Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Pretty please?
Chapter One
He trudged through the doorway, dirt on his face and rips in his best jacket.
"Jonathan," I sighed, "Have you been fighting again?" The quick, split-second pause before his answer told me all I needed to know.
"No."
I sighed again, exasperatedly, and proceeded to brush the dirt off the shoulder of his coat.
"What was it about this time?"
"Oh, nothing, really," he replied with false nonchalance and a quick grin. I reached into his pocket and took out a handkerchief, which I used to dab at his bloody nose and cut forehead.
"Did you win?" I inquired casually, as if it were of no importance. And, really, it wasn't, I just knew that he would be offended if I didn't ask.
"Oh, well, you know," Jonathan replied evasively, skillfully avoiding my eyes.
"Ouch! That bloody stings, Evy!" my brother yelped as I tried to dab at his bleeding forehead.
"Jonathan!" I admonished fiercely, "Watch your language!" He muttered an apology, but still winced pathetically every time I tried to touch his forehead.
"Oh, Jonathan, please!" I exclaimed after his fifth-or-so flinch, "It can't hurt that badly."
"Easy for you to say," He muttered sulkily, "It's not your forehead."
My eyes softened as I watched him attempt to examine his own forehead. He may have been a pretty poor example for me, but he was still my big brother.
'Go up to your room," I told him kindly, "I'll make your excuses to Mother and Father. I'll tell them you're ill and won't be able to join us for dinner. As he opened his mouth to say something, I added, "I'll bring you up something to eat later." He visibly relaxed and I could see that he was relieved not to have to confront Father over the splendid black eye that was developing over his left eye. He pulled me close in a hug.
"I love you, ol' Mum," he said tiredly. "
I love you too, Jon," I replied, "Now go up to your room and get some sleep." He complied, too tired to argue.
When I went upstairs to his room later, to bring him his dinner, I found him sprawled on his bed, fast asleep. And, I was displeased to note, still in his clothes, including his shoes. I had always told him that it was unhealthy to sleep in his clothes but he never listened. For all that he was four years my senior, he generally acted as if he were the younger of the two of us. I set the tray of food on a table and proceeded to pull of his shoes, first one and then the other. Jonathan still did not wake up, so I took a wet cloth and tried again at cleaning the cut on his forehead. Finally, he jerked awake, with half-stifled swearword and an "Evy! I told you before, that blo- I mean, that that hurts!"
"Oh, stop being such a baby," I responded, "It can't hurt that badly. It's just a scratch."
"I'll have you know," he began with dignity, "That this 'mere scratch' is four inches deep. I'm lucky to still be here. How would you feel if you lost your favorite brother?"
"Oh, please," I scoffed, "You're my only brother. And besides, nothing could pierce your thick skull anyway," I teased.
"That may be so," Jonathan said, "But when you wake up tomorrow without me, don't come crying to me." Be fore I could point out the absurdity of that statement, he spotted the food I had brought and attacked it rabidly, saying that he was famished. He finished and sprawled on his bed, motioning me to a chair. Just for conversation, he asked what I had done today. I hadn't really done very much at all, but I was halfway through telling him what Mum and Dad had discovered today, when I realized that he was asleep. I stifled a giggle. Trust Jonathan to fall asleep during the most exciting part. I left the room, closing the door behind me, murmuring as I did so, "Goodnight, Jonathan."