Chapter Text
August 31st, 10 AM:
Maxine bounces off the walls of her home, moving around with the energy of a live wire. “Dad!” She yelled. “Dad! Have you seen my hat?” She tore through the living room like a tornado, lifting and dropping cushions at an impressive pace. She checked in her closet, under her bed, and even under the coffee table even though she knew it wouldn’t be there. She needed that hat. It was blue and white and matched her shirt and shoes.
Her father leaned on the counter already in uniform, watching her over the rim of his coffee cup. A small ghost of a smile graces his face. “Where did you put it?”
Maxine makes a face like she’d tasted something sour. She turned away, rummaging through a pile of shoes by the front door. Her voice dropped to a mutter, words tumbling out fast and grumbly. “If I knew where I put it, I wouldn’t be asking.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing!” She yanked open the hall closet, hats spilling out that were not the right one. She huffed, cheeks puffing out, hands on her hips. Then she sees it out of the corner of eye; Cancer at the top of the stairs with her hat in one of its claws. “... no. No no no no...!” The crab, tall enough to barely fit through doors, clicks happily to itself, antennae wiggling as he drags the hat like a trophy. She gasps out loud.
Her father’s eyes narrow, sharp and immediate. “Maxine? What happened?”
She spins, brain scrambling. “NOTHING! Uh, I just saw a, uh, cockroach!” She books it up the stairs, stumbling over her feet as Cancer scuttles to her room. When she gets there, Cancer is standing on her bed, taking up the whole thing. “Cancer,” she hissed. “You give that back right now!”
Cancer looks at her, blinking its eyes one at a time. She reaches for it, but he pulls it out of her grasp. “I will cook you and have you for dinner!” She keeps trying to reach for her hat until Cancer shrinks and darts under the bed. “You can change your size? Since when? You broke my chair last week!” Maxine dives, flattening herself on the floor. She stretches her arm under the bed just as Cancer darts across her fingers, dragging the hat towards the closet.
“Maxine!” Her dad’s voice is closer now, dripping with suspicion.
“I’m cleaning!” she yells, then immediately regrets it.
Behind her, the door cracks open. Maxine looks back with her eyes wide. Her father does not look amused.
“...why are you on the ground? You’re going to get dirty.” He says flatly.
“Oh. I, uh, found my hat.”
He stands there for a second, staring at her with a raised brow. And then, “Your friend is outside.”
“Oh!” She quickly darts into the closet, opening the door just enough that her father cannot see inside. Cancer is still there, waving the cap before chirping and disappearing with a quiet poof.
“What was that?”
A car honking outside saves her from answering that.
“That’s my ride!” She runs up and hugs her father’s legs, taking off before he could question her further. “See you later, dad! I’ll try to bring you something back!”
When Maxine opens the car door, her nose is assaulted by a strong, cheap cologne and hair gel, and the brightness of Tiko’s uncles suits were only rivaled by the party hat Tiko wore. Tiko herself wore bright blue overalls with a yellow shirt and strapped sandals. Jack is driving with one hand on the wheel and the other waving around as he talks about something or another. Mitchell is in the passenger seat twisted half around to look at Maxine and Tiko like he’s planning to be a part of their backseat conversation whether they asked him or not.
“So,” Mitchell starts, smiling wide.”Today’s the day! Birthday girl,” he pointed to Tiko. “Are ye excited, lass?”
Tiko looks at Maxine and shrugs, but it’s fake and tight-shouldered. “Yeah, it’s fine.”
Jack looks at her in the rearview mirror and snorts, “Aww, look at you pretending to be all cool. Y’know, she was freaking out about what to wear today. And she stayed up all night talking about how she’s gonna beat her new friends in every game at the park.”
Tiko gasps, scandalized then glares at him. “I did not.”
“Uh-huh.”
“...okay, maybe once.”
Jack laughs in victory, delighted. “Love the honesty, sweetheart.”
The car settles in a comfortable silence after that, the only sounds being the hum of the engine and a light pop song on the radio. The world seems brighter outside on this clear sunny day, trees dancing in the wind as if cheering them on. And then, Maxine makes a sound.
“Oh, yeah! Gouten!”
Both uncles blink.
“Gouten,” Mitchell repeats slowly. “Is that like... a ride?”
“No,” Maxine shakes her head. “He’s a friend. He’s supposed to be coming with us today.”
Jack’s eyebrows lift to his hairline, “Your friend friend or like... an imaginary raccoon situation?”
Maxine opens her mouth then closes it. Then, she places her hand on her lip in thought. “He’s real but... the raccoon thing might not be too far off.”
“Hm... okay. So are we picking this Gouten up or...?”
For a second time, Maxine opens her mouth then closes it. She looks out the window, then at Tiko, then back to Jack. “I think so but...”
“But?”
“I don’t know where he lives.”
A beat of silence.
Mitchell squints in the rearview, “You don’t know where your friend lives?”
Maxine shrugs, “He moves around and is always outside,” She says, like that explains everything.
“...does he live outside?”
“I - I actually don’t know?”
Jack presses his hand to his chest, “Maxine, lassie. Are we talking about a child or...?”
“I promise I am.”
“Well, what does he look like?”
“Oh, uh,” Maxine pauses and looks at Tiko. Then she raises her hand flat slightly above her own head, “He’s about this tall. And he’s really tan.”
Tiko nods seriously, “And not the fake tan uncle Jack wears.”
Jack gasps while Mitchell barely hides his laugh.
“No, a real tan. I think he’s been outside his whole life. Like a beach tan. He always looks warm.”
“That’s adorable.” Jack coos. Maxine rubs the back of her neck, trying to push down a pool of heat.
“He has cool eyes,” Tiko adds. “They’re gold... not shiny gold though, like honey.”
“Okay,” Jack claps his hand on the wheel, “I can work with that.”
“Hey, guys. Does he also have black hair? Kinda curly, kinda not. Messy? Does he know what a comb is?”
“Uhh...”
“‘Cause I think that’s him right there.”
All heads turn to the side at once, gazing out the window at a small scrapyard on the side of the street. When they see him, he’s dressed in a shirt that seemed a size or two too big for him, wearing pants with a small hole on its leg, and shoes that looked old and well worn. He’s standing where the sidewalk breaks into weeds, staring off like he’s listening to something no one else can hear. The sun, heavy in the morning sky, sits on his shoulders. His eyes are unfocused, calm and distant, reflecting the shimmer of heat raising from the asphalt. He’s tracing invisible patterns on the pavement, slow and absentminded, like his thoughts are somewhere far away.
The car rolls to a stop, and the horn chirps once. Gouten flinches, snapping back into himself like a rubberband. His head jerks up, eyes widening for a second before he breaks into a grin.
“Hey, Gouten!” Maxine yells from the back window. “Whatcha doing?!”
He’s moving in an instant, dusting his hands off on his pants as he jogs towards them. Gouten hesitates at the open car door for a second too long before climbing in, like he’s forgotten the order of things. He folds himself into the back seat next to Tiko, knees knocking against the door, then immediately sits up straighter when he realizes the uncles are looking at him. “Oh. Aloha,” he said, the word coming out almost like a question.
“Oh! Alo-hello,” Jack says brightly. “You must be Gouten.”
“Yeah. That’s -- yeah.” Gouten nods, too fast. He reaches into his pocket, stops, pulls his hand out then tries again like he rehearsed this part in his head. The metal clinks softly as he pulls out a little robot. “I, um... I made this,” he says, holding it out towards Tiko while not looking directly at her. “For your birthday, I mean. It doesn’t like, do anything. But it stands up. Sometimes. If you just leave it there.” The robot is clearly handmade, assembled from scavenged metal. Its body is a patchwork of bolts, washers, springs and welded plates, each piece mismatched, chosen for necessity rather than symmetry. The head is dominated by two wide, hollow metal cylinders that look like oversized eyes -- curious, and a little startled -- topped with thin rods that stick up like a pair of crooked antennas. The arms are thin and wiry, built from coiled springs and belt metal that end in crude, claw-like hands.
Tiko froze when he handed it to her. For a second, she just stared, eyes tracing the thing over and over. Her hands came up slowly, almost careful despite her usual roughness, and when she took it, her grip softened without her realizing it. “You... made this?” She asked, speaking quieter than her uncles had ever heard her.
Gouten shrugs, “Yeah.”
Both Jack and Mitchell exchange looks of honest astonishment. Mitchell leaned forward from the front seat, squinting at the little robot now perched in Tiko’s hands, its metal joints catching the light as the car hummed along. “You made that?” he asked, half laughing, half surprised. “That’s impressive. And you threw this together in a few days?” Even Max had gone quiet, eyes flicking between the robot and Gouten, clearly recalibrating something she thought she already understood about him.
Gouten blinks, genuinely puzzled by the reaction. “A few days?” he echoes, head tilting. “No, uh, it took like two weeks.” He shifted in his seat, voice steady but awkward. “I was gonna keep it. Ji-san said I can keep anything I find and fix at the scrapyard.” A pause then another shrug. “But it’s her birthday, right? I heard people get gifts for their birthday, so... yeah.”
Tiko swallowed, then smiled, wide and bright, before she could stop herself. “It’s awesome,” she said, and she meant it with her whole heart. She bumped Gouten lightly with her shoulder, a clumsy wordless thank-you, and held the thing closer than she needed to.
“Well, it is nice meeting you Gouten,” Jack says. “Now, is everyone ready? Here’s to... Never-land!”
They drove for a long while, a good way out of the city. They kept going until the road thinned into a pale gravel, and the trees opened up as if on cue, revealing Never-Land tucked into the green. The car slowed, tires crunching softly, and Maxine pressed her face against the window, breath fogging up the glass despite the warm Palma Nueva air. Palm trees leaned lazily in the breeze, their fronds chattering, and the sky hung wide and blue, heavy with sunlight. The Never-Land amusement park wasn’t big, no real towering rides or glowing signs, but still felt alive all the same. A hand-painted wooden sign swaying like a flag in the wind, its colors softened by years of sun and rain. Beyond it, the park spread out in a loose, welcoming sprawl; there were a handful of rides scattered across packed dirt, gravel and grass, strings of lights draped from poles, and several small game booths with striped awning faded to pastel over time. There was a ferris wheel at the very center, its white frame slightly chipped, and gondolas rocking with each lazy rotation. It wasn’t tall, not compared to the bigger ones at bigger parks, but it stood proudly all the same as Never-Land’s main attraction.
Around it, the rides were scattered with an easy, unhurried order: a carousel with hand-painted, poorly drawn horses worn smooth by years of small hands, bumper cars tucked beneath a shaded pavilion, and a fun house whose crooked mirrors and tilted floors made them look taller and wider than they really were. A wide, tall metal slide gleamed nearby, warm to the touch, while the family coaster looped and dipped in gentle arcs, its carts rattling cheerfully as they passed. Off to one side, a spinning ride whirled in bright bursts of color, and beyond it, the log flume cut through a shallow channel of water, logs splashing down to the delighted shrieks of riders.
Between the rides was where Never-Land breathed, and where the crowds gathered. Palm trees and flowering shrubs lined the walkways with patches of shade breaking up the open sun, and vines climbed lazily along fences and low walls. The air smelled of popcorn, sugar, and fried foods, carried on a breeze that stirred the hanging lights. Concession stands offered the simple comforts, lemonade sweating in big plastic cups, hot dogs wrapped in tinfoil, cotton candy tugged as thin as strings, while nearby game booths rang with bells and a hollow clatter of tossed rings and rolling balls. From almost anywhere in the park, the scenery pressed in gently; the green, pinks, and reds of flora stretching outward.
Maxine, Tiko and Gouten all wore matching expressions of awe and wonder. They were led absentmindedly to the entrance booth, letting the man behind the counter stamp an inky blue circle on the back of their hands.
“Okay, everyone. Gather round,” Jack crouched down slightly, hands pressing on his knees like he was about to deliver some very serious news. Mitchell however behind him, nodding with an expression that tried, and failed, to look casual. “This is the plan. So, you three,” he gestured to the three kids, “get to explore to your heart’s content. Go ride some rides, win some of those really big bears, y’know, just have fun. And we,” he pointed to himself and Mitchell, “will be strategically located near the food court.”
“Is it for the funnel cake?” Tiko asked.
Mitchell silently nods his head, Jack carries on as if she hasn’t spoken. “Close enough if you need anything, or just want a quick snack.”
“Okay,” Gouten says easily, already turning to walk away. Maxine grabs his sleeve to keep him in place.
“Really? You’re just letting us go? Why?” She tilted her head in confusion.
Jack opened his mouth until closed it, then smiled. “Because nothing ruins childhood magic more than two adults power-walking behind you like two sharply dressed security guards. It’s okay to give some kids space to just be kids.” There was something unspoken in his tone, his eyes briefly flashing over to his niece. “We’ll be right here the whole time. Are we good?”
“Yeah!” Tiko answers for the three of them. She grabs both Maxine and Gouten by the wrists, eager to begin their day. “Thanks uncle Jack!”
“No problem! Go have fun! I want to sit down anyway. These shoes are a lie.”
“Okay,” Tiko says, “What are we doing first? Wanna go on the ferris wheel? No. What about the merry-go-round? Maybe the bumper cars!”
Maxine stays to her side, eyes darting from side to side, unable to focus on a singular thing. Gouten allowed himself to be dragged around like a balloon on a string, taking in his surroundings. Maxine and Tiko continued to throw out ideas until a loud thud and a collective groan grabs their attention.
“That seems fun,” Gouten says. They followed his gaze to a weathered test-your-strength machine near a row of game stalls, its bell hanging high. There is a group of teenagers in front of it, yelling in indignation as they tried and failed to ring the bell for a second, and third time.
The path to the machine cuts through a pocket a shade, with Maxine skipping ahead, narrating everything she sees out loud with a sparkle in her eye. Tiko walked beside her, hands tucked into her overall pockets, trying and failing to hide the excitement on her face. Gouten lagged just a step behind, eyes scanning left to right.
A cluster of disgruntled teenagers crowded around it, face flushed and voices loud and sharp. One of them jabbed their fingers at the operator, accusing him of foul play.
“Just admit it, dude! The thing inside is weighted down. It’s impossible to hit!”
The man barely looked at them. He leaned against the machine with the air of someone who’s heard these complaints a thousand times before, twirling a coin between his knuckles. “It ain’t my fault,” the man drawled. “Strength is more than just some muscle. Why don’t you try again? This time, put some more oomf in it. Here, I’ll even charge half price this time.” The teens stormed off with harsh words and even harsher gestures, but still, the man’s smile never wavered. Then he noticed the kids. Maxine bounced on her toes, neck craning up to look at the bell. It was higher than she thought. Tiko stood with her arms crossed, eyes narrow, already unimpressed by the whole set up. Gouten’s gaze was fixed on the hammer -- longer than he was tall -- curious and waiting. The operator’s gaze softened into something patronizingly cheerful. “Well now,” he said, voice syrupy and loud. “Ain’t you three a little young for this ol’ beast?”
“I don’t know,” Gouten says innocently. “I’m 8.” Then he pointed at Max, “I think she’s 8 too.” Then to Tiko. “She might be 8 too. It’s her birthday.”
“Yeah,” Tiko confirms. “What he said.”
“Oh, birthday girl, huh? Tell you what, for yer birthday, how about a free swing? It’s on me.”
“Really?” Maxine asks, “What’s the catch?”
“There is no catch,” the man says with a smile. “If you hit the bell, you get a prize.” To his side, he gestured to a large variety of stuffed animals ranging from plushies that were barely bigger than Maxine’s hand, to bears that were larger than the three combined. “You get one swing each. And --”
Smack!
Ding!
The man’s head snapped to the side. Gouten held the hammer in both hands, head still on the target, looking pleased with himself. “Oh. That was easy.”
“What? Did you just hit that, kid?” The man whispered, shock evident on his face. Gouten looks up at him, confused.
“Was I not supposed to?”
In an instant, his expression changed. Gone was any pretense of kindness, replaced by suspicion. “Did you cheat?”
“No.”
The man looked like he didn’t believe him. Gouten carried on. “Which one do you want, Max?”
“Hold on there, bucko. There’s a rule. I gotta see you do it. Swing it again.”
“Hey!” Tiko protests, “I thought you said --”
“I know what I said. Just swing it again, will’ya?”
Gouten does what he’s told, grabbing the hammer with far too much ease for a child his age. The operator had seen teenagers struggling to even raise the thing, and yet, this boy moved it like it weighed nothing at all. When he swings, the impact is louder than before, an audible thock making everyone near them flinch. The puck flies upwards like a bottle rocket, hitting the bell with another loud, satisfying ding. “See? Easy. Which one do you want, Tiko?”
The operator stormed over and pulled the hammer out of Gouten’s hands. “Give me that. Something must be broken.” He takes a swing without wind up. The puck gets half way up. He takes another, and another, never once ringing the bell. A crowd starts to form, and Maxine and Tiko have to turn away to cover their giggles.
Gouten looks at him, then to the machine, then back to him. “Are you weak?”
“What?!”
“It’s okay. Ji-san says the strong should help the weak. Do you want me to swing it for you?”
The operator looks seconds away from blowing a fuse. He turns to the kids with a sharp glare. His expression falters when he sees Gouten’s genuine expression. “No. Just... grab your prizes and go away.”
Maxine squeals and grabs the biggest lopsided dolphin she could find. Tiko is more reserved, finding a plushie that is barely bigger than her hand, bean shaped with a distinctly cute smile. When Maxine asks why she didn’t get a bigger toy, Tiko could only cough awkwardly into her hand. “Well, he made me a toy already...” she said, hoping that explained everything. Maxine nodded in understanding, much to her relief. Maxine then turned her attention to Gouten, eyes bright and buzzing.
“How’d you do that?” She asked, walking sideways so she could stare at him properly. Gouten shrugged.
“I just hit it,” he said, like there was no trick worth explaining.
They walked away from the game towards the food court to drop off their prizes before Maxine’s curiosity got the better of her. “Also,” she added, “who is ji-san?”
Gouten slowed for a half step, thinking hard. “Ji-san is ji-san. My grandpa.”
“Oh. Why do you call your grandpa ji-san?”
“‘Cause he is. He’s Japanese and so am I... kinda. Sorta.” He gestures vaguely to himself. “My mom is Japanese too, but my dad is Hawaiian. So I’m... Hawai-panese.”
Tiko chimes in, “...is that a real thing?”
“I don’t know...?”
Before the two could fall further into confusion, Maxine drags them along quicker to the food court. The quicker they left their treasure behind, the quicker they could start riding rides.
When they all but threw their toys into uncle Jack and uncle Mitchell’s hands, none of them in their excitement noticed a group of four men sitting at the next cluster of tables over.
“Is everything here deep-fried?” asked Gary. broad shouldered with a sunburnt nose and a hideous buttoned shirt tucked into his cargo shorts, squinting behind his glasses at the tray his son presented him. “Where are the carrots? Celery? Brusselsprouts?” He prodded the piles of fries, disappointment clear on his face.
“We get it, Gary. You’re dieting.” Doug, round-faced and cheerful with a patch of powdered sugar staining his beard white, already halfway through his second fried oreo, rolled his eyes. “You went to the gym once, and suddenly you’re a health guru.”
Beside him, Neil, thin and slightly hunched over with big circular glasses that seemed to perpetually slide down his nose, leaned in to inspect the menu. He began muttering something or another about sodium and sugar levels, gradually turning into a lecture that no one asked for.
Lastly, Rick, tall and wiry with thick bushy eyebrows, a thick, handle bar moustache, and a shirt proudly displaying his whole family with the words “World’s Best Dad”, leaned back in his seat. “Careful on those oreos, Doug. You ain’t as young as you used to be. Two more of those and you might have a heart attack on the spot.”
Doug laughed at him, “Tell my wife I died as I lived. But I went out happy.”
Rick shrugged in return, “If you do, I hope you know I’m not checking your pulse. First thing I’m gonna do is check your wallet.”
Gary then stood up with fire in his eyes, “Ugh, I can’t eat this crap. C’mon guys. Let’s go play some games. I need to burn off all these calories.”
“Yeah, Gary. Nothing says good cardio like three sets of complaining.” Rick said, standing up. He walked over to Doug, taking another pastry out of his hand. “He’s right though. We’re gonna be here all day while the kids burn themselves out, the least we could do is have a little fun ourselves.”
Neil nodded in agreement. “Plus, I wanna win back my twenty bucks.”
They approached the games with the confidence of men who believed, perhaps naively, this would be as easy as Sunday morning. Gary rolled his shoulders and announced with bravado that he’s handled worse odds, while Neil paused to read and explain the rules of every game in detail. Rick cracked his knuckles with exaggerated seriousness, while Doug, when none of them were looking, slipped a few churros from his pocket and threw them in his mouth when a loud, fake cough. The operators looked up and smiled every time they walked by, fixed and easy, egging on their personal challenges to each other.
“This is gonna be a walk... in the park.”
It was not.
Rings seemed heavier than they should’ve been and bounced where they shouldn’t. Darts curved and spun like they were shot out of a bow rather than thrown. Bottle wobbled, leaned and danced, pretending to fall before settling back into place as if taunting them. Gary swore his throws were solid and on point -- he’d been in the gym all day yesterday. Neil rubbed his hands on his jeans so much that they started to fade, already preparing to lecture another operator about physics and probability. Rick narrated each failure as if he were in a movie, accusing the universe of bias it did not have. Doug participated the least in the games, laughing hysterically as his friends tried and failed again and again, until Gray ‘accidently’ knocked his drink out of his hands. He fell to his knees after that, yelling dramatically about betrayal.
“There’s no way, man! These games have to be fu --” Rick threw the ball to the ground, pausing when he saw a group of kids walking by, “fricking cheating!”
“Would you like to try again, sir?”
“Why I oughta...”
Gary put a hand on his shoulder and led him away from the booth, shooting the operator a dirty look as he did. Neil and Doug soon followed, and before long, the four found themselves huddled up right where they started in the food court.
“Man, I’m so angry. I can’t stop sweating! Here Doug, touch my arm. Do you feel how hot that is?”
“Looks like those sets of complaining are really paying off.”
“Don’t you start with me! I’m serious! These operators are robbing people blind out here with these impossible games. Did you see the strength test? None of us got close to hitting the bell! It’s rigged I tell you, rigged!”
Rick locked eyes with Gary and nodded gravely. “You do understand what this means, don’t you? You know what we have to do.”
Neil cracked a wicked smile, while Gary’s eyes narrowed. “Of course. These guys want to play like that? We’ll show ‘em. Guys. It’s time for some discipline.”
“It’s time for...”
“The Dad-Beats.”