Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“RISE AND SHINE, MY TENACIOUS TOY SOLDIERS! TIME FOR TODAY’S ADVENTURE!”

The ringmaster, Caine’s, voice boomed through the hall, getting to every room in it—including Jax’s. 

He scrambled out of bed in shock, landing in a purple heap on the floor. Was he ever going to get used to that loud-mouthed maniac and his 7 a.m. nonsense?

With a tired moan, he pushed himself upright and shuffled lethargically to the mirror leaning on the wall.

All the rooms had been designed to suit their inhabitants’ personalities. Supposedly. His, however, looked like someone couldn’t decide between “villain lair” and “county fair.” Deep plum walls with faded checkerboard patterns crawled halfway up from the baseboards—like whoever painted them gave up halfway. The carpet underfoot was a lime green shag, more jarring than cozy. There was the mirror above, not even mounted, and a few oversized playing cards nailed crookedly to one wall, and his bed was dressed in red and violet stripes that clashed on purpose. String lights were hanging from the ceiling in no real pattern, and a few bulbs were dead. 

Gazing into the mirror, he was met with his reflection: a rabbit with short purple fur, eyes a striking shade of bright yellow, and a set of teeth that matched his eyes. He was dressed in the same old pink overalls, and his hands were covered with dumb rubber-hose-like gloves. He wiped the sleep out of his eyes lazily and tidied his fur a bit (what, you think he didn't care at least a little about his appearance?). He opened his bedroom door, stepped into the hall, and was greeted by…

…water?

“What—” He flinched as his foot plunged into something wet. Sloshing up to his mid-calf, the liquid reeked of sea salt and warm breezes. The hall stretched out in both directions, waves gently lapping at the yellow wallpaper where it had no business being, and tiny colorful crabs skittered past his ankles. Somehow, it didn’t flow past his doorframe and into his room. 

This wasn’t… normal.

The other circus members emerged from their rooms one by one. Kinger was first, immediately launching into a fit about how they were all being invaded by aquatic anomalies that were apparently there to steal his insect collection. Ragatha came out next, raising her eyebrows but brushing it off with a tired, “Caine’s done weirder on a Thursday.” Gangle followed, her mask slipping from her face and floating off in the wake as quiet sobs overtook her. And finally, Kaufmo, who just scratched his head and was utterly perplexed—until Kinger grabbed him by the shoulders mid-rant, still howling about his insects. Ribbit must’ve somehow been still asleep, even with all the clamor. His door hadn’t opened.

Jax sighed, far too tired for this crap and already done with this day. “I’m not doing this today... I’m going back to bed.”

Just as he turned around to do exactly that, a rumbling shook the hallway, followed by a gigantic shadow. A massive gust of wind sent the water sloshing wildly, and the ceiling above quaked. The mysterious shrouding darkness went away just as quickly as it had come, leaving the circus members dazed and confused. 

“PICK UP THE PACE, MY BEAUTIFUL BOAT MOTORS!” Caine’s voice rang out again, excited but mildly impatient as he gave the crew yet another idiotic nickname. When did he come up with those anyway? “YOU CAN'T JUST LEAVE ME AND THE ADVENTURE WAITING!”

Maybe he’d have to do this adventure, whether he wanted to or not.

He groaned loudly and exasperatedly, doing a 180 and facing back to the hall. He grimaced and stepped into the water. It was chilling on his feet, both refreshing and annoying. The other characters made their way to wading as well, Kinger and Ragatha holding their clothing to not drench them and Gangle still sobbing. 

They were more than halfway to the center of the big top now, and from a distance, the water inside looked even deeper—like the whole tent had been flooded. A few beach balls bobbed by lazily, and more of those ridiculous rainbow crabs kept trying to pinch Jax’s ankles. One of them latched onto a toe.

“Get—off—me!” Jax kicked the crab into the surf with a splash. “I swear if one more of these things touches me—”

Another deep rumble rolled through the tent, stronger than before. The surface of the water vibrated, rippling outward in every direction.

“The invaders! They’re here!” Kinger wailed, now frantically wading in circles and swatting at nothing. “They’ve come for us!”

“Shut up, geezer,” Jax snapped, dragging a hand down his face. “There are no ‘invaders.’”

He glanced up, figuring that whatever was shaking the place must’ve been flying overhead again. The earlier shadow had to be from something big. But when he looked, he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. 

Then—

“Duck!”

The voice came from behind them. Ribbit.

Jax didn’t have time to ask questions. He and the others dropped to the floor with a loud plash just as a massive blur swooped overhead—followed by an unholy screech, the kind that rattled all the bones in your body and made your ears buzz.

Something—huge, with wings like warped sails—dove low over the group, way too close to them for comfort.

A pelican. Or at least, what seemed to be a pelican. This thing was stretched, warped, cartoonishly oversized, and terrifying in all the wrong ways. It was covered in highlighter-yellow feathers and was large enough to need its own zip code. Its bright green elastic beak-pouch wobbled like gelatin as it flapped once, then banked right before landing on the main stage.

Gangle whimpered, the ends of her ribbon arms twisting around each other nervously. “What… is that thing?”

“And where the heck have you been?” Jax inquired, looking at Ribbit. He didn’t look like he’d been hurt by the pelican at all, but he did seem a bit agitated. 

“I just went on an early-morning walk through the grounds, and when I came back, it just looked like”—Ribbit spread his arms in emphasis—“this. I just really hope this isn’t for the—”

“DID SOMEBODY SAY ADVENTURE?!” Caine interrupted the frog, appearing out of thin air behind him and making him yelp.

After recovering from the toothy jumpscare, Ribbit responded, “Well, I was about to, but—” He stopped himself, seeing that Caine had already floated away and toward the behemoth of a bird.

“I CAN SEE YOU'VE ALL MET FELECIA THE PELICAN. THAT'S GREAT, BECAUSE SHE'S A PART OF TODAY'S ADVENTURE!”

Ragatha looked at him, bemused. “You—you named the bird?”

“You named the bird Felecia?” Jax mocked. “Really? You should’ve gone with Pissnugget.” 

The comeback got a giggle out of Ribbit, his croaky snicker sounding like hiccups. “Or Mucus Muncher.”

Jax cackled at that. “Mucus Muncher? That may be just as good as mine.”

The amphibian grinned, finding the compliment hidden in the sarcasm. “Thanks, I try.”

“ANYWAY,” Caine interjected, making the two boys quit their giggling. “TODAY WE HAVE AN IN-HOUSE ADVENTURE CALLED FLEE THE FELECIA!” Above him, the title of the adventure appeared in a wacky font. Caine removed his hat, and out popped Bubble.

“Hello~!” Bubble piped, his voice squeaky like it had gone through a mouse voice filter ten times.

“THE GOAL OF TODAY’S ADVENTURE, TO PUT IT SIMPLY, IS TO HIDE FROM MY BEAUTIFUL PELICAN CREATION!” Caine announced. 

“But how can we avoid her~?” Bubble quizzed, grinning.

“FINALLY, A GREAT QUESTION FOR ONCE, BUBBLE! YOU STAY IN GROUPS AND HIDE AROUND THE TENT, BEING SURE TO NOT GET TOO CLOSE TO HER SNAPPY BEAK!”

“But, Caine, isn’t there a catch~?”

“INDEED THERE IS! ONE OF THE GROUPS MUST FIND THE EGG OF FELECIA AND BRING IT UP TO THE STAGE TO END THE ADVENTURE! NOW TO ASSIGN THE TEAMS!” 

Caine snapped his gloved fingers, and with a cartoonish poof!, wristbands materialized on each circus member’s wrists (and one around Kinger’s forehead, since he didn’t have wrists, let alone arms). Jax glanced down at his—deep red, like the skin of a freshly picked strawberry, with a single embroidered gold star glinting on its surface.

“YOU’VE BEEN DIVIDED INTO THREE GROUPS OF TWO—THE BLUE TEAM, THE RED TEAM, AND THE ORANGE TEAM. YOU HAVE THREE MINUTES BEFORE FELECIA BEGINS HUNTING—I MEAN SEEKING FOR YOU! GOOD LUCK!” In a flash, Caine and Bubble disappeared, leaving Felecia just staring at the group of characters. Staring… with its oversized slit eyes…

Honestly, that thing got more terrifying by the second.

Preset teams. Great. Jax hated when Caine pulled that crap. It was so much easier to pick his partner, usually Gangle, since she didn’t complain much and made for easy entertainment. Still… his eyes flicked up to the others—blue for Gangle and Ragatha, orange for Kinger and Kaufmo—and, sure enough, red for Ribbit.

Jax felt the irritation drain into a smirk. Well. If he had to be stuck with someone, Ribbit wasn’t bad. They worked well together, better than anyone else would admit. Maybe even better than he wanted to admit.

Ribbit met his eyes and broke into a matching grin. Perfect. Duo secured.

“Well,” Jax said, stretching lazily, “at least if we die, I’ll have someone annoying to blame.”

Ribbit gasped in mock offense. “You flatter me, Bun-Bun.”

They huddled together in an instant, already scheming.

“So,” Ribbit clapped his hands, grinning. “Do we look for the egg or hide from Pissface?”

“It’s Pissnugget,” Jax corrected, poking him in the cheek. Ribbit broke into giggles again.

“F%@k,” he wheezed, still laughing. He drew in one breath, then another, until the chuckles fizzled out. “Alright. Focus. Big mean bird wants us dead, clock’s ticking, and I’m way too pretty to die.”

“Prettier than me, anyway,” Jax added with a sly smirk.  

Ribbit blinked, caught off guard. “Oh—uh—” He waved his hands like he could physically swat the comment away. “Whatever, not the point!”

“Jeez, do you hate compliments or something?” Jax said, rolling his eyes. “I’m just joking anyway, calm down, frog-face.”

Ribbit’s fluster faded into mock offense as he leaned forward. “So… I’m not pretty?”

“Like you said,” Jax replied with a grin, “not the point right now.”

Ribbit huffed, but his lips twitched like he was holding back a smile. Jax just shook his head and refocused on the plan.

“We go for the egg,” Jax proposed, getting back to the main focus. “The faster we find it, the faster that thing disappears.”

“Good enough for me!” He held his hand out to Jax to shake, and the rabbit grinned. He took his hand and—

BZZZ!

A shriek of shock escaped Ribbit’s mouth. He pulled his hand away and rubbed it. “Did you just hand-buzz me, Bun-Bun?”

“You let your guard down too easily, Ribbit,” Jax countered, lifting his hand to show the silver shocker ring, and later shoved the toy into his overall pocket. “Also, quit calling me Bun-Bun. Now come on, let’s go find that egg.” 

Jax waded forward with a smirk, water sloshing around his knees. Ribbit followed, already plotting another prank. From her perch on the stage, Felecia screeched again, ear-splitting and awful. 

“Y’know,” Ribbit bantered, “if we don’t make it out of this, I’m blaming your stupid face.”

☾⋆｡𖦹°✩

Somewhere between the third inflatable cannon and the rubber snake pit, the duo began to think this place might not have an egg.

“You’d think,” Ribbit griped, hefting a waterlogged and oversized monkey barrel, “if he wanted us to find some egg, he’d at least give us a hint. He didn’t even tell us what the d%@n thing looked like!” 

Caine was never exactly clear with his adventure instructions, and Ribbit usually didn’t mind. But something about that pelican—like a fucked-up taxidermy project come to life—had him on edge. Jax could tell.

“Or he could’ve given us machetes,” Jax groused behind him. “To fight off the clingy crabs all over the place.” A green one stared a bit too intensely at him, making him shuffle back. Nope. Not dealing with those bastards again. 

SCREECH!

Felecia again.

Their time was up. 

“S%@t,” hissed Ribbit. “S%@t!” Uhhh—Uhhhhm—f%@k.” 

Yeah, he was not good under pressure. 

And neither was Jax. I mean, he was good at pretending to be good under pressure, hiding under jokes and bravado. On the inside? He was panicking just as much. 

Jax snapped his fingers. “Wait—there’s a supply closet, not far back. We passed it earlier. Could be tight, but it might work.”

“Yeah—yeah! Where is it?!”

“Back that way,” Jax pointed over his shoulder.

“Then move your fuzzy a%s!”

They bolted—well, splashed as fast as thigh-deep water allowed. Running in water was a joke. But terror was an excellent motivator.

The water roiled furiously behind them, its surface breaking into frothy chaos. Felecia’s wings beat forcefully, creating crashing waves that violently slammed against the walls, sending a cascade of shimmering droplets behind them.

“Come on, Ribsy!” Jax jeered over his shoulder. “I’ve seen puddles move faster!”

“Maybe if I had longer legs, I’d be keeping up!” Ribbit shot back.

“Our legs are literally the same length, man! You’re just bad at running in water!”

“Oh please, you’re not exactly graceful yourself!”

They were getting closer to the door—just a couple more strides—

Jax’s ears flattened, another screech splitting through the air, and closer than last time. “Not the time to argue; the closet's there!”

Without warning, he shoved Ribbit toward the door, snatched a pink and purple crab off the floor, and hurled it at the incoming pelican. Felecia snapped at it midair—her serrated teeth flashing—just in time for the crab to pop like a water balloon against her beak, sending streamers and confetti flying. 

Jax froze for half a second. “…She has TEETH?!”

Another screech. Nope, no time for that. He dove in after Ribbit only to realize the room was way more cramped than he remembered.

Chapter Text

The door slammed shut behind Jax with a hollow BANG, leaving them in suffocating darkness. It smelled of dust—the kind that clung to every surface imaginable and made it musty and stale. Musty and stale like your grandma’s house with the ugly floral curtains and those little butterscotch candies she’d give you that she’d keep in a dainty glass bowl. The ones you’d say that you liked to her, tell your friends you hated, but secretly liked anyway, even though they were “old people candies.”

Something jabbed Jax in the side, making him squirm and shove himself against the door. “Hey!”

“Sorry,” Ribbit apologized. His voice bounced oddly in the dark, too close to Jax’s ear.

Jax tried to shift left, but that only got him jabbed in the ribs again. “Ow, how many elbows do you have to jab me with? Did you get extra ones or something?”

“At least I’m not the one hogging the closet,” the frog shot back. “I’m practically folded in half in here!”

“Hogging? You’re basically in my lap!”

“That’s because you—” Jax heard a shift before him, and something bumped his knees. “Ugh, great. Now I’m stuck.”

Jax sighed, pressing himself closer to the wall to give Ribbit more space. “Did that help?”

“A bit,” Ribbit replied, followed by the noise of him adjusting his position again.

It was starting to get hot in here too—from the water adding unnecessary humidity to the air to the fact that they were almost breathing down each other’s necks, it was pretty close to a mini rain forest, except with the fusty odor of dust everywhere. Somewhere from outside, Felecia let out a furious yell, the sound a mix between a laugh and a wail.

Jax froze, stiffening like a board. “Maybe we should just whisper now,” he said under his breath.

“Yeah, sounds like a good idea,” Ribbit breathed in reply.

Seconds passed agonizingly slow, each stretching out like Caine had turned time into saltwater taffy just to mess with him. This was so boring. Jax liked the climax and chaos and violence in his adventures—not standing still in a broom closet like a mothball-scented sardine. Sure, the doom pelican was probably out there causing the fun kind of carnage, but in here? He was just standing there, in the dark, knee-to-knee with a frog, just waiting.

Why was it so small anyway? Jax had been in here more than once (you don’t need to know why or what he was doing, so quit thinking about it you pervert). Back then, there’d been loads more space to move around than this squish-fest. Had he picked the wrong closet? No, he was pretty sure this was the one.

Something moved beside him—or was it in front of him? It was pretty difficult to tell when the sound bounced around in the darkness as if it were a rubber ball. Jax held still, listening. Ribbit’s breathing was steady, somewhat calming, but there—there it was again. A dull clattering sound, like sticks knocking against each other. Hushed, but noticeable. “Did… did you hear that?” Jax spoke, voice low.

“Hear what?” Ribbit murmured.

“Wood. Knocked against wood. Like—like a little clack or something.” 

“Nope, didn’t hear anything.”

Jax swallowed, trying to make as little noise as possible. The faint clack came again, this time a bit closer. His ears twitched instinctively.

“There!” he hissed. “Are you sure you didn’t hear anything?”

Ribbit sighed. “Yeah, no, I didn’t hear anything other than your delusional yapping.”

Delusional? “I am not—!” he yelled, losing control of his volume. 

He was cut off when Ribbit’s hand pressed over Jax’s mouth, as well as one of his fingers forcing an eye closed.

“Shh!” Ribbit hushed. “She’s gonna hear us, and I don’t want either of us turning into bird chow.”

Shit. He was being loud, wasn’t he?

“Mrrphh mmph mmhmm mff.”

Ribbit snickered. “What’d you say?”

The second Ribbit’s hand lifted, Jax scowled, and rubbed his face. “I said you didn’t have to muzzle me, y'know." He crossed his arms, then grumbled, quieter: “But fine, I'll shut up. Sorry.”

Time dragged on yet again, snail’s-pace because of Jax’s impatience. He knew something was there; he just needed to be able to prove it. He waited for the noise again, but it didn’t return. Jax tapped his foot against the floorboards, a faint little thump-thump that only made the silence feel louder. 

Why couldn’t this adventure be done already? They’d been stuck in this closet for what felt like hours. How much time had passed outside? He hadn’t heard Felecia’s hellish noisiness in a while. What if the adventure was already over, and he and Ribbit were crammed in here for no reason? His foot tapped harder and quicker. God, this was so stupid. Why was he so scared of that sky-rat Felecia anyway? If he got the chance, it’d be easy for him to—

“Are you tapping your foot again?” Ribbit said, snapping Jax out of his thoughts.

Jax froze, realizing the soft thumping had gotten embarrassingly loud in the stillness. Whatever.

“Yeah,” Jax sassed. “So what if I am? Helps me focus.”

“Because if you don't quit it, you're getting tackled as soon as we get the green light to leave,” Ribbit threatened. Jax could hear the grin in his voice, the kind of smug curve that needed no light to picture. “Also, focus on what?”

Jax smiled, starting up the thumping just to piss him off. “The flavor of the pie that’s gonna get smacked in your face next week. Think I should do coconut or blueberry?”

“Blueberry,” Ribbit replied, playing along. “Coconut is gross.”

“Coconut it is!”

“Hey, I just said—”

“You hate it, so it’s perfect!”

The two of them cracked up, their laughter muffled but still way too loud for hiding. Every time one tried to shush the other, it just made it worse, like tossing fuel on a campfire. Eventually, though, the laughter sputtered out.

“Man, you’re terrible,” Ribbit joshed, shoving Jax’s side with his hand playfully.

“I know,” Jax commented wittily. At least this was a little more entertaining than earlier. 

Clack.

Jax tensed as the sound echoed around again, a smidge louder this time. 

“There it is again!” Jax whispered harshly. “Please tell me you heard that.”

Ribbit responded, “Nuh-uh. Maybe it’s your ears being too big for your head. Do they make you hear better, or are they just for decoration or something?”

Jax was about to snap back at him but froze as something quickly touched his foot. Dry and smooth, it tapped him, not once, but twice on the outside of his left foot. On instinct, he yanked his foot up swiftly, leading to him losing his balance and slamming into the wall. His shoulder made an impact with the wall at a weird angle, making him wince.

“Jax!?” Ribbit shrieked. “What—”

Jax interrupted him. “I’m fine, Ribbit, I just bumped the wall. But I swear on Caine’s stupid hat, something just touched me. I am not making this up.”

The amphibian stayed quiet for a couple of seconds, then responded. “…You're serious, huh?” His voice sounded tight, like he was trying to play it cool but wasn’t.

“Yes! I don't care if you think I’m delusional or not,” said Jax. “I'm gonna find out what the heck that was.” 

He got down on his knees, which was way more of a struggle than one would think; he had to press himself into the closest corner to him and worm his way to the floor in a squat. Now in one of the weirdest positions he’d ever been in, he felt the wood floors aimlessly, searching for whatever the fuck was in here with them in the dark.

After a few seconds of searching (with no luck), he heard a voice.

“Uhm,” Jax heard Ribbit mumble from above him, sounding a bit nervous. “Jax?”

“Hmm?” 

“Have—uh—” Ribbit hesitated. “Haven’t I been… holding your hand this whole time?”

What the hell? What type of question was that? Jax scoffed. “No. Why?” He heard the clack and reached for it, hand moving swiftly like a pouncing cougar catching its stalked prey. Gotcha. It was long and narrow, the surface polished but bumpy as if it had been sanded down carelessly.

Ribbit cleared his throat. “Then… whose hand… have I been holding?”

Jax went still, ear twitching. “I—what?”

Before he could even process Ribbit’s question further, the frog suddenly shrieked, “Ew—ew—nope, nope!”

Something came flying out of the dark and smacked Jax square in the forehead with a hollow thunk.

“Ow!” Jax barked, stumbling upright with his free hand rubbing his forehead. “What the heck was that for?!”

Ribbit’s voice cracked with a whimper of panic. “It moved! I swear it moved!”

“What, the thing you threw at my skull?” Jax grumbled. “Yeah, I can tell it moved.”

“Not like that, idiot—it… wriggled or something!” Ribbit squeaked, his tone resembling that of the floorboards beneath their feet. “Like some sort of horror movie thing. Ew—

“Calm down, you big drama queen—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down, it—I—f%@k—”

A sudden light burst between them. It was faint, but still bright enough to bathe the entire closet in a pale white glow. 

Both of them froze. 

“What in the…” Jax heard Ribbit breathe next to him. A little louder, he swore for the second time: “F%@k.” The light returned, flashing again. It was coming from the censor bar. Ribbit’s middle finger was then lifted, getting its own black rectangle with wacky symbols, this time a consistent and dazzling flare. “That’s new.”

With vision regained, Jax could see that the walls were colored a faded orange that was unfamiliar to Jax (yeah, he picked the wrong closet) with a pattern of coral polka dots painted over. Even though it was still a relatively tiny room, it felt a bit bigger with light as well, now being able to see where stuff was. A dandelion-yellow sticky note was pasted on the wall as well, with an illustration of a seemingly gleeful bumblebee on it. Dust particles floated lazily in the air, twirling about in undefined paths in the sky. Dust also blanketed the towers of cardboard boxes all over the place that ranged in size, from stacks that stood up to Jax’s hips to stacks that just about touched the ceiling. Some of the boxes had stickers pasted on their surfaces—ones you’d regularly see: “FRAGILE”, “This Side Up”, and the like. Some stickers stood out—“May Contain iPods”, “Caine’s Wiggle Worms: You’ll Love ’Em!”, and “Do Not Shake (Unless It’s Christmas, Then Go Wild)”. One even had “BUBBLE’S TOYS” scrawled on it sloppily with a black marker. Jax didn’t want to know what sort of weird stuff was in there.

Jax looked down to the floor—which also carried a sheer coating of dust—and saw another crumpled Post-It, as well as, at first glance, a long wooden snake. A more prolonged examination would prove that it was in fact not an imitation reptile but a berry-red mannequin arm. Ball joints connected sleeker pieces of timber, giving them the mobility to bend. This one, however, was bent unnaturally, the wrist and elbow bending at angles they technically shouldn’t be able to. Jax lifted his hand with the Mysterious Clack-Maker (patent pending) in it and found the exact thing wrapped in his gloved fingers, except his was a greyish-blue.

“Well, that's a bit of a disappointment,” Jax muttered, lifting the arm to Ribbit, who was still holding the bird up. “It was just NPC limbs.”

“How did that even get into my hand?” Ribbit queried, tilting his head. “What, did it just worm into my palm or some s%@t?”

Jax shrugged. “I think you're the only one who can answer that.”

“I guess,” Ribbit nodded in understanding. “So… what do we do now?”

He had a point; they were going to have to do something to keep it from being like earlier. The sweaty waiting room where you were forced to stand mushed against each other wasn’t enjoyable, especially when you’re trying to focus on breathing too loudly.

“Uhm, what if…” Jax pondered their options for some sort of entertainment in this makeshift bomb shelter. Then an idea hit him. “...we look through the boxes?” Forget what he said beforehand; he was beginning to get curious about whatever that freak Bubble was using as “toys.”

“Ooh, fun!” Ribbit lit up, mirroring his blocked-out middle digit. “But is there a light in here that isn’t my middle finger?”

The two of them searched for a sort of toggle for light, and it didn’t take long for Jax to find a light switch hidden behind one of the boxes in stacks labeled “Industrial Kitty Litter: 79% Chlorine”. He flipped it, allowing a dome light fixture attached to the ceiling to generate a more controlled illumination. When he turned back to his friend, Jax caught him with his neck craned to look up. Ribbit chuckled. “Boob lights are so dumb.”

Boob lights were dumb.

“Now pass me that big box that says ‘OMINOUS RED???’ and we can get to the opening party. I need to know what that label means immediately.”

They got to work opening the boxes and sifting through them. Used packing tape and styrofoam peanuts flew with every new discovery. The box “BUBBLE’S TOYS” had another on top of it that was a bit bigger than a shoe box and had the letter “B” on it. Just “B”. Nothing else. When the hare picked it up, he could feel it had some density to it; something rolled around when he tilted it in his hands.

Tearing the plastic adhesive strip of tape off the top with a bit too much aggression, Jax pulled open the flaps to find two things. The first was a miniature copy of Kon-Tiki by Thor Heyerdahl, the blue cover creased and frayed in many places and a brown stain Jax really hoped was coffee splashing the edges of the pages. The second item was a small purple can of whatever the fuck Mtn Glue was. He pushed the soda tab in, and the satisfying psssshhh of pressure being released followed.

“Huh,” Ribbit spoke. “I got… four packets of powdered Red 40 and…” He sifted through an unnecessary amount of pink foam pieces, pulling out a large scarlet sock with a white hem. “...a stocking. Guess that makes sense for what the label was. What about you?”

“Some dumb old book and an off-brand can of soda called Mtn Glue,” Jax replied, giving the aluminum can a little swirl. “Should I try it?”

“Well, duh,” Ribbit teased, putting the red items back into their container. “You suggested it, so now you have to.”

The white liquid menacingly fizzed in its cylindrical housing. Oh well. What did he have to lose anyway? Jax shrugged his shoulders and took a small swig.

It was glue.

It tasted kind of sweet, but it was not a good feeling going down the gullet.

“Now we know not to drink the Mtn Glue,” Jax concluded, setting the can of evil on another stack of boxes while trying not to violently gag all of his entrails out all over the floor. Did he even have guts to vomit out?

Moving on to the awaited “BUBBLE’S TOYS” box, Jax grabbed it off the stack it was on and found it was significantly more weighted than the previous one. He figured he should sit down when opening it, both because of the sheer size of the package and whatever the contents may be. He sat crisscross on the floor and pulled the tape off. This box had more tape than the previous one did also—the anticipation was enough to kill him, combined with that cursed soda.

The box eventually was rid of tape and had its flaps open, and there was a whole bunch in there, to say the least. A pocketknife (Bubble probably shouldn’t even be around a blade, let alone playing with one), a deflated beach ball, a plastic fishing lure box (Again with the pointy things, Bubble?), a coffee cup, a Ken doll… without a shirt, a Barbie doll… without a shirt as well, an unopened tampon (Okay, why does Bubble even need this shit?), a gun, a 24-pack of double-A batteries—

Wait, a gun?

Hell fucking yes.

“Whoa, Bubble has an M4?” Jax’s grin stretched like he’d been handed permission to misbehave. Jax stood up with the military-grade firearm in hand, examining its aluminum revolver and steel barrel that felt mildly familiar. The gun felt alive in his hands, heavy and humming with potential that didn’t care for rules or consequences. It just cared for the action and experience. Scratches snaked across its otherwise smooth surface like little white rivers on black land. He held it in the firing position, the stock going on his shoulder and his right hand wrapping around the grip.

Ribbit glanced up from the box he was focusing on and tensed. Jax spun around to the frog, still holding the gun like he was about to shoot it.

“Okay,” Ribbit began making a noise that could generously be categorized as a groan and a whimper tied in a knot. “You should not have a gun.”

Jax scoffed, lowering the rifle. “Come on, I had my finger off the trigger, so calm down.” He did actually have his finger isolated from the trigger. What, did you think he was crazy? Never mind, you were right to think he was crazy. But…

“Here’s an idea for your big green head,” Jax began. “What if I use the gun on Pissnugget?”

Ribbit seemed hesitant at the proposal. He made his dumb little thinking face—his eyes squinted with suspicion at the overly-eager hare as he bit his lip. Fucking nerd (Ribbit was actually pretty smart—or as smart as Jax at least).

“Ooh, Ribsy’s thinking about it~,” Jax chaffed in a sing-song tone, waggling his eyebrows playfully. 

“Quit it, Bun-Bun,” Ribbit said, folding his arms like that would intimidate a hare who’d once used a rubber chicken as a spear. “And… no, I’m not letting you do that.”

“What? Why not?” Jax crooned, shouldering the rifle again and pointing it at an imaginary pelican. “It’s not like I’m gonna shoot anyone important. Just that sad, sad excuse for an animal. For… science.” He did an exaggerated squint that was meant to be deadly serious and probably ended up looking like he needed a new glasses prescription.

Ribbit sighed, and a small smile crept on his face like a fuzzy caterpillar. “I know I’m gonna regret this, but… fine.”

“Yes!” Jax pumped his fist in celebration of success in convincing Ribbit. “Trust me, you won't regret it.”

“Uh-huh,” Ribbit said with his eyebrows raised to the ceiling. “How much ammo you got?”

Jax cradled the M4 like it was a sleeping animal—respectful enough not to prod, curious enough to poke. He kept the barrel pointed toward the floor and his finger stubbornly away from the trigger.

He thumbed the magazine release and the rectangular magazine popped free with a dull thunk. It had a solid weight to it. He tapped the base against his palm, listening for the hollow echo; that little sound told him something was inside.

“Okay—mag out,” he said, voice steady. He slid the pad of his thumb under the magazine’s rim and eased it open, peering down the mouth. Brass glinted in a tight stack. Jax counted them fast and with no drama.

“How do you know how to do this?” Ribbit queried, curiosity flowering in his tone. 

Jax sighed, not being able to recall which number he’d thought last. “Reasons. Now shut up, you just made me lose count.”

"Sorry."

…

Well that wasn’t as much as he wanted to have fun with.

He straightened, holding the mag up so Ribbit could see. “Nine rounds.”

His eyes darted in tiny movements, probably counting the rounds himself. “Nine?” Ribbit’s whisper was thin.

“Apparently,” Jax said, brow quirking. He let the mag rest in his hand, feeling the dull, finite certainty of it. “Not a huge buffet.” 

He didn’t jab the charging handle recklessly, locking the bolt to the rear and peeking into the chamber. Empty. No surprise round tucked up in the barrel. Darn. He let the bolt settle forward with a controlled flick, thumbed the safety on, and slid the magazine back into the well until it clicked home.

Ribbit made a small, unfunny noise—half laugh, half choke. “That’s… that’s both way too many and not nearly enough.”

Jax let out a breath and a crooked grin tugged his lips. “Nah, it just means we get to be strategic. Or wildly incompetent. Your pick.”

Ribbit’s reply was a shaky little snort. “Can we please be strategic this time and not wildly incompetent?”

“Nope!”

“I just know this isn’t gonna end well.”

“I say it ends in glorious historical outcomes,” Jax finished, hand grabbing the doorknob. “Also maybe stitches. But glorious outcomes nonetheless.”

"Oh dear."

Chapter Text

Jax pushed the door of the closet, the brighter light of the circus tent streaming in, like a cut from one world to another. Overly vibrant reds, yellows, and blues—colors that seemed like they should only be able to be seen by bees or art students and gave you a migraine if you looked for too long—greeted him, an unnecessarily exuberant parade of hues that were eager to show themselves again. The water also seemed overjoyed at his reappearance, shimmering like a hello. The water sloshed around his legs, clinging to his overalls in a cold, damp hug. Ew.

The carbine was cradled in his hands, and soon he was going to shoot it, and oh, was he excited. It could barely be described in words other than pure, unfiltered bliss. He opened the door wider as his grin stretched from ear to ear.

The rifle felt right. Solid. Weighted. Something real in a world made of goddamn nonsense. And soon he was going to fire it. The thought sent a thrill straight through him.

“Why do you look like you’re about to marry it?” Ribbit muttered from behind, body in the doorway. “I feel like you’re not getting the fact that it is a loaded gun through your head. It’s dangerous.”

Jax grinned, sighting down the barrel. “I know, isn’t this great?”

Ribbit’s throat clicked in protest. “No! You shouldn’t even know how to hold that thing—why do you know how to hold that thing?”

“It’s a secret,” Jax sang back, swinging the rifle toward a waterlogged crate instead of the pelican looming in the distance. The wood thudded ominously under the barrel. “Also, get out of the closet, you look like a moron.”

“I just don't want to get caught in any crossfire,” Ribbit explained, fingers drumming on the door. “It—”

“Why are you making it such a big deal?” The hare questioned the frog. “It is just a gun.”

“Yeah, but you're the one holding it.”

“So… you wanna fire it then?” Jax held out the rifle with both hands.

Ribbit shook his head as if he wanted to give himself severe whiplash.

Jax rolled his eyes playfully. Ribbit was fun most of the time. But when he got all logical, pointing out implications and acting timid? Eh. Not as fun. Still a little fun, maybe—but nowhere near as good as when he loosened up. Most of Caine’s adventures were supposed to be fun (even if they flopped half the time), but Ribbit just needed to see that the universe was basically shoving shit in your hands like, ‘take it already, I couldn’t give less of a fuck.’ And if the universe didn’t care, why shouldn’t you? You can have fun anywhere. You just had to know where to look.

Jax stepped forward into the shallow water, the rifle snug in his hands. He shifted his clutch on it, fingers curling naturally around the pistol grip while his thumb rested against the safety. The stock pressed into the crook of his shoulder—awkward at first, then settling like muscle memory.

He lowered his stance, knees bent, one foot sliding forward. Cold water slapped against his thighs, sending a chill up his spine, but he held firm. His elbows tucked in tight, shoulders squared, his long ears twitching like antennae trying to catch every sound. He tilted his head just enough to line his eye with the iron sights.

All that remained was the familiar weight of the weapon and the faint, steady thrum in his chest.

Now he just had to wait.

Again.

But this time, he was waiting to vanquish the bird and not the other way around.

The silence pressed in, thick and wet, broken only by the faint drip-drip-drip of water from the ceiling. Every second stretched longer than it had any right to, each one taunting him with the promise that the pelican was out there, circling, waiting. His grip tightened on the rifle. His pulse thrummed. Was that her shadow sliding over the canvas? Or just his imagination playing with him?

After a while, Ribbit shifted uneasily in the doorway, his voice a hushed rasp. “Sooo… how long are we gonna stand here pretending you’re in a war movie before she actually shows up?”

“Shut it,” Jax muttered, not daring to glance back. His ears twitched, straining for the faintest splash or scrape. “She’s out there, I know it.”

“Are you sure about that?” Ribbit asked him. “What if the adventure’s over and the others found the egg already?”

“Well, wouldn’t Caine remove the water if it ended already?” suggested the hare.

Ribbit let out a contemplative hum. “He could’ve... or maybe he’s sitting there laughing his a%s off, watching us stew in this kiddie pool.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” Jax agreed, adjusting the gun on his shoulder again. He was starting to get impatient. Caine needed to teach that feathered fuck some punctual manners. A shiver ran up his spine as something pinched on the back of his foot. He yelped in shock and pain as he lowered the firearm to look at what it was.

One of those dumbass crabs.

Okay, that was it. He was sick of these things.

He stood up and yanked the crustacean off his foot and looked into its beady little eyes and smiled at it with the most evil smile he could muster. It was going to regret pinching him.

Jax pressed the crab against the wall, its exoskeleton shiny with a sunshine yellow fading into a teal blue. It was honestly beautiful, but it wasn’t going to be for much longer. He shoved his grip up the handguard of the gun and drove the stock’s heel into the crab violently. The impact sounded like a bone breaking as the creature detonated into slow-falling rainbow confetti and silver glitter, a party popper from hell. Jax didn’t flinch; he just wiped his palm on his overalls to get the glitter off them (which didn't work—confetti clings to basically everything known to man), put the gun against his shoulder like it was a baseball bat, and looked at the frog in the closet door.

Ribbit stared in what could easily be described as perplexed horror at the massacre he'd just witnessed. “Holy s%@t, remind me never to piss you off.”

Jax shrugged. “Eh, it had it coming. It should be thanking me; confetti’s an upgrade. Plus”—He held up his free still-glittered glove and shook it, doing a little jazz hand—”we get free party favors.”

“Thanking you? You obliterated it!”

“Yeah, and it worked like a charm. I got it in one hit. The bird’s gonna be a piece of cake if those are meant to be just as annoying.”

“I should've never trusted you with that gun.”

Then the whole tent shook.

Jax turned away from Ribbit and lifted his free hand above his eyes, blocking a nonexistent glare as he looked in the direction of the quake. “There she is! I knew she'd show up sometime!”

It took a while after the giant tremble for her to show up, but she eventually did. Upon her arrival, the water rippled aggressively, and the faint echo of her iconic signature screech bounced around. Then, perching on a tall tower of colorful wooden building blocks, arrived the bird of the hour. Felecia-slash-Pissnugget-slash-Mucus Muncher. Her eyes locked in on Jax and squinted.

Jax had no time to waste. As quickly as he could, he braced the rifle against his shoulder again, his fingers curling around the grip like it was molded for him. The stock was snug, the sights lined, his whole body humming with anticipation. He pulled the trigger, pinning his ears to his head.

BANG!

Eight.

The recoil snapped into his shoulder, sharp and clean, but he grinned through it. God, was that noise refreshing.

The round slammed into her left webbed foot, bursting a neat hole straight through. Perfect. After all, he liked toying with his victims. It kept it entertaining. He wasn’t here to drop her in one shot (even though he was fully capable of doing so, shut up). No, of course not. He had to make use of his bullets. Make her dance. Make her play his little game.

Felecia’s furious screech rattled the tent poles, plumage bristling like razors. She lurched onto one leg, wings snapping open wide as she wobbled and tried to regain her balance. Once she was steady, Felecia slammed her injured flipper down on the blocks hard enough to send a crack striking down the uppermost one. She. Was. Pissed. Not “oh you've done it this time” pissed, this was “you're fucking dead meat” pissed. The hare guessed the name he'd previously picked was more fitting now than ever before.

“Yeah,” Jax murmured under his breath. “Get mad. Get feisty.”

Over from the closet on his left, Ribbit marveled: “Jeez, Jax, you're enjoying this way too much.”

“What's the point if you don't enjoy it?” Jax shot back at him, his smile wide. “She's just about to put on a show! Now show me what you got, Big Bird.”

Just as Ribbit began to protest about how this “wasn't a show” and he was “going to get himself hurt”, Felecia dropped from the tower with all the grace of a MiG-29 Fulcrum tearing through the sky—fast, furious, and way too much horsepower for one oversized birdbrain to handle. The downdraft of air and spray of water nearly knocked Jax off balance, but he dug his heels into the shallow pool, ears whipping back with the force.

He fired four more times, each coming rapidly after the other.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Four.

Because she was hurtling straight at him, it was harder to get a hit on her, but not impossible. Two of his rounds missed, but the others clipped her right wing. Felecia screamed, staggering mid-air, then righted herself with a U-turn. She was going back to the block tower. Just for the kick of it, Jax shot at her yet again.

BANG!

Three.

This one hit Felecia on her ass, tearing through plumage in a puff of iridescent golden fluff. Her roar cracked through the tent, a shrill blend of pain and rage. This noise, though, was different. Deeper? Ha! Not only had he hurt her butt, but also her bird dignity.

She landed on the block spire, carrying with her the amount of grace a giraffe on roller skates would have. She whipped her head around to see Jax and Ribbit. Her pupils were slit compared to her regular diluted ones, and her fury basically radiated off her.

Strategically and shakily, a bright red wooden cylinder block was lifted into her translucent green beak, making it sag under the weight. Then, Felecia lifted into the sky, the block bobbing in her mouth with every wing beat.

What was she doing?

Jax fired twice more at her just in case, nailing her in her already damaged leg with one round and narrowly missing the bird’s head with the other.

BANG! BANG!

One.

Felecia didn’t do so much as flinch.

Jax turned to Ribbit, shrugging. To the hare’s dismay, the amphibian shared a similar expression of befuddlement. If he didn't know what was going on either, nobody except that sky-rat did.

Felecia climbed higher and higher, nearly touching the top of the big top. She hovered there for a while, staring at her miniature victims. Jax was honestly surprised she had that much stamina in her.

He looked to Ribbit again and was met with a face full of dread. His friend was staring up at that feathered weasel above them, pupils pinprick-small.

“What is she—” Jax started, but Ribbit cut him off.

“Jax. Closet. Now.”

The words weren’t shouted—they were carved, steady as stone, threaded with something Jax didn’t usually hear in him: fear, and something else. Protection.

Jax froze. Every instinct screamed to stay in the water, every nerve sparked with fight instead of flight. But Ribbit’s eyes locked onto his, sharp and unflinching. It made his stomach twist.

He didn’t think. He just moved. The gun slipped from his hands into the water with a splash, and he rushed for the closet.

Jax stumbled inside, nearly knocking over a stack of boxes with his shoulder. Ribbit was right behind him, shoving the door closed with a snap. The air was tight and heavy with pondwater stink and tense.

“Cover your ears,” Ribbit hissed under his breath.

For once, Jax didn’t argue. His ears pressed down on his head and he grabbed them and pulled on them just in case.

And then the world outside practically cracked apart.

BOOM.

The closet rattled on its hinges. Dust sifted down from the ceiling. Somewhere beyond the wood, Felecia shrieked—a sound warped by fury, sonorous even through Jax’s covered ears.

Once the room had settled down, Ribbit remarked, “Well, I guess that’s one way to go from an Easter egg hunt to World War II bomb shelter.”

“Okay.” Jax let go of his ears, which perked back up on his head. “What the heck just happened? I’m still in the dark here, man.”

Ribbit scratched the back of his neck, trying to play it off but still clearly puffed up about it. “Oh, uh—yeah. She would’ve dropped that block right on top of you. You’d be a pancake right now if I hadn’t yanked your dumb a%s in here.” He tried to shrug like it was nothing, but the flicker of pride in his eyes gave him away.

Jax huffed, rolling his eyes but with a crooked grin tugging at his mouth. “Yeah, alright, fine—I’ll give it to you this time, you saved my butt. But riddle me this, genius—why’d I have to ditch the gun? That part I’m not seeing.”

Ribbit frowned at him like he was confused about how it wasn't obvious. “One, it would've slowed you down, and two, it was empty anyway.”

Huh?

Something wasn't adding up.

“It… wasn't empty.”

“Yeah, it was,” Ribbit shot back immediately, arms crossed. “I was counting—”

“You can’t even count your own fingers without losing track—”

“—What?! I—”

“—I know I had one left.”

Ribbit bristled, voice pitching up in frustration. “Do you think I’d really drag you in here just to lie about math? Of all things?”

Honestly, Jax didn't. Even though he himself despised math with his very soul, Ribbit never, and he meant never, messed up when it had to do with math. It was out of character for him, in a way that was both questionable and laughable.

“Wouldn’t put it past you, honestly.”

Ribbit's face molded into one of pure disgust. God, did Jax love getting on people's nerves, especially Ribbit’s.

“Excuse me?!” The amphibian practically croaked, his voice pitching sharp enough to chip glass. “You think I—me—would mess up something like that?” His hands flailed like he was warding off the insult itself. “I can calculate trajectories in my head, I can divide fractions faster than you can pull some dumb prank, and you think I can’t count bullets?”

Jax smirked, leaning back like he’d just lit a fuse. He was mad now. “Apparently not.”

Ribbit opened his mouth to argue again—but then froze. A flicker of hesitation cracked across his face. He glanced down at his fingers, mouthing silent numbers like he was double-checking himself.

His pupils shrank.

“…Oh. S%@t.”

Then came the inevitable crash. “F%@k! F%@K!—” He smacked his forehead with both hands. “No, no, no, I had it, I had it! Idiot! How did I…?”

Jax burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it—the sheer absurdity of Mr. Perfect Ribbit crashing and burning over basic counting just sent him. He doubled over, wheezing, and between laughs reached out to pat Ribbit’s head like he was a sad puppy.

“It’s okay, buddy,” Jax teased, grinning widely. “We all mess up sometimes.”

But Ribbit wasn’t laughing. His eyes were wide, fixed on his hands like they’d betrayed him. His voice dropped to a whisper. “But… I never mess up like that.”

Something about that quiet desperation almost cracked through Jax’s smug amusement. He clicked his tongue and nudged Ribbit’s shoulder. “Hey.”

Ribbit looked up. He looked numb, in a dazed stupor.

“Snap out of it. It’s fine. You’re the smart one, remember? Plus, I can probably use that extra ammo for something else.”

“...Really?”

“‘Course, stupid.”

Ribbit nodded, first like he was doing it to convince himself and then like he was beginning to believe it. “Yeah… Yeah!” he said, brightening up. “Suck it up, Ribbit, you're fine. The adrenaline probably made you mess up or something. Or… maybe that rapid fire made you add another round! Yeah.”

“Are you talking to yourself?”

“Shut up.”

Now that Ribbit was sorted out of his (concerningly out-of-character) meltdown, they needed to figure out how they were going to get that gun back without becoming purple and green pancakes.

Just as he was about to ask Ribbit how exactly they’d manage to accomplish that, Felecia screamed from outside. Her call was muffled, but still terrifyingly strident. Jax and Ribbit both turned their heads to the door, anticipating the worst.

Another large boom followed, shaking the closet even harder. Jax had forgotten to cover his ears this time—fuck, big mistake. The sound rattled through his skull like a jackhammer, his ears ringing so hard he saw stars. A strangled yell ripped out of him as he clutched at them too late, the noise spearing through his body like a hot needle. He squinted his eyes closed like that would help him, but it didn't.

He hated those dumb ears.

Jax looked back to Ribbit, who was definitely talking—his mouth was moving, his hands were flailing—but Jax couldn’t hear shit.

He just let go of his ears and gave the frog a shaky thumbs-up like that was a feasible answer to… whatever. Thankfully it seemed to be, because Ribbit’s worried expression softened and he gave the hare a tense smile.

Gradually, the sound trickled back in. First his own ragged breathing, then the crashing waves outside, and finally—Ribbit’s voice, sharp and raw.

“F%@K OFF, B%@#H!” Ribbit screeched, practically shoving his whole head through the door to scream it. He sounded a bit like Felecia if you thought about it—through all the censorship sound effects of course.

Jax blinked at him through the haze, ears still buzzing. “…Are you seriously yelling at her?”

“Yes, I’m yelling at her!” Ribbit snapped, turning back to him with wild eyes. “Yelling at predators is supposed to deter them—makes you seem intimidating.”

“…She’s a twenty-foot pelican, Ribbit. You sound like a kazoo with anger issues.”

“But it works sometimes!”

“What do you mean by sometimes?”

Ribbit’s clicked his tongue. “Sometimes they just, uh… get angrier.” He paused, his brows furrowing. “Hold on, I may have just f%@ked up again.”

Ribbit’s head peeked out the door to the chaotic outside, and he didn’t seem thrilled when he returned.

“Yeah, I f%@ked up.”

Just great. Another twist on this adventure that never seemed to end.

Jax tilted his head. “And by that you mean?”

“She's not leaving,” explained the tense amphibian. “She's lining up like she's gonna—”

The closet door shook violently, a splinter of wood snapping free.

Ribbit’s eyes went wide. “—ram us!”

“Oh, great.” Jax stumbled into the door, his back slamming flat against the wood and his arms bracing out on either side as the frame shivered under Felecia’s weight. He dug his heels into the floor, shoulders locking tight, ears plastered flat. “Little warning next time, frog-face!”

Ribbit scrambled for the box pile. “Then keep it shut if you can—buy me time before she makes purple-green jam out of us, I’ve got an idea!”

“Yeah, got it!” Felecia released her weight and pressed it on him and the door again, shoving with all her might.

Meanwhile, Ribbit was in a crouch and elbow-deep in the “BUBBLE’S TOYS” box, flinging junk over his shoulder like a raccoon on a sugar high. A steering wheel. Glow sticks. Actual sticks. A candle labeled “Hedgehog Musk”. A bundle of rope. A handful of damp lawn clippings.

“Why?” Ribbit asked the universe, holding a wet, moldy piece of bread with two cautious fingertips. He threw that to the side. The slice slapped against the wall and stuck.

“It doesn't matter, just hurry up!” Jax hissed. His arms shook. The door was bowing inward with every bone-rattling shove from Felecia, ready to split in half. Splinters painfully stabbed Jax in his back. “What the heck are you even looking for?!”

“Looking for anything useful!” Ribbit barked back. He tossed out a plastic dinosaur, a frisbee with teeth marks, and a VHS tape labeled “Bubble’s First Tax Return.”

The closet rattled again, dust falling in little streams. Jax shoved harder against the door, teeth gritted. “Well, I’m not going to be able to hold this for much longer!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know!” shot Ribbit as he flung another broken steering wheel over his shoulder. “It just doesn’t make sense. I don’t mess up like that—Is that a condom?—I never screw up math, and now suddenly I’m botching it up?! And now, because of me, the pelican is having a meltdown, too!”

“Who cares about your math meltdown right now?! Big bird’s about to turn us into roadkill!”

“I care!” Ribbit snapped, throwing his hands down before immediately ducking into the toy box again. “Okay, and also the roadkill thing, obviously, but still! I don’t screw up math! Today just isn't working out for me, is it?”

The hare huffed, shoving harder on the splintering door. “Yeah, well, maybe the universe will toss you a calculator next. Now hurry up!”

“I am hurrying!” Ribbit shouted—then froze. He pulled something free from its cardboard chamber, his eyes widening.

A gun.

A ridiculously small, comically-sized gun.

“…You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Ribbit muttered.

Jax’s face lit up. “No way. You found it!”

“Yeah, but—” Ribbit turned it sideways so Jax could see it better. “It’s like… four inches long.”

The second the words left his mouth, he froze. “…Oh, that sounded so bad.”

Jax bit down on a laugh, his whole body shaking as he tried to keep the door from snapping like a Graham cracker. He broke, wheezing, “God, you even set yourself up for that one!”

Despite the panic, Ribbit snorted, slapping a hand over his face. “Shut up, I know!”

Their snickers filled the room, but the moment broke as the door rattled again, Felecia slamming her weight into it. The laughter fizzled, replaced by frantic urgency.

“Alright,” Ribbit said, standing up from his spot on the floor. “Can you check the ammo on this?”

The gun was handed to Jax, and Ribbit was right—it was really tiny. The grip was made of dark wood with a dulled finish and the barrel was scratched all over the place. A Remington double derringer, or better known to the public as a really old gun he’d never held or checked the ammo of. He shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know how to for these.”

He passed it back to Ribbit, who frowned. “I guess we’ll have to just assume there’s something in here and hope for the best.”

☾⋆｡𖦹°✩

Ribbit’s pulse rattled in his throat as he gripped the pathetic little handgun. It felt stupidly light in his hands, like a toy—like another cruel joke in this madhouse—but it was all they had. Even if it looked insignificant, Ribbit knew it could do big damage. It was dangerous. He tried to stop his hands from shaking.

“Okay, Jax. On my mark, crack the door.” Ribbit's voice came out steadier than he expected, considering his insides were doing gymnastics.

Jax shot him a look, ears twitching as he braced against the wood. He was still grinning, the cocky idiot—strained, sure, but grinning anyway. Ribbit hated that his brain picked that exact moment to notice how sharp that smile looked in the shadows, like he was enjoying the danger.

The hare saluted, the rest of his body still closing the door. It was probably just a joke of a gesture, but it made Ribbit feel like he had too much power and dominion than he deserved. Jax trusted him—him, of all people. It could either be the moment this would all end—a redemption for all his fucking slip-ups today—or it could become another to add to the pile. He had to do this. Prove himself. Just think about it as no big deal, Ribbit told himself.

But was it a big deal? He'd never even touched a gun before, let alone shot one.

Ribbit’s fingers tightened on the tiny handgun until the knuckles blanched. The barrel felt absurd and wrong in his grip, but his breathing was a metronome now—in, out, squeeze, aim. He couldn’t let himself think about what this would look like. He had to make it count.

The thud of the pelican's body hitting the door repeatedly rang in his head.

“Ready?” Ribbit inquired.

“When you are,” disclosed Jax.

Thud.

Ribbit just had to see how long Felecia would press herself in the door, when she'd release the pressure, and when she'd force it again.

Thud.

Thud.

Perfect.

“Now!”

In a swift instant, Jax rushed away from the door. Like Ribbit had predicted, she would've tried ramming a door again in that second. Now, she had nothing to run into.

Her yellow feathers were stuffed into the closet, blocking just about all of the light from the outside. Felecia squeaked in surprise and backed up slightly. Thankfully, water didn't rush in (similar to all the other doors) and it all stayed outside. Her neck bent down to peer through the small opening of the doorway.

Her eyes were bloodshot and red with a burning wrath. A passionate hunger to destroy that needed to be fed.

The pelican attempted to shove her head through the doorway, but failed. Felecia tried going about it at angle after angle, but it was impossible. She was stuck outside.

Her beak was too damn big to let her in.

Perfect.

Ribbit didn’t hesitate—his brain didn’t, at least—but his body sure as hell did. His shoulders jerked, one eye scrunched shut, his grip slippery with sweat. The muzzle wavered for a split second, catching the faint shimmer of light from outside. Then instinct—or sheer terror—did the rest. He pulled the trigger.

The gunshot cracked through the cramped space, too loud, too sharp, ricocheting off the walls. Blood arced in a sudden, bright ribbon from right in the head—too much, too fast—painting the walls in a spatter of shining red fluid. Felecia’s cry shredded into a new, ragged sound; she staggered back, wings beating in a frantic, useless rhythm. Her head lolled, something wet and dark matting her plumage, and for a beat she looked impossibly, horribly mortal.

Felecia fell to the floor, crumpling forward in a tangle of feathers and wet. The water around the block tower bloomed red, the color spreading in the slow, obscene way liquids do. Her pupils rolled back until only milky white remained.

He'd done it.

He never wanted to throw up more.

Jax cackled—a short, high burst that sounded ridiculous in the wrecked silence, like laughter didn’t know it wasn’t supposed to exist here. “Holy cow,” he breathed, eyes wide, adrenaline turning his grin feral. “Nice shot, Ribsy!”

Ribbit had to force a snarl that passed for satisfaction. “Shut up, Jax. Before I decide you’re next,” he said, voice more clipped than he wanted to sound. He keyed his jaw so hard it hurt. He could feel the tremor in his hands, the way the world had shifted a fraction and refused to slide back into place. He told himself the blood was just color, the feathers just mess. He told himself he had done the necessary thing.

He didn’t even realize he’d been just standing there until Jax’s voice broke through the ringing in his ears.

“…You good there, sharpshooter?”

The sound snapped him out of it. Ribbit blinked. Jax was grinning again—shaky this time, but still Jax—like they hadn’t just painted the walls red.

A ridiculous, small, traitorous thing flickered through his head: Jax’s grin had looked like relief. Relief looked, to Ribbit’s stupid, exhausted heart, a lot like something else. He flattened that thought under a grunt and a shove, because there was a door to hold and feathers to sweep and consequences to hide.

“Oh, uhm… yeah,” Ribbit mumbled. “I’m fine. Sorry.”

☾⋆｡𖦹°✩

The closet had gone eerily quiet. The only sounds were the soft drip of water from the ceiling and the faint slosh where it pooled around Felecia’s body. The pelican’s neck was slumped half inside the doorway, her feathers matted and slick, the red in the water thinning to pink as it spread.

Jax stared at it. “So, uh… now what?” he asked finally.

Ribbit gave him a worried glance, equally clueless.

“Boys?”

The voice came from outside—light, careful, and familiar.

Both of them jumped. Jax’s ears perked like radar, swiveling toward the hall. I took him a while to process, but realized it was Ragatha.

“Oh yeah,” he muttered. “Kinda forgot about everyone else.” Hard to remember, with all the exploding crabs, giant birds, and moral crises happening.

When Ragatha and Gangle rounded the corner, they both froze.

Ragatha’s smile faltered at the sight of the body blocking the threshold. Gangle let out a tiny, strangled gasp, ribbon arms curling close.

Jax stepped over Felecia’s neck, feet splashing in the pink water, trying to make it look casual. “Don’t worry,” he said with a grin that was a little too wide. “We handled it.”

Ribbit came out after him, still shaken up like he’d just used a giant blender as a carnival ride, and Jax wondered if he’d handled the situation right.

It was the first time the frog had shot something that looked alive here—or, well, alive enough as you can get with NPCs. Maybe he should’ve said something. Maybe he should’ve acted less like it was fun. Killing something, even fake, had a way of sticking to people.

“Did—did you do this?” Ragatha stuttered, still befuddled. “Jax, I don’t think—”

“Oh, don’t look at me,” Jax interrupted her, holding up his hands defenselessly. “Look at him.” He pointed to the amphibian, who was now standing on his right.

“You?” Ragatha was even more baffled now.

Ribbit rubbed the back of his neck. “Uhm, yeah.” A nervous smile slid on his lips.

Gangle twiddled her ribbons. “But… why?”

“She was trying to turn us into bird food,” Jax blatantly explained.

Ragatha’s eyes widened. “Bird food?!”

“Yeah,” Jax said with a shrug. “She went full-on predatory raptor on us. I’m shocked we didn’t get eaten twice just for fun.”

Ribbit’s hands were still trembling faintly, but he tried to stand taller, voice catching halfway between defensive and deadpan. “She trapped us in that closet. Tried to crush us. Nearly pancaked Jax.”

“Oh goodness,” Gangle squeaked.

Ribbit nodded, warming up to it now that he wasn’t being stared at like a criminal. “Yeah. Slammed on the closet door like it owed her money. If we hadn’t made a move, you’d be scraping purple and green paste off the walls right now.”

Jax made a face. “Thanks for the visual, man. Gross.”

Ribbit shrugged. “Just saying. She was asking for it.”

He paused, the tension finally cracking into something closer to his usual energy.

“…and she was being a huge dick.”

Blink.

Silence.

Then Jax snorted, a wheezy, delighted noise that almost broke him in half.

Then, slowly: “Wait… waitwaitwait—did I…? I just—I said dick.”

He looked around like the sky was supposed to fall or a censoring sound effect would strike him down.

Nothing.

Jax snickered. “Oh no.” Meanwhile, Ragatha rubbed an imaginary crease between her eyes and her nose.

Ribbit’s eyes lit up like a kid’s on Christmas morning. “Oh my god, I can say dick?!”

Jax groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh, great. Just what this world needed—you with language privileges.”

“Dick! Ha—okay, wait, hold on, that’s actually incredible.” The frog was practically vibrating with energy at this point. He then began to chant, “Dick! Dick—”

Jax slapped his hand on Ribbit’s over-eager mouth before he exploded. “Please stop.”

Ribbit’s eyes went all pouty for a second—until Jax smirked and leaned in to whisper, “Dick.”

Ragatha sighed. “Are you two done corrupting the local vocabulary, or should I give you a few more minutes?”

Gangle muttered, “I… think they’ve lost it.”

Jax just snorted. “Nah, this is normal for us.”

Ribbit, still muffled under Jax’s hand, nodded solemnly and gave a double thumbs-up.

Jax finally dropped his arm, shaking his head. “So, what’ve you two been up to while we were getting mauled by Big Bird’s evil twin?”

Ragatha held her hands together. “Oh—we found the egg and returned it to the stage. I did get a little banged up,” she admitted, turning her right arm to show a small gash at the back of her upper arm, clouds of polyester stuffing poking through. “It’s nothing serious. I’ll stitch it up later.”

Ribbit frowned tilted his head, eyes flicking to the tear. “Oh, uhm—I can help fix that for you. If you want.”

Ragatha blinked, eyes widening a little like she hadn’t expected the offer at all. For a moment, she looked almost… startled.

“Uhm… that’s really kind of you, Ribbit,” she said, voice softer than before. “Thank you.” In response, the frog smiled back.

Jax itched his wrist. God, why was it so itchy?! He looked down at it, seeing the fuzzy, deep-red wristband he had completely forgotten about. Shouldn’t those be gone by now? The adventure was done. The egg was returned.

He shared the question with the three others in the group, and they all looked like the question stumped them as well.

“He could leave the water,” Ribbit began, looking at his matching wristband. “But I don’t think he’d leave these.”

“And the dead body’s still here too.”

Gangle shifted awkwardly beside Ragatha. “Um… did you guys actually make sure she’s, you know… dead dead?” she asked, ribbons curling anxiously. “Because I thought I saw her move a little just now, and—”

Ribbit’s face drained of color. “…You what?” He and Jax swung toward the closet like he expected it to explode.

Gangle’s voice stuttered. “I—I thought I saw her—” Then, as if on cue, the carcass convulsed once more: a twitchy last shudder, the reflex of a thing that wasn’t finished yet.

Jax lunged for the M4, but Ribbit was faster. The frog’s fingers were trembling when he raised the tiny handgun, jaw tight. He squinted, one eye shutting.

He squeezed.

BANG!

She didn’t move again after that.

The water then disappeared with a soft pop! To Jax’s dissatisfaction, his overalls were still clinging to the dampness. Where Felecia had been, pixels and sparkles fanned like spilled glitter—then the form winked out, gone.

“Huh,” Ribbit mused. “Think that was a minigame that needed to be completed to end it?” Then his eyes widened and he snapped. “Oh! I just remembered!”

“What?” Jax asked, half distracted, tugging at his still-damp overalls.

Ribbit’s grin spread slow and mischievous on his face, and for a second Jax recognized the expression too late.

“Oh no—”

“Payback time!”

The frog lunged.

Jax barely had time to object before Ribbit tackled him square in the chest. They both went down in a splash of leftover water and feathers, Jax’s laughter bursting out between shouts of, “You psycho! Get off—!”

“Not until you stop tapping your stupid foot during every crisis!” Ribbit crowed, pinning him on his back with all the righteous vengeance of someone who had been waiting to do this for years.

Ragatha covered her mouth, torn between horror and amusement, while Gangle made a noise that might’ve been a laugh if it hadn’t come out like a squeak.

No way was he losing to Ribbit.

Jax bit his opponent’s arm—not too hard that it’d make a long-lasting mark, but enough to surprise him. The frog yelped in shock, lifting his arm to get it out of the hare’s maw.

Jax took this opportunity to pin Ribbit, the frog now on his stomach underneath Jax’s elbow.

Somehow, Ribbit managed to worm his way out of Jax’s grasp—not without a heck of a struggle though—and the hare was whisked into a chokehold.

“Call uncle, dumba%s!” Ribbit hollered, tightening his grip on Jax's neck. Again, not tight enough to hurt him, but enough to make him question tapping his foot.

“Never!” He pressed against Ribbit’s hold on his neck with his hands, but his captor wouldn’t budge. Jax elbowed Ribbit in the gut. Ribbit noogied him back, his knuckles rubbing against the fur on his head in between his ears. He felt sick. “Stop it—!”

“Call it, Bun-Bun!”

Jax wanted to fight back, but legitimately felt like he was going to hurl. “No, seriously!” he begged. “Cut it out!”

Ribbit let the hare free. “Jeez, fine, but why—”

Jax doubled over. The world folded in on itself. He tried to bite back the heave and failed.

Black, viscous slop belched out of him—an ugly, tarry tide that smelled like burnt sugar and old batteries—and hit the checkerboard floor with a wet, sickly thump. It gurgled and bubbled, refusing to be denied. Jax tasted metal and glue and something neon underneath; his eyes watered and he retched again, smaller, useless sounds clawing from his chest.

Ribbit inched toward him, awkward hands reaching to steady his shoulders. “You okay? You—” He trailed off, making a small grossed-out whimper. Gangle’s ribbons fluttered in a sharp little sound that might have been a sob; Ragatha’s face was a flat mix of horror and sympathy.

Jax wiped his mouth with shaking motions, gagging at the sticky smear now on the back of his hand. He swallowed hard, the movement raw. “Never,” he gasped, voice hoarse with effort, and fixed the group with a glare that was half warning, half mortified embarrassment. “Never drink the Mtn Glue.”