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“I’m beat,” Cuphead whispered dully with a yawn. “What time is it?”
The sound of his voice snapped Mugman out of his sleepy daze. The shadowed, cluttered rooms of their small house greeted his strained vision in the dark as he took in the events of the night. The celebrations of their freeing of the Inkwell Isles lasted all day, games and booze passed around for hours (thank the Isles he hadn’t let Cuphead get his hands on the latter), cheers and excitement and never-ending praise all wrapping them up in their fun. In that fun, they’d evidently lost track of time. Elder Kettle had hobbled off to bed hours ago, leaving the two with only a warning to come home before 9 P.M. sharp. It was definitely past that, Mugman assessed as he rubbed his eyes back into focus.
Looking to his right, away from the dark staircase ahead, he met with his brother, leaning into him with a hand cupped around his mouth in an attempt to stay as quiet as possible. The sight alone was comical enough; Cuphead never cared for being unheard. But then a small creak sounded from right past his side, and he whipped around so fast his handle nearly knocked Mugman right in the nose, who couldn’t help snickering at just how clumsy they were in their sneak-in.
“Past our bedtime,” he whispered back, hand over his mouth to silence the growing tickle of a giggle fit at the back of his throat.
“Elder Kettle’s gonna kill usss…” his brother drawled with a giggle that betrayed just how delirious the two were already becoming. As if on cue, a loud creak from the lazy chair in the middle of the room made the cups stop dead in their tip-toed tracks, and then a loud snore broke through the heavy silence.
At that, Cuphead broke into cackling laughter, coughing as he tried to hold himself back while Mugman practically shoved him up the stairs with his own hushed laughter and shushing. “Go, go, go, before he takes our souls!” he wheezed as they finally came to the door of their room and Cuphead fumbled for the doorknob in his hysteria. They nearly toppled each other over trying to squeeze in, and in the commotion the door slammed shut behind them. They stopped and stared at each other in pure horror for a moment, before Cuphead just went on giggling again and Mugman clicked on their bedside lamp.
“Home sweet home, huh?” He plopped down onto the lower bunk of their shared bed and began slipping his shoes off uncoordinatedly while already cozying himself up in the covers. “Gosh, it feels like I haven’t slept in days.”
Cuphead hummed in agreement while taking off his own shoes and King Dice’s bowtie (which he’d won in a game of poker with some questionable bets involved) before glancing over at the bed.
“Jeez, Mugsy, your blankets are a mess! Fix ‘em up, would ya?” he huffed with feigned annoyance, already making his way over before Mugman could do as he was told. “C’mere, baby brother, let me tuck ya in.”
“Wh– ‘Baby brother’? We’re the same age!” he argued, though he leaned into his pillow and allowed his brother to pat out his blankets.
“Nah, I’m older.”
“Says who?”
“Says Elder Kettle,” Cuphead batted his eyes knowingly with a grin. “By 15 minutes. Now lemme kiss ya good night.”
“Get off me!” Mugman giggled, pushing his brother away softly.
He returned the gesture with a scoff. “Get your hands outta my face!”
“You first!”
With another push, he turned his head to the side, and suddenly Mugman noticed something that made his mouth dry and his palms sweaty. He pulled his hands back quickly and sat up, looking over it. There was a sizable chip in the right side of his brother’s head, right by the start of his handle and trailing down its length with a noticeable crack. It wasn’t so deep as to cause leaking, thankfully, and it didn’t seem to cause any head trauma besides the scar itself, but the sight of it was unsettling enough that all the drowsiness had momentarily left him.
“Gosh, Cuphead, when’d you get that?”
“Oh, this?” he ran his hand down the crack. “Got it when we were fightin’ the Devil. Pretty cool, huh?”
“That looks bad, why didn’t’cha say anything?” he continued fretting over the length of it, and his expression must’ve given that away, as Cuphead kept his hand on the crack and turned back to face straight, seemingly not intent to uncover it as long as Mugman was looking.
“Ya got one on your handle too,” he replied flatly, like it remedied the worry.
“You could’ve been real hurt, that’s all. I wish you told me.” The sudden tenseness made the young mug worry he’d stepped too far, even if the fear was completely warranted in his mind. “Maybe Elder Kettle’ll know how to patch these up if we ask.”
“Good luck with that, I’m not patchin’ mine.” Cuphead waved his hand to signal Mugman back down, and he complied while mulling that last statement over. The feeling of the pillow being fluffed beneath his handle tickled him softly, easing his mind back to pleasant sleepiness. For how hotheaded and reckless he’d always seen his brother, he knew this gentle-handed cup tucking him in and talking in a voice low enough for just the two of them was the realest part of him; the part of him he’d forgotten back in the Devil’s casino, and the part that was fully restored when he threw those glowing contracts into the fires of hell itself. The thought brought a full smile back to his face.
“Why not?”
Cuphead shrugged. “I’unno. I guess it’s like a souvenir. I wanna remember this, y’know? Remember all the good stuff we did, and, um,” he rubbed the crook of his neck, “the bad too.” He was hesitating an awful lot, but Mugman didn’t try to interrupt.
“I’m still sorry I roped ya into this, Mugsy. I shoulda listened to ya when I had the chance.” He pointed at the crack. “That’s why I got this. That’s why I’m keepin’ it.”
“The Devil tricked you! Sure, I was scared, but we were havin’ fun at first.” The memory was still clear in his mind. ”I didn’t stop you then. We didn’t know what would happen!”
“Well, yeah, but–”
“We got into that debt, and we got everyone out of it. All’s well that ends well! Gosh, Cuphead, take the credit! I know you want to.”
At that, his brother finally untensed and giggled, half to himself. “Yeah, I do. But, still…”
“You wanna keep the scar, keep it. Besides, it makes you look kinda badass.”
“Mugman! Wait ‘til Elder Kettle hears about this!”
“YOU CUPS HAD BETTER TURN THAT LIGHT OFF AND GET TO BED!”
In yet another fit of cackles, Cuphead made his way up to the top bunk and settled in as Mugman clicked the lamp off and watched the darkness settle in his eyes.
“G’night, Mugsy.”
“Good night, Cuphead.”
The cool night air drafted in from the window, and the warmth of the blankets held him comfortably as he drifted off. He smiled again thinking of the day they’d had, and the days they had left to come with their regained freedom. That saying repeated itself in his mind a hundred times over, and he knew it to be true. They were back home.
All’s well that ends well.