Pacifist Ending

[Latin For Dragula]

He didn't think about what had come before. Everything from breath, to thought, to fight was knocked out of him when he hit the water.

Some version of him had thought this through. Even as he panicked and clawed for starlight above, the weighted bag around his waist pulled him down faster than he could fight back. Clothes. Weapons. Scavenged rocks and wood. Flashes of packing it all together hit his mind from a disembodied perspective. It wasn't him. These weren't his choices. That wasn't his body, but he was trapped, trapped and flailing and failing to hold his breath as the ice cold water sunk its claws into every inch of him.

He was going to die.

There was a hand above him in the water.

He couldn't quite make out the face.

Theo reached out.

------

He awoke screaming with cold sweat pouring off of his body. The tangled mess of bed sheets were damp to the touch. From the corner of the room, he heard a quite "Shhh, shhh..." and the sound of fingers moving on fabric. Theo looked over and saw Hansel's face glowing in the moonlight. No matter how brave a face he was trying to put on, Theo could see the concern etched underneath it. Shame broke his gaze before he could ask Hansel what he'd done, drawing his eyes down the arms he was so used to finding wrapped around him during these attacks. It had to be really, really bad if he wasn't-

Oh.

It was really, really, really bad.

Darren hid between his father's arms, clutching at Hansel's shirt and staring up at Theo with wide-eyed panic. "Had a nightmare," Hansel explained softly. "Lookin' like he ain't the only one." Their son had spent a lot of nights between them since they brought him home, but Theo couldn't remember the last time he'd had an episode like this when he was in the room. Maybe he never had. That'd explain the terror on his face. He must have scared him half to death. He turned to sit cross-legged on the bed and held up his hands slowly with a weak smile. "I'm okay. I'm okay. Promise." Gun to his head, he wasn't sure which one of them he was trying to convince more, but Darren leaned away from Hansel to crawl up on the bed with him. A small hand pressed against his rapidly beating heart.

"Scared?"

He didn't say much. A lot of four year olds didn't, but they worried about him. It was hard to make up for the sort of things he'd been through. Sometimes, though, he said more than either of them could have managed in hours with just a couple words and a touch. Maybe it wouldn't mean much to anyone else, but for Theo it melted right through his need to pretend everything was okay. He wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close in his lap. "Yeah. I'm scared. Daddy had a bad dream. Sometimes we get them too."

A big arm slung around his shoulders as Hansel sat down beside them. "Wanna talk about what's got ya all riled up? Help's the kid," he said with a tired smile. Theo couldn't keep himself from chuckling. Despite everything it felt so good to all be together like this, and it made it hard to try and dig back through and find what fired him up. "I don't remember. I don't think it was important." He gave Darren a squeeze before kissing the top of his head. "Not as important as this. We should get back to sleep."

Hansel snorted. "Not 'fore I strip the sheets."

------

It was gone.

His mouth was full of water.

Somehow his hands found the knot around his waist. It wasn't as tight as he thought. His fingers could slip into it. It would drop right off of him with enough effort, and he might have just enough strength left to break for the surface.

On the other side of the lake he could see Wendy. He could see James. He could see Irene, and Damion, and Sophie, and everybody else who'd either tried to hurt him or been hurt over the last few days. Every scream still rang fresh in his ears. His wounds throbbed underneath the icy water's clutch. The weight of the machete dragged on his hand.

At the bottom of the lake there was a child, and a pair of strong, firm hands reaching out for him.

Theo closed his eyes.

------

In the morning the vision stuck in his mind. The context was lost on him, but the moment itself was crystal clear. Some version of him had thought this through. Even as he had panicked and clawed for starlight above, the weighted bag around his waist pulled him down faster than he could fight back. Clothes. Weapons. Scavenged rocks and wood. Flashes of packing it all together hit his mind from a disembodied perspective. It wasn't him. These weren't his choices. That wasn't his body, trapped, flailing, and failing until it went still at the bottom of the lake. It looked a lot like a person he once was, or maybe could have been. No, that didn't make any sense. None of this made any sense. The dream was already flying away from him faster than he could hold on, and as he rounded the stairwell into the kitchen two cries came at the same time to drive the rest of it away.

"Daddy!"

"Mornin', sunshine."

Why would he ever want to be anywhere else?