Disclaimer: Chronicles of Narnia belongs to C.S. Lewis, Disney, and Walden Media, not me.

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Peter slumped against the wall of the bomb shelter. Susan and Lucy were both fast asleep, crammed together on the bed. Their mother sat on the pile of blankets and pillows on the floor. Edmund slept in her arms, his eyes still red-rimmed from crying. Mum patted his back absently. Her dark eyes looked worried and tired.

Suddenly the all-clear siren sounded. Mum sighed in relief. "Peter, you'd best take Edmund," she said. "I'll carry Lucy. I don't want to wake them, not yet." She shifted the sleeping ten-year-old in her arms.

Peter scowled, but relented. "All right," he sighed. He picked Edmund up, still scowling, as his mother turned to shake Susan awake.

"They've sounded the all-clear, Su," Mum said. The dark-haired girl opened her eyes blearily. "Come on, dear, get up. You can go sleep in your own bed." Susan crawled out of the cot. Mum lifted Lucy in her arms without waking her.

Peter sucked in a lungful of clean, cool night air as he stepped out of the bomb shelter. It was beginning to rain lightly, and the air tasted tangy and electric, the taste of a summer storm. Edmund shivered in his arms, mumbled something under his breath, and flung his arms around Peter's neck, still sound asleep. Peter shifted him. Edmund didn't weigh very much, but it was still a nuisance to lug the ten-year-old up the stairs to the room they shared.

He dumped his little brother on his bed. Edmund automatically rolled over onto his stomach, his usual sleeping position, and curled up in a little ball. Peter kicked off his shoes and headed back downstairs. He was starving, and he was fairly sure that there was leftover shepherd's pie in the icebox.

Peter hummed under his breath. Sure enough, there was a large serving of shepherd's pie just waiting for him. Now, if Dad had been there, it would be gone in moments. Actually, if Edmund liked shepherd's pie, it would be gone. But luckily he didn't. More for him.

He stood at the kitchen counter and shoved a forkful in his mouth. Peter riffled through the stack of papers lying there, trying to find something to read. Three-day-old newspaper, the Christmas letter from Gran, a leaflet on…

"Mum!" Peter hollered, dropping his fork on the plate. He took the stairs two at a time, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve and gripping the paper till his knuckles turned white. "Mum!"

"Peter, hush!" Helen scolded as she came out of the girls' bedroom. "The little ones are asleep. Don't wake them!"

Peter shook the paper. "Mum, what is this?" he demanded. "Why didn't you tell us about this?"

Mum's eyes lost their anger and faded into a sort of resigned sadness. Before she could say anything, Susan and Lucy both appeared at her elbows. Lucy rubbed her eyes drowsily. "What's going on?" Susan asked. "Why are you shouting, Peter?"

Wordlessly Peter shoved the leaflet in her face. Susan blinked and took it, eyes darting back and forth over the words. "Mum?"

"What is it?" Lucy asked. "I don't…I don't understand."

Helen picked up her youngest child. "Come here, darlings. I'll explain," she said. She sat down on Susan's bed, snuggling Lucy on her lap. Susan leaned against her. Peter couldn't sit; he paced the room instead. "Lucy, darling, you remember when Sorrel and Mark had to go away and stay in the country because their mummy and daddy thought they would be safer there?"

Lucy nodded. Peter bit his lip. Sorrel and Mark had been Lucy's best friends since nursery school; she took it hard when Mrs. Forbes said the twins had been sent off.

Helen smoothed Lucy's dark red hair. "Well, Lu…do you remember Daddy's friend Professor Kirke?" Lucy shook her head. "Oh, you never met him. The last time we visited him was when Peter was a baby in my arms." She tried to smile. Peter couldn't. "Well, Mummy wrote a letter to the professor, and he said that all four of you could go spend the summer holidays with him."

"What?" Susan gasped, bolting upright. "But, but Mum-"

"It's only for the holidays," Mum said quickly. "Then you'll come back here for a while, and then you'll go to school. It'll be like a vacation." She stroked Susan's cheek. "Remember before the war, when you were all little, and we'd spend the summers by the sea?"

Lucy wriggled around on Mum's lap, trying to look into her face. "Mummy," she gulped, "will we come back home?"

Helen hugged Lucy tightly. "Of course, love, of course," she soothed. "You'll be back home before you can blink."

"Back home?"

Peter turned around. His younger brother stood in the door, his dark eyes squinched and his pajama shirt slipping off one shoulder. "Why will we come back home?" Edmund asked. "Where are we going?"

"Mum's sending us out to the country for the summer," Peter said. "She just told us."

"And you didn't think to tell me?" Edmund demanded, his voice starting to rise in pitch. "I don't want to go away!"

"Ed, we have to go," Susan said. "Mum said.

Edmund's narrow shoulders began to heave. "Mum, I'm not going," he said. His voice was still tight and high pitched. "Mum, Mummy, I'm staying here with you."

"Darling, you have to go with your brother and sisters," Helen said. She reached over to him, trying to reach him. "I don't want something to happen to you."

"I don't want to go!" Edmund repeated, shaking his head emphatically.

Peter was getting tired of this, this never-ending whining and complaining. He grabbed his younger brother by the shoulders and gave him a firm shake. "None of us want to go, Ed, but we have to, so stop being such a baby! Grow up!" he shouted.

Edmund's dark eyes widened. He stared at his brother for a moment, then wrenched out of Peter's grip and dashed down the hall. Susan sighed heavily.

"Don't look at me like that, Su, you know you wanted to do it too," Peter said.

"Peter, go and find your brother," Helen said.

He turned around. "What?"

"You heard me," Mum said. She shifted Lucy on her knees. "You were being a beast to Edmund, so you're the one who ought to find him."

"But Mum-"

"Find him, apologize, and put him to bed," Helen said firmly. "Go on, Peter."

Peter rolled his eyes- "I saw that, Peter Pevensie"- and stomped down the hall. It wouldn't be hard to find his brother. Edmund had used the same three hiding spaces since he was old enough to toddle: the floor length curtains in Dad's study, the kitchen pantry, and underneath his bed. Peter went there first.

Their bedroom was dark, except for the occasional flashes of lightning outside. Peter flicked on the lights. No power. He sighed and lit the candle on the bedside table. "Ed?" he ventured. "Ed, are you in here?" He knelt down on the floor and peeked under the bed. Sure enough, he could see the shadowy figure of his brother. Peter sighed. "Ed, come out."

There was no answer.

Peter sighed again. "Look here, Ed, none of us want to go away," he said. "We've got to make the best of it, understand? We've all got to buckle down and-"

He was interrupted by a very loud sniffle.

"Ed?" This time Peter's voice was softer. "Ed, are you crying?"

"N-no…"

Peter reached under the bed and dragged Edmund out. A flash of lightning illuminated the ten-year-old's dirty, tearstained face. "I'm n-not c-crying," Edmund sobbed. "I'm n-not!"

"No, no, of course you're not," Peter said gently.

At the sound of the softness in his brother's voice, Edmund promptly began to cry in earnest. Big fat tears dripped down his cheeks and his nose began to run. He buried his face in his hands. Peter patted his back, waiting for him to get a bit calmer. When the tears died down, he handed Edmund a handkerchief.

"Now, Ed," he said. "Why don't you tell me what's going on in that head of yours?"

Edmund's dark eyes were red and swollen. "What- what if- what if something happens to Daddy?" he hiccupped.

"Oh, Ed, Dad's going to be fine," Peter said. "Dad's one of the top fliers in the RAF. He'll be just fine."

"But something might happen, Peter, and how will we get back here?" Edmund wailed. His face crumpled up again. "I w-want to stay here in case something happens to Daddy!"

Peter lifted his little brother onto his lap. "Everything's going to work out fine, Ed," he whispered. The ten-year-old buried his face in Peter's shoulder; Peter stroked Edmund's dark hair gently. "It's going to be all right. Su and I will take care of everything while we're away. You'll see, Ed. You'll see."

Thunder cracked. Edmund jumped, startled, but Peter closed his arms tighter around him. "Just trust me, Ed," he whispered. "I'll make sure everything turns out all right in the end. I'll try my hardest."

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Author's Notes:

Ah, Pevensie brother goodness!

This came about after watching the first part of the film and wondering how exactly a parent explains to their child that they're going to be sent away. Plus, Edmund is adorable.

Mark and Sorrel are references to the book Theater Shoes by Noel Streatfeild. If you've never read any of the shoes books (Theater Shoes, Ballet Shoes, Tennis Shoes, etc.) you should, especially if you like performing arts (which I dooo…).