The Discovery of Wind
by Ms. Kinnikufan
Disclaimer: Pixar owns everyone but the butler.
It was late at night.
9 year old Quinn Southington sat in her new bed at her name home with a well loved copy of Peter Pan in her hands.
She wouldn't have been sitting in a strange bed in a strange house if that building hadn't collapsed. She had been trapped for days in the wreckage. She didn't know why her parents died or why she had managed to live.
Her uncle Everett (her father's older brother) had been especially sweet to her the past 12 days: plenty of junk food, movies and little things to distract her from her parents death.
It wasn't working as well as he had hoped.
Sometimes she would be totally involved with a cartoon, only to suddenly remember mother's screams (the last thing she ever heard from her mother) as the shopping center fell on the top of her and her father. Sometimes it would come when she was eating her breakfast cereal.
It would always come during her dreams. It wasn't always the same part: sometimes it was after Blitzerman had pulled her out of the wreckage and she had learned that her mother and father had died, sometimes it was of being stuck in a dark space, unable to move, almost unable to breathe, sometimes it was the screams of the people as they tried in vain to escape.
Her uncle encouraged her feelings: "It's okay to cry, just let it all out.". He always sounded like he was a therapist rather then a concerned uncle. Not comforting to a small child at all.
So he gave her his treasured couple of Peter Pan. It had always comforted when he was sad as a child.
She was at chapter 16 and it had quite taken her a bit of time to get there. There were many funny british terms that she did not understand and it was very, very, different from the Disney movie.
Chapter 16 was titled "The Return Home". Wendy, John, and Michael went home to her parents.
"I wish I could go home." Quinn was suddenly hit by a memory of her old room in her old home: the horse poster right above her bed; the fuzzy moss green carpet; the slightly rickety bookshelf that her father had built himself; and her blue lamp which had a whimsical pink lampshade. She remembered her parents: her mother's always frizzy hair, her father looking for his glasses which always seemed to be lost, the rosy perfume of her mother and the musky cologne of her father.
She couldn't go home. Dead people can't own houses and dead people can't raise their still living children.
She wept (quietly so that her uncle wouldn't try to comfort her again) herself until her eyes were wet and droopy. She fell asleep with her head in her lap, Peter Pan having carelessly fallen to the floor.
Everett Southington sat in the living room, savoring a glass of sherry with Wilfordshire, his lifelong butler and friend.
"As stupid and selfish as this sounds, I envy Quinn."
"Why sir?"
"She's a child. It's...it's acceptable for her to cry and scream and basically just lose it. She is allowed the emotional fits that come with childhood. Timothy was her father, but he also was my little brother. I miss him..."
He stared into his glass of sherry as if he expected it to answer.
"What the hell am I doing Wilfordshire? I know absolutely nothing about children! Plus, The NSA is really getting on my butt about my recent decrease in heroic activities. A child deserves a parent that can go to PTA meeting and conferences, one that doesn't spend his free time galavanting about and messing with the minds of criminals."
A pause in the air.
"I think she hates me Wilfordshire." He suddenly added.
"Now, now, Sir."
"Don't say she doesn't. She doesn't like talking too me and she doesn't like me talking to her..."
"You and Timothy didn't like talking to your father."
"That was different."
"Like we both haven't heard that phrase a million times Sir. Quinn's still adjusting to her parents death and her new surroundings. These things take time. She'll eventually get use to everything."
"What if she doesn't? She will be like one of the million of clients who flood my office: totally messed up and completely miserable with their lives but to afraid of the smallest change to do anything about it!"
Meanwhile Quinn was dreaming. Her dreams were whimsical instead of painful for once.
She was flying to Neverland. With her was a girl who only spoke in bird chirps, but somehow Quinn could understand what she was saying anyway. Her name was Wendy, but she was a different Wendy from the one in Peter Pan.
There were several other children who were unimportant compared to Wendy. Quinn didn't know why, they just were.
Suddenly a rough, almost tornado like winds formed tried to suck Wendy in.
Wendy tried to fly away with no success. She began to chirp a loud, panicky S.O.S.
Quinn know that Wendy would die if she got carried away by the rough winds(Quinn didn't know why she knew this).
Quinn struggled against the wind, the currants cutting her face.
"Chirppp! Chirrrp! Tweat! Chirrrrpppp!" Wendy was being carried away by the wind.
"C'mon, c'mon, stop!" Quinn scrunched her face in absolute concentration.
Suddenly Quinn found herself pulling the rough wind currants away from Wendy and towards herself.
Wendy was safe. However now she was now being rough up by the winds.
Quinn then woke up to find the dreams was a reality: she was floating (flying?) in midair and all her stuff was quickly and violently being thrown about her room.
"HEELLLLLPPPPP!" was all that Everett and Wilfordshire heard. They rushed upstairs.
"Miss Quinn, whatever is-owww!" Wilfordshire only opened the bedroom door to ge hit in the head with an encyclopedia.
"Quinn calm down!" Everett never expected Quinn to developed such physical superpowers. The Southington clan's powers (among those who got them) tended to be mental.
"I can't! I don't know what's going on or how to stop it!" Quinn flapped her arms rapidly in a useless gesture.
"Quinn!" Quinn heard this in her mind rather then out loud.
Suddenly she was a baby again. Her father was gently rocking her in his arms.
"Oh Danny Boy-" he began.
His voice was like nails in her ears. She began to cry.
"Honey, maybe you should skip the lullaby." She recognized her mother's voice.
"Angela, every newborn baby in the Southington clan has lulled to sleep with a lullaby. It's a lovely tradition." Her father argued.
"So is deafness and bad taste in music." that was her uncle's voice.
"Quinn, are you alright?" her uncle's question brought her back to the present.
She opened her eyes to see Wilfordshire with a large bump on his head and her uncle Everett covered in stuffed animals.
"What-what happened? I suddenly remembered being a baby." Quinn shook her head to remove the last of the dizziness.
"I had to trigger a calming memory so you would stop generating high velocity winds."
"What do you mean had to trigger a memory?"
"Quinn, tomorrow we will talk to Rick Dicker. He's better at explaining these types of things better then me..."
Two years later, Macroburst, the adorable new sidekick of Everseer, made his/her (the public couldn't tell which) debut.
Author's notes: In case you couldn't tell: Everseer is Everett Southington.
Macroburst is Quinn Southington. Wilfordshire is their butler.
Also, Macroburst's sex is a mystery to the NSA. I wrote her as female. I could be right, I could be wrong, who knows?