Work Text:
The kitchen was busy before anything went wrong.
Not loud - just full.
Jackie moved between the counter and the sink, sleeves pushed up, drying her hands before reaching for something else. The kettle had just clicked off. A pan sat cooling on the stove. A cup near the edge of the counter was nudged back into place without her needing to look at it.
Behind her, Amber moved faster than the room.
“I can carry it,” she said, already reaching.
“You don't need to-” Jackie started.
“I won’t spill it.”
“Walk, don’t run-”
Amber turned too quickly.
The cup tipped.
Not all at once - but enough.
Liquid spread across the counter, ran in a thin line towards the edge, then dripped to the floor in uneven drops.
“Oh.”
Jackie moved immediately, cloth in hand, catching the spill before it spread further.
“It’s okay,” she said. “Just hold still-”
But Amber didn’t hold still.
She stepped back.
Into Arthur.
Not hard.
But enough.
Mr Chompy slipped from Arthur’s hands.
Fell.
Landed partly in the spill that had reached the floor.
The fabric darkened almost immediately.
Amber froze. “I didn't mean -”
Arthur didn't move.
He looked down.
Mr Chompy lay on the floor, damp, one side soaked through. The seam along his back had twisted slightly, the stitching pulled just enough to look wrong.
Not broken.
But not right.
Jackie followed his gaze.
She crouched at once, lifting Mr Chompy carefully.
“He’s wet,” she said, steady. “That’s alright - we’ll clean him and dry him.”
Arthur didn’t answer.
His hands were empty now.
Still.
Jackie didn't rush.
“He’s not gone,” she added, just as calm. “He’s staying right here.”
Arthur’s eyes stayed on Mr Chompy.
Jackie stood and moved to the sink.
Arthur followed.
Not close, but not far.
oOo
The water ran - soft, even.
Mum held Mr Chompy under it carefully, turning him so the damp fabric evened out instead of staying in one heavy patch.
“He’s just dirty!” she said. “We’re fixing that.”
Arthur stood beside the counter now.
Watching.
The sound was different from anything he knew well.
Not a bath.
Not rain.
Something else.
Mr Chompy looked wrong.
Too dark.
Too heavy.
Jackie turned the tap off and pressed a towel around him, absorbing the water in slow, firm movements.
She didn’t hide him.
When she set him down, it was on the counter - wrapped loosely, but visible.
The seam along his back stayed uncovered.
“You can see him,” she said. “He’s just drying.”
Arthur stepped closer.
He looked, but didn't touch.
The seam had shifted.
A small gap.
Barely there.
But there.
His breathing changed.
Smaller.
Jackie noticed immediately.
“Okay,” she said, quiet but certain.
She reached for her phone.
“He’s fine,” Jackie said, turning slightly but staying in the room. “Just wet. The seams come loose a bit.”
A pause.
Arthur watched her.
Listened.
“Yeah, I’ve got him right here. He can see him.”
Another pause.
She nodded once.
“I thought so.”
Arthur’s gaze moved back to Mr Chompy.
Still on the counter. Still different.
“Alright,” Jackie said. “Thanks”
She ended the call and put the phone down on the dining room table.
The. Crouched slightly, bringing herself level with Arthur.
“He’s still here,” she said. “You can see him.”
Arthur looked.
His fingers lifted slightly.
Then stopped.
“He just needs drying,” she continued. “And I’m going to fix this part.”
She touched near the seam - not pulling it, just indicating.
“Same, just fixed,” she said.
The words didn’t change the feeling.
But they stayed.
Jackie stood.
“I’m going to do it here,” she added. “You can stay.”
Arthur didn’t move away.
oOo
The house felt quieter.
Not because anything had changed.
But because everything had narrowed.
Mum sat at the table with a small sewing kit. Mr Chompy lay in front of her, still slightly damp but no longer heavy with water.
Arthur stood close.
Not touching.
Watching.
His fingers moved over the hem of his soft t-shirt.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Slower not.
Steady.
Jackie threaded the needle without rushing. Testing the thread once before starting, making sure it would hold.
Then she began.
Each stitch followed the original seam as closely as possible.
Not perfect.
But consistent.
Arthur watched every movement.
The needle going in.
Coming back through.
Pulling the thread tight.
Again.
And again.
His fingers slowed further.
Matching something.
Not exactly.
But close.
“There,” Mum said quietly after a moment. “That’s better.”
She tied the thread off neatly.
Trimmed it.
Then rested her hand lightly against the fabric.
Still cool. Still not fully dry.
Arthur stepped half a step closer.
His hand lifted slightly.
Jackie noticed.
“Not yet,” she said gently. “It needs to finish drying.”
Arthur’s hand lowered.
He didn't protest.
Didn't step back either.
Jackie nodded once.
“That’s alright.”
She left Mr Chompy where he was.
On the table.
Visible.
Within reach.
oOo
Time passed.
Not marked by anything clear.
Just the slow shift of the fabric.
Cool to dry.
Different to familiar.
Arthur stayed close.
Not watching constantly.
But never leaving.
His fingers began to move on his t-shirt hum.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Such a poor substitute.
An even pattern.
Eventually, Jackie touched the fabric again.
Dry.
Mum picked Mr Chompy up.
Held him for a moment.
Then crouched slightly in front of Arthur.
She didn’t hand him over.
Not immediately.
She held him where Arthur could see.
Let him look.
Let him notice.
The seam - slightly raised now.
The fabric - lighter again.
But not exactly the same.
“Same,” Mum said quietly. “Just fixed.”
Arthur looked.
Then at her.
Then back.
His hand lifted.
Paused.
Then continued.
He took Mr Chopmy.
Held him.
Still.
The texture was different.
The seam not as smooth.
The smell faintly changed.
Arthur’s grip tightened.
Then adjusted.
His fingers found the seam.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Not identical.
But close.
Jackie watched and didn't interrupt.
Arthur pulled Mr Chompy closer.
Held him properly now.
The rhythm steadied.
Slower.
Settled.
Jackie exhaled softly.
“He’s still him,” she said.
Arthur didn't answer.
But he didn’t let go.
And this time -
He didn’t need to.