AN: The name of Frank for Mr. Pevensie belongs to the talented Capegio.
And many, many thanks to the incomparable elecktrum for making sure this whole thing was fit for public consumption.
The lights go out all around me
One last candle to keep out the night
And then the darkness surrounds me
I know I'm alive
But I feel like I've died
+ Beauty from Pain, vs. 1, by Superchick
2. Ashes to Ashes
"I'm sorry, son, you can't come in here," the policeman said firmly, professionally, although his manner was not unkindly.
Peter hardly spared him a glance - instead his eyes were focused on the chaos beyond the official cordon: ambulances, fire-trucks, white-uniformed paramedics, all kinds of people, running, stumbling, sobbing, screaming, some sitting in little groups, stunned, dull, in shock. The small station building looked as though a giant had crushed it on one side with a massive fist - it listed badly, and broken boards, glass, and shingles littered the ground.
He could see the twisted remains of the train, lying half-on, half-off the tracks, jack-knifed, with many of the passenger carriages crumpled. A hot, choking, metallic smell filled the air, punctuated with an undercurrent of coal and, far more ominous, a faint tang of blood. He broke forward, his only thought to get to the train, to get to Lucy. He had to make it, had to get there in time - he knew everything would be all right if he could just find his sister - take her away - get some help. She would be fine - she had to be, had to be, had to be.
The policeman hastily grabbed the young man's shoulders, tightening his grip when Peter tried to shake him off. A wild, frantic look began to slide over the young man's face; his eyes were wide and almost blank, glassy. "Let me go!" he snapped, in a voice not wholly his own, not even looking at the older man, still fighting to free himself.
"Now, now, you can't - hold on, there, young chap, calm down!" the policeman said, finding that Peter was much stronger than he appeared. "Look, you must stay here! What, you think others aren't waiting, too? Here now, watch that!"
Edmund, who was feeling quite sick to his stomach and trying not to throw up right then and there, reached out and took his brother's flailing right arm, catching it just as Peter drew it back and clenched his hand into a fist. "Hey, Peter," he said, as calmly as he could, knowing that when the older boy was afraid for one of his own, he could be nigh unreachable - and unstoppable - fighting past any obstacle with an almost berserker frenzy.
"Peter," he said again, holding on, pulling, bringing his brother's body around with the policeman's help, facing him. His breaking heart cracked a little deeper upon seeing the expression of unreasoning terror in Peter's eyes, and he swallowed sour bile, praying he wouldn't lose face by upchucking in front of the officer. Not yet. Control.
"Listen to me, Peter," he said, grasping the other's shoulders, giving him a little shake, "Listen - be still! It's me, alright? It's Edmund. Get ahold of yourself - breathe! Deeper! You've got to be calm – for all our sakes!"
Peter focused on his brother's face, as if he finally understood what Edmund was saying to him. He took one shuddering breath and then another, slumping a bit and losing his panicked edge. Bringing his own hands up, he clutched Edmund's upper arms, bending his head, inhaling slower and more deeply each time. "Thank you, Ed," he said at last, "I'm sorry – it's just…" He straightened and turned to the officer, who was watching with some sympathy. "Sir, what can we do? Our sister, cousin, and friends were on that train…"
"…and our parents," Edmund interjected abruptly, whispering, going ghastly white, and reaching out automatically to pluck at his brother's sleeve. "Oh, dear God, our parents were on that train, too."
He flung a desperate look at Peter, who swung about and now stared at him with an open mouth, the blood draining from his face. "What?" the older boy asked sharply, "Are you sure? Weren't they going to see Aunt Harriet?"
Edmund nodded miserably, feeling as though tears should be starting to pool and threatening to fall and wondering rather abstractedly why they were not. "But they were bound to be going by this train," he said, "It's the only one headed in that direction as early as Mum wanted to get started." He felt even worse now, as if the world had turned upside down and inside out. His stomach lurched. "I can't…" he began, and then Peter was beside him, arm around his shoulders.
"Hold on, Ed," came his brother's voice, heavy with his own sorrow, "Hold it together. We don't know for sure that they didn't make it."
With that remark, the teenager glanced over at him, and Peter was sharply and suddenly reminded of another time when the dark brown eyes had been suspiciously bright and full of painful anger, looking up at him from just above Mum's arm with their father's shattered picture beside him.
"Don't be a fool, Peter," came Edmund's voice, breaking the illusion, stained with maturity far beyond his years. "You've never been one to tell lies – don't start now."
The older brother tightened his grip. "I know," he whispered, "but I don't think I can bear it yet otherwise."
They remained so for a few more moments, leaning against one another, giving and taking strength with their heads bent together, dark blond and brownish black, as they regained their composure. Then Peter turned and faced the police officer once again.
"Sir, what can we do? We'd like to help – we need to find our parents, our sister…" he trailed off.
The officer placed a hand on Peter's shoulder and squeezed comfortingly. "You aren't gonna like this, young fellow, and I can't say as I would either, was I in your place. But you need to go home, though they'll most likely be callin' you back 'ventually. You can't do nothing here now 'cept be in the way."
Peter nodded, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming at the man, knowing he was only doing his job, knowing they would indeed just be in the way, knowing there was nothing they could do except wait.
"Can we leave our names with someone?" Edmund asked from beside him, "So we can be contacted?"
The policeman nodded, seemingly relieved he could be of helpful service, or at least glad to get them out of his hair. He indicated a white-coated woman standing further on down the cordon, holding a clipboard and calmly speaking with a frightened older couple.
Edmund thanked the officer, and slowly, trying not to look at the disaster scene unfolding, trying not to hear the shouts of the paramedics, the cries of the wounded, or the screams of those still trapped, the brothers made their way towards her through the gathering crowd of onlookers.
Stopping at a respectful distance, they waited – Peter with his arms crossed, gripping his elbows as tightly as he could to keep the shaking down; Edmund with his hands fisted and shoved deeply in his pockets, his shoulders hunched. The woman, who seemed to be much, much younger than she had looked from a distance, glanced at them out of the corner of her eye and then smiled reassuringly at the older couple in front of her.
"I have your names here, Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy," she said, tipping the clipboard slightly, "and while I understand how difficult this is for you, it would be best if you returned to your home. We will be contacting you as soon as we are able."
Mrs. Abernathy clutched her husband's arm, tears flowing down her plump cheeks. "Please," she said shakily, "Please hurry. I can't bear not knowing!"
"Come now, Mabel," Mr. Abernathy said hoarsely, gently, "There are others here to see Miss Schillair. We must remember we are not the only ones suffering."
Peter met the older man's gaze as he led his wife away from the cordon and exchanged the brief nod of soldiers meeting on a battlefield – surrounded by loss of life and limb and weighed down with the anguish of surviving.
"May I take your names, please?" the young woman – who was probably about his own age, the older Pevensie guessed – faced them politely, waiting until they were able to concentrate on her.
"Peter and Edmund Pevensie," Edmund replied.
She wrote this down and then looked back up. Edmund was struck by how little she was – slight and petite. The white coat nearly swallowed her whole. "And you were to meet someone here?" she asked.
"Yes," Peter answered, gulping down the hard lump of tears clogging his throat. "Quite a list of people, actually," he added with a soggy-sounding chuckle.
"Our parents," Edmund added, grimly determined to make it through the recitation, "Frank and Helen Pevensie. Our sister, Lucy Pevensie," he paused, glancing over at his brother. "And a cousin – Eustace Scrubb. His parents, Harold and Alberta, should be notified."
The young woman nodded matter-of-factly, her pencil moving rapidly. Her brisk, capable manner put him oddly at ease, kept the list of names just that – a list of names. "Jill Pole – I don't know her parents' names, do you?" he asked Peter, who shook his head. "And then two other friends – I don't know if they have any family still living. Polly Plummer and…" he hesitated, thinking of the kind, jolly, wise old man who had taken them in as children.
"Professor Digory Kirke," put in Peter, "We need to know about all of them, not just our…" a hitch, "…blood relatives. It's very important. Please."
"Important, yes," she repeated, light hazel eyes settling on him for a moment, evaluating. "Very well. Your address?"
Peter gave it to her, and she made a notation on the paper. "As I am sure you heard, as hard as it is –"
"You need us to go home and wait there," Edmund said, and the young woman flashed a very quick, humorless smile.
"You have a very good memory, Mr. Pevensie," she said, and then her expression softened just a bit. "I know the waiting is terrible. But believe me, it is better than being here."
They both raised their eyes to look at the tragedy unfolding behind the slender young woman and the cordon she defended. The paramedics were just beginning to carry shrouded stretchers to a shaded area near the station, and the thought that it might be Lucy, or Mum, or Dad, or even Eustace lying silently beneath the white sheet made Edmund's stomach lurch again. He had been no stranger to death in Narnia, even when it struck those close to his heart, but he had never imagined he might lose loved ones – family and friends – like this, here, in one fell, bloody, horrible swoop. But then, who ever did?
"Come on, Ed," his brother said, and there was suddenly a new note of worry and sorrow to his voice. "She's right, and besides. We have to tell Susan."