Disclaimer: I don't own "The Conjuring" franchise or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: This is another late addition to my "(Human) Connections" series. When this is published, it will be the fifth part of the series.
Warnings: set post "The Conjuring," period typical attitudes, sexual tension, romantic tension, drama, angst, romance, pre-slash, emotional constipation, friends to lovers.
Nostalgia
"Do you ever think about it?" Drew asked one night. Looking at him from the other side of the couch as they watched reruns of The Flip Wilson show.
He eyed him, taking his time as he chased a bead across the mouth of his beer. The bottle slick, bleeding moisture. Threatening to slip out of his hand.
It was no wonder. It was hot as hell in the kid's one window apartment. Just like he figured it would be in the middle of a heat wave. But here he was, sweating his ass off on a couch that'd probably been left on the side of the road a couple years ago.
"About what?" he finally replied. Knowing full well what he meant. There was only one "it" and he had the scar to prove it.
Drew shot him a look.
Don't be an idiot.
A laugh bubbled up in his throat, threatening to get the better of him. Feeling it more than the oppressive heat. He liked how it made him feel. Just the same as he liked the way Drew was fish-eying him. He liked the annoyed crinkle that bridged his nose. Even the triumphant look when the little shit stole one of his beers right from the carton. Daring him to say something as he took a swallow that made the sweat on his throat shine with every pull.
He snorted into his bottle instead.
He couldn't help it.
It seemed like there was a lot of that these days.
Drew making him feel some sort of way.
"Yeah," he admitted, tipping back the rest of his beer before continuing. "Hard not to when I have to look in the mirror everyday."
His undershirt had sweated though by now. He was sure of it.
There'd always been a breeze on the Perron farm.
Always was, come to think of it.
He'd been back a few times, just to check in.
Eventually, he started wondering if it was more for himself than anything.
Good thing he was decent at denial these days.
Drew's expression changed. Like he figured he'd gone too far. Pushed a sore spot. He hated that. So, after grabbing another beer, he decided to keep things moving. Not wanting to get stalled on how the skeptic turned believer wasn't sleeping at night.
"But it's why you do what you do, isn't it?" he offered, gesturing with his beer. "Because it matters."
The way he saw it, If Carolynn hadn't come to Ed and Lorraine's seminar, he would've been called out to that farm sooner or later. He didn't need to imagine why. Five little girls murdered. Roger too. With Carolynn hanging from that tree in the back. Or maybe Roger would have been the only one left standing. Maybe he would've even been the one to put the cuffs on him. Figuring it all for a mass murder. It wouldn't be the first time. And it wouldn't be the last either. But maybe the old house would have come up here and again around town. Becoming known as that house. Where the local kids would dare each other to go down to the cellar and-
"Brad?"
He looked up, catching Drew's expression. Shit.
"Where did you go?"
A smart comment was on the tip of his tongue. But he ended up swallowing it. Deciding honesty was the best policy as he tipped back a hefty swallow. Feeling the tang of carbonation against his tongue. Threatening to make him cough.
"I was just thinking about what would have happened if we hadn't been there," he answered flatly. "That bitch killed so many people. And she would have kept going. Family to family. No one understanding why. It would have just been murders, suicides, assumptions..."
Look what she made me do.
He wasn't sure why, but the maid stuck with him most of all.
She'd wanted him to see it. For someone to know it wasn't her fault. To-
Drew hummed a sound, drawing his attention to better things as the kid slid down the couch cushions. Fringe visibly damp before he pushed it back, shaking his head. Shirt stuck to his skin with the heat. He couldn't stop looking.
"Most of the time we are too late, at least for that level of possession," Drew commented. "We got lucky, that's all. ...Ed and Lorraine would probably say luck had nothing to do with it. Maybe they're right. If ghosts and demons exist, that 1means the same is true on the other side, doesn't it?"
It was an odd moment to bring God into it. Especially considering his eyes were locked on the kid's throat again. All hot, wet and bare with his shirt undone to the navel. It was a special sort of torture. Unable to stop his jaw from grinding as he chewed on the desire to trace it with his lips.
It wasn't the first time he'd found himself courting these type of thoughts.
It was Drew.
Just Drew.
The distinction was important. Finding himself wanting to add it to the end of every thought like a disclaimer. Not wanting to admit he was thinking about stuff he knew wasn't- Well, he knew what they preached at the pulpit about it, that was for damn sure.
The point was it wasn't him. It had never been him. But ever since he'd met him, ever since the kid had wormed his way from colleague to friend, he found his eyes straying where they shouldn't. He didn't know why. But he recognized the feeling. It was the same as when he was chatting up a pretty girl. Which was starting to become a problem, considering it'd put a dampener on chasing tail around town. Waiting until little miss right made herself known and they could follow the same formula as everyone else. Settle down, have a couple kids and a yard he'd absolutely hate mowing on Sundays.
He wiped a rash of sweat from his face. Tipping back his beer only to find it empty.
When had that happened? How many beers had he had anyway?
"It's fucking hot, man," he complained, desperate to change the subject. "How the hell do you sleep in here during the summer?"
The smirk was back on the kid's face.
"Not with clothes on, that's for sure."
Jesus Christ.
He gripped the bottle so hard it squeaked.
Drew winked.
Hell.
Maybe there was something to that old line after all.
Well fed devils behaved better than famished saints.
A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – This story is now complete.
Reference:
- Nostalgia: In Greek, "nostalgia" means "the pain from an old wound".
- The Flip Wilson Show: was an hour-long variety show that aired on NBC from 1970-1974. The show starred comedian Flip Wilson. It was one of the first American programs starring a black person in the title role to become highly successful with a white audience.
