What if, Sean and Daniel did encounter Max and Chloe on their journey? What if, in the tiny window of time between their father's tragic death and the first days alone in the wood, existed an entire adventure of its own? The outcome had already been settled, both brothers would remain unscathed, but what could've possibly happened in between? Not exactly prequel to S2E1, but more like midquel. Whereas the adventure of their lifetime ran its course across the space-time continuum and return the boys back on their track, retaining no memory of the entire ordeal. OU – original universe, canon accordance and not affecting Dontnod's series. Compatible with both S1 endings. Since FF hasn't updated LiS2 and its casts as a subcategory in the fandom section, they are marked as OC. I don't own anything, all rights belong to the developers.

Warning: lots of swearing, F/F (Pricefield)

Chapter 1

Sean walked aimlessly across the forest, his mind wondering miles from where his physical body wondered. Turbulence of thought marked his inability to stop, coupled with unrest born from overthinking and a severe case of introversion. He never let his shield down, so it went understandable that nobody really understood him for the shy, lone wolf underneath. Not even Lyla, his old best friend, who had called him on more than one occasion her little wolf boy in a metaphorical manner with no knowledge whatsoever of how close to the truth she dangerously dangled.

All except Daniel, that was. But even his brother didn't notice at first, until much, much later on their trip. A trip that never got a chance to extend that far before it was brought to an abrupt, unpredictable and horrible end.

At the moment, any stream of thought regarding Daniel in the slightest sense must be banished instantly back to the realm of pain and torment that they evoked so much of, and similarly went the memory that was about to follow were him to continue waddling in muddy ground. Trying to concentrate his focus on practically anything else, he shot his eyes all around his surroundings for the umpteenth time, desperate for any object of interest to capture his attention like they normally would whenever he was in the company of others, robbing him of the precious little moments when he could bond with the little demon reincarnated without consequences.

He didn't even recognized that blurry, reddish and annoying as hell figure inside his memory was Daniel until warm droplets of tears glittered at the corner of his peripheral vision.

Making a scene out of wiping them away, he let loose a sob bubbling up from deep inside his throat, carrying with it many shade of bottled-up emotions, repressed under one way or another. But the floodgate was unleashed, and from there he was no longer in control; another sob, then another, accompanied with fresh hot tears, soon the inevitable reigned its almighty grip over him, and the two-years-younger major broke down weeping on the ground, helpless against such strong current of emotions washing over himself and whatever remained of his composure, drowing the strong, confident and resilient teenager under his own guilt.

He had let down his guard for only a minute.

A minute too long.

A minute was al it took for Daniel to disappear completely, thoroughly, without even a trace. Without any evidence of his existence left behind.

He wasn't even aware that his younger brother was gone, in the first place. Too preoccupied with those half-rotten apple cores he found while rummaging through the trash bins, too involved in trying to secure himself a meal, after days without proper food. He was suffering from malnourishment, his stomach too hungry that it hurt simply from the thought of eating, and the call of man's oldest instinct blinded every other sense of responsibility. And ignore Daniel's call, he did.

Only just for a split second, he told himself. Whatever that annoying brat is up to can wait after he refill his empty stomach, he had reasoned. And so he kept on eating, despite the urgency in the boy's voice only growing graver and more serious after every unanswered repeat. Of course, realizing how horribly wrong something must've happened with the urgency of his tone, Sean made haste to drop the third apple core he was chewing on and rushed behind the building where Daniel's call emanated from, but it wasn't the familiar image of the 9-year-old boy that he encountered.

It was thin air.

Daniel was simply- gone.

He wasn't hiding around or playing tricks on Sean; his voice would never be able to stay level, but would rise and drop and end in a helpless giggle instead. Even without that as his first clue, Daniel's blue plaid jacket discarded in a pile on the ground denied any other possibility; the boy loved it to death, and would never in a lifetime willingly leave as much as a stain on it, save for the fake blood that he, in the childish way that only a 9-year-old could muster, proudly plaster everywhere to pull a more convincing Halloween costume. But denial is a powerful coping technique, and in the moment, he couldn't even contemplate a reality where Daniel didn't throw the jacket on the ground for no apparent reason but to inspire suspension and was hiding in a corner somewhere awaiting his chance to surprise him.

Because believing so would be accepting Daniel's disappearance.

So he searched, and called, and scolded, and even threatened the boy, but in the wake of a whiny voice calling him out for being mean or any other typical Daniel-esque behaviour, all he received in response was silence. He checked the parking lot and looked inside every vehicle, scoured every stack of crates and even popped open the lid of many dumpster, but the boy was nowhere to be found. Rushing back to the front of the diner, already closed and thoroughly vacated half an hour ago when the last employee checked out for the day, Sean found no prying marks on the glass door – the only entrance point into the building. Taking a peak inside, along empty corridors and on unoccupied seats, Sean found no sign of Daniel. The boy was definitely not inside.

"Daniel! Get your ass out here! This is not funny anymore!" He had called, many a time more than once. And begged. And plead he did. But wherever his younger sibling was, he never replied.

Resorting to the last option he had desperately hoped wasn't necessary, he ventured forth into the woods. If Daniel was still there with him the last hour, then he couldn't be far away. He must be nearby. For whatever reason on Earth, he must've run into the forest, despite being scared shitless of all the imposing tree and dense branches reaching overhead blocking out the sunlight's dying light as the evening drew on – the fear that Daniel had confided to him mere moments ago, though truthful that they were, must've been outweighed by whatever the boy was running away from, or running towards. Either way, Daniel must be deeply concealed between these thick vines and roots reaching to his hip, thus explaining why he left without calling out to Sean even once, or answering his endless monologue.

Because Sean refused to believe in the only other alternative. Because Sean denied having lost his own brother.

So he ran. Recalling all lessons, all training sessions, all laps of sweaty track running he'd ever participated in, he pushed himself to his breaking point. He ran quicker than he thought himself was capable of. Stones, rocks, boulders, or low-reaching tree branches served effectively to slow him down, but with such vigorous effort he pushed forward that everything else blurred into an undistinguishable background, irrelevent, not worthy of his attention. He ran in a circular arc covering as much perimeter as possible, as lengthier than the straight line that Daniel could possibility have made, he was determined to make up for it with his speed, wishing beyond hope that his brother would be his usual waddling self and allow him at least a chance to catch up. He ran on and on, until the sun finally settled between the mountains, until the lack of light limited his field of vision to less than a metre in front of him forced him to stop.

But by no means could Sean rest and call it a day, knowing how his brother had just vanished. He couldn't risk running only to trip over a random rock and injuring himself over a particularly sharp segment of a boulder like how he had acquired the two scars now adorning his left wrist and abdomen, but he could walk carefully, tracking his every steps in the darkness with the feel of a stick. And so he continued to walk, until he thoroughly exhausted himself to the point where his knees would collapse if forced to carry his weight a second longer, where his legs throbbed and ached in a way foreign to the track runner's usual discomfort of doing a quarter of a kilometre in 10 seconds, where his feet prickled with blood from both thorny vines and self-inflicted abuse.

He was juiced. And even then, he wouldn't give up. He screamed, and hollered, and bellowed for all he was worth. But not unlike any previous attempt, any call into the dead of the night only received absolute silence as an answer.

It was then, either from the unbearable pressure of failure, despair and desperation or the excruciating pain of losing the only family member left, or maybe a combination of both, that the crush of reality fully dropped on his shoulders. Daniel was truly gone. And he had no clue, where Daniel was, what happened to him, if he was even still alive or already—

Sean couldn't bring himself to finish that line of thought. It twisted his mental state, filled his mind with unsurmountable dark thoughts, all of them disturbing and haunting, if not eternally then at least for life. He felt his strings snapping each by each, the fragile connection that he was clinging desperately to sanity with finally loosening its hold, and down the bottom of the cliff he was barely hanging onto the abyss of total insanity. The verge of becoming lunatic was only a reach of the hand away from him.

So he forced himself to keep on walking, despite how his bones virtually cracked, deformed or splintered with every step he took, despite the flickering stamina his body could barely muster, forcing himself to stomach all of it if only for the little peace of mind that such a physically tormenting activity could offer. And he forced thoughts into his mind, crammed whatever he could think of into his logic neurons and put them to work, straining himself until he could pass out from exertion, the only alternative to letting the overwhelming guilt drown out entirely his will to survive.

Now, he could comprehend not the reason why he had to try so hard to carry on anymore. If Daniel is truly gone, why bother anyway? He had no dad, no home, no future, and now no family. Why bother to live, if only to suffer? The dream land of Puerto Lobos now seemed so far away, unreal, intangible, like a fantasy realm his dad used to tell him about in every night time story back when he was young. The place every child dreamt of, but could never reach; always within grasp, but never touchable. He may tell himself the lie over and over endless time to fool young, innocent Daniel into believing, but fool himself he could not.

It was with that line of thought that he held his switchblade to his left wrist, above the superficial scratch already there. With just a bit of force, deepening the wound a little, and it would all be done. The pain, the torment, the guilt. The memories of his brother and his father both staring at him with disappointment, with unsaid dissent, with silent blame. Accusing him of failing his duty both as the son and the brother, not deserving of the Diaz family name.

"Sorry, papa. Sorry, enano. I failed you." Looking at the happy family picture he always kept in his backpack for one last time, he made the cut.

For a moment, the fresh warm blood oozing from his wrist seemed surreal, distant, as if it wasn't him whose blood was being shed, whose life was slipping through his fingers. It wasn't even painful, but rather liberating, a huge relief taking the heavy burden off his shoulders. He finally let loose, dropping his backpack to the ground in a flop, without a second care if it landed on a puddle of mud, enjoying whatever left of his life he could savor until death would come and reap his soul.

That was, until the blood flow trickled down to a slow dripping before it froze entirely mid-air hovering a few inches above the ground, as if held aloft by a mysterious force beyond mankind's comprehension. Before his very eyes, the droplet fell in reverse, drawn by an invisible force upward and against the Earth gravitational pull as if unaffected by the physical realm. Its movement seemed magical, out-of-this-world, as if moving entirely in another dimension of its own.

Taking a second look, Sean realized he wasn't hallucinating. The droplet flew back to his wrist, joined the crimson flow that bled into his open jugular, and before he even knew it, the wound was there no longer, save for the scar that was nothing even close to fatal. A familiar weight registered on his back, the backpack he dropped on the ground just barely a moment ago.

"What the—