Searching for the Dreamfinder

Disclaimer: Same as before...

AN: This is a continuation of the fics Journey of a Halliwell and Once Upon A Time in Traverse Town.

"She's so adorable..." Prue cooed, as she watched Lal in her bassinet. Kida had gone to the infirmary for a checkup and Milo was on duty.

"Only when she's asleep." Andy quipped, sitting far away from the bassinet.

"Don't tell me you're afraid of the baby?" Prue asked, smiling with amusement.

"Every time I've even touched the kid she starts crying and wailing." Andy said, "I must be cursed."

"You weren't holding her right the last time." Prue replied, lifting Lal out of her bassinet, "Here, take her."

"I don't know if I should, Prue." Andy replied.

"Come on." Prue said, Lal's eyes opened and she regarded Prue for a bit and then yawned.

"I guess she can't be that unfriendly, huh." Andy replied and took the baby. Lal yawned again and blinked a little.

"Aww," Andy grinned, "I guess the little one is kinda cute."

Andy tickled little Lal underneath the chin and she promptly spit milk all over his shirt. "Babies do that." Prue quipped.

"I did that yesterday, mate." Godfrey commented, chuckling after witnessing the event in question, "Thankfully I was intending to shower after exercising anyway."

Doc walked into the room just then and Godfrey turned to him, saying, "Another challenge beckons my friend."

"I am unbeatable, and prepare to be beaten my friend." Doc replied, taking a trio of darts from a slender case in his pocket, "Custom graphite tips and finely balanced center of gravity."

"Is it just me or are those two obsessed with darts?" Andy asked.

"It's not just you." Prue replied, "Doc had those darts custom made in Traverse Town last week."

Godfrey replied to Doc's challenge, "Welshmen never yield."

"If I remember correctly the 24th Welsh Foot's rugby team got trounced by the Scots Guards last time we were in EPCOT." Doc remarked.

"That was a fluke, mate." Godfrey replied.

"Don't get him started." Prue remarked, "If you get him started on either rugby matches or boxing matches, Godfrey will be going on about them all night."

"At Chillingborough we were fans of sport as much as we were students." Godfrey retorted.

"I didn't know you were Welsh." Andy replied.

"On my mum's side." Godfrey replied.

"Prepare to taste cold steel…" Doc began, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"Welshman never yield." Godfrey replied, "But I will be sporting and allow you the first throw."

"You're too kind." Doc replied, and threw the first dart. It promptly buried itself into the board very close to the bulls-eye.

Godfrey threw his dart, which hit the bulls-eye's small outer ring. Doc threw his next dart which hit the bulls-eye itself. Godfrey threw his next hit which hit outboard of Doc's first dart. Doc threw his last hit which was another bulls-eye. Godfrey threw his last hit which landed right below Doc's first hit.

"I do believe you are bested." Doc smiled.

"Wanker." Godfrey replied.

"And I believe that's pint number seven you owe me." Doc replied.

"You two are the only people I've ever met who make darts a competitive sport." Prue replied.

"Or a pathological obsession." Andy quipped.

"Guys," Milo said, walking in, "We're coming in for a landing."

Andy handed Lal back to her father who noticed the spit-up on Andy's shirt. "Don't take it personally, she does that to us too."

"None taken." Andy replied.

"Come here sweetheart." Milo said, cradling his daughter who was cooing softly as he walked out of the room back to his own quarters.

The ship landed half an hour later on EPCOT's airfield.

2nd Lieutenant Armand D'Artagnan gulped at the bowl of soup with his heavily bandaged hands. He grumbled as he watched yet another transport full of troops take off for Cairo, to join the fighting in North Africa. His grumbling increased as he watched the airship landing. The Morrowind was where his orders placed him, instead of back with 1 SAS (1st Special Air Service regiment), fighting with the Free French elements of that formation. Serving on a damned airship, probably writing intelligence reports and not fighting the Germans and the Heartless that have overwhelmed my home. Damn them. Damn bureaucrats. D'Artagnan thought.

He finished gulping at the watery onion soup with a couple chunks of beef floating in it before setting the bowl aside onto the table next to his bed. He shared the room in the hospital with seven other soldiers from all Allied units. There was an American merchant sailor whose ship had been torpedoed by a U-boat several days ago, his left leg was encased in a plaster cast and burns covered much of his left arm and chest. An Australian airman occupied the adjacent bed, a bomber pilot with both arms broken and left encased in plaster down to the knee after having been shot down in North Africa.

"How are the hands, mate?" the Australian asked.

"Stiff." D'Artagnan replied brusquely.

"You could be worse off." The Australian replied, "I did have a promising football (AN: soccer in this case) career before my leg went to batshit."

"Worse still, you could be this poor bastard." D'Artagnan commiserated. A Canadian soldier on the bed to D'Artagnan's left had his jaw wired together as well as a missing left arm. The right was encased in a plaster cast.

"What happened to you?" The Australian asked, trading injury stories was a common pastime at Allied Military Hospital 101.

"You didn't hear?" An Englishman in the bed across the room and to D'Artagnan's right with most of his head above the right eye bandaged declared from across the room began.

"No. I've only been here a week, mate." The Australian replied.

"It was on one of our raids against a German airfield. One of our jeeps caught fire and a group of Heartless attacked." The Englishman replied, "This crazy Frenchmen jumped off his speeding jeep and not only dragged the three chaps in the vehicle to safety, he actually rerouted a stream of flaming oil into the band of attacking Heartless."

"Explains the burns." The Australian remarked.

"And the damnable assignment." D'Artagnan growled.

"Lieutenant D'Artagnan?" A round faced orderly began, "Your release papers and orders for your next assignment, sir."

"Thank you private." D'Artagnan replied, "You may go."

The British orderly walked briskly out of the room as D'Artagnan climbed out of bed. He could close and unclose his hands a little bit, and the burns around his fingers had disappeared. He could handle a rifle and squeeze the trigger, he guessed. He'd been practicing with the American's crutch in lieu of a weapon and longed to hold a rifle once more, firing killing rounds against those who had invaded and defiled France.

Waiting for him outside of the room was a dark haired British officer, in the tropical uniform of the Indian Army. Judging from his shoulder patch and cap device he was a member of the Royal Indian Engineers. Great, a damn builder. That's my boss?

"Lieutenant D'Artagnan?"

"Yes sir." D'Artagnan replied, noting the Englishman's senior rank.

"1st Lieutenant Godfrey, His Majesty's Royal Indian Engineers."

"2nd Lieutenant D'Artagnan, 1 Special Air Service."

"A good outfit, from what I've heard. They've brought about their share of devastation to the Germans and the Heartless in North Africa." Godfrey replied.

"Yes sir." D'Artagnan replied, in hopefully a respectful enough tone.

"If I may ask," D'Artagnan replied, "What is it we do aboard these airships?"

"I can't disclose exactly what it is we do." Godfrey replied, sliding an envelope into D'Artagnan's pocket, "Not here, but read and destroy the contents of this envelope."

D'Artagnan complied, the contents were vague, about some organization called the Allied Intelligence Bureau. But still it wasn't the opportunity to avenge the indignity he had endured as an officer of a defeated nation that he wanted. He wasn't going to be going behind enemy lines. He was going to be working for Allied Intelligence, dealing in information. He ripped the letter apart as instructed and tossed it into the nearest wastebasket a sullen expression on his face as he headed for the Morrowind.

Nine days. How do I tell Prue I'm going to be dead in nine days and there's nothing she can do about it. Andy thought. The Morrowind's gangplank came down and a burst of tropical humidity welcomed Andy. He saw Godfrey carrying a duffel bag over one shoulder and another officer, judging by his cap, in a desert brown uniform with heavily bandaged hands.

"Andy, this is Armand D'Artagnan of his Majesty's Special Air Service." Godfrey replied.

"I'd shake your hand…" Andy began.

"Ridiculous." D'Artagnan replied, "I am almost entirely healed."

They shook hands, Andy taking the Frenchman's right hand to do so and noticing D'Artagnan held in a wince.

Mole headed into the corridor just then and Godfrey introduced him to D'Artagnan. "I'll show you to your quarters." Mole began, in French.

"Merci beaucoup." D'Artagnan replied. The two men headed off down the corridor.

"Have you told Prue yet?" Godfrey asked Andy after D'Artagnan and Mole were out of earshot.

"No." Andy replied.

"I've grown rather close to her." Godfrey began, and added, "As a friend, and I really don't want to see her hurt."

"For all I know this could be something bogus." Andy replied.

"Nontheless," Godfrey replied, "If it's bogus, you two can look back on this lot and put it all behind you. If it isn't, then it won't take Prue by surprise."

"Why put her through all that pain?" Andy replied.

"It's going to hurt her either way." Godfrey replied, "If you die, you'll devastate her all the more because you never came clean with her."

"Thank you Dr. Phil." Andy said, defensively.

"I only ask that you come clean with her, as a friend I don't want to see her hurt." Godfrey replied, as he headed down the corridor.

The Dreamfinder ducked deeper into the culvert. The voices of German and Italian soldiers, the barking of dogs echoed over the grasses and the shallow water in the culvert. He could hear the high pitched chittering sound of Heartless communicating among themselves, he could hear the feet of Shadow Heartless sliding across the grass and the pavement.

"He can't have gone far! Find him." The command of a woman shouted.

Second Lieutenant Victor Garibaldi, of the Italian Bersaglieri, an elite mountain infantry force listened to the grumbling of two Italian soldiers as they waded in knee deep swamp water behind a Search Ghost. This breed of Heartless was said to be better than bloodhounds at tracking men, but they were certainly a lot less appealing to their troops.

"Fat lot of good they're doing." One Italian soldier grumbled, "We've been at this for days. How long does it take to find a fat, bearded old dreamer?"

"I don't know, nor do I care." The other soldier growled back, "But I'm sick of chasing this 'magical' being. We should be in North Africa, not on this 'neutral ground'."

"You could be the poor bastards on the steppes of Russia." The first soldier replied, "Personally this embassy duty is a welcome break."

"What part of silence do you not understand?" A German officer demanded, "The reason we've not found this Dreamfinder is partly because of your mindless chatter."

"It is only idle soldier's chatter." Garibaldi said to the German lieutenant, "Leave it be."

"German soldiers do not complain nearly as much as Italians." The German lieutenant replied, "Perhaps that is why der Fuhrer succeeds with Germans, but must always rescue Italians."

Arrogant bastard. Garibaldi thought, cursing his allies. It wasn't the fault of the soldiers themselves, it was largely his contemporaries. Not a single Italian officer in charge of the one hundred and eleven men in his company had turned out for this search.

The Dreamfinder was so close to the men that he could hear the grumble of the two Italian soldiers, the argument with the German officer with his Italian contemporary, and the sound of half a dozen German soldiers with a second Search Ghost. He closed his eyes and felt his spirit leave his body.

Within a few minutes he heard the shout of "Schnell! Schnell!"

The detachment of Germans, Italians and Heartless raced to a location almost half a mile away. "Raus! Raus!" A German soldier shouted as he aimed his weapon at the Dreamfinder's astral projection.

"You idiot! We want him alive!" came the shout from a German NCO.

The Dreamfinder heard the gunshots that brought him some breathing room as he brought himself back into his body. He crawled from the muck of the culvert, his clothing soaked, worn out, and tattered. He had been sleeping with one eye open for days as the Heartless searched for him, with their German and Italian pawns.

The Germans had believed that they had been spared the fate of other worlds by siding with the Heartless and Imhotep. The Nazis believed that they would gain dominion over all, by using the Heartless, but had no idea that they themselves were being used. The moment the Heartless had been triumphant, they would turn on their German, Italian, and Japanese allies.

Matthias Vossman sat at his hospital bed at Military Hospital 17, just outside the German Consulate in EPCOT. He scratched futilely under his cast for the fifth time that hour. He glanced around the room and realized he had been the more fortunate of the German and Italian soldiers in there. At Bir Hachiem, a French artillery shell had exploded beside his vehicle, flinging him outward, making him land on his arm at a bad angle. The other seven Germans sitting in the truck had been killed in the blast. He would have shared the Dreamfinder's sentiment but knew better than to voice it.

The room had eight occupants in all. Germans wounded from the Mediterranean and even a few from the Eastern Front and the Balkans. Even a U-boat sailor, a slight and bearded young man in his late teens, his head swathed in bandages lay catatonic and unmoving in his bed. He had been there for almost two weeks, since a British destroyer had sunk his submarine, U-712, off the coast of Libya. The Italian freighter crew that had yanked him from the sea had said the boy had said nothing since his rescue.

An officer of the Waffen-SS lay in another bed at his side. His left arm had been amputated practically to his shoulder, leaving only a stump half the length of the original upper arm. His left eye was covered by an eye patch.

"Soldat," the SS officer began, "How is the North Africa campaign?"

"We took Bir Hachiem shortly after I was wounded, sir. So I presume things are going well." Mathias replied.

"We will tear them to shreds. That is my firm belief." The SS officer replied.

"Listen smart guy." The other officer in the room, a major with a broken leg from the 90th Panzergrenadier Division, replied, "Churchill is a long way from shreds."

"We will crush them, Herr Major." Oberleutnant Spontz, the SS Officer replied.

"The British still offer stiff resistance." The Major replied, indicating the U-boat sailor, "On all fronts. Our friend from the Kriegsmarine will attest that, were he in fact capable of speaking."

"It is of no concern." Spontz replied, "Daily the Heartless make other gains."

"What of Mayapore? Of India where the Japanese failed to advance?" the major contested, "I wonder how many more fresh troops arrive through the Suez from India, or from Britain while we sit here on our asses waiting."

"It is of no difference. Der Reichsfuhrer has led us to victory against great odds before." Spontz replied.

"Reinforcements, supplies, where are they?" the major railed, "Fighter escorts for the transports, where are they? Answer that Herr Goring. Talking big is the only thing that fat slob is good for."

"I wouldn't want our leadership hearing your words, Herr Major." Spontz replied.

"How were you wounded, herr leutnant?" the major replied, emphasizing Spontz's lower rank.

"On the Eastern front, against the Russians. The fucking partisans have no courage. They simply attack us and go into hiding." Spontz replied, fingering a lock of hair in his remaining hand, "They chopped a tree down to block the road, and set off a mine beside our trucks."

"Whose hair is that, sir?" Matthias asked.

"A Russian partisan girl. The sub-human beasts use women to fight behind our frontline." Spontz replied. "She fought like a wildcat before we ultimately killed her."

Two orderlies came into the room, and took the catatonic U-boat sailor from his bed. Accompanying them was a doctor in the tailored black uniform of the SS. They took the sailor somewhere else, not saying anything. They took the catatonic sailor where they took the wounded who were most likely to die, to a place other patients called the Dying Room. They believed it was a place that the doctor took those poor souls so they could die out of sight of fellow patients to save their morale. A wonderful fantasy, but a lie.

The two orderlies pushed the gurney to an elevator leading into a sub basement. The first place they walked into was an anteroom where two grim faced SS-Totenkopfverbande guards stood at a door with Schmeisser MP-40 machine-pistols in their hands and P-38 9mm pistols at their hips. The guards extended their right hands in the standard Nazi salute.

The door opened and the gurney was pushed in. Half a dozen comatose and nearly dead German and Italian patients lay on similar gurneys. All around him several special trained surgical orderlies. He nodded to an orderly who hooked an IV into the sailor's right arm, putting a potent cocktail of muscle relaxant and three or four other chemicals into his system.

The orderly looked into the face of the catatonic sailor. He was told that the boy would feel no pain, but he saw the single tear coming out of the corner of his left eye. The orderly blinked as the chemicals coursed through the body of the sailor. The doctor nodded and he attached the electrodes to the patient's chest and closed the circuit. The boy's back arched almost making him snap his own spine. He convulsed and shook with seizure, his open eyes were replaced with two faintly glowing yellow orbs, his legs fused together into a tail like appendage, and his arms became claws. The apparition of a Search Ghost lay in place of the wounded sailor…

Kida cradled a cooing Lal in her arms as she and Prue walked together outside the Morrowind. "How do you deal with it, Kida?" Prue asked.

"With what?" Kida asked.

"With the fact that your world was destroyed." Prue asked.

"I remember that life goes on." Kida replied, "I grieve for those I love who died, but remember that those I love still live. And even the dead still live on in my heart."

Kida reached out her index finger to Lal who took it with her small hand and began a new cycle of cooing softly. Prue smiled as well.

"And then I remember that life continues when I look into her face." Lal began.

"Kida, Prue," Godfrey said as he approached, "Kolopak says we leave in twenty minutes."

"Thank you Godfrey." Prue replied.

Andy came walking over to them, taking Prue's hand in his. Kida detected a twinge in Godfrey's eyes, but it disappeared under an implacable façade. This must be heart breaking for him. Kida thought.

Andy and Prue kissed tenderly for a moment before heading off on their own. Godfrey nodded with a nod and smile, walking off. Kida took his arm with a knowing look.

"This must be trying for you." Kida said.

"I'll be alright." Godfrey replied, "I just need to stay busy, and certainly things seem like I won't be having time for things of this nature."

"Godfrey, I know you don't mean what you just said." Kida replied.

"Do you." Godfrey replied.

"I can tell you and Prue have gotten close as friends over time." Kida replied, smiling knowingly. Godfrey grinned faintly.

"I'd best be going." Godfrey replied. Kida tugged back on his arm with her own, "I know you feel more about Prue than friendship."

Godfrey nodded, "That makes two who know."

"Who else?" Kida asked.

"Doc." Godfrey replied, "Then again, the chap's been able to read me like a book practically since I came aboard."

"Doc is good at sensing human nature." Kida smiled, "It's part of the trade."

"Understand this." Godfrey sighed, "I do have feelings for Prue, but I know she loves Andy."

It all came together for Kida. No wonder Godfrey had been a bit distant over the past couple days with Prue. He had feelings for her and refused to act on them. He respected Prue's relationship with Andy and that she loved someone else. But she could also see it was gnawing at him.

"You haven't told her how you feel, have you?" Kida asked.

"I haven't." Godfrey replied, "I don't want to hurt her, or lose her as a friend."

"At least if you tell her, you'll have it off your chest." Kida advised.

"And if I tell her, I lose her as a friend." Godfrey replied, "So I ask that you don't speak a word of this to anyone. Especially Vinny. You know he's a hopeless romantic underneath the mad scientist air."

"Who can forget the Barmaid Incident?" Kida laughed, at Godfrey's blank stare she added, "It happened before you showed up. Vinny was so taken by this barmaid that he started writing poetry and tried to make a pyrotechnics show in her name. What happened was she rebuffed him, the British Army thought Traverse Town was being attacked and Vinny spent the night in jail and a month moping over her."

Godfrey laughed despite himself, not noticing three people had overheard his conversation.

"I told you…" Donald said.

"Gawrsh, I thought Prue and Godfrey were just really good friends." Goofy replied.

"So did I." Sora replied, "So Godfrey's in love with Prue, but Prue is with Andy and Godfrey doesn't want to say anything."

"Godfrey feels more about Prue than friendship, I can tell." Donald replied.

"That has to hurt, that he cares about her but can't say anything." Sora replied.

"Not can't, Sora." Goofy replied, "Won't. There's a difference."

"There is?" Sora asked.

"Yes." Donald replied, "Nothing's stopping Godfrey from telling her other than he feels obligated to keep it a secret."

"Why doesn't he tell her?" Goofy asked.

Donald rolled his eyes, "It's because he respects her relationship with Andy."

"I'll never understand love." Sora groaned, "Adults are so weird."

"Well there was always the whole thing with Kairi…" Donald replied, "So you do have some understanding of love."

"I like Kairi, but it's not the same thing." Sora replied, feeling the pangs in his heart. He missed Kairi, missed her smile, missed the innocent good times they had before the Destiny Islands were destroyed.

"Yes it is." Donald replied, "And no it isn't."

"No more riddles, Donald, please." Sora groaned.

"So do you think that he'll tell her?" Goofy asked.

"I'm a wizard, not a psychic." Donald replied.

"There's a difference?" Sora asked.

"I can't see the future!" Donald replied waving his arms as they walked and walked straight into a palm tree.

"You can't see the present either." Sora quipped.

"You're starting to sound like Nigel." Donald grumbled.

"Fancy a spot of tea, dear Donald…." Sora said, in a badly mangled British accent.

"Oh brother." Donald grumbled.

"Hyuk. He got you there. You can't see the present." Goofy laughed, "Or the future."

"Who do you think I am? Phoebe Halliwell?" Donald snapped, flapping his arms, and accidentally getting his finger stuck into one of the electric de-icers on the Morrowind's hull.

"WWWAAAAAKKKKK!" Donald shouted.

Audrey came running, "Are you OK?"

"Do I look OK?" Donald asked, missing quite a few feathers, with most of the ones still on his body being rather badly singed.

"For a wizard, you're not too careful." Audrey remarked.

Donald walked over to the palm tree, grabbed the trunk with both hands, and started banging his head against it in frustration.

"Was it something I said?" Audrey asked.

"Naw, Donald will get over it in twenty more whacks, or he'll give himself a headache." Goofy replied.

"You hombres are so weird." Audrey replied.

"Why is Donald banging his head against that palm tree?" Sora asked.

"He's just a bit frustrated amigo." Audrey replied.

"You act like he's done this before." Sora began.

"Ah-hyuck. Donald does this all the time. I remember when he tried to make this spectacular magic light show for Daisy. It backfired and wound up decorating the side of the castle and the king in neon pink, orange, and purple. He put several dents in our wall before he knocked himself our." Goofy replied, "One…two…three…"

"Why are you counting?" Sora asked.

"I'm just wondering how many times he'll bang his head before knocking himself out…" Goofy replied.

BOINK! A coconut fell from the palm tree, followed by half a dozen of its fellows and all landed on Donald's head. CRASH! WHUMP! SMASH! CRACK! WHACK! POW!

Donald staggered away from the palm tree, "Wuh…wuh…wuh…." Donald said, staggering drunkenly before falling over.

"Wow, twenty-seven, that's a new record." Goofy began.

"You guys are so weird." Audrey remarked.

TBC

SS-Totenkopfverbande – It literally means SS-Death's head. These were members of the German Schutzstaffel (Defense Squadron), the Nazi Party's most hardcore military arm. The Totenkopf men served as Concentration Camp guards and rarely fought on the frontlines during World War II.

Waffen-SS – Actual combat arm of the SS. These were some of Germany's toughest fighting units.