[ 10 Months Ago ]

"Tugger? Tugger...Tugger, wake up! Tugger, c'mon..."

He could feel paws pressing against him, trying - and succeeding - in jolting him back into consciousness.

"Tugger, wake up!"

The voice was loud and shrill, leaving his ears ringing. It had to be coming from Plato - the other kittens were just learning to talk and not nearly as clamorous (yet). Tugger groaned at the continued screeching and physical contact (he was not a cuddler of any sort, thank you very much), and tried moving over to another unoccupied area of the nursery. His efforts, however, seemed to be in vain.

"It's important!" Plato continued to whine, leaving Tugger with little hope of being able to go back to sleep.

He sighed, opening up his eyes and slowly making his way to his paws. The brightness made him dizzy - the sun's position suggested that it was at least noon, probably even later. Jelly had more or less given up on trying to force him into a consistent sleep schedule, though Plato - and presumably the newest brood - wouldn't have any such luck.

"What is it, then?" he mumbled, rubbing at his tired eyes and trying to stifle a yawn.

"Munkustrap and Alonzo found a kit this morning!" he exclaimed, practically vibrating on the floor.

'No, it was definitely to early for this.'

"So Teazer heard it from Jerrie," Plato continued, "...who was listening in on a conversation between Skimbleshanks and Demeter..."

"Plato..." Tugger growled, feeling a headache already forming.

"...and apparently she was in Jenny's den with the kit and Munkustrap was there too and..."

"What kit?"

Plato stopped, letting out a huff of annoyance. "Weren't you listening? Munkustrap and Alonzo found him on patrol this morning."

"What like, in a trash can?"

"I dunno. But it looks like the nursery is going to be a bit more cramped now."

Tugger gritted his teeth, suddenly feeling much more awake. "You said it was in Jenny's den?"

Plato frowned at his inquiry. "Yeah..."

Tugger then stood up fully, starting towards the nursery's exit. He could already hear the squealing of kittens outside, a source of constant aggravation for one who relied on uninterrupted slumber to function.

"Thanks for the info," he said gruffly as he made his way past the ginger tom-kit and left the den. The cold air assaulted him with every step, hard snow and dead leaves crunched under his paws as the wind hit his face. Tugger was not fond of the winter season, though had to admit his abundance of fur gave him an advantage against such frigid conditions compared to others. The junkyard was practically a graveyard during this time, with cats older and wiser than him deciding to hunker down with their humans until the weather became more agreeable.

Tugger finally made it to Jenny's den, the smell of herbs hitting him in full force. He never particularly liked going in here, too strongly associating it with sickness and injuries. There was also that time he stepped on one of her wayward beetles (yes it was an accident) and was sure Jenny was giving him the stink-eye ever since.

The den looked mostly the same as the last time he entered, but now Tugger had the displeasure of coming face to face with his brother and Demeter, along with the unresolved sexual tension that arose whenever the two of them were alone in a room together.

"Isn't it a bit early for you?" Munk asked dryly, trying to flatten a patch of fur on his chest that was sticking out from sleep.

"Where's the kit?"

Munk briefly shared a glance with Demeter, who looked like she wanted to leave the den if not for the fact that Tugger was blocking the doorway.

A moment passed - then another - before Munk finally shifted over to reveal a tiny black fuzzball glommed onto his tail. The thing was so...small - a speck, if barely - especially when curled up like that.

"You rescued a rat?" Tugger asked incredulously, crossing his arms.

Munk sighed, rising on two legs. "Don't be like this, Tugger."

"Be like what?"

"You know what."

"I'm just here to see if Plato was telling the truth," he said. The kit whined in its sleep, tightening its grip on Munk's tail. "So are you going to return it to its parents?"

"Quaxo is a 'he' Tugger," Demeter said sternly from the corner of the room. "Don't call him an 'it'. It's dehumanizing."

"Well then it's a good thing we aren't humans."

Demeter rolled her eyes, but failed to respond.

Tugger turned back towards his brother. "So...parents?"

"Doesn't have any. He was abandoned, something I'm sure was already relayed to you by...who was it this time? Jerrie? Plato?"

"So...what?" Tugger responded, ignoring Munk's inquiry. "It'll be in the nursery with us then? It's already loud enough..."

"You'll survive," Munk cut in icily.

"Why should I? I'm perfectly old enough to live on my own..."

"That isn't for you to decide..."

"...I'm practically an adult..."

"...will you stop..."

"...and I shouldn't have to be subjected to living with loud newborns who..."

"ENOUGH," Munk shouted, looking ready to pull his fur out. "You will be staying in the nursery until I decide that you are ready to leave. When you prove that you are mature enough to handle living on your own, then we will discuss you moving out."

Tugger felt himself shrinking under his brother's stern gaze. Even though he was a head taller than him, it was clear that Munk was - and would always be - the dominant one in the family. Especially when he was clearly overtired and not in the mood for arguments.

"You aren't in charge of me," Tugger responded weakly, taking a step back.

"In the absence of our parents, I..."

"Boys!" Demeter interceded, stepping between them. "That's quite enough."

Their argument must have woken the kit up, and it was incessantly whining as it squirmed around on the blankets. It was clear that the black fuzzball was having difficulties in self- soothing, its little white paw grabbing futilely at a source of warmth that wasn't there anymore. Demeter's eyes softened at the sound, and she went to pick it up and rest it against her chest.

Tugger forgot how much Demeter loved kittens, and it surprised him that she hadn't had any of her own by now. The kit - Quaxo, was it? - didn't seem satisfied in Demeter's grasp, blinking open his eyes and reaching towards Munk instead.

It was amazing how quickly his brother's gaze shifted from 'I'm about to kill you' to 'I will protect you with my life,' once it settled on the distraught kitten. It also served as a reminder of how suitable Munk was for the position of protector, dealing with the kit's squealing and slobber with the patience of a saint. Tugger was not overly fond of kittens (though had to admit he was still much a kitten himself), and just the thought of another screaming lump of fur in the nursery made him cringe. He had spent over half of his life alone - no mother, mostly no father, and especially no kittens.

Or friends, he thought. Plato and the chaos twins were the closest he was going to get. Looking at his brother now - the kit had settled down against his chest and fell back asleep - it...stung. He remembered when Munk used to hold him like that, when he would sleep next to him at night and sing to him when he was distraught.

Jealously prickled inside of him, no matter how hard he tried to suppress it. It wasn't a good feeling, darkness and anger that had rooted itself in his core and started to fester.

"I think he's attached to you, Munk," Demeter teased softly, longing evident in her gaze.

"So is he yours now?" Tugger blurted out before he was able to stop himself.

Munk's glare cut through the Maine Coon like a knife. Tugger swallowed thickly, contemplating an escape route from the den in case the claws came out.

"He'll be staying with Jenny," he said flatly, eyes narrowed.

"Wait...you mean he's not going to be in the nursery?"

"Not for now."

Tugger could practically feel the anger that had gripped at his heart - pounding in his chest - traveling up his throat until exploding from his mouth. "How is that fair?" he hissed. "So I have to stay in the nursery and that...that...thing doesn't..."

"Tugger I swear to the everlasting cat if you call Quaxo an 'it' or a 'thing' again then you'll be staying in there until your fur goes grey," Munk growled in return.

"But..."

"Do you realize that these kits you claim to hate are closer in age to you than the adults you are trying to emulate? You have a roof over your head, food readily available and a family that cares about your well-being. You have everything you could possibly need and yet you are never satisfied. You will always find something - anything - to complain about. I've just about had enough!"

Munk paused, catching his breath. A pregnant pause filled the room, heavy with anger and uncertainly. After a couple of moments, Munk sighed, readjusting the kit on his shoulder. "Enjoy your kitten-hood while it lasts," he finally said, voice unnaturally subdued. "It doesn't get any easier from here."

"You won't even let me try, Munk," Tugger insisted. "Living on my own..."

"Then prove it to me. Prove to me that you can. Fix the attitude. Make some friends."

"What friends?"

Munk looked down at the black fuzzball on his shoulder. "I hope that maybe one day you and Quaxo could be friends."

"He can't even talk yet! He can't...he's too small, Munk..."

"He won't always be like that," the protector responded, eyes firmly locked on Tugger's own. "There's only a year separating you both. I just want you to try, Tug."

"But why him?"

The grey tabby exchanged another glance with Demeter. There was something in his gaze...sympathy was it? Tugger's chest tightened even further. He hated that look. Despised it. It was the only one his tribemates seemed to give him since...since that day. The day his mother decided to stop being a mother. The day that he realized he wasn't important enough for her to stick around.

"Sometimes..." Munk said slowly, pawing the kit off to Demeter, "...it is easier to be friends with cats that have some shared life experiences."

Tugger's heart dropped to his stomach. "You think I should be friends with your plaything because his mother didn't give a shit about him either?" he snarled.

Munk's eyes widened at his outburst. He opened his mouth, presumably to respond, but Tugger didn't give him the chance. "I don't need you to pity me, Munk," he continued angrily. "I don't need friends, and I especially don't need some kit to share your pity with."

He whipped around, stepping through the exit of Jenny's den. Tugger could hear the kit's cries from behind him, and could feel part of his heart breaking at the sound. He didn't like kittens, but he also didn't like upsetting them either. He inhaled slowly - then exhaled - before continuing forward. "Have fun with your rat," he mumbled under his breath.

He didn't care to look back.

[ 9 Months Ago ]

Tugger forgot how much he liked bouncy balls. His mother had gifted him one when he was little - red and shiny and bounced impossibly high in the air. He treasured the thing greatly, especially as it provided a source of entertainment for the hours and hours he spent alone in the nursery.

Of course, he bounced it a bit too hard one day and it soon landed somewhere in the tree line outside the fence. He cried for days, begging Munk to help him find it - his favorite toy - to which his brother obliged, though the chances of it resurfacing where slim.

Or in this case, none.

The ball Tugger held now was not the one he lost all those months ago. It was a harsh looking blue color, the sun's glare reflecting off of it and hurting his eyes. The weather still sucked, with the snow laying in hard clumps on the ground. It made any form of navigation around the junkyard difficult at best and impossible at worst. At the very least however, the sun decided to make an appearance today, which provided some - if small - level of comfort against the usual harsh conditions.

He dropped the ball on the ground beneath him and took some satisfaction when it bounced right back in his paw. Tugger had no idea where it came from, swearing it wasn't out here before.

His argument with Munk still weighed heavily on his mind. Tugger knew that he should be the bigger cat - that he should be the one to go and apologize, that his behavior had been...less than satisfactory of late. But could he blame him? The nursery sucked in every way possible - the kittens wouldn't leave him alone and he wanted to leave the yard without a chaperone (not that it stopped him from sneaking out anyways), but at least his nightly exploits would be much less a pain in the arse to achieve.

He sighed, continuing to bounce. He knew Munk loved him, and he knew his brother was trying to raise him as best he could under the circumstances. It wasn't fair in a way, the responsibilities that have been placed on him due to the absence of their parents. But that still didn't stop his heart from lurching every time he saw Munk with that tux kit, as though Tugger ceased to exist after that fateful morning. Was he not small enough to protect anymore? Was he not cute enough? Why didn't Munk look at him the same way he looked at the fuzzball?

'I'm being ridiculous.'

Tugger supposed that if he wanted to be treated like an adult, he would have to start acting like one. And that meant not getting jealous that his brother was spending time with an abandoned kit and not him. The same kit that his brother wanted him to be friends with - to play games with - to pay any level of attention to, as if being abandoned by your mother somehow counted as a personality trait they could bond over.

Bounce.

Bounce.

Bounce.

"Hey, Tug! Tugger!"

'Great.'

"What?" he groaned, seeing Plato sprint towards him with incredible speed.

"Did you see there was a meeting going on?"

"There's plenty of meetings."

"Yes, but..."

"But what?"

"Well I heard from Jerrie who heard from George that apparently Alonzo smelled Macavity's scent on the border..." Plato trailed off, breathing heavily.

To be truthful, Tugger didn't hate Macavity. At least, not initially. Macavity was...well, 'cool'. A cat that always exuded confidence, a cat that all the toms tried to emulate and all the queens salivated over. Of course, having magic also helped build his reputation, and Tugger never understood why Munk had such a problem with the ginger tom.

Until the murders came and he was banished from the tribe, never to return.

Maybe he should be worried that 'Lonz smelled Mac's scent, but they didn't actually see him, did they?

"I think everyone's freaking out over nothing," he responded simply, dropping the bouncy ball on the ground again.

"Are you sure?" Plato asked, eyes wide. "I mean...they looked serious..."

"Macavity has magic. If he wanted to do something, he would have done it already." Tugger paused. "My brother is just neurotic. Honestly."

Plato sighed. "I guess..." he murmured, not looking convinced in the slightest. "Anyways, where'd you get that ball?"

"Huh? Oh, this? I dunno. It just appeared out of nowhere."

Perhaps that was the wrong thing to say. Plato - always the nervous one - widened his eyes, fear practically radiating off the ginger tom-kit. "Out of nowhere? See...this is a sign!"

"Of what?" Tugger groaned, really missing the previous silence.

"That he's here! Macavity, I mean. Can't he make things disappear with magic? What if he's here now?"

"It's a ball, for Heaviside's sake. You are worse than my brother."

"But..."

"Do you really think Macavity would come here for the sole purpose of mildly inconveniencing us? Don't be stupid."

"You're not gonna think I'm stupid when he comes here and starts murdering cats with his magic!" Plato insisted. "Jelly says that magic is super dangerous and..."

They were interrupted by the sound of a small thud. Tugger turned around to look for the source of the noise, with his gaze soon landing on a small black fuzzball that was half hidden behind a refrigerator.

"Isn't that Munkustrap's kit?" Plato whispered. "What's he doing out here?"

The tiny thing looked terrified at the sight of him, struggling to its paws and quickly dashing out of sight.

'Was he listening to us?'

"I wonder why he's not in the nursery like Tumble or Pounce," Plato mused. "I mean...I like the space and everything, but still..."

"My brother likes to pick favorites," Tugger murmured. He tossed the bouncy ball into the bushes, not feeling much inclined to use it anymore. "Feel free to take my spot."

He started back towards the nursery, the image of that frightened kitten's face still etched into his brain.

[ 8 Months Ago ]

Tugger must have been about three months old when, while out hunting with his brother, he spotted a squirrel perched so enticingly on a tree branch. Now Tugger wasn't a stupid kitten by any means, but he was growing quickly and always complained that he wasn't being fed enough. He started to climb the tree - slowly, he didn't want to scare the squirrel away - one paw in front of another until he was within striking distance.

No, Tugger was not stupid. But he was young and rash and certainly hungry. He pounced, pinning the squirrel beneath his claws and piercing the flesh that he would soon take glee in devouring. What he didn't realize, however, was the shift in the weight distribution of the branch. There was a snapping sound as the branch buckled under his weight and soon enough, Tugger was airborne.

Perhaps if he had just stayed with Munk, or maybe took a second to listen to what the seniors told him in regards to scaling trees, he wouldn't of found himself in this situation.

Tugger hit the floor hard, his cry of pain enough to alert Munk and Admetus of his rather unfortunate predicament. After a painful walk home and another hour spent in Jenny's den, he was told of his now sprained ankle (was that really it?) and he would have to spend the next week confined to walking on all fours.

Which...fine, he wasn't dead or anything.

(Neither was the squirrel, mind you. Little bastard must have escaped during his impromptu free fall.)

But his ankle ached - the pain radiating throughout most of his lower extremities. It was certainly the worst physical suffering that Tugger had ever experienced.

Until now.

Pollicles were nasty creatures, violent and territorial. Tugger's side was burning, even with the ointments and creams that Jenny had whipped up for him. It had been two days since the incident - since the large, brown-furred demon raked its claws down his side and nearly killed him.

There wasn't a single second of the day that Tugger wasn't in pain. He couldn't move much for fear of tearing out his stitches, and was more or less confined to his den for the time being. There was at least one positive to his situation, however, in that he actually had his own den now. After months of pleading and (relative) good behavior, Munk finally agreed to let him leave the nursery. He was now allowed to suffer in silence - blissful, beautiful, silence.

Mostly.

Sleep these days was a luxury, even if he was able to escape the confines of the conscious world, Tugger was met with the sight of claws and angry eyes. He would jolt awake - body soaked in sweat regardless of the weather - and felt as though he had just finished a sprint as his chest heaved in the struggle to intake air.

He kept replaying that night in his head. The darkness, the woods, the snapping of twigs, fear and pain and adrenaline and light...

Except it wasn't just light, was it? It was lightning.

He had only been in his den for a week when Munk saddled him with babysitting duties. The tiny black fuzzball attached itself to his brother's leg and even when removed, refused to talk to his host for hours. And sure, Tugger didn't care much about his situation either - there must have been hundreds of things he would have preferred to do instead of watching over his brother's reclamation project. But he finally got the little tux to talk, and soon enough was convinced to take him out for rice pudding.

Tugger could still see the lightning strike the pollicle in the side. He could see the furry creature twitch and jolt as the electricity rippled through it. He could see the body slam into the ground next to him, not knowing whether or not his attacker had succumbed to its injuries.

He could see Quaxo sparkling under the moonlight...right before he collapsed from what must have been exhaustion. Tugger still had trouble comprehending the events that he had just witnessed. How this shy little tux kitten was able to harness that much energy, to sparkle, to...save his life.

He once called him a rat, didn't he? Guilt seemed to be Tugger's constant companion now. How long had Quaxo known about his magic? How long had he been hiding it for? Had he told anyone else about it? Munk couldn't have known or he wouldn't have left the kit with Tugger in the first place.

He wondered how lonely the tux must be, capable of so much yet so inhibited by fear...both of the cats around him and perhaps even of himself.

Tugger's heart hurt.

Why did he call Quaxo a rat?

He sighed, rolling over in his nest in a futile attempt to get comfortable. It was awfully late now, the junkyard quiet as cats shuffled off to their dens to get some sleep. There were very few positions that were suitable to fall asleep in, and he was further limited by his injuries.

It took a couple of moments before he felt comfortable enough to close his eyes, the sweet release of slumber beckoning him into its clutches...

"Tugger?"

Was that a voice?

"Are you awake?"

No, that was definitely a voice. A young voice.

Fantastic.

Tugger sighed, propping himself up as best he could without aggravating his injuries. One benefit of having your own den was not having to deal with loud and uncooperative kittens late into the night. Apparently Quaxo didn't get the memo.

He could hardly see the little tux at this late hour, his fur blending into the dark nighttime sky that hung above them.

"I'm awake now," he responded tiredly.

Quaxo inched slowly into the room. "I...couldn't sleep," he murmured, staring at his paws. "I'm scared, Tugger."

"Of what?"

He sniffled, looking ready to cry. "W-what if they find out? About me...what if they ask how the pollicle died and...and..."

"Hey, hey...slow down, tux," Tugger cut in. "I promise, my brother is more concerned with us not being dead than what happened to the pollicle."

Another sniffle. Then a pause. Quaxo came further into the den, eyes puffy from a presumed lack of rest. "Are you going to tell them?" he asked softly, voice shaking.

"They're going to find out eventually..."

"Th-they're going to kick me out, aren't they? They're going send me back to the before-time and..."

"Quaxo, listen..."

"They're gonna think I'm dangerous!" Quaxo cried, almost frantic. "Because Jelly and the other adults don't like magic and they won't like me and...and...I'm not like Macavity…I promise!"

The small tux was in full on tears now. Tugger sat up further, wincing at his injuries but ignoring them to the best of his ability.

He grabbed the hysterical kitten's paws, hooking one of his own under the smaller tom's chin and forcing him to look up. "Hey, sparkles," he started gently. "Breathe for me, okay? Can you do that?"

Quaxo sniffled again, then nodded.

"Okay, good. I haven't told anybody yet, not even my brother."

"Y-you haven't?"

Tugger shook his head, still holding on to the younger cat's paw. "I won't tell them if you don't want me to. But I wasn't lying when I said that the truth would come out eventually."

"Are they going to kick-"

"I won't let that happen," Tugger cut in firmly. "You saved my life, Quaxo. You don't think I wouldn't do the same thing for you?"

"But...I...I didn't know what I was doing. I mean...with the lightning...it just happened and I don't..." he sputtered, clearly struggling to get the words out through the tears.

"It doesn't matter, alright? Regardless of how it happened, I wouldn't be here right now if it wasn't for you." Tugger paused, drawing the tux in closer to him. "And c'mon, how many kittens could say that they faced a pollicle and lived?"

Quaxo sniffled again, a small smile forming on his face. "Not many, I think," he whispered.

"See? You're amazing!"

"But isn't magic dangerous? Because Macavity..."

"Oh for the love of...look, Macavity is gone, alright? And yeah, there's a lot of cats here that don't like magic because of him. But...well..." Tugger trailed off, squeezing Quaxo's paw. Why was he so small? He wondered, ever since that night, if his abandonment may have been due to his magic. If his mother or father thought him to be a danger.

Grizabella never told anyone why she left. Munk said that she was always unhappy, that it wasn't his fault, no matter how much Tugger thought otherwise. And...it hurt, the feeling of longing towards a cat that would never give him the time of day. He wonders what Quaxo's mother was like. He wonders if she thinks of her child with the same level of disinterest that Grizabella thought of him. He wonders if either of their mothers ever cared about them - the sad and lonely orphans that yearned for the love and acceptance that was never quite in their grasp.

Great, now was he crying?

He should be over this. He was basically an adult now and he had his own den and his own life to live. But seeing Quaxo now in front of him - trembling and teary-eyed - it broke his heart. He was that kitten once, scared and confused and screaming into the void, hoping someone would hear.

"Magic 'can' be dangerous," he finally said, wiping away an escaped tear. "But it can be beautiful, too."

"B-but..."

"They're not going to kick you out, sparkles. I won't let them. We'll get through this together."

"We?"

Of course he caught that.

"Yeah. I'm the only one who knows about your powers, right?"

Quaxo's smile grew. "Does that mean we're friends now? Because friends don't keep secrets from one another."

Tugger raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a chuckle for fear of aggravating his injuries. "I guess we are," he responded lightly.

"Best friends?"

"Sure."

"Forever?"

"Huh?"

Quaxo's smile faltered, if only slightly. "You know...like until we die," he paused, "or something..."

Tugger sighed, laying back down. He forgets sometimes, what it was like to be so young. It wasn't like there were any other kits around to base any form of behavior off of. Quaxo's innocence was charming in a way, but sad at the same time. All he wanted was a friend, something Tugger yearned for all that time ago.

No, he still yearns for some form of companionship, doesn't he? No matter how much he tries to tell himself otherwise.

"Yeah, tux," he answered. "Best friends forever."

Quaxo leans in for a hug - avoiding the stitches, of course - and Tugger doesn't stop him.

"Can I stay with you tonight?" he asked shyly.

"Don't you have a den?"

He shrugged, averting his gaze. "Mother snores," he responded softly.

Tugger groaned, laying his head back down. "Fine. But just for tonight."

"Can I sleep next -"

"No," Tugger interrupted, closing his eyes once more. "I don't do cuddling."

"Munkus lets me cuddle."

"Then go sleep with him."

"He's not here. You are."

If Tugger's eyes weren't already closed, he probably would have rolled them. "You want to sleep in my den? You can sleep in the corner."

"You're not a very good friend."

"I'll work on it. Go to bed," Tugger mumbled in return, starting to drift off.

And drift off he did - for the first time in days, his dreams didn't taunt him and he slept well into the morning hours. Of course, when he woke up to find a small tuxedo kit pressed firmly against his side, Tugger couldn't help but wonder if his new little friend had anything to do with his ability to get a good night's sleep. Maybe he was willing to admit (only to himself of course) that perhaps he was, in fact, a cuddler after all.