Disclaimer: I do not own Ib.

Title: Security Blanket

She shouldn't be afraid of the dark. She never had been. Darkness didn't summon monsters. Darkness was natural. And Ib was unusually calm and collected for a child. Garry would, and has on many occasions, described her as brave.

But everything had started when the lights flickered before finally going out when she stood in front of the Fabricated World painting. She had realized that though monsters weren't summoned or created by darkness, they were definitely real. The lights going out and being wrenched along in an alternate universe was decidedly unnatural. She hadn't been calm and collected. She had been focused and determined which did little to negate the fear. She seemed calm because she could not even begin to comprehend how to react to the impossible predicament she had found herself in. She didn't think herself very brave, but if bravery was defined as acting to the best of your ability despite fear, she supposed she might be.

She shouldn't even think of stealing. It wasn't hers. She was mature for her age. Her parents had raised her well. She had a reputation for being well-behaved, honest.

But there was no way she would able to procure one on her own. If she was mature, then she supposed she was mature enough to handle the shiny object that others her age would not be trusted with. Her parents had been the ones to carelessly leave it out in the open. They wouldn't even miss it. They had others. While she had been taught to behave, she had also been taught to act smart. She knew it was useful, even essential. A child could only protect herself if she had the knowledge to differentiate between when good behavior is appropriate and when it could get her killed. That idea had been engraved into her when it had proved true in the gallery. She took the small object and slipped it into her pocket. Just in case. The worse things are always unexpected.

She shouldn't have a lighter. It was not a toy. It was dangerous. It was absolutely not for children.

But she had taken it and wouldn't even consider returning it. The fact that it was not a toy she had learned intimately when she had set Mary's painting on fire, destroying a life that was not a life forever. She would never forget the scorching heat from the flames as they stood not even a foot away from the blazing painting. The smoke had burned her eyes, bringing tears forth and making her choke‒though that may have been from watching a supposed friend die by her own hand. The bright, ever-shifting flames had blinded her even as they filled her field of vision and reflected upon her dark brown eyes. It was most definitely dangerous. As for not being for children, she agreed with that wholeheartedly.

However, holding the smooth, silver lighter in her hand she felt relieved. It was standard, nothing special. The same type as Garry's. But it was tangible, solid and real. And she knew how to use it. She knew why to use it. It had added a reassuring weight to her pocket and now, sitting in the palm of her hand, it gave her a sense of hope. A lighter had pulled her through one impossible crisis and she held the object in high regard. It would be useful in many situations but additionally, it would remind her that she was able to pull through the first one despite the odds.

She flicked it open, then shut. The click was satisfyingly familiar, abating any fears she still held at least for the moment. She flicked it open again. Holding it carefully with both hands, she used a thumb to spin the wheel and was caught transfixed as the flame appeared. It was bright, dispelling the darkness. It was warm, like Garry's hand as he walked with her throughout their ordeal. His had been the only warm hand there to comfort her. Though she hadn't realized it at the time, Mary's hand had been deathly cold. Most importantly, the flame was strong. Strong as she had needed to be. Strong as Garry needed her to be. As strong as she intended to be for the rest of her life. And though she held some uncertainty of being able to maintain this sort of strength, the lighter was all the reminder she would need to try.

A/N: Well friendlies, here's the second one. I had been trying to write this one and it just wouldn't come out. But I think I was able to articulate it well enough.

I just always thought there was more to the characters of Ib. Ib is my definite favorite though. I am working on two others currently that also do not want to come out. One of them is for Garry. I have a hard time writing for him. I always thought that after all they'd been through they'd need some sort of token to act as a security blanket, you know? Something to keep them grounded after all that insanity, perhaps? The lighter seemed like a great choice for Ib.

I hope someone is actually reading this (I am refering to both the story and this author's note.) and enjoying it as much as I enjoyed writing it. No pressure, but I would like to know what you think!

Thanks for your support!