July 1st, 2017
- Present Day -
"So, how was it?" Zach questions curiously as he grabs two of the paint cans and groans, lifting them out of his trunk. He motions toward the front door where Gray stands with the spray painter, waiting for the code to get in. He leans closer to his younger brother—attempting to keep the numbers between the pair—and whispers them in his ear.
"How was what?" Gray's brows furrow as he carefully punches the code into the keypad—82714—and shoves the doors open, following behind Zach. "And what's with those numbers, anyway? Are they random? Or do they have a meaning?"
A grunt escapes Zach's lips when he places each of the gallon cans of paint on the granite countertop, and he turns on his heel to face his brother. "Oh, they have a meaning, little brother. I'll let you figure that out on your own. As for how was what… The kiss. How was the kiss?"
"Oh," Gray grins sheepishly, trailing behind the 18-year-old back to the garage. "Well," he begins quietly as Zach grabs the last paint can and slams the trunk shut with a wham, "it was- It was nice." He, once again, follows in Zach's footsteps as they head inside the house, resisting the urge to knock the growing smug grin off his brother's face.
"Nice, huh? Care to elaborate?" he replies amusingly as he gently places the last can of paint atop the counter. "Okay," he murmurs softly under his breath, far from earshot of Gray, "I'll help Gray with the washcloth thing one more time today, set up the sprayer, and get to work on finishing the last wall downstairs."
"Well, what more is there to elaborate on, exactly? What are you trying to get outta me, Zach? Because you don't usually poke and prod at me like this unless you're A.) Trying to embarrass me or B.) In a bad mood, and you simply need someone to pick on," Gray pauses briefly upon examining his older brother's seemingly calm facial features. "And you sure don't look like you're in a bad mood. So, what d'you wanna know?"
Zach's gaze locks with Gray's, and the same lopsided smirk slowly bleeds onto his face. He steps closer to the shorter teen until he is staring straight down at him. "What did it taste like? Strawberry? Blueberry? Dog sh-"
"Ew! Zach! What the heck is wrong with you?" Gray proclaims, his eyebrows furrowing crossly as he attempts to sidestep his brother— he makes his way towards the stairs. "Also, you're wrong on all three," he glances over his shoulder, and a slight grin twitches at his lips. "It tasted like watermelon."
Zach stares intently at his brother before bursting into a fit of laughter, genuine laughter. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" he questions softly as he follows behind Gray, and they pause in the center of the hallway.
The 13-year-old glances down, then back up at his older brother. "Well, I personally think it was a good thing. However, if you don't like watermelon…" He shrugs his shoulders carelessly and spins on his heel, but Zach quickly grabs his arm before he can stroll off.
"Hey," he begins softly, a gentle tone to his voice, "d'you wanna try the washcloth again? Just one more time today? It's fine if you don't. I just thought I'd offer. Y'know, in case you think you can't come to me and ask me to do it; you totally can, by the way."
Gray hesitates momentarily as he gnaws on his bottom lip, sparkling blue eyes meeting Zach's dark brown ones. He twirls his foot in the shaggy carpet and jumps when his older brother gingerly rests his hand on the younger's shoulder.
"Hey," he pauses, giving the skin under his hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance, "it's really fine if you don't want to. It isn't required or anything for you to stay another night. Just tell me, Gray."
"I- I mean, I'll- Uh…" Gray stutters unsurely as Zach quickly tugs him closer, carding his fingers through the younger's golden curls. "I don't know why I'm stuttering, Zach. I'm sorry. I'll do it. Besides, it's not gonna hurt me, right?"
"Of course it's not going to hurt you, Gray, but are you sure you're fine with this? I mean, I don't want you to feel pressured into it. I want you to make these decisions on your own," Zach questions as he pulls away, a dubious expression creasing his forehead.
"Yes, Zach. I want to do it. I need to do it," Gray states firmly, his aqua blue eyes hidden beneath the bunches of thick golden strands hanging over his forehead. "C'mon," he nods his head toward the back door and trails closely behind Zach, who pauses to grab the same red notebook he had been carrying around earlier, a pencil, and a…
He then realizes that he left the washcloth outside by the edge of the pool in his panic of pulling Gray out of the water.
"Okay, bro," Zach pauses momentarily once the two are standing face to face, towering over the slightly rippled surface. He watches carefully as Gray gazes down at it, tensing when a gentle breeze causes the liquid to lap up the side, inches from grazing his skin. The 18-year-old glances at the blank paper in his notebook and begins to scribble the date on it, hesitating only when he notices Gray staring intently at the washcloth crumpled on the ground, fear etched into his face and mumbling incoherently to himself under his breath. "Y'okay?"
Gray's eyes dart up to meet his, and the 13-year-old attempts to subtlety shift his weight on his legs; he shuffles away from the pool, slightly closer to his brother. "Y-yeah, I'm fine. What are you writing?" He glances down at the notebook Zach is holding in his hands and skims over the paper when the elder Mitchell does not respond to his question.
7/1/17
Uncomfortable with water-to-skin contact. Can tolerate it but would prefer not to.
"You're taking notes on me? Really, Zach?" Gray's blonde brows quirk up, and he stares at Zach, who tosses the notebook and pencil aside—they land on the rock-hard concrete with a flap—and quickly bends over to pick up the washcloth. "Why?"
Zach gazes at Gray's pale face and then back down at the now sodden cloth in his right palm; he rings it out until it's damp, barely releasing any drops. "Well, if we track how you react to the water each day, we can see how much you're improving or, worst case scenario, not improving. Now," he pauses, slowly clutching onto Gray's arm, "I'll actually warn you this time so you don't involuntarily dive into the pool. Are you ready, Gray?"
Gray takes a shaky breath and nods hesitantly as Zach gently places the cloth to his skin, watching him with cautious eyes. A look of pure dread bleeds onto his face, the flashbacks he assumed were long gone once again knocking on his doorstep. But, they're different. They're not real. They never happened.
The freshly mangled skin hanging from the Indominus' mouth,
She peers down at him. A choked sob rises from his throat,
In the pit of her stomach he will float.
He will join his brother in the belly of their abductor.
It flashes. Brighter than the sun itself as it bears down on the two brothers.
The fire rises higher and higher,
The flames as they crackle form their own choir.
He glances left, then right.
The scene is a fright.
The water below or the fire above,
From behind him comes a violent shove.
He screams out in agony as he crashes to the pool,
He bashes his arms about like a fool.
It flashes again. It burns against his fragile pupils.
"Get out!" he shouts,
A deep fear within him sprouts.
"I thought you were my soldier!" he cries softly,
The elder scoffs. "I would rather be eaten…"
The sentence tears at his heart, beaten. He sobs harder, louder,
He is a horrific actor.
"Gray!" a distant voice calls his name, and he feels five fingers grip tighter onto his forearm. "Gray, bro! C'mon!"
It flashes, blinding his very existence.
Minutes pass,
Time ticks away.
He floats further,
A soft voice says, "Gray."
He twists, and he turns,
Gazing down at his arm, he sees burns.
"Gray," the voice calls again, "I will give you until ten."
His breaths become rapid,
The burns sting like acid.
"You will not make it…"
"You will die…"
"The dinosaurs will get you…"
"And, if they don't, the water will…"
"Gray!" Zach shouts anxiously, violently jarring his restless younger brother. When the 13-year-old's eyes finally flutter open, he awakens with a jolt and flies up into a sitting position. "It's alright, lil' bro. You're okay."
Gray gasps lightly as Zach tugs him into a close embrace, his brows furrowing in bewilderment; but, he, nonetheless, leans into the act of comfort from his older sibling. He's more confused than upset.
What happened? The last time he was awake, he was standing with Zach by the p- oh… The pool. Of course. But how did he end up here if they were outside? He glances around the room over his brother's shoulders and manages to spot the notebook Zach had been using to write in earlier and skims over the page.
7/1/17
Uncomfortable with water-to-skin contact. Can tolerate it but would prefer not to. Passed out from panic attack after touching washcloth.
Was fine earlier when I used water to make his eyes less puffy. Maybe try a different approach? Stand closer? Use hands? Extra reassurance?
Gray's blue eyes widen, and his grip tightens around Zach's neck as he recalls each of the memories he had relived. However, he can't relive them. They never happened; they're mere figments of his imagination.
"It's okay, Gray. I've got you now. You're safe," Zach mumbles softly, using his free hand to ruffle Gray's golden curls. The 18-year-old stares out the window at the water blowing gently in the summer breeze—the water that has caused so much trouble for his younger brother.
However, it really isn't the water. It's the memories that come from the water. Every single time Gray screams, every time he cries, every time the crystal clear liquid brushes his skin, he remembers. And Zach knows that. He knows. He just wants to help his brother, but what is he doing wrong? Why does it bother Gray sometimes and not other times? What can he do to fix that issue? The same questions float restlessly about Zach Mitchell's brain as he sits on the couch, holding his younger brother.
And then, as if a bright light bulb flashes above his head, he glances down at Gray, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips; they are no longer pursed into a fine line. He gingerly slides Gray, who is undoubtedly confused, off his lap and onto the fluffy cushions next to him. He places his hand on the edge of the younger's shivering knee and locks his sparkling brown eyes with Gray's still seemingly widened blue ones. "Hey, G. D'you remember rule number 47 in the Zach and Gray Mitchell Book of Brotherly Honors?"
Gray stares up at Zach, a small grin slowly spreading across his face as he rubs the welling tear drops from the corners of his eyes. "Of course I do. Rule number 47: We must share any and all troubling thoughts with each other—no matter what the issue may be."
The 18-year-old nods, his hand now resting on Gray's shoulder. He glances down to the floor, then back up to his younger brother. A faint smile still lingers on his face as he begins to speak, a seemingly firm tone lacing through his voice. "Yeah. That's right. I'm glad you remember that, Gray, because that's what you need to do," he pauses momentarily, watching carefully as the 13-year-old's facial expressions rapidly switch between one another, "Look, I know I haven't been around much lately, and I'm sorry. You may not trust me as much as you did before, and that's my fault, but- "—Gray parts his lips to interject but is halted by Zach, who continues to speak—"But, I'm still the same person, Gray. You need to talk to me, to Mom or Dad, to someone about this whole water thing. Mom still believes from the bottom of her heart that you got over your fear and love water again. What're you gonna do when she shoves you in the pool thinking she's just messing with you, and you drown, huh? What're you gonna do when Dad hands you a cup filled with water, and you toss it all over? What would you have done if I would've dumped a bucket of water on you to wake you up in the morning? All because you didn't tell any of us that you still hold your fear."
Gray's eyes hover over the fuzzy teal rug on the floor before they dart up to meet Zach's dark brown ones. He clears his throat with a sticky cough as he begins to talk. "Yeah, I know, Zach. It was stupid of me not to tell anyone. But seriously? It's been almost two whole years now. Two years, Zach! I should be over this stuff. And I was for a little while. I could take a shower, drink a cup of water, wash my hands any day as if I never even had the fear in the first place. But then, after Mom told me to get in the pool back at home… it all went downhill again. I tried to take showers: failed. I tried to drink water: failed. I tried to look at a picture of water, a picture, Zach: and guess what, I freakin' failed. But," he once again glances down at the ground, "you are wrong in one aspect. I never stopped trusting you because you left, Zach. In fact, it took all the courage and determination I could muster to not dig through Mom's purse and hack into her phone to get your number and call you. You really are the only person I can talk to and be honest with. You're the only one I feel comfortable being honest with."
Zach trails his younger brother's gaze, taking note of the crackly tone his voice manages to create when he begins to get worked up. A sly grin tugs at the corners of the elder's mouth as he slowly scoots closer to the young teen next to him. His arm snakes its way around his shoulders, and Gray glances up at Zach, a worrisome crease growing across his forehead when he catches a glimpse of the menacing smile on his older brother's face.
"Gray," he begins softly, "You remembered rule number 47. But d'you remember rule 15? I believe it was a frequently used one, y'know, very important."
A grin fades onto Gray's face as he leans further into Zach's side, his head resting lightly on the elder's shoulder. "I made that one up, Zach. Obviously I remember it." His voice suddenly falls quiet. "Number 15: When the other is upset, pull an entire gallon tub of ice cream out of the fridge and eat it for dinner."
"Good, good. You have a sharp memory, little brother," Zach replies as he quickly raises up from Gray's embrace and walks to the fridge in the kitchen. A few moments later, he returns to the living room carrying a tub full of Neapolitan ice cream in his arms, chocolate syrup drizzled across the surface. "Bon Appetit. I made it special for you." He plops down next to Gray and slides the food onto his lap, gently lifting the younger's chin with his index finger. "Now, cheer up, dude. You're here to have fun! We'll try again tomorrow with the washcloth, okay? If we even have time. Either way, we're done for tonight."
Gray nods slowly as he digs his spoon into the ice cream, pulling off a chunk of it. He glances up at Zach—his hand hovers midair. "Thanks, Zach. You really are the best big brother." He watches when the eldest son ruffles his hair and rises up, smoothing his jeans out. A small grin tugs at the corners of his lips as Zach trudges off to the kitchen, mumbling a quiet 'don't you forget it' under his breath.
Hey guys, sorry it's been so long. Uni is honestly a bitch to deal with but it's okay... -_- Anyway, hope to update more often soon once things calm down. Enjoy :D