A/N: This is what I've been writing instead of studying for my Art History final. :) I couldn't get it out of my head! O Brother Where Bart Thou killed me! It was so good! And Ed was amazing. This is a one-shot. Only rated T for a little language. Enjoy!
Chuck Bass had never had a family before.
He had always been the pasty-faced, lonesome little boy with an endless string of nannies and a forever absent father—on conference calls, in business meetings, or in a plane on the way to somewhere Chuck wasn't invited.
And so Chuck had made his own "family traditions" of sorts…which mostly included getting high with Nate, hitting on girls, and drinking so much that his liver (he was sure) looked older than his fake ID.
But then Bart had married soft-eyed Lily van der Woodsen, that high society belle of old money who was chair and hostess and planner of more galas and benefits and charity school dances than Blair Waldorf. And with Lily had come something Chuck had never even dreamed of having: a brother and sister.
And suddenly Chuck had a family.
The sister he could have done without, in all honesty. Not that it wasn't fun pushing Serena's buttons. She expected him to act like an ass, smoke in her bathroom, make snarky comments about her wardrobe, and mention incest now and then. If he had done anything less, she probably would have had a heart attack from shock. So he played along.
Although, when she'd blamed him for sending her those stupid presents last year when G had come back to town…and his own father hadn't believed him…
…but then, when had Bart ever believed him? Or believed in him?
But all in all, Serena wasn't the worst sister in the world. Sure, she told him he was disgusting and that she didn't understand how he could live with himself, but that was just good ol' family teasing and warmed his heart.
Or at least, that's what Chuck told her (in a sickly sweet voice) when she said those kinds of things to him.
And with Serena came her best friend: Queen B, royal bitch, and Yale-wanna-be, (that headband-sporting love of his life) Blair Cornelia Waldorf.
When they hadn't been on speaking terms, she hadn't been around the apartment much. But once summer began dying down, she shoved that smarmy-faced, pansy-assed English count in his face every chance she got. And then the sleepovers grew exponentially. He'd hear giggling through the walls late at night and go down to breakfast and be greeted with a full table, his sister wearing a socially-inappropriate nightie and Blair not wearing much else. And Blair's smirking face would blatantly ignore him—except for the one second that he'd catch her eye when she thought he wasn't looking. Those looks scorched him. And he knew they scorched her.
Why else would she keep coming back for more?
But beyond that—beyond having a father who was for once preoccupied with more than business; beyond having an actual mother-figure, who genuinely seemed perplexed when she'd catch a foreign girl leaving his room or a glass scotch clenched in his hand; beyond living in the same house as Serena and being tortured so thoroughly by Blair's deep-brown eyes peering at him over her morning glass of orange juice—beyond all that, Chuck had something more. Something he was surprised to find he actually, genuinely liked.
A brother.
He'd never expected to have a sibling, much less a younger brother. And Eric was definitely a younger brother. Chuck had never met someone who, for all his wisdom and logic and calm understand of things, was so innocent. Someone who lacked insight into the life Chuck lived, who was surprised to hear about private investigators on speed dial and went wide-eyed trying to imagine a trip where you hit Croatia, Monte Carlo, and Giza in one night.
Someone who was more lonesome than even Chuck was—or at least hadn't yet learned how to hide his feelings under masks of booze, drugs, and sex.
When Eric had confessed to Chuck about spending most of last summer in the Ostroff Center, Chuck hadn't let his face betray how stupid he'd felt. Had he and Blair actually thought Serena had been there for therapy? Had their stunt during junior year's ivy week hurt this freshly-healing boy? No wonder Eric made a strange face every time Bart mentioned Florida.
So Chuck hadn't batted an eye and simply asked Eric why he'd tried suicide.
"You know, you're the only one—besides Dr. Ostroff—who's even asked me that?"
Somehow Chuck wasn't surprised. He couldn't imagine graceful Lily mentioning the subject so head-on. And Serena was always one to talk around important subjects: give a hug, sure, make a tense joke, yeah, see ya soon, gotta-go-see-my-new-boytoyofthesecond-he's-waiting-andI'llcallyoulaterbye!
So he listened.
And that's how Chuck was the first one to learn that Eric was gay. But, like everything—or almost everything—he took it in stride and didn't treat Eric any differently, didn't treat him like a pariah, like some boys at school did. He just accepted him—because, really, who was Chuck Bass to judge anyone? Eric was still the same person. Sill his brother.
And Eric looked up to him.
It was strange, having someone who looked up to him like that. Having a little brother who laughed at his vulgar jokes half in glee, half in embarrassment and seemed astonished, but undeniably impressed, every time a well-orchestrated plan fell into place. Having a little brother to hang out with when his best friend had abandoned him, to play wii with, to introduce to people, to introduce to fashion (every man should have a scarf, and those blond highlights…what had Serena been thinking?). Having a little brother who liked eating lunch with him and didn't mind riding with him in the limo to school. Having a little brother who knew when to ask questions and when to diffuse a situation and when to just comfort with his presence and not ask why Chuck was drinking by himself early on a Sunday morning after a fierce conversation with that brunette best friend of Princess Serena.
Hell, having a little brother at all was completely weird.
Eric could be strong, but at the same time, as fragile as a champagne flute.
But Chuck should have known that things were too good to be true. That seemed to be the rule of his life: Is Chuck happy? Better knock him down.
He had never imagined, that as he danced cheek to cheek with Blair at a school dance, feeling more than he perhaps should, holding her closer than necessary, breathing in that enticing scent of her neck, that he'd be told his father was dead.
He had never imagined that the last words his father ever spoke to him in person would be "every time I think we're making progress, you show your true colors." True colors.
He had never imagined that his family could fall apart so fucking fast.
One minute they were the smiling Van der Basses, immaculate atop the pinnacle of shining New York society, testing wedding dishes and hanging out at the Hamptons and holding house-warming parties and driving together to school. The next minute: all-minus-one at a church on a cold Saturday morning, black from head-to-foot, puffy-faced and territorial.
Chuck hadn't even realized he'd believed in marriage until the middle of Bart and Lily's wedding. Somehow, though, the ceremony and commitment and tradition were beautiful to his sinister soul. Posing for wedding pictures had been strange (who the hell had picked Serena's dress?) but good. Watching the new couple dance had made him feel. Had made him open up while dancing with his own beautiful girl. It was sacred.
So when he'd heard that Lily spent Thanksgiving with Rufus Humphrey… And when he'd seen them at the Snowflake Ball together…
He'd felt the first crack.
Chuck had tried to glue them back together. He'd always liked Lily. He'd called his father…
He blamed Rufus. He blamed Dan for having such a father. He blamed Lily.
She was a whore. She was a bitch. She was the reason his father was dead. She'd owed him that conversation and Bart had died trying to get to her. Talk about dying for nothing, indeed.
She was a selfish liar.
Chuck had to blame her, because if he stopped… he'd have to listen to the words she'd said in his father's office. He'd have to accept the truth.
He'd have to blame himself.
He was the reason his father was dead. Just like Lily said.
He was just like his father: cold, calculating, controlling, distrustful. Untrustworthy.
And so he hadn't slapped her back. He'd walked away.
He'd walked away from everyone, trying to ignore the crushed look on Eric's fragile face and the tears in Blair's eyes. He tried to reject them. He'd denied being related to his own brother. He'd thrown Blair's words back in her face.
He wasn't worthy of her love.
What kind of monster was he? He'd killed his mother, and now his father.
He'd crawled to Blair in defeat, and she'd held him. Held him long enough for him to come to his senses. If he kept desperately grasping her, he'd destroy her, too.
He didn't deserve anyone's love. They deserved better than him. She deserved much better than him.
Family? What family?
Chuck Bass has no family.