Title: When I Was Four
Word Count: 468
Rating:K+
Genre: General
Summary: I have seen those claws dig into solid stone, have seen those powerful arms display a strength that would frighten most. But he doesn't frighten me.
Author's Notes: This is a sibling story to "Ordinary", and I highly recommend you read that one first to understand this character. "Ordinary" was meant to be a one-shot, an attempt at putting a legitimate spin on a story which could easily descend into sue-dom, but this character (as good characters tend to do), continued to force her way into existence. I like to think she takes after her mother in that respect.

Before you continue on with this story, please do read "Ordinary" for context – this story, while similar 'verse, did not seem like an exact equal, but it begged to be written, anyway. I hope you enjoy both this and "Ordinary".

I must be dreaming.

There are two reasons for this, and they're both fairly obvious. The first reason is that the last thing I remember was shutting the curtains to block out the afternoon sun before crawling into bed; it's now night.

The second is that, huddled up in the corner, crying, is my four-year-old self.

Perhaps it would be better to describe this as a dream of a memory.

Although my waking memories of this night are fuzzy, the blanks filled in by family, my subconscious seems to be far more capable of remembering something that happened more than ten years ago.

The room is filled with men. Bad men with guns who took me from my bed while my parents were distracted by a terrible event elsewhere. That was their plan all along. Get my parents away from me, then get me.

A child is always the perfect bargaining chip to use against a parent.

They are loud and speak mean words. They call me names, and say bad things about my family. At first, I hit and scratch and bite the one who insulted my daddy, but I stop when he hit me across the face.

So I huddle, crying at the sounds of gunfire and screams. I hide my eyes, not wanting to see what happens.

But I hear.

I hear screams and shouts. I hear a monstrous roar. I hear gunfire. Howls of pain, roars of anger.

And then silence. Save my sobs.

All grown up now, I can watch what probably happened with an adult's rationalisation. I see the fight as something bad, but necessary. I see who the monsters really are.

And I see my four-year-old self stand up and run to the giant creature who made quick work of the humans. He may not be human, but his behaviour is obvious, instantly recognisable. He kneels and opens his arms and wings, closing them as my child-self runs into his grasp. His grip his gentle, his words are soft, and my tears are those of relief and safety.

xxx

I stir in my sleep as blankets are pulled over me, keeping me warm. I open my eyes to see the 'monster' from my dreams, and I smile, still half-asleep. The sun must have set, for he is awake.

He tells me to sleep for now, and he will be back soon. He's so gentle, so careful when he brushes my hair off my face. He and I are both well aware of what he can do if he's not. I have seen those claws dig into solid stone, have seen those powerful arms display a strength that would frighten most.

But he doesn't frighten me. Goliath is my father.

I love him. And he loves me.