Archive of Our Own

Moon was washing dishes when he heard the thump.

When Sun had come downstairs wheezing that morning, Moon hadn’t been too concerned. After learning that his incautious brother had accidentally picked up a virus from a phony download website (cruising the internet on his own system , no less), he had sent the offender back upstairs and told him he couldn’t go to work that day. He knew that being absent from the Daycare on a Friday of all days would drive Sun mad, since that was one of the Pizzaplex’s busiest evenings of the week. He would hate having to leave Lunar and Earth to manage the massive playpen alone, and could hardly bear staying in one place for too many hours.

Naturally, Moon confined Sun to his bed and took away his internet privileges for the day, claiming that he would spread the virus to the rest of the animatronic family if he used the house’s WiFi. That probably wasn’t true, but when Sun tried to complain about the statement’s validity, Moon retorted that it was “better to be safe than sorry.” He could, of course, plug an antivirus program into Sun’s head and clear up the problem within minutes, but he was intent that Sun learn his lesson from the incident: no more downloading data from obviously illegal websites, especially not for something like the Australian episodes of an animated children’s show.

“Bluey is not just a children’s show!” Spluttered Sun, indignantly rising from his bed. His voice warbled unsteadily as he fixed a disapproving gaze on Moon. “It’s an ingenuitive commentary on—“

“Don’t care.” Moon snapped, placing a hand on Sun’s chest and forcing him back down. “It’s certainly not worth this.”

“It wouldn’t be a problem ,” Huffed Sun, crossing his arms, “if you just got rid of it-“

“Nope.” Moon interrupted, popping the “p”. He tapped Sun’s forehead and turned to leave the room, flipping the bell of his hat over his shoulder. “Your actions, your consequences. Your system will work it out by tomorrow.” He paused at the door, fingers tapping the frame absently. “Call me if you need anything. I’ll be downstairs.”

He heard Sun turning over in his bed as he left, mumbling disgruntledly and pulling the comforter over his head to block out the morning sunlight glaring through the windows.

Moon idled around the house for the rest of the day, fiddling with various minor projects and sorting through junk mail (no, he wasn’t interested in a new credit card company). He even took the time to pick up his room a little bit. He didn’t really care that much how it looked, mostly because he couldn’t even see it. The lights in his room had never worked, not since they moved into this house, and he was too lazy to fix them. He didn’t mind the darkness anyway; it meant no one could snoop in on his stuff.

As the afternoon melted into evening, he took it upon himself to clean the dishes lying abandoned in the sink. There weren’t that many, just a few cereal bowls from that morning and an appetizer plate from one of Lunar’s midnight snacks. He squirted some soap and water onto a dishcloth and scrubbed at the remains of whatever Lunar had prepared for himself, wondering if he was doing something wrong. Sun was the one who knew all about cleaning, not Moon. His attempts at getting anything tidy were subpar at best, no matter how hard he tried.

He was finally rinsing out the last ceramic bowl, watching suds slide down the drain, when he heard a large thump from upstairs. He paused, turning off the water with a flick of his wrist so he could hear better. Several uneventful seconds passed, broken up only by the faint drips of water from Moon’s wet bowl hitting the bottom of the sink. Eventually, he dismissed the noise as unimportant; Sun must have dropped something off the bed. If the Attendant needed help, he would call out, right?

Moon was suddenly hit with the memory of the Celestial Family’s latest terrifying event: Sun’s near kidnapping at the hands of Nexus. The former Moon had somehow learned about Sun’s new ability to sense Wither Shards and, after multiple failed attempts to figure out how the Attendant could find them in the first place, had decided to simply take Sun in order to use his newfound ability for his own motives. Sun had only escaped due to Monty’s quick intervention while Moon could do nothing but sit at home uselessly, his mind churning with anxiety as his body locked up with fear.

Moon crept up to the bottom of the staircase, praying that the thump was just an object and not Nexus returning for round two. He hated how his body immediately switched into overdrive, his fluid system pumping rapidly and pistons stiffening as his mind raced through all the possible outcomes his system could calculate. He placed a hand on the railing, forcing his fingers to grip the wood calmly instead of digging into the fibers with a death grip as he listened past the rushing sound in his auditory sensors.

Then he heard it.

A distorted gurgling noise drifting idly down the staircase.

What is that?

Moon clambered up the stairs, metal fists curled and ready to throw hands if necessary. Landing on the highest step, he glanced wildly around the room, searching for intruders.

There was no one there. Moon relaxed slightly and began to breathe a sigh of relief when his eyes suddenly fell on Sun.

His brother was draped halfway out of bed, his upper torso lying on the floor while his legs stayed curled up in the blankets, twisted unnaturally. His head was askew, his arms spread out on either side of him as though he had tried to break his fall unsuccessfully. He was shaking rapidly, every joint twitching in an irregular manner as he slid further off the bed, emitting a pained electronic garble. His eyes were flashing, the LEDs behind his protective caps switching between white, black, purple, and grainy static at a rapid-fire pace. Each one of the rays fanning his head stuck out in an unnatural position; his mouth hung open, jaw working silently.

“Sun?” Yelped Moon, rushing to his brother’s side as another wave of panic overtook his system. He gripped Sun’s faceplate and supported it against his arm, gazing into his epileptic eyes. “What’s going on with you?”

Sun gave no indication that he heard Moon, or even knew he was there. His body continued writhing uncontrollably as Moon grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him back up into the bed, trying not to get hit by his flailing arms. He only partially succeeded, escaping with a smarting faceplate and Sun balanced precariously on the edge of the bed, still shaking.

“Okay,” Moon began, speaking to Sun in what he hoped was a calming voice (not that it mattered; Sun couldn’t seem to hear him anyway). He placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him from falling again, fighting the sick feeling in his chassis. “I’m gonna go get my laptop and take a look at you, see what’s wrong. I’ll be right back; don’t move.”

Moon took a few cautious steps back, and when Sun didn’t react, rushed out the door, heading for his room. He didn’t want to leave Sun in this state any longer than he had to. Silently thanking past Moon for cleaning his room earlier that day, he snatched his laptop off the foot of the bed and grabbed an extension cord from his pile of doohickeys. Quickly making his way back to Sun’s bedroom, Moon cursed himself for not taking this virus situation more seriously.

Stupid, cruel, uncaring.

Moon burst into the room just in time to grab Sun’s arm as he slipped off the bed again, still trembling like a leaf. Hauling his brother back onto the mattress, Moon took a seat beside the twitching body, opening his laptop and quickly clicking off the website he knew Sun would tease him mercilessly about later, if he could even see right now. Moon gently lifted Sun’s clattering faceplate and plugged the extension cord into the port in the back of his head, connecting him to the small computer. Crossing his legs, Moon clasped his hand around Sun’s and absentmindedly drew little circles on the back with his thumb as he shakily pulled up his brother’s code on the screen. He sucked in a breath through his teeth when the program finally launched, displaying the lines of letters and numbers that made up his brother’s brain.

Sun’s code had always looked like a visualization of his personality: controlled chaos. Where most robots had orderly lines grouped together in tidy sections, Sun had seemingly random phrases scattered across his barely organized divisions, confounding most software engineers who tried to take a look at him. What most people failed to realize was that in order to understand Sun’s code, you had to take a step back, look at the full picture. The best analogy would be to compare his code with an Impressionist painting: up close, it makes no sense. It looks like random dots of color here and there with no rhyme or reason. But examining the minute details tells you nothing when it’s meant to all work together at the same time. When you look at the whole picture, suddenly all those little dots turn into a masterpiece, something wonderful.

Like Sun.

Moon felt the very human sensation of his heart dropping as he scrolled through Sun’s code, surveying the damage. Massive sections had been completely scrambled, preventing any sort of coherency. Some bits had been deleted entirely, leaving sad, empty holes in the canvas of Sun’s brain. It was like looking at a stained glass window after an earthquake, little glimmering shards lying crushed or stolen. As Moon watched, a letter or number would occasionally glitch and change into something else entirely, or simply disappear as the virus continued to ravage Sun’s system.

“Oh, Sunny. . .” Moon murmured, squeezing his brother’s hand as he continued to writhe in place, wheezing. He quickly pulled up the antivirus program he had lying in wait and let it loose in Sun’s code like a loyal hound on the hunt, intent on destroying whatever was plaguing its master. Sun’s convulsions grew more frantic as the virus fought back, determined to keep wreaking havoc on his systems. Moon placed the laptop a safe distance away from Sun’s flailing limbs and grabbed his brother’s abnormally hot wrists, forcing him to stay still so he wouldn’t knock the extension cord out of his head. The lump in Moon’s throat grew with every pained whimper Sun emitted. He swallowed past it and tried to speak in an attempt to comfort his sick brother.

“Hey. Hey. Sun.” He forced out, barely managing to keep his voice from breaking. “Hey. Shhhh. It’s gonna be okay. Just a few minutes and it’ll all be over.” He gave Sun’s wrists an affectionate squeeze and tried to smile encouragingly. “You’re doing great.” Dammit, he was terrible at this.

Sun kept thrashing, his distorted cries growing louder in response to Moon’s restraint. Moon couldn’t blame him; first he was in pain, then the parasite inside him started twisting in rebellion, and now he was being held down, unable to recognize the face hovering above his own. It was an experience Moon wouldn’t wish on anyone, much less his own brother.

Guilt welled up inside of Moon’s chest cavity with a choking sensation. How could he have been so careless? He knew there was a virus inside of Sun, but instead of taking care of it before it became too intense, he let it fester inside of him, slowly chipping away at his awareness like some kind of demonic woodpecker. He had left Sun like that, immobile and in pain, and for what purpose?

To teach him a lesson. To punish him for disobedience over a stupid website.

He really wasn’t any better than Nexus, was he?

How long had Sun been in that state, gradually losing control of his body, unable to cry for help as his cognitive functions disintegrated? How long had he stared at the ceiling, silently praying that his ignorant, negligent brother would come to check up on him soon? How long did he watch his own mind crack apart, feel that little internet bug laugh at his helplessness?

Moon dipped his head so Sun wouldn’t see the snarl twisting his face as a wave of familiar self-hatred shivered across his body, beginning with a sharp pain in his chest and ending with a curious ache in the soles of his feet. Why? Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he do anything without hurting the people he cared about the most?

Was that all he was good for? Hurting people?

A burning sensation fizzled to life in the back of his head, bringing with it far too many painful memories. Moments he had tried his hardest to forget and yet had somehow committed to memory. Too many victims, too many children, too many faces that still tortured his dreams-

“Mnnn.”

Sun’s tiny babble snapped Moon out of his head, back to the present. He blinked unsteadily, taking a moment to focus on the form beneath him. The form that was no longer shaking violently and was now staring up at Moon with blurry white eyes, seemingly perplexed.

“Mmunnn?”

Sun tilted his head at Moon’s absent expression, trying to wrap his mouth around the sounds coming out of it. His voice box buzzed a few times before he finally succeeded.

“Moon.”

Moon shook his head slightly and gave Sun a little smile, hiding his earlier thought process. Sun didn’t need to deal with that right now. “Hey, buddy. You doing okay?”

Sun huffed and flopped back into the pillows, making a little grumbling sound and staring at Moon pointedly. Moon sighed and released his brother’s wrists, leaning back and stretching his tense arms. The antivirus program seemed to have released his motor functions, so he was safe to be left unrestrained. “I suppose that’s fair.” He muttered, slipping his computer back into his lap and checking the antivirus’ progress. The screen declared that the virus had been vanquished. Moon winced; it had been that easy to get rid of the whole time. The only reason the situation had gotten so bad was because the virus had been left to spread and grow stronger. If he had just gotten rid of it in the first place. . .

Moon was again pulled from his thoughts by Sun’s noises, this time a muffled choking sound as he sat up and began clumsily fumbling around the bed, looking for something. His fingers twitched erratically as though he was unable to bend them properly as his arm gradually made its way to the other edge of the bed, across from Moon, where it tried to pull something up from the floor. Sun squinted in frustration as the object slipped out of his hand repeatedly, his efforts growing more frantic as time passed. Moon reached over and picked up the object for him: a small plastic trash can, which Sun quickly pulled to his side.

Moon opened his mouth, intending to ask why Sun wanted the trash can, when his brother suddenly upended the contents of his artificial stomach into said trash can, coughing weakly. The bedroom was filled with the smell of the chicken soup Moon had made that morning and the chemical substance the animatronics held in their bellies to help convert the sugars found in food into something their bodies could actually use.

Moon awkwardly rubbed Sun’s back as he heaved again, trying to offer some form of comfort in his moment of weakness. Luckily Sun hadn’t eaten that much earlier and was finished rather quickly, leaning back against the pillows with a dazed expression on his face. Moon silently took the trash can from him before it could fall off the bed and placed it back on the floor, intending to take care of it later, when he noticed the black streaks mixed in with the yellow substance. Moon frowned; was that oil? Sun must have had a leak somewhere, probably caused by all that thrashing earlier. He’d have to take care of that later, too; right now he needed to check Sun’s systems. Getting rid of the virus was the easy part; repairing the damaged code was the hard part.

Moon scrolled through line after line of mangled code, frowning. No wonder Sun couldn’t grab the trash can; his motor functions were nearly obliterated, along with the sections that governed his control of his voice box. Already he could see Sun’s system repairing itself, damaged passages slowly correcting themselves and slipping into the proper place. With enough time, Sun could fully heal on his own, and if Moon inserted a few help programs into his system, he could be back to normal within a month.

The problem was, they didn’t have a month.

With Nexus still out there doing who knew what, they couldn’t afford to have a weakened family member lying around for too long, especially not Sun . The Attendant had barely managed to fight back against Nexus even at peak condition. If Nexus showed up while Sun was still healing, he could kidnap him easily, even if Moon was there to help.

And. . . Moon didn’t want to watch Sun suffer for that long. Not while he could do something about it.

“Hey, Sun.” Moon placed his laptop at the foot of the bed and slipped off, the mattress creaking beneath him. He leaned over Sun and pulled the tangled blankets back up around him, making sure not to jostle the cord still running out of his head. Sun gazed up at him curiously. “I’m gonna go downstairs and grab your backup drive.” He started to slowly back away from the bed, holding his hands up and trying to look nonthreatening. He wasn’t sure how Sun would react to his departure in this state. “I’ll be right back.”

Sun whimpered and grabbed weakly at Moon, trying to rise on one hand, but his elbow buckled and he slipped back down onto the pillows, still reaching for his brother. He obviously didn’t want to be left alone, disoriented as he was. Moon pursed his lips, still walking away.

“Stay.” He ordered Sun, trying to give him an authoritative look. Sun made another pitiful noise and twitched his fingers, gesturing for Moon to come back. Moon forced himself to ignore him and clambered down the stairs, quickly heading for the office room across the house. He flung the glass doors open and rummaged through the desk drawers, searching for Sun’s backup drive and trying not to prick his silicone fingers on the thumb tacks someone had spilled everywhere.

The backup drive was simply a large USB that stored a few complete copies of Sun’s code, usually the ones from the last three days. Moon had one, too; they both updated theirs every night before they went to bed, so that if something happened to their code the next day, they could simply upload the latest copy into their heads without having to worry about permanent damage. They wouldn’t remember anything that had happened between the update and the upload, since the past code’s memories would overwrite the ones made that day, but it was better than nothing. Moon didn’t like messing around with Sun’s memories, but this was the only way they could instantaneously heal his broken mind. Besides, it might be better for him if Sun couldn’t remember the virus. It certainly wasn’t the most traumatizing thing Sun had been through, but it hadn’t looked comfortable. It would be easy enough to explain the situation to him later—

“What are you up to?” Asked a low, tired-sounding voice from the doorway. Moon tensed and rotated his head all the way around to see a familiar orange animatronic leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, staring at Moon through perpetually half-lidded, mismatched eyes.

“Solar.” Moon greeted him, spinning his head back around to rifle through the drawer again. He pulled a discarded sticky note that read “823A6” off his palm. “You guys are back a little later than usual.”

“Kids wanted to pick up a “get-well-soon” card for Sun.” Solar drawled, examining the back of his glove. “Got a little distracted in the aisle with the pool noodles.” He raised an eyebrow at Moon’s triumphant “aha” as he held up the long sought-after USB. “Dazzle’s giving it to him now.”

Moon spluttered and scrambled to his feet, gripping the USB tightly as he faced Solar again anxiously. “Right now is. . . not the best time.” He laughed nervously.

Solar’s brows knit together as he spotted the backup drive in Moon’s hand and put two and two together. “. . . What’s going on?”

Moon pushed past Solar and quickly clambered up the stairs with the orange animatronic trailing him. “The virus was a little more malicious than I thought.”

Solar’s eyes widened as he gripped the railing. “Is he. . . dangerous right now?” He asked quietly.

Moon shook his head. “No, just a little confused. I’ve taken care of it, but he still needs tooaaAHH!”

Moon, not looking where he was going, stepped on a toy car left abandoned on the staircase and promptly slipped, tumbling back down head-over-heels and landing painfully on his back with a wheeze as the metaphorical breath was knocked out of him.

After the initial dizziness subsided, he groaned and rubbed his head, staring up at the ceiling and trying to quell the throbbing in his faceplate. He must have hit several steps on the way down, from the way his motherboard felt like it was pulsing. The blurry outline of Solar’s head crept into his vision, rimmed by what could be considered a heavenly glow due to the lightbulb mounted on the ceiling above him.

“Again?” Solar asked, sounding amused as he loomed over Moon’s splayed form. His lowest set of rays retracted slightly, then popped out again in a silent chuckle.

Moon huffed, pushing himself up onto his elbows to see his lanky legs still trailing partially up the staircase. He drew them back in and pulled himself to his feet using the railing, blinking the dizziness away. “Not my fault they keep leaving their junk on the steps!” He yelled in the direction of the kids’ room.

A few seconds passed.

“Sorry.” Called Jack sheepishly. Solar gave a little huff of laughter in response.

Moon scoffed and peered at the drive still clutched in his hand. A wave of panic swept through his system as he realized how easily that fall could have shattered the USB, leaving Sun in a derelict state. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found it miraculously unharmed.

“Alright.” Moon sighed, pushing past Solar again as he ascended the stairs, keeping an eye on his feet this time. “Let’s get this over with.”

After crossing the small upstairs living area, Moon stepped out into his brother’s room again, nursing a brewing headache. Now that he wasn’t in a rush, he could appreciate the subtle beauty of the evening sunlight filtering in through the windows and highlighting little dust motes drifting across the room. A small October breeze shifted the tree branches outside, casting shifting shadows over the wall as leaves detached from their twigs and spun off into the distance to who knew where. Moon had almost forgotten how beautiful this season could be. He’d have to open Sun’s window later so they could experience it together.

Speaking of Sun, he was still laying where Moon had left him on the bed, tucked in up to his shoulders. Unlike earlier, however, there was now a small deer animatronic plopped down on the covers next to him, clasping one of Sun’s much larger hands between her two tiny ones. She glanced up at Moon as he approached, her big green eyes filled with worry.

“What’s wrong with Sun?” She asked, searching Moon’s face for any warning signs. Her tiny hoof-claws wrapped around Sun’s thumb with a gentle clinking noise. “Earth said he was sick.” Her eyes flicked down again to Sun’s faintly twitching fingers. “He’s not talking to me.”

Moon’s heart panged. He settled down on the bed next to her and placed a comforting hand on her back. Not many people knew, but underneath Dazzle’s clothes her back was covered in little fawn spots like a real deer. Moon would know; he had built her new body. She was faintly warm to the touch and her spine was curved dejectedly.

“Sun is sick.” He told her, giving her shoulder a little squeeze. There was no point in trying to explain the complexities of internet viruses to her. She was just a little kid.

Dazzle stared up at him again, eyes glimmering. “Is he gonna get better?” She asked quietly, bringing Sun’s hand closer to her chest.

Moon dipped his head. “I’ll make sure of it.” Sun, despite his current state, managed to force out a reassuring chirp from his voice box and a little clench from his fingers around Dazzle’s.

Moon shifted slightly. He was no good at this - comforting other people. What were you supposed to do in this situation? Distract them? Change the subject?

“Uhm. . .” Moon began uncertainly, picking at the covers with his other hand, still clutching the backup drive. “I heard you, uh, made a card for him?”

“Mhm.” Dazzle answered, flicking her fluffy little ears, which had previously been pressed back against her head anxiously.

“Why don’t you show it to him?” Moon suggested, curling his legs up under him.

Dazzle’s expression brightened considerably. “Okay!” She crawled over to the nightstand, snatching up a shiny, colorful piece of paper that Moon hadn’t noticed before, and scuttled back up to Sun’s side, holding the card open so he could see it. He leaned forward curiously as she began explaining what was on the card, pointing out individual elements excitedly.

“Okay, so, this is you and me on the dock, and that’s a flower—I drew that—and Jack drew a. . . I don’t know what that is, but uhm, there’s a spider over here. I like spiders ‘cause they were my friends when I was in the walls. And here are our names, Jack and Dazzle—oh, I didn’t mean to put three Zs there. . . uhm. . .”

Moon sighed in relief. Perhaps he had done something right for once. As she was talking, Sun slowly lifted a finger to Dazzle’s head and flicked one of her silky brown curls with a questioning noise, tilting his faceplate with a quiet click .

Dazzle placed a hand to her hair where he had touched her. “Oh, yeah. Earth brushed my hair when we got to the Daycare, since you couldn’t do it this morning. It was really nice.”

Moon blinked, somewhat surprised. He didn’t know that Sun brushed Dazzle’s hair every morning. His quiet revelation was interrupted by a little yawn from the deer in question, accompanied by a rubbing of the eyes. Sun tilted his head the other way, his voice box warbling until he finally managed to squeak out, “S-sleepy?”

Dazzle scooted closer to Sun’s feverish warmth, closing her eyes. “Mhm.” She murmured, head drooping slightly. “It was a really long day.”

Moon saw this as his chance to intervene, placing his hand on Dazzle’s back again. “Why don’t you go to your room and take a little nap. We still have to finish up here.” He winced, hoping he didn’t sound too harsh when she glanced up at him with those big worried eyes again.

“But Sun always tucks me in.” Dazzle protested, fiddling with the strap of her overalls.

Oh dear. How was he supposed to respond to that? Moon looked to Sun for support. The Attendant raised his eyebrows, then flicked his eyes down to the blankets around his chest. What was he—oh.

“How about this time,” Moon suggested, turning the drive over in his hand, “ you tuck Sun in?”

“Oh! That’s a good idea.” Dazzle turned back to Sun and carefully pulled the blankets up around his neck, patting them satisfactorily. She then placed her hands on a ray on either side of his head, leaned in, and nuzzled his face with her little black nose. “Night-night, Sun.” She murmured. He hummed happily in response. Moon smiled at the small display of affection.

Soon enough, Dazzle slipped off the side of the bed and placed the card on the bedside table. “Bye, Moon.” She chirped, giving Sun one last concerned look before slipping out the door, her tiny hooves clicking across the floor.

Moon shifted, shaking the tension out of his arms and presenting the drive to Sun with a little flourish.

“Found it.” He declared, pulling the laptop closer to him again. “Took a little while, though; you hid it well.”

Sun shifted slightly, voice box buzzing until he worriedly asked, “F-fell?”

Moon barked a laugh as his laptop flickered on again. Sun just had half his brain torn out, and he was worried that Moon slipped on the stairs?

“Yeah, I fell. Classic ‘minivan parked on the stairs’ trick. I’m fine, though.” He shook his head, chuckling as he pulled up Sun’s code again. His mood grew heavier as he scrolled through the triggered minefield that was Sun’s brain, damage caused by his mistake. “Oh, I don’t deserve a brother as good as you. . .”

Sun made an indignant noise and swatted at Moon’s shoulder, chittering disapprovingly. Moon laughed again and blocked his brother’s onslaught, imagining the lecture he would surely be receiving if Sun could talk right now. “Okay, okay, I get it! No self-deprecating in the bedroom!”

Sun huffed and ceased his attack, relaxing again as Moon prepared his code for the override. He carefully leaned toward his brother’s side of the bed and placed his head on Moon’s arm, emitting a garbled three-syllable phrase. Moon froze as the lump in his throat made itself known again, and slowly placed his hand on Sun’s head.

“I love you too, Sun.” He murmured.

He inserted the backup drive into the laptop and watched as it began to override Sun’s current code with his last save, perfectly intact code sliding over the shattered lines. Sun’s body slowly went limp beside him as he began the process of rebooting his system.

A sudden, nearly extinct urge flooded over Moon, surprising him. It had been. . . a very long time since he had done that. Maybe, if no one else was around. . .

He glanced around the room, making sure all the doors were closed, then pulled Sun closer and began to hum, the melody slowly coming back to him. After mumbling through the first verse, he finally raised his voice and truly sang the chorus, his unpracticed, raspy voice marring the familiar tune.

Sun’s fond expression faded into a blank one as the reboot overtook him, consciousness fading as Moon quietly sang him to sleep. It was a generic lullaby from his Naptime Attendant days, nothing special, but if it brought Sun any kind of comfort, it was good enough.

He’d made mistakes. A lot of them. And he’d keep making mistakes, probably for the rest of his life. Some mistakes, he would be able to forgive himself for.

Some, he would never forget.

But no matter if it was major or minor, if it hurt someone or not, he was going to do his best to fix them, even if they were irreparable.

Thankfully, this one wasn’t.

Moon laid Sun back down and waited for his brother to wake up.