Hello! Hello, hello everyone. I am SO sorry it took more than a month to get this to you. I have had a number of family emergencies, and, to be honest, my life has gone to hell right now. I usually write to cope, but there hasn't been any time, and I haven't been able to think. Everything is floating, suspended, and my family is just waiting for it to inevitably crash to the ground. Lots of hospital visits, lots of tears...
Again, sorry to leave you on such a cliff hanger. I hope to make that up to you with this super long chapter! (It's over 30 pages long!) Also, I think you'll be happy to know I've written the first 11 pages of next chapter, and the first 6 of the chapter after that, and the first 12 of the chapter two chapters after that! (I don't write things in sequential order... I also don't plan things out -.-' But they turn out like I did anyway). Thanks to everyone who has beared with me despite the wait!
Poor Ferb. Let's see what happens, hm? Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Phineas and Ferb.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX:
Aftermath
The world couldn't have been more silent. There were no more gargoyles. There was no more wind. Phineas wasn't even sure any of them were breathing; surely, surely the world had been destroyed. That was the only explanation that made sense.
But then Ferb coughed faintly, and there was even more blood. His brother was dying, but he wasn't dead. Dying, but not dead. Phineas refused to do nothing. He had to do something. He was the only one who could act, so he had to. He had to. It was time for a miracle.
"Jeet," Phineas snapped, "more pressure. Hold this down, here." He pushed against the bundle of cloth over his brother's wound with as much strength as he had, but he needed Baljeetolus to take over.
Baljeetolus didn't seem to hear him. The elf stared at the spot where Isabel lied, unmoving, five feet from them. Whether or not she was still alive was something Phineas couldn't think about, however. He knew Ferb was still alive at that very second, and that was all he knew.
"Jeet!" Phineas kicked the elf, unable to move his hands. Baljeetolus jumped, blinking at Phineas like he couldn't possibly imagine what he wanted. His expression seemed to say, but this is the end, isn't it?
Phineas couldn't afford to look at the elf a moment more.
"Ferb," he choked, lifting his brother's head. "Two minutes. You've got to give me two minutes."
Phineas took Baljeetolus' wrists and forced his hands over the bloodstained cloth. "Phineas?" Baljeetolus questioned, but Phineas was already running.
Every summer day, he performed the impossible with his brother in their backyard. They made incredible potions. They did more in a single hour than all constraints of time and logic should have allowed. Phineas and Ferb were the masters of making the impossible possible. If Phineas could just do it one more time, just once more, to save his brother's life…
He wouldn't cry. He couldn't afford to.
He tried to remember where he'd left it. Or, more accurately, where it had fallen. He had to find the pile of rubble—only there was a lot more debris now than there was before. The shattered remnants of gargoyles peppered the clearing in varying degrees of ruin.
Well, how was he supposed to find his satchel now?
Phineas couldn't let his feet falter, though. He had a stitch in his side and he wouldn't have thought he'd be able to maintain his stamina, but he continued to sprint anyway. If he stuck close to the line of trees, he knew he'd be able to find it. The only problem was when. He had to, had to hurry.
And then—yes! He found an area of trees and a particular pile of rubble that looked familiar. He fell to his knees and savagely tore through the assembly of stone. How much time had passed already? A minute? Seven? Too long.
Phineas' fingers brushed against cloth. The busted strap! He finally pulled it free, and his satchel was once again in his hands. He wanted to hug the small bag to his chest. He almost burst into tears right then and there. But instead he pushed himself to his feet, straight into another sprint.
As their unfortunate luck would have it, he could see his friends crowded on the other side of the clearing. He cut through the center. He wasn't sure which was more painful: the burning of his lungs or the fact that, even when he was moving his fastest, he was still entirely too slow.
Was Ferb even alive?
Baljeetolus had been watching his approach as he finally made it back.
"Phineas," he began, "what are you—"
"Ferb," Phineas cut him off. "Is he…?"
Phineas couldn't finish his question, so instead his hands roamed his brother's chest, then his neck, feeling for signs of life, but Phineas' own pulse was much too quick, and he wasn't thinking clearly enough to make sense of the body under his fingertips.
"He is still alive," Baljeetolus answered. "But Phineas…"
Phineas could easily tell what the elf hadn't been able to voice: that there was nothing to be done. It was too late, because his brother was beyond help. But Phineas refused to accept that, and the elf didn't yet know just how stubborn the redhead could be when he hardened his resolve.
Phineas dumped the contents of his satchel out. Poisonous green berries he'd never gotten rid of rolled everywhere, and one potion fell to the dirt. It was the last bit of anything Phineas had. He picked up the vial, its shimmery blue contents swishing back and forth. His fingers made the glass slick and red. Phineas was shaking so badly it took him four tugs to uncork it.
"What is that?" Bufavalous asked, speaking for the first time. "I thought you said you didn't have any potions left."
"None that could help fight gargoyles," Phineas clarified. His hands—his whole being—felt so unstable he was almost afraid he would drop the potion, or that it might slip from his wet fingers. No. Phineas would have none of that. He exhaled, and forced himself to be tranquil, all the way to his core. It was the only way. His brother needed him; and if Ferb needed him, Phineas would be there. He would not hesitate.
"Ferb," he commanded, cupping his brother's face. "Ferb, you need to drink this."
Ferb was nonresponsive—no noise or movement, not even a twitch. Alright. Phineas opened Ferb's mouth and poured almost half the potion in. He immediately clamped his hands over Ferb's lips, holding them closed. He held his whole jaw in place with his palms, applying enough pressure that Ferb would have no choice but to swallow.
"Come on," Phineas prompted under his breath. "Come on, Ferb."
Ferb spluttered, and suddenly he started flailing wildly as he choked down the liquid. It pained Phineas, seeing the agony on his brother's face, but he only strengthened his hold. He wouldn't let Ferb cough up a single drop.
Ferb went still again, and Phineas finally let his fingers slacken. Ferb's head lulled to the side, but that was the only response he gave. Baljeetolus was still holding a bundle of cloth against Ferb's chest, and—thank the Lady, Phineas could cry—he could actually see the elf's hands rise and fall as air worked through Ferb's lungs.
There was still some potion left, and Phineas' mind was whirring with what he could do with it.
"Move," he ordered, shoving Baljeetolus' hands aside. The elf scrambled back as Phineas took over. Phineas would apologize for his terseness later, but for now, he pulled the crumble of bloody cloth from Ferb's chest.
God, what he saw was almost enough to make him lose all hope and the contents of his stomach right then and there. The wound was so deep and so large Phineas couldn't fathom how Ferb had managed to hang on this long, let alone how a single potion would be enough to save him. But he couldn't believe it was irreparable. He had to have faith—in his brother and in himself.
Phineas poured a quarter of the potion directly into the gory puncture—and it was instant. There was a hissing sound, and smoke fizzled up from the wound. Ferb's whole body went rigid and a scream tore from his throat, loud and terrifyingly strangled. Phineas gripped Ferb's shoulders, trying to hold him as still as possible.
The sight of it struck a chord with Phineas, like déjà vu. How long ago was it that he'd done something like this to Isabel? It had marked the start of their quest: Ferb holding down Isabel when she was as small as a sprite, while Phineas had applied a homemade remedy to her poisoned wings. They had smoked and hissed, too.
"Phineas!" Baljeetolus gasped. "What—"
"Dark magic," Phineas answered. "Those spears must have been made from dark magic, like the gargoyles."
Even if it hadn't done something so damaging as piercing a lung, Phineas wondered if any wound from one of those spears would ever heal on its own. It wasn't likely, with dark magic. But it looked like his potion was combating the effects!
Ferb cried out in a new wave of anguish, and his back arched off the ground. His eyes snapped open, darting about wildly, and it was clear he was in incredible pain. It was horrible to see, but at the same time, at least it was a response, right?
"Ferb," Phineas repeated, still trying to hold him steady. "Ferb?"
Even when Phineas positioned himself in his brother's line of sight, Ferb didn't really seem to see him. His skin was suddenly feverishly hot under Phineas' fingertips. Was that because of his potion?
His potion—there was a quarter of the vial left, perhaps a swallow and a half. Should he pour the rest over the wound again?
"Make him drink it," Baljeetolus voiced. "His internal damage must be monumental."
Phineas nodded mutely before cradling the back of Ferb's head.
"Wait—" Bufavalous cut in, and Phineas froze. From behind him, Bufavalous finished, "Make him drink most of it, but save just a little more to pour on, alright?"
The image of Bufavalous taking such thorough and gentle care of Baljeetolus when he'd been burned filled Phineas' mind. He didn't question Bufavalous; he would unblinkingly do what he said.
"Ferb," he begged. "Please, can you hear me? I need you to drink the rest of this. Come on."
He put the vial to Ferb's lips. His brother had once again gone limp, and his eyes were pinched shut. He still gave no sign of hearing Phineas' request, let alone heading it. Phineas tilted the potion back, pouring almost all of the remainder into his mouth, save just a little to appease Bufavalous. He held his brother just like before while he coughed it down, but at least Ferb was no longer jerking violently.
Well, that was it. Phineas had done all he could possibly do. And he didn't think any of them could do anything else. Until he heard Bufavalous moving behind him.
Phineas turned, watching the brute as he stiffly approached Isabel. Phineas almost felt guilty for having forgotten about her. Her state of being hadn't crossed his mind when Ferb was in such critical condition, but he really hoped she was okay. He was honestly a little surprised that Bufavalous was trying to take care of her. Bufavalous had seemed too petrified to touch her a moment before.
But once Bufavalous reached Isabel, he did nothing to help her. Far from it. He nudged her with his foot. When she didn't move, he pushed the toe of his boot against her shoulder until she lifelessly rolled onto her back. From there, he went for her waist, and Phineas was really confused until the brute stood again. Isabel's dagger was in his hands.
As he walked back towards them, Bufavalous pulled something from his own belt and struck it against the blade. In an instant, the item in his hand was blazing. Jeet root, Phineas realized. Bufavalous gingerly held the blade in the flames.
"Clear me some room," he snapped. "It needs to be hot."
Phineas could only think, It needs to be hot? before Baljeetolus was already responding. The elf hurriedly brushed a clear area in the dirt. Then—and this was where Phineas officially decided he was completely lost—Baljeetolus pulled an arrow from his quiver. This arrow was different from the others. The staff was stained a rusty color and dried blood matted the feathers at the end, fraying the delicate fibers into chunks. It was the arrow from the cockatrice attack, and it probably would never fly straight again.
Phineas was still no closer to understanding as Baljeetolus broke the arrow twice over his knee and deposited the remains in the little clearing he'd made.
"My bow and my arrows are made from highly peculiar wood," Baljeetolus explained. "It is light in weight yet remains surprisingly dense."
"And it burns hot," Bufavalous added. He dropped the Jeet root on the pieces of the shaft, and after a moment they caught fire. He once again buried Isabel's dagger in the flames.
Their intend clicked, and Phineas' eyes widened. "Are you seriously going to—"
"You want him to bleed to death?" Bufavalous barked. "Just pour whatever's left of that potion directly on his wound right before we close it up. We need it clean."
Phineas blinked at them. The idea of… melting Ferb's injured skin back together scared him senseless. But no, no he definitely did not want Ferb to bleed to death. He forced himself to take three deep breaths. One. Two. Three. He licked his lips, focusing so his voice would come out even.
"I'll need help holding him down, Jeet."
Phineas almost lost his nerves as Baljeetolus kneeled on one of Ferb's arms. He held some of Ferb's shirt against his mouth—preparing to muffle Ferb's sounds, Phineas recognized. Seeing it made his blood run cold, but then Bufavalous was upon them.
Phineas quickly poured the last bit of potion onto the wound. It didn't smoke or fizzle this time—he had to think that was a good thing. And then Bufavalous was doing what he planned to do, and Phineas gripped his brother's arm and closed his eyes and gritted his teeth until it was over.
It was quick. It was also far, far too long.
Ferb lied motionless now. Phineas couldn't bring himself to look at his chest—so much, too much red—so he looked to his companions instead. Their faces were grim as they returned his gaze, but there was something new to their expressions. Disbelief. Hope.
"Well," Bufavalous exhaled. Isabel's dagger fell from his hand, and he ran a tired hand down his face. "Well," he repeated, "he's still breathing. Don't know how you pulled that off, Pointy, but he's still breathing."
Baljeetolus brought the cloth from Ferb's mouth and nearly collapsed in the dirt beside him. He collected himself for a moment before he once again met Phineas' eyes.
"What in the name of the Lady was in that potion?"
Phineas only shook his head. He couldn't explain, not yet. He wasn't calm enough to. His body was coming down from its high, and he was exhausted. But he knew his work wasn't done.
"Isabel," he sighed, running his hand down his face. He turned toward her. She was still lying in a heap on the ground, and she hadn't moved an inch. "We need to make sure she's okay. Byoof, can you bring her over here?"
Bufavalous didn't move, though. At Phineas' request, his eyes shot to the downed fairy. He was staring at Isabel like he had never seen anything so dangerous. Maybe he hadn't. But it was Isabel, and for all they knew, she could be seriously injured after what she'd pulled off. She could be dying. Since she hadn't moved, they needed to make sure she was still alive. Gosh, they didn't even know that much yet.
"Byoof!" Phineas repeated, smacking Bufavalous in the arm. His hand left a bloody mark across the brute's sleeve. "Go get her now!"
This seemed to jar Bufavalous back to himself. He pushed himself to his feet, and disappeared from Phineas' line of sight. A moment later, Bufavalous dumped—rather unceremoniously—Isabel right next to Ferb. Phineas thought he was being astonishingly harsh, even by the brute's standards, but he already turned his back to them, his arms crossed. His body language made it clear he wouldn't listen to a word about his behavior. And really, Phineas didn't have time for Bufavalous anyway.
"Isabel," Phineas said, taking the fairy and pulling her onto his lap. His fingers pressed to her wrist, then her neck. He couldn't feel a pulse. He couldn't feel a pulse. "Jeet!"
Baljeetolus immediately mimicked Phineas' actions, feeling along Isabel's wrist and her neck. The look he shot Phineas was nearly enough to kill him. The elf clearly hadn't detected any vital signs either. Panic!
Phineas had to check again, but nothing felt different, so he pressed his ear over her heart, hardly daring to breath himself. But then Baljeetolus was pulling him back, and Phineas could only watch as the elf's hands hovered by Isabel's mouth. What was he doing?
"Well… she is breathing," Baljeetolus stated. "I can feel the air—hardly any, mind you. It is barely detectable."
"But her pulse," Phineas countered. "Her pulse—"
"I could not locate it either, and I admittedly do not understand," Baljeetolus interrupted. "But she is a fairy, the only fairy to survive into adulthood in decades. I do not think anyone save the Lady of the Lake knows what happens when they undergo such drastic magical exertion."
"So… what? If she's breathing, then her pulse is so slow we simply couldn't feel it?"
Looking infinitely frustrated, Baljeetolus shrugged. "I do not know. I would presume she expulsed so much energy—" Bufavalous made a sound of derision, and Baljeetolus snapped, "If you are not going to be helpful, Bufavalous, you can go locate our cart. Now."
Bufavalous grumbled something under his breath, his back still turned to them, but he lumbered off. With him gone, Baljeetolus turned his full attention back to Isabel and continued where he'd left off.
"I would presume she expulsed so much energy with that storm that her body has slipped into some sort of magical coma, perhaps one so deep that we cannot feel any vital signs. Her breath is slow, impossibly so, but I do not know a thing about fairy magic. Perhaps shutting down to near death is how a fairy's body protects itself after such severe magical feats."
"What can we do, then?" Phineas asked. "I mean—we have to be able to do something! Is she going to be okay?"
Baljeetolus was watching Isabel carefully, and he was silent for a long minute. When he met Phineas' gaze again, the redhead was surprised to see his eyes were glossy with barely contained tears.
"Phineas," he said slowly, "I do not know."
It looked like admitting that was the most painful thing the elf could have ever done.
"Alright," Phineas said gently. "Okay, Jeet. Well, let's focus on what we do know, alright?" He hated to drop his next thought on the clearly distraught elf, but it needed to be said. "Malifishmirtz can track fairy magic, and the stronger the magic, the closer he can find us."
Baljeetolus stared. This clearly hadn't occurred to him. "We need to move."
Before Phineas could respond, Baljeetolus was taking action, calling out to Bufavalous. A moment later, the brute broke through the trees, alert and ready to fight, but Baljeetolus waved him off the offensive.
"We need to get moving," he stated. "Did you find our cart?"
"It's just through the trees," Bufavalous answered, gesturing behind him.
When Baljeetolus next spoke, his voice was much quieter, but Phineas could tell the elf was relaying his recent revelation, because the brute suddenly paled and looked, half stunned and half accusatory, at Isabel on the ground.
"We need to move," he declared gravely. "Now."
Phineas had no idea what that would look like with two injured people, but before he knew it, Bufavalous was scooping Ferb into his arms. He was being deceptively gentle, Phineas knew, but his breath hitched with worry all the same.
"I ain't getting her," he barked once his back was turned, and it took a few seconds for Phineas before his meaning kicked in. He wouldn't be helping Isabel. Phineas felt his insides flare with anger at his attitude—seriously, what was his problem?—but again, he wouldn't get into that now.
Bufavalous wouldn't help Isabel? Fine. Phineas wasn't in the mood for petulance or fear. He was in the mood to protect the ones he loved. He shook his arms in preparation, then scooped Isabel from the ground. He had to shuffle and shift once he was standing, so most of her weight was cradled against his chest. She wasn't actually all that heavy.
Swallowing down his indignation, Phineas carried Isabel, following Bufavalous closely as they wove around a pile of gargoyle rubble. He hadn't even traveled a minute before they were at their cart.
Man, they had been so close to being in the clear that it was criminal. Just a few more yards, and they would have made it, completely unscathed. Sure, it made things easier now when they had injured to carry, being this close, but it almost made Phineas wish they'd been caught further from their cart. As it was, their proximity was almost too cruel.
Bufavalous' eyebrows lifted in surprise when he saw Phineas following so closely with Isabel, but Phineas kept his face expressionless. He knew if he let himself give into an ounce of any negative emotion, he would unravel completely.
"You gonna' get her up there?" Bufavalous asked, tilting his head toward the back of the cart with a hint of challenge in his voice.
Phineas' arms were aching, but he rose to the challenge. "Of course."
It took all his strength to lift Isabel up enough to lie her in the back of the cart. He didn't even want to indicate to Bufavalous that he could need any help, so he climbed up onto the piles of hay and pulled Isabel's limp form farther back, until she was lying just behind the driver's bench. By the time he climbed back down, he was panting from the exertion.
From there, Bufavalous effortlessly deposited Ferb in the cart. Watching it, Phineas couldn't help but blurt out, "What's your problem?"
Phineas expected Bufavalous to get loud and huffy. He didn't expect Bufavalous to look away, to cringe.
"I don't like magic," he muttered quietly. "I already told you that."
"We have a bit of a problem," Baljeetolus cut them off. He was standing up by the horse. "Alis must have been spooked by the gargoyles. I do not know how, but his knee appears to have been injured."
"So what does that mean?" Phineas pressed forward, examining the horse—not that he knew what he was looking for. Even so, he could visibly see the horse's left knee was a little swollen. Maybe it jounced it against the tree. It was perfectly plausible, if one of those gargoyles had gotten too close.
"Aw, he should be fine," Bufavalous said as he took a closer look too. "Shouldn't add extra weight, though."
"So the rest of us are walking?" Phineas clarified. They wouldn't be moving very quickly, then.
"Well, we'll get by so long as Alis here can pull Ferb. Shrimpy's so shrimpy that I can carry him, but Green? We wouldn't make it far."
"So be it," Baljeetolus said. "That does not matter right now. We need to put distance between us and this place." He took the reigns from the driver's seat and pressed them into Bufavalous' hands. "We have no other choice."
Perrible knew any men of Rogerick's were up to no good, especially when they were roaming about his hometown. Danvillage was suspiciously quiet, but he could imagine the people weren't exactly at ease with the sudden military presence. What did it matter for Rogerick to be discrete, though, when his older brother was growing so powerful?
He could only hope his boys were alright, and that they would put an end to this soon.
Currently, Perrible was trailing a small group of men, clearly members of Rogerick's army. They weren't the largest or loudest group he'd encountered, but as he'd been sneaking along the rooftops of shops, he'd heard the faintest bit of their conversation—something about a 'damn redhead.' Of course that got Perrible's immediate attention.
As soon as Perrible had made it back to Danvillage, he'd made a stealthy visit to their family home. Given the information Phineas and Ferb had provided, he hadn't expected Lawrence and Lindavahle to be there, but he needed to be certain. When he found their home deserted with its front windows busted, he'd committed himself to finding them, wherever they were.
He was increasingly convinced following this particular bunch of scum was his best bet; they were making lewd comments about what they could do if they managed to catch one particularly precocious and troublesome maiden, who apparently had a big mouth and an even bigger attitude. In other words, these men had previously had a run-in with Candavere.
"Oi!" One man shouted, and he suddenly took off. Jumping from one rooftop to another, Perrible followed closely behind—until the man crossed the street and ran down an alleyway. Then Perrible had to jump down and follow from the ground, which put him unfortunately behind the man on the move, but in front of the rest of his gang. They would inevitably notice his pursuit.
What had this man seen? The thug burst through the end of the alley, Perrible only a few feet behind him, when he got his answer with a mighty bonnggg. The man suddenly took a frying pan to the face, and he fell backwards. He groaned, starting to sit back up, when a shadowed form took something from their hip—a potion vial. They uncorked it and threw it on the man, who instantly turned into a squirrel.
Perrible stared on in disbelief, first at the rodent suddenly in front of him, then up to the woman, who was huffing from exertion. She had a pan clutched in her right hand, and her left hovered over her hip, where hung the strangest belt Perrible had ever seen. It was almost normal, just simple brown leather, but there were small slits that must have been cut all along its length. From these holes hung countless potions, of all different colors.
Candavere was packing a magical arsenal of unprecedented proportions.
"Perrible?" Candavere gasped, seeing him now for the first time. Perrible could only stare up at her. Even if he could talk, he wouldn't have known what to say. It was obvious she was prepared to fight, and that she had been for who knew how long. "Perrible," she repeated, blinking in shock. "Perrible, what are you doing here?"
Perrible let out a pointless gurgle; unlike the boys, Candavere couldn't intuit any of his meaning. He was still stunned by this most recent revelation. Then the rest of the goon's troop rounded the corner.
There had only been four of them initially—three once the one in charge took off without the others. But apparently more had joined in, sensing there may be a prize in their hunt, because now there were at least ten men on their trail.
Perrible lifted his fists in front of him, clenching and unclenching his muscles. He felt a warmth building in his throat, keeping his fire at the ready. He would fight to protect any innocent, but nobody messed with his family.
"Heads up!" Candavere bellowed, and suddenly a vial shattered on the ground, halfway between them and the thugs. It instantly exploded in a monstrous, smoky cloud. It engulfed the entire alley and some of the street beyond, completely obscuring everything and causing the men to choke, splutter, and cough.
Perrible himself was having trouble breathing in the putrid air—did it smell like grapes?—but suddenly a hand found his arm. He felt himself lifted from the ground, but he didn't protest; the hands that were holding him were soft and warm, and familiar. Candavere raced from the alley, down the street, bobbing and weaving as she left the others behind.
"They won't be able to function," she told him as she ran. "That smoke—they'll be so disoriented and have so much trouble breathing they won't be able to move until it goes away."
Perrible let out something between a gurgle, a cough, and a sneeze. His eyes were burning.
"Yeah, sorry," she said, still not slowing down. "After the boys spent so long making these things in our backyard, I guess I'm kind of used to the effects. It still burns, of course, but it stopped shutting me down years ago. It didn't occur to me that it would bother you."
She finally slowed, and when he tapped her arm for release, she put him back on the ground. His lungs burned, but he was a fire-breathing dragonpus, and that had its advantages. He turned away from Candavere and blew flames from his lungs, clearing it of that wretched substance.
"Why are you here?" Candavere asked. "Why aren't you with the boys?"
First thing was first; they needed to return to wherever the others were. If Perrible had to write everything out, he could at least do it with the others present. It was too much to go over multiple times. He pantomimed writing a list, then shrugged. Thankfully, Candavere appeared to get the message.
"Alright, fine," she conceded. "It'll probably have to wait." She started moving again, but Perrible easily kept pace with her now that he could breathe again.
He gestured up at her belt, silently inquiring. Candavere lifted her arms, glancing down at the potions that hung there.
"Uh, yeah. We're staying at a house a little outside of town, but we still need food and stuff. Jeremiad's there taking care of Amana and my parents, so I'm making the runs for what we need."
Perrible raised his eyebrow; they were all letting Candavere be the fighter? Candavere didn't notice his incredulity, though, because the continued.
"I was the only one who knew what the boys' potions did, so when we started getting trouble, I gathered them up. As annoying as they may be, they're still a good defense, you know?" She gestured to the left hip. "I've got potions that turn things into smaller, harmless things—" She gestured to her right hip, "and I've got assorted fruity smoke screens on this side."
Well, that explained the squirrel. And the smoky grape smell. Who knew Candavere would prove to be so adept at transforming her brothers' summer triflings into workable weapons.
"Phineas and Ferb developed fail-safes in their potions a long time ago, after I got stuck breathing fire for a month. The transformations only last around a day, two at most. Still, they're good for a quick getaway."
Perrible nodded his approval. He was genuinely impressed. Heck, if the G.W.C.A. didn't have a strict animal-only rule, he'd already be filling out her application. He motioned to her hand, where her kitchen-tool-turned-weapon was still perched at the ready.
"Anyone who comes after my family's gonna' get busted!" Candavere answered determinedly, swinging her frying pan in front of her as if to prove her point. "They come around here causing trouble, and they're going down! Down, down, down!"
Perrible believed her. He let out a little gurgle of a chuckle at her resolve. He'd seen it many times through the years, though it was usually directed at getting Phineas and Ferb into trouble. Although Perrible had never much condoned it, he was impressed she could so easily turn that resolve in defense of her brothers.
They were on the outskirts of Danvillage now, where there was just a sprinkling of houses and farms. With no one else around them, Candavere kept glancing at him curiously. She obviously had something on her mind. He stared up at her, silently inviting her to ask away.
"I'm not sure if I should be asking about this…" she began hesitantly. "It's supposed to be super top-secret."
Perrible tipped his hat at her pointedly; he was a super top-secret knight. This seemed to placate her, because she nodded slowly.
"I was just wondering… if you know about the fairy?"
Perrible blinked up at her in surprise. Was she asking because she was simply curious, or did she already know about Isabel?
"I mean, I already know the boys have been traveling with her," she said, answering his question, which was impressive considering his inability to communicate it. "I know that's a big reason why they left on this quest in the first place. I just… I don't know. I was wondering if you knew about it, too?"
Perrible nodded, then pretended to write again, giving her his same response as earlier: that it would have to wait. But Candavere was shaking her head.
"This is going to sound kind of bad…" she said slowly, "but I want to control how much we let Mom know."
Perrible raised his eyebrow again. Lindavahle? Why couldn't she know what Candavere did?
"You'll see," Candavere said darkly. "Mom's been a little… distraught. Being a mom myself, I can't really blame her, but… Well, I suppose you'll see."
And Perrible did indeed see, later, when they arrived at their destination. It turned out the Flynn-Fletchers, along with Candavere, Jeremiad, and Amana, were staying at none other than Stacehilda's house. She had been Candavere's best friend since they were small children, and she lived a ways out of the way, so Perrible supposed it made perfect sense.
Candavere and he were met at the door by Stacehilda, who immediately threw her arms around Candavere. The other girl's long black hair was pulled messily atop her head, and it was clear she had been in a state of worry.
"How's Mom?" Candavere asked, without letting her friend go.
Stacehilda sighed. "No real difference," she admitted. Perrible could tell from her voice that she was tired. They had probably been living in constant anxiety.
"Well, don't tell her I'm home yet," Candavere said, finally pulling back. "I want to hear whatever Perrible has to say, first."
At his name, Stacehilda started. She hadn't seen him before, and now she took in his presence behind Candavere's leg with surprise. Perrible tried to remember if Stacehilda was aware of his duo-identity as Sir P. He was certain she must have, with how much she and Candavere talked. He lifted his hat in polite greeting.
"Um, right…" Stacehilda said, scratching her head. "Of course. Um. Come right in… Perrible." She moved out of the way and swept her hands to the side, welcoming them. Her confused look was gone. Perrible figured she'd probably had plenty of experience with weirdness, after growing up with such personal ties to the Flynn-Fletchers. His family was quite extraordinary.
Candavere led him into the modest home, definitely not quite large enough for all the people it now supported. She found some parchment and a quill, and gave them both to him. He didn't need to look at her to know how desperate she was for an update. He began to write.
How much to disclose? In case she didn't already know, Perrible wrote about Malifishmirtz's determination to find the sprite camps, so he could steal their magic and increase his power. He wrote about how Malifishmirtz was using that hunt to find his true goal: a fairy that had somehow escaped death. A fairy's magic would increase his own exponentially. He wrote about how that fog from so long ago was aimed at killing sprites, sucking the magic from their wings into the air, and how meatlings were roaming about to absorb the power and bring it back to Malifishmirtz.
"I want to know more about the boys," Candavere said, desperation ill-concealed in her voice. "I mean, I know all this stuff's important, but…"
Perrible motioned that he understood. He dipped the quill in the ink again and put it back to the parchment. This time, he wrote about how Malifishmirtz seemed to be using some sort of tracking spell, which was what gave Perrible an idea of where to find the boys. Apparently the spell worked by tracking large expulsions of fairy magic, and the stronger the magic, the more precisely their location could be determined. He wrote about finding and fighting the Gnormes with the boys. They had the fairy with them, and two other traveling companions, who were experienced warriors, and would keep the boys safe. He wrote about how they looked fine, perfectly fine.
He didn't mention that Ferb had somehow dreamed, with exact accuracy, what had transpired between Perrible and Malifishmirtz. He knew Candavere would be worried enough without having to wonder, like he did, what was happening to Ferb. He knew the kid couldn't be going crazy, but that didn't mean nothing else sinister wasn't going on. He'd never heard of prophetic humans—such skills were limited to nymphs. Auracle nymphs, specifically.
Unfortunately and frustratingly, he didn't know much beyond that. He could sense Candavere's frustration with it too, as she snapped, "That's it?"
Perrible hung his head. Then he wrote that he had planned on traveling with the boys, but that they had convinced him they needed his support more here. He pointed out the destruction dealt to their family home; clearly they needed it. Even with Candavere being so astoundingly brilliant in fighting Rogerick's men, Perrible knew the boys had been right; he couldn't leave Candavere to defend all the others on her own.
He put the quill down, indicating he was completely finished. That was when Lindavahle walked into the room, an empty mug in her hands.
"Mom!" Candavere yelped, standing up in attention.
Perrible didn't understand the concern in Candavere's voice until he got his first good look at Lindavahle. The older woman was pale, except for her nose, which was bright red. Her eyes were incredibly swollen, and had dark bags underneath. It was instantly clear that she hadn't been sleeping well, and all the time she didn't spend sleeping, she spent crying.
Perrible hopped down from the counter where he'd been writing and walked right up to Lindavahle. Her eyes followed him dazedly until he took ahold of her skirt and let out a comforting gurgle. Then, as if realizing for the first time that he was actually there, Lindavahle suddenly scooped him from the ground into a fierce embrace. She hugged his stomach to her face, breathing in his fur, and started sobbing uncontrollably.
Perrible glanced back at Candavere; this most certainly had not been his intent. He didn't want her to start crying! Candavere only smiled at him sadly, taking the mug that was still clutched in one of Lindavahle's hands.
"I'll make you some more tea, Mom," she promised quietly. "Why don't you go sit down."
Ferb woke up in the worst pain of his life. He felt like an elephant was sitting on his chest, like he was breathing magma, like he was dying. What was going on?
He had to take things one observation at a time. It was sunny, so sunny his eyes stung. His body itched; he was lying on a pile of hay. He didn't have a shirt on. He felt movement, so he must be in the back of the cart. His legs were dangling off the end, at his knees. He decided to move his fingers first. They were stiff, and as he did, flakes of something dark fell from his skin. He slowly lifted his hands in front of his face. They were covered in dried blood.
"Ferb?" It was Phineas' voice. But it didn't sound like Phineas. His brother never sounded… fragile.
Hearing it made Ferb so uneasy, so protective he pushed himself into a sitting position—but oh, oh god, that hurt. Ferb's hand shot to his sternum, and he forced himself to breathe, but by the Lady, that only seemed to make it worse! It shouldn't hurt so much to breathe.
Ferb didn't notice at first that the cart had stopped moving, because the entire world felt like it was tipping one way, then the next. He didn't realize he was staring into his brother's face until the fourth time he blinked—and Phineas, Phineas was in front of him, reaching out to him like he couldn't believe Ferb was there. Why was his brother crying?
But then Ferb remembered. He remembered running through the woods, and fighting gargoyles in the clearing. He remembered pulling that spear out of the ground, pushing Isabel out of the way. And then he—he should be dead. But that wasn't all Ferb remembered. There was something else, too. Vague flashes. Lightning. Isabel in the sky, glowing white eyes, thunder.
It was too much. Ferb reached for his brother, fumbling before he managed to take Phineas' shoulder. He needed the support just then, more than anything.
"We thought you were dead," Bufavalous said somberly. Since when had he been here? And Baljeetolus, too, standing just next to him? Ferb hadn't noticed them. They weren't crying like Phineas was, but they looked just as tired.
Ferb thought he should say something. Well, I'm not dead. Or perhaps How on earth am I not dead? But if it hurt this much to breathe, he couldn't imagine how much it would hurt to speak. He looked at his brother imploringly. That was when Phineas' silent tears turned into full sobs, and his little brother fell apart right in front of his eyes.
Before Ferb really knew what was happening, Phineas threw himself over his legs. His hands clutched the fabric at Ferb's waist, like he was afraid Ferb might disappear if he didn't hold on. He buried his face in Ferb's hip and his sobs grew louder, wild and desperate.
Phineas, he wanted to say, but even if he could physically speak, his astonishment would have halted his tongue anyway. He didn't know what to do. He'd never seen his brother so uncontrolled, beyond consolation. He forced a deep breath despite the ache of it and put his hand on Phineas' head. His flaming hair was as shaggy as always, and moving it away from his warm forehead was the only thing Ferb knew to soothe him.
"I t-thought you were going to d-die!" Phineas choked out. He was shaking so violently it was almost painful for Ferb. He had never seen Phineas like this. It was devastating.
Ferb took Phineas' shoulder, trying to lift him from his lap, but Phineas held on fiercely, and it didn't take long before Ferb gave up. Instead, he swallowed, gathering his resolve before he forced out, "Phineas?"
The pain was exquisite, every bit as horrible as he had feared, but Phineas went rigid, and sat up so quickly Ferb had to bite back any response to the agony. It was clear he couldn't let his brother see it. Phineas' face was bright red from crying so hard. He sniffed, but it was pointless because his nose kept running anyway.
"You're okay," Phineas sobbed. It wasn't meant as a question, but it sounded like one. "I thought you were going to die, F-Ferb." His voice broke. "I t-thought—I thought…"
Phineas moved to throw his arms around Ferb, and he gritted his teeth in preparation for impact, but thankfully, at the last second, Bufavalous took Phineas' shoulder and pulled him back.
"Yeah, but he ain't," the brute said.
"And that is because of you, Phineas," Baljeetolus added. He put a soothing hand on Phineas' arm. "Please calm down. It is alright."
Phineas looked to the ground. His lower lip was quivering in such a heartbreaking way that Ferb thought even he was in danger of shedding a tear. That was when Ferb knew he could no longer do nothing. He steeled himself and inched off the edge of the cart. The movement was difficult, but not impossible.
He forced himself onto his feet—and he staggered almost immediately. His legs had never felt so weak, and he would have fallen if Bufavalous hadn't rushed to hold him up.
"Ferb!" Baljeetolus reprimanded. "You most definitely should not—"
Ferb waved the elf aside and pushed himself away from Bufavalous' support. He stumbled up to Phineas, because some things were more important than pain. He hardly allowed himself to feel it as he pulled his little brother into a hug.
"Ferb?" Phineas breathed, his cries hitching in surprise. His shoulders trembled under Ferb's arms, but he returned the embrace. Ferb quickly found he didn't have the strength to hold himself up, but somehow or another, Phineas did. He managed to support most of Ferb's weight as he drenched the collar of Ferb's tunic with tears.
"I thought I was going to lose you," Phineas whispered.
Ferb gently squeezed his brother's forearm: I'm right here.
"You must think I'm falling apart," Phineas sniffed with something close to a laugh. "Honest to goodness, I held myself together, F-Ferb. It wasn't until I saw you lift your hands that I—that I…"
"Yes, you should have seen him," Baljeetolus said kindly. The elf started peeling Ferb from his little brother. He must have been able to tell that neither were fully equipped to handle Ferb's weight for too long. An instant later, Bufavalous was wrapping Ferb's arms around his shoulder, while his other hand held onto his pants at his hip, helping to keep him up.
"Yeah," the brute chimed in. "Pointy here saved your life, that's for damn sure."
Phineas was still crying, but at least he wasn't sobbing now. He frantically wiped at his face, and despite all the tears, he'd gone a little red.
"I didn't do much. It was the potion, really, that—"
"To be perfectly honest," Baljeetolus said, staring Ferb solemnly in the eyes, "if it were not for Phineas' hope and determination, you most certainly would not have survived your ordeal."
"And he was right about not wimping out," Bufavalous jumped back in. "Tough as nails the whole way through, not a tear shed. Pointy was telling us what to do, and kicking us in the ass if we were starting to wimp out too much to do it."
"Guys…" Phineas said, rubbing the back of his neck. He was even redder than before. "I just… I just couldn't let you die, Ferb. You all make it sound like—"
"Just shut up!" Bufavalous said, reaching over and slapping Phineas on the back. "Not another word, you hear me? You're making us look bad."
Phineas turned impossibly redder, so much so his face almost matched his hair. Silently, he nodded. His cheeks were still wet, but he managed a shy smile.
Truth be told, Ferb could use a few more words. He still had no idea what happened. Thankfully, Baljeetolus began to explain.
"You were in quite a bit of trouble. Taking a spear to any part of your chest is fatal, and your lung had been pierced. It is a wonder in itself that you managed to survive in such a state for the few minutes you did before Phineas was able to help."
"Ferb's always been stubborn," Phineas sniffled, rubbing at his eyes.
"We were uncertain how you would fare," Baljeetolus continued. "You have been unconscious for a day. We are nearly to Portem."
From there, Baljeetolus explained what happened: how Phineas had retrieved his satchel, which had apparently contained a miracle potion that saved his life. At this, Ferb stared at Phineas. His brother always seemed to have all the answers growing up, but this seemed too incredible to be true. How had Phineas managed to make such a thing?
"It was magic," Phineas said, "and a bit of dumb luck. Remember those poisonous green berries I plucked when we were at Lake Avalos? Well, I wrapped them up in these blue leaves before I left. When we were at the Fletcher's I realized the leaves had healing properties.
"The burn salve was probably made with the blue leaves as a base component. That element we had back home, the shimmery one we used to make the paste when Isabel's wings were poisoned by Malifishmirtz's fog, must have derived from them some way or another, too. I gathered what leaves I had in my satchel and turned them into a highly concentrated potion. To be honest, I wasn't positive it would work."
So that was what had Phineas so preoccupied when they were at the Fletchers. And Ferb realized what he was saying made perfect sense. When they'd first been attacked by Southern, Phineas had smashed a vial on the ground and sliced his hand up something fierce. After he'd plucked the berries—subsequently handling the blue leaves, holding them in his injured hand—he'd been healed. He remembered Isabel and him ogling the shockingly unmarred skin on Phineas' palm, baffled at how his injury had disappeared.
Ferb held up his hand, looking at Phineas significantly to indicate he'd made the connection. Phineas grinned and nodded.
"Yeah, I realized that, too, though not after a while, I'll admit. If it weren't for Isabel mentioning that the salve worked like magic—"
Isabel. Her name settled heavily and coldly over all of them, like a drenched blanket. It was instantly suffocating. Ferb felt his insides seize up. Isabel? What happened to Isabel?
"She's okay," Phineas said quickly, reading the change on Ferb's face.
"She sure as hell ain't!" Bufavalous huffed. Phineas and Baljeetolus blanched incredulously at Bufavalous' bluntness, but the brute was clearly not going to beat around the bush on this issue. Ferb found himself shuffling in a circle as Bufavalous helped him turn around, so he once again faced the cart. Isabel was curled up in the back, lying parallel to the driver's bench. She was so incredibly pale.
"She hasn't moved a bit since I laid her there," Phineas muttered.
"Do you know what happened?" Baljeetolus asked. "You were incapacitated at the time."
Ferb tilted his hand back and forth in a somewhat gesture. He remembered wind, lots of wind. He remembered Isabel sobbing, and he remembered looking at her and seeing glowing, fiery white eyes staring blankly back.
"She defeated all the gargoyles," Phineas said. "In one blow—bam! All of them were destroyed, blasted to dust."
"You make it sound so damn heroic," Bufavalous grumbled. He raised his voice, addressing Phineas as he said, "Girlie wasn't trying to save us. She thought Green here was dead, and her magic exploded out of her. If you think there was a single ounce of control in what she did, then you're dead wrong."
Ferb didn't understand where all this hostility was coming from. Bufavalous was simply oozing it since Isabel's name was brought up. He couldn't respond to it, though, because he was too astonished watching Phineas' hands close into angry fists at his sides. His face almost matched his flaming hair, though Ferb would wager it wasn't out of embarrassment this time. He got the feeling this wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation since he'd passed out.
Suddenly Baljeetolus was stepping between the two.
"There are probably dozens of enemies on their way to this general location. Could we please defer the petulance to later and save our lives now? We need to put distance behind us, gentleman, not squabble."
Phineas stared down at his feet and let out a long breath. When he was done, he met Ferb's eyes again and managed to smile.
"Do you need help getting back in the cart?"
Ferb looked down to his legs, which were so, so stiff. Then he looked to Bufavalous, who had such a sturdy hold on him. He shook his head, and gestured to the ground in front of him.
"You wish to walk?" Baljeetolus spluttered. "Ferb, it defies all probability that you are even alive! You do not have to—arguably you should not even—"
"You think you can?" Phineas asked Ferb, jumping in.
Ferb smirked at his brother. He gestured toward Bufavalous, indicating he'd need help, then nodded; I want to try.
Phineas let out a little laugh. "Of course you do. It sounds impossible, but that's how we do things, right?"
Ferb nodded again, and before he knew it, Phineas ducked under his other arm, helping Bufavalous with his weight. Leaning on them, Ferb took his first painful steps of many.
"What if I am partially to blame?" Lindavahle sighed for the fourth time Perrible had witnessed in an hour.
He, Candavere, and Lindavahle had all reconvened at a table after the younger Flynn-Fletcher made some tea. Since then, Perrible had witnessed a virtually inconsolable Lindavahle. She seemed hell-bent to believe one heartbreaking thing: that she was somehow or another the reason the boys up and vanished.
"I practically shoved them into the clutches of evil," she lamented. "Maybe if I didn't push the boys so hard to get married…"
"Seriously, Mom?" Candavere cut in. "You think the boys would decide to go on a giant death quest because you wanted them to get married?"
Candavere's tone was light, but Lindavahle suddenly burst into tears.
"The last time I s-saw Ferb, he barricaded himself in his room for an entire d-day! He wouldn't even speak to me!" She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and began furiously wiping at her nose. "Maybe if I h-hadn't brought that girl over… He was so—so mad!"
It was clear Candavere was uncomfortable; she hadn't wanted her mother to start crying again. She stood and crossed to the other side of the table, taking the seat beside the distraught woman.
"Mom, them being gone isn't your fault," she said gently. She pulled out a handkerchief of her own and blotted Lindavahle's eyes. "They're gone because you raised two wonderfully brilliant boys, boys who are capable, and who would never turn their backs on people that needed them. That's why they're gone. They're the only ones who can do this."
"I don't see why," Lindavahle sniffed. "They're my babies." She laughed, raising her hand to her daughter's cheek. "And look at you. You're grown as can be. You're even mothering me. But you're still my baby too, and that won't ever change. Phineas and Ferb are so young. There are plenty of soldiers—actual soldiers—who could do this. But not Phineas and Ferb. Not my sons."
"On the assumption that you won't ground a perfectly grown up woman for talking back," Candavere began, "you're wrong, Mom. My brothers really were the only ones for this job. You're right about this quest: it seems impossible. But if there's one thing I know, it's that my brothers are ridiculously, annoyingly good at doing the impossible."
"Do you really believe that?" Lindavahle said.
Perrible expected Candavere to launch into a great and grand speech defending Phineas and Ferb. Instead, she made a face.
"Well, to be honest… when I spoke to them through the kitchen-sink-magic-whatever, way back when this all started, I told them pretty much exactly what you just said to me: that they should come home, because this wasn't their fight, and that they were being totally stupid for thinking otherwise, and that all they were doing was worrying us."
Perrible almost smacked his forehead. Maybe Candavere wasn't the best one to have this conversation with Lindavahle. The boys really did need to do this, after all. Perrible didn't like it either, but that was the fact of the matter. Candavere wasn't really doing a good job of conveying that.
"I gave them a fierce talking to," she continued. "I said there were others more suited to the job. They should stay safe. They should come home so you wouldn't have to worry." She let out her breath, and then managed to smile. "So I guess that's where Phineas and Ferb's choice comes into this. They're incredibly spirited and determined. Even if we can't fully understand it, their hope alone makes them the best bet for the kingdom, you know?"
"My daughter grew up to be a philosopher," Lindavahle mused, and Candavere chuckled.
"Not at all. I've just spent a whole lot of time trying to bust my brothers, and one thing always proved to be true: those boys always manage to find their way out of trouble." She clicked her fingernails against the table as she muttered, "Little buggers."
"And if they can survive growing up with you," Lindavahle said, "they can survive a tyrannical overlord."
"Oh ha ha," Candavere grumbled, swiping her tea and resting her elbows on the table. Still, Perrible could tell she was glad Lindavahle was no longer crying.
Lindavahle lifted her own tea, holding the cup by her lips while she sighed, "I know you're right, Candavere, but forgive me if that doesn't change anything. I can't bear to think that… what they must think of me. I promise I was only trying to get them married because I thought it would be good for them. Heaven knows marriage and children have been the most rewarding and fulfilling things in my life."
"Really, I don't think you should let that bother you too much," Candavere countered, but Lindavahle shook her head.
"My last interaction with Ferb wasn't a happy one. He locked me out of his room, and I tried so desperately to get through to him. Then he's gone the next day?" She put her mug down, before pressing her fingers against her forehead. "It's been plaguing me, Candavere. I feel responsible."
Candavere did the last thing Perrible expected her to: she burst out laughing. This was apparently just as startling for Lindavahle, too, who stared at her daughter in utter surprise.
"Seriously, Mom, you've got to quite guilting yourself over the whole marriage thing."
"But—"
"Trust me, you were not the problem there."
"But Candavere—"
"If you ask me, Ferb was so crabby over all of that because he was already completely in love with a girl."
It was really unfortunate Lindavahle had chosen that time to take a drink of her tea, because now she choked. When she finally swallowed it down, her loud "What?" echoed through the entire room.
Perrible quickly scooted his napkin across the table for her to use, but Lindavahle's complete attention was on Candavere, regardless of the tea now dribbling down her chin.
"Mom?" Candavere asked, taken aback by the sudden fierceness in her mother's gaze.
"What?" Lindavahle repeated. There wasn't any harshness or hurt in her voice now. She was all business. Her fingers tightened so much on her mug her knuckles turned white, and there was an unmistakable glint in her eye. Perrible was still deciding if it was evil or not…
"Whoa, calm down, Mom," Candavere said, raising her hands.
"Don't tell me to calm down!" Lindavahle snapped. "What do you mean Ferb was already in love with a girl?"
Candavere met Perrible's eyes, and the dragonpus understood her sudden panic. She'd talked herself into a corner, and she wasn't sure she was allowed to continue, because now she'd broached a topic with highly sensitive information—far more complex than emotional relationships. Now they were talking about the fairy. But Perrible doubted Candavere would have much ability to resist the hounding look Lindavahle was giving both of them; her mother had sensed the shift, and most likely would not let it go.
Perrible gave a soft gurgle and nodded at Candavere. If there was anyone who deserved to know everything, it was Lindavahle. He'd thought that from the very beginning.
Candavere let out a massive groan and buried her face in her hands. Perrible knew that in itself spoke volumes to Lindavahle. The older woman sat up straight, her entire being the most alert Perrible had seen it. She spoke four words—just four simple words—that Perrible knew broke her daughter completely.
"I need to know."
"Mom…" Candavere muttered uncertainly. She pulled her hands from her forehead, only to start twiddling her thumbs, looking anywhere but at Lindavahle. She had an expression on her face that was almost a pout. Still, despite any reservations she had, she could not avoid this conversation now. Not when Lindavahle was so serious.
"So… There may be something pretty big that I found out in my little talk with Phineas and Ferb—you know, through the sink." She hesitated, then rushed on, "Actually, that's not entirely true because I found some stuff out at the Woad Gathering Harvest a little over a year ago, and I might not have told you because it's kind of a life-or-death secret, and I didn't want to freak you out any more than you already were. I didn't think you should know, you know… because I didn't want to upset you…"
"Candavere," Lindavahle interrupted, "tell me exactly what you are talking about right this very second."
Oh boy. Perrible definitely recognized that tone. He'd heard it several times through the years—that mom tone that was low and even, and left absolutely no room to deny her will a moment further, lest you face certain doom. Any time he'd heard that, it always sent a shiver down his spine, and he was never even the recipient of her words!
"So this girl…" Candavere laughed awkwardly. "Yeah. She may have been living in Ferb's room, maybe for about seven years now." She paused, but Lindavahle remained completely silent. No reaction. Well. That was concerning.
"But she was a sprite," Candavere added, "so that's why we never knew." Pause. No reaction. "But I guess it sort of turns out she wasn't a sprite, but a fairy who was turned into a sprite, only she was still a fairy." Pause. Still no reaction.
Candavere threw a panicked look toward Perrible. He was honestly just as nervous at this point as she was, but he gave her a thumbs up and nodded encouragingly. She took a deep breath, meeting her mother's eyes again with another awkward laugh.
"I honestly don't understand it all myself, but this fairy-turned-sprite-turned-fairy girl is now somehow a human, but she's not really a human, she's still a fairy."
Perrible went back to smacking himself in the forehead, once again questioning exactly why they'd thought it was a good idea for Candavere to explain this to her mother.
"Anyway, this girl is traveling with the boys, she has been from the beginning. And she apparently has crazy magical powers, because she was the one who used magic so I could talk to Phineas and Ferb in the sink, like I told you we did." Pause. No reaction.
Well, might as well finish. They were already down this path, and it only went one way.
"I think—well, actually I know, because Phineas and I ran into Rogerick Malifishmirtz, like, four years ago talking to an evil spy shepherd guy, and we spied on them, and they were all evil and everything—but this fairy girl is what Malifishmirtz—the evil sorcerer one, not the evil politician brother one—has been after this whole time, all these years."
Lindavahle suddenly looked at Perrible. Her expression was still completely blank, but Perrible nodded his head in confirmation. No matter how implausible it all sounded—and no matter how poorly Candavere had explained it—it was entirely true. Lindavahle once again looked to her daughter, who kept speaking all the while.
"So this fairy that's with them, she's why those men want Phineas and Ferb, and apparently a fairy's magic is needed to stop Malifishmirtz according to some prophecy thing or something, so it's kind of a big deal. And uh, yeah…" Candavere let out a massive breath. "Did I already mention she's been living with us for seven years? That's kind of important, too."
Candavere stopped fidgeting with her hands, spreading them across the table palms-down. She clamped her mouth closed, and Perrible hoped Lindavahle knew that meant she was done. He wasn't sure it would be good for Candavere to continue any further. Even he found that to be incredibly overwhelming, and he knew all of the information already!
Lindavahle continued to watch her daughter. She had yet to show any reaction—not a tweak of her lip, not a moved eyebrow, nothing. It made Perrible wonder if her crying was maybe not the worst thing in the world; this kind of anxious anticipation was torturous.
"Mom?" Candavere questioned in a much smaller voice. She swallowed hard. "You okay?"
Surprisingly, their mom responded immediately. Perrible honestly hadn't been expecting that.
"Am I okay?" Lindavahle repeated. Her voice was completely even. "Candavere… of course I'm okay."
Candavere blinked at her. Then she spluttered, "You are?!"
Lindavahle crossed her hands on the tabletop. "A fairy somehow survived being killed by Malifishmirtz, and was most likely disguised as a sprite to keep her hidden. She's apparently been living in Ferb's room—and of course that was a secret, because Malifishmirtz has been hunting sprites. If this sprite really was a fairy, then she's definitely something special, and would play a big role in defeating Malifishmirtz once and for all. That's why the boys left. They wouldn't possibly refuse to help her, especially if they'd grown to be friends."
Perrible's jaw dropped.
"Wait a minute," Stacehilda suddenly said, popping her head around the corner. She'd obviously been eavesdropping, though Perrible couldn't quite say he was surprised by that fact. "You mean you actually understood that? It was total nonsense!"
At this, astonishingly, Lindavahle cracked the smallest smile.
"I've been interpreting Candavere's crazed lunatic rants for years." She raised her eyebrow at her daughter. "Honestly, after hearing ridiculous tales about potion-fueled flying machines and minotaur fights, this was relatively believable."
Perrible's jaw dropped even further. Then he forced it to snap shut. Of course. Only in his family would this sort of thing make any sense, but of course it did. Because it was Phineas and Ferb, and because it was Candavere. He slowly shook his head, feeling utterly amused.
"Wait a minute," Candavere said, rubbing her temples now. "Wait just a gosh darn minute! I just told you my brother has been secretly harboring a fairy in our house for seven years, and that's what you have to say for it? That it isn't as crazy as my other stories? Seriously? Aren't you upset?" She threw up arms up, completely exasperated. "How are you possibly not upset?!"
"How could I possibly be upset?" Lindavahle countered. She sounded so calm now. "Knowing why they left… Their friend was being threatened. A friend who could potentially have the power to save the kingdom from one of the longest standing threats in our history. You know how they are, Candavere, of course they'd be able to help."
"Okay," Candavere groaned into her fingers. "Okay. Okay. So I drop this news, and they're not busted. I drop this big of news, and you finally believe me for once… and they're not busted. They're not busted. They're not."
She continued muttering, her brain fried, so Perrible gurgled at her to regain her attention. It didn't work, but Lindavahle's next question did.
"So this fairy… she's the one Ferb…" She didn't finish the sentence, but she didn't need to. Candavere blinked up at her.
"I know it's weird," the younger woman said gently. "I know it's really weird to think about, but… yeah, I think so. I mean, it was pretty incredible, mom, seeing the look on his face the one time I saw them together. Completely unbelievable, but you know, when has that ever stopped either of my little brothers?"
A slow, sad smile spread across Lindavahle's lips. "At least I know now that, truly, none of this is my fault, and I didn't drive them away." Candavere made to say something to this, but Lindavahle held her hand up to dissuade her daughter. "But Ferb must be awfully fond of this fairy girl—and Phineas too—for them to go to such great lengths to protect her."
At this, Candavere developed a smile much like her mothers. She took Lindavahle's hands, cupping them in her own, and brought them to her lips. After moment, she said, "Come on, Mom. You know as well as I do that it's more than that. Phineas and Ferb have a whole lot of love in their hearts, love for all of us—you and me and dad."
Perrible gurgled, and Candavere let out a little laugh.
"And Perrible, too," she added. "It's not just the fairy. They're doing it for all of us."
Even though Candavere was still holding her mom's hands, Lindavahle wasn't looking at her. The older woman's gaze was fixed on her lap.
"I know you're right," she admitted quietly. After that, she stood. Leaving her tea unfinished, she walked away from her daughter, toward the entrance to the other room. Perrible thought that would be the end of it, but then Candavere spoke up.
"Her name's Isabel, by the way," she called after her mom, and Lindavahle stalled right at the door. Her curious gaze suddenly devoured her daughter's face.
"Hm?"
"The fairy girl," Candavere clarified. "I figured between the huge role she plays in all of this—and the fact that she's been living with us so long—you might want to know that."
"Isabel," Lindavahle repeated. "Well, I'm sure she's absolutely lovely." There was something new to her tone now. Wistfulness, perhaps, Perrible thought. She smiled. "I suppose we'll have a lot to talk about when they finally make it home."
With that, Lindavahle departed, leaving a tired redhead and an equally tired dragonpus.
Perrible continued to sit at the table until he began to feel awkward. Should he have left when Lindavahle did? He and Candavere had never been very close. Perrible had always been able to tell she was the one in the house that liked him the least. She was never cruel to him, not in the slightest. But he also could tell she regarded him with little more than unconcerned tolerance.
Still, something kept him at the table with her. He'd watched as Candavere soothed her mother. She'd probably been doing that ever since this whole thing started, when that fog rolled into town and their boys disappeared. It must be taxing, to not only mother an infant but also your own mother, being unable to live in your own home, and worrying if your little brothers were okay. Candavere was doing so much, but Perrible suspected she was feeling like she was hardly doing anything at all.
Perrible hopped down from his chair, tucking his feathered hat away as he walked over to her. She blinked down at him confusedly, but he jumped up on her lap, where he fell to all fours. He let his eyes go out of focus, nuzzled against her hand, and gave her a supportive gurgle. If he couldn't take away her problems as Sir P, he would love away some of her worry as her pet.
"Thanks Perrible," she sighed, and Perrible felt pure contentment as she gave him a good scratch behind his scales.
He hardly recognized his own face.
That was all Ferb could think as he knelt by the bank of a small loch. The others were breaking to gather food, knowing there were several little pools of water nearby. Ferb had motioned to the others that he wanted to rinse himself, and he staggered off before any of them could worry or protest.
Nearly a whole day had passed since he'd woken up, and his improvement was unbelievable. Remarkably, he found the more he walked—no matter how difficult it was—the better he felt. He would grow stronger if he just kept walking through the pain. It was something internal. He could feel it rushing with the movement of his muscles, making his insides slowly feel washed and smoothed, like an ocean over stone.
If he kept moving, that potion would continue to work its way through him. That thought was how he motivated himself, at the very least, when every moment he felt he was just a breath away from dropping and not getting up.
He'd still had to rest in the cart at several points in the day. He tended to slow them down, with how he was moving, and they couldn't afford that. He also found that if he pushed himself too much, his chest would burn, and it would suddenly feel like he was being pierced through his right lung all over again.
So Ferb was taking it slow. Slow baby steps. Slow shuffles. If the miracle potion in his veins kept working like it had so far, he just might make it to slow strides.
But all the steps in the world didn't change what Ferb saw as he stared down at his face, reflecting back at him from the surface of the water.
Unrecognizable.
The entire area around his mouth was covered with dried blood, and red striped his cheeks as well: the remnants of Phineas' measures to force him to swallow the potion. But it was more than the blood. It was his eyes—the dark arcs underneath them, the sunken look, the way the blue seemed murky and faded.
Looking at his face, Ferb understood one fact with startling clarity: Phineas had yanked him directly from the grasp of death.
"Ferb?"
It was Phineas again. A moment later, Ferb felt his brother's hand on his shoulder, and Phineas was crouching beside him. Before Ferb could bear to meet his eyes, he dunked his hands into the stream and pulled a torrent of water up to his skin. The drops came away a rusty brown as they fell back into the deeper pool. He repeated the motion again, then a third time, and again, until he could feel like himself.
Finally, he looked to Phineas and gave a small nod; I'm alright.
"I… know," Phineas said slowly. "And I know you're fine on your own and everything, I just—I'm sorry, this is going to sound kind of silly…"
Phineas looked down at his knees, and Ferb realized what he was thinking; Phineas was hesitant to let Ferb out of his sight, even for such a brief excursion. He had probably been panicky in Ferb's absence—something Ferb never would have expected from his brother. Phineas was never one to panic.
And yet, Ferb could see it—in the set of Phineas' brow, the curve of his shoulders, his grip on his shins. His brother hadn't been able to stand even the most trivial of distances.
Ferb put his hand on Phineas' shoulder and smiled reassuringly; it's fine.
Phineas suddenly threw his arms around Ferb again with so much force that Ferb almost fell over. He had to reach behind him to keep himself up, but he still tumbled onto his butt with the weight of it. He stared, a little taken aback, as Phineas clung to him. His face was buried in Ferb's chest, but he wasn't crying this time, so Ferb didn't know what to think.
"Phineas…" he said gently, taking his brother's shoulders. He didn't try to pry Phineas away; instead, he held him for what felt like an eternity.
"Don't you do that to me, Ferb," Phineas rushed out. "Don't you do that to me ever again."
Ferb was so unaccustomed to hearing anger in Phineas' voice that he had no response, verbal or otherwise. When he didn't acknowledge the statement, Phineas pulled back, his eyes delivering a surprising glare.
"Don't you ever die on me again, Ferb!" he commanded. "I can't—I can't save you again. And I can't lose you again, ever again, Ferb, I can't…"
His voice cracked, and any trace of his anger fell to pieces, leaving behind a looming sense of desperation. Bleeding, aching desperation.
"I can't lose you, Ferb." Phineas' hands fumbled until they rested on Ferb's shoulders, but his gaze dropped resolutely to his lap. His entire form was shaking now—and Ferb hadn't remembered his brother seeming so thin, so small, so vulnerable.
But then Phineas was lightly pushing him away and dunking his hands in the stream. He rinsed his face and pushed himself to his feet so abruptly Ferb could only blink up at him. With how Phineas was standing, the sun now shone down on him through the trees, so Ferb almost had to squint. The light wove through Phineas' hair, turning the red strands the sunniest orange, and when Phineas finally looked back down to Ferb's face, the smile he managed to muster was just as bright.
"It's Phineas and Ferb, you hear me?" he said. "It doesn't work with just Phineas. Phineas and Ferb, bro, that's how we do things. So don't go doing something so knuckle-headed as dying again, because I've given you the only miracle I've got."
With that, Phineas held his hand out. Ferb took it, easily accepting the help getting back up. He was still so weak, and he felt even weaker after hearing his brother's words. What could he even say to that? Not I'm sorry. Not Okay. Nothing would quite be enough to capture all his gratitude, all his affection.
He kept close to his brother. Now that they were both standing, Phineas had to once again look up to him—perhaps in more ways than one, Ferb thought. And as he met his little brother's gaze, Ferb found some words. They weren't enough, not even close. But they would have to do.
"Phineas and Ferb," he agreed. "I promise."
Whew! This was a really long chapter! Adding in Perrible's POV really added length, but I felt it was needed. I hope you enjoyed the excursion into his neck of the woods.
Some of you caught onto my intent with the shimmery blue leaves chapters and chapters ago. Kudos to you!
As I said, I already have a decent portion of next chapter written (and *wink* I really think you guys will like it *wink wink*). However, I also know I will be going through a rather devastating month here with my family. I will try to update as soon as possible, but I will require patience.
All my love and appreciation.
~Lilly-Belle