WC: 1545 || Ships: Gopherhail, Sunturine (mentioned) || Rating: G

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63947530

Concept: Mikhail has been trapped within the walls for as long as Sunday can remember. He had heard of the great hero of Penacony, the *father* of Penacony, but it was Gopher's glare that made him stop asking questions when he was a child. Now, as he gets read to depart from Penacony, he is surprised by the person who comes to see him off.

He stops in his tracks when he sees the man on the bench. Luckily, he was quick enough to catch the bag full of pastries he had let go of before they crashed to the ground.

He…

He cannot remember the last time he saw this man outside the walls of that cold, cold manor. *If ever, *an angry voice in his mind hisses. For as long as he had been alive, this man was always within the walls of his childhood home, never even venturing into the gardens or the enclosed greenhouse.

“It is rude to stare, little bird. Come, I am talking to some friends.” He nods his head, quickly making his way to the bench.

However, there is no one there.

“Ah, yes, I do tend to forget that. Here, hold out your hand.” He does without question, as he has never been shown a reason to not trust this man.

This man being the one who helped raise him, who shielded him from what he could, and who told him about the stars beyond the sweet dreams.

With great care, a bracelet made of gears is wrapped around his wrist.

“*So this is him, Mikhail? Wowee! He’s gotten so big*!” He startles from his thoughts, looking around for a voice. He hears a low chuckle, which has him furrowing his brow at the man.

“Look down, little bird.” He does and—

*Clockie?*

“He is very big, yes. A full-grown adult now, going off and seeing the stars. It does seem he misses the food of his home, though.” He self-consciously tightens his hold on his bag before he loosens it.

“Ah, yes. The Crew wanted to do some last minute errands, so I thought I might…well…” He turns the back ever so slightly, hoping that the one item that was not a pastry is hidden from sight.

“Mhm, yes. Of course. So tell me, little bird, how is the Stoneheart who almost destroyed Penacony doing these days? Recovering well, I take it?” He does drop the bag this time.

“I— I—” Mikhail smiles at him, not with anger or snideness, but with warmth.

“Truly, I have no room to judge. Opposites attract and all that.” He shakes his head, trying to deny the accusation.

“T-there is nothing going on between Kaka— *Aventurine *and I.” Mikhail hums, a jaunty little sound that comforted Sunday when he was a younger man.

“Really? Ah, thank you Clockie. So then this *isn’t *a love letter. Let me see… Ah yes. ‘*My dearest Sunday. It has been—’”*

“Papa!” He reaches forward to take the letter back, clutching it tight to his chest. Glancing down from Mikhail’s all-knowing eyes, he sees that the letter was still tucked in the envelope and that the flap had barely been opened.

“*Haha! What fun! Hanu, Hanu! Did you see that? Mikhail played a prank!”*

“*Hmph.*” Sunday blinks as Hanu stomps out from under the bench Mikhail was sitting on, coming to stand in front of Clockie.

“Now, now my friend. Sunday means no harm. He was just going on his way now.” He turns back to the older man, whose expression has gone from mirthful to wistful. In his outstretched hand, he holds up Sunday’s bag. “Off to see the stars, the true stars. You got the juice I told you to get, yes? Pom-Pom will need something to calm their nerves, that is for sure. Still can’t *believe *they ran the Express into Harmonious Choir.”

He laughs—a little strained— at the memory. Mikhail grins at him, looking every year his age with his full beard and lines around his eyes. It makes Sunday ache with how much of his life he knows has been spent in the walls of the house of Gopher Wood.

He can’t take it anymore, not when Clockie and Hanu wave their goodbyes and go back to exploring, or when Mikhail’s gaze turns away from him and up toward the cloudy, sweet dream sky.

He reaches out, voice pitched and stressed.

“Come with me. *Mikhail, papa, please*, come with me.” He grabs onto the man’s hand, trying to pull him up from the bench. “There is plenty of room on the Express, they may even have your old room. Please, don’t stay here any longer. We can find your body in the hotel and—” He shakes when a hand covers his hand.

“I cannot, little bird, and that is okay. My place is here, on Penacony.” Sunday shakes his head, wings flapping anxiously.

“No, no. Not anymore. *He’s gone*, Mikhail. He’s gone and you are f-free. L-like me.” A hand comes up to cup his cheek and he sniffs. Such childlike behavior, but in front of this man, he knows it is okay.

“If you believe so, Sunday, then I am glad you think that. He is gone and you are free.” He continues to shake his head.

“He *is gone*. Why—”

“Mikhail.” *No. He had felt it. He had*— “It is time to go.”

“Give me a minute, will ya? Golly, can’t even have a few moments of rest without you getting after me.” Gopher Wood’s eyes narrow as he glares at Mikhail, before that glare slowly shifts to him. He swallows thickly, but doesn’t back down.

“Well, perhaps if the child could be on—”

“Enough.” Sunday jumps at the sudden change in Mikhail’s tone.

“I did not speak fallacy, Mikhail. He was—”

“*Enough*.” Mikhail turns to glare at Gopher, who merely tilts his head. Sunday avoids looking at him for too long, returning his gaze to Mikhail. The man is slowly rising to a stand, muttering about his age.

“Ah, to be spry again. No, no, I don’t need help. There’s a good lad.” He blinks when Mikhail’s hands come to rest on his shoulders. “Now, I do believe it is time for you to go Sunday. Go somewhere far far away and forget about bitter dreams. It seems you have already prepared a new travel outfit, but perhaps…”

Mikhail turns his face down to look at his coat, murmuring about lost items. Then, he cheers as he reaches into his pants pocket to pull out an item.

*A watch. *

“For your travels. I know that your time here has not been pleasant for a long, long time, but I hope that now you will only have good times. Or well, as pleasant as being on the Express can be. We used to get into a lot of trouble.” Mikhail pats his cheek and steps back, turning away before Sunday can respond. He’s walking back toward Gopher before Sunday can stop him, humming the original team to *‘Clockie’*.

He wants to say a hundred different things. He wants to grab Mikhail’s hand and pull him far away from Gopher because he’s finally strong enough to do so. He wants to run to the Express crew to tell them that their long-lost crew member is here. Yet, he finds himself rooted in place, watching as Mikhail walks over to Gopher, watching as the cheerfulness the man had a mere few seconds ago fades away.

He strains his ears to hear the conversation between the two men.

“Are you done now?”

“Well, Clockie, Hanu, and I *were* discussing possible rewrites to the original few seasons of *‘Clockie’* if you want to wait again, darlin’. I can gladly go find them, sit back down, and talk for another few hours. Might draw some attention though, some of the older folks might put two and two together though.”

“A simple answer would have sufficed.” Gopher Wood’s sigh makes him reflexively want to stand straighter, but he is able to fight the urge. Mikhail doesn’t respond, merely placing his hand on the small of Gopher’s back and directing them away from Aideen Park. Sunday wants to chase after them, but he can’t. He doesn’t know why but he can’t.

Perhaps, he thinks, this is fate.

However, the pair don’t get far, as Gopher Wood stops Mikhail. He slowly turns to look blankly in Sunday’s direction, and all he can feel is an overall sense of *disappointment.* However, when Mikhail clears his throat, that feeling is gone. Yet, Gopher does not turn away.

“Do not worry about the Stoneheart’s deal. Such petty little deals are beneath those who Ena has laid THEIR eye on and even though you stand with Xipe, THEY do not forget. A deal such as that… Think of this as Ena’s last gift to you, boy. To you and your sister.”

Gopher turns, nose slightly upturned, and walks away. It makes Sunday feel like a child again. Mikhail just sighs, before he turns and winks at Sunday.

“I threw a little something at you too, in terms of the Trailblaze and…well, I’ve always loved fictional stories. Be good, Sunday, and do us proud, okay?” Mikhail nods his head once, then moves to follow after Gopher.

When they are out of sight, Sunday stumbles, as if a tether had been cut. When he looks down at his feet, he shudders at the sight of black and grey feathers floating just above the ground.

A breeze picks up and he watches as the feathers fly away, dancing along the wind that carries an overly familiar tune.