Chapter Text
The Monkey King was annoyed. Annoyed and groggy. It was the middle of the night and something woke him up. Of course, one night he managed not to have a nightmare, something else decided he wouldn’t sleep. Something else being the small monkeys poking at him and pulling at his fur.
He was also confused, as the sound that woke him up, one that at first he assumed was one of the small monkeys whining about something, such as another one stepping on their tail or something equally innocent, started to sound more like crying. Or rather quiet, suppressed sobbing, as if someone was desperately trying not to be heard.
“M’ve ‘way,” he shooed one of the monkeys that was poking him in hic chest, “’m awake.”
The monkeys were chirping in upset, but it truly didn’t seem like any of them were hurt.
What was strange was that it was coming from the living room door. If his memory served him correctly, Mac fell asleep on the sofa the previous night. And that couldn’t be him, could it? Macaque of all people wasn’t crying, whimpering, sobbing, whatever in Wukong’s living room! Not only had Wukong had a hard time imagining it, but he knew that the six-eared monkey would never allow himself to do so in his presence.
He rubbed sleepiness out of his eyes, shaking his head to make himself more awake, when his hand was grabbed by one of the small monkeys, who attempted to pull him put of the bed.
Come! Come! They chirped Hurry!
“Ok, ok, I’m going,” he slipped out of the bed, now properly worried. If Macaque was there (and who was he lying to, that was Macaque’s voice) and the monkeys were this upset about him, things weren’t good. What was he even supposed to do? If Mac was injured, maybe he could somehow bully him into helping him. But if he was just upset or if he had a nightmare…
Sure, in the weeks since the pillar, Wukong comforted MK after nightmares a few times. But that was MK. Despite his tendencies to underplay his issues the kid was an open book next to Macaque. Not to mention the ever-present tension between the two ancient monkeys. Sure, they managed not to hiss at each other (as often) recently, and even had some decent conversation, and sometimes Mac would even sleep over at the Flower Fruit Mountain, and yes they would have some sparring sessions that started and ended friendly, and they even endured Pigsy’s cooking classes together, but anything beyond that was pushing it.
He dragged himself over to the living room and sniffed the air. No smell of blood or anything like it. Well, at least he knew that the jerk didn’t go and get himself injured. A few monkeys were gathered around the sofa, clearly worried as Wukong approached.
“Macaque?” He asked softly as he rounded it, “Well, shit!”
It was undeniable. Macaque wasn’t doing good. Whether it was a nightmare or something else, Wukong couldn’t know. But the warrior was shivering, curled up around one of his pillows, gripping it so tightly, the Monkey King was surprised he didn’t rip the fabric.
“Bud?” Wukong slowly reached for him, but Macaque violently jerked away, as if burned. What was worse, however, was that Macaque’s form was flickering between his regular self, a regular-sized version of his shadowy war form and his unglamoured self. The form Wukong hadn’t seen in centuries.
Ever since…
He shook the memory of a bloodied, dead monkey from his head. Macaque lying limp, glamorous down forever because…
Because Wukong killed him.
And now he lay on Wukong’s sofa, alive and trembling. Was I the cause of this nightmare? Wukong wondered as he stared helplessly at Macaque, who was stuck in his unglamoured, scarred form for a few seconds before he went shadowy. Wukong avoided looking at his eye and spotted the burn-like scars that stretched from his neck and under the warrior’s hanfu. It didn’t escape him that this was exactly where those crystals LBD infused him with were. And some looked like Wukong’s own scars-those he got in his encounters with the Samadhi fire.
Maybe Macaque’s nightmare was about that. About LBD, or about the fire of Samadhi. It was selfish from Wukong, but he hoped it was so, at least it would be some common ground.
Part of him wanted to go back to bed, pull the pillow over his ears and sleep. Macaque was a grown monkey, he could deal with his nightmares himself. He would probably be offended by the very thought of needing Wukong’s help. And he couldn’t blame him. They weren’t like before.
Wukong wondered what past him would’ve done. Would he help? Or would he be an insensitive prick like he was so many times?
But he wasn’t who he was in the past. And he couldn’t just leave him like this, could he?
He sighed. No, no, he couldn’t.
Maybe they weren’t like before. So many things from their distant past came between them, yet so many things from their recent past started to reconnect them. He wasn’t sure what they were. They were no longer enemies, that much was certain. Maybe he could say that they were rivals, but that didn't fully fit either. Saying they are friends seemed presumptuous, and saying that they were allies, tenuous or not, felt… insufficient. For all the animosity, their bond ran too deep to be covered by an inoffensive term such as ally.
No, he couldn’t leave him like that. Maybe it was common courtesy, maybe it was his sense of guilt, maybe it was care. Maybe it was selfishness, proving to himself that he could do better than in the past. He was too tired to untangle that at that moment. Well, so much for his good night’s sleep!
He walked over to the kitchen, grabbed the Emergency Tea thermos. He would fill them up each night, one with the sleepytime tea and one with MK’s favourite regular blend. Did Mac still have a favourite blend? What was it? Was it the same one as before? Black tea with some plum flowers, or dried plums and just a hint of anise and allspice. Well, even if it was, boiling tea would take a bit too long now so, what he had would have to do.
He grabbed some snacks and fruit as well when his eyes fell on the hot chocolate container. Maybe he could make some of that, it helped MK with nightmares and he also grew fond of it. But he couldn’t spend half an hour by the stove making it, and the electric kettle could be loud. He still remembered how sensitive Mac’s hearing was, and how it would be worse when he had nightmares.
Did Mac ever try hot chocolate? He wondered before he chased the thought away. Of course he did! He didn’t live in a desert, he apparently lingered in Megapolis for years.
He brought over the tea and the snacks, some mooncakes, peach chips sand some plums which, yes, he kept around for Mac specifically, sue him, on the coffee table. Mac’s form wasn’t flickering but his shivering got worse. A few monkeys looked as if they wanted to curl up next to Mac, but were hesitant to do so. Wukong intended to just sit by the sofa, to be close to him but still give him space when he realised Mac’s blanket had fallen to the ground.
He should pick it up, right? He didn’t want to startle Macaque again or, worse, get himself punched in the face for the trouble, but Mac was cold.
He never liked the cold.
And it seemed to be worse since…
Nope, not going there. He walked over to the crumpled blanket on the ground as slowly as he could. He should cover Mac with it, and maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t react like a wounded animal this time.