AU future crackfic. It's strange, I know, but I've written quite a bit and might as well share it. Mostly next generation characters, with original GG characters here and there. No flames thanks, it's bizarre, I don't need someone else to tell me. If you have something constructive to say about my writing style, go nuts; I'm no English or writing major. It's unbeta'd, any mistakes are mine.
Disclaimer: We all know who belongs to me and who belongs to the CW. The proverb at the start belongs to Chuang Tzu, and the lyrics in the summary belong to Jessica Mauboy and Stan Walker.
I dreamed I was a butterfly, flitting hither and thither around in the sky; then I awoke. Now I wonder: Am I a man who dreamt of being a butterfly, or am I a butterfly dreaming that I am a man?
one.
Are the footsteps getting closer?
Summer tried to muffle her breathing and pushed her face further into the concrete slab. The abandoned building had turned out to be more trap than shelter, and more unstable. It had only taken a few rounds loosed by the NYPD and to cause a cataclysmic crumbling of the walls and ceiling, some of which had been unceremoniously dumped on her as she scrambled for an escape.
Footfalls, voices, sirens, the nearby subway - all merged to be the soundtrack to what Summer was sure would be her final minutes of freedom. All the running, lying, stealing, had been pointless. She was going to either die here or be caught and die later. After she'd served whatever purpose she was wanted for.
A voice, terrifyingly close, caused her to cringe, desperately willing herself to be smaller, to become
invisible beneath the mortar and insulation.
No, no, no, no…
A pair of black shoes, dull with the dust of the building, appeared in her restricted line of vision from beneath the pile of rubble. Summer's heart beat like a war drum in her ears, and she thought that alone would give her away. Her arm was twisted painfully beneath her, and her entire left side ached terribly, but she dare not even breathe.
"I don't see the point in this, how are we even supposed to know who we're looking for? Or what for that matter," the man- FBI, NYPD, either way he heralded her end- the man shouted out to others who were combing the building. The answer was broken, she heard only snippets,
"There was nowhere….run….want to….they'll have to change. If they…..we'll know."
Summer wasn't an idiot. Pieces or no, she knew this meant that her best chance of escape was as dead as she was going to be. It wasn't as much of a blow as it might have been, since she knew she had no energy to Shift anyway. A mouse or rat may have been a powerless option, but it was small and fast and may have been able to slip between their fingers; bear or wolf may have at least been able to tear the way free. But with her power depleted, Summer was as like to become invisible as she was to change shape.
Her thoughts fluttered to Milo, and she wondered where he was. Somewhere in the building, hiding as a rodent or squashed into a dark corner? Maybe he had already been found, drugged and sat chained in the back of a van. Or maybe he had escaped, done something right where she had gone wrong.
Summer imagined him wheeling overhead or bounding through the streets, high on the adrenalin and euphoria of freedom. The scene left a bitter taste fermenting in the back of her throat that was unfair; he would be free, and for that she should be grateful. But right then she was too afraid and hurt to feel guilt; looming defeat left little room for anything else. She thought of her brothers and sister, her broken family, and wished she could see them again. The whole reason she and Milo had returned to New York was to seek them, and now she never would.
The pressure on her ribcage made Summer's breathing increasingly difficult, and as the black shoes wandered in and out of her view, shouting and swearing, she felt useless anger rise in her throat.
Fuck this city.
A sudden lightening in the weight crushing her filled her full of relief as the next breath came easier, and dread quickly followed on its heels. Black shoes was fishing through the rubble that shielded her from view. Summer closed her navy eyes, preparing for whatever was to come as he raised the sheet of plaster which had been her cover.
If there is a God, he might just shoot me.
"Hey, we found two! Quick, get over here, we found two! Hey, stop moving right now!" Black shoes dropped the plaster, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out as the weight landed back on her bruised side. His retreating footsteps sounded surreal, and for a moment Summer wondered if he had shot her and this was her brain in the throes of death.
Yet he didn't come back. All the voices and footfalls faded to a reasonable distance. She moved her head to look around, darkness and dust making up most of the view. Escape crossed her mind, doubt coming with it. Would the noise of movement bring him back?
I'm dead anyway…she pulled her arm free and dragged herself from under what had been the ceiling, wincing at the bumps and bruises she was sure would be unpleasant if she lived long enough to see morning. Summer staggered to her feet and took a shaky step forward. Her foot buckled, and the ground rushed up to meet her. Tears came to her eyes as she sat up, because as immature as it was, it isn't fair. She wiped away the tears that fell, pain shooting up her right hand as she leant on it. Drawing it closer to her face, little star shaped indentations bled from her palm.
Glass?
She looked up, lights of the city silhouetting a tangle of bars and wire.
A cage. A cage to take me away.
Summer stared hazily, no, not a cage.
A fire escape.
Despite how hopeless her situation had been moments ago, and how powerless she would be if black shoes came back, she was not going to lay here and wait to die. Not with a slight chance of freedom. Either they'd chase her out the window and shoot her as she slipped down the side of the building, or she would drag herself to safety through the streets of Brooklyn.
Gathering her resolve, she pushed herself up and glared at the window defiantly.
Summer Humphrey began to crawl.
It's said that time is constant, but the climb down that fire escape and across the block to the alley Summer was currently sitting in could have taken days for all she knew. Head against the brick behind her, she breathed an easy breath; her side felt better for the freedom, and as stiff as she was nothing felt too seriously injured.
Summer Humphrey had trouble understanding why she was born as she was, especially in moments such as these. Gifted with the power to Shift, it was an aspect of her person that came with all sorts of perks and pitfalls; to see the world as so few did, to know worlds so few even knew existed. By the time it had manifested she was old enough to know it was best kept a secret.
Serena had known about her gift, as had her step father; other members of her family knew enough to avoid the subject. Keeping secrets on the Upper East Side was near on impossible, but this was more than a scandal over money or wearing last season's heels. This was something new, new to the UES, new to the world. And anything new was dangerous.
But fate had a way of waylaying the best laid plans of mice and men, and secrets were nowhere as unsafe as on the Upper East Side. It seemed to her the world conspired to push her out into the fray. But Summer did not have the spirit of a fighter. Strong, wilful, stubborn- but she was not prone to violence. Or at least, she hadn't been. A gentle soul can suffer so long before it breaks and is reforged by something stronger, unyielding.
Scuffling in the shadows should have frightened her, but at this point she was too tired, sore and relieved to have energy for panic.
"Oh God…." She looked to her left and saw a figure, "if you're here to rob me, I have nothing. And if you're here to kill me, just do it, I don't care right now." Summer waved dismissively at him, sighing into the night air. A familiar chuckle rose from his lips, and Milo Sparks stepped out into the glow of the streetlight.
"Oh Summer, it isn't all that bad," he walked over to her; a slight limp had him favouring his right leg. He pulled out a slightly squashed cigarette, straightening it out before attempting to light it, "After all, you could be dead," he took a puff, smoke drifting from his lips as he looked her over with a critical eye, "hmmm….you do look like shit though."
She wasn't sure whether it's relief at seeing him alive or if she's slowly going mad, but suddenly it's all too funny and Summer laughs, an airy chime she inherited from her mother. Milo laughs too, because it's hard not to when she does, and he slides down next to her on the pavement. She giggles, smiling and looking up at the stars, drowned by the light of the city.
"Fuck, I hate New York."