goldcrest i lied, im posting the thread now, im sorry universe im sorry world


When Doe came back to SummerClan, it was a quiet thing.

There was no great announcement, no declaration — he just slipped in through the camp entrance. He and Sunstar had healed and forgiven, their friendship melting in softer than ever for having been so tattered, for having been so aired to the world with insults and fights, for having been cleansed by fire and cauterised; the invasion of the League, the second he’d survived, had filled him with such a desperate longing for home that it felt like the catalyst he had needed, that sheer terror that had faded in the slow daylight of dawn to clarity that was as much grief as it was peace, that had filled him with the unshakeable knowledge that if he were going to die anywhere, it would be in his home; he and Hywel had parted gently with the promise of the future between them; he had been granted amnesty by Foxstar, on grounds however untrusting, on probation however long. He had taken eagerly, thankfully, whatever he could get — he would have taken anything.

And now he was home.

The walk across the territory was torture — because it was so slow; because it was so uncertain; because every limping step made his chest fill with apprehensive, nauseating nerves. Because he knew there would be no announcement, not right away — it would be up to him, and it would be so simple. So small. So beautifully small. And wasn’t that the greatest terror: opening the door to home, to the butter-yellow kitchen, after such a long time away and smelling all the familiar baking smells like nothing at all had changed. Everything had gone on, everything had continued, and now you had to fit back into that. And unlike last time, that didn’t fill him with resentment — it filled him with quiet anxiety, so unfamiliar to a gentle narcissist like him; because he wanted to be worthy of them. For the first time, he had to earn it all back — and to someone as spoiled as Doe, that was both a joyous challenge — he would succeed with flying colours, everyone would love him ten times more than they ever had before, even the losers of the Clan (perhaps he ought to start by not calling them losers) — and a grievous wound, a wound that would once have been angry but that was now just coweringly nervous. By the time he arrived at camp — through all the familiar landscapes that still felt forbidden to him, like he were just a trespasser; it would take a while for him to feel like he was allowed back here, like he wasn’t just sneaking desperate glimpses of his home, like he could breathe it in and lie on the grass and sleep — his brow was set in a little pinch. The bundle of fluttering fear in his chest grew and grew and grew. He’d kept expecting to be intercepted on the way in, but he wasn’t. And that was both better — because he wouldn’t be treated as a criminal — and worse — because now he had to make the entrance himself. He had no clue how much Foxstar had told them, if anything.

For a long time, he just stood in front of the camp entrance. He could hear chatter inside, could smell the familiar scents, and though at first he was just bewildered and frowning, after a little while, tears pricked at his eyes and he began to cry. Because the smell of honeysuckle and gorse; because the feeling of this familiar, sandy earth under his paws; because the sight of the bows of his old den rising above the den wall — it was all he’d ever wanted. He felt like he were returning as someone so different, like the last time his eyes had fallen on this camp wall they had belonged to another cat. He had been a terrified, angry thing, all his lies falling down around him in desperate heaps. Now, despite his fluttering nerves, despite his fear, he felt at peace. With the League, after all those years of hating them; with his exile; with himself. It was hard, growing, but it was growth all the same. Finally, sniffling and laughing to himself, alone and embarrassed by his own tears outside the camp walls, he wiped them away and pushed himself inside. For a moment there was only a mess of greenery, of sweet flowers dragging along his fur and scattering themselves in it, of the thick sound of leaves rustling, and even though it was such an ordinary, nothing thing that he’d never paid attention to before and that everyone did ten times daily without thinking, now he savoured it. He held it close. Brushing through the camp entrance — it felt in that moment like the whole world.

And then it opened up. And he was home. The sun swallowed up the camp clearing, brushing everything soft and glittering as a fairy garden. So many familiar faces were gone — Sunstar, Rosethorn — and his heart ached in a way he hadn’t been expecting at the emptiness of them in the heart of the Clan; but all the rest were there. Everything else was the same. Nothing had changed. For a moment he just stood there, cheeks reddening with soft shyness, breathing in the sweetness of the air with tiny, slow, nervous breaths like it was somehow a terrible thing for anyone to see his lungs expand, ears pressing back slightly as heads turned towards him. He tried a smile, all his usual fire lost to the gentle, uncertain Doefreckle he became in SummerClan. But he wasn’t here for any of them. Not now. He could talk later — for now he was silent. There was only one cat he wanted to find. Raising his head slightly taller, he looked around the clearing, scanning for the familiar black fur that would look warm brown in the sunlight. His heart began to beat quicker; his nose twitched slightly like a rabbit’s; his breathing changed — he was anxious. He was worried. What if he wasn’t here? What if something had happened?

And then he saw him. The joy that lit his face was indescribable — it was sun itself. Passing everyone else beginning to crowd around with not a single thought, like he was blind to them, he limp-bounded across the clearing, his mouth that had already been open in a smile beginning to widen further in some jubilant exclamation of his name; he wanted to catch him by surprise before he scented or heard him — that always gave Doe away. He had so many things to tell him — he wasn’t going to believe what had happened, with another invasion so close after the first, and he was desperate to crack some boyish joke and deliver the news that he was to be Doe’s guardian, as per Foxstar’s request (and wasn’t that just like pairing the naughty, troublemaking kid with the gentle, dutiful one — he wanted to burst out laughing, though, unless he’d become wonderfully disobedient to authority in his absence, Shaded would no doubt take his role as Doe’s rehabilitator seriously, if only for Doe’s sake); he would talk into the night. And then, with a heavy, uncertain feeling in his chest that scraped at the jubilation and left faint guilt in its wake, he suddenly slowed, his smile fading to a confused little frown that looked hurt — that looked like the sort of hurt that knew it had no right to be hurt. He was by the nursery; even from here, where Shaded hadn’t yet noticed him, he could smell the milk-scent pouring off his fur. He knew he had no right to be jealous, to be hurt, to be possessive — because of course… of course Shaded never had to wait for him. Of course Shaded could… could have his own life, his own love. Of course he wanted him to be happy. Of course his world didn’t revolve around Doe, even though that was utterly a lie and it was that feeling that gave him such stable comfort. They shared something, a deep and unnameable bond that no one else, no other love, would ever change. But… Those were all lies. His selfishness, his self-centredness, had softened, but he still centred his life with the belief that Shaded would always… Always what? Always… There were no words for it. It wasn’t cruel anymore, but it was a loving, grounding, gauze-soft connection between them. And the thought that Shaded had fallen in love while he had been away, that he had had kits with some she-cat, some she-cat that could fill Doe’s place and love him like Doe did — he had no right to have this feeling in his chest, but it was there all the same. It was gentler than all-out jealousy; it wasn’t poisonous. It was just… empty. Loss. Healed pain, pain he had no right to feel, pain that felt like such deep, child-like fear. Like innocence itself. What would he be if the cornerstone of his life moved away from him?

Forcing a small half-smile on his face that was an apology for all the things he hadn’t spoken out loud and an attempt at salvaging the joyousness of this moment he’d imagined for so long and that now felt a little greyer, he opened his mouth and softly greeted, with his brows pushed together and the faintest hint of gentle, sorrowfully hopeful teeth through his smile, “Shaded?”