AN: Rose and Thorn has returned to Fanfiction and would like to thank all her gorgeous readers and reviewers for their patience. Unfortunately, she has yet to complete a third chapter for "Show Me How to Dance" (for all those who have read that story) and has decided to churn out these short one-shots until she figures out a way to conquer her Writer's Block. Um, yeah. One-shots are so much easier for me to write for some reason.

Thanks again for your patience and I hope you like this little one-shot. Reviews are welcomed with open arms.

Ages - Peter: 8/ Edmund: 5

Disclaimer: It's not mine. It will never be mine. Stop asking.


Mrs. Pevensie's prized baked goods were in the process of being pilfered by her smallest son.

"Edmund."

The little boy looked up as his name was called. "What?" he answered, with a scowl.

"What are you doing?" asked Peter, stepping into the small pantry.

"Eating," Edmund answered, looking up at his brother as if he were daft.

"Eating what?"

"None of your business." Edmund got to his feet and stuffed the remnants of the the mystery food down the front of his shirt, away from prying eyes.

Peter, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, pulled the shirt over his brother's head with a careless ease. The crumpled remains of what had once been a donut fell to his feet.

"Ed," said Peter, with a shake of his head. "You know you're not supposed to eat them without asking Mum."

Edmund shifted uncomfortably under his brother's sharp glare and offered a small, innocent smile.

"Sorry?"

Peter's eyes softened and he gave his brother's nose a small poke. Edmund was always getting into some sort of mischief. You got used to it. "Tis fine," he said, after a brief pause.

Edmund gave his brother a beaming smile. Finally, he wasn't trying to act like Dad. No, scratch that, he wasn't trying act like a bossy Dad. This was the Peter he admired. This was the Peter he wanted to be like.

Peter looked slightly disturbed as Edmund's grin widened. Something was wrong here. Edmund almost never smiled so broadly; unless, of course, he was seeing the fruition of some carefully planned prank. Is it any wonder, then, that Peter immediately broke into a cold sweat and began frantically searching for the quickest escape route?

"W-why are you smiling, Ed?" he stuttered.

Edmund's grin immediately fell. "What? Aren't I allowed to smile?" he asked, his customary scowl appearing once more to grace his features.

"Of course you are..." said an uncertain Peter. "You just looked so... happy."

Edmund looked up at his brother as though he had grown two heads. "So?"

"Nothing," Peter said shortly, taking note of his brother's confused expression. He allowed himself to hope that Edmund wasn't planning on putting toads in his bed and salt in his cereal. "It's just that you don't normally look so happy."

"I feel happy," was the growled response, as though he were stating the obvious.

"Um... good." Peter smiled encouragingly.

"You're acting strange," noted a puzzled Edmund.

"Yeah. I am," agreed Peter weakly. He patted the top of his brother's head. "Don't eat any more donuts, okay?"

Edmund smiled. "Sure."

Peter, turning to leave, was stopped by a timid voice. "And Peter..."

"Hmm?"

"BOO!"

Peter, caught by surprise, stumbled backwards, tripped over a rut in the floor, and landed clumsily in a heap. His elbow hit a shelf, which wobbled precariously before it detached from the wall and dumped its load of honey, flour and ground coffee on the surprised boy's head. He was, to put it plainly, a sticky, dishevelled mess.

Edmund's grin only widened.