Permit Me a Father Fantasy

A/N: So this is a teensy bit shorter than I thought it was going to be, but it works. I thought it would be an easy 5 or maybe 6 thousand, but it clocks in at just under 4k. And, to be honest, I was too scared of dragging it out to risk adding the extra few thousand words. And frankly, it doesn't really need any more words than it has, I think. It's long enough already.

But if we can forget that for a minute, I did want to add here that there's a certain type of injury featured in this chapter - I refrain from saying what it is, as I don't want to spoil things - and there's a lot of controversy about how you treat it. Some people say elevate the feet - others say that'll worsen the condition. Some say make sure their lips and fingernails don't turn blue; others say that means nothing. There's just a lot of different ideas going around about how to remedy this, and I decided to go with the basics, and ignore everything else. So. Another slight issue I'm having with this chapter is - while I certainly didn't intend this to be a tearjerker (my writing is way more dramatic in those cases) I did want to at least sadden the reader, and I just feel like this one doesn't cut it in terms of emotion. I just...I dunno, as the writer, I feel like it's very hard to share in Silver's pain here. But according to you guys, I've been wrong before; so maybe I'm just being too hard on myself? One more thing I feel prudent to mention here: Silver is slightly OOC. I just wrote him here as a more openly affectionate character than he is in canon, but I knew going in it would probably turn out that way - so rather than fighting it, I sort of embraced it. (The captain was also sort of OOC, but I gave up on accurately writing her a looooonggg time ago.)

Admittedly, this chapter's building off what I established in Family Matters, so Amelia sort of plays the part of medic again. I hope nobody minds too much, just my personal head-canon. Anyway, I had a bit of fun with the beginning of this chapter - like Judgment Call, I hadn't planned this one out quite as neatly; the beginning and middle were more rough, hazy outlines and I only knew what needed to happen at the end.

One more thing, I state that there was a "space of perhaps thirty seconds", even though BEN was counting down the last five seconds before the planet exploded - but BEN wasn't actually counting seconds, not really; there's enough space in between each number to be ten or even fifteen seconds, so I figured I could use the space of thirty seconds to measure a unit of time here.

WARNING: This chapter features severe injuries and strong language.

Thank you guys so much for checking out this story, thank you so much for all your reviews, and please leave more!


James Hawkins was many things.

But first and foremost, James Hawkins was a hero.

Whenever Silver so much as thought the name, his broad chest swelling with equal parts exasperation and pride, this was, it had to be admitted, the first word to come to mind.

But his affection for the lad was not a blind one; he knew the child had his flaws, knew that he was perfectly capable of – and indeed, had seemingly made it a habit to do so – causing chaos wherever he went; the kid had a chip on his shoulder the size of his home planet, and wore it around like a damn badge half the time; he was ready to pick a fight with anything that breathed wrong around him; he was sometimes a nuisance, often irritating; he was thoughtless and impulsive; moody and sarcastic, hardheaded and foolhardy, stubborn and defiant, and he had, quite honestly, given the old cook more gray hairs than the cyborg in question cared to count.

But this boy – this furious teenager whose black jacket and dark scowl screamed trouble; this kid who spent the better part of his days violating probations and outrunning police officers; the lad who challenged at him every turn, who dripped disdain and defiance and everything in the world the pirate could have lived without – was so much more than that.

And there was something within him, Silver thought – something bigger and more beautiful than he felt he would ever have the privilege to glimpse; it was there and it was visible – a raw and untapped potential, previously undiscovered…perhaps because nobody else had ever thought there was more to him, or that it was worth searching for.

Within him, Silver saw that there was worth, and there was wonder; there was kindness and there was courage; there was intellect, he saw, and strength; and there was, he knew, a future.

Even he, who fancied himself perhaps the cleverest pirate to ever traverse the Eitherium had been outwitted by Jim Hawkins a time or two, and he found he could not muster up the surprise or outrage an occurrence like this demanded; the lad was, without question, truly remarkable – when Silver considered all the things he had done! Finding Flint's trove when it seemed truly out of reach; discovering a boat, laden with gold and long past its prime, starting it up in perhaps sixty seconds, maybe less; softening the heart of a pirate to the point of sacrifice…James Hawkins was a wonder, he was amazing, he was…he was a hero, in every way.

And, Silver realized now, he would have liked the chance to tell Jimbo that, to draw the child aside and tell him, praise him for the good he had already done, all the remarkable things he had already achieved, the courage he had already displayed, the brilliance he already possessed, and whatever happened next, the old cyborg thought his chest likely to burst from his pride and faith in the boy before him.

He would have liked to remind him that he did not have to do this, that he had already acted bravely and nobly today, already fought a man's battle at the age of fifteen, had already awed everyone aboard this ship, just by being him and that he did not need to do so again. He was already a hero and he did not need to do this. Please don't do this.

And yet…

Out of all the beings aboard the scorched, battered Legacy, Silver knew the lad best. And to voice his misgivings, to profess his doubts would, he knew, only serve to stiffen the boy's resolve, because that was simply who Jim was – stubborn, brave, shining Jimbo, already glowing like a solar fire and rattling every star in the whole damn Eitherium right now, just by being here, being him, Jimbo with his makings of greatness and glimmering sails and determined, pale blue eyes, Jimbo was charting his own course and sticking to it no matter the squalls, Jimbo did not need to do this, Jimbo, please, don't do this…

But he could not stop the lad. Jimbo would go on with or without his acquiescence; and Silver knew better than to try and hold him back, to keep him in the hangar when skiffs were meant to sail. To dim his glow when stars, he knew, were meant to shine.

So he swallowed his protests; he knew that to keep his silence was not the act of a hero; knew that it was nowhere close to the courage the other was displaying – yet, in this moment, it was the bravest thing he could do.

And Jimbo tore his gaze away, turned his head to face the bloodred skies – Silver couldn't see his expression, but didn't need to; he was sure there was no uncertainty or fear there, no hesitation at all; but there would be a furrowing of the brow and a narrowing of the eyes, a setting of the jaw, a firming of the mouth, a squaring of the shoulders, a tilting of the chin, that spoke of determination and courage. Jimbo's boot rose, and fell again; his heel hit a glowing, bright yellow button and the slim metal craft shot forward suddenly, a spray of flame forcing Silver to step back and shield his face.

Once it had ended, he wasted not a second; dropping his arms and leaning out anxiously over the rail of the ship, his mismatched eyes sought the other – and there, he spotted his boy, effortlessly navigating the burning skies, a mere dot on the fiery horizon now, a barely-visible, distant speck. And he never tore his gaze away.

All he could do was watch.

And if that was all he could do; if he couldn't go with his boy and keep him safe, if he couldn't draw the child close to his chest and protect him from the flames and explosions, if he couldn't wrap his arms around the lad and offer himself in the other's place…if all he could do was watch, then damn it, he was going to do that.

So he watched.

He watched the tiny figure – weaving his way through the dangers, ducking to avoid the debris and shrapnel, swerving around rocks and veering past small fires and eruptions, always only a breath from the abyss and always moving, never slowing or stopping, a perpetual motion in the skies.

There was an instant in which the lad was not in motion; in which he paused, in which he hung, suspended, in the air, in which the surfer sputtered to a sparking stop and the cyborg's heart nearly stopped beating within his chest, and all he could do was watch; and then the lad pounded his heel upon the power button, the vessel flared to life, and Silver could breathe once more.

"Five seconds 'til planet's destruction!" BEN's panicked voice broke through the pirate's reverie; there was an instant, a space of perhaps thirty seconds, in which rocks and explosions and flames were jumping and soaring and erupting from seemingly everywhere at once – an instant in which Silver's cabin boy disappeared from view, and the cook, never a religious man, sent up a quick, frantic prayer to any deity who might willingly listen to a pirate.

"Four…"

C'mon, where was he?

"Three…"

And then something shot past the ship – something small and quick and extremely soundless, with a figure kneeling upon it, one hand outstretched; his fingers were shaking as he sped past the glistening green map, and for a breathless second, Silver did not think he would make contact.

"Two…"

Small fingers connected solidly with a small, crescent shape in the middle of the map, and Silver saw raging orange fire change to a dark, star-spangled blue.

"…one…"

They burst through the portal.

Behind them, Treasure Planet burst into flame, and the explosions, even from this side, were impossibly loud – nearly deafening. Silver could scarcely resist the urge to cover his ears with his hands just to escape the sound. Yet he was also smiling – grinning like a fool, smiling so hard it hurt because things had worked out, everything had worked out; the lad had survived and saved the crew to boot, had acted with a bright bravery and selflessness, had acted as a hero would. So even as the infernos raged behind them, he smiled, turning to look at his cabin boy – Jimbo needed to hear how proud he was, he needed to see Jimbo, he needed to see the kid's sparkling eyes and huge smile, he needed to say something to the lad, he needed…he needed—

"Jimbo!" The cry tumbled off his lips without his conscious consent as horror gripped him; Jimbo – brave, stubborn, shining Jimbo – lifted a weary head, turned upon the shouting pirate a weary gaze; Jimbo, kneeling shakily upon the solar surfer, lifted a reddish, flaking hand, curled the scorched fingers into a fist and pummeled the glowing button, the action desperate and repeated.

And Jimbo, weary, trembling, wounded Jimbo, shot toward the ship upon a dying vessel, a damaged, smoking surfer; and Silver couldn't accept that the boy upon the craft was damaged, too.

The surfer sputtered, threatening to halt – Silver's heart rebelled, crawling upward into his throat and threatening to cease beating altogether – and Jimbo pounded once more upon the power button, determination clear in his features; there was an instant in which his lips twitched, threatening something like a grimace, and Silver knew he must be hiding or stifling his pain.

When the lad reached the ship, the surfer was still sizzling and protesting, still hissing and sputtering, and it seemed a miracle that both machine and boy had made it this far. Jimbo slipped slowly from the metal craft onto the deck; he stood absolutely still for a moment, drawing in one deep, ragged breath after another, chest heaving with the force of the gasps. And then, abruptly, without any sort of warning at all, he dropped heavily to his knees, burned hands rising halfway, moving toward his bare, blistered chest; his shirt had been torn, or likely burned, away – a few blackened, tattered bits clung stubbornly to the scorched skin.

"Jimbo…" Silver knelt at the child's side – it was an immediate, instinctive reaction.

"Silver." The other turned to face him, stretching cracked, dry lips into something resembling a smile; when their gazes locked, Silver could swear that there was something missing in the other pair – there was nothing, he thought, precisely wrong, but there was something very clearly not right.

"Mr. Hawkins?" The captain slowly lowered herself to the deck before the lad, green gaze raking over the injured child, lips firming as she noted his condition.

Somewhere beyond Silver's field of vision, the crazy copper robot Jimbo had picked up somewhere on Treasure Planet called shakily, "J-Jimmy?!"

"I'm…I'm fine." The boy tore his gaze from Silver, turning instead to look at those calling his name. "I'm fine, guys. Really."

The captain examined him coolly for a moment, eyes sweeping critically over him. At last, she spoke, voice detached and professional. "Mr. Hawkins, are you in pain?"

"Considerin' he's burned off half his skin," Silver bit out, thoroughly annoyed. Why was she wasting time with the unimportant inquiries? Of course the lad must be in pain, so why was she pestering him with silly questions?

Jim's brow knitted. "No, I didn't."

The cyborg sent him such an incredulous look that the boy evidently decided to see for himself; he slowly lifted his hands from his lap, gazing at them in surprise. When his blue eyes fell upon his chest, the reaction was even stronger. "I…I did that?"

"Jimbo…" Silver could not have said why, but this was unsettling him, "can't you…can't you feel it?"

"No." The boy shook his head for emphasis, clenching and unclenching his fingers experimentally.

"It doesn't hurt?"

"Not really."

"That's what I thought," the captain said grimly.

"Wh-what's wrong?" Silver sputtered, glancing quickly between the two, desperation taking hold. Was something wrong with his Jimbo?

"It means we must get him to the spaceport and quickly. Doctor, increase our speed as much as safety will allow; Mr. Silver, let us get Mr. Hawkins comfortable and safe—

"I'm okay, it was just a little fire – really, it wasn't more than a spark

"Is Jimmy okay?"

"Mr. Hawkins should make a full recovery – provided we reach the spaceport and—

"Can I give Jimmy a hug?"

"That wouldn't be wise in his condition—

"Guys," Jim interrupted, his voice dripping annoyance – of course it was, Silver thought; kid hated when people worried over him, hated when others thought him weak or incapable. The lad pushed himself impatiently to his feet and pushed a few windblown wisps of matted brown hair aside; there was a slight tremor to his legs, but he remained upright for the moment. "I'm okay, see—

And then, for the second time, he crumpled, collapsing once more upon the deck – and this time, Silver realized, and fear took hold, clenching spindly, strong fingers around his arm, wrapping inescapable, unforgiving arms around his chest and stilling him; this time, the lad's eyes slipped closed and he fell limply against the cyborg's flesh arm.

"Jimbo!"

"Jimmy!" BEN shrieked.

"Keep your heads!" the captain barked. "He'll be alright, this is an ordinary reaction! He's likely going into shock, but if we can reach the spaceport soon enough, he'll recover."

"Can' we move any faster?" Silver hollered.

"We're going as fast as we can!" The doctor practically snarled back at him. "The thrusters are only functioning at thirty-five percent capacity or don't you remember?"

"I don't give a damn about capacity!" The cyborg roared. "Just so long as we get 'er docked and make sure my boy has what he needs!" Instinctively, he raked his thin metallic fingers through the boy's tangled brown locks – he couldn't be sure whether he was attempting to comfort the child or reassure himself.

BEN burst into distressed, noisy tears. "J-just hang in there, little buddy! H-hang in there, Jimmy!"

"Oh, for God's sake," the captain interjected, "Will anyone in this creaking tub remain calm?"

"Isn't there anything we can do for him now?" Silver demanded, gathering the lad up into his arms, cradling the child close to his chest; when the boy breathed in, the cyborg noted, there was the slightest hitch, the smallest stutter in the pattern, and he wondered if he was the only one who noticed this. "Get him…get him in our last skiff or something?"

"Our last skiff was…destroyed," the captain responded carefully, coming to crouch on her knees upon the deck, regarding Silver and the boy in his arms; her gaze was soft when resting upon the child he cradled. "The doctor had to take the helm on Treasure Planet…" she jerked her chin in the direction of the canine at the wheel. "I couldn't steer. He tried to learn how everything worked at once, accidentally pressed the button to deploy all longboats and…" She lifted her shoulders, indicating helplessness.

"There must be something else," Silver countered instantly, desperation gnawing at him. "There's gotta be, there has to be somethin' else I can do to help him…"

"Keep an eye on him," the woman ordered immediately. "Check his pulse every few minutes, keep his airways clear, make sure he's breathing. Just make sure he remains stable."

"Right. Right." The cook dropped his eyes to the lad in his arms, placing flesh fingers upon the small, blistered wrist; it made the pirate sick to feel the bumpy, raised skin there, rough and leathery. Jim's pulse was faint but prominent, pumping endlessly beneath scarring skin, and Silver exhaled softly; for the shortest instant, there was a hint of something almost like relief rising within him, but it didn't last long; one look at the boy was enough to sober him once more. His boy was badly hurt; they needed to get to the spaceport.

"You're okay," he murmured, resting his chin atop the boy's wayward locks. "You're okay…" Slipping trembling fingers back down to the boy's burned wrist. "…you're okay, Jimbo…you're alright, you're perfect…"

Silver could never be sure how long he remained there, kneeling upon the deck and cradling the boy in his arms, eyes glued to the trembling, seared chest to be sure it still rose and fell, as it should; he ran shaking fingers through the lad's tangled brown hair, stroking and smoothing the rough, dark strands and hoping that the sensation might rouse the child, that he might stir, that his eyes might open and he might smile, that he might push Silver away, that he might stand on his own, he might speak and move again, because he was a child, and children never stopped moving.

"We're nearing the spaceport!" The doctor's high, nervous voice carried a tangible edge of hope as he twisted the wheel. "It shouldn't be much longer now!"

"Ya hear that, Jimbo?" A smile started upon Silver's lips, shaky and small, as he turned his attention back upon the boy in his arms. "Ya hear that? You're almost there…you're almost home…"

And as he brushed the child's hair from his eyes; as he ran gentle fingers through the matted locks; as he gazed desperately down into the still, unsmiling face, the boy moved.

The boy moved; his lashes fluttered and his lips parted; his lids slowly lifted and weary, pale blue eyes met mismatched green and gold; there was no expression or emotion, no hint of recognition in the child's gaze.

"That's it, Jimbo," Silver whispered; he found a lump forming rapidly in his throat, and feared he might cry here. "That's it, Jimbo – we're gettin' real near that spaceport over there, and then they're gonna take a look at you, and they're gonna fix ya up real nice, and you'll be okay, you'll be fine…"

The lad gazed up at him, and there was nothing in his eyes, nothing in his face that spoke of comprehension. There appeared, for a few frightening moments, to be nothing within him at all.

"J-Jimbo?"

"Ugh…" The boy sat suddenly upright then; a strange, seemingly involuntary and rather violent shudder seemed to pass through him – he drew in a long, slow breath, as though he feared he might not get another, and then fell against the cook once more. The sensation – the teenager's warm weight, pressing lightly into his legs and chest – frightened Silver for reasons he could not begin to explain. Raking flesh fingers desperately along the lad's cheek, he rasped quietly, "J-Jimbo?"

He received no response, and realized he had not expected one – yet the reality of it still scared him. "Jimbo, no…no, no, no, no…no…Jimbo…I told ya…we're goin' to the spaceport, so ya gotta wake up…Jimbo…"

"Is Mr. Hawkins faring adequately?" If Silver did not know her better, he might hazard a guess that there was genuine concern in the feline's voice.

He tore his eyes from the child, delivering a hasty, fearful report. "I—I don' know. He woke up again, looked at me – didn' say anythin', and sorta…sorta shook, and then went back down…"

The sight of the captain was enough to remind him of the task she had set him previously; lowering his gaze to the lad once more, he slowly reached for the burned wrist. His flesh fingers were fumbling and clumsy, but he at last managed to wrap them firmly around the small arm – he scarcely noticed the rough sensation of blistered skin now.

"Silver…" The captain sounded uncharacteristically gentle when she spoke.

"What?" His voice was harsh, ragged; broken, like himself – he awaited her response for only a second longer before he directed his words at the child in his arms; his tone softened then. "C'mon, lad, gotta wake up, now…c'mon, lad…" Seconds passed in breathless, trembling silence; Silver awaited the movement, the soft beat beneath the skin that meant his boy was still there, still fighting. "Jimbo…"

"Silver…" The feline extended a slim hand, motioning to the damaged chest – when he looked at it again, he noticed with a horrible jolt just how very still it was…motionless and frozen and—and—no.

He couldn't think like that, couldn't stand it; the lad was alright, he must be, they were too close now for him to just give up…his boy did not give up. He'd seen that with his own eyes. His boy was no quitter. No, the lad was a fighter.

"C'mon, Jimbo…" he murmured, lifting his hand from the child's wrist and lowering it slowly down; heat rolled off the bare torso in waves, and Silver wondered – just out of interest, vague curiosity, really, certainly nothing to do with the child – he wondered how much warmth the human body could stand.

"Jimbo, Jimbo, c'mon, lad, open your eyes, open up and look at me…c'mon, ya gotta look at me, just gotta open your eyes…you can do that, can't ya? 'Course ya can, ya can do anythin', I know ya can, ya can rattle the stars if ya want…and all ya gotta do is open your eyes…" Beneath his fingers, the child remained perfectly still.

"Silver—

"He's fine!" The boy hadn't drawn breath for the last five minutes.

"Silver, listen—

"He's fucking fine!" The words ripped from his throat in the form of a scream; he turned his attention immediately back upon the lad, stroking his hair and cheeks and eyelids, whispering meaningless comforts in his ears. "C'mon, c'mon, you're okay, you're fine, Jimbo, lad, you're perfect, you're absolutely fucking perfect, but ya gotta open your eyes and ya gotta…gotta go on a-and test the cut of your sails, remember? Remember what we talked 'bout, remember what I said? So ya gotta open your eyes for me…c'mon, lad, look at me…" His voice trembled, though he meant it to be an order. Stubborn lad never could take orders.

"Look at me, James Hawkins!" He hollered, and he was shaking all over. "Just open your fucking eyes and look!"

Somewhere beyond his field of vision, the robot started to cry again; Silver could not stand the sound, but found he couldn't open his lips and form a reprimand.

"Silver." The proud captain knelt upon the deck once more. "He's gone." There was honest sorrow in her cool voice.

"No. No, he's just…just p-passed out or…or sleepin', or—or…no…"

"Jimmy," the robot sobbed, somewhere out of sight.

"No, no, no, no, he's fine…" Silver protested. "No…no…Jimbo…" But he'd known, ever since he'd seen the burns, ever since the child had said it didn't hurt, ever since he'd stumbled and hit the deck, crouched there upon his knees, even then he had known somewhere deep inside himself…and he had ignored it…

He had known the truth, and suppressed it; now, he thought he might die with the pain of it.

Jimbo was gone.

His cabin boy, his child, his star, his Jimbo, was gone, and this still, silent body in his arms, this frozen and motionless lad, this weak ghost, this pale echo of who his boy had been…this was all that remained.

"Jimbo…"

Those blue eyes weren't going to open. That had been the last time he saw them, when they were weary and empty and devoid of everything that made him Jimbo…and when the lad had stood and promised he was fine…that was the last time he'd heard his voice, and that day in the skiff had been the last time he'd heard the child laugh, and the last time he'd seen him smile, and he would never get to see that smile or hear that laugh again, never get to hear that voice or look into those eyes, never get to hug or hold the boy, never tease him, never tell him another joke just to see him roll his eyes, never weigh him down with the most enormous workload just to see if he'd complain, the last time he'd seen him, and he hadn't known, he hadn't even gotten to say goodbye or tell the boy he was sorry, hadn't even gotten to put into words how much he loved his cabin boy.

His boy had saved them – and in doing so, had risked his life and gambled away his very existence.

Next time, Silver thought – and it was a shock to realize there wouldn't be a next time – next time, his boy shouldn't gamble something irreplaceable.

His boy had saved them, and he shouldn't have.

James Hawkins was a fucking hero.