Archive of Our Own ^beta

Solar never really had sensitivity issues before.

Sure, bright lights and loud sounds made him uncomfortable, but it was never overwhelming unless he was. . . y’know, little.

He wasn’t great with physical touch, either. Occasional hugs, shoulder touches, or hand holding was okay, but he usually wasn’t one for cuddles unless he really needed it. His discomfort didn’t come from the actual feeling of something touching him, but rather the idea of being so close and vulnerable to another living being.

Nothing, not even the warmest hug from his dearest friend, would ever compare to the feeling of Sun’s entire consciousness wrapped around him, the sensation of being completely enveloped in someone else’s very soul. A tiny, scrapped piece of code nestled comfortably in the back of another’s head, swaddled in the softest, most loving bits of Sun’s personality chip. A living cradle, rocking gently with the circular movements of a hand scrubbing down plastic play tables. He did not realize how much he loved it until it was gone.

His touch sensitivity usually stopped there. Besides the base of his rays, there was no part of him that reacted badly to physical contact. There were no textures he particularly disliked, no materials that irritated him, no tickle spots, even (Eclipse had not been cruel enough to install that feature into his new body, thankfully).

Solar’s lack of experience with touch sensitivity was probably why his new. . . development phased him so.

Because never, in his whole mechanical life, had he ever felt something like this.

Solar withheld a grimace as the customers in front of him rattled out their selections, trying desperately to keep his “friendly theater bot” persona intact while he typed their orders into the register. The edge of the counter just barely brushed up against the surface of his stomach, yet to Solar it felt like a punch to the gut in an entirely physical sense. In an oddly choked voice, he blurted out the order’s price and lurched away from the couple, quickly busying himself with the popcorn machine, their curious stares boring into his back.

Attempting to ignore the burning pain in his abdomen, Solar threw the order together, trying to focus on the monotonous task. Two Sodaronis, one popcorn bucket, and a lemon bar. One cup went under the soda fountain, the automatic dispenser firing off with the push of a button, while Solar quickly scooped the Fazbear-approved amount of popcorn into a bucket, plastic gloves sticking to his silicone hands. Setting the bucket aside, he replaced the first cup with an empty one and reached for a cardboard snack tray to put the snacks in—

—and nearly doubled over in pain when he twisted his torso a little too far, stretching the soft casing over his front. The slightest bit of strain on his middle made him feel like he was being pulled apart, like putty in the hands of a fascinated toddler. He just barely caught himself on the edge of the counter, somehow managing to keep the drink from spilling across the floor.

Solar hauled himself to his feet, cursing internally at the pain, and shot the perplexed customers behind him an apologetic but reassuring smile, hoping they couldn’t see the frustration in his eyes as he assembled the rest of the snack tray, reaching instinctively for the box of lemon bars.

His hand closed around empty air.

Solar glanced up at the empty box and withheld a scream of vexation. He would have to go to the storage rooms and restock the lemon bars himself.

Usually, a S.T.A.F.F. Bot would help him keep the theater concession stand clean and fully stocked during opening hours, but his usual customer service companion was currently out of order and stuffed into the long line of low-ranking bots waiting for repair.

Solar used to help repair them in his free time so that the cleaning work wasn’t so hard on the few remaining active bots. It was somewhat calming for him, feeling the same familiar model under his hands over and over again, no pain sensors or social interactions to worry about.

Elbow deep in a badly injured S.T.A.F.F. Bot’s chest, he felt another consciousness bouncing around in the back of his head, gasping at the damage.

“Eclipse, what happened to him? Is he gonna be okay?”

“Someone pushed it into the garbage compactor. The technician wanted to scrap it, but I told him I’d repair it. Don’t think he believed me; it’s a difficult fix, Sun.”

“Well, if anyone can fix him, it’s you, Clip!”

. . .

Carefully reattaching a different bot’s arm, he listened to the sounds of another, smaller animatronic practically bouncing off the walls behind him. The sounds grew closer, and suddenly there was something looking over his shoulder at his work.

“Dad? What happened to him?”

“There was an accident with the carts in the Raceway.”

“Is he gonna be okay?”

“He’s gonna be just fine, Jack.”

He did not have time to repair S.T.A.F.F. Bots anymore; his waking hours were consumed with either his dull, monotonous day job or frantic research on how to get Jack back throughout the night.

Besides, it would not be the same without. . . them.

“Uhm. . . Excuse me for a minute.” Solar nervously told the couple as he slipped through the back door of the concession stand, desperately trying to ignore how his shirt felt like sandpaper grating against his casing. Once he was out of sight, he quietly pulled up the edge of his Daycare-themed shirt to get a look at his stomach area, where the sudden sensitivity was concentrated.

The wound Jack had inflicted on him months ago had been a messy fix. Eclipse had not provided the family with the blueprints for Solar’s new body, so Moon had been forced to guess which components were which and how to repair them. Solar’s lack of a frontal maintenance hatch had prevented them from being able to disconnect his warped casing and repair it separately, which had, along with the nature of the wound itself, worsened the situation considerably.

Jack hadn’t slashed or clawed, he had straight-up stabbed Solar’s abdomen with all the force his arm pistons could muster. Since his knife fingers were lined up together instead of staying separate, he had left one massive, gaping hole in Solar’s stomach instead of five smaller ones. The sloped shape of his hand had acted like a wedge, allowing the blades to plunge as deep into his father’s body as possible, nearly piercing through his lower back.

The knives had severed the main oil line leading to Solar’s lower body, as well as ripping through his artificial stomach and slicing through several cords. Oil and a few chunks of half-digested food had spilled into his pelvic endo and even ran down into his legs, mixing into a disgusting slop that clung to the inside of his casing and began to dry there. The cleanup job was so invasive that Moon had shut Solar down for its duration so he wouldn’t be writing in pain the whole time.

The actual wound’s repair had been just as bad. Its edges were bent inwards, sharp bits of metal poking into his tender insides. Moon had inserted a hook into the wound and pulled it back into place as best he could, welding the seams back together, replacing damaged silicone, and painting Solar’s original pattern back over the repaired area.

Solar knew that Moon had done his best, and he was grateful to be receiving such passionate care from his family, but there were several undeniable problems with the repair as it was now.

The grafted silicone layer was lumpy, with what looked like air bubbles under the surface between the raw metal and the softer overlayer. The bubbles would move around under his casing if he pressed on them, like air trapped between the screen protectors and actual screens of smartphones. It was a very weird sensation. The raised bumps also rubbed uncomfortably against whatever clothes he might be wearing over his torso and made the divide between his orange and maroon halves look a little wobbly.

The repair also definitely changed the shape of his lower body, not enough to be noticeable to other people, but enough that it felt strange to him. His belly stuck out a little now, and his pants fit around his waist a bit differently. He was still as ridiculously skinny as ever; his weight was just redistributed a bit so his middle was less compact.

Still, it felt uncomfortable, and that was without the extra sensitivity.

Despite the fact that he had lost touch sensors in his stomach area (Jack had damaged most of them when his blades slashed through their central network), it had somehow grown more sensitive after the injury. When it had first started, a tiny prickling sensation on his belly like a bundle of needles, he had given himself a quick scan to figure out what the problem was.

He found nothing. According to the computer, he was perfectly fine.

The sensitivity, the soreness—it was all psychological. Merely phantom pains, memories of the last touch his child had given him.

The physical ache was only a reflection of the deeper pit that had been dug in his soul, another yawning, spasming hole in his heart where a loved one had once been.

He had to remind himself on a daily basis that Jack wasn’t gone, he was just. . . away.

That didn’t stop the waves of grief from coming, though. They always hit when he least expected it.

Sometimes he felt like his entire chest was being crushed like a soda can, like his poor little oil pump was about to burst from the pressure.

Sometimes his legs would go weak, his knees would threaten to buckle, and he’d either have to find the nearest chair or plop himself down on the floor right then and there so he could catch his breath.

Sometimes he would be suddenly overwhelmed with nausea, and he’d have to scramble to find the nearest trash can before his artificial stomach decided to upend its contents across the floor.

He shouldn’t have been feeling these things, not yet, but he was.

The mortician’s tools were all laid out, the coffin was open, and the grave was freshly dug. Against his will, his mind had already prepared for another death, ready to spring the mourning period on him at any moment. All it needed was the confirmation of the boy’s passing.

And that was what tortured Solar the most: not knowing. He had no idea of what was happening to his son, whether he was alive and well or gasping out his last breaths in a ditch somewhere at that very moment. Too many questions clouded his mind at night while he was trying desperately to focus on his research.

Where is he?

Is he hurt?

Is he scared?

Is he cold?

Does he have a warm place to sleep?

A roof over his head?

Is he going to bed on time?

Who is there to tell him “good night”?

Is he getting his afternoon snackies? He gets grumpy when he doesn’t get his afternoon snackies.

Does he know I love him?

What if it was already too late to save him? What if the part of him that was his sweet, silly child had already been consumed by the infection, like what Lunar said could happen?

What if everything he was doing now, the restless nights, the research, the plans, was all for nothing?

What if the Creator gave him back and he was nothing but a soulless husk, and he would look into those big, sweet, wonderful yellow eyes and see nothing? What if he would shake his shoulders and scream his name and that happy little voice would never answer? What if no amount of hugs or nuzzles or sleepy summer nights or winter cuddles or little moments together could ever bring him back?

He just wanted to know, dammit! He’d rather have confirmation that Jack was dead than have to suffer through the uncertainty of being entirely ignorant to what his son was going through!

Hope was merely an illusion, a deceiving emotional high before inevitable disappointment. It was terrible to stand on the peaks of the mountains and gaze down into the pits he would have to climb into next.

He did want to be

Hunched over a limp corpse, staring into blank eyes that were once bright and full of life, clutching his son’s Sun’s hands in between his own, fighting back tears and begging him to wake up, WAKE UP—

“—op messing around and just get us our stuff already!”

Solar flinched as he heard a fist slam down on the counter from outside the supply room. Great; he’d taken too long, and the customers were angry. He snatched up a box of lemon bars and fished one out as he darted back to the counter, mumbling memorized Fazbear-approved apology lines and stuffing the treat and the forgotten Sodaroni into the snack tray, secretly slipping a free lemon bar in as compensation for their trouble.

The couple paid for their order and left with a huff. Once they were gone, Solar leaned against the counter with a heavy sigh, shuddering when the metal plates underneath his stomach slipped over each other. He’d have a bit of a break until the next movie started.

Laying his head on the counter, he checked his internal clock and groaned. He still had a few more hours left in his shift, and even after that, he’d be hard at work researching Negative Star Power and its connection to Wither Shards via the interdimensional library that Moon had somehow accidentally found a few weeks ago.

The library was owned by a strange, scarred Sun model with a quiet voice who claimed that he had “inherited the books from his late master” and refused to elaborate further. He had been quite welcoming to Solar, though, and helped him find many of the books he asked for, only asking that he return them within a year.

The Sun model had scanned Solar’s dimensional signature before he left so that he would know where to collect the books from, “just in case.” His fidgety Sun movements had ceased the moment he laid eyes on the code.

“You’re an Eclipse, aren’t you?” He murmured without meeting Solar’s eyes.

“Yes?” Solar answered nervously, hugging the stack of books closer to his chest. He really hoped this Sun wouldn’t refuse to let him take them. He needed this information.

“Researching Dark Star Power?”

Solar swallowed and nodded.

The Sun peered at him from over his glasses, studying him for a moment. His tired eyes glided over the Daycare shirt, the hand-sewn patches on his pants, and the cosmic-themed pins stuck to the coat around his waist.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.” He said simply, sliding a handwritten receipt over to Solar, who thanked him and ducked away.

It had been a strange encounter, but the wealth of information Solar now had access to was worth the slight awkwardness. The Sun had provided him with a downloadable language packet before he left so he could actually read the books written in alien dialects.

Most of the books were authored by historians or scientists from other planets in other dimensions, though there were a few that stood out. Solar found one that might have actually been written by one of another dimension’s Astrals, someone named “Pisces.” Another, instead of being a scientific study, seemed to be more of a religious text centered around Negative Star Power that described various rituals and. . . sacrificial practices. It was kind of terrifying that the Dark Astrals might have a cult following somewhere out there in the universe.

Unfortunately, a few of the sources were mostly speculation and did not separate known facts from guesses and, in some cases, folklore. That meant Solar had to sift through each of his sources every time he sat down to make sure he was actually drawing the right conclusions. It was a grueling, headache-inducing process that involved rapidly switching between languages and constantly comparing every fact stated by one source with literally everything else stated in the other sources.

Solar groaned again, but this time it was more of a whine, startling him slightly.

It was going to be a long night.

. . .

Solar pinched the bridge of his nose, his other hand curling into a fist as he thought. He was sitting cross-legged on the bedroom floor, surrounded by hastily scribbled notes, test scenarios, old, heavy tomes, a laptop, and a half-made apparatus. From through the wall, he heard muffled laughter and the sounds of a film being played on the living room television.

It was family movie night, and while part of him wanted desperately to take a break, walk out, and join them, he forced himself to draw his attention back to the tiny screen in front of his face. He had more important things to attend to, things that could not wait, not even for a measly little hour of free time. He was working on a time limit, but had no idea when the deadline was. The clock was ticking, and Jack could only last for so long. His research came first, even when it was frustrating beyond comprehension.

He’d found yet another contradiction in his sources, something about different kinds of cosmic radiation and how they affected telepathic transmissions between Dark Star entities.

He needed to find the exact wavelength that would separate the Creator from Rez’s control without harming the former or attracting the attention of the latter. It had to be subtle enough to go undetected, but powerful enough to sever the bond. If he didn’t get it exactly perfect, the Creator might suspect something, and Jack would be the one to pay the price of Solar’s ignorance. The Creator had made that much clear during their meeting a few days prior.

When he had set out to find Jack, he had been fearful of what might happen, but was still secretly eager to see his son again. That had quickly changed the moment he snatched a glimpse of his son’s form from afar, bathed in the shadow of the silent stone buildings looming over him, and descended into near despair once he came face-to-face with the boy.

Jack’s body was stuck in a hunched-over position, his shoulders clearly burdened with the extra weight of something foreign installed into his upper body: adaptium tanks. His limbs were swollen and subtly disfigured, the outlines of extra weapons stuffed into every inch of his body painfully obvious under his strained casing. He was clearly uncomfortable, maybe even pained by his new attachments.

There were signs of minor injuries, too. Chips in the edges of his metallic plating, deep scratches along his casing, even little dents scattered across his body. Solar’s heart clenched when he saw that Jack still wasn’t putting any weight on his bad leg. His mouth moved slightly out-of-sync with his words like one of those cheap Halloween animatronics you can find in home décor stores in October. One of his jaw supports was broken, and from the boot mark still planted on the side of Jack’s face, Solar could tell it was because someone had kicked him, probably in self-defense.

Even with the boot mark, though, Jack’s face was the cleanest part of his body. He clearly hadn’t gotten the opportunity to wash himself in a long time. His pants were completely soaked with mud up past the knee, and his body was speckled with dark splatters of. . . something, particularly across his front. His arms were covered in a thick layer of caked dirt mixed with dried blood and stringy viscera, hardened into a second shell that obscured the form of the child underneath.

The wide, purple smile plastered onto his face was anything but genuine, exaggerated to an almost disturbing degree. Thick globs of black liquid dripped from his eyes and mouth and dribbled down his chin in long, sticky strands; Solar could even hear it rattling in his chest like mucus with every simulated breath.

His baby was sick. So, so sick.

He wanted desperately to wrap him in fluffy blankets and cradle him and nurse him back to health. The urges only doubled after the Creator’s “show of good faith,” when he released Jack for just a minute and the little one immediately dove into his father’s arms, whimpering into his shirt and clutching at his back only to be yanked away again like a dog on a leash.

Jack was terrified and in pain. He was being used as a weapon of mass destruction, and was being forced to do things children should not even know exist. He should have been cuddled up in his bed with his favorite stuffie and wandering off to dreamland with a full belly and a goodnight kiss. In no way did he deserve this.

It made his heart break and his blood boil. It made him want to scream. It made the darker part of him that he had tried so desperately to suppress rear its ugly head.

It made him want to curl up and surrender himself to the fuzziness beginning to crawl into his brain.

Wait—

Solar jolted upright, startled by the sudden, familiar sensation, unwrapping his arms from around his legs and bringing his knees away from his chest. Had he been rocking himself? When did he start? How long had he been doing it for?

He quickly shifted into a more upright sitting position with his shoulders back, wincing as the change caused his shirt to rub up against his stomach. He scooped the laptop closer to him and reached for a notepad as he busied himself with work again. The harsh white light emitting from the screen made him recoil, squinting against the onslaught on his optics as that fuzziness started to press on him again, this time more insistent.

No. He could not do this right now.

He was busy! He needed to help Jack! He didn’t have time for this!

Solar scrambled to grab one of the large, ancient books scattered around his room and scanned its text for anything useful, barely even registering what it said in his swiftly growing panic. He desperately threw himself into his work, frantically scribbling down equations in his notepad and typing values into his computer, hitting all the wrong keys as his hands quickly lost their dexterity and his fingers refused to cooperate with him. Still he barreled on, fighting uselessly against his quickly shrinking headspace.

He couldn’t regress now! He had things to do! He had to figure out what type of radiation he had to use to free the Creator from Rez’s control! He had to learn more about Dark Star beings so he could execute the extraction properly!

He couldn’t just sit around and do nothing while Jack was suffering. He would never forgive himself if he was napping while Jack was actively being crushed by the dark energy inside him. How could he rest when it had been weeks since his child had even gotten a wink of sleep?

He needed to get Jack back as soon as possible. He had no idea, not even a rough estimate of when Jack would be too far gone to save. In fact, he could be dead already. Solar was working against an undefined time limit, and every second counted.

He was the kid’s father, for goodness’ sake! Jack’s entire wellbeing depended on him. It was his responsni-. . . respona-. . . responsibility!

He had to get Jack back. He—he had to—

Solar stared blankly at the long lines of text glaring back at him from the computer screen, unable to understand any of it anymore. It was just a bunch of complicated math and long words; he couldn’t wrap his head around it. And weirdly enough, they were getting blurrier the longer he looked at them. Eventually all he could see of the screen was just a big grayish smudge, until suddenly everything got clearer again, and he felt something hot and wet trickle down his cheek.

Solar’s next breath hitched as the book in his hands slowly slid to the ground with a hollow thump. Now his chest hurt, and he felt like there was something stuck in his throat, and his face was really hot. He sniffled as he buried his face in his arms, drawing his knees up to his chest again and curling into a little ball.

Great. Now he was going to be useless for the next few hours.

He couldn’t help Jack. He couldn’t even help himself.

Pathetic. He was so pathetic.

Solar’s body shook as he began crying quietly, feeling his rays retreat back into his head as if to shield themselves from the steadily approaching emotional outburst.

Why, why had Jack decided to designate Solar of all people as his dad? Out of all of them, the whole family, he was the least capable, the least emotionally available. The weakest link. Sure, he had made the kid, but he barely spent any time with him outside of fixing him up and scolding him when he annoyed Lunar. Nexus was the one who wanted him to be made in the first place, Lunar was the one he was attached to via his code, Sun was the one who actually took care of him while Solar was gone, and Puppet and Earth were the only ones who ever seemed to get any joy out of interacting with him.

Why him?

“Because I love you, dad!”

Solar clamped a hand over his mouth as the beginnings of a wail began to break through. He could hear his baby’s voice so clearly, like he was sitting right next to him.

But he wasn’t. And he might not ever get to again.

Somehow, the last section of his thumb ended up in his mouth as he began to slowly rock himself back and forth on his heels, closing his eyes and letting the tears run down his face. He wished he was down in the bunker again, wrapped in blankies and snuggled into Jack’s side and knowing he was safe because his son was there.

It seemed contradictory to think of Jack as both older than him and still his son at the same time, but his little brain had found nothing wrong with that reasoning. He didn’t even notice that Jack was still calling him “dad” while he was regressed; it just felt. . . right. That was him. He was dad, and nothing was going to change that.

If. . . if something happened to Jack, would no one ever call him “dad” again?

Solar’s entire body seized up at that thought; the scars on his belly burned as he struggled to suck in another breath. No. He—he couldn’t lose that! He couldn’t not be dad! He couldn’t never hear that little voice saying it to him with those sweet sparkly eyes again. He’d—he’d die. Just wither away. Now that he knew what it was like, he couldn’t live without it.

You can just make another one, you know.

Solar smashed both his hands over his mouth again, but this time it was because that thought genuinely made him sick to his stomach. He could not replace Jack; nothing could ever replicate the joy his creation had brought him. The thought was horrifying. Disgusting. Idiotic. He was ashamed it had even wandered into his mind to begin with.

As the nausea faded, one of his hands slowly dropped down and barely brushed up against the top of his stomach. Agony immediately forked through the remains of his touch sensor system. He yelped and jolted backwards as if trying to escape the pain, only to bang the back of his head against the edge of his dresser.

He reached up and gripped the sides of his faceplate, whining as the sharp ache began to set in. He didn’t know what to do. Everything was wrong.

His head hurt, and his tummy hurt, and he felt really yucky, and his eyes burned, and he needed to do work but he couldn’t remember how to do it, and he was scared and all alone and he really, really wanted his little pumpkin back.

And that was the moment when Solar really let himself go.

Sobbing heavily, he dug his heels into the floor and pushed himself backwards, shoving himself further up against the dresser. All the knobs and handles dug into his back, but he ignored them, choosing instead to paw at his wet face with his big stupid hands that wouldn’t cooperate with him. He completely forgot about being too loud and just bawled out his feelings, trying desperately to relieve the awful pressure building up in his chest cavity.

It did not work.

Scrubbing furiously at his eyes, he managed to pull himself together just enough to crawl across the room to the edge of his bed. Groping blindly underneath it, he snagged the corner of a small cardboard box and pulled it out with a little clatter. He began rummaging through it, searching by touch instead of by sight; his eyes were too blurry to recognise anything anyway.

Eventually, his hand closed around something fabric-like, and he gave it an experimental squeeze. A gentle crinkly sound greeted him warmly, and he immediately scooped the rest of the toy out of the box and into his lap, shoving one of the textured rubber paws into his mouth. A fresh wave of tears streamed down his cheeks as he ran his tongue over the familiar bumps and waves, feeling a little guilty for taking Jack’s toy without permission.

It wasn’t like he was going to use it anytime soon, though.

He ruffled the dog’s ears, listening faintly to the crinkling sound over his own whimpers. Jack had always liked crinkle sounds, hadn’t he? Maybe they would help Solar feel better, too.

Solar sniffled and buried his face into the dog’s side. Its cool softness felt good against his burning cheeks, and the fluff quickly absorbed his tears instead of letting them drip down onto the front of his shirt.

He was tired. So, so tired. Tired of long, lonely nights of fruitless research; tired of worrying about his son; tired of going and going and going without stopping once to rest.

He was tired of crying, yet he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

He wanted it all to just stop. All the stress and exhaustion and sadness—he wanted it to go away and leave him alone.

But he couldn’t escape it. Even in his little headspace, he couldn’t leave it behind. He felt like he was stuck in an endless cycle of anger and fatigue and hopelessness.

He didn’t know what to do.

He didn’t know what to do—

“Solar?”

He froze as his bedroom door creaked open, Earth’s voice drifting through. She sounded worried.

“Are you okay?”

There were some shuffling and clunking noises as Earth somehow managed to fit her wheelchair through the doorway, then a gentle creaking as she rolled further into the room. Solar inhaled sharply, curled into himself, and ducked down so she couldn’t see him over the edge of the bed. He didn’t know why he was hiding, or why his oil pump was suddenly hammering away anxiously; it was just his sister, after all.

But old habits were hard to break.

The wheelchair’s mechanisms clicked as Earth passed the foot of the bed. “Dazzle said she heard crying under her room.” She continued softly, slowing down once she saw the books and papers scattered across the back half of the room. “I just wanted to check on you.”

Solar scrunched himself up a little more. He opened his mouth to tell Earth that it was okay, that she didn’t need to worry—but the only thing that came out was a tiny whine.

Earth paused for a moment, putting two and two together. Solar bit down on the dog’s paw and waited, his stomach churning with anxiety. A few stray tears squeezed their way out and dribbled down his chin.

Earth slowly, carefully wheeled forward until she could fully see Solar curled up on the floor against the side of the bed, hugging his knees. She made a sad little “oh” noise when she saw the state of him, shaky and wet and miserable.

“Hey, Solar.” She said in a somehow even softer voice. She reached down to push herself a little closer, but stopped when Solar immediately flinched away, pressing himself further against the bed. His breathing quickened.

Earth’s eyes narrowed in a brief expression of suppressed anger at whoever had done something to Solar to make him act like this, then softened as she buried it under a comforting smile. “Did something happen?” She asked gently.

Solar stared up at her face, fearfully searching for any sign of aggression. His rays were almost fully drawn in, reduced to little nubs. One of his lower ones still had a tear droplet clinging to the end.

Earth quietly accepted his silence, breaking eye contact to gaze over at the circle of papers where all his research was laid out. “You’ve been working very hard, haven’t you?” She murmured, more of a statement than a question. “In fact, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you in person. . . Or any of us, for that matter. . .”

Her expression morphed into one of alarm and then sadness. “When’s the last time someone checked on you?” She asked under her breath, one hand lifting as if to reach out to him before thinking better of it. “How long have you been like this?”

Solar did not answer, placing his chin on his knees and pulling his shoulders up around his neck. The dog was currently wedged between his legs and his stomach, but despite the discomfort of it pressing into his sensitive tummy, he did not dare move.

“Oh, Solar. . .” Earth’s voice broke. “Did we really abandon you to go through this on your own?”

She shifted in her chair, testing her weight on her legs for a second before wincing and slumping back down. She shot a brief glare down at her lower half, frustrated that she couldn’t get up and comfort her brother.

Rubbing at her temples, she muttered, “And I got mad at Moon for not being there for Sun. . .”

Solar’s breath hitched, tears welling up in his eyes again. Seeing someone else in distress was not helping his emotional state.

“Hey, hey. Solar. Look at me.” Earth said gently but firmly, pushing aside whatever personal conviction she had been experiencing. Solar’s optics flicked up at her, lenses glistening wetly.

“It’s okay. I’m here for you now.” She smiled again. Solar held eye contact with her, swallowing thickly as the emotional outburst threatened to grip him again. Eventually it faded, and he slumped back down like a deflated balloon.

After a few minutes of silence between them, Earth quietly asked, “Solar? Do you think you could get up on the bed for me?”

Solar cast her a wary look; Earth flipped her hands over so her palms were facing up in a placating manner. “I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.” She explained. “You can stay down there if you want to.”

Solar thought about it for a moment, then turned around and carefully clambered up the side of the bed, hugging the stuffie to his side. He settled down at the foot of the bed, right next to where Earth’s wheelchair was stationed. This was better; now he was at eye level with her instead of having to crane his neck up at her. Criss-crossing his legs, he pulled the dog’s paw out of his mouth and replaced it with another one, leaning back slightly.

Earth rubbed at one of her wrists, thinking. Eventually she looked up at him and nervously asked, “Is it okay if I touch you?”

Solar timidly stared at her for a moment, considering, before a tiny noise came out of his voicebox. “Not my tummy.”

Earth blinked, a little put off by the specificity of his reply but happy he had found his voice again. “Okay. I won’t touch your tummy.”

She slowly reached out and, when he didn’t react, placed a hand on his shoulder, rubbing her thumb in little comforting circles. After a minute or so, he began to relax and leaned into the touch. Earth audibly released the breath she had been holding, afraid of what his reaction could have been.

Her eyes flicked down to the toy in his lap, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Is that your doggie?” She questioned.

Solar shook his head, closing his eyes. He didn’t want to look down at the toy; it might make him sad again.

“It’s not?” Earth inquired, sounding confused. Solar shook his head again; it technically wasn’t his toy.

“Then is it. . . a kitty?”

Solar glanced up at her, perplexed. “No?” He answered, his rays shifting to one side in confusion. Did. . . did she think he was referring to the species of the animal. . .?

“It isn’t? Then is it. . . a cow?” Earth bounced a little in her seat, clearly planning something.

“No, it’s a—”

“A chicken?” Earth grinned as she interrupted him.

He shook his head.

“Is it a lizard?”

“No.”

“Is it. . . a sheep?”

“No! Sheep have hoofs!” He held up the toy. “This has paws!”

“Ohhhh. Okay.” Earth tapped her chin. “Hmm. Is it. . . a horse?”

“No!” Solar giggled. “That has hoofs too!”

“It does?” She asked, sounding shocked. He nodded enthusiastically. “Well, if it’s not a horse, then it has to be. . . a squirrel!”

“Noo!” Earth was silly! It was obviously a dog!

“Then is it a penguin?”

“No!”

“A raccoon?”

“N-no!”

“Is it. . . a flower?”

Solar laughed. “That’s not even an animal!”

“Wait, wait, I’ve got it!” Earth paused for dramatic effect. “It’s a lobster!”

Solar erupted into a fit of giggles, falling backward and clutching at his chest. There was a different kind of tears streaming from his eyes now, and Earth had them too. They sat there laughing for a good few minutes, unable to contain themselves.

Eventually, though, once they had both calmed down and caught their breath, Earth propped her elbows up on her knees and rested her chin in her hands, smiling calmly at her brother. “What is it, then?” She asked softly.

Solar curled up on his side facing her, too tired to sit up anymore. He held the toy close to his chest for a moment.

“It’s Jack’s doggie.” He answered quietly, stroking its crinkly ears.

Earth stilled; she clearly hadn’t been expecting that. She went silent for a moment, carefully considering her answer.

“Did he give it to you?” She questioned, reaching out to tenderly cup his shoulder again.

Solar shook his head. “No. I stole it.”

Earth chuckled. “Guess he inherited that trait from you, huh?”

Solar gave a little huff of laughter before growing somber again.

“I miss him. . .”

Earth gave him a little squeeze. “We all do.” She murmured, but there was a hint of hesitancy and maybe even guilt in her tone.

Solar’s shoulders dropped. How many of his siblings had really, truly accepted Jack as part of the family? He’d only ever heard Moon call Jack his “nephew,” and even then it was almost jokingly. Everyone seemed to acknowledge that Jack was Solar’s son, but outside of Dazzle and maybe Sun, no one actually tried to spend time with him.

There were reasons, of course. Jack was undeniably chaotic and difficult to manage, so it was difficult to even keep him in one place for long enough to hold a meaningful conversation with him. He had the tendency to do or say weird things that would put off most people, and his interests were so odd that it was hard to find anything to bond over. Heck, even Solar found interaction with him to be difficult.

But maybe, just maybe, the others could have at least tried? Given him a chance?

Solar just hoped that his experience in an actual family had been good and not sad or disappointing.

He knew what it was like to want to be part of a family and get rejected.

“Oh, Solar. . .” Whispered Earth, brushing at the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. “I wish I could help you with this. I—”

The bedroom door creaked again, and both Solar and Earth looked up to see a small lavender and periwinkle animatronic standing across the room, glancing curiously between them.

“Oh! Uhm. . .” Lunar greeted them, shuffling his feet slightly. “Is everything okay in here?” He asked, sounding a little worried.

Earth smiled comfortingly. “Yeah, we’re okay now. Solar is regressed right now, and he’s having a little. . . moment.”

Lunar’s eyes widened in realization. “Oh.” He mumbled something under his breath, something along the lines of “it was bound to happen eventually,” then spoke directly to them again. “Is there anything I can do?”

Earth gently ruffled Solar’s rays. “Could you tell Monty to go on ahead and go home without me? I’ll catch up later.” She thought for a moment, then added, “If you could get a glass of water and some tissues, that would be great, too.”

Lunar nodded. “Yeah. Sure.” He darted away, the little moon charm on the end of his hood flicking against the door before disappearing.

Solar glanced up at Earth, thinking for a few minutes. “You are helping me.” He told her, startling her slightly. “Right now.”

Earth avoided his gaze. “I know.” She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “But I should have helped you sooner.” She covered her eyes with one hand, shrinking into herself. “I’m such a hypocrite. . .”

Solar opened his mouth to say. . . something; he wasn’t sure what, but at that moment the door opened again and a nervous, yellow, tittering robot slipped into the room, followed closely by his silver-blue shadow.

“Hey, Solar.” Sun shrilled, fiddling with the ribbons on his wrists and greeting Earth with a nod. “Lunar told us you weren’t feeling too good, so we’re just checking up on you. . . if you don’t mind. . .”

“I’m here, too.” Moon called out softly from where he was hiding behind Sun. He seemed to be using his brother as a shield, but it wasn’t himself he was protecting. Solar tended to be uncomfortable around Moon models while he was regressed, and this Moon was fully aware of that fact.

Solar gave a little huff of acknowledgement, trying not to look directly at Moon. He always felt a little bad for acting this way around someone who had nothing to do with his original Moon’s. . . decisions, but he couldn’t help it. Just the sight of those blue fingers flexing made his stomach churn.

“Is-is there anything you guys need, or. . .” Sun trailed off, clearly not sure what to do concerning the situation.

Earth thought for a moment, then hesitantly asked, “Do you think you could help me up onto the bed?”

Moon blinked, a little surprised by the request. “Yeah. Of course. If that’s all right with Solar.”

Three pairs of eyes turned to him all at once, and Solar shrunk back a little from the intensity of it all. He took a deep breath and murmured, “M’kay,” before hiding his face behind the stuffie.

After arranging some pillows so that she would have something to comfortably lean against, Earth carefully directed the brothers as they positioned themselves to lift her, Moon with his hands under her arms and Sun with one hand behind her back and the other under her knees to support her legs and keep them from being jostled too much. Together, they managed to maneuver her onto the bed without incident.

As soon as Earth was settled and Moon withdrew, Solar shuffled over to Earth and buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her. Earth giggled and hugged him right back, placing her chin on the top of his head as his rays retracted to make room for her.

“Feeling snuggly now, are you?” She asked fondly, patting his back. Solar merely hummed in response and tightened his grip around her torso. He suddenly felt like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and his thoughts became just a tiny bit fuzzier as he slipped deeper into regression.

Bed springs creaked as someone else plopped down on the other side of the mattress, followed quickly by another metallic squeal slightly to the right of the first. Solar faintly heard the lull of quiet conversation between Sun and Moon, then the rustling of paper as Moon picked up one of Solar’s notes and gave a small huff of surprise at its contents.

Solar didn’t pay much attention to what was going on around him anymore; it all disappeared into a muffled haze as his eyes drifted closed and he relaxed against Earth’s body like a limp washcloth. Subconsciously, he fought against the growing sleepiness invading his brain, but his exhaustion was too strong to resist.

At one point something cold and cylindrical was pressed into his hands, and after a bit of shifting he felt cool water trickling down his throat. Something began repeatedly brushing against his face, and he whined in protest, cracking his eyes open for long enough to see Lunar gently wiping away his remaining tears and dabbing at the wet spot on his shirt with a tissue. The little bot paused for a moment, and concerned star-shaped pupils met his own as Lunar tried to ask him something, only to be stopped by a yellow hand on his shoulder and a familiar, warbling voice.

Tears brimmed in Lunar’s own eyes as Sun and Moon explained something to him, and the moment they seemed to finish he wrapped his own shorter arms around Solar’s chest and held him in an almost protective stance, murmuring something into his shirt. He was very careful to avoid Solar’s tummy.

Eventually, Solar felt a third, and then a fourth person at his side, and he distantly realized he was now encased in a sibling sandwich, or more accurately, a sibling burrito, since he was practically surrounded on all sides. A few words were spoken into his ears, things along the lines of “you can always come to us, you know” and “I might not be able to understand this, but I can still make notes for you.” He didn’t really absorb any of it at that moment; he was too sleepy to listen, and too young to understand, but it was good to know that they were here and with him.

There was still a hole left. Still a bone-deep ache, a cold spot at his side where a little warm thing should have been curled up against him and breathing peacefully.

The room was dark without his lantern, but at least he had these stars to see by.

Solar sighed and, for the first time in weeks, let himself drift into the warm embrace of sleep.