Chapter Text
It is a dreary day in England, a grey day, an overcast day. Four children are leaving the city to turn a new chapter in their lives, and this grey country does not know or care to mark the page. But the Pevensies are used to this. It has been a year, and they are used to the way this country does not cushion their steps, the way the breeze does not dance with them, the way the sun does not shine brighter at the sound of their laughter. They are used to it, but that does not mean it does not still ache down to their bones.
“Susan!” The voice of a small eleven-year-old girl, her dark hair braided in two pigtails, cuts through the chaos of car horns and impatient shouting.
Her older sister turns immediately, recognizing the tone from years of being called in this way. It means something has happened to one of their brothers, and though the animosity of countries is no longer directed at them, it does not mean that trouble is no longer just around the corner.
They rush to the train station, and stop at a familiar scene - for this country, anyway. A group of boys are fighting, and it’s easy to spot the one receiving all their ire, his golden hair dull in the station lights. A dark head joins the dull gold, as brother joins brother in an attempt to settle back to back in a familiar pattern. But their efforts are interrupted, first by their opponents, then by authorities who don’t care to find out who was in the wrong as they break up the fight and scatter all participants.
The four siblings claim a bench, and Susan adopts the disapproving look she perfected back home and has put to great use since their return to this grey country. “What was it this time?”
Her golden-haired brother pushes himself off the bench and paces, and all of them can see the hints of the great cat that would normally be a little more visible to everyone else. “They were picking on another boy.”
And with those words, Susan’s disappointed look melts away to one of understanding, though exasperation is still found on the edges. “You could have walked away.”
Peter’s eyes snap to her, and the three of them are thrown by the blue they find there instead of the amber they expect to see. “Could I have?”
The boy is young, maybe Edmund’s age. Peter watches as a group of boys his own age bump into the kid, knocking him to the ground, then hauling him up and demanding he apologize to them. Peter is ready to step in right then, no further provocation needed, then the head bully all but rips the kid’s name out of his mouth and Peter freezes.
Michael. The boy’s name is Michael. And Peter doesn’t have to think twice before he’s doing what no one else is daring to do and steps into the conversation. “Leave him alone.”
The head bully turns away from Michael slightly, and Peter can see him sizing up Peter’s threat level. Peter keeps his hands in his pockets, fists clenched, and fights back the urge to growl, knowing it won’t come out as anything even close to intimidating here.
The other boy smirks, having come to the wrong conclusion. “Or what?”
Peter doesn’t reply to that, just repeats his earlier statement. “Leave him alone.” The rest of the boys are smirking now, and Peter sees them loosen their grip on Michael ever so slightly. Good.
“Look here, boys,” the head bully calls to his friends, his attention now on Peter - exactly where Peter wants it. “Someone wants to play hero.”
No, Peter thinks but doesn’t say, not hero. Just trying to make up for what I couldn’t do.
The bully throws the first punch that Peter sees coming a mile away, and he ducks, swinging back at the bully’s nose just like he’d been taught. But though his mind remembers the moves, his arms no longer have the same strength behind them, and the once-king soon finds himself outnumbered and outmatched, with no backup. Well, with one person for backup - no matter where he is, he can always count on Edmund to have his back.
“Could I have?” Peter sighs and slumps down on the bench, feeling Susan’s comforting hand on his shoulder, a gesture of silent support and admonishment all in one. “I’m just…I’m so tired of being treated like a kid.”
He hears his brother let out a snort next to him. “We are kids.”
Peter turns to fix Edmund with a look, only to find understanding in his brother’s gaze. Peter is not the only one struggling with this. He fixes his gaze on the ceiling instead. “We weren’t always,” he says quietly.
“But we are now,” Susan reminds him, her tone the same she would use when reminding her siblings of facts neither of them wanted to acknowledge but had to in order to do things right. “And you can’t keep picking fights, Peter.”
“I know,” Peter replies. “I know. But…” He trails off, and it’s Lucy who leans around Susan and demands Peter’s gaze.
“But?”
“The boy’s name was Michael.”
With that name, every single one of his siblings rests a hand on his shoulder or hand or arm, and Peter lets himself take a moment to grieve. Because he never got to say goodbye to his children, not really, and all he can do is hope that his country kept her promise even though he broke his.
It is because Susan’s hand has not left Peter’s shoulder that he feels her stiffen and turn to face him more fully, her eyes holding the barest trace of panic. “Quick, pretend you’re talking to me.”
The reason Peter is able to smirk and not worry is because he knows this look. It is the same look his beloved sister would get running from well-intentioned ambassadors who still managed to get on her last nerve through no real fault of their own. It’s the panic of being in a problem of her own making, and Peter has to hold back a laugh when Edmund raises an eyebrow at their sister. “We are talking to you.”
Susan fixes them with an exasperated look, and Peter is all set to actually laugh when Lucy suddenly stands up. “Someone pinched me!”
Peter’s gaze swiftly travels around their surroundings, but nowhere is someone who could have gotten close enough to his baby sister to touch her. Then Peter feels it - the combination of a pinch and a pull, and his initial response is to fight it. Except… Something on the other end feels familiar.
So he doesn’t protest when Susan makes everyone hold hands, as the four of them stand and feel the wind rush around them, and as the station walls peel away to reveal sandy cliffs, blue sky, and even bluer water.