Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Molt launched off from the edge of Ant Island and hovered mid-air, swiveling his whole body left and right and deciding on a direction to search for his brother. Standing by on the cliff, Flik looked at the bigger bug in bewilderment. He didn't pretend to understand the grasshopper's determination to find that embodiment of a nightmare on two legs, but he presumed there was some form of value in family loyalty. In Hopper's case, it must be well disguised, as simply disowning him sounded more like a healthier choice for anyone related to him.

"You said you saw him leap out of the bird's nest?" Molt yelled over the sound of his own buzzing wings.

"Molt, it was very dark, and I could have been mistaken, too." Flik shrugged.

"I owe it to him to at least try. Trust me, all the other family members I have left alive are much worse!"

He then flew off, headed for Hopper's last known location.

Getting as reasonably close to the bird nest as possible without putting himself in any immediate danger, Molt was stressed and on high alert. Many animals out there would want to sample a grasshopper first thing in the morning, and it would've been ironic if he were to end up getting eaten because, out of some dreadful family duty, he decided to look after his menace of a sibling. Should this pan out well, Hopper owed him big time, Molt pondered, mildly irritated.

It was early dawn, and the chicks were tightly huddled away, sleeping peacefully; however, Molt hadn't spotted their mother. He swallowed dryly, the sight of them alone giving him a prickling chill down his back. He drifted closer to the ground in the vain hope of picking up any small tracks, but last night's storm made that impossible. Most of the valley and its surrounding area was now muddy and flooded in patches that were already drying up in the bright morning sun, a final stubborn effort of summer trying to linger past its due time. The heat was climbing harshly, potentially signaling that another storm would be on the horizon, and heavy clouds were already encroaching, adding to the pressure. Molt had to hurry. 

This was a logistical nightmare, as Hopper could have fled in almost any direction if he managed to at all, but the younger brother decided to remain cautiously optimistic for now. Flooding might have made most regions perilous to hide in, so the grasshopper went upwards, scouting the walls on the side of the riverbed across the island. Rocks, roots, small cracks, and crevices were plentiful there, making it an ideal place for a scared insect to hide around while waiting for the downpours to pass.

"Hopper!" Molt cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted hoarsely, dreading waking up any hungry predator eager to have breakfast.

"Come on, man! You can crawl out of wherever you're holed up anytime now!"

Molt zipped around and kept on yelling after his brother. He wished, through a small miracle, Hopper would overhear from wherever he was all of this commotion, get angry and holler back at him to shut up, then they meet up and put this all behind them like they’ve done so in many past better-worse times. A heavy, creeping thought occurred: whether Hopper would've done the same and looked for him or if it would've been the perfect excuse to be rid at last of his annoying self. Nevertheless, Molt tried not to think of that and continued with his scouting.

Only the sound of birds chirping in the distance could be heard for now.

☘︎

Hopper roused himself from his miserable night's rest and thought he could hear his name being shouted. Alas, he believed it was his wishful thinking torturing him in his final moments on this earth.

Within a small gap of a cliff's walls across Ant Island’s riverbed valley, he cowered, dirty and injured from last night's scuffle with the hungry baby birds that horrid little blue ant led him to. While alive, he could barely consider himself fortunate to be so. His body was sore all over from having been used as a tug rope between the chicks, and as his senses were clearing up, two intense points of pain flared on his body. He unwittingly tried to uncurl himself and thus awakened in full force the aching hollow areas where his right secondary arm and left wing set once were. Tears blurred his vision as Hopper’s mind was tossing and turning between states of despair and frustration as he appropriately decided he didn't have time for any of this. The improvised shelter was barely big enough to fit him, and the insect found himself unable to unfold his legs from his chest. Much to his mounting panic, the soil was drying up and starting to harden around the grasshopper's body. 

Life was good at coming up with cruel jokes, and this would be the third or maybe fourth one Hopper was subjected to within the span of less than a day. At least this death came with its own coffin, free of charge. Hopper tried to humor himself with the thought while struggling to get out. Wouldn't want Molt to spend the burial effort on him. Who else in their family would go through that hassle? He didn't know which was more pathetic. Dying close to the place and people he needlessly tortured for years on end, or him hoping deep inside his brother, whom he also needlessly tormented for years on end, would seemingly find him.

Hopper wondered if he would have done the same to Molt should roles have been reversed. He would've, but not without audibly complaining about it, and that thought made him feel guilty. It was always disgusting to see a wretch's experience of remorse shortly prior to passing away.

"Hopper!" Molt's voice from somewhere in the vicinity.

"Molt?" The grasshopper struggled to move himself outward, closer to the exit of the crevice. Suddenly, the dirt walls stopped feeling so heavy around him.

"Molt!"

"Hopp, Is that you? I really hope that it is you."

Molt paused and erratically circled around Hopper's location. His hideout was obscured by a large root jutting out of the wall and creeping across the crevice. This rescue mission would require some fine maneuvering on Molt's part thus Hopper's brief elation was replaced with some amount of concern.

"Of course it's me, you– Get me out of here... Please?"

Molt's thoughts paused for a second as he heard his brother's uncharacteristically pitiful pleas. He made a mental note to poke fun at that later, as now he had to focus on more serious matters.

Having located the source of his brother's desperate yowling, he latched onto his sibling's arms, trying to pry him out.

"Wait!" Hopper blustered, eyes wide, as Molt was just about to tug him out.

"What?"

"I think I’m missing a wing... You'll have to carry me." His voice sounded so small, Molt could barely hear him.

"That's fine with me, Hopp. Come on, let's get you out of this mess." Molt propped his legs onto the wall and gave Hopper one last tug. His extraction effort was a success, and both brothers were launched backwards from the force, the former nearly dropping the latter in the canyon. It was quite a steep climb and made Molt wonder how on earth Hopper found the strength to get in there in the first place.

Both insects haphazardly flew upwards, back to Ant Island. As they approached the same cliff edge that Molt leaped from in search of him, they both observed, down below, the silhouette of a little blue ant getting bigger and bigger.

Molt dropped Hopper the moment he saw a safe place to land. They tripped and fell over each other into the dirt, Hopper landing on his injuries at Flik's feet, while Molt landed on his face somewhere further.

"Sorry Hopp, you're heavier than you look."

"... Thanks."

Flik was befuddled, taking a solid moment to register the presence lying next to him. Leaning in uncomfortably close, he wanted to make sure he was looking at the right thing and glowered at Hopper's worn and dusty face with some level of satisfaction. The other insect refused to glance back and kept his gaze on the ground.

Giddily, Molt leaped to his legs and dragged his brother upwards as well. He dusted him off like some musty carpet and took a good look at how scuffed he was.

The taller grasshopper was missing an assortment of body parts in a zig-zag pattern. All that was left of his right antenna was a shameful stump, courtesy of the little pill bug brothers, while his left wing and right secondary arm have been surgically removed at the root, definitely to the credit of the finch and its chicks. They matched his blind eye well, but detracted from his intimidating visage, Molt thought.

All things considered, it could be much worse. Their family members were notoriously unlucky at attracting big, hungry animals, and Hopper had outlived all of those who came face-to-face with one. Molt ought to be proud of him in the silliest of manners. He gave his elder brother a crushing hug, using to his advantage that Hopper was too worn out to be his usual, vicious self. An unfortunate thought, that one, but it was what it was. Hopper’s body protested greatly, but the grasshopper’s mind was currently on holiday break. The discomfort would have to be his overdue maintenance bills once he got home.

"I'm so happy you're alive, Hops! All the other bugs thought you were bird feed by now, but I went to look for your sorry self anyways!" Molt shook Hopper excitedly, who was about to crumple to the ground again.

"What bugs?"

Molt turned to Flik, who had only quietly stared at the grasshoppers so far, arms crossed, expression uncertain. The ant idly rubbed at the bruises Hopper left on his throat when he tried to strangle him last night.

"What do you mean, 'what bugs'? I'm talking about the ants and the other circus bugs." Molt didn't think Hopper injured his head, but he still looked concerned at him while his brother shot at him a baffled look in return.

"You mean they let you stay overnight?!"

"They're not as bad as you think they are. If Flik and Princess Atta hadn't told me they might've seen you scurry out of the bird nest, I might've never found you!"

Flik and Hopper were now glaring at each other. The ant was bruised, and the grasshopper was battered, one might argue they were even now. Hopper tried to cross his lower arms, but the absence of one sent coursing through him a jolt of shock as if waking up from a bad dream into another.

Dejected, he rubbed his mud-encrusted head while a tall wave of inadequacy crashed over him, making him feel even dirtier. He was now indebted with his life both to Molt and to those bleeding ants, too. Hopper dragged a rock underneath him and sat down, face in hands.

"You kind of owe them, is all I'm saying."

Molt sounded a bit too much like their late mother, and worse yet, Hopper thought he could hear Flik snicker.

Chapter Text

Thorny was on top of the ant hill with Princess Atta and the rest of the council, assessing the damage from last night's rain. A few tunnels collapsed, but the outside looked not too different from before the storm while the sun was already high up in the sky, causing a stifling, unpleasant atmosphere.

"There will be another round of downpours soon enough; we should quicken our pace." He mused more to himself and scratched his head with his leafy notebook, antennae twitching softly.

He looked downwards at the colony, gathered in several groups, each bug with a task at hand. Some were busy disassembling the burnt-up artificial bird; others were just tidying up whatever seemed to be out of order, whether it was leaves or branches that had been scattered out of the tree during the storm.

Alongside the clean-up crew were the circus bugs, who would spend their time here until spring. It was a happy thought, but a worrying one too, as Thorny wondered if their remaining food supplies would be able to withstand the extra mouths to feed. They would have to ration harsher than when the grasshoppers were still a threat.

Still, they've been through more austere times than this; they'll make it out of this somehow.

He stowed his number-keeping book in a satchel for now.

"Morning to you, Flik,"

Flik stretched his arms and yawned lazily as he made his way to the council.

"Good morning to you too," The younger ant bowed graciously. Thorny couldn't tell if he was poking fun at them or not.

"Where's that grasshopper, Molt was his name?" Mr. Soil inquired, more out of courtesy than of interest, but he quickly found the answer to his own question as he looked past Flik’s shoulder.

All eyes fell on Molt, who was lagging behind with some extra bug draped over him. Not sure what to make of it at first, Soil squinted his eyes and then reeled at the peculiar sight of Hopper, defeated and tired, dragging his feet alongside his brother. The two paused at a safe distance, looking upwards at the ants expectantly.

Thorny let the image process itself fully before having a calculated and informed reaction.

"Why'd you let him bring that one here?!" he bellowed at Flik.

"Molt asked me if he could," the other bug nervously babbled after some brief consideration. Flik had a plan, some carefully chosen words even, but they all flew out the window.

Thorny kept on staring back and forth between the younger ant and the grasshoppers.

“And you didn’t see fit to check in with us first? Have you lost your mind?!” Thorny kept on with his barrage, his voice cracking from sheer anger.

Flik could see the other council members surrounding him, and he felt himself growing paler. Concerned faces glared down at him, and he was starting to question his own sanity. So much for being the savior of the colony when he brought back its perpetrators, two of them, at least, one being the worst.

"He talked to us both after last night, and I gave him my permission to search for Hopper." Intervened Atta. The council shifted their gaze to her, to Flik's relief. Thorny's fury ebbed for a brief moment before reverting back to its usual scowl.

“Molt promised he would control his brother if he were to find him,” Flik added cautiously while wringing his hands. “He… also wanted to make an appeal and let him and now, well, Hopper stay here while the rainy and cold seasons passed,” he added, nervously digging with his foot in the ground. This will go about as well as one would expect.

“We could give them a trial,” Atta reasoned. She moved closer to the council, trying to protectively place herself in front of the blue ant. There was a pause and a murmur from the others.

“How bold of him to request that. What are we to do with them, then?” Soil glanced again at the two grasshoppers. Molt was standing patiently, with his arms behind his back, rocking back and forth on his soles while his brother sat down, head between his knees. From on top of the anthill, neither of them looked so large and menacing anymore.

“Throw them in a nice cell for as many winters as they have left, obviously!”

“That might be a lot of winters, and I don’t want them here even for one!”

“Then just launch them off the island again with the cannon?”

“Are we supposed to punish them or give them a chance?”

“A little bit of column A and maybe a little bit of column B… But mostly column A.”

“They just came back here to us; doing this now would be cruel!”

“Crueler than Hopper wanting to kill our Queen?”

“No, but you’d also be tormenting Molt, who didn’t seem to like being part of his brother’s schemes.” Flik found his way into the conversation, much to the displeasure of the other ants.

“Psh, I’d say he’s guilty by association!” Cornelius commented.

“Speaking of our Queen, she should be here. I’ll go find her,” Atta interrupted the debacle, which was starting to exhaust her. The council immediately ceased their squabble, all somewhat embarrassed. One wondered if they just did this for sport.

“We could move this discussion to the council chamber as another storm will be here any minute. Flik, you should lead your… companions there,” Soil suggested as he noticed the sky taking on a menacing shade of grey.

The group moved inside the anthill, leaving Flik staring somewhat puzzled at Molt and Hopper, who had patiently waited for the council to finish their decision-making. Among other duties, he should now count himself as the local grasshopper wrangler. Making his way down in wide strides from the top of the mound, he dodged past groups of ants who had paused to stare at the commotion.

“So, what’d they say?” Asked Molt, too enthusiastically. For all he knew, the colony decided to publicly execute them and repurpose their corpses into musical instruments for what he and his brother had done to them all these years, but one had to live in hope.

“They haven’t decided on anything yet and want to hold an official meeting with the Queen. You’ll have to follow me to the Council Chambers.”

“In that case, lead the way, ant sir,”

Molt walked at Flik’s side but paused as he felt a pleasant absence of something. He looked behind and noticed that Hopper was still sitting on the ground, huddled up, miserable, and non-responsive.

“You’ll have to forgive me; I seem to have forgotten my baggage.” Molt leaped back to his brother's side.

“Come on, Hopp, we’ve all had a rough night.” Molt kicked Hopper’s foot. “But it looks like it bled into the rest of the day for others,” he thought as he strained to lift this dead weight by the armpits. The ensuing pain from getting disturbed was enough to give Hopper a slight jolt and make a feeble attempt at standing upright. It was good enough for Molt to hoist his shoulders over his own and continue their way, with Flik ahead. The older brother made no other protest, mercifully enough.

“Where are we?” Hopper briefly came out of his daze just as they were at the entrance of the tunnel.

“Right at the ant hill. Watch out, we can’t use the stairs like the ants do, so we’ll have to drop down.”

“What?” Hopper tripped and tumbled inside the mound. A tree root had caught his fall, and he landed for the second time that day on his injuries.

“Tolds you,” Molt landed gently and picked his brother back up.

“What exactly are we doing here?” Hopper shook Molt off, stubbornly feigning self-reliance, but he knew that everyone knew better by this point.

“We’re headed to the Council Chamber.”

“Why?!”

“I spoke last night with Atta if she could let us stay here ‘till the winter is over as long as we earn our keep. I hope this is the part where they say ‘yes.’”

“Negotiating with the mob of angry peasants! Now that’s a great idea! What if they don’t, Molt, what then?”

“Let’s hope they do. It’s not like we have much choice, so I might have to insist… and you’ll have to help me.”

“How?!” Hopper shrilled, panic forming at the edge of his sight. He barely got on his legs, and he felt them turn to jelly again.

“I’m not so sure; I just hope two grasshoppers groveling and begging for mercy is better than one,” Molt shrugged, unconcerned and mostly just exasperated with his brother.

“The council will see you now,” Flik politely interrupted their arguing, a small smile prying at his face. Molt and Hopper fell silent, the reality of their situation sinking in at last.

The storm had started raging on in full force just like last night. A small group of ants was seen at the anthill’s entrance tugging at a large piece of leaf, serving as a makeshift cover to prevent any water from getting inside. The ensuing darkness in the tunnels, faintly illuminated by blue mushrooms, was discomforting for the two grasshoppers.

“Come on, I'll lead you there.” Flik pushed the larger bugs through a narrow tunnel.

While the ants have dug fairly spacious hallways that could accommodate even horned beetles, some of them could still feel cramped. Hopper and Molt’s antennas were scraping the ceiling as they carefully made their way to the Council Chambers. Ants passing them looked at them in bewilderment, both at the grasshoppers and at Flik, who now was leading the insects from the front. Neither enjoyed the attention.

“I can't believe I agreed to this. He could just as well be taking us to the block,” Hopper muttered.

“I'm sure it will be fine,” whispered Molt back.

“If I die from a bunch of ants after I survived a bunch of birds, I will be so angry.”

“Shush, you.”

They were being led through the catacombs to meet their executioners. He wondered how that would go. A vague memory emerged: how some wretched relative of theirs described in lurid detail how another colony of ants would swarm their invaders and pull at their limbs until they popped right out of their sockets, cartoonish noise effect and all. It would be what he deserved, Hopper wondered some more.

The storm pounded away at the ground and resounded quietly and angrily throughout the large chamber. Beyond the reverb, nervous whispers could be heard left and right as bugs alike began to pour into the room, surrounding Hopper and Molt, who were ushered in front of the council seats.

Atta’s gavel echoed in the chamber. Molt held his breath, wide-eyed and daring to be hopeful, while Hopper glowered with the spiteful petulance of the long condemned.

☘︎

“After much consideration, it has been decided that you two shall spend the winter here with the Colony. Once the cold season is over, then it’s up to you to figure out where you’ll go.”

The air froze in the room.

“On one condition,” Atta added, noticing small eyes fixated directly upon her, through her. Her shoulders were stiff; like something was pressing down on them, harshly. 

“You are to earn your place here and then some. It’d take many more of you to give back what you took from us all these years, but even the fraction you can muster should suffice.” She unglued her hand from the wooden stump, noticing she bored small holes into it with her fingers. 

“You’ve been reluctantly given a second chance, don’t squander it, or we will take it away if we have to,”

“What do you mean by squandering , princess, and what happens if we do?” Hopper found his voice at last, biting and unpleasant as always, but underneath it all, there was something else, a tinge of fear followed by petty anger. Molt clenched his fists and bit his lip, panicking silently.

All the other bugs simply stared at Hopper, offended at the sound and sight of him.

“I think you know what squandering implies. And if you don’t, you’ll have to face the rainy and cold season on your own, with no food and no wings to keep you safe,” Atta’s tone was sharp and low. Hopper’s eyes couldn’t meet with Atta’s, and so he shamefully admitted defeat, looking down.

Everyone else’s expression was unreadable. The ant princess shook her head, puzzled; they were waiting for further prompting, for another caveat, maybe some more royal retribution. Unfortunately, she had to royally underwhelm.

“That’s that, then; this meeting is adjourned. Molt, Hopper, you should remain here so we can settle on accommodations.”

The crowd finally became animated, at first murmuring softly, then getting louder as the other insects came to terms with what had transpired. Some shouted in outrage; others seemed indifferent. As long as this wouldn’t be a personal problem, it mattered little to them. Hopper could hear one ant spit when another mentioned his name, or at least he thought he did; it wouldn’t be a surprise either way. So he and Molt survived the block; the axe was mercifully swayed away or just staved. There was no relief to be had for one brother, but another finally let out a long sigh. He rubbed his weary eyes.

Flik pushed his way to Atta.

“This was awful, I think,” she whispered softly to her friend while she was stretching her fingers, still sore from tension. She remembered to slump her posture, tired but not relaxed.

“Really? I thought it went quite well, all things considered,” Flik tried to reassure her.

“Hopefully we’ve made the right decision,” Atta kept on fretting, looking through Flik, through the grasshoppers, and through the rest of the insects leaving the chamber. The muffled noise of the storm grumbled above their heads, like a disgruntled creature.

☘︎

Hopper dropped his head on the makeshift cot, never happier to leave this awful day behind him. The room, if he could call it such, was like a small attic dug out into the walls. He remembered some inane discussion about this being some old chambers used by the tunnel workers. This must be where they stored their tools, then, as he sure did feel worn down and battered. Molt shuffled somewhere in the vicinity as he uncomfortably turned in his own bed.

“Hey, Hopp, you asleep yet?”

“... Not yet,”

“I’m glad you didn’t get eaten by birds,”

“... Thanks, I’m glad we didn’t get lynched,”

“Ah, give it some time; they might change their mind.”

Hopper let out a half-hearted laugh, but the thought did linger. Moving around, he felt yet again the absence of his left set of wings and of his right lower arm. At the infirmary, Dr. Flora gave him some salve to soothe the painful spot where they once were but he was still in dreadful disbelief they were truly gone. He could deal with a missing secondary arm, but not with a missing set of wings. His mind then drifted off to the vastness of the open fields. He was robbed of something he barely began to comprehend, the privilege of the open air, but the greatest crime to him was that he would never see the desert again.

A strained, pitiful sob was wrenched out of him as he covered his face with an itchy leaf pillow. Fortunately, Molt was fast asleep, so he was spared one more humiliating moment.

Chapter Text

“It won’t bite, if that’s what’s bothering you,”

Hopper snapped out of his morning reverie, or was it actually morning? Everything felt the same in the darkness of the tunnels. In his hands, there was a pitchfork; at his feet, an aphid. They both looked at each other, considered their presence, and the aphid ultimately found Hopper lacking in fascination of the mind. So it turned away, little feet skittering.

“I guess you can handle this. A little bit of compost shoveling might do you some good.”

“Yeah, I hear it builds character.”

“Yup, builds it right up into a compost heap.”

If the grasshopper wanted to voice out a complaint, the supervisor ant did not care. She rolled her eyes and left Hopper to his devices. Surely he’s not too precious for this job. It mattered little if he were; the mushroom farms are not going to clean themselves on their own, anyways.

It’s a long way down from a gang leader of a bunch of nasty bugs to the rock bottom of a leaf mold digger in an anthill. Why stop his ambitions there, though? He could always find a sharper shovel.

He started picking at the foul mounds with firm determination. The less he grumbled about this, the sooner it would be over, but judging by the smell, that sooner would come a lot later. Lucky for Molt, who got assigned to clearing out collapsed passages, pondered Hopper rather enviously. That sounds less smelly, but more dangerous, though, he corrected himself. There’s no chance of the cave roof falling on top of him here, hopefully.

He loaded the compost into a cart, following other ants doing the same. Dropping the bundle made a splashing noise, with some specks splattering on his feet. This will be a very long day.

“Where do I put this now?” he asked the air between him and the other workers, hoping for someone to hear him out and not answer with "All over your head."

Another ant pointed in the distance. He saw carts being pushed to a series of tall structures. Hopper muttered a “thanks” and followed suit.

The insects were at some of the lowest levels in the anthill. As he was trailing behind the other ants, Hopper looked upwards to the walls. Small ventilation shafts dotted the place, letting the hot and musty air from the decomposing plant matter waft out to the surface, warming the rest of the area on its way up. Passing close by to one such air duct, he felt a cool breeze relieving him briefly of the hot stench that clung onto him. It was not unlike being cooked in a particularly saucy sauna. Glancing around, he observed how most ants wore around their antennae woven bits of fragrant plants, usually mint, to stave off some of the discomfort. Clever little pests, he thought.

“Dump that pile over here,” another ant gestured at Hopper. She stood beside a series of stacked shelves made out of woven twigs and dried grass. Dragging out a rack, she peered over it, and they both noticed small, pale mushrooms growing out of the mound.

“Nah, this one’s already cooking; place it over here, then,” the ant pulled above her head another drawer, empty and clean. Hopper searched for a hand shovel, found none, and remembered he left his pitchfork behind, so he’d have to do this the less delicate way.

“Oh, stop making that face; that’s just repurposed plant stuff,” the ant laughed at Hopper’s crinkled expression.

“These leaves smell kind of funny,” he muttered, making the ant chortle even louder. If only the gang could see him now.

“What do you do with this, anyways?”

“It’s mostly for food. Helps us get through the winter when the grain supplies are low.”

There was a certain roughness to the last sentence. It grazed at Hopper's cheek. He felt that guilt; he could smell it even, a fully immersive experience, right there.

“The dried mushrooms work great as tea, as well. You do need to add a lot of them in order to taste anything at all, however,” the ant added casually, savoring the sight of the once ferocious leader loading a shelf with compost with his bare hands. It felt rejuvenating.

“I’ll keep that in mind,”

Hopper seemed to have drifted off into his own world, and he was left alone yet again. Hours melded into another throughout the day. Shoveling, loading, carting, shoveling and loading again, doing some more carting, occasionally cursing as he got splashed in the face, then no longer caring as he was already one with the putrefaction. He had been that long before he got there.

He was at his last cart for the evening, but his trance was broken by some loud rustling to his side.

Flik was clambering on top of some scaffolding, trying to insert a new shelf into an even taller tower. That looked slightly unsafe, but what did Hopper care about? He turned his attention back to his stinking pile, wanting for all this to be over already. All the other bugs have finished their set of chores, but he was left behind as he was given twice the amount of work. That was part of their deal. He should’ve known the fine text implied something about mulch shoveling.

“Good evening, Flik… and Hopper,” Mr. Soil approached the remaining insects. Hopper nodded dismissively in acknowledgment while Flik gestured similarly, too preoccupied with not falling off.

“I see you’ve been getting along well, Hopper. We’ve actually been even more efficient than before.”

“Helps when you’re about twice the size of everyone around you, I imagine,” the grasshopper forced some small talk out of himself, feeling his patience turn to shreds. He had to play nice just a bit longer.

“I knew you were the right man for the job.” Soil lifted his snout, proud of his handiwork. Muted rage bubbling inside his shell, Hopper feigned a smile as he vividly pictured burying the council ant within a fertilizer mound. The mental image of the latter’s antennae haplessly sticking out kept Hopper tethered to this mortal coil.

“And how are the new shelves, Flik?” The ant walked past the tall insect, as if he were some ugly decorum in the room.

“They seem fine, I think,” the ant said as he gave the tower a healthy rattle; the construction made some odd noise but otherwise remained unflinching. Inventor ant, grasshopper wrangler, and now… carpenter ant, Flik was a bug of many talents.

“Great! I’ve taken the liberty to drop by your home the dried fruits you’ve requested,”

“That’s fantastic, thank you,” Flik eagerly leaped down from the scaffolding, fixated on the nice meal set aside for him, craving the extra sugar.

He felt his foot snag on something on the way down, but he paid it no mind.

The structure did, however.

Groaning soon followed cracking, and Hopper’s world darkened around him.

Flik turned to look at his accidental masterpiece and noticed the pile of dirt moving with Hopper’s meek struggles underneath it. While he hesitated for a moment, Flik ran up to the disaster and quickly started to toss to the side pieces of the former shelving. Digging through compost and having it get stuck within the segments of his fingers was one thing, but doing this for the grasshopper was another. Still, Hopper deserved worse; there’s always more room for humiliation.

“I’m sorry, Hopper, I didn’t know you were there,” Flik stifled his laughter when he uncovered Hopper’s mug, miserable and sodden with garbage. He wiped off a small fleck of it from the tip of his nose, then both he and Soil dragged him out of the remainder of the pile by the chitin collar. Several other ants have gathered back around the commotion, and Flik could hear subtle little snickers and titters. He hoped Hopper could hear them too.

“Didn’t know you were there either,” Hopper replied, his fury abated, replaced merely by solemn resignation.

“Oh my, well. We do have places with water where you can get cleaned up.”

“The rooms with the watery root things?”

“Yes, those. Do you need help getting there?”

“I’m good, thanks. I need to get used to navigating this place.”

Hopper got up and left the mushroom farms, a trail of foul miasma in his wake.

☘︎

By virtue of luck and having stumbled upon the chambers before, Hopper found what he was looking for. It was getting late, and not many ants were left there; the world still had some cosmic relief set aside for him. He could wash away all this crap in peace.

He entered a tall room with roots creeping across the walls and ceilings. They were old and hollowed out, most likely cut off from the tree, and were bent down to the ground. Small water droplets shimmered at the tip of the roots. Ants grabbed them and used them like soap, pressing them against their bodies, letting the dust and dirt collect within them.

He started with his face, then moved to all the obnoxious parts in his armor where mess could pile up, decay clinging to him like a second exoskeleton. It bundled up around his arm joints; how he managed to endure this without going feral from the discomfort was a mystery. Relief was wonderful, however, if not alien to him. He molted away this old, dirty layer and made way for something nicer, something definitely less fragrant. Too bad he didn't emerge back with a shining new set of wings and a new arm. No room for negotiation at all.

The water buds he dropped to the ground were like a foul brown soup. The less he looked at what he was leaving behind, the better.

No longer feeling like an entity of dung and decay, Hopper left for his sleeping chamber, almost glad for it. This was one out of many nights he would have to put up with, and he wondered how much he had left within him. He didn't start with much to begin with, either.

Only that, the tunnels truly did look the same to him. He dutifully followed the signs, and yet he still got hopelessly lost. Panic kept on reminding him of that, but nevertheless, he pressed on. If he brute-forced this, then it might work. Except it didn’t; it rarely did, like many of his past anecdotal experiences.

He reached out to ask some passerby ants for directions, but they quickly shuffled away, averting their gaze from him. Couldn't blame them, Hopper shook his head. Being a pest and a menace was so much easier; extorting rather than asking was much more efficient.

He was alone with himself and the silence of the tunnels scraping at the insides of his mind. Hopper turned to a different route this time, where the hallways were narrower. Hunched over, he walked and walked until the suffocating familiarity of being still stuck in the riverbed walls wrapped around him.

“You lost, pal?” Hopper heard the echo of a voice, not very pleasant, quite angry. He had played this game before, but on different teams. Never underestimate life's capacity to put one millstone after another on one's back.

“I’m lost.” Hopper drew a deep breath and held his tone level. Five ants stood in front of him like a bulwark. There was no more hallway to go through as the ceiling dropped down far too low for him. The bully grasshopper found himself quite cornered.

“Looking for something? Are you hungry? Maybe you want some more grain to pilfer from us?” One of the ants took a few paces towards Hopper, pushing him backwards until his nape was flush to the low ceiling.

“No, I’m lost,” he repeated and didn't recognize his own voice.

“You definitely are,”

Hopper turned over in his mind his options, or lack thereof. Violence was always there and a reliable choice, as was subsequent exile and perishing in the outer world. Of course, perishing here is also entirely possible. What a ridiculous concept, dying thinking at least one made the right choice, like it mattered at all, the thought insinuated amongst Hopper’s silent fretting.

He made a step, then another towards the group of ants. They said nothing, made no movement, but simply looked up and down at him, their steely gazes alone a strong deterrent. They stood with their backs straight, heads held up high, unrelenting and defiant even as he was almost in front of them. Hopper had only a fraction of a second to react, so he placed his hands on one of the insect's shoulders, trying to lightly shuffle him aside. That was their cue.

He met the ground in full force, gasping as the wind was knocked right out of him.

“Come on, buddy, try to get up,” one ant taunted. The group remained stiffly in its place, even as they threw the larger insect aside, yet he felt them all on top of him, bearing down on his chest.

“What's the matter? We're not doing anything to you. Come on, get up.”

As Hopper made the lightest movement, the ants stamped their feet in retaliation, quick as a whip. He recoiled his body, curling his legs towards him, in sheer terror.

A crackling of laughter emerged.

“What's with all the racket?” A familiar voice echoed through the hall, but Hopper was too dizzy with fear to pinpoint from where.

Flik bounded to the noise and paused with a recoil as soon as he stumbled upon the source; his eyes widened upon seeing the commotion.

“We're just teaching this dirtbag a lesson! Want to join us?” One ant gestured excitedly towards Hopper, like a hunter wanting to show off the catch of the day. Flik had to think fast and, more importantly, safely.

“Oh, uh, he was supposed to see me. I had some tasks for him, actually,” he blurted out, the words sticking into his throat for the moment.

The group of ants eyed Flik suspiciously, then looked back at Hopper.

“What's this useless sack of manure even good for?” Another bug kicked at Hopper's feet. “He’s barely good as a fertilizer!” He kicked again.

Hopper did his best to remain as small as possible and made no noise or reaction. His head was swimming in noise, and he could barely think over the sound of his own heartbeat. Looking at nothing in particular, he stared meekly at a point on the ground, at everyone else’s feet.

“You'd be surprised at how quickly I can move equipment around with a bigger bug,” Flik explained, wringing his hands in what he thought was a casual motion, but his legs were shaking. “Now, may I have my hauler back? I need him not too scuffed,” he added. Between him and Hopper, he wasn't exactly sure who was about to faint first.

The group considered Flik, then considered Hopper. In between that heavy, short silence, they could only hear the grasshopper’s wheezed breathing.

“Whatever. Sure. Best not get lost again, big boy.”

They left, but not without kicking dust in Hopper’s good eye. This ended far better than either hoped it would.

Flik helped Hopper up for the second time that day. The latter couldn't feel his limbs, like they turned black and rotted away, leaving only hollow stumps as support. Flik placed his hand on his back to steady him, and Hopper felt like tumbling over again.

“How'd you even get here?”

Hopper was tired of repeating himself.

“I took a wrong turn somewhere.” His throat was dry, and he could still feel dust between his teeth.

“You were lucky it was right close to my workshop. I can lead you home if you want to.”

“... Yes… please,”

They walked beside each other, not saying much, if anything.

At one point, Flik interrupted the solemn stillness between them, growing anxious about it.

“You’ve held your nerve quite well back there. I’m impressed,” he tried to sound pleasant.

“Really? And here I thought I was close to pissing myself,” Hopper commented, attempting and failing at a tired smile. He was still reeling and didn’t have much energy left besides simply focusing on placing one foot in front of the other.

“Didn’t seem like it, and that was a particularly bloodthirsty crowd.”

“Can’t say I blame them. Thought they might kill me, actually,” Hopper said flatly. “Couldn’t blame them for that either,” he shook his head dejectedly.

“Yeah, they might’ve.” Flik speculated on how the general populace would’ve reacted, should the worst come to pass. Doubt everyone would’ve been too preoccupied, except for, maybe, Molt. A predictable if distressing thought.

“I’m surprised you didn’t fight back,”

“Me too. Figured that, in the very rare chance they didn’t want to string me up and only provoke me, maybe, I didn’t want to bungle this up. Didn’t want to risk me and Molt getting kicked out, I guess.”

Flik prompted no further conversation, letting the words settle in his head. For the time being, they only heard each other’s footsteps, and so the rest of their walk was done in silence.

Stopping in front of the entrance of his and his brother’s wardrobe home, an air of awkwardness was circling around them. There was a pressing matter on the back of Hopper’s mind. Surely he forgot something important.

“By the way, thanks for saving my exo-hide,”

“Ah, don't mention it. Technically, if I didn't dump plant crap on you, this wouldn't have happened. I owed you,”

Hopper huffed a clumsy laugh, and Flik did the same.

“No, it's all my fault.”

They bowed their heads and waved to each other goodnight. Hopper stepped into the room and found Molt curled in his folding bed, hidden under the blankets. Oh, thank the dirt, he was asleep; Hopper didn't want any more chatter. By this point, his head was completely hollowed out and filled with compost heaps.

His own brand of scratchy frame bed felt wonderful, the loving embrace of that awful texture lulling him to sleep.

“Hey, Hopp, where have you been?”

He wanted to laugh, vomit, and cry all at once, but he didn't want to clean up after himself after all that hassle, so he did neither.

“... To the showers,”

“Awfully long shower, that. Did you take a dip in the dung piles?”

“If I did, you wouldn't know ‘cause I washed it all away. You, however,” Hopper peered past the blanket and looked at the dirt clumps hanging onto his brother’s antennae. “Look… muddy,”

“Ah, I'm just covered in dirt; dirt's wonderful.”

Molt shrugged, turning contently to the side. He couldn't feel his lower back from today's round of work, so moving as little as possible was ideal.

Hopper, in no better shape, also turned to face the wall.

Their sleep was restless and dreamless.

Chapter Text

There was a lull in the rainy season's barrage of muggy weather. Dreary, wet days paved the way for some more inviting ones, the kind that made one feel inept and useless should one waste it away indoors.

The colony thought as much.

Ant Island had been almost entirely stripped clean of food at the grasshopper’s demands. Yet one still clung onto hope there might be some scraps left here and there. Relief and peace was only a distant promise for now, as they had to deal with the urgency of refilling their winter reserves and accommodating their new companions.

They had their mushroom farms; they had their aphids, but the farms weren't that big, and worse yet, there has been a decline in their aphid population, where usually it was difficult keeping their numbers in check. Most aphid farmers unanimously blamed it on the grasshopper’s invasion, as they simply didn’t have the time to attend to them, so the little bugs grew wings and flew away to better pastures.

One blight seemed not enough; this year was generous. Unlike their food, their worries were stockpiling, and the royal council decided they would send out a few more workers and scouts around the perimeter of the island, hoping for a stroke of luck. Even rotting fruit sounded a treat at this stage.

“Sure you don't want to stay with the aphids?” Molt picked one up. He turned it in his hands, considering its beanbag body and beady eyes. So shaped.

“Positively, I've done enough stable cleaning to last me a lifetime. Besides, I don't feel like milking them.”

“Milking… them?”

“Yeah, you squeeze their butts, and some sugary stuff comes out of it. I'm even told they like it.”

Molt put the little bug down. Suddenly it wasn’t so shaped anymore.

“Anyways, godspeed with your butt squeezing,” Hopper saluted Molt, who was still pondering the aphids.

He headed off with a bundle of ants and disappeared in a forest of grass blades. Ahead of the group was a scout, an older, gangly fellow donning a cap made out of glued bits of acorn. It was too big for his head, and Hopper, with the other ants, watched entranced as it bobbed up and down while they were walking.

One ant broke rank and ran up to the guide. She slithered behind him, making him jump with her sudden presence.

“Did you really see that grain, or did you dream about it?” she said dryly. Behind her, a few snickers endorsed her wry commentary.

“I never said it was grain.” The guide shot her a look, but she was unimpressed.

“Then what was it?” She inquired, still bored.

“Bread,”

“Bread? Here?”

“A bag of it drifted here. It might still have some crumbs left.”

“Great, that's reliable.”

“You’ll have to trust me on this.”

“Unfortunately, I have to.” 

There wasn't much else to do besides walking, and there wasn't much else to talk about. Hopper was invisible for the most part, idle chatter phasing through him. The majority of his time was spent inside his head; whatever discussions he had were strictly by necessity, and whatever interaction he had that was not just out of formality was with Molt. Even so, they barely got to see each other outside of their duties, and by the time they were free, they were too exhausted to exchange anything else other than ‘goodnights’.

The most amount of sentences he managed to string together was when Flik saved his sorry self from getting an exoskeleton wedgie. Worse yet, he made that conversation stilted and awkward too.

Dark clouds circled above Hopper's head, but the sun was bright and mellow. He was tired beyond measure and not just from hard labor.

“Why are we going so fast?” The wry ant walked up to the guide, who was increasing his pace step by step.

“I want to get there as fast as possible,”

“...And?” She prodded at him suspiciously.

The guide was feeling peeled off layer by layer as the other insects were now scrutinizing him. “Oh, fine.” He grumbled, “I want us to be the first group to find something at all,” he added, looking a bit embarrassed.

“You want fame for yourself! Ha! I thought you were beneath such trivialities,” the wry ant jeered at him.

“Not just for myself! You get half credit too!

“Half credit?”

“I found it, didn't I? You are to help me haul it back.”

“You didn't find dirt yet! For all we know, you could be leading us to a particularly big pile of bird droppings that glinted like a plastic bag in the sun.”

The ants became more animated than when they first started their journey. One even turned around and left. Hopper heard an interesting series of adjectives addressed towards their guide.

“I promise there's something there. We also have to hurry in case a gust blows it over,” the scout swallowed dryly. He was still being regarded with suspicion, but the other's gazes softened.

“Alright, fine. Why does getting renown matter that much to you?” She just wouldn't let this go now, would she? The other ant drew a deep breath and counted in his mind. He forgot where he was meant to stop when she shook him for a reply.

“I've seen what that Flik fellow did, and, I don't know, I found it kind of motivating.”

The wry ant frowned thoughtfully, rolling the words inside her head, measuring them. The other insects did the same thing too, Hopper included.

“Fair enough. Didn’t peg you for the jealous sorts, though.”

“I mean, no, yes, maybe?”

“Ha.”

“Fine, but the correct term is ‘envious.’ I mean Flik no ill harm whatsoever, for fame is not a sultry minx he whisked away from me with his wily endeavors.”

“Disgusting. Never utter such sentences ever again.”

The banter faded away on a delicate breeze as it was gently bending the grass around them. It rustled warmly, and Hopper enjoyed the day as it was. It was nice leaving the den for a while, even if he would be back there by sundown. His mind quieted down.

“There! Do you see it?” The scout gestured erratically, his hat falling off and getting picked up by the currents. At the edge of Ant Island lay a translucent bread bag, some crumbs still clinging in a corner. A bounty worth all this trouble.

Hopper went up closer. Narrowing his eyes, he noticed the bag was balancing up and down on the island's borders. It shouldn't be a problem, unless the wind picks up speed, that is.

“Come on, let's move like we've got a purpose!” The wry ant barked out, and in short time, the bugs had already formed a line, breadcrumbs above their heads. As they returned from their trip, they brought more insects, and soon, the bag was empty.

Standing at the mouth of the plastic beast, the scout admired a job well done.

“So, looks like you're getting credit for being the first to find food after all,” Hopper walked up to the guide, forcing an attempt at small talk. He had to, otherwise he might forget how to speak at all. The ant side-eyed the big insect, distrustful at first, but he saw the grasshopper haul food alongside the ants, so he concluded it was worth entertaining him.

“Not quite,” the guide said thoughtfully, but not disenchanted. “I've been informed that someone else found a few overripe berries that we must've missed a while back,”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Hopper uttered mildly.

“Don't be; I'm not mad. I do love me some fermented drinks.”

Silence was forming between them again with only the rattling of sun-bleached plastic being heard. He had to think of something else; conversation was an art, and he was holding the brush by the wrong end.

“Where do you think it drifted off from?” he inquired again. He looked at the ant’s expression for any indication that he was growing tired of him but found none.

“Probably the trailer, from where the city is also,” he shrugged, half-disinterested.

“I thought that old coot died a while ago. Nice to see him still kicking. Maybe the bugs there might still get bits of meatballs as they would fall through holes in the trailer.”

The scout snorted a little, amused.

“I visited there years ago. Only caught a glimpse of his legs as he went out of his home to tend to his garden. It sounded like ten storms at once as he trampled with his boots.”

“Oh, those boots. I was resting on one at one point, and he had the audacity to flick me away. I went back later that evening and took a bite out of each ripe cherry tomato he had.”

The old ant puffed with subdued laughter. The image tickled him, but he didn't want to give the grasshopper too much credit.

“I would've done the same,” he commented, thinking of how confused the man must've been as he couldn't tell between petty strategy and the forces of chaos.

The wind picked up pace as they turned to head home, the plastic bag shuddering like a ghost. The guide gave one good look at its inside, ensuring nothing was left behind. Satisfied, he turned to walk out of it, but the forces of chaos had other ideas. A particularly sturdier gust blew into the bag, lifting it up, the ant holding on for dear life inside.

In a brisk motion, Hopper yanked him by the arms before he was completely aloft. There was no time to be delicate, as the guide was tossed down, bouncing off his abdomen. Hopper bloody called it.

“Didn’t think you’d want to visit the old man again,” he quipped. Letting a few seconds pass as their heads caught up with their bodies, Hopper grabbed the ant and hoisted him upwards, wiping the dust off of him.

“No. I heard he planted aubergines this year. I hate aubergines,” he rasped shakily.

Hopper laughed and patted him on the shoulders, the ant still trembling like a leaf in the wind.

☘︎

The sun was low in the sky, the autumn zephyr mellowing down to but a delicate whisper. Ant Island was bathed in a dense orange light, casting long shadows. A torpid air tapered to the ground, tepid, but not quite as it came with a pinch, announcing that the chilly night will be here soon.

Hopper missed sunning himself; he longed for the dry air of the desert and a nice, rocky surface to flatten himself on.

While flightless, his legs were in perfect shape, more so now than ever, as they were now the quickest way to get around. He bounded upwards on the tree, briefly settling on a protrusion on the bark, then taking aim again. At last, he found a lovely spot on a tree branch. It was secluded enough so he could get some privacy. Spreading his right wings to the side, he let his sore back take in what’s left of the evening sun, warming at his hollow spots. For now, he felt the closest thing to happiness.

☘︎

Dot buzzed around, full of pent-up energy and making the most of the outside world before she had to return to the anthills. Darkness suited her fine, but it wasn’t as satisfying as flying up, up, and up until only common sense told her to stop. She looked at massive, dense clouds rolling over in the sky; they reached like great beasts for the vastness of the world. Sunny, clear days where the sky was nothing but a flat, blue pond had their charm, but she grew to appreciate seeing it populated with wispy monsters. The world had depth then, ever-growing, past the anthill, past Ant Island.

She often wondered what was beyond the boundary of the hills, but she never received any satisfactory answer, the most underwhelming one being that the world simply ended, dropping down into the void. Atta told her that was a load of poppycock, and she was inclined to trust her sister’s judgment on that.

This mystery gnawed at her for a while, unraveling only when the circus bugs made their arrival. To their delight, the young ant sat through every one of their grand retellings of their travels around the world. She heard of dangerous swamps with a fetid green film covering their stale pools, of greener creatures lurking underneath them, hungering for the unwary. She became aware of a wasteland of rust with its jagged mountains clawing at the sky in wild mockery. They told her of the bug city underneath the trailer, sparkling and dazzling, with Flik extinguishing some of the glamour as he barged into the conversation to correct some technicalities.

Nevertheless, she was mesmerized; Dot wanted more of that world, and then some. A pinprick-sized ball of an idea formed inside her, then. She was running low on material and required a fresh, new perspective.

Her head spinning from all that flying, Dot dropped down on a rock, regaining her breath. Scanning the area around her, she was looking for someone, but alas, Molt must’ve been somewhere else. Bummer, she thought. It seemed like she would have to fall back on plan B for bast– Atta told her once that’s quite un-princessly. Could be, but it’s true.

Having regained her energy, Dot flew up, recalling she saw someone steal away earlier up in the tree.

☘︎

Hopper lay splayed like a bug on a windshield. He was not here, not on this tree, not on this island; he was somewhere else, somewhere better. All four wings fluttered briefly.

Tree branches lazily crackled around him; he hummed contently as he felt behind his eyelids their cast shadows over him. The weather cooled down, serene but heralding the end of his brief interlude. Now, Hopper was frowning. What was that irritating buzzing noise? 

“Hey,” came a whisper.

“Hey!” Then a shout.

Hopper came to, dazed and panicked. He thought he was on a flat rock in the desert; why is it all so cold and unpleasant? He turned over, but there was nothing but air underneath him. He opened his wings to balance himself, but something was wrong; he haplessly tilted to the side either way. Clawing at the tree bark in one futile attempt, Hopper plummeted down; the last thing he saw was a blurry purple dot getting smaller and smaller.

The royal ant covered her mouth, stunned, but this didn’t feel like one of those times where she was in trouble. Still, a bit of guilt jabbed at her, so with a delicate flourish, she zipped straight down, following along Hopper’s descent. There were quite a few branches along the way; surely they could act as cushions. Hopper missed every single one of them; what were the odds?

☘︎

Flik splayed at his feet some blueprints; Thorny carried more and delicately laid them out in order.

“You can just shift them around with your foot; I don’t mind,” Flik remarked gently. He appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

“They’re your plans; it’d be a shame to treat them like that,” Thorny replied.

A wide assemblage of diagrams lay around them, encircling the two ants. There were so many that Flik nailed a few at the base of the tree. He took a few steps back and surveyed his projects. These were some of the ideas that held a sliver of hope they might work, he pondered.

Why did he hear screaming?

Hopper, heaven-sent and hell-bound, dropped like a meaty chunk of hailstone upon Flik’s head, sending all of his blueprints flying, like a shaggy bird’s plumage.

The pages swooshed back to the ground, hiding this mischief away.

“What—” Thorny arose from the mound, boiling like a volcano. “—Why were you up there in the tree?!”

That was a redundant question; he knew the answer. Thorny shoved Hopper aside with enough force to level anthills. Flick emerged from under the grasshopper, only slightly crumpled, but otherwise unharmed. Dot zipped down, hovering behind Thorny.

“I,” Hopper started, his voice pressed and unsteady, “I finished my tasks for the day and thought—”

“You thought what?! That you deserved a break?! The grasshopper gets to laze about while the loser ants get to do all the work?!” Thorny wouldn't stop; he stomped forward to Hopper, who had barely just gotten up, knocking him down again. He was wide-eyed and utterly lost for words, while the ant, on the other hand, couldn't fit them all in a single breath.

“We are here because of you! You got us here in the first place! If it weren't for you, we wouldn't have had to waste all this time chasing scraps on the island. We did nothing for years but satisfy your whims and wants, and it was never enough! And now, you, you get to choose when to take a break?!”

They all stood frozen, trapped in the air, with only the wind bristling the plants around them. Hopper swallowed dryly.

“I'm sorry,”

Thorny’s mouth was drawn in a flat line. He turned away and gathered Flik’s blueprints, gingerly rolling them up.

“Flik, collect the rest of your works from the tree and bring them to my place, and I'll take a better look at them in the morning,” he said, voice tired and hoarse. “As for you,” he cast one final, disgusted look at the grasshopper, “I'll see what the others have to say.”

The remaining insects remained silent, watching the council ant leave. The sky was darkening, and soon they had to follow his trail home, too.

Flik sighed as he reached out for the blueprints stuck to the wall. Dot helped him.

“I'm sorry,” Hopper repeated again, like a broken chant. He found at his feet some sheets of paper Thorny must’ve forgotten about. He handed them to the blue ant, the latter taking them without looking at him.

“It's alright,” Flik looked dejected at the ground.

Dot felt this weighing on her conscience. Remembering her presence all of a sudden, Flik turned to her.

“What were you doing up there?” He inquired, noticing the little ant was shifting rather uncomfortably from one leg to another.

“I just wanted to ask Hopper something,” Flik’s brows furrowed. ”I also wanted to scare him a little, but I didn't mean any of this to happen, honest!” Her voice rose defensively.

“Aw, Dot, it's not your fault,” Flik’s voice was steady and comforting, putting her at ease.

“No, it's all mine,” Hopper rubbed his neck. “All mine again,” he muttered, barely audible.

“I don't think it's a big deal; Thorny is a real sourpuss, he gets mad at anything! I've seen him on worse days than this,” Dot remarked. But it was a big deal; she knew that, but right now it didn't matter.

“Hopefully he was just blowing off steam,” Flick finished gathering up his items, preparing to leave with Dot following him. They paused, however, and Hopper wondered why. Turning back, they looked expectantly at him, and it dawned on them they were waiting for him.

The ants walked home with the sullen grasshopper at their side.

“What did you want to ask me?” Hopper questioned Dot, not looking at her, feeling rather inadequate. The little ant shook her head, brought back to reality out of her mulling.

“I wanted to know what it was like past the fields here. Seeing you used to fly a lot and all,” she didn't look at Hopper but at Flik, trying to read his thoughts. There was no concern there, but maybe some slight hint of curiosity.

The large insect made a noise, something like a short, throaty laugh.

“That'll have to wait until tomorrow, maybe,”

“It better be good if I have to wait this long!”

She was insolent; Hopper could respect that.

“Let's hope I don't wake up with my figurative bags packed by Thorny.”

“I can't allow that to happen! Flik, can you stop Thorny from doing something we'll regret tomorrow?”

“We don't know if he'll do anything yet! Besides, I barely got into his good graces; I doubt he'll listen to me at all.” A curious image emerged in his mind, of how he, Molt and Dot would have to smuggle Hopper back to Ant Island should Thorny were to boot him off of it. 

Flik wiped his face with the back of his hand. How did it come to this, he wondered. Grasshopper wrangler, grasshopper spokesperson. He was tired.

Night settled over the anthill, and everyone had retreated to the safety of their homes.

Hopper ambled to his designated hole in the wall; another horrible day was crossed off the list.

Just as he was about to pass the threshold, he noticed something at his feet, some kind of large, woven basket. He picked it up, tested it with his antennae, and noticed it was a few droplets of berry juice. Someone did like his fermented poisons.

He barged into the room with the basket.

“How was your aphid milking, Molt?”

“Fairly unremarkable until I accidentally dropped a bucket of honeysuckle and ants swarmed me, yelling at me that I’m wasting it,”

“Maybe this might brighten your spirits?” Hopper held out the droplets of alcohol.

“I knew something smelled like Auntie ‘Tilda.”

“To our health,”

“To ours,”

"And for the colony?"

"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves."