Chapter Text
Doctor Muffin is a round bear that is covered in thick and curly brown fur of all shades. It is often carefully slicked back after being decontaminated and she is usually dressed in thick scrubs to protect herself along with her patients. Unlike many of the doctors in Bloomingdale, Doctor Muffin is one of the very few women on staff and is tasked to deal with births. And today, on the third week of the second month of the Spring Time Season, she helped Honey give birth to twins. The father, Docket, has already followed after the nurses to keep watch over the babies while Honey rests. So, taking this moment, the doctor moves in to speak with her patient.
“There we are,” Doctor Muffin smiled. The placenta had been pushed out easily after the twins had been cleaned off and cared for by their mother. Ruined sheets were to be dealt with after Honey was moved to the Resting Room, but that’s not Doctor Muffin’s job. So, instead she wipes her brow carefully and turns to greet the winded new mother. “This is a good sign. Them being so alert but so quiet likely means they will both be quite bright. We’ll likely set you up for all of the monthly visits and mark them down for your husband if that’s alright?”
Honey’s flushed pink face becomes stricken at the mention of her husband. She’s paler, sweating in a new way, and her pink eyes glances down. It’s easy for Doctor Muffin to pick up on an almost guilty expression mars her pretty features; her voice is shaky, “O-oh, yes! That’s alright. Th-that’d be r-really ap-ppreciated, Doctor Muffin.”
“Are you well, Mrs. Bearswell?”
“Yes, yes! Just… I guess you never are really prepared f-for giving birth until it’s h-happened,” Honey’s eyes water as she laughs all high and breathy.
Muffin nods along in understanding. Her small brown hand gently touches Honey’s pink one in a move of reassurance. The smile Honey gives her is small, “Thank you, Doctor.”
Doctor Muffin smiles brightly, always being the most careful about her pillow talk when it comes to the mothers of this town. Some were happily married and some were not. Some chose to get married and some did not. Some chose to be pregnant and many did not. Honey had seemed like one of the very lucky few, but maybe that wasn’t the case. Sad, really. Seeing Honey so hesitant has triggered a long forgotten piece of her that had always wanted to be a mother or a helpful ear to someone in need--funny how becoming a doctor seemed to need so little of that. Taking a second, the round little woman moves to make sure the door is closed before coming back.
“You know, I’m always willing to listen to your troubles. I may not be that kind of doctor but my oaths are still to care for you and your health. I am sworn to not tell,” she whispers.
The shock is back and stronger, the other woman’s brows furrowing in confusion, “W-what?”
“If he’s… If your husband has in anyway done something - anything - I am here if you need someone to rely on,” she says softly but firmly.
“If he-- Oh, no! No, no he would never do anything like that. Docket is so sweet, really he is, but I just… I think this is more of a problem I’ve brought on myself,” Honey confesses as she toys with the thin and somewhat scratchy blanket that the hospital provides all its patients in recovery. The pink bear keeps her eyes down as she twists and twists and twists it in her hands. A grimace forming at the texture as she continues, “I… I’ll keep that in mind. If anything happens later down the line, that is.”
“...Alright, if you’re sure. The children will be brought back in soon for their first monitored feeding. The nurses will help you since these are your first cubs.”
Honey looks up with a smile that is aglow with motherly love and joy at the mention of her children. She nods happily, “Oh, yes! I can’t wait. Please tell them to hurry. I miss them already.”
Doctor Muffin nods and waves a goodbye as she heads off to another room for the next mother who should be getting a c-section in the next three hours. After that, there isn’t another moment when the two have to meet one another. It’s easy for the young woman to get better. Honey starts moving around in record time, the stitches she got from minor tearing have healed without issue, and her stool has been normal if slightly loose--hormones and diet needing slight upkeep. The babies were much the same, except that their first born (Tubby) had a bit of a glandular problem that would need to be dealt with. Precautions were explained to both Honey and Docket when the boys had been returned to them with the promise of more help later down the line. Winter comes and goes before you know it. Then again and again. Suddenly, it’s Spring Time Season all over again and Doctor Muffin is greeted with the sight of children for their third year visits intermingling with the usual check ups. Honey arrives with husband and children in tow, cheer all around despite the newness of it all.
“I’ll see you in a few months Pandi,” Doctor Muffin says with a smile and a friendly wave. “I promise we’ll have yummy lollipops next time.”
The tiny panda looks up at her with a wobbly smile, cradling his arm where he’d received a necessary shot. The poor boy had such a weak immune system that he needed another dose that many children got every five years. Along with that was some blood samples needed as his blood had issues clotting and he was dealing with heavy seasonal allergies. Pandi’s little nose gurgles as he tries in vain to sniff up all the snot he’s leaking; his mother, Pendra, scoops the boy up and cradles him to her chest to comfort him.
“Say bye-bye, baby,” Pendra whispers.
Pandi offers the smallest wave goodbye as the two make their way past the incoming Bearswell family, the two giving polite acknowledgements as they reach the door. Doctor Muffin steps up to greet the boys. Her eyes immediately landed on the one leading the pack, a cheery twin of Docket that’s dressed in blue overalls, “Hello, Bluey! Good to see you again.”
Bluey jumps in surprise at being addressed before her cheerily exclaims, “Hello, Doc!”
She nods politely to the boy before her eyes turn to the rounder boy following after his brother, just as bright pink as he was those years ago when he was born, and asks, “Oh, Tubby, how are you?”
Tubby’s little round face lights up excitedly much like his brother and he giggles, “Good! ‘M really good, Doc! Mama said tha’ we get cookies af’er this!”
Doctor Muffin glances up at Honey and Docket, the two sharing a bit of a secretive smile before Honey shows the healthy biscuits that the doctor had recommended. It seemed the two were still following the provided list that had been gifted to them. Good. Muffin reminds herself to note that down as it gives her high hopes for how things will go in the future. She then welcomes the family of four with little fanfare to begin.
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River followed alongside her cousins with a pout on her patchy purple face. She ignores the way that Brookie is excitedly running to and fro or how much Jade is complaining about it. Brookie’s blue curls bounce around almost as much as she does and out of the three she was the only one allowed to keep it that way. Jade’s green fur was kept straightened and styled to show off the carefully maintained length that no other bear in Bloomingdale had. River, being six, was the oldest of the three; however, Brookie and Jade were only a few months away from their own sixth birthdays--leaving a weird dynamic for the three. Friends? Frienemies? Possibly rivals in the making that were constantly trying to one up each other at the unsubtle nudging of their parents.
Jade shouts, “Stop running!”
Brookie giggles without a care in the world, “No!”
Upset at being ignored, Jade huffs, “Yer gonna fall!”
“Nuh-uh!” Brookie spins and spins, her little blue skirt flaring up to show off the anchor bloomers that she was wearing. Moving just a bit too fast Brookie finds herself yelping as she slips and goes face first into the ground. She laughs and simply hops back up. Brookie snorts, “Falling doesn’t bother me.”
“It will when I trip you,” Jade grumbles.
Brookie pauses long enough to run in front of Jade to look the shorter girl in the eye and shout, “If you do then I’ll bop you on the nose!”
Jade gasps in offense, “You hit me an’ ‘m telling!”
Brookie gasps right back in horror, “Tattletale!”
“Bully!” Jade blows a raspberry in the face of her slightly taller, but slightly younger cousin.
“Cheat!” Brookie yanks at Jade’s silky, straightened hair.
Jade shrieks in pain, “Ow, ow, ow! Y-you--! You brat!”
“I am not!” The blue furred bear whines and winces the moment grabs onto her thick curls. It becomes a war of hair pulling right away. Back and forth, back and forth, and back again they go. The two are hissing, growling, and are always on the brink of toppling over like a house of cards. Brookie, tired of the struggling, finally shoves Jade away from her as hard as she can. As the older girl goes tumbling away Brookie yells, “You’re the brat! Bratiest brat ever!”
“Take it back!”
The two grasp one another’s hands and begin to push at one another in makeshift wrestling. They couldn’t dirty their outfits but the two long ago had realized that they could bruise one another and just pass it off as playful cub fighting. Plus, it wasn’t like much bruising could be seen under so much fur. The same could be said for the boiling over anger that the two are displaying either; if this were any other scenario their parents would have praised them for causing such a ruckus. It’s unlikely that would happen today if they got dirty.
All three wore matching navy blue and white sailor suits as they were going to be meeting their Uncle Fluffy. The man had been a military kind of guy for a long time and because of that he rarely was around, but there was some big news that he wanted to tell the family. And when someone like Uncle Fluffy, the technically great uncle that has the MOST money out of everyone, calls for a meeting then everyone must go. So, of course, each of their parents gathered them up and dressed them like dolls to come see the man. None of them questioned it, but River remembers her mother’s face when she asked why. Her purple fur darkened ever so slightly and she refused to meet her daughter’s eyes for the rest of the day. And it wasn’t until they came to this huge and overly shiny restaurant that her mother even addressed her. Whatever the reason is, River anxiously tried not to let her worry be too noticeable and instead focused on her cousins.
Jade spits in fury, “I hate you!”
Brookie fumbles for a second, allowing for Jade to get the upperhand in their fight for just a second before she stands taller and pushes back harder. Her green eyes shining bright, a family trait they all share, as she snaps, “Well, I hate you!”
Jade in her fury pulls a sneer to show off the sharp teeth she had coming in, an intimidation tactic that they’d seen some of the adults doing before. Her green locks seem to have almost static-cling with the way they rose around her as she growls, “I hate you more!”
Brookie growls just a touch louder in return, “I hate you most!”
“Please stop fighting,” River calls out to the two of them.
They stop and turn to her in unison, “Shut up, River!”
Before any bickering can take place River’s mother, Cascada, calls from much further ahead of them, “Girls! Girls, come say hello to Uncle Fluffy!”
The three stiffen and quickly form into a straight line. Their green eyes all quickly find the tall, heavyset form of their Uncle Fluffy. He is a soft kind of pink, unlike many of the rest of them, and he is taking slow drags from the cigar he is balancing between his lips. His smile is sly and rancid. Jade feels like a prized horse being scouted by some high paying breeder. Brookie feels like a goldfish in a bowl, worried that she’ll either end up shaken to death or fed to the turtles. And River, remembering the strangeness of her mother the past day, felt like a mouse before a cat.
“Ah, look at you three! Fine young ladies you’re growing into. Fine indeed,” Uncle Fluffy says as he does a slow once over of each and every one of them. He steps closer and all three of them have to force themselves not to step back. Gloved hands reach out to Brookie first, moving her head side to side to examine her adorable curls up close. There’s a strange lilt in his voice as he says, “My, my! It’s been years since I’ve seen curls like this. You look just like your great-great grandmother.”
Brookie practically beams at this compliment, “Thank you, Uncle Fluffy!”
His smile widens and the sight of his adult teeth - sharp and capped in silver - makes River break into a cold sweat. She quietly thanks God that he’s not looking at her, but that ‘thank you’ dies when his hand moves from Brookie’s chin to her shoulder. Her fur isn’t very dark, but Brookie’s blue still stands out against his pale pink fur, especially when he pulls her close. Brookie’s parents (Spring, her tense but beaming mother and Pebble, her giddy father) race to join their daughter before the wealthy man. So much smiling, so much cheer.
Uncle Fluffy taps Brookie’s nose with the very tip of his claw, “You’ll sit next to me, won’t you, dear?”
Brookie nods excitedly, “Yes, Uncle Fluffy!”
“Ah, so polite, too! Your mama and papa have taught you well,” he laughs as he begins to lead her and the rest of them to the table.
When River looks at Jade the shorter girl is fuming. Her hair is once more puffing up and she’s grinding her teeth. Jade’s mother (Emerald) and father (Greenie) herd her towards the table, both whispering angrily in her ear if their own scowls are anything to go by. The trio are quick to hide that, though, once they reach the table, taking position across from Uncle Fluffy immediately. River’s father huffs in annoyance at what he clearly deemed a pathetic display. He takes a deliberate moment to compose himself before making his own way over to the group with a bright smile full of teeth. River moves to follow him, like a dutiful daughter should, but she finds herself stopped by the hand of her mouth that’s latched onto her shoulder.
“River…,” her mother whispers.
She turns in surprise, looking up into the nervous green eyes of her mother. The soft blue color of her mother’s fur is pale like that night and her eyes are all small with fear as she stares at her. Her mother’s claws are sharp and painful as they pierce her--the feeling makes her wince, “Ow, mommy!”
River’s father pauses to call out, “Cascada, my love, what is it? Are you two coming?”
The two turn in unison to see him standing rather tall despite the slight against him. His snout is a bit crinkled up to the point the blotch of soft lilac that covers it is misshapen in an ugly way. It was why he rarely let himself show he was upset. His dark green eyes tell that he’d married into the bustling family, along with the dark purple fur that River had partially inherited. All of his upset seems to melt away a bit into confusion as he sees the scattered look they wear. He makes a move to come closer but is stopped by his name being called from the table. It appears a waiter had come by to take drink orders.
“Ah, yes, I’ll be ordering for us,” her father calls back to them cheerily.
When he turns back Cascada has plastered on a tight smile, “We’ll be just a moment, dear. You already know our favorites.”
His brows furrowed into a thick line of uncertainty, “Are you sure? I can ask them to wait if you’d--”
“Yes, Will, we are fine. W-we’ll be there just a moment,” the blue furred woman insists. “It would be best that you head on over before Greenie starts regaling Uncle Fluffy with stories of the last Star-Day celebration.”
River’s father, Willy-Billy the third, seems to jump out of his skin at the very idea and hurries off. Mother and daughter watch him join the group for a moment, taking in the way he seems to capture the whole room’s attention with his bright personality. They can practically see him complimenting everyone’s dress in that gushy way that everyone who’s anyone would like. No one could doubt it. However, they exist in almost a void away from that warm and playful feeling as River’s shoulders are basically shaking from the growing pain.
The purple and speckled bear whimpers, “Ow, mommy, ow!”
Her mother jolts enough to free her from the grasp of her claws, but she’s quick to snatch her up again. Pulls her close enough that River can smell the heavy, grape smell of her mother’s holy flask.’s contents. It was one that she only drank from after hours and hours of prayer. Something told her that it had to do with this luncheon.
“My dearest one, are you alright?”
“Yes, of course, mommy. It’s just my shoulders that hurt from y-your…,” River reaches up towards her shoulder but doesn’t dare to touch it. She has no idea the hows or whys to her mother’s whispering and it drives her to whisper just the same. It must be for a good reason. The little girl looks down at the ground, “D-did I d-do something?”
“No, no. Of course not, my baby.” Cascada looks at the injured shoulder with a pained gasp of her own. Shaky hands release River enough to hover over the spot. She whispers, “Oh, I’m so sorry, my little love. I’m sorry to have hurt you. You know that I’d never want to do anything that could hurt you, right?”
“Yes, mommy, I know.” Small purple hands take hold of her mother’s in a desperate attempt to understand what’s upset her. All it does is bring tears to her eyes. Tears that she valiantly tries to hold back by keeping her eyes angled up to the sky as if she can somehow use God’s grace to stop them. One slips free, then another, and another. River’s little heart thumps in abject horror at the sight, “Mommy, wh-what’s wrong? Why’re you crying, mommy? I’m okay. I’m okay, mommy.”
“My dearest one, my lovely darling, I know that you don’t understand. There’s nothing I can ever say that might be enough to… Nothing but seeing can truly help.” It seems strange to think that her mother won’t explain something. It’s foreign entirely that her mother is so shaken. But then her mother pulls out the Cuddly-heart pendant that she wears around her neck everyday. It is cradled so delicately in her hands in the same way she’d held River only moments ago.There’s a reverie in her mother’s gaze as she continues, “All I can tell you now is that you’re safe for now. God heard my prayers and has kept you safe from his eyes. I can only hope it stays this way.”
“F-from…,” River’s eyes drift towards the table.
Suddenly all she’s seeing is her mother’s face again with those green eyes that are begging her to listen. Her voice is pleading, “Be kind, be good, and be better than you’ve ever been, alright?”
River’s vision blurs with how fast she nods, “Yes. Yes, mommy.”
Cascada’s smile is soft and genuine as she tenderly caresses the side of her daughter’s face, “Good girl. Now, let’s enjoy lunch as much as we can, okay?”
“Yes, mommy.” River stands straighter and happily takes her mother’s hand to walk alongside her to the table. The moment Uncle Fluffy turns to look their way she plasters on a bright smile much like her mother’s. This was going to be a long luncheon.
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Mort is a small red bear that has always hated his own reflection for a number of reasons. One, seeing his tiny little body reminded him of how he was so different from the rest of his family. Two, he’d see his two different color eyes and remember how everyone said it was a sign of bad luck. Being labeled as a jinx or omen at a young age does something to a kid, especially when none of the adults around him disputed the claims. Even now, at ten years old, it is hard for the boy to not curse himself for the eyes he was born with. Three, the final reason, is because looking at his reflection was also a sure fire way to remember that he was a mistake and his appearance affirms that. Misshapen and discolored in such a way that it was surely a sign that he should have never been born. But that thinking was wrong from what the priests in the confessional had told him because every life is one that is blessed and created by the God they were all worshiping. They’d all instructed him to simply read more about it and that he’d understand. It didn’t quite make sense, but Mort’s mother was quick to push him to listen.
“B-but how can that help m--,” Mort foolishly had tried to ask.
He is cut off by a palm clipping him across his temple and the boy staggers back in surprise. He jerks his head up to the rather towering figure of his mother, a large polar bear woman, that’s face is twisted up in disgust. Like always when she sees him. Before his lips can even form a question as to why, his mother is already scolding him, “How dare you question those men. They wish to help your ungrateful, unholy soul and you would spit at their efforts?! Devil child!”
Head throbbing and lip wobbling in distress, Mort concedes easily with a nod and off he goes. That felt like hours and hours ago. Now the red bear is sitting at the back of the church on one of the creaky pews just fiddling with his hands as he tries to get lost in the pages of the Bible in front of him. Its pink colors were pleasing and the words within it were mesmerizing in their descriptions of the world before they became sentient. A world where things were simple and the forest wasn’t some scary place that threatened them at every turn.
“What bothers you, my child?”
Mort gasps, “Wha-- Oh, hello, Father.”
The red furred bear jerked to the side at the sound of a much older voice. He almost screams when he is greeted to the sight of a tall, black bear dressed in the dark priest garbs that many wore. The man was so unlike many other bears in his dark fur, small dark eyes, and the four leaf clover shape of his nose. A nose that was the only color on his body as it was a soft pink. Everyone knew the bear as Father Lucky, a name he was given by the nun who was able to save him from the forest when he was a boy, orphaned after a terrible unicorn attack.
“You’ve been spending more and more of your time here recently. It is wonderful to see young cubs like you taking an interest in our Lord and the blessings he has bestowed upon us. But it takes no holy miracle to see that your faith is tied to a deep sadness, “ the older bear spoke in a slow, soothing tone.
The directness left the cub feeling exposed. He tries to laugh but it comes out like a strange croak, “S-sadness?”
The priest nods, “Yes, my child. You are low. You walk with your back bent and eyes on the ground as though there is a weight constantly trying to drag you to Hell.”
“I do? I-I mean no disrespect, Father.” His eyes dart down to the book that he’s been gently caressing in his lap. He looks at all the beautiful colors and calligraphy and tries to think of an excuse. When none comes he whimpers, “I wish I could feel the love and joy that I’m meant to in these sacred halls…”
Mort hears a heavy sigh from the bear beside him, “I worry for you, though. You’ve spoken to many a priest here and in other congregations, have you not?”
He nods stiffly, “Yes, Father.”
The voice of Father Lucky is much closer than before when he asks, “But none have found a cure for the woes you carry?”
“...No, Father. I… I don’t blame anyone for it, I promise. M-my mother says that I just have a damned soul. That something wicked lies within me,” he feels himself holding onto the collar of his shirt. It would be nice to just pull and pull and pull until he returned to the arms of their Lord. But that was forbidden, so he released it in favor of turning to the look of concentration on the older man’s face.
“Wicked?”
“Yes, Father. You must see it, right?” He tugs at the rather thin fur that he is covered in and shows off the slightly discolored skin below. The little bear cub wincing before letting it go in favor of patting at his cheeks just below his mismatched eyes. His little lip quivers as he forces a laugh, “You’re a holy man of our Lord. You’ve read the sacred texts cover to cover enough to know that we bears should fit God’s image, yet… I am… I am deformed and ugly.”
“My child, you are right that I am a man of God. I am one who’s made every necessary vow and completed my practices with pride. And do you know what that has allowed me?”
“N-no, Father…,” Mort could hear his own voice answer shakily.
Father Lucky carefully kneels where he is, moving his robes to not let them get dirty. His large and warm hand rests comfortingly on Mort’s shoulder. There is no pain to follow or any type of cringe in disgust in the gesture. It’s such a confusing moment for the little bear.
Father Lucky’s voice becomes righteous as he speaks, “You, my dear boy, are one of God’s many children and you ARE made in his image. Any who would mock you do not understand the truth of our Lord.”
Mort whispers, “Truth? W-what truth?”
The priest nods, “That we all have a purpose in our Lord’s plan. You have a purpose that only you can complete, do you understand?”
“Y-yes, Father…”, Mort mimics the priest as he nods faster.
A smile stretches across Father Lucky’s face as he looks at Mort as though he’s marveling at him. A look of pure fascination as if Mort was the one who’s changing the very way that he thinks and not the other way around. It doesn’t help when the priest ends up leaning in close to ask, “Do you know what could help you find that purpose?”
To be given such an offer makes Mort jump up in excitement. He tries not to salivate at the idea of being given a special task, of being trusted in such a way. Of course, he nods and begs, “Yes, Father! Please, please tell me!”
“Through journaling your thoughts and feelings of different passages you’ve read. It will help you realize what you hold the most interest and value in, reveal just what holds your most inner desire. Once you have done that, bring the journal to me and I shall help you through this journey, alright?”
Unexpected. The idea that anyone wanted to read what he wrote was weird. That a Holy man would have any interest in reading the ramblings of a child that could never match their bible. It felt undeserved and… kind of overwhelming. But it’s rude to disagree, right?
The young bear leans closer, “R-really? You will?”
Father Lucky nods, jowls going to and fro, “Of course, my child. All I ask in return is that you also journal about your days up until you have finished.”
“Yes, Father! I will! I’ll do it a-and I'll get it done as soon as I can!” He hops up from his seat with a feeling of new understanding inside him. Or something like that. He doesn’t have the words for it, yet, but this is a chance for him to be a good kid in the eyes of his mother. Finally, no longer a failure or a disappointment. He bows to the old man over and over again in thanks as he exclaims, “Thank you, Father! Thank you!”
Mort hurries home with a bright smile on his face and the book clutched to his chest.