#dr smiley

The ones to provide the closest semblance of a normal relationship, either because they themselves are desperate for a taste of domestic life or they are the only ones capable of providing it:

Homicidal Liu

The ones that are often not around or are emotionally detached from the relationship. They may be gone for weeks or months at a time, but they always come back. You're not sure why, but they always come back. Even if the relationship is very one-sided:

Bloody Painter

Hoodie

Sully

The ones that become obsessively attached, never to let go. Whose affection is so intense it feels like suffocation. Any access to friends or family is either steadily or abruptly cut off. Your attention belongs to only them:

Ticci Toby

Nathan Nobody

The Puppeteer

Dr. Locklear

Candy Pop

The ones that keep you around as a toy and nothing more. You're a punching bag, stress relief at worst. Your thoughts, opinions, and feelings aren't even considered. They don't matter. Will kill you at a second's notice if they feel you're becoming too difficult to control:

Eyeless Jack

Kagekao

Jeff the Killer

Laughing Jack

Zalgo

They don't date, likely wouldn't humor the concept:

Masky

Jason Toymaker (Canonically Aro/ace, otherwise he'd be under obsessive attachment)

Dr. Smiley

Hobo Heart

Rake

Toby dropped his waffle as he tripped over air to chase after the shiftling. Not that it was much of a chase with her injuries. Gently, he wrapped her right arm around his shoulders and lightly gripped her left hip from behind, lifting her just enough to take some weight off her leg. A muffled growl from her throat had been choked down. It wasn’t Toby’s fault she was hurt. Though she squirmed at being touched, he didn’t deserve to be bitten for trying to help. She allowed him to engulf her in the scent of batter and sugar. To her surprise, he was much stronger than he looked. Together, they made it down the never-ending hall along with the infirmary steps, giving her breaks as needed. I’ll have to pay him back; his actions went against the psychological nature she’d been conditioned for. 

The color drained from her skin along with the remnants of her energy. Another pair of arms guided her towards an exam table as Toby carried her limp weight. Honey, Ann’s scent made her nose crinkle. The sweetness of Toby and Ann together is an overload of stimulation on her olfactory receptors. Nauseating her unintentionally as sweat started beading on her forehead. With the little strength she had left, she restrained the need to impale Toby’s shoulder with her claws as she tried to keep herself upright. 

Ann’s instructions to Toby sounded to (Y/n) as if she were underwater. Her vision blurred, flashing white as they lifted her onto the flat metal surface. Ringing filled her ears, blocking out the muffled voices. Shadows darted in and out of her ceiling view. She couldn’t say for sure when she closed her eyes if this had been a good life or if her worth had been proven. What she did know was that a nap would be perfect. 

Nurse Ann assigned Toby several tasks within his nonexistent medical abilities as she inserted an IV in the girl and injected sedatives. Applying pressure where needed until Dr. Smiley arrived with Cody in tow. Ann was grateful for Toby’s assistance but was overjoyed to send him back upstairs. The heart monitor kept its steady, slow rhythm, as if tormenting the three left to work. Carefully, Dr. Smiley and Ann took detailed notes of the bone brace that encased her leg. Two femurs, similar in size, were wrapped tightly in a grotesquely colored bandage. One bone was placed on each side of her crushed ankle for much-needed support running up to her mid-thigh. Under the bandage, they found the source of the problem. Necrotic tissues oozed from the mutilated limb. Astonished, for lack of a better word, was as close as the human vocabulary could come to how the three felt. 

Scissors snipped away at her pants, removing every obstacle. Pink inflammation covered the surface of her right thigh and foot, kissing the dying fibers above her knee and below her ankle. Bruising formed a jagged diagonal line from the inside of her knee to her outer hip. Compared to the pulverized clump of bone and flesh that was her lower leg, above the knee could be prioritized last. Dr. Smiley ensured pictures were taken for documentation before removing sterile tools and cutting into her. 

Cody collected samples from the necrotic leg, the areas on her waist where the penetrations went deep, and finally from areas that were completely untouched. Ann documented how the incisions made by Cody healed instantly, with the skin remaining undamaged. He gave them an estimated timeline of how long the testing might take and bounced back up the steps. On his way up, he had to dodge Jack, who had just returned from his mission. The sound of the heart monitor decreased its pace, steadying itself as he entered. 

On the table, a small tray collected bits and pieces of debris. Jack replaced his black gloves with the blue latex after cleaning his hands. Dr. Smiley continued his work, and Nurse Ann gave a full report to Jack. His demeanor shifted at the mention of Toby’s name and how Smiley, on necessary procedure, cut off and removed pieces of (Y/n)’s clothing. Ann rolled her eyes at the masked man, as if he wouldn’t have done the same. Under the surgical mask, Jack caught the slight hitch in Smiley’s breath as the forceps in his hand twisted. 

“Ann, note there is a large object lodged in the necrotic shin,” Smiley muttered just loud enough for her to add it to the girls' chart. Without lifting his gaze, “Jack, staring is not going to make this go faster.” With another pull, the lodged object was freed. A grinding sound whispered in Jack’s ear, inaudible to the others. The bruising and inflammation on (Y/n)’s thigh were gone—her femur had fused back together. Under the surgical light, held tightly in Smiley’s forceps, a yellow splintered tooth had been stuck in the clump of flesh. Its body is equal in measurement to Jack’s index finger. Ann documented the physical change of the girl's thigh upon the extraction at Jack’s request. 

Smiley did his best to maneuver her leg carefully, but when a strained whimper came from the unconscious shiftling, Jack stepped in. Ann protested when Jack dismissed her and Smiley, but the young doctor insisted on finishing the extraction in solitude. Rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, he flexed the muscles in his forearms as he readjusted the injured leg. Distilled water rinsed through every crevice, removing whatever toxin was left over. The muscles and fibers slowly grew lighter in color—regenerative cells fighting at the speed of molasses against necrosis. Healing nonetheless.

Jack removed the bone fragments one by one in silence. Fifteen more, totaling what Smiley pulled out, made 42 pieces overall. When it came time to stitch her leg, he took his time. Gently angling her leg as if he’d break her on accident. 

Despite himself, he listened to the things she murmured in sleep. It was a soft, trembling voice—small and broken. It enticed him more than he’d expected. The sleepy little voice just barely grazes the silence. Another strained whimper as the needle entered the heart of the wound caused Jack to stop completely. Steady hands frozen the way a predator stalks its prey, he watched. Waiting to hear her breathing return to normal. Neatly, he finished the stitches and cut the thread. 

He trashed the gloves for a new pair before cleaning up the wound. The IV came out smoothly, the vein underneath repairing itself. She looked drained of life even in sleep. The wounds on her waist, from what he assumed were claw marks, began to reconstruct the punctured areas. Once fully examined, he trashed the gloves for good, giving his hands a chance to breathe. 

The shiftling's eyes fluttered open groggily. Her head was foggy. She registered the room… then Jack. And his hands. The skin on them was ash-gray. His fingernails were sharp, blackened claws. Antibacterial soap wafted to her nose.  

Why had he hidden this from her before?

She watched as he sat down on a stool she hadn’t noticed and resumed wiping her wound. When his back was to her, she reached out—gently touching his hand. He froze. She brought his hand closer to her face, curious. Unintentionally dragging the rest of Jack with it. Her claws emerged, unbidden. Slowly, cautiously, she rubbed her thumb along his claw—then hers.

Their hands were almost identical. Her claws were longer, designed to tear. His were thinner, precise—meant for piercing. His palm was rough under her touch. The back of his hand was soft. She traced his veins, his tendons. His body was made of secrets she’d like to discover. 

Her eyes flicked up to his mask. She quickly looked away, cheeks warm. Placing his hand back where she had retrieved it.

“I don’t like mine,” she whispered. A frown tugged at her lips. “But I like yours.”

She flipped her hands, palms facing upward. Then glanced back at his hand still resting on her thigh.

“Why do you hide your skin?”

He didn’t answer. Just watched her from behind the mask. That was enough. He quietly finished his work, then checked the healing wound on her arm. When he was done, he let her leave without another word.  

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Stairs were now her mortal enemy. Frowning, with crossed arms and her nose scrunched, realizing that there was at least forty. All she wanted was to make it to her room. She’d managed to make it up the infirmary steps, but not without mild embarrassment. Using her left leg and both hands, the shiftling hobbled up by redistributing her weight on all three. Jack was no help, cleaning up the area without a second glance towards her. She could feel him laughing at her under his mask. 

Her body still ached, but she was healing. Slowly. It would take much longer than normal; an injury from her own kind could be as detrimental as losing her head. Not only did she face the obstacle of getting her room. She couldn’t call for help, not that she would anyway. Now it was hopes and prayers to whatever gods ruled the universe that she wouldn’t be caught repeating the motions she used before. 

Clockwork and Jane tackled her with hugs before she even reached the top of the stairs. Natalie mistakenly inhaled too deeply, gagging on the combination of antiseptic, body odor, and idonine. The younger girls' matted hair tangled with the other girls' hair and arms. Affection of any kind made the shiftling perturbed, an aching need to scrub the skin off and boil it. Jane and Natalie brought on the sense of safety, a foreign home made of arms, a sensation that became uncomfortable in its own right. Her thoughts were setting sail again, drifting towards another, a girl left behind- she pulled that boat of thoughts back to shore. 

“Oh my god, you smell worse than Jeff,” Natalie groaned, plucking a leaf out of the girl's hair before handing it to her, an awkward smile warming the tension around them. The heater kicked on, humming its vibrations through the mansion. Sleep threatened to take the shiftling, eyes heavy enough to break diamonds. “But I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“Natalie, she was in the woods for four days. She’s allowed to smell,” Jane defended, holding her nose all the same. (Y/n) understood, too exhausted and entranced in her thoughts to care or even process the world around her. “But I’m glad you didn’t die!”

She smiled, grateful for their warmth—even if her stomach churned a little from the affection. Before she reached her room, Jeff’s door flew open. Some days, she'd rather deal with the rake than whatever dumbassery would spew from Jeff's mouth. With a deep, exaggerated inhale, she braced herself. 

"You’re still alive? Huh." He paused, faux confusion on his face as if he was really in thought about her existence. As if he could pull together a cohesive thought, Natalie would've said. "I thought you’d be long gone after that. Well, freak, I’ll see you later.”

Without thinking, she snapped, “I’m not a freak.” Jeff paused, processing the reaction he received as if it might be detrimental to one of their health.

“I like you, freak.” Scratchy laughter echoed as he bounced down the steps. She grinned despite herself. Her room was untouched. Phone blinking and buzzing with over a hundred messages—BEN had apparently added her to a group chat. She ignored it for now. A hot shower called to in the way a lover's seduction would.

She stripped off the bloodied clothes and sat on the tile, exhausted. Once she’d finally made it into the water, she scrubbed until her skin ached and her scalp stung. Every inch of her body was pink. But clean. When she stepped out, the mirror reflected the scars—faint white speckles, a map of survival.

Cotton hugged her comfortably, engulfing her in its serenity. Sweat pants and a t-shirt that would be covered by a hoodie were a small slice of life she never imagined could exist, much less be an option for her. She was almost dressed when the voice returned.

Come to me.

She wanted to eat. But her body moved on its own, hood up, hair damp. Limping towards another set of steps. Kill me now, she groaned internally. Crawling up the steps was becoming a fluid motion. An embarrassing death to her ego, but a fluid motion nonetheless.

Knock.

The door swung open, and Masky stepped aside to let her in. His mask firmly in place, an unreadable emotion in his eyes. An emotion that held a scent she wasn't familiar with. The Operator waited in silence, and Toby and Hoodie stood off to the side as if waiting for directions to be given. 

You may be dismissed. Sit.

The three men moved stealthily out the door she'd come through, their shoes clobbering loudly down the steps once they were out of sight. The humming static made her ears pop. Her headache returned, as if Proteus was testing her ability to recover from a brain aneurysm again.

My Proxies have informed me that you passed your test without instruction.

She nodded, unsure of herself. Passing wasn't the word she would have used for what occurred in the woods. 

Is there something you wish to disclose? You will not get the chance again.

She hesitated—then confessed. Every gruesome detail she retold explicitly. The entire retelling cost fifteen minutes of her life. A numbing feeling set in, easing the migraine. Eyes never leaving the floor, his voice brought no comfort to her soul. 

She nodded again. Time moved slowly while his words went in one ear and out the other. 

You are free to leave.

She left quickly, trying not to limp too obviously. The smell of food called to her as she took a seat on the top step and slid all the way back down to the second floor. She could've been mistaken for a toddler the way she giggled as her butt bounced down the steps. Tears swelled in glee until she made it down to the first floor. 

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It was pizza night—BEN’s pick. Ten boxes lined the counter. Garlic and tomato sauce filled the air, churning her stomach as she limped into the kitchen. Allegedly, it was safer for Ben to order food than touch any cooking utensils. Cody seemed to appear from nowhere behind the shiftling. 

“Cody, can you hand me a plate?” she asked. They grabbed slices and found a spot next to BEN and Jeff. It was then she realized 

“What’s up, pup?” BEN smirked. He was dressed like her—shorts, hoodie, socks. Green and black engulfing his body as if he were leaner than he actually was. 

“Pup?” Jeff blinked. “So it’s true? My little freak’s a werewolf now?”

“I’m not a werewolf,” she deadpanned, eyes shooting dull daggers at him. Jeff exasperated her patience. “If I were, I’d only shift on full moons.”

“So what are you?” another voice asked. Two new figures sat beside her: one with stitches, the other dark-haired and sharp-eyed. The same two men she'd previously seen around the mansion. The same two who ran out after Tat—the skinwalker. 

“I’m a shapeshifter. Though… not really in control of it right now.” Her voice trailed off, shame anchoring itself in her stomach. 

“Well, I like anyone who sends Tim to the infirmary,” said the raven-haired man, the depth of his voice void of life. This sickening feeling of guilt made her stomach lurch. Her eyes dropped to her food. The man who spoke shifted tightly in his seat; the havoc and chatter of other residents echoed around them. “I’m Bloody Painter. You can call me Helen.”

“That asshat’s my brother Liu,” Jeff said proudly, shoving his fourth slice into his mouth. How beautifully disgust washed over her face, wrinkling her cheeks and nose. Jeff certainly was a teenage monstrosity.

“I’m (Y/N),” she replied, smiling. They chatted through the meal, and she learned Helen and Liu had only joined them because she was there. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Masky slipping out of the room with a white box and a lighter. The light scent of his body wash lingered through the halls. 

She followed, finding him waiting at the front door, cigarette between his lips. They sat on the top step in silence, the December air biting at their skin.

“So. A shapeshifter, huh?” he finally said. “Aren’t you supposed to only exist in fairy tales?”

“I suppose you’re right,” she replied. “Probably for the best. I think this place feels like a fairytale.”

Time froze around them, snow threatened to fall in the plunging temperature. The flick of the lighter came to life, illuminating Tim’s exhaustion. “How’d you end up by that river?”

Her hands clasped together, fingers intertwining in an attempt to keep warm. That familiar blank stare filled the shiftling’s features. “It’s a bit of a long story.” 

“…Fair.” He puffed his cigarette, letting the silence stretch. His exhale evaporated into the frosty winter night. “And now your boyfriend won’t go on missions until he knows you’re okay.”

Her head snapped around. “Wait—what?”

He ignored the question, flicking ash off the edge of the step. Maybe she imagined it. Maybe not. She was learning not to question certain things, still unsure that this wasn’t all some dream where she’d wake up still in Proteus. 

“You should go inside, pup. Long day tomorrow.”

The slight limp in her step was less noticeable. She rolled her eyes at the nickname. Still… it wasn’t the worst. She’d been called worse. Maybe… maybe pup could stick.

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