Hello!

Let me just take a moment to say thank you! Thanks to all of you who reviewed last chapter! It was exceptionally encouraging, and I really appreciate it. I was pleasantly surprised by the number of guest users to leave comments. Thank you for taking the time to do that!

I would like to specifically respond to a curious comment made by a guest user named Hannah; you said something about Vanessa needing to die because she's Doofenshmirtz's daughter, and "the Malifishmirtz line must come to an end." I applaud you for calling me out on this, as I forgot to touch on this in one of my previous ANs. I love that Vanessa is Doof's daughter. It's a fabulous story arc. I wanted so desperately to fit that into this story somehow, but as Charlene is an age-old deity for the side of good, I didn't see how it would work. Thus, in this universe, Vanessa is not Malifishmirtz's daughter.It saddens me, really. I went through possibility after possibility, trying to think about how I could use that relationship to enrich and complicate my story; but the logistics of the world as it is constructed wouldn't allow for that while still making sense. So, I apologize for this break in cannon universe. I hope you'll still love me anyway!

Without further ado, enjoy this super long chapter!

Disclaimer: I do not own Phineas and Ferb.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR:

Outside Looking In

Ferb was terrified.

He was standing in the middle of a room. There was a large wooden table to his right topped with what Ferb recognized as alchemy materials. Forward to his left were three cauldrons, each a different size. It was a dark place, and cobwebs hung all around. Dirt clung to every knob in the warped floor. It smelled musty and unclean, but it also smelled like herbs—like their backyard often did, Ferb thought. It was the smell of magic.

His surroundings weren't the terrifying part for Ferb, however. No, the thing that terrified him was the person standing in front of him.

"I should have known you'd show up," Malifishmirtz was saying, and Ferb could see him with far too much detail, from his dark green horns to his long robes to his sorcerer's staff. It looked like Malifishmirtz was staring right at him, but his eyes seemed slightly unfocused and off.

Then Ferb heard a growl behind him—a very familiar growl. Ferb turned around, that noise perhaps the only one so surprising and important that it'd override his common sense not to turn his back to Malifishmirtz. His eyes swept across the bars of a metal cage before landing on the trap's resident.

"Perrible the dragonpus," Malifishmirtz crooned behind him, and Ferb looked back. He now realized that while it looked like Malifishmirtz had been staring at him, he really had eyes only for his pet. "Your presence here was completely unpredictable. And by unpredictable, I mean completely predictable!"

With his last words, Malifishmirtz slammed his staff into the ground. The noise was sharp, echoing around the small room and vibrating inside Ferb's skull. He wasn't sure why it bothered him so much, but his hands shot to his ears.

"And as you can see, Sir P, I have learned from my past mistakes," Malifishmirtz continued. He took a few steps forward, and Ferb had to jump back to avoid him, but still, Malifishmirtz took no notice of him. He drummed the butt of his staff along the bars of the cage. "No wicker this time, you fire-breathing pest. Even your fire isn't hot enough to melt this metal."

Perrible growled again, low and throaty, and Ferb felt his insides constricting. Then Malifishmirtz pulled his long sorcerer's gown around him, flicking it haughtily out at Perrible as he sharply turned away. He marched over to the smallest of his three cauldrons.

"Now you can have a front row seat to the end of all you hold dear," Malifishmirtz sneered, curling his long, knobby fingers around the cauldron's rim. He leaned forward, his complete concentration on the liquid below.

Ferb didn't know how the sorcerer hadn't managed to see him, but at that moment he didn't care. He rushed to Perrible's cage. It looked to have a simple enough lock, just like the one they had on the backdoor of their home. He could probably pick it with something if he could find the right tools.

Ferb was about to tell Perrible it would be alright as he dropped to his knees in front of the cage. Then he got his first real look at his pet, and his heart dragged itself up into his throat. Perrible looked bad. The tips of his fur on the right side of his face and down his right arm looked scorched. The left side of his bill was swollen, like he'd landed hard on that side of his face.

"Perrible," Ferb choked out, needing now more than ever to get his beloved pet out of this horrible place. He grabbed at the lock—but his hand went right through it. Ferb blinked. He tried for the lock again, but his fingers ghosted through just as they did before.

Pure, unrelenting dread pounded in his head, quickly overtaking his heart. It was bad enough seeing his pet in this state. Now to find there was nothing he could do to help? It was torture. As if things weren't bad enough, Ferb heard Malifishmirtz singing a cheery sort of tune behind him.

"When they leave Amias, we'll knock some heads," he warbled under his breath, "and soon that little fairy will be dead." He laughed gleefully. "Ho, listen to that, Perrible. Not too shabby, huh?"

Ferb could barely breathe with all the weight that crashed down on him. Amias? When they leave Amias? They? When they leave? Malifishmirtz knew where they were. That was what Ferb knew that meant. Malifishmirtz knew Isabel was in Amias. Ferb swallowed hard, but it did nothing. He forced himself not to consider the second part of the sorcerer's little chant.

Ferb looked back to Perrible. He was a smart dragonpus, as smart as any human, and then some. He could get himself out. Heck, he kept his status as a knight secret for years. He had to have picked the lock on their backdoor dozens of times, right? He could figure it out. He had to figure it out.

Just as Ferb hoped, Perrible studied the lock, his hand absently rubbing at his swollen jaw. He was leaning so close Ferb could smell burned dragonpus hair and something else—something that reminded him all too fondly of their backyard.

But Ferb wasn't even there. He looked down at his hands. Clearly he wasn't there—not if Malifishmirtz had let him live this long. How could he smell Perrible, then? How could he breathe in the heat of the room, and feel the magic in the air tingling against his skin?

Ah, right. Because this was a dream.

Light started glowing in the glossy swell of Perrible's eyes, reflecting something bright green and sinister. Ferb turned and saw green smoke billowing from the cauldron Malifishmirtz was leaning over.

"It's faint," Malifishmirtz muttered.

It's just a dream, Ferb told himself as he stood. He blew out a breath, collecting himself before he walked straight up to Malifishmirtz. He watched as the sorcerer drew a thimble from his robes and dipped it in the cauldron. The thimble lurched up from his hand, glowing green like the smoke, but it wavered in the air. It lurched left, then right, before falling back into the liquid below with a plunk.

"Too weak," Malifishmirtz sighed. "Not powerful enough magic to really pinpoint much. Though we're still way ahead of the game anyway, right, Perrible?" The dragonpus growled in response.

Ferb looked back to Perrible's cage, and something caught his eye. At his new angle, he could see something on the floor gleaming with a soft, silvery light. Keeping his eyes trained on the small spec, Ferb crossed back to the cage and knelt. In the side of a warped board inside of Perrible's cage was a shiny, steel nail. His pet wouldn't be able to see it from his angle.

If this was a dream, and Ferb knew it was a dream, couldn't he control it? He knew of the nail, knew it was a perfect solution to his pet's dilemma. Shouldn't he be able to will his pet to find it? Something told Ferb that wouldn't work. A cold breeze of fog ghosted in through the window and gave him a chill, reminding him that whatever he was experiencing, it was beyond his control.

Feeling utterly useless, Ferb ran his fingers through his hair. He felt tangible, at least to himself, but as he reached out in front of him again, his hands went right through the bars.

"Fight back," he whispered to his pet. He could make it out of there. The answer was so close. Malifishmirtz wasn't paying attention, and he knew Perrible could figure it out if he just tried.

Ferb touched his fingers to Perrible's head, and he didn't know why he expected differently, but he ghosted right through, the same as he did with the bars. He couldn't touch his pet. He couldn't be heard either.

"The south," Malifishmirtz drawled, and Ferb glanced behind him. The sorcerer was staring at a large map on the wall, his hand grazing his chin. "Heading through the south, same as those boys. It is possible, I suppose…"

Then Ferb heard something—the soft, nearly unnoticeable sound of metal scratching metal. He looked back to Perrible and found to his complete surprise and delight that Perrible was picking at the lock with a nail. It wasn't the nail Ferb had seen in the side of the board, but his clever dragonpus had found another on his own. With a loud click, Perrible was free.

"What was—" But Malifishmirtz didn't finish, because as he was turning around, Perrible sprung from his cage and charged. Malifishmirtz swung out his staff to hit the dragonpus, but Perrible leapt up, kicked off the wall, and planted his palmate foot in the sorcerer's shoulder. Malifishmirtz toppled forward, nearly knocking over his smallest cauldron, which he sought to save with a panicked shriek.

Perrible wasted no time. He turned and used his wings to give him speed as he sprinted for the window. He blew a burst of fire from his nostrils for good measure, and Malifishmirtz's table went up in flames.

Ferb watched, a relieved, triumphant smile on his face. Without a single glance back, Perrible jumped out the window and soared.

But then everything was different, and Ferb was staring into the bright blue eyes of a baby. As he looked at the sparse tuft of flaming red hair around the baby's head, he knew he was looking down at his niece. Amana Johnson seemed to be staring right at him, though Ferb felt he was no more here than he was in that dingy room from before.

Then sound finally caught up to him, muffled at first, but slowly becoming clearer. He heard a woman crying. Turning at once, Ferb's eyes fell to his mother. Lindavahle was sitting on a pile of hay, and Ferb couldn't bother wondering why his family was in a barn, because he was too stunned to see her as she was.

Lindavahle's legs were drawn to her chest, the long skirt of her dress spread around her. It was dirty and covered in straw. Her arms were wrapped around her legs and her face was buried in her knees, and she was sobbing—seriously sobbing.

"Mom, calm down," said someone behind him, and Ferb nearly died of shock as Candavere walked right through him. Literally, she strolled straight through his intangible form, and Ferb suddenly felt so scattered that his vision blurred gray around the edges. He had to focus, feeling as if he was pulling himself back together, before things returned to normal.

"Come on, Mom," Candavere continued, slinging an arm around Lindavahle. "Calm down. It's alright."

"It's not—my kids—failure of a—babies, and—" Lindavahle was uncontrollable.

Ferb didn't know how he couldn't have a body, and yet could feel something clamp around his heart. Of course Lindavahle wasn't his real mother. And of course they may not have seen eye to eye regarding Ferb's marital choices, or lack there of. But not once had she treated him any differently than her two legitimate children. Not once had she treated him any less than a mother who loved her son.

"Mom, they're fine," Candavere said. "You know them, okay? You know they're fine. They're so smart it's stupid. They always find a way."

"But—just babies—my babies."

Candavere pulled their mother's face to her, embracing her in a way that startled Ferb more than anything else he'd seen. Candavere had always been a bit of an occupational hazard—a presence that, for some reason, looked for any reason to get Phineas and him in trouble. Ferb had had to tiptoe around her for years to keep Isabel a secret, and always had to be on his guard.

But looking at her now, Ferb realized his sister was a mother. Sure, he knew that, because obviously he had a niece. But his sister—his agitable, intrusive sister—was a mother. He didn't know how to handle watching her nurture their mom, being a mother to their mother. It felt so real, and so personal, and so beyond him that Ferb now felt he was the intrusive one.

He felt he shouldn't be witnessing this, and yet, how could he not figure out why his family was apparently hiding in a barn? Looking around, Ferb realized that was what this was. Amana lay on hay in the corner. A few personal odds and ends were strewn about: a few pans, a couple loafs of bread, and piles of cloth that may have been clothing or bedding, he wasn't sure. All he could tell was that this looked like their usual camps when they had to sleep in the woods; his family was living here.

After a while, Candavere had consoled Lindavahle to the point where she was at least understandable.

"And you s-said you talked to them?" Lindavahle stuttered, wiping at her eyes. Her face was streaked with dirt that was caked on by her tears, and Ferb swallowed hard.

"Yeah," Candavere said. "Yeah, I did."

"You said you t-talked to them through—through the sink," Lindavahle continued, and Candavere nodded.

"Yeah, Mom. And they're doing just fine. That's what they said. They're safe as can be, alright? Safe as can be."

Ferb's heart officially broke as his sister lied. Their conversation so many nights ago had been cut off by a meatling attack. Not to mention Phineas had made the blunder of telling her they were being hunted by an army.

Hunted by an army.

Ferb finally understood. He remembered something Candavere said when they spoke through the Mirror Mist, something about men lurking around Danvillage, asking about Phineas and him. She'd mentioned that the thugs were acting threateningly, only to backpedal when Phineas freaked out. She said Rogerick's men could only act openly hostile to an extent, as to preserve their reputation; but things had changed since then.

Kaigate had been destroyed by an internal war. The rumor of Malifishmirtz regaining his power was less of a rumor now, and as people were wondering what happened to their usual goods from Kaigate, Rogerick's allegiance had to be in question. Malifishmirtz was no longer so obsessed with sticking to the shadows, and the men no doubt would be eager to take advantage of that.

His family must have been forced to flee their home. Candavere said she'd been staying with their parents since Phineas and Ferb left, which meant she was dislocated now, too. And all because Malifishmirtz was after him and his brother.

"They were safe?" Lindavahle asked, crying again. "You s-spoke to them?"

"Yeah, Mom," Candavere repeated, and as her voice hitched with emotion, Ferb decided he wanted to wake up. "Yeah, and they're fine." Tears fell from her eyes now, too, and Ferb needed to wake up. "They're fine, okay?" Wake up. "They're fine."

Wake up!

But he didn't. He had to watch.

His family was in danger. They were suffering. And Ferb—well, he didn't even have the decency to remember how long it had been since he'd left them behind.

"You don't mind the company, right?" Isabel said sweetly, smiling up at Baljeetolus. The elf stared down at her, and she could tell he still hadn't come to terms with her intent. She motioned to the stairs, where the pub waited below, far quieter than it had been last night.

"What?" Baljeetolus said, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

"It looks like a really nice day outside," Isabel chirped, "and besides, I don't want you to have to go back to Irving's shop alone."

Isabel didn't sleep much the night before. After she'd tracked down Phineas, whom she found asleep over a bucket that was too nasty for words, she'd helped him get to bed, where he immediately crashed without any protests. Isabel, despite the long day, had felt incredibly awake. She didn't know if it was the loud excitement of the pub still pounding under her skin, or the quieter tingling that lingered on her lips from her crazy decision to kiss Ferb, but she'd felt much more like smiling up at the ceiling than getting any sleep. So she did just that, curled up next to Ferb, until her eyes were too heavy.

Despite the late night, Isabel awoke bright and early—far earlier than the room's other two occupants. Phineas and Ferb were by all intents and purposes dead to the world. She felt exceptionally cheerful, just as she felt when she'd gone to bed, and didn't want to contain herself to her room alone. As soon as she slipped into the hallway, she'd quite literally run into Baljeetolus, who had been making his way toward the stairs.

Isabel was never quite sure what to make of Baljeetolus. She definitely liked him better than Bufavalous, but the elf was difficult to read. He was always fairly calm, except when Bufavalous managed to tweak a certain nerve. He was helpful and smart, but undeniably reserved. She wondered why someone like the elf was even friends with their resident brute in the first place, let alone how he'd put up with him for years.

Baljeetolus was always a bit squirrely, but when Isabel ran into him, he was worse than usual. He yelped and tried to notch an arrow at her in his surprise, but he only fumbled with the string of his bow and made a bit of a fool of himself. He was bright red when all was said and done, but Isabel was far from teasing him. She asked him where he was going like nothing had happened, and something in that appeared to make him warm towards her, if only just a little.

"It does not necessarily take two people to fetch Bufavalous' weapon," Baljeetolus said through lifted eyebrows. "If you have the opportunity to sleep, you should not squander it just to keep me company."

Isabel looped her arm through his and began down the stairs. "I know it's not necessary, but you shouldn't go alone."

"Contrary to what Bufavalous will have you believe, I can manage on my own," Baljeetolus said quietly.

"I know," she giggled. "But like I said, that doesn't mean you should have to."

"I… suppose not," Baljeetolus stuttered as Isabel pulled him in tow. Then Isabel suddenly stopped halfway down the stairs, standing a step below the elf.

"I mean, I don't have to come with you if you really want to go alone," she said, frowning up at him.

Baljeetolus let out a shaky laugh. "No, no. It would actually be—" He cleared his throat. "It would be nice." Isabel beamed and pulled him on, but once they made it outside, she released his arm.

Amias was beautiful in the morning. There were hardly any people around, at least not compared to the hustle and bustle of the evening before. It wasn't quiet, through; the sounds of metal striking metal occasionally pounded through the air. From the doorstep of the inn alone, Isabel could see three different blacksmith shops.

"Bufavalous was so out of sorts that he did not even snore last night," Baljeetolus said genially, and although Isabel knew the elf was forcing himself to uphold a conversation, she appreciated the effort.

"Yeah, Phineas and Ferb slept really soundly too," she agreed. "They didn't even stir a bit when I was cleaning up this morning."

"They will be fun today," Baljeetolus sighed. "After all these years, Bufavalous and I have an understanding. I do not stop him from drinking, and he suffers silently the day after. Phineas and Ferb, however, are less practiced in handling alcohol's morning-after effects."

"And Bufavalous actually sticks to your little agreement?" Isabel asked. "That really doesn't seem like him."

Baljeetolus shrugged. "He knows it is important to me, so he does his best. It only took one maledictive tirade a few years ago for him to decide for himself never to subject me to his post-drinking petulance again."

Isabel pondered this. It was hard for her to imagine Bufavalous choosing to be considerate, especially after a night spent drinking.

"The two of you are super close, huh?" she hummed, more of an observation than a question.

"Bufavalous and I?" Baljeetolus scoffed. "I despise every fiber of his filthy, foul-mouthed being."

Isabel stopped walking, her shocked stare boring into the back of the elf's blonde head until he stopped too. Baljeetolus looked back and flashed her a small, conspiratorial smile, and she let out a shaky laugh.

"You know, I find it hard to tell when you're joking, Jeet."

"I have been told that before," he said simply.

"Maybe you should joke more," she suggested with a smile. "Give us all a bit more practice."

Baljeetolus gave her the most curious look. Then his gaze fell to the ground and he muttered a quiet, "Maybe."

Isabel took a few steps to catch back up to him, and fastened her hands around his arm. She grinned at him and asked, "Hey, we're not in a hurry, right?"

Baljeetolus blinked at her and licked his lips, but he looked a little too confused at her sudden question to give a response, so she continued.

"If we're not in a hurry, I thought I could treat you to something." She dug into the pocket of her pants and pulled out a few copper pieces.

"Treat me to something?" Baljeetolus repeated.

"Yeah," Isabel said. "Bufavalous gave me some money last night—you know, when he was so drunk he tried to bribe me to dance on the table? He never remembered to ask for the money back even after I refused, so…" Her smile widened as she brandished her handful of coins. It was the first bit of money she'd ever owned, and she was in such a good mood she couldn't help but think how wonderful it would be to get some breakfast from the town bakery.

"Um, we are not necessarily in a hurry," Baljeetolus said, glancing down at her hand. He looked no less confused. "The others should not awaken for some time, and I do not have a set agenda, so—"

"Great!" Isabel exclaimed, dragging him down the street before he could say another word.

The bakery wasn't hard to find; she followed the smell of fresh bread straight to the front door, a street down. They passed a mother and child carrying a sack of flour out of the shop, and the smell intensified so much it made Isabel's mouth water.

"There are many options," Baljeetolus said. "What do you want?"

Isabel's eyes roved over a cooling rack behind the shop counter, which was filled with goods like bread rolls, large loafs, small cakes, and a number of other things that looked delicious, but that she couldn't name. Then she saw one item in particular, and felt a jolt of excitement shoot through her.

"That one," she declared, pointing.

Baljeetolus strained to see what caught her attention. "A… hot bun?" he asked.

Isabel nodded and smiled. "With some sweet cream on top!"

Baljeetolus raised an eyebrow at her sudden enthusiasm, but said nothing as he gestured forward in consent. Isabel ordered two hot buns from a plump boy behind the counter, and they both went outside, finding a place out of the way where they could sit in the sunshine.

At first, Isabel was tempted to just stuff her warm delectable in her mouth in as big of a bite she could manage, but then she thought better of it. She tore off a bit from the side and dragged it across the top, through the cream, just like Ferb had done so long ago. The hot bun was just as heavenly as she remembered, back when she shared one with Ferb at the Woad-Gathering Harvest. Her eyes fluttered closed as the fluffy bread dissolved on her tongue.

She was gearing up for another chomp when she realized Baljeetolus hadn't eaten any yet. He was staring down at the bun in his hand with the same curious expression he'd given her before, like he was analyzing the item for some deeper purpose.

"What'cha doing?" she asked, nudging him with her shoulder. This seemed to jar him from a pretty intense stupor, because he jumped.

"Huh? What?"

"You're giving it the stare-down," she giggled. "What's up?"

Baljeetolus shrugged and looked back down to this breakfast, but she saw a smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

"It is nothing, really," he said. "This is simply a nice gesture of you." He took a bite. Something in his expression struck Isabel.

"Surely people have done nice things for you before just for the heck of it," Isabel said quietly. "It's what friends do, right?"

"Bufavalous is not exactly the treat-your-friend-to-breakfast type," Baljeetolus said, his eyes trained on a thin trickle of sweet cream running down the side of his bun. "And just about everyone else has come and gone."

Isabel drummed her fingers on her pastry. "What about before you met Bufavalous?"

To her surprise, Baljeetolus' face screwed up, only for a second. "My old nerdling clan from that time is not exactly what you would call supporting," he said dryly.

"Did you not get along?" she asked.

Baljeetolus finally looked back at her, a cautious crease in his brow. He let out a breath, though, and said, "Let us just say that, while I enjoy a good bout of intellectual inquiry like the rest of the elves, our values did not quite align."

Isabel nodded thoughtfully. "I get that."

He looked startled at this, his eyebrows lifting in doubt, so she quickly continued, "No, really. As a fairy who grew up as a sprite, I understand." He watched her silently, and she could see him relax. When he didn't say anything, she added, "Doing nice things for your friends was weird there too."

"Yes," he said softly. "Yes, I suppose you do understand."

Isabel knew her optimism was running high today, but she felt the awkwardness Baljeetolus usually cocooned himself in was starting to dwindle. She felt comfort coming from him now—and if not quite comfort, then at least the first touch of a real sort of friendship. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to press her luck—they were getting along remarkably well, after all—but now that she'd learned a little bit about the elf, she was itching to know more.

"I can understand leaving the elves," she said, though she knew she didn't actually know why he left yet, "but you and Bufavalous have traveled everywhere—"

"Just about every town and village in the Tri-Kingdom Area," he said, sitting up a little taller with pride.

"Right," she said. "So you must have made plenty of friends through the years, right?"

"No, no, not in our line of work!" Baljeetolus said quickly. Too quickly, in fact. And his cheeks turned pink. Isabel grinned.

"So there was a girl?" she prodded, and Baljeetolus went rigid so suddenly that Isabel knew she'd hit it right on the nose. She squealed in delight. "Oh my gosh, you have to tell me about this! What's her name? Where did you meet? What happened?"

Baljeetolus went from pink to completely red. "I do not know what makes you think—"

"Oh, don't even give me that," she snapped, playfully smacking his arm.

Baljeetolus looked over at her, and she was surprised to find he almost looked scared. She figured he'd never talked to anyone about being sweet on a girl, though; Bufavalous just didn't seem the type to listen to something like that.

"You don't have to tell me anything," she amended, her voice gentler now. She nibbled the edge of her hot bun, then shifted her teeth to tug at her lower lip. Finally she said, "But I'd like to know. I mean, if you're… if you're like me, you know, not really fitting in with your kind, I'd like to get to know you better."

She went back to biting her lip, staring at the food in her hand, and they fell into silence. It was obvious Baljeetolus didn't like talking much. During their first quest, he only really spoke when contributing factual information for their quest. He never gave a single ounce of information about his personal life. She decided it was kind of silly of her to expect that to change just because she bought him a treat. Just before she was about to change the subject, though, Baljeetolus spoke.

"It was not that I did not belong," he said. "To the contrary, I excelled within elven society. My eloquence, my analytic tendencies, my absolute refusal to use contractions—I fit in very well."

"Your refusal to use…" Isabel stifled a giggle, scrunching her nose in thought. She tried to think about everything she'd ever heard Baljeetolus say. She realized with a shock that he had never once used a contraction. How was that even possible? But she shook her heard, tucking that odd thought away for another time. "Why did you leave, then?" she asked. "I mean, if you excelled so much?"

Baljeetolus took another bite, chewing slowly. He waited until he swallowed before he spoke. "Elves value intellect above all else. While I was more than capable to live up to that principle, I had a different definition of intelligence than the rest. I thought there was more to know than what we could teach ourselves, living in isolation, with the same tired facts and figures. I thought we could learn so much more through travel, through learning what others could teach us, too. The others were not too fond of this idea. They said I defied too many traditional ways of thought, though I believe I simply wounded their pride."

Isabel watched the elf's profile. Long strands of blonde hair fell over the side of his face, pooling on his shoulder. The bronze skin of his ear poked out amongst the light locks, coming to a distinct point. He had little crinkles by the corners of his eyes—perhaps from many marks spent squinting his eyes to read. She wondered how it was possible this nerdy, scrawny elf could actually be considered a rebel. She watched him a moment longer, and for the first time, Isabel realized how much older he looked since she'd last seen him.

"Her name was Mishti," he said suddenly. "She was unbelievable—quite feminine, but not afraid to get her hands dirty. She was intelligent, too, especially with how she spoke. Bufavalous and I ended up helping her birth an ewe—it is a long story—and she let us stay with her for a little while."

Birth an ewe? Isabel tried to imagine Bufavalous and Baljeetolus facilitating the gift of life. The idea was equal parts horrifying and hilarious. But at the same time, she could also imagine Baljeetolus awestruck by some girl he'd just met, so much so that he'd fret to help her with something even so far out of his comfort zone as birthing livestock.

"We had to continue on, though," Baljeetolus said. "We only stayed for about a month, and then we were on the road again."

"You obviously liked her," Isabel said slowly and carefully, like she was afraid he might recoil from her words if they weren't stated just right. "After a whole month, didn't you consider staying?" She figured it would be a difficult question, so she didn't expect him to shake his head so quickly.

"No," he sighed. "I am certain it would not have worked out between Mishti and I."

"What?" she gasped. "Why not?"

It took a long time for him to reply. When he did, his voice was so much quieter, and she didn't get what she thought she would hear. He heaved another sigh, and then muttered a sad, "Logistics."

"What do you mean?" she asked. Then she said, "Logistics," just to feel it roll off her tongue. "Logistics." She took another bite of her hot bun, and a little hum of content escaped her throat.

"You have quite the voracious appetite for these," Baljeetolus quipped. Isabel didn't mind the subject change; she wouldn't push him too far, at least not in one sitting.

"'Cause ith good," she said through a mouthful. She chewed three more times, then swallowed. "Ferb got me one of these—a year ago? Wow, it feels like forever. All the years kind of run together, you know? It was back when I was a sprite—well, sprite-ish. It was at a harvest festival. But yeah, I suppose it was only last year. I hadn't been back in the forest before that in six years…"

Her voice drifted off. She didn't know why she'd continued talking even after her initial point had been made. Baljeetolus looked over to her, and she was relieved to see him smile.

"So that is why you like them so much," he said. His teeth tore a chunk from his own bread. "I am honored, sharing in something that is so important to you, then."

"I—well… it's just a hot bun," she said, feeling her cheeks heat.

"Is it?" he asked impishly. She didn't like his tone, and yet something in it was exciting, too. She felt the need to giggle, because she knew he was absolutely right; as delicious as the food was, her particular love for hot buns with sweet cream was perhaps not solely subject to taste. The elf knew this. "Tell me, Isabel, how was Ferb last night?" he asked suddenly. "I do not suppose he had any grand declarations in his drunken stupor, hm?"

Isabel glared at him, though it was playful. "Nope."

"Really?" he laughed. "I find that rather improbable."

Isabel shrugged. "Well, he had a sort of guilty breakdown about how I got hurt. He got really upset. He feels so bad about it, though it's ridiculous. It wasn't his fault."

"And you are certain he did not say anything of significance during this… breakdown, as you put it?" he prompted, his smile curling at the tips so it became undeniably sly. Isabel knew for sure she was blushing now.

"No," she said firmly. "He just kept apologizing."

"Oh," Baljeetolus exhaled.

As Isabel chewed a particularly sweet bite, she thought about the new undercurrent to Baljeetolus' voice. She heard disappointment in it, like he genuinely wanted or expected Ferb to say something last night. Isabel was fairly certain she knew what he was thinking, too; he had expected Ferb to do or say something that showed his deeper feelings for her.

Isabel figured that was it. With her realization of what she felt for Ferb came the understanding that it was mutual, and that they both had been utterly ridiculous not to muster the name for their bond long before now. She didn't know if Ferb had internally realized that he loved her, but it didn't matter to her either way. She didn't care if he put a proper name to it, so long as that feeling was there. She was surprisingly confident it was.

She watched the elf again, as he studied her. He looked at her a little differently now. His facial expression was exactly the same, but there was something different in it nonetheless. It took her a little while to realize what it was: trust. They had been companions for some time, but now they were friends, too. She made a decision.

"So, I kissed him," she declared, before shoving the biggest bite yet into her mouth. She chewed hard, just so she could have something to focus on as Baljeetolus processed this information.

"What?" came his shriek, just as she'd expected.

"Yup," she confirmed with a nod of her head, unable to hold in a small giggle. "I was leaving to find Phineas, and wished him goodnight—wished Ferb, that is—but then I was thinking about how I'm not a sprite. And if I wasn't a sprite, I wasn't bound by sprite traditions, like 'hey, don't kiss your best friend, because it's completely irrational to love anybody.' So, I don't know… I just turned around, and kissed him. I didn't think about it. I just took his face, and… well, you know…"

Isabel thought he would be excited to hear this news. After all, he had been prone to little comments about Ferb and her, and it seemed to be something he supported. And he did look pleased by her news in as much that he smiled, but Isabel also saw something else to his expression—something restricted to his eyes that his smile didn't touch. It was a guarded look.

"Is that not a good thing?" she asked, feeling quite timid now. She let her hair fall over her shoulder, and he blew out a breath.

"I am uncertain," he said.

While this surprised her, she at least appreciated the honesty. "Well, what's the matter?"

Baljeetolus pursed his lips and looked down to his hands. He finished off the last of the hot bun, his bites being much larger than hers. "Are you positive you would like to delve into such a sensitive conversation?"

"A sensitive conversation?" Isabel repeated, her eyebrows lifting. That must mean she probably wouldn't like what he had to say. If she wouldn't like it, it meant he was probably going to caution her about developing a further relationship with Ferb. As much as she didn't want to go through the embarrassment of that, wouldn't it be kind of foolish to venture off on a deadly quest without listening to warnings, and at least considering them? Isabel didn't want anything bad to happen, especially not to Ferb. She had to know as much as she could. "Yes."

It was Baljeetolus' turn to look surprised, but she was pleased to see some sort of approval in his studying eyes. "Are you certain?"

She waved her hand at him in a go ahead gesture, and stretched her legs out in front of her, preparing to listen. He wasted no time.

"While I can appreciate the bond that you have developed, I am fearful that pursuing this now would not only be a distraction from the main objectives of our quest, but also set both of you up for extreme heartache in the not-too-distant future," he said plainly.

Isabel cringed. "Because it's so dangerous?" she barely managed to say. "Because one of us could die?"

"It is not that," he said, shaking his head. "If anything, I would say the immanent likelihood of our deaths would be all the more reason to ensure nothing remains unsaid between you."

"Yet you don't think it's a good idea?" She swallowed, but that ridiculous knot in her throat remained, so she croaked, "Why?"

"Well—" He paused, considering his words. She watched as he chewed his bottom lip, and then exhaled. "It is the—the logistics."

The logistics, Isabel pondered for the second time that day. She didn't understand what he meant by that, so she continued to stare at him. Baljeetolus was smart; he'd get the point that he needed to go on. Her eyes bored into him for ten more seconds.

"Okay!" he squeaked. "Okay, okay. Do not get mad at me, though—at least not until you let me explain."

What a way to start, Isabel thought. She lifted an eyebrow in expectation and waited.

"It is just…" His hand rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly, and she could tell he was questioning his decision to venture into such an uncomfortable topic. "It is just that you are a fairy. You are a fairy and he is a human, and as such you could never—"

"What?" Isabel snapped, her eyes widening at him indignantly. She felt an angry blush flash across her cheeks. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Just as I said," he stuttered nervously. "It will create many problems, and—"

"It doesn't matter!" Her voice was rising, and she worked to keep it under control, but Baljeetolus had hit a nerve. It was a nerve she didn't realize was so sensitive, though a nerve she couldn't deny had always been there. "It doesn't. That—that's never mattered!"

"Isabel, calm down," he said, and if he didn't sound so exasperated, she didn't think she would have. He was watching all the grass around them, which, though she was pleased to see wasn't dying at her outburst, was leaning in towards them in a wide circle, like her magic was drawing the blades, sucking them in her direction. She let out a breath, and they righted themselves, snapping back up to their natural position. When he saw that, he looked relieved.

"Listen to me," he continued. "I have read up on fairies quite extensively when I deduced that must be what Malifishmirtz was after." He paused. "Think about when this quest is over. Let us assume we emerge from our task unscathed. You must be reconsidering how you intend to spend your life in light of recent changes, I am sure, but there are still certain factors that you are not considering."

In a breath, Isabel understood.

"Maybe the Lady of the Lake won't turn me small again," she said quickly, her voice high with something close to panic. "Maybe she'll leave me like this—like a human. It's worked so far, right?"

He chewed his lip some more, but his expression shifted from mere awkwardness to a sort of dread. He looked like someone burdened with spreading the news of a death. When he spoke again, she could tell he was carefully weighing each word before it slowly found its way from his mouth.

"It is not the matter of size of which I was speaking," he said, his face a grimace. "Tell me, Isabel; how much do you know about your lifespan?"

Isabel blinked. She didn't know what to say, which Baljeetolus obviously took as an answer in itself. He heaved a heavy sigh, like he had been afraid that he'd end up having to explain.

"Fairies live for a very long time, Isabel," he said. His voice was low and even now. "They mature fairly quickly—about at the same rate as a human child—but once they reach a certain stage in their development at about two decades or so, their aging process significantly decelerates."

Isabel heard him, and yet she didn't. "What do you mean?" came out of her mouth because her brain was unwilling to connect the dots on its own. Baljeetolus met her eyes, and she saw what she was certain was an apology in the dark brown.

"It means you will live for a very long time," he stated. "Far longer than Ferb, or Phineas, or Bufavalous and I. You will live for a long time, and on the outside you will barely change." He hesitated, cringing at the emotions he saw from her. His hands were wringing each other. "You did know that, right?"

Isabel registered the question, but she was too muddled to give an answer. Her brain dragged her back to a conversation she'd once had with Ferb, about four years ago or so. Phineas and Candavere had come home unnerved that day, going crazy about how they'd overheard a conversation between Rogerick and the Shepherd Spy. That night, Isabel sat with Ferb by his windowsill and explained to him the differences between sprites and fairies. She remembered telling him something like this, something about fairies having long lifespans.

Baljeetolus silently stretched out his legs, leaving her to her thoughts. She wasn't sure if that was a kindness or not. She knew what he had just told her. She'd known it all along, in fact. But she had never before realized what it meant now—what it meant when she was a fairy.

When they defeated Malifishmirtz, all the sprites would regain their wings. The Lady of the Lake would more than likely insist Isabel return to her original form. It wasn't the first time Isabel had thought of that, but she also reckoned the Lady might reconsider if Isabel decided she liked being wingless and human-sized better.

She never thought she'd even consider that—choosing to be wingless forever. Not when she loved flying so much. But now, sitting here, Isabel realized she could never go back to the way it was before. An entire future stretched out before her—one where she could punch Phineas in the arm for being silly, or pull Ferb close to her when he was stupid enough to pull away, or wander into the brothers' backyard on an ordinary summer day and help them with their latest creation. She wanted that life.

It was about more than just Ferb; in these past few days, she'd fallen in love with what it would be to be a part of his family, completely and truly on equal ground—on equal footing. She didn't only want him, but also a life with everything else he loved: summer in the backyard, alchemy and creation, and Phineas.

But even if the Lady of the Lake agreed not to change her back to her old size, she couldn't have that life. If Baljeetolus were right, she'd stop aging physically in a year or two. It wasn't until now, when she realized how much she wanted to spend her life with Ferb—but more specifically, the way she wanted to live her life with Ferb, and what they should be to each other—that she realized how devastating this news was. She wouldn't age with the boys. She would be left behind.

"Oh god, I—Jeet, what do I do?" Her voice cracked, and she noticed for the first time the tears tumbling over her lashes and down her cheeks. "I mean, I want—I love him, and I—and Phineas, too. I don't want to—I don't—"

A hand fell on her shoulder, and her whimpers faltered. She had to blink through the wetness in her eyes as she looked over to her companion, but he was blurry no matter how many times she tied to clear the tears away. Her arm hurt, and realized it was her nails digging into her skin. She'd coiled up her legs while she was talking, and was now holding herself in a vice grip.

Then something unexpected happened. Baljeetolus wrapped his arm around to her other shoulder and pulled her closer, so she was resting against his side. She didn't resist, mostly because she was so surprised by his tender action.

As Isabel understood finally what Baljeetolus had said before about his own love life, she found herself leaning into him, trying to calm her cries. She didn't know much of anything about elves' lives or lore, and it was easy to forget in their day-to-day travels that Baljeetolus was different. Like her, he was a green weed amongst a field of yellow grain; they were both outsiders to the human world.

"So that's—that's the logistics, huh?" she stuttered.

"That is how the world operates." He turned to look straight ahead, and she felt the movement tug at the long strands of his hair under her cheek.

"So with Mishti…"

His hand gently squeezed her arm. His side-hug became stronger, and he said, "Some other time, Isabel."

"Alright." She didn't feel like arguing, and he deserved not to be argued with.

"Yes," he added as an afterthought. His voice was barely more than a whisper now, but she was close enough that it was loud. "Yes, it is just as you must think, but some other time."

"Right," she agreed again.

They sat like that for twenty seconds more, long enough for her tears to dry and for her to take the last bite of her hot bun, which had significantly cooled in her hands. Then she felt Baljeetolus go rigid, and he retracted his arm from around her. Once he was certain she wasn't leaning into him anymore, he stood, lifting his bow from the ground. She could see from his face that whatever crazy, tender moment she had experienced from him was over. Though the smile he gave her was genuine, there was something guarded in it once again, like he had pushed the bit of sentiment he'd stooped to back down inside of him. She wondered if all elves were so good at doing that.

Or maybe it wasn't elves who were good at that, but those who have experienced heartache—those who have experienced it, and chosen to try to move on. And if he could do it—he, whom Isabel realized was so shockingly like herself—then she could do it too. She could push aside her personal problems for the good of the quest, and those on it. She would do it to protect them from feeling the same anguish she did.

"Now that you have sustenance, we should not wait further," he said, and she almost wanted to laugh at how stiff he sounded, but she didn't. She didn't think she could laugh at him for much of anything anymore.

"Alright," she said again. She wiped her hands across her cheeks, smearing away the few tears that lingered on her skin, and stood too. "Lead the way."

This time, Isabel walked next to Baljeetolus instead of behind him, but the elf wasn't paying her any attention. He was looking all around them, his face perfectly smooth, and she wondered what thoughts were shooting through that brain of his. She let the silence carry, though. If he wanted to share, she figured he would. After a couple minutes of walking down the main road, he did just that.

"Something does not add up around here, and I am becoming increasingly concerned."

Isabel looked around, and knew he was right. "It's too peaceful."

"Exactly," he said, nodding his head. "Where are the men who work for Rogerick? Where are Malifishmirtz's enchanted beasts?"

"Well, Django and Jenny said Amias is clear," Isabel offered, but Baljeetolus looked far from satisfied by this. His eyes were still analyzing their surroundings.

"That still does not explain why," he said hotly. "Given your interaction with the younger Malifishmirtz brother in Kaigate, one would think he would be combing this town by now in search of you. His men practically destroyed Kaigate, and it was their home too. This town belongs to Rogerick just the same, and yet it seems untouched by him."

Isabel watched the elf, and something occurred to her. "You have a theory?"

"Oh, I have many theories," he exhaled. They had arrived at The Welding Wiz, and stopped just outside. "Let us hope this one does not pan out, yes?"

While Isabel didn't fully understand what Baljeetolus was implying, she didn't say anything. She stared up at the shop sign and saw the words, Weapons of game, weapons of fame. Passed through the Du Bois family for generations, carved in small letters under the name. She hadn't noticed them yesterday.

"Just remember, I'm Gertrude, okay?" she muttered as he pushed open the door. To her surprise, Baljeetolus let out a small laugh. She didn't see anyone behind the counter, so she called out, "Irv—"

Baljeetolus clapped his hand over her mouth, and as her eyes flashed indignantly to him, he lifted a finger to his mouth in a silencing gesture. Isabel tilted her head forward, her eyebrows furrowing in a way that said, what's the problem?

Baljeetolus turned a little red as he shrugged. Then he twirled his finger in a small circle, as if suggesting they look around.

As far as Isabel could see, it was just your run of the mill weapons shop. It was pristine. But she also trusted Baljeetolus, and knew he wouldn't be so wary for no reason. The elf was anxious and meek with his investigations, staying rooted to the spot and glancing around like he was afraid to get caught doing anything against the rules.

Isabel had no such qualms. To the owners of this shop, she was already dead, right? What should she care? She sucked in a breath to steel herself, and then marched straight to the back of the shop. The swinging entry gate to the area behind the counter was latched on the other side, so she pulled herself over the counter, where she landed as quiet as a feather. When she turned back around, Baljeetolus was gaping at her, his jaw slack, and she smiled. She was enjoying feeling brave these past two days.

She crossed to the gate for the back area and unlatched it, and it slowly slung forward. Since Baljeetolus was still staring, she rolled her eyes and motioned him forward. He gawked for a moment more before coming to his senses. He rushed forward, and together, slowly, they approached the doorway. Baljeetolus nodded once, and they peaked behind the curtain.

The back room was ginormous—far more so than one would assume based upon the building's front façade. There were five different worktables covered in curves and coils of metal and scraps of leather. There were two brick forges in the farthest corner blazing away, next to a large pair of bay doors like those used in barns, to provide circulation. Large crates found empty spaces pretty much everywhere else, sticking close to the walls, but stacked high, most likely filled with supplies.

But that wasn't all. Particular pieces of machines were scattered here and there—pieces that were quite numerous and disturbingly familiar. While Isabel and Baljeetolus were both stunned, she wasn't willing to stand around. She slipped through the curtain into the room, shaking off Baljeetolus' warning hand on her arm. She picked up one of the machine pieces from the floor.

Isabel stared down at the smooth, cylindrical object in her hands, at the perfectly round eyes and large grin. It was a very scary grin, teeth defined by dark, straight lines. It was a face that never changed. It was wrong.

"What are you doing back here?" came a voice, and Isabel's eyes snapped up to see a man walk from a side door she hadn't seen. Though the man was tall and looked strong, his glasses and blonde hair made it clear he must have been Albert, Irving's older brother. He began marching toward her. "You shouldn't be back here!"

Just as Albert was upon her, Baljeetolus was at her side, and Irving emerged from the other room with a large, metal hand in his arms.

"Baljeetolus? Gertrude?" Irving yelped at the same time Albert grabbed Isabel's wrist, sending the object in her hands to the floor. It rolled to the side—a vacant Gnorme head now staring at the wall. Baljeetolus sprang at Albert, his fists pounding on the man's chest, but Albert knocked the small elf to the ground with a shove. Meanwhile, Irving was yelling, "Wait! Wait!"

"How dare you!" Isabel screamed, either at the older brother, or the younger, or both. Her eyes stared in horror at the Gnorme body parts all over the forge, but she couldn't really see them over the sudden flood of furious sobs that were coming from her. "How dare—How—"

Baljeetolus tried to go for Albert again, who still had a firm grip on Isabel, but Irving jumped into the fray. While the younger blonde didn't look like he was trying to fight the elf, he was in the way, and Baljeetolus was willing to fight him. Isabel clawed at Albert, who tripped on Irving, who crashed into Baljeetolus, and they all stumbled into the nearest workbench.

Isabel couldn't see exactly what happened, as it was all so fast, but in her mind the procession of events was painfully slow. She saw an oil lamp from the table fly into the air. She heard Irving yell, "Coals!" Glass broke—then flames. So many flames jumping up from the ground, licking the straw from the floor and taking the scattered drops of oil. There was so much shrieking, so much of it her own, too much of it not, and there was the sound of pain—the high-pitched sound of a male in pain—but they were a tangle of limbs, and the fire was upon them all.

As Isabel fought to break free, she knew they would burn. Her leg was pinned and the flames licked up her calf. Her gut lurched, her veins pounded with power, and as a scream tore itself from her throat, a heavy sheet of white powder collapsed on them all.

The fire was gone. Albert, Irving, Baljeetolus, and Isabel all scattered, surrounded by a mounding, white layer of cold; Isabel bit back her sobs as The Welding Wiz was filled with snow.

For those who may be confused, the first segment is indeed a dream of Ferb's. All will be explored, all will be explained. Eventually.

For anyone who caught on to Baljeetolus' suspicious behavior two chapters ago while they were in the Welding Wiz, now you know why he was making so many observations; he deduced, clever elf that he is, that something fishy is going on at the DuBois' blacksmith shop. Their forge is scattered in Gnorme pieces, but are they really sinister, or is something else going on? What will happen now that Isabel used magic in front of them? And what will come of Ferb's strange dream?

Well, the good news is I know the answer to all of these questions! I'd love to hear what you think is happening/will happen.

Also, feel free to PM me anytime if you have any specific questions. If you leave questions in your review, I'm super good about getting back to you about them (so long as you're a user; otherwise, I have to respond to you in ANs, like I did with Hannah). Whatever you're comfortable with!

Wow, I really need to work on cutting down on what I say before/after. I'll be quiet now ^.^ See you soon!

~Lilly-Belle