There was a sound like being trapped inside a bell and I could feel magic surge, twist, and run through me, through where Thomas and Kincaid were standing by the door. Even without looking, I could see it hit Gard where she run in, keeping her body in front of Marcone. It hit him too, then stopped, turning back on the doorway before it could reach Hendricks. I started to turn around and fell down before I could manage it. It was still working through me and it hurt.
Someone pulled me to my feet and I blinked at Kincaid. Thomas was still by the doorway, on his hands and knees and just passed him, I could se that Gard had caught Marcone as they fell to their knees and was holding them up.
"Get up, Dresden," Kincaid said. "What was--" and then he stopped and stared at me.
I stared back, searching for signs of what that spell had done. I could feel echoes of a change, but I didn't know what it was. Kincaid still looked the same. "I don't know," I said. "It felt like a shapechanging spell, but it doesn't seem to have done anything."
Kincaid was still staring at me and I had to stop myself from slamming him back and bringing a shield up between us, just to get him to stop staring like that. "What?" I said.
"You're not-- Is this what you looked like?" he said.
"Is what-- what are you--" And then I shut up, because over his shoulder, I could see Thomas getting to his feet and Gard helping Marcone to his. "Where they working on the fountain of youth or something?" I said, then looked down at myself. "Hell's Bells, how old do I look?"
Kincaid hesitated. "Hard to tell since I didn't know what you looked like back then. You're a little shorter than normal, but not much." He was still holding my arm like I might fall down again and I shrugged him off.
"I'd pretty much stopped growing by the time I was fifteen," I said. I held out my hands in front of me and my sleeves slid back. Thinner than I should be and I tried to remember when exactly I'd started filling out. After Eb had taken me in. Maybe even after that? I hadn't noticed at the time. "You don't look any different," I said. It came out more accusative than I'd meant it to.
"No?" Kincaid said, checking himself. "I feel pretty much the same."
"Or Ms Gard," Marcone said. "I'm assuming your starting point is just that much higher."
Right, obviously-- stupid of me not to realise. "We've all been knocked back the same amount of years, not to the same point, so since you and Gard have been round the block a few thousand times... And that's why Thomas looks like some college kid and Marcone looks like the wiseguy thug he probably was back then."
"Fuck," Marcone said, quietly, but with meaning. I wasn't the only one staring at him, because Marcone normally managed a little more control than that. It was weird. "How am I supposed to run the organisation if I look like some punk kid?"
"Not exactly a kid," Thomas said. "You're... hm, maybe mid-twenties? Late twenties?"
"Same difference," Marcone said. He inhaled, slow and deliberate. "Okay, I can work this if I have to, for a while, but we need to get this fixed. Dresden, how long?"
"I'm not one of your pet thugs, Marcone, don't try and order me about," I snapped out.
"My apologies, I thought you'd want this fixed as much as the rest of us." He looked me over and raised an eyebrow. "More."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I caught Thomas looking at me. "What?" I said, crossing my arms and hunching in.
He shook his head. "Sorry, it's just-- stars, Harry, there's nothing to you, is there? Did you eat at all when you were a teenager?"
"Sorry, we can't all be Tiger Beat dreamboats," I said, "Most people have this whole awkward adolescence thing, we don't just turn from cute kids to--" I stopped, partly because of the way everybody was looking at me, but mostly because I could hear myself speak. "I... didn't mean to say that," I said. "I think I'm just... stars and stones, I'm hungry," I realized.
I'd forgotten that, the way I could eat my way through two family feast pizzas and a box of chicken-wings and feel hungry again before I'd even finished licking the grease off my fingers. People joked about how much I ate now, but they'd never known me when I was growing and it felt like there wasn't enough food in the world to keep up with me. Definitely not enough in the house or-- I looked at my hands and tried to figure out how old exactly I was. Before I went to Eb's, definitely. They didn't have the calluses I'd pick up from working on the farm. I'd picked them up, then lost them when I moved to Chicago. Replaced them with others one, ones I'd picked up training with Michael or stirring pots while Bob called out instructions.
Thomas said there was nothing to me. I wasn't exactly bulky anyway, but I'd spent a lot of the last ten years running and fighting. I wasn't Mr Universe. On my best day, I wasn't even close to Thomas, but I was tough. I could lift a broadsword, I could run a marathon and live to regret it the next day. More than that, I had muscle-memory, I had hours of Murphy throwing me about on a training mat, teaching me how to fall so I could roll back up fighting, I had Michael teaching me how to stagger my punches and keep my hands up so I wasn't exposed.
Except I didn't have any of that right now. I could remember how to do it all intellectually, but the feeling of knowing it in my bones was gone. All those trained instincts, the responses that grew automatic, but they weren't any more.
I caught a glimpse of something in the corner of my eye and I jumped back. I didn't mean to, I didn't even plan on it, but I was two foot back and I had a shield up so fast, it must have felt like Kincaid had slammed his hand into a brick wall. Everyone was looking at me and I flushed, embarrassed. It was just Kincaid, reaching out to tap my shoulder or something, and bam, my shields had gone up.
"Sorry!" I said, as shocked as the rest of the them.
"A little jumpy, are we Dresden?" Kincaid said, cradling his hand.
"Just..." I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. My magic's..." I shook my head, wondering how to explain. I could feel it, the way it had been back then, all sudden surges and then even more sudden drops, but I still had all my memories, and I knew more paths for it to go down than I had back then. Except it wasn't exactly like that, because even though my head knew the paths, my magic didn't. "Uh, are you okay?"
He flexed his hand. "Nothing broken."
I resisted the urge to apologise again. "I can't do anything right now," I said. "I need to figure out..." I waved vaguely at myself. "Get a better handle on what I've got. I'll call if-- when I come with something."
Driving back home wasn't fun. I knew what to do, but I had to think about it. It was as bad as my first time behind the wheel-- worse, maybe, because I'd learned in rural Missouri and even at 3 a.m., Chicago had a lot more traffic on the road.
But I got home in one piece, opened the door and Mouse knocked me down. I blinked because I wasn't sure if he'd still recognise me. I had to smell different, right? But he sort of whuffled at me, and I dug my hands into his fur, letting myself fall back so I was lying down with approximately two tons of fuu dog in my lap. "Yeah, you still know who I am, don't you?" I said, ruffling his fur. "You're a good dog, aren't you, a good dog." I wasn't normally so sappy with him, but it felt pretty damn good to see him. Mouse didn't look at me strangely, Mouse didn't have hidden meanings. Mouse was Mouse, and apparantly to him, I was still Harry.
My intrigue is GIANT, I tell you what. I'm really, really enjoying this. Skittery!Harry and thug!John all that emotional turbulence. Thanks for writing and sharing!
I'm loving this so far, especially teen!Harry, young mafia!Marcone and college!Thomas. :D Poor Harry has to go through the worst parts of being a teen and wizard and his young body being all jumpy.
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Re: Fight or Flight?
(Anonymous) 2011-02-25 09:00 pm (UTC)(link)Someone pulled me to my feet and I blinked at Kincaid. Thomas was still by the doorway, on his hands and knees and just passed him, I could se that Gard had caught Marcone as they fell to their knees and was holding them up.
"Get up, Dresden," Kincaid said. "What was--" and then he stopped and stared at me.
I stared back, searching for signs of what that spell had done. I could feel echoes of a change, but I didn't know what it was. Kincaid still looked the same. "I don't know," I said. "It felt like a shapechanging spell, but it doesn't seem to have done anything."
Kincaid was still staring at me and I had to stop myself from slamming him back and bringing a shield up between us, just to get him to stop staring like that. "What?" I said.
"You're not-- Is this what you looked like?" he said.
"Is what-- what are you--" And then I shut up, because over his shoulder, I could see Thomas getting to his feet and Gard helping Marcone to his. "Where they working on the fountain of youth or something?" I said, then looked down at myself. "Hell's Bells, how old do I look?"
Kincaid hesitated. "Hard to tell since I didn't know what you looked like back then. You're a little shorter than normal, but not much." He was still holding my arm like I might fall down again and I shrugged him off.
"I'd pretty much stopped growing by the time I was fifteen," I said. I held out my hands in front of me and my sleeves slid back. Thinner than I should be and I tried to remember when exactly I'd started filling out. After Eb had taken me in. Maybe even after that? I hadn't noticed at the time. "You don't look any different," I said. It came out more accusative than I'd meant it to.
"No?" Kincaid said, checking himself. "I feel pretty much the same."
"Or Ms Gard," Marcone said. "I'm assuming your starting point is just that much higher."
Right, obviously-- stupid of me not to realise. "We've all been knocked back the same amount of years, not to the same point, so since you and Gard have been round the block a few thousand times... And that's why Thomas looks like some college kid and Marcone looks like the wiseguy thug he probably was back then."
"Fuck," Marcone said, quietly, but with meaning. I wasn't the only one staring at him, because Marcone normally managed a little more control than that. It was weird. "How am I supposed to run the organisation if I look like some punk kid?"
"Not exactly a kid," Thomas said. "You're... hm, maybe mid-twenties? Late twenties?"
"Same difference," Marcone said. He inhaled, slow and deliberate. "Okay, I can work this if I have to, for a while, but we need to get this fixed. Dresden, how long?"
"I'm not one of your pet thugs, Marcone, don't try and order me about," I snapped out.
"My apologies, I thought you'd want this fixed as much as the rest of us." He looked me over and raised an eyebrow. "More."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I caught Thomas looking at me. "What?" I said, crossing my arms and hunching in.
He shook his head. "Sorry, it's just-- stars, Harry, there's nothing to you, is there? Did you eat at all when you were a teenager?"
"Sorry, we can't all be Tiger Beat dreamboats," I said, "Most people have this whole awkward adolescence thing, we don't just turn from cute kids to--" I stopped, partly because of the way everybody was looking at me, but mostly because I could hear myself speak. "I... didn't mean to say that," I said. "I think I'm just... stars and stones, I'm hungry," I realized.
I'd forgotten that, the way I could eat my way through two family feast pizzas and a box of chicken-wings and feel hungry again before I'd even finished licking the grease off my fingers. People joked about how much I ate now, but they'd never known me when I was growing and it felt like there wasn't enough food in the world to keep up with me. Definitely not enough in the house or-- I looked at my hands and tried to figure out how old exactly I was. Before I went to Eb's, definitely. They didn't have the calluses I'd pick up from working on the farm. I'd picked them up, then lost them when I moved to Chicago. Replaced them with others one, ones I'd picked up training with Michael or stirring pots while Bob called out instructions.
Thomas said there was nothing to me. I wasn't exactly bulky anyway, but I'd spent a lot of the last ten years running and fighting. I wasn't Mr Universe. On my best day, I wasn't even close to Thomas, but I was tough. I could lift a broadsword, I could run a marathon and live to regret it the next day. More than that, I had muscle-memory, I had hours of Murphy throwing me about on a training mat, teaching me how to fall so I could roll back up fighting, I had Michael teaching me how to stagger my punches and keep my hands up so I wasn't exposed.
Except I didn't have any of that right now. I could remember how to do it all intellectually, but the feeling of knowing it in my bones was gone. All those trained instincts, the responses that grew automatic, but they weren't any more.
I caught a glimpse of something in the corner of my eye and I jumped back. I didn't mean to, I didn't even plan on it, but I was two foot back and I had a shield up so fast, it must have felt like Kincaid had slammed his hand into a brick wall. Everyone was looking at me and I flushed, embarrassed. It was just Kincaid, reaching out to tap my shoulder or something, and bam, my shields had gone up.
"Sorry!" I said, as shocked as the rest of the them.
"A little jumpy, are we Dresden?" Kincaid said, cradling his hand.
"Just..." I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. My magic's..." I shook my head, wondering how to explain. I could feel it, the way it had been back then, all sudden surges and then even more sudden drops, but I still had all my memories, and I knew more paths for it to go down than I had back then. Except it wasn't exactly like that, because even though my head knew the paths, my magic didn't. "Uh, are you okay?"
He flexed his hand. "Nothing broken."
I resisted the urge to apologise again. "I can't do anything right now," I said. "I need to figure out..." I waved vaguely at myself. "Get a better handle on what I've got. I'll call if-- when I come with something."
Driving back home wasn't fun. I knew what to do, but I had to think about it. It was as bad as my first time behind the wheel-- worse, maybe, because I'd learned in rural Missouri and even at 3 a.m., Chicago had a lot more traffic on the road.
But I got home in one piece, opened the door and Mouse knocked me down. I blinked because I wasn't sure if he'd still recognise me. I had to smell different, right? But he sort of whuffled at me, and I dug my hands into his fur, letting myself fall back so I was lying down with approximately two tons of fuu dog in my lap. "Yeah, you still know who I am, don't you?" I said, ruffling his fur. "You're a good dog, aren't you, a good dog." I wasn't normally so sappy with him, but it felt pretty damn good to see him. Mouse didn't look at me strangely, Mouse didn't have hidden meanings. Mouse was Mouse, and apparantly to him, I was still Harry.
Re: Fight or Flight?
Re: Fight or Flight?
(Anonymous) 2011-02-25 10:15 pm (UTC)(link)More, please!
Re: Fight or Flight?
(Anonymous) 2011-02-26 12:47 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fight or Flight?
(Anonymous) 2011-02-26 03:12 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fight or Flight?
OP Here
(Anonymous) 2011-02-26 03:36 am (UTC)(link)Aw...Reading this makes me want to hug Harry and feed him until he looks like he preggy. :)
Can't wait for the next part! :D
Re: Fight or Flight?