Author's Note: Well, I had originally planned to find an idea for another series, but that fell through. At any rate, here's a one-shot that spiraled away from its original stream of consciousness thanks to running off to class after completing the first page.
Cosmo and Wanda have telepathy in this because I like it. So there.
Fairly Oddparents belongs to Butch Hartman.
Life had a bittersweet irony. Cosmo and Wanda could not conceive on their own, thus they godparented. However, either due to age or indiscretion, they lost the child repeatedly. It was similar to spending years (or months or days, depending on the person) in gestation only to have a stillborn. No matter how much they steeled themselves, no matter how they reminded themselves of past occurrences, the agony of separation continued unabated. Sometimes, it came easier than others. Sometimes other forces, less magical, stole a godchild from their grasp. Those were always the worst.
Jorgen seldom assigned them to children with terminal illnesses, though to a cold hearted tactician, it might be a logical choice. After all, if the youngling died before their eighteenth birthday, there was no need to eradicate memories or produce false ones to compensate. Nonetheless, he knew better than to create such tragedy, as the child inevitably tried to wish away their ailment and that was against Da Rules. Cosmo and Wanda had only two godchildren contracting an incurable malady and after, they refused to serve any more. Standing hopelessly aside as the disease ravaged who they considered their own offspring proved too painful.
Yet there were those who died accidentally or were murdered. In the households of exceedingly miserable youth were sometimes homicidal family and the instant they strayed in attention, they lost terribly. Or, since the invention and mass production of cars, one had been involved in a hit and run accident. The likelihood of one dying on them had diminished thanks to technology, but it made it no less poignant when it occurred.
Today they observed the most overt of failures, Denzel Crocker. Timmy twirled his pencil idly and stifled a yawn. As per their duty, they remained close by in squirrel guise, but Wanda had stopped batting acorns to contemplate Crocker. Cosmo playfully flung one in her direction to coax her back, but she wouldn't turn away. Instead, her brilliant pink eyes followed the grade school teacher around the room.
What would have become of him if Timmy hadn't interfered? What would have become of the others, who, without help, lost them too? Did having magic in your life make it easier, better? Or did it teach you to rely on the wrong things? The grown up godchildren she investigated appeared happy, but it was impossible to run a survey or check on every single one of them. And for every one child who kept them that long, there were at least ten who inadvertently blew their cover. Trustworthiness was an issue with humans.
"Wanda…" Cosmo called, though to anyone else it would have sounded like a squirrel's chatter. He sidled up beside her and nuzzled her affectionately. She smiled offhandedly, but paid him no mind. Crocker had called his pit bulls on an unassuming individual and they shrank against the back wall in terror. In the front by the blackboard, Crocker snickered, but Wanda thought it was more of a hollow laugh, a victory he didn't relish. Was it because of what had occurred that momentous March 15th that had emptied him of anything joyful?
Disregarding him, did they do more harm than good? Their actions were forgotten; did that mean everything else they taught them vanished as well? Was everything they did for naught?
((You're thinking deep thoughts again,)) Cosmo cajoled, entwining his tail with hers. She blinked, surprised at his random telepathy. Even after thousands of years of marriage, he managed to astonish her. She had to admit she found it rather charming. Unlike Juandissimo, who couldn't use telepathy in the first place nor could he focus on another for longer than five minutes.
((We're there for little time. How do we know we're making a difference if they don't remember us? What if we don't? What if we're like a forgotten toy?)) she sent, staring at Timmy now. A lobbed, crumpled up note whacked him in the back of the head and Tootie smiled gingerly, waving at her beloved. Timmy promptly flung it in the trashcan. Or, rather, he tried, but missed spectacularly.
((If we were truly important, wouldn't vestiges remain? Wouldn't…)) she trailed off, frustrated at her sudden inability to communicate. Cosmo blinked and scurried up the tree. She followed suit, but her heart wasn't in the mindless chatter or acorn gathering.
Timmy gnawed on his pencil, laid it aside, and prepared to play the not study game. Grinning wildly, he shoved his books onto the floor and turned to Cosmo. The fairy rested at the bottom of the fish bowl and occasionally swam absently around. He appeared melancholy, which took Timmy's mind temporarily off forgoing his homework and his new video game. Prodding the glass to get his attention, he searched for Wanda, but she wasn't at her customary place.
"What's wrong?" he murmured and Cosmo gestured towards the deceptively diminutive castle. Sighing, the shapeshifter fae lowered the draw-bridge and disappeared into the depths. Shrugging, bewildered but possessing the knowledge that some things were best left undisturbed (particularly when it came to his godparents), he glanced at his V-Cube. Suddenly, the not study game had lost its appeal.
Tapping his writing utensil idly, he stared at his math problems, compacted it into a ball, and wandered about the house. Unless Vicky appeared, he'd be free to find another activity. His parents need never know he hadn't finished his homework.
((Adults shouldn't believe in fairies. That's what we're taught. Yet there are those who do anyway. If our own godchildren forget us, do they forget their beliefs too? Or do they retain their sense of mystery and unconscious morals to be better adults than they would be otherwise?)) she sent when Cosmo asked her if she planned to exit any time soon. He blinked, completely lost, and she sighed, flopping onto her stomach on her bed. Cosmo joined her; though he didn't always get the gist of what she said, he still liked listening to her.
((I guess what I still want to know is if we serve a purpose beyond the 'you wish it, we dish it'. Everything is transitory…))
Cosmo laid down next to her and stared at the top of her four poster. The castle was the most recent of their disguised homes, but he preferred the others. Their houses reflected whatever the godchild expected, but certain aspects carried over regardless of what magically endowed structure they inhabited. Habitually, their beds changed, though that didn't stop them from sleeping in the same bed, it discouraged it. Yet there were times when closeness was desired and, with Wanda's mind a mass of confusion and doubt, it helped.
((We aren't,)) he sent. ((They might not remember everything, but we're there to remind them. It doesn't even have to be us; just the colors pink and green mean something. Or the vague, out of reach happiness you had once upon a time.))
((But how can we be sure we have that impact? How can-)) she protested, and he wrapped his arms around her. Smiling softly, he buried his face in her hair and inhaled her familiar scent.
((You feel with your heart. You remember with your head. They don't have to work together to have an impact,)) he replied.
Perhaps it was time to put that into practice. Waving her wand, she carried them to a familiar, run down house.
Denzel Crocker kicked a rock down the street and watched it ricochet into a sewer grate. The resulting splash popped and died. A group of children passed him; he ignored their taunts like he always did. It had become second nature to tune out idiotic, noisome remarks. After all, someone who believes in fairies has to have a few screws loose, don't they?
A tricycle halted in his path and he blinked, staring at the pink and green coloration. No crowns hovered above, but an obscure, buried memory tugged at his subconscious. In the tree nearby, a pink eyed raven and green eyed crow (they hadn't coordinated) watched him surreptitiously. Normally, he'd pursue them, but without knowing quite why, he smiled at the trike. He couldn't explain it, but the coloration reminded him of safety and joy.
Continuing on his way, he momentarily overlooked his obsession with fairies and, still smiling, wondered if his childhood had ever been peaceful and pleasant. Maybe it had and he couldn't recollect it.
Pressing her wand in her beak, she carried them to Bill Gates mansion and his personal computer. Atop sat two fairy figures, a male and female (how he'd found a male fairy figurine was anyone's guess, because those were exceedingly hard to find). Pausing on the way to another conference, he touched the two and smiled, utterly oblivious to the reason. While of course he disbelieved in the very notion of fairies, they brought tranquility.
Two posters disappeared in a cloud of fairy dust.
All over the world, wherever they had godparented successfully (or perhaps not), their godchildren discovered something related to them that mollified them. While they themselves might have been magically erased, their message and the idea of them were far from gone.
"Where were you guys?" Timmy cried when they entered. He donned a maid's outfit and Tootie's barrettes. Cosmo suppressed his laughter for about five seconds before capitulating to it. Wanda rolled her eyes.
"Being loved," she answered simply and prodded Cosmo in the side. He nodded and grinned at Timmy.
"When you're all grown up and you look at a maid outfit, think of us," he said, smirking.
"Nothing, sport," Wanda replied, smiling. "Nothing at all."
While it was true godparenting had its dilemmas and tragedies, and yes, there were times they grated on her nerves or inadvertently made the situation worse; it was part of growing up. Regardless of whether their godchildren remembered them or the idea of them, they were still cared for. And maybe that was what made it all worthwhile.