After finding out that the Burrow was there, George didn’t waste time tracking Fred down and making him come with him to see what state it was in. It had grown, as the years had gone by after the Battle of Hogwarts, and it was bigger than ever, but George was relieved to find that when they got to the Burrow in Vallo, that it looked as it did when Fred had been alive. Because as much as Fred was insisting he was fine - he wasn’t, George knew it and could do nothing about it until Fred was ready - he was sure seeing his home changed so much would have been devastating.
As it were, George wasn’t sure how Fred would handle it, seeing their home again without the rest of their family. “Wonder if the gnomes came through with the garden,” George said lightly, as they approached the front door. It was small talk and George didn’t like making it when there were other things to be said, but he was going to take Fred’s lead on things, like he always did.
It was the least he could, if Fred wanted to pretend everything was fine.
Fred Weasley was intelligent enough when he wanted to be. Much like some of his other siblings however, he could be incredibly dense when it came to his emotions. After arriving in Vallo and learning of his own demise, Fred had not been doing well.
In the early days of his arrival, it was easy to ignore. There were new things to explore and murder turkeys to sort out. Yet as time went on, it became more difficult, and Fred found that he couldn’t keep things at bay forever.
First it was denial. If he didn’t think about it, it didn’t matter. He had Georgie, and they had their shop, and everything was just fine.
Then it was anger. He’d gotten into a few arguments with customers, and a bar brawl or several on nights out. Whichever person who had happened to look at him the wrong way or catch him in a bad moment had earned his ire. Even then he couldn’t bring himself to talk to his brother about it. He didn’t want to end up snapping at George. Somehow making him feel even worse or more guilty about the situation.
Bargaining came next. If he’d been a better son, a better brother. If he’d paid more attention in school instead of goofing off so often.
He slipped quickly into depression after that. He did his best to mask it to those closest to him, especially George. It’s not like either of the twins had ever been especially adept at hiding things from one another, though. That was the trouble of knowing someone as well as you know yourself. He was grateful George hadn’t pushed that matter, though. Yes he was struggling, but Georgie had been through enough already. He wouldn’t add more to it if he could help it.
Given the state of his emotions, he wasn’t entirely certain how he felt about their childhood home arriving in Vallo. Not that it stopped him from popping in to see it. It looked exactly as he remembered it, and upon entering the front door, he felt a wave of calm wash through him. The smell alone was enough to put him at ease and make him feel as if everything would be fine. For the first time in days he felt the tightness in his chest loosen a little. He turned to George and smiled. “Don’t think it’s ever been this quiet since the day we were born, eh Georgie?”
Snorting, there was a definite easing of the tension in his shoulders as he took their childhood home in. He hadn’t lived in the Burrow in a very long time, but that didn’t stop him from feeling a sense of rightness, being there now. And with Fred there, well, it couldn’t have felt more perfect outside of the rest of the family being there and making that noise so common to their home.
“Please, you say that as if Bill and Charlie hadn’t been making Percy screech his head off since he could talk.” He had absolutely no doubt that their older brothers had been troublemakers in their own right, before they had come along. “Wonder if any of mum’s cooking came through?” He asked, turning in the direction of the kitchen and fully ready to eat whatever may be in there, questionable or not.
He wasn’t sure if they were going to suddenly start living in the Burrow, but walking through the narrow corridors, with all of its chaoticness of a well lived in home, he did have the urge to suggest it. There was also a flat above the shop, but George had stuck to their Morningside flat thus far and wasn’t sure if he was ready to move back into their bedroom here, without the rest of the Weasley horde around.
He deliberately let Fred have the time to himself to explore wherever he wanted to though, knowing that this was probably a lot more emotional for his brother than it was for him. He knew he would have this place to go back to, if he ever got sent back. Fred had nothing waiting for him and he was bound to feel things about that.
“Perce would have screeched regardless. Isn’t that like his natural form of communication or something? Either that or lecturing.”
While George headed in the direction of the kitchen, Fred moved into the sitting room. Old overstuffed furniture covered with blankets that their mum had knitted. Afternoon sun shone through the windows making everything feel serene and warm. He trailed his fingers overtop of everything he passed. Furniture, tables, the radio.
A glance out the window confirmed that the garden had arrived as well. Fred’s memories filled with happier times. Pick-up quidditch games, large family meals, Bill and Fleur’s wedding…
Then as if a switch had flicked on, the bad came rushing back in. Molly sobbing after Percy had left. George lying injured on the sofa after losing his ear. Fred’s brows knitted together and he felt his shoulders tense again. “OY. I’m heading upstairs.”
Something about Fred's tone of voice when he called out had George pausing as he searched through the pantry. Maybe it was the distance that made him sound off, but George's gut feeling told him it was more than that. The pause was long enough that it was a bit awkward when George called out, "Yeah, I'll be up soon."
Was this the sign that Fred was ready to talk? Maybe. But he made his way out of the kitchen, taking his time as he headed upstairs. He stopped every now and then to look at the paintings and pictures that adorned the walls, their family's lives and history shining through the moving photos.
Eventually, he made it to their room, where he awkwardly stood outside of the door. He hadn't been back there since Fred had died. Ron and Percy had been the ones to pack it up for him, no one wanting their parents to do it. George had always ended up staying in Ron's room or one of their older brother's spaces, when he had come home for some event or another. This would be the first time in over ten years he would be stepping inside again.
Breathing in, he steeled his nerves and gave the door a knock of his knuckles, before entering. "You in here?" He called, sounding too loud to his own ear.
Fred had also braced himself upon entering their boyhood bedroom. After stepping through the doorframe, he had to consciously instruct himself to unclench his jaw and relax the muscles in his shoulders. He tried to breathe slowly as he moved further inside, surrounded by relics of his past and dreams of a future he’d never get.
The tears didn’t start until he sat down on his bed. That combined feeling of his lumpy old mattress and the quilt their mother had made was what finally splintered whatever remnants were still holding him together. Fred balled his hands into fists and curled himself up against his legs.
He heard George call from the other side of the door, but he couldn’t get any words out to answer.
George hadn’t known what to expect as he entered the room, but he wasn’t too surprised to find Fred a bit of a mess. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, before he rounded the side of Fred’s bed to sit next to his sobbing twin. He placed a hand on his back, feeling his own eyes starting to tear up. But he pushed it down as best as he could, because Fred was finally allowing himself to feel something and George had been waiting for this moment for a long time now.
The older wizard didn’t say anything though, merely letting Fred cry himself out, no matter how long it took. All he could do in that moment was be a steadying presence.
It took awhile. Three months worth of repressed grief was coming up now and Fred didn’t think he could have stopped it if he’d tried. He didn’t try, though. He was so tired of pretending he was fine when he wasn’t. He finally let himself cry and feel everything he’d been trying so hard to ignore. His breath hitched and his shoulders shook. It was messy and ugly, but that’s what grief was.
When it finally began to subside a little, Fred reached for the corner of the quilt and yanked it toward him. He used it to mop himself up a little. “Well.” His voice was thick with congestion now. “Cheerful homecoming party, isn’t it?”
"Don't know, think we could have used some fireworks and noise makers," George said, still with that deliberately light tone. There was no doubt Fred was feeling vulnerable and he didn't want his brother worrying about him on top of that. "How did that feel?" He asked instead, finally removing his hand from where it had been rubbing what he hoped was soothing circles on Fred's back.
Grief was an awful, terrible thing and George had seen many forms of it over the years. Some up close and personal, others from afar. This time, though, it felt…more. In what ways? He wasn't too sure, but it hit him harder knowing that Fred was crying for a future back home that he wouldn't have.
Fred could feel a slight headache throbbing at the base of his skull and he looked out the window. It was odd, not seeing the familiar views that would have been there in Ottery St Catchpole. After a moment he turned back to face his brother. For once, a serious answer found it’s way out instead of a joking one. “Not good exactly, but better. I feel calmer now.”
He took a deep breath. “I just kept feeling worse and worse. Every time someone from home turned up it was another reminder. I didn’t know what to do with it, so I just shoved it down. Figured it’d go away eventually.”
Sighing, George laid back on the bed and laced his hands together on his stomach. "I could have told you that shoving it down wasn't going to work. It all comes back at once, usually at the worst possible times."
Staring up at the ceiling, he thought about how if maybe some family started to show up, maybe Fred wouldn't feel so terrible. Never had he wished for his mother, until that moment. She would have been just what they needed right then. "I know it's awful, hell, I was just dealing with this with Harry not that long ago. But maybe when you're feeling bad, you can tell me and we can go...I don't know, go blow something up? Get those feelings out so you're not just waiting to boil over."
After a pause, Fred copied his brother and laid back on the bed beside him. “I mean, at least it wasn’t at the shop or in the middle of the Leaky or something. I’d say for being a stubborn arse about it, my timing wasn’t so bad.”
He studied a slightly faded burn mark on the ceiling and tried to remember what explosion had caused it. “I just worry, Georgie. You’ve been through hell and back again already. I don’t want to add to that and have you always worrying I’m going to go off my rocker.”
For that last sentence, George reached over and slapped Fred on the shoulder. Hard. He turned to his side, propping his head up with a hand as he looked down at Fred. “I went through my self destructive phase already. Getting you back is the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I don’t want you to spend the time that you get here worrying about me. Yes, I’m going to worry about you when you’re upset, but guess what, you nit? I like the fact that I can.”
Remembering his conversation with Jiang Cheng, he explained a little more gently, “It doesn’t have to be me that you talk to, either. I just want you to talk to someone, when you’re starting to feel any kind of way.”
“OW.” Fred scowled for a moment and resisted the urge to punch George back. Some sibling impulses never really went away. Instead he listened, knowing George was likely right. Annoying.
“Maybe a mix of both is the way to go. I think it’ll be helpful to have someone...neutral to talk to about things. But I also promise to stop hiding things from you too.” He turned his head to the side to finally look his brother in the eye again. “Deal?”
“Deal,” George agreed, nodding. “Now get up and wipe that snot off your face, I found cookies and if you don’t get down there before I do, you won’t get any.” And he didn’t wait for an answer from Fred at that point, he just rolled off the bed and took off, much faster than a man in his early thirties that never exercised regularly should be able to.
Fred laughed then. Genuinely. He felt lighter than he had in weeks, and it was nice. Things were still far from fixed, but he at least felt he was no longer careening out of control. “You prick.”
He rolled off the bed in nearly the same exact way that George had before him and sprinted out the door and down the steps. The stamping of their running feet and shouts over the shared food made the place finally feel like home again.