Date: Sat, 26 Apr 2008 01:02:04 -0500 From: Karla Schulz Subject: Carrots and Celery Series: Damage Deposit (Chapters 19 to 25) Ack. Sorry about the wait! I've been posting over at the Damage Deposit lj (http://karlaschulz.livejournal.com/) but I sort of lost track of the fact that I should still be posting here. My other excuses include: graduating from undergrad is complicated and stressful! Hope you guys enjoy these chapters! --- Chapter Nineteen; the final slow dance through the days that we all hold on to (Kyle) After nearly an hour of sitting there, tensely, waiting, the door bell finally rings. Shelly and Kyle share another look, full of silent understanding, and then they get up and leave the room. As they're walking down the front hall to answer the door Shelly grabs Kyle's hand and pulls him around so they're facing each other again. The look he gives Kyle reaches right into him and demands attention. "You don't have to do this. And I don't have to come with you." He raises his eye brows. "You can do anything you set your mind to – you always could." Kyle smiles, but shakes his head. "Me and you together. That's how I want things now." This makes Shelly look like he wants to do a whole lot of things, none of which start with answering the door and dealing with Jonas, but he restrains himself as best he can, and just nods. "Okay. Let's do this." They open the door, and as expected, Jonas is standing at the ready, hands already crossed over his arms, geared up for another showdown. His face breaks into a startled, wide open look when he sees Kyle. For his part, Kyle is equally taken aback, despite knowing what he would find, and Shelly covers for him momentarily, feeling opening with a good, `get the fuck out of here' couldn't possibly hurt. Jonas actually rolls his eyes. Shelly won't admit it, but he's actually torn between being impressed and wanting to kill the guy. "Right, that's exactly what I'm going to do, what with this being the first time Kyle's actually here to talk to me. That's not in anyway what I've been freezing my ass off this past week for, so why shouldn't I just leave now?" Shelly looks at Kyle for help. "You're honestly telling me I can't kick his ass? Because, I really do think that would achieve the same purpose." Kyle puts a hand on his shoulder, and shakes his head. "Come on. Breathe it out." Shelly looks at him darkly, but is privately rejoicing at the half smile he knows he's responsible for putting on Kyle's lips. Once Shelly holds up his hands, giving Kyle the sign that he's not actually going to start throwing punches, Kyle turns back to Jonas. For a second, his face softens, but then he shakes the look off his face, hardening up. "Look man, I know I came to see you and I shouldn't have and I told you as much when I saw you so I don't really know what you thought you were doing coming here in the first place but why the hell did you have to keep coming back? Huh? Why'd you have to put them through that?" Jonas looks at him steadily. "I just had to know you were alright. You were just, you were SO NOT alright and I couldn't... I just had to know." Kyle silences Shelly's retort with a look before responding himself. "I'm alright." Jonas laughs. "That's it?" Kyle shakes his head. "Yeah, Jonas, that's it." A small, incredulous laugh completely without humor inserts itself about halfway through the statement. "What did else were you expecting? I mean, what else would you even want? I mean, it's not like... what? Are you backing out of what you did or something? Trying to say you made a mistake?" He can't look at Shelly, because he knows he'll hear the small trace of hope in these words, even as he can't believe he's hearing it himself. Jonas, for his part, looks lost, tired, and just about ready to bolt all over again, which would be just about the icing on the cake, Kyle thinks. "I can't do that, Kyle," he sighs. "I can't do it, this, anymore now then I could then. I just," he shrugs. "It doesn't make missing you any easier." Before Kyle can stop himself he's actually reaching out, hand extended inches from Jonas's emotion clenched face, but then he snaps out of it, and looks down at his hand, and then to Shelly, with a mixture of shock and despair. His hand comes to cover his mouth, and he rubs it across his face, for want of anything else to do with it. He feels Shelly's hand on his shoulder like a life preserver, but what he says to go with it sends him spiraling again. "I'm going to give you guys a minute here." Kyle's hand shoots out again, this time to reach for Shelly, but he ducks out of his reach. "I'll just be on the other side of the door, okay? I'm coming back out in five minutes if you're not in here first." Seeing the resolved set of his face, Kyle can only nod. "Okay. See you soon." He says it firmly, like he's reminding Shelly and himself. Shelly smiles. "Yeah, see you soon." Once he's shut the door behind him, the first thing Jonas says is, "Who the FUCK is that guy anyway?" Kyle laughs. It's about as far as he knows in terms of where to begin. "That's Shelly." "Yeah? Who's Shelly?" Jonas asks, shrugging his shoulders. Kyle, holding the sweater he's wearing tighter around himself against the cold November winds, shrugs in response. "He's... I don't know. He was my best friend when I was 14 years old. Then he moved away and I didn't see him again until about a month ago. It's... complicated." Jonas shakes his head. "Complicated how?" Kyle wishes he had it in him to say something about how it's none of Jonas's business, that he has no fucking right to know, not now, but if that was true they wouldn't still be standing here, so that leaves him the actual truth. "We," he shakes his head at the absurdity of it, that he's about to tell Jonas the one thing he hasn't trusted with anyone else, the one thing he hasn't discussed with another living person, not even Shelly. How wrong and how right that seems. "Right before he left, the last time we saw each other, we... I don't know... we had sex. I guess. We were 14, didn't know what the hell we were doing and it's not like it'd ever occurred to us before that moment that we would ever find ourselves in that particular situation so we weren't exactly prepared, but that's what happened. And then he left. And that was it. I, just, put it behind me. But now he's back and it's, it's like he was never gone. Like it's the next day or the next hour and we're just picking up where we left off, trying to figure out what the hell to do. Except seven years ago you hadn't just sent me off the deep end so, yeah. Its complicated like that I guess." Jonas is just staring at him, as if he can make sense of these words if he looks at Kyle hard enough, shaking his head back and forth slowly. "I don't know what to say." He says, after a long time, and then lapses back into silence again. Kyle shrugs. "Well now you know we're not so different after all." Jonas just keeps staring at him blankly. Kyle smiles, a bitter, knowing half smile. "I can keep secrets too." He elaborates. Jonas laughs, helplessly, at that. "Yeah. I guess you can." After that they just look at each other, openly for the first time, just taking each other in. In time, they're both smiling, softly. "You remember what I said to you?" Jonas asks, voice soft, almost hesitant. He goes on, "Just before I left," he's proud of himself for being able to say it, for not stuttering over the word, "You remember what I said?" "Yeah," Kyle answers, "I remember." Those words, that moment, repeat over and over in his head, it seems like a million times a day, in a loop, along with the looks on the twins faces, their voices when he came to them and they told him what he already knew, the way Kara had sat perfectly still, for it seemed like forever after they came back and told everyone else, the way Carrots and Celery had just grabbed onto each other and looked like they were never going to let go, as if that would somehow make everyone else make sense again. Jonas had walked into the living room, kneeled down beside him, touched his face, looked at him, and then leaned up, kissed his cheek, and whispered, "I love you. Don't forgive me." And then he had run from the room, never once looking back. He'd looked at him then just like he's looking at him now. "I meant it. I know you, and you would, even though I don't deserve it. So I'm telling you again. Don't. I can't be what you need me to be, I can't be who you think I am, I'm just not that good, I'm not strong enough. You deserve so much better, and if, you know, Rambo over there has his shit together as much as he looks like he does, and if he loves you as much as I guess he must the way he's been standing guard over you all this time then there's no decision to make Kyle. Take care of yourself for once. Be happy." He smiles, watery but genuine. "It looks so good on you." Kyle laughs the same way. "You think so huh?" "Yeah. Not that I did much to deserve it, but I got to see it on you a couple times. Looked pretty damn good." Kyle is biting his lip, looking skyward, tears threatening to fall, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Why can't you," he stops. "Why wouldn't you try? Why'd it have to be all or nothing, huh? We could have tried, you know, I would have understood – I DO understand – why'd you have to just leave like that?" Jonas smiles, softly, sadly. "Because I'm not the man you think I am, not the one I always saw in your eyes when you looked at me. I tried so hard, I wanted to be, so badly. I thought, after Calgary, that I could be, but I never was. And when it happened, when I saw what was going to happen, I knew I couldn't do it, I knew I would just end up failing you in the end anyway, and I don't know, maybe I guess I saw a way out, some way for me to be, I don't know, someone else, someone of my own creation for once, even if I couldn't be what you wanted me to be." Kyle nods shakily, hand coming up to cover his face again. "Yeah. Yeah I guess I knew that much, huh? At least that that's how you felt about it anyway, even if I happen to disagree. Even if I am still the only one on the planet who actually thinks I saw you for who you really were – really ARE – and loved you anyway." Jonas takes a step closer, and his hand comes to fit inside one of Kyle's own. It's the first time they've touched since that moment in the living room, and they both pause a minute, to feel it again. "Maybe you did. Should have seen this coming then, shouldn't you?" His voice has a warmth to it, a gentle teasing. Kyle smiles. "Yeah. Guess so." It suddenly occurs to him that it has to have been longer than five minutes, but his mind doesn't know what to do with that information, and Jonas is still holding his hand. "Do you know I just want you to be happy?" Jonas asks, after a time. Kyle nods. "Yeah. Yeah I know. You just never got it through your thick fucking skull that YOU DID make me happy." Jonas smiles, the one that has always made Kyle feel like Jonas's the only person who understands him, the only one who could, until Shelly returned. "Can he make you happier?" When he lets himself think about it, he thinks it has to be because of Calgary, flush from that victory, that brush with disaster seeming stunningly diverted, that made all of this so impossible to understand. It had been, in his mind, such a breakthrough, such a coming together on both sides, so much finally out in the open between them that they'd been pretending wasn't there for so long. It hadn't made any sense, after that, for Jonas to suddenly bow out, give up. He remembers the last conversation he had with his mother, at a roadside cafι about three hours from home, and he'd been so excited, so proud to be able to tell her that he was bringing them home, that he was bringing them ALL home and that everybody was in one piece, back where they belonged, back together. Her voice had shone with pride right back, and she hadn't seemed the least bit surprised, either, as though she had never doubted for a minute that he would get it done. That they all would. It had been, at the time, such a perfect moment, the hard fought and finally well deserved victory at the end of an impossibly long campaign, after so many casualties, so much loss. And he'd rode home, high off that victory, and nothing, not even the scene when they got to Jonas's parents house, the shock and then the collapsing into tears, the weak smile Jonas had given him when they parted, had been enough top dampen his spirits. He'd been sure, so sure, that now that they were all back home, back together, everything would be okay. That there wasn't anything he couldn't handle. And then he'd gotten the call from the twins, and something cold had sprouted in his stomach, but he'd tried to ignore it, put it away, because they hadn't said anything was necessarily wrong, not for sure, not that couldn't be fixed, and he knew he'd have to see for himself before he believed anything either way, so he'd driven there, forcing calm, but then he found them, and had seen their faces, and suddenly it felt like there was never going to be anything he could ever make better again, that the whole world was suddenly and irrevocably beyond him, beyond his control, and his head has been spinning ever since. The only times he'd felt something approaching calm since were some rare moments alone in the kitchen, working steadily and relentlessly, or times sitting in the dark with Carrots, holding his hand, and then the day Shelly came back. When Shelly looked at him and he suddenly remembered who he was. He's thinking all this as he looks at Jonas, thinking about his mother's last words to him just before she hung up the phone, the simple, reliable way she always ended conversations with her children, all throughout their lives. He'd told her they'd be home soon, and that they couldn't wait to be home and she'd said, "We can't wait either," and then, "take care of yourself Kyle," and then she was gone. And as he's thinking about this, he's wondering what it actually means, for maybe the first time ever, he's trying to figure out how to make something okay, not for one of his brothers, or for Kara, for anyone else, but just for himself. And finally, clear as day, as though nothing had ever been simpler, he remembers the look on Shelly's face, the way it had seemed to call out to him and answer at the same time, in that moment when they were finally alone together again, up in his room, for the first time in nearly seven years. And even now, looking into Jonas's golden green eyes, so beautiful, so filled with knowledge and pain, he can feel the warmth of Shelly's hand on his face, and he thinks about the smile only Shelly could put there, even in his darkest moments, even after all this time. And maybe, he suddenly realizes, its not about letting go when the thing you think you're holding on to has already left you behind, when maybe it was never really ever in your grasp to begin with. And so, then, at last, armed with that knowledge, with that truth, he finds himself nodding, even as its breaking his heart, and Jonas is actually smiling, and he's coming closer again, so close their bodies are lined up, pressing gently together, and he looks up at him, his face streaked with still falling tears, even as the smile is splitting open his face. "I love you Kyle," Jonas breathes like a vow, and stretches up the remaining inches, and kisses his mouth, just once, ever so softly, just long enough for Kyle to feel it, and to apply the slightest bit of pressure of his own. "I love you too Jonas," He swears back, stepping back to let Jonas go. He takes a few steps down the stairs, and then turns back, to smile sadly, saying, "Call me Ben." And then he disappears off into the night. Chapter Twenty; all that is are things that were (Carrots) Ever since Kyle came back through the door after his altercation with Jonas and fell into Shelly's arms and they both just stood there, clinging to each other in a kind of bewildered hug, like they couldn't believe they had finally found themselves there, with nothing to stop them from just doing nothing else for really the rest of their lives, Shelly's been, and there really is no other word for it, courting Kyle. And I have to say, he's been pitching some pretty awesome, insanely Kyle specific, woo. I'd never really seen anyone actively try to get my brother to date them before so myself wasn't really sure what it was going to take, but Shelly's come up with some pretty inventive ideas, which I'm happy put down to the depth of his motivation. Added to the difficulty in this case is the whole need for sensitivity and subtly, certainly not something I could help anyone with, due to the still present aftershocks of the whole Jonas situation. Because while what happened that night was certainly the first and most important step, the opening of the door as it were, Shelly still has to ease his way in without causing too much structural damage. And imagine there's like, broken glass and huge ass cracks in the floor everywhere as soon as you try to step inside. If like, Kyle is a house and Jonas was the former tenant who totally wrecked the place and then just hung around not paying rent for a really long time until he was eventually evicted and Shelly is the upper middle class family who're trying to move in to gentrify the neighborhood and restore the house to its former glory. Or like, if say... you know what, never mind. You see where I'm going with this. Kyle specific woo, with consideration given to the instability he's still experiencing and the damage done, attention to the grief process and the slow letting go, looks a little something like this: Shelly's taken to leaving notes around the house for Kyle to find, typically filled with innocuous things like "I stopped by on my study break this afternoon but you weren't home, I took two cookies" or "dinner was great, I totally don't think there was too much cumin in that curry" but then supplemented with little unrelated add-ons at the end like, "wanna make out?" and "how'd your forearms get so awesome?" They're always funny, and low key, and often involve making fun of him some how as well, and they make him blush, and laugh, in that order, and then he won't be able to stop smiling for hours afterwards. And he totally carries them around with him for the rest of the day, which is, you have to admit, fucking adorable. Or he'll bring Kyle a copy of his favorite science journal and there'll be a cool new recipe he thinks Kyle would like to try inside, or after one of their morning runs he'll make up an excuse to buy Kyle hot chocolate and a danish. In other words, he's finding ways, over and over, of being direct without being confrontational, upfront about what he wants and even how he plans to get it without seeming pushy, or impatient. He's always using "we" when he talks, but with just enough wiggle room that would allow for him to be talking about we as in all of us, while seeming just optimistic about we in terms of him and Kyle. Most important though, is how he manages to convey, in everything he does and everything he says, that he's here for the long haul, no matter how long that may be, that he's not going anywhere, not until asked and maybe not even then depending on whether or not he believes us. And it's that too, the idea that he's not just here for Kyle, but for all of us, that he's apart of things for that bigger reason as well, that's helping to set all of our minds at ease, as well as working slow but consistent magic on Kyle's newly minted insecurities and self doubts. And in the meantime, while he soldiers away in the trenches, getting comfortable as he prepares for a long campaign, Shelly remains one of the great new constants in all of our lives. Along with Braden he remains our only solid contact with the outside world, and he keeps us both sheltered and informed about its goings on, dealing too, with much of what none of us can bear to, but sometimes must be done. He has, for instance, started making weekly visits with Kyle to the bakery to see how things are going, to make sure everyone is happy, being well paid and that things are running smoothly. He's started coming with me and Celery and Kyle for our semi regular principal visits to discuss how the twins keep beating people up when they try to harass them or Kara, or Braden, and how Kara scores perfectly on all her tests but never speaks in class. He's working on getting Kyle into some tele-courses causes he misses the act of organized studying, for reasons I can somewhat relate to, and he does other random stuff like pick up milk when we forget and filling up the air in the twins tires. Not to say that we never leave the house ourselves, it's just sometimes we don't, and other times, when we do, it's great to have him along. He's the only one of us who still drives occasionally, which makes us extremely nervous so he tries not to do it, and always calls as soon as he's gotten wherever he was going in said car, but occasionally he goes places we can't bike or bus to with ease, and so helps out in that way too. That maybe took a long time to explain but its really not as though Shelly spends most or even much of his time running errands for us, its just one of the ways he's consistently, and without even considering it up for discussion, there for us. On the less practical more emotional side, it feels great to have that extra body in the house, making us laugh, which is something we still find it pretty hard to do a lot of time, but which Shelly always seems to make possible and even involuntary, making us talk, another thing he's eerily similar to Kyle in his ability to do, when we need to but don't want to, with the added bonus of also being able to make Kyle talk too. He's there to watch movies and Numb3rs with us, to take the twins out for runs when they find themselves wanting things from Braden they don't quite know how to ask for yet, to sit with Celery and Braden and talk about how crazy we all are and how great it is that we are, and to lie on the floor with Kara and talk about bugs and plant life for literally hours and never once seem bored or talk down to her. He's there to yell at us when we're all hiding in our rooms being sad and not doing anything about it to make it better and to help eat the excess amounts of food Kyle makes when he's having a hard day and cooks for hours instead of freaking out about it. Or, as rather, as his way of freaking out about it. But yeah, I mean, incase you're missing the pattern here, what's important, what matters, really, is just the first part, really. He's there. Here. When we need him. Always. I'm gonna take this opportunity to come clean and admit I maybe used to have a bit of a crush on Shelly. Just a tiny one. Because – okay, just hear me out. It was just back in the day – obviously, when I was like 12 and just coming into my self in that regard. So it was just that, in combination with the same case of hero worship I always had with Kyle, except minus the part where he was my brother and plus the part where he was a total hotass. Which he still totally is. But with Shelly... I mean, he's so, well, it's his energy, his confidence, that really makes him so attractive. The jet black hair, surprising green eyes and long lithe runners build certainly doesn't hurt, but it's really the cocky grin and the loose confident way he carries himself that makes him to close to irresistible. Or so, you know, I imagine. For Kyle. It's not like I spend hours of my free time thinking about this, or any of it really, because I mean – brothers, and plus, hello, married to a sex god. But when it's right in front of me, like right now, stretching out and casually mocking my brother just outside my bedroom window, I sort of can't help but notice. You know, on a like, purely abstract level. Now though, Celery is waking and starting to move around in the bed, and my attention can focus no where else. He issues a sleepy hello and I smile back, heart in my mouth. Shelly may be tall, dark and smoking, but he's got nothing on my Cel. He smiles at me a little, looking towards the window. "Shelly and Kyle heading out for their run?" "Yeah, fanatics." His smile widens and he props himself lazily up on his elbows. "Nice view?" I blush a little, at his tone. "I have no idea what you're talking about." I respond loftily. He laughs. "Still carrying a torch Care?" I roll my eyes and get up off my chair, moving towards him and the bed. Once there, I crawl right onto him, straddling his waist. "Yeah right. Let me show you how much," He gets out about half a delighted laugh before I cover his mouth with mine. Weekends are still the best time – the holy days around which the rest of our week revolves. For two glorious days we don't have to worry about the twins and Kara being away from home, separated and therefore vulnerable. Braden stays over and Shelly comes early in the morning for his daily run with Kyle but then stays all day, sometimes studying, sometimes not. We grocery shop and play games, Shelly is a big convert to Mexican Train, or just sit around the living room, music playing softly, talking shit and telling each other that things will always be like this, that we'll always still be friends, still love each other, still want nothing but to be just like we are, to be together. We'll do laundry and loads of dishes and somehow the Elvis Costello and Patsy Cline in the background will make this seem like an awesome way to spend a Saturday afternoon, or we'll have movie marathons and eat the fudge Braden's mom sends over. Shelly has brought his love of the Action Movie into the house with him, and suddenly its not just Boondock Saints and the occasional Guy Ritchie flick, instead we're watching Bad Boys I and II, Point Break and all the Die Hards. I watch in horrified fascination, not so much at what is happening on screen, but rather at the scene unfolding in my own living room as Kara and the twins cheer along with Shelly for blood. Weekends are a time for long lazy mornings in bed, something the week days don't allow for because we're all up early, having breakfast with Kara and the twins and walking them to school. Kyle's up even earlier for his insane winter runs at the crack of dawn with Shelly. We've continued to observe, with some hesitance at first, the tradition of the Sunday family brunch, but have pushed the time from our parents' nine to, in our thinking, a more reasonable seeming eleven. Shelly and Braden's presence is mandatory, and they show up without fail, bearing strudel and apple cider, fresh fruit and honey. Every once in awhile we wonder about Sue, who dropped off the map after the crash, and we've asked Kara about it, but she always just shakes her head and smiles with finality. According to the twins, Sue moves with a pretty big pack of girls these days, is wearing make up, has a boyfriend, is suddenly, somehow, one of those girls, that clichι. I have to wonder if Kara would have gone the same way if things had been different. Would we have been able to keep her with us if the tragedy of our parent's death hadn't bound us to her? Chapter Twenty One; new words for old desires (Shelly) If there's one other thing he can't admit to, even if he knows it himself, it's that deep down maybe he always knew. Not consciously maybe, no, but there was something in the way he watched Kyle, something in the arm he slung casually but possessively over his shoulder, the pride he felt in the way he had simply swept in and taken Kyle's attention from all his old friends, the ways he would find to get it away from even Julie when he walked into a room. If he didn't think about it, then, it was just because it was all so easy, so automatic with them, that he never had to. That he and Kyle would be together, doing everything as a team, was simply a given. He never had to sit back and assess or question why that was. But if he ever had, the answer would have been staring him right in the face, he knows that much, and maybe he doesn't just know it now, maybe, somewhere, at the back of his mind, he knew it even then. After he left Kyle alone outside with Jonas, he had to lock the door and walk to the back of the house and shut himself up in the study to stop himself from running right back out there and grabbing Kyle, possibly after punching Jonas in the face for good measure. But because he was trying to be good, to behave, to earn something, as he kept reminding himself, over and over, he sat down, put his head in his hands, elbows resting on the cool wood of the desk, and sang Back in Black to himself over and over until he stopped needing to choke back the urge to get up and run to the door every 20 seconds. Five minutes was long past, and Kyle was still out there, and he was still trapped in there, telling himself to calm down, that killing things would not help in this situation, and that as good, and god it would feel good, as punching Jonas would be, the look on Kyle's face after would definitely negate any sense of momentary satisfaction. Because that's what it kept coming down to in the end, again and again. He couldn't just beat Jonas, physically or even metaphorically. No. It wasn't about that. One look on that kid's face and you could see he was plenty beat already. It was about Kyle. Kyle was the one who had something he had to lick in this situation, Jonas was just the habit; it was up to Kyle to realize, for himself, that he needed to break it. And he would. He would. Shelly kept promising that to himself over and over too. Because he meant what he said. He believed in Kyle, believed he could do anything he set his mind to – if only Kyle could realize this was one of those things, one of those times where something needed to be fixed, but that he was the one who needed fixing this time, not the situation, not Jonas, just him. After 10 minutes, he got up, started pacing the room, and then at 15, he went back out into the hall, and sat down on the steps leading up to the second floor, drumming his fingers nervously on the polished hardwood, eyes fixed on the bit of Kyle's head he could see through the rounded pained window of the front door. When he saw Kyle's head lowering, titling in a manner that was totally unmistakable, he was on his feet before he even realized it, heart hammering in his chest, caught, suddenly, in the realization that maybe this actually wasn't going to happen, that actually, just maybe, what Kyle wanted, what he would inevitably decide, wasn't going to have anything to do with him at all, and at that he felt his heart seize and stutter to a stop. Metaphorically speaking. He'd fallen back to a sitting position shakily, and had just sat there, breathing unevenly, until the door had suddenly opened, and then he'd seen Kyle's face, cracked wide open, eyes shining, bright with pain and joy all at once, and like it was the most basic, necessary, natural thing in the world, without needing to pause to think, they were in each others arms, laughing and crying at the same time, squeezing the life out of each other and making silent promises about never letting go. He knows he's going slow. Ridiculously, possibly unnecessarily slow even, but he's come this far, waited this long, and he'll be damned if he blows it now by pushing too far or too soon, or simply at all, at the wrong time. Because if Kyle starts to feel for a second like this thing is something he can't manage, can't control, its back to square one, or worse. He knows this. So he waits, and he passes notes like they're 14 again and brings him small, ambiguous tokens of his affection instead of licking the sweat off his spine when Kyle peels off his last layer of shirts after a run when they're changing hurriedly and supposedly discretely in the basement laundry room. He buys him coffee and the lemon Danishes he loves but can't seem to replicate to his satisfaction and tells him it's because Kyle's time running was better than his, or because he could name more movies Kevin Costner was in as they shouted them back and forth against the cold wind, instead of saying it's because he's so fucking beautiful, perfect, undeniable, that it's because 5.47 is a small price to pay for the way Kyle's lips glisten with sugar after he's eaten the whole thing, for getting to watch him carefully lick each finger clean. Not that they don't have moments. They do. The essential thing is to do nothing to force it, to simply trust that yes, it has happened and yes it will happen again. Because they both want it to. Because they couldn't stop it if they tried. It's in them now, this need, this want, and it surfaces in the oddest of moments, the unlikeliest of times, without any real help from him. They'll be reading at the table together and their knees will touch, and they'll feel this jolt, all the way down their spines, but they won't jump away anymore, like they were being burned, like they used to. Instead they'll press their knees together and maybe he'll shift a bit, and Kyle will too, until their thighs are lined up, and they'll just sit there for awhile, not even bothering with the pretence of reading or studying, and instead just bask in the heat they make whenever they touch. Or at night, when they're saying their usually chaste goodbyes, Kyle will turn his face just so in their embrace so that suddenly his mouth will be against Shelly's neck, and then sometimes, after getting that far, he'll go one step further, and suck momentarily but totally incapacitatingly, on the place where his shoulder meets his neck, and he'll have to grab onto Kyle's arms and impossibly soft brown hair, just long enough to stick your fingers into and PULL, and bite the inside of his mouth to hold in a moan. The first time it happened he totally failed in this regard, but instead of pulling away, embarrassed or freaked out, Kyle had followed up his moan by licking the spot he'd just been sucking on, quickly, lightly, like he was sealing an envelope, Shelly thought much later, when he could finally think again at all. So it's not as though this going slow thing doesn't have its compensations, small and torturous thought they may be. Of course, the part of him that's just totally and embarrassingly besotted with Kyle, that is turned to mush when he smiles, or crinkles his nose in concentration when he's testing the flavor of the dish he's preparing – and it's really a kind of ridiculously large part, more than half of his brain, most of the time – doesn't care about how long it takes or even possibly (though the other part of him screams: oh please god no! at this) if it never happens at all, so long he can have those other moments, so long as Kyle will keep looking back at him with eyes that are filled with trust and deep, naked adoration, so long as he'll laugh when Shelly makes jokes just for him, so long as he'll let himself be there for Shelly to come home to, night after night, and greet him with the automatic, wide open smile he knows is just for him. He admits it makes him a total pansy. Doesn't do anything to stop it from being true though. The thing that stops him from hating this, hating him, is that, okay, he admits it. He's totally Kyle's bitch, totally whipped, snaps to attention at the sound of his voice, is up and ready to do his bidding before he's even ushered a command. He can't deny it. But what makes it bearable, even possibly wonderful, is that Kyle's his bitch too. Or you know. Forget the whole bitch term, and just focus on the inability they both share when it comes to keeping stupid lovesick grins off their faces when they look at each other, and you get the general idea. And maybe if he was alone in all this, he'd be able to fight it more, resist to a point where he retained a little freaking dignity. But where's the good in that when Kyle's killing himself in the kitchen to make his favourite dinner, or blushing like a schoolgirl just because he smiled at him? Or taunting him from a couple feet away, calling him an old man and running circles around him and he's just too freaking happy to point out that Kyle got a full night of sleep, whereas he was up half the night studying for a mid term? Or just beaming at him from across the room, like him sitting there doing the Sunday morning crossword is quite possibly the greatest thing since bread came sliced? Cause really, who the hell needs dignity when you've got all that? It was bound to happen. More than any other city he's ever lived in, Winnipeg is like a big small town, and you can't avoid running into people you know, or in his case, used to know, in another life. Already he's bumped into nearly every guy he and Kyle used to be friends with, and he's had to resist punching a couple faces when they asked him if he'd heard that Kyle turned into a fag. So running into her is no big surprise, or it shouldn't be, but he can't help feeling he has suitable grounds for surprise when she meets his hesitant smile and half wave with a solid fist in his stomach. Bent double from it, the wind knocked out of him due to lack of preparation, he squints up at her. "Hey Julie," "Hey asshole." She's not kidding. Not even a little bit. He straightens up, still looking at her out of confused, squinty eyes. "I seem to remember you hating me less." She scoffs. "Do you also remember having sex with my boyfriend before skipping out of town and leaving him a parody of his former self?" He blinks. "Uh, no?" Is it really possible that she isn't bluffing? How could she know this? No one knows this. They barely let themselves know it. She looks back, clearly unimpressed. "So then you probably also don't remember leaving hickey's and bite marks all over him." He really doesn't. All he remembers from that afternoon is the desperate inexpressible need to devour Kyle, to take some part of him inside himself and keep him there, so they would never truly be apart. He swallows. "How did you...?" Because she knows, she clearly knows, and he suspects denying it would just get him punched again, which is not to say he doesn't think he deserves it, but he's still going to try and get out of it if he can. She's got her arms folded across her chest, her stance aggressive, yet dismissive. She tosses her head. She's beautiful, especially when she's like this, fire in her eyes, mouth curling into a sneer. He can imagine Kyle kissing it off her, like he did so many times in their time together before. She would storm into rooms only to float out of them after he was done with her, done making everything better all over again. He wonders if she'll answer his question. If he deserves to know. "Everyone thought we had done it," she's saying finally. "It started in the locker room, I guess, changing and all," she looks at him again, so unimpressed. "You weren't exactly subtle." She shrugs. "It went from there. He wouldn't say anything, he just denied it, defended my honor, but no one believed him, of course, and it would have been a problem, so I just made sure it was true." He knew, of course he knew, that they must have, they dated for years. But it still makes his face feel too hot, his throat too tight. He hadn't. He'd hoped that maybe they'd waited, that Kyle hadn't fallen as quickly into bed with Julie as he had with the first girl he'd met when he got off the plane in Bristol. "Why would you do that?" He asks, eventually. Because as much as it makes sense, it doesn't. Why she would go to the trouble to protect him, as she clearly knew she was doing, just as she must have known why it needed to be done. Why she would put herself through that, after she had clearly figured out what he'd done. What they'd done. Her face has hardened even more, eyes blazing brighter, scorn in her whole body, directed straight at him. "Because I loved him!" She shouts. "What you never seemed to care about and what he found all too easy to forget, over and over, is that I loved him. So I did what I had to. He needed me. After you wrecked him, took everything he thought about himself and made it into a lie and then just left – he needed me. And I loved him, so I did what had to be done." He struggles to find away to tell her that he's sorry, that he always knew, but how can he apologize when she's exactly right? He did know, but it never let him stop him, not from taking everything he could from Kyle when they were friends, and not from letting himself kiss Kyle and be kissed that June afternoon. All he can come up with, in the end, is just this: "I know." She tosses her head again, strong, proud. "I got over it." He looks at her seriously, openly. "I didn't." For a second he thinks that's going to be it, she's going to soften or just turn on her heels and leave, but instead she throws her hands up in the air and actually lets out a genuine sounding "arhhhhg!" He's sort of impressed. He's never seen anyone do that and not be kidding before. "I'm sorry?" He tries, taking a stab in the dark. Her head snaps back to eye level, and he can tell it was the wrong thing to say. "You're such a dumbass – you should be put down." She makes a little disgusted noise and then continues ranting, "Of course you didn't! You've never done anything but – so why should it change now?" At his blank look, she seems to get even more wound up, "Oh Jesus. Don't look so innocent, so surprised. I knew! I always knew! I mean, whose eyes did you always meet right after we both looked up from looking at him? Who was there every time you two got lost in a dream world together and forgot about the rest of us? Who watched you run across fields to hurl yourselves into each others arms after you scored a goal or piled on top of each other on the ice? Who? Me! Of course I guess I shouldn't be surprised, you were good enough at forgetting I was there while it was actually happening, how could you be expected to remember now after so much time has passed?" Her face is red, her arms are flailing, she's lost all the cool composure she'd armed herself before now, the unaffected faηade well and truly collapsed. He's feeling a bit beside himself as well. "You knew? How could you know? WE didn't even know!" She rolls her eyes at this. "That's because you were goddamned idiots." She shakes her head. "Especially you. He would have done anything for you, and there you were, wanting everything and not even doing anything about it. Until it was way too late, anyway." He shrugs, for want of anything better to do. He knows it's true, after all. "Yeah." He can hardly fault her for putting it the way she does, for blaming him, for placing this directly at his feet. Not when he'd felt largely the same way about it himself at the time, and in away still does. She's right to say he took everything Kyle believed about himself and then turned it into a lie, forced the change and then left her to try and sort through the pieces. At the time, he thought it was part of why he should leave. He'd known, he knows, how important that image Kyle had of himself as the normal one, the only one in his family no one had to worry about, whose life was simple and uncomplicated in a way that freed him to worry about everyone else, and take care of them, put their more complicated needs above his own, and he knew then that he didn't fit in with the picture Kyle had in his mind of himself, of his future. And at 14, too afraid and confused to know what he wanted, let alone fight for it, he had left. But he's not 14 anymore, and Kyle's given him another chance, no matter how undeserved, and he's not about to throw it away, no matter how right Julie is about what he's done. She's talking to him again, asking him something, and he refocuses his mind. "What?" She sighs. "I asked – so did he take you back again? He had someone, when we last really talked, a guy, looked young but wasn't so much, Kyle really seemed to love him. Did you fuck that up for him too?" Whatever he's done, he won't take responsibility for Jonas. That's all on Jonas himself. "He fucked that one up on his own. I didn't have anything to do with it." He wonders if his statement is too ambiguous. "And by he, I mean Jonas. Kyle didn't do anything." She actually laughs. "He never does. He just lets things happen to him." He wants to argue, but it occurs to him he's accused Kyle of roughly the same thing. And what's more, it's true, in its way. Not that anything about Kyle is ever as simple he'd himself have liked to think or have others believe. He's learned that much now. "He loved you, you know." He says, because it's true, because he can't think of anything else. She nods, but not happily. Almost dismissively, as though this fact is irrelevant. "Yeah, sure. As much as he could love anyone who wasn't you. As much as you let him." He doesn't know what to say to this, hardly a first for this conversation, but deeper this time. Like her words have trapped his voice down deep in his chest. At the same time, he's afraid he's going to start grinning in a minute. Crowing his victory, with pride, because she's right, he knows that now too. There have been others, there's even been love, and from Kyle that's no surprise, he's made with such an abundance of it, such a capacity for it, but through all that, always, there has never been anyone else like him, no one else who can touch what they are to each other. The expression on her face tells him he's doing it again, getting lost in his head, in that dream world only he and Kyle inhabit, and he thinks he can at least have the decency to look sorry about it. She huffs at his attempt at a regretful look, so he's probably only marginally successful. "I'm fucking leaving now," she says, that fowl mouth Kyle used to love, so strange rolling off her pretty tongue, looking like she's way past done with him, the situation. He nods, what else can he do? "Okay." She smiles, fierce and tired. "You tell him I said `hi', okay?" Her tone is off, set against her stance and facial expression, but he gets it. Of course he does. It's Kyle. No one knows better than him, there's really no getting over him. "I will." He promises, and thinks maybe he actually will, if he can find a way to tell it right. She nods, like maybe she believes him. "Okay." She turns then, to walk away, but does a half turn back, looking at him over her shoulder, and says, "be sure to tell him that I punched you in the stomach for what you did to him too, huh? At least then he'll know someone's still looking out for him." He laughs, but not because he finds anything about this particularly funny. Maybe just because he can see why she thinks it's true. How maybe it even is. After all, as she said, she remembers too. "I will." She nods again, points her finger at him sharply, and then is out the door, off the live the life she's been forced to make do with, ever since he took what she'd thought would always be hers. He sighs into his hands and just sits there for awhile, before getting up and leaving the study lounge he'd bee occupying, and walks down to the bike he rides most days even though its almost December and that's just crazy, because Kyle will worry so much if he doesn't, and starts riding back to his. They don't talk about it. They've had their confession, their exchange of vow, and Shelly leaves his flirty, half serious notes, but that's the extent of their mention of it. This is partly the case because it is not entirely in their nature to speak of such things, particularly unprompted, but more so simply because any further discussion would be superfluous. Put simply, they have little need to speak about something of which they are reminded every day, every minute they are together. Chapter Twenty Two; I am a lighthouse (Celery) He remembers the first time he laid eyes on Carrots the way you would remember being born, if you could. He was small and he had a mushroom cut and Ninja turtle sneakers and Celery saw his whole life stretching out before him in Carrots' eyes. He can't get over it, sometimes, the idea of it being THEIR room, THEIR home. It always felt like home, of course, but it was home because Carrots was there, not because he was. The changes they've made helped, made it feel as though they were recreating the space into something for each other but he still catches himself sometimes, alone in the room, or anywhere in the house really, doing something to do with only himself, without having notified anyone, and it will feel strange. He wonders if he should feel guilty about how good it feels at the same time, but the part of him that knows better and sounds like Carrots reminds him this was always the happiness Sharon and Jerry wanted for them. So strange though it may be, he doesn't fight it, any form it takes, when happiness still manages to find its way into their lives. When he thinks about it, about how things are now and how they might have been different if they crash hadn't happened, he could never say he's glad it did, but maybe, deep down where he's only honest, he's at least grateful he doesn't have to make the choice. There's so much of what's happened he can't bear, so much sadness and above all self doubt that he sees in their eyes. He hates the way they still catch themselves when they're laughing or smiling sometimes, like they feel guilty about being happy, even for a minute. He knows he'd give up anything to never see that again. And most of all Kyle, the wreck Jonas and his parent's death made of him. He'd kill to make that right. But watching Shelly slowly and assuredly put him back together again, making him happier, stronger maybe than he ever was before, he can't imagine it another way, couldn't want anything more for him. So maybe it's Shelly he can't imagine giving up, just like he can't see how Shelly would have been able to make his way back into them any other way. It seems so right, and needed, happening the way it had. And if he can't see their deaths as an acceptable or necessary sacrifice, he can at least view Shelly as a gift offered up, not in exchange or as compensation, but just as a new beginning, a symbol of hope ushering in healing change. Chapter Twenty Three; who put these bodies between us (Jon & Dave) For a minute there, we were both afraid the other was going to be jealous, to not understand, but then we realized if we were both afraid of that then neither of us actually had to be. Loving him is no surprise, neither is the feeling of belonging, of possession. It makes sense to think of him the way we do now, as ours, because he always has been. But that we might want something else from him, something like this, like we're realizing we do, that's like entering a foreign country. We're just trying to hold on to each tight enough that we don't get lost while we're trying to find out where be belong. We don't talk about it. For all that we look at photo albums and go to visit their graves and talk about them, the one thing that is never mentioned is that we were there. In the car, with them, when it happened. How can we tell them about the sound of the metal ripping, the blood and the screaming echoing in our ears that we eventually realized was coming from ourselves. The way we reached only for each other, mom's faint voice asking us if we were okay, dad choking up blood. There's nothing to be said, no good to come of it, so we stay silent. Braden is the only one who asked, who pushed. It's not Kyle's way anymore, not with some things. But Braden has never accepted the boundaries we set up between ourselves and the rest of the world, has always found ways through and past despite our efforts. Is it any wonder then, if he's the only one who ever has, that now, he's the only one we can seem to love? When he first told us, acting more drunk than he was but eyes dead serious, we felt nothing but panic, dismay. We couldn't do what he was asking, be what he wanted. We hadn't learned then that true attraction follows love, comes with it fast and hard and deep, no matter how unexpected, or outside the realm of one's supposed preferences. Caught up in ourselves, in the first blush of sex, we saw no connection between the two, love was for him and for our family and most of all for each other, but viewed in those categories, there seemed little room for sex as well. No way to bridge the gap, to meet him there. Then the world ended, and even more surprising, started up again, new and different and much smaller but maybe a little more bright. You grow up prepared for your parents to die, but think of it as a long way off, in the distant, unthreatening future. Having it happen at 15 is a little different. Impossible to prepare for a loss that glaring, that massive, coming out of nowhere, out of a simple summer afternoon. After we made it out of the way, numb and crying without even noticing, people were already calling 911, freaking out and circling around us, and the ambulance seemed to fly us to the hospital, because one minute we were on the street and the next we were there, and nurses were fussing around us, flashing lights in our eyes and asking us questions we couldn't answer. After we'd been passed around, jostled and bandaged, they wouldn't tell us where our parents were, what was happening, if they were alright. They just kept telling us to stay calm, that they were being taken care of. Someone asked us who they should call, and the thought of hearing Kyle on the other line, Kyle who would make everything better as soon as he knew there was something to fix, was too much, and we raced to the phone, desperately searching for change, frantically dialing the number. We were terrified that they wouldn't be home yet, that we'd be alone, that they'd be out of reach, out of touch, as they so often seemed to be, even they were home. But then Kyle picked up the phone, and he sounded so normal, so much like himself, that we really believed in that moment that things would actually be okay. We could pretend we were five again, and still believed Kyle was a super hero and that he could make anything alright, would always be there to pick us up and kiss scraped knees. Could believe in him again, like we'd been afraid to, lately, like we'd been telling ourselves we couldn't anymore, in the throws of largely self indulgent teenage bitterness. It kept us going, that childhood faith, what we still, deep down, believed, talking to him and then waiting for him to arrive, but he got there too late, and the miracle we were sure he would somehow work never had a chance to occur, because even as we saw him moving through the sliding doors, the doctor was telling us that he was very sorry, that the damage had been too severe, that they were gone. But if he was too late to save them, for once, he wasn't too late, too busy, too distracted, to save us. He was there to catch us when our legs gave out, to hold us roughly by the necks and pull us to him, to half carry us to the car and bundle us inside, to get us home. And when we couldn't move, couldn't get up, he let us stay, let us be by ourselves for a minute, knowing it was what we needed, and took it upon himself to go and do our dirty work for us. But we couldn't let him, not when we started coming back to ourselves, so we rushed into the living room and just blurted it out, expecting looks of betrayal, expecting to be cast out once and for all. Instead, everyone converged around us, and we all held each other, and let the loss crash over us, murmuring words of comfort, pledging ourselves to each other, always. Never until that moment had we ever truly felt apart of anything but each other, had we felt seen or known by anyone else. Of course, in the midst of all that we felt guilty for, being seen wasn't exactly something we were ready for, and so we hid in our room, reflecting on the irony of the fact that everyone was finally noticing us, paying attention, the one time we couldn't stand it. What that forced to us realize, really, was that for all our complaints, being under the radar was exactly how we'd liked it, what our own behavior had led to, even demanded. While we were busy feeling hard done by, so much of our life, Kyle focused on Carrots because Carrots actually let him help him, most of the time, and we'd never been particularly good at that. But that's why there are clichιs about hindsight, we suppose. It's hard to understand why we were ever able to fault him for anything, these days, when he spends all his time making sure we're all alright, taking care of everything, just like he always has, and now with so much more to do. And Carrots, for all his self absorption, is entirely well meaning, and really, is far more like us than we were once ready to admit or realize, in that he lacks a certain ability to relate to others, to understand that they might want something from him sometimes, even if it's just his casual attention. But what's easy to accept about yourself can be extremely upsetting in others, and maybe we've learned that too, the hard way, as we've been forced to learn so many things since the accident. Realizing the similarities that exist between us and our brothers was something of a difficult thing, in the way that we had always clung to our otherness, to the belief that we were like no one but ourselves, but each other. But these times don't leave much room for that anymore either, and maybe its necessity or maybe it's just growing up, but we notice much more now, and what's more, are glad to have this connection, these bounds of sameness, helping us all stay close, reminding us that we come from the same place, that we are all apart of each other. And this then is what we must mean when we say that out of the destruction of one life came the slow emergence of another, still fraught with difficulty, with pain, but built on something meant to last forever, the conscious effort put into every step. We have so much we feel we have to live up to now, as a family, so much to make up for, so much we all feel each other deserves. And because there's no one else, we feel more easy about asking, about demanding, and by the same token, about giving back all that we are. But in this time of giving and growing, caring and sharing, it's become pretty hard to ignore the hot rush of possessive fury we feel whenever B laughs with anyone else, or touches anyone else, or, let's be honest, even really talks to anyone else. Nor can we in any workable fashion pretend away the warm feeling we get in all kinds of new places when we're the ones he's smiling at, or touching, or let's be honest, even really just talking to. But this is not the way of things, not how we run our affairs, and because of that, and our general incompetence, we're stuck not knowing what the hell to do. Terrified he'll actually get wise, or god forbid already has, as we expressly encouraged him to do, after rejecting him in no uncertain terms. Or even failing that amount of fuck up, there's still the very real possibility we'll screw things up as soon as we get started, if we ever even get that far. The thing about realizing how necessary he really and truly is to us right around the time we realized we might actually want big and scary forever stuff with him which includes complicated and hitherto unheard of relationship dynamics is that it kind of makes the risk loom a lot larger, not exactly encouraging action. Wavering on the fence has its own set of potential fuck ups, which pretty much leads us to sulking in our room, and being forced to go on runs with Shelly while he yells at us to cowboy up and decide what we really want. And thank god for that asshole, because, frankly, we don't know where this family would be without him, these days. Cause we were holding on okay, we were, you know, hanging tough, all that. And Kyle was being Kyle, he was doing everything for everyone, everywhere at once, fighting night and day so as to not let anything slide. All the fucking while he was breaking, dying, losing himself, and it was so fucking obvious, so clear, he just didn't have the energy, the extra push it would have taken to do all that and not show how much everything about the situation was killing him, he was just way too freaking strained to even attempt to effectively cover it up, most days. Cause of course, it wasn't enough for him to just have to deal with our parents, or with us, the universe had to pile on heart break and betrayal as some kind of icing on the cosmic cake of suffering he was being force fed. Which you have got to admit is a pretty kick ass analogy from a couple of dumb jocks. It must be all the freaking numb3rs. Not that there's anything funny, or like, math related, about what was going on with Kyle. There was just, there was no way how things were going had any sustainability. As much as Carrots was throwing his hat into the ring, trying to pick up some of the slack as well as help Kyle deal, Kyle's just too fucking bad at accepting help, at admitting he might need it, at pausing for like, a second, to stop thinking about everyone else and actually focus on himself. And so even while the heartbreak was eating him up, he was too busy making our freaking lunches and cleaning excessively to take any notice of it, or himself. And truth be told, none of us were in particularly good shape, no real condition to help him, or to do anything but just keep letting him try and help us, because at least we could give him take you know? Let him have that one thing about himself stay true. But it wasn't enough. For all that he was slowly making us better, and he was, and he is, because he's our brother, our captain, he always has been, even when we were too busy being resentful to notice everything he did for us, day after day, for all that our slow progress was helping him breath a little easier, take a rest every once in a long while, his heart was still this bruised and broken thing. And he was still manfully ignoring it, setting it further and further aside without ever giving himself a chance to try and make it better. Cause if there's one thing we've learned, if there's one thing Braden camping out in front of our door and reminding us about every goddamned day when all we wanted to do was disappear, to forget, its that you've got to meet your pain head on, you've got to own it, take it inside and really let it fuck you up, because that's the only way to burn it out, to let go. And while Kyle knows a hell of a lot about meeting stuff straight in the face, he's shit at that other part. You can't fight something out inside you if you don't want, deep down, to be rid of it in the end, and for all that we wanted blood, wanted to strike back and hurt Jonas like he'd hurt Kyle, and then hurt him worse, Kyle just wanted Jonas. That's just his nature, loving something and then not knowing how to stop, how to see it for what it is sometimes, to recognize that not everything is worthy of his love. He got it from them, we think, that boundless, unconditional way of loving. Its how they were with all of us, accepting all our faults, our eccentricities, all the ways we would never fit in with the rest of the world, the way we challenged it, sometimes perverted it. And we saw it in them, felt it from them, but Kyle's really the only one who's ever been able to extend it beyond the bounds of our family, to offer it to the world. So while we all loved Jonas, and don't forget, we loved him best, in some ways, because he was a part of us too, because he understood us, saw us, in a way no one else ever really had, not even Braden, sometimes, only Kyle new how to love him in a way that never even considered letting go. But we thought he understood what it meant to be one of the family, to commit to this thing and accept that it means letting go of everything else. Except he never really did, the whole time he always had one foot out the door, and when the shit got real, no matter what his excuses are, and if anyone can or should be sympathetic to them it's us, it doesn't matter. He left. He left when Kyle needed him most, when he knew he should stay. But Kyle could have forgiven all that, he did forgive all that, he just never really got a chance to put into practice, because Jonas never came back. So he was stuck there in this limbo, not letting go, not moving on, not even acknowledging how much he was hurting, just going through his life, putting everyone else first and himself last, forgetting maybe, somehow, that if he didn't take care of himself, eventually there would be no one left to take care of all of us. But years of him being in charge of shit, of him not needing us the way we were all used to needing him, never gave us the tools to know how to help him. Or even to reach out and let him know we knew he needed help at all. Which is pretty fucked, but that's the Vasskez family dynamic for you. Nothing if not screwed totally to hell, in just the way we all like it, or at least, the ways we've been so long we can't stand to try it any other way. So basically, things were well on their way to self destructing and running the hell off the rails. Like, Kyle was right there at the wheel, driving a steady course, not even noticing that he was bleeding from pretty much everywhere. And then in strode Shelly, like this larger than life super hero, like the answer to the prayers we didn't even know we were making. And while the rest of us may have been totally shit when it came to making Kyle better, he seemed to know exactly what to do. It was like he didn't even have to ask you know? He just waltzed in seven years later and it was like he never even missed a beat. He knew how to talk to Kara without freaking her out but also without treating her like she was still five, he knew not to put up with too much crap from us, to give back whatever we dished out, to make us feel apart of things, a real and whole family. He knew how to treat Celery exactly like the rest of us, exactly like the full and irrevocable member of the family he is, knew how to calm Carrots down before he even had a chance to get all riled up, knew how to make every one of us feel at ease. And Kyle... it was like he was breathing new life into him. Making him himself again. And absolutely refusing to let him keep not taking care of himself anymore. And whatever it is about him that Kyle always reacted differently to back then still seems to work now. For whatever reason, he seems able to listen to Shelly, to accept help from him, to admit that he needs it. As if that wasn't enough, he somehow brought Kyle's heart back to life again as well. Though sheltered and cautious, it started to show itself again, and he was smiling, and laughing, and freaking blushing, and even better, it didn't seem to surprise him much, although it sure shocked the hell out of the rest of us, and it was all to the good. Which is not to say things are not still freaking complicated, and fucking hard, but at least we're all in this thing together, and Shelly, god love him, has been slowly bringing Kyle back to us, back to himself. And for that we owe him everything, because it's all for one and one for all time now, all or nothing, and there's not one of us that can or will survive if the rest of us don't. There's enough shit going on that we all need to be on our A-games, to be sharp and focused and with our feet planted on the ground. It's about as simple as that. We're all pretty much rootless without Kyle, and he was dangerously close to rootless before Shelly. Now if we could just figure out how we can make a move on B without totally screwing up the rest of all of our lives, particularly Braden's, that would really be something. We've had sex with girls. Which is to say, we each have had sex with girls, three of which were the same girl, but not at the same time. Without much effort, we were able to convince the girl in those occasions she was in fact having sex with the same one of us both times. No one needs to tell us how fucked up that is, although Braden certainly did. Repeatedly, while he paced around and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. But that's all in the past now. The point of this information is to say, we have had sex. We have made moves that have successfully led to sex. Lots of fun awesome sex where no one's life was irrevocably wrecked afterwards. But none of it seems likely to work on Braden, nor as easily side step the whole lives ruined forever phenomena. Which leaves us with what, talking to him about it? Opening up, having a mature, honest discussion, wherein we try to explain that we know how fucked up this all is, how truly inexcusable our entire lives in regards to him have been, how we're sorry, we just can't seem to do anything differently. But that, for what its worth, we think we might love him, more and in far different ways than we ever thought we would be able, and would he like to possibly move into our bed permanently, and oh, we don't know, work out some kind of rotating schedule where he has sex with both of us but not at the same time, because no, really, we aren't actually going to cross that line, despite what it must look like that's really not what this is about, thanks anyway? Because that would just you know, work like gangbusters. And more than that, we're totally capable of having such a discussion. Really. That's not say, totally beyond the realm of conceivable possibility. Nah. Any day now. Fucking of course not, right? Hence the like, bumbling around him with embarrassed grins, and the running around the block like we're not just running away from him, and the ever increasing obsession with a fictional TV character (see: Carrots's rant about the awesome hotassery of one Doctor Charles Epps, Professor of Applied Mathematics) because, hey, that's a lot safer than admitting we're sort of, maybe, somehow, in love with our best friend, and that we realized this at exactly the same moment, while we were brushing our teeth one night and we looked at each others' faces and the mirror and we just knew it about the other, and therefore knew it about ourselves. And it's not even that we're fighting it, really, at this point. Because hell, it sure as fuck look like this shit just runs in the family or something like that, for all the shacking up with best friends our brothers seem so intent on doing, so why shouldn't we get in on it and just do that same. Maybe if it were that easy, that simple. But he's just... he's this amazing guy, and he's always been there for us, with us, really, and this much we know – he deserves so much better, so much more. Because for all we're realizing we can give him more than we thought, it's still not enough, not really. It's nothing like normal, and it's nothing he can take out into the world and be proud of, and even aside from that, we don't know how to take care of anyone but each other, we don't know how to notice properly, how to not let him down. We've been doing it for years, and it took a drunken confession for us to even realize how much. So what the fuck you know? You can't exactly throw your arm casually over that and grin suggestively and hope nobody's feelings are hurt in the morning. Chapter Twenty Four; think globally / act nobly (Shelly / Braden) One evening, instead of taking the twins out on a run, he takes Braden. They only jog for a few minutes before Shelly motions to a nearby bench and they go sit down. They sit in silence for awhile, warming their hands, before Shelly throws his arm and a sideways glance Braden's way, asking, "So what's your plan?" Braden raises his eyebrows. "My plan?" Shelly nods. "Sure. You have got one, right? Because you've got to with these people. They'll drive you crazy otherwise." Braden smiles knowingly, fondly. "Go slow." Shelly nods again, full of approval this time. "Always a key element in operations such as these. But you've got to have more than that. Too slow, without enough incentive and encouragement along the way – get you nowhere." "That's about where I am." Braden sighs. Shelly laughs. "Hey, don't feel too bad. My carefully constructed strategies aren't getting me much further." Braden smirks, "Nah. You're in. I mean, I can't even believe how in you are." He shakes his head. "He lets you tell him what to do, and then he like, does it." He laughs. "I've never seen that before, not with anyone." If Shelly's answering grin is a little cocky, it's only because he might think he's got a right to be. He's been doing some decent work. "You're in too bro, if you can just figure out a way of getting them to understand you took care of the hard part years ago. Cause I mean, you're in it for the long haul either way right?" He rolls his eyes skyward in contemplation, searching for the right words. "The physical part, with this family, I mean, it's so secondary it's almost absurd. It's like they don't even notice. Certainly, when young and stupid they have a tendency to miss this fact – but look around you my young friend – they grow out of it. So in your case, slow and steady is just fine, man, its going to win that race. You've just got to be patient. And in the mean time – incentive. Encouragement." "Such as?" Shelly smiles, waves a hand. "Well, you know them better than me, and I'm guessing you've been paying pretty close attention to what they like. You've just gotta... work it." Braden sighs. "In my experience, what they like is girls." Shelly wags his hand at him. "Ah yes, I mentioned the young and stupid part. But see, in MY experience, from what I've seen since I've been back, what they really like – about ALL they really and truly like – is you." Braden blushes and Shelly laughs. "It's true man, and why not? Judging from the Vasskez hierarchy of value – you've got it all. You get along with their family, you put up with their insanity, what's more you embrace it, you understand it, you help make it into something okay, something livable, and you know, you've got the right interests, the same prejudices and affections, and most of all, you buy into the whole isolationist mentality. We are the world, right? I mean, that's basically what it boils down to, yeah?" Braden just stares at him, mouth hanging slightly open, and shakes his head. "How do you know all this, I mean, this shit's taken me a life time to figure out – you've only been back like less than three months. And before that it didn't you only know them for like a year?" Shelly smiles modestly, sardonically. "Well, it was an eventful year. One I've given a considerable amount of thought along the way since. It was just my luck that none of them happened to change that much." Braden scoffs. "Yeah, or at all." Shelly shrugs. "Just another part of the family way. But see man, you're going to be fine. You're not going anywhere, and that's exactly how they like it, and the rest will all eventually fall into place. And if you want to give it a friendly push every once in awhile," he shrugs, "wearing those tight ass jeans of yours probably wouldn't hurt." He doesn't quite manage to say it with a straight face and when Braden lets out an embarrassed laugh, Shelly joins him. "I'm just saying," He adds, still chuckling. "Thanks," Braden says eventually, manfully trying to look serious. "That's a good tip." This sends them into another bout of laughter, which Shelly ends with a sound clap on Braden's shoulder. "You're going to be fine. We all are." Braden nods, suddenly having no difficulty being serious. "Yeah. I think you might be right about that." "I have to be," Shelly says, getting up. He holds a hand out to Braden, pulling him up with him. "Come on. Let's go home." Chapter Twenty Five; please don't confront me with my failures / I had not forgotten them (Ben) After he left Kyle the second time, the last time, he forced himself to walk slowly until he heard the door shut behind Kyle, and then he ran the rest of the way back into Colin's car, and sat there, once in it, his shoulders shaking and his body generally racking with sobs. Colin did nothing, said nothing, and simply let it happen. Once he had gone on in this way for five minutes, ten, his breathing slowed, the tears came slower too, quieter, until eventually they stopped altogether. He turned to Colin then and smiled weakly, and Colin nodded back at him, proud and sorry. They said nothing, because there was nothing to be said. They drove silently into the dark night.