Again, sorry for the long wait, but school's been brutal. Fortunately, summer's just arriving and I figured an update was in order. As such, I have a longer chapter to make up for that, but also because I'm starting to lose interest and want to finish this up as soon as possible. I promise not to leave this unfinished; I myself don't like when that happens, but I really want to explore some other fandoms. Reviews help a lot though, and I can't explain how much I appreciate those of you who have.

Disclaimer: Same as always. I own nothing.

Chapter 4: Realization

"You're kidding." The world didn't work that way. Just because someone said something, thought something, didn't mean some mysterious, impossible force in the universe made that come true. It was something all the people in this city knew well after the horrors inflicted on us, after so many lives were lost, killed without prejudice, no matter how many people loved them and wished those gone were alive again. No single person's life was so important for everything to suddenly change entirely at the drop of a few words, and no such power ever care cared if that life wasn't quite perfect; it never had and never would either.

But Uriah simply shook his head. "I swear I'm not. How else can you explain me being here?"

"It's all in my head. You're not here, none of this is happening. It's the only explanation." Yet still, a small voice insisted otherwise from the back of my mind. Why would I be dreaming of this, of the city going back to the way it was, when things had finally gotten better? Why when so many of my nightmares were haunted not by the damage the Bureau could have done to Chicago, but by the image of her dying before my eyes, by the things I could have done to save her only to fail over and over in the end?

I pushed those thoughts aside as he merely shrugged in response to my assertions, simultaneously raising an eyebrow, almost mockingly. "I guess that could be true, and I'm pretty sure I'm not gonna be able to convince you otherwise. The only thing I've got is that I've never pegged you as a really creative type, more practical I guess, and this is, you know, pretty out-there." That other voice grew stronger as Uriah supported its arguments, which I wasn't able to refute now, staying silent as he smirked in triumph. "That's what I thought."

"But if I said I still didn't believe you? How else can you be here?"

"Then I'd say you're a horrible liar, Four." He said it without knowing; I was sure of that, but it didn't make the memory any less a painful throb through the chest. Those were the words she had spoken when I'd trusted her with my name as I had no one else, and for a split second I could almost feel the light spray of the river in the chasm as our feet dangled just above the treacherous waters. But that was all in the past, and Uriah's voice proved as much. "Yeah, I can't explain the how exactly to you; there is some scientific reason for all of this, but do you honestly think I remembered? I mean, if I wanted to memorize stuff like that I would've joined Erudite." He grinned at his own cleverness. "But I can tell you that if you want some kinda proof this isn't a joke," he pointed back at the house behind him, one of the indistinguishable Abnegation gray units exactly the same as all the rest, "I suggest you knock at that door."

"Why?" I didn't like that sparkle in his eye; it was far too much like his brother's which I'd seen more than enough of in our own Initiation.

"You'll see. Go on ahead."

So I did, lest I have my ear well near talked off by my friend's younger brother. The younger brother I had killed. Each step up nearer to the door way sounded a death knoll, a clear and ominous warning as I approached, a nagging feeling of familiarity growing ever greater. Nothing about the exterior could suggest this was someplace I had necessarily been to before, but sixteen years of my childhood in this place meant that I recognized these steps, had walked them all too often before, once cowering in fear of what lay in wait on the other side. The harsh snapping of a leather belt, a woman's terrified screams. But this time, I was no longer scared, having finally dealt with that fear; I only didn't want the scene beyond the door to be the one I remembered so vividly.

The reverberating knock might as well have been delivered by Fate.

"Evelyn?" But it wasn't the same woman, not really. The last I had seen of my mother, she'd recently returned to the city, just set up in an apartment near to mine, not in the Abnegation sector which shouldn't, by all rights, exist. Yet, before me she stood, meek and scared, a perfect Stiff, too intimidated to even make eye contact. Nothing like the fire-tested woman of steel who once took over the city, made it bend entirely to her will. But how? The fierce woman I knew would never willingly revert to this state. Was this all real then? Did my choice, something so simple as leaving Dauntless, really bring this to fruition?

"Yes?" she answered in a low whisper, eyes flitting about nervously, terrified. Terrified of him again, and all because of me. "Can I help you?"

Uriah had said, in this reality, the Bureau had reset everyone, wiped all of their memories to restart their experiment. She wouldn't remember me or anything else she had suffered through while I was still a child; the reasonable part of my mind knew that, realized that she would never have been able to withstand the Memory Serum, but another part didn't want to believe that. "Don't you remember me? Don't you know who I am?"

She pursed her lips slightly in thought, working to match my face with one in her altered memories. But it wasn't there, not anymore. "I'm sorry. You must have me confused for someone else."

"No, I'm sure I don't," I insisted, the words coming out before I thought of them, ready to reveal to her the truth whether or not people in this world were even supposed to know about what happened before the Bureau intervened. But could I say I really cared about that anymore? "You are Evelyn Johnson-Eaton, married to council-man Marcus Eaton. He is abusive and cruel, and nobody else knows about that." At that, fear widened her eyes; Marcus had always been secretive about that, denying such accusations whenever they might arise. "But I do, because—"

"Evelyn?" The voice came from somewhere inside the house, and it froze my blood cold. Of all the people I could have come upon in this world, I should've seen this one coming from miles away. The form of my father entered the view of the doorway, his expression quickly settling on smug arrogance to hide whatever marginal surprise might have been there at finding me on his doorstep. "Leave us," he commanded sharply, hardly even bothering to turn his head in her direction though she obeyed nonetheless, bowing her head in submission and disappearing back into the house. "Well," he addressed me now. "I can say I wasn't expecting you to show up here again," he spit coldly, hard glint in the deep blue eyes I shared but swore to never fill with the same cruelty.

"Marcus," I growled from the back of my throat, though another question entered my mind, something related to this new version of history. "Why are you even alive?" The words came out tight and bitter.

"What, you aren't glad to see your father looking fine and healthy?" he mocked.

"The Erudite attack. How did you survive?"

"In this world, one must learn how to preserve themselves at all costs. Surely you must understand. Always running. In fact, if I remember correctly, you've fled from Dauntless too, haven't you?" He smirked, arms crossed, knowing exactly which points could hit me hardest as I clenched and tightened my jaw, refraining from attack. Remembering the way she'd reacted in the Candor compound, back in the life only I knew, when I'd beaten him as a public statement. And though that was in a past that didn't seem to exist any longer, it wasn't my intention ever to disappoint her, to mar her memory. So I took the tongue-lashing. "Once a coward, always a coward."

But that didn't mean I wouldn't stand up for myself. "Don't you dare call me that," I threatened, stepping in closer to my father, glaring daggers. "I am not scared, not of you. Not anymore."

"And who taught you that?" he challenged. "The idiots over in Dauntless?"

No, I wanted to say. Tris. But how true was that? I myself might have remembered it, but in this world? We hadn't even been able to meet. She would never have made me better the way only she could, never taught me how to truly be brave. And was giving all of that up, the good moments we'd had, really worth getting rid of the pain?

So I lied, offering a terse "Yes," in response. After all, neither of us had always been on very good terms with the truth. And I turned away, walking from the house I'd left years ago. If I stayed any longer, the impulsive Dauntless in me wouldn't be able to stand the insults, and there was no point in creating a scene, not here. I'd come here only at Uriah's insistence, and I found the evidence I needed to know that this was more than just seeing ghosts. And to know that this world where I had left from Dauntless, where that ridiculous, desperate wish of mine was reality, was not one where all of my problems could be mended, all of my grief taken away. A place I almost wanted no part in, if not for the fact that a certain aspect, a certain someone, might have met a better fate here. That, on its own, could make all the difference.

"Running away again?" I heard him jeer, but I didn't stop, didn't look back.

"No. I'm looking for someone."