This is from a prompt sent in by one of my most dedicated fans, ChibiDawn23. Thank you so much for the prompt, hope you enjoy!
This oneshot is connected to the 'Wings' and takes place long before our beloved John was ever in the mix.


I hurried to Abuela's door - too anxious from what the news was saying, I wasn't sure what it all meant, or how long we had - and knocked, the noise stirring Philip in his sling. After what seemed like an hour she answered.

"Abuela, what do we do?" I stared at her.

"We wait." She smiled and welcomed me in, I put a hand on Philip's back, feeling it move as he breathed against my chest.

"Do you think it's going to be bad?"

"Let's hope it isn't. Paciencia y fe, mi hijo."

I nodded and breathed in the milky smell of Philip's head. He was none the wiser, he'd never know this happened. I'd keep him safe. That's what daddies are here for.

"Do you want me to take him, Alex? Give your poor back a break?" She looked at Philip and smiled.

I shook my head, too anxious to be away from him. I had to be with him. Lightning struck outside again with a gargle of thunder behind it and I clamped my eyes shut.

"It's going to be alright." Abuela patted my thigh.

"I'm scared."

"I know you are mi hijo, but it's okay."

I thought about the midterms I wasn't studying for, why did I need to take biology if I was a theatre major, anyway? It was just a ploy from the big education assholes to scam me out of money in an attempt to keep education accessible only to the elite and force out minorities and people without money, people with children, I knew it was.

"I should be studying." I said, staring blankly out the window, upset that it hadn't even started raining yet.

"Go get your books. I will watch the baby."

I looked between her and Philip still sleeping against me and relented. I unfastened the carrier that tethered him to me and passed my sleeping son to her before running up the stairs full tilt to the apartment I could barely afford where I grabbed my books and headed back downstairs. Abuela was talking to Philip, cooing softly at the sleeping baby. I sat on the couch which was draped in an afghan blanket she'd made and tried to read my textbook while the news droned on.

The storm was getting closer.

Words on the page I was reading floated in my anxiety, I couldn't make them stay in one place. Mitochondria, powerhouse of the cell, got it. I moved to work on my theatre paper and read through the textbook, maybe if it was at least what I was interested in the class I'd be more engaged. It was a good idea, but I still struggled to focus. It was just about lighting, I knew lighting would never be the job for me anyway, what psychopath would want to spend that much time that high up over the stage? I knew that the real action was backstage anyway. It was hopeless, so I closed my book and became that much more aware of how fast my foot was tapping on the floor.

"Alexito you look too skinny, when did you last eat?" Abuela frowned at me over my sleeping son.

When had it been?

"Uh, no sé, maybe yesterday?" I grimaced, knowing that that was the wrong answer.

She stood up and handed Philip back to me. He turned his head and smacked his lips, falling back asleep. I kissed his forehead, he was the most perfect thing in the universe, he was my everything.

In the kitchen I listened to Abuela rummaging through repurposed margarine containers for leftovers for me, even though she knew as well as I did that I didn't feel like eating... even if my hoodie was hanging off of me. It was easy to forget to eat, or be too broke to eat, or to just be too tired to eat, I had more important stuff to worry about… like an opinion paper on traditional gels versus LED lights for stage. She roused me from my thoughts with a plate of chicken and peppers, I thanked her and picked at the rice, not wanting to be admonished or reminded that Philip needed me to be big and strong.

We watched the news, passing Philip back and forth until the hours grew late, Abuela still rocking in her chair, I lie on the sofa now, Philip on my chest. There was still round the clock coverage, apparently the wind speed was picking up, but we made it to midnight. I was certain that October 28th would have gone down in history as the worst day of my life, but somehow that was wrong, somehow October 28th was back to just being a regular day again as all of New York set its sights on the next day.

Eventually I fell asleep, waking up in the middle of the night to find myself covered in the afghan from the back of the couch, and Philip in the pack and play which had been stored in the closet before I fell asleep.

I blinked and stretched. Abuela's door was closed and Philip was sound asleep so I crept out the door of her apartment and outside for a cigarette. For two cigarettes. For three cigarettes. As I smoked I looked through my phone and saw that I had texts from Lafayette, knowing that I'd be panicking in the storm. I texted him back, so far so good. Classes were already called off, there was a text alert from earlier in the evening. The city seemed tired tonight, the air charged with preparation, sandbags in front of the doors of businesses. I looked down the street at the Solario's dispatch, the salon, the little bodega, we'd all make it. We'd all be okay. In the quiet, I felt alone and pulled my phone back out, starting a text.

Hey, sorry to bother you, I just wanted to make sure

No, it's not your place, Alex.

Hey, it's Alexander, just checking if you're

No, stop it.

Hey, are you safe from the storm? It's supposed to

Dammit, Alex, no! As I continued to war with myself I lit another cigarette, forever grateful to Señor Vega for looking the other way when he sold them to me.

You know what, bitch, our son is safe, I'm protecting him from

The cherry of the cigarette glowed in the dark as I took a long drag off of it, what good would that do? She hasn't spoken to you in six months, nothing you could say will solve anything.

Once again, I deleted the drafted text to Maria and pocketed my phone. As grateful as I was for Abuela and my neighbours, I was still basically on my own. I never thought Maria and I would work out, wouldn't really have wanted us to, but maybe we could have at least been amicable. Even after a horrible court battle with lawyers I couldn't afford I was barely getting child support. It was better to do it on my own and give Philip a life where he knew he was loved more than anything and wanted more than anything than to try and force his mother to spend time with him. It was so hard, though, to be both parents, to be, god, just a fucking kid myself, to be bumbling through school, working tech crew at whatever production would hire me to try and scrape together enough just to live, a seventeen year old fuck-up.

It was starting to get windy and the temperature continued to drop. I sank deeper into my hoodie, my fingers fumbling over imaginary piano keys, I started to mumble to myself, looking at the sleeping buildings down the street, glancing up at the full moon.

"Smile at the faces I've known my whole life… you're going places, how do I say I have so much to hide? Something something, no me preocupo por ello, they aren't worrying about me since I got all these scholarships, saved every dollar, I'm the first to go to college. Something something, what would Abuela say, if I went in there to say, 'I know I am letting you down.'" I kicked around the tune that had been clinging to me for weeks, trying to flesh out any sort of progress on it.

My stomach knotted and I felt the waves of memories hit me. I barely remembered anything, but I did remember how I felt, how scared I'd been, how sick I'd been. How alone I was. At that memory I went back inside and pulled Philip out of his pack and play, it was selfish, but I had to touch him, to feel that he was real, and okay, and safe. He blinked up at me in the dark. Day in and day out it got easy to forget that he was so big now. Almost a year old, that made me almost eighteen… our whole lives ahead of us.

"Whatcha think, tiny?" I whispered, bouncing him on my hip.

He looked up at me with those giant hazel eyes and leaned his big head on my shoulder, patting my chest with his tiny hand. I kept bouncing him and smelled his head, feeling more calm with that milky smell and him patting my chest, fingers finding the chain I wore, the only thing I still had from my mom.

"We're gonna be, okay, Pip. Promise. I'll keep you safe."

He babbled at me and eventually fell back asleep. I sat on the couch and at some point also fell back asleep.

Abuela was up first, and filling the apartment with the smell of meat frying in a pan. I woke up and found that Philip was already in his high chair, happily eating chunks of banana. I stretched and got up.

"Buenos días, abuelita." I yawned, and kissed her on the cheek.

"You sleep so late, Alexito."

I furrowed my brow playfully at her, "usually Philip's my alarm clock."

"You get a day off once in a while. That's the advantage of you living in my building." She handed me a cup of coffee, which I gulped gratefully.

Philip squealed when I sat down at the table beside him and reached for my face with a banana covered hand, "ew, I don't want you banana hands!" I feigned disgust but kissed his messy fingers anyway.

Abuela sat a plate in front of me with eggs and fried ham and toast and more coffee and papaya and banana. I smirked at her, she always took care of me. She sat in her seat at the head of the table.

"Did you take your medicine, Abuela?"

She smiled at me, "you have more important things to worry about, Alexander."

I poked a piece of ham on my fork, "not when you keep eating like this. I need your heart strong, keep you around for a long time." I tried her own logic against her.

"Don't worry about me, I'm fine."

"If it's money, we can get you the money, I'll figure something out."

"Hijo, that's enough, I just don't like how it makes me feel."

With that it was clear that the conversation was over. I bit a piece of papaya in half and gave the smaller chunk to Philip who babbled in delight around it.

The news droned on in the living room, the storm had been de-categorized from a hurricane to a superstorm, it was still just as bad though, regardless of what they wanted to call it. It was getting bigger and faster again and heading toward Jersey. I helped abuela with the dishes and started again on my homework, still distracted. I was smart, but I was so tired. Philip played on the floor with toys, though he seemed more interested in trying to pull my sock off.

Abuela patted my shoulder, seeing the frustration on my face as I grimaced at my textbook.

"What is the problem? You are smart, no?"

"It's just a lot." I sighed, feeling overwhelmed.

She took the book and sat in her chair to look at it, scanning lines of text that I knew meant nothing to her, "why don't you tell me everything you know?"

While she spoke, I flopped onto the floor, grabbed the diaper bag, and pulled Philip's onesie up to change him.

Distracted by the task at hand and frustrated with my life and my schoolwork I grumbled, already feeling like a failure, "okay so first, there's the… condensation step and the carbon group gets… combined, I guess, with the oxaloacetate group to make a… bigger molecule… um, that's citrate. The ATP rate matters, but I can't remember why, the more of it… the less of something else? The citrate loses a water molecule and… it's hopeless. I'm gonna flunk this test, and then I'm going to flunk out of college, and then me and Philip are gonna live on the streets." I snapped Philip's onesie shut and threw the diaper away.

He played on the floor with the package of wipes and I scrubbed my face with my hands, feeling hot tears pricking my eyes.

"Alexito, hijo, mi amor, calm down, try again. You are smart."

After several more attempts I managed to explain the Krebs Cycle to her with alright detail. She seemed so proud, I just felt more and more disappointing. While we were studying the hurricane, or as it was now being called Superstorm Sandy made landfall on D.C., leaving people powerless, it was still headed our way. My phone rang and I stepped outside to answer it, happy to have another cigarette, I tried my hardest not to smoke around Abuela, it was a lecture I didn't need.

"Bonjour, ami." Lafayette answered the phone.

I switched over to French, Laf's English was still pretty terrible and it gave me reason to practice and keep my skills sharp.

"Hi, Laf, where are you?" I had to make sure he was safe, too.

"In the dorm. And you are?"

"With grandmother. We're safe."

"How is my baby?"

"He's fine. He's okay."

"And more relevant, how is my best friend?"

I took a drag off the smoke and chuckled, "oh, fine, I'm okay."

His voice was dry, "I do not believe a word."

"I'm alright, really, Laf."

"Okay. Okay. I know the storms bring you pain."

"As long as my kid's okay, I'm fine."

"Whatever you say, my friend. How is your studying going?"

"I know I don't give a shit about the Krebs Cycle or stage lighting."

"Okay, the lighting section is very difficult."

"It's not difficult, just boring."

"Well, when I'm a big shot director and you're my right hand man we'll make sure we have the best light tech in the land."

I snorted, "sure."

"We will be okay, no?" I was pretty sure that he was talking about more than classwork.

"I'm sure we will." I agreed, flicking my cigarette.

Lafayette and I chatted for a little while and eventually we got off the phone. It started to rain. Abuela was rocking Philip on her hip and singing an old Spanish lullaby to him as he wailed.

"What's wrong?"

"He got sad that his papi left him."

I let out a heavy breath and unencumbered her, taking my son back and holding him to me, "what's the deal, kid? Daddy can't leave you alone with Abuelita for five minutes? Not even to talk to your Oncle Laf? Come on, buddy, that's enough, you're okay."

Philip continued to wail into my shoulder as I hushed him, bouncing our way through the living room. Rain beat against the windows and I held tightly to Philip even though he'd calmed down, Abuela sat contentedly in her chair and knit.

"It's coming." I told her.

"And so it will." She nodded.

Philip fought against me to get down and play on the floor, I let him down and he crawled to the basket with Abuela's yarn in it, she chided him immediately. The wind whipped angrily around the apartment building. We continued to watch the news. My fingers itched for a cigarette as my body vibrated. Philip brought me a toy, I played half-heartedly with him but kept my attention on the television.

Abuela made us dinner and we watched clips of the flooded subway tunnels. As if the MTA wasn't shitty enough before this. I wondered how expensive a cab to school would be. I barely ate the dinner I was handed, but broke off little pieces to give to Philip who ate the food eagerly.

The apartment went dark. We, like so many other New Yorkers lost power. Philip startled and began to cry. I hushed him, a few tears slipping over my own cheeks. I hated feeling so helpless, how could I protect my baby from nature? From god himself? Abuela lit candles and I watched the flicker of light dance in Philip's eyes as he stared at the pillar candle of the Virgin Mary glowing.

Abuela began to call our neighbours to make sure that they were all okay. The winds beat against the apartment. I tried to take deep breaths and focus on Philip playing with his block.

"Alexito, you're okay." Abuela was reassuring as she spoke to me between phone calls.

"I know." I nodded, despite not believing her.

My phone buzzed with a message from Lafayette: no power. You safe?

I responded in kind. We were still okay. We would be okay. I wouldn't let anything happen to Philip. The storm continued to howl outside, sheets of rain battering the windows. Reading my face, Philip stayed on edge. I sang softly to him, the song that I'd written for him, his song and he calmed down. The sounds of the rain separated me from myself and time meant nothing, in this fugue, despite the clench of anxiety I grew heavy. It seemed that the worst of the wind was over, but I knew better, I knew that it could just be waiting to pick back up again. Ideas for lyrics flashed into my mind, in the eye of the hurricane there is silence, for just a moment… I could imagine the notes to accompany the song.

"What's on your mind, hijo?" Abuela asked me.

"Writing songs in my head."

"When will you make your Broadway debut, fantastic song writer?"

I chuckled, "yeah, I don't think so. I'm just as happy in the background."

"Don't sell yourself short, hijo, so talented, don't squander that."

"I don't know, Abuela, maybe."

"I'll be in the front row when you do."

This earned a genuine smile from me, "I know."

"Let's get some rest, mi hijo. The worst is over."

I nodded at her and started the routine of getting Philip and myself ready for bed. He was so warm and soft in his sleeper that I snuggled him beside me on the sofa. Abuela walked through the apartment, turning off the useless light switches in case we got power back in the middle of the night.

"You sleep with that baby so much he'll never learn how to sleep alone." I could hear the eye roll in her voice.

"We both like it," I shrugged off her complaint.

"See if you're still saying that in five years."

That was a long way away, for right now, I just wanted my baby nearby. Philip snored softly in my arms while I pined over my longing for someone to hold me, make me feel like everything would be alright. I'd resigned myself to the belief that that wouldn't happen for a long time and just imagined that I had someone to hold me and keep me safe. I thought about them until I fell asleep. We'd all made it through the storm.