Please note that while I don't intend to make Gregor into a full Scrooge, he is going through a rather rough time, and so he will be lashing out a few times. Let's see if the ghosts can cure him of this horrible attitude, though, shall we?

Another note is that these chapters are, unfortunately, not as proofreaded as I would like. Along with that, I have not quite finished the story, as I would prefer to before I post. However, I would rather finish this story before Christmas than proofread and have it going into July, and so the story will be kept as is for the moment.

An Underland Christmas Carol: Part One

Gregor sat on a bench, staring deep into nothing. Boots, now age four, had trudged as quickly as she could towards the hills of Central Park, but turned around when she was halfway there.

"Gregor," she said when she got within range, "sled with me."

"No, Boots."

"Yes."

"I told you when we left the apartment, I'm not going to sled. Just watch you."

"But you're not watching me." Boots slipped her gloved hand in his, and made to pull on it. "Please, Gregor?"

"No."

"It can be my Christmas present—"

"No! Go away, Boots, go sled without me!"

The words sounded harmless to him, but something in his tone was too harsh for Boots to handle. With watering eyes, she turned around and ran to the sledding hill as fast as her snow-clogged boots would let her.

Gregor put his head in his hands, with his exasperated sigh vanishing in a puff of vapor. At the moment, he couldn't even work up the guilt he'd need to speak with Boots later. He'd become increasingly good at swallowing any emotions over the past few months. And though he still had a long way to go, he'd at least been able to suppress memories too. It was as if his life had restarted from the moment he lifted himself out of the ground with his family, just a little way away from his bench here.

And now, with Dad and Grandma both in the hospital and his mom taking on a third job, all Gregor could think of was money. Money for food, money for clothes, money for school and rent and shoes and toiletries and hospital bills and utilities…money they just couldn't scrape together. Just two days ago, Mom hadn't eaten dinner so she could use the money for a math book Lizzie needed.

And now, here was Christmas coming up again. Even with Mom's extra job and Grandma's savings and Mrs. Cormaci's meals and cash and hand-me-downs, Boots and Lizzie weren't going to get anything but necessities for the season. Both girls pretended to be okay with this, but Gregor saw the way Lizzie's hand twitched towards puzzle books in the grocery store, and how Boots' eyes twinkled as she took in the decoration at her preschool. Gregor saw his grandma and his dad in their hospital rooms, coughing and trembling and hallucinating. And he saw his mom run her chapped fingers through her hair in worry as she pored over the bills; he'd overheard her talking to Mrs. Cormaci about relocating to a one-bedroom apartment closer to two of her jobs.

Gregor had gotten good at swallowing his emotions, but that didn't mean they didn't appear. It seemed like every day, something he saw or heard struck another dagger into his gut and carved a deeper hole in him. Maybe there was nothing left in him anymore. It'd certainly explain why he still didn't feel guilty for snapping at Boots. He was helpless enough without her pleading eyes asking things he couldn't give her. Like warm clothes. Or a decent Christmas.

Gregor lifted his head, squinting in the sunlight reflected off of a thousand banks of snow. If there was one thing he could do to help, it was make sure his sister was alive.

But it looked like Boots was making the job a little easier, because there she was, trotting towards him with her lime green coat standing out against the white snow. Gregor squinted. A much taller figure stumbled beside her.

Gregor wasn't sure he even wanted an answer as to who this person was. He only needed to know that this wasn't dangerous. Some instinct in him lifted him off the bench and pulled him through the snow, step by step until the shock made him stop. Because standing before him, holding Boots' hand, struggling to see in the blinding light was—

"Howard?"

Howard's purple eyes opened a little wider. "Gregor? Is that you?"

"…Well, yeah, but what are you—"

The rest of Gregor's question was lost in the bear hug that Howard gave him. Gregor found himself suspect to a huge range of emotions, all at once, on top of each other. But the one that overpowered everything else was something he almost didn't recognize: joy.

"Gregor, it is too much of a relief for me to have found you." Howard smiled broadly and held Gregor by the shoulders. Every time he tried to open his eyes, they clamped shut in pain. He shivered underneath his light, spider-spun clothes, and his feet shifted constantly in the snow. But Gregor couldn't remember Howard looking so happy in all the time he'd known him.

"He moved the rock all by himself!" Boots grinned beneath them. "And I found him!"

"Yes, I am incredibly lucky to have you, Boots. Both of you, actually." Howard turned to Gregor. "Have you been well?"

Gregor glanced between Howard and Boots. He couldn't—and would rather not—tell either of them about the struggles he faced every day. So instead, he said, "It's going. What about you?"

"It goes well. Peace is unstable, but growing stronger each day. Mostly it is due to Luxa. She and Ripred are making great strides to aid both humans and gnawers."

"That's…great, Howard. How about the Fount?"

"It houses refugees as we speak. The nibblers may soon be ready to leave entirely to a new settlement that Vikus has arranged for them."

"Vikus? He's okay?"

"He will not fully recover, but he fares better than we could imagine. His speech has nearly entirely returned. Sometimes Luxa and I speak for him, but…"

"What about Temp?" Boots asked. "Temp and Hazard? Did they come too?"

Howard smiled apologetically. "They did not. Nike and I have come alone, secretly."

"But why?" Gregor finally managed to voice the question that had been gnawing at him. Because if there was one thing he knew, it was that anything Underland that came here was a sure sign of trouble. Maybe a prophecy. Maybe just some really bad news. But whatever it was, the bad feeling that came with it was always the same, and it would come.

Howard paused. "I know that, with the war ended and the warrior killed, you have no place among us."

"Thanks."

"Wait, I mean only to say that, though I know of certain…reasons you should not stay in the Underland longer than necessary—" one of those reasons being Luxa, Gregor knew "—Nike and I feel that a contradiction may be in order."

"…Wait. Does this mean—?"

"We miss you, Gregor, and I venture to say we need you. But I do not mean as a warrior. You have befriended almost everyone you have met, and perhaps you know as well as I do that these ties cannot be forsaken.

"So I wish to ask you—you and your family—to return to the Underland. You may stay for as long or as short a time as you wish, but just one sight of you would be a great comfort to anyone. You have done so much for us, and we cannot ignore it. Please, Gregor, come back with me. You mean so much to all of us."

Gregor was silent. Boots looked on the verge of squealing "yes," but something in Gregor's expression stopped her.

"So," Gregor said, and his tone sounded icier than he had intended, "you miss us."

"We all do." Howard nodded.

"And things are going great. You just want us to come, just so you can be with us."

"Yes…"

"No prophecy or anything?"

"No, none. So will you?"

"I don't know," Gregor said. "First, I just want to know—what took you so long?!"

His voice carried across the snow they stood in, and several people turned to stare. Howard dropped his hands from Gregor's shoulders. "Gregor—"

"No, seriously, Howard. You're halfway to rebuilding Regalia, relocating thousands of mice, making peace between two species that've been fighting for centuries—and then you decide you miss me? Well, I'm thrilled you could take time out of your schedules to remember someone who's supposed to have saved your lives and then died!

"Hey, while you're thinking about me, how about imagining what I'm going through? I have to pretend you don't exist—my scars, my friends, my bond—I'm not allowed to remember any of it! No, I haven't been working like you have, I've just been taking care of my two sisters while my dad and my grandma are in the hospital and my mom works three jobs for money we'll never get. Where were you when Mom gave her last blanket to Boots? Or when Lizzie couldn't pay for lunch at school and we had nothing to give her? Were you remembering? Well thanks, but we need a little more than friends right now!"

"Gregor!" Boots matched his tone. Gregor broke off and turned to her. His heart sunk; she was crying great big hiccupping tears, and when he reached for her, she yanked away. Howard simply stared at Gregor, a mix of confusion and pain on his face. But it was only when a tiny tear peeked out of his eye that Gregor knew he couldn't take it.

He turned on his heel and walked away. Howard might have called after him, but Gregor walked faster. When he hit the shoveled sidewalk, he sprinted as fast as his boots allowed him.

Boots…no matter how fast he ran, her sobs rang loud and clear in his head. He ran faster.

He tried to think—no, he didn't. He didn't want to know why he had yelled to Howard of all people, or why he lost control right then, or why he left them, or why he felt fully justified. He didn't want to know what he felt about it, for fear he might actually be happy. He just wanted to get away from it.

Somehow, he found himself in the stairwell in his apartment building at the same time as his energy sputtered and died. For the second time, he sat (this time on the steps) and put his head in his hands.

His mind practically shut down. He wasn't going to think about it. He wasn't.

When his eyes opened once more, he didn't know what was happening. In this area, the correct answer was most likely "nothing"; he was almost at the steps that led to the laundry room, and with the elevator working, no one was anywhere near the stairs. But Gregor felt something cold, something like a presence…

He sat up (he'd woken on his side) and slowly stood. With the electric light buzzing above him, he couldn't guess what time it was. Hopefully he could go get Boots from the park; or rather, he could pray it wasn't too late for that.

But before he could turn around, an unnatural something caught his eye: a shadow on the door to the laundry rom. It wouldn't have been so bad if it wasn't a shadow of a bat. Its wings spread out, its back straight, its ears erect…and the closer Gregor got, the more detailed it became.

Despite himself, Gregor inched closer to the shadow until he could be sure that nothing was causing it. By now, he could see each fur clearly on the outline. The head seemed to be turned to one side, looking to the wall.

Gregor held up a finger to touch it. It was a shadow, after all, so he could. It was just that it looked so real, so real that he could almost see it breathe…

His finger was hardly a hair away when the shadow moved. The bat's head turned to look straight into Gregor's eyes, with an open mouth and two narrowed eyes outline in an orange like fire.

Gregor remembered that his feet hardly touched the ground as he ran off, but that was all he knew when he opened his eyes, heart racing, and found himself leaning against the door to his apartment. He panted for a moment, and then managed to call, "I'm home." Maybe it was his weak voice or the fact that it looked like nighttime, but no one answered.

He straightened, and only half of his muscles stayed tense. It was okay. He'd just…head into the kitchen. He was hallucinating because he was hungry and cold, so he'd make a hot chocolate. And he'd go get Boots from the park.

Gregor kept assuring himself it was alright, as he boiled down a watery hot chocolate and poured it in a thermos. But that rush of adrenaline never did go away. And he kept looking at the empty table behind him.

He stepped quickly through the dark hallway and to the door. He jiggled the handle once. Twice.

"Locked," he grumbled. He banged his fist against the wood uselessly. The lights in the kitchen—the only ones he left on—went out. The entire apartment was lit by the light from the streets below it.

"Really?" Gregor asked to the empty coat-hook next to him. "Really? I can't even leave? Are there rats in the walls?" He kicked the wall in front of him for good measure. "Well thanks, guys. Thanks a lot."

Off he stomped in his boots to the kitchen, where he poured himself some of his hot chocolate. The temperature seemed to have fallen drastically, here in the dark. And now Gregor couldn't help but think that that shadow of a bat had covered the while apartment.

A metallic clanging sound erupted from…where? It echoed throughout the kitchen, like a number of bells tolling, and rang through Gregor's bones. He clenched the thermos, making no sound of surprise. If he did, that might encourage it.

The clanging cut off. Gregor smirked, for a reason he didn't know. But the smirk lost its power as heavy, slow, thundering footsteps filled the hallway—the hallway nowhere near the front door, the hallway that no one was supposed to be in.

Thump. Gregor tensed. It sounded almost like a limp—thump—but how do you get a limp on both feet? Thump. Each footstep made the room a little colder. Thump. Gregor could see his breath. Thump. His hot chocolate was like ice in his hands.

Thump.

Gregor felt eyes on the top of his head as he looked down at his drink. With a mix of curiosity and dread, he looked up and took in the light blue, transparent, frost-like figure glowing in the doorway. Though he was wrapped in phosphorescent chains as pale as himself, Gregor could recognize the face, and could almost hear the way he said—

"Gregor."

All heat in the room evaporated, and with it, Gregor's voice. "Ares?" he croaked. "Ares, is that you?"

"It is," Ares said. His voice sounded distant, not like the low, rumbling pitch Gregor knew.

"…Can you sit?" he asked, gesturing to the available chair across the table from him.

"I can."

"Do it, then," he said, and watched the bat float into the kitchen without even a rustle of the wind. Just a moment ago, Ares had been limping with a terrible noise, but now…nothing. Not even an expression on his face; he looked as distant as he sounded. He was almost petrified, only allowing his waist to bend as he sat awkwardly. His wings didn't even twitch. Gregor eyed the chains, bound loosely around his chest and wings, and—

Gregor winced. The chains were long enough to drag on the kitchen time, and now screeched horribly as Ares pulled on them with his wings so he could sit more comfortably. The chains around his chest clinked, as if laughing at Gregor and his reaction.

"So…" Gregor wished he had something he could say. Considering how today's reunion with an old friend had gone, he didn't trust himself anymore.

"You want to know why I am here," Ares said calmly, vacantly.

"Uh…yeah, that works. I'd like to know how, too, but…"

"They are of my own making."

"What are?"

"These chains," Ares said, and gave his wings a shake. The clinking increased. "You have not taken your eyes off of them, and so I shall start with them."

"Are…are they real? I mean, do you feel anything?"

"I am as real as you remember me, but only in my senses. The chains drag at me, Gregor. I will never have true flight, for one link snags, and I am pulled down to walk until I limp."

"Walk where? Here?"

"Throughout the Underland."

"…And no one sees you? You just…what are you doing here, Ares? You're supposed to be—"

"I am surely dead, Gregor." Ares' voice got louder. The hot chocolate in Gregor's hands became literally solid with the chill. "The Bane has killed me, as you have killed him—"

"Wait, is he here too?"

"He resides where I—"

"Because I already saw Howard today, and no offense, but I can't take any more visits."

"I am afraid you will have to—"

"I mean, seriously, why does is have to be today when the whole Underland comes knocking at my—?"

"Listen to me!" Ares flew up from his chair and through the table to meet Gregor's eyes with the same glowing orange pupils that had haunted him in the basement. "Believe that I am here, and that I am here for a purpose worth more than you know! Do you doubt me? Do you still believe you are hallucinating? Am I another part of the Underland you wish to forget?"

"No! No, I believe you, I believe you!" Gregor flinched away from the burning eyes. "You're here, okay?"

Ares' face loomed overhead for a moment, and then he drifted back to his chair. "It has not been easy for me, as well." His voice was back to the low, quiet, somber tone. "I travel the Underland by an invisible force, never able to wander or rest. All the time I must carry these chains, as if the lives I saw every day were not enough. I have no peace."

"But why? You never did anything wrong, Ares."

"I did, and that grief is what holds me from something better." The chains on Ares' chest coiled around him ever so slightly. "I left our world with regrets still unsolved. I placed too much blame and too many duties on myself, each of which formed a link in my chains. I did not allow myself to be close to anyone—"

"But we were—"

"—except to protect them. I am sorry, Gregor, but I cannot trust. I can ignore people, or take care of them, but I can rarely find a middle ground. And as I have failed to do that, I must now watch others have what I did not."

"What's that?"

"Love."

"…Wow. Ares, I'm so sorry. If I knew…"

"No, Gregor, do not!" Ares' ears pricked up. He straightened, listened for a moment, and then slumped back down dejectedly. "It has happened again."

"What?"

"Another link has been added to your chain."

"My chain? Ares, you didn't tell me I have a—"

"That is what I am here for," Ares snapped, and his eyes flickered menacingly. "My time to leave grows closer, Gregor. I am lucky to have left the Underland at all, and if I leave without giving you my message, my chain will not be the only one lengthened.

"Listen closely. I come because, at the moment, your chain is even longer and heavier than mine. You, like I, have not looked past your regrets and failures. If this continues, you will wander as well, lost and weighed down and regretful. You will never rest, but will be forced to watch people, who have love and trust in their lives. And if you do not have it…"

Gregor already knew that longing feeling. It was why he'd stopped thinking about the Underland. "How do I stop this, Ares?" he asked softly.

"I cannot tell you. You are the one who must learn it for yourself."

Gregor nodded and looked into his mug.

"However," Ares said, "You have hope yet. You will be visited by three spirits, each more alive and more knowledgeable than I am. You must learn from them, in order to begin reversing the damage you have done to yourself."

"…Okay. Yeah, I can learn. Sure. Hey, Ares, do you think maybe they could all show up at once? I could get it over with."

"My time is nearly gone. But do not try to be in control, Gregor. Let them teach you in their own way." Ares jerked up from his seat, and Gregor took a moment to realize that the chains were erect towards one direction: the vent in the floor. Ares began to float towards it, but his face never left Gregor.

"Expect the first when the Overland clock strikes eleven," he said. "The second comes at midnight on the second night; the third spirit arrives at one."

Ares' feet were directly over the vent. As if a black hole had suddenly formed, first the bottommost chains were pulled into the grate, then Ares' feet. He would be gone in a minute; already he and Gregor saw eye to eye.

"Ares!" Gregor leaped up from the table and ran to his bond's side.

Ares looked up. "Gregor?"

What could he say? What would relieve Ares of at least a few chains?

Gregor's hand reached for Ares' claw—intact, in this spirit form—and they would have touched. "I couldn't have had a better bond."

A mix of surprise and joy flickered in Ares' eyes. And then he turned into vapor in the vent. Gregor stood and sat back down in his chair, looking at the vacant seat across from him. At some point, his frozen hot chocolate had grown a crack that divided the ice in two.

Reviews? Questions? Wagers as to who the spirits will be?