Hello everyone! I'm back again with another one-shot. Yay!
Never have I seen a Ian/John's childhood fic, so I claim the idea! Of course, don't be afraid to contradict me with proof of a publish date!
I got this idea as I was scrubbing out cabinets in our basement (we're finishing it!). Of course, in my boredom, I came up with about ten other ideas for childhood fics. But none when Alex is a child. I could never attempt to write Ian as a father figure. And anyways, I've seen Alex-as-a-child fics, so it wouldn't be original!
Actually, some of this was taken from some of my own experiences as a child. Hehe.
Marching Band has calmed down so I'm able to spend more time writing (not that marching band ever kept me from being up until three in the morning on , but still)!
Disclaimer: My name is Athony Horowitz. Because he totally lives in America and plays flute in concert band and piccolo in marching band and is a girl... of course. And anything else that I might mention. I mix a lot of different stuff in and I try to cite it, but sometimes I forget.
And I'm gonna dedicate this fic to Kayla and Rachael. I can't attend their birthday party and it makes me uber sad!!! They might get a fic of their own for their birthday! Yay!
"Goodnight, kiddos," Anna Rider kissed her six and seven year old son's foreheads and shut the door quietly behind her.
"I really want a puppy," Ian pouted, staring at the ceiling.
"Shhh!" John scolded his brother.
As soon as her footsteps faded away, Ian and John sat up at the same time. Grinning to each other, they climbed out of their beds and quietly padded to the bedroom door. John pressed his ear against it.
"What's going on?" the younger boy by a year whispered, excited.
"Shh..." John hushed Ian.
"Aw, come on, tell me!!" Ian pressed, a little too loudly.
"They haven't gone to sleep yet. We'll have to be super quiet!"
Ian nodded silently as John gripped the doorknob and turned it ever so slightly. Little by little, he pulled the door open, being excruciatingly careful not to let out a squeak from the hinges. Soon the door was open.
They crept out to the banister over-looking the decorated family room. The Christmas tree stood tall in the corner, the lights on the bows providing all the light in the room other than a lamp and the lit fireplace.
The brothers lay still on their stomachs, arms folded under their heads, watching. A boy from John's school had said that Santa Claus didn't exist. John venomously disagreed and the argument eventually led to punches that landed both boys in the principals office.
Ian and John waited with a camera to prove the dumb kid wrong. Both of the brothers knew that they must be careful – their dad would usually check on them before their parents went to sleep.
They had preplanned that if one of their parents got up, they would run into their room and pretend to sleep. It almost gave them a thrill to be sneaking around and watching without the person knowing. Spying, in a sense.
They prepared to bolt for their room when their mother stood up, but it was only for a coaster to set her wineglass on.
Both brothers had to admit it was pretty boring witting here and watching their parents stare into the flames of the fire, enjoying each others company. Ian drifted off to sleep, but John stayed awake and alert, always watchful and calculating. John didn't blame his brother, it had been John's idea to do this anyways. After all, Ian was still six and hadn't grown into the same kind of stuff John was into, though he continuously tried to keep up with his older brother.
The clock now read eleven o'clock. John saw his dad give his mom a quick peck on the cheek and stand up. John panicked.
Quickly shaking Ian awake, they ran into their room, closing the door behind them. John hadn't even remembered about the squeak of the hinges, but thankfully in the rush to close the door, the hinges didn't have time to squeak.
They dove under their covers and pretended to be asleep. Nobody came into the room, but the brothers stayed under the covers, silently listening to any and all sounds coming from downstairs.
John glanced over at his brother who was already sleeping. Fighting his own fatigue, John glanced at the glowing red numbers of his alarm clock. It had only been ten minutes since he last looked at a clock. The numbers blurred as John couldn't fight the inevitable sleep any longer. He passed into the dream realm without trouble.
Ian Rider woke up at six-thirty Christmas morning. He hopped out of bed and into John's, waking the seven-year-old boy.
"John! It's Christmas!! Wake up! Wake up!" Ian shook his brother who was wearily rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
When John finally became coherent, both boys rushed down the stairs, tripping one another and saw the presents under the tree.
Many colorful boxes wrapped in paper, ribbons, and bows were placed carefully under the tree.
Then, they ran into their parent's room and jumped onto the bed, waking them almost immediately.
"Mom! Dad! Santa came!" they both chorused.
Not fast enough, the family was sitting in front of the big Christmas tree.
Eagerly, the boys ripped into their presents. John got a football, Ian a basketball. They both unwrapped two pairs of socks and were disappointed. More gifts came, all better than socks. They looked for more underneath the tree but only saw one. That was peculiar. Usually, there was an even amount of presents, as not to start an argument.
The last present was odd. Holes were punched into the sides and top. "Who's it for?" John almost whispered.
"Both of you, I think," Anna spoke, settling any upcoming arguments that the boys might have.
They pulled the present towards them and Ian reached for the lid, but a scratching sounds caused him to pull his hand away quickly.
John, being brave, pulled off the lid and a Weimaraner puppy stood inside, tail wagging happily. "Aww!" Ian cooed, stroking the puppy on the head. The puppy licked his hand.
John lifted the puppy out of the box and cuddled it close to him. "I love him!" he squealed happily.
"Her," their mother corrected.
"What's her name?" Ian asked softly, not taking his eyes off the tiny dog.
"It's your choice."
"Uhm... give me some ideas..."
"Well, there's Lily, like your great-aunt," his mother offered. His great-aunt Lily had died a year and a couple months previously.
"Lily," John tried out the name. It fit.
In the next few months, Lily became a huge part of their lives. Even their father – who wasn't so keen on having a dog – became attached to the velvet-eared puppy.
Lily was, Ian decided, the best Christmas present ever.
Awww! Well... it was pretty short, but still. Lily is my exact puppy. Yay. Except she's not so little anymore. And we didn't get her for Christmas, but oh, well. But, yeah, the reason behind her name is the same and everything. I heart meh puppy!!!
Thoughts, ideas, criticisms anyone?