Jeroen hadn't been hiding, precisely. He hadn't even been anti-social. He'd been having adventures, and helping (read: annoying) Eostre and the twins, and being entirely normal
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Hobbes was out in the surf with Dexter, throwing a piece of drift wood out into the waves and watching him tear off after it over and over again. Introspection was catching. It had been a long weekend.
"Hey, kid," he called, walking up out of the surf, whipping driftwood back into the waves. "How's it goin'?"
Jeroen looked over at Hobbes as he approached, resting his chin on his knees. "Okay," he said after a moment. It always took him a moment, with some of the alternate ways of asking him how he was; there was always that lapse of translation. "How are you?"
"Uh-huh," Hobbes said, arching an eyebrow. Well, the Island made all sorts of things possible. And that was experience talking. He was so young, though....
"Eostre know about this? You know - you not smiling at all, not even a little, about Peter Pan?"
"She can be evil about that sort of thing," he confided, grin lifting the corner of his mouth. "And god - once you prove her right, you'll never hear the end of it."
Jeroen looked up at Hobbes, bit his lip. After a moment, he reached into his pocket and pulled out Walt's dog tags. "Walt," he said quietly, tipping the tags into Hobbes hand and willing him to understand.
It was easier with the others. They saw things, and he hadn't had to explain.
"Hey, kid," he called, walking up out of the surf, whipping driftwood back into the waves. "How's it goin'?"
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He glanced over at the kid, "How're you doing? Ever work it out with Peter?"
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"Eostre know about this? You know - you not smiling at all, not even a little, about Peter Pan?"
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After a moment, he looked over at him, more serious. "Are you sure about this, Jeroen? You're...you're really young, kid."
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It was easier with the others. They saw things, and he hadn't had to explain.
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