A/N: Quick thing. This shares the same continuity as my DP story Changed Destinies though that's only in the framing story, and that is structured so you don't have to read the other story.
Also, it's good to be writing this story again. I took it down a long time ago so I could write it better, I'm proud to be putting it back up, hopefully better than ever.
"Liberty and order will never be perfectly safe, until a trespass on the constitutional provisions for either, shall be felt with the same keenness that resents an invasion of the dearest rights, until every citizen shall be an Argus to espy, and an Aegon to avenge the unhallowed deed."
-James Madison,
Speech to Congress
1792
A/N: I'm making some minor changes to this chapter to reflect the next chapter's changes.
Chapter One
In the Realm of Shadows and Silence
Ypres, Belgium
The setting sun cast its shadows in the nave of the church when the young woman, bundled against the cold winter outside, walked in. She was of average height; about five foot seven, with brownish skin and black hair that flowed to her shoulders. She stared around her, her eyes, accented with her characteristic epicanthic folds, taking in everything around her. The flags of the United Kingdom and the Commonwealth countries that lined the polished white walls, the regimental flags flying from above the stained glass windows that bore Celtic crosses. And the seats for the congregation: not pews, but row upon row of seats, six in a row, with each seat cushion bearing a regiment's coat of arms.
Beatrix Tang Minghui sighed, an irrational current of indignation flooding for her. She had been thrown into the past among these men, had seen the horror they suffered in those blood-soaked trenches with her eyes, and the soldier she'd become in the days since, even if they still engaged in the polite fiction of calling themselves "ghost hunters" (as that was still the bulk of their duties) was slightly annoyed at the thought of sitting on a coat-of-arms. Still though, there were no known instances of their ghosts coming back to complain about it, so if they were fine with it, she figured she'd be fine with it. And her feet were sore anyway.
It's been a year, the seventeen-year-old thought to herself as she eased herself into a seat at the far back of the right row. One year since I almost died with them on that blood soaked hell a century ago, one year since I had to fight to restore this timeline, even if it meant ensuring that they fought and died here, even if I had a hand in ensuring the first decades of the twentieth century nearly saw the end of humanity.
Because we're at least still here in this timeline, we'd finally managed to actually drive ourselves to the edge of extinction in the other one. How we managed that…
She was startled from her reverie when the door to the nave opened and closed again. She looked up, eyes widening, to see a man and a woman walk towards her into the room. The man was only a few inches taller than she was, close-cropped brown hair. The woman was a couple inches smaller than her. She stood there, surprised, her mouth hanging open.
"Timmy, Molly," she said. "What are you doing here?"
"For the same reason you are," Timmy said. "We would pay our respects too."
Beatrix opened her mouth again, and closed it. She had wanted to be alone this day. However, it had been alongside them that she had fought, bled, and very nearly died. They had as much right, and as much obligation to be here as she did herself.
She nodded, realizing in that moment how much she would have missed their presence on this day, even if she would have seen them when she reported for work tomorrow.
The three of them took their seats, and sat silent.
After a moment, Molly gave a deep sigh, crossed herself and said. "Come to their assistance, all you Saints of God. Meet them all you Angels of the Lord. Receive their souls, and present them to the Most High, amen."
"Amen," she said softly, fighting back the tears that threatened run down her face.
"So," Timmy said. "It's been a year. Do you want to talk about it?"
"I think we should," Molly said. "In another year we'll be eighteen, our status as 'ghost hunters' may confer emancipation, but we kept our fairies because we're still technically under the age of majority in our states. In another year we'll lose them regardless. Whether or not we'll lose our memories of what we accomplished here is…still uncertain. And if we do we owe it to them to remember them firsthand at least one last time." And she wasn't referring solely to the BEF and the armies of Imperial Germany, unfortunately.
Beatrix found herself nodding too. "I agree."
Molly looked up at her. She turned to look at Timmy, who was also staring at her expectantly. She sighed. They were right, she supposed. It had all begun with her. All begun with her when she was thirteen years old.
"Oh, all right," she said, not particularly looking forward to dredge up that particular set of painful memories either. But Molly, damn it all, was right.
"It all began…"
The sky was the dark blue of the early morning when Trixie Tang stood at the bus stop, staring at the well-manicured grasses and trees that stood, silent and forlorn, across the street from her in Dimmsdale Park. She felt a shiver of fear as she watched those trees. Her former "friends" had a habit of ambushing her from forests, especially Veronica. They liked to move into positions in front of and behind her, charge in, rough her up, before melting back into the foliage and retreating to another bus stop, and acting like they hadn't done anything. After the first three such beatings she had begun to vary her route and her bus stops, never taking the same route or sitting at the same bus stop twice in a row. So far it seemed to be working. So far.
This won't work forever, she thought. Ronnie will have her cronies monitoring the bus stops eventually. One of them will spot me and they'll converge. All because my family has the gall to start having money troubles, she thought sarcastically. Like it's my fault I can no longer pay for their shit.
Then again, she knew going in, on some level at least, that that was why they were so interested in being friends with her. She just never imagined that they'd turn on her violently when the gravy train stopped pulling into the station. Until the first time Ronnie slugged her in the face, and allowed their friends, boys and girls both to join in.
I do hope that my dad's new contract works out, she thought, thinking of the contract between their relatively upstart Tang Defense Industries, and the far older and more respected Rheinmetall . I'll actually have money again, not that I'm going to give any of those thugs one cent of it, ever. They'll have to take it from me. A thought followed thirty seconds later by, unfortunately they've demonstrated they're willing to do that.
She sighed, looking around her, her eyes and ears peeled for any site, any sound, of the enemy, keeping an admirable hold on her fear for a thirteen-year-old. A slight breeze had begun to blow, ruffling her hair, and blowing through the trees in front of and behind her.
It was then she smelled it. A distinct fruity scent blowing down the wind, a smell that sent shivers of fear snaking down her spine. Ronnie's perfume, she thought to herself. Then she shook herself…and found herself smiling despite herself. She always did put on too much, and now she's given away her position, even as she grabbed her backpack and turned and ran down the sidewalk.
"She's running into a trap," Molly Potter said from behind Timmy Turner as the two watched the large, magically generated map that dominated the far wall of the treehouse. The map was a vast map of Dimmsdale, generated by the small silver object with the golden star sticking out of the front of it. The two of them had put the projection up in Timmy's clubhouse when Trixie, who Timmy still nursed a serious crush on, had abruptly become the target of particularly vicious bullying. Unfortunately, the only way they could help was to use magic, and since that was forbidden, they were stuck watching from afar.
And they had watched. Watched as Trixie played cat-and-mouse, and played it well. But the cat was going to site the mouse again eventually, and despite appearances, Veronica Black was a cunning cat. They had watched as one of her cronies had finally spotted Trixie, then watched as they sent someone else out wearing her favored perfume, in such quantities anyone could smell it. That maneuver had not been without risk, as there was no way of knowing if Trixie was going to run where she wanted them too, and they didn't have enough people to cover all the possible escape routes.
Unfortunately, she had decided to run right towards them. He looked at the map, at the cluster of red dots, waiting just around the corner at the end of East Seventh Street, waiting for her to run past so they could strike.
And they've been denied their prey too long, he thought, fear for what they may do to her filling him. They're going to be vicious, utterly vicious when they get her.
Then it occurred to him. Veronica's plan had a large hole in it by sheer necessity. She only had so many thugs and they were all with her in their ambush positions, save for one bathed in perfume that had sent her into a run.
"We can finally intervene," Timmy said softly.
"How?" Molly said, and then she saw it too. And her eyes widened as she saw what he was getting it. "I see. If we can draw Veronica's thugs out of position, get them to chase one of us, the other one can get her to here to safety."
"Yeah," Timmy said. "I figure a bunch of pointy rocks being flung at their heads will piss them off enough for them to give chase. Once I've got them focused on me, you will get her here."
The black-haired girl of middling height nodded then stopped. "Wait, you'll be the one to draw them off?" She shook her head. "No, it should be me. I've been in self-defense classes since I was this high," she waved her hand in the general direction of her thigh, "if they manage to corner me I have a chance of fighting my way out."
"If they come at you one or two at a time, maybe," Timmy said. "I saw you when those two high school guys cornered you. You destroyed the one and the other got him and his friend out of there rather than risk your ire. There were only two of them. There are seven in this group."
"Then I'll take half of them with me, but that's a moot point because I have no intention of allowing them to trap me."
"Uh, guys," Swizzle suddenly said from behind her, her face a mask of concern. "If you're going to decide something, decide it now, because she's getting closer."
Timmy let out a deep sigh. "Fine, you'll draw them off." As the two of them moved towards the door, Timmy said. "Don't die, please. I've already lost two friends when Chester and AJ moved way. I don't want to lose you."
She put her hand on his shoulder, surprising her, her…aversion to being touched had improved as she'd gotten older, but she still tended to avoid touching people if she could help it. For her to touch someone else was a strong gesture of affection on her part.
"I'll be fine, Timmy," she said, taking her hand off his shoulder and grabbing her slingshot. "Just get her back here. I'll shake them." As if to punctuate her statement, she grabbed a bag of smoke grenades that they'd bought for paintball off the desk next to her and shoved it into her backpack. She then looked around and grabbed a bag of firecrackers and an old cigarette lighter they'd found lying around the other day.
The sky was still a dark blue and any hint of the sun still a red-orange smear on the horizon when Timothy Turner and Margaret Potter slipped into the foliage across from Veronica and her gang. He picked Veronica out, standing in the middle of the road while the rest of her gang hid, a hateful look on the tall blonde girl's face. Timmy watched as Molly withdrew her slingshot. Picked up a stink bomb and loaded it. She raised her slingshot and drew back, catching Veronica in her sights.
She loosed, and the the stink bomb streaked across and smacked splattering in a dark puce mass across her forehead even as the pungent smell of rotten eggs began to spread on everyone, tickling his nostrils and causing a chorus of groans and swears from the assembled gang. Molly burst forward from the foliage, stepping into the streetlight.
"Hey, douchebags! You can all go fu-,"
"Get her!" Veronica shrieked, her eyes blazing even as the rest of them emerged and converged behind her. "Stop her before she can get away!"
Molly however was already running away back down East Seventh, she sidestepped the way out of one meaty punch from a boy who's fist collided into the girl next to her. She ran down three or four houses before turning back.
"You're all so tough! You couldn't even hit me!"
Veronica shrieked again and tore after her, with everyone else in hot pursuit, the ambush apparently forgotten. After a few moments he poked his head out of the underbrush. The street was clear, though she could still hear them yelling off in the distance.
"Good luck, Molly," he said softly, wishing Cosmo and Wanda were here to provide him with updates on how she was doing. Unfortunately they were in FairyWorld taking Poof to the doctors, and Swizzle would be busy, providing the information she'd need to avoid being drawn into what would be a disastrously short battle. Sighing, he ran down the road, moving to meet up with Trixie. Hoping that she would continue running straight towards him, and not divert somewhere else, like God forbid, into the running pursuit.
Trixie stumbled down the sidewalk, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps that burned her throat with the autumn air, as her sore legs finally wobbled and she pitched forward. She looked around her, seemingly made of shadow in the predawn darkness, she could make out the trees and houses, both on her side of the street, and on the other side. No convenient alleys or side paths, damn it, she thought to herself.
"The road ahead is safe now," a male voice said suddenly, and she looked up to see a boy about her age with close-cut brown hair, wearing a dark pink shirt and blue jeans. A boy she recognized. Timmy, or is it Tommy, she thought. "My friend goaded them into pursuing her."
"What do you mean?" Trixie asked, surprised. She didn't think he was lying to her, no it was more that someone she'd been less than nice to would have bestirred himself to help her, and that they were apparently able to do it.
"I mean," Timmy said, an edge of concern on his voice, "she hit them with a stinkbomb than goaded them into following her," Timmy said, and, illuminated in the streetlight, she could see the fear on his face. "She's no doubt leading them on a merry chase, leading them so far out of position that by the time they figure out what she's doing and break off to come kill you, I'll have gotten you out of here."
The look the Turner boy was giving her was clear. My friend's sticking her neck out for you, so less talking more hiding.
"Let's go," Trixie said quickly, as Timmy motioned to follow him back down the street.
For her part, Molly sorely wished there had been a better option. Her legs and throat were on fire, but she dared not stop. She'd seen the look in Veronica's eyes, it was the look of someone who needed a victim, and she no longer particularly cared who that victim was. If they caught her, they were going to beat her within an inch of her life, literally. They wouldn't kill her, though. Probably. Like any godparent worth her salt, she'd been helping save the world in one capacity or another since she was ten , and she'd seen someone who wanted to kill more than once. And if the look in Veronica Black's eyes was not of someone goaded to murder, it was pretty damn close.
Still though, I'd rather this not be a one way trip to the hospital, or the morgue, she thought, and I can disengage, I just need to time it correctly. She sighed, and looked back at the enemy, still chasing her and hurling insults at the tops of their lungs. And despite their threats, their jeers, she smiled. She'd manage to widen the range on them a bit. Also, she was approaching another intersection. Perfect.
Thank God, she thought as she brought her backpack around from her back and reached inside, withdrawing three smoke grenades, that I always always over prepare. When she reached the intersection, she slowed and ran out into the middle of the intersection, turning to face them before she came to a stop. She watched them. They continued to barrel forward, blood in their eyes, flight-or-fight having robbed them of all sense, made it impossible for them to consider that she maybe had stopped for a reason. One that wasn't necessarily to their advantage.
What was it Clausewitz once said? She thought to herself her intelligence belying her years. War is fought by human beings? I guess I'm about to find out for myself if that's true or not. She reached into her bag and pulled out three smoke grenades. Setting the fuses to a two-second delay she yanked their pins and threw them so they landed ahead of the oncoming gang. Then she pulled out the firecrackers and cigarette lighter.
Two seconds later the smoke grenades went, blazing as they pushed their filler out as green, yellow, and purple smoke that filled the square. Amid the sounds of coughing and swearing, she charged, yelling at the top of her lungs and flung her handful of firecrackers into the seething multicolored morass before turning and running in the opposite direction as she listened to them popping off.
"She's here!" She heard Veronica half-cough. "Attack!" She heard yelling and fists colliding as they attacked each other in the confusion.
Molly couldn't help but smile as she ran. What she did was almost certainly as illegal as what they were trying to do, but what the hell, they deserved it.
Three minutes later, she collapsed in a heap in an empty basement, bare save for some empty shelves. One of the few silver linings of any housing collapse, she thought to herself, as she breathed heavily in and out. Plenty of abandoned buildings to hide in. She sighed and closed her eyes for a minute before yanking her sunglasses out of her pocket.
"All right, Swiz," she said, into the tiny, almost invisible communicator in her ears. "Tactical update, my glasses and Timmy's: my position relative to the enemy and status of enemy movements."
"Molly," she heard Swizzle's voice a second later as the map appeared, projected to her sunglasses. "That was amazing!" The cluster of red dots marking Veronica's gang of impromptu thugs had scattered, with everyone heading every which way except in her general direction.
"You managed to get them to rough each other up pretty good," Swizzle said. "Looks like they're going to ground, you've won."
