Ah, we have reached chapter ten at last! Only one more chapter to go!
This chapter came rather easy for me, compared to the others. At least after I got into it. I wrote most of it very late at night, so please excuse it if it doesn't make sense at parts...I'll try and fix it the best I can!
Warning!: This chapter contains Enrique being completely random...just because he can't sleep. XD
Disclaimer: See some earlier chapters...I believe I said I wasn't going to do this again, but I do not own Beyblade. Just to be safe.
Enjoy!
At dinner that evening, nobody was in a very pleasant mood. Johnny was especially sour because he had just gotten yelled at by someone who—if possible—was even more easily angered than Johnny himself. Plus, the Scotsman always had some degree of sourness saved up already.
Johnny had also taken it upon himself to make sure Mrs. Boulanger was aware of the rule her son and his friend had broken. So of course, she wasn't in the best mood either.
So to make it easier for you to be able to tell who was mad at who and for what, here's the general breakdown: Kristen and her husband were mad at Johnny for the way he'd acted earlier, Antoinette was mad at Oliver and Enrique for breaking her carefully set rules, Oliver and Enrique weren't too pleased with Johnny for revealing that they'd broken said rules, and Johnny was pretty much mad at everyone.
Robert meanwhile was actually in a very pleasant mood.
Naturally, because of the general bad mood, no one felt much like talking. Dinner was being eaten in relative silence, which was making it very uncomfortable. However, it became even more uncomfortable whenever someone would try to start a conversation, so eventually they stopped trying and settled for the silence.
Antoinette glanced over at her son, and a sudden thought came to mind. "Oliver," she said to get the boy's attention.
"Yes?" the green-haired boy answered carefully. He had decided he better be polite since he knew she wasn't in a very good mood.
"Did you remember to check your blood sugar before dinner?"
Oliver stopped eating abruptly and dropped his petite hands into his lap. This question had obviously made him nervous. "...No. I forgot," he confessed quietly as he stared down at his hands. He hoped his mother wouldn't be too angry.
Hearing this, Antoinette put down her own utensils. "Oliver, I thought you told me that you could handle that on your own! If you can't, then maybe I still need to be helping you."
Enrique looked at his best friend sympathetically. Oliver's mother worried about him a lot, which caused her to be overprotective at times—and the Italian knew how much Oliver hated it.
"I can do it, maman. I just—forgot." the French boy said again, not really having any other reason why he hadn't done what he was supposed to. He was still trying to avoid his mother's eyes.
"Well you better not forget again," the woman warned her son. "And I certainly hope that you'll be fine after eating. And do not forget to check before you go to bed."
"Yes maman," Oliver said, continuing to speak in his quiet voice. He picked up his fork gingerly and resumed eating.
The McGregors and Robert had listened to the whole thing with a polite silence. Although Johnny's silence was more grumpy than polite.
As soon as dinner was over, everyone left the table and went their own separate ways—some faster than others.
Johnny followed Robert back to the German's room and they resumed their previous positions on the bed. However, they had no intention of continuing their chess game. The look on Johnny's face was a calculating one, and Robert had a feeling the Scot had something he wanted to talk about.
So Robert just sat there, patiently waiting for Johnny to speak. It didn't take very long at all.
"What's wrong with Oliver?"
The German sensed the seriousness to this question—the Scot had used Oliver's real name. "He has diabetes," Robert informed plainly. "Although I'm not entirely sure what all that involves."
"So...what's wrong with him?" Johnny repeated.
Robert took this to mean Johnny didn't understand and that what the redhead had meant to say was: "What's diabetes?" The German answered this question to the best of his abilities. "Oliver has diabetes. Diabetes is a disease...I'm not sure what all it does, but I do know that Oliver's body doesn't use sugar the way it should, so he has to be careful of what he eats."
The other boy frowned, catching the word 'disease'. "So he's sick all the time?"
"Technically no, but I suppose that's one way to put it..." Robert thought for a moment. "If you want a clearer explanation, you should talk to your parents. Or better yet Oliver himself."
Johnny looked thoughtful, as though he were considering this. "Maybe I will...sometime."
A couple of hours later, it was bed time. There wasn't much fuss, as was normal for this particular household, although Oliver wasn't very happy when his mother came in to make sure he'd remembered to check his blood sugar. He wished she wouldn't be so protective.
Eventually, everyone had gotten settled into bed. The house was dark, peaceful, and quiet. But of course, things like this don't last very long with kids around.
In his room, Enrique Giancarlo was having trouble falling asleep. He had no idea why this could be, nor did he care much—all he knew was he couldn't sleep...and that this was very annoying.
The blond kicked his covers off and sighed. He stared up at the ceiling for about a minute, then he rolled out of bed and landed on his hands and knees with a soft thump. He stood up and ran to the door, which he then opened slowly before checking to make sure the hallway was empty.
When he saw that the coast was clear, Enrique bolted to the room next to his and entered without knocking. As quietly as possible, the Italian crossed the room and climbed onto the bed. He crawled across the bed and looked down at the peaceful face of his sleeping best friend with jealousy.
"Oliver!" Enrique spoke his friend's name, being sure that it was loud enough to wake the Frenchman up. "Are you awake?" he asked loudly as he bounced slightly.
"Maybe..." came the very sleepy reply as Oliver rolled over in an attempt to avoid the bothersome blond.
Enrique huffed and stood up. He then began to jump on the bed properly. This continued for several seconds before he dropped down beside his friend once again. "How about now?" he asked, speaking right into Oliver's ear.
"Fine! I'm awake," Oliver said, sounding tired and annoyed at the same time. He sat up and pushed Enrique to the other side of the large bed. "What are you doing in here?"
"I couldn't sleep," the other boy said matter-of-factly as he made himself comfortable on the French boy's bed.
"So? You didn't have to," —Oliver paused here and yawned— "Wake me up."
"I'm sorry Oli...you're the only one I knew wouldn't be mad," Enrique explained. "You're bed's more comfy than mine. I might be able to fall asleep here..."
"No. I am not going to share my bed with you." The green-haired boy said firmly.
"How come?" Enrique wanted to know. He crawled under the blanket and made himself even more comfortable as he snuggled into the bed.
"Last time you hogged the blanket," Oliver informed him. "Just like you're doing now!" He grabbed his comforter and yanked it off of Enrique.
"Hey!" The blond exclaimed, grabbing hold of the blanket as well. Thus began a tug-of-war game over the comforter.
This game somehow ended with both boys on the floor completely tangled up in the blanket. There was no way either of them were going to be able to go back to sleep for a while now.
"Way to go Enri. Now I'm completely awake," Oliver complained as he tried to free himself from the folds of the comforter. "And stuck."
"You could've let go at any time y'know." The Italian managed to get loose in a matter of seconds, so he went over to help his friend find his way out of the tangled mass. After this was accomplished, the two tossed Oliver's blanket onto the bed haphazardly.
"Now what?" Enrique asked, turning expectantly to Oliver.
"How should I know? You're the one that woke me up." The Frenchman's voice had that annoyed tone back when he said this. He obviously wasn't ecstatic about being woken up in the middle of the night.
Enrique chose to ignore this statement. Instead, he got down onto his stomach and crawled under the bed.
"Enrique, what are you doing?" The green-haired boy asked in a voice that suggested he was scared to hear the answer.
"Looking," came the surprisingly simple answer.
"...For what exactly?" Oliver inquired, still dreading the answer as he got on his hands and knees to see what exactly his friend was doing under there. This didn't really work however, because it was very dark under there and he was having trouble locating Enrique.
"I don't know."
"Then why are you under there?"
Enrique popped his head out from under the bed right next to Oliver. "I'm bored."
The Frenchman looked down at the blond. "Again?"
Enrique came out from under the bed completely and sat on his knees whilst pouting. "I can't help it if I get bored easily."
Oliver simply raised an eyebrow at his friend.
"What?" Enrique asked. Then, getting the hint, he said: "I'll think of something to do."
"Good." The smaller of the two climbed back into his bed. "See you in the morning."
"Oli, wait!" The blond jumped up onto the bed as well. "I've got it!"
Oliver sighed. "Alright Enri. What did you have in mind?"
"Well, sitting there on the floor, I realized the reason why I was having trouble sleeping," Enrique began, sitting cross-legged on the bed across from the Frenchman—successfully blocking the younger boy from the pillows. "I'm hungry," Enrique finished triumphantly.
"Then go get something to eat."
"I'm only going if you come with me," the Italian reasoned.
"You aren't going to go back to your own room until you've eaten, are you?"
Enrique shook his head—he knew he'd won.
Oliver sighed again, he knew when he was defeated. "Alright fine."
"Yay!" Enrique jumped off the bed. "We're going on an adventure! For food."
"Calm down Enri. We need to be quiet about it...we don't want to wake anyone up." Oliver cautioned his friend as he headed for the door.
"Don't worry Oli, I'm stealthy."
For some reason, this didn't really reassure Oliver any. Nonetheless, they set off in search of the kitchen.
It didn't take the boys long to find their way. They remembered passing the kitchen during their explorations earlier in the day.
"Enri just pick something!" Oliver hurried his friend, the kitchen wasn't exactly the warmest room in the house.
"It's not my fault there's so much food in here!" The Italian defended himself as he continued to hunt through the fridge.
'No wonder it's so cold in here...' Oliver thought, 'He's had that fridge open for forever!' Out loud he said: "You can't possibly have this much trouble finding a snack."
"...I like a lot of different foods," Enrique explained.
The Frenchman sighed and allowed himself to sit down on one of the chairs, hugging himself in an attempt to stay warm. "Look somewhere else besides the refrigerator, I'm freezing."
"That's not my fault," Enrique turned to face his friend with his hands on his hips. "Besides, all food is better served cold."
"You're the only person that thinks that in the entire world," Oliver informed his friend—whom he already knew was bizarre.
"Whatever." The blond resumed his rummaging through the fridge.
Oliver simply rolled his eyes and shivered slightly.
Not much time passed before the petite Frenchman heard something. "Enri! Somebody's coming!" he warned his best friend.
He was a little too late, however, because at that moment, Johnny entered the kitchen.
Upon spotting the intruders, Johnny eyed them suspiciously. He hadn't intended on coming down here, originally he'd been wandering the dark hallways of the mansion. That's what he always did when he couldn't sleep. Actually, he had been asleep—but he'd been woken by another nightmare. He figured he hadn't screamed this time, because no one had been in the room when he'd woken up. After his nightmare, he'd found it impossible to get back to sleep. Thus he had begun to wander the house; thinking.
Johnny had been on the first floor when he'd heard someone in the kitchen. Naturally, the Scot had investigated. It had led to the discovery of these two. Oh joy.
"What're you two doing down here?" he asked roughly.
"Enrique woke me up and said he was hungry, so we came down here to the kitchen," Oliver explained to the redhead as he shivered again. His tone suggested he didn't feel like arguing at the moment.
Johnny turned his annoyed plum eyes on the Frenchman. He didn't want to cause trouble with him, because as of right now, he felt sorry for the green-haired boy. This was because of what Robert had told him earlier, but once he got over the whole 'he's constantly sick so I need to feel sorry for him' thing, he wouldn't mind making fun of the younger boy again. So for now, he turned his attention to the blond standing in front of a wide open fridge.
"Shut that you idiot! You're wasting all the electricity," Johnny snapped at Enrique, partly because this was true, and partly because it was now freezing in the large kitchen. How long had that thing been open?
Enrique crossed his arms. "I was only looking for something to eat. You have too much food!"
"Sorry we don't want to starve!" Johnny used some of his soon-to-be legendary sarcasm.
The young Italian frowned at this, then recovered once he'd thought of a comeback. "How much do you eat anyway? There's enough to keep any normal family going for months!"
"I don't really trust your definition of normal," Johnny shot back. He was trying to control his temper—Robert could do it without a problem—but Enrique was really getting on his nerves. This was, perhaps, the precise moment in the history of the Majestics that Johnny realized he hated Enrique more than Oliver.
"You're not normal either," Enrique said. "I'm not hungry anymore," he added, talking more to himself than anyone else.
"Then why don't you shut the door?!" Johnny said in as loud of a voice as he dared—being careful not to wake anyone up.
"Fine!" With that, the Italian kicked the refrigerator door closed rather harshly.
"Don't break it!" Johnny warned the blond in a slightly threatening way.
Enrique glared at the Scot, who gladly glared back twice as hard.
A soft sigh turned the boys' attention back to their other companion in the room. They saw that Oliver had fallen asleep with his head in his arms on top of the table.
"Great," Enrique whispered, taking extra care to be quiet now that he knew his friend had fallen asleep. "Now I'll have to wake him up again."
Johnny snorted. "Way to go."
"This is your fault, too! You distracted me." Enrique accused, pointing at the Scotsman.
"You took too long in the fridge to decide that you really didn't want anything!" Johnny said in as loud a whisper as he could manage.
"Humph!" was the only indignant response Johnny received.
They were silent for a few minutes. Then Johnny broke it with the blunt statement: "I'm going back to bed." The redhead began walking—only to be stopped by his new least favorite person.
"Where do you think you're going?" Enrique asked as he grabbed Johnny's arm—not exactly the smartest move.
The Scot fiercely yanked his arm back. "Back to bed, like I told you!"
"You have to at least help me wake him up," the Italian tried to reason. He really didn't want to be stuck dragging a sleepy Oliver back upstairs by himself.
"No way!" Johnny refused immediately. "You got yourself into this." He made his way to the door and paused once he got there. "Sweet dreams," he added with a smirk before leaving the room.
Enrique crossed his arms and frowned at the spot where Johnny had last stood. The Scot wasn't very helpful. And he was annoying. The blond decided that he didn't like the redhead very much.
The blond turned his attention to his sleeping friend and his expression softened.
Oliver looked really peaceful, and Enrique hated to wake him up. But it had to be done. The kitchen table wasn't a very comfortable place to sleep.
Enrique approached the sleeping boy carefully and shook him gently, so he wouldn't make the green-haired boy fall of the chair. This only worked slightly, so Enrique shook him a little harder. This time, it worked fully.
Oliver awoke with a yawn and a stretch, before rubbing his tired eyes. "Enri, did you find something to eat?" the Frenchman asked in a very tired voice before yawning once again.
Enrique couldn't help but yawn as well—it's contagious you know. "I'm actually not hungry..." the Italian muttered, feeling guilty now that he'd forced his friend to come along.
"Mmm," was all Oliver had to say as he did his best to rub the sleep off of his face. "Typical."
The older boy managed a lopsided smile—he was pretty tired, too. "We should probably go back to bed now."
"Good idea, Enri," Oliver said, the sleepy tone still clinging to his voice as he slid off his chair.
And so the two went back to their bedrooms. Enrique made sure Oliver got in be alright, the French boy had seemed very tired when the blond had woken him up the second time.
So everyone was where they needed to be that night...or at least that's what was thought.
Johnny hadn't gone back to bed. He had gone back to his bedroom to get something before returning to the beloved halls of the mansion that would one day be his.
This time, however, the Scot actually had a destination. Soon enough, he came to the start of a dusty hallway—nobody had been in here for a long time (or so he thought).
Johnny switched on a flashlight, it was a small one he'd brought from his room, and proceeded down the hallway. For some reason, this particular hall seemed darker than all the others—Johnny thought that perhaps this was due to the memories they held. Not that these memories weren't happy—for they were mostly happy memories—but they were just painful and sad to reflect on.
Eventually, the redhead found what he was looking for. It was a very familiar door—and one he knew was locked. He himself was the only one who had a key to this door. He didn't even think his parents knew it was locked.
He made sure no one was coming (although this was very unlikely) before he quietly unlocked the door, opened it, and slipped inside.
He didn't bother turning the light on, his flashlight was enough. And besides, he was only here for one thing and didn't really want to look at anything else in this room
Johnny spotted what he was looking for quickly—he still remembered the layout of this room. He walked the short distance to the picture frame that was sitting on top of a dusty dresser and placed his flashlight next to it so he could pick it up. He examined it carefully and brushed the light layer of dust off of the surface.
The young Scot felt tears come to his eyes and he bit his lip as he attempted to blink them away. He was looking at a picture of him and Tyler...they had been very close—especially considering how young they both were.
He hadn't seen this picture since Tyler had died...what had made him want to look at it now had actually been Oliver and Enrique. Although Johnny wasn't fond of either of them, they were best friends—and they probably would be for a long time. If you had asked Johnny then, he would have lied about it, but quite truthfully the Scotsman was jealous of those two.
On a whim, he turned the frame over and opened the back, extracting the picture. He placed the frame back where he'd gotten it and picked up his flashlight. Johnny still continued to stare at the photo, despite the tears it seemed determined to put in his eyes. After a while he sat down on the floor. He was thinking.
He'd only ever had a really good friend once, and that had been Tyler. The redhead had completely trusted Tyler and had been able to tell him anything...even at his young age.
Johnny wasn't sure he would ever be able to find another friend like that, and he didn't think it was fair that he had to have his best friend taken away. Why not Enrique or Oliver? Then again, he didn't really want to wish his life on anyone else.
Every psychiatrist had asked him why he didn't want to talk, and why he didn't trust them. The poor boy didn't know how to answer that question—and it got harder every time. It seemed like the adults wanted him to relive the event over and over again. He never felt comfortable talking to them, so they would leave and abandon him. Tyler never would have done that...he hadn't abandoned Johnny by choice. Come to think of it, Robert had been the only one that hadn't abandoned him in the end. The German had been here so long that he'd gotten to see Johnny at his worst, but this still didn't seem to bother the young nobleman.
Actually, Johnny liked having Robert around...he was almost like a friend. He was very easy to talk to because he was a good listener, and he didn't interrupt with more questions like the adults tended to do.
But Johnny also knew Robert couldn't stay here forever, and he wouldn't always be there when Johnny needed him. Not to mention that Robert lived in Germany, which would make it harder for them to visit each other.
'I guess that's why most people make more than one friend,' the Scot thought. It was too bad Johnny wasn't exactly good at making friends—he didn't even consider Robert a friend yet. So once again, the redhead got to thinking about why he couldn't make friends, which he knew was all his own fault.
He was rude, quick to anger, and slow to trust. He tended to ward people off more than draw them in. Johnny just didn't have a very magnetic personality—and no one would probably ever be willing to try and get past that again. He had a feeling Robert would be the last person who really got to know him.
With a sigh, Johnny got back to his feet and left the room with his flashlight and the photograph in hand. He made sure to close and lock the door carefully behind him.
He didn't understand his conflicting emotions—wanting friends but at the same time not wanting anybody to get too close. But if Johnny thought it was bad now, it would get worse when he became a teenager and hormones were thrown into the mix.
The Scot managed to sneak quietly back to his room, making as little noise as possible.
But 'as little noise as possible' was all it took to wake up Robert. He was—if you remember—a very light sleeper, which was both a gift and a curse.
The German knew it was Johnny he'd heard—no one else's room was close enough and besides, he had heard Johnny up many nights before.
The question always was whether or not he should get out of bed and check on the Scot. Johnny didn't seem to like it much when he was checked on, yet sometimes Robert (or even Johnny's parents) thought it needed to be done.
The German's thoughts quickly turned from Johnny to himself, and he found he was contemplating why he was here in this house.
Johnny's parents had called his own one day, and he hadn't really understood why. Robert didn't think he could possibly do more than the adults had done.
Nonetheless, he was sent to Scotland on his own to stay with the McGregors for an indefinite amount of time. It would depend on if he could help Johnny and how long that would take.
When he'd met Johnny, the redhead had obviously not been impressed. Mr. and Mrs. McGregor had been, as had Mrs. Boulanger just recently—all grown ups usually were. Robert was mature and polite for his age, due to a rather serious upbringing. It was quite a contrast to Johnny's rebellious ways, and he could tell the McGregors were happy to have him—all of them.
The German did miss his own parents, but he called them often. And he had to admit that there was much more fun to be had here than back home, it was more interesting at least. Nothing ever really happened at Robert's house, but here—especially now that Oliver and Enrique had arrived—every day was different, even though the other three seemed to insist upon constant bickering.
They were all so very different (himself included), but he found it very refreshing.
As far as what he's accomplished with Johnny, the Jurgen heir had to admit he was proud—he'd gotten farther and lasted longer than any of the psychiatrists. Although he didn't really think he'd done all that much, he only did what was obviously the right thing to do...well it was obvious to him anyway. All he'd really had to do was listen and allow the Scotsman to trust him in his own time.
Whatever it was he'd done, it had obviously been the right thing. Johnny would sooner do what Robert told him than listen to his own parents!
He glanced over at the glowing clock beside his bed. It was too late to go and see if Johnny was alright now—the German had spent too much time thinking! The redhead would be asleep by now.
Robert closed his eyes and settled down to do the same. A final thought crossed his mind just as he was beginning to drift off to sleep.
Johnny's relations with others weren't that great yet, and the Scot was going to have to learn to let down his guard and let people get to know him sometime. After all, Robert wasn't without flaws, and Johnny was going to need more people than just Robert to help him through life.
In the bedroom next door, a younger boy was thinking the same thing with a sinking feeling as he looked at an old photograph, tears falling occasionally.
Oh...I just made myself feel bad with that last paragraph. Poor Johnny...
Sorry if some stuff didn't make sense or if there were any horrid errors, this was written late and is most definitely not my best work. At least it had more meaning than the last chapter...even if some of the stuff was being repeated from earlier in the story.
Also, I decided to put the French in italics and underline it, just to have something to distinguish it from the regular words in italics.
I also apologize for how late this was...I really need to speed things up a tad.
Please please please review! It would mean the world to me!!