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[sign_seeker]

*Will sits at the kitchen table, head propped on one hand, mug of tea by his elbow. Across from him is James, intent on his English homework -- notes on a poem, Eliot Will thinks perhaps, but he hasn't really been paying attention. Near the stove in the corner, Mrs Stanton hums idle snatches of song as she chops vegetables for soup.*

*In front of him is his maths textbook and a notebook with a half-completed problem set. It keeps blurring before his tired eyes, and he takes another gulp of tea, and determinedly tries again to focus on it.*

Comments

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

"I will show you fear in a handful of dust," James mutters, "what on earth does that mean," and then looks up and blinks at Will, blinking determinedly across the table from him.

"Will? It's four in the afternoon, not midnight."

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*Will blinks at him, a tiny moment later than he would normally.*

Huh? ...Oh.

*He looks sheepish.*

Just tired. Differential equations are soporific, I swear. Whatever Paul says about them.

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

James is not necessarily the brightest Stanton, but he's not stupid, either. He gives Will a Look.

"You've been acting half-zombified for the past week nearly. So unless you've been sitting up in bed doing differential equations all night long . . .

or going to Strange Places in the middle of the night . . ."

Hint hint subtle hint!

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*Will looks at him levelly. Then his gaze flicks down, back to the table and his textbook.*

Haven't been sleeping well, is all.

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

James looks back, and there is concern there, and hurt.

"All."

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*Will's mouth twists a little, and he half-shrugs.*

I'm worried. About friends there.

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

And I'm worried about you.

*James leans over the table to look at him better.*

Paul is too, I've seen the way he looks at you - even Mum and Dad think there's something up. And I know you don't want them learning your precious secret, do you?"

There's no bitterness there, none at all!

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*Will winces.*

*quietly* I'm all right, James.

I'm tired, yeah. I've not been sleeping well. But I'll be all right.

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

"You're not all right."

James looks at him, unhappily. "I'm your brother. I don't know everything about you, I know, but I know enough to tell when you're not -"

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*Will looks at him, a little apologetically.*

Mostly I am. Honestly. Tired, some stress, a few bad dreams. Nothing deeply wrong.

I know you're worried. I'm sorry.

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

"You said," James says, rather accusingly, "that he couldn't do anything here, outside Milliways.

You said you'd be all right."

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*quietly, calmly* I didn't think he could.

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

"So you thought wrong."

James looks down at his poem again, determined to say no more.

Of course, this resolve lasts about five minutes before he looks up again. "So what has he been doing, exactly? Just bad dreams?"

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*Will has gotten two whole problems done in the five minutes. Apparently the adrenaline of careful conversations like this is good for homework skills. He writes in one last figure, hiding a sigh, and meets James's eyes.*

Just bad dreams, to me, yes.

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

"But he could theoretically do worse."

James is obtuse, not stupid! There is a crucial difference there.

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*A moment when Will regards him levelly, and then he nods.*

Not here, I don't think.

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

"Just like you didn't think he could affect you here at all."

James' hand is pressed down hard on his poem.

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*Will's mouth twists a little, crooked acknowledgment and apology.*

Not quite. That -- it used to be true, and then things changed. Unless they change again, I am certain of it.

They could, I suppose, but it would take circumstances that are very unlikely, right now.

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

"Very unlikely -"

James' half-shouted exclamation draws the attention of their mother, who looks over at them, puzzled.

"What are you two getting so heated up about, over there?"

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*Will grins reassuringly over his shoulder, rolling his eyes with cheerful exasperation.*

Nothing to worry about, Mum. James is being an older brother, is all.

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

James looks darkly at Will. "Just being an older brother my -

Can I talk to you upstairs?"

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*A moment, then Will shrugs amiably, and stands, leaving his schoolwork on the table. He takes the tea, though.*

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

James takes his schoolwork, too, because James is a dork like that, and trudges after Will.

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*At the top of the first flight of stairs, Will pauses, and glances questioningly at James's half-open door.*

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

James pushes the door open, and takes a seat on his bed, dropping his homework carelessly on the desk as he goes.

"I guess you'll want to close the door behind you."

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*Will exhales.*

James...

*He does close the door, though.*

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

James can, occasionally, shut up, when he needs to. He waits.

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*Will regards him, then sets his tea on the floor, and drops onto the spare bed; it was his, once, years ago before Stephen moved out and ceded his bedroom to his youngest brother, but now it functions as a couch for James, piled with cushions and occasionally books and laundry.*

*quietly* I'm sorry. Honestly.

But... all I can say is that I'm being careful, truly I am. And I do believe it will work out. Soon, I hope.

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

"And then," James says, quite snarkily, for James, "there'll be another Really Dangerous thing a week later, I suppose. And then another the week after that.

But you won't tell us about that. Because we would worry too much. Far easier if we just stayed away altogether, I suppose."

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*Will is motionless, curled against the headboard; his face is expressionless, and his gaze stays on a particularly lurid cushion that Mary gave James two years ago.*

*after a moment, quietly* I don't want you to worry. I don't want you to have to.

...Easier doesn't always mean better.

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

"I'm not too terribly fond of having to worry either," James points out, and then sighs.

"But you're the only little brother I've got. If you get yourself killed in a bar fight, then I'm stuck being the youngest boy, and what will I do then?"

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*Will laughs.*

Have to do your fair shore of chores for once.

*He sobers, and glances at James.*

I won't, though.

*It is grave, and in its way a promise.*

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

"That, Will, you cannot doom me to."

James sobers as well, then.

"It's all well and good to say that now.

But I still don't see why you're allowed to take the risks. And we're not.

You have friends there. Fair enough. But I'm sure your friends want you safe as much as we do."

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*Will sighs, and his gaze goes back to the lurid cushion. It shows Mary's taste, clearly, which is probably why it's half-buried in a heap of others: the butterflies picked out in shades of blue and purple, on a background of dark orange. And gold fringe, once, which James picked off almost immediately and blamed on the dogs chewing it. He looks at it without quite seeing it.*

It's not a matter of allowed to, James.

I can't just leave them all, there. Not when some of them can't leave, and some of them are closer to the center of things than I am. Not if I can help them at all.

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

"How," James asks, quite reasonably, fretting away at a corner of his bland blue quilt, "can you help them?"

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*There are several things Will can say to this. He opts for the most reassuring, and in a way the most truthful. He turns his head to look calmly at James.*

The same way anyone helps a friend, mainly. By being there. Listening, and being a sort of anchor, and that kind of thing.

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

James, much though he tries, can find nothing clearly wrong with this.

He sighs, and grumbles, "That makes far too much sense for me to be happy with it."

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*Will grins, sympathetically.*

*after a moment, loftily, to break the unhappy mood* Common fault of mine, I know.

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

"Absolutely infuriating," James assures him.

He does not look much happier.

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

Little brother's duty.

*His tone is light and teasing, but there is a genuine apology still faint in his eyes.*

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

"It's the older brother's duty to always be right," James corrects him, loftily, and then adds, with a bit of a grimace, "but we all seem to be far behind you on that score."

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*Will grins at him.*

You'll catch up yet, if you work at it. I have faith.

*kindly* Just need to emulate me more, is all.

*And this one is all joke, and he moves to slide off the bed.*

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

James groans, and tosses a plume moth blue rose dirty trainer at him. It falls short of the mark, as it is meant to.

"Go finish your homework before you keel over right here."

He pauses, then adds, "Not, you know, that you're not welcome to keel over here. If you think it would help."

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*Will grins, and makes a face at him, bending to retrieve his tea, as the shoe falls to the floor.*

*mock-hopefully* Would that get me out of maths homework?

*His grin twists a little and turns more serious, for a second.

*quietly* Thanks, though. Not likely, but thanks.

*He opens the door, easy cheerfulness returning.*

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

James waves a "get along with you" sort of wave, with his shoeless foot, apparently already intent again on T.S. Eliot.

Although right now, the incomprehensabilities of T.S. Eliot take second place to those of his small brother.