Everyone knows about the Amity: silly smiling flower-folk who seem to be half dryad or nature spirit themselves. That's the only reason they'd willingly trade aside power and brains and glory to go spend their lives trudging in the fields, paying compliments as if they're free of charge and dishing out smiles to anyone fortunate enough to pass by. You've heard the whispers as you walked through Chicago, heard groups of Candor talk about how you must have been dropped on the head as a child to convince you to stay among the golden-clad fools. Funny, but not entirely accurate.
Some of the stereotypes are true. You've seen men and women who think that running barefoot through the shifting blades of wheat is the highest form of entertainment, that a life away from, well, everything is the only way to live out your days. You've brought up the outside world to them and watched confusion flicker in their sometimes vapid eyes. Why would you want to leave when everything was right here in front of you, gathered up by calloused hands and delivered with a smile?
Everyone seems to know this. Maybe that's why you made such a stir when you sliced open your palm with none of the usual hesitation always attributed to the Amity, drenching the blackened coals with your blood and walking emotionlessly towards the Dauntless. The dark-clad daughters and sons born without fear stare at you curiously, like you're a beast from a zoo that's accidentally wandered too far from its bars. From the way they look at you, you'd think they've never actually seen an Amity outside of your fabled halls of sunshine, half true and half just fairytale. To be honest, you're not entirely sure that this assumption is wrong.
Nevertheless, you're here now, one beam of sunlight in a darkened room. They may be trying their utmost to shutter up the windows and bar the doors, curious as to what might make you tick and fall apart, but you're no more willing to shatter than light itself. They can refract you, maybe, break you up into bits and pieces, but you always come back to yourself. Right now, you intend to go to Dauntless, so that's exactly where you'll go.
You make the jump onto the train as seamlessly as if it's a jump from one tree bough to the next, an easy leap made by every Amity child old enough to walk. You watch as others struggle, collapsing on the ground as if their legs are barely stronger than a newborn lamb's. You, however, have spent all of your life on the farms and in the stables, and if the calluses on your hands have anything to say about it, you're fairly hardy compared to these headstrong Candor with their waving tongues and bright-eyed Erudite held back by their own want to observe and record instead of simply doing. Maybe that's the benefit of being half-wild yourself- you don't have time to doubt things if you were never taught that fault at all.
You can see the other initiates shifting around you, looking for a weakness even before the fighting ring is in sight. It reminds you of a pack of wolves you'd once seen; mangy, scrawny, ears half torn off from fights. Wolves were rare to the Amity fields, usually preferring to sleep off their lost populations in the depths of the forest where no brightly clad explorers went to find them and chase their tails. These few, however, had been either too brave or too far gone to stay away. They had looked at the few sheep baaing gently by the henhouse with a look of hunger, eyes and throat ravaged by thirst.
This is how the other trainees look at you now, like your limbs are soft and you'll fall easily beneath their pawing talons. However, you've seen enough rams to know that even those that seem the most frail have horns, and so you launch yourself off of the train with a graceful leap the second it's announced you'll jump once more, not wasting time on complaints and landing with ease on your two feet without stumbling once. This marks you as a stranger to the others, who come to a rolling stop on the gravel-strewn roof and manage to scuff several shins in the process. In contrast, you look like you've just casually stepped out of your home, still yawning as if nothing at all is the matter.
The initiates line up in front of the few Dauntless leaders already on display. You can feel additional eyes settling on you, those who hadn't had the chance to scope out the one spot of yellow amongst the masses of black, white, and blue. Abnegation, like Amity, are a rarity, and so you have no other oddballs to congregate towards in the hopes of finding solace in standing out.
Even standing alone makes your pulse start to race a beat too fast. Don't be found by yourself. Don't make yourself a target. Maybe this is why you decide to go first to jump off the roof to enter Dauntless- less a lack of fear than an ocean of it. You know where the roof ends, but you don't know what happens when you're alone. Or rather, you've found out plenty of times by yourself, and even the chance of death is something better than that.
However, being dashed to bits on the ground below is not an option the Dauntless seem to allow for their latest trainees. You're caught instead by a net, and helped out by a man who looks to you with a question in his eyes. You're still slightly disoriented from the fall and subsequent release from the net, and so when he brusquely asks you your name all you can think of is the empty room behind you, and how easy it would be to run.
Maybe he sees this, maybe he knows what it means. The man takes a step back, speaking in a softer tone. "My name is Four. What would you like your name to be?" At last, you find your voice. "Y/N. I'm Y/N." Four nods, then turns to shout over his shoulder. "First jumper: Y/N!" He steps aside to let you move past him into the room, although you don't miss the way he periodically checks over his shoulder, glancing casually as if it's a habit. Every single time, he scans the room until he finds you, seemingly wanting to see if you're alright. To anyone else, it's a nothing gesture, barely there at all. However, you've become a master at reading body language, and you feel a silent wave of gratitude towards the man.
From there, they announce that you'll be starting fighting practice. You exchange your sunbeam yellow for midnight black, and you feel a smile slip over your face as the bright indicator of your presence is gone from you at last. Here is a chance to stop standing out and fit in. You've been waiting for this for a while.
You're led with the other initiates towards a large, cavernous room full of marked rings and targets. You're paired up with the last jumper and told to fight after practicing a few moves. There are similar pairs already starting around you, and your eyes keep jumping to the way their bodies slam onto the ground or the way the arms slice through the air, ready to deliver a killing blow. You take a breath in, then out, then begin. This is no place to hide, not now. You can save that for later.
You win the fight. You're not sure why, or how. The rest of the initiates look equally surprised, glancing around with startled expressions. Maybe the pansy is worth something after all. You know you'll have to fight against this mockery for the rest of your time in initiation, but for once you can't seem to focus on it. Instead, you're staring at the bruises forming on your knuckles, the tang of someone else's blood flooding through the air. All you can think is one thing: I'm just like him.
Then a man's voice filters into your consciousness next to you. "You did good, initiate. Keep your head up, it was a good showing." You look up to see Four standing next to you. He's facing the room at large, arms crossed across his chest as he speaks quietly, seeming to the rest of the trainees as if he's merely examining the room and not talking to you at all. It diverts the attention from you, and you find yourself grateful once more. You realize he's waiting for an answer, likely as to why you won the fight but you're looking at your hands like you're a murderer.
"I guess it's just strange to be good at this. I don't know, even after I made my choice I didn't quite think of myself as truly belonging here. Amity is, well, Amity. I'm glad to be here, I just didn't think I'd fit in this quickly." Four nods once, a brief motion like his head is pulled by a string. "Why did you come to Amity in the first place? Don't take it personally- not many choose to stay here. It's not really up their alley."
You shrug. "I wanted to feel brave." You walk away after that, ignoring the confused glance he tosses your way or the stares returning to you once more. You don't much feel like pursuing that line of conversation, especially as you know where it leads. Instead, you hop up onto a marked ring, ready to receive another partner assignment and begin another fight. The sooner you learn to jump over this stumbling block in your head, the sooner you can move on and fit in at Dauntless like you've always wanted to. You have no intention of becoming one of the factionless. No, because that's just another way that he could find you.
As you progress through initiation, you garner your fair share of friends and onlookers. The trainees tend to flock towards those in the highest positions, as if hoping that they'll be able to leach some of their skill into their own desperately lacking ranks. Either that, or they're hoping to poison you. Either option would be interesting.
The onlookers, however, grow suspicious of you. Why would an Amity come to Dauntless? What would you have to hide or run from? Most Amity choose to stay in their home faction, changing only to become an Abnegation or maybe an Erudite or Candor, something true to their core beliefs. Dauntless, however, is about bravery, swinging fists against impossible odds and reveling in the bloody victory. None of that even remotely relates to Amity, so why would you be here?
They've seen something else, too. There's something in your eyes when someone approaches you, the way you always notice when someone enters a room even when they're trying their utmost to be silent. It's as if you're always on guard, even when you're not fighting. It's an instinct that will serve you well in Dauntless, certainly, especially as the initiates in the higher rankings tend to be victim to intended ambushes or unfair blows meant to injure and remove someone from their esteemed positions among the other trainees, but this is different somehow. It's less that you're on guard because you know you're that good but that you expect an attack from everybody. Guilty instead of proven innocent instead of the other way around. It makes them whisper amongst themselves- is that why she came? What happened? What has she done?
When Four and Eric announce that you'll be beginning fear simulations, the whispers only grow. I wish I was a leader so I could get a look inside that head, some say. Maybe she's a freak. Maybe she's killed somebody and it'll show up in her fear landscape. You do your best to brush off all the murmurs, but sometimes they seem too deafening to ignore, especially when they only feed on your own fears.
When you arrive in the simulation room, bathed in amber light from the second you open the door, you're having second thoughts about your choice of faction. Four turns around once you close the door, and a faint smile appears on his face when he sees you. Apparently, you look absolutely terrified, because he does his best to disguise a laugh. "It's not that bad, don't worry. It'll be over before you know it."
You shake your head slightly. "Not if your fears are real." Four's smile turns into a frown, and he approaches you with real concern in his eyes. "Y/N, is something wrong?" You force a smile, turning away from him to sit down on the offered chair. "Not at all. Just nervous, I guess." The lie is one you've practiced many times before, usually offered up to great success. Four, however, seems able to read between the lines without a second thought. He looks down at you. "Y/N, I'm being serious. Is something wrong? Can I help?"
You go to lie again, the falsehoods already rising to your lips, but for some reason the look in his eyes is enough to make the words stall. You swallow them after a pause. "It's nothing. Honestly." Four gives you one last look, as if certain that you would never make it as a Candor, then prepares the needle for the simulation. He whispers an apology under his breath for the pain as the needle pinches your skin, but for some reason your fear leaves you. It's the warm light of the room, the feeling that for once you're falling asleep next to somebody who means you no harm. You don't think you've felt like this in a long time.
When you wake up, you're in the middle of a crowded city. You make your way through the streets, unable to avoid the way a certain man is following you through the crowd. No matter what turns you make, crossing the street and back again, he just lengthens his strides. You can feel him gaining on you, his breath practically down the back of your neck, but then you duck inside a building and he's gone. You've foiled the simulation, at least this once.
When you look back at the room, the door has fallen away, leaving only a baying hound with jaws that could snap your arm in two. You avoid it, then the next fear, then the next. You think you're doing fine and you should be waking up until you find yourself in your home and you know that there is no escaping your true fear. No matter how hard you try to run, he always follows. No matter what.
You straighten up slowly, but you've barely turned around when you see him. He's just closing the door, and even from here you can sense the rattle of the empty glass bottle in his hands. Without another second to spare, you turn and flee up the stairs, taking the familiar path back to your room. You fling the door behind you, turning the latch, but you know deep within you that not even the lock will be enough. Sure enough- barely a few seconds later, the door is rattling. You can hear him growling behind the door, issuing threats you've heard a hundred times before.
Eventually, he opens the door. You don't remember how he does it, only that he always manages it. He stands in the open doorway, menacing as ever. Your father has returned home. The first blow hits, as does the next. Bruises flower up, pretty as all Amity should be. It's strange, isn't it? Weren't we all supposed to be happy and full of light? His light is fully gone, extinguished as only the good can make the bad.
You fight him back at some point, sick of the feeling of powerlessness. This is why you came to Dauntless, remember? This is why you learned to fight, to stand up again and spit out the blood. Now it's your fists curling, your kicks landing. When you wake up again, you're almost sorry that you didn't get to finish him off. Instead of your father, you see the man who's looked out for you in the way that your father never did.
Four stands, staring, eyes laced with pain. Dimly, you realize that he's seen everything, and he now knows everything about yourself that you've tried to hide. You go to move, to run as you always do. He raises a hand to stop you then thinks the better of it, shaking his head softly. "I wish I knew about this earlier." Your throat feels dry. "No one knows. No one can know." He nods once, and you swear you can see a quiet understanding in his eyes like he knows exactly how this feels.
"You're not the only one who's got their demons buried at home. I won't tell a soul." He hesitates now, even as you thank him silently once again. His eyes feel with another rush of regret, and he tells you a truth you instantly wish to never hear again. "Visitation day is tomorrow. It was meant to be a surprise, but I think you need to know." You feel like your heart has dropped out of your chest, falling infinitely to crash to its death, no net for it. "Is he coming?" Four shrugs. "He may, he may not. I'm not letting him get close to you."
He offers up a rare smile. "You're a good kid, Y/N. You deserve more than this, even if you're not willing to let yourself know it. I'll make sure he's turned away at the door and he doesn't get within a mile of you." You look up at him, grateful but utterly confused. "Why? I thought you would want me to face my fears." Four shakes his head, a sudden darkness lingering in his eyes as if he's forgotten to latch a door he always keeps firmly locked. "I know what it's like to fear your father. That's a different kind of fear, one I'd rather you bury forever. It's alright to not confront everything. You've done well in every other aspect. Let yourself rest for this once."
You nod, a faint smile appearing on your lips. "I like the sound of that." Four lightly claps you on your shoulder. "You're doing fine." He repeats, gesturing towards the door. "Now go practice, I need to terrorize some other luckless trainee." You laugh at that. "See you later, Four." He raises a hand in goodbye, already walking forward to prepare another needle for the next simulation. "See you, Y/N. See you soon."