Not the Same - Comeback Chapter 4 - Morning, a loud house fanfic

Bedroom...

There's was something someone told Lincoln he never really understood the first time he heard it: the gun is apart of you, for in hell it's just you and only you with your gun by your side.

Yet now...now he understood it well, and he agreed as much it was apart of him. Aimed down at the opened door, the only light the moon from the above window of his old, cramped and dusty room. Untouched, or so he thought, either than him and now his daughter as she slept peacefully on his old bed. Drool dribbled down Lyla's mouth, the baby unware and lost to dreamland as daddy, once more, took the role of protector. The natural light highlighted his figure, outlining his hand molding against the revolvers grip with his finger massaging the trigger.

Loaded and ready to fire.

All he needed was to the push down and-

"Linky?" The voice was soft. It was female. It was one he knew well that he froze in silence. Bared teeth and the ugly scowl on his scar ridden face faded away as a blank expression took over, evolving into shock, then a shaky somber as he was met face to face with the cinnamon bun of the Loud family: Leni. An angel in a green nightdress and blonde hair loose, sleep mask pulled up to show her concerned and full of fear eyes.

For the first time in a long one he felt sick with himself from such a face piercing him.

'Stop looking at me like that.'

His stomach churned. He's seen that face so many times from so many people begging for their lives, even the fucking bandits and Uniforms of the military of all people in the outskirts as they knew he had the power to end their lives when they were on their knees. But unlike them, he felt something. He felt like shit. He felt like he was staring at one of god's children and she was afraid of him.

Afraid. A feeling he relished in others when he stood above them. A feeling that meant his survival as he knew being feared got you another day-let alone an hour in this cruel, twisted world of plague and monsters...he grounded his teeth, shaking his head furiously and forcing himself to remember that this world- this Earth- was not the other one. Not Lyla's home dimension. This is a world where people can be people. He doesn't have to be like this, yet at the same time he knows he can't help it.

Leni, feeling the lump in her throat, opened her mouth, her entire body shaking with understandable fear. Just moments ago she felt like crying at how he stared at her, it was disgusting, it was a face she never wants to see from her Linky, but now nothing but concern ﬂooded her from how he violently shook his head, other free hand clawing his own cheek in rapid scratches of some sort of panic.

"L-Linky?" Her eyes tried to look at his, but instead she was making idle conversation with the gun. She knows very well what he was holding, and she wasn't that dumb to know what it can do. Her gaze ﬂickered over to Lyla, the baby caressed by the moons love and touch, in her own little world.

The weapon started to shake, and gradually Lincoln dropped his hand, index oﬀ the trigger and uncocking the revolver in tandem with his other.

Looking down, patting his thigh with the pistol he refused to look at her. He had enough images in his head that won't let him sleep already, he didn't want to add how she looked at him into the vault of trauma and dirt.

Little brother and big sister stood silently. A pause to compose themselves.

Leni played with her long, silky hair, running her hands down the yellow locks as she looked at the gun in his hand and back to him. The gun...then him...the gun...him...the- it just kept on going. He in turn still refused to look at her, shameful of himself and tired. Very tired. The dark bags under his eyes showing days maybe weeks, maybe longer he doesn't know, nor does he care anymore. To him his health means nothing, all that matters is his little girl. So long as she lives, he's fine with it.

Leni in her part could not take it, to see her baby brother in such a state broke her even more than this entire evening did of his return and his...horror story. One she cannot forget no matter how hard she tries, and she's "supposed" to be the one that forgets the simplest of things after three steps.

Taking a breath and a mighty brave step the blonde ditzy beauty eyed her brother's chest, slightly exposed from his ratty and disgustingly worn jacket.

Bile risen in her throat, and she grimaced as she swallowed the acid back down, all from the slight speckles and even large splotches of red on the fabric. She of all people knows it wasn't paint. He had to do things to survive-horrible things.

Lincoln winced with a muﬄed grunt when he felt a softness best compared to the skin of his daughter touch his chest, the cool skin made him shiver as he breathed deep. Looking up he saw Leni inches apart of him as she traced her fingers across the visible scars on him, opening his jacket even more.

The more and more she felt the more she regretted it. It was enough to make her cry, and it did. Tears welled in her innocent orbs and fell from the sight of all the slashes, punctures and what look like claw marks. He twitched when she stopped and pressed her palm where his heart is, her hand was cold. Feeling even more brave she took the next step and pressed against him; bottom of her face resting against the crook of his neck, eyes staring solely on her niece who mumbled and dribbled in her sleep.

Carefully Lincoln wrapped an arm around her and sighed.

"I'm sorry," He said, holding her tighter, her hand pressing even more on his heart while her other pulled on his jacket's fragile fabric. "I'm so sorry."

He didn't know what else to say but that. He felt it didn't mean anything, it doesn't mean anything really to him anymore. Except to Liz and Lyla, to him every "sorry" meant something, but with the former gone...he came to terms he'll never be the same.

Leni's voice, though soft and muﬄed, met his ears. "It's ok."

'It's not, never will be.' He chuckled bitterly in his head.

They pulled apart and with it her hand, in that moment he forgot that touch and felt hollow again. Ah well, he mentally shrugged.

"Umm...L-Linky?" Nervousness filled her again, swaying back and forth, eyes lingering on the cold piece in his hand.

"Hm?" The young man rose a brow.

She pointed a finger down. "C-could you put that away...p-please?"

He furrowed his brow, confused for a second. 'Put what awa-OHHH. Shit.' Realization hit him and he mentally smacked himself, awarding Leni an awkward smile that did nothing but make her even more uncomfortable, rubbing her arm she averted her eyes as she couldn't stand the sight of the loaded gun.

Nodding, Lincoln walked over to his old desk and pulled open a drawer, staring silently at the contents with a raised brow at the scattered note cards of scribble scrabble his younger self drew, along with crumpled and messily folded paper. With a shrug he placed his revolver carefully on top and closed the drawer.

With a tired sigh, he stepped back to the bed and sat carefully so not to disturb his child as he groaned in relief in being oﬀ his feet; still burning and achy in his knees as they popped slightly. Days to weeks of nothing but walking and standing with not much rest has taken its toll, now add that into six years and he has a pretty good idea that not everything is ok inside, well physically he means. Mentally is another story.

Leni continued to stand in place, sorta, hopping on one foot and the other, leaning side to side and rubbing her arm and the stroking her hair. Looking back and forth at Lincoln and the ﬂoor she was stopped when he cleared his throat.

He smiled some. "Ya want to sit down? Be rude if you just stand there." He patted the opposite side by Lyla lightly.

Leni nodded quickly, smiling herself. They placed what just happened moments ago aside and best to not speak of and forget...for now.

The bed shifted from her weight, making sure to not disturb the baby who muttered gibberish that Leni froze in fear that she done it and the house will be filled with crying and screaming, but instead her niece snuggled deeper against her blanket and drooled all the same. A tiny content grin on the infant's chubby face.

Warmth and love filled Leni, carefully she stroked Lyla's side, running up with a circle around her cheek and finally feeling the white tufts of hair she shared with her daddy.

"She's beautiful," She whispered, other hand pulled close to her chest as if to stop her heart from exploding outwards into the open.

He blinked, giving her a sidelong glance. Really examining her. Even after all these years she was still Leni. That's the best way he can explain it for himself to understand. Soft, kind, pretty and eyes full of life it made him ﬂinch when she looked at him. All in all...it was a shock to the system, like so many others before during his adventure.

He looked down, biting his cheek until he felt ﬂesh rip and that familiar iron taste ﬂooded him, it was relaxing.

"You know," he uttered, she gave her full attention to him. "You'd make a pretty good mom." He gave her an awkward smile, trying to lighten the mood, only to receive something else.

Leni froze, eyes wide-wider than he ever saw from her-mouth agape as her cheeks turned a rosy pink and then scarlet, though he couldn't see fully from the darkness.

Removing her hand from Lyla she placed both her limbs on her cheeks. "M- me a-a-a mo-mommy?" She stuttered, shaking in place.

Her brother had no idea what was going on, though a bit concern from her reaction, he shrugged all the same. "Yeah, I mean why not right? I think you'd make an alright one."

She didn't hear him as images ﬂashed in her mind, those of her cradling a baby close to her chest with a tuﬀ of yellow on her head, to that of her kissing her imaginary child, and to the first day of school and— oh god! She felt so heated it's like steam would ﬂow out of her at any second.

She was so engrossed she didn't hear her brothers voice calling to her until a pressure was felt on her shoulder, gasping in place she turned her surprised expression over to Lincoln whos mouth was pursed and eyes tired.

"Y-yes Li-inky?" Her hands patting her thighs, gripping her nightdress tight and playing with the fabric.

"Why are you awake?" He asked. She blinked, shaking her head. Awkwardly twiddling her thumbs now.

"I-uh...like...couldn't sleep." That was half the truth. In reality yes she couldn't sleep, but the other part was that she wanted to make sure he was here, really here. She was terrified to believe that all of this-his return- was none other than a figment of her mind messing with her-tearing her fragile space again. Along with her imagination pounding her mind from what he's been through, well from what she imagined...and she hated it.

Gulping down her building emotion, tired already as it is from it, she in turn asked him the same question.

"I don't sleep much." Simple and straight to the point. The bluntness of his tone made her ﬂinch from the emotionless response.

"Why?"

All she got as an answer was him bringing a hand up and tapping his left temple with his index.

Silence reigned supreme once more. Moving her mouth to find the right words, Leni assumed something else from what he was referring to.

"A headache?" Tilting her head in question out of instinct. Her brother opened his mouth then closed it, tapping the side of his right index against his forehead with an amused smile and shake of his head. Ahhh, right, he forgot who he was talking too. Deciding to go with it, he nodded.

"Yeah...yeah a headache. Nothing major so don't worry much."

She frowned, puppy eyes aimed at him but he already turned his head away. 'I'll always worry Linky...for you and' Her hand landed back softly on Lyla. 'Her.'

Lying came as second nature to him, built up from practice in speech, body movements to even the eyes. It's a lot harder than he thought in the beginning, but, like all things, put enough time and it'll be second nature. He didn't understand why every time he lied to her he felt a growing pit, gnawing at him, a pressure building up in his chest telling him to be ashamed for lying to such a person like her. The angel in turquoise. Hand clenched tight, broken nails digging into already torn skin. But it was for her own good, so he told himself, for all of them. He just didn't want to worry them.

By the look of it he's doing a wonderful job.

It's embarrassing really for him: seventeen-years-old and still suﬀering though night terrors. He's supposed to be past that- BE STRONGER-yet here he is, to damn afraid to close his eyes and face what he's done.

All of this is just some sick joke in the end. Hell, someone is ought to be laughing.

He licked his lips, throat clenched in longing for more liquid fire. He wanted his nightly buzz.

Clasping his hands, rubbing his thumbs together, picking blisters and broken skin, he stared at the mirror once more for the night, watching his reﬂection mimic his movements.

It was just so odd for him-talking to someone who isn't his daughter or Hope.

He blinked.

Hope.

He remembered, hell it was not that long ago, a day at best. They been through thick and thin, miles upon miles of wilderness and destroyed beauty, and all it took was a lucky shot from some bandit with a gun. She was a good horse, he was thankful it was quick. She deserved such that.

A soft yawn pulled him back to reality, looking to his side he saw his older sister sway back and forth, hand brought up to cover her mouth, eyes dropping with each breath she took.

'Amateur.' Grinning from his own joke. Back and forth he watched her rock side-to-side, battling to stay awake like him, yet she lost the battle. With a final push Leni fell to side and landed her head carefully against her brother's shoulder. He tensed out of instinct, cursing at himself, knowing he has to fix that somehow.

Before darkness swept over her, Leni muttered a final "Linky."

Looking over his sister he gazed down at his daughter between them, a small smile on his face as he swept a thumb across Lyla's cheek and bringing his hand back to pat his sister's shoulder. In the end it was just him.

He stared at the door, eyes locked, body ready for any moment to spring to action. Forgetting that there were no Puppets.

No monsters.

For the entire night he waited.

And nothing came.

~oOo~

Lisa's and Lily's Room...

Her hands hurt.

Tightly held in the palms of the broken genius was a silver ball, the metallic chain slipping through the gaps of her fingers, pressing on her skin as she tightened her grip even more. Yet she was not letting go, not for the entire night as, with this beacon, she felt liberated, she felt at peace for once in these six years that she can close her eyes unworried by what mental images her mind would instinctually create in nocturnal rest through REM. Street name: dreams.

Lisa knew it was far from peaceful-obviously any moron with at least two brain cells can comprehend a long struggle is coming. But for now, she wants one night-one damn night-for herself to know peace and not anxiety, to know she, after so long, finally done it. She brought back the piece that was missing...along with quite a surprising extra in a form of an infant female.

"Lyla." She whispered silently so not to awake her younger sister and roommate. Chuckling internally to know that the L's still go strong.

Though as good as she feels a frown still took over her face as she opened her eyes, turning on her back the ten-year-old stared at the ceiling.

Hell. Horror. What should be fiction is a reality in another realm with the same name, same species, same history but a diﬀerent road that diverged into a diﬀerent future.

Her mind never turns oﬀ, part of the curse she supposes of the balance with the blessing of being a residential genius. But for that long night she was plagued with questions. Questions of her brother's time. Questions of these...Puppets. There was no way it was something as idiotic as zombies- the dead stay dead and that's that.

She remembers he said so himself. They were not dead, he clarified, but lost and gone.

Rabies? A mutant strand? But that doesn't explain the faded but clearly coloured polaroid pictures she looked over from his tale that showed their strange characteristics: dark liquids from the mouths, veins bulging in a sick hue to the skin-what was it? What destroyed that other mankind?!

She stopped suddenly, hands burning even more from her iron grip that it seems the beacon may break from her force. Turning over to her side so she was facing the wall, Lisa closed her eyes and took even breaths.

'No.' She mentally told herself. 'No screaming tonight...not ever.' She relaxed, palms and fingers a burning red. 'Not again. He's back. He's real.'

"He's real." A final mutter as she succumbed to sleep.

She wasn't alone. Questions plagued through each sister and matriarch and patriarch of this chaotic and now healing family. To the point they all could only blink and stare blankly before sleep took over and won their little mental wars.

So, the Loud family slept. Except one.

~oOo~

Morning...

Thus, another day in Michigan and the rest of this part of the world the sun shined his bright face downwards. Another day of poor fools cursing for another hour of sleep. Cold winds blew and leaves danced with them, brought from one point of the city to another. Some left to be taken by nature, others crushed like nothing by joggers and the like.

Another day.

Leni laid, with her legs curled to her chest and arms wrapped around her knees, sleeping peacefully on her brother's old bed. Relaxed and content with a small smile on her face, yet the sun still got her. Rays of light shone through the single window and to her face. Her face scrunching and she moaning a long drawn out "Nooooo."

With Mr. Sun saying 'Yes.' He won the battle and she woke up. Pulling herself forward and back as she stretched her limbs, sighing in relief from the tightness of her body leaving and feeling refreshed. Suddenly she remembered where she was, and last night...and the gun.

Quickly blinking with a shake of her head as she pushed back that memory for now, Leni patted the bed and said in a happy voice. "Morning Linky!

Morning Lyl-!"

But when she looked around her surroundings they weren't there. Blinking once more, she felt a tremor pass through her, her heart speeding and nerves getting the better of her. Shakily she sat up, legs dangling oﬀ the bed, frantically she looked around for them. Her hands shook and she yanked her hair in panic, pure fear ran through her like rabid hounds on the loose. Her poor mind playing with her again.

She can't find them! Where are they!? Oh god! Oh god! Oh god! This wasn't real! He...he wasn't real. All of it was just a dream, again. She walked in on his bed and fell asleep again, imagining everything.

She could do only one thing, and that's scream.

Hearts thumped and rapid sessions of diﬀerent pairs of feet marched through the halls with worried and frantic voices barging in. The door ﬂung open and gasps went around from the painful sight of the family's special angel. Cradling herself as she sobbed and struggled with words that all came out was garbled gibberish and high-pitched squeals that it hurt the ears of anyone. Rita sprung to action, pushing past her husband, Lori in tow, the two women by Leni's side-holding her and trying to calm her.

Rita grabbed her daughter's cheeks, her heart in pain to see such a sweet girl in misery. "Leni. Leni look at me, sweetheart."

Leni did such that, for that few seconds her mother saw a broken girl staring back at her before she dove in and hugged her mom with all her might. "He's not real!" She wailed, confusion swept.

Lori sat down and calmly rubbed her sisters back. "W-who's not real?"

"Linky!"

Eyes widened. A shutter through their bodies.

Leni kept going. "He-he-he's n-not here! A-and Ly-Ly-baby girl!" It was all a sick twisted dream, that was all it was to her. "It never happened." Leni whimpered on her mother's shoulder.

Rita felt cold, looking around, her baby girl in her arms, she didn't see her son or granddaughter. Turning to her husband. "L-Lynn?" Her other daughters, the younger ones, had tears form in their eyes as they were swept up in this morning mess, thinking the same, but Lily kept strong. The youngest saw her roommate shake and mutter incoherently. Grabbing Lisa's hand the genius looked down to see the calm, soft smile her younger sibling gave her, relaxing her some.

"Your hands." Lily said simply.

Looking at her hand Lisa saw she was still holding the beacon, chain limply dangling.

"He's real." She whispered. Lily nodded.

Luna spoke up, her in tuned ears, years of all sorts of sounds benefitting her in picking out unique tones. "Dudes, do you hear that?"

Lynn Jr blinked, grinding her teeth in stress, a shake in her voice. "Hear what?"

Luna shot an arm and shushed her, pissing her sporty sister oﬀ a bit, until it dawned on LJ. Laughter...baby laughter! It was faint but she can hear it, the others soon came forward as their eyes widened in tandem. Luan nodded.

"Outside!"

~oOo~

Front Yard...

The hell? Lincoln mouthed, swearing he heard a strange sound coming out the house, turning back he shrugged. Though he can't help but think it was along the lines of someone screaming.

Weird, he shrugged, going back to watching his little girl. Both sitting, well Lyla crawling in her case, on the soft grass of the front yard. His daughter exploring her new surroundings with much gusto, kicking her legs back and forth with her arms in tandem to a new direction leading to a new journey in her eyes. Her father smiled softly, playing with the grass in his hands, plucking a few strands and showing his girl. "Grass. Can you say grass, Lyla?"

She blinked, smiling an open smile as she reached for the green strands in his hands. "Gess! Gess!"

He chuckled. "No. Grass. Gr-asssss. Come on I know you can do it." Yet she was a stubborn girl, just like her mom. "Gess, dada! Gess!"

Lincoln sighed and gave up, his hand loosening that the grass ﬂew out with the winds. "Close enough."

Times like these are what he treasured the most, the small things that remind him that there's something to live for-to fight for. And she was it. He stared curiously at his daughter, she in her own wonder at the simplest of things. Patting the ground, giggling from the falling leaves.

His eyes softened, hands on his lap, it won't just be him and her anymore. She'll get to live he kept telling himself. She'll get to live life in general.

He stared up at the sky, trailing the smallest cloud.

"I'm trying Liz." He muttered. "For our girl I'll try harder."

That's all he can do, but it doesn't feel enough.

"LINCOLN!" A rough feminine voice screamed that he jumped, mind on autopilot as he dug his hand inside his jacket for his gun, only to touch nothing but fabric as he was reminded it was in his drawer since last night.

Though by that time it was too late, he was tackled hard, brought to his back, hands in fists he gritted his teeth, raising his hands he was ready to pound down on his attacker. He stopped. Yellow hair filled his vision when he looked down, next for his tackler to look up and for him to meet the face of his little sister.

"Lana?" He breathed, gasping slightly from the force she placed on his ribs. Damn she was strong...she was crying.

Tears fell from her eyes along with snot as she hitched and sobbed against his chest, pulling his jacket that the already fragile fabric was pulled to its limit. Her blue tinted green pyjama shirt stained with her fears. The twelve- year-old began to shake her head left and right and smacking him with her hands. Cursing at him in broken speech.

As he was beyond confused, his sisters, all in pyjamas, rushed and divided towards him and Lyla who only stared, right hand in her mouth. Soon, she was picked up by Luna, who brought her close, smothering her rocking new niece with kisses.

To think it was just yesterday and she fell in love.

"Don't do that again!" Lana continued to hit him, though weaker and more sluggish. "W-W-We thought you were gone...that you left again."

Lincoln's eyes went down in remorse. What is wrong with him? Why can't he stop making them hurt?

He felt something he hasn't felt in a long while surged through him, a feeling he felt only yesterday. Brotherly instinct. He placed a hand on her head, fingers playing with her ruﬄed and fuzzy bedhead he gave her a soft smile.

His eyes scared her, they were not 'his' but she couldn't look away. Even then she felt safe and secure when he patted her gently.

Lynn and Luna argued over who got to carry Lyla, until Leni snatched her away from the rocker, the baby squealing in joy from being spun.

He shook his head, sincerity in his rough voice. "I'm not leaving-never am."

Lana wanted to believe it. She looked at him, trying to show strength but the quiver of her voice and lips ruined that. "Swear it." She said firmly.

"Swear you'll never leave...not again." "..."

The tomboy placed her head against his shoulder. "Please." Her voice a whisper.

"Ok." He nodded. "I promise."

"Best keep it twerp."

He hasn't heard that name in a long while. Looking up he saw Lori gently smiling at him, her eyes misty. To call him 'twerp' after so long made her smile wide and him chuckle with warmth spreading through him. He took Lana's cheeks in his hands, a girlish giggle left his little sister who could only look at him curiously.

"W-what are doing Lincoln?" Lana said between laughter.

He shrugged. "Ah, just getting a good look at my baby sister."

If she could, she would've pouted.

"I'm not a baby anymore Lincoln. I've grown." Pride in her tone.

He held her face in place, staring blankly at her with a cold expression-the perfect poker face. No sign of physical emotion. It scared her, freaked Lori out too who bent down and placed a hand on his shoulder. Though in that few seconds Lana saw something in his murky, ocean like eyes. In that eternal sea she saw sadness and regret.

He nodded his head, rubbing his thumbs on her cheeks. "You really did. Strong as hell too, hurt my ribs."

She chuckled awkwardly. "Sorry." He shook it oﬀ. "Eh."

"Eh?"

"Yeah, just eh."

Lincoln let go of her cheeks and got up with a groan, his sisters and parents cringed from the sickly popping of joints. He saw his mother walk up to him, quickly he caught her in time when she brought him in a tight hug. He hugged her back as tight, resting his chin on her shoulder as he leaned forward. His father was by their side and patted his son on the shoulder, next Lana came in, the Lola, next Lucy and-well you get the picture. They may have made an early morning scene, but to the family like the Louds, why should they give a damn what others think?

And speaking of the Louds. The newest and youngest, held in her sporty auntie's arm grabbed a good handful of Lynn's hair and yanked with all her might.

"Ow! Lyla!"

"Lada! Dada Lada!"

"Yeah, Lada baby girl."

He smiled a tiny grin as Lynn tried to pry her hands off her hair.

~oOo~

Kitchen...

It was beautiful. A masterpiece in his eyes. Now to be ravished by him.

In front of the sole son was a plate of freshly made eggs, bacon, and hash browns and a cold glass of orange juice. His mouth watered at the smells, stomach aching and begging him to consume the meal. Taking his fork in hand the teen brought an egg to his mouth, eyes widening from the burst of ﬂavors of spices and time and eﬀort put to make this by his father. He could cry.

People back in the other Earth would kill for this...actually they would kill for all of this. And he knows it, having seen a man stabbed to death for apples. Most of them were riddled with worms though, but you must eat.

He didn't seem to care he was making a scene. Scooping mouthfuls of eggs and hash he dropped his fork all together and began stuffing his face with every piece-even the scraps of his plate. Smearing grease across his face, going as far to wipe his fingers of said grease and suck on his fingers for it. He made Lana look like a prim and proper lady when she eats and that's saying something.

His family watched him with wide eyes, some loosing their appetites, but a question rang in his fathers head and he cleared his throat to ask.

"Um...son?"

Lincoln froze in place, plate lifted up and his tongue stopped midway across the middle as he literally was licking it clean. Slowly placing the plate down he brought his hands to his lap, a neutral expression on his scar ridden face.

"Yes?"

Lynn Sr scratched his chin. "How...what did you eat over there in that," He can't believe he was about to say this, "Other world?"

His son had to ponder for a second, then he shrugged, bringing a finger up to swirl around the now spotless plate and bringing it back to pop and suck in his mouth. "Whatever I could," He said. "I was usually on the move and most villages or towns around were pretty spread thin." He leaned back against his chair, picking his teeth. "Well...those still standing."

Luan piped up. "Still standing? What do you mean?" She actually dreaded the answer.

Her brother ﬂickered his gaze at her and then the ceiling. "Kinda how I said it. Not a lot of towns survive by themselves the first years, let alone months."

The comedian swallowed, willing to press on. "Because of...what are they called?"

"Puppets?" He returned. She nodded.

He tilted his head and gave her a so-so with his hand. "Sometimes, it's actually rare. Most of them populate the old cities."

'The human ones that is.'

"It's usually fighting against bandit raiders, sometimes infighting...the Uniforms." He whispered the last part.

"The what?" LJ asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing."

When he closes his eyes, he can still see the fires.

Awkwardness and unease came back, completely ruining appetites. Lucy narrowed her eyes as Lori stared at him, scrutinizing his expression and words, she swore she heard him say something about uniforms. He's hiding something. A niggle in the back of the eldest's head told her to get it out of him, to force him to tell her everything. But she pushed that niggle away for she knew what he's been through and what he has to say she is pretty sure she, and let alone, any other human being in this plane cannot in any way, shape or form relate. But that won't stop her, she won't lose him again-no way in fucking hell.

Lucy rubbed her left wrist, right above her long arm warmers, right where self-inﬂicted scars remain. She has secrets of her own. She was weak. But now she is willing be stronger for him and her niece.

Lincoln waved a hand. "But for food I ate what I could trade or caught."

'Or stole and killed.'

"If I'm lucky there's a pond and fish. Berries-hopefully not poisonous," His mother ﬂinched. "Meat is hard though...so I do what I can."

In his father's mind he was wondering, and fearing, how many times his son went hungry. Oh god what about his granddaughter? The newly made grandfather turned his head to watch his granddaughter smack her hands on Lily's old highchair they dug out from the attic, dusted and still holding on strong. Mush of saved baby food in the just in case cause in this house it's not unheard of another 'surprise' coming in this world splattered around. Lyla continued to kick her feet and eat her breakfast with much gusto.

"Well, someone's hungry." Lincoln muttered, pushing himself oﬀ the table, walking to his daughter he pecked her on her forehead. "Look at you being dirty. How's breakfast baby girl?"

In return he got a handful of mush smacking him on his face. Laughter reigned and dominated the house.

Lincoln smiled, leaning in with a finger pointed at his daughter's face. "You're gross, you know that?"

She bit him.

~oOo~

Lincoln and Lyla's Bedroom...

Faint scratches of scribble scrabble sounded through the renovated linen closet as his makeshift pen glided carefully and skilfully through the handmade and bounded pages of his journal. An ugly looking thing, leather old and rotted in a few places with holes and marks speckled around, papers from both that made and cut from dried animal skin and that of actual paper held together by dry and tightly wrapped with yarn of all sorts of colour, many snapped and retied repeatedly, constantly adding pages as the inside looked like a messy pattern of yellow and white and coﬀee stained paper along with all types of smears the eye can perceive.

He made do. And it was pain to acquire the parts necessary let alone make it.

Lincoln rose his "pen": a handmade wooden tube, splintered slightly at the butt, the tip made in the image of a fountain pen, sliced and melded from scrap metal, held to the pens body by silver and slightly rusted wire. He brought it down and dipped it in a small glass cylinder, cork by the side, filled with black ink, tapping it by the side he went back to writing.

That or reading or telling Lyla stories. That's all he really could do for any sort of pastime let alone entertainment. Books? Now that was...iﬀy to say the least. Depends on where you go to be honest. The Uniforms, from what he told by story tellers and people who recounted the past, raided a bunch of libraries to preserve the knowledge, but really to hog all of it for themselves to keep those in the wilds and away from their power illiterate. It worked...to an extent. He can recount so many times others were surprised he could read, let alone how many times he read for them.

The Uniforms or Military, or the so-called remnants of the United States of mother fucking America. Heh' give him a break. Assholes through and through.

In the end, now it doesn't even matter. They don't even exist here-none of them do. It's like a stupid horror story that everyone would call you crazy for believing. Those six years are nothing in this realm. But to him they were something.

With a sigh he took a cloth from his backpack, leaning by his right leg, and wiped his pen clean, tucking it inside the extra spine pouch of his journal. Corking his ink and closing the book and picking up a long white yarn and wrapping it twice around the journal, taking a clip and, well, clipping it to keep shut. He placed it inside his pack and pulled out a book. It was grey and horribly torn, the right edge of the cover wrinkled to the point if he pulled hard enough it'll be enough to tear apart in a clean line. A long dark road highlighted forward with the yellow markers, leading to a shadowy figure as lighting strikes down on him. Flecks of white fell oﬀ the edges of paper as he slid his thumb down slowly. 'American Gods' was the title, a gaping hole above Gods.

Twenty-seven. Twenty-seven times he read this book. Front to back and back to front once, he was curious. Yet he never skipped a single page.

Free time. It felt weird not doing anything. His daughter was ripped from his arms and thrown into the beasts that were her aunties. He knew she was in the right hands, safe and sound yet he felt hollow without her by his side or in his arms.

Shaking his head of these thoughts he got oﬀ the bed and took his book with him.

"Who knows," He said to himself. "Maybe it'll be a diﬀerent ending this time."

And he went out the door.

...

The door opened. In came in his mother who opened her mouth but stopped once she saw her son was not there. Blinking Rita hung her head and closed the door, she was bringing herself up to talk to him. One on one was what she wished for, something she longed for with her baby boy. She just wanted to ask him, and hope to god he tells her the truth, if he's ok.

Deep down she knew the answer.

She felt misty in her worn eyes from just standing in his room, really taking it in. She remembered how when he was a little boy, no older than four, how he bounded and jumped all over this tiny space, happy and cheering at having his own room. She giggled when she remembered how he ran in her and her husband's room in just the first night afraid of the 'monsters' under his bed.

Her smile fell.

The monsters...

Quickly Rita clapped her hands and shook her head, taking a deep breath to calm herself, pushing down that...talk. Last night she and Lynn both took those old newspapers he showed them, for that night they read and shook like children told a retelling of a horror story by the fire. But this wasn't just a horror story, it more than that.

Curiosity took the better of her as she stared at his backpack, that ratty and disgustingly rotted fabric thing, laid by its side, open and exposed. Without much thought she found herself walking to it, entranced and filled with questions that ran and jumbled her mind with even more. She wants to help her son but she doesn't know what to do or how to approach this.

How can she fix this cracked piece of the mirror that is her family? How can she have her little boy again?

She saw a dark brown book, hugged by thread and held together by a clip. Like his backpack and jacket, it was ugly and broken. With careful hands she picked it up, examining it with her eyes, weighing it with her hands, feeling the papers that jutted and ripped from edge to edge.

She had an idea on what this was.

Was she really going to go this far? Invade his privacy? She couldn't stop herself.

She peeked.

And like that, the final chapters of Not The Same have been re-uploaded.

Now the real question is what to do going forward.

Anyone got any ideas, please share in the reviews.