One Night, a total drama series fanfic

Hi you guys! It's StylishFashionista, aka Camilla. After I watched the finale of Total Drama All Stars, I felt like I had to write a Zoke oneshot. Zoey and Mike were so cute together then (okay, they were so cute together always), but I didn't have the inspiration yet. But then, my Humanities teacher says that we had to write a story based off of one of the prompts. One of them was about an escaped fugitive slave. I decided right then and there that I would be writing that for Zoke. And, so this came out. I really do hope that you guys enjoy this.

Oh, and some background. Okay, so this is during the American Civil War, when the country was divided into two parts, the Union (North, against slavery) and the Confederacy (South, for slavery). A fugitive slave is a slave that escaped from its master to go to a place where slavery is either banned or illegal. At the time, though, the Fugitive Slave Act was in effect, which stated that any fugitive slave found in the US must be captured and sent back to its owner for further punishment. That's why most slaves at that time headed for Canada.

I hope that's enough background. Please enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except for the plot (though I wish I could also own a chicken pot pie recipe...)

Zoey's POV

I walk through the flowers. The scent of rain engulfs me as I feel the droplets pounding on me. Most people would run for shelter, but I love it. For some reason, I've always felt more alive while it's raining. And today was no exception.

It is about 4 PM, late in the afternoon. I've just gotten out of school a few hours ago. I find it strange that my school's still going on. The Civil War is raging fiercer than ever, but my teacher, Ms. Jacobs, didn't want to be part of the war. I'm happy about her decision, even though my mom and dad are involved in the war as a nurse and a soldier, respectively. She should be able to make her own decision about the war and not let anyone sway her.

I close my eyes, trying so hard to let my imagination take over, but then I hear a holler. It was faint, but I could still make out the words.

"Hey! You!"

I can tell the person was trying to catch my attention. I look over to where the yell seemed to come from, and see a silhouette running towards me. It's quite blurry, however, and I can't make out any details about the person. But, I can see the color of the person's skin tone. The person's skin was dark.

"Hey! You!"

It was much louder now. Seeing that the person is closer, I start to walk over to him. He's panting from the exhaustion of running. I finally take a good look at him, now that we're face to face. He looks like he's in his late teens, with short, dirty black hair. He has dirt smudged in his skin, and he looks like he hasn't taken a bath in months. His lips are chapped, and he has a few scratches and bruises here and there, which is why he flinches every time a drop of rain hits him. Not to mention that he's as skinny as a blade of grass.

"Can you take me to your house?" he asks in between pants.

I look at him strangely, but then it clicked. He's a fugitive slave. My mind starts to panic. What? How? Who? What? Should I? What?

But all I could choke out is a "Huh?"

"Can you take me in?" he reiterates.

I start to take deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself. What am I going to do? Should I take him in? It was against the law to help a fugitive slave. I couldn't let him go into my house, with the fear that we both may be arrested. But I couldn't just leave him in the rain, all battered up. Maybe one night wouldn't hurt me. But either way, I'm still at risk.

Before I can actually start comprehending what is going on, I find myself saying, "Come on."

I set him a big chicken pot pie. He is wearing my dad's old clothes, which looked immensely big on him, but I don't think he actually cared. He also took a nice, long shower, and he looked much cleaner than when I first saw him. And, in a sense, more dry.

"Eat," I command, sitting down in front of my own. "You probably haven't had a decent meal in quite some time.

He nods, using a spoon to make a dent in the soft, but crunchy crust. "Mmm!" he exclaims in delight, gobbling the food up.

I smile, taking a bite out of my own. "Thanks. I love to cook, so my mom decided to teach me all of her recipes. Chicken pot pie's my favorite, though. I just thought I would make it for you."

He smiles back at me, but then asks me, "Why are you so nice to me? We're practically strangers..."

I sigh. "Slaves are supposed to be free. That's pretty much the main reason why we're fighting this war. And, besides, I couldn't leave you outside in the rain."

He smiles. "Thank you." His expression then immediately turns into frantic. "Did you close all of the windows?"

"Yep," I answer. "Wouldn't want you to get caught, now would I?"

I smirk a little bit, and he starts to relax. We both then fall into silence. It wasn't uncomfortable though. It was actually... kind of nice. We finish our food in peace, and after a few minutes, the man starts to get up. I got the hint and say, "Through the hallway, second door."

He nods, walking as I instructed. I find myself smiling to myself as I scoop up the remainder of the chicken pot pie. I live in Missouri, which is a state that decided to stay with the Union when the Southern states started to secede the Union and join the Confederacy. However, it is considered a "border state," which basically means that it is a state that stayed with the Union but supported slavery. In my time of living here, I always heard rumors about slaves and them being dumb, stupid, and almost useless if they were not being used on the fields. Even though it was a minority's opinion in my state, I believed that slavery was wrong.

And now I can prove it. This man just told me, not through words, but through actions, that slaves are much smarter than we perceive them.

I jolt awake to a scream.

"AH!"

It was obviously from the man. At this point, I was wide awake, and I didn't feel like falling back asleep, no matter how tempting it was just to cover myself in the bedsheets and hug my pillow to my face. Instead, I lug myself to the room right next to mine, and open the door. The man wasn't sleeping soundly, which is what I suspected. I'm not even sure if he is sleeping at all. He fidgets and turns practically every second, each one producing a slight thud. I could hear a few mumbles with his voice, but they were muffled and unclear.

But, then fear takes over my body, and I find myself shaking him to get him awake.

"Wake up," I whisper, internally pleading that it'll work.

I probably do this about five times, and then, to my relief, he finally got up.

"What?" he says groggily, his eyes barely wide open like I'm used to seeing.

"Keep it down!" I hiss. He looks confused, so I clarify. "You were screaming in your sleep. I don't want you to get caught."

He finally jolts up like I did, his eyes widening to their usual state, if not, wider. "Oh, I'm sorry! I guess I'm just used to it. I had a nightmare about my master finding me... It just really scares me."

I nod, sitting down on his bed with him. "I understand. What was your master like?"

He shifts uncomfortably, staying silent for quite some time. I feel a pang of guilt hit me. I didn't want to make him feel sad, or uncomfortable, for that matter.

"I'm sorry," I apologize shyly after a few minutes of silence. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable or anything. I just-"

"It's okay," he interrupts me, putting up a hand to stop me. "I can tell you."

I shift myself to face him, and he takes a deep breath.

"Okay, I was born into a big family. I was the youngest, too. Chester was the oldest, then Svetlana, then Vito, Manitoba, and finally, my twin brother, Mal. However, when I was about three, I was separated from my family from my first slave owner. He sent me to this giant plantation in Louisiana, and I had to become independent very quickly if I wanted to survive. My master was very harsh, though. He would whip me whenever he felt like whipping someone."

My eyes widen. "Oh, that's horrible! Why you?"

"Because I was the youngest," the man fakes a chuckle. "I survived about 12 years with that. He didn't care whether I died or not. I was only his 'whipping doll', after all."

I nod, and he continues. "About a week ago, though, I met this lady in the woods. She associated herself with the Underground Railroad. Have you heard of it?"

I nod. The Underground Railroad was basically a big string of houses used as a sanctuary for slaves. They keep going up the houses until they're in Canada, when they're finally considered free. My house was never part of this string, but my parents have thought about joining.

"She led me to her house after sunset, and I stayed there for a night. She taught me all of the signs of the houses. If I saw a quilted blanket outside, then that house was part of the Underground Railroad. I was told to travel during night, to keep my footsteps light, and if I heard barking, to go inside water. That lady helped me a lot. However, after she hid me in a closet, she was shot and killed in an instant."

I gasp in shock.

"I had to venture the country myself. I ran as fast as I could, and in a few days, I was in Missouri. And then I found you." He smiles, and I smile back at him. "Well, that's basically my life story."

"Wow," is what came out of my mouth. I couldn't believe what he has been through. And how he hasn't been caught yet, surprised me.

"Yeah," he trails off, looking down. We stayed in silence for quite a bit again. I could feel my eyes drooping quite a bit, but I always shot them back up.

I then ask him, "What's your name?"

"Mike," he answers simply. "How about you?"

"Zoey," I answer.

He smiles at me. "That's a pretty name."

I blush quite a bit, hoping inside that he couldn't see because of the darkness. "Thanks. Most people think it's spelled as z-o-e, but it has a y and the end."

He looks at me as if he is confused. I got confused for a second, before I realize, he never learned how to read and write. I decided in an instant, I had to teach him the alphabet. I grab a piece of paper lying on the nightstand and wrote out the entire alphabet. Then, I show it to him.

"Repeat after me," I command. "A."

"A," he answers back.

"B."

"C."

"D."

"E."

"F."

"G."

"H."

"I."

"J."

"K."

"L."

"M."

"N."

"O."

"P."

"Q."

"R."

"S."

"T."

"U."

"V."

"W."

"X."

"Y."

"Z."

"Good job!" I praise him.

"Thank you," he smiles.

I put the paper on the nightstand and then turn back to face him. We were face-to-face, only a few inches apart from each other.

"How old are you?" I ask.

"16," he answers. I'm 15.

"Good," I smirk, leaning in to kiss him. His lips were chapped, but ironically, it actually turned me on more. It took him a couple seconds, but then he started kissing me back. The kiss lasted only a few seconds after that. Short and sweet. How I've always wanted my first kiss to be like.

He chuckles a little before saying, "Your lips are soft."

I blush a little, biting my lips. "Thanks. Um, I think we should go to sleep."

I get up to leave to go to my room, but he stops me. "Can you sleep here with me?"

I nod, getting back in the bed and wrapping myself in the blanket. Mike wraps his arm around me, and I find myself snuggling up to him. We both find it easy to fall in a slumber.

And this time, he didn't scream.

I wake up in an empty bed. Where did Mike go? I jump out of bed and get out of the room, to see Mike heading out to the door.

"Mike, what are you doing?" I ask him.

He turns around to see me and sighs. "I must go, Zoey with a y."

I smile at the nickname, but then exclaim, "No, you don't!" My voice turns quieter as I say, "I loved spending time with you, Mike. I don't want you to leave."

"I loved spending time with you too," Mike admits. "But I must go. I don't want to be a burden here."

My eyes widen. "You're not a burden! You're anything but!"

"I'm sorry, Zoey with a y," his face drops. "The time with you was absolutely amazing, but I must go."

He goes to the door to open it, but I find myself yelling, "WAIT!"

He turns to me, and I run over to where we slept, grab the paper off of the nightstand, and run back and give it to him.

"I want you to have this," I say, folding it into a small square.

He smiles and puts it in his pocket. "Thanks." And this time, he opened the door and left. It was official. He was gone. I close the door sadly after waving to him, even though he didn't realize. Goodbye, Mike. I love you.

A month passed, and I go back to my usual morning routine: get up, change into my school uniform, eat some bread and butter, pick up the newspaper, and leave for school. However, when I pick up the newspaper today, something caught my eye.

I see his face.

My eyes widen in shock, and I almost drop the newspaper after reading the headline.

Fugitive Slave Sent Back to its Owner

My breath hitches. Mike's back with the devils. I hold the newspaper to my chest, shedding a tear as I squeeze the stack of paper that held the man I loved.

What is up with me and sad endings?! I'm sorry for the sad ending, but I still hope that you guys enjoyed it. Happy holidays!