Chapter Text
Parents are weird. Richas knows this, he’s always known this. It’s one of the core rules of the universe, no exceptions.
His own parents are prime examples! All of them are weird, the weirdest parents Richas has ever met. Especially Pai Pac and Pai Mike.
They know everything about each other, including what the other is thinking. It’s something Richas doesn’t even think of as weird at first. Yeah, of course Pais Pac e Mike can read each others’ minds. Why wouldn’t they be able to?
Then, after watching a silent exchange, Richas suddenly comes to a realization. He can’t read anyone’s mind. So he interrupts his pais, stomping up with purpose.
“How come you can read minds and I can’t?”
Pai Pac brightens and kneels to be eye-level with Richas, who squints at him. Mike looks between them before shrugging and turning around, saying something about food.
“Your Pai Mike and I are kind of special. Most people can’t read minds like us, but we’re different- we’re linked .”
“How come it’s just you guys and no one else?” Richas asks. His head tilts in the curious way that always makes Pac call him a puppy.
Pac ruffles his hair, chuckling when Richas swats his hand away. “Do you know anything about changelings?”
Richas shakes his head. He thinks he’s maybe heard the words, but he’s never actually asked what it means.
Pai Pac takes Richarlyson’s hand in his own and stands, swinging their joined hands as he begins to lead him into the study. As they walk, Pac explains the concept.
“There are certain types of fae who can kind of change the way they look. They are changelings. Traditionally, when they’re babies, they are switched with a human baby.”
“... Why?”
Who would try to switch their baby ? That doesn’t make sense.
Pac shrugs. They both enter the study, Richas making himself comfortable on the stool while Pac walks over to the always-locked chest in the room. Richarlyson idly picks at some of Cellbit’s papers scattered across the desk, kicking his legs.
“Again, it’s a kind of old tradition, but there were a lot of reasons. Some thought that only humans could feed faerie babies their milk, others did it as punishment, and some just wanted a human baby instead.” Pac digs through the chest for a moment before sitting back with a large book in his hands. “Either way, it’s not as common anymore, but it still happens sometimes. That’s what happened with me and your Pai Mike.”
He stands and walks over to the desk, dropping the book with a loud thud . The cover has gilded gold that Richas reaches out to run his fingers over before Pai Pac stops him, shaking his head. Richas huffs
“But neither of you guys are human,” Richas says, as obvious as it is. How could Pac and Mike have switched if they are both fae?
“Well that’s true now, but it wasn’t true then. I was born a human. Then I got older and Pai Mike and I learned we were switched, and he managed to find this book to find each other. But by that point, I had been surrounded by enough of the magic, eating it infused with every meal and practically breathing it in, that I stopped looking so human.” Pac smiles with his sharp teeth in display.
Richarlyson nods slowly. “So if you get switched, you can read minds?”
“Not quite,” Pai Pac corrects, “but almost. That is a special thing that happened to us because we did the spell a little wrong. Pai Mike didn’t know how to read all the words right, and ended up somehow linking us like this.”
“Woah…” Richas mumbles. Then he gestures to the book. “Pai, Pai, I wanna see the spell. Can I see it?”
Pac chuckles and opens the tome, flipping through pages until he lands somewhere in the middle. There are words written on the page, an image of a baby in the corner. It’s pretty, the words flowing across the page. Richarlyson stares, only half listening as Pai Pac continues to talk before a knock on the door makes them both look up.
Pai Mike pokes his head in. “No more learning. Dinner time.”
With twin eye rolls, Pac and Richas both walk over to the door. Richas pads behind his pais, unable to think of anything other than the book. He slows as they walk down the hallway. Then, realizing neither of his pais noticed, he quietly turns and walks back into the study.
He clambers into the stool again, wings flat against his back. Richarlyson drags his finger down the page as he reads, muttering the words aloud as he goes. There’s a warm feeling that spreads from the tip of his finger through his whole body.
It doesn’t stop him.
Richas keeps going. The warmth grows as he nears the end, but he wants to read it. It’s not like he’s actually doing the magic, he just wants to know what it says, so it’s fine.
The room is getting brighter for some reason.
Richarlyson reaches the end of the page, hearing Pai Pac shout as he mumbles the last word. There’s a golden flash, making Richas shield his eyes with his arms. Warm bubbles drown him, fizzing through all his limbs before there’s something. Richas isn’t sure what it is, but something happens, then the feeling fades.
He keeps his eyes covered, breathing deeply, until a loud noise makes him jump. Richas looks up at the door that has slammed against the wall. A door and wall he doesn’t recognize. In fact, he doesn’t recognize the bed he’s sitting on either.
Out of all of that, Richas least recognizes the man in front of him. The human man in front of him, rounded ears and all. He towers over Richas, eyes wide.
The man has a metal arm. His face has a scar on the same side as the metal arm. He has a thick blacksmith’s apron on, paired with matching gloves. Goggles rest on top of his head.
He says something Richarlyson doesn’t understand. The man takes a step into the room, eyes darting around frantically before settling on Richas again.
Where is he?
– – – – –
Ramon blinks. Where in the world is he? He stares at the man in front of him, no idea what just happened.
He- he had just been in his room. His notebook had been in his hands. Ramon had been scribbling down a new idea, then he felt this sudden flash of warmth. Before he could even blink, Ramon was somewhere else.
Just as important as the new surroundings (a library? or a study?), maybe even moreso, is the man(?) standing in front of him looking panicked.
Translucent blue wings flare out, making the man look bigger than Ramon thinks he really is. His ears are pointy, and it looks like he has a prosthetic leg, like a gold version of Fit’s arm.
The… being, that’s what Ramon will call him, looks horrified. He shouts out of the room, something Ramon can’t understand, then turns around again to face him. His voice quiets as he takes a tentative step forward.
“Hello. I… who are you?” His eyes widen as soon as Ramon opens his mouth, waving his hands frantically. “Not your name! Do you have- uh- a nickname?”
Ramon slowly shakes his head. He’s never been given any sort of nickname or anything before.
“Okay, then I’ll call you…” His eyes dart over Ramon, landing on his mustache bandana. “Mustache! You’re Mustache. Don’t introduce yourself to anyone using your real name, okay?”
“Okay,” Ramon agrees hesitantly. He’s not sure why he can’t say his own name, but it seems important to this guy, so he will keep it to himself. He looks around the cluttered room, trying to get any sense of location. “Where am I?”
The guy sighs. “You’re in my home. Me and my family’s, you know?” He picks a thick book off of the floor, putting it on the desk. “My son read from this book and switched places with you.”
That makes absolutely no sense. How could a book make two people switch places? And how can Ramon even trust this guy?
“How does that even happen?” Ramon asks, crossing his arms.
“It’s faerie magic,” the being says, “because we’re fae. Richas has magic in- inside of him, so he could use the spell in the book to switch places, you know? So he read it, and then… poof. Here you are, and he is probably wherever you just came from.”
Ramon blinks. That is a lot of information that he honestly doesn’t really understand. He doesn’t know who this guy is talking about or how a book could just… magic him here instead of his bed. It makes no sense at all and Ramon likes when things make sense .
“I don’t- I don’t understand.” A kind of scary thing to admit, but Ramon needs to figure this out. Like, as soon as possible so that he can go home.
The being sits on the floor next to Ramon. He taps his fingers against the wood and looks over at Ramon. For as cautious as he has always been, Ramon thinks he looks really nice.
“Have you heard about the fae before?”
Ramon nods. “A little bit. My dad has told me stories before, but I was really little. I don’t really remember anymore.”
“Okay,” he says, pulling his legs up underneath him, “so there are a lot of types of fae. All of us have different rules and different magic, and my family’s magic kind of comes from a lot of places, you know? My son has most of the magic we all have on our own. He’s still learning how to use it properly, and I was stupid and left this book out. And he read it, apparently, and switched places with you.”
“Why am I the one he switched with?”
He shrugs. “Usually there would be a connection already. Or the faerie reading it would have already made a selection. But obviously Richas didn’t do that. So maybe it was just random?”
Ramon doesn’t really like how unsure everything feels. Even the faerie (that’s what he is, Ramon is sure now) does not know what has happened here.
“So… how do I get home?”
“Oh, that one should be easy, as long as you know where you live! Do you know where you live, Mustache?”
“Yeah, I live in Hraukby. It’s in the mountains. There’s a little stream nearby.”
Fae Guy nods with a thoughtful hum. “I think I know where that is. We aren’t in your human realm right now, but we should be able to find a way to travel to a forest near your home. From there, I should be able to track Richas with a spell. Can you wait just a little bit, so we can get it set up and take you home?”
“Okay. Will it… will it take long? My dad will be worried about me.”
Fae Guy softens. He smiles and pats the floor next to Ramon.
“Just a day or two to get you home. I promise it won’t be too long.”
“Alright. Okay. Thank you.” Ramon smiles up at the guy, who grins brightly and ruffles his hair – or, his hat. He squawks and bats the hand away, making the guy laugh.
“We’ll take good care of you, Mustache! Don’t worry about anything!”
For some reason, Ramon believes him.
- - - - -
Fit cannot fucking believe what has happened.
And he means that! He’s not even entirely sure what has happened and he still can’t believe it.
The morning started out fairly calm. Normal, even. He spent the morning in the smithy, really just keeping himself busy. There hasn’t been anything big to make recently, but Fit definitely has a million small things to work on. A chain to fix here, a fork to straighten out there. Busy work that had built up.
Then he took a break to clean up around the house. Some dirty dishes had been waiting for his attention for a while, some dust was gathering on higher-up surfaces. It needed to get done, and Fit had to be the one to do it.
He didn’t mind. It was something to do with his hands that didn’t also burn him. Plus, it was something he could do with Ramon, even if it wasn’t an incredibly exciting activity. Fit will take any time with his son he can get before it’s gone.
Then Ramon went back into his room because he had an idea he didn’t want to forget. Fit patted the meathead pulled firmly over his head and watched him go.
Not even thirty seconds later, there was a bright flash behind the door. Fit dropped everything and slammed open the door, which leads him to now, the child sitting on Ramon’s bed.
A child who is, notably, not Ramon. His arms cover his face until the door slams against the wall with a loud bang . He jumps, head jerking to look up at Fit. Thick, curly hair covers his eyes. Pointed ears stick out from his hair, and glimmering yellow wings rest behind him.
The light fades and Fit frantically scans the room for any sign of his son to no avail. Then he looks back at the child on the bed.
“What the fuck?” Fit breathes.
The kid tilts his head and says something in a curling language that Fit cannot identify. He doesn’t get any closer, but also doesn’t move back even when Fit takes a step closer and kneels. This child clearly isn’t human, Fit is understandably quite cautious, but he’s still a kid.
“I don’t understand,” Fit says slowly. He taps his ear and shakes his head, trying to convey that message. Then he points to the kid in front of him, offering a questioning thumbs up. “Are you okay?”
He nods. Then he points his thumb proudly at his own chest. “Richarlyson.”
“That’s your name?” Fit asks. Then he points to the kid again. “Richarlyson?”
Richarlyson nods and points to Fit. It seems it’s his turn.
“Ah- Fit. My name is Fit.”
“Fit,” Richarlyson repeats. There’s an accent to it that Fit still can’t place. He smiles at the kid.
“Yes, Fit!”
Richarlyson beams and puffs out his chest. Then he slips off the bed and begins looking around the room. He pokes around, not really seeming all that nervous. Really, Richarlyson just seems curious now that he and Fit have introduced themselves.
Fit lets him examine everything as he pleases, letting him get a feel for where he is. There is a mounting panic within him, but he doesn’t want to freak this kid out, especially when they can’t talk to each other. He smiles whenever Richarlyson looks back at them, but he feels his leg begin to bounce with nerves. Where the fuck has his son gone?
Eventually Richarlyson seems to have had enough exploring, curiosity sated enough. He stands directly in front of Fit, looking expectant. Fit looks down at him.
“Are you… hungry?” Fit asks, placing a hand over his stomach. Richarlyson nods frantically, patting his own stomach. Fit chuckles and leads Richarlyson out to the kitchen, helping him get set up in one of the wooden chairs.
His little legs swing back and forth as he watches Fit bustle around the kitchen. Fit isn’t sure what Richarlyson can and cannot eat, so he decides to keep it simple. He cuts up an apple, offering Richarlyson a piece to munch on while he keeps working. The kid seems to like it well enough.
Fit heats up some leftover stew for the kid, hoping that he can eat everything in it. He can’t exactly ask, but he needs to make sure Richarlyson eats something. If he can’t eat it, then they deal with it then.
He passes the bowl and spoon over to Richarlyson, who digs in without hesitation. His face is immediately covered in broth, and Fit can’t help but chuckle. It’s cute, it reminds him of when Ramon was younger. Richarlyson looks to be almost Ramon’s age, but they are so clearly different children.
As Fit watches Richarlyson eat, he wonders about where he could have come from. He clearly isn’t human, which already boggles Fit’s mind. Now he has to take care of a child, find his own, and grapple with the fact that maybe magic is real. Or something like it.
Somewhere, there is probably a family missing their son just like Fit is missing his. Hopefully they have his Ramon, but Fit will bring their Richarlyson back to them and hope that they have his son too. Fit can’t believe anything else, or else he will probably break down, and he doesn’t have the ability to do that right now. Not when both Ramon and Richarlyson are counting on them.
Fit decides to get a spare piece of wood and some ink, as well as one of his quills. He sets it all in front of Richarlyson, who stops eating and looks up at Fit. Fit shakes his head and gestures for Richarlyson to keep eating. It can wait until after he’s fed and full.
So they sit together quietly, watching each other. Fit nibbles on a piece of bread in an attempt to make Richarlyson feel more welcome. He doesn’t want to make him feel alone.
Once Richarlyson is done, Fit gestures to the bowl to offer some more, but Richarlyson shakes his head. Fit takes the bowl and sets it in the basin to wash later. He has more pressing issues.
The wood, ink, and quill are pushed closer to Richarlyson. Fit points at them, then at Richarlyson, then around the house. “Can you draw,” he says, miming the action with his own hand, “your house?”
Richarlyson lights up. He doesn’t hesitate to snatch the supplies in front of him and start drawing. Fit can only hope he actually understands the request.
His hand moves with ease across the wood. He seems well-practiced. Richarlyson sticks his tongue through his teeth, clearly concentrating hard. Fit watches with an amused smile tugging at his lips as the little artist works on his masterpiece.
After only a few minutes, Richarlyson sets down the quill and holds out the piece of wood to Fit. He has somehow made some of the ink change colors. Fit… doesn’t know how he did that. Maybe this kid does have magic. Or he’s just a talented artist, because Jesus Christ, this is really good.
Richarlyson’s drawing depicts a large house. It looks like it is made out of wood – logs, or maybe large branches secured together somehow. The structure is partially obscured by trees that are turning a vibrant orange. In front of everything is a mushroom circle, which Richarlyson taps at.
Oh, that’s a symbol of the fae.
“You’re a faerie?”
Richarlyson doesn’t respond. Apparently that word isn’t the same for him. Whatever, Fit- he gets the message. The way to get Richarlyson home is through a mushroom circle, probably in the woods. There is a forest nearby with similar looking trees. If they leave now, they should be able to make it before sundown tomorrow.
Fit points at the trees, then moves his pointer and middle finger on the palm of his other hand to make it look as though his hand is walking.
“We’re gonna walk there. Okay?”
It is clear enough for Richarlyson to make some sort of sense of it, because he nods. Fit nods in return and starts thinking through everything they’ll need.
Some sort of tarp covering, if he can find one. It doesn’t look like rain tonight, but he’d rather be safe than sorry. Blankets, sleeping mats, extra layers for when the temperature drops. The coming of fall brings colder temperatures along with the change in seasons. They’ll need food, of course. Maybe some kindling for fire. Some coins, just in case. More ink, quills, and wood slabs.
If there’s anything Fit is forgetting, he’ll remember before he leaves, he’s sure. He gives the wood back to Richarlyson to occupy himself, who jumps on the activity immediately, before going back to his room to pack up some of his things. Hopefully he can get Richarlyson home.
- - - - -
Pac would love to get Mustache home. And, more importantly to him, get Richas back home. He’s doing his best, he really is, but it isn’t fucking easy, is it?
He has already given Mike the best summary he can, quickly muttering over the link in an attempt to keep Mustache as calm as he can. Mike coming in here might just freak him out again.
They’ll have to meet, of course, but it can at least wait until after Pac is positive that Mustache is okay.
“Do you have anything I should call you?” Mustache asks after giving a detailed description of his home. Pac jolts, suddenly realizing he never introduced himself. What a bad host he is.
“I’m Pac!” A translation of his name, thankfully lacking the power of a true name.
“Pac,” Mustache tries, getting pretty close to the pronunciation. “Hm. I like it. Is that your real name, or is it a nickname? Like you calling me Mustache?”
“Mmm,” Pac hums, “both? It’s the version of my name you understand and can say, but it doesn’t hold power like my real name, you know? Only my family knows my true name, it’s dangerous to let anyone else know something like that.”
The prosthetic leg attached to Pac’s knee is a pretty good reminder of that fact. Even if Cellbit is family now, he certainly wasn’t then. Pac isn’t making that mistake again.
“Hm. That’s weird.”
Pac chuckles. “A little. It’s not like that in the human world, but here? Your name means a lot.”
A beat passes. Mustache nods. Pac smiles, then feels a knock sent through the link. He stands.
“Is it okay if someone else comes in? He won’t hurt you or anything! His name is Mike, he’s my- my soulmate, you know? Connected.”
Mustache nods slowly, curling into himself a bit warily. Pac can practically feel the nerves emanating off of him.
“I promise,” Pac says, “he is just coming in to help me figure out how to get you home. On my name, I swear, no one here will do anything to hurt you.”
He doesn’t uncurl his body, but some of Mustache’s tension dissipates at the promise. The little guy reminds Pac of a kitten a little bit. Mustache lets out a heavy breath, then a quiet “Okay.” Pac mutters his thanks and lets Mike know he can come in.
Within seconds, Mike is in the room. He must have been waiting outside, the eavesdropper. He looks Ramon up and down.
“Alright, Meathead.” Mike gestures to the hat pressing Ramon’s hair against his hair. “Let’s figure out how to get you home, yeah?”
“Hey, I already gave him a nickname!” Pac interjects, crossing his arms.
Mike hums. “I think he looks like a Meathead.”
Mustache laughs quietly, looking back and forth between the soulmates as they bicker.
“Whatever, let’s just figure out how to get him home, you know?”
Mike narrows his eyes in thought. Pac finds himself mimicking the action as he tries to remember what Mike doesn’t. They toss spells and information back and forth across their link, settling on their go-to locator spell for Richas. A standard plane-shift potion in the mushroom circle should get them to the human world without too much fuss.
Will Mustache be able to drink the potion? It won’t hurt it, will him?
First off, Mustache is a stupid name. Meathead is better.
It’s so much worse-
Nope! It’s better. And it shouldn’t have any effects. Too much might make him a little sick, but he shouldn’t like… die. Unless he drinks the whole bottle himself, but then you have other issues to worry about.
Okay. Thanks, Mikey.
Mike bumps his shoulder against Pac’s. We’ll get him back soon.
I hope so. Pac sighs, then claps his hands together. “Alright, Mustache. Do you wanna learn how to brew potions?”
Mustache perks up. “Wait, I can do that? That’s so cool!”
Pac laughs. “Yeah! Come on, come on, we’ll show you our brewing stands. You can help me brew our plane-shift! We have a spell to do too, but that’s just a locator, so I’ll read it out of a book.”
“If I make the potion wrong will it blow stuff up?” Mustache asks. The twinkle in his eyes makes Pac suddenly concerned for their home, but who is he to turn down a child’s hunger for destruction?
“Maybe, do you want to find out?”
Mustache nods harshly enough that Pac is worried for his neck. He jumps up from the floor, shying away from Mike a little bit, sidling up to Pac.
“You ready to start getting home?” Pac asks. “Or maybe start a fire?”
“Obviously,” Mustache affirms with a slightly despicable grin, one Pac has seen on Richarlyson’s face more times than he could count. If there’s one thing he knows, it is that kids are weird .
