I can't say how wonderful it felt to get all those reviews on the last chapter, and to have so many new reviewers too! As always, I thank you: WhispertheWolf, Crimson Fox4, The Rose of the Rush, pluvia somnium, DancingSpy, Midnight-Rose-Dew, and Fire Queen Tiffy.
To Fire Queen Tiffy: After your comment about this story being way better than the summery, I went back and changed it again. Does it seem more appetizing now? Also, you think I'm being too hard on Aerrow? Everyone else says I'm different for being easier on him than some other characters... have you read "Hide and Seek"? He's definitely better off in that one!
As I've said before, this fic can be split into two sections: The first in which I tell events from the past, and the second in which I connect those events to ones that occurred during the series. After this chapter, there are two more left in the first section. My goal is to have the first section complete and posted by the end of the month, because I'm gone away all July and expecting to be very busy! So, wish me luck!
And finally, something I've been meaning to mention for three chapters now (I keep forgetting): I came across another Imogen Heap song not too long ago called "Wait It Out", which is just as haunting and beautiful as "Hide and Seek". If I'd found it sooner, I probably would have used it for this fic instead of "Shattered." I may still be inspired to write something to go with the song though... Anyway, I encourage you to check it out!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Storm Hawks or the song "Shattered" by Trading Yesterday.
Chapter 9: All This Time Spent In Vain
Let me go and I will run
It was early spring when they finally came.
Blades of grass had just begun poking through the quickly decreasing layer of snow, and Piper was looking forward to tilling the soil of the garden to plant this years crop. She and Aerrow cheerfully discussed the skimmer ride he and Finn had planned for the next day as they prepared the evening meal. Finn and Radarr had been sent to the cave to pick through their dwindling food supply. The pair had been gone a good fifteen minutes and Piper was considering going down to drag the dawdlers back when boy and beast burst through the door.
"What's wrong?" Aerrow asked, immediately noticing his friends' wide, fearful eyes.
The newcomers didn't stay long enough to answer. Before Piper could blink, they were scrabbling up the ladder to the next floor. Only stopping to share a confused look, Piper and Aerrow chased after their friends, who didn't stop at the second floor, but continued on to the roof.
Piper was the last to pull herself into the willow's branches. The chilly evening air hit her as she moved to stand beside the others. A light breeze rattled the tree around them, but the new buds did little to block the horrifying scene that was coming into view.
It was an airship. Not one of the regular cargo ships, but a battle cruiser. It was large, decorated with Cyclonian colours and insignia, and heading straight for their little terra. The ship was still a ways off, but it was approaching at speeds Piper had never seen before.
She stood there on the roof, stunned like the others. Her mind was unable to process what was happening. It felt like a dream—some horrible nightmare. They had known a ship would see them eventually, no matter how small and far off they were. But never in her wildest imaginings had Piper fathomed that a warship would penetrate their sanctuary with guns locked and loaded.
Aerrow was the first to react.
"We have to get out of here!" he shouted.
Radarr responded immediately, scampering back down the ladder to the main room. The others not complying fast enough for his taste, Aerrow shoved Finn towards the hatch door before grabbing Piper's wrist and dragging her in the same direction. Piper's arms and legs acted on their own accord as they brought her down the ladder, Aerrow's shouts of hurry! the only thing to push through the clouds of confusion in her head.
The second her feet touched solid ground, Piper found herself being pulled forcefully by Aerrow's tight grip once again. He lead her outside, Finn and Radarr hot on their heels. The four friends were halfway down the embankment when the first blast rocked the ground beneath them. Aerrow's steading hand was the only thing that stopped Piper from rolling headfirst down the hill. Finn, however, lost his balance and tumbled down, his limbs flailing like a doll's. In the seconds it took for the others to reach the fallen boy at the bottom, he was already pushing himself to his feet, only a few scratches and stains to show from his ordeal.
The battleship swooped overhead, the downdraft flicking dirt into the children's eyes and tearing at their clothes. It didn't appear to acknowledge their presence, but simply turned back towards the lone dwelling. Piper tripped and stubbled, but she didn't take her eyes of the ship as it let out another round of fire on their home. But there was no massive explosion or blinding light, as Piper had excepted, just dust and falling walls. The girl then realized that the Cyclonians were not using crystals, but plain rock. The shaking ground had not been from explosions, but from the mere force of the boulders hitting the floating island. Their destruction wasn't even worth wasting crystals.
Piper turned her gaze forward as the companions reached the rocky outcropping. There had been no question to where they were going. The cave was the safest place any of them could think of. They were almost at the entrance when the terra rocked under them once more, sending all four to the stones below.
Aerrow's fingers still encircling her wrist, Piper was pulled down atop the boy. Both cried out in pain as Piper's forehead collided with Aerrow's jaw. Huddled together, they clung to each other and waited until the ground stopped moving, every second feeling like eternity.
"You okay?" Aerrow asked as he sat up, bringing the girl with him.
Piper's nod was all the redhead needed to pull them both to their feet and sprint the short distance to the cave. Finn and Radarr were already there, crouching near the entrance so they could peer around the rock wall to watch the battle cruiser's movements.
Piper collapsed next to the pair. Fear gripped her, lining her petite frame with a layer of cold sweat and causing her hands to shake uncontrollably. She clasped her hands in a desperate attempt to stop their quivering, but it only seemed to make it worse.
Her hazy mind tried to comprehend the situation, but it was all too much for Piper. It was all to familiar, too painful. A quick glance at Finn's chalky complection told her he felt the same. She reached out to the blonde, holding his trembling hand in her own, knowing they were both trying to keep the horrors of their memories at bay and locked safely were they couldn't haunt them.
Aerrow not having joined them on the ground as she'd expected, Piper turned her wide eyes upwards. The boy stood stiff, just outside cave's mouth were he had a full view of the destruction. His fists, clenched at his sides, were shaking, but Piper knew it was not from fear.
Aerrow's eyes were a molten mix of steel and fire.
I will not be silenced
How dare they. What gave the Cyclonians the right to destroy their lives again, and just when they'd finally found some normality? What was there to gain from levelling one tiny home? From taking over one little terra?
Aerrow's mind raced with unending questions that had no logical answers. He could feel the heat of anger rising within him, his whole body shaking with the intense emotion. Fury overwhelmed the boy as he quickly glanced towards his companions. They sat on the cold rock, wide eyed, shivering, scared. They didn't want much, only the chance to live their lives in peace and security. What had they done to deserve this?
Nothing. The simple answer came suddenly. It filled him, totally consumed him.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing!
These horrible, evil people had no right to turn their world upside down once again. He couldn't—wouldn't—just stand by as his friends relived the terror. The Cyclonians were not going to tear apart his family again.
Without a second thought, Aerrow dashed into the cave to where they kept all their supplies. Rummaging through Piper's crystal collection, he found the bag she'd labelled Dangerous with a big, red X and headed back outside.
Aerrow stopped for a moment when he returned to the fresh, chilly air. His emerald eyes did a quick scan of the area and he saw exactly what he was hoping for. The skimmer and its hut were still intact. So the boy ran towards the awaiting flying machine. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to do, but Aerrow was determined to stop this attack on their home.
The fiery redhead wasn't halfway across the rock outcropping when a weight collided with his back, coming dangerously close to toppling him face-first into the dirt. Snapping his head back, Aerrow could see wild, midnight blue hair and shaking shoulders. It wasn't until he felt her grip tighten that Aerrow realized Piper had her arms wrapped around him.
"Piper, let me go!" he growled, trying to release her fingers that held the front of his shirt in tight fists.
Piper only shock her head, face buried into his back. Aerrow could feel her tears soaking through to his skin.
"I'm not letting them ruin everything for you again!" Aerrow declared, struggling to walk forward as he dragged the girl along with him.
"Aerrow, stop!" Finn sounded closer than Aerrow expected. Soon, the blonde was also holding him back, his hands in a death grip around Aerrow's left elbow. Aerrow tried to shake him off, trashing his arms around violently as he continued to try to move forward.
"It's not worth it," Finn's voice was urgent, pleading. "That ship's massive, Aerrow. What can you do to stop it? We've lost enough already. We don't want to lose you too."
Radarr—who'd wrapped himself around Aerrow's right leg during Finn's short speech—chirped in agreement. The boy glared down to meet his best friend's large, emotional eyes. He and the sky monkey shared a gaze for a moment. Radarr's eyes were not filled with the worry or fear Aerrow thought he'd find, but shone with a determination he had never seen before. Knowing his friends were right and he had no real chance of fighting them off—let alone a Cyclonian battle ship—Aerrow sighed in defeat, the fighting blaze fading from his eyes.
And so the four friends went back to the cave, not turning to witness the cruiser's final barrage before it flew off back the way it came. And as he sat against he cave wall—Finn silent beside him, Radarr shaking in his lap and Piper sobbing into his shoulder—Aerrow wondered and worried about the anger that still boiled inside him and what it might someday drive him to do.
All this time spent in vain
"Why must you taunt me like this?" Stork cried, giving the key hole his best puppy-dog pout. The empty crevasse, however, was not impressed. It just stared back with the same indifference it always had.
"I've looked everywhere on the bridge, but I can't find your blasted key!" Stork tried to explain to the impassive piece of metal, but it was unmoved.
"Fine!" Stork countered haughtily, "If you won't tell me where it is, I'll just find it myself! But don't think I'll be sending any disinfectant spray your way anytime soon. You'll be so germ-ridden and disgusting that no one will ever want to touch you again!"
Feeling he'd made his point, Stork stormed out of the room. Not hearing the satisfying THUD of the automatic door closing, Stork sighed, physically deflating. Grumbling darkly, he turned back to inspect the problem. The door had been a constant problem since he'd first installed it and he wasn't in any mood to work on it for another few hours. However, a few choice words and a solid kick seemed to put everything back in order and the merb was soon on his way.
Stork wasn't sure where he should look next. If he were a key, where would he be hiding? The merb decided to take a slight detour as he pondered that particular question, heading for his emergency storage room.
Undoing the five padlocks that would keep out most unwanted visitors, Stork opened the door and slipped inside. He'd been slowly replenishing his supplies over the past few months. He was pleased to see his crates of merb cabbage were piled almost to the ceiling, and he now had three gas masks, plus ten oxygen tanks, lined against the opposite wall. The most prized part of Stork's collection, however, was his shelf of sprays and disinfectants. With that stack of aerosol cans, he had the means to prevent almost any disease that he'd ever heard tale of.
He'd look in the living quarters, Stork decided as he resecured the room. Maybe one of the Storm Hawks had kept it in their room. It was a long shot, but Stork had no better ideas at the moment.
Stork had never entered any of the bedrooms before. The closest he'd got was the day after he'd arrived, when he'd opened every door and done a quick scan or each room to make sure the design in his memory was correct. Stork felt kind of strange going through other people's personal belongings, and he really had no interest in any of it, unless it had something to do with the Condor or his imminent doom.
Stork decided to start in the room that had belonged to the Storm Hawks' former leader and sky knight. He recalled reading somewhere that squadrons were inherited (or was it infested?), so it would make the most sense to find the key hidden in there somewhere... or maybe he was totally mistaken and would walk into some trap and meet his end. Either way, this probably wasn't a good idea.
Opening the door to the first bedroom as cautiously as he could, Stork used a broom he'd picked up on the way to tap the floor ahead of him—just in case. When nothing drastic happened, Stork allowed himself to take a better look at the room. It was nothing special, fairly bare, really. The few pieces of furniture were sprawled about—as expected from the ship having dived into the wastelands—and everything was covered in a layer of dust. Taking out his trusty surgical mask, Stork snapped the elastics around his ears. That should keep most of the dirt and germs out of his lungs for now (he made a note to eat some extra vitamins later).
And so Stork's search began. He looked in drawers, under blankets, and behind furniture, using his broom to poke everything before touching it himself. Soon, the layer of dust was a fog in the air, like snow picked up by a blizzard's wind. Trying to escape the chocking cloud, Stork stood on the bed, jabbing the ceiling with the broom accidentally as he jumped up.
To the merb's surprise, one tile came loose rather easily. Intrigued, Stork moved the piece of ceiling aside and carefully stuck his head up through the gap. His excitement grew when he spied a wooden box jammed between two pipes. Reaching up with lanky arms, Stork grabbed the box in his nimble fingers and brought it down to sit on the bed beside him. It was a beautiful piece of work, with intricate carvings of various birds and flowers etched skilfully into the polished wood.
It looked very important, so Stork determined that it must be. The only thing he could think of that was important enough to be kept in a box like this was the key to the ship! What else could be inside? So the merb gently removed the lid and peeked in.
He was highly disappointed.
The box held only photos, letters and old pieces of paper. What sort of treasure was this? Why would such simple things need to be hidden so well? Maybe they held some horrible secret about the end of the world! But a quick glance of the photos showed only smiling faces and the letters described only mundane events.
Sighing in dissatisfaction, Stork returned to box to the exact place he'd found it. It wasn't any of his business why someone had hidden it, but if someone thought it should, well, he wasn't going to go against their wishes. Especially if that someone were dead. He really wasn't in the mood for some agitated ghost to start haunting him because he didn't replace a box properly.
Grumbling to himself about ghosts and doom and stupid, mysterious boxes, Stork moved on to the next room. Maybe it would be the carrier pilot's. There would be a good chance of finding the ship's key there... or maybe his death. It could go either way, a fifty-fifty chance, really.
"We're doomed." the merb sighed dramatically to the ship.
Wasted years, wasted gain
Students poured out of the school at the sound of the bell, happy to be another day closer to summer vacation. They still had a good few weeks of waiting ahead, Junko realized, as he stepped outdoors into the frosty air of early spring and made his way towards the street. He shivered, glancing back at his bulging backpack and contemplated taking out the sweater his mom had insisted he bring this morning. But remembering how the guys had teased him over the home-knitted garment, the sweater stayed securely hidden.
"Hey, Junko!" hearing the familiar bark, the wallop sighed before turning around and heading to the clump of boys loitering around one corner of the building.
Junko was the youngest of the group, but for most of the older boys, his height and brawn seemed to make up for the age difference. For those who thought differently, Junko was someone bigger than them of whom they were superior and could boss around. Junko willingly accepted authority and always eagerly performed any task given to him. He was just happy that the gang saw him as one of their own. And although they were known as a ruff crowd, Junko always received respect and awe from his peers when they discovered he was one of them.
As he approached, the mob moved aside to reveal their ringleader, who Junko had come to know as Grimsley. The stocky ginger was leaning casually against the brick wall, arms crossed and eyes lazy.
"Where you goin'?" he grunted, addressing the young wallop. "We've got C.Y. later,"—for some reason, Cyclonian Youth had never had the cool ring to it that Grimsley seemed to crave—"and we're not lettin' you skip off again today. They told us if our squad keeps up with the shitty attendance, then we can't start missions next year."
"I wasn't skippin' off." Junko defended, forcing his features to harden and making his voice sound deeper than it actually was, "I was just headin' home to pick somethin' up."
Grimsley eyed him cooly, seeming to ponder the excuse. Junko stood taller, cringing inwardly. There were certain airs that he had to put on when with the gang. He needed to appear and sound tough, or he could very quickly find himself with no one to hang around with. He knew he still didn't have the speech down—he never understood why they cut the ends off words—and knew this was what he was being judged on at the moment.
"Ok," Grimsley grunted, accepting the facade, "but you'd better be there on time."
With a curt nod, Junko turned heel and restarted his earlier journey home. He kept up the sturdy march until he was around the street corner and out of sight. Then, his demeanor deflated instantly. Sighing, he trudged along the road, kicking up dirt as he dragged his feet.
In truth, he wasn't all that into the C.Y. The only thing about it he enjoyed was that they each got their own peddle skimmer and he was allowed to tinker around with his (his junk collection had dwindled because of this). But recently, Grimsley had his crew training for missions and combat, and Junko had no time to trick out his ride. On top of that, Grimsley never did any of the work himself! He just sat back and barked orders—most of which were accomplished by Junko. If he had the option, Junko would quit the gang in a heartbeat.
But he didn't have that option. Grimsley's group was the closet thing Junko had ever had to friends, and their reputation meant making any friends after deserting nearly impossible. Being friendless didn't bother Junko that much—he had grown quite used to it, after all—but he couldn't break his mother's heart again. She was happy here, settled into her new life and thinking he was settled into his. He wasn't about to ruin her misperception.
"I'm home!" he called as he lumbered through the front door.
"You're early." his mom stated, poking her head out the kitchen door to give him a quizzical look, "Don't you have Cyclonian Youth today? Won't your friends miss you?"
"Just wanted to grab a snack before I go." Junko lied, because he'd lied to Grimsley earlier too, he had nothing to pick up at home—he'd been hoping to sneak off unnoticed.
"You're in luck!" his mother smiled, "I just made a new batch of cookies."
"Awesome!" Junko beamed, following his mother into the kitchen. The plate of cookies on the counter looked like charcoal and smelled like dirty socks. His mother was always trying out new recipes, and Junko always ate everything she cooked—and usually liked it.
Today was no different. "Yum! These taste great, mom." Junko said through a mouthful of food, grabbing two more treats before heading up to his room.
Throwing his backpack on his bed, Junko sat down beside it. Munching on his snack, he eyed the box that lay on his desk, contemplating it. Swallowing the last chunk of cookie, he stood, wiping the crumbs off his shirt. Striding across the room, he sat in his chair, placing the box on his lap.
He stared at the cardboard lid, eyeing the postage stamps and reading the send and return addresses. He'd broken the taped seal weeks ago, when he'd first received the package. It arrived the day after he'd come home from school to find his mother sobbing on her bed. She'd brushed it off, saying she wasn't feeling well, but Junko had seen the letter she'd been trying to hide.
He'd snuck into her room and read the letter while she was making dinner. It was from an aunt back on Terra Wallop that he couldn't remember and it held no pleasantries. According to the letter, his father had joined the Cyclonian army not long after they'd left. He'd been moving up ranks and doing quite well until about a month before, when he seemingly disappeared during a routine scouting mission. His mangled skimmer had been found in the wastelands a week later and he was pronounced MIA, assumed dead. Junko had stopped reading once his aunt started rambling on about how it was all his mother's fault that his father was dead, and he'd be home and happy if they had not left. Junko had heard enough of that to do him a lifetime and more.
Placing the box back on his desk, Junko opened it and removed its contents. Slipping the cool metal weapons onto his fingers, the young wallop smashed them together. They glowed bright, and Junko could feel the power they held, the strength they gave him. The note that had accompanied them explained that they were called Knuckle Busters and were family heirlooms, passed on from father to son for generations. Junko could tell by the clipped sentences and choppy writing of the note that his family was not pleased to be handing them over to him. But wallops held tradition in very high esteem and nothing would deter them from giving heirlooms to their true and rightful owner—albeit, many arguments may occur before that task was complete.
Junko knew that if he brought the Knuckle Busters to Cyclonian Youth with him, he would definitely move up the rankings. Grimsley would probably make him his right-hand-man and he would gain his own respect.
But, as it had before, something inside Junko told him not to. He had this feeling that, one day, he'd find a proper use for his father's last gift and do some good. It didn't feel right, using something so important for his own benefit. So he returned the Knuckle Busters to their cardboard safe and placed it in a dark corner of his closet.
I hope this chapter was long enough to appease for the wait! I must say, I'm quite pleased with how this chapter turned out. I'm especially proud of my description of Aerrow's eyes (a molten mix of steel and fire) because I've been struggling with finding a good description for that look he gets when he's all serious and ready for battle.
I must admit, it was an unexpected injection of Junko and Stork! But since in this part of the fic I had lots of lyrics and little plot, and I got such a good response from Junko and Stork's parts in the last chapter, I figured I'd hit two birds with the one stone and help myself and my readers!
Stork's part was inspired by how totally crazed he was about not finding the Condor's key in "Origins". And then a little known device called foreshadowing decided to jump in halfway through (if any of you have read my oneshot "A Winter's Night", which is based in the middle of this fic, you'll probably know what I mean). Also, for some reason, Stork seems to have an odd relationship with inanimate objects in this fic, and I don't know why...
For Junko's part, I decided to go read up on him on the Storm Hawks website (I no longer trust the info on wiki, since some has blatantly tampered with it) and discovered that his Knuckle Busters are family heirlooms! That got me thinking: I don't remember seeing Junko's knuckle busters in "Origins", and I rewatched the episode and what would you know, they're NOT! So, I figured I'd find a reason for it! I was also intrigued by how Junko seems to change his voice when he talks to Grimsly and his gang in "Origins" , so I tried to add that in as well.
Anyway, I guess you're all tired of reading about my inspiration and odd observations, so I'll say thank you for reading and feel free to leave a review!
