AN: The D.L.P. stands for whatever Peter and Edmund want - dear little problem, damn lotta pain, etc. - and exists thanks to elecktrum's story, Those Who Serve. In it, Edmund is given knowledge of the Deplorable Word, and since it wreaks havoc upon him when he thinks of it, he and his brother have come up with a way of 'hiding' it, if referencing it is necessary. Many thanks to elecktrum for use of the Word and for help in understanding it!
This chapter is gratefully dedicated to that same elecktrum, JediMan, narniaqueen33, and imakeladrygirl. You're all terrific!

And all that's left is to accept that it's over
My dreams ran like sand through the fists that I made
I try to keep warm but I just grow colder
I feel like I'm slipping away
+ Beauty from Pain, vs. 2, by Superchick

3. Dust to Dust

"Is Susan working today?" Peter asked, as they got back into the car.

"I'm fairly sure she is," Edmund replied, "I think Thursday is her afternoon. But I say, Peter," and here he glanced over at his brother searchingly. "Are you well enough to drive?"

"Give me a minute or two," his brother said, pinching his temples between thumb and forefinger.

They sat for several moments, marshalling their courage, when Peter suddenly cleared his throat and said, in a rather odd, strained tone, "You realize, don't you, Ed, that if we hadn't had that flat, we would have been at the station when the train came in?"

Edmund looked at his brother steadily and tightened his lips. "No one is ever told what would have happened," he said almost sharply, "and even though we're both thinking it, it would not have been better if we had been there. Wishing ourselves dead now does no one any good, Peter, and you know it."

His older brother bit his lip and there were a few heartbeats of tense silence. "Who said anything about death?" he questioned finally, "We have the rings."

Edmund nearly sat on his hands to keep them from going immediately to his jacket. They had the rings, indeed. The small cloth bag had been burning a hole in his pocket since they'd seen the horror of the crash.

"No, Peter," he said, forcing the words out between gritted teeth. "We can't."

"Can't?" Peter asked querulously, that wild, frantic expression coming back into his eyes. "Can't? Hasn't the responsibility for helping Narnia been placed on us now? We must!"

"What are you playing at?" Edmund replied sharply, "You know as well as I do, Peter, that Aslan said we couldn't go back. You want to use them, the rings? To disobey him?"

The older boy was breathing hard. "Am I not your High King?" he asked, his tone one which brooked no argument. "Do you not answer to my command? You will do as I say!"

The teenager straightened in his seat, feeling a jolt of real anger. "I will do no such thing!" he said harshly, and the older boy reared back as though he'd been struck.

"You defy me?" he said dangerously, his eyes gleaming, burnished steel.

"Yes!" Edmund snapped fiercely, not frightened in the least. "To use helping Narnia as an excuse to escape this tragedy is beneath you, my lord and will bring nothing but further sorrow. Who are you, sir, to disregard a direct injunction placed upon us by Aslan himself? And who are you to determine where Lucy and the rest have gone? Can you storm Heaven by virtue of your title and station? Can you, Peter, Son of Adam?"

Peter stared at him, shocked back into reality; thunderstruck by his brother's words, and then collapsed completely, burying his face in his hands. "Oh, Edmund," he breathed hoarsely, "I'm sorry. You're right, of course; how could I have said such things? Forgive me, I'm so sorry."

"I know, Peter," Edmund said quietly, "and I forgive you. But you'll forgive me if I keep the rings."

Peter bit his lip again and started the car, and then he gripped the wheel resolutely. "If you can handle the D.L.P., you can handle the rings," he said, "And you've already shown yourself the better man. Hide them again, or better yet, destroy them if you can – and don't ever tell me what you've done."

The younger boy nodded. "Hadn't you better wait a few more minutes?" he asked, concerned. "Are you sure you're well enough?"

"Don't ask, and I will be," his older brother said, putting his left hand on the back of Edmund's seat and looking over his shoulder as he backed the car out of the parking spot. "I did a slap-dash job of this," he said, maneuvering carefully, his blue eyes narrowed in concentration.

Edmund decided it would be counter-productive to mention that Peter had had a very good reason for parking haphazardly. He propped his elbow up next to the window and leaned against his hand. Though his stomach still churned with a faint, clinging sensation of queasiness, thankfully the immediate danger of sickness had passed. Sudden, throbbing stabs of pain threatened to split his head open, but he wasn't sure if it was due to his brother's oblique reference to the Deplorable Word or their own difficult situation. He supposed it didn't really matter. Neither he nor Peter said anything further, and the air was thick with unshed tears and unendurable loss.

Somehow, it didn't seem quite real to him yet. His parents, gone? Never again seeing Lucy, the sister who meant most to him now? Not to mention that blighter Eustace, or the Professor. Aunt Polly. Jill. What was he going to do? God, he thought, praying desperately, what am I going to do? He shifted in the seat and caught Peter's strong profile and immediately felt profoundly thankful that at least his rock had not been taken as well.

The bell above the door tinkled merrily when Edmund opened it, and almost before he'd had a chance to set foot in the establishment, a perky blonde wearing far too much makeup stepped right in his path. "How might I help you, sirs?" Even her voice bubbled. "Here to find something special for your lady? Perfume, perhaps? A scarf? We have a lovely selection." Edmund resisted the urge to smack her.

Peter, who had not been paying attention as he came in behind, nearly ran the teenager over when he stopped short. Edmund felt him stumble and smiled wryly at the softly muttered curse. The great High King, swearing. He wished things were better, so he could razz Peter good about his slip. He settled for less. "Language, Pete," he murmured over his shoulder, receiving a hard poke in the side for his pains.

He moved forward further into the shop, forcing the girl to take a few steps backwards, and shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. "Is Susan here?" he asked.

When her gaze had taken in both him and Peter and the somber expressions on their faces, the blonde faltered a bit, and her practiced, perfect smile vanished. "Susan?" she repeated hesitantly, and Peter sighed, a short, sharp sound which usually boded ill for whomever was wasting time dithering.

"Susan Pevensie," he said brusquely, and the salesgirl nodded, confidence restored upon hearing a name she recognized.

"Yes, Suzie's here," she turned and gestured to the far end of the narrow shop. "To the back and right."

They thanked her and walked slowly to the rear of the shop, the old floorboards creaking beneath their shoes, the narrow counters stretching out on either side with high shelves running nearly floor to ceiling behind them, packed with all manner of things womanly.

Susan was standing stretched on her tip-toes, reaching up to mark the end of a long box tucked back on a shelf, her glossy, shoulder-length black hair swinging. She came back down onto her heels, task completed, and turned around, tucking the pencil back behind her ear. When she saw who stood there at the counter, she jumped, and then her face drained of color.

"What's happened?" she asked, her voice low and taut. "Something's wrong. What is it? What's wrong?"

Edmund felt the tears he had thus far held at bay begin to prick at his eyes at last, and he didn't dare answer, for fear he would break down. That would shame Susan, and so he fought against it fiercely, hunching his shoulders and refusing to speak.

"You need to come with us, Su," his older brother said thickly, "Can you get off?"

Their sister put a hand to her heart and convulsively clutched at her white, button-down blouse. "What reason should I give?" she whispered, challenging. Terrified.

"A family emergency," Edmund replied, meeting her eyes finally and knowing she read the truth therein. She all but bolted from them then and disappeared through a tall door marked 'Employees Only' in prim, gold lettering.

Minutes later, she was back, thrusting her arms into her jacket as she walked, clutching her handbag – the one Lucy bought her for Christmas last year; her solid, sturdy heels beat out a cracking, staccato tempo on the squeaky floor. She swept past them all, bidding her working colleagues a swift farewell as she went, a veritable whirlwind of nerves and tension. Peter and Edmund followed after her, dreading what was to come.

Once outside, she marched directly for the car and spun about, clutching the handbag to her chest. "Now," she said, "Tell me what's wrong, you two. It had better be worth losing a day's wages."

"Oh, it is," Peter answered softly, not meeting her gaze and practically crushing the keys in his fist. He stared at them, his eyes blank, and Edmund saw him beginning to shake again.

"Peter." Susan's voice was razor-thin and bordering on angry. She was still as white as a sheet, and her lips were trembling. "Stop it. Look at me. Look at me! What has happened?"

Their older brother finally raised his head again, and tears were trickling down his cheeks. "There's been a bad accident, Su. Very bad. The train they were…the train derailed. Mum, Dad, Lucy, Eustace, the Professor…all gone…" his grief finally caught and consumed him, and with that, seeing Peter beginning to weep, Edmund's control broke as well.

"What?" Susan whispered, her dark eyes moving from one to the other of her brothers, shocked into unbelief. "If this is a bloody joke, it's not funny."

"Would we joke about something like this?" Edmund demanded, irritation flaming up in spite of his tears, "Susan, they're probably dead. Do you hear me? Our parents – our sister – our cousin – our friends – an accident like that that means dead. Gone. And if they are, they're never coming back!"

His voice went deadly soft, almost to a whisper, and she stared at him for a moment, frightened beyond words, her red lips forming a round 'o'. She glanced back over at Peter, who gave a hiccupping sob and clenched his jaw, his blue eyes swimming. "It's true, Susan," he said. "God help us, but it's true."

Their sister spun on her heel, jerked at the door handle, pulled, couldn't get it unlatched, and yanked again, so hard that the door abruptly flew wide open and nearly dumped her on her backside. She flung herself into the seat and slammed the door closed behind her, sitting ramrod straight against the cushions.

Peter and Edmund looked at one another, completely miserable, and then Peter wiped his eyes with thumb and forefinger. "Don't ever have a handkerchief when I need one," he said hoarsely, and the fact hung unspoken between them that Lucy always did.