Chapter Text
It was sunny, as it always seemed to be in that all-too familiar town. The bitter cold, leaving proof of each breath taken, being the only true indication of the wintry months. The cars slowed, reaching the usually busy road, blockage signs confusing them as they slowed and changed routes, following a new trail they seemed to always find. The usually car filled, impossible-to-cross road, was still busy, stalls littered across the pavements, pedestrians overrunning the streets, Christmas garland acting as a crown across the kingdom it now owned, Incandescent, warm, festive lights being their crown Jules. People chattered amongst one another, celebrating the festive season, appreciating the markets that had been set up seemingly overnight, colour varying from stall to stall, but predominantly golden, red and green, to try and stay ‘on theme’ as much as they could, for a town that was always conveniently sunny.
However ordinary this seemed to be to the townsfolk, especially with the stories they had heard, one boy was, undeniably, irregular. He wore a red cape, over his weird blue tunic and long sleeved, white polo shirt, with his white trousers only just passing his knees, brown, fluffy boots connecting him to the ground, which, for how he acted and seemed, felt almost irregular, with how he looked beyond the world, almost as though he was looking for something not really there, stood by a corner, like he was ready to turn around and run, while constantly shifting around, clearly disturbed by... something. He had auburn hair, often causing arguments between bored residents on if it was brown or ginger, though, despite all this, the roughly 13-year-old boy had one remarkable, stranger feature, and that was what he held; a stuffed doll, which he always insisted was a fairy, and nothing less. He may have been unusual, but him and his ‘doll’ weren’t left unaffected by the festivities, two Santa hats were atop the ‘two’ of them.
The doll was a yellow thing, with a cyan blue looking ‘shirt’ covering the lower half of his small body, he resembled a droplet. His button eyes stitched on, his arms and legs ropes, dangling from this ‘body’ he had. If the boy wasn’t so insistent on the “fairy” (as he dubbed it) being, at the minimum, a doll, most would’ve assumed the thing to be an old antique from the local store, a cheap little thing that the boy had a strange attachment to, yet nobody questioned it, for they all had gotten the mouthful from Mrs Leia when the boy got the replica commissioned after losing the original, never letting the new version leave his side after he finally stopped locking himself in his room for several days, or even weeks at a time.
[small note: he wasn’t locking himself in his room, but that’s just what people sort of assumed was going on when he was in the other world]
“Hey, Ollie!”
Oh, look! It’s Phil!
Phil was stood by Oliver’s side, to the right, to be particular, considering if he were to be on the left, he’d be in the middle of a busy road. He wore his usual belt and dark jeans, his regular shirt being changed, instead wearing a white, long sleeved polo shirt, a red, Christmas sweater over it, mimicking his usual style with a more festive theme. As Phil always did at this time of year, he had his usual stall up, the same one he puts up in the summertime, selling small model cars of any of the ones you’d see on a regular day, plus some more intricate models he had made in his free time over the past few months. He also sold blueprints, copies of whatever his most recent project was and, in some cases, he had convinced Denny or Myrtle to draw for him, and had printed copies off in the bookstore, somewhere he often only visited to see if there had been any new additions to the automobile or engineering sections, often leaving with a defeated look upon his face. His stall was neatly organised, for Phil had done this many times before, setting up the cars in organised rows, on a fold up table covered with a black cloth, the posters (or, blueprints and printed images) hung behind him, rolls of the posters under the desk. He was always proud about his stall, maybe a little *too* proud, talking to anyone passing by who he referred to, and only referred to, as “potential customers”.
“Huh...? Oh... Phil!”
Oliver looked at his friend for a while, glancing between him and the cars, a familiar memory which he insisted no longer affected him festering in his mind, something to do with the festivities, the cars which he knew Phil was hiding the model he owned from the car he had built on that night from the world, the drawings so similar to the board he had seen, his friend boldly pointing at on that evening.
The two spoke for a while, but they were both clearly anxious, the conversation soon ending with Phil mentioning something about missing out on customers, and Oliver went back to his corner, yet somehow, it was darker now, whether it be by the two of them talking for longer than they thought, or it getting darker earlier due to winter, it was undeniably more than before, the festive lights beginning to fully illuminate the main road, helped by the regular street lights, acting as guidance amongst the void, something Oliver had become familiar with a time ago, such a short literal distance away from him now, only a few months at best, yet it had felt like years in his mind.
Oliver soon decided it was time to go, in the form of running upon seeing Mrs Leia leave her store with Myrtle and Denny, knowing that otherwise, he’d have been brought into their celebrations, with two families and him. He had agreed to celebrate with them all out of niceties, yet now that it was time to celebrate, he couldn’t bear himself to accept the offer, instead doing what he did best, running away.
He arrived at his house, the door locked, the key in his bag, but he never opened the door, or really thought about it, sitting outside the door, knees to his chest, the commissioned replica of Mr Drippy as a doll in his arms, close to him. He knew how silly it was, how he could just visit his fairy friend if he really wanted to, but at some point, he knew he needed to stay in his own world, he couldn’t always be a hero, regardless of how famous or wealthy he was in that world, his body didn’t really know how to accept him being in that world and not having to save the place, often having nightmares of a ‘big evil’ he had to fight again, some of which being triumphant dreams, others reminding him of the reason he initially took the journey. He’d had a lot of those recently, for a reason unbeknownst to him. That strange plushie was the only thing keeping him from going back to the other world every night, sleeping there, under guard, and returning. It provided a safety, a sense of warmth, yet, even knowing he could go and talk to Phil or Myrtle or Denny, or even Swaine or Esther or Drippy or anyone else, he felt alone, in a sense he couldn’t explain. He found himself mumbling, this time to himself, while waiting. He sat by his doorstep and waited, this was the first Christmas he was experiencing without his mother, despite knowing what would happen, how impossible it was, he was waiting for her warmth to return. He was waiting for her to come home, singing the usual carols, hymns that he would fall asleep to every year before this. He knew she wouldn’t return, but any time someone were to walk past, asking what he was up to, with that bittersweet sense of sympathy in their voices, he’d say he was stargazing, something about Shadar and Cassiopeia being visible at that time of year, or that he was “looking for Santa’s sleigh”, another excuse he’d make, but, as a 13 year old boy, it was harder for people to believe.
Eventually, he decided to accept that nobody was coming to join him, unlocking the door, yet leaving it unlocked. He knew Motorville was safe enough to leave his door unlocked, I mean, half of the town knew by now he was living alone, using god-knows-what to pay rent, but he never seemed to be really too bad off for cash, having all his rarities from the other world to sell, alongside the stories in the Wizard’s Companion to sell off to the bookstore, alongside some shifts he picked up from the other shops around. He figured nobody would have reason to break into the home of the ‘unfortunate orphan boy’, as they’d typically call him, he silently hoped, despite knowing the reality of it all, that this was another one of those times where he had just gotten home before his mother, yet, in the silence of his bedroom, he thought, accepting the idea this wouldn’t be the case, and decided he didn’t want to be In that small village anymore.