Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ring-a-ling!!

DJ winces at the sound of the bell. He had been attempting to compose a new song when the sound had signaled someone climbing up one of the webbed paths towards his chambers.

As a favored composer, he enjoys a fair amount of privileges, one of which is this large private set of rooms, made of curved branches and boughs held together with the silk of the past twelve generations. Though DJ himself had contributed little to it--his silk went towards making and maintaining his instruments, mostly various types of harps, violins, and even a hammered dulcimer.

However, he’d quickly discovered that being the best composer in the cluster has some downsides. Namely, attracting the attention of Queen Ballora, who is now determined to make him her husband.

DJ, however, has little interest in becoming a husband to anyone, but saying no to the queen of all spiderfolk is…well. It is not done lightly, suffice to say.

Now DJ is filled with dread every time he hears that cursed bell. It’s almost always a letter from the queen, or one of her attendants coming to fetch him.

As he’d dreaded, he soon hears the distinct, giggly <Hee hee hee!> of Ballora’s four handmaidens. He turns away from his writing to see the four of them crest the webbed path to his chambers and enter it. The queen’s handmaidens need no invitation, of course.

<Hello ladies,> he chitters, trying and failing to keep his tone pleasant.

The four handmaidens are spiderlings, the smaller of the two species of spiderfolk. They have six legs and two arms, compared to the four legs and four arms of the larger spidertaurs, such as DJ and Queen Ballora. This gives them a more upright posture, their torsos more vertical than the hunched forward posture of spidertaurs. This suits the smaller creatures quite well, as even standing fully upright they are barely knee height to a spidertaur.

The four handmaidens have mostly tan fur, though their faces and pedipalps are powder white, with their lower legs being a pale pink. They also wear decorative silk sashes around their waists, as well as ribbons wrapped around their lower legs, all of which are the same shade of pink as the fur on their legs.

Spiderfolk do not wear clothes, but it is common for nobility and those in the queen’s court to decorate themselves in various ways. Something DJ himself has never participated in, even though he’s certainly earned the right to such fineries.

The four handmaidens bend their knees and lower their heads, curtseying to DJ.

<Our mistress the queen seeks an audience,> they say in perfect, borderline unsettling unison.

DJ tries not to let the fear and trepidation show on his face. This time he’s at least partially successful. Ballora hasn’t sought an audience with him since he’d turned down her proposal a month ago. She’s only sent him letters asking him to reconsider…as well as one particularly fancy harp that he hasn’t had the nerve to send back or actually use as of yet.

<Now?> he finally manages in a meek tone.

<Now,> all four answer.

Well…he can’t avoid her forever. He nods, and the four begin leading the way.

He’s led through the cluster, a massive, sprawling set of interconnected webs spun over many generations, woven across a swathe of tall trees that are now barely visible beneath the layers of webbing. Intricate, lacy patterns adorn the edges of the entryways and line the corridors.

Ballora’s chambers are at the heart of it, neither high nor low. It’s said that where she resides is where the very first webs of this cluster were spun when her ancestors first arrived in this forest.

Several guards flank the entrance to the chambers, as well as line the inner edges of it. Tall, imposing female spidertaurs in polished armor, covering their furred exoskeletons. Like all adult females, they stand head and shoulders above DJ, despite him being quite large as males go.

The chamber is large and round, with a high vaulted ceiling from which several woven banners and tapestries hang, made with the dyed silk of the ancestors. The floor, too, is curved, with the middle of the floor being a full spiderheight lower than the wall. The one seeking audience with the queen stands in the lowest point of the room, while the queen’s throne is at the wall, allowing her to gaze down at them while forcing them to gaze upwards at her.

The throne is a large, intricately woven web which Ballora currently sits atop, her front legs folded elegantly before her as her thorax and abdomen rest atop it, her torso remaining upright. Her handmaidens fall into place beside her, two on either side of the cushion. As she stands up, she pats one of them on the head. <Thank you, my dears,> she says affectionately, causing another tittering chorus of <Hee hee hee>’s to ripple through the small group.

She is even more decorated than her handmaidens. Similar to them, she has a purple sash around her waist and ribbons around her arms and legs. Additionally, an embroidered silk shawl covers her abdomen and a silver crown sits atop her head.

<My dear DJ,> she says, one corner of her mouth turned upwards in a hint of a smirk. All six of her eyes are lidded as she stares down at DJ from atop the high edge of the room.

<My queen,> he greets with a nod.

Her cold smirk widens. <‘My queen’? Such a formal way to address your future wife,> she purrs.

DJ tries to keep his fur flat and his pedipalps still, not wanting her to see how flustered such remarks make him. Not out of any desire for her, of course, just…DJ has never done particularly well in matters of the heart, despite what some of his songs imply.

She steps forward, though the distance between them is still several spiderlengths. She cants her head, a curious smirk on face. <Or…do you perhaps think you can do better?> she asks, her voice so icy that DJ feels the temperature in the room drop.

<O-Of course not, my queen!> he says quickly. <There is no greater than you! I-I would be foolish to even think otherwise!>

<Hmm…> she lets out a trilling hum as she slowly paces back and forth before her throne. Her handmaidens exchange amused glances and DJ hears another quiet giggle from one of them. <No greater than me?>

<None! I promise!>

She’s quiet a moment, then turns to face him, a frigid smile on her face. <You lie,> she says simply, sounding more amused than offended.

<No!! My queen, I--> He’s silenced when she holds up a hand.

Ballora laughs, seeming to enjoy watching DJ squirm. <Though…it goes without saying, anyone who catches my eye is a fine specimen in their own right, no?>

DJ doesn’t dare to respond, which only seems to amuse her further.

<The finest musician in all the cluster, possibly even out of all the spiderfolk in the realm. A genius we haven’t seen the like of in generations.>

<Y-You flatter me, my queen…> he says meekly, unable to bring himself to directly disagree with her, even out of modesty.

<Hardly,> she purrs. Her cold grin widens as she regards him. <But I do admit, if someone better than the queen herself did exist, you would certainly be worthy.>

The hint of sarcasm in her tone causes DJ’s fur to bristle in fear.

<A true queen can admit when someone with such confidence has earned it. And you certainly have,> she says, her tone almost…teasing. Playful, even.

She lifts a hand, revealing a glass orb full of swirling purple and blue mist. Flashes of gold light occasionally flicker within it as the miniature tempest swirls within.

<It took me awhile…but I believe I have found the perfect reward for such confidence,> she smirks.

<My Queen, please--> DJ begins, only to cut himself off when she abruptly throws the orb towards him. It hits him in the chest before he can dodge, and he dances back as the smoke swirls around him.

Pain immediately rips through his body, forcing all four of his legs to give out as his thorax and abdomen crumple down onto the webbed floor. Every inch of his exoskeleton burns as his hairs recede into him like a million searing needles. He feels as if he’s taken several blows to the face as his four secondary eyes go blind before vanishing into his now hairless exoskeleton while his chelicerae are forced cruelly upwards, disappearing into his upper jaw.

DJ can barely breathe as he feels squeezed from all sides, his head and thorax shrinking down to half their original size as two of his arms and two of his legs shrivel and vanish entirely. His abdomen disappears, and DJ feels his heart stop for one agonizing moment before it reforms in his chest.

His exoskeleton softens, becoming even less solid than it is after a molt, while his innards twist and contort as his organs shift into something new entirely.

The transformation only takes a couple minutes, but the agony stretches it into hours in DJ’s mind.

When it’s done, he’s completely unrecognizable. A small, soft, two legged, two eyed creature. Nearly deaf, barely able to sense the vibrations of his fellow spiderfolk…no fangs, no venom, no webbing…incapable of hunting or defending himself.

Ballora has turned him into a human.

He opens his mouth to speak, to beg for mercy, to plead for her to undo this horrific curse…but he cannot speak. Perhaps just as well…the arcane resonance within human voices are dangerous to spiderfolk, so Ballora’s spell making him a mute human is probably by design--taking away the one possible defense he would have in this small, grotesque body.

Ballora smirks, staring down at him with lidded eyes, the purple glow behind them barely visible. <Since you think yourself capable of wooing someone even better than your queen in your true form, finding love like this should be well within your capabilities, should it not?> she teases. <Your musical talents should be quite enough to persuade any spiderfolk to look past your appearance, I’m sure…> She smirks wickedly. <Even if you do only have two arms. So…earn the love of one of your own, and the spell will be broken. Hardly a challenge for someone of your talent, I’m sure!>

DJ’s stomach--which is now far too close to his heart--sinks.

The guards pull him roughly to his feet and carry him effortlessly out of the throne room.

The queen’s proposal for breaking the spell is a joke. A cruel joke meant to torment him. Even if love could break the spell, DJ will never find it now. Ballora knows that, and if anything, is even more confident of that assertion than DJ himself is.

Any doubt of this is removed when the guards bind his hands, wrapping him in a burlap sack and carrying him out of the cluster, dumping him in the woods away from the webbed trees. He’s not officially exiled, but how can he return to the cluster looking like this? Without his fellow spiderfolk knowing he’s mute, they’d seize him immediately for fear of him using his voice on them. Even if he could speak and explain himself, they’d never give him the chance. How could they ever risk it, when the arcane resonance of a single shout would feel like a searing knife stabbing into their ears?

Ballora’s curse couldn’t even be broken if she’d lowered the bar to just finding a spiderfolk to take him in. Shelter him. But love? Truly impossible now.

DJ lays in the dirt where the guards had left him for several hours. Humans can’t see in the dark, and Ballora clearly hadn’t seen fit to make him an exception. But even as dawn begins to break, lighting up the forest around him, he still barely sees a point in moving.

His life is over. He’ll never have a place in any cluster ever again. Even if by some misalignment of the stars he could break the curse, he’s sure Queen Ballora would never allow him back…or if she did, it would be contingent on him finally accepting her proposal. Assuming the proposal is even still open, which DJ very much doubts.

So. A lone human out in the wilds, or a spiderfolk living as the imprisoned husband of his queen? A difficult choice that Ballora has already made for him, it seems.

At long last, DJ pulls himself to his feet. By some mercy, his new body has enough latent human instincts that he can stand up and walk without too much difficulty--as long as he doesn’t dwell too much on how unnatural it feels. He, like most spiderfolk, never understood how humans can not only stand on two legs, but stand so vertically. Straight and tall like the trees themselves, but with no roots to hold them in place and no tail or abdomen to aid their balance.

He still doesn’t understand how it’s done, but something in his new body does, making it an ability he now has for himself.

He wraps the burlap sack around himself like a cloak and sets off, knowing he’ll need to put some distance between himself and the cluster if he doesn’t want to be mistaken for a random human and attacked by a roving spiderfolk.

Though spiderfolk aren’t the only things in the forest that would be dangerous to a soft little human…and it would be easy for any predator to get the jump on him, he imagines. He can barely sense the vibrations in the ground, without his fur he can no longer feel subtle changes in the air, all the sounds of the forest are muffled as if he has cotton in his ears, he can only see about half the colors he’s used to, and no way of telling how warm or cold anything is except physically touching it.

He shivers as a cold breeze brushes his bare skin.

He tries not to think about just how little time he may have left to even worry about his new predicament.

Chapter Text

It’s the dead of night when you’re awoken by a small creature jumping onto your bed, his little clawed hands grabbing your shoulder to shake you awake.

“Mm? Lil’ M?” you mumble sleepily.

The spiderling chitters urgently, signing something that you of course cannot see in the dark.

“H-Hang on, I need light,” you say, pulling yourself into a sitting position. You reach over to the end table, fumbling about in the darkness for the glowstone. Lil’ Music Man hops over to the nightstand and quickly locates the glowstone, his vision undeterred by the pitch black room. He lightly taps the rune etched into it, causing the stone to glow a pale white, faintly illuminating the room.

“Thanks,” you mumble, blinking and rubbing at your eyes as they adjust to the light. By the time you glance back at Lil’ Music Man, he’s already started signing.

“Something’s outside. In the coop. The chickens are upset.”

“A fox?” you ask, pulling on your robe.

“Bigger.”

You blanch. “Not…not a wolf?” you ask hesitantly.

“Not a wolf.”

You leave your bedroom, heading into the main room of your small home. You step into your boots, pulling the laces only tight enough to keep them from falling off, then grab your crossbow and bolts from where they hang by the door.

“Wait in here,” you whisper to Lil’ M.

He lets out a soft hiss of protest, but stays put. He’s formidable in his own right, despite being less than half your size. His venom’s not fatal unless he can keep his fangs in for several minutes--a quick bite is painful but rarely deadly, though that’s still enough of a deterrent for your fellow humans.

But a wild beast? Some understand the inherent danger in Lil’ M’s fangs, but not all, and you won’t risk his life on those odds.

Still, you leave the door slightly ajar as you step out, in case Lil’ M finds himself in need of an easy exit from the house.

The narrow sliver of light escaping from the doorway guides you down the flagstone pathway to your chicken coop, and you finally catch the sound of stirred up hens that Lil’ M heard plainly from inside.

The coop is fairly small, housing only a dozen or so hens, and is fenced in by a circle of sticks about waist high, with mesh netting made mostly of Lil’ Music Man’s silk woven criss-cross between them to form a barrier. The chickens could fly over it if they ever had a mind to, but as long as you keep them fed and don’t crowd them, such incidents are rare.

Though it seems tonight is such a one, because several hens have either leapt the fence or scurried through the open gate and are now strutting indignantly about the yard while their coop is ransacked by the intruder.

You frown at that. Bigger than a fox, not a wolf, but also seemingly disinterested in the hens themselves?

You catch the faint outline of some creature’s hind legs sticking out of the coop and load a bolt in your crossbow, preparing to shoot.

You frown. You don’t have a clear shot of its head or chest…and you don’t relish the thought of spearing some creature in its hindquarters only to have it flee into the woods for a slow death.

Nor do you relish the thought of enraging some unknown creature who may turn its wrath on you if you don’t kill it in one shot.

So, you take a chance, and call out, hoping the creature will show its head. “HEY!”

The creature freezes, then shuffles backwards in a panic. You realize whatever it is, it’s wrapped in some kind of sack, which it stumbles over as it tries to disengage from the coop.

As it finally scrambles back, you find yourself looking into a pair of human eyes. Even with the smeared egg and chicken feed coating his face, he’s unmistakably human.

And unmistakably terrified.

DJ had hoped whatever humans live at this little farm would remain asleep while he pillaged what he could. The eggs had been fine, though he’d ruined most of them trying to figure out just how humans are meant to eat such things without choking on the shells. The feed is disgusting but it’s at least something he can recognize as food. He had tried catching some of the chickens but without webbing or fangs he’s helpless to turn even domesticated fowl into a meal.

He had passed by a couple homesteads in his week of wanderings, but he had been too afraid of being seen. He suspects he wouldn’t exactly be welcome with open arms just because he’s a human.

As if to prove that point, his gaze finally falls on the crossbow in your hands. His mouth falls open in a silent scream of terror and he scrambles back even further. He tries to stand and right himself, but slips on the straw lining of the chickens’ pen and falls on his back. He quickly gets to his knees, his hands clawing at the fencing of the pen, tearing some of it away as he desperately tries to relocate the open gate he’d come in through.

“H-Hey, woah!” you say, holding up a hand. You lower the crossbow to your side, holding it away from your body to indicate you don’t wish to fire it.

The man is clearly terrified and desperate, and possibly unwell. He must have been starving to stoop to stealing raw chicken eggs and feed to eat…though it strikes you as strange that he didn’t even make an attempt at the chickens themselves, or your garden.

He continues to try to escape, fumbling about in the dark and actually managing to tear down part of the pen wall and tangle himself in it.

“Hey, it’s okay! I-I don’t want to hurt you!” you say, moving closer to him. “I-I’m sorry, I…I thought a wild beast was attacking my stock…” you explain.

Where had this guy come from? He must have been separated from a larger group that was traveling the main roads. He’s certainly no woodsman.

He seems to have given up on his attempt to escape and sits tangled in the mesh, cowering.

You chew your lip in thought, then decide to set the crossbow aside, laying it on the flagstone path and holding up both hands to show you mean no harm. “Look, see, the crossbow’s gone. Alright?”

The man lifts his head slightly, blinking at you in confusion.

You step towards him and he flinches back slightly.

“It’s alright--I’m sorry I scared you. Are you lost?”

The man continues to stare at you, his dark eyes wide and full of fear. Does he not speak? Is he…faetouched, perhaps?

You take another step towards him, and this time he doesn’t move…though that may be because he’s too tangled in the mesh to mount any sort of escape.

DJ watches as you circle the pen to reach him. It’s too dark to see much of his features, but the starlight illuminates enough of him that you can tell he’s shaking. He doesn’t seem to have much in the way of clothing and is instead draped in some sort of sack.

Alone in the woods, unable to fend for himself, possibly unable to speak…what’s happened to this poor man?

Once you’re close enough, you crouch down, holding out a hand.

DJ stares at it in bewilderment. Do you…want something from him?

You frown worriedly, inching closer to him. “I’m going to help you out of that netting, okay?”

He continues to just stare. You want to…help him? He wonders if he actually understood you correctly or if it’s just wishful thinking toying with his exhausted and starved brain. Like all young spiderfolk, he had studied Common in school--being able to hear a human approach from far off is good, but being able to understand their speech as they confer is also invaluable for assessing a threat. Assuming one has the hearing protection necessary to listen in on a human conversation, that is.

Though, unfortunately, DJ’s common is a bit rusty and he’s struggling to keep up with what you’re saying. For your part, you can’t even tell if he understands you at all.

You slowly reach towards him, and when he doesn’t shy away, you begin carefully helping him out of the net. It would probably be easier to go back inside for a knife and try cutting it away, but…well, with how terrified he is, you don’t think adding a knife into the equation is wise right now.

You carefully take one of his hands, holding into it while you unwrap a portion of the netting from his arm. This finally seems to clue him into what you’re doing, for he shakily gets to his knees and helps you untangle him.

Once he’s free, you take his hands in both of yours, helping him to his feet.

For the first time, you realize just how large he is. He towers over you, and indeed, he would tower over even the tallest humans you’ve met in your time. He’s also quite broadly built, with wide shoulders, a broad chest, and a round belly.

You surmise he must have lived a fairly cushy life until recently, for he certainly doesn’t look like a man who has a history of wanting for food. But of course, no matter how well fed one is, it still only takes a few days of starvation for desperation to set in.

DJ stares down at his hands in yours, his brow knitting in confusion as he lightly runs his fingers over the backs of your hands.

They’re so warm. He’s felt his own body heat up many times in the past week, even becoming slick with moisture when he exerts himself too much. It’s not a particularly pleasant feeling, but…holding a warm hand is…far from unpleasant, certainly.

You clear your throat awkwardly. “C-Come on, let’s…get you inside…” you say. You release his hands and take his arm, guiding him towards the house.

Hearing your approach, Lil’ Music Man pushes the door open. The light from the house illuminates the flagstone walkway as you and the stranger approach the house.

DJ’s gaze falls on the spiderling in the doorway and he stops short, his eyes widening in surprise. Of all the things he had expected to find here, a spiderling hadn’t been one of them.

“It’s okay!” you assure him quickly, assuming he’s afraid of Lil’ Music Man, as many of your other guests have been. “He’s my friend, he won’t hurt you!”

Lil’ M cants his head, letting out a contemplative trill as all eight of his eyes narrow at the stranger.

You frown at his reaction and release the stranger’s arm long enough to sign, “Be nice.”

Lil’ Music Man does not like when other humans are about, and truth be told you don’t blame him. Far from it, in fact. He’s endured many a rude remark from vendors and tradesmen who have come to your farm to do business, many under the assumption that Lil’ M wouldn’t understand them. You’ve tried to encourage him to wait in the house to spare his feelings, but Lil’ M doesn’t like the idea of you being alone with anyone he deems less than kind.

Still…he’s strangely guarded and wary towards the stranger. Usually he just seems annoyed at visitors--he finds them more tedious than threatening, but apparently he finds something more off-putting than usual about this stranger.

Maybe it’s because the stranger’s so large, or because he was technically stealing, or because he’d just never seen a human so disoriented and desperate as the stranger seems to be.

You’ve dealt with your fellow humans far more often than Lil’ M has. You think you can spot a schemer fairly readily, and this stranger is unlikely to be one by your estimate. Still…you’re not going to completely disregard Lil’ M’s caution just yet.

DJ, if anything, seems less at ease with Lil’ M than Lil’ M with him, for his gaze never leaves the spiderling as you walk him into the house. He even turns his head, staring over his shoulder at Lil’ M as he shuts the door behind you.

You guide him to sit at the table, with Lil’ M climbing across the walls to activate the glowstones and light up the room.

Now in the bright light, you can see how truly disheveled the poor stranger is. The sack that serves as his clothing is torn and caked with grime, and probably isn’t going to be wearable much longer. Every inch of his skin that you can see is splotched with dirt, mud, and who knows what else.

His skin is dark, and his large nose seems somewhat scarred, as it--along with two circles on his cheeks--are a couple shades lighter than the rest of his skin. He has thick eyebrows and a bit of stubble on his chin, and no hair on his head. The combination of him being bald and the slightly blue-grey tint to his facial hair makes him appear a bit older than he likely is at a distance, though looking at him up close you estimate he’s probably close to your own age--quite young to be going silver.

His eyes are a bit unusual…his irises are large and dark, making it hard to see his pupils or the whites of his eyes. Between that and his large stature, you once again wonder if he’s faetouched…or perhaps has some non-human lineage.

There’ll be time to worry about that later. For now, you’re sure he’s still hungry and could do with some proper food. Though if you don’t get him to clean his hands and face a bit first, he’ll be eating a fair bit of dirt along with whatever meal you give him.

You gather up a bowl of warm water and a soft, clean towel, placing them on the table in front of the stranger. “Here…why don’t you wash up a bit?”

DJ stares at the bowl of water and towel. Wash up? How is he meant to do that without pedipalps and fangs? He supposes humans must have some way of cleaning themselves. Do they bathe in water? Like birds?

He gives you a helpless glance before reaching towards the bowl of water, setting his hand atop the surface of the water. He shudders at the strange sensation of water against his bare skin, pulling away with a grimace.

You frown worriedly. Does…he not know how to wash up? “Here,” you say gently, taking the towel and dipping it in the water. You take one of his hands, beginning to wipe the dirt and mud from it.

DJ watches curiously as the dirt comes away from his hand. The feeling of the warm, damp cloth against his skin isn’t entirely unpleasant. Certainly nicer than just sticking his hand in the water had been. But…there’s also a kindness to the way you move. A gentleness in your touch that…for the past week, he was sure he’d never feel again.

Not that he’d felt it for a long time back at the cluster, either. Despite being one of the most acclaimed musicians, he hadn’t had many close personal relationships in a few years. Partially due to his own solitary nature and tendency to lose himself for days in his compositions, and probably also due in part to Ballora setting her sights on him. Nobody would want to seem as if they were standing between the queen and her future husband. Even if they had been trying to befriend DJ, not court him, Ballora could have still easily seen it as a threat.

You’re too focused on cleaning his hands to notice the softness of his gaze. You rinse the towel off, wringing it out before attempting to clean his face. You pause a moment when your eyes meet his. He’s still staring at you, but the fear seems to be gone from his eyes, replaced with a sort of…melancholy. Almost longing.

You clear your throat awkwardly as your face heats up. “Y-You…must have…gone through something quite terrible…” you say as you wipe away the egg and chicken feed from his cheeks. “Y-You don’t have to…to tell me, of course,” you add quickly.

DJ’s not even sure what he’d tell you if he could speak. Certainly not the truth…even if you do seem like you may be kind enough to earn it. He’s sure that kindness would vanish if you knew what he truly is.

What he had been…

He closes his eyes, letting you finish cleaning his face.

You gather up the bowl and cloth, passing the towel to Lil’ M to put in with the other washing while you open the front door to toss the dirty water into the bushes outside.

When you return to DJ, his eyes are open and his expression downcast. His dark eyes shimmer with unshed tears and you feel a pull of sympathy in your heart. You can’t help but think whatever he’s been through is probably worse than what you’d be able to guess at.

You return to your kitchen, opening the bread box and pulling out the loaf you’d baked yesterday. You’d like to give him a better meal than plain bread, but…you’re not sure how well the raw eggs and chicken feed he’s eaten are going to sit. Bread will be a much needed kindness on his stomach, surely, and then perhaps tomorrow if he’s up for it, you can make some sort of proper stew.

As you’re cutting a couple slices, Lil’ M skitters across the wall, making sure to keep his feet off the counter as he gets your attention.

“Something’s wrong.”

You glance over your shoulder at DJ, who’s still sitting sullenly at the table. “I know,” you sign silently.

Lil’ Music Man shakes his head. “Not human.”

You resist the urge to glance back at DJ a second time. “Maybe not entirely. He might have some kind of lineage…giant maybe, or troll…Or he could be faetouched.”

He shakes his head again. “Smells weird.”

You frown a bit, even though you know Lil’ M probably isn’t saying that to be rude. “He’s dirty.”

“I can smell dirt. And human. And something else. Not giant. Not troll. Not fae. Something else.”

You give a weak smile of amusement. “Since when do you know what giants and trolls and fae smell like?”

Lil’ M glowers up at you, his cheeks fluffing indignantly. “I know what they don’t smell like!”

“Sorry,” you say, smiling apologetically as you realize you upset him more than you’d meant to. “You don’t think he’s dangerous, do you?”

He considers. “Don’t know if dangerous. Don’t know if safe.”

You smile gently at him, reaching towards him. When he doesn’t shy away, you lightly scratch behind one of his pedipalps, then pull your hand back to sign, “I didn’t know if you were safe at first either, you know,” you remind him gently.

Lil’ M’s shoulders slump as he lets out a silent sigh, dipping his head in a nod. But after a moment he lifts his head with a smirk. “If he tries anything, I’ll bite him,” he signs, opening his mouth wide and raising his chelicerae menacingly, displaying his fangs.

You laugh softly, despite what most humans would consider a fearsome and gruesome display. “Wouldn’t ask any different,” you say softly as you plate the bread.

DJ had lifted his head to watch your interaction curiously, and now catches your gaze as you turn to face him.

You belatedly realize he may know sign language, given he seems to be mute. In that case your private conversation with Lil’ M wasn’t as private as you’re used to a sign conversation being. “He speaks in sign. Do you know it?” you ask as you set the bread down in front of him.

DJ hesitates, then shakes his head. He still isn’t quite catching everything you’re saying, but he understands enough to know the jist of what you’d asked. But he’s never heard of sign language.

You take a seat in the chair next to him. “Ah…well, in any case, I guess we should introduce ourselves,” you say, smiling weakly. You tell him your name, then nod towards Lil’ M, who’s now walking across the wall towards you and DJ. “And that’s Lil’ Music Man. I usually call him Lil’ M for short. He’s a spiderfolk. I found him a few years ago, when he was still pretty young. S-So I guess he’s…like a little brother to me now,” you explain, watching his reaction carefully.

DJ’s brows raise in surprise. He didn’t quite follow everything you’d said, but he knew you called the spiderling your brother. Strange…he’d never guess a human would put such a word on any spiderfolk.

The presence of the spiderling is a curious thing in general, and not one DJ’s had much time to dwell on yet. Strange that you would keep him, and strange that he would stay. How does he tolerate being around human voices? He knows spiderlings have less sensitive hearing than spiderfolk, which would help with how loud human voices can get, but it wouldn’t make the arcane resonance any less painful.

Granted, your voice seems bearable to DJ now…borderline pleasant, even. He’s evidently human enough to be immune to the arcane aspect of your voice, and he’s pleasantly surprised that he can now hear kindness and even gentleness in your tone.

Does the little spiderling hear that too? He must--somehow he’s managed to adapt to your voice without going completely deaf, for he’s not even flinching when you speak.

As DJ contemplates this, Lil’ M takes a seat at the table. Or rather, on the table, perching on the edge next to you as you both watch DJ.

“You must be hungry,” you prompt gently.

DJ nods, then glances down at the plate you’d set before him. Food? Bread, if memory serves? A fairly basic human food, not one spiderfolk would ever partake in though.

But, then again…it is a human stomach within his belly now, and despite his raiding the chicken coup he still feels more starved than he can ever remember being.

He picks up one of the slices, taking a huge bite and swallowing it without chewing. Then another. Then another.

“W-Woah, hey, slow down!” you say gently, lightly touching his arm. “You’re going to make yourself sick if you wolf it down like that…” you say worriedly.

DJ stares at you uncertainly, then it clicks. Chewing. Right. Humans eat far differently than spiderfolk do…maybe that’s why the berries he’d managed to find in his journey hadn’t felt quite filling enough.

He takes a bite, this time actually chewing it, which he finds has a not entirely disagreeable effect of allowing him to savor the taste a bit longer. And he finds that bite doesn’t sit in his stomach as heavily as his previous makeshift meals had.

DJ had intended to eat all four slices, but halfway through the third, his stomach has apparently decided it’s finally satisfied, and the hunger that had been keeping him awake through his fatigue is faint enough for his eyelids to finally start to droop. His arms are too heavy for him to even lift the bread to his mouth and he’s too exhausted to care as he starts to slump forward.

“O-Oh!” you say, quickly getting to your feet and grabbing his shoulders to steady him. “Come on, let’s get you to bed,” you say.

He only catches the last word of that, but it’s enough to make him nod weakly. He manages to pull himself to his feet and let you guide him to the back room--not realizing that it’s your room and your bed you’re about to put him up in.

You don’t try to persuade him to remove the burlap sack before he lays down…Nudity is not something you want to negotiate around right now and you don’t even have an alternative that would fit him. He’s still filthy and your bedding will definitely need a washing tomorrow, but not as much as your new guest needs a good night’s rest.

DJ collapses limply onto the bed as soon as you pull back the covers. A soft sigh escapes his lips…the bed is soft enough that he can almost pretend he’s back in the cluster, asleep on his web.

By the time you pull the blanket over his large form, he’s already asleep.

You return to the main room, smiling at Lil’ M when you see he’s already cleaned up the plate. You slump tiredly into your easy chair by the fire and Lil’ M helpfully pushes the footrest towards you. You pull down the blanket from the back of the chair and spread it over your legs as Lil’ M climbs up into your lap.

“Sleeping here tonight?” you ask him tiredly.

“Guarding,” he signs back. For a moment, all six of his feet pat and paw at the blanket, and once it’s to his liking, he lowers his body down, settling against it.

“Thanks, Lil’ M,” you say warmly, resting a hand against his back as your eyes drift closed.

You do appreciate his caution, and you’ll have to thank him properly later. You don’t think you’d be so bold with this new stranger if you didn’t have Lil’ M backing you up. Still…you hope your little brother’s worries prove unfounded.

Chapter Text

You slowly drift awake as the morning light filters through the curtains of your living room. You’re a little stiff from sleeping in the chair half the night, and as you shift and stretch under the blanket, you hear Lil’ Music Man let out a faint chitter of protest.

“Oh, sorry, Lil’ M,” you say, having forgotten he’d fallen asleep on you last night.

He nods, wordlessly accepting your apology before glancing towards your bedroom door.

“How’s our guest?” you ask softly.

“Sleeping. Not sick.”

“Good,” you say, relieved. You wait for Lil’ M to climb down before standing up, haphazardly folding the blanket and tossing it over the back of the chair. “I’m going to go check on him.”

“Going to fix chicken pen. Put chickens back,” he signs up to you. You had both been too concerned about your guest last night to round up the chickens that had escaped into the yard. Though you’re sure none of them had ventured all that far from their feed bins.

“Are you sure?” you ask worriedly.

He smirks. “Can handle chickens.”

“Right…” you say with a slightly hesitant laugh. You’re sure it’s true, but…it wasn’t so long ago he was too small to herd the chickens about the yard without getting pecked in retaliation. The chickens seem to have forgotten that bygone era, but you certainly haven’t.

He grabs his hat from the small table beside the door before heading out, while you quietly move into your bedroom. Your guest is still asleep in the bed, snoring softly. You move to stand beside the bed, leaning forward and peering at him through the darkness.

You don’t see any obvious signs of illness, and he seems to be sleeping peacefully. You lightly rest the back of your hand against his forehead, then his cheek, checking for any signs of a fever.

Before you can remove your hand from his cheek, DJ becomes vaguely aware of a comforting warmth near his face. He shifts slightly, nuzzling his cheek against it.

You bite back a squeak of surprise as your hand is pinned between his cheek and the pillow. You glance at him once more, and seeing him still asleep, you carefully remove your hand.

The motion doesn’t wake him, but the corners of his mouth twitch in a barely perceptible frown as he looks just a tiny bit less content than he was a moment ago.

Well…you didn’t wake him and he doesn’t have a fever, so…there’s that, at least. You silently take a breath, trying to calm your racing heart as you silently tiptoe to your wardrobe. You pull out your clothes so you can get dressed in the living room. Your day is clearly going to be busier than you’d originally planned.

You get some porridge started, leaving it on the stove to simmer. You glance out the window, watching as Lil’ M spins a new silken net between two of the fence posts. He’s going to be making a lot of silk today, from the looks of it.

Usually he helps himself to a couple eggs from the coop whenever he patches the fence, but you wonder if there are even any in there right now. You grab a couple from your cabinet and head outside.

“How’s it looking?” you ask Lil’ Music Man as you crouch down near where he’s working.

“Messy. Mess everywhere,” he complains in sign. “Broken eggs. A waste.”

You frown sympathetically. “Well, I’m sure our guest would have preferred to not ruin our eggs too,” you remind him gently. You grin, holding out the eggs you’d brought from inside. “But…we still had some in the cabinet.”

Lil’ M brightens, letting out a pleased trill as he accepts the eggs. He eagerly shoves them both into his mouth, stabbing them with his fangs and holding them in his closed jaws as the shells dissolve.

You admit (inwardly at least) that watching him eat used to gross you out a bit. It still sort of does, but you’ve gotten used to just not looking too closely at his mouthparts and not thinking too hard about what he’s doing.

He’d seemed so happy to sit at the table with you when he was little, you just hadn’t been able to bring yourself to say no to his hopeful little face. So you’d learned to mind where you looked and just not think about how he eats while you’re eating.

“You have everything handled out here?” you ask him.

He nods, not signing anything as he runs his pedipalps over his face and chelicerae, cleaning the last traces of his breakfast from his fur.

“Good…I think I’m going to have a busy day inside. Our guest’s um…tunic…” you decide to be charitable in your phrasing, “probably won’t survive being washed, so he’ll need something else to wear.”

“Clothing’s silly.”

You laugh. “Well, humans are silly,” you say easily. You don’t bother pointing out the little tophat that he himself is currently wearing. “In any case, I’ve got some sewing to do, but if you get hungry again there’s still some eggs left, alright?”

He nods, and you give him a little pat on his hat before heading back inside.

You haven’t sewn a garment in quite some time, and you’ve never been any sort of tailor. Mending and small adjustments are manageable, but making a whole garment? You’re going to have to hope your guest values function over form. By a lot.

You head into your den, which over time has become the room where you put everything that’s not quite suitable for the main room or your bedroom. It’s a mishmash of books, old crafting tools, a handful of sentimental items, and old family keepsakes. As well as your late mother’s old sewing machine. It’s a sophisticated, fancy machine from the elven kingdoms, made of dark blue metal with silvery, decorative filigree. A fine piece of machinery well above your rank, but your mother had been lucky enough to do some tailoring for a particularly generous noblewoman in her youth.

You begin to move it into the main room, where the lighting is better, to begin your work.

The sewing machine is essentially a workstation built into a small table, powered by a pedal underneath it--meaning you have to move the entire table and workstation together. Like most elvish machinery, it’s fortunately much lighter than it looks.

Once it’s in place, you glance towards the bedroom door, straining your ears to hear the faint snoring of your guest. Once you do, you breathe a silent sigh of relief that you hadn’t woken him.

Being the not-a-tailor that you are, you don’t exactly have swathes of new fabric laying about…but you do have a couple worn out blankets that are starting to fray. You peruse your mother’s old pattern book and finally find something suitable. Simple enough that you can adjust the pattern to your guest’s large frame and still complete the garment in a few hours.

It’ll be a fairly simple robe, with loose sleeves and a belt but otherwise entirely unremarkable. More fit for lounging about in the house than going about town, but not nearly the faux pas the burlap sack would be. You select a dark grey, unpatterned blanket to sacrifice to the task, and get to work.

You’re definitely going to need to consult a proper clothier and a cobbler soon. Neither of which will be cheap, but…you can’t just send him away unclothed and barefoot.

It is shortly after noon when the quiet whirring of the sewing machine’s gears and the soft clicking of the needle finally reach DJ, pulling him out of his deep sleep.

He’d hardly slept at all since he’d been ousted from the cluster--too scared, too starved, too warm, too cold, too horribly uncomfortable--every time he had tried to rest there’d been at least three or four things keeping him wide awake. But a mostly full belly and a soft bed had lulled him into a sleep so deep that when he finally drifted awake, he could almost convince himself the past week had been a horrible nightmare.

Almost.

Being wrapped in heavy fabrics quickly dispels the illusion of being back in his web, even if the sensation of being covered is far less unpleasant in this body.

DJ stares up at the ceiling--the strange human architecture of wood planks held in place with bits of metal. How long would he be welcome beneath it? You’d taken him in and given him a meal, showing a very spiderlike level of hospitality DJ is sure is a true rarity among humans.

But how long would that last?

The safety and comfort he has right now is fleeting, surely. Even if you send him off with a knapsack of food and some kind of weapon, he’ll still be woefully under-equipped to survive alone. He’s no fighter or hunter, and he knows a weapon is useless without the knowledge of how to wield it and the courage to do so effectively.

Perhaps he can at least learn a bit while he’s here. The sign language you’d used last night intrigues him. He hadn’t realized humans did anything like that. Perhaps him being mute isn’t as much of a detriment as he’d thought. If he can persuade you to teach him just enough to get by…to communicate with humans…maybe he can start to build a life for himself in this new form.

It’s preferable to death, anyway.

DJ pushes the blankets off himself, climbing out of bed. His feet touch the soft rug by your bedside, and he glances down curiously. He hasn’t tread over very much soft ground in the past week…but he supposes he shouldn’t be surprised that humans make their own dwellings soft and comfortable.

He slowly makes his way out to the living room, where he sees you hunched over the sewing machine, working on the robe. DJ’s familiar with what a sewing machine is--spiderfolk may not deal with clothing all too much, but they’re well-versed in textiles, given that silk is one of the main things spiderfolk use in trade with other peoples. He doesn’t know how it works, of course, but he at least knows what it is.

Your appearance, however, is what throws him off for a moment. For a second he doesn’t even recognize you--your coloration and markings are almost entirely different. But his human instincts quickly guide his eyes to your face, and he realizes you’re the same human from last night, just wrapped in different garments.

He’d realized humans wear clothing, of course. It’s something very important to them, and they keep almost all their skin covered. He just hadn’t fully considered how drastically it would change your appearance when you put on a new outfit.

No scent and constantly changing colors and markings? How do humans keep track of each other? Sure, he quickly recovered in this one instance, when you’re the only human in the room, but what about a group of humans? DJ can’t imagine walking into a room with several humans, all in unfamiliar markings, all with no scent, and having to recontextualize them based on just their faces at a moment’s notice.

And how do they recognize each other from behind, or when their faces are obscured? Can they even do that?

While DJ’s staring at you with a knit brow, grappling with his new reality, you finally glance up and see him standing there.

“Oh! You’re awake,” you say, smiling warmly at him as you quickly stand up. “I’m nearly done here, but come, have a seat,” you continue, taking his arm and guiding him to sit at the table.

Once he’s seated, you go to the stove and portion out two bowls of warm porridge. “Do you like anything on your porridge?” you ask him.

His blank, mildly alarmed stare causes you to wince apologetically. Of course he can’t answer such an open-ended question. DJ wouldn’t even know how to answer even if he could speak…he’s not entirely sure what porridge even is, and has no idea what one would put “on” it or why.

“M-Maybe…plain is better for today anyway,” you say with an awkward laugh. You set his bowl down in front of him before taking your own seat.

DJ stares down at the wooden bowl filled with porridge. It looks half digested already. Food shouldn’t look like this before it’s in his mouth!

Yet even as his mind recoils from the sight, his nose and stomach tell him otherwise. It smells like food--as much as anything smells like anything in this body--and last night’s meal didn’t exactly undo the week of near starvation he’d endured.

DJ watches as you pick up your spoon, scoop a bit of porridge, and eat it. He then follows your lead and takes his first bite.

It’s…not too bad. Granted, all food tastes better on an empty stomach, but at least sticking to a human diet is starting to feel more doable.

Though the spoon is awkward to use with five fingers…DJ’s not used to having so many. Eventually he settles for gripping the spoon handle in his fist, though he carefully watches you out of the corner of his eye to make sure you don’t object.

You don’t, of course. Though you do notice, and it only furthers your suspicion that your guest had come from a highly sheltered life before getting lost in the woods.

He finishes before you do, and having little else to do, shifts his gaze to you.

“Do you want seconds?” you ask.

DJ hesitates, then nods. It feels rude to just say yes without either thanking you or at least apologizing for possibly taking more than his share. But he is hungry, and you at least seem understanding of the fact that he can do little more than nod.

You take his bowl, returning to the stove to portion out the last of the porridge for him before sitting back down to finish your meal.

As you take your bowl to the sink to rinse it out, you glance back at him. “I’ll go get a bath drawn up for you while you finish that,” you say, nodding towards his bowl.

Bath? It seems DJ’s guess that humans submerge themselves for cleaning is correct. It sounds unpleasant…but DJ’s also aware that he smells unpleasant. He hadn’t been paying enough attention to notice his scent when he’d first changed, but he’s definitely noticed it the past few days. He’d wondered if it was just because he was human…maybe humans just smell like this.

Though you and your home don’t smell bad…so maybe it is just him, and you’re simply gracious enough to not comment on it. Aside from your suggestion (insistence?) that he bathe.

You disappear into the bathroom and when DJ finishes his meal, he once again follows your example, rinsing the bowl in the sink before going to find you in the bathroom.

You nearly bump into him as you step out of the bathroom. “O-Oh!” you say in surprise. You laugh awkwardly, and a bit nervously, as you tilt your head back to gaze up at your tall guest. “Th-The bath’s ready…I can bring in your robe once it’s done.”

DJ blinks, canting his head. His robe?

Sensing his confusion, you point towards the sewing machine. “Just um…something I put together real quick,” you say. “I…don’t think any of the clothing I have around here would fit you…and um…I thought…something a bit better than…y’know…” you say awkwardly, reaching up to lightly pick at the frayed shoulder of his burlap “tunic”.

He stares at you in surprise. You made him something? This quickly? And after all you’ve already done? Do…all humans treat each other like this? Surely not all--there are inter-human wars and crime, after all, but…maybe humans are a kinder people than he’d realized.

You can guess somewhat at what’s going through his head. Most travelers who stop at homesteads like this are not sent away with a newly crafted robe--even a very simple one made out of old blankets. You smile weakly, giving a modest shrug. “I-I um…couldn’t really send you back out in that…” you say, nodding to the dirty burlap covering him.

Ah. So you will be sending him back out eventually. It’s…understandable, and not all that surprising, he supposes.

He nods in understanding, wishing he could thank you properly. He places a hand over his chest, lowering his head and bowing slightly. It’s a gesture known across both spiderfolk and humans, and several other peoples as well. It’s not exactly a “thank you” but he hopes it gets the point across.

You blink, a bit flustered at the gesture, but you do understand it as the show of gratitude it is. Even if it seems more like something a member of nobility would do more than a lost traveler. “Y-You’re welcome…” you say shyly.

You clear your throat awkwardly, stepping aside. “A-Anyway, y-you should…probably get to it before the water gets cold…”

DJ nods, but wonders a bit at your reaction. Maybe bowing was too much? But he supposes he’d rather do too much than too little, in this instance.

You close the bathroom door behind him, leaving him to survey his situation. The room’s floor is grey stone rather than the polished wood of the other rooms, and the lower half of the wall is made of similarly colored grey bricks while the upper half is the same wood as the rest of the house. A wooden washtub is set up and filled with warm water. Small wisps of steam rise from the surface, floating lazily above it. On a small table next to it are several towels.

He can’t help but grimace at the tub of water. Whatever instincts his new body has that are pulling him towards slightly more human behaviors are not enough to make sitting in a tub of water sound appealing.

DJ removes the burlap sack, folding it and setting it aside. Tentatively, he reaches towards the water, sticking his whole hand in, only to grimace at the sensation. He quickly pulls back. There’s no way he’s putting his whole body in the water. He can’t do it. He just can’t.

He doesn’t want to squander your hospitality, but…even just thinking of the feeling of water pressing in on every part of his bare skin, without even his fur to keep it at bay, is enough to make him shudder.

DJ picks up one of the towels, recalling how you’d washed his hands for him last night. A wet cloth is certainly more bearable than getting into the tub. He dips the towel in the water, and sets about wiping the dirt from his body, being careful not to get too much dirt or water on the floor.

It takes longer than it probably would have if he’d just sat in the water, but when all’s said and done, the vast majority of the water and dirt is in the tub, not on the floor, and not on DJ. The towels are probably dirtier than you’d guessed they would be, but…maybe DJ can figure out how to help you with laundry to make up for it.

As DJ is trying to figure out how to hang all the towels to dry, you knock on the door.

“E-Everything okay in there? I finished the robe, I can pass it in to you if…if you’re ready?” your timid voice calls awkwardly.

Having no way to answer, DJ simply opens the door. From the look on your face, it’s immediately apparent that this was the wrong choice.

You squeak in surprise, your face burning as you quickly turn away. It’s your own fault for assuming he had any modesty, you suppose. You close your eyes, straightening up and handing him the folded robe. “H-Here,” you say meekly, keeping your head turned away even with your closed eyes.

You don’t see DJ’s apologetic look at your reaction as he takes the robe and quickly closes the door. He knows humans are almost never seen without clothing, and that they will go to great lengths to avoid being seen in the nude, but it hadn’t occurred to him that someone else’s nudity would be upsetting to witness.

DJ hopes that faux pas doesn’t mean an end to your hospitality.

He quickly dons the robe. It’s a simple enough garment to put on. One arm into the sleeve, then the other, close the front, button it up, then tie the belt. He dreads the day he’ll have to do anything more elaborate than that, for he knows most human outfits do consist of more than one garment.

He emerges a few moments later to find you sitting at the table, your cheeks still a touch warmer than usual. You peek at him tentatively from the corner of your eye, relaxing visibly when you realize he’s decent. “It looks like it fits, then?” you ask, getting up to approach him.

DJ nods, giving the first smile you’d seen from him…causing your own grin to brighten.

“Good!” you say, circling him to check your work. “Hm…the sleeves could be taken in a bit, but at least the hem isn’t dragging…” you say, lightly pinching at the fabric of the sleeve as you look him over.

He wishes he could tell you what fine work it is and how much he appreciates it. It’s certainly more comfortable than the coarse burlap sack.

“I should check in with Lil’ M…would you like to come with me?” you ask.

DJ nods, having no reason or desire to stay in the house by himself. It’s a nice enough environment, of course, but he’s had his fill of solitude over the past week. While he could certainly go days or weeks with minimal interaction while he’s composing, the music is his company in those times.

He wonders if he’ll ever be able to compose again. Humans do have instruments, but he can’t sing in this form nor would he know how to play any instrument--human or otherwise--with only two hands.

That melancholy line of thought is interrupted by your voice. “Do you want something for your feet first?”

He pauses, then nods again. His feet are still a bit raw from his trek in the woods. Human feet are just so much more delicate than spider paws, and it’s almost impossible for humans to navigate the wilderness without some kind of foot covering.

You fetch some linen wraps, bringing them to him. He looks blankly at the material, then helplessly back up to you.

“Do you know how to put these on?” you ask gently.

He shakes his head. He may be able to figure it out if you fully refused to help him, as the wraps are somewhat reminiscent of the leg wrappings spiderfolk sometimes use to decorate themselves, but he’s not convinced his attempts will hold up very well once he gets outside.

You seem more worried than surprised at his answer as you kneel on the floor to wrap his feet in the linen. Usually one would put some kind of proper shoe or boot over the cloth, but you have nothing on hand that would fit him. Besides, if you’re sticking to the paths and trails of your farm, not going out into untamed wilds, the linen wraps will be suitable for today, and will probably still feel like an immense relief after his time going barefoot in the forest.

“Good?” you ask, once they’re tied into place.

He nods, standing tentatively. It’s an improvement, certainly.

DJ follows you out the door and to the chicken pen. It’s in a better state than it had been last night. Lil’ M has finished the fence, having woven nets between each post, then cleaned out the dirty bedding from the coop, and is now working on herding the chickens back into the pen. It’s a slow process for him, seeing as he’s not that much larger than the chickens. He can’t lift them, and they don’t seem to move with much urgency as he shoos them towards the open gate.

“I’ll get the coop set up for them,” you call out to Lil’ Music Man. “That’ll bring ‘em back.”

He nods in acknowledgement, not looking at you as he focuses on herding one of the hens back into the pen.

DJ follows you to the shed beside your house, watching as you fetch a small bale of hay. Figuring he may as well do something to help, he holds his hands out to take it from you.

“O-Oh, are you sure?” you ask. “You should probably be resting…”

DJ shakes his head. He’s well enough to carry a bit of straw across the yard. He holds out his hands a bit more, insisting on helping as best he can without being too forceful or getting into your personal space.

Well…he can probably handle it, you reason. He’s a large fellow, and it’s only a bit of straw. “Thank you,” you say as you pass it to him.

He smiles warmly at you, and you let out a small, shy laugh…Why are you suddenly so flustered at just a simple smile? Perhaps because there’s something endearing about his.

“E-Erm, just…bring it over to the coop…” you say, probably needlessly. You quickly turn around, grabbing the feed sack to follow after him.

You set the feed down outside the fence, but even that’s enough to attract the notice of some of the wandering hens, who strut over to examine the feed bag curiously.

“I’ll get the straw put in…would you mind watching the bag? Make sure the chickens don’t tear it up,” you say to DJ as he hands you the bale.

He nods, and as he glances down he already sees a hen pecking at a loose thread on the bag. He crouches down and gently nudges the hen away. She lets out a soft cluck, giving DJ an indignant look before strutting off elsewhere.

“Exactly,” you say with an encouraging smile. You head into the pen and into the coop, crouching down to get inside. You have to bend your knees and back uncomfortably to fit into the small structure. DJ definitely wouldn’t’ve been able to help you with this part of the task.

You cut the twine ropes around the hay bale, letting the straw fall to the ground in a heap before kicking it around to cover the wood floor of the coop. You scoop up a few handfuls to line the shelves. You try to make sure it’s mostly even, but you know the hens will arrange it to their liking later.

You’re only in the coop for about ten minutes, but apparently that’s long enough for DJ to lose control of the situation. When you emerge, he’s holding the feed bag in his arms with several chickens milling about his feet, pecking at the feed that’s spilled from a small tear in the corner of the bag.

As if that’s not enough, one of the hens, a large brown and white bird with a discerning eye and a willful spirit, has perched on his shoulder in an attempt to reach the top of the feed bag. Every time DJ shifts it away from her, more feed spills from the hole in the bag, and she struts across his wide shoulders to try to reach it once more.

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh or even smile too widely. It would be a laugh of sympathy, not mockery, but all the same…DJ doesn’t look as if he’s in the mood for laughs. He looks more embarrassed than afraid, and he glances at you guiltily, as if he’d be spouting a million apologies if he could.

You quickly trot over to the edge of the pen, holding out your arms so he can pass the bag over the fence to you.

Once DJ passes you the bag, the hens milling about his feet opt to go around through the gate rather than try to clear the newly repaired fence. You set the bag down, standing on your toes to reach for the chicken still on DJ’s shoulders. He obligingly hunches over, still giving you an apologetic look.

You scoop the chicken off his shoulders, setting her on the ground. “Paulette, you are just the worst,” you scold her lightly.

Finally, you pick up the bag again, adjusting your grip so you can pinch the ripped corner closed. With your free hand you grab a few handfuls of feed, scattering a generous amount over the ground. You then shake the bag loudly, the sound of rattling seeds and corn attracting the last few stragglers, which DJ and Lil’ M herd through the gate.

Once they’re all suitably distracted with their feed, you make your exit, closing the gate behind you.

“Are you alright?” you ask DJ, standing on your toes to pick a stray piece of straw off his sleeve.

DJ nods sheepishly. He’s not happy that he not only failed the very first task you gave him, but one that should have been fairly simple, by his estimation. Suffice to say, DJ’s time as composer for the nobility left him woefully underprepared for farm life. Especially farm life as a human.

You give him a sympathetic look, lightly patting his arm as the three of you return to the shed. “These bags tear easily. And the chickens are probably extra fussy because of the late breakfast,” you assure him.

He gives you a small, soft smile. He gets the feeling you’re being more placating than honest, though probably not dishonest. He’s glad you’re so forgiving…he senses he’s going to need it, in the coming days and weeks…however long you let him stay.

You put the feed bag away, closing up the shed. “Well then, um--” You cut yourself off, giving a slightly awkward laugh. “I…still don’t know what to call you…” you say hesitantly. Given the odd gaps in his knowledge, you’d briefly considered he may not have a name at all. You’re trying to figure out how to tactfully ask him if he can read or write when he holds up a hand, causing you to pause.

He crouches down, picking up a stick and scratching in the dirt.

DJ can’t actually read or write Common, not really. While he’d kept much of his knowledge of spoken Common, written had unfortunately fled his brain quite rapidly after he’d finished school. Except for his own name. Or at least, the closest approximation to his name that Common can manage.

He scratches two letters into the dirt. D-J.

You frown, canting your head at the scrawl. You can’t quite make it out at first…though you are looking at it upside down at the moment. You step around the letters to crouch next to DJ, trying to decipher his writing.

Your silence quickly starts to worry him…maybe his memory isn’t so clear after all.

“Oh! Dej?” you guess.

DJ quirks a brow, looking genuinely baffled at your guess. He glances back at the letters, pausing a moment before tapping each one in turn with the stick.

“D-J? DJ?” you say. You’ve never seen a name spelled like that, where the letters are pronounced individually instead of having their sounds combined. Perhaps he goes by his initials for some reason?

Before you can ask, though, he nods eagerly, a huge grin on his face. Vaguely, he wonders if perhaps the professor had taught him an overly simplified spelling of his name all those years ago. Or an uncommon one, at least. But no matter--you’re able to figure it out!

His huge smile is infectious, and you let out a small laugh. He seems so happy you figured it out that you’re willing to let the slight oddness of his name drop for the time being.

You get to your feet, and DJ does the same. “Pleased to meet you, DJ!” you say, extending your hand before repeating your own name. More for the ritual of it than thinking he forgot.

DJ looks at your hand in confusion, trying to recall what you’re doing. Your smile falters slightly and you’re about to lower your hand when he abruptly remembers. He quickly takes your hand in both of his, gripping it lightly and giving yet another apologetic smile.

He guesses there will be a lot of those in his future.

Case in point, he holds the handshake just a tad too long, looking down at his two large hands engulfing yours. Once again he marvels at how warm your hand feels. Spiderfolk don’t give off warmth like this…it’s odd to grip someone’s hand and find it so warm, but…it’s comforting too, in a way.

Meanwhile, you’re just now noticing just how soft his hands are. Certainly not the hands of someone who’s done much in the way of physical labor…though that’s hardly surprising after everything you’ve seen of him.

He only releases your hand when an irritated trill sounds from below you. Lil’ Music Man is at your feet, his arms crossed as he looks up at you sulkily.

“Oh! Sorry, Lil’ M,” you say, scooping him up. “DJ, this is Lil’ Music Man. Lil’ Music Man, this is DJ,” you say, even though they both already know that at this point. Lil’ M clearly wanted to be part of the introductions now that the name of your guest has been revealed.

You and Lil’ M are both surprised when DJ holds a hand out. Most people don’t particularly care about introductions with Lil’ M and would prefer to ignore him. They certainly don’t want to touch the little spiderling, so DJ’s actually the first to even offer so much as a handshake.

Lil’ M shakes off the surprise before you do, leaning forward and enthusiastically bapping DJ’s palm with his small hand.

DJ gives a bemused smile as he carefully wraps his hand around Lil’ Music Man’s, handling the young spiderling carefully. It’s a little strange, seeing an adolescent spiderling this large, though DJ guesses Lil’ M is probably the typical size for a spiderling his age--it’s DJ who’s smaller in this form.

DJ hadn’t had the awareness to wonder about Lil’ Music Man’s name last night--he had been too distracted by the mere presence of a spiderling. But the name “Lil’ Music Man” sounds more like a title than a name. Though, there are plenty of spider names that are either a word or a combination of words…so perhaps it’s the same in Common, and Lil’ Music Man is just one of those names.

Lil’ M yawns wide, his fangs extending slightly as he shifts his chelicerae.

You didn’t always find his yawns particularly cute. The long fangs suddenly emerging from his otherwise fuzzy face were a bit alarming at first…but you’ve come to realize it’s no different than a dog or cat baring their fangs in a yawn.

Still, you glance nervously at DJ, hoping he’s not put off by the sight.

To your surprise, DJ hardly seems to react, as he’s still looking at Lil’ M in quiet contemplation. Well, that’s a good sign, at least. You aren’t in any hurry to send DJ off given the state you found him in, but on the other hand, if he were acting put off by Lil’ M it would be hard to keep him around. Lil’ Music Man’s had far too many experiences with humans who found him strange or off putting, and you don’t want to add to that by inviting in someone whose lip would curl in disgust over a simple yawn.

Your relief is clear in your face as you smile down at Lil’ M, scratching under his chin and causing him to let out a contented trill as his eyes drift shut. “You worked hard today, didn’t you?” you ask him.

You don’t know as much about his physiology as you wish you did, but you know spinning the webbing is tiring for him--there’s definitely been a correlation between making silk and taking very long naps over the years, and today was probably a record for the amount he’s had to make in one day. You can tell he’s tuckered out by how limp he feels in your arms.

Lil’ M’s head twitches in a small nod even as he continues to lean into the chin scratches.

You head back to the house, and DJ takes a few large strides to reach the door ahead of you so he can hold it open.

“Thank you,” you say, pleasantly surprised at the gesture.

He nods, following you inside and into your room.

You glance at the bed, which still has visible dirt stains. You suppress a wince, focusing on taking Lil’ Music Man to his bed first. The bed in question is little more than a large basket with some plush cushions and a blanket. Lil’ M doesn’t cover himself with the blanket, of course, but he enjoys the texture of it more than the pillows.

DJ cants his head wonderingly as you place the young spiderling atop the pillows. Why does he not sleep in a web? Surely that would be more comfortable? Is that something you insist on, or is it entirely Lil’ Music Man’s choice? DJ would like to think the latter…he doesn’t want to believe his benefactor would force Lil’ M to sleep like a human if he didn’t want to.

As he watches you pat Lil’ M’s head while the spiderling drifts off, he finds himself smiling softly. Maybe DJ’s just feeling particularly sentimental and softhearted because of the stark contrast between the past week and the past day, but he can’t help but feel even some spiderlings in the cluster would envy Lil’ Music Man’s position, awkward sleeping situation aside.

“May as well gather up the laundry,” you whisper to DJ and begin pulling off the muddy bedsheets and blankets, moving quietly so as not to disturb Lil’ M’s nap.

Ah. Right. DJ’s never given it much thought until now, but human beds must require some kind of maintenance. You can’t just spin up a new one at the first sign of dirt or fraying. He hopes he hasn’t damaged the bedding too much…

He moves to help you, mirroring what you do on the other side of the bed. As you pull up a corner, he pulls up the opposite. You smile gratefully at him as you both pile the bedding atop the bed. You roll it up, making sure the dirt stays in the blankets instead of falling onto the mattress.

DJ follows you as you carry the blankets to the main room, dropping them into a wicker basket by the door, then hoisting the basket by the handles. You pause at the door, glancing back at him.

“You can wait here if you want. I’m sure you could use the rest…” you offer.

He shakes his head, then points to you.

You pause a moment, setting the basket down. “Walk with me?” you say, speaking aloud as you sign. You guess that is what he’s getting at by pointing at you.

DJ blinks, then nods, smiling hesitantly. “Walk with…you,” he signs, managing to infer that he should point to you instead of himself for the last word.

“Yes,” you speak-sign. He seems to catch on quick…granted, it’s only one sentence, and a short one at that. But you can already surmise that him not knowing sign is likely a lack of opportunity, not a lack of ability. You wonder how many of his other knowledge gaps that applies to.

You grab the basket again, holding the door open with your hip and nodding for DJ to go ahead of you.

Instead, though, he stops in the doorway, holding out his hands in a clear offer to take the basket.

“Are you sure?” you ask. “It…really seems you should be taking it easy…”

DJ nods, still holding out his hands. The basket doesn’t look that heavy, and besides, he does want to start repaying all your generosity…and not purely because he wishes to ingratiate himself to you.

After another brief hesitation, you pass the basket to him before closing the door behind you. You lead him to the laundry basin, which at first glance looks similar to the washbasin in the bathroom, but then DJ notices the runes along the sides of it, similar to the runes etched into the glowstones in the house.

You remove the heavy wooden lid from the basin and nod to DJ to empty the basket into it. He does so, then helps you maneuver the lid back into place. You twist the metal latches on either side of it, locking it into place before running a hand over the runes that line the wooden surface. As they light up, the faint sound of splashing can be heard as the activated cantrip begins to fill the laundry basin with water.

DJ has never seen a cantripped basin for washing fabrics like this. While spiderfolks do deal in textiles, they don’t typically use them in such a way that warrants regular washing. But he can certainly see why humans would need such a device.

Once it’s going, you turn to face him. “I guess this is a good chance to show you around the farm a bit…”

He nods in agreement, following you along the flagstone path. He doesn’t know much about human farming practices. Spiderfolk don’t grow food crops, but do cultivate herb gardens, mostly for potions and medicines, along with the occasional decorative plant. Their diets are almost entirely meat. They are more trappers than ranchers or hunters, though they occasionally manipulate the population of the local game with breeding projects to introduce healthy, strong specimens back into the wild. They also have semi-domestic birds that they keep for eggs--not quite as tame as your hens, but tame enough that spiderlings can move freely among the trees where they nest, gathering up eggs without incident.

As you walk to the other side of the house, DJ glances curiously at the structure built into the side of it. It looks like the partial framework of another entire house is being built into the side of your home. He’d noticed it vaguely last night, but hadn’t been in the right frame of mind to even think to question it.

You follow his gaze. “Oh, right, the extension,” you say. “That’ll be for Lil’ M, when he grows up,” you say.

DJ nods thoughtfully. So, when the young spiderling’s an adult, he’d be getting a home of his own, more or less.

But then you continue, “Spiderfolk get pretty big. Huge, really,” you say with a weak laugh. “He’ll barely fit in the main house when he’s grown. That’s also why our front door is a double-door--he’ll need it wider eventually.”

DJ hadn’t even registered the double door, as while he has a rough idea of what human homes look like, he’s not familiar enough to question any architectural oddities that they may have.

But that isn’t the part of the statement that’s caused his brow to knit in confusion as he glances down at you. In a moment, it clicks--you don’t know the difference between spidertaurs and spiderlings. It seems they’re all just “spiderfolk” to you. Do humans even know the smaller species exists within the cluster? And what of the different amount of limbs--two sets of arms and two sets of legs on spidertaurs, but one set of arms and three sets of legs on spiderlings?

Whatever the case, poor Lil’ Music Man, who’s picturing a much different adulthood than what he’ll get. And DJ’s also not without sympathy for you, for surely this extension is a massive undertaking that time will prove unnecessary.

If DJ could speak he would have blurted out so many things about himself and spiderfolk in that moment.

You glance at him, frowning at his distressed look. “Are you alright?” you ask. Your first thought is that he’s balking at the thought of living with a fully grown spiderfolk, but you’re sure even with his gaps in knowledge, he would know that’s still years away…and he seems too humble to assume he’d be here that long.

DJ quickly forces a smile, nodding reassuringly. You return his smile with a gentle, relieved smile of your own. Maybe you’d misread his expression…or maybe the partial structure had just brought up some bad memories of something entirely unrelated. He’d clearly been through a lot…who could say what innocuous things may cause a bad memory to suddenly push to the forefront of his mind?

You place a hand on his arm, giving a gentle squeeze. “A-Anyway…progress on it has been slow the past few years, but…he’s also growing much slower than I thought he would.”

DJ nods, more in acknowledgement than anything else. Maybe it’s for the best that he can’t speak right now. He’s not sure he wants you to know he has a curse on him. Partly because he’s not sure how you’d take it, and partly because…it hurts. It’s painful to think about and it’d be painful to talk about.

But, he promises himself, he’ll find a way to tell you and Lil’ M the truth before he leaves. Maybe not about himself, but at last about Lil’ M.

You walk past the chicken coop, and further down the path you come to another small, fenced in area. “This is the garden. Vegetables and herbs, usually only enough for us. Or…I guess me, Lil’ M doesn’t like most of these,” you say with a small laugh. “Sometimes if the crop is particularly generous I take a bit to market, but that hasn’t happened in a few years.”

DJ glances at the assorted crops. He had noticed the garden, or at least the fence surrounding it, but in the darkness he hadn’t been able to tell what it was for. He’s a bit embarrassed to realize how much food is in there that he didn’t even notice last night. How many times did he pass up edible plants in the forest because he hadn’t even recognized them as such? Aside from berries, he has little idea what sorts of plant matter humans can actually eat.

“There's a creek this way,” you say as you continue down the path. You lead him out of the area that could be considered the yard--the small, grassy clearing surrounding the house, coop, shed, and garden--and into the actual forest surrounding your home.

The flagstone path ends shortly before you reach the treeline and the trail turns into packed dirt. As you lead on, DJ hears the creek before he sees it, though he’s still caught off guard by how quickly it comes into view. He would have detected the sound of the water splashing over the rocks much sooner in his true form, even for a small stream like this.

“There’s some good fishing further upstream, and sometimes I put traps for crayfish in the shallow areas near here,” you say, following the path as it runs alongside the stream.

DJ perks slightly at that. Crayfish? Sounds tasty…though he thought humans didn’t eat bugs. Maybe you’re not catching them for food, but for some kind of crafting or medicinal purpose?

As the two of you continue down the path, DJ finds himself liking this part of the forest. Perhaps it’s just because he’s fed and rested, but it feels more peaceful than many of the areas he’s been in the past week.

Still…DJ does find himself hoping whatever ways he can help on the farm are either indoors or in the yard, rather than out here…he’s never been much of a woodspider.

The two of you walk down the path in relative silence, with you only occasionally pointing out different offshoots of the path--narrow trails DJ barely notices until you mention them--or other nearby landmarks. A patch of wild berry bushes just that way. A dead oak tree home to a family of owls just north of that trail. A patch of ferns you occasionally harvested fiddleheads from down another path.

As you point out each of these things, you teach DJ the signs for them, and he repeats them back readily. He’s a quick study, though he’s not confident he’ll remember everything you teach him today. But you’re patient with him--the couple times he doesn’t repeat the sign correctly you don’t seem put out at repeating yourself, occasionally even apologizing for signing too quickly for him to pick up the movements.

Though DJ attributes most of his mistakes to him simply being unused to having two extra fingers. He’s adapting to it more readily than he would have expected--likely due to the same latent “instincts” of his new form that allowed him to pick up walking so readily--but sign language is quickly putting those skills to the test.

Of course, he has no way of explaining this to you. Even if he were to become fluent in sign, how could he possibly explain it? He doesn’t necessarily think you’d cast him out for it, unless you decide he’s lying, but…the thought of explaining who he used to be is almost too painful to bear.

Maybe it would be better for him to look only forward, and never back.

The dirt trail is narrower here, forcing you to walk ahead of DJ, so you don’t notice his contemplative, downtrodden look. Though admittedly, your attention is also elsewhere as you scan the undergrowth around some of the long dead tree stumps in the area.

“Aha!” you cry suddenly, snapping DJ out of his reverie. He watches in confusion as you step off the path, picking your way through the undergrowth towards what looks like a pile of moss. As DJ follows you, he realizes it’s actually a large tree stump--or at least it was. The tree must have fallen decades ago, maybe even a century, leaving behind a tree stump larger than your dining table that had been taken over by moss and lichen.

It’s pretty, in its way. The thick moss is a vibrant green that’s occasionally dotted with small blue and yellow flower buds, and makes the stump look like a miniature, hilly meadow.

“I was hoping some of these would have grown in,” you say as you crouch beside the stump.

DJ had been too focused on the brighter colors of the bed of moss atop the stump that he hadn’t paid much attention to the base of it. As he watches, he sees you picking several mushrooms, ranging from the size of your thumb to the size of your closed fist. Their caps are bell-shaped and dark green with sickly yellow spots, and their stumps are a dark brown that almost blend in with the dark soil below them.

“Lil’ M likes these, but it’s getting a bit late in the season to find them,” you explain as you gather the mushrooms in your handbasket.

DJ cants his head curiously, picking one of the smaller mushrooms and examining it. It does look similar to a type cultivated by spiderfolk. A pleasantly tart species, and one that aids in web and venom production--which is why it’s often called a silkshroom among spiderfolk. If this is indeed a similar species, DJ can certainly see why Lil’ M would like it…and whether you and he are aware of it or not, it would definitely be a good treat for him after all the spinning he’s done today.

“Humans can eat them too, but they’re a bit too bitter for my taste,” you continue. You watch a moment as DJ turns the mushroom curiously in his hand. “You can try it if you want, but uh…don’t expect much,” you chuckle.

DJ’s gaze flicks back to the silkshroom a moment before popping it in his mouth. His eyes widen in surprise. He’d been expecting his human palette to reject the flavor, but it’s still quite tasty! If anything it tastes better than the ones grown in the cluster! Is that because wild-grown silkshrooms are more flavorful, or just a quirk of the blending of DJ’s spiderfolk palette and his human palette?

You laugh. “You like it?” you ask, though the look on his face makes it clear he does.

“Yes,” he signs.

You stand up, brushing the leaves and dirt from your clothes before holding out a hand to DJ. He accepts it, and you help him to his feet. Once you pick your way back to the trail, you pull out three of the smaller silkshrooms, passing them to him.

He hesitates a moment. DJ’s not getting any of the health benefits from silkshrooms that Lil’ M would be. The benefits Lil’ M now needs because he had to fix the damage DJ did to the chicken pen last night.

He takes only one, then gently nudges your hand away with his free hand.

You don’t think too much of it as you drop the other two back into the basket. You’re not aware of the health benefits--in your mind, the mushrooms are simply well-deserved treats for Lil’ Music Man, and you assume that’s how DJ is thinking of them as well.

The two of you make your way back to the house, and you drop off the basket in the house before tending to the laundry. As DJ follows you to the laundry basin, you glance back at him. “Are you sure you don’t need to rest?”

He shakes his head, pointing at the basin.

“Help with laundry?” you ask, guessing at what he’s getting at.

DJ nods. “Help with laundry,” he confirms.

Your smile is more fond than you realize as you speak-sign, “Thank you.”

DJ perks. He’d wanted to say those words to you for so long, but of course had no way to ask you to teach him the sign. “Thank you!” he signs back eagerly.

You blink, letting out a bemused laugh at how enthusiastically he repeats the sign.

His own smile turns a bit shy, and he repeats the sign more slowly, more deliberately. “Thank you.”

He’s doing more than just repeating the sign back to you, you realize. It’s…sweet, how eager he is to thank you for your help. You suppose it shouldn’t be surprising…he’d been in a bad way when you’d found him last night, and you know there are plenty of farmers who would have driven off a thief regardless of how poorly they’d seemed. Of course any halfway decent person in DJ’s situation would want to at least say thank you…but in your eyes, DJ’s clearly already shown his gratitude in his actions, which just makes his eagerness to say it seem all the more thoughtful.

“You’re welcome,” you speak-sign back to him.

DJ helps you take the sheets and blankets from the laundry basin, hanging them up on the clothesline to dry.

“Certainly much easier with two of us,” you comment as he tosses half the blanket over the line. You catch the edge of it, and together you adjust it to hang evenly. “Lil’ M’s still a bit too small to help with this kind of thing.”

He nods, glad to help in whatever way he can to earn his keep, however long or short his stay may end up being. While he’s here, he’ll try to get his bearings in this new life. He’ll learn as much as he can from you while doing his best to repay your kindness, and make it worth your while to keep him around.

He’s certainly in no hurry to leave--for many reasons.

Chapter Text

A month later, DJ finally feels like he’s starting to settle into a routine on the farm. You’ve converted part of your den into a spare room for him, reorganizing some shelves to make room for a bedroll and moving a few items into your room or the main room of your home. It seems like you’re preparing for him to stay for quite some time, but so far you haven’t said or done anything to suggest you expect the arrangement to be fully permanent.

DJ would like it to be, though. Perhaps it’s a hasty decision on his part, but the thought of meeting new humans, adapting to life in a more populated town or village, or being among people who don’t know sign (for apparently most humans do not) is terrifying to him. He doesn’t necessarily expect to stay at your farm forever, but he also doesn’t want a specific move-out date looming over him either.

He wants to show you he could be a good addition to your household. You’ve given him so much while asking so little of him. Perhaps because you still think of him as only a guest, so he’s been doing his best to step up, helping with the chickens and the garden, as well as checking the crawfish traps in the creek.

You’d been horrified when he’d eaten one of the crawfish raw, and had been convinced he’d get sick. He didn’t, and he wonders if his stomach is still a bit spider-like or if he had just gotten lucky. Still, after that he had made a point not to eat anything raw unless he saw you do it first.

Cooked crawfish is alright, though removing it from the shell is a hassle, and cooking it makes the meat far too firm and springy…but the seasonings do make the flavor a bit more enjoyable at least.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to human food or the rituals around it, and your patience with him is one more reason he wishes to stay near you. He tries to picture if the situation were reversed…if you’d been turned into a spidertaur and shown up at a cluster, peeling the exoskeletons off your meals and cooking them before you ate, sprinkling them with seasonings and fruits…Most spiderfolk would think you’re a bit unwell and likely want to keep their distance. DJ’s sure he must seem just as odd to you.

Lil’ Music Man, though, does seem a bit wary of DJ at times, despite also seeming to like him. He hasn’t said or done anything overtly negative, but the spiderling’s gaze is always a bit more appraising than yours. DJ supposes that’s not too surprising--while spidertaurs are usually considered the protectors of spiderlings, the smaller species is more than capable of defending themselves, being quite quick and clever.

Though DJ wonders if perhaps Lil’ M sees something a bit too familiar in DJ. Something the little spiderling can’t quite place. Something that can’t be seen through purely human eyes.

DJ’s still working up the nerve to tell you and Lil’ M the difference between spidertaurs and spiderlings…but it’s been complicated by his increasing reluctance to speak the truth about himself. He’s debated coming clean about his past a couple times. He’s never come close to giving into the temptation, other than that brief impulse on his first day here, but the possibility is never completely off the table either.

He wonders what you and Lil’ M would think of someone who turns down a proposal from their monarch. Many people--of varying species--would find that level of impudence quite damning. DJ’s own people certainly did.

But mostly he tries not to think too much about the past. He does want a future, even if it’s not as a spidertaur.

A future with you and your spiderling sibling…well, there are certainly worse fates, several of which he’s sure he had narrowly missed during his week in the woods.

If he had arrived here after only a day or two, he may not have been as receptive to your kindness. He may not have trusted you as readily, and he may have even acted in a way that you would have interpreted as cold or outright rude.

But a week alone in the woods, starving, dehydrated, and exhausted…it can permanently alter one’s definition of “terrible”. Not so long ago, being trapped in a human body and living with some human on their farm, away from his home in the cluster, away from his music would have met that definition. Granted, the list of ways the situation could be better is still nearly infinite. For instance, he would certainly return to his old form in a heartbeat if he could, and try to make his own way in the world as himself, even if he could still never live in his cluster or any other ever again.

Still. DJ’s far more acutely aware of how bad off he could be than he ever was…and he suspects you’d managed to catch him before he hit true rock bottom. Not that the elements themselves weren’t formidable foes, but he shudders to think what beasts or bandits might have done to him.

Another thing he avoids thinking about too deeply.

Today, DJ and Lil’ M find themselves home alone for the first time since DJ’s arrival. You’re heading into town to pick up his new wardrobe. It had taken a bit longer for the order to be complete than you’d hoped. When you’d sent the scrolls with DJ’s measurements, both the clothier and the cobbler had sent them back no less than three times with increasingly terse letters insisting you double check your work, perhaps get a new measuring tape, and make sure to hold it taught when measuring, please.

In the end you opted to send a larger deposit and sign an additional contract guaranteeing that you would only be refunded if the garments did not match the measurements as sent. All this to avoid having DJ walk all the way to town without shoes in order to prove you truly did need what may be the largest garments the clothier and cobbler had ever made.

You had spared DJ the brunt of this arguing, given it was taking place through written letters, but you’d given him a summary when he’d noticed you giving short, clipped sighs of frustration at the responses.

You getting him proper clothing is already far more generous than he would have expected of any human, and the fact that you apparently have to fight with the clothier and the cobbler about it makes it all the more important to him to repay you somehow.

And it seems he’s found just the thing--a small harp, with most of its strings frayed and bent. When DJ had asked you about it, you had said you didn’t have any replacement strings, so DJ had let the matter drop--at least until he and Lil’ M had the house to themselves.

Lil’ M never goes into town, having no desire to be around that many humans--a desire which DJ shares. He doesn’t tell you that, of course, but he’s sure you’ve guessed. You hadn’t pressed the issue when DJ had told you he wished to stay home for your outing, and in fact actually seemed relieved that Lil’ M would have some company during the day.

Once you’d left, DJ brought the harp out to show Lil’ M. He sets it down on the table between them and signs, “I want to fix this. As a surprise.”

Lil’ Music Man lets out a wordless trill of thought. Another thing DJ had noticed--much to his own sadness--is that all Lil’ M’s trills and chitters are wordless. He doesn’t use spiderspeak at all, as far as DJ can tell.

“Nice surprise,” he signs amicably. “But we have no string. No way to fix.”

“Can use your web,” DJ signs.

Lil’ M tilts his head, clicking his fangs in thought. He looks down at the harp, picking at one of the strings. “These are different. My web is thinner.”

DJ nods. “It will sound different than it did before, and be more delicate,” he agrees. “But still good.” At Lil’ M’s skeptical look, he signs, “It will be no worse off than it was before.”

He hesitates, then dips his head in a nod. “Get me mushrooms first?”

DJ laughs, nodding. His laughs are quiet without a voice, but the sound of his breathing is still audible. “We can look. But there are less and less every week.” It’s getting late into the fall now. With each day the temperature drops, and DJ is more and more grateful that you’ve taken him in.

“I’ll find them. By smell,” he signs, hopping down from the table. DJ dons a cloak, one you’ve allowed him to borrow indefinitely, despite it being a bit too small for his large frame. It ends just above his knees and the front doesn’t fully close, though neither of those will be a huge problem until the snows come, provided DJ doesn’t stay out overly long. He also grabs the crossbow, something you’ve been teaching him to use with limited success…but you usually take it with you when venturing into the woods, so DJ will follow your example.

DJ follows Lil’ M out the door, and the spiderling walks backwards down the path to sign to DJ. Walking backwards so readily is another skill DJ finds himself missing. He hadn’t been sure if it was unfamiliarity with his new body or just a limitation of being human, but after hearing you affectionately calling Lil’ M a showoff for walking backwards so easily, he’s realized it’s mostly the latter.

“Humans don’t have much sense of smell,” Lil’ M signs up to DJ as they head into the woods. “Not much hearing either. Some day vision, but no night vision.”

DJ grins in amusement that Lil’ M feels the need to explain this to DJ--the one who is ostensibly human. “I’ve noticed,” he signs wryly.

“Your night vision is better than my sibling’s,” Lil’ M signs.

DJ actually blinks in surprise at this. “You think so?” His night vision is so diminished from what it once was it’s hard to imagine that born humans actually have it even worse.

He nods. “They move like this,” he signs before holding his hands in front of him, his little claws grasping and fumbling at the air as his feet shuffle tentatively over the flagstone walkway. He finishes his demonstration, grinning smugly up at DJ.

“Don’t be rude,” DJ signs, though his poorly contained smile at the impression lessens the rebuke.

“Not rude! They know they can’t see in the dark,” he signs plainly. “But you move like this,” he signs before doing a similar demonstration. Though this time, he does not reach his arms out so blindly, and his steps are a bit more confident. He grins, then adds, “I move the same always. Light or dark.”

DJ smirks. “I wouldn’t know,” he signs, earning a chittering laugh from the little spiderling.

As they get into the woods, Lil’ M climbs up a tree, leaping from branch to branch. As he disappears in a clump of leaves, DJ lightly taps on a nearby tree trunk to get Lil’ M’s attention. When Lil’ M turns to him, DJ signs, “Stay where I can see you.”

Lil’ M clicks his fangs disapprovingly. “I’m not a baby.”

“I know,” DJ assures him quickly. Getting an idea, he grins. “But your sibling will be mad at me if I don’t keep an eye on you.”

He gives DJ an amused look as he seems to consider. “Fine. I’ll stay close. To keep you out of trouble.”

“Thank you.”

And he does, making sure to stay on the lower branches, occasionally glancing back at DJ to make sure he’s still in his line of sight.

…At least until he catches a whiff of the silkshrooms he’s looking for. With an excited trill, he leaps ahead, quickly disappearing into the branches.

DJ’s mouth opens and closes in a silent sputter of indignation before he quickly takes off after Lil’ M. Let it never be said that being raised by a human made Lil’ Music Man act any less like an adolescent spiderling.

DJ crashes through the underbrush, into the small clearing Lil’ M had found…trampling a couple of the smaller silkshrooms in the process, and causing Lil’ M to let out a chittering hiss of protest.

“Sorry,” DJ signs, a bit sheepish as he backs away from the small silkshroom patch. “But if you hadn’t dashed away I wouldn’t’ve had to dash after you.”

Lil’ M continues to give DJ a sulky look, not signing as he uses both hands to gather the silkshrooms in his little basket. But, after a moment, his expression softens and he gives DJ a grudging nod.

DJ crouches down on the patch of moss the silkshrooms are growing on, picking a few and handing them to Lil’ M. The spiderling nibbles on a couple of the smaller ones, but for the most part has the restraint to save the bigger silkshrooms for later.

Once most of the silkshrooms are picked and his basket mostly full, Lil’ Music Man selects a couple medium-sized silkshrooms and passes them up to DJ.

He grins brightly at the little spiderling. “Thank you,” he signs before accepting them. Before he can stand upright, Lil’ M jumps onto his shoulder, settling in to be carried back to the house.

DJ glances at him in surprise, seeing the spiderling contentedly picking through his selection of silkshrooms for something to nibble on during the walk back. Lil’ M has never perched on DJ’s shoulder before, and DJ has never attempted to pick him up or carry him, though he has noticed Lil’ M regularly perching on or being carried by you.

It’s not how spiderlings typically behave in the cluster--he’s only ever seen spiderlings being carried when they are very young, or perhaps injured, and in those cases the spiderling is usually sitting atop a spidertaur’s abdomen, not on their shoulders or in their arms.

Though…spiderlings usually walk along the walls of the cluster, keeping them at eye level with the spidertaurs. DJ’s seen Lil’ M do something similar when you’re all in the house, and sometimes in the woods…but in the more open areas of the farm, his only options are the ground or a shoulder.

Well, whatever the exact reason for the different behavior, it’s clearly a sign of trust that he’s finally willing to sit with DJ for the walk back, and DJ is honored to have earned that trust.

Once inside the house, Lil’ M hops from DJ’s shoulder to the wall, skittering along it to the dining room before jumping to the table. He pops another small silkshroom into his mouth as he picks up the harp, looking over the strings to see how closely he can imitate their width and elasticity with his own web.

It takes about an hour for him to carefully spin the six strings needed for the harp. While it’s far from being a particularly large amount of string, he puts more effort into making the strands consistent than he usually does.

DJ tries to resist the urge to nitpick or correct him. They’re serviceable harp strings, even if they’re not exactly how DJ would have made them. Besides, Lil’ M surely doesn’t want advice on silk spinning from someone he considers to be human.

DJ restrings the harp as the strings are ready, using his index and middle finger to pluck at the strings while keeping his ring finger and pinky folded inward. He’s still not fully used to having so many fingers, so he’s found it easiest to just tuck the two extras against his palm when doing anything particularly dextrous. He really only uses them for signing.

As DJ’s stringing the harp, Lil’ M nudges the silkshroom basket towards him, offering him a few more. DJ accepts, and for a bit, he almost feels like he’s back home in the cluster. Restringing an instrument with spidersilk while eating silkshrooms…it feels more like his previous life than this new life usually manages to.

Maybe he can pull more normalcy out of this curse than he’d thought.

Once he’s finished making the strings, Lil’ Music Man remains perched atop the table. He nibbles the silkshrooms as he watches DJ finish restringing the harp and begin tuning it.

Once it’s tuned, DJ plays a few bars of one of his songs, frowning a bit. The composition doesn’t sound as good without a second harp accompanying it. Much of the time, he doesn’t find himself missing his second set of hands as much as he would have thought. Whatever human instinct the curse gave him is apparently compensating for that much the way it allows him to instinctively walk upright on only two legs. But even that instinct can’t override a lifetime of composing as someone with four hands.

He hasn’t written any songs that can be played with only one set of hands. He has been thinking off and on over the past week or so which ones he could adapt to be more suitable for his current form, but despite his skill as a composer, DJ does actually need to hear the song played aloud on an instrument in order to fully revise it.

Lil’ M listens curiously, tilting his head. He lifts his hands to sign and DJ glances towards him. “You use your hands like me.” He raises a hand, flexing his two fingers and thumb to emphasize his point.

DJ glances down at his hands, briefly unfolding his ring and pinky fingers. “Yes. Sometimes,” he agrees.

“Why?”

DJ pauses. You generally haven’t questioned his quirks, and until now neither has Lil’ M. Though Lil’ M is far less subtle about staring at DJ scrutinizingly whenever DJ does something the spiderling denotes as odd.

“Feels more natural,” is DJ’s eventual and somewhat evasive answer.

“Humans use all four fingers to play harp.”

“I know,” DJ replies patiently. “I just do it this way. For now, at least.” Maybe someday DJ will learn to use those extra fingers for things other than signing. Sometime after he adjusts to his new existence of being an upright, bipedal creature that must wear clothes and peel shellfish and cook meat and bathe in water and sleep on a squishy mattress and sweat when he gets too warm.

After he learns to deal with all that. Maybe then he’ll learn to play the harp with four fingers.

Lil’ M seems to accept the answer, for he goes back to eating his silkshrooms, watching silently as DJ continues to tweak his composition.

It’s a couple hours later, after DJ has figured out a song he’s mostly satisfied with, when Lil’ M perks up, glancing at the door. “They’re home!” he signs excitedly.

DJ quickly ducks into his room to set the harp out of sight before going to the door with Lil’ M. You’re still a few yards away from the house, but DJ can already see the empty rucksack you’d left with this morning is now filled nearly to bursting, and you now have a couple extra bags in your hand. DJ signs a brief greeting to you before hastily moving to take them from you.

You sigh in relief as he does, rolling your shoulders. “Thanks, DJ,” you say, only for Lil’ M to leap insistently into your arms for a hug before you reach the house. You laugh, hugging him before letting him climb onto your shoulders. “Missed you too, Lil’ M,” you say warmly. “Did you two have a good day?”

Lil’ M nods eagerly, and starts signing, forcing you to crane your neck slightly to see his hands. “Picked mushrooms. And got a surprise!”

DJ gives Lil’ M a wry, mildly annoyed look at that. He hadn’t spoiled the surprise, per se, but DJ’d wanted it to be a bit more of a surprise than it was now going to be.

You cant your head in bemusement. “A surprise?”

Lil’ M nods eagerly, but thankfully doesn’t elaborate.

“Well, I’ve got a couple surprises for you two as well!” you say. “But first, I think it’s well past time DJ had something to wear other than old blankets,” you chuckle.

DJ thinks you calling his two robes “old blankets” is a disservice to your sewing skills, even if that’s where you’d gotten the fabric from. Though…he has to admit, there's a possibility he may feel differently after wearing proper clothes made by a professional clothier.

Your haul for the day is piled on the floor and you begin unpacking it while Lil’ Music Man sniffs curiously at one of the bags. He grins excitedly, quickly checking to make sure your back is to him before signing excitedly up to DJ.

“Candies! Our surprise is candies!”

DJ glances briefly at you, and seeing you still pulling out some clothing from your main knapsack, he gives Lil’ M a pointed look and signs, “They probably wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Then look surprised,” Lil’ M replies smugly, only to tuck his hands innocently behind his back when you turn away from the knapsack, several folded articles of clothing in your arms.

DJ quickly forces an awkward smile as you face him, only for the smile to become genuine almost immediately when he sees the outfit you’re holding out to him.

A pale grey undershirt and pants with a darker purple tunic and sash. DJ can immediately tell the fabric will be much more comfortable than the recycled blankets his current robes are made of. The blankets had probably been comfortable as new blankets, but have become scratchy and threadbare over the years.

“Here. It looks like it’s about the right size but I can adjust the seams a bit if they don’t fit,” you say, pushing the outfit into his arms.

His grin turns a bit shy as he nods, unable to sign a proper thank you with his arms full. He goes into his room to change, and is mostly able to figure it out. You’d shown him illustrations of the two basic outfits you were ordering for him. In your mind it had been to make sure the style was something he liked. In reality, DJ cares little about human fashion, but is at least relieved to know what the garments are meant to look like on him. Otherwise he might have assumed the sleeveless tunic went under the long-sleeved shirt, and he certainly wouldn’t’ve known what to do with the sash.

But, between seeing the illustration and having taken note of the various outfits you’ve worn in his stay, he gets the garments on correctly, even if it does take him a tad longer than it would have taken a more experienced human.

And they are far more comfortable than the robe. The shoulders in particular are a bit roomier, restricting his movement less than the robes had. He had just been assuming human clothing was just restrictive, but…perhaps it had been the result of your limited tailoring skill after all.

He steps back out and you grin brightly at how fine he looks in even these simple garments. Even Lil’ M gives a nod of approval.

“It looks like it fits...Does everything feel alright?”

DJ nods, grinning bemusedly as you circle him, checking the seams and hems to make sure everything’s in place. He gently puts a hand on your arm, stopping you long enough for him to sign, “Thank you!”

“Of course!” you say easily. With a sheepish chuckle, you add, “I think your robes were only going to survive one or two more washings…” As solid as both garments had seemed when you’d made them, your seamwork did leave more than a bit to be desired and you’d already had to patch up some holes in them as the seams frayed.

“They served their purpose well. You did good,” he says kindly.

“Well, I’m glad my tailoring is passable enough to fill in while we waited for proper clothes,” you say, standing on your toes to straighten the collar on his tunic.

The motion brings your face closer to DJ’s than it normally is, though your closeness is never unpleasant for him. Still…it usually causes his face to heat up and his heart to beat faster. The latter is a more familiar feeling than the former, and while DJ usually doesn’t like the overheated feeling he can get as a human, the slight warmth your presence brings to him is…pleasant.

You pull a couple more items from the bag--a pair of dark leather boots that go halfway to the knee. DJ tries them on only briefly as there’s no need to wear them around the house, but he can already tell they’ll make his trips outdoors far more bearable. Especially now that the cold is setting in. He’d hardly gone outside at all the past week because the linen wraps he had been relying on did little to keep the late autumn chill at bay.

“The clothier also gave me this, as a bit of an apology,” you say, pulling out a hatbox. “She seemed kinda caught off guard when I told him the clothes looked to be the right size after all.” You set the hatbox on the table, opening it up and pulling out a black top hat with a green band. “It might be a bit small, since it’s not custom made…” you say, holding up the hat.

DJ bends his knees, crouching slightly and allowing you to place the hat on his head. It is a bit snug, but not too uncomfortable.

“And one last thing,” you say, going to the knapsack and pulling out a long cloak with a fur collar. “You’re definitely going to need this within the next couple weeks,” you say, helping him wrap the cloak around himself. You finish securing the cloak around his shoulders and step back. “What do you think?” you ask him.

DJ looks at himself in the mirror, and for the first time, really looks at himself. He’d seen himself in the mirror several times by now, of course, and is fairly familiar with what his human form looks like.

Maybe he’s just finally adjusting to the idea of being human, but he finally thinks he sees a bit of his old self in the mirror. The furred mantle on the cloak is reminiscent of the longer fur he’d had around his shoulders. His dark eyes are much the same as they had been when he had been a spider. Well, they’re a bit smaller, and of course there’s only two of them, but they look more like spiderfolk eyes than human eyes, given they’re entirely black.

Some of his facial markings are still present too, though barely noticeable. At least compared to how vibrant his colors had been before. His nose is noticeably lighter than most of his face, and there are a couple round splotches of lighter skin on his cheeks and around his eyes, reminiscent of the blue markings he’d had as a spidertaur. The blue stripe on his chin has been replaced with a small beard that would probably be read as more dark grey to humans, though in the right light it’s clearly a more muted version of his blue fur, with his eyebrows being the same shade. His canine teeth are also slightly elongated, and occasionally are visible poking out from below his upper lip.

There are hints of his old self there. Tiny hints, and only if one knows what to look for…but even that bit of familiarity is a comfort to him.

“Do you…like it?” you ask hesitantly after a few moments, pulling him out of his reverie.

DJ’s gaze quickly snaps to you and he nods warmly. “Thank you. Very nice. Very comfortable.”

“Good,” you say, relieved. “I can always make some adjustments to it if anything feels off.”

“Feels fine,” he says, then adds with a weak smile, “A bit warm for inside.”

You laugh easily. “Oh, of course,” you say, reaching up to help him out of his cloak. You go to hang it next to the door beside your own cloak, and when you return, you clap your hands together, grinning. “And now the last surprise!”

DJ glances at Lil’ M, who, despite having spoiled the surprise for both of them, does a good job of looking eager and excited, grinning brightly as his six little feet tap excitedly on the floor.

You pull out three small canvas pouches, handing one to Lil’ M and one to DJ, while keeping the third for yourself. “Marshmallows,” you say. “They’re very sweet,” you add as DJ opens his.

Squishy, powder-covered cubes of white and pale pink fill the bags, and DJ carefully takes one out, squishing it between his fingers before following Lil’ M’s example and popping it in his mouth. His expression brightens and he nods in approval.

“Very sweet,” he agrees with a grin before adding, “Thank you.”

Lil’ M trills gratefully, though doesn’t sign anything as he digs into his bag of treats. He’d certainly done a good job of acting surprised despite having already sniffed out the treats. DJ idly wonders how many times he’s known about such surprise treats before you give them to him, yet still acts surprised to make you happy.

DJ could have done without Lil’ M warning you about the surprise he’d planned, and without him warning DJ about the surprise you’d planned, but DJ guesses it came from a place of youthful overexcitement rather than intentionally being a spoilsport.

Halfway through his bag of treats, Lil’ M chitters excitedly to get your attention.

“Our surprise next?” he signs.

“Sure,” you say easily.

DJ grins, just as eager as Lil’ M to show off their day’s work. “Sit,” he signs, nodding to the living room sofa.

You take a seat on the sofa while DJ goes into his room to fetch the harp. Lil’ M hops over the back of the couch then slides down the cushions to sit next to you. “It’s good! I helped!” he signs excitedly.

DJ emerges from his room, moving to stand in front of the sofa, holding the harp out for you.

“You fixed it!” you say, surprised. You hold out your hands to take it, then pause, glancing up at him. “May I?”

He nods, passing it to you. You carefully pluck a few of the strings. “Is this…silk?” you ask, bemusedly glancing at Lil’ Music Man.

The spiderling nods eagerly.

“I didn’t know silk could be used like this,” you say.

DJ nods. “Spiderfolk make many stringed instruments from their silk,” he signs.

You blink at the statement, canting your head curiously. For how sheltered he seems, you hadn’t expected him to tell you something you didn’t know, and certainly not about spiderfolk at that.

DJ’s smile becomes slightly forced as he worries he may have tipped his hand too much, but you seem to move on from the statement fairly quickly, and simply pass the harp back to him. He takes it, sitting down on the chair near the fire and starts to play one of the songs he’d been modifying this afternoon.

You hadn’t known what to expect when DJ had started playing, but it only takes a few bars of his beautiful composition to render you slack-jawed. Despite it being rather quiet, you can still hear the music clearly enough to appreciate it.

And appreciate it you do--it’s nothing short of marvelous!

Clearly this is something he has experience with. He must have been some kind of musician or performer previously…perhaps in a traveling troupe of some kind? You try not to speculate too much about his past, but the idea of some talented young person being sequestered and only allowed to hone their main talent, then eventually escaping and being wholly unsuited to life on the run is…well, it’s far from outlandish. Tragic, certainly, but not outlandish. Which, unfortunately, also fits with what guesses you’ve allowed yourself to make at DJ’s past.

Those thoughts are only fleeting right now though, and something you’ll likely dwell on more later, when you don’t have DJ’s charming and beautiful music to occupy your mind.

DJ glances over at your reaction, pausing. “Sounds odd?” he guesses. “Silk is quieter, probably a slightly different tone--”

“Nono!” you quickly cut him off. “DJ, it’s…it’s amazing!” you say.

DJ’s smile turns a bit shy and he lets out a quiet, modest chuckle. He’s no stranger to being complimented for his music, but…it certainly hits differently when coming from someone he’s already quite fond of. Not that there hadn’t been anyone in the cluster he was fond of, of course. He’d had some friends and confidantes, but a few years of being famous and a few months of being courted by the queen had made many of those relationships feel far less personal and genuine than the friendships he’d formed with you and Lil’ Music Man.

They had all praised the cluster’s most famous composer, but you…you’re praising him.

“Please, continue…I-I’d love to hear more…” you say, your own smile taking on a bit of shyness as well.

He nods, picking the harp back up and resuming his song.

You lean back, closing your eyes and resting against the cushions contentedly. Like Lil’ M, you do notice that DJ only plays with two fingers, but after hearing the result you’re hardly going to question his technique. Your parents and grandparents had dabbled in music somewhat, which is why you own that harp, but it isn’t something you had ever picked up. You had learned to sing, somewhat, but only well enough to not annoy anyone around you.

Eventually DJ starts making up his composition as he goes, having played out the portion he’d composed this afternoon. It’s a good exercise for adjusting to having only one set of hands. Though admittedly, he doesn’t think most of what he’s improvised holds up to what he had composed back in the cluster, but you seem enraptured all the same.

He wishes he could show you the sort of music he used to create. There are still parts of his old life he’d like back. His body, his instruments, his ability to compose…but even if he could go back to the cluster, he’s not sure he would. He wouldn’t give up you and Lil’ M for the nobility that betrayed him so easily.

But he keeps those thoughts at bay while he plays for you and Lil’ M well into the night. He may not have the body he wants but he has a place. A place that, in many ways, feels more important and more real--more personal--than his place as court composer at the cluster.

Lil’ M is the first to fall asleep, and after your long trek today you’re not far behind. DJ brings his long solo to a close and carefully sets the harp aside.

He gently gathers up Lil’ M, taking the sleeping spiderling to his bed before returning for you. As he carefully takes you in his arms, you stir awake slightly. “Mmm…Should probably head to bed soon…” you murmur, though make no move to do so.

He lets out a silent chuckle at that, carrying you into your room and laying you down on your bed.

As he rights himself and turns to leave, he hears you sleepily call out his name. He stops, turning back to you.

“Thanks for…playing tonight…it was lovely…” you mumble sleepily before falling back asleep.

He smiles softly at you, lightly moving some of your hair out of your face.

He’s tempted to sit beside you on the bed. Not lay with you of course--he’s sure that would be just as overly forward by human standards as it is by spiderfolk standards. But even just sitting with you on your bed while you sleep, even if it is to keep playing his song, is probably still too forward.

DJ lingers only a moment longer than is probably appropriate before heading to bed himself.

*

Despite the nice day and peaceful evening, DJ’s dreams are anything but calming that night.

He has his old body back, but the walls of your modest farmhouse close in around his larger form. You scream at him to get out but he can barely fit through the door. Lil’ M cowers in your arms as you cry out in fear of the huge spidertaur in your home.

He’s back in the cluster, but as a human. Queen Ballora towers over him, ordering the guards to “take him away” as they drag him to the mouth of some dark tunnel he knows he’ll never leave.

He’s running through the woods, cold and hungry and barefoot once more, desperately trying to remember the way to your farm. Maybe now that he’s human again, you’ll let him stay…

The muddy ground beneath him opens into a gaping maw and the ground gives way below him, and he’s falling…falling……falling……

*

You wake before Lil’ M and DJ. You spend a few peaceful moments in bed, replaying what you recall of last night’s “concert” in your mind. You don’t fully remember going to bed…you had been so tired you hadn’t even changed into your nightclothes.

After a moment the memory drifts back to you and you feel your face burning warm enough to heat the house through the winter. DJ had carried you to bed, and even tucked you in.

Well…that’s not so terrible. Far from it, if you’re honest with yourself. Though you probably shouldn’t make a habit of falling asleep on the couch like that.

You finally push back the blanket and get up. You briefly check on Lil’ M, and seeing him sound asleep, head into the kitchen to get the morning’s porridge ready.

Before you can, though, you become aware of the sound of movement in DJ’s room. At first you simply assume he’s waking up as well, but the sudden loud thud of something heavy hitting one of the walls makes you quickly move to his doorway.

“DJ?” you call urgently, only to wince at your own foolishness. It’s been over a month--you’re well aware he can’t answer you through the door!

You gently push the door open, hoping you’re not overstepping by going in to check on him after that noise.

In the dim light of early morning, you can faintly make out DJ sitting up on the floor beside his bedroll, his legs tangled in the comforter and his head resting in his hands. Apparently he’d rolled off the bedroll and thudded against the nearby wall.

You carefully step into the room. You notice his hands shaking as he holds his head, and can faintly hear his ragged gasps of breath as he tries to steady himself.

“DJ?” you say again, softly.

He jumps visibly, his eyes wide. When his gaze settles on you, he flinches apologetically, glancing away. “Sorry. Nightmare.” He forces his gaze back to you, adding, “Did I wake you?”

“I was already up,” you say, inviting yourself to sit on the floor next to the bedroll. “It…must have been some nightmare…” you add, a bit leadingly.

You’re not trying to pry, even though you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious. Both about the nightmare and about him in general. But you’ve asked very little--you would never want him to feel as if your hospitality is contingent on him spilling his secrets.

DJ hesitates, then signs, “Out in the woods again. Alone.” It’s the only part of the dream he’s willing to share right now, but it’s enough to make him shudder at the memory, unable to meet your gaze.

“Oh…” you say sympathetically. You can easily understand why that would be the stuff of nightmares for him. Despite how much he’s learned in the past month, he’s nowhere close to being any sort of woodsman, and he’s clearly intelligent enough to be well aware of that fact. You don’t doubt he has a very realistic view of what would happen if you turned him out.

You hesitate a moment, then gently place a hand on his arm. His ragged breathing slows almost immediately, and he glances at you, his dark eyes searching yours.

“DJ, you…um, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but…I…I get the impression that…you truly have nowhere else to go? And…nobody looking for you?”

He nods, once again lowering his gaze without signing any kind of elaboration on the statement.

“It’s…um…it’s been nice having you here…” you begin.

“Expensive,” he signs without looking up. “Extra food, extra clothes…”

“I…suppose…” you agree hesitantly. “But--”

“You used to use this room for something else, too.”

“Nothing I can’t do elsewhere,” you say. You smile encouragingly at him, scooting a bit closer. “And…you know…nobody else was going to fix that harp. Much less play it.”

DJ smiles weakly at that. He’s glad you enjoyed his music…even if he felt he was only able to show off a fraction of his skill in this form. Certainly not enough to warrant being granted room and board, in his mind.

Your smile fades as you continue, “You’re also the only one who didn’t laugh when I called Lil’ M my friend. Or my brother.”

DJ’s brows raise in surprise at that, but before he can sign anything, you press on.

“And you’re the only one he’s ever taken a liking to. I…I hardly ever let people stay more than a couple days because…well, I see how they look at him. And I’m sure he sees it too,” you say quietly.

DJ stares at you in silence. He supposes a young human being raised in the cluster would garner similar reactions from the spiderfolk, even if the arcane resonance of their voice somehow wasn’t an issue.

You hesitate, shifting awkwardly as you scratch at the side of your face. “I…I can’t promise you can stay forever…Nobody can ever promise anything forever, but…I’m not going to leave you to fend for yourself in the woods.” You hesitate, then add, “I do consider you a friend, DJ,” you say. “And Lil’ M does too. So…if you staying here ends up not working, we’ll make sure you land on your feet. That much I can promise,” you say, placing your hand over his.

DJ relaxes visibly in relief, his shoulders slumping as if he’d suddenly been unburdened of a heavy weight. He certainly feels like he has. Without giving it much thought, he leans down, resting his forehead against yours. Among spiderfolk, a light bump or nuzzle of the foreheads is somewhere between a gentle touch on the shoulder and a hug in terms of affection.

And given how warm humans are, it feels quite nice to rest his forehead against yours, even without fur.

You, for your part, don’t quite know what to make of the head bump. If he were anyone else it would seem quite forward, almost intimate, to put his face that close to yours. But you don’t sense DJ is trying to cross any boundaries…Surely it’s merely a friendly gesture, just not one you’re familiar with?

Well…you’re not going to ruin the moment by trying to get him to explain it now. Besides, you hardly mind if this forehead nuzzling becomes routine between you and DJ. After raising Lil’ M the past few years you’re not exactly strict on sticking to human social norms, at least within your own home.

You tilt your head slightly, gently returning the forehead bump before pulling away. You try not to think about how warm your face feels as you give a small, shy laugh.

DJ’s…sweet. It’s a simple word, and perhaps a bit too sentimental, but you can think of none better for the big guy.

You clear your throat awkwardly, scooting back before standing up. “W-Well, I was…going to get breakfast started…Are you getting up now or going back to sleep?”

“Up,” he signs needlessly before standing. He hesitates, then signs, “Teach me to cook?”

“Sure!” you say readily.

DJ smiles, signing his thanks. Another day, another lesson in human life.

Chapter Text

Your trip into town for DJ’s wardrobe turns out to be well-timed, for only a few days later, the already falling temperature begins to outright plummet.

“Have you ever seen snow?” you ask DJ as the two of you work together to cover up the chicken pen with a canvas tent in preparation for the cold nights ahead.

He shakes his head, not elaborating as he focuses on staking down his end of the tent. It’s not exactly the truth, but he guesses it’s accurate enough for the spirit of your question, if not the literal question. He’d seen snow from the edges of the cluster when he was young, but never had any need--much less desire--to touch it or go near it. He had always stuck to the warmer inner webs of the cluster during the cold months. As a result, he hasn’t seen it as an adult and certainly not as a human, so he’d prefer you explain whatever you’re about to explain as if he has no experience on the matter.

“It’s pretty,” you say. “As long as we don’t get too much,” you add with a weak laugh. “Lil’ M hates it--too cold on his feet. I tried to make him some sort of footwear a few years ago but he hated that even more.”

That’s hardly surprising to DJ. Cold surfaces are uncomfortable on paw pads, though usually not painful, but wrapping a spiderfolk’s paws the way humans wrap their own feet would feel far too restrictive. DJ tolerates his current footwear because of how delicate human feet are, and the fact that humans feel almost nothing in terms of vibrations through the soles of their feet. He could never bring himself to wear something like this in his true form, though. Not even in the snow.

“Does he stay inside all winter?” DJ asks, pausing in his staking to sign you the question.

“Sort of,” you say with a small grimace. “I do take over the outdoor chores while there’s snow. I try to bring him with me on walks so he has some fresh air, but he stays on my shoulders. He gets cold quickly though…winter’s definitely not his favorite time of year.”

DJ smiles sympathetically. “You and I can split outdoor chores when there’s snow, then,” he signs.

You laugh warmly. “Sure,” you say easily. You know Lil’ M will certainly be happy that you have help out here now. He has tried to tough it out and help a few times, but he would always end up in such a state of discomfort you’d end up talking him into going back inside. There aren’t many outdoor chores in the winter, and it’s rare they’re urgent enough to make it worth putting him through such misery.

You stake down the rest of your side, then round the fence to briefly check DJ’s work, although you only have to glance at it to know he’s done it right. You rarely have to teach him a thing more than once.

He finishes the last stake he’s working on and you offer a hand to help him up, which he accepts with a grateful smile. Together, the two of you head over to the garden to see how Lil’ M’s task of winterizing the vegetable garden is going.

Your timing is perfect, for it seems Lil’ M has just finished up. The last of the ripe vegetables have been moved into the storage cellar, a layer of wood shavings spread over the soil, and the garden itself covered over with canvas to prevent snow from piling on the remaining plants.

“We walk now? I want to look for mushrooms,” Lil’ M signs as soon as he sees the two of you approaching.

You chuckle at his directness, you and DJ exchanging an amused glance. DJ gives a wordless shrug, wordlessly indicating that he’s amicable to the idea but will let you make the decision.

“Sure,” you say, after pretending to give it a moment of thought.

You and DJ duck into the house to change out of your dirty work clothes, much to Lil’ M’s annoyance. You both also don your cloaks and you hook your crossbow onto your belt before meeting Lil’ M back outside.

Once the door closes behind you and DJ, Lil’ M chitters happily, eagerly beginning to skitter down the path towards the forest.

“Remember, it’s a bit late in the season!” you call after him. “I think we’ve gotten all the mushrooms we’re going to this year.” You know you’re not going to dissuade him from looking--and you’re not trying to. You merely want him to temper his expectations so he won’t be too disappointed when the search turns up empty.

“Maybe if we do find some, we can try growing them over the winter?” DJ suggests as the two of you walk briskly after Lil’ M.

“Hmm…Maybe, but I’ve never grown mushrooms before, and I’m not sure that specific type can even be cultivated. I’ve never found it in the markets or anything, either…”

DJ pauses a moment, debating with himself a moment before signing, “I think it can. Where I grew up, we cultivated a very similar species.” Maybe it’s time he started trying to find a way to share the useful information he’s held back from you without giving away too much about his past.

Your brows raise slightly. The significance of the statement certainly isn’t lost on you--it’s the first time DJ has volunteered anything about his past that isn’t some variation of “I don’t know” or “I’ve never heard of it”. After a brief pause, you ask, “Where, um…was that, anyway?”

DJ hesitates. “Not any place you would know. Different,” He pauses, but before you can decide if you want to prompt him to elaborate, he adds, “Hard to talk about.”

“Oh, you don’t have to!” you say quickly. “I uh…I was only curious,” you say, your hands fidgeting nervously.

He gives you a slightly melancholy smile. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked more.” Sheepishly, he adds, “Grateful. But surprised.”

You nod, taking the hint. “You can tell me as much or as little as you want, DJ,” you assure him gently.

“Thank you.” But, of course, he’s not ready to get into specifics about his past now. Certainly not while on a walk with your younger brother. So he continues, “I believe the mushrooms were grown on aged pine logs. But I don’t know the details beyond that. I wasn’t a farmer.” He gives you a good-natured grin, adding, “As you probably guessed.”

You laugh at that. “I did,” you admit, only a small amount of gentle teasing in your tone. “Well, if we find any today maybe I can try harvesting some of the spores and see if we can get something to take hold over the winter.”

As you walk, you and DJ both keep your eyes on Lil’ M as he repeatedly scurries ahead, jumping from tree to tree and seemingly getting increasingly frustrated when he doesn’t see or smell any sign of the mushrooms.

You’d been prepared for such a reaction, of course. The last outing before winter is always frustrating for him. He keeps hoping he can postpone his least favorite season a bit more, but inevitably it reaches the point in the season when his search turns up empty. Then not only is he without his treat, but he’s also left with the reminder that a few months of cold, snow, and many days spent indoors are approaching.

But he’s gotten better the past couple years, as he’s becoming more of a preteen rather than a child. It’s been a few years since he’s thrown a full on tantrum over it, but it usually tanks his mood for the rest of the evening and you can already guess you’re heading for a similar reaction today.

It’s hard to begrudge him that. You often feel like you don’t do that great a job keeping him happy over winter. He doesn’t like having to stay inside so much, but also hates bundling up against the cold. You’re not sure if it’s just childhood fussiness or if a spiderfolk parent would have come up with something you haven’t thought of.

Though in this moment, your usual sympathy is starting to wear thin--temporarily, of course--as Lil’ M once again bounds through the branches and out of sight.

“Lil’ M! Stop going so far ahead!” you call out, your tone considerably more terse than the last four times you’d had to remind him.

You hear him chitter in response, but he doesn’t reappear. You give DJ an apologetic look and start jogging down the path, and DJ matches your pace as the two of you try to catch up to Lil’ M.

As you crest the top of a small hill, you see him standing on the path, arms folded as he gives you a reproachful look.

You frown, opening your mouth to tell him the search will end now if he keeps wandering off when you suddenly feel DJ grip your shoulder. You turn towards him questioningly, but the words die your throat when you see his tense expression, his brow lowered as he scans the treeline.

Up ahead, Lil’ M is similarly tensed, his chalicerae twitching nervously as he strains to listen.

All you hear is silence.

Too much silence.

It lasts only half a second before it’s shattered.

You barely register the sudden sound of dozens of snapping branches above you before DJ quickly releases you, charging towards Lil’ M.

A lesser roc dives downward through the canopy, heedless of the boughs and branches snapping against her thirty-foot wingspan.

You act fast, though clumsily, frantically unholstering the crossbow from your hip and loading it so you can take aim at the massive bird. She towers just slightly taller than DJ, but the large crest of blue and white feathers atop her head makes her look even bigger.

And this is only a lesser roc…you shudder to think how massive her grander cousins in the high mountains would be.

Lil’ M’s piercing cry splits the air--and your heart--as the roc pins him, her razor talons digging into the ground around him and pressing him into the dirt.

The huge bird shrieks in triumph, only to be abruptly cut off as DJ’s large frame collides with her, one of his arms wrapping around her neck as he knocks her off Lil’ Music Man.

DJ’s spidertaur instincts take over for a moment and he tightens his grip on the roc’s neck to hold her in place before sinking his teeth into her neck.

Or trying to, at least. His human teeth are too short to even reach the roc’s skin through her feathers. All he does is annoy the massive bird, who uses DJ’s momentary distraction to give a strong flap of her wings, knocking him to the ground.

You’re too busy loading the bolt into your crossbow to notice DJ’s failed attempt. “Get clear!” you call to both DJ and Lil’ M, your hands shaking as you try to aim the crossbow at the mighty bird. You’ve never had to use your crossbow on a creature this close…much less a creature that was already on the attack. This is a far cry from slaying foxes in the henhouse or hunting deer in the forest.

Lil’ M tries to drag his injured body forward, but the roc lunges forward again, her beak snapping shut on the back two legs of his left side.

And just like that his legs are gone.

Gone.

You feel faint, and the crossbow wavers in your hands as your knees turn to jelly.

The bird cocks her head as she gazes at Lil’ M, unbothered by you and DJ’s presence as she debates where to strike your little brother next.

You don’t waste your chance. With a twang, the bolt launches from the crossbow and finds its mark on the side of her neck. It’s not as clean a shot as you’d wanted but it’s more than enough to distract her from Lil’ M.

The bird staggers back, screeching in pain. She flaps her wings, dizzily trying to alight but only managing to buffet Lil’ M and DJ with the backdraft.

DJ throws himself over Lil’ M, shielding him from any other attempt the roc might make.

You fire another bolt, and this one hits true, burying itself in the roc’s heart.

She lets out a sputtering cough, blood dripping from her beak as she wavers before collapsing atop DJ and Lil’ M.

Fear for them overrides your better judgment and you run towards the fray. You at least have the sense to keep your crossbow in your hand as you use your free hand to grab a fistful of blood-stained feathers on the bird’s neck to try to pull it off of DJ and Lil’ M.

But the roc still has some life in her, and as you pull she lets out a screech, swiveling her neck and snapping her beak at you. The sharp hook catches your forearm, slicing through your tunic and cutting into your skin, drawing a long line of red from your elbow to your wrist. Not deep enough to need stitches, but deep enough that every arm movement for the next couple weeks will have a price.

Not that you care about such things right now.

DJ pushes himself up, swinging his arm enough to elbow the roc in the stomach.

Luckily for him, the fight has finally gone out of the creature, and even that small shove is enough for her to lose her balance. She staggers back unsteadily before falling back.

Her ragged breaths slow, then finally stop as the life leaves her.

As tempted as you are to ignore the bird and focus on DJ and Lil’ M once more, you won’t make the same mistake twice. You nudge the roc with your boot, prepared to jump back if there’s any sign of life.

But there isn’t.

After the most harrowing two minutes of your life--of all your lives--the beast is slain.

You hook your crossbow to your belt, despite being tempted to just throw it aside in your haste. You don’t help DJ up so much as lift his upper body away from Lil’ M and let him regain his own balance once he’s sitting, but DJ hardly blames you for focusing on your little brother.

“Lil’ M?” you ask tentatively as DJ scoots back to give you room.

You see his abdomen moving slightly as he breathes, which negates the worst of your worries--but certainly not all of them. He’s so curled up on himself, his legs tucked so tightly to his body that for a moment you worry he’s lost more than two. His whole body is shaking with fright and pain. The sight breaks your heart. You take in a breath, steadying yourself. You can’t go to pieces over it. Not yet. You need to put on a brave face for your little brother, now more than ever.

“Hey, Lil’ M…It’s--” You stop yourself short of saying “it’s okay”. Is it? “It’s…over…” you say softly, resting a hand on his back. His trembling doesn’t quite stop, but becomes less noticeable as he slowly lifts his head, his cheek fur wet with tears. He glances around timidly, as if he’s not even sure if the fighting has stopped.

“It’s over,” you say again, putting your hands under his abdomen and being careful not to touch his leg stumps while you gently scoop him up. You hold him with his abdomen resting atop your forearm, his injured side outward. His torso leans against your chest and he wraps his arms around your neck, clinging to you almost too tightly, his little claws hooking desperately into your shirt collar. “You’re safe,” you say, gently patting his back.

You begin heading home, only glancing at DJ long enough to make sure he’s following, but otherwise focusing on Lil’ M.

DJ pauses briefly to glance at the slain roc, but decides to see you and Lil’ M home first. Though he does grab Lil’ M’s tophat from where it had landed near the edge of the pathway.

As he walks behind you, he tries to calm his own breathing, taking comfort in your soothing words as you softly reassure Lil’ Music Man. He’s not embarrassed that he had tried to bite the roc so much as just…ashamed. Utterly ashamed of how useless he’d been. He’s sure wouldn’t be much of a fighter in his true form, but he would have at least managed to land that bite. As it is, he’s just lucky he hadn’t blocked your shot or gotten in the way.

Life on the farm had seemed so peaceful the past few weeks…he had almost forgotten that at the end of the day, you’re all still on a small homestead in the forest, not tucked away inside a safe, protected cluster.

Lil’ M is mostly silent during the walk back, clinging to you and shaking, occasionally letting out a small, distressed chitter. But the tears have stopped.

As you approach the house, DJ steps around you to get the door. You thank him, and he follows behind you as you take Lil’ M to his bed in your room.

DJ can’t help but wince slightly as you set Lil’ Music Man atop the cushion. That human-like bed you set up for him is going to be even less comfortable now. There’s no way for Lil’ M to lay comfortably on his belly without the stumps of his severed legs touching the cushion. On a web the stumps could simply dangle through the holes in the webbing, only making contact with the open air.

DJ wishes he’d found some way to ask you or Lil’ M about the bed. That he’d figured out some way to hint at the possibility of Lil’ M sleeping in a web. He’d been too worried about tipping his hand, about saying too much, raising too many questions…but if he’d’ve known this would happen, he would have risked it. But that ship has clearly sailed--even if DJ were to explain it now, Lil’ M is in no condition to spin a new web for himself.

Lil’ M does his best to situate himself comfortably, but as DJ predicted, letting the stumps touch the cushion is anything but. Unlike DJ, however, you and Lil’ M don’t see any other alternative.

You gently pat Lil’ M’s head as he finally settles down, suppressing a wince at the blue bloodstains that appear whenever his stumps touch the pillow. He’s not bleeding all that much--not nearly as much as a human would bleed from losing a limb, so blood loss doesn’t seem to be a concern. That’s…something, at least.

Can he walk with two legs missing? If they were on opposite sides, maybe, but can he balance with one leg on one side and three on the other? You suppose he’ll have to learn…or perhaps you can make him a cane of some kind?

You had always felt like you were fumbling your way through caring for the little spiderling, but now…

You try not to get overwhelmed. One thing at a time, you remind yourself. You continue to lightly stroke the top of his head until he seems to be asleep.

You stand, and as you turn you’re startled to see DJ waiting in the doorway. You flinch guiltily. You’d all but forgotten he’s even here. “Are you alright?” you sign to him, looking him over for injuries as you cross the room towards him.

He nods. “Bruises and small scrapes. Nothing to fuss over,” he says. He reaches out and takes your hand, and for a moment you feel your cheeks warming at the oddly forward gesture. He leads you into the kitchen and, still holding your hand, begins to roll up your tunic sleeve, exposing the cut on your forearm.

Oh. Another thing you’d nearly forgotten in your worry for Lil’ M.

“We should bandage Lil’ M’s legs first,” you whisper, unable to sign with DJ holding your hand.

He shakes his head, releasing your hand and setting aside the cloth he’d grabbed from the counter to sign, “No. Touching the stumps will hurt. Better to leave them uncovered.”

Your brow knits as you look up at him, your expression skeptical. “You…think so?” you say uncertainly.

He had been reaching for the cloth again but stops, looking down at you apologetically. “Please. Trust me. I will tell you more later. But for now, please trust me.”

You chew your lip in thought, and DJ uses your silence to once again take your hand and begin cleaning the cut on your arm.

You’re not quite sure what to think of his request. DJ has never pretended to be knowledgeable on things he’s ignorant of. He’s always been open about what he doesn’t know. He hasn’t hidden the fact that he’s oblivious to very basic things…not knowing how to cook, not knowing how to clean a chicken coop, not knowing how to pick carrots or even what a carrot is, and barely knowing how to dress himself…just to name a few things you’ve had to teach him.

Every time, he’d seemed more grateful for your help than ashamed of the gaps in his knowledge. Sure, he’d been a bit embarrassed and sheepish more than once, even apologetic at times…but not enough to make you think he’d consider making things up to satisfy his own pride.

On top of all that, he’s always been very respectful and caring towards Lil’ M. Fond of him, even. So feigning expertise in a way that might prove dangerous for Lil’ M would be very out of character from what you’ve observed of DJ.

Finally, you dip your head in a nod. “Alright, DJ. I’m…trusting you on this,” you say softly, though you can’t help but let a pleading note slip into your voice, subtly begging him to come clean now if he really is just exaggerating his own knowledge.

DJ nods gratefully. He’ll do everything he can to ensure you don’t regret trusting him with your little brother’s care.

He continues cleaning up the cut and you wince, letting out a small hiss of pain.

Unable to sign an apology with his hands full, DJ lowers his head, gently bumping his forehead against yours as he wipes away the last of the smeared blood from your forearm.

Your shoulders relax and you rest your forehead against his for a moment, taking comfort in the gesture, odd as it is.

DJ begins wrapping your forearm in bandages, and once they’re securely in place, he steps back and signs, “I’m going to go get the bird now,” before heading to the door.

“Wh-What?” you blurt, not sure you parsed his signs out correctly.

He turns back to face you. “The bird. It’ll be eaten by wild beasts if we don’t bring it in.”

You scoff bitterly. “Oh, they can have the stupid thing for all I care,” you grumble. You never want to see the horrid creature again, alive or dead, so it being torn apart and carried off by scavengers suits you just fine.

A flash of anger runs down DJ’s spine at your flippancy, and you find yourself shrinking back from a withering glare you would never have guessed him even capable of making.

“It belongs to your brother!” he signs, his signs so emphatic and his emotions so high that you’re sure the sharp breaths he’s taking as he signs are loud enough to rouse Lil’ M.

Your eyes widen and you take another step back, your eyes glistening with unshed tears as DJ’s anger abruptly pushes you far closer to your breaking point than you’re prepared for.

DJ flinches as well, taking a step back. He takes a steadying breath, calming himself. It seems he’s also closer to his own breaking point than he’d realized.

What you’d said would border on blasphemous if said by another spiderfolk. To let the meat of a creature who’d taken anything from a spiderfolk just be carried off by animals? It’s unthinkable.

“You don’t…mean that?” he finally signs.

His anger has faded into hurt, which allows your fear to fade into confusion in turn.

You open your mouth to stammer a reply, but quickly close it, baffled. “I…did, but…I don’t…understand…” you fumble helplessly.

“It took his legs. It is his by right.” At your perplexed look, DJ’s expression softens into a similar expression. “Did you not know?”

You open your mouth to speak, but close it, deciding to switch to sign. Your hands are more stable than your voice right now, and you’re starting to suspect this isn’t a conversation you’d want Lil’ M to hear. “That you’re supposed to eat the meat of a creature that takes your limbs? I’ve never heard of that,” you sign, your hands shaking.

“It helps the limb regrow. His legs will grow back quicker if he eats the one who took them,” DJ signs.

You stare at him in disbelief. You very nearly say something aloud, but once again silence yourself. “Grow back?” you repeat. “They can grow back?”

DJ blinks, taken aback at your question. “Of course! After a few molts, they’ll be back.”

Your knees go weak with relief as you clutch at your chest, leaning heavily against the kitchen counter. DJ quickly puts a hand on your back, steadying you.

You lift your hands shakily. “You’re sure? I couldn’t bear to get my hopes up,” you sign. “Or his.”

He nods. “Yes. Even without the bird. His legs will grow back in time.”

You close your eyes, your relief dizzying. A few moments ago you weren’t even sure Lil’ M would still be able to walk when he recovered…but it seems he’ll make a far fuller recovery than you’d’ve ever guessed.

DJ nudges you, prompting you to open your eyes so he can sign, “I would have told you sooner if I’d realized you didn’t know.”

“H-How would I have known?” you ask aloud, more astonished than indignant. “I’ve never heard of any creature growing back entire limbs…even trolls can’t regrow more than a finger…not naturally anyway…” you ramble dazedly. You knew Lil’ M’s fangs could grow back, but an entire limb? Without any kind of magical remedy or healing spell? Not that you’d ever be able to afford such a thing--they were all but reserved for the nobility.

DJ frowns. “Humans don’t?”

You scoff, but out of fear rather than any sense of superiority or even amusement. “No, DJ,” you say quietly. Had…he thought he could? Had he spent his whole life thinking a lost limb was something he could just…recover from? You’d known he was sheltered, but…

While you’re scared for how DJ could have blithely landed himself with a much more severe injury than he could have actually tolerated at some point in his life, DJ isn’t even considering the implications for himself.

“The bird could have taken your hand,” he signs before lifting his hand so that yours rests atop it. He cradles it so gently in his large palm, as if afraid you could still lose it. Forever.

You feel your cheeks warming and look away shyly. “Y-Yeah, I…I should have made sure it was fully dead…” you say, a bit apologetically.

He bumps his forehead against yours, and neither of you are sure if he’s trying to comfort you or himself. After a moment he lifts his head, moving a stray lock of hair from your eyes before getting the bandages and resuming his treatment.

You sit in silence while he does. Your heart is racing again, and certainly not due to fear this time. It’s been so long since anyone’s looked after you like this. Lil’ M has certainly tried, of course…but it’s only been in the past year or so he’s really become strong enough and capable enough to tend the farm unsupervised, much less actually care for you when you’re ill or hurt.

But most of the time you put on a brave face for him. You don’t want to scare him by making yourself seem weak. He needs to know that you’ll always protect him, and keep him safe…

Not that you did a great job of that today.

DJ feels you trembling before you’re even aware of it and wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. You tense in surprise for a moment before letting out a shuddering breath and relaxing against him.

The two of you have never hugged…not exactly. You’ve leaned against him while putting a comforting hand on his back a couple times, but he’s never held you.

But it’s certainly not difficult to relax in his arms…he’s physically comfortable to lean against and his mere presence has become such an emotional comfort to you in the past few weeks. You rest your cheek against his chest, wrapping your arms around his large frame. You let out a small sniffle, pulling away from DJ slightly and wiping away a stray tear with your palm.

“A-Are you…sure you’ll be okay to get the roc on your own?” you whisper.

He nods. “It’s not far. I’ll leave it if any beasts want to take it, but I need to at least try to bring it back,” he says. He still hates the thought of abandoning Lil’ M’s rightful prize to the wilds…but he also realizes he shouldn’t try to play the hero and give you yet another set of injuries to tend to.

Lil’ M is certainly strong enough to heal even without the bird.

“Alright…take the crossbow,” you say, stepping away from him fully and getting the bow from where it hangs by the door.

He nods again, taking it and hooking it onto his belt along with the quiver of bolts you pass him. “I’ll be quick,” he signs, before crouching and gently bumping his head against yours.

Once the door closes behind him, you return to your room to check on Lil’ M. You quietly sit down on the floor beside his bed, frowning worriedly. The additional blue splotches on the bed suggest he’s shifted a couple more times while you’ve been away.

After a moment, he shifts again, his eyes blinking open to look up at you tiredly. He lets out a soft, inquisitive chitter.

“I’m here,” you say, taking one of his hands in yours and giving a gentle squeeze. “I…I have good news, Lil’ M,” you say.

In the back of your mind, you’ve been debating on what to tell him. You do believe DJ that Lil’ M’s legs will grow back. Or at least, you believe that DJ believes it, and you believe that he wouldn’t’ve suggested it if he didn’t have a good reason to be so sure of it. But still…what if DJ’s missing something? What if there’s some treatment spiderfolk use to regrow limbs that you won’t be able to give him? What if only certain spiderfolk have that ability, and Lil’ M just isn’t one of them?

You won’t promise Lil’ M anything, you’ve decided. But it feels cruel to let him think there’s no chance of his legs growing back.

Lil’ M arches a brow, giving you a look that appears to border on deadpan, but you’re sure is borne more of exhaustion than exasperation. Clearly he’s skeptical that there’s any good news to be had right now.

“DJ thinks your legs might grow back. After a few molts. A-Apparently…spiderfolk can do that…” you say.

He cants his head, his fangs clicking together softly as his chelicerae fidget contemplatively. After a moment, he pulls his hand from yours to sign, “I think so too.”

“You do?” you ask, surprised.

He nods. He holds up his hands to sign, pausing as he tries to put his thoughts into words. “Feels…feels like they are. Feels healing. Growing.”

You smile softly at him. “I hope you and DJ are right,” you say. “But…if not…I promise we’ll still figure something out.”

Lil’ M’s gaze drifts to your bandaged forearm, which he had been too despondent to notice before.

“Hurt?” he signs worriedly.

You shake your head, pulling your sleeve down around the bandage. “Just a little cut.”

He gives you a look that’s clearly unconvinced. “Where’s DJ?”

“Out getting the bird.”

Lil’ M blinks, chittering in disapproval. He clearly doesn’t want to see the roc again any more than you do. “Why?”

“He says eating it will help your legs grow back. Some kind of…spiderfolk custom, it sounded like?” you say uncertainly.

He scrunches his face in a skeptical look. “How does he know about spiderfolk customs?”

You shrug. “I don’t know…but he seemed pretty sure of it, and I don’t think he’d just make something like that up,” you say. “But in any case, you’re going to need a lot of protein. More than we normally have over winter, I think.”

He dips his head in a reluctant nod. “Don’t want to see the bird again. Only meat. No feathers. No claws. No face.”

You nod. “Alright. DJ and I will take care of that.”

He yawns, his chelicerae spreading and his lower fangs uncurling from his open jaw.

“Are you hungry now? Do you want to eat anything before you sleep?” you ask.

His head is already resting on the pillow, but he lifts one hand to spell, “E-G-G-S.”

“Alright,” you say softly, giving him another gentle pat before heading into the kitchen.

It only takes you a minute to pile a half-dozen eggs into a wooden bowl, but you’re still unsurprised to find Lil’ M sound asleep when you get back. You set the bowl beside the bed, lightly patting his head and whispering that the eggs will be beside his bed when he wants them. But you’re not going to insist he rouse himself to eat. He’ll need a lot of rest and a lot of protein over the coming weeks, and you figure his body knows better than you which is more urgent at any given time.

You settle in on the floor beside him, leaning against the wall and keeping one of your hands over his as he sleeps. You stay with him for about an hour before you hear the sounds of DJ returning with the bird.

You glance briefly at Lil’ M to make sure he’s still asleep before slowly removing your hand and quietly getting up to go outside.

You’re relieved to see DJ’s retrieval mission has been a success. He had taken the wheelbarrow to retrieve the roc carcass. The wheelbarrow’s too small to hold the roc easily, but DJ had tied the wings down and tied the roc to the barrow. The bird’s talons and tail had still dragged in the dirt, but overall it had been a far easier operation than if DJ had simply tried to lift and carry the roc home.

You actually hadn’t thought of how DJ would bring the large beast home, but you’re glad he’d come up with such a clever plan.

You have to admit, when you’d first taken him in you hadn’t been sure if he’d ever be much help around the farm…but you’re glad you can depend on him now that Lil’ M needs you both.

“Here, let me help,” you say, hurrying over to the wheelbarrow, which is now parked in front of the shed.

DJ pauses in untying the bird to sign, “It’s alright, I’ve got it. Just get the door for me, please.”

You nod, gripping the metal latch and pulling open the sliding door to the shed, keeping it from sliding shut again as DJ gathers up the large bird. As you glance into the shed, you note he’s already cleared some space on the floor and laid out a canvas tarp in preparation for the bird.

As DJ lifts the bird, you can hear his sharp intakes of breath and huffing as he struggles to lift the large beast. You resist the urge to rush forward and help him, as despite his straining he does seem to have it handled. Besides, with his hands being too full to sign you might just end up getting in his way.

He drops the bird unceremoniously on the tarp, his forehead shimmering with sweat and the neckline of his tunic visibly darkened by his perspiration. He lets out a ragged sigh, hunching over to rest his hands on his knees as he catches his breath.

While he’s doing so, you begin wrapping the bird, tying the canvas shut around it, protecting it from any small critters that might sneak into the shed.

“Thank you, DJ,” you say.

He nods, wiping the sweat from his forehead on the back of his sleeve. He hasn’t worked up a sweat like this in awhile, certainly not since the temperature started dropping. He’s not convinced he’s gotten any more used to the unpleasant sensation since his time lost in the woods, but he can push past it to help you and Lil’ M right now.

“How’s he doing?” he signs as you walk back to the house.

“As well as can be expected, I think,” you say. “I…told him what you said, about his legs regrowing. He agrees…says it feels right to him.”

DJ nods. “He’ll be molting soon. Probably two or three times, fairly close together.”

You look at him curiously, yet again wondering why he would know such a thing. You debate asking, but decide against it. At least for now. Partly because you’d rather focus on helping Lil’ M than unpacking DJ’s past, and partly because an interrogation doesn’t seem like a very good “reward” for DJ offering you helpful information.

DJ, for his part, gives you a slightly apologetic look. He knows he’s piquing your curiosity. He also knows--even more than you do--what a bad idea it would be to try to get into all that while you’d both rather be focused on helping Lil’ Music Man.

He’s warmed to the idea of telling you the truth about his past more than he’d originally expected to, but now’s just not the time.

Once inside, DJ signs, “Have a seat. I’ll get dinner started.”

“Oh, I can--”

DJ smiles wryly, putting his large hands on your shoulders and guiding you to sit at the table. You feel your face warm at his insistence, and you look up at him sheepishly once you’re in your seat.

“I know you can. But I’ll take care of it tonight,” he signs.

You nod, watching as he sets about working in the kitchen. You’ve taught him a lot over the past few weeks, but you realize now you never gave him much chance to use those skills. You’re so used to being the one to do the cooking that you never even thought to let DJ take over, even just for a night.

The meal he makes is simple enough, but still impressive for his first time alone in the kitchen. Stew made of chopped vegetables, served with a slice of bread warmed over the hearth. He brings you your bowl first, then sits across from you with his own meal.

“Thank you,” you say. You take your first bite, your smile widening as you nod in approval. “It’s good!”

He smiles, shrugging modestly. “You’re a good teacher,” he signs before starting in on his own meal.

Silence settles over the dinner table as fatigue slowly begins to overtake both of you. The morning’s chores and the walk would have been tiring on their own, but with the roc added in…the surge of adrenaline you’d all experienced has faded and left you and DJ drained.

But DJ is determined to power through a few more hours to make sure you and Lil’ M are cared for.

He gathers up the dishes when you’ve both finished eating, setting them in the sink. You stand to follow him, but he turns to face you, blocking the sink slightly. “How’s your arm? Do the bandages need to be changed?”

You glance down at your bandaged arm, then shake your head. “I don’t think so. These should be fine until the morning.”

DJ frowns thoughtfully, looking down at the bandages. He supposes he’ll have to take your word for it. He doubts his human nose would be able to detect the scent of blood until your bandages were thoroughly soaked. Spiderfolk usually only bind injuries on their bodies or heads--leg and arm wounds rarely bleed enough to warrant being bound like that--and DJ can’t imagine trying to guess at when the bandages need changing if one can’t even smell blood.

You make as if to step around DJ to get to the sink, but he gently puts his hands on your shoulders to stop you. You look up at him questioningly as he removes his hands to sign, “I’ll take care of the dishes. Why don’t you get ready for bed?”

You hesitate, fighting your momentary urge to insist on taking care of the dishes, especially after he made dinner. But a slight raise of his brows in a warning but still gentle look tells you he won’t allow it.

You smile weakly. “A-Alright…” You pause a moment, then step forward, slowly wrapping your arms around his middle and resting your head against his chest. “Thank you, DJ…”

He’s more than happy to hold you close. Feeling your warmth against him is…nice.

Still…he can’t help but wonder what it would be like in his real body.

He’d be towering over you even more than he does now. He’s not sure by how much exactly but he does know most humans would be around waist height to spidertaurs. He’d barely fit your house. He’d barely fit through your front door, even with both sides of the door open.

Would his fur bother you? Would his fangs? Or would just his large size and extra limbs be enough to put you off? He knows humans find the appearance of spiderfolk frightening and grotesque, but the reverse holds far less true. Spiderfolk have little fondness for humans in general, but most would consider their appearance to be, at worst, a bit odd.

DJ himself had never had much opinion of the appearance of humans. Mostly he had just thought humans are just not all that much to look at. Not that they’re ugly or frightening, more just…plain, especially when not draped in elaborate garments. But…over the past month, he’s been finding a certain charm to your appearance, even when in your simplest garments. You may not have fur, or fangs, or pedipalps, but…your eyes still sparkle when you laugh…and DJ finds that draws him in just as much as anything else.

After a moment you pull away, comforted by his embrace and entirely unaware of his inner turmoil, and the smile he forces as you look up at him will keep it that way.

But his smile quickly turns genuine and warm as he lowers his head to gently press his forehead against yours.

“Goodnight, DJ,” you say.

“Goodnight,” he signs once you pull away.

*

Despite the exhaustion of the day, sleep does not come easily to you. You can’t help but replay the horrid events in your head, and each time you do it feels even more visceral. The roc’s beak is sharper, her talons longer, her eyes colder.

You repeatedly try to force your mind away from the image. The bird is thoroughly dead, and since rocs are both very rare and very territorial, you’re unlikely to encounter another one around here for years, if ever.

And you can only hope Lil’ M will be a less enticing target by then.

In the moments you manage to calm yourself down, you find yourself distracted by the sounds of Lil’ Music Man shifting in his bed, occasionally letting out quiet hisses of pain. Each time you debate getting up to try and tend to him, but you decide rousing him unnecessarily won’t actually do him any favors. So you still yourself and all but hold your breath, waiting a few moments to see if he’ll go back to sleep on his own, and to your relief, he does so each time.

Finally, though, hours after you went to bed, you roll over, causing your bed frame to creak, which in turn earns a vague, chittery mumble from Lil’ M. You bite your lip, freezing in place until you hear the sounds of his soft snoring telling you he’s gone back to sleep.

Reluctantly, you decide to get up. You both need the extra quiet to rest, it seems. Slowly, you push back your blankets and get up, pulling on your robe and silently tip-toeing into the main room.

…Only to gasp in shock at the large figure hunched forward on the couch.

DJ quickly turns to you, setting something aside and signing something you can’t make out in the darkness.

Your hand is on your chest as you let out a soft sigh, shaking your head. “Hang on, let me get the lights,” you say. You assume at least part of what he’d signed had been either an apology for possibly waking you or asking what you’re doing up at such a late hour.

You step out into the living room proper, lightly tapping one of the glowstones on the wall to cast a tiny amount of light in the room, just enough that you can see DJ signing.

As you sit down on the couch beside him, you sign, “I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t expect you to still be out here, especially in the dark,” you sign, not wanting to risk waking Lil’ M.

“Sorry. Did I wake you?” he asks, repeating what he’d signed before.

You shake your head. “No. I just couldn’t sleep. What are you doing out here in the dark, anyway?”

DJ turns, grabbing the thing he’d set aside and showing it to you. You’re not sure what it is. It looks like he’s trying to weave some kind of net out of twine.

“Trying to make a web,” he signs.

“A web? Why?” you ask, carefully helping him to spread out the net--web--so you can look at it. You realized some time ago that his dark vision is far better than yours, but you’re still impressed he’s able to do any sort of weaving in the darkened living room.

Though the style of weaving is strange, not like any other you’ve ever seen. A bunch of longer strings emerge from the center point, like a wagon wheel, and around them a singular, long thread is looped in a spiral.

DJ hesitates a moment, but realizes there’s no point in trying to be coy or put off explaining it. “For Lil’ Music Man to sleep on,” he says.

Your brow knits in confusion and you cant your head silently, waiting for him to elaborate.

“I think he’ll be more comfortable. His legs won’t have to touch the bedding.”

“I suppose…” you sign hesitantly.

“It’s how spiderfolk usually sleep.” Before you can even pull a skeptical face, he steadies himself and signs, “I spent time at a spiderfolk town when I was young.” Without knowing the sign for cluster, “spiderfolk town” is the best he can do. Though he’s not too worried about specific terminology right now.

His statement is technically true, but “technically” is of little comfort to DJ. It’s a lie by omission, at the very least. At this point, he’s deceiving you about his past instead of just being secretive, and no amount of “technically” will change that. He will tell you the full truth eventually, he’s decided, and he just has to hope you forgive him for keeping it from you.

You stare at him, surprised. How long is “some time”? Weeks? Months? His entire childhood and adolescence? The latter would explain how he has such immense gaps in his knowledge of human customs while somehow knowing things about spiderfolk even you’ve never heard of, despite your attempts at research.

But you wouldn’t’ve thought spiderfolk would tolerate a human in their midst. They’re notoriously aggressive…though maybe “aggressively defensive” is a better term. They rarely venture far from their clusters, but few humans who stumble into their territory live to tell the tale.

“Not ready to say more. Sorry,” he signs after giving you a few seconds to process the revelation.

“I see,” you sign finally, unable to think of any other response. You try to resist the urge to speculate, to fill in the gaps of his story. The gaps are still too large and whatever your mind fills them with will naturally be largely baseless. Still…you can’t help but wonder if DJ and Lil’ M are, in a way, two sides of the same coin.

You’re more correct than you know, but not in a way you’re ever going to guess.

When you don’t sign anything else, he gives you an apologetic but grateful smile, returning his gaze to his work. He cuts a small bit of twine from the spool, using it to attach another section of the spiral string to one of the spokes.

You sit sideways on the couch, your shoulder resting against the back cushion as you face DJ. You tuck your knees to your chest, resting your chin on them as you watch him work.

It had taken him a while to figure out how to make a web out of twine. It doesn’t stick to itself the way silk does. He’s not even sure how well it will work once he finishes it, or whether the knots will hold, but he feels he has to try something. He can’t bear the thought of Lil’ M having to rest his leg stumps against a pillow until his next molt, whenever that ends up being.

Besides, sleep isn’t going to come any more readily to him than it has to you and Lil’ M tonight.

Eventually, he appears to have finished, for he sets his work aside and signs, “Would you mind helping me check it?”

You nod hesitantly, signing, “I’m not sure what to check.”

He smiles kindly. “Just hold it up for me.” He grabs two corners of the web, holding up the entire piece.

You take hold of the web, placing your hands next to his so he can release it.

DJ begins looking over his work, pinching at the strings and adjusting the knots.

“I’ve never seen anything woven like this,” you say softly, unable to sign while you’re holding it. “It’s pretty…”

DJ quirks a brow at that. Pretty? It’s the simplest web he knows how to make, and even in his real body, using his own silk, his spinning usually falls somewhere between passable and unimpressive. It’ll be a miracle if this twine web is even functional, much less aesthetic.

But, then again, all he’s ever seen Lil’ M weave is squares. Human weaving seems to be generally based on grids and squares, from what DJ’s seen. So he supposes even this looks ornate compared to that.

“Thank you,” he signs once he finishes tightening one of the knots. “I just hope it’s serviceable.”

“Seems like solid craftsmanship to me,” you say as you hand it back to him.

He smiles weakly at that. He’ll take the compliment, even though you both realize you have little basis for comparison.

“I’ll try to put it up once he’s awake for breakfast,” DJ signs before getting up to lay the web over the kitchen table. If he were more confident in the web, he’d wake Lil’ M now. A bit of interruption would be worth it for the better sleep he’d be getting in a proper web. But as it stands, he’s not entirely sure the web will be enough of an improvement to justify waking poor Lil’ M now.

You nod in agreement, no more eager to wake Lil’ M than DJ is.

The silence stretches on and you once again begin to dwell. Your brow knits as you once again fret over how much worse today could have gone, fret over how little you still know about spiderfolk, how unequipped you are to raise Lil’ M even in the best of circumstances, how--

Once again DJ notices you spiraling before you do, and gently takes your hand to steady you.

You jump slightly, glancing up at him sharply and trying to blink away the unshed tears that had started to form.

He releases your hand to sign, “Are you going to be okay?”

You sniffle, nodding as you wipe at your eyes. “Of course. I only got a small cut.”

DJ gives you a wry but not unkind look. “Not what I meant,” he signs before reaching into his pocket to hand you a handkerchief.

You manage to smile weakly at that, taking the hankie and wiping your eyes. “I…will be…I think,” you sign. You clear your throat, trying to fight the rising lump in your throat as your hands tremble. “I was just…I was so scared, and Lil’ M was so scared…”

“I was too,” DJ admits. “But he’ll be okay. In a few molts his legs will be back. He’s strong. He can manage with four until then,” he signs.

You nod, another sniffle escaping you as you rub at your eyes.

DJ watches you a moment, then signs, “I’ve been curious. How did he end up in your care?”

You rest your cheek against the back of the couch, lifting your hands, taking a moment to find the words before beginning to sign. “A couple months after my father died, a traveling minstrel came by. Lil’ M was his at the time, but…he had him in this small cage, crashing cymbals to get attention…and…it just hurt my heart to see. He was so little…I thought he must have been a baby, but I think he was actually a bit older than I thought. All the same, I…” You pause, taking a breath to steady yourself. “I just…saw how scared and alone he was…and all I could think of was how he was just an orphan like me, but I had this whole farm to myself and he was just crammed into a little cage banging cymbals together…”

DJ’s brow knits in fury as his face darkens at your description of Lil’ M’s treatment. “He was caged? Like a pet?” he signs indignantly.

You’re not any happier at the memory as you nod grimly. “It would have been too small a cage for even a pet,” you sign with a bitter huff. “Lucky for me, the minstrel was down on his luck and I was able to convince him to leave Lil’ M with me in exchange for some food and supplies.” You smirk wryly. “And…pointing out that Lil’ M wouldn’t stay so small forever.”

He gives a small smile at that. “Clever,” he signs. He supposes you not knowing the difference between spidertaurs and spiderlings has had at least one advantage. “Lil’ M must have been very grateful.”

DJ’s surprised when you give a wry laugh and shake your head. “Not right away,” you sign. “He tried to bite me, but the minstrel had removed his fangs.”

His eyes widen at that, his face turning ashen. Removed? He’s never heard of such a horrific thing. It makes his stomach churn.

“DJ?” you ask aloud, surprised at his strong reaction.

He takes a moment to recover, pulling in a shaky breath before once again lifting his hands to sign. “How did he eat?”

“The minstrel was giving him broth, mostly. But I realized he liked raw eggs a lot more, he just needed help opening them.”

“Only broth? He must have been so frail…”

You shift uncomfortably. “He…I guess he could have been, I…wasn’t really able to tell. I’d never seen a spiderfolk in person…and with him being a child at that, I…” you trail off awkwardly. “I did…realize I couldn’t really tell how healthy he was by looking…I still can’t, I suppose.”

“He is growing up well,” DJ signs without thinking.

You quirk a brow curiously, but when DJ doesn’t elaborate, you continue, “In any case, he didn’t fully trust me until after he molted. I gave him his space while he was delicate, and when his fangs grew back, I didn’t try to cut them out again.”

DJ can’t even picture you attempting something that cruel.

“When did you start teaching him sign?” he asks.

“About a couple months after that,” you say. “I realized that he could understand me pretty well, but…until he trusted me he didn’t seem particularly interested in trying to talk to me. I didn’t know sign at the time, but I knew of it, so I got some books and holostones in town so we could learn together.”

DJ blinks, surprised at that. He had assumed you had just happened to know sign before you adopted Lil’ Music Man. “You learned for him?”

You nod. “I taught him to read and write too, and that helped a bit while we were learning. He doesn’t care for writing all that much,” you sign with a weak laugh. You glance over at DJ, seeing the warmth in his dark eyes as he regards you. You feel your face heating up from the fondness in his gaze. “I…haven’t…really talked about this with a lot of people,” you admit. At his curious look, you continue, “A lot of people…think it’s a bit…silly, to be raising him as if he’s my brother.”

“I don’t,” he assures you. After a brief pause, he asks, “Where did the name Lil’ Music Man come from?”

“That was actually what the minstrel called him. I did eventually ask him if he wanted a different name, but…he said he didn’t want a human name, and neither of us know any spiderfolk names, so…Lil’ M just kinda stuck.”

DJ nods thoughtfully. He’s surprised Lil’ Music Man would want to keep the name given to him by such a cruel person, but…he can also understand very well not wanting to take a human name, especially at a time when it sounds like he’d still only met one kind human.

The silence that has fallen over the two of you is interrupted by your heavy sigh. “I’m so worried about him,” you sign.

“I know,” DJ replies. “It will be a difficult couple months. But he’ll recover. He is safe.”

You nod silently, and DJ reaches forward and gently takes your hand. He’s surprised it feels a bit cold, so wraps his other hand around it as well, warming it.

And unintentionally causing your cheeks to warm as well, as you shyly avert your gaze.

He glances down at your hand in both of his…how small your hand looks compared to his larger ones. He’s inferred that he’s large for a human, but his hand is still probably only half the size it had been when he’d been a spidertaur, if that.

What would this moment look like if he were in his proper body, he wonders? Your small human hand in his large paws…the warmth of your palm against his paw pads?

He lightly rubs the back of your hand with his thumb. He supposes he’ll never find out.

“DJ?” you ask softly, noticing his contemplative look.

He gives you a reassuring smile, releasing your hand. “Why don’t I play you some music? It’s been a couple days,” he suggests. At your nod, he gets up to fetch the harp.

He returns to his seat and begins playing, as usual in that odd, two-fingered style he has. Oddity aside, though, he’s still the best musician you’ve heard.

He plays something different tonight. Not anything that you’d recognize, and not really his usual faire either--it’s an old spiderfolk lullaby. A simpler composition than what he usually plays--one that has both a two-handed and a four-handed arrangement so it’s playable by both spidertaurs and spiderlings. He’s never played the two-handed version, but he’s heard it enough that he can adapt it from memory fairly closely.

Your eyelids grow heavy, but you don’t let them fall closed. At least not entirely. You keep your gaze on DJ, peering through the darkness to watch his fingers dance over the silken harp strings. His own eyes are closed, as they often are when he plays.

The lullaby is effective, and you feel the sleep that’s eluded you all night finally settle in upon you.

You’re not sure how long DJ plays for, or at what point you doze off, but you eventually become aware of DJ’s arms under you, not carrying you to bed but simply laying you down on the couch and putting a blanket over you.

You catch his hand as he tucks the blanket under your chin, squeezing it gently. “Thank you, DJ…”

“You’re welcome.”

“I mean it,” you continue. “I’m…really glad you’re here with us…”

His expression softens as he moves a lock of hair from your face. He’s glad too. It hurts his heart to imagine you tending to Lil’ M alone during all this, without anyone to lean on, without any guidance…thinking his injury is much worse than it actually is.

He’s glad he could spare you from some of that.

You deserve it.

He’s often wondered--idly, uselessly--what he would do if he could break the curse and return to his own body. Whether he’d try to return to the cluster, or some other cluster, or try to build a new life among his own people somehow. It’s not really possible, but sometimes it’s comforting to imagine such a life could still await him in some distant future.

But not tonight. Tonight, he knows in his heart that the only future he wants is here with you and Lil’ M.

The curse won’t be broken. He can accept that more readily now than before. He’ll always miss his old body, but in his heart of hearts he no longer wishes to return to the cluster, even if there are some aspects of his old life he’ll probably always yearn for.

He leans forward and presses his forehead against yours, wanting to reach his pedipalps out for yours and--

He stops. He doesn’t have pedipalps…and you certainly don’t either. Even if you did, why does he assume you’d want him touching them?

He pulls back, rather abruptly, leaving you staring up at him in confusion. You’d…almost thought he was going to kiss you, but…you suppose that’s a rather bold thing for you to assume.

But you still don’t know what to make of the odd moment.

“DJ?” you ask. “A-Are you…okay?”

He smiles sheepishly, nodding apologetically. “Yes. I’m fine. Sorry. Just tired.”

You give a weak smile and a shake of your head. “No need to apologize…” you say.

He doesn’t offer an explanation and you don’t ask for one.

“Goodnight. Sleep well,” he signs, just as the silence is about to turn awkward.

“Goodnight, DJ,” you return, snuggling into the couch.

Chapter Text

The next day, you and DJ get started on butchering the roc. Neither of you have ever dealt with game this large, but you, at least, have experience butchering birds. The process will likely end up taking you over a week. It’s hard labor and there’s only so much you and DJ have the fortitude to accomplish in one day, and you both need to save your strength to tend to whatever else Lil’ Music Man needs during his recovery.

DJ’s surprised when you begin setting the plucked feathers aside.

“Lil’ M said he doesn’t want to see anything that reminds him of the bird. ‘No feathers, no beak, no talons’,” you say, repeating what he’d told you the night before. “So I figured next time I go to town, I’d sell those parts. They’re probably worth a lot,” you say. Before DJ can even think to have any misgivings about that idea, you continue, “The money would be Lil’ M’s of course. He can decide what he wants to do with it.”

DJ nods his approval at the idea, not wanting to stop his work to sign.

And perhaps he can even help with some suggestions for how to spend that money. There are herbs and balms spiderfolk used to ease molting, which DJ already knows you don’t have on hand. He’s not sure if any of them would be found in a human market at all, but if they are, you can surely afford them after selling a roc skull and feathers.

There’s also the question of Lil’ M’s hearing. DJ’s surmised it’s fairly diminished by spiderfolk standards, though still considerably better than a human. Perhaps close to where his own hearing is in his current form.

Lil’ M’s apparent immunity to the arcane power in your voice is still a mystery though. DJ hopes that perhaps frequent exposure to human voices from a young age has granted Lil’ M some kind of immunity to the effect, because the only alternative he can think of is Lil’ M has simply learned to mask the pain caused by your voice.

DJ’s been trying to figure out how to broach the matter. It may end up being an uncomfortable topic for both you and Lil’ M, but if your voice is causing Lil’ M discomfort, maybe the money from the roc can be put towards something to mitigate that.

After the first butchering session, you and DJ wash up outside, cleaning the blood off your hands and forearms and washing your canvas aprons before returning indoors. You’re holding a cut of roc meat DJ had selected and wrapped in wax paper for Lil’ M’s breakfast, which you set on a plate atop the dining table for now. DJ, meanwhile, gathers up the web he made last night.

You find Lil’ Music Man awake in your room, lying somewhat listlessly on his bed.

“Morning,” you say to him, crouching down beside his bed. “How are you feeling?”

Not in the mood to lift himself up to sign properly, he lifts one hand and wiggles it in a “so-so” gesture.

You frown sympathetically, lightly rubbing his back comfortingly. “Do you think you can get up? Just for a bit. DJ has something he wants to set up in here. He thinks it’ll be more comfortable than your bed.”

He gives you a curious look, but nods. The many blue splotches on his bedding make it clear that he had a very restless night, so it’s hardly surprising he’s eager to try something else.

You help him climb onto your arm, his thorax and abdomen resting atop your forearm while his hands cling to your shoulder. Once again you keep his injured side facing outward so you don’t accidentally bump his leg stumps.

You take him to the kitchen to have his breakfast while DJ sets up the web in your room.

It does take some trial and error for DJ to set the thing up, though. You’d given him a hammer and some nails, along with your blessing to put them wherever they needed to be, but DJ’s trying to avoid punching holes in your walls if he can.

Eventually, he settles on two ends of the web being tied onto your wardrobe’s drawer handles, three being nailed to the wall, and two tied to either bedpost on the foot of your bed, suspending the net a couple feet over Lil’ M’s previous bed. It does render half your room inaccessible for fear of tripping over the twine spanning from the foot of your bed to the opposite wall, and of course you won’t be able to open the bottom two drawers on your wardrobe without upsetting the web, but…well, maybe something more permanent can be worked out once DJ’s actually sure Lil’ M will even want to sleep in a twine web.

The possibilities of the twine being too uncomfortable or Lil’ M simply being too used to human beds, even if they’re not the best for him, are not lost on DJ.

DJ emerges from your room to see Lil’ M atop the dining table, using his pedipalps to clean his face after having finished his breakfast. You look ready to doze off, with your eyes lidded as your chin rests against your hand, but you snap out of it with a start when DJ gently taps on the table to get your attention.

“Ready?” he signs with a nervous smile. Part of him is proud of the web he’d managed to put together using only twine, but he’s also painfully aware that it may yet prove inadequate.

Lil’ M nods uncertainly, climbing to perch onto DJ’s arm, clearly unsure of what to expect of this potentially more comfortable setup he’s been promised.

DJ carries Lil’ Music Man into the bedroom, with you following behind them. When Lil’ M sees the web, he perks up and regards it curiously, though not without a fair bit of skepticism too. DJ had expected that--he’s sure if Lil’ M has ever had some kind of deep, instinctive desire to sleep in a web he would have found a way to spin up his own by now. As it stands, the web as a bed probably looks just as alien to Lil’ M as it would to any human.

DJ lowers himself, kneeling beside the web. He carefully guides Lil’ M onto it, silently pointing to each of Lil’ M’s feet, then to a spot on the web where he can put them, all while keeping the arm Lil’ M rests on steady.

Slowly Lil’ M climbs onto the web, balancing uncertainly on the twine. One of his feet slips slightly and he instinctively curls his toe claws around the twine. Something seems to click in his mind as he adjusts the rest of his feet to grip the twine in the same way, and in an instant he looks far more confident as he walks towards the center of the web.

“For sleeping?” he signs up to DJ.

He nods. “It’s what spiderfolk usually sleep in. Sort of. Usually they spin it themselves.”

Lil’ M clicks his fangs thoughtfully before lowering himself, settling down in the center of the web, making sure his leg stumps hang between the weave instead of touching it.

“What do you think?” DJ signs.

Lil’ M adjusts himself a bit more, trying to decide if he wants to let his good legs dangle through the web or rest atop it. Once he settles on the latter, he looks back up to DJ. “New. But good, I think. Good for my legs. Good for my fur.”

DJ smiles, nodding in understanding, while you raise a brow slightly at the last statement. You hadn’t realized his old bed had been a problem for his fur. You’d known he hadn’t liked being covered in blankets, but you hadn’t thought that laying atop them also bothered him. Maybe he’d simply never brought it up because he, like you, was unaware of any alternative.

Once Lil’ M is settled, DJ takes a moment to quickly look over the web, making sure the knots are still strong even after holding Lil’ M’s weight. Fortunately the young spiderling is quite light…if Lil’ M were a spidertaur or even an older spiderling, this little makeshift web might not have been able to hold up. But as it is, it looks like it’ll probably last the couple months it’ll take for Lil’ M to regain his strength enough to spin his own, albeit maybe with a few touch ups here and there.

As Lil’ M settles into the web, DJ lightly pats his head. “Get some rest, friend,” he signs, despite Lil’ M’s eyes already being closed. He stands up, moving aside enough for you to also give Lil’ M a gentle pat on the head, whispering your own goodnight to him before you both leave.

Once in the kitchen, you raise a hand to stifle a yawn, and DJ gives you a small smile.

“You look like you could use some rest, too.”

You chuckle weakly. “You can’t be too far behind,” you say. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

“A bit,” he signs. “How’s your arm?”

“A bit sore, but alright,” you say.

“Bandages need to be changed?”

“O-Oh, yeah, probably,” you say.

He gently nudges you towards the kitchen, and you lean against the counter while he undoes the bindings on your arm. As he gets to the last couple layers, you flinch and let out a small hiss of pain as the bandage pulls at some dried blood.

DJ leans forward, lightly bumping his forehead against yours in an almost instinctive motion to comfort you. Though he can’t help but frown at how much the cut on your arm has bled into the bandages…and now that it’s unwrapped, he can smell that some of the blood is too fresh to be from last night.

“You should let me take over the butchering. The cut opened up again this morning,” he signs before dampening a cloth to clean your arm again.

Your sheepish wince is telling. You’d felt yourself aggravating the cut when you’d been cutting the meat from the roc’s bones a couple hours ago, but had stubbornly pressed on anyway.

He begins re-wrapping your arm, and once he ties the bandage in place, he nudges you towards the dining table. “Eat. Then rest,” he says, turning back to the kitchen to begin preparing lunch for the two of you.

You resist the impulse to insist on helping and allow him to take care of it. He’s certainly capable…and maybe you’ve earned a day or so of being cared for.

He ladles out some of last night’s stew, which had been kept warm on the hearth, along with a piece of bread and jam, bringing it to the table before getting the same meal for himself.

“Thank you, DJ,” you say, and the weight in your tone makes it clear you mean more than just the meal. “I…I don’t know how we’d be managing without you now. W-We’d be…pretty lost, I think…” you admit.

DJ gives you a wry yet warm smile, setting his spoon aside to sign, “Where do you think I would be, if not for you?” He does believe you and Lil’ M could have made it through the attack and the recovery even without his help--though he does appreciate the amount of heartache and turmoil he’s been sparing you--but he doesn’t believe for an instant he would have lasted much longer in the woods if you’d simply chased him off from the chicken coop instead of bringing him in.

“I…I guess,” you say modestly, lowering your gaze as you stir the cooling stew. The conversation lapses as you eat, mainly because you’re both still quite tired.

Once you finish eating, DJ gathers up the plates and lowers himself to lightly bump his forehead against yours before tending to the dishes. Neither of you are aware of the fond, almost dopey smile on your face as you watch him.

You get up to check on Lil’ M, finding him still asleep. As far as you can tell, he hasn’t moved, and appears more relaxed than he had been at any point last night. It seems DJ had been right about the web, which in turn makes you optimistic about him being right about Lil’ M’s legs as well. Not that you doubt DJ’s sincerity, of course--not even for a second--but regrowing entire limbs aided by nothing but extra protein and determination still just feels too fantastic a thing to happen on a humble farm like this.

You return to the living room couch, not laying down but instead sitting on one side of it, waiting for DJ to finish the dishes and join you.

In a few moments he takes a seat on the couch beside you, taking up his harp and beginning to play. Something cheerful, but not too bouncy, keeping it slow and soft.

Many times when you’ve sat on the couch together, you’ve made a point of leaving a gap between the two of you, each of you leaning against opposite armrests. But this time, you’d sat a bit closer to the center of the couch and DJ had followed your example.

You hadn’t intended to doze off while he played, and you certainly hadn’t intended to slump over slightly, to let your upper body lean against his, to rest your cheek so comfortably against his upper arm…

And yet.

DJ feels his face heat up, though the sensation is far from unpleasant this time. If he were in his true form his cheek fluff would be bristling and it would be all he could do to keep his pedipalps still instead of letting them rise up to cover his shy smile. He’d never been able to hide his flustered state as a spidertaur.

He’d never really needed to. He’d had his share of suitors over the years, but none had ever been half as dear to him as you are. You’ve given him so much while asking for so little, yet still cherish every kindness he’s managed to give you.

He glances down at you as he continues playing, hoping you can’t feel his heart racing. He’d been planning on continuing work on the roc while you rested, but…

He can stay inside for a bit longer.

*

After a few days, Lil’ M finds himself bored of laying in the web day in and day out, and insists he’s well enough to at least have run of the house during the day. You had cast a nervous glance to DJ when you’d seen Lil’ M emerge from your room. DJ hadn’t been without some apprehension himself, but after a moment of consideration he had nodded, signing, “Just be careful. Don’t push yourself or move too fast.”

Lil’ M sticks to that guideline as well as any adolescent human would have--which is to say, slightly less than recommended. To your relief, he seems to be able to walk just fine, albeit with a slightly altered, uneven gait to compensate for missing two legs on the same side. He also can’t climb onto the walls, and to you and DJ’s relief, he has the sense not to even try.

He doesn't like being on the floor all the time, nor does he like asking for help…but you and DJ both keep an eye on him while he’s out, and so he rarely has to ask. Usually one of you will notice him looking up at the table or a countertop, silently deliberating with himself if he wants to attempt the climb himself or “bother” one of you, and offer to lift him or get him whatever he needs.

He’s also taken to being carried a lot more. You had carried him around a lot when he was younger, but the adolescent urge for independence had made him cut back on accepting such offers. Now, though, the desire to be near both of you is winning out in his more vulnerable state.

He’s currently perched atop you, with one front leg looped over each of your shoulders, while his remaining two back legs cling to the back of your shirt and his hands rest atop your head, holding onto your hair for stability. His stumps are healed enough that touching them no longer causes him pain, but he still takes care not to bump them.

DJ is out tending to the chickens, while you’re kneading some bread dough. You finish your work, covering the dough with a cloth to let it rise some more. As you’re washing your hands, Lil’ M climbs down to the counter. He fidgets with his hands as he watches you wash up, and you finally notice the apprehensive look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, holding out your arms so you can carry him over to the couch.

He hesitates, making a couple attempts to start signing as you carry him. Once you set him on the couch and take a seat next to him, he finally finds the words.

“...What if they don’t grow back?”

Your brows raise in surprise at the question. You quickly recover and manage to give him a bracing smile, resisting the urge to assure him they will. Such assurances aren’t what he’s asking for right now.

After a brief pause, you let out a soft chuckle. “Well…you’ll still have more legs than me.”

He rolls his eyes, giving a wry but amused chitter.

“You’ll still run and jump and climb better than me,” you continue, your smile growing. “Still have to keep me out of trouble,” you joke.

“Still have to listen for danger. Keep watch in the dark,” he signs, his own smile brightening as well.

You laugh warmly. “Exactly.”

“Still protect you,” he signs. “Protect DJ too.”

As if on cue, the door swings open, a wave of chill air following DJ in from outside. He quickly shuts the door behind him, looping the basket over his arm so he can sign, “Chickens are all good.” He lifts his arm briefly, raising the basket and smiling at Lil’ M. “Fresh eggs.”

Lil’ M brightens at that, scrambling onto the back of the couch, ignoring your slight protest for him to be careful.

“Three please!” he signs.

DJ stands behind the couch, passing the requested eggs to Lil’ M, who puts one in his mouth, then one in each hand as he slides back down to the cushion to enjoy his meal. DJ leans over to ruffle the fur atop Lil’ M’s head, then lightly bumps his forehead against yours.

The moment feels so domestic and homey. Well, what else would it be but domestic and homey, when you’re at home on a farm? Still…it’s been a long time since you’ve thought of DJ as a mere “guest”. You’re not sure what to call him now. “Friend” is an obvious answer, but…increasingly it feels like that word doesn’t quite cover everything he is to you.

You wonder if he would think the same, or if he’d find it a bit too bold to add any words other than “friend” to your relationship.

Before you can dwell on it too much, DJ rights himself to sign, “Do you want me to cook you any?”

You smile warmly at him, your face still feeling a bit warm in general, despite the slight chill lingering in the air from outside. “Sure, I’ll take a couple. Thanks, DJ.”

*

Lil’ M’s return to good spirits, unfortunately, doesn’t last long. As DJ had predicted, the loss of his legs causes him to go into an early molt as his body starts to heal. He’s itchy and his fur is thinning in a few places from frequent scratching, and he’s got a growing bald spot on the back of his abdomen. The circle of black fur has almost entirely fallen out, exposing the shiny, dark grey exoskeleton beneath.

While you don’t have the same balms spiderfolk use, you do have some herbs and remedies that have managed to help somewhat. Some balms that treat itchiness on humans do a bit more than nothing for Lil’ M, as does running a wet cloth over his fur. But none of it is ideal--it’s not quite soothing so much as trading one discomfort for a slightly milder one, as leaving water and gels and oils sitting in his fur is only slightly less irritating than the itchiness itself.

DJ has managed to find one solution that seems to be more of a net positive, though--moving Lil’ M’s old bed out of place and putting a kettle of steaming water under the web. The steam wafting up eases the itchiness nearly as much as running wet cloths over him would have, but with much less lingering dampness in his fur.

DJ is keeping Lil’ M company while the steam rises, sitting against the wall so that Lil’ M’s web is just above eye height for him. He’s hoping the steam has lifted Lil’ M’s spirits enough to have a conversation DJ’s been debating having with Lil’ M for some time now. But he can’t put it off any longer--you’re going into town in a few days, and there’s something DJ needs to find out before the money from the roc feathers and skull are spent.

Lil’ M’s eyes are closed, so DJ lightly taps a finger on the floor to prompt Lil’ M to open his eyes and look over at him.

“Your hearing is quite good, isn’t it?” DJ starts, still not entirely sure how to ask his real question tactfully.

Lil’ M shifts on his web, lifting his torso enough to sign. “The best. But you know that.”

DJ’s shoulders shake in a silent chuckle. “I do,” he agrees. “All spiderfolk have good hearing. Better than humans. Did you know that?”

Lil’ M cants his head, one of his fuzzy pink brows raising curiously. “I’d guessed. Why?”

DJ hesitates. He should have predicted Lil’ M wouldn’t let him beat around the bush. “Sometimes human voices can be painful for spiderfolk.”

Lil’ M bristles slightly at that, the implication irritating him in a way it probably wouldn’t have if he’d gotten a proper night’s sleep instead of staying up from itchiness. “Not theirs.”

“What about when you were younger? Or before you met them? Did human voices ever hurt your ears?”

DJ doesn’t miss the look of guilt that flashes across Lil’ M’s face before he shakes his head stubbornly.

DJ frowns sympathetically. “I’m not asking to hurt your feelings. Or theirs,” he signs. “But if your ears are hurting, there might be something we can get in town to help.”

He huffs, glancing away. Just as DJ’s starting to wonder if Lil’ M’s decided the conversation is over, he lifts his hands to sign, “Used to hurt. Minstrel hurt more. He yelled…they’re quieter. But…used to hurt, for a bit. Not anymore though.”

DJ nods thoughtfully. Perhaps being exposed to human voices for a long time, from a young age at that, really had given him some immunity. It had been DJ’s best guess for as long as he’d cared to speculate on the matter…though he had considered the idea that your voice in particular may also just have a far weaker arcade resonance, or perhaps none at all. Though that seems like the less likely possibility…even if it’s also the more appealing idea.

“Do visitors hurt?”

“Sometimes. If they are loud,” he admits.

“There’s a type of cloth you can put over your ears that dampens the effect. Might be nice to have when guests are around?”

Lil’ M’s expression brightens hopefully, but it fades almost instantly. “Don’t know…”

DJ frowns in confusion. “Don’t know?” he repeats.

“Sibling worries…Worries too much. Don’t want them to worry about their voice too.”

DJ’s expression softens. “I don’t want that for them either,” he assures him. “But they’d be happier if they knew you were more comfortable. The money from selling the roc skull and feathers will probably be more than enough. Assuming the cloth is in the market at all, of course.”

He hesitates, clicking his fangs together in thought, clearly tempted. “Alright. Can try it. One condition.”

“What?”

Lil’ M shifts uncomfortably. “Don’t tell them their voice…hurts…only guests hurt.”

“So their voice does hurt?” DJ asks sympathetically.

He bristles in frustration. “No! Not anymore!” he signs with a huff.

DJ frowns slightly. Lil’ M seems too defensive for the statement to be completely true…but he could also just be irritable, or guilty that your voice had ever been painful for him.

Lil’ M lets out a mumbling, irritable chitter. Wordless as it is, DJ can still sense the resentment in the sharp, clipped vocalizations. Growling angrily, Lil’ M lifts his arm to his mouth, gnawing on his itchy forearm, his fangs threatening to puncture the exoskeleton before it’s ready to be shed.

DJ knocks sharply against the wall to get Lil’ M’s attention, earning a reproachful glare even as Lil’ M continues to bite at his arm.

“Leave it alone, friend,” DJ signs, his brow turned up in worry. “I know it itches, but--”

DJ’s hands freeze mid-sign as Lil’ M lets out his pent up irritation in a loud hiss. “No!” he signs, “You don’t know! Not even my sibling knows! Nobody knows! You don’t molt, you never molt, you don’t know!” he vents, his little hands signing so fast DJ can barely keep up, his movements punctuated by angry clicks and chitters.

DJ pulls back as if struck. He’s suddenly more tempted than ever to spill his secret, but he manages to keep his wits about him enough to remember that Lil’ M’s fit of molt-induced irritation isn’t the time.

Even if it seems Lil’ M could really use someone who’s actually gone through what he’s going through. Though DJ wonders how much longer he could even be that. The longer he stays in this form the more memories of things like molting will fade, surely. Even if Lil’ M knew the truth, would he consider DJ someone to commiserate with when DJ reaches the point where he hasn’t molted in years?

While DJ’s grappling with his doubts, Lil’ M lets out another, quiet hiss, getting his attention.

“Leave me alone,” he signs grumpily. Though DJ catches a hint of guilt in Lil’ M’s eyes as he turns to face away before once again hunkering down atop the twine web.

DJ lets out a silent sigh. Maybe space is the best thing he can give Lil’ M right now.

“Sorry,” he signs as he stands, despite Lil’ M’s back being to him.

When he emerges from your room, he finds you on the couch working on some mending. You set it aside immediately, giving him a worried look.

He winces awkwardly, running a hand over his head before signing, “You heard?”

You nod. “Heard him hissing, anyway,” you sign, not wanting Lil’ M to overhear you and DJ discussing his behavior. “He’s done that to me, too. And not just when he was a baby.”

DJ’s brows raise in surprise at that. In the cluster, Lil’ M would be considered a bit old for such snappish behavior, even during molts. Then again, at the cluster he’d have proper medicine to get him through the molt, and be surrounded by spiderfolk who knew what he was going through.

“You just have to try not to take it personally. He’s young, and molting’s an awful experience, from the sounds of it,” you explain. “He gets snappy because he’s tired and itchy, but…he doesn’t mean it…and it’s probably even worse than usual now…” you sign with a frown. You force a bracing smile, looking up at DJ. “He’ll apologize later, I’m sure. He adores you,” you sign. You wrap your arms around one of his, giving him a reassuring squeeze before leading him to the couch.

DJ smiles weakly at you. It’s sweet of you to try to comfort him, and even though you haven’t told him anything he doesn’t already know, it does help to hear it from you.

The two of you sit down on the couch and you give him a sheepish, apologetic smile. “I…do hope he wasn’t too mean, though…” Lil’ M hasn’t resorted to outright name calling and insults with you in a couple years now, but it’s not hard to imagine this being the thing to bring that back, if only temporarily…And DJ seems so sweet and kindhearted it’s also not hard to imagine him taking Lil’ M’s harsh words to heart.

DJ shakes his head. “Not mean. Just grumpy.”

You smile up at him in relief. “It’s understandable, I think. Obviously I don’t know what it’s like for him. But he usually puts on a brave face and isn’t much for being coddled most of the time…so molting must be pretty bad to put him in such a mood. But…it’s probably a good sign he can find the energy to be a bit snippy,” you add with a weak smile.

DJ nods. “Yes,” he agrees simply. When it seems the subject is done, he asks, “When are you going to town?”

“Tomorrow or the day after, I think. Depends on what the weather looks like tomorrow.”

“I would like to come with you.” At your look of surprise, he continues, “I know it means leaving Lil’ M alone. I don’t like that either, but…I think I can help you find some things to treat him. Some herbs and balms. I…don’t remember what they look like well enough to describe them, or sketch them…but I’d know them if I saw them again.”

You hesitate, considering it. “These are…things you learned about when you spent some time with the spiderfolk?”

He nods, but predictably doesn’t elaborate.

You lean back against the couch, looking up at the ceiling and letting out a quiet hum of thought as you weigh the decision. Lil’ M being left alone while you go to town is nothing new. Quite the opposite, in fact. Even when he’d been tiny, leaving him home instead of bringing him to town had always seemed the better option.

You try not to make trips while he’s in molt, but even that you’ve had to do a couple times. But he’s never been this injured before. Not even close.

You do think he’s recovered enough that he can manage on his own for a day. You’ll just make sure to leave some eggs and meats near his bed so he doesn’t have to go very far to keep himself fed for the day.

And if you have a chance of bringing back something that will help keep him comfortable…

You nod. “Alright. But this trip is strictly business. I’ll take you out for sightseeing in the spring,” you sign, grinning. Of course, you’re sure DJ had been well aware that there’d be no time for dilly dallying during this trip.

His shoulders shake in a silent chuckle and he nods in agreement.

Though…on the subject of showing him around the town…

“DJ…have you ever actually…been to a town before? A human town, I mean.”

He winces at the question, but shakes his head sheepishly.

You smile sadly at him, lightly patting his arm. “Just stick close to me, then,” you say, as if DJ would consider doing anything else. “You’ll…probably stand out a bit, so…you may get some looks.”

He nods again. He’s known for awhile he doesn’t entirely pass as a completely normal human, but it’s hard to judge just how obviously he would stand out. He supposes he’ll find out soon.

Between that and the thought of leaving Lil’ M alone, you’re not without a bit of apprehension for this trip. Still, you can’t avoid it forever. The past few weeks have made you more sure than ever that you want DJ not only at the farm, but at your side always, but…he’ll still need to learn to navigate a human town on his own eventually.

Or so you think.

Chapter Text

DJ and Lil’ M don’t tell you what Lil’ M was hissing over yesterday, and you don’t ask. You have no reason to assume it’s anything of much consequence. During his molts, he’s gotten snippy with you for little to no reason many times. You’d been making too much noise, your cooking had smelled too strongly, he’d gotten hungry and you hadn’t noticed it yet, the chickens had been making too much noise…Admittedly it had been a few years since the last one--these days much of his molting-related snappiness is around things that are at least tangentially related to things you’re actually doing or not doing, even if they’re not things you deserve to be hissed at over.

You are a bit surprised that Lil’ M still seems upset when you get up in the morning, laying on his web, facing away from you, and even shying away when you try to pat him good morning. You take the hint, pulling your hand back without touching him.

DJ’s still in his room as you pass through the kitchen, stepping outside to check the weather. It’s cold, but not as cold as it could be this time of year. The sky is clear and blue, without a cloud to be seen.

Today’s the day, then. If you don’t make the trip now it may be days or weeks before you get another chance.

You return inside and get a pot of porridge started, and just before it’s ready, DJ emerges from his room, his dark eyes blinking sleepily at you as he lifts a hand in greeting.

“Morning,” you say, ladling out bowls for each of you. “Did you sleep well?”

He nods, taking a seat at the table.

“It looks like the weather’s clear today. So um, if you’d still like to come to town with me, we’ll be heading out in an hour or two.”

Another nod. “I’d still like to go. How’s Lil’ M?” he signs.

You glance towards your room, frowning a bit. “Not having a great morning,” you sign sadly.

DJ follows your gaze, his brow lowering in concern. “Maybe a quiet day will do him good,” he signs after a moment.

You have to hope it does, for you don’t see a way around it. DJ can’t go to town alone, and you won’t be able to recognize the herbs for Lil’ M without him.

After breakfast, you bring a bowl of eggs and a plate holding a few cuts of roc meat to Lil’ M. You set it on the end table, which is now positioned next to the web, so Lil’ M doesn’t have to move very far to get his meals. His chelicerae twitch at the scent and he gets up, shifting towards the edge of the web to grab a piece of meat, passing it from his hands to his pedipalps as he begins to eat.

He keeps his gaze lowered, and perplexingly, he looks almost guilty. Maybe he still feels bad for snapping at DJ yesterday?

“DJ and I are going to town today. He knows of some remedies that might help with your molting. He wants to see if they have any in town. Do you think you’ll be alright by yourself?”

He considers, his chelicerae working the meat in spiderfolk equivalent of chewing. “I’ve watched the house myself before. I’ll be fine.”

You smile warmly at him. “I know you will. Do you want anything from town?”

He doesn’t hesitate even a second before grinning up at you. “Candies?” Whatever was bothering him seems to have been momentarily chased away by the promise of sweets.

“Of course,” you say easily, lightly ruffling the fur atop his head before standing. “We shall return with candies!” you announce theatrically. “And hopefully some other things to make you more comfortable.”

His smile turns a bit hesitant, the odd look of guilt returning to his eyes, but he doesn’t raise his hands to sign anything else. You assume his pre-molting discomfort is overtaking him again, so you bid him farewell and head outside to meet DJ.

DJ has already bundled up the feathers and the skull, slinging it over his shoulder.

Though what strikes you is his appearance in the early morning light. His smile is warm, his elongated canines slightly overlapping his lower lip. The furred mantle on his cloak makes his shoulders look even broader than they already are, and he’s donned his tophat to help shade his eyes for the trip. Though even shaded, his dark eyes still glimmer in a way you find more endearing with each passing day.

DJ notices you staring and his smile fades slightly as he reaches up his free hand to adjust his hat, wondering if perhaps he’s not wearing it correctly after all. He hasn’t had need of it until now, so he hasn’t actually worn it since he’d first tried it on.

“Everything look alright?” he signs. He supposes if he’s made any other gaffs in the way he wears his clothes, he’d rather know about it now than before the two of you reach town.

You grin, giving a nod of approval. You open your mouth to say the first thing on your mind, but quickly close it when shyness overtakes you. But…after a pause, you give in. “Very handsome,” you say softly, feeling your cheeks warm and hoping the remark isn’t too forward.

DJ’s brows raise in surprise. The possibility of his human form being considered “handsome” by humans was not something he’d ever considered. It hadn’t been something he’d cared to consider.

But…it is nice to hear, coming from you.

“Thank you,” he signs, his own smile turning shy as well. He’s too flustered to decide if he should reciprocate or not. He adores your appearance, along with everything else about you, even if no human would ever be close to what spiderfolk would call “handsome” or “beautiful”. There’s a charm in your appearance, and your kind smile and the sparkle in your eyes never fails to lift his spirits. But is “handsome” the word for that? He’s not sure. He’d never been great with words, whether spiderspeak or Common. On the rare occasions lyrics had been given to his songs they hadn’t been written by him.

He deliberates a second too long and the moment passes by.

You begin to lead him down the path to the road. He’s only been to the road once. Usually you both keep to the narrow paths that lead around your forest homestead, but you had at least shown him where the road is. Down a winding, wooded trail that looked just like any other until it reached the brick-laid road connecting the nearby town to several others.

The walk to town is long, longer than any trek DJ’s done since you’d taken him in. Possibly even longer than what he’d managed to travel on any given day during his time lost in the woods, too. But proper footwear helps, as does being far more used to his new body than he had been back then. At least with the cool weather he doesn’t sweat as much, so that bit of unpleasantness is more manageable as well.

Still, even as the tall gates of the town entrance appear on the horizon, DJ can already tell he’s going to need a couple days rest after this trek.

It will also be the first time DJ sees a human other than you, at least up close. You had passed a few travelers on the road--a handful of individuals, a couple groups, people on horseback, and even a merchant wagon. DJ had mimicked your polite nod each time, and while DJ himself did get several second, third, and even fourth glances, nobody deigned to remark on him.

At least those brief glimpses had served as a primer before entering the crowded marketplace of the town. Not only for the presence of humans aside from you, but for the looks he’d get, as you’d mentioned.

Standing head and shoulders above even the tallest humans, DJ doesn’t exactly blend into the crowd. There are indeed looks and whispers as he walks down the street at your side. Many are more intrigued than suspicious, as it’s not uncommon for travelers who are either faetouched or not quite human to pass through more populated towns like this, but you still lightly take DJ’s arm in yours, silently conveying to anyone taking note that this mysterious stranger is not traveling alone.

Not that anyone seems particularly eager to start trouble with a man of DJ’s size. You and DJ are both glad they don’t know DJ’s rather docile demeanor and highly limited knowledge of how to even fight in this form means nearly any human in the village could probably best him if they truly wanted to.

You can easily tell that DJ’s ill at ease among the populace, and truth be told you were never particularly fond of crowded streets and loud marketplaces either.

But it’s at least familiar to you.

DJ, for his part, is no stranger to attention. He’d been Queen’s favored composer and would-be consort, after all. But there’s something markedly different about the stares and whispers he’s getting now. Admiration and awe has been replaced with a guarded mistrust, and harmless titterings and gossip are now whispers of suspicion.

He walks slightly closer to you and some of his tension eases when he feels you gently squeeze his arm as you lead him to the first stop on the shopping trip.

An alchemy shop, specifically the largest one in town. It seems like a good starting point for unknown medicinal herbs.

Much of the shop is dark, but the sample wares are spread out in enchanted glass cases, lit with small glowstones and preserving the plants and alchemical components…all while ensuring no customer can touch them. Ostensibly for the protection of the customers, but some of the materials are so expensive even stealing a pinch of them would cause a noticeable dip in the store’s revenue.

The shop is currently empty, save for the shopkeeper and one other customer. The other customer’s skin is more blue-tinged than any other human DJ’s passed by today, and their ears a bit more pointed…DJ spends half a moment trying to puzzle out if they’re an elf or a human before concluding they’re probably both. He manages to pull his gaze away just before his curious look turns into a full on stare, reminding himself to focus on the task at hand.

You go to the counter where the shopkeep stands. He doesn’t bother pretending he’s not appraising you and DJ, but you suppose as the shopkeep it’s his right to do so.

“I’ll see about selling this stuff,” you say to DJ, holding out your hand so he can pass you the bundle of roc goods. “Why don’t you see if they have what we need?”

DJ nods, and begins roaming the aisles and shelves while you show the shopkeep your potential wares.

You’ve never been much for bartering, but reminding yourself that these are Lil’ M’s goods that you’re speaking for makes you a bit more stubborn, and you manage to negotiate a better price than you would be if you’d considered the skull and feathers to be your own prize.

Meanwhile, DJ has also found success in his task. He manages to find all the items on his mental list, transcribing both the Common names and the needed quantities onto a physical list. He’s mildly curious what humans typically use these sorts of herbs for, but he’s not going to worry about that now. He’s just glad humans do have a use for them, at least enough of one to warrant stocking them in an alchemy shop.

It’s not completely perfect, though. Some of the herbs are dried when siderfolk would use them fresh, and one seems to be only available in a ground up paste. DJ’s just glad the signage for said paste had a picture of the herb’s leaf on it, or he may have accidentally been forced to skip that item on the list. Still, he hopes the fact that the leaves were probably ground up weeks or months ago at this point doesn’t hurt the efficacy too much.

He brings the list up to the counter shortly after you and the shopkeep agree on a price for the roc goods. The shopkeep skims DJ’s list, arching a brow curiously and glancing between you and DJ. Evidently he’s never seen anyone purchase such a combination of goods before, but he chooses not to comment on it, instead going to the back to gather the appropriate items from storage.

“So that’s everything, then?” you ask as the two of you exit the shop.

“One more thing I want to look for. A type of cloth.”

You frown up at him in confusion. “Cloth? For Lil’ M?”

DJ nods, tying the bag of herbs to his belt before signing, “Spiderfolk use it to protect their hearing.”

Your frown deepens, your brow creasing in worry. “His…hearing? I didn’t know his hearing needed protection…” you say softly, once again taking DJ’s arm as the two of you head to the clothier.

DJ winces guiltily, but refuses to break his promise to Lil’ M. “Sometimes guests are loud. And with him molting and restless, the extra quiet may help him sleep.”

“I see…” you say. “Well, the clothier I ordered your outfits from--Mirthgrove--does have some specialty items. So maybe she’ll have this fabric too.”

You keep hold of his arm as the two of you weave through the busy streets to the clothier.

As you enter, the young woman glances up. You don’t know her first name, but you assume she shares her surname with the shop itself. Her brows raise as she glances at DJ, recognizing her own work on him before even registering your presence. Her gaze shifts to you, and she clears her throat awkwardly. “Well. I see your measurements were indeed accurate.”

You laugh politely, and DJ offers a mildly apologetic shrug.

“Looking for some winter clothing? It’s getting colder out,” Mirthgrove says conversationally.

You shake your head. “Not today. We’re looking for a special type of cloth.”

She chuckles wryly. “I see. I do have some of those,” she says patiently.

“I don’t know the sign for it,” DJ tells you. “It’s the wool of…” He pauses, once again not knowing the sign for the specific creature he’s thinking of. “Mountain animal. Similar to a sheep, but much bigger, more territorial. Wool would be pitch black.”

You translate for Mirthgrove, and she frowns a bit, nodding. “Sounds like a dire tenebris ram.” She arches a brow. “Going sailing?”

“Sailing?” you repeat blankly.

She turns, rummaging through the bolts of fabric at the back of the shop. “This type of wool is usually used by sailors. They cover their ears with it to prevent sirensongs from taking them.”

“Oh…um, I see,” you say, having nothing else to offer.

She lays a bolt of fabric on the desk, pitch black as DJ said. You lightly touch the corner of it out of curiosity. It doesn’t feel like normal wool. It feels softer, and to your surprise, you realize you can’t even hear the faint rustle of the fabric as DJ takes the corner to inspect it for himself.

By his estimate, it does feel mostly like the correct material, but things still feel different in this form sometimes. And it’s been years since he’s had any need to handle the stuff. But, Mirthgrove does seem to know the creature he’d described, and if it blocks out sirensong there’s certainly a chance it would also block out the arcane resonance of a human’s voice.

“What do you think?” you ask him.

“I think it’s right. Or certainly as close as we’re likely to find.”

“Alright,” you say with a nod, then turn to the shopkeep. “We’ll take it.”

She lays out the fabric to cut it, and after a bit more deliberation, you ultimately end up with far more than you need. The earmuffs for Lil’ M only need to be a few square inches, but Mirthgrove isn’t willing to sell scraps that small.

You suppose the earmuffs will wear out and need replacing at some point anyway, so you’ll just take the extra cloth and store it away until then.

It’s quite expensive, but it’s not a price you need to balk at after what you earned from the roc parts.

With the hard parts of the trip now over, you take DJ with you to do a bit more of your normal shopping. Top up on flour, sugar, rice, and a few spices and preserves.

And of course, Lil’ M’s requested candies.

You’re getting him several of his favorites this time, rather than just the usual one or two. Most from a sweets shop and bakery, but you also peruse the traveling merchant cards for some of the harder to find goodies that he likes.

DJ looks over the carts with you, curious about the various candies and treats on display. Some of them do look pretty good, though he’s not about to ask for any when you’re shopping for Lil’ M. Another time, perhaps.

His gaze wanders as you pick through the selection on one of the carts. It’s not so different from the marketplaces in the cluster, aside from the cluster having very few traveling merchants, as spiderfolk are a far less wandering people than humans seem to be. But there’s still the typical browsing, haggling, socializing, and more or less anything he’d expect at the cluster.

As he ponders this, his eye wanders to an alleyway, where he sees two humans leaning against the side of one of the shops, embracing each other. They’re giggling and laughing and…doing something odd with their faces. At first he thinks it’s something similar to the forehead bumps he’s shared with you, but it seems to be their lips.

He quirks a brow, canting his head as he watches.

“Oh! They have the honey sticks he likes!” you say happily. You glance up at DJ for his response, only to see him staring off. You follow his gaze to the couple in the alleyway, and feel your face heat up when you realize what they’re doing. Still, you have to suppress a snort as you tug DJ’s sleeve. “DJ! Don’t stare,” you say, trying to keep the laughter out of your tone at his faux pas. You really should be mortified at such a blunder. Most people would be. But you’ve grown to find his earnest naivete charming, and apparently even this isn’t going to be the exception.

He winces, giving you a sheepish look. “Sorry,” he signs simply.

“It’s alright…Just uh…a bit improper,” you say easily, paying for the candies before taking his arm.

He gives an apologetic nod, but lets the matter drop for now.

It’s the last stop of your day, so you make your way out of town, heading down the brick road towards home. DJ couldn’t be more eager to head back and get some rest…and quiet.

But he still wonders at that couple in the alleyway. So once you’re a ways out of town, and nobody else is on the road nearby, he asks “What were those two doing? The ones in the alley?”

You glance at him in surprise, though quickly realize said surprise is probably unearned. From how sheltered he is, him not recognizing a kiss is probably pretty predictable, but the way he’d stared at the couple in confusion should have all but confirmed that he’d had little understanding of what he’d been looking at.

“Kissing,” you say, releasing his arm long enough to demonstrate the sign before once again lightly putting your arms around his. “You’ve never…um, seen it?” you ask hesitantly, glancing up at him.

He shakes his head. “It looked…” He pauses, trying to pick the right word. “Significant?” he says, his uncertainty about his word choice clear on his face.

Your light laugh eases some of the awkwardness you both are feeling. “It is,” you say. “There are…um, some different types of kissing,” you say, feeling your cheeks warm slightly. It feels improper to plainly discuss something so intimate, outside of your home no less, but…well, DJ’s clearly gone too long without the information for subtlety to be of any help.

“What they were doing was…well, it’s um…something you do with someone you love. Romantically. It’s…part of courtship, usually…”

DJ gazes down at you thoughtfully as you answer. He’s less surprised by your answer than you had been at his question. The kissing had seemed noteworthy to him…and courtship is certainly that, so the explanation fits.

“You said there are other types?”

You nod. “Yes. A quick peck on the forehead or cheek, usually…Those can be romantic but aren’t always. It can be between family or close friends too.”

He cants his head. “Quick peck?” he signs, confused at the phrase.

You look up at him again. If he weren’t so tall you could stand on your toes and demonstrate exactly what you mean…

Your face burns at the impropriety of that notion and you quickly look away. “Y-Yeah,” you squeak out awkwardly. You release his arm long enough to hold up your hand and plant a kiss on the back of it. “Like that,” you say.

DJ nods. You don’t think much of his curiosity on the subject, but as the conversation lapses and you wrap your arms around his once more, he can’t help but wonder at his own interest in the matter.

He could tell himself it’s just one more thing on his long list of human societal norms he has yet to learn. That he needs to learn to interact with humans other than you at some point. Even if he lives with you on the farm for the rest of his days, he does want to be able to go into town or deal with visitors to the farm without coming across as too “off”. Not for his own sake, of course, but to be of help to you and Lil’ M.

But it’s more than that. Questions about human courtship are pushing their way to the front of his mind, even though there are so many more useful things he could ask about. What use is human courtship to him?

DJ can’t pretend he doesn’t already know the answer to that question. Nor, he realizes, does he want to pretend he doesn’t.

He doesn’t know if courting you is wise. He doesn’t know how you’d react. But…he can at least admit, if only to himself, that he’d like to try. Someday.

It’s a heady thing to admit. He’d never initiated courtship back at the cluster--he’d been far too shy and introverted in his youth, and then as an adult, he’d never felt the same urgency around finding a mate that some of his peers had, despite having many opportunities once his music had taken off.

You lean on him slightly as you walk down the empty road, enjoying the quiet of the walk back after the loud chaos of the town. Despite having taken his arm to keep each other close in the crowds, and to steady him when he’d seemed nervous, you still keep your arms wrapped around his. You’re in no hurry to release him, and he’s clearly not in any hurry to be released either.

It’s nearly dusk when you turn off the brick road and onto the small dirt path leading to your farm.

“It was nice having company,” you say, giving his arm a light, almost affectionate squeeze. “I-I mean…n-not that…I expect you to make a habit of this of course!” you assure him quickly. “I know it’s…a lot, especially if you’re not used to it.”

DJ smiles down at you warmly. “Only one way to get used to it,” he points out.

You laugh softly. “I suppose so,” you say. “But…there’s no rush. I-I just…wanted you to know that…it was nice having you with me today,” you say, feeling your cheeks warm at the sentiment.

He places a hand over one of yours, squeezing it gently before releasing it to sign, “It was nice being with you today.”

Your heart skips a beat at his phrasing, and all you can do is grin fondly up at him. If he were just a bit better at reading human expressions and a bit more confident in himself, he’d see immediately how smitten you are and he’d never again doubt his ability to court you.

As you reach the door to your home, you release his arm and he lowers himself to bump his forehead against yours before heading inside. Your day isn’t over yet--and neither of you need to say or sign a word to know that.

You gather some of the treats out of the bags while DJ begins sorting through the herbs and fabrics, preparing to turn the day’s purchases into something that’ll make Lil’ M more comfortable.

You go into the bedroom to check in Lil’ M, and find him asleep in his web. He doesn’t look any worse than he did this morning, and most of the food you’d left near his web this morning has been eaten, both of which are good signs.

He doesn’t stir as you sit down near the web, and you debate with yourself for a moment on if you should disrupt his sleep. Perhaps technically you shouldn’t, but you guess he won’t be very happy with you if he finds out you’d let him sleep when there were treats to be had.

You remove one of the honey sticks from the bag, laying it across the web in front of Lil’ M’s face. His nose twitches and his pedipalps reach towards the treat, pulling it towards his mouth before he’s even fully awake.

You chuckle softly at that, and Lil’ M blinks awake sleepily, barely aware of what he’s doing as he holds the honey stick in his pedipalps and bites down on the treat. The sweet taste jolts him awake the rest of the way, and he blinks in pleasant surprise, chittering happily as he glances over at you.

You laugh warmly, glad to see him in good spirits despite how close he is to molting. “More where that came from,” you say, passing him another honey stick. He accepts it eagerly, holding it in his hands a moment as he finishes the first one. He moves the second into his pedipalps, eating a bit more slowly as he signs, “Thank you. Town was okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. Same as it usually is.”

He hesitates, then signs, “DJ is okay?”

Your expression softens at his concern and you nod. “Of course. DJ did very well.”

*

In the kitchen, DJ is doing slightly less well than he’d hoped. He hasn’t had to mix his own medicines or ointments in years. He’d been so sure that he still remembers the process, but those memories are more rusty than he’d realized. Plus, he doesn’t have his usual measuring cups, and he’s unsure how yours translate. Eyeballing measurements based on memory is incredibly difficult when he’s roughly twice his current size in said memories.

He’s glad he’d picked out a large supply, and equally glad that Lil’ M’s a smaller spiderling who’ll need less in general. He wastes more of the ingredients than he’d hoped he would, mixing things too fast or two slow, grinding up the herbs before they’re needed causing them to brown prematurely. Some of the ingredients are quite fickle. They’re not difficult recipes, but he’s considerably out of practice. But, he eventually ends up with a batch that looks and smells to how he remembered it looking the last time he’d made it years ago.

While the medicines are percolating, he gets out the fabric, using his limited sewing skills to make up a set of earmuffs. The making of such things is another thing most young spiderfolk learn at some point. While dire tenebris ram felt is the only thing that completely blocks the arcane resonance, regular wool or fur is certainly far better than nothing, so if one finds themself away from the cluster, it’s prudent to know how to make up some protection.

Finally, he has the ointment, medication, and earmuffs ready. He places them all on the tray and heads into you and Lil’ M’s room, where Lil’ M is finishing off his sixth honey stick.

You get up, brushing yourself off and giving DJ a kind smile. “I’ll go get dinner started,” you say, lightly touching DJ’s arm as you pass him.

He nods, then takes a seat beside the web, setting the tray down next to himself.

Lil’ M watches him curiously, still unable to completely meet his gaze.

“I’m going to put some medicine on you, alright?” DJ signs. “It’ll help with the itching.”

Lil’ M grimaces, but nods. He assumes this will be like the ointments you’ve tried on him at various points. Sticky, wet, or goopy substances that stick in his fur uncomfortably, replacing the itchiness with a slightly less unpleasant sensation, but not exactly making Lil’ M “comfortable” by even fairly charitable definitions.

DJ dips a cloth into one of the bowls, soaking up the blue-tinged liquid before looping the cloth over his first two fingers. As he raises his hand to apply the ointment, Lil’ M closes his eyes, flinching, and DJ wishes he could say something comforting to the spiderling.

He gently runs the cloth over Lil’ M’s head and back, and Lil’ M shudders as the liquid runs down his fur--or what remains of his fur--unpleasantly. But after a moment, the liquid soaks into his exoskeleton, and whatever doesn’t quickly evaporates, leaving Lil’ M just as dry as he’d been before DJ started treating him.

But considerably less itchy.

Lil’ M blinks in surprise, chittering curiously as DJ finishes applying the ointment to his arms and remaining legs.

DJ grins at him as he sets the cloth back on the tray. “Medicine for spiderfolk. Works better than medicine for humans.”

He looks stunned, as if he had never dared to dream he could be this comfortable so close to molting. “Thank you,” he signs meekly.

“You’re welcome,” he signs easily before picking up a small mug from the tray and handing it to Lil’ M.

He looks at it curiously, sitting up to take it in both hands.

“More medicine. Mixed with egg to taste better.”

Lil’ M frowns slightly, his nose wrinkling.

“Doesn’t hide the taste entirely…but it helps,” DJ admits.

Lil’ M’s shoulders slump and he lets out a soft sigh. He closes his eyes and lifts the mug, quickly downing it. His chelicerae and pedipalps curl over his mouth as he hisses in disgust, dropping the empty mug.

DJ quickly catches it, setting it back on the tray. “Sorry,” he signs. “But it’ll help loosen your exoskeleton. Less itching.”

He lays back down, sulking at the vile taste still in his mouth.

DJ gives him an apologetic smile, then passes him another honey stick to try to chase away the horrid flavor.

He perks at that, accepting it and nibbling on it slowly, savoring it more than he had the first few.

“One more thing,” DJ signs, picking up the makeshift earmuffs he’d put together. He gently slides them over Lil’ M’s head, adjusting the headband and making sure the earpieces are over his ear openings.

Lil’ M chitters thoughtfully, holding the honey stick in his pedipalps while reaching up to cup the earpieces with his hands. Of course, he doesn’t notice much difference with only DJ in the room. Finally, he glances up at DJ hesitantly. “What did you tell them?”

“That guests are loud and this may help you sleep. I kept my promise--didn’t say anything about their voice,” he assures him gently. He certainly doesn’t begrudge him for asking.

He finishes the honey stick and settles onto his web. DJ’s about to gather up the tray and give him space to rest when Lil’ M lifts his hands to sign.

“Sorry,” he signs, making the sign in a small, timid motion. “Sorry I was…mean.”

DJ’s expression softens and he smiles gently. “You weren’t mean. You were grumpy.”

Lil’ M smiles weakly. “Still sorry.” “Apology accepted, friend.” DJ passes him another honey stick, and Lil’ M takes it in his pedipalps, closing his eyes and letting instinct guide his movements as he begins to fall asleep while eating.

DJ smiles fondly at the young spiderling before getting up and heading into the kitchen to see if you need any help with dinner. Though from the tasty aroma wafting through the house, he guesses you’ve got the situation in hand.

You’re just finishing up cooking some of the rice you’d bought in town today, mixing in some melted butter and seasonings. A good end to a day in town--a simple recipe, easy to make, but still special due to how infrequently you have rice.

“How’d it go?” you ask him as you pour the rice into a serving bowl.

“Good. Medicine seems to be helping,” DJ signs. “Seems to be in a better mood.”

“Good,” you say, relieved.

There’s little conversation to be had while you eat, and the two of you simply quietly enjoy each other’s company and the meal you’re sharing. Once you’re done, DJ gathers up the dishes and takes them to the sink.

“Thanks, DJ,” you say sleepily. You stand and stretch before letting out a tired sigh. “I think I’m heading to bed a bit early tonight…” you say, absently rubbing at your tired eyes.

You feel DJ’s hands on your shoulders and look up to see him smiling warmly down at you. Your heart flutters and you feel your cheeks warming up. He gently squeezes your shoulders and then pulls you close in a hug.

You wrap your arms around him, your head resting against his chest. He’s so comfortable to lean against…you wish you could fall asleep against him right here, right now, and you’re too tired to even pretend to be scandalized at the thought of doing such a thing.

Eventually he pulls away, gently bumping his forehead against yours. He rests against you a bit longer than usual before finally pulling away, just enough to lift his head and plant a gentle kiss on your forehead.

His lips are just as soft as you’d guessed…

Your knees go weak for a moment and if you weren’t still holding onto him you would have stumbled.

“Goodnight,” he signs.

You lower your gaze, faking a yawn to hide your flustered state. “Goodnight, DJ…” you say dazedly. You quickly turn and duck into your room, shyness overtaking you.

But not before DJ catches a fond grin aimed his way. There’s hope, he thinks.

Lil’ M is sound asleep in his web as you climb under the covers, and you hope your pounding heart doesn’t wake him.

DJ…had kissed you. Had it been a romantic gesture…or platonic? You’d made it clear a forehead kiss could be either.

You hope it’s the former…and you can’t help smile softly to yourself as you snuggle under the covers, hugging a pillow to your chest as your heart soars at the mere possibility that he could feel the same way you do.

Chapter Text

By the next evening, you can already tell the medicine is keeping Lil’ M far more comfortable than you’ve ever seen him this late in his molts. While he does still sleep most of the day, the sleep certainly seems to be far more restful. As for the earmuffs, he’s only wanted to wear them while he’s sleeping.

DJ shows you how to make the medicines he’d made for Lil’ M last night, along with how to apply them, and then you start making the week’s bread while he goes to tend to the chickens. After that, it’s leftover stew for lunch.

“So, DJ…” you begin, lifting your gaze from your plate to him. “I-I was thinking…maybe it’s time we…get you a proper bed. And um…move some stuff around in that room to make it…more yours?” you ask tentatively.

DJ’s brows raise in surprise. Between your hesitance and slightly timid tone, he can’t miss the full weight of the question. When you’d last spoken on the duration of his stay, you’d promised not to turn him out unexpectedly and, if living here didn’t work out, to help him find his feet. Yet it had still been implied that the extent of his stay was still closer to “indefinite” than “permanent”.

And now you’re asking to change that.

He smiles tenderly at you, dipping his head in a nod. “I would like that. Thank you.”

You laugh awkwardly. “Oh DJ, you don’t need to thank me for it, I…I love having you here…” you say shyly.

He feels the familiar pleasant warmth in his cheeks that your remarks often give him. If he still had his fur and pedipalps there’d be no hiding how flustered he is, and you surely would have commented on it by now.

Or perhaps his moods are more readable to a human than he realizes, and you’re just shy. DJ has to admit that’s certainly a possibility…you don’t strike him as the type to be overly forward.

After lunch, you and DJ set about your task. You work slowly, keeping the noise down so as not to rouse Lil’ M, though DJ assures you Lil’ M is thoroughly asleep now that the medicine is keeping the itching at bay.

The desk is moved to the living room, making the main area of the house a bit more crowded but freeing up space for a proper bed in DJ’s room. Two of the shelves and a trunk are moved to the main room as well, with one of the shelves being slated to be moved into your room once Lil’ M wakes up. Various knickknacks are consolidated as you clear out an additional trunk and half of another set of shelves are cleared to be reserved for DJ’s things.

You’d originally wanted to clear a full set of shelves for him, but he’d protested that there was absolutely no rush to clear so much space for him when the only thing he has to put on it is the harp. Eventually, you concede that perhaps clearing that much space right now is a bit ambitious.

As nice as it is for the space to start feeling more his own, DJ isn’t without a bit of guilt that you may be getting rid of some of the various books, trinkets, and knick knacks stored in this room to accommodate him.

“The main room’s going to be a bit crowded, isn’t it?” he signs while you sit on the couch for a bit, taking a break from the activity.

“A bit. Although…maybe in the spring, we could work on that extension? Maybe with two of us if we really work at it, we could finish it before next winter. Then it could be Lil’ M’s room and some of this could go in my room.”

DJ nods thoughtfully, his gaze drifting up to the planks and support beams that make up the ceiling. He wonders how difficult such an undertaking would be. No work has been done on the extension since he’s arrived, so he’s not sure how hard the work would actually be.

In any case, he’s sure you wouldn’t’ve suggested it if you weren’t reasonably confident that it’s doable.

After dinner, DJ watches as you make another batch of Lil’ M’s ointment. The one downside of this particular medicine is that it needs to be prepared fresh shortly before being applied. The same properties that cause the excess to evaporate so quickly also give it an incredibly short shelf-life, evidently.

DJ stays in the kitchen to clean up while you head to you and Lil’ M’s room to apply his ointment and give him the medicine.

As he’s eating his post-medication honey stick, he signs, “Heard you moving things around.”

You wince guilty. “Oh, sorry…we were trying to keep it down. I hope we didn’t wake you…”

He shakes his head. “Was already awake,” he signs.

You give him a relieved smile that’s still a bit apologetic. “Good…” you say. “We were moving some things around to make space in DJ’s room, so we can see about getting him a proper bed.”

Lil’ M smirks at that, his eyes brighter and more mischievous than you’ve seen since the roc attack.

“I get my own room?” he signs with a smug grin.

You open your mouth to protest, thinking he’d either misunderstood what you’d meant or he’d been hoping the spare room would eventually be his. Even though you’d offered it to him years ago but he’d said he’d preferred--

Before you can form a response, he’s signing again. “You and DJ share.” If you’d had any doubts at what he’s implying, his nod towards your bed makes it quite clear.

It takes a beat for you to process but when you do, you feel your face burning. You let out what you’d hoped to be a rightfully indignant sputter, but ends up being more of a flustered squeak.

“Y-You!” you scold him, trying to put some severity into your tone despite the hint of a dopey smile showing through. You find you’re unable to pretend the idea is anywhere close to being truly objectionable. You glance away, running your hands over your face as if to chase away your embarrassment. “How’d you learn to be so cheeky?” you mutter. You smirk wryly at him. “Certainly not from me.”

Lil’ M clicks his fangs together as he flashes you a pleased grin. “My natural talent.”

“Hm,” you grunt in feigned disapproval. “Well, in any case, DJ has his room and we have ours.”

“For now,” he returns, causing the warmth in your cheeks to return with a vengeance.

Despite that, you manage to still your expression into a deadpan look, lightly poking his nose. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.” “In my own room?” he retorts smugly. “And you and DJ--”

You quickly (but gently) grab his hands to keep him from signing. “Do. Not,” you say, still unable to make yourself sound quite as stern as you’d’ve liked.

He opens his mouth, playfully baring his fangs and making as if to bite your hand. You decide not to call his bluff, releasing his hands and standing up, straightening your shirt with a huff of feigned indignation.

“Well, if you’re in such good spirits, maybe you can help with some cleaning tomorrow,” you tease.

Lil’ M quickly lowers his body, his belly and torso resting against the web. “Sleeping!” he signs hastily before resting his chin atop his folded arms and closing his eyes.

“Uh huh,” you say with a raised brow. As you turn to leave, you hear the faint chittering of his giggles and quickly turn back to face him. The eye he’d opened as you’d left quickly snaps shut again and he makes an exaggerated snoring noise.

You roll your eyes good naturedly as you make your exit. Under different circumstances, his bit of teasing might have bothered you a bit more. But as it is, you’re just happy he’s feeling well enough to be playful and cheeky like that.

Even if it is at your expense.

While part of you is mortified that he’d joke about such things, you can’t pretend it’s not a thought you’ve had yourself…nor can you pretend it’s at all an unappealing notion.

*

DJ had already moved outside by the time Lil’ M had made his scandalous remarks--not that he would have heard enough of your side of the conversation to have inferred much.

He leans against a tree near the uncovered chicken pen--ostensibly keeping watch while the raised tarp allows fresh air to circulate into the pen. But his mind is focused on playing his harp and occasionally writing down his notes on a wax tablet you two had found while cleaning. He wishes he’d had something like that in the cluster--it’s quite handy for crossing out and reworking his songs without wasting too much paper.

He glances towards the pen, watching Paulette scratch at the dirt near the fence. She lifts her head, glancing at him curiously. He grins and strums a few notes on the harp. Paulette gives him an unimpressed look before returning to her strut around the perimeter.

DJ chuckles silently to himself. Well, she’s not the one he’s trying to impress anyway.

There’s a song he’s been working on in his head--and in his heart--for you. But it’s hard to get it to sound the way he wants with only one harp.

Maybe he could teach you the other part, and it could be a duet?

Not that DJ wouldn’t appreciate the symbolism of that, but there’s still only one harp. Besides, you hadn’t seemed interested in learning, and so DJ doubts you have the desire to put in the time it would require for you to reach the necessary level of skill.

But most importantly, he wants to play the song to you. Because he’s writing it for you.

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the front door opening, followed by your footsteps approaching him.

“Evenin’,” you greet him, your smile seeming oddly shy.

“Good evening,” he signs.

You lean against the same tree he’s seated against, but don’t sit down yourself. You glance at the wax tablet on the ground beside him. You have no idea how to puzzle out the markings written on it. It doesn’t look like any alphabet or sheet music you’ve ever seen, but given he’s out here with his harp you assume it must be the latter. He just uses a different notation style you’re unfamiliar with, that’s all. “Are you composing?”

DJ smiles wryly. “Trying to,” he signs.

“Oh,” you say, wincing apologetically at what you assume to be a mild rebuke. “Well, I can leave you to it, I just wanted to check--”

Now it’s DJ who winces as he realizes how his quip must have sounded. He quickly shakes his head, taking your hand and gesturing for you to sit beside him. Once you do, he signs, “Sorry. Not what I meant. I’m just…having trouble with the piece, is all. It’s not you.”

“Ah…s-so you wouldn’t…mind if I stayed and listened for a bit?” you ask, almost timidly.

He shakes his head. “Not much to listen to when I’m composing. But you’re welcome to stay.”

He begins to play again, and you watch as his index and middle finger dance across the strings and the beautiful, soft melody drifts through the cool night air.

The composition does sound different than his usual “performances”--he stops mid phrase several times, only to restart and play a slightly different version of what you’d just heard. If you hadn’t realized he was composing rather than playing a full song, the awkwardness of the “composition” would be noticeable even to you.

But, as it is, you can still feel a beautiful song in the making.

Your gaze drifts up to his face. You hadn’t given his appearance much thought when he’d first arrived, other than to wonder if he was faetouched or had a distant, non-human ancestor. But now? It’s hard to imagine looking at him and not feeling your heart pulling you towards him.

His dark eyes, which had once seemed mysterious and uncanny to you, shimmer like dark pools in the moonlight. His heavy brows and the small beard on his chin that you’d first thought to be slightly graying but now realize just have an unusual bluish tinge to them. The distinct profile created by his bald head, square jaw, and large nose. The splotches of lighter skin on his nose and cheeks that don’t seem to be scars but don’t look quite like birthmarks either. His full lips that you now know to be as soft as they look…

You can’t imagine a more beautiful man.

Oh sure, some part of you still knows DJ doesn’t have the “universal” appeal that the handsome princes of the nobility have--dashing, lithe young men leaving a trail of swooning admirers in their wake with only a smile and a wink.

But those admirers can keep their pretty princes. DJ’s beautiful through and through, and you can’t ever imagine not wanting him at your side.

Your reverie is broken when DJ lets out a frustrated sigh and you quickly glance away, hoping he hadn’t noticed your fawning, dopey expression.

He doesn’t seem to have. He’s not even glancing your way as he sets the harp aside and scratches out something on the wax tablet.

“Wh-What’s wrong?” you ask once you finally manage to pull your head fully out of the clouds.

DJ gives you a small, almost sheepish smile. “Just isn’t sounding the way I want it to.”

“It sounds beautiful to me…” you say, picking up the harp and idly plucking a few strings. You don’t even register that you’re tucking your ring and pinky finger in the way DJ does when he plays--you’ve watched him play enough that it’s become your default image for how to play a harp. “But, I…I guess I’m not hearing what’s in your head.”

“I wish you could,” he signs, his expression oddly melancholy.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll figure it out!” you say optimistically, passing the harp back to him.

He smiles softly, having no way to correct you without opening the can of worms he’s promised himself to keep closed until after Lil’ M’s recovery.

But, maybe he doesn’t need to correct you, per se…Maybe you’re right, and he’ll figure something out, somehow, even if it’s not exactly what he has in his head right now.

In fact, he knows you’re right--he will figure it out, eventually.

He begins playing again, and you scoot closer, resting against his arm.

DJ lets out a soft sigh of contentment as he feels your warmth against him. Not everything about being a human is bad…in fact, it feels like there are less downsides every day. He’s come to enjoy the warm feeling in his cheeks he often gets around you, and the feeling of your warmth against him…especially on a chilly night like this.

He wonders if you feel similarly.

DJ pauses his performance for a moment, shifting the arm you’re leaning against to open his cloak, draping part of it over your shoulders.

“Th-Thanks…” you say shyly, gripping the edge of the cloak and pulling it around yourself before scooting closer to him and wrapping your arms around his upper arm as you cuddle up against him. You laugh softly, closing your eyes as your cheek rests against his arm. “You’re very warm…” you murmur fondly.

He sets the harp aside again, signing, “So are you. It’s nice.”

You lower your gaze, squeezing his arm as you lean against him. “It’s…been really nice having you here. Y-You’re…”

At your pause, he glances down at you curiously.

“You’re…the sweetest person I’ve ever met,” you finally manage.

He lowers his head, hunching his shoulders so he can give you that familiar forehead nuzzle you’ve come to adore. “That’s what you are to me, too,” he signs once he lifts his head. He pauses, then adds, “You’re…lovely.”

That’s the word he’s decided on for you. Beautiful, handsome, lovely…you’re all of those things in his eyes, and more. But he’s decided that “lovely” is his favorite word for you.

Your mouth falls open in surprise, and you quickly close it, lowering your gaze with a shy, nervous laugh. Your face is burning but you can’t stop smiling giddily at the compliment, and for a moment all you can do is mumble a shy, “Th-Thank you.”

A pause hangs between the two of you for a moment, both of you wondering who will make the next move.

You’re tempted to lean forward, to press your lips against his. You’d give him time to pull back if he wanted, of course, but…

You’d only just explained what kissing even is to him yesterday. If you just lean in he may not realize what you’re doing until it’s already done.

“DJ…Can…Can I kiss you?” you finally ask.

You don’t even realize DJ had been having a similar debate in his own mind. Wondering if he should ask, or how quickly he should just lean in…

He dips his head in a nod, leaning forward readily and slowly pressing his lips against yours.

Your heart is hammering in your chest as you lean into the kiss, cupping his face in your hands. He places his hands over yours, pressing your warm palms against his cheeks.

It’s a long and lingering kiss, but still a fairly chaste one…mainly due to your mutual inexperience with such things.

When your lips part, he keeps his hands over yours as he nuzzles his forehead against yours.

You let out a soft sigh of contentment. “I love you, DJ,” you murmur.

The words slip out before you’ve fully thought through what you’re saying, but that doesn’t make them any less true.

DJ pulls away, somewhat abruptly, to look down at you in surprise.

You laugh nervously, glancing away. “S-Sorry, I-I…I w-was j-just--” you stammer, struggling to find a way to ease the forwardness of your statement without walking back the sentiment behind it.

DJ cups your cheek in his hand, gently turning your gaze back to him so he can sign. The warm, gentle smile on his face makes your heart skip a beat.

“I love you too.”

Seeing him sign those four magic words feels almost too good to be true. You feel your eyes misting as you suddenly lean forward, throwing your arms around him, squeezing him as tightly as you can even though your hands can’t reach each other around his large frame. You bury your face in his chest as he wraps his arms and his cloak around you, pulling you into his warm embrace.

He leans down to kiss the top of your head, and eventually your grip on him relaxes. You adjust yourself so you’re cuddled up against him, gazing up at him dotingly while you lightly caress his cheek.

DJ once again holds your hand against his cheek, enjoying the warmth. Face touches like this are not something spiderfolk tend to do. At least not with their hands. Most of the time spiderfolk only ever touch their partner’s face with their pedipalps. It’s not taboo to lightly rest a hand on a partner’s cheek, but pedipalps are just softer and gentler, and already close to the face. It seems a little odd to do it any other way.

But humans obviously don’t have pedipalps, and their hands are soft and warm. DJ never thought he’d be so eager to feel his partner’s hand against his cheek, but now…he can’t imagine anything else.

He’s never had much in the way of physical intimacy. He’d held pedipalps briefly with one of his suitors, giving in to their pushiness and then regretting it immediately, and certainly never going any farther than that.

DJ doesn’t even know how he’d go any further than that with a human. As a human.

He lifts his hands to sign, and you take the hint and scoot back slightly to give him room.

“Have you ever courted?” he asks.

You blink in surprise, but you shake your head, laughing gently. “No. Never had the time…or the interest.”

He cants his head, arching a brow. “No interest?”

“Oh…not no interest, I suppose,” you say, smiling up at him with a playful yet slightly shy grin. “But…by the time I was old enough to think of such things I already had Lil’ M, and…I’m sure you can imagine how courting with a spiderfolk younger brother would go,” you say with a weak laugh. “But even if I didn’t have him, I think I would have taken my time anyway. I wasn’t in any rush…”

He’s not surprised by your answer, but hadn’t wanted to assume. So he is, technically, the more experienced of the two of you, though whether experience being courted as a spiderfolk by his fellow spiderfolk counts for anything in his current situation is debatable.

“I’m not in a rush either,” he signs.

You laugh warmly, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze before once again draping his cloak over yourself and snuggling against him.

DJ once again picks up his harp, strumming a few notes. He’s more eager than ever to complete the song he’s writing for you.

Your eyes are closed as you listen to the song take shape. After a few bars, you nuzzle your cheek against his arm, murmuring, “You could have quite a career as a musician, I think.”

DJ’s playing ceases so abruptly that you open your eyes and glance up at him, worried you’d said something wrong, but he simply stares down at you a moment before letting out a wry snort.

If you only knew.

His shoulders shake as he chuckles silently, and for a moment he really does find genuine amusement in the innocent remark.

If you only knew.

Memories of the cluster begin to flood his head, thoughts he’s managed to avoid dwelling on in the past few weeks. Thoughts so dark they manage to chase away the joy he’d felt just a moment ago.

All his instruments, his old sheet music, all his work…gone, irreplaceable. Even if he could recall every single song, he’d never be able to perform them as he’d written them. As he’d want to write them. Not in this body.

He’ll never be himself again. He’ll never be a real musician again. His music will always be a shadow of what it once was.

If you only knew.

Neither of you realize the laughter has given way to sobs until the moonlight catches the tears running down his cheeks.

Your eyes widen and you scramble to kneel in front of him, gripping his shoulders and pulling him into a hug. “DJ, I-I’m sorry!” you squeak out, unsure what exactly you’re apologizing for. It’s clear your remark struck a nerve but you cannot imagine how or why. “DJ, please…I-I…I didn’t mean anything bad…”

Your embrace centers him, pulls him back to the present. He sucks in ragged, shaky breaths as his hands grip your tunic.

In his heart of hearts, DJ doesn’t actually want to go back to the cluster. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss it. At least some of it. Maybe even most of it, in some ways? He doesn’t miss being pursued by Ballora, obviously…and as for fame? Well, it had its upsides and downsides. If there’d been a way for his music to get famous without him getting famous himself he probably would have leapt at that…but mostly he tolerated the latter for the sake of the former.

He misses his old body more than the cluster, though the thought of never again seeing his ancestral home does make his heart ache.

He hunches forward, and you shift your grip on him so that his forehead can rest against your shoulder.

Your whispered apologies for whatever you did to upset him reach him and he pulls you close, nuzzling his cheek against your hair.

Missing the cluster may make his heart ache…but it would break completely if he had to leave you.

He lifts his head enough to nuzzle his forehead against yours, and feels you gently wiping the tears away with your sleeve.

“I’m sorry, DJ…I didn’t mean anything bad,” you repeat, whispering softly as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. “I didn’t mean to upset you…”

Your own voice wavers with emotion. It hurts you deeply to see him so upset, especially knowing that something you’d said may have caused it. What on earth had you stumbled over that could break him so quickly? You haven’t seen him this upset since the night you found him. Even during all the stress and anguish of Lil’ M’s injury, DJ had managed to keep his emotions in check and focus on what was needed to help you and your brother.

But you suppose it had been foolish of you to think whatever had happened to him, whatever horrible series of events had led him to your doorstep, is something he could have truly gotten over by now.

“Come on. Let’s go inside and get you warmed up,” you say gently, tucking the harp under one arm and looping the other around his back. He keeps one of his arms over your shoulders, allowing you to coax him back inside.

You help him out of his cloak, hanging it up and shelving the harp while he goes to his room. By the time you follow him, he’s already laid down on his bedroll, staring sullenly up at the ceiling.

“DJ…” you say gently, sitting down on the floor next to his bedroll, one hand lightly touching his shoulder. “I…I hope…it didn’t sound like I was saying that because…I wanted something from you? You do so much around here already, I…I only said it because…I thought it would make you happy.”

DJ’s gaze flicks to you and a look of guilt flickers across his face. He shakes his head, then finally lifts his hands to sign, “No. I know that’s not what you meant.”

You smile sadly. “Good…because…I love you. Not the chores you get done or whatever coin you may bring in someday. I…I love having you here just…with me…” you say, smiling shyly as you lightly rest a hand on his cheek.

“I love being here,” he says. He smiles warmly up at you, even though the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He sighs, returning his gaze to the ceiling. “The truth is, I was a musician once.”

You glance at him in surprise. Given the state he’d been in when he’d arrived, you hadn’t assumed he’d had anything that could be called a career.

Then again, he’d just said “musician”...no mention of a career.

“I’d been planning on telling you once Lil’ M gets better,” he signs.

“You still can,” you assure him gently. You lift a hand to his cheek, using your thumb to wipe away a stray tear. “You deserve to know,” he signs before adjusting himself to sit upright.

“Maybe,” you concede. “But it doesn’t have to be now. It can be whenever you’re ready.”

His frown deepens, and he gazes at you, his inner conflict clear in his dark eyes.

“There’s wisdom in waiting until Lil’ M’s healed. Whatever it is…it’s clearly a lot,” you say gently, squeezing his hand. “And…when you do tell me, you’ll deserve my undivided attention. And I want you to have that, okay?” you assure him gently.

DJ watches you, quietly considering your words. Finally, he dips his head in a nod before nuzzling his forehead against yours. When he lifts his head, he signs, “Stay with me? Just for tonight?”

“T-Tonight?!” you squeak in surprise, startled by the invitation.

He flinches. “Sorry! Just laying together. Sleeping. Nothing more,” he signs quickly.

He’s not even sure what more there would be, but your reaction makes it clear that such a request could mean something less chaste than DJ had in mind.

You put a hand over your chest, trying to quiet your pounding heart.

“Sorry,” he signs again, glancing away awkwardly. Maybe he is asking too much. Maybe this is “rushing” by human standards. “I only wanted company, nothing more. I promise.”

You smile weakly. “Well…company would be nice…” you say gently. “I’ll go get changed,” you say. You make as if to get up, then pause, leaning forward and kissing his cheek.

DJ grins shyly at that, lightly touching the lingering spot of warmth your lips had left.

You quickly sneak into your room, gathering up your sleeping gown and changing behind the folding screen. You try to move quietly, hoping Lil’ M doesn’t wake up and notice you leaving the room in your sleepwear.

If he does, he keeps quiet about it, and you’re soon back in DJ’s room.

The bedroll is a bit narrow for two people, especially when one of them is as large as DJ, but it’s enough if you don’t mind getting close…which you certainly don’t, even if you’re both still a bit shy.

He wraps his arms around you under the covers, gently holding you against himself. His ability to communicate is limited right now--even if he could sign, it’s too dark for you to be able to see it. So he moves carefully, slowly, giving you plenty of time to object if he does something you deem too forward.

Which he doesn’t. Certainly not on purpose, and not by accident either. He simply holds you in his arms, lightly nuzzling his forehead against yours before giving you a gentle, lingering kiss.

You snuggle into his warm embrace, sighing contentedly. “I love you, DJ,” you say softly.

Unable to sign a reply, he gives you a warm, gentle squeeze and a light kiss on the forehead.

His meaning is certainly clear enough.

Chapter Text

Despite the bedroll being both smaller and a bit less plush than your own bed, falling asleep in DJ’s arms gives you the most restful sleep you’ve had since the roc attack.

When you drift awake, you feel his chin resting against the top of your head, his quiet snoring indicating he’s still asleep. You close your eyes, resting your forehead against his chest, unwilling to leave his warm embrace just yet.

The snoring fades after a moment, and he gives you a gentle squeeze, indicating he’s awake.

“Morning,” you mumble softly, and feel him kiss the top of your head in response. You giggle softly, snuggling up against him as you feel one of his hands lightly rubbing your back.

Eventually, you pull away slightly, stretching. “Think it’s about time I get breakfast started,” you say.

DJ nods, scooting back and letting you slide out from under the blanket. As you enter the main room, you see Lil’ M standing on the dining room table, smirking.

You squeak in surprise, nearly jumping out of your skin. “L-Lil’ M!” you stammer. “Wh-What are you doing up?”

“Breakfast,” he signs, nodding to the bowl of eggs in front of him.

“Oh, I could have gotten that for you…You really should still be resting…” you say, worried that he’d been up and about so much this close to molting.

He shakes his head. “Medicine has been helping.” His smirk returns. “Noticed you sneaking last night.”

You shift awkwardly. “O-Oh?” you answer, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.

“Not sneaky.”

You give him a wry look. “Well, I’m only human!” you quip, earning a chittering laugh.

You go to your room to dress for the day, and while you’re doing so, DJ emerges from his room, earning a similar too-knowing smirk from Lil’ M.

DJ simply smiles sheepishly at him. “Good morning,” he signs.

“Seems to be,” Lil’ M signs smugly. His smirk fades a moment as he turns, scratching an itchy spot on his abdomen, causing more of his already thinning fur to fall out.

DJ’s expression softens, and he signs, “Looks like last night’s ointment is wearing off.” He goes over to the table, nudging Lil’ M’s hands away from his abdomen. “Try not to scratch. I’ll get another batch made.”

And with that, the matter of you and DJ is dropped…at least for the moment.

It’s a good thing you and DJ both want to take things slow, for Lil’ M’s approaching molt gives you little other choice. While the actual time taken to care for him is not that much, worries about him and what he may need are never far from you and DJ’s minds, which leaves less time for thoughts of your budding romance.

But not no time.

Despite DJ’s initial request for company being “Just for tonight”, you don’t return to your own bed. You had intended to, but after you had stayed late in his room, both of you sitting on his bedroll while he’d played his harp for you, you’d decided to spend your nights with him.

Lil’ M, for his part, seems to have had no trouble figuring out what was going on between you and DJ, but aside from the occasional teasing or smug little smirk, he seems content to let you two figure yourselves out at your own pace…but you’re sure he’s going to be more of a pest about it once he’s recovered.

Spiderling or human, he’s still a younger brother.

Over the course of the next few days, it’s decided that Lil’ M will get DJ’s room, and you and DJ will eventually share your room, with no need to get a second bed or move your current one. Though both your bed and Lil’ M’s web are immovable for the time being, so the two of you will be sharing the bedroll until after Lil’ M molts.

If he were still a spidertaur, DJ would simply offer to spin up a new web for Lil’ M…and perhaps one for you and himself to share. He briefly considered making a second web of twine, so Lil’ M doesn’t have to sit around waiting for the teardown and re-set up of his current web…but that’s a lot of time (and twine) just to rearrange the furniture a few days early.

And indeed, Lil’ M’s molt begins just a few days later, as the old exoskeleton is finally loose enough to be shed.

You stay with him through the process, as you always do, being a silent, calming presence while he wiggles out of it. DJ, meanwhile, goes in and out of the room, refilling the hot water pot below the web so the steam can keep Lil’ M’s exoskeleton loose. He also brings you some tea and a bit of bread to help tide you over for the few hours it takes Lil’ M to extract himself.

DJ tries not to fret over Lil’ M too visibly during this time. Lil’ M clearly only wants you there for the most part, but allows DJ to act as a second set of hands in the process. Still, DJ can’t help but take a quick glance over Lil’ M each time he goes into the room, watching for any signs that the molt might be going wrong.

Happily for all of you, it goes fairly smoothly, and once he finally pulls his leg stumps from his molt, you see the stumps are indeed longer. In fact, the entire first segment and even the beginnings of the second segment are now there.

Lil’ M grins up at you, chittering happily and wiggling the leg stumps. He crouches down and you take the hint, spreading your arms so he can leap into them, wrapping his arms around your neck and hugging you tightly, in a way he hasn’t been physically comfortable enough to do since the roc attack.

You gently put one arm under his abdomen to support his weight while you very lightly pat his back with the other. You have to resist the urge to hug him as tightly as he’s hugging you--despite his high spirits he’s still very delicate right now.

But whatever doubts you and he may have had about his legs growing back have been dispelled, and that’s a weight lifted from both your shoulders.

The hug doesn’t last as long as you and Lil’ M would have liked it to, for his new fur and soft exoskeleton quickly get sore from even light contact. The itchiness of his pre-molt skin has been replaced with a raw, delicate feeling until his exoskeleton hardens up again.

As you help him back onto the web and gather up the shed exoskeleton in a box to be dealt with later, DJ comes in with a plate, setting it down on the floor beside you before signing, “Sounds like everything went well?”

Lil’ M lets out another happy trill, willing his partially regrown legs. “Growing back!”

“Good. You’ve been very brave and strong, friend. I’m proud of you,” DJ signs, then lightly ruffles the fur on the top of Lil’ M’s head.

He briefly glimpses Lil’ M’s cheek fur fluffing up, but Lil’ M quickly flattens it, smirking proudly, playing it cool as preteens are wont to do.

Your gaze shifts to the plate DJ brought in. Two roast fish for you and DJ, and a couple raw crawfish and eggs for Lil’ M. You’d decided all three of you would eat dinner in here, to have some time together and celebrate Lil’ M’s molt without having to get him to move all the way to the table. With how tender he is after a molt, even that short walk will be a bit much for the next day or so.

Even just laying in his old bed had caused his underside to get sore several times during his previous molts…he’s immensely grateful to be laying in a web instead of a pillow.

After dinner, you pass Lil’ M the last of the honey sticks. He takes it in his pedipalps, and lays down on the web. He’s sound asleep by the time he finishes eating.

You resist the urge to ruffle his head fluff again as you stand up, knowing that he’s probably had more than enough touching for having just molted.

You and DJ quietly take your leave, and you loop both your arms around one of DJ’s, giving an affectionate squeeze. You both don your cloaks, with DJ also putting on his tophat, and the two of you head outside to give Lil’ M a bit of quiet so he can recover from his molting.

You make your way to an old bench a ways down the path from your house. It’s not overly comfortable, but it’s gotten too chilly out to sit on the cold ground.

DJ takes his seat first, holding his cloak open so you can snuggle beside him beneath it. You lean against him, hugging his upper arm and resting your cheek against it as he begins to play his harp.

He’s still working on the same song he has been. The song for you, even if you don’t realize it yet. Part of him has been tempted to try to find time away from you to compose, so that much of the song can still be a surprise for you when he finally finishes it, but…well, that would involve being away from you.

Besides, he thinks you being nearby, and him being able to feel your warmth against him, is making it easier to find the notes to put his feelings into song.

Your eyes drift shut as his chords carry through the chill, still night. The clouds covering the moon and stars make it difficult to see much anyway. You’re trying to stay awake and listen, but you can already tell you’re likely going to doze off before DJ’s ready to head back inside.

His gaze flicks down to you as he plays, seeing your calm, serene face as you rest against him. His fingers dance over the harp strings and he once again feels a tug in his heart that he’ll never be able to compose the song he wants to for you.

He pauses a moment, lifting his hand to his face and untucking his ring and pinky finger and flexing all four fingers. He’s adapted to using them for sign--at your insistence, granted, but successfully nonetheless. In fact, at this point, he uses them for nearly everything but his music.

Experimentally, he strums all four fingers over the strings. It does allow him a greater range than playing with two fingers had…though it’s still no substitute for having two harps.

He plucks the strings again, experimenting with a few chords that he hadn’t been able to play with only two fingers.

His song will be different. But maybe it could still be lovely.

Your eyes open as you notice the subtle change in his playing. You squint through the darkness to see him using all four fingers to play. You glance up at him curiously, wondering what prompted the change. But his closed eyes and knit brow give you no insight into that as he continues to experiment with his new method.

As he does, he realizes that sticking to his old way of playing hadn’t been doing him any favors. Trying to play as a spidertaur while in a human body…he’d always only be half of himself.

He’s human now. Admitting that isn’t without a bit of melancholy. There are parts of his old life he’ll still miss, probably forever, but…it’s his old life.

And now…he is human. He can be a human for the rest of his days, if it means being with you.

DJ barely has time to enjoy the feeling of acceptance before a harsh, searing pain tears down his back, running down his arms and legs and engulfing every inch of his body. He gasps, tossing the harp aside as he clutches at his head. The harp lands with a clatter on the ground.

You gasp in alarm, standing up and gripping DJ’s shoulders, trying to steady him as he pitches forward. “DJ?!” you cry in a panic.

Your alarmed cry slices through his ears like a searing blade as the arcane resonance in your voice crashes violently against the spider eardrums forming inside his skull. DJ clutches his ears, trying to block out the terrible pain.

“Wh-What’s happening?” you cry frantically. Your grip on his shoulders tightens as you struggle to hold him up. He’s always been far too heavy for you to outright lift, but now it seems you can’t even help him stay upright.

Your grip gives way and despite your best efforts, you’re pushed aside as he falls to the flagstone path. He manages to catch himself on his hands before he falls completely flat, his top hat falling from his head and rolling down the pathway. But you barely notice it, for to your astonishment, you realize even on his knees he’s towering over you just as much as he had when he’d stood upright.

“D-DJ?” you breathe in a fearful, trembling voice. Not fear of him, but for him.

DJ barely registers your words, the pain from your voice now blending with the pain he’s feeling across his entire body. His clothing is squeezing him tightly, making it almost impossible to breathe. He claws at it frantically, tossing his cloak aside and tearing at his tunic in a blind panic.

As the seams start to rip, you see white fur poking out, and as you stare on, more tufts of fur begin to appear over his face and head.

Something shifts in the middle of his torso, and as his second set of arms forces their way through his skin, shredding the fabric of his tunic as they emerge. The base of his spine is in similar torment as it presses painfully against his sash before the garment gives way with an audible tearing sound. His spine arches behind him like a tail, the horrifying image lasting only a second before the vertebrae fuse and expand into the exoskeleton of his abdomen.

For a moment, his heart and breathing stops as they vanish from his torso and reform in his abdomen.

Another jolt of searing pain wracks his jaws and teeth as his mouth begins to shift. He throws his head back, letting out a distinctly human scream of agony. The scream fades into a series of pained hisses and chitters as his chelicerae force themselves out of his mouth. His lips shrink into thin pinkish lines that can barely be called lips, leaving his sharpened teeth permanently exposed.

The change from human to spider is so much more horrific and painful, as if the curse itself feels slighted at its own undoing and is enacting one final act of vengeance.

You let out a scream of your own at your love’s shifting face. Midway between spider and human is a frightening enough visage on its own, but not knowing what’s happening to him and where it’ll end fills your heart with all the more terror.

Your scream once again stabs through his ears, sending a wave of blinding, arcane-infused pain down his whole body, from his ears to his newly reformed spinnerets and arcing down all eight of his limbs.

It’s unbearable. He can’t think. Not about anything but the pain and the horrific sound that’s causing it. All eight of his eyes clench shut as his body tenses. He digs his claws into the fur around his ears, trying to block out the sound in any way he can. It’s too overwhelming.

His body does what his mind cannot--would not--and one of his lower arms raises and swings blindly towards the noise.

His forearm collides with your chest, knocking you back several feet. You crash against a nearby tree, knocking what little breath remains out of your lungs.

You crumple to the ground, letting out a wheezing cough as you look up at DJ in wide-eyed panic.

The transformation and your screams end at the same time and DJ lifts his head, wavering unsteadily despite having all four of his legs under him once again.

He stares down at you, and with his proper night vision back he can fully see just how horrified you are at the sight of him…as well as the dirt and leaves clinging to your face and clothes from being knocked back by him.

And the bit of blood running down your forehead where you were cut by one of the tree’s lower branches.

He’d struck you, he realizes with horror. He’d never considered himself a violent person. Even when Ballora had cursed him, and even when her guards had gathered him up and dumped him outside the cluster, the thought of lifting a hand against any of them had truly never crossed his mind, futile as it may have been.

But now he’d hit you. His love, his dearest, his heartsilk, the one who means more to him than anyone. And not just some shove or glancing blow. He’d knocked you back several feet, so hard you’re now struggling to get the air back into your lungs.

You look so small and delicate now. He’d never realized how small you’d look to him in his true form. How easily he could hurt you.

“D-DJ?” you squeak out in a small, timid voice.

His upper set of arms clutch at his ears. Even your meek little query sends a wave of pain over his body. Not nearly as much as your screams had, but still enough to prevent him from thinking of anything else.

You try to stand, but you can still barely take in a breath. You manage to pull yourself up, but even your coughing fit has enough arcane resonance to claw at DJ’s ears.

It hurts too much, DJ realizes. He can’t take it. He’s already struck you once…he’s so much bigger than you now, he can’t risk it happening again.

Tears of shame well in all eight of his eyes as he watches you lean unsteadily against the tree.

“Sorry,” he signs, his second set of hands trembling.

“Sorry?” you repeat inanely, causing his upper set of arms to clutch at his head again. He crosses his second set, gripping his own forearms to ensure he can’t swat at you again, but he may as well be trying to resist the impulse to swat away a hot poker someone keeps trying to jab him with.

He can’t stay. He’ll only hurt you if he does. Physically at first, and…almost certainly emotionally once you fully process what’s happened.

He’s not the man you fell in love with. Not anymore.

<Sorry,> he chitters, turning to run. <I’m so sorry…>

“DJ!” you call after him as runs into the forest, which only makes him run faster. “DJ, wait!” you plead. Your breathlessness and unsteady gait prevent you from getting more than a few steps, but that delay is enough to make you realize that running off into the woods, right now as you are, with no light, no weapon, and light clothing won’t help anyone.

You take in a shuddering breath, steadying yourself. You need to focus. DJ’s run off and you need to find him and bring him back. That’s it. Anything else can be sorted out later. Dozens of questions and worries try to force their way to the front of your mind, but you push them back.

Bring him home first.

As you push the door open, you start in surprise to see Lil’ M jump back from the swinging door.

“What’s going on? I heard screaming! Where’s DJ?”

“He’s run off, I need to find him,” you say, your voice breaking slightly, betraying your worry even as you try to remain calm. You begin switching your lighter boots for a pair of heavier boots, suitable for off-the-path trekking.

“Ran off?!” Lil’ M signs in disbelief. He leans forward, his pink nose twitching. “You smell weird.”

You pause a moment, giving him an incredulous look. “What does that matter?!”

He ignores the question. “What happened?”

You pull on your boots, standing up and pulling on your heavier cloak, your mouth opening and closing several times. What did happen?

“I…I don’t know. H-He…He changed…I-I-It…must be a curse or something,” you say, wavering slightly at the implications. A curse. And not a small one, either. This isn’t some mild disfigurement or malady--it’s a complete, full body transformation, to something entirely inhuman.

DJ must have angered someone incredibly powerful…

“Changed? Into what?”

You’re in the middle of reaching for your crossbow and glowlamp when you stop, glancing at Lil’ M.

DJ had become something entirely inhuman…but not entirely unfamiliar.

“A…A spiderfolk, I think…O-Or something similar…” you say numbly, hooking your crossbow to your belt. He’d seemed almost too big to be a spiderfolk…you knew they grew to be roughly twice the height of a human, but…DJ had seemed so much bigger. Or is it just that “twice your height” looks so much bigger in reality than it had in your mind?

Lil’ M arches a brow, tilting his head up at you and clicking his fangs together thoughtfully. “Wait here,” he signs.

“What?” you say blankly.

He skitters off to the bedroom without answering.

“Lil’ M, I don’t have time for this!” you protest.

You hear an impatient, chastising hiss from the bedroom and he soon emerges with the earmuffs DJ had made him.

“What am I going to do with those?” you ask, puzzled.

“Need them for DJ,” he signs, and before you can hazard a guess as to what he means, he climbs up the wall and hops onto your shoulders.

“Oohhh no!” you say warningly, scooping him up and setting him back on the floor. You accidentally grip the still soft exoskeleton of his abdomen a bit too hard, causing him to hiss in pain and give you a reproachful look.

Your expression softens as you kneel down in front him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean…t-to grab you so roughly, b-but…that’s all the more reason you can’t come with me right now. You just molted! It’s too dangerous for you to be outside!”

“Dangerous for you too.”

“Lil’ M--”

He glares, letting out an angry chitter. “I’m not a baby! DJ’s my family too!”

You feel tears prick at your eyes and you glance away. “I know he is, Lil’ M. But…please, I…I can’t help DJ unless I know you’re safe. I can’t bear the thought of you getting hurt again…”

Lil’ M frowns up at you, once again clicking his fangs in thought. Finally, he pushes his earmuffs into your hands.

“What’s this for?” you ask blankly.

“For DJ,” he signs. At your perplexed look, he huffs, glancing away. “Human voices hurt spiderfolk.”

It takes a moment to process the full implications of what he’s said. Your mouth hangs open in stunned surprise, your heart breaking at the implication.

He’d never told you…Why had he never told you?

“Lil’ M…” you murmur, stunned…only to immediately flinch and cover your mouth.

He huffs again, shaking his head, unable to meet your gaze. “I got used to it. Doesn’t hurt anymore,” he signs in abrupt, sharp gestures.

“But--” you begin, switching to sign.

“Go find DJ. Give him those to protect his hearing.”

You glance down at the earmuffs in your hands. They may have been able to fit over DJ’s head when he’d been human. Not comfortably, perhaps not even usefully, but the headband could have stretched out enough to get them onto his head at least. But now? You try to picture the huge creature you’d seen run off. His head was nearly the size of your torso. There’s no way these will fit him.

But…there seems to be little downside to taking them. You’ve already spent longer on this conversation than you’d planned to. You tuck them into one of your pockets. “Thank you. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” you sign.

You gently take his hand in yours, giving a very careful, gentle squeeze--just enough to reassure him.

Once you leave the house, you hear the door close behind you as you jog towards where you’d last seen DJ. You suddenly pause, skidding to a stop on the flagstone walkway as you see DJ’s harp laying where he’d dropped it. Miraculously, it seems largely undamaged. One of the strings is broken but it wasn’t trampled and the wood has only a minor scuff. You quickly scoop it up, intending to only set it aside on the bench, but you realize that if Lil’ M’s right, you can’t exactly call out to DJ without hurting him. Maybe the harp can be used to coax him out?

You manage to follow DJ’s trail through the woods…which isn’t exactly a difficult task. He’s quite large, and clearly hadn’t taken care to move subtly through the forest. The pawprints and broken branches are plainly visible in many places, even without brightening your glowlamp.

You’ve barely been in the forest a minute before your lamp catches glints of white floating through the air.

The first snow. Of course it’s now.

You bite your lip, resisting the urge to call out to DJ. You silently beg the still, quiet forest for some sign that he’s alright. You’d taken longer at the house than you’d meant to…how far had he gotten in that time?

*

As it turns out, DJ hasn’t gone as far as you fear. His stride may be longer, but he’s no more of a woodspider than he’s ever been, and his large body and four-legged gait now feel unfamiliar to him. He’s been hit by more branches than he can count, and one particularly low branch had caught him hard on the shin, giving him a limp and forcing him to adjust to a three-legged gait just as he was finally readjusting to his old four-legged gait.

His fur had protected him from any of the pointier branches, though his exoskeleton is bruised in a few places. He’d at least managed not to crack anything. Another branch had managed to catch him across the face as he’d ran, luckily missing any of his eyes but leaving a large gash across his nose, which is one of the softer, more vulnerable parts of a spiderfolk’s body.

But he barely cares about any of that. He slows to a walk, weaving his way through a particularly dense patch of trees before finally just…stopping. He lets his legs give out beneath him and he lands on the loamy ground with a soft thud. His torso slumps forward and his chin rests on the ground.

He’d gotten his old body back. As he’d wanted and wished for so many times in the past months.

Yet he feels more cursed than ever.

Had Ballora had any idea of the cruelty she’d inflicted on him those months ago? He’d been so sure she’d expected him to die alone after wandering the woods for two weeks at most. Not to be taken in. Not to find a family. Not to find love. Not to finally accept his human form only to have it torn away from him.

Had she really intended something so evil, or had she just gotten lucky?

DJ doubts he’ll ever find out and he’s not sure he can even bring himself to care.

A snowflake drifts down through the branches, landing on his nose, and he lets out a soft sigh.

<Perfect,> he mutters to himself. Yet he can’t bring himself to move even as more snowflakes drift down, landing on his fur.

He’d been looking forward to seeing the first snow with you…

As he starts to let his eyes drift shut again, he becomes aware of a sound drifting through the trees. A familiar harp being strummed, seemingly at random. There’s no song being played, barely any notes, just the sound of someone slowly running their hand back and forth along the strings.

You. It has to be.

DJ’s shoulders slump and he shamefully buries his face in his upper set of hands.

Of course you’d chased after him. Of course you did. He should have known you would. Your kind heart would never leave him to the forest, even after he’d knocked you against a tree. You’ll search for him until dawn, through the cold and snow and whatever else would try to stop you. How could he have doubted that?

Part of him wants to go to you, and part of him wants to keep running…but all of him knows you’ll run yourself ragged, or worse, looking for him. If he wants you to have any kind of peace, with or without him, he must go to you now.

He lifts himself from the ground, shaking the unmelted snow off his fur and moving cautiously towards you. He prays you’re prepared for the sight of him…if you scream again…

He lowers himself to the ground, practically walking on all eights as he crawls towards you. He hadn’t been moving quietly before, but now he makes an effort to bump branches and shake leaves, doing whatever he can to make sure you know he’s approaching.

Despite that, he still sees you before you see him. You’re walking slowly through the slow, illuminated by the glowlamp tied to your belt as you strum the harp. The fear and worry in your eyes breaks his heart. “Oh heartsilk…” he chitters in a soft, sad tone.

You turn towards him, letting out a sharp gasp at the towering figure in the darkness, only to clap a hand over your mouth when you see him flinch back at the sound.

Gasps aren’t as painful for him…but they are often a precursor to actual shouting.

You tuck the harp under your arm. “DJ?” you sign.

He’s illuminated by your lamp only faintly, as you don’t have enough hands to hold it up properly, but even in the dark, you see his great head tilt forward in a nod. He moves a little closer, flatting himself to the ground so as to not tower over you.

“It’s okay. I’m here,” you sign.

DJ stops a few feet away, resting his body on the ground, lowering his head but keeping his torso righted just enough to sign with his upper set of hands. “Sorry.”

You bite your tongue--literally--to keep from speaking aloud. Even after learning sign, verbal communication comes more naturally to you. Even when you’re having conversations in sign, you occasionally interject aloud, especially when surprised.

You’re well aware that you absolutely cannot do that now.

“No sorries. It’s alright, love. I’m here,” you sign. “Let’s go home. We’ll figure this out…we’ll fix this. I promise. All curses have a way to break them…It’ll be alright,” you sign, desperately going through any comforting platitudes that enter your mind.

DJ flinches at that, glancing away. He should have realized you’d assume this was the curse activating…not breaking. There’s no “fixing” this.

He wonders if he should tell you that. Would you accept it, or would you just stay out here in the freezing snow to debate him on it?

Certainly the latter.

DJ closes his eyes, lowering his head and nodding. He feels the vibrations of your footsteps as you approach, and is surprised when he feels your hand rest upon his cheek. Your fingers run through his fur as you rub his cheek in comfort, and despite how small your hand feels against him, he can still feel the warmth from your touch.

He nuzzles against your hand and you step forward, resting your forehead against him before leaning your whole upper body against the side of his face, hugging him as best you can given how big he is. You desperately want to whisper soothing reassurances to him, promises that everything will be okay, that you’ll stay at his side no matter what…but you keep your tongue held between your teeth to avoid hurting him with your voice again.

The instincts he’d gained in his human body are already fading, and instead of placing one of his hands against your back, one of his pedipalps moves to gently loop around your shoulders.

You let out a startled squeak at the unfamiliar feeling, and DJ can’t help but pull away, his pedipalp nearly knocking you over as he scrambles back, covering his ears and letting out a pained hiss.

“Sor--” You yelp out half an apology before clapping your hands over your mouth. Once again you literally bite your tongue, holding it between your teeth to prevent any more sounds from slipping out, cursing your inability to just keep quiet.

“Sorry,” you sign. “I was just startled. Are you okay?”

He doesn’t remove his hands from his ears as he nods.

“We still have enough of that fabric to make some earmuffs for you,” you sign. “Lil’ M said they might help…”

DJ simply nods, slowly getting to his feet. You step forward, holding out a hand and placing it over one of his large, paw-like hands. You can barely wrap your hand around one of his fingers, much less his whole hand. The paw pad is leathery, through not rough, and the fur on his hand is quite short and fuzzy.

He gently wraps his hand around yours, allowing you to keep hold of him as you lead him back to the house. He doesn’t stand fully upright, instead leaning his torso forward, almost parallel to the ground so that you don’t have to raise your hand too much to hold his…and because he’s very aware of how he towers over you when he stands upright.

The walk through the woods is quiet, with only the occasional crunch of the leaves beneath your boots. DJ, interestingly, moves almost silently now that he’s calm…and now that his former spiderfolk instincts are overtaking his human instincts.

The warm glow from the windows of your house comes into view, and DJ feels a pull in his heart. Despite how much smaller the cabin looks now, it still feels like home.

But neither of you are even completely sure he can even fit through the door. The front door, maybe, if you open the second door…but certainly not any of the interior doors.

The front door used to be well above his head, but now it barely reaches his waist.

You open the main door, then pull the latch on the second one. It squeaks loudly after years of disuse, and you and DJ both shudder at the sound. You begin pushing it open and, with DJ’s help, manage to get the double doors to the house open for the first time in several years.

Inside, Lil’ M cants his head at what you’re doing, only for his eyes to widen as he catches sight of DJ just outside the door. He steps back, nervously staring up at the large spidertaur.

“It’ll be tight, but I think it’s wide enough,” you sign before gesturing for DJ to move forward.

He nods nervously, lowering himself to the ground. With a bit of wiggling and twisting, he gets his shoulders and torso into the room without much effort. His legs and thorax are next, and you and he do your best to move the couch and end tables out of the way to give him enough room. Finally, his abdomen…the widest part of his body, and no amount of wiggling or twisting can make it any less so.

As his abdomen’s about halfway inside, his fur gets stuck on the hinges, the doorframe squeezing his exoskeleton uncomfortably.

You bite your lip, resisting the urge to ask aloud if he needs help. As you lift your hands to sign, though, DJ exhales, letting out all the air in his lungs. He braces one of his back legs against the wall and leans forward, pulling his abdomen the rest of the way through. He lets out a soft hiss of pain as a few clumps of hair are pulled out in the process, but…at least he’s through.

“Are you alright?” you sign, frowning worriedly at the clumps of fur caught in the door hinges.

He nods, turning to help you pull the doors closed.

He takes up nearly the whole main room of the small house. The small area that could pass as a foyer is entirely filled, and after shoving the couch and end tables aside, you’re not left with much in the way of a living room, either. DJ also can’t stand fully upright without hitting his head on the ceiling.

Not that he wants to stand upright at the moment.

He tries to settle himself on the floor, tucking his legs in as much as possible in a largely futile attempt to make himself smaller.

Lil’ M stands on the dining table, several feet away from where DJ is, staring up at him in shock. Like you, he’d heard spiderfolk were about twice the height of humans, but that simple description hadn’t prepared him for the sight of DJ crammed into the house, where the small space makes him look even more massive.

You, meanwhile, are poking at the fireplace and throwing a few extra logs on, trying to warm up the house a little more.

“You must be cold,” you sign worriedly, standing on your toes to brush a few lingering snowflakes off one of DJ’s legs.

“Only a bit. Nothing to worry about,” he signs.

You gently pat one of his arms before quickly going into the bathroom and gathering up some towels, passing them up to him so he can start cleaning the snow off himself.

“Thank you,” he signs, his expression still dull and distant.

You pull Lil’ M’s ear covers out of your pocket, holding them up and looping them over your arm to sign, “I’m going to make another set of these.”

DJ frowns, about to protest that it’s already late, but…even small coughs and gasps from you hurt him, and it’s hard for him to stay still when that pain is needling him…Even a small fidget or attempt to step back could be disastrous in these tight quarters.

So he dips his head in a reluctant, apologetic nod.

You reach up to pat his cheek, leaning against his face once more in an almost-hug. This time DJ has the sense to keep his pedipalps still.

“I’ll try to work quickly,” you sign before disappearing into your room, where the sewing machine and fabric had been moved to.

DJ nods, then finally lets his torso and head rest on the ground.

You think he’s going to turn back into a human somehow. What are you going to do when you realize he won’t?

You had once promised that you wouldn’t turn him out suddenly, that you wouldn’t abandon him to the forest…Had that promise been contingent on him being human?

Probably not. Even in the pit of darkness and self-doubt he finds himself in, he can’t imagine you being that cruel.

Yet somehow that just makes him feel worse.

His sulking is interrupted by the sound of Lil’ M’s curious chitter as the spiderling moves to stand in front of him. DJ lifts his head slightly, looking down at him.

“You smell strange,” Lil’ M signs.

DJ blinks, his mouth falling open as he’s completely taken aback at the remark. He can’t believe Lil’ M would think now is the time for some teasing banter, but he also cannot fathom any other reason for Lil’ M to make such a comment.

“You smelled weird when we found you. I didn’t know what it was. But it went away. Now it’s back. Smelled it on my sibling too. I recognize it now, I think.”

DJ cants his head, arching a brow curiously.

Lil’ M shifts uncomfortably, glancing away with a knit brow. “Smells like me. Like spiderfolk,” he signs, returning his gaze to DJ.

DJ stares at him in silence, a pit of dread already growing in his stomach.

Lil’ M’s frown deepens at DJ’s lack of response, his gaze turning more accusatory. “You’re not cursed, are you?”

He flinches back from the accusation, but can’t bring himself to deny it. “Not anymore.”

Lil’ M gives a short nod, grimacing. “Should have guessed. Knew too much about spiderfolk. Knew things my sibling didn’t. Only a real spiderfolk could know more than them,” he signs.

DJ dips his head in a sullen nod.

“What are you going to tell them?”

“The truth. Soon,” DJ replies morosely.

Lil’ M bristles in annoyance. “Soon?” he repeats.

“Tomorrow,” DJ corrects. When Lil’ M doesn’t seem any more pleased with that answer, he signs, “Please. I…I just want us to have one more night.”

“Idiot,” Lil’ M signs, and DJ’s eyes widen at the first outright insult Lil’ M’s ever thrown his way. “You’ll have plenty of nights after you tell them.”

DJ lets out a soft sigh. “I wish it were that simple. But I don’t think it is.”

Lil’ M frowns, raising a brow and looking decidedly unimpressed. But before he can press the issue, you emerge from your room. You still haven’t changed or properly brushed the snow off yourself, and now it’s melted, leaving your clothes damp.

Yet you don’t seem to notice as you hold up the earmuffs. You made them much like Lil’ M’s, but scaled up. The colors are a bit unusual, as you just had to use whatever you had on hand. The earmuffs themselves are large, black ovals with a ring of green stitching around the edges, and the band holding them together is red.

DJ accepts them, fitting them over his ears. They’re comfortable, while still seeming snug enough to do their job. “Try speaking,” he signs once they’re in place.

“How’s this?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. At his nod, you speak again in a normal volume. “And this?” Another nod.

You smile in tearful relief. “Good,” you murmur, and to his surprise suddenly stand on your toes to lean against his cheek, tucking one arm under his chin in another attempt to hug him. “I was so scared I’d accidentally hurt you again…Your ears aren’t…still hurting, are they?” you ask, pulling back to look up at him fretfully.

He shakes his head. “I’m more worried about you.”

You reach up to take one of his lower hands, holding the large mitt in both of yours, lightly running one of your hands over the leathery paw pad of his palm. “I just had the wind knocked out of me, that’s all.”

DJ frowns, shifting his hand so he can hold yours between his thumb and forefinger. “You still feel cold. You should change out of those wet clothes.”

“O-Oh, um, m-maybe…” you agree sheepishly. You sigh softly, reluctant to leave his side again. But standing around in wet clothes isn’t helping anything. You wrap your arms around his hand, squeezing it gently before going into your room to change.

While you’re gone, Lil’ M gives DJ another pointed look. “Tomorrow,” he signs.

DJ nods. “I promise.”

When you emerge, DJ’s surprised to see you carrying the bedroll and several blankets.

“You’re sleeping out here?” he asks in surprise.

You pause, wincing sheepishly. “U-Unless you’d prefer…privacy?”

He shakes his head, sitting up slightly to help you lay out the bedroll and blankets.

“I’ll go into town tomorrow,” you say as you slide under the blankets. “I’m sure the library has some books on countercurses…the oracle might know something too…” you say. “We’ll fix this, DJ. I promise.”

DJ sighs softly, laying down on the floor beside you. He gently lays one of his lower hands over you, his thumb lightly touching your cheek. You’re so small now, he’s afraid to take you in his arms as readily as he once did. You reach a hand towards his other lower hand, and he obliges, laying it next to you so you can rest your hand against his palm as you close your eyes, your fingers lightly tracing a pattern on his leathery paw pad.

You don’t see Lil’ M’s reproachful glare at DJ. “You had better not let them walk all the way to town in this weather,” he signs.

DJ frowns, offended. “I would never!” His expression softens, and he lets out a soft sigh. “I promise. Please. Just one more night.”

Lil’ M’s expression softens as well, and he lets out a quiet huff. “Fine.”

Chapter Text

Your sleep is not particularly restful that night--it’s a fickle beast, readily chased away by the barest hint of dawn’s light coming through the windows.

Your eyes slowly blink open, and any hope you may have had that last night was just some horrible dream vanishes.

DJ’s still a spiderfolk. His large, slumbering face dominates your field of view once your eyes are open.

His soft snoring confirms he’s still asleep. The snores which sound so similar to how his snores used to sound…one of the only similarities between his two forms you’ve been able to notice as of yet.

You could just close your eyes, and pretend things are as they had been yesterday--DJ still a human, sleeping peacefully next to you. You let out a soft sigh. Pretending isn’t going to help anything.

As you push the blanket away and sit up, DJ’s eight eyes blink open.

“O-Oh, I didn’t mean to wake you…” you say apologetically.

He shakes his head, lifting his torso slightly to sign, “It wasn’t you. I’ve been drifting in and out.”

“Ah…y-yeah, I…guess it would be…a-a bit hard to sleep like that…” you say.

DJ averts his gaze slightly, dipping his head in a short nod. You’re not completely wrong, but he knows “like that” refers more to his “new” form and less to him sleeping on the floor rather than a web.

At his sullen look, you force a bracing smile, stepping towards him. “Hey…It’ll be alright,” you say again, causing him to flinch. Not for any arcane reason, but because of the falsehood you keep unknowingly repeating.

“DJ, we’ll fix--” You’re cut off by him placing the pad of his thumb over your mouth--or more accurately, the entire lower portion of your face--while his fingers wrap around your back.

<No. We won’t,> he chitters softly, causing you to glance up at him questioningly. Of course, you don’t understand spiderspeak, and him speaking it so quietly makes you wonder if the chittering you’d just heard had even been deliberate.

He lowers his head, nuzzling his forehead against yours. Even through his fur he can feel your warmth.

<It can’t be fixed, heartsilk. I’m…I’m so sorry…>

There’s a catharsis to giving at least part of his confession in his native language. Even if you can’t understand it, and even if it just means he’ll have to repeat himself in sign…it feels right to say it aloud just once.

Last night the thought of telling you the truth had seemed so unbearable…but now he realizes that if the truth would be a knife to his heart, hearing your repeated promises of “It’ll be alright” and “We can fix this” will be death by a thousand paper cuts.

He lightly places both of his upper hands against your back, gently holding you against himself, your foreheads resting together.

Would this be the last time you allow him to hold you?

“DJ?” you ask. “It’ll be okay…” you whisper, gently stroking the fur on his cheek.

He sighs heavily, pulling back and lifting his head. “No,” he signs.

You give him a pleading, worried look. “But…I’m sure we can--”

He shakes his head. “No.” He gently nudges you to sit back down on the bedroll. He’s tempted to take your hands in his lower set of hands while he signs, but…he’s not so sure you’ll want his comforting once he tells you the truth.

“DJ--”

“Please,” he signs, glancing away with a pained expression.

You force yourself to stay quiet, gazing up at him with your brow creased in worry.

DJ’s hands twitch a couple times as he attempts to put his thoughts into sign. “I was cursed. But that curse broke last night. There’s no longer a curse on me. There’s nothing to fix.”

You gape up at him. “Wh-What?”

“I was born a spiderfolk. When you found me, I had only been human for a few days.”

A bit of movement by the door to your room catches DJ’s eye, and he glances over to see Lil’ M emerging, having been woken up by the sound of your voice.

You follow DJ’s gaze, watching as Lil’ M climbs up onto the dining table to watch the conversation while still giving the two of you some space.

Your gaze slowly shifts back to DJ. “That’s…why you knew so much about how to help Lil’ M…and so little about--” you cut yourself off with a flinch, not wanting to say something that borders on insulting, even if it’s true.

DJ gives a small, sad smile, barely visible behind his chelicerae. “About anything else. Yes.”

You stare up at him, really taking in his new--no, his true form--for the first time. You’re not sure whether or not you even want to try to deny his claim…but you do realize that, whether you want to or not, you can’t deny it.

You’d always known his human form hadn’t been entirely human. Anyone who’d looked at him would have seen that. His size could have been excused as simply “unusual” perhaps, as could the markings on his face…but the blue tint to his brows and beard, and most of all his dark eyes, had pointed to a man that had something at least a little inhuman about him, whether in his actual ancestry or something arcane or fae.

And now all those features perfectly match up to the spiderfolk in front of you. His brow and beard are now brighter blue markings on his furred face, the markings on his cheeks and nose also match up to the blue circles of fur above his pedipalps and his pink nose respectively, and his eyes…

How had you never connected the similarities between DJ’s eyes and Lil’ M’s? You’re well aware of what spiderfolk eyes look like, yet you’d never thought to make the comparison between DJ’s dark eyes and the dark eyes of spiderfolk. Spiderfolk eyes are larger and rounder, true, but the inky blackness of DJ’s human eyes and his current eyes is probably the most striking similarity between the two forms nonetheless. You can scarcely believe you found likeness in his snoring before you noticed it in his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I was scared to tell you at first, and when I was just a guest in your home, it seemed better to leave the past in the past. But things…changed…faster than I thought and there was just never a good time…”

You nod distantly, still reeling from the revelation. You yourself had encouraged him to not pick at old wounds until he was ready. Granted you had never imagined that those “old wounds” would be an entirely different life, as an entirely different species…but still, you can’t add caveats after the fact.

Dozens of questions vie for a spot at the top of your mind, and eventually one wins out.

“Wh…what broke the curse? We were just…sitting…?”

“I had to find love with one of my own, and earn their love in return,” he signs. “I’d assumed that meant another spiderfolk. And perhaps it was supposed to, but…” One of his middle hands clutches at the long fur around his chest and shoulders, some small part of him still expecting to feel his heart beating in his chest…but spiderfolk hearts are in their abdomens. “When…when we sat together last night…for just a moment…I felt truly human for the first time.”

“Oh DJ…” you whisper mournfully, holding out a hand.

He hesitates, then gently wraps one of his lower hands around yours while you wrap your fingers around his thumb, holding hands as best you can.

As much as you’d tried to not guess at his past, you hadn’t been able to help but imagine things had been markedly worse for him before he’d arrived. That his time on the farm, with you, was an improvement over his past.

All that time he’d been struggling to adjust to a body that wasn’t his.

“...Why were you cursed?”

“I was a musician. The favored one of the court, in fact,” he signs, though he doesn’t seem particularly proud of it.

“Th-The court?” you squeak out in surprise. “As in…the nobility?”

He dips his head in a nod. “The queen took a particular interest in me. She wanted me to become her husband, but…I turned her down. Repeatedly. She took offense, and…well.” He sighs softly, giving a defeated shrug.

You stare blankly ahead, your grip on his hand going slack.

The queen?!

DJ had been courted by the ruler of all spiderfolk. He’d been the court composer. He’d been nobility.

And then had been cursed into an unrecognizable body and sent to live on some peasant’s farm. A human peasant. The life you’d tried to give him here hadn’t been an upgrade from his past; it’d been a horrifying fall--no, a plummet--from grace.

You don’t even notice when your hand falls from his loose grip.

What could a member of the spiderfolk nobility possibly see in a humble human peasant like yourself?

When you release his hand, DJ pulls his own back as well, glancing away and wringing his lower set of hands together.

The silence settles between you two, but after a moment DJ tentatively lifts his hands to sign, “Do you want me to leave?”

Your eyes widen and you stare up at him, aghast. “No, of course not!” you say quickly, only to immediately flinch. “I-I mean…unless you…want to…” you add meekly.

“Of course not,” he signs, frowning worriedly that you’d even think that. He reaches out to try to cup your cheek in his hand, but pulls back. He can really only rest one finger against your cheek, not his whole hand…and besides, you don’t seem quite ready for that. You’d comforted him last night, of course, but…he has to imagine that finding out this is his true form, the form he’ll be in for the rest of his days, is going to take some adjustment.

You don’t even notice the failed attempt to comfort you. Selfishly, you’re glad he doesn’t want to leave, but…where would he go?

Your gaze drifts up to him, crouched low and crammed a cabin too small for him, taking up almost the entirety of what had been your living room.

Where is he going to stay? His current position hardly seems like a long-term or even medium-term solution.

Lil’ M lets out a soft chitter of contemplation, and you glance towards him.

“Going to need to finish the expansion sooner than we thought,” he signs, sensing the same problem you do, though his proposed solution is…well…technically not wrong, you suppose, just a tad unrealistic.

“Easier said than done…especially in the winter,” you sigh.

“I could try making a web outside. Or maybe where the expansion is going to be?” DJ asks.

“Maybe, but….spinning silk is…not easy, is it?” you ask. “Lil’ M works up an appetite just fixing the chicken pen…” you say. “And meat is scarce enough in the winter as it is…”

“We have the roc meat,” Lil’ M says.

DJ frowns slightly. “That’s yours.”

Lil’ M returns his disapproving look. “Mine to give!”

DJ looks displeased as he lifts his hands to sign, but you quickly hold up your own, stopping both of them.

“Look! We don’t have to decide anything about that right this minute. There are other ways to get meat over the winter. Just because we’ve been able to get by without them before doesn’t mean they aren’t there, okay?” you say.

Lil’ M gives a stubborn huff, crossing his arms, while DJ looks a bit more contrite at the almost-argument that had been about to break out…That may yet break out if the food situation doesn’t get sorted out soon. DJ certainly has no desire to take food from an injured young spiderling’s plate. He has to believe that, even as pampered as he’d been as a spiderfolk, he can still find some way to do for himself before he needs to resort to taking Lil’ M’s rightful share.

Still…DJ hasn’t hunted for himself in years, not since he was a child. And even that had been more of a game than anything--whether he’d brought home a kill that night or not, there would have still been a meal waiting for him at home.

Lil’ M lets out a soft chitter, getting your and DJ’s attention.

“Why do you have four arms? And four legs?”

DJ’s less surprised by the question than you are. He’d spent many an idle day or quiet evening trying to figure out if or how to explain the differences between spidertaurs and spiderlings. Even early in his stay at the farm, it hadn’t felt quite right to just let Lil’ M go on thinking he’d someday be as big as DJ…especially given all the work you’re putting in to expand the house for him. But it hadn’t been something he’d wished to put on the young spiderling while he’d been in recovery.

You, for your part, had indeed noticed the different limb arrangement last night, but…well, it hadn’t seemed important to dwell on when you’d been so sure DJ’s new form would be temporary. You’d dismissed it as a simple fluke in the curse. Transfiguration curses like this are usually imperfect--it could turn him into something similar to a spiderfolk, but a true spiderfolk would always see him as just a little bit different.

Much the way his human form had been just a little bit different.

“Because there are two types of spiderfolk. Big spiderfolk, and small spiderfolk,” he explains. Much like with “cluster”, if the words for “spidertaur” and “spiderling” exist in Common or sign, he--and presumably you and Lil’ M--are unaware of them.

Lil’ M blinks, canting his head as he clicks his fangs in thought. “And I’m small spiderfolk,” he signs.

DJ flinches a bit guilty, but nods. “Yes. Six legs, two arms. Big spiderfolk have four and four.”

Lil’ M’s brow knits as he debates if he even wants to know the answer to his next question. “How small is small?”

“Not much larger than you are now, I’m afraid,” DJ signs. He holds up one of his lower hands at about the height of your hip and signs with his upper hands, “About this height.”

You try to still your own reaction as you watch Lil’ M’s. His expression is unreadable for a moment, but then he dips his head in a nod. “Figured.”

You blink. “Figured?”

“Hard to explain. Just…a feeling I’ve had. For awhile. That we wouldn’t need that expansion after all,” he signs. He gives DJ a wry smirk, though you can’t miss the hint of melancholy in his eyes. “At least not for me.”

Neither you nor DJ quite know what to say to that, but before either of you can figure it out, Lil’ M forces a smile. “I think I need a bit more rest. Late night,” he signs, before quickly hopping off the table and skittering back to his room.

“Lil’ M!” you say worriedly, reaching a hand out futilely. He’s already turned his back. You pause, glancing up at DJ uncertainly.

“Go. I’ll get started on the chores,” he signs.

You blink at the statement, momentarily taken aback at the thought of just…continuing your usual routine with all that’s happened. But regardless of your own turmoil, the chickens still need to eat and wood still needs to be chopped…not to mention getting DJ’s lodging and food situation sorted out. So you nod gratefully before going after Lil’ M.

When you reach the bedroom, he’s already laying on his web, not exactly facing the door but not facing entirely away either. As you close the door behind you, you hear the sound of DJ opening the main door and heading outside.

“I’m fine,” he signs before you can speak. He doesn’t look at you, continuing to stare firmly ahead.

You suppress a soft sigh, staying quiet as you cross the room and sit down beside the web. “Lil’ M, I…I can’t imagine what it’s like to--”

“I know,” he signs abruptly, then adds, “There’s a lot you can’t imagine.”

You pull back as if struck. It isn’t the first time he’s said something like that. Far from it, in fact. Like all kids, he’s lashed out in frustration at times…and he’s had quite a number of unique and highly valid frustrations in his short life. Not the least of which is a certain loneliness and isolation your companionship can never fully fix.

Usually you can weather such remarks…but not today. You’re too raw.

You’d been on the cusp of something beautiful. You and DJ had been preparing to start a life together, you and he and Lil’ M becoming a family that may be unconventional, but…still a family.

Now you’re sure DJ wants to return to the spiderfolk village and Lil’ M--

The tears that had already been forming spill down your cheeks as your mind struggles to finish that thought.

Will Lil’ M want to…leave with DJ? To return to the village? Be among other spiderfolk?

The sudden fear of losing both of them overrides your ability to think through all the reasons why that wouldn’t work. Not the least of which is DJ being more or less in exile. And for all the snappish remarks Lil’ M has made over the years, he’s never once said he wants to leave the farm and live among the spiderfolk. He’s wished that you knew more, wished for another spiderfolk to guide him, and even once wished you could be that spiderfolk, but even in his darkest moments he’s never said he wants to be separated from you.

But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t thought it, a harsh voice in the back of your mind speaks, causing a sob to burst from your lips.

Lil’ M had already started getting up once he saw the tears, signing several apologies that you’re too lost in your own head to pay attention to. At the sob, he chitters urgently, all but throwing himself into your arms and wrapping his arms around your neck, hugging you tightly despite his post-molt delicateness.

You wrap your arms around his torso, hugging him close but still managing to be mindful of his fragile condition. Slowly, your breathing calms and the sobs ease.

Once he feels you calming down, Lil’ M releases you, his large eyes staring up at you with a guilt-stricken, almost pleading look. He pulls back and balances on your knees so he can sign. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

You smile sadly at him. “Well…there’s still truth to it.”

He frowns, and his hands start to sign the beginning of a denial before he balls them into fists, steadying himself. “Maybe,” he admits. “But now’s not the time.”

“Right…” you concede.

He gives you a bracing smile, leaning forward and giving another hug before turning to climb back onto his web. He lays down, folding his arms atop the web and resting his chin on them.

“Are you alright?” you ask, lightly smoothing out the fur atop his head.

He shrugs, and for a moment you think that’s the only answer you’ll get, but he sighs softly and sits up to sign. “I’d wanted to get big enough to protect you.”

Your expression softens. “You used to say that all the time…” you say. You hadn’t really noticed he’d stopped, but you can’t recall an instance of him saying that for a couple years now.

He rolls his shoulders in another shrug. “Seemed more likely back then.”

He seems less surprised by the revelation than you had been. He also hadn’t seemed as surprised as you that his legs would grow back. Spiderfolk must just have more awareness of their bodies than humans do. Or perhaps, having grown up among humans, you just can’t fathom such an awareness ever being put to the test?

“You do protect me, you know,” you say after a moment.

Lil’ M arches a fuzzy pink brow, giving you a skeptical look.

“You protect my heart,” you say.

He lets out a loud, hissing scoff, tossing his head in an exaggerated eye roll. “Corny.”

You laugh. “And yet,” you say, lifting a hand and flicking at his fluffed cheek fur.

He hisses in protest, using both hands to flatten his cheek fur to maintain the illusion that your silly little remark, corny as it may be, hadn’t gotten to him.

“It made you laugh, didn’t it?” you ask playfully.

“Wasn’t a laugh!”

You chuckle. “Oh, alright,” you say good-naturedly. “But you do protect me more than you give yourself credit for, you know. Nobody who I let in would dare try any funny business knowing there’s a spiderfolk watching and listening…and plenty of them would sooner risk my crossbow than your venom,” you add, pointing to his mouth.

Lil’ M wiggles his chelicerae, clicking his fangs thoughtfully.

“Sometimes being mysterious is better than being big and strong.”

He slumps a bit. “Would rather be big and strong. Tired of being mysterious.”

You frown sympathetically. “I know. I’m sorry,” you say gently. You lean back, staring up at the ceiling and letting out a soft sigh. “I guess that’ll be one good thing to come out of this. I’m…I’m sure DJ will have a lot to teach you before he leaves…”

Lil’ M glances up sharply, all eight eyes blinking in surprise. “Leaves?” he repeats. He glowers. “He’s not leaving!” he signs, his gestures sharp and abrupt as he chastises you for even suggesting such a thing.

“Oh, p-probably not any time soon, but…” You feel your eyes stinging again and you quickly rub at them with your sleeve. “Let’s face it, Lil’ M…why would the court composer for the queen of spiderfolk ever want to stay on some silly little peasant farm?”

He quirks a brow, smirking. “For the silly little peasant.”

Despite how your cheeks warm at the quip, you let out a mirthless scoff and roll your eyes, the motion not dissimilar to how Lil’ M had scoffed and rolled his eyes only a moment ago. “I can’t possibly compete with a queen…”

“Not a competition. She lost before you and DJ even met,” he signs, still smirking.

“You know what I meant,” you say grumpily.

“I know his love’s strong enough to break a curse. Anything after that is easy.”

You give him a tired look, sighing softly. “It’s just not that simple, Lil’ M,” you say, unknowingly echoing DJ’s sentiment from last night.

*

Outside, DJ’s trying to distract himself from the guilt he feels over not having told you and Lil’ M about spiderlings and spidertaurs sooner. He’d already admitted to having lived in a cluster and knowing how to treat molting…what would a few more details have hurt?

With Lil’ M’s injuries, it just hadn’t seemed like a great time to break the news…naively, he’d assumed things would get better before they got worse. But still…he could have told you so much sooner. What would have been so terrible about admitting he’d been among spiderfolk as soon as he’d learned enough signs to do so?

His wish to be distracted from such thoughts is granted…but the dilemma that replaces them isn’t much better--feeding the chickens.

He’s at least managed to retrieve the chicken feed from the shed. He can’t fit into the shed--not even close--but he could at least stick his arm in far enough to grab up one of the feed bags. It had been once he took the bag over to the chicken pen and removed the tarp that the trouble had started.

Usually, the hens would be strutting about the pen, awaiting their breakfast. Any hens still in the coop would be out as soon as they heard DJ’s footsteps outside the tarp.

But today all the hens have themselves firmly planted inside the coop, with Paulette on the ramp, fluffed and angry as she squawks a warning at the massive spidertaur to stay away from her flock.

<Oh, come now, friend…It’s me. You know me…> he chitters gently. He’s guessing the hens are at least a little familiar with spiderspeak from Lil’ M. Maybe a familiar sound will help ease them into DJ’s unfamiliar appearance.

He’s lowered his body as much as he can, his abdomen and torso partially sunken into the snow as he tries not to tower over the chickens. Well, he’s always towered over them, but apparently even they have their limits when it comes to that.

Paulette’s beak opens and she emits another screaming, shrill squawk. As if that weren’t enough, she darts her head forward, snapping her beak aggressively despite DJ still being several feet away from her. It’s a clear warning of what she’ll do if he comes too close.

Not that a bite from a hen would hurt anything other than his feelings in this body.

DJ’s about ready to give up and just sprinkle the feed on the ground and hope they go for it once the tarp is back in place when he hears the sound of the door to the house opening.

You frown in confusion as you walk over to him, a small basket looped over your arm. “Are the chickens stirred up about something?” you ask.

DJ winces, but manages to find a bit of comfort in the fact that it doesn’t occur to you that his new appearance would be frightening to the hens. While holding the feed bag in his second set of hands, he uses his main hands to sign, “Me.”

“Oh,” you say lamely, feeling like you probably should have predicted this. They’d been fearful and aggressive towards Lil’ M at first too, and he hadn’t even been all that much bigger than them when they’d first seen him.

“Wh-Why don’t you let me take care of them, then?” you say. You hold up your basket, trading it for the feedbag.

“Eggs?” he signs with his lower hands as he looks into the basket.

“Figured you needed breakfast,” you explain.

“Is this…all the eggs you had put away?” he asks worriedly.

You nod grimly. “I-I know it’s probably barely a snack, but…it’s better than nothing…I hope…”

“It’s plenty!” he assures you quickly…even if a dozen chicken eggs is a remarkably small breakfast for a spidertaur.

He can immediately tell you’re not convinced, and gives you a sheepish smile.

You decide not to belabor the point, simply nodding and turning your gaze back towards the pen, where Paulette is still glowering at DJ. “I’ll finish up with the chickens…why don’t you um…take a look at the expansion and start figuring out what to do with it, alright?”

All four of his shoulders slump, but he tries not to look too defeated as he gives a small nod of assent.

You give him a small smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, and before DJ can lift his hands to sign, you’ve turned away to tend to the hens.

DJ’s lower set of hands fidgets nervously, as he wants to offer some kind of help or apology…but Paulette gives him another withering glare over your shoulder, so he takes the hint and backs off, heading towards the expansion.

You’ve pulled away, Lil’ M’s pulled away…even the hens are pulling away. Is there even still a place for DJ on this farm when he’s no longer human?

You glance over your shoulder as he turns away, frowning morosely as you watch him go. Unlike him, you’ve no doubt he could have a place here if he wanted one…but does he want one, now that he has his old body back?

You take a steadying breath, returning your attention to the chickens. You end up doing much the same thing DJ had been about to do--just pour the feed into the pen and pull the tarp back into place, leaving them to eat once they’ve calmed down. There isn’t much else you can do when they’re this agitated--quiet, dark, and food do more to soothe them than anything else.

You return the feed bag to the shed, and are about to join DJ at the extension when something down the path catches your eye.

DJ’s cloak, draped over the bench where it had landed after he’d torn it off last night. You pick your way down the snow-covered path towards it, pulling it off the bench and shaking the snow off it. The clasp is broken and some of the furred collar is torn from DJ’s claws ripping it away in his confusion and panic.

You set the cloak over the back of the bench and dig around in the snow, attempting to find the rest of whatever remains of DJ’s outfit.

There’s not much. The boots might be salvageable, but only just. The hat is also mostly intact, if a bit warped from being under the snow all night. His tunic, undershirt, and pants were shredded to the point of barely being suitable for scrap fabric.

Still, you gather it all up, taking it all inside and placing it in your and DJ’s room.

Well. Just your room now, you suppose.

You may as well move the bedroll back in here too…You’re sure DJ already feels crowded enough in this tiny house without you sleeping near him.

*

DJ paces around the expansion, looking it over. It had seemed so massive when he’d been human, but at his proper size it’s…well, “cozy” might be a charitable way to put it. It’s about time and a half his resting height, though if he straightened his legs he could easily hit his head on the support beams. There will be space for him to make a web to sleep in, but not much else--a “bedroom” in the most literal sense.

Once you’re done in the house, you push aside your doubts for the moment and come outside to meet him. “What do you think?” you ask.

“I don’t know much about human buildings. But if we make the walls and roof as solid as the main house, this will work. It’s big enough for a sleeping web.”

“But…not much else?” you prod hesitantly.

He shakes his head with a guilty wince.

You nod, trying not to show how discouraged you are at that. “Yeah, I…I guess I underestimated how big spiderfolk really get…” You had also been a teenager when you’d started attempting to build it…it’s a miracle the framework is a salvageable structure at all.

“It’s perfectly fine!” DJ signs quickly, giving you a genuine, reassuring smile. “It’s exactly what we need right now. Big enough to be comfortable but small enough that we’ll build it up quickly. It’s perfect, really!”

You hum quietly in thought, glancing back to the framework. “You think we can build it up that soon?”

“I suppose I don’t know,” he admits. “But you said the moving of the logs and lifting of the beams were the hardest parts. I’m sure I can at least make that easier for you,” he signs with a hopeful smile.

“Hm…true. How…how much can you lift, anyway?” you ask curiously.

DJ hesitates. He hasn’t put that to the test in many years, and even if he had, he’s not sure how to convert spiderfolk measurements to Common. “Much more than I could as a human.”

It’s not specific, but you accept that’s the best answer you’ll get for now.

“Tell me what you need,” he signs.

“Timber, mostly…” When you notice DJ’s gaze drifting towards the treeline, you add, “But I think we should figure out the food situation first.”

He grimaces, but dips his head in a nod. “I’m not much of a hunter, I’m afraid. But I do remember how to make trap webs. Perhaps I could go set some?”

“Aren’t you getting cold yet? Lil’ M could never stand to be out in the snow this long…” you frown.

“Big spiderfolk can handle the cold a bit better. And adults can handle it better than children. I’ll be fine,” he says with a gentle smile. “The cold tires me more than anything, but I can set a few traps.”

“If…you’re sure,” you say. “I…I’d…hate for you to get hurt…or sick…” you say softly, unable to meet his gaze.

He smiles tenderly at you, reaching out a hand, intending to cup your cheek. But his hand is too big for that, and he ends up resting his palm against your upper arm while only the pad of this thumb rests against your cheek.

Your cheeks warm at the touch and you glance up shyly, not quite sure what to make of the gesture.

“I’ll ease into it. I promise,” he signs.

You both know he can’t really promise to take it easy indefinitely. You may not have that luxury.

The thought makes you wince internally and you pull away. He quickly lowers his hand when you do, stepping back.

DJ’s human form hadn’t looked like a man who’d ever had to endure a lean winter. And if he had been part of the nobility, that all but proves he’s used to a far softer life than you.

You’ll just have to do your best to keep him comfortable until spring.

Maybe once the weather warms, he’ll feel more confident striking out on his own…

You suppress a shudder at the thought, awkwardly clearing your throat. “A-And…I-I’ll check the crawfish traps and see about making a couple more to put downstream. Maybe it’s still early enough in the season to catch some…” You grimace as you realize what a pittance that probably would be for him. “Erm…a-actually…would those even be anything to you? They’d be…barely morsels to you now…”

“Tasty morsels. And easy to get,” he signs with a helpless shrug.

You sigh softly. “I suppose it’s a bit late in the day to do much else,” you agree grimly. “I’ll do some fishing while I’m down there, maybe…”

“We could go on a proper hunt tomorrow. For some larger game,” DJ suggests. “Your knowledge of tracking, my sense of smell and hearing…?”

“I hope so,” you say.

And so the two of you set to your tasks, your circumstances giving neither of you time to mope or sulk.

DJ, as promised, does not push himself, much as he’s tempted to do so. Not only is he out of practice making trap webs, he’s out of practice in his very own body. It’s the longest he’s gone without spinning silk and…well, it shows, much to his chagrin.

His first trap is a wretched mess, as he hasn’t made sticky thread in years, and he’s all but forgotten how to make it strong enough to trap prey while still thin enough that said prey won’t see it until it’s too late. While the thread he makes for his instruments is generally fairly strong, it certainly wouldn’t stand up to a boar or deer trying to break free of it.

After wasting enough silk--and time--to make three traps, he finally has one that’s probably serviceable. He hopes. One good thing about winter is that spider silk blends in with snow more readily than foliage.

He sighs as he realizes the sun is already setting and he hasn’t even accomplished half of what he’d hoped to. He may be back in his own body, but somehow he feels even more useless and inept than he’d been when he’d first arrived.

At least he can help carry logs.

The two of you arrive home at roughly the same time, and from the scent that drifts through the air as he approaches the house, DJ can already tell your hunt went better than his. His stomach rumbles at the sight of the fish on your stringer and the crawfish in your net.

Even though you’ve only been apart a few hours, you still have to take a moment to readjust to the size of him. You lift your free hand in a nervous, awkward wave. “H-Hi. Did you um, get the traps set up okay?” you ask.

He shrugs slightly, lowering himself. He folds his bottom set of arms atop the snowy ground to lean on while he signs with his upper set. “Just one, I’m afraid. And I’m not sure it’ll be very good. I’m a…bit out of practice with my silk,” he signs with a wince.

“I see…well, I…I hope all this is enough to tide you over until we can get something bigger tomorrow,” you say, lifting your stringer slightly.

DJ frowns worriedly. “All? You and Lil’ M aren’t having any?”

“He still has plenty of the roc meat, and I’ve got bread and plenty of vegetables for stew. And I’m guessing you need a good meal more than either of us right now,” you add.

He smiles warmly. “Well, this certainly is that. Thank you.”

You give him another hesitant, uncertain smile. “You’re welcome,” you say. “You must be freezing…let’s get inside.”

The squeeze into the house is a bit easier than it had been this morning…DJ wonders if he’s just getting used to it or if his abdomen is already shrinking after only a day with only a few chicken eggs for food.

Well. He supposes a slightly smaller abdomen wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, given the circumstances…

You pass him the stringer and net while you hang up your cloak and gloves. DJ does his best to squeeze into his corner to eat while you set about making your and Lil’ M’s dinners.

Conversation lapses as it usually does during such times. With your gaze and attention on cooking it’s hard to keep any sort of discussion. But before these silences were mostly comfortable…whereas now dozens of unanswered questions that you’re both afraid to ask hang in the air, creating a palpable sense of unease in the small cabin.

One such question on DJ’s mind is the disappearance of the bedroll. You’d seemed eager to sleep at his side last night, but at some point while he was out doing the chores this morning, you’d moved your bedding out of the main room. Is it just temporary, to clear space…? Or will you not be joining him tonight?

Or any other night?

He doesn’t doubt you still care for him. You’re honoring the promise you made to him months ago and not turning him out into the woods unexpectedly, even though most people would probably agree the promise was no longer binding, as it had been made to a human.

And you haven’t been entirely cold to him…even as you’ve pulled back there’s still a warmth to your interactions with him that was rarely present with any of his fellow spiderfolk in the cluster.

Yet it can’t escape his notice that you haven’t mentioned anything about love or romance or being a couple since he’d told you the truth.

He tries to tell himself that he’s not afraid to ask--he’s just giving you time to decide. He’s giving you space to adjust. He won’t rush you into a decision. He’d rather you say no than say a hasty yes that you don’t fully mean.

Even if that no would hurt more than anything he can imagine.

*

You retire early that evening, making some excuse about both of you needing to get an early start tomorrow. Lil’ M had taken his dinner on his web, also making an excuse about feeling tired. Neither you nor DJ are completely fooled by that--he’s still upset about finding out he’s destined to never grow much taller than your hip.

You lay down on the bedroll in what would have been you and DJ’s room in another life. The life you hadn’t given yourself time to grieve for until now. You pull his cloak towards yourself, burying your face in the furred collar. His previous scent still clings to it, but you can already tell it’s fading. Just as the life you’d imagined for you and DJ and Lil’ M is fading.

You cling desperately to the cloak, trying to hold onto the memory of what would have been as you begin to weep.

Outside your room, your quiet sobbing reaches DJ’s ears and his heart breaks as he wishes he could go in and comfort you. But aside from the more obvious reason why he can’t, there’s also the simple fact that if you wanted him to hold you right now, you’d be out here. Not in there.

Chapter Text

Despite the blankets you’ve wrapped yourself in, the bedroll feels cold and empty when you awaken the next morning. Even though you and DJ had only shared the bedroll for barely a week, you find yourself trying to scoot closer to him for just a moment before you wake up enough to realize he’s not there.

You hug the blankets around yourself, giving a soft, defeated sigh and debating with yourself how long you can stay in bed.

But you can’t do that to DJ. You need to do a proper hunt today. Even though he’d accepted the meager meals you’d scrounged up for him yesterday graciously, you know he’ll need more than that to keep his strength up. Especially if he’s going to be helping build up the extension.

Still, you do allow yourself a bit of moping before eventually getting up to get dressed.

You glance towards DJ as you step out into the main room and see he’s still asleep, his four legs pulled in close to his body, his arms folded under his torso, and his head resting upon the pile of bedding that serves as his makeshift pillow.

You pause, watching him for a moment, trying to ignore the pull in your heart. Whatever his form, you desperately want to be at his side. The temptation to just find a way to tuck yourself against one of his arms is strong, but…

What would such a high-ranking member of spiderfolk nobility want with a peasant? A human peasant?

You’re sure there’s some differences between spiderfolk nobility and human nobility…not that you really know what the true inner lives of human nobility are like. But you doubt DJ had ever needed to worry about feeding chickens or doing chores until he came here, and you doubt he’d been limited to playing one dinky, worn out harp, either.

By the time the sounds of you moving around the kitchen to make your breakfast wake DJ, your expression is quite dour.

DJ lifts his head, watching you quietly for a moment. <Are you okay?> He asks the question aloud since your back is to him. He knows you won’t understand the words, but it’ll at least get your attention.

You jump slightly at the sound, turning to face him. “D-Did you say something?”

He nods, raising his upper set of hands to sign. “Yes. I asked if you were okay.”

“Oh. Yes, I’m fine. I…I hope I didn’t wake you?” you ask. Your tone is mostly tired and listless, but DJ can still pick up the concern in your voice.

He rolls all four shoulders in a shrug. “Not much help for it.” He debates asking about the crying he’d heard last night, but…he suspects you’ve already told him everything you’re ready to for now. Perhaps it’s best you both keep clear heads for the hunt today.

Again a melancholy silence falls over the both of you as you ready yourselves for the day. You leave Lil’ M some pieces of roc meat for when he wakes up, and once you finish your own small breakfast, you and DJ head out.

Once in the forest, your gait slows as you try to move more quietly. DJ’s leading you to the trap he’d set last night, but you’re still listening to the sounds around you and trying to find a game trail amidst the snow-covered ground. You hold your crossbow at the ready, scanning for any signs of movement among the trees. If an opportunity presents itself before you get to the trap, you want to take advantage of it.

DJ feels like he’s barely moving at all, as you have to take several steps to cover the ground he can cover in one. Though that’s not what bothers him about this arrangement.

Your boots are loud. DJ isn’t actually sure if any of the game you’re hunting has better hearing than him. They must not, if you’ve had successful hunts in the past. But still…every time your boot crunches against the snow he winces.

Eventually, he hears the sound of a couple birds flapping their wings in a hasty takeoff from the boughs above right after your boot snaps a twig beneath the snow. With some reluctance, he lightly reaches down and touches your shoulder.

You turn back to him, glancing up at him questioningly, but having the sense not to speak aloud when you’re on the hunt.

“Sorry,” he signs with another wince. “Your boots are just…a bit loud?” he signs. The timidity in the small, apologetic smile he gives you would border on comical in any other situation. Before you can think of a reply, he continues, “It might be quieter if I carried you.”

Your mouth falls open in surprise at the suggestion, your cheeks warming slightly. But you manage not to give any audible reaction this time--you’re getting better at that, it seems.

“Carry me?” you sign back to him, initially thinking he means in his arms, which, while far from unappealing on its own, does not seem like a great hunting setup.

He nods, then turns slightly, patting the dark circle of fur on the back of his abdomen.

Ah. So that’s what he’d meant by “carry”.

“Worth a try, I guess,” you sign, hooking your crossbow back onto your belt for the moment.

He holds out his upper set of arms, waiting for you to offer your hands before taking them in his. His lower set of hands loops around your back, forming a “seat” of sorts as he hoists you up. He swivels his torso nearly 180 degrees and sets you atop his abdomen.

Your cheeks warm a bit at the closeness, but you try to stay focused. You stay seated on his back, your crossbow once again at the ready as you continue scanning the treeline for movement.

DJ’s movements are far quieter than yours. You’re not sure how he does it. Despite his feet being more or less the same size as yours, somehow they’re able to slip silently into the snow rather than crunch through it the way your boots do.

After a few moments he pivots his torso again, managing to face almost entirely backwards in a way a human would not be able to. “Is this alright?” he asks, continuing to walk forward, seemingly unphased by not being able to see where he’s going.

You set the crossbow aside long enough to sign, “Yes. You were right, this is much quieter,” you admit.

He smiles and dips his head in a nod, though what pride he feels in his ability to help with the hunt is quickly quashed as the two of you arrive at the trap he’d set last night.

Something had been caught in the trap…at some point. Now the trap is empty, the silk hanging torn and tattered from the boughs DJ had spun it between.

You feel him sag defeatedly beneath you before you even notice the silk amidst the snow-covered forest. As you follow his gaze, you wince at the state of the web. Well…he had admitted he’s out of practice…

Even with your uncertainty about your relationship, his crestfallen look and slumped shoulders tug at your heart and you scoot forward, lightly patting his lower back…which is about all you can reach without attempting to stand up.

He glances back at you and you sign, “Maybe whatever it is is still nearby.”

“Maybe,” he agrees. “Smells like a boar.”

You nod. “Boars break out of the traps I make, too,” you sign with an encouraging smile. You lift yourself up slightly, sitting up on your knees. You’re not quite confident enough to fully stand up on his back. “I think I see its tracks,” you sign before pointing. “Between those two pine trees there.”

DJ nods. He can somewhat catch the scent of the boar in the air along the trail it’s made. It’s not strong enough that he would have noticed it had he been out here on a casual stroll, but if he focuses on it, he can pick it out.

The two of you work together to track the boar, you being able to pick out its tracks and DJ using its scent as a sort of tie-breaker when you’re not sure which game trail belongs to the boar.

After an hour or so, DJ lifts his head, holding up a hand to signal you to be extra quiet. You close your lips, stilling your breathing as DJ removes his earmuffs to listen.

“We’re close,” he signs. “It’s maybe twenty yards ahead.”

You nod, shifting slightly to stand on your knees and holding your crossbow fully at the ready.

DJ moves even more slowly and deliberately than he had been before, keeping his earmuffs off to listen. His movements don’t sound any quieter to you, but you assume they must to him. Soon you can hear the quiet grunting and snorting of the boar rooting around in the snow.

DJ pauses, glancing around as he tries to figure out an approach that’ll give you a clear shot at the boar. He carefully circles a tree and some snow-covered shrubbery, and in a few more moments the boar comes into sight, its mottled grey coat standing out against the snowy scenery around it.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see DJ glance at you questioningly, and you dip your head in a nod, confirming you can take the shot from here.

You raise the crossbow and line up the shot. With a twang that sounds almost deafening after the long silence, the bolt fires and hits the boar in the chest, penetrating its thick skin and burying itself in the creature’s heart. It’s dead before it even hits the ground.

DJ quickly replaces his earmuffs and you let out the breath you’d been holding as your body relaxes. “It’s a big one,” you say aloud as he turns to help you down from his back. “I usually don’t even try for ones this size…”

“Why not?” he asks as he strides over to it.

“If I’m hunting alone and miss the shot, it’ll charge me,” you explain. “That and carrying it back is exhausting…I’ve never needed this much meat badly enough for it to be worth the risk or the trouble.”

He smiles weakly. “I don’t mind eating here, then. Less risk and less trouble,” he signs.

“Oh, um. I didn’t mean--”

“It’s like a picnic,” he signs with a playful grin.

“Heh. Right…” you say uncertainly.

You appreciate what he’s trying to do. Nobility or not, you still believe he has some appreciation, and even affection for you. You also can’t bring yourself to believe he’s the sort to feel entitled to your aid just because he holds a higher rank than you.

Still…that doesn’t mean he’ll ever stop yearning for his old life. Or that he wouldn’t return to it if given the chance.

DJ lowers his head, sinking his fangs into the boar, his venom slowly beginning to liquify the creature’s flesh. After a moment he opens his mouth, taking a bite of the goopy mess and swallowing it.

You turn away from the sight, walking a few paces away and leaning against a tree while you wait for him to finish eating.

You’d thought you’d gotten over the spiderfolk way of eating years ago, but you’d never given Lil’ M anything so big to eat. His meat was usually cut into more manageable chunks…you hadn’t even realized he would have a way of eating something bigger. After all, a human can’t just tear into a freshly killed boar armed with only their teeth.

The unpleasantness of the process, while not something you want to watch, doesn’t exactly bother you. Everyone has things they need or prefer privacy for, and if eating is going to be one of those things with DJ, then so be it.

Still…you’re not without a bit of guilt as you wonder if another spiderfolk would have turned away from the sight so quickly.

It takes DJ just under an hour to eat the whole thing. His venom melts the meat and flesh off the bones, and when he’s done, he gathers up the pristine boar skeleton to be made into a bone broth later. He ties the large satchel onto his back, then finishes cleaning his face, the bristly fur on his pedipalps acting like small combs to get every trace of blood and meat out of his fur.

He’s going to miss certain aspects of human dining, but that pales in comparison to how much he’s missed this. There’s something very satisfying about eating his fill and then carefully grooming his face fur. The act of washing his face as a human, with damp cloths and water and soap, had never felt very pleasant, even if it was ultimately worth it for the sake of basic hygiene.

He glances over to you, where you stand leaning against a tree, facing away from him. He frowns a bit. Are you just giving him privacy, or had his eating bothered you…?

<Heartsilk?> he chitters, walking over to you, his feet slipping silently though the snow.

You don’t recognize the word, of course, but you can pick out the inquiry in his tone and assume he’s addressing you.

“All set?” you ask, your tone flat and your gaze distant as you glance at him over your shoulder.

All four of his shoulders slump at your dour mood and he nods. “I’d like to try spinning some trap webs again on the way home.” He wrings his lower set hands nervously as he signs with his upper set, “It’s…not something I’m well-suited to, but…maybe with some practice…I’m sorry…I haven’t spun anything other than instrument strings since I was a child…”

“It’s alright, DJ. I know this…this isn’t the life you’d’ve chosen.” As soon as you say the words, you bite your lip in a wince. You’d meant it as a statement of solidarity, to acknowledge he’s doing his best with the situation he’s been forced into, but it had sounded far more snarky once you’d spoken it aloud. Maybe your bitterness and trepidation about the situation is finally sneaking into your words.

DJ’s brows lower as he glares at you. “That is not what I said!” he signs, affronted.

You flinch, hugging yourself and rubbing your arms nervously. It’s all you can do to keep your gaze on him enough to see his signing as you say, “I-I know. But…it’s…it’s still true, isn’t it?”

He shakes his head firmly. “It doesn’t matter what I would have chosen then! This is the life I’m choosing now! You are the one I am choosing now. I love you. I never want to be anywhere but at your side.” As he signs, his initial annoyed glare melts into a pleading, wounded look that you could ever doubt he’d want to be with you.

You feel tears stinging at your eyes and you quickly wipe them away. “I-I love you too,” you say hoarsely…despite everything it’s a relief to say those words again. “I-I just…don’t see how you could be happy here…with me…” you finally admit, wringing your hands. You can’t meet his gaze as you add, “Wh-What could I possibly offer you that the queen of spiderfolk couldn’t give you a thousand times over?”

DJ blinks, taken aback by the question. His brow knits sadly and he lowers his body until the fur on the bottom of his abdomen is resting atop the snow. He gently hooks a finger under your chin, lifting your gaze so you can see his signing.

“Kindness. Respect. Dignity. Seeing me as something other than just a prize.” He looks concerned, almost hurt, that he has to spell that out for you. That you could possibly think he would value anything from Ballora more than he values you.

You flinch guiltily, lowering your gaze. “I-It just…sounds like…you had a much more comfortable life before. I-I’m guessing you didn’t have to do chores or hunt or anything like that…much less worry about where your next meal was coming from…”

He pauses, considering his answer. “I didn’t,” he agrees. “It was a softer life. And I won’t pretend there aren’t some parts of it I’ll miss. But I wouldn’t trade you away for any of it. I love you.”

You smile softly at the tender look in his eyes, feeling your cheeks warming as your eyes mist up. You hug his hand against your face, your cheek resting on the leathery paw pad. Yet, you can’t help but ask…

“E-Even though I’m…a human?”

DJ gives you a bemused smile, lightly stroking your hair with his other hand. It’s a bit awkward, given how large his hands are compared to your head, and the fact that it’s not a motion that comes naturally to spiderfolk anyway. He never would have thought to attempt such a gesture if not for his time as a human.

“Of course. You’re still exactly who I fell in love with…I’m the one who’s changed,” he points out, giving you a hesitant look…an unspoken question hanging between you.

You blink up at him. It seems so obvious when he says it like that. Of course, when you started pulling away, he’d assumed…

“Oh DJ…I-I’m so sorry, I never would have wanted you to think…” You sigh softly, gripping his hand tighter, your fingers burying themselves in the fur on the back of his hand. “I-I just…when you said you were nobility…courted by the queen, I…I panicked…”

Like you had been barely a moment ago, DJ is slightly embarrassed he hadn’t seen the obvious. “I hadn’t really thought about rank,” he admits. “Our worlds are so different, it just…never occurred to me.”

You laugh weakly. “Well, there are still queens and there are still peasants…and they’re quite far apart, aren’t they?”

“I suppose. But I was exiled. I’m no more a part of her kingdom than you are. I’m certainly not nobility anymore.”

“I…guess that’s true,” you admit softly, resting your cheek against his palm.

“You are…alright? With me as I am now?” he signs hesitantly.

“Of course, DJ!” you say quickly. “You’re still the same sweet, kind…and brave man I fell in love with…”

The last one catches him off guard and he cants his head in surprise. “Brave? Me?” he asks, the fur on his cheeks bristling as he suddenly feels flustered at the unexpected praise.

You laugh warmly. “Oh yes. Braver than I’d given you credit for, if anything.”

He quirks a brow in confusion, all eight of his eyes blinking as he looks down at you blankly.

Your cheek is still against his palm as you lower your gaze shyly. “I mean…it was obvious you’d been through something terrible, but you were still picking yourself up and trying to bounce back and find your own way in the world. And you were so much kinder to me and Lil’ M than the world had been to you…” Your smile turns sad. “I never would have guessed just how much you were going through back then. I tried not to guess, of course, but if I had, I never would have imagined you were adjusting to a whole new body during all that. I think that takes a kind of bravery and strength that’s…really rare.”

His cheek fur had continued to fluff as you’d been speaking, and now his pedipalps twitch, criss-crossing over his face shyly. If he hadn’t spent so long in his human form he may have been able to still his reaction somewhat, but then again, his previous suitors had never flustered him the way your earnest praise does. His ability to hide such reactions has never really been put to the test.

You lift your gaze to him, anticipating that he’ll have a reply to sign to you, only to raise a brow at how fluffed his face is and the position of his pedipalps. “A-Are you alright?” you ask, not knowing what to make of it.

DJ snaps out of his reverie, quickly nodding. He forces his pedipalps back to their usual resting position and reaches up to smooth his face fur with his hands. At your concerned look, raises his hands to sign.

“Flustered,” he admits shyly, the fur on his cheeks raising ever so slightly.

You stare at him a moment, then giggle fondly. You’re familiar with the fur fluffing, of course. You’ve seen Lil’ M do it when embarrassed, but never to the extent DJ’s just had, nor had you ever seen the pedipalps crossed over the face like that.

“Sorry,” you say warmly. “I didn’t mean to fluster you…Just speaking the truth.”

He lowers himself further, allowing his abdomen to sink into the snow. He leans his upper body forward, propping himself on the elbows of his lower arms as his torso is nearly parallel to the ground, bringing his head down to just above your eye level.

You step back, smiling a bit nervously as his face is suddenly close to yours. You’re still not completely used to the size difference.

DJ hesitates as well, looking a bit nervous at your reaction, but unable to sign anything without pulling away.

You don’t give him a chance to do so, stepping forward and putting your hands under his chin, your fingers burying themselves in the blue stripe of fur. You lean towards him, standing on your toes to place a light kiss on the bridge of his nose.

There’s not a great way to kiss him on the mouth anymore. He doesn’t have much in the way of lips, and his chelicerae block most of them anyway…and you’re not sure if trying to kiss him on the chelicerae or teeth would be comfortable for either of you.

His cheeks fluff yet again. He closes his eyes, barely aware of what he’s doing as he moves his pedipalps to lightly touch your cheeks.

As soon as the bristly fur brushes one of your cheeks you squeak in surprise, pulling back abruptly.

DJ pulls back quickly as well, wincing guiltily. You accepting his current form doesn’t mean you’re ready for pedipalp holding. Belatedly, he realizes you probably didn’t even understand what he’d been doing, or what it means. He would have reacted similarly if you’d just pressed your lips against his without him ever knowing what a kiss is, after all.

“Sorry,” he signs. “Too…” He hesitates, trying to find the right word. “Strange?”

You rub at your cheek. “I-I was just…surprised…” you say uncertainly.

“It’s part of spiderfolk courtship. Like…kissing, I think. We nuzzle our foreheads together and wrap our pedipalps around each other’s,” he signs before hooking his two index fingers together to pantomime the motion.

“Oh…” you say. You pull back slightly, both hands rubbing at either side of your jawline, suddenly very aware of your lack of pedipalps. “I um…I guess that…won’t really work for us, huh?” you say hesitantly.

“It won’t be the same…but it doesn’t have to be,” he signs.

Your smile slowly returns, and you dip your head in a nod. He’s right, of course…you had readily accepted kissing him on the nose or cheeks from now on, so you have no reason to doubt he’d accept similar deviations from his own norm.

He lowers himself once more, folding his lower set of arms beneath himself and leaning forward, gently nuzzling his forehead against yours. He lifts his pedipalps to your cheeks, the bristly fur brushing against your skin.

You can’t help but pull away at the tickly sensation, letting out a small giggle as you tuck your shoulders against your jawline.

Once again DJ pulls back as well, canting his head curiously at your reaction but not lifting himself up enough to sign.

“S-Sorry…I-It’s a bit…tickly…” you admit sheepishly, your cheeks burning.

Tickly? DJ hadn’t been expecting that…

Before he can think what to do next, you slip your gloves off and reach a hand towards one of his pedipalps, your palm up. He obliges, placing it atop your open hand.

The fur is short and bristly, reminding you of a scrub brush. Hardly surprising, as you’re already aware spiderfolk use them to “comb” their facial fur.

You run your hand over the fuzz, getting used to the texture. DJ slumps slightly, his eyes lidded as he relaxes into your touch. He’d never thought having his pedipalp touched by someone’s hands would be all that pleasant, but then again…your hands aren’t much bigger than pedipalps, and they’re so warm…especially out in the cold, the warmth of your hand is very soothing.

Even with his somewhat less expressive mouth, you can see the borderline dopiness in his grin as he lays in the snow before you. He raises his other pedipalp, gently nudging it against your cheek.

You shiver a bit as the fur tickles your cheek, but your reaction is far less overt now that you’re prepared for the feeling. You cup the second pedipalp in your free hand, hugging both pedipalps to your cheeks, your hands resting against them.

He nuzzles his forehead against yours, or perhaps more accurately, nuzzles his face against your entire head and part of your chest.

You laugh warmly, leaning against him and shifting your hands to his cheeks while his pedipalps slip over your shoulders, hugging you to himself.

It’s not as different as he thought it would be. Your small size allows your arms and hands to fill the role of pedipalps, at least for this. And the warmth is certainly a pleasant addition. Despite the differences, it feels…natural. Maybe because being with you, in any form, is what’s most natural to him now.

<I love you, heartsilk. My lovely heartsilk…> he chitters softly, his upper set of hands resting against your back.

You hum contentedly, running a hand through the fur on his cheek. “You’ll have to teach me what some of that means sometime…” you quip lightly. Though you can guess roughly what he’d just said, so you add. “I love you too.”

DJ lets out a chittering laugh, lifting his body enough so that his second set of arms can hook behind your legs, scooping you up and carrying you up with the rest of himself as he rises to his full height.

You pull away slightly, looking up to meet his eyes. “I guess a snowy field isn’t the best place for all this, huh?” you admit.

He nods in agreement, lightly booping your cheeks with the ends of his pedipalps. With you in his arms he can’t pull back enough to sign efficiently…but he doesn’t need to.

A burden has been lifted from you--from both of you--and the walk home is far more relaxed than the walk out.

Human or spiderfolk, nobility or peasant…you’re just as glad to be in his arms once more as he is to hold you again.

Chapter Text

“You must be freezing after being outside that long,” you say once you and DJ are back indoors.

He shakes his head, settling into his corner. “Not really,” he signs. He grins slightly. “Hard to be too cold with a warm human sitting on my back.”

“O-Oh…it is?” you ask, bemused. You begin taking off your coat and gloves, hanging them up by the door.

“Like a heat rock,” he signs, his fond grin not leaving his face.

You laugh lightly, brushing the unmelted snow from his fur. You take one of his hands, hugging it against your cheek and running your fingers through the fluff on the back of his hand. He does feel a bit cold, but far from dangerously so.

“I didn’t think spiderfolk did well in the cold…”

“It mostly just makes us tired, and slows our movements and reflexes. We could even start to fall asleep after a few hours. But it’s not painful.”

“I see…Lil’ M gets so cranky in the snow, so I guess…I just assumed it was some kind of painful.”

DJ lets out a chittering chuckle. “Tired and cranky are the same thing at his age, I think.”

A sharp hiss from the dining room interrupts you, and you both turn to see a very unimpressed Lil’ M standing atop the dining table. “I saw that,” he signs at DJ. His glare morphs into a smug smirk, and he adds, “If you tease me you don’t get your surprise.”

“Surprise?” you ask blankly while DJ signs the same question.

Lil’ M places a hand on his cheek, his fingers drumming against his face as his chelicerae twitch in an exaggerated look of deliberation. A pointed raise of your brow ends his charade and he lets out a chittering laugh. “Fine!” he signs, before leaning down, picking up something that had been placed on the seat of the farthest chair, blocked from view by the dining table.

DJ’s harp--restringed and cleaned up!

“You fixed it!” DJ signs in surprise.

He nods eagerly, setting down the harp and puffing his chest proudly. “Remembered how we fixed it the first time. Did the same thing again.”

You go over to the dining room table, and Lil’ M passes you the harp for you to take to DJ.

As you pass it to him, you realize how small it is in his hand. Wrapping one hand around the frame while holding it against his body just isn’t doable anymore. Before you can comment on that, DJ adjusts his grip, holding the harp between his thumb and second finger. He extends his claws slightly to keep a better grip on the wooden frame.

You’re expecting him to raise his other hand and begin plucking the strings, but instead he puts a hand up to his face, extending the claw on his forefinger and moving his chelicerae over it. It looks like the spiderfolk equivalent of biting one’s nails.

He notices you and Lil’ M’s confused looks, and smiles weakly. He raises his second set of hands to sign, “I have to blunt my claws or the strings will break.”

“Blunt your claws?” you repeat.

DJ nods, moving on to his second finger. “A bit of venom dissolves the sharp edge. All spiderfolk who play stringed instruments do it,” he explains. He pulls his hand away from his mouth, flexing his claws and looking them over. They don’t look any different to you, but DJ seems satisfied with it, for he lightly plucks a few of the harp strings, making sure they’re all in tune.

You can’t help but smile a bit. Even though he’s not even playing a song yet, it’s a relief to have confirmation that he can still play the harp at all. It’s a much needed bit of familiarity in the chaos of the past couple days.

“It’s been awhile since I played one this small,” DJ signs with his lower hands while he continues to play a few experimental chords on the harp with his upper hands.

“How big are the harps you usually play?” Lil’ M signs.

DJ holds his lower set of hands a couple feet apart, roughly the size of what would be a large floor harp for a human.

Lil’ M glances to you. “You think they sell those in town?” he signs, before hopping down from the table and moving over to the couch.

You take a seat on the couch near him, looking apprehensive. “Uh, I mean, they do, but…they’re…pretty pricey…” you say hesitantly.

“We have the roc money,” Lil’ M signs.

DJ hits a sour note on the harp, causing both you and Lil’ M to flinch.

“Absolutely not. That’s your money,” he signs sternly.

Lil’ M bristles and raises his hands to sign again, but you quickly cut in, “I don’t think we should be spending any money on musical instruments until spring.”

You don’t want another almost-fight to break out over this. Of course, Lil’ M’s generosity doesn’t surprise you. Despite his occasional boastful airs he’s always offered you a portion of any foraging he’s found. Even when you buy him treats from town he always offers some of his share if you don’t get any for yourself.

But he hadn’t seen how incensed DJ had been when he’d thought you would flippantly leave the roc to the wilds. It’s obviously an important spiderfolk tradition, one that DJ will have to explain to Lil’ M at some point. You don’t know if it will ever be as important to Lil’ M as it is to DJ, but regardless, winter’s almost never a good time for discretionary spending, and you’re sure that’ll prove even more true this winter.

Lil’ M, of course, concedes the point with a reluctant nod. He crosses his arms, folding his legs under himself as he sits on the couch with you. He’s clearly not happy about his offer to help being rejected again, but he at least sees the wisdom in keeping the money in the food budget for now…as well as the wisdom in not arguing about it for the time being.

DJ gives Lil’ M an apologetic smile. “This harp is plenty for now. Thank you for fixing it…I’ve missed playing,” he signs earnestly.

Lil’ M returns the smile, leaning against your arm as you settle back against the couch. It hasn’t been all that long since either of you have heard DJ play--only a couple days, but so much has changed it almost feels like another life.

The corner of your mouth ticks upward in a half-smile as you watch him play. The same way he’d always played, his two fingers moving effortlessly across the strings. Another connection you’d never made, though in this case you hadn’t known enough about music to really question why his playing style had looked different than you’d expected.

DJ’s little concert is a much needed break from the tension and worry of the past couple days…as well as a reassuring look at your possible future, in a way. While your love for DJ had never wavered, and (you realize now) neither had his love for you, there’s no denying a lot will change over the winter. The life you’d pictured building together is going to look different, and just how different is still yet to be seen.

But you can still sit on the couch (even if the couch has been moved) with your little brother (even if he’s never going to be any bigger than you) and listen to DJ’s music (even if his position is a bit cramped for now).

You allow yourself a bit of rest, listening to DJ’s music before getting up and moving into the kitchen, starting the water boiling for the bone broth.

You hold the boar skull in your hands, turning it over as you examine it. “This is amazingly clean,” you say, impressed. “Venom does a much better job than my knife, clearly!”

“You think you’ll be able to sell it?” DJ asks, continuing to play while signing with his other set of hands.

“Oh, certainly. And for much more than I usually sell game skulls,” you add. “I mean, it won’t be nearly as much as the roc, of course, but it’ll be more coin than I usually earn over the winter.” You carefully wrap the skull in linen and place it in a knapsack. “We just have to wait for the snow to clear so I can get to town.”

“Do we?” DJ asks.

“I don’t think I can walk all that way in the snow,” you say.

“Last time they tried they almost froze,” Lil’ M signs.

At DJ’s concerned look, you give an awkward laugh. “I wouldn’t say ‘almost froze’, but uh…I was laid up for a couple days after I got back…”

“You also left half the food you bought hidden in a bush and animals took it,” Lil’ M signs with a wry look.

You bite back a sigh and return his look with a deadpan one of your own. “Yes, I remember,” you say, a bit defensively. “That’s why I’m not going to try it again!”

DJ cants his head slightly. “Certainly not alone,” he signs.

You glance at him in surprise. “You’re…not suggesting you come with me?”

“Not to town. But I could carry you most of the way there. Staying off the roads, of course.”

“Hmm,” you hum with a thoughtful frown, resisting the impulse to shoot the idea down immediately. He may not need to get all that close to the town for the plan to work… “Even just cutting the journey in half could make it doable…” you muse aloud. You shake your head. “But surely you shouldn’t be out in the snow alone all day? If I’m in town for a few hours, couldn’t you get too cold and tired to make the walk back?”

“You have a heat rock. I saw it when we were rearranging. Or does it not work anymore?” DJ asks.

You know the one he’s talking about--it’s the only one you have, but it’s quite old. Older than you, even. It’s a flat slab of dense, heavy stone, covered in carved runes and about the size of a large meal tray. It can be placed in or near a fire to store heat, then slid beneath a mattress to warm it during winter nights.

You only use it in the deepest, coldest part of winter, or when firewood is running low. The runes on it have faded, and while it used to stay warm for several days, now it barely lasts one night--and that’s if you put it in the fireplace as soon as you wake up and keep it there until you’re about to go to bed, so it’s usually not worth the hassle. The house is well-sealed and the hearth fire keeps the small home warm enough for the vast majority of the winter.

“It does, but--” You cut off your almost-protest with a laugh. “I was going to say it’s too heavy to carry around, but…probably not for you?” you say.

“Unlikely,” he agrees with a wry grin. “Things like that are how spiderfolk travel in the winter, to keep from getting too cold and falling asleep.”

You nod thoughtfully. “I see…then…I guess provided you don’t get too close to town, and I make sure to keep my errands quick, I can be back before you get too sleepy.” You glance up at him with a worried look. “But if I’m not, you have to promise to come back here and not wait for me. I can stay at the inn if the weather turns or find a ride with a wagon.”

DJ doesn’t look happy about promising such a thing, but he dips his head in a reluctant nod. In the human realm you simply have more options than him if things start going wrong.

“I’ll go too,” Lil’ M declares abruptly.

“Wh-What?!” you blurt as DJ lets out an equally surprised and questioning trill.

“Wait with DJ while you’re in town,” he adds. At your and DJ’s continued reluctant looks, he bristles slightly and signs, “I’m between molts. I haven’t left the house in weeks. I don’t want to be by myself all day.”

You chew your lip a moment, considering. “Well…if you promise to stay near DJ. And by near I mean arm’s length,” you say sternly.

Lil’ M smirks at that. “Mine or his?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “YOURS, smart guy!” you say, a bit of playfulness sneaking into your tone despite the seriousness of the request. You glance at DJ. “You’ll be okay watching him while I’m in town?”

Lil’ M snorts. “I watch him.”

DJ gives a good natured eye-roll at that, but nods. “The company will be nice.”

With the plan in place, the three of you settle in for the evening. Once Lil’ M goes to bed, you move from the couch to stand before DJ, taking his lower set of hands in yours. Well, moreso letting his hands completely engulf yours.

“Should I um…bring the bedroll back out here?” you ask, oddly shy at the question. “D-Do spiderfolk even…spend nights together?”

DJ chuckles softly. “We do,” he signs. Instead of answering your first question directly, he gives a small, timid smile. “I missed you last night…”

“I missed you too,” you agree, resting your cheek against one of his hands.

He releases your hands, lowering his head to nuzzle his forehead against yours. <Heartsilk,> he chitters softly as you lightly kiss the bridge of his nose.

“What does that mean?” you ask softly. “You’ve…said that word to me before, I think?” You’ve only heard him speak a couple times, and most of it has sounded very similar. Almost indistinguishable from Lil’ M’s chittering, which you know to be wordless. Still…somehow this particular word has managed to stick out.

DJ’s cheeks are slightly fluffed as he pulls away. “It’s something we call our partners. It means…” He pauses, trying to think of how to translate it. “Silk of the heart?” He’s clearly not certain about the literal translation.

“Silk of the heart?” you repeat, intrigued at the phrase.

“Love spins a strand of silk from your heart,” he lightly touches your chest, “To mine,” he signs, one of his lower hands reaching back to briefly rest on his abdomen. “We feel its pull just as we feel the threads of our own webs being pulled. It connects us, always, even when we’re apart.”

His cheeks fluff a bit and he does his best to keep his pedipalps still as he signs. It’s such a tender thought that he would have certainly stumbled over his words if he’d tried to speak it aloud.

Your cheeks warm at the explanation as well, and if you were a spiderfolk your face would be even more fluffed than his. “O-Oh, w-wow…” you finally manage to breathe. It’s such a romantic and…intimate notion. The headiness of it fades for a moment and you frown, rubbing at your chest. “Th-Though I don’t…have silk…” you say.

DJ smiles gently, having anticipated that concern. “Not all spiderfolk do either.”

You glance at him in surprise. “Really?”

“Most do,” he admits. “But some are born without spinnerets or spinnerets too weak to spin. And many lose the ability later in life, especially if they don’t use it much. But our spirits have it…” His cheeks fluff again, one of his lower hands wrapping around one of your hands. “And yours does too. I feel it.”

You let out a giddy laugh, feeling your face burning. “I-If you keep saying things like that we won’t need to bring the heat rock tomorrow,” you say, rubbing at your warm cheeks with your free hand.

“It’s true, though,” he signs with a look of unabashed fondness…a look he’d given you as a human several times, and somehow still looks so similar on his true face.

He lowers his head, nuzzling against you once again, and this time you wrap your arms around his head, burying your hands in the fluff. You feel his pedipalps around your shoulders, and his hands resting gently on your back.

You sigh contentedly as you lean against him, your eyes drifting shut.

You could stay here all night. Bedroll or no. You don’t want to leave his embrace for even the two minutes it would take you to go fetch it.

But if you don’t get a proper rest tonight your body won’t care how romantic your evening had been when you have to trek through the woods with achy muscles in the morning. Reluctantly, your heart concedes to your mind’s sense and you pull away to go get changed and gather your bedding.

You place the bedroll in front of his head and lay down as his arms encircle you. He rests his chin on the ground, one pedipalp lightly stroking your hair while the other nudges your hand. You take the hint and flip your hand over, running your warm palm over the bristly surface.

<Heartsilk,> he chitters softly.

“Silk of the heart.”

*

The three of you wake just after dawn and set about preparing for your journey. DJ has some of the bone broth for breakfast, while you pour the rest into a pair of clay flasks to serve as a warm drink (and light lunch) for Lil’ M and DJ that’ll help them stay alert while they wait for you.

DJ endures another uncomfortable squeeze through the door, and once he’s out you pass him the rucksack of travel supplies and the boar skull for him to sling over his shoulders. You then help Lil’ M onto DJ’s back before DJ scoops you up to place you atop his abdomen as well.

“Sorry you have to be the one to carry us…and all the stuff…” you say with a sheepish smile.

“Hardly a bother. Not that heavy,” DJ signs.

DJ makes his way through the forest, easily waving through the undergrowth despite his large size. He holds his body quite steady, even when climbing over logs and fallen branches, so you and Lil’ M are never in danger of sliding off or being dropped.

He walks alongside the road, about half a mile behind the treeline, staying thoroughly hidden. Not that anyone would leave the road to wade through the snowy forest to bother a wandering spidertaur even if he were seen…but all of you would prefer to postpone the rumors of a full-grown spidertaur living near town for as long as possible.

He stops about three miles outside of town, venturing a bit closer to the road than he had been, but still keeping out of sight. He lowers himself, letting you slide off his back to land in the knee-deep snow. He passes you the bag containing the boar skull, along with his harp so you can signal your return when you get back. He gives you a brief forehead nuzzle before you part ways. Neither of you wants him to linger this close to the road for too long.

The walk back into the forest is quiet, DJ’s feet slipping silently through the snow drifts and somehow never finding anything beneath the snow to crunch beneath them.

Despite all of DJ and Lil’ M’s conversations being silent, neither of them attempt to sign to each other until they’re well clear of the road. Once they are, DJ swivels his torso to face Lil’ M and slows his walk to a slow meander, though he doesn’t sign. He’s not quite sure what to say at the moment.

The fact that Lil’ M has never known another spiderfolk yet now has an entire afternoon to spend one on one with one is not lost on DJ, but before he can figure out how to broach the topic, Lil’ M does it for him, with his usual directness.

“You know spiderspeak?”

DJ laughs. “I do!” he signs easily. As first questions go, it’s not exactly surprising. If DJ had had time to guess at what Lil’ M would ask him first, the language of their people would have been near the top of that list.

“Teach me?”

He nods, though his grin turns a bit hesitant. “Alright. I don’t think I’ve ever tried to teach anyone anything…but I’ll do my best.”

Lil’ M grins, doing a happy little bounce in his excitement. “We have plenty of time!”

“True. Alright, then…” DJ only has to contemplate his task a moment before realizing he himself has very recently learned a new language--sign. Rather successfully, at that. You’d taught him a few phrases during his first couple days on the farm, but his actual lessons hadn’t begun in earnest until DJ’d had a couple days to recover.

So, DJ will follow your example.

<Hello,> he speaks, signing the word at the same time.

Lil’ M repeats it as best he can, though it sounds a bit muddled and slurred. But still recognizable, at least.

“Close!” DJ signs. <Hello,> he says again, this time speaking a bit louder and more clearly.

<Hello,> Lil’ Music Man repeats.

DJ nods eagerly. Only two tries…DJ had been worried this might be more difficult. Common and Spiderspeak are so different it may take Lil’ M a bit to train his ears to pick out the different sounds of his native language…not to mention actually training his mouthparts to make specific sounds instead of his usual wordless chitters.

DJ goes through several similar words. Goodbye, yes, no, thank you, and sorry. He then moves onto teaching him phrases he may use around the farm. Things about feeding chickens and gathering wood and weeding the garden and other such chores.

It does also confirm Lil’ M’s hearing is a bit diminished. DJ consistently has to speak a little louder than what comes naturally to him…and he’ll probably have to do the same for you if he ever tries to teach you Spiderspeak.

As DJ pauses to figure out what to teach Lil’ M next, Lil’ M begins signing.

“How do you say Little Music Man?”

<Little Music Man,> DJ speaks.

<Little Music Man,> Lil’ M repeats. “And DJ?”

<DJ.>

<DJ,> he repeats. “What are some other spiderfolk names?”

DJ considers, only to wince internally when the first name that comes to mind is Ballora. Well, she’d all but driven off anyone else from associating with him…but DJ’s not about to share her name with you or Lil’ M unless either of you asks. So he lists off a random selection of names, a mix of names he happens to like as names, some names of spiderfolk he’s known, and some common names he just happens to think of on the spot.

On the eighth name or so, he notices Lil’ Music Man’s contemplative look, and belatedly guesses that the question comes from more than just idle curiosity. “There is a name you might like,” DJ signs. “It’s…similar to yours, in a way. It means ‘little song’.”

Lil’ M perks, listening curiously.

<Smallsong,> DJ speaks.

<Smallsong…> Lil’ M repeats. His face brightens and he grins. <Like. Mine,> he says, fittingly using his limited knowledge of Spiderspeak to claim it.

“You want that to be your spiderfolk name?” DJ asks.

<Yes!> he chitters. “I never had one. Never wanted a human name either.”

DJ nods. “Your sibling told me about the minstrel,” he signs, his smile fading.

Lil’ M doesn’t look surprised at the revelation. “Good. Saves me the trouble of talking about it.”

“Fair enough,” DJ signs with a sympathetic chuckle.

The conversation lapses and DJ’s pacing becomes aimless as he takes advantage of the time to stretch his legs a bit. As he does, his mind wanders back to last night’s conversation.

Buying new instruments won’t be in the cards for a long time, but making one could be. Something a bit bigger than the current harp but still small enough that carving a frame and stringing it might be doable…it’s at least worth trying before spending the money on such a thing.

He pauses, glancing up at the boughs criss-crossing above him. He hasn’t done any woodworking since he was a child. He’d even stopped doing his own maintenance on his instruments, other than restringing.

He’d be well out of his element if he tried to make a harp or any other instrument from scratch, but…he hasn’t been fully in his element for months now.

Lil’ M taps one of his feet against DJ’s back to get his attention before signing, “What are you looking for?”

“Trying to figure out if any of these trees are maple,” he signs.

Lil’ M gives him a dubious look. “One’s just to your left there,” he signs before pointing.

DJ glances at the tree. He can tell it’s not pine, due to the branches being bare, and it’s not birch, due to the trunk’s dark color, but that’s as far as he’s gotten.

“Can’t you smell it?”

“I never knew what a maple tree smelled like,” he signs. The varnish and oils put on finished instruments in the cluster makes them all smell more or less the same.

“Smells like maple candies. We had those a few weeks ago,” Lil’ M signs.

“They didn’t have a smell when I was human,” DJ explains.

“What do you want with a maple tree anyway?”

“Thinking of trying to make another harp or two.”

“You know how?”

“Not really,” DJ admits with a weak smile.

“Then why not buy one? We have the roc money--”

“No,” he signs emphatically before Lil’ M’s even finished. “We are not spending the roc money on that,” he signs with abrupt, clipped gestures.

Lil’ M bristles, glaring up at DJ. “Why don’t you want me to help you?” he finally signs, struggling to keep his expression neutral…but DJ can still see a bit of hurt in his eyes.

DJ’s expression softens and he lets out a sigh. “It isn’t that I don’t want you to help me. But that bird, and the money, are your right. They’re as much yours as your own body is.”

Lil’ M blinks, canting his head as all eight of his eyes blink in confusion.

“When it took your legs it took a part of you. A part of your spirit mingled with its body and it is your right to take back what is yours.”

“And that’s what eating the meat does?” At DJ’s nod, Lil’ M continues, “But the money is just money. Same as any other money.”

“It’s still yours,” DJ signs gently.

Lil’ M huffs, glaring up at DJ. “Doesn’t feel like mine. No say in what to do with it. Can’t go to town and pick out my own stuff. You both decide what’s best for me and that’s what gets bought.”

He falters, wincing guiltily. “Well…what would you like?”

DJ had of course meant what Lil’ M would pick out for himself if given the opportunity, but the look of ire on Lil’ M’s face makes DJ suddenly painfully aware that he should have phrased the question better.

“To do something for you! For my sibling! Be helpful for once!” His abrupt signs are punctuated by angry hisses as tears of frustration well up in his eyes.

“You do plenty for us!” DJ signs, aghast that Lil’ M would think otherwise.

“Not lately,” he signs sulkily.

“You’re injured. You’re helping us by resting and getting better,” DJ signs with a small smile.

Lil’ M gives DJ a deadpan look before crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.

<Hey,> DJ chitters aloud.

As Lil’ M glances up, DJ scoops him up in his second set of arms, letting him balance atop DJ’s spread palms while DJ signs with his upper set of hands. “You remember the night I first arrived on the farm?” At Lil’ M’s tentative nod, DJ continues, “You know what would have happened if you hadn’t woken your sibling?”

Lil’ M cants his head, then gives a small shrug.

“They’d’ve woken up to a ruined chicken pen and I’d’ve run back into the woods. I was too scared to ask any humans for help. But I needed it. Badly.”

Lil’ M’s cheek fur fluffs slightly and he glances away, giving a modest, if somewhat stubborn shrug.

DJ grins, turning and settling Lil’ M on his back again. “It isn’t just your sibling that saved me, you know.”

“...I guess,” Lil’ M finally admits. “Still want us to share the money.”

DJ sighs softly. “Me agreeing to that would be deeply offensive back in the spiderfolk village,” he signs hesitantly. Lil’ M raises his hands to sign something, but DJ beats him to it. “But we aren’t in the spiderfolk village,” he concedes.

Lil’ M perks at that, and his bright grin eases DJ’s apprehension at what he’s almost starting to agree to. Though a not insignificant part of him still hopes he can persuade Lil’ M to drop the matter before spring.

“But it is still winter,” DJ signs. “And you’ll be molting again soon.”

Lil’ M lets out a dismayed chitter, making a grimace of disgust. “Don’t remind me.”

He laughs gently. “Sorry. But let’s wait until spring and until your legs are healed before buying anything we don’t need.”

Lil’ M considers, then nods. “Deal.” A beat of silence passes between the two, and Lil’ M asks, “Does molting ever get easier?”

“A bit. When you stop growing, you don’t push against your old exoskeleton as much before you molt. So less achy and less itchy. Medicine also helps, and steam, and a proper web to rest in.”

“I have a proper web!” he signs proudly.

DJ laughs. “I appreciate the sentiment, but you’ll find silk is much more comfortable than twine.”

“Twine much much much more comfortable than pillow,” he returns with a smirk. He pauses, then asks, “You’ll teach me to make a real web, though?”

“Of course,” DJ replies. “I’m…not the best at it. But I can make serviceable sleeping webs, at least.”

“They’d be big…” he comments as he tries to picture just how large a web it would take to hold DJ comfortably. Before DJ can offer any more than a contemplative nod, Lil’ M smirks. “Can humans sleep in webs?”

DJ lets out a flustered chitter, his cheeks fluffing. He quickly recovers, glaring playfully at Lil’ M. Lil’ M simply grins smugly at him. DJ smirks, twitching his legs so his abdomen bounces, causing Lil’ M to nearly lose his balance, though of course DJ would never let him actually fall into the snow.

“Cheeky!” DJ scolds as Lil’ M chitters in protest. “Who taught you to be so cheeky, anyway? Certainly not your sibling.”

Lil’ M blinks, then lets out a loud, chittering laugh, his four legs buckling under him as he once again struggles to balance.

“What’s so funny?” DJ signs in amused bemusement. He hadn’t thought his remark had been particularly witty.

Lil’ M calms his giggles enough to straighten up and sign, “Sibling said the same thing!”

DJ cants his head. “When?”

“When I was being cheeky,” he signs cheekily.

“Doesn’t exactly narrow it down,” DJ replies wryly. “Hold on. I’m going to climb up and grab a branch.”

Once Lil’ M is gripping DJ’s fur with his handclaws and footclaws, DJ climbs up the maple tree, maneuvering through the branches. He can’t face backwards to sign to Lil’ M, at least not easily, so the conversation lapses while DJ searches for a suitable branch.

Finally he finds one, a V-shaped bough with a wide enough gap and thick enough branches, about half your height--the size of the larger harps you’d seen in town. It’ll need some reshaping, of course, but it’s a good starting point.

He draws a line in the bark with one of his unblunted claws, then leans down, feeling for the divot with his fangs. He can’t sink his fangs into the bark, but he can release a bit of venom to weaken the branch enough for his claws to scrape away bits of it. He switches between using his venom and claws to whittle away at the branch until it’s thin enough to readily snap.

Once it does, he lets it fall to the forest floor before climbing down after it, using a similar process to remove the extra twigs from the bough.

Lil’ M watches curiously before hopping down from DJ’s back. DJ immediately stops what he’s doing and gives Lil’ M a warning look, but Lil’ M simply grabs one of the excess branches and climbs back onto DJ’s back.

“You use your venom for woodworking?” he signs up to DJ.

DJ adjusts himself so he can continue peeling the bark from his hopefully-soon-to-be-harp while still being able to sign with Lil’ M. “Yes. Do you?” he asks.

Lil’ M shakes his head. “Never thought to try. Humans use knives. Difficult.”

“This way’s difficult too. Woodworking is just like that, I think,” DJ signs with a shrug.

Still, DJ does his best to teach Lil’ Music Man what small bits of spiderfolk woodworking he does know…which is mostly just how to gauge how much venom is needed to weaken the wood enough to peel away just what you want to peel away and no more.

They both make mistakes. Lil’ M liquifies too much of his branch and the top half sloughs off like runny clay, causing him to chitter in frustration as he hops down to fetch another piece. DJ doesn’t fare much better. He finds himself wishing he’d done a bit of practice work on a less suitable branch. Not only is he thoroughly rusty at woodworking--if indeed he was ever good at woodworking, which is questionable--but he’s still shaking off some of the rust from being in a different body for so long.

He’s pretty sure he’s carved parts of this one too thin, but he’s going to get as far as he can with it anyway. He supposes he should have expected his first attempt at making a harp wouldn’t necessarily end in a usable harp.

A few hours later, when the sky is tinged yellow as the earliest parts of sunset begin, and the forest is dark beneath the trees, they hear you approaching.

You stride through the snow, not particularly quietly, strumming DJ’s newly repaired harp so as to leave little doubt at who’s approaching.

DJ perks eagerly, tucking his would-be harp under one arm and hurrying in your direction. He doesn’t think he’s being particularly quiet, but you still jump slightly when he emerges from the shrubbery before you.

He lowers his head, gently nuzzling his forehead against yours. But he of course keeps it brief and chaste, seeing as the two of you aren’t exactly alone.

“You two seem to be doing well,” you observe, relieved. They don’t look tired or sluggish at all.

“Heat rock and broth did the trick,” DJ agrees. “What about you?”

“Got a good price for the boar skull. Enough to pay for the delivery of the dire turkeys I bought from the butcher.”

“I’ve never had dire turkey,” DJ muses.

“It’s not too much different than pheasant. At least to my palette,” you say with a lighthearted shrug. Your gaze shifts to the bough tucked under his lower arm. “What’s that?” you ask as he helps you onto his back.

“Harp. Or my attempt at one,” he signs sheepishly.

“Oh! You could…actually make one from scratch?” you ask as you settle against his fur. You notice Lil’ M eyeing one of the satchels at your waist, and you give him a wry look before handing him a honey stick you’d bought in town.

DJ’s sheepish grin turns even more sheepish. “...With enough attempts, maybe…”

You laugh weakly. “Well, we’re not short on lumber,” you say easily.

“Or time,” he agrees.

Lil’ M finishes his honey stick and puffs up his chest proudly. <My name is Smallsong,> he says.

You blink, canting your head in bemusement. It sounds different than his usual chittering. More careful…more deliberate.

Not unlike the occasional spiderspeak you’ve heard from DJ.

“DJ is teaching me spiderspeak,” Lil’ M signs to you. “I picked a spiderfolk name. ‘Little Song’.”

“Little Song?” you repeat. “Is that what you’d like me to call you?” you ask. At this point, you’d more or less figured “Little Music Man” would be his permanent name, but the possibility of him wanting something else hadn’t been all that far from your mind.

He pauses, then shakes his head. “No. It’s only my name in spiderspeak. Common and Sign won’t change.”

“Fair enough,” you say easily. “I’m glad you’re able to learn it,” you say warmly, patting the back of his head.

He nods eagerly. “Yes! DJ’s a good teacher,” he signs.

DJ had been watching the conversation from one of his lateral eyes and grins, turning backwards to face the two of you. “And you’re a good student.”

Lil’ M grins widely, turning to you and puffing his chest out proudly. It’s an expression and posture you’re well familiar with--he wants a reward.

You give him a wry look for only a moment before taking another honey stick from the satchel and handing it to him.

As he eats, he climbs into your lap, being a bit more snuggly than he usually is. Either the cold’s finally starting to get to him or he’s just in a particularly good mood today.

Whichever it is, you hardly mind sharing a bit of your body heat with him and DJ on the walk home.