Warning: Slash.
Pairing: Oliver/Charlie
AN: Another challenge from Psycho Hippy, I had to also include the words 'Pineapple' 'Baby' and 'Anthology'. I have to admit this is not one of my best works, but I wrote it three times before I came to this conclusion – but I could spend no longer on it as I have a deadline to keep, as I can only come on fan fiction at certain times of the week. I also gave Psycho Hippy a challenge it's called 'Pointless and Gorgeous', she is good. And while we are on the subject of advertisement don't forget to have a look at my other one shots. .:Shamelessly Advertises:.
One more message before we go on with the fic, because I can't access fan fiction I can't reply to reviews. I do generally always reply, but now your replies may be very late. But they will get to you. I appreciate my readers. Thanks, Jiggy.
Oliver sunk to his knees on the wet ground. His jeans were immediately sodden and he started to shiver as the moist floor made him cold.
His arms lay limp at his side as he stared into the eyes of the death eater in front of him.
He stared around blankly at the dead that surrounded him.
During the battle, with his adrenaline pumping this had been the only place he wanted to be, fighting for Harry.
But now he wished he hadn't come back.
The bile rose in his throat as he stared at the bodies all around, and he didn't feel anything. Why wasn't he upset? Or at least angry at the Death Eaters for causing all this.
It was strange, even as he looked at the Death Eaters, he felt as thoughtless as the dead that surrounded him.
He felt nothing.
He was as dead as they were.
Or at least he deserved to be.
Oliver jumped as a hand rested on his shoulder.
"Get up," Oliver did so numbly, "You're in shock," Oliver heard someone dimly as if through water.
"You're in shock," He heard again, this time louder and more aggressive, "Snap out of it," Oliver was pulled to his feet. He was being shaken backwards and forwards and he let his head flop onto his chest.
How could he bear to move himself when he had left so many without even a choice?
Oliver suddenly snapped awake as a searing pain shot across his face. Blood spurted out of his nose as it let out a loud sickening crack.
"Snap out of it!" Charlie shouted at him.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Oliver shouted, suddenly furious. Anger coursed through his veins as the pain from his broken nose set in, throbbing and making his vision swim.
He threw out his fists, punching Charlie's chest, than grabbing his stupid long hair and pulling it until huge clumps came loose in his hands.
Charlie stood there looking down at him sympathetically.
"Don't give me that look!" Oliver screamed hysterically, "Like you're higher and mightier than me simply because you have no feelings for those dead! You cold hearted bastard!"
Suddenly as it had come all of Oliver's rage left him and he just felt helpless, his tiny fists beating against Charlie's chest and his minute being amongst all the dead, so lucky to be alive. Yet so unlucky at the same time.
He was helpless, and that was worse than any gut wrenching sadness.
Oliver bent down and trailed his finger in the dirt, like a child writing messages in the sand.
"Of course I feel for the dead. And don't you dare suggest I don't." Charlie said, speaking low and deadly. "I feel for all these people, some are even ones that you and I both knew." Charlie pointed angrily at a girl spread eagled on the floor a few hundred metres away, "Would you like me to prove it? I remember her as if it was yesterday. She walked onto the Quidditch pitch with you for trials. She had expressed interest from the first year about being our keeper. I even lent her my anthology about Quidditch tips. Eventually she didn't actually get the position. You did."
"Do you remember every week she came onto the Quidditch pitch we would make a joke about her hair looking like a pineapple? But for all our jokes I still cared about her. Did you know her mother had just had her baby sister? She had wanted one for years so she could spoil her. She finally has one – and now she is dead!" Charlie was slightly hysterical, ranting and shouting.
"So don't you dare say I don't care!" Charlie finished, stepping on Oliver's hand, "You're the heartless bastard."
Charlie turned to leave, but Oliver stood up quickly, "No!" he shouted after him, "I'm sorry – I was rash," he had no feelings of remorse, but he did not want to be alone. Not when he was feeling this insignificant.
"Don't feel so small. You're alive aren't you?" Charlie told him, "That is something."
Charlie began to walk away, "Being alive shows something for your efforts – does it not? At least you can still breathe. Unlike these poor wretches," he gestured around him, "and Fred."
Charlie had obviously been un-able to hold the death of his brother in any longer.
Now Oliver felt true remorse.
"I'm so sorry," Oliver walked towards Charlie, chocking on his own words.
"No matter, our family is so large it was inevitable that we would not all come out without a scratch," Charlie said steadily.
Oliver walked in front of Charlie and looked up at him, "You're in shock," he mimicked Charlie's words from earlier.
Without thinking Oliver pressed his mouth against Charlie's.
Now he didn't feel so small and insignificant. Now he wasn't just one person anymore.
"Cry," Oliver whispered into Charlie's mouth as, after the shock had subsided, Charlie began to kiss him back, for comfort and just a feeling of some sort.
The two men wrapped their arms around each other; Oliver felt damp specks where their faces met.
They were one for now – when they most needed someone.
Anyone.