Archive of Our Own

“Listen, we went over this before we got out of the van - you win it, you carry it.” 

Killa scowled at Beth. The stuffed Pikachu she’d won at the dart-throwing booth was gigantic, and made maneuvering through the midway a challenge. 

“I’ll carry it.” Killa looked back at the boy standing nearest to them. TJ? She still wasn’t 100% on which of Grant’s friends’ faces went with the names and stories he’d told them. 

Probably TJ shrugged. “I’m done with this ice cream, so…”

“I want it,” Killa said instantly. She thrust the stuffed animal at him and snatched the half-eaten ice cream out of his hand in one smooth motion. Everything on Earth tasted delicious, and Earth food at the fair? Absolute peak. Killa finished off the ice cream in a few quick bites and was licking her fingers clean when she noticed TJ watching her, nonplussed. “Thanks,” she said. “Good shit.” 

TJ looked down at the ground. “No big deal.”

“Terry Junior, you did a great job helping your buddy,” Ron piped up. “Everybody, look at Terry Junior! That’s how to be a good buddy. Or should I say, a fair buddy?” He chuckled at his own joke. Nobody else laughed, but Beth nodded enthusiastically and took another bite from her giant turkey leg. 

Only Killa noticed TJ intently studying the prizes in the booth next to them and avoiding eye contact while his blush faded. The rest of the group were absorbed in their own activities. Yeet and Sparrow were studying the tiny plastic bowl where Sparrow’s new goldfish was slowly circling. Lark had originally won the fish, but had given it to his brother immediately. He needed both hands for his own giant turkey leg - which he was still gnawing on, despite having already cleaned it to the bone like a piranha. 

“Nick, stay put,” Grant said suddenly. Killa followed his gaze into the crowd, where a boy (the one she still thought of as the bandit) was drifting further and further from the group. Nick’s head lifted guiltily at the sound of his name, and he sidled back toward the group, hands in his pockets.

“Nick’s not your buddy, Granticus, I’m your buddy” Lark said haughtily. “Respect the whims of fate that have paired us accordingly.”

“The whims of your butt,” Grant mumbled. Killa snickered.

“We’re not buddies?” Nick asked Grant vaguely. “I coulda sworn we were.” 

“Paeden’s your buddy, Nicholas,” Lark announced, pointing at Nick with his turkey bone. He surveyed the group. “Warriors? Does anybody have eyes on Paeden?”

Nobody did, nor did a hasty search reveal him. The kid was good at lurking in conversations unnoticed, but it wasn’t like him to be silent while someone was calling for him. 

“Okay, nobody panic,” Ron said shakily. “But we may have slightly, temporarily lost Paeden.”

“You gotta be frickin kidding me,” Beth said, anguished. “See? This is why we have a buddy system.” 

Killa asked, “Paeden’s, like, eight years old, right? How much trouble could he possibly get into?” 

As if ritually summoned, Paeden was suddenly standing next to Ron, almost as if he’d been there the whole time. Almost . There was sweat trickling down the side of his face and his hands were held conspicuously behind his back.There was also a flash of red on his sleeve that had definitely not been there before. 

“Sup,” he greeted casually between panting breaths. “Someone say Paeden?”

Grant put his hands on his hips. Killa had seen his dad pull that pose, all looming and dad-like. But on Grant, several feet shorter, it was just kind of adorable. “Paeden, where have you been?”

“Right here with my buddy Ron,” he said as if it’s somehow the truth. He even snatched up Ron’s hand with his. The other was still behind his back. 

Ron accepted the hand-holding, but he said, “I thought Terry was my buddy.” 

“You’re Beth’s buddy,” Terry corrected. “I’m Killa’s.” 

“That doesn’t sound right,” Killa said, but could neither confirm nor deny. 

“Warriors! Respect the system!” Lark declared, spitting turkey leg everywhere. “Paeden! Nicholas is your buddy!”

Suddenly Nick is living up to the bandit moniker. He passes behind Paeden, saying, “Yeah! Hey, buddy?” And then he’s flipping something in his hands that he didn’t have before. “What’s this?”

The knife point glints in the string lights of the fair. So does Paeden’s sweat. 

“ Uh… ” 

Grant crossed his arms (also adorable, his lil cheeks). “Dad said you can’t have knives yet.” 

“But I’m his dad!” 

Nick inspects the knife, holding it up to his face. “Is there blood on this?”

“I can explain!”

Suddenly, from the end of the row of booths, someone shouted, “Hey!” 

Killa turned to see two beefy fair security guys pointing through the crowd right at their group. Right at Paeden. 

“Stop right there!”

“What the hell?” Beth complained. 

Killa turned back around to a crowd of no one. No one but a massive stuffed Pikachu sitting on the ground with a bloody knife in its paw.

Already a good forty yards down the way, Killa caught the quickest glimpse of Terry Junior booking it around a corner, his step-dad flung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Ron waved as he disappeared behind a fried corn booth.

"Hey!" Killa yelled out as the guards surrounded her. She shot a hapless glance towards where the group used to be. "Guys!" she said to no one in particular, "We had a buddy system! I'm, um... I'm somebody's buddy!" 

The younger of the two guards immediately pulled something out of his pocket. "Hands up! You're—“

"Easy, pal." The older security guard snatched the walkie talkie from her partner's hands and turned to Killa. "You're gonna need to tell me what the hell's going on here, or I'll have to get the real police involved. You don't want that, right kiddo?" 

Killa froze, debating her options. She could run. She could lie. Ultimately, she came to the realization that she didn't need to do either of those. For once in her life, Killa hadn't done it. 

"It's not what it looks like!" she said, gesturing to the scene of the crime. "I don't even know whose that is! The knife, I mean. And the blood. The Pikachu is mine, though." 

The younger guard eyed Killa suspiciously. "You're the only one here and there's a bloody weapon on the ground. Unless you mean to suggest the stuffed animal did it, I think you should start telling the truth." 

"I AM telling the truth! And that's rare for me!" 

"Do you honestly expect me to beli—“

"Cool it." The older guard interjected. "If you aren't responsible for this, kiddo, why don't you tell me what really happened here?"

Killa let out an exasperated sigh. "I don't know! I already said that. This eight year old came running up to us with the knife, saw you two, and bolted. That's all I know, honest!" 

The older guard looked understandably lost. "An eight year old? Was he your brother or something?" 

"No. He's my brother's friend's grandfather, I think." 

The younger guard took a menacing step towards her. "I've had enough of this. If you're going to make things up—“

"I'm not making anything up! Paeden was here five minutes ago, he ran off that way!" She pointed in the direction she'd last seen Ron and Terry.

At the mention of Paeden's name, the younger guard dropped his tough demeanor and turned to his partner. They exchanged a glance of what could only be described as pure terror.

"Paeden... Paeden Bennetts?" 

Killa nodded. 

" Holy sh..." The older guard raised the walkie talkie to her ear with a shaking hand. "Yeah, Boreanaz? We're gonna need some backup here. Everyone you've got."

The guards sprinted towards the corner Killa pointed to, and she followed close behind. Perhaps if any of them had paused to examine the crime scene, they would've noticed something amiss. The substance on the knife was just a touch too sticky to be blood, smelled just a bit too sweet. Was it barbecue sauce? Ketchup, perhaps? But Killa didn't know that. And neither did the guards coming for Paeden.

Killa turned into the main thoroughfare where a fleet of benches were flanked on all sides by concessions serving all manner of fair food. Amidst the crowd of families and groups of children high on the atmosphere of bright lights and rides was Paeden. In front of Paeden a man was crouched down, his back to Killa. The waving arms and pointed fingers seemed to indicate he was in the middle of a speech regarding broken rules and consequences.

“See this?” asked the man holding up a punctured jug of ketchup still bleeding profusely from the site of the wound. “This is San Dimas Fair property. That’s property damage, young man, and it’s no joke.”

Paeden, unphased and eyes wandering everywhere but at the man speaking to him soon found Killa standing a few yards away. Following the boy’s gaze, the man turned around and stood up to greet the young lady. “This your brother?”

Not wanting to complicate things once more with the truth, Killa nodded. The man sighed then extended his hand. “Name’s Boreanaz, and I’m the prime authority in these parts. Yep,” he continued without being prodded to, “everything from here to that Ferris wheel is my jurisdiction.” He took a step toward Killa. “Your brother here won a stuffed animal. First place prize, not bad for a kid his age.”

Boreanaz sniffed the air and shrugged a shoulder casually. “I got a couple first prize teddies in the trailer, so I know it’s no easy thing.”

He looked at Killa sternly. “Problem is, young Mr. Bennetts here thought it would be amusing to slice a hole in that defenseless, adorable toy he won and stuff a jug of primo condiment in it. Ketchup, natch.” 

He held up a finger, “One, that’s theft, straight up. Those jugs aren’t even for individual retail sale, young lady. Two, he brandished a knife and proceeded to stab into the toy, making a big show of it like he was some kind of big game hunter.”

Hand on hip, Boreanaz pinched his nose with the other hand. “This whole situation is so seriously uncool. I’m going to have to call my friends at the local P.D.”

One of the guards who had spoken to Killa earlier piped up: “You got friends at the station, chief?”

Boreanaz cocked his head to one side like it was no big deal. “They know me, yeah. Call in a lot of hot tips, I’m a great asset.”

“A huge ass—” piped up the older security guard, “—et. Huge asset, chief.”

As Killa thought about grabbing Paeden and making a run for it, a familiar voice broke through the din. “Hi, what’s going on here? Is Paeden all right?”

Boreanaz spun on his heel, annoyed at the growing procession of onlookers. His eyes met the woman’s and for a moment he was caught speechless, rare for him. “I—um, Officer Boreanaz, pleased to meet you.” He held out a hand to the woman.

“Oh…oh!" she smiled. “Beth. Beth May. I actually, I know you.”

Boreanaz shrugged once more in his no-big-deal kind of way. “Yeah, you might have seen me on the tube, sure. But after twelve seasons of Bones I thought it was time for a career change. Something that really speaks to me, you know?”

Beth glanced at Killa then nodded discreetly in Paeden’s direction. “I loved Bones, but it was no Angel.” Killa nodded back and sidled toward Paeden. 

“Oh my gosh, I haven’t talked about Angel in some time,” Boreanaz said, a half-hidden smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Really, chief? I feel like I’ve watched the whole show and I haven’t seen a single episode,” said the older security guard.

“Then return my DVD boxset,” snapped Boreanaz. He regained his composure and continued to talk to Beth while Killa guided Paeden to the edge of the fairgrounds.

“Okay, listen--” Killa started.

Paeden groaned. “Are you gonna give me a lecture about following rules and respecting the autonomy of the ketchup? Because you might as well wait for Henry and Darryl to get here so I can take all of you down at once.”

Killa snorted. “Nah, I don’t give a shit about all that. Plus, yeah, your dads can take care of it themselves later.”

“I’m his dad,” Paeden grumbled. 

Killa ignored him. “I was just going to offer you some pointers.”

“Paeden don’t need pointers. I’m a professional. ”

“You literally got caught red handed.”

Paeden immediately hid his hands, still sticky with ketchup, behind his back. “Prove it.”

Killa shrugged. “Don’t feel like wasting my time. But I can prove that you want my advice.” She pulled out a knife (one of about seven she kept on her; the number varied because Lark  - or Sparrow? - kept trying to steal them).  She flicked the knife open, examined it for a second, then looked back at Paeden. “Do you remember that clapping game Sparrow taught us?”

“What does that have to do with-”

“You’ll see.” She found her mark, a dart game a few yards away, and threw the knife with carefully practiced precision.

Bullseye. It hit the game target directly in the center and the fair worker looked up, startled. He was zoned out hard enough that his eyes didn’t immediately fall on Killa and Paeden, and he instead scanned the area, trying to figure out what had happened. 

Killa was a step ahead of him. She’d already turned to Paeden and started the pattern of the clapping game she’d just mentioned. She couldn’t remember the words, so she started chanting times tables instead; it worked just as well. Paeden looked confused, but played along. 

Once she was absolutely confident the worker’s attention wasn’t on them, Killa stopped reciting numbers, but kept up the clapping. “You showed up out of breath, holding a knife behind your back; it was obvious something had gone down. Nine times out of ten, blending in is more effective than straight up hiding or running, Right now, we’re two kids who are clearly too occupied with whatever the hell this is--” she punctuated her words with a double high five, part of Sparrow’s unnecessarily complicated clapping sequence-- “to be throwing knives across the fairgrounds.” 

She stopped clapping and let her hands fall in her lap. “If you’re gonna murder a teddy bear, at least hide the knife and wash your hands. And get your story straight before you start talking.”

Paeden scrunched up his face in what Killa interpreted as a that sounds like a lot of work and I don’t like that you’re telling me what to do way. “Show me how to throw knives like that.”

“I will if you can prove you won’t get caught.” She stood up. “And,” she added, “if you promise not to tell Lark.” They had a bit of an unofficial rivalry going on, and she wasn’t about to risk having the kid spill her secrets to the enemy. 

“Deal,” Paeden said, standing and extending a hand.

Killa shook it. “Why’d you take out that poor stuffed animal, anyway? Can I trust you around my Pikachu, or are you gonna throw down?”

“I saw some of the biggest ones walking around earlier,” Paeden said with a frown. “Didn’t want them to get any clever ideas. Had to make an example outta that teddy bear… Paeden-style.”

“I think those big ones have people inside them,” Kill said. Paeden’s eyes widened in terror. “Never mind. We should go find Ron, right? Buddy system and all,” she said. 

“I thought Grant was my buddy,” Paeden said. 

Killa sighed. “You know what? Let’s just say you’re my buddy for now.”

“Sounds good to me.”