Stand By Me Headcanons

Stand by Me Headcanons

Warnings: mentions of sexual abuse, child abuse, and trafficking.

I really do have too many ideas in my head and not enough time to write full stories for them all. So here’s another oc I made awhile back. For Criminal Minds. Of course this is again platonic.

This little girl was born in Grants, New Mexico. However at two weeks her mother disappeared and her father moved them to Harbor Springs, Maine to be closer to “friends.”

Her father is in no way a good person.

By age two she was sleeping on the floor in the basement with a series of other children. She was always the youngest and only girl.

Wondering why the other children got taken when new people came around.

Despite the circumstances the boy actually are very protective of the little girl as protective as they can be.

She develops a brother sister relationship with most of the boys.

They can’t protect her forever.

At age three she’s violated for the first time by a pair of her father’s “friends.”

This leads to a more within drawn personality, trust issues, and dissociative behavior amongst other things.

Develops a type of Androphobia. A fear of men.

Being less affectionate and trustful to the boys in the basement though they’ve done nothing wrong.

At age four her father and the guys face some heat for their trafficking ring and decide to get out of dodge.

Amid the chaos another child helps her escape. While she does get far enough to hide in a ditch by the road. The older boy isn’t as lucky.

She’s found by a nice couple and brought into the Police Department.

Complete emotional detachment and dissociative behaviour.

When the department discovers she was one of the trafficked children. Guess who they call to help find the others?

The Behavioural Analysis Unit.

Derek, Spencer, Rossi being the team tasked with investigating the area you were found.

First meeting J.J. as the Hotch suspects the child would be more open to an interview done by her.

She’s not here for it. She just sits in her chair.

Derek, Spencer, Rossi don’t find much, however they find the other child’s hoodie with a name on the tag. ‘Daniel’.

They return to the department to regroup and rethink their approach.

Hotch asks Spence for his opinion on the little girl.

When Spence meets the child for the first time he recognises her stance, and behaviour as dissociative.

He gets some ice cubes.

The child slowly comes back too, immediately bursting in to tears in response to her proximity to Spencer and Hotch.

She attaches herself to J.J., however she still refuses to speak.

Coloring pictures that unintentionally help with case.

Being curious about the man who gave her ice cubes.

Arcs to write instead of a love story:

Enemies to best friends

Siblings growing closer

Siblings growing apart

Best friends to enemies

Reluctant parent figure

Reluctant teacher figure

Overly eager teacher/parent figure to reluctant student.

Best friends to even better best friends

Switching archetypes. Ex: Mom friend and irresponsible friend switch by the end of the story.

Close to the Ground

Title: All In a Name

Word count: 4,204

Characters: Peter Parker, oc

Warnings: fluff? Platonic fic not romantic.

Notes: Sweet damn!!! This came out a lot longer than I intended for it to. Let me tell you. As I was writing I kept thinking of more ideas and the word count kept getting longer. I'll edit this when I have the time if I'm able, so forgive typos. There are so many typos. I'll change this when I've edited the story.

I came up with the idea years ago back when Civil War came out. But now I have time to headcanon and perfect it.

———

The little girl stared at Peter and he in turn stared back the two looked at each other as if they were deer caught in the head lights. That both sat criss cross, across from the other on May's living room sofa. Every time Peter even tried to make a move the little girl would flinch, a cold chill creeping up her spine so Peter tried to remain motionless.

While he appeared cool on the outside, inside his thoughts were spiraling out of control. What do I do!? What do I do!? Where's aunt May? One of my first real "rescues" as Spider-Man and I come home with a kid!? In the grip of silent panic his right foot beat uncontrollably against the cushion. It seemed to be the only acceptable action, as it didn't send the pipsqueak into a tizzy.

He had been doing a routine sweep of neighboring area swing through the cityscape when a scream as good as a a banshee's rent the air. Nobody screamed like that unless they were in fear for their life. It came from a darkened alley, and like a true hero he'd taken off toward it ready to take on whatever threat lied ahead. He shocked to find the alley seemingly empty though after a careful look around just to be safe he had found her. Lonely, buried beneath bags of trash, she laid out.

Peter wasn't sure what he'd been thinking back then, forty minutes ago. Scratch that, he knew damn well. The city streets were no place for child, especially one so young. It was going to be dark soon and thunder had been in the forecast for later that evening. He'd used his best judgement.

He mentally scoffed, best judgment.

Now here he sat just him and what could be more than a two-year-old. Her icy blue eyes stared directly into his soul unsure yet whether to consider him friend or foe. Her clothes were of the spring variety a season that would becoming to an end in following few weeks. They seemed kind small for her, which was saying something, stained with dirt, garbage, and other thing Peter didn't care to name. Her hair was knotted and tangled giving it a troll rat nest appearance. If he had to guess, she was brunette.

The ringing for the apartments land line went of like a school bell. The two caught off guard both flinched at the sudden noise, the little girl letting out a high pitched yelp as she did. Second ring. Peter shared a look with toddler at the other end of the couch. He needed to answer the phone, but he didn't want to trigger a panic. Third ring. She whimpers bring her knees up into her chest. Fourth ring.

"I need to answer the phone," Peter said. His words were clear and concise, carefully spoken as to not spook her. "Please, I promise that's all I'm going to do." Her icy eyes softened, not by much but enough to convince him she would allow him to get up and move across the room.

He moved in at brisk walking pace very aware of the fact that with each step he was silently being judged. Once in the kitchen her scooped up the land line and spoke into it. "Parker residence. Hey this..." he listened for a moment.

"Hey, May... I'm- I'm fine. I could really use your help though... Can it wait?" He looked over to the child now staring out the window, from the couch, with wide eyed fascination at the rain outside. "It's kind of important... Oh I see... Uh-huh... Uh-huh... But still... Uh-huh. Okay... Later? Sure... Okay... No, no I got it... okay, see you then... I love you too...bye." He hung up the phone, placing it back on it charging stand.

With a sigh he ran his hands across his face. The child immediately turned her focus back to him eyes darting up and down to discern his current emotional state. He wouldn't cuss in front of her, at least not a loud. Inside his head he was Kenny McCormick.

He gave a feeble smile to the toddler when he noticed she was watching his every move, as if she were studying him. "What am I going to do with you?" he laughed somewhat dryly. She obviously didn't like that lowering her head so only her eye and above peeked out from behind the couch's back.

Indeed what would he do with her?

........................................................................................................................................................

It seemed there was nothing he could do to make her budge. She was't interested in his action figured, books, or legos— Probably a good thing she wasn't to keen on the legos kind of a choking hazard — she ignored his funny faces and attempts to make her laugh. She just stared on, gnawing on her fingers, curled up at one end of the couch. She had moved when Peter accidentally came too close to her but he wasn't about to do that again. It would be cruel to use her spacial fears against her.

"Okay I give up," Peter declared. "You can just sit there on the couch and do nothing." He was laid out across the rug surrounded by various items he'd pulled from his room in an effort to entertain the emotionless youngling.

At Peter declaration she raised a brow, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corners of her lips. As quickly as it came it went, Peter was none the wiser.

Grrbbrggfgrr

She hadn't meant to do that, Peter could tell by the light pink pink color flushing her cheeks. Her stomach rumbles again making her squirm in her seat.

Peter raced to the kitchen. He swung open the fridge, digging past the left over takeout none of which he figured she'd like, he found a box with leftover chicken nuggets from a meal he'd made himself a few days prior. He took out the remaining seven nuggets and quickly placed them in the microwave for 49 seconds before coming back to the living room.

He sat back down, set the plate out on the coffee table in front of the child and asked.

"Are you hungry?" A lick of the lips was all he got in response. She carefully eyed the plate, focus switching from,Peter to the tenders on a loop. "It's okay, the foods fine," he tried nudging the plate a bit closer to her. "It's chicken nuggets. Do you like chicken nuggets?" She curiously dropped her head to one side eyebrows drawing together as if to ask 'what are chicken nuggets?'

"There really good," Peter coaxed taking a piece for himself to demonstrate. "It's okay, they're not poisoned or anything." He took a bite and smiled.

Hesitantly she reached an arm out but was quick to realize her arms were to short. Cautiously, carefully she slid herself off the couch cushion, eye never leaving Peter. Feet firmly on the ground she let herself relax a little. She finally took one of the nuggets off the plate and sat her little bum on the rug. She sniffed the meat then just barely touched it to her small tongue.

She cooed, kicking her legging up and down, as she'd just been hut by a stoke of lightning. Her eye dilated losing there icy sheen as she devoured the chicken nuggets. Eyes shining with new found life she looked to Peter. Clicking her feet together she held out the plate, making series of inaudible noises.

Peter bit back a laugh, "do you want some more." There was bag in the freezer, they would actually require more than a microwave to bake. But she was happy, maybe more would make her smile.

........................................................................................................................................................

Peter couldn't help but feel proud of himself. Making more chicken nuggets had clearly been the right decision. She chattered and observed everything with a newfound curiosity. He still hadn't seen her smile but that didn't bother him too much.

He sat on the couch watching her wander around the apartment reaching for and looking at everything. Every now and again she'd find something so interesting to her that she'd pick it up and bring it over to show Peter. She chatter and babble nonsensically then leave at his feet and amble of to continue exploring.

Peter was keeping a list in his head of where she was finding everything so he could later put them back. So far she'd gifted him nine items; an electronic candle, the tv remote, one fuzzy sock, his Mathematics of Astronomy textbook, a spare set of keys, a decorative flower, an orange, a quarter and two nickels, and his Wicket the Ewok action figure.

There was pull from under him. He looked over the back of the couch to see the little girl tugging atone end of the throw blanket, the other end firmly lodged underneath him. "Whatcha doin'?" She briefly stared at him, then continued to tug at the soft blanket.

"I don't think I can keep pretending you don't have a name." He said suddenly, lifting himself off his end of the throw blanket.

With no one else home it was easy to ignore the fact that he didn't know her name but it was starting to feel rude. She knew his name, he just thought she couldn't yet say it. Either out of shyness or verbal development.

"Do you have a name?" He asked. She blinked a few times before draping the blanket over her head. "Can you tell me what it is?" He tried. From beneath the blanket she chattered and honked at Peter stomping her feet against the floor.

"Really?" Peter smiled, pretending he knew just what she'd said. "Well, how about I give you a nickname?" she babbled some more craning her head to one side. "Okay cool," he pulled out his phone and brought up a cite for nickname recommendations. "Let's see... cutie? You are pretty cute," Peter teased. He couldn't see her face but he heard her blow a raspberry. "So that's a no... monkey?" she was curious. Another raspberry. "Bee?" This time she shook her head, her interest fading.

Blanket still over her head she traveled around the room like a ghost. A cute ghost. An unnerving tingle ran up Peter's spine making the hairs on his skin stand on end. He immediately looked to the toddler. "Ooah," she squeaked. She hadn't gotten far before bumping into one of the apartment's ceiling support beams. His eyes flew wide and his muscles went all rigid.

He surprised himself, he was at her side in seconds, still maintaining an arms length distance. Her arm length not. "Hey, hey are you okay?" He softly cooed, cautiously lifting the blanket off her head. He looked her over, as best he could from where he was, for any bruises or marks. She nodded.

"Yep? You're okay?" She continued to nod making clicking noises with her tongue. There was this twinge feeling in Peter that just wasn't convinced. Not a spidey-sense feeling just a fEeLiNg.

She affirmatively nods, struggling to stand up in the blanket tangle she'd created. Peter couldn't help but laugh softly watching her struggle to stand. She reminded him of the videos of newborn calves standing for the first time. She sneezed tripping backwards back down on her bum.

His muscles went stiff, he had to stop himself from touching her. "Hey, be careful. Clumsy." He laughed dryly. "You alright?" She turned her head to him, wiping the snot dribbling down her nose away with her sleeve and nodded.

Peter crinkled his nose in disgust, he was compiled by sheer grossed outness to peel her arm away by the sleeve. She flinched at the sudden contact, her face washed blank with confusion. Then she remembered, and her muscles relaxed.

"Let's use a Kleenex," Peter suggested bringing her arm away from her boogered nose. Her clothes were already coated in a thin layer of grime. "Maybe... take a bath?" He added. She was in desperate need of one, he was getting used to it but she reeked. And he was curious to know what she looked like without the filth layer.

That being said, this was the first time he'd been allowed to contact her in anyway since he'd brought her home and she still seemed agitated. So bath would be hers and his summit.

........................................................................................................................................................

"Okay look it's just a little water."

He managed to coax her into the bathroom and fill up the tub before she'd put two and two together. She stood back against the one door and shook her head. He'd been at this for fifteen minutes, though her trust in him had grown she refused to enter the bath. Peter wasn't about to make her that'd just undo her confidence in him.

"Hold on I'll show you." Peter dunked his head into the mildly warm water. Her nervous became frazzled jumping all together in a frazzled panic. Heart rate spiking, she speeds across the room to the edge of the tub. It wasn't long before Peter brought his head back up, he'd only been under for a couple of seconds. His hair lies plaster about his forehead beads of water dripping down from the tips. "See? Perfectly fine?"

Looking to her his smile fell. Gripping tightly the edge of the tub, her eyes held a sweet amount of concern. Lower lip drawn back in her, eyes brimmed with watery tear threading to fall. Guilt hit him like a fright train. "I'm sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." He apologized. She shakily sniffled, gnawing on her middle, index, and ring fingers as she sat her bum on the tile. She needed to calm her nerves.

So bath was a no go. Something about the water unnerved her.

"How about a shower?" He offered. Sure the toddler was small but she wouldn't fit in any of the sinks for a baby style bath. It was after all a small apartment. So a shower seemed like the next option. Peter pulled the the drain stopper out, to let the water run down.

Her blues curiously watched the water drain until the base of the tub was bare. "I promise a shower isn't bad." She looked at him, monitoring his movements as he stood and took off the handheld shower head. "Promise, promise," he joked sending a reassuring smile her way.

He turned the nob over the water nozzle, activating the hot water. "It's just like a rain...shower." He explained spraying the shower head toward the bath's back wall.

Eyebrows arching toward the sky, her eyes widened. She chirped and squeaked pointing — with the hand not in her mouth — toward the watery spray.

"See?" He held his hand out in front of the gentle spray. She moved close to him, so close her shoulder brushed against his. She held out her own hand, the warm droplets tickled her skin.

"There you go," Peter beamed. She babbled about, looking between him and the spray, her senseless words ran into one another. Peter reached over her head and took out rubber duck from the shower caddy. "Ducky will even be your shower buddy." It hadn't had purpose until then, previously nothing more than a decoration.

"Quack-quack quack," he teased tickle the duck against her side. She hummed, crumpling up. Her mouth formed what wasn't quite a smile but also not a frown. She poked at the rubber duck, attempting to mimic Peter's quacking. Peter laughed, she sounded like a chick.

"Ducky?" He tried.

She crinkled her nose making a stank face. Another raspberry.

He chuckled softly, she really is cute

........................................................................................................................................................

Peter couldn't believe it. Under all that dirt and grime the toddler was actually quite adorable. She was cute before but now that she was cleaned up she had this new glow to her. The toddler was Celtic looking, fair skin, sharp eyes, spotty dotty freckles that shifted with her cheeks and beautiful strawberry blonde locks.

"And blue," Peter called out.

The two were back in the living room. They spent the better half of an hour sorting Peter's stuff by color, something he thought she wouldn't be interested in but took to quite naturally. They'd run out of stuff from Peter's pile on the floor to sort twenty minutes ago. He wasn't quite sure how it started but now all he had to do was call out a color and she'd toddle off to find a match, then return so he could add it to the corresponding color pile.

No completely clean she'd certainly perked up even more so then before. She wore a pink black-squared tank hooded capri romper, hair still damp it fell loosely on to her shoulders.

Prepping for her a shower he'd discovered she wore pull-ups. Shouldn't have surprised him. This however made him realize there weren't any clothes suited for her in the apartment. Luckily one of the neighbors a floor below had a child close to her assumed age. The mother was confused as to why he needed some of her child's old clothes and pull-ups. Peter had just said he was babysitting and the child didn't bring an extra pair of clothes. Which wasn't a total lie.

The patter of little feet filled the room as the toddler waddled over to Peter from where ever she had been. She held out a blue sandal, not a pair sandals, just the one. "Is there another shoe," Peter asked raining a single brow. She drew in her lip, rocking back and forth on the soles of her feet, and nodded hesitantly.

"Can you go get it for the blue pile?"

She rolled her eyes but nonetheless complied, scuffling off to retrieve the other sandal. She was really enjoyable to be around, a bit of goof ball.

It wasn't long before she came barreling in sandal in hand, a blue metallic 1966 model Chevrolet chevelle clamped between her teeth.

"Hey what did I say?" Peter asked adopting a stern tone. She blinked a few times before remembering. She widened her mouth allowing the car to drop to the floor. "Little gum monster."

This earned him a raspberry.

Peter was certain she was still teething. If she wasn't gnawing/gumming on her own fingers she was gumming on some object. She'd gnawed on the rubber duck, a spatula head, four of the gifts she'd given Peter and now a metal model car. He'd have to get her a teething ring.

Peter shook his head mentally hitting himself. She's not staying.

Peter had to found himself forgetting that fact a couple times in the past two hours.

"Okay go find..." he wanted to challenge her this time. "Yellow." She chirped and squeaked before toddling off. She was a little scout, obtaining articles and returning them to Peter.

This time it too, her bit longer to find something of a yellow color. The duck had already been used so she need to find something else. She found herself in what could only be Peter's room. She sifted and searched, eyes on the lookout for some yellow.

Bingo

He heard it... again. The litter patter of little feet approaching. Heart swelled as he saw her round the corner of the couch, proudly clutching a mustard yellow cloth. "You found yellow," he commended holding a hand out for her to give him the cloth. Peter couldn't help but laugh as he spread out what was actually his mustard yellow tee with the words 'Bacteria. The only culture some people have' printed on in bold black lettering.

The little girl tried mimicking his laughter, but sounded more like a dolphin or chipmunk. This only made Peter laugh more.

"Thanks Gummy."

The name just slipped out. Her eyes sparkled like freshly fallen snow. He could tell by her body language and lack of raspberry that she at the very least didn't hate the name. In fact Her babbling happily like spring brook suggested she liked the name.

"Gummy," he repeated.

There was something about the nickname that just... suited her.

........................................................................................................................................................

When this kid, Gummy at as Peter now called her, got her energy she made the most of it. He never wanted to hear the Hokey-Pokey or the Baby Shark songs again. His muscles were tight from the childish motions. Simon says had been much more his speed for the night, at least until it was Gummy's turn be Simon. Hide-and-Seek nearly gave him a panic attack.

He could no longer deny the fact that he cared about her. Her bright eyes, bubbly chirps, and button nose. Her in all her quirkinesses.

"Okay Gummy, behold one of the greatest movies ever!..." He exclaimed holding up a colorful dvd box. Gummy did her cute curious head tilt, crinkling up her nose. "That we own." Peter murmured somewhat sourly.

Peter had the room set up for comfy movie watching. She'd burned out after four rounds of hide-and-seeks, showing clear signs of tiredness. Now she sat tired-eyed rather sluggishly on the couch. Peter himself was sort of tired too, she'd drain a lot of his energy. A movie seemed like the perfect way to wind down. He wasn't sure how long she'd last, her eyes already glazing over, but he'd enjoy himself even when she inevitably fell asleep.

Gummy reached for the box making grabby hands. Peter took out the dvd and handed it's case to the two-year-old. "It doesn't go in your mouth." He emphasized before turning his back on her. She tried to play with the thin plastic case but quickly discovered the only thing interesting about it was the sound it made when she opened and shut it.

"My Neighbor Totoro. It has animals I really think you'll like." After getting the dvd ready, he sat beside her, letting his body sink into the cushions.

They sat, brains off, engrossed. Peter would peel his eyes away every few minutes to check if Gummy was still awake. Though the television blared her eyes were half closed and her fingers were back in her mouth. She'd yawn, little tongue curling as she did. Her eyes lit up when the first Ghibli creature appeared on screen but there was still a tiredness behind them.

She'd be out like a light soon. Peter returned his focus to the movie.

Some time passed and he suddenly felt a weight increase against his side. He looked down and his eyes immediately softened. Gummy had curled against him. He gave her a side hug and brushed her wispy bangs back. She hugged her little arms around his, nuzzling her face against it, the softest smile gracing her lips.

Peter's heart melted. She's not staying. She's not staying.

He watched her chest rise and fall. The two's combined body heats, tethered with the bump-bump-buh beat of Peter's heart sent the sweet girl off to dreamland. Her fingers unconsciously curled into the fabric of his top, not clasping it tightly, but just enough to reassure her, he wasn't going anywhere. Peter using his other arm brought her onto his lap, protectively holding her against himself.

She's not going anywhere.

........................................................................................................................................................

EXT. Ending

The apartment was dark. The only sources of light came from the one lamp still lit down the hall, and the frequent passing of street cars. Their lights shining through the apartment windows. There was shuffling of feet out in the hall, a muttering of a curse, a jangle of key, and finally a satisfying click. The door swung open. In the door way, the silhouette of a woman shaking the rain off her umbrella.

"Peter?" She whispered quietly entering in. Just barely making out some movement on the couch she shook her head. Her nephew most have fallen asleep on the couch again. "Peter," she called out. At the second call of his name Peter awoke, his hold around the still sleeping baby in his arms tightening.

"Hey Pete sorry I had to work late." May apologized tussling her nephew's hair. "A coworker had leave suddenly, his wife went into labor. And it was my turn to cover." She headed to the kitchen.

Peter pushed a hand through his hair fixing the tussled up areas. "Yeah it's fine May," He assured looking back at her from over his shoulder. "Something huge happened after school." He began.

He didn't get a chance to finish as his aunt held up the dirty pair of clothes Gummy had been wearing earlier. Their apartment didn't have a washing machine so he'd simply discarded them in the sink until they could be washed. "Peter who's clothes are these? Who's Emilia?"

"Emilia?”

May held up the shirt tag. While he was seated too far to see what was written, he had to guess it was the word 'Emilia'.

Peter bit the inside of his cheek, mentally kicking himself. Her name was on her shirt tag! As the full realization, sank in, he threw his head back. From the pit of his stomach, came all his emotion, and a loud groan passed through his lips.

"Damn it."

The Hollowing Series: Part I

Title: Prelude

Word count: 2,980

Characters: The 11th Doctor, Amy Pond, ocs

Warnings: Platonic fic not romantic. Crappy writing?

Notes: So three? I want to say three years ago this idea came to mind. Well not this one. But I worked off that idea and came to this. I like the idea of the Doctor being around children. They’re just so innocent. But then I though what the hell let’s torture 11 and the kids and this was born. I’ll explain more later but for now Spoilers. I reall have worked hard on this it’s my first Doctor Who fic. It’s been in my head and notes for years so please be kind and enjoy. I’m going to try, try to break this in to only 4 parts. But hey I’m a detailed writer.

Special Thanks to my college buddy B, @mirkwoodshewolf, and @underskaro​ for tolerating my ramblish rants and beta reading the chapter.

———

Down the road aways, pushed against the hills, stood a cobblestone farm style home. The front lawn was messy, jagged and uncut. From the muddy earth sprang up wildflowers and weeds, northern marches, poppies, and heathers. It was all very wild. The pedestal of a concrete birdbath was cracked and lopsided, with vines wrapping around the very base.

A trike was tangled, hidden in the tall overgrown grass. It felt out of place among the weedy garden. The bike in contrast to the exterior of the old homestead must have been brand new. Green and black, the trike was just brilliant enough to be noticeable through the thrush.

Visible from the left lower window appeared a boy, no older than 14 but no younger than 12. He reached out toward the edges of the frame, grasping at the sangria red fabric. In one swift motion, he drew the curtains closed.

“There,” the boy said, standing back to admire his work.

The four windows of the well-sized sitting room. The warm golden light that once flooded through the glass panes, faded, leaving room to feel somewhat dark and empty.

Stepping backward, the young teen collapsed over an armrest onto a sofa. The sofa’s cushions sank under the weight of him, creating a spot perfectly tailored to the shape of his body. The sofa had seen better days. The brown leather fabric was worn, torn in some places and had a great dark stain on the Center cushion that the boy couldn’t remember ever not existing.

Dragging his legs over the armrest, he moved himself so he was in a sitting position. He stretched his right hand out, leaning his body so he could reach a drawing book on the right end table. The silence of the sitting room hugged him like a security blanket, his muscles became jello, all the stress of the day just melted off him. Being the man of the house was hard.

He became lost in his own world. He didn’t utter a word for the next fifteen minutes and barely moved from his spot for a full thirty minutes. His left hand carefully looped and curved over the blank sheet of paper, no longer blank. Every now and again he’d spin his pencil around in his fingers in deep thought, or wildly erase a thoughtless mistake. He hummed along to the song blasting through his one right earbud (the one thing he’d moved to retrieve.) nodding his head in time with the 60’s melody.

The sound of creaking floorboards overhead pressed through his exposed ear, carrying him back to reality. He could hear gentle feet beating against the wood. They were almost unnoticeable over the music. Almost.

There was a lull in the footsteps, creating silence.

They must be at the stairs, he thought, beginning to set his drawing tools away.

They always stopped at the top of the stairs and the base. The stairs of the old farmhouse were criminally steep, with each weirdly a different height than the last. They were enough to give anyone unfamiliar with them a headache. If his mother had gotten them carpeted, maybe the stairs wouldn’t have been so nauseating, but she’d wanted to preserve the house’s history as best she could.

Thump, thump, thump.

He could just imagine the little human, the footsteps belonged to crawling down the stairs. Moving down them one by one, on their knees. Sort of in a reverse way of the puppy conquering the stairs in Lady and the Tramp.

“No, go away,” he called, pressing a pencil down into its colouring box. When there was quiet he looked over his shoulder, everything from the waist down just sitting there on the steps. The figure's upper body was obstructed from his view.

“I was kidding, you can come down.” He turned back to his tidying. He heard the little feet happily stomp about, then thump, thump, thump.

Focused on organising his things, he looked up only when noticing the pair of dust stained white socks out of the corner of his eye. He blinked, somewhat irritatedly, staring at the little girl who now stood across from him.

With a great sigh, he said.

“You’re really annoying sometimes, you know that?”

A child no older than four stood before him. Her brown eyes, earthy hues of the soil after rain or bark on a walnut tree. They gave him a look that was of youthful innocence. Bright auburn hair reached down to the middle of her back, slightly covering the sides of her cheeks. Her pale skin was dotted and marked with a surplus of freckles — Sophia.

Sophia frowned, taking a step back. This made the older boy quietly snicker.

He smiles in a reassuring manner, “Hello, Soph-a-loaf.” He teased goofily pronouncing her name. The slightest smile tugged at the corners of the ginger's lips. He brought Sophia onto his lap, letting her sit on his thighs. “What’s up ducky?” He asked, brushing some of her hair back behind her ear. Sophia scrunches her mouth to one side, making a few murmuring noises. “Oh really? Sounds like you’ve had a day.”

Sophia nods. She rests her head on Oliver’s stomach, looking up at him with her sweet doe eyes.

“What?”

Her eyes darted off toward the window.

“No. No.” Oliver shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. Sophia tilted her head to one side, training her attention on Oliver’s. “Seriously the park now?” Oliver whined, backing into the cushion.

He reaches for a throw pillow and covers his face with it.

“I’m sleeping,” he murmurs from behind the fabric. Sophia fusses lightly, pressing at his stomach. Oliver grunted, but kept the pillow pressed against his face. “I’m dead,” he tried.

This time Sophia head butted him in the gut. Oliver pulled a face, bringing the pillow down.

“Bleh!” He mocked, tongue lolled out of his mouth. Sophia squeaks, swatting her palm against Oliver’s arm. “Hey, we don’t hit. Sophia, I don’t want to go to the park.” Oliver said leaning down so his forehead was against hers. Sophia kindly taps her temple against his. Oliver chuckles softly, giving her forehead a sweet peck. “Sophey Tophie.”

He lifts Sophia off his lap, setting her on the floor in front of him.

“I suppose… it would be nice to get out of the house.” His eye drifted to a calendar on the interior sidewall of the sitting room. He couldn’t remember when he circled that day. Sophia excitedly bounces up and down. “What are you a rabbit?” The little ginger doesn’t respond, bouncing her way to the front door.

Oliver rolls his eyes. Upon realisation, he sprang up from the sofa.

“Sophia, you need a coat!”

-

The two children squinted against the hazy Yorkshire rain. The rain was cool against their exposed skin. It felt nice, refreshing even. It ran through their hair, smoothing out Sophia’s auburn waves, mopping Oliver’s ash brown locks. It plastered small individual strands to each of their faces.

Oliver chatted away as they went down the muddy, winding path. Chatting isn't quite the right word as Sophia never spoke. It had only taken him two minutes to go off on a tangent about something or other.

Sophia, only kind of sort of listening, pedaling her hand-me-down trike. His voice disappeared into the white noise, allowing her to quietly enjoy the English landscape.

The countryside stretched and weaved as far as the eye could see. Rustic English cottages and cobblestone farm houses dotted the grassy hills. The land gently rolled up and down the valley, merging with the uneven, mist filled moors half way up the emerald green mounds of earth.

Dew, white and clear, decorated the damp droopy grass the land glittered, sparkling under the orange purpling sunlight.

The houses of the humdrum sleepy town were few and well spaced out. One could walk a good half a mile before reaching their neighbours' property. Those closer to the center of town were flats, pushed together in neat lines, occupying the space over the small, often family owned shops.

Oliver and Sophia arrived at the park in twenty minutes. Sophia having to struggle, pedaling through the mud had set them back. However, neither of the children seemed to care. Sophia hopped off the trike and clicked off her helmet, abandoning both on the pavement. She couldn’t wait to explore the soggy park.

For the next 20 minutes they hung out at the park, Sophia wandered the grassy playing field picking at wild flowers while Oliver practiced his kicks. In the following ten, Sophia ran up the stairs then went down the slide. She’d dust herself off, then go round again. The next five minutes she sat still, a bit tired, content to watch the villagers while Oliver puttered around.

“Oi! Sophia, I’m goin’ to the loo. I’ll be back right back!” Oliver shouted from the far side of the futbol field. The park had no bathroom, so he’d have to walk clear cross the road to Brews Brothers’ Pub. The popular bar had an outdoor side restroom reserved for the public.

Sophia watched Oliver leave until he became nothing more than a speck in the distance.

The quiet times brought a certain comfort to Sophia. It was the perfect time to watch people revel in the coolness of other humans’ lives. Usually the park was a buzz with townsfolk, mostly children. They melded together and dotted the public lawn like A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte. But now there was little life to distinguish the little village from Oradour-sur-Glane, France.

The night air, though cool, had a biting sharpness to it. No thanks to the rain. Sophia sniffs through her nostrils, inhaling the almost intoxicating spring air. Sitting on the bench, her little legs swung over mud coated grass. Misty rain was still falling steadily, and the temperature had dropped considerably.

Sophia wasn’t bothered though.

Reaching for a short stick she traces some shapes in the ground. She nods her head, humming a tune she couldn’t quite place.

“You know, sometimes I wonder if you actually know how to fly the TARDIS.” A voice, female with a thick Scottish accent, said.

Two foreign voices cut through the cold silence. Her eyes dart down the path. From where she sat she could hear them, the voices, bickering. About what, she had no clue.

Out of mist in the distance strode what appeared to be a young couple. The man seemed tall. His dark brown hair was long, stuck to his forehead in a droopy fashion, much like Ollie’s. Despite looking like a young man, he wore clothes that reminded Sophia of one of the town retirees; a Donegal tweed sport jacket with elbow patches, an off white dress shirt, rolled up deep blue trousers and… and bow tie?

Bow ties are for Sunday, Sophia thought, eyes narrowing at the approaching pair.

His partner appeared to be much more put together. Auburn hair, just a smidge less vibrant than Sophia’s framed a pale Scottish face. An irradiated cross expression dominated her features. Her voice wasn’t high nor low, it perfectly suited her in an indescribable way. And unlike the man to her right, she wore clothes appropriate for her age.

The pair stopped in the middle of the path, continuing to argue.

“Of course, I know how to fly the TARDIS sometimes she- she just has a mind of her own.” The lanky man argued, earning an eye roll from the ginger.

“We’re supposed to be England,” She grouched. “What about Churchill? This looks like— are we in Scotland?”

Sophia scoffed, shaking her head, tourists. She watched as the man licked a finger, held it against the wind, then popped it back in his mouth.

“No, no. I’m sure we’re in England.”

The finger crossed her arms over her chest in a cool way.

“Shouldn’t there be I dunno fighters, soldiers, something? I’m getting sheep.” She said looking round the area. She wasn’t wrong there were sheep, white puffs mindlessly grazing on the hills. When she looked back at the man, he was squatting. In his right hand he held a good chunk of mud.

“Wha—What are you doing?”

“Definitely in England. Westerdale Yorkshire, to be more precise. Right country wrong period. Does something seem off to you?” He asked, running a thumb over the mucky mud, cautiously examining it.

His partner snorted indignantly.

“Something or… someone? No don’t eat the—”

Sophia quickly pushed her head down, crinkling her nose. Adults are weird. She turned her attention to her dirt scribbles. She didn’t understand what they were on about, anyway. Hopefully they’d be on their way soon. They didn’t belong.

There’s a weight increase, bending the planks of the bench. An electric chill ran up Sophia’s spine, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. The reaction wasn’t from the cold. There was a weight increase bending the planks of the bench.

“Well hello there, I’m the Doctor. What’s your name.”

Surprise was never an emotion Sophia handled well. Her shoulders went rigid, her entire body defensively readying itself. Her sweet eyes become stoney. Her breathing felt as if it was becoming more shallow with each breath. The guarding alarms inside her mind we’re going crazy halting the thinking gears of her brain.

The man held his hands up resignedly. “No, no, don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you.” There was a gentleness to his tone, a kind of concern. Sophia couldn’t be sure. No matter something about him. She let her shoulders go loose, but the rest of her still felt tense. “Would you mind? I have a few questions.”

Sophia allowed herself to relax a little more, not completely but more.

“Doctor!” The scot’s voice rang up briefly, sending Sophia back into defensive mode. “You can’t keep talking to children you don’t know.” She sounded like a mother chiding her young child.

Her comment sparked a minor argument between the pair.

Sophia took the time to lean back and take the pair in full, particularly the man. He was a little more normal-ish looking up close. Normal enough. There was something about his eyes she couldn’t quite describe.

Sophia observed the two curiously, unaware that the fear, once crushing her chest, was steadily subsiding.

“I introduced myself this time. Oh yes,” the Doctor swiftly turns to Sophia, “this is Amy.”

“That’s not how it works,” Amy grumbled.

Her partner ignores her, keeping his attention on Sophia. “There’s something… something about this place. Don't know. I think-" He spoke fast, flaggishly moving his hands about. “Well I know it’s something. Too many ideas. Head’s bit cloudy.” He knocked on his temple.

Sophia, though a little behind, shifted uncomfortably.

“Need to narrow it down…” he trailed off. Sophia, her left palm on her thigh, absently traces along each finger with her right index. He observes Sophia with a kind, sort of calculating, gaze.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?

Concurrently, Ollie was on his way back from the toilet. He dribbles across the park, knocking a futbol between one foot and the other. “He’s going for the full court folks.” He deepened his voice, trying to mimic the vocals of a proper sports announcer. “He’s at the 75 marker, will he go for the assist?” He sped up, using a lace touch to control the ball. “He passes to,” Oliver knocks the ball clear cross the field.

“No one.”

He’d get his ball back tomorrow. The silence made his blood as cold as the icy waters of a polar plunge, as he strode across the park to where he had left Sophia.

Everything was still hazy and cloudy from the English rain. Billions of trillions of icy drops dripped down his neck and fell off the flaps of his slicker. In this de-focused world, he could just make the outlined silhouette of Sophia.

“Sophia. Sophia?”

He goes taut, stopping in his tracks. For a moment his brain glitches. His eyes went wide, mouth falling slightly ajar. Although he was staring at Sophia, he was seeing more than he expected.

“Sophia, what do you think you’re doing?” His voice was steady, but had a sharpness to it. “Talking to strangers?” He holds a hand out, which Sophia compliantly takes within seconds.

“And you lot.” The ginger seemed taken back by Oliver’s frigidity. A tween scolding two strange grownups, one of them a Scot, bit startling. The gentleman, however, seemed off in his head, silently mouthing the same word over and over. “You can’t just be talking to people you don’t know, numpties.”

“Oi, watch it.”

Oliver’s eyes sourly narrow. “You’re not from around here, are you?” He deadpanned.

“Just passing through. Hello, I’m the—”

“You should keep passing,” Oliver interrupted. Stepping between Sophia and the pair. Sophia could only watch as Oliver spoke to the two adults. “Leave town before it gets dark.” He warned, picking Sophia up, holding her on his hip.

“Is everything okay?” The gentleman asked, stepping up from the bench.

Though his expression held a casual indifference, his skin goes colourless. He let out an understated sigh, bowing his head and turning to leave. “I have to get Sophia home. It's almost supper time.”

Sophia beats her head against Oliver's shoulder, hitting it just hard enough to make the older child wince. He rolls his eyes, but turns back to the pair. “If you are going to stay… it’s only fair.” He sounded like a toddler forced to apologise.

“I must warn you.” He let his face fall in seriousness.

“Beware what lies in the mist of the Moors.”

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