A/N: This is a silly little idea that practically fell in my lap.
I blame books and the wealth of them that I must come across for this fic, whatever you may think of it either way.
Trying a different thing here, stylistically. I think I deserve a little freedom now and again...
Up along a winding black asphalt road lined with concrete walks, sheltered in clusters of similar houses with similarly small lawns, trailing onward to the pink horizon, is a six-year old boy.
On this very day, something peculiar is to happen. Not so much in that a starship will land in his front yard, whisking him away to adventures untold, or that a strange letter will inform him and his family of an odd, pale folklore of magic. Instead, he will say goodbye to someone very dear to him. To a boy, a little child with no context for the world greater than that which is very near, the world is a microscopic bubble. To him, to Jack Ludgate-Dwyer, the world is his street, his parents, his school. His world is his friendship with Tim Wallace across the street.
On that road, the one lined with nice sidewalks and somewhat well-kept lawns you know, a pair of white and orange trucks line the Wallaces' driveway - one from garage to street and the other parked on the curb with a lazy lack of precision or care. Jack has been sitting outside for an hour, having woken up that much earlier than his parents ever would. He hopes desperately to hear that this is a joke. Friends are not allowed to move away, and friends should not have to say goodbye to one another for any reason whatsoever, you know. It's his belief, of course, that they'll grow up right next to each other, hang out forever, and nothing beyond that has ever entered his thoughts.
Ms. Wallace does not help the movers, but Jack assumes they're just nice. He doesn't really understand that they've been paid to move these things, Tim's belongings and his toys and everything. All of these are to end up just an hour and a half away from where April Ludgate-Dwyer and Andy Dwyer wake up minutes after.
Another thing Jack doesn't know about, or think of - his name is different from his father's, but he won't question it for another ten years at which point, after a strange conversation with his dad, none of it makes sense to him. But at least he knows, even if it's nonsense.
But back to Jack, who turns his focus to the blade of grass he delicately pulled from the yard before we've ever walked up beside him along that rather normal, suburban road.
Without much warning, his mother sits down next to him. She watches the movers with Jack, who pay them no mind despite being easily seen from the Wallaces' driveway, and after a moment of silence embraces him with one arm. They've known about this longer than either of the children caught in the crossfire, a pain that has sat within Andy for much longer than he could care to admit. Between never telling his son that his friend would be moving away, and April fearing the same event, life has been an anxious mess for the Dwyer family.
Instead of that fear, now, the boy's mother can only keep him close and whisper something about how this wouldn't be so bad. Jack, we know, doesn't' believe this and that is fine, because whether he has a word in edgewise or other there is no changing this move. April tries to explain, but the boy just shrugs her off. She even promises that they will go visit, but he doesn't believe her even if he wants to do just that.
The mother contemplates cursing the new house their neighbors move to, but decides better against it. After all, she knows nothing of actual curses - had she, the only thing that would occur is an unfortunate accident or two that might leave Jack more depressed than ever. She offers to fight the moving-men for Jack, who laughs and points to her belly as evidence for her inability to get into a sudden scrap with burly men hauling furniture. She claims there are other ways to fight back.
After a few more minutes, the boy looks out across that normal street and searches in plaintive hope for two figures to exit the house. It takes a while, but they do. They have bags in their hands, not grocery bags filled with sweets and snacks they can enjoy together across the street, but the big, strapped kind that obviously hold clothes. Jack just sees Tim, who notices the mother and son watching.
In that darkening, reddish light the boys catch gaze. No wind stirs the chill of the morning into them, so they stay transfixed. For their lives, this was supposed to be forever - best friends. They were to stay friends forever, that was the pact they made in a tree fort built by a mutual friend's father with far too much time. For two children incapable of seeing the world past the end of the street or their shared classroom, this would have to be goodbye. Ms. Wallace ushers him forward, paying no mind to April or Jack. Just like that, what should have been a goodbye is snatched away, and the boy's mother holds him closer as warm light spills down the street lined with concrete, brick, and sorrow.
As the trucks leave, only the four-door sedan remains in the driveway. The passenger side door opens, and Tim - the other boy on the other side of that street, whose story this very much isn't though it be in remarkable parallel - steps out. Jack sits up straighter, watching the other boy across the street to see if he would do anything.
He simply lifts his hand into a wave, the surest goodbye they will ever get.
The dew dried on Jack's hands sticks fingers together in the response, a moment before they're unstuck and free to wave in the morning air. The boy's mother joins him, and together they wave the car off as it sets towards something that may as well not exist in Jack's mind.
His mother persuades him to come back inside a while later, and there they sit together with Andy.
Back down that road, where the sedan drives idly towards a new beginning for young Tim, neither of its passengers can hear the sound of a little boy crying back at the now-lonely street.