Fantasizing a war - A Sanders Sides Trilogy

The Rebellious Child

Patton beamed at the woman. "Yes, ma'am, your order will be ready soon!" He jotted it down quickly and waited till she sat down before turning to one of the co-workers and asked them to cover the till. Recently, as in the last few years, he was terrified.

Terrified that the moment he left his children alone, someone would take them away and take their arms and hurt them and Patton wouldn't be able to stop them. He was reluctant to send any of them to school, he was reluctant to leave them in the other room and he was reluctant to let them leave his side. Amai was easy to convince. She didn't really remember much about the Grey Realm. Just a cage, a lot of crying and several doctors. So all Patton needed to do was ask her to just stay with him for a bit. She was only seven and, apart from a few random memories, she stayed by her dad for as long as she could remember.

Fletcher was... more of a struggle. He'd run off and Patton wouldn't see him until the next day, he'd snap at Patton and hurt Amai and then hide away in his room all day. Then, Patton would try to make him see that his behaviour wasn't okay, he tried to let him know that what he was doing was actually hurting his sister, but Fletcher would huff and snap back, saying how he didn't care about Amai or Patton. And it hurt so much. Patton didn't know what he had done. Life had been so perfect only a few years ago but it seemed like another lifetime. All Patton really wanted was his children and his husband to be a happy family, just like Virgil's' family. Why was it always him?

Actually, no. It wasn't just him. Patton had watched many other parents fuss over children who didn't come back whole, whether physically or emotionally. Younger kids were often happier, as they never knew what had been going on, but the older children. The ones who knew enough about the world to be truly terrified. They hated being alone, they were afraid of strangers, they clung to their parents and Patton felt like he was doing something wrong. Why weren't his children scared too? Was there something wrong with them? He was so happy that they weren't suddenly dependable but couldn't they see that he needed their reassurance? Logan had tried to talk to Fletcher, he knew that, but Patton had heard the conversations they'd have in the middle of the night.

He knew Fletcher felt he was giving Amai all the attention but what could Patton do when Fletcher ran off constantly? If he kept him on a leash, Fletcher would hate him for it. Why couldn't they all just get along?

Patton poked his head around the corner of the staff room to see Amai sitting there, doodling. She looked fine, her arm wasn't causing a problem and she wasn't crying. She was just the same as she had been ten minutes ago.

The baker sighed and went back to his work. God, he was so paranoid. Something had clicked in him when he had his children back in his arms, two years ago. He didn't know what it was but something had clicked. He had become clingy and desperate. Patton hated himself for it.

Fletcher hadn't been there. Just like last time. And the window was open.

Oh, why couldn't he just stay? Why couldn't he just see Patton's' struggles? Patton sighed. As long as he stayed safe...

.:*:.

Fletcher smirked confidently to himself. Now he had finally gotten away from his uncaring dad, he could finally be free from the constant check-ups. Honestly, did Patton think he was that bad? He knew the man hated him, but jeez. Give him a bit of credit.

Fletcher, you see, had reached that classic point of life at an early age. Everyone was wrong but him. His father was wrong about Patton caring for him. Amai was an attention-stealing brat and don't even get him started on Patton.

Oh, did he have a special reservation of hate for that man.

Slipping effortlessly around the bustling streets of Cabina city, Fletcher whistled to himself. It was just a tune he had made up in those hours of time he had since his dad ignored him so much. The boy let himself wallow in his anger, steam in his jealously, drown in his rage and boil in his hate. He had so many negative emotions and no one would listen to him. Logan was bad at emotions, Amai was stupid and ugly and Patton was the last person he'd ever turn to. 

Stupid Patton. Stupid Amai.

As he darted and weaved past visiting trolls and chatty humans, Fletcher took one moment to reflect. Once, his reflection had convinced him that it would all change. Now? Now it just pushed him further and further into his pit of wrath and ferocity. Soon, he'd be unsavable.

Fletcher's' whistled tune morphed into lower, faster, harsh notes and he hardened his pace, walking with all the turmoil he could muster. Then he reached the outer wall and he ducked past the guards, a skill he was unnervingly good at. Fletcher ran out, wondering if he'd have enough money he stole from some of the passerby's to hail a Carriage, if there were any to hail. Soon, the small run he had worked himself into settled back to a lazy, self-inflated, bossy stroll that all but faltered when he reached a certain mound.

The King's' Tree.

The boy stopped, looking at the graves of long-dead royals and his eyes landed on the most recent one. Philip. It was such a heartbreaking memory but, like everything else, it had been tainted with the annoyance of being left out. Fletcher walked up the mound by the singular, stoned footpath. The grave of King Philip was tucked a little to the left and Fletcher knelt before it, noting the white roses laid beside that were mildewy and withering slightly, informing him that they must have been brought there a day or so ago by King Roman, most likely.

He sighed at the memories. He had only been two when Roman was coronated King and Amai had spent her whole life under Roman's' government, but both had met Philip before he'd been killed. He had been a nice, if slightly grouchy, old man. A grandpa figure. And, god, did Fletcher need another. Or maybe, he just needed a friend. He didn't have many. Actually, he had none.

All Fletcher needed was somebody to lean on. Someone who'd listen. Someone who would just let him rant about his parents being unfair and never try to stop him. Someone who understood how much hate he had in his soul and someone who shared it. Someone who-

"Excuse me, little boy, are you lost?" The voice was smooth and suffocating.

Fletcher spun around defensively, jumping to his feet. "I'm not a little boy! I'm ten!"

"Goodness, I'm so sorry!" The voice belonged to a man, who neither looked young or old. He smiled elegantly. "Yes, I can see now, you're no child. I only saw you from the back, I couldn't begin to tell how mature you were. What's your name?"

The man spoke like Logan and his smile was too slippery. "Fletcher... Fletcher Hart-Croft..."

"Pleasure to meet you, Fletcher Hart-Croft. Say, you wouldn't be the son of Logan and Patton Hart-Croft, would you?"

Fletcher drew himself up importantly. "I am. What is it to you?"

The man smiled. "Oh, sorry." His eyes were cold and steely. "I am just huge fans, they're absolute heroes. You must be so proud."

"Logan's the only hero," Sniffed Fletcher. "Patton's stupid. He doesn't pay attention to me, he only cares about Amai."

"Don't you think you're being a little harsh?" Asked the man, raising an eyebrow with a twisted flair in his smile.

"No. I hate them both! I only like my father, but he's too busy working. It's not like I even have any friends to hang out with. Everyone hates me, they say I'm to rebellious and I'll get them in trouble."

The man closed his eyes gently, nodding with a sympathetic hum. "I understand. Everyone used to say that to me but do you want to know something?"

"What?" Snapped Fletcher harshly.

"The rebellious ones are only rebellious because they are just too intelligent for the others around them." The man smiled and extended his hand up to Fletcher. "Would you like to be my friend, Fletcher Hart-Croft? Two rebellious peas in a pod, hmm?"

Something told him not to. Something was begging him to run screaming and get this man arrested. It was his smile, no- it was his eyes, no, it wasn't even that. It was his everything. His voice, his words, his slight accent of the Dark Realm and the hand was chalky. Something was telling him not to.

"Sure..." Fletcher agreed slowly, walking down to the man to shake his hand. A part of him felt unsafe and the other part was excited. Finally, someone who could understand him. But there was one obstacle he'd have to cross. "What's your name."

"My name is Skol. I hope we get to be good friends."