A/N: Okay, I bet all you Americans out there have heard that Wicked: The Musical is traveling around. Well, we went to go see it, and it was amazing. And while we were there, I realized something: Wicked is just a big, overproduced fanfiction. I mean, think about it! It even says it in the catchphrase: The untold story of the Wicked Witch of the West. Basically, the definition of fanfiction is a fan's interpretation of characters and plotline and untold stories and stuff, and that's what Wicked is. So take heart, FF.n writers! You, too, could have your fic turned into a giant traveling famous Broadway show!
Disclaimer: JP probably hates deadlines. But I love deadlines. I love the whooshing sound they make as they go by.
"Yo! Up and at 'em!"
Groaning, I open my eyes. To my horror, the first thing I see is that in my sleep, my arm actually did curl around Gaz and pull him closer. I jerk my arm back, hoping he didn't notice, but he rolls over and gives me a sweet little smile.
"Thanks, Fang," he murmurs, and I instantly feel guilty.
Next thing I know, I see Max's smirking face, and dread seeps into my stomach. A second later her boot connects with my side, penetrating the bruise through my thin jacket. It's smaller now, thanks to our superfast healing powers, but it's definitely still there. I grumble and roll over into a standing position.
Max has by now moved to the fire and is popping Jiffy Pop on it. I stumble over and sit next to the fire, in the same place as –
It hits me like a ton of bricks.
Your mom thought you died, like Nudge. She was a teenager. They don't know who your dad was. But they told your mom you died.
Jeez. I can't believe I forgot. That's a hard thing to wake up to. I hide the emotion on my face by wiping crust from my eyes, and when I look back up, I have my expression back under control.
"We're headed for the Big Apple, guys," Max announces far too cheerfully. "The city that never sleeps. I think we're maybe six, seven hours away."
She offers me some Jiffy Pop, and I take a lethargic handful, ignoring the scalding heat. I pop a piece of popcorn in my mouth and crunch it down as a startling thought occurs to me.
I wonder if any of us have siblings?I glance at the flock, my gaze falling on Angel and Gaz. Okay, besides the obvious. But seriously. I mean, we aren't in some kind of Disney movie where a kid goes missing and twenty years later the parents are still sobbing over it. This is real life. It's definitely likely.
I stand, brushing my buttery fingers on my jacket. Feeling the cold metal zipper pressing against my bare skin, I can't shake the odd feeling that something's missing…oh yeah, my shirt. I'm not putting that thing back on. Grody. I unfurl my wings, avoiding clipping Iggy's head. He reaches up, brushed one of my primaries, and then returns to his popcorn, satisfied. It still amazes me that he can tell us apart by our feathers.
"Let's get this show on the road," I say brusquely, and the rest of the flock takes their time complying. I just want to leave here and never come back.
We take off one by one. I'm pretty far up when I hear Max scream in agony and see her falling way, way too fast, hitting the ground at maybe ten feet.
I'm on the ground so fast I don't even remember going there. I land hard and stumble, then run to Max. She's curled up in the dirt, her hands pressed over her ears. Eyes squeezed closed, water clinging to every lash, teeth clenched; she appears to be in more agony than I've seen her in since…well, since yesterday.
I tentatively reach out and touch her shoulder. "Max? Is it like before?"
She seems to be in too much pain to respond. A shrill, animal-like sound begins to come from her throat, and my gut clenches.
The rest of the flock has landed by now, and we're all gathered around Max. The keening sound continues as Max writhes in agony, and Iggy presses his hands to his ears in agony.
"Is Max okay?" Nudge says fearfully, tactlessly.
Iggy nearly shouts. "No, she's not okay! You think she does this for fun?" He takes a hand off of his ear to gesture at the girl on the ground, but winces and quickly replaces it.
Irritated at their pointless squabbling, I squat down on the ground, glancing at Angel. "What's she thinking?"
Angel closes her eyes for a moment, then cries out and clutches her head. "Don't make me," she wails, her eyes filling with tears. She shakes her head, squeezing her brain. "Don't make me, Fang."
"Okay, okay, you don't have to," I say quickly, trying to make her stop crying. I tear my eyes away from the four worried figures and watch Max instead. Panic begins to build in my chest.
I feel so…so helpless.
I used to rarely feel this way, but for some reason it's been happening a lot lately. All I know is that I would give anything, anything, to be there on the ground instead of Max. To take it away from her so she wouldn't have to deal with it.
Fang?
It's Angel in my mind. I startle at her fearful presence.
What's up, Angel?
Fang, I'm scared.
Instantly my body tenses. Pulse racing, I stare down at the writhing form in front of me, keeping my face calm.
Max will be fine, I say. She was yesterday, right?
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Angel nod fearfully, her gaze fixated on Max. Yeah, but this time it's different.
How so?I ask, searching for any visible differences in Max's movements. I can't find any.
There are pictures in her mind. Last time, there was just pain. But this time, it's both.
Pictures?I say warily. Like what kind of pictures?
Like…
She shows me. I nearly gasp with what I'm seeing.
There are all kinds of patterns in Max's head. Swirls, dots, patterns and designs all over, lights and darkness, buildings, headlines from old papers, food, faces, landscapes, black and white oldies landscapes…
But the most notable thing is the pain.
It's explosive. It kills. My skull is splitting open like my brain is a bomb that Iggy has ignited, every piece and molecule exposed to the world. Somehow, I can hold it in – the scream, the keening, the roar of agony. I lock every muscle for the five seconds that it lasts.
When the pain recedes, my mindblocks go down. Anything to keep that mental attack from happening in the future, even if it means keeping Angel out.
"Sorry, Fang," Angel whispers out of the corner of her mouth.
I nod weakly. For some reason, I have an image of a bunch of Smurfs jack hammering the inside of my skull. It's a very strange picture. I decide right then and there that my kids, if I live long enough to have them, will never watch the Smurfs. Ever.
Movement catches my eye. I look at Max in time to see her roll slowly over, push herself up onto her hands and knees, crawl over to some bushes and then proceed to barf her guts up. I close my eyes in sympathy.
When she's done, she falls onto her back and lies gasping for a moment. We all gather around her and peer anxiously at her until she opens her eyes.
"Max, what is the matter with you?" Angel asks, trembling.
"Think you should see a doctor?" I say, only half joking.
"Oh, yes, that'sa good idea," she wheezes. "We need to let more people in the authority know about us."
She's making jokes. She's okay. Relief floods me. "Look –" I say, but she stops me.
"I'm okay now," she says, averting her eyes. "Maybe it's a stomach bug or something." She gives me a weak smile, and I gaze skeptically at her. She looks away and sighs.
"Let's just go to New York," she says.
I give her a long look. Well, I guess if she says she is okay, we should probably go. I shrug at last and wave Gaz to go, and he does so reluctantly. The rest follow until it's just Max and me on the ground. My heart starts racing a little, like it does whenever I'm alone with her.
"After you," I say, jerking my thumb upward. She's not about to fall out of the air again – even if it's only three yards.
She stands, her jaw clenching. Her wings unfurl, and for a moment I think she won't make it because her running is so shaky. But then she leaps into the air and is off. I take off after her, flying just below her in case she decides to have another brain attack.
Max and Nudge start talking above me. I tune them out.
Ig and Gaz fly up next to me, one on either side. They grin at me mischievously, sneaking glances at each other. I look at them out of the corners of my eyes, feeling a little…nervous.
"So, Fang," Ig says.
"Yeah, so, Fang," Gaz repeats, chuckling.
I cut my eyes across at them, the nervous feeling getting stronger by the second. "Yeah? What do you want?"
Ig looks injured. "Is that really the welcome we get? We just wanted to have a little bro talk, man. Chill."
"Yeah, we're not always up to something," Gaz enforces.
"You're not up to something when the Pope is flying." I reconsider that. "Actually, the Pope flying isn't that unrealistic. I mean, look at us."
Ig sniggers. "Yeah, 'cause we're regular holy men," he says.
"So what do you want again?" I say, keeping my voice irritation-free. "You wouldn't be bothering me if there wasn't something you wanted from me."
Ig mock gasps. "I'm hurt, Fang," he says, putting a hand on his chest. "Don't say such things about me."
Gaz butts in. "So, Faaaaaang," he all but purrs. "I heard you were going…dare I say it?..."
"Be quiet, Gasser," Ig snaps. "It's not inappropriate."
"Unless you think about why he's doing it," Gaz snickers as unease begins to build in my chest.
"Anyway, I heard you were going bravado under that jacket of yours," Ig says seriously. "Care to tell us why?"
Oh, that's what they wanted? Annoyance rolls off of me in waves. I consider pulling a huge downstroke and soaring away from the pair, but decide against it. "Because my other shirt was disgustingly gory."
"And how did it get that way?" Iggy continues eagerly.
I pause, but if I don't tell them, they'll keep bugging me. "Because Ari beat me up," I say, grinding my teeth.
"What did you say?" Ig says, grinning from ear to ear.
"BECAUSE ARI BEAT ME UP!" I yell.
Ig and Gaz exchange surprised glances. "Wow, I can't believe he actually 'fessed up," Gaz says, sounding shocked.
"Oh, buzz off you two," I say angrily, and pour on the speed to get away. Their snickers ring in my head until the trip is over.
By the time we reach New York, it's dark out. My arms hurt after taking my self-inflicted shift carrying the exhausted Angel. She had decided to fly on her own about ten minutes ago after two hours of being carried by moi, and now she was soaring steadily above Max, who I was still flying just under.
"Oh, my God," says the Max in question. She's looking at all the lights below us, and my gaze lingers on her face before following her gaze. I'd rather keep looking at her face, which is alive and happier than I've seen in a while. All lit up from below, you could have fooled me if you had told me she was the Angel in the group.
Below her, a catrillion lights wind their way along the city. I leave the metaphors up to Max and sidle up next to her.
"That's a lot of people," I say, because I know the only reason Max keeps me around is for my constant and unwelcome paranoia.
She sighs and closes her eyes. Just like that, the happy vibe coming from her is killed. It's my job – what can I say?
"Oh, my gosh, oh, my gosh," Nudge babbles. "I want to go down there! I want to walk on Fifth Avenue! I want to go to museums! Do we have any money left? Can we get something to eat? Can we, like, go shopping?"
Ultimate valley girl sentence: "Can we, like, go shopping?" I resist giving myself a facepalm.
"We have some money," Max informs her. "We can get something to eat. But remember, we're here to find the Institute."
Nudge nods, but it's obvious she's not even listening. She opens her mouth to talk again, but Ig beats her to it. I swear she looks disappointed.
"What's that sound?" he says, his eyebrows furrowing in concentration. "It's music. Is there music below us? How could we hear it way up here?"
Max peers down below us. "I think it must be a concert," she says. "In the park. An outdoor concert."
And she accuses meof not speaking in full sentences?
Nudge spies a chance and seizes it. "Oh, so cool! Can we go? Please, Max, please? A real concert!"
Max pauses for about a second. "Yes," she says. "Try to come down behind a floodlight's beam, so we won't be seen." At least she added the last bit. I narrow my eyes at her, but then I realize that it'll be next to impossible for any possible Erasers to find us in a crowd like the one down below us and relax a little.
We land silently and do what Ig and Gaz lovingly refer to as the Superman: i.e., change our look a little so that no one can tell that we've just been flying for the better part of the day. Max leads the way into the concert with the rest of us following her like ducklings. Oh, darn, I said I'd leave the metaphors to Max, didn't I? Well, didn't take long to blow that to bits.
The music is insanely loud. The ground thrums under my shoes, tickling my feet. Speaker stacks tower above us. But the worst part is the people. There are so many, all crowded together, pushing and pulling and poking and prodding. I have to work hard to contain my look of disgust and grab Ig's hand, giving a little help to the blind guy. I grab Gaz's hand as well and push on determinedly after the girls.
"What concert is this?" Ig yells in Max's ear. She frowns and stands on her tiptoes to try and see.
"It's the Taylor Twins," she reports, and smiles break out on the faces of all the kids. Gaz whoops and raises his arms to Ig, who crouches and lets Gaz slip onto his shoulders. I lend him a hand as he wobbles back into a standing position, allowing Gaz to tower over the other people and see the concert. Ig slips him a lighter from his pocket, and Gaz flicks it on on the first try and holds it above his head. This whole exchange scares me a little, so I decide to keep an eye out for Erasers.
I'm also keeping an eye on Max. If she has another brain attack here, there won't be any question: we'll have to fly out. Any of these humans could be an Eraser; plus, if someone saw Max collapse on the ground they'd probably call an ambulance. And we couldn't have that. No, that wouldn't do at all.
It turns out I'm just being cautious as usual. The concert ends without anyone fainting or getting attacked. We melt into the shadows, waiting for the park to empty before flying into some trees. (Yeah, I know – cozy, right?)
"That was awesome," Nudge informs us as we settle in. "I can't believe how many people there were, all crowded into one place. I mean, listen…There's no silence, ever. I can hear people and traffic and sirens and dogs barking. I mean, it was always so quiet back at home."
Constant noise? Yeah, that sounds like Nudge's sort of thing.
"Too quiet," Gaz agrees.
"Well, I hate it," Ig says shortly. "When it's quiet, I can tell where the heck things are, people are, where echoes are bouncing off. Here I'm just surrounded with a thick, smothering wall of sound. I want to get out of here."
"Oh, Iggy, no!" Nudge cries. "This place is so cool. You'll get used to it."
That was insensitive, even for Nudge.
"We're here to find out what we can about the Institute," Max reminds them. "I'm sorry, Iggy, but maybe you'll get a little more used to it soon. And Nudge, this isn't a pleasure trip. Our goal is to find the Institute."
"How are we gonna do that?" Angel asks.
"I have a plan,"Max says firmly. She sounds like she's trying to convince herself.
I tap Ig's hand, and he nods. We both look at Max, thinking the same thing: She really needs to stop lying to us.
R&R? And tell me what you think about the whole Wicked thing.