(no subject)
Debbie/Vic, shuttle
Debbie remembers when her mom brought Vic home from the hospital. Red faced and screaming at the top of his lungs, he was demanding to be fed. She hated him instantly.
Night after night their mom would leave her to babysit Vic while she went to work at the plant. Debbie spent the first month he was home praying to God to take him back if not to save her ears than to save her nose from the awful diapers.
Apparently, God didn't listen to her because that shrill sound and the pile of dirty cloth diapers continued.
After awhile, she changed her prayer to ask God to give her brother a mute button because she just needed a couple more hours. Again, God didn't answer her.
Vic got older, taller, and stronger. He turned from the annoying little brother to a best friend who stood beside her when she found out she was unwed and pregnant well before she graduated from high school.
For years after that, Debbie thanked God for having the wisdom to send Vic to her.
Years later Debbie got a call from Vic asking her if he could come stay with her for awhile. He showed up on her doorstep a few hours later with a large suitcase. One look at his face, and she knew something was wrong.
She spent the afternoon in the kitchen making enough pasta to feed the neighborhood while listening to her son telling Vic all about Captain Astro's latest escapades and life at the Big Q.
That night, long after Michael had left for his tiny apartment, she and Vic sat on her lumpy, old sofa and watched some Greta Garbo flick on Turner Classic. Greta was mid-sentence when Vic spoke the two words that would send her into a tailspin:
"I'm positive."
She blinked once, twice, eyes suddenly too blurry to see anything. Her chest felt as if someone was squeezing it and the room was suddenly spinning.
"Sis," Vic said, touching her arm. His tone and his touch were so tentative that it made her heart break.
She jumped from the couch and stared him down.
"You'd better be lying..."
Vic closed his eyes for a long moment and took a shuddering breath.
"I wish I were," he whispered.
And that was all it took. Tears began spilling down her cheeks and her shoulders began to shake and suddenly it was impossible to breath. As soon as she started to cry, Vic's arms were around her just as they were all those years before when she found out she was pregnant.
An age later, she pulled back, acrylic nailed hands swiping tears from her cheeks and snot from her nose. She was a mess, but she didn't care. She had the fucking right to fall apart.
"But you're careful. You're always careful..."
"Not always, Sis. You know how this works; I could have been infected years ago. Considering all the shit I've done it's no wonder it took this long."
The slap hit him square across the face leaving an angry red mark. Vic's hand covered his face as he turned disbelieving eyes on his sister.
Face flushed with anger, finger pointing in his face, she stared him down as she spoke.
"Don't you dare say that you fucking asshole. Life's a gift and you sure as shit had better fight for this one."
He offered her a rueful smile.
"I plan on it."
That night, Debbie prayed for a lot of things--a cure for AIDS, the sudden and miraculous cure for her baby brother, and an unnaturally long life for all her family.
Vic fought like hell, but, as the years passed, Debbie watched him get sicker. Endless days of tears and screaming and doctor's offices. Debbie cooked and cleaned and took care of him trying not to think about the fact that it was sometimes like all those years before when he was a kid.
After awhile, Debbie just started praying for more time. For any time where he wasn't feeling like shit.
Three weeks later, his doctor prescribed some new pill to add to the growing list. For once, it seemed, God answered her prayer. When they hit a good patch, he took her to Italy.
Four years followed where Vic was better more days than not. He found love again and moved in with Rodney. Begrudgingly, she let him go.
And then one day Michael and Emmett showed up at the diner and things in her life shifted again.
The days that followed were a blur of arrangements and shuttling from the diner to home and back again trying to not think about petty arguments and prayer she made to God when she was a child because she knew that, if she stopped for one second, she'd fall apart and that wasn't going to get his fucking gravestone paid for.
And, having written this, I'm thinking I'm going to take the Vic finding out he's positive storyline and fluff it out some more.
Prompt from: queerasprompts