Fate

Chapter 5

Skippy hadn't gotten much rest, having spent most of the night staring at the picture of his mother and reevaluating his notions on his aunt. What once was pure anger had now turned into apathy, trying its best not to flip between understanding and hatred. It was frustrating to not have a clear picture of how he felt towards her, to have misplaced that anger and bitterness he had originally felt. She seemed friendly and related to him emotionally, showing compassion and understanding towards his freak-out on the television instead of fear and distrust, stating she would have acted the same. So if she was truly this kind and sympathetic, why had his mother hid her from him? Sure, the older squirrel was a bit crude and had obviously cleaned up her act in his presence, but she didn't seem like the kind of person his mom would avoid, especially to the point of lying about her existence.

He woke up on the floor, having fallen asleep there a few hours earlier. The young squirrel stretched and yawned, the bright sunlit room making him squint until his eyes could adjust. He rose from the ground, feeling all the aches and pains that came with sleeping on a hard wooden floor, and slumped to the bathroom. The kid glanced at the one door in the hall he had yet to see the inside of, guessing it was Slappy's room. He wondered if it was decorated in as much memorabilia as the living room, filled with posters and awards from wall to wall. He laughed at the thought and entered the bathroom. The young squirrel looked at his reflection in the mirror, glad to see something resembling a healthy being staring back. It was a major improvement over his reflection from yesterday night, save for the bags that had formed under his eyes. He took a step back and inspected the rest of his body, surprised to see just how skinny he had become over the past few days. Skippy placed his paw on the ribcage he could now see under his fur, feeling each bone and the ridges between them.

He combed his fur back into place and stepped out into the hall, tired of looking at himself in the mirror. Standing in the hall, Skippy wondered what he should do with himself next. His room was too empty to clean, and he had remade the bed during the sleepless hours of the night. Waking Slappy was a possibility as he was eager to start the training she had promised him last night, but he wasn't prepared to face her yet. He still wanted a few more minutes to figure out what he felt towards her, if she wasn't already awake and downstairs that was. His stomach rumbled, answering his question with ease. Skippy walked down the stairs, pausing on the last step to look and see if his aunt had wakened yet. He saw nothing but an empty living room and jumped from the last step onto the floor, proceeding into the kitchen. He passed the locked closest on his way and ran his hand against its smooth finish, imagining the fun that rested on the other side of the door. The thought was pushed away by hunger and he continued through the doorway. He was starving and, supervision or not, he was going to get his worth out of having a kitchen on hand. First things first: he needed to see what he was working with. The young squirrel climbed onto the countertop with ease and began rummaging through the cupboards, searching for ingredients.

Slappy hadn't gotten much rest, having spent most of the night trying to forget the sound of her nephew's crying. The reaction wasn't what she expected and she certainly didn't set out to make him cry. All she wanted was to give him a picture of his mom to brighten him up, but it came back at her in a way she hadn't imagined. A better guardian would've planned for that scenario, would've been prepared, and wouldn't have been afraid to try and comfort him when they heard sobbing. The grey squirrel got out of bed, feeling all the aches and pains that came with old age, and trekked down the hall to the bathroom. She passed Skippy's room on the way and noticed it was empty, the bed appearing untouched. He wouldn't run away, would he? She started to panic and did her own running, charging to the bathroom and knocking on the door before bursting in. It was the same kind of empty as his room, clean and untouched. Slappy ran down the stairs faster than she knew she could and looked at the television, hoping to see her nephew watching early morning cartoons in her chair. Seeing it was empty she opened the front door and poked her head out, trying to ignore the blindingly bright sunlight as she called his name. "Skippy! Skippy!" she yelled, trying her best to spot him amongst the early morning tracksuit joggers. She reached for her car keys, not sure if he was still in the area or how long ago he'd left; she just knew she wouldn't stop looking until she found him.

"Yes?" Skippy answered, causing Slappy to yelp and nearly jump to the ceiling in surprise. She turned to see him standing in the kitchen doorway, a plate of pancakes in his hands. The brown squirrel gave her a glance that suggested he was questioning her sanity before walking into the living room. He turned on the television and sat on the carpet a few feet away, resting the plate on his lap as he started eating.

She closed the door and rested her head against it, trying to sooth her rapidly beating heart. She was certain that he'd ran off overnight, that he was as far from here as his legs could carry him. She added that mistake to the list of reasons she wasn't cut out for taking him on permanently, sighing as the list grew a bit longer. "You could've left a note on my door, I nearly had a stroke."

"I walked down the stairs, not to China, and if you were really so concerned about me then I'd probably be here for more than a few weeks." Had he been aware of the sting his comment caused her he would have apologized, but his back was to her and he missed the look of hurt that flashed on her face. Despite the confliction he had towards Slappy, the fact that she was only taking him in temporarily still left him quite bitter.

"You make those yourself?" Slappy asked, trying to ignore his snide remark. He nodded, eyes fixed on the television. Sitting on that carpet, performing one of his oldest rituals, it almost made the world feel right again, almost made him feel happy. Slappy walked by him and into the kitchen, expecting a large mess of flour and broken eggs. To her surprise the kitchen was still in one spotless piece, the only change from last night being the plate of pancakes on the table, still warm from being made. The pans had been cleaned, the oven was off, the milk and eggs were back in the fridge, and the bags of flour and sugar placed right where they belonged in the cupboard. Skippy obviously knew how to clean up after himself, not leaving a trace behind. "Are you really hungry enough to eat the rest of these?"

"I didn't know if you'd want any, so I made a few extra!"

Slappy had to shake her head in disbelief, "You made me breakfast?" she asked.

Skippy bit his lip and tried to think of some excuse, not wanting to admit that he was on the fence about how to feel towards her. "They're so I don't owe you for bringing me that picture last night." He explained, satisfied with the answer.

"Oh, well you didn't have to do anything for that."

"I did," he cleaned his plate and brought it to the kitchen. Slappy was seated at the table, eating the food with what appeared to be large enthusiasm.

"Did you put walnuts in these?" she asked between bites. Skippy nodded and took his dish to the sink, washing it while standing on the tip of his toes. Slappy watched in curiosity, wondering if he was really this cleanly or if he just didn't want her to hold anything over him, like cleaning up after him. "You know I haven't had walnut pancakes since I was a kid. My dad use to make them for me and your mom, but they were never this good. You got some talent Skip-O." Slappy's eyes widened and she immediately apologized. "Sorry, that just slipped out. Won't happen again, promise." Skippy was glad his back was to her as he stood at the sink, as it saved him the embarrassment of letting her see how little he cared about her using that nickname, especially after following the compliment.

The brown squirrel dried the dish and laid it on the countertop before returning to the living room and plopping down in front of the television, analyzing every scene and imitating it in his mind. He never thought he could develop his talents beyond fetching a mallet, but now that Slappy had informed him otherwise he was dedicated to learning everything. Not just hammerspace or physic manipulation, he wanted to know everything that a toon was capable of. Cartoons were no longer strictly for amusement, in fact being his chore and responsibility. Every now and then he'd find his hand drawn to his back, hoping that he'd feel the handle of his mallet in the grip of his fingers. Whenever it came back empty, which was always, he'd feel a shred of disappointment wash over him. "When do we start my training?" he shouted into the kitchen.

"Let me hit the shower and get out of my pajamas, then we'll get right on it." His imagination began bursting with notions of how amazing he'd be, of how quickly he'd get the handle on the tricks and routines of cartoons. He pictured himself, standing atop a high pillar as others cheered his name, saying that there was no way he could lose all of them. He imagined never being told that he wasn't in control of his life, of forgetting what it felt like to be helpless. No need for temporary homes or guardians, or horrible food and uncomfortable couches. He'd use his new abilities to get himself everything he deserved and more, and then he'd finally have a lasting feel of joy and happiness, one that couldn't be taken away from him.

Time crawled by and he found himself trying to keep busy, looking over his aunt's awards. There was something exciting about all of them, about knowing that the woman who'd won all these awards was the one to train him. The words "best" and "greatest" were written on all of them, and the dates went as far back as the fifties. Skippy walked over to the stairs and listened for the shower, seeing if it had stopped yet. To his delight it had and he prepared for her to come downstairs and teach him the amazing secrets she had learned over the many years she'd been active. He tried to sit down so he wouldn't appear too eager, but he found that sitting down actually made his feet lust for movement, bouncing as they hung off the couch.

Slappy walked down the stairs to find her nephew sitting upside down on the couch, his head hanging off the end with his feet in the air. "Comfy?" she asked, putting on her green hat. Skippy didn't answer, instead flipping off the couch and landing on his feet. "Yeah yeah, we're ready." She said, answering his question before he could even ask it. Her hand reached out to rub his head and he considered leaning back or shooing it away as he'd done earlier, but felt that learning how to grab his mallet whenever he wanted to was a pretty great reason to suffer through it. To his surprise Slappy's hand just hovered over his head until dropping back to her side, leaving an uncomfortable stillness that lasted for a moment but felt like an eternity.

Two hours later, all of which he considered a major waste of time, and he still had no grasp of hammerspace. Slappy didn't live up to his expectation either, giving him a speech on patience and clearing his mind instead of providing useful assistance. And when he was frustrated, when he could feel the mallet in his hand, she stopped him. "You can't always count on being angry when you need that thing. What if you're in a pinch and confused, or scared?" she asked. He hated not having a response to that question, even if it was rhetorical. The boy, having grown tired of the breathing exercises and the impossible task of clearing his mind, threw his arms up in exasperation. Slappy didn't seemed surprised by this, in fact she hadn't shown much emotion since they started. She hadn't appeared as flustered as he did, or tired, or even bored, just looking on in silence with a blank face and her arms crossed.

"I've gotten nowhere in the last hour, and now my hand feels like it's attached to my back!" he whined, walking to and collapsing on the couch.

"You expect it was gonna be easy?" Slappy asked.

"I expect a little help from my famous cartoon star of an au . . . guardian, but you just stood in the corner like a lazier Mr. Miyagi!" Skippy cupped his hands over his eyes and took a deep breath. "I mean, I'm doing everything you're telling me to. Why isn't it working?" he questioned, dragging his hands down his face.

Slappy laughed and approached the couch, "Kid, if it was that easy everyone would be an archtoon. Besides, ya can't expect results on your first day." She sat down, giving him a good cushion of space as she knew he'd want. "But hey, you're pretty smart. I'd place my money on you having it down in a week, tops."

"Stop!" Skippy shouted, jumping off the couch and taking a few steps back.

"Stop what?" she asked, slinking into the couch like a scolded child.

"Stop acting like I'm this great and amazing kid, stop acting like you're this unbelievably nice woman!" he gripped the fur on top of his head and pulled in exasperation. "You don't like me and believe it or not I'm fine with that, and I can even stomach that you're getting rid of me in a month. But stop pretending that you care about me or my mom because I'm starting to believe it and that makes the thought of being dragged away in a few weeks so much harder!" the young squirrel shouted, gritting his teeth and hoping that he was imagining the sensation of tears rolling down his flustered face. He rubbed at his eyes in an effort to hold back tears, but it only prolonged them by an extra second. "Why?" he asked, debating on whether he was trembling in fury or sadness. Slappy sat there, buried deep in the couch with a dumbfounded look and what appeared to be her own tears building up. "Why did my mom say you were dead? Why didn't you even send a letter or call? Why didn't you try to apologize and make up?" he asked, fighting the urge to run to his temporary room.

"You don't think I tried!" she shouted back, making him flinch in fear. This was the very first time she'd raised her voice at him and it proved more frightening than his stubborn and angry attitude could handle. "You think I was avoiding you two, that I hated you?" she asked. Suddenly Skippy felt like he was three inches tall, being scolded by an angry teacher, which was actually surprisingly accurate. He stared over Slappy's shoulder at nothing and nodded as his trembling subsided and the last of his tears fell. "Try the other way around. I sent cards every birthday and holiday and hoped they were being sent to the right address, called every Sunday for three months until she changed the number! Don't stand there and yell at me for not trying when I did the best I could." She rested her elbows on her knees and buried her face into her palms, sighing.

Skippy stood in place for a few minutes, trying to process the change in information that had formed his entire outlook on his aunt. His perspective was warping and the last of his spite fell away, leaving him with a cold, barren sensation. "I . . . I'm sorry, I just . . ." he didn't even know where the sentence was going or how to finish it, just that he wanted to justify his behavior. His shoulders and back slumped down as he felt a new weight of guilt pressing down on him, getting stronger with each passing second he was in the company of the aunt that had done nothing to him and yet received a large blunt of his hate. "Sorry," he mumbled, turning from the couch and walking to the wooden stairs by the door. He looked at her one last time before walking up to his room and gently closing the door.

Slappy lifted her head and found she was alone, left in silence to reflect on her past mistakes. There was a small relief in understanding why Skippy had been so angry at her, learning that for once it wasn't her fault a family member held a grudge against her, at least not entirely. She had believed that her sister, despite the ill feelings she held, would have given Skippy his birthday cards or have at least told him about her. Sadly this was not the case, instead pretending that she hadn't even existed. It gave Slappy an idea of just how much her sister despised her. The young squirrel was just a poor thing that got caught in a war he didn't even know of, trained to continue the battle after his mother passed like a good soldier. It wasn't nice to think ill of the dead, which is why Slappy only tried to make it as brief as she could. The grey squirrel rose from the couch and summoned the courage to walk up the steps and knock on Skippy's door.

The boy was laying spread out on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and trying to gather the strength to go back down and offer a better apology when Slappy knocked. "Can I come in?" she asked. A small urge whispered for him to say that it was her house and she could do whatever he wanted, but it was easily ignored in favor of the polite nature he had misplaced so long ago.

"Yes, come in." He said, sitting up and crossing his legs. Slappy opened the door rather slowly and lingered in the entrance before she walked in. "Hello," he greeted, watching her intently as she approached the bed. He had no idea what to expect from her, whether she was still angry or if she was as guilt stricken as he was.

"Can I sit?" she asked, pointing to his bed. He nodded and moved over to give her space. "Thanks," she said as she sat on the edge, her back to him. They both knew what had to follow the minor spat downstairs and each tried to force it out, too stubborn to quickly admit it.

"I'm sorry." They said in unison, so perfectly timed that it sounded rehearsed. They both nervously chuckled and felt a lot of the tension fall away, not all of it, but enough to carry on a civil conversation. "I'm sorry that I've been so . . . jerky, but I really thought . . . really believed that you –"

"That I didn't care about you or your mom?" she finished, knowing he had nodded in confirmation. "Well I did care about your mom, and I do care about you." She clarified, twisting her upper body to face him. "And I'm sorry I haven't been in your life up until now, but I did try, just not hard enough." Slappy sighed and turned her gaze to the perfectly neat blanket, unable to keep his gaze. He stayed silent for a moment until certain she had nothing more to add and then spoke up.

"So, why such a large fallout?" he asked, scooting closer to her on his knees. Slappy picked up her head and stared forward, as if reliving some memory. From the look on her face he could sense it wasn't a happy one, but one that stung of pain and remorse, and immediately felt regret for even asking. "I mean, it must've been pretty bad if she dropped all contact." He continued, knowing that sooner or later she'd have to answer him, and sooner was preferred.

"Well, first you gotta know that my parents hated me. I know it may sound like an exaggeration, but they really did. They never said it out loud, but I could tell from how they looked at me, from the way they shook their heads and the disappointment in their eyes when I told them I was going to be an archtoon. Mom didn't like my abilities because they weren't ladylike," Slappy stuck her tongue out at the word, showing her disgust at it. Skippy laughed at how ridiculous she appeared as a small smile formed across his face, one he didn't waste a second thought on. She nearly fell off the bed at the sound of his laughter and sight of a smile, but steadied herself. "And Dad didn't feel I deserved them, that I must've used some sort of steroid that I'm ninety percent sure doesn't exist. So I left home and moved here, looking for a job with Time Warner. I stayed in touch with your mom over the years, but I didn't share a single word with my parents. A few years later they died and I missed both funerals, which was the last straw for her."

Skippy looked over to the picture of his mother, wondering how he'd never notice such a large grudge buried beneath the surface. Slappy, possibly thinking the same, turned to the picture as well. "I'm starting to think stubbornness runs in the family." Skippy muttered.

"Yeah, it does." Slappy confirmed, turning back to him. "And it's strong enough to tear families apart."

The thought scared Skippy, who was starting to fear his own rising stubborn attitude would leave him alone and bitter. Clearly he needed to get a grip on his emotions, if he wasn't too broken already. Luckily the first step was being presented to him at that very moment in the form of his aunt, sitting just inches away and wearing a sad grin. "I'm sorry that I didn't ask you all this sooner, that I've been holding just as big a grudge as my mom did. You didn't deserve it, from either of us." The young squirrel's fingers clawed at the blanket in nervousness, creating a faint noise that grew between his pauses. "And a lot of that . . . anger, that hate, it was misplaced. I just . . . I'm so mad at her." His eyes glazed over in water and his voice began to crack, but he fought the embarrassment as best he could. "I hate myself for it, but I'm mad at her for leaving me alone. The worst part is I can't . . . I can't even tell her, can't get rid of it because everyone I yell at makes me feel guilty." Slappy placed a hand on his shoulder, sensing him flinch under it. "Sorry, not your fault," Skippy explained, taking several calming breaths and fighting back the tears.

Slappy patted his shoulder and suddenly rose from the bed, exiting the room and leaving the young kid with a puzzled glance. He wondered if that was really the end of the conversation, with him left dumbfounded on his bed. Was he supposed to stay and wait, or maybe follow after her? Uncertain, the young lad remained on the bed and turned from the door to the window on the opposite side of the room, staring out at the blue sky and the tips of buildings that poked over the tree tops. He felt calm and wanted to enjoy it for the short time it would last, knowing that moments like this weren't going to be presented to him too often from now on. His aunt, who he actually had to admit he felt a kinship with, had just treated him as an adult and gave him the full truth of her situation. Skippy had forgotten what it meant to get the entire story, not some painted version meant to make things more rose-colored than they were.

But with this came the fear that he was growing attached to her, and lately it seemed that ended with sad farewells. Suddenly the fact that he was going to be shipped off soon actually tore at him, more than he realized it could. Okay, stop now. You don't have to hate her, but you don't have to love her either. He scooted off the bed and approached the window, opening it to let some air into the stuffy room. The breeze hit his face and felt amazing, as did the sound of birds flying overhead and kids playing below. The sun was bright and everything felt like it belonged on some old family sitcom, where no one died and problems were solved in twenty precious minutes, minus the commercial breaks. He sighed and rested his head in the palm of his hand, feeling as the tranquility he knew would be brief left him and drifted out the window, looking for someone less bleak to infect. A thud behind him made the squirrel jump, hitting his head on the window. "Ow!" he said, rubbing at the bump he could feel form as he turned around.

Slappy stood in the center of the room, holding a mallet in her hand. His eyes moved from her to the object she'd placed on the ground, a golden chalice that he recognized as one of the many of her awards that decorated her living room. "Sorry Skippy, didn't mean to scare ya." She held out the mallet, offering it to him. He stepped over to her and grabbed the handle, a strange sense of discomfort washing over him as he held the tool. He was flooded with the memories of the last time he used one of these and felt guilt trickle from the handle into his hand. Not only was there that discomfort to deal with, but there was also the odd sensation of using a mallet that wasn't his own, that didn't feel specially made just for his hands. "I know it feels strange but you won't be using it for too long if that makes you feel better." Slappy explained, obviously aware of how he felt.

"What are we doing?" he asked, switching the strange mallet to his other hand to try and find more comfort.

"Holding onto anger can tear us apart Skippy, so work out your aggression out on this thing before it works itself out on you." She gestured to the small trinket in front of his feet. "Hey, this'll probably speed up your training. Two birds with one large blunt wooden instrument." She took a step back and crossed her arms, waiting for him to tear apart her award. Skippy gulped and looked down at the mallet in his hand, then turned his gaze to his aunt. The grey squirrel appeared uneasy standing by and allowing him the opportunity to destroy what was probably one of her most valuable possessions, even if it was one of many. For a moment he considered actually doing it, slamming the large object down and listening as it crunched or shattered or rang. He couldn't tell what it was made of so he didn't know how it would break, but that didn't matter because in the end it came down to one simple fact.

"I . . . can't break your award." He said, as surprised as she was. "I'm not really mad at you anymore. You did the best you could, but my mom was just too stubborn, like I've been the last few days. I'm over it now though, and this isn't something I want to do." He groaned and flipped the mallet around, holding the handle out to her.

"You sure kid?" Slappy asked, grabbing it from him. She opened the green purse that hung from her shoulder and placed the entire mallet in it with ease. Skippy wondered what else she kept in that purse.

He nodded, "Yeah, I think I've had a bit too much of anger, at least for a week or two." Skippy kneeled to the ground and picked up the chalice, adjusting it to inspect the engraving. "Best Female Cartoon Star of 1979? You were really willing to let me smash this?" he questioned, rising back up with the award in hand.

"Hey, you mean more to me than some crummy little award from a decade ago." She rubbed his head, "Well, a little more." She teased, turning to the door. Skippy followed her out of the room and down the stairs, the chalice gripped securely in his hand as he planned on returning it to its resting place.

A/N: Okay, so the last chapter is next. I hate when things feel rushed but at the same time equally despise when things are dragged out.