so i started this ages ago and dug it out of my drafts today, punched out 1500 words and here we are. i was always really disappointed (but not exactly surprised) that father never got a chance to go full out against grandfather, because i have a soft spot for the guy and it would've made for some really interesting character development. hence, this.

Benedict isn't entirely sure that this is the right course of action. After all, Pappy is a force to be reckoned with, especially when he's angry. And if they lose—which Monty seems sure isn't possible, but Monty was never afraid of consequences the way Ben's always been (and anyway, Pappy always went easy on Monty, because he was the better brother, the braver brother, the golden first child)—and this is definitely a horrible, no good, very bad idea. Ben regrets this already, and nothing bad has even happened yet.

He hates himself for it, but he gives in to Pappy's taunts. The old jerk always knew how to push his buttons. Ben whines about unfairness like he's still that same scared ten-year-old boy with the dirty glasses and scraped knees who was too afraid to stand up for himself, like he thinks that something will actually change if he acts the same way he always has.

But he's changed! He's evil now too! He's the biggest, baddest evil adult around! He's the archnemesis of the Kids Next Door! Pappy's gotta recognise that, right? He'll show him—he'll show Monty, too! "What about me?" He interrupts, using both hands to point at himself. "I'm in this family too! And I'm pretty evil—I reek of evil!" It's true; he hasn't showered since before Pappy was recommissioned. "I lead evil to—"

Pappy looks irritated. "Why don't you give it a rest?" He yells.

Ben barely has time to squeak out a panicked, "Uh-oh," before Pappy's evil fire ray hits him square in the chest and knocks him to the ground.

He actually skids a good ten feet before stopping, and for half of a second he just lays there as it finally sinks in that nothing he does will ever be good enough for Pappy. In true Kübler-Ross fashion, he's moved on from denial to white-hot anger, the kind that spawns legends terrifying enough to keep even the most rebellious of children in line.

He is furious. He's never felt like this before. He's been angry, sure, but the rush of adrenaline and the pounding in his head have never been this sharp or sure, and the fire boiling his blood only serves to enhance that. The familiar feeling bubbles up from his chest, making him clench his fists and teeth and forcing a shudder of power through his entire body, and oh, is it ever nice to not be afraid anymore.

"You ... big ... JERK!"

Flames shoot in every direction, and at the epicentre of it all is him, Benedict, not Monty, not Pappy, not Nigel or any of the Brats Next Door, but him. He's the reason Pappy stills in surprise and the reason Monty backs away. He's the one they should've watched out for all along.

The flames continue to grow, feeding off of one another as he rants, completely engulfing him. "Now you've made me very—"

The flames rise higher.

"Very,"

Higher.

"Very ..."

Higher still, and there's a tiny voice in the back of his head telling him to just give up because none of this really matters, give up because he can't do anything worthwhile, give up because taking down Pappy is Monty's job, not his, give up.

Ben narrows his eyes, sets his jaw. He's a coward, but he's a coward with anger issues and it's time to let them out. It's been too long.

"ANGRY!"

Then he explodes.

Or ... well ... sort of.

The whirlwind of fire around him spits off in every direction as his wrath reaches its peak, scorching nearby houses, turning the grass from his perfectly manicured lawn into grey ash, and most importantly, making sure Pappy's eyes are glued on Ben with the same sort of magnetic interest Monty's always gotten from him.

"I recommissioned you and didn't get so much as a thank you note, put up with your insults, and let you take over all my plans just because I thought you'd share world domination with me, but I don't care anymore! You've never cared about anybody except yourself—which I can admire—but I don't want to make tapioca for another ten years until somebody overthrows you again! I should probably make some big, heroic speech about you being evil and how good always wins, but I'm not a hero. I'm just fixing the mistake I made in recommissioning you," Ben says, the power thrumming in his veins making his whole body tremble. He's never been so fed up in his entire life. Is this what bravery feels like?

Pappy crosses his arms over his chest and regards his youngest with something that, if it were anyone else, could be respect. "So, you've finally grown up, have you? Come to join the rest of the adults at the table?" He narrows his eyes and drops his chin, the beginnings of a smirk starting. "Ben, Ben, Ben. Always a disappointment. You take an eternity to stand up to me, and when you do, it's because of a temper tantrum and Monty's help in dragging you out here kicking and screaming. Not that I ever expected much more," Pappy adds boredly. "Step aside and I'll consider letting you rule something when I've taken over. Think of it as a reward for finally growing a backbone."

"No," Ben says loudly, definitively; still not loud enough to drown out the tides of fury in his head.

"No?" Pappy asks, raising a hand. "Then sit down and let me deal with your brother." Without waiting for a response, Pappy sends out a sharp blast of flame.

Benedict doesn't flinch, just allows himself to absorb the attack without moving. "No," he says again, firmly.

Pappy looks confused for a moment, sending a few more blasts of flame out, none of them doing any more damage than a pebble might. "Hm, impressive. You might not be totally useless after all."

The part of Benedict that will forever remain ten years old is thrilled by the compliment. He shoves that part down bitterly.

" ... But even still, you're no match for me." Pappy continues. "Let's turn up the heat, shall we?" Both hands extended, fire flows from Pappy's fingertips in huge, continuous streams.

Benedict curls his twitching fingers tightly into his palms and lets the anger underneath his skin build again, ignoring his father's attacks as they flick against his chest, as harmless as sparks. It feels like there's liquid power streaming through his body, as if any slice in his skin would reveal a thousand lightning bolts, furious and quick to strike. "Sounds like a plan to me," he says under his breath.

Vibrating with all the pent-up fury he's carried and collected over the years, the hatred he's held for Pappy, for Monty, for the KND, for his own inadequacy, the anger at the unfairness of it all and all the inevitable regret that comes with age and experience, Benedict finally lets go.

He feels an explosion of power rip from his chest outwards, a feeling like flames licking at his ribs and then pulsing through his heart, beating inside his arteries and back through his veins like the echo of thunder. The ringing in his ears crescendos with a vicious crash and he's certain he'll go deaf after this, but he can't get past the wicked boil of rage in his blood to care.

He sees the explosion of fire, catches the beginnings of surprise on Pappy's face, and has just enough time to feel a jolt of pride for himself before his vision goes pure white.

His head hurts.

His chest hurts.

Actually, everything hurts. Those are just the first two Benedict notices when he finally manages to crawl his way back to awareness. He doesn't know where he is, nor does he particularly care. He wants to curl up in a ball and cry, or go back to bed, or gulp down an entire container of rocky road. Or all three, just not in that order.

Grudgingly, he cracks an eyelid open. It's not bright, but it takes a few seconds to adjust anyway.

He's ... in his room. In his bed, even. He opens the other eye and moves his head as quickly as he dares to take stock of the room, which, yes, does look the exact same as he'd left it. He's really got to vacuum one of these days.

A thought hits him then, in the relative darkness of the room, one that steals his breath and makes him choke on the dryness of his throat. It was a dream it was a dream it was a dream his mind says, and as he grabs for the glass of water on the nightstand, he can feel his heartrate spike. Benedict gulps down half the glass before he notices a paper stuck to the bottom of it.

The water leaves a wavy ring in the centre of the paper, but the ink hasn't smudged so much it's unreadable. In small, tight lettering, the note reads:

Ben,

Doctor said you're fine, you just need rest. Pappy's back to normal. Give me a ring when you're up.

Monty

Benedict swallows hard and carefully folds the note in half, putting it back on his nightstand. So, not a dream. He lays down again, stares blankly at the wall. There's a faint sense of triumph, knowing he stood up to Pappy once and for all, but mostly he just feels hollow. He's unhappy but not surprised that his ... (ugh) daddy issues haven't been cured in that one fell swoop.

A nice pint of rocky road, that's what he needs. With some effort, Ben sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, slips his feet into the slippers. He's not sure how long he slept, but he's still exhausted.

He trudges through the house slowly, vaguely surprised it's still standing (and completely untouched, if his eyes are to be believed) after his ... outburst. Barely able to focus on anything but the prospect of ice cream, it's no surprise when he walks right past Monty, who has one leg folded over the other as he skims the sports section of the newspaper.

"Feeling alright?" Monty asks, and Ben jumps a mile out of his skin.

"I didn't see you there," he says, a tad accusatory.

Monty folds the paper neatly and sets it on the table next to him. "I wasn't sure I could count on you to call, and I didn't think it was a good idea to leave you unsupervised, so I stayed," he says in answer to the question Ben hadn't asked.

"Why leave a note at all, then?" Ben asks sourly. He turns and walks off toward the kitchen. "You're not Mother; I don't need a babysitter," he adds over his shoulder.

Monty's got heavy footsteps, and they follow Ben all the way to the fridge, where he digs out an unopened container of ice cream and cracks the lid. It's delicious. Rocky road can always be counted upon in a crisis. Or an after-crisis. Or anytime at all, really.

"I figured it wouldn't hurt for you to know somebody's looking out for you," comes the honest answer. "We're still family." Monty's always so earnest, so loyal, so unbearably ... good, and it leaves a sour taste in Ben's mouth now just as it has for years.

He sighs and leans with his back against the cutlery drawer, sticking a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth and savouring it before swallowing. "So what now? I'm assuming the brats haven't decommissioned you yet."

"Not yet," Monty says. There's a lot of weight on those two words, probably a good reason behind them too.

"Hm," there's a note of interest behind the noise, but Ben's got more pressing questions. "What exactly ... happened?" Vague, but Monty's not an idiot.

"After you had your blow-up, you knocked yourself and everyone around right out. The Kids Next Door came in after that and decommissioned Pappy, and mostly everyone was awake not too long after that. You've been out for about a day, probably just because of overexertion," Monty answers.

"Ah."

There's a beat of awkward silence—too much time and too many quiet resentments have settled between them for there to be anything else. Monty glances at his hands, Ben stares at his ice cream as if it's the most fascinating thing in the world, scooping another spoonful out. He misses when this was easy, even if it's never quite been that way.

"So—" Monty starts, then stops, awkwardly, like he's not used to this type of grey area. "So, Ben, I was wondering ... is there possibly, I don't know, some way that we could perhaps ... start over?" Uncertainty is a new look for him.

Another beat of silence, this one heavy, not awkward, comes and goes. "I honestly don't know," Ben says. "Is there?"

"I'd like to think so," Monty shifts his weight to the other foot, meets Ben's eyes.

Ben glances away and stands straight, turns and opens the drawer behind him. He digs out a second spoon and offers it to his brother. "Rocky road?" He asks. It's not an olive branch, per se, but it'll do.

Monty takes the spoon.

It's a start.

reviews are, as always, treasured.

feel free to hit me up at my tumblr, galaxybriel. i'd love to talk about this story or anything knd, really, so don't be shy!