Did you think I'd forgotten you guys? Muahaha! I have returned!
In all honesty, though, I apologize for the late update. I've had a musical to contend with (my last high school play! AAH!), as well as two AP tests (and another one in two days). Updates should be much shorter, especially since I have to get a lot of writing done by June 5th. So look forward to a strung-out author and much faster updates.
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Disclaimer: Give a guess whether or not I own them. Go on, guess.
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THE ONE WARNING: I think we've been over this already…
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A Twisted Kind of Brotherhood
The Patron Saint of the Insane
Jonathan was surprised by the niceness of the hotel that Helen was staying at. When her car pulled into the parking lot, he had gaped at the sight before him, a far cry from the motels that littered the area. By the time they'd arrived at Helen's suite, Jonathan's mind had been boggled by the clean, plush carpets and brightly lit hallways.
When Helen swung open the door to her room, Jonathan could see it was similarly well-decorated. But he was more interested in the pale, blonde-haired boy sitting at a small table off to the side. From the way his pencil scratched slowly across a piece of looseleaf that he was doing some kind of homework. It was obvious, even at first glance, that he was Helen's child; they had the same hair, same nose, same eyes, and their limbs were similarly lanky.
Putting
away her room key, Helen cheerfully called, "Hey, Tyler." The
boy looked up, eyes darting from his mother to Jonathan and back
again. "Hey, Mom." Smiling, Helen walked over to her son
and kissed the top of his head. "How's your homework
coming?" "S'okay. I'm about halfway done."
Turning
back to her nephew, Helen said, "Tyler, this is your cousin,
Jonathan. Jonathan, this is Tyler."
Nodding
towards Jonathan, Tyler called, "Hey." Jonathan barely
emitted a sound, choosing to mumble, "Hi." Checking her
watch, Helen remarked, "It's about six-thirty. Are either of you
boys hungry?" Tyler nodded eagerly, while Jonathan gave no
response as he stared blankly out into the room. Helen, seeing this,
said, "Alright, well, I'll go get us some pizza. That sound
okay?" Again, Tyler nodded enthusiastically, while Jonathan
gave no reply, lost in a dream world.
Helen,
almost seeming to understand, reacted as though both boys had
answered. "Well, I'll go drive to a pizza place and see what I
can pick up." Sticking her room key into her pocket, she
merrily exited, leaving the two boys to themselves.
Tyler looked at Jonathan for a few seconds as though waiting for him to say something. When his cousin stood still, saying nothing as he stared dully at the ground, Tyler eventually returned to his homework, the pencil scratching loudly against the paper. Jonathan didn't notice any of this; he was lost in a daydream in which Jackson stood before him, revealing that everything was a grand prank for an early April Fool's.
"Did
you really think I was gone?" Jackson laughed, obviously amused by
his brother's gullibility. Flicking his brother on the forehead,
Jackson chuckled, "Did you really think I'd kill Dad? That I'd
let you kill Mom?" Smiling a little at his own foolishness,
Jonathan admitted, "You tricked me good." Scoffing,
Jackson teased, "I had you going, didn't I? You should know me
better by now, Scarecrow." Jonathan nodded. "I should've
known."
"You
can sit down, if you want." Jonathan blinked, startled by
Tyler's sudden interjection. "What?" Using his pencil
to indicate a chair, Tyler repeated, "You can sit down if you want.
You don't have to keep standing." "Oh," Jonathan
murmured, as though this thought had never occurred to him. He
shuffled over to the chair mechanically, sitting down stiffly as
though his limbs were leaden and heavy. Tyler watched him do so,
asking innocently, "You okay?" Not bothering to look up,
Jonathan shrugged. "I guess." A more angry part of him wanted
to scream, to shriek that it was obvious that he wouldn't be okay.
But the rest of him felt tired and apathetic, and he didn't really
feel like moving or speaking or caring.
Watching
his older cousin with an almost childish concern, Tyler added
quietly, "If it's any help, me and my mom know what you're
going through, kinda." The angry voice reared up once again,
longing to wring his neck as he begged to know how exactly he
would know what it was like to lose everything in a single night.
But once again, Jonathan suppressed it.
"How?"
Softly,
Tyler murmured, "My dad died three years ago. I mean, I don't
know what it's like to lose my mom, and I've never had a brother,
but I do know what it's like to lose a dad." Jonathan
stared at Tyler, finding himself both curious and surprisingly
sympathetic, "How'd it happen?" Looking down at the
table, Tyler's voice became almost robotic. "He had a heart
attack in the middle of the night. We took him to the hospital, but
there was nothing they could do. He died in the emergency room while
me and my mom waited outside." In spite of himself, Jonathan
felt his heart go out to his cousin. It was obvious from his
mechanical tone of voice to the way he stared dully at the empty
space that he still felt the sting of losing his father. Softly,
Jonathan replied, "I'm sorry."
Seeming
to snap out of a trance, Tyler blinked a bit before shrugging.
"S'okay. Nobody knew it was gonna happen. And Mom's getting
better about it." "It must have been bad for her." Tyler
nodded mournfully. "She kept crying a lot for the first couple of
weeks. Then she never cried, which was even worse. She'd
just shut herself up in her room and sit there, and she'd never
talk or look happy." Shifting uncomfortably in his seat,
Tyler added, "She's gotten better, though. She cries every now
and then, but that's it." Not completely sure how to
respond, Jonathan merely let out a small, "Oh," before lapsing
into silence. Tyler eventually returned to scribbling across the
looseleaf, and the two stayed in a sad stillness until Helen
returned.
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Because the bodies were being used for the arson investigation, as well as the difficulty involved in getting relatives out to Tennessee, the funeral wasn't held until January 3rd. Jonathan barely seemed to notice the days speed by, still lost in a dream world of regret and sadness. When the day of the funeral came, he almost hadn't expected it.
Even though he vaguely remembered his aunt speaking of relatives and family friends coming, Jonathan was still shocked to see the amount of people in the Church of St. Dymphna as he filed in behind Helen and Tyler. Off to one side were a group of people with vague similarities to his father, while off to the other side was a group that had features similar to his mother's. Scattered amongst the pews were people from around town: neighbors, co-workers, acquaintances, and others. The simultaneous murders of the three family members, as well as the disappearance of Anna the same night, had caused quite a stir in the town. Jonathan supposed that was the reason they came: the spectacle of a triple homicide, as well as the fear that they might be next.
Helen led the two boys to the front of the church, and the three of them sat at the pew closest to the altar. The other mourners noticed the arrival of the last member of the Crane family, and a larger number of them started to make their way towards Jonathan.
Because the police had kept the bodies for the arson investigation, there had been no wake for the three Cranes. As such, the other mourners hadn't yet had the chance to speak consolingly to the one person hit hardest by the events. Jonathan knew that now was the time they'd be taking the opportunity to do so, and he braced himself.
Sure enough, a long line of people soon formed, and every person on it took turns shaking his hand and expressing their condolences. Jonathan went through the whole process in a daze, learning to simply nod his head in response to whatever they said. It might have meant more to him if he actually knew who most of these people were. He'd never met any of his relatives until his parents' deaths, and he honestly didn't understand why any of the people from around town actually cared.
Eventually, the line of people had run out, and it was time for the service to begin. A gray-haired priest entered, along with two altar servers, and thus began a sequence of readings and hymns.
Jonathan watched the proceedings with a detached confusion, never having been to a funeral and not having set foot in a church since he was a toddler. Everyone else seemed to know exactly what was going on, but Jonathan could only think of all the Sundays when his mother would pretend to take her sons to church before dropping them off at the movies and going off to spend time in the arms of strange men. Whatever kind of religion Jonathan might have had was abandoned when his mother decided to use God as a way to commit adultery.
The words that came out of the priest's mouth were lost on Jonathan's ears; Jonathan paid very little attention to what he said. He didn't concentrate on any of the readings or the hymns, either, since he didn't know any of the stories or the songs. Instead, he pretended that Jackson was hiding somewhere in the church, waiting for the perfect moment to reveal himself as a living, breathing human being. Perhaps he was lying under a pew, or sitting inside a confessional, or squeezed inside the tabernacle. Maybe he was waiting outside, staring through the stained glass window, smiling with glee at how easily they'd believed he was dead.
But Jonathan knew. He'd seen that it was Anna's body they'd retrieved from the house. And Jackson would come back. He had to.
The priest began to say a few words about the deceased, and it became very clear that he never met any of the three people he was supposed to be eulogizing. Jonathan supposed that even if he'd asked some of the attendees for help beforehand, they wouldn't have many things to say…or, rather, many positive things. Hell, if they'd asked Jonathan to say anything (thankfully, they'd left him alone), he wasn't sure if he could bullshit well enough to make them sound like a happy family.
The priest spoke for a few minutes, glossing over vague descriptions of the three dead Cranes, choosing instead to lament the fact that they had all died young. When he had finished, a small string of people came up to give eulogies for the deceased. Not surprising to Jonathan was the fact that he'd never seen any of them before in his life.
First was a bearded man who claimed to be his father's brother, who reminisced about what an honest, hard-working man Frank Crane had been, reciting various instances of such values at work, the string of recollections ending when his father hit his twenties. Then a woman named Sylvia came to speak. After saying that she'd known Selena Crane since childhood, she went on to recite a list of happy memories that cut off abruptly at Selena's eighteenth birthday.
Jonathan smirked, knowing full well that his mother had gotten pregnant when she was eighteen and his father was twenty. Whatever tight bond those two claimed to have with his parents must have been cut off when they went off and got Selena knocked up, and the rift probably wasn't helped by his parents' self-imposed isolation regarding relatives. Still, the hypocrisy of having them deliver their eulogies was almost unbearable.
Last to get up was Jonathan's grandfather, familiar to him only through a dusty photograph that had been kicked around his house for years. He began a speech on regret: regret that he hadn't been closer to his daughter and her husband, regret that they'd died so young, regret that he'd never had a chance to meet his eldest grandson.
Jonathan shook his head, letting his mind wander. Regret, regret, regret. No one realized their mistakes until it was too late to do anything about it. If they'd wanted, every single person in that church could have been close to his family. If they'd wanted, they'd have known the Cranes well enough to give more than a half-assed eulogy.
And if he'd wanted, Jonathan could have stopped himself before shooting his mother.
But it was too late. The past was set in stone, and there was no flipping over the hour glass to fix the mistakes they'd made. They would carry their regret until they no longer cared, or until there was no longer breath in their bodies.
As
his grandfather reiterated his sadness over the loss of his grandson,
Jonathan vaguely wondered when Jackson would reveal it was all a
joke. Would it be at the end of the eulogy? At the end of the
entire funeral, when people were about to file out of the church?
When they went to the graveyard, where they'd gaze at headstones
with no bodies beneath them? How long would it take? Feeling
his chest tighten as he thought about his brother, Jonathan sunk into
a daydream. He pretended that Jackson was sitting next to him,
hiding in plain sight from the funeral-goers. He was grinning
mischievously, his casual T-shirt and jeans a sharp contrast to the
uptight black that everyone else wore. Leaning back in the pew, he
crossed his legs and looked over at Jonathan.
"This
has to be the most boring thing I've ever been to." Jonathan
nodded, feeling the tedium and boredom that hung in the air. Looking
over at the altar, Jackson added, "Think I should try to spice
things up?" Not even waiting for a reply, Jackson stood up
on the pew, waving his arms in the air as he yelled, "Hey! Over
here! Look, it's a ghost!"
Distantly, he could hear Helen's voice quietly ask, "Jonathan…?" He tried to reply, but he couldn't stop the giggles escaping from his lips. A few seconds later, he could feel her arm on his back, and he could only guess that she thought he was sobbing.
After a minute or so, Jonathan sat upright, his laughing fit over and his expression sober. Luckily for him, if anyone but his aunt had heard him, they didn't show it. Instead, they continued with the funeral proceedings as normal.
Looking at the space next to him, Jonathan could see Jackson smirking.
"Think they saw me?"
When the funeral ended, Jonathan watched quietly as everyone filed out of the church, heading to their cars so they could drive to the cemetery. Very few people spoke, and not a single person seemed to cry. The whole church was filled with an awkward kind of sadness; they all knew that they should be upset, but were unable to muster up much heartache.
Jonathan
stayed where he was, sitting calmly in the pew until the church
seemed almost empty. He would have stayed there for hours if he
hadn't felt a hand on his shoulder and heard his aunt's voice
saying, "It's time to go." Without looking up, Jonathan
stood and left the pew, Tyler and Helen following close behind him.
As his aunt and cousin briefly genuflected in front of the altar,
Jonathan glanced around the Church of St. Dymphna, drinking in the
sight of the house of worship he'd supposedly attended all his
life. The stained glass windows, the holy candles, the baptismal
font, the small statues of the saints…lastly, his eyes rested on
the strange man dangling on the crucifix, looking down at Jonathan
with sad eyes.
Helen got up and clasped Jonathan's shoulder, and the three of them exited the church in silence. As they entered the bright sunlight outside of the church, Jonathan couldn't help but think that, as he hung helplessly on the cross, the man had looked very much like a scarecrow.
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It was a Friday evening when Jonathan stormed into his apartment. Jackson barely even looked up as he came in, having gotten used to his angry entrances by now. Instead, he continued to read his novel, and when he looked up to see Jonathan looming over him, he practically jumped in his seat.
"Yes?" he inquired dryly.
"I need to talk to you," Jonathan said flatly.
Jackson rolled his eyes and sat back in his seat. "So I figured. Is it about anything specific?"
Jonathan gave Jackson an icy look before answering, "I need you out of this apartment tomorrow night."
Jackson blinked. "You're kicking me out?"
Jonathan shook his head quickly. "No, no. I meant that I need you out of the apartment for a half-hour or so tomorrow night."
Visibly relieved, Jackson nodded. "Ah. And what would be the special occasion?"
Jonathan bit his lip, trying to figure out how to phrase his words carefully. After a few seconds' consideration, he said, "One of my colleagues…"
"Oh-h-h-h boy…" Jackson groaned, covering his eyes with his palms, already knowing whom Jonathan was talking about.
Even though his vision was blocked by his hands, Jackson could clearly envision the mixture of irritation and embarrassment on his brother's face. It certainly showed in his tone of voice as he reprimanded him. "Jackson, for once in your life, could you shut up for a second?"
Sighing and removing his palms from his eyes, Jackson said, "Fine. So what were you saying about dear Dr. Warren?"
Jonathan's annoyance became more apparent as he testily replied, "We're going out tonight, and he needs to pick something up here afterwards. I highly doubt he'd react well to a fugitive being harbored here."
Drumming his fingers on the arm of the sofa, Jackson remarked, "So you're trying to be a big boy and go on a date unsupervised?"
"Jackson, I swear to…"
"Do I need to give you a talk about the birds and the bees? About how boys sometimes think dirty thoughts, and you have to try and be as pure as snow…"
"Jackson."
"Need a condom?"
"Jackson!"
Jackson knew that Jonathan was royally pissed, but he still felt a kind of glee as his brother's cheeks flushed a bright red. Deciding that it would be dangerous to push his brother any further, Jackson asked, "What time do you need me out of here?"
"Seven-thirty," Jonathan snapped.
"Fine. I'll be gone by then, and I'll leave you two alone."
Calming down somewhat, Jonathan replied, "Good." Running his fingers through his hair, he added, "Take my cell phone with you, and I'll call you once he's gone home."
Mentally picturing the two doctors together, Jackson sincerely hoped that Leon would be gone as soon as was humanly possible. "Fine."
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That night, as he turned the key to his apartment door, Jonathan silently hoped that Jackson hadn't decided to be a wiseass and stay in the apartment. But when he swung open the door, he was relieved to find it empty, with no signs that anyone lived there but himself.
Leon, standing behind him, followed Jonathan inside and glanced around. "Nice," he said, but it was fairly obvious that he was lying. Jonathan pocketed his key, then indicated that Leon was free to sit on the sofa, which he did.
Walking to the kitchen, Jonathan called back to Leon, "Would you like a drink?"
"What've you got?"
"Um…" Peering into his refrigerator, Jonathan could only see a single, half-empty bottle of Canada Dry. "Is ginger ale alright?"
Jonathan heard some light laughter coming from the den. "Sure, ginger ale sounds fine."
Reaching up, Jonathan opened the door to one of the kitchen cabinets before reaching for two (small) glasses. Pouring out the drinks, he made a mental note to see if he could blackmail Jackson into doing some grocery shopping.
He hadn't exactly been truthful when he'd told Jackson why Leon was coming over. Leon didn't need to pick anything up, and Jonathan hadn't been planning on establishing a time limit, despite what he might have said to his brother.
Truth be told, he liked going out places with Leon. He'd enjoyed their past outings, and he found himself looking forward to the next time they'd meet. They got along well, and it was nice to have someone to talk to. Jonathan hadn't had that in a while, not since he'd started college.
Besides, Leon seemed to take an interest in him, which was a nice change of pace. Everyone else at Arkham either ignored him or tried to suck up to him. Nobody else ever actually paid attention to what he was saying, though he'd been happy to accept that as his lot until Leon had come along.
There was still the question of why exactly Leon seemed to take such an interest in him, but Jonathan was enjoying himself enough that he didn't really need to know the answer.
He and Leon had just seen a new play that was being performed in a theater downtown. He'd known that they'd be out late, and he'd wanted to be able to offer Leon the option of grabbing a drink at his apartment. Some small part of his mind nagged at him, asking him why he would want to do that, but he'd managed so far to push it aside, not really wanting to explore deeper motivations for his every action, even if he was a psychiatrist.
Walking out to the den, Jonathan sat in a chair next to the sofa and handed Leon his ginger ale. Leon accepted it gratefully, sipping at it politely. After Jonathan took a gulp from his own glass, Leon asked energetically, "So how'd you like the play?"
Jonathan shrugged. "I didn't particularly like it."
Leon grinned. "But what's not to love? It's about singing, dancing, homoerotic vampires. Where can you go wrong?"
Jonathan laughed a little before setting his drink down and excusing himself. "I'm just going to see if there are any messages on my answering machine." Leon nodded, and Jonathan strolled into his bedroom to look over at his phone, wondering if Ducard or one of Falcone's henchmen had called. But the machine displayed a bright number zero, so he supposed not.
From his room, he could hear Leon wandering around the den. While Jonathan was checking the machine, he heard Leon inquire, "Hope you don't mind me asking, but do you have a roommate?"
Jonathan's pulse quickened and he froze where he stood. Did Jackson forget something? "…yes. Why do you ask?"
"Oh, I just saw this note on the counter, and I figured…"
Striding quickly out of his room, Jonathan saw Leon standing in the entrance to the kitchen area, holding a Post-It note in his hand. Taking it, Jonathan scanned the tiny piece of paper. Sure enough, it was in Jackson's handwriting, and had obviously been left for him to find when he came to the apartment with Leon.
"Jonathan-
Went
out, took your cell phone with me. Have fun, sweetie! I want all
the details when you get home.
Love and kisses, J."
Feeling his cheeks start to burn, Jonathan swore he was going to have Jackson murdered when he got home. He could already hear his brother's cackling laughter ringing through his ears.
Sighing in exasperation, Jonathan crumpled up the yellow paper and walked over to his trashcan, dumping it in with the rest of the garbage.
Tentatively, and with a tone that tried to conceal just how curious he was, Leon asked, "Girlfriend?"
Jonathan shook his head, looking over at Leon. "Not a she."
Strangely enough, this didn't seem to take the edge out of Leon's voice. "So…it's a guy."
Icily, Jonathan replied, "My brother."
Leon blinked, and suddenly his demeanor became much more relaxed. "Oh!" He smiled abruptly, teasing, "Your brother always leave notes like that?"
"He's a freak of nature," Jonathan replied bitterly. Leon laughed.
Leaning much more casually against the wall, Leon commented, "And here I was, thinking you were some sort of pimp, with women leaking out of every room."
Jonathan gave Leon an incredulous look. "A pimp?"
Chuckling, he replied, "Of course! Everyone knows it's always the quite ones who spend their nights parading their women up and down the streets. Hell, all you need is the hat."
Shaking his head in amused disbelief, Jonathan replied, "I'll be sure to shop around for one."
"Wear it to work. That'd go well."
Jonathan broke down and laughed a little as he envisioned himself strutting through Arkham, covered in metal jewelry. It was an odd image, to say the least.
Walking back to the den, Leon remarked, "I must say, I'm disappointed. No swinging bachelor pad, no whores lining the streets, no girlfriend handcuffed to your bed…really, what a letdown."
Sitting down, Jonathan replied, "Well, it's a boring apartment. It's only me here."
"And your brother."
"…him, too."
Leon smiled a little, an unreadable expression in his eyes. Jonathan hardly noticed it, choosing to gulp down the last of his ginger ale. When his glass was empty, he stood up again, saying, "I'm going to get a refill. Do you need any more?"
Leon shook his head, so Jonathan went into the kitchen and poured the last of the Canada Dry into his glass. When he walked into the den, he looked towards where Leon had been sitting, but was surprised to see Leon standing not far away from the entrance. Jonathan blinked before setting his glass down, preparing to ask Leon if there was any specific time that he needed to be home.
When he looked up from the counter however, he found the younger man standing even closer to him than before. He was about to open his mouth to speak when Leon's lips were suddenly pressed against his own, the ends of his hair brushing over Jonathan's face.
Not having expected this, Jonathan's eyes remained wide open, not daring to kiss back or even move. It was only a second or so later that Leon pulled away, obviously noticing the lack of enthusiasm on Jonathan's part. Scanning Jonathan's face, Leon could see the stiffness with which he'd reacted. Stammering, Leon's cheeks suddenly flushed red. "I-I'm sorry."
When Jonathan didn't immediately reply, Leon's face fell, his cheeks still red with embarrassment. He reached for his things, preparing to leave as he muttered, "I shouldn't have done that, I shouldn't have…"
He was cut off when Jonathan grabbed his wrist. Turning back to look at him, Leon's eyes were wide and questioning. Jonathan took a step towards him, leaning forward slightly as he did so.
He used his right hand to push a stray strand of hair out of Leon's eyes, and he let his fingers linger on the silky strands as he leaned down and pressed his lips against Leon's own. Leon closed his eyes slowly, responding earnestly to Jonathan's touch.
His fingers still entwined in Leon's hair, Jonathan could feel Leon's hands pressed against his back, drawing him closer. He pulled out of the kiss to take in some air, and could feel Leon's eyes boring into him. Smiling a little, Jonathan pressed his lips to Leon's neck, sucking a little on the flesh underneath as he felt Leon's hands travel downwards across his back. He could feel the younger man's heart beating quickly, the rhythm in his chest soothing and warm. As Leon's hands moved underneath Jonathan's shirt, working the fabric upwards, Jonathan kissed Leon's jawbone and then turned his attentions elsewhere. Leon pressed his forehead against Jonathan's chest, smiling.
Jonathan began pulling the buttons on the front of Leon's shirt, stopping only to remove the fabric from his own chest as Leon pulled it upwards. When Leon's chest stood exposed in front of him, he ran his fingers across the warm flesh, his heart pounding and his mind whirling.
Leon reached for the button to Jonathan's pants, unhooking the fabric with ease before working on the zipper. Jonathan stopped him, taking his hands in his own and leading him out of the den and into his bedroom. They had barely made it inside when Leon yanked his hand away and pushed Jonathan down onto the mattress. Landing on his stomach, Jonathan flipped himself over to see Leon climb on top of him, his warm body feeling soothing against Jonathan's skin.
Smiling, Jonathan wrapped his arms around Leon's waist before pulling him down onto the mattress. When Leon landed, Jonathan used it as an opportunity to put himself on top, and it wasn't long before both men had been stripped from the waist down.
Not a word passed between them, but that didn't matter. They were enjoying themselves too much to care, and when they had finished, they both couldn't help but grin slightly as they lay together on Jonathan's bed.