No one asked for a normal, no magic AU where Hunter and The Collector were brothers, yet here we are. Don't ask me why I wrote this. My brain invents plot bunnies and I'm just stuck chasing them.
Hunter's bedroom looked as if a tornado had passed through it. The shelves of his ceiling-high bookshelf now sat largely barren, their contents decorating his wood-paneled floor. His bed's hospital corners were only a memory now. His sheets and comforter were piled high in a large ball on the center of his mattress. Not even his desk had gone unscathed. Framed pictures sat face down while pens lay sprinkled about. And his diorama…
As bloody as the Revolutionary War had been, none of its battles had ended with soldiers on both sides cut in half, their limbs pointing out every which way.
Hunter gritted his teeth. Two exams in one day and coach spending what might as well have been all of soccer practice yelling at him was one thing. No, it wasn't a day he'd classify as "fun", but it wasn't an anomaly either. This?
His little brother should be thankful that murder was a capital offense.
"Cole!"
If Hunter had shouted any louder, then everyone in Gravesfield probably would have heard him. He tore out of his room, running so quickly that only pure luck kept him from tripping over his own two feet.
Cole's bedroom was a mess, but that was no real surprise. One day, the kid was going to star in an episode of Hoarders. It was a miracle that he managed to get any sleep considering how many stuffed animals he had piled atop his bed. Action figures, matchbox cars, and half-finished Lego sets littered the floor. Dirty clothes were strewn about everywhere, from the top of his overflowing toy chest to the back of his TV stand. Other than strings of fairy lights hung across the wall and the sunlight streaming in through a set of bay windows against his wall, the room was dark.
Cole was sitting in the corner of his room atop an oversized beanbag chair that was almost twice his size. Though it was only seven, he was already wearing his pajamas, which consisted of knee-length athletic shorts and an oversized, hooded purple robe. His face was illuminated by the glowing screen of his Nintendo Switch.
"Cole," Hunter repeated. He didn't have to yell this time. The room was too small.
Cole dropped his video game system in his lap and looked up, his eyes wide. "Hi, Hunter! I didn't know you were home."
"Don't play innocent." It was one of the only games he'd never figured out how to win. "You were in my room." He stepped over piles of plastic dinosaurs and fast-food kiddie meal toys. While he was far from the tallest boy in his grade, he was still twice the size of his little brother. "Just what do you think you were doing?"
If he'd wanted to steal some of Hunter's stuff, then he'd done a piss poor job of hiding it. It was anyone's guess what he might have taken. Cole had a habit of finding wonder in even the most banal of objects – pens, brochures, paperclips. If he wanted something, he grabbed it. How quickly those items lost their luster varied, but their inevitable fate was always the same – banished to some corner of his room to be forgotten until the sun consumed the earth, or their uncle made him clean his room, whichever came first.
Hunter's eyes narrowed. "You didn't steal anything, did you?"
Cole's back stiffened. "No, Hunter! I didn't take anything, I swear!" He raised a hand up, pinkie out. "Pinkie promise!"
Hunter pushed his outstretched hand away. "Then what," he said, drawing out the word, "were you doing in there?"
"I was just playing." He said it the way other people said that water was wet.
Hunter rubbed his forehead. "We've been over this a million times, Cole. You," he said, pointing his index finger out, "stay out of my room. Just how hard is that to remember?"
"I was just playing!"
"Just playing! Do you even hear yourself? My room is trashed!" He held his arms up and outward. "This might surprise you, but some people don't like living in a pigsty!"
"I'm sorry, Hunter!" His words came out in a high-pitched squeak and were spoken so quickly that each word seemed smushed together into the next.
"You better be! Why were you even in there?"
Cole hugged his arms around his chest. "It wasn't my idea! Harvey thought it would be fun to go inside."
Hunter couldn't force back his laugh. "You're seriously going to blame it on the rabbit? Cole, you're eight years old! Why do you still have imaginary friends?"
"Hunter, please-"
Hunter reached forward, grabbing one of his little brother's arms. "That wasn't one of your dumb little playsets sitting on my desk. That was my final project for my American History class that I spent all this weekend working on." Which he hadn't even completed! "Do you have any idea how long it's going to take me to rebuild that?"
"Hunter, I-"
"Do you?" Hunter spat out the words.
"I tried to fix them!" Now it was time for the waterworks. Cole's face was beet red. A tear slipped down his right cheek. "I got glue and stuff!"
Hunter snorted. "Thanks a lot. You really gave me some A-level material!"
"What the devil is going on?"
Hunter turned on his heel. His grip on his brother's arm loosened. Cole hurriedly pulled himself away and jumped to his feet.
"Cole was in my room!"
"Hunter yelled at me!"
"I should show you what he did! You won't believe it!"
"I didn't do it on purpose!"
"Don't tell me that you're going to let the brat get away with this!"
"I tried to fix it!"
"Enough!" Their uncle's voice echoed across the purple painted walls. He stood in the doorway illuminated by the hallway lights. "I repeat my earlier question: What is going on?"
"Cole-"
"Did I say that you could speak?"
Hunter's face paled. He opened his mouth, then just as quickly shut it. Looking to his feet, he shook his head.
"I want you both to tell me what happened. One at a time, that is." He gestured towards Cole. "Would you care to tell me what your brother is so worked up about?"
Hunter ground his teeth together. Why did he have to get the first word?
"Uncle Philip-"
"Hunter Flavius Wittebane!" He didn't yell. With a voice like his, the kind that one couldn't help but turning their ears towards, he didn't need to. "In case I didn't make myself clear enough; I was talking to your brother."
"I," Cole began, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands. "I was playing with Harvey today and w-we went to Hunter's room. He said it'd be fun. And it was! There were this cool soldier things. I just wanted to move them around a little bit and see the cannon! I promise!" His tears were coming faster than his words now.
Philip blinked. "Well, uh, I see. Now, Hunter," he said, his voice softer than before, "why don't you tell me what happened?"
"Cole," Hunter replied, "went into my room." As his uncle had made clear already, yelling wasn't going to solve anything. Still, keeping his voice from rising was an uphill battle. "He trashed everything, including a diorama that I made for one of my classes. I spent all weekend working on it!"
Philip's forehead wrinkled. "Is that true?"
Cole nodded, his back slumped and eyes to the ground.
Philip locked gazes with Hunter. "Why don't we go assess the damage?"
Hunter stepped forward. Despite the extra laps he'd had to run today, his feet felt so light that he half expected them to float off the ground. Yet when he made it to the doorway, his uncle stood statue still.
"Cole Hector Wittebane," Philip said, motioning him forward with his finger, "you'd do best to join us."
Cole sniffled but stepped forward.
"Don't tell me you're not hungry. When I was your age, I couldn't go five minutes without eating something."
Hunter grunted. As packed as the fridge was, nothing caught his eye. Though with the way his stomach was twisting, how was he supposed to keep anything down? Finally, his eyes settled on a package of sliced cheese. He pulled a slice out and began slowly nibbling on some Colby Jack.
Once he went back upstairs, he'd have to text all his friends that their plans on Saturday were off. Never mind that they'd been waiting over a year for this movie to release or that it'd be the last time he'd see most of them before they left town this summer. Really, he probably should have expected something like this to happen. How could he have been stupid enough to think that things might actually go his way for once?
"I'm sorry about your project. I'm not much with my hands, but I'd be glad to help you fix it."
Hunter shook his head. "Thanks, but I looked it over and it'd probably be best if I restarted most of it." Those soldiers just couldn't be saved.
"Forgive your brother. He may not realize the full extent of what he's done now, but one day-"
"You're actually defending him?" If looks could kill, then Hunter would have been the only Wittebane left after the events of that night. "Would you be happy if he trashed your study?"
"Of course not. But you must understand-"
"He's a stupid kid who thinks that he can have and do whatever he wants! What's there not to understand about that?" He balled his fists and broke into a run. It was bad enough coming home to find his stuff strewn everywhere. To have his uncle defending it was just salt to the wound.
"Hunter!"
But really, could he even pretend to be surprised? Much as he'd insist otherwise, Cole had always been Philip's favorite. How could he not be? Unlike Hunter, he didn't have anyone to compare their uncle to. To his little brother, their parents were nothing more than faces in old photos. If his uncle had really cared about what had happened earlier, then he would have done worse than wag his finger and take Cole's video games away.
Hunter pounded up the steps two at a time and then slammed his door behind him. The sound echoed across his bedroom's walls.
His uncle had left everything on the floor when he'd brought the boys inside for their earlier tour. Hunter kicked a few books away with the edge of his foot, clearing the way to his bed. He raised his fists and began pounding the wrinkled comforter beneath him.
As he beat down, Cole's face flashed through his mind. Slowly, it shifted to his uncle's. Then, his parents' faces crossed his mind's eye. They were why he was stuck here, weren't they? How different might his life be if they'd stopped pushing off that trip to the mechanic?
By the time he brought his arms back down to his sides, sweat coated his forehead and the back of his T-shirt. The only face he could picture now was his own.
"Someone's up early."
Hunter only gave his uncle a quick glance before hurrying towards the pantry. "Couldn't sleep," he said. He pulled out a box of corn flakes.
"Care for some coffee?"
Hunter shook his head. As far as he was concerned, the dried dirt caked to the bottom of his sneakers would probably taste better.
"Suit yourself," Philip said, raising his mug to his lips. He stood directly in front of a wall-length set of bay windows that looked out into the backyard. The slowly rising sun illuminated his silhouette.
Hunter grabbed a bowl from a nearby cabinet. Usually, he awoke to birds singing in the dogwood tree outside his bedroom window. Today, his rumbling stomach had pulled him into the waking world.
"It's hard to believe that there's only a month left." Philip spoke, his voice only a few octaves above a whisper.
Hunter turned, locking eyes with his uncle. He raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"
Philip pushed a lock of greying chestnut hair back behind his ear. "Next month is the anniversary of when you boys moved in."
Hunter stiffened. Everything had happened so quickly – the police officer arriving at his summer day camp, the funeral service, packing up and moving all the way across town with a man they usually only ever saw on holidays – that it was hard to tell where one memory ended and another began. His mouth was dry and tongue heavy. Even if he could manage to pull his jaw apart, Hunter doubted that he'd be able to get more than a squeak out.
Uncle Philip rarely brought up their parents. Hunter largely did the same. Their lives were already enough of a circus without trying to corral the elephant in the room.
"Caleb and I had a fight the day he died." His grip tightened on the handle of his mug. "We both said some things that wouldn't be polite to repeat. Things that weren't true."
Hunter stuck a large spoonful of dry cereal into his mouth. Was his uncle even really talking to him, or was he just thinking out loud?
Philip sighed. "I never got the chance to apologize. As far as I know, he went to his grave thinking that I hated him. You want to know what I told him?"
No.
Right then, the only thing Hunter really wanted was to run back upstairs and curl up into a ball beneath his covers. There was no better feeling than the complete lack of feeling that came with closing his eyes.
"I said that I'd be the luckiest man alive if I never saw him again." Philip shot him a crooked smile. "I suppose that I should have been more careful about what I wished for."
"You… You…" Hunter leaned his back against the counter to steady his shaking legs. "You really said that?"
Philip nodded. "Like I said, it wasn't true. But I'm not sure your father knew that."
"What were you two even fighting about?"
"Your father wanted to quit the firm and do something, in his words, more meaningful with his life. I thought it was the stupidest thing I'd ever heard. I made that point rather clear to him."
"Oh."
It figured, Hunter supposed, that it would be over stupid adult things like that.
"That's why I got so concerned last night. I'm not trying to excuse what your brother did, but…" His gaze wandered across the kitchen, as if the rest of his sentence hovered somewhere near the ceiling. "But sometimes it's not worth being angry."
Hunter took another bite of his cereal. What the hell was he supposed to say to that?
"I know you probably think I'm just some stupid old man spouting nonsense. But know this: One day you'll look back and realize that forty years just wasn't enough time to live."
And with that, everything went silent. His uncle poured himself his own bowl of cereal and sat down.
"You know," he said after he'd eaten a quarter of it, "you look just like Caleb back when he was your age."
"Um, thanks."
Why couldn't this just be a normal morning, where the deepest their discussions ever went was his uncle asking him what kind of questions were on Hunter's pre-calculus tests?
"Take it as a compliment. You could have been like me and had pepperoni pizza for a face."
Hunter laughed. "I'll try to remember that."
"What's going on?"
Hunter and Philip turned. Cole stood, rubbing his eyes, beneath the kitchen opening. His pajamas were wrinkled, and his hair was sticking up in gravity defying directions.
"Your brother and I were just having a little talk." Philip pushed his chair out and stood. "How about some cereal?"
