Fisher Majors (hearitbleed) wrote in tiberiusswann, @ 2011-07-08 09:14:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | fisher, lyle |
Friday December 19th 2008
Who: Fisher and Lyle
What: Confrontation/Intervention
Where: Their apartment
When: Evening
Rating: PG 13 [questionable content]
Hands trembling slightly, Fisher closed his laptop, and took a deep breath. He was nervous. He had never been on this end of a "talk", and he never thought he'd have to be. Hopefully, Nox was right, and all he needed to do was be patient and supportive, and it would be okay, Lyle would be okay. Lyle had to be okay, because if he wasn't, Fisher didn't know what to do. He could be strong, start his own life over, but only because Lyle had been there to help him, keep him going. Now Lyle wasn't going anywhere, and Fisher felt like he was drowning. But this wasn't about him. It was about his brother, and he was going to help him, make him better somehow.
Coming out into the living room, Fisher paused at the doorway, watching hisd brother in silence. Lyle was wearing a clean shirt at least, something (he assumed) had been made for him. His guitar was strapped over his back, and he seemed to be looking for something amidst the cans and bottles scattered throughout the room. For the first time ni days, Lyle looked lucid. he wasn't staring blankly at the television, or at his computer, and he didn't have a can of Red Bull or a bottle of liquor sitting beside him. And for a fleeting second, Fisher thought maybe he didn't have to do this, that Lyle had righted himself and it would be over. Until the young vampire found what he had been looking for- a mostly drained bottle of vodka. Fisher's heart and shoulders sank as he watched Lyle polish it off.
"Hey," he said, forcing his voice, taking a few steps closer to Lyle. "Um... can I talk to you about... something?"
Swallowing, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, Lyle looked at his brother. Fisher looked serious, and nervous. Oh, man, this was supposed to be an intervention! How fucking hilarious. With a small smirk, Lyle lifted up the empty vodka bottle. Fisher shook his head in response, dismissively, clearly missing the implication. Sighing a little, Lyle held it out, tilting it slowly back and forth. It was a question, not an offer, and after a few seconds, Fisher picked up.
"Yeah," he said nervously, then cleared his throat. "Yes. I wanted to talk about that." Nox hadn't told him what to say, at least nothing that would be of any good. But he tried the demon's suggestion anyway, because he had nothing better. "I just... I'm worried about you, and... I love you, and I want to help." There, that was that. Aside from the disbelieving smirk on Lyle's face, this was going pretty well. So Fisher pressed his luck. "This isn't gonna solve anything. I mean... I know that right now you're kinda... upset, and stuff, and I know you're dealing with a lot of shit but you know that this isn't the right way to fix it. I mean... come on Lyle, you're the one who sent me to rehab! You know better!"
The smirk was ever-present on Lyle's face as he watched his brother, watched the fear and anguish and worry play out on his face. So dramatic. Pulling his notebook and pencil from his back pocket, Lyle jotted something down, holding it out for Fisher to see.
It wasn't because anything hurts. It was boredom. I wanted to see how long I could go before you noticed.
Reading, Fisher's expression fell, his heart cinching tightly. This had been to get his attention? God, what a shitty, awful, fucking worthless piece of shit brother he was. All Lyle wanted was... and all Fisher had been doing was... Biting the inside of his lip to keep himself composed, Fisher sighed a little. "I did notice," he said softly, ashamed. "I just... didn't know what to say, what to do."
More scribbling, another note. Well doesn't that make YOU the best caretaker ever
"Lyle I'm sorry!" he said, almost snappishly. "I'm sorry, but I don't... I don't know what to DO! You don't talk to me, you don't talk to anyone, and I want to help but I don't know how! I don't know for certain what happened, I don't know what you need, sometimes I think I should just be here for you but you ignore me and then I think you need space but then you feel ignored! I've never done this before for someone and I'm trying, I'm really trying, but I need help too! I just..." Running his fingers through his hair, he sighed. "Just tell me what you need. Anything, I will do anything you ask, just tell me! Please!"
Patiently, almost bored, Lyle stared at Fisher a moment, thinking. And then he set down his guitar, and the vodka bottle, and headed into the kitchen. Watching curiously, Fisher's brow furrowed in confusion as Lyle rummaged in the utensil drawer, finally pulling out a wooden stirring spoon they'd picked up at the dollar store. And then he grabbed a paring knife, and began slicing away at the handle. It took a moment for Fisher to understand what was happening, why shavings of wood were hitting his kitchen floor, and when he did his body turned to ice. Swallowing thickly, his feet were frozen to the spot as Lyle came back to him, took his hand and placed the spoon into it, closing his small fingers around the handle. Fisher shook his head, his body and brain unable to resist as Lyle lifted the freshly carved stake to his own chest, Fisher's fingers wrapped around it and the point pressed hard against his chest. Right over his heart.
Panicked grey eyes looked up into calm blue ones, trying to read them, searching for the punchline. This had to be a joke. But there wasn't any mirth or malice in his brother's eyes, no hint that this wasn't real, that this was for spite. Lyle looked expectant. All breath left Fisher's lungs as his gaze moved down to the weapon in his hand, poised exactly where it needed to be. He had asked Lyle what he could do. He had said he would do anything. But how could he do this? Lyle couldn't want to die, he was better than that. He was stronger than that. But what if this was really what he wanted? What if it was too much for him, all of it, being a vampire and drinking blood and always having to live in the dark? What if he didn't want to do this anymore?
Exhaling slowly, Fisher tightened his grip, licking his lips. If Lyle wanted this, then... then maybe... No. He couldn't do it. He was letting his brother down again, but he couldn't do this. "I can't," he whispered softly, letting his hand fall, letting the stake clatter to the carpet. "I don't want you to.. I can't do that."
With a small, knowing smile, Lyle nodded, putting a hand on Fisher's shoulder. He understood. How could anyone actually do that to someone they cared about? Truth be told, he was amazed Fisher hadn't run from the room crying. But right now, he was gonna be late for mic checks. So he gave Fisher a small, one armed hug, grabbed his guitar and shrugged it over his shoulder, then headed out the door.
Fisher stood where he was for a long time, just staring at the deformed spoon on the floor, absorbing all its implications. Lyle. Death. Murder. Pain. No other option. Drastic measures, last resort. Asking too much, not giving enough. A black hole that was swallowing them both. Gingerly, he picked the spoon from the floor, taking it to the sink and laying it in the bottom of the stainless steel basin.
And then he got a match.