# Alternate Ending 1 - Bloomer Version

Title: Alternate Ending 1 - Bloomer Version
Status: Complete
Characters: Anon, Fang, Samantha, Ripley
Rating: SFW
Classification: One Shot
Author: Anonymous
​
3 months.
It’s been 3 months since the hospital, the aftermath of what occurred at the end of the school year resting on my shoulders like a weight I would never be able to life off. My nightmares of Fang’s funeral have been growing increasingly lucid: Sometimes she’s buried next to Naser, other times she’s alone in the cold ground. As I wake from these dreams, sobbing for breath and scrambling in the dark for that, it takes me a little longer each time to realize the truth of what happened. When I do, I can calm myself, but only a little.
Fang somehow managed to survive her jump off the roof of Volcano High, her fall cushioned somewhat by some of the school’s precious gardens. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t thank Rosa and Stella from the bottom of my heart for that, despite the fact that I’ve seen neither of them for months. No one accompanies me on my daily trips to see Fang in the state-assigned hospital room, within the mental health wing of the local penitentiary. Just as no one came to see me as I lay in my own bed, with only my fears that Fang hadn’t survived to keep me company.
I give the guards at the front entrance of the ward a curt nod, receiving nothing in return. The two hulking raptors were more for show than anything, considering the charge they watch over, but nonetheless the two look like they could give Fang’s dad a run for his money.
I shouldn’t think about him.
The buzz of the security gate signals the start of my day as I’m admitted into the ward. I’ve come here every day since learning the truth, that Fang was alive, and each day my bank account dwindles down a little more. I haven’t even considered getting a job: Nothing can interrupt what I’m doing on these days. Eventually though, I’ll have to move out of my apartment in Skin Row. I clutch that a little tighter, shaking my head to banish those thoughts. I’ve still got some things to pawn before that day comes.
The room is brightly lit, the large windows on this side of the building letting in plenty of morning light, not at all what I would expect from a mental health ward. Fang sits upright in her bed, staring away from me. She seems to like staring out that window: Except for my daily visits, it’s the only contact she has with the outside world.
Well, the only contact she could have.
Smiling, I announce my presence as I walk over to her, just as I was told to do. “H-hey, Sugar Lips. It’s me, Anon.” I know better than to get any closer, not needing to look down to see the taped barricade placed around Fang’s bed by the orderlies. Fang gives an involuntary twitch as my voice brings her out of her reverie, turning her head to gaze somewhat in my direction. Her eyes, once the brightest amber, have dulled, her glassy orbs failing to track me as I quickly take my usual seat by her side. My voice snaps her attention back to me though, her arms straining by her sides; I guess the orderlies are using the cuffs again.
“I’ve brought it again, Fang. See, your guitar!” Quickly, I pop the battered yellow case open, pulled her guitar out to show her my most treasured possession. Fang’s mom sent it over to me, along with our prom photos, shortly after I got out of the hospital. She wanted me to have it, said I should show it to Fang. I think she hoped I would be able to life Fang out of whatever spell she had been under since that day.
I hoped so too. I’ve played at Fang’s bedside every day since learning she was in the hospital, each time getting just a little bit better. Fang would be so proud of how I’ve improved, probably calling me a dweeb for spending this much time on something.
Brushing the tears from my eyes, I sit quietly, hands resuming their practiced position over the guitar. It hasn’t been easy, trying to remember perfect that song she played for me in her bedroom, but I think I’ve just about got it now. Often, I would stay up so late trying to remember how that song went, that the only sleep I got would be on the public bus to the penitentiary hospital and back.
But all those sleepless nights were about to be worth it.
Tapping my foot in a mimicry of how Fang’s tail use to beat out rhythm, I set to playing our song, hers song. Glancing up from the strings, I can see Fang’s eyes slowly track my fingers as the crawl along the neck. Music seemed to soothe her, seemed to bring some part of her back to me, each time I played. In the beginning, I had tried talking to her, tried to explain where she was, but I knew now to let the music do the talking for me.
This morning is going exceptionally well: I haven’t hit a foul note yet, and Fang seems lucid enough that we may get through this without a screaming episode. Smiling at Fang, I drop my gaze back to my fingering once more, giving the guitar my total focus. I can feel the tears start to roll down my cheeks now, squeezing out past my tightly closed eyelids. I’m giving everything to this song now, my entire soul rolling out in the melodic harmonies and rifts that the only girl I’ve ever loved – the only girl to love me back – had written, all those days ago.
Eventually, the song is done, the final notes echoing in the empty room, a concert for just the two of us. My eyes finally blink open, my gaze still blurry from the tears. Scrubbing my eyes on my sleeve, I glance up, hoping to see something, anything, in Fang’s gaze.
What I see, is beyond belief.
Fang.
Staring back at me.
The girl I loved, the girl I still love, is looking back at me, staring ram-rod straight into my eyes. The fog from her own eyes is gone now, those beautiful amber orbs glistening with tears as she sees me for the first time in months. She lifts one hand slightly, the restraints on her bed preventing anything else, her shoulders quaking with sobs.
“A-anon…?”
At once, I go to her, the guitar clattering to the ground with an unhappy squawk as I wrap my arms around her. Her wings embrace me, the familiar soft down of her feathers touching me after so long is like a balm to my aching soul. We hold each other like this, our sobs the only thing to herald our long-awaited reunion.
Sobs.
After a while, I realize someone else is crying. Not daring to pull my arms from Fang for a second, I see her mother and father, standing in the doorway of her room. Her mother holds the bouquet of flowers she had brought loosely in her arms, her body wracked with sobs as Fang’s dad tries to comfort her. The ptero-patriarch’s shoulders shake as well, the first time I’ve seen him shed a tear. Now, it seems like he may never stop crying. With a wail, Fang’s mom rushes over to us, her father not far behind, wrapping Fang and I in a massive hug that goes on forever.
No one dares to speak a word, lest this moment break apart like glass. We simply sit there, embracing one another, sheading tears of joy.
Fang.
“You’ve come back to us…”