The Dust of Time
Summary: Will struggles with his conscience, while struggling with the Darkest threat he's come up against so far - his own family's memories. Will/Bran Slash.
Disclaimer: "The Dark is Rising Sequence" does not belong to me, it belongs to Susan Cooper, the amazing Goddess that she is. This is written by a fan, for the fans, and no money has exchanged hands what-so-ever.
Author's Notes: Here's your... yearly update! Um... yeah. This chapter was just a nightmare to write, and I finished it at... 5:31 am today. Gahhhh... It's starting to get light again!
Part Three - "The Time Has Come."
Coldness, and hardness, against his face. Light seared through his closed eyelids, painting a sky of pink nothingness against his vision. His entire body aching, Will pushed his palms flat against the cold, hard surface his face was pushed unmercifully against and thrust his body back.
Blinking furiously as he sat upright, completely disorientated, Will took a few seconds to get his bearings. Shaking his head in consternation, he stood up, one hand on the mantle to steady himself. He was in the house, and by the warm light spilling in through the cold window he'd woken up against, it was daytime.
Reaching out all his senses, Will let himself just feel, listening acutely to his instincts. Something bristled within him, and his gaze shot to the window. No snow lay on the ground. Frowning, Will looked up at the sky, fluffy clouds tinged with dark, and his stomach fell.
Awareness creeping into his mind, bellowing the truth with a clarity that stirred him into instant action, Will skidded into the kitchen. There, at the window, he could see his mother heading towards the chicken shed in her heavy overcoat. Swallowing, he didn't wait for the sound he knew was coming and pushed the door open brusquely, surveying the scene before him with an outward impassiveness while inwardly his thoughts chattered and spun without direction.
"Surprise?" Will murmured ironically, folding his arms and leaning against the door as his gaze clinically swept over his siblings and friends, gaging their reactions. Most seemed cheerfully oblivious, except for four. Barney Drew looked a little unsettled, but that was to be expected. Bran was pretending to be jovial, but Will knew when he was hiding something. Stephen was looking a bit startled, as if he'd only just figured out what had happened but couldn't believe it. The other reaction Will noted and catalogued for reference was Simon Drew's. The normally reserved boy wasn't looking shocked or surprise, but he was standing in a different place to last time; almost shielding Barney from him with his body.
Stephen and Bran remembering what had happened, that was almost to be expected. Somehow time had been rewound, probably due to that mysterious dust that Will resolved to examine as soon as possible, and as Stephen had been in contact with him, and Bran had thrown the dust, they were the most likely candidates to not be affected. Simon had evaded a forgetting once before, in the caravan of a lesser being of the Dark who craved to be a master, but that could be fixed with a quiet moment alone with him. Barney, as a Seer, may not remember, but would sense a difference.
Not wanting to make the others suspicious, Will pulled his face into a grin that almost looked authentic. "Mary!"
The corresponding sister, closest to him, put out an ice cold hand and ruffled his hair.
Will endured the physical reminder of his position in the Stanton household as the youngest, and followed the script, not wanting to derive from events until he could be sure why and exactly how it was happening. "I thought you weren't due home until the twenty-third!"
"Yeah, that's what we wanted you to think," Mary replied with a smug grin. "And as you can see, it's not just us."
"Hi, Will," Bran greeted, his voice lighter than it was before, his sing-song accent more pronounced with the less aggressive tone, his eyes shining over the top of his sunglasses.
"Aren't you going to let us in?" Barbara whined, looking like she was turning blue.
"Naw, he's forgotten all his manners," Max broke in, rolling his eyes at his youngest brother's reaction.
The sound of the insult kicked Will's body into action. He stepped aside to let his family and friends pile in, helping his father and mother with all the extra luggage that accompanied the hectic brood of people.
Stephen was the last to pile into the small Stanton household, and grabbed Will by the elbow to grab him in a crushing hug of welcome. "Happy Birthday, Old One," he said meaningfully, looking at Will hard. Will met his gaze and pointed words with an almost arrogant tilt of his head.
"Yeah, he's a rather old nineteen, too," Barbara chipped in, dropping an amiable kiss on Will's cheek as they all tried to crowd into the kitchen and living room.
Will smiled weakly. "I can't believe you're all here! It's the best birthday present ever!"
"Is to make up for that poxy eighteenth birthday you had," James explained, his round face amiable. "Can't have been much fun with only you, mum, dad and a whole load of poxy chickens."
"It was fun enough, Mr. I Spent My Birthday With My Very First Hangover," Alice Stanton replied with a very shrewd look at a now blushing James, shrugging off the overly-large overcoat and hanging it on a peg by the door. "Anyway, Will, this took quite a bit of organisation, but you'd better get on in and greet your friends properly, as your brothers and sisters will all be here till New Year, but Bran and the Drews can only stay till the twenty-third."
Will nodded, pushed past Max, Barbara and Paul, all looking almost as if they'd never left, and dived into the living room.
Jane was standing with Simon and Barney, looking gently around their house with a tentative smile, and looking apologetic. She moved over to Will as he appeared in the doorway, and indicated Barney and Simon with a toss of her head. Simon was almost bristling, and Barney was looking more than a little confused.
"Sorry, this was the only way I could come, and I didn't want to miss your nineteenth," Jane said. Will grinned at her.
Will said, "No problem. Besides, this'll be just like old times, right?"
Barney smiled at him. "Super house," he enthused. "Although I kind of feel like I've been here before."
"Very strange," Simon said, almost coldly.
Jane elbowed him darkly. "Si, be polite. The Stantons are putting us up for a few days, politeness is the very least you could practise."
"Nah, Jane, don't worry about it," Will said dismissively, looking across slowly at the window seat. Bran was indolently lounging there.
"Is this your seat?" Bran asked, his voice a curious combination of concern and a familiar arrogance.
"Yes," Will said flatly, trying to sound stern.
"Ah." Bran relaxed, folding his arms and dropping his rucksack to the floor. Bran caught Will's happy glance and suddenly reached forwards to pull Will's abandoned glass of orange juice off the mantelpiece; taking a defiant sip of the juice. "I guess this is your drink too."
Will gave Bran his patented death-glare. Bran impudently grinned at him before placing the glass back on the mantelpiece. Getting to his feet, Bran crossed over to where Will stood and grabbed his friend in a hug.
"You could have told me you were involved in something dodgy, you know," Bran whispered so only Will could hear.
"Later," Will whispered. "I promise I'll explain."
A giggle in the corner, prompted him to pull away from Bran to see Mary sniggering in the doorway. Behind her, a kind of convoy had been set up with the Stantons in the kitchen; bags and cases were being brought in and were being stacked neatly under the table and in the corners.
Will's gaze jerked up to meet his parents' happy gazes, and they stood arm in arm in the doorway. His siblings and friends, crammed into the small living room, filled Will only now with horror. He was exposing them all to danger. He had to figure this out, fast, and...
His father smiled at him and Will forced himself to grin back, feeling sick.
"Happy birthday, Will," his father said, indicating his sons and daughters with a spread of his arm, looking pleased that Will was so apparently happy. Will felt inwardly awful. As soon as he had this figured out, he had to leave, and the sooner the better.
Will listened patiently to James explaining his duties in his choir for, unbeknownst to his cheerful round-faced older brother, the second time, wondering when he could get away and not seem too rude about it. Thankfully Stephen seemed to be just as anxious. As James babbled himself into a corner, Stephen slid quietly into the room.
"Will," Stephen said, just as James was going to launch into the anti-Bach spiel Will had hated the first time around, "could you give me a hand with the Li-Los for your room?"
"Aw, c'mon, Steve, it's his birthday," James protested sullenly.
"Argue with Paul about Bach," Stephen countered back.
"It's fine," Will said. "I'm not nineteen until tomorrow." He smiled in thanks at James, who nodded back, and then he deliberately walked over to where Bran was brooding quietly in the corner. "Bran, could you help too?"
Startled, Bran nodded, and followed Will out of the cramped living room. They made a strange procession, climbing with the rolled up rubber mats up the thin, long stairs, and when they reached the attic room, Will closed the door and folded his arms, looking at the two of them.
"So?" Will said pointedly, looking at his older brother challengingly. Stephen forced his sullen expression into a neutral one, while Bran looked nervously between the two siblings as he pocketed his sunglasses.
"So what?" Stephen countered.
"What did you want to talk to me about?" Will said, going for the direct approach.
Stephen looked pointedly at Bran, who shifted, uncomfortable. "Don't you think it's a rather private thing?"
Bran got to his feet from where he'd sat unrolling one of the inflatable mattresses, and headed for the door. "I'll go," he said quickly.
"No, you don't," Will said briefly, putting one hand on Bran's chest to stop him moving. Bran's eyes widened, almost fearfully, and Will held that tremulous gaze as best as he could. "Stephen remembers what happened, too."
"That dust did something, didn't it?" Bran asked, reassured, stepping back and leaning against the radiator. "Reset time, or something."
"Not entirely," Will said. "I suspect it just, sort of, got a little repeated. Time isn't as linear as you'd think."
Bran looked confused.
"What are you?"
Will winced at Stephen's direction question, and kept his gaze on the worn carpet, unwilling to look up and see the horror deep in his eldest sibling's eyes. "Watchman of the light. Watcher. Old One. All the stories mum and dad used to tell you before I was born."
Stephen regarded his youngest brother appraisingly, taking in Will's appearance as if he'd never seen him before. Somehow, the view surprised him. He'd always remembered Will as a stocky, round-faced boy of twelve, smiling up at the world through a heavy slanted curtain of brown hair, with eyes the cheerful colours of the sea. Now...
I don't know that man, Stephen realised. He didn't know the dangerous, slender young man, clad from foot to toe in threatening black, arms folded over his chest, a dangerous glint in his blue-green eyes. His eyes were still the colour of the sea, but now more of the hint of storms and thunder and lightning.
"Where did Will go?" Stephen asked, his voice almost plaintive, not meaning the question in its literal sense.
"I'm still here," Will said. "I promise." He smirked, inwardly. "Well, some of me, anyway."
"Have you always been this bloody vague, Stanton?"
Will looked sharply across at Bran, who was looking confused and hurt and betrayed.
"Oh, that's never changed," Stephen assured Bran softly. "To be honest, I'd think you were making this up, Will, if- What did happen yesterday, anyway?"
"I think the whole world got shot to hell," Will said candidly, self-deprecatingly. "And I wish I knew why, how. The Dark had been banished, to out of time, and all the Old Ones of the Light followed, masters and makers alike." His voice held an almost tangible taste of longing.
"I thought that chap - Mitothin - called you an Old One? So how can all of them-" Bran questioned.
"All but one," Will said, correcting his words softly, the words bitter-sweet. "Five shall return and One go alone."
"Huh?"
"An old poem," Will said dismissively. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that with that- whatever it was that Maggie gave me - somehow made events repeat, giving me time to figure out what I'd obviously missed, because, to be absolutely candid, this whole thing is-" He struggled for the word. "I want to say impossible, but it's happening."
"It's inconceivable," Bran said, with a sudden smirk. Stephen let out a short laugh. Will looked between the two of them with a confused look.
"Never read Morgenstern, then," Bran said, shaking his head. "Honestly."
Almost speechless, Will spluttered, looking between them as if they'd gone mad. "What are you two on about?"
"Look, Will," Stephen said, levelly, the smile leaving his face. "This thing is freaking me out. My youngest brother is some kind of super-powered watchman, against some dark cloaked maniacs who want to kill us all. I know that you will try your best to protect us, but you're not enough, and if time repeats again- and again- We need to stop it. And I haven't got a single bloody clue as how to go about it!"
"Join the bloody club," Will snapped back, massaging his temples with his fingers, his forehead creased with worry. Then he shook his head, lowering his hands, as if just realising what he'd done. His face softened in apology. "Oh, Steve, I'm sorry." He sat with a thump on his bed, the springs creaking in rebellion at the sudden intrusion. "It just gets a little too much, sometimes."
"I'd bet," Bran said, a small note of humour in his melodic voice. Then, suddenly unsure, he shifted, staring down at his feet. "H-have you always- I mean-"
Will sighed, copying Bran by looking down, staring at his own interlocked fingers, stark against his legs. "When I was eleven." He could feel Stephen's glare, calculating but surprised. "I came into my- abilities then. When the snow fell down so hard. For a few days, nothing made any sense, and then the Others, before they left, gave me the knowledge. We fought a long hard battle that took a good long couple of years, the Dark was pushed down, the other Old Ones left, and they left me behind to Watch." He exhaled hard. "At least, that's what I've always thought."
"This is going to take some getting used to," Stephen said, his voice thin. Will looked up at him, wincing, thinking he was going to see the same expression as had been on Stephen's face when he told him the truth the first time around.
Will smiled tightly. "I rather suspect that we may have all the time in the world to figure it out."
"We'll keep looping until-" Stephen's face froze, then relaxed. "Not aging until we find out, wow. We could tell the others and live forever."
"There's an idea," Bran said, his voice drifting out into the atmosphere.
"Oh, don't tempt me." Will's voice held a clear note of longing in it. He was looking out of the window, but both Bran and Stephen had the feeling that he was looking beyond the landscape to something far away. "You have no idea how many times I wanted to- needed to, but..." He trailed off, despondent, twisting his hands before lifting his chin almost defiantly, trying to explain what he meant. "Imagine eternity, trapped with the same people. Never being able to go far before bam!, you're back with the same people. Eventually they would get resentful. Mary would fume at the fact she could never marry. People would get bored, kill. And then, bam! back to the beginning..."
"Ordinary people weren't designed to live forever," Stephen suggest wryly. "I guess I see what you mean."
"So why don't you just come out with it and tell them? Tell your family. I can see why you don't go public to the world, you'd be dissected or something awful or exploited." Bran's face was pale, he looked almost sick with the idea.
"You have to understand, Bran. I cannot die. I can come close to something like it, but-" Will shook his head, heavily. "Everyone I know is going to- to-"
"Die?" Bran's voice was mocking. "Everyone dies, bachgen. Except maybe for you." His lips twisted, as if contemplating that and finding it ironic. "Although explaining quite why you aren't dying could be an issue, I suppose."
"And the not growing up as fast as I should issue," Will muttered darkly.
Stephen laughed, and the other two looked at him quizzically. "Sorry. I was just thinking about siphoning off some of your blood and selling it as an anti-aging liquid."
Will's lips twisted into a semi-smile, and Bran barked in laughter. The pale Welsh boy picked up one of the Li-los and bent down to attach the pump, knowing the trick now of how to do it.
"Do you even have blood? You being not human and all," Bran said, as if the question had just struck him. It probably had.
"Don't be ridiculous," Stephen scoffed, before pausing to check himself. "Uh, do you?"
"Of course I do," Will said, although from the two staring at him, worry set in. Frowning, he crossed to the bedside cabinet, rummaged in a drawer, and pulled out a small penknife, which he touched as if recalling a distant memory. He looked at the two, reluctantly, and then paled, as if feeling sick. Pulling a face, he flicked out the blade, and looked away as he put it to his hand.
It was if the entire room was holding its breath, waiting for the outcome.
"I can't look," a voice said thinly. Will looked back to see Stephen had covered his eyes, and laughed despite himself.
"A big Navy man like you, scared of blood?" Will mocked. Bran looked at him reprovingly.
"He didn't do it, don't worry," Bran said, getting up briskly as Stephen uncovered his eyes. He walked over to Will, and quickly and efficiently took hold of the penknife, his wrist dipping gracefully towards Will's hand.
"OW!"
"He bleeds," Bran said primly, dropping the penknife simply into Will's other hands, and twisting on his heel to go back to the Li-Lo, stuck in its semi state of inflation.
Will glowered sourly at Bran as he reached for a tissue from the box on the bedside cabinet to put on the surprisingly small cut, which was steadily spurting blood onto his hand.
Bran said, changing the topic, "Maggie gave you that dust stuff, didn't she? Oughtn't she be here in the morning and we can question her?"
"Good thing one of us has a brain here," Will said with a small engimatic smile as he sank onto the edge of his bed.
"Oy!" Stephen protested automatically. A nerve in his jaw twitched, awkwardly. "Maggie," he started, his voice a little stiff, "what is she?"
Inhaling slowly, Will shrugged as he concentrated on keeping pressure on the cut. "I thought she was just a Witch-girl, an agent of the Dark, but she claims she's from the past. She could be a witch from the past, I suppose."
"A witch?"
Will looked at him dryly. "After this last hour, you're being incredulous about the existence of witch?"
"Well, I-" Stephen managed eloquently.
"Witches allowed themselves to be documented in history, is all," Will explained casually. Bran, having finished inflating the yellow Li-Lo, put it in place and then sat down on it cross-legged. Will smiled cat-like and quick at Bran's cocked eyebrow, and tried not to think how graceful Bran managed to make his posture, all legs and elegance and...
"Will?"
Will's eyes widened, and he looked up at Stephen's prompting. He could feel the blush rush onto his cheeks, and by the sudden twinkle in Stephen's eyes, Will could tell he was going to get some ribbing from his older brother later. "Sorry. Um, Old Ones aren't mentioned in history much. And they exist. So doesn't it stand to reason that witches are more likely to exist? The more records in existance, the more sightings there must have been. There are some Old Ones mentioned in history books, but not many occasions, and there are thousands of us."
His tone took a sudden, melancholic twang, and Will looked at the wall as if he could see through it.
"You can come in, you know," Will said suddenly, inexplicably, loudly.
Bran and Stephen exchanged confused looks, until the door opened. Light spilled through from the hallway, silhouetting Simon Drew in the doorway. Simon had his arms crossed strictly across his chest.
"Freak," Simon spluttered out, loud and stridently. "I can't believe-"
Bran got roughly to his feet, but his protective gesture wasn't needed. They never found out what Simon couldn't believe, as the serious boy suddenly stiffened, and his eyes glazed over. His arms fell uselessly to his sides.
Silence permeated the room so thoroughly that Bran felt his limbs were much heavier than normal and his movements sluggish. He turned, slowly, and it felt like his neck was cramping, to see Will - stood upright - arm outstretched - fingers splayed apart, as if his hand could prevent anything, like it was a five digit shield.
"Forget," Will whispered, "forget." In that moment he looked infinitely sadder, infinitely older, infinitely full of hatred and suffering and anguish and pain and resignation to a fate. "You only came to see if we needed assistance."
Will's voice was low, almost musical, and very soothing. Simon Drew blinked once, his eyelashes long on his pale cheeks. Will lowered his hand, regret playing openly across his whole stance.
A flicker of something crossed Simon's face, and he grinned slowly at them. "Jane sent me up to see if you needed some assistance, but I see you've got it all under control. Need anything sending up?"
"No," Will said tersely, blankly. "We'll be down in a few minutes."
"Sure," Simon said, smiling again and turning away to go downstairs. The door fell shut with a click.
"Okay, what did you just do?" Bran demanded, hands akimbo, his golden eyes piercing into Will accusingly.
Will looked at him, forlorn. "Did what I had to do," he said, his face drawn.
"Are you all right?" Stephen said. "You look... awful!"
"Thanks!" Will grinned cheekily at Stephen as his older brother took umbrage at Will's sarcasm. "No, making someone forget, it takes... it doesn't just take physical strength, but... mental strength too. I'll be a little more vague for the next couple of hours than usual."
"What's new there?" Stephen quipped.
Bran's mouth worked silently for a moment, and Will looked tiredly at him. "What?"
He struggled to reply, but eventually found the words. "Will, have you ever... have you ever done that to me? Made me forget?"
Wary, Will looked at him. "Why do you ask?"
Bran twisted his hands, almost wretchedly. "It's just... both the times you visited me... It was a blur. A complete blur. I remember being happier than I'd ever been, and even at the sad times, still reassured, but I don't..." His face screwed up a little. "Is that just because we were younger? I haven't felt like it at uni."
"Have I ever done that to you?" Will repeated the question softly, and his blue-green eyes flickered across the carpet, as if trying to remember. "No." His face stilled, but his eyes moved up, to meet with Bran's own, clearly and strongly and unwavering. "Never."
Bran exhaled, as if he'd been holding in a breath.
"What about me?" Stephen asked, his voice breathless and tight.
Will looked at Stephen, and then looked away, hanging his head and staring at some fascinating imaginary point on the carpet. "I'm sorry," he said eventually. Will didn't look up, couldn't bear to look at Stephen.
"Why?" Stephen's voice was bitter and small.
"The Old Ones relayed a message through you," Will said. "Seven years ago. It wasn't safe for you to remember. And I- I told you." An expression of pure pain shifted across Will's face, replaced instantly by one of blank determination.
"I didn't take it well," Stephen realised.
"Understatement of my life," Will said, a bitter irony deepening his words. He looked up, but still not at Stephen. "The way you looked at me. I couldn't bear it. I couldn't bear making you forget, either. I-" He then looked up at Stephen, hard. "It was only the once. I made Mary forget once, when she was captured briefly by Mitothin. Believe me," he said quickly, "no one feels worse about that than I." Even his words were old now, of an old man, but he could not stop them. Now they knew this about him, even more of his true self came out. "Paul, Robin and dad once, as well. There was a creature. At church." He shook himself, like trying to shake away a nightmare. "Forgetting... Even making Simon forget there... It takes too much, Steve, it takes everything from inside me and makes it hurt. It hurt bad enough for Simon, and I don't... care for him much."
"So the more you care about someone, the more it hurts to do it?" Stephen asked.
"Yes."
"Holy Jesus on a pogo stick," was Bran's helpful offering.
Will looked at him strangely, and Bran quirked a grin at him, and Stephen started to laugh. Will reluctantly started to laugh, too.
"What a guy has to do to break the mood," Bran said, leaning against the window sill.
"If your da heard you say that..." Will said, leaving the threat unfinished.
Bran looked at him coolly. "Right back at you, oh, ancient one."
"Guess we'd better go down," Will said, although he didn't sound very enthusiastic about it.
"Hmm, you make that sound like so much fun," Stephen remarked dourly.
"Yeah," Will said, "because hearing Mary whitter on about the interns that groped her at the Buckinghamshire Beagle makes me feel so happy about her working conditions, and Barbara's secretary hijinks are just fabulous, and Robin and James and Paul are having the musical times of their life, which I guess are lovely but when you don't get to hear anything they're doing, it's annoying! Just, oh, Will, you should have heard the ornamentals I pulled off on so-and-so, and there's this wonderful passage on this new piece we're recording, you'd love it, Will, and hearing Mum prattle on about where Gwen could be..."
"Don't forget Max's adventure buying those second hand sable brushes while still getting back in time to sell his pigs at market," Bran chimed in.
"Or the hilarious exam results Paul sometimes reads in the music written papers," Stephen finished morosely. "You're right, there really are downsides to this time repeating business."
"Look at it this way," Will said cheerfully, "at least now you know the truth."
He bounded out of the door as quickly as he could before either of the two could reach him and smack him.
Will looked down at the cocoa in his hands, and blew on it. His mug of cocoa had been a little too sweet the first time, and was the same this time round. No matter what the scientists said about time travel and chaos theory, somethings were just destined to stay the same.
"So how are you?" Barney asked politely after some time of talking had passed, blowing cautiously on his own cocoa.
"I'm fine," Will said with a shrug, trying to remember what he'd said last time. He was a little more distracted by Bran this time round, as he'd sat in a slightly different place, and his skin was alight with the golden flames of the fireplace. He looked warm and alive and almost vibrant with knowledge. Will's skin sang with remembrance of what it was like to be with others of his own kind, others not of the human world.
"Looks like it's going to snow," Bran said, with a small edge to his voice as he looked at Will, amused and unaware of the reason for Will's distraction. Will blinked violently, and looked up at the face of his best friend.
"Oh, uh, yes," Will managed, a little startled. This time, he caught Simon and Jane glancing at each other in amusement, and he quirked a look at Jane to say, 'what was that all about?' She looked straight on at him, a mischievous blush on her cheeks, and then winked as if to say, 'maybe I'll tell you later.'
"I hope it doesn't," Bran added softly, a smirk on his face that he'd remembered his 'lines' right.
"Why, I thought you liked snow," Jane said.
"I do," Bran said, and his voice held the same tone he did as if he was quoting something. "But I'm afraid it's so bright down here that if I go out in the snow I'll never be found."
Jane and Simon laughed. "Ve-ry funny," Will said in a slow deadpan.
"We'll have to paint you bright orange, like the golf players do so they don't lose their balls in the snow," Barney said, barely being able to keep his face straight. Bran laughed, although it was a little louder than before. Jokes were less funny the second time around, especially self-deprecating ones.
"Or maybe green, like that paint in the caravan in Cornwall," Simon suggested calmly.
"Huh?" Barney and Jane spoke at the same time, completely confused, and Will this time didn't look outwardly surprised as Simon blinked, and a fuzzy expression came over his face.
"I… don't remember exactly…" Simon said, sounding really doubtful. "Just… it glowed, and it was… Dark…"
The word seemed to have a transformation over Bran, Barney and Jane, and Will's four guests looked sombre and quiet in the flickering firelight.
Suddenly Barney snorted, breaking the mood. "Glowed and was dark?"
Jane giggled, and the mood was broken.
"A bit ridiculous, no?" Simon said.
There was a pause, a soft lull in the conversation, and Will realised Bran had forgotten what he said next.
"Maybe it was glow-in-the-dark paint?" Will said, a smug look on his face this time. Bran surreptitiously slid him a two-fingered gesture.
"Perhaps," Simon said, as if to cue.
"I don't remember such a caravan," Jane said. Will remembered that Bran had inexplicably stared at him at this point, and he deliberately turned his face to Bran. Their gazes met this time, locked and held, almost as if a challenge for a few brief seconds. Bran flinched away first, his cheeks burning instantly red, and Will turned his attention back to the others, but not fully, as 'what the hell just happened!' was more the mantra running through his brain at that particular moment.
"I don't think you were there," Simon said. Jane frowned.
"I guess I can't have been," Jane said, the same troubled look Simon was sporting moments before being echoed on her features. Will felt sick again, but was able to ignore it more this time.
"Hush about that, Jane," Barney said, chiding Will. "I think Will's bored enough by your flightiness from the couple of months at Uni, he doesn't need it from you in the holiday."
Jane glared at her brother, then instantly looked apologetic. "Sorry, Will."
Will held up one hand. He watched it slowly, as if amused, as if it was being pulled by an invisible string. "It's fine, no apology needed." He felt his mother looking on, and was warmed by the attention. He felt the same rush of love he'd felt before, the first time around, and was inexplicably cheered by that. Love never changes, does it?
Feeling more at peace than he had done in a while, Will turned to look at his mother, and smiled widely.
"Will, do you want your usual tomorrow?" said his mother.
Will nodded. "I hope you have enough onions," he said rather too loudly. The Drews exchanged a confused glance, which grew more bewildered as a mock-scream came from the hallway. Will recognised James' anguished scream and sniggered. "Thank you."
"My pleasure, Will," said his mother, as she disappeared off again.
"What was that about?" said Barney.
Will chuckled, still amused by hearing James' girlish squeal. "It's a tradition for us Stantons, to have our favourite meals on our birthdays, and mine is liver and onions. It causes a lot of discomfiture to say the least with my brothers and sisters…"
"I wish I had brothers and sisters," Bran announced cheerfully. At Will's look, he shrugged, knowing he'd dropped a line but looking equally uncaring about it. "It must be nice to be in such a large family."
"It's a nightmare!" Will said. "Hand me downs! Crowding! Baby talk! Shared bedrooms!" He smiled fondly. "Also, the amusement of having a brother that SOUNDS LIKE A GIRL never grows old!"
"I HEARD THAT!" James bellowed from the kitchen.
Will sniggered, feeling even more free. "Funny how you knew I meant you!" Will bellowed back cheerfully.
"Pah," came the disgruntled reply.
"It's all right, Bran," Barney said as soon as he'd managed to stop giggling. "I'll let you have Simon and Jane," said Barney with an imperious nod. Jane's soft expression of humour changed abruptly to one of outrage, and she jabbed her brother in the side with her elbow. Barney let out a soft grunt of surprise, and spilled cocoa over his arm. Instantly, Simon and Jane were at his side, mopping it up with paper tissues.
"Good thing it was cold," Simon said, no small amount of relief in his voice. Barney pulled a face at his older brother.
Barney's stomach grumbled, and the youngest of those amassed pulled a face. "Sorry."
"Don't apologise," said Will. A curious look passed over his face, and he quirked a look at Bran. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"
"I think so, Will, but perhaps we need more uranium in the bomb if we're going to destroy America," Bran quipped, earning himself a thump from Will.
"You two watch too many cartoons in the TV room," Jane said, mock-reprimanding them.
Will edged a look at the clock on the wall, and then looked pointedly at Bran. Bran's mouth fell open into an 'o' of acknowledgement.
Looking at each other, Will mouthed three, two, one before they yelled in unison with Mary, "DINNER'S NEARLY READY, EVERYONE!"
"Thanks for that," Mary's voice floated out, sounding amused.
"You're abusing your powers, grasshoppers," Stephen said, who had just edged into the room, grinning at the two.
"Bite me," Will remarked cheerfully as they abandoned their mugs and trooped through into the dining room.
"If dinner wasn't ready," James remarked fervently as they came in, having heard Will's declaration, "I would."
As Simon, Barney, Bran and Will slowly walked into the attic bedroom after dinner, there was no discussion over who was sleeping where. Bran and Will automatically moved over to the bed, and sat on it, leaving the two Drews to gratefully flop down onto the Li-Los.
They'd grabbed the bathroom as a pack before any of the others could grab it, which was fortunate, as last time they'd had to wait half an hour until Robin had woken himself up.
There was no pillow fight, either, just a quietness as they all got ready for bed. Will stripped to his t-shirt and boxers, and then, on a whim, decided to get a clean t-shirt out. He crossed over to his chest of drawers, deliberated, pulled out a blue one rather than the two temptingly black ones on top of the pile, and changed into it. Slowly, and deliberately, and directly in view of Bran. He couldn't even explain to himself why he did it, but he was glad he did, for when he'd pulled his head through, Bran had gone a queer shade of pink, and looked away really quickly.
Feeling an almost silly smile stretch across his face, Will was glad to have been able to play turnabout on that event. Will ran his hands through his hair, shook it, and then climbed long-leggedly into the bed. He sank carefully down onto the mattress, feeling rather than watching Bran do the same.
"Hey, boys, you all ready?"
Will twisted to see his dad looking around at their sleeping arrangements, satisfied that they all had somewhere to sleep.
"Yeah," Will said.
"We're all snuggled in and ready to snore," Barney chirped cheerfully.
"Shall I turn the lights off for you?" Roger Stanton asked.
"Please," Simon said, with the fervour of one who is almost always left to be the one to turn the light off at bedtime.
"Night, dad," Will said, sleepily.
Roger smiled at his youngest. "Night, Will."
Darkness flooded the room then, along with the queer silvery moonlight. It was half an hour earlier to the last time, so everything was a little more visible, a little more strange. Will lay stiffly, with the same discomfort as before, and he closed his eyes as he focussed on listening to his father's footsteps fade away. He and Bran stared at the ceiling in silence, until the soft snores announced that Barney and Simon had managed to fall asleep.
"Don't alienate Maggie tomorrow," Bran said, in a sudden whisper.
Will was struck by the strangeness of the command, and he twisted carefully onto his side to look at Bran. Bran did the same until they were face-to-face on the pillow.
"Why?" Will whispered back, honesty confused.
"She has the dust, and if we can't figure out this time how to stop it, we'll need it again," Bran said practically.
"Oh. Okay." Will shifted, unable to look away from Bran. "Why would you think I might?"
"The conversation looked a little heated last time," Bran explained. "Besides, this time travelling - okay, time repeating - thing is bound to make anyone a little ornery."
"Meaning?"
"At some point, we're both going to have urges to start ripping off peoples' heads. Admit it: even this time you wanted to commit fratricide against James for his Bach spiel thing."
Will pulled a wry face, but said, "Bran, I always have the urge to commit fratricide. Especially when it comes to James."
"True," Bran said, sounding amused. His eyes, golden still now in the muted moonlight, travelled over Will's face, and Will fought the urge to recoil from the analysis.
"Bran," Will said suddenly, reminded of a conversation he'd had with Jane before, "why did you choose to do Anthropology at Exeter?"
Bran blinked. Obviously it wasn't a question he was expecting. "Why, aren't I good at it?" Bran said snippishly with a trace of that familiar arrogance that Will was starting to find oddly endearing.
"No, you're brilliant, it's just-" Will screwed his face up a little as he tried to phrase it the way he meant it. "It just seems a coincidence, is all. Jane took it because of a little pre-emptive prompting from Merriman before he left, and-"
"Merriman?" Bran asked, confused.
"Yes," Will said, before remembering Bran didn't know about him, "He was my mentor, the first of the Old Ones. You might know him better as Merlin," he added mischievously.
"Iesu grist," Bran muttered, resorting to his native tongue for blasphemy as opposed to the more hilarious English example he'd used earlier. "You mean the stories about Merlin, and King Arthur and all that are true?"
Will's chest tightened. He suddenly felt like the worst betrayed of them all. He fought to keep that from his face. "Yes," he whispered, hoping Bran would mistake the tightness in his voice for trying to keep his voice down. "They're true."
Bran blinked at him. "Nice to know there are some benefits to this whole Old One lark."
Will grinned. "Yeah, and I get a good insight in previous cultures that makes the whole degree lark a whiz."
Bran meant to smack him lightly in the arm, but it turned into more of an affectionate pat. Suddenly they were both awkward again.
"Um. Anyway. Uh, sleep well," Bran said quickly, his voice still low, before he turned away from Will rapidly. Will stared at Bran's back for a quiet moment before rolling onto his own back, worried that he'd done something wrong.
Sleep just wouldn't come this time. He felt every inch of Bran's presence on the bed next time to him acutely. His breath fell and rose with Bran's, he was in tune with him, and he knew it. Staring at the ceiling, Will's breath slowed with Bran's until Will was sure Bran was asleep. Bran had rolled onto his back, but his eyes were closed. Had Bran been awake, Will was certain he would have avoided looking at Will.
Confused, Will looked across at Bran, and found himself smiling at the small sounds Bran made when he was asleep, and he was so absorbed in doing this while refusing to analyse that he was doing it, that when Bran rolled over onto him, it surprised him.
Will looked down at Bran's head in pure bafflement for a moment. This must be how it happened before, he realised, and was oddly touched by the thought. Looking across at the Drews sleeping on the floor, Will lifted his arm as if he had no choice in the matter. If Bran woke, or realised in the morning, then Will had the defence that it had naturally happened the first time around. And if Barney woke again and drew them, well, he had drew in his name, he couldn't help it...
It was when he realised that he was inwardly babbling excuses for what he was about to do, that he realised also that he was entirely nervous about deliberately doing this. It was a perfectly normal thing for friends to do, right? He and Bran had hugged a few times in their first semester, due to loneliness and homesickness, and yes, Bran wasn't awake for his, but he knew Bran wouldn't smack him away were they both awake... There was absolutely nothing for him to be nervous about, and yet he was. He wanted to do it, more than anything in the whole world, something about Bran against him like that was making him feel over-protected and safe and horribly confused all at once.
He realised he should probably analyse why he was feeling this, but he didn't want to, feeling that ignorance might save him from the pain that the truth would bring. With a casualness he didn't feel, he brought down his arm, and put it gently around Bran's waist, slightly tugging the slight albino closer.
Bran muttered something under his breath, and the hand that had fallen on Will's chest tightened into the material of his t-shirt. Will heard a thudding sound, and realised with alacrity it was his heartbeat. He closed his eyes, shut them tight against realisation, but it was useless.
Understanding washed over him regardless, and he scrunched his eyes tighter in defiance of the truth. He'd realised the night before that he cared for Bran, and they'd be playing some strange hormonal flirting games through mutual attraction, but that was just part of being a teenager. It was normal to lust after the body of anyone who was around you, all the books said so. Lust he could, and was previously, dealing with, but this- It couldn't be. He couldn't afford this! It wasn't- it couldn't- oh please, please, please let it not! I just don't have time for this!
His head fell forwards in denial, and he pressed his face into Bran's hair, desperate for salvation. Bran's hair was soft against his cheek, almost like the soft down of a chicken, and this somehow made it all the worse. His cheeks felt like they were almost stinging, and he was so wrapped up in the feeling that he didn't realise Bran had woken up, and was looking up at him sleepily, unmoving from where he had moved onto Will, and making no attempt to pull away.
"Will," Bran was saying softly. "Will. You're crying. What's wrong? Will?"
Bran spoke Will's name softly like a benediction, a prayer, a plea.
"It's nothing," Will muttered. "I'm sorry." He moved self-consciously, the abrupt understanding of his own feelings making him painfully self aware.
Bran, resisted Will, and tugged at him so sharply he ended up reversing their position, with Will's head against his chest, his own face in Will's hair. Will's hands clutched helplessly into Bran's t-shirt.
"Ssshhh," Bran soothed softly, his hands pressing into Will's hair as his golden eyes stared flatly over Will's head. After a few moments, Will had subsided, although Bran still felt as if he was fragile or made out of porcelain as he shifted back to see Will's face. "What's wrong?" Bran said again, his voice low, a command, an order, not a question. "Tell me."
"Just... everything," Will murmured. "And nothing at all."
Bran's eyes searched Will's face for more of an answer. When it was no obvious he would get no further answers, he silently just pulled Will into a hug, and let him rest in his arms until he'd fallen asleep. Only when Will had fallen asleep did Bran let himself do the same.
The morning arrived, and Bran expected some explanation of Will's weird emotional outburst before they'd fallen asleep, but Will acted almost angrily, like it hadn't happened, or that he should be hurt that it did.
Will barely grunted good morning at him as he woke them both up at the same time, and Will had stomped off to use the bathroom before Bran. When Bran had come back from the bathroom, Will had already pulled on the red jumped in anticipation of the argument, and had obviously decided even attempting with the black fleece was a bad idea.
"Will-" Bran started, and Will flickered a cool glance at Bran, devoid of any emotion. "Happy birthday," he finished lamely.
Will nodded, cursorily. "Thanks," he said.
"We're going to have to talk about last night, you know," Bran said, in a light tone, almost as if they could be talking about the weather. Only the turmoil in his eyes betrayed him.
"I know," Will said, in an ambiguous tone, before walking briskly out of the room. Bran stared helplessly at his retreating back.
Shucking on his clothes as quickly as he could manage, Bran hurried downstairs, but couldn't talk to Will as the Old One in question received birthday greetings and hugs from the members of the family already awake. This time, at least, Bran learned that it was traditional not to open presents until after dinner in the Stanton household, and he learned that just as he slid into the chair by the cooker for breakfast. He suspected Stephen said it clearer this time on account of his baffled expression the first time round. He also suspected that it was the first time Will had heard of this tradition, too, by the way Will was looking amused at the blatant cover up of the party.
"Here, Will," said Barney, interrupting Will as he tried to start on the scrambled eggs his mother passed him. Barney passed Will a piece of paper, and Bran felt sorry for Will being under such scrutiny. The Stantons were all plagued with varying degrees of curiosity, Barney looked pleased with himself and Jane looked confused, although Simon looked clued-up on whatever it was. "Happy birthday."
Will sat back with a wary glance at his family and, shielding the contents from everyone else, unrolled the paper and stared. Obviously it was different this time, as again a deep flush instantly crossed his cheeks and Will instantly pulled the paper shut and rolled it up under the table furiously.
"Barney!" Will hissed, still blushing.
Barney impudently stuck his tongue out. "Sorry. I woke up in the night, and couldn't help it." He cocked his head to one side. "It was so cute."
"Barney Drew, you are an unmitigated git," Will declared with an abruptness in his tone and surprise on his face, and Bran realised that Will had repeated what he had said last time round, unaware that that was what he was actually doing.
"Don't we get to see?" Jane said, pouting, as Paul began to tickle Will in an attempt to get the paper.
"Thank you, Barney," Will said, his voice low, as Barney sniggered.
"You're welcome," Barney said.
Simon just looked amused, and, after a moment the rest seemed to be consigned to the fact they'd never see the picture; especially if it were as incriminating as it sounded.
Breakfast continued in the same vein as it had previously; an unruly disorder of toast being passed hand to hand, eggs being eaten, orange juice being alternately gulped down and spilled on the tablecloth, tea being brewed and poured and lively chatter alternating between the eating, but Bran perceived a tension in the air that had not been there before, and when a rapping sound disturbed them, he realised he'd imagined the tension - it was his own nervousness. Would Maggie turn up, or wouldn't she?
Max moved to open the door, and a gust of wind accompanied Maggie Barnes, the 'witch' girl. Will looked at her almost petulantly this time, after making sure she held a brightly coloured box in one hand.
"Brought a present for the birthday boy," Maggie Barnes said, as she pulled the light-blue scarf off her head and smiled sweetly at Max. A cat-call from James was silenced by a glare from Max, and Will's second-oldest brother fidgeted uneasily.
He felt her gaze suddenly on his own, and saw the subtle expression in her eyes which Bran recognised from before he'd used the dust.
"I would have a word in private with you, Watcher," Maggie said, her tone imperious, and her gaze never left Will's own.
"The answer's no, Maggie," Will said, almost bored. "It was no the first time, too."
Maggie looked confused, and it was then that Bran realised she did not remember the previous time.
"I see," she said, discontented. "Very well." She dumped the box on the counter. "Make sure you open it tonight," she added, disgruntled, before sweeping out of the house.
Will dug into his scrambled eggs, and then obviously realised he'd have to give some kind of an explanation, and he suddenly found his fork very fascinating.
"She wanted someone to teach her nephew about birds," Stephen broke in unexpectedly, "Will has all those books upstairs, see."
The explanation was flimsy at best, but Bran was surprised that the family seemed to take it at full face value. Perhaps some lingering magic affected them. Breakfast finished altogether more quietly, and Bran, Stephen and Will managed to migrate into a corner afterwards while some of the others did the washing up this time around.
"Do I get to see it, this time round?" Bran asked Will softly, wondering how to break the weird mood that hung over them, like a spell.
"What?" Will blinked, and then realised Barney's drawing was still crushed protectively in his left hand. He realised too late that Bran was going to bounce for it, but still managed to grasp hold of it. Bran was left to tug at his wrist. Bran made another grab for it, but Will twisted away, and Bran's hand just managed to slip up his arm.
Expecting the same smoothness up his arm that Bran had noticed many a time Will had for the most part of all the skin Bran had managed to see, Bran was surprised to feel what felt like deep callouses on Will's wrist. Because Will was expecting Bran to go for the picture, he was too shocked to resist when Bran just grabbed Will's arm and twisted it over, yanking the jumper back to expose the soft underside of his wrist.
A reddened, healed scar marred the smooth, pale surface. A circle, with a cross, burned deep into his skin. Fascinated, Bran forgot about going for the paper, and instead traced the shape with the tip of one finger. "How did you do this?"
Will looked around, as if to see if anyone was watching, but apparently they'd decided that Will was distracted enough by Stephen and Bran, and were taking advantage of the time to do 'secret things' for the surprise party.
"The first night," Will said quietly, but almost as if he was surprised, "I found out that I was an Old One, some of them put me to the test, to see if I could light a fire with my mind."
"Light a fire with your mind?" Stephen scoffed instantly. Will tossed Stephen a 'you're such an idiot' look that only younger siblings could pull off so well, and pointedly looked at the fireplace. It was lit, but the flames had dwindled. Will looked at it, narrowed his eyes for a moment, and the flames leapt suddenly, higher. Stephen blinked at the fire, then at Will, then at the fire again, then back at Will. "Um. Okay. So what happened?"
"To cut a long, convoluted story short, I set a candle alight, forgot the candlestick was still hot, and tried to pick it up. It burned my wrist then." Will's face was soft with memory. Bran didn't quite believe the story, but he was starting to be unsure of what to believe any more. "They healed it then, too."
Bran looked back down at the scar, and realised he was idly tracing the cut he'd made the day before to see if Will bled with his thumb. He let go, almost awkwardly, and then took advantage of Will's distraction to grab the picture.
Will was too surprised to keep hold of it, and Bran triumphantly unrolled it before Will could grab it back. As he looked down, prepared to imprint it solidly on his memory before Will grabbed it back, his mouth fell open into an 'o'.
"It's beautiful," he murmured, the words his first instinct to the brilliantly vivid pencil sketch of the two, Bran cradling Will in his sleep as if he wasn't ever going to let go.
"Barney's right, it is cute," Stephen declared, startling Bran into rolling it up again and blushing. He'd been blushing far too much for his own good here.
Bran looked up, expecting Will to look embarrassed, but instead Will was looking up at Stephen, an expression of gratitude clear on his face. Bran realised that in that agreement, Stephen was giving some kind of permission for- for whatever it was that was going on between Will and himself. Bran wasn't particularly sure there was anything real going on, but was softly touched by the fact that if it were, Will would have at least one supportive family member.
"I can't help being naturally cute," Bran said instead, teasingly, leading Will to grab the picture and move as if to wallop him around the head, but instead he paused, mid-swipe.
Bran, who had tensed for the soft hit, turned his face in confusion to see Will staring in horror out the window.
"It's snowing," Stephen said, almost fascinated. "You always used to wish for snow on your birthday, and now it's here..." He shifted a little. "Well, I know we knew it was going to snow, but still... It's kind of magical."
"Can you affect the weather, Will?" Bran asked, watching Will's reaction to the snow falling rather than watching the snow.
"The Light can't," Will said, and the meaning was clear, the words ringing openly even though unspoken, but the Dark can. For the first time, Bran recognised fear on Will's face, and threw everything to the wind as he reached forward and took Will's hands in his own. Ignoring the sudden need to flee written all over Will's startled face, Bran pierced him with the sternest glare he could.
"We'll figure out a way to get them, Will," Bran said, as confidently as he could manage, and was himself surprised by his firm, unwavering tone. "There has to be a way. It might take another repeat of these couple of days, it might take a thousand, but we'll get there."
"How do you know that?" Will had obviously pushed aside the problems he appeared to have with Bran for the moment to concentrate on the thing he was really worried about.
"Because I trust you," Bran said simply, letting the honesty of the feeling through into his voice. In the corner of his eye, Bran could see Stephen nodding in agreement.
"You shouldn't." Will's face was like thunder, and his voice lightning. "You shouldn't trust me at all." And Will pulled away before Bran could stop him, leaving him to stare at an equally puzzled Stephen.
"What just happened?" Bran questioned incredulously, for what was probably the twentieth time in the last few days, and would not be - he suspected - the last time either.
Stephen shook his head, just as perplexed. Concern aged his features, as he said, "I have absolutely no idea."
Outside, the snow fell, small flakes of ice, each individual, each a fragile pattern. The Dark brought this on, Bran thought. A million beautiful miniature sculptures, that accumulatively could destroy a planet. Bran shook that thought away and instead headed off to find Will and smack aforementioned Old One's inner bitch, while inside the house a pouch of dust lay nestled beside some clues inside a brightly coloured box, and outside the snow fell, and the Darkness began to gather...
To be continued.
Translation:
Iesu Grist Jesus Christ.
