Disclaimer: None of the OSC characters belong to me (obviously. Why else would I be writing a disclaimer?), nor do I claim they do. Additionally, I do not make money off my writings (pity. Cash is good, especially for jobless fourteen-year-olds like me). In fact, I do not make money, period, so _please_ don't sue.

Author's Note: The fanfic you're about to read is one-third of a "trilogy" of short stories, each about one of the Wiggin children- Ender, Valentine, or Peter. You should be able to tell which of the three the speaker is in each fic. If you can't, then either a) you have no deductive skills whatsoever or b) I'm a failure as a writer. Sorry for all the formal talk in my story- have a tendency to do that in my more "philosophical" works. Now, without further ado, I present to you...


Family Portrait

BACKUP

Once upon a time, there was a brilliant little boy named Andrew who went to Battle School and defeated the humans' dastardly enemy, the detested buggers, and came back a hero.

That's what people say. And although it's far from the truth, it's what people choose to believe. After all, it's Ender Wiggin, the legend, that they want to idolize, not Andrew Wiggin, the boy. Not the little boy who lost his simplicity, his family, his planet, for the sake of saving our lives. Not the child hiding behind that impenetrable soldier's face, whose broken, twisted soul lurks behind eyes still wide with youth.

Doesn't anyone pay attention? Doesn't anyone _see_?

And the answer is, as it always has been, obviously not. Otherwise they wouldn't treat him like they do. For they mob him wherever he goes, asking questions, begging for autographs, hands and fingers tugging at his clothes until his expression changes from forced patience to tiredness and I want to throw my arms around him and scream for them to leave him alone, God, just leave him _alone_....

What right do they have to do this? To take away the quiet that he so desperately needs to heal? To demand more pieces of him than he has to give? To-

...Then again, what right do I have to be saying these things? Whatever makes me think that I hold my place in Ender's heart any longer? After all, I betrayed him. I convinced him to go to Command School when all he truly wanted was to rest, to _forget_. So, in truth, I'm just as bad as the admiring throngs who stalk him, only I don't want his fame.

I want his trust.

I suppose that's part of the reason I'm here on this ship, careening away from Earth at just under lightspeed. Part of the reason. The other part... is hard to explain, even to myself. Even harder to understand.

Peter doesn't understand. It's ironic, almost. One of the most brilliant minds ever conceived in the history of mankind, and he still doesn't understand what it means to _love_. That's why, when I announced my decision to go into space, he taunted me. Taunted me for still caring about a brother I haven't really known for over half a decade. Taunted me for wanting to re-create the bits and pieces of the life we once had, Ender and I.

And yet, that tone that slowly crept behind his voice, even as those barbed words slid out of his mouth, like snakes out of their resting place.... Incredulous. Jaded. The most awkward, the most un-Peter-like emotions I had ever seen him show in the years I've known him.

Maybe he only sounded that way because he was losing Demosthenes, who he'd spent so much time fabricating, even more time shaping. Maybe the confusion stalking behind his nonchalant features came from the suddenness of my decision, the jerky abruptness of my words. But I keep thinking, I keep _hoping_....

Maybe someday he'll miss me. Maybe he'll wish for the verbal sparring games that we used to play during his bouts of sporadic irritation. Maybe someday, Locke, while tackling the delicate game of politics, will wish that Demosthenes was around at his side again, will wish that _Valentine_ was at his side again.

But what am I thinking? Peter doesn't miss. Peter doesn't even feel. No, he's all offhand cruelty and acerbic laughter, mocking cynicism and casual derision. Nothing like Ender. Nothing like Ender, nothing like....

At least, that's what I keep on telling myself.

He's changed. The little boy whose hand I used to hold as we crossed the street has changed into something...silent. Yes. Silent. A silent, exhausted child whose eyes are so much older than his body, who roams the decks of this too-small starship, searching for a peace that he can't seem to find, searching for a grain of truth in the lies that I speak for him.

No. Not lies. Half-truths. Fabrications. For I continually pretend that he's still a boy, still my "little Enderpoo," and he willingly pretends with me, nods at the memories I reminisce, laughs when I laugh, smiles when I smile, because he believes it makes me happy.

Only it doesn't.

It makes me miserable. Because it reminds me of exactly how much of my brother I've lost, exactly how much of _himself_ Ender's lost.

I want him back. I want the old Ender back, before Battle School.

...And I suppose he wants me back, too. The old Valentine. Before Peter.

Irony. She never fails to forcibly interject herself into my life.

But despite these pessimistic thoughts, despite all evidence that points at the contrary, I believe, because it is the only thing I can bear to believe, that someday Ender will heal.

Someday, he'll forget.

Someday, he'll stop having the nightmares that keep him tossing and turning throughout the night, create the dark circles under his eyes in the mornings.

Someday, he'll be able to watch the news broadcasts from Earth without looking bitter.

Someday, he'll trust me again.

And when he does, I'll be here. I'll be here to take his hand and we'll walk, together, yes, together, because he'd have healed enough to lead, and he'd trust me enough to stand beside him, and we'll walk off into the proverbial sunset and live happily ever after.

That's why I'm here. Even if no one understands why. Even if I have to leave the planet I love. Even if I have to turn away from the parents who gave me life, from the brother who gave me power, I'm here.

For Ender.

For the part of him that still hopes, that's buried so deep inside of him that he doesn't even realize it exists. For the part of him that wants me to take his hand and walk him across the crowds of staring people, that needs me to reach past the whimsical fantasies that others have woven around his existence and touch the clarity lying below, to retell the tale of his life, but this time in truth.

That, once upon a time, there was a brilliant little boy named Andrew who went to Battle School and came back with his soul shattered into a hundred thousand pieces, and although his sister loved him very, very much, she could do nothing but watch, and wait, and hope that the beautiful maiden Tyme, with her ethereal gaze, would someday mend the open wound he called his heart...