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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?"

Chapter Text

" But whatever the nature of the composite object, you must keep him praying to it; to the thing that he has made, not to the Person who has made him."

The Screwtape Letters  by C.S. Lewis

Missile after missile rained down around the squadron, bursting on the ground as the troops narrowly dodged one attack after another.

"Stay together, men!" Xavier shouted at the top of his lungs, waving the team's banner even as he dodged several mortars. "Stagger that formation on the left! Keep up the rate of fire! Ones, fire! Twos! Threes! Fours!"

His soldiers fought as he told them, sending their shots into the enemy force by volleys and then stopping to reload as others stepped forward or leapfrogged over them to deliver their salvos; cascade after cascade so that the foes had no chance to recover. Munitions fell among the enemy and struck on every side.

"Return fire!" shouted the other side's general, and shots came back thick as rain, downing troops and raising cries of anguish and grief.

"Stagger formation!" shouted Xavier, and his troops spread out; a vulnerable placement in close quarters, but ideal for this sort of combat. With more empty spaces than occupied, the enemy's weapons mostly missed their mark. He dodged one himself, then returned fire.

"General, half of our troops are hit!" shouted an otter clinging tightly to a tiger's back.

"Keep firing!" ordered Xavier. "We mustn't stop until that hill is ours!"

"Yes sir!" answered the lieutenant, darting forward to join the troops. "Come on, men!" he shouted to rally them. "They can take our lives, but they cannot take our FREEDOM!"

A roar rose up from the troops as they charged forward, and the redoubled assault drove the enemy back to their own fortifications at the top of a hill. Xavier's heart leaped. They were winning! This day was as good as theirs!

Then the enemy came out again with a new strategy.

"Hey, no fair!" shouted a small doe named Susan Deerkins. "They can't use tanks! It's cheating!"

Xavier clamped his teeth. It was just like the other general to play such a dirty trick. "Fall back to the fort and keep firing!" he shouted, backing down slowly himself. "Watterhund! Snarlof! To me!"

The otter and tiger duo from before whipped towards him and stood at attention with smart salutes, one barely at his knee and the other head and shoulders taller. "Sir!"

"I want you to slip around the back and go after them at the rear. Be sure to get past their bunker, and be careful. I think we've got their whole force out in the open, but it'd be just like Stallone to have some men in reserve. Understood?"

"Sir, yes sir!"

"Move out double time!"

As the pair took off, Susan looked over her shoulder at the general. "Are you sure that's a good call? I mean… well, it's them."

Xavier knew what she meant. His lieutenants were enthusiastic and good at relaying orders, but not much good in a fight when outnumbered by more than a dozen to one. Still, they knew the risks and had the right qualifications. "We're sending them as a diversion," he replied. "Those two couldn't get that wrong if they tried. Troops, keep firing and prepare the reinforcements!"

"Sir, yes sir!"

At that moment, a familiar voice cried out in anguish. One of the troops had taken a direct hit to the head; one Xavier knew all too well.

"TJ!" he cried, rushing to the side of a much smaller timber wolf covering an eye. "Are you alright? Come on, let me see!"

With some effort he pried the younger wolf's paw away from the stricken eye and took a careful look. "That was a heck of a hit. Let's get you out of here."

The young wolf gasped. "Too late for me, sir. Tell my… tell my mother I…"

Xavier couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing. "Oh, come on you goof! Your mother? She's my mom too and you'll see her in an hour. Now take a time out and put some snow on that eye. Start prepping ammo when you're up for it."

Todd Junior saluted and obediently slipped off to find a relatively quiet corner. He'd have a nice black eye to brag about for a while, but he was just fine otherwise.

"Hey!" Xavier barked to his forces, jumping in an instant back into character. They had slackened their barrage over the casualty and were losing ground. "Keep throwing those snowballs, troops! We've got a battle to win! Team four, fall back and prepare the secret weapon! All others, keep firing!"

Several of his more enthusiastic troops echoed his sentiment, shouting to rally their allies.

"Remember the Alamoose!"

"Blood and vinegar!"

"For Aslaaaaan!"

The troops resumed their assault, though it seemed futile as volley after volley of frigid missiles burst harmlessly against the other team's upraised sleds. The massive snowball fight had been cobbled together with kids from two neighboring boroughs, enlisting the aid of church youth group leaders, sports team coaches, and home school parents (to name a few) to get the kids out of their parents' fur for a few hours and make the best of a good winter weekend.

At that moment, a great tumult arose among the other team as a thunderous roar sounded beyond them. It was hard to hear, but Xavier was pretty sure he heard the otter yelling something about "killer monster snow goons."

"Release the secret weapon!" shouted Xavier. "RELEASE THE SECRET WEAPON!"

Team four, composed of the largest and strongest mammals in their assembly, rushed forward between their comrades and flung what at first seemed to be a salvo of unusually large snowballs. At the height of their arcs, however, each one burst to reveal a small furry figure inside. Half a dozen squirrels, flying and otherwise, popped out of their snowy disguises and fell upon the enemy, who were totally unprepared thanks to the tiger and otter flanking their rear. To make matters worse, the rear barrage was mostly chunks of their own snow fort.

The squirrels went to their work with reckless glee, dropping onto unsuspecting heads and darting or leaping from one figure to the next. Hats were upended. Little bits of snow were flung into faces. Tails flashed before startled and bewildered eyes.

Xavier saw his chance as the opposing team fell into total disarray. Gripping the team's flag, he raced ahead and cut around the enemy force. As he did, he spotted a colt across the field, running headlong in the other direction. Their eyes met.

'Stallone.' Of all the mammals in the other army, General Alexander Stallone was the special object of Xavier's resolve. He would beat that smug horse or die trying. Putting on an extra burst of speed, he raced for the remains of the enemy fort and thrust his flagpole into the middle of it.

"Victory!" came two simultaneous shouts. One came from him. The other came from behind, where Xavier turned to see his crestfallen brother and several other young mammals gazing at Alex Stallone, who proudly stood in the middle of their fort. Using his long legs, he had vaulted over their last efforts to stop him and now stood proudly by his own freshly mounted flag.

Xavier sighed and turned to the umpire on a nearby hill; an assistant rugby coach two or three years older than himself. "How about it, Bogo?!"

The cape buffalo gazed out over the field as both teams waited on his command. Their town pride was on the line. He looked from one to the other and bellowed out his verdict.

"Sudden death!"

Both teams uttered their own outcries; complaints mingled with exultation at the spectacle to come. Xavier dusted himself off and strode to the middle of the park to meet his opponent.

"Ever heard of David and Goliath?" he smartly asked the horse, who was easily half again his size.

Stallone nodded smugly. "Yeah, just one problem. They didn't-"

"Alright!" called out Bogo, who had come in to join the two. "You know the rules. Grapples only; no punching, kicking, biting, or body slams and absolutely no pile drivers. First to pin the other five seconds wins. Ready?"

Both combatants nodded, spreading their feet and readying for battle. Bogo rolled a snowball and threw it up in the air.

Poof.

As soon as the ball hit the ground, the wolf and horse were at it hammer and tongs. They grabbed, twisted, and tried to hook one another's feet with their own. Stallone managed to get a grip on Xavier's coat, but before he could drive his advantage home the wolf slipped out and hurled a double pawful of snow in his face. Stallone reeled back at the maneuver, and Xavier hastily hit him with a full-body tackle. They fell together, Stallone toppling backwards into the snow. Xavier quickly lay across his chest, aiming to hold him flat as Bogo began to count.

"One… two… three…"

With a fearsome lunge, Stallone pushed himself up and in a moment reversed their positions. Xavier let out a grunt as his back slammed into the ground, and then struggled furiously to rise. It was no use. The count reached five and the battle was over amid the cries of both teams.

Alex got up, then reached out a hoof to pull Xavier up as well. "Too bad you took off your coat, bro. You must be soaked. Hope your mom's got the hot chocolate ready."

Xavier shook himself, then growled through a grin and punched Alex on the arm. "You are the lowest."

An hour or two later, as the two sat at Xavier's kitchen table, no stranger could have recognized the fearsome adversaries who had fought such an epic battle. Sons of two mammals who had been friends and fellow soldiers, the two often referred to themselves as cousins; cousins in arms, they would clarify when this drew puzzled and occasionally disapproving looks. After the death of Alex's father, Andrew Stallone, Xavier's father had taken it on himself to look after the fallen soldier's family.

"That was a dirty trick you pulled, going after our snow fort like that," Alex complained. "Not to mention throwing snow in a wrestling match. That was a total foul."

Xavier waved an index claw. "Tut tut tut. All's fair in love and war."

"Huh," chuckled Mrs. Moonbeamer from the stove. "Shows what you know about romance."

"Ooh, let me get you some aloe for that burn," groaned Alex gloatingly. Then with a playful grin, he added, "Or maybe I'll just pin you down in the snow again."

The remark about cold things reminded Xavier of his brother. "How's your eye, TJ?" he asked.

The young wolf, about eight years younger than Xavier, looked up through his good eye while holding a bag of frozen grubs to the other. "How's it look?" he asked, removing the cold pack.

Alex made a show of wincing. TJ's fur favored his mother's light gray more than his father's pitch black, making the swollen and darkened skin around the injury all the more visible. "You ain't gonna be catching the ladies with that bruise, man."

"Yuck," objected TJ, putting the pack back in place. "Who'd want to?"

The boys laughed, and Xavier patted his brother on the head. "You got the black badge of courage, kiddo."

TJ frowned. "I still say we should have won. We had the better strategy."

"You guys were good," Alex admitted. "Just not good enough. Shoulda had someone bigger take me on, Xav."

"I'll pin you yet, hay-breath," promised Xavier. Ever since seeing his father pulverize that cougar years ago, he had been determined to prove himself beyond his weight class in every sport, including wrestling. At sixteen he could already hold his own against his father at arm wrestling, and had enough muscle on him to be the envy of half the guys in school and the interest of nearly all the girls. "Go Beyond" had become all but a motto to him, second only to "Semper Fi." Despite this he was still second to the wiry Alex at old-school wrestling.

"Man, you can't beat someone a hundred pounds above you with grapples," Alex told him, scooping up a small cluster of hay stems and dipping them in sauce. He downed them, then followed with a swig of hot chocolate. "You gotta use ewe-doe on someone my size."

Xavier knew ewe-doe was useful. He'd managed to best Alex at that and a handful of other styles more than once. Coming from the line he did, though, he was resolved to be the absolute best at every kind of physical combat in the book.

"What do you say we settle this over a round of Call to Arms?" he asked, jerking his thumb toward the living room.

"Oh, I'm all over that," Alex chuckled. "Come on, TJ. You only using one eye, so it'll only sting Xav half as much to have you watch him get stomped."

"Stop eating your hooves, Alex," warned Xavier, "or you won't leave any room to have those words for dessert."

As the boys and their bickering disappeared, Lisa shook her head. Those two had enough testosterone between them for six boys, honestly. Yet as amusing as their antics were, what really preoccupied her at the moment was their talk about Xavier going into the army – a prospect which, she had to honestly admit, made her uneasy.

She admired her husband and his brothers and sisters in arms as much as Xavier himself did. Every time she saw Todd's medals or heard him discuss his military days, she was proud of what he had done; proud to be his wife. Most females in her generation, or the one to come for that matter, would never know such a man let alone share in his life. She had even learned a good deal about the military herself, and taken up a weapon, largely to better understand the wolf she loved. Between that and what an impressionable age Xavier had been when he first witnessed his father in action, was it any wonder the boy all but worshiped his sire?

Yet every time she took note of her husband's eye patch or saw the scar underneath it, and every time she saw in him the lingering wounds down deeper yet, or spoke with the dear Mrs. Stallone or her brood, she knew also the terrible price that honor could bring with it. No mother worth the title could help some worry at the thought of her son taking shots from some faceless enemy overseas, or perhaps one day waking up his wife with flashbacks and night terrors of things done and friends lost in the war. Still less could she stand the idea that he might not get that far.

For at least the thousandth time, she found herself whispering into the empty room, "God, it's me, Lisa. I know I've said this before, but… please take care of Xavier. Whatever it takes, just… watch out for him, please."

That silent prayer offered up, she sighed and closed the novel. Xavier was a good boy; so good in fact that several times she and his father had left him in charge of his siblings for hours at a stretch, and never once had he given them cause to regret it. Things would work out for him somehow.

"Wait, say that again?"

It was a few days after the gaming interaction, and at the recruiting office Xavier had just received the most striking news of his life.

The recruiter, an antelope, spread his hooves helplessly. "I'm sorry, son, but your paperwork came back today. You've been denied."

Xavier shook his head, unable to believe his ears. "Denied for what? What's wrong with my qualifications?"

Putting his hooves together as if to pray, the ungulate pointed them at Xavier. "Simply put, it's your psychological profile. They looked at your history and decided you just weren't cut out for being a soldier."

"Not cut out for it?" Xavier scrunched his face in disbelief. "What's wrong with my history?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say."

"Not at liberty?!" It was all Xavier could do not to start raising his voice. It felt as if the recruiter had yanked the rug out from under him and then busted a chair over his head for good measure. "You mean I'm being rejected from the army and you won't even tell me why?"

"It's not that I won't tell you. It's that I can't. This isn't a decision I get to make, you know. That's from higher up the chain."

Xavier lowered his forehead into his paws. "This… this isn't happening. Sir, I've been preparing for this practically my whole life. Isn't there something I can do to… I don't know, prove myself or appeal this or something?"

"I'm sorry, but they said what they said. I can put you in for the reserves or a support corps, but as far as full-time active duty is concerned you're just not getting in."

For a long moment Xavier could barely even process what he was hearing. Then something snapped inside him. These people couldn't just smash his lifelong dream and then offer him a consolation prize like that. Reserves? Support? He smacked his paws down on the table top. "Forget it," he snapped, pushing back from the table and getting up to leave.

"Kid…"

"I said forget it. I'm not interested in those options."

"Kid!"

"Just drop it! And My name's Xavier."

"Xavier, you forgot your backpack!"

It was more than Xavier could stand as he doubled back and retrieved his bag. As soon as he was out of the recruiting office he started running. He almost got himself hit by a car, but frankly he didn't care. He just wanted to put as much distance between that recruiting office and himself as possible. Yet no matter how far he went, the word just kept echoing in his mind.

' Denied.'

' Denied.'

' Denied.'

How in Heaven's name was he going to tell his dad?

Later that night at supper, Todd asked about the recruiters and Xavier nearly choked.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down there," the old wolf chided gently, slapping his son hard on the back. "Remember which tube's for the food."

Xavier coughed a little, re-swallowed the mouthful he had barely managed not to hock all over his plate, and took a big gulp of water. "Yeah, what I get for trying to answer with food in my mouth. What was the question?"

His father gave him an odd look, backed by the rest of the family like a five-part harmony. "I said, how did things go at the recruiters?"

Xavier scrambled in his mind for an answer; any answer at all except the ugly truth. "Oh, yeah. There was kind of a hangup with the fine print, but it's in the works."

Todd nodded. "Oh, well that's good then," he affirmed before spearing another bite of chicken. Then, mercifully, he turned to remark to his wife on the fine cooking. Xavier tried not to be too obvious as he inwardly heaved a sigh of relief. He'd weaseled out of that one, but it wouldn't end there. Dropping his plans to go into the army would rate right up there with a planet abandoning its orbit, and his father was like a professional astronomer. He'd have to think up something else, and soon.

He spent the rest of the evening trying to think of a plan, but the results were rather disappointing. Retreating to his room probably did more harm than good, given that it was practically a shrine to the military. The walls were lined with more posters than a subway station, from army posters to exercise charts to Chuck Boarris' Principles for Living. Every shelf – and there were a fair number of them – was lined with books on every conceivable subject useful to becoming the finest soldier since… well, since his dad. What space wasn't occupied by these belonged to models of military vehicles and even a few replica weapons meant to get him used to the weight, feel, and construction of what he'd be using in the army. It was, his mother sometimes joked, enough to make the Verminator nervous.

Mechanically, he picked up a model Humvee; the first one he'd made, less than six months after the break-in, with his father's help. Amid this vast collection his whole future felt uncertain; his identity called into question. It was like what a lot of kids dreaded about finding out they were adopted, or that the mammals they thought were their fathers weren't really their fathers. It felt as if he had no certainty if he wasn't aimed at being a soldier.

'No. No, it's not over yet. There's got to be a way; there has to be,' he told himself, clenching a fist. He'd figure out a way to convince the recruiter or whoever else he had to that he was fit for the army. He'd be good enough. He'd be strong enough. Whatever it took, he'd…

He realized too late that he'd still been holding the model when he clenched his fist. He hadn't even noticed the crunching of plastic. Now he stared helplessly at the shattered vehicle, and saw a perfect metaphor of all his hopes and dreams.

A knock sounded at the door, and he hastily hid the model. Maybe he could fix it later. "What do you want?" he called.

Todd Moonbeamer opened the door. "Mind if I come in?" he asked.

Xavier shrugged, not sure how else to answer. His father apparently took that as permission, walked in, and sat next to him on the bed.

"They turned you down, didn't they?"

The remark was so apropos that it took Xavier a moment to process it. "What do you…?"

"You're terrible at lying, son. I'm surprised anyone at the table bought your story about a delay, and if I know you there's only one thing that could upset you enough to make something like that up."

Xavier's head and heart sank like stones, and a strong paw descended on his back.

"Want to go outside? I always think clearer in fresh air."

The fact was that Xavier didn't want to go outside or do much of anything else. He felt as naked and helpless as a baby, and he hated it with every fiber of his being. Worse yet, it was all under the scrutiny of his father, the one mammal he had feared most would find out.

All the same, he had no will to refuse, and so out they went.

It was a beautiful, crisp evening apart from a hint of imminent rain in the air, but as one might expect Xavier hardly noticed. He did notice that his father was steering their course down to a secluded area in a nearby park where the two of them had often wrestled or fished or engaged in any number of other sports suited to two hardy males. It almost seemed like rubbing it in, somehow. All of that, and what good was it?

At last Todd stopped and sat them both down.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

Xavier sat still as a statue for a moment before shaking his head. "Do you think I'm alright?"

Todd shrugged. "Well, frankly I'm guessing you feel like your heart's been ripped out."

That was a pretty good description of it, actually. In fact it took Xavier no imagination at all to fancy that, as empty as his chest felt right then, he could have felt a gaping hole right in the middle of it if he had but the energy to lift his paw. "I don't even get it," he admitted. "He wouldn't even give me a clear answer about why I wasn't cut out. Just something about my psychological profile, he said."

The old wolf nodded quietly, saying nothing; suggesting nothing; judging nothing.

"Do you think it was the couple of times I got in fights as a kid?" Xavier asked helplessly, trying to find some rational explanation for the whole mess. "Maybe I just…"

"If you try to figure it out, son, you'll drive yourself crazy. Trust me, I know it hurts."

"That's easy for you to say," Xavier snapped. "You got into the army."

If he had expected this to put his father off and maybe end the conversation, he was wrong. All Todd answered was, "And your late uncle Andrew never got out."

A solid right hook couldn't have stunned Xavier more, and he realized that all things considered his father had been hit harder. It didn't exactly make for much comfort, though. All the young wolf could do was clench his fists in impotent grief. "Dad, I just… I just wanted to be like you; to be a man. That's all I wanted."

In the long silence that followed, he could feel his father's disappointment in the son who had failed to measure up. Todd could feel his son's disappointment, and searched his mind for something – anything – to say that would ease the sting.

"So that's it?" he asked at last. "You're just going to give up?"

Xavier swallowed. "He told me they're not going to take me. Isn't that all-"

"That's not what I'm talking about, son." Todd drew back to look Xavier in the face, though Xavier did not meet his gaze. "Frankly, I don't care if… I mean, whether you make it into the army isn't what matters. I would have loved to see you in uniform, absolutely, but there's no way it could make me any prouder than I always have been."

"Of what?" demanded Xavier. Even if he hadn't been emotionally overwrought at the moment, the notion of unearned pride was like a participation trophy to him; just a prize for showing up. Like it was said in some movie or other, if everyone was special then nobody was.

"Of what? What's not to be proud of? Remember…? Oh, remember that time when I got home late while your mother was sick, and found out you had fixed dinner and put your siblings to bed?"

Xavier remembered, but didn't see what that had to do with anything. "I burned the lasagna and ruined Mom's favorite cooking pan."

"So you tried too hard. Big deal. You stepped up even when nobody asked you to because you were around and someone had to do it. And what about how you couldn't wait to get a job because you wanted to buy your first car with your own money? Or the time you came home with bloody knuckles and a black eye because some punk was making passes at your sister? I'll have you know the guys at work couldn't shut me up about that one for a week."

Again, he remembered. Still, all that hardly seemed so important when he'd had one goal in life and had failed completely.

"Son, I know you're disappointed, but I couldn't care less what the army thinks of you or whether you make their cut. If you think being a man means you have to do everything I did, or that you somehow had to earn my DNA, then… well, then I've failed you as a father."

These last six words so stunned Xavier that for a moment his whole brain just froze over. He didn't know what to think, and so was still stuck on that part when his father's paw descended on his shoulder with a firm hold.

"Xavier, listen to me very carefully. Some great men are soldiers, and some are civic leaders, and heck, some just work a plain old nine-to-five. That's not the point. You're strong, you care about others, you've got great character, and because of that and that alone you're all the man I could ever want you to be."

Xavier felt himself tearing up again, and he totally lost it at the next words.

"You want to make me proud? Then keep using what I've taught you. Keep bettering yourself. Because honestly, if you went and took a whole regiment single-pawed I would still see you as the same man that I see right now. It's not your career or accomplishments that make you worthwhile. It's the other way around. You and the heart behind your actions are what make everything you do worthwhile. So don't ever tell yourself any different."

For the rest of his life, Xavier never did know what he could have said to that.

Xavier wasn't surprised that his mother took the news of his dismissal in stride, and though he expected his siblings to be surprised and have questions he was relieved when his father took it on himself to field their questions on the matter.

He was quite surprised, though – and it may be said that he was rather unjustified in it – when Alex said as little as possible and made no banter at all about the news. Indeed it was a full day before he ventured to ask whether, having missed out on the army, Xavier would be going into the reserves or doing something else.

"I'm not sure," was the wolf's frank reply. They had gone down to a duck pond and were engaged in seeing who could throw a rock the farthest. "Maybe it's just having the rug yanked out, but the whole future just feels… I don't know, blank somehow."

Alex rolled his eyes just a little. "Gee, having everything you ever planned on in life suddenly changed. I can't imagine why that would make you feel uncertain." Ducking a swat, he winged his next rock out a good five feet past Xavier's furthest throw yet and shrugged. "Blanks can be a good thing, though, right? It's like having a clean page left in a sketch pad, right? No forms to fill out, no circles to fill in; speaking of which, any thoughts on college?"

Again Xavier had no definite answer. He had discussed these things with his dad, who had advised against immediately plunging into any other given pursuit just because it was the next best thing or something to that tune. Reserves or Coast Guard, despite occasional wisecracks (which, Todd assured him, were just the military equivalent of sibling rivalry), were perfectly valid courses, but neither was worth chasing at once just as a default.

"I might just hold off college for a year, you know? Pick up some new experiences, try a job or two; unwind a bit."

"Heck, yeah," Alex laughed. "You've been so tightly wound about the army I thought your tail was going to start spinning and lift you off like that fox in the cartoons."

Xavier shook his head. "What about you?" he asked, changing the subject. "What are you planning to study?"

Alex got a conspiratorial look on his face and glanced around as if he expected someone might be listening in. "Well, I've kept this pretty quiet, but I think I'm gonna go into police work."

Xavier thought about it for a moment. Alex was hardly as strict and rigid as you might expect a cop to be, but on the other paw he was a good guy. No matter what the situation was, you could always find him standing for what he believed was right, and he'd never hesitate to help someone; downright Christian, as they used to say. To top it off, sometimes that lack of rigidity had its perks. With all this in mind, the wolf nodded thoughtfully. "I could see you doing that. Maybe I'll try it too."

The horse laughed, mixing a pronounced neigh in with the merriment. "Don't do it, man. I've seen you in shooter games. You go on the force and you'll get killed being someone's meat shield or something."

Xavier was incensed. "Are you saying I'm a lousy fighter?"

Alex adopted a profoundly guilty look. "Noooo."

The insincerity couldn't be more transparent, but Xavier decided to accept it. "Good."

Down came the other horseshoe. "Not compared to your little sister." Alex laughed and jerked away, narrowly dodging a swipe from Xavier's paw.

"Do you have to make a joke about everything?" Xavier asked, trying not to laugh.

"Of course," Alex reasoned with a grin. "It's the strong ones who smile when things are rough. Someone's got to let everyone know that things are okay, right?"

The grin was nothing if not infectious. "Yeah, I could see you as a cop," Xavier said decisively, grinning openly. Then, thinking on it again, he added, "That or in some political office."

"Oh, heck no," Alex laughed. "I'd never make it there. I'm a terrible liar."

Albert Einstein is often credited with saying that everyone is a genius, but if you expect a fish to climb trees he'll grow up thinking he's an idiot. In Xavier's case, we see that sometimes this teaching can be entirely accidental, self-inflicted, or both. Boys and young men may also suffer from more the opposite predicament, as looking back I see I did growing up. I had ample assurance and affirmation in my masculinity, but a very vague and limited notion of what being a boy growing into a man meant. I had a general idea that it would involve having a wife and kids, growing a beard, and probably riding a motorcycle like my dad, but in terms of character I think about the closest I had to a definite masculine role model was Littlefoot from The Land Before Time. To be fair, Littlefoot's a great character model, but let's face it: he's not exactly Mr. Incredible or Chuck Norris. Learning what it actually meant to mature on a practical level - to truly cowboy up, as they say - was a challenge.

These days I suspect many of our young men get hit from both directions, faced with disdain or even outright hostility toward their boyishness on the one hand and a staggering lack of healthy images of manliness on the other. With masculine norms being widely and often aggressively stamped out, expecting a boy to thrive in our culture – and especially in most modern schools – is like expecting an acorn to thrive in salt water and then saying it's inferior to a coconut when the coconut can sprout later and the acorn just dies. Perhaps this is part of why, at least here in America, we have such a massive push for home schooling. I am certain, if nothing else, that the absence of healthy fatherhood and nurturing is a key factor in our crime rates and other societal ills.

I think that more attention is generally given – and certainly attention should be given – to issues of feminine self-image such as being expected to dress a certain way, appeal to men a certain way, and live one's life twenty or thirty pounds underweight. I've got plans to address that side of the coin in another story, but I want this chapter if nothing else to point out that we can't leave our boys behind. In Xavier's case it worked out alright. He had a man to set him back on his feet and get him walking again when the world drove him down to his knees. Many others are not so fortunate. But for the grace of God, I would not have been, and I know that because for a long time I wasn't.

Easter Eggs

Calvin and Hobbes (3)

American Tale

Batman Beyond: Return of the Joker

My Hero Academia (2)

Zootopia offical character (besides Bogo)