A/N: This is my first Lazytown, and possibly my last. I don't have any other thoughts for anymore stories, not even a sequal to this one. If I find something, I'll write it. In the meantime, enjoy this story.
Warnings: This story is not your normal Lazytown fiction. It is darker and gritter, though I hope you'll like the ending when it's done.
Disclaimers: I own nothing in Lazytown. This is purely for my own demented pleasure.
Perchance to Dream
She hated the subway. The florescent lights overhead burned away all color, leaving behind pale ghosts in the shapes of fellow passengers. The windows were turned into poor mirrors by the lights, casting her reflection back to her as a hazy mess mixed with the scene beyond the windows. Her arm was numb from clutching the handhold, trying to keep her balance. The train shrieked occasionally, as if protesting its duty and passengers. She wanted a cigarette in the worst way, but she'd promised that she'd quit. And she would, if it killed her.
It felt like it would sometimes, when the craving gnawed on her breastbone, and she knew that relief was a no further away than a bummed cig and a flick of a lighter. Stephanie's hands tightened, one holding her upright, one clutching her purse. She'd promised. And anyway, she couldn't smoke on the subway.
The subway stank, but that wasn't unusual. She shifted slightly on her sore feet, ignoring the press of bodies in front and behind her. Her jacket hid most of her waitress uniform, but a couple of women glanced at her short, pale blue skirt and white tennis shoes with a knowing expression. Against her will, her head sank down until it rested against her forearm, her long, brown hair brushing her skin. Her feet may hurt, but at least she could let her hair out of the ponytail she was required to wear while working at the diner.
She hated the subway. It didn't help that this was her fourth trip over this route today alone.
Something touched her leg, and Stephanie jumped and whirled. A man in a trench coat was moving, his body resettling as if he had just withdrawn his hand. He didn't appear to be wearing pants. Grimacing, she shoved between two passengers, earning grumbles for her effort, but she made it to the next open hand hold. She hated New York, too. Maybe she'd been here too long, too.
"All my life," she muttered aloud. Her fellow riders didn't even glance at the mumbling woman next to them. Either she was the least strange person they contacted today, or they didn't want to draw attention to themselves. It worked for her; she didn't want contact with them anymore than they wanted it with her.
The train jerked, screamed and hissed to an angry stop. It was her stop, and Stephanie began to work her way toward the doors. Thankfully, a number of other people were getting off here, too, and she didn't have to shove through everyone on the train, plus everyone trying to push themselves onto the train. She wanted out of the green-tinted train, out of the dark oppressive tunnel that reminded her that she was under the earth and out of more, so much more. She could do the first two things, at least.
That sensation of disassociation rolled over her again. She felt it, once or twice a day, tugging at her subconscious. I don't belong here. This is not my world, my place. It's dark. It's cold. It's not home. As always, she shook them off. She knew the truth: that this was her life, that it had always been her life. She could remember it, every great pain, every small joy. It was hers, without question.
The night air was cold, with the normal snap for New York City in the early spring. Thunder rumbled ominously, and Stephanie picked up her step. Getting rained on would be the perfect way to end the day.
Still, she slowed when she saw the stand on the sidewalk near her building. "Hey, girl," Michy called, waving as Stephanie approached her newspaper stand. "What's up?"
"Not much," Stephanie said with a smile, fingering the Times.
Michy's smile faded, becoming gentle and rueful as she watched the younger woman consider whether to buy the paper. "If you come by tomorrow, I'll put one back, if I don't sell out," the Jewish woman offered.
Stephanie smiled, feeling her first warm feeling since dinner. "Thanks," Stephanie said, "though honestly, I don't know why I bother, looking for another job. No one wants to hire a waitress, expect for other diners."
"Hey, hey, chin up, little one, you can do anything you want," Michy offered. It might have seemed more sincere, if Stephanie hadn't known that the woman suffered from mood swings; tomorrow, she could be just as gloomy as Stephanie was today.
"Thanks, Michy, for the paper," Stephanie said softly, managing a smile despite the sorrow that shrouded her. "I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Yah, yah," Michy nodded, waving. "Good night, now!"
"You too!" Stephanie called, already walking for her apartment. Her feet hurt, and all she wanted to do was to drop into her comfy chair, but she doubted it would be that easy. She had no idea, though, how bad it would be.
Dishes, far more than should have been accumulated from one meal, were stacked in the sink. There was paper – the white paper she'd bought because the library wouldn't charge if you brought your own paper for printing things off – strewn across the room, most of it marked up. Reaching down, she tried to pick up a piece, only to find that it was glued to other pages, and the glue had seeped off the paper and into the carpet.
Something snapped, and Stephanie snarled to herself. It took all of her willpower to grab the arm of her chair and slip into its comforting seat rather than walk down the hall to the second bedroom. Closing her eyes, she tried to relax-
-free yourself-
-but she gave up after a moment. The dark walls of the cheap apartment were pushing in against her, and Stephanie stood up quickly. Snatching three dollars out of her purse, she slipped back out of the apartment. I should stay. I can't leave them alone.
It will be much, much worse if you stay.
"I wouldn't hurt them," Stephanie hissed to herself. With a dawning horror, she realized that she didn't quite believe herself.
It had been months – no, years, in the building. The tiny apartment, the sensation of being trapped – all pushed her to action. She had no chance to stop herself, and the only choice she was given was which way her feet would take her.
It was raining by the time she hit the sidewalk. She veered hard to the right, avoiding Michy's stand to the left. She didn't want to see the judgment in the other woman's eyes.
Michael. Julia. Her children: one of the few things that Romero had given her before he'd been deported to the Old Country, leaving her alone. She probably could have married him and tied him here, but she would have never stooped so low after finding out what he did all day. In a way, the deportation had been a relief; it had freed her from his influence. Sure his 'friends' tried to stop by and give her money, but she refused it. All she had to do was accept once, and she was theirs forever; she, and her children, too. It was the way that La Cosa Nostra worked.
The rain quickly soaked though her jacket, but she couldn't feel the cold. She was running from the horror rising in her gut, but she carried it with her. I would never hurt my babies. Nope. Still didn't believe it.
"What is wrong with me!?" Stephanie screamed, stumbling to a stop as her feet stopped her. I'm sick, I need help…
Someone was smiling at her, and Stephanie turned she finally saw him in her peripherals. A life-sized cardboard cut-out of Superman grinned benevolently at her, and the young woman sighed. "There is no such thing as superheroes, Stephanie," she told herself.
She knew what she had to do. She'd been putting it off for a while now. But Children's Service would help her, she hoped. Maybe, at the least, they'd make sure Mike and Julie were safe. Safe from her.
The alley across the street erupted with sounds: jeers and cheers. It wasn't wise to be curious in New York, but for some reason-
-a flash of blue, barely seen-
-Stephanie found herself crossing the road, picking her way to the mouth of the alley, and peering into the darkness.
It was a wolf pack of men, surrounding and cornering another man. Stephanie's stomach clenched as she saw them start to close in on him – and then he rose in the air above them, spinning and twirling like leaf in the wind. "My god," she whispered, watching as he expertly evaded them. For a moment, she thought he would be fine, but she realized that he wasn't fighting them, he was avoiding them, and all it would take is one mistake-
He went down, drawn in by someone's unseen snatch.