It's like a fist is squeezing his heart so tight. He can't do much as she clings to his waist, her face buried on his chest, arms tighter than a vise. There are tears drenching the Nirvana t-shirt he scored from a yard sale; the one that he and Sofia happened upon several months back when they'd gone down to wander Salem Center for a bit.

"Don't make me go home, Josh." The hiccups chop up her sentences and he looks away, inhaling deeply as he drains any sign of emotion from his face. "Ahm gonna get m'powers back. Just gimme a couple more days."

The few other kids watch them from where they sit, and he can't help but wish that they'd occupy themselves with whatever else they should be doing. It seems everyone's a busybody. The world turns upside-down, their thriving mutant population gets cut down far more than half it's size and all of a sudden every tear, every tantrum, every damned bit of drama going on the grounds is fodder for talk.

"Melody, stop makin' a scene." He mumbles, one awkward arm coming around her to give her a brief squeeze. "You have t'go home. You're not a mutant anymore, baby-girl. You don't have a place here anymore." He hasn't called her that nickname in years, and it kills him just a little, even if he doesn't show it, that he's using it now in the hopes of appealing to her sensible side.

A side that she obviously doesn't want to listen to.

Dammit, he thinks, jaw clenching. Why was it that every damned one of his siblings seemed to want to be a mutant? His thoughts drift back briefly to Joelle, and how once upon a time she'd been so resentful of Sam and Paige just because they turned out to be 'special'. He feels the bitterness fester, uncoiling like a snake that he'd been feeding in the depths of his heart.

Special, that had been her word. But what in hell to begin with, was so damned special about being a mutant?

"Ah do too have mah powers," he watches her pull back, the defiance in her eyes enough to make him smile. But he doesn't. For her sake, he doesn't. Instead, he watches her blandly, detaching himself from the moment. Today he's not the brother who pulled out band-aids to cover up her nicks and scratches. Today he's putting his foot down. "They... they just need a bit o'time to start up again." She needs this, he tells himself repeatedly. She needs at least one of them to be cold.

Paige's eyes are on him. He senses her quiet plea for him to be a little bit more gentle. A little bit more understanding. But no. The last thing his baby sister needs is coddling. Coddling, if they took the time to notice, never did anyone any good. Never did any of them any good.

"Quit being a brat, alrigh'?" The bite in his tone startles even him, and he turns his gaze away, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans as he turns around. "No, Melody. You don't have your powers. Go home with Paige. Just..." his breath doesn't shudder even if he thinks it should. He feels hollow, oh so hollow, but he can't find the strength to care.

"Just go home."

-----

posted originally at The Jay Guthrie LiveJournal Community -- soclosetothesun (at) LJ (dot) com

prompt: #31 "brat" from 50 Prompts for Jay Guthrie