George stared up at the ceiling for a few more moments before finally pushing himself back up, leaning across the bed to dig through his bedside table.
"I need to blow something up," he mumbled, pushing aside the random bits of parchment that had been stuffed in there and pulling out a string of explosives.
"Woah. What's wrong?" he asked worriedly, walking across the room to face his brother.
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"They wouldn't- I mean, they can't just let him- I mean, it's obvious, isn't it?"
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Which is completely dumb. It was so obvious it couldn't be more obvious.
Letting his hands drop, he looked at George, deadly serious. "I'll kill him before he touches her again."
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After a moment's pause, he nodded and leaned his head into his hands, staring blankly at the floor below him. "Yeah," he replied quietly. "I know..."
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Did George really know just how serious Fred was? He'd killed before, he could do it again.
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"Yeah. I know."
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The tears that fell now were angry ones.
He hated this. He hated this feeling.
Fred sighed.
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"I know," Fred replied, quietly. Angrilly, he looked away, his eyes focusing back on his canopy.
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And it sure as hell wasn't going to be his best friend.
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Damnit, why did everything always have to be so fucking complicated?
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"Fucking awesome," Fred stated, angry and bitter, yet resigned.
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"I need to blow something up," he mumbled, pushing aside the random bits of parchment that had been stuffed in there and pulling out a string of explosives.
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Fred just wanted to be alone. To brood. To punch things.
To cry.
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He got up and stuffed the string in his pocket, heading for the door. "Wanna join me?" he asked, turning back to Fred.
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