Archive of Our Own

I t was inevitable really. If you adopted a lot of people of varying ages, eventually one of them was either going to already have children, or would have kids after he had adopted them into the Fairchilds. Which meant that Simon had an awful lot of “grandchildren”.

He sipped on a Sangria as dawn began to break, the sun rising over the mountaintops that surrounded the Fairchild mansion. He hummed in acknowledgement as one of the fine young men he had pulled into the family, stumbled downstairs for a coffee and a half-toasted piece of bread. He was part of their space-faring efforts which meant a lot of long nights that Simon was very glad he had no part of. Clinging to the man’s leg was scrawny looking child whose favourite thing in the world was to be flung around and onto soft surfaces at high speed, a chore Simon was always happy to fulfil. And with their appearance, it signalled the start of the only reason Simon ever came back to the mansion for anything more that to store the things he collected.

A veritable army of children and young teenagers would scarf down their breakfast and leave their parents and their boring conversations to go spend time with “grandpa” Simon. He rarely came home and, between other avatars and his victims, he didn’t often spend time with people who wanted to be around him. The youngest ones in particular, who were still getting the hang of their motor skills and so greatly enjoyed being thrown around, were a particular favourite of his. Children also had a peculiar enjoyment of terrible, terrible stories and half of his antics with the people he terrorised were just so he had a fun story for the kids. With one child hanging off his arm, Simon started telling the children the tale of a young man, his mother, and a journey up a mountain.

Peter woke up to the sound of his wonderful privacy and peace being interrupted by the door of his bedroom being cracked open slightly. He glared at the small form who had decided to bother him, the child squeaking in fear and panic before running away. He groaned and turned back over, intending to sleep a little bit longer.

Knock knock .

Peter swore violently at the door and scowled at his sister’s laugh as it came through the door.

Elias had changed the damn locks, the Tundra was having repairs done and he just couldn’t be doing with Moorland House unless he was summoned there, so the only other option was someone who had come into his life very recently.

Forty years after he had last seen her; his older sister, Lizzie, had tracked him down and invited herself into his life. She had been one of the ones who had left the family and the sounds of happy children was not a natural sound to Peter’s ears. But she was happy to have him stay over for as long as he liked and was understanding enough about his more “introverted nature”, as she had put it.

H e rolled out of bed, cracked open the window and packed a pipe, deciding not to leave the room until he had inhaled enough nicotine to make him feel less homicidal.

Simon walked through the mansion, one of the pint sized army on his shoulders as he lead the procession through the halls. He was very nonchalant as he walked passed the swimming pool, before he chucked the child on his shoulders into the water. He was surrounded by laughter and cheering as the child crawled out of the pool, clothes sopping wet. A wide grin on her face.

He couldn’t help but sigh. The adults, the avatars that he actually brought into the family, had a more detailed and thorough understanding of their patron, but they just lost the joy of it all. An adult sensibility causing them to see it as a duty, an enjoyable duty, but not something they sought out for their won enjoyment. They found joy in the screams and fear, which was valid, he admitted, so did he, but they lost the sheer exhilaration of falling. The feeling of the wind rushing through your hair and your breath catching in your throat. The children though, they delighted in their own fear, in the sensation of it all and he couldn’t help but be charmed by it.

P eter accepted the cup of coffee from his sister gratefully, trying to ignore the gaggle of children that were peering at him from the doorway. Their mother had firmly told them to leave their “Uncle Peter” alone. Which obviously did nothing but make them more curious. The oldest waited until their mother left for the bathroom before creeping up to the kitchen counter.

“Hello”

Peter gave her a dead eyed stare.

“Are you mummy’s brother?”

Peter’s glare didn’t subside but he gave an affirmative hum. Better to answer their questions and get rid of them quicker.

“Why have we never met you before then?”

Peter considered his answer more than he would usually think about what he said. The honest answer, that he thought the rest of the family had killed her off secretly, would likely not go down well. Nor would, a second true option, that he had little to no interest in their lives. He grunted, far too tired to bother with his normal false cheer. Peter had never spent time around children and so didn’t realise that answering a child’s questions just invited more questions.

Elias was similar if he thought about it.

“I’m busy.”

“What do you do?”

“Ship Captain.”

A chorus of “oooh’s” from the three children.

“Do you have a ship?”

“Obviously.”

“Is it big?”

“Very”

“Can we see it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Dangerous. You’re mum will be upset with me. Don’t want to deal with that.”

“Why not?

“I don’t like talking to people.”

“You’re talking to us?”

“I wish I wasn’t.”

T hat shut them up for a moment and they huddled on the other side of the kitchen. One of them ran off while the others stared at him. Peter wondered if he could sleep in the Lonely until either the Tundra was fixed or Elias calmed down.

It was more likely that he would suddenly reject the Lonely than Elias forgive him quite that quickly. He knew he could expect another three months minimum before the man even considered getting over himself. The child that had run off came back with something behind her back.

One of the brats, the young lad, one of the twins, broke away from his sister s and came back over, Peter didn’t bother restraining his annoyed sigh.

“Do you have any kids?”

“God I hope not.”

“Is that a no?”

“It’s a ‘Probably not’, my husband might have something to say about it if he found out I did.” he suddenly realised he had revealed too much, and he had said it just as his sister entered the room again. He groaned internally at the thought of the second round of questioning he was bound to receive once the brats went to bed. He saw fog start to curl at the kitchen window at his longing for the cold embrace of his domain. His sister refilled his coffee mug before leaving him to his fate as the children approached. The eldest seemed to be at least attempting to restrain her two younger siblings. As soon as their mother passed the threshold of the door, he was peppered with rapid fire questions.

“Husband? What’s his name? Is he nice? Is he also old? Can we meet him? What does he do?” Peter took a moment to work out what they were saying before answering in turn.

“Yes. Elias, sometimes. No. Yes. No. Meddling in other people’s business.”

T he eldest opened her mouth to ask another question and Peter growled at her in irritation. He saw her mouth “sometimes?” with obvious confusion. Peter took a long sip of his coffee and sighed, already tired of this and he’d only been there a day.

Simon picked one of his grandchildren up and threw her high into the air, he was scream-laughing as he cam e back down, to only the briefest glance over from the boy’s father. Most of the children had scattered to the far reaches of the house by now, only a handful staying behind. Just the child clambering over him and a pair reading a book on space. They were looking with targetted interest at the pages that were just made up of huge pictures of the stars. One of them placed their hand on the page and looked up at him with unrestrained excitement.

“Can we go there one day?” they said, tapping the picture of the stars. He laughed and patter them on the head as he stood up.

“Hopefully. If I get my way, definitely.”

He flipped the child clinging to his arm over so he hung from his arm, face going an alarming shade of red. All this time with his family was making him feel nostalgic.

He pulled out his phone and shot off a text to Peter.

Plukas
11:42

How is it going? Did you find somewhere to stay? I’m just hanging around

His sister had dragged the oldest off to some club, he didn’t know, he wasn’t listening, so he finally had some time alone as the younger two were too afraid to come up to him without their oldest sister their to “protect” them. Though the thought was laughable. If he intended them any harm, they would already be fading away in the Lonely. He could hear them crashing and tinkering with something and the sound of liquid going down the drain in the other room and if he was a responsible adult he would know that quiet children are children that are up to something. Luckily for the twins, he didn’t know that and so they were left to their crafting.

He was lying on the couch in quiet bliss when he felt his personal bubble being intruded upon. He pried open an eye and groaned at the sight of them for the second time that day.

“What.” he said flatly. They shuffled nervously before presenting him with something.

It was meant to be a ship in a bottle. And there was a ship. And it was in a bottle.

To be precise it was a plastic boat from some sort of kids play set and the bottle was a very obviously recently emptied bottle of wine. The bottle which he was sure his sister was going to be overjoyed that her kids had probably poured the contents of down the sink. The bottle was also cracked and glued back together, the kids not knowing how to do it properly. Not that they could, he realised, when they were using a solid plastic boat. He held it in his hands. It was, objectively, utter trash and it belonged in the rubbish bin.

He cracked a smile.

“Good job.”

The kids giggled and ran off, leaving him and the bottle alone. He felt his phone buzz, seeing a message from Simon. He typed in his reply, giving a quiet laugh, before returning to his nap, his gift sat on the table next to his head.

simon
11: 49

I’m decent, not too much company, there was some good wine