TWO, PIERIS RAPAE

THERE WAS NOTHING more Fleur loved in the world than to spend time with Dean. Just being next to him was enough for her, whether the time they spent was in silence or pure laughter, it didn't matter as long as he was there. The special moments they had shared over the years were the memories she'd treasure in her heart till death.

The warm sun was beginning to emerge from the sky. Its rays of light kissed their soft skin as they laid under the large tree in the cool shade.

The grass moved to the rhythm of the wind and brushed against the young girl's bare legs (who was laying in between her father's arm and torso). Fleur watched him draw one of the many detailed butterflies that filled the man's journal each labeled with made-up names, and with every stroke of the wooden pencil, the butterfly was slowly brought to life. The wings were illustrated with distinctive patterns and shading that gave them more depth.

They originally came out here so Dean could give extra lessons to Fleur on how to write and read because like most children, she's gotten the privilege to learn. Which she was grateful for. She could read bits and pieces with no problem.

Dean's fingers were stained gray from the led due to using them for the blending of his art. It didn't bother him though, his tongue rested on the side of his mouth in between his lips- expression as calm as ever. When he wasn't on missions with the scouts and fighting for his life he took advantage of the off days to simply relax. Anyone would.

A hobby he picked up during his small breaks was drawing butterflies. Ever since he laid eyes on the majestic insect he wanted to keep that memory of it so wouldn't forget. And when he learned that there was more than one kind of it he yearned to learn as much as he could about them. They were such interesting creatures to him.

Fleur never quite understood his fascination with the insects, they were beautiful that was obvious. But out of everything why butterflies? Why not flowers? They were beautiful too. She guessed it didn't matter why, he was passionate about it that seemed like enough of an explanation.

"Why do you draw them? The butterflies?" She asked still, out of curiosity.

The man glanced down at his daughter trying to find an answer then back at his journal as he labeled his finished drawing- painted lady. "Do I need a reason to?" He responded knowing that it wasn't going to satisfy her.

"Uh no, I don't think so... but if you don't have one then why do it?" Fleur sat up to meet his amber eyes, "if you don't have one wouldn't it get boring someday? To draw with no purpose? What if you lose inspiration? That'd be sad, papa."

Dean's eyebrows raised sort of shocked in a way at his daughter's words. Who knew she cared so greatly for reasons as to why people do what they do?

"Fleur, come here." He gestured for her to sit down again next to him. He understood that she was getting older, that with age comes wanting to learn and question everything especially recently turning ten- she was surely going to be more curious than others. That'll be the thing that makes or breaks her.

"Here's my lengthy answer. Not everything requires a reason for it. People do all sorts of things without one. For example gardening, they find joy in spending months watering, caring for flowers, and watching them bloom into gorgeous plants. It's just who they are. You do it because you want to. You develop habits. The same thing goes for liking something or someone." Dean explained, "Now for my simple answer, I just think butterflies are lovely." He smiled content with himself observing Fleur as her mouth shaped into an 'o'' somewhat understanding.

"I get it. I think..."

"You do?" The girl nodded her head 'yes' at him, "Good."

Dean handed his journal to Fleur in hopes to prove his point further not convinced that he got it across, "Which one is your favorite?"

Confused, the young girl took it, opening to a random page, and there her grey eyes skimmed through every butterfly. It was hard to pick just one. Each had its own unique markings that made them different from the others. Until her eyes landed on a specific butterfly. Smaller from the others for sure, this one had a brown dot on each of its four wings, its corners barely shaded, fading into the beige-colored paper.

It was the most plain-looking one compared to the others but she still liked it for some reason. "This one." Fleur pointed at the one labeled 'Pieris rapae'.

"And why do you like it?" He asked, pushing himself up from the ground and began to walk without his daughter noticing. He wanted to get his point across. Plus he needed a headstart.

"Because... I just do- Oh." She muttered to herself in deep thought, her eyebrows relaxed finally grasping her father's words, "I don't have to give you a reason, right? Is that how this works? Papa?" She asks but no response comes from him.

Once she looked to her side and realized that he wasn't there anymore and halfway down the steep hill she quickly arose with his book in hand to chase him.

"Hey?! Wait for me!" She shouted at him to stop but she noticed his pace was quickening. Is he serious? How childish, she thought. With her competitive side kicking in she ran as fast as could without a thought of slowing down seeing he wasn't either. Fleur planned on passing him and reaching home first since he initially intended to win.

Had he completely forgotten about their truce after Fleur shamefully beaten him in a race up the hill?

Catching up to him, she attempted to run past him like she told herself she would. However, a pair of large hands grabbed onto her and picked Fleur up mid-run.

"I didn't think you'd catch up," Dean admits jokingly holding his daughter in his arms. "So you like the Peiris rapae one? Kinda boring." Fleur gave him a look as if she were offended.

"They're my favorite as well."

One of Fleur's favorite memories played itself like dream in her mind when she slept. When she needed a source of comfort. She did it when there was unwanted noise coming outside her room. Usually, from strange guests, her grandmother welcomed them into their home.

But there wasn't any noise. There was only silence. The kind of silence where every little noise sends a shock of fear throughout her body, the kind that made the young girl shiver once in a while, the suspension of knowing what waited downstairs once Fleur opened her eyes. Oh, how she hated it. Perhaps if she just kept them closed this nightmare would eventually end and just maybe instead of her grandmother's string of lies, it would be her father's warmth. If only he were here to wash away all the pain with a single hug.

He was good at that.

It was torment thinking of the impossible. She couldn't help it, it was something that brought her comfort like dreaming. She dreamt of somewhere far away and peaceful from here. Beyond the walls.

The creaking from the old wooden floorboards alarmed the girl who instantly shot up from her bed and looked around holding on tight to her sleeve. Her bare feet touched the cold surface sending a cold chill up her spine resulting in Fleur shivering. The journey from her bed to the door seemed to go forever. When touching the doorknob it sent another chill as she opened it.

The sound of scurrying made her uneasy, to say the least, she slowly made her way down the short dimly lit hall. Her small finger tracing the plain wall, carefully attempting to make her steps weightless.

The air suddenly became denser than usual as she made her way down. Maybe it was her imagination causing things to slow down or she's lost it but she swore she could hear her own heartbeat echoing in her ears. The girl's frail body peeked out to see the old woman devouring three loaves of bread like she's never eaten before in one sitting. At this scene, Fleur's stomach began to growl remembering how tasty they smelt yesterday. She clutched her stomach attempting to stop it from making any more noise, which failed. Maybe she could go back to the bakery later and beg Stanley for food. He'd always give in.

Who could say no to those precious silver eyes?

The girl went to peek again only to find out that her grandmother was staring at her, Fleur's body became unsteady- her weight shifting from one foot to another. The woman's face wasn't showing any sort of emotion.

"Come sit. Don't be scared." Mary said sounding like an order, pushing the last loaf of bread toward the child. Her voice was scaringly calm. Don't be scared? The little girl questioned her words internally. It's not like she hasn't tried that before. Her feet moved though, regardless of how scared she was her hunger was growing, somehow overpowering that fear.

Obeying the woman's order she took a seat like she was told to. The atmosphere grew so tense you could slice it with a knife. Fleur was suffocating in it. And even with food in front of her, she wasn't touching it.

Not yet at least. Not yet.

"You've been misbehaving a lot these past couple of days," there it was, the girl knew it was coming. "Why? I give you everything; your clothes, food, somewhere to sleep. So why is it that you're causing so much trouble for your poor grandma?" Mary seemed to look in distress, her eyes filling up with tears.

Fleur played the sleeve of her sweater nervously averting her gaze anywhere else but the woman as she bit the inside of her cheek. She knew the consequences of arriving home late, so why it is that she's on the verge of being frozen by just one look at her grandmother?

"I tell you to come back as soon as you finish running errands for me, " she says shuffling in her seat, her left hand still on her lap for some reason. "Where have you been spending so much time? It'd be nearly past dawn and you're off somewhere doing god knows what."

Fleur's eyes timidly looked up at her guardian afraid to give a response. Whichever way she replies would result in her being wrong. It always ends like that. She's been in this position before, she knew all too well her words would be manipulated and turned into something totally different. She couldn't win.

"You and that damn mother of yours are so similar it makes me so sick, always causing trouble. If it weren't for her or you Dean would be alive and I wouldn't be stuck taking care of you!" She yelled angrily at the child who reminded her so much of Léonie. Their resemblance was uncanny, even if she tried to forget all the heavy secrets Léonie left on her and her son's shoulders Fleur was too much of a reminder that someday he would come searching for his daughter and Mary would be dead before she could explain herself.

Dean knew the consequences, that he'd die in the end, Léonie warned them they both would. Perhaps it was her beauty that hypnotized him into taking her daughter in without hesitation or his kind heart. Whatever it was Mary never wanted to be a part of it. Even if she was the one who saw the young woman struggling to keep herself up that night. Had she never said anything and turned a blind eye then maybe some other person, family, would've taken her in instead.

That's what created this spiral of hatred against the young girl who was completely clueless about Mary's situation. No one ever took the time to sit down with Fleur and explain everything, she was kept in the dark not knowing her own past. Who her 'real' father was and where he was.

"You... knew her?" Fleur's words slipped through her lips unconsciously dismissing the evident disgust in Mary's tone. She's heard it all in the past, no point in letting it get to her again now.

"Of course I knew her. I was the one who sent Dean out to help Léonie when she appeared all covered in blood with a baby in hand. That baby being you." She tells the little girl who seemed to light up at the little information about her mother. Which only angered the woman. If only her mother hadn't brought all her baggage and secrets from across the ocean to here.

Léonie, Fleur repeated the name to herself in her head. Such a beautiful name made from the sweetest honey created by bees. She wondered what she was like, what her favorite color was, or if she enjoyed admiring the sky like her. No, she'd be more into flowers, Fleur decided.

"Why was she-" The red-haired girl tried to ask, now hitting her that Mary said her mother was covered in blood but was immediately cut off.

"No, Enough. No more talk about her. Eat. I don't need you dying on me either." Her grandmother ordered. As if she cared what happened to Fleur.

Fleur looked at the bread for a second, snatching it with a hard grip as if someone were to take it away from her. She bit into it and barely chewed before swallowing. Granted, it wasn't the best way of eating, she knew that. It was an efficient way of getting every last crumb in her stomach because sometimes her grandmother wouldn't let her finish and take it away. She says Fleur didn't deserve a full meal or one at all.

Recalling her father's words, did her grandmother do what she's done because she wants to? Did she find joy in it? It was hard for her brain to comprehend her actions. The intentions behind her doings were not innocent or reasonable. They were vile. The woman's logic puzzled Fleur. It clashed with what she was taught and what's she's grown familiar with these last six months being under Mary's care.

It's just who they are.

Mary didn't need a reason, Fleur quickly accepted. And even if she had one, it wasn't right. Or did she deserve it? No... Yes. Of course not. Who deserves to get their hands burned for every little mistake? No one.

Squeezing her eyes shut in conflict with her own mind Fleur gulped down the last piece of bread. The girl's eyes flutter open again meeting her grandmother's as the woman placed the hot metal weapon on the table.

The bar had gleams of blues and oranges that parallelled a fire. The steam being released from it only provoked more fear. In a split second, Fleur's heart leaped into her throat, terror rearing within her. Tears began to take over her silvery eyes, shards of different shades of grey rattled around her pupils before they shrank from the fright- resembling a rainstorm.

The girl's bottom lip trembled from the scorching fear steaming off her now, she didn't want to give the woman the satisfaction of seeing her scared, yet, she couldn't help but let herself shudder in defeat. And to think she wanted to become a soldier. She couldn't even handle her own grandmother let alone a Titan.

The metal hadn't touched her hands, still, quiet sobs escaped her mouth.

"Don't cry now. You know the drill, Fleur. Naughty girls need punishment."

"No-no-no. I don't." The young girl pleaded in her head too afraid to say anything out loud as she backed away from her. Any sound that tried to leave her mouth was inaudible. Fleur choked on air as she came to a stop hitting the front door. Sliding down it, cowering, hiding her frail body in her knees- acting as some sort of protection.

Mary was inches away from her, almost towering Fleur who was crying uncontrollably. Being vulnerable wasn't something Fleur loved. In fact, she hated it. In her eyes, it just meant she was weak and powerless. It meant being helpless and that wasn't what she wanted others to think of her. That's not even close to being a fragment of who she is.

Yet, she has no option but to tremble.

The girl wondered if the woman has ever felt the way she's feeling, hopeless and scared, has she ever encountered someone greater than herself who looked down upon the weaker. If she hasn't then that's alright, she wouldn't wish this feeling even on her worse enemy.

Each step the old woman took echoed in her ears to which she covered them with her wounded hands attempting to block the eerie sound. It worked sometimes when she wanted to shut out everything and everyone. The world became completely still. Her heart didn't feel like it was about to fail from fear- it was safe in the reality she created.

But it wasn't working.

Fleur decided to peek, apprehensively opening an eye, through the blurred vision caused by her tears she saw Mary still coming closer despite her crying. She showed no mercy. Not even for own blood.

Thump thump thump, there it was again. The sound of her heart beating rapidly, it echoed slowly in her head though, like it always did.

That's when the ground rumbled. It made it impossible to rid of any noise, it quaked causing everything to fall including the metal bar in Mary's hand. Rubble began to crumble off the ceiling. The house shook as well and soon the entire roof caved in knocking the two out unconscious.