R3N41SS4NC3
Professional Carol Understander
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awwww thats so sweet! thanks star eater, and i'm glad you read/liked Charity too. It was another NaNoWriMo project.
I just like it when my blorbos are in unimaginable pain teehee <3<3<3<3
Riley Alone (COMPLETE)
- Thread starter R3N41SS4NC3
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I just like it when my blorbos are in unimaginable pain teehee <3<3<3<3
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- Te Ika-a-Māui
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- She/Her
Oh man, Riley Aron is so deliciously fucked up, I love it.
That's was good my kind of interest possession, swap body, take over an identity all good also the reason for riley to do so and the boy Aron explains it's really well I could understand riley angry
If this were anyone but Bonesaw, I'm not sure I could keep reading. Truly a horrific mental image, good job!
Dromeosaur
Feathery Raptor of snowy planes and frozen sea
- Location
- The land of Trees and Squirrels
I, uh, don't think Riley is in a correct mindset for a long term infiltration mission. Or she could be in a perfect one. Either or, really.
So Aron is a boy right? And riley is a girl so when she does a skinwalker does she take his pee pee too? As that is very important deference between Male and female
Roth963
If I become inactive with this massage, I died
Riley a wizard, she can do anything, and the text says she took everything, so that likely, and I think she will likely not have to deal with body dysmorphia too since she already did some horrific changes to her body in canon without apparent discomfort.
Might suffer the social part of dysmorphia though, as well as feeling all her relationships are fake (because they are) which will make everything not good enough no matter how much she will otherwise like it if she was adopted as Riley.
R3N41SS4NC3
Professional Carol Understander
- Pronouns
- It/Its
this comment alone has been making me consider changing the story title from "Riley, Alone" to "
Either or, yeah. She's dissociating hard, and that might be great for slipping into the role, or it might be terrible for acting Correctly.
I will never be answering that question. That is not something to concern yourself with. I would appreciate if we don't delve into that, please.
Dromeosaur
Feathery Raptor of snowy planes and frozen sea
- Location
- The land of Trees and Squirrels
That said, she should have some experience with acting normal. For a short while, at least.
The family might be happy enough that Aron is finally cooperative not to notice immediately, and then, well, they could get used to it.
I think the worst long term danger is her power itself. I doubt that it would be content doing nothing.
Then Aron would need a secret lair to do her tinkering
chapter 1: My Family Loves Me.
R3N41SS4NC3
Professional Carol Understander
- Pronouns
- It/Its
"This stuff might bore you, and you might not get why I'm telling you about it, but I think I have to tell you about it. It gives context for what comes after. It's important, and I've already held too much back."
Aron hears voices as she heads back towards town. People are calling a name: her name, she realizes belatedly. Curious, she moves toward them. There's a line of people and lights, spread out, moving through the woods together. One of them spots her and calls out, "I found him!"
Him? Aron realizes he's a boy. Of course he's a boy, what else would Aron be? It's something else to hear it from another's mouth instead of as simple knowledge. 'Him.' He's not a girl, he's a boy. He's not a good girl or a bad girl; he's just a boy.
The group in sight speeds towards Aron and he stiffens, not sure of the appropriate response to this. He's not entirely sure what they're doing. He can guess they were looking for him, and he feels confident in that guess, but he's not sure why. Aron's family is only four people and a dog, including himself.
The group crowds around Aron, and there's a great deal of hubbub involved. Some of the ones nearby march off to spread the word he was found, while others stay nearby. One asks him how he is: whether he's hurt or scared or got into anything dangerous out here.
"Why are you here?" Aron asks.
"What do you mean?" the woman who's trying to take care of him asks in turn.
"We're not family. You barely know me if at all, so why are any of you here? Why do you care?" he clarifies.
"Honey, you've been missing for half the night. You belong at home, in your bed, and just 'cause your family's new here isn't a reason for us to let you spend the night lost in the woods. It's dangerous out here, with the coyotes and all."
"Yeah, let's get you back home, kid," another woman says.
"Heck of a way to end the night, huh?" one man says to another, earning a laugh.
"Who says it's ending? We gotta celebrate finding the kid, right?" the other man says, earning even more laughs, until the group surrounding Aron is laughing and joking on their way back to town.
Aron slowly relaxes as he realizes that these people really were just out in the woods to look for him and take him home. It's like when we finished having fun in a new town and we'd gather up to find the rest of us so Unc–
Aron blinks as the group leaves the treeline and comes out in a neighborhood. Their group got bigger as they navigated out of the woods, it seems, having almost doubled while he wasn't looking. The group keeps moving, keeps leading Aron further from the woods and deeper into civilization.
"Aron!" one woman screams with relief. The loose crowd around him parts to make way as she rushes toward him and before he can decide how he should react, she kneels and wraps him in a crushing hug. "Oh my baby, my darling baby boy, you're okay, you're okay, I've got you, you're okay, oh Aron, I've got you, you're okay, it's okay now."
She blubbers and repeats herself tearfully, like a broken record playing on a meaty record player. Aron doesn't remember ever getting any hugs this… wet. Or desperate. She's clinging to him like her life depends on it. This is Aron's mother, isn't it?
Before he can come to terms with Mom's hug, another person joins the hug: a man who is probably Aron's father. Dad is bigger than Mom, and stronger too. It's hard to see from this close, but Aron can see how both of their features mixed together to make his face. He has his mom's chin and lips and his dad's eyes and hair, from what he can tell.
The hug is… nice. Nice feels like too small of a word to describe it. It's warm, in a way that makes him realize he's been cold long enough to not notice, and it almost hurts as his frostbitten fingers crack in the sauna. It's filling, like a big meal after a week without food: painful enough to induce nausea. It's an ocean after a month in the desert, and Aron can't help but drink greedily. His arms wrap around his mom and his dad and he hugs them back just as tightly.
Dad partially extricates himself from the hug, leaving his hands on Aron's shoulders. He looks down at Aron with a stricken expression and a hint of anger. "What were you thinking, running off like that?" he demands, his voice hoarse. From yelling Aron's name? "Do you have any idea how worried we were?"
"Don't fuss at him, Marc," says Mom. "Let's just be glad he's safe and not hurt." Mom flinches and starts patting him down. "You're not hurt, are you? Oh, we need to get you to the doctor."
"I'm fine," Aron says. Aron's normal. He can't go to the doctor and have him be found otherwise. "I'm sorry, Mom. Dad. I'm sorry." Aron sniffles. "I was so mad about the move, and I ran but I got lost but I'm okay." He hugs them both tighter. "I'm sorry. I won't leave again. I promise."
Mom and Dad pull him closer, hold him tighter, and it's nice. The community watches, and they're joyous again, celebrating that there isn't a tragedy to spoil the night's celebration of the death of the Slaughterhouse Nine. People bring out drinks and food, and the music returns.
But it is late, and the Carpenter family has had a stressful night, so Aron's parents thank the community and take him home. Dad drives and Mom holds him tight in the back seat. Aron gets his first look at 186 Nightingale Drive, where he's lived for almost three weeks. It's a two story brick house, with a green door and yellow, wooden shutters over the windows. The front yard has a low, brick wall around it, maybe two or three feet tall, that wouldn't be much good for keeping anything in or out, except maybe a wayward car. That's good. A white picket fence would be better. There's a biiiiig oak tree in the front yard, but it doesn't have a swing.
"Can we get a tire swing?" Aron asks.
His mother, who is holding him close and hasn't stopped holding him since they were reunited, blinks, surprised by the question out of nowhere. She exchanges a look with Dad, who shrugs. "If that's something you want, we can do that."
Aron smiles big, and it puts smiles on the other two's faces. A big tree in the front yard needs a tire swing.
Dad parks the car in the driveway in front of the garage instead of in the garage and the three get out. There's an old lady and a younger boy on the porch. The boy looks enough like Aron, Mom, and Dad that Aron presumes he's Ketlan, his younger brother: seven years old, born on October 4th, and whose favorite food is macaroni and cheese. He's holding a stuffed rabbit named Stuffles, but it's not stupid and childish; it's adorable and soft looking. Ketlan looks tired. It's probably well past his bedtime.
Aron doesn't know who the old lady is, and he doesn't like that. The Carpenters are new in town, so she's probably not a member of their family. Could she be like the townsfolk who went looking for him? Someone who is just… helping out? Aron will need to wait and see.
"Thank you so much for keeping an eye on Ketlan," Dad says as they approach. Ketlan leaves the old lady's side to greet his family, and Mom hugs them both. Dad sets his hands on Aron's shoulder and Ketlan's crown.
"Of course. I'm happy to help," says the granny. Aron wonders for a moment if he's supposed to know her. "If you ever need a babysitter, well, I can usually make time to look after some young'uns."
Dad lets out one note of a relieved laugh. "We'll definitely keep that in mind, Mrs. Tully. Is there any way we can pay you back for tonight?" He lifts his hand from Ketlan and reaches into his pocket.
Mrs. Tully waves him off with a stern hand and a sterner voice. "That won't be necessary. Just keep a closer eye on them in the future and don't let them wander off. Those woods aren't safe at night."
Dad's other hand lands on Aron's other shoulder and he grips his son firmly. "Trust me, we're not letting this one out of our sight for a good, long while. Either of them."
Mrs. Tully smiles. "Good. And please, call me Cathy. It's my name, after all."
"Thank you, Cathy," says Mom.
"Thanks for looking after my little brother, Mrs. Cathy," Aron says, unsure which name he's supposed to call her. At this point though, he's mostly sure he isn't supposed to know her much yet, which is reassuring.
"Of course, dearie." She pinches Aron's cheek and he smiles up at her for the attention like a good girl– boy. Aron is a boy, not a good girl. Are boys supposed to smile up at cheek-pinchers like this? The smile diminishes as I consider that and Mrs. Cathy continues, ignorant, "You stay with your parents and keep out of trouble."
Aron nods. Mrs. Cathy excuses herself and walks to her house, two doors down to the left. The family stays together like that for a minute longer, and then Ketlan declares, "I have to go to the bathroom."
Mom and Dad let out a breath of tension, and Mom says, "Okay sweetie, let's get inside. You can use the toilet. Marc, could you fix Aron something to eat?" To Aron, she says, "You must be starving, aren't you? And you're filthy; why don't you get ready for a shower while your dad makes you a snack?"
"Okay mom," Aron says. That all sounds really nice if he's being honest. He feels like all he's had to eat in the last week has been berries and fire-cooked meat.
They open the door to go inside, and a dog yips excitedly just inside. Smokey: the beagle-labrador mix they adopted when Aron was eight. Her tail wags and she bounds and bounces, obviously happy to see the family return home, but as she approaches, she stops. Her tail stills, her head lowers, her lips pull back, and she lets out a low growl.
She barks at Aron. She must smell the foreign scent beneath his skin. She's going to ruin this, when Aron's only barely had another taste of family. I don't know what Aron should do, so Aron does nothing. Am I going to lose this family before I even had it?
"Smokey! Bad dog!" Mom snaps in a harsh voice. "No barking."
Smokey stops barking, but keeps her teeth out and continues to growl at Aron.
"What has gotten into her?" Mom asks.
"I'll put her in her crate," Dad says, confused and upset for it.
He goes to do just that, grabbing her by the collar and pulling her deeper into the house. She doesn't go easily or quietly, but she goes. Mom and Ketlan relax, but Aron does not.
Mom kneels down in front of Aron and says, "Smokey's just confused. You probably smell too much like the woods for her to recognize."
Even though her words don't make sense – dogs' noses are keen enough to recognize their owners' scents through most ambient and applied scents – Aron can tell that Mom believes them. They believe their eyes over their dog's nose. I've not been found out. I get to keep this family– his family.
He relaxes. "Okay."
"Let's get you in the bath and scrub some of that dirt and sap off you, and I'm sure she'll recognize you in the morning. How's that sound?"
"Okay, Mommy," Aron says.
She leads the boys to the bathroom, and Ketlan holds on to Aron's hand the whole trip. He disengages so he can potty. Aron and Mom take a trip to Aron's room to pick out pajamas, and then return to wait outside the bathroom. Mom is antsy, so Aron holds her hand. Ketlan finishes up, washes up, and exits, and it's Aron's turn to clean himself.
The shower is divine. The hot water alone is enough to pull a sore groan out of him. But this isn't just a much needed chance to clean himself; this is an even mucher needed chance to fix himself and touch up the work I did to become him. When he's washed off the pine sap and dirt, he tends to the grafts and makes sure they're all tight and that the stitches are keeping everything in place and out of sight. He doesn't have time to do much more than redo and hide some of the messier stitches before Mom knocks on the door, asking if he needs help.
"I'm okay," he calls with a tinge of panic. He hopes she won't, but knows he can't stop her if she tries. He's not sure if he's even allowed to try to stop her. He returns to mundane cleaning after. Washing his hair is a novel experience; using shampoo on such short, coarse hair is a lot different than using enzymes to purge foreign matter from golden locks.
When Aron's done, he towels dry and dresses in his pajamas. Mom is waiting for him in the hall when he exits, and she smiles when she sees him. He smiles back, grateful to have a mother so attentive and loving. After a quick snack of a granola bar and apple slices – not enough to upset his tummy but enough to reassure it – Mom pulls Aron to a stop on his path to his room to ask if he'd like to sleep with her and Dad tonight.
Aron relaxes at that, and nods. After what feels like months of sleeping alone or mostly alone, sharing a bed is almost enough to make him cry. After a moment's consideration, he flexes his lacrimal glands and lets himself. Mom pulls him into another hug and whispers, "I love you, so much, Aron."
Aron buries himself in her and answers in turn, "I love you too, mommy. I promise I'll be better. I'm sorry."
She kisses him on the head.
They join Dad and Ketlan in the bed, and the parents surround the kids like a protective barrier. It's a paper barrier, as there's no way they'd actually be able to protect Aron and Ketlan from a parahuman who wants to hurt them. A bear could easily make it through them. Same with a coyote. A normal person with a gun or even a bat would beat them unless Mom or Dad has some training Aron didn't know about. It's not safe, not by a long shot. The parents' illusion of protection doesn't mean anything and would break at the slightest pressure.
But it feels nice, and Aron is able to let himself relax a bit. But only a bit.
An hour later, when he's sure the other three are asleep, Aron carefully extricates himself, moving slowly to not wake the bed's other occupants. He goes back to the bathroom, mixes a new concoction, returns to the bedroom, and smears it on each person's neck to be absorbed through the skin and into the blood. They won't wake up for at least three hours: better too long than not long enough. They can blame a late morning on a late night.
With that taken care of, he knows it's time to fix the real problem. He pads through the house and into the garage, where most dads keep their tools. His dad is the same, and he pilfers pliers, steals screws, and burgles bolts. Back to the kitchen for knives and under-the-sink chemicals, then he's ready.
With a bucket full of supplies, he goes to the mud room that lets out into the back yard. When Smokey sees him, she growls and barks again. It doesn't matter though. Loud as she may be, no one is listening. No one is coming.
I get to work.
Not an hour later, Smokey is fixed. She licks at Aron's hand, now finding his scent to be indicative of her greatest friend ever, thanks to an implant in her brain. As a safety measure, she has another implant, this one spinal, to control her movements and specifically her tail's wagging, just in case Aron needs to sell the illusion. Redundancies are important.
He lets her lap at him and leap onto him to lick his face, giggling now that there aren't any problems. He pets and rubs her, and when he's done playing with his family's dog, he puts her back in her cage, puts his supplies and tools back where he found them, and goes back upstairs to crawl back into bed. He has a family that loves him, and nothing will ruin that. Nothing. He can't lose another.
Aron hears voices as she heads back towards town. People are calling a name: her name, she realizes belatedly. Curious, she moves toward them. There's a line of people and lights, spread out, moving through the woods together. One of them spots her and calls out, "I found him!"
Him? Aron realizes he's a boy. Of course he's a boy, what else would Aron be? It's something else to hear it from another's mouth instead of as simple knowledge. 'Him.' He's not a girl, he's a boy. He's not a good girl or a bad girl; he's just a boy.
The group in sight speeds towards Aron and he stiffens, not sure of the appropriate response to this. He's not entirely sure what they're doing. He can guess they were looking for him, and he feels confident in that guess, but he's not sure why. Aron's family is only four people and a dog, including himself.
The group crowds around Aron, and there's a great deal of hubbub involved. Some of the ones nearby march off to spread the word he was found, while others stay nearby. One asks him how he is: whether he's hurt or scared or got into anything dangerous out here.
"Why are you here?" Aron asks.
"What do you mean?" the woman who's trying to take care of him asks in turn.
"We're not family. You barely know me if at all, so why are any of you here? Why do you care?" he clarifies.
"Honey, you've been missing for half the night. You belong at home, in your bed, and just 'cause your family's new here isn't a reason for us to let you spend the night lost in the woods. It's dangerous out here, with the coyotes and all."
"Yeah, let's get you back home, kid," another woman says.
"Heck of a way to end the night, huh?" one man says to another, earning a laugh.
"Who says it's ending? We gotta celebrate finding the kid, right?" the other man says, earning even more laughs, until the group surrounding Aron is laughing and joking on their way back to town.
Aron slowly relaxes as he realizes that these people really were just out in the woods to look for him and take him home. It's like when we finished having fun in a new town and we'd gather up to find the rest of us so Unc–
Aron blinks as the group leaves the treeline and comes out in a neighborhood. Their group got bigger as they navigated out of the woods, it seems, having almost doubled while he wasn't looking. The group keeps moving, keeps leading Aron further from the woods and deeper into civilization.
"Aron!" one woman screams with relief. The loose crowd around him parts to make way as she rushes toward him and before he can decide how he should react, she kneels and wraps him in a crushing hug. "Oh my baby, my darling baby boy, you're okay, you're okay, I've got you, you're okay, oh Aron, I've got you, you're okay, it's okay now."
She blubbers and repeats herself tearfully, like a broken record playing on a meaty record player. Aron doesn't remember ever getting any hugs this… wet. Or desperate. She's clinging to him like her life depends on it. This is Aron's mother, isn't it?
Before he can come to terms with Mom's hug, another person joins the hug: a man who is probably Aron's father. Dad is bigger than Mom, and stronger too. It's hard to see from this close, but Aron can see how both of their features mixed together to make his face. He has his mom's chin and lips and his dad's eyes and hair, from what he can tell.
The hug is… nice. Nice feels like too small of a word to describe it. It's warm, in a way that makes him realize he's been cold long enough to not notice, and it almost hurts as his frostbitten fingers crack in the sauna. It's filling, like a big meal after a week without food: painful enough to induce nausea. It's an ocean after a month in the desert, and Aron can't help but drink greedily. His arms wrap around his mom and his dad and he hugs them back just as tightly.
Dad partially extricates himself from the hug, leaving his hands on Aron's shoulders. He looks down at Aron with a stricken expression and a hint of anger. "What were you thinking, running off like that?" he demands, his voice hoarse. From yelling Aron's name? "Do you have any idea how worried we were?"
"Don't fuss at him, Marc," says Mom. "Let's just be glad he's safe and not hurt." Mom flinches and starts patting him down. "You're not hurt, are you? Oh, we need to get you to the doctor."
"I'm fine," Aron says. Aron's normal. He can't go to the doctor and have him be found otherwise. "I'm sorry, Mom. Dad. I'm sorry." Aron sniffles. "I was so mad about the move, and I ran but I got lost but I'm okay." He hugs them both tighter. "I'm sorry. I won't leave again. I promise."
Mom and Dad pull him closer, hold him tighter, and it's nice. The community watches, and they're joyous again, celebrating that there isn't a tragedy to spoil the night's celebration of the death of the Slaughterhouse Nine. People bring out drinks and food, and the music returns.
But it is late, and the Carpenter family has had a stressful night, so Aron's parents thank the community and take him home. Dad drives and Mom holds him tight in the back seat. Aron gets his first look at 186 Nightingale Drive, where he's lived for almost three weeks. It's a two story brick house, with a green door and yellow, wooden shutters over the windows. The front yard has a low, brick wall around it, maybe two or three feet tall, that wouldn't be much good for keeping anything in or out, except maybe a wayward car. That's good. A white picket fence would be better. There's a biiiiig oak tree in the front yard, but it doesn't have a swing.
"Can we get a tire swing?" Aron asks.
His mother, who is holding him close and hasn't stopped holding him since they were reunited, blinks, surprised by the question out of nowhere. She exchanges a look with Dad, who shrugs. "If that's something you want, we can do that."
Aron smiles big, and it puts smiles on the other two's faces. A big tree in the front yard needs a tire swing.
Dad parks the car in the driveway in front of the garage instead of in the garage and the three get out. There's an old lady and a younger boy on the porch. The boy looks enough like Aron, Mom, and Dad that Aron presumes he's Ketlan, his younger brother: seven years old, born on October 4th, and whose favorite food is macaroni and cheese. He's holding a stuffed rabbit named Stuffles, but it's not stupid and childish; it's adorable and soft looking. Ketlan looks tired. It's probably well past his bedtime.
Aron doesn't know who the old lady is, and he doesn't like that. The Carpenters are new in town, so she's probably not a member of their family. Could she be like the townsfolk who went looking for him? Someone who is just… helping out? Aron will need to wait and see.
"Thank you so much for keeping an eye on Ketlan," Dad says as they approach. Ketlan leaves the old lady's side to greet his family, and Mom hugs them both. Dad sets his hands on Aron's shoulder and Ketlan's crown.
"Of course. I'm happy to help," says the granny. Aron wonders for a moment if he's supposed to know her. "If you ever need a babysitter, well, I can usually make time to look after some young'uns."
Dad lets out one note of a relieved laugh. "We'll definitely keep that in mind, Mrs. Tully. Is there any way we can pay you back for tonight?" He lifts his hand from Ketlan and reaches into his pocket.
Mrs. Tully waves him off with a stern hand and a sterner voice. "That won't be necessary. Just keep a closer eye on them in the future and don't let them wander off. Those woods aren't safe at night."
Dad's other hand lands on Aron's other shoulder and he grips his son firmly. "Trust me, we're not letting this one out of our sight for a good, long while. Either of them."
Mrs. Tully smiles. "Good. And please, call me Cathy. It's my name, after all."
"Thank you, Cathy," says Mom.
"Thanks for looking after my little brother, Mrs. Cathy," Aron says, unsure which name he's supposed to call her. At this point though, he's mostly sure he isn't supposed to know her much yet, which is reassuring.
"Of course, dearie." She pinches Aron's cheek and he smiles up at her for the attention like a good girl– boy. Aron is a boy, not a good girl. Are boys supposed to smile up at cheek-pinchers like this? The smile diminishes as I consider that and Mrs. Cathy continues, ignorant, "You stay with your parents and keep out of trouble."
Aron nods. Mrs. Cathy excuses herself and walks to her house, two doors down to the left. The family stays together like that for a minute longer, and then Ketlan declares, "I have to go to the bathroom."
Mom and Dad let out a breath of tension, and Mom says, "Okay sweetie, let's get inside. You can use the toilet. Marc, could you fix Aron something to eat?" To Aron, she says, "You must be starving, aren't you? And you're filthy; why don't you get ready for a shower while your dad makes you a snack?"
"Okay mom," Aron says. That all sounds really nice if he's being honest. He feels like all he's had to eat in the last week has been berries and fire-cooked meat.
They open the door to go inside, and a dog yips excitedly just inside. Smokey: the beagle-labrador mix they adopted when Aron was eight. Her tail wags and she bounds and bounces, obviously happy to see the family return home, but as she approaches, she stops. Her tail stills, her head lowers, her lips pull back, and she lets out a low growl.
She barks at Aron. She must smell the foreign scent beneath his skin. She's going to ruin this, when Aron's only barely had another taste of family. I don't know what Aron should do, so Aron does nothing. Am I going to lose this family before I even had it?
"Smokey! Bad dog!" Mom snaps in a harsh voice. "No barking."
Smokey stops barking, but keeps her teeth out and continues to growl at Aron.
"What has gotten into her?" Mom asks.
"I'll put her in her crate," Dad says, confused and upset for it.
He goes to do just that, grabbing her by the collar and pulling her deeper into the house. She doesn't go easily or quietly, but she goes. Mom and Ketlan relax, but Aron does not.
Mom kneels down in front of Aron and says, "Smokey's just confused. You probably smell too much like the woods for her to recognize."
Even though her words don't make sense – dogs' noses are keen enough to recognize their owners' scents through most ambient and applied scents – Aron can tell that Mom believes them. They believe their eyes over their dog's nose. I've not been found out. I get to keep this family– his family.
He relaxes. "Okay."
"Let's get you in the bath and scrub some of that dirt and sap off you, and I'm sure she'll recognize you in the morning. How's that sound?"
"Okay, Mommy," Aron says.
She leads the boys to the bathroom, and Ketlan holds on to Aron's hand the whole trip. He disengages so he can potty. Aron and Mom take a trip to Aron's room to pick out pajamas, and then return to wait outside the bathroom. Mom is antsy, so Aron holds her hand. Ketlan finishes up, washes up, and exits, and it's Aron's turn to clean himself.
The shower is divine. The hot water alone is enough to pull a sore groan out of him. But this isn't just a much needed chance to clean himself; this is an even mucher needed chance to fix himself and touch up the work I did to become him. When he's washed off the pine sap and dirt, he tends to the grafts and makes sure they're all tight and that the stitches are keeping everything in place and out of sight. He doesn't have time to do much more than redo and hide some of the messier stitches before Mom knocks on the door, asking if he needs help.
"I'm okay," he calls with a tinge of panic. He hopes she won't, but knows he can't stop her if she tries. He's not sure if he's even allowed to try to stop her. He returns to mundane cleaning after. Washing his hair is a novel experience; using shampoo on such short, coarse hair is a lot different than using enzymes to purge foreign matter from golden locks.
When Aron's done, he towels dry and dresses in his pajamas. Mom is waiting for him in the hall when he exits, and she smiles when she sees him. He smiles back, grateful to have a mother so attentive and loving. After a quick snack of a granola bar and apple slices – not enough to upset his tummy but enough to reassure it – Mom pulls Aron to a stop on his path to his room to ask if he'd like to sleep with her and Dad tonight.
Aron relaxes at that, and nods. After what feels like months of sleeping alone or mostly alone, sharing a bed is almost enough to make him cry. After a moment's consideration, he flexes his lacrimal glands and lets himself. Mom pulls him into another hug and whispers, "I love you, so much, Aron."
Aron buries himself in her and answers in turn, "I love you too, mommy. I promise I'll be better. I'm sorry."
She kisses him on the head.
They join Dad and Ketlan in the bed, and the parents surround the kids like a protective barrier. It's a paper barrier, as there's no way they'd actually be able to protect Aron and Ketlan from a parahuman who wants to hurt them. A bear could easily make it through them. Same with a coyote. A normal person with a gun or even a bat would beat them unless Mom or Dad has some training Aron didn't know about. It's not safe, not by a long shot. The parents' illusion of protection doesn't mean anything and would break at the slightest pressure.
But it feels nice, and Aron is able to let himself relax a bit. But only a bit.
An hour later, when he's sure the other three are asleep, Aron carefully extricates himself, moving slowly to not wake the bed's other occupants. He goes back to the bathroom, mixes a new concoction, returns to the bedroom, and smears it on each person's neck to be absorbed through the skin and into the blood. They won't wake up for at least three hours: better too long than not long enough. They can blame a late morning on a late night.
With that taken care of, he knows it's time to fix the real problem. He pads through the house and into the garage, where most dads keep their tools. His dad is the same, and he pilfers pliers, steals screws, and burgles bolts. Back to the kitchen for knives and under-the-sink chemicals, then he's ready.
With a bucket full of supplies, he goes to the mud room that lets out into the back yard. When Smokey sees him, she growls and barks again. It doesn't matter though. Loud as she may be, no one is listening. No one is coming.
I get to work.
Not an hour later, Smokey is fixed. She licks at Aron's hand, now finding his scent to be indicative of her greatest friend ever, thanks to an implant in her brain. As a safety measure, she has another implant, this one spinal, to control her movements and specifically her tail's wagging, just in case Aron needs to sell the illusion. Redundancies are important.
He lets her lap at him and leap onto him to lick his face, giggling now that there aren't any problems. He pets and rubs her, and when he's done playing with his family's dog, he puts her back in her cage, puts his supplies and tools back where he found them, and goes back upstairs to crawl back into bed. He has a family that loves him, and nothing will ruin that. Nothing. He can't lose another.
I actually winced at the mom's explanation for the dog. That's not how smell works and it would only take a Google search to figure that out.
Yes. I get that her relief at finding her kid is inhibiting her judgement, but come on. Bonesaw is still missing and last reported in the area. You know, the twelve year old mass murder with tinker powers involving humans. Anything suspicious involving kids needs to be double checked at the bare minimum.
Yes. I get that her relief at finding her kid is inhibiting her judgement, but come on. Bonesaw is still missing and last reported in the area. You know, the twelve year old mass murder with tinker powers involving humans. Anything suspicious involving kids needs to be double checked at the bare minimum.
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R3N41SS4NC3
Professional Carol Understander
- Pronouns
- It/Its
you might wanna reread the chapter. according to it, Bonesaw is presumed dead. i admit its a little handwavy, but a lot of her body was found at the scene, and most of the stuff there was unrecognizable, and she hasnt made her presence known at all up til now.
also i think youre overestimating how much ppl think about the horrible, terrible things that go on in the world. the s9 are known, but theyre not really spoken of with regularity, other than a news bulletin documenting sanitized horrors every so often. like the endbringers.
Dang you're right. I guess I was just annoyed by the mom's dog excuse more than anything else. They are literally known for having a fantastic sense of smell! Something is up!
It's genuinely charming how Bonesaw is interacting with her new family. I'm rooting for her somewhat anxiously, moral quandaries about wearing another child as a skin suit aside.
The wonky perspective is also fun to read.
The wonky perspective is also fun to read.
- Location
- That place over there.
Yeah but most people don't have an understanding of how that works, they just think "can smell more" and don't realize it's that they can process smells better. Pop culture has tracking dogs thrown off by pepper or steaks after all. The idea that dogs can smell through other smells isn't something most people know about.
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R3N41SS4NC3
Professional Carol Understander
- Pronouns
- It/Its
yay charming! thats good. I like the Carpenters, they were fun to write and plop riley in the middle of; I hope yall keep liking them too.
also glad you like the wonky perspective. v fun mechanic.
yeah, and the parents are rattled by aron's disappearance earlier. they want things to be over, to be safe and done, and the dog doesn't let them think that's the case, so the dog must be wrong and punished for it. When presented with cognitive dissonance, ppl tend to disregard new info rather than stop to examine how it changes things and what it means.
Chapter 2: I'm not sure if we're Communists.
R3N41SS4NC3
Professional Carol Understander
- Pronouns
- It/Its
"These were some of the best days of my life. I got to try so many new things and I learned so much in subjects I hadn't ever even heard about. It was intoxicating."
"You two look out for each other, okay?" Mom tells the boys.
"Okay, Mom. We will," Aron promises.
Ketlan makes an equally affirmative, if indistinct, sound.
Aron bounces on his toes as Mom helps Ketlan put his jacket and book bag on. She'd already helped Aron with his. They're getting ready for school! It's a new experience, even if Aron's spent years going to school at this point. The last two days at home have been nice – his parents doted on him, and he got to eat home-cooked meals and play bloodlessly with Ketlan, all while getting used to being Aron J. Carpenter – but it's Monday now, and that apparently means school. He's a bit excited to see what it's like: a new school with new eyes.
"Try to make friends," Mom continues, "and listen to your teachers, and stay out of trouble. If you see anyone doing something they're not supposed to, or if anyone gives you a hard time, tell a teacher and they'll take care of it. And–"
"Mary," Dad interjects. Mom's name is Mary? "Dear. They'll be fine."
She stares at him for a long moment, worry writ across her face. They're both so easy to read, so much more expressively varied than most people. Mom relaxes.
"You're right," she admits.
Mom and Dad lead the boys outside to wait for the bus, and Dad has to keep Mom on the porch while Aron and Ketlan wait on the curb. Dad's going to be late for work, but he said that's fine today. One of Ketlan's hands grips Aron's, and the other clutches his stuffed bunny to his chest. Would he like it if it were alive? It wouldn't be hard to make it move and talk and eat; the big challenge would be to keep its feel and appearance intact without making it smell.
"Do you think moving here was a mistake?"
Aron only hears Mom's quiet question because of his enhanced ears. He's certain Ketlan didn't.
"I'm worried about the boys," she continues before Dad can answer her question, which seems a bit rude. "They're still so young, and it's a new school in a new town, and they've both been acting so odd and withdrawn, and what if the other kids give them a hard time? You know how sensitive Ketlan is, and Aron is so combative about it all and I–"
"Mary, dear, sweetie, love of my life and mother to the most beautiful boys in the world," Dad soothes. "It's going to be okay. This is a good town, with good folk; you saw how everyone came together to look for Aron. And our boys are tough; they won't let some mean kids get them down."
"But when Aron ran, he said…"
"I know. But he'll grow past this change. You've already seen how much happier he's been these last couple days. I think he's starting to see things our way, and he'll be fine."
"..."
"And hey, at least in a small town like this, with the Nine dead and gone, we won't have to worry about them getting caught up in any cape nonsense," Dad jokes.
"...It is statistically safer," Mom hedges.
"Exactly. They just have to deal with the same stuff we dealt with when we were their age."
"Oh my god," Mom says despairingly. "Aron's going to hit puberty soon, isn't he."
Ketlan startles and turns to look at the parents as Dad lets out a roaring laugh. He turns back to face the street and murmurs, "They're so weird."
"They're a good mom and dad," Aron says in response. "They love us."
Ketlan fixes him with a stare. "You're weird too."
Aron isn't sure what to say to that, so he just sticks his tongue out at his little brother. Ketlan does the same and makes a nyhhh sound, so Aron one-ups him by sticking his tongue further out and making a louder nyhhh sound, and the cycle repeats until Aron licks Ketlan, who jerks away.
"EWW!" he yells. "MOM! ARON LICKED ME!"
"Aron, don't lick your little brother," Mom says, though her smile is audible, which confuses Aron.
If he's not supposed to lick Ketlan, then why is she smiling? And if it's okay to lick him, as the smile implies, then why would Mom tell him not to? It seems like Mom doesn't have a problem, but Ketlan is forcing her to arbitrate in his favor, which doesn't make sense since he's the son and she's the mom and moms have the power. The rules of this family are so hard to grasp. His time here has been so soft, it makes him wonder what sorts of secrets they're all hiding from him.
There's little time to consider that though, as the bus arrives. The two brothers climb aboard as the doors open, find a seat with a window facing their parents, and wave goodbye.
Aron raises his hand and asks, "But why is that bad? If only one can live, why not pick the better one? Or why not make the two babies into one?"
Mr. Anderson, the English teacher, sighs. "Mister Carpenter, when I told you to raise your hand before you ask a question, I suppose I should have specified that you should wait for me to acknowledge you as well."
"Oh, sorry." Aron puts his hand down. There are so many little rules to this place. "But why did the dad have to pick one of the babies to kill in the first place? Neither was terminally malformed or anything, and if only one is important, shouldn't they keep the other around for its organs?"
Mr. Anderson looks around at the intrigued faces of the other students and decides to answer. "Because that's the rule of the society. It's population control. The Communist government that rules the society only allows a certain number of babies to be born in a year, to keep things same."
"What's a Communist?" Aron asks.
"Simply put, it's a very bad person who wants to take away people's freedoms."
"Why would you put a bad person in charge of your society? That seems silly."
"That's what makes this society a dystopia. The whole book is about what happens if communists took over and got to rule their way. Everyone's lives become regimented and the same, because the Communist government sees everyone as the same, just cogs in the machine. Remember how everyone shares a birthday, and they only get the same single present? And how everyone's houses look the same, and they all wear the same clothes? That's because they lack freedom."
Aron looks around the room his entire age group is compelled to be in and sees three boys wearing the same shirt with a graphic of Legend. Most of the students are wearing samey looking blue jeans. He remembers how his house at 186 Nightingale Drive is build the same as the rest of the drive, just with different colors. "Are we Communist?"
"Mister Carpenter, that's enough," Mr. Anderson barks. "We're already far enough off topic. Let's get back to the reading. Susie, you're next."
"But I just want to know–"
"Mister Carpenter," Mr. Anderson cuts Aron off, "take your seat and let us finish the chapter. You've distracted the class more than enough."
"But–"
"Or do I need to send you to the principal's office?"
The class quakes with a low, ubiquitous "ooooo" from all the students. Aron looks around, not sure why all the other kids look so scandalized.
"Would the principal be able to answer my questions?" Aron asks, and judging from the vein that appears on Mr. Anderson's forehead, it was the wrong thing to say. He braces for a hit that doesn't come.
"That's it! I'm writing you up. I didn't want to do this, but you give me no choice." Mr. Anderson grabs a slip of paper from his desk, writes something on it, and gives it to Aron. "Take this to principal Brown and tell him what you did. And don't try to lie, I'll be talking to him as well."
Aron looks down at the yellow slip he's been handed, filled out with basic information like the date, Aron's name, the class, the time, and a explanation: disruptive in class; talking back. Aron doesn't understand how a piece of paper is the punishment Mr. Anderson seems to mean it as.
"Well? No use trying to get out of it," says Mr. Anderson. "Go."
"Where am I going?" Aron asks.
"Principal Brown's office," Mr. Anderson grinds out.
"...and where is that?"
Mr. Anderson takes a deep breath, though it doesn't look to calm him. "Riley," he calls, and I don't know how but he's found me out. I ready my phalangical scalpel – the only internal tool I have that still works; I should have repaired and readied, stupid! – to put him down and get away, but before I can, another girl says,
"Yes, Mr. Anderson?"
I shoot a glance her way and realize this is the same girl from role call earlier: Riley Planter. Aron relaxes, same as he did earlier, when role was called.
"Would you escort Mister Carpenter to the principal's office?" Mr. Anderson asks her. "And then come back here?"
"I can do that," Riley says, standing.
Mr. Anderson nods her off and the kids take that as their cue to leave. Riley leads Aron into and down the hall, toward the entrance where the school bus let him off this morning.
"You shouldn't have done that," Riley says.
"What did I do?" Aron asks back.
"You were talking back to Mr. Anderson!" She sounds scandalized. "You can't talk to the teachers like that."
"Like what?"
"Like how you did! Mr. Anderson gave you so many chances to stop but you kept doing it."
"He wasn't answering me."
"Was he not answering you, or was he not giving you the answer you wanted?" Riley asks like she's repeating something wise.
"I was just curious."
"Curiosity killed the cat."
"Only if you don't know what you're doing when you dig around inside it."
"What?" Riley asks, horrified.
"Curiosity is a good thing, and if you have to crack a few skulls to make croquettes, that's the way of the world." Aron's been told that plenty of times.
The horror abates mildly as Riley corrects Aron, "The saying is 'you have to crack a few eggs to make an omelette.'"
Aron blinks at her, not quite seeing the difference.
Riley huffs. "You have to learn to not be so pushy with the teachers and just let yourself be curious later, okay?"
"But curiosity is a good trait and should always be pursued; that's what Uncle Ja–"
I stop Aron. Aron… wasn't told that. He never met the one who told me that, and that man… He hated everything, he said. He hated Bonesaw, he said. But he said he loved Bonesaw too. Did he? Was he lying. One has to be a lie for the other to be true, or they could both be lies, but they can't both be true.
Was he w– No. That man wasn't wrong. He's never wrong. Not until he started not being himself. But Riley and Mr. Anderson are telling Aron otherwise, so… What does that mean? Are they wrong? Or was he lying? He can't have been wrong, so he must have been lying, which isn't being wrong, it's just saying something that's wrong without being wrong, and he wasn't ever wrong until Bonesaw failed and let him become wrong, and he knows everything and– Knew. He knew everything. He doesn't because he isn't. He…
"Aron? What's wrong?"
Aron shakes his head to clear the weird thoughts. He's not sure what he was just thinking about; the thoughts dissolve into so much white noise playing at the edges of his mind. "Nothing, sorry," he says. "Let's go."
He'll go to the principal's office, explain what happened in the classroom, tell him he was just trying to learn, and Principal Brown will tell him what he did wrong. He'll take the punishment and it'll all be okay.
"...and that's why Principal Brown gave me that to give to you," Aron explains.
Mom purses her lips as looks over the note again and digests his story. He still doesn't understand why he's in trouble, but Principal Brown said that "there's a time and place for everything, and the middle of class, when everyone is trying to learn, isn't that," and then wrote him this note to give to his mom.
"I still don't understand what I did wrong," Aron says.
"Oh, sweetie," Mom says tenderly. "Some people don't like it when you question them too much, or do what they don't want you to do. Mr. Anderson has a lesson plan – Do you know what that means?"
Aron shakes his head.
"It means he's planned out in advance what he wants to go over each day, and since he only has so much time in a day, he sometimes has to move fast."
"...And I was stopping him," Aron concludes after a moment of thought.
Mom nods.
It makes a certain amount of sense. Aron wouldn't like it if he was working on a project and trying to finish it and someone else kept bothering him and getting in his way, especially if he was working with a deadline. "But isn't school for learning? That's what you said: that we have to go there to learn. That's what I was trying to do."
"It is, but there's a balance. You're there to learn, but so is everyone else."
"So why don't they ask questions?"
"Well, if everyone asked questions, there wouldn't be any time for the teacher to get through the lesson, and then no one would learn everything they need to learn. Does that make sense?"
Aron huffs. "I guess. But that stinks."
His mom sees his pout and lays her hand on his arm. "How about this: when your teacher tells you to stop asking, you can write your questions down and bring them home, and I'll try to answer them. Would that be okay?"
"Really?" Aron asks, excited. "Yes! Please! Thank you, Mommy!"
She grins at him and he grins back, and she offers to let him ask about The Giver while she makes dinner.
"Aron, phone for you," Mom calls from the kitchen.
He doesn't let his confused displeasure show on his face. He doesn't want to talk on the phone. He wants to play Legos with his little brother. But he knows he's supposed to ask, "Who is it?"
"It's James."
He doesn't know who James is, but he's pretty sure he's supposed to, so he says to Ketlan, "I'll be right back," and steps away from their project to answer the phone. Mom hands it off to him with a smile and he takes it and returns the smile. She goes back to sorting through coupons and sales booklets at the table, and he puts the phone to his ear.
"This is Aron," he says.
"Aron! Where were you last night?" James asks.
"...What do you mean?"
"We were supposed to play P.F. Three last night. I sent you the invite but you never even came online. Does your internet even work out there? It says you haven't logged on since Friday. Our clan's gonna kick you if you get rusty, man."
It's one of Aron's video games friends, from Indianapolis. What a bother. "...I don't like that game anymore."
"What?! You're kidding. It's the best game on the market. What else do you even play? Don't tell me you went back to Triumvirate for The World. That game is for babies."
Aron sends a look at his mom. She's occupied, engrossed in finding the best deals. He peeks around the corner and Ketlan is occupied too, still building on their lego city.
"Aron, are you there? Hello? Can your stupid town not even get calls? Helloooo?"
"Don't call here again," Aron says. "I don't want to play with you anymore. I hate you. Goodbye."
He sets the phone back in its cradle on the wall before James can say anything else. If not for the distance between Burgess and Indianapolis, he would kill his old friends to stop something like this from happening again. He watches the phone for a minute to make sure it doesn't ring, that James doesn't try to call back. It stays silent. Good. Aron smiles and returns to playing with Ketlan.
"You two look out for each other, okay?" Mom tells the boys.
"Okay, Mom. We will," Aron promises.
Ketlan makes an equally affirmative, if indistinct, sound.
Aron bounces on his toes as Mom helps Ketlan put his jacket and book bag on. She'd already helped Aron with his. They're getting ready for school! It's a new experience, even if Aron's spent years going to school at this point. The last two days at home have been nice – his parents doted on him, and he got to eat home-cooked meals and play bloodlessly with Ketlan, all while getting used to being Aron J. Carpenter – but it's Monday now, and that apparently means school. He's a bit excited to see what it's like: a new school with new eyes.
"Try to make friends," Mom continues, "and listen to your teachers, and stay out of trouble. If you see anyone doing something they're not supposed to, or if anyone gives you a hard time, tell a teacher and they'll take care of it. And–"
"Mary," Dad interjects. Mom's name is Mary? "Dear. They'll be fine."
She stares at him for a long moment, worry writ across her face. They're both so easy to read, so much more expressively varied than most people. Mom relaxes.
"You're right," she admits.
Mom and Dad lead the boys outside to wait for the bus, and Dad has to keep Mom on the porch while Aron and Ketlan wait on the curb. Dad's going to be late for work, but he said that's fine today. One of Ketlan's hands grips Aron's, and the other clutches his stuffed bunny to his chest. Would he like it if it were alive? It wouldn't be hard to make it move and talk and eat; the big challenge would be to keep its feel and appearance intact without making it smell.
"Do you think moving here was a mistake?"
Aron only hears Mom's quiet question because of his enhanced ears. He's certain Ketlan didn't.
"I'm worried about the boys," she continues before Dad can answer her question, which seems a bit rude. "They're still so young, and it's a new school in a new town, and they've both been acting so odd and withdrawn, and what if the other kids give them a hard time? You know how sensitive Ketlan is, and Aron is so combative about it all and I–"
"Mary, dear, sweetie, love of my life and mother to the most beautiful boys in the world," Dad soothes. "It's going to be okay. This is a good town, with good folk; you saw how everyone came together to look for Aron. And our boys are tough; they won't let some mean kids get them down."
"But when Aron ran, he said…"
"I know. But he'll grow past this change. You've already seen how much happier he's been these last couple days. I think he's starting to see things our way, and he'll be fine."
"..."
"And hey, at least in a small town like this, with the Nine dead and gone, we won't have to worry about them getting caught up in any cape nonsense," Dad jokes.
"...It is statistically safer," Mom hedges.
"Exactly. They just have to deal with the same stuff we dealt with when we were their age."
"Oh my god," Mom says despairingly. "Aron's going to hit puberty soon, isn't he."
Ketlan startles and turns to look at the parents as Dad lets out a roaring laugh. He turns back to face the street and murmurs, "They're so weird."
"They're a good mom and dad," Aron says in response. "They love us."
Ketlan fixes him with a stare. "You're weird too."
Aron isn't sure what to say to that, so he just sticks his tongue out at his little brother. Ketlan does the same and makes a nyhhh sound, so Aron one-ups him by sticking his tongue further out and making a louder nyhhh sound, and the cycle repeats until Aron licks Ketlan, who jerks away.
"EWW!" he yells. "MOM! ARON LICKED ME!"
"Aron, don't lick your little brother," Mom says, though her smile is audible, which confuses Aron.
If he's not supposed to lick Ketlan, then why is she smiling? And if it's okay to lick him, as the smile implies, then why would Mom tell him not to? It seems like Mom doesn't have a problem, but Ketlan is forcing her to arbitrate in his favor, which doesn't make sense since he's the son and she's the mom and moms have the power. The rules of this family are so hard to grasp. His time here has been so soft, it makes him wonder what sorts of secrets they're all hiding from him.
There's little time to consider that though, as the bus arrives. The two brothers climb aboard as the doors open, find a seat with a window facing their parents, and wave goodbye.
Carpenter
Aron raises his hand and asks, "But why is that bad? If only one can live, why not pick the better one? Or why not make the two babies into one?"
Mr. Anderson, the English teacher, sighs. "Mister Carpenter, when I told you to raise your hand before you ask a question, I suppose I should have specified that you should wait for me to acknowledge you as well."
"Oh, sorry." Aron puts his hand down. There are so many little rules to this place. "But why did the dad have to pick one of the babies to kill in the first place? Neither was terminally malformed or anything, and if only one is important, shouldn't they keep the other around for its organs?"
Mr. Anderson looks around at the intrigued faces of the other students and decides to answer. "Because that's the rule of the society. It's population control. The Communist government that rules the society only allows a certain number of babies to be born in a year, to keep things same."
"What's a Communist?" Aron asks.
"Simply put, it's a very bad person who wants to take away people's freedoms."
"Why would you put a bad person in charge of your society? That seems silly."
"That's what makes this society a dystopia. The whole book is about what happens if communists took over and got to rule their way. Everyone's lives become regimented and the same, because the Communist government sees everyone as the same, just cogs in the machine. Remember how everyone shares a birthday, and they only get the same single present? And how everyone's houses look the same, and they all wear the same clothes? That's because they lack freedom."
Aron looks around the room his entire age group is compelled to be in and sees three boys wearing the same shirt with a graphic of Legend. Most of the students are wearing samey looking blue jeans. He remembers how his house at 186 Nightingale Drive is build the same as the rest of the drive, just with different colors. "Are we Communist?"
"Mister Carpenter, that's enough," Mr. Anderson barks. "We're already far enough off topic. Let's get back to the reading. Susie, you're next."
"But I just want to know–"
"Mister Carpenter," Mr. Anderson cuts Aron off, "take your seat and let us finish the chapter. You've distracted the class more than enough."
"But–"
"Or do I need to send you to the principal's office?"
The class quakes with a low, ubiquitous "ooooo" from all the students. Aron looks around, not sure why all the other kids look so scandalized.
"Would the principal be able to answer my questions?" Aron asks, and judging from the vein that appears on Mr. Anderson's forehead, it was the wrong thing to say. He braces for a hit that doesn't come.
"That's it! I'm writing you up. I didn't want to do this, but you give me no choice." Mr. Anderson grabs a slip of paper from his desk, writes something on it, and gives it to Aron. "Take this to principal Brown and tell him what you did. And don't try to lie, I'll be talking to him as well."
Aron looks down at the yellow slip he's been handed, filled out with basic information like the date, Aron's name, the class, the time, and a explanation: disruptive in class; talking back. Aron doesn't understand how a piece of paper is the punishment Mr. Anderson seems to mean it as.
"Well? No use trying to get out of it," says Mr. Anderson. "Go."
"Where am I going?" Aron asks.
"Principal Brown's office," Mr. Anderson grinds out.
"...and where is that?"
Mr. Anderson takes a deep breath, though it doesn't look to calm him. "Riley," he calls, and I don't know how but he's found me out. I ready my phalangical scalpel – the only internal tool I have that still works; I should have repaired and readied, stupid! – to put him down and get away, but before I can, another girl says,
"Yes, Mr. Anderson?"
I shoot a glance her way and realize this is the same girl from role call earlier: Riley Planter. Aron relaxes, same as he did earlier, when role was called.
"Would you escort Mister Carpenter to the principal's office?" Mr. Anderson asks her. "And then come back here?"
"I can do that," Riley says, standing.
Mr. Anderson nods her off and the kids take that as their cue to leave. Riley leads Aron into and down the hall, toward the entrance where the school bus let him off this morning.
"You shouldn't have done that," Riley says.
"What did I do?" Aron asks back.
"You were talking back to Mr. Anderson!" She sounds scandalized. "You can't talk to the teachers like that."
"Like what?"
"Like how you did! Mr. Anderson gave you so many chances to stop but you kept doing it."
"He wasn't answering me."
"Was he not answering you, or was he not giving you the answer you wanted?" Riley asks like she's repeating something wise.
"I was just curious."
"Curiosity killed the cat."
"Only if you don't know what you're doing when you dig around inside it."
"What?" Riley asks, horrified.
"Curiosity is a good thing, and if you have to crack a few skulls to make croquettes, that's the way of the world." Aron's been told that plenty of times.
The horror abates mildly as Riley corrects Aron, "The saying is 'you have to crack a few eggs to make an omelette.'"
Aron blinks at her, not quite seeing the difference.
Riley huffs. "You have to learn to not be so pushy with the teachers and just let yourself be curious later, okay?"
"But curiosity is a good trait and should always be pursued; that's what Uncle Ja–"
I stop Aron. Aron… wasn't told that. He never met the one who told me that, and that man… He hated everything, he said. He hated Bonesaw, he said. But he said he loved Bonesaw too. Did he? Was he lying. One has to be a lie for the other to be true, or they could both be lies, but they can't both be true.
Was he w– No. That man wasn't wrong. He's never wrong. Not until he started not being himself. But Riley and Mr. Anderson are telling Aron otherwise, so… What does that mean? Are they wrong? Or was he lying? He can't have been wrong, so he must have been lying, which isn't being wrong, it's just saying something that's wrong without being wrong, and he wasn't ever wrong until Bonesaw failed and let him become wrong, and he knows everything and– Knew. He knew everything. He doesn't because he isn't. He…
"Aron? What's wrong?"
Aron shakes his head to clear the weird thoughts. He's not sure what he was just thinking about; the thoughts dissolve into so much white noise playing at the edges of his mind. "Nothing, sorry," he says. "Let's go."
He'll go to the principal's office, explain what happened in the classroom, tell him he was just trying to learn, and Principal Brown will tell him what he did wrong. He'll take the punishment and it'll all be okay.
Carpenter
"...and that's why Principal Brown gave me that to give to you," Aron explains.
Mom purses her lips as looks over the note again and digests his story. He still doesn't understand why he's in trouble, but Principal Brown said that "there's a time and place for everything, and the middle of class, when everyone is trying to learn, isn't that," and then wrote him this note to give to his mom.
"I still don't understand what I did wrong," Aron says.
"Oh, sweetie," Mom says tenderly. "Some people don't like it when you question them too much, or do what they don't want you to do. Mr. Anderson has a lesson plan – Do you know what that means?"
Aron shakes his head.
"It means he's planned out in advance what he wants to go over each day, and since he only has so much time in a day, he sometimes has to move fast."
"...And I was stopping him," Aron concludes after a moment of thought.
Mom nods.
It makes a certain amount of sense. Aron wouldn't like it if he was working on a project and trying to finish it and someone else kept bothering him and getting in his way, especially if he was working with a deadline. "But isn't school for learning? That's what you said: that we have to go there to learn. That's what I was trying to do."
"It is, but there's a balance. You're there to learn, but so is everyone else."
"So why don't they ask questions?"
"Well, if everyone asked questions, there wouldn't be any time for the teacher to get through the lesson, and then no one would learn everything they need to learn. Does that make sense?"
Aron huffs. "I guess. But that stinks."
His mom sees his pout and lays her hand on his arm. "How about this: when your teacher tells you to stop asking, you can write your questions down and bring them home, and I'll try to answer them. Would that be okay?"
"Really?" Aron asks, excited. "Yes! Please! Thank you, Mommy!"
She grins at him and he grins back, and she offers to let him ask about The Giver while she makes dinner.
Carpenter
"Aron, phone for you," Mom calls from the kitchen.
He doesn't let his confused displeasure show on his face. He doesn't want to talk on the phone. He wants to play Legos with his little brother. But he knows he's supposed to ask, "Who is it?"
"It's James."
He doesn't know who James is, but he's pretty sure he's supposed to, so he says to Ketlan, "I'll be right back," and steps away from their project to answer the phone. Mom hands it off to him with a smile and he takes it and returns the smile. She goes back to sorting through coupons and sales booklets at the table, and he puts the phone to his ear.
"This is Aron," he says.
"Aron! Where were you last night?" James asks.
"...What do you mean?"
"We were supposed to play P.F. Three last night. I sent you the invite but you never even came online. Does your internet even work out there? It says you haven't logged on since Friday. Our clan's gonna kick you if you get rusty, man."
It's one of Aron's video games friends, from Indianapolis. What a bother. "...I don't like that game anymore."
"What?! You're kidding. It's the best game on the market. What else do you even play? Don't tell me you went back to Triumvirate for The World. That game is for babies."
Aron sends a look at his mom. She's occupied, engrossed in finding the best deals. He peeks around the corner and Ketlan is occupied too, still building on their lego city.
"Aron, are you there? Hello? Can your stupid town not even get calls? Helloooo?"
"Don't call here again," Aron says. "I don't want to play with you anymore. I hate you. Goodbye."
He sets the phone back in its cradle on the wall before James can say anything else. If not for the distance between Burgess and Indianapolis, he would kill his old friends to stop something like this from happening again. He watches the phone for a minute to make sure it doesn't ring, that James doesn't try to call back. It stays silent. Good. Aron smiles and returns to playing with Ketlan.
Damn. Going right for the jugular, huh? I suppose that's in character for Bonesaw.
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- Location
- Italy
That's actually the best answer she could give to avoid being discovered: old friends are the ones most likely to find out the ruse Riley is doing, so she cut the ties as brutally as possible, making hard for them to call again.
I don't see cruelty in it, just like I didn't see it in what she did to the dog, just a direct and uncaring way to solve the current problems. The fact that she didn't feel anything in doing so is the saddest part, really.
Chapter 3: I can't Sleep without another Body.
R3N41SS4NC3
Professional Carol Understander
- Pronouns
- It/Its
"Does it make me a bad person if I don't regret doing it? I was an idiot doing things how I did, in all senses, and I wish it hadn't happened for their sake, I guess. But if I could do it all over again, knowing then what I know now… Well, I guess I wouldn't have had a reason to do any of it again, but I still might have done it, just a bit differently."
It wasn't hard for Aron to learn and adjust to his routine: wake up at home with family, go to school where he checks on his little brother whenever he can and asks only enough questions to not get sent to the principal's office, come home from school with Ketlan to their mom, do chores, work on homework or play until Dad comes home, help Mom with dinner, eat as a family and talk about everyone's day, play or work for a bit longer, and then join his parents in bed to wait and repeat the cycle. It's easy, comfortable, repetitive, and safe. No one has even tried to kill anyone else, as far as he can tell.
"I had a bad dream," Aron says. "Can I sleep with you?"
"Marc," Mom groans and sleepily swats at Dad.
He grunts.
"Marc, you promised."
He groans, and then sits up. He rubs sleep from his eyes and looks at Aron, who stands next to his parents' bed with his pillow. Aron starts to worry, as this isn't how previous nights went. Dad swings his legs off the bed and walks around to Aron. He stares at his son, eyes occupied primarily by tired resignation.
"I had a bad dream," Aron repeats.
"Aron, buddy, it's been two weeks," Dad says.
Aron looks up at his dad. Dad's statement is true, but Aron fails to see its relevance. "Okay?"
His dad's shoulders fall fractionally. "Your mom and I, we love you. We want you to feel safe and comfortable, but you need to start sleeping in your bed again, okay buddy?"
"But… but I had a bad dream," he says again. These are the magic words, aren't they?
"I know, but… you're safe. You're not in the woods anymore. We're right here if anything happens and you need us, but you have your own room and your own bed. You can't sleep with your mom and I forever."
"Why not?!"
"Shhh shhush," Mom mutters at Aron's spike in volume. "Mommy's got work in the morning."
"Aron, buddy, you're a big boy," Dad says quietly. He puts a hand on Aron's shoulder. "You're almost twelve years old. Soon, you're going to be a man. Some people already see you as one. But big boys need to sleep in their own beds, okay? They can't sleep with their parents every night."
"But–"
"Ketlan is asleep in his bed all by himself," Dad interrupts. "And you're his big brother. You need… You need to be a good example. You need to show him how to be brave. Show me you can be brave, okay? Can you do that, little man?"
Aron is supernaturally still. I hadn't realized that being a boy has rules like this. He's supposed to be a 'big boy' apparently, which means things. There are conditions and rules, just like being a good girl, but the rules are all different. A good girl can sleep with her Uncle or cat-aunt-sister, but a big boy is supposed to sleep alone. I… Aron is a boy, and Dad says he's a big boy, so there's no getting out of this. He has to sleep alone.
"Okay," Aron whispers.
He turns and trudges out of his parents' bedroom and back to his own. He stops in the doorway and stares at his perfectly made bed. The only sign that it isn't purely for show is that the pillow is missing: in his hands. He's barely done more than sit on it since he got back from the woods. The rest of the room is at least partially lived in; there's a sleeve sticking out from his mostly-closed dresser drawer, some of his action figures that aren't dolls are out on the floor where he and Ketlan played this afternoon, and there's a glass with a few sips of room temperature water on his desk.
The bed is an outlier, odd and intimidating. But it's where he's supposed to spend the next eight hours of his life. Alone. Again.
Aron glances longingly at his parents' room. The door is cracked; Dad must have mostly shut it after Aron left. He wishes for a moment that he could be a good girl, just so he would be allowed back into that warm and full bed. But he's a boy, not a girl. Big, not good. The good girl is alone, and the big boy has a family. This enforced distance has to be better than that numb loss.
So Aron enters his room, closes the door behind him, and lifts his bed sheets for the first time. He puts his pillow beneath his head, pulls the covers up to his neck, and closes his eyes. He waits to fall asleep.
His eyes snap open and he bolts upright. He heard something. He stills his heart as best he can, which isn't nearly as good as he once could, to silence its pounding against his ears so he can listen for the noise again. Minutes later, there's another creeeeak coming from nearby. He stands and gets ready for whatever this is to attack, retrieving a kitchen knife from his socks drawer. A minute later, the sound repeats. He tracks it with his ears; it's coming from his window. He throws back the curtains as quickly as he can, so it can't flee and–
Nothing. He has a view into his back yard, but there's nothing there. There's nothing on the other side of the window, or in the yard, or anything anywhere. He stands vigil, to wait for the source of the creak to return. And it does. The backyard's tree bends in the wind, not nearly as old or sturdy as the oak in the front, and as it bows the creak returns.
Aron continues to wait, and when he observes it four more times – once is an occurrence, twice is coincidence, thrice is a pattern, and four to be sure – he closes his curtain and puts his knife away before returning to bed. He covers himself in the sheet and blanket, but he's still cold. He figured out the source of the creaking, but he's still scared. He shouldn't have put the knife away. I should have something more but he's a normal boy – a big boy, but a normal one, and normal boys don't have tinkertech toys.
He closes his eyes and tries to be not scared, but it's as effective as wrapping one's arms around themself and trying to be not cold in a snowstorm. In a word: it doesn't work. Aron is supposed to be a big boy. He's supposed to be brave. He's supposed to set a good example for his little brother and show Ketlan how to be a big boy too.
But I'm scared, and I can't help but flinch at the noises of the night and whimper as shadows move across the walls. I can't keep Aron's eyes closed for more than a few seconds at a time because as soon as they shut, everything gets so scary. I need to be able to see it to protect myself, so Aron's eyes inevitably open. I'm not good at being a big boy. I barely know how to be one and I'm no good at it. I want to be a good girl and curl into a bed with my family but my family is gone and his is all I have and Aron has to sleep alone or–
The door swings open, silently, noticed only because Aron's eyes are open. I'm ready to do what has to be done, and then Ketlan's face pokes through the doorway and all of the tension leaves Aron. It's his little brother. He loves his little brother, and his little brother loves him; they're family.
"What are you doing up?" Aron asks.
Ketlan takes the question as permission to enter and comes to stand next to Aron's bed, which is more than welcome. Just the presence of another trusted, safe living being in the room with Aron is enough to calm his nerves.
"I heard what Dad said," Ketlan says.
"You were awake?" Aron asks, surprised.
"Mm." Ketlan nods. "Um. Mom talked to me."
"She did? Did she say you need to sleep in your bed alone too?"
Ketlan nods.
Aron's shoulders fall in disappointment. "So we can't sleep together."
Ketlan chews his lip and then pushes Stuffles at Aron. The older brother eyes the stuffed rabbit, and Ketlan explains, "You can have her tonight."
Aron blinks and slowly looks at Ketlan. "Are you sure? You don't go anywhere without Stuffles."
"I know. But, um. You need her more right now. So, you can sleep with her, and she'll keep you safe from the monsters in the woods." Ketlan sets Stuffles on the bed with Aron, even though he looks so uncertain and scared.
Aron suddenly feels very small, compared to the emotion that overtakes him. He feels like he just discovered the scale of the world, and realized it's so much larger than he could ever truly understand, except the world is this feeling of absolute affection for this boy in front of him. I can't remember ever feeling this way about anything or anyone, but I know that this is love. I love this boy. I would do anything for Ketlan.
I– Aron takes Stuffles from where Ketlan placed her, and he holds her to his chest. She's warm, and smells like his little brother. Aron's eyelids begin to droop.
"Thank you," Aron says. He doesn't know what else to say in the face of this enormity. He knows that isn't enough.
"Mn." Ketlan nods. "Stuffles? You keep my big brother safe, okay? Okay. Good night, Aron."
"Good night, Ketlan."
Ketlan leaves, and Aron tucks himself in again, never letting go of his little brother's stuffed rabbit. He's not sure if he likes being a big boy, but being a big brother is nice, he thinks.
He closes his eyes, and it's not easy, but he does fall into a fitful sleep that is infinitely more restful than the prior paranoid wakefulness.
Aron sighs as he watches the group of boys kick a ball. They look like they're having fun. Maybe he and Ketlan can play that game later? Maybe not though; it probably wouldn't be the same with just the two of them. Like that chasing game – tag, it's called – the two boys tried to play; it just doesn't work with so few people.
"Are you gonna to play with them?" Ketlan asks.
Aron looks away from the ball-kicking boys. "No, I'm playing with you."
Ketlan huffs. "I'm not a baby. I can play by myself."
Aron looks again at the other boys. They look like they're having a lot of fun, running and laughing and kicking that ball between them. He looks down and surveys his and Ketlan's sandcastle – a mound more than a castle, as the sandbox's aridity prevents much structure from forming.
Does it make him a bad big brother if he would rather go play with the other boys? Ketlan is saying it's alright but…
"But I'm supposed to watch you," Aron says.
"Mom is right there," Ketlan says, pointing at their mom, who is on a bench across the way, chatting with a pair of moms. He grabs his stuffed rabbit. "And plus, I have Stuffles to keep me company. Isn't that right Stuffles?"
"That's right!" Stuffles says. It's Ketlan in a higher pitched, silly voice.
Aron lets himself grin and then dives over the sand pile to hug his brother. "Thank you thank you thank you! You're the best little brother ever!"
Ketlan giggles, and Aron extricates himself to run over to the other boys.
"Can I play?" he calls from the edge of the game. He's seen others join games similarly.
A few boys turn their heads his way and the ball stops under one's foot. One of the boys calls back, "Are you good?"
"I've never played before," he answers honestly.
The boys exchange more looks and a few shrug. "It would even the teams out," a boy with long blond hair says.
"Yeah, but Charlie is good enough to count for three," says the only boy wearing pants, making a third boy puff his chest and grin. That one must be Charlie.
"So we put him on – Hey, what's your name?" says a boy in a blue shirt.
"I'm Aron," says Aron.
"Let's put Aron on your team," Blue Shirt continues.
"But then it'll be three on five," Pants whines.
"You just said Charlie was worth three."
"Yeah, three good players. Aron's never even played before," pants says.
The boys keep talking, discussing how to divvy up for equal teams. Aron doesn't really get the criteria they're basing it on, but he's happy to be included. While most of them do that, Charlie walks over to Aron and teaches him the rules of the game.
It's called soccer. Two teams kick a ball with the goal of kicking it into the opposing team's goal and keeping it out of their goal. No one is allowed to use their hands unless they're the goalie, who usually stays by the goal, but since they don't have enough people for full teams, the goalie does other stuff and can only use his hands near the goal.
It's simple and not very violent, which Aron is realizing is true for a lot of things in the world. There is violence, but most things don't deal with it. Most people seem to flat out ignore it and are surprised by even the slightest bit of it. A child skinning their knee is cause for concern. Someone falling off a roof is the gossip of the town, and everyone wishes him well. Death and killings are things that people stop conversations over.
The other boys finish their congress and Charlie finishes teaching Aron the rules and basics, and the group of eight splits into two groups of four, with Aron on a team with Charlie, Kial, and Blue Shirt. Blue Shirt's name is Jackson.
"So, you're a footballer now?" Dad asks Aron over dinner, in response to Mom telling him about the game he played.
"You mean a soccer player?" Aron asks.
"They call it football where I'm from," Dad says. "And also everywhere other than this country too."
"Oh, okay," Aron says. "Then yeah, I guess I'm a footballer."
"Haha! That's my boy. I knew you had it in you somewhere." Dad leans in slyly to ask, "Are you any good?"
"Marc," Mom chastizes.
"It's an innocent question," Dad defends. "I'm just curious."
"I think so?" Aron says. "I made a few goals, and Charlie, Jackson, and the rest of the boys were impressed. Jesse got mad and said that I lied about not having played though. But I don't think I lied, did I?"
"Well, we kicked the ball around a few times when you were little. It's been a while, but I think we might still have that football lying around somewhere; I wouldn't mind digging it out and showing you a few tricks if you'd like."
"Yeah! Could you?" Aron exclaims. He hasn't gotten to spend as much time with Dad as he'd like. He's gone to work almost every day, and been out until almost dinner every time. It'll be nice to play with Dad too.
"And maybe we could sign you up for a team? There has to be something in this town, right?"
"Kial said there's a school team, and there's a county league thingie."
"Excellent! I'll ask around about those, and see about getting you involved."
"Can Ketlan play with us?" Aron asks.
"What do you say, Kettle?" Dad asks. "You want to learn to play football?"
"Okay!" Ketlan nods his head hard enough to spill corn from his spoon.
Everyone is smiling, and Aron knows the smiles are real. They're kind and caring, and no one here wants to kill anyone else, not even a little bit. It's nice.
It wasn't hard for Aron to learn and adjust to his routine: wake up at home with family, go to school where he checks on his little brother whenever he can and asks only enough questions to not get sent to the principal's office, come home from school with Ketlan to their mom, do chores, work on homework or play until Dad comes home, help Mom with dinner, eat as a family and talk about everyone's day, play or work for a bit longer, and then join his parents in bed to wait and repeat the cycle. It's easy, comfortable, repetitive, and safe. No one has even tried to kill anyone else, as far as he can tell.
"I had a bad dream," Aron says. "Can I sleep with you?"
"Marc," Mom groans and sleepily swats at Dad.
He grunts.
"Marc, you promised."
He groans, and then sits up. He rubs sleep from his eyes and looks at Aron, who stands next to his parents' bed with his pillow. Aron starts to worry, as this isn't how previous nights went. Dad swings his legs off the bed and walks around to Aron. He stares at his son, eyes occupied primarily by tired resignation.
"I had a bad dream," Aron repeats.
"Aron, buddy, it's been two weeks," Dad says.
Aron looks up at his dad. Dad's statement is true, but Aron fails to see its relevance. "Okay?"
His dad's shoulders fall fractionally. "Your mom and I, we love you. We want you to feel safe and comfortable, but you need to start sleeping in your bed again, okay buddy?"
"But… but I had a bad dream," he says again. These are the magic words, aren't they?
"I know, but… you're safe. You're not in the woods anymore. We're right here if anything happens and you need us, but you have your own room and your own bed. You can't sleep with your mom and I forever."
"Why not?!"
"Shhh shhush," Mom mutters at Aron's spike in volume. "Mommy's got work in the morning."
"Aron, buddy, you're a big boy," Dad says quietly. He puts a hand on Aron's shoulder. "You're almost twelve years old. Soon, you're going to be a man. Some people already see you as one. But big boys need to sleep in their own beds, okay? They can't sleep with their parents every night."
"But–"
"Ketlan is asleep in his bed all by himself," Dad interrupts. "And you're his big brother. You need… You need to be a good example. You need to show him how to be brave. Show me you can be brave, okay? Can you do that, little man?"
Aron is supernaturally still. I hadn't realized that being a boy has rules like this. He's supposed to be a 'big boy' apparently, which means things. There are conditions and rules, just like being a good girl, but the rules are all different. A good girl can sleep with her Uncle or cat-aunt-sister, but a big boy is supposed to sleep alone. I… Aron is a boy, and Dad says he's a big boy, so there's no getting out of this. He has to sleep alone.
"Okay," Aron whispers.
He turns and trudges out of his parents' bedroom and back to his own. He stops in the doorway and stares at his perfectly made bed. The only sign that it isn't purely for show is that the pillow is missing: in his hands. He's barely done more than sit on it since he got back from the woods. The rest of the room is at least partially lived in; there's a sleeve sticking out from his mostly-closed dresser drawer, some of his action figures that aren't dolls are out on the floor where he and Ketlan played this afternoon, and there's a glass with a few sips of room temperature water on his desk.
The bed is an outlier, odd and intimidating. But it's where he's supposed to spend the next eight hours of his life. Alone. Again.
Aron glances longingly at his parents' room. The door is cracked; Dad must have mostly shut it after Aron left. He wishes for a moment that he could be a good girl, just so he would be allowed back into that warm and full bed. But he's a boy, not a girl. Big, not good. The good girl is alone, and the big boy has a family. This enforced distance has to be better than that numb loss.
So Aron enters his room, closes the door behind him, and lifts his bed sheets for the first time. He puts his pillow beneath his head, pulls the covers up to his neck, and closes his eyes. He waits to fall asleep.
His eyes snap open and he bolts upright. He heard something. He stills his heart as best he can, which isn't nearly as good as he once could, to silence its pounding against his ears so he can listen for the noise again. Minutes later, there's another creeeeak coming from nearby. He stands and gets ready for whatever this is to attack, retrieving a kitchen knife from his socks drawer. A minute later, the sound repeats. He tracks it with his ears; it's coming from his window. He throws back the curtains as quickly as he can, so it can't flee and–
Nothing. He has a view into his back yard, but there's nothing there. There's nothing on the other side of the window, or in the yard, or anything anywhere. He stands vigil, to wait for the source of the creak to return. And it does. The backyard's tree bends in the wind, not nearly as old or sturdy as the oak in the front, and as it bows the creak returns.
Aron continues to wait, and when he observes it four more times – once is an occurrence, twice is coincidence, thrice is a pattern, and four to be sure – he closes his curtain and puts his knife away before returning to bed. He covers himself in the sheet and blanket, but he's still cold. He figured out the source of the creaking, but he's still scared. He shouldn't have put the knife away. I should have something more but he's a normal boy – a big boy, but a normal one, and normal boys don't have tinkertech toys.
He closes his eyes and tries to be not scared, but it's as effective as wrapping one's arms around themself and trying to be not cold in a snowstorm. In a word: it doesn't work. Aron is supposed to be a big boy. He's supposed to be brave. He's supposed to set a good example for his little brother and show Ketlan how to be a big boy too.
But I'm scared, and I can't help but flinch at the noises of the night and whimper as shadows move across the walls. I can't keep Aron's eyes closed for more than a few seconds at a time because as soon as they shut, everything gets so scary. I need to be able to see it to protect myself, so Aron's eyes inevitably open. I'm not good at being a big boy. I barely know how to be one and I'm no good at it. I want to be a good girl and curl into a bed with my family but my family is gone and his is all I have and Aron has to sleep alone or–
The door swings open, silently, noticed only because Aron's eyes are open. I'm ready to do what has to be done, and then Ketlan's face pokes through the doorway and all of the tension leaves Aron. It's his little brother. He loves his little brother, and his little brother loves him; they're family.
"What are you doing up?" Aron asks.
Ketlan takes the question as permission to enter and comes to stand next to Aron's bed, which is more than welcome. Just the presence of another trusted, safe living being in the room with Aron is enough to calm his nerves.
"I heard what Dad said," Ketlan says.
"You were awake?" Aron asks, surprised.
"Mm." Ketlan nods. "Um. Mom talked to me."
"She did? Did she say you need to sleep in your bed alone too?"
Ketlan nods.
Aron's shoulders fall in disappointment. "So we can't sleep together."
Ketlan chews his lip and then pushes Stuffles at Aron. The older brother eyes the stuffed rabbit, and Ketlan explains, "You can have her tonight."
Aron blinks and slowly looks at Ketlan. "Are you sure? You don't go anywhere without Stuffles."
"I know. But, um. You need her more right now. So, you can sleep with her, and she'll keep you safe from the monsters in the woods." Ketlan sets Stuffles on the bed with Aron, even though he looks so uncertain and scared.
Aron suddenly feels very small, compared to the emotion that overtakes him. He feels like he just discovered the scale of the world, and realized it's so much larger than he could ever truly understand, except the world is this feeling of absolute affection for this boy in front of him. I can't remember ever feeling this way about anything or anyone, but I know that this is love. I love this boy. I would do anything for Ketlan.
I– Aron takes Stuffles from where Ketlan placed her, and he holds her to his chest. She's warm, and smells like his little brother. Aron's eyelids begin to droop.
"Thank you," Aron says. He doesn't know what else to say in the face of this enormity. He knows that isn't enough.
"Mn." Ketlan nods. "Stuffles? You keep my big brother safe, okay? Okay. Good night, Aron."
"Good night, Ketlan."
Ketlan leaves, and Aron tucks himself in again, never letting go of his little brother's stuffed rabbit. He's not sure if he likes being a big boy, but being a big brother is nice, he thinks.
He closes his eyes, and it's not easy, but he does fall into a fitful sleep that is infinitely more restful than the prior paranoid wakefulness.
Carpenter
Aron sighs as he watches the group of boys kick a ball. They look like they're having fun. Maybe he and Ketlan can play that game later? Maybe not though; it probably wouldn't be the same with just the two of them. Like that chasing game – tag, it's called – the two boys tried to play; it just doesn't work with so few people.
"Are you gonna to play with them?" Ketlan asks.
Aron looks away from the ball-kicking boys. "No, I'm playing with you."
Ketlan huffs. "I'm not a baby. I can play by myself."
Aron looks again at the other boys. They look like they're having a lot of fun, running and laughing and kicking that ball between them. He looks down and surveys his and Ketlan's sandcastle – a mound more than a castle, as the sandbox's aridity prevents much structure from forming.
Does it make him a bad big brother if he would rather go play with the other boys? Ketlan is saying it's alright but…
"But I'm supposed to watch you," Aron says.
"Mom is right there," Ketlan says, pointing at their mom, who is on a bench across the way, chatting with a pair of moms. He grabs his stuffed rabbit. "And plus, I have Stuffles to keep me company. Isn't that right Stuffles?"
"That's right!" Stuffles says. It's Ketlan in a higher pitched, silly voice.
Aron lets himself grin and then dives over the sand pile to hug his brother. "Thank you thank you thank you! You're the best little brother ever!"
Ketlan giggles, and Aron extricates himself to run over to the other boys.
"Can I play?" he calls from the edge of the game. He's seen others join games similarly.
A few boys turn their heads his way and the ball stops under one's foot. One of the boys calls back, "Are you good?"
"I've never played before," he answers honestly.
The boys exchange more looks and a few shrug. "It would even the teams out," a boy with long blond hair says.
"Yeah, but Charlie is good enough to count for three," says the only boy wearing pants, making a third boy puff his chest and grin. That one must be Charlie.
"So we put him on – Hey, what's your name?" says a boy in a blue shirt.
"I'm Aron," says Aron.
"Let's put Aron on your team," Blue Shirt continues.
"But then it'll be three on five," Pants whines.
"You just said Charlie was worth three."
"Yeah, three good players. Aron's never even played before," pants says.
The boys keep talking, discussing how to divvy up for equal teams. Aron doesn't really get the criteria they're basing it on, but he's happy to be included. While most of them do that, Charlie walks over to Aron and teaches him the rules of the game.
It's called soccer. Two teams kick a ball with the goal of kicking it into the opposing team's goal and keeping it out of their goal. No one is allowed to use their hands unless they're the goalie, who usually stays by the goal, but since they don't have enough people for full teams, the goalie does other stuff and can only use his hands near the goal.
It's simple and not very violent, which Aron is realizing is true for a lot of things in the world. There is violence, but most things don't deal with it. Most people seem to flat out ignore it and are surprised by even the slightest bit of it. A child skinning their knee is cause for concern. Someone falling off a roof is the gossip of the town, and everyone wishes him well. Death and killings are things that people stop conversations over.
The other boys finish their congress and Charlie finishes teaching Aron the rules and basics, and the group of eight splits into two groups of four, with Aron on a team with Charlie, Kial, and Blue Shirt. Blue Shirt's name is Jackson.
Carpenter
"So, you're a footballer now?" Dad asks Aron over dinner, in response to Mom telling him about the game he played.
"You mean a soccer player?" Aron asks.
"They call it football where I'm from," Dad says. "And also everywhere other than this country too."
"Oh, okay," Aron says. "Then yeah, I guess I'm a footballer."
"Haha! That's my boy. I knew you had it in you somewhere." Dad leans in slyly to ask, "Are you any good?"
"Marc," Mom chastizes.
"It's an innocent question," Dad defends. "I'm just curious."
"I think so?" Aron says. "I made a few goals, and Charlie, Jackson, and the rest of the boys were impressed. Jesse got mad and said that I lied about not having played though. But I don't think I lied, did I?"
"Well, we kicked the ball around a few times when you were little. It's been a while, but I think we might still have that football lying around somewhere; I wouldn't mind digging it out and showing you a few tricks if you'd like."
"Yeah! Could you?" Aron exclaims. He hasn't gotten to spend as much time with Dad as he'd like. He's gone to work almost every day, and been out until almost dinner every time. It'll be nice to play with Dad too.
"And maybe we could sign you up for a team? There has to be something in this town, right?"
"Kial said there's a school team, and there's a county league thingie."
"Excellent! I'll ask around about those, and see about getting you involved."
"Can Ketlan play with us?" Aron asks.
"What do you say, Kettle?" Dad asks. "You want to learn to play football?"
"Okay!" Ketlan nods his head hard enough to spill corn from his spoon.
Everyone is smiling, and Aron knows the smiles are real. They're kind and caring, and no one here wants to kill anyone else, not even a little bit. It's nice.
isn't it nice to see Aron settling back into his routines? he's even going out and forming new ones with new friends. I'm so glad his life is returning to normal after that scary night in the woods, aren't you?
The parallel between being a good girl and a big boy was excellently done.
- Location
- Minnesota
- Pronouns
- She/Her
😬😬😬
But seriously, this was great. I kept expecting things to go wrong and they never did and it was lovely.
Don't get why Carpenter is being used as the dividing line between… wait that's their last isn't it.
R3N41SS4NC3
Professional Carol Understander
- Pronouns
- It/Its
That's the name of Riley's current family. It's the same reason I used "S9" as a dividing line in arc 1.