A Little Place Called Home Chapter 25: Lucky Number Seven, a maximum ride fanfic

A/N: Hey guys! Finally, you get some answers!!! This chapter is kind of confusing, so read carefully and pay attention to who is talking. (Practically two thirds of this chapter is all in italics, so watch for the quotation marks so that you know it's the Voice.) I think this chapter sucks butt… but oh well. Sorry for the shortness.

RMF#20: I write almost entirely out of personal experience. And while I've never had wings grafted to my back, I have had best friends move away and never heard from again, fainted, fallen through glass, been burned, trekked miles just to get flour for cookies, been cornered by thugs, had friends run away from home, and was depressed when I was twelve. I even know someone who has NPD, (but not the reverse kind).

Disclaimer: Whatever.

Chapter Twenty-Four: Lucky Number Seven

Alright. Now will you tell me what NPD is?

"…Fine, then." The Voice paused for a moment and then continued in a scholarly sort of tone. "NPD stands for Narcissistic Personality Disorder. It is a mental disorder in which the inflicted person has a grandiose sense of self-importance, or an inflated ego, if you will. They often lack empathy, have a strong sense of entitlement, and are preoccupied with fantasies of unlimited success, power, etc. Simply put- they think they are the greatest thing that has ever touched the planet."

I thought for a moment, soaking in all the new information. I picked at a forming scab at on my arm, trying to fit what I'd just been told with sixteen years worth of knowledge about Fang. But- that doesn't sound like Fang at all.

"Well, Fang doesn't have NPD. He has Reverse NPD."

I sucked in a breath as my scab suddenly ripped. A miniscule drop of blood oozed out and the three Erasers sitting in the back whipped their heads around to face me, almost as though they could smell the blood. Maybe they could. What? You mean he hates himself? That would make sense, kind of at least. He had been depressed, and he never told me the real reason why.

"Don't make such quick assumptions, Maximum," The Voice instructed. "Fang doesn't hate himself. He's simply indifferent."

I don't get what you mean.

The Voice sighed softly, a quiet breath against my mind. "Fang doesn't think his life matters. He doesn't hate himself, but he doesn't love himself either. He just believes that he is utterly unimportant."

I immediently took up the defense. That's not true.

The Voice chuckled, sadly almost. "Think about it, Maximum. You consider Fang a logical person, yes?"

I peeled away the remnants of the scab. Yeah, I thought, grudgingly.

"Then where is the logic in his argument about you leaving? He was more concerned about the slight possibility of you getting hurt than he was about the huge possibility of his own death. Now tell me- what kind of logical person thinks that?"

Blood was slowly slipping my arm. The Erasers' eyes followed the trial hungrily. The Voice finally answered its own question. "A person who doesn't care about their life."

I still think you're wrong.

"Why doesn't Fang admit he's hurt then?"

Because he thinks he needs to hold up his rep.

"No. Because if he says he's hurt, then everyone will have to stop. And in his head, staying on schedule is more important than him getting fixed up."

If that's true, then why does he tell me when I bug him about it? I shot back.

"Because keeping you happy is more important than staying on schedule."

I shook my head stubbornly and rubbed the blood away with my shredded jacket sleeve. The bloodlust faded from the wolves' eyes and they turned away. The Voice groaned. "You still don't believe me, do you?"

Nope.

"I guess I'll have to prove it, then." The Voice was quiet for one blessed moment, thinking, I suppose. Then it asked, "What's the first thing you remember, Maximum?"

I was taken aback at the seemingly random question. The School, I guess.

"Think, Max. I can help you remember, but you're going to have to try harder than that."

I concentrated, working my way through years of bad memories, trying to find the earliest one. I suppose when I was almost three, and Iggy was moved to the room with Fang and I.

"But did you two always share that room?"

I started to reply yes, but then I recalled something I'd long forgotten about. No- Fang was moved in with me a few months before Iggy.

"Why do you think the whitecoats moved him to your room?"

I wrapped my fingers around one of the cool steel bars. The wolfie closest to me glanced at me suspiciously. Part of their stupid experiments, probably. Or maybe they were just running out of space.

"Hardly. The whitecoats hadn't planned on putting the Subjects together. They did so only because they had to."

And I suppose you want me to ask why they had to? I thought sarcastically. Getting beaten up, shoved in a cage, and being told that your best friend is insane are the kind of things that could put anyone in a bad mood.

"Yes," the Voice chuckled, rumbling against the back of my brain. "Fang had to get moved to your room because otherwise he might have killed himself at the tender age of two. And the whitecoats couldn't have one of their few successful experiments dying on them…"

The mention of suicide made my heart clench as I remembered something Fang had told me when he'd been depressed. I shoved the memory out of my mind. Are you going to tell me the full story or not?

"Very well." The was a long pause. I was just starting to get annoyed when the Voice carried on. "Almost seventeen years ago, the whitecoats finally accomplished what they'd been trying to do for a decade. They believed that they'd finally managed to produce a truly successful avian hybrid. That would be you, Maximum," the Voice added. "Pleased with their victory, they produced yet another, and then one more. Fang and Iggy. The whitecoats already knew from a former experience that keeping intelligent experiments near each other did turn out happy results, and so they planned to keep Subjects Six, Seven, and Eight separated."

I stopped the lecture. Wait- what former experience? And why are we six, seven, and eight?

The Voice was silent.

I rolled my eyes and slumped my back against the cage bars. Fine, fine. Go on.

The Voice continued with the story, after another long pause. "They did this for about two years before they realized that there was a problem with Subject Seven."

Fang? I whispered unnecessarily in my mind.

"Yes, Fang," the Voice clarified. "You see, Subjects Six and Eight were developing just like all the other toddler experiments before them. But Seven lacked a major quality. Self preservation. Subject Seven never fought back or objected to any commands. At first, the scientist were pleased- it made him a very cooperative guinea pig. But when it got to a point of practically suicide, when Seven would just stand still and let Erasers have at him, they realized that this was a problem."

I interrupted yet again. "So Fang had this Reverse NPD thing ever since he was two?"

The Voice sighed impatiently. "Again with the assumptions. No- he's had it since he was born. The whitecoats didn't notice until later because infants can't really show symptoms of a mental disorder seeing as to how they can't talk and just barely can move and consciously think. Are you done interrupting me?"

Maybe. I stuck my hands in my windbreaker pockets and was relieved to find that my bank card was still in there. Keep going.

"The whitecoats began running psyche tests on Subject Seven. Psychoanalyzing a toddler isn't the easiest thing to do, but by then the Reverse NPD had developed so far that it was obvious even at his young age. The whitecoats realized that if the disorder wasn't treated, Subject Seven would one day kill himself or let himself be killed. They started searching for ways to fix or at least suppress his problem. But nothing worked. But finally, one of the head whitecoats- Jeb Batchelder- came up with a solution."

I wanted desperately to make a comment, but I didn't want the Voice to get peeved with me again. It was, after all, my only companion at the moment.

"Jeb's idea was simple. Subject Seven always cooperated during experiments because having a set of instructions to follow through with briefly gave Seven's life a point, a meaning. So his idea was that if they gave Seven a lifelong mission to accomplish, his life would matter to himself and therefore he wouldn't have to be on suicide watch 24/7. The problem was that this 'mission' would have to be self-appointed by the Subject. If it was given to him by a whitecoat, he would eventually stop trying as he got older and developed more conscious thinking."

"The other whitecoats were skeptical, but they didn't have anything else to work with. And so, in one last ditch attempt to save Subject Seven's insanity, they moved him in with Subject Six."

I couldn't stop the question from bubbling up this time. What? That doesn't make sense. Why did they move Fang to my room?

"Jeb hoped that with the introduction of another Subject, Seven would take it upon himself to take care of the other Subject and therefore have a lifelong mission."

It took a moment for that to sink in, but when it did, it caused an explosive revelation.

"Get off her!"

"You're a lot more important to him than that."

"You have done more for me than you could possibly ever understand."

"You die when we die."

"A gift. Since I can't protect you anymore."

"So- sometimes I have to take care of you."

"Go back to Fang, Maximum. He needs you more than you can imagine."

"You'll be okay. I promise."

(A/N: In case of confusion, that was a flashback.)

Oh. My. God.

I'm Fang's 'mission'?!? I practically shouted in my head.

"Yes," the Voice answered calmly. "Not just you- the whitecoats moved Iggy and, later, the rest of the flock to reinforce the mission in case he failed in keeping you alive. But since they've gone away now and are safe… it's just you."

Holy crap. This must be what the Voice meant earlier when it said that Fang cared about me more than anyone else. And why Fang had wanted me to stay at his parent's house with him. And why Jeb had snarled at me to go back-

A thought suddenly struck me, and it wasn't good.

Oh god.

"What?"

Since I'm not with Fang right now… since I left… is he…?

The Voice sighed with exaggerated patience. "He hasn't killed himself. He's looking for you right now, therefore he has a mission, therefore his life has a point."

I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. Oh. Thank god.

"But, Maximum," the Voice added. "If you get badly hurt- or worse- before he finds you, then he will commit suicide."

Shit. But then I remembered something even worse. The reason why I'd left in the first place.

But… the drawing. If he finds me… won't I…? I couldn't say it. Not even in my head.

The Voice was quiet for a long time. I fiddled with my torn jeans anxiously as one of the Erasers watched me. Finally, the Voice murmured, "Yes, Maximum. He will die."

A/N again: In a narrative sense, nothing happened this chapter. But oh well. It had to be written. I know that this chapter was probably kind of confusing, so if you have any questions, feel free to ask. I won't be updating for a while because of finals and homework, so you guys will have to wait. Sorry! Meanwhile, review!