
KickinChicken walks over and sits down next to Bobby, who immediately presses into him for some sort of comfort, which he gives by holding her tightly. The sound of some others fills his ears as they walk forward and sit down, and somewhere in KickinChicken’s mind, he thinks, hey, maybe we all shouldn't be sit here, we’re cornering them, but no signs of discomfort are in the air.
Only a thick fog on red gas that’s still leaving the feline, but no one says anything about it.
DogDay’s lap is being used as a pillow for the monstrous kitten, eyes closed as their gentle purrs fill the air. But KickinChicken feels so suffocated, looking at DogDay; tears escaped his eyes, wetting the purple fur, and it's probably not easy to breathe and cry at the same time wearing the gas mask. Bobby has slightly calmed down, no thanks to KickinChicken, but she's still tightly clinging to him.
“I missed you so much, Kitty, you don't even know.”
Maybe it was the cracks in his voice; maybe it was the lack-of-confidence in the way he spoke. Maybe it's how when CatNap looked up at him, he instead looked away. Maybe it's just watching someone so strong hold himself together by a thread that made CatNap curl up into the smallest ball they could manage to be squeezed onto his chest, onto his lap, and that was the final straw.
DogDay breaks down.
He holds CatNap tightly and cries. Muffling apologies and curses into their fur, all while CatNap's long tail wraps tightly, securely around DogDay’s body, and the only thing KickinChicken can do is watch.
Watch as the one that seemed to make light of any situation, no matter how dark, no matter how grim, made the situation better—and now he’s tightly hugging CatNap. Tightly hugging them and apologizing for KickinChicken’s mistakes, apologizing for KickinChicken. He takes his hat off and drops it onto the floor, forces his legs to stand, and he almost falls back down immediately if he wasn't caught, if the familiar touch of Bubba is anything to go off of. This time, he doesn't snap at the blue elephant, he doesn't even look at him. With uneven footing, he makes his way to the two and stares down, with the two looking up at him.
“I'm sorry. I should have said something. I heard—I heard them talking about it, taking CatNap,” he chokes out, and the two stare at him.
DogDay, with tears in his eyes, full of pain, anguish, despair.
CatNap, who simply stares forward, no emotions that KickinChicken can detect.
“I should have said something. It's my fault—” CatNap uncurls and places a paw to KickinChicken’s gas mask, a quiet, stop, unsaid words; but he pulls back, pulls away from the purple kitty and grabs the furry arm. “No. No, CatNap, this isn't okay. This isn't something anyone can deal with—your kids are suffering because of my stupidity. Because I couldn't fucking say something!” KickinChicken snaps, not caring anymore.
This is all his fault.
Fuck—it should have been someone else. His job isn't important enough to stay human. So why just CatNap?
Why?
“Chicken, stop,” Hoppy’s voice is wary, gently tap, tap, tapping the toe of her shoes on the floor. “This is nobody's fault. If it's yours, then it's also mine. I was there with you but didn't say anything, either. Even if we tried to do something, they would have gotten to CatNap eventually.” She explains, hugging herself, messing with her cropped purple hoodie. “So let's take some deep breaths. Okay? Can you breathe with me?”
KickinChicken stares at her before looking back at CatNap.
Red.
Red gas. Red vision.
For a heartbeat, no one says anything.
Until Bobby yelps; that gets everyone's attention.
Bubba is dragging her back, something akin to fear and anger in his eyes. “Everyone needs to leave.” He snaps, and Bobby looks up, confused. “I’ll drag each fucking one of you out if I need to. Let's go. We have to go.”
“I'm… Confused,” Hoppy whispers, “why? What's going on?”
KickinChicken grabs her, glaring at the only one standing. Bubba’s eyes twitch. “You guys don't get it? Don't understand? They're trying to put us to sleep. We have to go.” He snaps, quickly walking in and pulling PickyPiggy up, who stumbles as she's lead out with a confused look, but checks up on Bobby, patting her shoulders. KickinChicken goes to open his mouth, snap at him, but Bubba beats him to it, glaring at the chicken. “Gas masks have filters, and they can only filter so much, that's why we change them out every twenty four hours. However, they’re quick to be clogged in highly concentrated areas. And, hey, there's a thick fog of red on the floor.” He snaps, and CraftyCorn is quick on her feet to rush out with the other three girls. “If our filters fail, we’re going to be passed out, and with the amount is here—who knows how long we’ll be out. Now let's go.” Bubba’s tone is one KickinChicken is too familiar with—an angry dad.
An angry dad that's trying to protect his kid, or kids in this case, as he grabs Hoppy's wrists, pulling her out of KickinChicken's grasp, and drags her out as well.
“No.” The voice makes KickinChicken whip over, looking at DogDay, who still holds the cat. “I’m not leaving. I love them. I almost lost them. I don't care if I overdose on this shit, I’m staying with my baby.”
A voice that drips sorrow.
A voice that lacks everything it used to.
A voice that's broken, and his grip tightens on CatNap, who stares at the hat on the floor, their tail twisting and turning as they bring the fuchsia colored hat to them and paws it, making it collapse as they begin to play with it, ignoring everyone.
The hat they’d sometimes try and steal, but was always unsuccessful, mainly due to their ears not fitting the cap.
The cap that KickinChicken was willing to give up to see this playful attitude.
The playful attitude he thought he’d never see again.
“DogDay. Let's go.”
“No.” DogDay glares at Bubba. “I told you I’m staying with my baby. I couldn't save them, I couldn't protect them. I promised them I’d keep them safe. I lost. I failed. And… And if you think I’m gonna let them out of my sights again, you're sadly mistaken.” He spits, gently cupping the purple felines smile, hitting his head against theirs, and they seem to close their eyes, a quiet rumble in the air slightly louder.
KickinChicken takes a breath. He has a choice, he notices. Stay with DogDay and most likely overdose on this, comforting both of them... Or he can go with the others, giving the two their alone time, giving them space. Maybe CatNap would stop the gas if it's just DogDay in here? That's a chance—but also it's not a promise.
KickinChicken stands up; it’d be better to leave those two alone. DogDay probably needs it. “Okay. Let's… Give them alone time, yeah?” He murmurs and pats DogDay’s shoulder in a more rough manner. “I’ll check in on you two in two hours.”
A parting; a promise.
He won't mess up this time.
.
.
.
.
DogDay didn't really know what to expect.
Didn't know what to do now that everyone was gone.
Didn't know how to fix CatNap.
Didn't know if he could.
Didn't know if he could even get CatNap back to being small and fit in his lap.
DogDay has to agree; CatNap isn't “cute” in the basic words. Tall, lanky, the creepy permanent smile on their face is evident of that, yet CatNap seems to be the exact same. Playing with DogDay's fingers, tail swishing back and forth in playful anticipation, adoring scratches behind their ears. Their head tilts, nibbling on their claws.
That's still his baby. That's still the one they invited outside, something DogDay was only allowed to do due to a mistake. Showing CatNap the stars, and popping the question, “will you go out with me”, to which CatNap agreed. That's his baby, the one that absolutely loves butterflies, that screamed with joy when DogDay got them a coloring book of just butterflies.
They're his baby. Curled up on CatNap's bed, the canopy lights a dim reminder, showing that CatNap didn't even fit on their own bed anymore.
His head hurts, his chest hurts, his eyes burn. Something in the back of his mind brings back Bubba's words, the filter must finally be giving out, but DogDay didn't care—truly, he couldn't care less. He couldn't care that he’s probably slowly overdosing on this Poppy Gas, he couldn't care that he’s about to get knocked out and be in a land of hallucinations, sleep paralysis, and fucked up things his mind creates due to the gas.
None of that could compare to what’s currently relaxing beside him.
Maybe he’s in a nightmare right now. Maybe…
Maybe if he just takes off his gas mask, lets the gas in, he’ll wake up. Maybe it's a reversal. Maybe he’ll wake up in his own bed, the black and gold sheets wrinkled as CatNap plays on his Milton Bradley Microvision, face scrunched up in concentration.
(“Hey, Sunrise, what's this?”
CatNap holds up a khaki and black device, and DogDay laughs softly. He loves waking up to this. Waking up to CatNap and their questions. Waking up to seeing CatNap. “That's a game system, baby.” He murmurs, and CatNap tilts their head.
“No, KickinChicken has a game system. That's not this.”
“It's a handheld one, babe,” DogDay explains, slowly bringing the kitten to lay down, DogDay breathing in their comforting smell of lavender before continuing, “it's meant for on the go gaming. KickinChicken’s system, which is an atari, is stationary.”
“So… It's like an atari? Just smaller?”
“Yeah. Also doesn't do as much, but I like it.”)
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He’s never going to wake up to CatNap's shenanigans. Never going to wake up to CatNap excitedly explaining what monarch butterflies do, never going to watch CatNap fumble with clumsy hands. He's never going to see their face change into pure excitement upon watching new movies.
Panic. Is this panic? Is he panicking?
Is his hazy vision and numb feeling in his hands due to panic? The ringing in his ears?
He can't fucking breathe.
He shoots up and holds his chest, choking and coughing, gasping for breath as CatNap is quick to get on their paws, tail curling around him but the usual silent, I'm here, is a mocking reminder that CatNap can't even speak anymore. That CatNap can't be here. That CatNap, despite being right beside DogDay, isn't actually here to do anything besides put the kids to sleep and protect the damn place—something they already did.
He pulls out of the tails grip, and CatNap doesn't make noise, but their ears are lowered as their eyes never leave DogDay.
He hates this.
He hates this so much.
He wants his baby, but that baby is here. Why is he mourning CatNap when CatNap's still here? Why mourn someone that isn't truly dead—just changed?
That's still his baby. Right? Still purrs like CatNap. Still plays like CatNap. Still has the most expressive eyes.
But—but who’s to say that CatNap didn't die the minute those scientists created this feline, and it's just bits and parts of a soul that’s clinging to the mere existence of being human?
He rips the gas mask off, and suddenly, CatNap is no longer looking at him. Their tail is wrapped around their own body, self soothing, and they lay down on their bed.
Thinking about it, in his state of panic, the opposite would work, too.
Maybe he’ll sleep. Sleep and won't wake up. Sleep and dream of still holding CatNap, still watching their face contort to try and hide an emotion they're feeling. Maybe he’ll sleep and dream of CatNap's happy giggles, or maybe it'll be those laughs that seemingly erupt from their chest, clapping their hands and stumbling due to how hard they're laughing. Maybe he’ll sleep and he’ll be right under the stars with CatNap all over again, holding their waist softly as they look up at him, with their eyes filled with tears.
They cried that night. They were crying, looking up at the stars they never thought they’d see again. CatNap hugged him so tightly that he thought his bones would snap, but that would have been okay to him. That would have been worth it.
Looking at the paw reaching over, he shifts to get under the covers. CatNap's bed sinks under him, the comfiest bed; the comfiest pillows, the comfiest mattress, the softest blanket. The toys that scattered the floor, a mixture of children's toys and some CatNap owns due to their childish disposition, are coated in that red gas.
DogDay closes his eyes.
He doesn't care about anything.
He just wants sleep—wants to sleep and go back. To save them. To reach a hand out to KickinChicken and ask why he’s so jumpy, seemingly looking around for some sort of predator that isn't there.
KickinChicken.
DogDay has to apologize to him; has to formally look someone so close to him in the eyes and say, “I'm not mad”, because he isn't. Though part of him wants to be, wants to throw him into the darkest parts of the factory and listen to him scream and cry while being torn apart—but he can't.
Because KickinChicken is already suffering. Suffering with the fact that he didn't protect CatNap.
Suffering in general.
And now DogDay is suffocating. Suffocating on red gas, red gas that fills his lungs with each breath, and he knows CatNap is still looking at him, as the tail tightens around his wrist, DogDay smiles.
“Sweet dreams, baby,” DogDay whispers, reaching forward and bringing a paw to his lips and kisses it. “I love you.”
… DogDay is so, so tired, even as his body and mind drift off to sleep.
A sleep he hopes he won't wake from.