Changes
Chapter 1
Rating: T
Pairing: None
Summary: Life was changing fast for William Gordon, but seemed to be at a stand still for Danny Blake.
A/N: This story is co-written by Tensleep, who owns Danny Blake.
Disclaimer: Me nor Tensleep own The Outsiders or any of it's characters. I own William Gordon and his family, and Tensleep owns Danny Blake and his family. That's it.
William POV
"What… are you talking about?"
For a while I just kind of stared at Gregory and my mum, leaning on the doorframe of the kitchen. Charlie had came back from Indonesia for a visit, but he was leaving in a day or so. He was sitting in the chair, smoking a cigarette. There wasn't surprise on his face. He knew. He knew, and he didn't tell me. How couldn't he… why…
"We're moving to America."
"But… why?"
My mum casually rubbed her upper arm, wincing a little. I wondered why she looked to be in pain. Gregory looked smug.
"We decided… to make a change. Start over."
I kind of just blinked. Start over? Start what over? My fucking life that I had grown quite fond of? The big success Gregory made in his profession? Everything?
Finally it clicked in my head.
"Why the fuck are we going to pick up and just move to another country?" I asked, pushing off of the doorframe and clenching my fists at my sides. "You expect me to just agree and go along with it?"
"Oh, please," Charlie chimed from his chair. He put out the butt of his cigarette and got up from his chair, just watching me. "This coming from the guy who randomly goes off on a bloody week long bike trip just to get out of the norm?" He gave a scoff, which just boiled my blood. "All this is, is another trip."
I shifted the weight on my feet, scratching at my jeans. He was telling me this while wearing his BDUs which only reminded me of the fact he was going back soon. Real smart, Charles.
"I am not moving," I said forcefully. "I am not moving."
"Suck it up."
I blinked, staring at Charlie, who took a step forward.
"Since when did you become a bloody crybaby?" his voice hissed at me. He scoffed again. Angrily, I turned around, bolting out of the door. It didn't take him but a split second to take off after me. He always did that. Always took me off of 'my high horse only to bring me crashing back to reality' when I needed it, and came to comfort me afterwards. It was just the kind of person he was. A twenty-three year old who always told you how it was, no matter if it hurt or not.
I slowed to a stop and turned around to face him. He was right there, lighting a cigarette and holding it out to me. I swiped it from his hand and took a long drag. Fucking brother of mine. But I couldn't hate him. It was impossible to hate him.
"Jesus, William. You've never been this sensitive before."
"Well… how to you expect me to react? It doesn't affect you!"
It would never affect him. Not the way it would affect me. He wouldn't be here enough anymore to notice changes, or let changes affect him.
"Since when did you become so spoiled?" I heard Charlie ask. Quietly I ground the butt of my cigarette in the grass. I wasn't looking at him. I didn't want to look at him. If I did, I probably would have screamed at him. He continued, "Once something doesn't go the way you like, you turn into a little spoiled brat."
A brat? Well, that was one way to put it. I shuffled my feet and chewed on the inside of my cheek.
"Well, fuck you too."
Before the words even finished leaving my mouth, Charlie brought his fist back and caught me across my jaw. He'd gotten stronger since he was in the Air Force, so the impact surprised me. It sent me to the ground like a ton of lead, and damn, if it didn't hurt. When I looked at him, his face held remorse. But his body language didn't. He looked like he wanted to go all out on me, but he… didn't. He just watched me. Then he stepped off, stepping over me and heading for his car. Charlie did that. It was his only way to let loose without hurting someone. It made me scared to see him after the war.
He drove off, leaving me laying on my back, arms flailed out to my sides, and my jaw hurting. Yeah. I know what I said and I deserved to get hit. It was only fair in Charlie's book. And I was used to that. I began to search for my cigarettes when Charlie started the car. My cigarettes were crushed from where I fell on my ass. Thanks, Charles.
"Hey!" I yelled at him from my spot on the ground. "At least give me a fucking cigarette!"
Charlie looked at me like I was half crazy. "Are you joking?" he asked. "Fuck no."
"Why?"
"Why? Because I just punched your fucking lights out, and you expect me to give you cigarette?" he asked. "You're crazy."
I knew it.
Then he tossed his pack of cigarettes at me, the lighter hitting me between the eyes. Well, it was better than nothing. Then Charlie sped off, ready to get as far away from here as he could. Good for him, then.
I lit a cigarette and took a long drag from it, holding it in and feeling the nicotine work in my lungs. Then I slowly let it out and groaned. I was beginning to get a headache. But that was normal after Charlie hit me. I took another hit and began to let my mind wander back to the topic at hand.
America, huh? Could be different. The more I thought on it, the more I was beginning to warm up to it. Charlie did have a point when he said it would be just like a new ride. I took another drag on my cigarette.
Gregory came onto the porch and was looking at me. I couldn't see him, but I heard his footsteps
come out of the house.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice hard and raspy.
"Smoking."
He gave a sigh. "I didn't raise a bum. Get your lazy ass off of the lawn. You're bringing down the property value."
I craned my neck to look at him. "Fuck, you didn't raise me at all."
"Don't test me, boy."
I scoffed a little, almost tempted to retort to that. But I decided against it when my jaw gave a sharp throb. Then I forced myself to a sitting position, and rubbed the back of my head, my cigarette hanging from my lips limply. Gregory had his forearms resting on the railing of the porch, his back bent over slightly at his height. I just sneered at him.
"I thought so," he hissed, straightening back up and returning inside.
Yeah, I think I could deal with America.
Danny POV
"God, Danny," Chet cursed, turning my face from side to side. "You really have to stop pissing him off."
I glared at my brother, feeling my bruised cheek throb with the motion. I hadn't done a single thing to piss my pop off! It was rare when I did anything to set him off. He was just a psychotic asshole who figured I was around so he would have something to take his frustrations about the world out on.
"I didn't –"
"I'm serious, Dakota. I don't need the grief."
I really glared at my brother then for a long moment before looking down at the floor, causing Chet to sigh a little. He wasn't the one getting beat up. He just didn't get it and I wasn't about to talk myself blue in the face to try to get it across to him.
"Get some ice on that."
I nodded and Chet let go of me, walking back over to his desk and slumping into the worn leather of his chair. He leaned his elbow on one of the arms, chin resting on his fist like some contemplative business man. I knew that pose. He was waiting for me to leave. Why? I never knew and I didn't bother to guess. I just turned and left the office, like I always did.
The club house was full of life with the radio going and the TV on, even though I doubted anyone was enjoying either of them. Mostly they were playing cards or bullshitting about something or another. That was how most evenings went. It was a complete and total contrast to Chet's office.
No one paid me any mind as I went to the ice box and pulled out a handful of ice to put in the corner of my over shirt. I brought the thread-bare plaid up to my face and gingerly eased it onto the most vivid of the bruises. I sighed at the coolness. It hurt more than anything right now, but it would take the edge off in a little while. It was nothing new to me. I was an old hat at taking care of bruises, cuts, scrapes, dislocations, and the odd break. Still, I hated having an audience while I did it. But right then? I didn't want to leave the club house for a good long while.
I walked over to one of the couches, sitting down on it gingerly and leaning into the cushions. The boys, if they noticed me, were giving me space. I appreciated it. I hated being the beat up kid every week.
And why was I the beat up kid every week, you ask? Well, that that was an interesting story. See, my mom was a wonderful and lovely lady. She did the best she could for me, including the fact she left Pop when I was small and married Callum Cameron. That was why I was brothers with Chet. But after Mom died, I got stuck living with Pop, and life had been one bed of roses since then...
I sighed a little to myself. Avoiding my Pop was like avoiding a wall in your house. It was always there and there was always the chance it would fall on you without warning. And even if you weren't right by it, it could bring the entire house down on you anyways.
I guess that was why I was home so rarely? This was why I was quitting school. I was just no good at thinking, and going to school with Angela was just hell. I swear, she went out of her way to make sure I couldn't ever forget that I was the punching bag at home. Step sisters…I swear.
"Hey, Danno."
I glanced up from where I was lost in my own thoughts to where Riggs was sitting down beside me. I liked Riggs well enough. He was the kind of guy who would take a bullet for you. I couldn't ever look him in the eye because he had done just that for me once. So I looked down at my knees and hoped he wasn't in one of his 'sharing and caring'moods.
"Hi Riggs," I mumbled, the ice making my words hard to hear anyways.
Riggs reached for the ice, moving it so that he could see the bruises on my face. He winced in sympathy.
"No wonder your brother is beating himself up so badly," Riggs sighed.
I shrugged, always feeling like my voice left me when I wanted to argue with one of the boys. Chet wasn't beating himself up over anything but forgetting to change the locks when I left. I always showed up to cause him grief when he didn't need it.
"I'm serious, kid. He hates seeing you like this and knowing he can't do a thing about it."
I shrugged again and Riggs just sat beside me for a long moment. He finally ran his hands over the knees of his jeans and I knew he was making some closing statement next. That was how his talks worked.
"Are you going to stay and rest up here for a bit?" He asked and I shrugged again, knowing that I needed to go back to Chéz Shepard or I was going to get beat again something awful, but I was going to get beat regardless, so it seemed kind of redundant one way or the other.
"Let me know. You don't want to be walking when it gets dark out."
He said it like he already knew I would be going home, like he already knew he would drive me there and sit and glare at the house for ten minutes like he was trying to find a way to make it collapse with his will.
I just nodded, adjusting the ice a bit and receiving another one of those half-smiles from Riggs that told me he was sorry but there was nothing he could do about it. I hated those looks. They never did anything but make me feel worse for being a damn bother. But Riggs never seemed to catch on. He just patted my shoulder and went across the room to talk to one of the boys, still looking back at me like he needed to watch over me. He hadn't been my babysitter for a long time, but some habits were hard to break.
I leaned my head back against the side of the couch and closed my eyes a little. I didn't see how life could get any worse than this.
Danny Blake's story: .net/s/3362863/1/The_River_King
William Gordon's story: .net/s/5375709/1/Coming_Undone
You can go there for refrence on the characters in this story.