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The moon had already risen high, casting long silver shadows across the forest that cradled Box, the shared base of Ren and BigB. Lanterns glowed softly from the windows. Martyn trudged up the path, boots scuffing against the dirt, his clothing rumpled and stained from a long day of narrowly escaping death. His zombie-hybrid traits showed in the faint grayish colour of his skin and the subtle stiffness in his movements when exhaustion set in, not to mention the stitches running along his skin. Tonight, that exhaustion weighed on him like wet concrete.
He’d come looking for Ren. The dog hybrid’s steady presence always grounded him, especially after another tense session with the others, where no one trusted anybody. But the base looked quiet. Martyn knocked anyway, the sound echoing dully.
The door creaked open. BigB stood there, tall and steady, his own dog-hybrid features evident in the floppy ears that twitched toward the sound and the tail that gave a single, curious wag before stilling. Soft black fur dusted his ears and the tip of his tail, matching the warmth in his eyes. Unlike Ren’s more vibrant wolfish energy, BigB carried a calmer, more watchful aura—loyal, observant, content to guard the hearth.
“Martyn,” BigB said quietly, voice low and even. His ears perked forward. “Looking for Ren?”
“Yeah,” Martyn replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “He said something about heading to the caves earlier. Thought he might be back by now.”
BigB shook his head. “He’s still out. Mining session ran long. You know how he gets when he finds a good vein.” A small smile tugged at his lips, tail giving another brief wag at the thought of his partner. Then his expression softened as he took in Martyn’s state—shoulders slumped, eyes heavy-lidded, the undead resilience of his hybrid form clearly fighting fatigue. “You look dead on your feet—no pun intended. Come in. Wait for him here. It’s warmer.”
Martyn hesitated only a moment before stepping inside. The interior of Box was scarce, a few chests here a there, a pen for lifestock, and faint dog-earthiness. BigB guided him to a ladder and up into a bedroom.
“The bed’s back here,” BigB murmured. “You can rest. Ren’ll be back eventually.”
Martyn didn’t argue. The moment he saw the large bed—crafted wide enough for two dog hybrids and piled with soft wool blankets—he felt his legs give out. He collapsed onto it face-first, a groan escaping him as the exhaustion finally won. His body went limp, half in, half out of sleep, the zombie hybrid’s slow regeneration humming faintly beneath his skin. He was aware of BigB moving around but too far gone to respond properly.
BigB watched him for a long moment, ears tilting with quiet concern. He pulled one of the blankets over Martyn’s form, tucking it around the blonde’s shoulders. Then he seated himself on the edge of the bed, the frame dipping slightly under his weight. The room was peaceful, fire crackling in the adjacent hearth, wind whispering through the trees outside. BigB’s tail curled around his own leg as he settled in, content to keep watch.
Assuming Martyn had drifted off completely, BigB spoke softly into the quiet. “You know… sometimes I still can’t believe we’re all here. After Evo.”
His voice was a gentle rumble, ears flicking as memories surfaced. “That server took so much from everyone. They… they toyed with us like we were pieces in some grand game. You especially, Martyn. I remember how they kept pulling you back in, tormenting you with tests. Promises to leave, only to see you loose hope. Time and time again, trying to break you or remake you. But you kept going. Kept fighting.”
BigB’s hand rested lightly on the blanket, his tail giving a slow, proud wag. “We lost some good people along the way. But the ones who survived— you’ve become someone incredible. Strong, loyal, stubborn sometimes.” A soft chuckle escaped him. “I’m proud of you. Really proud. We’ve all come so far from those early days of scrambling for resources and dodging whatever nightmare the Watchers threw next. Life isn’t easy, but it’s ours. And you’re carving out your place, heartbeats and all.”
The words hung in the air, sincere and unguarded. BigB hadn’t planned to say any of it aloud, but with Martyn seemingly asleep, it felt safe. His ears drooped slightly with nostalgia, yet his tail continued its gentle, rhythmic wagging.
A sudden rush of wind swept through a gap in the window shutters, carrying the night’s chill into the room. Martyn shivered visibly under the blanket, a soft, involuntary whimper escaping him even in his half-sleep. His body curled inward, seeking warmth.
BigB didn’t hesitate. He shifted closer on the bed, stretching out beside Martyn and pulling the blankets higher. His larger frame radiated steady heat, warmth amplified by the simple comfort of companionship. Martyn stirred, drawn instinctively toward it. Without fully waking, he shifted, turning onto his side and pillowing his head into BigB’s lap. The movement was natural, trusting, his blonde hair spilling across BigB’s thighs.
BigB froze for a heartbeat, ears perking straight up in surprise. Then his expression melted into something soft. His tail wagged more noticeably now, thumping lightly against the bedframe. One hand rose, hesitant at first, then began combing slowly through Martyn’s hair. Fingers threaded gently through the strands, nails scratching lightly at the scalp in soothing patterns. The motion was rhythmic, calming—meant to chase away the lingering chill and whatever nightmares Double Life might summon.
Martyn sighed in his sleep, pressing closer. His zombie-hybrid traits made his skin cooler to the touch, but under BigB’s care, a faint flush of life returned. BigB kept his movements steady, hand never faltering as he continued the quiet preening.
“You’ve got a good heart under all that cocky exterior,” BigB whispered, barely audible. His ears swiveled toward the door, listening for Ren’s eventual return, but his focus stayed on the man resting against him. “Doesn’t matter what they threw at you. You’re still Martyn. Still fighting for your people. I see it every day here.”
Martyn murmured something incoherent, nuzzling deeper into the lap. BigB’s tail wagged faster for a moment, a quiet surge of happiness at the trust. He adjusted his position slightly to make it more comfortable, free hand resting lightly on Martyn’s shoulder under the blanket.
Hours slipped by like that. The wind outside settled. Stars wheeled overhead. BigB didn’t move, content to be the anchor. His own hybrid instincts hummed with satisfaction: protect the pack, offer warmth, stay loyal. Martyn’s breathing deepened into true sleep, the exhaustion finally releasing its grip.
When Ren eventually returned—boots muddy, pack heavy with ores—he paused in the doorway to the bedroom, ears perking at the sight. BigB met his gaze with a small smile and a subtle wag of his tail, one finger pressed to his lips. Ren nodded in understanding, a fond look crossing his face before he slipped away to clean up quietly.
BigB stayed put. His hand never stopped its gentle work through Martyn’s hair, even as dawn began to lighten the sky beyond the windows.