Disclaimer – The Mighty Ducks are the property of Disney. I own my original characters, nothing else. I'm a penniless student with nothing worth being sued for.
Sorry for the wait, everyone. I've been agonising over this chapter quite a bit as it really does mean a lot to me. This is my personal favourite part of the whole story and the one I planned out first. I hope I can do credit to the idea without lapsing into too much purple prose. However, you should all be able to see the references to the song in this chapter. For extra effect, imagine the harmonica solo for the climbing scene with the two brothers. :) And thank you to The Mighty Duck for another lovely review.
Four times Wildwing carried Nosedive, and one time it was the other way around.
#2 – Part 2
It was late in the evening and pitch black as Miranda headed to the Drakefire's apartment in the back of a police hovercar. The vehicle cruised steadily through the quiet streets, only occasionally stopping for traffic signals. The siren wasn't needed. There was nothing to rush for. Miranda watched as the streetlights cast their orange glow onto the thick layer of ice along the hovercar's path, reflecting the light and making the road ahead glisten like a thousand fiery jewels. It was a beautiful sight but no one in the vehicle cared. Those poor boys, Miranda thought. They'll never see a night like this again.
A few moments later, the hovercar parked next to the tall apartment building and everyone got out and began to slowly climb the steep, slippery staircase. The further up the stairs they climbed, the worse condition the lights were in, going from a bright glow on the first 5 or so floors to a headache-inducing flicker on the next 5 floors up. After the 10th floor, the lights had gone altogether, either burnt out and never replaced or smashed by vandals. Torches were switched on and the group continued up the stairs, not a word spoken by any. Their breaths fogged in the freezing night air as they climbed higher still. A bitter wind blew as they climbed, causing Miranda to shiver under her jacket. Though whether that was from the cold or the sound, she couldn't tell. She glanced back at the policemen following up the stairs to see their reactions but they seemed utterly unaffected. As it blew, the wind whistled through the cracks and joints of the stairs and moaned as it rushed past her. It was an eerie, feather-raising sound. Miranda wasn't usually one for being poetic but she couldn't help but think that the wind was the sound of all the poor souls who had lived and died in that very building unnoticed and unloved. She shivered again, pulling her jacket closer. Pull yourself together, girl, she sternly thought. There's enough reason for us all to be feeling morbid tonight without you adding to it. It's just the wind.
At last, they reached the Drakefire's door. Despite knowing what they would find inside, they were required to knock and wait before breaking the door down. One of the policemen stepped forward and knocked sharply on the door. The sound reverberated through the night, sounding as if it should be heard miles away. After a few moments, he knocked again. Still no answer. He nodded to one of his colleagues and with a sharp kick, the door flew open.
The sight that met Miranda's eyes temporarily took her breath away. The once filthy, squalid flat had been cleaned from top to bottom. The sink sparkled and a faint lemony smell of cleaning fluids lingered in the air. Opening the small fridge, she found it nearly empty but the few items of food still in there had been recently bought. Someone's been living in this flat, thought Miranda. And it hasn't been long since they left.
Suddenly, the silence was broken by a scraping sound coming from the bottom of the stairs outside. At the same time, the group of policemen, who had been searching the rest of the small flat, returned to the living room/kitchen.
"No sign of the boys," one of them said, his tone flat and businesslike. "And the rest of the flat is tidy too." Miranda's mind reeled with shock. Could it be? she thought, hope rising in her like a bubble, delicate, expecting to be popped. The scraping sound continued, coming very gradually closer, as if a sharp object was being dragged along each of the metal steps leading up the side of the building. Miranda rushed to the door and looked down the steps. The sight she saw would stay with her until her dying day.
For, 10 floors or so below her, a familiar, white-feathered boy was slowly climbing the stairs. In each hand was a heavy looking bag full of groceries. Hooked around his right wrist was a snow shovel, which was what was making the noise as it scraped and banged against each step. And, strapped against his body in a baby sling, was his little brother. Miranda suddenly realised how the two boys had survived. Wildwing must've spent the whole day shovelling snow from people's paths and driveways, as so many of Puckworld's children do for their pocket money, in order to buy food for himself and his brother. And in order to have survived this long, he must've been doing this every day for the last two weeks, ever since his parents' deaths on the first day of the winter holidays. If only he'd still been at school, thought Miranda. That way, we'd have noticed long before this.
As Miranda watched, frozen to the spot by shock, Wildwing continued to make his way slowly up the stairs, weighed down under the combined weight of the bags, the shovel and his brother. He swayed on the spot as he reached the 10th floor, staring up at the next 4 floors of steep, icy steps with tired, pain-filled eyes. For a second, it looked as if he would fall backwards but he regained his balance. Still, he looked too tired to take another step. A bright, full moon came out from behind the clouds, colouring the steps ahead of him brilliant, shining silver. His ragged breath carried up the stairs as he tried desperately to draw together the strength to climb the last 4 floors to his parents' flat. Then suddenly, his brother stirred against his chest. Wildwing looked down at the tiny child attached to him and two pairs of identical blue eyes locked onto each other. Taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, he continued to climb.
How is he doing it? Miranda thought, as the boy continued his slow assent of the steep stairs below her. He's 8 years old, 9 in a few months. And he's...like he is. Where is he getting the strength? Wildwing's legs trembled as he continued to climb, looking as if they wouldn't take the weight much longer. But his eyes never left his brother's and the soft sound of his voice carried up the stairs.
"That's it," he said. "You just keep looking at me and I'll keep walking." Tears flooded Miranda's eyes as she heard those words, spilling hot down her cheeks and dripping onto her jacket. Again, she glanced at the policemen flanking her on the landing, sure that she'd see tears in their eyes as well. But the scene below them didn't seem to move them at all. In fact, one was leaning casually against the wall, drumming his fingers on the handrail as if wishing the two brothers would just hurry up and get to their level. How can they be so cold? Miranda thought. I know we're meant not to let this bother us, but this is too much to just not care about at all.
The look on Wildwing's face as he took each agonisingly laboured step was one of pure determination. He was telling the truth. He wouldn't give up, he wouldn't stop and he wouldn't put down the child held against him. As long as his brother was looking at him and needed to be carried, he would keep walking, no matter what it took. So, on they went.
As he reached the landing Miranda and the policemen were on, Wildwing finally noticed he had company. The trance that had held Miranda immobile for the boy's entire climb broke and she stepped forward. Wildwing smiled weakly at her.
"Here, let us help you," she said, as the policemen stepped forward as well and relived him of his bags and shovel, carrying them into the flat. First kind thing they've done all night, she thought, shocking herself with her venom. But when Miranda tried to take Nosedive out of the sling, Wildwing wrapped his arms around the duckling, refusing to let go.
"Here, let me take him," Miranda said, reaching again for the child. "He must be heavy." As long as she lived, she never forgot the look Wildwing gave her in return. She'd been scowled at by plenty of people, it was part of the job, but the look on the boy's face took her breath away. His eyes seemed to flash with anger and Miranda took a step back. That look could send the entire Saurian war fleet running away screaming, she remembered thinking.
"I can manage," he replied. "He's my brother."
Stepping into the flat, Miranda watched as Wildwing began to put away the food he'd just bought, still not putting down his brother. Nosedive gurgled as the pair moved about and Wildwing smiled down at him. They were the absolute image of two picture perfect, loving family members, in sharp contrast to the chaos surrounding their lives. Miranda felt the tears well up in her eyes again and had to blink them away as Wildwing turned to speak to her.
"I don't mean to be rude," he started nervously, "but I wasn't expecting anyone and I've only got enough food for me and 'Dive. I'm really sorry." His cheeks burned red with shame as he began to stare at the floor and Miranda had to fight tears for a third time that night. Puckworld custom was that if a family had a visitor, the family had to provide the visitor with at the very least a meal if they were hungry. Anything less was considered extremely rude. If the visitor was staying the night, the head of the household would give them their bed and sleep elsewhere and, in some remote, nearly inaccessible parts of Puckworld, they would also give them their wife in the hope of bringing fresh blood to communities where inbreeding was common and to in the hope that any child resulting from the evening might be looked kindly on by the visitor in later life. The child was clearly deeply embarrassed that he couldn't provide even the most basic part of this custom to the group.
"We're not visitors," said Miranda softly. "We've come to take you away from here."
"Why?" Wildwing asked, beginning to pace the floor as his brother began to softly cry.
"Because your parents are dead," she replied. "You can't stay here alone, you're too young."
"Oh," he said, as the cries began to get gradually louder. "Shall I pack then?"
"Only sentimental things," Miranda replied. "Clothes will be provided at the orphanage."
"Ok, then I'm ready," said Wildwing and turned towards the door.
"Isn't there anything you want?" Miranda asked, "Anything from here that means anything to you?"
"I've already got what I need," he replied, "I'm ready."
The climb down was considerably easier than the one up. As the hovercar took off with the two brothers seated next to Miranda, she thought back on the events that had happened since she reached the flat. I'd like to think I love my brother, she thought, but I could never do what Wildwing did tonight. That kid'll go far. Before long, the vehicle pulled up outside the orphanage and Miranda guided the two boys inside. Passing the threshold, she shivered violently. There was an old Puckworld belief that a person experienced a moment of intense cold if they ever committed a deed that would condemn the innocent to suffering. As she stepped further into the building, all Miranda wanted to do was snatch up those two boys and carry them home with her when they'd be safe. What's gotten into you today, Miranda? she thought. You don't do superstition. You'll be believing in Drake DuCaine's Mask next. Besides, we've sent hundreds of children here before and none of them have ever come up on an 'at-risk' list afterwards. In fact, most of them we've never heard from again.
After introducing the boys to the orphanage's matron, Miranda turned to leave. She'd dropped off countless children there before and never normally looked back but this time she did. As she watched, the matron guided the two boys upstairs, her hand gripping Wildwing's shoulder tightly. His frightened face was reflected in a mirror on the stairs and again, Miranda felt the sudden urge to steal the boys away from here. Suppressing it, she turned her back and walked out of the door. I think I'm burning out, she thought. Maybe it's time to take a break, let someone else take the load. Maybe find a husband, get married, have my own kids and just worry about them for a bit. This is affecting me way too much. That's three times I've cried tonight. I'm a social worker. If I can't be strong for the kids, I'm no good to anyone. But as she walked away from the building, she was unable to suppress the shiver that wracked her then, stronger than ever before.
Author's Note – Ooh, spooky! I've got to say, parts of this chapter didn't turn out as I planned them to. I never intended to add all the superstitious stuff into the story, it just came out. I wanted to show the fact that, deep down, Miranda knew the orphanage was the wrong place for the boys but she chose to ignore her instincts. But you'll have to wait until the next chapter to see why her instincts were right. I know, aren't I cruel? :D
The story about wives being shared with visitors was based on an old Norse custom in largely cut off areas. Plus, extra bonus points to anyone who mentions in their review the reference to a line in the show that's been thrown in, plus the reference to events in a future episode. Don't worry, I've tried to make them as easy as I can.