A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first Spring Awakening fic. I've been a fan for a few years, but sadly never got to see it in New York, but did manage to catch it when the tour stopped in Boston last summer. That said, I've wanted to write a SA fic for a while, but could never think of an idea. But then tonight, a little plot bunny entered my head and would not go away until I got it out. So, I hope you like it, it's a just a little piece of light-hearted fluff. I hope I did these amazing characters justice. Feedback is always appreciated. Thanks guys!
Disclaimer: Own Nothing. Unfortunately. That'd be awesome.
Cross My Heart and Hope to Die
Six year olds Moritz Stiefel and Ilse Neumann laid on their backs among the marigolds in Ilse's backyard, the large summer sun warming their faces. Moritz, growing restless, rolled over to face his best friend who had her eyes closed. "What do you want to do today?" he asked.
Ilse, hearing Moritz's voice, opened her eyes and pulled herself up so that she was sitting, her legs laid out in front of her. "I don't know. What do you think?"
Moritz thought for a moment before answering. "Melchi told me your mother brought you home a new hobbyhorse. I have never ridden one of those before," he suggested.
Ilse clambered up from the ground into a standing position. She began to twirl around in circles, her long braids flying out beside her like a propeller. "We could do that any old day. Let's stay outside. It is such a glorious day," Ilse proclaimed.
"Shall I go bring out the tomahawks?" he tried again.
Ilse stopped spinning and flopped back onto the ground causing her dress to billow out. "Oh, Moritz, aren't you growing tired of playing pirates?" she asked with a weary sigh, fixing her dress.
"But we always play pirates," Moritz replied, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.
"Exactly!" Ilse sighed, perhaps a bit overdramatically. "Just once, don't you want to try something new?
Frustrated, Mortiz folded his skinny arms across his chest. "I don't hear you coming up with any ideas. All you're doing is criticizing mine," he said with a pout.
Ilse narrowed her blue eyes at him. "Maybe I don't want to play with you at all if you're going to continue to be such a grouch," she said, sounding hurt as she got up from the ground and started to move back toward her house.
As he watched her go, Moritz felt a slight pang of panic. He hadn't meant to make her mad. "I'm sorry, Ilse," he called, causing her to pause in her steps. "I didn't mean it. Please don't go."
Ilse turned around to face him. "You promise you won't be mean to me anymore?
"Cross my heart and hope to die," he solemnly swore, making an X across his heart to mark his seriousness.
Ilse beamed, satisfied with his promise. She came scurrying back to where Moritz sat. "Good, because I have a magnificent idea. Let's play Cinderella," she announced excitedly.
"Cinderella? What's that?" Moritz asked.
"Wendla told me the story just the other day. It's about a girl who is treated horribly by her stepmother and stepsisters. They force her to do all the chores in the house all by herself."
Moritz could relate. He also had quite the chore load at his house. He nodded and waited for Ilse to continue.
"Then one day, an invitation comes in the mail for all the young girls in the kingdom to attend a ball at the palace but Cinderella isn't allowed to go. And then her fairy godmother appears and transforms her into a beautiful princess. So she goes to the ball and meets the prince and they fall in love but then she has to run away because the fairy godmother's spell only lasts until midnight and she doesn't want the prince to see her as a plain girl. And as she runs away she loses her shoe. And then the prince finds it and goes on a search throughout the whole kingdom to find his one true love," Ilse finished her tale with a dreamy sigh. Even at the age of six, Ilse still had a solid appreciation for all things romantic.
"Does he find her?" Moritz asks, transfixed by Ilse's story.
A sly smile crossed Ilse's lips. "I suppose you won't know unless we play," she said sinisterly.
Moritz sighed. He had walked right into that one. He knew he had no choice but to play along with Ilse's game. But, perhaps, it wouldn't be so bad. "Do I get to be the prince?" he asked.
"Of course, silly," Ilse answered with a giggle. "But the prince doesn't come into the story until later. First, you are going to have to be the fairy godmother."
"Why do I have to be the fairy godmother?!" Moritz exclaimed, his eyes so wide they were practically bugging out of his head. "Why can't you do it?"
Ilse shrugged. "That's easy. It's because I am Cinderella."
Mortiz was silent. There really was no argument to her logic and knowing her like he did, even if there was an argument, there was no way he was going to win it.
Correctly assuming her friend's silence as acceptance, Ilse got to her feet. She looked around for a moment before spying a twig lying on the ground a couple of feet away. She grabbed it and made a sweeping motion with it across the flowers. "Okay, fairy godmother. I am sweeping the floors, very sad because everyone has gone to the ball without me," she lamented dramatically, complete with a doe-eyed pout on her face.
When Moritz didn't respond, she sighed and placed a hand on her tiny hip."That's the signal for you to come in, fairy godmother," she told him, frustrated.
Moritz blew away a wayward curl that had fallen into his eyes before stepping toward Ilse. "Oh, right. Hello, Cinderella. It is I, your fairy godmother," he announced, flourishing his widespread arms dramatically.
Ilse studied him for a moment. "No, this will not do at all," she decided. "Wait here!" she exclaimed before turning on her heel to head back to her house, leaving Mortiz behind, watching her go.
After a few minutes, Ilse came running back to him, carrying a bundle in her arms. When she reached him, she shoved it into his arms. "What are these?" he asked curiously.
"What do they look like?" Ilse replied sarcastically. "They're dresses."
"What I am supposed to do them?" Moritz asked, holding out one in each of his hands as if they were diseased.
Ilse pointed to the one in his left hand. "That one is for you to give to me when you transform me into a princess," she pointed to the one in his right. "The other one is for you."
"For what?" he asked, not quite understanding why it was necessary for him to have one.
Ilse sighed; all of Mortiz's incessant questions were growing wearisome. "To wear, of course! You can't be a fairy godmother without a dress," she told him, the tone in her voice indicating that it should have been obvious.
"But dresses are for girls!" Moritz exclaimed, disturbed.
"It's only pretend, Moritz."
He thought about her answer. There really wasn't any harm in it, was there? It was only pretend. But on the other hand, it was a dress. He was already made fun of enough by the other boys at school; he really didn't want to add another weapon to their arsenal.
Ilse, sensing his reluctance, continued. "If we don't get through this part, Cinderella will never get to the ball and you'll never get to be the prince."
Mortiz contemplated this for a moment. "If a single word of this gets back to Melchior or Wendla-"
"I won't tell them," Ilse replied quickly.
"Do you promise?" Moritz asked, eyeing her suspiciously.
"Cross my heart and hope to die," Ilse swore, mirroring Moritz's actions from earlier.
Relenting, Mortiz pulled the dress over his head. It was obviously one of Ilse's mother's old dresses that she had given to her daughter to play with. It was an old, blue, ruffled number and Mortiz was swimming in it.
When he turned to Ilse, he found her biting her lip, trying desperately not to laugh at the sight of him. "Don't laugh!" he exclaimed desperately.
Composing herself, Ilse nodded, pleased. "Now you look like a proper fairy godmother. Now you can transform me into a princess. Go on," she urged, pointing at the other dress before lifting her arms over her head.
Moritz grabbed the dress and slipped it on her. "Poof!" he exclaimed, pointing at her as if his finger was a wand. "You are a beautiful princess," he announced, playing along again.
"No, no, no. The spell is bibbidi bobbidi boo!" Ilse corrected.
Moritz was going to question this, but thought better of it. "Bibbidi bobbidi boo!" he amended, pointing at her again.
"Thank you, fairy godmother. I am so happy now that I can go to the ball," Ilse sighed excitedly, swaying her hips side to side so the dress swished through the grass.
Ilse waited for Mortiz's response. When she received none, she whispered, "You have to tell me I have to be back by midnight or my coach will turn back into a pumpkin."
"But I didn't turn a pumpkin into a coach."
"Oh right. I forgot. Well, go ahead a do it."
Moritz pointed to a nearby rock. "Poof!"
"Moritz!" Ilse admonished.
"Sorry. Bibbidi bobbidi boo!" he corrected, a slight flush rising in his cheeks. "You must be home by midnight, Cinderella, for that is when the spell will be broken."
"I will, fairy godmother. Cross my heart and hope to die," she said seriously, once again, literally crossing her heart. "Okay, you can be the prince now," she announced.
However, that didn't mean much to Mortiz. He pulled off the dress and cast it aside. He looked at Ilse expectantly. "Now what?" he asked, awaiting his latest set of instructions.
"The prince and Cinderella have to dance so they can fall in love."
"Okay." Moritz placed his right hand on Ilse's back and took her land in his left and the two of them proceeded to waltz as well as two six year olds could.
After a moment or two or Ilse staring lovingly at her "prince" and of Mortiz looking everywhere but actually at Ilse, she interrupted the silence. "DING!" she exclaimed loudly, startling Moritz and causing him to drop his hands. "Oh no, it must be midnight. I have to go, Prince," she said before turning around and hurrying away.
"Wait, Ilse, where are you going?" Moritz called after her, confused.
Ilse stopped and turned around, looking at her friend exasperatedly. "I, Cinderella, am going home before the spell is broken. But look, one of my shoes fell off so you, the prince, can find me," she explained again with as much patience as she could possible muster.
"But you are not wearing any shoes."
"Come on, Moritz. Don't you know how to use your imagination?" she asked, rolling her eyes.
"We can use our imagination for the shoes but I really had to put on a dress?" Mortiz asked incredulously, hardly thinking that was fair.
"Fine," she retort with annoyance. And with that she took off toward her house for the second time in the span on minutes. When she came back she had one shoe on and the other in her hand, resulting in a limp. She tossed Moritz the shoe that was in her hand. "Here. Now you have to come find me."
Ilse ran a few feet away and sat down on a rock. "Knock on my door," she instructed.
Moritz walked over to where she was sitting and pumped his fist through the air. "Who is it?" Ilse called excitedly.
"It is I, the prince, here to find my one true love. I must find the owner of this shoe."
Ilse jumped up from the rock and pretended to fling open a door. "I am the owner of the shoe! See? I only have one," she announced, holding in lone shoed foot up for proof.
Moritz thought for a moment about what to say next. "Hurray! I have found you!
When he received no berating, he decided Ilse was satisfied with his response. But after that, he was at a lost. "Now what?" he finally had to ask.
"Now Cinderella and the prince kiss and they live happily ever after."
"Do we have to?" Moritz asked, wrinkling his nose at the thought of kissing a girl even if it was only Ilse.
"No," Ilse decided quickly. She shared her friend's sentiments about the whole kissing thing. "We can just hug."
A hug Moritz could handle. After pulling apart, Ilse smiled brightly at him. "See, that was fun, right?" she asked, proud of herself for coming up with such a brilliant plan.
"Sure," he quickly agreed.
Ilse nodded, satisfied. "Good." Then, she plopped down back into the marigolds and once again, closed her eyes and turned her face to the sky.
Moritz stood there awkwardly for a moment, unsure what to do next. Finally, he settled himself down as well. "Hey, Ilse?" he asked, once he was on his back.
"Yes, Moritz?" Ilse replied, keeping her eyes closed.
"Promise we'll be friends forever? Even when we're old and gray?"
Ilse smiled as she ran her finger across her heart. "Cross my heart and hope to die," she promised. Moritz, accepting this answer, said nothing in response and the two laid there in contented silence.