Author's Notes: I know that it's been a while since I last updated this story; I've got a lot to deal with, considering school and everything else. But, here it is. I haven't written fanfiction in so long, though I can assure you, it's been on my mind for much too long. Anyway, here you go! The fourth chapter of Sindey follows an experience in the life of one Casey Q. Frollo, or Quasimodo, as you might know him. Read and Review, s'il vous plait! Constructive criticism is much more than welcome!

Peter Panning's laughter echoed in the empty, winter air, bounding off the school's outside walls in changing volumes as he spun about in circles, his hands gripping a white string. The miniature KC-130 plane followed the boy's movements in wide, familiar circles, its toy propellers whirling against the cold atmosphere that it met head on. The plane's brown and green camouflaged plating seemed to leave behind a delightful.

Casey stood to the side, leaned up against a slightly graffiti-ed wall, watching his friend enviously from over the edge of his thick, knitted scarf. He had nothing of his own that was quite like that plane, and he had a soft hope that, perhaps, he could play with it sometime. But, in his usual, shy manner, Casey couldn't bring himself to ask Peter if he might be able to have a go. The fear that, perhaps, Peter would become made at him and say no (because the boy did seem to be enjoying his new toy quite a bit), monopolized a good portion of his thoughts.

Casey let out a sigh, feeling his wet, foggy breath build up in the weaves that covered his mouth, and his face fell to it usual position, staring down at the ground beneath his feet. The snow lay, its once pristine surface dirty and imprinted from the feet of students and teachers alike, covering the concrete sidewalk with a delightful layer of crunchy white. Casey's eyes wandered to his own set of footprints, almost lost amongst the droves of others that decorated the snow, and, with a critical eye, examined the strange pace and position that they were set. He followed these prints straight to where he stood now, and his eyes rested with another sigh onto his feet.

Casey hated his legs, how his knees met and knocked into one another, how his feet pointed inward, forming an obtuse angle were their toes to touch. It was his last deformity, the final reminder he had of how he looked not so long ago, but for a boxful of old photographs stashed away in some forgotten place at home. Once, he had seemed little more than a misshapen monster, his body bent and twisted until people could doubt his humanity without feeling too much wrong. But, his father had changed all that.

Memories of a decade of corrective surgeries and physical therapy floated in and out of his mind. The things a father did for love…

"Hey, Casey!"

Peter's friendly voice broke through the sad recollections, and Casey, who had been quite engrossed in self-doubt and loathing, felt his body jump, startled.

"Yes?" he squeaked, pulling his head up away from the painful sight of his legs.

"Don't you want to play with it?" Peter asked. He held the plane in his hands now; it no longer spun in a blurring pattern above the pavement before the school. He held it out to his friend, offering it without a trace of the anger that Casey had so easily believed in.

"Can I?" Casey asked timidly, eyeing the plane with a quiet, but cautious want.

"Well, sure," Peter said in reply, shrugging his shoulders at the meek question. He placed the model in Casey's shaking hands, smiling. "I asked if you wanted to in the note, remember?"

Casey nodded gently, an embarrassed blush reddening his cheeks. Of course he remembered, but he couldn't help but suspect that, with every act of kindness there could follow a quick withdrawal; no kind offering can immediately trusted for fear of disappointment were it a lie. Past experience served as too big an example to prove otherwise.

"Just a moment," he said quietly, putting the toy back in his friend's hands to pull of his heavy backpack. He dropped the green Jansport™ bag onto the snow, which crunched satisfyingly beneath its weight, and Casey, thinking a little bit ahead, began to pull off his patterned mittens in hopes of maintaining a better grip on the string that led the KC-130's cycle. But, just as he managed to pull the glove halfway from his hand, a familiar black form began to turn into the parking lot.

Casey stopped, eyeing the vehicle with a disappointed twinge. Beyond the ice-edged windshield, his strong nose visible just past the shiny brim of his cap, Casey could easily recognize his father's chauffeur, Victor. The car began to follow the curb that ran before the school, close to where Casey and Peter stood, and the young boy knew that soon enough, he would have to go home. No more playing with Peter, no chance to have an enjoyable spin with the model plane.

"What's wrong?" Peter asked, noting the fall in his friend's expression.

"Victor's here," Casey replied lowly. He began to pull on his mitten as Peter looked down the way and spotted the waxed, black car that made a gradual stop at the waiting area.

"That's no fun," Peter said, with a disgusted wrinkle of his nose. "Why does he always come when we're about to have fun?"

"I guess it's time for me to go," Casey murmured, leaning down to pick up his backpack.

Peter looked as his friend struggled to bend his knees, one leg interfering with the other, and he felt a sudden idea pop into his mind.

"Wait," he said, bringing Casey back to stand. "You don't have to go yet."

Casey furrowed his brow.

"What do you mean?"

"Just trust me!" Peter replied, a mischievous smile beginning to spread across his impish face.

Casey gave Peter a strange, confused look, but followed unquestioningly as his friend led him away from the wall that he had leant against as Peter played with the plane. Just then, Victor brought the car to a stop before the both of them, and the man took a step out of the car, bowing slightly as he met Casey's gaze.

"Good day, Master Casey," he said in his deep, polite voice, stepping around the front of the car to open the passenger side door. "Are you ready to go home?"

Casey began to reply when Peter, knowing his friend too well, shushed him before a word could escape him. The impish boy just gave Victor a knowing smile.

"Not exactly," Peter replied, taking a few steps backward. Casey, who Peter had in quite a grip, stumbled, almost tripping as he went along with his friend's movement.

"Not exactly?" echoed Victor, one eyebrow arching curiously. "Now, why's that?"

"Well, first off, his backpack's still in the snow," Peter answered, pointing to the green bag. "And secondly… BYE!"

With a frightening quickness, Peter rushed straight away from the spot, dragging Casey, stuttering and tripping, behind him.

Victor half-jumped at the abruptness of the action, and stood dumbfounded for a moment by the black car, wondering just what had happened. A few seconds later, when Casey and Peter were already a good ways away, he realized that the young boy his boss had ordered him to fetch everyday now bounded off to some unknown place without him! Quite forgetting about the car and its open doors, the chauffeur rushed off after him, having a difficult time in his polished shoes as he slipped almost comically through the snow.

Casey followed Peter, trying his best to keep up with the boy's almost inhuman speed. His legs limped forward in a struggling and uncomfortable way, and the deep drafts of air that he breathed stung and bit his lungs with their coldness. The both of them had run quite a bit away from the school, and in the distance they could see Victor, dressed and stumbling, making chase.

"Peter," Casey said through breaths, "what are we doing…?"

"We're going to go have some fun!" the boy replied matter-of-factly, his grip tightening on Casey's arm, as if asking him to hurry up. "We just have to get Victor off our tail!"

"But…"

"Come on!" Peter interrupted, lost in the excitement of the scheme. He let out a characteristic crow, jumping nearly two feet into the air, and causing a close call as Casey worked to keep himself on his feet.

But, as far as they ran and as fast as Peter tried to go, Victor gained good distance. Casey felt ashamed and embarrassed, little more than a burden to his good friend and to Victor.

"Darn," Peter said, beginning to sound a little out of breath. "He's catching up! We've got to lose him!" He thought for a moment, still dragging Casey, until they came into a fork in the pathway ahead. "I know!" Peter exclaimed, slowing for a moment. "I saw this on TV once. Casey, you go down one way, and I'll go down another! That way, we'll never get caught!"

Casey only nodded; the pain in his harassed legs was becoming unbearable. As the road approached, Peter's grip finally loosened, and Casey began to fall a little behind as his friend sped up toward the divide. Suddenly, Peter pushed Casey to the left, and waving a quick goodbye, he sped down the right road, disappearing down another byway as Casey watched in bewilderment.

Catching sight of Victor rounding a corner behind him, Casey rushed off to the left, his knees bruised from knocking so hardly against one another. He followed the sidewalk, struggling to continue his pace, until a wall of white marble began to run beside him. Casey glanced at the barrier, gasping at the familiarity. He knew this place.

With a renewed burst of speed, Casey maintained his path, until he reached a break in the wall, where a silver and green plaque proclaimed in etched letters the words "Key Park." Without a thought, Casey turned into the park, and finally slowed his pace, wheezing with difficulty, bent at the waist so that his sweat and tears of pain dripped onto the cobble-paved path that led deeper into the walled park. The place seemed relatively empty at the moment; the sound of Victor's expensive shoes echoed just outside, and Casey quickly made a move to hide behind the trunk of a nearby tree. The footsteps slowed as they neared, stopping for a moment, suggesting Victor standing outside the wall, giving the park a check. It seemed little more than a cursory glance, because less than thirty seconds afterward, Casey heard a few disappointed words and the clack of Victor's heels once again sounded, fading off after a few moments into obscurity.

Casey remained behind the tree for a long while, his breathing harsh and stinging, the tears continuing to collect and fall at the corners of his eyes. He fell onto the ground, leaning against the tree's trunk, pulling his legs to his chest and resting his head against the denim of his jeans. Something about running felt liberating to him; he had never felt such confusion and freedom before in his life! But, this pain, in his legs, his lungs, and his throat… the sensation had become so much more noticeable now as the adrenaline wore down, as his breathing slowed. He felt dizzy, nauseous… Could this be punishment for disobeying his father's wishes? For running away from Victor?

The frosted wind slithered through the park, and Casey's sweat dried, disappeared. The boy looked up, and, struggling against the tree's trunk, Casey got to his feet, and hesitantly stepped back onto the cobblestone path.

Key Park was situated in the northeastern part of Sindey City, a large, well-known place amongst the citizens. The park consisted of several circles, each separated by a white wall, growing smaller and smaller as one continued deeper into the park's depths. In the center, the innermost circle lay separated from the rest by a flight of stairs and a large, wooden door, roofed by a stained-glass dome that sparkled when the sun shone through from the proper angle. Ivy spilled down from several plant boxes set near the top of the round walls, ending midway, where green benches of painted wood and curled, black iron hugged the white divider, following its graceful curve. In the center of the room, a beautiful white fountain spouted crystalline waters. The pool surrounding the carved spout was filled with fish, its water warmed every winter to preserve them. An adjacent room led to an aviary, where different birds sang all year long.

Casey made his path toward that place, a place where he could find quiet. His sanctuary.

As he passed by the children's park that was set up in the outermost circle, his head traveled to when he first came to this place: on an outing with his Uncle Hugo during a long week when his father had gone away on business. He fell in love with it, begging to come back everyday, until Mr. Frollo returned home, and, being the ever-submitting and fun person Uncle Hugo was, Casey had that opportunity. He found a heaven in that place, where the sounds of water calmed him, allowed him a momentary amnesia, a time to relax and enjoy. He hadn't come here for such a long time…

Casey's breathing finally normalized, just as he reached the top of the stairs. His dizziness still existed, and the pain in his knees didn't seem to want to leave, but still, he descended the flight. He pushed against the wooden door.

The room hadn't changed at all since he had last seen it, but for the ivy which the park officials must've recently trimmed. The fountain bubbled as always in the center, made of white marble, its spout circled by a pool whose ledge could easily serve as a seat. The pale sun filtered in through the glass above. Casey could see the colored silhouettes of the swimming fish from his spot by the door, and, with a relieved sigh upon seeing that no one else was in the room, he made his way to one curved bench and took a seat.

For a while he sat there, his eyes closed, drinking in the tranquility that hummed in the constant gurgle of the water.

"Are you okay?"

Casey sucked in a gasped that stung at his raw throat, his eyes fluttering open at the sudden, unexpected voice, and with an abrupt movement, he flung himself into an upright position, pulling his body off the back of the bench. He heard a small yelp as he sat up, but afterward, nothing seemed to make a noise in the room, but for the burble of water and the occasional twitter of the birds, sleeping in the aviary. His own harsh breathing joined them after a short, flabbergasted silence.

Grabbing his chest, the young boy's eyes scanned the room warily for the voice's owner. He must've fallen asleep; he came in when the room was quite empty, and he couldn't remember hearing the door creak open as another person entered. The tranquility and weariness in his bones could've easily pulled him away into unconsciousness.

Casey couldn't see anyone else in the room, and for a moment, he wondered whether or not he had imagined the voice and its question. Perhaps it came from his dream, if he had in fact fallen asleep. The young boy let out a sigh, finally catching his breath, and he rubbed his eyes gently. He should probably leave now; he already put Victor through enough trouble by running away, and if he didn't come home before his father did…

"You scared me." The voice came once again, quieter and bothered by a small bit of embarrassed laughter. Casey pulled his face from his hands, glancing up at the fountain, where he thought he heard the words come from.

Coming up from a crouch behind the opposite ledge of the fish pool, he saw a little girl with dark skin and hair. She looked at him curiously, a small smile playing with her wide mouth, her almond-shaped eyes sparkling curiously. She must've hid when he had woken up, he supposed, watching her as she took a seat on the fountain's edge. That's why he couldn't find her.

"Was it you who…" Casey spoke quietly, trying to avoid the usual stammers that took his voice when he spoke to someone knew. But, as always, the words escaped him, and he found himself once again staring at his abnormally angled feet.

"I asked if you were okay," she explained, guessing his question correctly. "You looked sorta tired and sick when I came in."

"Oh," Casey said, wringing his fingers nervously. "Well, I… I'm f-fine."

The little girl laughed at the slight stutter, hiding her mouth beneath her mitten-ed hands. Casey felt a blush coming onto his cheeks, and he looked away, feeling the normal self-consciousness slipping back into his manner, and the self he became when lost in the room's almost-forgotten tranquility disappeared into a barely touched portion of Casey's personality. A long, awkward silence followed the girl's laughter, and Casey felt the urge to disappear from the room become strong in the hush.

"Sorry," the little girl said at length, her voice breaking through the silence as a low and sincere murmur.

"No, it's all right!" Casey exclaimed, feeling extremely guilty upon hearing the shame in her voice. He rubbed his shoulder fretfully, biting his bottom lip as he searched for something more to say. "I… I think I might've… fallen asleep when you came… you surprised me."

For some reason or other, Casey wanted to stay and talk with this peculiar new person. At school, the boy had no friends but for Peter (he wondered whether or not Peter had stopped running yet); as if from some unspoken rule, not only children but people in generally tended to avoid the poor boy. Life played out long and lonely, his high social status and slight physical deformities causing a natural discomfort amongst the normal citizens his day forced him to encounter. If encounter was the word; it seemed everyone felt loathe to meet him.

And yet, this little girl spoke to him, asking for his feelings, talking with a friendliness he experienced rarely from people other than Peter. Perhaps… perhaps Casey had a chance now, to make a new friend…

The little girl's smile widened, as if she could hear this single thought in Casey's voice as he spoke.

"You're lucky I was the one who caught you here," she told him, her eyes shifting as if she didn't want anyone else to hear. "I think I saw a blue monster outside the park," she told him, her face completely serious. "It was eating a trashcan!"

"It was eating out of a trashcan?" Casey asked, tilting his head questioningly.

"No," the little girl replied, her hands moving to her hips. "It was eating the trashcan! I was going to run away, but I needed to get here because of Pudge, so I rushed in—"

"Pudge?" Casey interrupted.

"Yeah," she said, nodding her head. "I need to feed him today, because Nani wouldn't let me do it last Thursday."

Casey furrowed his brow, scratching the back of his head in confusion. What was Pudge exactly?

"That's why it's been snowing a lot, I think," the little girl continued, glancing up at the glass dome where frost patterns veined out from the cold panes. "Luckily, the park people let me put him in the fountain so he can keep warm… I think he misses Hawaii."

"Pudge is a fish?" Casey inquired slowly, drawing this conclusion from her comment about the fountain. Sadly, the rest of her words didn't seem to form intelligible sentences, and he found himself unable to figure a bit of what she meant. Hawaii… is that where she came from?

"Pudge is the orange one with the blue spots." The little girl pointed a chubby fish swimming about in the water, its silhouette barely visible from Casey's point. Curious, Casey stood from the bench, groaning somewhat from the persistent pain in his bruised knees, and, with a slow tentative limp, the young boy made his way to where the little girl sat.

She seemed to find his gait rather interesting; her eyes didn't stray from his form as he made his approach, and they seemed ever watchful of his legs even as he arrived and took a tired seat on the ledge. He rubbed his knees gently, still cringing at the sting that had blasted from the skin when he had tried to walk, the bone having rubbed against the bruises.

"Wow," the little girl said suddenly, her gaze still directed at his strangely set feet, a genuinely interested glimmer evident in her large brown eyes. "How did that happen?" she asked, finally looking up at Casey. "Was it an accident? Did it hurt? Was there a lot of blood?"

Casey leant backwards, away from the young girl's eager face, his fingers clutching tightly at the edges of the marble pool as a sudden nervousness began to take him. She hadn't noticed his deformity, not until he had stood up and walked, and now she asked him questions about it as if it were the only thing she noticed now. He looked down at his knees in disdain. Could his appearance have inhibited yet another new friendship?

"I…" Casey began, his stammer returning. "I... I was b-born this way…" He looked away, moving himself a small amount from the little girl, biting his bottom lip in a fretful manner.

"Really?" The little girl smiled at him widely, closing the distance between them by crawling over on the wide ledge. "I was born with something cool too! Look!" Pulling off one of her mittens, the little girl cricked her joints so that they bent backwards. Casey looked at the display, letting out a small surprised yelp, his tongue sticking out in disgust as a friendly laughter escaped him in loud bursts. The little girl, giggling, just pushed her hand closer to his face, popping her joints back and forth between bending in one direction to bending in another. "See? I'm double-jointed. Cool, isn't it?"

"Yes," Casey answered, still backing away from the strange show; it gave him a strange shiver up his spine, interesting though it was.

Finally, the little girl backed up, a grin spread about her face. "You should smile more," she told him, pulling on her mitten. "It looks better."

Casey blinked at the words, feeling another blush deepen his already embarrassed, pink cheeks. No one in his life had ever told him something like that before, and yet this little girl… He had just met her, and already she surprised him beyond anyone else. He could sense eagerness in her voice and actions, as if she wanted friends as badly as he did. She treated him with such kindness, and his deformity was as horrible to her as a set of double-jointed fingers…

"Th-thank you," he muttered.

"You're wel--." The girl began to talk, but stopped suddenly, her brow furrowing as if in concentration. She lifted her head, an attentive look on her face. She seemed to be listening for something…

Casey listened as well, wondering what was going on. Nothing greeted his ears at first but the usual burble of water, but, after a moment, the faint sounds of a woman's voice could be heard, muffled by the walls that enclosed both him and the little girl.

"I knew it," Casey heard the little girl murmur, and, glancing back for a moment, he spotted her standing up and rushing over the aviary door.

"Where are you going?" He called curiously.

"I gotta hide," she answered. "I have a secret hiding spot… A lady's gonna come in, okay? Don't tell her I'm here, please!" And, with that, she rushed to where the caged birds sang faintly, disappearing from Casey's sight.

For a second, Casey stared at the door, where the young girl had stood just seconds before. Once again, he couldn't quite comprehend the meaning in her words, unsure whether or not he should be able to, taking things into a different context, probably, than she did... He guessed she reacted to the voice that he had barely managed to detect outside the fountain room, but he could only surmise. After staring at the aviary entrance for a few more moments, Casey shrugged his slumped shoulders, letting out an accepting sigh as he rubbed at the sore spots on his tired knees.

He had just started searching the fountain's pool for the blue and orange fish—Pudge, as the little girl had called him—when the creak of the wooden door's hinges turned his head to the inner circle's entrance. Her head poking through the crack of the now slightly open door, a young woman, perhaps in her teens, peeked into the quiet room. Her eyes seemed to scan over the scene, searching the benches and fountain from her spot at the door. For a moment, her gaze rested upon Casey, who had turned back to the fountain, attempting discreet glances at her as he ran a casual finger through the warmed pool water, wanting to appear offhand.

"Excuse me," the woman spoke up, squeezing into the room through the small crack, not even making an attempt to push the door open further. Casey glanced at her for a moment questioningly. Her voice was accented, some unknown tone that he had never come across before. Seeing that she caught Casey's attention, she smiled politely and made a tentative approach. "Can you check if there's a little girl in the bird room for me, please?"

Casey nodded wordlessly, standing up from the pool's ledge and limping from the fountain over to the entrance. He did it out of politeness; he felt quite certain about what he would see. Peeking his head beyond the jamb of the aviary entrance, shock and surprise sent a jolt through his body as he saw, with wide and questioning eyes, that no one stood in the room. Cages of painted black metal lined the walls, colorful birds sleeping on wooden perches that jutted out from the brick. A wooden bench sat in the space between barriers. A sack of birdseed sat, leant up against the far, uncaged wall. But, no little girl. Perhaps she had disappeared.

Pulling himself back, slow and questioning, Casey turned back to the young woman his brow furrowed in curiosity.

"There's no one there," he told her.

The young woman's face fell.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," he replied.

"Well, thank you anyway," she said, an exasperated grimace marring her pretty face. She was muttering as she left the room through the door.

Casey stood alone for a few moments after the lady left, still thinking quietly. Where could that little girl have disappeared to?

"Is she gone?"

Casey jumped again, surprised. Making a swift turnabout, he saw the little girl glancing warily from one end of the room to the other as she walked toward him from the bird room. She didn't look too happy.

"She's always following me everywhere," she complained out loud, pouting. "I just got here, and she still won't leave me alone…"

"Who is she?" Casey asked curiously.

"My sister, Nani," the little girl replied. With a quick sigh, she reached into a pocket of her red jacket, pulling out what looked like a peanut butter sandwich. She walked over the fountain and, taking a moment to look for her beloved Pudge, she threw the sandwich in.

"I'll see you next Thursday, okay, Pudge?" she said, watching her fish affectionately. "I gotta get out of here before Nani catches me again."

Standing, she started toward the door when she stopped, as if just remembering Casey. She waved at him, smiling genially.

"See you too, maybe," she said, sending him a wink before rushing out the great door.

Casey was silent for a while. Maybe, he thought sadly. Probably not.

And, with that, Casey gave his farewells to the orange and blue fish that he had just met, and left the room. Victor would probably be in a lot of trouble. He hoped he remembered the way home.

That was long, wasn't it? Ah well... Thank you for reading. This chapter was more of a character examination for Casey; this story brought about a lot of changes in the circumstances Quasimodo went through, so I wanted to see if I might be able to presereve his personality despite all that. But, whatever. It's been a whlie, and I'll admit, I'm rusty. As stated before, Read and Review! The next chapter is Belle's!