The seat you were sat on shook back and forth, rocking you too aggressively for you to sleep. Your mind wouldn't rest all the same. You kept remembering how it felt right before your Headmistress started screaming.
You were a terrible person. You hated yourself in every way. You were selfish for not saying goodbye, selfish for wanting to stay and speak to Miss Peregrine. You were terrible for ever wanting to have her look you in the face. You were dreadful, scum even, for considering potentially forcing her to look at you every day, as if you could ever stay as you so desired.
The train screeched to a halt and you looked up in surprise. Standing, you gripped at the walls and the railings along them to help you out.
London was!... grey. It felt like modern Cairnholm. The loop hyped up the island and the reality, as it often did, disappointed. The overcast sky left the air chilled your arms and you finally had a good reason to wear your favorite coat. It was unexpectedly nice to feel the bite of winter again. You took your bag from the cart with them and walked down the cement sidewalk. A cab was ridiculously easy to call and ride to the airport was filled with background noise from the chatty cabbie.
*
Alma's eyes were blurry when she opened them next. They went wide with shock as she remembered what happened. She looked around, but only found an empty bedroom, though it had spare gauze and her medical utensils scattered about, and the rubbish bin was filled with bloody gauze. A glance at her pocket watch told her it was a few hours shy of supper. She had plenty of time to start. Her first priority was finding you.
Sitting up, Alma was made aware of the pain in her arms and abdomen and the dull ache throughout her entire body. She moved to leave the bed and was very pleased to find her injuries did not inhibit her movement. You truly hadn't meant hard. She moved down the hall and the steps to find Emma in the kitchen, looking burdened with extreme stress and on the verge of tears.
Emma turned with a hopeful gaze at the sound of heels. Though she was no less pleased to find her headmistress up and wandering, Alma was clearly not who she was wanting to see. Still, she greeted her, dropping the dishes into the suddy water. She hovered, but didn't dare touch. "How are you feeling?"
Alma made the wise decision to sit at the kitchen table and Emma raced to prepare her a cuppa. Truth be told, Miss Peregrine felt horrible, though she would never say that. She didn't discuss unpleasant matters, but if she didn't say anything, Emma would remember her rule and guess her condition, perhaps too severely. She didn't want Emma, or any of the children, to be angry with you for an accident.
Emma was treating her headmistress with kid gloves and Alma wasn't having it. When the blonde circled her too widely again, Alma almost shouted.
But she had more patience than that. She took the just-cleaned, just made cup of ta and sipped it. Withholding a grimace at the off taste, she asked where you were. You always made her tea because you kept it from tasting too sweet, despite hating the stuff yourself. All the children knew this fact and if Miss Peregrine was getting tea, you had to make it.
Emma didn't answer. She actually looked... guilty.
Alma narrowed her eyes. "Emma," she began in a low, dangerous tone Emma knew not to ignore or take lightly, "where is Y/N?"
The blonde took a shaky breath and Alma's suspicions tripled. "She..." Emma stepped off to the side, knotting and unknotting her gingers. "Well... we were all very distraught at your injuries and words were said."
Alma's heart nearly stopped. She had to know now. "Emma," was her one-word prompt for the blonde to blab.
Guilt reigned on her perpetually adolescent face. "She's gone." Emma tried to whisper it so the stone in her stomach and the lump in her throat would crack her voice. It happened all the same. Brown eyes lammed shut and tears finally over-flowed. Plump lips clamped to restrain her sobs, but she had to keep going, mostly so Miss Peregrine wouldn't birdify herself and go chasing you. The children doubted she had the strength to do so, but she had the stubbornness to try. "We all knew it was her who hurt you and she was no help and Enoch told her to get out. He didn't mean of the loop!" she defended her loop brother.
Alma's eyes bugged in fear and she used the chair to help her stand. "Are you certain she's not anywhere in the loop?" The island was a big place and they had 2 versions to check.
"Horace is."
Well, that was that. Alma forced her wobbly legs to lead her to the door closest to the loop entrance.
Horace stood outside the kitchen, expecting this reaction, and pulled at his lapels. "I'm sorry, Miss Peregrine. According to the dream I had the moment she stepped out of the loop, by the time you woke up, she's already left the island."
Alma let out a faint sigh and accepted another Ward was gone.
"They truly didn't mean it. No one-!"
The Headmistress patted his shoulder. "I know, Horace. I know." She continued out until she reached her room, confident her older, well oldest now, wards were capable of watching the younger while she took some time. Another ward lost. Now you were back in the lonely, cold world she'd dragged you in from. You knew the dangers, you knew your previous home - if it could be called that - wasn't acceptable to you anymore, you knew how to fight; what you didn't know was yourself. No powers, no support, no acceptance it was no surprise Alma dissolved into tears.
*
A ferry to a train to a plane. The you before meeting Miss Peregrine and the Home would consider this an adventure. Now, you call it relocating. Again. You'd thought last time would be the last time, but now you knew it would never end.
The location of the cheapest plane ticket had palm trees and a massive coast. Well, all coasts were massive, but you knew California's was the state with the longest which remained in within the state. A long way from your blood kin, it felt nice to be back in the states all the same.
You stole a car and some clothes, and se t off for the road. No destination was now your goal. You stopped for a night to use your new skills to pick pockets. You were thankful for Millard's lessons, but mourned the Home every time you stole anything.
You wondered how Alma was. No, you didn't have that right. However she was, it was your fault.
It took nearly a week on the road before your body caught up. It hurt for hours afterward, but you figured it was what you deserved. Your knees were taking an awful long time to settle, and you had a perpetual migraine which made driving extremely un-fun. But this was the first time in your life you had complete autonomy. You got to listen to your music and steal your style of clothes, none that your mother made you wear and none of that uncomfortable vintage crap. You were always armed and no one ever said your name. It was... great. But after another week of adjusting to an adult body, which wasn't all that different from your teenaged body, you found a real purpose. You were corned by 3 wights and thank God you remembered your- well, not training, but you learned how to fight young.
3 dead wights and a night spent in an overly-well-lit motel room left you paranoid and with little sleep. You should have kept driving, next town- Hell, to the next state. But you needed to clean your wounds, eat, and sleep. You didn't actually sleep, but the other 2 were properly handled. And then you were driving again. The hum of the engine was drowned out by the open window and your off-key singing. You were sliding back and forth on the road, betting out the lines of you songs on your favorite radio station. You rocked your head and taped the steering wheel to the song's beat. Another pair of headlights appeared, coming in your direction and you moved back into your lane, giggling hysterically.
*
The evening you left, no one was their usual, energetic self. Alma was the injured one, but she tried to rally the others. They'd existed long before you were even born and they would manage now you were gone. Probably forever. Alma ignored the pain as always and pushed through. She urged the children to do the same.
Supper was too quiet. Hugh didn't have to be told or argue about putting his beekeeper net on. Millard was already dressed; Enoch had the appetite of his dolls. Claire's backmouth ate slow, a first and a hitch in the schedule.
It was all Alma could do to excite them for movie time. Abe's phone call had only disheartened them more. It was a reminder that all their friends were either there and had been for decades, besides Jake, or had left. Or died, but no one dared to make that connection.
Horace wasn't even enthused to share his gift. The monocle projected a nice dream first. But every loop-inhabitant recognized the sign of a prophecy. The scene shifted, projection turning the murky blue of sunrise in the loop. Your face made them all excited, hoping for a clue or the miracle that was your return. But no. You were on a train, no doubt getting as far from Cairnholm as possible. Tears streaked your face, dripping from your chin.
Claire started crying and Enoch reached out to pat her shoulder, accepting when the blonde buried herself in her chest and lap.
Alma felt compelled to comfort the girl, but got distracted by you knocking your head against the wall of your cart. More tears flowed and you kept knocking your head against a fucking train. Alma rested her hand on Horace's shoulder, prompting the boy to remove his monocle. The projection ended on that low note and none of the children were in a pleasant mood. Emma and Enoch appeared on the verge of tears. Alma sent them all to bed early. She would reset the loop on her own. Horace waited until the room was empty to replace the glass. Alma opened her mouth to stop him until she heard the ticket-master shout an English city so, so close to an airport. Her heart cracked and she so wished the projection would end, that your departure was a nightmare of her own. The last image of the "movie" was you stepping off the train and to the exit of the station. What you didn't see as the tall, familiar shadow of a Hollow.