Al Gumboil is a bad big brother. (countervail) wrote in an_ill_wind, @ 2009-09-26 00:09:00 |
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Entry tags: | - 1980/09 september, alastor gumboil, frank longbottom |
Who: Frank Longbottom and Alastor Gumboil
When: 25 September, 1980; late.
Where: Longbottom Residence
What: Breaking the news.
Rating: Moar sad.
Status: Completed log.
Frank wondered how long he had before Yaxley made his own announcements. How would he do it? Pinging journals? Owls carrying bags of confetti? Fucking fanfares through the streets of London? It wouldn't be quiet, Frank was sure of it, but he did know that he had to tell Al before he found out through some other channel. He barely had time to pull himself together but he knew that Yaxley would move quickly and Frank had very little time. He had to reign himself in and be strong for Al. He could mourn later. He left the shattered remains of the receiver on the desk of the shed, closing the door behind him with a hollow thump. His movements were rigid, even though he tried to appear relaxed and very much himself. He knew he was failing miserably. Frank managed to avoid Alice on his way to Al's room and he stopped outside the door, taking a steadying breath. He could do this. He had to do this. Frank somehow looked more composed than he felt and he knocked, though he didn't wait for a response before he poked his head into Al's room. "Hi. Whatcha doing?" Al was reading. Not his journal. He hadn't picked up his journal since Tuesday. He didn't want to pick up his journal. And so, it was still the ever slow process of recovery. Of sleeping and potions and lengthening periods of time in which he remained conscious. He was getting better. He was a lot better, really. Physically speaking. Many of the burns remained stubbornly unhealed and those that had healed were scarring like nothing else. Pepper said he'd be ready for solid food soon though. So he supposed that was some improvement. Of course, none of that seemed to matter with Dorcas missing. He'd gotten very used to his almost-little sister wrapping around him and always being there. It was a role reversal that he hadn't expected, but one he'd acclimated to. He didn't know what to think. He didn't want to think about it. He just wanted her to be okay. He wanted his Dorcas back. Al glanced up at Frank's knock and marked his spot in the book. "Running marathons," he answered, trying anything to hang onto his sense of humour as forced as it was. The question was on the tip of his tongue, but he didn't ask. There had been a deep sense of dread sitting in his stomach or three days now. Al wasn't good at being useless. He wasn't a lazy person. He liked to be moving and helping and doing things. Frank forced a smile at Al's response and he moved all the way into the room, pressing his back against the door until it moved back into the frame with a mechanical click. He crossed the space between the door and the bed with a few steps and he stood awkwardly at the foot for a moment, completely failing in his attempts to remain non transparent. How did one find words to say what he had to say? Everything that he'd gone over in his head on his way into the house was now gone and he searched the far reaches of his mind to find something, anything, that might help him. He'd given bad news before so he could do this. There was no turning back now. He just couldn't bear the thought of being the one to put that look on Al's face that he had imagined in his mind so many times in the last two days. There were words that he needed to say but all he could manage was small talk. "What are you reading?" Al pushed himself up, only wincing a little. He could very nearly sit up and down on his own these days. Another gigantic improvement, really. In any case, he got himself propped up against the pillows without much trouble. He was ignoring the change in Frank's demeanour. Everyone was on edge right now. It didn't necessarily meant something was more wrong. So Al ignored it. Because acknowledging it would mean... would mean the unthinkable. It would mean something was worse and Al didn't think he could take anything being worse right now. She was going to be fine. She had to be fine. He'd promised. He'd promised that everything was going to be okay. She was his baby sister. Big brothers - proper big brothers, by blood or not - didn't break promises to their little sisters. They just didn't. "Ummm, some muggle rubbish about a government on a power trip," he answered, glancing at the novel before tossing it at the bedside table. He fidgeted compulsively, fingers massaging at the back of his neck and then tangling in a mess of hair for a moment as he kept his gaze anywhere but at Frank. There was already an empty pit in his stomach. He could only tell himself to keep breathing. Nothing was so bad if you just kept breathing. Al's obvious avoidance made the entire situation that much worse and Frank could feel his emotions surging forward and he knew that he would lose his composure without warning if he didn't say something. He sank down onto the bed without a sound and he stared at his knees for a series of minutes, the dark grey fabric of his trousers staring back at him. He was still in work clothes, he realised. Just say it, he coaxed himself. He swallowed. Saying things made them true. Denial was easy if the words were left unspoken. Dorcas could be on holiday. They could pretend. It would be perfect. No, he knew that wouldn't work. He had to tell Al the truth. He opened his mouth, each word perfectly crafted in his mind and he turned to face Al, which was his mistake. His flawless speech melted from his mind and his voice faltered. "God, Al. I'm so sorry." Al stopped breathing. He physically couldn't. His diaphragm froze, wouldn't let the air in his lungs out, wouldn't let him suck another breath in. The hole in the pit of his stomach opened wider and now it hurt. It swallowed every emotion. He felt numb and blank. He couldn't find it in him to even be angry. He couldn't find anything, nothing but the deep, painful sadness that came with grief. He clenched his jaw and stared at the blanket. He didn't know how long. The passage of time didn't seem to matter. Nothing mattered, nothing but the fact that his baby sister was gone and he hadn't been able to do anything. He'd sat here, because of his own idiot decisions. Because he'd gotten caught. Maybe if he'd just... been more convincing. Or if he hadn't picked it up in the first place. If he'd just turned down the case. He'd be okay and he'd have been able to do something. She might still be here. They would've had waffles and orange juice and he'd even have stomach the fucking pulp if it'd make it okay. If he could have her back. If they could all just run away. Fuck England. Al blinked furiously, trying to force tears back, to keep them from falling. He tried for a breath, to make his lungs work again, but the air hitched in his throat, caught on the lump that wouldn't go away, that just sat there and inhibited such a necessary function. He couldn't look up. It was as if the only way he could cope was if he kept his eyes on exactly the loose stitch he'd found in the blanket, and even that blurred as his eyes stung. Finally, he caught a breath, shallow and unsatisfying and he closed his eyes, shaking his head. It wasn't okay. It wasn't right. He'd been a hitwizard for a lot of years. But nothing compared to this. Frank hadn't even said it. He didn't have to. Frank sat there, staring at his best friend for a moment and the he looked away, as if he was interrupting some private moment. He'd wanted to soften the blow but he now realised that it wasn't possible. Nothing he could have said would have made any of this easier. Now he would just have to be there for Al, should he want him. He had to be able to give his best friend a shoulder to cry on, or a shoulder to beat, should that be the case. Frank would be ready for anything because that was his job. He'd always be the strong one, even if it was only an act. Secretly he wanted to crumble onto the foot of the bed and sob, but he wouldn't. He couldn't. It was difficult not to cry but he would prevail, or he would try very hard at the very least. He reached out a less than steady hand and he placed it on Al's leg as he continued to stare down at the carpet. He didn't say anything because he couldn't think of anything to say. Instead he just sat there and waited. Al struggled for another long moment, tens of seconds that stretched into eternity as he looked for some reprieve from the pain. It was so much different. It was so much worse. He'd take Bellatrix's wand, he'd let her rip through his head again, if only things could be different. He'd bear it because he was the only family she'd had left and he wouldn't complain. For one more day, to have one more day with her, to cuddle and laugh and tease. He wasn't ready for this. He swallowed again, willing the lump to go away, to give him a moment to breath. To recover. To... to something. Something had to make it easier. Al felt his best friend's hand against his leg. He took another shaky breath and wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand, forcing the tears back. And then he reached for Frank, wrapping his fingers around his wrist and pulling, tugging insistently to drag him next to him, to find a modicum of comfort, to force something in the universe to still be the same. Frank allowed himself to be pulled down next to Al. Al was the only other person in the world, save Alice, that Frank really opened himself to. He didn't give Al's action second thought and he reached out and draped his arm around his best friend's middle. He didn't know what thoughts were going through Al's head but he didn't ask. He was afraid to share his own thoughts for fear of revealing the darkness surrounding them. For every wonderful thought he had of Dorcas, there was a accompanying thought about the things that Frank wanted to do to the Death Eaters. He'd thought that his words to the Order over the past week were just rallying tools but he was quickly learning that he'd meant every single word. He would kill them all, given the chance. He would never say as much to Al and it was a conversation that Frank would avoid as long as possible. Frank shifted just a bit so that he was a little closer and he searched Al's face. "We're going to get them all, no matter what it takes. I'll involve the DMLE if I have to." Al tried to make himself relax into Frank, to share some of the stress and hurt, because that's what friends did. You leaned on each other, because sometimes each other was all you had. He managed to stop his tears, at least for the moment. He could make himself stop crying. But nothing would fill the gaping hole that had opened in his heart and soul. That was what really hurt. The immediate and deep loss, the grief of knowing that someone you cared to deeply for was gone forever. They would never fly again. He'd never see her run around in her cape and tights and mask. She was never going to beg him to make steak for her and he'd never tell her not to get hurt. Because now it was too late. Frank's words brought a trickle of reality back, pulled him out of his sadness just for a moment. A flicker of fear. Al shook his head. He couldn't think that far ahead right now. He couldn't even begin to fathom retaliation. To get them. He didn't even know what that meant. Not really. Not in the same way. He was still stuck on Dorcas. He didn't want this any more. He didn't want to be awake. He wanted to slip into his own peaceful, perfect silence because then at least it wouldn't hurt. It would be a reprieve, a pause in the pain. Al knew perfectly well that his grief would still be waiting for him when he woke up. He didn't care. He couldn't care. All he wanted was to run away from it. He, for once in his life, wasn't ready for a confrontation. Not this confrontation. He wasn't ready. Al pulled away just enough to reach the seemingly infinite supply of dreamless sleep potion. They were strong now. In three weeks, he'd built up something of a tolerance. These weren't regular potions, anyway. They would knock him right the fuck out and that was what he wanted. Frank shifted so that Al could get to his potions. He considered stealing a dose for himself but he couldn't. No, he would allow Al to take his vials and then he would hug him as tight as ever, consoling and patting and all the other comforting actions that he could administer. Frank would stay there for as long as it took, maybe even longer. The longer he stayed hidden in Al's room, the longer he could avoid dealing with things that were so very real on the other side of that door. He would steal another handful of moments in the bedroom and then he would find Alice and he would tell her. Soon. He reached a hand out and gave Al's hair an idle tousle and then he cupped his cheek with his hand. "Go to sleep now. I'll be here in the morning and we'll go from there." His hand slid down and he pulled Al against him, like he did with Neville when he needed sleep, and he hummed quietly. "I love you." Al downed his potions like water and set the empty vials down on the table. He didn't hesitate to curl back down, to let himself be pulled close, because that was where the comfort was. That was where he could relax and breath and forget. He nodded at he assertion. Yes, all their problems would still be there in the morning. For now, they could escape and hide. Just for now. Al latched onto the tone that Frank hummed and buried his face half in the pillow and half into Frank's chest. Solid comfort and reassurance. "I love you too," he murmured quietly. Sleep was close though, ushering itself over him by both the potion and the need to escape. It didn't take long for Al to succumb to his potions and Frank craned his head back to look him for a moment. He knew that Al was fast asleep but he stayed put, still and quiet. He would stay there for a few more minutes until he was absolutely certain that the other man was not going to wake up and then Frank would get himself up and he would deal with the imminent upheaval that he knew was before him. He would tell Alice and the Order everything, but for now he would just lay there and pretend that everything was the same and that nothing could be wrong. It was a lie but he embraced it for as long as he possibly could. |