Title: Signs
Author: Rube
Rating: R
Summary: Maybe there are no coincidences.
Notes: Based loosely off of "Signs" and inspired by "Alien," written by Josselin. I can't get motherfucking aliens out of my head, man. For the record I stole a ton of material from the movie and the screenplay.
Disclaimer: M. Night Shyamalan I am not. Josselin I am not. Cowlip I am not. Don't sue.
[One]
Morning.
Light drifts in through the window in harsh, butter-yellow streaks. Brian still hasn't put up the new maroon drapes. He told Justin they didn't match and there were more important things to fix before the ugly drapes, like the carpets and the heating system. Brian fuzzily wishes he had put up the drapes on mornings like now though. Mornings when the sun beats a ruthless path on that side of the house.
He sits up, looks around his sparse bedroom. All is quiet. He brushes sleep from his eyes and yawns, checking the clock. 7:23 in the A.M. Justin must be downstairs making breakfast. Justin is good with things like that. Brian can always count on him for domestic comforts.
Brian slips out of bed, pads to the closet for his robe, and then heads towards the bathroom door. He opens it with one hand, pushes hair back from his face with the other. Brian has let it grow a bit longer since it happened. No money to get it cut. No impetus either.
He brushes his teeth with the sink running, avoiding his reflection in the mirror. He spits suds of toothpaste into the basin and reaches for a towel. It's freezing in the house without heat, even with the strong sunlight outside.
Headed downstairs he nearly trips on a toy fire truck in the hallway outside of Gus' room but hops around it in time, the benefit of long legs. He doesn't even scowl when the heel of his hand pushes the door of Gus' room open. The door creaks. Brian eyes the mess inside, the unmade bed and the clothes hamper with dirty jeans dangled off the side, the papers and coloring books. No Gus.
He backs out of Gus' room and starts down the stairs. Gus' hollowed scream reaches him five steps from the bottom, and Brian stills there, tense.
Justin lurches awake, blinking and dry-mouthed. He kicks the quilt off of his legs and bounds up off the couch, panic overriding his otherwise sleepy reflexes. Bewildered, his eyes drift to the foyer and his feet follow, making soft smacks against the hardwood. He stops at the stairs and wraps his fingers around the banister. "Brian?"
Brian's still clay-footed on the stairwell. He does not look at Justin. "Where's Gus?"
"Umm." Justin looks around but senses the house is empty save for the two of them. "Outside, maybe?"
Brian takes the rest of the steps and half-runs to front door. Justin scurries after him and stops at the coat rack to don a jacket, face scrunched in worry as he watches Brian run out into the yard. The ground is covered with frost, and Brian is barefoot in a robe and boxers.
It's smoky outside. The sky is hazed with billowing clouds of it, and the sound of crackling fills the air. Justin coughs and jogs after Brian with his hand over his mouth and nose. He does not call out.
"Oh, shit." He can see glowing red up near the orchards, maybe a mile away. Brian's stopped fifty paces or so up ahead, Justin sprints up to him and wraps an arm around his lean waist. "He's a smart kid, he knows better than to head into a fire." Brian does not say a word. Justin presses his mouth to the tick at the dip of Brian's clenched jaw and throat. "I can get the car and go after him?"
Still now answer. Justin fights back gnawing worry, glances sidelong at Brian's stony expression and makes the decision to just do it himself. "I'll find him," he calls back over his shoulder, then coughs from the effort of running.
Brian waits until he hears the front door slam. His eyes sting from the smoke and the tacit clock ticking away until the moment when he will know if his son will live or die. He does not know what to do until then, so he runs. He doesn't feel the rocky soil or numbing frost under his feet.
The sound of wood cracking and Brian's panting breath fill the air. Distantly there is the hum of an engine roaring to life.
For Brian, all is quiet.