I do not own American Horror Story: Freakshow.

I doubt Ryan Murphy would even recognize it now.

Wherever You Are

God of the Sea

"Son of Neptune. God of the Sea."

He whispered it in The Boy's ear sometimes when the child was sitting on his lap.

Laughing and babbling away.

Playing with his hooks.

Or adding new gnaw marks to the faint wooden Annabel ones from so long ago.

"Don't worry, these pincers won't hold you back. I bet one day, I'll even watch you juggle."

Up there on the stage.

People ooohing, ahhhing, clapping.

At his boy, his grandson.

The Lobster Boy.

But he didn't really believe in that daydream.

Flights of fearful fancies, the freaks would've called them.

A long time ago.

When they would have celebrated Little Jimmy and his lobster claws.

"Look at that, mate," Paul would've crowed. "Spittin' image, innit?"

And Jimmy Darling would've puffed out his carny chest with pride.

"Gonna grow up to be handsome just like his granddaddy," he could almost hear Evie cooing.

Yes, yes.

But better.

So much better.

Safer.

Not angry.

Not alone.

Not lost.

Jimmy would've seen to it.

A boy surrounded by the love and support and pride of his family.

His freak show family.

And then Jimmy's dimpled grin would fade.

The taunts. The jeers.

The secret sneakings out the backdoors.

No, no.

Better than that for his family.

Better than that for his grandson.

Even if they had attained his pie-in-the-sky dream.

A tract of land on the cheap.

Working the land, being left alone.

No deaths, no murders.

No cut-off, mangled-forever hands.

Still.

It was a new world now, a new life.

1984.

He couldn't believe it.

Color TVs.

Computers.

Something he had heard about called a mobile phone.

And there was Annabel, thriving in the middle of it.

Had herself a good man.

A stabilizing man.

A patient man.

One who loved her and loved and accepted all of them.

Small miracles.

Maybe not so small.

And Jimmy was pretty sure . . .

"Whatever you are, whatever happens, I'll be proud of you, Little Man."

. . . she was going to do her best for him.

Little Jimmy. Her son.

And he just bet that included . . .

"Always."

. . . giving him the normal, average hands Jimmy himself . . .

"You remember that."

. . . had so long ago . . .

"Aba bababa . . .

. . . dreamed of.

"Yep. You got it, Little Man."

Son of Neptune. God of the Sea.

The holidays were kind of a blur.

Halloween.

"Trick or treat!"

"Oh, hello, Annab- oh, what a precious little baby ghostie! And . . . what are you?"

"I'm a coat rack! Care for a jacket?"

Oh my god, Daddy, you're so weird.

Thanksgiving.

"What are you thankful for, Annabel?"

"Not being a pregnant whale anymore. Ma-Da?"

"Oh. Uh, well . . ."

Even Christmas . . .

"Okay, tell Santa what you want for Christm-"

"Whaaaaaaaaaaaaa-"

"Never mind. Sorry."

. . . seemed like a big, jolly, blur.

Mostly because . . .

"How do you feel about it, Patrick?"

"I don't know. I don't want him to be in pain but if it will improve his quality of life . . ."

"Yeah-"

". . . and needs to be done now-"

"Yeah-"

". . . then I guess I'm for it."

"Okay. It's settled then."

. . . there were big changes in life . . .

"When are we going to Tampa?"

"Thursday."

"Okay."

"And don't tell my dad. Make something up. I'm going tell him after we get back."

"Oh. Uh, okay."

. . . on their way.

"Uh, si-, Jimmy?"

"Hey, Patrick. What's up?"

"I'd like off Thursday afternoon, if that's okay. Annabel and The Baby and I need to go to Tampa."

"Huh? Oh yeah, sure. Christmas shoppin'?"

"Mmm."

"I didn't like lying to your dad."

"I know. But it was for a good reason."

"Yeah, I guess. Think he'll be mad at me?"

"My dad? I doubt it. He loves you."

"Oh. Really?"

Ronald Reagan, the actor, was sweeping his presidential re-election in a landslide that was almost obscene in its near totality.

Cesar Chavez was inspiring the Hispanic farm-working masses to stand up for themselves.

And Annabel Margaret Walker Anderson . . .

"Daddy . . ."

. . . was having The Talk with her father.

"Um . . ."

No, not that Talk.

It was a little more than a little too late for that Talk.

She took a deep breath.

"I'm going to get The Baby's syndactyly fixed. His hands anyway. There's a . . . hospital . . . in Tampa. We've already spoken with them . . ."

And her matter of fact voice failed her.

Daddy?

Granddaddy Jimmy remained fixed for a moment.

Then he cleared his throat.

Glanced briefly at his own silver-hooked appendages.

Then back up at her with a bittersweet expression on his face.

"Yeah, I thought you might."

Her heart shattered.

I am just, like, the world's worst, most unappreciative, most unsentimental, worst daughter in the whole world.

But she was also a mother.

A mother who had been raised a functioning freak.

Who did not want her child to continue on that old family legacy.

Well, that old family legacy.

Or most of the old ones, really.

So she steeled herself and spoke again.

"I don't want to insult you, Daddy. I'm not trying to take away your connection to him, I just-"

Jimmy Darling Walker, shook his head, raising a hook to stop her flow of words.

"Annabel, don't you think I would have given up my lobster claws in a second for normal hands so many times? Annabel, I dreamed about having normal hands."

He snorted self-depreciatvely.

"I mean, I would have loved you no matter what you came out with but, Annabel, you can't imagine how scared I was that you'd be like me. I was so relieved that you had all your fingers and toes so normal and easy. That you only had different eyes."

Completely steamrolling directly over the unintended insult-

You're joking if you say I didn't have a hard time with these eyes, Daddy.

- and the feelings directly attached, Annabel focused on what her well-meaning father was saying.

". . . understand. I doesn't mean you don't love me. It means you want to take care of him."

She nodded, relieved that he wasn't too hurt.

"Patrick's coming with me to the pre-surgery doctor's appointment but I wondered since, you know . . . if you wanted to come too?"

And Annabel's Daddy grinned those Daddy dimples at her.

"Yeah, sure. I'd love to."

And she thought maybe she'd done okay.

"Jimmy, darling, are you alright?"

They must've noticed him, staring off into space.

Thinking deep and selfish thoughts.

Thoughts he wouldn't say.

Because he knew he was being selfish.

Self-serving.

And because he knew it was the right thing to do.

For the good of . . .

De-freaking the whole world.

Gingerbread men on a cookie cutter tray.

. . . the child.

Or maybe they had just slipped something into his eggnog.

Jimmy Darling Walker pulled his gaze away from the pale, listless world beyond his Brandon, Florida window.

And looked at his darlings.

Two heads, one body.

They never fit anywhere.

Except with each other.

Now.

And him.

Always.

Their faces were lined, hair greying together.

Much like his own worn visage, he was always shocked to find any time he caught a glimpse of himself in any reflective . . .

Whoa, the hell? That's not what I'm supposed to look like-

. . . surface.

The world was moving on, moving faster.

Brighter and louder and . . . cleaner and all the same-r.

Something he had once hungered for.

All those things.

But now, they seemed to fill him with vaguely-disdainful resentment.

Just like everybody else.

And then he forced what he hoped was a decent smile.

"Yeah. Sure. Why?"

Dot and Bette, his compassionate companions, could always see right through him.

"Annabel. Little Jimmy. His hands."

He clenched his jaw reflexively. Relaxed it.

And Dot spoke again. Followed by Bette.

"You don't have to lie to us, Jimmy."

"We'll see right through it anyway."

He shook his head, shoring himself up.

"I'm not lying. I'm . . . choosing what I'm going to say. Choosing my . . ."

What's that new flash word?

". . . perspective."

Their nearly identical smiles . . .

But I can tell them apart.

I always have.

They're so special. The two of them.

Soon nobody will be special anymore.

. . . beautiful to him now and always.

"That's all good and fine, Jimmy."

"We respect that."

"But we also know you're not a robot."

"And you have feelings."

"And that's okay too."

I love you girls.

And I love my grandson.

And my daughter.

And the boy she brought home.

"I know," he replied quietly. "And my feelings will be okay too."

So I'm going to support her.

And them.

And the world, they'll never know.

About his beautiful, special hands.

That we had that together, me and my grandson.

Only I'll know. Really, really know.

And Bette. And Dot.

And one day we'll be dead.

And then it will all be gone anyway.

"I promise."

He's hurting, Sister.

Yes.

That's been a connection to his father.

Yes.

He's been righting wrongs.

Yes.

And now it'll be taken away from him. That connection.

Yes.

It's good for Little Jimmy.

Yes.

Easier to him to grow out in the world.

Yes.

Easier for his heart and mind.

Yes.

Doesn't mean it will be easy on our Jimmy.

No.

Even though it's right.

I know.

I don't know if he's going to let us in on this one.

All we can do is be there if he does.

Yes.

We can't be mad at Annabel and Patrick.

No. It's a good decision.

And our Jimmy knows that.

Yes.

I just wish it didn't have to hurt him so much.

Me too, Sister. Me too.

"We love you, Jimmy."

"I love you two."

So, yeah, conflicted. No big surprise there, I'm sure.

Thanks to brigid1318 and midnightrebellion86 for coming back to this story.

Good grief, how many times have I said that in times past? Seriously, thank you guys.

And all you gentle readers. :)