Married: 2 months.
Storms. Eugene hated them - no, he flat-out abhorred them. He didn't mind a quiet rumble of thunder or a rainstorm, no. But rolling claps of thunder which shook the house, following a sharp stab of lightning that illuminated the entire room, and hailstones that threatened to pound in the roof while the wind slammed its body against the windows...those storms he didn't like. At all. Even worse if these storms came at night.
The storm cropped up fairly unexpectedly. It rained out the football game which sixteen-year-old Devon was supposed to play. Quarter-sized hail bounced off of the roof of the car as the family and Eugene drove home in utter silence. This would, automatically, mean that Devon would take out his anger and disappointment on the little foster kid, Eugene Fitzherbert, and then Devon's father would lock him away somewhere as soon as they got home. Eugene personally liked the storm - he thought that the lightning was fascinating. Plus, he didn't have to sit and watch Devon play football and be the best human being in the universe...like always. But that fascination with lightning was about to come to a violent end. Devon cornered seven-year-old Eugene, punched and kicked him until he was shaking, his nose bleeding and the skin around his eye bruised black. But he wouldn't cry. He wouldn't give Devon the pleasure of seeing him cry. He bit back the lump rising in his throat and stared at him, his lips pressed into a hard line so they wouldn't tremble. And he made his pained brown eyes meet Devon's cold greyish blue ones. Devon's fist was raised to deliver one last blow, but he hesitated upon making eye contact. Thunder boomed, shaking the whole house. Devon let go of Eugene. As fast as his seven-year-old legs could take him, he ran. If he could only get somewhere and hide before his foster father found him..! But he'd hardly made it down the hallway before he met the looming figure. He tried to backtrack, but the man grabbed his arm roughly, dragging him up to the attic. It was, as always, senseless punishment. Something hadn't gone the right way, and so their frustration was taken out on the orphan kid. Eugene never understood why, never would. He screamed and bit the man's arm, but that only made the man kick him into the room, then slam the door with a click. He was locked in the attic. He was too upset to even appreciate the lightning storm outside the window. He'd been locked in the attic once before, and they'd forced him to stay there for three days before finally letting him back out. No food, meager amounts of water. Enough to keep him alive. Eugene beat the door and even leaned out of the window to yell for help, but the storm was too loud - the neighbors couldn't possibly hear him. Now wet and cold and upset in general, he found a pile of old sheets and curled up on them, crying stormily.
He didn't have much time to pity himself. There was a peal of thunder that made the house shudder. A dreadful crack, and then the smell of smoke. Another growl of thunder. The carbon monoxide and smoke detectors went off, screaming warnings. Eugene pressed his hands up against his ears, but ran to the window to look out as another bolt of lightning forked through the sky, lighting up the night in an eerie manner. Eugene was blinded by it, and fell backwards onto his rear, burying his face in his hands and crying more - this time out of fear. But this time, the electricity was knocked out and the house shuddered before the thunder came. Smoke puffed from a corner of the window, and then a flame caught, licking up the side of the old house, consuming the old, dry wood in the attic. Eugene shrieked to be heard above the smoke detectors, crying for help. Lightning wasn't fun anymore. He scrambled backwards away from the window, tears streaking down his cheeks, and ran to the door, pounding on it. When no help came, but he could hear footsteps pounding away downstairs, he knew he was alone. Trying to gather his thoughts, he shoved his shirt collar above his nose and crawled rapidly across the floor despite the fact that smoke wasn't yet too thick. Grabbing an antiquated hammer from a toolbelt he believed to have been the foster mother's long-dead father's, he ran back to the door and, with as much strength as he could muster, beat against the door. But the door was thick and the smoke was spreading. The flames lit the attic up in a dreadful, terrifying manner, and drew his attention away from the door. The flames weren't yet spread around the window entirely. He might die from the fall, but he knew he'd die if he stayed in the attic. Nobody would care, anyway. He ran to the window, but then jumped back, eyebrows furrowing as a flame shot out. It was almost as if it wanted to eat him alive; gulp him right up. Dragging up as much courage as a seven year old boy could have, he beat the brittle window until the hammer flew out of the window, shattering it. He punched it through a little more, slicing his little fists. And then he crawled out. The majority of the fire was in the lower level, but had spread upwards into the attic, from the looks of the side of the house.
The window was by a tree, which had also caught fire. Flames threatened to nip his fingers, so he took a deep breath and threw himself towards the tree, slipping downwards on a flexible branch. When he was out of the way of the fire, he crawled like a monkey, dropping to the ground as soon as he could. He dropped and rolled, lying there and allowing a harsh sob rip through him. It triggered a series of coughs, and he lie there hacking as the rest of the family stood around the other side of the house, watching it burn and without an extra thought about the little boy they'd taken in to foster. As soon as Eugene could breathe, he stood up and ran to see if everyone was okay. Despite their abuse, he didn't want anyone to die in a fire. Childhood innocence prevented him from selfishness and hatred. As soon as he rounded the corner, the family stared at him.
"How did you get out?" the foster father asked. The foster mother pulled Devon away from the scene, and they left him with the angry man.
"I-I broke a window, sir. Nobody came to get me," he said quietly, coughing some more and rubbing his burning eyes.
"There's a reason for that. No wonder your nickname is what it is. This house has been standing for ninety-three years and not once caught fire, and the day you're kept in the attic during a storm, it catches fire. I was raised in that house!" he yelled, as if it was Eugene's fault. He raised a hand and Eugene immediately ducked away, but then he seemed too distracted by his house to follow through with the abuse. Eugene waited, huddled against a bench in the backyard, until someone came to take him away. It was the first time Eugene realized no one would love him.
Thunder boomed angrily, making the window in their bedroom shudder in its frame. Eugene was awake in a second, his eyes watching for the lightning certain to come. It cracked and sparked across the night sky, coating everything in the room in a menacing silver. One thousand one. One thousand two. One thous-the next rumble of thunder made him sit bolt upright, and he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, getting up to pace the room. He padded down the stairs to the kitchen, staring outside the backyard door until lightning forced him away from the window. He finally became aware of the rain beating against the roof of the house in torrents. Thunder seemed to pick the house up and shake it, asking Are you awake, Eugene? Will it happen again?
Eugene gasped and swung around on his bare heel when he heard a stair creak.
"Eugene? What's the matter?" Rapunzel paused on the spiral staircase, blinking sleepily at him.
He shook his head, wrapping his arms tightly around his torso. "Nothing," he shook his head, "did the storm wake you up?"
"Yeah," she nodded. "It's a doozy, isn't it?"
He nodded. She watched him for a second or two, then continued the rest of the way down the stairs, asking again if he was okay.
"Oh, just-stupid," he shrugged. "Storm woke me up and now I can't go to sleep."
"Oh," she nodded again. "Are you sure? You look really pale and worried."
He didn't want to tell her. He was this tall man in his twenties, he shouldn't still be so scared of bad storms. But the fire, and the memories associated with the storm when he was seven, prevented him from forgetting it. And for goodness' sake, a six-foot-four-inch man shaking from head to toe over a storm was pathetic. The concern in her eyes made him feel even sillier yet. He shrugged. "Not a fan of storms, is all."
"There's a difference between not liking them and shaking all over in terror, which is what you're doing, bud," she came over and set a hand on his arm. "C'mon. Let's head back to bed - the storm will be over soon. In the meanwhile, you can tell me why you don't like storms."
"Rather stay here," he shook his head. "You can go back to bed, though. I'll sleep on the couch for tonight." Or not sleep much at all, he thought.
"Then I'll stay here 'til you talk," she said, pulling him over to the couch.
He sat down and sighed. "I'm not getting out of it, am I?" he asked, trying to cover up a wince when a bolt of lightning yanked his attention away from Rapunzel's curious face.
"No, so spit it out," Rapunzel said good-naturedly. She jumped up to pull the curtains so the lightning was slightly smothered.
Eugene bounced his leg up and down instead of pacing the room while he explained everything. The reason why Devon had beaten him, why he was locked in the attic - as stupid of a reason as it was - and the fire. By the time he wrapped the story up, the lightning had gone away, the rain the only reminder of the storm that had gone through. "That's why I didn't want to be upstairs, and why I can't stand bad storms." he sighed. "I'm in my twenties, I shouldn't be so scared anymore!"
Rapunzel shook her head, filled with empathy. "You narrowly escaped a house fire, Eugene! I think your fear is justified. That's absolutely horrible - to leave a seven year old kid locked in the attic as the house burnt down! I'd like to give them a good talking-to, but it wouldn't matter anyway, would it? I'm glad you told me, though," she added, reaching to smooth down a lock of his messy hair. "I'm so sorry."
"Not your fault," he shrugged, embarrassed at having to tell her how afraid he was of big storms. She impulsively reached to hug him, adding a peck on the cheek for good measure.
"Yeah, but I'm still sorry you went through it," she said. "And don't you even feel embarrassed for a single second about it. I'm scared of plenty of irrational things, so I won't judge!"
He chuckled in a self-deprecating manner. "But you're a petite young lady, not a towering young man who's supposed to be all macho and tough."
"Are you saying that I should be terrified of operating a large tractor because I'm a girl?" she asked, grinning as she referred to an incident in which she'd attempted to mow one of their elderly neighbors' backyard with their tractor.
"No," he shook his head, shoving her gently and grinning so she knew he was picking on her.
"So I won't think it weird that you're scared of bad storms. Especially considering the circumstances," she told him. Reaching for the remote, she turned the news on to catch a glimpse of the 12:15AM weather report. A large swathe of green, red, and yellow had just passed through their town. "That's what just passed through, then."
"Yeesh," he nodded.
"...And those of you in Akron, New York, you'll want to hang tough for a little longer. This cell is passing through in roughly twenty-three to twenty-seven minutes. It's a stormy night across the country for sure; these storms are still stretching over through the Great Lakes and into the Great Plains. Hunker down and unplug any electronic devices; the lightning count is fairly high for..."
Eugene groaned, pulling the remote from Rapunzel's hand and turning the television off. She wasn't sure whether to laugh or to groan with empathy.
"C'mon. We'll catch some sleep while we can," she stood up and offered a hand out to him, but he shook his head.
"If it's all the same to you, I feel a little better down here," he gave her a sheepish grin. But what if it did happen again, and Rapunzel didn't wake up, and she was caught up there and I wouldn't be up there-
"Then I'll stay with you down here," she grinned, reaching down to pull the footrests up for the couch. Before he could even answer her, she was running up the stairs to their bedroom, getting the thin blanket and pillows from their bed. She sped down the stairs at the first sound of distant thunder, and missed the last two steps. Tripping and stumbling her way to finding her balance again, she skidded to the couch and threw a pillow at him.
"How you found the energy to just run up and down those stairs is beyond me," he grumbled as she plopped down beside him, spreading the blanket across both of them. He pulled her close to his side, chuckling as she squirmed to get comfortable. Finally, she settled her head on his chest and then rolled her eyes up to look at him.
"Wake me up if you want," she told him, "you've stayed up with me often enough over silly things; I'll be happy to sit through the storms with you."
He plopped a kiss on her forehead. "Mhm."
He didn't sleep a wink, but as soon as the first lightning bolt struck close enough for the hair on his arms to stand on end, he threw the blanket over his head and pinched his eyes shut. He knew if he'd move a single inch to stand up and pace, he'd wake Rapunzel up - since she had her arm thrown across him and her head on his chest. Peeking one eye open, he ultimately decided that watching her peaceful face when each lightning bolt lit the room was far better than focusing on his insides, which were quivering with fear.