Dreams of Rangers.
It was with a great and fearful breath that Nick woke.
With small ears swiveling, green eyes jumped open to view their surroundings, a terrible fright very much filling them.
The dark, cramped bedroom he awoke to didn't help. With most everything already in the moving truck, it was a mostly empty, almost alien space. Save for his small bed, the chest that held his clothes, and the forest green pawaiian wallpaper peeling from his bedroom walls, the room was desolate. A place formerly a solace, now only cold and unfamiliar for the frightened child.
There was a tired but all too genuine snivel from his stuffy nose as he sat up, shaky paws quickly moving to hide his fearful eyes. It was a long moment spent like that in silence. Getting his bearings was never easy after such a dream, but as his night vision cleared up and his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark room, it became doable.
It was just a nightmare, Nick told himself, finally steadying and slowing his fast breaths.
That nightmare. His brain whispered back to him drained of confidence.
There was no stifling of the shake as he processed what his mind told him. He lifted his inner arm to wipe at both the wet tears and the sleep still clouding his eyes, trying his best not to acknowledge the thought.
It took a moment to clear them, fighting back further tears was a difficulty in and of itself as the knot in his throat had yet to dissipate. It was a moment that left his mind to dredge up more questions he didn't know how to handle.
Why?
Nick nervously bit down on his tongue, unable to make a sound other than unhelpable sniffs from his runny nose. It had been that way since the night of the first nightmare, few sounds and no words, even when- especially when- under duress.
His silence, sadly, was always a different story within his head:
Why, guys? He asked again.
It was a long moment before there was a shaky sigh followed by a shuffle and a tiny, voiceless mutter.
No words were spoken as Nick crawled out of his bed and stepped over the few packed up boxes in his room and over to the aged, almost emptied, chest. Just quiet thoughts and mute, breathy whimperings… And…
What did I do wrong?
And that question in his brain. That same question he woke up to nearly every night.
He opened the small chest in his room and dug out a fresh pair of pajamas, just underneath the few pairs of clothes still in the container. He was ashamed to say it, but the little plaid pajamas he had on could no longer be worn.
There was a shameful gait in how his tail curled between his legs as his paw felt the dampened clothes around his waist. He had started wetting the bed again in recent weeks, something he previously hadn't done since he was six years old. His tail stayed curled as he pulled out new nightclothes and padded silently towards and then out of his bedroom door.
The silence in the hall made Nick feel uneasy as he snuck to the bathroom. He wasn't supposed to be up past his bedtime, let alone at whatever twilight hour this was. He was careful not to wake the only other resident in the small apartment as he softly treaded to the bathroom down the hall. The last thing he wanted was for her to worry anymore.
You made her do that enough already… He nodded remorsefully in agreement with his thoughts.
The soft click from the bathroom door shutting elicited a breath of relief from Nick, almost even so much as to elicit fresh tears at his small success. However, that little victory would go uncelebrated as his brain still remained fixed on the thoughts of that terrible dream he awoke from… And even worse, all the way back to what had caused the nightmares in the first place.
Maybe if I had… If I just… If-
For a second, his whirlwind of uncertainty halted as he flipped on the dim lights to the lavatory.
His eyes closed as they adjusted to the light change before opening in confusion at what met him.
And then, from confusion to quiet dejection.
Nick stared at his reflection with sunken eyes. There were no maybes in the mirror. There were no 'if I hads' or 'if I justs' to be thought about anymore.
Only deep bruises.
Bruises so badly inflicted that they could be seen through his fur over much of his face and body. And in the center of his face, right where his eyes always fixed, the bruises were accompanied with a nasty, scabbing, series of scrapes on his snout and maw.
What did I do? This time it was Nick asking that. Though, he wasn't sure if he was asking himself that, or the other boys that visited him in his bad dreams so frequently.
The question would only be met by further silence, and his own pleading stares.
Green eyes seemed to sink further into their sockets before they ultimately looked away from the mirror, partly in further dejection, but an even greater amount of confused shame filling them.
His ears pinned as he touched the scarring tissue around his mouth. And then, in that one moment of clarity, that one moment where the answer to his questions seemed so obvious, hit him.
His paw cupped around his muzzle and quietly his lips moved in remembrance of his nightmare,
'Even though… you're a fox.'
Nick's eyes were far away in that second, seeing well and truly miles in the distance even in that small, windowless bathroom before ultimately that whirlwind of uncertainty that he could never really shake made itself known again.
Why?..Why does that matter?
It was in the next moment that the little fox blinked before frowning and turning away from the mirror.
He was up past his bedtime, in soiled clothes, and crying over something he couldn't really understand.
Nick let out a tired sigh. Although he didn't feel up to it, he knew it wouldn't do to stay like this.
So, the little fox focused his attention on peeling off his pajamas.
Momma wouldn't mind if I took a shower… The little fox whined inwardly as he felt the griminess of his fur and skin; his nightclothes had begun to unpleasantly stick to his fur.
He already knew not to take a bath. Though it was silly, (or at least he thought it was) his mom didn't like him taking baths without her being able to check on him and make sure he was okay. And even though it was unlikely she would wake to find him taking one, Nick didn't want to risk upsetting her…
Though… if he was being honest with himself, he knew she would've wanted him to wake her up after one of his bad dreams from the get go. But that simply wasn't an option he or that sterner voice in his brain liked. Even the idea of waking her made his ears pin back pitifully. The thought of seeing her sad, fearful eyes staring down at him like they had back then-
He shook the thought out of his head and turned on the bathtub's water. No, he certainly wouldn't wake her. Not now or afterwards… B-but maybe it'll be okay if I sleep in her room for the rest of the night… He hoped timidly, still unsure if that would be okay or not. (He didn't want her to think something was wrong.)
After his red plaid pajamas were placed in the bathroom's hamper (hidden underneath a few other articles so his mother wouldn't see them), and the sound of the rushing water in the tub was redirected to the shower's head, the little fox stepped into the running water.
His footing was unsteady, but firmed a bit as he felt the stream heat with time. He hadn't realized that his legs had been quivering so badly until they had finally relaxed, nor had he felt how much his tummy had ached until the warming water had soothed it too.
The shower, though it was by nature short due to the small water heater, was good for Nick, carrying away both the physical grime and the anxiousness riddled within his small afterwards, the feeling of the towel smoothing over and drying his wet fur helped tremendously too.
Though, the fresh pair of pajamas were his biggest boon. They were softer and hugged a bit more than his red plaids, and there was a comfort in the images of the Lunar Wolf Power Ranger blazoned along the fresh P.J.s as he put them on. Even so much as to draw a rare (albeit slight) smile from the little fox.
It was funny in his mind how the image always made him happy. He watched the Power Rangers every Saturday morning and had at first hated the mean wolf who started on the show as one of the bad guys. But, as the seasons went on and the Wolf Ranger was revealed to be under the big bad guys mind control, Nick's opinion changed. And when the Wolf finally turned to the good side, the little fox had found himself cheering so loud that the neighbors banged against their adjoining living room walls with fury.
He had always admired how the Lunar Wolf turned to the good side. But what made the wolf his favorite character on tv was how he had gone from being 'the lone wolf' good guy, to slowly making friends with the other Rangers. By the end of the series he had become a part of the pack with the rest of the (mostly prey mammal) Power Rangers.
The Ranger had found his place.
The slight smile Nick wore grew a fraction more, but, unfortunately, was cut short when his eyes inevitably went from the pictures of the amazing fictional wolf on his shirt to the very real, very downtrodden fox in the mirror.
I'm… I'm not- I- I didn't-
A tear tracked down his cheek as his muzzle contorted back into a troubled and choked frown,
I didn't get to be a part of a pack.
It was only a cruel, hateful trick of fate that the name of his favorite tv show had been what inspired him to try out for the Junior Ranger Scouts.
There was a wet, pained sob. The first real noise Nick had made that night. The only real noise he had made since the night of the attack over a week ago and the only noise he would likely make for a long time.
The sob was an admission. An admission that he wasn't like the hero on his shirt. He didn't make friends like the Ranger on his shirt did. He didn't find his place with the Junior Ranger Scouts. He was alone. He was alone here, and he would be alone when he and his mom would move to Bunnyburrow.
He wouldn't have friends there just like he wouldn't have friends here. He wouldn't be heard there, just like his pleads and cries in the Scouts building weren't heard by the other kits he tried to befriend here.
What did I do wrong? He asked himself again.
He was only answered by the pointy ears, and pointy claws and pointy teeth of the sobbing fox in the bathroom mirror.
He existed.
AN: This story will have many hurt/comfort elements. Fair warning, they won't always balance and may leave you occasionally a little more hurt than comforted. But it'll balance out in the end. There may be some romantic elements later on, but not for sure. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed reading the first chapter of, A Rabbit For a Friend.
