AN: It's been way too long since I've written a Lorien Legacies fic. Hope you like this one, though. It's set about three and a half years after I Am Number Four, when Sam and Four return to Paradise from the final battle. It'll undoubtedly end up being AU by the end of the series, unless I turn out to be some kind of freaky psychic. But I doubt PL would write something this sad and teen angsty. Enjoy!
Hero
Four's leg bounces up and down in anticipation as the old truck inches closer to his favorite town in the universe. The radio is blaring some kind of techno-dance hit—a washed up pop star's attempt at regaining their bygone fame. He doesn't like it very much, but Sam is singing (screeching, really) at the top of his lungs as he drives. He tries to keep the amused grin off his face as the brown trees and snow-covered fields flash by, occasionally punctuated by a farm house or a small town like the one they're going to.
His leg doesn't stop jiggling the entire time, and he thinks that it's going to be really strange when his right leg is suddenly a lot sorer than the left.
"And we dance dance da-da-da-da-dance dance," Sam screams along to the song, "Like we did so lonnng agooo…"
He cringes. They really should have stolen a ride without a radio, or maybe he could've broken it the last time they stopped for gas. His human friend's singing is nearly as deadly as any Mogadorian's weapon.
"Sam," he finally says. "Can we please change the song? I swear this is the tenth time we've heard this since we crossed into Ohio."
"Aww, come on. Don't you love it? It's so heartbreaking and romantic. See, the boy and the girl have been apart for a while," he explains half-jokingly. Four shoots him a sardonic look, but Sam continues. "And they haven't seen each other in, like, years. But then they meet up and fall in love all over again."
He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and his reward is a new bruise on his arm and a muttered "shut up." The truck swerves wildly, causing the driver in the next lane to roll down the window and cuss them out a bit.
"Hey!" Sam cries indignantly, once he sets the truck back on its correct course again. "You could have just caused a serious accident, Four." Over the last few years, Sam's gotten so used to everyone calling his old friend John Four that the name seems natural now. He only calls him John Smith when they need to use a human alias.
Four grins. "Sorry. It would suck to go through all that trouble to save the world and then end up as road kill, wouldn't it?"
"It most definitely would," Sam agrees with a mockingly solemn nod.
The truck is silent for a long time after that except for the voice of the radio announcer and a few more songs. Idly, Four wonders what kind of music they had on Lorien before it was destroyed. It must've been better than this.
Thinking about Lorien makes his chest ache. He lost so many friends in that last battle… in fact, only half of them survived. Four and two of the other Nine, Sam and another human, and two Cêpan. Seven survivors after more than three years of fighting. And now, finally, he's coming back to the place he always promised he would.
They stop for gas, and he clambers out of the old pickup just to escape today's greatest hits. "I got it," he says to Sam, who shrugs and starts another sing-along.
The gas station is so old that it doesn't even have a slot for credit cards. It shouldn't matter to him so much now, since they don't have to worry about leaving a trail anymore. But he still grumbles to himself when he heads inside to pay at the cashier.
As he slides their stolen credit card across the counter (it was some rich guy's, so they didn't feel too badly about taking it), he asks the slightly overweight clerk how far it is to Paradise.
"'Bout ten miles west of here," he grunts. He doesn't pull the usual 'the town or the place?' joke that no one ever really finds funny, which Four is grateful for.
"Only ten?" Surprise and excitement color his tone as he takes the receipt. "Great."
"You got family there or something? 'Cause I dunno why you'd wanna go there otherwise."
He pauses. "Yeah. You could say that." Before the cashier can get too confused, he quickly thanks him and walks out to the truck. He finds Sam fiddling with the radio again. It lands on some rap station, but Four is able to tune it out thanks to his heightened anticipation.
"Nervous?" Sam asks as they get on the road again.
Four swallows. "A bit. You?"
"What do I have to be nervous about?" Sam snorts. "Other than my mom yelling at me for disappearing for three years, I mean."
"I'm sure she won't be too hard on you." He pauses. "Except for the initial frying pan to the head, of course. She might not recognize you." And he's not lying. Sam has grown a lot over the last few years, in both meanings of the word. He's seen a lot more than most humans see in their lifetime.
"I know."
And they're quiet for the rest of the drive.
Once the old truck pulls up to Sam's house, loose stones crunching under the tires, Four climbs out.
"See you later," he says.
"Are you sure you don't want me to drive you there?" Sam asks, clearly wanting to avoid the impending confrontation with his mother. "Seriously, it wouldn't be a hassle."
"No, it's fine…" Four grins mischievously. "Besides, I wouldn't want you to miss any family bonding time with your mom." He starts running into the forest before his friend can do more than glare.
Running feels great after being cooped up for so long. He flies through the snowy forest at speeds that could've had him easily passing that decrepit truck.
As he's running, he notices something. Not immediately; it's a subtle something.
Paradise is the same. The trees, not that they would have changed much in only a few years, are still the same height. The houses are just as he remembers them, except for that one on Baker Street that looks like it got a new paint job. The light posts, the shops, the sidewalks… none of it has changed.
Except for him.
In the last three-almost-four years since arriving in the small town, he's been through a war. He's seen too many people die. He's fallen in love and found a family and friends. He's been shot and stabbed and crushed more times than he wants to count.
Four is not a teenage kid in love with the girl next door. He still loves Sarah. Of course he does. But he's so different from the person he was all those years ago, and she's probably changed too. The thought scares him a bit, but the anxiety only makes him run faster.
He reminds himself to slow down a bit as he nears his destination, the place he's been looking forward to seeing since the fighting ended. Excitement, dread and panic are building simultaneously in his chest. How is that even possible? he wonders. No answer comes to him. All he knows is that he's extraordinarily nervous for what might just be the happiest moment of his life.
The house comes into view slowly. He recognizes the worn wood, the white trimming, that one part of the gutter that's falling off. It feels like home, even though he hasn't seen the Harts' house in years.
The lights are on. He sees the yellowy glow coming from Sarah's bedroom, and his heart nearly explodes.
Deep breaths. He can't seem to obey his own order. His hands shake and he's pretty sure his face is bright red as he walks up to the door.
Standing at the bottom of the steps and desperately needing a shot of confidence, he lets all of the scenarios he's imagined pour into his mind. Sarah's shocked face as she opens the door. Mr. Hart calling up the stairs that John Smith is here, and then the sound of her footsteps as she races down to see him. Sarah's arms around him. Her face, her eyes, her lips…
Four finds himself staring at his own reflection in the door's glass panels. He looks exactly how he feels; nervous and excited.
He takes another deep breath, which honestly doesn't help very much, and knocks three times.
When Mrs. Hart opens the door, she stares at him for a few moments and he's afraid that this is going to be extremely awkward if they don't remember him, but then she says incredulously, "John? John Smith?"
His grin might be a little bit too relieved, but he doesn't care. "Hi, Mrs. Hart. It's good to see you again. I was wondering if Sarah's here?"
The words sound almost rehearsed, like something from a movie. A romantic movie, where the dashing hero comes home and reunites with the love of his life and they live happily—
"Oh, I'm sorry, dear," Sarah's mom says with a pitying frown. "Sarah's out with some friends right now. Getting back together over Thanksgiving, you know. But if you'd like, you can wait here. I'm sure she'll be back soon; she's been out for a while now."
Funny how he hasn't even considered the date. Of course Sarah is in college now. It's purely dumb luck that he's managed to return when she's in Paradise.
Four realizes that Mrs. Hart is waiting for his answer. He makes a hurried decision. "That would be great. Thank you."
She smiles, looking like someone from one of those Norman Rockwell paintings as she holds open the door so he can come in. He wipes off his feet on the doormat and lets her shepherd him into the kitchen.
He tries to decline the hot chocolate she offers him, but after a few "Oh, come on"s and some "Really, I was just about to make some myself"s he gives in. The warm drink feels wonderful. He didn't realize how cold it is outside.
"So how have things been in Paradise since I left?" Translation: What's life like when you're not an alien who's a former member of the FBI Most Wanted list fighting other aliens? He makes the question appear casual and polite, but he really does want to know.
Mrs. Hart gives him that same warm smile. "Oh, same old, same old. They rebuilt all of the school buildings after all that trouble a few years ago—you remember." She blinks like she's suddenly realized something, and then lets out a small, slightly nervous chuckle. "I might be remembering wrong, but didn't they blame you and your father for it? People are still talking about it."
His smile becomes more forced. "Well, I hope they remember that they cleared us. Wouldn't want the townspeople forming an angry mob or anything."
She nods seriously. "We try to avoid angry mobs around here nowadays."
Four laughs, taking another sip of his hot chocolate. He feels a sudden rush of gratitude towards Mrs. Hart for how kind she's being.
"That must have been hard on you," she continues. "Speaking of your father, how is he? Henri, isn't it? Forgive me, I'm horrible with names. I can hardly remember my own sometimes." She grins in a kind of mischievous way, but he can tell she's honestly curious.
Hearing Henri's name always makes him choke up a bit. Yes, his real name was Brandon, but Henri is the name Four had spent most of his life calling his Cêpan. Henri, not Brandon, was the one who taught Four how to ride a bike when he realized it would be strange for a human kid not to know. Henri was the one who took him to every kind of sporting event you could imagine, for the same reason. Henri was the one who sang along to classic rocks songs on their long car rides and messed up swear words.
His mouth opens and closes a few times as he flounders for an excuse. Finally, he settles on the simplest, most common one.
"He passed away a while ago," he says quietly. He hears Mrs. Hart's sharp intake of breath but continues. "A car crash."
"Oh, John…" she whispers from behind her hand. He looks up to see that there are tears in her eyes. She makes to embrace him, and a rush of emotion surges through him that he hasn't felt in a long time. But before he can identify it or say anything, a noise comes from outside.
The sound of car wheels on a driveway.
Sarah is here.
He hears it a split second before Mrs. Hart sees the car through the window. She glances up, looking distracted. "Oh! Sarah's here." She bites her lip, seeming unsure if she should continue the Hallmark moment or let it slip away. She settles on a hand resting gently on his shoulder and a quick, soft, "If you ever want somebody to talk to, John, you call me. Okay?"
She looks him straight in the eye in that protective mother kind of way, and Four has a feeling that she'll coddle him until he says yes.
He clears his throat. "Thank you, Mrs. Hart. I appreciate it. Really."
The key makes a grating noise in the lock. He feels his heart speed up in anticipation. He's going to see her in seconds.
"I'll go let Sarah in," Mrs. Hart says as she bustles into the hallway toward the door. "She always has trouble with that key." He starts to follow her, but somehow she knows to call back over her shoulder, "You just stay in the kitchen, alright?"
He sighs anxiously and puts his empty hot chocolate mug in the sink for lack of anything better to do. After all the Mogs and monsters and awful things he's faced, he cowers when faced with the power of a mama bear. Incredible.
The door opens.
"Hi, Mom," comes Sarah's surprised voice. Warmth floods through him. She sounds older, even more mature than she already was.
"Guess what?" Four hears a smile in Mrs. Hart's voice.
He hears Sarah's jacket and purse drop onto the small table next to the door. "What?"
Mrs. Hart drops her tone to a whisper that Four probably isn't supposed to hear. Thank goodness for super Loric hearing, he thinks. He doesn't want to miss any of this.
"John Smith is here."
The house is silent for the length of a few heartbeats. Four holds his breath. He imagines Sarah staring at her mother in shock, blue eyes wide, cheeks still pink from the cold, her blonde hair resting on her shoulders…
Finally, his name comes from her lips in an almost frightened little squeak. "John?"
Mrs. Hart probably nods, he thinks. It would seem appropriate. She whispers, so quietly that even with his enhanced hearing Four has to strain to hear it, "Go easy on him, alright? He's in the kitchen."
Go easy on him.
What in Lorien does that mean? He figures she must be talking about Henri. That would make sense. But still… the words make him nervous.
He hears Sarah's snow boots hitting the floor heavily. Thump, thump, thump… They must be leaving a trail of slush behind her. Thump, thump—
She rounds the corner and pauses in the doorway. One hand rests on the white molding. Her hair is mostly concealed beneath a plain gray ski cap, but he can see that she's cut it short; it ends an inch or two above her shoulders. Her face is flushed, though he can't tell if it's from excitement or cold; maybe both. Best of all are her eyes, wide and blue and startled-looking.
Basically, she's beautiful.
He swallows nervously. "Hi."
Resisting the urge to facepalm after that brilliant greeting is remarkably difficult. More than three years apart from the most wonderful girl in the universe, and all he can say is hi?
Sarah seems to be thinking the same thing. She purses her lips, trying not to look too amused. The shock has disappeared a little bit. "Hi, John."
They stare at each other for a few silent moments. He's kinda breathless.
Sarah gestures awkwardly to the door. "Um, d'you wanna go—?"
"Yeah," he says quickly, eagerly.
She laughs. "You didn't let me finish. For all you know, I could've been asking you if you wanted to go to the moon."
"Well, I'm not averse to that." He smiles, relieved that things look like they're slightly normal. "Sorry, what were you going to say? I'll probably agree anyway," he adds sheepishly.
"A walk? It'll be less snowy in the woods."
He nods and leaves his post at the kitchen counter, walking behind her to the front door. Sarah calls to her mom that they'll be back in a bit.
Automatically, he glances around their front yard. He knows there is no threat left, but it has become such a habit that he barely notices he's doing it.
Sarah notices, though.
"You're more… cautious," she says. "Because of the war?"
"Yeah," is his slightly rueful reply. "Old habits die hard, I guess."
She nods thoughtfully, a deep-in-thought look on her face. "How… how was it? Is Sam okay? And everyone else?"
"It was tough," he says. "But we won. The Mogs are all dead. And Sam's fine. He's at his mom's house."
"That's good," Sarah sighs. "I was worried about you two."
"But how have you been?" Four asks as they go deeper into the forest. He holds aside a snow laden branch and she passes under his arm. "That's what I want to hear about."
"You're sweet." She says it strangely, like a dismissal. She takes a mitten-covered hand out of her jacket pocket to brush aside a stray lock of hair. "I've been good. Mostly the same old Paradise routine, other than exploding buildings and stuff. And college is cool. Different, but in a good way. Right now my major is psych, with a minor in the arts for photography, but I'm thinking of changing it to communications next semester…."
She continues talking about her life in the last few years, and Four hangs on her every word. He hardly takes his gaze off her face, resulting in him tripping on a log more than once. He listens to her talk about what happened after he left, her slob of a roommate, the weird professors.
"Mark and I have gotten pretty close again," she mentions at one point.
"Really?"
"Yeah. Being some of the only humans in town involved in all that supernatural stuff brings you together, apparently. And he's changed for the better since then." Her voice is careful, like she's trying not to get onto a touchy subject.
He stays silent, waiting for her to collect her thoughts as his own thoughts start to run amok. What does "getting closer" to Mark mean? It's a good thing, he supposes, that they're friends; you can never have too many good friends, right? But the fact that it's Mark, her ex-boyfriend,does bother him (not that he's going to admit it).
Sarah sighs resignedly.
"About that, John… I- I don't know if… this… will work out." She glances up at him guiltily. "You and me, I mean."
He stares at her in shock. His mind is blank.
He did not just hear that.
It takes a few moments for his voice to work properly again.
"What? What do you mean?"
Sarah cringes. "We… Our lives are really different, John. I mean, you've got this whole destiny ahead of you and you've just saved the universe and all that, and me… well, I don't think there's any way to—"
Four cuts her off. "That's what this is about? You're worried that, what, I won't be able to adjust to normal life? Or that—that I'll want to go back or something and leave you? That's ridiculous! You mean everything to me, Sarah. I'm not—"
"That's not what I mean." Her voice is quiet, a counterpoint to the anger building inside him. "We've both changed a lot. I don't think either or us is the same person we fell in love with three years ago. That's a long time, and—"
"But we can try—"
"—and I've been thinking about it and I just don't know if we can make it work anymore. We're different, John, and you know that."
Between them the air is silent except for the sounds of rustling branches and wind. Sarah bites her lip, eyes anxious as she appraises his reaction.
Four lets out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. He suddenly feels much, much older. Wearier.
"Are you sure?"
He doesn't mean about them being different. He knows that's true like he knows the snow is white and the sky is a blank kind of grey over their heads.
Sarah nods. She has tears in her eyes.
"Yeah," she says. Her voice is sad. "I've been thinking about this for a while, John. It's been harder than you would think, you being gone. And, well…"
"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I didn't want… I never wanted you to be hurt by me." He shoots her a half-smile, not a happy one. "And look how well that turned out."
She reaches out and puts a hand on his arm. "No, don't think like that. Please. You were doing what you had to… and now," she blinks a few times and then swallows nervously. "Now I'm doing what I have to do for me. I'm sorry."
"I know," he sighs. There's a pause, in which they both let out a breath. "So is this it?"
She opens her mouth as if to speak, but then nods hesitantly. "I think so."
He bows his head, still slightly in shock. "So, then… bye?" The question mark tacks itself on without his consent.
She takes one cautious step forward. The snow crunches under her boots. And then another step, and then she hugs him, and he can't help but wrap his arms around her too. He notices now how small she seems, or maybe he's just grown.
"Bye, John. I'll miss you."
"Me too, Sarah. Me too." He disentangles himself, feeling like he's completely giving up everything they could have had in that one motion. But if he's being honest, he stopped fighting the second she started talking. It's her decision. It's all about her.
She gives him one last sad I'm sorry gaze that just about breaks his heart clean in two. And then he sprints off into the snow-covered woods. He has no idea where he's going.
He just wants to be away.