Author's Note: I was recently rereading the DiR Sequence and one scene in the second book set off a major "what if . . . " in my mind (not unusual, as I tend to read slashiness into things on a regular basis), so I wrote an alternate ending to the chapter titled "Betrayal". This will likely seem to be an odd, if not disgusting, pairing to most of you (I know I've never seen it done before) and I'll probably get some flames for it, but it struck me so hard that I couldn't not write it. And once written, it seemed silly not to post it . . . the fandom's so tiny that I can't help but think that anything and everything written ought to be posted. Just to warn you, though, I wasn't quite sure what rating to give this. It contains James/Will slash — and yes, that means incest as well — but it's nothing explicit at all (they're only kids!). If it weren't for the incest, I'd have given it a K-plus rating, to be honest. To be safe, though, I went with T. Anyway, I hope you can look past the taboo and enjoy the fic! It's very fluffy!

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this story; they belong to the incredible Ms. Susan Cooper. I may have taken slight liberties with their personalities and/or appearances, and I mean no harm whatsoever by doing so. The paragraphs beginning with '()' in this fic are taken directly from the text of pages 126 and 127 of The Dark is Rising, Scholastic paperback edition, December 1989, New York, USA. Text enclosed by '//' in those direct quotations mark changes/additions made so that everything makes sense in the context of this fic. No copyright infringement is intended and absolutely no money is being made by my writing this.

Happy Christmas Indeed
(by C. Adrien Cummings)

() On Christmas night, Will always slept with James. Both twin beds were still in James's room from the time before Will had moved up to Stephen's attic. The only difference now was that James kept Will's old bed piled with op art cushions, and referred to it as "my chaise longue." There was something about Christmas Eve, they both felt, that demanded company; one needed somebody to whisper to, during the warm beautiful dream-taut moments between hanging the empty stocking at the end of the bed, and dropping into the cosy oblivion that would flower into the marvel of Christmas morning.

"Ugh," said Will. "Why do you keep so much stuff on my old bed? There's even more this year than last." He had just begun to shift things around to clear himself a spot to sleep, when James put a hand on his arm to stop him.

"You can sleep in my bed with me, if you want to," he said. "It'll be a bit of a tight squeeze, both of us in one twin bed, but a right bit better than moving that lot," he added, pointing to the large pile of pillows, cushions, and odds-and-ends.

"All right then," Will agreed, glad not to have to shift everything around. He gathered up everything that he'd already moved, threw it back onto his old bed, and then turned towards James's. James, meanwhile, had slipped off into the adjacent bathroom and begun his nightly routine.

() While James was splashing in the bathroom, Will slipped off his belt, buckled it again around the three signs, and put them under /the/ pillow. It seemed prudent, even though he still knew without question that no one and nothing would trouble him or his home during this night. Tonight, perhaps for the last time, he was an ordinary boy again.

James returned to the bedroom to find Will staring vacantly at nothing in particular. He'd been doing that quite a bit over the past few days, James reflected. In an effort to keep his brother from drifting away (to exactly where, he didn't know) on Christmas Eve, of all nights, James crept up behind Will and clapped him suddenly on the shoulder. Will staggered from the shock, as well as the force of the contact. Seeing this caused James to worry that he'd perhaps struck Will a bit too hard, but when the slightly younger boy regained himself more quickly than an eleven year old ought to be able, James knew that he'd done no harm. In fact . . . after seeing that swift recovery, he wondered if it were possible to harm Will. The boy seemed practically invincible.

Will quickly relaxed when he saw that it was James who had hit him. He actually should have realised it sooner, he thought, but his senses had become heightened since his birthday, and the Old One within him had sensed only an attack . . . it couldn't differentiate between actual threat and idle brotherly fisticuffs.

When Will didn't speak immediately after turning, James decided to break the silence. "Sorry to startle you so badly, Will. I suppose that was a rather rotten thing to do on Christmas Eve, even if you were asking for it, staring off into space like that. And I do hope I didn't hit you too hard."

"No worries," Will assured him. "I'm sure the allure of hitting someone who was deep in thought — and therefore utterly oblivious — was simply too great to ignore, even on Christmas Eve. I understand," he said sarcastically. Then, walking toward the bathroom he added a parting shot. "As to your last concern . . . you hit like a girl."

James charged at him, but Will had the door closed and locked before he could fully close the distance. Will's laughter rang out through the thick wood of the door . . . a high, thoroughly happy sound. James harrumphed and walked back to the bed. Will joined him a few minutes later, pleased to see a smile on his brother's face. Will's face immediately mirrored the smile. All was forgiven.

() Strands of music and the soft rumble of voices drifted up from below. In solemn ritual, Will and James looped their Christmas stockings over /the/ bedposts: precious, unbeautiful brown stockings of a thick, soft stuff, worn by their mother in some unimaginably distant time and misshapen now by years of service as Christmas hold-alls. When filled, they would become top-heavy, and could no longer hang; they would be discovered instead lying magnificent across the foot of the /bed/.

() "Bet I know what Mum and Dad are giving you," James said softly. "Bet it's a—"

() "Don't you dare," Will hissed, and his brother giggled and dived under the blankets.

Will dived in after him, and the two began to wrestle, smiling and spouting playful banter all the while. It lasted a few minutes before they had to resurface; the heat beneath the bedcovers had become stifling. Despite this, however, neither boy's smile had faded in the least. They lay side by side in the small bed, panting for breath and sweating like mad, as happy as could be.

James regained his breath first and rolled onto his side to face his brother. When Will did the same a minute later, he did so with an enormous grin splitting his face. When he saw the seriousness of James's face, however, his smile faltered. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing, Will," James replied with a strained smile. "Really."

"Don't tell me it's nothing, James. Something's obviously wrong."

The half-hearted smile fell from James's face, and he sighed. "You're right, of course," he admitted. "You always are lately."

Will panicked slightly, wondering just how different he'd been acting since discovering his destiny as an Old One. "What do you mean, lately," he joked. "I've always been right about everything since day one." When this elicited only another weak smile from James, Will's joking demeanor vanished. "Honestly," he said, "I just know you. We're brothers, you know? It's not odd for me to be able to tell when something's bothering you."

At the word 'brothers', James flinched. It was barely noticeable, but almost nothing could slip past Will's newly heightened senses. "I saw that," he stated simply. "What is it, James?"

James sighed deeply. When he tried to speak, his voice caught in his throat. He groaned in frustration, and with that groan, the tears that had been slowly gathering in his eyes spilled over.

Will instinctively reached out and wrapped his arms around his brother. James cuddled deeper into the embrace, tears now flowing freely. Sobs shook his body, and Will held him tighter still. He began whispering soothing things, like, "Shh, it's all right," and, "Everything will be okay, you'll see," and, "I'm here for you, no matter what."

That last seemed to do the trick. James's crying ceased and he pulled himself back out of Will's tight embrace. Raising his eyes to his brother's, he whispered, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Will asked, shocked that James would be apologising.

"Here it is, Christmas Eve, and I'm blubbering on your shoulder like a little baby."

Will gave him a reassuring smile. "It's all right," he said earnestly. "I swear it is. But just what is wrong?"

James sighed again, but no tears came this time. And when he tried to speak, his voice came through clearly, if not terribly strong. "Did you mean what you said? That you're here for me no matter what?" he asked.

Puzzled, Will responded, "Of course. I said before, we're brothers. You can tell me anything, and I'll never think any less of you for it. You know that."

"I do. It's just . . . " he trailed off. "When people say that, they usually mean that they can't think of anything that would make them think less of the person they say it to. And I can guarantee that this is something you haven't ever thought of, nor will ever think of . . . "

"James," Will interrupted his brother's rambling. "I promise you, it's okay." He nodded reassuringly when he caught James's eyes. "Just tell me, and we'll work it out together."

This time it was James who nodded. "All right," he said, albeit more to himself than to Will. Then, louder, "Close your eyes."

If Will thought this an odd request, he made no such indication. He merely closed his eyes and awaited further instruction. Needless to say, he was a bit surprised when he someone — presumably James — kissed him. When the other lips pulled away from his own, Will reopened his eyes and, sure enough, it was James he saw backing away from him, cheeks flushed a deep pink.

"I-I-I . . . " James immediately began stammering, "I'm sorry! I know I shouldn't have! I . . . "

"Shhh . . . " Will uttered in an attempt to calm his brother. "It's all right. Let's just talk for a minute. Everything will be all right, I swear."

James couldn't see how that was possible, but he realised that Will was wiser than he; perhaps it really would be okay. He took a deep breath and raised his eyes to meet Will's once more. He nodded, and received a nod in return.

"You were right about one thing," Will began, smiling to reassure James that he wasn't upset. "I didn't expect that." James couldn't help himself; a laugh escaped him at that comment. Will's smile widened, and he continued, "All your worries, though, were baseless. I meant what I said . . . we're brothers, and I'm here for y—"

"But that's just it!" James interrupted. "We're brothers! Brothers don't kiss like that! And . . . "

He continued rambling, and nothing Will said could stop the flow of reasons (most of them very good reasons, in most people's minds) why there simply must be something wrong with James to make him feel this way about his own brother. Then, finally, Will did find a way to shut his brother up: he kissed him.

The shock of Will kissing him was enough to silence his disconsolate musings. His words fell away into a moan that he couldn't suppress, try as he might. The kiss didn't last long, but it was most certainly effective; when Will pulled away, James's eyes opened and Will could see in them that the terror was gone. In its place was something Will couldn't quite name.

"Can we talk now?" Will asked in a light tone. James blushed, feeling rather foolish for falling to pieces like he had, and then nodded. "Good," Will said. "Now . . . "

"Can I say just one thing first?" James asked hesitantly.

Will smiled at him again. "As long as it doesn't turn into another rant on how 'sick' you are," he joked, "sure."

James smacked him on the arm. "It won't. I just want to say thank you for not freaking out." He smiled — a genuine smile — for the first time since their wrestling match.

"You're welcome," said Will understandingly, "but you really don't need to thank me. We are brothers, and that's not about to change just because you fancy me."

James groaned. "Fancy, Will?"

"Well, what would you call it then?"

"I don't know," James admitted, "but definitely something more manly than 'fancying' you." They both laughed at this. When their laughter had ceased, James turned serious again. "Are you really not freaked out by this?" he asked.

This time, Will's smile was too genuine to ignore. Before he even opened his mouth to reply aloud, James knew that everything really would be all right. The sincerity of Will's voice merely confirmed it when he asked, "Would I have kissed you if I were? There were other ways I could have shut you up at that point. That just seemed the best option. It wouldn't have been if I were truly sickened by the thought of kissing you."

James nodded, too floored by his brother's statement to make a verbal response. They lay beside each other in silence for a moment before James found his voice once more. "So . . . " he began, before Will interrupted.

"Yes."

"Yes?" James repeated, clearly puzzled. "You don't even know what I was about to ask."

"Yes," Will repeated confidently.

"But . . . "

"You want to know if I would do it again. Or if I'd let you do it again. The answer is yes. To both."

There was a moment of stunned silence before James collected himself enough to speak. He took a deep breath, as if about to say quite a bit, but what came out was, "Really?"

Will laughed. "Yes, James. I may not have much experience kissing people, but once I've done something, I know whether I like it or not," he explained simply. "I liked that."

James's smile could have lit up the room. "So not only are you not freaked out," he clarified, "but you're even willing to do it again? Kiss your own brother, I mean."

Will shrugged and said, "I love you James. It may just be brotherly love, but then it may not. The only way I can think of to find out is to just go with it until we know."

Looking fit to burst with glee, James threw his arms around Will, pulled him close, and kissed him hard. The kiss lasted only a few seconds, but it left both boys breathless. When James pulled back again, he whispered, "Thank you," and then he leaned back in and kissed Will once more, very softly this time.

"You have nothing to thank me for," Will told him as they snuggled down next to each other. "In fact, I think I might be just as happy as you are . . . so thank you."

James laughed softly and whispered, "You're very welcome." Then he wrapped his arms around his brother again, closed his eyes, and waited for sleep to claim him.

() "G'night, Will."

() "'Night. Happy Christmas."

() "Happy Christmas."

() And it was the same as it always was, as he lay curled up happily in his snug wrappings /,except that, this year, those included his brother's arms/, promising himself that he would stay awake, until, until . . .

() . . . until he woke, in the dim morning room with a glimmer of light creeping round the dark square of the curtained window, and saw and heard nothing for an enchanted expectant space, because all his senses were concentrated /on the wonderful feel of his brother holding him close, and/ on the weighty feel, over and around his blanketed feet, of strange bumps and corners and shapes that had not been there when he fell asleep. And it was Christmas Day.

fin