4 Mischiefs Managed - [accidental video]

[greding]

[The video cuts in mid-action. George is standing in what some may recognise as the Weasley cabin's kitchen. He has a glass of water in his hand which he is staring into, his eyes wide. Both hands are shaking, and he shoves his right one into his pocket to steady it. His breath suddenly hitches, and he looks like he's having difficulty breathing

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a cup full of nothing for him to indulge - he feels alone;

[feorging]

[Fred's not quite so composed. He tries to be, inhaling stiffly out of frustration, but it only lasts a minute before the blue tinge to the wall starts to make sense and it all boils over. He turns and grabs a chain from the dining table - and throws it against the wall. It splinters apart, but it's easily Repared, not that Fred cares right now. He braces both hands against the table, keeping his back to George, and just. Breathes. Tries not to let the anger and guilt and irritation and guilt and depression and ungodly amounts of fucking guilt take over.

But he fails. Again.

One more chair gets thrown to the floor in his haste to leave the kitchen, to leave his brother's mess of glass and water, those cruel and unfair tears biting at his twin's eyes. He can't stand it, can't take it, and much as he knows George needs this, he just can't. There isn't a thing in the world that'd get him to abandon George, so he won't Apparate away. Fred just needs to get outside and find fresh air - more useless, unnecessary and hurtful air - so he stalks from the house without even closing the door and stops just before reaching the woods. Be a man about this, Freddie. Don't cry. Don't fall to pieces here. Not now, not when you've been trying so hard to keep it together.]

a cup full of nothing for him to indulge - he feels alone;

[greding]

[George just stares is shock at the door where his twins stormed out only minutes ago. It takes him a moment before the rage boils over again and he finds himself racing after him, shouting after Fred's retreating back.]

Oi! Plonker! Where the blazes do you think you're going? You're the one you wanted to bloody TALK about this!

[God, why does Fred make him feel like this and then run away? George was perfectly willing to let this one go. Pass it off as another trick the City played on them. Have a cup of tea, or maybe something a bit stronger, to calm his nerves. Wait for his heart to start beating again, and move on. But no, Fred had to go in and POKE at it, they way he always had to go in and make a mess out of everything he did, leaving George standing there to pick up the pieces. He stops a few yards away from his twin, staring him down, waiting for an answer.]

a cup full of nothing for him to indulge - he feels alone;

[feorging]

[It's all because he can't let it go. Not when he's kept up at night with the thought of it, kept conscious of the fact every time he's made aware his heart still isn't beating. He's hurt himself working a few times - he just heals right up as though nothing's happened. He can't just let it go because it won't bloody let him. The red spreads out to the tips of his hair, giving him back his Weasley flare and Merlin, does he wish there was more to break than just a chair.

Instead he inhales deeply at his brother's presence, feels him at his back like fire running along his spine, like cold air nipping at his neck, like that blasted wall coming apart before he's even got a chance to blink-.

Against all logic, Fred turns to face him, grey eyes brimming with colorless tears, just as biting and bitter and painful as the rest of it.]

What in the Hell am I supposed to say, Georgie? You said it yourself - I've died. What more is there?

a cup full of nothing for him to indulge - he feels alone;

[greding]

I don't know either, Fred. I just... I really don't know.

[He can't stand to look at his brother this way, so instead his grabs him roughly and pulls him into a bone-crushing hug. Yes, he's colder than he should be and George's heart is still the only one banging away between them, but he's still here. Why can't Fred understand this. This is enough for them. There will be a time when one of them will have to leave, but until that moment things are so much BETTER here than they had been at home and George just wants to cling to it as hard as he can and never let go.]

a cup full of nothing for him to indulge - he feels alone;

[feorging]

[Well, that's just it, isn't it? The hug says it all. For the first few moments, Fred's arms hang limp at his sides as George hugs him, because he is never more self conscious of his lack of heartbeat than the moments when his brother is so close to him - but he's always close to him. Always there beside him, in every waking and sleeping moment when Fred's lying awake at night, staring into the depths of the ceiling as George breaths evenly, worlds away and peaceful and whole and every bloody breath is just one more stab at the fact this won't last forever.

He's here and they're together and everything should be brilliant but it isn't and that hurts.

So Fred doesn't hug him back, not right away. He's too busy trying to swallow down his anger, trying to stop the guilt from tearing them both apart, but it only lasts just a few seconds before an overwhelming grief takes control and he's clinging right back. Grief, because he's lost, been lost, lost to the universe save for this one pin-prick in time and space where two brothers, two halves of a whole, one perfectly imperfect soul, have only this moment to hold on to. Fred doesn't know what's happened to him, how things got so horrendously mussed up, but he does know that this single point in time means all the world and more.

So he clings. And he doesn't say a word beyond an unintelligible whisper and an audible weep. What else is there to say?]

a cup full of nothing for him to indulge - he feels alone;

[greding]

[George squeezes his brother closer. You're lucky you don't have to breath any more, Fred, because he would be making it very difficult for you.

Then again if he still had to breathe...

George pulls away finally, running his hand over his face in an attempt to more subtly wipe away his tears.]

a cup full of nothing for him to indulge - he feels alone;

[feorging]

[Fred doesn't bother with wiping anything away. They're there, the tears, but only in streaks down cheeks that've begun to flush in the same blotchy way that they always have, and always will. He doesn't bother, because he doesn't care. He's too upset, too angry, and just feeling out of his skin. There's a lot to be said, and he should say something, but he just...can't.]

Think I'll start on a new lot of Whiz-bangs today.

[A general statement, but also something of a warning. Loud and clear. He's not going anywhere today, and he's not seeing anyone either. Their room's not even quite the stronghold he'd like - it's not the same as their room - but at least he can surround himself in their work. That simple statement and a sidewards glance are all Fred can afford George before he's stepping around him back towards the cabin.]

a cup full of nothing for him to indulge - he feels alone;

[greding]

[George watches him go, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He's not sure what he expected to happen when he stormed out here after his brother but, well...

Anyway.

He scuffs the ground a little with his toe before heading back inside. He desperately needs a cup of tea right now. Maybe something even a bit stronger.]