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*deep voice* ...Yo. *cough* Okay, well, this is Anago-chan, here with another MacDougall Brothers fic, and I must say that I hate this one. It's horrible! Every day I added about 5 sentences and every day I told my family how bad it was. x_x.; Um... one of my friends liked it though... Weird. Just read it for yourself, I guess. o_O.;; Once again, it's from Ron's point of view.
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Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own Outlaw Star. And I don't own those funky crayon names either. That was all Crayola's doing.
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Oh, a note... This starts when Harry's 6 and ends when he's 18. It's a little confusing. And I guess Ron's somewhere around 13 at first, so he's not the legal drinking age. Righty-o.
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Just Like You...
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"Look, Niichan! I drew a picture of you!"
Harry smiled brightly, and held up the picture he'd been working on for the past eleven minutes. The coloring was rather sloppy, the background was a little too sunshine-y for my taste, and my hair was now a strange shade of lavender.
But it was pretty good, I thought. After all, Harry was only six years old, and he had only had two crayons to begin with. What were they called? Purple mountains majesty and robin's egg blue, that's right. I wondered, how did the crayon companies come up with those fancy color names anyway? Macaroni and cheese, he'd had that one too. Until he'd eaten it, that is, expecting it to taste like the name. He still claims it did.
He tilted his head and frowned a little. "Niichan? Don'tcha like it?"
"Of course I like it, Harry!" I said. "You're quite a promising artist."
"Yay!" He giggled and grabbed a pair of scissors out of the desk drawer. "I'm gonna cut it out an' put it on the 'fridgerator!"
The scissors again? "Be careful with those," I cautioned him. "Your hair still hasn't all grown back since the last time you used them, you know."
He pouted and touched the blue-green hair on the left side of his head, which was considerably shorter than that on the right side. "I just wanted to see what it would look like..." He shrugged and started cutting the paper.
"Are you sure you don't want me to do that?"
Harry glared at me, and gave an exasperated sigh. "I can cut it out myself! I'm not a little kid, y'know!" He rolled his eyes, like it was the most ridiculous suggestion he'd ever heard. That killed me. I'm telling you, it took a lot of control to keep from laughing. Anyway, I gave in and let him cut the picture out himself, and went to pour myself a beer.
As I sat down at the dingy kitchen table with my drink, I thought about the fact that I had given into everything Harry had ever asked for in his whole life. I had always given him everything and let him get away with whatever he did. I even let him eat crayons to see what they tasted like. How stupid was that? I knew that I was irresponsible and all. I mean, I was pretty much raising him myself. And so far I had brought him up to be awfully spoiled, and he really didn't seem to have any common sense...
My thoughts were interrupted by a scream. Damn it, I shouldn't have left him alone with those scissors. He was always hurting himself. I should have learned that by now! I dropped my glass and ran back into the main room. "What did you do, Harry?"
He was holding his finger, crying. I was just able to make out, "I dunno, my hand with the scissors slipped an' I cut my finger off!" between all his sobs and sniffles. Oy, that didn't sound good. Of course, I had to remember it was Harry we were dealing with, and he did tend to overreact.
"Come on, Harry, let me see it," I said, prying his other hand away so I could get a good look at it. What I saw was nothing more than a tiny v-shaped cut and a single drop of blood. He was still crying like crazy. I had to wonder if he just did that stuff for attention, or if he was really that sensitive to pain.
"Look, I'll spray some of that disinfectant stuff on it and put on a band-aid, okay? Would that help?" I didn't really expect him to answer, especially since that stuff stung so much, so I answered myself instead. "Okay. Just a minute." I went to get the above mentioned things from the medicine cabinet. The disinfectant seemed to have miraculously moved from the medicine cabinet to below the sink without my noticing, so it took a few minutes to find that. By the time I got back, Harry was still sobbing. He didn't seem to notice I had come back, so I figured I could spray the stuff on before he had the chance to throw a fit and run like the wind.
Partially. I did get it sprayed on his finger, but then he let out a piercing shriek and ran away. Which really did him no good. I was sure it was already stinging by then, and he didn't mind the band-aids anyway. So running away wouldn't help anything. He seemed to realize that after a few minutes, as he came back and held his hand out to me. Tears were still streaming down his pale face. I took his hand gently and pulled a band-aid out of the box to put on it. His eyes widened in horror.
"Not THAT one! It's bright PINK!"
So it was.
"Pink's a girly color," he informed me. Yes, I'd realized that. I just hadn't been paying attention to the color of the band-aid. I didn't know it made that much of a difference. "Aren't there any more blue ones?" he asked.
I glanced at the band-aids in the box and took out one that looked blue, and then carefully wrapped it around the minor injury on his finger. "There," I said. "That better?"
He nodded, but even then he was still crying. And over such a little cut, too. Geez. "Does it really hurt that bad?" I asked. He nodded once again, then started to cry harder. "Shit, Harry..." Maybe he really was that sensitive. I didn't know how I could help him anymore.
I blinked as he threw his arms around me. Then I smiled to myself, and held him. We just stood like that for what seemed like an eternity. My little brother and me.
Eventually he stepped back and smiled. He wasn't crying at all anymore. "I love you, Niichan. When I grow up I wanna be just like you!"
...Just like me. That meant so much to me. And yet I couldn't imagine why anyone would want to be like me. Especially someone like him.
Is that still want you want, Harry?
Now, twelve years later.
I'm laughing softly, the memory now vivid in my mind. Harry stirs beside me in the bed. He pulls the yellow blanket over his bare shoulder and opens one eye, looking puzzled and irritated at the same time. "What are you laughing about, Ron?"
"Nothing to concern yourself with," I say, brushing the messy hair out of his face and tucking it behind his ear.
He rolls his eyes and sighs. "If I don't need to concern myself with it, then why the hell'd you have to wake me up? You know, I do need my two and a half hours of sleep."
"Oh, come on, don't get so mad at me," I say. "It's not like you need beauty sleep or anything."
He smirks, rolling over so that he's lying on top of me. "Yeah, unlike you."
"Ah, shut up, Harry." I grin and pull him into a kiss.
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Gwaah. -_-.; Please review...
--------------------------------
*deep voice* ...Yo. *cough* Okay, well, this is Anago-chan, here with another MacDougall Brothers fic, and I must say that I hate this one. It's horrible! Every day I added about 5 sentences and every day I told my family how bad it was. x_x.; Um... one of my friends liked it though... Weird. Just read it for yourself, I guess. o_O.;; Once again, it's from Ron's point of view.
--------------------------------
Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own Outlaw Star. And I don't own those funky crayon names either. That was all Crayola's doing.
--------------------------------
Oh, a note... This starts when Harry's 6 and ends when he's 18. It's a little confusing. And I guess Ron's somewhere around 13 at first, so he's not the legal drinking age. Righty-o.
--------------------------------
Just Like You...
--------------------------------
"Look, Niichan! I drew a picture of you!"
Harry smiled brightly, and held up the picture he'd been working on for the past eleven minutes. The coloring was rather sloppy, the background was a little too sunshine-y for my taste, and my hair was now a strange shade of lavender.
But it was pretty good, I thought. After all, Harry was only six years old, and he had only had two crayons to begin with. What were they called? Purple mountains majesty and robin's egg blue, that's right. I wondered, how did the crayon companies come up with those fancy color names anyway? Macaroni and cheese, he'd had that one too. Until he'd eaten it, that is, expecting it to taste like the name. He still claims it did.
He tilted his head and frowned a little. "Niichan? Don'tcha like it?"
"Of course I like it, Harry!" I said. "You're quite a promising artist."
"Yay!" He giggled and grabbed a pair of scissors out of the desk drawer. "I'm gonna cut it out an' put it on the 'fridgerator!"
The scissors again? "Be careful with those," I cautioned him. "Your hair still hasn't all grown back since the last time you used them, you know."
He pouted and touched the blue-green hair on the left side of his head, which was considerably shorter than that on the right side. "I just wanted to see what it would look like..." He shrugged and started cutting the paper.
"Are you sure you don't want me to do that?"
Harry glared at me, and gave an exasperated sigh. "I can cut it out myself! I'm not a little kid, y'know!" He rolled his eyes, like it was the most ridiculous suggestion he'd ever heard. That killed me. I'm telling you, it took a lot of control to keep from laughing. Anyway, I gave in and let him cut the picture out himself, and went to pour myself a beer.
As I sat down at the dingy kitchen table with my drink, I thought about the fact that I had given into everything Harry had ever asked for in his whole life. I had always given him everything and let him get away with whatever he did. I even let him eat crayons to see what they tasted like. How stupid was that? I knew that I was irresponsible and all. I mean, I was pretty much raising him myself. And so far I had brought him up to be awfully spoiled, and he really didn't seem to have any common sense...
My thoughts were interrupted by a scream. Damn it, I shouldn't have left him alone with those scissors. He was always hurting himself. I should have learned that by now! I dropped my glass and ran back into the main room. "What did you do, Harry?"
He was holding his finger, crying. I was just able to make out, "I dunno, my hand with the scissors slipped an' I cut my finger off!" between all his sobs and sniffles. Oy, that didn't sound good. Of course, I had to remember it was Harry we were dealing with, and he did tend to overreact.
"Come on, Harry, let me see it," I said, prying his other hand away so I could get a good look at it. What I saw was nothing more than a tiny v-shaped cut and a single drop of blood. He was still crying like crazy. I had to wonder if he just did that stuff for attention, or if he was really that sensitive to pain.
"Look, I'll spray some of that disinfectant stuff on it and put on a band-aid, okay? Would that help?" I didn't really expect him to answer, especially since that stuff stung so much, so I answered myself instead. "Okay. Just a minute." I went to get the above mentioned things from the medicine cabinet. The disinfectant seemed to have miraculously moved from the medicine cabinet to below the sink without my noticing, so it took a few minutes to find that. By the time I got back, Harry was still sobbing. He didn't seem to notice I had come back, so I figured I could spray the stuff on before he had the chance to throw a fit and run like the wind.
Partially. I did get it sprayed on his finger, but then he let out a piercing shriek and ran away. Which really did him no good. I was sure it was already stinging by then, and he didn't mind the band-aids anyway. So running away wouldn't help anything. He seemed to realize that after a few minutes, as he came back and held his hand out to me. Tears were still streaming down his pale face. I took his hand gently and pulled a band-aid out of the box to put on it. His eyes widened in horror.
"Not THAT one! It's bright PINK!"
So it was.
"Pink's a girly color," he informed me. Yes, I'd realized that. I just hadn't been paying attention to the color of the band-aid. I didn't know it made that much of a difference. "Aren't there any more blue ones?" he asked.
I glanced at the band-aids in the box and took out one that looked blue, and then carefully wrapped it around the minor injury on his finger. "There," I said. "That better?"
He nodded, but even then he was still crying. And over such a little cut, too. Geez. "Does it really hurt that bad?" I asked. He nodded once again, then started to cry harder. "Shit, Harry..." Maybe he really was that sensitive. I didn't know how I could help him anymore.
I blinked as he threw his arms around me. Then I smiled to myself, and held him. We just stood like that for what seemed like an eternity. My little brother and me.
Eventually he stepped back and smiled. He wasn't crying at all anymore. "I love you, Niichan. When I grow up I wanna be just like you!"
...Just like me. That meant so much to me. And yet I couldn't imagine why anyone would want to be like me. Especially someone like him.
Is that still want you want, Harry?
Now, twelve years later.
I'm laughing softly, the memory now vivid in my mind. Harry stirs beside me in the bed. He pulls the yellow blanket over his bare shoulder and opens one eye, looking puzzled and irritated at the same time. "What are you laughing about, Ron?"
"Nothing to concern yourself with," I say, brushing the messy hair out of his face and tucking it behind his ear.
He rolls his eyes and sighs. "If I don't need to concern myself with it, then why the hell'd you have to wake me up? You know, I do need my two and a half hours of sleep."
"Oh, come on, don't get so mad at me," I say. "It's not like you need beauty sleep or anything."
He smirks, rolling over so that he's lying on top of me. "Yeah, unlike you."
"Ah, shut up, Harry." I grin and pull him into a kiss.
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Gwaah. -_-.; Please review...
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