Lost Innocence
By: Thea
Summary: Masbath at the funeral.
Rating: G

He is scared. He is alone. Perhaps even more than anything else, he is angry. Angry at hat or who he isn't sure. Angry at everything…angry at everyone. He's angry at the people who stand around him looking somber. He hates this funeral. He hates that headless horseman for putting him through this again.

He is still young he knows but, he also knows he is not stupid. He knows that nobody here is really grieving. Besides himself and Katrina, the only empathic person in this town. He knows what their all really thinking though. Not that their happy his father's dead. Their too busy reveling in their own personal relief. Better him than themselves. Better to grieve for somebody else's lose than their own.

He watches their faces as Reverend Steenwyck drones out some prayer. Like that's going to fix everything. Just a few magical bible words and he's supposed to feel cleansed and happy. He feels anything but happy. He's miserable and he doesn't understand why these sort of things happen. He doesn't think he's a bad person, then why has he lost his mother and his father before even becoming a teenager.

It isn't fair. He knows it's definitely not fair. He wants his mother back, he wants his father back…he wants his family back. He's still young. How is he going to live? Whose going to take care of him? Whose going to make sure he doesn't go hungry? He doesn't know the answer to this and that thought terrifies him beyond anything else.

He is lost in himself and he realizes that everybody is leaving that the ceremonies over. What happens now? He thinks desperately. What's he supposed to do? He feels helpless. He wants to scream and cry. He wants to kill that horseman…for what he did. He stole his father from him. Much to early he still needs him. God, he really really needs him. He needs to be useful though, if he's useful than he doesn't have to think about this. He doesn't have to be afraid he can just be useful and occupied. He had to keep busy at all cost.

He suddenly knows what he must do. He has one moment of prefect realization. He could assist the constable. Not only would he be useful and occupied but he could help get revenge against that dn horseman. That ghost who just took an axe to his most normal life. He wanted to return the favor.

He watched the constable was walking away and he felt a wave of panic swell through his body. He had to do something. Say something…before he left. Before he lost the moment, the opportunity.

"Mr. Constable, sir." His voice sounds steady to his ears. The opposite of what he is feeling inside.
"Ahh, your Young Masbath." the calm words of the constable send a bolt of white hot pain through him. He is no longer Young Masbath. Young Masbath was innocent. He wants to be that person again but, he can't the change is permanent. His innocence is lost, forever.

"I was Young Masbath but, now the only one. Masbath, at your service and honor bound to avenge my father." He replies evenly. On the inside he is panicking and praying. He needs him to say yes…he doesn't know what to do if he doesn't. This is his only chance. He hopes Ichabod Crane understands this.

"Well, one and only Masbath. I thank you very much but, your mother will need you much more than I." He feels the lump form in his throat. A reminder of his lose. He is just an orphan. All by himself. He swallows the pain and replies slowly.

"My mother is in heaven, sir. She has my father now to care for her but, you have no one to serve you. I am your man, sir."

"Yes, and a brave one too but, I cannot be the one to look after you. I'm sorry for your lose young Mr. Masbath."

When he hears those soft words he feels his stomach seem to drop out. He feels nauseous and sick. That was his last chance. Now what is he to do? Where is he to go? He has never felt so alone in his life. He doesn't much enjoy the feeling. He stares dumbly as he watches his last chance start to head down the hill.

He turns around and stares that the grave. His emotions are raging inside him fighting for control and they all seem to blend into one feeling of hopelessness. He really wishes he could cry but, he can't summon the tears when he really needs them. Behind him he hears the magistrate and the constable but, he pays them no attention. He is too absorbed within himself. He is startled from himself by the constable yelling to him.

"Young Masbath, find a place in the Van Tassel servant's quarters. Wake me before dawn. I hope you have a strong stomach."

When he hears those words he can summon no words. He just nods and watches Mr. Crane walk away. He looks back at his father's grave. He suddenly feels the wetness of small tears upon his cheeks. He makes no move to wipe them away, he has no reason to be ashamed of them. Now is his time to grieve, tomorrow, it is time for revenge.