A/N: So this is up a couple days before I thought it would be, but I'm pretty happy with it and I couldn't wait to proofread it, so here it is. Title dramatic enough?
Adveunture Without Me
Peter is waiting at the bottom of the stairs for me to say goodbye. He wants me to come to the train station with him, but I adamantly refused. He called me a big baby and shoved me affectionately. After all, he reminded me, it's not like we've never said goodbye before. "And this time," he added. "I'm just going to school."
He's right, obviously. He usually is. Every time, well almost every time, we've ever had to say goodbye we never really knew if we would see each other again. But now, he's just going to school, just an hour away by train. And somehow, that makes it worse. Maybe it's because before, I never knew if I'd get to tell him all the things I wanted to, like I'm sorry, I love you, and it was me who ate your toast.
Susan and Lucy seem to have their heads screwed on straight, because they're happy for him. They'll see him at Christmas, maybe sooner, and Lucy promises she'll write every day. Peter promises he'll call when he can. Susan promises she'll look after me and Lucy. And I promise I will not say goodbye to Peter.
He's going to miss the train waiting at the foot of the stairs for me to come down. He'll stand there forever if he's going to wait for me.
Because I am not coming down.
"I'm leaving now, Ed," he calls up the stairs. "I'm leaving and I'm not coming back till Christmas."
I groan and pick myself off of my floor and go to the top of the steps. I face him staring up at me, and he looks sad. "Bye," I say, waving. Maybe I'm overdoing the attitude because next thing I know, Dad is at the bottom of the steps too, and he's frowning. I am, at this point, forced to walk down the stairs and say goodbye to Peter properly. Dad walks away.
"Why do you always have to be difficult, Ed?" Peter asks.
"It's a gift," I mutter.
"Chin up, Ed," he says. He smiles. "You're not too old and cantankerous for hugs are you?" he asks expectantly.
I smirk. "I am, actually," I remind him. He pulls me in extra tight on principle. "Thirty-four."
Peter pulls back and snorts. "There's an extra year in there somewhere, brother," he states.
"Yeah," I say. "Happened over the summer. With Eustace. And the boat."
Peter looks at me. It's that look I used to get all the time when I was younger and actually thirteen, like Peter doesn't know whether I'll be okay and if the problem I'm talking about is what's really bothering me, but he only holds my gaze for a few seconds before he smirks widely, grabs his bag, and says, "See you at Christmas, Ed." And then he's out the door and off on an adventure without me.