Archive of Our Own ^beta

The sun did not rise bright and early on Peanut’s birthday because it was late October.

Peanut, however, did.

They were up and scrambling into their parent’s bed long before the sun started peaking over the horizon.

Appa and Phaw always take forever to wake up in the mornings, but by the time Peanut manages to land a knee somewhere soft on Daddy, causing him to jolt awake with a wheeze, the other two are finally starting to groan awake.

“Wake up!” they crow, slipping around a bit as various knees shift around under the covers. “It’s today!”

Hands reach out to steady them as Phaw shuffles upright, eyes still half-closed.

“What time is it, kiddo?” he asks, squinting at the clock.

“Birthday time, Phaw!”

“Hmm,” mumbles Daddy, fumbling for his glasses before joining in the clock-squinting. “Maybe, but can birthday time start a little later?”

“Not how it works, Daddy,” says Peanut seriously. “I wanted to start at midnight but Uncle Kenta said you probably wouldn’t appreciate me staying up past my bedtime even though it’s my birthday and I don’t have a bedtime on my birthday.”

“No,” says Appa as he sits up to turn on his lamp. “But you were still supposed to be in bed asleep by nine o’clock last night - before your birthday.”

Stumped, Peanut drops down onto Phaw’s lap properly as they mull this over.

As they think, they wriggle in closer until they can stick their face in the collar of his pyjama shirt. 

Phaw’s scent has always been the best for cuddling into (not that Peanut would ever consider telling the others that his scent is better), warm and comforting and safe, and Peanut tucks in closer, feeling Phaw’s arms wrap around them as they reach up to hold onto his shirt.

A hand reaches out to stroke their back - Daddy, judging from the angle - and Peanut relaxes a bit more. 

Someone murmurs something outside the bubble and then-

- the sun shines through the window.

Peanut grumbles, turning their head away from where the light is shining directly on their face.

A hand lands on their shoulder, shaking them gently and they growl sleepily.

“None of that now, pup,” says the shaker sternly before brightening up. “Come on, up, up, up!”

Rolling over, they blink sleepily up at the excited face of Daddy.

“Come on,” he repeats. “Appa made breakfast.”

Appa did indeed make breakfast, and he’s just starting to dish up as Peanut shuffles in, Daddy holding them by the shoulders as he playfully marches them along whilst chanting.

“Birthday Nut! Birthday Nut! Birthday, birthday, birthday Nut!” he crows, guiding them to their chair.

A plate of rice topped with a steaming omelette is slid in front of them and they start digging in with a muffled “‘ank ‘ou” .

Around them, their parents settle in with their own plates and the kitchen is mostly quiet save for the usual brief exchange between Daddy and Phaw when Phaw asks him for the ketchup.

( “Because it’s gross , North!”

“You just say that because you refuse to try it!”

“Because it’s gross !”)

Once everyone is finished eating, Peanut collects the plates and brings them to the sink, turning on the tap to start heating the water as they scrape the leftovers into the compost bin.

Behind them there’s a whispered exchange between the adults as Peanut starts washing the dishes - they can’t make out what’s being said, but there’s what Uncle Kenta calls ‘a definite suspicious element’ to their tone.

Eventually the whispering starts to get on their nerves and they turn around, soapy hands planted firmly on their hips.

“It’s very rude to whisper when you have company, you know,” they recite primly. “I expected better of you, Appa!”

Appa at least has the decency to look sheepish - it is, after all, his own pet peeve - but the others just give them their best ‘who me?’ looks, radiating absolute ‘oh no, not me, officer’ energy.

Peanut narrows their eyes, suspicion mounting.

“What are you cons- conpis- consipr-”

“Conspiring.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” says Peanut sweetly, before resuming their glare. “What are you con-spir-ing about?”

“Noth-”

“You know, Phaw,” they state matter-of-factly. “I’m ten , I’m not a little baby like Cousin Jem. I can in fact pick up on when my parents are trying badly to hide something from me.”

The trio exchange a look and seem to argue psychically for a moment before-

“Okay,” Phaw relents. “We do have a- uhh, something to talk to you about, but it’s nothing bad, don’t worry about that! We were just wondering if you’d want to wait a little bit longer until Uncle Kenta comes over and we can tell you then?”

“But he’s not gonna be here for ages,” whines Peanut. “If you’re gonna wait that long, you may as well wait for everyone to be here this evening, and that’s forever .”

“Don’t be stroppy,” chides Appa quietly, leafing through his newspaper. “We could always not tell you.”

Peanut sighs.

‘Today is going to be a long day.’

About a million, billion hours later, there’s a familiar rattle at the door and Peanut immediately perks up, dropping the laundry they’d been helping Phaw with and bounding over to the door in time to see Uncle Kenta ducking inside.

Long familiar with the process, Uncle is already braced to catch them when they barrel into him, spinning slightly with the force of it.

“Happy birthday, Nut,” he says, smiling his quiet smile. “How do you feel being ten?”

“Well I would feel even better,” they sigh dramatically. “But someones is keeping secrets from me.”

“Oh?” he asks, toeing off his shoes and putting them carefully in the little cubby marked ‘UNCLE KENA’ in a much younger Peanut’s wobbly handwriting. “Which someones?”

“Them!” whispers Peanut, flinging out an arm dramatically in the vague direction of their parents. “Lying to a child ! The audacity!”

Uncle hums thoughtfully. 

“That does sound, um, ruff ,” he offers.

“Yeah- wait.”

They turn to squint at him.

“Why did you say it like that?”

“I-”

“Leave Uncle alone, Nut,” says Daddy firmly, sticking his head out of the office. “You can’t talk about proper speech, Khun ‘someones’!”

Huffing dramatically, Peanut turns to roll their eyes theatrically as if to say ‘see what I’m dealing with?’

Truly no ten year old has ever suffered so much, they reckon, before getting distracted by a little zip of delight at the reminder that it’s their birthday!

While they were distracted, Uncle had slipped past them and is now settling into his spot leaning against the kitchen counter.

Daddy used to sigh about how because Uncle leans so often and in the exact same spot every time, there’s a worn patch on the counter where he’s rubbed the varnish off the wood.

‘Gotta act fast before he gets sucked into grown up conversation!’

Darting forwards, they grab onto Uncle’s hand right as Appa asks if he wants coffee.

“No, thank you!” they shout, as they tug at him. “Uncle, I need to speak to you in The Fort right now, it’s of vital importance!”

Shrugging at Appa, Uncle lets himself be dragged.

The fort is a structure in the corner of the sitting room that they’d first built together a few years ago, mainly out of cushions they’d liberated from one of the old couches that was being thrown out. This means that the resulting shape is sturdy as can be, with various blankets and sheets draped over it strategically

At this stage it had been built and rebuilt so many times that it was, in fact, a wholly different fort than the original, but Peanut argued that because the premise of it has remained the same, that it is functionally the same fort, and can therefore be called The Fort.

There’s a small nest inside that Uncle sometimes sleeps in when he stays over, and it’s big enough for the two of them to sit inside comfortably without shoving against the walls. 

There is a strict rule that only Peanut and Uncle Kenta can go inside properly, if anyone wants to check in on them they can look through the door or lift the flap on the skylight. 

Daddy and Phaw don’t generally have much interest in going inside though, so it’s not much of an issue, whereas occasionally when Uncle needs some alone time in the fort because his brain is ganging up on him, Appa will duck inside after a while and help him sort out fact from fiction and remember where he is properly.

(Peanut is pretty sure they’re not supposed to know that, but they’d woken up in the middle of the night once to use the bathroom and heard Appa and Uncle talking in the fort, and it’s not like the blanket roof of it does much to block sound).

But that’s fine, because it’s Uncle’s space, really. 

If Peanut needs alone time, they can just go into their room or their parents' nest. Uncle doesn’t have parents to nest with him and because he’s a beta he’s not very good at building nests by himself - which is silly, Peanut reasons, because they know how to build a nest and they haven’t even presented yet.

They’d asked Phaw and Daddy about it once while they were working on redoing their nest before their heat, about why Uncle Kenta didn’t know how to build a nest when even Appa did, and he was an alpha. 

After all, they reasoned, sure, they had an advantage with having twice as many omega parents as most people, so they had twice as many parents to learn from, but surely Uncle’s parents would have built nests with him?

The look they shared would stay with Peanut for a long time, resurfacing every time they had a moment to themselves until one day they’d gone up to where Unce Kenta was leaning in his usual spot and tugged him towards the corner where the fort now stood, announcing loudly that they were going to teach him how to build a nest.

Initially it had been just that, a small nest in the space between the long couch and the wall, with Phaw’s armchair serving as another wall to hem in the space. The next time it had been rebuilt the idea to build a den for the nest to go in had occurred to them and so the first edition of The Fort had been constructed.

Uncle had often slept on the couch when Peanut was younger, but once The Fort had been built and he’d slowly started spending more and more time in there in the evenings, he’d started sleeping in there more and more.

It was perfect, in Nut’s humble opinion, because it meant that it was their territory together, and they got to decide who came and went.

It also meant that when Nut and Uncle needed to confer about Serious Topics such as that jerk Som at the garage or whether or not Uncle Kenta should put honey in peoples shoes when they’re rude to Uncle Pete (Peanut is all for this plan, Uncle worries it may backfire), they can hide out in The Fort and hold war council.

Settling in comfortably amongst the cushions, Peanut grabs the bedraggled stuffed cat that acts as their gavel and bangs it ceremoniously against their knee.

“Council is now in session!” 

Uncle Kenta nods his head gravely.

“What motion are you bringing to the table?” he recites, holding out one palm flat in front of him.

“My parents are up to something,” says Peanut, equally serious as they tap their hand quickly on his, executing a perfect silent high-five. “They’ve been having Grown Up Discussions for the last two weeks at least, and today they keep whispering to each other and Daddy and Phaw keep giving each other looks like this-”

They widen their eyes and raise their eyebrows, trying to copy the totally suspicious looks they’d seen Daddy and Phaw exchanging earlier.

“What about Kim?” asks Uncle.

“Appa keeps doing his ‘I don’t know if this is a good idea but I trust you’ face,” says Nut. “It’s really quite purple-exing.”

“Perplexing?”

“Perplexing.”

“Good job.”

Uncle Kenta gives them another one of his little smiles, pulling one of the toys into his lap to fidget with.

“What do you think they’re talking about?”

“I’m not sure,” admits Peanut. “My initial theory was that maybe Phaw was gonna have another baby because they were talking about the mess pups make, but if they were planning something like that, they’d tell me, right?”

They look up at their uncle, trying not to look as worried as they feel.

To their relief, he shakes his head.

“North isn’t pregnant, don’t worry about that,” he says. “I’m sure they’d tell you if that was the case.”

“Okay- wait.”

Suspicion dawns on Peanut as Uncle Kenta suddenly realises his mistake and goes bright red.

“I don’t-”

“Why are you so sure?” they ask, holding up an accusatory finger. “You wouldn’t be able to smell if he was, you wouldn’t be able to know for sure!”

Uncle grimaces and despite themselves, Peanut feels a tell tale pressure at the back of their eyes.

“Why won’t anyone just tell me-”  

“Please don’t cry,” says Uncle hurriedly, jerkily moving to put the stuffed toy aside before raising his arms for a hug.

Peanut, for their part, sniffles and eyes him suspiciously.

“Listen,” says Kenta, sounding strained. “I promised your parents I wouldn’t tell you what it is, but-”

“Why!”

There’s the distinct sound of footsteps from someone trying not to be heard in the sitting room and they both look up for a moment.

“Because,” he continues, refocusing on Peanut. “I- look, I promise you , it’s nothing bad, you haven’t been left out of any big decisions, they wanted to keep it a surprise for your birthday. I don’t think they realised how much you’d pick up on.”

“I’m very smart,” says Peanut wobbily.

It makes Uncle smile a little on one side, a little half-grin just like when Appa is trying not to laugh at Phaw doing something silly behind the camera.

He holds up his arms again and this time Peanut relents, clambering forwards for a cuddle, rubbing habitually against his throat just like they do with their parents.

They settle against him for a moment, feeling him rub his cheek gently on their hair.

“I promise,” he repeats. “We all think you’ll really enjoy the surprise, okay?”

“Okay.”

After a little while, during which Peanut shows Uncle the cool new watch their appa gave them ( “See? It’s waterproof too, Daddy says I should be able to wear it swimming next time” ), they crawl out of the fort, blinking in the light.

Phaw is relaxing on the couch but sits up when he spots them.

“Are you ready for your surprise then?” he asks, excitement evident in his tone.

“I am,” says Peanut slowly as they walk over. “I’m sorry if I spoiled it by being silly.”

“Not at all,” says Phaw, tugging them down into his lap for a cuddle and a sniff kiss. “I’m sorry we upset you, we didn’t mean to.”

They wriggle around a little bit, making Phaw pretend to complain loudly about their boney bum, and carefully scent him.

“-’s okay,” they mumble as Phaw nuzzles them back. 

“Are you ready to know what it is?”

Upset totally forgotten, they perk up immediately.

“Can I still?” they ask excitedly.

“Absolutely,” smiles Phaw, before turning to yell down the hall. 

“Sonic! Kim!” he bellows, causing Nut to cover their ears with a giggle. “Our beloved birthday child would like to know what our deal is!”

“Phaw!” they protest. “I didn’t say it like that!”

Regardless, Appa and Daddy make their way to the sitting room, moving to stand in front of the TV.

In the corner there’s a shuffle as Uncle Kenta moves to sit cross-legged in the entrance of the fort.

“So!” begins Daddy, clapping his hands together. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness a very special occasion-”

“You make it sound like a wedding, dude,” interjects Phaw.

“ - the tenth birthday of our very own beloved Peanut,” continues Daddy, pretending to glare at Phaw, who flashes him a cheeky finger heart in response. 

“In recognition of this momentous occasion, we, the collective council of snacks and bedtimes, have reached the following decision. Kim?”

He turns to Appa, who nods sharply and turns to face Peanut.

“You may have a dog,” he recites calmly, and then winces as Daddy steps on his foot. “What?”

“A bit more gravitas, Kim,” whispers Daddy patiently. 

“Ah, right,” says Appa. 

He looks up at Peanut again and repeats the sentence, this time in something approaching his Media Voice.

Behind Nut, Phaw cheers but stops when he realises Peanut isn’t responding.

“You alright, pup?” he asks, squeezing them gently.

‘A dog?’ they wonder. ‘Did I say I want a dog? Why would they think I want a dog? Do I want a dog? Are they getting a dog and they’re just saying it’s for me?’

Frowning, Peanut looks up.

“Why?”

This seems to throw the grown-ups for a loop.

Daddy is the first to recover.

“Why what?” he asks. “Why are we letting you get a dog? Or why a dog?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” says Phaw. “It’s for a few reasons. On one hand, we think it would be nice to have a dog around the house, and on the other we think you’re old enough to be trusted with the responsibility of looking after a pet.”

‘Right, that makes sense.’

“Do we have to?”

“Have to get a dog?” asks Daddy. “We don’t have to, not if you really, really don’t want to.”

“Does it have to be a dog?”

“It would be preferable to a cat,” says Appa.

“Have you already decided which dog to get?”

“No,” states Phaw firmly. “No big decisions about pets without you involved, we all agreed on that.”

Peanut mulled it over for a moment, thinking, and then-

“Did you ask Uncle Kenta about it?”

“They did,” says Uncle from his spot. “Don’t worry, I’m on board - if you are, that is.”

‘Well, that’s alright then, if Uncle isn’t worried then I won’t be.’

And yet-

“Can I think about it first?” they ask, picking worriedly at the strap on Phaw’s watch. 

“Absolutely,” nods Appa. “It’s a big decision, we didn’t expect you to immediately run for the car to go get one.”

“Right, right,” says Peanut, nodding considerately. “When do you need an answer by?”

“There’s no rush,” says Daddy. “And if you really don’t want to, we won’t.”

“I do want to,” they clarify. “I just…”

“Take your time, pup,” says Phaw. 

“What about this one, Nut? She’s so cute!”

“No thank you, Daddy,” says Peanut politely as they run a critical eye over the tiny, white Pomeranian yapping her head off in what they are trying very hard not to think of as her cell. “I don’t think she’d like the garage.”

“But look at her!” he whines, crouching down next to the Pom as she jumps and barks, the harsh sound grating on Peanut’s ears. “Think how cute she’d look in a little tutu!”

The ‘ew’ is out of their mouth before they can help it.

“Peanut, that’s rude!” 

Phaw is down the corridor a bit, watching a couple of boisterous yellow dogs pounce and tumble over one another excitedly.

“What about one of these?” he asks eagerly. 

They peer in curiously, only to flinch back as one of the dogs jumps up at the plexiglass divide, barking loudly.

“They want to play, see?” says Phaw encouragingly, though he’s having to shout over the barking. “That’s a good sign, that they already like you!”

“I don’t know, Phaw,” they say, backing away a bit more, eyeing the dogs as they go back to playing and Phaw resumes watching them, gasping in delight now and then.

Down the hallway, Appa is deep in discussion with a shelter worker, asking them all sorts of questions about temperament and training and routines and diet and and and and-

Peanut opts to tune him out, instead peering in at the border collie laying down on its bed, ears up and alert, watching Appa intently.

Before they can ask Appa about it, the dog whines loudly and scrambles to its feet.

It darts over to the other corner where it begins pawing desperately at the ground, picking up a scrap of fabric and trying to drop it in front of where Appa is standing.

Looking closer reveals a litany of similar scraps, all piled up in front of Appa.

“-really are wonderful dogs,” the staff member is saying. “The problem most find with them is that they’re really bred to be working dogs, you understand. If they’re not given a job to do then they tend to find one, and quite often that job is eating the couch. Does anyone in your, um, household work from home?”

“No,” says Appa shortly. “And when Peanut isn’t spending the day at school, they tend to accompany us to work.”

“Then we really couldn’t in good conscience allow you adopt this one, sir,” says the worker regretfully. “Unfortunately eight-one-one has developed quite significant separation anxiety, and it simply wouldn’t be fair to him. I’m sure you understand.”

“I do,” says Appa, frowning down as the poor collie starts tearing strips off his bed. “Shame, I hope that he finds someone soon.”

“Me too,” says the worker, following his gaze. “Still, he comes from a good home, his owner wrote a very touching letter for prospective owners-”

“Is that common?”

“For voluntary surrenders where the owner has recognised that they would not be able to continue caring for an animal, for whatever reason, we often find it eases their worries to write something about the pet being surrendered,” they explain. “A bit about the animal, their likes, dislikes, fond memories etcetera. We’ve found that it works to increase interest and adoption rates quite noticeably.”

“Excuse me,” says Peanut, a bit shy. “What’s the dogs name?”

“Ah,” says the worker, looking momentarily sheepish before launching into their spiel. “This is Bet! He’s a three year-old border collie with lots of energy! He’d be perfect for anyone with an active lifestyle and a garden for him to run around in! Bet-”

“What does six-one-one mean?”

“Pardon?”

“Earlier when you were talking to my appa, you said six-one-one,” explains Peanut. “What does that mean?”

“Well, you see,” says the worker. “Because we see so many animals come through here, and quite often with very, um, sad stories, it’s better for everyone’s well-being to, well, detach ourselves from the animals in a way. Giving them numbers instead of using their names helps us from getting overly emotional if worst comes to worst and they don’t make it, see?”

“That sounds stupid,” says Peanut, tipping their chin defiantly. 

“Well-”

“My appa says every life matters, especially when they can’t fight back,” they continue determinedly. “You’re supposed to care! That’s our job! That’s everyone’s job!”

“I-”

“-if no one cares when a poor little dog dies then why should anyone care when a person dies!”

The poor shelter worker looks about to cry.

Right as Peanut is opening their mouth to continue, someone clears their throat behind them.

A different staff member is standing there, holding a clipboard.

“That was quite the speech,” she says, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she smiles. “You seem to care an awful lot about animals other people have gotten rid of.”

Righteous fury has Peanut puffing up, mouth opening to tell this lady exactly what they think of her when-

“That’s the kind of dedication I like to see,” she continues. “I think I might know the right lady for you. Follow me, please.”

Peanut deflates and looks to Appa, who shrugs.

“Go on,” he mouths, shooing them off.

The lady is waiting for them at the end of the corridor, and gestures for Peanut to walk with her as they move past cages of excited, yappy dogs.

“Tell me,” she says conversationally. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Peanut,” they say, trying to sneak glimpses at her face. “What’s your name?”

“Aom,” she says, guiding Nut around another corner. 

It’s quieter down here, the general din from the rest of the kennels more of a background noise.

“The dogs down here are ones that we find have a tougher time getting adopted,” Aom explains. 

“Why?” asks Peanut, peering in curiously at one. 

The dog inside is tucked back against the far wall, lip twitching up to bear its teeth in a half-hearted growl.

“Different reasons for different dogs,” says Aom, nodding at the dog Peanut is watching. “This gal in here is very reactive, got-”

“What does reactive mean?”

“Means she tends to lash out at people when she’s scared.”

“When does she get scared?”

Aom huffs.

“All the time, it seems.”

“Why is she scared all the time?”

“Well,” sighs Aom. “She was on the streets when we found her, but we think her first owner hit her a lot - there are a lot of morons who think hitting a dog makes them toughen up.”

“That’s fucking stupid.”

They manage to resist the urge to check over their shoulder for any eavesdropping parents ready to chastise them for swearing.

“Correct.”

“Why would they want her ‘tough’ in the first place?” asks Peanut, gazing intently at the dog cowering in the corner, teeth flashing as she growls.

They try not to think of Uncle Kenta.

“She’s a ridgeback, and they make good guard dogs,” says Aom. “Some people think that hurting dogs makes them stronger.”

“Does it?” they ask, already knowing the answer. 

“No,” says Aom firmly. “Just makes them afraid.”

Peanut watches the dog quietly. 

She’s stopped growling, but her gaze doesn’t leave them for a moment.

A thought occurs to them then.

“What happens if..”

“We can’t rehome her?”

They nod, looking up wide-eyed at Aom, whose jaw is set.

“She’ll be put down.”

The words are succinct, to the point, but there’s the faintest wobble in Aom’s voice.

“What does she need?” they ask, quietly proud their voice doesn’t shake. “To go home?”

“She needs a lot of time,” says Aom, tearing her gaze away from the dog. “And a lot of patience.”

Peanut nods attentively as they dig their notebook out of their coat pocket.

“She won’t want to be touched,” continues Aom, pausing after each point to give Nut time to scribble it down. “If you think you can jump straight into cuddling in your bed each night, think again. She needs her own safe space, like a kennel or a crate, that no one else goes into.”

“That’s vital,” says Aom, pulling something out of the file holder next to the dogs cage. “She’s going to be frightened and confused, and she’s going to lash out if you invade her space and she will most likely hurt you. Do you understand?”

“I do,” they say seriously. 

“Do you have somewhere like that for her to go?”

“Yes,” says Peanut. “I know exactly where she can go to be left alone.”

“She’s also going to need a lot of exercise,” says Aom. “Or else she’s going to wander off in search of something to do - and she shouldn’t be in close quarters with other dogs, not for a long time.”

“How long is long?”

“Depends, you got other dogs?”

They shake their head.

“We don’t have any pets,” they confirm. “No one in our pack does.”

“There many in your pack?”

“There’s me,” starts Peanut, ticking people off on their fingers. “Then my phaw, my daddy, my appa, Uncle Kenta, Uncles Babe and Charlie, Uncle Grandpa and Uncle Jeff, and then Uncle Pete, I guess? But he doesn’t come around a lot, he’s Uncle Kenta’s brother.”

“That’s a lot,” says Aom consideringly. “You all live together?”

“Nope,” says Peanut. “Me and my parents do, but Uncle Kenta is over a lot.”

“That’s…”

“Five of us.”

“That’s not so bad,” says Aom. “For the first two months you shouldn’t have anyone over. I know it sounds extreme, but it’s for the best. She’s going to need to know who her core people are before she’s exposed to anyone else.”

“Right.”

“Nut? You down here?”

Footsteps up the hall and Phaw is making his way towards them, putting a comfortable hand on Peanut’s shoulder.

“Whatcha talkin’ about?” he asks, smiling at Aom.

“This your dad?” she asks Peanut.

“Oh, no,” they say. “This is my phaw.”

Credit where credit is due, she doesn’t even blink.

“Well, mister…”

“North, please.”

“North, then,” she says. “I was just introducing young Peanut here to one of our longer term residents.”

“Oh?”

“P’Aom says she needs special care because she’s been abused, but I know we can do it.”

“Is that so?” 

He cocks an eyebrow at Aom, who holds out the paperwork to him.

Phaw scans it carefully.

“The main practical points that would need to be covered for this particular dog are straightforward,” says Aom. “There cannot be any other animals kept in the home, no dogs or cats.”

“No,” says Phaw, nodding. “We only have our ‘lil Nut.”

This last part is punctuated by a ruffle of hair and a minor protest from Peanut.

“Do you have outdoor space?”

“Yeah, we have a garden.”

“Do you have a gate?”

Phaw nods.

“It’s walled all around as well, they’re high enough.”

“How high?”

A hum as Phaw considers. 

“Just shy of two and a half metres.”

“Perfect.”

Aom scans her checklist.

“The rest is a standard list of required items.”

She hands it over to Phaw, who exhales carefully as he scans the list.

“Most of this we have already, but we’d need to go pick out a crate.”

He turns to Peanut, who is looking up at him hopefully.

“I’m not promising anything,” he says cautiously. “We need to talk to the others first, make sure everyone is on board with this. If the dog has extra… needs then we all need to be sure about what we’re getting into, okay?”

“Okay, Phaw.”

It takes a lot to convince Daddy, who pouts sadly at the Pomeranian and keeps asking Peanut if they’re sure they’re sure, but eventually Peanut has all three grown ups on board and ranging along the corridor while Aom slips into the kennel with Peanuts hat.

It’s important, she’d explained, to allow the dog to get used to their scents before they try to approach physically.

There’s a quiet intake of breath as Aom offers the hat to the dog, who looks up, sniffs at it and-

Turns her head away and settles back down to sleep.

Devastated, Peanut sags into Phaws side and tries not to cry.

“It’s alright, pup,” he says. 

“What’s that face for then?” asks Aom briskly, locking the kennel behind her.

“She didn’t like it,” says Peanut, straightening up. 

“What makes you think that?” says Aom, arching a brow.

“She… ignored it,” says Peanut, suddenly unsure. “Doesn’t that mean she doesn’t… like it?”

“On the contrary,” says Aom, not unkindly. “If the scents were upsetting she wouldn’t have settled back down like that. I would recommend going and getting the cage for her and giving her some time to get used to the scent.”

The pet shop down the street has too many options, Peanut decides.

It’s also too loud and too bright and they’re pretty sure Appa is reaching his limit, pacing back and forth and scenting them each in turn over and over.

They can feel it too, the itchy discomfort that builds up when there’s too much muchness going on around them and they can feel every strand of hair on their head and their toes in their boots and the way their coat keeps catching on everything- 

“Okay,” says Phaw steadily. “These are the two that best fit the dimensions required, this one-” he gestures at a cage made of sturdy plastic with a metal grid door “-or this one.”

The second cage is wire with a flat metal bottom and Peanut scrutinises it carefully.

“Which one do you reckon she’ll prefer?”

“Won’t this one get too hot?” 

“That’s a good point, Nut,” says Daddy, holding out his wrist for Appa to scent. “We could put blankets on the wire one to give her privacy as well.”

“P’Aom says she’s going to want to spend most of her time in there,” recites Peanut. “And no one else is to go in ever because it’s her space.”

“Makes sense,” says Phaw, checking over the box to make sure it’s big enough.

“Do you think-”

“I will be waiting in the car.”

By the time they turn around, Appa is already halfway out the door.

“Is Appa okay?” asks Nut worriedly. “Normally he says something before he goes out.”

“I think the shelter was a lot for him kiddo,” says Daddy, eyeing Phaw as he unhooks Nut’s coat from another shelf. “He’ll be alright, he just needs a break.”

The shelter is still loud when they get back, and Aom is going over paperwork at the front desk.

“Cage sorted then?”

“Yep!”

“Well then,” she says, standing from the desk. “Shall we?”

When they reach the specific cage where the dog had been, it’s much quieter.

There’s no growling, for one, and Peanut goes up on their tiptoes, peering in.

It’s-

“Empty?”

Daddy sounds just as confused as Peanut feels.

“She’s with the veterinary staff,” explains Aom. “They need to check her over and make sure she’s in good health before she can be released to your care.”

“Do you know if…” 

Peanut trails off.

This whole process isn’t going how they’d imagined it at all.

They were supposed to see a bunch of dogs, pick one and go home.

Now, they’re not dumb, they understand why there has to be all these checks and processes and such, but it’s taking a lot more out of them than they’d thought it would.

But it will be worth it.

There’s something about her, about this dog in particular that they just know they need to bring her home.

There’s a familiarity to those scared brown eyes that begs not to be left behind.

Aom is speaking to Phaw.

“...sedated, of course, should wear off in about two hours. Will that be enough time for you?”

“Should be, yeah,” he responds, checking over the info.

“What are you talking about?” asks Peanut, trying to peek at the documents.

“She’s currently under sedation so she can be assessed and chipped and so on,” explains Aom. “I was just explaining to your phaw that the sedation should last another two hours or so.”

“Long enough for us to get her home,” Phaw finishes with a smile.

“What’s there left for us to do?” they ask.

“We just need to pay up and we can go.”

“I thought we were adopting her,” says Peanut, wrinkling their nose. “That was Daddy’s main point, ‘adopt, don’t shop’.”

“The fee goes towards her medical costs,” says Aom. “Vaccinations, microchip, wound care-”

“Wound care?”

“Nothing to worry about now,” says Aom. “She was injured when she first arrived here, she’s long since healed.”

“Alright then,” says Daddy brightly. “Do you want to pay for her then? She’s going to be your dog after all.”

“Do you have a name in mind, pup?” asks Phaw.

“I do.”

An hour and forty eight minutes later, Peanut watches as Ssom starts stirring awake slowly.

Her cage had been set up in the same corner where the fort used to stand, draped all around in blankets to give the occupant privacy and with a little gopro rigged up unobtrusively in one corner so they could all check in on her without invading her space.

(It had come as quite a surprise to their parents that Peanut had decided to tear down the fort in order for Ssom’s crate to be inserted in the space instead, but to them it was the obvious decision.

“It’s where Uncle Kenta goes when he needs to feel safe,” they had explained. “If he feels safe there, then so will Ssom. He’ll understand once we show him. Ssom needs it more right now. Maybe when she feels safe enough we can move her crate and put the fort back up, but I don’t know.”)

Now they watch in awe as Ssom raises her head, looks around and then starts to ease herself to her feet.

Peanut had picked out one of their stuffed toys they didn’t really play with anymore to put in the crate with her, and now Ssom noses at it curiously, her movements still slow and sluggish from the sedative.

It passes whatever criteria Ssom subjects it to and she pads back to her blanket, turns in a little circle, and flops down to sleep.

“What do you think?” asks Phaw at their elbow. “Still think you made the right choice?”

“It’s always the right choice to help people,” recites Peanut without looking away from the screen for a second, causing Phaw to sigh fondly.

“You really are a tiny Kim, huh?”

“I’m not that small!”

“True,” Phaw concedes, hooking his chin over their shoulder to watch the screen.

Ssom seems to have gone back to sleep, her nose tucked carefully into her blanket.

Phaw sighs wistfully.

“I remember,” he begins slowly. “When you were a tiny little baby and we used to keep a baby monitor pointed at your crib all the time.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” hums Phaw. “I used to watch it constantly, I was terrified you would manage to get hurt somehow if I looked away for a second.”

“Why?”

“Because you were so tiny,” he says as they turn to face him. “You were my tiny little baby and it was my job to make sure nothing bad happened to you. I remember at one point I fell asleep watching the monitor and the others managed to carry me into bed without waking me because I was so tired.”

The image of their parents struggling to carry Phaw’s sleeping form between them makes Peanut giggle.

“Did Uncle Kenta not help?”

“Nah,” says Phaw, breaking out of whatever memory he’d been lost in. “This was before he got back, it was just the three of us.”

“And me.”

“And you.”

There’s a noise from elsewhere in the house and Phaw looks up.

“I think Appa is just about finished making dinner,” he says, making his way to the office door. “You coming?”

Peanut makes to follow him on instinct, then stops, looks over their shoulder at the monitor once more.

Ssom is still curled up, sleeping peacefully.

Safe.

A little bit of tension trickles out of their body and they nod once to themselves.

“I’m coming, Phaw.”