Thanks to everyone who read and to Priyanka for reviewing. I'm still around, just have some real life stuff happening that's slowing down writing (and all other hobbies).
This chapter overlaps with Meaning Makes It ch. 21/22, or it will when ch. 22 gets posted.
"That string quartet sounds amazingly like a piano. And not even a good piano."
"Oh, yeah, that's clearly the major problem with this scene."
It wasn't like Barry was wrong—unlike the first movie they'd watched that had been fun-bad, this one was just bad-bad, and it wasn't limited to their background effects—but Roddy jabbed at him anyway, and Barry caught him in a...well, it wasn't a headlock, he more or less just wrapped an arm around his shoulders and flipped him onto his back.
"Barry, don't maul your friend," Mr. Rabe said from his seat on the couch.
"I'm not going to maul him, I'm just going to gnaw on his head a little."
"Hey!" Roddy punched Barry in the chest, which got him a distinctly toothy grin and not much else, but before Roddy could try another tack some actual plot development happened onscreen. He slapped Barry's arm.
"What?"
"Get off, I think they're finally going to blow something up."
"It's about time." Barry let Roddy go and rocked back into a sitting position. "They've been wandering in circles for an hour."
That was true enough. And while explosions did happen, it didn't seem to accomplish much plot-wise. "Who wrote this thing?" Roddy asked, pushing himself up as well.
"No idea, but I'm going to go make some more popcorn. Anybody want anything else?"
"Nothing for me, thank you," Mr. Rabe said.
"I'm good too," Roddy agreed. He might steal a little more popcorn if another bowlful appeared, but considering that the Rabes never stinted on dinner and he'd already helped Barry finish one bowl, he wasn't anything like hungry. "Should we pause the movie until you get back?"
"Please don't."
Roddy snickered as Barry headed upstairs and then grabbed one of the pillows that had been scattered around, flopping onto his back again as he attempted to figure out where this stupid movie was going now.
"Roddy?" Mr. Rabe asked as the characters continued to be useless.
He sat up immediately. So far Barry had been right and his dad hadn't said anything about the whole collision mess from earlier, but the last thing that Roddy wanted to do was irritate the man.
"It's nothing serious," Mr. Rabe said. "But if you two are ever playing around and it gets too rough, you can say 'stop,' all right? He's..." His expression went distant for a moment. "He should listen."
"Yeah, sure." Barry was usually pretty careful, though, and on the two-ish occasions that Roddy had said 'ouch' for real he'd backed off and apologized so Roddy wasn't too worried.
"Good."
Roddy started to return his attention to the television, but then Mr. Rabe spoke again.
"I know you said that you were planning to start looking next month, but are there specific schools that you're looking at? I assume you're intending to major in music."
"Hm?" Roddy caught his gesture towards the pile of papers that Barry had pushed aside when they'd started the first movie. "Oh, for college? Yeah. I don't know exactly what kind yet, but I'll have to start with the schools to pick that anyway, and that's what I need to look at. I mean, there are the big names like Julliard and Berklee that everybody knows, but some other places have programs that are just as good." And he kind of hoped scholarships that were better.
Mr. Rabe frowned. "You don't know what kind of what? Music? Shouldn't it...I don't know, cover all of them?"
It was pretty obvious that he didn't have a clue what going to school for music would mean, but then again he was a lawyer and it wasn't like Roddy knew jack about that. "Major," he clarified, shifting around so he could look up more easily. "Music on its own isn't...well, it depends where you go, like maybe with some of the schools Barry's looking at there's just the one option since it's not really their focus, but serious music schools offer all different majors. There are a couple things that are definite nos—I already know I'd be a pretty horrible teacher—but even if I can't imagine ever not performing, I like composition too, and some of the—" He cut himself off with a shake of his head since he didn't exactly want to go into details about DJ'ing with an adult who'd no doubt feel the same way about illegal raves as Nick and Monroe and rephrased quickly. "Some of the contemporary stuff I do actually has a pretty big overlap with communications and tech, and it'd be nice to try some classes in those if I could."
"That seems like a wise idea. And something very practical for a music school to have."
Which was probably him trying not to say that music as a career didn't sound very practical, and it wasn't like Roddy could disagree considering what he'd heard from a few of his teachers over the years, but he shrugged anyway because music wasn't something that he could ever walk away from. "You'd think, but some of the more old school conservatories act like it's still the 1700s or something." Hell, if you wanted to get technical, that was a pretty fair description of how Von Hamelin ran their program. But whatever, it was only one in a long list of things that no one had ever asked his opinion about. "I'll apply to all of them that I can, but it's mostly going to depend where has the best scholarships," he admitted. If one of the classical schools was the one who'd cover room and board along with tuition that would pretty much make the decision for him. And it wasn't like it would be the end of the world if that was what happened; as it was no one had ever officially taught him anything about DJ'ing, and he still managed that just fine.
"Ah. Well, I would expect that most schools will have reasonable financial aid available."
Roddy very much doubted that money was something that Mr. Rabe had ever had to think about so he just shrugged again. "Hope so. I'll figure it out."
There were footsteps on the stairs before Mr. Rabe could say anything else, and Barry rejoined them with a bowl almost overflowing with more popcorn. "What did I miss?" he asked as he dropped down beside Roddy, elbowing him lightly.
"This movie continues to suck." Not that Roddy'd caught the last couple minutes, but he was reasonably confident in his assertion.
"Sounds about right." Barry offered the bowl to each of them in turn before popping a handful into his mouth.
Fortunately for the sake of everyone's sanity the movie ended twenty minutes later, and Mr. Rabe sighed and stood. "All right, I think that's enough for me for the evening. You two don't stay up too late. And do you have enough blankets?"
"Oh, yeah, I guess we'd better get the sleeping bags." Barry set the remaining popcorn aside and pushed himself up from the floor, and Roddy followed. He'd grabbed the blanket off the couch partway through the first movie even though neither Barry nor Mr. Rabe had seemed to notice that it was getting a little cool down here, and something heavier would definitely be appreciated overnight.
Mr. Rabe trailed them around the corner but turned towards the stairs rather than the laundry room. "Goodnight, and I'll see you tomorrow. Or, Roddy, if you have to head out before I get home, have a happy Thanksgiving."
"Thanks, you too. And goodnight."
"Night, Dad."
Getting the sleeping bags laid out only took a few minutes, and then Roddy sat down on the floor by Barry and grabbed a few pieces of popcorn.
"I don't know about you, but I don't think I want to risk another movie like that one," Barry admitted, and then grinned. "But I bet I can kick your butt on nine out of ten tracks."
"Keep dreaming." More than half the tracks, sure, he was the one with the system, but Roddy wasn't that hopeless. He reached for the controllers.
Roddy snapped awake, a snarl ringing in his ears, and instinct had him pressing himself deeper into the couch even as abruptly-sharpened senses searched for the danger.
The Rabes' house smelled like Jagerbar, obviously, which wasn't a great baseline, but his brain had accepted both Barry and his father as safe enough to sleep around which made them fairly easy to ignore, and the third Jagerbar scent was female and very faint and most definitely a lingering remnant of Barry's mom even if Roddy had never and would never ask for anything to confirm that. And other than that...nothing.
Well, okay, plenty of things in the general sense, but pool chalk and popcorn remains didn't typically trigger bad dreams.
Another deep breath gave him no more clues, though, and he'd just about convinced himself that it must have been the culmination of some forgotten nightmare regardless when Barry suddenly thrashed and snarled from his spot in front of the couch.
Oh. "Barry?" Roddy checked.
No response except another rumbling growl, and Roddy yawned and slid to the floor, reaching out to give Barry's shoulder a quick shake. And common sense kicked in about half a second too late.
"Barry, it's me!" Roddy flattened himself as much as he could, just barely getting under a powerful swipe. "Stop!"
Barry managed to twist free of the sleeping bag, and Roddy wasn't sure if he should stay frozen or try to bolt out of range, but before he could decide Barry gasped and sat up.
"Barry?" Roddy asked, echoing his movements cautiously when Barry didn't show any signs of lashing out again. "Are you all right?"
Barry shoved himself to his feet and ran out of the room, and a moment later Roddy heard retching. Shit. He stood up and turned on the light beside the couch, but rather than Barry returning the shower started up a few minutes later.
Roddy hesitated and then headed out and down the hall to knock on the door lightly. "Barry? You okay?"
No response.
"You need anything? Water, or…?" It was an amazingly stupid question since the guy was in the shower, but it was the first thing that came to mind.
"I'm fine!"
The words were as much snarl as speech and Roddy took the hint and retreated to the couch, pulling his sleeping bag up around him and grabbing the remote and flipping the television on. According to the clock it was only a little after four, but adrenaline alone meant that he'd need something to distract him if he hoped to sleep any more tonight. And he suspected that Barry would need it even more, at least if he decided to come back this way. There was yet another door at the far end of the hall, because the rest of the Rabes' house wasn't crazy enough, and for all Roddy knew he wouldn't see Barry again until morning.
Hopefully he'd see Barry in the morning.
Surprisingly enough the shower shut off and Barry made his way back in before he'd done more than click through a couple random streaming channels, though, dropping down on the floor at the far end of the couch and not looking at Roddy.
"You okay?" Roddy repeated tentatively.
"'m fine."
Roddy hesitated and then slid from the couch to the floor again and nudged the remote over to him. "You want to pick something to watch? I don't really care."
Barry took it and stared at the television for a minute before shrugging and setting it aside. "This is fine."
Roddy had no idea what 'this' actually was and very much doubted that Barry did either, but he nodded anyway. And then five minutes later realized that they were watching a horror movie—like real horror, not stupid fake-blood crap—which was the one genre above all others that he would never intentionally pick. Shit again, although for an entirely different reason. Weren't all movies on television at four am supposed to be the lousy kind?
He debated asking Barry to change it, but Barry seemed to be focused on the screen, and since nothing horrific was actually happening he pulled his knees up to his chest and his sleeping bag in tighter and hoped for the best.
No luck, though, and the first scare was bad enough to get a squeak out of him despite himself.
Barry took one look and then grabbed the remote again. "We don't have to watch that. Why did you turn it on if it makes you jump?"
"Didn't realize what it was." Roddy shrugged awkwardly. "Slapstick horror or whatever you want to call it is fine, but I don't much like the real thing." Side effect of being at the wrong end of the food chain and all that, although if Barry didn't realize that he wasn't going to say so.
"There's got to be a comedy or something somewhere," Barry said, clicking forward. "Or it's not…if you want to go back to sleep, I can go upstairs. Or you can; my room's plenty quiet."
"I won't go back to sleep for a while," Roddy admitted.
"Sorry."
He shrugged again. "Nightmares happen. When it's me I usually just give up and practice until morning, which makes school suck, but school sucks anyway so whatever."
Barry snorted and a shadow of a smile crossed his face.
"That sounded like a bad one," Roddy ventured after a moment.
His expression shut down just as quickly, and he shook his head. "I don't want to talk about that place."
There weren't a lot of options for 'that place,' and Roddy nodded.
It was quiet as Barry flipped through a few more streaming channels and finally settled on something that Roddy thought that he vaguely recognized. And even if he was wrong, the ridiculous overacting guaranteed that nothing scary was going to be happening regardless of declared genre which was good enough.
"You...a lot?" Barry asked hesitantly a few minutes later.
"Not a lot a lot. Just sometimes things smell like the hospital." He knew it was all in his head because the great extent of his own personal medical supplies were a bottle of rubbing alcohol and half a carton of aspirin, but it was what it was. "I don't know if I told you, but my Dad was in an accident at the end of the summer. That's how..." He looked down at his hands and didn't even try to complete the sentence.
"Nick told us before you came over the first time."
Roddy nodded. It made sense, especially since he'd told Roddy about Barry's mother too even if he hadn't filled in a lot of details.
"He didn't say anything about your mom," Barry said after a little more onscreen ridiculousness that somehow didn't make either of them crack a smile.
Mom was a way safer topic than Dad, mostly because it had been so many years ago, and Roddy shrugged. "He might not even know. I mean, I'm sure he looked up some kind of background on us when everything happened last spring, but I was only eleven when she died so not exactly relevant to the case."
"Do you mind if I ask?"
"You can, but there's not much to tell. She worked the night shift cleaning office buildings, and one night she just didn't come home. We—well, Dad, I was eleven like I said, so they made me stay out in the hall—identified her body at the hospital a couple days later. They said that it must have been a mugging gone wrong since it was payday and her purse was gone, but nobody really knows."
Barry shifted closer, nudging his shoulder lightly. "I'm sorry. Did they ever catch who did it?"
Roddy scoffed despite himself. "No one looks too close when someone like me goes missing, you know? If there hadn't been a body we'd probably never have heard anything." Even if the police, or at least most of the police, didn't understand the Reinigen part, crimes in his neighborhood weren't exactly high on anyone's priority list.
Barry opened his mouth and then shut it again. "That's messed up."
"Yeah. I mean, Dad tried to get someone to do something, but..." He shook his head. "He never really much liked people before that either, but afterwards forget it."
After a moment Barry nudged him again. "Sorry. I won't ask any more."
"S'okay. It was a long time ago. Let's just watch the...whatever this is."
