Chapter Text
Prologue: The (Sirius) Star That Guides You Home
A shudder racks through you. The jalopy you hotwired bumps along the dirt path up the incline of your uncle's driveway. There is the pungent taste of gasoline still lingering in your mouth from siphoning whatever you could from the other abandoned cars in the employee underground parking structure. There is the smell of burned and rotted flesh still clinging inside your very nose. You try not to think about it.
It's dark and the light of this rickety automobile is too sickly yellow as it lights up the overgrown path. You are deep in the wooded valley your late uncle called home. You used to spend summers there. It was close enough to the border of the neighboring state that your mother would send you there to do work for her ailing family member. Supposedly, he worked as a farm hand until he damaged his legs in some accident--not enough he couldn't walk, but enough it took him a long time to move, and always in pain.
This happened not too long after you were born, and so, you spent an inordinate amount of time helping him out when not in school. You hadn't been back to his house since you graduated high school. During your tenuous college years, and when you eventually got that intern job at Playtime Co, you only occasionally checked up on him.
Now, of course... with all your survivor's guilt, therapy, and such... your uncle left his place to you. His will said it was only fair, you were the only kin he had, really. Your own mother was in a home, and all your wages had previously gone to making sure she had adequate care. Of course, you signed the deed and kept his creepy, drafty cabin out in the middle of nowhere. It was paid for and free. You knew the land well enough.
So, you drove there. It's the only place you could call home, now.
The drive took everything out of you. The engine was already smoking when you pulled up to the gravel entry path. Some landscaping was strangling the footpath from the end of the driveway and toward the front yard that led to steps into the wood beamed house. It was a simple two story with a storm cellar. The dimming headlights shone on a slightly large red shed that meant to act as a barn (you assumed) that wasn't too far off in the distance. Technically you had a whole 2 acres of land to do what you wanted with. Your nearest neighbors were well over 30 miles on either side, though, with much smaller plots last you knew.
Next to the shed was the garden and chicken coop. The few sheep and goats your uncle use to keep were already lost to the wilderness of the surrounding forest. You had only stopped by the place briefly before investigating your old Playtime Co. factory. You were uncertain how many days you spent in that hellhole... and you didn't expect to bring company back with you.
You glance over at Ollie, sleeping peacefully in the passenger seat. Poppy was holding onto Kissy for dear life... and beside her, was the exhausted Dogday, hand lingering over the stitches crisscrossing the middle of his body.
"I-It's not much," you tell them, shutting off the jeep. It sputtered before settling into the ground. You are sure it won't turn on again, "But we'll be isolated here. There's some supplies inside. You'll be safe here."
"Thank you..." Poppy softly murmured. She looked away from Kissy and smiled slightly, "I think we'll be just fine now."
You opened your door and walked around, Kissy was already unfolding her and Poppy from the back. Dogday waited a beat, following with a slow and steady limp to your side. You were already gathering the little boy in your arms. He felt much too light for his age.
You walked toward the cabin, climbing the steps carefully. Everything looked dark inside. You powered up the generator and solar panels when you were here last. You hoped they were still doing well enough for tonight. It felt very cold, in your opinion. Much too cold. There were plenty of quilts inside, but trying to find them with little light would be a pain.
You tentatively flicked on a light. The soft florescent lights glowed as they slowly came to life. A layer of dust burned as the lights steadily drained power from the clanking generator in the cellar. You let out a sigh of relief.
You only made it as far as the couch, placing Ollie down and patting his head as he lightly stirred, voice slurring when he asked, "Are we there yet?"
"Yeah... you're safe, kiddo," you answer. Poppy hummed as Kissy's massive form took up most of the room. She sat on the floor beside the couch Ollie was trying to wake up on. You moved over to the woodstove in the corner and started chucking some dried logs sitting beside it into its open belly.
Dogday followed you about the first floor of the cabin--an open floor plan, more or less. Just a huge room that only delineated the kitchen from the living room by a tiled space (the upstairs was similar enough to a loft but trisected on either side by bedrooms--a master and a guest room... the bathroom, unfortunately, an outhouse outside of the cabin). You rummaged through drawers in the decent sized kitchen to find a puny strike-pack of matches.
You were very careful when striking the match--luckily your hands weren't shaking, and it only took two tries before lighting up a match enough to toss it into the stove. You shut and locked its metal door once you were certain the logs were smoldering enough for a decent fire.
Ollie was blinking at you when you turned around. Kissy had her head to her knees, and Poppy was stroking her soft furred arms as she stood beside her. Dogday was the only one looking around the area, uncertain.
"I might have some hot cocoa and cookies stashed in the cellar..." you offered, "If you guys need something."
Ollie's eyes lit up, and sleep seemed to lift away from him, "Chocolate?"
"Kinda, yeah," you say dumbly.
"Yes, please!" he almost vibrated on the spot.
You just nod, "Wait here. The room will warm up soon."
You are opening the door when you hear steps behind you. You don't close the front door, turning instead to see who's so eagerly coming up behind you. It's Dogday. His eyes are bright in the night, smile fading into his own furred face.
"I'll come with you... in case--" he seems to stumble over his words.
You know they're all... traumatized... to put it mildly. Fuck, you're traumatized. But, what you experienced for a few hours or days... they have had to live with for years. Tortured, starved, witnessing horrors and deaths for so long... You don't want to think about it much longer.
"Okay. The storm cellar is cold, so it's like a storage freezer, almost. I don't think there is anything down there like blankets though. I'll have to look for those in the upstairs cupboards when we get back," you explain, grabbing a set of keys hanging by the door.
"I will help," Dogday says it less like an offer and more like a demand.
"I would appreciate that," you say, motioning for him to follow you. He does so with no hesitancy. You quietly close the front door, hopping down the stairs two at a time and walking around to the back of the house. The outhouse is a ways out, so you point at it vaguely. You wish you had a flashlight, "Unfortunately that's our bathroom. The connection to it is the wash basin and... it's like an outdoor shower."
"I see..." he only notes it briefly, eyes coming back to you.
You are already focusing on unlocking the storm cellar, "Sorry, it's not very... modern. I inherited this place from my uncle. I use to help him garden and feed his animals during the summer. He was... a bit of a loner. Didn't marry. Didn't have kids. I was the closest thing to family--my mom was a surprise. He was way older than her. I... uh... yeah."
"It's alright," Dogday said gently, following you as you tentatively felt down the cellar's stairs. You worried about running into a spiderweb in the dark. You'd probably freak-out, feeling the tension from the last few days creep into your pysche suddenly now.
You knew what exactly was in the cellar, though, you double checked. Canned soups, beans, veggies, along with powdered milks, coffees, and cocoas. Barrels of airtight, sealed, probably collected recycled water. Your uncle wasn't exactly a prepper but was prepared to live totally off-grid... the light bulb connected to the ceiling smacked into your face and you huffed. You clinked on the light, illuminating the dusty cellar.
There was some of those shiny emergency blankets, but you ignored those and grabbed a small tote bag of grocercies you had left there before going on your adventure. It contained junk food type snacks like crackers, cookies, peanut butter, jelly, sodas, and a bag of bread you'd need to inspect for mold. You also swiped a few cans from the shelves that didn't look bulging or dented--as well as the can of hot cocoa powder and a huge jug of water.
Dogday was bent over in the small space, glancing around curiously. You pointed back toward the outside, "This is all we have for right now. There's a kettle in the kitchen--"
Dogday, silently, took the jug and bag from your hands. You were left with only the canister of cocoa and the keys to the cellar lock. He moved with muffled feet up the wooden steps. You briefly glanced at them, surprised the old wood held his weight. You turned off the light and cautiously crept up and out of the cellar. The old doors fell closed with a dull thud. You wrapped the chain around the handles, before clasping the lock around two links. It was locked, and with a quick check, didn't budge in the slightest.
"'Kay..." you muttered, standing up and ushering Dogday before you, "Let's get back inside so we can get something in your guyses stomaches."
"Mmm," Dogday hummed tiredly in agreement. He seemed to wait for you to lead the way. You watched his eyes scan the area as he stood beside you. So you walked about the cabin, checking to see if any windows were broken or open. All the curtains were closed, nothing shuddered in the house at all. Vague light flickered as the warmth of the woodstove cast a small firelight.
You opened the front door, glancing over to the couch. Kissy seemed to be looking up from watching the open fire. Poppy was warming her hands, before tossing in another log. Ollie was looking at the door, eyes droopy, but still determinedly awake. You waved at him and he perked up.
"Do you have cookies and cocoa?" he asked, voice raising in excitement.
"I definitely have cocoa. It should still be good. I also have some food, but I'll check to see if anything is moldy, first, okay?" you tell him. Dogday, meanwhile, is already placing the tote on a small kitchen table in the corner. His large hands are pulling out the food items and neatly arranging them.
You quickly take the jug from the table and grab the kettle on the counter next to the kitchen stove. It's luckily electric, and you plug it in, double checking it was clean enough inside before pouring water to its fill-line. You open cabinets and pull out an assortment of different mugs in different sizes. Somewhere presents from your previous summers at your uncle's place. The first time you stayed he only had one set for himself, and you had to eat off a pack of paper-plates he sent you to get from a gas station-truck stop a number of miles down the road.
The eclectic collection screamed more your taste than his... it touched your heart he kept the bowls and plates and cups you would thrift and bring to him. He was a good guy... you were thankful to have been thought of when he passed. You had not spent much time with him once you had to start working...
You brushed those sad thoughts from your head and went to putting cocoa powder in the mugs. The kettle shook, steam billowing from its top, and you watched the heating light shut off with a definite click. You picked up the kettle and started immediately tipping the boiling water into each mug carefully.
"Angel?" Dogday inquired, hand hovering over the counter.
You startled at the term of endearment. You placed the kettle down and looked up at the tired creature, saying, "You don't have to address me as that--"
"I'm afraid it's engrained now," he said lightly, smile turning more genuine as looked at you fighting of a frown of your own.
"Well... I... I just did what you needed me to do, and..." you sigh, not really meaning to argue, so you just drop the topic for now. Everyone needed some kind of substance, some warmth. "Again. Sorry about the state of this place. I haven't had time to fix it up since my uncle passed."
"It's alright," Dogday said again, "We can work on whatever you need in the morning--"
"Oh, no! I couldn't ask anyone of you to--"
"Is... Is this not our home?" Ollie asked suddenly. He was peering over the couch, hands gripping the worn fabric worriedly, "Do you want us to go after the cocoa?"
You almost gasp, "No! Not at all!"
Poppy came around the couch, too-human eyes looking red and dry, "Please. We won't intrude if you--"
"Hush!" you sternly grab a pair of mugs and place one in each of their hands. You look over at Dogday, still unsure as he stands in the kitchen. Kissy isn't even looking at you. "All of you are welcome to stay here as long as you'd like. After everything we went through I... I won't abandon you. Never again. I won't let you guys fend for yourselves. Stay... please."
"I had no intention of leaving you, Angel," Dogday tells you, voice warbling a little.
Poppy sighs, looking over at Ollie (whose tears are already dripping down his cheeks as he clasps his hot cocoa close to his chest), "As long as you are offering... then we will do our best to help you fix whatever this place needs fixing."
"We'll--" you sigh, releasing some tension in your shoulders, face tiredly smiling, "We'll worry about that later. Let me find you guys some blankets. That couch is a pullout if you want to stay down here where it's warm."
You take the other mugs, giving one to Dogday, and setting the other at Kissy's feet. Slowly, she reaches for it. She doesn't drink... but does take in a long breath, the steam entering her bright mouth, without expelling for a long while.
Under the stair is where all the winter stuff is kept. You remember that much. Many quilts your mother made over the years are stuffed into clear bins. You grab a few, shaking them out. There's an unopened Christmas present--and you take it out of curiousity. The quilts are heavy, and you have to shake out each one. The smell vaguely of mothballs--but that was much better than blood. Dogday takes a blanket from you after each vigorous shaking and begins to drape them over everyone.
After that's done, you take the gift and walk over to the table. You set it down before grabbing the box of cookies and double checking they were fine to eat. You give a whole sleeve of the pre-packaged snack to Ollie, who is already happily humming. Everyone gets one in turn. Kissy eats hers with without unwrapping the cookies at all. Ollie is unhinged, tearing the package and shoving two in his mouth at a time. Poppy, however, is much daintier. She peels open the wrapper and just grabs one, nibbling around it like a gerbil.
You hand the last package to Dogday. He stares at it--peering into his hand like it was something much more precious lying placidly in his palm.
"I could make you something else if--" you start.
"Share with me?" he asks, looking to you with an expression you don't know how to name.
"--you... oh, uh..." you lamely drop whatever you were saying before, confused, "Are you sure?"
"When did you last eat, Angel?"
You think about it, answering slowly, "I don't really remember."
"Share with me?" he almost pleads.
You smile, less tired, "Alright. Let me make my own hot chocolate and we'll have some."
Dogday waits patiently as you refill the kettle and begin another round of cocoa making, this time, with your own mug. It's blue with a child's painted flower pattern splattering around it's circumference. There's a slight chip next to where the hand meets the rim, so you are careful.
Everyone is quiet in the night, as you sit down on the couch across from Ollie. He's already nodding off again, wrapped snuggly in a child-sized lap quilt. Poppy shares the corner of Kissy's bed-sized blanket, leaning into her friend's side. Dogday rests his upper body on your legs, offering you a cookie after he takes his own. You sip on your drink, lazily opening the old christmas present. Its paper is faded, a corner torn to show a plain brown mailing box. You see your childhood address on it.
You realize your mom must have sent it one year. You munch on a cookie as you struggle to peel the tape off the flaps. When you finally do open it, your breath catches. There's a card lying on top of folded fabric. You open it to see your mother's once neat handwriting.
In case you want my baby to spend the winter, too
~Henrietta
You put the card down and unfold the fabric. It is a set of matching fannel pajamas. There's no tags on either pair--and you recognize the stitching almost nearly matches the fabric. A few spots seem wonky... you realize your mom had sewn these pajamas; one for an adult, and another for a child.
"What's that?" Dogday asks, voice rumbling in the quiet.
"I... I guess my mother had made a matching set of pjs for me and my uncle... he never opened the present though..." you gulp back a flood of emotion.
"Why not?" Ollie asked, "Did your uncle not love you?"
Poppy gasped, "Ollie! You can't--"
"Oh, no, no!" you soothe her, while Dogday huffed, tightening his grip over your legs, "Nothing like that..." It takes you a moment to collect your thoughts. But you turn to Ollie, handing him the kid's set of fannels, "My uncle was a prideful man. My mom sent me to take care of him. Sometimes I think he felt ashamed he needed so much help."
"Why? Poppy says it's okay to need help," Ollie carefully took the pajamas. He felt them between his dirty fingers. You patted Dogday and stood up. You carefully took any dirty mugs and placed them in the sink. You washed your hands, before grabbing a clean towel in a drawer. You shook it out, not seeing much dust, before running it under the tap.
You went back to Ollie, wiping his hands, his face, and gently scrubbing through his hair. You answered his question as he watched you gently baby him, "It is okay to need help. My uncle never learned that, and so... sometimes he wasn't the most patient man. But that's okay."
"Are you--" Ollie started, pulling away from the now dirty cloth, he looked down at the clean clothes in his now cleaner hands, "Are you giving these to me?"
"Well," you tease lightly, "They won't fit me anymore. You'll need something other than those rags you're wearing. I might still have some stuff from my childhood in the guest room."
Ollie's eyes shined and he stood up quickly, shouting, "Really?!"
"Really," you nod.
He shoots off the couch and starts racing up the stairs. Poppy calls after him, "Careful!"
She glances over to Kissy. Kissy is already rising, but keeping the quilt around her shoulders. Lumbering up to the second story--as Ollie bounces into one room and then another, turning on lights and searching through closets--Kissy and Poppy follow after him.
Dogday sighs lightly. He rises and closes the woodstove, as the embers slowly ebb behind the cast iron door. You grab the adult set made for your uncle. It'll be a little too large for you, given the approximate time frame they were probably made, but that was fine. You then take another kitchen towel and run it under the sink. You sponge at yourself as you go upstairs. Dogday follows, of course, as you peak into the guest room. When you first stayed, it was little more than an extra room with a cot...
Now, a double bed was situated in the middle of the room--an old VCR and TV set were sitting on the wooden dresser. Ollie had already opened the drawers to find a full set of kids cartoons and movies in the first drawer--the second had more teenage to adult movies--and the last two drawers had various sizes of clothes you had left over the years. However, the closet is where Ollie was pulling boxes from,with Kissy's help, and that was where the child-sized coveralls, wellies, flannels, and stained or faded shirts had been apparently stored. It was all very basic things... but the poor kid, trapped for so long underground, acted like this was a treasure trove.
Your heart hurt at the sight. You knew Ollie was a baby when everything went down and had been brought up in a panic room, more or less, with the help of Kissy and whatever few good toy-creatures were left after the Hour of Joy. He was thin, malnourished, and sallow. You, yourself, had been a chunkier kid--and knew anything in those boxes would fit him just fine. He'd have plenty of room to grow into anything.
"This can be your room if you want," you tell him.
"Real... Really?" he asked, holding the pajama set to his chest, "I can?"
"Yeah," you say, making sure to sound sincere.
"Oh--!"Ollie burst into tears, leaping into you, and holding you fast around your waist, "You really are an angel!"
You just rub his back as he sobbed gratefully into you. Kissy is already folding things neatly, sorting them with a type of steadfast focus. Poppy is just sitting on the bed, patting it's softness. "We'll stay with Ollie tonight," she murmurs.
You jerk your head toward the other room across the loft-like space over-looking the living area, "I'll be in the other bedroom if you need me. Unfortunately, our bathroom is an outhouse... so be careful. I don't know where the flashlights are. Feel free to have any snacks or water... uh... we'll go from there in the morning."
Kissy gently removes Ollie, sniffling, from your waist. A silent sign that maybe it's time for real rest.
You turn to Dogday, taking up the entire frame of the doorway, as he watches the scene in front of him. "What about you, Dogday?"
"I stay with you, Angel..." he says, unsure as he adds meekly, "If you don't mind."
You shake your head, "I don't mind. Let me show you the main bedroom."
You gently shoo him from the doorway, letting the guestroom--now Ollie's bedroom--only creak closed a little bit. The loft is spacious, with another couch and a set of chairs. There's a radio placed on a low-level bookshelf, a cozy rug on the floor, and various boardgames, cards, and dice boxes line the hanging wall shelves. The flower box outside the window is dry and dead, so you'll have to replant something. The curtain is sheer, closed. Outside is the view of the valley, the forest, and it overlooks the coop and garden.
The main bedroom you had napped awkwardly in before going on your adventure. The bed's a little dishelved, but you had put new sheets on that night. There's a hope chest at the foot of the bed, a gun rack beside the door, and some trinkets scattered along an armoir. In those drawers are dungeries, flannel, socks, wife-beaters, and in the closet is several warm jackets and rain-slickers. Boots lie haphazardly, as well as a mini-safe with what you assumed might be cash, paperwork, or another firearm.
There was some more books and a writing desk tucker into another corner of the room, facing toward a window. Letters and documents were still locked tight in the different drawers. A fat laptop with it's charging cord was sitting there. You had brought it from your old apartment you could no longer afford. You were uncertain if it was possible to access internet all the way out in the woods like this... you might have to call someone, maybe... but you were sure the local library should have some type of access if you really needed it.
You shook your head as you swept your arms over to the bed, "Tada! This is it. You've seen most of the place."
"I like it," Dogday sounded in awe, "It feels... safe."
"Dogday..." you began, setting the pajamas on the edge of the bed he rested on. He was looking around before settling his exhausted gaze on you, "I meant what I said earlier... You guys will be safe here. My uncle wasn't, uh, the socializing type. He only tolerated me because I was family so--this place is all ours. No one will bother us. You guys can... just live here. It might be a bit of work... but I'll make sure you all are taken care of. Safe. I promise."
Dogday shifted his gaze away. He stroked along an ear that fell across his face, "I... I believe you."
"Stay as long as you want--" you added, unsure. He lifts his eyes back to you, bright and alert.
"I never want to leave you, my angel."
You sigh, knowing this is the trauma talking again. You cup his face, fingers lightly stroking to soothe him. Dogday's eyes close... he looks almost blissful. You wonder when the last time someone touched him tenderly was. You keep your voice soft, but firm, to make sure he understands what you are about to tell him, "Please understand... I want you to stay here, for however long it is you want or need... but, you will never be trapped by me. I promise to take care of you--you and Ollie and Kissy and Poppy... I will do my best. You deserve all the love and care you want... okay?"
Dogday shivers lightly as you tilt his head to meet your eyes. He only half opens his lids after your speech. His hands--large and heavy--wrap over your wrists. There is effort to be slow and gentle as he does so.
"You're not trapping us--me--" he explains, voice cracking the smallest bit like it hurts to come out, "We're finally... free. You saved me. How could I ever leave you?"
"Oh, Dogday," you sigh. You place a small kiss on his forehead. A thoughtless action to let him know you cared. He stiffened. His hands squeezed, briefly, before he decidedly let go, padded fingers barely hovering over your skin. One of your thumbs runs across the apple of his cheek. "I did what anyone would do. I'm not special. I'm not any angel--"
"No... you're my angel," he resolutely said.
You shake your head the tiniest bit. You move your hand up to his ears and lightly pet him like the dog he looked like. You could feel his face warm with this proximity, "I don't wanna argue. Let's go to bed and we'll talk more in the morning, yeah?"
Dogday just nodded, avoiding your eyes. Your hands left him--and for the briefest moment, he almost followed them, body swaying after you. He seemed to realize, and then sat straighter on the bed. You began shucking off your filthy clothes, before jumping at Dogday's yelp. His hands were covering his face when you turned to look at him.
"You okay?" you asked.
"Y-Yeah!" he stuttered. He wouldn't look at you, instead turning toward the head of the bed to fluff pillows and turn down sheets. So, you finished throwing on the home-made pajamas. You came around the side he wasn't currently attempting to burrow under--you were glad this room had a King sized bed--as you crawled under the sheets, duvet, a large quilt was thrown over it.
The light was still on, you realized, as you laid down beside him. Dogday still had his hands over his face as he laid on his side. You were facing one another. Curled up, he mostly fit on the bed. You had to scoot in close to be completely under the blankets and not falling off the edge with how large he was.
"Do you have enough room?" you asked, now a little worried no furniture would be comfortable enough for him or Kissy.
"O-Oh..." Dogday lowered his hands, peeking at you under the mounds of blankets, "Yes. I'm fine. It's... soft. Warm."
"Good," you breathed out in relief. You snuggled into the pillows, eyes fluttering shut as the last of the whatever adrenaline sapped the remaining wakefulness from your body.
"G-Good night... angel," Dogday murmured. You felt him shift closer.
"Goodnight..." you mumbled in relpy. You let out a breath, feeling fur ruffle beneath you. You felt arms close around you--but it did not worry you. You knew all of you had finally escaped--those who had done wrong had paid... and you were left to pick up the pieces and help your new friends heal from that awful place they had been trapped so long in... "Rest well... Dogday..."
You don't know if he answered... but you felt the briefest brush against your forehead. You smiled and dropped into a dreamless sleep.
TBC