Chapter Text
“You always were the most cowardly of the bunch, Macaque.”
“Are you ever going to get sick of living in my shadow?”
“What? You got what you wanted, didn't you? Not gonna gloat? Monologue a little bit before scurrying off to your Master?”
“Stop! If you hurt that kid, I’ll-!”
“Alright! …You win.”
Golden eyes snapped open, groggy and dry. Chest tight and fur damp with cold sweat. He jolted at the memories, sitting up, his heart beating profoundly. Cold chills tingled down his right side, a cruel reminder of her grasp on him. Macaque clutched his scarlet scarf and brought it up to his nose, burying his face in it to reclaim his composure.
He glanced around his surroundings, the treeline around him hollow and empty, bringing his nose out from the red garment to sniff briefly for intruders. Finding none, he slumped back against the trunk of the tree he was resting in, the frigid bark biting into his fur. Macaque sighed and tried to fall asleep again, but his stomach growled painfully, a wave of dizziness sending him reeling. It was somehow powerful enough to make him fall off the tree limb and collapse on the ground below. Too tired to drag himself off the ground, he lied there for who knew how long, waiting for the spell to lessen. When it did, he quickly encountered an enemy: a migraine.
The throbbing, sudden and strong, was blinding, eyes squinting against the harsh light of the moon. With a whimper he would never own up to, Macaque clutched his head desperately. He needed help, but there were only two places he could think of going to, and both of them would probably do more harm than good. Though I probably deserve it… Another painful throb and his vision fading out was enough to convince him to go to the lesser of the two evils.
Summoning barely enough strength, he pulls at his inner shadows to conjure a pool and let himself sink in, picturing a city street with a particular noodle shop.
He had just sent MK upstairs to go to bed while he was finishing closing up shop when he heard a thud and a soft monkey chitter. Pigsy looked over his shoulder and across the bar to see a certain, unfortunately well-known, dark haired Monkie. Immediately, he was on high alert. Nothin’ good ever comes outta this guy, Pigsy thought to himself, pulling a knife out of the block and circling around the bar. But instead of the confident, deadly Master of Shadows, he found a weak, lackluster pile of hisses and chirps.
Macaque was curled in on himself, arms cradling his head. His face was twisted in agony and his puffed up tail was shaking and tucked between his legs. Suddenly, Pigsy was brought back to when he witnessed MK’s first panic attack after seeing Monkie King get possessed by the Lady Bone Demon. Putting the knife down, he knelt beside the immortal simian and placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. Bony… Monkie King ain’t like this at all, so it definitely ain’t normal.
Macaque stirred, lowering his arms with a wince, looking up at Pigsy with tears in his eyes, and… fear? The Monkie was blinking a lot at the bright lights.
“...P-Pigsy?” He stammered, trying to prop himself up. Pigsy jumped into action, placing a hand on the other’s chest and putting slight pressure until Macaque gave up and flopped back onto the floor.
“Hey, stay down. What’s goin’ on? It must be really bad if ya decided to come ‘ere of all places.” He said gruffly. Macaque hissed through his clenched teeth at the volume so close to his ears.
“M-migraine. Do you… have anything-,”
“Painkilla’s? Yeah, bud. Lemme get those for ya.” The pig stood, shuffling his way over to the first aid drawer he kept behind the bar. Macaque groaned, forcing himself to stand despite Pigsy’s order, ignoring the way he swayed. “Have ya eaten anythin’? It ain’t good to take meds with an empty stomach,” Pigsy fixed Macaque with a dirty look.
“‘M fine. Just s-some painkillers… please.” He added the last bit as he dragged himself to sit on one of the stools. Pigsy clicked his tongue, unimpressed with the simian.
“No can do. Ya need to eat. I haven't closed down the kitchen yet, and I have some noodles left over. Ya want some ramen?” The pig lowered his voice to be more gentle, trying to gauge what the Monkie’s mental state was. Macaque’s eyes flickered up to Pigsy’s before fixating on the countertop. The dark-furred simian wound up shaking his head softly, chittering when his head throbbed again.
“I… I can’t afford any. I have j-just enough for the pills. I’ll be f-fine.” Pigsy watched as a shiver wracked through the small Monkie, and something in his heart ached. Sure, he’s hurt MK a few times, and threatened to kill me, Mei, Sandy, and Tang, and definitely Monkie King, AND he worked for the Lady Bone Demon, but I can’t just… leave him like this. He pulled out a bottle of pain medication, opened it, and slid it to Macaque. Pigsy watched worriedly as the Monkie shook out a whole pawful and downed them dry. Macaque sighed and his tail twitched in relief. How many times has he gone through this to be able to swallow them dry? MK can’t even do a small allergy pill without a glass of milk. I can’t even take a big one without something.
“Oh,” the simian dug through his pocket and dropped a crumpled five dollar bill and spare change on the bar top, “that should be enough, I can get you more if it’s not... thanks for… y’know, not attacking me. Sorry for bothering you…” He stood slowly, flinching a little at the lingering stinging behind his eyes.
“Wait, Macaque-,” Pigsy tried to say, but the Monkie had already merged into his shadows. Pigsy stared at the bottle of pills for a long moment, sighing. He screwed the lid back on and placed it back in the drawer. Turning around, he began to finish cleaning up the kitchen to distract him from overthinking the other’s visit. By the time he was done cleaning, it was 9:45pm, almost two hours after closing. Pigsy was about to turn off the lights when the crumpled cash and coins on the bar caught his eye. The pig rubbed his eyes, grabbing it and shoving it into the cash register in a separate compartment. Scribbling on a sticky note, he wrote “Macaque” and slapped it on the money, tucking it away and closing the register.
What a night, he grumbled internally, turning out the lights and heading up the stairs.
Macaque was ever so grateful that Pigsy had humored him and allowed him the pain medication and short refuge. Regretfully, he wished he had taken the pig’s offer of ramen, having not eaten a single meal in weeks, curse my immortality.
He had teleported himself into a random forest, only for him to find himself quickly drenched. And of course, just his luck, it wasn’t warm rain, nooooooooo, it was freezing rain. Borderline sleet. He trembled in the cold, realizing it was going to be a miserable night. Macaque debated going back to Pigsy’s shop, tossing the idea around. Can I really allow myself to be even more selfish? This time, however, outside forces drove him to a decision when a loud blast struck the closest tree and the next thing he knew was a white hot, searing fire in his tail and leg. His head hit the ground, causing him to black out due to his migraine.
Macaque howled into the freezing air, panting into the night, lungs seizing in the cold. His vision was spotting and he desperately clawed at the snow, trying to crawl out from under the fallen tree. There was a warm trickle of something on his leg, and he knew it was blood. The scent of singed hair and iron mixed in with the strong smell of pine from the tree. In one last hazy attempt at survival, he forced himself headfirst into the shadows and back at Pigsy’s.
The landing was rough, and he felt a ripple of paralyzing pain course through his whole body, nerves alight. The simian chirruped, too exhausted to form proper words. He drowsily recognized the shop interior from a short while ago. The Monkie chattered louder, in need. He used what remaining strength he had in his body to drag his limp body a ways to the door that he figured led upstairs. When he finally reached the door, he banged on the door.
Once.
Twice.
Three times before his vision blacked out again and his breathing stuttered. Macaque weakly curled into himself, unable to feel his left leg and tail anymore. Please… I don't want to die… again.
MK woke up to loud banging. Sleepily, he stumbled out of bed, sliding on his slippers and grabbing his staff. He blinked slowly and relied on familiarity to make it to his dad’s room. There, Pigsy was already standing, freshly showered in his pj’s, just like MK. Pigsy, more awake than MK, frowned.
“Kid? Was that you? Makin’ all’at noise?” He placed a hand on MK’s shoulder. His son shook his head as concern dawned on both of their faces. The banging had stopped after three times, and they quickly rushed down the stairs. There, behind the door, they heard quiet… chirping? No, it's too low for a bird. It sounds like Monkie King… wait. That’s monkey chittering! MK was easily fully awake now, pushing the door open slowly. He was met with resistance, and when he finally opened it all the way, it was too dark to make out anything other than a big lump.
Pigsy felt around for the light switch, and when he found it, his heart climbed into his throat. There, on the floor in an unconscious heap, was Macaque. Macaque whom he had just seen a mere two hours ago.
MK gasped and took a step back, fear written all over his face.
“D-dad-,” he started. Pigsy understood.
“I know, kid, I know. Go upstairs, throw down the first aid kit, then go to bed. I’m serious. I can deal with it, if it’s too much for ya-,” MK cut him off, hugging his staff close to his chest, a grip that looked borderline painful.
“No! I know he’s a good guy at heart, I-I just can't help but feel anxious. E-especially with what happened with him and the Lady Bone D-Demon. In the end, he helped us and it w-was her fault, really. I-I want to help him!” MK steeled his nerves, and Pigsy couldn't help a small, proud smile, finding new ways to be proud of his little boy everyday. What'd this world do to deserve a kid like him? He’s a good kid.
“Alright then, bud. Can ya go grab me the first aid kit? I’ll take a look at what we’re dealin’ with.” He turned away from his son and toward Macaque. He distantly heard MK run up the stairs, but his attention was now on the simian on the floor in front of him. Before he assessed any damage, he pulled out his pocket knife he had nabbed from under his pillow and sliced off Macaque’s armor and clothes, tugging them off strategically, setting them aside with care. Cautiously, Pigsy turned the still-softly-trilling Monkie onto his back and started putting pieces together.
His black fur was soaked and freezing to the touch, which made it hard to see any superficial wounds. Even still, Pigsy persevered.
The first thing he noticed out of the usual was Macaque’s tail. It was bent awkwardly and stiff, the fur pointed and parted in odd directions. Feeling it gently, he noticed the simian’s body tense, noting the dark-furred was still decently lucid. Crap. He’s prolly feelin’ all'a this. Poor guy. His tail’s definitely broken. Takes a lot to break a Monkie’s tail, what the hell happened to ya in two hours? Pigsy pinched a part of his tail, testing the reaction of his legs and noticed only one of them jerked appropriately, his left staying lame. When he pressed his hands into the shadow-wielder’s calf briefly, he felt a gush of something warm. Alarmed, he jerked his hands away, only for them to be covered in fresh, hot blood. Craaaap. I’m way in ova’ my head with this. He needs help. Real help.
Just in time, MK came down the stairs, holding the kit in one hand and his phone in the other.
“MK, call Monkie King.” Pigsy ordered, taking the first aid from his son. Without hesitation or questions, MK swiftly dialed up his mentor and put it on speaker. It rang for a few long seconds, then it went through and rustling was heard on the other end.
“...Kid…? Why’re you callin’ so late at night?” Wukong’s voice drew over the phone. Pigsy was the one who responded.
“We need help now. You’re the only one who can help. We’re at the shop, get here now.” He barked. Wukong paused and more shuffling was heard.
“I’ll be there,” the Monkie hung up the phone.
“MK, can you grab some towels? As many as you can find that are clean, please. Thanks, son.” Pigsy continued to feel around for other injuries. I can feel his ribs. Every single one of 'em. He may be immortal but it doesn't mean he can go on like this forever. Just as MK returned with a sky-high pile of towels, a golden portal opened and out stepped Sun Wukong. As he was about to open his mouth, he looked down and took in the scene in front of him.
Without asking him to, he immediately took over.
“Bud- can you hand me a towel please? Just a hand towel will do for now.” The Monkie King took the cloth from his disciple and activated his Gold Vision. There, highlighted on Macaque’s body were several injuries, though the worst being on his left leg, tail, and head.
“Pigsy, I need you to look at his head. Just above his forehead. You just need to gently comb through the fur, and you’ll find the injury. That’s step number one. Step number two is treat it accordingly, which I trust you know how to do.” The pig did exactly as he asked, while Wukong took a look at Macaque’s leg first.
He had plenty of mixed feelings about seeing his ex-best friend’s face all scrunched up in agony, the most notable being fear. Fear at what did this to Macaque.
MK squatted down next to them, a silent question of where he fit in.
“Kid, can you take one of the big towels and get a hair dryer and start drying him off? Also get a wet rag for areas that are bloody. We want him clean so we can see any and all injuries.” The lighter-furred simian figured it would be a light enough task for MK to complete but diligent enough to take his mind off of the task at hand for a while. Determined, MK nodded his head once in acknowledgement and did as told.
When Macaque came to, everything was shrouded. Pain swirled behind his eyes like it had made its home there. Opening his eyes was a struggle in itself, and took way more effort than it usually did.
“Macaque? Are you awake?” A recognizable voice called out to him. He squeezed his eyes shut, blinking rapidly to clear away the film. The black-furred simian found a blurry figure looming over him that consisted of warm browns and tans, with hints of red and gold. He pushed a hum out through his diaphragm, his lungs much too exhausted to do the work alone. Warmth carefully engulfed his cheek, and he tiredly leaned into it, a small monkey coo resounding from the back of his throat.
Now this is a dream I hope to never wake up from.