A/N: so, this is the end. It sure took a while to get here - exactly two years since when I started writing this. Had I known it would get so insanely long I probably wouldn't have even started. Good thing I didn't know, I guess, because this was so much fun to write.
Thanks to everyone who read/reviewed/faved/bookmarked this. Special thanks to Indochine for the amazingly thought-out reviews and the conversations and ideas that came out of them, and to VampireNaomi for giving me the push I needed to work on this (and generally for listening to my ramblings).

Alright, that's about it. On to the epilogue, and thanks again.

Dianthus, Cohdopia, 2019

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"Are we-"

"Quercus."

The boy sighed somewhat dramatically, but he stopped asking. He was bored, yes, but his mom was using her Scary Voice and he really didn't want to push her when she did. Oh no. He had ignored the warning once and it had been enough, thank you so very much. So in the end he just sat back and glanced out of the window as the car kept going. Not that there was much to see: there were hills on both sides, and since they were going up one right now he couldn't even see what lay ahead.

"I'm missing the new Steel Samurai episode," he whined. "Why couldn't I stay home alone? Just for once?"

His mother kept her eyes on the road. "Because you're five, that's why. Your father had work to do, your baby sitter is sick. Not my fault."

"I could have stayed with grandma! She makes the best pies and lets me watch TV all I want! She also got me a new set of crayons last month, and-" he trailed off when he realized that his mom's expression had darkened, her hands holding the steering wheel a little tighter. She was also pressing her lips together, which she only did when she was upset. Not the kind of upset when he didn't want to do his homework, either – the serious kind of upset. "Mom?" he called out, his voice small. "Are you okay?"

She seemed to recoil and, while she didn't look away from the road, she gave a small smile. But it was forced, and it faded almost right away.

"I'm fine, yes. But your grandmother needs... some time to rest, that's all."

Quercus' eyes widened. "Why? Is she sick?" he asked, alarmed. There was another kid in his school who had been away for a few days because of his grandmother; he had left saying she was sick, and had come back saying she was 'gone'. He didn't know where to, and no one had really explained it very well to him, but Quercus knew it meant she was never ever coming back ever. He didn't want that to happen to his grandma, too.

His mom, however, shook her head. "Not really, no. She just... lost a friend of hers."

"Lost?" Quercus repeated, his small face scrunching in confusion, and the word – lost – came out somewhat funny. His mom had told him that what he had was called a 'lisp' and that it would go away in time, but right now he didn't really care whether it was true or not. The notion of losing someone like a misplaced toy sounded really weird to him. "How do you lose people?"

"In many ways," was the elusive answer. "The point here is, your grandmother had a very bad week. She needs to rest. I promise we'll visit her as soon as I can get another break from work."

Reassured by the fact his grandma wasn't going to be 'gone', Quercus crossed his arms. "You still didn't tell me how you lose people!"

His mom chuckled, though it was a little forced. "Well, let me think... I could lose you by leaving you on the side of the road and driving off."

Quercus sniffed somewhat pretentiously. "You wouldn't do that."

"Oh, wouldn't I?"

"Nope."

"And what makes you think so?"

"It's illegal!"

"How would you know?"

"Dad told me!"

"Drat. I should hope your father never told you anything about underage labor, or else there go my plans to make you clean up the house while I'm away."

Quercus couldn't say he really got the joke – what did 'underage labor' mean? – but he could tell his mom was trying to joke with him, even if she didn't really feel like it. Maybe she had lost something too, he thought while he laughed a little along with her. Once the laugh died down there was silence for a few minutes. Not that it lasted too long, because Quercus didn't really like silence.

"Mom, where are we going? And why?" he finally asked. He knew she had to do something, which was why she had taken a day off from work, but she wouldn't tell him what it was. But it had to be important, because she rarely took days off from work.

She hesitated before speaking. "Grandma asked for me to bring something back to a certain place," she finally said. "It will make her feel better, you know. You want her to feel better, right?"

"Sure!"

She smiled a little. "So do I. It won't take much, I promise. We're almost there."

"But where's there?"

"Unless we got hopelessly lost and thus are doomed to wander aimlessly until the end of time, it should be right past this hill," was the reply. And she was right: only a few minutes later the car reached the top of the hill, and what lay beyond took away Quercus' breath for a moment. It was like a ghost town, he thought, like the one in his favorite Steel Samurai episode. He could see the remains of torn down buildings and what was left of a main road, something that must have been a train station once with some remains of rails still scattered around. Whatever happened there had happened a long time ago, though, because plants and grass were growing everywhere. A small construction was entirely covered by leaves.

"Wow. This is so cool!" Quercus exclaimed, but his enthusiasm was cut short as soon as his mother turned to look at him. She had stopped the car on top of the hill, gazing down at the ghost town in silence, and now there was a sudden coldness in her gaze.

"No, it isn't. Something very bad happened here. People were hurt. People..." she paused and looked back at the ruins below them. "It isn't 'cool', Quercus. This was no game. It was war," she said. Now she was using her Serious Voice, and it meant she was really serious. That was enough to make any remaining excitement vanish.

"Like the one that happened before I was born?" he asked, his voice small. His parents spoke very little of it, but their expressions any time it was mentioned told him clearly it hadn't been fun.

His mother sighed and nodded. "More or less like that, yes," she said, and started the engine again. "We have to cross the town, but we can't do it by car. The road is gone. We'll get down the hill and then go on foot," she added.

And that they did, though Quercus didn't really feel like getting out of the car when they had to. It didn't look so cool at all now that he had to walk through it: it was so still and silent, the only sound around them that of the wind through vegetation and torn down buildings, and the air felt so cold he shivered.

"Are there ghosts?" he asked, stepping closer to his mother... just in case.

That made her chuckle. It wasn't a really heartfelt chuckle, but she did sound like she meant it at least a little bit. "Ghosts? Of course not. There is no such thing," she said, reaching down to ruffle his hair.

Quercus was somewhat reassured by that. His mother was a stern and sometimes somewhat chilly presence in his life, but she had never ever told him a lie even to reassure him, so he could believe that – if she said ghosts didn't exist, then they didn't. So he breathed a little more easily and followed his mother through the town, until they reached the other end of it and his mother paused to look around. "There," she finally murmured, and Quercus followed her gaze to see a huge oak standing a little distance ahead on their left, in front of what looked like a heap of rubble covered by grass and leaves.

Quercus tried to imagine a house standing there, but he couldn't really manage. "What is there?"

His mother sighed and reached for something in her purse. "I need to leave... something there. Something that belonged to a friend. Come," she said, walking through grass and to the oak. Quercus followed, trying to ignore how the sudden wind sounded like a moan and the air got even chillier. Wasn't his mom cold? Didn't she feel it at all?

"Who's that friend? Is he the one grandma lost?" he asked, more to hear the sound of her voice than for any other reason.

"Yes. Yes, it was him."

"But how did she lose him? What happened? Where is he now?"

That made her pause for a moment, and when she spoke again her voice was quieter. "It's... complicated. I'll tell you all about him someday, but not now. When you're older."

Quercus would have usually complained about that answer – he hated being told to wait until he was older – but that time he didn't really feel like arguing: he could tell talking about him made his mom feel... odd. She wasn't really sad-sad, not the kind of sad where you feeling like crying, but the kind of sad adults felt, when they didn't cry or complain but didn't talk much, either. So he just nodded, and followed her.

When they got closer to the oak, Quercus had to tilt back his head to see it all. He stared at it in wonder for a few moments, forgetting all about the cold and the wind and how spooky that place was. It was the biggest tree he had ever seen, and he had seen a lot of trees. The trunk was massive and huge branches extended above them, covered in rustling leaves.

Upon a closer look it was clear it had been broken and partially burned at least once – he would have thought of lighting hadn't he just seen the state everything around them was into – but it was still majestic, standing taller than any other oak he had ever seen, leaves covering most of the damage.

His mother, who had been staring up at the oak just like him for a few moments, finally called out of him and startled him out of his wonder. "Just wait for me here. This will only take a minute," she said, pulling something out of her purse – it looked like a small pouch of black velvet with something inside, and then there was a tiny plastic shovel in a plastic bag – and stepping closer to the oak.

Quercus was a bit curious to ask what was inside the pouch, but he could tell it was something too personal for his mother to tell him about, so he just stayed silent and walked up to the ruins nearby as she began digging a small hole in the soil right beneath the tree. He squinted and tilted his head a bit, trying to guess the shape of whatever had once been there, or what was now left under thick vegetation. A small house, he decided – it couldn't have been too big. He wondered who had lived there once, and if they had escaped before the war could happen. What if they hadn't? What if-

A sudden movement in the corner of his eye caused him to turn, thinking his mother was done and back for him – then he froze when he saw her still where he had last seen her, crouching right beneath the oak. But something had moved, he was sure of it!

Quercus blinked and glanced around, but he could see no one. Goosebumps rose on his skin, and not just because of the wind, but he forced himself to breathe and calm down. There was nothing there, he told himself, nothing and no one. No people had any business there, and ghosts didn't exist because... because his mom said so, that was why. He was only being a big baby. Maybe the wind had just carried away some leaves and that was the movement he had seen. Yes, that had to be it. That was the best explanation. It was reasonable. He had an active imagination, that was all. Everyone said that.

Finally reassured, Quercus turned to look back at the ruins. How big had the explosion been to destroy the house like that? Had it been an explosion? Or had it burned to the ground? Maybe the whole town had burned, every building with everything in it, and the people who lived there... the people who lived there...

Somewhere in the distance, a little girl giggled.

Quercus winced and turned around, his heart beating somewhere in his throat, and again he caught a movement in the corner of his eye – the briefest glimpse of a white dress. But when he turned to look to his right it was gone, and no one was there. He opened his mouth to cry out – who's there? –- but his voice died in his throat. He could only stand there for a few moments, green eyes wide and mouth dry, then he closed his mouth and swallowed.

"Mom?" he called out somewhat shakily, his voice swallowed by the wind. His mother was standing upright again, but she clearly hadn't heard anything, for she was not looking away from the spot where she had buried something. Quercus could see she had put a rock right over the freshly dug soil and he could tell that she wanted to have a moment on her own, but he was too scared to hold back from calling out again. "Mom!"

She turned to him with a confused frown, which turned to worry as soon as she lay her eyes on him. "What's wrong?" she asked, immediately walking up to him. She crouched in front of him and put her hand on his forehead. "You're pale. Are you cold? What is it?"

For a moment Quercus almost, almost told her. But then he thought back of what he had told him about ghosts, how they didn't exist, and he paused. His mom wouldn't lie to him, he told himself, and his mom knew everything because... because she was his mom, and she was a grownup. She would know. So he wouldn't have seen a ghost, right? Right. He couldn't. It was just his 'active imagination' at work. And if he said he thought he had seen a ghost she would think that he thought she had lied, and he didn't want that. He didn't think she had lied.

So in the end he settled for the excuse she had just offered him. "I'm cold," he finally said, his voice a bit shaky. "And... and my head spins a little, too. I want to go home."

He was barely done speaking when she let go of him, took off her coat and put it around him. It occurred to him she was going to feel cold like that, but before he could protest she was holding him in a tight embrace. And that was surprising, it really was, because his mother rarely hugged anyone, even him. One time, when he was very very little, Quercus had asked his grandmother why didn't his mom like him. Other kids would say that their moms were sweet and hugged them and covered them with kisses when they did something well, and read them stories and sang songs while tucking them in bed – but he couldn't recall his own mother doing anything of the sort. It was his dad who did all of that, except singing because he was really bad at it.

Grandma had laughed softly at his worries. "Daphne loves your more than you'll ever know. She simply doesn't show in a way you can understand yet. You will see when you're older."

That 'when you're older' thing had annoyed him, as always, but now – even if he was only a year older than then and thus probably not older the way his grandma had meant – he thought he understood that a bit better. His surprise at the sudden embrace had barely the time to sink in before she pulled back, ruffled his hair and stood. "Let's go home," she said, every bit like her usual self. "Do you want me to carry you?"

Quercus quickly shook his head. "No! I'm all grown up! I don't need to be carried. And I don't need the coat," he added, taking it off his shoulders and handing it back to her. "I'm not cold anymore. I don't want you to get cold."

She blinked, then she gave him one of her rare wide smiles – those who felt even better than a prize after winning at something really really hard – and took back her coat. "Why, so chivalry is not dead yet. Color me surprised," she said before putting her coat back on and sobering up. "Let's get going. If you feel cold again just take the coat. A little wind won't kill me."

Quercus nodded and looked back at the oak, consciously avoiding to glance at the ruins again. His gaze fell on the rock she had put there, over the spot where she had buried... something, whatever it was. "Mom?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry I got you worried."

She sighed. "Well, you're my son. I supposed getting me worried is your job," she said, then held out her hand for him to take. "Let's go."

He nodded and stepped forward, reaching out to grab her hand.

What took you so long? You told me you'd be back soon!

Quercus pulled back his hand and whirled around, but – again – he could see no one: only the oak, the ruins and the grass. But he had heard a voice he was sure; it was faint and distant, so very distant, but it was a voice. It was the voice of a little girl. And then the wind picked up, and... was there another voice then? Quercus couldn't tell: one moment it sounded like a young man's voice, the next it was only rustling leaves. If it was a voice, if there really were words, he couldn't pick them up. Another gust of wind made him shiver, making the oak's leave rustle even more. Now it sounded different – it sounded like laughter.

Was there really someone laughing? Quercus strained his eyes, but he couldn't see anyone there. He was about to step closer – because he was not afraid, not anymore, if someone was there they were happy and laughing and thus he had no reason to be afraid – when his mother called out for him.

"Quercus?"

He ignored her and strained his ears to listen. Was someone speaking now? There was something, some kind of distant murmur, but he couldn't tell the words apart. Was it one voice or more? Were they even words? Was it just the wind? He couldn't tell.

"Quercus, we have to go."

"Not now!" he protested, almost desperate to find out what was it he was hearing. Had he turned to look at his mother, he would have seen her tilting her head on one side in honest confusion.

"First you wanted to go home, and now you don't want to leave? What's gotten into you? Am I supposed to guess? Because-"

"Let me listen," he cut her off, but there was nothing to listen anymore now – only the wind, and the sound of rustling leaves. Quercus stared up at the oak, as though hoping to see something among those leaves, but he could see nothing... as he could see no one anywhere around him. There was no one there, no one but him and his mother.

"Listen to what?"

Quercus winced when his mother spoke again: she had stepped closer to him, coming to stand by his side, and he hadn't even realized it. He craned his neck to look up at her; she was staring at him with a slight frown, clearly wondering what that was about. All of a sudden, Quercus felt rather stupid for even thinking he had heard voices in the wind. Didn't everyone always say he had an active imagination anyway? So that had been it – his imagination. Nothing more. There was no one there.

And his mom said ghosts didn't exist, so they didn't. It was simple as that.

"Nothing. I thought I heard something, but it was nothing," he finally said, and reached to take his mother's hand. "Let's go home. Please?"

She still seemed a little baffled, but didn't argue: she only gave one last, long look at the oak tree before finally nodding. "Yes. Let's go," was all she said, and they headed back the way they had come. Quercus walked close to her side, not turning back once.

"Mom?" he called out once they were finally in sight of their car, almost out of the ghost town.

"Yes?"

"Is grandma going to feel better now that you did what she asked?" he asked, looking up at her.

She smiled somewhat tiredly. "I'm sure she is, yes," she said. "How about we visit her again this weekend? I'm sure she could use some more company. That, and some help with her garden; I don't trust half the family as far as I can throw them when it comes to plants. We could work in it together for a bit. Would you like that?"

Quercus immediately lit up like a Christmas tree. He always liked it at grandma's house, where there was the garden and the old tree house to play in, plus all the sweets he wanted. He also liked helping his mother with the garden. She was a lot less stern when they were there, and almost never used her Scary Voice. "Sure!"

Soon enough they were back in the car, his mother driving them away from there and Quercus sitting on the passenger seat, the seat belt buckled, his attention taken by something funny they were saying on the radio. He was young and easily distracted, his mind already miles away from what he had heard, or thought he had heard, in the shade of the old oak tree.

He was not there to listen when the wind picked up again; then maybe he would have thought again that the rustling leaves sounded like voices at first, then laughter. Maybe he would have thought he could hear two voices, growing fainter and more distant with each passing moment.

But he was not there, no one was, and no one heard.

Then the wind fell, and the leaves stopped rustling.