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When she was a kid, Aubrey always thought of Hero as a kind of older brother. It’s strange to see him speaking to her own younger self now. From this distance, they really do look almost like siblings.
She wishes she could still see him as simply as she used to.
Kel taps her on the shoulder. “You should talk to her.”
Aubrey barely glances at him. “I don’t have time to babysit.”
“You don’t have time?” Kel echoes, incredulous. “Tell me what is cooler and more important than talking to your own younger self. Other than just standing here and watching creepily, I guess.”
Aubrey shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk to her. I was so – so stupid back then. I didn’t know anything about what life is like.”
“You were a kid,” Kel says. “It’s okay to be a kid when you’re a kid, y’know?”
“And what’s your excuse for still being like this now?” Aubrey shoots back.
Kel raises his hands. “Hey, I’m sixteen. Technically still a kid.” He gestures in the direction of the younger Aubrey. “You know it blew her mind when she found out how mature I am now?”
Yeah, she’s not buying that. “Maybe when she saw how tall you are now.”
They’re both quiet for a moment, leaning back against the fence together.
“I’m gonna bring her over here,” Kel announces.
Aubrey jerks. “Don’t you—”
He’s already heading over there. Fuck.
Fine. Kid Aubrey’s bright smile feels like a dagger, but Aubrey guesses she can endure it long enough to say a few words to her. Whatever you’re supposed to say to yourself.
Or some version of herself, at least. According to Hero and Kel, her memories don’t totally seem to line up with the real Aubrey at that age. She has a friend called Omori, apparently, and she fights a lot more dangerous wildlife than Aubrey remembers getting into trouble with when she was, what, thirteen?
They still haven’t worked out where the hell she came from.
Kel’s on his way back, with Hero and the younger Aubrey in tow. Aubrey braces herself.
“Hey!” her kid self exclaims, the moment she’s within speaking distance. “I really wanted to tell you that your hair is amazing.”
“Oh,” Aubrey says, a little taken aback. “Thanks?”
“It looks even better than I thought it would. Did Mari dye her hair as well?”
Aubrey throws Hero a sharp look. She doesn’t fucking know? He hasn’t told her?
Hero looks as deer-in-the-headlights as Aubrey is feeling right now. He probably has some very mature, sensible reason for not talking about Mari. Maybe he wanted to leave the decision of whether to let her know up to Aubrey, as they’re apparently kind of the same person.
Aubrey’s still kind of furious with him for leaving it in her hands. As much as she hates her younger self for being so carefree, Aubrey doesn’t actually feel great about the prospect of shattering that.
She has to say something. Right? This Aubrey’s from – from another universe or something, there’s no saving the real Mari, their Mari, but maybe another version of her could live on if someone knew to watch out for her.
Or maybe Aubrey will put the weight of that responsibility on her other self, and Mari will still fucking die, and this poor kid will just end up blaming herself for it even more than Aubrey does now. If all it took to save a life was knowing it might be in danger, she wouldn’t be losing so much sleep over Sunny and Basil.
In the end, Aubrey just pulls her younger self into her arms and doesn’t say a word.