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Cuphead knew, deep down, he had been wrong for trying to fight with Mugman on this.
They’d been sent out to the woods to gather firewood… well, no, he’d been sent out to the woods to gather firewood, Mugman had reluctantly tagged along to ensure he didn’t either get himself killed, or somehow destroy the entire forest. The young mug’s attempts at replenishing their supply were fruitless, as his ungrateful brother disregarded his work, towards a task that wasn’t even his own, and still decided to muck about despite having already been reprimanded beforehand.
Mugman snapped the moment their compass was promptly shot up into the air after the cup tied it to a firework and lit the fuse, watching in horror as their only way home was blown to itty bitty pieces, and finally settled his gaze back onto Cuphead’s unbothered expression. He yelled at him, his voice cracking with every scathing word that passed his lips, labelling his brother as lazy and incapable as the cup in question countered with his own pointless argument that they’d just be a couple of sheltered sippy cups if it weren’t for his carefree attitude, before finally the two parted ways with one last, ugly glance over their shoulders directed at the other.
That’d been about five hours ago, and since then the sun had ducked behind the trees, scared off by the brothers’ enraged babbling, leaving only the gentle light of the moon that was overshadowed by the clouds laying down a merciless layer of glistening snow. It clung to leave-less trees, and the awaiting tops of boulders, wilted flowers that had hidden from the harsh colds of winter, and finally, an unfortunate little cup who just happened to be out in the woods when the weather decided to take a turn.
Cuphead awoke with a start, his chest heaving with ragged, uneven gasps for a desperate attempt in gulping down enough air to fill his lungs, his small frame quaking under the thin frost that’d begun to gather over his body. He winced at the sight, one hand curling around his arm in an attempt to preserve heat, as the other outstretched to make an equal effort of brushing as much of the fluffy white away from his body as possible, legs pressed together and his features scrunched in discomfort. Despite the obviously freezing temperatures around him, his body itself felt like it was on fire, as if a colony of fire ants were skittering beneath his porcelain and latching onto his nervous system, refusing to let go no matter how much he whimpered or wriggled uncomfortably.
After a while, however, Cuphead began to grow hungry, and, with much reluctance, pulled himself onto shaking feet with just barely enough balance to keep himself upright for longer than five seconds, arms coiling tightly around his midsection as his vision was glazed over; whether that was from the storm, or the fact he’d just woken up, he couldn’t tell, but what he could tell was that if he didn’t manage to find something to quell his hunger soon, he could kiss sweet life goodbye. The prospect made the cup’s shivers all the more persistent, staggering backward before making a start through the darkened forest to find something, anything, to eat.
Perhaps Mugsy had been right? Maybe worrying about things was necessary from time to time…
No! He couldn’t relent now. If he did, then Mugman would never let him hear the end of it. He’d be fine. Yeah… he could handle himself in the deep, dark… cold, woods. He was almost nine, which was basically a grown up! You don’t need to worked up over nothing just because your prissy little brother says so.
Unfortunately, determination only gets one so far, and as the sky depended with clouds warning him of the oncoming climates, a part of him, something raw and vulnerable, couldn’t help but start to worry. But he pressed on, anyway, tripping over himself multiple times as he made his long, slow descent through the unhelpful forest, teeth chattering and arms remaining curled around himself, paired with a third sound. One his tired, unusually-fuzzy mind couldn’t place. Bubbling, almost. He chose to ignore it, for now, as he came across a tree packed with acorns, halting in his path and making a beeline for the stash, neglecting to acknowledge the way his legs ached or his chest burned as he shoved his hand into the oak and curled his fingers around one of the awaiting nuts, giving his fist a firm tug in an attempt to dislodge it. It wouldn’t budge, no matter how much he yanked or pulled, a soft whimper of frustration tearing through his stinging throat before he could even think to swallow it back.
How could this night get any worse?
Well, through a couple ways, apparently, as his ailed moment of weakness is interrupted by a fateful encounter with a pack of squirrels, who look less than happy at the little boy trying to steal their food. Cuphead froze, taking more than just a few moments to register what was about to happen, before his shoulders trembled with a couple, nervous chuckles.
“Hello…” he croaks, grimacing at the sound of his own voice and bringing a hand up to cup his throat as the rodents ambushed him and gave him a beating.
Honestly, he didn’t remember much after that, only coming to the moment he was dragged through the snow and promptly chucked off the edge of a cliff, hitting every branch possible on his free-fall to the awaiting ground below, porcelain meeting hard surface with a loud and erupting THUD that shattered the peaceful silence that typically came with a winter night. Another broken whine spilled past his lips, barely managing to push himself up onto shaky arms as the mysterious bubbling began to grow louder and more intense in his already-ringing ears. Where was that coming from?
No matter. He was still hungry, and he still needed to find something to eat, albeit how desperately his battered, tired body was trying to lull him back into a deep slumber, he’d be darned if he let Mugman’s stupid, dumb… stupid, words convince him that he should be worried!
He was the stupid one for thinking he could make it through the night without heeding to their earlier argument and starting to worry. He didn’t have much success after getting shamed by a bunch of red-tailed jerks, aside from a fish he tried to snag from a raccoon, who had no problem adding to his already miserable experience. He honestly didn’t know getting smacked upside the head with a fish could hurt so bad. Aside from that, and a few other unfortunate failures in gathering food, he was pretty much doomed to freeze before morning, slowly dragging his quaking body through the snow as he awaited his demise.
Mugman was right. He always was… how could he’ve been so naive as to think he could last even a single night without- where was that bubbling coming from!?
Cuphead staggered to a stop, surveying his surroundings with half-lidded eyes as he tried, really tried, to focus on where the persistent sound was originating from, and then it clicked. His head. He tilted his cup downward as his eyes, in turn, flick up to catch a glimpse of his milk simmering to a steady boil, swallowing thickly past the lump that had formed in his throat as the noise only seemed to grow more sickening now that he’d finally acknowledged it. That couldn’t be right. How could he be boiling in a temperature like this? He didn’t have much time to mull the perplexing implications over, as his bleary vision was captured by something else; in the snow, there it was, a cabin, just barely illuminated by its soft, warm glow of the outdoor lights. A cabin meant shelter, and shelter meant people. Whoever was there could probably help him… right? Well, he didn’t have many options at his disposal, so with little to no hesitation, he started towards the structure, jaw clenched and head pounding as he tripped through the snow and up the steps leading to the porch, a soft, relieved hum strumming through his chest as the gentle light hit his face and combatted against the snow that still laid atop him, if not slightly.
Two firm knocks of his trembling fist was all it took for the owner of the cabin to pull the door open, face to face with its inhibitor as classical music played softly in the background, who just so happened to- Mugman!?
“Yes, may I help you?” The mug greets coldly, like he’d been anticipating Cuphead’s inevitable arrival.
Cuphead stiffened, his breath stilling and his chest constricting as Mugman’s chilling tone cut through the already-freezing air. He winced, a guilty, but relieved, smile tugging his lip upward as his hands rub at his quaking arms just a little faster.
“Mugsy..! What’re you doin’ out here..?” He inquires through chattering teeth, feeling himself slowly but surely slipping from consciousness even as they spoke.
“Well, someone I once knew lost our only compass. Then the harsh winter set in, and I was forced to build this cabin and lodge here until spring.” The young mug snaps back just as coldly, frowning at the way his brother seemed to jerk back at his harsh words, as if they’d physically struck him. He rolls his eyes. How dramatic. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s quite cold and I’m baking a pie.” He finished, going to shut the door his hand was still propped against and expecting to hear the satisfying click confirming he’d cut his twin off, but only hearing the sound of a second hand slamming against the wooden surface, to force it back open, and reverberating through its engravings.
“Wait, Mugsy!” The cup shrieks, his breathing shallow and frantic, matching his equally as panicked eyes, legs quaking beneath the weight of his body as he shifts uneasily in place. “I-.. I-I can’t…” He tries to inform his brother of how utterly garbage he felt, how he could feel himself growing weaker and wasn’t sure how long he could hold on before he was yanked back to the land of sleep, but not before Mugman forcefully pried his hand away from the door and met his gaze with his own stubbornly narrowed one.
“Well, if ya’d just listened to me, maybe I woulda let you in! But I ain’t. And quit yer stammerin’! It ain’t convinc-“ He was cut off. By what? Cuphead’s trembling form suddenly going limp against his porch with the loud THUD of limbs meeting wood, prompting Mugman to flinch backwards at the unexpected occurrence. He remained eerily silent for a moment, just observing his brother’s crumpled body, before huffing out a sound of irritation. “Oh, hah, hah, great acting, Cuphead! Gosh, you could probably make it to the stage with those skills!” He snarks flippantly, his hands clenching into tight fists as he gives his brother a nudge with his foot. “Cmon, get up! You aren’t gonna make me feel guilty, if that’s what yer tryna do.”
Silence. It gave Mugman a brief pause. He couldn’t recall the last time Cuphead had been this quiet before, nor could he remember the last time he’d seen him so… still.
“Okay, Cuphead, you made your point. Maybe I was a little harsh. You can get up now!”
Nothing. The mug’s breathing hitched, anxiety coiling around his throat and practically choking him. He duck to his knees, hands curling around his brother’s shoulders and giving him a few firm, desperate shakes.
“Cuphead..? Cuphead!?”
——— ———
Darkness.
That was all he could see. All he could remember.
What’d happened? Where was he?
Was he in bed? In the sanctity of his bedroom, beneath his covers and curled around his teddy bear? No. It didn’t feel like his bedroom. But it was cozy. Warm. No- it was chilly- maybe? He could feel himself shivering, but it wasn’t cold like it had been outside.
Outside.
That’s where he’d been. Out in the snow, faced against the harsh conditions of the winter night. But why had he been there? It seemed like an awfully unconventional thing to do, especially with how strict Elder Kettle was about staying out in the cold for too long. Gosh, he sounded like Mugman.
…
They’d had a fight. A stupid fight that he’d been the cause of. All because he couldn’t just stick to his chores and chop the firewood like he’d been told to. He stiffened, his fingers curling into loose fists around nothing in particular as a soft, pained groan struck his vocal cords. He needed to apologise. But would Mugsy even forgive him?
His eyes scrunched, managing to flip himself onto his side as he forcefully peeled his lids open, squinting as the harsh light from the lit lamp stung his retinas and made it all the more difficult to keep himself awake. He was in the cabin, the faint smell of pine and sap making his stomach churn, and he was on a wooden bench, with a quilt laid atop his still-shivering body. Who brought him inside?
His eyes flick downwards, to his hand, where an unfamiliar pressure was curled around it. There, he found two other hands, clutching his one as if it were a fragile ornament, ready to break at any moment. The hands themselves belonged to his brother, who seemed far too preoccupied with holding onto him to realise he was awake, his face scrunched anxiously and his foot tapping against the floor as he awaited impatiently for the cup to awaken.
“Mugsy…?” He croaks, watching through tired eyes as the mug’s head shot up to fix his own glossy, tear-filled gaze on his brother, wasting no time in lunging forward and throwing his arms around the trembling cup.
“Cuphead!” He cries, tugging his brother into his arms and negligent to acknowledge the way he winced at his strangling embrace. “I- I was so worried..! You wouldn’t- you wouldn’t move, or- or respond..!” He sniffles, pulling back only to get a glimpse of Cuphead’s exhausted features. “It’s.. it’s all my fault. If I’d just let ya in- or… or brought you with me to begin with, you never woulda-!”
“It ain’t your fault, Mugsy…” Cuphead cuts him off, unable to keep himself upright any longer and so he resolves to pressing himself against the mug’s chest instead. “It’s.. it’s mine. I was the one who wasn’t listenin’ and muckin’ about when I shoulda been choppin’ firewood… I’m sorry-“ He chokes, his shoulders constricting with the force of a sudden coughing fit, tears prickling at his eyes as the sharp movements jostle his already-aching body.
Mugman grimaces, a fresh wave of anxiety practically suffocating him as he presses a hand to Cuphead’s back in an effort to offer him even a semblance of comfort, as the other lays flat against the cup’s burning forehead, before gently moving to cradle one of his flushed cheeks.
“You’re burning up…” The mug murmurs, more to himself than the cup who was still hacking his lung up, moving to tug the blanket further over his brother’s quivering shoulders.
“I- I am?” He manages to force out weakly as his coughing slowly dissolves into nothing more than a few wheezes and a couple choked sounds of pain.
“Yes.”
“Oh… well, that explains why my milk was boilin’..”
“Y-your milk was boiling!? When? How badly? For how long!?” Mugman sputters, eyes wide with worry as anxiety grips his chest and he, too, latches onto Cuphead’s arms with a white-hot, near-frantic grip.
Cuphead winces at Mugman’s panicked questioning, silently reprimanding himself for letting that fact slip past his filter.
“Uh.. just- y’know, it was just bubblin’, and whatnot… I think. Maybe.”
The mug is silent for a moment, his teeth sunken into his bottom lip before he finally pulls Cuphead back into his arms for another firm, but not quite as intense, hug.
“I- I’m so sorry… I left ya out in the cold, and- and now you’re sick ‘cause of me..!” Mugman wails, tears streaming down his face and pattering mutely against the wood beneath them as he coaxes Cuphead even closer.
“It’s- ‘s fine, Mugsy… really. M’just glad I ain’t out in the snow no more.” The cup tries to lighten the mood, but his words only serve in prompting more broken sobs from his weeping twin, wincing as the mug’s shrill cries fill the cabin and the insides of his hazy mind. “Mugman…”
The mug sniffles, trying ever so desperately to blink his tears away and swallow his anguish in an attempt to focus on his feverish brother, but the notion that he was only causing him further pain just made him want to cry all over again.
“I’m okay, see?”
“You’re still shaking, though…”
Cuphead shrugs, though his brows furrow as a particularly nerving shudder wracks his small frame, his face scrunching in discomfort before he finally speaks. “I ain’t too worried about-…” He begins to speak those familiar words, before something makes him pause. He wasn’t not worried about it, this time. In fact, he was quite worried about it. “Never- never mind. I… I don’t really feel all that good, now that I think ‘bout it…”
Mugman’s expression softens at Cuphead’s uncharacteristic admission, and without much to say, he instead tucks the cup beneath the blanket before snuggling underneath with him, his arms coiled tightly, but gently, around his torso as his brother’s head buries itself comfortably into the crook of his neck. “You don’t always have to not be worried about stuff, y’know. It’s okay to not feel good, sometimes… just like I should be.. um, less worried ‘bout stuff, sometimes...”
Cuphead hums softly, his own arms wrapping loosely around Mugman’s waist as he finally allows his eyes to flutter shut once more, listening to the calming sounds of his brother’s heartbeat and the sparks crackling cozily amongst the wood in the fireplace. He still felt utterly miserable, but he was miserable with his brother there to comfort him, and that’s all he needed to feel even just a little better. Then a thought struck him, and he raised his head to meet Mugman’s gaze with his own, sleepy one for a final time. “How’re we s’pposed to get back ta the cottage?”
Mugman paused, his hand halting its soothing ministrations on the small of his brother’s back as he silently mulled the question over. Then, he smiled, and clinked their heads together, a gentle sign of reassurance, before finally responding.
“I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”