#vitrisly

Virus’s fingers fanned over Sly’s stomach. He had a way of tilting his head to the side that made it look like he was about to smile, and Sly watched the expression before looking down. Against the paleness of stomach was a shaded, curving pattern that crept up his chest. It was purposeful and unfamiliar at once, like a language of a lost city, a meaning to it no one could understand.

“Well, that’s new,” Sly said, reaching down to trace the pattern in the wake Virus’ fingertips left.

There was no texture to them, nothing that signaled to the touch that there was anything wrong.

“Does it hurt?” Virus asked.

“Nah, doesn’t feel like anything,” Sly said.

“Do you want it to hurt?” Virus asked. His voice piqued like it did when he was making an offer.

“What I want,” Sly started, “is to wash it off.”

—

It didn’t come off in the bathtub, even when Sly rubbed at it until the surrounding skin was red with irritation.

Virus washed the marks more tenderly, fingertips tracing the flushed wake of Sly’s scrubbing. They hemmed and hawed over the marks with no idea of what to make of them, their words useless and empty as they were both at a loss for an explanation. Virus said to keep an eye on it. Sly nodded his assent, of course he wasn’t about to ignore it.

It would probably end up being one of the more interesting aspects of his life now that he spent his days cooped up God knew where.

But Sly soon found himself distracted by the soapy hand moving away from the marks and down his abdomen, providing him with the relief he hadn’t even known he’d been aching for.

—

It wasn’t long before Sly realized that Virus and Trip seemed as unsure about him as he was about them.

Not that they were afraid of him. But he was no pet, a captive animal instead; something that would never be truly tame. Their wariness was healthy and tempered. They kept their eyes on him, and even when they were out of sight, Sly could hear the click of Welter’s nails against the floor before the lion looked in on him, or the dull drag of Berta’s scales as he entered the room.

Sly was the one caged, the one that ought to be wary. He feigned a docile air around them, his voice light and sweet even when his eyes narrowed and his fingers curled into fists. An outburst would end only with him being beaten back as easily as a circus lion could be cowed by a chair.

They felt one another out, oftentimes more literally than not.

Sly learned to tell Virus and Trip apart in ways he’d never noticed.

The bed didn’t dip so much as it bowed when Trip was on it. He smelled like something sweet and airy. Cotton candy, Sly thought, though he couldn’t recall what that smelled like. He had a silver filling that showed only when he laughed too loud.

Virus’ fingers were slimmer than Trip’s, nails short and clean. When he touched Sly, it wasn’t with the strong, coercive movements that Trip used, but with a coaxing sort of pull. He walked with careful purpose and precision, his steps near silent in comparison to Trip’s heavy footfalls. The right arm of his glasses had the slightest bend, and he was always touching it.

The time Sly spent in their beds, while carnal, was not something passionate. It was an experiment each time instead. A new position, a new toy. A different kind of discomfort or pain to index, to rate on his threshold. Sometimes he moved with them, and sometimes he moved against them. Anything to keep it exciting.

That’s what they were: exciting.

His interest in sex was driven by that, the heady rush of orgasm a pleasant bonus. He thrived on excitement, on sensation. On all the things he’d missed while pushed down and treated as nothing more than a literal headache. Now he was free to delight in everything he’d been kept from for so long. From the stinging draw of a blade against his skin to the cloying richness of the cake that was often pressed to his lips, he wanted it all.

Virus and Trip were more than happy to give it to him.

Their level of affection peaked at a near laughable point. Doting and interested, Sly allowed it. Recognition of him as a person had been withheld long enough that he was eager to take what he could. Where once he’d been starved of all attention and contact, it was pushed on him to excess. They smothered him with trinkets and sweets, produced what he wanted before he had to so much as ask for it.

They didn’t love him though. He knew that. Not because they didn’t want to, but because their brains weren’t wired for that, the pathways switched and smoothed over, altered. He was a shining coin to their magpie eyes. Something to be picked up and spirited away, hoarded for no reason beyond instinct.

There were times Sly would look into their eyes and try to understand them. It never worked. They had eyes that looked liked they belonged to someone else. No, not someone- something.A doll, perhaps. Sly wondered exactly what they saw much in the same way he wondered what dogs and fish saw. It wasn’t necessary knowledge, but he would have liked to know.

—

The first time they left him, it was without fanfare.

"We’ll be back soon," Virus said, brushing back Sly’s bangs to kiss his forehead.

“Yeah, it’ll be like we never left to begin with,” Trip added.

Sly’s gaze flickered between the two of them, watching as they straightened their ties and tamed flyaway hairs. They didn’t look entirely professional, at least not in the sense of a white collar job. Instead they looked ready to work a shoot, become the nameless faces of a winter line that no one could truly afford.

“Off to work?” Sly asked

“That’s the plan,” Virus said.

Sly had heard the two of them talk about work before only in the vaguest of senses. It was always in a distant, deadpan sort of tone. The way one would talk about rescheduling a doctor’s appointment or renewing a lease.

“So what is it that you do now?” Sly asked, forcing his tone to stay aloof and unconcerned.

“Oh, you know,” Trip said. “The usual.”

Sly didn’t press. For as long as he could remember, ‘the usual’ for them was professional pot stirrers. Not a bad gig he supposed. Certainly high paying if the duds were anything to go by.

They’d left before, but never when he was here. Truly here. The memories of those times were hazy at best, seen through a semi-conscious fog. A cold, bare floor, the weight of shackles on his limbs. The mind numbing boredom that came with being abandoned. It all seemed like nothing more than a hallucination now, something that couldn’t have happened.

“Please take the time to care for yourself while we’re away,” Virus said, shaking Sly from his thoughts. His smile was more fixed than usual. “It would be a shame to come back only to find you in your old state.”

“Contrary to popular belief, I am actually capable of not pissing myself for extended periods of time,” Sly said.

“Soon enough Sly will think he’s capable of being on his own,” Virus said. “Won’t that be cute?

“And here I thought he couldn’t get any cuter,” Trip replied, fixing his cuffs.

Sly rolled his eyes. These fucking stooges sure had an act.

“Yeah, yeah. Quit your lollygagging and get a move on already," Sly said, crossing his arms over his chest and making a mental note to change Welter and Hersha's language settings to Esperanto.

Virus and Trip were still chuckling to themselves as they left, conspiratorial and low. It brought goosebumps to the surface of Sly’s skin, and no matter how much he rubbed at them they refused to leave.

—

With Virus and Trip gone, Sly’s first act of business was to perform a little reconnaissance.

He wandered the halls and took them in, studying them in a way he never had before. His focus had always been on Virus and Trip. What they were doing, what they were saying. Where their hands were, and most importantly, if they were on him. The house itself was a pleasant white noise to him beyond that, something he never took the time to appreciate.

The floors were hardwood, lined with woven rugs made of muted colors. The walls had paintings of hunting packs and parlor scenes, and the curtains were a shade off white from age, musty and heavy as he pushed them aside.

The sky was overwhelmingly gray, the yard overwhelmingly green. Lush would be an understatement. Overgrown was more like it. Wild flowers grew in bunches, and a smoothly paved path ran from the side of the house until it disappeared around a bend of trees. Sly could see the property listing in his head already.

‘Become one with nature in this storybook setting countryside home away from the hustle and bustle of city life. Open and flowing yard perfect for landscaping opportunities, spacious property with all the privacy you could want. Perfect investment opportunity for any go-getter.’

It was all a fancy way of saying this was the middle of bumfuck nowhere, and if you got bit by a snake you’d be dead before they could airlift you out of there.

Sly let the curtain fall closed as he turned around, hands resting on his hips as he made for the kitchen.

He ate three of Trip’s too-sweet pastries and some of Virus’s good cheese as he stared at the wall. At his feet lay Welter, nothing more than a glorified ottoman. Sly tried to think of things to do that didn’t involve Virus or Trip. He couldn’t come up with many, but getting warm made it at the top of the list and he had a vague recollection of their being a dusty fireplace in the living room.

It turned out there was a finesse needed to start a fire, one he didn’t possess. An hour and a half of failed attempts with a useless audience of allMATEs later, he turned the heater on instead. Fuck the bill, they were loaded.

He slept that night in Trip’s bed, and the next in Virus’. He rucked up their sheets and took their spots, fluffed and plumped their pillows to his liking. He wore their clothes when what little he had was worn, their shirts oversized and their underwear expensive. He used their soaps and shampoos when he bathed and enjoyed the small moments where he thought he could smell them.

It was as he wiped his hand over the fogged glass of the mirror after leaving the shower he noticed his own appearance, and more importantly, how it had changed.

He looked different. The marks that ran along his body were darker now, though still painless. Gone was the panther-eye yellow he was used to seeing, replaced by the light muted color of a pond that had been frosted over. His lashes were colorless.

His skin wasn’t pale so much as it was completely white, any life stripped from it. The blue of his hair was faded and dull, like a pair of jeans that had been through the wash too many times.

"Well shit," Sly said, staring at his reflection.

This was probably a bad thing.

—

It hardly registered to Sly when the refrigerator shelves became bare, the pantry cleaned out. He didn’t think much of food anymore or how much time had passed. What he though of was stimulation, interaction, and how much he craved it. His days had begun to blend together, each one as torturously devoid of entertainment as the next. He knew now why animals paced when caged, why their minds warped until they turned feral.

Maybe this was why Aoba left.

He was still stuck in a listless daze when the door opened. He thought at first the footsteps were imagined. He’d done that enough times already, conjuring up the audio equivalent of a mirage.

"Knock, knock," came Trip’s voice from the doorway, light and nearly sing song.

Sly lifted his head, blinking as he looked at Trip. That was him, really him, hair and clothes as stupid as they had been the day he’d left.

Sly’s heart beat fast, and he hated it.

"Oh. You did something with your hair," Trip said. His voice was flat and unenthused as it tended to be before Virus weighed in, like he needed a second opinion to decide how he felt.

"Not on purpose," Sly said, pushing himself upright in bed.

He wanted more than anything to get up. To go to Trip and be touched, held and told that they missed him as much as he missed them. He needed the validation that only they had given him. God, he was so fucking gross and it was all their fault.

Virus’ reaction was markedly less blase than Trip’s, his expression somber with concentration as he looked Sly over. His hands moved along the blackened marks, and Sly leaned into his touch every step of the way, eyes half-closed as he enjoyed the contact.

“And you’re saying this worsened without a precursor?” Virus asked.

“What, you think I knew this was going to happen? I didn’t exactly get a singing telegram to herald oncoming bodily fuckery.”

Virus didn’t rise to match Sly’s short tone, instead bringing his hand up to skim his fingers through Sly’s hair. Goosebumps broke out along Sly’s skin as a chilled static sensation zipped through his nerves, tensing his muscles and squeezing three extra beats out of his heart.

“And your hair, the feeling remains the same?” Virus asked, winding a lock around his finger.

“Can you not?” Sly asked, though he didn’t pull away. “I swear it’s almost worse now.”

Virus’ brows rose in interest at Sly’s words.

"About time," Trip said.

Sly had never seen someone have an aneurysm before, but he thought it would likely look similar to the face Virus made.

"We’ll wait awhile to see if there are any more observable changes," was Virus’s final verdict.

It was exactly what Sly had expected. What else could they do, cart him off to the hospital and expect an answer? Knowing Virus and Trip, Sly was sure his own existence had been meticulously scoured from all but memory. Maybe even that.

"Yeah, we’ll wait," Sly echoed, because he didn’t have any better ideas.

That night Trip fucked him hard, but it wasn’t enough.

— Nothing, as it turned out, was enough.

There was something in him now he couldn’t ignore. A hunger that was never quelled, a thirst never slaked. It ate at his insides and infested his waking thoughts, haunted his dreams.

Virus and Trip continued to care for him. To spoil him like a pet. They catered to him when he demanded more than they’d ever given him.

A switch against his back until he was bleeding, strong hands at his throat until everything dimmed. A pull at his hair until his vision went white. They never hesitated to fulfill his requests until the day he didn’t ask for pain. Hell, he didn’t even plan to ask for what he wanted to begin with, Scrap was a wholly more appealing route.

There was a recollection that surfaced as he mulled the idea over though. Trip looming over him- no, Aoba- informing him coolly that they could see the way his throat worked, the nuances of abilities. You couldn’t spring a surprise attack on someone when they knew it was coming.

So he led them into the request instead, playing it off as their own offering.

He waited until their guards were down, the atmosphere casual. Trip had been petting his hair for half an hour in the same way a toddler would pet a cat, a sort of unintentional manhandling that was starting to make his teeth hurt. Virus was drinking a wine that was twice all of their ages combined. Sly was sure a wine could be as old as the known universe and still taste like ass.

“Where’s Ren?” Sly asked, leaning his head away from Trip’s touch.

Virus and Trip exchanged a look. One that said they’d been expecting the question.

"Would you like him back?" Virus asked in turn.

Sly paused. An immediate ‘yes’ wasn’t the answer. Showing true interest wasn’t an option. Anything Sly took an interest in, Virus and Trip did as well. Nothing they took an interest in ended well.

"Well, sort of," Sly said, shrugging. “I guess I’m just kinda curious as to where he went.”

He wanted Ren back alright, but not as a companion or friend. He wanted to see Ren the same way an ugly duckling turned trophy wife wanted to see the prom queen at a twenty year high school reunion. He needed to show Ren what had become of Aoba’s body, how his constant overbearing babysitting had been for naught. God, it would feel good to finally rub it in his face just like the dog he was.

“I suppose he’s around here somewhere,” Virus said, as though Ren was nothing more than a stray that came around when convenient. “I’ll keep an eye out for him.”

It was two weeks before they brought him Ren, handing him off to Sly as casually as they would a newspaper. The first thing Sly noticed was that Ren felt distinctly lighter, the second thing he noticed was that Virus and Trip were waiting for him to turn Ren on. Sly tapped Ren’s head before setting him on the bed, waiting to see if he’d still activate.

Ren’s ears twitched once before he eyes lit up- or tried to. One flickered and dimmed while the other focused on him. He looked less like a living dog and more like a taxidermied one, the must of long time storage clinging to him. When he went to stand his small body pitched forward as his lack of a front left leg became immediately apparent.

Sly felt a deep embarrassment at the sight of him, and allowed Ren a moment to right himself.

“Sup, Ren,” Sly said.

“Hello,” Ren replied.

Ren didn’t call him Sly, nor Aoba. He never had recognized Sly in any meaningful sense. Some things never changed.

“Well, you certainly look like shit,” Sly said conversationally. He could see stray wires hanging from where Ren’s leg had been.

“I am aware that the aesthetic of my current state is hampered by structural damage.”

God, leave it to Ren not to rise to the bait. That was his thing, wasn’t it? Mister High and Mighty, impervious to insult. He was probably the patron saint of wet blanket prudery in a past life.

All the things Sly had waited so long to say, the words that kept him up countless nights as he ran the conversations again and again in his head, died on his tongue as he looked to Virus and Trip. The focus in their bright eyes was unsettling, and not for the first time Sly wondered exactly how their operations had changed their vision.

He realized they were gauging how he interacted with anyone and anything that wasn’t them. Giving Ren a piece of his mind would have to be put on the backburner for now, at least until they could speak in private. Without a word Sly reached forward, his hand pressing between Ren's ears, Ren's body going limp beneath his touch.

“I'll see if I can't get some useful parts out of him later," Sly lied as he picked Ren up. “I can’t imagine he’s any good now.”

They didn't look particularly pleased that Sly had taken Ren back, but they didn't stop him.

—

The seasons had changed by the time they left him again, and that was when he reactivated Ren. Sly sat Ren on his lap and tapped his head, waiting quietly until he heard the fans start to whir, the CPU starting up. Ren sat up as his one good eye lit, and he carefully balanced his single front paw on Sly’s thigh.

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey,” Sly said.

“Is it necessary to continue to wake me up?” Ren asked.

Sly rolled his eyes. A sourpuss from the get go.

“Yeah, actually. It’s entirely necessary so I don’t completely lose my mind,” Sly said, setting Ren aside as he pulled his legs up on the bed.

He fell back against the sheets with a weary sigh, staring up at the ceiling. Ren limped his way closer to the head of the bed. For having only one eye, he sure was good at judgmental gazes. Sly ignored it for as long as possible, clicking his tongue against his teeth as the minutes past. It wasn’t long before his irritation got the best of him. It always did.

“If you’re gonna talk, talk,” Sly said, his words short and curt.

“Unless you have the intention of fixing my frame, I do not see why I must remain active.”

Sly rolled onto his side, eyes narrowed as he looked to Ren.

“Okay, you know what? You can play your little ‘beep boop I am a robot dog’ shtick as long as you like, but I know better. Like, it is incredibly rich that you would try to pull the wool over my eyes, of all people.”

Ren sighed as much as any dog could, his ears flattening back as he glanced down. He looked as ashamed of himself as he would be if he was caught rooting through trash for scraps.

“So how does it feel?” Sly asked, the words sharp and acidic. “What’s it like to see that this is where all your shepherding and moddycoddling got us?”

“Why is it you’re doing this to Aoba’s body?” Ren asked, sidestepping question.

Sly scowled as anger surged through his veins.

“Okay, look. This is it. This is exactly the shit that I am so tired of. It’s not his body, it’s our body. I have as much of a right to it as he does, alright? Considering where he got us, I’m pretty sure I can do a better job of taking care of this thing than he can. Hell, if you’d let me play in your reindeer games every once in a while, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Ren’s disagreement came in the form of silence, and Sly dropped the conversation. Getting stuck with a pious asshole was nearly as bad as being alone, but he’d have to put up with it to keep a handle on what little left he had of his sanity.

Sly hid Ren beneath his pillow when it came time to leave the room. He didn’t need Welter and Hersha tearing into Ren once they spotted him. Only Sly was allowed to be an asshole to him. Everyone else had to get in line and wait their turn.

It didn’t take Sly long to find he was being watched. A great hulking lion was hardly the picture of stealth, especially when it was never more than five feet away. Sly found himself staring into Welter’s eyes as he waited for the toaster to ding. When he stepped to one side, Welter’s head swiveled smoothly to follow, his focus unbreakable.

It was insulting to know that Virus and Trip thought he wouldn’t notice the dull red glow in Welter’s left eye, a stark contrast against the blue that surrounded it. Sly slid his tongue over his teeth in irritation. He was reckless, but he wasn’t stupid. The risks he took, while impulsive, were also calculated.

He shut the door in Welter’s face when he retreated to his room.

“Sorry, bub. No bedroom access until you wine and dine me first.”

Welter let out a low, irritated growl. Sly figured he had a few minutes before Welter took to playing a rousing game of feline battering ram against his door.

He sat on his bed with crossed legs, his plate in his lap as he moved the pillow aside. Ren looked at him wearily.

“Were Virus and Trip always like this?” Sly asked, nibbling at the crust of his toast.

“Like this?” Ren echoed.

“You know, like… every goddamn screw loose. No, not even loose. Completely removed.”

“Yes,” Ren said flatly.

“Huh, not sure how I didn’t notice before.”

“Copious amounts of drugs and alcohol may result in varying degrees of memory loss.”

Sly snapped his fingers. “Right, right. They had the best shit.”

That was when the first door-shaking slam came, Welter’s full weight thrown against it.

“Alright, mom, I’m coming,” Sly said with a groan. He placed the pillow back over Ren and stood, swinging the door open. “Can’t a guy have a minute alone to jack it?”

Welter’s breath left him in an indignant puff, butting Sly aside as he padded into the room. He turned his head from side to side, scanning his surroundings. Fuck, he probably had decent hearing, and the room wasn’t exactly soundproof.

“Sometimes I like to roleplay with myself a little, y’know? Gets lonely without Virus and Trip around.”

Welter eyed him warily, but seemed to take the words at face value as he hunkered down in the one sunny spot in the room. Great, another roommate to add to the roster. Sly made sure to accidentally on purpose kick Welter as he made his way back to the bed, grateful there wasn’t enough room for Welter to join him there.

—

Sly liked to shower in the bathroom connected to him room, mostly because Welter couldn’t fit his huge fucking body into the cramped space. He’d tried once, and the result was a lot like a cat trying to squeeze into a too-small box, but with a lot more more twisted metal and spilled... whatever the hell ran through ALLmates’ veins. It was Sly’s single allowance of privacy and he immediately abused it.

Not that it was hard. Ren fit nicely in the crook of his arm, clean clothes draped over him. Neither of them spoke until the door was shut and locked, the shower hissing with water.

“Is it your intention to remain here?” Ren asked, sitting on the closed lid of the toilet seat.

Sly rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. “Not exactly. I used to think they’d get tired of me. That they’d eventually toss me out, or do whatever it is they do when they get bored.”

“I believe their disposal methods are more severe than simply ‘tossing someone out,’” Ren said.

“I’m trying to be an optimist here,” Sly said. “Anyway, they aren’t bored. I don’t think they’re gonna get bored. But you know who is? Me. I’m bored out of my fucking mind. Stir crazy, cabin fever, climbing the walls. But what am I supposed to do? For all I know we’re ages away from civilization.”

Ren nodded solemnly, turning to look out the window, his fur reddened by the light of the setting sun.

“Unfortunately, I am no longer capable of connecting to the existing network, but I will see if there is an alternative to determining our location.”

Sly shook his head as he started to shimmy out of his clothes. “If we ever get out of here, I’m getting you a personality.”

“I would much prefer a new leg.”

“Okay, we’ll get you a peg leg,” Sly said.

“I do not feel that would suffice.”

“Alright, a hunting knife.”

“Please consider this matter more seriously,” Ren said.

Sly pulled the shower curtain aside and stepped in. “It’s settled, then. Your new leg will be a toilet paper roll.”

Whatever Ren’s response was, Sly couldn’t make it out against the water that was rushing over him. He washed the now black marks without thought, and only barely noticed that his hair had grown white as his skin now. He probably looked like a weird circus clown to anyone else at this point. One of the fancy French sorts.

By the time he turned the taps off the water had gone tepid, the window now dimmed by night. Ren was still staring out of it, one paw perched on the sill to balance himself. The exhaust from his nose left a patch of condensation on the glass.

“Anything exciting out there?” Sly asked, running a towel over his arms.

“Please turn the light off,” Ren said.

“What? They’re back already?” Sly asked, reaching over to flick the light switch.

He blinked a few times in the darkness before coming up behind Ren. There was no sign of headlights, no sound of a car engine. Nothing but the vast lawn and the thicket of trees it led to.

“I don’t get it,” Sly said.

“Above the trees,” Ren said.

Sly narrowed his eyes as he looked above the trees. The darkness was lessened there, a lightness barely haloing the treetops.