Disclaimer: I don't own the Warriors series!

Title: Deep Dive

Summary: In a world where ThunderClan absorbed ShadowClan seasons ago, young warrior Weaselface is tasked to rebuild the fourth Clan and take her place as leader. But how can she betray all she's ever known and loved, all on the word of one ghost with a grudge?

Warnings: Vomiting happens. It's not in detail, but it's there.

...

"I think the ground is more water than it is dirt," Nutstripe meowed, pressing a paw down on a mossy patch. Almost instantly a puddle gurgled up. "I should probably pick my squirrel up, huh?"

Weaselface snorted around her blackbird, giving his shoulder a playful shove. "Look on the bright side, fluff-for-brains. It'll give you a drink and a bite to eat."

The sky rumbled ominously above. The hunting patrol had split off early in the morning; it'd been nice and bright, then. The rain had come in heartbeats, driving herself and Nutstripe under the dip of a tree.

"We won't be thirsty," she said, trying to keep the conversation going. Weaselface thrived in this place, this moment, where they could ignore everything else but something mundane like the weather. "I think we're fresh outta luck for prey, though."

"Back to camp?"

Weaselface sighed melodramatically. "If we must."

The rain tapered off as quickly as it started. The breeze was chilly, bringing with it the scents of cold and newly-awakened prey. Leaf-bare and Newleaf warring over the land. It made Weaselface's blood surge with excitement. Training in the snow was awful- I'll take rain any day! They sprinted eagerly through the sloshing puddles. Nutstripe didn't call a race, but Weaselface made sure to pull ahead regardless, snickering at the way he squinted at her.

"I win!" she proclaimed, tail high.

Nutstripe rolled his eyes. "I'm carrying the heavier prey, that's all!"

"It's not my fault you waterlogged it." Weaselface batted at a dripping tail. "A win's a win!"

"Congratulations, Weasel."

Weaselface and Nutstripe both flinched, turning sheepishly around. Sitting at the entrance of the camp was Flintpoppy, smiling pleasantly. The tortoiseshell was slightly damp, but her sleek fur dried quickly. She wasn't an intimidating warrior like Beetooth, nor did she have the same amount of respect as Dovefrost, but Flintpoppy had a special kind of pull; she was Spiderstar's mate.

"Sorry," she mumbled, pelt hot. I blew it! No one's gonna take me seriously now.

"Don't apologize, dear," Flintpoppy reassured her, winding her long tail around her haunches. "I love a good race."

"Were you waiting for us?"

"Of course. I've got a special surprise for you, Weasel," she said. "It's not as good as a race, but I think you'll like it."

Weaselface's ears twisted back. It wasn't hard to guess what her surprise was related to. "Uh, sure. Just let me put this on the pile."

Flintpoppy shook her head stubbornly. "Nutstripe's got it. You need your rest." She bumped Weaselface's rear with her skull, making her jump and move. She glanced over her shoulder and mouthed, "I'm sorry" to Nutstripe, who laughed awkwardly and shrugged.

Sure enough, the molly quickly herded her towards the nursery. Weaselface sighed inwardly. She knew that she was getting bigger, and she had expected the move to come sooner rather than later, but it was frustrating. Why does everyone keep acting like this is the end of the world? Queens have kits all the time.

"Go on," Flintpoppy urged, grinning ear to ear.

Weaselface stuck her head inside. The nursery was one of the strongest dens in ThunderClan, with brambles so interwoven the den was practically as dark as night. The ground underneath her was hardpacked and lacking any pesky roots or twigs for kitten to trip on. In the corner farthest from the opening was a thick, luscious moss nest. It was so big Weaselface was certain it could hold an entire patrol.

Next to it sat Dew, who gestured to it with a paw. "Ta-da."

"Mom?" Weaselface meowed, more surprised to see her than she was anything else. She gingerly padded over to the molly, sniffing. "You never come to the camp. Is that... lavender?"

"That was my idea!" Flintpoppy chirped, tail wagging with excitement. "Spiderstar did the same thing when I was pregnant with Adderpelt. The lavender is great for resting and relaxing."

Dew rolled her eyes. "She wouldn't leave me alone until I stopped by. Something about being supportive."

Flintpoppy gave her another shove, this time gentle. "Try it!"

"Do it," Dew rumbled. "Or I'm taking it home with me."

"You're too short to carry it, Dew."

"Bite me, Flint."

Hoping to stop the argument before it escalated, Weaselface carefully stepped onto the nest. It was squishy, but not so soft she could feel the hard floor. She did a loose loafing motion and immediately got a nose-full of lavender. "Wow."

Flintpoppy's whiskers twitched deviously. "It's nice, isn't it?"

"Yeah," she marveled, rolling onto her side. "I don't think I've ever slept on something this nice before."

"You haven't," Dew said, with only the slightest hint of jealousy. She waved a paw at her stomach. "May I?"

Weaselface nodded. She'd seen her mother work with other queens before, and knew that for all her grumbling she was quite adept in the task. Dew reached out and stroked along the thinner fur, eyes fluttering closed. She muttered something under her breath before opening them. "I'd guess three in there. Maybe four if it's hiding."

A shudder passed down Weaselface's spine. Three kittens. A normal-sized litter. But... "Wow. In context with popping them out, that's a lot of cats."

"They'll be even more trouble when they're out," Flintpoppy promised. Weaselface wasn't sure if that was meant to be comforting, but it didn't feel comforting. "Honestly, Dew, quit the theatrics. We could've gotten the same result with a quick visit to Mintfern."

Dew snorted. "Mintfern treats all her patients like mice to play with. Why else d'ya think so many queens come running to me? My personality?"

"She might be a bit odd, but she's fully trained."

"That's another thing," she replied. "What is with you Clan cats and only teaching one cat about birth? Ain't never met a rogue or loner who didn't know how to help a wandering queen. Hell, most house cats can do ya' the same turn."

Flintpoppy sighed. "It's a privilage, Dew. To know how to heal and speak with StarClan. I don't think your brutish brain will ever get that."

"Clearly," said Dew.

The world had turned to hissing, shrieking blurs. Weaselface watched on, glued to the ground, as claws and teeth met fur and flesh. The air reeked of blood and fish. The warrior swallowed a mouthful of bile.

"Why are you showing me this?" she whispered.

The golden tabby tom didn't respond immediately, sitting down beside her. His tail wound around his legs. "RiverClan?" he guessed, correctly. "It's hard to get your teeth into them, all the fish oil they rub into their pelts before battle. Or maybe they're just naturally oily."

Weaselface stared at him, horrified. "Why are you showing me this?" she repeated, louder.

"I can't control-"

"Don't bullshit me!" she hissed. It wasn't often Weaselface dipped into the swears used by rogues, but she knew basically all of them, and they tended to make Clan cats listen. "I don't dream in color. I never have. You're the one doing this to me!"

"Weaselface," the tom rumbled, eyes narrowing. "I don't pick and choose how your mind works. I can't look through your memory and pick one at random to project. Something reminded you of this night, and this is the result."

Nearby, a gray tabby tackled a larger cat away. Weaselface knew it was Fogfur- Fogpaw, at the time. She was shaking down to her bones. "I don't want to remember this."

The golden tom was watching the two cats fight. "You were young."

"I'm young now."

"Too young to fight alone. Where are the warriors?"

Weaselface snorted and looked away. "We were by the elders' camp. No one hangs out near there."

His face darkened. "ShadowClan camp."

"ShadowClan?" The word tasted weird in her mouth. "Weren't they a buncha snake-hearts?"

"No," he said, as if this was very plain fact. "ShadowClan- my Clan- was not 'a buncha snake-hearts'. We were proud warriors, just like you and your friends."

Weaselface's heart dropped into her stomach. "Oh." She considered the tom's words and tone. He reminded her of Spiderstar, in a way. Less condescending, but equally as controlling. "Were you... leader?"

That brought a smile to his muzzle, wistful. "My name is Brackenstar. I've been waiting to meet you your whole life, Weaselface. A cat of pure rogue blood, born in my old camp."

"This... is starting to sound like a prophecy."

"Not a prophecy," he promised. "A plan."

A gray and white cat leapt through Brackenstar, making Weaselface stumble backwards with a hiss. The cat rammed full-force into tiny Weaselpaw, throwing her to the ground. Her shoulder was gushing blood as she glared at her attacker, teeth bared.

"Grumpy," Brackenstar commented.

"RiverClan's had a bone to pick with ThunderClan for seasons. Something about a cross-border romance that ended with the ThunderClan cat being exiled."

"Ah. Shame."

"It was pretty brutal. I hear she was pregnant."

All the talking in the world couldn't stop Weaselface for staring at Antpaw as he hopped around, clawing muzzles. Seeing him alive and bright made her feel ill, especially with what came next. She whirled around and padded away, tail low.

"Leaving so soon?" Brackenstar asked.

"I'd like to wake up now."

"You're lucky that's in the cards. Remember, Weaselface; when the waves come, let them pull you under."

"That still doesn't make any fuc-"

"Weasel!"

Weaselface burst awake and immediately threw up.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. Lean on me." Adderpelt carefully curled up beside her. Weaselface did as he bid, slumping against his scrawny frame. "Are you alright?"

She shook her head mutely, mind swirling. That was real. I know it was. But what does he want from me? "Did... did you fall asleep next to me?"

The black and white tom had the sense to look embarrassed. "Sorry. I just came by with a breakfast present. See?" He flicked his tail towards a juicy vole. "And, well. The nest looked so comfy. The lavender reminded me of when I was a kid."

"I'm glad you're here," she rasped. Weaselface buried her nose in his scruff. She didn't want to imagine how bad her breath must smell. "It- it was Antpaw. I was there, but... I wasn't. I couldn't save him."

Adderpelt nodded. "You've been really stressed lately, Weasel. And Antpaw dying didn't make any of this easier on anyone. Lemme get the vomit moss out of here, alright? You just relax."

Weaselface tottered to her paws. "No, no, I got it. I need some fresh air." She got to work before Adderpelt could argue, scraping away at the vomit-covered edge of the nest. It tore and almost seemed to unwind, revealing a layer of ribbon-like material. It was slick, and oily, and now that the lavender covering had been moved away it immediately began to reek, filling the den with an awful odor.

"Seaweed," Adderpelt meowed. "Under the moss, it's all..."

Weaselface hurled.

Author's Note: Whelp it's almost four A.M. when I finish writing this, my face feels like stone mush and I'm going to bed now. (I did pretty good for four A.M. tbh)

This is a lot less plot and more just. Laying down foundation for random side relations that may or may not matter later. Flintpoppy, for instance. She's a very crafty cat by nature. While Dew has never really been emotionally available, but has basic medic training. Who left the seaweed in the nest is up to ya'll, but personally I think it's the former.

I'm really excited by the comments this has been getting! I'm always happy to chug ahead regardless, but it's nice to get feedback, so thank you to everyone for that! =)

-Mandaree1