tw: violence, deaths, mild description of human remains.

Remembrance by Balmorhea is the perfect song for this chapter! + make sure to pay attention to the years as there are lots of time jumps! deep breaths here we go.

November 16, 1994

The Battle of the Darwin Bridge

THE DARWIN BRIDGE WAS PAINTED RED.

Gunshots erupted, tearing through Naomi's ears and she ducked down, a sharp scream tearing out of her throat without her control. Her hands covered her ears, her dark hair wet through her shaking fingers, and she couldn't tell if they were soaked with her own blood or someone else's.

She would rather not find out.

Her back spasmed from the harsh pain of her position, and she cradled her grown belly protectively with one hand, the other wiping the cold sweat that trickled down her forehead and burned the corners of her eyes.

She felt the salty taste of tears against her tongue, as well as the acidic taste of bile threatening to gush out of her stomach. Her raging heart pounded against her ears and the tip of her fingers as she rested them against the cool metal of the wrecked car she had been hiding behind.

She didn't know whose car it was, but she could smell the strong stench of blood wafting from it - there were people inside. A part of her wanted to open the door and help them in case they were still alive, but a rational part of her knew she would be of no help, and that being in her eighth month of pregnancy would only slow them down - and worse, kill them.

She couldn't even understand how all of this happened.

One minute she was crossing the Darwin bridge to get back to Burlington after her doctor's appointment, a trolley cart trailing behind her containing ingredients she planned to use to bake a sponge cake she had been craving-and the next, chaos had ensued around her, thrusting her to the ground along with the trolley, all the groceries she had bought scattered and crushed.

She had found herself sprinting without a second's hesitation at the sound of the first gunshot, spurred by people's gut-wrenching screams. She had found a spot inside Maurice's parking lot, behind a giant boulder, and had hidden until there was a ghostly silence outside, occasional gunshots tearing through the wind, a painful reminder that this silence had left death in its wake.

Naomi was wheezing, and she was aware that she was growing louder as panic gripped her body at the idea that she might be caught and shot dead. She forced herself to calm down, needing to push herself to safety, if not for her then for the body already grown inside of her. She feared for a split second that she might be going into premature labor from the sudden exertion she had undergone.

Breathe.

In. Out. Breathe. Deeply.

The sound of a high-pitched whistle yanked her out of her panic. She craned her neck to catch the source of the noise, squinting her eyes when she caught movements in the distance, at the entrance of one of the dwellings ahead, still on the right side of the bridge.

Her heart lurched when a woman waved, fingers curling to usher her to come. Naomi struggled to stand but willed her legs to cooperate. She had to. She had to - she had to - she had to. She scanned the area around her despite her vision blurring, desperate for it to be empty, terrified of snipers. She squinted to look up at the top of the buildings, although her attempts should be futile - she couldn't see a thing from the blinding sun.

But she had no choice.

The road ahead was ornated with shattered glass, splattered with dark blood and bodies. Cadavers. People. Dead. Killed. She forced her eyes shut for a second. Come on, now. Don't look.

A sob tore from her throat at another sound of multiple fast-paced shots, too close, so close her body reacted on instinct, writhing away to the right, closest to the rough wall-

She tripped and fell, catching her upper body in time with her palms. She cried out when the glass bit her skin, peppering her fingertips and wrists and knees. She rushed to pull herself up but stopped dead short at the sound of a baby, right next to her.

Her breath hitched in her throat, and slowly, she craned her neck to follow the noise.

A baby lay on top of a man, whose body was unmoving.

It hiccupped. It was alive.

Naomi hesitated, only for a second, turning around to look behind her and consider the threat nearby. Then, she crouched lower and crawled to it, shards of glass cutting her skin and she winced, unyielding. It was alive. She had to save it. She had to.

The moment she reached them, her eyes met the man's distant gaze, eyes wide and empty. She swallowed, her eyes drifting to the woman's body next to him, her head crushed under a rock, lying in a pool of her own blood.

She ground her teeth, shaking away the hot tears blurring her vision.

"Come on," she breathed, her heart wrenching at the sight of the baby, enough to be several months old, features soft amidst the gruesome scene surrounding it. Its eyes were wide, green in color, and bright with life. "Come on..." she whispered again, fingers curling around their body, pulling their head to her chest. "I got you."

But it was heavy.

It strained her arms as she pulled it up around her torso, and her legs screamed from the exertion. For a moment she thought she might not make it.

Until she felt suddenly lighter, and she looked up to see that the woman who had waved at her was now holding it, relieving her from the heavy weight.

"Thank you-"

"Come on," the woman urged, taking hold of her forearm, and pulling her to the shelter.

More gunshots.

Naomi yelped as she blindly followed. She couldn't help but notice there hadn't been any shots the entire time she was making a run for it before. Were they sparing her because she was pregnant? She didn't know, and she couldn't give them that kindness.

The woman pulled them inside, their heavy panting echoing around them. Naomi's eyes blinked as they suddenly plunged into darkness the further they went inside, seeking shelter.

"Are you alright?" The woman asked in a hushed whisper, rushing straight ahead and only turning to hastily inspect her for severe injuries, relieved to see they were only small cuts.

"Yes," Naomi choked. Physically, she was at least. She unconsciously rubbed her stomach, seeking reassurance.

"The name's Joe," the woman introduced, coming to a stop, and leaning against the wall of a dark corner.

"Naomi."

Joe had a shotgun strapped around her body, but she had run out of ammo long ago after managing to take down several guards. She was as clueless as Naomi about the sudden twist, but she knew for sure it had to do with Hunter. Her end goal was to make it underground, and Naomi said she had a place in Burlington, the nearest district, where they could hide with her parents. She worried about the whereabouts of her brother, knowing he worked at the gas station by the borders. She felt helpless and vulnerable, hands tied and caked with blood and mud. She had to trust that he was going to be okay. If she could pull through with a life inside of her then he should too.

They had waited, for hours they hid inside the dwelling, waiting for the sun to set.

At night, in the darkness, they made their escape.

Joe died from a stray bullet on their way, as she attempted to shield Naomi from it. It hit her head, killing her on the spot.

Naomi had run for her life on the way back, reaching the safety of Burlington, guarded by the people of her district. She had almost collapsed with relief at the sight of her parents, unharmed.

They waited, for weeks, until they received the information that they had found her brother, shot dead by the bridge. He was never coming home.

She named the baby Joe.

And, when her son was born in December, she named him after her brother, Kaden.

September 20, 1999

Jeremiah

Nico had been helping out with the restoration of Burlington in the morning; putting up carts and assisting with the heavy lifting, dusting the fountain that rusted in the middle of the center, and keeping himself busy until he had to open the bar at dusk.

It would be two a.m. when he would usually retire for the night, shutting the doors and dusting the floor before he would switch off the lights and leave for his apartment that was close by.

That night, as he locked the doors after him, he stopped dead in his tracks at the sound of gentle babbling.

He craned his head down to follow the source of the noise, heart squeezing at the sight of a newborn baby, wrapped in a thin layer of white cotton.

Without a second thought, he took the newborn home with him. He warmed milk and used a funnel to feed it as he didn't have anything else to use. This would do for the night until he could ask around about the mysterious appearance of the baby at his doorstep - a bar no less.

Maybe he should be thankful it was the bar instead of the brothel.

Morning came and so was his questioning. He had asked all the merchants at the center of Burlington, all his customers at the bar, his closest friends and he even knocked on doors to find answers.

But none came.

It was bewildering, to say the least. But he had seen worst and could be thankful it was a baby he found instead of more dead bodies.

As he cradled it in his arms and studied its features, he decided it wasn't so bad. A small smile curved his lips at the sight of it, but then they curled down when he realized it was still nameless.

The next day, he bumped into Naomi at the supermarket.

"You have a baby now?" Her eyebrows shot up at the sight of it strapped to his front with a carrier.

His lips quirked up into a grin at the sight of the two kids that held her hands from each side of her body.

"Well, hello," he greeted. The boy shyly hid behind his mother's leg while the girl stepped forward, putting her hand up to shake his giant one. Nico chuckled, wrapping his fingers around hers and shaking it gently. He smiled when she squeezed and ruffled her hair. "Nice grip."

"Nico," Naomi exasperated, needing answers to the abrupt appearance of a human being in his life.

"I found her at my door," he explained, gently patting the baby's back when it cooed. "Someone left her behind."

Naomi blinked in bewilderment, eyebrows pulling in a gentle frown and she moved closer, fingers lacing through the baby's hair. It was soft under her touch, and it made her heart burn.

"Some people are monsters." She shook her head and Nico agreed. "Did you name her yet?"

"No... any suggestions?"

Naomi hummed to herself, pulling Joe closer to her when the latter started to toy with the bags of diapers lined up on the bottom shelf.

"Any name will do... really." He didn't care much about it being sentimental, so long as the name served its purpose and was simple to spell.

"She's not a dog." She rolled her eyes. His ears perched up at the mention of that, and he looked down at it with the reminder of the Pitbull he had that died during the uprooting a few years back. Liz. That was her name. "She's going to despise you for it." Naomi laughed, and it was then he realized he had uttered the name out loud.

"Maybe..." he shrugged, but truth be told, he loved that dog. He had cried for months after she died. "Elizabeth then."

She scrunched her nose. "Or Lizzie."

"Lizzie." His eyebrows drew up. He liked the sound of that. "Sold."

She shook her head, shoulders shaking from her chuckle. She then looked at the kids and gently held them closer to her. His eyes followed the movement and settled on Kaden, taking in the dark blue of his eyes.

"He has his father's eyes," he commented, only noticing he said it out loud from Naomi's sharp inhale. His features softened as he offered an apologetic look. "Sorry," he added meekly, and she shook her head, hand dropping to her side to softly ruffle Kaden's hair.

"He does," she mumbled.

"You still haven't told him?" He gently probed. Naomi shot him a look, the warmth in her gaze vanishing at the broach of the subject.

"No. And I don't intend to," she added the last part in warning, to which he understood.

She helped him choose out the needed supplies, and he ended up wheeling a full cart back home.

A few months later, when the first December's snow coated the dwellings, a man he had never seen before around the district came with a baby cradled in his arms, one he found wrapped in a thin blanket that did nothing for the cold. The man proposed Nico to take it, or if he knew anyone else capable of raising the child. Nico looked down at it, then back up at the stranger. His eyes were a distant shade of coal, cold and empty; a long scar spanned the left side of his jaw, trailing up diagonally, cutting his nose and stopping right before the corner of his eye; his posture was straight, painstakingly so. Nico blinked when he caught on.

The stranger was standing at attention - a guard. The shadows lurking in his eyes and the ghostlike frame gave away something else - Crest Hill. He felt a dark feeling crawl up his spine; no wonder this man didn't take it upon himself to raise the child himself.

He bit his tongue and redirected his focus to the orphan cradled in the stranger's arms.

He feared struggling with the name once again, so, he asked the man his own name.

"Mine?" The man's eyes narrowed.

"Yours."

There were long seconds of silence before his lips moved again. "Jeremiah."

Jeremy was simple enough.

January 17, 2005

Fire

Fire licked at the wood, consuming every inch of the house with raging monstrosity.

Kaden's vision blurred as he watched, the heat of the flames scorching his skin and drying his eyes. He could see the large figures of Nico and Zachary, holding the fire extinguishers and launching foam to somewhat tame the chaos-he could hear them and the people around rushing to get whatever was needed-he could hear screaming, one that was gut-wrenching, rippling through the ringing of his ears.

The fire was taunting him, swallowing every piece they had ever touched, every memory they had ever made, all their defenses, all their moments of solitude. He couldn't look away. Not even when he recognized that the screaming was Joe's, right by his side. He could hear Ursula, her arms around her, voice soothing and pleading as Joe tried to wrench away from her hold, fighting back.

There they stood. Powerless. Helpless. Vulnerable.

He couldn't understand... how.

The two of them had been away. He could barely remember what they were doing. Something irrelevant, most likely-why did it have to be her? Why was she home? He wondered if she had suffered. He wondered... if she was suffering now.

He looked up, following the trail of smoke, black and suffocating. White noise buzzed around him, and suddenly, it struck him.

His legs thrust his body forward without a second's hesitation, pushing past the people around him and knocking down everything that got in his way.

"Hey!" Nico yelled, struggling with the hose. Otto was quick on his feet, chasing him, his lean figure allowing him to pass through the clogged entrance. Fire crackled and howled, frenzied and vicious around them.

"Kaden!" Joe screamed. Her movements became feral the moment she caught him slide inside the house and vanish from sight. Ursula yelped when her nails tore through her skin in a brutal attempt to escape, and it worked, she was freed, rushing to catch him-

"Get back, kid!" Zachary hooked a bulky arm around her small frame, yanking her back.

It was havoc inside. Kaden could barely see through the boisterous heat, and he relied on his body to guide him, his strides unconsciously following the trail he would take every day to reach her.

He tripped and fell and cried. His shoulder slammed against wood; the aftermath of the contact harsh and jarring against his skin. He was melting. He could feel it. The heat reduced him to nothing but boiling muscles and charred bones.

In the kitchen, he found her body, sprawled on the floor with a large piece of the ceiling crushing her back.

"Mom!"

It suffocated him. The sight of her like this. Her eyes were wide, distant and hollow. Her cheeks, usually soft and pink were now burnt and bruised and raw. But he didn't stop moving. Not until he reached her, with a foolish hope that she might still be alive, that she might still be breathing. He strained his hand, stretching it to reach her, needing to hold her-

"Get back!"

Otto snatched him away.

Kaden's fingers had furled around something, and his heart lurched at the thought he might have succeeded. That, as he was dragged away, she was with him.

He soon found out it wasn't the case, and that what he was holding was the pendant she wore around her neck, an antique piece their grandmother had gifted her before she had passed away.

It was all he had left of her.

Hayes Home was founded the same year Kaden and Joe lost Naomi to a gas leakage in their home that caused the fire.

Orphans had been swarming the corners of the streets, in Burlington and other districts as well, and Hayes Home was taking in as much as it possibly could.

Violet was climbing the endless steps of the stairs to reach the surface, squealing when she saw that Jeremy was hot on her heels. But Lizzie was quick to catch him and hold him back, giving her the advantage she needed to reach the surface before he could and win the race.

She gloated over it, laughing at the sight of a defeated Jeremy and waving goodbye before she ran the way back home.

Until the sight of a shiny car parked right outside the district caught her eye. Her eyes stretched wide, and she cautiously approached it, the vehicle looking alien to her. The moment she stood before it, she reached a hand and patted the metal, like she would the dog that would sit beside Maurice. Her lips pursed as she mouthed a gentle 'wow', one that echoed through the dead of night.

Andrew Hayes had been walking back to his car at the exact moment, and he stopped short when he took notice of the little girl standing next to it. He frowned, moving closer but keeping a small distance so as not to startle her.

"You alright, kid?" He asked, seeing as it was almost eleven. He didn't have kids of his own, but he supposed children should be in bed hours before.

"Shiny..." she mumbled, opening her mouth and huffing a breath, giggling when it condensed against the surface. She brought her finger up and started doodling. Andrew's lips quirked up at the sight, and he left her to her drawing for a good few minutes before he spoke again.

"It's late. I'll take you to your parents," he announced, looking around as the weather grew colder with each passing second, dark clouds crawling right above them. It looked like it was going to rain.

He frowned at the sight of the frail outfit she wore, the cotton barely doing anything to protect her from the frigid wind. He unfurled the scarf around his neck and stepped forward, crouching down and extending his arm.

"You must be cold."

Violet offered a small shrug, still focused on her doodling. "Not really," she answered in a small voice. Andrew sighed, moving to gently wrap the soft cotton around her shoulders anyway.

"Where do you live?"

Violet didn't answer. At first, Andrew took it as a precaution because he was still a stranger, but after a back-and-forth exchange of him probing and her giving him crumbs to work with, he concluded that she didn't have parents to return to.

"Are your parents..." he hesitated to use the word 'dead' in front of a child, and so he settled for, "not here anymore?"

She turned and pointed to the road he had come from. There was a cemetery there. He nodded, understanding what she meant.

"I see."

May 2005

Silence

Ollie's middle name was Amer, given to him by his grandfather, Sir Sabah. But, because it was difficult to pronounce correctly, he would call him by his given name when they were outside, and his middle name in private.

Ollie would constantly come back home with a bruise, but he would hide in the bathroom trying to cover it so his grandfather wouldn't break down crying as he would do upon seeing him in this state.

He would tell him to fight back, to defend himself - and Ollie would try, but... it never boded well for him, as with every scream, the kids would kick him harder, and he discovered that with silence, they would grow bored and leave him alone sooner.

One hot summer day, he had been playing hide and seek with Lizzie, running around the streets in hopes she wouldn't turn before he chose a hiding spot. He was running out of time, counting down under his breath as he struggled to find the perfect spot.

He rounded a corner and realized his mistake the moment he reached a dead end, with the kids that would bully him sitting in a circle at the end of the alley and playing with rocks.

He considered backtracking and running away, and as he stepped back slowly, careful not to make any noise, he startled even himself when he stepped on a discarded trash bag.

He yelped and fell on his back, pushing his body and scrambling to get on his feet.

But it was too late. They had already seen him.

He curled into himself, shielding his face with his arms crossed against his curled-up knees. Tears started to burn the corner of his eyes, and he ground his teeth, taking the beating and wishing he was invisible.

He counted in his head.

One. Two. Three.

He forced his eyes shut, sobs tearing from his throat. He forced himself to be quiet. When he was quiet, they would stop at twenty.

Four. Five. Six.

Only a bit more.

Seven. Eight. Nine.

The beating ended abruptly.

His eyes flew open, his heart leaping with the sudden discovery that maybe staying still did work out in the end, that they stopped at ten this time - that next time, they would stop at five and then all together.

His ears shook at the sound of a yelp. He slowly removed his arms from his face, in time to find a girl holding one of the bullies down on the ground, his face squished by the rough surface. Ollie watched, lips parting in awe at the sight, eyes sliding up to look at the person saving him.

Her hair was brown and short, and she had a cut on her nose and forehead. His eyes skipped to her forearms, noticing they were wrapped in bandages, from the elbow to the entirety of her palm. He slowly unfurled his body, sitting straighter as he watched her kick each of them around until they scrambled and ran, tears wetting their cheeks. He watched them leave, somewhat fascinated.

He looked up when the girl put her hand in front of him, and it took him a second to understand she was offering her help again. It was hard to read her face; there was no smile, no warmth.

She turned around just as he stood on his two feet. His heart skipped a beat at the thought that she would leave, and he jumped to stop her.

"I'm Ollie!" he squealed out, introducing himself just like his grandfather taught him.

She turned, looking down at his outstretched hand.

It took her a moment, but she took it, albeit hesitantly, rough fingers curling around his soft ones.

"Robin."

October 10, 2007

Bruises

They hid from the guards.

Every child ran away at the sight of them when they made their sudden visits to patrol the areas. The people of districts would hide them in their homes, under their carts, in back rooms of bars, in the cellars of the brothel - anywhere to keep them safe.

Hayes Home's purpose was pure, but stories had tainted the organization's name and the mere possibility that children might be at risk of more atrocious consequences than death was enough to diffuse terror in Darwinites.

Ollie had almost been taken away. He was almost seen, running away, and struggling to find the best hiding place, until Robin caught him and pulled him with her to an abandoned house at the end of the road.

When the coast was clear, she brought him back to his house. It was empty now that his grandfather died. One day, he simply hadn't woken up. His heart had stopped in his sleep. People sometimes died in atrocious ways, and when Ollie cried his heart out, Robin gently told him that his grandfather was lucky, to succumb to a peaceful slumber instead of having his life torn away from him. She envied him for it.

She sat him by the porch and went inside to grab a wet towel. She tended to his bruised knee once she returned, crouching down before him and gently peeling the dirt off the cuts. Ollie sniffed quietly as he watched her work, eyes red and swollen.

Robin moved from his knee to the bruise on the side of his cheek. She noticed the blue of his eyes was unbelievably bright, and her lips curved in a warm smile. Ollie's eyebrows slid up, his mouth breaking into a grin, his fingers reaching up to play with her hair as she would to him.

She continued to wipe the blood off his skin, and he distractedly pulled at the ends of her hair. They were short, too short, and the edges were unevenly cut.

"I like the color," he noted, and it made Robin's hand still at the abrupt realization she didn't know what color they were. She inhaled sharply, pulling herself out of the momentary distraction, and focused back on the task before her. Ollie busied himself with her hair, his pulling becoming slightly harsher - but she let him, knowing it was a nervous tick of his.

Then, the pulling subdued altogether.

She looked up, noticing it was Kaden who had gently peeled his fingers away. He had found them moments before but had quietly stood a foot away, not wanting to interrupt.

She watched him sit down beside Ollie, who was quick to latch onto his hand, tangling their fingers.

She noticed the bruises on his cheeks and arms, and her eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

"What happened?" She demanded.

Kaden's eyes skipped down to her bandaged forearms, to the bruises on her shoulders, and to the cuts on her cheeks. He met her eye. "I can ask you the same."

Robin's features cleared. A soft chuckle escaped her lips.

She didn't question it further, deciding to leave the questioning for later.

But the opportunity never came when she was taken away on a Sunday morning.

December 7, 2008

Bread

Ollie had been lurking in the center of Burlington, his thin figure easily sliding to hide under carts and behind wooden boxes. He had watched Robin do these exact steps from a distance, her movements elusive, her body crawling like a cat hunting for its next meal. She would succeed, snatching bread from the stands and gifting it to him to eat.

He intended to give back.

His fingers clutched tightly around a piece of bread, snatching it away, bare feet grating against the calloused surface as he ran. But Ollie lacked training; lacked subtlety; lacked everything that was not at all expected from a child to acquire. The hood that had covered his face slipped, the bright blonde color of his hair giving him away. Two guards had been here since morning, and they darted after him at the merchant's yells.

All that for a piece of bread.

Robin's ears strained from the sudden ruckus, eyes catching Ollie's frail body, running away with guards chasing after him. She followed, yanking him into a corner to hide. But it was too late. They were already caught; the guards were close.

Ollie was sobbing, apologizing, sputtering out a mess of explanations. His words tumbled and Robin's chest ached. Her hands clutched on either side of his shoulders, eyes skipping to every feature, every freckle, every detail - capturing them, memorizing them.

"Not you," she breathed. "It won't be you."

Without warning, she snatched the bread from his hold and shoved him away, lunging out of the corner and pulling the hood over her head. She hoped his fall didn't cause much damage. She had no choice. There was no other way.

She ran in front of the guards, putting herself as the bait so they would get as farthest away from him as possible.

They caught up to her in the end,

and Robin never came back.

______

Notes:

Now that you read the original scene, let me tell you about the paragraph in chapter ten:

'Her vision blurred as she followed the ghost of a kid, skin and bones, as he snuck around a stand. His fingers clutched tightly around a piece of bread, snatching it away, bare feet grating against the calloused surface as he ran. His hair, bright and blonde, gave him away. The merchant yelled, and two men ran after him, loud voices echoing through the cacophony of noise around them.

All that for a piece of bread, she scoffed.'

This paragraph wasn't happening in real-time. It was a figment of her memory fused with reality. The word 'ghost' here was literal. The kid is Ollie.

so yeah, chapters are a bit heavy.. let me know what you think!