Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I do not own Animorphs. It might also be a good idea to mention that I don't own A Christmas Carol.

Before my eyes even opened I could tell that there was somebody in my room. I cracked my eyes open just a little so I could observe the situation before whoever it was realized that I was awake. I didn't appear to restrained but that didn't necessarily mean that I was safe.

When I saw who it was, I immediately sat up in bed. "Grandpa G?"

My great-grandfather smiled mildly at me. "Well that was fast."

"I've decided that I'm still dreaming," I explained. "The Chee are likely still too angry to do something like this and I can't imagine that Marco or Cassie – or anyone else – would have a morph of you."

Grandpa G shook his head. "All this talk of Chee and morphing…You're making me feel old, Jake."

"Well you are…" I trailed off, gesturing. "You know."

"I'll have you know that I'm really not that old in the grand scheme of things," he told me. He glanced around my room. It might be a little sad but I had recreated my old room as best as I could. It made it easier to pretend. "This doesn't quite look like the sort of room that a war-hero would have."

I winced at the term. "Grandpa-"

"I know, believe me, I know," Grandpa G interrupted. "War heroes never do feel like war heroes. Every damn fool entering the army wants to be one but by the time that you understand what that really means you know better. It's not the kind of thing you can see in yourself but let me tell you, Jake, that if I'm a war hero for saving my men then you're a war hero for saving my planet."

"I've killed far too many people to be a hero," I said flatly.

"I think you'll have to let other people be the judge of that," Grandpa G replied. "They may not know about everyone that you killed but they certainly know of the two Yeerk Pools that you destroyed."

"They don't see it as me killing defenseless people, innocent people," I countered. "They're just idealizing me. And in the end I failed anyway."

"Failed on a personal level, perhaps," Grandpa G allowed. "But succeeding there wouldn't have made you a war hero; it was the larger picture that did it. And since what you did saved the planet then they're willing to overlook the immorality of those actions."

"I'm not," I said stubbornly.

Grandpa G nodded sagely. "And that's why you're the hero." A pause. "I see you've gotten a footlocker."

"Mom wants to display the medals and awards," I confided. "She says that she understands how I feel about them – I don't think she does but that's what she say – but that she wants a reminder that the war that destroyed our family wasn't such a loss to everyone. She says she's not going to push the issue, though."

"And what do you think?" he asked me.

"Me?" I shrugged. "I just want to forget and even though I know I never will I don't want those medals to rub my face in it."

"I can understand that," Grandpa G assured me. "I had a footlocker for a reason."

"Are you my ghost of Christmas Past?" I inquired. I was pretty sure that that was what it was though I hadn't seen the movie in a few years and I had never read the book.

Grandpa G nodded. "Indeed. I'm worried about you and don't want you to live out the rest of your life in a cabin on a lake miles away from everyone else. Or even…well, I want more for you."

"So how does this work then?" I asked. "Do I have to do anything or…?"

"Touch my hand and close your eyes," Grandpa G instructed.

Since this was, in all probability, a dream and since if it wasn't the Chee couldn't hurt me and I could morph anyway I did as requested.

When I opened my eyes I was back in my house – my real house – and if the decorations were anything to go by (we hadn't done much decorating this year) then it was the Christmas season. Of course, these days the Christmas season starts the day after Thanksgiving and the decorations don't come down until shortly after the New Year so that really wasn't all that specific. Still, I could see a few unopened presents under the tree so that at least placed it no later than Christmas Eve.

I heard voices coming from the kitchen so I went over there to investigate. The four of us were in the kitchen seated around the table finishing up dinner. I couldn't have been more than nine and quite possibly younger.

"That was brutal," my dad said, groaning.

"The dinner?" my mom asked dangerously, most likely having cooked.

"No, the church service," my dad clarified. "I'm not even Christian, Jean. Why did I have to sit through hours of that on Christmas Eve?"

"We had to get there early so we could get a good seat," the younger me said seriously.

"It's just once a year," my mom pointed out. "And you agreed to go."

"It's only once a year because the one on Easter is three hours long," my dad muttered. "And you know I don't listen when you ask me things during a game!"

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about," my mom said innocently.

"It wasn't that bad," Tom opined. "We got to sing Christmas Carols and everything. Plus Mom let us bring something to do before it started."

"Christmas Eve," my dad said again as if that changed everything.

"If you don't celebrate Christmas then what difference does that make?" my mom asked reasonably.

"Who says I don't celebrate Christmas?" my dad asked, surprised. "I love Christmas. I think everybody should celebrate Christmas. It's a great, secular holiday."

"It's really not-" my mom started to say.

"Rudolph and Frosty say otherwise," my dad countered.

My mom sighed. "Well, I suppose it's better than you refusing to celebrate it with the boys at all…"

"Do you remember this?" Grandpa G asked me.

I glanced over at him, forcing myself to turn away from the scene playing out before me.

"No," I admitted. "I was pretty young and things were always like that back then. Nothing to really make it stick out in my memory."

I wish I did. I didn't like the thought of losing any of my good memories no matter how much they might hurt to think about.

"Can we put out cookies for Santa now?" the younger me asked earnestly the minute he had shoved the last of his food into his mouth and swallowed. "I don't want to forget."

Tom laughed. "Like that would ever happen."

"Alright," my mom agreed. "Tom, will you help him?"

Tom nodded and stood up. "Come on, Midget, let's go see what kind of cookies we've got."

The two of us made our way over to the cabinet.

"Oreos or Chips Ahoy?" Tom asked.

The younger me frowned and tilted his head to the side as he seriously considered the question. "Can we have some of both?"

Tom glanced over at our parents.

"Two of each," my mom decided.

After Tom got that ready, the younger me had another question.

"What about milk?"

"I think that should wait until right before bed so it doesn't spoil waiting for Santa," my dad replied. "And make sure to use the skim-milk."

My mom shot him a pointed look.

"You know, to balance out those cookies," my dad hastened to add.

Still, younger me wasn't satisfied. Was I really like that as a child? I really don't remember being like that.

"What about Santa's reindeer?" the younger me persisted.

"What do reindeer eat?" Tom asked, puzzled.

"Um…" Younger me bit his lip. "Carrots? We can put them by the cookies so Santa can take them to the reindeer."

Tom went to go check the refrigerator. "We don't have any baby carrots so I guess big ones will have to do."

Younger me went to go look as well. "Oh, and apples! We need apples!"

"Maybe just one," my mother told us. Them.

"Once you're done with that we can see what specials are on tonight," my dad offered.

"It was always like that," I said quietly. "Church on Christmas Eve, the unsuccessful search on the drive home for a place that was still open, then eating dinner at home and putting out milk and cookies for Santa before watching Christmas shows and going to bed."

"Even after the war started?" Grandpa G asked curiously.

My mouth twisted into an approximation of a smile. "Even then although, for obvious reasons, it was completely different. We didn't really do that this year. I guess maybe my parents might have but…I don't know…It just wouldn't be the same."

"Different doesn't always have to be bad," Grandpa G said gently.

I shrugged noncommittally.

"Tom told me about when he first found out there wasn't a Santa Claus," I said instead. I paused. "Well, the Yeerk did at any rate. I think it was probably true. He said that he'd been in fifth grade and only he and a girl in his class still believed. He definitely wanted it to be true but he wasn't sure. He kept hounding our parents about it. Mom eventually told him that she preferred to believe while with Dad there was some Christmas special on where the characters were trying to figure out if there was a Santa or not. Dad said that the answer on the TV would be the real answer but when they had there be a Santa there he changed his mind and said that you couldn't always believe everything on TV. Finally, he snuck downstairs on Christmas Eve and caught our parents putting presents under the tree."

"What happened?" Grandpa G asked, understanding my need to talk about something else.

"Dad yelled at him to go upstairs and then stopped by his room and told him he'd never have a Christmas again if he told me," I answered. "He didn't even seem to notice how upset Tom was about this turn of events. I guess they really hadn't prepared for when we'd learn the truth." I smiled. "Of course, apparently Tom did the exact same thing on Easter just to be sure."

Easter was another holiday that my dad insisted could be celebrated completely secularly though I understood his rationale far less than with Christmas. I think he just liked the candy and egg hunts.

"And what about you? When did you figure it out?" Grandpa G asked me.

"Well…it's a little embarrassing," I began.

Grandpa G held up his hands. "I'm not here to judge," he assured me.

"I actually believed in Santa all the way up until I was thirteen," I admitted. "No one else my age did and Marco made fun of me but I really wanted it to be true. It was only when December rolled around that I realized that, because of the war, I simply knew better. It wasn't any one moment where I realized the truth. My parents were disappointed but I think they were expecting it a lot earlier."

"I know that I was a little sad when my children stopped believing," Grandpa G told me.

"I probably should have figured it out sooner, actually," I remarked. "All the gifts from Santa used to have hand-written labels until one year I pointed out that Santa's writing looked a lot like Dad's writing if he wrote shakily. He said that I shouldn't be surprised if next year the labels were done on a label-maker and they were."

Grandpa G smiled at that. "You were young."

"Young and innocent," I said wistfully.

"Let's get to the next memory," Grandpa G suggested. "Close your eyes."

I did as requested and opened my eyes to see that I was in the barn. Cassie's barn. I haven't been there since the day we told Cassie's parents about us and then failed to save my family.

The six of us were all there and we looked impossibly young. Well…four and a half of us did anyway. It was impossible to tell with Tobias and only somewhat clear in Ax. The rest of us, though…this must have been our first Christmas as Animorphs.

"I'm just saying that now it doesn't sound so crazy," Marco was insisting.

"Yes, I'm sure that's exactly what you're saying," the younger me said sarcastically.

((What doesn't sound crazy?)) Ax asked curiously.

"Jake's long-held belief in Santa Claus," Marco explained gleefully.

Younger me shot a quick glance at Cassie as he reddened. "I do not!"

"You did last year," Marco pointed out.

"Nope, definitely not," younger me denied.

Rachel laughed. "Really? Santa Claus, Jake?"

"I don't even know this man, I swear!" younger me claimed, gesturing towards Marco.

"Well I think it's sweet," Cassie said loudly.

"Of course she does," Marco muttered. "Rachel would say the same thing if it were Tobias."

"That's because it would be sweet if it were Tobias," Rachel said matter-of-factly. "As it is, it's hilarious that Jake does."

"Did," younger me corrected automatically. "Not that what he says is true!"

Cassie sighed. "I wish I could still believe."

((Who is this Santa Claus and why is it shameful to believe in him?)) Ax asked, confused.

((He's…well, he's sort of hard to explain,)) Tobias admitted. ((Basically he's a really old, really fat man who lives at the North Pole with his wife. There are elves – shorter, magical humans – who live there and make toys. Every year on Christmas Eve, Santa loads the toys up in his sleigh and has his eight magic reindeer pulling the sleigh as he flies through the sky and delivers toys to every good little boy or girl.))

"Only eight?" Rachel asked. "What about Rudolph?"

"What about Olive?" Marco muttered.

((Eight or nine reindeer,)) Tobias corrected. ((And let's forget about Olive, Marco.))

"You can't just forget about Olive the other reindeer!" he said indignantly.

We all groaned at the incredibly lame pun.

((Was that a joke?)) Ax asked blankly.

"No," Rachel said flatly. "It wasn't."

((Is this 'Santa Claus' real?)) Ax asked suspiciously. ((Because I find the logistics of that difficult to believe when I consider your population and the state of your technology.))

"Well, not everyone gets a present," Cassie explained. "Only good children. And, I guess, children who celebrate Christmas. That's got to leave out a few hundred million or even billion people. And then it's only children so that further cuts down the number of presents. It's not like all six billion some people have to be provided for."

((What happens to bad children?)) Ax inquired.

"They get coal," younger me replied. "Or at least that's how the story goes. Back when that started I guess coal would have been really useful for families but nowadays you can't do much with it. Maybe have a barbecue. That's why my parents always threatened us with toiletries."

Marco laughed. "Toilet paper for Christmas. Wonderful."

((You were saying something about how you wished you could still believe in Santa,)) Ax reminded Cassie.

Cassie nodded. "Oh, right. When people get to a certain age it's expected that they stop believing in him."

((Why believe in the first place if parents know that it isn't true?)) Ax asked reasonably.

Cassie shrugged. "I don't know. It's just a tradition. I guess it makes it more fun for the kids."

Ax nodded like it being a tradition explained all the craziness. From what I've seen of the Andalites, it probably did.

"I stopped believing when I was playing hide-and-seek with one of my cousins and I picked the closet where all the Christmas presents were hidden to hide," Cassie explained. "I think I was only seven or so."

((I never actually believed in Santa,)) Tobias admitted. ((My aunt and uncle never really saw the need to pretend for me.))

There was a slight awkward silence, as there always was, whenever Tobias reminded us of how terrible his life had been before the war and why we all secretly suspected, at one time or another, that he had been trapped on purpose. Not that his life had gotten any better after the war had ended but then my life was distinctly worse than it was before and during the war as well. Not like with Ax and Marco and Cassie. And poor Rachel didn't even have a life at all anymore.

"I never believed in Santa either," Rachel said finally. "My mom's a lawyer, as you know, and she doesn't believe in sugar-coating things. You should hear some of the things she has to say on the subject, actually."

"I never believed either," Marco lied. I happened to know for a fact that he had believed up until the Christmas after his mother died. Between the grief and the fact his father had forgotten all about Christmas it wasn't any surprise. "I'm too smart for things like that. Now Jake, on the other hand…"

"So," younger me said quickly, "what was that you were saying earlier about this not seeming so crazy anymore?"

Marco looked torn but finally decided to allow the change of subject. "Now that we're dealing with shape-shifting and brain-stealing aliens every day, is something as simple and childish as Santa really that out there? Maybe he's an alien, too."

"And he's certainly stolen your brain," Rachel said pleasantly.

"As long as he brings me that new game I want I don't even care," Marco retorted. "You would not believe how impossible it is to find it anywhere."

"You look happy," Grandpa G noted.

I forced myself to tear my eyes away from the scene. "We were happy."

"Even though the war was going on?" Grandpa G inquired.

"It was easier to forget back then," I said quietly. "It hadn't dominated our lives yet. We were all happier back then. And it was Christmas."

"It's Christmas now," Grandpa G pointed out.

"And Rachel is dead and Tobias is missing and Ax is off doing something Andalite somewhere out in the galaxy," I replied.

"And Marco invited you and your family to spend the day with his family and Cassie is waiting for you to call," Grandpa G countered.

"Was there anything else or was that it?" I asked pointedly.

Grandpa G sighed. "There is one more memory. Close your eyes."

When I opened my eyes this time I saw the barn again but this time the younger me was standing outside, looking up at the sky with Cassie.

"You know, Ax actually showed me where the Andalite home world was once," she said conversationally.

"Is there any chance you could actually find it again?" the younger me asked.

"Sure. It's…that one," Cassie said, pointing to one at random.

"I think that's the Big Dipper," younger me corrected.

"What, the Andalite Homeworld can't orbit a star in the Big Dipper?" she asked mock-indignantly as she put her hands on her hips.

The younger me shook his head. "I really doubt it."

"And I find your lack of faith disturbing," Cassie countered.

Younger me laughed. "I suppose Tatooine is the Bid Dipper, too?"

"No," Cassie assured me. "Orion, actually."

"Of course," younger me said, fighting a smile. "That's what I get for not taking Astronomy."

"It's okay. Ax assures me that that subject is just as wrong as all of the sciences," Cassie replied.

The younger me shook his head again. "We have got to stop letting him anywhere near our homework."

"He's just trying to help," Cassie defended him.

"Yes but he insists that we've named the stars wrong," younger me pointed out.

Cassie smiled. "You have to admit, it is kind of funny. He just gets so serious."

"You should have seen him when Marco told him that he believed that the stars were the spirits of great kings looking down at us after they die," younger me told her.

Cassie giggled. "Oh, I can just imagine! Poor Ax…"

"Poor Ax?" the younger me repeated. "Poor me getting caught up in that!"

Cassie smiled at me again and slipped her hand in mine. "Do you want to go inside and eat with us? My parents would love to have you."

"I'd rather stay out here with you," the younger me admitted. "But I'd rather go in than leave."

Cassie brushed her hand across the younger me's face and I looked away.

"I remember this," I said tightly.

"Do you?" Grandpa G asked mildly. "You don't act like it. But then, it is your life. As long as you live it then it is your choice."

He was the second person to accuse me of not living. If they weren't dead and/or a dream I'd suspect them of talking to Marco.

"Close your eyes."

I did and when I finally opened them again I was back in my room. There didn't appear to be anyone else here (be it Grandpa G or whoever the 'Ghost of Christmas Present' was) and so I went back to bed.

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