Fanboy And Chum Chum: A New Hope

(A/N: Sorry for the wait. I was going to do daily updates but got distracted.)

Questions

Sigmund and Kyle put their ears to the Janitor's bedroom door, struggling to hear. He was talking to someone. "Who iz he speaking to?" Sigmund asked.

"Why, it sounds like Necronomicon and Scrivener Elf," Kyle answered.

"Vhy?" Sigmund asked.

"I haven't a clue," Kyle replied. They tried to hear, but the voices were hushed. The conversation began to get urgent. They heard Poopatine's voice sounding fast, almost panicked, but he kept his tone low. "What do you suppose is the matter with father?" Kyle asked.

"I vish I knew," Sigmund answered.

"No!" they suddenly heard Poopatine yell. The two gasped, pulling back.

"But vhatevair it vas does not zound like zomesing he vanted to hear!" Sigmund exclaimed.

"Should we go in?" Kyle asked. Just then it got silent, though. They struggled to listen but only heard pages of a book turning. They exchanged nervous looks then entered.

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"Um, fazher," Sigmund said.

Poopatine, reading the Necronomicon distractedly, looked quickly up. Scrivener Elf nearly choked on the tea he was sipping and stared at them in alarm.

"Children!" the janitor exclaimed, gasping and nearly dropping the book.

"Are you quite all right papa?" Kyle asked.

"Who, me, all right? Of-of course I'm all right, why would you ask?" he replied, innocently grinning.

"Okay?" Kyle replied, more a question than agreement.

"Vell zen come out und vatch zis movie vith us. It iz far some project in Mr. Mufflin's class about ze Irish immigrants or somesing. Ve have popcorn und beverages," Sigmund said.

"Movie? Popcorn? Oh yes, of course," Poopatine stammered, climbing off the bed and following them, though his mind was whirling.

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The movie played on. It was sad, really. Into The West he believed it was called. It almost had him in tears, and he wasn't one to cry. The boys weren't so resilient, though. He looked down at them and instantly knew… It had touched close to home. Perhaps too closely. Kyle was no longer looking at the screen, face buried in his knees as he shoulders shook with silent sobs. Sigmund still watched, but he never moved, and in the reflection of the screen Poopatine saw tears in his eyes. It wasn't the fantasy aspect, oh no, that was just no. The whole movie, in fact, was quite cheesy, but the rest of the story. The dead mother, the father overcome by sadness, fear, and mourning; who was never there, who was cold and aloof, who might as well have been dead himself. That was what was getting them all.

Finally the movie ended. The father threw a picture of the mother into the fire and watched, silently weeping, as it burned. The janitor immediately shut the television off, glad it was finished. Not a moment too soon either, Poopatine determined. Any longer and he would have given in to tears himself. He wished he'd turned it off sooner, if only to stop the pain the children were feeling. He had never seen them like this. It hurt him, he was surprised to find. Since when did he start going soft? There was silence between the three, and Poopatine looked at the sleeping Necronomicon and Scrivener Elf forlornly. All they had claimed, all they had said, all he himself had come to suspect… Could it really be true? He shook his head. It didn't matter right now… but at the same time it very much mattered.

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Poopatine was tucking the two boys in. The duo was sharing a room, presently, seeing as one of Kyle's ill-fated experiments had ended in his room being left in shambles. "Who vas your fazher, papa?" Sigmund questioned suddenly as Poopatine pulled the blankets up to the two boys' chins.

Poopatine looked sharply at him. After a long moment he replied, "A good man, excellent at… at controlling forces you two haven't even begun to understand."

"What was he like?" Kyle questioned.

Poopatine was silent. After a moment he answered, "He was a fine father, but too forgiving for his own good. He was overly soft with his son… More than was safe for either of them. Teenagers can be quite the handful. He was strict but never cruel. He was firm in discipline, but never laid a finger on me. He was more about the moral lesson and all that soft touch nonsense."

"Did you love him?" Kyle asked.

Poopatine was silent. After a moment he replied, "I did, but I didn't respect him the way I should have. I believed I could become better."

"Did you?" Sigmund asked.

Again he was silent for a long time. Finally he answered, "Yes… There was no comparison." The boys looked sharply at him, eyes wide in disbelief. Poopatine sighed, shaking his head, and continued, "He taught me everything I knew, everything he knew, but I wasn't done yet. I wanted more. I got what I wanted. I always have and I always will. His apprentice and son became his traitor and his downfall."

"Vhat do you mean?" Sigmund pressed.

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Poopatine was done speaking of this to them. Instead of answering, he said, "Enough about me. What's done is done and there's no going back. Not anymore."

"I do not remembair mein fazher…" Sigmund remarked, thinking. "Or perhaps I do. He vas skilled in magic… I remembair admiring him greatly, vatching him perform for ze onlookers. I remember longing to do vhat he could. I remember striving to be like him, power und all."

Poopatine looked out the window, emotions swirling in his eyes, and worry… and memories. "The father I remember was wonderful. At least, as long as he believed I was his son," Kyle stated. Poopatine and Sigmund started, looking sharply at him. Kyle sighed then said, "I was a changeling. They thought I was their son, but their little boy had died of natural causes while they were away. The sitter couldn't have that now, could she…? Of course, with time my appearance changed. Let's just say it became obvious I wasn't."

"You do not remember your family?" Sigmund asked, surprised. He'd never known that about his rival.

"Not in the slightest. Wait… Actually…" Kyle began, trying to focus in on some lingering memory. "I remember a red headed woman with freckles. And there was a man… My father…? I'm not entirely sure," Kyle replied. "I remember power and mystery, but I don't remember what happened to him." Poopatine looked at them cautiously. This story they were telling perfectly mirrored the cover story he'd given Mufflin so long ago. He shivered slightly, but didn't move.

"Mein fazher vas gone vhen I vas around four," Sigmund declared simply, examining his nails. "Mozher soon followed, uf course."

"Our fathers are dead," Kyle said, rolling onto his side. "There is no other explanation." Sigmund tensed and looked down, willing back the wave of despair he felt washing over him.

"No, no young ones. I believe your father is very much alive," Poopatine suddenly said. The two boys frowned curiously and looked back at him, their attention aroused once more.

"Do you now? What makes you think that?" Kyle asked sarcastically. And what made him use father in the singular? Not that he particularly cared, but still.

"Do you remember a funeral, a death?" Poopatine pressed.

"Mein fazher vas nevair zhere! Vhat else am I supposed to sink?" Sigmund demanded.

"Right! And mine certainly never bothered searching if he were alive," Kyle stated.

"Or perhaps he couldn't find you," Poopatine offered. "Perhaps your fathers, each of them, still search the galaxy for you both," he added, tickling them playfully, hoping to snap them out of their melancholy stated.

The two burst into laughter. "Enough!" Sigmund insisted as he cackled.

"Father, you know I simply cannot take being tickled!" Kyle protested through giggles. Poopatine chuckled and drew back, looking affectionately at the two.

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The boys looked up at him in adoration. Whether they knew adoration was in their eyes or not was a mystery to Poopatine. Finally Kyle asked, referencing the janitor's statement, "Do you really think so? Do you really think our fathers are somewhere out there?"

"Well why not?" Poopatine questioned. "I, for one, would never have stopped searching for my missing children. Become discouraged, perhaps, but without a body how can a parent ever assume their child is gone?"

"If zey vere searching zey should have found us by now," Sigmund declared firmly, moment of happiness dissolving.

"Have you found your father, Sigmund?" Poopatine questioned.

"Jawohl. Right here," Sigmund answered. Poopatine started, shocked at the declaration. "Mein fazher iz dead to me. You are mein fazher," the boy added.

"Our father is alive," Kyle added. "He's you, Janitor Poopatine."

Poopatine's lips slowly parted. They were serious. "Boys…" he began, touched, but he didn't know where to go from there. All at once the two were in his arms holding him tightly. Still in shock he held them back. Well, this was unexpected. But was it, really? From the moment they'd all been sucked into this situation, was there any doubt it would come to this? No, he realized. There never had been. Perhaps if he'd foreseen this, or rather, if he had accepted it as being exactly what was to happen, he would never have agreed. Strange… That sounded like a lie to his own ears.

No… he'd known from the start where this would lead. He nuzzled the two gently and kissed their heads. They lay back down. Soon enough they were asleep, and Poopatine left the room quietly. He had some fixing up to do in Kyle's bedroom. He didn't want to risk the duo sharing a room for any longer than was absolutely necessary. Even now he was slightly concerned that he would find them both dead when he woke up tomorrow. Likely having killed each other in their insane rivalry, he would bet. It wouldn't take long to get Kyle's room back to a livable state. He would have to get them up early tomorrow he realized, as he mentally ticked through a list. They had doctor's appointments.