AN: First of all; I am so, so sorry for the long wait. Writing is strange, one day you'll write up chapter after chapter like it's nobody's business, and the next - nothing.
Second; a big thank you to everyone who has left a review in my absence. It still amazes me that there are other Ellie/Homer fans out there, but boy is it good hearing from you :) We should stick together, guys!
And last; I would love to be able to say that I have another chapter lined up for you, but I don't, so fingers crossed I'll get some more inspiration soon... Alright, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter, thanks for reading!
We sat in the kitchen for a long time and I never let go of his hand. Not only because I wanted to let Homer know that I was there for him, but also because I needed someone to hold on to as well. Homer was my lifeline. It seemed that whenever something big happened in my life, good or bad, Homer was there with me. Just like I was there for the important things in his life.
We went through a lot together, and not only during the war. The death of his newborn brother when we both were still too young to really understand the impact it had on his parents, was the first of many things. I don't remember much from that time, we were only four, but I do remember Homer staying at our place for a couple of days after it happened, because his mom said he was driving her crazy with all his questions about where his baby brother was and when he could finally play with him. Staying with us didn't keep him from asking questions though, so one night my father sat him down and talked to him about it. I wasn't allowed to be part of that conversation, but I know my father wasn't one to beat around the bush. I guess he explained it in a way Homer's parents couldn't at the time and Homer never asked about his baby brother again. Looking back I am proud of the way my father handled things, because Homer seemed to finally accept what had happened and seemed at peace. He looked up to my father even more after that. And I did too.
Homer was still staring into nowhere while my mind was busy trying to come up with reasonable explanations for the empty, spotless house and Homer's current state. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't think of any. I wondered if something had happened to his parents, or George, or maybe both, but I quickly tried to get rid that thought, willing it not to be true. But in all honesty, what else could it be?
I tried to remember if I had seen the car outside when I ran up to the house, but my memory failed me and I was only half sure that it wasn't there. I looked around the kitchen once more, hoping to find a clue. But there was nothing. My mind wandered to my own kitchen so many months ago, when I had my own personal hell to go through.
We had been going up the spur that day, Homer, Gavin, and I. We were planning to have picnic when we reached the top, but we never even made it that far. We were halfway up when we heard the first round of gunshots. We all knew the shots were coming from my place. Well, maybe not Gavin, because being profoundly deaf meant he never even heard the shots. But when I chucked a handful of pebbles at him to get his attention, he knew from my behaviour and the bewildered look on my face that something bad was going on. As always, he was quick on the uptake and followed me down the spur without asking any questions.
Considering how long it took us to climb up the hill, I was surprised at how fast we were running down. We made it back in less than fifteen minutes. When we were almost at the house we had to slow down, not because we were tired, but because we didn't know what we were running into and had to be careful.
Time spent in reconnaissance is seldom wasted.
It was already too late.
I will never forget walking into the kitchen and seeing my mother lying on the floor, with blood and parts of her body splattered everywhere. Even worse was finding my father out in the shed, his body in pieces. Next to him was the body of one of the attackers. Somehow Dad had taken one of their rifles during the assault and done what damage he could before they killed him. He had gone down fighting.
The kitchen, the shed, the blood. It all told me exactly what had happened, unlike Homer's deserted place.
My heart suddenly jumped when I remembered how Homer had acted right after we discovered the bodies. He had gone out with Dad's rifle and checked the outside of the house, before he handed me another rifle and we checked the rooms inside the house together. I wondered if I should be doing the same at the Yanos' place right now. Had there been an enemy attack? Had soldiers been here and taken away his family?
But the simple fact that Homer was still sitting on his kitchen chair, where he probably had sat ever since he called me earlier today, calmed me down. He would have told me if things were that bad, right? I had to assure myself that he would, although I wasn't completely convinced and kept feeling like I was missing something.
-0-0-0-
It was around two o'clock that I could feel my eyes starting to get heavy. I looked at Homer for the first time in what must have been hours and saw his eyes were closed. I squeezed his hand, both to let him know that I was still there and to see if he was asleep. He wasn't. His eyes shot open and he looked around, bewildered, like he had forgotten where he was for a moment. But then he remembered and the sadness returned to his eyes.
"Homer," I started. I didn't know what to say next, so the word hung in the air without ever really settling down.
Without ever really telling something.
It reached Homer though, because for the first time since I arrived he turned towards me and looked at me.
"Ellie?" He asked. He sounded surprised to see me here in his kitchen. I guess in a way he was. His mind must have been occupied with a million other things while I was wondering what was going on.
He looked sad and started shaking his head, slowly, like he tried to convince himself that this wasn't happening. His eyes dropped and a shiver ran through his body. "They're gone, Ellie."
I didn't have to ask whom he was talking about. His parents were dead. The people who I considered to be my surrogate parents were dead. It felt like someone dropped a ton of bricks on my chest and then decided to add another 500 kilos for good measure. "Oh god," I heard myself whisper.
"And George?" I asked.
Homer nodded slowly.
I didn't think it was possible, but my heart dropped a little further and the pain in my chest got a little worse. Without thinking I let go of his hand and crawled onto his lap. I threw my arms around his neck and pulled him close. I knew nothing I would do or say would make him feel better, but I wanted him to know I was here for him. I remember stroking the back of his head while whispering "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry," over and over again. It wasn't long before I was over the initial shock and the tears that I had tried to hold back started flowing freely.
Homer was crying now too, and his whole body shook with each of the breaths he was trying to take. I held on to him even more, trying to take some of the pain away, but knew I couldn't.
After a while his breathing steadied and he seemed to calm down a little. He wrapped his arms around me and held me so tight I thought he would never let me go.
While we sat there, questions started to race through my head. Important questions like 'What happened to Mr and Mrs Yanos?', 'How long have they been gone?', 'Are they in the hospital or are they already buried?', 'What will happen to Homer now?'. And soon my mind was overflowing and I couldn't think straight anymore. My heart started racing and I ran out of breath and, as much as I didn't want to, I had to let go of Homer, desperate to get some air. I paced around the kitchen for a while, but it didn't help, so I opened the door and stepped outside onto the veranda. I tried to get my breath back while I looked up at the night sky, wondering where to go from here.
It wasn't long before I felt Homer standing next to me.
"I'm scared, Ellie." Homer whispered.
"I know," I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "So am I." I wrapped my arms around my body and held on tight, comforting myself for a moment. The questions that were clouding my head earlier were still there, but I knew now was not the time to get answers. I looked at Homer and decided that for the time being, the best thing we could do was try to get some sleep. It sounded ridiculous, because I hadn't had a decent night's sleep ever since the war started, and I know that sleep doesn't magically solve all your problems, but it seemed like a good place to start. Plus what else was there to do at two-thirty in the morning?
I took Homer's hand again and gently tugged at it, willing him to follow me. He looked at me curiously and I shrugged, "We should probably get some sleep, Homer. I don't know what else to do."
I expected a fight, given how stubborn Homer usually was, especially around me, but he nodded and followed me right away. I squeezed his hand and led him through the kitchen, and up the stairs to his bedroom.
He was wearing tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt, which would have to do as pyjamas. There was no way I would take his clothes off. Sorry, mate, not my area of expertise, undressing boys. I let out a small giggle because of this, but quickly stopped when I saw the sad look on Homer's face. I seem to do that; giggle at inappropriate times. It has gotten me in trouble a lot of times before and probably will get me into trouble many times to come.
I remember one time at school and Mr Davis, our art teacher, had decided to let us draw a still life of a bowl of fruit. Not the most interesting subject, so of course most of us got bored pretty fast. Homer, being Homer, decided to make class more interesting and started nicking pieces of fruit from the bowl whenever Mr Davis had his back turned to him. It started with an apple, which Mr Davis didn't seem to notice. So Homer continued. First a couple of grapes, then another apple, until only two apples, some plums and a banana were left in the bowl. By that time Homer was fed up with the game, because Mr Davis either really didn't notice anything or had decided to ignore it, which, to be honest, seemed to work best with Homer. He got easily bored when no one reacted to what he was doing. Anyway, fed up with the lack of attention, Homer challenged me, with the use of some very offensive sign language, to take the banana away. I, of course, had to accept the challenge, because it was Homer and if I declined I would never hear the end of it. I waited until Mr Davis had his back towards me and quietly made my way to the fruit bowl in the middle of the room. It seemed, however, that Homer had planned for me to go up there ever since he made his final trip to the fruit bowl, because the banana and the apples were arranged in such a way that it didn't even take an ounce of imagination to know what they were supposed to resemble. I came to a dead stop right in front of the bowl and let out a cackle. Mr Davis turned around and his face got so red, so fast, that I couldn't help but laugh again. Without even asking what I was doing he sent me to the principal's office and I got two days worth of detention. Thanks Homer.
I pulled the blankets back and watched as Homer sat down. He looked so young and vulnerable. I let go of his hand and waited until he laid down before I pulled the blankets over him. I kissed his forehead, "Try to get some sleep, Homer. I'll be right here, okay?" and nodded to the chair standing on the other side of his room.
He nodded and lay down, a sigh escaping him as his head hit the pillow. I sat down on the beaten up old smoking chair and folded my legs under me, my head resting against the back. I knew neither of us would get any sleep, but this was better than sitting in the kitchen all night.
-0-0-0-
I woke up to the sound of the chickens clucking outside and for a moment, one blissful moment, I forgot why I was here, in Homer's room. But then I remembered and my heart sank a little further. I looked at Homer, who seemed to be asleep still. He looked peaceful, but he too would wake up soon and would have to face life again.
I got up carefully, trying not to wake Homer, and made my way downstairs. I looked at my watch and saw that it was already eight in the morning. Not only did I manage to fall asleep, but also slept longer than I had in a long time. As I walked past the living room I could see that the couch was empty, the blankets clumsily folded in the corner. I couldn't help but smile at Gavin's willingness to help. He could be stubborn sometimes, sure, but when it mattered, when it really mattered, he would help out in anyway he could.
Which is why I wasn't surprised when I found him in the kitchen, with a basket of fresh eggs on the counter and coffee boiling on the stove. He stood in front of the fridge, with his back towards me so when I stood next to him I tapped him on the shoulder to let him know I was there. He turned towards me and tried to smile. I gave him a wink and told him "Thank you, for the eggs and the coffee."
He shrugged, "I was up anyway."
"Did you get some sleep?" I asked, watching him as he took out butter and cheese.
"Some," he echoed. He looked at me and took a deep breath, as though he was preparing himself. "What happened, Ellie?"
He's not one to beat around the bush, Gavin. I'll give him that. "I'm not sure," I started. I wanted to be honest with him, but all I knew so far were that Homer's parents and brother were dead. But he deserved to know, "Mr and Mrs Yanos, and George too, they're dead, Gavin."
I watched as his face changed from shock, to grief, to anger, all in one second. And my heart sank a little more. It seemed like an invisible anchor had been dragging my heart down from the moment I got Homer's call and I wasn't sure how long it would take for it to reach the bottom. I hoped it would be soon. I wasn't sure how much more tugging and pulling my heart could take.
"How?" Gavin sounded angry, like it was my fault.
I shook my head and was about to say that I didn't know when I heard Homer's voice from behind me; "They died in a car crash, which may or may not have been an enemy attack."
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