Ma had always been strong, stronger even than the female meercats of his tribe. She had but nudge him simply and he would almost fly across the tunnel that their clan had built. It was a kind of wonder that she was nudging him gently now, but it could also be his Uncle Max--

"Timon."

One of the clan boys? One female was always getting pregnant, and Timon had always been careful--

"Timon. Ti-mon!"

"Eh? Wha?" Still sleep-induced, Timon sat up quickly from the nest of leaves he and Pumbaa had built months ago, which they had positioned carefully between overgrown roots of large trees and intertwining branches. Bed. It was good--

"I have to go."

The meercat sat up again, realizing he had been about to fall asleep once more. Simba sat before him, front shoulders hunched, paws tucked before his body. Timon had always known lions were regal, as they were considered to be the royalty among the animals and were also on top of the food chain; still, there had always been something to how the cub sat with his paws drawn together, chest out but not entirely so that it made Timon uncomfortable. It reminded him stories from faraway, whispered while the clan passed rocks and sticks--

"Ti-mon. I have to go. Now." The cub's voice trembled with embarrassment.

"Isn't it Pumbaa's turn?" he mumbled sleepily, beginning to close his eyes.

He heard Simba shift with both impatience and shame. "Tried to," he whispered quietly. "He couldn't hear me. You're easier to wake."

The two involuntarily turned to the warthog occupying the other nest, overlapping Timon's. Pumbaa did not even wake from their conversation and his snores seemed to grow in intensity at every moment. Timon sighed, grumbled, muttered, but Simba did not leave. Finally, he stood up, ignoring the warmth that spread into his chest when he saw Simba smile. "Just this last time, okay?"

"Y-yeah."

Simba was a big cat; in a permanent residence he could only piss at one place. It was really a pity that he chose a place so far away from their sleeping place; Pumbaa had asked him once about choosing there and the cub replied matter-of-factly that the wood shavings, clay, and natural leaves that hid the place were comfortable for his paws. It had been daytime and Simba did not seem as guarded as he did during the nighttime. It was just as well; Timon had completely taken to heart their adapted phrase "Hakuna Matata" and such melancholy had no place during the day, when there were contests and relaxing to be done.

While Simba hid in the bush, Timon leaned against one of the trees outside. The cub was also terribly self-conscious about ridding himself; Timon thought he didn't have to, especially with Pumbaa's natural ability to produce gas as any time with an amount that would be toxic to other smaller and even some larger animals. When Simba finished, he seemed more miserable at the trip back to their nest. Timon sighed again, noticing this. It was always like this.

"Look," he started, trying not to slur over his communication due to sleepiness, "you should learn how to do it yourself."

"I know," Simba muttered, his head bowed.

Timon frowned. "And you should also learn how to wake Pumbaa up. God knows you'll be bigger than him with only a few more worms in your system; you'll be able to push him out of the bed."

"I don't..." Simba chewed the insides of his mouth lightly. Timon had long since learned not to take it as an act of aggressiveness but of discomfort. "I don't like disturbing you at night," he finally whispered quietly, staring at the ground.

The trip back to the nest was long and tiring, and Timon could not help but lie, "You're not disturbing us. Really."

"It's scary at night," Simba told him quietly, not meeting his eyes. "I hear noises. And hoobeats, like a herd of animals stampeding."

Timon nodded his head slowly. That was a logical explanation. "It's far away," he offered.

"I get nightmares," the cub confessed in a rush, still embarrassed. "Every night."

The meercat was silent for a while, contemplating. Only the night before, he and Pumbaa had invited the cub into their nest to sleep with them due to a nightmare, but this night Simba had gone directly to his sleeping area. Maybe he needs an invitation, Timon thought, blinking. But it was unfathomable; lions were aggressive and they either took or did not take. Their decisions were for themselves and for their benefits, and other animals had no choice but to bow to their wishes.

Still, he had to admit that Simba was not an ordinary lion cub, or at least he wasn't like the lions Timon had heard from stories. He did not eat meat. He swam. He got embarrassed. He burped after eating snails. He laughed, screamed, shrieked, purred, even rumbled. He was ashamed of his dependency. He had nightmares.

It made Timon want to embrace him and soothe his growing mane while rocking him to sleep.

But Timon, although an emotional meercat, knew Simba would still be proud, prouder than him and Pumbaa. It would not do to order him as a father would; he could only offer something that should have been a given.

"The nest has plenty of room," he pointed out while they neared the sleeping area. "Pumbaa built it way too big, and his snoring keeps me awake, ya know. We like having you. It keeps me asleep."

Even in the darkness with only the moon filtering through the tree branches as light, Timon could see how Simba's eyes lightened and his steps spring as if given extra bounce. "Really? Well, yeah, Pumbaa's not a really good builder, so I guess I can sleep there and keep some noise away? Pumbaa's snoring doesn't bother me at all, really. And I don't snore, I promise--"

"I know," Timon interrupted, smiling despite himself. He wondered what had happened to this young lion, whose every smile seemed fragile and important, but he did not ask. He had not asked Pumbaa, and Pumbaa had not asked his history. It was an unspoken rule among the three renegades, and they did not speak much about families unless anecdotes. Simba, in particular, did not recall much of his family. But he was a lonely lion because of that, and he had nightmares. He did not snore. "I know. You better grow your mane fast so I can have a blanket to stop Pumbaa's snoring."

Simba's grin widened and he gave a small laugh. Pumbaa was only too happy to have their little lion friend finally join them that his snores grew louder.

That night and the following nights after that, the three managed to settle themselves in the makeshift nest without hitting any fragile bones or rolling over another smaller creature--especially Timon.

Simba did not get up for his midnight trips again.