#shootingstarpilot

oOoOo

Cody declares the area off-limits. The men on watch are drawn back to touchpoints along the corridors.

When they begin to bleed, he evacuates the entire section.

Then the sections fore and aft. The decks above and below.

By the time the star has finished, it's carved the Negotiator into thirds—an untouched aft wedge, a safe-enough forward wedge, and a giant gaping maw of madness in the middle.

None of them know why the ship hasn't depressurized and blown them all into the void.

No one wants to ask out loud, in case the star hasn't noticed the oversight.

oOoOo

“We don't think it's really a star,” says Particle after a consult with navigation, astrometrics, astrophysics, and stellar cartography. “It's not on any of the maps, and it's not behaving like a star.”

Waxer snorts. “No shit.”

Particle has the good grace to grimace. “I meant the sensor readings are wrong. It's not reading like a normal star on the sensors.”

“What is it, then?” Cody asks.

Particle glances at Wave, who tugs at her braids anxiously where they hang over her softshell grey shoulder. “Best guess is it's either a creature that looks like a star, or it's a creature that's hijacked a star.”

oOoOo

They keep callling it the star.

That's what it looks like, hanging massive and brilliant and too close off the port bow.

oOoOo

Cody comes to the edge of the star's influence, where the terrible warping of the bulkheads and deck plates tapers.

Eight days have passed since they were yanked out of their hyperlane, all screaming alarms and whining intertial dampeners.

Seven days have passed since anyone sane last saw the general.

“What are you?” Cody asks again, a cold sweat prickling at his brow and down his back. He refuses to glance away. “Is Needle still alive?”

“It has to eat,” the thing that isn't Needle slurs cheerfully with his torn-open grin, crowded with too many teeth that are not his own. His tongue is blackened, swollen, dragging dry over blistered lips. “Has to eat.”

(He comes most often to the boundary. Sometimes it's Stitch, who is calmer and bleeds more.

They haven't seen Helix since he went in after Obi-Wan.)

“What has to eat?” Cody asks him.

“To eat,” Needle bubbles. “It has to eat.”

Cody looks at their second most senior medic. Tries not to inhale the reek of burning metal, burning flesh. Something is sizzling faintly. “You don't need us,” he persists. “Let this ship go. Let my men and our general go.”

Needle's head tilts. Uncomprehending. His left clavicle juts from his skin. The pieces are tugged outward like twisted red saplings sprouting from his torn blacks. “Eat, eat,” he insists, chuckling. “It needs to eat.”

oOoOo

They all say the same things, when questioned. Needle laughs and his breath plucks the strings of his cheeks where they slide over the teeth. Stitch quietly bleeds in place.

They don't seem to understand most of what Cody asks (demands, shouts, pleads).

Eat, they say. Eat.

It needs to eat.

All things must eat.

Helix comes only once. He carries his convulsing heart in a clear specimen bag. Pulls his charred, blood-cracked lips apart and rattles the words loose like bones tumbling down a well—

We must eat.

oOoOo

They're all nearly blinded when the light floods across the bridge. Shouts of pain and surprise ripple through the pits, adding to the chaos.

“Close the shutters!” Cody barks out. He nearly loses his footing when the ship gives another nauseating heave. His eyes are screwed shut, fragile lids helpless against the onslaught. “Ops, status?”

“Stand by, sir!” Teeter chokes out.

Obi-Wan sounds as pained as everyone else, somewhere off to Cody's left. “Dartboard, tell me we're not flying directly into a star—?”

“Sensors are recalibrating and I can barely see the readout,” Dartboard replies, sniffling, “but... I don't think so. It's off to port. Close.”

The shutters drop. The bridge crew as a whole blinks tears out of their eyes, coughing through smoke. Negotiator rolls and shakes and protests all through her beams.

Ops reports some level of damage on every deck, but nothing they can't repair within twelve hours. The engines are down. The shields and thrusters are operable.

They won't fall into the star, at least.

oOoOo

Stitch's new eyes are swollen and discolored, pushing out through delicate neck skin like tumors with scabbed, lashless lids. Cody counts four of them this time.

“To eat,” Stitch murmurs, almost apologetically. “All things must eat. It has to eat.”

“Where is Obi-Wan?” Cody asks.

“It has to eat,” Stitch answers.

“I want to see him.”

“It has to eat.”

“Let me see Obi-Wan.”

Stitch blinks with all six eyes out of sync. The new ones roll about, uncoordinated. “To eat,” he repeats.

He turns to go, leaving dark blood pattering in his wake. His scrubs and blacks are ripped halfway down his back, and he's split open neatly along his spine. Bone and meat glisten in the strange light.

(We must eat, Helix said.

So far the star hasn't eaten anyone except the medics. And maybe Obi-Wan, somewhere in the dark tangle amidships. Every effort to get sensors or cams working through the star's influence has ended in failure.)

oOoOo

Cody goes to the boundary twice a day. A medic comes to meet him every time.

Needle gains more and more teeth, peels his burned face open ever more deeply, giggle-drools pink streaks and charcoal flakes.

Stitch leaves faint blood-steps behind him and speaks through a mouth seared raw, just like the rest. On the fifth day his spine is open to the air. His new eyes come in the day after.

Helix visits the morning of the ninth day. He does not blink; his eyelids have been neatly sliced away. His heart thuds dutifully in its bag at his side. Grotesque veins slither from the pulp of it up into Helix's sleeve.

“We must eat,” he says. His blackened lips weep sorely for the disturbance.

Cody tries everything he can think of to get through to their senior medic. Helix loves Obi-Wan. He loves Stitch and Needle. Surely if he's in there somewhere, he will help Cody save them.

Helix just looks at him, listing vaguely to one side. The smell of burned, rotting flesh is stronger than ever. His heart twitches in its bag.

He leaves only a few flecks of mouth-char when he finally shuffles away.

oOoOo

On the tenth day, Cody opens his eyes to Waxer's voice, frantic and hushed at his bedside.

It's gone, he's saying, it's gone, the star's gone, the ship's back to normal, we've got to—

They run.

oOoOo

The lounge door is just as it should be, lighting and deck plates and bulkheads pristine and normal.

Cody breathes steadily through his nose. He thinks he's imagining the scent of roasted meat at this point—it's permeated him somehow, gotten into his skin and brain a little deeper every time he met one of their mangled medics at the boundary. No one else seems to smell anything unusual.

They key the door open. Step inside, weapons ready. The junior medics hover just behind with their kits just as ready.

oOoOo

They're huddled in the center of the lounge. A pile of sprawled limbs that rips Cody's heart into his throat for a split second of cold, numbing horror.

(Nothing but bloodied, mangled flesh, melted together into one horrific mass—

What if it moves, what if they're alive like that—)

He blinks and the vision fades.

There's nothing burned. Nothing broken or twisted.

Obi-Wan looks like he fell asleep the way he does sometimes after a difficult meditation, curled up loosely on the deck with his head pillowed on his arm. His boots are tumbled a little ways away, like he kicked them off at some point.

The medics are curled up with him, clutching his cloak and each other tightly. No scorched flesh, no jutting bones or bagged hearts.

Obi-Wan's hand rests on Helix's chest. Needle drools a little against Helix's shoulder, with cheeks and lips now soft and clean and whole. Stitch is flopped over them, his back and throat visibly mended, unmarked.

They're asleep, the junior medics will confirm within moments. All vitals are normal. No sign of trauma.

oOoOo

“It had to eat,” Obi-Wan murmurs, frowning in thought, and Cody shudders before he can stop himself.

Envision if you will a world not like ours, where everyone has the same face and new people are not born—they begin as small, plain Dolls made of cloth and seeds and yarn.

It goes like this: a person suddenly Receives a Doll. Everyone knows what they look like, even if they're not all totally identical when they arrive. The arrival of a Doll is always without warning, and nobody knows exactly how it happens.

One day, you don't have a Doll. The next, you do. Some people get two or three at a time. Some go for years without ever being a Recipient.

It's the Recipient's task to carry the Doll around with them, keep it safe, talk to it, show it new things, clean and mend it if necessary. Most people come to love their Doll. They imagine the sort of person their Doll might be.

Eventually, with no set timeline, most Dolls begin to Breathe—that is, the tiny cloth Doll is replaced by a living grown person. Many Recipients keep in contact with their Breathers long afterward, because it's something like a parental/sibling relationship, after all.

(It's said that a neglected Doll can die. Sometimes a Doll arrives damaged, or incomplete, and the Recipient has to figure out how to help as best they can. If a Doll is destroyed, it's a cause for genuine mourning—that was a new potential person, and the Recipient will never get to meet them now.)

oOoOo

Helix has been Breathing for ten years and working as a doctor for six, and he's never Received a Doll.

Until one day he does.

He is too stunned to immediately process this. He picks up the recognizable Doll Pouch from its place on his floor, feels it gently. There's a Doll inside, he can tell.

A Doll. He has a Doll.

He is not ready to have a Doll. But he's not about to let this one die, so. He supposes he'd better get his shit together.

He carefully undoes the cord and opens the Pouch. The Doll slides out with a gentle shake-shake-shake.

He cups it in his hand. It's smaller than he expected, though he's of course seen many Dolls before, tucked in others' hands and pockets and hats. It's floppy-limbed and has a squishy, seed-filled belly.

There's something not quite right about it, though. Helix immediately notices.

Two different fabrics. The body is one color, and the head is another color. Neat stitches connect the pieces together, completely purposeful, and the proportions are prefect. But the Doll has had its head entirely replaced at some point before arrival.

Helix touches the squishy belly and considers the blank cloth face. “What happened to you?” he wonders aloud, softly. “Did the celestial Doll factory hurt you and have to fix it before they kicked you down here? That's kind of a shit start.” The Doll is silent. “Well. We'll see if we can't do better from now on.”

oOoOo

On his way to work the next morning, Helix stops for two things: a coffee, per usual, and a waterproof protective case for the Doll. It's small enough to ride around in his pocket, he just figures the fewer bodily fluids it gets splashed with, the less he'll have to clean it.

Helix feels awkward as hell talking to the Doll. He feels a little bad not talking to it, though, even if it isn't really listening yet. (Or is it? Nobody recalls their time as a Doll, but everybody ends up influenced in some way by that time, all the same.)

“I work at the hospital,” he tells it as he carefully tucks it into its new case. “I'm a doctor. I specialize in critical care, so I'm usually in the ED or ICU. Hope you're okay with blood and weird smells.”

The Doll offers no opinion. It seems comfortable in its case, at least. Helix tucks it into his pocket and pats the new lump. He'll have to get used to this.

By the end of the first day, everyone in the hospital knows Helix has a Doll.

By the end of the first week, Helix talks to his Doll more than he talks to anyone Breathing.

The Doll goes everywhere with him.

He carries it around the apartment, and soon there are usual spots where he sets it so it can observe (so to speak) what he's up to.

It sits by the knife block when he's in the kitchen. Helix has Opinions on coffee, curry, and noodles, which are the only three food groups he can prepare for himself. Otherwise it's takeout.

He sets it on his nightstand at bedtime. A habit quickly forms—he touches the Doll's mismatched head, just a quick brush of fingers over the cloth, and tells it to have sweet dreams. (The first time he realizes he's been saying “Sweet dreams, kiddo,” he has to reevaluate himself for a few minutes afterward.)

When he's watching TV, the Doll sits with him. When he goes for a run, it's secure in his pocket. When he goes to the store, to the bank, to the park, to meet friends, it's with him, always small and still and perfectly receptive to anything Helix has to tell it.

It witnesses him at his best. At his worst.

He accidentally drops it in the trash one morning without realizing, and is frantic for a solid hour until he unearths it. “I'm so sorry,” he tells it over and over while he gently washes it with soap and water. “I'm so sorry. I would be so sorry if you were gone.”

He has to admit, sooner rather than later, that he loves having a Doll. He loves this Doll. He can't wait for it to Breathe, and say something back to him.

oOoOo

And then. Some weeks later. Maybe a month and a half.

Another Doll arrives.

The new Pouch sits on the floor, very close to where the first had been.

Helix stares at it, dumbfounded. He takes his first Doll out of his pocket and eyes it suspiciously. “I don't suppose you know anything about this?”

The Doll says nothing, of course.

Helix keeps it in hand and scoops the new Pouch up, setting both on the counter and turning on the overhead light to get a good look at the newcomer. Little gods, he thinks, ten years without a single Doll and now he's got two. It's not usual to get two staggered like this, he doesn't think.

He unties the cord and tips the Pouch.

A few loose seeds spill out.

Helix blinks. Oh, shit. That's Doll stuffing. Not supposed to be outside of the Doll.

“Damn, are you hurt, too?” he murmurs, reaching in to carefully extract the Doll. A couple more seeds fall from the Pouch.

It's immediately apparent that yes, this one is hurt. More than that, it's... lopsided. The proportions aren't quite right, and the pieces don't match well. There are a couple of places where the seams aren't snug, and the Doll is slowly bleeding seeds when it's moved in certain ways.

Shit. Shit.

Helix very, very carefully gathers the loose seeds into a pile and addresses the Dolls in turn. “Hang tight, newbie. You, watch your brother. I'm going to have to give him some grafts.”

Helix doesn't have any fabric that remotely matches the new Doll, so he cuts up a clean pillowcase, digs out a suture kit that snuck home with him at some point, and gets to work. Some of the seams just need reinforcement, but others need patched with the pillowcase fabric. The seeds are tucked carefully back into the Doll's body before it's closed up.

The result is... well. Functional, more than it's aesthetic. Helix isn't crafty. The grafts—the patches are neat and sturdy but hardly symmetrical.

Helix sets his forceps down and nudges the two Dolls together, looking at them wearily. “At least you're both a little mismatched now, huh?” he says, smiling crookedly. “And everybody's in one piece. That's progress.”

He hesitates, touches the new Doll more gently, aware that he's mostly handled it in a utilitarian fashion. “Welcome home, I guess is the thing to say. Sorry you had a bumpy start. You'll be okay now. Your brother apparently lost his entire head at some point, but the new one is doing just fine.”

oOoOo

Helix starts to fill Doll Two in on the things Doll One has learned, all the while chiding Doll One for imagined impatience. “I know you know this, but he's new, he doesn't know it, and you don't have a mouth yet to pass it on. So cool your little rag feet.”

They ride around in Helix's pockets, but he sits them together whenever possible, because it seems right. They prop up against each other so naturally.

Doll Two goes missing one day during a double shift at work, and by the time it turns up in the on-call room Helix napped in, he's an absolute mess. He's had to forcibly stop himself from squishing Doll One too much, like a stress toy.

He takes both Dolls into a bathroom and locks himself in a stall and hugs them both to his chest, biting his lip and swallowing the urge to sob. “I am terrible at this but please don't disappear on me, okay?” he whispers finally.

Helix can't remember what he did with his time before he had his Dolls. He wasn't bored, really, or lonely. But his days seems more full, now. Bright and anticipatory in a way he's never experienced before.

He wants his Dolls to Breathe. He wants them to live.

He can't wait to meet them.

oOoOo

So of course, the first one to Breathe does so while Helix is sound asleep.

He wakes up a little past midnight. Squints at the clock, then reflexively checks the Dolls.

There's only one sitting in the usual spot. Doll Two, slumped over a little without its companion.

Doll One is nowhere to be seen.

Helix is out of bed in a second, flipping the light, squinting and swearing and checking under the bed, inside the bedclothes, what if it fell—

He smells coffee.

It's strong, and strange enough to catch his attention. Did he turn the pot on and forget...?

Scowling, he picks up Doll Two and hurries out to the kitchen. He will keep looking for the other once he's sure he isn't burning his apartment down overnight.

A person stands at the coffee pot, examining a mug. He turns to look at Helix, a bright smile breaking into place the moment they make eye contact. “Hello,” he chirps. “I borrowed your phone to learn how to make coffee. Do you want some? I'm Needle, by the way. And you're Helix.”

Helix is, on some level, aware that he is standing like a complete feeb with his boxers slung low and his mouth hanging open in shock. The person in his kitchen is wearing a towel knotted around his waist and nothing else. He looks like Helix, of course. Superficially. His hair is different. He has no scars. And that smile is several degrees brighter than anything Helix has ever produced.

Doll One is Breathing. He's alive. His name is Needle, and he's making coffee at one in the morning.

Helix swallows his first three responses. "Hey. Yeah. Are you feeling okay? Everything, uh. Go okay with. Everything?"

Doll One—Needle, he's Needle—snorts. "I feel fine. Are you okay? Do you need a doctor?"

Helix rolls his eyes and gets his feet moving, padding the rest of the way in. "I am a doctor, thanks. I'm just surprised. When I saw you last, you were a sack of seeds on my bedside table."

Needle's smile goes lopsided. Fuck if it isn't charming. "Yeah. But I'm here now." He looks down at the remaining Doll in Helix's hand. "I hope he Breathes soon, too."

Helix inhales and refuses to let any sort of mist creep over his eyes. "Yeah. Me too."

The coffee pot bubbles. They're quiet a moment.

"Welcome to being alive, Needle," Helix tells him finally, reaching out to set a hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently. “I'm glad you're here. Really glad."

Needle grins and hugs him tight in return. "Couldn't have done it without you, I bet."

oOoOo

Helix dresses Needle in some of his own clothes—they're the same size, at least—and sits them down with the coffees. And they talk. Needle is... brilliant. Breathtaking. Annoying, and charming, and sweet.

Helix would have avoided him, probably, if they'd met under other circumstances. Unfortunately, he loves him already.

"You were so much more tolerable as a Doll," he growls into his mug after yet another terrible pun.

Needle just laughs, unoffended. "Too late to go back now, boss. You missed your chance."

"I should have gagged your little Doll face as a hint."

"You could always give it a shot with the little one?" Needle smiles at Doll Two, which remains quietly slouched on the tabletop where Helix set it. "Maybe he'll be even worse."

Helix picks up Doll Two and addresses its little blank face solemnly. "Do not listen to a single word your brother says. He's a terrible influence."

“Slander."

"I blame his mismatched head."

“Slander."

There's so much to do, but first: sleep. Helix staggers back to bed, and Needle crashes on the sofa. Doll Two gets placed back on the nightstand.

oOoOo

There are all kinds of programs set up to get new Breathers established. There are classes to get them oriented, case workers to get them housed and employed, funds to support them while they get situated. Helix takes Needle to a local center to get started, and together they read the literature and watch a short video with a couple of other new Breathers.

Afterward, armed with a thick folder and a schedule for the next few weeks, Needle asks if they can go get lunch together. Helix tries not to let his shattering relief show—he hasn't figured out how he'll say goodbye now that his Doll (his first Doll) is moving out and on with his new life.

"So Helix," Needle says once they've gotten their food and tucked in, "there's a couple of flyers in here about getting too attached to your Recipient, or your Recipient being too attached to you. What do you think 'too attached' means?"

Helix blinks. "I'd guess it probably means in the bad way. Like if you were afraid to be away from me, or if I was trying to force you to stay. You know, instead of letting you be your own person." He smiles a little, squashing the sadness. "You're not a Doll anymore. You have your own life now."

“Okay, that's kind of what I thought. But you're not creepy, and I don't feel like I can't do things on my own. I definitely can."

Helix pats his shoulder, proud despite everything. "I believe you. You'll be amazing, provided somebody doesn't sew your mouth shut and kill that budding career at the auction house."

“Rude." Needle steals fries from his plate in retaliation. "I was gonna say, I already know some things for sure. You're a doctor, so you make good money, yeah?"

“True."

“And you could afford a way bigger place if you wanted, right?"

“Yes? But I don't need anything bigger, I'm happy with the space as it is..."

“What if I wanted to stay?"

oOoOo

Which is how Helix ends up browsing for a house before the day is out. A house with three rooms, because as Needle puts it, a spare room is always practical.

(Neither of them mentions Doll Two or implies a single thing. It's just a spare room. Practical.)

The case worker insists on talking to Helix and Needle, once Needle makes the plan known to her. She interviews them separately and together. Helix wonders whether she's more or less mollified when he tells her that Needle is the most annoying person he's ever met—and whether it reassures her that Needle just laughs at him and hugs him, cooing about grumpy sleep deprived Recipients.

In the end, a case worker can't actually stop a Breather from doing what they like, so the plan goes forward. They find a house fast. Buy it without a hitch. The move is quick and aggravating, as moves are.

Needle is full of plans for decorating and enhancing and having friends over, when he makes some. "And," he announces with relish as he breezes out their brand new front door, "I think I want to be a doctor, too. Write me a good reference letter!"

oOoOo

Life goes on. Helix has one Doll in his pocket now. Doll Two goes everywhere with him, still. He talks to it, pats its little head and body gently, keeps it close. It sits with him and Needle when they eat together, watch TV together, look over Needle's schoolwork together. Needle is going to be a brilliant doctor, Helix can already tell.

They fight. They make up. Helix apologizes, sometimes with words and sometimes without. He privately tells Doll Two he's sorry if he makes it nervous about Breathing.

"I suck with people sometimes," he informs it. "Turns out it's easier with a Doll. But you should Breathe whenever you're ready, okay? Take a lesson from your brother and don't let me get away with being a jackass."

oOoOo

So it goes. Life goes on. Then comes the day when Helix is getting dressed to go to the gym, and he turns around to grab Doll Two and it isn't where he left it on the nightstand. Instead there's a person sitting on the edge of his bed, bare and new and staring at him with huge eyes.

Helix does not yelp. That would be undignified.

(He might have jumped a little.)

"Shit. Sorry. Good fucking gods, you need a bell. ... Sorry. Hi."

The new Breather says nothing, just watches him carefully. Helix feels terribly inadequate and thinks of yelling for Needle—but no. No, he carried his second Doll for so long, he wants to properly meet the new person. He can do this.

"Sorry," he says again, smiling a little and easing down to sit on the bed too. "Let's start over. I'm Helix. Are you feeling okay?" He recalls the Doll's weak seams and bleeding seeds, the patches he'd applied on their first night together. "Does anything hurt?"

The new person frowns, visibly considering. He looks down at himself. "Nothing hurts," he decides. His fingers flex slowly. "I was a Doll, before now."

"You were."

"I'm not anymore."

"You're not." Helix has no idea where he came from, this serious and quiet person who's spent most of his existence in proximity to Needle, or at least the Doll that would become Needle. “Why don't we get you some clothes and something to eat, huh? Got your name figured out yet? It's all right if you're still thinking about it, you're new."

The new Breather nods silently and doesn't offer a name. That's all right. Helix figures he might be overwhelmed. He digs out clothes and offers them. "We can take you shopping for your own things, but these should fit for now. —Oh, if you figure out you're a girl or something, just let us know."

That gets him another thoughtful frown. It isn't until the newbie is dressed that he speaks again. “I'm not a girl," he says. "I'm Stitch. And I don't feel okay."

The doctor in Helix leaps to the fore, which is handy because it helps tamp down an immediate burst of panic. "Thank you for telling me, Stitch," he hears himself answer levelly. "Can you tell me more about what doesn't feel okay to you?"

Stitch hugs himself, picking at the edges of his sleeves. He's quiet for a long, long minute.

“Everything is too much," he says finally, his expression unhappy. "It feels too loud. Too big. Like I'm going to unravel and not Breathe anymore."

"Sounds like you're anxious, at the very least. Let me check some things, okay? I'm a doctor."

“Okay, Helix."

It's the work of minutes to rustle up his stethoscope and take Stitch's vitals. His pulse is quick but strong, and his lungs sound fine. His pupils are responsive and even. Reflexes are good.

“You feel overwhelmed? Is that a good word for it?" Helix asks quietly.

Stitch nods, hugging himself again and tugging at his borrowed sleeve cuffs.

"Can you think of anything that might help you feel less overwhelmed? Do you want to be alone for a little while so you can process...?"

Stitch shudders and shakes his head firmly.

“Okay. No to being alone. Maybe music?" Also a no. "We could sit quietly a while. Do you want a hug?"

That gets him a pause. Stitch meets his eyes, looking lost. "I wish I was a Doll again," he says. “That's how it feels. Like I want to be a Doll in someone's pocket."

Helix doesn't think twice about that, he'll figure out later what it means. "Well, here, let's stick you in bed under the covers a while, you can pretend you're in a pocket and we'll see if that helps."

Stitch has no objections, though his frown doesn't abate as Helix tucks him in, pulling a blanket up around his head and shoulders. "Give it a few minutes and see if you feel better, okay?" Helix pats Stitch's leg through the blankets. "I'm going to message your br—Needle. I'm going to ask Needle to bring a glass of water and some cereal for you. You don't have to meet him until you're ready. Sound okay?"

"Okay Helix."

And it goes like this: ur bro is Breathing. DO NOT COME RUNNING IN HERE. he's overwhelmed + in my bed for now. bring water + cereal to door, thx

He sends it. There is a muffled thump from elsewhere in the house. A return message arrives in seconds: OH MY GODS OH MY GODS IS HE CUTE WHAT'S WRONG WITH HIM IS HE OKAY I'LL GET THE CEREAL BOSS NO PROBLEM WHAT'S HIS NAME DOES HE KNOW I'M HERE TOO

And then, immediately after: vitals?

Good fucking gods. Helix loves that idiot.

As promised, Needle knocks very softly a minute later and passes the water and dry cereal in. Helix clocks the anxious look on his face and is glad he asked Stitch about more company in the interim. "He says you can come in, but," and Helix gives him a stern look, "you have to be quiet. Gentle, okay? He's new and not as excited about it as you were."

Needle nods vigorously and mimes zipping his lips shut.

(It's not that Helix doesn't trust Needle to be kind. Needle is incredibly kind. He's just also got enough energy to launch a rocket into orbit.)

"Stitch," Helix says, sitting back down by the blanket lump's legs, "Needle brought you some water and food. Can you sit up and drink a little bit, at least?"

Stitch stirs. Peers out of the blankets. "I have to?"

“I guess not, but I recommend it," Helix tells him easily. "Dehydration doesn't help with anything."

Stitch considers this. "Okay Helix." He shuffles in place, sits up. Takes the water and carefully swallows some of it down. His eyes find Needle, who's sat down at the foot of the bed and is vibrating in place, from the looks of things.

"Hello," Stitch says. "I'm Stitch."

Helix's heart twists a little at the sheer sweetness in Needle's answering grin. "Hi, Stitch. I'm Needle. I'm sort of your big brother—Helix carried my Doll around, too."

"Oh." Stitch looks between them a moment. "You were both waiting for me?" Off their twin affirmatives, he bites the inside of his lip and picks at the blankets. “Was it hard to start Breathing, Needle?"

"No," Needle replies promptly, smiling, "but Helix says I have the attention span of a cabbage, so I probably just didn't pay enough attention to anything long enough. It is a really big thing to get used to, isn't it?"

Stitch nods mutely.

"You want to go back in the blankets?"

Another nod.

“You want company? I can keep secrets, and I'll tell you all of the best ways to get Helix to swear. It's funny."

Helix opens his mouth to interject and snaps it shut again when Stitch says, "Okay."