Author's Note: This idea came to me while RPing with my friend Henderson (as many of my ideas come to me, these days). I intended for it to be a one-shot, but, as tends to happen to me, I got carried away and it's now a five-part short story. Originally, I only wanted to cover this plot chronologically, from one omniscient 3rd person POV. But then I kept finding more and more characters who wanted to comment on the action, so I decided to dedicate one chapter to each of them. Hence, the five chapters and the use of 1st person narrative.

Psychologist Elizabeth Kubler-Ross identified five stages of the grieving process- denial, anger, bartering, depression, and acceptance. I've tried to sculpt each chapter (and each character's reaction) around one of those stages. This is what happens when I let my psychology minor interfere with my writing process.

Oh, and just for reference, these chapters aren't chronological. All five take place in the same night, but at different times in the evening. So I hope you don't get confused that all the characters don't bump into each other.

This first chapter covers the stage of bartering. It went in a very interesting direction towards the end; I didn't expect to end up where I did. Originally I meant to end this chapter with Billie, this chapter's narrator, yelling to the skies, cursing everyone and everything out. Instead, he actually came to some conclusions and found a surprising way to deal with his grief. I like how this chapter turned out; I hope you do, too.

Disclaimer: A statement made to cover one's own ass. Since every chapter features different characters, I'll have to put a new one of these in each chapter. Sigh. Okay, I don't own Billie Joe, Joseph, or Jakob Armstrong. Additionally, I don't own St. Jimmy, Henderson, Jinx, Mike Dirnt or Tre Cool. I do own the characters of Roxie and Josh. The Guardians (who are mentioned, but who never directly appear in the story) are also mine. No copywrite infringement or defamation of name is intended. Also, the name Sotera comes from the Greek word Soter, which means savior; I used it because I enjoy puns.

The funeral ball was still going strong as I slipped outside. The soft, lilting music of the sad waltz followed me, refusing to let me get away that easily. A warm May breeze blew around me, fingering my face and hair like a soft caress before wrapping around me and blowing on its lazy way. Without sparing a backwards glance for the people gathered in the ballroom of Ainahau Palace, I shoved my hands in my pockets and disappeared into the shadows.

I walked along the lawn, my Converse-clad feet kicking at random tufts of grass, my eyes focused on the stars overhead. For some reason, the stars always looked most beautiful from the palace gardens. The night was quiet, peaceful, almost achingly beautiful; a perfect counterpoint to the reason why there were so many people gathered in the palace tonight.

I kept as quiet as I could, loosening my tie and undoing the first two buttons of my shirt, rumpling my suit just enough so I felt somewhat casual as I strolled through the gardens. I'd lived in the royal palace of Arcadia (a land known to the locals as Strangeland) for 21 years, since I married my wife at age 18, but the beauty of our home still was not- and would never be- lost on me. I passed the extensive beds of white, blue, pink, yellow, and purple irises (my wife's favorite flower), red and white roses, lily of the valley, white gardenia, peonies, pure white lilies, white, dark and light purple lilacs, white and purple hydrangea, and dozens of others I couldn't name, for once blind to their beauty. I walked until I found a certain flower- bleeding heart, which someone once told me was the official funeral flower of Tibet. I picked a few stalks, then turned south, heading for the secluded, far corner of the gardens, where rested the aim of my walk.

The grave markers were nestled under a huge, ancient weeping willow, two of which were surrounded and damn near buried in flowers and tokens of sympathy. I brushed aside the gently swaying branches and lay my flowers at the headstones before taking a seat on the bench situated at the foot of the graves. I leaned forward, resting my forearms on my thighs as I stared blankly at the headstones, doing my best to ignore the pedestal in the center, on which rested a funerary urn. The headstones were simple, a rectangular block made of black marble on which the identifying information was carved, with a white marble bust of the deceased soul resting on top.

I've buried a lot of people I love in my life. I lost my father to cancer when I was ten, and I thought no loss could possibly be worse than that. However, each funeral since then has been worse than the one before; possibly because it's one more grief added onto the yoke of my burdens, one more person who'll never come back to me. I've lost family members, and more dear friends than I care to think about.

But nothing will ever be as painful as burying two of my children.

It breaks the natural order, a parent burying a child. It would have been bad enough had I lost only one son. But I had lost two. Two of my three sons, two of my six children, were now lying stiff and cold six feet underground.

The worst part of burying my boys was knowing that it could all have been prevented.

There's something that sets my wife and children apart from other people in Strangeland, besides the fact that we're the royal family of Arcadia. The whole reason that we're the royal family is because my wife and kids are "blessed" with the "gift" of magic. My wife Roxie and her two closest friends Henderson and Jinx (who happens to be my older sister Anna) were all born with this magic, but it wasn't activated until Rox and Henderson were 15, and Jinx 18 years old. That's when they were told that they were the mythical Saints of Strangeland, the destined protectors, and in Roxie's case ruler, of Arcadia. The Jesus has royal blood in his or her veins, and thus rules on high as King or Queen of Arcadia; the Patron Saints are kind of like the aristocracy of Strangeland. Henderson Lee was Lady Henderson Adrienne Gloria Mefina, the Patron Saint of the Denial; Jinx was Lady Anna Darlene Michelle Dacer, the Patron Saint of the Lost and Found; and Roxie O'Connell was Roxanne Grace Isabella Sotera Corianth, the Jesus of Suburbia and Princess of Arcadia.

Henderson, Jinx and Roxie married Mike, Tre, and me, respectively. We're what the Guardians call "mortals," meaning we have no magic in our veins. But because the girls do, so do all of our kids. We have quite an impressive array of second-generation Patron Saints now; thirteen, to be exact.

Well, eleven now.

I stared at the headstones again, my eyes filling with tears as I gazed upon the headstones.

Joseph Marciano Armstrong
(Crown Prince Joseph Oliver Daniel Marciano Corianth-Armstrong)
The Jesus of Suburbia
15 March 1995- 14 May 2016

Joshua Lee Armstrong
(Prince Joshua David Alexander Lee Corianth-Armstrong)
The Idiot America
06 September 2004- 14 May 2016

Tears filled my eyes as I gazed at the marble busts of my sons' faces. They had each contained magic in a startling degree; Joey's promoting order and peace, Josh's tending towards chaos and mischief, counterpoints and natural balances to each other. But all that magic hadn't been enough to save them.

I looked up through the branches of the willow tree, up to the stars. Technically, the Guardians' plane lies alongside Strangeland, not above it. But it's traditional to look up when addressing deities and protectors.

"Why did you do it?" I murmured, pain making my voice break. "Why didn't you let them come back? Isn't that what their powers are supposed to do, protect them from dying?"

Roxie, Henderson and Jinx have all died multiple times, whether due to magical battles or bullets (and in some of Roxie's cases in particular, multiple difficult childbirths). By now we'd all accepted that death was a necessary part of their job as the Saviors; typically by dying, they instigated a disruption of the cosmic forces that held sway over Strangeland, and by returning from the dead they were able to initiate needed change. We'd all come to think of the Saints as invincible, immortal. We'd sunk into a more or less comfortable assumption that they would never really die, that they would always return.

The deaths of my children were working to rapidly reverse that confident delusion.

I furiously blinked back tears as I stared at the busts of my sons' faces. What good was their magic if it was unable to save them? Why had they been given these powers, if they'd been snatched away from us before they'd been able to do anything good with them? Why had the Guardians demanded the lives of my boys? Joey had only turned 21 a couple of months ago; Josh had been a few months shy of turning 12. They were innocents. Why had they been taken away?

I turned my head back towards the palace. I could just make out the figure of my wife rising from her throne, giving voice to the speech she'd been working on for a week now. A speech about never forgetting the danger that still lurked in Arcadia, the threat that she promised anew to eradicate forever; she spoke about the need to not forget the loss of the little Saints, as people had taken to calling all of our children.

I winced as I watched her. Even from here, it was painfully clear to me how heavy a toll the past week had taken on my wife. Nobody else would have noticed it; when Roxie stood her posture was as perfect as ever, and I didn't have to see her face to know that other than a faint tinge of sadness, her features would be clear and unlined. But I had seen her grasp the arms of her throne as she stood. To anyone else, that motion was meaningless; to me, it was a warning sign that her back was in pain again, and she should be taken to bed soon.

Roxie is a fourth degree black belt grand master of hiding pain, physical or emotional, of putting on a poker face and doing her duty no matter what the cost to herself. If she got the notion into her stubborn head that she needed to remain in the hall until all the guests were gone, she would move among the groups of people and dance until she collapsed. And she would make damn sure that no one could see how much she hurt.

But I had made it my business since we were ten years old to notice every minute detail pertaining to her. She couldn't hide from me. It was the least I could do to know when she was in pain, given that the pain was my fault in the first place. The whole reason her back troubles had begun was her first pregnancy, with the son we had just buried. Joey had kicked and moved incessantly from the moment he was big enough for Roxie to feel his movements. He had been breeched in delivery, and in his typical stubborn fashion had gotten stuck. He more or less kicked himself around through the birth canal until he came out the proper way, destroying his mother's internal organs and lower back muscles in the process. It had made her body weaker, and her subsequent pregnancies and deliveries (which she endured directly against the doctors' orders) hadn't helped anything. The back pain would inevitably flare when she was stressed, and I would always know, no matter how she tried to mask it.

I hung my head, finally unable to hold back the tears. Roxie's pain… my boys' murders… the incessant danger my family faced… I was the head of the family, I should have been able to protect my wife and children. I had sworn to myself the day I learned of Roxie's magic that I would protect her, never let anything happen to her. And yet, time and time again, it had been I who was helpless, and she the one doing the saving. It wasn't fair. Why could I not protect those I loved most in the world? Why did I have to be useless to my family?

"What if we left?" I asked the heavens. "What if we left Strangeland, never came back? What if the girls gave up their magic? Then would you leave us alone? Would you let them come back? You always let the girls be reborn, why not my boys?"

They were traitorous thoughts, I knew. It had been I who once said that Strangeland was nothing without its Saints. The girls could no more give up their powers than I could give up music; it was a part of who they were. But I couldn't help but think that none of our problems would exist, were the girls not called to be heroes.

I sighed, turning my gaze back to my sons' graves. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I should've been the one to go down and get Josh. Then maybe Jimmy would've been so distracted with me that he wouldn't have killed you two."

I glared at the funerary urn that contained Jimmy's remains. Had it been up to me, Jimmy's ashes would be at the bottom of the ocean, not laying in repose between Joey and Josh. But Roxie had demanded that Jimmy be laid to rest under this willow tree, which eventually would guard all of our graves. Despite what he had done, he was still her brother, still the boys' uncle, she had argued. She would bury him with the love he deserved.

"If you were still alive, I would kill you for what you did to them," I snarled at the obsidian urn. "You killed your nephews. You broke your sister's heart, again. I hope you're fucking happy."

Standing, I turned and stalked off. I would spend many more nights- and probably many days- by the graves of my two boys. But for now, I had the living to contend with. Though my boys rested in death, I was still alive, and I had to live for them now.

I re-entered the ballroom, inclining my head at the people who nodded or respectfully bowed to me. I wasn't the King, not officially; I had refused the title and the responsibilities. But I was still married to the Queen, a member of the royal family whether I liked it or not, so a certain amount of deference was always given to me.

Normally, at functions such as this, I was separated from my wife by the simple fact that she was on display as the leader of the country. I was content to remain in the crowd with Mike and Tre, always on my guard in case I had to spirit the children away while Roxie dealt with a problem, but I was perfectly happy to stay away from the throne and the public eye. Because of my refusal to be the King, however, I normally wasn't permitted to approach Roxie, or stand by her side at public functions.

I didn't give a shit about that right now. Roxie had been on display for a solid week now, always under scrutiny, always forced to hide her own emotions and discomfort in order to be Roxanne Sotera, Queen of Arcadia. I wouldn't allow that tonight.

I boldly walked up the steps of the raised dais on which three thrones were placed. Roxie was the only one still sitting in her throne; she had encouraged both the Dowager Princess and the new Crown Princess to leave the ball and get away from the public. I didn't bother bowing to Roxie; I just squatted before her, holding her gaze.

"It's late," I said softly. "And your back is killing you. Let's get you out of here."

Roxie sighed and nodded, not bothering to fight with me- yet another sign that she was exhausted beyond the point of endurance. I always knew when the pain was excruciating, because she wouldn't fight me when I tried to take care of her.

I stood and offered her my arm, following at least that bit of protocol. She stood- needing the arms of the throne for support again- and took my arm. The only sign she allowed of weakness was how hard she gripped my arm; other than that, she looked perfectly normal, raising the skirt of her dress in one hand, taking every care to keep her head up despite the weight of her amethyst-studded gold crown, keeping her posture straight and tall despite the weight of her black mourning clothes.

One of the perks of being queen- at least in Roxie's mind- was that she set the fashion trends for the aristocracy for public events such as this. It was an excuse for her to indulge her love of historical fashion or whatever else struck her fancy. Usually, she wore simple, free-flowing dresses for public audiences and events (and jeans and normal person clothes when she wasn't on the throne), but apparently tonight she'd felt the need to shield herself in something more elaborate, hiding from the world behind armor made of layers of clothes. Tonight's creation was made of heavy blue-black silks, with three-quarter length sleeves and a tight-fitting, squared off neckline bodice (I saw the advantages there- leave me alone, I'm a guy, she's my wife, I can stare at her chest all I like) over a full princess skirt with a bustle and a foot-long train, and gold and amethyst dangling earrings and bracelets, and of course the gold, amethyst-encrusted crown. The effect against her porcelain skin and violet eyes was beautiful, but the weight of all that material and jewelry in combination with her weariness was taking its toll. I had to get her out, quickly.

A path was cleared for me to escort Roxie out of the ballroom. She kept a small, gentle smile on her face, nodding to all that bowed to her. I ignored them. As soon as we were in the dark, deserted hallway, out of the eyesight of everyone in the ballroom, I bent over and picked Roxie up, gathering her into my arms. I may look small and lanky, but I'm surprisingly strong; even the added weight of her ensemble didn't deter me. With a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of her soul, Roxie closed her eyes, pausing only to take her crown off and put it on my head before winding her arms around my neck and laying her head on my shoulder.

I kissed her forehead as I walked, then quietly instructed her to open a panel in the wall that hid one of the many secret passages strewn throughout the palace. I had discovered the existence of the numerous hidden walkways shortly after Roxie, Mike, Henderson, Tre, Jinx and I had moved into the palace. Later, the kids and I had spent hours playing hide and seek and tag using the passages; Josh in particular had known the passageways better even than I did. I walked quickly, easily navigating to the palatial suite that belonged to us.

I set her to her feet gently, then closed the wall panel, concealing the passage once again. Without speaking, I set her crown on the mantle above the fireplace, then began removing her dress and the numerous underthings- Roxie didn't stint on historical detail, I'd give her that. There was even a corset.

"Was this really a good idea?" I asked as I began unthreading the torture device.
Roxie nodded, undoing the bun that restrained her waist-length brown curls. "It actually helped a lot. Kept me from moving too much, so my back doesn't hurt as much as it could."

I nodded before throwing the contraption onto the ground. I rang for a maid, instructing her to take the crown and jewelry back to the vault where they were kept when Roxie wasn't wearing them, and to wash and put away her clothes after bringing us the herbal tea Jinx had concocted to help Roxie with pain. She bowed to us quickly before starting her tasks.

I picked Roxie up again easily, carrying her into our bathroom and holding her in my lap while I drew a bath for her. I eased her into the water, which I'd made as hot as I knew she could stand, and added in lavender bath salts in hopes that it would help her relax. Though she winced, she soon relaxed in the hot water, leaning against the wall of the tub. Pulling off the suit coat, tie, vest, and shirt, and kicking off my shoes, I took on the task of bathing her myself, keeping careful watch to be sure she didn't fall asleep in the water. As I massaged her back, coaxing the muscles to relax, she opened her eyes, though her gaze was blank and unfocused.

"I can't believe they're really gone," she said softly, her voice dead.

I nodded silently, kissing the top of her head. I kept quiet, knowing she didn't want a conversation, only to voice the thoughts she'd kept locked in her head for a solid week.

"I still remember holding each of them when they were babies," she continued in a choked voice, a single tear falling from her eyes. "Joey was so red and wrinkled… and Josh was so tiny, and he screamed so loud… That never changed, Joey was always like an old man in a boy's body, and Josh was always a little terror… And now…" More tears fell into the water, but neither she nor I made any move to stop them. "They were supposed to bury us," she whispered. "They were supposed to grow up, raise families, take over for me and Jinx and Henderson. This wasn't supposed to happen. Billie, I…"
"I know, baby," I whispered. "But it did happen. And we gotta remember them, and keep living for them. You know that's what they want, what they died for. They died so we didn't have to."
Roxie nodded, looking like a lost little girl. "That's what I'm supposed to do. Not Joey. Not Josh."
Despite myself, a tiny smile quirked at my lips. "Joey always did take after you in the saving-people department."

A tired laugh left Roxie's lips before changing into soft sobs. Grabbing a towel, I lifted her out of the water, carrying her to our enormous bed. I closed the canopy curtains, hiding us from view, before curling around her, holding her close, as she finally let herself cry.

Seeing her grief renewed my anger with the Guardians for refusing to barter with me, but I kept it locked inside, taking care of Roxie in Joey and Josh's stead. They had always been the two children most fiercely protective of their mama, stepping in to shore her up and comfort her in times when I wasn't there. Now it was my turn, time to take over their job.

Maybe in this way, then, I wasn't totally useless. I may not be able to actively fight to protect everything I love, like Roxie did. But I could support her, be strong for her so she could be strong for the world. Maybe that was the legacy my sons had left me, what I had left to live up to. Silently thanking the boys for that insight, I pulled Roxie closer, cradling her as she cried herself to sleep.