Archive of Our Own

The worst part about living on the mountain was the owner of it. The monkeys were fine, handling them was no problem, but their king had always proven himself to be problematic. He knew Macaque too well, and the second he found out that the shadow was living on his mountain?

Eugh boy.

Relaxing became impossible, running to any corner of the island in hopes that he would get some reprieve, any amount of peace to just… sit and be, and not getting anything of the sort because he was nothing if not hypervigilant. Any moment not spent on running to a new spot was spent listening to Wukong, making sure he wasn’t on the hunt. It was instinct to listen at this point, some prey animal fear at the back of his mind at having faced the business end of the Monkey King’s wicked staff one too many times.

But it wasn’t like there was anywhere else he could go. His dojo had long since been destroyed, and the theater he occasionally did shows at didn’t really care for squatters, so that was a no-go too. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t make himself a home anywhere, establish his own territory, hunker down there whenever he needed to, but… the mountain used to be his home, and though the person that had offered it in the first place was no longer anyone of interest beyond wanting to smack him around a little (a lot), the mountain still held its independent beauty. He’d already checked in on all of his old favorite hiding spots to make sure they were still there.

This was supposed to be paradise, and in a way, it kind of was, but he wasn’t exactly allowed to actually sit down and enjoy it, take a moment to sit down and catch up to life instead letting it drag him limply along. That sucked.

And that moment was something he wished for desperately, right about now. Sitting in a cave as the sun climbed higher in the sky, shivering a little from the dampness inside and hating the ache that had gripped every single joint and scar with a viciousness. If he could, he’d escape to the beach and rest against that tree at the edge of the sand, with a little cove between its roots that made for a perfect little huddle spot. But no, Wukong and his monkeys had overrun the area today. Something about it being too perfect of a beach day to pass up. A day he had to pass up.

So Macaque was stuck in his little corner, arms wrapped fully around himself as he leaned against the uncomfortable cave wall, his fur slightly damp in this cold little cove and making existence just… miserable.

It pressed something hot and annoyed at the back of his eyes, so he ignored it. He huddled in his crevice, shut his eyes, and pretended to feign sleep for absolutely no one. It wasn’t like there was anyone else around to pretend for, anyway, except for a parade of bugs marching steadily around, waiting for the wind to blow a seed or something into the dark spot.

And maybe he got a little bored, a little bitter, but he consoled himself with the fact that no one else was around. Wukong was chattering happily away with one of his subjects, laughing as someone got splashed or dunked or something, so no one was looking for him either.

In any case, it was risky using his powers on the mountain, because apparently Wukong had some sort of sixth sense for any mystics used on the mountain, but again, he was bored. As if there could be any other word for it.

So he gathered a couple sparks at his fingertips and flicked it at the ground, watching an illusionary flame burst up out of nowhere and hoping that Wukong was too distracted to notice this little play. It was one of his favorite tricks, playing with things like this, because it gave the illusion of not only being able to control the shadows, but the light too. It required pulling the shadows into a condensed ball, displacing all available light to the surface of the ball, the layers of light making it look brighter than usual. The only actual heat it gave off was ghostly, barely noticeable.

Wukong’s voice snapped to quiet.

His heart started going a little faster, and Macaque inhaled sharply, cutting off the flow of magic and making everything go back to normal. He stayed huddled where he was and mentally scolded himself. Duh, Wukong was going to notice, no matter how boisterous he was, but would he start looking…?

A monkey chirped somewhere near the king, who responded, slightly distant. No- no, I’m okay. Another yip. Maybe in a little bit. But it didn’t sound like he was making any movements, so Macaque exhaled—deliberately not letting it tremble—and settled back down, hoping his luck would hold through and he would be left alone.

He covered his ears with his hands for a moment and shut his eyes, soon shifting to rub his temples. There wasn’t a headache, but his body ached so often that it was habit at this point to just- rub. Scratch. Distract himself from the sensation of a body that had once been left to rot. It was an annoyingly persistent feeling, either aching or numb with rare in-betweens, and there was no way to really make it go away unless there was some kind of magic going on—magic he couldn’t hold up forever, so he used it sparingly in the worst moments.

That was why he’d wanted to be out in the sun. Every joint in his body was aching with whispering chill and icy pain, and he’d been hoping to thaw it out in the balmy weather… but apparently not.

Frustrated, Macaque growled loudly, since there was no one around to hear, and pressed himself into the rocky cave wall, half tempted to vanish into the shadows but unsure if he had the energy for that. Even just… existing at the moment felt tiresome, because sleeping in the cold and dark and damp like this was a recipe for disaster, and hiding out somewhere else that wasn’t the beach felt like too much effort.

If only he could just—

“Macaque?”

The ashen monkey flinched so hard he accidentally shifted into a cat. Or, to Wukong, a streak of black fur racing for the only exit.

What was Wukong doing here? He hadn’t moved! How hadn’t Macaque heard him? Wasn’t the king supposed to be rapturous and loud and—why didn’t Macaque hear him coming?

“Hey!” came the startled voice, pivoting to chase after the streak as it sprang out into the forest.

Macaque sprinted for all he was worth, weighed down by the pain in his limbs and spurred on by the prey-animal fear in his mind, so caught off guard and startled that other creatures started running too without care about what was chasing them. They yelped and squealed and dashed away, tearing up earth and plants alike as they fled the terror that had his eyes on Macaque. A jagged breath in his ear, running footsteps behind him, gaining ground!

He kicked up dirt behind him as he rounded a tree, claws fully extended for more grip into the soft soil, ears flicking as he tried to think through blind panic where he would go to escape the ki—ing!

The black cat yowled as something big and heavy landed on his back, breaking his stride and sending him sprawling to the forest floor, scrambling to get up. He was stopped by a big paw hitting his flank, striking him down again and keeping him down even as he writhed and hissed and spat. Every attack he tried bounced uselessly off the gold-red tiger’s stone skin, doing little more than shearing some fur off, but there was no room in his mind to try any other escape.

Sharp but gentle teeth closed swiftly around the scruff of his neck, and—stupid cat instincts—immobilized his body, gasping for breath as his muscles froze and did not let go, mind going horribly numb except for stay still, stay still, stay still.

If he’d tried kicking or fighting in some way, he would’ve been sorely disappointed. A fact that ticked him off almost as much as the pain of the sudden chase did. He did, however, growl, and growl, and growl, threatening and so ready to dip the second he regained control of his stupid feline body.

Wukong seemed to know this, because he did not shift back either, simply padding down the mountain like he was pleased with himself for catching his prey. He didn’t seem to mind carrying his enemy around by the scruff, and he moved with purpose, like there was a reason he found Macaque that wasn’t just to chase him off the mountain.

What was the king going to do with him…?

Macaque didn’t stop gasping for breath, his heart refusing to calm down. It forced blood to continue flowing through his cramped limbs, tucked tail quivering against his stomach at the way his skin started to crawl. Of all the things he could’ve done today, ‘being near Wukong’ was something he’d hoped wouldn’t be on his list, especially in such a… demeaning way.

And then Wukong stepped over a slightly too-tall log, and Macaque’s hip bumped against it roughly. It jostled his whole body, and the sustained growl he had turned into a cry of pain that wasn’t proportionate to the force of the bump that he didn’t quite swallow in time, finding some control within the body to curl up tighter, higher away from the ground.

There was a hesitation in Wukong’s steps. He walked a little slower as the growl renewed with a vengeance, and when they came upon another fallen tree, he moved around it instead.

Whatever. It wasn’t like Macaque was going to thank him for that, or something. The pull of gravity was still uncomfortable, and he still wasn’t able to move his limbs, so why should he be grateful?

Macaque’s growl fell quiet when he realized they were going to the beach.

He hadn’t stowed himself away very far—a mile or two at most—but he’d thought that his extent of experiencing it today would be just- watching it over the trees, looking out at the vast expanse of ocean. Because when the monkeys partied, they partied for a long time. Beach trips could last a full 24 hours straight sometimes, or maybe a couple days in a row with breaks.

Why was Wukong taking him to the beach?

He didn’t want to get too excited, ideas churning in his mind about why the king could possibly be taking him to the one spot he wanted to be today. Maybe to taunt him? Or humiliate him in front of the other monkeys, since he was so stupidly vulnerable like this? Was he going to take him away from the monkeys and just beat him into the sand? Or maybe he was just going to chuck him over to the next continent to get him off the island?

The last one seemed more likely, and the longer it took them to get to the sands, the more dread built in the shadow’s stomach. Getting thrown wasn’t a very fun experience, especially by the Great Sage Equal to Heaven who had the strength of maybe a thousand of Heaven’s best soldiers. It was hard to regain control midair, and it yanked at his limbs every time, and the only way he could stop himself was when he came down for a landing.

Macaque hoped he wouldn’t be thrown.

His chest squeezed with dismay as the sands came in view at the same time his heart leapt, itching to reach for the golden sunlight and hopefully let it ease some of the pain in his body, but all he could do was stare at it as they came closer.

They broke through the treeline, and a couple steps later, Macaque hissed and flinched at the bright light nearly blinding him, shutting his eyes. But at the same time, a wave of warmth struck him and every fibre in his body cried out with relief, a gentle breeze ruffling his fur as the noise of dozens of monkeys playing on the beach a couple hundred feet away from them reached his ears. Too loud, but bearable. Wukong’s plan was definitely not humiliating him in front of them, then.

Wukong came to a stop in the sunlight, a deep purr rumbling from his chest briefly as he stood there and enjoyed it, lifting his head slightly and exposing the shivering shadow to the sunlight a little more.

Man. Macaque wished he had control of his limbs now.

It was only when his haunches touched the ground and he was gingerly laid down that he realized Wukong was letting him go, muscles releasing their tension and pumping blood hot and fast through his body when the king laid him down and released, stepping back. There was a flood of giddiness that almost made him lightheaded as he blinked his eyes open, the sand comfortable and pleasing and warm to the touch when he rubbed his cheek into it.

So pleasing, actually, that it almost physically hurt—well, it kinda did anyway—when he remembered himself and forced himself onto all four paws, glaring at Wukong as angrily as he could even with the anger melting out of him with the warmth.

“Oh, chill out, Mac,” Wukong huffed as the tiger disappeared in a white-gold plume, reappearing as a regular monkey that looked unimpressed with hands on his hips. He was wearing a goofy, unbuttoned white polo with roosters on it, sunglasses, and yellow shorts. A true beach day outfit for someone not planning to get in the water. “I’m not kicking you off the mountain.”

Macaque started, blinking for a moment before shifting back into his regular form—and hiding a wince as his hip twinged—to frown at him. “You chased me.”

“Don’t you pin this on me, I’m trying to be nice!” he was warned, a warning finger pointed at his chest. “You ran away!”

“You trapped me.”

“I barely looked at you.”

“You had me cornered in a cave!” he hissed.

“You put yourself there! What was I supposed to do, hang outside where I can’t hear if you’ve responded to me?” the king raised his voice slightly.

“Yes! Or at least you could’ve told me you were there!”

“I did!”

“After you were in the cave!”

“No??? I thought you could hear me coming from- forever away! I don’t know, you have the freaky hearing, not me.”

Macaque hissed and stepped back, tail lashing. “And then you dragged me down the mountain—”

“Because you were going to run away!”

“—and thought, ‘Oh well, might be a bumpy ride for Macaque, but who cares! Let’s just cause him even more pain than he’s already in!’ Great, thanks. That’s exactly what I needed today.”

Wukong hesitated. “Wait, more—”

“And sure! Let’s chase him all around the forest and then just swat him around until he gives up! Come on Wukong, just chuck me off the mountain already and get it over with,” he spat.

“Mac, I was going to invite you to the party!”

“Whatever! Just—” He tripped over his own words as the sentence registered in his head, and he blinked. “You- what?”

The king immediately went red, but he did not back down. “Just- it’s such a nice day out, and I know you like the shadows and being alone, but I thought maybe that was because you haven’t gotten the chance? I mean- you used to love hanging out with the troop and now you avoid them—I dunno, maybe it’s just me—like there’s no tomorrow. So I thought maybe you’d want to soak up the sun a little bit, since your fur has been looking a little dull, and even if you don’t get in the water maybe just- relax a little?”

Macaque stared.

Wukong grinned sheepishly and stepped back, palms up placatingly. “It’s a sincere offer. No tricks, just… hanging out with the kids.”

“… You’re kidding.”

The king’s face spasmed. “No! No, I’m serious! I’ve been trying to do this forever, that’s why I keep trying to find you!”

“You mean, why you keep chasing me.”

“So I can talk to you. Stars, you make it sound like everything I do is just… I’m not- trying to hurt you, I swear,” Wukong promised.

Macaque scowled. “You’re lying to me. Since when did you not only barely tolerate me, but actively want me to enjoy something? Near you? Don’t give me that crap, Wukong. Leave me alone.” He turned away and started to stomp away down the beach, masterfully covering up a limp and a grimace of pain.

He had no idea where he’d go, or what he’d do, all he knew was that he needed to get away before Wukong could enact whatever stupid plan he was cooking up and make Macaque the butt end of a horrible joke. Again.

“No, Mac, just wait–”

A hand wrapped around his wrist and before Macaque could brace himself, there was a lightning bolt of agony zipping up his arm and through his jangled and sore nerves as he was tugged in the opposite direction.

The sharp cry lodged in his throat where he’d only just managed to choke it down, stumbling back on a leg that very nearly buckled and cried out in agony beneath him. The only noise that actually did make it out of him was a startled, cut-off gasp as he stumbled and did not fall into Wukong’s surprised hands, managing to jerk himself upright and glaring at the king.

“Let go of me!” he snarled, grabbing the hand on his wrist and all but tearing it off with his teeth bared. “I don’t need your lies, or you, so I’m going to go back to doing nothing. Thank you, I hope you die.”

“Mac, just hear me out—”

“Why?” he snapped. “I’m not going to believe anything you say, so just—”

“I swear on my title as Great Sage Equal to Heaven, Macaque, I’m not lying to you. I just want to help.”

“You want to help, get out of my life!”

“You came into my life,” Wukong just about shouted with rage. “You’re living on the mountain. If you don’t want me, then LEAVE!”

“I CAN’T!”

Wukong gave a start.

“You… you can’t?”

Macaque snarled, covering up his panic at the admission with bared fangs and a flicking tail. “No, Wukong, I can’t. My place in the city was destroyed with Lady Bone Demon, and I know you love the outdoors, but camping out in a cloak and armor in a demon-infested forest every night isn’t exactly my idea of luxury.”

Something flashed behind Wukong’s eyes. Realization of some kind. “Oh,” he said, a little quieter. “W-well. That’s all the more reason for you to stay, then.” He swallowed and puffed out his chest, feigning bravery. “And as the steward of the mountain, I’m due to collect taxes, am I not?”

Macaque snarled, ears pinning all the way back. “Are you kidding me?”

“Nope! The monkeys pay me in fruits and favors, and the others have their own way of paying me, but you…” A wicked smile grew on his face, and Macaque took a step back. He’d deny it to the end of time but he was just an eeeensy weeeeensy bit afraid. “You’re different. Your payment will come in the form of hang-outs.”

“What.”

“Yup!” the Monkey King chirped brightly, something alight and knowing in his eyes, settling on the decision and ready to die on that hill. “Once a month, you’ve got to hang out near me or MK or one of his friends. An hour at most. No skulking around alone for the rest of eternity.”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“My way or the high way, bud. Oh, and look at that!” He put a hand on his bare wrist, like he was checking the time. “You’re overdue, Mac! Looks like you have to come over and sit near us now. Oh nooooo~”

“Get off,” he snapped when Wukong started to reach for him again. “Fine, I’ll do it, but only because I know how annoying you’ll get about it and you’re gonna forget in a week anyway, so.” He folded his arms and did not let his glare slip, making sure to stay off his aching leg.

“I will not,” Wukong huffed, though he definitely knew it was the truth. But if Macaque didn’t give him what he wanted now, he’d never get a moment’s rest again, not even in a dark, cold cave. “But I’ll take it. C’mon! We’ve got food!”

Macaque stayed rooted where he was as Wukong started to trot off, waving for him to follow. It took the king all of ten seconds to realize his counterpart wasn’t behind him, and he turned and frowned.

“What now?”

His arms tightened. “I don’t want to go.”

“But you just said you would.”

“They’re loud.”

Wukong hesitated. “I… thought your glamours helped,” he said slowly.

“I can hear everything in the world without them,” he snarked. “You really think the glamours are gonna cut it down to whatever’s normal for regular people?” He could still hear Megopolis. Not much further than that, but Wukong actually thought he wouldn’t still be able to hear the entire mountain? What an idiot.

“Oh,” the idiot said. “Right.”

“Yeah, right,” Macaque mocked him. The current volume level was just tolerable enough for him, and if he moved any closer to the shrieking and splashing and swimming primates, he was sure to just lose his mind. “What’s your genius plan now, Wukong?”

“I can tell them to be quiet…?”

Macaque raised an eyebrow at him.

Wukong bit his lip, still frowning. Then he came to another realization, but slower this time. He winced, and said, “We could… stay here? Just us?”

The shadow laughed at him.

Alone? The two of them? That was a recipe for disaster on a good day.

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” Wukong sighed, looking entirely unsurprised as Macaque continued to laugh at him. He thought for a moment longer, then said slowly, “What if… what if I helped? I know a couple spells that might—”

“You really think I’m going to let you put a spell on me?” the ashen warrior scoffed at him. “At least buy me a drink first.”

Wukong made a frustrated noise. “Just-! Just trust me.”

“Trust you? HA!”

“Macaque, please, you’re making this so difficult!”

“It’s my middle name.”

“I already swore on my title!”

“Try swearing on MK as your successor. Maybe that’ll work out for you.”

“I swear on MK as my successor, I’m not going to do anything sinister or malicious to you,” the king said, and it was so serious that Macaque actually had to take pause at that one.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

Macaque stared at him for a moment. Searched his slightly pleading face, trying to find any sort of trickery.

“… Fine,” he said after a while. “Give me one minute.”

Wukong blinked, and suddenly there was a shadow portal where Macaque had been standing, swallowing him up and placing a Monkey King-looking Macaque smack dab in the middle of an employee break room, where MK was sitting on his phone. The kid didn’t even notice his appearance, too absorbed by some video of a puppy riding a bike on his messages app.

“Hey bud!” he pretended, tucking his hands behind his back and mourning the loss of warmth of the island.

“Hey Monkey King,” MK said distractedly, swiping up to the next video. From It’s Gonna Be Mei, “What’s up?”

“Could I borrow your staff for a little?”

“Uh huh, sure. Gimme ooooonnnnnneeeeeee second…”

“MK! TEN MINUTES IS TEN MINUTES! GET YOUR BUTT OUT HERE!” came the very loud voice of the very angry restaurant owner. Macaque didn’t flinch, but his ear did flick irritably.

MK giggled and typed into his messages bar ‘HA! 17 minutes! New record!!!’ And got a string of exclamation points and fire emojis from the recipient not even four seconds later.

“MK!”

“Oop!” the kid squeaked, jumping up like he’d just woken up from a dream. “Okay, here you go, I gotta be gone now. Byeeeeee!” the kid said, pulling the needle-like shape from his ear and growing it to normal size before tossing it to the shadow and vanishing through the door.

Macaque scrambled to catch it and very nearly fell over when it met his hands, tugging him viciously down. He winced at the extra pull of gravity on his sore bones, but hefted it over his shoulder anyway and opened another portal.

The king gaped at him when he reappeared back as himself. “You… what? How did—but MK—“

“Gave it to me,” Macaque finished smugly. The only reason he didn’t twirl it around just to rub it in was because he didn’t actually want to break his fingers right now. “Guess I still have what it takes to make a pretty convincing Monkey King.”

“Why even—“

“It’s collateral. Kid doesn’t get it back if you do something stupid like I know you will and don’t fix it.” A genius move on his part, really. Because he could wield the staff, even with difficulty, which meant he could still stow it away on his person like they could. Sure, Wukong didn’t need the staff, but MK did, and MK would bother Wukong for him until whatever damage was reversed and he could go back to his solitude.

The pained look on Wukong’s face twisted into baffled anger. “Mac, no. It’s not—”

“Nope! It’s this or I don’t pay rent,” Macaque said, holding it away when Wukong reached for it. It shrunk to a needle in his hands and was swiftly tucked into his sleeve, since he didn’t want it behind his ear. Technically, like this, it was easy enough to carry, but the weight of the magic itself pulled on him uncomfortably, dragging his limbs to the ground like it was begging him to give it away back to its master. “There. Now you can do the spell.”

Wukong’s pout was painfully familiar as he stared the shadow down, begging with his eyes to give the precious weapon back and found resistance that met his pressure for every inch. “Pleeeeease?”

“What are you, five? No. Do the spell or else I leave, Wukong.”

The king groaned to himself and leaned back finally, disgruntled and—oh, was that anxiety? Did it really bug him that much to have his staff in Macaque’s hands?

Heh. Maybe if the weapon didn’t take its toll, he could have so much fun messing with his counterpart.

“Don’t even think about touching my eye,” he snapped when Wukong’s hands came up begrudgingly. They were undoubtedly going for his ears like the spell required, but he couldn’t help the antsy way his heart jumped and strained with something like fear the closer Wukong got. “And if you handle my ears too roughly I swear I’m—”

“Wasn’t gonna,” was what he got in reply.

He scowled, hiding that same prey-animal fear behind annoyance.

And then- his breath stopped in his throat when Wukong’s fingers came into contact with his ears—just one pair, two more hidden under the glamours—and he zoned in on the sensation nervously, making sure nothing sinister happened.

Wukong was sparing in his touch, though his fingers twitched slightly when they came in contact with the mane behind his ears. The warmth of his palms barely ghosted over the sensitive appendages, just enough proximity to make sure the spell transferred properly. He shut his eyes for a moment, and when they opened, they were glowing slightly.

Macaque froze, waiting with bated breath as Wukong mumbled the spell. The king’s magic gathered at his palms in a familiar way, spreading warmth across the shell of Macaque’s ears and then curling over the delicate flesh.

He shuddered horribly but refused to back down as a tickling feeling crawled across his skin and then into the canal, settling there with the same awful feeling as getting water stuck in his ears. Suddenly, the world shrank considerably, isolating his sense of awareness to basically whatever he could see. The monkeys were still audible, but much quieter—likely as loud as Wukong knew them to be.

The shadow could barely make his body stay still long enough for the spell to complete, the feeling so- uncomfortable that he hissed and yanked away from Wukong’s touch the second it was done, rubbing the spot as if it would alleviate the water-logged feeling. It wouldn’t, he knew that much, but to pretend it would do something was better than nothing.

“Sorry,” his ginger counterpart said, hands still slightly outstretched like he was ready to catch him if he stumbled. “I know it doesn’t feel great but the feeling will go away in another minute or two while the spell settles. The whole thing will wear off in an hour.”

“Does everyone seriously live like this?” Macaque hissed, keeping his hands where they were. He immediately regretted letting Wukong do this, but it wasn’t like he could back down now.

“I think I kicked it down a small extra notch for you. The kids are loud, and I can live with that, but if the goal for you is to relax…” He didn’t have to finish the statement. Macaque’s cheeks were already burning at the memory from when they were young, when he divulged the information that he could only really relax if everything was quiet and someone was watching his back for him.

He hadn’t really gotten that, not ever, but it came close enough a couple times. Wukong did his best, but the world marched on around them, full of noise and motion that Macaque had no way of ever truly blocking out unless he just didn’t have ears at all. Plus, Wukong hadn’t actually known any spells to help him back then.

“Come on.” The tug at his wrist was far gentler now, and this time, Macaque almost followed with ease. He couldn’t rid himself of the discomforted scowl, but he didn’t care to peel it off. It kept the little monkeys from instantly climbing the newcomer when he and Wukong came into view. Instead they cooed curiously, a little concerned, and padded in circles around his feet even as he continued to walk.

Wukong led him to a tree—the very tree he’d wanted to sit under—and pulled him down to sit, letting Macaque have his favorite natural wooden cove and taking his own spot on the side of the tree.

It was almost enough to make him ever so slightly emotional, sitting perfectly still as he watched monkeys continue to play, sharing fruits and splashing in the water, crying to each other happily and with content. Warm under the sun. It didn’t take long for them to approach him, despite the scowl that was taking more and more effort to maintain, crawling into his lap and all over him. He didn’t even have it in him to stop one from climbing onto his head, contentedly patting his skull like a drum while another clung to his shoulder and started picking through the fur at his neck.

Macaque disguised his sigh as a disgruntled one and settled into the treatment, keeping one eye on the king as he collected his own barrel of monkeys to play with, sitting perpendicular against the tree to his left. It was a shame he was there, because if he weren’t, Macaque would’ve felt a little more free to do what he wanted—which, at the moment, was to turn back into a cat and roll in the sand to feel it under his fur and get the crawling itch that was getting harder to ignore. Then he would’ve basked in the sun and let himself be groomed by the monkeys, and it would have been bliss.

But this was close enough. He didn’t feel as cold anymore, and the warm sun was melting away some of the ache all along his body, and the spell—like Wukong promised—was just starting to feel less uncomfortable.

It felt weird to him that people sometimes lived like this, with the world so quiet. He felt oddly exposed without being able to hear every possible threat within a couple hundred miles, but with the whole troop around, the Monkey King sitting just next to him, and his back against something solid, it almost made up the difference. Wukong would hear anything coming he couldn’t, and would protect his troop, and the tree made it so no one could sneak up on him without him seeing them first, so. Win-almost-win?

“So…” the king said after a long minute, because he never knew when to shut up, “How’s… life?”

“Take a guess,” the shadow replied flatly, eyeing a curious toddler that climbed into his lap to stand boldly in front of him, hands on his cheeks. The kid started exploring his face, and he graciously let it happen, blowing into their face to get a giggle from them when they leaned too close to inspect his nose.

“I would, but I haven’t actually seen you in… forever.”

“Any chance that might’ve been for a reason, King?” he taunted, letting his head get tilted one way—and then catching little fingers before they could explore his ears.

Wukong sighed, annoyed. “Is it going to be like this every time we talk?” He had the baby’s mother, probably, petting her back comfortingly and picking out debris whenever he found it.

“Probably.”

“You know that’s not the goal of this, right? I’m trying to be friendly.”

“Since when?” Macaque snorted, catching the toddler’s other hand and making them pat their forehead rapidly, mouthing boo! at them, and letting his lips curl into a small smile since Wukong wasn’t watching when they whined and giggled again dramatically. “You haven’t been friendly towards me in decades.” It was just the fact of the matter. Not something to cry over.

“Is it wrong for me to want to change that?”

“So suddenly? Yeah. It’s suspicious.”

Wukong spluttered. “Wh-what? I am not suspicious. That’s your whole thing!”

“Then tell me why I find it suspicious anyway. I trust you about as far as one of those mortals can throw you, Mr. Stone Monkey. Why should anything you do not be of doubt to me?”

“Because?”

Macaque closed his eyes and Did Not let anger take hold. “You’re seriously telling me my perception of you is wrong?”

“Yes!”

“Perception is different than intention, idiot,” he responded with all the coolness he could muster. The baby in his lap was still entirely oblivious to the conversation, nice and happy as they pretended to fight to get their hands free—and then planted them happily against Macaque’s chest when they were let go.

“I know that!”

“Maybe you would if you could actually read.”

“I can read!” Wukong complained back at him. “Excuse you. I’m just not a bookworm like you.”

“Wow, a compliment,” he said flatly. “I’m honored.”

The king made a frustrated noise, making a couple monkeys look up at him. “You’re so—Argh. It’s like you exist just to tick me off!”

“Maybe that’s the point. Maybe I’m trying to annoy you into giving up so I can leave and you can get your staff back. Is it working yet?” It drew some weird amusement from his chest, antagonizing the king like this. It was sort of hollow, and empty, but it was amusement and that was happier than nothing, so he’d take it.

Wukong inhaled steadyingly. “No.”

“No?” Macaque’s ears perked and he looked at Wukong, feigning being impressed. “Well look who finally toughened up.”

“Not toughened, wisened. Wise enough to know that if you’re gonna be so stubborn about it, there’s no point in having a conversation about it.” He said it with such an air of finality that it was Macaque’s turn to be slightly ticked off, remembering the baby in his lap just enough to not snap back.

“What, you’re giving up?” he snorted instead, watching for any sign of irritation—a tail or ear flick, a twitch, anything—and saw nothing. “Never thought I’d see the day where the Great Sage didn’t stand for any bad-mouthing.”

“Shhhh, we’re doing quiet time now,” Wukong said, instead of any other response Macaque could’ve conceived. “Giving your ears a break, or something.”

“You—”

“Shhhhhhh. Quiet time.”

Macaque’s ears pressed back, irritated, but he allowed the silent curtain to fall, leaning fully back against the tree and continuing to play with the toddler as they took an interest in his hands, manually bending his fingers and tracing the lines in his palm.

He’d give Wukong two minutes before he cracks. No way the Monkey King could be able to keep quiet for that long, because even two minutes was stretching it. He knew his counterpart too well. Two minutes.

Macaque shuts his eyes and lets the little baby play with his fingers, actually savoring the quiet and patiently waiting for the moment Wukong inevitably gives up.

30 seconds.

It’s not… surprising that Wukong made it this far, at the very least. He has demonstrated at times in the past the ability to keep quiet and keep still for a short period of time, so it’s nothing to worry about. His expectation is still in place, and he has plenty of time to listen for the fidgeting to start.

60 seconds.

Okay… Maybe this was a new record for his ability to stay still and stay quiet at the same time, sitting peacefully against the tree beside Macaque as if without a care in the world. Interesting…

90 seconds.

This was starting to be a little impressive. The fidgeting hadn’t even started. Maybe a couple hundred (thousand?) years of solitude had done him some good. But still, Macaque had another thirty seconds to go before he started getting really confused. He wondered if it was taking all of Wukong’s self control not to at least start shuffling.

2 minutes.

Macaque sat up and looked at the sage full on, confused.

Nothing?

Where was all of this- stillness coming from? There was nothing, no twitching, no shifting, no nothing, he was just- sitting there! He wasn’t even grooming the little monkey’s mother, anymore, she was just starting to nap at the king’s side as pleasantly as if his immobility were all she’d ever known him to be. She was young, so it was possible, but still.

Macaque was not going to be the one to break the silence first. He didn’t even want to, but trying to see how long it would take Wukong to finally crack under the pressure was getting more interesting by the second. He didn’t have his hearing at the moment, so there was nothing for him to look at except for the monkeys playing—boring, seen it. Been there—or the unmoving Wukong—different. New. Interesting. How was it even possible?

The shadow let the little baby play with his hands a little longer, rolling up his sleeve for him and picking their way up his forearm, practicing grooming him. It was adorable, but the king was quickly stealing all of Macaque’s curiosity.

He shifted slightly and hoisted the toddler to his chest as he’d done many times before as babysitter for new and old mothers, waiting for the instinctive clinging to his clothing before he moved to the side of the tree. There was more shade over here, dappling the king’s face in sunlight.

Wukong didn’t flinch when Macaque sat in front of him, staring owlishly and waiting for anything to happen. He didn’t even move except to open his eyes lazily, arching an eyebrow just a little. The expression he wore was almost… bored, but not in his usual ‘I need something to do’ jittery kind of bored, but more like he was relaxed. Like he was fine sitting right there, doing nothing, listening to the waves, and letting little monkeys crawl all over him. Like that was bliss.

“Can I help you?” the king asked.

“Ha!” Macaque nearly barked, grinning sharply. It was a stretch and he knew it, but he didn’t care. Wukong’s silence was making him antsy, like a mother realizing the house was far too quiet. “I knew you couldn’t take it.”

The other frowned slightly. “Excuse me?”

“I knew you couldn’t stay silent for that long!” he repeated himself, hollowly vindicated. “You just needed a little convincing this time. You finally rattled, King?”

“Mac, what are you talking about?” Wukong sighed. “I’m just sitting here.”

“And it’s weird.”

“You’re the one who’s acting weird,” was the sharper reply. “I thought you liked it when I’m quiet. You relax when it’s quiet, so I’m giving you quiet—Relatively,” he added on when one monkey shrieked from the water and fell in, resurfacing a second later with a chittering laugh.

“Whatever. You’re—”

“Mac, just sit down. You’ve got MK’s staff,” Wukong sighed, tilting his head back and letting the mother blink awake. She spotted her baby on Macaque’s chest and reached up to take them from him, carrying them over to Wukong’s other side to curl up and take a nap. The baby was not opposed to this, happily tucked against her stomach. “And while you’ve got his staff, I’m not gonna do anything.” He shut his eyes and heaved a little sigh. “If you want to sit there and antagonize me, go ahead. I’m not gonna move.”

Macaque blinked at him.

Seriously?

He scoffed, sort of a last ditch effort. “You’re not even sitting in the best spot. What are you, a couch potato?”

“Why yes, thank you for noticing,” Wukong hummed uselessly. “Though if you’re whining about the best spot…” He bundled up the mother and her child in his arms and moved lazily over to lay down where Macaque had been sitting earlier, followed by a barrel of monkeys that curled up on one of his sides and settled in for their own nap as well.

“Wh—hey.”

“Hm?”

“That was my spot.”

“You said the best spot,” Wukong reminded him. “You talked about it like I should be taking it, so I did.”

“That wasn’t an invitation.”

“You can still have it.” The king stretched out his arm and patted his own shoulder in invitation with a heavier sigh. “You just have to share.”

Macaque scowled. “I am not cuddling with you.”

A shrug. “Whatever’s good with you… but I’m not moving anymore. I’m comfy now.” And as if to show it, he wriggled a little and made space for himself in the sand between the roots of the tree. “Take a leaf out of the monkey’s books. You’re free to join.”

The shadow growled, bristling, and got himself a sleepy look from the toddler who’d been in his lap earlier—and found he was frustrated when their hand extended out to him, over Wukong’s chest. Reaching for him.

And it wasn’t like he could refuse the child’s hand. That would only make them wake up and start demanding more mercilessly. Loudly. Argh.

The little monkey’s hand pulled him down and closer to the king, who didn’t move an inch, expression relaxed and eyes closed. A golden tail curled loosely around Macaque’s ankle, and it was the only indication of what should’ve been Wukong’s characteristic clingyness.

And… maybe it was the sunlight really getting to him now. Maybe it was the ache in his bones that refused to go away even now. Maybe it was that tiny little suffocated thing in his chest he’d been steadfastly ignoring, pulling him to just. Hang out. Connect with his the troop. And maybe it was that yearning he’d felt earlier for this exact moment, for time to slow down and just let him… be.

But he laid down.

Not very close—he couldn’t handle that yet—but close enough, with his back facing Wukong to show that he was not, actually, okay with this whole situation, and actually hated it very much. He barely even let his head be pillowed by the king’s offered arm, letting his head rest instead just below the offer.

His eyes stung much like they had in the cave, but there was something different about it this time, like he was trying to get an itch he couldn’t quite reach.

But there were probably a lot of reasons for that—throbbing shoulders and stolen sitting territory—so he tried not to think too much about it, using his own arm as a pillow and staring listlessly out across the beach—!

His breath caught in his throat when Wukong gave another audible sigh, somehow even heavier this time, and shifted, pushing his arm under Macaque’s hurting shoulder—ow—and wrapped around him, pulling him closer until the shadow’s head rested on his shoulder, almost too close to his chest.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he snapped at the king, heart running a little too fast.

“I could ask you the same,” was all he got.

Then he was lightly squished, surprising a sharp “—Ow—” out of him before he shut his mouth.

A beat.

“‘Ow’?”

“H-How. I meant how. How are you expecting this to work?”

“No. No, no, Mac, I heard an ‘ow’ pretty clearly. Are you hurt?” he was asked, and Macaque ignored the way it squeezed in his chest.

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

He grit his teeth and fought down the warmth in his cheeks. It was stupid Wukong could still read him after all these years. “Oh yeah? Prove it.”

Another squish—a little harder this time, and Macaque was, again, not prepared enough to not click his teeth together when his whole torso jostled and ached, a stifled grunt finding its way out.

“You’re hurt,” Wukong said, stating it this time. He shifted upright to get a look at Macaque, but the shadow did not move, skin crawling. “What happened?”

Macaque thought about it. “Well… fine,” he said, drawing it out a little. “But it’s a tragic story—one not for the faint of heart.”

“Macaque?”

“I have a secret to tell,” he admitted, shutting his eyes theatrically. “Will you tell it to no one else?”

“Bud, just say it.”

“I… I…” He inhaled dramatically and turned to look at Wukong over his shoulder as the other looked down on him, twisting his expression into the most pathetic thing he could muster. “I… died, at the hands of my most beloved friend,” he finished softly.

Wukong flinched.

“I know, I know!” he cried quietly, not disturbing anyone else except the king as he pressed the back of his hand to his forehead as if faint. “It’s a tragic story—horrible, really. I fear I shall never forget it, that the scars will be with me for the rest of my sad, miserable life. Please, my good king,” he said, grabbing the collar of Wukong’s ridiculous rooster shirt and ignoring the wide, hurting look in the king’s eyes, “if you would, tell the wicked man who did this to me to die.”

He spat the last word without remorse and laid back down emphatically, hunching his hurting shoulders to his ears and not looking at Wukong as he floundered for a response.

“I—You—what?”

“You heard me,” he said. “Tell him to die. What you said wasn’t funny.”

“What are you talking about? What did I say?”

“Oh, you know exactly what you said. It was literally two seconds ago,” the shadow huffed, letting every ounce of his hatred towards Wukong show in that moment.

“What, asking you if you’re hurt?”

“Yeah, duh. Welcome to the conversation, Wukong.”

“You’re… Hold on.” A beat. “I’m trying to understand. You’re… hurting from… an old wound? When I…?”

“Killed me? Yeah. Congratulations, you just put two and two together for the first time ever. Look at that! And I didn’t even have to spell it out for you. I’m so proud.”

“Can I—”

“No, there’s nothing you can do,” Macaque snapped. “Believe me, I’ve tried. Every spell, every potion—none of it’s strong enough. And you’re even funnier if you think I’d go to Heaven to help with a problem like this.”

Another hesitation.

“Can I—Can I try?” Wukong asked, tiny.

Macaque shut his eyes tight, ignoring the burn behind them. Try. Try. Of course he’d like to try. What else could he have expected?

“Yeah, whatever. Good luck,” he huffed, trying not to shift. “I have the staff, don’t forget.”

“I know,” the other said, small again. “Where—Is it…?”

Where. Where? Macaque almost wanted to laugh. Where, he asked. Did he really not already know? Had he forgotten the damage he’d done?

“Everywhere,” he said, keeping his voice deliberately blank.

“Ev—Everywhere? But I only…”

“Everywhere.”

Wukong’s breath caught.

“Yeah. Turns out that when your body rots and it’s forcefully brought back from the dead, that kind of stuff tends to stick with you for the next couple millennia ‘til the end of time. So. Yeah.” He swallowed past a thick, dry tongue. “But it’s…” He inhaled shakily and allowed, “It’s worse on my right side. By a lot. It’s so bad, sometimes, that I—I can’t move. I’m just stuck.”

The king didn’t say anything for a long minute.

Instead, he moved. Laying back down flat on his back and extending his arm again towards Mac. Waiting.

Macaque scowled at the invitation, but took it this time—if only because he knew Wukong would pull the same trick and grab him anyway—and grabbed on to let himself be pulled close, back pressed solidly against Wukong’s side with his head against the sage’s shoulder. Indulgently, he let himself cling to Wukong’s arm, hugging it to his chest and Not shuddering when it curled up over his side, protective.

The flow of magic was different this time.

It still crawled all over him, but the warmth was far more direct, spreading like spilled ink on paper, or a gentle hand carding through his fur, reaching his skin. And then deeper.

The shadow shivered as the magic settled along his bones, coating them with that same warmth, coalescing where the soreness fell most. It lingered there for a moment, covering the pain like an itch that couldn’t quite be reached, but then it soaked in, taking all the soreness and melting it, like pouring hot water over ice.

It pressed a startled noise from him, blinking wide eyed at the sand in front of him and holding tight to Wukong’s arm as the ache slowly faded, leaving a kind of void in its wake that was soon filled. The magic took the place of all the hurts, filling him with bone-deep warmth from the inside out, far better than any kind of sunlight he’d ever had the pleasure of basking in.

The startled noise soon turned into something like choked relief, panting heavy and hard like someone had just taken the world from his shoulders. Like he could breathe again.

“Better?” Wukong asked softly when the spell had settled, rooting itself in his body like it had always lived there instead of the pain.

“Mnh…” Macaque breathed, nails digging into the king’s arm, holding on.

“Hm.” The arm hugging—hugging—him tugged him minutely closer, and he heard a quiet, “I didn’t realize you were so cold…”

The shadow had no response, weakly resting his head against the sage’s shoulder. He felt sort of like a damp rag now, wrung out and exhausted now that he wasn’t all tensed up, trying to keep himself from falling apart with the pain. How long would this last…?

“Is this why you were upset when we were coming down here?” Wukong asked quietly. “When I accidentally hit you with the log?”

He got a slight nod.

“Oh.” The king shifted a little. “Well… The- the spell won’t last for long, unfortunately. Maybe a week or so? I tried to make it last as long as it could but it’s not the same as with your ears. This is…” A hard swallow. “This is death magic, partly. I can’t override it forever.”

Macaque shut his eyes and suffocated the disappointment, refusing to let it join the other emotions putting pressure behind his eyes. “It’s fine,” he mumbled. He should’ve known better than to get his hopes up anyway. He’ll take what he can get while he can, then.

“It’s a re-doable spell, though,” Wukong offered quickly. “Just- when you need, you can come back and I’ll do the spell again and you can be on your way.”

That one elicited a scowl. “Sounds like a lot of staff stealing.”

He felt the other grimace. “I’m sorry.”

The shadow’s eyes widened, and he shot upright, twisting to look at the king (and savoring the fact that he could do so without any pain). “You’re sorry?”

Wukong met his gaze, and indeed, there was sorrow there. “Don’t say I don’t need to apologize.”

Macaque shook his head and waved him off. “No, no, you definitely need to apologize, I’m just—I can’t believe you actually said it.”

That one got another grimace. “Hm. That says something about who I was, doesn’t it?” He turned his eyes to the sky, something pinched in his gaze. “But I am sorry. For… for now, and for then.”

Macaque stared at him for a moment.

“Huh,” he said at last, and did not elaborate as he resumed his spot, shifting slightly to get comfortable at the king’s side. The crawling sensation was different now, handed this piece of information and unsure what to do with it.

Whatever, he thought, failing to squash the feeling and hoping it would fade instead. I’ll deal with it later.

“Hey Wukong,” he said quietly, trying not to disturb the truce.

“Yeah?” He sounded so earnest, like he wanted to fix whatever was bothering him—and wasn’t that new? Macaque had spent so much time helping him, and then even more time helping himself without support… It was odd.

“Since, you’re being so… generous, can I ask one more favor?”

“Of course, Moo—Mac. Whatever you need.”

He swallowed past a dry mouth, shoving that down. “Armor isn’t exactly the most comfortable thing to laze around in, so—”

He didn’t even need to finish the sentence before his clothing flashed a brilliant white-gold where Wukong was touching it, a hand curled over his ribs. The wear shifted, and suddenly Macaque was in a similar outfit to the king’s. Pink unbuttoned polo, lilac tank top, and orange-gold shorts. He almost snorted at the brazen choice, but didn’t complain, since it would be turned back soon anyway, and the choice of clothing was actually comfortable.

“Pink, huh?” he joked instead. “What happened to my signature purple and black?”

Wukong patted his ribs. “You can deviate from those and be fine, y’know. It won’t kill you. Besides, you look good in brighter colors too.”

Macaque didn’t point out the orange. “Whatever you say, grandpa.”

He was squeezed again and it squished the breath out of his lungs in a little wheeze instead of hurting. “We’re almost the same age.”

“You’re older,” he teased, because he was a little brat, and the lack of pain made it easier to feel a hundred years old again.

“By a couple weeks!”

“Still older~” he sang, wriggling a little to get really comfortable in the sand. The sun was at its peak and hot now, but not unbearably so, now that he wasn’t stuffed into his armor, and there was a cool wind blowing around to keep the air from going stagnant. The king was a warm weight surrounding him, at his back and where he was still hugging the arm to his chest. It was… oddly comfortable.

“You—Ah, whatever,” Wukong sighed, but there was humor to it. “But grandpa implies I have senior authority over you.”

“What?”

“Yup!” the king chirped. “Bet you regret saying anything now, huh?”

Macaque hissed, but it didn’t really bite. “I hate you.”

“Perfect. You and, like, half of demon-kind. And probably all of celestial-kind. But!” He stretched and yawned hugely and then squished Macaque yet closer. “As your elder, I believe it is well within my rights to request that you just settle down and be quiet, little cub. Grandpa Sun needs his snoring time.”

The shadow shook his head. “Fine. Lord it over me or whatever, but don’t call me cub.”

He was patted for his troubles. “No promises.”

Macaque scoffed but actually did settle down. He’d been right—today was a little too perfect to not take advantage of. And now that he was here, it would be stupid to continue and deny himself the warm sand and the delightful nap that… awaited him…

“Wukong?” he asked after a long minute.

“Hm?”

“Do you…” He swallowed, feeling horribly exposed. “Do you know any spells for dreamless sleep?”

A pause.

“Yeah…? Why?”

He scrambled to salvage his pride, hissing at himself mentally. “Nothing, I just—I’m assuming we’re going to be taking a nap here, and I’d rather not risk ruining it with…”

“Nightmares?”

His mouth was dry again, glad he wasn’t looking at the king. “Yeah.”

“You’re sure you want that? You’ll be staying here a lot longer than an hour.”

“I’m about as much of a fan of the idea as you are, but if it means I actually get some uninterrupted sleep, I’ll take it.”

“… Yeah, okay.” The hand on his ribs angled itself oddly to press some fingertips to his temple, and the shadow squeezed his eyes shut.

This magic was cooler, slightly, feeling more like the gentle breeze swirling around them now than the slow spread of lava, ghosting across his mind and laying some kind of fog over his senses, adding a healthy dose of drowsiness that he didn’t really need to fall asleep.

“Oh, that’s fast,” he mumbled, blinking dazedly.

“G’night bud,” someone said softly as Macaque began to drift, savoring the weightless feeling in his body. The hand returned to his ribs and idly drew mindless patterns there, but it didn’t tickle, it just… soothed.

The world lost focus, turning into blobs of color instead of defined shapes. His limbs weighed him down, tail draped limply over his backrest’s legs, and though his hearing was muffled, he could still just make out the sensation of a heart drumming along beside him, soft and reassuring and steady.

He sighed and turned his nose into the soft pillow as reality drew further and further away, lulled by magic and warmth and weight. But then a slow realization dawned on him, just a little. He was comfortable, yes, but he could be more comfortable…

The ashen warrior pried his heavy eyes open one more time and shifted, drowsily pulling on what threads of magic he could find.

There was a flash—a purple one this time—and then there was a black cat, laying limply next to the king.

“Mac?”

He yawned big and hard, and with the magic pulling him down, it was almost impossible to reach his goal. He strained to get his limbs underneath himself, tail dragging limply behind him as he approached his goal.

Wukong didn’t move as Macaque struggled to climb on top of him, flopping weakly against his chest with half-lidded eyes blinking all relaxed at him. Slowly, he collected his limbs and bit the inside of his wrist a little—or something on his wrist—and pulled out the staff, letting it roll off the king onto the sand beside them before he curled up in a little ball of fur, and rested his head against his counterpart’s chest.

The king chuckled lightly—a funny sensation, to the drifting cat—and stowed the staff behind his ear before he raised the hand previously curled around him to gently stroke Macaque’s fur. The purring was instantaneous and entirely unintentional when his flank was scratched satisfyingly.

It was a sensation he could easily close his eyes to, ear pressed against a solid chest to hear the steady b-bum b-bum b-bum, even if it was a little fast. A hand in his fur, warmed by the sun, cooled by the wind, happy monkeys and waves splashing somewhere at the edges of his consciousness… It really wasn’t half bad.

Not bad at all.