The Darlin' Series

by Fasnacht

The Rest of the Darlin' Series will be posted here, instead of as individual one shots. It's best to think of them as a series of one shots told from Darrell's POV. Start with Darlin' Dear. Darrell would like you to know that the notebook is not a journal, even when he uses it as one to document years of growth. Cookies, cake, and being trapped in a closet help Darrell to grow up.

1. Chapter 1

The rest of the Darlin' Series will be posted here, just because they're easier to find all in one place, and I don't want to make it hard on you.

Darrell hated history. He hated history, because he never had one growing up. When other kids brought in haluski and hot dish for heritage day, he was always left out, standing on the sidelines, claiming the copout answer of being "American" which in his young mind, was like being nothing, because everyone in the room was American, except for maybe Rachel and Ryan, but they hadn't been around growing up. Everyone was American and something else, or some type of American, like the Native American kids could claim. Well, growing up where he did, some of the kids got rightfully angry, saying the only real Americans were people who'd lived there long before Columbus, or whoever discovered America was. Darrell thought it was maybe John Smith? Wasn't there some kid movie that had some guy who looked like Brad Pitt discovering America?

He didn't know. Kids could be cruel. But he did know that some of the teachers had insisted he must have been lying about not knowing anything about his family history. It had been a horrible experience, growing up. That's why he hated his notebook. It was a green mead notebook, hidden in his Physics book, simply because the thing was huge, and the only time he ever used it was to prop open his bedroom door, which had this habit of closing at random moments with a loud bang. He was convinced the house was haunted. Even his house had more of past than he did.

Right, so he hated his notebook. It told him that the key to understanding Sam and Jake's relationship was understanding their past, something he really knew very little about. He scowled at his notebook. A page with a short list danced in front of his eyes, like Stewie and Gene Kelley on Family Guy. Seth McFarlane had to have been high when they came up with that sequence, or at least coming off a bad trip. That's how Darrell felt, looking down at the chart in front of him. He felt sick.

Jake Loves Sam

1,764 Points

Sam Loves Jake

954

He also hated his point system. For the last three weeks, he'd been assigning points to each of them when he saw something that expressed their emotion for each other. He couldn't believe that Jake was the clear winner, with a lead of 810 points. At first, he thought maybe his ranking scale was flawed, but no way of tweaking it could change the horrible realization that had hit him in the middle of British Literature.

He had discovered that, while Jake thought Sam was all that and a side of fries, Sam didn't agree. To Sam, Jake was more like Sonic french fries, a pale imitation of McDonalds ones. To put it plainly, his notebook told him that Jake loved Sam more than Sam loved Jake. It was totally clear, and made his stomach hurt. How was he to tell his best friend that the person he considered to be his best friend didn't care about him like he did? But he had to do it. The bro code demanded it of him, just like it demanded that he follow all 160 edicts to the best of his ability. He was fine with number 72, (Never admit he liked to listen to Bette Midler) or number 116 (A Bro will always watch a movie narrated by Morgan Freeman, no matter what else is on). Normally, he thought the bro code was a little douche-y, now that punks were screaming "Come at me bro!" in the mall, but there were some facets that were just ingrained in a man, like knowing how to use the urinals in public and holding doors for chicks, even ugly ones. At the mall, all he ever had to do was raise an eyebrow, and the so called bros ran away. It was great. But number 3 was killing him. Just killing him, in the sort of way that he was still alive to feel himself dying, sort of like a lobster in a pot of hot water that could crawl up a bit, but not enough to escape the vapors of steam that would mean his death, and some fancy person's dinner.

He hated everything. He needed to make a list of the things he hated so he could categorize his hate. He took a pencil, for a preliminary list, and wrote:

List of things I Hate

Haluski

Sonic

Bro Code

Just as he was about to add another item, there was a knock at the door, which had slammed shut because he was using the physics book to encase his notebook. Not even Newton could help him. There was a knock at his bedroom door. "Darrell, your grandmother will be here soon..."

He nodded, unblinking and said, "I'm going to Three Ponies." He wanted to get away. He did not like his mother's mother, who was known mostly to him in the stories his mother told of a privileged but naive childhood, a rude awakening in her teens, and months of planning and intimidation as she' d tried to get away. She could not get away from everything. His cousins and grandmother would occasionally come up to visit, once his father's family had forgotten about him. His mother flat out refused to let him go to Vegas. They would come here, or they wouldn't see him.

"Darrell..." His mother wrung her hands as he slid the notebook inside the book and rose to cross his bedroom.

He kissed his mother's cheek. "He's fixing the side wall of the barn. Some of the stones went, I'm helping, Ma..."

She waved him off, and with her permission, he bounded over to Three Ponies. Jake was in a pretty decent mood, for a guy who was covered in cement and dirt and dust. They worked in relative silence, until Darrell spoke as they finished the small area Jake had begun working on earlier in the morning. "So. Do you want to meet my Nonna?"

"What's a Nonna?" Jake asked. Darrell nearly laughed. His friend stressed the "No" like the end in know, when actually it was a bit more like "Noh." It was close, but still, Jake's pronunciation grated at his ears, as it sounded a bit like Wynona. Wynona was a pretty cool singer, especially as part of The Judds, not as epic as Bette Midler, but who was really? Except maybe Eric Clapton, before the whole Candle in the Wind thing. Nope, Bette Midler still won. Darrell wondered if Clapton had really done what people said he did, and wondered if Mac could help him do it. He knew you needed a buddy for stuff like that, and he knew that even the bro code wouldn't cover that for Jake to help him. But Mac had always been kind to him, and he knew the old guy would have his back, like he did that one time he was putting up a basketball hoop at his house when he was younger. How Mac had known to show up, he'd never discovered, and the old man had never said. Wait, he recalled quickly that Mac didn't believe in a literal devil, so that was probably out. Dang, he'd have to go see his Nonna. He didn't even think selling his soul would get him out of it.

"My grandmother." He noticed Jake's look, and continued, "Yes, I have a grandmother." She was practically the only family he had, well, her and Aunt Mary Sarah. Darrell didn't much like his Nonna. She was a little bit like Sophia Petrillo, only meaner, and if she didn't like you, she' d kill you, not make snide remarks about your sex life. Oh, not that she'd do it, literally. Nonna never did anything strenuous, it was Botox and judgement that kept her thin, like a crypt keeper or a really ugly, old Snooki, after the crazy weight loss scheme and a few decades of collagen loss she tried hard to combat with makeup and crisp linen shirts. Nonna was classier than Snooki's truck stop style, favoring Dior and Chanel, but she'd have you wacked if you crossed her. Her one soft spot, hard as it was, was her two daughters, whom she'd buffered against her husband's wrath for their mistake of not being born male.

Jake was speaking, "cancel...Sam'll understand." His friend was wiping his hands on his jeans, and packing up the tools.

"Cancel?" Darrell asked. "Bring her with us." Darrell wasn't going to turn down a chance to get them together. This might actually work out super. He could avoid his grandmother, and hopefully, she would avoid him if he had friends there. This, too, would give him time to warm up to the idea of talking to Jake. It had to be done, and maybe he could borrow some of his grandmother's attitude to do it.

Darrell grew more agitated as all three of them made their way to his tiny house in Alkali. He saw suddenly, how awkward this was. Not even his best friend knew about his past. He hadn't even known about his family history until about six months ago. Oh, he'd had hints, over the years, but he hadn't put them together. He had acted a bit like a fool, ignoring his memories, the hints his mother had been unable to hide. One day, when he was twelve, he'd brought home the Godfather and his mother had burned it, burned it and screamed at him Italian. She'd said, "It's all lies! Don't get sucked in, you hear me? I nearly died to get you away, and God as my witness, we won't go back. God as my witness, I'll kill you first." He had laughed in her face, even as he struggled to translate her words, with all the bravado of a kid who'd never heard his mother yell before, and told her it was just a movie. What did his father have to do with a movie, anyway? The man had died in a car accident. She had shook as she had said that it was all lies, and there was nothing glamorous about it. He'd said, "How would you know? You're a florist!" She had paused for a moment, turned, and walked away without another word. From then on, she'd ignored anything he'd brought home about organized crime, and he'd learned to hide his interest from her.

His boots tripped on the stair, and Jake put his hand on Sam's arm to stop her from falling. Sam's hands were full of the cake plate, as he spoke. He tried to be funny. "Forgot to tell y'all... My Nonna might seem a bit crazy." Crazy wasn't the word for it, but there was no time to explain as he mother opened the door.

Sam, once they were safely inside, passed his mother the cake plate, with a soft, "Hey, Carrie." That was another lie. His mother buried her past, her secrets, on the day she'd stood as a nineteen year old widow on the side of his father's grave. She'd done her duty to her husband, and she decided she would do no more. She'd told Darrell, when everything came out, that her duty was to her son. She cut her hair with kitchen scissors, tossed out her Dior for jeans and a T-shirt, packed up her son and bolted under the cover of deep night, the lights of Vegas fading in the distance. Carolina Maria Luchelli became Carrie Lucas under the night sky. Her wedding ring was tossed on the highway as she sang Ba Ba Black Sheep to her young son. It glittered, like the tears she never shed. She told Darrell she'd never forgotten seeing it glint in the rearview mirror.

Today, though, his mother's smile was wide. "Hi, Samantha. You didn't have to bring anything."

Sam replied, "Gram's been teaching me to bake. I hope it came out okay." Her foot shuffled along the floor, in a sheepish way. Jake, who was right behind her, fixed her with a bolstering look. If only Darrell had someone to do that for him. But there was no time for self pity, he had to steel his spine. He could hear the crypt keeper coming. Her shoes sounded like Mr. Waternoose from Monsters, Inc. even as her voice sounded more like Roz. Roz, though, had a soft underbelly that his Nonna lacked.

She entered the room, her soft grey dress and pink sweater contrasting with her deep blue eyes. Darrell's heart was beating in his ears as he performed the introductions. "Nonna, these are some friends of mine, Sam Forester and Jake Ely."

Nonna's gaze fell on Sam and Darrell nearly felt sorry for her, in the way someone might feel bad for an ant under a magnifying glass. He had no way of warning her of what was coming her way. He didn't though, because Nonna turned to him and gazed over his outfit, loose jeans with workbooks and a T-shirt that proclaimed his love for the NYPD, spoke to him in Italian. "Peter, get yourself upstairs and change your clothes. Tuck in your shirt, put on some shoes, comb your hair." She continued in English, "Now, what are your names?"

"I'm Sam Forester, Ma'am. He's Jake Ely."

"What's your name, dear?" Oh, God. There was the fake polite voice.

Sam replied. "Samantha."

There came the tone again. "And your middle name, Samantha?" He knew what she was getting at. She refused to call anyone by a name she didn't like, often using their middle names instead. It was just one of the million ways his grandmother told the world that she was better than everyone, and she did as she pleased. It was just like that time she'd called his mother furious, her voice staccato, because they wouldn't let her take things she needed on a airplane, and what was she to do in France without her bottle opener? She mourned for days gone by, before RICO, days Darrell was convinced, had never really existed outside of a scene in the early parts of Goodfellas.

"Anne." Sam answered slowly.

Nonna nodded, "Ah, the mother of Christ. I will call you Anne. You may call me Nonna." She commanded. "Come now, into the kitchen. Both of you." She turned back to Darrell, who was still standing there. "Pietro, Go." His mother nodded, softly, as though she felt his pain, and he went. She spoke chidingly, "Mama..."

He changed his clothes, and looked in the mirror, staring at his eyes, as he brushed his hair, or what there was of it. Darrell didn't remember being called Peter. His mother had never called him that, no matter what his father had insisted upon naming him. He never felt like Peter and praised the day his name was legally changed. That was his father's name, and paternal grandfather's name, and so on back several generations. He was Darrell, and for the first few years of his life in Darton County, life was idilic, even if his mother did check the doors and windows in each room before bedtime. She changed their phone number three times, and they'd gone on vacation twice when she'd suspected they'd have what she called visitors. Darrell never knew it was strange to decide to go on vacation at three in the morning for no reason other than his mother felt like it. Then again, those crazy road trips had been fun. He had learned all about the best music, riding in the car with his mom. He loved car rides, probably because of what they used to mean for him.

He could not dwell on his thoughts, as the bro code demanded he rescue Jake from the more evil than Plankton Nonna. He bounded down the stairs, two at a time, just to piss her off, and came into the tiny dining room to hear Nonna say. "Shall we eat?"

The meal was silent, oppressive, until Nonna spoke again. "So, Jacob. My daughter tells me you and my grandson are good friends."

"Yes, ma'am." Jake replied.

"And you are also friends with Miss Forester, Pietro?" Nonna asked in that horrible way of hers. Jesus. She was asking if Sam was his girlfriend, or worse yet, if he was... Oh, that thought was not something he wanted to think with Jake in the room. It was rude, not to mention deadly. And it violated his own morals, not to mention the bro code.

"She's more Jake's friend than mine." Darrell left no room for doubt. If Nonna thought they were dating, there would be no end to her questions, or his misery. When she got on a line of questioning, she was like that game he sometimes played, guess the animal, or whatever when they fired yes no questions at you until they were guessed it correctly. But instead of asking, "Was it green?" She asked other questions, ones designed to trap, and make you feel as though you had been caught in a lie so you would be forced to grovel and repent, as though she were some kind of superior being, and you were lucky to be breathing in her presence. It always ended in the way she wanted, with her initial suppositions being proved correct. Nonna was never wrong, just like the customer was always right.

Sam frowned, "That's not true." She sounded hurt, when all Darrell was trying to do was keep her out of his family drama. She probably thought she was helping him, making him seem like he had friends or whatever. Jake was looking at him sharply, with a questioning gaze.

Nonna looked victorious. "Oh?"

Darrell sighed, seeing no way out of this that didn't end with either his body being scattered across the desert, or Jake's boots kicking his skull in. Wait, he didn't think they did that anymore. Knowing who his father was, they'd probably be merciful and cut out his tongue or something. You know, let him live, but make life miserable. It seemed to be his grandmother's mission.

His mom dived in knowing where her mother was headed, "They grew up together. They're close."

Nonna looked crafty. "So, how do you kids say it in English? They're..friends with benefits, then?" Darrell nearly groaned. Did she think they were stupid? The woman had grown up in Brooklyn, gone to some of the best convent schools of the city, and she fumbled over a term like she was fresh off the boat? No dice.

Sam blushed, "No, Mrs.."

"Nonna, dear."

Jake stepped in with Sam's taken aback look. She didn't want to call his Nonna, Nonna. He didn't want to either. Good for her for standing up to the old bag of bones."No. We're not."

"Are you single?" Nonna asked, looking at Sam.

"Yes..." Sam looked at her quizzically.

"My grandson Wendell is single, you know." Geez, that's what's she's after. God!

"Mama!" His mother scolded, as Darrell saw a 50 point reaction from Jake. He couldn't bear to take those points. He hadn't earned them. In fact, he felt like subtracting 50 from his own total.

Nonna shrugged, "I'm looking out for my boys, is that a crime?"

"Would that you had done that for me." Her daughter muttered.

Darrell sought to avoid a fight. "The food's great, Mom."

Sam and Jake agreed, but Nonna could not bear to not be the center of attention. She was like Porky the Pig, she had to have the last word. "Carolina, you remember Hugo? He's a friend of ours, knew your father, he was asking about you..."

Darrell didn't remember Hugo. He didn't even remember his own father, but he wasn't about to let some wiseguy get near his mama. Darrell loved his mother and he had enough of his father in him to make sure nothing more happened to her. She'd gone through enough, based on the little bit she told him. He knew what she'd said was highly edited, scrubbed of emotion and many of the facts. She had grown up in Vegas, gotten pregnant in high school, and moved up here to get away from the family as fast as she could. She had wanted more for her son than the life he would have had in Vegas. Darrell knew that she'd given up a lot to move for him. She faced a lot to get up here after high school. His father and mother had had a passionate but volatile love affair, and his father had threatened to sue for custody, in a fit of jealous rage when his mother mentioned divorce. Luckily, he'd died before that could happen.

Luckily, he'd gotten his smarts from his mother. She said, "He's no friend of mine, Mama. And my name is Carrie." His mother's tone became more polite as she turned to his friend, "How's the school search coming, Jake?"

"Fine. I've got it narrowed down to two places." He looked at Sam, "But I haven't decided fully. It depends..."

"Well, it's a big decision." Mama looked to Sam, and asked, "Where do you think he should go, Sam?"

She put down her fork. "It's Jake's choice, really."

"You know him better than anybody, honey, surely you have an opinion." His mother continued.

"No, not really. They're all good schools." She finished with a smile. Darrell knew it was fake. How could she not care? Jake looked at her like she'd just cured cancer. Darrell had had enough of this.

"Mama, we're going to go." Darrell said.

"But...the cake..." Carrie spluttered, but gazed at him with compassion.

Sam thought on her feet, Darrell supposed, as he could see the bulb flash in her eyes. "Carrie, it was great, but I really don't want to miss the baby's bath time." She probably thought she was helping him. As if he needed her. He needed her help like he needed a hole in the head. How could she be so helpful to him, and so cold to Jake?

Carrie nodded, "They're so fun at this age. Darrell would cry something fierce in the tub, though. He was grubby so often because I felt so bad about bathing him. I take it Cody likes his baths?"

Sam nodded, "Brynna says he must miss being inside her, but I think he'll be a good swimmer."

Jake snorted, "You mean like his sister?"

She glared at his friend, and Darrell would have laughed had his Nonna not been there, staring at the ease with which they interacted, even though she was just being fake. Great, now Nonna'd be thinking that his friend could get a girl and he couldn't. It's true, Jake did hold a place in Sam's life that no one else ever would, but his grandmother didn't know that. She probably thought he was an even bigger looser than Cousin Wendell.

This dinner had been totally pointless. There had been nothing of note to write in his notebook, except negative things. How could Sam say she didn't care where Jake picked to go to school? For someone who was supposed to be his friend, she was so mean. Why did she have to be so mean about it? Jake thought she was better than that, and he deserved better, even if she wasn't. He deserved her support, just like she got his.

The next two days, the better part of his grandmother's visits, were awful. He stayed out more, blasted music in his headphones and pretended that he couldn't speak or understand a word of Italian. He escaped often to Three Ponies. Jake had invited him to go riding, and he'd accepted. It seemed they'd have to talk. He really hated the bro code right now, just like he hated the smell of Vicks and the taste of candied sweet potatoes.

Darrell didn't want to have this conversation, but he had no choice. His notebook demanded it of him. His list had told him and now, riding in the vast expanse that was the desert, he had to come clean. "Jake." He looked down at his reins. "We gotta talk."

His friend's gaze snapped to his.

"Look. It's about Sam."

Jake nearly smiled, and Darrell wanted to throw up when he asked, "What'd she do now?"

"It's...what..." he swore. "It's what she doesn't do, man..."

"You're gonna have to spell it out." Jake said, as they rode along.

"She doesn't love you." He nearly whispered.

"What?" Jake looked floored.

"She doesn't..." His hands were white. "You're my best friend, Jake. You should know... She doesn't love you, like..."

"Like what?" Jake asked curiously.

Darrell spoke, "Like you care about her, Jake. And you know you do. Come on, man, you're my best friend, I'd do anything for you, and you gotta know..."

Something primal flashed in Jake's eyes, and Witch shifted slightly. "You'd do anything, except keep your hands off her, is that it?"

"Oh, God, Jake! No. No. I haven't... But..." Why would Jake think that he'd...been dating Sam? He didn't even like her right now. He'd felt badly, but he had snapped at her in the truck on the way back to River Bend. After he had, the had become quiet, and Jake had looked back and forth at them, and told Darrell to just let them both out at River Bend.

"But what?" Jake asked. Maybe they shouldn't have had this conversation privately. He could see all sorts of horrible outcomes.

Darrell looked his friend directly in the eye. It was no easy feat, but if his father could do what he did and still sleep at night, then, well, Darrell could do the right thing and be honest. "But I don't see it. All I see is...you giving, and giving, and...what do you get out of it? What do you see in her? You could be with someone who thinks you're..."

"thinks I'm the biggest Jerk on the planet, you mean?" Jake wasn't angry. It sounded like he was confused, as though no one had ever doubted Sam's regard for him before. Was it just assumed that they would always be together? Did his family and her family just throw them together? Is that why they were friends? If so, that was disgusting, and it sounded horribly arranged, not that Jake seemed to mind.

His thoughts veered, as he spoke, "Someone who cares about you just as much as you do about her..." He added, "Jake, be honest with yourself. You're so hung up on her, and I just...feel like she could take you or leave you..."

"So that's how you feel?" Jake spoke calmly and Darrell was taken aback.

"Uhm. Yeah." He finished lamely.

Jake replied as though he'd just said that he liked vanilla ice cream better than chocolate, no that he ever would, but it struck him that Jake sounded so uncaring as he simply said, "Fine."

"Fine?" Had he heard his friend wrong? Where were his thanks? When he started this mission, he thought he would be so easy to get them together, but now he saw that by giving them some distance, he was doing them a favor. One day, they'd thank him for giving them room to be their own people. As he thought about it, every story they every told about their childhoods, the other one had been right there. That wasn't right. His buddy deserved the chance to make a choice.

Jake clarified, "I don't care what you think or feel about her... but I sure as hell care about how you treat her."

"I've been nice." He defended.

Jake's gaze and voice was cutting, "You made her cry."

"I never saw that..." Darrell felt oddly contrite. Here she was, limiting his friend, and he felt bad about making her cry? No wonder cousin Wendell said he'd never cut it.

Jake began softly, "There's a lot you don't see..." He asked Witch to slow a bit, who'd gotten over her jitters as they rode along, and continued angrily, "You know what, I'm fucking done. I don't have to justify a damn thing to you." He made move to ride off.

Darrell called out, "After all these years, that's how you want to play this, man?" His voice grew venomous as he spat, "Fine, fuck you." Maybe there was a bit of the Luchelli's in him. " I came to you like a man to tell you she doesn't love you, and you stick your head in the sand like an ostrich."

"How. Do you. Know?" Jake turned his head to look at him, still atop Witch, breeze blowing the short grasses of the desert with an eerie calm.

"I know." Darrell asserted.

"You don't know jack, Darrell..." Jake corrected.

"Then you tell me, how weeks of lists and thinking don't tell me all I need to know." He tried to lessen the blow. "Maybe she liked you as a kid, but now... She's..."

Jake cut him off, "the best damn thing in my world. She always has been. You do realize, right, that I held her, the day she was born? That when she was three, and I was five, she'd cry when I left? That every time I would leave, she'd try and hug me, no matter how many times I told her she was a pest, that she became my shadow? I picked on her, and she stood by me, saw something in me. She always has. She..." Jake informed him, as though he was just realizing half the stuff he said for himself.

"How does that make any difference? That's the past. You take care of her, and she does nothing for you. She doesn't care if you go riding with Rachel, where you go, what you do. She told you where you went to school was your choice, that she wanted no part of it."

"Darrell." Jake chided, calming slightly, "She's going with me."

"What?" Well, you could just knock him over with a feather. What? How did that even work? Sam was a sophomore. And unless she was some kind of freaky genius like her friend Jen, there was no way she was going to school, unless it was like, one of those Good Will Hunting things or whatever. Had she been a genius all this time? It was a well known fact that genius people, like Sherlock were idiots when it came to people. Maybe she was a high functioning sociopath?

Jake clarified, "In two years. She'll go to the same school. She helped me make the list I applied to, knowing that."

"So she was saying...?" He didn't even know why that should make what she said okay? How was it okay to blow off Jake's college process like that?

Jake shook his head, looking down. "That she trusted me to make the best choice for the both of us." He looked up, exasperated, "Geez, Darrell. Do you have any idea what that's like, what we're like at all? She's there. Always there. And there doesn't have to be words between us. We don't need them, but sometimes, she tells me that...that she...doesn't know who'd she be without me, that every day is better, because I'm there. That she could do anything, with me beside her, without even realizing what's she saying. And then...I think...God, that's how I feel about her. And even after all these years, I wonder...when she'll stop following me around, dogging my heels after the horses, and I dread it. I wonder if one day, she won't be there anymore, asking me questions she knows the answers to..."

Darrell went back to his original point. None of what Jake was saying was okay. It was all in the past, anyway. "Don't you ever think it would be better to be with someone who...didn't know everything about you?"

"Why? So I could lie about my faults? And do stupid social stuff that I don't care about?" Jake became strangely sober, "Darrell, she's my best friend. Don't make me choose. I'll do it."

"You already have." Darrell sighed, "You've been ignoring me for the last few days."

"You made her cry." Jake accused, as if that justified his distant behavior.

"I just don't get it." Darrell honestly didn't understand any of this. He'd come here to show Jake, empirically, that Sam did not love him, and here he'd not even been able to get the chart from his saddle bag.

Jake must have been in a giving mood, because Darrell had never heard him spill his guts like this. "You don't get that...I can be myself with Sam. There's no mask, no facade, no fake social crap. I can relax around her. I...recharge around her, Darrell. She only asks that I'm myself, even the parts I don't like."

"My grumpy, closed off friend, reveals himself, is wholly himself, because of some girl." He muttered. Was it okay to be a bit jealous, he wondered? He wasn't gay, but he did wonder why he felt his heart being pulled, even as he knew Sam and Jake's relationship was twisted. Why couldn't Jake be that open with him?

"She's not some girl, Darrell. She's my best friend." Jake reminded.

"No, man. I'm your best friend. You're in love with her." Darrell knew that he'd never talk Jake out of it, not without more information. If he could figure out what drove their relationship, things would be easier. It was almost like they'd been conditioned to care about each other, like when someone got dosed with Amortentia for so long that it became self sustaining. What if they were Pavlovian, or creepy like that Lockhart dude?

Jake shook his head. "We're friends, Darrell."

Uh huh. Yeah, right. Did he have an ocean front condo in Tucson that he could sell Darrell? Jake continued, "But if you tell anyone I told you all this, I'll..." Jake grinned, "put one through your mouth."

Darrell grinned. "One phone call, man, one phone call." He sobered as he realized what he'd said, "Jake, we okay, man?"

Jake nodded. "People think my grandfather is some crazy, old shaman from a museum because he likes to use words and keeps the old ways. You think I've got room to judge you because your dad was..."

"Don't say it!" Darrell cut him off, but he smiled in understanding, and things felt a bit better.

Jake just urged Witch forward, and the two friends flew over the desert, leaving Darrell with much to think about. His brain felt sort of spongey, overfilled, like brain spam. No wonder he thought spam was gross. One time, someone had said it looked brains, and he could never eat it again.

The next day, Darrell was hanging out at Three Ponies, waiting for Jake to show up from out riding fence, and he bumped into Quinn, who was once again, home because he couldn't figure out how to do laundry. How hard was it? Lights, darks, plop them in the machine, and watch them. Good lord, was he an idiot?

Quinn plopped into the seat across from him, digging into his pie without offering Darrell any. It appeared he'd heard that Sam, while she was speaking to Darrell, wasn't as warm and open as she had been a few days ago. Darrell spoke, "Hey."

"Hi." Quinn was short.

"Look, can I ask you something?" Here was his shot to get some unbiased information.

Quinn eyed him warily, "What?"

"Tell me about them. Why they care about each other like this..."

Quinn sighed, "Why do you care?" God, was there anyone in this family who thought that maybe, just maybe, the relationship should be able to handle a little scrutiny? They all acted like they were peanut butter and jelly, cookies and milk, ramen and cake, honestly.

"I'm trying to understand. I thought...this was great." He tried to be honest, "until I realized that Jake loves Sam more than she cares about him."

"What?" Quinn blurted, "There's no way..."

"Why, because Sam..."

He was cut off, "because Sam..." He continued, "Sam made Jake who he is."

"Uh huh."

"She did. She used to...trail him like a lost puppy, correcting him and begging him for attention. Heck, she still does it, she's just better at hiding it. She gave him a reason him to be...who he became." Quinn finished lamely. "The kids were the ones who made this family so close, you know? Aunt Lou and mom were friends, but Sam and Jake made us family."

Darrell hadn't known that. "Oh?"

Quinn continued, "Yeah, man. I mean, they used to insist on doing everything together. They even used to take dance lessons, and Sam would literally lay on the floor and scream if they tried to make her dance with anyone else. She..."

"sounds crazy." Darrell paused, "Wait, dancing?"

"Yeah. Ballroom. Aunt Lou wanted Sam to do it because Sam was so klutzy, but Sam wouldn't go without Jake. So, Jake went." Quinn shrugged as though it wasn't that odd, to think of Jake, dancing.

"To dance lessons?" His buddy could dance? Like really? Dancing? Why had he never seen them dance, then? Was Quinn having him on?

"That was nothing." Quinn snorted, on a roll. "When Jake went to scout camp with dad, Sam moped and was angry. She pulled pranks and cooked up schemes and...whatever. Then, when he got back, she clinged to him like ivy. He tried to shake her off, and when he did, she cornered him and yelled at him. This six year old girl was standing there, hands on her tiny hips, scolding him for leaving her. She made him promise that day, to never..." he thought about her wording, "to never hide from her again."

"So what are you saying?" Darrell asked warily.

"She made him who he is by pulling the best of him out, and loving even the worst of him. She refused to let him withdraw from her. She was full force, a whirlwind grabbing onto everything he was, and Jake often blew her off, even though he never quiet relaxed if he didn't know what scheme she was cooking up. And believe me, there were a lot of them. I thought maybe it was all brotherly, you know, but..." He trailed off, thinking. "I...didn't think he cared like she did, even at that age. She used to say..." He shook his head, unwilling to embarrass her in front of someone like that, and continued, "But one time, he had this friend over. They were about 12, him and this kid, or maybe 13. Well, Sam was hanging around, pestering or whatever, and the kid called her a looser and told her to get lost because she was a stupid girl."

"What happened?" Darrell knew that if that happened now, Jake would go nuts. Most people accepted them as package deal, though, so it wasn't an issue. Why did everyone think Sam and Jake just were, just supposed to be?

Quinn laughed, "Grandpa had to pull Jake off him. Broke the kid's nose. Sam yelled at him for hitting and not using his indoor voice."

"Wow." Darrell breathed.

"So yeah. Jake might..." He cleared his throat. "You might have your opinions about her, Darrell, but her love...made my brother who he is, it still does. If you care about him, then you care about her. Because, without Sam..."

"Jake wouldn't be the ass he is..." And Darrell saw that clearly. Jake, without Sam, would be some idiot, cocky, putting on a front for everyone in the world. Jake would be like...him...

Quinn shook his head, "Probably be some kind of serial killer. Look. We're not close, but I'm telling you. Cross her, even once, and you'll be dead to him."

"I don't understand it, though. How can everyone just..accept it? Why not question it?"

"You think they don't? Why do you think they're going so slowly?" Quinn asked, "Besides, isn't it pointless to question the fact that the earth spins the sun? Sure, it teaches us stuff, but at the end of the day, the facts don't change..." Quinn mused, until he grew agitated with Darrell's blank look. "Okay. Let me spell it out. He feels bad about rebuffing her all those years, so he does his best to make up for it now. He's secure in the knowledge that she cares about him, because that fact is woven into his DNA. All the things you like about him, the honesty, the perverted sense of justice, whatever, were encouraged by her very presence in his life from day one." He continued, "Her love defines him, in a way that guys like us will never understand."

Darrell didn't know how he felt about that. He knew that some people had love like that, in their lives. Tammy and George, Bert and Ernie, Sherlock and John were all prime examples. He knew that Jake would jump off a bridge if Sam said to do so. Hell, he knew he'd thrown himself into crazy situations in the past. He knew it was just a matter of time before he did so again.

He needed his notebook. He rushed back home without waiting to see Jake, and flew to his desk. Maybe...the foundation that he'd built their relationship on wasn't like other peoples. Maybe...instead of being like Steve and D.J. on Full House, they were more like Corey and Topanga. He suddenly got it, when his bedroom door slammed. Sam didn't need to treat Jake like he was sonic french fries, because to her, he wasn't french fries, he was the tator tots. It was still potatoes, still love, but a different kind of love, one that you didn't find at most fast food restaurants. Her love for him was so...encompassing, that it was just there. There was no before, no after, to compare it to. When you were lucky enough to find that kind of love on the menu, you ordered it, just like you could order tator tots with breakfast burritos, too.

Without knowing that he was the tator tots to her meal, without knowing their history, Sam sometimes looked a bit distant, but she wasn't. Not really. She was his walking history. He was hers. Darrell didn't understand how someone's history could impact them so much, make them who they were. How did the things Sam did at four impact Jake today? The easy answer was to say that they didn't. That was a lie. He understood it better than he could give himself credit for, he knew. Jake was running to Sam, running to his past, just like his mother had run away from hers. History defined...

A lot. Maybe it was why he was always angry at not knowing who he was, who his family was. Knowing didn't mean he wanted to enter into his father's line of work. Far from it. He knew that there were millions and millions of Italian and Italian Americans who weren't involved with the crap his father or his mother's family had been. Thousands of them spoke out against it, maybe... Maybe he could do that, too... knowing what he did of his mother's story. Still, he wondered. Why couldn't his Nonna be the nice kind, the kind who made pasta and played bridge? But...he supposed, her past had shaped her, too. Having a heritage didn't define you, but you could take bits of your past forward with you... He didn't know where he was going with this.

How did the things Sam did at four impact Jake today, he asked himself again. He wondered, even as he wrote it on the top of a page in his notebook. Based on what Quinn had told him, he could still it in the way Sam would sometimes fall in line behind Jake as though she was sneaking up on him, even though he clearly knew she was there. Sometimes, they'd be working, and she'd ask questions, sometimes, Darrell thought, just to hear Jake talk. He could see the bits of the child Jake peek through when he'd chase after her, even when he didn't want her to know that he was actually doing it, both literally and figuratively.

Yeah, he decided. Darrell hated history. He realized, now, that it could teach him a lot and give him a lot of information, if applied properly. The first step, he realized, was to man up and apply the bro code and apologize to Sam. The second, he wrote down, was to figure out how to make Sam and Jake's past work for him, them, in this matchmaking process. Maybe he could get more stories from people about them and go from there. He promised himself that he would see them dancing. There was a random formal coming up for one club or another at school, and maybe he could rope them into going. He wondered if they could do the single ladies dance, or even the cupid shuffle. Maybe he could ask Jake for a demonstration. Yeah, wouldn't that just go over like lead balloon? But maybe if he put a bug in Sam's ear...

So yeah. I made up an entire backstory for Darrell simply because I like him so much. I've got a few pages of outline of possible back stories, and I really liked this family dynamic. Evil Grandparents are awesome to write about, but not so great to have, I think.

Please review. I posted ABN's update last night, but finished this up instead of doing other stuff. I hope it meets with your approval. I know it's a bit serious, but I really wanted to explore just how Sam loves Jake, and what Darrell might assume about it, as an outsider looking in.