Multi-Fandom One Shots

The Falconess and the Huntress (Alma Peregrine)

Whew! Guys... 10k, been workin' this 9 months, I'm thinkin'. Angst, some comfort, Alma being fed up. She always wins, yo.

Time passed differently for children. It moved faster with school to keep track. Adulthood was a series of work days with interjected free days. At least it was for you. To be fair, you took... every opportunity to be out of your house.

You lived with your parents and younger brother. At 20, you felt the shame. But you had a real job so you were ahead of your father. You worked at a psychiatric hospital, working either first or second shift. Hypothetically having plenty of time around those times to do as you pleased. You preferred to smoke, at home, alone and in peace. But alone and in peace was never an option in your home. In fact, you were nearly there when your father called you. Your mother always had the next, newest car so her calls come through her radio. You, however, had a piece of shit so you got to risk death by looking down at the phone in your lap to answer your phone and put it on speaker. "Hey, Frank, what's up?" you greeted.

Franklin's heavy sigh came through your phone and you rolled your eyes, mouthing his next words in time with his voice. "Would it kill you to just call me dad? I am your dad, after all."

You suppressed your responding sigh, he was definitely your father, and tried to move past the subject. "Did you need something Franklin? Or did you just call to bitch?" you weren't trying to sound rude, but you were looking forward to sitting without using your feet.

Franklin just sighed again, being his over-dramatic self. "Your grandfather-"

"Your actual father," you interjected, trying to have him see the connection.

"Your grandfather," he asserted more harshly, making you smirk in your car, "has an appointment with Dr. Golan at 4:30. I was going to take him, but figured, since you're off, you wouldn't mind."

You didn't mention he was also off, because that would start a fight. "Fine. Send me the address of his appointment," you grumbled, flicking down your indicator to take the next turn. Following the new path set, you got lost in the familiarity of your new path.

Abe, as you often called your grandfather, was one of the only people you went out of your way to be kind to besides your patients. You'd be there whenever he needed you. You see, Abe was more of a father to you and your younger brother than your actual father was. He talked to both of you more frequently and more respectfully too. He told you stories no one else knew and you knew him better than anyone else in the family. That's right. You knew about Peculiars, a particular home of them as well. And you did more than know about the children and the monsters. You hunted the monsters with your grandfather. You'd stopped when Abe did, for your brother, but you followed any you saw. Yes, saw. But you did more than see. If there were multiple, you could pit them against each other and the wights they traveled with. The two of you had no secrets. Abe was your best friend.

You pulled in his driveway, checking your watch as you turned and removed your key from the ignition. You locked the car with a sigh, unlocking Abe's door. That was odd. Abe was paranoid, but he was confident enough in himself to unlock it when he was awake. Ignoring the dread pooling in your stomach, you stepped in calling out for your grandfather. "Abe!" you shouted, looking around the living room. Someone who didn't know Abe wouldn't see what was wrong. The map on the far wall had most of Europe and a great deal of Asia and Africa torn off. More than that, the lights were off. Being past midday, the sun lit the home quite well, but there were no signs of life anywhere inside. The dread in your gut hardened into a knot. "Abe, you have a doctor's appointment and a different chauffeur." You grinned cheekily, despite the stone in your belly getting heavier. You had anxiety and Abe had dementia. He probably ripped the map when overcome with memories, and you worried over every little thing. "You're going to be late." You walked into the kitchen, starting the coffee pot. "And you know being late gives me anxiety," you mumbled under your breath. You walked back into the living room, noting how you heard nothing inside the home. Your heart dropped at the implications. You stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up them. "Abraham Portman?" you called up scoldingly, nerve-wracked by the lack of response. You slowly made your way up the steps, your grip on the railing was weak and fragile as your dizzy brain. Your head swam with the truth, knowing exactly why your grandfather wasn't up. You took slow steps down the upstairs hall. You weren't sure you could make it, weren't sure you could take it.