Archive of Our Own

It’s difficult to get used to the quiet.

This was a realization Mellow had not long after his new home was found; when days became nights and his friends tucked in for their rests. Aside from the sounds of various people breathing, some snoring and some nearly silent, all he could truly hear was the sound of a clock ticking.

Which, in and of itself, was cause of some unease. It’s why he found his eyes drawn to it now, even if making out its shape was difficult in the darkness of the room. No eyes or mouth decorated this one, and its hands diligently moved with the passage of time, and yet… That soft tick-tock-tick was hard to ignore. His imagination created a face where none existed, and within it, nothing but malice.

…He knows its not real. But it scares him, regardless. He tears his eyes away once the image becomes too frightening.

Back on point. Turn your thoughts around, Mellow.

This… calmness. The way the room was open, unoppressive, and yet… safe. It was unusual. There is no shouting to be heard from another room, nor the obnoxious sound of a television, nor the approach of heavy footsteps and the drag of a mallet coming near his room.

It’s just…

Serene. Light. Gentle in a way he’s not sure he’s ever experienced before.

He lays down on a comfy chair in the living room, having been gifted it while everyone else chose to sleep on the floor. It made him feel a bit bad – It’s not as though he wasn’t used to sleeping on hard surfaces, he would’ve been just as happy down there – but several members of the household had insisted he deserved to be comfortable. He’d “done so much for them,” after all.

But maybe that’s why he had so much trouble sleeping. To himself in the quiet, upon something soft that gave beneath his small weight, he shifted and tossed and turned to no avail. There was simply no way to relax when everything is so new. When the reality of the past few days, weeks, or years, or however long he’d been in that house, was hanging over his head.

Finally, he would just give up, laying curled on his side as he stared out over the room.

From his cozy yet lonely throne, his eyes traveled along the forms of everyone below him, sleeping beside one another and dreaming peacefully. It wouldn’t be like this long-term, of course. Miss Mirianne had assured him as much. Everyone would have beds eventually. But until then, he’s just…

Up here. Gazing into darkness, watching the shadows morph into creatures much like his friends. Tapping his fingers on the fabric of the couch in time with the clock’s ticks.

…His eyes go back to the clock. It still doesn’t have a face. That’s good. He’s pretty sure he killed the one that did have a face, anyway. So he should really stop caring about it. It’s not like he can read a clock, either. There’s no reason to keep watching it.

…

He needs to get up. Walk around, maybe get some water. He doesn’t know. But staying on this chair isn’t working tonight.

So, with utmost stealthiness, he pushes himself up into a sit with his hands. He then swings his feet over the edge of the chair, letting them dangle above the hardwood floor for a moment. He needs to get down without making a loud thud, and that’s gonna be easier said than done, isn’t it?

Hmm. Be smart about it, Mellow. You snuck out of your room plenty of times with Henry. There’s just, you know… Several more people in the room with you now. It’ll be fine.

Holding his breath, Mellow scooted to the front of the chair and streeeetched his foot down, only relaxing once it touched the floor without a sound. The other foot followed, and he successfully slid off the chair without making any noise. He’s feeling very discrete, if you could believe it.

Blinking, he turns his head behind him and nearly startles out of his skin when he realizes someone is, in fact, right there, leaning against the arm of the chair.

It’s Tip. Asleep, thankfully. Eyes closed and mouth open in a quiet snore, his “head” resting against where Mellow had just been laying. It’s in that moment Mellow might have wondered why or how a sign could breathe, had he the mind for anatomy. But given he doesn’t, he only turns away again, his own breath back to being held as his secret mission continued.

Gingerly, he made his way out of the living room and into the kitchen, stepping around multiple sleeping people as he did so. Only once did the floorboards creak, leaving him to freeze in place as damnation would surely come for him, but the sound was met with little more than a grunt from… Catthew.

…Who, after being curled up in a perfect orb just moments ago, has now stretched out to his full cat capacity, making him look twice the length he was before. It’s almost impressive.

Mellow will have to admire this later, though. Right now, his goal is water.

And upon using his expert problem-solving skills to bring the trashcan over to the sink so he could climb onto the bottom of it, he accomplished exactly that. He sloooowly turned on the sink and let the water fall into a small cup, before turning it off just as cautiously. Success.

It was very lucky that the trash had been emptied already, or else he would’ve made a huge mess. He hops down once he’s finished obtaining his prize, which he takes a prideful sip from once he’s on solid ground, then replaces the trash can right where it belonged.

Like nothing ever happened. Pristine and perfect.

…Now what?

Mellow leans against the cupboards beneath the sink, holding the cup in both hands as he pondered. After such an adrenaline-filled adventure from chair to sink, there was no way he’d have any easier time sleeping. Especially since this water was very, very cold. Blissfully so, with the desert outside, but…

Mellow blinks. He lifts his head to look up and back, catching sight of the starlight as it filtered in through the open window. A few clouds weaved their way across the night sky, just enough to cover a sliver of the moon as they passed, and he could hear a breeze travel by… leaving nothing but a soft whistle in its wake.

He’s not sure the last time he really looked at the stars. He has… vague, fuzzy memories, but when he tries to linger on them, it makes his head hurt. One of his hands raise to the back of his head as he mumbles off the pain, feeling along a scar that he doesn’t know the origin of.

…Maybe he could just stand outside a while. To really look at the stars again. He didn’t have much of a chance that first night, what with everyone settling in, and how tired he’d been. Maybe now, he could finally appreciate them for real.

…Yeah. That sounds like a good idea.

With his mind made up, Mellow made his way back out to the living room, taking the same path as he had initially. Some of his friends had moved into different positions, but not enough to change things too drastically. He could sneak by as easily as breathing, though with extra concentration given to the water in his hands.

While he’s heard putting someone’s hand into cold water while they’re asleep is a really, really fun prank idea, he thinks he’s better off doing that another night. He’d probably get in some serious trouble, anyway.

…Though his eyes do linger on Boon for just a moment.

No, Mellow. Stay on the task at hand!

Once he reaches the front door, the next challenge awaits him. He lifts one hand to the knob, checking once over his shoulder, before beginning to turn.

…

It’s quiet. No one moves. The handle doesn’t make a sound. Mellow feels the slightest bit of that natural childish excitement one gets when they’re about to get away with doing something they shouldn’t. He then begins to pull the door open.

And it makes… The most truly terrible, splintering whine.

Mellow just about drops the cup from how awful it was. He grits his teeth firmly together, fighting back the urge to tell the door to Shh, and does a quick scan over the people in the room.

…Tip stops snoring. Mellow contemplates making a mad dash out the door. He spends these precious few moments weighing the pros and cons in his head. But, by some miracle, the sign only grumbles, shimmies around in place, then seems content to go back to sleep.

He is so, so good at this.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Mellow tip toes through the open door, holding his water close to his chest. And once he’s through, he pulls it shut behind him, just as seamlessly as he had to open it.

And now he was here, just as he wanted to be.
And once he let his gaze leave the door and look up to the sky?

He’s very, very glad to have done it.

He takes a few steps forward before neatly settling down on the porch’s steps, staring up at the thousands of twinkling stars above him. His head pangs as a memory tries to reach him; some form of twisted, painful déjà vu. But that ache isn’t enough to take away from this now.

And just like inside, it’s quiet. The sound of breathing was replaced by the sound of wind. Wind that curls around him as he sits and keeps him far, far cooler than he’d expect for a desert. It’s like a chilly blanket being draped on his shoulders. Which is more comfortable than it sounds.

He’s feeling… happy. Not any sleepier, but… Happy. The sky is beautiful, and his friends are just behind him, and the water in his hands tastes better than he remembers water tasting.

“Hello, stars,” He whispers. “My name is Mellow.”

And he would have been content to remain there. For hours, in fact. Drinking in the sights, the sounds, and the foreign experience of safety…

But curiosity pulled his eyes back down eventually, as is natural for a kid. He looks all around him. Out toward the horizon line, where the sky dipped beneath the sand. And when he turned his head to his left, he saw it.

Something in the distance. Something large, imposing, and… Strangely familiar. Like he’d seen it before. A rounded shadow far off in the desert, blocking out just enough to be visible, but leaving all other details scarce. A silhouette with nothing to offer.

Nothing but intrigue.

Mellow knows he should not go exploring on his own. He is well aware of this. However, he’s done it plenty of times already, and the house he lives in now is hard to miss when there’s little else out here. He’s quick, too! Quick and stealthy. No one will even notice that he was gone if he’s just fast enough about it.

Feeling determined, Mellow gets back up onto his feet and climbs down the porch steps. Once he reaches the sand, he is suddenly reminded of the fact that he has not put his shoes on. The texture catches him off guard, enough to distract him to the point he spends a full minute digging his toes into the sand. It’s ludicrously fun. Has he done this before? He feels like he has, but he’s not sure when he would’ve gotten the chance in Henry’s home.

Alright, Mellow, enough distractions. He raises his head back up in the direction of the uncertain shape and, without any further ado, begins his journey out that way.

…

This is a long, long walk. Longer than he anticipated. And sand actually doesn’t feel too great on your feet after a while. It’s coarse, rough, gets everywhere… Maybe this is why he kept being reminded to put his shoes on before going outside. To avoid the unpleasantness of sand that’s overstayed its welcome.

He’s not entirely sure. At the very least, though, he still has his water… And the sky above him hasn’t lost even a bit of its charm. It makes the walk feel less boring, and more like he’s joined by all the stars every step of the way. If only they were capable of conversation.

It’s not too long, however, that he realizes the shape he was seeing was a head.

A large, grotesque, human head, eyes rolled back to the point of snowy white being all that was visible. Its face looked trapped in a grimace, lips pulled back leaving every tooth exposed to the elements, and its mouth was covered in dark black stains. It was slightly cocked to the side, too, limp in the same way you’d expect to see someone sleeping.

Mellow has seen weirder. But this was certainly something. As he looks all over it, taking in every gross detail, he eventually lets his gaze fall down.

And stops in his tracks once he realizes someone else has beat him there.

There, sitting just a ways away from the head, was the familiar sight of the Surgeon.

He sat with his knees propped up and arms draped across them, expressionless mask staring at the beast before him with no clear inclination as to what he was thinking. The lights atop his head did not move, nor were they alight; leaving him shrouded in darkness, yet unmistakably… himself.

Mellow couldn’t believe it. When he hadn’t seen the Surgeon with everyone else, he’d thought… Well, he thought he didn’t make it. That he was still trapped in the house, somewhere down below where no one had the foresight ready to save him. Mellow had thought, maybe, that was a good thing… Because he hadn’t seen Rodger come up, either. At least he wouldn’t be alone in there.

But here he was. Uncharacteristically motionless and deathly silent. He did not breathe as Mellow’s friends did. Perhaps he didn’t have to, with “little organic material left.” It left him looking a bit uncanny, though, still as a statue in complete darkness.

Once the surprise wore off, Mellow hurried his steps to approach him. The water sloshed about in the cup, spilling onto his hands, but that was okay. He could clean it up later, and it’s not like the Surgeon would be able to see it in this shadow. He was just too excited, too curious to leave him now. What if he could convince them to come back with him? Back to the house, with everyone else?

He’s smart. He could get along well with Miss Mirianne, and they could do all the math-y stuff together. She’d be less stressed that way, too. It could be perfect.

…Though, oddly, part of him feels uneasy as he gets close enough to slow to a stop again. As though some part of him doesn’t think that’ll be the case at all.

“Mister Surgeon?” He questions, standing just a foot away. “Are you okay?”

The lights on the Surgeon’s head begin to click as they shift back and swivel, his head following into a rise just after. He turns, neck bending almost unnaturally as he does, before blank, empty eyes fall onto Mellow.

They don’t… say anything. At least, not at first. They just look at Mellow with the same unreadable expression they always have, face frozen in a perpetual frown. Mellow briefly wonders if he should be expecting them to burst into song, as they often did, but the mood seems unfitting for that kind of thing.

After a few seconds pass, the Surgeon raises one of his hands – something Mellow reacts to by involuntarily stepping back – and sets it on the back of one of his head lights.

…And with a soft fwip, it turns on.

A blinding light flashes straight into Mellow’s face, to which he yelps a sharp “Ack!”  as he raises a hand to cover his eyes, screwing them shut for extra protection.

“Apologies,” Surgeon’s voice finally joins his. The light begins to dim. “I wasn’t sure I was seeing right.”

Mellow lowers his hand and blinks. Blotted orbs of light now filter across his eyes, forcing him to blink further to dissipate their glare. He then looks down at himself, seeing a shirt stained with water, and looks back up with a frown.

“I’ll clean it up!” He insists, assuming that’s what the Surgeon was referring to. How unbecoming of him to be gross and stained when reuniting with them. “I just didn’t think I’d see you out here, and so I ran over when I did see you, and so the water spilled, and, well…”

Mellow huffs, trailing off as his argument began failing him. He didn’t want to admit he’d gotten excited, that would be embarrassing. Especially in the stark, cold face of the Surgeon, which, despite not moving at all, felt more amused than it had before.

“Not that, Mellow,” He clarified. “I hadn’t known if you’d survived. In fact, I believed the severity flood may have killed you. I’m glad to see I was wrong.”

“Oh.”

At that, Mellow just felt all the more silly. He childishly kicked his foot in the sand, mumbling something about totally knowing that beneath his breath, before answering with a confident,

“Likewise.”

Which he most definitely did not pick up from the very person in front of him. No, that’s something he came up with all on his own, thank you.

The Surgeon only hummed, a strange sound to be heard from a mechanical source, before turning his head back toward the looming form in the sand before them. With one of his lights now lit, the details of the monstrous head became graphically clear. Light caught on the stains across its chin in teeth, reflected off the dull, glazed eyes, and revealed every little pore and mole across its cheeks, nose, and forehead.

“This thing’s ugly,” Mellow comments matter-of-factly. He’s not quite sure what that strangled sound that came out of the Surgeon was after he said that, but just so he doesn’t have to think about it, he asks, “What is it?”

“You don’t know, Mellow?” They focus their attention back on him again, to which he shakes his head. The Surgeon raises their hands in broad, grandiose gesture, and explains, “This is God, a beautiful, wonderful creature. A marvel I’ve been studying for quite some time in efforts to keep alive.”

“Oh,” Mellow repeats. He tilts his head to the side, looking the ‘God’ up and down. “It doesn’t look very alive.” Or beautiful, frankly.

The Surgeon’s hands drop suddenly down into the sand.

“That’s because it isn’t,” He states. The enthusiasm he had, albeit briefly, was swiftly replaced with a more dire tone.  “With the last expulsion of its insides, it had nothing left within it to stay sustained. Nothing but stomach acid and whatever was left of its blood, at least. So, along with much of my work, it died.”

“Oh,” He says again, full of insightful commentary. “Can you bring it back?”

The Surgeon’s head falls this time, hands then balling into fists. They are lucky Mellow does not see that, or he would have taken it quite poorly. There is a notable pause between Mellow’s question and when an answer is received.

“Of course,” The Surgeon nods, though the determination in his voice is forced. “I am excellent at my craft. I can do anything I need to do, and I will do whatever I must to fix this. After all, my Bride remains within. Her purpose is to be a vessel for it. I will not abandon that due to a setback so minor.”

“Okay,” Mellow easily accepts that. The Surgeon is smart and good at his job. If he says he can bring God back from the dead, he can. “That’s good.”

“It won’t be easy, however,” The Surgeon continues to make gestures with his hands, something he’s wont to do. Mellow tracks the movements as one would expect a cat to watch a mouse. “It will take many years to work on an organism this size. And many of the tools and spare parts I had were washed away in its final moments. I will have to recollect what I’ve lost and work tirelessly for a very long time. It is not impossible. Far from it.”

Blank, emotionless eyes meet with Mellow’s impossibly wide ones.

“But it may not happen within your lifetime, Mellow.”

“…Oh.”

He’s not sure what else to say to that, really. There is not much a nine-year-old boy can offer regarding comfort for someone who has lost their life’s work in such a dramatic fashion. Let alone confront the idea that he will die before the Surgeon is able to fix what was broken. Death is a confusing enough thing to him, anyway, especially with the Surgeon’s words on it always circling in his head. Dead, alive, kill, revive; interchangeable states of being, he’d said. If it was interchangeable with life, then, well, Mellow’s got nothing to really worry about, right?

The Surgeon could just bring him back. Just as he would God.

“That’s okay,” He shrugs. “I trust you, Mister Surgeon. Knock ‘em dead.”

Er.

“Um. Or the opposite of that.”

The Surgeon lets out one short hah.

“I appreciate it, Mellow.”

Satisfied with that, and not willing to reflect on it for as long as the Surgeon likely intended him to, Mellow returned to staring up into the eyes of God. He couldn’t help but wonder many things, as is natural for a young boy. Wonder what it looked like when it was alive. Wonder if it could walk, speak, breathe, and live as he did. Wonder just how long the Surgeon was working on it, how long it was dying, and if…

…Wait…

…Something like dread suddenly chills his spine. It’s quick, shattering thing, a series of memories suddenly screeching into a halt and demanding attention in his brain. A realization, maybe, or… A misattribution of fault.

Many of the words the Surgeon said were much too large and daunting to someone Mellow’s age, but he believed he… Understood most of it. He’s a very smart kid, of course. But if he was understanding it correctly, then… Then this could be bad. Maybe.

…He needed to be sure.

“Um, you said something earlier, about how it died?” He ventures, taking a sip of his water to stop his mouth from getting too dry. “You said—'Ex-pull-shyon of insides’?”

“Expulsion,” The Surgeon corrected, then made a movement with a hand from his mouth to the sand. “In simple terms, it vomited.”

Oh.

Mellow takes a few steps forward, only stopping when he is side-by-side with the Surgeon. They look over to him, perhaps curiously, but do not say anything as they allow him to think. A mind at work should not be interrupted, this the two of them should know well.

And at work it certainly was. Dots were being frantically connected in his head, concepts and ideas and images and events all piecing together in ways he’s not certain he has all the details for. But what he does figure out leaves him feeling nervous. And bad.

“What made it throw up?” He asks, one hand now fidgeting with his shirt collar. “Was it sick?”

“Yes, but that is not what caused it. From what I could tell, the uvula took extensive damage,” The Surgeon muses, clasping his hands together. “It is hard to compare with the rest of the decay the body has suffered over the years – at no point recently was it ever healthy. But there are clear indications of blunt force trauma all around it, as though it had been attacked multiple times.”

Henry. The mallet. That thing he kept hitting above it.

Mellow’s memories of that night are a bit hazy. Reasonably so, given all that happened. But he remembered the black, acidic substance that rose out of the ground, pooling at he and Henry’s feet just moments before an impact hit him. He remembers seeing… Teeth, he thinks. Teeth lined up just past the door to the exit, prohibiting his escape. He could see the desert through it. He could see something like a house in the distance, too.

…And now…

Oh, no. This was it, wasn’t it? Henry – No, Mellow caused the house to react. To expulse itself, or… Throw up. He was in there. The house was in there. Everything and everyone had been in that thing, had been happy, but then he…

Mellow thinks he’s going to be sick, too. Would that kill him? Would he look just like that? Eyes rolled back and mouth all gross and stained?

Maybe he deserves that. Not really to die, he’s not that dramatic, but… He messed this up, didn’t he? He’s the whole reason Henry hit the uvu-thing. Over and over again, too, because he kept blocking his blows. He’s the reason the God threw up and the Surgeon lost everything. The reason everyone lost their homes, now all forced together into one house. It would’ve never happened if Mellow had just stayed put. Had he just listened to Henry, for once.

The Surgeon forgave him for killing Clockey. Said it had served its purpose. But God… It hadn’t, had it? Not by the way the Surgeon’s speaking. And God mattered to so many more people, too.

And he killed it.

“I’m sorry,” Mellow squeezes out of himself, the nervous tugging on his collar turning into a firm grasp. “I think it’s all my fault.”

“What?” The Surgeon responds, baffled, before shaking his head. “Mellow, what are you on about?”

“I think I’m the reason God died. I killed it,” He admits, something like terror beginning to bubble up in his stomach. In front of him he saw little more than a broken glass on the floor, knocked into shattering through childish negligence, and he knew he was in trouble. He’d made a bad mistake, and now it was going to hurt. But maybe it will hurt less if he can just explain. “I didn’t mean to— But I, Henry—I just wanted to go outside, I didn’t know. Henry was punishing me when he hit the—the—the thing, the thing that made God throw up. But he wouldn’t have—He wouldn’t have if I hadn’t—”

“Mellow.” The Surgeon’s voice is too firm. Too pointed. Mellow knows what that means. He’s holding the cup in his hand so tightly it’s a miracle it doesn’t join the metaphorical shards on the ground. It’s okay. He deserved to be taught a lesson. He understands. He gets it. At least this way, it’ll be over with sooner rather than later.

“None of this is your fault.” The Surgeon responds. And to that, Mellow goes entirely blank.

For all of a second, that is. Then he becomes unreasonably indignant.

“No, it is,”  He stomps his foot on the ground to accentuate his point. “I killed it. None of this would have happened if it weren’t for me!”

“Did you ask Henry to attack you?” They retort, arms now folded across his chest. “Did you intentionally provoke him for the purpose of hitting the beast?”

“Well—No, but that doesn’t— That doesn’t matter. I should have known better. I shouldn’t have tried to escape. I put everyone in danger and I—”

“Mellow.” This time, they move one of their hands toward him. Almost instinctively, Mellow braces, arms raised to fend them off. The reaction causes the Surgeon to pause, arm hovering uncertainly in the air, before choosing to go through with the action of putting his hand on Mellow’s shoulder.

“You are a child. Nothing you could have done would have changed this outcome. God was already dying, and there was no way you could have known.”

“But I—”

“Henry’s actions towards you are of his own accord. He did not have to act as he did. And I, for one, think the way he treats you is distasteful.”

Mellow is quiet this time. His eyes fall downcast.

“You are a wonderful boy, Mellow,” The Surgeon affirms, nodding his head with conviction. “You are smart, creative, dedicated; all the traits I’d want in my own child. And this, however you may rationalize it—”

He raises his other hand towards the God in presentation.

“—Is not your fault. If it’s anyone’s, it is my own.”

And with that, they finally draw their hand off and away from Mellow’s shoulder. For some unknown reason, though, Mellow feels the urge to grab it from its retreat and put it right back. He can’t remember the last time he wasn’t touched harshly. Maybe the novelty is just something he wished to indulge in a little longer.

“I could have prepared you more. Taught you what you ought to know, shown you what you ought to see, before it all came to an end,” They let out a short huff-like sigh. “Had I known just how brilliant you had become, I would have guided you along myself. But there is no use in dwelling on what could have been, unless we want to drive ourselves mad.”

Mellow couldn’t have known what that entailed. Not the bit about driving oneself mad; He believed he’d done that about twelve times over while in that beast.
But what path the Surgeon would have guided him on. The horrors he would have witnessed, the acts he would have committed. What the outcome to that path would have been, what sacrifice would have been made…

He had no way of knowing. That is not the life he lived. Not in this timeline. So, all he has to go off are the Surgeons words.

Which, without context, are very, very kind. And much, much more forgiving than he felt he deserved. So much so that the foreignness of it catches Mellow off guard more than the words themselves.

But looking a gift horse in the mouth is not something Mellow is keen on doing, so he supposes… He should just accept what the Surgeon has to say.

And after a moment’s hesitation, with a soft sniffle escaping, he nods.

“Okay, Mister Surgeon. I won’t dwell.”

It’s a promise, then.

“Good.”

And just like that, they lapse back into a comfortable silence, a far-off cricket’s chirps being the only thing to fill the stagnant air. It gives Mellow some time to think, something he gratefully takes advantage of as he scratches the mysterious scar on the back of his head.

It’s not his fault. There’s nothing he could have done. That’s what the Surgeon said, so it must be true. So much as he finds that hard to believe. It’s not a mantra he’s ever repeated to himself before, after all; this idea that something wasn’t his fault and he didn’t deserve some form of punishment.

He supposes he could get used to it, though. If such things are really true.

Mellow’s feet shuffle in place a bit, and he realizes then just how bad they’re starting to feel with the sand ingrained within them. After such a long walk, too, he’s feeling tired enough that he should probably sit. Give himself a break, however brief it might be.

So, he settles down into a sit, propped up against the Surgeon’s side with the glass of water in his lap. He lean-slash-bonks his head against their arm, which knocks his hat askew a bit, but he doesn’t mind. Though it’s about as comfortable as lying against a metal pipe.

He can’t see the Surgeon’s reaction over the brim of his hat. He only feels them stiffen, which is hardly a noticeable difference when they are made of machinery. What he can hear, however, is the gentle whirring and tick-tock-ticking of mechanisms at work deep within them. Like a clock, almost… Or, more flatteringly, like a heartbeat.

“What will you do now?” Mellow asks. Then, selfishly, “Can you come back with me? You could continue your work back at the house. We could help you, too.”

He doesn’t receive an answer. The refusal of one goes on long enough that he starts to feel nervous again. Holding the glass close and swirling the remaining water within, he mumbles out,

“You don’t have to. But… it’d be cool if you did.”

Above him, the Surgeon works his jaw into place. He is silent for a moment longer before he finally chooses to respond.

“I can’t do that, Mellow. It is kind of you to offer, but it is not my place to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t be intruding!” Mellow objects, pulling back his head to give the Surgeon a glare. “I invited you. Anyone that has any problem with it would be subject to Mellow Rage.”

The Surgeon scoffs a humored laugh, before laying a hand on Mellow’s head to put his cap back in the proper position. He then gives him a firm pat, which Mellow has no real idea how to react to, given how his head has been touched in the past.

(It doesn’t hurt. But it feels like it should.)

“And I’m sure you that would be quite persuasive,” He pulls back once he’s finished adjusting. “But no. I will remain with God for the time being. My work is best conducted in the environment where it will be used, after all.”

Mellow pouts. He shows the Surgeon his big, sad eyes, in hopes maybe that will change his mind, but all he gets in return is that same empty face. The puppy eyes are simply not effective against someone who’s seen it all.

“Okay…” Mellow relents. “But if you change your mind…”

“I’ll consider it, Mellow,” He says with a tone that suggests otherwise. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The conversation tapers off once more. Mellow doesn’t know what else he could say, ask, or do that could keep the Surgeon around longer. It’s strange, really, that he wants so desperately for it to be different. That he could force the Surgeon to concede and come back home with them, to stay in his new family. In the moment, he lets his mind run wild with imagination, entertaining several different ways they would interact with one another.

He could help anyone if they got hurt. He could bring someone back if they died. Isn’t that a good thing? Isn’t that something everyone would want?

…Mellow doesn’t know. He can’t really be expected to know, anyway. He also guesses it would be cruel of him to force the Surgeon around other people, when they seem inclined to stay reclusive. Perhaps the smell of dried blood on them would be too much for the other residents to ignore, too.

Though it doesn’t bother Mellow too much now. In fact, he can barely tell it’s there. He’s too focused on the steady sounds of the Surgeon’s clicks and ticks, the dull metronome-like beat of whatever it was inside of him. In the dark stillness of the desert, sat beside someone he trusted, with a lullaby of machinery just against his ear…

Mellow’s eyelids grow heavy… Heavier and heavier until they finally close, the comfort of the moment allowing exhaustion to finally settle across his shoulders. And almost as soon as they do...

He drifts off to sleep, resting curled against the side of the Surgeon, for a blissfully dreamless sleep.

“How did he even get out there?”

“I don’t know! I guess he got up and fell asleep on the porch?”

“Weren’t you supposed to be watching him, Tip?”

“Wha—Hey! How is this my fault?!”

A swirling mixture of voices slowly awakens Mellow from his sleep. His eyes blearily slide open, blurry figures moving across his vision as he processes where he is. It’s soon he realizes he’s back on the chair in the living room, half sunken into its cushion. A crackling sound can be heard just beside him – The fireplace, lit and glowing.

Though it was hard to tell past the early morning sunrise filtering in through the window. Mellow mumbles, drawing his hand up to his eyes and rubbing the sleep away, before someone touches him, and he flinches.

“Oh, sorry, Mellow!” Ticketa’s voice registers in his ears. When Mellow focuses on her, he notices she’s got a small washcloth in her other hand. “You’ve got a pretty big stain on you, just thought I could help dry it off.”

Oh, the stain from the water. It wasn’t that bad, was it?

Mellow looks down at his shirt, and sure enough, the stain there has doubled in size. How in the world did that happen?

…Ohhh. He probably dropped it when he fell asleep. Fell asleep next to…

Wait. How did he end up here? How was he back in the house? That wasn’t all just a dream, was it?

“Where’s the Surgeon?” Mellow quickly scans the room, propping his hands up on the arm of the chair for a better view.

“The who?” Ticketa asks, rightfully puzzled.

“Oh! Mellow, you’re awake!” Another voice chimes in, this time belonging to Beartha. Beside her, Tip seems to be incredibly frustrated, though that is the usual expression he wears. Once he tunes in on Mellow being awake, though, his whole body whirls around to meet him.

“Why were you outside, kid?!” Tip shouts, exasperated. “Ms. Malia nearly tripped over you when she left this morning!”

“I was outside?” Mellow blanks. Because, well, yes, he was, but nowhere in Ms-Mania-Tripping-Distance. He had been pretty far away, in fact. “Right outside?”

“Yes!” Tip exclaims. “And now everyone’s letting me have it like I’m the one who put you out there.”

“You were supposed to be watching him.” Beartha helpfully adds, which Tip responds to with a scowl.

“How was I supposed to know he’d decide to go sleeping on the porch? I can’t imagine that rickety old wood is more comfortable than the chair!”

It was, in fact, not more comfortable. Though Mellow does not remember falling asleep on the porch. He doesn’t think that’s what happened at all.

…He has a pretty good idea what happened, actually. Once he thinks about it a bit longer. And while he could explain, that… That would give the Surgeon away.

And they’ve made it clear they don’t want that.

“Sorry,” Mellow chooses instead to apologize. He doesn’t like to lie, though, so he’ll just… Tell a mostly-truth. “I just wanted some fresh air. Guess I… fell asleep out there on accident.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it too much,” Ticketa smiles, handing him the washcloth so he could dry up himself. “We’re just worried about you, that’s all. We don’t want something to happen to you!”

“More than what already has!” Tip interjects.

And to that, Mellow feels… Nice. Warm, even, despite the splotch of cold water on his shirt. Maybe it’s the fireplace, or the encroachment of day, or maybe… Maybe it’s because he’s being actively cared for. A novel concept, that would be.

Though he feels his eyes drawn to the boarded-up windows beside the front door, hoping, wishing, to see a familiar silhouette outside. That maybe they’d stayed to make sure he was in good hands. Or maybe they’d changed their mind. They would be knocking on the door any moment now, ready to introduce themself and make themself at home here.

…Of course, no such luck. Though Ticketa does follow his gaze and seems rather confused to see he is staring at nothing.

“Thank you guys,” Mellow gives his own small smile. “It won’t happen again.”

To make sure of that, though…

“But could I just, um… Sleep with one of you, next time?”

The room practically lights up with that, Ticketa and Beartha smiling as big as they could manage. Even Tip’s expression seemed slightly less irritated.

“Oh, of course, Mellow!” Ticketa eagerly nods. “I’m sure many of us would be happy to keep you company!”

“I don’t mind sleeping outside, too, if you want!” Beartha chimes in. “The stars are beautiful. I don’t blame you for wanting to be out there.”

“Maybe not that,” Tip flatly disagrees. “Do you know how cold it gets in a desert at night?”

“I’ve got fur?” Beartha points to herself, as though it wasn’t obvious.

“Sure, but Mellow doesn’t!”

This seemed to be news to Beartha.

Conversation continued, explanations and laughter filling the room as Mellow was tended to. It didn’t take long for someone to notice the blisters on his feet, which someone else chalked up to the porch being too rough. Interestingly, though, said blisters already looked as though they’d been patched up, enough so that Mellow hadn’t even noticed they were there until they were pointed out.

He knows what happened that night. But he’s kept it a perfect secret, everything explained away by average childish behavior. Life went on as though the event was a silly blip amongst everything else, though Mellow’s wish for someone’s comfort at night was enthusiastically accomdated.

Though almost every night following, whenever he’d get a chance… He would still look out that way from the porch, eyes searching for a light.

…Or three.