Chapter Text
“Dad?” the scared voice of a child asked, with the only response being the echo from the darkness of the night. “Dad? Where are you? I promise I won’t do it again! Please, just come find me…”
Most of the trees in the forest towered over him, making him look small, fragile. His blond hair was tangled with leaves and twigs, mud and dirt staining his white shirt.
The boy thought about how stupid it was, how it all started. His father and him had gotten into another fight. Why? He couldn’t even remember. All he knew was that he ran into a nearby forest out of anger, like what all kids do. His father didn’t bother chasing after him. No one wants a son who doesn’t listen.
He regrets it now, as the cold bit his skin. Slowly. Agonizingly. He wished he hadn’t done that, hadn’t run away like a stupid, humiliated Mauspunch. Pathetic, really. He could have just an to his room and slammed the door instead.
He wondered what his father was thinking right now. Was he looking for him? Had he even noticed his son was gone? Probably not, the boy thought. He’s been in this forest for at least half an hour now, trying to find his way home. His little feet ached from walking, some parts of his skin being covered in splinters and scratches from fumbling between the bushes.
But it seemed that the longer he searched, the deeper he went. He finally sat down against a rock. With nothing but the rustling of leaves from the faint wind, the boy knew it was over for him. No child so young could survive in this environment, especially when winter’s settling in.
Thinking about it, he chuckled. Earlier in the day, when he was playing with Portia, both of them with action figures in their hands, he told her that he would die a hero, someone everyone would look up to. That he would be remembered, people would tell stories about him. Like his father…
But no, he would die a scared kid, in the middle of the forest with no one looking for him. No one will remember him. Probably not even his father, with how bad of a note they had ended on earlier. Was he still mad? Will he be mad at him for dying? Quincy didn’t think about that too much, the more he did, the more it would hurt.
Curling up into a ball on the dirty ground, his breath fogging the surrounding air, he cried. Not those loud sobs people would expect from a lost kid, the kind to shake the ground. Something quiet, reserved.
Suddenly, he felt… Warmth, like someone was wrapping his arms around him. Then came the whisper, the voice was incredibly soft, if someone with that voice sang a lullaby to him right now, he could fall asleep. He couldn’t help but close his eyes, just wanting to find comfort in this strange hallucination he was having.
“It’s okay. I see you, you’re safe now, Aesteron.”
If he had the energy, he would have corrected the voice with a rather annoyed face that his name was Quincy, not… Aesteron. But he couldn’t do that ever again, could he? He would never be able to complain again, play again, be a normal human again. Breath barely there, the boy briefly opened his eyes, wanting to see the trees one last time, and felt himself drift away peacefully.
◇ ◇ ◇
“Master!” Reginald said, bursting through the doors with a child curled up in his arms “I found him!”
Charles immediately spun around from his work and let out a sigh of relief. “Quincy, what were you thinking???” He approached the two, footsteps thudding on the hardwood floor. “Did you want to get mauled by wild doodles- oh, great, you’re covered in filth.”
The man’s nose crinkled at the sight of his son’s ruined shirt. He had never- and would never- allow Quincy to get dirty before. It was utterly unimaginable that **his** son of all children would have even a spec of dirt on him. Under normal circumstances, he would have hit him, but with the fact that the boy was lost in the forest for an hour, he supposed he could let it slide this once.
“Reginald,” Charles ordered “Get the boy to his room, bathe him, and for the love of DoodleCo, get him some clean clothes.”
“Yes, master.” The servant said obediently before rushing off, Quincy still in his arms.
But as the went through the door towards the hallway that led to the bathroom, the man saw a glimpse of something. His child was staring at him, not shaking or scared. Those eyes… They were cold, daunting with apathy no person this young should be able to comprehend yet. Almost… Ghostly.
Then the door shut with a grounding bang, pulling the man out of his thoughts, making him realize he was in the room alone again. A full day of paperwork must have been messing with his brain. Maybe he should get some sleep...
◇ ◇ ◇
“Quincy!” Portia said, smiling with relief “I thought you were dead! What happened? Did you get lost in the woods?”
Her friend simply shrugged, playing with the toys on the floor, his legs swinging. It was awkward, heavy silence for a few moments. Portia didn’t like that.
It was weird. She’s known Quincy for all her 5 and a half years of existence. If anything, he should have been shaking like a leaf, sniffling and crying. Portia would have, admitedly, laughed at him, and then comfort him since that's what she was supposed to do. And yet, he was playing like nothing happened.
As an attempt to get him talking, she said “So… Was being alone there scary? Did you cry?”
Smirking, she expected him to playfully shove him, maybe put up a brave fiasco that he wasn’t scared at all. But the result? A sharp snap. Portia closed her eyes shut and covered her ears, so much the sound was loud.
When she opened them again, she sat frozen on the cold floor. The toy Horbeast her friend was holding in his hand moments prior was crushed to pieces, black plastic shards everywhere, the nearby lamp's light reflecting off of them.
Reginald came running in, hearing the sound. Looking at the mess his young master caused, he sighed.
“Oh, Quincy, did you step on it?” he asked, cleaning the pieces up.
The boy nodded, his eyes still empty. Portia was trembling in the corner, clutching her fists together with her knees pulled to her chest, like she always does when spooked. Reginald glanced at her with concern but assumed it was just the noise. After all, young children get scared of sudden noises, right?
“Alright you two, bedtime.” He said, taking Quincy’s hand. “Portia, you’re mother’s waiting for you outside.”
She nodded, shaken. It was raining that night, droplets falling onto the car window, makin soothing tapping sounds. Portia watched them slide down the glass, how they became bigger the more distance they dripped. She couldn’t help but think about something. She might be young, but she isn’t stupid. Well, at least she’s smart enough to know one thing. That wasn’t Quincy. He looked like Quincy, had the same face as Quincy, even spoke like Quincy. So… Why didn’t it feel like him?
Back at the house, a small figure watched the vehicle drive away until it turned a corner, and for the fist time that night, he cacked something resembling a smile, one that made the little light remaining in his eyes fade completely.