together you're held by a bit of tape

(title taken from Go! Child's Good Morning)

Days had passed since the Gathering; and things had settled into something that resembled normalcy - well, for most of ThunderClan, at least. Not for Batbite, who was sprawled out in the nursery as the sun began to rise over the camp, gently nudging each of her kits in turn - she'd named them, their clan names at least, though she imagined nicknames would come to each in time. It was one little way she showed her love for those around her, a simple way to let them know they held a piece of her heart. The concept of being a mother still terrified her, down to her core, but she would not abandon them the way her own mother had done.

(Oh, she'd had her brothers - Lynxtail and Copperheart, though they walked with Leopardstar now, had shaped her in much the same way she hoped these kits would shape one another. That they would have each other to lean on, should they ever need it. And oh, she'd shaped a family out of patchwork pieces, even if much of them had left in some way or another - Oakstar was as much a father to her as Leopardstar had been, and though she'd never voiced the sentiment she was sure he knew.)

Perhaps it was spite, that she loved them as she did. But she did love them, with more of her heart than she knew she'd had to give.

Thrushkit, her firstborn daughter, with lovely brown-and-white fur that made her think of Lynxtail; Sablekit, the daughter whose vibrant colors mixed with monochrome; Quailkit, her first son, black and gray, who sort of resembled a bird in his tiny helplessness; Flamekit, the son whose fur resembled a raging fire; Kestrelkit, the son who greatly resembled a Thrushkit with shorter fur; Finchkit, the son whose fur was the same orange color of the sun settling over the horizon and reminded her so firmly of Copperheart; and lastly Hickorykit, with darker orange-and-white fur than her siblings.

"This world will try to hurt you," she whispered, words they wouldn't yet understand, just barely audible enough to reach their tiny ears. She loved them, and she needed them to know, whether they understood the meaning of her whispers. "It will make you bend and break, and it will challenge you at every turn. But it will shape you into who you will be, and that is what makes it beautiful - what makes it worth living in. You'll be warriors in time."

Each and every one of them, a treasure she would guard with her life. They had the gift of a mother who would love and protect them unconditionally, whatever the cost. But now she looked to her mate. "What do you think?" she asked, tone laced with soft affection. It was a sort of vulnerability that was rare for her, most of the time - but they were her kits, they held her heart in their tiny paws without knowing it at all.

The brown-and-white she-kit had been born under three truths. First, and most important, that she was loved. Second, that she was the oldest of seven by a matter of heartbeats. Third, that her name—rather, the name her mother had given her; over the moons, there would be many more—was Thrushkit.

Of course, Thrushkit didn’t know those truths. Not yet. If she had, she might not have cared about any but the first. The world she’d entered was the simplest it would ever be, consisting solely of what her nose, instincts, and web-thin whiskers could tell her. According to them, this was all that mattered: the gnawing feelings that occasionally rose in her belly; the fuzzy things squirming around her, jabbing outward with paws as tiny as her own; and the steady warmth that sat beside them. Said warmth nudged her. Thrushkit mewed, feeling the sound high in her throat, and crept toward it as it withdrew, refusing to let the lumps she’d soon learn to call “siblings” dissuade her. At once, she was surrounded by fur. Though she had nothing with which to name the scent, something in her mind understood it was safe. So far, it had been; as far as she knew, it would be. She settled down and, after a moment, began to doze as her parents spoke words she couldn't hear.

Quailkit, the eldest son in his litter, didn't really know that. For now he thought that his only purpose in life was to have milk.

Sniffing around Quailkit could scent 6 other things, all with same scent as him. He wondered what they are but then got distracted by his hunger, so he started to drink some milk, enjoying the warmth of his mother and the 6 things that smelled like which turned out to be his siblings. But of course Quailkit didn't know that yet.

She was the last to be born, but certainly not the least. The she-kit was a little on the small side, even compared to the other kits, but she made up for it with her dark orange pelt. It wasn't like Flamekit, her second oldest brother, who was aptly named for his pelt that shone like a roaring fire. It wasn't even like Finchkit, who had lighter orange fur reminiscent of the sunset. No...she was in a category all her own. She was Hickorykit, as she would find out later, and she had her whole life ahead of her. She mewled at the jostling from her older siblings, the warm scent of her mother's milk thick in her nostrils, and her little tummy cried out for sustenance. Making her way towards the smell on very wobbly kitten legs, she crawled over to Batbite's stomach and found the outlet for the milk she so desperately needed. Once she had drank her fill, she curled up against her mother's side and fell into a deep sleep, kept warm from the fur of her many siblings.

It... it had been a surprise, to say the least. The news had hit him like the shock of cold water, not unpleasant, but... unexpected, stealing his breath for a couple of heartbeats. A father. He was... he was going to be a father. He should have been overjoyed, ecstatic, and grinning from ear to ear. And after he'd gotten over the first shock, he had managed a smile - a slightly dazed one - but a smile.

And yet... Quiet dread curled up into his chest as time passed, and the arrival of the kits - their kits - grew closer. A gnawing nervousness. Their kits, their kits.

...Starlord's grandkits.

He'd paced in circles half the time, wandering aimlessly on patrols and finding himself in places he didn't remember walking to, eaten up by a restless energy. What if I mess this up? The thought had run through his head almost daily, covered up by a smile he somehow managed to plaster on his face whenever someone talked about it, but not hiding the deep fears that hid behind it like the depths of a churning river - visible to those who looked beneath the surface. He could see in Batbite a reflection of it, a mirror like his own.

But it wasn't the concept of being a father, of having kits that terrified him. Not as much, anyway. After all, he wasn't the one who had to give birth to them, but it was something deeper, the spectre of his own father hanging over him like a dark cloud, blue eyes haunting his dreams. He'd never been there, he'd run off and sired half a dozen kits all over the Clans before he died at one of his many son's paws. One of the first. The thoughts chased themselves in circles in his mind. He wouldn't abandon them, not like Starlord, but the fear still lingered. The fear of not sharing that precious time with them, of failing them.

Stars, would Starlord's ghost never leave him alone?

And then the day came, and those fears were replaced with a sudden spike of panic, though he'd stoically lain at Batbite's side, doing his best to put up a brave front, trying to stay strong for her, even if he couldn't do anything but watch helplessly and stay out of Mossbloom and Daisybloom's way. It had felt like it lasted all night, maybe it had, but now....

Now, he craned his head over Batbite's side to look at them, all the fear, all the nervousness, suddenly melting away as his eyes traced their wriggling forms, little quiet mewls breaking the quiet. Gently, he reached his tail over, resting it on the back of Hickorykit's little form and feeling the beat of their hearts gently pulsing in his ears, the warmth of Batbite beside him, her softly affectionate voice murmuring to him.

"I..." He couldn't stop a smile from breaking at his maw, his eyes wondering at them for a moment longer before turning back to look into hers. "They're perfect. Better than perfect," He purred, touching his nose to her cheek. "Like their mother."

His heart was a tangle, but for once, it was a good one, a warm feeling like the sparkle of the sun rising over the
murmuring waters of the river. Like it had that day back at the barn, when they were young, and running from their troubles. And had somehow found peace.

He turned his eyes to them again, feeling something whisper at the corners of his mind. River... Strom.... The one thing, the only good thing, his father had gifted to him. He hesitated. It had given him pain, and hurt him, but somehow, the thought felt... right, here. Like they should. And why not? Starlord had left him, but these kits would always be loved. 

He searched Bat's eyes, a slightly lop-sided lilt coming to his smile. "...They should have nicknames, too, right?"

Better than perfect, he said, and she was inclined to agree. "Of course," she laughed. "And considering I gave them their Clan names, I suppose this honor falls to you." There was a moment's silence, and if she could have moved without disturbing the kits she might have nudged him playfully, the way she often did. As it was, she wasn't entirely sure what possessed her to keep talking. "We've survived everything else in our lives - I think we'll figure this out, too. It's kind of terrifying, don't you think? But we'll be better than they ever were," she whispered, with an air of determination about her. They were both haunted, after all, by the ghosts of their pasts - but they were not destined to become them. "If I manage just one thing in my life, let it be that."

He smiled in reply, feeling the purr rumble deeper at her laugh. "Clan names aren't the thing I'm best at," He quipped wryly. Then again, I don't know where to start with other names, either. He glanced back at them, feeling the quiet of the den settle into his bones, tiny mewls and squeaks the only sound to accompany the steady pulse of their hearts. What would Starlord have named them? A bitter taste swirled below his tongue at the thought. Do I want to name them what he would? They would be names for loners, names for cats who didn't belong. Like his name.

No, I don't want that.

And then Batbite spoke again, her whisper reflecting the anxiety of the thoughts that had swirled through his head, and he turned his eyes back to hers. So much had happened in their lives. Pain, heartbreak, but also... good things. Things like the sun rising over the river, waking up to the warmth of each other's fur, sharing their hearts, their hopes, and coming through the fire stronger than ever. As he looked into the green of her eyes, the memory of the day he'd seen her on the Great Rock came back to mind. That time at Fourtrees, when they'd planned to run away to the Abandoned Barn - the sparkle of her eyes daring him to leap up and join her. They'd been through so much since then. So much before then, too.

"If I manage just one thing in my life, let it be that."

He pressed his nose to her fur, the words resonating with him in the quiet, haunted dark of his thoughts. It was terrifying, it was the most terrifying thing he'd ever faced. For most of his life, he'd run from everything, denied everything. This... to run would be to abandon them, to deny everything would tear him and them apart. And for once, he didn't want to run, he didn't want to hide. "We're held by a claw," He murmured. "But it's enough. It has to be.They're gone, and we're all that's left. You're right, we'll be better." The corner of his maw lifted in a humourless smile as he whispered, "We can't be worse."

He glanced back at the kits, an inexplicable lump in his throat as he took in a breath, his eyes settling on the pelt of his first daughter. And he suddenly heard it, in the soft breeze outside - a memory of golden hills, grasses rippling in waves to the gently rolling horizon. No, I won't name them what Starlord would, I'll name them what I would. In that thought, all the anxiety gently washed away, leaving the name free and clear in his mind. He rested his tail gently on her squirming body. "Mermurr, like the breeze that sighs through the long grass on the hills."

And the next... he hesitated, his eyes settling on her pelt as she pawed at Batbite's belly fur beside her siblings with a squeak - russet-red patches mixed with black stripes - the monochrome of her pelt reminding him of Littlestream. The flash of the river twinkling between reeds with memories of laughter, distantly carried on the chuckling ripples. "Lirista, for the ripple of the river."

His tail touched Quailkit next, running over his dark pelt, like the noble trees they lived under, trunks still and quiet, bird calls echoing between their branches. "Daris, for the quiet of the forest, and the dapples of light that fall through it."

Brushing his tail-tip over the next three - Flamekit, Kestrelkit, and Finchkit - in turn, he let the names and feelings rise to his mind with each one, slipping free and easy, like they were whispered into his mind. "Tayaz, vibrant like the fiery beams of the setting sun. Kerath, a stone in a quiet glade." A soft smile edged his maw as he touched little Finchkit's downy fur. "Lempi, for the soft gold of the sunset."

And then he came to the last, her little pelt so similar to his, bringing a slight pang to his heart. May she never bear the same pain he had. "And Dock," He whispered. "Deep rooted and bright."

My sons and daughters, you will be incredible, The words whispered through his mind, like the echo of a familiar voice edging through the fog of memory, fading before he could grasp it. The quiet of the den, complete and utter peace like a warm breeze spreading through his soul, was all that was left in the wake of his words, distant bird calls from the new-leaf forest and murmuring voices outside only adding to it.

Here, here was peace. For this pawful of moments, perfect in every way, was nothing but the beat of their hearts and the warmth of their pelts. Whatever the future would hold, only this moment mattered, and he would hold it tightly as long as he drew breath. And beyond even that, wherever that might take him.

Quailkit had been given his second name, but he didn't it yet. He didn't know he was also Daris or the names of his siblings. Not even the name's of his parents. But still the tom-kit held much promise. Like all kits did.

Quailkit wasn't just a Quailkit, the kit climbing over his littermates just to get milk. He wasn't just a rather big and healthy looking kit.

Quailkit was also Daris. A kit who had been given two names, one from each of his parents.

Kestrelkit, now also known as Kerath, wriggled around in an attempt to get into a slightly more comfortable sleeping position. He was certainly the quietest of the bunch, barely making any type of sound. Only the occasional tiny mew was let out when one of his siblings pressed against or pushed him a little too hard. He had already drank his fill of the sweet milk his mother provided so now he was content to just sleep within the warmth of his family. It was easy living for now. His life had barely begun. He and his siblings had so much ahead of them and they don't even know it yet.