Disclaimer: ehem – I do not own The Incredibles. Everything belongs to Pixar and we're all very happy

Ok, so this is maybe the first fic I've posted

where I don't know at least two chapters ahead what's going on

In summary: I don't know where I'm going with this

But please bear with me

And also, apologies for everyone who expected this to be an ER fic.

I am planning a follow-up to Beyond All Of Everything

Please look out for it

It will probably be entitled: "A Prominent Central Vein"

Meanwhile, this is my first The Incredibles fic because I was completely taken in by the film

Well done Brad Bird and co-workers

But for now – as always – Enjoy! Love LJ xXx

Throw Me. Chapter One. Healing Time

- o -

In desperate situations, you do not question things, just as she did not stop and stand still wondering where her husband and two eldest children were – there just wasn't time. And the situation was desperate. His cape was long, black and it snapped in the air behind him like the archetypal villain; the baby over his shoulder pleaded with her, reached out to her, though only with his round, crying eyes. That was the only sound that rang in her ears – that wail of his and the way it made her frantically sick with worry. She was running, running, running but it was like she was on a treadmill at the gym and he wasn't getting any closer. If anything, he was getting further away. It was pointless, the running, she felt the panicked exasperation of realising that she was not helping and that, worse – far worse, ahead of her, the black-and-white shape of Syndrome was escaping with her baby son howling for her over his shoulder.

Fighting to swallow her heart that pounded in her throat, she resorted to her second nature (or was it first?) and reached out her arms towards the small, and getting smaller, figure of little Jack-Jack. But: nothing. Nothing was happening.

"Oh god – oh god..."

Now helpless, now resigned to this, she fell to the floor with nothing left in her. She would've cried, she would've sobbed and screamed and begged, but as her youngest child, her tiny son, disappeared, she could only watch in wide-eyed horror. And Mrs. Helen Parr, mother of three, suburban housewife, who had struggled so hard for any sense of normality, found that she was just that. Normal.

"Oh god."

But with this strangled cry, Helen's eyes blink open to darkness and the familiar untroubled sleeping face of her husband. She lies beside him for a while, tiny in comparison, and catches her breath in the dark. That was horrible. Horrible. Running and getting nowhere, reaching and nothing happening, tripping and watching helplessly. Running her tongue over her dry lips, she takes a deep, decisive breath and moves her hand to sweep back her scarcely unruly hair from her face. Only she can't. Looking down, she realises why and only sighs with frustration. This wasn't the first time; in the midst of a fraught and chilling nightmare, her flailing arms had become entangled and knotted themselves firmly around her right ankle.

"Honey?" she hisses in the dark room, inching as best she can across the mattress to nudge him softly on his shoulder. "Bob?"

"Mmm?" he replies though his eyes stay closed. She rolls her eyes and pokes him more sharply in the shin with her free left foot.

"Bob?" Louder now as she kicks him, he jolts awake.

"Eh? Wha-? Huh?" Bob Parr puts out a hand to flick on the light and gazes, blearily and blinking, at his wife's reproachful expression and raised eyebrows when he smirks at her: twisted and tied around herself in a way that even the best contortionists can't manage.

"Little help?" her lips twitch in a smile despite herself and he chuckles.

"Occupational hazard, right?" he comments, his voice sounding croaky in the early hours of the morning. "I should leave you tied-up after kicking me like that." He grins and begins to carefully unpick the jumbled knot.

"You wouldn't dare," she answers instantly but smiles fondly at the top of his head while he peers over the tangled mess she'd got herself into.

"Tell me if I hurt you," he murmurs, before briefly looking up at her and asking, softly: "Bad dream, honey?"

She doesn't have a smart, sharp answer this time and stays silent for a while before finding words.

"I'd forgotten – forgotten how it was like," she admits, quietly. "And even then, it wasn't the same. Jack-Jack – he – he was just –"

"Done."

"Thanks, honey."

Bob Parr glances up and smiles at her as she stretches out her arms, stiff from hours twisted around each other. "You were saying? Jack-Jack..."

"He was just so small," Helen finishes finally and looks back at him, expecting some kind of light-hearted comment in return. Instead, he only wraps his strong arms around her and nods.

"I know, and he doesn't have any powers. He was so –"

"Helpless, yes. And it was tough, thinking of him, of Vi and Dash. I mean, who do you look out for first? Whose back do you watch? It was never like this –"

"Before." They finish in unison.

"Yes," Helen's face breaks into a smile, realising the same thoughts had chased in his mind, too.

"Well, honey, it's over now – that was yesterday," he comforts.

"But what about when –" she begins, launching into endless 'what if's.

"We'll deal with that when the time comes," he interjects firmly. Her eyes search his for any sign of indecision or uncertainty but, finding none, only nods slowly and buries her face in his chest as he reaches out and flicks the light off.

- o -