Chapter Text
Shots and shells echoed across a decimated valley, pounding the ears of a small party of soldiers as they sheltered behind the smoldering wreck of a tank.
"We've got to keep going," hissed a yak named Alvin, nursing a gunshot in his shoulder.
The party's leader, a black wolf, shook his head and instinctively raised a paw to his face. He'd taken some shrapnel, and while he still had fight left in him it did hurt like the devil and all his legions.
"We're pinned down," he insisted, pointing to indicate the hill on the other side of their hiding place. "If we so much as stick our noses out, those machine gun nests up top will take them off before we can sniff."
There was grim truth in his words. The plan had been for them to sneak up on an installation of gunners and artillery while another unit drew the enemy's fire. Their hope was to take out the nest and clear a path for more troops behind them, but the enemy had spotted their attack and was swiftly closing in.
A thundering boom shook the ground beneath them as another shell struck. Those artillery pieces weren't designed to shoot downhill, but they were figuring out their angle.
"What do you want us to do, Sarge?" asked a sturdy brown horse.
The wolf's eyes flicked around, mulling over options. If they could lob off just one grenade up to that nest, they might be able to take it out or at least mess things up enough to buy themselves some time. The only problem was, any of them who poked out would be done for.
"I'll try to get a grenade up there," he said, rising into a slightly higher crouch.
Quick as anything, the horse yanked him back down. "That's insane! You'll die!"
Another shell burst, closer than the last.
"We're all gonna die if we don't do something," snapped the sergeant.
His comrade stared him in the face. "Don't do it," he insisted.
There was a long and terrible pause as the two regarded one another. Todd Moonbeamer and Andrew Stallone had been all but conjoined siblings since boot camp, despite their very obvious differences. They even lived in the same area of Meadowlands back in Zootopia, and had gotten to know one another's families while home on leave. When Todd achieved the ranks of Corporal and then Sergeant, he'd specifically requested that Andrew be among the men under his command. Though Todd was a more effective leader, Stallone was as strong and courageous as they came.
Then came the news from home. A few months after a brief leave back to the states, Todd had received word that his wife was pregnant. With his enlistment due to expire soon, he had decided to retire from the army while he was still in shape to enjoy his new family. Now, though…
All of a sudden, Andrew flicked his eyes to Alvin. "Hold onto him for me, Yak," he ordered.
Todd blinked in surprise, but before he could get a word out a massive weight descended on his back. "What?!"
Andrew pulled a grenade from his belt. "There's no time to argue, Sarge. I've had my turn."
The wolf couldn't believe his ears. "Stallone, your family!"
The horse nodded. "Like I said, I've had my turn." Rising to a crouch, he added, "Besides, your range is terrible."
"STALLONE!"
With a parting salute, Andrew bolted from their hiding place and up a rise in the ground a few yards away. Everything seemed to slow down: the bullets shredding the ground behind him, the dirt flying from his hooves…
"Hope you guys like pineapple!"
Alvin Yak was heavy, but Todd was no slouch. With a desperate lunge, he managed to get his upper half free. "ANDREW!"
Like a ball flying from a lacrosse stick, the grenade left Andrew's hoof… just as one of the shots found its mark.
With a cry, Todd Moonbeamer jolted awake and stared around with wild eyes.
"Sweetheart, calm down." A paw instinctively clasped his elbow with a firm grip which belied its delicate fingers. "What day is it? Where are you?"
He jerked at the touch, then settled down in reassurance as the questions, after some repetition, reset his sense of time and place. It was December twenty-fourth. He was home in bed next to his wife. The war… the guns, and the grenade were all thousands of miles and half a decade away.
For that matter, so was Andrew.
It had been a long time since the wolf wept over dreaming about his old friend, but the lump in his throat and the sense of helpless failure… those never went away.
"It's okay, honey," his wife urged again, pressing her paw to his back and sliding it down in even strokes. "It's okay."
Todd honestly felt rather frustrated with himself, even as he relaxed and rolled his shoulders to better enjoy his wife's petting. His arm, sliding free of her hold, moved around her back while his other paw moved to caress the swell of her stomach. He knew you never really got over what happened on the battlefield. One might as well ask a female to get over being forced. Even with his wife, two cubs, and a third on the way, his PTSD still came back like an old ghost, even on Christmas Eve. The sounds of war were stuck in his head like a bad-
Wait a minute. He had just heard a sound which was most definitely not in his head.
"Ow," his wife winced, flinching away as his claws involuntarily curled, digging into her back.
"Hsst!" he hissed, signaling her to be quiet. His whole body went tense as his trained instincts channeled all his attention into his ears. Were those pawsteps downstairs, maybe a voice?
"Sweetheart?" whispered his wife.
His paw found hers and he gave her a reassuring squeeze. "It's probably just Xavier snitching some cookies," he whispered, sliding out of bed. "I'll go check on him."
He tried to sound calm, but something deep in his gut told him that this was no misdemeanor on his son's part. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
Moving as quietly as his own shadow, he slipped across the hall to his daughter's room first. She was generally the sounder sleeper, and he wasn't surprised to find her in bed. She never even stirred as he opened and closed the door.
On to Xavier, he thought, stealing along the hall to his son's room. For once he hoped he wouldn't find the cub in bed.
He eased the door open, and in the dimly-lit room Xavier stirred. "Dad?"
Todd's stomach twisted as he focused his ears once more. Even if he hadn't, his fears were confirmed a second later by the sound of a glass breaking downstairs… and some language nobody ever used in that house.
The old veteran was aware of his five-year-old's son's eyes trained on him, wide with curiosity. His nose caught the sharp scent of Xavier's pheromones, broadcasting fear.
"It's alright, son," he whispered. "I'll go take care of it. Just stay here, alright?"
Xavier nodded, and Todd quickly returned to his room. His wife must have realized what was happening, for she was already on her knees beside the bed assembling something out of a case from underneath. Though she had hardly shot one off a dozen times in her life, she knew the shape of a gun like the back of her paw and could assemble it blindfolded.
"Here," she whispered, slipping in the magazine and placing it in his paw.
He nodded his thanks. "Stay here," he commanded.
She grabbed at his paw. "Be careful," she whispered.
He gave her a quick peck before descending the stairs. Todd Moonbeamer's life had changed a lot since the war, but a soldier was a soldier, no matter what.
Keeping his back to the wall, Todd managed to pinpoint the sounds before he entered. Someone was going through the drawers in the kitchen, evidently looking for their nicer silverware.
Figures someone would break in on Christmas Eve, he thought, not wanting to consider what might have been done to the tree and the presents. If this thief had damaged the gaming system they got for Xavier…
He pushed that prospect out of his mind to focus on the immediate issues. Stepping into the clear, he stretched out both paws and instantly beaded the gun on the intruder. "Put it down and get out," he ordered, narrowing his one good eye.
A cougar at least twice his weight turned to regard him. The glazed eyes and stupid expression told him that the cat was high as a kite. In his paw he held a knapsack, and several gift-wrapped boxes were tucked under his arm.
Seeing armed resistance, the feline quickly dropped the bag and grabbed a large kitchen knife from the drawer.
He's either very brave or even more messed up than he looks, Todd assessed. True, a fast enough fighter could have crossed the distance and taken him out before he could get the gun cocked, but with a weapon already cocked and aimed, the guy was all but suicidal.
"Listen, mister," he growled, clicking off the safety, "you're leaving this house, and I'd like you to do it standing. You got that? Now put those down and get out of here."
As he spoke, he moved to the side to put the table more fully between himself and the feline. A cat in full use of his faculties could vault the table as easily as a kid playing hopscotch, but the split second in midair would deprive him of a chance to change speed or direction. Besides, this cat looked to be too drugged-up to do much vaulting.
The tension was intolerable, but what broke it was a hundred thousand times worse.
"Dad?"
Xavier stared at the scene in his dining room, feeling like he had just stepped into The Twilight Zone. His dad was standing across from a wild-eyed mountain lion, with a gun of all things held tight in his paw. So I didn't imagine it, he thought. It had seemed like a dream when he glimpsed it as his father passed his room the second time, but now it was more like a nightmare. He'd never known there was even a gun in the house… and neither had he ever seen his sire so angry. The old wolf's hackles were raised, his teeth bared, his left eye flicking back and forth between Xavier and the stranger.
"Son," ordered his father, "get back upstairs."
"But what's going on?" he protested, rooted to the spot in fear and confusion.
"I'll explain later. Now get back upstairs."
The cougar was beginning to growl and raise his own fur, causing Todd to tense. Suddenly, with a moment of firm decision, he threw the gun into a nearby wastebasket and picked up a chair.
"Run!"
The chair flew through the air, slamming into the cat's face and knocking him back. The knife and the loot flew out of his paws, and Todd seized the chance to dart around the table and tackle him to the floor.
"DAD!"
"Get out of here! Now!" Todd had managed to get his enemy off guard, and now tried to flip him over and pin his arms. Unfortunately, even a wolf in the best of shape wasn't as strong as the average mountain lion. A lurch from the cat sent Todd flying into the wall. An instant later the cat was on him, only to be thrown back by two hind paws slamming into his stomach.
Xavier looked on in absolute horror as his father grappled with the intruder. Chaos reigned around the dining room as chairs scattered and decorations on the table toppled. Pictures and wall art fell, strewing the floor with broken wood and glass. Back and forth the two predators fought, both wounding and being wounded as they punched, kicked, clawed, and bit. Xavier would swear later that his dad cut the cat's face open using only his elbow.
Suddenly a fit of inspiration hit Xavier. The gun! Skirting around the conflict, he rushed to the wastebasket and dug frantically for the weapon. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered the dozens of times his parents had told him to never, ever, ever touch a gun if he ever found one, but this was an emergency! If he could just get it to his father, or use it himself if he got a clear shot…
Todd, meanwhile, was fully engaged in the fight. A dodge backward left the cat's claws to pass through where his head had been only an instant before. Half again as quickly, his elbow strike missed the feline's face and sent a shock of pain into the shoulder joint instead. Back and forth the combatants raged while Xavier fumbled with the gun, trying to figure out how to use it.
All of a sudden there was a terrible clamor. A howl of pain, a yowl of shock, and the cacophony of shattering glass and splintering wood all piled over one another like a musician hitting every wrong note at once. Xavier looked up, his finger at last on the trigger… and froze as if he'd been turned into stone.
The table was in ruins, lying off-kilter around the crumpled and groaning mountain lion. His father lay just beyond, face-down. After a moment, the cat began to move, but feebly as if in terrible pain. His legs lay as limp as two dead fish, pointing awkwardly toward Xavier.
Todd was slower to rise, and Xavier's heart leaped into his throat when he saw what injuries he had incurred. The old wolf was gripping his side as hard as he could, but crimson rivulets streamed through his fingers. More flowed out of his face, where his right eye had once been. The eye was no big worry; that had been gone longer than Xavier had been alive. The blood, though…
At first Xavier thought the ashen look on his dad's face might be from an injury… until Todd spoke.
"Son," Todd ordered, his voice quaking, "put that down."
The poor cub had all but forgotten he even had the gun. He could barely move; he couldn't even hear the frantic sound of descending paws on the stairs behind him in the hall.
"Sweetheart!" cried his mother's voice.
Xavier's father raised one paw. "I'm alive. Call 9-1-1." This said, he sat up slowly and painfully, eyes still trained on Xavier. "Son, for God's sake put that thing down – gently. And point it away from everyone."
The poor pup was shaking like a leaf. "Dad..."
Todd Moonbeamer's voice was firm, despite the blood still spattering his white undershirt. "Xavier, now."
With trembling paws, Xavier set the gun on the floor and turned it towards a blank wall.
"Good boy." He turned his attention to the doorway, where his wife's voice was audible making a phone call.
"Take a deep breath," he advised with strength that belied his battered state, as if he were made of stone rather than flesh. "Tell them to send two ambulances; three if you need one."
The suggestion that his mom might need an ambulance stunned Xavier, but a look from his father stopped the question on his lips.
"Stay."
With things more or less under control, Todd Moonbeamer shook his head and regarded the puma. He didn't see any need to guard the cat now. That Ewe-doe flip onto the table had ensured that the feline would never walk or even stand for the rest of his life.
Xavier had never liked going to the doctor, but emergency rooms were way, way worse – especially when his dad went in there looking like he'd just fought a lawnmower. To make matters worse, another doctor had pulled his mom aside to check on her and "make sure the baby would be alright." If the events at home were like a nightmare, this was more like one of those books his parents didn't like him reading; the kind where someone thought they were having a nightmare and then found out it was real.
A nurse stayed to keep an eye on Xavier, but her efforts at conversation or cheering him up were in vain. He didn't speak, didn't make eye contact, and barely even thought anything until his mom came back, looking somewhat haggard but smiling with relief. She still had Alice in her arms, sound asleep and sucking her thumb.
"Mom!" Xavier cried, running to her.
She shushed him and laid a paw on his head, unable to do more without waking the other. "I'm fine," she whispered. "And so is your brother."
Xavier hardly cared about his brother at the moment; he was worried about his dad. "Where's Dad?" he asked.
Lisa Moonbeamer bit her lip. To have her husband in emergency care, one cub which half an hour ago had come dangerously close to premature birth, another in her arms sleeping like a rock, and a third near to losing his mind… it was all too much to manage. She needed someone to hold her, but at the moment the only real candidate she wanted needed it more than she.
"We'll see him soon," she promised.
Xavier sat fidgeting for what felt like hours, looking on as his mother cradled Alice. Seeing his sister snooze like that was almost enough to make him hate her. He couldn't help it. Dad was in there ripped up who-knew-how-badly, and there she was just sleeping like it was all… nothing.
"Is Dad gonna be okay?" asked Xavier nervously.
His mother nodded, but he could tell she wasn't sure. "They'll tell us soon," she promised, "but your father's a tough one. He'll make it."
It felt like forever before a beaver in a doctor's uniform finally came in holding a clipboard. "You're here for Mr. Moonbeamer, right?" he asked, looking up at Mrs. Moonbeamer.
She stood up, Xavier jumping down from his seat next to her.
"This way, please."
Xavier could hardly keep from running ahead as the beaver led them to their destination. When he finally stopped at a curtain and moved to pull it aside, the poor pup had had about all he could take.
"Dad!" he cried, darting forward and nearly flattening the doctor.
"Xavier!" his mother cried, but he hardly paid attention. He'd gained the other side of the curtain… and there was his father.
Xavier had never seen anyone in a hospital before, except when his sister was born. So he was totally unprepared for the sight of his father, of all mammals, propped up on a hospital bed with a tube in one arm, a weird band thing on his wrist, and bandages everywhere.
It's hard to say what harm Xavier might have done if he had followed his first instinct – which, quite naturally, was to throw himself into his father's lap and start peppering the old wolf with questions. A sharp pain in his tail snatched him to a halt, however, quickly followed by a firm grasp on the back of his collar. His mother had arrived.
"Calm down," she ordered firmly, trying not to be upset. Then, subduing her own anxiety, she walked Xavier around to the side of the bed and allowed him to take the free paw his father extended to him. He grabbed it, holding on as if he thought his sire might float up through the ceiling.
She'd been about to ask how her husband was, but he beat her to the punch. "You okay?" he asked, his voice slightly slurred from the painkillers dampening his senses.
She almost wanted to laugh. Well, laugh and slap him into next week. Okay, yes, bad shocks while pregnant were no laughing matter, but here he had just been all but literally chewed up and spat out and he acted like nothing had happened.
"I'm fine. They don't know how, but everything checks out as normal."
Todd nodded, evidently relieved. "Then I'll be alright. I've been through worse," he replied. To emphasize his statement, he gestured meaningfully to the bandages over the right side of his face. With the left eye he gazed warmly at his family before turning to the doctor. "I guess this is the part where you read us the damages," he uttered fatalistically.
Xavier noticed the uneasy look on his mother's face, and his stomach sank. How bad was it?
"Yes," the doctor replied, examining the chart at the foot of the bed. "We don't usually read it to the whole family at once, but since you made a point of it…" here he cleared his throat. "As you and your wife know already, we had to dig some broken glass out of you. The claw marks, meanwhile, come to about…" Here he paused, glancing at Xavier. "Well, they required quite a few stitches all told, and we had to give you a transfusion. Amazingly, it looks like you'll be just fine except for some possible shoulder damage in the long run, but to be safe I'd like to keep you on that IV drip overnight."
"Overnight?!" protested Xavier, his ears popping up in alarm. "But he can't be in the hospital overnight! It's Christmas Eve!"
Todd slipped his thumb out of Xavier's grasp and gave the pup's paw a squeeze. "It'll be fine, son," he said in a gruff, no-nonsense tone which belied the tenderness of his touch. "We'll just have to celebrate our Christmas a little late."
Mrs. Moonbeamer turned to the doctor. "Thank you for everything. Would it be alright if we stayed with him? I mean…" she jerked her head meaningfully toward Xavier, who had a look on his face like he'd just lost the ball game and it was all his own fault.
The beaver nodded understandingly. "That should be fine, ma'am."
There was little to arrange. Mrs. Moonbeamer would go back home, get a few things, and let the police know where they'd be in case anything came up. Then she'd be back to wait for whatever came next.
To Xavier's confusion, his father asked that he step outside for a minute "so we can have a little parent talk." This was bad news for sure. Whenever Xavier messed up and his parents had a private conference before saying anything to him about it, something along the lines of grounding usually followed. Not sure what else to do, Xavier stepped out and waited on pins and needles. Once or twice he tried to listen in, but they were talking in such hushed tones that he couldn't make anything out.
Finally, his mother emerged holding Alice. "Stay here with your father," she instructed firmly. "I'll be back soon, I promise." Then, as if to ease the tension this brief edict would stir up in him, she bent down and kissed him on the forehead.
"Thank God you're okay," she said softly.
Xavier gulped, looking toward the curtain hiding his father. For how long? he wondered.
When Xavier went in, there was a little stool drawn up next to the gurney. At a glance from his father, he hopped up onto it and resisted the usual impulse to spin it around.
Todd stared at him for a long time before speaking. When he did, he had never sounded more serious – not even threatening the cougar.
"Why did you disobey me?" he asked.
Xavier cringed. It would almost have been better if his dad did raise his voice, and Todd Moonbeamer hardly ever did that. There was an intensity to his words, and his one-eyed gaze, deeper than any three ordinary wolves could have mustered.
"I… I don't know," he murmured helplessly, not looking up.
Again, painful silence before the next question. "Why do you think I told you to stay in your room?"
Xavier gulped. "I don't know," he said again.
"I said it because I didn't want you in danger. I told you to stay upstairs so the only thing I'd have to worry about would be that burglar."
If there was one thing that could have made Xavier feel worse, it was that. "I'm… I'm sorry," he uttered meekly. His ears hung low, and his tail curled between his legs.
"Well, God willing nothing like this will happen again," Todd replied, "but if it does I want you to listen next time – and don't ever go near that gun. Understand?"
As soon as he had said it, the veteran knew he had pushed his son too far. Xavier was no sissy, but he broke down crying there and then. Little sobs shook his diminutive frame, and his eyes vanished into his paws.
Todd was still fuzzy from the painkillers the doctor had given him, but he felt a twinge of pain in his chest no drug could take away. He found himself at an impasse, his more soldier-like demeanor unable to cope with this situation.
Then Todd Moonbeamer the father came back to the front.
"Son," he called.
Xavier continued to cry.
"Son," he pressed harder.
Still no response.
"SON." He raised his voice as much as he had the energy to do, trying at the same time to keep a calm and level tone.
Xavier looked up, eyes streaming.
With some effort, Todd lowered the rail on one side of his gurney. "Come up here," he instructed.
Xavier sniffed loudly, then wiped his eyes with the back of his arm and grasped the lowered rail. With a little difficulty, he clambered up onto the bed next to his dad.
"Just watch the stitches," Todd added seriously. Then, in a gentler tone, he added, "Listen, I'm not… well, okay, I'm a little upset. I'm not mad at you, though. I just want you to understand that I don't want you to ever touch that gun. It's dangerous and it could kill someone."
Sniffing again, the cub gazed at his father in confusion. "Why'd you have it?" he asked. "Why would you have something like that?"
It was a good question. Heaven knew he had wondered many times about the wisdom of keeping his old service pistol in the house, even locked in a safe with the ammunition in a separate box. Alas, tonight had justified his main reason for having it all too well.
"Because I have a responsibility to protect you, your mother, and your siblings," he said quietly, half in thought to his own self. "A man's not worth much if he doesn't live up to his responsibilities, and that gun was the quickest and best chance I had of getting that intruder out of the house before he hurt anyone."
Seeing how badly his father had been hurt, Xavier felt bad all over again. "I wanted to stop him," he said quietly. "So he couldn't hurt you."
"You would have hurt yourself – mentally, I mean. Son, it takes years of training and discipline before you can trust yourself, or be trusted by anyone else, to use a gun in a fight. It's even harder if you kill someone; even a bad mammal. So stay away from the gun. Don't even go near it or tell anyone I have it, alright? Leave that to me and your mother."
Xavier nodded, and they sat in silence for a while. After a while, he thought to ask how his father became so responsible that he could be trusted with a gun.
Todd shook his head. "I don't trust myself with it. Not completely, anyway. The army trusted me, the authorities trust me, and your mother trusts me, but myself? No. I only keep it around because I am afraid of it and what it could do, and that keeps me careful." Then he chuckled ruefully. "Well, that and the fact that sometimes I won't have any choice but to fight."
That sank into Xavier's mind for a good, long while. He was no great philosopher, and certainly couldn't have begun to consider the many implications of what his father said. He knew two things, however, with the inimitable faith of a child.
First, if his father said it, it was true.
Second, if this was who his father was, then without a shadow of a doubt it was what he wanted to be someday.
It would quite naturally be difficult, if not impossible, for any red-blooded young boy to forget a thing like what happened that Christmas Eve. Though neither he nor either of his parents had any lasting injuries, it was advised that they should have some counseling for a month or so after the incident.
Whether the counseling made any difference, or whether Xavier would have bounced right up without it anyway, none on earth knows for certain. What is certain is that Xavier spent every moment he could of that time watching his father, trying to imitate his every move and mannerism. The amusement, no doubt, did his parents great good.
As always seems to be the case, the time flew by until Christmas break was over and school was back in session. So, as soon as kids began talking about their holidays on the very first bus ride back, Xavier had total command just as soon as you could say, 'My dad beat up a mountain lion.' With all eyes on him and every ear up, he told his tale to a stunned and for once silent audience. He was careful not to mention the gun, just as he had promised, but that did nothing to weaken the story.
"I went downstairs after him," he said, his voice fairly taut with excitement, "and there was this big mountain lion in the dining room. He had all our presents, and he was looking around to see what else he could take. So my dad just looked at him and said, "You put that stuff back and get out of here, or you won't leave standing up.'"
Several kids 'oohed' appreciatively. "Then what?" someone asked.
Xavier told the story, dramatizing the clash with enough style and energy to impress a professional fight announcer.
"Finally," he finished, fully revved up now, "that mountain lion drew back, and tried to claw my dad's head off. But Dad… well, I didn't see just what he did, but he must've done something. The next thing I knew, Dad had flipped him over and smashed him – BAM! – right down on the table so hard it broke in half!"
"Whoa!" cried a squirrel. "How bad was the guy beat up?"
At this Xavier was a little stuck. "I don't know," he admitted. "The doctors and nurses at the hospital wouldn't tell us. I did hear Dad tell Mom, though, that that guy's never gonna rob houses again."
The story was, as they say, a smash. Once the bus got to school, Xavier's tale spread faster than a zombie outbreak. Every time he turned around, someone was begging him to tell the story again or asking some question about his dad. Did he work out? Was he some kind of fighter? He even got several requests for his dad's autograph, and at least one kid convinced the old wolf was some kind of superhero. At lunch, Xavier hardly had time to eat half the goodies that came his way as kids plied him to 'Tell it again!' By the time the bell rang, he was nearly sick from the smell of sugar and various flavorings.
Then came recess, and with recess came trouble. The young wolf had just finished re-telling of his father's feat when a voice called out over the other responses like a car horn at a drive-in movie.
"What a dumb story!"
ll eyes turned to the speaker: a bad-tempered antelope named Pronk Antlerson. Better known as Pronk the Punk, he was dressed thickly against the cold and gazing scornfully at Xavier.
For a long moment, Xavier wasn't sure what to say in reply. Then he framed the fairly obvious question. "What'd you say?"
Pronk snorted. "You deaf and stupid? I said your story's lame – or the mountain lion was a cub."
Xavier bristled. "He was full grown, you… you big toad," he spat. Insults weren't his strong suit, but he wasn't about to back down from this loud-mouthed schnook. "And the story's not lame. It all happened."
"Oh, shut up!" snapped Pronk, clearly not buying it. "I've seen your old man. That old one-eyed mange motel couldn't take my dad, never mind a cat three times his weight."
Xavier growled low in his throat. Calling him a liar was bad enough, but nobody talked that way about his dad. "Take that back," he demanded, his fists drawing tight.
"No, you shut up," Pronk shot right back.
"Take it back!"
The first punch was so quick even Xavier hardly knew he'd thrown it. One second they were facing off. The next, both of them were tumbling – Pronk backwards – with Xavier's fist extended and Pronk's face whipped to one side.
Pronk tried to fight back at first, and even managed to connect a few hard punches. However, Xavier's blood was in full boil. Amid a relentless salvo of punches and shouts of "Fight! Fight! Fight!" he somehow managed to get Pronk's horns jammed into the packed snow. Unable to move his head, the antelope was ready prey to the full force of every vengeful blow.
Suddenly, amid yells from the other kids to scram, a hoof thrust down and grabbed Xavier roughly by the scruff of his neck, yanking him skyward.
"What's all this?" bellowed a voice behind him. It was loud, yet somehow cold and unflappable; the voice of Ms. Ona, Stalker Elementary's PE teacher and undisputed top disciplinarian. She rarely actually punished her students because she rarely had to. One did not simply argue with a cape buffalo.
On this occasion, though, Xavier didn't care if it was the hand of God that had grabbed him up. "Let me go!" he shouted, flailing ferociously. "That little puke-!"
"Quiet," snapped Ms. Ona before looking down at the subject of Xavier's rage. Pronk had blood running from both nostrils, and the left side of his face was swelling into the finest black eye you ever saw. He looked up at Xavier and – the cub was sure – stuck his tongue between his teeth before talking.
"O tuld him tuh stub makig ubb dub stories," he moaned. "Then he jubbed me ad-"
"Oh, save your breath," Ms. Ona scowled, seeing readily enough that however injured Pronk might be, there was nothing wrong with his ability to walk. She set Xavier down in the snow and pointed firmly towards the building.
"Principal," she ordered simply. "Now. I'll be by there after I get this one to the nurse's office."
Xavier was beside himself. That punk had started the fight plain and simple, and now he was going to be relaxing on one of the beds in the infirmary probably for the rest of the day. It just plain wasn't fair!
Things went about as well in the office as they had on the playground. Xavier told his story, but the principal – a stone faced, middle-aged porcupine – was unimpressed by Xavier's protests of extenuating circumstances.
"Frankly, I'm very disappointed," said he when the tale was done. "From what I know, you've always been so well-behaved. At any rate you've never come here for fighting before."
"But he said-!"
"Stop. Stop." The porcupine raised a paw. "I heard you before."
Xavier waited a painfully long time as the principal retrieved his file and opened it, consulting what teachers had said about him in the past.
"No major misconduct until today," he acknowledged, "but I will have to give you at least a day's in-school suspension for fighting. I'll also have to have a talk with your parents."
Xavier felt ill. He didn't know what a suspension was, but he went all cold inside as soon as his parents came up. In his gut, he suddenly doubted whether his dad would appreciate the retaliation against Pronk. After all, Dad and Mom both placed a high priority on the value of behaving and doing well in school.
"Now," continued his judge and jury, "please wait in the outer office until I've talked with Antlerson about this and made my final decision."
When Pronk came in a while later with ice on his eye and Kleenex sticking out his nose, he shot a poisonous look at Xavier before stalking into the inner office.
The final outcome might have been the work of Pronk's injuries, or it might have been escalated by some clever storytelling on his part. What is certain is that when Xavier finally left, he had three days' suspension.
The results at home were hardly any better.
"Why in the world would you do something like this?!" demanded his father that afternoon.
Xavier felt cornered. After his blood had cooled down, he'd begun to actually feel bad about beating up Pronk. No, though, he was back in defense mode.
"He said you were a one-eyed mange motel, and that you couldn't really beat up a mountain lion."
"And you thought that made it okay to beat him to a pulp? What have I said about fights – at school, no less?"
Todd Moonbeamer might have said more, but a flicker of movement caught his notice. Looking up, he observed his wife standing in the doorway, making a T sign with her paws.
He waved, forestalling whatever she wanted to discuss. She made a slashing motion across her throat as he continued to lecture their progeny.
Finally, Todd yielded to his wife's gestures. "Go up to your room," he ordered with more control than he felt at the moment. "And don't come down until we've finished this talk."
Xavier turned and stomped sullenly away for a few steps before bursting into tears and running the rest of the way up to his room.
It goes without saying that the cub was devastated. After bragging about his all-but-godlike father most of the day, he had somehow let that same father down. The result was at least half an hour saturating his pillow with grief – and to make matters worse, he honestly wasn't even certain what he had done wrong. He'd always been told to stay out of fights, of course, but his father fought and he was a hero. Shouldn't fighting a bad mammal make him a hero too?
A knock at the door disrupted his brooding. "Xavier?"
He bit his lip, not wanting to face another tirade. "I'm in here."
The door opened, and in came his father looking strangely tired. Fixing a weary gaze on his son, the veteran crossed the room and took a seat in the chair at Xavier's desk.
Xavier decided he'd better apologize for whatever he did wrong, and fast.
"Dad, I'm sorry I -"
"Son, I need to tell -"
They stopped, and just as Xavier began again his father raised a paw to stop him. "Let me speak first. I'll give you a chance, I promise, but I need to explain one thing."
Xavier reluctantly nodded, bracing for the worst.
"I owe you an apology for losing my temper like that. I got angry, I hurt you, and… and that was wrong. Will you forgive me?"
Nothing could have surprised Xavier more. It wasn't like his father never apologized, but this was the first time he'd asked him for forgiveness.
"Sure, Dad," he finally said, "but I still don't get this. You fight and that's good. I fight and everyone gets mad at me."
"Yeah, I should have explained that to begin with. There's a big difference between fighting someone dangerous and fighting because you're angry."
"But Pronk was making everyone think you were a big wimp," Xavier argued.
"Who cares?" came the quick reply. Dad spread his paws to emphasize his point. "You know what happened. I know what happened. What difference does it make even if nobody else believes it?"
Xavier had to admit this made sense in a strange way, but part of him still wanted to shut Pronk the Punk up and make him take back what he'd said.
When Xavier had said as much, his father nodded. "I understand that, but disciplining other kids isn't your responsibility. If someone was about to get beaten up and stepping in was the only way to stop it, that would be different. Insults, though? The day I need protection from a schoolboy's taunts and skepticism, I'll sell every medal I've got in a yard sale."
Up until then, Xavier had been starting to feel better. What his dad was saying didn't exactly seem like the most efficient way to deal with jerks like Pronk, but it was helpful and it did make sense. That last remark, though, took him like a punch to the stomach. He didn't really know how to articulate it even to himself, let alone express it clearly. Later he would realize that in saying that the efforts at protection weren't wanted or needed, it was like saying that Xavier himself wasn't wanted or needed.
For the moment, Xavier didn't understand this. Todd did, however, or at least enough to snatch at a solution. He rose from the chair, crossed the room, and knelt to look Xavier in the eye.
"You know what I do need from you, though?" he asked softly, laying a paw on Xavier's shoulder.
Xavier looked up expectantly. "What?"
Todd gestured towards the hallway. "Alice is getting older, son – and soon your mother and I will be having another boy too. You're a big brother, and it's time you started living up to some of those responsibilities."
"It is?" Xavier hadn't really thought about being a big brother as a responsibility before; it was just that he happened to be the oldest and biggest cub in the family.
"Heck of a lot more than you realize," came the reply, and for a moment that one eye got a far-off look in it as though gazing into the depths of time itself. Xavier thought he heard his father murmur something like, "I hope you never have to."
The moment then passed as Todd shook his head and went on. "You're a tough cub when you want to be, son. Your brother and sister are going to latch onto that, and it can either get them into trouble or keep them out."
Xavier was all ears. "So what should I do?"
Todd clapped his son on the shoulder warmly. "Watch out for them. Take care of them. Show them right from wrong. Your mother and I will take most of the weight there, but we're going to need your backup to pull it off. Alright?"
A sense of pride swelled that little chest. His dad wanted his help. His dad needed his help. More than that, he believed he could do it. Putting on a stern face, he nodded and saluted.
The old veteran laughed and ruffled the top of the cub's head. "Atta boy." Then he grew serious again. "Now, I know you're not going to like this, but we still need to deal with this business at school. I'll talk to your principal and see how much I can smooth things over, but your mother and I think it's only right that you write an apology for your part in things."
Xavier's jaw dropped. "What?!"
Naturally, it took no small amount of doing to convince Xavier that 'biting the bullet' as his dad put it was the best thing to do. In the end his father had to resort to blackmail and tell him that if he wanted to be a soldier he had to learn to follow orders.
There was a part of the story he didn't know about until sometime afterward, though. During the conversation before his dad came upstairs, his parents had agreed that it wouldn't do any good for the whole school to think their son was a liar. So while the father and son were having their little talk, Lisa went to the master bedroom and looked through a drawer for a newspaper her husband had been saving.
A couple of weeks later, when Xavier's apology had been delivered and talk had more or less died down about the legendary soldier, the students had more or less settled into their opinions on the matter. Some, of course, believed Xavier's claim that it all happened. Others sided with Pronk's assertion that it couldn't have, and that Xavier must have made it up or exaggerated.
Then one day the students were given a lesson on current events, and to that end an assortment of newspaper clippings were passed around to be discussed. Xavier frowned in confusion at the teacher's mischievous 'wait for it' smile and looked at the clipping he'd been handed. It was nothing very interesting; just something about a circus shutting down over labor issues. He wondered at the teacher's expression until a voice called out from the back of the room.
"Hey, Xavier, isn't this your dad?"