Chapter Text
KID!!!
What little MK could process of the world came to him slowly; voices, thick and muffled, despite Pigsy’s worrying as he felt someone carrying him up the stairs. Pain registering numbly, sluggishly. The world tilting—no, disappearing—under his feet, sudden yet soothing, and then the invitation of the bed, the pillowcase meeting the dull ache in his skull.
He didn't remember the care. He didn't feel it was bad enough to cause such a big scene to begin with. MK was the Monkey Kid, after all; he wasn't supposed to complain about these things. He couldn't remember anything else; it was all hazy, except for the last few seconds of someone humming, his senses swaddled in the lingering melody of the lullaby.
…The lullaby… Had he dreamed it? Hallucinated? Monkey King hated singing… That was weird… But was also kind of sweet?
MK could feel the presence of strangers hovering over him, just like before. They felt familiar, but…
“…I’ve never seen him actually stop talking.”
He knew that bitterness. He wanted to address it, because there was genuine surprise behind it. But his eyes were too heavy to open, and his thoughts felt too disorganized, too sloppy.
“Anesthesia really did a number on him when he was already exhausted physically. He’ll be fine, he may just sleep longer. Let him get it out of his system. Now if you’ll excuse me, the one with glasses kept promising free lunch… Whatever that means.”
The nasally-sounding one left. A concerned silence hung in the air.
“…Poor kid.”
“I guess we just… let him rest? It’s not like he can do anything else.”
“Knowing him, that’s a good thing.”
But MK didn’t want to rest. He needed to apologize to Wukong about the scroll, about—
Wshh!…
Fwump.
The soft weight of an unfolded quilt landed on top of him. Any questions he thought he was developing vanished almost in the same beat.
—Ohh.
Ohh, this is cozy.
MK felt guilty, almost, for being so tired, so weak, but he did have to admit that the weighted blankets were really nice. A content sigh slipped out as his body settled.
“He’ll be fine.”
Despite it sounding confident, the reassurance didn’t sound real, like it was almost scripted.
“…Should be.”
The golden light from under his eyelids disappeared as the bedside lamp clicked off, plunging him into much needed-rest.
All MK could distinguish is that he was cozy, and waking up in an unknown place for the second time that day as the faint smell of seasoning from downstairs wafted in through the cracked window.
…He was home?
His head lolled across the pillow, the best he could do at turning.
He didn’t expect anyone else to be there, so when he saw the ebony macaque nodding off in a tiny beanbag, MK couldn’t help but wonder how long he’d been asleep, too.
“Zzz…”
He caught himself just as his head was dropping, all six ears standing straight on edge, before he squinted the sleep out of his good eye.
“—Oh. Hey, kiddo.”
“…How?” MK started to ask, then hesitated, alarmed by the raspiness in his voice from disuse.
“Portal’d. Your ponytail friend threw up halfway through. How are you feeling?”
MK drew a slow breath as he considered. What was the word for it?…
“…Not good,” he decided.
“Yyyeah, I figured,” Macaque said as his tail flicked apprehensively. “It’s dinner time, bud. Here I thought Wukong was a heavy sleeper.”
“…Sleeper?”
“You, ah— you got really hurt, kid. You’re alarmingly good at that.”
“…Singing,” MK blurted softly as he sank back into the bed, unable to sit up.
“Singing?” Macaque sat up slightly, puzzled.
“Lullaby… Monkey King.” He really hoped this was making sense.
“Monkey King wasn’t there, bud,” Macaque corrected.
“Oh. It was nice,” MK replied as he turned his head away to look out at the evening customers (Tang and Mei) waiting outside.
“Soothing.”
The moment MK’s head turned away, Macaque let himself blue-screen.
HOW DID HE REMEMBER?!— HE WAS BEING PUT TO SLEEP!— You’re not supposed to care this much— FIND AN EXCUSE—
“Just the meds making you loopy,” he said calmly.
You IDIOT WHAT ARE YOU SAYI—
“…OK,” MK mumbled wearily.
“You want anything to eat?”
“…Yeah,” he smiled softly.
Finally, an emotion other than tiredness.
“Hold that thought,” the monkey said, and in a circle of darkness disappeared through the floor. A moment later, he resurfaced cupping a bowl of noodles in his hands; it sounded like a war was being waged downstairs.
“TANG! WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT SNEAKING IN THE KITCHEN?”
“That wasn’t me!—“
“Tadaaa,” Macaque smirked, seconds before Tang started screaming.
MK couldn’t help but laugh as Macaque helped him sit up and saw a pan fly out onto the street out of the corner of his eye.
“You now get the honor of being like Wukong and getting takeout instead of socializing. Enjoy.”
It felt good to laugh at the absurdity of being taken care of like this, and by the person who hardly ever inserted himself emotionally no less.
But MK got free dinner— and a show, with poor Tang being chased around the kitchen— so for now maybe he could be hurt and happy.
After all, he couldn't cause chaos if he was busy distracting himself with things.