(AUTHOR'S NOTE READ: Aloha, fanfic readers! Usually you guys read my Phineas and Ferb stories. No worries-I'm not at ALL done with those; I love writing for them too much! Many more PnF fics to come. But this is the not-associated-with-my-L&S: Kokaua Blitz-fanfic-series one-shot, based on the anime Stitch! the series in Japan, which took place after Lilo and Stitch: the series, replacing Lilo with a Japanese girl named Yuna. Lilo appeared again with her look-alike daughter, Kidda, in episode 23 of Season 3 of Stitch! Unfortunately, Season 3 was the only Season that never came out in English, so we watchers had to settle for English subtitles. This will explain most of the fanfic you are about to read: h t t p : / / w w w . y o u t u b e . c o m / w a t c h ? v = h 3 F T x 7 _ p 0 1 M And please note that this fanfic is basically explaining, in a short summary, everything that happened in Lilo and Stitch, Lilo and Stitch: The series, and Leroy and Stitch. In my fanfics, Yuna, her island, and Stitch's separation from Lilo NEVER HAPPENED. I hate the Japan show for replacing Lilo. On that note, enjoy!)


Too Far Gone

(An anti-Anime-based Lilo and Stitch fanfic)

"Where's the juice? I want some juice."

7-year-old Kidda Pelekai, a Hawaiian girl only a teeny, tiny bit on the chubby side with long black hair and coffee-with-milk-brown skin, a red dress with white flowers on it, and dark sandals, reached for the last juice box on the daycare's one table. Someone snatched it up before she could, though, making Kidda gasp and whirl around.

A brown-haired, freckle-faced 9-year-old boy named Hako, also in the daycare center, sneered at her.

"Hey!" Kidda wailed. "That was mine!"

"Says who?" Hako taunted. "Does it have your name on it, Freak-Face?"

Kidda's eyes welled at the sound of the horrible nickname the boy had given her. He and the other children treated her like some sort of rabies-infected animal ever since her mother had enrolled her. She was always the last to eat the snack, always teased, always scolded for being "mean and nasty" to the other children. Of course, the daycare employees never saw them pull her hair, or knock her down, or steal her "family heirloom", homemade doll. Only then would she ever act out.

"But I didn't get any," Kidda pointed out, "and it's the last one! So it has to be mine."

"Maybe it would have been. Except for one little problem." Hako took a sip from the straw embedded in the top of the juice box. "You're too slow!"

"I'm telling!" crowed Kidda. "It was mine and you know it!"

"Who you gonna tell? Your ugly doll?" Hako cackled, grabbing the homemade toy out of Kidda's hand and tossing it to one of his 9-year-old groupies.

"Hey! Give her back!" Kidda ran towards the child, who then threw it back to Hako.

Hako held it high above his head with a kid-chubby arm. Kidda grunted and jumped for it. "You're such a freak," Hako taunted. "You're slow and dumb and way too short. No wonder your mom doesn't want you around!"

Kidda's vision blurred with more tears and she screamed, "That's not true! Quit being mean! My mama loves me."

"You? Who could live with such a weirdo?" laughed Hako.

The other boys laughed as well.

Kidda tried not to lose her temper. She really did. The older boys were bigger than she was, but when she got riled up, she could be a dangerous little Hawaiian girl, as all angry toddlers are.

She grabbed the doll and yanked, placing the heel of her sandal on Hako's chest, kicking with all her 7-year-old strength. "Give...her...back!" She flailed her fist and—more accidentally than purposefully—landed a punch right to his nose.

A shredding-of-thread sound followed as Kidda finally pulled the doll from Hako's grip. She tumbled backward. Hako did the same and glared at her, breathing heavily. He cupped his hands around his mouth and wailed:

"Kidda kicked me! Kidda kicked me! Ow! Ow! Ow!"

The other boys began running in circles and repeating what Hako had called. Kidda knew these sounds well. She was about to get put in time-out for sure.

She heard shouts outside the Honolulu Daycare center. The door swung open. Kidda ran quickly to one of the miniature plastic play sets. You know the types—wannabe toddler playgrounds contained in a few plastic-rubber walls with holes in and out of them.

Kidda climbed inside and hid there with her broken doll in the shadows. She blinked back tears, but the fluttering of her eyelids only made them roll gently down her cheek.

"Don't listen to them, Scrump," she said softly. "They don't know what they're talking 'bout."

She gasped upon realizing that the precious doll's soft arm had been torn off. She held it in one hand and the rest of the doll in the other, eyes filling up again. She buried her head in her folded arms, both of which rested over her knees.

"Kidda!" called one employee. It was the one that usually watched over Kidda, a short teen, actually, with chin-length brown hair and large, full lips, a green-and-white top, a yellow scarf around her neck, and purple shorts over light-blue tights. "Your mother's here to pick you up. Get your things right now, young lady."

Kidda clutched Scrump and the doll's broken arm in a hand and hurried out of her hiding place, running to see her mother, who stood at the doorway to Kokaua Town's Daycare Center, arms open.

"Mama! Mama!" Kidda wailed, throwing her arms around her mother's legs. "Look! Look what they—"

"Come on, Kidda, we have to go," her mother said, cutting her off absent-mindedly. "Dinner's on the stove back home at your aunt's house," she rolled her eyes, "and if we're late we won't hear the end of it, huh?"

Kidda instantly felt better upon hearing her young mother's teasing tone. "Uh-huh!"

"Well, come on, then."

"...And then they ripped her arm right off!" Kidda handed her mother Scrump and her detached arm, sitting on the end of the bed in her aunt's spare bedroom—on the top floor.

Her Mother gasped and smiled. "It's nothing we can't fix, Kidda, don't worry." She stroked her daughter's coal-black hair. "I'm sorry the other kids are mean to you," she murmured.

"Why do they hate me so much?" sniffled Kidda, hanging her head.

"They..." Kidda's Mother looked away. "They...they just don't know what to say."

Kidda sat there quietly crying for a moment before sitting up again. "I kicked Hako Gerkins today."

"You kicked him?" Mother replied.

Kidda nodded. "Before I punched him."

"You punched..." Mother laughed.

Kidda looked up and blinked. "I thought you'd be mad at me, Mama."

Her mother stopped laughing and tried to make a serious face, black eyebrows pinching together. "I am." The face failed miserably and she tried biting back a grin, which didn't work very well either. "I'm not, okay? But only because I know how you feel."

"You do?"

"Mmm-hmm." Mother let Kidda sit on her lap while she began brushing her daughter's hair. "When I was a little girl, everyone thought I was...a little different, too."

"They did?"

"Yep. They called me all sorts of horrible names. And they teased me and played pranks on me, and they wouldn't let me play with them—"

"Just like Hako."

"That's right. Just like Hako."

"But you're so nice, Mama!" protested Kidda. "Didn't you have any friends?"

The woman smiled, gazing into the distance. "I had Stitch."

Kidda watched her for a moment, perplexed. What a strange name for a friend. "Stitch?" she repeated, whispering.

Her mom bent down, whispering now too, as if it were an enormous secret that must be kept at all costs. She nodded, long black hair cascading over one shoulder. "Uh-huh. Kidda...do you believe in fairies?"

"Uh-uh."

"Do you belive in...angels?"

"Yeah!"

"Do you believe in...in—well—aliens?"

"Duh!" Kidda nodded rapidly. "They're all over the place!" She leaned in and whispered behind a hand, "Know what I think?"

"What?" Mother leaned in too.

"I think Hako's an alien!"

Her mother laughed. "I don't doubt it for a second. All the stinkyheads act like abominations some time or another, right?"

"Exac'ly!" giggled Kidda.

They both laughed together for a moment, coupled with a bit of a tickle-fight, and then Kidda got up the nerve to ask again, "Who's Stitch?"

Her mother looked away for a moment. "You said you believe in aliens, Kidda..."

Kidda nodded.

"Well, Stitch was...an alien. Okay?"

Kidda's eyes grew wide and she nodded again, more rapidly now than before.

"And he came to Hawaii when I was just about your age." She went on. "He was blue, and smart, and he loved coconut cake, and he had big ears—like—" Her mother grabbed two long palmetto fronds that were hanging on the wall of the bedroom for decoration. "Like this. And he had four arms and these big, curious black eyes..." she made circles around her eyes and largely as she could with her fingers. Then she smiled and lowered her eyelids looking at her hands in her lap. "And he was always very fluffy."

Kidda giggled.

"At first I thought he was a dog. A puppy."

"What kind of dog is blue?" Kidda snickered.

"What kind of dog is blue—the best kind, that's what!" The woman laughed, tickling Kidda again.

Kidda shrieked with mirth and grinned. "Go on!"

Her mother tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and sighed. "He was all bad and only some good. He disguised himself as a dog so he could use me for protection."

"Protection?" repeated Kidda. "From what?"

"Not what—who. Well, okay, whattoo—other aliens. The entire Galactic Empire—that's like the president of space—wanted Stitch to be taken apart and away from Hawaii."

"Why?"

"Because he was very dangerous. So they sent Stitch's creator—an evil alien scientist named Jumba Jookiba—to capture Stitch again, with his one-eyed otheralien friend, Pleakley."

"Stitch was created by a scientist?"

"Yep—Stitch was a genetic alien experiment. He was number 626."

"Cool!"

The woman laughed. "It was very cool, yes. But your aunt and I didn't know that at the time. We thought he was our puppy. So I tried to train him to be good."

"Did it work?"

"For a while, yes. But then Stitch got us all in big trouble—and we ended up on our way to space prison!"

Kidda gasped. Her mother was such a fantastic story-teller. "What did you do?"

"Well, Stitch saved me. He broke us out. Because he remembered—we were Ohana. And you know what that means?"

Kidda recited with a large smile, "Ohana means family."

Her mother smiled back and said it with her:

"And family means nobody gets left behind—or forgotten."

"So Stitch and Jumba and Pleakley all came to live with us—right here in this house." The woman gestured to the room. "And we found out Stitch had cousins—other Ohana—all the other 625 experiments Jumba created in his lab before Stitch. They got loose all over Hawaii. Stitch and I caught them all and turned them from bad to good—and found the one place they each truly belonged."

"How long did that take?" Kidda chuckled.

"Oh, about three years," her mother touched her daughter's nose with a fingertip teasingly.

"Three whole years?" Kidda exclaimed, astonished.

Her mother nodded. "Uh-huh. And so, we had one big Ohana—and Stitch was always right there for me, my very best friend."

"Wow—you got to meet real, live aliens!" Kidda squealed. "Real, true, live aliens from another galaxy! You're so lucky, Mama!"

"I was, wasn't I?" Her mother smiled. "Here—do you want to see a picture of Stitch?"

Kidda nodded and jumped up and down and squealed a bit more. Her mother ruffled her hair and left the room for a moment before returning with a scrapbook labelled Cousins on the front cover. It was pink and old; very worn-out. But Kidda treated it as if it were precious gold as she opened it and gasped with delight.

There were pictures of her aunt and uncle, her mother as a child, and an odd-looking blue creature in every picture, always smiling, always standing beside the child.

"That's you?" whispered Kidda, pointing to the raven-haired girl in the photographs.

Her mother nodded. "Mm-hm. That's me...and that's Stitch...oh—turn the page—that's Jumba. And that's Pleakley."

"He looks like a noodle with a giant eye!" giggled Kidda.

Her mom giggled too. "He does, doesn't he?"

Kidda continued looking for a while longer, then glanced up and said softly, kindly, "Mama? How did Stitch die?"

Her mother was taken aback. "Die?" she stammered. "Wh—Kidda, sweetie, he didn't die."

"So he's not dead?" shrieked Kidda, springing from the bed and racing to the elevator-exit of the room. "He's still here? Where?"

Her mother scooped her up before she could take the metal elevator downstairs. "No, no, no, no, no! He's not here. Stitch is...well...he..."

Kidda waited as the woman set her back down on the bed and ran her fingers through her hair.

"He's been away for a long time," she murmured. "He left when I was in college."

"Oh." Kidda looked up. "When will he be back?" she asked excitedly.

"Nev—" her mother's eyes became misty as she cut herself off. Nobody gets left behind. "I don't know," she whispered.

"...Oh..." Kidda repeated, glancing down at Scrump again.

The elevator's floor-doors parted and Kidda's aunt entered the room, rising from the metal ground of the room.

As soon as the aunt began speaking, so did Kidda's mother—saying exactly what the aunt said in exactly the same manner she said it:

"Where have you been?" said the aunt, irritated.

"Where have you been?" said the woman at precisely the same time.

"Are you—" began the aunt.

"Lolo?" finished the woman, mimicking her sister's face perfectly.

The aunt put her hands on her hips and smirked. "Okay, okay. You've heard it all before. Dinner was ready an hour ago, you two."

"Is there coconut cake?" Kidda stood up and clasped her brown-colored hands together, chocolate eyes gleaming prettily up at her aunt.

"Yes..." the aunt blinked, surprised, and smiled. "I didn't know you liked coconut cake," she chuckled.

"I don't—but Stitch does! And I'm gonna be just like Stitch! Come on, Scrump!" Kidda grabbed the palmetto fronds and held them to the sides of her head like large, curved ears and growled and drooled her way downstairs, broken doll under an arm.

The aunt stood stock-still until the girl had gone. Then she sat beside the woman on the bed. "You told her, huh?"

The mother nodded miserably. "I had to. She shouldn't have to live without knowing..."

"What kind of life she could have had before he left?"

"Don't blame Stitch! It was my fault!" The woman protested.

"No, you're right," sighed her older sister. "If it's anyone's fault, it's mine."

"It wasn't like you could just postpone having a baby."

The aunt laughed and then frowned again. "I've still never forgiven myself for keeping you two from meeting on your college break like you should have." She raised an eyebrow. "What're you gonna do if he doesn't come back?"

"We'll meet again," the mother insisted. "I know we will. He's my Ohana. I can't just forget about him."

"If you're sure," her sister stood up and left the room.

Silently the woman, the mother of Kidda, alone in the old room, went to the vanity and pulled open a drawer. She took out a white-and-blue sock that had seen better days. Slowly she reached inside it and resurrected a red tiki necklace—actually, it was a collar with a tiki head for a license.

"Promise to never take it off?"

"...Promise."

She sighed. That fateful day at the beach, raining—like it had so very many years before, taking two more loved ones in her life: her parents—she had meant to meet Stitch as promised. Finally. After a year at college, she was finally, finally going to come home to Kokaua Town, back where she belonged. She was finally going to get to hug him again. To chase each other over the sand dunes again. To take pictures together, have mud fights—everything going back to the way it had been when she was younger. She promised him. She promised that she'd be there, no matter what. But then her big sister had gotten pregnant—gone into labor on that same day. So she'd had to choose—stay with her sister in her time of need, or go and meet Stitch, her treasured childhood friend, as promised. And she'd always regretted her decision in the end. She'd been nervous about going home to Stitch anyway. What would he say about how tall she'd gotten? How differently she dressed? What if he'd just forgotten all about her? Worse—what if he wasn't waiting?

But he had been waiting. Waiting until the sun set, even, to see the beloved best friend he'd been missing for so long. When she hadn't arrived, he'd left, finally. Convinced, she was sure, that his Hawaiian Ohana was gone forever, no

t keeping their promise. Jumba had left shortly after; the Grand Council Woman had given him a mission: to follow Stitch into deep space and keep an eye on him, making sure he didn't go on a rampage. Pleakley, driven to extreme measures now that his own best friend—Jumba—had left Earth, took to the cosmos as well, on a research trip for who-knew-how long. As soon as Hamsterviel—an evil, gerbil-like alien who had been Jumba's former partner when the other experiments had been created, bent on taking over the galaxy—had immediately released his henchman, experiment 629: Leroy, onto Hawaii, escaping Galactic Prison, and had captured and dehydrated all of the experiments back into experiment pods.

And just like that, her wonderful Ohana was gone. There wasn't much she could have done to stop Hamsterviel anyway—not without Stitch. She hadn't even had the heart to do it.

She'd kept the tiki collar—the one Stitch had left hanging on a branch in the woods skirting the beach. He'd taken it off; a sign that he wasn't planning on returning. Ever.

Lilo felt tears streaming down her cheeks. Nobody gets left behind...