Author's Note: I'm thinking about making this into a series. We shall see. And, for the record, you are no longer allowed to indicate any sort of scene transistion with characters or extra spaces. Yes, of course I'm pissed off!

Disclaimer: I don't own FOP. But at least this won't be as violent as The Other Saga, which I might or might not be taking a break from…

Once Upon a Fractured Fairy Tale: Hero

Once upon a time, there was a boy named Timmy Turner. Most called him average, the popular kids called him a pink-hatted bucktooth loser. There was nothing particularly extraordinary about him, nothing Tootie could ascertain, at any rate. She wondered why she fell for him. Then, she remembered…

(Say the word and they won't be there. Scene transition).

"No, mama!" A four year Tootie, tugging on her mother's skirt begs.

"I'll do anything, just take me with you!" Tears form in her eyes at the thought of being left alone with her icky sister.

"We're sorry," her mother lies. She can't stand being in the house as her little tyrant, either. But, this way, at least she can escape her. This is a horrible thing to do her Tootie, but she'll adjust. Or Vicky'll kill her…

"No, you're not! If you were sorry, you'd return her-" Tootie begins but a clap on her shoulder silences her. Vicky, in all her ten-year-old glory, has slammed a hand down to nearly knock her over. Oh, no…

"Don't worry, mother dearest. I'll make Tootie really is sorry for her comments." Vicky says, spewing saccharine with every word. Every breath she takes, she shoves her little sister a bit further down. Her knees can barely support it.

"We must…er, be going. Be good, Tootie," her father says hurriedly, fixing his tie. His eyes shift jerkily, avoiding his eldest daughter's gaze. No one speaks of her in her presence, lest something horrid come out of it.

How come you never tell Vicky to be good? Tootie thinks, wrenching her older sister's hand with an effort from her shoulder. Vicky hits her in the back of the head and it takes all her not to start flailing her tiny fists against anywhere she can reach. After all, what good would it do? She'd just end up worse off.

They spurt off in a record time, fifty five seconds. Vicky ought to know, she has a stopwatch. She smirks, satisfied. Of course they trust her to baby-sit her baby sister, they have no choice. All their past, every deed they've done wrong, she'd got it on file. All they need to do is say the word and she'll bring them down.

"Do you wanna…play dolls?" Tootie says hopefully. You never know, beneath that cruel exterior, her sister might be a kid at heart. Stranger things have happened.

"If by dolls you mean chores, then sure! Enjoy playing by yourself, twerpette!" Vicky cackles, shoving her in the direction of the utility closet. "And if this house isn't spotless, you can enjoy sleeping in there!"

"I hate you!" Tootie sobs, reluctantly heading in the direction Vicky suggested. Sobs wreak her small frame, but it only makes Vicky laugh. Of course, she's a cold heartless witch! I wish she were never born and I was the only child!

"And I love that you hate me. Get to work! I'll be watching cartoons in the living room," Vicky smirks, kicking her in the back and sending her face first into the mops.

Several exhausting hours later, Tootie collapses into the couch next to her sister. "I did everything. The toilets, the sinks, the floors, the-"

"I know what's in our house, brat!" Vicky snaps, her fingers tightly clutching the remote. "I'm not a moron like you! And why do you wear your hair in those stupid pigtails?"

"Because I like them!" Tootie says defensively, edging away from her. Teapot rage, in four, three, two, one.

"I think they're stupid! Get rid of them, now!" Vicky, turning away from the glow of Animaniacs, orders. It seems Vicky has side stepped the arena of suggestions and has headed straight toward demands.

"I like them!" Tootie retorts, her arms folded across her chest. Vicky's made her change everything, from her wardrobe to her choice of food, just because she thought it was "stupid". She's sick and tired of this.

"And I think that if you don't get rid of them right now, I'll chop them off!" Seizing her by them, she yanks her sister up off her feet and, kicking and screaming, drags her to the bathroom. Good, she's glad she can finally get rid of the last thing that really annoys her about her little sister. That and her existence.

"Let go of me! What did I ever do to you?" Tootie shrieks as she's slammed down unceremoniously on the toilet seat. Unfortunately, since she forgot to put the lid down, she nearly falls in. Darn Vicky.

"You were born! Now shut up before I rearrange your face!" Vicky snarls, retrieving the scissors, then replacing them. She has a better idea. This'll teach her worthless waste of a sister to act up.

"What are you doing?" Tootie asks cautiously, her eyes on the cabinet. She doesn't like where this is going. From what she can see with her limited view, it appears as though Vicky is in her father's cabinet. But why? What's in there?

"You know, it's not just the pigtails that annoy me. I think it's your hair in general. You know what the problem is? You have it." In her hands was her father's razor and Tootie gulps. Oh, no, not this.

Too late smart, Tootie bolts for the door but Vicky locks it, sealing her doom. The razor, once plugged in, viciously purrs to life. Tootie is reminded of a lion on the hunt, ready to attack.

"Oh…" Tootie moans, her arms wrapped about her legs. "You aren't gonna use that on me, are you?"

Still purring, the crimson razor slowly approaches her head. As it does, Vicky grins maliciously. Oh, what the kids will say when she gets back to preschool! She can't wait! Maybe she should take a camera and record the moment for prosperity.

Tootie cries out in pain as the razor, reaching its intended target, gets caught in her plastic hairpins. Frustrated beyond belief at this, Vicky wrenches both the pin and the hair out, causing her scalp to bleed. Damn, she should have thought of this beforehand. Ah, never mind. This causes an infinitely greater amount of pain.

"Stop it!" Tootie protests and flings her hand up. Perhaps blind to this, or perhaps apathetic, Vicky continues to scalp her until the razor gets caught…in her little sister's hand. Now there's too much blood to see…

Stunned at what she's done, for she really isn't that evil yet, Vicky stumbles backward and into the bathtub. While she does enjoy torturing her sister, the sight of all that blood nauseates her. Besides, she might die at this rate, because the razor is embedded in the girl's palm.

Vision growing steadily more and more clouded, Tootie finally passes out, her palm split open. Vicky takes awhile to process this, that she was responsible for her little sister and although she enjoyed forcing her to do the chores and threatening to shave her head, the idea of killing her is a little too extreme even for her.

Cautiously rising, Vicky hoists herself out of the bathtub and checks her sister's pulse. Tootie groans and tosses her head, but nothing more. As much as she hates it, she's growing worried about her. Besides, if something happens to Tootie, something might happen to her for happening to Tootie.

But what to do? As much as she'd love to just bolt, it might look a tad suspicious. Besides, there might be laws against leaving her like this. Grr…does that mean she has to save the shrimp's life?

Her decision is made for her when Timmy's parents, checking up on their neighbors as per her parents' request, stride into the house. They're chatting amiably, not suspecting one of the girls upstairs could be bleeding to death. Well, if anyone asks, Vicky'll just say Tootie did it. Accidents will happen, blah, blah, blah.

"Vicky? Tootie? Your parents asked us to come over and-" Mrs. Turner begins but is cut off because her little boy has darted up the stairs. Recently, she's begun to wonder about him because he does the oddest things. For example, yesterday, she found him glancing at an empty fishbowl, asking if fairies could turn into fish.

"Mom! Mom!" Timmy cries, banging on the bathroom door. "There's someone in there!"

"Of course there is, honey. The door is closed. We should wait for them to come out," Mrs. Turner says, trying to pry her son away. Mr. Turner is behind them, impatiently stamping his foot; he has to use it too.

"No! I smell blood…" Timmy whispers and his parents shiver. No more horror flicks before bed for him. Since he's a kid, they're ready to write it off as something as trivial as that. Besides, smelling blood? C'mon.

Mr. Turner, knocking on the door but hopping on one foot, growls. "I knew I should have done in the house! Why did I eat all that prune juice?"

"You mean drink, dear," Mrs. Turner corrects absentmindedly, wrenching her 'precious gift from above' with great effort from the handle. For a four year old, he certainly has a tenacious grip. She would marvel at it, but she has more important matters at hand.

"No, I mean eat. It was frozen!" Finally sick of waiting, Mr. Turner barges in, heedless of anyone who might be caught in a humiliating position behind. Fortunately, no one is, so he proceeds to unzip his pants. "Dad" lacks peripheral vision.

"Mr. Turner!" Vicky gasps, blushing furiously. Tootie, sprawled out beside the toilet, moans slightly. This draws his attention away from his full bladder, for the time being.

Timmy, free of his mother (she's too busy gazing at the sisters to notice him), rushes to the pigtailed girl. He doesn't know why, but the sight of blood fascinates him. And he was right- there is blood.

Tootie's eyelids flicker; she can't see anything, though, because the fall broke her glasses. Still, her tiny hand seeks out comfort, the one free of the razor. The sole thing she sees before fainting again is a boy in a pink t-shirt and a silly pink hat. Her savior…

(Where the wild stars would be)

Her legs folded neatly beneath her, Tootie shut her diary with a soft click. Surrounding her were relics of her obsession. She didn't know how she'd live without Timmy. Still, not all her memories of him were bathed in such a glow…