Disclaimer: I do NOT own Rocket Power
Twister coughed as his cell phone beeped a single time, the short tone he couldn't normally ever hear seemed to pierce through his skull on this particular morning. His usually shaggy and almost soft yet sun damaged, orange hair stuck to his forehead and temples and for some reason even the soda sitting on his nightstand from last night looked too gross to drink. It was probably flat anyway. Twister turned on his stomach, burying his face in the pillow, he groaned in irritation. Figures that on the day of the big game he'd wake up freakin' sick.
"Ugh, this blows…" He complained and swiped up his cell phone from off the nightstand, blindly flipping it open. To him, he thought it was totally unfair that while the rest of the gang had touch screen ones, he was stuck with a lame little flip phone. Unfortunately, his parents didn't trust him with anything more expensive for a first phone at fifteen. He tried to blink away the haze in his eyes as he tiredly rolled over and stared at the brightly lit screen only to promptly flip it shut when his stomach began to turn. He swallowed thickly as a wave of nausea rolled around in his stomach before settling back down. Yeah, he was definitely sick.
Great.
Twister rubbed his eyes and coughed, wincing at the pain in his chest and throat. Whatever he currently had, at least it wasn't as bad as that Fiji flu he had caught when he was younger. Like, at least his voice wasn't all fucked up and squeaky … but it still sucked to be sick. A lot. Twister sighed and pulled the blanket back up over his head. He was going to miss the game today if he didn't get at least a little better in time and if he missed the game just because he was sick, Otto would be absolutely heated. Twister curled up, pulling the covers tighter around himself when he heard a knock at his door. It was probably his mom anyway.
"Come in." He said, voice soft and muffled from the blankets. He didn't say anything as the door clicked open and a soft set of footsteps walked in his room until a semi-deep voice that was definitely not his mom's disrupted the silence.
"You sick?"
"Ah!" Twister shouted under the mass of blankets and shot up, tossing the thick material off his face to confront the intruder. "Who the heck are … are…" The rest of the sentence practically died his mouth as he stared wide eyed at the figure standing awkwardly in his room. He blinked owlishly once then twice. He tried to keep his jaw from dropping but he couldn't. Now, he was known for not being the shiniest tool in the box … or something like that and he had a habit of not recognizing people once something about them changed too much but … but he did know this person.
"Um, hey Twister."
Twister watched as the male shifted and took a few steps back until he was back in the doorway. He couldn't really believe his eyes. How could someone change so much in only a few years and still be the same person? He wondered as he glanced at the male's slender face. His eyes trailed over those painfully familiar dark brown irises and he gripped his phone until his knuckles turned white as he noticed what used to be just above shoulder length hair was now pulled back into a loose ponytail that fell to his chest, the waves, now somewhat gone. Twister never knew things like that could happen. So much had changed but he was still able to recognize him even after all this time. A black t-shirt, and dark denim jeans paired off with green converses. At least his choice of shoes stayed the same.
Twister shook his head, instantly regretting the action as his head began to spin and the nausea momentarily came back. "…Lars?" He said and he couldn't keep the unsure tone from reaching his voice even though he knew who it was. It was just so hard to believe. Was he dreaming? Twister shifted on his bed, unsure of what to say or what to even do next.
The night their parents sent Lars away to live with relatives and receive therapy out in Washington (the state) hadn't exactly been happy one. As a matter of fact, it had been horrible with shouting, screaming, crying and objects being shattered against the wall. All mostly from Lars who had gone into a full blown freak out, throwing his skateboard into mom's favorite lamp, screaming that they were sending him away because they hated him and everyone was trying to get rid of him. Lars probably wouldn't have reacted so badly, honestly, if he had known about the whole thing before Uncle Miguel stepped through the front door, red Jeep Rubicon parked outside and ready to go back to with Lars in tow. But the crying part, with the exception of their mother of course, had been from Twister. It wasn't the very real idea of Lars sent live with auntie and uncle a couple states away for a while that made him upset although it did come as a shock because he hadn't known about it either. It was the fact that as their parents tried to 'explain' over and over what was happening and why it was happening, Lars was just so genuinely upset. Not annoyed as he normally was but upset. Even though Lars was a dick a good majority of the time and even though they did argue multiple times a day to the point that Twister wished he could find a way to get payback for it all, he never wanted to see his big brother actually hurt. Emotionally or physically.
That night had been one of the only two times they actually got along. Or something close to it. But before then Twister's childhood had been filled with nothing but whompings, arguments and tricks from his older brother so he didn't know where they stood now. Was Lars nicer than he was back then? Twister narrowed his eyes as he stared into his brother's slightly nervous expression and oddly quiet attitude. The old Lars was never quiet. He would have tried to punch him in the face by now for old time's sake. So maybe he really had changed.
Lars stuffed his hands in his pockets, his eyes flickering downward before slowly coming back up to meet Twister's lighter ones. "Yeah" He said, nodding once as he gave a small smirk. "It's me. Mom and Dad are downstairs uh … talking to Auntie Carmita and Uncle Miguel."
He knew he should have probably started talking by now. But what could he say? Twister gripped his knees and gnawed on his bottom lip as both started to tremble. From what? He wasn't sure. It couldn't have been excitement because the three years that his brother had been gone were the best years of his life. Weren't they? Lars wasn't there to bully him, push him around, embarrass or antagonize him. He wasn't around to steal his things and take over the areas he and his friends hung out at or anything. It was awesome. For the first time since he was old enough to walk and Lars was coordinated enough to throw punches and run, he was at total peace. Twister tore his gaze away and stared at the cell phone in his hand. Then again, those three years had also been filled with days when he actually missed his lame, annoying brother just being around the house. He missed those normal everyday things like the sound of grunge music seeping out from under the other male's door and into his own ears to let him know that he wasn't alone when their parents would go on their dates. He missed hearing the clanking of dinner dishes and knowing that it was Lars cleaning them and seeing a second skateboard propped up against the wall by the front door next to his own. It was those types of things he sort of really missed and he could go on for forever just naming stuff that disappeared altogether when Lars left. He even found himself asking mom how Lars was doing once in a while whenever his parents would talk to Lars on the phone or every so often fly up to visit, leaving him to stay at Raymundo's until they came back.
In the beginning when he would ask, his mom would frown and breathe a heavy sigh before saying, "Well, you know your brother." And that was it. But when another year passed, the replies slowly went from being exasperated to something else with her smiling and nodding and telling him, "Lars is doing very well mi hijo! Being away is doing him a lot of good!" But none of those answers ever made him any happier because he guessed that back then he was looking for either his mom to say that Lars was coming back or his dad to mention it during dinner. They never did though. But now … there his brother was all the sudden, standing in his room after three years. Why didn't his parents tell him that Lars was coming back? And was he staying or just visiting?
Twister furrowed his brows. His heart began to pound and a familiar burning sensation started to build up in his nose. For some reason the idea of this being only a visit didn't sit well in his stomach. All these emotions from negative to positive were so confusing but still, he was going to try and say something anyway when suddenly, Lars walked up, crossing the small space in a few strides and plopped down on the edge of the bed beside him. If Twister had felt any confusion before, then at that point it tripled because Lars would never sit beside him. Ever. As a matter of fact, everything his brother did or more accurately didn't do since breezing into his room after three long years just made him confused. Twister inhaled and closed his eyes to try and fight off the headache currently taking place. He didn't know whether to be angry or happy. It should have made him happy to see that his brother was seemingly different from how mean and just plain stupid he'd been before. It should have made him smile but it didn't. He actually felt kind of pissed off about it. A part of him was a little upset that after torturing him and his friends for so many years with Twister constantly begging Lars to just please, please leave them alone and Lars refusing to let up, that of all the things … a psychiatrist apparently was able to strike a change in him. A stranger. Not family. Some doctor just talked to him and all the sudden he changed. Twister clenched his fists as he tried to steady his breathing, his cheeks reddening from anger the longer Lars lingered quietly beside him with a seemingly brand new attitude and it was then Twister realize that he was actually way more angry than he realized. He wanted to rush downstairs, ask his parents why they thought it was a good choice to let someone like Lars come back home and storm out the house and over to Otto's just to tell his best friend about it all. But he didn't. He couldn't. Not when Lars shifted to face him and said the words he'd been waiting to hear practically all of his life up until now.
"I'm … I'm … Ugh, look I-I'm sorry Twister." Lars said, stumbling with his words and then he frowned, averting his eyes to the right and crossing his arms over his chest in that way Lars always had a habit of doing when he was uncomfortable and actually, he was relieved by the familiar action. He didn't know why but he was.
"There I said it, okay? So …" Lars trailed off for a moment before shaking his head and glaring. "So don't expect for me to say it again."
Twister blinked as he was taken off guard, his rising anger slowly diminishing in the process. He was honestly … sort of really surprised because he hadn't expected for Lars to apologize for anything and because of that, he didn't know what to say and it made him feel frustrated with himself and Lars because his brother just kept surprising him at every turn. It really wasn't fair because he had every right to remain absolutely pissed and Twister must have said as much aloud because suddenly his shirt was being roughly grabbed, the fabric bunching together by Lars' grip who had managed to jump up without Twister noticing.
"Listen here you dork."
Lars' face was flushed, with frustration or the embarrassment of his apology being unaccepted, Twister couldn't tell but either way his own nerves were crackling with a horrible sort of anticipation because this was usually what would happen just before being tossed to the floor and forced into an extremely painful arm bar. Tapping out never worked but then again Twister had grown too and he wasn't so intimidated by Lars' high-strung and aggressive personality. Not anymore. So feeling invigorated he was about to shove his brother away, and tell him to back the hell up. Maybe toss him out the window for good measure as proof of his own recently developed strength when Lars roughly yanked on Twister's shirt, causing him to stumble forward and into warm arms.
In that moment everything he was preparing himself to say and do, just sort of died because out of everything that's happened since Lars stepped foot inside his room, this was the one singular thing that left him frozen and mentally reeling. He'd never been this close without being in a headlock and it wasn't creepy as much as it was just weird. His arms stayed limp at his sides, fingers twitching awkwardly as his eyes shifted in confusion and shock. There was this nagging instinct within him to break free too because this was something that brothers never did (and it was Lars) as far as Twister was concerned but he fought it back, instead he opted to remain still and silent until whatever this was turning into, ended. It must have been awkward for Lars as well though, it had to be, and it made him remember all the times he complained to his friends about how mean Lars could be and how he wish he would stop acting like such a douchebag for at least a day. Maybe be more … brotherly? Or something like that and now that it was happening (was it actually happening?) he didn't know what to do with it.
Only a few seconds had passed even though it felt like they'd been there for about ten or fifteen minutes but during those short moments Twister started to notice just how warm his brother felt. Not like a physical warmth but … but something different. Something too difficult to explain. Maybe an emotionally comforting warmth. Maybe. Possibly. Which was also strange but it made Twister finally reciprocate the gesture and he wrapped his arms around his brother's middle. Hesitantly letting his fingers curl into black cotton. When he felt Lars just barely tighten his hold, he couldn't bring himself to be angry or irritated anymore.
"Sorry. You know, for all the stupid shit I did to you."
"Yeah" It wasn't the best response but whatever, it would have to be enough and apparently it was because Lars released a breathy laugh and shoved at Twister's chest, breaking the hug.
"I'm gonna go downstairs. Get my stuff out the truck." And with that Lars strolled out leaving Twister alone with his headache and small smile daring to reveal itself.
Twister shook his head and grabbed his phone where it had fallen on the floor earlier to text the gang about what had just transpired. If Lars was visiting or staying, either way, this was going to be pretty interesting.