Ambrosia Rosewood

Ambrosia’s hands shake, leaves quivering and he’s pretty sure he may just throw up.
His hearts racing. Hasn’t stopped since he escaped that cell, he’s not sure what’s become of the others, the ones who escaped too and the ones who didn’t. Part of him doesn’t want to dwell on it, not think about them and especially not those who stayed, their desperate calls for them to do likewise because FOWL is gone and SHUSH will rescue them. But he doesn’t trust them, he doesn’t trust anyone else to save him now, they didn’t before, why would they now.

It’s not sure how long he’s been sitting in the garden bushes.
They’ve begun to grow around him, comforting and welcoming, like the people inside. He wants to leap up and see them, but it wants to remember how to breathe first, so he’s not just some soggy mess all over them.
His parents are sitting inside, eating dinner like they always do at 5:30pm on the dot. They look surprisingly similar to how they did all those years ago. They seem smaller though, probably because Ambrosia’s taller, he’s different than he was before. That’s what makes his heart flutter again, but he swallows it down, he’s their son, nothing changes that.

He finally manages to convince himself to stand up, the bushes help, raising his shaking legs and petting his nervous arms. Feeling a bit guilty that they’re about to interrupt them during dinner, they always used to tell him off when he’d do that, he just hopes that it’s different this time.
The leaves quiver as he reaches up and presses the doorbell, before it’s brought back down to his front, fingers nervously intertwined and he has to stop itself from rocking on his feet waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Something it’s had to do a lot more these last few years, but he’s never gotten any better at doing it.
Waiting, waiting, waiting. There’s noises approaching the door now and he tries to stand up straight, trying not to look down at himself as his throat still tightens. He knows he looks different, it’s been a lot for him to take in and he’s had to live with this happening to them, and it knows it will be a shock to their parents.
His father appears at the door, pulling it open and Ambrosia looks at him.
He expected to look up, it looks down now.
Confusion crosses the man’s face, and he pauses,
“Lilliana.”
She appears and steps forward, the same confusion that then turns into disgust crosses her face, and Ambrosia is beginning to internally panic. He didn’t think this could go wrong, didn’t expect it to, they’re his parents can’t they see it. A nervous swallow and a slight throat clear so that it can speak, even if its tongue feels a bit like lead, not sure how to start this conversation. It’s chest burns,
“I’ve missed you.”
That is not the first thing it wanted to come out of its beak, knowing that it truly explains nothing and does not aid them. He needs to explain what happened, and almost prove who he is.
“I- I’m your son. FOWL took me, did this,” He glances down at his own plant hands as it says this, “I- I escaped though, Mum, Dad.” He looks between them, their expressions haven’t changed.
A deep feeling of concern settles into the back of Ambrosia’s skull. This isn’t going well, not in the slightest.

A cold silence falls across them before his mother opens her beak.
“You’re not our son.” It feels like he’s been dunked into ice water, “FOWL killed him.”
It glances over to his father, nervous, hoping that he disagrees with her, that he recognises him, and knows that he’s their baby boy.
“We don’t know what you are,” his father wraps his arm around his wife, “Whatever you are.”
Something incredibly soft is then hushed between the two of them, tears are welling up in her eyes before she then backs up. Ambrosia’s pretty sure the same tears are welling up in his own, this isn’t how it wanted this to go, not even vaguely how it should be going, they’re his parents why can’t they see this. At that thought a choked sob escapes from him, something guttural from within him, why can’t they see.
“Please, dad… Why can’t you see me.”
“You’re not my son. You’re something pretending to be him, something wicked that FOWL’s created to trick us.” That gruff voice that Ambrosia had been so hoping would welcome him in and comfort him, expressing now that anger which he’d always tried to avoid.
It’s distinctly aware, that he might have choked out another sobbing beg, looking desperately over to his father, hoping that in some way he realises how wrong he is. It feels like a digging dagger, the final thing FOWL did for him, ironic that they didn’t even think about this. He was a failure to them because he didn’t change, wouldn’t give in to their wants and needs of him, but now that fact has caused more pain. A betraying part of his brain wonders, questions if maybe he should have given up the fight and then at least FOWL would have accepted him as their child, and that he hadn’t held out for this family, his blood that wants nothing more to do with him. He shouldn’t have come.
Sound comes wafting from inside the house, only just audible over his own sobs. Snippets of it can be captured, heard by them and it’s heart spikes at some of the words. ‘Villain’ ‘Monster’ It feels pathetic as it makes more tears fall, he’s not sure the last time he cried this hard, wasn’t even sure if he still could. Emotions are spiking in him as his father looks so cool and collected and so very disapproving and disgusted, moss feels like a small child who’s just broken his father’s favourite mug that can’t be replaced. But there is no mug, the closest thing to a mug here is him, and he’s been shattered and put back together all wrong, and there is no way to get him back to factory perfect. There’s no such thing as perfect, that’s become very clear to him right now. He feels like a monster right now, the thing which has destroyed their precious son even if he didn’t, even if he was trying to hold onto that duck more than anything else. It doesn’t aid his point, his emotions pushing to the extreme, the plants hear him and want to help.
The first bit of warning Ambrosia gets is the dandelion which has curled up and around his leg, he glances down at it’s smiling face, not wanting to acknowledge the horror that is spreading across his father’s face, but these are his friends, he knows they won’t leave him, won’t let him down. With the pain building in his gut, it blinks the tears away and up at his dad, one final look and he regrets it, regrets the look he receives, the horror and disgust in his face.
The dandelion allows itself to be pulled up as he turns on his heels, an angry hiss,
“You’re my parents, you said you’d love me forever, no matter what. You’re both liars!”
The plants from under the windows grow as Ambrosia leaves, not looking back, nor commanding them, they’re good at reacting to mosses emotions even if it doesn’t want them to it’s discovered. They spread, covering the doorway, forcing his father back into the house, the house which was meant to welcome him back in but won’t. That’s why he won’t look back, and that’s why his new friends help, help in the way that they can.

Ambrosia’s not sure what he’s going to do now. He’d banked too much on being accepted back, stupid of him to still believe in love, it’s clearly not what it’s promised itself to be, it’s why no one ever came to rescue him as it sinks in, that’s why he wasn’t rescued.
It doesn’t like what it’s going to have to do, but he has to do it to survive, right now survival is the only thing on his mind. He gently reaches down and pets the dandelion, at least he has some friends in this world.