Glass children
Title: Glass children
Author: alles_luege
Pairing: gen
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Bronx comes to stay for a weekend with the Way kids in their grandmother's house.
“God, shut the fuck up and just go to the kitchen and make a sandwich!” Bandit answers sharply.
He looks at her as if she were crazy.
“You can make a sandwich, right?” Michael asks deadpan. Bandit doesn't snicker, but it's a near thing.
“I'm a guest here!” Bronx says.
Warning(s): future fic!, a bit creepy
Author’s Notes: Written for breathedeep222 . I hope you will like it.
Word Count: 2.559
Beta: figilio_vampiri
Disclaimer: Don’t know, don’t own, not real.
~1~
“Your family is so weird.”
Bandit doesn't roll her eyes, because OMG, oh my God this from Pete Wentz's son? Who is he to throw the first fucking stone?
“You're one to talk,” Michael says. She grins at her baby brother and he grins back. Bronx looks a bit pissed off, but he usually is when his parents give him to uncle Mikey. Because he is not a kid anymore. Blah, blah, blah, Bandit thinks. She heard that before. But she was never stuck with this idiot for a whole afternoon and possibly the evening and next day in her grandmother's house. Without Mikey, or her dad. Life sucks. “Life sucks,” Michael says and she nudges his shoulder with hers.
“What the fuck does that mean?” Bronx asks. Michael shrugs, she knows he has a few good answers, but he is just not up to pick a fight, just because Bronx needs to fight someone. As he can't fight his dad now, or his mom, or Mikey. Bandit will fucking punch his stupid face if he ever should try to pick a fight with Mikey again.
“This sucks,” Bronx says, sitting down on the couch. He leaves space enough between him and them for a whole football team. Michael rolls his eyes. What a dochebag.' Bandit nods. He really is. “This house is way creepier than anything I've ever seen,” Bronx goes on. She was ready to punch him a few minutes ago, okay, she was ready to punch him as he entered the house and said something rude about Michael's shirt, quietly enough so no one else heard but them. He was just lucky that uncle Mikey was nearby talking to their grandma. Michael shakes his head no. She sighs and he pats her arm. “And I'm starving,” he adds.
“God, shut the fuck up and just go to the kitchen and make a sandwich!” Bandit answers sharply.
He looks at her as if she were crazy.
“You can make a sandwich, right?” Michael asks deadpan. Bandit doesn't snicker, but it's a near thing.
“I'm a guest here!” Bronx says.
“Not ours,” Michael answers, Bandit nods. She loves Michael.
“Fine!” Bronx says, getting up from the couch and making for the hall.
“Wrong turn,” Bandit yells after him. Michael rolls his eyes. “God, how can he be such a douchebag?” Bandit asks softly.
“Was born that way, I guess,” Michael answers.
“Wanna play video games?”
“Yeah...”
~+~
“Okay, how long can it take a normal person to make a sandwich?” Bandit asks, pausing the game.
“I guess five minutes top,” Michael answers, looking at the clock. “ He has been gone for nearly an hour...”
“He couldn't get lost, could he? That house isn't that big...” Bandit says carefully.
“He is a Wentz,” Michael answers, getting up from the floor.
“You think he got lost?”
“He's a Wentz,” Michael repeats. She sighs. “I know,” he says.
~+~
They find Bronx in the attic. He is staring at something and not moving.
“What the hell?” Bandit asks. He startles and fucking squeaks. She would laugh, but the attic creeps her out a lot too.
“I thought I heard something,” Bronx answers defensively.
“Well, rats?” Michael says. Bronx gives him a disgusted look. Bandit knows there are not rats in the whole house and she knows Michael knows as well. He is just fucking with Bronx . For a thirteen year old boy he is really fucking smart.
“A voice,” Bronx says. He crosses his arms over his chest and just looks at them.
“Can't be grandma, she is out like a light in her bedroom,” Bandit says.
“Besides what the heck would she be doing in the attic?” Michael throws in.
“I didn't say it was her,” Bronx answers. He is clearly loosing his patience with them. Again. And Bandit really just wants an excuse to punch him for earlier, because he deserves it.
“Shut up and come down...” Bandit says.
“There, did you hear that?” Bronx asks.
“Don't even start,” Michael says.
“What?”
“Don't even start fucking with us,” Bandit clarifies.
“I'm not, I can't believe you didn't hear that...”
“Come down again,” she says, she is already tired of him. And a bit hungry.
“Ice cream?” Michael asks. She nods.
Bronx follows them reluctantly.
~2 ~
They were taking a nap after all the ice cream, not caring about that Wentz kid at all, curled around each other and when they wake up he is gone again. Bandit shifts so she can get up without waking Michael.
“I'm awake...” he mumbles. He is not, she knows, but he will be soon.
“Sleep,” she says. He grabs her hand lazily and she smiles down on him. “Sleep,” she repeats and he lets go of her hand. His warm fingers slipping from hers.
~+~
She first takes a look into the kitchen, because maybe he was hungry again, but he's not there. So she knocks softly on both bathroom doors and then goes down to the basement where dad's room was when he was young and a loser - his words not hers. She loves him. She also loves that room. She goes back to the living room where Michael is still napping on the couch. She has no idea where the hell he could be. Sure he is not outside, it's freezing. It's winter in Jersey and he's from fucking California . She's sure he doesn't even have proper clothes for this type of weather. Maybe she is too hard on him sometimes, but really, he rubs her the wrong way. She just stands there in the middle of the room for a few seconds until Michael shifts and opens his eyes slowly.
“Did you check the attic?” he asks, his voice sleepy soft. His hair is a mess. She wants to pet it. She shakes her head.
“Why would he go up there again?”
“He's a Wentz. They can't let things go, or that's what Mikey always says,” Michael answers, yawning. She plays with a lock of her dark hair, twirling it between her fingers. She's thinking and he knows it.
“The attic always creeped me out,” she admits, it not like he doesn't know that. He remembers.
“I'm grabbing the flash-light from the kitchen,” he says, getting up. Bandit nods, still playing with her hair.
“Let's go,” Michael says as he comes back from the kitchen.
“It's already dark outside,” she answers. He grabs her hand wordlessly and they made for the stairs to the attic.
~+~
It's dark there as well, even darker than outside and the flash-light only illuminates small areas at a time. Michael squeezes her hand and she knows her fingers feel cold in his.
“Wentz?” she says softly, she doesn't want to startle him, or maybe...she doesn't now. The attic just creeps her out.
“Used to creep Mikey out as well,” Michael says into the silence that follows Bandit's soft question. She nods.
“Wentz?” she says louder this time. No answer. She sighs.
“Maybe he is not even here,” she adds, but maybe she just wants out of here. Leave the attic and the memories behind.
“Bronx?!” Michael shouts. He's rarely loud but that doesn't mean he doesn't know how to use his voice.
“Over here...” comes the reply. Something is off about his voice, Bandit thinks.
“Fuck, what the hell are you doing here anyway? Come back and we might make you a grilled cheese sandwich,” she says too sharply. It's partly annoyance and partly fear.
“No...I need to stay here,” Bronx says.
“What?!”
“What for?” Michael asks calmly. She is ready to throw things at Bronx. Stones maybe, or books. Good thing she has Michael with her.
“I don't know? Just...the voices said so.”
Great, she thinks, just great. Insanity does run in families. What the fuck?
“Hey, there is no one here. Come back with us,” Michael says, softly. It's his 'kitten'-voice. She likes that one a lot.
“No...I...”
“What are you hearing?” she asks, she has enough but he seems totally crazy and it's better to humour him, she guesses.
“Children,” Bronx says. They still don't know where he is and the attic is big. She shivers, Michael squeezes her hand harder. Saying it's okay without words.
“Bronx...what do they want?” Michael asks with his soft voice.
“For me to stay...maybe you should stay as well? I think they would like that,” he answers from somewhere to the right of them.
“I want you to come here now,” Michael says, firmly. She holds her breath. It's the dolls, she knows. Michael nods beside her. He knows as well.
“She said to Dad that she's thrown them away,” Bandit whispers. He nods again. He knows this as well as she does.
“She's old...and we don't like the attic anyway,” he answers. She takes a deep breath, because it's no use to be angry at their grandma now. Michael is right; she is old.
“But...” Bronx says.
“Come here, Bronx,” Michael says sharply. It's his no nonsense voice. It's a bit scary as it sounds so much like their mom's.
“I...”
“Now,” Michael says. They hear shuffling and then Bronx's form appears from the far right corner of the attic. He looks pale and there is dirt on his face and his clothes and a bruise on his wrist that looks like a tiny hand. Bandit takes another breath. It doesn't help. She really wants to scream.
“Bronx?” she asks, her voice sounds funny even to her own ears. She can hear them whisper as well now.
“I...They...”
“Give me your hand,” Michael says and Bronx looks at him and does.
“Let's go, please,” she says, tugging at Michael's hand impatiently. He nods, tugging Bronx with him.
~3~
She only takes a deep breath of relief when they're standing in the brightly lit living room again. Bronx shivers, but she thinks she does as well.
“Your house is so fucking creepy,” he says. He is still holding Michaels hand and it doesn't look like he will let go any time soon. She can't blame him. Michael has a calming effect: She after all is still holding her baby brother's hand as well.
“Well...” Michael answers, shrugging. She really loves him.
“Fucking creepy,” Bronx repeats with emphasis.
“I need a cup of tea,” Bandit says, Michael rolls his eyes at her. She might be the only Way who doesn't like coffee in the family history.
“I need a shrink,” Bronx throws in.
“I'm sure your dad can recommend one,” Michael answers. She looks sharply at him. He is rarely mean, but when he is then he knows which buttons to push. He gives her an apologetic look that says nerves and she lets it be. Bronx lets go of his hand, Bandit doesn't. She drags him into the kitchen and doesn't check if Bronx follows.
He does.
~+~
It's after nine when their grandma comes into the kitchen to check on them.
“So...I see you've ordered dinner, hmmm?” she says. Bandit grins at her. Even if she was mad as hell a few hours ago at her. She can't stay mad at her family. Must be a fucking Way thing. Like the swearing, maybe. Maybe that's just dad's influence. Or Frank's.
“Why is there no meat on this pizza?” she asks, as she sits down.
“Bronx doesn't eat meat...like Frank,” Bandit says and Michael beside her nods.
“Stupid vegetarians,” she answers, taking a slice of pizza. Her fingernails are painted black. And they are too long for a woman her age, but she is a Way and doesn't care. Bronx looks a bit horrified by her. “So, what were you doing while I was out like a light?”
“The at...” Bronx begins, Bandit kicks him under the table, maybe a bit too hard. Maybe.
“Nothing special, played video games, eat ice cream...ordered dinner,” she answers.
“Hmm....”
“We're gonna play guitar a bit after, if that's okay?”
“In the basement?” she asks.
“Yeah...” Michael answers and doesn't roll his eyes, because she always asks that.
“Okay. Be in bed at...let's says 12, as it's the weekend.”
They nod.
~+~
They drag Bronx down the stairs to the basement and Michael locks the door.
“What the fuck?!” Bronx asks.
“You are staying with us, don't want you to walk around again and maybe this time get eaten or something,” Bandit says, throwing her shoes aside and then lying down on the old bed. It smells like them. Sometimes she thinks she can smell their dad on the pillows. But that is stupid.
“What? I want to go...to the guest room.”
“So you can cry in peace?” she asks, she can be cruel if she wants to, because it's a privilege of the girls.
“No, I just don't want to stay with you creeps down here,” he answers, crossing his arms over his chest. He is not even bigger than her. Michael smiles. It looks a bit creepy, but she knows it's on purpose. She laughs and Michael can't hold it in any longer either.
“You can't tell her what happened,” Bandit says from the bed, she isn't looking at Bronx, but she knows Michael is.
“She nearly got me killed...”
“With old porcelain dolls?”
“Yes!”
“You know how sane that sounds, don't you?” Michael asks quietly. Bronx looks at them stubbornly for a minute before he just slides down near the door to sit on the floor.
“Right, still...they would have, right?” he asks.
“Yeah, I think they're cursed,” Bandit answers. Michael nods, she can't see it, but she knows him.
“They gave Mikey nightmares,” Michael says.
“They will give me fucking nightmares as well. Fuck,” Bronx answers.
“You can sleep with us,” Michael answers softly. Bandit sits up to look at her brother, he turns to look at her. He can't be alone right now. He says with jut a look. She nods in acknowledgement.
You like him, she answers with one raised eyebrow. He shrugs, which is just his way to say that yeah, maybe, kinda. He's still an ass, she adds and it's just a soft sigh. He laughs out loud.
“Could you fucking use words? For fuck's sake?!” Bronx asks.
“No,” they say in unison and it's not even to piss him off. He sighs.
“Mikey will get me tomorrow afternoon,” he says.
“Come to bed then...” Bandit says, making room for him and Michael.
“Thanks,” Bronx says, when they're lying curled around each other on the bed.
“Yeah, whatever...” Bandit says. She kinda, maybe likes him too a bit. Michael grins into her shoulder. “Shut up...” she mumbles.
~end~
Author: alles_luege
Pairing: gen
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Bronx comes to stay for a weekend with the Way kids in their grandmother's house.
“God, shut the fuck up and just go to the kitchen and make a sandwich!” Bandit answers sharply.
He looks at her as if she were crazy.
“You can make a sandwich, right?” Michael asks deadpan. Bandit doesn't snicker, but it's a near thing.
“I'm a guest here!” Bronx says.
Warning(s): future fic!, a bit creepy
Author’s Notes: Written for breathedeep222 . I hope you will like it.
Word Count: 2.559
Beta: figilio_vampiri
Disclaimer: Don’t know, don’t own, not real.
~1~
“Your family is so weird.”
Bandit doesn't roll her eyes, because OMG, oh my God this from Pete Wentz's son? Who is he to throw the first fucking stone?
“You're one to talk,” Michael says. She grins at her baby brother and he grins back. Bronx looks a bit pissed off, but he usually is when his parents give him to uncle Mikey. Because he is not a kid anymore. Blah, blah, blah, Bandit thinks. She heard that before. But she was never stuck with this idiot for a whole afternoon and possibly the evening and next day in her grandmother's house. Without Mikey, or her dad. Life sucks. “Life sucks,” Michael says and she nudges his shoulder with hers.
“What the fuck does that mean?” Bronx asks. Michael shrugs, she knows he has a few good answers, but he is just not up to pick a fight, just because Bronx needs to fight someone. As he can't fight his dad now, or his mom, or Mikey. Bandit will fucking punch his stupid face if he ever should try to pick a fight with Mikey again.
“This sucks,” Bronx says, sitting down on the couch. He leaves space enough between him and them for a whole football team. Michael rolls his eyes. What a dochebag.' Bandit nods. He really is. “This house is way creepier than anything I've ever seen,” Bronx goes on. She was ready to punch him a few minutes ago, okay, she was ready to punch him as he entered the house and said something rude about Michael's shirt, quietly enough so no one else heard but them. He was just lucky that uncle Mikey was nearby talking to their grandma. Michael shakes his head no. She sighs and he pats her arm. “And I'm starving,” he adds.
“God, shut the fuck up and just go to the kitchen and make a sandwich!” Bandit answers sharply.
He looks at her as if she were crazy.
“You can make a sandwich, right?” Michael asks deadpan. Bandit doesn't snicker, but it's a near thing.
“I'm a guest here!” Bronx says.
“Not ours,” Michael answers, Bandit nods. She loves Michael.
“Fine!” Bronx says, getting up from the couch and making for the hall.
“Wrong turn,” Bandit yells after him. Michael rolls his eyes. “God, how can he be such a douchebag?” Bandit asks softly.
“Was born that way, I guess,” Michael answers.
“Wanna play video games?”
“Yeah...”
~+~
“Okay, how long can it take a normal person to make a sandwich?” Bandit asks, pausing the game.
“I guess five minutes top,” Michael answers, looking at the clock. “ He has been gone for nearly an hour...”
“He couldn't get lost, could he? That house isn't that big...” Bandit says carefully.
“He is a Wentz,” Michael answers, getting up from the floor.
“You think he got lost?”
“He's a Wentz,” Michael repeats. She sighs. “I know,” he says.
~+~
They find Bronx in the attic. He is staring at something and not moving.
“What the hell?” Bandit asks. He startles and fucking squeaks. She would laugh, but the attic creeps her out a lot too.
“I thought I heard something,” Bronx answers defensively.
“Well, rats?” Michael says. Bronx gives him a disgusted look. Bandit knows there are not rats in the whole house and she knows Michael knows as well. He is just fucking with Bronx . For a thirteen year old boy he is really fucking smart.
“A voice,” Bronx says. He crosses his arms over his chest and just looks at them.
“Can't be grandma, she is out like a light in her bedroom,” Bandit says.
“Besides what the heck would she be doing in the attic?” Michael throws in.
“I didn't say it was her,” Bronx answers. He is clearly loosing his patience with them. Again. And Bandit really just wants an excuse to punch him for earlier, because he deserves it.
“Shut up and come down...” Bandit says.
“There, did you hear that?” Bronx asks.
“Don't even start,” Michael says.
“What?”
“Don't even start fucking with us,” Bandit clarifies.
“I'm not, I can't believe you didn't hear that...”
“Come down again,” she says, she is already tired of him. And a bit hungry.
“Ice cream?” Michael asks. She nods.
Bronx follows them reluctantly.
~2 ~
They were taking a nap after all the ice cream, not caring about that Wentz kid at all, curled around each other and when they wake up he is gone again. Bandit shifts so she can get up without waking Michael.
“I'm awake...” he mumbles. He is not, she knows, but he will be soon.
“Sleep,” she says. He grabs her hand lazily and she smiles down on him. “Sleep,” she repeats and he lets go of her hand. His warm fingers slipping from hers.
~+~
She first takes a look into the kitchen, because maybe he was hungry again, but he's not there. So she knocks softly on both bathroom doors and then goes down to the basement where dad's room was when he was young and a loser - his words not hers. She loves him. She also loves that room. She goes back to the living room where Michael is still napping on the couch. She has no idea where the hell he could be. Sure he is not outside, it's freezing. It's winter in Jersey and he's from fucking California . She's sure he doesn't even have proper clothes for this type of weather. Maybe she is too hard on him sometimes, but really, he rubs her the wrong way. She just stands there in the middle of the room for a few seconds until Michael shifts and opens his eyes slowly.
“Did you check the attic?” he asks, his voice sleepy soft. His hair is a mess. She wants to pet it. She shakes her head.
“Why would he go up there again?”
“He's a Wentz. They can't let things go, or that's what Mikey always says,” Michael answers, yawning. She plays with a lock of her dark hair, twirling it between her fingers. She's thinking and he knows it.
“The attic always creeped me out,” she admits, it not like he doesn't know that. He remembers.
“I'm grabbing the flash-light from the kitchen,” he says, getting up. Bandit nods, still playing with her hair.
“Let's go,” Michael says as he comes back from the kitchen.
“It's already dark outside,” she answers. He grabs her hand wordlessly and they made for the stairs to the attic.
~+~
It's dark there as well, even darker than outside and the flash-light only illuminates small areas at a time. Michael squeezes her hand and she knows her fingers feel cold in his.
“Wentz?” she says softly, she doesn't want to startle him, or maybe...she doesn't now. The attic just creeps her out.
“Used to creep Mikey out as well,” Michael says into the silence that follows Bandit's soft question. She nods.
“Wentz?” she says louder this time. No answer. She sighs.
“Maybe he is not even here,” she adds, but maybe she just wants out of here. Leave the attic and the memories behind.
“Bronx?!” Michael shouts. He's rarely loud but that doesn't mean he doesn't know how to use his voice.
“Over here...” comes the reply. Something is off about his voice, Bandit thinks.
“Fuck, what the hell are you doing here anyway? Come back and we might make you a grilled cheese sandwich,” she says too sharply. It's partly annoyance and partly fear.
“No...I need to stay here,” Bronx says.
“What?!”
“What for?” Michael asks calmly. She is ready to throw things at Bronx. Stones maybe, or books. Good thing she has Michael with her.
“I don't know? Just...the voices said so.”
Great, she thinks, just great. Insanity does run in families. What the fuck?
“Hey, there is no one here. Come back with us,” Michael says, softly. It's his 'kitten'-voice. She likes that one a lot.
“No...I...”
“What are you hearing?” she asks, she has enough but he seems totally crazy and it's better to humour him, she guesses.
“Children,” Bronx says. They still don't know where he is and the attic is big. She shivers, Michael squeezes her hand harder. Saying it's okay without words.
“Bronx...what do they want?” Michael asks with his soft voice.
“For me to stay...maybe you should stay as well? I think they would like that,” he answers from somewhere to the right of them.
“I want you to come here now,” Michael says, firmly. She holds her breath. It's the dolls, she knows. Michael nods beside her. He knows as well.
“She said to Dad that she's thrown them away,” Bandit whispers. He nods again. He knows this as well as she does.
“She's old...and we don't like the attic anyway,” he answers. She takes a deep breath, because it's no use to be angry at their grandma now. Michael is right; she is old.
“But...” Bronx says.
“Come here, Bronx,” Michael says sharply. It's his no nonsense voice. It's a bit scary as it sounds so much like their mom's.
“I...”
“Now,” Michael says. They hear shuffling and then Bronx's form appears from the far right corner of the attic. He looks pale and there is dirt on his face and his clothes and a bruise on his wrist that looks like a tiny hand. Bandit takes another breath. It doesn't help. She really wants to scream.
“Bronx?” she asks, her voice sounds funny even to her own ears. She can hear them whisper as well now.
“I...They...”
“Give me your hand,” Michael says and Bronx looks at him and does.
“Let's go, please,” she says, tugging at Michael's hand impatiently. He nods, tugging Bronx with him.
~3~
She only takes a deep breath of relief when they're standing in the brightly lit living room again. Bronx shivers, but she thinks she does as well.
“Your house is so fucking creepy,” he says. He is still holding Michaels hand and it doesn't look like he will let go any time soon. She can't blame him. Michael has a calming effect: She after all is still holding her baby brother's hand as well.
“Well...” Michael answers, shrugging. She really loves him.
“Fucking creepy,” Bronx repeats with emphasis.
“I need a cup of tea,” Bandit says, Michael rolls his eyes at her. She might be the only Way who doesn't like coffee in the family history.
“I need a shrink,” Bronx throws in.
“I'm sure your dad can recommend one,” Michael answers. She looks sharply at him. He is rarely mean, but when he is then he knows which buttons to push. He gives her an apologetic look that says nerves and she lets it be. Bronx lets go of his hand, Bandit doesn't. She drags him into the kitchen and doesn't check if Bronx follows.
He does.
~+~
It's after nine when their grandma comes into the kitchen to check on them.
“So...I see you've ordered dinner, hmmm?” she says. Bandit grins at her. Even if she was mad as hell a few hours ago at her. She can't stay mad at her family. Must be a fucking Way thing. Like the swearing, maybe. Maybe that's just dad's influence. Or Frank's.
“Why is there no meat on this pizza?” she asks, as she sits down.
“Bronx doesn't eat meat...like Frank,” Bandit says and Michael beside her nods.
“Stupid vegetarians,” she answers, taking a slice of pizza. Her fingernails are painted black. And they are too long for a woman her age, but she is a Way and doesn't care. Bronx looks a bit horrified by her. “So, what were you doing while I was out like a light?”
“The at...” Bronx begins, Bandit kicks him under the table, maybe a bit too hard. Maybe.
“Nothing special, played video games, eat ice cream...ordered dinner,” she answers.
“Hmm....”
“We're gonna play guitar a bit after, if that's okay?”
“In the basement?” she asks.
“Yeah...” Michael answers and doesn't roll his eyes, because she always asks that.
“Okay. Be in bed at...let's says 12, as it's the weekend.”
They nod.
~+~
They drag Bronx down the stairs to the basement and Michael locks the door.
“What the fuck?!” Bronx asks.
“You are staying with us, don't want you to walk around again and maybe this time get eaten or something,” Bandit says, throwing her shoes aside and then lying down on the old bed. It smells like them. Sometimes she thinks she can smell their dad on the pillows. But that is stupid.
“What? I want to go...to the guest room.”
“So you can cry in peace?” she asks, she can be cruel if she wants to, because it's a privilege of the girls.
“No, I just don't want to stay with you creeps down here,” he answers, crossing his arms over his chest. He is not even bigger than her. Michael smiles. It looks a bit creepy, but she knows it's on purpose. She laughs and Michael can't hold it in any longer either.
“You can't tell her what happened,” Bandit says from the bed, she isn't looking at Bronx, but she knows Michael is.
“She nearly got me killed...”
“With old porcelain dolls?”
“Yes!”
“You know how sane that sounds, don't you?” Michael asks quietly. Bronx looks at them stubbornly for a minute before he just slides down near the door to sit on the floor.
“Right, still...they would have, right?” he asks.
“Yeah, I think they're cursed,” Bandit answers. Michael nods, she can't see it, but she knows him.
“They gave Mikey nightmares,” Michael says.
“They will give me fucking nightmares as well. Fuck,” Bronx answers.
“You can sleep with us,” Michael answers softly. Bandit sits up to look at her brother, he turns to look at her. He can't be alone right now. He says with jut a look. She nods in acknowledgement.
You like him, she answers with one raised eyebrow. He shrugs, which is just his way to say that yeah, maybe, kinda. He's still an ass, she adds and it's just a soft sigh. He laughs out loud.
“Could you fucking use words? For fuck's sake?!” Bronx asks.
“No,” they say in unison and it's not even to piss him off. He sighs.
“Mikey will get me tomorrow afternoon,” he says.
“Come to bed then...” Bandit says, making room for him and Michael.
“Thanks,” Bronx says, when they're lying curled around each other on the bed.
“Yeah, whatever...” Bandit says. She kinda, maybe likes him too a bit. Michael grins into her shoulder. “Shut up...” she mumbles.
~end~