Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Mountain has never been a quiet place. Not fully, anyways. Sure, you may have your moment of silence on a fallen log miles into the Pine Tree forest, just at the edge where a blue bee like you cannot cross, lest you end up in the unforgiving maws of a bug three times your size. 

And maybe you’ll find comfort in the curve of a pepper in its home patch, warm and caressing the degree of your spine like it was grown just for a red bee like you. Your curiosity to wonder for the seemingly endless field may kill you, and it will be a quiet, uneventful death. 

So, maybe, it’s better that the Mountain is loud. Loud has always saved lives, as far as anyone who lives there is concerned. It’s thousands of miles wide and tall enough for you to be able to stand on your tippy-toes at the summit, where the air itself is cold but the sunshine is always warm, and tickle the misty clouds. 

“Hey, fuckface! What the fuck are you doing? Focus, asshole!” You whip your head around and stutter backwards with a surprisingly graceful leap, translucent wings carrying you a few feet into the group that your hivemates are gathered strategically into.

A second too late, and you might’ve been injured. Predators are more focused on your human leader than they are the bees, but falling into the crossfire can still be a fatal mistake. You fall back in line, scowling at the Rad bee who’d pointed out your mistake.

It was right, though. So you’d have to seethe in silence. In a jolt of collective thinking, the lot of you rush forwards again, drawing heavy pools of blood from soft, almost innocently yellow tuft. It’s a common-ish enemy. A ‘Mondo Chick’. You think that name is stupid. So does everyone else.

Lethal critical hit chance allows the thing to cripple and die, tokens pouring into the field as if to grant a standing ovation to you and your neat little family. You all pitch in, collecting and pocketing everything for later use. Here, materials are the most important thing aside from honey. Honey makes the Mountain go ‘round, and the various resources spin it a bit faster. 

Even as one of the smaller species, you still dwarf your keeper. Humans have always been teeny things, but ever resilient despite their supposed fragility. You, among many others, assume this is one of the main reasons why the bond between human and beekind came to be in the first place. 

You both are very similar when it comes to mentality. You are not invincible, but if you want change- if you want things done, you prepare to break a few bones. Humans take care of you, and in return, you get to reap the rewards you all work so hard for. You learn to socialize- how to work as a team.

It almost doesn’t bother you that you’ve basically been domesticated. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

It’s late. Your wings, which are known to be some of the strongest working limbs on the planet, have grown heavy and your are movements sluggishly displaying such. Your fur no longer resembles your skin. You are puffed up, weigh an extra ton or two and look like a very yellow, red, blue, and white dandelion that is one gust of wind away from scattering into the breeze. 

Your hivemates look similarly packed and full-handed. Even your keeper has just woken up from their 30th 5 minute nap. One of your friends, a Riley bee, swears up and down that it’s more productive to just take one long nap when tired. There are a few disagreeing eye rolls.

But they deny, claiming that he’d almost certainly cause trouble with the blue bees of the pack- even if unintentional- and did not want to risk the danger of a hive too distracted to notice incoming danger. On the way down from the Pineapple Patch, a glimmer catches your eye. 

Glimmers and shinies are usually delightful treasures, extremely helpful and important for your production. Could it be oil? Glitter? Only one way to find out. Without stopping(otherwise you might just collapse), you make a callout for the disturbed patch of grass and petals using pheromones. Bee things.

The human, who’s figuring out which smells mean what still, eyes you before following your gaze. There’s a friendly grin, that of which you love to see, and they beckon the rest of you off while they fall behind to collect the shimmery trinket. 

..what you’re NOT expecting is a blood curdling scream. In mere seconds, there are panicky, alerting warning smells. You (and your team, of course.) shake out your pollen, darting like frightened missiles to the field. And that’s when you see IT.

It’s taller than any insect you’ve seen before. You’re not even sure if that’s what it is. Its silhouette is razor sharp, points everywhere. It’s silvery, and a familiar blueish color in other spots. It’s entirely hard to make out aside from that though. What else you can make note of, the Riley from earlier is hauling your human into his arms. 

He’s hurt. Injured, even. Blood soaks into his chest, his arms and even hair. A kind of red that does not come from any bee, regardless of color. There is something different about it. It’s a very thin liquid. The veins that carry it are blue. When struck bluntly, it’s purple. Humans are the least abundant species on the mountain. When torn this bad, there are rarely cures.

The threat is unknown, so your team flees instead of fights. It’s a mess of communication, stress that you can taste, and equally dispersed confusion. You feel eyes on you. Instinctively, you shoot a glance back at the Pineapple Patch. 

And your blood runs cold. The field where you were gathering has been overrun with jagged, barbed spikes that grossly uproot and tear at the glistening petals. It feels violating. Almost like you can feel the pain of the dirt. And whatever IT is, is staring at you. it’s cold, glaring gaze bores into your frightened stare. You feel exposed. Vulnerable.

You pull yourself away from the sight, huddling closer towards the middle of your group. You want to black out, to simply stop moving and give in to whatever external force is curling around your ankles and pulling you towards a similar fate as your leader. And you almost do, until you’re shaken by the shoulder. 

your panicked, shrunken pupils soften at the sight of a bubble bee, who’s words leave a trail of calming gooey orbs. What she says is mostly a blur- but the sight of impermanence seems to remind you you’re strong. And so is your pack. 

You wouldn’t call this an average day in the Mountain. In fact, this fucking sucked. But everyone lived. Which meant the show must go on..

…..eventually. 

Chapter Text

A small handful of bees crowd around the opening to the Pineapple Patch. Some are hanging around inside of the store- but they’re all here to watch what they deem a very important event. Something new has happened- and based on who’s there to evaluate the damage.. it could be bad news. 

“So there’s no telling what this is, that’s what you’re saying? This nearly killed one of our beekeepers- tore up a chunk of our field, left a trail of blood from here down the whole fuckin’ walkway, and we have no idea what caused it?” There’s a circle of caution tape and reflective brick around the puddles of blood and where the roots disgustingly tear up the flowers.

”I know, I know. But look on the bright side! We’ve got something entirely new to catch on to. Don’t you miss that feeling? I know I do.” He can hear the concerned mutters of a line of bees behind him. It’s upsetting, and he feels shitty for not being able to have much positive news outside of the excitement of a possible discovery. 

“Panda..” Science Bear shifts to face the other. He dusts off his lab coat and readjusts his goggles to sit more comfortably on his head, in front of his rounded ears. His fur and which is a light caramel color, is short and dense, with a similarly colored skin tone. Honey sticks to the top of it and can’t pass through- likely a choice nature intended. 

The other bear stiffens somewhat. He chews the inside of his cheek, as if deciding what he’d say next. There are mesmerizing blotchy patches of black and white down his otherwise dark brown skin. He’s muscular, taller than Science and has a few healed scars that trail off and disappear under where his fur overtakes. 

“You’re right. It doesn’t have to be such a terrible thing. Nobody died, and we have work to do.” He softens and places a hand on his hip. There’s a shared silence before the frantic buzz of your wings catches the attention of those close by. You’re accompanied by Sheriff, the Riley bee who carried your keeper to safety that night. 

(A/N It’s important to note now, I think, that not all bees have names. Names are more of an intimate friend thing. Subject to change.)

You could’ve come alone. After all, you were the only one who even got a slight glimpse of what transpired there. What it could’ve been. But the mental toll that those piercing daggers have taken on you makes you feel as if you would’ve clammed up trying. And what’s a Riley if not a reliable companion?

In fact- he’s kind enough to alert everyone of your presence. He raises YOUR hand, shaking it wildly. You know he’s just excited, but really– fuck you man. 

“WE- er.. hm. THEY HAVE INFORMATION!” He’s grinning from antennae to antennae. Sheriff, since you’ve known him, has always been cute in the most irritating way. He’s very genuine when it comes down to stuff like this- so as much as you’d like to punch him in the gut for making such a scene, you know he just wants to help.

Carpenter bees are brought by to clean up what remains of the scene. The tape is removed, the flowers are replanted and additional seeds are buried where the ground still looks a bit bare. the crowd stays to watch- it’s not often you get to see a group of such high-status bees work.

You hold Sheriff’s hand as you’re led off by the Mountain’s own, Science and Panda bear. They’re intimidating, but you’ve no reason to fear them at all. For years they’ve served the mountain well as they can. They run the numbers and develop medicines, as well as prevent the need for them in the first place.

Left at the scene, around 6PM, when it starts to get a little chillier out and the sun has halved itself in the horizon, the Red HQ’s own Demon Bee has stayed behind. His brows are furrowed, arms are crossed. It doesn’t make sense. At least not yet. As careless as he was- an unknown entity like this could threaten lives he’s learnt to love from scratch. 

A rather decorated Bucko plants himself next to the red bee. It’s not uncommon for bees to pick and choose their own accessories and style. But it’s not usually this bold. He has a punky spiked collar with definitely real spikes. His wrist cuffs match. I’m tired of describing shit. Just know he’s a fucking punk, alright?

“Vic. It’s good to see you.” Demon’s tail flicks. Despite the caution you’d wanna have around such a venomous stinger, Vic stays planted. 

“It’s weird, isn’t it? That things like this can just.. happen?” He notes the way Vic seems surprised at his hesitation. But he has the right to be. He of all bees never tend to show the vulnerability he’s offering now. Like he’s scared, almost. Vic ‘tsks’ and bumps into his side. He’s much shorter, so the shoulder wasn’t an option. 

“You’re thinking about it too damn hard, man! It’s obviously just another bug that shows up every.. from when we first got here to now. Every few million years? Thousand maybe? Whatever-the-fuck. You know? In a bit it’ll probably just stop caring. And we’ll be aight. You know. Like usual.”

The red bee opens his mouth to retort, but is cut off.

“And what’s crazier- I’ve got just the name for you. I came up with it while tonguing a jar of extract this morning.”

”Gross.”

”What do you think of Saleos?”

There’s a sort of an agreeing silence between the two. Vic looks over the field again. The Carpenter bees from earlier had been unable to fully dislodge the nasty spikes left behind. He recoils somewhat, taking an index finger and running it behind his collar.

“Gnarly. You think they’re poisonous?” Vic floats over, silvery blue wings keeping him angled above one of the sharp points. Saleos could easily kill him right here, simply by throwing a rock at his back and throwing him off of balance. And he considers it for a second, too. 

Shaking the thought away (because he really might), he walks to the scene. No bee or human here is stupid enough to walk right into something as new and possibly terrible as this, so there are no extra measures making sure the general public don’t get near. It’d be unnecessary. Maybe even insulting.

“Likely. Look at the tip. It’s open, and barbed backwards. Meaning it’s supposed to penetrate and hold. Like..” He grits his teeth. Even the word irritates him beyond belief. Vic is already rolling his eyes and kicking at the growth below his feet. 

“Like wasps. Dirty.. nasty.. vile.” The word ‘wasp’ was spoken more like an insult than any other word in that sentence. It rolled off like a slur, a curse. And here, in the mountain, it was. For the better, wasps were mostly oppressed and even killed on sight. They were unimportant scum to the planet.

If you were to call bees and wasps similar here- you’d die. Simple as that. You’d either die or kill yourself from the amount of sheer hate you’d get. You’d never be looked at kindly again here. Same with nearly any other insect. Bees are simply superior. It’s always been that way, and it’ll likely never change. 

Vic groans like a child who’s just been told no for the first time in a week. It sucks that such an idea even comes to mind. Wasps aren’t weak, but it only takes two bees to handle in a timely manner. So sure, it’d make sense for one to target a human that separates from the herd. But here?

“Oh come ON! There’s no fucking way! No wasp is dumb enough to show up HERE. Definitely not. But I mean, if you’re suggesting they’re taking refuge in one of the pineapples here.. we can scout tomorrow, if you’d like.” He seems eager to have Saleos alone. Which is weird. No thank you.

“Would it really be so off? I mean. Surely that’s an adequate amount of desperation to have when you’ve been pummeled into the ground like the disgusting beasts they are. Only sinners like they could be content with acting out like that. With wanting any possible win, knowing they’re only going to get it from being the lowest of the low.” 

Vic shrugs, planting his foot on the rise of the spike and edging it forwards. It hardly moves. 

“I get the feeling, suddenly, that this means something.”

”No kiddin’.”