Author Note: First, I just want to say thank you so much for all of the wonderful feedback/favorites/follows on my first chapter. A few of you have asked me to continue, so I have wrote this short continuation from Edmund's POV. It is a quick read that dives into some of Edmund's feelings, which of course has a lot of angst and a bit of fluff. And I admit that it it slightly OC cause Ed and Pete act a tad older than their actual age in movie/book. If you were happy with the ending of the first chapter then don't read this one, but if you wanted just a tad more - this chapter is dedicated to you.

Cheers, and Happy holidays!

His eyes are on me again. It makes me nervous to have him scrutinizing me so closely.

Shuffling in my seat, I turn my gaze out to the window. Watching the trees and the countryside zip by is almost relaxing. Until I realize that every track is carrying me farther away from my home. Our home.

My stomach dips at the thought, and I automatically begin counting the trees separating me from there.

One more tree farther from home. Two more away from never seeing my friends. Three trees away from my room. Four from never seeing Mom and Dad again.

That one makes my stomach churn, and I press my face against the cool train window to keep from becoming sick.

"Ruddy trees," I mumble weakly, closing my eyes and trying to block out the images of my parents dead.

"Ed?" Susan's voice, soft and laced with concern. "Please...,"

She's worried. I don't have to open my eyes to know she's frowning at me.

"Ed." Peter's voice this time. He doesn't sound angry anymore.

Angry Peter I know how to deal with. That's who I got the most. In fact, most of the time I deserve his wrath. Like a few minutes ago.

Turning my head ever so slightly, I dare a glance at him.

He's standing again. Hands shoved in his pockets. He looks relaxed. But the way he absently shuffles his feet tells me he's not.

Seeing my gaze, he forces a weak smile. "Could I sit?"

Odd. Peter never asks permission for anything. He directs, he tells, he demands.

"Edmund?" Susan prompts with a raised brow. She is absently smoothing Lucy's hair, as our small sister sleeps in her lap. Did I really yell at her?

Peter shuffles his feet some more nervously, and I realize that I haven't replied.

In fact, my head is still pushed against the window. And I'm staring at my two siblings from only one eye.

I must look ridiculous with one, red eye staring at them from the window. I wonder why they don't laugh.

Then remember it's because we're on this train being taking away from home. And the somber mood that floats around the cart. That I didn't helped by losing my temper. And yelling at my kid sister. Making Peter angry with me. And Susan angry with him. And then both of them staring at me like I had grown a second head when the ruddy tears had started.

All because of my hopelessness.

Shivering at the word, the word I had screamed at Lucy, I push my head completely away from the window. Guilt mixes with the despair already in my stomach.

Two set of eyes stare at me with concerned eyes, the other sleeping softly.

Feeling cornered, I had to hold back the words that we're trying to form on my tongue. They wouldn't help and I had already caused enough trouble.

Peter's clears his throat and gestures to the seat. And I finally break. "Sit."

"Thanks." Peter plops down easily, like we hadn't had a fight minutes ago, like I hadn't made Lucy cry, like he hadn't been about to deck me, and worse like he hadn't seen me cry afterwards.

As if reading my face, Peter raises one eyebrow. Dad use to do that all the time. "I was going to ask you-,"

"What if I needed a hankie?" It's always better to take the first jab. Even at yourself. That way, it doesn't hurt as bad when they make fun of you.

"What? Ed, no." He recoils slightly at my harsh voice, and runs a hand through his hair.

"Then what?" Did I have to sound so cruel?

"If you wanted to talk?" Peter stops fidgeting and turns fully towards me.

"Talk?" The word feels dry in my mouth.

"We're all tired. I over reacted. I'm sorry, Ed."

"You're sorry?"

"Yeah,Ed. You know about that whole scuffle between us."

He's sorry? HE'S sorry? HE is sorry?

Tears prick my eyes. He shouldn't apologize. I deserved everything. And more. "You should have hit me," I tune back towards the window, not wanting him to see the tears that are pooling again.

Silence.

Gripping the edge of my seat in frustration, I bite my tongue and try to fight back the tears.

A hand landed on my shoulder gently. "Come now, Ed. You can't mean that."

And when I refused to look at him or answer, he squeezes my shoulder. "Guess I still can," he offers casually. "You know...jerk you up by your collar, drag you into the floor, bloody your nose up a bit."

The smile creeps across my face even though my eyes still burn.

This is Peter.

This is the Peter that I grew up with, the boy I wanted to be just like, teasing me about something ridiculous I had said.

Without thinking, I turn from the window and throw myself into his arms. "I'm so sorry, Peter." My sobs aren't loud, but they make my whole body shake. "I should have never yelled at Lucy like that."

Peter pulls me into a tight hug. "And I should have never yelled at you like that either." He pats my back, rocking back and forth. "Now, shhh, it's going to be alright. I meant what I said, I'm going to take care of you."

Heat creeps up my checks, as I quickly sniff up the last of my tears with a nod.

Lucy is still asleep, but Susan momentarily stops rubbing her head to dry her own tears. She offers me a gentle smile, which I return with the best I could muster at the moment.

Trying to pull away from Peter, I embarrassingly wipe at the remaining tears. Peter clucks his tongue at me and holds tighter. "You're okay."

And I relax into his arm with another nod finally feeling at ease. Till something strikes me as odd. "You smell like dad."

The simple statement sends color up Peter's cheeks.

"Why do you...you stole his cologne?" His ears turn a dark red confirming my suspicion.

"Borrowed." Peter amends. "He's not going to need it for a while...," he fades off.

"You're not dad, Peter." My voice is hard again and I shove away from his chest. The fact that my dad may never use his cologne again, makes me want to hit something.

"I know, Edmund." He reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. "I know."

Jerking my shoulder from his grip, the pain slices my insides. The smell of dad. The smell of home is torture. It reminds me of everything that I'm missing. That I don't have anymore.

"Don't wear it anymore."

He nods, stands, and crosses back to his bench without another word.

"I like it...," Lucy offers up sleepily from Susan's lap. "It reminds me of home.."

What home? The words are on my tongue, but I stop them. Why hurt my sister again? Peter meant no harm.

"Please?" My voice comes out as a small whisper and so weak, that I'm not even sure if it's mine.

Turning my attention from my siblings, I turn back towards the window. Anything to take the pain away, anything to take the thought of dad siting by the fire reading the paper, mom humming as she cooks dinner. I would even take the trees marking the distance. And so I do the only thing that can take my mind off of that searing pain, I count.

One away. Two away. Three away from home.