Disclaimer: I own nothing. Seriously. Absolutely none of it is mine, save the story itself, and I'm making no money off of this whatsoever. So don't sue.
A/N: I don't know where this came from. I just had to write it. Then, unexpectedly, it turned out halfway decent, so I posted it. Hope you enjoy it. (And I'm sorry the summary sucks. If you have any ideas for a better one, do review and share them, please!)
Johnny Smith's a fake! Johnny Smith's a fake!
The words rang in his head long after Lindsay's voice had disappeared. They had stung more than he'd thought they would. After all, he'd certainly heard them before, many times. He supposed the reason why they hurt more now is that they'd come from a child, from someone more likely to believe him. Yet, despite her lack of the prejudices adults so often had, still the words had come.
Should I have told her? He considered the consequences that would have resulted in. No, he decided. I couldn't have, anyway. How do you tell someone their brother had died? And he doubted she would have believed him, regardless. With the choice of disbelief versus acknowledging a loved one's death, almost anyone would choose the former.
But still. Even knowing all this, the words still hurt.
They found my brother's plane…. They say he died right away. "You knew, didn't you? You just didn't want to tell me."
He died….
"I didn't know how to tell you."
He died…. Previous words recanted now, but at a price.
And he knew he'd hear them again.
A/N: Wasn't "The House" a weird episode? thinks of all the very odd things one could write involving "Elvis and Marilyn were my parents" Heh. No, I'm not gonna attempt anything. Feel free. This was enough for me.