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.

Every Christmas, my family comes together to attend my Aunt's evening mass in her home. Before an exquisite nativity scene of some ceramic with great detail. Where we sing softly of Jesus Christ and the fish in a river where a beautiful woman was brushing her hair, and at the end, we kiss the baby Jesus.

And when I'd been little at midnight I huddled around with my cousins-- the very best friends I still hold to my heart-- as we excitedly waited for midnight. As the time set by the adults that we could tear open our presents from a wide array of shiny wrapped packages under a grand tree.

It really looks like a toystore under my Aunt's tree. Since the whole family pitches in to trade gifts for cousins and aunts and sisters and their parents and the older kids to the younger kids.

What I want this Christmas is what I want every Christmas.

The warm light and steady, soothing hum of united prayer. Lilting singing voices as we celebrate Christ.

I want the burn of tamales on my tongue and the fill of posole and meatballs in my belly.

I don't even care all too much what I get under the tree. But I do especially love, when family members remember that I love wrapped ones the most since I get to tear into it.

I just want a singular night where our family is happy and talking, us kids holed up in a room with snacks talking about high school and college and romance, and the adults commandeering the downstairs with their gossip and "carcajeadas."

Melanie Warren was the odd contender for gloomiest girl in their year, strawberry blond curls, dainty freckles across her nose, it was almost gaudy costume wear-- to have the rattiest sweaters of the most displeasing dull colors a person could think of. Nor was her pretty hair ever clean either, always full of dandruff.

And her eyes, Melanie had one picture of the color they were supposed to be. A moony grey, but had washed out to a stormy, dark glower that glimmered with scorching lightning.

That picture lay at her chest in a cheap plastic gold locket. Only seen by one person.

Her friend Sierra Gallegos.

**15 yrs. later**

It was technically cheating, Officer Oaks knew that-- except the strawberry blond grand larcenist had simply vanished.

And he cared about her more than the law or his job allowed.

Not simply for being a useful demon half the time, but in part for the fondness she would speak about... 'the one woman she loved.'

A past he used against her now as he dug up the time capsule for the class of Westover Hall 2000.

**Corvallis Oregon**

Sierra spun around the grand empty space.

Her newly bought, simple home.

This text is from Sword Art Online Abridged by Something Witty Entertainment. Watch Episode 18 on YouTube.

So all credit for this idea really goes to them. It was way too cool not to think on it and say, "that's an awesome spell to use in some story."

So let's see what you all can do with it.

**********************************************

A toll for the living

A toll for the lost

A toll for the wise ones who tally the cost!

Greg pulled ahead, finding not only her completely unharmed but also Coulter and Wayne.

Of course the latter down a hand and with a sheen of sweat and unhealthy paleness.

Coulter hadn’t fared much better with his creepy cricket limbs splintered in clean smooth halves of meat. Blood pooling from multiple bite wounds, his bare leg washed in red.

And of course growls began to approach.

“The cars?”

“Nah magic based,” Mario reported. “Can’t pick or force.”

“Shit,” Coulter hissed.

“Well over the fence now!” Wayne insisted. “We can figure out transport and stuff later.”

Their resources were essential. Thus Greg tossed his bag over first, before cupping his hands to support Mario.

Beside him Coulter handled Wayne and Talia and undoubtedly had room for him too.

The sight of the gleaming leg intact and stretching him to nearly eight feet tall was in a way infuriating. An ever present itch at his eyelids he could never explain and had to shove aside NOW.

He rolled his eyes at the professed hand.

Still he said nothing.

On their ascent Coulter began to quake.

Not only was he off balance but he’d summoned three more legs, tearing out of his back to kick out at the goons snarling their frothed mouths.

Three whimpered at the savage whips they received.

Greg clasped the fence, face set in grim resolve.

He climbed the links, scuttling with all his speed and skill.

The tangles caught his sock tight, twisting and turning but refusing to yield.

Coulter grunted. “Greg! Oh good God,” he said looking so pale as if he weren’t being set upon by literal wild animals. “I should have let you go first.”

“Whatever it’s fine!”

“Just be quiet,” argued Wayne.

“No,” he argued just as heatedly, chest heaving in the blinding heat of righteous mania.

Long as some survived, long as their map survived and they escaped they had won today.

Only Wayne wouldn’t have it. He had promised after all.

With a terrible jerk and almost crack his now red, bleeding foot was left bare and free.

He flipped over the chain link, helped along by a thrust.

Until he realized what that meant.

The wolves knew it too, Wayne knew it as he smiled.

Now shielded in a hexagonal barrier they were massacred.

Someone, Talia, realized he had had the sense to cover his eyes. Bone parted from flesh and something rolled.

Coulter was flat on his side, all his limbs torn. Pain exuding from his expression, gritting his teeth against the awful claws digging about on his spine.

Not even his finger moved. He was completely paralyzed.

“Run,” said a voice. A voice much stronger and richer than his own.

Red hot coals stroked at his insides.

“Run unless you’re such a sadist.”

“You’re a sadist!”

“Sick freak.”

“Sadist!”

Greg ran. Oh he ran alright.

He ran hard and tirelessly screaming to the blue sky and air smelling of wet earth, honey, and lavender.

One and one,

One hand to another.

The hands who hold on tight as one entity, falls from the sky.

As only one can escape to see the sunlight again.

One smile.

That leaves you wanting and hurting for all your days.

One.

Only that one love, is whose hands you desire to hold.

From one singular point of the universe.

To that one place...

Called The End.

From snow to stone, from joggers to carpet floors Lydia came to the location on her ramshackle tracker.

Throwing open the door she found splatters of paint everywhere, chairs overturned with broken off legs, and the balcony door wide open.

Lava cascaded down her veins, slow and ominous.

Walking into the apartment she nearly walked into the one tired witness to this whole mess.

The friend she'd desperately tried to find.

Cradling him in her arms she made note of the blue punctures.

He hissed something, his eyes switching from his own blue to a lava color with slit pupils.