fic: fairytales of yesterday (part 2 / ?)
title: fairytales of yesterday
pairing: colfer / criss
rating: nc-17 (for future parts)
word count: 2200 roughly (this part)
summary: Darren's spent his whole life (literally) looking for the perfect fairytale, but will he miss out on what's been in front of him, all this time?
a/n: thanks to Alyssa for looking over this for me *__*
PROLOGUE / PART 1
--
Eventually, the day drew to a close, the pearly pinks and purples of the evening sky sweeping across the skyline. The air grew cooler and Magdalena shivered under her thin coat.
“We should stop and rest,” Christopher noted as they came to the end of a very long road. “We still have a fair journey to cover before we get there.”
Magdalena nodded, stifling a yawn. The talk of rest reminded her of just how tired she really was.
“I have a friend who lives just up the road,” Christopher continued, “I’m sure she’d be more than happy to let us rest with her for a while...”
--
As the sun set over the house he loved so much, Darren sat out on the front porch, hugging his knees. He wasn’t crying or anything - he was thirteen for god’s sake, give him some credit! - but there was an impending lump at the base of his throat that wasn’t going away anytime soon. How could they? This house, this community - it was everything to him. Did they really expect him to just pack up and leave, leave all his music, all his friends - the things that had become his family, his home - behind?
Deep down he knew the answer was yes. They were moving, and no matter how much he protested, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
--
Their new house in California, he was told, was a lot smaller than their new one. He didn’t know for sure, he hadn’t seen pictures - refused to look at them, in fact. They were going to sell this house, and a whole heap of the stuff in it, which made him sadder than anything. Usually, he loved garage sales, picking up the previously loved items of another’s house. He just never expected to be on the other side of one, and found he didn’t like it one bit.
They had it on the Saturday before they moved. It was a sad couple of weeks, watching them slowly remove and relocated furniture. It was like they were slowly packing up their lives - in a way they sort of were, he supposed. All the stuff they didn’t want anymore had been sorted and they spent all Friday night setting it up on small tables out the front of their house. The only other stuff that remained were the things that they would need until they left, which for Darren was his uniform, school books, IPod, guitar, mattress, sheets, . pyjamas and of course, his favourite book.
For most of Saturday his parents were busy with the sale. Darren sat on the porch with Chuck, playing the saddest songs he knew in a half hearted effort at deterring people from buying from them - to no success, of course. Apart from that, he pretty much had no interest at all in the garage sale, hardly paying attention at all.
After lunch, he decided he couldn’t take it anymore and headed off down to the theatre. He sat in the audience, his little feet propped up on the chair in front of him as he watched the drama unfold on stage. Somehow, it was much more interesting - and bearable - than his own.
He stayed until the sun began to set and the rehearsal wrapped up. He didn’t stay to talk to anyone, not really in the mood for laughing or joking, his own heart too tired and restless. He walked home slowly, watching the streaks of purple, pink and yellow grace the skyline as the sun bid them all goodnight and the darker colours slowly shaded into view. The air grew cooler and he hugged his jacket tighter around his body, wondering absently if the OC was an accurate representation of the weather in California. He did like his sun, but he thought he would miss the cool wind too. Then again, they did have lots of trees in California, right? He shook those thoughts out of his head, too painful to cope with.
By now he had reached home and most of the stuff out front was gone. His family had gone inside and the signs had been taken down, the sale definitely over, for which Darren was much relieved. He wanted nothing more than to go sprawl out on his bed, drink some of his mama’s hot chocolate and re-read Courage for the third time that week.
He tip toed past the living room, not really feeling like talking to anyone right now before silently heading up towards his room. He turned on the light and sighed at the bareness of the space, once so bright, filled with pictures of all his favourite bands and musicals. He frowned as he tried to remember where he put his book, unable to see it, even in the distressing too-cleanliness of his room. He looked under the mattress, his pillow and sheets and amongst his clothes. Nothing.
Huffing in frustration, he headed down to the kitchen, and then the porch and then finally the living room where his mother was curled up with a book of her own on the couch.
“Mama,” he said from the doorway, “have you seen my book?”
His mom glanced up with a furrowed brow. “Which book, honey?” she asked. Darren sighed. Which one did she think?
“Courage,” he said impatiently. “I thought I left it up in my room but it’s not there and I can’t find it anywhere else.”
His mother’s face fell slightly and Darren felt worry curl up in the pit of his stomach.
“Oh, sweetie,” his mother whispered and the worry clenched tightly as he braced for her next words, “we sold it.”
Darren gaped in astonishment. “You what?”
“A lovely old lady came in and told us that she had been looking for that book her whole life,” his mother went on sadly. “So we sold it to her for free.”
“You sold my book,” Darren deadpanned, panic rising in his chest.
His mother shifted uncomfortable. “She saw it on the porch, darling, and we could harldy say no to her… she practically begged for it.”
Feeling tears rise to the surface, Darren shook his head in disbelief. “How could you,” he whispered, choking on a sob.
“Sweetie, you’ve read it so many times… you had to grow out of it sometime…”
But Darren refused to listen, tearing from the room, down the hall and out the front door, slamming it behind him. He ran as fast as his little legs would take him, tearing desperately through the grass and up the driveway, down the street. He didn’t know where he was going, just that he couldn’t stop running. The sky was getting dark now and the wind rushed furiously around him but he didn’t care. His tears were so thick now he could hardly see but he kept running, running, running until the ground fell out from under him and he was falling, his body hitting the ground hard.
As he blinked back his tears, he struggled for breath, his little chest heaving with the effort. He heard the sound of his own voice, concerned, cutting through the blood pounding in his ears.
“Darren,” the familiar voice rang out and there was a thud of approaching footfalls and then a body, squatting at his side, “Dare, buddy, are you okay?”
Sniffling, Darren blinked open his wet lashes, shame washing over him as he met Charlene’s concerned stare.
“I’m okay,” he whispered even if he wasn’t. gingerly, he sat up and Charlene helped him to his feet, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
“Let’s get you home,” she said gently, but Darren shook his head insistently.
“Not yet,” he mumbled. Charlene considered this, before nodding.
“My house then.”
--
Just as Christopher had promised, his friend’s house was just a quick walk up an alley that Magdalena didn’t quite recognise, Russel Avenue, to be exact. She lived in a small little apartment above a bookshop that she worked at during the day, or so Christopher informed her as he led her through.
“She won’t mind us staying?” Magdalena worried as she followed him through the front door and past the sweeping towers of books, more magnificent than any castle she could possibly dream up.
“Not at all, I’m sure,” Christopher assured her, grinning. Once they came to the end of the room, Christopher gestured her to follow him up the stepladder that creaked with every movement. She climbed after him nervously, watching her step with caution. At the top, they found themselves in a small, dusty space, the only occupant of which was a wooden door with a brass gold handle that Christopher ignored, simply knocking and waiting with a patient smile.
“Coming!” a shrill voice called and Magdalena raised her eyebrows at the sound. Christopher’s grin widened as the door flew open near instentaneously and they were greeted by the image of a young lady, dressed in a frilly dress throwing her arms around him joyously.
“I knew you’d come for me!” she pronounced dramatically as Christopher held her close, laughing into her hair.
“If you don’t mind, dear,” he said fondly, taking a step back, “I’m calling in for a favour?”
“For you?” Lea beamed pulling back and Magdalena was stunned with just how beautiful she was as she got a better look at her. “Anything.”
--
Darren had only been to Charlene’s place once or twice before but he adored it. It wasn’t really a house, as such, just a loft, really. It was cute, and quite small, and so Charlene with it’s kooky colourful walls and mismatching furniture, modern art lining the cracked paint walls. It was just so groovy and he loved it in a totally different way to the way he loved his own, but still loved it all the same.
She gestured for him to sit down in the living room and as he hugged his knees up on her bright red couch he listened to the sounds of the whirling kettle, boiling and the gentle murmur of her familiar voice. He knew she must be on the phone to his mother, but couldn’t bring himself to care whether she was mad or not. Deep down he knew he would care, but right now he was too angry, too hurt.
How could she do this to him? She knew how much that book meant to him.
Moments later, Charlene reappeared with a cup of tea for both of them and sat down on the couch next to him with a welcoming smile. Darren thanked her as he took his tea, grateful for the fact that she, of all people, at least, wouldn’t treat him like a child.
“So...” Charlene began, “are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
Darren resisted the urge to contradict that his mother must have told him everything on the phone. He just wanted to get it all off his chest anyway, and Charlene didn’t look like she was going anywhere.
So he told her everything. She already knew about the moving thing, but he told her about how much he hated it, how no one listened to him that he didn’t want to move or leave his friends, how he was scared of how different California would be and having to make all these new friends, and go to a new school - a public school, at that. On TV they were always gross and full of mean kids. He told her about how his parents sold half their stuff to fit into their stupid new house and how the sold the most important thing to him - his book.
When he was done Charlene was done her tea, his own cradled untouched between his hands. He braced himself as she put down her mug, waiting for the impending they’ll be other books and what is important to you now won’t be so important in a few years and you’re gonna love your new school, Dare!
He didn’t want to hear it.
Thankfully, it was Charlene, not his parents, so she only grimaced. “That fucking sucks, dude.”
Darren chuckled, glad that unlike all the other grownups, Charlene never hesitated to swear around him. It made him feel more... mature, somehow. Like she thought he was ready to hear it, as stupid as that sounded. They were only words, after all!
“So this book, eh?” she continued, leaning back against the couch. “That’s the one you always bring along to rehearsals, right?” Darren nodded. Charlene’s brow creased with thought and suddenly she grabbed a notepad that she had lying on the coffee table and a pen poking out of the mess. “Do you think you could describe it to me? Like the cover?”
Darren gave her all the details she needed, having practically memorised the entire design, as well as the author and as many publishing details as he could remember (which were few - he was only thirteen, remember).
“I’ll keep my eye out for it,” she promised him. “Apart from that, there’s not much we can do, kid. Just keep looking.”
Darren nodded, fighting back grateful tears. What was he going to do without Charlene? Who was going to smoke cigarettes in front of him and swear and bring him tea and treat him like he wasn’t stupid?
Almost as if reading his thoughts, Charlene looked across to him and fixed him with a fond smile, ruffling his hair suddenly.
“I’m going to miss you, kid,” she said and Darren managed a weak smile.
“I’m going to miss you, too,” he admitted quietly.
So. Fucking. Much.
--
PART 3
pairing: colfer / criss
rating: nc-17 (for future parts)
word count: 2200 roughly (this part)
summary: Darren's spent his whole life (literally) looking for the perfect fairytale, but will he miss out on what's been in front of him, all this time?
a/n: thanks to Alyssa for looking over this for me *__*
PROLOGUE / PART 1
--
Eventually, the day drew to a close, the pearly pinks and purples of the evening sky sweeping across the skyline. The air grew cooler and Magdalena shivered under her thin coat.
“We should stop and rest,” Christopher noted as they came to the end of a very long road. “We still have a fair journey to cover before we get there.”
Magdalena nodded, stifling a yawn. The talk of rest reminded her of just how tired she really was.
“I have a friend who lives just up the road,” Christopher continued, “I’m sure she’d be more than happy to let us rest with her for a while...”
--
As the sun set over the house he loved so much, Darren sat out on the front porch, hugging his knees. He wasn’t crying or anything - he was thirteen for god’s sake, give him some credit! - but there was an impending lump at the base of his throat that wasn’t going away anytime soon. How could they? This house, this community - it was everything to him. Did they really expect him to just pack up and leave, leave all his music, all his friends - the things that had become his family, his home - behind?
Deep down he knew the answer was yes. They were moving, and no matter how much he protested, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
--
Their new house in California, he was told, was a lot smaller than their new one. He didn’t know for sure, he hadn’t seen pictures - refused to look at them, in fact. They were going to sell this house, and a whole heap of the stuff in it, which made him sadder than anything. Usually, he loved garage sales, picking up the previously loved items of another’s house. He just never expected to be on the other side of one, and found he didn’t like it one bit.
They had it on the Saturday before they moved. It was a sad couple of weeks, watching them slowly remove and relocated furniture. It was like they were slowly packing up their lives - in a way they sort of were, he supposed. All the stuff they didn’t want anymore had been sorted and they spent all Friday night setting it up on small tables out the front of their house. The only other stuff that remained were the things that they would need until they left, which for Darren was his uniform, school books, IPod, guitar, mattress, sheets, . pyjamas and of course, his favourite book.
For most of Saturday his parents were busy with the sale. Darren sat on the porch with Chuck, playing the saddest songs he knew in a half hearted effort at deterring people from buying from them - to no success, of course. Apart from that, he pretty much had no interest at all in the garage sale, hardly paying attention at all.
After lunch, he decided he couldn’t take it anymore and headed off down to the theatre. He sat in the audience, his little feet propped up on the chair in front of him as he watched the drama unfold on stage. Somehow, it was much more interesting - and bearable - than his own.
He stayed until the sun began to set and the rehearsal wrapped up. He didn’t stay to talk to anyone, not really in the mood for laughing or joking, his own heart too tired and restless. He walked home slowly, watching the streaks of purple, pink and yellow grace the skyline as the sun bid them all goodnight and the darker colours slowly shaded into view. The air grew cooler and he hugged his jacket tighter around his body, wondering absently if the OC was an accurate representation of the weather in California. He did like his sun, but he thought he would miss the cool wind too. Then again, they did have lots of trees in California, right? He shook those thoughts out of his head, too painful to cope with.
By now he had reached home and most of the stuff out front was gone. His family had gone inside and the signs had been taken down, the sale definitely over, for which Darren was much relieved. He wanted nothing more than to go sprawl out on his bed, drink some of his mama’s hot chocolate and re-read Courage for the third time that week.
He tip toed past the living room, not really feeling like talking to anyone right now before silently heading up towards his room. He turned on the light and sighed at the bareness of the space, once so bright, filled with pictures of all his favourite bands and musicals. He frowned as he tried to remember where he put his book, unable to see it, even in the distressing too-cleanliness of his room. He looked under the mattress, his pillow and sheets and amongst his clothes. Nothing.
Huffing in frustration, he headed down to the kitchen, and then the porch and then finally the living room where his mother was curled up with a book of her own on the couch.
“Mama,” he said from the doorway, “have you seen my book?”
His mom glanced up with a furrowed brow. “Which book, honey?” she asked. Darren sighed. Which one did she think?
“Courage,” he said impatiently. “I thought I left it up in my room but it’s not there and I can’t find it anywhere else.”
His mother’s face fell slightly and Darren felt worry curl up in the pit of his stomach.
“Oh, sweetie,” his mother whispered and the worry clenched tightly as he braced for her next words, “we sold it.”
Darren gaped in astonishment. “You what?”
“A lovely old lady came in and told us that she had been looking for that book her whole life,” his mother went on sadly. “So we sold it to her for free.”
“You sold my book,” Darren deadpanned, panic rising in his chest.
His mother shifted uncomfortable. “She saw it on the porch, darling, and we could harldy say no to her… she practically begged for it.”
Feeling tears rise to the surface, Darren shook his head in disbelief. “How could you,” he whispered, choking on a sob.
“Sweetie, you’ve read it so many times… you had to grow out of it sometime…”
But Darren refused to listen, tearing from the room, down the hall and out the front door, slamming it behind him. He ran as fast as his little legs would take him, tearing desperately through the grass and up the driveway, down the street. He didn’t know where he was going, just that he couldn’t stop running. The sky was getting dark now and the wind rushed furiously around him but he didn’t care. His tears were so thick now he could hardly see but he kept running, running, running until the ground fell out from under him and he was falling, his body hitting the ground hard.
As he blinked back his tears, he struggled for breath, his little chest heaving with the effort. He heard the sound of his own voice, concerned, cutting through the blood pounding in his ears.
“Darren,” the familiar voice rang out and there was a thud of approaching footfalls and then a body, squatting at his side, “Dare, buddy, are you okay?”
Sniffling, Darren blinked open his wet lashes, shame washing over him as he met Charlene’s concerned stare.
“I’m okay,” he whispered even if he wasn’t. gingerly, he sat up and Charlene helped him to his feet, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
“Let’s get you home,” she said gently, but Darren shook his head insistently.
“Not yet,” he mumbled. Charlene considered this, before nodding.
“My house then.”
--
Just as Christopher had promised, his friend’s house was just a quick walk up an alley that Magdalena didn’t quite recognise, Russel Avenue, to be exact. She lived in a small little apartment above a bookshop that she worked at during the day, or so Christopher informed her as he led her through.
“She won’t mind us staying?” Magdalena worried as she followed him through the front door and past the sweeping towers of books, more magnificent than any castle she could possibly dream up.
“Not at all, I’m sure,” Christopher assured her, grinning. Once they came to the end of the room, Christopher gestured her to follow him up the stepladder that creaked with every movement. She climbed after him nervously, watching her step with caution. At the top, they found themselves in a small, dusty space, the only occupant of which was a wooden door with a brass gold handle that Christopher ignored, simply knocking and waiting with a patient smile.
“Coming!” a shrill voice called and Magdalena raised her eyebrows at the sound. Christopher’s grin widened as the door flew open near instentaneously and they were greeted by the image of a young lady, dressed in a frilly dress throwing her arms around him joyously.
“I knew you’d come for me!” she pronounced dramatically as Christopher held her close, laughing into her hair.
“If you don’t mind, dear,” he said fondly, taking a step back, “I’m calling in for a favour?”
“For you?” Lea beamed pulling back and Magdalena was stunned with just how beautiful she was as she got a better look at her. “Anything.”
--
Darren had only been to Charlene’s place once or twice before but he adored it. It wasn’t really a house, as such, just a loft, really. It was cute, and quite small, and so Charlene with it’s kooky colourful walls and mismatching furniture, modern art lining the cracked paint walls. It was just so groovy and he loved it in a totally different way to the way he loved his own, but still loved it all the same.
She gestured for him to sit down in the living room and as he hugged his knees up on her bright red couch he listened to the sounds of the whirling kettle, boiling and the gentle murmur of her familiar voice. He knew she must be on the phone to his mother, but couldn’t bring himself to care whether she was mad or not. Deep down he knew he would care, but right now he was too angry, too hurt.
How could she do this to him? She knew how much that book meant to him.
Moments later, Charlene reappeared with a cup of tea for both of them and sat down on the couch next to him with a welcoming smile. Darren thanked her as he took his tea, grateful for the fact that she, of all people, at least, wouldn’t treat him like a child.
“So...” Charlene began, “are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
Darren resisted the urge to contradict that his mother must have told him everything on the phone. He just wanted to get it all off his chest anyway, and Charlene didn’t look like she was going anywhere.
So he told her everything. She already knew about the moving thing, but he told her about how much he hated it, how no one listened to him that he didn’t want to move or leave his friends, how he was scared of how different California would be and having to make all these new friends, and go to a new school - a public school, at that. On TV they were always gross and full of mean kids. He told her about how his parents sold half their stuff to fit into their stupid new house and how the sold the most important thing to him - his book.
When he was done Charlene was done her tea, his own cradled untouched between his hands. He braced himself as she put down her mug, waiting for the impending they’ll be other books and what is important to you now won’t be so important in a few years and you’re gonna love your new school, Dare!
He didn’t want to hear it.
Thankfully, it was Charlene, not his parents, so she only grimaced. “That fucking sucks, dude.”
Darren chuckled, glad that unlike all the other grownups, Charlene never hesitated to swear around him. It made him feel more... mature, somehow. Like she thought he was ready to hear it, as stupid as that sounded. They were only words, after all!
“So this book, eh?” she continued, leaning back against the couch. “That’s the one you always bring along to rehearsals, right?” Darren nodded. Charlene’s brow creased with thought and suddenly she grabbed a notepad that she had lying on the coffee table and a pen poking out of the mess. “Do you think you could describe it to me? Like the cover?”
Darren gave her all the details she needed, having practically memorised the entire design, as well as the author and as many publishing details as he could remember (which were few - he was only thirteen, remember).
“I’ll keep my eye out for it,” she promised him. “Apart from that, there’s not much we can do, kid. Just keep looking.”
Darren nodded, fighting back grateful tears. What was he going to do without Charlene? Who was going to smoke cigarettes in front of him and swear and bring him tea and treat him like he wasn’t stupid?
Almost as if reading his thoughts, Charlene looked across to him and fixed him with a fond smile, ruffling his hair suddenly.
“I’m going to miss you, kid,” she said and Darren managed a weak smile.
“I’m going to miss you, too,” he admitted quietly.
So. Fucking. Much.
--
PART 3