For Once I Sang A Tune - 4
Title: For Once I Sang A Tune
Author: Riversorrowdh
Overall Rating: R
Chapter Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own no one and nothing.
Summary: In the midst of a world wide war, David, Michael and Andrew must do all they can to survive.
Two days after Michael’s departure, David and Andrew sit in their living room. Though the blinds had been drawn upon their return, the sky outside was damp and grey; as if the clouds just knew what to do. The gloomy silence which fills the room only reminds them that there’s something missing from their otherwise jubilant group. Andrew, who lounges on an armchair at the far end of the room, casts a worried look over at his brother, almost pitying him. David hasn’t spoken a word for two days. Except if the wracking sobs bursting from the man when he thought Andrew was asleep count. Andrew shakes his head, ridding himself of the bad memories.
David lays curled on the couch, his knees drawn up to his chest, and one limp arm flung almost lazily over them. He stares unblinkingly at the television, the news playing constantly, as always.
"David," Andrew says, his voice raised a decibel. If David heard, he gave no inclination. Sighing, Andrew lifts himself off of the chair and kneels down in front of David, blocking his brother’s view of the television. David’s eyes narrow, but he makes no move to shove Andrew away as he normally would have done. Andrew then slides the remote from under David’s stomach and shifts in order to turn off the news.
Suddenly, David screams, "no!" and lunges at Andrew, knocking him backwards onto the carpet and landing on top of him. David wrestles the remote out of Andrew’s grasp and hurriedly turns the television back on; his eyes becoming fixated again at the speed of light. Andrew thinks for a moment that he heard David say, "I have to watch for him." But David’s movements are now so subtle that Andrew thinks that he’s imagining everything. From his position on the floor, Andrew stares unbelievingly at this zombie who used to be his role model. And for the first time in days, Andrew sees just how this new loss has affected David. His hair has gone beyond the usual bed-head look; it now resembles a greasy, tangled mess. His eyes, never blinking, are sunken in, the usual sparkle in them gone. David’s skin has turned a ghastly gray color and Andrew can only think of a skeleton when he sees him.
Shaking the tears away from his eyes, Andrew sits upright and walks on his knees over to David’s side, bending close to his brother’s vacant face and whispers, "Dave, why don’t you eat something? This isn’t good for you." David closes his eyes and buries his face into the pillow, shaking his head.
Sighing, Andrew places a brotherly hand on the back of David’s neck, squeezing the spot gently. "Why won’t you talk to me?" Andrew asks desperately. "It’s not my fault he’s gone. I miss him just as much as you do."
David, lost for words, thinks to himself just a second too late: if only you knew.
When David refuses to answer yet again, he says, "Okay, bro. Listen, I know you’re not feeling up to it, but it might do you some good to play some music, Dave. Just get all those emotions out of you. It’s what we always used to do when we were feeling down; why not now?"
David looks up at Andrew, his eyes filled with tears. Andrew smiles understandingly, that one look saying everything. "Okay, then. I’m going to be in the garage, okay? Join me if you want." As Andrew stands up to leave, he stops and, as if on a second thought, bends down again and says, "I love ya, bro. Never forget that. I’m always here." He runs a hand down the back of David’s head, ruffling his hair as David had done so many times when they were little. He lingers there for a moment before standing and walking out of the room.
David hears the muffled closing of the garage door and knows he should be out there with Andrew, playing something, anything. Perhaps even a tribute to Michael in his absence, to let him know that he hasn’t been forgotten. Andrew’s right, he thinks. Lying here won’t bring him back. Michael wouldn’t want this for me. He said so himself. Andrew’s only complying with Michael’s last request of us. I need to do the same. Resolved, David hoists himself up off of the couch and, wobbling a little on his unsteady feet, walks into his bedroom to collect his guitar.
As he lifts the instrument off of it’s resting place and fastens the strap over his shoulder, David spots a framed picture on the nightstand. He picks it up, cradling the wire frame as if it were as precious as the picture it holds. David runs his fingers over the frozen faces of the three of them. It was taken on a beautiful summer’s day just a few months prior to the world going to hell. They all look so happy, so content with their lives. David smiles, something he can’t remember doing. He looks at Andrew and Michael, brushing either side of him, and wonders how this could have ever happened to them.
Suddenly, a muffled shouting drifts up the stairs. It hits David’s ears and his heart races. David drops the frame and the guitar both in one swift movement and bolts out the bedroom door. Behind him, David’s beloved guitar plays sour notes as it breaks neck first against the floor; the glass protecting the picture breaking next to it, pieces of what his life used to mean. David hears, but doesn’t turn back. In those few seconds, and the moments that follow David’s life changes forever. But as he picks up speed and reaches the garage door, he’s only thinking of what could be on the other side.