All Stories In The End

by freudwithwings

None of the stories ever happened, you know. Series AU. (Themes of death and illness.)

Title: We're All Stories In The End

Author: Winged

Summary: None of the stories ever happened, you know. Series AU.

Author's Note: The title comes from a Doctor Who quote (but no, this is not a crossover). This is a very heavy AU of the entire Artemis Fowl series.

Warning: References to death and illness, additional angst, and use of strong language.

-X-

We met in the Haven cafe just down the block from the transit station. Back then, you were just this asshole named Arthur who happened to sit beside me while I was busy fending off an internet troll. It was late in the day and I was tired, which was why I didn't notice you pull away my plate of acorn cakes until they were out of reach.

"Excuse me," I said, not entirely sure yet whether you'd mistaken them for your own or if this was some misguided attempt at hitting on me.

"I am sorry," you said in that tone that implied you were not sorry at all. "Your food has been taken hostage. A ransom of two bucks fifty cents is required if you wish to see your cakes returned… unharmed."

I stared at you, trying to process your words. "Are you holding my food hostage for your bus fare?"

"My transfer expired," you explained with a shrug. "Come on, you got the dough?"

I rolled my eyes but ended up digging through my purse for change. When I handed it over, you passed the plate back - but not before snagging two of the cakes for yourself. "Hostage exchanges so often go sour," you smirked. "Consider these killed in the crossfire."

I tried to ignore you after that, without much luck. You talked too much. If I hadn't forgotten my headphones, I wouldn't have had to listen to you ramble on about how your internet was on the fritz again. Normally, you told me, the neighbour's wi-fi served as backup, only they must have figured out that you were using it because it was locked. You could hack in easily enough but just hadn't gotten around to it - a statement which I was fairly sure was complete bull.

If you hadn't started packing up when you did, I probably would have left. Should have before that, really. You wandered around behind me while zipping up your coat and glanced at the conversation on my screen. And then, somehow, you'd taken the keyboard to type out a reply to that troll who wouldn't leave me alone.

"There," you said, more than satisfied as you pressed send. "Bet that will shut them up."

I punched you in the arm because what gave you the right to take over my computer? You looked almost shocked before that smirk appeared again. Swinging your backpack onto your shoulder, you sauntered out into the street, peering in both directions before taking a right to head to the transit station. I watched you go and all I could think was, "God, what an asshole."

-X-

It was already snowing by the time you showed up at the cafe again. I'd gotten a job as a barista in the meantime and I rolled my eyes when you grinned across the counter. To be polite, I asked what you were doing for the holidays and you just shrugged and said, "Nothing much, it's not such a big thing since Dad left."

I felt kind of bad for asking, which is why I brought you that acorn cake when my shift ended. You'd taken your jacket off and I could see the purple bruise where I'd punched you before. I couldn't decide if I felt sorry or satisfied for it.

You seemed distracted but I sat down anyway. Out of revenge for the last time, I took a swig of your coffee only to be taken aback by the taste of Earl Grey.

You gave me a stunningly cold look. "Do you need something?"

I tried to play dumb, which didn't go over very well. "You wouldn't be here without reason," you pointed out, "So start talking, acorn girl."

I picked at the cake since you hadn't so much as glanced at it. In response, you closed your computer and pulled the plate towards you. "Your laptop finally died, didn't it?"

And, without even allowing me to ask how you could have guessed, you launched into an explanation. Something about noticing the fan running too fast last time we met, and how you neglected to mention it because I'd punched you. "I could fix it for you, Erin," you said finally, "But I'd need something in return."

-X-

That was how we ended up hopping fences into your neighbour's yard that evening. Old Blind Opal, you called her, and said she was tiny and vain and didn't need the internet anyway. Apparently, it was only ever used when her son came to visit. You'd decided that you might as well help yourself.

"And this is easier than reconnecting your own?" I asked, my back to the door as you picked the lock. I kept glancing at you nervously, until you got fed up and told me to relax - it wasn't illegal unless we got caught.

"That is the worst logic I've ever heard," I muttered, but I followed you into the house anyway.

Later, when we sat in your living room as you pulled my laptop apart, you let it slip that your internet contract had expired. That was why you needed to unlock the neighbour's - because your mom hadn't done anything about it yet. There were so many responses I could have made to that, but I settled on the easiest: "There's always the cafe," I said, and you glowered.

-X-

You came in with a rubik's cube one day and when I asked, you vaguely mentioned that it belonged to your dad. It rested on your keyboard as you drank tea and stared out the window until I dropped into the chair opposite you.

"I thought you didn't need our wi-fi anymore," I said, but it turned out Opal had changed her internet's password again.

You wore a hoodie that day, even though it was always warm in the cafe, and maybe that should have been a clue. But you acted just as normal - distracted, maybe, but it was that cloudy sort of day that always seemed to drain the energy of any who ventured outside. I asked if you'd solved the cube and you said you could if you wanted to - just hadn't gotten around to it yet. Your dad had been able to twist it right in record time but ever since he left, the colours stopped lining up.

Somehow, you got onto the topic of computer engineering and the way you bragged of all the things you'd learned was almost enough to make me like you. Not for the superiority complex - hell, no - but because you were so damn proud of learning this stuff on your own. The passion in your voice broke through that smug exterior.

"You know a lot," I said at last, when you remembered your tea and paused to take a drink.

"That's the fun of being this age," you responded. "Everyone always underestimates me."

When the car pulled up for you outside the door, you rushed to pack up your bag. From what I could see through the glass, the driver was large and burly. It was your brother, you explained, only I misheard.

"Your butler?"

You rolled your eyes. "Yes, Erin, I have a butler."

-X-

You never did show up again at the cafe. I wondered a little whether you'd moved or if your internet had finally been reconnected - or maybe you'd found someone else to play lookout while you broke into Opal's house again. Until half a year had passed and I didn't wonder anymore because really, you were just another customer and I was busy enough with school. Then the manager of the cafe was replaced and along with the changes came an insufferable supervisor. Before the year was out, I'd shed the green uniform and started looking for another job.

In the meantime, I began a volunteer position at the local hospital. Life can be weird like that - if I hadn't quit, I wouldn't have been in the hospital that day. Wouldn't have met you by chance in the cancer kids wing, even though I normally didn't pass through that hall. Wouldn't have seen the look on your face and, on a whim, poured you a cup of Earl Grey.

Your eyes were vacant that day, as if you couldn't quite remember pieces of yourself. Your ginger hair had just begun to thin, your freckles standing out against pale cheeks. Later, the nurse would tell me it was terminal, and I'd almost wish I hadn't asked.

I waited until you had come back to yourself enough to complain about the quality of the hospital's tea. Too much lavender in the blend, you claimed. When I looked confused, you snapped, "The tea, stupid."

I hadn't even known you could eat lavender, to which you countered, "Well, obviously you're not supposed to." You passed the cup back and I took a sip and although I wasn't a tea person, even I could tell it was awful.

You were there on your own because your brother had to work - you didn't even mention your mom - and there was another hour to kill before he came to pick you up. I had half a shift of volunteer work to finish two floors above but I told you that if you were still around afterward, I might stop by again.

-X-

Your brother was late, otherwise I wouldn't have seen you again that day. You were waiting in one of the side rooms designed for younger kids and scowling at the monkey painting on the opposite wall, but perked up the moment you noticed me. "I was meaning to ask," you began right away, "How's the computer doing?"

My laptop was in my knapsack since I'd come straight to the hospital after school. We ended up hunched over a table in the waiting room doing battle against a collection of internet trolls that had started to plague an online forum I frequented. For once, your scathing sense of sarcasm was actually useful.

When you got the call from your brother that he was finally on his way, you closed the window before I could stop you and spotted the document I'd had open behind it.

"Please tell me you're not writing about fairies," was the first thing you said. Your eyes flickered as you skimmed the page but, mercifully, you didn't make a move to scroll down.

"They have guns," I said defensively, and maybe I would have said more or moved my computer away but that was right when the nurse popped her head in and asked if I'd help carry something to the closet down the hall.

The page was still open when I got back but I assumed you hadn't any interest in my flimsy attempts at writing to bother investigating further. Maybe my writing wasn't good enough, or the story wasn't engaging, or perhaps it just wasn't your thing. I felt too awkward to ask.

-X-

"Come here often?" you called when I came across you two weeks later. You were still pale but smirked ferociously like you had some secret to share. Turns out you did.

I hadn't even crossed the room before you'd pulled out a memory stick from your bag and tossed it over. "It's good," you declared, "Although the ending was too obvious. There's a much better way of resolving that."

Even then, I didn't understand what you were talking about. Not until you confessed to downloading a copy of my rough draft when I'd left the room the last time.

"You read it?" I asked, aghast at the thought. And you laughed and repeated that it was pretty good (for a rough draft) and had potential (so long as I worked at it) and really, why hadn't I figured out a better way of resolving the plot (it was so obvious)?

You held out on me, of course. There was no way you were going to spill the beans unless I did something in return. The last time you'd asked for a trade in favours, I'd ended up breaking into a stranger's house, so I declined the offer. Besides, I had my pride. I could figure it out on my own, I said. Give me a few days.

"I'll be generous - take all the time you need," was your response. "But remember, for an anti-hero as smart as yours, you have to give him a truly stunning plan."

I almost thought you'd figured it out, then, but you were actually serious and trying to help for once. I passed back the memory stick and somehow ended up with your cell number so I could let you know once I'd figured it out - although you still seemed to doubt that I'd manage on my own.

-X-

We were in the kid's lounge again, hanging out and pretending not to watch the movie on the corner television, when I met Minnie for the first time. She came into the room just as you were explaining that if I wanted my anti-hero to sound intelligent, I needed to pay more attention to differentiating his speech patterns.

"Since when do you know so much about this?" I asked, rolling my eyes at your know-it-all attitude.

You didn't even notice. "I read," you said, "And I pick up on things. Enough to know a great story from a good one. And hey, if you haven't figured out that plot point yet -"

"I'm still working on it," I growled.

Minnie was a girl with golden, curly wigs that I'd seen around the hospital, although we'd barely spoken before. She'd chosen a seat across the room from us, flipping through magazines until finally, she couldn't help herself any longer.

"He is right, you know," she cut in, flipping her curls back. "Character voice is absolutely vital in a story. I'm assuming you are Erin, yes?"

So suddenly I was stuck in a room with two pretentious know-it-alls and no excuse to leave - although I didn't really mind as much as I thought I should. I sat back and listened as you discussed the finer points of literature with Minnie and wondered how you'd managed to convince yourself of your literary genius when you'd never managed to scribble down a single page - as I knew by your own confession.

"My birthday's this weekend," Minnie said once the conversation had started to drift. "All I want are some intelligent books on geology and my dad can't seem to wrap his head around it. What - does he think I want a fucking pony?"

It was only after you caught on that I realized she was trying to invite us over to celebrate. "Are you sure?" I asked, hesitant with the knowledge that I'd known her for less than a half hour.

Minnie shrugged. "Not like there's anyone else to invite. Mo's coming, too. And Phil." But although she directed the words at me, she was looking to you. And I don't know if you caught it then - don't know if you ever noticed these sorts of things - but she perked right up when you finally said you'd stop by.

-X-

Minnie was right when she said there weren't many people coming. I recognized Mo and Phil from the hospital but only one other person showed up and he was her cousin. Of the five guests, three of us managed to get her the same geology book - chosen for the intellectual-looking cover. You were bright enough to find something unique.

We ended up hanging out occasionally in the kid's lounge of the hospital after that. Who would show up always depended on the day or the week. Sometimes, other teens would slip in to join us. Then there would be days when it was just you and me alone.

We didn't just meet at the hospital, either. There were times we'd adventure out to the mall or the nearby ice cream joint. Mo was always hungry which meant whenever he was around, we'd have to hunt down food. Phil, on the other hand, preferred to stay inside. Minnie never really had a preference; she would go with whatever you decided.

-X-

It was a while before you realized that she liked you. I maintain that it was only because of me that you picked up on it at all. It was an accident, of course - I'd merely asked if the two of you had gone on a date yet, to which you expressed utter confusion. I may have been a little smug to have been the first to catch on, for once.

By that time, Minnie wasn't up for going anywhere. She got her date, though. It wasn't hard to set up a meal for the two of you in the cafeteria during the slow hours of the evening. Neither of you ever said much about how it went, afterward, but I don't think it had been a disaster. It just wasn't the right time for you both. Maybe a few weeks earlier -

Well, Minnie wasn't there for much longer. We'd hang out in her room sometimes but her family was always there and we didn't want to intrude. And then one morning you called because she was gone. That was the last time I ever heard you speak of her.

I think it only hit me then that you were facing the same fate. I'd gone through loss before with my mom but it never gets easier, ever. And I'll admit that I cried a bit that day, and that it wasn't the only time.

-X-

We spent that afternoon at your house going through the boxes at the back of your closet. It was all because of a sudden fear that had gripped you - a fear that you wouldn't have anything worthwhile to leave behind. I mostly hung back and teased you over the stuff you found - macaroni art and old game boys and a whole collection of comics. At one point, you tossed an old, stuffed toy across the room at me and asked if I'd give him a new home, afterward.

"Hey, this monkey belongs with you," I said fiercely, and propped him up on your bedside table.

You rolled your eyes. "It's a lemur," you sighed with the tired air of someone who'd explained this plenty of times before.

When you decided you were done with digging through the past, we packed everything up again before flipping on the television. The only thing we could find was some wildlife program that neither of us were all that interested in. We watched it anyway.

"How's the story?" you asked at one point.

I gave you a sour look and said, "It's still in progress."

And you reminded me yet again that you'd be willing to reveal the Ultimate Solution, as you'd taken to calling it, for a simple favour. "I just did you a favour," I pointed out, but I wouldn't have let you tell me in any case. It had become a point of pride that I would figure it out on my own.

-X-

("I dreamt there was a giant squid-" you told me desperately one night on the phone after waking me up at three in the morning. I growled at you that just because you couldn't sleep didn't mean your friends had to suffer, too.

Yet, when morning came, I still hadn't hung up. Dad found me hunched in bed with the phone tucked between shoulder and ear, discussing existentialism and cognitive dissonance. Dad just looked at me and shook his head, and threatened to take away my phone privileges if it happened again.

But he never did.)

-X-

I visited you in the hospital right near the end. It was weird, with your mom there but not really there, and some of the other kids in the wing but not all of them. The most noticeable absence was Minnie, but I didn't say anything about her.

You'd had your eyes closed when I entered the room, although when I tried to back out, you immediately quipped, "Shortest visit yet." I saw your familiar smirk and only then did you turn your head to look at me.

"I figured it out," I told you, rifling through my bag. "It came to me a few weeks ago but I had to write it in." I'd downloaded the file to my e-reader, which I passed over to you. "You were right - it was obvious."

What I didn't tell you was the number of hours I had been spent pouring over my rough draft to figure it out. Every nuance, every dropped reference, every snippet of conversation had been examined as I attempted to fit together the puzzle you'd found so simple. It had been worth it, though, if only to see you lean forward over the e-reader in anticipation.

You read fast, but it was a long story. I settled down in the chair beside your bed, watching your face as you made your way through the chapters. At one point, roughly a third of the way into the book, you froze with your hand hovering over the tablet.

"Artemis," you said coldly, fixing me with that same look I remembered from the first afternoon in the cafe, "You changed my name to a female goddess?"

I had begun to think that you would never figure it out and I'd have to explain once you'd finished the book that I'd been writing us, only better. I wanted to crow in triumph over how long it had taken you to figure it out, but instead I held back. Artemis meant hunter, I explained instead, and it shortened to Arty - just like your name - and besides, it fit. You pretended to be offended even though we both knew it was a sham.

"Hang on, I'm starting again," you said then, flipping back to the beginning of the document. For the rest of the afternoon, you'd pause your readings to breathe a laugh at how I'd translated some of the more mundane pieces of our first meeting into an action-packed, fairy-tale hostage situation. "Of course I would make the best villain," you told me proudly at one point.

Another thing I never mentioned: Had you not goaded me into scouring my draft, I wouldn't have caught so many errors. Wouldn't have noticed the continuity flaws. Wouldn't have spent so long polishing my writing. My story was better for your challenge, not that I would ever admit it. Still, it meant the world when you finished the story and told me it was decent enough. You didn't have to say anything else - we both knew what you meant.

-X-

The next time I went to the hospital, you were no longer there.

-X-

-X-

-X-

After,

I hid the story in a file on my desktop and quit volunteering at the hospital - it wasn't your fault, I just couldn't do it anymore. I got a new job elsewhere but still found the time to visit Mo and Phil occasionally. Once, your brother stopped by my house because he'd been sorting through your things and discovered the lemur toy you said you'd leave for me. I gave it a place of honour over my desk.

Some nights, Dad would say, "I know it hurts, but you have to move on."

I'd reply, "I still haven't moved on after Mom. What makes you think this is different?"

And yet days passed and seasons turned.

-X-

I went a long time without looking at that story.

When I finally opened it on my computer again, it hurt to read of the boy who could cheat death. Scrolling through the pages, I wasn't picturing trolls or fairies or time stops or a raven-haired boy with a vampire smile - instead, all I could see was you.

The next day, I brought you flowers of burnished orange and returned to the cafe to write. It wasn't the same on my own.

-X-

End.

-X-

Author's Note:

Hey, remember when Freud posted "And Every Map Is Blank" and said that I'd be posting my version of the AU in a few days? Remember how that was, like, several… months… ago… I'mreallysorryeveryone. At least it's up now, right?

Yes, this came from the same idea as Maps. A refresher for those of you who may have forgotten (or haven't read it - which I encourage you to do), this all began with a conversation between Freud and I about the possibility that Holly had written the books for Artemis. That's where Maps came from. Mine took one step further - that she didn't just write the books of their adventures, but that the adventures didn't really happen at all.

Other thoughts:

1) Erin's name was chosen for how close it is to Eoin (rather than Holly), as she was the author in this story. Everyone else's name is based on the adjacent character's.

2) Yes, I made Arty ginger. That was Freud's idea and I couldn't resist.

3) Also, I guess I should apologize for permanently killing him off. Because apparently reading it once in the books wasn't traumatizing enough for me. Sorry.

Anyway, to wrap this up, thanks as always for reading, reviewing, and faving! I've said it before and I'll say it again: you all make the world go round.

- Winged