If he had known just how much of a pain it would be when the old lady asked him to babysit Grimm... Puck never would have agreed.
Sure, at first it was kind of fun. Murdered teachers. Dodgeball. Giant Mice. Evil plans to blow up the school. All good things. Even tied up in spider silk in the secret underground cave, the boy fairy had found ways to enjoy himself. Afterall, it was hard to get a proper adrenaline rush just sitting around watching Days of our Lives while the girls were at school.
Not that Puck would ever watch a soap opera.
No, no Grimm didn't really start to ruin things until the moment the daft girl took her broken arm through a magic portal to a vicious Jabberwocky mere moments after effectively blowing up the school.
More or less.
Puck couldn't really give Grimm credit for that. Unfortunately, he couldn't take the credit for himself either considering that they'd lost Mr. Canis in the explosion. Even the Trickster King wasn't evil enough to take pleasure in that.
That said, the Jabberwocky was only the beginning of the end. Puck had fun sledding down Mt. Taurus all Walrus Style. And Grimm had seemed fairly impressed by his belching skills. Things weren't outright terrible.
Not even when the Grimm hero Uncle Jake showed up out of nowhere to steal Puck's glory.
Not even after that disastrous moment involving fireworks that would never be mentioned ever by either him or the stupid, ugly girl.
Not even when Puck did the unthinkable and admitted to his disgusting display of heroics just before getting his wings ripped out.
No. No, the moment Puck realized he had gone too far – fallen too deep into this bodyguard experience – when the trouble officially wasn't worth it anymore – was when he woke up from a magical coma only to find Sabrina Grimm laying in a puddle of poison.
The moment that he realized that he'd messed up.
—
Chapter One
—
"Oooh!" Daphne squealed from behind him, the sudden sound causing Puck to lose his grip on a glow-in-the-dark waffle. The half-eaten pastry fell from his hand, leaving a trail of syrup from the table, his shirt, the chair, and, ultimately, the floor.
"Really?" the girl across from him asked. "You're not going to make Granny clean that up for you too, are you?"
Puck glanced up at Grimm, lips pursed in annoyance. "It's not my fault that I missed. I would have aimed better for your ugly face if not for Marshmal-" he paused, distracted by the sight of the family's large dog suddenly by his side. "-low... No, bad dog!" he shouted, ducking under the table and onto the floor, yanking at the half-eaten waffle now hanging out of Elvis's mouth. A large chunk broke free in his hands, sending the boy tumbling back into the table.
Which slid.
Toppling a glass of orange juice right onto Sabrina Grimm's lap.
"... REALLY?"
Waffle now safely stored in his own mouth, Puck jumped to a stand, grinning with a mouthful of food as he stared down the juice-covered Grimm. "Gouthawaful!"
Sabrina sneered, shook her head, and stomped out of the room.
Puck swallowed. "What?" he questioned, eyeing the great dane as he lapped the orange juice off the floor. "Was it something I said?"
"That was her favorite shirt, Puck!" a squeaky voice called from behind him, reminding the boy fairy that Daphne was still there.
"Eh," he shrugged, not caring a thing either way about Grimm's choice of clothing. "It's not like it was doing anything for her. Still ugly!"
Daphne rolled her eyes, but said nothing as she turned to look at something on the fridge.
"What were you squealing about anyway?" Puck asked as he sat himself back in his chair. He reached across the table, dragging over Grimm's portion of their breakfast. Her waffle had barely been touched, though the spilled juice now soaked through the pastry, giving it an interesting flavor.
"The calendar, silly," Daphne replied. Puck glanced her way to see the little girl flipping through the pages of a pad of paper stuck to the fridge.
"You mean that thingy with all the boxes and numbers?" he questioned, only vaguely aware of its existence. Puck was pretty sure he had doodled Sabrina's face with horns on the paper a while back, but at some point it had disappeared.
"Yup!" Daphne pulled the pad off the fridge, flipping the paper ahead to an almost-identical page.
"Woah," Puck stared at the place the calendar had just been. What kind of spell had the old lady used to keep it on? "I didn't know it could do that!"
Daphne gave the boy a confused glance before shaking her head and pointing to a small little square on the paper with even smaller writing. Puck squinted. "Sa... brina? Brit…d…hay?"
"Birthday!" Daphne corrected. "Sabrina's birthday! I know it's still a while off, but I'm really excited!" The little girl plopped herself into the chair next to him, flipping the booklet back to the top page.
Puck squinted, frowning slightly as he attempted to read the large word hovering over the boxes. Jar..u.. noy? And what was with all those X's? And what was that about Sabrina?
"We didn't really get to celebrate last year…" Daphne continued, oblivious to Puck's struggle. "We'd just snuck out of the orphanage again– before Ms. Smirt could send us to another weirdo –so for her birthday we got to sleep at the park! It was kind of cold, but there were these concrete tunnels that–"
"Birthday?" Puck interrupted, finally processing the important information Daphne had been blabbering about.
"Oh, mhmm! At the park! We even found an old coat to use as a blanket."
"No, no I mean the one that hasn't happened yet," Puck pulled the calendar from her grasp. He flipped quickly through the pages she had shown him, but he couldn't remember what large word at the top had been and all the little boxes looked the same.
"Here," the girl reached over, thumbing back a few pages. The large word at the top read March. A month, he realized. January, February, March.
"Oooh," Puck released a breath, suddenly understanding what the calendar was for. "So if each page is a month, then the boxes are..." he leaned forward, finding Sabrina's name written with the old lady's tiny scrawl, "days. Her birthday." The boxes showed how many days were left... if someone could be bothered to count them. Puck was certain he wouldn't.
"Mhmm! She's turning twelve!"
Twelve. Twelve? That was one more than eleven. One more than... him. Sort of.
Puck frowned, suddenly uneasy. "Well good for her," he stated flatly. The boy pushed his chair back from the table, leaving a sticky streak of syrup across the floor.
"We should plan a party!" Daphne exclaimed.
Puck ignored her as he stomped up to his room, sticky shoes tracking syrup across the floor. He wasn't sure why... didn't want to know why, but his stomach felt unsettled. Maybe eating a waffle right out of Elvis's mouth hadn't been the best idea after all. Dog saliva was probably contaminated with… eh, something.
"Puck, where are you going?" Daphne followed the boy out of the kitchen, rushing up the stairs to catch up with him before he could open his door. "Don't you want to help me plan something? We could make it a really fun surprise!"
The fairy stopped at his door, still scowling as he glanced Daphne's way. ... A surprise ... wouldn't be so bad. Maybe planning a custom-tailored disaster for the blonde in question would help ease the sudden belly ache he was feeling. "...What kind of surprise?"
–
As it turned out, Daphne's idea of an enjoyable birthday surprise did not involve slime, earthworms, or even spray paint.
Predictable, yes, but disappointing all the same.
When Puck finally escaped the marshmallow's impromptu planning session, inexplicably exhausted and acutely irritable, he resumed his retreat to his bedroom to plan in the relative peace of his organized chaos.
"Not now, Sullivan," the boy waved the chimpanzee off while striding to his ornate golden throne. It wasn't quite as… colorful … as the throne he still kept out in the woods. But the fancy chair made for a suitable thinking spot and right now…
…however pained he was to admit it…
Puck needed to think .
Because Elvis's Dog Waffle germs were still weighing down his stomach.
Because even the idea of trying out the glob grenades he'd been developing onto Grimm's head wasn't making him feel any better.
"Actually, Sullivan?" Puck called out after a few moments, sliding his back down over the throne's armrest.
A chimpanzee that was definitely not Sullivan, but possibly Theodore or Archibald – Puck always mixed those two up – swung out of the tree nearest to his throne, dropping at his king's feet. Wrong chimp, but close enough. For the moment. He really did need to finish whipping his army into shape.
"Fetch me my council," Puck continued, still upside down as he waved his hand in dismissal at his servant.
Theodore… Archibald? Theobald? scurried off, wisely declining to comment on Puck's unkingly position.
But Puck was king. So if he chose to hang upside down over the edge of his chair that alone made the arrangement kingly. Even if his improper behavior would make his ridiculous mother upset.
Puck winced at the thought of Titania, pulling himself upright with a sullen frown. He didn't want to think about her . Or Mustardseed. Or even about his father.
His very dead father.
Because of Moth. Who poisoned Sabrina and nearly– "Sullivan!" Puck cried out.
This time, the real Sullivan appeared, momentarily confusing the boy before he remembered it was Theobald he had sent to the trampoline. "See what's taking What'shisface so long," Puck demanded.
Sullivan shrieked in complaint, the spoiled monkey, apparently forgetting that Puck was the one in charge. The fairy knew he had recently been gone for a few weeks, what with the whole Jabberwocky/Poison/Robot nonsense, but that was nearly two entire weeks ago and his patience with the primate was growing thin. "I don't know! I sent him to find–"
Just then, Theobald returned, a thoroughly muddied toy unicorn dragged half a step behind him. The chimpanzee met Puck's eye before unceremoniously flinging the toy in his king's direction.
"Leave us," Puck demanded upon catching the unicorn.
Both chimps scurried off, leaving their king to speak to his advisor in private. Puck sat crossed-legged on his throne while Kraven sat in his lap, blank, beady eyes staring back at him, the Trickster King remained silent, eyes unflinching as he met the unicorn's.
The toy stared, eyes unblinking, lifeless.
Puck continued to stare, Elvis's waffle threatening to resurface as he squashed down the anxious tumult that had been building since he understood what was on the calendar.
The toy continued to stare, entirely unfeeling.
"Fine!" Puck broke the silence, huffing as he moved Kraven to the arm of his chair, twisting his own body to face him. "I'll start, but only because you can't technically speak!"
Having no objections to this, Kraven the Deceiver remained silent.
"Alright, so you know how Grimm keeps trying to get herself killed?"
A stupid question, really, considering how frequent the subject had come up the past few weeks.
"I know, I know," Puck sighed, waving his hand dismissively. "Get this, though. The Grimms have done nothing but write in those dumb books of theirs and she's still finding ways to try to die. Marshmallow showed me on a calendar– you know what a calendar is, right?" the fairy paused, taking in Kraven's blank stare. "... I'll explain it later. Anyway. Birthday. Grimm has a birthday soon. She's gonna get old."
The silence that followed did not sit well with Puck. Clearly, Kraven did not understand.
"Old humans die, Kraven. It's just something they do. But worse than that, you know the bigger Grimmy gets the more trouble she's gonna get into."
Kraven did not respond.
Puck huffed, scowling at his unfeeling advisor. "... Useless," he grumbled, tossing his arm out to knock the stuffed unicorn onto the ground.