Disclaimer: All fictional characters in this fanfiction belong to Tim Kring and NBC. There is mention of one real person in here, but he doesn't belong to me either ;-) There are also some more credits at the end.

Author notes: A sincere thank you to Mistress Siana, who beta-ed this story for me. Any mistakes within are my own, completely. (also credit to Siana for help with the summary). ETA: This fiction has not been 'updated'. I divided it into chapters because looking back on it and re-reading it myself, I thought it was a bit too long for one page, so to speak. I apologize for any possible confusion.

Warnings: It's a dark, longish fic, with murder and a bit of supernatural (or something else entirely) horror.

Of Hollows and Evermores

Chapter 1

"You were born in a very special way, you know."

Indeed Gabriel did. He had heard the story of his birth the first moment of the morning and the last second of the night. His mother always beamed when she told the story—their story. At the age of five, he was already very adept at reading his mother's expressions but only in the sense of an animal scenting a chemical danger.

While he was good, he was no means perfect at prediction. But the story was the one real lighthouse in their relationship.

His mother sat on the edge of his bed, her eyes shining brightly. He was very still because his behind was still sore from the incident several hours ago. He had been playing with a snow globe, and he had heard something.

Rather than the familiar song of whirling gears, clicking together in place, there was a catch in the middle of the higher crescent of the melody. It was undetectable to most people, the small snag as the hands of the gears slipped off each other, as opposed to shaking hands. The snag/hang nail/inhalation of a sticky lung that will never in the seven hells of ever exhale again was undetectable to a majority of people, including the manufacturer of the snow globe and including Virginia Gray. However, it had overwhelmed the little boy in a wave of negative emotion as much as an off note would pain a compulsive composer who's only real sense is his hearing.

This is what has been making my mommy sad today, Gabriel thought, holding the horrible hangnail snagged globe out at arms length and wrinkling his nose in disgust. The good thing was that he knew exactly how to make it better. So he had hurled it (a miniature representation of Kentucky) to the hard wood floor as hard as his little arms possibly could.

He had laughed as it shattered, and his mother…

"Your father was gone. As per usual. Addiction is such a damning, disgusting thing. I found that out about him later….after I was pregnant with you. You see, with children, there come responsibilities."

Now, also, comes the fear. Breathing becomes more difficult but since it was so late, and so dark in the room (the only nightlight being one with a lone crucifix on the wall), he wasn't sure of the cause.

"Later, though, I worried. I wore myself down with worry. I thought he'd be a doctor. Instead, he was a watchmaker. I had plans, myself. But then God had plans for me instead."

She sighed, and studies him, as if looking for any telltale sign of a compulsion. She'll find one but that is for later.

"I knew it was a sin, having you a little too early. I wondered what kind of child you'd be from such a thing."

Virginia wringed her hands in emphasis. "I can't say what made me decide to keep you. Really, I'll be honest, because honesty is a virtue and there can be no secrets between you and I, can there? I was lucky enough to have the right amount of money to have the procedure, you know; I had saved for months when I found out about you. Wouldn't you know by the time I finally had the right amount you were too old to be returned. So. I was thinking of doing it myself. Almost all the time, when I started to show. One time you kicked me so hard it hurt for hours later. You never kicked before, or really after. It was like you heard something in my heart."

At this interlude, there was a superstitious, nearly primal way she looked at the boy, buried under the tulip-lined comforter. This little room was cozy but they both felt the undercurrents of suggestion: that the boy had demanded to live and did what he must to live. He twitched and his fingers threaded the fibers of the covers.

"My father always said to reap what you sow. But it was more of a feeling, really. I had a life inside of me, and how often does that happen? To have a life."

"Then I had that dream. Of that dark shadow floating above me, me with you growing inside. I didn't know if it was a bad thing, necessarily. Perhaps it was all my fear, absolved. Perhaps I wasn't asleep at all, I think, sometimes."

In reality, the last part was impossible. In her distress over the rapidly approaching arrival of a new person in her life, as well as her parents' rejection of her (one for two, a rotten trade), she had been taken sleeping pills most of the time, to pass away the time and the pain. But the truth is relative, especially in the eyes of children, and really, that was what mattered in stories.

"You're a special boy. I think it was my reward for keeping you, you know. I know that when you grow up, why, you won't forget your mother. I've give up so very much, and there's a great big world out there to see. You wouldn't step out on me."

"But today, you made me worry again. I saw you smile as you broke one of my favorite things. You know how much I love my collection. You laughed."

She stares solemnly at him, shaking her head sadly. And so the ritual ends, and she plants a kiss on his forehead.

"Are you thinking good thoughts?"

He actually wasn't thinking many good thoughts at all, but nodded just the same. She smiled, beautiful for a moment, and closed the door.

Gabriel turned to look at the closet door, and wonder. Wonder at the mechanics of the whole thing. He didn't know that particular word, yet, but he pondered for a simple, pressing question. What if he wasn't good enough? What if his mother had seen something bad in him today?

What would happen, in such a world, if that were so? The image of that black thing hovering over his mother tormented him.

So he stared at the closet door, wary, and quite small, and quite wrong for he didn't feel special at all, and wasn't that a terrible lie?

He decided he couldn't, wouldn't wait for something to come for him, for telling that lie, so he snuck out of bed, clutching the blanket and pulling it along with him. All the while, he kept an eye on the door, and it was sweet but cold relief when he made it into the den.

Gabriel gasped as pain raced up his foot. He fell down, crumpling his blanket, and looked, nearly screaming. In the moonlight, the sliver of glass looked, to all appearances, like a tooth of some ghastly thing. He pulled it out, and knew that his mother hadn't cleaned up the mess he had made because she had had to lay down on the couch, immediately after, with her hand on her forehead, her eyes shut, and her ears silent to his apologies and rages for attention.

He saw all the pieces littering the floor, and thought of pirates treasure.

But it was a bad thing, and that bad thing was in him. So he promised never to do it again

The rest of his childhood before elementary school passed peacefully.

His father came home more often, and though he didn't talk all that much, he had taken up the habit of taking his son to work in the watch shop with him. The habit became something to look forward to.

Only his mother didn't approve for Gabriel had nearly always missed his naps or was looking too peakish to go battle the New York smog, in her opinion.

The rare opportunities where he was able to go would fill his memory. He would think about being at the shop most of all when he was stuck at home. One trip could sustain him for a month.

Six year old Gabriel did not think of loneliness, but his mind took a natural turn towards tendencies of the lonely. The first time his friend came to him was not during the night (which he suffered alone) but during the day when he was bored stiff. That day had been a Monday, that's all he could remember, because they had gone to church the day before.

That day he had been sprawled out on the living room rug, with a hand shielding his face from the sun and a Bible resting nearby on the coffee table.

All those miracles. Incredible, impossible, delightful miracles. He believed in them, wholeheartedly.

But he had questions in his mind he didn't dare voice out loud, and he had to squirm in his seat instead, feeling restless the entire service. His mother had not been pleased to say the least, but the questions had stuck with him.

From the window, his favorite place in the apartment, he had seen through the years the deaths of many an animal. Cats, mostly, but flies and birds and dogs. Two out of the four had made a habit of killing each other. The baby birds, of course—one would always fall out of the nest. Over the years, he had counted ten dead from tabbies and wind.

The Sunday service had been about God being reflected in Nature. Gabriel had listened especially hard, so he could remember.

His question that had burned on the tip of his tongue was this. If God was in Nature, what was the nature of God?

Because sometimes it was scary, nature, with its storms and casual giving and killing. Gabriel didn't want to think on it, really he didn't. But he had to; his mind had been hooked by the idea.

So he had lain there half the Monday, holding a hand to his forehead, mulling it over.

"What on earth are you doing?" his mother finally asked at noon. She had been stepping over him all day pointedly, and the dust motes from the air that had settled around her son in the afternoon heat had a trail of footprints.

"Pretending I can fly," he replied, which was half true, if one pretended the ceiling was the ground.

"Oh. Well, when you've over Paris, do remember that lunch is almost ready."

"I'm not hungry, Mom."

She froze.

"Are you sick?"

He shook his head.

"Then are you aware that there are people starving around the world who would love to have just a pinch of bread?"

"No," Gabriel responded, sitting up quickly and blinking in the sunlight.

"Thoughtless. How did I raise such a thoughtless young man?" There was a heavy silence while the clock ticked. "I don't want to see a single crumb left on the plate, do you understand me?"

He nodded, sitting down at the table, and the thought of nature and dogs kept repeating in his head, making him quite sure he was going to be ill.

"Mom, why are people hungry around the world?"

"Because people are selfish and thoughtless."

"Why doesn't Santa Clause give them loads of food for gifts, then?...and a refrigerator."

His mother paused at the sink. "A refrigerator is much too heavy for a reindeer to carry."

"Even thousands of them?"

"Even then," Virginia replied in a softer tone. In his mother's mind, he was logged back into the angel category, without any intent on his part.

"Why doesn't God grow a whole crop for them? It says in the Bible that only God really grows things."

"Because it is meant to be, and we are not to question his will."

There and back again. God and dog, heads and tails. Gabriel really wished he could stop thinking. He had beaten his desire to see what made the television work or the blender whirl by looking a pictures in books in their stead, but on this subject, picture books were the equivalent of see spot run.

"If it is because of people, then how is it his will?"

She laughed. "I'm on to you now. Eat your food and be grateful I had the energy to make it."

By the end, Gabriel was glad for his sandwich, because his mother had always confused him. Of course, he figured it was a fault of his own understanding that he was a bit puzzled at her dislike of the neighbors for no reason but their appearance while the Bible said not to judge and love other people. Only sometimes it was hard hearing the kids laugh without him.

His mother examined the plate, and found there were still crumbs on it. She thrust the plate into his face.

"Lick it. I don't want a single crumb left. As they say, waste not, want not."

He saw his reflection in the plate as he obeyed, ashamed and wishing to hurry, to lick the plate clean as fast as he could, but he was forced to go slow, least he make a mistake. His mom pushed his chair into the table, and leaned against it, making it hard for him to breathe. He saw the floral print of her apron as she watched, avidly. He stared at his own dark eyes, his nose squished against the plate, and thought he sounded like a dog, and it disgusted him. He wanted to cry.

Then the reflection changed into another boy, and he clung to the idea so he wouldn't cry.

His visitor was Michael Gray—his long lost twin brother who had been separated from him at birth and given to a family that traveled the world in pursuit of treasure. They also were good hands at magic, and could make food rain from the skies. And the people there in that land loved his brother.

Everyone could not live without his brother.

Today he was coming back for Gabriel under an invisible glamour, and he would teach him magic.

And that was how it began.

"Now, I know everyone will be running up to you to be your friend." his mother said, cupping his chin with her hands. They were soft with dish-washing detergent, he noticed.

Somehow the idea of that wasn't too comforting, for reasons again he couldn't quite place, and he gripped his lunchbox tightly, as a drowning man might cling to a life-preserver. The first day of school loomed ahead; the first but not last hand of time on his back, pushing him forward.

"They'll simply love you. But take your time. There are some people who you really shouldn't be friends with. They aren't….well, they aren't good enough for you. The public school system is rife with small evils, and though I wanted you to be home schooled, this is the way it has to be. So we'd better make the best of it. "

But how will I know which ones are the bad ones? He looked across the busy street to where the herd of new first graders were gathering and eyeing the older children. What he assumed where the six graders had claimed the higher steps, closer to the doors, in a relaxed but assuming manner.

Great. A nature video in the making. Gabriel had long since discovered a type of program that did have a lot of the things—the types of things his mother censored religiously—that were suddenly educational. However, he never thought he'd actually be in one.

"I-I could just go home with you for the day, Mom. I can start tomorrow."

"Nonsense. And miss all your new classes? Your father will be by to pick you up at three sharp." Virginia Gray let out a very un-lady like snort of laughter, and that was the end of the discussion.

He made his way across the crosswalk, checking over his shoulder to see his mother already gone. He made the decision to skirt the large group of noisy children, and watch from afar. Gabriel knew he had to find a person he would actually like, or be like him at the very least. But from all the faces, from all the chatter, none of the children matched his idea of a friend that he had formed in his active imagination.

His friend was much taller, and wasn't afraid of anything (least of all the dark) unlike these small strange, separate species. There hadn't been many children in the Grays' apartment complex, and those special few were marked as the wrong sort. Gabriel sat down to wait, and watched the school clock, the hand of which was falling off and was too early.

After he had gotten into the place, he discovered that the name Gabriel caused certain difficulties among the second graders he had run into during the day, and to top that, seemed impossible for his first grade teacher, Miss. Finch, to remember. The old woman forced him to speak when he preferred to be silent, and be quiet when he wanted to speak. Recess was full of chaos, and he sought sanctuary under the jungle gym.

None of the boys understood a thing he had said, any way, and Miss Finch said that his father had taught him to read too early, which made him simultaneously sad and mad. So he turned inward, and looked for what was safe and common and under his control.

"Lucky you," he sighed, feeling as if he were burning up in the heat of the sun. "I bet you got to go to private school."

His twin smirked knowingly and nodded.

"And they don't tell you to 'shhh, that's a demerit," Gabriel held his finger to his lips for emphasis, and the boy confirmed his suspicions. "Well…who cares what Miss Finch thinks anyway? She looks like..." He thought of her head shape. "Like a human Tweety Bird," he declared, feeling satisfied. The other boy laughed, and smiled at him, reminding him of how the boys in his class acted around each other.

This new and improved at-home friend would do just fine in this strange place.

Just as he was getting comfortable, a shriek made him flinch, and a boy in jeans (named Brucie? Sprucie?) attacked the jungle gym, laughing and climbing up the side like a big blue spider. Gabriel started in curiosity, and tried to climb up as well. It was difficult, mostly because the boy didn't seem to want him on the jungle gym at all.

On the seventh fall, he clutched his hands together nervously. "I was here first, you know. I don't mind sharing, but we can take turns, right?"

The boy stuck his tongue out. Gabriel believed it was at him. Soon, half the class was swarming on the jungle gym, and despite his politeness, they didn't listen to him. He ended up crying as the infamous blue boy buried his glasses in the sandbox.

That wasn't very nice his friend whispered, understanding his plight.

"I don't care; they're all a bunch of…stupid heads! I was there first, anyhow."

Recess was made up of these failures, and he stopped trying to play. He didn't care about them as potential new friends. He cared that they had potential new friends themselves, and unlike what his mother had predicted, no one approached him, or talked to him. His glasses were very good at becoming lost, almost equal to how bad he was at finding them.

He got to use his imagination more and more as he made up friends who wanted him to his mother. But really he did not care.

Why does anyone like that smelly old thing anyway? he wondered in March, sitting at the end of the play yard and looking at the gym in feigned distaste.

Yeah, it is old, his friend said. It's not so great.

I can't stand them climbing all over it, hogging it, he thought. Kind of sad. And dangerous. My mom would have a kitten.

Then why not fix it?

Gabriel gave a start from his daydreaming. "I should fix it if it's dangerous."

Have to, right? What else can we do?

It was a great, brilliant, vibrant idea, and his mother wasn't around.

On April 12, the gym collapsed on the weight of two children on the monkey bars, and fell on the three first graders playing house underneath it. He saw it happen himself, while he was gazing out the window. Instead of running out into the yard with the mass, Gabriel sat perfectly still, in shock.

By the time his mother picked him up on the steps, he was shaking like a rabbit. "I knew this school was no good," she hissed vehemently, bundling him up in her jacket and pulling him along.

"Mom," he whispered.

"I'm going to write a letter to the Mayor himself. We'll see if they can sweep that one under the rug. Or a letter to the news channel. Or to Michael Moore? No, he's a cretin. Well, a letter is going to someone somewhere."

"Mom."

"Then I'm going to transfer you first thing tomorrow. Oh, I knew it!"

"I-I was just trying to help."

"I bet you were the first one out there," she said, beaming down at him. "My little hero. But those horrible, wicked people!"

It was a lost cause. His mind held him fast, replaying the scene over and over again. He thought lightning would fall from the sky at any moment. He hadn't had an evil intent, yet something bad, very bad, had occurred. He didn't even notice that his mother had drug him quite the opposite way from home until he was in the familiar, strangely comforting shop.

"What happened?" Daniel Gray asked in disbelief (and a little bit of fear) as he stared up over his glasses at his hysterically self-righteous wife, who at that moment could have been said to take on sheen of smugness.

"A tragedy—dare I say, death happened. It was simply wretched. The ambulances were there when I went by to get my child from your precious school. To think! It could have been Gabriel. We were blessed by God in that regard, but it's a very near miss. And you said it'd be good for him! Oh, look, there goes the news van," she remarked, sounding annoyed, as the van with the large number five zoomed by, leaving a rally of honking horns in its wake. "I imagine those children will be crippled for life, at least there will be brain damage or trauma of some kind. Can you believe it? And our son was the first on the scene to help!"

"That's not--," Gabriel hurried to say.

"Don't be so modest," she scolded, tussling his hair. "I mean, don't be vain. You have every right to be proud of your reaction. See, despite the odds, you are turning out quite well."

Daniel was studying his son carefully. His heavy eye loupes made him look like a praying mantis. "Are you all right?" Gabriel nodded quickly.

"You don't suspect he'll have emotional difficulties from this incident, do you?" Virginia Gray inquired, concerned. "He's sensible but sensitve. Horrible school, we'd have to sue."

"I don't think it will come to that," his father said, looking back at the watch on the table.

"Well, my day is gone. I had an appointment at one o clock with the charity, but I suppose now that I have Gabriel…"

"He can stay with me. It will be a busy day, so I'll need the extra help."

She smiled happily and patted Daniel's hand. "I knew you'd understand. This is all so upsetting."

"Gabriel, I don't want you distracted from your schoolwork. I know you like to play in here, and you are stressed right now, but you can't let this affect you. You tried your best. I will have a treat for you at home."

With that, she was gone with a wave, and he was left with a burning guilt that he was sure was stamped upon him. He didn't quite understand why his mother missed it, but his father didn't. There was a silence as he heard the snaps and clicks on the insides of the clock.

Gabriel sat down and got out his primer—or tried and failed as his hands were still shaking and sweaty. He waited, listening to the sound of the countdown with dread. What would happen? Would he be disowned, like his mother had been by his grandparents? Thrown out on the streets?

His mind went along with the sounds, the clicks, the sound the bars made as they fell.

"Dad."

"Hmm?"

"I did it."

His father looked up again, more slowly now.

"Not on purpose! I was just trying to make it better, the jungle gym. It was old, and dangerous! But it fell. I don't know why, I knew what I was doing."

Instead of resembling a bug, his father now resembled a fish. He gaped at his son for several minutes, then something clicked. Gabriel saw it visibly.

"….So that's where my father's tools went for the day?"

He blanched and ran towards the door. His father forgot the watch completely. The clocks filled the silence with overpowering noise, judgment, and things that made sense were thrown out the window. "I didn't mean to, but you hate me now, so I'll just go. Please don't tell Mom what I did."

"Sit down, Gabriel. Right by me, bring the chair over here. Just let me think."

He did as he was told, figuring it would be futile to try and get away. His father would catch him, or a big policeman would, and Gabriel preferred his father, naturally.

"Did anyone see you?"

He shook his head. "When did you do this—horribly…when did you do it?"

"Remember when I said…when I said I was staying behind to help Mrs. Finch with something, and she was going to help me in spelling…and you picked me up later."

"Yes, I figured that was the time." His father's hand was at his temple, as if holding himself together. "That whole week."

"Well, it was hard work. The bolts were really old and had been rained on alot."

"Oh my God. Please, I….are you positive no one saw you?"

He nodded, suddenly hopeful. His father noticed. "That doesn't mean I won't go to the school board and tell them what happened. I'm trying to decide the best course of action."

His heart plummeted to his toes. "I was just trying to help! It wasn't fair anyway."

"Fair? What wasn't fair?"

"Nothing," he muttered, feeling numb, and his heart now beat against his chest, as if trying to escape.

"I'm…we could be in a lot of trouble right now. Well, hell, we are in trouble right now." He gasped at the word, and his father waved it away. "It isn't right that the principal of that school hangs for this. I wish they had kept better watch, even after hours. Surely a teacher was there, at some time, or a maintenance man, or…someone surely should have stopped a six year old with a screw-driver. I can't even believe this."

"But it's not their fault," Gabriel admitted, holding on to the sides of the chair.

"No. It was their property, and I may be wrong, but I'm sure neither your mother nor I taught you it was all right to play with other people's property."

"It was my property too!"

"Speaking of which, for all that talk earlier, we could be the ones sued and we don't have anything to give. Those children, though…I can't believe it. You could end up being…no, you're only six."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He was now about to faint. "Don't let them take me away."

"What, no, of course not. You won't be going anywhere. I'm just not sure what will happen. Let's see…let's test the waters. We'll see what happens with those children. I pray your mother is wrong about any damage or injuries. If one of them is dead…"

"It wasn't that bad, I promise, Dad." This may have been a lie.

"We'll see. I'm coming forward if there is a death. We may be sued out of house and home but I…I think it's the right thing to do. However, if nothing happens like that, we'll keep quiet. And for heaven's sake, do not tell your mother."

"You really…think someone…died?"

"I don't think so. I'll take this on my shoulders, Gabriel, don't worry about that. I'm the one who didn't have his tools locked in his closet, and I'm the one who raised you. Nothing will happen to you, and I won't let it. For now we'll just wait. That's all we can do. But…"

His father turned towards him, his eyes incredibly fierce for his usually mild-mannered appearance. "Don't ever, ever touch anyone else's property."

"That's what you are doing!" Gabriel piped up, pointing at the watch as evidence.

"The owners pay me to fix their things, with their permission. There is a huge difference. Do you understand? Gabriel, can you see that?"

He nodded, mutely, terrified, but slightly frustrated. "It was all Michael's idea."

"Another boy at the school?!"

Gabriel jumped at his father's reaction. "No, he's my twin."

"I don't want to hear anymore about this. While we're at it, get rid of that imaginary friend because real people got hurt today. For most kids, imaginary friends are harmless. But with mine, of course, there has to be—"

They had to become quiet very quickly as the door opened to the shop and a customer stepped inside, looking bemused for some reason. Gabriel spent the hour with his father's hatred clear in his mind. He would run away later tonight, he swore it.

Until his father put an arm around his shoulder on the way home in the gloom, and he thought he'd test the waters as well.

"Nothing serious," his mother announced the next morning, with the paper in her hand. "One boy was in ICU but he's stabilized. Just a lot of broken bones."

"Thank heaven, "his father sighed, seeming to relax back in his chair as through a chain of terrible burdens had been removed. "Thank God."

"Well, yes, Daniel, it is a miracle. Ah, you could sign their casts when they get back to school, Gabriel. And I spy small egg left on your plate. The white part is just as good. Protein, you know."

"Okay," said Gabriel, happily and felt like he could go on, now, with time at his back. He hadn't realized things had frozen but now the difference was obvious.

"How much does the school have to pay?" his father inquired, hesitantly.

"Oh, it's simply through the roof. We could have bought ten new houses and a vacation to Paris. My, who would think what to do with that much?"

Daniel looked away, frowning heavily at the ceiling fan as if it was his worst enemy, and Gabriel's cereal was suddenly soggy again.

"By the way, Gabriel's coming with me to work after school," he declared, looking down the table at the boy who seemed to shrink in his chair.

"Daniel, no! You'll distract him from his work. Mrs. Finch says our Gabe is gifted, and I won't have you—ah, now you show an interest in him!" Virginia spoke with an air of one who just stumbled onto the inside joke of the universe. "Funny timing you have, Mr. Gray."

"Actually, I was trying to be thoughtful. You seemed so busy yesterday that it hardly seems fair to go to the school. It is out of your way."

His mother bit her lip, torn.

"Look, I'm well aware that our son is gifted. I just want to make sure he gets some hard work under his belt. The right kind of hard work. Idle hands and all that."

"Well, since you put it that way, all right. Gabriel loves that shop anyway, though I can't fathom why…"

By the time he marched over to his father's shop, he felt he had aged a thousand years.

"Good, there you are. A second late, but still, I won't dock your pay."

"O…okay." His father shook his head, hiding a smile.

"Get started on your homework. Then, the second you're done, come over here. I'm having trouble meeting a deadline for this piece. Just hope you're better with watches than you are jungle gyms."

Gabriel did not see the humor in the situation at all and felt a little hurt by his father's attitude. He had fixed the jungle gym just right. Someone else had gone back and messed it all up again. Now, he had to prove himself. Those watches would be worth a gold star by the time he was through with them.

He sped by his primer, and leapt to the work bench.

"You're done already?"

Gabriel held up the book, his mouth set in a thin line.

"…All right. Get to it."

Even though he knew he was being punished—even though he wanted with every ounce of his being, not to display pleasure, it was futile. As soon as his fingers touched the old metal, and as soon as he saw the littering of smudged finger prints on the rims, he was gone in terms of his being.

His little body was still there, on the bench, but it only served as a cocoon for his soul. Gabriel didn't have to spare a single glance at the large pictures his father had drawn and set out, specifically for this occasion. The patterns were easy to follow, in this lifeless thing, and it was kind of like when his mother had talked about fate and God's hands.

The springs could only go one way, guided by the circumstances of their positions, and the coil would wind down, counting away like his father's heart when he leaned against his chest. His hands gave life to this assembly of patterns, of miniature planets, of lines that gave the impression of a blinking eye of a baby. A whisper of a passing bird through the trees. A flash of fish scales in the churning water.

In all the picture books, even the flowers had structure, divided by a perfect count, like a beehive, like a shell on the beach, like music. The human mouth moved through certain hinges. The lungs brought air in an out, almost exactly like a clock, and this metal, natural as soil, was made and designed to count those breaths. And if people have a soul, then why not something as small as a time piece?

Gabriel daydreamed and didn't make a single mistake, thus making his very surprised father have to cut off every preplanned sentence or lecture. He dreamed he had made a whole city down there, in the crevices of the gears and the fragile curls of the engraving. It had to be perfect, then, and he bent so close his breath fogged the metal, illuminated the fingerprints, feeling a part of the whole, as a star-gazer would under the clearest of nights.

For the first time ever, he was in a place where he was a person, and his thoughts and questions did not hunt him there. An untainted sanctuary.

"You're doing wonderfully," his father remarked, his surprise poorly hidden. Gabriel pointedly ignored him. "Here, take these. They're adjustable."

His father's eye loupes! He took them with glee, and dove in again, not wanting to let go of being a part of something.

"Well…well." Daniel watched his son work, and saw their resemblance. He was proud, even a little flattered. He had an unusually bright child. Him, of all people. But every silver lining cast a shadow. As he watched, he couldn't help but wonder how a person, even if they were just a child, so adept at putting things together could ruin…

He banished it at once, feeling sick. Watches were worlds, universes, and alternative universes away from jungle gyms. Of course he would be watchful, pay more attention. But his son's hands those weeks had been…scraped, from falling down supposedly, and…a week, it took a week.

I'm a fool, he thought firmly, derailing that train of thought.

No matter what his wife thought, he did have a clear sense of responsibility when it came to Gabriel. Whatever the boy did would be on his shoulders.

Rightfully so.