perfectworry | [original: people's republic] A Tiny World is Ending

title: A Tiny World is Ending
verse: People's Republic of Heaven
community:

originalfic100
prompt: Phase #5: Challenge #23: End of the World + Table A 097 - Writer's Choice: Safe
word count: 1026
rating: G
summary: Kristopher's world fell apart.

Kristopher retreated to the safety of his hideout beneath the kitchen table. He dragged his favorite toy to safety with him, and hugged his knees to make space for Jude to squeeze in beside him.

Jude unfolded out from beneath the table, stretching his sore limbs after a day hunched up in hiding. Kristopher watched him, peering out with wide and bloodshot eyes. He dared not leave the safety of his hideaway, but wavered on the edge instead.

“May I?” asked Glory, sensing it was his turn to join his son, while Jude stretched his legs and rummaged through the kitchen for enough to make a proper meal.

Kristopher made himself as small as possible so Glory would fit beside him beneath the breakfast table. It took a lot more squishing in than Jude, but Kristopher managed to make enough room without leaving his temporary shelter.

“How long do you plan to stay under here?” asked Glory. He bent his head at an uncomfortable angle to keep from hitting it painfully against the edge of the table.

“Until it’s safe,” said Kristopher. He twisted his hands and stared at his father without blinking, as though Glory might disappear if he closed his eyes.

Glory nodded, or tried to. Kristopher watched him so closely that he understood. He scrutinized his father’s face, wary and watchful as a fox cub.

“What do you need to be safe?” asked Glory. When Kristopher didn’t answer after a moment or two, he added, “I can’t bring them back.”

“I know,” whispered his son, his chin resting on his knees. Kristopher looked so old, with the weight of the worlds on his young shoulders. He drooped beneath his burden.

Carefully, as though Kristopher were made of feather and glass, Glory reached out and put an arm around his son. Kristopher allowed himself to be pulled into his father’s lap and lay there, trembling. Glory smoothed his son’s hair, and Kristopher closed his eyes. The knots in his shoulders remained, but he loosened his white knuckled grip on his doll.

Just when Glory believed Kristopher had fallen asleep, he stirred. Opening one eye, he looked up at his father and asked, "When will Mariel be home?”

“Soon,” said Glory. “She’s only gone to collect herself, and close the doors from our end. I don’t want - We don’t,” he shook his head and kept his thoughts to himself, but Kristopher nodded in understanding. Glory wondered how much his son knew, or guessed; too much, most likely. Kristopher always knew too much.

Kristopher nodded again, and closed his eyes. The frantic beating of his heart soon slowed, his anxious breaths evened out, calmed by the steady rhythm of his father’s heartbeat. He drifted off to sleep. Anxious and fitful, he shifted restlessly in his father’s lap.

Jude ducked under the table with a tight smile. "Dinner," he said.

Glory was loathe to wake his son, but he knew that Kristopher had eaten no more than he had slept since the day before. So he gave Kristopher a gentle shake.

Kristopher rubbed his eyes and blinked up at his father. He turned, to settle back into sleep, but Glory nudged him. “Jude made you pancakes."

“My favorite,” said Kristopher. Still without leaving his hideaway, he wriggled from his father’s grasp and sat cross-legged on the floor beside him. “Space for Jude,” he added, patting a square of empty tile beside him.

Jude crouched beside his brother, squeezing into the small space that remained. Kristopher ate carefully, watching his brother and father. “Are you hungry, Jude?” he asked, when Jude put down his fork and knife. “Did you have enough to eat? You can have more of mine, if you’re hungry.”

“I’m quite full, Krissy.” Jude kissed his brother’s forehead. “Thank you.”

Kristopher pushed his plate away still half full, syrup still pooling at the edges.

“Are you staying under here?” asked Glory.

“Yes,” said Kristopher, stubborn and solemn as ever. He lost some of the desperate edge in sleep, but remained fearful, anxious. Kristopher no doubt worried that his whole world might collapse down over his head without warning. “It’s not safe.”

“I need to wash the dishes,” said Glory, “and stretch my legs.”

Kristopher narrowed his eyes in suspicion, and Glory felt Kristopher watching him like a hawk as he tidied the kitchen.

Jude sat beside his brother under the table for awhile. “Where are you going to sleep, Krissy?”

“Here,” said Kristopher, as though that should have been obvious. “It’s not safe,” he repeated.

“If we’re sleeping under the table on the floor,” said Jude, “can I go get our blankets and pillows and reading book?”

Kristopher nodded, and Jude went to gather the promised bedclothes. Together, the two of them made a fort of pillows and blankets. Jude tucked Kristopher in beside him, and sat up with a book in his lap.

“Read me the part about the fox?”

Glory sat in his customary seat at the kitchen table to be near his son. His presence reassured Kristopher that he would still be there when he woke. Kristopher closed his eyes and let his brother’s voice wash over him until he slipped into dreams that shifted and blurred, from Camelot to the desert, from a towering rose to a talking fox. In every dream, he was running, but when he woke, he forgot if he was running to or running from. He knew only that his dreams left him more exhausted than he had been when he fell asleep.

The night wore on, and Kristopher was content only in the space between asleep and awake, listening to the hush of rain on the windows. He could smell the familiar tang of his father’s cigarettes and feel the steady rise and fall of his brother’s chest, but he was aware always of Mariel’s presence. It surrounded him, infused in every nook and cranny of her house, but it echoed in her absence and he woke often to check for her return.