Chapter Text
When Desmond came to, he realized something was wrong.
For one, the voices he heard sounded like Shaun had multiplied himself and that alone was a nightmare to think about, but his entire body felt a little different. He felt both lighter and at the same time a little heavier than his usual weight, and was it just him or did his legs feel a lot shorter than usual?
The last thing he remembered doing was standing in the Grand Temple and touching that orb, saving the world but sacrificing his life in the process. He saved the world, yeah, but he also released Juno. So, you know, not exactly the greatest outcome for everyone but he was confident someone would stop him in his place.
Of course, that reflecting didn’t exactly answer his body questions. Maybe death makes your body feel differently.
Finally opening his eyes, he groggily looked around the room. His vision blurred a little and he yawned to try and get the sleepiness out of his eyes. Once he properly came to, he realized something.
He was in a house.
Not the temple, not some mortician's room, but a decent looking house. Or at least, he was settled in a decent looking room. He was also on the floor, but it took him a moment to register that fact. Once he did, he craned his neck downwards as he was just about to pull himself from the wooden floor.
Was he finally losing his goddamn mind or were those an actual set of paws attached to his body? It had to be the former, right? Please be the former.
He was just exhausted and seeing things, that had to be it.
He closed his eyes tightly, hoping that when he opened them he would see his human shaped hands with human skin and definitely not fur, but when he did, he found himself to be quite disappointed. The same furry paws as before. He huffed a little, realizing that this was quite the predicament he was in.
Well, there was no use in just lying on the ground. He needed to figure out where he was. If he was close to home, then maybe he could find his way back. Maybe Rebecca or Shaun could figure this whole thing out.
Standing up, his little legs took off as he started to explore the room. Perhaps it was canine instincts melting into his own, but he didn’t hesitate to sniff around the room for some sort of clue. The room smelt flowery and a little bit like tea.
( He would know; Shaun drinks the damn beverage any chance he gets. )
He stopped at a desk. A chair was pulled out from it and Desmond did his best to hop onto it. He struggled a little, wiggling around to try and pull himself up, and somehow, he managed to do so. It was weird not having thumbs; he took them for granted when he was a human.
‘Alright, now let’s see what I can find…’
He focused, and his vision immediately shifted. Documents glowed, important ones highlighting themselves in a bright white. Alright, it seemed like his Eagle Vision was still intact, a little weaker than before, but still there. He pushed some of the papers with his snout, eyes darting around until he found the morning newspaper laid out in front of him.
London, 1868.
Brown eyes stared at the date. 1868, that was the 19th century or something, right? And he was in Britain.
‘OK, so nowhere near New York or even the farm or even in the right century. That’s great. You’ve somehow time traveled back in time and you’re a dog. Not even a threatening dog or a big dog. A little one with short legs and a fat body. Way to kick off coming back from the dead, Desmond.’
“Desmond?”
A woman’s voice rang from the hallway and Desmond’s ears perked up. It didn’t sound like anyone he knew ( well, obviously, because he’s in the 19th century and in London ) and he jumped down from the chair. Just as he did, an older woman with grey haired walked in, looking around the room before finding the tiny dog on the floor, staring back up at her.
“Oh, there you are!” She smiled and reached down to pet him. “You ran off suddenly, so I thought there was something wrong!”
He tried to say something, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was a bark. Expected, since he’s a dog now, but it still startled him a little. He had no means of communicating at all with someone else. The woman didn’t seem to catch onto his startled expression and picked him up, carrying him in her arms.
“Come now, Desmond, let’s go back to Dizzy and the others!”
Desmond had no idea who ‘Dizzy’ was, but he had to admit, being carried in someone’s arms wasn’t a bad feeling. It reminded him of when his own mother would carry him to his room when he was younger, after falling asleep on the couch.
The memory caused his eyes to flutter close, as he let out a sigh. He’ll figure more things out later. He needed to rest a little.
So, London.
He was in London and in the 19th century. He doesn’t get why Shaun likes it so much; it’s cloudy most days and a little cool even when the sun is out. Oh well, it’s Shaun’s home and you know what they say, home is where the heart is. Even Desmond missed New York from time to time.
It didn’t take him long to figure out just who owned him. Mary Anne Disraeli was the wife of Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli and both seemed like nice people. At the very least, they took care of him. Desmond remembered how there were ungrateful pet owners back in New York who treated their pets like accessories and things like that, so he was grateful that he was stuck with people who cared for him.
Mary Anne was nice, albeit maybe a little on the kooky side, but she meant well, obviously. She was clearly someone who went out of the way to not be a part of the norm, and Desmond had to admit that he could respect that a lot. Good ol’ Dizzy wasn’t too bad either, though he did have a particular annoyance with the Gladstones. He swore, if there was a button to press to cause the Gladstones to poof away, Benjamin would slam that button a hundred times.
The pamper life is different, though. After being used to being pushed around and used as a pawn, working hard back at the bar to earn a living for that shitty apartment he had, he wasn’t used to having things handed to him. Alright, well, he was a dog, so dogs didn’t really need to do any work, but it was still jarring to get used to.
Still, months passed and slowly he started to get used to it. He didn’t have much of a choice; he couldn’t figure anything else besides where he was. Not why he was turned into a dog, or why he traveled back in time - nothing.
The most he could think of was that Minerva or Jupiter, or even Juno, was behind this, but at this point he was just hypothesizing. He couldn’t exactly prove it, aside from the fact that Minerva really thought he was the chosen one and whatnot, and stood by that claim, so she would do what she needed to do to keep his mind alive. But, again, it was all hypothesizing.
He wanted to go out and try and figure out what was going on. It was a little frustrating being a dog, since there was very little he could do in this form.
‘Calm down, Desmond,’ he told himself as he watched the carriages and people pass by the window, ‘you need to get used to this body first. You’ll get your chance soon.’
Outside of the room, the low blow of the train’s whistle carried out into the wind, as it came in from Crawley on its usual route.