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Language:
English
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Published:
2026-02-26
Words:
578
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
8
Kudos:
16
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1
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195

For Once In His Life

Summary:

Pawbert rots in jail, missing the life he wishes he had.

Notes:

Hi so I guess this fic might seem out of the blue, but I've gotten into Zootopia 2 and Pawbert so I wanted to write something real quick :]

Hope you like [heart hands]

Work Text:

And here he was, feeling like a damn child again.

Pawbert scratched at his wrist, the feel of the cold relinquished steel handcuffs freshly remembered and hated. Lying under the thin covers of his jail bed as he picked at his skin, trying not to think of his father as the man lay on the bunk in the adjacent bed, the man's loud snoring acting as his only comfort.

He desperately wanted to cry but knew that, once he started, he wouldn't be able to stop—at least not until he'd woken his father up and was beaten senseless. Daddy wouldn't, he reminded himself, nail dragging through fur, tongue flicking over empty tooth socket, he just wouldn't anymore.

A part of him already knew he would miss the house; the fireplace he could occupy alone in the west wing as his family went about actual business, the staff who would reply curtly to his desperate attempts at conversation, his father who he hadn't let down yet—who he still thought he had a chance to impress.

Now any chance was soiled and they were all in jail and it was nobody's fault but his own. The lynx pulled the sheets against his face as his eyes watered and his throat made awful pitiful sobs. His face-fur was already soaked with tears and dribble, his body still cold. He wanted to hug someone, feel something warm for once in his life, be with someone who cared about him.

I had Gary, he recollected dreadfully, slamming his head into his paws, He cared... but just I went and ruined that too…

He tried to remember the last time he'd been held, closing his eyes to try and block the dark room he was trapped in. Pawbert had never gotten to truly sit with the reptile, their brief union only fueled by the man's desperation for justice and his own weak-minded will for appreciation. He rubbed along his arm, trying to remember the feel of scales against him, curled around him in a grip that would have sent a less touch-starved man mad with fear of venom.

He had already felt venom before, seeped in conversation across dinner tables at galas and nights Milton would demand they all eat together. The fear had become a part of his life and he began to long for it in the weeks his father would leave for meetings. He missed the angry glare in his eye—he missed being looked at.

As the tears stopped, his mind going back through memories of his youth, he even missed the heavy-pawed slaps he would be dealt by his father for not acting appropriately at functions. He missed the wrist grabs, the shoves, the spittle left in his fur after the yelling got intense.

Pitifully he brought a paw up and, lightly, struck his own cheek. His arm shook as he tried to remember the real thing and how his fathers touch felt, how it stung for minutes after contact. He hit himself again and quickly realised it wasn't the same, paw limply landing on his chest as his eyes remained closed.

‘I want a hug…’ he quietly breathed out, his thoughts breaching reality, ‘A hug…’

His spiraling thoughts slowed as he felt his body grow tired, his paws across his own body as tried to feel as much contact as he could. I hope I dream about daddy, he thought weakly, I hope he likes me.