still standing

It hit him like a ton of bricks, the moment his eyes landed on Charles. This was what people meant about things being out of place. They were. His thoughts moved to Trevor, a pang in his chest. It would never stop hurting. Not even in this world, a world where he lived. Freddie pushed it all away, taking a deep breath as he watched the man worry himself over a situation he hadn’t caused. “How are you doing?” He asked, hesitantly, the answer was fairly obvious. How could anyone be anything less than shaken up after being pulled from 1993 into 2016, a time mostly everyone they knew had died, including them?

He felt sorry for everyone who had to look at him. Their supposedly perfect lives came crashing down and the majority of them didn’t seem to care much at all about changing things back. It was terrifying. “As well as I can be considering everything,” his response was simple, not rude, just plain. “How are you?”

Charles turned to look at the blonde boy who had appeared, complete confusion written on his features as the boy fell to his knees. He had no idea what was happening, honestly, he didn’t know most of what was happening here. It almost made him glad he would eventually be back in 1993, where, at least, he would be eased into the weirdness that was to come and not thrown into it blindly. He walked over and crouched, leaning in, “Um, no, I don’t think so,” he stared, raising one eyebrow, “Are you alright?”

“Does anything ever truly belong to us?” She had never felt like it had, she had never felt like she belonged. At Whittemore, maybe, at times, or when she was a little girl with the arms of her parents to protect her, but it never lasted long, only brief moments of happiness. She didn’t know if everyone else felt that way, she just had to assume that there was someone else that felt, real life or not, things were out of place. They were always going to be out of place. “People seem happy here.” Her heart hurt at the thought of those that had to die for that to be true, but if it wasn’t them, it was Charles. It was Trevor. It was someone else. People died all the time. How many would they lose if they tried to go back and fix it? “We could just… fuck it all up again. Worse than before.” His request was a simple one, but as hard as she tried, she couldn’t find one terrible, horrible thing that needed to be changed. The worst of it was out of his control. “Everything you did, I think… you had reasons for it. You tried to help us. I didn’t see that before. Or I didn’t trust it.” Then the answer came to her, she stared at him with a softened expression. “Die. The worst thing you did was die and leave us. Can’t you stop that from happening again?”

“Yes. In this life, you have to make things yours. Own it,” his words were simple. He meant everything. Pain. Joy. People. Places. It could all so easily slide from your grip like a book flung across a dusty room twenty years in the future. Even if you didn’t belong, you had to make sure that you made your life worth something. “Maybe they do but what if that’s just a sign of this being a false journey? Things can’t be all good all the time. That’s not real.” Maybe this fictionw as better for them but Charles couldn’t imagine a life in which he was spared of pain as well as reality. Even if he had to go back to the darkest years of his life that he was yet to live, would he want to stay in a world that held a constant reminder of who he really had been? “I don’t know,” he told her honestly, “But I don’t belong in a world where I can only exist when reminding someone of a different reality. That’s proof of everything I’m telling you. We fix this, we already have once, I wish I didn’t know it but I do,” was he lying? Maybe. White lies were made to cater to situations where you needed someone to believe in you so you could believe in yourself. This one would be fine. “Thank you,” but he was quieted by her next words. Such a cruel word for something he was yet to accept. He should of said yes, that he would change it, that he would undo his death, but he didn’t know how to, he couldn’t say that for sure he would. “You said I always had reasons, right?” he asked, peering up at her with light blue eyes, “Maybe I had a reason for dying. For leaving you. What if this was meant to happen? If I don’t die you never bring me back and if you never bring me back I never kill Orson. What if this is how things were meant to be?”

“Does anything ever truly belong to us?” She had never felt like it had, she had never felt like she belonged. At Whittemore, maybe, at times, or when she was a little girl with the arms of her parents to protect her, but it never lasted long, only brief moments of happiness. She didn’t know if everyone else felt that way, she just had to assume that there was someone else that felt, real life or not, things were out of place. They were always going to be out of place. “People seem happy here.” Her heart hurt at the thought of those that had to die for that to be true, but if it wasn’t them, it was Charles. It was Trevor. It was someone else. People died all the time. How many would they lose if they tried to go back and fix it? “We could just… fuck it all up again. Worse than before.” His request was a simple one, but as hard as she tried, she couldn’t find one terrible, horrible thing that needed to be changed. The worst of it was out of his control. “Everything you did, I think… you had reasons for it. You tried to help us. I didn’t see that before. Or I didn’t trust it.” Then the answer came to her, she stared at him with a softened expression. “Die. The worst thing you did was die and leave us. Can’t you stop that from happening again?”

“Yes. In this life, you have to make things yours. Own it,” his words were simple. He meant everything. Pain. Joy. People. Places. It could all so easily slide from your grip like a book flung across a dusty room twenty years in the future. Even if you didn’t belong, you had to make sure that you made your life worth something. “Maybe they do but what if that’s just a sign of this being a false journey? Things can’t be all good all the time. That’s not real.” Maybe this fictionw as better for them but Charles couldn’t imagine a life in which he was spared of pain as well as reality. Even if he had to go back to the darkest years of his life that he was yet to live, would he want to stay in a world that held a constant reminder of who he really had been? “I don’t know,” he told her honestly, “But I don’t belong in a world where I can only exist when reminding someone of a different reality. That’s proof of everything I’m telling you. We fix this, we already have once, I wish I didn’t know it but I do,” was he lying? Maybe. White lies were made to cater to situations where you needed someone to believe in you so you could believe in yourself. This one would be fine. “Thank you,” but he was quieted by her next words. Such a cruel word for something he was yet to accept. He should of said yes, that he would change it, that he would undo his death, but he didn’t know how to, he couldn’t say that for sure he would. “You said I always had reasons, right?” he asked, peering up at her with light blue eyes, “Maybe I had a reason for dying. For leaving you. What if this was meant to happen? If I don’t die you never bring me back and if you never bring me back I never kill Orson. What if this is how things were meant to be?”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, there was no point in denying and keeping up a façade of being good, one both families had done for so long, and would keep on doing to get away with whatever they wanted. From what Gio had gathered, it sounded like his Father hadn’t changed much since high school. “I assume not. I have known the Chambers since I was little,” two tight-knit families that could rival anyone in their support and loyalty for each other, “They have a son Ollie my age,” in his tone, it was hinted that the two boys were like brothers. A small nod followed, confirming that Jason’s death would have come sooner had that been the case, and he noticed how someone had already updated Charles on Jason’s death, and the ridiculous dance competition, that could only mean that the strange thing that was happening to him right now with his mind suddenly firm on reality, was happening to others as well. “He never mentioned anything about this friendship. I only asked because the last time I spoke with Jason he didn’t seem happy, quite bitter actually,” after a moment’s pause he corrected Charles earlier words, “This school is a mysterious place.”

“Oliver.” The name repeated, echoed on the air. He had heard that name before. In his own time, Peter Chambers had sworn his first born son would bare it like a reminder of the man he once was. Now it rung with irony as he watched the dark haired boy, not offended by the fact that their friendship had never been mentioned, how could he be? A lifetime had passed. His lifetime. “I suppose he wouldn’t be happy from what I’ve heard, the family had some issues. We all did as years went by,” years that he wasn’t there for. Years that he had no recollection of. Years that had claimed everything good he knew. His eyes flickered blue and met Giorgio’s and the comment about how mysterious this school was did not go amiss, “This school is not the mystery, it is the people in it who grew to be enigma’s,” his words were strange and sad, blue eyes closing for only a moment, a silent prayer to all the friends that had been lost on the way to their story. In this life and the other. “Peter would of done anything for your Father,” he rose from his seat only then, averting his gaze, “And your Father, almost anything for him. I presume your Father never told you the story of our friendship or theirs for many reasons,” he walked without hesitation, leaning against a wall as if contemplating the words that halted in his throat, “My Father wasn’t the only villain in this story and I do not understand it yet but I certainly wasn’t the only hero.”

Charles didn’t like his tone. To him it seemed this boy was making this exchange as unpleasant as possible for no reason, the added sass was not something he was interested in. He hadn’t even raised his voice and yet he was being spoken to like he was the Father of a bratty teenager, how wonderful, “I'm saying that clearly I went back already to end up here, else I would never have killed my Father. Therefore this is just a loop of events which ends with me back in 1993,” he didn’t know why he bothered explaining, the other man was just hearing whatever the hell he wanted. Charles had plenty of experience dealing with people feeling sorry for themselves, he had eight siblings.”There’s no need to be so rude, what did I ever do to you? I can’t wait to spend another twenty years with you,” he almost laughed, no cruelty in his tone. He just didn’t care anymore, there was no use, “All I’m saying is that you don’t have to be miserable. When this is all over, you can change if it’s what you wish. Stop acting as though I have no idea what misery feels like. If I managed to get through the past decade surrounded by all of you with the things I had to live through and die relatively at peace then I have no idea why the hell you can’t attempt to improve your life,” he rolled his eyes, “Thank you. If I had to see your moping face at the end of this blaming me for your life then I’m glad I’m dead.” Maybe he was being rude but it didn’t really matter, he was sitting back down, a small smile on his lips. Ironic how he had left 1993 but was still presented with the same amount of sorrowful drama that his brothers pitted against him every day, “Well, have fun. Who am I to tell you what to do? I’m just the guy who dies for you, tragically, killed by your hands! Murdered! How unbelievable, I can’t believe this happened to me, me! Of allllll people, how am I meant to simply choose to be happy about it? How ridiculous!” he laughed to himself uncapping his pen, this man was more dramatic than Sylvia was when she got her first period. Oh, 2016, what a time to be alive. He barely glanced up as the other man turned to leave.

“It would solve a few although I feel as though Whittemore would still find a way to rebuild itself before even the Earth,” he joked but he meant it, it would not surprise him at all. At this point, he was sure, whatever awaited him on the other end of his ghastly time warp would no long cause him shock. “I suppose we’ll never know, it seems that while building a machine to alter the universe nobody thought about engineering a way to steer it to the right time. What a wild goose chase. Who knows where I may end up.”

Giorgio let out a low laugh in response, “That depends on what you deem wicked.” Did Charles French, not the one before him, but the one he had once known, knew the man who made a name for himself through gunfire and dirty money, who had taught his son how to shoot when he was only eighteen in hopes that he would one day take over the empire? “How were they like when you knew them?” The question asked with curiosity and shortly another followed, “Did my Father ever get into an altercation with your brother Jason?” 

“That’s a yes,” Charles responded simply, gazing at the boy across from him like some foreign artefact. It was both wonderful and terrible to see the children of the people he had once known, what a contradiction he was provided with as he stared into those dark eyes feeling as though he might be devoured by the wickedness he spoke of, “I don’t suppose him and Pete ever broke their deal either, did they?” The answer was no. That much was obvious. The Chambers and the Clarke’s were bounded like bloody founding families. It was not a bad thing but it was not a good thing either. His eyebrows rose at the mere suggestion of Jason of all people fighting Damien Clarke, “I hope not, if they did then Jason would of probably died far before some bloody dance competition. Your Father was friends with my brothers, we were all friends. It’s funny really, now I hear how strangely things turned out and I think back to the day I left and the party, we were all friends then. The world is a mysterious place.”

Crossing his arrms over his chest, he knew he was being selfish, knew that they didnt deserve to die for him to have happiness but he couldnt help his own irritation with the whole thing. “And who are we to decide that whatever we go back to is for the better? What if we dont go back to that one? What if we go somewhere else? What if more people die?” Gabriel pointed out not believing it would work since it hadnt worked the first time. What would happen then when things went wrong like they always do at Whittemore? Sighing, he looked away from Charles. “I know its horrible for me to say. Dont you realize I know how horrible that is to say? Dont you think I know it sucks to look at you and realize that good people are dead. Better people are dead. But is it so bad for me to want to live this a little bit longer? I look at you and I see all these horrific things and I know Im not happy there. All those people, they all want Gabe and Im not that boy there anymore. There is no place for me there.” His voice weak before he turned back to the other male. “So Im sorry Im selfish and that other reality is probably some twisted payback for me being such a twat but here I dont feel like jumping off a bridge or running into traffic or taking enough pills to where I just dont wake up, so yeah, im going to be selfish for a bit and enjoy this false happiness. Hopefully thats okay.”

He stared at him, he understood but his blue eyes could not help but reek of worry. Not over the thought of being wrong, not over the thought of messing with space and time again, he was sure that awaited him at least would eventually lead him back to where he had began. It made sense. That was why his notebook had been on the ground. He was worried because these people, exasperating as they were, genuinely believed that there was more than one version of themselves, “They won’t die. Not really. If it’s another universe they’ll all just be stuck, they probably already are but they belong here and I don’t, that’s why if you turn away from me you forget I’m even here, I don’t exist,” but he did not care about that. He shifted, his gaze harder than ever before, “You truly believe there is more than one of you, don’t you? The other reality is the only one and you are not a ‘twat’, you are you. The same you as you are in every single one. Don’t you see that the only difference is the choices you made? You are made of the same materials, almost the exact same things happen up to the fire that destroys Whittemore, you became someone else with what was inside of you, not because the world changed, Gabriel. The only person preventing all your happiness is yourselves. Yes, the world changed, you lost things but your choices were yours alone. Perhaps if you don’t want to feel like doing the things you just mentioned then you should try not doing them. From where I’m standing, 23 years out of place, it seems to me that I die and you live, perhaps you should take some pride in that. If you want to change then change, but do not cling to a false reality and admit to being selfish, it’s your life. Either way, whichever person you believe yourself to be, the only thing that changed was your choice.”

Having walked into the room without paying attention, the boy looks up from his phone at the other male in front of him. Memories, if you could call them that, came flooding back to Gabriel and the smile on his face dropped quickly as he tried to make sense of what he was experiencing. “Um..” He stopped before he shrugged. He remembered a sickness, the fire, his breakdown and Charles death and he realized quickly he was deciding to be selfish even before the words left his mouth. “Then dont go back. Charles, you die. You die and nothing gets better. Nothing in that reality seems good from where Im standing. Maybe this is peoples chances to be happy?”

He had thought he was alone but of course, he wasn’t He never was. He never had been before and now he never would be here, even if loneliness was something much stronger internally than externally now, “But who are we to decide that?” It was unfair. It was unfair of these people to weigh up their happiness with the lives of others that mattered too. Was that how they had brushed off his death too? Had they told themselves that it was okay as long as it was for the greater good? That wasn’t right. “Six people. Six living breathing human beings died so my singular life here could be fulfilled, well, five, one of them is just stuck living my life and giving you this happiness you claim is a second chance. Don’t you think that it’s horrible for you to say that this is how things are meant to be? Are you willing to lose them forever for the sake of faux joy that will disappear every time you see my face? How can I possibly be happy here when my life is simply a factor in providing false joy to a group of people who look at me once more and see the world the way it was?” 

Sam just stared at Charles for a couple of moments as his mind was invaded by a sense of wrongness. It suddenly hit him – this life is erroneous. His happiness was suddenly overridden by dread, sadness, the memories of his true reality. Pain. Over and over, that was what he felt in the reality that he belonged in. He was happy here, happier than he ever was. Should he really go back? “Do you really want to go back?” he asked. “You asked me to burn this school down. You watched us all get sick. You watched us all do horrible things. You died here, you fucking asked us to cut your head off. That was your life. Full of suffering. You can start over here, you know? I know it’s wrong, or maybe it’s right, I don’t really know anymore. But you deserve a better life than the one you lived in our true reality. This could be it. ”

He was starting to hate this place. Once he had loved it, thought of it as home but they had tore him away and now they presented him with ultimatums that should of never been his. He had to choose between who lived and died. Two sets of people, he knew neither and yet their lives were in his hands, “I don’t know, maybe I can change things,” it seemed that wasn’t true but he clung to that innocent hope anyway. He had entered this realm a boy and he would leave it a man who’s hands were dirty before he even lived his life. “I can start over here, sure, but what about everyone that had to die for that? Is that fair? Your friends... Tyson, Sean, Texas, Ricky, Millie... Should they die so I can live? This is an impossible decision and it shouldn’t be mine. Either way my family dies. And your sister... Clara... She’s gone too. Are you telling me she should be spared like a victim of circumstance?” Wasn’t that what everyone was asking him to do with his own siblings? This was so complicated.

The hint of a smile. It wasn’t a welcome change but he was tired. Tired of being sad and confused and hurt over things he was meant to do in a future he didn’t know yet. There was no point dwelling when he didn’t even know how to get back to his time, nor, if he wanted to. “Just a few things, space, time, the fate of the human race,” maybe it was a joke but it didn’t feel like one, “Poor George. Maybe when we edit time I can go back and undo his death too.”

Listening while letting his gaze wander over to table, his demeanor screamed detached interest, perhaps if he were a better person, he would try to understand how Charles must have felt, “I’m a traitor in this world, and if we go back, I’ll be a traitor in that one too,” his words were empty, uncaring. Here he had betrayed his family and there he had betrayed his ex-classmates who called each other family, not once but twice or had it been more? The recent memory of him pulling a trigger pulsing in his mind, and the shot that echoed followed, a flash of red and a wicked sense of disappointment when he’d killed the wrong person. Gio looked down at his hands, in this world, they were clean, for once there was no blood. At the recognition, he brought his eyes back up, “Giorgio Clarke.”

“A traitor, huh? Sounds traumatic.” He found a certain humour in the other mans pessimism, he was behaving like the entire world was ending and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Maybe he was right. Charles didn’t have time to argue when he was trying to figure things out. He squinted at him, trying to add on a dew years and reduce the man who was speaking to him to the man he knew in his time as Damien. He saw it. “It makes sense,” he slid off his glasses as if to stop himself from seeing so very much. It was unnerving to see the children of everyone you knew, like a bad dream that did not end. “You look a little like him, but you sound...” he almost laughed, “Uncanny.” As much as he didn’t want to believe the ever changing truth of his reality, he had to, “What does your Father get up to in your other life? Did him and Pete ever outgrow their wicked ways?”

His reaction to who her father was was not lost on Daisy. She wanted to push him and ask more as to why that was so shocking but two things happened simultaneously; he said it had always been Marcel and the baby kicked. “What the fuck?” Daisy quickly looked down at herself before lifting her eyes to meet his. “I wasn’t expecting today to go this way.” After a minute of silence and deep breathing, the girl composed herself and was able to refocus on his. “Did you say Marcel? What are you talking about? He was…Tyson’s mum was Sarah.” The room all of a sudden seemed much too hot and small. He brought up Sean and she didn’t want to think about him and how he was missing. He was gone and she didn’t know if he was going to be okay or ever come back to her. “Sean was- is everything to me. Who? Was he like who?” He knew something. There was something Charles wasn’t telling her and she needed to know what he knew. For now, she could almost ignore the crazy twist that somehow landed her here, but she wasn’t going to let this happen without questioning everything … when she was able to remember who she was. 

He was pulled back to reality by her words and he glanced down at her growing stomach, “Neither did I,” he admitted, weirdly identifying with the girl who was apparently his niece in that moment. This was the last thing he had expected when he was dressing for a party that took place twenty three years ago just the other day. “Sarah...” the name was one he recognised and although it no longer made snese it seemed there was no point trying to wade through past and present to build an image, “I don’t know. A lot changed. I just thought Charlotte and Marcel were going to end up together.” He didn’t need to explain more, there was nothing to say, clearly something had happened between the day he left and now that had changed everything but he couldn’t imagine what. He listened to her describe her brother, feeling a connection to how she cared so much, how she said he was everything. How was that different to how Charles felt about all the siblings he now knew he would lose? She jumped on his question like it held some sinister connotation but it didn’t, he thought back on his brother, the only person he assumed the boy could be like, “I meant Harry. Is he like Harry?” he readdressed the point, stopping his pacing to lean against a cabinet and cross his arms, a frown contorting his featurres, “I didn’t even know he wanted kids,” he muttered, why was he so betrayed? It felt like his entire family had been lying to him and now he was finding out twenty years in advance when he couldn’t even get answers about it. He hated the inability to know more.

It was funny that he couldn’t help but agree. Maybe if he had no idea about this life then he would of been happy. Ignorance had been bliss before he was sent into a century he didn’t understand and told about everything he would have to lose. It made him weak. The news of the idols death would of caused upset a few days earlier back in 1993 but now he simply pressed the pages of his notebook to his chin for a moment, “Hm, there’s a lot of was after all these years. It’s amazing how fast things change.”

Little soldier boy, your gaze so cold, your swing so mean. You play with knives, weapons and dreams. The night captures us, the cold sets in our bones, we are left alone. Little soldier boy, your heart is frozen, you breathe out ice. You play with lives, death and memories. You keep treading the line so fine between martyrdom and lies. The past kills you, every single time yet you are reborn in the night. Little soldier boy, when will you remember, this is not who you were. Now you just kill without remorse and dread the morning light. Little soldier boy, where was your innocence lost.