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Chapter Text

The night outside the window was bright with the glow of a thousand stars, blue and brilliant, though one was more brilliant than any of the rest. The house was equally aglow with music and warmth, and Pinocchio realized he was happier than he had been in all the days he’d been alive. 

It wasn’t a very long time, of course. He did know that, but it felt very long to him. Many hours had been filled with fear and loneliness and uncertainty. Only now did it start to feel complete. The Fairy had granted his father’s wish, and they were together again, and he was human like all the other boys— flesh and blood. Though the world outside still wasn’t quite safe, here everything felt more certain. Real.

And yet not everything was right.

He couldn’t entirely place his finger on what was out of place. It wasn’t his father or Figaro or Cleo, because they were all still celebrating. He stood against the workbench watching them, the goldfish twirling in her bowl and Figaro prancing happily across the shelves. And it wasn’t Jiminy—

—Well, on second thought perhaps it was Jiminy, because Pinocchio realized then that he hadn’t seen his conscience since sometime during their encounter with Monstro. Worry gripped him all at once. Maybe they’d accidentally left him out at sea, and he was lost, or hurt. Or maybe he had decided to leave again (Jiminy was very prone to this, Pinocchio had learned). Maybe it had all been too much trouble.

He supposed, though not without a twinge of sadness, it made sense that he would leave. The Blue Fairy had said it was his job to help Pinocchio become real, and now his job was over, and he probably had other things to do, although Pinocchio didn’t really know what else Jiminy ever did with his time or where he would go if he left. He had to have a home, right? Or did he live here? He had been in the workshop when the Blue Fairy came and surely there was a reason for that. Pinocchio hadn’t questioned it. It had seemed like he just belonged there. Why else would he have been with him from the start?

The boy was spared from further concern, though, as he looked around the workshop and abruptly spotted movement out through one of the windows. Jiminy was perched on the outside sill, and though for a moment Pinocchio wondered if he really was about to leave, he was still glad he hadn’t missed the chance to talk to him (and further glad that he had not, in fact, been lost at sea). He would miss Jiminy terribly and wanted to at least say goodbye. 

He all but ran across the workshop, much to the confusion of Geppetto, and flung the window open with such fervor that it nearly sent the cricket flying. “Jiminy! You’re still here!”

Jiminy, to his credit, only looked momentarily startled and had the reflexes to hop backwards to avoid being flung a yard or two. Then he seemed to take his charge’s excitement in stride, chuckling fondly. “Still here? Of course I am!” He hopped through the still-open window and nudged it partially closed; Pinocchio finished the job. “Where else would I be?”

Pinocchio didn’t really know, he had just been worried, so he merely shrugged his shoulders and instead changed the subject with a wide grin. “Didja see? I’m real now! Look, see?” He spun around in a little circle and then held out his hands for the cricket to jump to, which he did with a laugh.

“You sure are! Y’know, the human look suits ya. And boy, did you earn it.” Jiminy tipped his hat up, voice growing more sincere. “I’m awful proud of you, Pinoke.”

The former puppet beamed, his chest filling with warmth. It felt nice to have someone be proud of him. He felt like he had done something right, for once, something good. “Thanks, Jiminy.” And then: “You helped a lot.”

"Nah. This was all you, son.”

“Pinocchio?” The two both turned to look (well, Pinocchio turned, and Jiminy just sort of stumbled in his palm until he was still again) as Geppetto approached, brow furrowed with concern. “Is everything-” 

Geppetto paused and adjusted his spectacles, spotting Jiminy, then looked between his son and the cricket a few times before bending lower to be closer to eye level with Pinocchio’s palms. Pinocchio didn’t fail to notice how his conscience edged backwards in his hands, looking wary and a little startled, perhaps at the closeness. He wondered if maybe he was scared of him, but that would be silly. 

“Who’s this?”

“Father, this is Jiminy Cricket!”

It was very difficult to tell if Geppetto was surprised by Jiminy's general presence or merely the fact that Pinocchio was claiming he was a cricket despite all appearances indicating otherwise. “...Jiminy?”

“I told you, I got a conscience!” Pinocchio offered by way of explanation.

Jiminy, who still looked uncomfortable, hastened to explain more thoroughly, though not without significant interruption from Pinocchio. “Uh, yes, sir, that’s right. You see, I just so happened to, uh… I was sorta in the area roundabout the time you were carving Pinoke here, and—”

“So the Blue Fairy said he’d help teach me what’s right and what’s wrong!” 

“I didn’t help all that much, really…”

“And she told him he’d get a badge and everything! She did give you a badge, didn’t she, Jiminy?”

“Yes, Pinocchio, she did.” Jiminy unpinned something from his jacket and set it in Pinocchio’s other palm in what was most likely an attempt to keep him quiet for at least long enough to introduce himself. Pinocchio raised it closer to his face to study the little gold badge with fascination. He couldn’t read any of the words engraved in it, but it was very shiny and shaped like a star. “Anyway, Mister Geppetto, it’s real nice to meet you. I woulda introduced myself sooner, but I’ve, uh— well, Pinoke and I have sorta had our hands full.”

“Oh. Right.” Pinocchio very carefully returned the badge to Jiminy, looking at his feet and feeling a little sheepish at the thought of all the trouble he’d caused. But at least he could be honest about it. He lifted his gaze and continued. “Jiminy’s been my best friend! He helped me get outta that cage and everything,” the boy admitted despite Jiminy making a slicing motion at his throat and waving his hands to try and subtly encourage him to think about saving this topic of conversation for a later time. 

Geppetto looked somewhere between bewildered and horrified, like he wasn’t sure whether to believe it and, frankly, didn’t want to. “A cage? Oh, my—”

“That’s right. ‘Cause I was gonna be an actor, but Stromboli wasn’t nice about it, and— oh! And he stopped me from turning into a donkey! I still got the ears, though, d’you remember that, Father?” Jiminy had relocated from his hands to the table and so Pinocchio reached up to tug on his ears before realizing that they were gone; another gift from the Blue Fairy, he was certain. Undeterred, he continued onwards. “Well, they’re gone now. But, um, then we went to the bottom of the ocean to find Monstro, and I betcha remember that part ‘cause you were there!”

“Look, this is a very long story and I’m sure we’re all beat,” Jiminy interrupted with a cough, and if Geppetto felt otherwise he was too shell-shocked to protest the suggestion. The cricket awkwardly tugged at his collar. “Maybe we oughta save this for the morning? How’s that sound?”

“Why?” Asked Pinocchio with a frown. He wasn’t tired in the slightest and he had so much to tell his father about, and he wanted to introduce Jiminy to Figaro and Cleo, too, and he had so many questions to ask him about if he was going to leave him and where he would go next and if he thought they would ever see the Fairy again. 

“Because if you tell your Father one more thing he’s gonna have a heart attack,” Jiminy hissed at him under his breath. Pinocchio glanced over and noticed that his father did sort of have a white-knuckled grip on the back of the chair. He looked sideways back towards his conscience.

“Oh. Okay… what’s a heart attack?”

It took a good while longer for everyone to settle down. The mood was still light and the celebration still ongoing. Geppetto, despite cautiously agreeing that any further discussion of the events of the last few days ought to be saved for the next day, insisted in agreement with his son upon properly introducing Jiminy to Figaro and Cleo— the latter of which responded far better than the cat did, and Geppetto suspected he would be dishing out several lectures regarding not attempting to eat family members for the next several months. Jiminy didn’t seem particularly keen on either one of them and Pinocchio wondered why he was so tense.

Furthermore, the woodcarver practically insisted upon carving a proper bed both for Pinocchio and Jiminy right then and there and it was only through insistence on Jiminy's part that he agreed to postpone that project at least for the night. Pinocchio did relocate Jiminy's makeshift bed to a shelf closer to the human's bed, regardless. It just felt right and, besides, he couldn’t help the residual worry that the cricket would vanish before he could get to tell him goodbye. They’d hardly had a moment alone to speak to one another since Pleasure Island.

But finally, everyone was in their proper place and the majority of the household was asleep. Save, of course, for Pinocchio, who lay wide awake and staring at the ceiling, fidgeting uncomfortably and disturbing Figaro (who was curled up at the end of their bed) every time he did so. 

It was hard to really, truly feel as though everything was… over. In the dark, he lifted his hands up towards his face and touched his fingers together. Real flesh and blood. It felt strange and new. He should feel glad, and he did - as well as very grateful to the Fairy - but at the same time there was the lingering feeling that nothing had changed. The world was still just as vast and unfamiliar, full of strange people and great danger. How could he possibly feel as though anywhere was safe, save for his home and his family? He worried that the next time he went out to town, Honest John would be there waiting for him. Or Stromboli, who would almost certainly be back once he realized Pinocchio had escaped. 

And, most severely, there was a twisting feeling in his stomach at the thought of all those other boys who had gone to Pleasure Island with him. He had only seen it happen to Lampwick, but according to Jiminy, every single other boy there had turned into a donkey. That was a lot of children, who hadn't done anything more wrong than Pinocchio, not really. Maybe they had all been tricked. The former puppet drew his blanket up to his chin, feeling sick worry grow and tears prick in his eyes. Maybe they had fathers who missed them terribly. 

Why did he get a second chance, but not them? How would a donkey prove themselves brave, truthful, and unselfish in order to become human again? What if they didn't have fairies looking out for them, or consciences? What then?

Pinocchio sat up abruptly and looked sideways towards Figaro, who had cracked an eye open once more to glare at him before burrowing under the blanket. It was hard to entertain the idea of going back to sleep when so much worry had filled his head. He first debated awakening Geppetto - but he wouldn't understand, he didn't know first thing about what had happened on Pleasure Island, not yet - so he then settled on carefully climbing out of bed and shuffling across the floor to Jiminy's matchbox. Jiminy always had something smart to say and, even if he didn’t, he had seen all those awful things and would be at least a little comforting. As he passed by Cleo’s bowl, he saw that she was fast asleep, too. 

"Jiminy," he whispered once he was standing beside the shelf, then repeated it a little louder (though not before glancing over his shoulder to ensure no one else had stirred), and when that didn't work he carefully poked the cricket. 

Jiminy swatted his hand away with his umbrella, surprisingly quick on the draw. It didn't really hurt, but Pinocchio frowned all the same, withdrawing his hand abruptly.

"Jiminy!" Pinocchio shook him a little, as gently as he dared, pleading. "Please!"

"Pinocchio, do you have any idea what time it is?" The cricket groused, pushing himself up into a sitting position and wearily running a hand down his face.  

Pinocchio looked at the wall of clocks behind him, none of which he knew how to read, and then hesitantly shook his head. He had some vague idea, the stars were out, but beyond that wasn't really sure why it mattered.

There was a very heavy sigh. "What's the matter, Pinoke?"

"Well," started Pinocchio, and he fell silent for a moment or two, feeling a little silly then, standing awake when everyone else was asleep and worrying about things that nobody else seemed to worry about. He tugged at his sleeve a bit, and almost debated telling Jiminy that it was nothing after all and he would just go back to sleep. But he got the impression that Jiminy wouldn't believe it, or would at least be unhappy about it after Pinocchio had already gone out of his way to wake him up... and he didn't much care for the thought of lying, either. "I... I was just thinking," he admitted weakly, uncertain of what else to say. "About, um. About a lot of things."

There was a pause from Jiminy, though Pinocchio couldn't quite see his expression, and then he heard a shuffling noise as the cricket presumably adjusted himself to a better position for speaking. "What sort of things?"

Pinocchio was silent, picking at the hem of his shirt.

There was a pause before Jiminy spoke again and, this time, his voice was a little softer. Pinocchio watched as Jiminy turned to look across the room to where the others were sleeping and sighed once more. There was a rustle as he stood up fully and stretched— Geppetto had at least padded the matchbox with fabric to make it a little more comfortable.

“Alright, Pinoke, c’mon. Sittin’ outside’s good for clearing your head a little.”

Pinocchio considered himself fortunate that the moon lit the room up enough for him to watch the cricket carefully as he hopped from shelf to shelf and then onto the floor, leading him towards the front door. Otherwise, he would be worried about keeping track of him in the darkness. Per Jiminy’s quiet instructions Pinocchio hauled a stool over to unlock the door, cracking it open and stepping out into the cool night air. The floor squeaked as he did so, but Geppetto didn’t wake. Pinocchio wondered if maybe that was the real reason why Jiminy had suggested to sit outside. He would feel terrible if he woke him, after everything he’d put him through.

Pinocchio and Jiminy sat down together on the front steps, the boy drawing his knees up to his chest pensively. They were quiet for a while. Jiminy seemed to be waiting on him to bring up whatever had been on his mind, and Pinocchio knew he had to, as he had been the one to wake him up, but the words formed a lump in his throat and he instead picked at the hem of his pajamas again, twisting the fabric between his fingers.

“Gosh,” Jiminy did remark after some long moments of silence, quiet and seemingly conversational. “But it sure is pretty out here. Dunno that I’ve ever lived somewhere this close to the sky before.”

Pinocchio craned his neck upwards. The sky seemed very far away to him, and he wanted to ask his conscience what he meant, but his eyes very quickly landed on the Blue Fairy’s star and remained fixed there intently. 

“Jiminy?” Pinocchio asked. “Do you think we’re ever gonna see her again?”

The cricket looked at him, and then up at the sky, and then back to Pinocchio before answering very slowly. “I don’t know, Pinoke. Magic like that… it’s not the sort that shows itself to folks like you and me very often.” He paused, then, and chuckled. “Well. Folks like me, at least. You’re something of a special case. But… boy, she was something else, wasn’t she?”

Pinocchio tucked his chin into his hands. “But she was only here to grant father’s wish, right?” He could tell Jiminy was about to respond and so he forged ahead quickly, feeling tears spill over and down his cheeks. “She’s not… gonna fix anything else?”

“Wha’d’ya mean by that, Pinoke?”

“The other boys,” he blurted out. “From— from Pleasure Island. The ones that got turned into donkeys. What’s gonna happen to ‘em, Jiminy?”

No one else had escaped. Pinocchio was certain of that. After a long while it had only been him and Lampwick and… and the last time he had seen Lampwick was when he had been fully transformed into a donkey, unrecognizable and frenzied. But it hadn’t been his fault, was the thing. Lampwick didn’t have a conscience. No one had been there to tell him what was right and what wasn’t. It wasn’t fair. 

“Their families must be awful worried,” Pinocchio continued, uninterrupted, twisting his hands together and sniffling. “If the Blue Fairy doesn’t change ‘em back, then— then— do you think—”

“Oh, Pinoke…” he felt small feet land themselves on his shoulder and turned his head slightly so his conscience could more easily dry his tears with a miniscule handkerchief, though it didn’t help much. “I’m afraid I… well, I don’t quite know.”

“But you know everything,” Pinocchio protested, and Jiminy’s smile in return was a little sad.

“Not even close, son. But… I do know that the Lady was awfully good about helping us, wasn’t she? When you got trapped in that cage,” he pointed out, “or when we couldn’t find your father. And Mister Geppetto’s not the only fella in town with a wish that needs granting.”

Pinocchio considered that, wiping his nose with his sleeve. Maybe all those donkeys were wishing they were boys again, the way he’d wished to be real. Or their parents were wishing they were back home. “So you think she’ll help them?”

“I can’t say. But I’d like to think she might, if they can learn their lessons. Same as you had to,” Jiminy nudged the boy lightly. “Little hard work might do ‘em some good and then before you know it, there’ll be boys poppin’ up in farms all over the countryside.”

“You really think so?”

“Sure I do. But it’s not exactly up to me to decide.” They both looked skyward again, peering up at the star that sat there watching them. “She’s still up there listening, Pinoke. It couldn’t hurt to ask her,” Jiminy encouraged gently.

“How do you get her to listen?”

“Oh, I dunno, she seems to know when she's bein' talked to,” Jiminy remarked fondly. "But I suppose maybe making a wish couldn't hurt."

“Okay,” said Pinocchio, and then he paused. “Um, you can go back to bed. I kind of wanna talk to her by myself. Thanks, Jiminy.”

He turned his head and watched as the cricket slid back under the door, then fidgeted in place, expression growing intently focused as he studied the star that supposedly belonged to the Blue Fairy. Jiminy had said that she seemed to know when she was needed, and Pinocchio definitely felt as though he needed her now. It was sort of twinkling, as though encouraging him to ask the questions that were bothering him. Wringing his hands together, he spoke quietly.

"Hello, Miss Fairy, it's me, Pinocchio. I used to be a puppet, remember? And now I'm real. Um, thanks! For making me real, I mean. I think it's really nice," he began, and then took a deep breath. "Um, I really need to talk to you. I know you're really busy, but if you have some time do you think you could listen for a little bit?"

He fell quiet and looked back towards the star. It twinkled encouragingly, or at least he imagined so. Pinocchio hoped that meant yes. 

“I was just thinking about all those boys back on the island. Pleasure Island. Where me and Jiminy ran away from. And I… I  know they weren’t making very good choices, but neither was I, Miss Fairy. And— and I had a conscience to tell me I was wrong, but I don’t think any of them did. You gave me Jiminy, but my friend Lampwick didn’t have anybody. It’s not fair.” 

The star said nothing, nor did the Fairy appear. Pinocchio, feeling slightly discouraged, looked at his feet. 

“I just think maybe they should get one more chance, kinda like I did. And somebody to help them learn to do good things. Please. I just don’t want them to be donkeys forever— especially Lampwick. He’s my friend.” Feeling as though he’d said all he wanted to say, he went to turn back inside before pausing one last time. “Thank you for listening, Miss Blue Fairy… oh, and thank you for giving Jiminy his badge! He really likes it.” 

With a nod of his head, more so to himself than to the star, Pinocchio scampered back up the porch and reached for the doorknob. Suddenly, a brilliant, bright blue light shone from behind him, and with an eager gasp he turned to watch as the Blue Fairy materialized before him, stepping forward towards him. She bent down to be closer to his level, but Pinocchio stayed where he was, suddenly feeling unsure of what to say. He twisted the hem of his shirt around his fingers nervously, opening his mouth, but the Fairy spoke before he could. Her smile was gentle. It made him feel a little less nervous. 

“Brave Pinocchio. I’m so very proud of you.” His chest felt warm at the praise and a watery smile broke out across his features. “You have such a good heart… and I believe you’re right. Every boy deserves the chance to learn and grow,” she reached forward and cupped his cheek with her hand. “And in due time I believe they will do just that.”

Pinocchio wanted to ask so much more. What sort of lessons they’d have to learn, and where they were now, and how long it might take for things to go back to normal, if they ever would. But it all seemed like too much to straighten out in his head. “Even Lampwick?”

“Even Lampwick, if he can prove himself capable of listening.”

Pinocchio wasn’t sure about that, Lampwick wasn’t such a good listener, but he thought maybe this time around he could help things be different. Jiminy had helped Pinocchio, after all, and it seemed like the right thing to do, even if Pinocchio himself still wasn’t so sure on what was right all the time. Maybe they could learn together. That was probably part of being a real boy. It would be okay, he told himself. 

“I’m sorry,” the Fairy continued. Her smile was a little sadder. “I wish I could stay with you longer, and I wish you didn’t have to worry so. But know that I am always listening and I have heard your wish.”

“That’s okay, Miss Fairy.” She was probably busy working. Jiminy said she had other wishes to grant. He wondered what they were and how easy it was to do it, since she had a wand and all, but felt silly asking. “I’m glad I got to see you again… and I promise I’ll keep being good.” 

The Fairy’s hand withdrew from his face and she smiled at him again, brighter. She seemed happy, and Pinocchio was happy again, too. Everything felt like it might be right, just for a little bit. Everything was still a little scary and strange but he had his father and Jiminy and the Fairy, and they would make everything okay. The lady in blue took a step back, and Pinocchio watched with wonder as she seemed to fade into the night until she was nothing more than a glow of light moving back up the sky towards her star, which twinkled down at him as if it was still smiling. 

“I know you will, Pinocchio.” 

Chapter Text

The next morning, when Pinocchio woke up, both his father and Jiminy were absent from their respective beds. Even Figaro wasn’t asleep, and daylight was shining in bright through the window. Pinocchio sat up, rubbed his eyes, and stretched— then stopped and looked at his hands, turning them over and touching them gently, marveling. 

Real. He was real! He’d almost forgotten about everything that had transpired the night before. Throwing the covers off and leaping out of bed, he dashed across the house, nearly tripping over his feet, and very quickly spotted Jiminy standing across the table from Figaro. The both of them were giving each other dirty looks and Pinocchio very quickly climbed onto a chair in the middle of them, though the table was too tall for him to properly see over. He tucked his legs under him to make himself a little taller. 

“Jiminy! Good morning!” At Figaro’s insistent pawing at his arm, he scratched the cat behind the ears while he meowed at him. “Good morning, Figaro!” And then, as he heard water splashing from across the table, he turned to smile at Cleo as she leapt in and out of her bowl excitedly. “You too, Cleo!” 

 “Somebody’s awful chipper this morning,” Jiminy remarked, and Pinocchio nodded eagerly.

“I feel great!”

“No surprise there, Pinoke, you slept in pretty late today. Right through school, in fact.”

“No I didn’t!” Pinocchio protested, looking towards the window. It was bright, and he’d just woken up, that meant it was morning. He was supposed to leave for school in the morning. He didn’t understand how he could have missed it, but he didn’t think Jiminy would lie to him, either. He furrowed his brow. “Did I?”

Jiminy nodded.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Well,” his conscience corrected himself quickly, “the start of it, anyhow. But between you and me, I think you’ve earned a bit of a breather before we dive headfirst into the realm of academics, anyhow.”

Pinocchio nodded slowly. Academics, whatever that meant, was surely serious business. Of course he wanted to be prepared. And, he thought privately, he was a little nervous to go to school. He wasn’t sure he was ready. 

“And besides, there’s so much to prep first! Why, we’ve gotta get a list of school supplies, and you oughta learn the way there and back, of course—” Jiminy, at this point, began to tick items off on his fingers. Pinocchio at first listened intently, with growing dread in the pit of his belly, and eventually fidgeted in his seat. 

“I guess that makes sense.” It seemed very daunting. He was more glad suddenly for the opportunity to simply wait. It was easier to be here at home. 

“We will just consider it an early weekend,” said Geppetto good-naturedly, who had finally noticed Pinocchio was awake and walked over to set half a loaf of bread and some cheese down on the table. Jiminy vacated onto the back of his charge’s chair. “But, my, you slept for quite some time!”

“You were up pretty late,” Jiminy said quietly into Pinocchio’s ear. 

“Oh. Right,” Pinocchio turned in his seat to face the cricket, breaking off a small piece of cheese and handing it to him as he did so. “Jiminy, you were right! I talked to the Blue Fairy last night and she came down to see me!”

Geppetto, who was just sitting down with his own plate as well as a bowl of milk for Figaro, arched his eyebrows and glanced very quickly over his shoulder towards the workbench, as though half-expecting another toy to have sprung to life miraculously in the middle of the night. “The Blue Fairy? You saw her, Pinocchio?”

“And you didn’t wake me up?” Jiminy cried.

“Well, um. No, I thought you’d wanna sleep…” Pinocchio answered slowly, not wanting to admit that he hadn’t really thought of how much Jiminy would want to see her. It was alright, he reasoned. Surely she would be back and if Jiminy wanted to talk to her so bad he could make his own wish, too. He turned back to Geppetto and nodded. “But, yes, Father, she really came! And I told her all about the other boys, and how I wanted them to be real again.”

“The other boys?” Geppetto folded his hands in front of him pensively. 

“From Pleasure Island. Where I got the donkey ears, remember? And my friend Lampwick…” he trailed off as he noticed Jiminy giving him a worried sort of look from the back of his chair. “Oh, right, it’s part of that really long story. But she really listened to me, and she told me that if Lampwick is really good he can be human again just like all the other boys.” 

“See?” Jiminy nudged him again encouragingly, and the boy smiled at him. “Told ya she’d listen, Pinoke. Some things just take time.”

“I really hope he comes here,” Pinocchio continued after falling silent for a moment. “To see me, so we can be friends again. I think… I think maybe I could help him learn to be nicer and to listen better.”

Jiminy’s expression soured minutely. He tried to fix it so that Pinocchio wouldn’t notice, but he did. He knew the cricket didn’t really like Lampwick all that much and probably was thinking not-nice things about him, and admittedly Pinocchio was worrying about a couple of those possibilities as well. What if Lampwick didn’t really like his family that much and wouldn’t come back at all? What if he liked his donkey friends better than he’d liked Pinocchio, or he wanted to go back to Pleasure Island again for some reason? The last one didn’t seem all that likely - it was a terrible place - but he’d seemed so certain when he was on that carriage with the rest of them. More than Pinocchio had been, at least. But he wanted so badly to believe that being human again would just fix everything. It had to be better than the alternative— the image of the frightened donkey boy screaming and crying out for his family entered his mind and suddenly he didn’t feel all that hungry. 

“Pinocchio, it’s not your job to fix folks who’re only keen on gettin’ themselves into trouble,” Jiminy chided gently. “You’re liable to get dragged right on down with ‘em, specially if they don’t care to hear the advice you’re trying to give ‘em.” 

“But he might listen to me. And I’ve got you, Jiminy, you won’t let me get into any trouble. Right?”

He looked at his conscience expectantly and noticed how Jiminy straightened himself up, adjusting the badge on his jacket proudly. 

“Well, I suppose…”

“And the Blue Fairy will make sure it’s all okay,” Pinocchio interrupted confidently, picking crumbs off the crust of his bread and standing in his chair to stretch across the table and sprinkle them into Cleo’s bowl. 

“Oh, of course she will,” Geppetto chimed in with his support despite having absolutely zero idea what the conversation was about. “She brought us all back together again, didn’t she?”

Pinocchio and Jiminy looked at each other again, and both nodded.

“Well, then, I don’t see any reason to worry. And your friend will be more than welcome here, Pinocchio. Now,” Geppetto continued, “go on and eat, we have much to do today.”

“I thought I wasn’t going to school, Father.”

“That doesn’t mean we are going to sit around doing nothing! We have things to buy,” he motioned to the half-finished list across the table, “and I was planning on perhaps a picnic for lunch.”

“What’s that?” asked Pinocchio.

“Eat your breakfast,” Jiminy prodded him lightly with his umbrella from the back of the chair. “You’ll find out later.”

“Oh, right.”

Pinocchio didn’t really want to wait until later, he wanted to learn right now, but he had all but forgotten about breakfast in the midst of the conversation. Although he still felt a bit upset in the stomach, the prompting was enough for him to at least pick up his food once more. The prospect of having a whole day ahead of him, one he could spend with his father and Jiminy and Figaro and Cleo without having to worry about trying to be real or going to school, was allowing excitement to eat away at some of his lingering uncertainty. He took a bite of both bread and cheese at the same time, eager to finish and get going, and his eyes widened with surprise. He chewed very slowly and then exclaimed with his mouth full: “they… they taste different!”

Geppetto, looking a little lost, furrowed his brow fretfully. “Oh, do they? But these are fresh!” 

Pinocchio took a bite of cheese, swallowed, and then tried the bread before nodding. “Yes, they do, they’re different from each other!”

“All foods taste different from one another,” Jiminy said.

“Really?”

“I thought you—” Jiminy looked at him for a moment, seeming to reach some sort of conclusion. “Gosh, Pinoke, I guess you couldn’t taste anything as a puppet, could ya?”

“Um… I dunno, I guess not.” Pinocchio hadn’t really thought about it back on Pleasure Island, he had just been eating because Lampwick had been eating, but now that he considered it there hadn’t really been any point to the action. It hadn’t tasted good, or bad, or like anything at all. He didn’t know that it tasted like this. No wonder Lampwick had picked up so much food while they were there. He suddenly wondered what else he had been missing out on.

“Boy, you’ve got a lot of learnin’ to do,” Jiminy teased. 

“Is that bad?”

“Oh, no, of course not,” Geppetto assured him, and he reached out one hand across the table to take Pinocchio’s. “You are special, Pinocchio, and that is wonderful. Never forget that.”

Once breakfast had been cleaned up Geppetto decided he ought to get an early start on shopping - after all, school preparation notwithstanding there was also an extra mouth to feed (two, if Jiminy was to be included, though evidently Geppetto didn’t expect a cricket to be a great tax on supplies in any manner). When he offered for the two to accompany him to the village markets to buy food for lunch, he was rather surprised to have his offer gently declined.

“Not really a big fan of crowds,” Jiminy said with a wince. “Sorry, Mister Geppetto.” 

“I, um, I just wanna stay home for a little bit, Father,” Pinocchio said.

“Whatever for?” Geppetto knelt down and pressed the back of his hand to Pinocchio’s forehead. “Are you feeling well?”

He nodded. “I’m okay. But I…” he fell silent, unable to think of a way to explain without feeling foolish or telling a lie.

The truth was, he didn’t want to go out to the market. From what Jiminy said it sounded like it would be crowded. There would be so many strange people there— and maybe some not-so-strange people, like Honest John and his cat friend and maybe even Stromboli. The thought of seeing any one of them again made his stomach tie itself into knots. What if he got separated from his father and he was lost, or taken away again? 

“I… wanted to talk to Jiminy about some stuff,” he finally continued slowly, and cast a look towards the cricket. Technically, it was true. He was sure his conscience would have advice. 

Jiminy looked back at him for a long while, and Pinocchio worried that he could tell it wasn’t the full truth. But he didn’t say anything, and when Jiminy and Geppetto exchanged glances the former only shrugged helplessly.

“Guess I don’t mind lookin’ after him while you run errands.” 

“Very well,” he straightened up again. “It will only be a short trip. Then… ah, Jiminy. You are in charge.”

Figaro meowed loudly in protest, stretching up to dig his claws into Geppetto’s shin. He gently picked the cat up by the scruff and moved him onto the workbench. 

“Now, Figaro. You are always in charge. Give someone else a turn,” he chided. Figaro scowled and then turned his ire towards Jiminy, who shot the cat a smug sort of look. “When I return we can go pick out a couple of new outfits for school, hm?”

They waved Geppetto off as he departed down the street, and then Pinocchio found himself with a decidedly empty house and not all that much to do. But at least, he thought, it was safer.

Jiminy gave him a while to see if he would talk. He could see the cricket wandering around up on the shelves, hopping from place to place. It took a while for him to wind up back at Pinocchio’s side, perching himself upon the windowsill while the boy stood on a chair to look outside. Pinocchio cupped his chin in his hands, already anticipating a lot of questions he wouldn’t really want to answer. 

“Alright, Pinoke, spill. What’s up? You seemed all sorts of eager to get goin’ earlier this morning.” 

Pinocchio shrugged his shoulders, shifting to run one finger along the top of the chair. “I dunno. Just changed my mind, I guess.” 

Jiminy eyed him with the sort of look that said he knew his charge was just trying to side-step the matter. “Yeah? And why’s that?”

Pinocchio chewed on his lip. “I’m scared, Jiminy.” Out of the corner of his eye he could see him opening his mouth to prod further, so he cut him off quickly. “What if Stromboli’s still looking for me cause he wants me to perform some more? Or Honest John wants to take me somewhere else? He acts like he’s my friend, but he’s not. And it took me so long to find Father when I got lost last time, and… and… I just wanna wait until it’s safe,” he confessed, tucking his chin more fully behind folded arms and blinking his eyes fiercely as he watched people pass by on the street outside. 

Jiminy chuckled, and Pinocchio thought at first that maybe he was laughing at him. But the cricket’s expression was sympathetic and understanding. He hopped up onto his shoulder.

“I’m afraid if that’s what you’re waitin’ on, you’ll be sittin’ by this window an awfully long time.” 

Pinocchio shifted in his seat. “...How long?”

“Maybe your whole life, Pinoke. There’s always gonna be dangers out there, and it’s normal to worry, but most folks don’t let it keep ‘em trapped inside all the time.” Pinocchio frowned very deeply, and Jiminy went on before the boy could point out how unfair that all seemed. “But Stromboli won’t hang around very long, even if he does come back… and I doubt he’ll recognize you now, bein’ real and all,” he poked him. “And I’d give Honest John a month before he gets either chased outta town or thrown in jail.”

“Okay, so I’ll just wait til then!” Pinocchio latched onto it quickly. “How long’s a month, Jiminy?”

“It’s…” Jiminy hesitated, uncertain of how to explain time to someone who hardly knew the concept. “Hm. Y’know how long you’ve been alive?” 

Pinocchio nodded hesitantly.

“It’s that long times ten, give or take.”

Times ten. Pinocchio mouthed the words and Jiminy picked up on the confusion.

“Y’know, like multiplication!”

“Multiplication?”

“...Never mind, Pinoke. Point is, you can’t sit here forever and you certainly can’t rush change. It takes time for the world to sort itself out, remember what I said?”

Pinocchio pursed his lips and very reluctantly nodded, though he secretly thought he probably could just sit here forever. He was happy here, even if it did look very sunny outside and seeing everybody else out running around talking to each other made him a little curious to explore. 

“Here,” Jiminy hopped off of the workbench, sidestepped Figaro who halfheartedly tried to swat at him from where he was moping under Pinocchio’s chair, and then jumped up onto another shelf full of books. “How about we get a head start on reading, instead? It’ll take your mind off it!”

Pinocchio looked at the books for a while and made a slight face.

“Oh, don’t give me that! You haven’t even tried it yet!”

“But I looked in a book before. It was really confusing.”

“It only looked confusing then because you didn’t know what any of the letters meant, much less any of the words. Don’t you wanna change that? Huh?”

“I guess so…”

That’s how they found themselves on the floor, then— Pinocchio was lying on his stomach with his crossed arms propping up his head, and Jiminy stood on the open pages of the book so as to point out words with his umbrella. After some time they (or Pinocchio, rather) carefully moved Cleo’s fishbowl down near them so she could observe, though she didn’t exactly offer much help when it came to reading. Figaro was evidently still too cross over Jiminy being put in charge of the household to participate, though the cat did watch them grumpily from atop the chair. Figaro had been moody all morning, really, perhaps over the split attention. 

The task would have been much easier had Pinocchio not been so distracted, of course.

“D’you think Father’s okay?”

“He’s lived here his whole life, Pinocchio, I think he knows his way around the market just fine.” Jiminy tapped his umbrella against the next word for the third time or so.

“I know, but…” Pinocchio stopped and squinted at the page. “Sate—”

“Sat. Short ‘a’.”

“But it’s the same size as all the other a’s.”

“That’s not what that means, Pinoke. Now keep goin’, that’s only the start of the word.”

“Sat-is…” Pinocchio trailed off halfway through.

“-Fied,” finished Jiminy. “Sound it out.”

“But I don’t get it. What makes the ‘a’ short?”

“It’s short because…” Jiminy paused, opened and closed his mouth a couple times as he searched for an answer, and then settled for, “because it just is, Pinoke.”

“But he doesn’t know what Honest John looks like. I should’ve told him so he doesn’t get tricked like I did.”

Jiminy pointed at the word again.

“Sat-is-fied. Satisfied? What does that mean?”

“It means happy.” Jiminy stepped back a bit to scan over the full sentence as he read. “‘Then she was satisfied, for she knew the—’”

Jiminy paused, pointing at the next word, which Pinocchio recognized from earlier sentences.

“Mirror?”

“‘—For she knew the mirror spoke the truth.’”

Pinocchio ruminated on that in silence. “He’s been gone a real long time. Are you sure he’s not lost? Maybe he went out to the island…”

Jiminy sighed. “Pinoke, I know you’re worried, but your father’s gonna be just fine. I don’t think he’d make a very good donkey, for starters.” Pinocchio knew he was probably right, there had only been other kids there before, but it didn’t stop him from thinking about everything else that could go wrong. Maybe he’d go sailing just for fun and a whale would get him again. 

“Yeah,” he agreed at great length, and ran his finger over a couple of the words on the page, tracing them and sounding them out in his head. “But it feels bad, Jiminy. Other people could end up there, not just Father.” 

It just felt wrong, somehow, that Pinocchio had left all of those other boys. He didn’t really know them, he supposed, but they couldn’t have been all that bad. Lampwick wasn’t bad, after all. They should have come back with him— they all could have escaped together. Pinocchio felt oddly sick when he thought about the fact that he was the only one who had been saved. Nobody else had known soon enough, they were all already donkeys by the time he and Jiminy had made a run for it. It didn’t stop him from feeling a little guilty, though, and the thought of the island made his chest feel tight the more he dwelt on it. 

But it made him nervous to even think about it too long - the very thought of the island made his chest feel tight, made it hard to think and to breathe, sometimes - and so he didn’t even want to talk about it. And he knew it wasn’t really a lot, asking the Fairy to make sure all the other boys had a chance to change back and try again, but it was at least something. It made it feel not so very scary, the thought that he could fix things. 

“I really wanna help, is all.”

Jiminy sighed again, though not with exasperation— more of a sort of understanding. Pinocchio didn’t meet his gaze, not wanting to get that expectant look he knew he was being given.

“Pinoke, you know it isn’t up to you to fix all this, don’tcha?”

“I know,” he said quietly. And he really did. The world was big and scary and Pinocchio just wanted to be safe with his family. But it was hard to feel that the worry would ever really leave his head, and he was supposed to be brave like the Blue Fairy had told him. Fortunately, he was spared from digging himself deeper into the thought process by the sound of the door swinging open. Jiminy shot him one more look of concern as Pinocchio scrambled to his feet, running over to help Geppetto with the groceries. 

They set out shortly thereafter to, firstly, buy a couple of new outfits for Pinocchio and secondly go have lunch. Jiminy once again declined the offer to tag along, despite Geppetto’s insistence, and though he claimed it was so he could just relax some without having to worry about the hassle of dealing with the birds that would no doubt show up to the picnic, he confided to Pinocchio before they left that it was high time the kid got some alone time with his father. 

Pinocchio failed to see why this mattered when he would much rather spend time with the both of them, but couldn’t deny that he and Jiminy had been gone much longer than they had been home with Geppetto, so maybe he had some sort of point. And he wondered that maybe Jiminy was trying to make him feel better, trying to show him there wasn’t as much to worry about as he feared. Before they left they set out sardines for Figaro and more bread for Cleo and some fresh fruit for the cricket. 

The village was rather crowded as the morning rolled into the afternoon, and though Pinocchio stuck very close to Geppetto he couldn’t help the worry that creeped into his thoughts as they walked. Each flip of a cape or tap of a cane had him looking over his shoulder, worried that perhaps Honest John was out and about and would be angry with him for returning from Pleasure Island, or that maybe he might try and take him away from home again— but they made it to and from the various shops without incident, and gradually the fear subsided, though not entirely. He was suddenly very grateful that Jiminy had had the idea to postpone his first day of school, as the thought of walking the streets alone again was one he didn’t want to dwell on. 

But by the time they made it out to the field for lunch and the swim in the river that followed (the river was shallow, and nothing like the sea, which surprised Pinocchio greatly— he had been terrified at first that Geppetto would step in and instantly sink), his thoughts were nowhere near Pleasure Island, and as the afternoon faded to night he was too tired to think of anything at all, much less the excitement from the earlier hours of the day. He drifted off to sleep with his head resting on his father’s shoulder, thinking about how much different the water felt when you were real and how bright the Blue Fairy’s star looked in the sky. 

Chapter Text

"Remember, you go straight there. Just the way I showed you."

"I know, Father."

"And listen to Jiminy's directions."

"I will!"

"And wait for him before you leave the school building to go home."

"Okay!"

"And-"

"Father!"

"Mister Geppetto," Jiminy spoke up, finally, at the same time Pinocchio interrupted, and both humans turned to look at him, standing on the table's edge with his arms crossed. His expression wasn't all that stern, though; merely understanding. He, after all, was just as worried (if not even more so) than Geppetto himself, particularly given what a spectacular disaster the previous first day of school had been. Something he knew full well was solely and entirely his fault. "He'll be fine. Really. But he’s gonna be late if we don’t head out soon."

“Oh - oh yes, of course.” With a glance over his shoulder and a scan of several dozen clock faces, the woodcarver bent down closer to Pinocchio’s eye level, straightening the boy’s vest and hat and then stepping back to give him a fond look over. “You have your book, then.”

“Yes, Father!”

“And you’ll be a good boy?”

“Course he will,” answered Jiminy, drawing himself up with a sort of self-importance. 

Figaro, standing and stretching from where he’d been sunning on the windowsill, noisily jumped down to the floor and began winding his way around Geppetto’s legs.

“Oh! Figaro’s right— you ought to make a good first impression for your teacher. Let me grab you an apple.”

As Geppetto went off to grab one from the bowl of fruit sitting on a shelf near the hearth, Pinocchio turned a pleading gaze towards Jiminy, who got the impression that all of Pinocchio’s calmness earlier had been to keep from further worrying his father. He was, admittedly, impressed by that— he would’ve thought Pinocchio would have jumped at the chance to make his nervousness apparent enough to get the start of school postponed even further. But, then, perhaps both father and son knew that this was inevitable regardless of how long they dragged it out to stave away the nerves. Or maybe the kid was just genuinely excited to learn, although that very well could’ve just been wishful thinking on Jiminy’s part. Looking at him now, he saw that same fretful worry that had been in his eyes most of yesterday morning. 

"Are you sure you can't come with me, Jiminy?"

He figured this would come up again. And again, and again, as it had been coming up for a couple days now. 

Jiminy, despite all his boldness, was very adamant about keeping well away from a building so crowded with humans— and the last thing he needed was for his presence there to have a negative impact on Pinocchio. Children were understanding of many things, but they were still human, and humans weren’t exactly big proponents of establishing communication (let alone friendship) with insects. Most humans, anyway. Jiminy wasn’t wildly keen on getting thrown out or hit with a book or caught in a jar, and all of the above scenarios were both likely and potentially traumatizing for his charge.

No, it was better for Pinocchio to go into this with the goal of making new friends - human friends - and that was something Jiminy couldn’t help with in the slightest. 

"Now, Pinoke, I already told you why I can't come with ya. School is one of those things you've gotta do all on your own. But I'll walk the whole way there and back with you."

"But I won't know anybody there."

"So you go out and make new friends!"

"What if they don't like me?" Pinocchio idly scratched Figaro's head when the cat jumped onto the table as well to butt against his hand. “What if they think I’m… not normal?”

Jiminy for a moment debated swallowing his dislike and pointing out that Lampwick, by all accounts the first child Pinocchio had really met, had taken to the boy just fine even when he was still a puppet. Something made him doubt that Pinocchio would have any issue making more friends. He was earnest and friendly and fit in with them wholly and entirely now, at least in terms of appearance. But at the same time he knew humans could be a little judgmental, even if children weren’t quite as bad as adults, and didn’t want to lie to him even by accident. 

"Nobody’s normal, Pinocchio,” Jiminy instead said sternly. “Of course they're gonna like ya. Just be yourself and by the end of the month I betcha you'll have more friends than you can count."

"The end of the month? You mean I have to go to school for a whole month ?"

Inwardly, Jiminy was rather relieved when Geppetto returned in time to spare him from having to gently explain to Pinoke that, actually, one went to school for the majority of their childhood. Perhaps now wasn’t the best time to reveal that.

“The time’ll fly,” he reassured him one last time. “I promise. And, heck, you might even end up liking it.”

The look on the boy’s face was doubtful at best, but they had no further time to argue as Geppetto knelt to hug Pinocchio tightly for a very long while before pulling back, hands resting on his shoulders.

“I love you, Pinocchio. I’ll see you when you get back, alright?”

Pinocchio nodded, looking so twisted up in uncertainty for a moment that it appeared as though he might burst before he was carefully ushered by his father towards the door of the workshop. With a wave to Jiminy, who sprang across the floor and up onto the boy’s shoulder, Geppetto stood at the end of the porch to watch them depart, worry spelled out across his face all the while.

The village was much more crowded than Jiminy remembered.

Granted, they’d always been out at odd hours of the day (or night) previously, and since then Jiminy had pointedly declined every opportunity he was given to go out with the others. Furthermore, up until now he’d been rather preoccupied with chasing after Pinocchio— there was no time to take notice of anything (or anyone) else, even if anyone had felt inclined to be out at such an hour. 

It was strange, Jiminy thought, to be properly out and about in such a town. He never stayed long enough to do that, not usually, it was always just a matter of waiting until the next train or boat left for broader horizons. Certainly never bothered to observe the landmarks of anywhere he’d stayed. But he did this time, pointing out the particulars to Pinocchio— sooner or later the boy would have to walk himself to and from school on his own, when his father was busy running the shop and Jiminy was gone. 

Pinocchio, though, was hardly focused on such things.

“Are they all going to school?” His question was indirect, but his gaze was focused on the children running on ahead of them. The last time he had been out, he had fallen behind the rest of the students and not noticed just how many of them there were. “There’s so many!”

“I’d imagine so,” Jiminy responded. “But they won’t all be in your class. You’re gonna be around kids your own age, so you’re all learnin’ the same stuff.”

More or less, anyhow. Jiminy wouldn’t be very surprised at all if Pinocchio was behind in just about everything. He was a smart kid, far smarter than his age would suggest, but lacking in the years the other children had had to learn at least the basics of… well, anything. He wondered if that would cause any problems. Hopefully the teacher was understanding— they were supposed to be, weren’t they? Jiminy had only ever been home schooled and wasn’t fully certain of what to expect on the boy’s behalf. If all else failed, he supposed he could tutor his charge at home. He knew enough, certainly. Pinocchio couldn’t be learning anything that advanced just yet. 

“They’ll be my age?”

“Er… well, sorta.” Jiminy hadn’t exactly thought of how they would explain Pinocchio’s existence, were anyone to ask. Would anyone believe him if he were to tell them he was a puppet brought to life by a fairy a matter of days ago? Doubtful. And they certainly wouldn’t believe him about anything that followed. “Look, if anybody asks, you’re, uh… you’re eight.”

“Eight... days?”

“Years.”

And Lord only knew what they were supposed to say if anyone asked about his family. Yes, Geppetto was his father, but Geppetto was also more than likely a well-known figure in the village… and almost everyone must know that he had no wife to speak of, and up until about a week ago, he had certainly had no children. Jiminy was of the opinion that any man with a family to speak of wouldn’t be wishing on stars to bring puppets to life, so the assumption seemed logical. 

Maybe they’d believe that Pinocchio was adopted?

“That’s a long time,” said Pinocchio. Then, “I thought I wasn’t supposed to lie anymore.”

“It’s not a lie, per say,” Jiminy said carefully, though he supposed it sort of was. “It’s just… well, you’re special, Pinocchio, and sometimes people just aren’t too sure of how to deal with that right off the bat.”

The look on Pinocchio’s face would have been enough to completely shatter the most stoic of hearts. “You mean they won’t like me? But you said—”

“No, no! That’s not what I meant at all! Course they’ll like you—” Jiminy, though he was rather unfamiliar with the movements of humans still, carefully found his balance enough to stand and press a hand to Pinocchio’s cheek. “They’ll love ya. They just might be confused, that’s all, and I think things will go a little smoother if we worry about all that, uh... later.”

The boy still looked uncertain and worried, but he nodded his head lightly. 

Jiminy gave him a few more pointers (not lies, just… suggestions) on their way - he was just a human boy, never a puppet; there was no fairy involvement, and it would perhaps be best not to mention that he spoke to insects - and though he felt awful about it, there wasn’t much that could be done until he talked things over with Geppetto. He was the boy’s father, after all, not Jiminy. If anyone ought to be providing input on how to handle the subject, it should be him. 

But the last thing he wanted was for Pinocchio to be judged or ostracized in any way because of how he’d come about, and any scrutiny that the tale could garner could very well be turned towards Geppetto, too. Small towns could be paranoid and tight-knit. They didn’t need any of that trouble, not right now, not when they’d just found happiness. They couldn’t maintain such an elaborate lie forever, of course, but it was a bridge that could be crossed at a later time. Jiminy, as he saw it, was only doing what he could to help protect the little family. Yes, they were not his, but he grudgingly had to admit that they’d wormed themselves into some sort of spot in his heart. 

He maintained this sort of vigilance for the duration of the walk, head swiveling at every unusual movement he spotted out of the corner of his eye, though his worry was slightly lessened by the fact that they were more or less moving with the general bustle of the village (even if Jiminy did instinctively worry about being so relatively close to their eye level). 

Plenty of children, he reasoned with himself, went to school every day without any incident. And Pinocchio looked just like every other child, now.

But as much as he scolded himself that the worry was unfounded, it wouldn’t entirely leave his heart until the school building was in their sights. He pointed out a small tree on the side of the road, and the two detoured, Pinocchio peering curiously around the trunk of it to study the schoolhouse. 

“You remember what your father told you,” Jiminy began again, leaping from the boy’s shoulder to a small knot within the trunk of the tree, where the two of them were about at eye-level. Or, at least, close enough to it. “About makin’ a good first impression and whatnot? You’ve got the apple for your teacher?”

Obligingly, Pinocchio held it out to show him.

“And I’ll be waitin’ right here when school lets out, don’t forget.”

The boy nodded, still rather quiet, his gaze fixated over his shoulder. Jiminy called his name lightly, snapping his fingers; when Pinocchio looked back at him, his eyes held a curious mixture of wonder and worry.

“...You promise you’ll be here?”

With a twinge of guilt, Jiminy figured that the question was justified. He hadn’t, after all, done much to prove himself to be very reliable. At least not when it came to the matter of sticking around, of being there when it mattered.

“I promise. Look— cross my heart,” with one hand, he did so, crossing an X over his chest. Though Pinocchio more than likely didn’t quite understand the saying, he did not pry further, and instead nodded again, a tiny gesture though it was.

“Hey, now,” Jiminy prompted him gently. “You’ve been to the bottom of the sea and back— you know how many other kids’ve done that? Not a single one. You can make it through one day of school without any trouble, Pinoke, I know it.”

Finally, the former puppet seemed to genuinely consider Jiminy’s words. He didn’t quite manage a smile, but his expression lifted into something a bit closer to lightheartedness when he responded with, “gosh, you really think so?”

“I know so!” And, indeed, it was in some way almost funny to Jiminy that Pinocchio, who had gone through so much - far more than any other boy should have ever had to fathom - was scared silly by the notion of the first day of school. How incredibly human, he thought; and with that he jerked his head sideways towards the gaggle of schoolchildren lingering near the front doors. “Go on, now, go and say hello to your classmates.”

With a couple more lingering glances between his conscience and his future classmates, Pinocchio at long last finally seemed to steel his nerves and, to Jiminy’s great relief, a wavering smile broke out across the boy’s features.

“Okay.” With resolve seated firmly in his gaze, the boy drew himself up, polished his apple on his sleeve for good measure, and started bounding across the schoolyard towards the other children. Over his shoulder, he waved broadly to his conscience. “G’bye, Jiminy! See you later!”

Jiminy felt nothing short of relief as he waved back. “Have fun, Pinoke!” A pause, then a hasty yell after the boy: “But not too much fun— remember, you’re here to learn!”

The cricket lingered for a while after the school bell rang, situating himself upon the windowsill outside and peering in to observe. Pinocchio’s introduction to the rest of the class was over and done with quickly, and after the boy had settled down and their first lesson had begun Jiminy was relieved to see that his unease had more or less dissipated. In fact, he seemed rather thoroughly absorbed in the lecture, something that Jiminy was beyond glad to see.

That settled that, he thought, and with that he was off and on his way.

He took his time making it back to the workshop, though of course he knew that Geppetto was probably anxious to know that Pinocchio had made it to school without any incident. It was a deliberate attempt to drag his feet, if he was being honest. Frankly, he just wasn’t sure what to do with himself. 

Jiminy had very rarely given any thought at all to his interactions with other beings, largely because they were so few and far between. He was a cautious individual, or at least he tried to be (though he would reluctantly admit that sometimes his impulses and particularly his temper got the better of him), and even if that weren’t the case, humans very rarely took notice of him. In fact, he could not name a single human who had ever engaged in direct conversation with him. 

Oh, yes, he was sure some had noticed him. But it usually didn’t lead to anything, and every confrontation he was faced with was rather one sided. Typically it involved a broom or a shoe. Not a lot of room to negotiate. 

He hadn’t been planning on making conversation when he’d first ventured into Geppetto’s house, was his point. The whole situation, such as it was currently, was an unexpected and frankly thoroughly unusual turn of events. His family would be horrified if they knew how entangled he’d gotten in all of this, though Jiminy getting too nosy for his own good wasn’t entirely without precedent. 

While he didn’t like to think of himself as being nervous, he would admit he felt a bit uncertain at the prospect of having to talk directly to the man. A product of being unfamiliar with (and maybe even unsuited for) human conversation, he told himself firmly, and not at all rooted in the guilt of having so thoroughly failed the woodcarver’s son with his flimsy attempts at guidance. 

Needless to say the recounting of all of the events he and Pinocchio had been through while separated from Geppetto was not a conversation Jiminy was looking forward to. And, with any luck, he could postpone it so long that he wouldn’t even have to be a part of it. While he wasn’t quite certain of the timeframe of his plans just yet, it seemed to him a foregone conclusion that he would be leaving sooner rather than later. He wasn’t much suited to staying in one place and this wasn’t his wish to begin with. 

By the time he’d meandered his way slowly through the streets, the bustle of the morning market was starting to come out in full force, making it all the more difficult to hang around outside. Jiminy wormed his way under the door to the workshop, slipping through the jagged crack at the bottom of it. Figaro, who had seemingly been watching out the front window for him the entire time, was there to greet him. 

Well. Not greet, per say, but swipe at him with a tiny white paw, yes. Jiminy, quick on his feet, deftly skittered sideways to avoid it, and just for good measure darted forward to whap the kitten on the nose with his umbrella before leaping and bounding his way across the floor up onto the workbench.

Honestly. Of all the nerve.

Fortunately, the commotion (or at least Figaro’s startled hiss) was enough to catch Geppetto’s attention, sparing Jiminy the debate of whether he wanted to attempt to do so himself. The woodcarver scanned up and down the workbench, adjusted his glasses, and then finally caught sight of the cricket, his face lighting up once he did so.

“Mister Cricket!” He set a thin paintbrush aside, turning away from a tiny square… something-or-other. Jiminy, thoroughly unfamiliar with woodcarving as a practice, wasn’t sure what it was meant to be a piece of. Geppetto picked up a cloth, wiping small splatters of red paint off his hands. “Did Pinocchio—”

“Made it there just fine, Mister Geppetto sir,” Jiminy was quick to cut him off with the assurance. “Heck, probably already knows all the landmarks well enough, too. He’s smart as a whip, that Pinoke.”

Relief settled quickly across his features as he nodded, and Jiminy could sympathize. After all, last time around it had turned out that the mere act of getting to school in the first place had been an insurmountable task… so by all accounts, they were off to a much better start this time around.

“And please,” the woodcarver did pose the gentle reminder as he went to retrieve his paintbrush. “Just Geppetto is fine.” He’d already said as much no less than five times over, in the short time he had known Jiminy - and Jiminy routinely disregarded it. Familiarity felt somehow rude given their unusual relationship.

He nodded regardless, of course, and lingered for a moment or two; long enough to watch the man resume the slow, careful process of painting the thin lines he was currently working with.

And Jiminy, faced with the absence of his charge and hours of free time stretching in front of him, found that he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

The front window, he had found, provided a very good view of the village square. Often, when Pinocchio and Geppetto ventured out to the markets, Jiminy would merely perch himself near it and people-watch. A perfectly fine way to pass the time, but one came to realize very quickly that the people in the village had very set routines. And Jiminy, observant and otherwise unoccupied, had more or less learned them all.

His one singular pastime was growing boring, was the problem.

Jiminy was not much good at sitting still without purpose. He tapped his foot, wrung his hands together, and hopped back across various jars of paint and slabs of wood all while Cleo watched with vague interest from where she was swimming lazy circles in her bowl. He wondered absently if this village had a library. It would be a good opportunity to try and improve his reading— many aspects of the Italian language were still a little lost on him. But then he told himself that it was the middle of the day, a bug pushing books off the shelf to peruse was likely to draw attention and besides, what would be in there that he hadn’t already read in some bigger town? 

Gosh, what other hobbies did he even have? He could scribble in his journal but there was nothing particularly worth writing about. It was meant for his travels, and he wasn’t going anywhere. He could doodle in the margins, but that felt so unproductive. He turned to look again at the woodcarver as he held out his current project at arm’s length to study it.

“...Can I help?” Jiminy asked at great length.

It seemed to take Geppetto a moment or two to realize the question had been asked, and following the realization seemed to come some small form of surprise. Due perhaps to the fact that Pinocchio had yet to show any interest whatsoever in any of Geppetto’s projects; when the boy lacked little else to do, he would typically either beg Jiminy to play a game with him or he would struggle to read his way through another chapter of a book.

Though Jiminy lacked any sort of skill when it came to carving, he was a half-decent artist, he thought. Painting couldn’t be that difficult, surely, provided he had a small enough paintbrush. Working with small details had to be easier for him than for a human’s hands.

“With painting, I mean! I can learn,” Jiminy added quickly. “If - if you want, of course.”

To his great relief, Geppetto did not seem all that offended or put off by the offer. Instead, he smiled genially at him.

“Why, yes— I would appreciate that very much.”

Hardly a bad use of his time, Jiminy thought. Being helpful in some regard. He returned the grin hesitantly and allowed the man to walk through his process, and before long the morning and bled into afternoon and Jiminy could honestly reflect that, frankly, he couldn’t recall a time in which he’d felt happier.