Before anything else... this has to be said.

Miss Caroline Lenore insists that future scholars the future people who read about these incursions after the fact...

That she-- at fourteen years old-- genuinely had no idea how she ended up among Coven meetings for a Cold guerrilla war that had never been meant to break the oh-so frail veil shielding the unnatural, unexplainable to mortal eyes.

Therein was the first lie then, Caroline Lenore would write.

Incursions of witches against werewolves, moving against the scattered cabals of Vampire lands and drafting prophets across Europe in chains, it'd never been against France as a country.

There was no war-- should not be recorded-- as a war of France against Sweden and small, isolated holdings deep in Italy.

Perhaps there'd been an entirely unseen, unknowing third Party of provoking humans, perhaps they'd been the ones a little too close to the Covens, they'd sold plants that turned out to poison their potions and medical salves unknowing that they'd take lives.

Possibly the Wolves had had no choice but to expand their territories what with four cubs being born to a pair.

No one entirely knows how or if the wailing souls-- Ghosts-- even joined the conflict to begin with.

All Caroline Lenore knew is that she tried to focus on the good that came from befriending Yvette Evers. A witch-in-training from Petit Epee Way.

Coming to awareness, Seth knew-- he wasn't awake.

What with the last memory seared into his mind had been the dark figures made of-- no that made the shadows in an inventory space. Of what, or why he was in such a place he couldn't quite remember.

And this not dream-- it was suitably unsettling.

A vast expanse of what looked like a sketch work of rolling hills. Far, far into a distant horizon. Of a black nothingness that passed for the sky.

One blink and Seth found the wish granting ghost sitting pretty with his hands on his knees. Looking at him with a too-long grin and the sly eyes of a cat.

"You've... never, come to talk to me," he said of the spirit with blood red eyes.

"No I haven't, but," Hao Gieum shrugged, "I've decided I want you around."

"Around?"

"Alive," he said, "for one, your brother in my space, following me, it's gotten annoying. And you aren't awful company. For someone who couldn't see me otherwise."

"Uh huh," Seth accepted, "but those shadows you talked about. Would you be in trouble?"

"No more than usual," he replied, voice more distant than normal. "So, about Drake..."

Before we start: Imagine an OTP or that no-TP you can think of, the dialogue is meant for a larger piece of mine in the paranormal genre. But for the prompt don't feel compelled to follow this rule. And in this world the Disney Donna and Cole watched did make Varian and the Seven Kingdoms-- look it up-- which I don't dare mention explicitly in case it's a strike and their lawyers could come for me for copyright.

Mason: (amused) Donella?

Donna: (laughing herself even as she blushes): Oh God! You're gonna laugh!

Mason: Maybe a bit, (warmly) but never at you.

Donna: (stammering a bit) It was... geez... that kids show. The Seven Kingdoms, Cole and I watched it together every Sunday when it came out. And the main villain had to be named Donella, (Donna rolls her eyes despite the tinge of nostalgia that colors her voice) she was a bossy, arrogant nutcase that she used to be mean to Hugo. Obviously we were nine, so neither of us meant it like *that.* We didn't get that like we hadn't gotten just how bad Mother Gothel was. It was the last thing Cole and I had bonded over when we were young.

Mason: (smiles but it's a bit sad, nevertheless he says nothing. At the moment.)

Donna: Wha-- was that weird? I mean it was dumb. Besides things are okay.

Mason: Nothing, don't worry about it. (He decided not to pry. Yet)

As of then, not one rich, trust fund snob had seen me smile.

Obviously though, Celia never fell in that group.

It amused me to think-- possibly-- everyone else decided I didn't know how.

Because Megan relayed at lunch that day, it was the most prominent rumor spreading around that week.

And still, Jared frowned a bit. "Liar."

At that point a car pulled up.

"Meh I tried," I decided. "Don't worry, I hate it here, but I hate my Dad's smug wife more."

I made sure my Dad couldn't suspect that last part.

The two of us filed into his Camary.

Fred was already in the backseat, cheerfully waving at us both. Until he tried to signal me for another 'How to treat a boy of "class"' lecture.

Then what did that make him?

"Um hi, I'm Jared," he said.

"I know who you are," Dad said in a clipped voice, eyes searing onto him from the mirror, "now let me have a word--"

"Nope," I said turning around to Jared-- white and petrified in his seat.

"I am very scared."

And it was a whole show to get Clarisse in the car.

"I bet Mom could've given you a better one," she chuckled once inside and shutting the door with a demure click, "I mean when there was no pretense left. Sure it's great, all her cars are, but this for her new husband?"

"Sweetie the most expensive is hardly always the best," Dad replied. "Besides Harley's always wanted a pink convertible, right?"

"When I was seven!" I trilled, finding Jared and Fred both laughing.

"But I mean," Fred then complained right to Clarisse, "I only try to help these two kids."

"Oh so true, poor thing is clearly whipped."

"No gossip. And play at least a few games. Be a good experience for all you kids to break the ice," Dad said, emphasizing the title.

"Yes Father."

"Sir."

"Dad."

Soon after we made it to the place, while Clarisse and Fred went on who knows what tangent about a bike, girls, and boys (?) dunno how that last one got in there-- Jared talked my ear off about all the old fashioned games we were sure to try.

"I just mean, if arcades are anything like those 80s buddy comedies and coming-of-age, okay I see that look," he said, and replied, "my Dad also got a guy to get me catalogues to look at to see what game trucks I want for my birthday next month-- by the way five weeks, save the date-- but anyway there were tons of options. Just. Tons."

And he gestured that with his hands.

"Thank you, thank you so much by the way, for setting this up. It's gonna be awesome I promise you."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," I teased. But seriously, I was also not the type for gaudy flashing lights and all. That. Noise. That chaotic, not even well lit place of noise and bodies and crazy little kids on a sugar rush.

I only joined a couple dudes that looked cute on a first date to the arcade. And when Wendy and Aria needed to take their little brothers who would cling to us girls' legs like koala bears for games.

"Not even Dance-Dance? Girls like dance, right?"

"Girls who--" I bit my lip. Girls who like to sweat, so no. Absolutely gross!

"Not all girls," I replied instead. "But whatever okay. I'll play if you're really so lonely Your Grace."

"Stoooop," Jared whined once I pulled out the title.

And I could see my Dad flit his eyes to us all bunched in the backseat. Somehow using that Dad intuition to focus on the two smallest things in the car.

I sighed. Every time. Every. Single. Time.

And I didn't even want a pair of new boots or imitation silver jewelry with cool rock band charms out of this boy.

Who could get me real silver!

But, put that thought: Right. Out. Of my mind.

Dad completely stalled the car on purpose while he parked on the vast pavement field the large arcade and pizza parlor was located on.

I drew the line on that greasy, carb load.

Clarisse and Fred filed out on one side and I opened the other door to let me and Jared out on the other.

Only for Dad to strangely point Jared toward the door Clarisse and Fred just closed.

"Join Clarisse and Fred," Dad pointed.

"Uhh yeah, yeah. Okay sir," he replied, in a heap to do as he'd been told. "See you."

"Uhhh yeah," and then I turned for my Dad, "what--"

"I know honey, just a moment and then I won't keep you," he said. I settled myself back down. With just us he let a measure of concern show.

"What is it?" I wondered now vaguely on edge.

"Tinker Bell," Dad sighed. And oh gosh, Dad hadn't pulled that clincher since my worst shop-a-holic tantrums. "Look Harley I really just want to apologize. I am so sorry for everything before. About that boy and not listening to you because I didn't and that's a failure on my part. "If in any way harms you, tell me. I will believe you and as for your mother," I cringed still hearing him address her that way, but whatever, "if she does say anything, I am going to make clear to her that reputation, status-- they may be nice but they cannot and will not matter more than you under our roof."

That was nice to hear. I could be sure now Dad was on my side. Just as he always was.

Only... we were three to two and not even Mr. Prince always gets what he wanted.

Obviously.

Not when he smiled so wide at just about anything and everything.

Soooo, sure, I maybe didn't know what to do with all that now. Knowing what I knew.

Nobody could hear that.

"Sure," I decided on, and gave my Dad a kiss. I genuinely would have forgotten to had he not kept me up. Which was not acceptable.

"Be safe Tinker Bell."

"Obviously," I called slamming the door closed behind me and ran to catch Jared waiting for me just out the door.

Ugg, and our tag-alongs spying against the glass.

Jared turned to me. "I am still scared. Why won't they stop looking?"

'Please meet me behind the groundskeeping shed, I need to talk, Jared.'

Dead flowers lined the shed along with a wall of moss.

In circumstances I couldn't completely find it in myself to care how rustic and charming it would look during the springtime season.

"What is your damage!" I fumed to his much too realistic astonishment. "Getting my number who knows how?! Do whatever you and your kind of people do to me, I don't care! You crossed so many lines, you freak me out, and I am not afraid to tell you so! Have I made myself clear?"

"I know, I know and I wanted to apologize for all that," Jared pleaded. I wasn't deterred. "Here look," he took out his own phone letting me see my own cell number deleted.

"There are easier ways to talk to a girl dipstick."

"Probably. I could always try some new ones, if we could-- just start over."

He was-- different. Frankly very different.

Sincere and akin to a kicked puppy. The kind of look my Father would hate if he'd known I used to put it on other girls' faces. A look that I had learned to recoil and feel sick over.

No way, that kind of flippancy and complete surety had to come from somewhere. Probably his entire spoiled brood of a family.

I turned around, willing to set Celia on him.

"Harley--"

Another few seconds passed.

Not looking at his face I could imagine it was almost anyone who sounded downright desperate.

"Hi, my name is Jared Pr-- I-- this is my first year of actual school. I just really want to make some friends."

I was crazy. I could still confirm with Celia or Megan, but it didn't change that I could be enabling some creeper.

"Don't think this means I just forgive and forget," I warned jabbing a finger at the boy.

"No obviously," he agreed quickly.

"By the way next messed gesture, I get suspended."

"Wait how is that--?"

"I fight you and maybe get you stepped on by a wheelchair."

"Noted," he agreed, and I genuinely tried my hardest to hate the sliver of pride to hear this boy completely at my thumb, properly and thoroughly frightened.

These next few days I came to realize, Jared is a stupid, devil may care slab of ham-- but some of that softness from behind the shed with a moss wall,, began shining through.

Unless he was with other girls.

I found out.

Jared had this dumb thing in his head playing a stupid script on loop. Stroking those who fawned over him.

Slowly the 'stop' died down. Jared completely surrendering to letting them catalogue him or feel him out however they wanted.

As if he thought somehow the mayor's son would be an outcast otherwise.

As if. Mayor's Son, meant all kinds of blue bloods would put up with so, so many measures of damage.

And I watched just that, sitting to the side safe from a throng of servile groupies or 'Older sisters' (gag)-- okay no joke I might throw up if I had to hear that too often. And I started to notice something.

Odder than working half a cookie from the whole or the loving smacks at his cheeks.

An earpiece.

For a second he floundered to his side.

I neared, putting myself in sight.

Though besides some petty leering or retching, fingers to their noses, even the older grades fell in line to Jared.

"Mmngh. No. No. Nonono, crepe!," he grated, "eight, eight."

I ignored the spastic behavior seeing my new friend grow all the more tense.

I pitied the silent apology Jared sent my way.

"Jared please," I hissed. No one here was worth pleasing. At. All.

"Back off."

"No need to get stepped on," one said in a high falsetto.

"Does she figure his friend?"

"Oh I know."

Jared laughed, playing back to that God-awful swagger I hated so much. "Girls now please, you're-- you're not acting like your lovely and fair selves."

"See!" another shouted, five more feral grins joining, "you're bothering him."

"Run along dear."

Giggles erupted.

"Can't keep the siblings waiting."

I refused to respond, instead ready to snap at Jared. And then fighting that urge hard as I could.

No need to let THAT out.

"Enough! All of you!" he screamed. "You are all. SO. Annoying! Now run Hailey!"

In a fit of perplexity we fled together.

All too soon it was clear. We were safe. So Jared saw fit to let go of my arm, which I rubbed at the truly impressive grip he had held it in.

Seeing that he groaned, sliding down and smacking his head just once as his back was to the wall.

He looked up at me, insire of what to say.

So I did it.

"Earbud. Really?" I mused. Even now he rubbed his own wrist where I could tell he had bruised mine. By. Mistake. "So you've literally been taking a script?"

"Well yeah, come on you saw," he said in a slight whine, cheeks pink and so comically defensive. "you saw, I acted so spoiled I hate myself! But I promise I will work on that."

And I just had to laugh!

I assured 'little Jared' that as both babyish and cringe-fest hilarious his tantrum back there had been for me, he had so done worse.

Like, the bruise, which I really let him see to make him grovel just a bit.

"Oh my gosh, I do not know how I could have dared to blemish such a fair thing's--"

I burst out laughing full on at that point.

"Oh MY gosh stop!" I squealed.

"Okay," Jared mumbled, "but really, I am really so, so, SOOOO sorry."

He put his hands together for a prayer pose with his head bowed down.

"Forgiven," I said rolling my eyes which sparkled in bemusement. "You loon."

"Seriously?" Jared asked so sickeningly and sincerely relieved.

"Forget it," I said again, "still just promise, no hide or hair of that stupid earbud when we're together."

"But--"

I levied my glare.

Jared sadly pocketed it.

"And also all that, sorry for that too," he said, obviously meaning the girls.

I shrugged but otherwise didn't respond.

Nothing I probably didn't already have coming.

Sure that camp straightened me out, forced me to see myself at my worst and all-- so I could see just how stupid being vapid, useless, and horrible to others for no reason really is.

I was probably getting all these reminders for still having those kinds of thoughts in me.

Not that I would spare my stepmom or her annoying kids for a second. They all know what they did.

I didn't care if I was being petty. And nobody likes petty.

I didn't care if Jared had somehow come so close to being a "best" friend. Because I already had best friends.

"Oh no, these bougie places," Nao-chan insisted, "it's all the same cream, yours is just way overpriced. I actually watched a special on it a couple months back--"

Apparently the French imported ones at the all natural store near the complex was diluted with water. And Naoki had in fact watched such a documentary.

It had been well out of her way to come to a small little local shop that resembled gas stations in abandoned strip malls. Better resembling a tense, possibly knife wielder neighborhood in the evening hours. The sun had just set making the sky a navy blue and weak streetlights turn on.

Inside, with just a singular dead-eyed old man on the counter, Kita didn't dare release her grip on her large knit bag.

In a rushed click-click of her pastel pink flats Kita came upon the baking ingredients, reaching up to collect the milk box shaped package of thick cream for their dessert.

Along with almonds and chocolate chips.

Holding them in her arms.

She took a deep breath, 'hello sir I'm Kita Shizue, just this please and thank you very much.'

'Just this please and thank you very much.'

'I'm Shizue Kita, just this please and thank you very much.'

'I'm Shizue Kita...'

She diverted for the red bag of chili flavored chips and some chocolate panda cookies.

Shizue struggled to hold all of it up, but if she put some in her bag certainly they may think she was stealing.

She jolted, dropping her snacks when hearing a voice.

"Small world," Naoki chirped with a wide smile on her face.

Shizue took in the cap over her wild hair, her athletic shorts and a bulking, oversized hoodie. "So what brings a glitzy stranger like you down to these parts?"

She cautiously looked up, sure that she looked a mess. Having gotten in the dullest and unassuming clothes in her wardrobe, which in all fairness there was plenty. The only reason she chose a particularly ugly brown shade of dress was the lack of brand tag.

"Like you said," Shizue replied, holding up the ingredients, "getting the quality product. Shizue had long stopped trying to keep composure.

"Of-- of course," Naoki agreed, but then in a smaller voice, "can't believe though, you actually came all the way out here."

Shizue stood erect, shoulders tensing, unsure exactly what Fuwa was getting at. "I said I would."

"Yes you did," Fuwa agreed, kneeling down to get the dropped bag.

She never bothered to try putting up that polite, courteous cover around her anymore.

What with Fuwa's tendency to fluster her often without knowing.

Or so she said.

"I umm, I guess I didn't think you would ac--"

Their hands touched reaching for the chips.

The chocolate chips spilled out from her hands at that moment.

Only Shizue couldn't too much find it in herself to care.

Eventually Naoki shot back up with the snacks, smiling in that same casual manner with her heart utterly open and confident.

Fuwa nudged her shoulder as they came to the counter together to pay up for everything.

Naoki had apparently been picking up the cabbage, kimchi, and seasonings for dinner that night.

As Kita flicked out her credit card the older man replied, "cash only ma'am."

Her face seared red as Naoki comforted her, pulling out a two thousand yen note.

See it's a Justice League episode-- original run not the sequel-- where Green Lantern, Hawk Girl, and a third hero are transported into what reads as a fifties comic book and it is.

It was Green Lantern's favorite comic series.

An alternate world where the comic had existed, and continued to exist unchanged, even when according to the papers--

'PEACE TALKS DISSOLVE, WAR DECLARED.'

And the superheroes are mourned as tombstones. That too.

A child had been horrifically mutated into a psychic. A too big head, burnt looking skin, and one eye a bulbous mass compared to the other as an unbalanced slit.

He was ugly and repulsive.

He was also so sad.

Chernobyl was the first thought I'd had. To what incident the TV show had been alluding to. A world where Chernobyl or even WW2 had even worse consequences.

'Our world was already destroyed, we did that. But now we have a chance to rebuild.'

Turns out they'd meant to reference the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962.

Abbot held himself in a strict straight backed posture, his chest heaving certain that to this red-headed teenage girl-- this teenager they'd ABDUCTED!-- must have seen a monster baring down onto her.

She didn't look petrified. She didn't beg or cry.

She just took another dollop of pudding to her lips.

Blinking balefully at him.

"I'm sorry, and also sorry," she said as she began to pull at the hem of her plaid skirt, "that my friends and Adam absolutely won't give up the evidence."

Abbot just groaned, continuing his guard duty of Molly Jones seated.

"Tell me about you."

Had Dad been a drunk?

No.

Did he ever hurt you or your mother?

Not on purp...

"He would cry before he did that."

"And sweetie, did your mother have bad days?"

Emmy frowned, looking to where the lady's hand was on his thigh. He was pretty sure that wasn't right.

Did she think patting his leg made them friends or something?

The doctors were crazy not her.

Emmy shrugged, "I was asleep."

They often stayed late.

Dad went to the hospital when he made a mess with the bottles.

And when he would scream.

And sometimes when he didn't let even Mom take Emmy from his lap.

Emile looked up.

His eyes were dry and scratchy.

Dragging his hand up from rubbing at his eyes, he raised it up so his palm could have been touching the car light.

Slowly, Emile let his hand rest atop a Christmas themed blanket.

"Oh Mom," he whispered into nothing. He didn't doubt-- without her child-- she'd simply died.

The doctors were crazy.

Not her.

The soft, gentle tenor of his Mother’s voice singing to him.

How his Father felt warm and safe even in his moods.

It was all Emile could remember.

Outside there was a clear sky with neither stars or a sun. Not even the moon. Obscured by-- well, he never knew why the moon was obscured in a clear, cloudless sky.

Around five or six then.

He should get a bit more sleep... but...

Emile turned over, smiling at what he saw by his upside down head.

He had actually imagined, Abel would have more trouble with this part. Sleeping in a car with nothing but the backseat as a bed, blanket, and a single pillow. But no, Abel slept the night away.

Emile chuckled, content to just look for a second, "you beautiful boy."

That smile-- to looking to something he had dreamed of for so long-- at peace and relaxed. Content.

Emile's face turned melancholy. "I wonder if your parents, did they still have their parents around? Or did they die? Didn't have grandparents then, I can't give you that either."

Abby's body stuttered, making a shocking jerk.

He began to mumble nothing.

And he suddenly cocooned, making Emile recoil from possibly taking his face.

A... nightmare?

He had-- well Emile couldn't be completely surprised.

When he had informed Abel their trip would be taken by car-- he had had questions.

“What time is the plane? Where would we go to the airport?” a suspicious frown on his face to the lack of response. Surely.

Emile had hoped it could help put Abby at ease.

Abel had a single large suitcase for all his necessities. And it had been no small feat to lug it all the way to the porch.

Emile would be proud of that once the clear muscle strain abated.

“Poor Abel,” Emile said and he couldn’t resist laughing fondly, but all the same taking the case and with some cracking of his own old bones lugged it into the trunk. “But—“ Emile hesitated for just a second— “this is it.”

Abel stepped back, his eyes turned glassy— and it struck Emile to see.

Abel likely wasn’t even aware what he was doing.

“I— I see, I suppose a plane was unrealistic. Umm much simpler.”

“Abby,” Emile kept his hands visible, his steps slow and at pace with Abel’s uneasy, almost swaying steps. “I— I didn’t know. You’re right.”

Watched as his breath puffed in cold white in a steadily rising rate.

“N— no. That’s not— I,” Abby swallowed thickly as if he had a marble in his throat.

Except this problem required a much gentler approach.

“I would absolutely die if you left me in the cold!” he exclaimed. And shrunk— his posture lowering as he clapped his gloved hands to his mouth.

Still, his azure eyes were dark. Almost black.

"So-- so you can't. You couldn't just let me get frostbite like heatstroke."

“Ohhh, of course honey. I understand.”

“You— you do,” and again Abel hurt Emile’s heart.

Seeing the anxiety that struck upon Abel's face stretching and drawing his expression in ways that had to ache.

"Listen first rest stop," Emile said unfurling a rolled up catalog he had stowed in his back pocket, "I'll buy you--"

Abel turned a couple more pages to find the one he had stuck a yellow sticker poking out.

"That. I'll buy you that."

A warming blanket, ran on a portable battery and could be plugged in like a phone charger.

"I--" Abel said and then just nodded. "Okay then. Sorry."

"I should be sorry," he corrected ruefully, "but I didn't mean it. He gently took Abel into his arms-- which he didn't resist in the slightest and even-- he relaxed against his chest. "I would never hurt you. Not for any reason or in any way."

And currently, Abel was still hurting.

Emile didn't want to think about why right now, even if-- even if he would have to admit to himself why.

The best he could do right now, was help Abel feel safe.

"Not for any reason or in any way."

Abel had affirmed as much when he nodded and hummed a wordless acquiesce.

Emile made soothing circles down his face and onto the small of his back. Making small, gentle shushing sounds.

Which sure enough, let Abel relax and spring his legs back out.

Kissing his own fingers Emile let that substitute an actual fond, fatherly kiss on his son's cheek.

"I love you Abby, never forget," Emile whispered, head in his hands. "Long as you're with me you are safe. And you are loved. Exactly as you are."

And if Emile had anything to say about it, Abel was welcome in his home long after he turned eighteen if he so chose. If he chose to not say goodbye to the friends he has made.

It had been a pleasant surprise to find how he flourished on a sports team of all things.

Then again, he'd never expressed any sort of distaste or discernment for reading material.

It was quite likely of his many books or on TV he had learned of sports.

Well who knew.

Emile was content as long as Abby was.

And when Abel would be happy-- once he was truly settled and tied to Winterset-- perhaps he could let the bitterness go.

Since, for adults, the ones in Winterset had truly been lovely.

It was no penthouse or luxury hotel that the pair stayed in once they'd arrived to town for the reunion in Missouri.

Just a simple motel in the equally quaint little city.

Looking this way and that way to the single room with two beds, Abel took to it well and immediately claimed the bed closer to the window.

"So do we want to share a bed?" Emile asked. "Whatever you want."

"No," he said and then with a bit of sting added, "I only needed that once."

"Okay then," he permitted patting him on the back.

Emile unzipped his own bag. "Now the plan is going to be some sightseeing and filling the fridge in the morning. We should be back by around two--"

"To get dressed, shower, and be at the hotel at the center of town on time," Abel recited-- looking at a booklet where Emile had sometimes seen diatribes of something-- but also "day notes" and reminders.

If in private he considered it precious that Abel of all sorts of people had a diary-- well that was between him and God.

Emile nodded approvingly.

"And if we get up a bit early," he said only to be cut off.

And Abel's eyes shone as he spoke, which made Emile's own smile widen to see how he had taken his meaning.

"Yes I would like the breakfast they serve very much."

"Alright then, it's decided!" he declared.

Abel did something-- a bit odd then.

Taking a few steps forward, slowly and certainly a bit awkward. Emile could see how he wrung his hands before--

Running to Emile and nearly tumbling him to the ground in a hug around his waist.

He was cognizant to possibly expect Abel to be distracting or trying to "subdue" him in some way-- often more amusing than actually alarming-- but in an odd place just wasn't smart!

But it was soon clear Abel wasn't doing any of that.

Instead Abby was simply hugging him. For the sake of it it seemed.

"I'll wash up first,” and without a moment to reply or for Emile to object he made for the restroom, slamming the door closed.

They would talk about that when he came out.

__________________

The next day Abel stayed quite intent on staying to the schedule.

But Emile found that in his own way, Abel was quite clearly excited to be touring a new place.

Prone to rambling about this or another— whatever he learned from collecting the travel guides or asking questions of the front desk clerk in the motel, the store clerk, and some kids a couple years older than Abel also in the shop.

That one had admittedly been awkward. Not that Emile held back from laughing as he explained things.

The children’s mother looked no less suspicious when Emile offered her a handshake goodbye. Having narrowed her eyes to his own and looking— distasteful to his gesture.

And that, well it always just put him in a slightly sour mood.

Abel tugged on his sleeve, by the uneasy waver in his otherwise soft tone, he likely figured— correctly— that he was diverting Emile’s attention.

However he didn't even have it in him to put Abby at ease, even as he felt it in his skin, how charged Abel likely was-- stressed or God forbid, even scared of Emile or what he'd be liable to do.

Emile knew that kind of feeling and those looks on a child's face all too well.

Both as a foster child and on one of his projects a couple of years ago.

Abel bless him, remained quiet, remained placid and helped however he could with the list items, while staying close at his sight and within Emile's hands. Which he either patted or grasped.

It was nice.

Emile took a deep breath as they collected the milk.

A whole twenty-five minutes after the whole encounter.

"She probably did the right thing," he said. "As a mother I mean, I'd dare you to find any parent who will just trust the world with their children."

And he couldn't help the double edged entendre of his smile when looking at Abel, just as covetously a new mother would look at her newborn.

"There were all sorts of looks back then too, when I would take you out for breakfast or when I'd insist you get some more outside time."

And per usual, the little reminders threw Abel for a loop. Even if it was a little funny-- not that Emile liked that sentiment either-- putting a look like that on his face, it made bile churn in his stomach no matter how necessary it would prove to be.

"I know it's not fair but well Abel, it's just the way of society. Women take care of the children while men make the money and "babysit," their children every so often," and Emile couldn't help the bitter, cruelly edged laugh that escaped him, "isn't that funny Abel? That so many Fathers can only tolerate their own children so much?"

Victims were often quizzed or otherwise sprung with certain questions to discern how memories began to change or fade.

Emile saw it happen over and over and over again.

With their errand done, Emile steered the cart and Abel followed along, a much more pensive look on his face then before. Seemingly having glided over any mention of home.

Emile had held many little girls and boys' hands in the corners of cramped rooms or makeshift crannies where the adults hid them away like goblins or brownies to do the housework.

He'd had older teenagers in plain sight, right in the front yard, make him repeat every sick, abnormal thing he was.

Fairy, Psycho, Crybaby, Fruit, Maggot, Leech, Parasite...

Such words had branded themselves invisible upon his skin and under his ribs, in his stomach, and between his eyes.

But other teens were only rough because they too were under duress.

Making sure a primary schooler could understand-- but they didn't always know how to say the words in cute little songs or clever mantras.

He and Abel talked it over while loading the groceries.

"If anything women would be more likely to hurt their children than the men and it isn't about sex at all, a volatile person is volatile due to environmental factors, inborn

deficiencies-- genetic or mental-- not to mention how they have or have not been socialized by adults and peers around them. And whether they were even in a safe community."

"Correct," Emile said approvingly, "and always remember that okay."

Booping Abel's nose to make sure that lesson sunk in.

"Did you know not many people back home understand what gay means?"

And that gave Emile pause.

"Don't Say, Don't Ask... like the army..." and he'd produced a broken soldier, with a melted off head to make his point...

"Don't Say. Don't Ask or Don't Tell."

"Don't Say, Don't Ask or Don't Tell..."

Really under no circumstances tell.

"I see and Abel--" Emile couldn't help but fidget as he curled his fists tighter on the wheel, "did you... did you say anything? About well, about an adult's love life? Gossip isn't exactly proper."

When Abel turned to him it was with the most silently patronizing tone that he replied, "proper and gentlemanly was out of the window two states ago. And don't worry," Abel leaned back, "such an obvious lie, I can hardly call it one."

He crossed his arms, "seems gossip is everyone any-- anything, everyone talks about. Makes distracting Mr. Haley easy and yes, we have helped ourselves to peanut butter cups and sour balls."

"That didn't answer my question."

And he sincerely, truly and sincerely tried to keep composure.

Even as slowly the noise of the street and his car and even Abel fidgeting in his own seat faded. Slowly impounding to the voice... a pretty brown haired teenager who wore spaghetti strap tops when she could get away with it...

"Sincerely, gay is about the filthiest swear word around, Emily."

"Everyone knows anyway," Abel said, shrilly defensive... only to then soften, the ice in his features thawing...

"But that's no one's business but mine and Violet."

"I never--"

And despite so many years and-- so many questions as to what that brash, motherly girl did with herself afterward-- from twenty years of perspective, he was close to defending himself meekly and a stone's throw from crying as he'd been apt to doing back then.

"You aren't subtle about it either. Apparently adopting a child like me--" which was a sharp, gutting retort to-- unpleasant claims-- "all but affirms."

Emile breathed in and out. In and... Out.

Slowly, the noise of the street came back.

Abel was back in focus as he stared up at him with the trace of a challenge in azure eyes.

Knowing full well how Emile liked to play and joke-- barely an adult.

Not Emily.

Not less of a man.

"No it would not be open," Abel argued furiously, and doubly aware of being late to when mealtime was called.

"Most times maybe but this time--"

"Is a locked room that we," and he pointed to them both.

Being that they were now co-conspirators.

As brief as such status was looking to be.

"Should and will not be wel--come."

Abel was deftly proven wrong by the consternating creak as it slowly swung to reveal--

Toys. A littany of colorful, packaged, and organized sets of toys, books, play things, stuffed animals, and sweet smiling things that a younger child would adore.

"Did he--" she asked, looking to Abel as out of sorts as he looked back at her.

"I never stepped into this space."

At the sound of footsteps Violet slammed the door closed.

And in tandem, they both blocked it off from sight. When Winifred Erwin came into view.

"Are you two-- hey, what's going on here?" she wondered idly. But nevertheless looked at the two, Violet's wide, unblinking eyes, and the door.

"We were together," he replied immediately and without inflection, "kissing."

Violet simply acquiesced their lie by blushing a brilliant tomato red.

"Fine," Winifred shrugged, "now you two lovebirds, come on. Still gotta eat."

"Yes madam," Abel said. It made her preen and if that further dissuaded her from asking questions, then hopefully Violet would come to understand.

Their hands fit nicely together, even if she did make audacious faces at him with no one else the wiser. Namely their impromptu escort.

Sure enough, the rumor soon went round the table, so their sitting together went unsaid. A new silent rule.

Before they had, Emile had taken Abel up in a tight hug.

"I love you okay, I love you son, more than anything and everything," he whispered, "are you enjoying yourself?"

Emile smiled, feeling bitterly and regretfully conniving. The taste singed on his tongue, completely disgusting.

He'd always loathed those types, the wealthy families so sure in their inherent superiority in breeding and bloodline that they wrenched control from their children.

Their clothes, their interests.

Their friends.

Wealthy parents made a dutiful and elegant art form of pulling upon relationships of their child-- forcing it and twisting until it inevitably snapped.

Emile just let go, parting a kiss from his finger to his forehead, smiling widely at how he-- the kids-- made those eyes at each other.

Abel was what mattered, Abel was absolutely paramount.

He taught Emile everyday, taught him such wonderfully big and intelligent words.

____________________________

The last of the set consisted of long choral words, a sort of farewell to the gracious audience.

As he had been told Abel wasn't required to "sing" per se, his speaking voice hit just the range they needed.

He promptly shut his mouth once it was over.

Prompting the collected townspeople-- parents namely-- to applaud.

Abel hopped down from his own spot of the raised bleachers and off the stage toward his own guardian.

Emile praised him effusively as he always did.

“You are really so good Abby! And you like the other children right?” he wondered as they walked along the church hand in hand.

To which he nodded. The children— Abel’s own peers at sixth, seventh, even fifth graders— were just fine.

“If the teacher is going to take the choir out to eat I won’t mind—“

“No,” he said quickly, “she never made plans of the sort.”

“I know but if she did,” he said, a subtle nod in his voice.

“Okay then, good to know.”

And nodded succinctly. “May I find Violet now?”

Emile’s face fell just a little bit, looking the least bit skeptical.

Right in the crowding space where the adults had all collected a plate of light snacks and soda drinks marketed to children.

But such a suspicious, almost dark look disappeared that Abel dared feel a little dumb for tensing.

“I suppose so,” he decided. And never missing an opportunity to tease— “since you can barely stand to be without her at all.”

Abel rolled his eyes but it did nothing to deter the truly trivial lie they’d nevertheless kept up. Of being— “little lovebirds.”

Of when they whispered.

Emile looked away figuring to give “his son,” privacy to trade compliments and nervously hug.

Or so he likely figured kids did when simulating a love relationship.

Rather than talking about the toys in a once locked bedroom.

And what only Abel was certain that such a thing could mean.

Another possibility, had there been things moved out of that room that “a child,” namely his victim, shouldn’t see?

Questions that for now, had no answers.

Violet stood right at the snack table. With another boy, also in the church choir, with an older brother who worked in the community center. And was thirteen.

Who had a big mouth and often lied about when his birthday was to seem older than he actually was.

“I didn’t know you two liked each other,” he greeted, turning to Violet with a solemn stare she knew not to take too seriously, “apologies.”

Her companion Leo snorted and as a result spewed cherry soda out his nose.

Violet recoiled, shrieking at the mess now on the floor. Which in fairness, did almost splatter down her white church dress. It was made of a thin fabric layered in prim, delicate skirts.

Abel, with no such worries, simply took a step back.

Watching Leo finally recompose himself whilst Violet glowered with her arms crossed.

"Gahh!" he gagged, "sorry but dang Abel! Absolutely no remorse!"

"Of course not," Abel replied. It had been a joke.

"If I liked this bigmouth at all I definitely don't now," she said, nose wrinkling in distaste. But Violet shrugged, dropping her hands in some mediation of surrender. "He wanted to ask me how training with you was going for baseball, says he wants to see the town win and go to the city for states and all that."

Abel was admittedly-- confused. "This town has a state contest?"

He had asked in a whisper toward Violet, glancing for onlookers but somehow didn't catch Leo in their space.

"Not for twenty years it hasn't."

"I thought it was eighteen years," Violet wondered, "it's what my Mom said."

"Yeah well my brother said twenty-five so," Leo said with a careless shrug, "and y'know, he'd actually know."

"Okay whatever," Violet said rolling her eyes.

"Come on do you lovebirds wanna hang out or something?" Leo continued, and pointed for the doorway, "it is kinda boring in here once you got your fill."

Abel and Violet looked at each other, Violet taking his shoulder to turn back toward Leo.

"We really should be talking about-- well, y'know. Training."

"Vi remember it's also important not to be suspicious, but yes, I don't quite want to go outside either."

"Then we just-- chat then? Would Leo be our friend now?"

"I suppose."

"But we don't--" Violet made a vaguely unpleasant noise behind her closed lips.

"Absolutely not," he confirmed and then nodded. "Okay."

"We should ask our parents before leaving Leo," Abel responded.

Leo groaned, rolling his eyes but ultimately complied.

But not without giving Abel a colossal noogie that left his hair all a mess and Violet-- Violet just giggled into her hand.

But that carefree look on her face was short-lived and quickly turned pitiful once they caught both their guardians talking with each other and to another bundle of adults.

"Be careful."

"We are surrounded by witnesses and you are here too," he replied dully.

"I don't care," she snipped, "be careful."

"I will be," he said pursing his lip. Abel genuinely did not understand her sometimes.

Running over, both pulled on a sleeve to get the adults' attention.

Emile, always needlessly expressive blinked owlishly before breaking into a smile.

"Abby! Hey, good thing! Look I forgot to tell you what we'll be doing after New Years!"

And that took any notion of asking to play elsewhere on their own right out of his head.

"Wha-- what?" he asked. And quite stupidly. Doing absolutely nothing except stare. A concussed mule looked less absent and vague.

Emile's smile grew but his eyes, there was a distant and glassy look in his kind eyes.

"I was invited to a high school reunion out of state."

Emile got down to his level, presumably for some privacy, now only supported by his knees.

"Granted I went to three high schools but this one, I really loved these people. I didn't have a family of my own so before you," he tousled his hair which Abel pretended still made him itch in anger, "they were the closest to that."

Abel was abruptly and to be frank almost forcefully alert to-- to that. To information so freely given!

And Emile, in the teasing glint replacing the vacancy of melancholy looked to know what possibly perked his ears and made his skin rise.

"I'll tell you more later," he whispered. Winking at Abel, their-- their silly little sign that he was making a promise.

And it so quickly seemed, he and Violet may not have more time to run grapple maneuvering or more bat practice once the winter was formally over.

Come to think, to be talking about New Years--

Abel could have sworn it had only started getting cold. And-- and the shows in Choir--

Or maybe, it just wasn't important.

The point was he and Emile had unfortunately left early. Emile did permit him to say goodbye to Violet and Leo who had hoped to wait for Abel to be done.

"Not fair," Leo huffed, and leveled what he supposed, Leo thought was a very deathly glare of contempt toward Emile. "You are seriously the worst. And needy."

Emile took such a title 'needy' with pride. And took Leo's insults with a smile and Merry Christmas.

Then-- he should also think on what four girls of wildly different ages may enjoy for Christmas gifts.

Violet, he thought, earrings would suit her nicely.

He'd imagine that simple, sparkly silver would let her look exactly like a society girl. With the way she already smiled as if some edge lurked beneath the surface, and she'd always spoken smartly. Silver, silver also complimented her long dark hair.

Yes.

He would get her earrings.

However, looking up at Emile, the next thing to do was how to earn extra pocket change.

Violet would be the kind to not want anything-- no matter how indirectly-- from Emile.

Tainted, came quite the unbidden and bitter thought.

_____________________________

Snow had come-- much earlier than he had expected it to.

Soon enough there were no more outside chores.

Even with his shoes and bundles of a coat, sweater, long shirt, vest, mittens, hat--

Point more than made, Emile did not want Abel outside for just any old reason.

Which apparently included the ranch.

Emile went on his way alone to fetch the chickens and shovel out the back patio and vegetable beds.

Leaving Abel inside quite a long while.

Often in the quiet and when the power went out.

Bi-weekly or so, but Emile had long since plugged in a heater unit.

He'd insulated the walls and closed off the windows with decorated blankets.

So, it wasn't so boring to look at Abel figured.

He could curl in quite deeply under all his winter clothes and an extra thick blanket with a furry inside.

Abel wasn't sure what day it was. Well, exactly.

And surely that wasn't so bad.

Currently he and Emile were on the living room couch, the plug-in heater humming, and Emile's presence helping just a little bit as Abel shivered continuously and watched his breath form in small clouds as he blew them over his gloved hands.

Today was a record blizzard.

There is genuine worry about what stores would be open once things did begin to peter off.

Outside he could hear the way the wind barreled into the door, the way it wailed. That sound buried deep into his head.

With little escape even when he resigned to hiding into Emile's chest and trying to sleep.

"Abel, I-- I'm really sorry," Emile said into the quiet, still rubbing at his back.

"Why?" he murmured, shifting to get a little more comfortable.

"Well this isn't the way I wanted you to experience Christmas here."

Abel gave a humorous chuckle.

"I'm told it's par for the course though," he said.

"Violet?"

He simply nodded.

"She is a good girl..."

No. No.

"Abby," Emile said and from something in his tone-- a heaviness-- Abel suspected his guardian had moved on to a different topic. "Do you remember, that last Christmas we spent in that penthouse?"

Whatever Emile was getting at, it certainly unbalanced him.

Abel looked up, swallowing a sudden lump in his throat.

Looking at his expression, Emile immediately went to soothe him, so far as running a tender hand down his cheek. "I just thought it might be a nice way to pass the time. And the cold. And then, I can tell you another story. About when I'd been in high school."

"I see," he pondered, "it-- yes-- it is a good idea."

Yet putting his brain to the task, a simple, for the most part neutral task he had a nasty shock.

He-- didn't remember much. Simply how every year the penthouse was done up in appropriate white Christmas lights and holly. And a tree of course with delicate red glass baubles and snowflakes.

But Abel could also remember the sleek white and black the penthouse had been done in.

"I always had Christmases back then off," Emile mused, but smiling down and in the orange din of the heater-- Abel didn't like the way his usually unassuming face (safe face) stretched. "If I wanted of course. But then again, I had no family. My friends, well, they bored me sometimes. Honestly I really did have the most fun with you especially days before Christmas. And Abel, I never did thank you did I--" Emile laughed to himself.

Abel, Abel let Emile speak. He let him just speak.

"Thank you. For indulging me about Santa Claus."

___________________________

Violet's gift had regrettably been neglected in their house even when the snow did stop.

Liar.

But Abel knew that. He KNEW that.

Emile always lied, he always lied.

Because it had been nine days to Christmas.

He should have realized everything sooner.

Though it seemed there was very much that was neither here nor there.

Abel flinched whilst having taken a moment in the Erwin household's staircase.

Violet's sister had blown a noisemaker in his face.

"Hey Vi's boyfriend," Mildred teased, "you doing alright?"

With a genuinely worried look on her face, creasing her upturned brow.

Smiles often came easy. Had for a good while.

"Oh yes, I'm absolutely fine I just--" he pointed toward the living room, "it was a lot of noise in there. Which you assisted nothing in."

Mildred looked askance, just a little sheepish. "Okay yeah, sorry about that. And hey,

y'know you are practically family," she said nudging his shoulder. "Is little brother alright?"

"It is acceptable," he decided, his cheeks warming just a bit.

Abel never had imagined he would have siblings. His parents had an heir, they've no need the burden of more than one child. Especially one who required so much attention when their jobs demanded an almost equal amount of attention.

"I'll go back to the party," Abel stood up, intent to do just that.

After all, there were quite a few incidences the last while he'd have to apologize to Violet for.

Abel and Violet had gotten the opportunity to use a out-of-state covered phone quite unexpectedly.

If one called unexpected throwing a carton of eggs in the food dispenser-- with money to pay for in Miss Erwin's purse discreetly.

However it happened they had to go to the large grocery store. She had decided to buy something special for lunch during their playdate that day anyway.

Abel had been sufficiently chastised all through the drive and upon entrance.

Still, they split off quickly from her mother, sneaking about to find where the management could be. Or storage. He'd have to admit he wasn't wholly familiar with where they would keep a business phone in a place without designated offices. Per se.

Turns out it had been in a door just behind the meat supply. A cramped little office overflowing with paperwork, horridly disorganized and chaotic.

But the phone was right there in clear sight.

Both admittedly winced to be so close--

"THIS IS NOT A GAME GIRL! GOOD DAY!"

And so had been the only other instance they'd been able to call out of state.

One of many instances, the grocery store incident earned them two whole weeks apart.

Emile even shared chore time in the morning to make sure Violet couldn't sneak in.

And she had tried. A gesture that-- admittedly-- made him smile and even laugh a little every time she did.

The look on his face-- Abel abhorred that look.

It was not angry nor condescending. The latter of which always prickled at his skin.

Abel hated that look so much, because of how frightened that look made him.

"You know I love you Abby," Emile crooned. Then why did his eyes turn glassy. Why did he insist on standing to his full height to be above Abel?

"Well you're grounded obviously."

Obviously.

And that was the most frank-- the most cold Emile ever was or had been with him thus far.

"There's only so much time--" Abel flinched, watching the way Emile turned away from him, put a hand to his forehead to rub at a spot of tension. "Only so much time..."

"Before I'll have to stop. Stop being understanding, or you'll think causing so much trouble is okay to do."

He sighed.

Not a word as he opened Abel's door to leave.

"I won't ask who you were trying to call."

Violet was in conversation with Emile.

Shrill, awkward, ejaculating with her arms conversation.

"Yeah, I never did think i would actually live on a farm," Emile said with a laugh, looking toward the ceiling while in his thoughts.

"But that was your dream? It's a weird one," Violet commented.

Something in him--

It writhed to see Emile pat Violet's head.

And she didn't like it either.

Abel flinched to see how sharply she slapped off the contact.

He opened his mouth-- and Emile laughed again.

Harder.

And in a higher, cooing pitch.

"What?" Violet pouted, but behind what Abel was certain was a mighty frown-- she was simply much too stiff.

"Awwww you were distracting me weren't you?" he guessed and sure enough-- unlike any society lady-- Violet couldn't lie to save her life. "Where is Abel Vi?"

Abel's feet were working again.

They trod over to where they were, comfortable and eye to eye on each other on the couch.

"Thanks, I'm okay now," he mumbled sitting behind Violet.

Was he using her as a shield?

Okay. A little.

But he glowered at Emile from behind her.

"I'm sorry he's silly. I'm not even completely sure he's an adult."

"Rude!" Emile exclaimed.

The clock read 10:40.

Abel thought about the library.

A Saturday.

So there'd been too many adults. Too many kids. Simply too many kids and too many ears.

In hurried paces they bounded up the staircase and to the furthest corner of the reading nooks and the books above. Where the pillows and the like were in carved out spaces of the walls.

There were none where he and Violet ended up kneeling.

Pretending to look over to decide what to read.

"That was a lot," she said, breathing a bit hard from the excursion.

Hardly one, he would have liked to mention. But besides his slight scrutiny, he didn't.

"We can't let anyone find out. But anyway, you know where the office is?"

Violet just nodded.

"Down," she pointed out dryly.

"Okay yes, then we'll need to wait it out or--" he stopped, wondering if by chance she knew yet more that he didn't.

"Or just go down. No one will care," and her whisper was much harsher. Brittle.

"We would be the only people headed that way. Besides everyone else has a parent."

"Every other kid has some type of sibling," Violet argued back. "The kind that dumps them just like Vivi did us!"

"Still no," he insisted. "No mistakes. This could be my one chance."

"We're kids Abby! I'm a kid," she complained furiously.

"Yes, yes we are."

He'd not quite understood why that point mattered so much as to emphasize.

"Then why in the world haven't we told someone? My Mom or-- or I dunno Mr. Haley who likes you! Or even that guy Vivian talked to about you from the community center!"

"Are you absolutely stupid Violet?"

And he truly hadn't meant to be so cruel. So brash and completely beastly.

He really hadn't.

"No I'm not! Maybe your parents were if they taught you not to go to--"

"Don't you say that!"

How they were still whispering was a mystery. At that moment something bubbling and boiling had wanted to eat him alive from the inside out.

And out of spite the Thing had taken his fist and made a haphazard stack of books tumble to the floor.

Which made Violet flinch and caused a genuine commotion.

Enough to have those dreaded eyes on them.

Violet had been the one to hug him first. He hugged her tighter and could only say he was sorry, say that something was broken and she'd gotten cut with the pieces.

11:12.

How do you find the words?

Even if they were in a place where they could safely speak candidly and about-- matters.

How would Abel begin, if he himself didn't know what the words were?

Not the exact ones. The proper ones. Anything else--

Well he'd be childish and exaggerating things the way children do.

And a child, was the last thing he could afford to be.

That would mean--

It would mean Emile won.

Abel wasn't sure how long he just robotically placed one spoonful and then another spoon of food in his mouth.

It was good food.

Warm and safe. With good flavor.

Much of it made with the very same raw eggs and grown herbs for seasoning.

5... 4... 3...

Abel knew Emile was with Violet's mother.

Violet's sisters, on their phones taking selfies.

2...!

1...!

And Violet.

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

Was beside Abel and once the room had exploded in silly string, noisemaker pops, and general disarray--

Pulled him in for a light, fluttering peck on his forehead.

She hugged him first.

He hugged her tighter.