Chapter Text
The sudden rumble of landing gear against the runway tarmac and the flickering lights of the cabin cutting on caused you to snap out of your light doze.
Thank the gods. You had been sitting in the same seat for six goddamned hours. Damn Washington weather advisory...
"Finally..." You hissed gratefully under your breath, straightening out of your slumped position against the window and ignoring both the ache in your lower back and the fish-eyed stare from the child you had the pleasure of sitting beside the entire flight. 'I am so ready to get out of this glorified metal sphincter.'
You shimmied awkwardly to reach your hand down into your pocket and pulled out your phone, turning it on so you could shoot a quick message to the family group chat that you had landed safely. You listened as life began to stir again in the cabin, sleepy murmurs and shifting sounds floating through the air. You stared out the window as the plane rolled toward its hangar, watching it slow as the directors with glowing orange cone lights guided it to park, and felt something in your chest ease.
The intercom above flickered on with a small crackle, drawing your eyes away from the window involuntarily as you unbuckled your seatbelt.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, we have reached our destination: Allow me to welcome you to Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. The current time is 9:28 pm; the temperature is seventy-four degrees. Thank you for flying with-"
"You're not s'posed ta unbuckle yer seatbelt til the light's off, y'know."
You felt your brow twitch as you glanced to your side to lock gazes with your next seat neighbor: a child who couldn't have been more than eight years old, sitting next to their parent in the aisle seat, who had been effectively useless in terms of curbing their kid's bad behavior for the entirety of the time the plane was in the air.
Honestly, you typically loved kids; you really did, but some parents didn't deserve to have them. They could create such hellions sometimes, and this one had been getting on your last nerve for a WHILE.
"I do what I want, kiddo."
"S'dangerous."
"Yeah, well," you hummed as you stretched your arms above your head, sighing as your back gave a series of very satisfying pops, "I've dealt with more dangerous things before. We're already on the ground, relax."
"S'against the rules."
"So is kicking the seat in front of you and screaming loud enough to wake the dead just cause you couldn't have cookies," You responded with a snort, resting your head in your hand as you blinked sluggishly. "Didn't seem to stop you."
The row of seats in front of you tittered, as if they had tuned into the conversation and couldn't help but agree.
The crotch goblin's face scrunched as if they tasted something sour, clearly offended (good), and mumbled under their breath. "Bitch."
"Little shit."
"'Ey!" The parent in the aisle seat, a stout man with a pudgy red nose and an expression that looked as if he was perpetually dissatisfied with the world around him, barked at you over his kid's head with a scowl that reminded you of a pit bull, "Watch yer mouth when you talk to mah son!"
"Your son literally just called me a bitch; I'll watch mine when your son watches his."
"My kid would never-"
"Just like how he'd never make a flight hell for the entire plane? Cause he did that." You clicked your tongue, eyes flicking around as you noticed how many eyes and ears were honing in on the interaction. Lovely; potential witnesses. "You literally sat there and ignored him the entire time he had a tantrum over the fact that the stewardesses ran out of cookies. Denial is not just a river in Egypt, you know."
"He's jus' a child!"
"He's an older child who should know right from wrong. A child that is going to grow into a shitty teenager, and then into a shitty adult who will get socked in the face the moment he mouths off to the wrong person at the right time." You droned, resting your cheek on your fist as you gave the most unimpressed look you could muster. "The only reason he acts like an entitled underwear stain is that he learned it from the people with 'authority' over him. If you were a parent who actually cared, you'd teach him manners before his attitude ends up getting him hurt."
The shade of red the man's face was turning wasn't one you were aware a human could ever reach. You couldn't help but regard it with a distant sort of awe. "Are you threatening mah boy?"
"Ohhh no. No, no, no; it'd be wrong to hit a child... They can't fight back." You smirked in response as you glanced down at the kid, who seemed a lot more unsure of himself as he watched the conversation like a tennis match, then looked the man straight in the eye as you readjusted yourself in your seat... Just in case. "...You're not a kid, though."
"W-What are you trying ta say?!"
"Oh, nothing... Just that you could take the lumps in his stead. Help him learn actions and words have consequences." You shrugged, trying to seem deliberately relaxed even as you heard the people both in front and behind you shift uncomfortably in their seats. "Lesson by proxy."
"Why you-!"
"Excuse me, folks," Came the genial chirp of one of the flight attendants, cutting into the increasingly heated conversation with a smile that said, 'Please don't make my job any harder'. It was easy to recognize her; she had handled the majority of the complaints and situations that arose because of the little turd beside you. Likely the head stewardess. You just knew she had to be 110% done with their nonsense. "Is there a problem here?"
"Not at all, mi-"
"This bitch," The man exploded at the poor woman while snapping a finger at you, "Just threatened to assault not only me, but my child! I want her arrested this INSTANT!!"
You let your head fall back against the window behind you with a deep sigh and a roll of your eyes as the kid started up the waterworks, as if on cue. 'Oh lord, here we go... Maybe I should have just kept my mouth shut-'
"That's not true!!" Was the first vehement denial as a head popped up into view from the middle seat in front of you, a teenager with dark hair and blue highlights; the one who had been plagued by the kid's kicking the entire flight. "That brat spoke to her disrespectfully, she answered, then when this jerk tried to cut in, she scolded him for being a shit parent. She didn't threaten either of them; she only said what could happen in the future if they didn't change how they treated people!"
Oh-hoh~?
"They're right, ma'am; this... gentleman... Is lying right to your face." A deep male voice followed from behind. Thanks to the kid's reclined seat, you could look through the gaps in the row of chairs and spot who was speaking: a well-groomed middle-aged man with square spectacles sitting in the aisle seat. The sheer disgust in the man's expression as he glared at the aisle seat in front of him had you holding a hand to your mouth to keep from breaking out into a smile. "His son provoked the woman first; it's a wonder that she hasn't snapped on them both this whole flight."
"How dar--Stay out of this!" The squashed-faced man's voice rocketed through an octave and came out like the squeal of a pig, his furious face whipping back and forth between the teenager and the man. "It's none of your business!!"
"Pardon me, I was recording the entire thing!" Came the chirp from across the aisle, where a young woman with auburn hair, sitting at the window opposite you, was grinning with particularly malicious glee as she held up the phone clasped between both her hands. "I was going to send this to my family to show them I landed safely, but I'm happy to show it to you if you need it!"
You eased back to lean against the plane wall with a sense of satisfaction as what had to be at least FOUR rows both behind and in front of yours on BOTH sides of the aisle launched a collective protest against this singular man and his crotch goblin; raising your thumb to your mouth to bite down on in an attempt to stifle the cackle building in your chest, because it was already much too late to hide the shit-eating grin that was sitting loud and proud across your face.
If there was one thing that could beat the polite courtesy of a crowd forced to be in proximity for a while in public... It was the collective pettiness and spite of said crowd when one or more individuals within it didn't follow the unspoken societal rules.
'Ah... Glorious.~'
The cabin lights brightened another notch (that harsh, fluorescent “everyone behave” kind of brightness), and you watched the stewardess’s smile strain as she tried to regain control of the situation. The other attendants were already moving down the aisle, hands raised, voices low and soothing, but the damage was done. The crowd had tasted blood.
“Sir, please lower your voice,” the stewardess urged, though her tone made it clear she was begging the universe more than the man himself.
“I won’t lower my voice!” he barked, jabbing a finger toward you again. “She’s dangerous! She threatened my boy! I want her off this plane!”
The kid’s sobs rose in pitch, wet and theatrical. You resisted the urge to applaud.
A ripple of exasperation rolled through the cabin: groans, mutters, someone mumbling “Oh my god, shut up...” under their breath. The teenager in front of you scoffed loudly. The woman with the recording phone angled it higher, making sure she caught every second of the tantrum.
The stewardess inhaled sharply, then pressed two fingers to the small radio clipped to her blazer. “I need assistance at row twenty‑two,” she murmured, voice tight.
Ah. There it was.
You felt the shift in the air before you saw anything; that collective inhale of a crowd sensing something official was about to happen. The father must have sensed it too, because his bluster faltered, his face flickering with something like uncertainty.
It didn’t last.
“Good!” he snapped, wiping at his sweaty forehead. “Finally someone’s gonna deal with this psycho.”
You didn’t bother responding. You just leaned back, arms crossed, letting the moment wash over you like warm bathwater. If smug satisfaction were a crime, you’d be cuffed already.
It took a bit, but eventually the plane door hissed open.
Two airport police officers stepped inside; dark uniforms, reflective patches, the kind of posture that said they’d dealt with far worse than an irate man and his gremlin offspring. They moved down the aisle with practiced efficiency, stern gestures for people to remain in their seats, murmurs trailing behind them like a wave of sound.
The father perked up, pointing at you so aggressively his arm shook. “Officers! Arrest her! She threatened us!”
The officers didn’t even glance your way at first.
“Sir,” the taller one said, voice calm but firm, “We’ve received multiple reports of disruptive behavior from you and your child during the flight.”
The man blinked. “W–What? No! She-”
“We’ll need you both to come with us.”
The kid wailed louder, genuinely this time, clutching his father’s arm. The man sputtered, face blotchy and wild. “This is ridiculous! I didn’t do anything wrong! She’s the one-”
“I'm sure we have witness statements,” the officer interrupted, nodding toward the rows of passengers who were suddenly very invested in pretending they weren’t listening. “And video evidence.”
The auburn‑haired woman across the aisle lifted her phone like she was presenting a trophy.
The father’s mouth opened and closed like a dying fish. The kid hiccuped.
“Sir,” the officer repeated, “Please stand.”
The man finally rose, muttering curses under his breath, dragging his sniffling spawn with him. The crowd parted like the Red Sea, some passengers openly glaring, others whispering with the kind of petty delight that could power a small city.
As they were escorted toward the exit, the father threw one last desperate look over his shoulder at you, a mix of fury and humiliation.
You gave him a cheeky waggling wave of your fingers.
The teenager in front of you snorted so hard their whole body shook.
You exhaled, letting your shoulders drop. Finally. Peace. Blessed, beautiful peace.
Ha! You thought.
The taller one turned back toward your row, expression unreadable. He stepped closer, stopping beside your seat. “Ma’am,” he said quietly, “We’ll need you to come with us as well.”
A few heads swiveled. The teenager froze mid-turn. The woman with the phone lowered it slightly.
You blinked. “Me?”
“It’s standard procedure,” the officer continued. “We need to ask you a few questions regarding the incident.”
Your stomach dipped; not fear, exactly, but that cold, inconvenient awareness that your mouth had been running on autopilot for the last ten minutes. Because of course it had.
This was exactly why Mama kept telling you that your mouth got you in more trouble than a situation was worth.
You sighed, unbuckling your seatbelt properly this time. “Sure,” you muttered, standing and smoothing your shirt. “Let’s get this over with.”
You stepped into the aisle, nudging your carry‑on gently with your foot as you rose. The soft, questioning mrrrp? from inside reminded you that your two furry emotional support units had been saints this entire flight; unlike the gremlin child that had been beside you. The taller officer’s gaze flicked down to the bag, noting the mesh ventilation panel and the faint movement behind it. His expression shifted again, just slightly. Awareness. Maybe even sympathy.
As you straightened, the cabin lights caught on the thin chain around your neck--a muted gleam of worn silver tags slipping out from beneath your shirt before you tucked them back down. The officer’s eyes tracked the motion. Recognition. Respect. A subtle recalibration of how he approached you.
“Right this way,” he said, tone noticeably more measured now.
You slung the carry‑on strap over your shoulder, feeling the familiar weight of both cats settle as they adjusted inside. One of them (probably Juniper) pressed her head against the side of the bag, seeking reassurance. You brushed your fingers along the fabric as you followed the officers toward the front of the plane.
Passengers parted again, but this time their expressions were different. Less scandal-hungry, more curious. A few even softened when they noticed the carrier. Fur babies had a way of shifting a room’s energy.
The cool rush of terminal air hit you as you stepped through the doorway. The officers guided you just off to the side of the jet bridge, out of the flow of disembarking passengers. The father and his kid were farther ahead, still sputtering and sniffling as they were led toward a waiting cluster of airport security.
You exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of your neck. The chain around your neck brushed your fingers; a familiar weight, grounding in a way you hadn’t expected to need tonight. The shorter officer glanced at them, then at you. “Ma’am,” he said quietly, “We’re not detaining you. We need a statement.”
“Yeah, I figured,” you muttered. “Didn’t plan on causing a scene. Guess I was rarin' for a way to blow off steam; it was... A long flight.”
“Visiting family?” he asked, more conversational than procedural.
Your jaw tightened. “Something like that.”
The taller officer nodded once, as if he already knew not to pry. “We’ll make this quick.”
You appreciated that. You really did. Because the last thing you wanted was to explain, to a pair of strangers in uniform, that you were only in Georgia because your uncle - who you hadn't had contact with since you were a little girl - had died two months ago. That he’d left you something bizarre in his will. Something you still weren’t sure how to process.
A circus.
Not a metaphorical one. Not a mess of paperwork or drama.
An actual, physical circus.
Old grounds. Old tents. Old secrets. And apparently all of it was yours now.
You swallowed, pushing the thought aside. One crisis at a time.
The officers guided you toward a small waiting area near the jet bridge, away from the noise of the crowd. The father’s voice still echoed faintly from down the hall; high‑pitched, furious, unraveling.
You rolled your shoulders, letting the tension bleed out. “Alright,” you said, meeting the officers’ eyes. “Ask what you need to ask.”
The taller one nodded and pulled out a small tablet. “Let’s start from the beginning.”
And just like that, it was clear your long day wasn’t done with you yet.