amplification
One day after Tumblebrutus disappeared from the Junkyard. Late morning.
Tumblebrutus woke up. There was a sliver of sunlight pooling warmth and light on his body, and when he squinted over to his right he could see that it came through a crack between two boards that covered a window. It was a pleasant feeling. Even though the air was thick and full of dust – motes of it hung, quite clear to the eye, in the sunlight – it was calming. Tumblebrutus vaguely considered going back to sleep.
But… where was he? As he propped himself up on his elbows and took a slow, sleepy look around, he realised it was definitely nowhere he'd ever been before. It wasn't part of the Junkyard. It was… some building. A dilapidated place. Some abandoned human building, most likely.
That begged another question. How on earth had he ended up sleeping here? Not only that, but he quickly realised that he'd been napping on a soft pile of blankets that had been carefully arranged around him. Someone else was here with him, then.
Last I remember, I… Tumblebrutus strained his mind. Was with Jemima, right? Yes, they were to be mated, after all. But… no…
I was in that cage. And Pouncival–
"Oh, you're awake! I was half-convinced you were going to snooze the whole day away!"
Tumblebrutus whipped his head round. Pouncival was walking over towards him, sporting a cheerful grin.
"What's going on here?" Tumblebrutus demanded. "Why am I not at the Junkyard anymore? What the hell did you do, Pounce?"
"Because you came with me, right?" Pouncival said, cocking his head in surprise. He stopped just short of where Tumblebrutus lay on the bedding. "Took my hand and everything. They would've declared you guilty, you know. It's better if we just stay here. You got a little bit muddled while we were walking here, so I was worried, but you look okay now. So I'm glad." Pouncival bent down and grabbed one of Tumblebrutus' hands between both of his own.
Tumblebrutus stared up at him. Same brown eyes, same slightly upturned nose, same cheeky grin, but… the absence of a certain feature was obvious. Where was the scar? Pouncival's face was flawless and unblemished, yet somehow less appealing for it. Pouncival had had that scar across his left eye for as long as Tumblebrutus had known him. It was with that awful wound that Tumblebrutus had first seen Pouncival, bleeding in a gutter at the edge of the Junkyard.
"What happened to your scar?" Tumblebrutus blurted, casting aside all his other questions for the moment. "How… how is it gone?"
"Oh…? That old thing…?" Pouncival released Tumblebrutus' hand and touched his left eyelid with a couple of fingers. "Don't I look much better without it?"
"How is it gone?" Tumblebrutus repeated insistently. "That can't be possible, Pouncival. Not even magic can heal up scars like that."
"That's not really true," Pouncival said, kneeling down on the blankets next to Tumblebrutus. "Hey, shift over, would you? I'd like to get some sun too. It looks nice."
Tumblebrutus, with an exasperated frown, obliged, edging closer to the wall. Pouncival lay down next to him, locking his hands together behind his head and crossing his legs. He sighed blissfully and Tumblebrutus couldn't help but track the motion of his mouth. The soft rise and fall of his chest, fur lit up by the glow of the sun.
"What do you mean, that's not true? Magic can get rid of scars?" Tumblebrutus pressed the moment Pouncival looked settled.
"Hmm, well, probably not in the way you're thinking," Pouncival said, yawning. "Like, no magician could wave a hand and – boom! The scar's gone! It's a miracle, everyone! Nah, that's not really possible. But there's other things going on in this world."
"Like…?"
"Sooo many questions, Tumble! Can't it wait until after I have a nap?" Pouncival mumbled, voice thick with fatigue.
"Not really. I'm really uneasy about all of this, Pounce," Tumblebrutus said. Even so, he was loathe to push his friend any further when he looked so very comfortable. So he just sighed and lay back down himself. The sun was nice, after all. It was hard to find good sunning spots in the Junkyard when there were so many towering piles of, well, junk. So he relaxed and closed his eyes again. Warmth permeated his entire body and with a quiet sigh of pleasure, he let himself drift back into sleep.
(x)(x)(x)
One day after Tumblebrutus disappeared from the Junkyard. Just after midday.
Someone was making snuffling noises by Tumblebrutus' ear. Pouncival, it had to be. Tumblebrutus opened his eyes slowly and realised that the sun was gone, leaving the room dark and musty. Still, he could feel Pouncival's weight on his chest, the other's tom's face tucked into the crook of his neck. He inhaled slowly.
"Pouncival, wake up," he said, pushing at the smaller tom gently. "You're smothering me."
"Ugh, but I'm comfortable," Pouncival grumbled, lips moving over Tumblebrutus' neck as he spoke. He couldn't help but shiver, toes curling at the sensation. It was odd, really odd. Pouncival being so touchy-feely was odd too, but not necessarily unpleasant. Tumblebrutus had always found comfort in contact from others, a hand on the shoulder here or a pat on the back there. "Let's just go back to sleep," Pouncival continued, wrapping an arm snugly around Tumblebrutus' waist and settling his weight a little more on top of Tumblebrutus now that he'd stopped resisting it.
"It's not even sunny anymore," Tumblebrutus protested.
"That's okay," Pouncival said. "You're still warm."
"You said you'd explain how your scar disappeared!" Tumblebrutus pressed.
"I guess I did say that." Pouncival said with a sigh, raising his head. Tumblebrutus kind of missed the weight of it on his shoulder. Placing a hand on either side of Tumblebrutus' body, Pouncival raised himself so that he hovered just over Tumblebrutus, his face mere centimetres away. "Shall I explain, then?" His breath ghosted over Tumblebrutus' cheeks.
"Pouncival… what are you doing?" Tumblebrutus asked. He couldn't help the flustered sound his words took.
"What I've been so stupid not to do, all these years," Pouncival murmured, lifting a hand and sliding a finger down the line of Tumblebrutus' jaw. Pouncival thumbed his nose, touched the curve of his lips tentatively. Tumblebrutus felt helpless to resist, even as Pouncival closed the distance and brought their lips together.
Tumblebrutus let out a gasp – it came out sounding more like a whimper. Pouncival pressed closer, raking his fingers through Tumblebrutus' hair, and Tumblebrutus let him, his own body slackening into the blankets. He was vaguely aware of his own lips moving in a natural response to the kiss, feeling as familiar with this as he had when he was with Jemima. It felt practiced, kissing Pouncival like this, like coming home. He was certain now, he'd dreamed of this. What that meant, he didn't want to know.
But… Pouncival wouldn't kiss him. Not like this, not with so much vigour. Pouncival wasn't gay. Pouncival would date any queen in the Junkyard before even looking at Tumblebrutus. And Pouncival's lips shouldn't have been so soft – they were cracked and bitten the last time Tumblebrutus had seen him. Pouncival's fur should've been more ragged, his eyes more hollow, the framework of his body harsher, ribs showing through. And just as Tumblebrutus had been thinking all this time, Pouncival should've had that scar, the one he claimed made him a real man, the one Tumblebrutus had caught Pouncival staring at in the mirror more than once, face pinched and fingers tracing over the rough lines of it.
So Tumblebrutus put a hand on Pouncival's chest and shoved him off, even though he ached at the loss. Pouncival recovered quickly, bounding to his feet and staring down at Tumblebrutus in blatant shock.
"Why? You liked it!" Pouncival accused.
"Maybe, I don't know," Tumblebrutus lied, sitting up slowly. Of course he'd liked it, it had been pleasant. That, he couldn't even deny to himself. But he couldn't say that. Pouncival still stood over him, chest heaving, his disappointment obvious in the tense lines of his shoulders.
"Don't – don't give me that," Pouncival spat, and this was more like the Pouncival Tumblebrutus was familiar with. Easily riled up and dismal at hiding his feelings. Argumentative and loathe not to get his own way, if he'd decided on something.
"I need answers," Tumblebrutus said quietly. "I'm sorry Pounce, but nothing has been making sense these days."
"If I… explain some stuff, would you try again?" Pouncival whispered, clenching and unclenching his hands. They were such small hands, for a tom.
"I don't know," Tumblebrutus said. "Isn't it technically cheating on Jemima?" Even if Jemima's being with me means she's technically cheating on you?
"You might not ever see Jemima again! She won't want you! She probably thinks you tried to murder her," Pouncival snapped, breath quickening. His claws slid in and out.
"Only because you kidnapped me and made it look like I ran away, I'm sure," Tumblebrutus said. "Otherwise she'd have no real reason to suspect me."
"No, no, you don't understand, fucking hell Tumble," Pouncival snarled.
"Pounce– "
"Don't call me that! It makes me sick!" Pouncival screamed, stamping a foot. The sound reverberated around the room and Tumblebrutus took a couple of deep breaths. As stubborn as Pouncival could be, this was definitely unusual. He wasn't normally quite so… childish.
"That's always been your nickname. Don't you like it anymore?" Tumblebrutus was practiced at this, playing the calm mediator. He had always been the one to smooth over arguments.
"No. You're wrong." Pouncival shook his head wildly and placed his hands over his face. "Don't call me Pounce. Don't call me Pouncival. I'm not him. No, that idiot never saw what he had. You'll be all mine."
"…What?"
Pouncival – or rather, the near perfect copy of Pouncival – peered at Tumblebrutus through the cracks in his fingers. "My name is Carbucketty," he said, baring his teeth. "And I'm going to kill Pouncival."
(x)(x)(x)
One day after Tumblebrutus disappeared from the Junkyard. One hour after Pouncival ran.
Pouncival pressed his claw closer into Tumblebrutus' neck, and the other tom quailed beneath him. "Please, I don't mean any harm!" he cried out, gulping as a droplet of blood formed at the point where Pouncival's claw connected with his skin.
"No? Sorry, but why should I believe you?" Pouncival hissed.
"I don't know! Just… don't hurt me! I would never hurt you!" Tumblebrutus whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut and turning his cheek into the pavement. Pouncival, looking closely, realised that there were tears forming below those closed eyelids, trickling out in a steady stream.
"Are you really this pathetic, or is it just an elaborate act?" Pouncival wondered. But he stepped back, away from Tumblebrutus, though careful to stay on his guard. The other tom lay there for a while, chest heaving, before he finally seemed to realise that he was out of danger.
"Th-thank you," he stammered as he sat up. One side of his face was entirely covered in dirt, his eyes red-rimmed from crying. He certainly didn't present an appealing picture.
"You're definitely not really him, anyway," Pouncival said. "I've never seen him cry in my life. If you're trying to trick me, you're doing an awful job of it."
"I'm not trying to trick you!" the other cat protested. "I just want you to be okay!"
"Your name?"
"I… I don't know. Do I need one?"
"It makes things a little easier for me, calling you something different from him… hmm, how about Bill Bailey? That's a good name for a cat."
"You can that me that if you want, Pouncival," the Tumblebrutus lookalike said. "Anything you want to call me, I'll let you. I'll like it."
"Well, sure thing, Bill Bailey," Pouncival muttered. This was weird, very weird. He was just waiting for Bill Bailey's façade to crack – for him to lash out, to chase him down the street cackling just as Carbucketty had done for nearly three months straight. But Bill Bailey was nothing like Carbucketty. Where Carbucketty was loud and violent, never doing anything to mask his sadistic intentions, Bill Bailey seemed pathetic and obedient. Maybe… maybe it wasn't an act? There was one similarity between the two imposters, after all. They were both so childish. Maybe Carbucketty was more like a little kitten finding delight in squashing bugs while Bill Bailey was the child wailing because he lost his favourite toy, but both were still fundamentally lacking in any sort of dignity.
"Can I ask you something?" Pouncival said suddenly. Perhaps this was his chance.
"Anything," Bill Bailey said solemnly.
"What, exactly, are you? Why do you exist?"
"I don't know. I thought I was Tumblebrutus. But then I saw the real Tumblebrutus, who looks like me but…" Bill Bailey paused, troubled. "And then you said I'm Bill Bailey, so that's who I am now."
"What about Carbucketty?"
Bill Bailey's face crumpled in distress. "He's so mean," he whimpered. "He's so cruel to you. Why? I don't understand it. It makes me so sad."
Yeah, Pouncival knew that already. He didn't need to be told about how awful Carbucketty was. How terrifying it was to be pursued by someone who resembled him so closely, down to every detail but the lack of the scar and the manic grin. "So, you're not like him, then?"
"No, nothing like him!" Bill Bailey said vehemently.
"You wouldn't drive Tumblebrutus away from everyone he loves? You wouldn't pursue him for months, forcing him into hiding and making his life a living hell?" Pouncival's voice grew more heated as he spoke, his chest heaving.
"No, why would I do anything like that?" Bill Bailey wailed.
"I don't know why, but from my experience, it's what creatures like you do," Pouncival snarled.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I wish that had never happened to you." Bill Bailey drew his knees up to his chest and rocked back and forth. "I'm terrible, I'm sorry, I couldn't keep you safe, he just… went off with Jemima… he abandoned you, I…"
"That's exactly right," Pouncival spat, and for a moment, he forgot that this wasn't Tumblebrutus. Gaze tinted with red and hardly aware of what he was doing, he strode forward and punched Bill Bailey in the cheek, fist connecting with a crunch. Bill Bailey sobbed, but that was the extent of his reaction. He let himself fall sideways and smack into the ground. He curled up into a ball, still rocking back and forth.
"I…sorry. That wasn't right of me," Pouncival said quietly, but his heart was still pounding with anger, with resentment he hadn't quite realised existed in him. He hadn't really had the time to consider it, what with all the terrors he'd lived through.
"Don't be like him," Bill Bailey said thickly. "I don't want you to be like Carbucketty."
Pouncival's eyes widened. "I'm nothing like him!"
"Are you sure?" Bill Bailey whispered, and Pouncival couldn't think of anything to do but sit down next to the other's trembling figure and rest a hand lightly on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry," Pouncival repeated. He turned away so as to hide his crestfallen eyes.
(x)(x)(x)
a/n: I've given up on using horizontal rules haha. Wrote this a while ago and meant to read it back, but I skimmed it just now and can't remember if there was anything I intended to change, so here you are. These are the pains of writing an elaborate fic in the midst of doing so many other things.
Working on a fic for another fandom right now, so updates will be even slower – my apologies!