It was just as Chase dreamed.
There was the cake. Bright with the light of a thousand candles, maybe even more. He didn't bother to count. He didn't need to. There were so many people around him, people that he never imagined would actually show up when he got that old. People don't just care for other people, especially for Chase; at least, that's what Chase thought. But these...friends, and their children, and their children, all there for his special day.
He remembered the years of being awed and admired and liked, well, liked by most everyone who graced the floors of EAS. He almost believed himself that, beyond all the respect, they would care. That he would have the best tale there ever was. Or maybe make his dad proud. They both kind of went hand in hand, but they were the only things he cared about. Being the best, and maybe, just maybe, being accepted.
Then Rory came, and everything crashed down into needle glass shards. Eventually, for the better.
Rory. That was why he was still here. He gave a funny little smile. Out of all people, she was the one to see through his façade. Even Adelaide, who had been there all those years, shied away when it got too personal. Somehow, that became an untouchable subject. Not that he'd ask, either. She pretended that everything was, would always be fine. They were both good at that.
Then Rory, oh Rory, that girl was something else.
"Happy Birthday Grandpa Chase!" A bunch of kids surrounding him chorused. Chase smiled at them, smiled at Rory, smiled because the children were obviously alive. Alive and happy, but there was a good chance they wouldn't have been-
And there was Rory, smiling back at him, smiling like there was nothing else worth to smile at.
Chase should have blown the candles out; they were shortening into half-liquid lumps. The wax by now probably covered the cake in a shiny rainbow mess. Kind of like cheese. Yet he paused. There was one last thing he needed to do. One more favor to acknowledge.
He lifted his head in a nodding gesture towards Iron Hans, or now Un-Iron Hans, standing by the side of a tree with his arms crossed.
"Thanks for letting me use your grotto," Chase said.
He blew at first. When that didn't work, he used his wings, sending a gust along the sides of the table. The vibrancy of their colour put the actual flame to shame.
The multitude of candles flickered out.
Accepted. Loved. The words echoed around him as he gazed on the woman behind the cake. They weren't something he had to convinced himself of anymore. They were true, the final truth, and he didn't need to lie.
He was perfectly fine with not lying.
I don't own this (Shelby Bach does, but you probably knew that), all the glory of the writing goes to God, and Happy Leap Year Day y'all. *frog noises*
No, but seriously. IT'S THE TWENTY-NINTH (yes, it was posted today for a reason)!
Also, I know I said I was going to write more, but that was delayed. It will (hopefully) come. Eventually. Most likely better than this.
On a random side note, can you imagine Chase in one of those intimidating leather jackets and flame-red wings? He's like a flying motorcyclist.
Never mind. Don't mind me. I hope you enjoyed reading! :D