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It's oddly comfortable.
Maybe it's the way his limbs have gone numb, strewn across the warehouse. Maybe it's the way the fire crackles, the sound burying him in nostalgia for better times. Maybe it's the open stars that stretch above him through the broken skylight, twinkling in the dark abyss.
WPNZ is tired.
Part of him doesn't even want to pick himself up. Is that weird? It's weird, he decides. The urge to simply shut his eyes and sleep for the first time in what feels like forever is so, so strong. He can't, though. He can't rest. He can never rest. He has a job to do. He doesn't have time to lie here like this. Weapons don’t take breaks.
Back to work.
Just as he resigns himself to forcing feeling back into his dismembered arms, he hears footsteps. Slow, loud, purposeful. Like they want him to hear, to know they’re there. As soon as he looks up, a small, snowy hand wraps around his neck. No, not a hand, a paw.
Katana. He chokes on her name, little more than a hoarse gasp. She says something, but he can't hear it. She sounds so distant, like he's submerged in water. He thrashes, but it doesn't do much because his arms are too far, his legs rendered little more than paperweights.
His chest heaves and his artificial heart pounds in time with it like a ticking clock counting down to his demise. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick.
The graze of a claw drags over his jugular before–
WPNZ jolts upright with a strangled gasp. He wasn’t in the warehouse. All four limbs were in place, working perfectly fine. He was… safe.
There's no concrete floor, only a cushy bed that's too large for just one person. There's no fire scorching his metal, only the flickering daylight filtering through the barred windows. There's no smoke clogging his throat, only the pleasant smell of some kind of pastry drifting through the cracked door. There's no crackling or breaking, only the muffled sounds of showtunes from the other room. He's safe.
Something nudges against his side and he nearly swings at it, his pulse not quite calmed, but he stops just short with his fist extended. The shock of orange as opposed to teal is what gave him pause.
Large brown eyes stare up at him with a questioning trill as her hand… hair? Retracts from him. No slitted pupils. No white fur. No bushy tail. It’s just… Leggy. Leggy, the strange little creature that had come to him looking for her best friend. She frowns, and WPNZ feels a pang of guilt. Shit, he needed to be more careful. As understanding as his companions can be in regards to his… quirks, he has a feeling that flinging the family baby across the room would not be received well.
“Puzzle-friend?” She chirps. It takes WPNZ another couple of moments to settle, inhaling short gasps of air through his gritted teeth. It’s not her fault. His stress isn’t her fault. He can't hurt her, not like he hurt them. Leggy's… tendrils? (WPNZ still isn't quite sure what to call them, so he’ll go with tendrils.) Leggy’s tendrils intertwine together as she watches him. She’s patient, giving him time to collect himself, because of course she’s patient.
He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve them, but he’ll pretend he does because he’s a selfish motherfucker.
When his breathing evens out, she nudges up against his arm with little hesitance. Her trust feels like lead in his throat. He pats her head instead of dwelling on it. Her pleased giggle morphs into a pouty huff of disapproval when he ruffles up her hair, mussing the delicate ribbons that were interwoven into the soft orange strands.
WPNZ smiles, but every inhale he takes feels sharp, like claws in his windpipe. Leggy’s petulant frown felt too much like the set of kittens that he failed. He swallowed down the sweet smell in the air.
“Is Boxhead making breakfast?” he asks. The space beside him in the bed had gone cold when he'd woken up, as usual. WPNZ isn’t a morning person like his host was. He probably didn't keep Puzzles waiting for too long this time, though. The pillows still smelled like expensive cologne. WPNZ hopes it hasn’t rubbed off on him too much. It’s ridiculously pretentious. Of course, pretentious suits Puzzles very well.
Leggy hops off the bed with a bounce, a wide grin on her face. She only giggles as she scurries through the gap in the door that had been left ajar. He takes that and the scent to mean yes.
When she's gone, WPNZ’s face drops again. He almost wishes he stuck with the initial plan to erase his memories sometimes, specifically when he has nightmares like these.
That's his comeuppance, though, isn't it? For hurting what was supposed to be his family like that. For being so awful that Katana (Karen, he reminds himself) couldn’t even bring herself to give him a chance. For the kids (his kids) to hate him so deeply that they'd turn on him like that. The clock on the wall taunts him. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick.
He needs to get out of his head. He has breakfast waiting for him.
WPNZ pushes himself to his feet to shuffle out of the room. He didn’t bother with putting on a shirt. It’s nothing Puzzles hasn’t seen before, after all, considering how he’d dutifully repaired WPNZ the other day. While his partner (in crime! Partner in crime) may not be very fond of him going out in just his baggy sweatpants, WPNZ couldn’t care to do more. He couldn't sit in that room by himself for any longer. If he had to keep listening to that stupid fucking clock, he’d throw it out the window or do something worse. He much preferred the music that he followed down the hall.
Leggy had joined the other two in the kitchen. She and Toomp twirl about to the rhythm of the song plinking from the record player, smiling and giggling like kids should. Well, kid and… whatever Toomp was. The two of them weave through Puzzles’s lanky legs. It seems they've been doing this for a while, because he just dodges them rather than falling flat on his face like WPNZ had expected from such a klutz. It’s a miracle that he managed to stay upright as he cooked, uh… something. Whatever it was, it had to be great. Everything he made is great to WPNZ. Then again, WPNZ guzzled oil by the gallon, so his tastes probably aren’t a great benchmark.
Standing there in the doorway, WPNZ is… entranced. Watching Puzzles maneuver around the kitchen, it looked like he was dancing along with the little ones, stepping over and around them and taking care to not trample them. Cherry on top, Puzzles was wearing the stupid frilly apron WPNZ got him as a joke a couple weeks ago.
It was like a snippet from WPNZ’s mushiest, sappiest domestic fantasies. Do they do this every morning? WPNZ curses himself for being a late sleeper. From now on, he swore to himself, he was going to wake up when Puzzles did. Late night jobs and potential sleep deprivation be damned, if he could see this every morning it would be worth it. So worth it.
Toomp finally notices him and greets WPNZ with an excited bounce and a chirp they picked up from Leggy. They toddle over on wobbling feet to receive their morning pat on the head while Leggy hops onto the counter to peer over Puzzles’ shoulder at the work-in-progress while the man himself turns his head to look at WPNZ.
“Ah, good morning, my friend!” Puzzles quickly fixes his attention back to what he was making, which is probably a good idea. “I'm just about ready to put these in the oven! I've decided to try out making some pain au chocolat. My mother used to make it for me and, oh, it was a delight! I won't be able to eat any, of course, but I wanted to share it with you! I hope it's alright… I didn't trust my skill to make it from scratch, so I'm using some pre-made dough. Toomp and Leggy were such great helpers, too! If you don't like them, I'm sure these two will eat yours for you, so you don't have to feel bad. Isn't that right, you two?”
Leggy giggles happily while Toomp sassily rolls their eyes, but WPNZ doesn’t pay attention to that. Puzzles’s smile was far from a rare sight. In fact, it was probably more rare to see him without a smile. What was a rare sight, though, was this genuine smile. One filled with pure, actual joy. WPNZ feels his metaphorical heart stutter in his chest. Oh, he probably looks ridiculous right now, wide-eyed and staring at another man with goo-goo eyes. He can’t find it in him to care when Puzzles is just so mesmerizing like this.
“You might have to get them as soon as they're out of the oven if you don't want to lose your share to these ravenous little things! It's been hard enough keeping Toomp from eating them raw. I had to give them the rest of the chocolate sticks! Though, Toomp would likely be happy with a box of nails, wouldn't you? Don't give me that look, mister, you know it's true! Hehe...
... WPNZ? Are you okay?”
Oh. He must've been staring for too long. Puzzles was looking worried now, a frown replacing his gorgeous smile. Toomp was looking up at him strangely, too. Of course. They were all so happy, and then came WPNZ to ruin it, as always. Soft, gentle things like this were never his forte. He needs to course-correct. Come on, WPNZ, don’t fuck it up. WPNZ musters up a smile, one he hopes seems playful enough to ease their concerns.
“Just admirin’,” He says in lieu of a proper answer. He reaches Puzzles in two long strides and firmly plants a hand on his narrow waist. His screen brightens as a line of red flickers across his face. Works like a charm. “Nice apron. Where'd ya get it?” WPNZ purposely lets his gaze linger on the other's chest, where “I Put The CUTE in CharCUTErie” was written in loopy pink cursive. Puzzles should be grateful that it was so tame. WPNZ could’ve gotten something way worse. Puzzles huffs, unamused, while Leggy and Toomp giggle off to the side.
“It was a gift from a certain someone, and it's rude not to accept gifts,” Puzzles dismisses as he turns his attention back to the… what was it called? Something-something-chocolate? WPNZ isn’t great with French. They were looking good, either way. WPNZ understands Toomp’s temptation to eat them raw. He won't, if only out of respect for Puzzles’ baking, but…
“That one on the edge looks lonely,” WPNZ says. “Why don't I…” He wiggles his fingers with his free hand, reaching out as if to take the small uncooked bun. Leggy cackles harder and Toomp lets out an affronted warble in tandem with Puzzles’s offended gasp. WPNZ’s hand is smacked away and he finally chuckles. His chest starts to feel fuzzy when Puzzles lightly flicks his forehead.
“Traitor,” he breathes as he awkwardly shifts his arms in an attempt to grasp the sides of the tray without elbowing WPNZ. Leggy politely vacates the space around him. “After I put them in the oven, they'll be done in fifteen minutes. You can wait fifteen minutes, WPNZ.” WPNZ pulls away to let Puzzles slide the tray into the oven, only to wrap both arms around his stomach once he turns around. He hears Toomp make a fake gagging sound and Leggy’s resulting titter.
“You're cuddly today,” Puzzles comments as he shuts the oven. His hands hesitate over WPNZ’s, hovering just above his gauntlets as if he were unsure if he was allowed. Which, for the record, is ridiculous. WPNZ is always up for some snuggles with his best friend... which is something he should probably start looking into. Friends don’t usually cuddle as much as they do. Or maybe they do. It’s not like WPNZ or Puzzles would know. It's probably nothing.
A muffled snort bounces off the wall and WPNZ spares a glance across the room where Leggy and Toomp have decided to whisper and blubber at each other. He doesn’t really care what they're gossiping about, since they seem to be enjoying themselves. WPNZ tightens his hold around Puzzles and nestles his face against his spine. They can laugh all they want. WPNZ hasn’t felt so good in years, probably since… aaand we aren’t thinking about that.
WPNZ doesn’t respond, not with words. Idly, though, he rolls the fabric of the apron in his fingers while soft, squishy thoughts enter his head. Thoughts about how WPNZ could wrap Puzzles up in his jacket to shield him from the cold. How they could curl up together on the couch and watch a movie together, though it would be more like Puzzles yammering about all the details and not watching the actual movie. How they could sneak around a park in the dead of night, holding hands as they just talk. WPNZ feels his face flush.
These kinds of things were never his style, so why do these ideas keep popping up nowadays? Something about their life together just makes him feel so… mushy.
The smooth swing humming from the record player was nice background noise. It wasn’t intrusively loud. It wasn’t unnoticeably quiet. It was a perfect level, a practiced medium found after years of listening, he was sure. Puzzles seemed like the type to be unable to handle silence. WPNZ begins swaying just a little bit. Just enough to be in sync with the music. It isn’t exactly dancing because WPNZ doesn’t dance but it’s adjacent.
Puzzles’s hands finally come to rest on his and WPNZ squeezes tighter. He feels Puzzles’s long fingers on his gauntlets. This is real. He feels the outline of Puzzles’s ribs through his layers. This is real. It isn’t some dream of what he can’t have, because he has it. It isn’t like it almost was with her, it’ll never be what he could have had with her, but it’s just as good. It’s better, really. He can still go out and do what he loves and come home to warm meals and bright smiles. No matter how gory it gets or how many lives he extinguishes, he’ll still have the domestic fantasy right in his arms when he gets home, and he isn’t planning on letting go.
Speaking of letting go. Puzzles squirms and WPNZ tightens his hold. Where could he possibly be going? Wherever it is, he won’t be going there. Before he could even think about it, WPNZ exhales a displeased growl that he didn’t notice he made until it was already out of him. Well shit. That was embarrassing. WPNZ hides his face in Puzzles’s shoulder as the other breaks into giggles. Bastard. Nimble fingers squeeze in to interlock with his own, and WPNZ realizes that his hand is being held. A cerulean blush definitely doesn’t flush his cheeks when it processes that his hand was being held.
“I was going to ask if you wanted to dance with me,” Puzzles began. “But it seems you’re much more content like this, aren’t you? You’re so cute.” WPNZ had half a mind to bite him for that comment. He expresses such with a grimace of bared teeth that he’s sure Puzzles could feel against his shoulder. WPNZ is the furthest thing in the world from cute. It didn’t seem to work as intended, though, because Puzzles only snickers at him. He was about to snark back that Puzzles should tell that to all the people WPNZ has filled with lead when Puzzles speaks again.
“Maybe another time, then.” With his hand that isn’t laced with WPNZ’s, Puzzles reaches back to thumb at the back of his neck, just under the roughened surgical scar on the atlas of his spine. WPNZ is only a little bit ashamed by how he melted at that, but he can’t bring himself to care much. This is…nice. Ooh, Puzzles found an itchy spot. His entire body relaxes as he lets out a long sigh.
The firm yet kind circles right at his nape soothe his aching faux-muscles in ways he was never able to figure out himself, and yet Puzzles did it so easily. Those hands are magical, WPNZ swears. (Heh. He could make a joke right now, but he doesn’t. Puzzles would probably hit him if he asked what else those hands could do.)
Absentmindedly, he kneads at his friend’s stomach with his free hand. It’s soft, unlike the hard metal of his own barrel. There isn’t much padding and WPNZ can feel all the cables and tubes that made up Puzzles’s internals, but it still feels so human. So real. So much realer than he’ll ever be.
As he pokes a bit more insistently, he can feel… bones? It didn’t feel like steel or any other kind of metal. Did Puzzles still have his bones? That was interesting. He keeps pressing and prodding, curiously memorizing the feel of Puzzles’s internals under his hands until he noticed how Puzzles’s stomach convulsed under his fingers. He squeezes tighter, then he hears it.
“Pfft—”
Oh. He’d forgotten about that. A grin spreads across WPNZ’s face. He massages into Puzzles’s abdomen with more purpose.
“WheehehehPNZ!!!” Puzzles squeals out, slapping lightly at his metal wrists. WPNZ pays no mind to these protests, though. His eyes are wide and glittering with pure, evil malice. Much to his partner’s chagrin, WPNZ doubles his efforts by unlocking his hand from Puzzles’s so that he could use both hands to feel up this very ticklish area. His partner’s ticklishness was not necessarily a new discovery, but it never lost its luster to WPNZ. Hah, Puzzles is so doomed.
“What's wrong, Gigglebox?” WPNZ teases, unable to wipe the shiteating grin off of his face. His fingers dug into the soft padding just under Puzzles’ ribs and that causes the man to shriek with laughter. “Cat got your tongue?” Oh, that’s one hell of a death glare. Had it come from anyone who wasn't Mr. Puzzles, it might've given him pause.
WPNZ’s comeuppance comes soon enough, though. A finger jams into one of the slits on the right side of his neck and very rudely zaps him! It didn't necessarily hurt, but it manages to make WPNZ flinch as his joints lock up. “Gah–!” He hisses. Puzzles’s triumphant grin flashes back at him as he tries to wiggle out of WPNZ’s arms. Oh, hell no. Puzzles is able to make it all of half a foot before he’s grappled back into a bearhug.
“Where d’you think you're goin’?!” Puzzles lets out a squawk as WPNZ lifts him clean off the floor by the waist. He’s shockingly light. WPNZ should get him to eat more, but that isn’t the point right now. Long legs flail wildly, but they were nothing to WPNZ’s clean steel plating. WPNZ could withstand a rocket. Some kicks from a twinky theatre brat was nothing to him. With a dull thud, Puzzles is deposited onto a counter like a bag of flour. Caged in by WPNZ’s arms, he’s trapped and vulnerable. He’s defenseless.
Puzzles quickly seems to realize his disadvantage. “Wait,” He gulps. “Wait, hold on! WPNZ, we–we can talk about this!” No, WPNZ doesn’t think they can. He cruelly digs his fingers into Puzzles’s sides and is rewarded with uproarious laughter. WPNZ can’t help but smile. Puzzles is beautiful like this. His laugh was adorable, his smile was gorgeous, and it felt so right to make him so happy.
WPNZ is so glad they’re friends.
… Friends…
A shrill screech cuts through their moment, startling both WPNZ and Puzzles. (And causing Puzzles to start hiccuping which was absurdly funny but that was something to be addressed later.) WPNZ turns his head to find Leggy scrambling around the kitchen while Toomp holds a smoking tray in their hands. Oh. Right. Puzzles had been cooking. WPNZ had forgotten about that.
Puzzles gasps and shoves WPNZ off of him. “PUT THAT DOWN!!!” He shrieks, desperately trying to salvage the poor little pastries. From there, it quickly devolves into Toomp shoveling the entire scorched pan into their mouth while Puzzles tries (and fails) to separate the blob from his precious cookware before they ate it, all the while Leggy was continuing to scramble and scream. WPNZ can't help but smile.
He likes their little team. Sure, they weren't perfect, but who was? Perfection’s boring anyway.
“Boxhead, duck,” he calls out as he readies a net shot. It's not going to help in the slightest. If anything, it's definitely going to make things worse. It’s more fun that way.
“WPNZ, YOU LITTLE–”