Author's Note: Warnings for slash and cursing. Enjoy! Comments and criticism welcome.

Not Quite Real

The day was gorgeous. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and children's laughter could be heard from a bright little cottage settled in a scenic location at the very heart of a lush forest. Inside a yard wrapped by a picket fence, two young boys were playing. One had fair head and a fixed, sunny smile. The other had dark hair and a fixed, sunny smile. They tossed a ball back and forth in a perfect rhythm.

Darren looked out his window, watching them. Back. Forth. Back. Forth. Everything in absolute order.

This wasn't right. Perfection was supposed to be impossible. This wasn't right. Darren shook his head, sending blonde hair tumbling in his face. At least, the motion should have sent blonde hair tumbling into his face, but it didn't. His hair was short, styled in a pleasant, average joe style. He ran a hand through it.

Nothing was right.

The boys tossed the ball. Back. Forth. Never missing, never hesitating, never stumbling, never pausing. It wasn't right.

"Hey, Babe," a seductive voice murmured, close to his ear.

He turned. It was a woman. She was small, but lovely, elfin in her beauty. He raven's wing hair tumbled down her back, her dress was pristine white and small, and her eyes smoldered in a deep crimson color -- but Darren's eyes fell away from the color. They couldn't be red. His mind rationalized the red away. They weren't red; they were gray. They were smoky, stormy, oceanic gray.

"Hey yourself," Name, name, name. What was the name? She had a name. What was the name of this woman? Wife. She was his wife. Beautiful wife, mother of those boys outside, sweet wife, sweet mother of his children because those children were his too. "Erica."

She smiled, pleased, and coiled herself around him. "We're going for a picnic today. Just you and me and our boys."

"And Jack. And Gustave. And Dakota. And Puck." What was he saying? They didn't exist. They -- Those words were nonsense.

"Baby, are you feeling alright?" Erica's cool hand touched Darren's forehead.

"Yes. No. Yes." It wasn't right. Why was she here? Who was she? She wasn't supposed to be here. Where was here? This wasn't home. She wasn't his wife. Those boys outside? He knew them. He knew them so well. They weren't his sons. They weren't hers. They weren't even brothers.

Back. Forth. Back. Forth. Then the ball fell. Bounced once, rolled... The boys didn't see it anymore. They were barely boys anymore. They were teenagers, exiting the years of adolescence. The blonde was seventeen, the boy a year, maybe two older. They weren't playing with the ball now; they were kissing.

"No!" Erica hissed, glaring at them.

Back. Forth. Back Forth. They weren't kissing. Why would they kiss? They were boys. Brothers.

"Are you ready to go?" Erica chirped. She held out a neat picnic basket.

"I'm ready," Darren answered. He ran his hand through his hair. Still too short. Still not right.

"Alexander! Byron!" Erica called. "We're leaving now!"

The boys ran up. So youthful, so innocent. The older one, Alexander, with wide blue eyes and delightfully tousled blonde hair spoke first. "Goody! A picnic!" Byron, brown eyes and dark hair, spoke next. "To the lake?"

"To the lake, children," Erica agreed, kissing each in turn on the forehead. "Lead on, my little boys."

They led, Erica and Darren followed. Didn't they? But they were at the lake so fast! Shoes were still pristine clean, legs not burning because there was no walk. There was no brilliant fire in the breath, no gleeful wincing at the power of crisp, cool wind searing the lungs. There was no freedom in the movement -- or freedom in the boys' play, her eyes, or in his own hair. No freedom, no love.

"Figuring it out, Love?" Mocking, sarcasm, so out of place. Darren turned to Erica. It wasn't her low, seductive purr that had uttered those words. It was another, boyish, teasing voice. But it couldn't exist, so it couldn't be there.

Hands shaking, Erica laid out the meal. "Eat up, Sweetheart," she said, sending him a bright smile.

"Eat a bite of food in the fairy world and you'll stay forever," the boyish voice again, still teasing, but worried now.

Alexander and Byron raised their sandwiches in perfect unison, about to take a bite. "Stop!" Darren yelped. They paused, and their gazes flickered up to him questioningly. Why had he yelled? There was nothing wrong with the food. How could there be? It didn't make sense. "I thought... We could... Go for a swim before we ate. Because after we eat, we won't be able to swim. You'll get a cramp. I heard that somewhere."

The boys looked excited. "Yeah! We want to swim now!" they agreed.

Erica looked frustrated. "Darry, dear, that's just an old wives' tale. You know that. Eat." She pushed the sandwich closer to his mouth.

He pushed it away. "Who are you?" he demanded. "Xan? Ronnie? What going on?"

The two boys stared curiously at him. "I'm Alexander, Daddy. And that's Byron. We aren't Xan and Ronnie."

"Yes they are. Push through further. Figure it out. You're so close now!" That voice again! Edging, pulling him further... "Tear through a little more."

"Are you alright, love?" It was Erica's voice now, sounding not quite sweet and not quite innocent.

"I'm fine," Darren snapped.

"No you're not." The boyish voice again. A hand brushed Darren's shoulder, brushed it, touched it, and then held it; the hold tightened to a grip and Darren found himself spun away from Erica. A boy. The boy. He had a sort of lopsided smile and an odd gleam in his dark eyes that told Darren that he had to be the owner of the mysterious not-there voice. Dark hair swept in his face. It should be immaculate. It should have at least looked pretty. Everything in this world was pretty. His hair wasn't though. It was sloppy. It stuck up at awkward angles, didn't look quite right. The boy let go of Darren's shoulder and stepped a pace backwards. "You're not alright."

Darren was transfixed. Angular face, sprinkling of freckles, jeans that didn't fit, stain on the shirt, gap between his front teeth, ears that stuck out. He was Imperfection.

"Who are you?" Erica demanded.

"I'm Anthony," the man answered with his lopsided smile, "and in the real world, you don't exist."

"Then go back there and leave us in peace," Erica snapped.

Anthony shrugged. "Well, I would if you hadn't kidnapped my family."

Erica turned to Darren. "He's insane. If you ignore him, he'll go away. Ignore him."

Anthony grabbed Darren's shoulders again. "Don't you dare ignore me. I want you to relax." In Anthony's grip, Darren relaxed. The world around wasn't quite perfect anymore. There was litter strewn around the picnic area now, the lake was a pond strewn with duckweed and the picnic basket looked old and torn and muddy. Familiar, though.

"Holy fuck, Xan!" It was Byron -- Ronnie, staring shocked, confused and helpless at the mindless little boy named Alexander. "Xan?" He was a teenager, complete with blue mohawk and eyebrow ring." He turned pleading eyes to Anthony. "Help him!"

Anthony shook his head. "I will. I'll help him. I promise. Get out of here now before you get caught in the web again."

"I'm not leaving without Xan," Ronnie answered defiantly.

Anthony looked about to argue, but Ronnie turned and grabbed the bewildered looking Alexander and kissed him. As he kissed him, Alexander grew into a teenager, his blonde hair blossoming into shaggy shoulder length tresses. Xan laughed and pulled away "Positively brill, Ronnie."

Ronnie turned to Anthony. "We'll be back in the real world if you need us." He shot Anthony a smug look and put his arm around Xan's waist. Both boys faded away.

"That couldn't happen. That didn't happen," Erica murmured soothingly.

Right, Darren agreed mentally. Right. That didn't happen. There had been no boys, so no boys had disappeared. And Anthony? He couldn't exist. He couldn't.

Erica nodded approvingly as Anthony faded out.

"Just a romantic outing for the two of us," Erica sighed. "No children, just us."

"It's nice," Darren approved. "It's perfect."

"Absolutely perfect," Erica giggled, leaning in to steal a quick kiss. Darren's stomach twisted as her lips loomed closer, and he backed away suddenly, repulsed. Erica frowned, but held up the sandwich. Strawberry. Not a sandwich. There was no sandwich, just this incredibly sexy strawberry. Darren stared helplessly at it. That wasn't right.

Soft breath on the back of his neck. "She's got you in so deep. I'm trying my best to pull you out of it!" Anthony cried.

"Absolutely perfect," Erica laughed again, and she pressed the strawberry to Darren's lips.

"Perfection doesn't exist," Darren said bluntly. "I've never believed in perfection."

The world was fading away, fading even farther than the dirty fishpond this time, fading into a black bliss. Erica was there. Anthony was there. The strawberry was there.

"It exists," Erica persisted, the strawberry still against his lips. "It exists and you can have it -- with me. He'll drag you into the real world. You can't want that, can you? You can't!" The strawberry was a pomegranate and Erica was a harpy. Perfect? Her legs were scaled bird legs, her arms covered in dirty feather. A beak protruded from her face, a beak with sharp teeth stained pink from the blood of coerced souls.

Anthony laughed. "You've really lost now, lady."

Erica disappeared in a furious melting of magma that soaked through the black void within seconds.

Anthony flicked the hair from his face and gave Darren a sparkling smile that made the blonde feel as if he were melting into the blackness much the same way Erica had. "Come on, Dare. Let's split."

Darren stared at Anthony in confusion. "How?"

"You want to leave, don't you?"

"Leave to... where?" Darren's eyes were wide, brown and imploring.

"Dude, she really had you trapped, didn't you?" Anthony looked concerned and worried, but mostly just puzzled. "First thing's first: Who are you?"

Darren frowned. "I know who I am. I'm Darren." Blonde hair fell in his face, a bird's nest. He could feel a sunburn scald his cheeks. There were holes in his clothes, and clunky shoes on his feet. "Definitely Darren." He grinned.

Anthony looked incredibly pleased. "Good. Now who am I?"

"You're Anthony." Pause. Then everything clicked and it was as if the world had righted itself again. "My gorgeous boyfriend."

"Always." Anthony looked even more pleased. "I think you've got it. Who are Ronnie and Xan?"

"Our kids." Not right. "Sorta, anyways. We took them in because their parents kicked them out. Because we love them like they really are our kids and we love each other."

"Right again! If only you could do this well on the Calc exams... Here's a tough one: Jack, Gustave, Dakota and Puck. Who are they?"

"Our pets. Jack's my Australian terrier with the coolest bandana in the world, Gustave is your gray cat that kills butterflies, Dakota's Xan's ferret and Puck is the devil from hell."

Anthony laughed. "You are definitely yourself again."

"That doesn't answer my question though: How do we blow this joint?"

Anthony shrugged. "You just have to want to. You want to, right?"

"Absolutely."

"Then leave." Definite worry crossed Anthony's face. "And hurry."

"I'm wanting to leave, but I'm not!"

"Hurry!" Anthony's voice was harsher now and he gripped Darren's shoulders in a vice-like grip. "Hurry up, we have to hurry!"

"What's going on?" Darren demanded.

"We were all in a car accident, remember? Us and Xan and Ronnie. Now you're in a coma and your stupid family wants to pull the plug on you. Hurry and get out of here!"

"They what?"

"Get out of here and get back to reality!"

"Stop them!"

"I can't!" Anthony looked pained. "They're your family and we aren't married enough to be family."

"Anthony!"

"Just get out of here, now!"

"I'm trying! I want to go home!"

"The doctor's in the room. He's in the room. Dare, get out of here! You can't die!"

"I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home."

"He's talking about Xan and Ronnie. He's trying to convince your family not to do this."

"I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home."

"Your mom's telling him to get it over with."

"I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home."

"Fuck, no. Darren!"

Anthony pulled Darren into a searing, painful, awful, beautiful, grieving goodbye kiss.

It broke. "Dare, you're dead."

Darren's world became blinding white. He tried to move. Couldn't. But he was breathing. There was a music in the air; the music of machinery, beeping and tweeting like mechanical birds. Sobbing. There was Anthony's choked sobbing.

Darren opened his eyes.

"Holy shit!" his mother screamed, dropping the unlit cigarette she held onto Darren's face. "You're supposed to be dead!"

"Talk about a rude awakening," Darren muttered.

Anthony was on top of him, hugging him. "You did it! You rock! You did it!"

"Anthony, sweetheart, get off him," Darren's mother laughed. "Your jumping on him can't be good for him."

"He did it! I told you he could survive!" Anthony yelled.

Darren's mother hugged him, skillfully wrenching him off Darren. "I know, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Tears were bubbling over her eyes, making her thick mascara run. "Can you ever forgive me, Darry? I never thought you could live and I just wanted the pain to be over." She was all out sobbing now.

Darren sat up, pulling free of most of the odd wires connected to him. "Mom, it's okay. I understand. No one's perfect."

He didn't forgive her right now, but she needed his forgiveness right now, so he gave it to her. She didn't deserve it but, well, after all, no one's perfect -- mothers most of all.

....
Author's Note: Finished. Heh. That wasn't the revamp of my previous story "Perfection" that I'd intended it to be; that was really a new story. The original story can be found under my pen name. Comments and criticism welcomed.