An Animorphs Christmas Carol

Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not own Animorphs.

Note: And now for my annual Christmas Carol adaptation. These things are really addictive.

My name is Jake.

I'm seventeen years old so I won't be old enough to enlist for another year and yet somehow I'm probably one of the most experienced soldiers in the country. I'm a veteran of a war that only came to light a few months ago and, according to son, I'm a bona fide American hero. More than that, I'm an Earth hero.

It's strange but even though we're the only species I've heard of that considers ourselves to be part of a subgroup (our nationalities or ethnicities) first and our species second, I still can't quite get myself into that proper species mindset. And, you know, if you can't get the youth to accept it…

And I am young, actually. I'm barely old enough to drive and not old enough to do pretty much anything else. I'm certainly not old enough to kill but it's hard to think back to a time before that.

I'm also, no matter what Marco might think, absolutely fine. So what if I'm not 'living it up' like he is? Even had the war never happened and someone offered me the chance to be a huge celebrity, I never would have accepted. It's just not my scene and never would have been.

And maybe I still live with my parents but most seventeen-year-olds do. Being a 'war hero' shouldn't mean that I'm obligated to get myself emancipated and strike out on my own the minute the war ended.

I keep telling Marco whenever he asks and sometimes when he doesn't but I don't quite think he believes me. When I see him he knows far too much about how I spend my days than he should given that we rarely do see each other. At this point, I'm convinced he's either talking to my parents or spying on me. You'd think that with his newfound celebrity lifestyle he'd have better ways to spend his time but then Marco's never liked to be predictable.

Take right now, for instance. I had gone out for a drive – it's not quite as freeing as flying but it's close – and when I got back I found Marco taking up all the room in the driveway. His car's not that big and I'm pretty sure he knows how to park better (not completely sure because I remember his first faltering attempts at driving) so it's probably intentional. I choose not to comment on it like he so clearly wants me to and just park on the street instead.

"Marco," I said civilly.

He waited patiently for a moment, then sighed as it was clear I'm not going to give him the reaction he wants. "Merry Christmas, Jake!"

"It's not Christmas until tomorrow," I pointed out.

Marco brightened. "What's that? I should tell you Merry Christmas in person tomorrow? Well, if you insi-"

"That wasn't what I meant," I cut him off. "Today is fine, really."

"It's really no trouble," he assured me.

"It might be a little," I countered.

"Seriously, Jake, you and your parents should come over to my place for Christmas dinner," Marco told me. "And by 'dinner' I actually mean 'lunch' but since it's Christmas we'll probably end up just having one big meal around two or so and then a snack later in the evening. It's what we did for Thanksgiving, after all."

"Sounds fun," I said noncommittally.

"Come on, Jake, it's our first Christmas since the war ended," Marco said imploringly.

Our first Christmas since Rachel died. Since Tom died. Since Tobias left. And even before that the last three Christmases were spent with the knowledge that the brother celebrating with us was a Yeerk slave hell-bent on destroying us. I mean, it was hard every day but some days, days that were supposed to be about family and good will towards all, were worse.

Last Christmas, Marco brought mistletoe to the barn to try and embarrass me and Cassie (Cassie. When was the last time I called her? I really should…). We managed to avoid it after the first surprise – not that I minded that much – but when Marco turned his sights on Rachel he was in for a surprise. Rather than getting embarrassed, of course, Rachel took it as a challenge and she and Tobias hadn't come up for air for quite awhile. Marco was left to try and explain the purpose to Ax and a good time was had by all.

It's strange how the war could have been so much happier than the end of it.

"Jake," Marco said again.

I started. What had he said?

Marco sighed again. "I asked if you and you parents wanted to come have Christmas with my family."

I shook my head. "I don't think so."

Normally Marco would have left it at that but I guess he was really worried or particularly excited about the prospect of spending Christmas with me because he kept staring at me. "And why not?"

Why not? It was so hard to put into words what I was feeling. Maybe it was Grinch-like but I just didn't want to deal with Christmas at all. I didn't want to deal with anything at all these days but certainly not something that was supposed to be so magical.

"I just want this to be a family thing," I said finally.

Marco went for a joke. "And we're not family?"

"No."

Marco looked hurt for a second before covering it up. "Oh, I see how it is. Well, if you change your mind then the offer's still good."

"I'll keep that in mind," I promised.

We stood there in awkward silence for a moment before Marco started to walk back to his car. "Take care of yourself, Jake."

"You, too," I responded perfunctorily.

With that, he waved at me and drove off. I thought about moving my car into the driveway but decided against it.

Marco and I never seemed to have much to say to each other anymore. Or at least I didn't. Marco, I firmly believe, can have an animated conversation with a brick wall. Things had been different before, I remembered. Once we'd been at a place where we could spend all day talking about whether cheese tasted green. It had been such a horrible waste of time but it had been the most fun I'd had that week.

I wasn't sure why Marco bothered anymore since it always turned out the same but I could see why he spent his time spying instead of putting himself through trying to actually have a conversation.

I went inside and saw my dad setting the table for dinner while my mom stirred pasta on the stove.

"Jake, excellent timing," my mom said. "Steve, grab an extra plate."

"Was that Marco's car I saw outside?" my dad asked as he did as requested.

I nodded. "Yeah. He stopped by to invite us to go over to his place tomorrow."

My parents looked hopeful.

"And?" my mom prompted.

I shrugged. "I told him that I'd rather stay here with you guys. But you can go if you want to."

My mom shook her head. "No, of course we're going to spend Christmas with you, Jake. You're our son."

Their only son this year. Their only son for however long I could hang on.

I had a quiet dinner with my parents before excusing myself to go up to my room.

Things have been strange with my parents ever since the war ended. Well, they were strange even back during the war. I was growing up and making the kinds of life and death decisions that my parents never could and yet I still got yelled at for missing curfew or forgetting to do the dishwasher or slipping grades. Not that my grades matter now. I didn't graduate from high school and may never get a GED and nobody seems all that concerned anymore.

But at least before they thought things were normal and I could pretend that they were. Now…now, I don't know.

They don't blame me.

My stupidity led to their infestation at the hands of their firstborn son and my inability to ever free Tom (my decision to kill Tom) and they don't blame me. I thought that they would, especially at first. I guess in a way I wanted them to. After all, there was nothing stopping me from getting them out of there and even managing to save Tom. I didn't because I thought I could make a better decision on a good night's sleep. Well, I got my sleep and realized that the better decision would have been to act then. And I had three years of sleep where I failed to do anything about my brother.

And yet…they don't. I just don't understand it. We haven't really talked about it. I mean, how do you really go about asking the people whose lives you destroyed why they don't hate you? What if they realize that they should? Despite the fact that I know that they should, I really don't want them to.

I must have fallen asleep at some point because the next thing I remember, my eyes are slowly opening. I immediately shut them again because I'm tired so keeping them open almost hurts.

"Oh, come on, don't go back to sleep on me now!" a familiar voice urged. "I've been waiting forever for you to wake up!"

My years as a soldier came back to me in an instant and I was no longer tired. There was somebody in my room! I sprung out of bed and turned the light by my bed on.

My eyes narrowed when I saw who was standing by my door. "Who are you?"

He looked a little hurt. "I haven't been dead that long, Midget."

"Don't call me that," I snapped.

"Fine, Jake," he corrected.

"Who are you?" I demanded again.

"You can't not remember," he said, looking hurt again.

"It's not a matter of not remembering," I retorted. "It's a matter of you looking like a dead man."

His face cleared. "Ah. I am dead, Jake."

"That's impossible," I said flatly.

"I would have thought that you of all people would know better than to use that word," he said mildly. "Yes, it's 'impossible' that I'm here with you now but isn't it just as 'impossible' for there to be life on other planets? For some of that life to be out to enslave us? For no one to even know? For you and basically five other people to save us all?"

"Just because all of that happened doesn't mean that you're really Tom," I countered.

"I suppose not," he agreed. "But you would think it would teach you to be a little more open-minded."

"Who are you?" I asked for a third time.

He sighed. "Jake, it really is me. I don't know how I'm supposed to convince you or what you think is going on here."

"I think that I'm either still dreaming or someone's morphed my brother," I told him. "Possibly a hologram. The only question is if anyone besides the Yeerk had ever acquired him. Cassie and Marco would both have had an opportunity to and if they thought they were 'helping' me by getting me 'closure' then I could see them doing that. They might have even reached out to the Chee."

He looked at me for a long moment. "You never used to be so suspicious, Jake."

"I never used to have to," I said simply.

"No, that is true," he agreed, sounding sad. "Can't you just accept that you're dreaming if you absolutely cannot believe that I'm here?"

I considered it. There really was no way to know if this was a morph until two hours had passed and if it were a hologram then I might never know. "Fine," I said shortly. "Why would I be dreaming about you?"

"Besides the fact that you need closure?" Tom asked rhetorically. He held up his hands. "And hey, those were your words, not mine."

"My words that other people thought that I needed," I corrected. "So this is it? You're going to give me closure?"

Tom hesitated. "I…would like to, I really would. The only problem is that I really don't know how. You didn't save me, Jake, and in the end you killed me. That's not going to change no matter what you say or what I say."

I stared at him. "Well I'm pretty sure that that's not the way to go about doing it."

Tom shook his head helplessly. "I know. I just…You know I've never been very good at all this mushy stuff. Add to that the fact that I spent the last four years of my life only really able to communicate with sadistic Yeerks and I think you should cut me some slack."

My guilt must have shown on my face because Tom immediately winced. "Damn. That didn't come out right either."

"But it's true," I pointed out.

"A lot of things are true but that doesn't mean that that came out right," Tom replied.

"I'm sorry for killing you," I said. It sounded so ridiculous even in my head but I had to say it. There was no proper way to do something like that and no amount of 'I'm sorrys' would ever change anything but it had to be said nonetheless.

"Direct," Tom said approvingly.

I waited.

"And?" I asked finally.

Tom blinked. "Was I supposed to have said something?"

"I just apologized for killing you and you don't have any thoughts on that?" I asked incredulously.

Tom shrugged. "Well, I appreciate the sentiment. I'm glad that you're not glad that it happened. But all in all, I'm still dead."

I looked down. "I know."

Tom groaned. "You know, it has been four years since I've had a conversation with another living person. Well…I say 'another'…"

"Please." I sounded desperate, I know, but – dream or morph or whatever – this was the first chance I'd had to talk to him in so many years and there were things that I needed to know even if I was sure that I wouldn't like the answer. He'd either blame me the way our parents never did and I'd have to live with that or he wouldn't and I'd know that once again I was getting off too easy.

Tom sighed. "What do you want me to say? I'm not happy that I'm dead, Jake. I'm especially not happy that I died mere minutes before you won."

"If there was any other way-" I started to say.

"There probably was," Tom cut me off. "There were probably a lot of other ways over the years. But by that time I'll agree that no, there probably wasn't. And in the end, you did save me after all."

My jaw dropped. "W-what? But I-I didn't…"

"You didn't save my life, no," Tom allowed. "But you saved me just the same. What do you think would have happened to me if you hadn't killed me? I'd have probably had to watch the Yeerk in my head kill you – again – and then gone off to go enslave another species. There would have been no escape for me. Even if I'm dead, at least I didn't have to spend a lifetime as a Controller."

I couldn't accept his thanks (if, indeed, that was what it was). Instead I focused on another part of his speech. "Again?" I repeated. My eyes widened. "Oh, you mean with the Taxxon and…" I closed my eyes. "I didn't even think. I mean, I knew that you would have thought I was dead and that was the whole point but I didn't…"

"You didn't stop to consider what it would be like for me to think that it was my fault that you were dead," Tom finished for me. "And you feel especially guilty because now you know exactly what it feels like to think that it's your fault that I'm dead."

"It wasn't your fault, it never was," I said vehemently.

"It's difficult to remember that when you believe that you're watching your brother getting eaten alive," Tom said quietly.

"And what do you mean 'think it's my fault'?" I asked him.

Tom looked at me seriously. "Jake…it wasn't your fault that I got infested. It wasn't your fault that the Yeerk decided to betray the Visser. It wasn't even your fault that he hated you enough to try to take you down as well and you were forced to send Rachel after me. You were the one who chose to send her but by that point you had to and before that…well, you were just a kid."

"You're taking this rather well," I said quietly.

Tom laughed then. "Am I? I really didn't at first, you know. From the minute I saw you morphing until the minute the Yeerk began to plan out your death…I really thought that I hated you."

Now that was more what I had been expecting. Not wanting, exactly, but expecting.

"I don't know how long you knew about me," Tom began.

"Marco suspected the day after we found out about the Yeerks," I answered. "When you…he was asking about the construction site. I refused to believe him until that Sharing meeting I went to. You warned me to stay away and then I morphed and spied on the meeting."

"I remember that," Tom said distantly. "I hadn't thought you'd understand but I'm glad you did. I knew that you had to have known for quite some time and you hadn't done anything. I didn't blame you for mom and dad-"

"Neither did they," I muttered.

Tom gave me an exasperated look. "Of course they didn't! You were there on the lawn that day. You tried to save us. It just didn't quite work."

"I should have tried harder," I said stubbornly. "I should have known."

"Believe me, no one wishes that you would have seen that coming more than I do but you're not perfect," Tom said firmly. "You did the best you could."

"My best wasn't good enough," I said darkly.

"The entire human race begs to differ," Tom said dryly. "But like I was saying, I didn't know why you didn't save me. It felt like you had abandoned me, that you didn't care. You knew and you did nothing." He held up a hand to forestall whatever protest he imagined I had. "Oh, I knew that you were fighting the invasion but on a personal level you knowing wasn't doing much for me. The Yeerk wasn't helping matters. He had a…hard time when the news came out, we both did. He did find some solace in tormenting me about you."

"I'm sorry." Again, it wasn't enough – it was never enough – but what else could I say?

"I know," he said simply. "I might have even known it then, I just didn't care. But when I thought you were dead I knew I had never really hated you. I was just angry."

"You were right to be angry," I told him.

Tom shrugged. "Maybe. It doesn't really matter anymore. You have no idea what it meant to me to realize that you were still alive."

"You have no idea what it meant to me to watch you die," I responded. "To hear the Yeerk sounding just like you and begging me not to do it."

"He never thought you would have gone that far. I never thought you would have gone that far. And yet, in the end, you did what you had to do and you saved the planet," Tom concluded. "I wish it could have been different but it's not and I've accepted that. And death, you know? It's not so bad. I mean, I wouldn't recommend trying it anytime soon but when the time comes…"

"Why are you here?" I asked him. "To try to make me feel less guilty? 'Closure'?" Whatever that means.

"I want to save you," Tom told me earnestly.

My brow furrowed. "From what? The war is over and the idiots who think that us winning stopped the rapture aren't really targeting me. Am I in some kind of danger?"

Tom shook his head. "Not physical danger, no, but danger all the same."

"I don't follow."

"When was the last time you were happy, Jake?" he asked out of the blue.

"What does that have to do with-"

Tom cut me off. "Have you been happy at all since the Blade Ship? Since our parents got infested?"

"I-I don't remember," I told him. "What does it even matter?"

"I think that you do and I think that you know that the answer is no," he said knowingly. "And it matters because you're my little brother and I want you to be happy."

Did I even deserve to be happy after all of the lives I destroyed? All the mistakes that I made?

"And if you're getting all angsty about whether or not you 'deserve' to be happy then don't," Tom ordered. "Because you're really looking at it the wrong way. I'm dead. Rachel's dead. Whoever else you're feeling guilty about is also dead. We don't get to grow up and have a life and be happy. You get that chance. You can do whatever you want to and be whoever you want to be so how dare you turn your back on that when we no longer have that opportunity?"

He almost looked angry.

I sighed. "It's not that simple. I can't just stop caring. God knows I've tried but I can't and I can't forget, either."

"No one ever said you had to forget, little brother. Just try and remember to live as well," he urged. "And I've got something that might help you out with that."

"Oh?" I asked, intrigued.

"Do you remember A Christmas Carol?" Tom asked.

I frowned. "Is that the one with the bee bee gun and everyone telling him that he'd shoot his eye out?"

Tom shook his head. "No, that was A Christmas Story. A Christmas Carol was the one with Scrooge and the three ghosts."

I blinked. "Are you seriously going to go all Christmas Carol on me?"

Tom shrugged. "Hey, it worked for Scrooge."

"He wasn't real!" I protested.

"It was certainly better than any other ideas I could come up with," Tom said defensively. "And besides, I'm not the only one who wanted to see you." He glanced at my clock. "Look, I've got to go now. Try and get some sleep. They'll show up when they show up."

"This is ridiculous!"I cried out.

"Quite possibly," Tom agreed. "Now listen closely because this had better be the last time I see you for at least fifty years, preferably longer: I love you and I forgive you and forgive yourself."

I blinked and he was gone.

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