You may think this is heaven -- it’s not that at all...

[playonforever]

On the midway, tucked between two tents - or rather, rearing up between them - there is a building that looks like a wooden palace. It's almost four stories tall and exploding with color. Across the front run depictions of heroes of the Wood, fae and humans, fighting monsters and mostly winning. Statues, perfect in likeness to the things they

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[w_for_wizard]

Harry lost Murphy a while back, somehow, in the crowds of the midway. He shouldn't have lost her, not when they were both making sure to stick close, not be separated... But in a crowd of mostly fae, it probably shouldn't be surprising that they managed to draw them apart anyway.

There's a flash of blonde hair near that massive wooden building, a silhouette he recognizes, and Harry hurries toward her, shouldering roughly past anyone who gets in his way. "Murphy!"

She disappears into the funhouse before he can catch up, and Harry pulls up short of the entrance, clenching his jaw and trying to think clearly through the blaring carnival music and the worry for Murphy's sake. Something's wrong here, he knows that, and maybe the smart thing to do would be to circle around the back and wait for her to come out... But if something's wrong, he can't help but see that as all the more reason to go in after her. Especially considering what might be in that building

[w_for_wizard]

...it is really hard to maintain the level of belligerence and snarkiness about this that Harry wants to when Michael's so calm about it. That's really not fair.

His hackles go down almost visibly, though more out of a sort of irritable confusion than that he's actually settling down.

"I met Murphy fighting a troll. I got that dog saving him from a bunch of demons, and he's not a dog. I didn't know Maggie existed until a couple months ago, and-"

The words catch in his throat. Okay. Not talking about that. Harry lets out a breath and shakes his head, watching Mouse for a second to avoid looking at Michael.

"This isn't my life. I... can't... have a life like this." However much he wants it. He glances back over at Michael with a frown, after a moment or two. "What good reasons? The times before?"

He doesn't know why he's asking. It doesn't matter - unless this is real, and it does. God, he's starting to wish someone would throw an apocalypse at him or something. A nice, familiar attempt on his life would be simple by comparison...

[playonforever]

He throws the stick a couple more times as Harry speaks, taking it all in with no great reaction beyond his expression shifting from neutral to sad.

Quietly, with the air of someone repeating something he's said several times before: "The first time was when your parents died, when we were in school. The second..." The sadness grows a bit deeper and he clears his throat. "The second was Susan. Harry. Why can't you have a life like this? What makes you think you don't deserve it?"

[w_for_wizard]

Harry is... so not answering that question. 'Because people keep trying to kill me' isn't an answer that's going to work here, and...

"Tell me what happened to Susan," he demands sharply. "Here, in this version of the world."

[playonforever]

"She was covering a story in South America." This, too, has the feeling of something that's been said before. Michael watches Harry carefully as he speaks. "She brought you and Maggie with her. There was an accident. Car crash. You could either get Susan out or get Maggie, and you chose your daughter. Susan would have wanted it that way."

[w_for_wizard]

Harry snorts a little in some bitter imitation of amusement and spins away, unable to look at Michael anymore. This isn't a conversation he wants to be having. Ever. But he's not exactly seeing a way out.

"Yeah. Sacrificing her in a blood ritual, leaving her to die in a car... Close enough, I guess."

Except where it's... nowhere near the same thing. His throat hurts. He swallows, but it doesn't go away - which might be for the best, because that tight feeling in his throat might be the only thing keeping him from screaming right now.

[playonforever]

Michael is quiet for much longer this time. Whether he's gathering his thoughts or giving Harry time to collect himself is impossible to say.

"All right. You sacrificed her in a blood ritual. Why."

[w_for_wizard]

"She was... Maggie..." Any day now, he's going to manage a full sentence. Eventually. Finally, he grinds out through clenched teeth, "I get it. I saved Maggie and I ended the war and that doesn't change..."

Harry closes his eyes, jaw still clenched. "Stop it," he says under his breath, almost inaudibly. "Screw with me all you want, but you don't get to use them." He's... not talking to Michael.

That was White Eyes, shoving him into this whole mess. The way the fae control the Wood, a powerful one could manage this, and he knows what he saw. That was real... but it sure doesn't feel like it.

[playonforever]

"I'm not trying to use them." Michael rests a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Please listen to me. I've stuck with you through all of this, all the talk about ghosts and demons and I believe you, that there are things like that out there. But Harry."

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. "Fine, you killed Susan. How you did it is up to you, but the end result of that is your child, her daughter, is alive." Another moment of silence, and then - "Do you love Karrin?"

[w_for_wizard]

Harry tenses when Michael first touches him, but he doesn't shake him off - or turn around and hit him, though that's his first instinct. He's angry, and a little scared; his first instinct is always going to be wanting to smash something, under those circumstances.

His shoulders sag a little at the question, and he snorts, not quite a laugh. He remembers when Michael asked that question about Susan. His answer this time is a lot simpler.

"Yeah."

[playonforever]

"Then will you please, just for a second, for her sake, consider the possibility that what I'm telling you is true?"

He lets go of Harry's shoulder and takes the stick that Mouse is offering patiently, hurling it across the yard again. "You don't remember anything. So I'm guessing you don't remember her being hospitalized three weeks ago, and she probably didn't mention it to you, did she."

[w_for_wizard]

Harry turns back to face him, alarm overriding his determination to cling to probably-reality.

"What?" Yeah, she left that part out. Which isn't surprising, with Murphy, but... "What happened?"

[playonforever]

Michael sighs. "Darn it, you two."

He scrubs a hand through his hair. "Hyperemesis. She couldn't keep anything down, got dehydrated, started losing weight..." He shrugs. "It took them a week to be satisfied that she was going to be all right and another before the symptoms abated enough for them to feel comfortable releasing her."

A pause. "Do me this favor, Harry. Go be with your wife. When your daughter comes home, hug her. If you still don't believe this place is real... if you still don't want to believe you deserve it... Then we'll talk again. All right?"

[w_for_wizard]

Harry stares at him for a moment, looking almost wounded. Finally, he winces, rubs at his forehead with the heel of his palm, and nods shortly.

"Okay." It's quiet, and a little unsure. Maybe he's right. Maybe... "I can do that." It's so easy and so tempting to just do what Michael's asking, and even if Harry can't shake the feeling that that's the problem... He can't find a reason to say no.

[playonforever]

Murphy is still asleep when Michael leaves, curled up around her stomach in a tangled nest of comforters on the king-sized bed in their room. The room itself is decorated in a sort of mishmash between the granny look the house had when Murphy inherited it and Harry's own comfortably medieval decor. In front of a battered Star Wars wall hanging, on one of the dressers, there's a rack with three weapons - a broadsword, a saber and a katana.

Murphy shivers and huddles deeper into the blankets, mumbling something indistinct.

[w_for_wizard]

Harry pauses in the doorway for a second, just taking in the room with a touch of bemusement. This isn't familiar - except for the parts that are. This isn't his home. But it's close enough that it could be, so easily.

He crosses the room and sits carefully on the edge of the bed, reaching out after a moment to brush Murphy's hair from her face with a faint, fond smile. He's not trying to wake her, but he can't resist that little contact.